It's late afternoon, a humid day in New York, the sky a clear blue, only the faintest wisps of clouds there. The sun is shining down on her, and Sara has seen people walking around in short sleeves, has heard them complaining about the heat.

But she stands here, at the mound of earth over her brother's grave, and she's freezing. Nothing new there; she's been cold ever since she picked up the phone and heard a serious New York accent on the other end.

It's the guilt making her cold she knows, the knowledge that she could have done more to help Mike quit drugs. Maybe she should have talked her parents around, got them to take him back to California, maybe she could have taken time out of school and come here. Maybe she could have reached out to his friends, found out just how bad things really were for him, instead of believing him when he told her that he was fine, that he was going to beat it on his own.

She feels guilty, but she also feels angry. It's funny, she always heard that anger was hot, but not this. This is a cold, steely anger, because Mike should have known better, had known better, but it still hadn't done him any good.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was her big brother; he wasn't supposed to die like this.

"I thought you'd be here."

She jumps, but isn't surprised when Tony appears beside her; that's where he's been since she arrived a few days ago. He was the one who told her everything he knew about Mike's life, the hard truth that others had shied away from. She'd insisted on knowing, against his objections, and he'd respected her wishes; she'd always be grateful for that.

"Where's Angela?" she asks, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, because she knows that Angela's probably sleeping it off somewhere; she'd been high at the service after all.

Tony doesn't reply, which is a reply in itself. "There was nothing you could have done," he tells her, not for the first time.

"I could have been here," she says, and he shakes his head.

"You had school," he reminds her. "And he wouldn't have wanted to come between that…he was so proud of you Sara." The words bring more hated tears to her eyes and she tries to swallow them back. It doesn't work, especially when Tony keeps on talking. "He used to go on and on about his baby sister at Harvard, how she was going to light up the world…" He stops at her muffled sob, reaches out and takes her hand in his.

His touch is solid and comforting, and just like her first night in New York, it makes her feel better. "Can we just stay here for a while?" she asks, her plea for silence going unspoken, but not unheard.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "We can do that."