T/W: Anxiety attacks and mentioning death and funerals.

****

Steve

I'm lying in my bed in my old bedroom. It still looks the same as when I left. Mom told me she never had the heart to clean it out after I moved away. I'd (briefly) peeked into Tim's old bedroom and it looked the same as well.

I'd wanted to look through some of Tim's old shit, but I was worried Mom would get upset and, frankly I'd heard enough for one day.

After Dad had chilled out enough, he and I spent the afternoon notifying relatives and beginning on funeral arrangements for Tim. I'd also wanted to ask Dad about...Tim's..fiancée, but again, I didn't want to cause a scene. I'm dying to know who she is. Although I'm not entirely sure just how much Tim brought her around here.

I shift uncomfortably in the bed. I forgot how hard and lumpy my old mattress is. I roll over on my side, reaching out for my phone and flip it open. It's after midnight. I don't feel sleepy at all. I don't think I'll sleep tonight.

I get up, flipping on the overhead light. I wonder if my parents are asleep. I crack open the bedroom door and poke my head out. I listen but the only sounds I hear are the clock in the living room ticking and the fridge humming. I silently creep out into the hallway.

Luckily my parents' bedroom is on the other side of the house, whereas, Tim and I's rooms were closer together. I shuffle further down, pausing in front of Tim's bedroom door, my hand hovering just above the door knob. I have a flashback:

Tim's in his room, music blaring, lying on his bed, legs dangling over the side, head down, as he's pouring over some science book as I stand in the doorway, curious as to why girls like him so much.

I tightly grip the door knob, twisting it and pushing open the door. I let go of the door knob, feeling for the light switch. Light floods the room, spilling out into the hallway. I hesitate before walking inside. I quickly close the door partway and turn, half thinking I'll...find..my brother lounging on his bed, like I did so many times before.

I stare at all the posters still tacked on the walls, the piles of books in the corners of the room and some old clothes draped across the top of the bed.

I don't touch anything and I think I shouldn't have come in here. I sigh, grabbing the door, ready to exit. I catch sight of a faded piece of paper, stuffed in the corner of the headboard and reach for it.

As I draw it out and unfold it, tears spring to my eyes. It's a..picture I drew of Tim and myself when I was maybe, six? Tears blur my vision but I can still make out the childish, block style letters on the top.

'TO TIMMY FROM STEVIE."

***

Lex

"The funeral's been set for tomorrow at two o'clock," Mom tells me a couple of days later as we're eating breakfast.

"Who told you?" I ask, sipping the hot coffee that Mom insisted on making, along with some scrambled eggs and toast. Truthfully, I wasn't interested in food. I haven't been eating or sleeping well since Speed's...death.

"Eric called me," Mom replies, scooping up a fork forkful of eggs and eating them.

"When?"

"Last night." Mom eyes me warily. "You'd already went to bed, so I told him I'd let you know this morning."

"Eric should have called me himself," I snap.

"He knows you're having a hard time," Mom says. "He's trying to be considerate of your feelings."

"Jeez!" I abruptly stand, angrily snatching up my still full plate and marching over to dump the contents out before dropping the plate into the sink with a clatter.

"Alexandra," Mom says sharply. I whirl to face her.

"Do not lecture me!" I snap. "I'm not six years old! I just lost the man I loved and was planning on marrying! So save your breath!"

Mom's expression softens as she rises from her chair and comes to me, touching my cheek.

"I know, honey. I can't even begin to imagine how you feel. But it's not Eric's fault. Nor mine. Don't take your grief out on us, okay?" I stare her.

"You're right," I say. "It's not your or Eric's fault." I pause, my anger bubbling up. "It's...Horatio Caine's."

***

Steve

I'm driving to the cemetery, where Tim's funeral will be held. Dad had asked if I'd wanted to ride with him and Mom, but I'd declined. The thought of being cooped up inside a vehicle with my parents was more than I could bear.

I had asked Dad about Tim's fiancée and he was cerain she'd be attending the funeral. I guess she'd called my parents or they had called her. Dad hadn't been totally clear on the facts. I don't even know what she looks like.

Does she even know I exist? Given Tim and I's lack of communication, there's a strong possibility she has no idea of my existence. Hell, I barely remembered her.

As I reach the cemetery, I spot several other people pulling into the parking lot. I quickly find my own parking space and cut the engine. I sit there for a few minutes, gathering my courage and hoping that I'll make it through this.

***

Lex

Mom and Uncle Grant are standing on either side of me as the minister drones on about who knows what. I can't take my eyes off of the coffin 

Speed's in there. It's going into the cold, dark ground. He's never coming back. I'll never see him again.

Some police officers are wrapping up the American flag which had been draped across the casket. When they finish, they present the flag to Speed's parents. I let my gaze drop to the ground. I can't look at Speed's parents. It's too personal. I just want to wake up and discover this is nothing but a bad dream.

****

After everyone clears out, heading to the church for the...whatever, I go and stand beside Speed's grave. I didn't shed a single tear during the funeral, but now, they come, fast and hard.

Soon, I'm crying so hard, I can't even see. My entire body is shaking and I realize I've dropped to the ground, on my knees, my hands clenched around the fresh mounds of dirt heaped upon Speed's coffin.

I sniffle several times before struggling to my feet. I open my purse, fumbling inside for some tissues. As I'm wiping off my face and blowing my nose, I look up and see...Speed?

He's standing right there, only a few feet away.

"Speed!" I cry, bolting forward. He's not dead! It was all a mistake! Someone else is buried beneath that mound of dirt. I reach him and realize...this isn't...Speed.

"Uh, no," the stranger says, looking embarrassed. "I'm Steve, Steve Speedle, Tim's younger brother." I feel like someone has punched me in the gut.

Again.