She knows.

It's only her fifth minute at the scene, but she knows. She knows all too well. She can see it in everyone's faces, the remorse, the pain.

And then she breaks.

She finds herself on the pavement, her knees curled up to her chest and her body sobbing hysterically. She doesn't care that her makeup is running down her face, or that everyone is staring at her. All she cares about is that it's over.

She'll never see him again, she knows. Wrapping her arms around herself, she makes an attempt to calm down. It doesn't work.

Then people start to move. It seems, after being frozen for the beginning of her breakdown, everyone has awoken again. Her friends, colleagues and partners swarm around her, hugging her and patting her and whispering soothing things like 'It's going to be okay' and 'It's fine'.

But it's not going to be okay, she knows. It's not fine. She's not fine. No one should be fine, because the thing she cared most about in her entire life was gone, torn from her grasp, and she can never get it back.

So she cries. She never cries in front of these people, but today, she does. Today is different. Everything she loves will never be the same again.

Suddenly, she finds something being placed into her hand. She can't tell who put it there through her blurry eyes– probably some paramedic or maybe even Lanie. But as soon as she runs her fingers over it, she knows what it is.

And then she snaps.

It isn't fair. She's holding a little velvet box in her hand and he's gone and it isn't fair. She's screaming it out into the air, but no one cares. Someone – probably Lanie again – circles their arms around her shoulders and pulls her close.

She doesn't want anyone to touch her but him. She doesn't want to feel any hands, any arms, any fingertips unless they're his hands, his arms and his fingertips.

She's out of control now. She can't take it. It's been four years, but finally, it happened. Finally, the inevitable had broken through their strong-as-possible line of protection and had forced its way into their lives.

She feels like it's her fault. She just knows it has to be. If she hadn't gone home to relax at the end of the day, she'd have gone with the boys to the bar. She'd have been there. She would have protected him. But no, she'd gone home. To take the night off.

This was her fault.

It would always be her fault.

Three days later, she's wearing the ring.

She walks into the precinct that day, holding her bag and coat on one arm, and keeping her other arm free. So everyone can see her hand.

So everyone can see what he'd meant to her.

And as she walks, as her heels click on the ground, everyone can see that she's not okay. Everyone can see right through her eyes, right down into her soul.

She seems okay.

But she never will be.

...I don't know. I'm in a mood today, you know? Anyways, tell me what you think.