Author's Note – Usually a CI fic writer, I can't help but chime in post-"Fault" with my own little ficlet. Honestly, people, my pulse was going faster at the end than it does when I watch "24!" And what stuck with me after was that one little exchange of "I'm sorry" and "I know." I don't own any characters or any song lyrics – those belong to Dick Wolf and my boys, Rascal Flatts. And I'm trying a new voice for this one – let me know what you think.

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go,
But I'm doin' it.
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone.
Still harder gettin' up, gettin' dressed, livin' with this regret
But I know if I could do it over
I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart that I left unspoken.

What hurts the most, was being so close
And having so much to say,
And watchin' you walk away,
Never knowing, what could have been
And not seein' that lovin' you
Is what I was tryin' to do.

"What Hurts the Most" as performed by Rascal Flatts

When you're six years old and you knock someone over on the playground or steal their red crayon, "I'm sorry" is usually all it takes to fix the mistake. In fact, when you're six, "I'm sorry" can take care of a litany of mistakes and bumbles and even seeming disasters. When you're an adult, however, "I'm sorry" is usually only enough to cover bumping into someone in a store aisle or interrupting a conversation; every situation after that leaves those two little words open to a world of interpretation that may or may not render the desired result. Sometimes it means "I didn't intend to hurt you" and sometimes it means "I'm a jerk" or sometimes "I'm only saying what you want to hear to get you to leave me alone." Black and white doesn't even begin to encompass "I'm sorry;" it's only gray. And usually just saying it isn't anywhere near enough to assuage the damage that's already done.

When you're a detective for the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, "I'm sorry" is a phrase that you speak on such a regular basis that it's readily available on your tongue, though you never think that you'll have to say it to your partner of eight years while he's being held with a gun to his head. Nor do you ever think that what happens after you say it will result in the end of your relationship as you know it. You've apologized to him before – "I'm sorry things didn't go on that case like we'd planned," "I'm sorry but I think you're wrong," or worse, "I'm sorry that you're getting a divorce" – but you've never been in a situation like that one; you've never seen him plead with his eyes for you to do the unimaginable and had to apologize because you couldn't follow through with his request.

"Do it," he demanded, the tears in his eyes causing your own to well up and overflow. You wondered for a moment if you'd ever seen him cry before and ended up thinking that if you had, it would have stuck in your mind's eye the way that particular image did. Must be you hadn't. Must be that was the first time.

"I'm sorry," you mouthed in the heat of the moment, the simple words telling him that you couldn't do it, you couldn't be the cause of any harm that may come to him because he's your best friend and hurting him would be worse than hurting yourself. You'd gladly trade places with him if you could just to spare him the ordeal.

"I know," he mouthed back and you saw the misinterpretation happen before your eyes like a sudden car accident – he thought you'd heed his demand when in reality you meant to tell him that you couldn't, that you wouldn't. Still, for a half of a second after he handed his life over to you with confident ease, you actually considered going through with it, actually considered pulling the trigger and taking a poorly-aimed shot at the madman holding him by the collar. Your partner's faith in you was so strong that you felt the thread binding you take hold and pull so hard that you wondered if it was possible, if maybe – just maybe – you could make the shot. Maybe you could save him the way that he tried to save you in the subway terminal. Maybe you could make it so that his kids wouldn't get the call that every child of a police officer dreads.

Maybe you could actually be the person that he put up so high on that pedestal instead of feeling unworthy of such admiration.

In the end, of course, you really couldn't do it but ESU took care of matters, dispensing the man holding your partner hostage with one well-aimed shot from a sniper rifle above. And you fought the urge to rush in and wrap your partner in your arms in order to feel him and prove to yourself that he was alive and unharmed. You had to fight it because you were already weeping in relief and it was essential that you maintain some level of police decorum in front of the other officers who began to swarm about – and you had to fight it because the case wasn't over yet; you still had a little girl to find.

You fought it until you sat beside your partner in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, paramedics checking over the little girl that you saved and shooting you nervous looks as though they wanted to examine you too – just to be safe. You must have looked shell-shocked (and you probably were) but your stomach finally ceased its nervous flopping when you leaned back and your arm contacted that of your partner, the warm firmness of his bicep reassuring in the wake of a situation that was anything but. He turned to look at you briefly, eyes still overly bright with the rush of adrenaline that you both shared, but then he too leaned back so that your arms pressed firmly into each other – the closest thing to a hug you were going to get. Still, that gentle contact was enough to slow your heart rate into a normal range and when you felt his small sigh beside you, you knew that he felt the same.

For the moment, you understood one another again. If you knew at the time that it might be the last time, you probably would have done everything in your power to make it last longer.

Of course, it wasn't your fault that things fell apart later. You didn't make him say the things that he did. It wasn't your fault that he told you flat out, "Look, we both chose each other over the job. We can never let that happen again. Otherwise, we can't be partners." You didn't force him to say, "You and this job are about the only things I've got anymore. I don't want to wreck that. I couldn't take it."

But when he did, you felt your heart break. He's always held that power over you (whether you wanted him to or not) but until this last case you didn't realize that you had the same control over him. He chose to protect his heart at the cost of yours and he never even said, "I'm sorry."

And now you're standing outside your captain's office replaying the last few hours in your head and finding no way around what you're about to do. Your emotions are so jumbled right now that you wonder if you're thinking clearly. Maybe you should wait; maybe you're making a snap decision because you're in pain and the events of today haven't sorted themselves out in your head yet.

Maybe you're just scared because you know that, just like in the warehouse, this situation won't be mended with an "I'm sorry." Nothing between you two can ever be fixed that way; your feelings run too deep for that.

So you gather yourself, pray that you keep your composure, and step through the door. And when the words leave your lips: "I want a new partner," what you're thinking is those two little words. Your mind is screaming them at you, at your captain, and at your partner and best friend who isn't even there. And you wish that you were six years old again and that the words held some power over the situation, that they could mend everything that's fallen apart before your eyes. "I'm sorry" has become your inner mantra.

In the warehouse, you said, "I'm sorry" and he said, "I know." This time, you don't know what he'll say; you just know that you'll have to begin with, "I'm sorry" and pray that somehow it's enough to help you through whatever comes next.

FIN