(Disclaimer: Honestly? After what I've just gone through writing this, Dick can have 'em. I'm glad they don't belong to me.)
(A/n: Just because I'm getting a tiny bit annoyed, guys – no one take this too harshly – but when I post a drabble or one-shot and clearly label it that – and mark it as completed, I'm not going to update it. So please don't ask me to.)
Fall came early this year. It ended summer quickly, giving us no break between the heat and the chill of the beginning of winter.
She would've hated it. The sudden blast of cold. She hated the cold. It always chapped her hands, without fail.
But she did like walking through the park while the leaves were in their full color. She could be so different off than job than she was on it… she confused the hell out of me, most of the time.
She'd laugh when I looked at her, completely confused by her actions. She was so much more, when she wasn't working. I only heard her truly laugh for the first time, when we were together.
We talked about what we'd do, if something happened to one of us. I hated having that conversation with her, but every cop has to have it with the people around them, eventually. She didn't want me to let life pass me by, she said. She wanted to know I'd be able to move on, if something happened to her.
I don't know about moving on, but she's not in my thoughts every waking second. I can walk by her desk, which has been taken over by yet another green detective, fresh off the beat, without seeing her there. Wondering why someone else is there.
She'd made plans, in case this happened. Had it all arranged. She never wanted to burden anyone. She knew there was a risk something might happen to her, suddenly, so she left instructions with some attorney.
They laid her in the ground beside her mother. It was she wanted. Part of me knows I'll never understand why she wanted to be buried here, but the other part does understand, in a way.
Someone's been here, recently, I notice, seeing the weeds and dirt cleared from around the stone. And it wasn't me. She made me promise I wouldn't be at her grave, constantly mourning her. She didn't want that. So I keep that promise. I come here – but not as often as I used to.
I see the flowers there, resting against the rock. It could have been anyone from our squad or someone else she met in her career. She had a lot of friends – I discovered that the first day I came here. Her funeral.
The Department buried her with commendations. Medals. And I could almost hear her protesting that, in my head, the day of her funeral.
I take a closer look at the flowers left there. It wasn't Elliot. He can't stand to come here yet. Losing her hasn't been easy for him; but it hasn't been easy for any of us. The young rookie working with him now does seem to have her patience, but lacks her understanding of him. The kid flinches and jumps when he gets out of control.
I think it might have been Don who came up here. She didn't ask for any special favors or anything like that, but she was like a daughter to him. She was an adult, so he didn't have to go through any of the trials of raising a kid, but she saw him as a father figure. That much I know.
Her name's carved into the stone, to the right of her mother's. But she's not here. She's not with me, complaining about the sudden blast of cold that comes with the fall. She's fallen.