It took ten minutes for Adam to text her, and the texts just kept on coming. Kim didn't want him to know she'd actually read them, so she pulled them down in her notifications centre to see what he sent.

12.22: Kim tell me you got home ok.

12.24: Let me know you're ok please?

12.28: She was calling to dump me, if you're wondering.

12.29: Apparently I'm too emotionally closed off.

12.31: Kim I'm so worried you didn't get home safe please just let me know that much.

12.33: I'll call Kevin and get him to call you.

12.34: Or Hailey. And then Jay will be mad at both of us.

12.35: Please Kim. Please tell me you're ok. Please.

She unlocked her phone, pulling up the text thread. It took her several tries to write the text, but his bubbles didn't appear while she was typing. She deleted and rewrote, trying to sound detached.

12.39: I'm home safe. See you in work on Monday.

Before she could see a reply she relocked her phone, muting it so it wouldn't even vibrate for her. She did this over and over again, fell for Adam without thinking about the implications of it. She nearly had his baby. She was so in love with him it hurt, but it was never worth it. He'd been dating someone and she happened to call him at nearly midnight to dump him? Kim didn't believe it. It was too coincidental.

She paced through her apartment, anger and worry filling her. His stupid angel face and stupid kissable lips. She'd held on for so long, let the days and weeks and years drag on. It'd been nearly a decade since her crush on him began. Nine entire years since she'd kissed him for the first time. She was so stupid, she should have known.

This wasn't a stupid fairytale, he wasn't going to appear at her doorstep again. She wasn't the one who got swept off her feet. Kim Burgess didn't get to be happy. She was the one who got shot, the one who got beaten, the one who couldn't do her damn job and not go into an active crime scene. How could he even still want to be with her when she'd killed their baby? It was nearly three years ago and she still blamed herself for that. She always would.

She used to think that she and Adam would be together forever. She'd have fairytales of a big wedding, a poofy dress. She'd nearly put a deposit down on one before they'd split up the first time. She felt like a fairytale princess in it, but they were never ready to be married then. At least she knew that now.

The only thing she could think of was how they kept coming together and falling apart. She was so, so naïve when they'd begun dating. She'd had relationships, she'd had flings. But she'd never had anything like Adam, where despite having the same rank in work she was patrol and he wasn't. She always felt like she had to prove herself to him, that she was worthy of his love. Of course Adam Ruzek, Bob's son would be in love with her because she was such a great person.

And she left him for Roman. Sean who'd tried to convince her to leave Chicago, leave her friends, and follow him after a couple of months. She'd let his stupid hatred of work couples to corrupt her thoughts about what their relationship could be, and it had ruined her and Adam. And that was her fault. She still dreamt about what would happen between her and Adam if they had gotten married then. Would she be a mother? Would the miscarriage just have been a nightmare? Would her baby have her eyes or his? Stupid happy endings she would never have.

She managed to get some sleep, tossing and turning for most of the night with maybe three broken hours. She had a day without Makayla, so she could at least stay in bed to nurse her broken heart. She turned her phone over, skipping through the emails to check her texts. Two each from Kevin and Hailey, asking what had happened and why was Adam asking them about her. She sent off a quick one to each of them saying everything was fine, before opening the twelve texts from Adam.

1.05: I'm sorry.

1.07: For everything, I mean.

1.09: I should have told you about Emma. We were never exclusive, we had two dates and I never slept with her. I promise.

1.11: I just need us to be ok, Kim.

1.30: I guess you went to bed. I hope you sleep ok.

1.31: Text me in the morning? We can get breakfast.

1.45: Or if you wake up during the night. I'll leave my volume on.

1.50: You can just turn up at my door.

1.53: I think my beer went to my head with that one.

2.21: I still have feelings for you. I don't think I'll ever stop having them.

3.01: I'm drunk and I miss you. And Kayla. You're the best two people in my life.

3.27: I'm sorry for blowing up your phone. Sleep well.

Kim stared at the messages, tearing up slightly at the last one. Even when they weren't ok, he was still sweet to her. Asking for forgiveness when she'd been the one to screw it up? She'd jumped to a conclusion. It wasn't his place to ask her for forgiveness, but he still did. She stared at her phone for a minute before replying.

8.12: You've nothing to apologise for. I'm sorry. Gonna spend the weekend cleaning, see you in work.

She got the apartment clean quicker than expected, and then sat watching tv. Everything she did was sabotaging herself, sabotaging Adam. She needed help. Therapy was never something any cop would agree with, but she needed it. Even if she and Adam weren't together, she needed to be ok for her daughter, for her team. And right now she wasn't ok.

It took Kim another half hour to get the courage up to Google "Chicago therapy". The number of results were overwhelming, but she found a site where she could filter therapists. She knew she wanted a female therapist who took city insurance which narrowed the field dramatically. She rejected two out of hand - one too close to the precinct, one who only dealt with eating disorders - and she was left with five. Dr. Debra Maguire was near her apartment, and dealt with grief and relationship issues. Kim took a deep breath and rang the phone number on the listing.

She expected to get a voicemail, but instead it was picked up by a human. "Dr. Debra Maguire, therapist and grief counsellor. How can I help you today?"

Kim licked her lips before speaking. "I wanted to make an appointment for myself. I think I need to talk to someone."

She heard the slight intake of breath on the other end of the phone, and wanted to end the call but held firm. "We can fit you in. Now a couple of questions just to check if we need to get you someone now, are you a danger to yourself or others right now, do you think?" Kim shook her head at the question.

"No, I'm not. I'm not a danger. A coworker of mine found therapy really helpful, and I think it'll help me too."

She gave her information over the phone, and was booked in for an appointment on Wednesday at four. She'd need to leave work early for it, but once she said it was medical it should be fine.

The rest of the weekend was spent waiting for Makayla to arrive, and then hearing her ten year old's chatter about her trip. They'd gone to some cabins just north of Chicago for the final scouting trip of the year, and the girl couldn't stop talking about making s'mores and pitching a tent, even though they didn't sleep in it.

When Monday morning dawned, she got Makayla to school early, grinning as she ran into the elementary school doors. Kim managed to be second into the bullpen after her Sergeant, and once she put her bag on her chair she knocked on his door.

"Come in?" Voight called, watching Kim as she closed the office door behind her. "What's going on, Burgess?"

Kim sat, taking a deep breath. "I'm gonna need to leave early on Wednesdays, Sarge. I don't know how long it'll be for, but it's really important. I'll make up my hours the rest of the week though."

"Hey, don't panic. You're usually clocking at least a day of OT a week, a couple of hours one day isn't gonna make much of a difference. You wanna talk about it?" If it had been when she joined Intelligence she would have said no and left the office, but this time she stayed in her chair.

"I need to talk to someone about everything that's happened. I'm not ok with it, and I think I need to get it out before it affects my job or my daughter."

"Good." Her eyes flashed up at Voight's single word. "Everyone in this unit has their demons, and you've had a harder couple of years than most people. Take it from someone who's lost a child, it doesn't go away overnight. You take as many Wednesdays as you need." He nodded, and Kim took it as her dismissal, going out to start on paperwork before they caught a case.

The days passed and on Wednesday morning she could barely eat, her stomach already in knots. Once three thirty hit she packed up, waving goodbye as she left. There were whispers behind her as she went down the stairs to buzz out, but Voight's "Burgess's business is her own, where are we?" shut them all down.

Maguire's waiting room was pale blue, with squishy armchairs. Kim had left her service weapon in the car, and she felt almost naked without it in public. Finally her name was called, and she walked into the room.

Maguire was an older woman, with grey hair and kind brown eyes. She was in an armchair of her own, and Kim surveyed the room.

"You can sit wherever you want, Ms. Burgess. Or do you prefer Kimberly?" Kim picked a spot on the couch, tucking her legs in close.

"It's Kim, actually. If that's ok."

"I'll call you whatever name you like. You can call me Deb if you prefer. I use she/her pronouns. What I want to do today is just talk through why you feel you need therapy, and what you want to get out of it." She gestured to the twisted snakes on the table. "If you're the kind of person who needs to do things with your hands, you can play with them while we talk. I won't judge, they're good for nerves. Whenever you're ready you can just talk."

Kim picked up one of them, twisting the brightly coloured plastic around and around. It took a few minutes before she could speak, and then she poured out everything that had happened in the last decade. Meeting Adam, meeting Wendy, their relationship, giving him back the ring, their constant kisses and touches, Blair and losing him, watching Adam and Hailey, semi getting back together, the baby, the miscarriage and finally fostering and adopting Makayla. She just talked and talked. By the time she finished her mouth was dry and her cheeks were wet. Deb handed her a glass of water and some tissues.

"It sounds like you've had…an eventful few years, I suppose? The important thing to remember is you're not alone in this, Kim. I think we can do some really good work to help you here. But I want you to know that you are a really good candidate for potentially some medication to help with anxiety. We don't have to go down that road now or ever, but it is a possibility if you need some extra help."

Kim's face blanched at the thought, and her denial came out immediately. "No, I can't. I'm a cop, if anyone finds out I'm on medication I'll have to leave my unit. I can't." She watched as Deb leaned forward in her own chair.

"I just said you're a candidate, not that it's something you need to do. It's a possibility. I want you to be aware of all of the options, ok?" Kim nodded, pacified that it wasn't an essential. "I usually give my patients homework, and for the next week whenever you see something that sets off a traumatic memory for you, I want you to jot it down on your phone. Do you have any questions?"

"What counts as traumatic? Like a flashback? Or a reminder? Because I get reminders most days if I'm honest." She couldn't face the therapist's eyes, instead focusing on twisting the plastic around her wrist, like one of the bracelets Makayla had made for her.

"It's whatever you want it to mean. What a lot of people go with is a memory that they have to work to move past. Does that sound like a good starting point for you?" Kim nodded, looking at Deb straight in the eyes at last. She'd become good at reading people, at knowing who and what they were. But there was no judgment in the woman's eyes, just admiration. She took off the toy, standing up.

"Thanks, Deb. Same time next week?"

"Definitely."

The week passed as it always did, a new case to solve, new horrors to witness. This time it was a pedophile targeting young boys, and she hated that she was grateful Makayla was a girl and couldn't be targeted by this predator. Voight had kept her back on it, something she was both grateful for and disappointed by, until he mentioned he did it for himself as well. As parents they couldn't be objective on this one.

When her next therapy appointment came around, she had a long list on her notes app of times she'd been thrown into a flashback or a memory she had to force herself out of. Deb asked her to list the worst ones.

"I was thrown down by a suspect, I couldn't keep my eyes off the photos of the victims, I heard a couple fight while their baby cried. They were the three worst ones." Kim had her twisty toy in her hand again as she spoke.

"Did they all remind you of one particular time? Or was it different each time?" Deb's voice was soothing, and she didn't take any notes during the meeting. Instead she watched Kim carefully.

"The first two were when I was beaten. When I miscarried I was on a case. I wasn't supposed to go into the motel room, I was meant to wait for help. But he was going to kill that girl so I ran in and he beat me instead. Adam had to lift me out and get me to hospital where they told me I lost the baby. Any time I get a hit to the stomach or our victims are kids, it just hits in a different way. They'd be two and a half now, you know?" Her tears started, and she picked up a tissue to blot her eyes. "I tried doing everything right but it still happened and it's still my fault."

"What about the last one? It sounds like it's about the baby too?"

"Sort of? I've been so angry at myself for so long. I know it's my fault I lost them. I shouldn't have been in there. I asked Adam to get mad at me but he didn't. He has to be angry at me, it's all my fault. But he never yelled. He let me lash out but he wouldn't do it." The tears flowed faster, a sob bubbling up from Kim's chest as she spoke.

"He sounds like a decent guy."

"He was the best. Anyone I ever date will end up having to match up to him. We still work together, you know?" Deb nodded, fixing Kim with a stare.

"I want to try something, Kim. Is that ok?"

"I'll try?" She took a deep breath.

"I want you to close your eyes, and imagine that you didn't miscarry. You had the baby and they were healthy, and you brought them home. One night you put them to bed, following all the safety rules you knew. And when you wake up the next morning, they've died of SIDS. Would you blame yourself?"

"No. That just happens. It's not nice but it just happens."

"So then when you went into that motel room, and followed all the safety requirements you could, you couldn't see that he'd beat your stomach, could you? Wouldn't most criminals when they saw a police officer with a gun stop what they were doing?"

Kim nodded once, very slowly. "I guess."

"So if SIDS wouldn't be your fault, you can't say the miscarriage was. You saved a girl from certain death. You may have lost your child through it, but you did it right. It's not your fault you lost your baby, Kim. You need to let go of your anger about it. You shouldn't be angry at yourself for this."

Kim began to sob, the realisation hitting her like a punch to the gut. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't. Adam was right, it wasn't her fault. It took a few minutes for the tears to ease, and she blew her nose into a fresh tissue.

"I…it wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault we lost the baby." She didn't sound like she fully believed it, but she knew she would eventually.

"That's right. It wasn't your fault, Kim. You just had extremely bad luck." They sat in silence for a few minutes before Deb spoke again. "Kim, I think you have some symptoms of PTSD. It's very common, especially in law enforcement. We can get you through it, ok? I want you to not have to worry about whatever's in your brain. How does that sound?" Kim nodded, sitting up taller in her seat.

"I want that. I want to be ok for Makayla, for my team, for my friends. I've needed this for so long but I was afraid to ask for help."

"But you did it in the end. I want us to continue every Wednesday. Next week I'm going to give you a book about understanding PTSD so you can learn a little more. Not everything in it will apply to you, but we can talk about it and see what does and doesn't, ok?"

"Yeah. That sounds good. Thank you."

Kim got in the car, dazed from her therapy session but relieved. She wasn't broken. The miscarriage wasn't her fault. She could do it. Once she got her head straight she drove home, desperately needing the comfort her daughter could provide.