Sam held the door open for Red, his heart pounding as she headed for the small sofa instead of the chair in front of his desk. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty.

Ever since the antidepressants had kicked in one thing had become very clear: his walk into the lake was a long time coming and really no surprise. He was living a life completely devoid of beauty, friendship, warmth or love.

With one untouchable, unobtainable exception…

He paced in front of her, not ready yet to look up at her sweet little face, pinched tight with hurt and anger. "Red, I…I've thought a lot about what to say to you." He wiped his hands on his pants and sighed.

"Sit down," she said, quietly, patting the spot on the sofa next to her. He looked up and saw no trace of hostility or judgment. Her blue eyes were full of guarded concern.

He sat down next to her, and suddenly this all seemed even harder than he'd expected. He'd imagined saying this with the desk between them; her arms crossed and her eyes flashing fire. But she was so near and so soft…

"I got into a pretty bad place after they found that guard." He swallowed hard. He had forgotten all of his rehearsed speeches. "I was going to walk into the lake," he blurted out and her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. "Well. I did walk into the lake. But I walked back out, obviously which wasn't exactly the plan." He glanced at her again. She looked shocked and horrified and if he hadn't known better he'd have thought she was on the verge of tears. "Anyway, I'll never forgive myself for leaving when you needed me-all of you-but when I found out that Whitehall really did murder a guard…I spent so much time with her…gave her so much counsel…I mean, christ, Red, she confessed to me. Many, many times. And I thought she was just delusional…

"She is delusional."

"Yes . And she's also a murderer. And it just slipped right past me." He shook his head and shifted his legs a little further away from her. She was too close and he had to fight her pull, no matter how difficult or painful.

"I don't know…something snapped. I just didn't think I could do it anymore. Any of it. I just felt so tired. And defeated. And useless. And you and I…"

He waited for her to bristle, but instead she closed her eyes and tilted her head a little. She didn't look angry she looked…wounded.

"I'm not laying this at your feet, believe me. The divorce with Katya, my failures here, hell, the trajectory of my entire life…It all just piled up on me. I mean, my god Red, I leave here every night and go home to an empty house. I microwave a frozen dinner that tastes like cardboard then surf channels on tv until I fall asleep. That's my life. And then I come back here and do it all over again the next day. And I just thought…for just a while I thought maybe, finally…I mean you and I..." He was seriously botching this. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a second trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm trying to say that you were right when you said we didn't have a real relationship. I see that now. I imagined things with you that weren't there, just like I missed things with Whitehill that were there."

She started to interrupt, but he needed to finish this before she got the wrong idea and before he ran out of steam and courage. "But things are better now. I checked myself into therapy and I got help. I started taking the right medication, and I'm feeling stronger. So after I heard what happened to Washington and then the showdown with the guards…and then they shipped in another fifty inmates? Christ,, they have you all packed so tight in here now...things are only going to get worse. Anyway, I felt like I had to come back. I don't know, maybe I really am useless, maybe I should just hang it up, but I owe it to you…I mean, to all of you, to help if I can… "

"You're not useless," she cried, her voice rough. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand then stood up and paced the small room up and down, stopping in front of him. "I have to tell you something. I shouldn't tell you, but I'm going to and before I do, I need you to know that I am not involved in this and also that I won't give you any more information. You will want to question me, but forget about it, you'll be wasting your breath."

He nodded, totally perplexed as she sat back down and leaned forward. "I'm trusting you with this because I want to help you. Because I care about you." She shook her head. "Promise me, this isn't going to come back and bite me in the ass?"

He shook his head transfixed, still stuck on the phrase, I care about you…

"I promise," he answered.

"Ok." She took a deep breath. "I can't give you any details. All I can tell you is that Whitehill is not a killer. It was self defense."

"Red, that's not …she murdered a CO. She confessed over and over. She had a breakdown in the garden right over his dismembered body…"

"It wasn't a CO. It was a hitman impersonating a CO."

"A hitman?" He couldn't hide his shock. Red was too intelligent to believe Whitehall's lunatic ravings. "Red, you do know that Whitehall is a delusional schizophrenic? Whatever she told you was all in her head. She thought everyone was after her…"

"Yes, she did, but this time she happened to be right. Healy, you know me. You know that I know what I'm talking about. This is the truth. And no one, not the world's best psychiatrist, not even someone with a crystal ball could have known it. How could you know that the ramblings of a delusional schizophrenic held some truth? I know it's hard to believe. And I have no proof, there is no proof. But it's true. I shouldn't be telling you this: I could be implicating myself as an accomplice to murder. But I'm telling you anyway because I trust you. Because I care. And also because," her chin began to tremble and her voice broke. "Because I really don't want you to get any more ideas about walking into lakes."

She wiped at her right eye just as a tear rolled down her left cheek and she swiped at it and looked away, trying to compose herself. His heart lurched and ached. He longed to comfort her, to hold her or brush the tears away.

And at the same time his mind was reeling with what she had just told him. Had Whitehall really acted in self-defense? If this was true, and coming from Red he felt sure that it was, he had to get her out of Psych…but how? Yes, she was delusional, but if she'd been acting in self defense she didn't being there. Truth be told, no one did.

He stared at his shoes as he tried to order his thoughts. "I'm going to need some time to process all of this. No one will ever hear what you just told me... I would never do that to you. But I failed Whitehill…I told them she did it…"

"She did do it!" Red insisted, eyes blazing. "Just not for the reasons everyone thought. Sam, you didn't fail her. The system did. You are a good man. This isn't on you. This is on the system. The same system that killed Washington and brought in so many untrained guards they didn't even notice when one of them went missing. The same system that has us packed to the rafters like animals. We're all a part of this, all of us who are in here, the guards, you, Caputo, the prisoners, we are all just part of this system, whether we want to be or not. You're just a cog in the wheel, like all of us."

He started to object, but she cut him off again.

"And I'm sorry." She looked into his eyes and he was mesmerized by the depth of turmoil and emotion he saw there. "I'm sorry if I made things worse for you, if I made you feel this," she gestured between them, "was all in your head."

Sorry. She was sorry. Sorry for him, sorry that he had been so low he'd try to kill himself. This was pity, plain and simple. He had to end this charade for himself, but also for Red. She didn't want this burden. She didn't want him. She'd been about as clear as a person could be on that front. He needed to let her go.

"Red." He said his voice tight. "You don't owe me any apologies. You were right, this can't be a consensual relationship. It's impossible and I know that now. I can't ever stop wanting…to be here for you, as your counselor, as someone who can help you if things get rough in here. But as for anything else, it's over. I promise. I got carried away. I lost my head for a while, got a little turned around, but I know up from down again."

Red seemed to have frozen. She sat very straight and very still. When he got no response he rambled on. "In a lot of ways it's good that I was forced into seeking treatment. My boundaries, my priorities got all mixed up. But I'm back on track. I need to work on changing quite a few things about my life. And the first thing I need to do is try to be more professional here at work. And that includes my relationships with the inmates."

Her eyes flashed at the word inmates and he felt he'd made a misstep but didn't exactly know where.

Red stood up slowly and straightened her white jacket. "Well," she said slowly. "Sounds like you have it all figured out."

He huffed a bitter laugh. "I think we both know that's not true." He stood to face her and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have come back. He was never going to get over this woman, would never believe that she wasn't his soul mate. He would act appropriately, he would play his part, but he would never really move on. The key would be to keep his distance, and watch over her from afar.

She set her jaw and the last bit of sweet, soft Galina slid under the mask of Red the badass, and just like that, all of her openness and vulnerability vanished. He needed to learn how to do that. She was a master.

"Thank you, Red," he said to her back as she walked to the door.

But in the glance she threw him over her shoulder he realized he was wrong about her mask. He eyes were full of sadness and something else, something familiar, something that gave him that rare, free falling feeling that he was looking into a mirror when they locked eyes. And then she disappeared without another word.