Disclaimer: I own nothing.

As requested by ChamblerBr.

– – –

Scorching water ran down her shoulders and through her dark hair, she watched several strands of water cascading down her breasts and stomach, swirling around the drain, and she closed her eyes, the feel of water gliding down her face not enough to calm the emotions building up in her chest.

She splayed her hands on the wall before her, her fingers gripping the damp tiles, and she clenched her jaw, the events of that day playing on a loop in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forgot. She didn't want those images in her head. She didn't want to see all that blood, hear those screams and know what happened, know exactly who walked away from it all. She couldn't find peace with her actions due to the outcome. She would never find peace.

She shut off the water and shuddered, lifting her head and moving wet hair back from her face. She inhaled with some difficulty due to steam, and she wrung out her hair, not once opening her eyes. She wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the shower. She picked up her toothbrush, squirted out a thick white strip of toothpaste onto it and scrubbed her teeth, watching her hazy actions in the steam-covered mirror.

She spat twice and rinsed her toothbrush off then her mouth, and she blew out a sigh on her way to her bedroom. It was late, passed midnight, and she had an early shift tomorrow. She promised Lilly she would pick Meghan up from school, and she had to pay rent tomorrow as well. She hoped the landlord wasn't in a foul mood, because her mood trumped his. It would linger with her for a while, they said, but she knew it would stay with her forever. Good shoot or not, it changed not only the suspect's life but her own. There was no way she could forget that. She would sooner forget her name before she forgot the look in those dark, empty eyes and the feel of her partner's blood seeping through her scarf. They stained her hands with blood, and while she had only felt Noah's blood, the blood that stained her hands belonged to the suspect. Her first kill. Christ.

She yanked the blanket over her head and quietly moaned, coiling up like a snake in her pajamas, and she closed her eyes, hoping that her dreams would be blank. She needed blank dreams to wash away today, even for an hour. Or eight, if she was lucky. Please just let her be lucky, if only for tonight.

– – –

"A psych evaluation? A therapist?" Tara questioned the next morning with the Captain. "I'm fine. It was a good shoot, and being poked at by a professional isn't going to make me feel better."

Espinosa met her eyes. "It's not open for negotiation, Chambler. I expect a call when the session is over from Cloyd. If I find out you skipped the session, you're risking your shield."

She cocked a hip. "Rosita, you know me. I don't need to have my head shrunk. If anyone needs to talk to someone, it's Noah. He was shot!"

"He is speaking to someone. His wife made sure of that. And besides, I just told you it's not open for negotiation. Please, don't make this any harder than it has to be." She rose from her seat. "I want you on desk duty for two weeks, and I expect you to meet with Cloyd for at least three weeks, twice a week, all right?"

She huffed. "Fine."

"It's not punishment." She smiled at her. "It's protocol."

"I know." She nodded. "I'll speak with this Cloyd tomorrow then."

"Here's the card." She held it out between two fingers. "If you want to talk to someone after who "won't shrink your head", I'm here. So is your partner."

"Yeah, but the last time I went to see him, he kept talking about purple elephants in the room and pink mice." She shrugged a shoulder, and Rosita chuckled. "Maybe when he doesn't have enough sedatives to subdue a small horse in him, I'll have a chat with him."

"That sounds like a good idea." She crossed her arms. "We're done here, detective."

"Captain." She departed the office and approached her desk, plopping down and tossing the card in a desk drawer that doubled as lost and lost. It was a frightening thing to poke through. She caught a whiff of a foul smell for the first year she sat here and found a sandwich from the older detective who used to sit here last month. It was disgusting until Dawn fainted at the sight and scent of it then it was priceless. She only wished she had a recording of it.

Since then she made a point to avoid sifting through the drawers for anything. She had lost a dozen packs of pens to this monster, and she wouldn't open anything but the top drawer to try and check for a pen. She hoped the card followed the same path as her pens and hair ties and packs of gum. She knew Rosita would lecture her afterward, but she didn't need a therapist. All it would do was keep the shooting alive, and that was last thing she wanted. She would work this out herself. She had more important things to worry about—like her partner who took one to the shoulder. She needed to pay him another visit and see if he was lucid enough to have a conversation with people who were actually in the room. She should check in on his wife and kid too.

Her eyes fell on the picture on her desk, and she exhaled. It was taken on Meghan's 12th birthday. It was her favorite picture of them—Lilly, Meghan, Dad and herself. It was the last birthday they had with all four of them present. Dad passed on a month later. It hit Meghan the hardest, and Lilly and Tara did their best to always be there for her. She was a trooper, but like the rest of us Chambler women, she wore armor and kept everything inside. She knew where—and who—she'd learned it from, and it broke her hear to think Meghan could be suffering in silence right now. She went out of her to give Meghan happy memories and laughter when she could, but she didn't know if it was sufficient. She could keep on making her smile and laugh, and hope dark thoughts didn't taint her in any way. Eventually they would seep through, but not at this age, not at fourteen.

"How was the meeting?" Sasha sat in the chair beside Tara's desk. "You look pale."

"I spent the week binge watching one of the shows my ex suggested." She shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't get much sun."

Sasha crossed her legs. "Uh-huh. Again I ask, how was the meeting? Do you have to see Cloyd?"

"She suggest her to you too?"

"No, actually, I asked."

"You asked?" Her brows rose.

"I did it, because it builds up, Tara. I wanted to have the best there for me." She gestured with her hand, the other holding her coffee. "I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get help. I did a few sessions, but I never even scratched the surface of my the real issue. It got to the point where it began to affect my job, and I hesitated to pull the trigger. I was in a fatal position, and instead of firing at the suspect...I froze and took two in the chest. PTSD is real, and you need to see someone."

"I know, but this is different."

"That doesn't matter. An armed dealer or a serial killer, you still shot a fourteen-year-old girl. You saved your partner's life until help arrived, but that doesn't change the facts." She locked eyes with her. "You had no choice, and I fully support what you did; it was a good shoot. But that doesn't mean you're okay, that doesn't mean you won't regret it later."

"What's to regret? She shot my partner and murdered five other people, and I did everything by the book." She glanced at her watch. "I have to pick up my niece. Excuse me."

Sasha watched her friend of eleven years scurry from the station, and she shook her head. She knew there was no way in hell Tara was all right, just like she knew Tara had tossed the card with Cloyd's number on it in the desk that probably lead to Narnia. She would have to call Denise and let her know where to find Tara. She could make her see why she needed to talk about it, and Sasha owed Tara this. She would forgive her later, or make sarcastic jabs at her for the next year and a half, but that was fine too. She wanted what was best for her, and from experience she knew avoiding the situation wasn't going to do her a shred of good.

––

Tara pushed up on the tips of her toes, her hands buried in her jacket pockets to keep the cold away, and she saw her niece with her friends pooling out of the building. She smiled and waved to get her attention, Meghan parted ways with her friends and joined her aunt, and Tara saw flashes of the girl she had shot. The way Meghan's light hair drifted behind her, the way her arms moved—it was very like the other girl.

"Aunt Tara." She grinned at her. "You came!"

Tara snapped back to reality. "Of course. Why wouldn't I have come?"

"Well, being a big time homicide detective and all," she joked, "I thought you'd forget about the little people."

"I tried my best, but as much as I tried my phone kept ringing and yelling messages of how I had to pick up my niece. It's weird how feminine my phone sounds."

"You're so weird." She laughed nevertheless. "I have a book report due on Thursday, could you drop me off at the library?"

"Nope, only home." She opened the car door. "You have Internet for that exact reason."

"Have you seen my computer? It was made when dinosaurs roamed the Earth." She slipped in the car and stuffed her backpack on the floor between her ankles. "It coughs up more dust than a broken sweeper, and it smells like I'm burning plastic. It's a hazard."

"Or an adventure. The smell and the dust will encourage you to write the report and not procrastinate." She started the car. "Besides we both know the only reason you want to go to the library is because you like that boy."

"What?" Meghan was flushing, and she tried to throw her aunt off. "That's ridiculous! I don't—like any boy."

"You know, you can tell me that without screeching." She drove toward the apartment where her sister lived.

She stared at her aunt with her mouth open, and she slouched in the seat. "How did you find out?"

"I'm a cop. It's my job to notice details." She tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. "Plus your mom told me last week."

She blushed even more. "Of course she did." She gazed out the window. "You and Mom are the worst, you know."

"How are we the worst?"

"You're always talking about me behind my back—my grades, my interests, my crushes. It's not fair. You guys never talk to me about your stuff."

"We don't talk about you behind your back. Your mom's just catching me up to speed on your lives."

"Same difference." She huffed.

"What things do you want to know about?" She peeked at her niece's face. "Do you want to know how many hot pockets I ate last night? Or that I can hold more vodka than water?"

She licked her bottom lip and straightened up. "Okay, what about Noah? You never told me what happened there."

"Noah was shot. That's the whole story."

"Oh, come on, Tara. The whole school knows that a kid shot him." She rubbed her hands together. "Him and five other people."

"How do you know about that?" she demanded.

"She's a serial killer, and she's my age. Everyone at school is talking about it." She lowered her voice like it was a secret. "She went to my school last year. Isn't that freaky? If she hadn't transferred, I'd have gone to class with a serial killer."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Mom says you killed her," Meghan continued. "That you did it to protect your partner. I think it's cool, and you did the right thing. She was...nuts."

"Meghan, I just said we were done talking about this," she snapped. "I don't want you to mention it again, okay? It wasn't cool. It wasn't right. It was just my job."

Meghan lowered her eyes. "It doesn't change the facts—she deserved it."

Tara shook her head and flicked on the radio, her eyes on the road. She didn't want to think about this anymore. She knew it was hot news this week, but by this time next week a new, juicy story would replace this one. She had to hold on until then. Once everyone stopped discussing it, she would stop feeling this way, and she wouldn't see her face everywhere. It was her duty to protect the people and to protect her partner. It was a good shot, and she had no reason to feel this way. She only felt guilty, because Noah took a bullet he didn't have to. If she had just kept running, they might have been able to subdue her, and it wouldn't have happened. She needed to find a way to get over that guilt. Maybe when she saw him next. She had to keep it together until then.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Meghan tossed her backpack and jacket on the couch. "Mom has to work to cover another nurse's shift, so I'm ordering pizza."

"I have to get back to work." She offered her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, kid, rain check."

She nodded. "I'll just eat it while "adventuring" over my laptop."

She smirked. "Have fun with that. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time, same place, right?"

"All year round." She unraveled her scarf. "Stay warm, okay?"

"You too." She hugged her goodbye. "I love you, Meg."

"I know." She stepped back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She watched niece disappear to her bedroom, and she left. Meghan hadn't been able to tell anyone she loved them since Dad passed on. Lilly noticed it on her birthday this year, when Meghan didn't write I love you on the bottom of the card as she'd always done. Since then Lilly and Tara told her they loved her to see if she would say it back, but so far she hadn't. They didn't know if they should have her see someone. Lilly wanted her to be able to talk through her grief and any regrets she may have had, but Tara was positive Meghan just needed their love and reassurance. So far Lilly's option was becoming more and more appealing, and Tara only wanted what was best for Meghan. She wouldn't agree to talk to someone, but if Lilly made her, it might work.

She didn't like the idea of someone probing around in her niece's mind to try and find where the gears stuck together. She did truly want what was the best for Meghan, however she wasn't sure that was therapy. She would have to open up about her life to some random stranger, and Tara didn't know how she could do that when she wouldn't tell her own family what was wrong. Maybe she was worried this person could understand her better than she or Lilly could. Maybe she was worried there was a deeper issue here. She didn't want to wake up and find a complete stranger in her niece's eyes, but as the days when on, that's exactly what was happening. How could a stranger look at her and aid her in returning to herself? How could someone who hadn't been there from the start calm whatever storms Meghan had inside her? How could someone else recognize and shake loose the anguish and anger of loss in her better than family?

She grumbled and padded down the stairs to her car. She wasn't particularly eager to be on desk duty, but she couldn't escape her fate. It was just two weeks, right? If Rosita tried to up the time, she was going to bash her head against a wall. No one liked desk duty, and she hated all that paperwork. It was a nightmare. She had smears of ink on her hands for days afterward. She wasn't ready for this hell, but it was coming. She decided to treat herself to coffee and some chocolate donuts on the way. It wasn't a cop thing. It's just... who the hell didn't love donuts?

– – –

"Did you finish typing up the release papers of that drunk and disorderly?" Sasha inquired the next day to desk duty Tara.

"It's taking more time than I thought. All these periods and commas."

"Really?" She arched a brow.

"No, I'm holding him out of spite." She lifted her eyes from the computer screen. "He called me a rugmuncher."

She nodded. "How long can we hold him before Captain makes us release him?"

"I don't know. Wanna find out?"

"I do." Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen. "I have to go, but let me know how this works out."

"Wait, what's going on?"

"Same old, same old." She shrugged a shoulder. "I'll talk to you later."

She groaned and watched Williams and Lerner head out. Grimes was her usual partner, but when one of the kid's sick, Grimes won't leave his or her side. She was tempted to sneak out, but Rosita would know. Her desk was directly in front of her office, and there was no hope of slipping out clean. She would have to suffer and do her time. One week, six days. God, she hoped some livelier—and kinder—drunks came in or something. She couldn't handle the tap, tap, tap of computer keys coupled with the clicking clock. She felt like she was in high school all over again, and those awkward four years deserved to be buried in the past. Eeh.

An hour passed by, Tara continued to delay their lovely guest's release, and she began to stack pencils. She wasn't trying to make anything, but it was either stack pencil or, you know, do her job. She wasn't worried about the system falling to pieces while she stacked pencils. She had done the major items earlier. She wasn't a slacker, but there was little need to take initiative with what was left.

Somehow even more bored with slacking, she was about to return to work when someone stopped by her desk, and she raised her head. A blonde woman with glasses stood before her, green eyes locking with hers, and she cleared her throat to speak, but the woman cut her off in a gentle tone.

"Tara Chambler, right?"

"Uhh, yes. That's my name." She stood up. "Can I help you with anything?"

"You can." She reached in her pocket her and pulled out a card. "You can come see me."

"Excuse me?" She accepted the car, seeing the name Denise Cloyd. "Oh, you're Cloyd."

"Yes, I am." She adjusted her glasses. "You were supposed to stop by yesterday."

"I got busy."

She ran her eyes over her desk. "With stacking pencils?"

"It's rude to trivialize my vastly important duties."

She gave a small smile. "I didn't mean to offend. Clearly this wouldn't be finished without your dedication."

"I try."

"Will you try to come and see me then?"

"Persistent, aren't you?"

"It's mandatory."

"I'll make my way to you," she promised. "Soon. I just have a lot on my hands right now, but I'll try for next Thursday."

"Don't wait that long." She took back the card she handed Tara and wrote on the back of it. "This is my home number and address. Don't hesitate to call or stop by if you feel anxious. I work from home too, so don't think it's weird that I just gave you my address."

"Thank you." She stuffed the card in her pocket. "Can I call you Denise? I'm not one for formalities."

"That's fine, just no nicknames."

She gave a nod. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"No, that wasn't all." She pointed behind her. "Your pop machine ate my dollar. That root beer was the highlight of my night."

She laughed. "It's a piece of shit. Let me help you with that."

Denise followed her back to the machine. "What are you going to do?"

"Just keep a lookout." She stepped back and slammed her boot against the side of the machine, the sound of clanking came and Denise chuckled. "You have to be rough with the old girl."

"Thank you." She pulled a can of root beer out. "I should go. I have an appointment in an hour."

"I'll probably see you soon."

She held her hand out and shook Tara's hand, slipping her the root beer on her way out.

"Hey, wait, didn't you want this?" Tara called.

"Not a fan," she replied. "Enjoy your stacking!"

She tilted her head. "Huh." She opened the can and stepped back toward her desk. She was an odd woman. Maybe talking to her wouldn't be the end of the world. Or maybe she could stack the pencils around the can.

––

It was going on eight when Tara asked to leave for the night. Her fingers were exhausted, and her back hadn't been this stiff from sitting in the same position since she used to lie in bed and binge watch TV series. Granted that was last weekend, but still. She needed to go for a run and wake up.

"We need you here," Rosita replied.

"To do what?" Tara put her hands on her hips. "Unless my new job is to make sure no one steals the staplers, I'm sure the guys can handle everything here."

"Did you set up an appointment?"

"Maybe I could if I wasn't making sure no one stole our number two pencils."

"Fine, you can leave, but I do expect a call soon."

"I expect my roommate from college to return with beer—and my car."

"You're not planning on seeing Cloyd?"

"It was just a joke." She held her hands up. "So, I can leave?"

"Yes, you can go. Have a nice night."

"Thanks, beautiful." She turned on her heel.

"Tara."

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

She was in the doorway. "As a friend, I'd like you to see this therapist. I worry about everyone of you, especially after a shooting. The one you endured was rough, and I want you to be okay."

"And I will be." She flashed a brilliant smile. "Have a nice night, Captain."

The cold winter breeze greeted her as she hopped down the stairs and toward her car. She shivered and sucked in icy air, digging her keys from her car, and she clicked her tongue. She reached out to unlock her door when she heard brakes screeching.

A car slid on the ice and ran a stoplight, a group of kids were in the street, and Tara shouted to them. The scattered to try and dodge the car, and she ran over to make sure they were all right when the car stopped spinning in circles, and she almost relaxed. Then she saw the blood on the sidewalk and her eyes widened, following the path to one of the girls in the group.

"Call an ambulance!" She dropped beside the girl who couldn't be older than sixteen, and she looked over the wound she'd sustained on the back of the head. One of the kids from the group was scrambling to tell the 911 operator their location, and Tara checked for a pulse, never taking her eyes off the girl's face. "Stay with us, okay? Stay with us."

A man rushed over to Tara and unconscious teenager girl. "Is she okay? I tried to stop! I did. My car just slid on the ice, and I couldn't stop." His voice trembled. "God, she doesn't look good. Will she be okay?"

Tara whipped her head around. "Why don't you back up and get some air? All right? You're not helping anyone by crowding her. Help is on the way." She ran her eyes over him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He stepped back like she had ordered.

She returned her attention to the girl and held her hand. "It'll be okay. Help is coming, and you'll be fine. You'll be fine."

– – –

It was ten 'o clock at night, a fresh blanket of snow covered the ground and more fluttered down, covering streetlamps and cars; giving kids hope that maybe school would be closed tomorrow. It was a beautiful night for snow, and the soft lamplight lit up and reflected sparkles. It was tranquil and picture perfect.

Tara found herself on a park bench alone that night, the freezing snow and temperature having no affect on her. Snowflakes piled on shoulders and on her dark hair, melting slowly at her warmth, but she was leaning over, staring at her boots so no snow touched her legs.

Perp has a gun! Officers in pursuit on foot!

She shuffled her feet, the frigid temperature having sunk through the layers of her boots and socks and numbed her toes. She couldn't feel much of anything, to be honest. The tips of her ears, her cheeks, her nose, her lips—all numbed by the winter chill. Her heart was racing in her chest, and her mind played images of the shooting, but the rest of her body remained still.

Stop! Police!

She jerked her head to the side, as if that would save her from seeing the events unfold in her head.

Stop!

– – –

The sound of vigorous knocking woke the young woman, and she groaned when she saw the time. It was ten minutes to midnight. She nonetheless picked herself up and ambled to the door, removing the lock chain and turning the lock. She opened to find Detective Chambler standing there with pale features and shaking.

"Tara." Denise blinked several times and squinted to make sure she was seeing correctly. She hadn't put on her glasses. "What are you doing here?"

"She didn't stop when we commanded her to," Tara muttered so low that Denise couldn't hear her. "She kept going. She was fast. She could've gotten away, but... then she did stop. Why did she stop?"

"Tara, do you know what time it is?"

"You said to come by...if I felt anxious." Tara's misty brown eyes met Denise's. "And I—I didn't know where else I could go."

"Come inside." She stepped over and showed her in, locking up after her. "Have a seat." Her hand brushed Tara's, and she frowned. "You're freezing."

"I...was out in the park." She shook her head. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I'll put on some...thing. I don't know what I have. Do you like tea?"

"It's fine." She sank onto the couch. "I don't mind. I'll drink pretty much anything."

"Okay." She rubbed her wrist then swiped a blanket from the hall closet and tossed it over Tara's shoulders. "You'll catch a cold being out in this weather."

"Thank you." She hugged it tighter.

Denise filled the kettle with water once she ensured she had tea, and she rubbed a hand under her eye to rub away the exhaustion so she could speak to Tara. She repressed a yawn and pulled down two cups from the cabinet. She grew curious as she glanced over the few tea options.

"If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to come and talk to me?"

When there was no answer, Denise turned around and found the worn detective passed out on her couch. She crossed her arms and let out a soft laugh, flicking off the stove. She tiptoed over to her and whispered her name to see if she was asleep or just drifted off, but Tara didn't respond. She wasn't sure how she felt with a stranger in her living room, but she knew Rosita and Sasha, and they both were close enough to Tara to call her and ask her to keep on Tara until she came for a session. She trusted them, and they wouldn't be so fond of Tara if she wasn't considerate and respectful. Although knocking on her door at this time of night was a little rude, but given the state she was in, it's all right. She would let her rest and in the morning, they would have talk.

She turned the lights off and crawled back to her bed. She closed her eyes and rolled on her back, setting the her hand on her hand and falling asleep in seconds.