She stared out the window, peering into the clouds as though she would actually see Patty's smiling face looking down on her.

She left the Lab immediately, Horatio insisting that she take the rest of the day off. But she couldn't go home. Patty had been there. It was too soon.

It was so easy to pretend that Patty was alive and well in Sarasota. She had left that morning and…

It didn't make sense. It didn't seem real. She said that it wouldn't be forever.

She lied.

Keats strolled along the beach, the wind blowing through her hair. Apparently a heavy rain had been falling. So heavy that Patty drove herself off a bridge. Patty had been a horrible driver. Even worse than Keats.

It had been a running gag between them who was the worst driver. They would take turns and critique each other, eventually agreeing that Patty cornered the market on horrendous driving.

"Patty, you idiot. You have to slow down for rain." Keats said. Perhaps it hadn't hit her that hard, yet. The initial shock had worn off and was replaced by a feeling of extreme denial.

Keats tried to think logically. It was impossible to believe that Patty, who was afraid of absolutely nothing in this world, would be taken down by something as simplistic as a car accident.

Patty had always been an omnipresent figure in her life. Keats had always assumed she'd stay with her throughout her life. What kind of life was she supposed to have now?

Keats sat on the sand, cursing everything. Cursing Patty for her bad driving, cursing herself for not paying closer attention to her gut instincts, and cursing God for letting it happen.

Salty tears fell down her blank face, but she was too numb to feel them.

Keats stood, brushing the sand off her slacks. She stumbled a bit, her stomach churning with anger and fear. She threw her head back to the sky and screamed out loud, abandoned and helpless like a child.

She kicked at the sand with intense frustration, weeping gently with every toss of her foot. She dropped to her knees and clutched at the sand, trying to hold on to something so that she wouldn't fall apart.

She felt a pair of strong arms around her, stroking her with delicate softness.

"Keats…talk to me." Ryan's voice came out stronger than his touch.

"I let her go. I knew something would go wrong and I just let her go. If I had owned up to my feelings, I could have saved her." Keats cried.

"Stop, Keats. This isn't your fault. Not even you can predict death, okay?" He told her, mildly scolding her for blaming herself.

"But I felt something. I knew I'd never see her again. But I ignored it."

"It was an accident, Keats. Look at me…it was an accident." Keats turned and faced Ryan. His eyes were wide with concern. He placed his hands on either side of her face.

"Then…how come it doesn't feel that way…" Keats said, her voice cracking.

Ryan wrapped his arms around her, clutching her tightly.

"I know…I know…" He whispered. Keats glanced up into his face. He seemed ready to cry himself. She had never seen him this vulnerable before.

"You know?" She asked him. She wondered what he meant.

They sat in a booth facing each other, stirring various things in their respective cups of coffee. Ryan hadn't explained yet how he knew what she was feeling. Keats was waiting patiently, sipping from her cup.

"You asked about my family once, right?"

"And you told me it was just your dad and your brother." Keats supplied.

"What did I tell you about my mother?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. This certain gesture had become more prominent ever since he'd met Keats.

"You didn't say much."

"Because she died when I was five years old." He said. His voice had become distant. Almost as though even now, after many years, he still couldn't face the pain.

Keats placed a warm hand on his arm. He gave her a weak smile.

"I was too young to understand her disease. Nephritis. Sometimes I still don't understand exactly what went wrong. Anyway, I used to cling to my mother's leg. I'd hold on tight because she was away a lot for hospitalization.

I figured the stronger I held on, the better chances I had of her not leaving. Not more than a few weeks later, she fell, complaining about her leg. We thought it was aching just because of me…I stopped clinging to her after that."

Ryan stopped, almost reluctant to go on. Keats nodded, wishing she knew how to comfort him when she could barely keep herself afloat.

"We waited too late to get her leg checked out. She had gotten a blood clot and by the time she saw someone about it…she'd had a stroke." Ryan said, drinking his coffee.

"You blamed yourself for that? Why?" Keats wondered. Blood clots were common for people with Nephritis.

"Pretty much the same reason why you're blaming yourself, I guess. It's hard to imagine your life as though you have absolutely no control over what happens. And basically, aside from making everyday choices like sneakers or sandals…you really don't. None of us do." He said.

"That's an awful way to think." Keats murmured, ignoring her coffee.

"Maybe, but it puts things in perspective. Even though I know I had nothing to do with her death, blaming something, anything…it made me feel better. Otherwise, my mom died for absolutely no reason.

It's a difficult concept to grasp, even though it's been like twenty-three years." Ryan said, trying to give Keats a reassuring smile.

"I had no idea…I'm sorry." Keats said, averting his eyes.

"I only told you so you'd stop beating yourself up about Patty."

Keats flinched at the sound of her name.

"I want you to tell me that it wasn't your fault." Ryan added. Keats shook her head. She looked into his eyes, the profound sadness and assured wisdom.

Keats sighed, hearing the words in her head and wondering if she could really believe in them.

"It wasn't my fault." She said. She cleared her throat and felt as if a monumental weight was lifted off her shoulders.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Keats. I thought you were going mental on the beach. I don't want to have to commit you. At least not yet." Ryan smirked.

Keats smiled for the first time since she'd heard the news.