AN: They really needed to have this conversation before we can move on.

Any recognizable characters or places are the sole property of their respective owners. This plot, however, is all mine.

RPOV

I followed her up her porch steps, through the door and stood awkwardly in the hallway, waiting for her to tell me where to go.

"So…coffee?"

"Please?" I would give my left nut for a cup of coffee right now. I was so fucking tired.

"Go ahead and sit," she nodded towards the living room. "I'll bring it to you. How do you take it?"

"Milk, no sugar please." She nodded and went into the kitchen.

As soon as I entered the room my eye was drawn to the folded flag on the light wooden mantle. I moved closer to see it. Next to the flag was a larger version of the wedding photo Anthony carried around. They were laughing to each other in the picture, paused at the end of an arch of swords, they were probably being made to kiss before the final sabers were lifted for them to pass. His widow really was a very beautiful bride, I've never seen someone radiate so much joy. They looked incredibly happy. I was struck anew with the level of anguish that she must have dealt with since his death.

Every other picture on the mantle was of their little boy. A cute little guy with his mother's bright blue eyes and, without a doubt, his father's smile.

Looking at his drooly grin made me smile myself. I could only imagine that he was a great comfort to his mother.

"Here you go Lieutenant." I turned and accepted the coffee from her.

"Thank-you ma'am. Please call me Carlos?"

"Sure, but it's Stephanie then, okay?" She said with a soft smile. "I'm sorry! Let me take your coat." I handed her back the cup and pulled off my jacket. She hung it on a hat stand by the door and motioned to the couch.

"Have a seat Lieu…Carlos." I sat down on her comfortable couch and she curled her legs under her in the chair at right angles to it. She stared at me for a second, probably formulating her questions. She looked tired, but had more color than the last time I had seen her. She was almost too thin though. In her wedding picture she was quite slim. She was definitely thinner now. Driving home the point that there was no one taking care of her. I took a tentative sip of my coffee and waited her out. She blinked and seemed to gather herself.

"Did he suffer?" She said quickly. I was a bit shocked she went right for the toughest question. I drew in a deep breath.

"I don't think so. I had just left the building and he was about ten feet behind me. We went right back in when the ceiling came down and it only took us a couple of minutes at most to pull the debris off of him…he was already…" I swallowed hard and looked over at her. She held her head with both hands and looked like she was doing her best not to cry.

"Why was he behind you?" She said shakily, looking down.

I placed my cup on the side table and sat on my knees in front of her. Trying to look in her eyes. I needed to see how much of the truth she could handle. Seeing resolve there, I decided to tell her as much as I could. I stayed where I was, but didn't touch her.

"He ordered the entire squad out of the building. Santos, Brown and I were sweeping the first of the last two rooms nearest the exit point. The fire was behind us, but we'd gotten every innocent out already. We heard debris falling in the hallway and went to see what was happening…"

This had to have been the hardest conversation I've ever had.

"He ordered us out…I…uhh…I think he knew that the ceiling was going to come down any second…but he still wanted to check that last room." I sat back, breathing deep for a minute. I felt a small bubble of panic welling up at the vivid images in my head. "When the ceiling came down, I yelled for the squad to follow me back in. We hoped that he'd still be alive. We dug him out as fast as we could, the building was still on fire, you see? We couldn't leave him there." I felt sweat break out on my face and my stomach gave an ominous roll. I know my words were coming out woodenly. I hadn't spoken to anyone about this since right after we brought him home and I had no idea that it would be this hard.

"It was clear that he was already…gone…when we got everything off him, so we dragged him out to the courtyard." I finished and bowed my head, too ashamed to look at her. I could hear her crying softly and wanted so badly to comfort her, but I was sure I was the last person she would want a hug from. I startled when I felt her fingers graze the scar on my neck.

"I'm sorry!" She blurted, blinking back tears. "Is that a burn?"

"Yes."

"Did you get that when you were digging him out?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Just some minor burns and smoke inhalation. Anthony was the only one who…"

"Died, you can say it Lieutenant. He died." She looked away for a minute chest heaving. "That's scarring on your neck is from at least a second, more likely, third degree burn. I'm a nurse, Lieutenant. There's nothing 'minor' about a burn that leaves a scar like that. How did it happen…if you don't mind my asking?" She said tremulously.

"No, it's okay, I said I'd answer your questions. Some burning wood fell on my jacket while we working on freeing him and I didn't notice right away." I reached up and rubbed the oddly numb, yet hypersensitive skin. Suddenly her arms were wrapped around my neck and she was sobbing uncontrollably on my shoulder. I sat frozen for a second before I folded my arms around her and held her awkwardly. She slid off the chair and I pulled her in closer. I tried really hard not to, but my own tears fell with hers. I felt weak, but I couldn't stop them. I was so sorry for what this woman had had to go through.

Her sobs were torturous. Her whole torso heaving with them. I wanted to sit back and pull her into my lap, but I didn't want her to think that I was being inappropriate. She clung to me tightly so I just held her there in my uncomfortable position.

She started to calm and I could tell the exact moment she realized that she was being held by a virtual stranger. She tensed and I let go of her. She pulled away slightly.

"I'm sorry Lieutenant." She roughly scrubbed her hands over her face. "It's an emotional day, I guess." She made an effort to get her breath back to normal. "Thank-you for telling me that…And thank-you for being so selfless that you risked your own life to get him to safety…even after you knew he had died. He wasn't the only brave one there that day." She said sincerely.

"No ma'am, the honor is all his." No way was I accepting praise from her.

"Was the building still on fire when you all went back in?"

"Yes."

"You don't think you or any of your squad-mates deserve any recognition for going into a burning building to rescue your commanding officer?" She asked incredulously. A little of that spark returning to her. She stood and paced in front of the fireplace.

"If I had insisted he leave and that I check that last room, you would still have a husband today." I choked out. She stopped mid-pace and stared at me.

"I'm sorry, had you ever actually met my husband?" She said sarcastically. "He would never have allowed that. Gallant to a fault, that man." She said with a sad shake of her head. She stood in front of me and held out her hand. I took it, surprised by the resolute strength in her grip. Her slight hand tugged mine until I stood warily in front of her.

"Lieutenant…Carlos, I've been going to therapy for the last few months. One thing that I've gotten out of it is that I have to stop living in the past. The grieving process is long and arduous, but my husband is the one that died, not me. I'm still here, I have a son that needs me to be present. I have to move out from under this, before it crushes me completely. I know that Anthony wouldn't want me to live like this. And there's no way he would want you, or any of the others that were there that day, to still be carrying this around with them two years later." She dropped my hand and reached for a tissue. She handed me one and I realized that I'd been crying steadily right in front of her.

"Have you gone to the doctor?" She asked.

"Me? No, after an incident like that, they do PTSD screening and if you pass that they give you some basic information about the symptoms in case it pops up later. I only have the sleep issues and dreams sometimes. I'm functioning." I hated the very idea of going to counseling. I felt pathetic enough already.

"You almost had a panic attack sitting on my floor! You were sweating and having problems breathing." She rebutted. "Are you really averse to getting help? I really didn't like it at first either, but it does help."

I was getting a little annoyed at her telling me I needed help and I couldn't help but snap back at her.

"It didn't seem to be helping you sleep last night though!"

She drew back like I'd slapped her.

"What?!"

Oh shit!

AN: Don't get too mad at him for being snappish. Irritability is a symptom of PTSD and subsequent depression.

Let me know what you think.

EA xoxo