A/N: Hey there, yet another one shot and once again it's glum. Oh well, hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Foregone Conclusions

The compressions came down hard and fast. Frantically the paramedics tried to reanimate the woman that lay stretched out on the gurney. Her husband looked on from a distance, his face an emotionless mask. He barely had scraped the age of forty-five and here he was again, watching on as yet another person in his life fell victim to the world that he was inadvertently drawn to. It was different this time, of course. This wasn't by choice. But the end result was the same.

Around him, people were shouting. Onlookers clutched their loved ones firmly, not being able to tear their eyes away from the wreckage. He stood on the side, like a specter that no one would be able to see. He would once again fade into obscurity when all this was over.

"I'm losing pulse over here," he heard someone shout. It didn't surprise him. Life had never been kind to him and he knew that it was lulling him in a false sense of security. So when the paramedic shoved her in the ambulance, and he absentmindedly walked to it himself, he was already planning the funeral.

The ride was done in a quick fashion. He never let go of her hand but he didn't look at her. He looked straight ahead, unwilling to let the final time he would see her be when the life was draining from her body. He knew that most people would tell him to hold on to hope, but the hope that he had felt when she had first entered his life, was completely gone. His eyes had lost their sparkle, the one that had been so prevalent since he threw caution in the wind, completely certain of his love for her. The sparkle that had been there when he sank down on his knees and asked her to marry him. The sparkle that had been there when she tearfully agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. The sparkle that had been in his eyes when he had finally found his happiness again.

The doors flew open and the paramedics shouted some medical terms. It was all lost on him. All he knew were the cold facts. Three shots, two to the chest and one to the head. An execution; done by a professional. Said professional hadn't survived. His former partner had seen to that. It hadn't been pretty. He figured that onlookers were more shocked when they gazed upon the remains of the assassin than when they looked at his wife.

The doctors looked ashen-faced as they check for a pulse. One of them shook his head and looked at the clock, muttering, "Time of death, 13:37." He didn't blink. He wanted to let out a cry of anguish but his body refused him even that little piece of solace. So he kept on staring at her and kept silent. The body was rolled inside and he walked after her. The life that he had coveted so much was snatched away from him, again. The first time had been painful enough but he managed to get through it. Partially thanks to her. And now even that was taken from him. He sighed and turned around. He had seen enough.

He stuck the key in the lock and heard the metal grind inside. Tersely, he turned the key and the door swung open. He was greeted by emptiness. All the stuff they had collected was still there, but everything that had brought him happiness once, was now a painful reminder of what he had lost. He picked up the picture that they had taken at Halloween. She had shown up unannounced, dressed in a costume. It was a completely random move and yet he couldn't help but love her for it.

He put the picture back where it belonged and reached for his Black label. He couldn't help but flash back to the first time he had ever had a drink like this. At the time he had just burned his first asset. He couldn't help but wish that she was there for that moment in his life. Maybe she could've pulled him away from the brink. He sighed, raised the glass in a silent toast to his wife and downed the glass in one swig, before slamming the glass back down on the table for an instant refill. The amber liquid burned in his throat and he knew that it would be the only way for him to get through the night. He raised the glass in yet another toast and repeated the motions.

They had decided that it would be best if he were to see a psychologist. He hadn't come out of his bed. The funeral had been delegated to the Woodcombs, he just didn't have the willpower to deal with it. And that's how he found himself being driven to the office by the man he had come to see as a close friend. He only nodded as he stepped out of the car and walked up to the counter. He was led to an office that had an impressive mahogany desk in it. The rest was bland.

"How are you feeling?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. He felt himself reverting to the man he was before she came in his life. The silence stretched out over a period of time but the doctor seemed to be content just sitting there, waiting for him to break the silence.

After what seemed an eternity but was closer to five minutes, the doctor opened his mouth again. "You will probably go through the five stages of grief. First there is denial, followed by anger, bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance. You shouldn't fight the emotions."

He shrugged. "I've already made my peace with it. The security business is a dangerous job. Things like these… they're bound to happen."

"That seems like a rather morbid point of view," the doctor replied. The pleasant smile, accompanied by the furrowed brow and the inflection of those words served to anger him.

"Well, what the fuck do you want me to say? That my whole world got ripped apart? That I've felt like dying these past few days? That everything people told me to do was met with silence and a glare?"

"It's a good place to start."

He sighed, pulled a hand over his face, and started talking.

The funeral was pretty. Ellie had done a good job. Her favorite flowers were strewn across the casket. The minister's words were soft and heartfelt as he recited from the bible. People cried or have their eyes well up. He remained stoic. People came forward and shared their stories about her. His heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest cavity as he listened to them recount the good times they had with her. Still, he kept silent.

The casket slowly lowered into the ground and he was invited forward to throw the first heap of earth back on it. He grabbed the shovel and poised it over the grave. He paused for a second and couldn't help but mutter, "I love you," before turning the spade and watching the dirt clatter down on the handcrafted wood. The sound of the impact jarred him and caused him to drop the shovel. He felt his knees buckle from under him and accompanied by several gasps, he collapsed to the ground. One of his tears joined the dirt he had just thrown in the grave and the lone tear served to open up the floodgates. He didn't know how long he stood over the grave, silently crying for her, but when he felt four arms softly envelop his, the grave had been covered. He stood up and was led out of the graveyard.

He walked into the courtyard and was met by her, dressed in black. Her eyes were red. She stood up and walked up to him. "Hey," she softly said.

"Hi."

"Are you okay?"

"M'fine," he said.

"Look, just so you know, if you ever need to talk, we're here for you. All of us."

"Thanks Walker."

"Always, Casey."

A/N2: Please review.