Apple's eyes were red and slightly puffed, the only sign she had been crying for all of heaven to hear earlier. She had mastered her tears now. Every other breath would shake, but other than that she would be fine. She stared through the glass of one of the hospital's rooms, and any passerby could see the sheet-covered body that lay inside. No one stopped to offer sympathy, everyone was on their own schedule and couldn't take the time. The occasional doctor would pat her shoulder, but they said no words. Apple was fine with that. In her own grief she preferred to be alone. Maybe she shouldn't be alone? Didn't they say that when you were grieving, you should talk about it? Something along the lines of that, she supposed. Right now she only felt like the bottom of her world was falling out, and she was powerless to stop it.

When had it come to this? She had watched it slowly progress to this point for the last few years, yet she had still never expected these times to end. Not so abruptly, at least. Were the three years he had been in the hospital no warning? She had overlooked them in her rush to pretend it was all OK. Her badge and gun were still attached to her slim hips; she hadn't even bothered to change before rushing here. Her shift had ended about five minutes before she had received the call from the doctors. She ran her hand over her face for the last time, picking up any leftover moisture and wiping it off her cheeks. She sniffed once and then fell silent, unable to tear her eyes off the room.

Apple didn't notice at first when someone took up the seat next to her. She was far gone. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over, a haze of grief taking over her mind. The window started to blur, and she startled herself by crying again. She had thought she was out of tears. Was it actually possible to run out of tears? Startled out of her reverie, she noticed the man for the first time and jumped slightly once again. Taking a closer look, her heart panged and she wanted to comfort him. Could she do something when she was drowning in her own grief? Yes. Helping people felt good, and she needed to feel good right about now. She had to do something before it hazed over her mind again. She didn't like losing control of her own mind. It was an uncomfortable thing to not remember the last few hours. With another sniff and a calming breath, she leaned her elbows onto her knees and gave all her attention to him.

"Are you--" Stop. Dumb question. "Who are you in here for?"

Less personal, but a tad bit smarter. She could do smart. Intelligence was something she could cling to for the moment in place of her tears. She wiped her eyes again and averted her sight until she was under control, then turned back to him. She noticed his badge and gun. She was a cop herself and had been through several grief seminars, but the phrase 'I'm sorry for your loss' was just dust in the wind right about now. The phrase became a mantra, and it turned into a song in less than thirty seconds. All we are is dust in the wind...

The fact that his friend was shot only confirmed her assumption that he was somehow involved in law enforcement. Would he have known Tony? Her eyes flickered to the window again. She was reluctant to give that piece of information about herself. The less people knew about her the less they could hurt her. She entwined her fingers and stared at them while she was thinking. He was giving her information...shouldn't she return the favor? Leaping off her mental bridge, she spoke.

"My uncle, Tony Haupert, was killed in the line of duty."

She could add a lot of things to that, but she didn't. She just turned her eyes to the window they sat in front of, the body still hidden by a white sheet. There was something symbolic about a white sheet when you worked the kind of job they had. It meant the person was at peace and would be avenged. The thought gave Apple a little comfort, and she was able to tear her eyes away this time to survey the boy a little closer.

Apple smiled in gratitude when he praised her uncle, and it helped clear her mind a bit. She wished she could do the same for him, though she didn't know the man and couldn't somehow compliment him at all. She felt horrible, but perhaps with a clear mind she could do more. She went a step further and laid a hand on his, offering what wordless support she could. When he identified himself, she blinked in surprise and smiled brighter.

"You don't seem the type. It's a good cover."

She hoped somehow that maybe complimenting him would be enough to lift his spirits. She avoided looking back into the window for obvious reasons, wanting to cling to this good feeling for as long as she possibly could. There was something about him--Spencer--that made her feel like even though she was filled with grief, there was something better she could be doing than sitting and crying. She couldn't thank him enough for that.