Crews was standing in the rain, face tilted up in it. She stood there for awhile, her hood up, rain spattering off the LAPD issue slicker, a soft frown on her face as she stared at him. She let out a noisy breath, looked heavenward for a half second, and moved.

"Crews," she said, carefully stepping up to his side to squint out over the rain soaked vista. He didn't move. "Crews, you with me?" Nothing. She took a sopping wet handful of his shirt.

He came back.

"Reese?"

"Yeah," she said, pointing. "Crime scene is being washed away."

"It's not here," he said absently, staring at her hand which still had his shirt and pulled her in close so she could see what he meant. She blinked. "Look up, Reese."

She looked up, frowned, and her hood fell back from her face. Crews's voice was soft and she still was definitely pressed up against him. He was warm despite the rain, though he was shivering lightly. He didn't care, or was just ignoring it, and she had to lean into him to keep her footing. He shifted just a little, leaning his frame back and tilting her in the process so she'd get it. And then she did. She saw it, the space where their vic had fallen through.

"The crime scene isn't really here," he murmured.