Elizabeth washes the dishes in the kitchen. It's dark. Rachel appears in the doorway. "Is he asleep?" she asks. Elizabeth curtly confirms that he is. "He sleeps a lot now," Rachel observes emptily. "Yeah," Elizabeth says, still not looking at her stepdaughter. She acts pissed off. No wonder they're not close. Elizabeth can hold a grudge more tightly than she holds her own daughter. Rachel speculates that Mark's in a lot of pain. "It won't be long now," Elizabeth says, still the picture of businesslike efficiency, mentally counting down the seconds. Rachel notices the chill from Elizabeth's corner -- the icicle on her nose tipped her off first. She peers nervously at the ceiling, then trudges upstairs.
Rachel peeks into Mark's room, which is dark. For some reason, he's now got mountains of tape on the Patchacle. Half his head is wrapped. He's a pirate mummy. He's Long John von Tut. Rachel's eyes widen. As she stares in horror, Mark's good eye flickers open and he drawls, "Hiiiiiiii," in a very weak and slurry tone. "I was just dreaming about you." Rachel is surprised. "Remember how much you loved balloons?" he breathes thinly. "I used to buy them for you, and right when I handed them to you, you let them go." No reaction from Rachel. I can't tell if that's by design, or bad acting. Mark begs her to sit with him, so she shuffles toward the bed and softly plops down next to her father. This is so pathetic. She's done nothing but freeze him out, and he's done nothing but forgive her. I guess that's parenthood for you, but I'd still hoped for something a little more firm from him so that he wouldn't die as ineffectually as he's lived.