Higgins wasn't moving. In front of her, the door was being held open by the nice young man who had met her at the desk. To her left, Ian was wringing his hands, as if he couldn't bear to stand still but didn't dare move, and to her right, her father was glaring at nothing as if he thought he could make the entire building vanish by sheer force of will. Heels clicking behind her reminded her that time was still moving. But Higgins still wasn't moving. Even her thoughts were standing still. She wasn't even sure that she was breathing.

The hand that landed on her arm really should have made her jump, but she didn't so much as twitch.

"You don't have to go in alone." Ian's voice was quiet, full of sympathy and pain, and Higgins felt something inside of herself twist at the sound. "If you'd like some…"

"I think I'd rather go by myself." She cut him off, suddenly desperate to stop him from offering to walk in with her. She wasn't sure she had the strength to refuse if Ian completed the sentence and she knew, with jarring suddenness, that she didn't want anyone else in there. She didn't want anyone else to stand there and stare at the naked body, cold and pale on the table. After everything Richard had been through, hunted down and shot and dumped, left to rot in a river for weeks, she felt she couldn't bear to subject him to the indignity of being stared at right now.

The young man was still holding the door open, either too polite or too used to hesitation to say anything, and Higgins forced herself to take in a deep breath as she finally took a step forward. The second step was easier, the third even easier still, and it didn't take as long as she thought it would for her feet to carry her to the side of the table. Even with the sheet draped over it the form was so obviously a body that it took her breath away. Her hand twitched a little as if it was going to pull the sheet back and she looked down at her own fingers in surprise; the last thing she wanted to do was move the sheet. She didn't want to see Richard lying there. She didn't want to make this real.

Another man was there, older than the man who had led them all down the corridor and opened the door to the morgue. This man had a full beard and a look of professional detachment about him. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised as if waiting for an answer to a question that Higgins was sure hadn't been asked. She nodded anyway, not sure if she could speak, and froze as the top of the sheet was tugged down.

Somewhere, way back in her mind, a small voice was wailing a single word, over and over. No no no no no. On and on it went, sobbing over the word. But Higgins couldn't make herself say anything. She gave another nod, a short jerky movement of her head that hurt her neck and pulled at her shoulders. She was almost sure that she was meant to say something, even if it was just the word 'yes', but her mouth didn't seem to work and her throat was tight. The nod seemed to have been enough anyway. The older man gave a head jerk of acknowledgement and then walked away, the younger man by his side.

Dimly, Higgins realised they were giving her some privacy and she was seized by a wild compulsion to call them back. She wanted to beg them not to leave her alone with the remains of her fiance. She wanted to ask them if they were sure he wasn't just asleep. She wanted to run out of the room. She wanted to lay down at Richard's side. And still that voice in her head, getting louder and louder, was chanting it's denial of the situation.

Higgins opened her mouth, to take in a breath or call out, she wasn't sure which, and a quiet gasp escaped. Her lungs sucked in air without her really wanting them to and a sob was forced out of her, past the lump in her throat that seemed to be choking her. Another breath in, a loud and shaky gasp for air, and she realised her hands were on the very edge of the table. So close to Richard. Richard, who was so far away from her now.

The pain was somehow merging with the voice in her head to create a tidal wave of static and anguish and Higgins screamed as it crashed down over her. She didn't mean to. She didn't even realise it was her making the noise at first; it was so full of pain and anger that it scared her. The two men in the room with her came hurrying over. The door burst open and Ian and her father came rushing in, scared and upset by the noise. By the time anyone made it to her side, Higgins was on her knees, arms stretched up as her hands refused to let go of the table.

Someone was touching her, a soft touch that, for all its gentleness, felt like it was burning through her jacket. Someone, she thought a different someone, was trying to get her to let go of the table and her grip became frantic as the pressure on her hands increased. If she let go then it was over and Richard was gone and Higgins didn't know how to be alone anymore, no more than she knew how to...to… her mind faltered as it reached for a comparison it couldn't find.

She didn't feel the needle being pushed into her arm. Even as she sank into the arms of her father, she thought she was still holding on to the side of the table. She even thought he was still screaming.

It was night when she woke up but it took her a while to realise that; every light in her room was ablaze. Her head felt heavy and her body felt awkward and uncoordinated. It took a lot of effort just to sit up and, when she did, she was so exhausted that, for just a second, it didn't hurt. She remembered seeing Richard in the morgue and couldn't even feel pain in the memory. The agony came flooding back after just a moment of course, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. But she stayed calmer this time without the body there in front of her.

A few deep breaths later and Higgins was pulling herself to her feet, needing a drink and wanting to see who it was she could hear talking in the living room. She staggered a little, forced to support herself on the wall, but forced herself to keep moving.

"Dad?" She winced as she called out, feeling the strain on her throat. At the lack of response she tried again. "Ian?"

She was close enough to the living room now to see that all the seats were empty, that the voices she'd heard were coming from the TV. They were both busy men, she knew that. Her father, despite the large party that suggested otherwise, had never truly retired, and Ian had the death of an agent to contend with. But she'd thought at least one of them would have waited for her to wake up.

A flash of white caught her eye and she made her way over to the couch, dropping heavily to the cushion as the act of reaching for the note threw her off balance.

'Sorry, Jay,' she read, recognising Ian's handwriting. 'I promised your dad I'd stick around, he got called away, but there's so much going on right now that I can't stay away from the office any longer. Call me when you wake up, let me know you're okay.'

Higgins let the paper fall to the floor. The TV was playing some show, the invisible audience in hysterics at the antics of the characters. And, beyond the walls of her now far too empty house, people were hurrying past the window, hiding beneath umbrellas. Somewhere out there were people she had thought cared about her, going on about their lives, not waiting for her, not wanting her.

She sat alone, feeling the betrayal burning in her gut as the tears were building in her eyes. They had left her. She needed them. She should have been able to depend on them. And they had left.

"Alone." Her voice was hardly a whisper as she tried out the word, seeing if it still fit after so long of being 'together'. It didn't. It felt wrong. But it was all she had now.