A/N: Wow. After a twelve-year absence, I received a review, over 300 story hits and five author/story alerts. Many thanks to those who added me, and to Phosphorescent for telling me I should try this from Beckett's POV.

Disclaimer: Heard of the phrase "judgment-proof?" I own nothing, I am worth nothing. Figure I am safe.

Spoilers: Up to and including 4x20, "The Limey." For the purposes of the story, "Headhunters" has yet to occur.

She watched the raindrops slowly slide down the glass of the small windows in The Other Captain's office. Keep thinking, she told herself.

She got up from her desk, the lights of the precinct mostly turned out, her steps were illuminated only by the small shards of light from the desk lamps inadvertently left on. She slowly walked to the break room, feeling her way to the counter rather than seeing her path before her. She glanced back into the bullpen, and she swore she could see him sitting there, head bowed, phone in hand, the glow from the latest app or internet search lighting his face.

She blinked, and he was gone.

Just like today.

She couldn't put her finger on it. The shift in him was so abrupt that she felt dazed. She waited with bated breath, so sure he was about to say the words she had been so terrified yet thrilled to finally hear, right there in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by her friends and the chaos of her life, her calling.

As usual, something interrupted him. Something always did with them, whether it was the job, her Wall, murderers, Ryan, Esposito…

She rubbed her eyes as she stood there, waiting for the coffee to brew. The curls of the rich, aromatic steam wafted across her face, but they smelled muted, faded. The fog of the day wrapped around her thoughts, and all she wanted was some clarity, some respite from the mire of undisciplined thinking.

She wandered back out into the bullpen, again looking across at The Other Captain's office. Not so long ago, she would have more likely than not seen Her Captain in that office, combing through obscure reports into the night along with her. Nothing needed be said between them, for they shared the bond of The Job, the role of Speaker for the Dead.

She shook her head, a wistful smile crossing her face, only to be quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and small frown. That was exactly the kind of statement he would have made a crack about, especially given the title she had just conferred upon her job.

He would have gone on for at least a few minutes, trying to discover exactly which Card novels she had read and her opinions on whether Ender was a hero or a villain.

Now, she knew he would not have said anything. Just stood there with the blankest expression she had ever seen on his face.

That was the splinter in her mind, the thing that had completely thrown her world into uncertainty. He was by no means blank; he was full of expression, of emotion. She had had no trouble reading him from the day she had met him. Whether or not she would admit to herself what she knew she saw was something altogether different.

She found herself at the window in The Other Captain's office, the mug tightly clenched in her hands as she scanned the skyline. She did not notice how heavy it felt in her hands, how there was an almost imperceptible shaking of her fingers.

She knew what she had seen. She had known for some time. Before, it was an annoyance. But then, she experienced it. The perceptible shift in him. The passion. The complete commitment to the story of the victims, their lives cut short by injustice.

And…to their partnership. They were unstoppable. She didn't care what people said, whispered when they saw them together in the precinct or at the crime scenes. She knew the rumors, the speculation, the conjectures. She even knew that Ryan and Esposito were in for forty bucks in the office pool.

Nothing could stop them when they were in sync. They always pushed that much harder, that much further, that much deeper into the story because they knew there was always something missing, something just dancing out of their reach. And, without fail, he would force her to look at it from a different angle even if it was maddening, and especially if it was too easy.

That was what made it work for her.

Yet, now…she wasn't sure what had gone wrong.

She couldn't think.

And, without her thoughts…what was she?

The mug stood alone on the desk, slowly growing cold in the early morning hours.

She stepped out into the rain, felt it dancing along the streets below her feet. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes, trying to wash away the doubts that lingered at the edge of her mind. She looked up, hailed a cab, and quickly jumped inside.

She didn't know where she was headed.

She shook her head. Her thoughts had become loaded with deeper meaning. Just like all of their conversations over the years.

She looked up, surprised. What was she doing here?

She didn't recall paying the cabbie; she just knew that she was knocking on the huge doors, badge in hand as she dodged the raindrops falling from the edge of the eaves of the old, hulking building.

She saw the familiar face, his ancient eyes cracking with a smile borne of the years of keeping the collections orderly, the words of the gifted waiting for those inquisitive enough to let them into their lives.

He let her in without a word, and she slipped inside, shaking off her coat quickly. He pointed wordlessly down the hall, the glow of the stacks beckoning her as they did when she needed to think.

She smiled softly to him, gently squeezed his shoulder, and set off down the hallway towards the stairs near the rear of the building.

In the quiet of the stacks, she felt her head begin to pound. She walked through the main aisles, craning her neck to look down them to see who she would be spending some time with tonight. She meandered through the children's section, the biography section, the true crime section until she found herself in the fiction section. Selecting a row at random, she began to peruse the shelves, looking for the one that would catch her eye.

She passed through several aisles, the spines of the books becoming a blur in her mind's eye. Colors, words flitted in and out of her brain, but she couldn't see anything clearly. She paused in the middle of the aisle and slowly closed her eyes. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. She fisted her eyes, her thoughts whirling in her head.

No.

Not here.

Even here. Where she felt safest from the world, from herself; where she could lose herself in the greatest minds this world had to offer.

She opened her eyes, set off down the aisle, back downstairs. She clenched her fists tightly in her pockets, nodded to the guard, and stepped outside.

She set foot inside her flat, tossing her keys on the counter. She quickly shrugged off her jacket and kicked her shoes into the corner. She groped along the wall, flicking the single switch that lit her flat just slightly. She chuckled mirthlessly.

Mood lighting.

She sat down on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her legs. She found her mother's ring in her fingers, gently turning it, running the edges of her fingertips along the small stone set there. The shadows of her flat lengthened, slowly reaching out for her.

She looked up; the lady in purple stared down at her wordlessly. Her thoughts slammed together, jostling for dominance. Flashes of memory came to her rapidly…the bloom of the explosion, the smell of the blast and of death, the muddled cries and sobs of pain, the vacant stares of the survivors, the cold, lifeless stare he wore when he left that day…

Wait.

No.

He did not deserve to be associated with that.

He was all that was good about her job, her day, her life…

Wait.

She knew he made her job fun, made her laugh in the direst of situations, but, when did her life become linked with the mere thought of him?

And now, what did she have? A blank page, lifeless eyes, a resigned and weary voice, and a thought process that was unfocused, undisciplined.

She smiled bitterly. Again, she would put her mask on. She had lines to recite. A role to play.

Just her, her calling, and her thoughts. For what little good they did her today.

She did not know what tomorrow would bring. She did not know what she would do to pass the time. She did not know what she would do to try to understand.

She did not know what she would do…without him.

A/N: I know. This one was even more angsty than the last. This is where the muses took me. Blame them, not me.