Title: Tethered
Author: Skylarcat
Classification: One shot. Angie Flynn, Oscar Vega.
Rating: PG 13 Tear jerker.
Feedback: Follow, Favorite, Review, Repeat. My new motto.
Summary: I started this story in a certain direction, and as I wrote one of the flashback scenes, the one involving Angie eating Oscar's food, I was tempted to toss the whole thing, because I liked the flashback so much, that I felt that this sad piece didn't do it justice, but at last, I decided to follow it through. I am completely unhappy with this story. I need to stop going in this direction. It's told with flashbacks, I put those in Bold, as a way to tell past from present. It's sort of a choppy piece. Actually, don't even bother reading this, lol. (For Goose, who listened to my emails, allowed me to bounce ideas back and forth, who listened to my random ideas, that made me come off insane, but insane can be entertaining. Who makes me think that we are going to land up in a Canada jail sometime next to Kristin and Louis, thinking "Damn, sounded like a good idea at the time," and them saying, "It was a good time, just not a good idea." LOL)
Note: Flynn and Vega are characters that do not belong to me. Yes, I have used them without permission. However, no copyright infringement is intended. And I will return them intact and a lot more satisfied.

"I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything." -F. Scott Fitzgerald

It takes the length of a single breath for him to realize what he is being told. Nurses dart around in the background, tiny dark specks. They move and sparkle like Christmas lights. He stares at the doctor's tie. Red and blue thick stripes, he focuses at where the fabric knots at the base of his neck. The doctor is young and tall, he remembers. She had once made a joke about him not being tall, that she was just being honest; that's what partners did. They joked and bantered. They weren't supposed to leave.

The young and tall doctor stands in front of him, wearing his long white coat, his lips drawn into a frown. "There were complications."

He doesn't want to hear it. So he thinks about the ocean; the crisp, fullness of waves hitting the shore. He thinks of bare feet against grains of sand. Anything other than the staleness of hospital walls and beeping machines.

"Due to her age," the doctor continues. "And the baby coming prematurely."

"The baby," he says. His fingers automatically clutching tighter the small teddy bear that dangles from their grip. It's brown and fluffy and has buttons for eyes. He had purchased it from the hospital's gift shop, only moments prior.

"The baby's fine," the doctor explains. "But there's postpartum hemorrhaging and we can't seem to stop the bleeding. I'm afraid she doesn't have much time to live."

The statement is blunt and sharp. The doctor might as well have been holding a knife. His words stab him, killing whatever is left of him. He can feel the thread that tethered her to him loosen, unknot, and slip away. He may never speak again. He counts the stripes on the doctor's tie. "I want to see her," he whispers. He is a man ready to explode into nothing.

His eyes snap open with a sudden jerk. He blinks them a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness that surrounds him. He can tell it's early in the morning from the violet light that creeps through his window blinds. Still too early to be awake. Another dream. They seem to haunt him more and more now. It's been four years and it still feels as raw as the day it occurred.

He tries to relax his breathing, rolling over onto his side. Instantly, he is greeted by a pair of crystal-blue eyes and a halo of blonde curls. Her plump little fingers cling to the side of the mattress as she stands on her tiptoes, peering up at him.

He props himself up on his elbow, giving his daughter a stern look. "Angie, what are you doing awake?"

She brushes the sleeve of her nightgown across her nose as she bats her eyes at him. "I couldn't sleep, daddy. Bad dreams."

She pouts out her lips, and with that look, he knows, he can't resist her. She is like her mother that way. She has him wrapped around her tiny finger. He throws back the covers. "Do you want to sleep here?"

She nods enthusiastically, blonde curls springing across her face. "Yeah," she says, already holstering herself up onto the mattress. Her Little Mermaid nightgown catches at her knees and she practically tumbles in beside him.

He brushes a few curls from her eyes as he tucks her in, folding the blanket tightly around her. He kisses her on the forehead. "Okay, sleep time." He repositions himself next to her, draping his arm across her. He lays his head on his pillow and finally closes his eyes.

"Daddy…" Her small voice interrupts the night once again.

He groans inwardly. "Yes, Angie…" He doesn't bother to open his eyes.

"When is brother visiting again?"

He sighs. She is her mother through and through. She has a curiosity, a wonder about her. She is always asking questions, always seeking answers. Somehow, it manages to break his heart and heal it at the same time. "Manny is finishing law school. He will be home at Christmas."

"Okay," she says, seemly satisfied with his answer. She pulls at a few strands of hair, letting out a tiny yawn beside him. "Tell me the story about how you and mommy met again," she says quietly.

But it catches his attention. He opens his eyes and she stares up at him. He sits up, resting his back against the headboard. "Aren't you tired of hearing that story?"

She nestles her head into his lap, closing her eyes as his hands begin to run through her hair. "It's my favorite story."

He takes a breath and closes his own eyes, trying to recall the first time he ever land eyes on her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, not in the classical way. There was an edge to her, a stubbornness that had attracted him. "Well," he starts, "Mommy was a detective like daddy."

"Did she carry a gun?" The four-year old asks, though she has heard the story a million times before, and already knows the answer. It's the smallest of details that she always seeks.

"Yes, mommy carried a gun, and a badge, too. She was a regular superhero." He smiles as he hears his daughter's soft giggles. She has her mother's laugh, he thinks.

"She looked like me, right daddy?" The question comes out with a drowsy undertone.

"That's right," he agrees. He can almost see her standing in front of him, her smile. She has her hands on her hips. Just waiting for him. "She had these blue eyes," he tells his daughter. "I swear, when she looked at you, she could see right through you. She saw everything. And she had these blonde curls. She was beautiful," his voice sounds faraway, even to his own ears. "Just like you," he adds, bending to give her wet kisses. She laughs and wiggles in his lap, and for a moment he isn't sad.

"Detective Oscar Vega, this is your new partner, Angie Flynn." Boyd introduces them and then hands him a vanilla file. "Here's your case," the man turns to leave, but pauses beside him. "Good luck, you're going to need it," he whispers and then he's gone.

He glances at his new partner, she looks harmless enough, but she's shooting him daggers. She crosses her arms across her chest defiantly, her eyes giving him the once over. "Listen, I'm sure you're a nice enough guy, but I know how this is going to unfold. You'll be here for a couple of weeks, and then you'll ask to be transferred. No offense, but I don't work well with partners."

He smiles because he knows this is going to be a challenge, and he loves nothing more than a good challenge. He decides then that there is no way in hell that he will ever be transferred. He's going to win her over. "No, I think I'll stick around; I'm a long-term kind of guy," he replies, handing her the case file.

She snatches it abruptly from his hand, giving him a knowing smirk. "Suit yourself, but I'm driving."

"I don't think mommy liked you very much, daddy," she says, rolling onto her back, staring up at him. She grins and places her little hand into his and gives it a squeeze. This part of the story always amuses her.

"No, mommy liked daddy. She liked him a lot," he tries to explain. "She was just playing hard to get."

This confuses his daughter, and she narrows her blue eyes at him, perplex. "What does hard to get mean?"

He thinks for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to put it into words. "It's when you like someone, but pretend that you don't." He hopes that this is a language that his four-year old can understand. Trying to describe love in simple terms proves to be challenging for him, because she was anything but simple. Angie Flynn was as complicated as they came.

He walks in carrying his food container and takes a seat at his desk. She smells his food and whips her head around to look at him. He pretends to pay her no mind and opens the container as though she is not even in the room. He hears the screech of her wheels against the concrete floor as she rolls her chair over to him. He doesn't even look up.

"What is that," she asks, in this exasperated tone, as though she cannot believe his audacity.

He arches his brow and pretends to be confused by her question. He glances down at his food and then back at her. "What does it look like? It's my lunch." He says, intending to have bravado to his tone, but his words come out flat and sounding more amused than anything.

She doesn't seem to notice, her eyes unweaving on his food. "Is that a cheeseburger," she questions in this whiny tone, one in which he imagines that only dogs can hear.

"Indeed it is," he says, lifting it up and taking a bite.

She looks like she is going to cry at any second. And he almost laughs out loud. "Are those fries?"

"You know it," he answers. He knows he shouldn't be getting this much joy out of teasing her, but she had it coming.

"And soda?"

He nods. "Yup."

"And you didn't think about bringing me back something to eat?" She snaps, and actually appears to be genuinely hurt by his carelessness. For a moment, he feels guilty, but then he remembers.

"No," he says. "Because that sounds like something a partner would do, and you don't do well with partners, remember?" He leans back in his chair and cocks a brow at her. He has her hook, line, and sinker. She rolls her eyes and he knows an apology is coming.

"Okay," she practically moans. "So I was a little rude earlier…"

"A little," he interrupts, smiling despite himself.

She throws her arms up in the air, surrendering. "Okay, a lot, I was really rude earlier and I am sorry."

He sighs. "Would you like some of my food?"

"Yup," she answers and before he knows it, she grabs a handful of fries, kicking her feet up onto the edge of his desk, and leans back in her chair. She stares at the evidence board, shoving a fry into her mouth. "Why you suppose our victim has two driver's licenses?"

He pulls his amused eyes away from her, and looks to where she is staring, thinking for a moment before answering. "Maybe because she is hiding from someone?"

She is not impressed by his answer. "That's too easy, there has to be something more to it." She picks up his cheeseburger, as though it is the most natural thing to do, and takes a bite.

The action surprises him, and briefly, he is caught off guard. "I was going to cut that in half."

"Yeah, well, you took too long," she says, taking another bite. Something flashes in her eyes and she drops the sandwich back in the container. "Our victim was adopted, right? Did it say that she had any siblings?"

He isn't sure where she is going with this, so he flips through the file, seeking out the answer. "Yeah, a sister."

She picks up his drink and takes a swig. "How much do you want to guess that it's a twin sister?"

She is brilliant, the way she is always connecting the dots, but at the moment, she is drinking out of the same straw as him, and that is the only thing he can focus on. "Seriously," he says.

She shrugs her shoulders, giving him the biggest grin he has ever seen. "Yeah, we're partners now, remember. We share everything."

Later, when he enters the precinct, he carries Angie on his hip, her head resting on his shoulder. She sucks on her thumb; it's a habit he doesn't seem to have the heart to break her from. It reminds him so much of her mother, the way she would bite at her thumb whenever she was in deep thought.

When little girl sees Lucas, she lifts her head, and wiggles in his arms, fighting to get down. He obliges, and she instantly shouts out, "Uncle Lucas," and runs in his direction.

The younger detective quickly spots her and squats down to her level, opening his arms out to catch her. She runs into them laughing and he picks her up. "There's my munchkin," he says affectionately. She wraps her arms around his neck, smiling broadly. "How about we visit the vending machines?"

She eagerly nods her head, while Vega shakes his. "You spoil her."

Lucas shrugs and grabs at her belly playfully. "That's what uncles are supposed to do, right?"

"Right," she agrees happily. "Can we get some cookies to share with Aunt Betty, too?"

"Of course, we can get some cookies to share with Aunt Betty, too," Lucas says in a childish tone.

He smiles at the interaction between them, knowing the young detective will make a great father himself, one of these days. He's great with Angie, always making her laugh. His daughter loves him.

He watches as the two disappear down the hall, heading in the direction of the break-room. When he can no longer see them he heads over to his desk, where he has some light paperwork waiting to be completed. He doesn't expect to be there long, but even so, he is grateful for the distraction that Lucas and Betty are willing to provide for his daughter. The little girl is just as much as a comfort to them as she is to him; they all grieve the loss of his partner.

At that thought, his eyes automatically go to her now empty desk. It sits where it always has, still untouched. He doesn't allow anyone to use it. He works solely with Lucas now, refusing the possibility of him ever having a new partner. The idea of working with someone else makes him feel like he's cheating on her, so he avoids it altogether. But her desk holds so many memories for him, ones that he's not ready to let go of.

He rounds the corner, and instantly he can see the small gift bag that is sitting on his desk. It's a small brown bag with orange and blue polka-dots and has coils of ribbons hanging from the handles. Angie glances at him sideways, but pretends like she knows nothing of it. He rolls his eyes as he scrolls over, standing and looking down at the bag. "What's this?" He asks.

She drops her pen and turns in her chair to look at him, wearing a fake surprise expression. "I don't know," she says, but her voice hints otherwise. "Why don't you open it?"

He's not one for surprises, but for her sake, he decides to play along for now, and moves the tissue paper aside, pulling out a white stick. He glances in her direction confused. "A stick," he says dryly.

She groans, frustrated at his inability to catch on. "Vega, you cannot be that dense," she says dumbfounded. "Look at it again."

He does. It's a small white stick that has two lines that cross creating a plus sign at the tip of it. And then it dawns on him. It's a pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test. He just stares at it silently, almost afraid to believe it. When he manages to bring his eyes up to glance at her, he discovers that she is smiling widely at him. "How can this be," his asks and his voice cracks.

She laughs and shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing across her face. "Well," she explains in an exaggerated tone. "Sometimes when a man and woman love each other…"

"I know that. I was there. I remember that part," he interjects. "But I thought the doctors said the chances of us conceiving were slim to none." His voice is low and he still grips the pregnancy test tightly in his hand, trying to make sense of everything.

"They were wrong," she says, standing and leaning against her desk. "I guess God has other plans for us." The statement surprises him, considering she has never been really religious.

"I'm going to be a dad," he says, but it comes out more like a question, as though he is unsure of the validity of what she is telling him.

"You're going to be a dad," she says, amusement and happiness written all over her, and he swears she's even glowing.

"I'm going to be a dad!" This time he shouts it so loud that Lucas and several other detectives glance in their direction. "I'm going to be a dad," he repeats, and he's so tempted to stand on his desk and scream it over and over, thanking the heavens for this miracle.

His fellow detectives clap and holler and cheer at the news. And he has never felt this happy in his life. He races across the room to his partner, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her around. He swears they are going to be a family; that he's going to make her happy, that he's going to get this one right.

He is finishing up the last of the paperwork, when he glances up to see his daughter running over to him. He pushes his chair back slightly as she eagerly climbs into his lap. In her hand is a small bag of cookies, her souvenir from her time spent with Lucas and Betty.

She pushes back an unruly curl and then focuses on opening the bag. She smiles, glancing at him sideways, her small fingers reaching into the bag. "I saved you some animal crackers," she informs him. "The camels, because I know those are your favorite." She extends out her hand, offering him the cookie.

He makes funny sounds as he bites off the camel's head. "Oh no, I don't have a head," he says in teasing voice, wiggling what's remaining of the camel in front of her.

She laughs and places her hands on the sides of his face as he shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth. "You're silly daddy."

"I know, daddy is silly," he agrees, picking up his pen and flipping through the last few pages of the file he has been reading.

She leans back, resting her head against his chest, her small legs kicking back and worth aimlessly. "We go home soon?"

"Yeah, we go home soon," he says, glancing at the photo that he keeps of his partner on his desk. In it, she is smiling and beautiful, the way he always remembers her. He doesn't like to think about the last time he saw her.

"She doesn't have much time to live," the doctor says. The statement breaks through the air sharply.

He blinks and thinks he must have misheard. There was no way this was happening. It was supposed to be a C-section. Her water wasn't supposed to break. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of their lives. Manny wasn't even there. "I want to see her," he says. If she is going to leave him then he's going to be at her side. Like he always has.

"Of course," the doctor says solemnly. "This way."

He leads him down a hall, pass doors and beeping machines. Fluorescent lights buzz and flicker overhead, and he stares at the ground, counting the tiles. He clutches the fluffy brown bear to his chest tightly, praying that this is a bad dream; that he would wake-up at any minute.

When he enters the room, she is still. And for a moment, he thinks he is too late, that he won't be able to tell her goodbye, to tell her all the things he had never gotten around too. But she turns her head to face him, wearing a knowing expression. They are trying to make her comfortable, but he can tell she is becoming weak. "I'm here, Angie," he says, walking over to her and holding her hand.

Her fingers intertwine his; they always fit so naturally together. How was he ever to go on without her? She was his other half, the reason he was a whole person. And now, he would have to learn to live incomplete. "How's the baby," she asks softly.

He struggles to find his voice, the tears already building in his brown eyes. "She's beautiful. She looks like you."

She's crying now, holding tightly onto his hand. "I want to see her."

He nods and turns to one of the nurses. "Can you please bring us our daughter?"

The nurse nods sadly and goes to retrieve their baby.

"I'm so sorry, Oscar," she says as he returns his attention to her. She's pale and her blue eyes are a shade duller.

"It's not your fault, Angie," he whispers. He's usually a man of faith, but in that moment he blames God, if there even is a God. The God he once believed in wouldn't give him everything he ever wanted just to take it all away. What kind of merciless god would do that? He would never believe in anything ever again.

The nurse reenters the room and hands him their daughter. She is so tiny in his arms and as he stares down at her, he wonders how he will do this alone. He holds her up so Angie can see her. "She's beautiful," she says, reaching out to touch her.

He is exploding into nothing, shutting down, and Angie knows this. She reaches over, brushing the back of her fingers along his jaw. "It's going to be okay, Oscar. You can do this." She glances back at their daughter for a moment and then returns her eyes to him. "You've made me so happy. In the end, I got to have you. I got to give you our daughter."

He cannot take it any longer and starts to sob uncontrollably. "You can't leave me, Angie. I can't do this alone."

"You can, Oscar," she says. "You have too. You can't let this break you. You have to be strong for her now." Their daughter wraps her tiny hand around Angie's finger, almost as though she understands the conversation. "Will you tell her about me," she asks.

"Every day," he answers. "Every day."

That night he tucks his daughter into bed, kissing her softly on the forehead. As he stands to leave, she grabs his wrist, and looks up at him pleadingly. "Tell me another story about mommy."

He takes a seat on the edge of her bed and thinks for a moment. He has a million stories, all important in their own right. "Did I ever tell you about the time I asked mommy to go with me to pop-pop's wedding?"

Her eyes light up as she shakes her head. It's a story she hasn't heard yet and she eagerly waits for him to continue.

"Well," he begins. "She was sitting at her desk, and daddy was so nervous because, well he thinks mommy might turn him down…" Her eyes are blue and alive as she listens to him tell the story. He'll tell her one every day, because he made a promise to his partner, to the love of his life, and he vows to keep it. Every day.