A/N: I was reading through the archives and realized that Carolyn is really underrepresented, so I'm writing from her POV this time. For this fic, you have to imagine MC in an established relationship.

I have seen Heaven, and it's not what I expected.

The floors aren't made of clouds and no one has wings made of white feathers.

There's no set of shimmering golden gates and St. Peter isn't standing around in a white robe holding a checklist. God isn't an old man with a long white beard and a giant throne.

Heaven isn't like what you see in the movies. It's much simpler than that.

It's something you can't possibly anticipate because there's nothing like it in life. No matter what you do, you'll never be prepared.

I would know. I'm already here.

I died on a Tuesday. That day is etched in my memory forever.

It was a normal day for the majority of the eight million people in New York...and the complete opposite for me.

My morning was uneventful. I woke up at the loud buzzing from my alarm, just like always. And just like always, Mike rolled over instead of actually getting up. I untangled myself from him and the navy blue sheets we shared to make some coffee. (We're cops, we thrive on the stuff.) Mike came in a few minutes later to kiss me and get a cup for himself.

We drove to work, downing more coffee when we got there, just like always.

The four of us talked about nothing in particular, enjoying the friendship that had sprouted among us.

Eventually we went to our respective desks and actually started to work.

Mike and I found a new lead on our case and decided to go talk to him right away.

It wasn't supposed to happen. We were just visiting a potential witness's apartment. It was only meant to be to be a conversation.

But nothing ever turns out exactly like you want it to when you're in our line of work.

This is the part where my memory turns fuzzy.

The ride to Calvin Hewitt's building was typical. Traffic on Columbus Avenue, cabbies cutting everyone off, the usual. As New Yorkers, we're almost immune to it all.

Hewitt lived in apartment 4C. I remember being the first one to the door. I remember having said door shut in my face when I showed him my badge. I remember calling through the door that we just wanted to talk to him about Juliana Carter.

I don't remember how I ended up on the hallway floor with a bullet in my stomach.

I remember Mike kneeling over me. I remember him pressing the wound to stop the bleeding and yelling into his phone about getting a bus. I remember the tears that fell from his eyes. I'd never seen him cry before.

I remember him saying things through his hysteria that I knew he'd never be able to say normally. He told me that I couldn't leave him, to just hold on, that he was so sorry for anything he'd ever done to me, so sorry that he hadn't protected me. He told me he loved me, that he always would love me, that he was so sorry for any times he hadn't shown it.

I remember reaching up to touch his face. I remember trying to tell him that it was okay, that he shouldn't be sorry, that I loved him too, but I didn't have the strength to talk anymore.

I remember smiling - a small, weak smile, but it was all I could manage.

I remember spending my last few seconds on Earth holding his hand.

His eyes were the last thing I saw.

Then everything faded away.

It's a strange feeling, dying. You'd expect it to be uncomfortable or bizarre or even painful, but it's not.

Death is more like a merciful release. The end of all the pain and suffering and sadness of life. It's like finally falling asleep after staying up all night crying. Like seeing the clock tick to 5:00 on a Friday afternoon at work. Like finding out the who in a whodunit.

It's not so bad, really. Down on Earth, people are so afraid of death when they really have no reason to be. It's inevitable. It happens to everyone eventually and it's no use trying to change it. It's like the prayer that the nuns used to say in school. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change.

It's easier than you think. You just have to let go.

Dying feels like…

It's hard to describe because there's nothing quite like it on Earth. The phenomenon of soul leaving body is too ethereal for the living to understand. The closest mortal sensation is the feeling of floating to the surface after swimming to the bottom.

Contrary to popular belief, death isn't really the end. It's just a transition of one kind of life to the next. Human to divine, brief to eternal, tragic to perfect, mortal to unending.

The EMTs only took 4 minutes to arrive, but it was too late. I was already too far gone.

They loaded me into the ambulance, frantically searching for a pulse, a breath, anything to signal that I wasn't gone for good. No one objected when Mike jumped inside with me, still holding on to my hand.

While they worked, I watched him. That was by far the hardest part of dying, seeing the lost and hopeless look on his face as they tried to save me. He didn't deserve this kind of loss. No one did.

I didn't even make it to the hospital. I passed right there in the ambulance en route.

I felt my whole body go limp, my fingers slackening as my arm hit the cold metal bars of the stretcher.

I was pronounced dead at exactly 10:24 AM.

Mike never let go of my hand.