He had no words for it, looking at the two of them, stretched out side by side, cold and lifeless like marble angels.

"Sir?"

"It's them." He couldn't move his eyes from their somnolent forms. "What happened?"

"They came in two weeks ago." The ME's eyes were sympathetic as she drew one of the sheets down. "Gun shot to the chest. He probably died within minutes."

He nodded. He wasn't surprised. "And..." He gestured with his hand, couldn't quite bring himself to say the name.

"Undetermined. No apparent cause of death. Best we can say is that he just... died." She shrugged helplessly. "Negative on the tox screen, no injuries. His heart just gave out."

"I see." He continued to stare at too pale skin, tattoos dark and vivid marks.

"It was the counsellor put it all together. They were found in a church, up by the altar. He," she gestured, "was cradling our gunshot victim. Looks like he died praying."

He wanted to laugh and scream. It wasn't fair.

"They're so young. Are you sure they're the Boston Saints, Agent Smecker?"

"Oh yes." He nodded slowly. "These two are the Boston Saints. Connor and Murphy MacManus."

She nodded slowly, biting her lower lip. "You knew them?"

He didn't answer, just looked at the two bags holding their personal belongings. "What happens now?"

"Do they have any family?"

He shook his head. "Their mother died last year, shortly after their father."

"In which case... they'll be turned over to the state. Are they nationals?"

"They have residency."

"If..." She jutted her hip, leant against the counter. "It could probably be arranged to have their bodies released to the FBI. Since they are federally wanted criminals." She leant in. "You'd see to it that they got a decent funeral. Wouldn't you."

She was good. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Aside from the fact that they're the Boston Saints, and I happen to agree with what they were doing?" She looked back to them, rearranged the sheet to cover the ugly puncture mark that had ripped them from this world. "You didn't see them when we found them. The brunette, he was holding on, even eight hours after he had died. He carried his brother all the way to that church and then held him until we had to fight the blonde from his dead arms." She bit her lip again. "They looked like bloody angels, clinging to each other into death. I just wonder what he was praying for in the end."

Smecker looked at them, looked at the fact that despite the support their heads rested on, their faces were turned to one another, peaceful and calm and still.

He grabbed his jacket. "They prayed to stay together."

And he left.