Juliet put on her running shoes and quietly shut the door behind her. It was a cool morning, especially for October in California, but it was good for running. She took off down the street at a slow pace, stretching out her arms as she went. She could hear the world echoing inside of her chest as each foot hit the cement.

She loved her morning runs. Ever since she had been given the all-clear from her doctors to walk again after her mastectomy, she had been out walking or running every morning- rain or shine. After spending a year feeling so sick and weak that she couldn't make it all the way down a hospital wing without needing to catch her breath or be brought back to her room in a wheelchair, she decided she never wanted to be in that place again.

She loved the freedom of running. And knowing that her own feet and her own legs could carry her wherever she wanted to go. And she especially loved the feeling of the wind on her face and her hair hitting her back as she ran. She had felt so trapped in the hospital- in her room, on her bed, under a pile of tubes and cords. It was enough to give her nightmares and still did, on occasion, even five years later. Trapped, tangled, unable to talk or move. But when she ran, she was free. Completely unattached. She would never run with headphones in or even check her phone before she left if she could help it- she wanted to feel completely disconnected from everything.

She rounded the corner that led to the top of her street. This was her favorite part of her run. Every day, no matter which way she went, she always made sure to end at the top of the street. She took a deep breath and started to run down the hill as fast as her legs would carry her. Her lungs were aching, and her heart was pounding. The logical part of her brain was telling her to slow down. Be careful. Don't fall. But her legs kept carrying her down the hill as fast as they could. It was the closest she had ever felt to flying, and she was addicted to the feeling.

The road dipped and she slowed down, catching her breath and jogging up the front steps of her house.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Shawn called from the kitchen. "How was your run?"

"Wonderful." She said, giving her husband a quick kiss before heading towards the bathroom for a shower. "I did 5 miles today. It was really nice outside."

"Great job," Shawn called behind her. "I made us some breakfast."

"Thanks," Juliet smiled to herself as she turned on the cold shower water. Shawn may not have been a domestic king when they first started dating, but since she got sick, he had become much better at taking care of himself along with her. He had even been making breakfast for them for the last few years and had become shockingly good at it- though it had definitely taken some time. They had both endured their helping of raw or burnt eggs before he finally figured it out.

She pulled off her shirt and quickly glanced at herself in the mirror before stepping under the cool water.

"I am a warrior," She whispered to herself, glancing down at the tattoos that covered the two long scars across her chest- a constant reminder of all that she fought for, and all that she lost to stay alive.

Juliet got into the driver's seat of Lassiter's car and studied him closely as he slid cautiously into the passenger's side. He had only let her drive his car one other time, and that was right after he dislocated his shoulder. But after just one trip in his car, he had insisted they drive in her car if she was going to be driving, even if he informed her that her green punch buggy was "a ridiculous mode of transportation unfit for anyone except for a 16-year-old from Florida," which, she then reminded him, was exactly who she was when she bought the car.

"You're sure you're okay?" Juliet asked again.

"Yes. Let's go." He responded shortly.

She began to drive the car, watching him flip through papers out of the corner of her eye and occasionally tapping the edge of the pad of paper and muttering to himself. Occasionally he would rub his forehead, but he seemed fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Juliet pulled into the gas station and followed her partner into the convenience store where the manager and two angry customers were standing talking.

"SBPD," Lassiter said calmly. "My name is Detective Lassiter, and this is my partner Detective O'Hara." He ignored the eye roll that Juliet shot him. "We heard there was a car stolen. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah!" an excited young man with a thick surfer accent exclaimed. "We were just running into the store to grab some snacks and go to the bathroom, and we looked out the window and some guy was driving away in our car!"

"Well, none of this would have happened if you didn't leave the keys in the car." The woman standing next to him interrupted. "This idiot thinks that as long as you don't leave the keys in the ignition, it will be fine. Because no one checks the cup holder for the car keys of an unlocked car."

"I'm sorry," Juliet said, eyeing her partner who was clearly amused. "You left the car unlocked with the keys in the car?"

"What kind of car was it?" Lassiter asked, pulling out his pad and pen.

The young man started to answer, but before he could talk the pad and pen hit the ground.

"Ah gosh dashmrit-" Lassiter stuttered.

"Lassiter?" Juliet looked over and saw her partner's left eye and cheek looked off, almost like they were being pulled down by gravity. She watched him attempt to bend over to pick up his pen but his left leg gave out and he hit the ground.

"Carlton!" Juliet said, crouching down and tapping her partner's face. "Carlton, what's wrong?"

"Isn fine!" her partner said, leaning over in an attempt to stand back up. But promptly upon getting to a kneeling position and attempting to push himself up onto his left foot, his leg buckled and he was on the ground again.

She lifted his hands and let go, watching his left arm drop like an anchor across his body. "Call 911!" She said to the manager.

"Li me gho O'shara!" He attempted to push her off of him, but his body wouldn't comply. His left hand only made it about two inches off the ground before falling back to the floor.

"Carlton," Juliet said, leaning over her partner to keep his arms down, which proved to be far easier than it should have been.

"Carlton, I need you to stay on the ground right now." She tried to make eye contact, but he was gone. The lights were completely out behind his eyes. They moved around the room, but didn't land on anything long enough to prove recognition.

"Ish camn't shee." Lassiter slurred. "Hep." His left eyelid slowly drooped closed.

"Carlton, I need you to keep your eyes open for me. Can you do that?" She tapped his face. She picked up his hands again. "Carlton, I need you to squeeze my hands. Can you squeeze them?" She felt his right hand softly tighten around hers, but his left hand remained limp.

Juliet wrapped her fingers around his wrist and felt his pulse. She could feel his heartbeat slow and steady underneath her fingertips.

He was alive, but so wrong. Something was so very wrong with him.

She wished she knew. In that moment, she wished she was a doctor. Or a nurse. Or someone who liked watching medical shows. Anything that could possibly help her help him. But she felt so useless, sitting on the floor of the gas station, her arms holding tightly onto his wrists, her eyes trying to hold his panicked ones, trying to keep him from attempting to move, afraid of what would happen if he tried to stand up again.

She could feel everyone in the gas station watching them, though she was fairly certain the highest any of them had made it through school was 11th grade, and was pretty positive none of them knew how to help her partner either.

She needed to help him. Why couldn't she help him?

Where the hell are the paramedics?