(Disclaimer: Unfortunately, they're not mine. I'm not claiming them. But if Dick ever decides he's sick of Munch, I'll take him.)
It feels like it's been days since they rushed her from the back of the bus and into surgery.
And it hasn't even been an hour.
Elliot paces the floor. A partner's concern for his partner. Seen it before. He looks like he'd like to put a series of dents in something, but right about now, I think we all would.
Fin sits beside me, silently, at least pretending to watch the group of cops who have suddenly appeared, from all over the city. That 10-13 went out over the wire and the fact that it was she who'd gone down spread quickly. It always does.
Don's in conversation with the Chief of Detectives, a few feet away. But he keeps glancing back at us.
I know the conversation that's taking place. They're talking about her next-of-kin and what they'll give to the press and so on.
The first hour finally ends. And the next one begins. I know she's going to pull through this. She's too stubborn to give into a suspect with a gun. She's just going to make me wait a few hours.