She remembered a time when things were a little less difficult, back when they were younger and everything was new and exciting. Like most people of their age and in their position, things were just fun and games. Carver, her, and Wesley were still rookies in the squad and it was just a regular night on patrol. In all honesty, they were a little bored, probably all wanting to catch some big shot in the act, bring him down, maybe use their guns for the first time, then come back the next morning being hailed as heroes.

They were all sat in the car drinking coffee. Sure, they did need it, but it was more down to the fact that they were goofing around and deliberately playing stereotypes. All they needed was a box of donuts, but at that hour, you couldn't get hold of any that weren't gas station-bought and hard and flavorless as rock. She also remembers exactly what they were talking about just before, how it was Wesley's first anniversary the next day (or more accurately, that day), and what he was going to do about it as he had forgotten all about it. She knew his wife, and unless they came up with something that night, they 'might have to drag his body from the water in a week or so'. Much laughter, but it was inevitable as the two Hawke siblings had no solution, having never been in that situation (apart from maybe their mother's birthday).

It was a pleasant evening, boring even; they had driven around a little, but were mostly parked, just talking and keeping a semi-watchful eye on the street in front of them. It was strange; being the idiots that they were, they tried to stay within the red light districts of town ('because what's the point of keeping an eye on the safe parts of town?'). Two coffees each later, and still nothing.

Not that this was anything new. In retrospect, it was a safer time.

A car flew past them. At least it was something, so they followed it, sirens blasting. Even though this was a minor criminal, it was still someone to catch (and also to cure their boredom, though that part paled in comparison to their own motives). Halfway up the freeway, a second car sped by, overtaking the first but not bothering to get back into lane. They all had smiles on their faces; a car chase was something exciting, right?

Neither of the offending cars pulled over when asked, even with Carver making exaggerated hand signals to the drivers. Carver was also driving, so she kept yelling at him to keep his eyes on the road whilst she and Wesley tried to communicate with the drivers. As she watched the cars, she noticed that that both of the other drivers were yelling at each other, rather aggressively in fact; this wasn't just a case of road rage. The whole thing was a blur of flashing lights, loud voices, and eventually the sound of breaking glass. Instinctively she ducked. Instinctively she screamed as the car spun out of control. She kept shouting at Carver to keep control, for Wesley to grab the wheel, anything.

Thud.

She woke up later to the front of the car smashed, the windshield moulded around a bent lamppost. Red everywhere, the two men in the front of the car slumped unconsciously.

DADADADADADADADADADADADADADA DADADADADADADADADADADADADADA DADADADADADA

She swirled that same brand of coffee around her cup, the dregs staining the polystyrene sides before falling back in waves. Things were harder these days, and not just the work. A lot of time had passed apparently; at least she had worked her way up to the position of detective. She stared absentmindedly out of the window; it was another relatively peaceful night with only a few drunken teenagers to round up home. The red digital numbers on the clock said 2.30. At least her shift was over.

She did what she usually did, head down to the Hanged Man and drink.

Stepping in the doors engulfed her with the eye watering cigarette smoke and the smell of hard spirits and beer. It wasn't a shady bar, but it certainly wasn't pristine. Still, if she didn't like it, then why had she been coming here for years?

'Hi Kitten, you want your usual?'

One of the barmaids had broken her out what she thought was a vacant stare (she seemed to do that a lot, just stop dead as she thought about things).

'Hi Isabella, sure…'

The barmaid walked away to the bar after giving her what she guessed was a look of sympathy. She didn't need it; she was just another person whose personal problems seemed bigger than anyone else's. She sat down at a table away from anyone. Yet again, she wanted to wallow in self-pity, rather than being in the centre of the room and having people come up to her to ask what was wrong ('and if they could help her out', wink wink…).

The bar was low lit, glass stains on the tables, right next to the carved tags written crudely in the wood. She could have sworn there were cobwebs in the corner behind her as well, but then again it could have been just wisps of smoke coming from the table next to her.

'Here you go' Isabella smiled, setting down the glass of double scotch. 'Just how you like it'.

No 'rocks'. She smiled, but it suddenly hit her that maybe she'd come here too often if the staff knew her preferences.

'Don't blame you; unless I chug it, the ice just melts and waters it down' Isabella chuckled, sitting down in front of her. The smile wilted back down into being a sympathetic one. She took the detective's hands and leaned in a little more. It was a good thing they had become something of friends, otherwise this would have been awkward.

'Reg, it's been 7 years… I know it's been hard, but you can't keep blaming yourself…'

Yeah, it had. With Carver and Bethany gone, she was the only one left to look after her mother. Oh, she meant about the actual shooting?

'I should have done something Izzy, I shouldn't have hid in the back while it happened!'

'Yeah, and if you had have done, you might not still be here. For God's sake, you've lived for both of them! You're a detective now, you get to take those sorts of guys off the street for good so they can't hurt anyone else!'

She had a point, but it didn't help. It was deep set in her, like a parasite that you couldn't get rid of. She knew it was eating her alive, but losing your brother and friend was something that she couldn't escape.

She downed her drink in two gulps. Isabella sighed and shook her head; Regine had great potential to become an alcoholic (even though she claimed she didn't need to drink, something Isabella laughed at silently as she was down here most every night after work).

'I'll get you another…' she muttered, getting up and walking to the bar.