It was over.
She looks at the phone, looks at the badge and the gun lined up on the desk and suddenly this empty goldfish bowl of an office feels claustrophobic. Outside in the squad room the daily business is continuing as normal, unaware of the sea change that has just occurred. And although no one is paying her any attention, she feels exposed. Feels as though a thousand eyes are turned on her in censure, judgment, or even worse, approval.
Finally the pressure is too much and she bolts.
Here, at least, it is calm and quiet and free from prying eyes. She has taken refuge in the restroom, in the farthest stall from the door. And now is sitting, locked in her own porcelain white cell of condemnation trying desperately to come to terms with what she has done.
The tears once again prick her eyes and she reaches for her hankie. Her heart clenches as she sees the small embroidered 'B' in the corner identifying it as one of a set she had given him. A simple laundry mix up but a potent symbol of how intertwined their lives had become, both professionally and personally...
And she had now sliced it apart.
It had been an impossible situation; it felt like a doctor having to choose between letting a prima ballerina die or amputating her legs. At that thought, the storm breaks; she buries her face in his soft cotton and sobs out her misery and her guilt.
Gradually the harsh gulps and the shoulder heaves abate, giving way to leaking tears and the occasionally hitching breath. And gradually Alex the realist, Alex the pragmatist, re emerges.
After all, change is inevitable, for better or worse.
She straightens her back, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. One last wipe of her eyes, a final blow of her nose and she resolutely tucks the hankie away. Now she is all brisk efficiency, splashing water on her face, tidying her hair, straightening her jacket.
She returns to the squad room, to her desk, tidies the papers away, gathers her jacket and her bag. She falters momentarily as she looks at his empty chair, looks at his desk, strangely naked without the leather binder, looks at the reference books neatly shelved...
She knows she should go to him, or at least call him, but she feels too raw, too fragile to face him yet. Instead she goes where everyone goes when the world suddenly seems like a strange and scary place; she goes home.
And there, sitting on her steps, is Bobby.
She watches his face light up as she approaches and a swell of love washes away the last traces of guilt.
"I said I'd see ya around."
"Yes, you did but..." She still feels reluctant to meet his eyes.
"Alex?"
His hand cups her chin, lifting her head and at last she dares to look, sees his compassion, his understanding. His expression changes to one of quiet amusement.
"The best, huh... Best at what, exactly?"
His outrageously saucy wink rips a burst of laughter from her lips, bringing with it hope and optimism.
It was not over.