She's had tunnel vision before, but never like this.
Never has she been in the situation where the only thing she can see is her lover's dark eyes swimming with tears, scared and resigned.
"Don't do this," the words slip past Sofia's lips as a breath, as a prayer. "Don't do this, don't do this, please don't do this," each repetition louder than the last.
"Shut up, bitch!" the man holding the gun yelled, and Sara flinched as the barrel dug into her temple.
Sofia forced herself to look away from Sara, look at the man, gather her strength and project a self-assuredness she didn't feel into her voice. "You don't want to do this. I'm a cop, okay, and so is she. I promise you, if you pull that trigger, this won't go well for you."
The guy let out a derisive laugh and jabbed the gun at Sara again. "Oh yeah? Then where's your gun, huh, cop lady?"
The taunt landed with the force of a physical blow. She'd thought about bringing her gun, but it was just a trip to the convenience store down the street. They'd just been on an ice cream run, who needs a gun for that?
"I don't have it with me," Sofia managed to say calmly. Her chest hurt, and she wondered why for a moment, before realizing it was just her heart beating so aggressively it ached. "But killing an off-duty cop is still killing a cop, and you can't come back from that. Just put the gun down and we can work this out, okay?"
For a moment, he looked like he was considering her words. For just a second, his grip on the gun loosened, pulled back from Sara's skin.
A moment was all that was needed.
Sara dropped her weight, began to roll… and the gun went off.
The scream that ripped from Sofia's throat as Sara slumped to the floor was raw and primal, a pained sound she'd never even heard before, nevermind made herself.
Heedless of the man or the gun he held, Sofia scrambled over, knees sliding in the fine mist of blood on the floor. Frantically, she rolled Sara onto her back, cupping the sides of her face with trembling hands that turned sticky-wet with blood. "Sara, baby, no, please don't be dead, please…"
The brown eyes that looked back at her were unblinking and unseeing, and Sofia cried out an agonized wail, holding Sara's body tightly in her arms.
In the background, acknowledged by only a small corner of Sofia's brain, she heard sirens and shouts, gunshots and footsteps, and then the familiar hand of Jim Brass was on her shoulder.
"Sofie," he said, his voice somber. "You have to let go of her." She tried to pull away from his touch, but his grip was firm and he wrapped his other hand around her bicep, gently drawing her away and to her feet. "I've got you, honey," he soothed, "just let go, come on."
When the last connection to Sara was severed, Sofia's knees threatened to buckle, but Jim took her weight. "I can't leave her," she choked out, still reaching.
"She's in good hands, honey, she won't be alone," Jim said, leading her past the CSIs of swing shift and out of the convenience store toward a waiting ambulance. "Come on, let's get you looked at."
Sofia shook her head, looking at her red hands. "I'm not hurt… it's Sa-" her voice cracked, broke, and a wash of tears slipped down already wet cheeks. "Sara's blood," she finished in a whisper.