Alone
Her hands are shaking. She's surprised her gun isn't wavering as she holds it up, aimed at the sliver of the man's shoulder she can see. The guy holding a knife to the neck of the man she swore to protect.
Piss poor job she's doing so far.
"Put the knife down," she says, voice strong. Keep it together. Get him out of danger. Then she can break down. "Put it down and we can all walk out of here, Tyler."
The blade cuts into the other man's neck and she can see the slow line of blood dripping down. He's wincing, eyes sliding shut, jawline tensing. Shit, she needs to get him out.
She swallows, stepping forward carefully. "Come on, Tyler. You don't want to do this."
"There's no way I'm walking out of this alive," Tyler growls. She opens her mouth, ready to negotiate, to try to talk this guy out of it but Tyler is already bracing himself, drawing the blade across the man's throat.
She doesn't think. She can't. Even as his blood paints over the navy of her shirt, she pulls the trigger. Tyler falls a moment after the man. She drops to her knees, shoving Tyler's body out of the way as her fingers dance over her partner's throat.
"Oh god,no. You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna be okay." She's babbling, watching the life drain out of the man's eyes. One hand drifts back, touching the button for her radio, managing to call in the 10-13, pleading with the dispatch officer for an ambulance. Bloodied fingers reach up, smearing along her cheek and drawing her eyes from his throat to his eyes.
Just in time to see them slide shut.
The ambulance arrives with other officers, finding her against the wall in the hallway. Her hands are trembling violently, gaze stuck on the man's body as she forces oxygen in and out of her lungs. One of the detectives helps her up, his hand on the small of her back as he leads her out of the building. He sits her on the back runner of the ambulance, lets one of the EMTs clean the blood from her face and hands. The same detective moves her to a bench just as the medical examiner brings the body down out of the building, taking her statement and confiscating her gun.
Beckett is finally left by herself, pushing hair back into the bun it has been falling out of.
She's failed. She promised his wife, his kid that she'd keep him safe and she failed.
She takes another breath, getting up. She needs to go give his family the news. His house is in Queens, a pretty little thing, white with a light blue trim. The woman who answers the door is in her robe, hair falling in disarray around her face.
"Mrs. Walsh?" she asks, trying desperately to keep herself together just a little longer. The woman nods but it's shaky. "I'm sorry, but your husband was -"
The woman collapses against the doorframe. "Oh god…"
Beckett stays, attempts to comfort the other woman but leaves her in tears on the couch after half an hour. She makes to her car when she feels the tears push at her eyes. Get home. Just get home.
She's barely through her front door before she crumbles.
New promise. No more partners.
She's better off alone.