So this story line has been done before. I'm sure of it. Many many times. The entire thing is in Lilly's POV, except for the italicized passage which is a flashback to the night before. I was worried about this angle, but I've seen it used before, very well, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

If you guys like it, it will hopefully be a three part story, but I guess it could stay a oneshot too.

Disclaimer: So yesterday I was watching Cold Case, and I noticed they [bleep] out words like pissed, ass, and bitch in the captions. Isn't that going a bit overboard seeing as it aired at late at night? Anyways, I digress, I don't own them.

Chapter 1: Steal My Breath

I'm walking down the street next to my partner, Scotty Valens, as we make our way back to the precinct in silence. Usually we'd be bantering back and forth, sometimes subtly, and sometimes, admittedly not so subtly flirting, but today, I honestly think you could cut the tension with a knife, it's so thick. You see, me and my partner, well it's been complicated and last night it got a whole lot more complicated, but I'm getting there. On the work front though, it's a day like any other, put away a bad guy, clean some of the low-life two-bit scum up off the streets, make the world a safer place, get underpaid doing it. The life of a murder cop.

Now I'm not complaining or anything, no way. I chose this career, worked damn hard to get it, and I'm happy with it. Most of the time anyways. After all, what could be more satisfying than putting away murderers? Well, other than I don't know, saving babies in Africa or something of that nature. Here I go again, rambling. Anyways, the original point was, I like my job, and I'm very protective of it.

Okay, now you're looking at me and asking how does one be protective of one's job. Well it's easy enough really, just keep it separate from your train wreck of a personal life. I'm not crazy, or as my therapist would say emotionally closed off, I'm just doing what I have to. Yeah, the therapist, you're wondering about that, I'll get there too.

Cold cases are a safe place to be, as far a homicide goes. More often than not, our doer is dead, or senile, or completely harmless, but recently we've had our fair share of serial killers and crazed office shooters too. What does this have to do with the therapist? Well, it seems the department decided that after shooting someone else in a dark attic, and getting shot in the same damn place I work everyday, I'm bound to have a screw loose up there, which is why I ended up with office mandated counseling.

Don't you hate it when someone else decides you've got issues? Hell I know I have issues, but they're mine and no one else's, especially not when that someone else insists on putting them on a slide and sticking them under a microscope. I guess you can tell I resent my therapist. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice lady, it's just the therapy in general. There isn't any need to go digging around in my past, and I'm sure as hell not about to do it now.

So where was I? Oh yeah, Scotty. Well, to explain about Scotty I guess I have to talk about all the other men in my life. So remember the train wreck of a personal life I mentioned before? That just about sums up my relationships in… six words. I haven't had the easiest go of it. Men flit in and out of my life, and no one stays around long enough to really get to know me. Not that I make it easy for them. Hell that's probably a big part of the problem. I think it's probably genetic, you know, the not letting anybody in thing, but I've come to accept my single life. My cats and I are perfectly happy on our own thank you very much.

That's why I was so surprised when Scotty showed up at my door yesterday. I'm used to seeing him at work, clean shaven and in neatly pressed suits, but it's two in the morning when he's hammering on my front door like he wants to break it down and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. Stupid really, I should've known, everyone else seems to take pleasure in informing us of how clueless we are. Doesn't matter now I guess.

So when I saw him last night, he was sporting what looked like day old stubble, and his hair looked like, well it looked like what mine looked like that morning after Olivia took my pillow and Tripod used my head as a bed. So he's at my front door, and for reasons I can't begin to fathom, he's furious, as if he'd been stewing in something for ever and was only now acting on it. I suppose that should've been my first clue, that, or what he said next.

"I dunno what the hell you want me to do about you Lil!"

Okay, so that got my blood boiling. What I want him to do about me? Excuse me, but I didn't work my ass off into homicide to get spoken to like that. I didn't know if he was drunk, or just pissed because the latest skanky bimbo he tried to pick up threw a drink in his face or something, but he was off his rocker. And I told him so. I tried to push him out of my house, but he's stronger than me, and before I know it he's pacing my living room, muttering nonsense, or else just boring holes through my furniture with his eyes.

Kind of like he's doing now, except I don't know what he's trying to burn now, maybe the side walk or that hot dog stand. He's probably thinking about the last words we exchanged, voices raised, before he finally left, just like I am. I wonder if he's regretting it.

"I'm freakin' in love with you Lilly! I been in love with you since day one, and I know you feel the same way, so just tell me, what do you want-?"

"Shut up! Just shut up Scotty! God, what is wrong with you?"

"What the hell you talkin' about?"

"Can't you see you've ruined everything? We are NEVER going to be anything but friends and partners, and now I don't know if we can even be that. I. Don't. Love. You."

"You don't mean that."

"GET OUT! Just get out of my house."

"Lil-"

"Just get out!"

I know, I'm cringing now too. I can't believe I said those things, but can you believe he said what he said? He's in love with me? He's been in love with me for longer than since the effects of the alcohol started? To spring that on me is nothing less than suicidal, although I didn't deal with it in the best of ways. I know I hurt him. My therapist has nicknamed this The Porcupine Routine. People get close, quills go up, people get hurt, people don't get close anymore. But Scotty… he just won't stop shaking my walls, no matter how much I hurt him.

I look over at him, and find him still staring straight ahead. We haven't said a thing since last night, just avoided each other like the plague. This silence, well it's my specialty, my coping mechanism. Scotty has never been able to keep it all inside. For him to be ignoring me, well it makes me wonder how badly I've messed this all up.

I lied, you know. When I said I don't love him, I was just, saying things, things that I wish to God I could take back. I just got scared, that's all. I admit it; I was scared when he put the truth out in the open like that. I figure the best thing to do now is to talk to him. Boy, have the tables turned. Now here I am, trying to catch his eye, get him to slow down a bit so I can say something.

What would I say anyway? I'm sorry seems like a good place to start, but I know Scotty, and he's going to be expecting more than that. Whatever Rush, just say something, before you get back to the precinct and he disappears to the other side of the room.

I put my hand on his arm then and stop him from walking anymore. He's facing me now, but he's not looking at me, he's focused instead over my shoulder, across the street. I try to catch his eye, I want him to be looking at me, he has to be looking at me to understand that I'm being honest.

He just keeps looking over my shoulder, but I sense that it's no longer because he can't stand looking at me. His eyes widen with horror and I know something's wrong. Before I know what he's doing, his hand is on my upper arm, his grip hard and vice like. I gasp, he's never touched me like this before, not that touching was something we usually do. In one fluid motion, he tosses me to the side with as much force as he can muster.

I lose my balance and fall into the side of a building next to us. Just as I'm straightening up, I'm about to yell at him. So he doesn't want to talk to me, oh boo, but how dare he manhandle me like that? A single, piercing gunshot fills the air and stops me in my tracks.

Oh God.

Scotty.

He's falling, hitting the pavement as if in slow motion. Time stops, or I swear it does because there's no way time can keep right on going when I've stopped breathing. Stopped thinking, stopped… everything.

Why didn't I say it? I love you. I care about you. I can't imagine ever living without you.

Why didn't I say it?

So this turned out much more angsty than I meant it to. Lilly's inner musings were supposed to be humorous. I think this could stand alone, but if you guys are interested, I'll post the other two chapters. I'm a sucker for a happy ending too.