The next morning I find myself floating about the precinct. It's early and I am positive that you would have had only a couple hours sleep. I find you at your desk, looking through mug shot photos.
"Morning."
"Hey."
"I come bearing gifts." I hand you the oversized cup. "Extra caramel."
"You are officially my favourite person."
You smile and I almost forget to pretend that I'm here to ask about the shooting instead of getting my morning fix of Lindsay Boxer.
"How's it going?"
"Not great. We don't have much to go on. Two dead and a lone gunman running about town."
"What about the guy in the van?"
"Claire is still working on him. She's gonna be a couple of hours at best."
You get up head towards one of the interview rooms.
"I hear a rumor that you were held at gunpoint." I lower my voice a little.
A look a frustration comes across your face, like you didn't want that detail being public knowledge.
"I wouldn't say 'held'. You make it sound like I was a hostage…It was really no big deal."
"No big deal? Lindsay I don't think…"
"It's the job. It happens. Obviously he didn't shoot me. So it's fine."
"Did he say anything?"
"Ah I think it was 'put your gun down'."
I rolled my eyes and you place some papers into a filing cabinet and shut the draw.
"Can we drop this please? I'm fine. He got away."
It clicked as to why you were so huffy. It wasn't because of the life and death situation. It was simply because you were standing there with the guy and you couldn't collar him. If anyone thought that you were anything less that over-dedicated to your job they would be sadly mistaken.
"Well I'm glad you're ok. I'm gonna head into work."
"Thanks for my coffee."
"You're welcome."
We exchange a smile as I leave. It's difficult not to smother you with concern. I know that you hate it but I can't just ignore the fact that you were in a dangerous situation. I know you are skilled and can handle it but I worry. I care. Maybe too much.