I have no idea where this came from, but I really wanted to punch Josh in the face. This seemed more practical. For readers who are new to my side of the fanfic universe, you will find that I tend to do my best without actually thinking. I generally just let my fingers type away and hope for the best. Some of my other fics are so far out there, I tend to get confused sometimes.

He should have known, realistically, how could he not?

They had met toward the end of summer. She had been visiting a victim just out of surgery, he had been checking on a patient. Exchanging numbers, they shared coffee and eventually became more than friends. She spoke little about her work, for legal reasons, but spoke fondly of her 'boys' Ryan and Esposito. The books on her shelf gave away her love for mystery novels, one author standing out in particular. He had no interest in the genre, mostly because he never had time to read, but he picked up Heat Wave on a whim, reading the dedication.

To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th

KB? Then he realised where he had seen her before. She was the cop who had the writer following her. He was curious to know about the situation, she merely told him that he was in the Hamptons and left it at that. Her bitter tone told him that things between them weren't going so well, so he dropped it.

Picking her up from the precinct had been interesting, though it was reassuring to finally put faces to names. All four men were looking at him with different stares, particularly the writer. The Hispanic and Irish detectives were giving him the all too familiar brotherly concern stare, but the writer looked like he was sizing him up… and how the hell did he get that close without making a sound? There was a secret smugness behind the realisation that she hadn't told them about him, especially the face drop from writer-boy when she reappears, bike helmet under her arm.

That should have been the dead give-away.

When he first returned to the 12th, all she would say was that the guy was a complete nine-year-old-on-a-sugar-high jackass. Eventually the conversation became about how he had put together the pieces of a case to catch the bad guy or how bad she felt that his childhood friend was a killer. He listened, slowly becoming more irritant at how taken she was by this guy. He could sense that after pulling both of them out of the storage container (if it weren't for the rest of her team, he probably would have let the guy freeze) and meeting her at the precinct, he could tell she was preoccupied but let it go. The writer had to know that she was his, no one else's, no matter how many times she reassured him that they were 'just friends'

Seeing her, lying on his operating table, blood seeping from her chest, that was the last straw. She was shot, at a funeral, by a freaking sniper. Damn right he was pissed. Writer tried to apologise but it was too late, the damage was done.

This is your fault!

It didn't matter that there were two cops that just happened to be his friends or the fact that the guy's daughter tried to take a swing, she could have died because writer boy had the balls to push her mother's case and now there was a high possibility that she could die. It was only because of her father that he walked away.

All of a week after her release did he really notice things were wrong. He hadn't seen Writer since they crossed paths at the hospital, a fact he was more than greatful for, but she had pulled away since waking up after surgery. She was still unaware of the near fight between him and the 'partner' but something should have told him that things would inevitably end there and then.

This isn't what I need right now

He hadn't said much, just walked away.

They hadn't spoken since. He moved on, never once thinking about her or Writer boy (ok, so he's lying to himself a little but who can blame him?)

He sees their picture two years later on page 6 of the Ledger. It's a simple candid shot, taken outside some fancy restaurant, clearly being taken as they pulled away from a kiss. Her profile is side-on but he can see a clear sparkle in her eyes, the glimmer of light that catches off of the ring on her left hand that rests on the side of his neck.

But what gets him the most is her smile.

It reaches every molecule of her face, making her practically glow with radiance and happiness that she finally found everything she wanted and more. It one of those smiles that you see and can't help but return. Despite his heavy sigh as he places the newspaper back on the table, he too can't stop the upturn of his lip.

He'd seen that smile on her before. Never aimed at him.

He should have known.