Juliet wrapped her trembling arms around her knees, hugging them tightly against her chest as she slowly rocked back and forth on the floor. Her eyes were clenched and her lips were parted in a silent, painful sob.

She had only been there a week…

Just a week…

And she already knew she had made a huge mistake.

I can't do this…she told herself over and over again, the images of that tiny body…bloody, helpless…flashing through her mind.

I can't do this…

She could feel her stomach churning, and for a brief moment she thought she was going to be sick right there on the supply closet floor.

She considered making a run for the bathroom, but she could still feel the hot tears stinging her cheeks.

I can't go out there…

I can't let them see me cry…

They'll never take me seriously…

Cops don't cry.

It was different at the academy…

It was different when she had been dealing with hypothetical cases.

It had even been different at her first department, when she never got closer to a corpse than the crime scene photos.

Somehow, it hadn't seemed real then.

But this…

This was real.

That little boy…

The accident…

The broken bike...

The smashed fender...

They were real.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Detective Lassiter stepped into the closet. Juliet leapt to her feet, in an instant banishing all tears from her face.

She could do that…

She'd always been able to do that.

But this time, it didn't matter.

Lassiter had already seen her, cowering like a child.

He knew her secret now.

"O'Hara? What are you doing here?" He asked gruffly, reaching over her for a ream of paper.

"Me? Nothing," she answered, her voice steady and cool. "Just getting some paper, too."

She grabbed a ream and turned around to leave, hoping Lassiter wouldn't look at her eyes.

They were the one feature she couldn't harden on command.

They always gave her away.

But as she stepped towards the door, hoping to get out of the closet before he had her completely figured out, she could see he was watching her.

Especially her eyes.

"Hell of an accident scene, wasn't it?" He asked quietly, stopping her in her tracks.

She looked up at him, fully expecting to see nothing but derision and scorn in his expression.

In the last week, that was all she had ever gotten from him.

But not this time.

This time, he seemed almost…just almost…sincere.

She nodded stiffly, wanting desperately to talk about it…wishing desperately that she didn't want to.

"You puke yet?" He asked matter-of-factly. "Most first-timers do."

She shook her head, still unable to form any words.

He nodded back, seemingly in approval.

"Good. Don't, if you can help it. Sets a bad precedent."

"Right."

He sighed and looked down at his shoes, an awkward silence filling the room.

When he looked back up, his face seemed pained…like he was trying to accomplish a difficult, unnatural feat of strength.

"Hell, O'Hara." He said finally, sitting on the floor where she had just been. "You have to get used to it. You don't have a choice."

"I know. I will."

She sat down next to him.

That seemed to be the wrong move.

He inched away from her.

"I hope you're not expecting some kind of sunshine and roses pep talk…" he growled uncomfortably as she backed away.

"No. I don't need one."

"Good. Because there isn't one, O'Hara. I'm sure there's sunshine out there somewhere….but you won't see it. Ever. Not on the job. All you'll see is crap. Crap people bring on themselves that you have to clean up after, crap that's just bad luck, and crap that's just plain…crap. It's all crap O'Hara."

Juliet's stomach began to lurch again, but she somehow managed to suppress it.

Lassiter paused thoughtfully, watching her from the corner of his eye before continuing.

"You hit a rough one for your first time. Kid splattered on the streets…that's the worst. The damn bad luck you can't do anything to change. That's all it is, O'Hara…just damn bad luck."

"Does it get easier?" She asked hopefully.

He almost… just almost…smiled.

"No…well, not until you discover scotch. Single malt. Then it gets easier…"

He stood up again and marched to the door, turning back before he stepped out into the station again.

His voice was suddenly gruff again.

"If you're going to be my partner, you have one and only one time you're allowed to cry. You just used it up. Are we clear?"

She nodded, but didn't stand up yet.

"Good."

He hesitated again, always on the verge of leaving…but somehow, just not able to bring himself to do it.

"You can't cry again," he reiterated.

"I won't." She promised.

"You won't need to."

"How do you know?"

He just shrugged.

"You didn't puke your first time out."

"So?"

"So...you're one up on me."