Author: Lithium Shamrock (LS)

Spoilers: None

Paring: G/S
 
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……And it sickens you. Because although you feel the tears forming, they're not for her, the real victim, the victim sprawled out on a bed, hooked up to god knows what to keep her alive.

They're for you.

Your tears are selfish.

Your tears are because you identify with her.

You're crying for yourself.

You're crying because that might be you one day.

And people admire your stubbornness. And you admire it too; it makes you go in, day after day. You see people 'on the worse days of their lives.'

You are a part of the worst day of a person's life.

And you talk to her, mainly because you can't stand the silence.

But there isn't really silence; you can hear the heart and lung machine, the insistent drip, and a heart monitor.

And you know that if she didn't remind you so much of yourself, you wouldn't be there. You wouldn't be there if a male executive was lying in her bed.

You'd still want to catch the killer, but you wouldn't feel the undying need to.

And when you feel his presence behind you, you want him to take pity on you. You want him to break the barriers you've both put in place.

You want him to stop your tears.

You already know his reprimanding speech; but you want to hear it, so you can contest it.

Tell him that she's different. Deny that you empathise with her.

….and when he finally puts his arm around you – makes the contact that you've longed for…you feel yourself breaking apart.

Because you know the only reason he's comforting you, is because you're at the edge.