A nurse knocks on the door. Great hiding place, guys. Top notch. The nurse yells through the glass that Anspaugh and Romano are waiting for Weaver. "Tell them to start without me," Kerry replies emotionally, wiping her eyes. The alderman rubs his face, frustrated. "There's no record of the shot. It's too late for that," he begins. Weaver wants to tell the truth. "No one else knows?" Bright asks carefully. "Keith didn't say anything?" Weaver is disgusted. "Oh my God, Jonathan, he's dead, he's dead," she moans. "It hurts me more than you know," he says pleasantly, as if the loss of Keith smarts as much as a lightly stubbed toe. Weaver thinks his concern is bullshit. "You let the poor kid believe he gave you the syphilis," she spits. Bright insists that he does care, but that he's got to protect himself first, so she must tell him what people know. "I also have to protect you, and I have to protect this hospital, and a dozen other programs..." he says. "What about protecting your staff, your lover?" she seethes. Well, it has a syphilis sore on it, so it's a bit late to protect his staff. Bright takes a step toward Kerry, who continues trying to cower away from him. "This is not your fault," he says. "But if you confess to something like it was, people will treat you like it was." By now, Kerry's in a literal and figurative corner, staring at him through wide, frightened toes. "Don't worry," she says, sickened. "He lied for you. He loved you." The nurse raps on the glass again, still apparently the stupidest nurse alive for not noticing something major was going on in there. "And I killed him trying to hide that for you," Weaver says, nauseated by herself and her actions and his.