"Hey."

Shaw wasn't entirely sure how Zoe had found her and Bear at this particular park, but she suspected Finch. Nosy bastard. She wasn't in the mood for small talk, but gave Zoe a grimace of acknowledgment before returning her attention to the Alsatian resting his head on her lap. Zoe took that as an invitation to stay and, far more gracefully than Shaw could have managed in that dress, sat on the grass next to them. She produced an alcoholic peace offering and two shot glasses from her purse.

"I brought your favourite diesel."

Shaw wordlessly accepted the vodka with a nod of thanks and Zoe raised her glass.

"To Joss Carter," she said softly.

"To Joss Carter," echoed Shaw.

They drained their glasses and Zoe poured out some more while Shaw absently scratched behind Bear's ears.

"How are you holding up?" asked Zoe.

Shaw gave her a wry smile.

"You don't have to worry about my feelings. I've been told I don't have any."

It was a good thing too. If losing a friend felt this crappy even with antisocial personality disorder, it must be unbearable without it.

"People grieve differently," said Zoe dismissively.

Shaw felt a stirring of what may have been gratitude. Not many people were that understanding. Carter had been. Carter had taken Shaw's behaviour in her stride.

"I don't make friends easily," said Shaw.

"Carter was different" went unsaid.

"Neither do I," admitted Zoe. "Especially not with cops."

Shaw's expression darkened because Carter was too good for those incompetent, corrupt bastards and they killed her for it. She took another drink and the alcohol burned her throat. It felt good. Distracting.

"How is John?" muttered Zoe.

Shaw looked up at Zoe in surprise.

"You didn't see him?"

Zoe didn't speak for the longest time. She was nursing the glass in her hand suddenly seemed distinctly un-Zoe-like. When she did, her voice was small.

"I don't know what to do."

She sounded out of her depth for the first time since Shaw had met her. Shaw couldn't blame her. There was no etiquette manual on this sort of thing, and grief and anger was something Carter knew how to deal with.

Shaw wondered briefly if that bothered Zoe at all.

"Finch is looking after him," she said hesitantly. "Making sure he doesn't..."

In an unprecedented moment of tactfulness, Shaw decided that "eat a bullet" or "choke to death on his own vomit" was the wrong way to finish that statement.

"... get too down," she finished lamely. "He'll be okay." Eventually.

"Harold's a good man," said Zoe quietly.

Bear left Shaw's side and nuzzled Zoe's arm. She still looked a little despondent so Shaw forced a smile.

"You remember the look on his face when Carter pulled out her Glock from her purse?"

Zoe let out a small laugh.

"He looked more mortified when she was gushing over your Nano," she chuckled. "I don't think we were quite the damsels he had in mind."

Shaw's smile grew more genuine.

"She was a damn good shot," she said with a grin. "You should have seen their faces when they realised she singlehandedly stole a multimillion dollar shipment of drugs from the Mafia. That was hilarious."

Zoe raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You know that badass pose thing John does when he wants to be intimidating?"

"I'm familiar with it," said Zoe dryly.

"She totally out swaggered him."

"That good?"

Shaw glowed with pride for her friend, who had taken down whole organisations and had done it with style. The world was less of a hell hole because Joss Carter had been in it. She could live with that.

"That good."