When he enters his apartment he finds her sitting on his couch, waiting for him. She stares at him in silence as he approaches her. He doesn't takes his eyes off of her as he takes a seat next to her. His hand grazes the upper half of her leg. He allows his hand to rest there. She sits next to him gazing upon him with her big hazel eyes. He clears his throat. She remains perfectly still, saying nothing.

He breaks the unbearable silence, "Kate," he says softly, "we don't have to talk about this now, but we do have to talk about it some point, preferably in the near future."

She shifts her glance to the coffee table that sits in front of him. His eyes follow her line of sight. On a coaster that sits atop the table is a glass. A glass that is approximately a quarter of the way full of alcohol. There are two ice cubes inside that have already begun to turn into puddles of water inside the glass.

He can tell by the perspiration on the outside of the glass that it has been sitting there for a significant period of time. It is obvious to him that she has been carefully contemplating this moment for a considerable while. She says nothing as she reaches for the glass. She doesn't hesitate as her fingers wrap around the glass. In one swift motion the glass floats from the table to her mouth. She swallows the liquid from the glass in one attempt.

She returns the empty glass to it's previous spot on the table. She turns, and looks at him. She swallows hard. He peers into her hazel eyes hoping that she reveals something to him. He waits silently, praying that she will trust him enough to open up to him. Despite the awkward, clumsy silence he chooses to say nothing. Even though silence goes against everything he stands for; against every fiber of his being, he knows that it is a necessary evil. He waits, as the second hand of his watch ticks once, and again, repeatedly, for her to say something.

She tips her head upwards, towards him. She clears her throat, and makes eye contact. She exhales, and decides that she can wait no longer.

"I have never talked to anyone about this," she begins, admittedly.

"I would be honored if I was the first," he forces a gracious, but weak smile.

"Rick, I hate dwelling on things like this," she adds.

"From what I heard you never dwelled on it, you didn't even deal with it," he responds, in an accusatory tone. He instantly regrets this move, realizing it could cause her to retreat.

"Six years ago," she begins, "Six years ago, yesterday, I was coming home from a weekend in New Jersey."

"New Jersey?"

"It was not the destination of my choice. I was not responsible for planning the trip."

"You remember that?"

She briefly breaks eye contact, "I remember a lot of things."

"So what happened?"

"My entire world changed," she admits.

"Tell me," he begs, in a hushed tone.

"My entire world changed, and no one wanted to talk about it."

"They thought you didn't remember," he defends them.

"Initially, after it happened I couldn't remember anything. I didn't remember the accident. I didn't remember the trip. I didn't remember anyone else being in the car."

"But you weren't alone," he states matter-of-factly.

"No, I wasn't. Every single day," she clenches her jaw in an attempt to keep the tears, that are welled up in her eyes, from falling, "I wish that I had been alone in that car."

"I know."

"With every breath I take I wish that I had been alone that day."

"You probably would have died," he suggests.

She blinks away tears as the vein in her forehead begins to pulsate, "Maybe it would have been better that way."

"You don't believe that," he argues.

The tears begin to fall, "Sometimes, I do."

"What happened that night?"

She shrugs, "It was foggy, and it was dark. When I pulled out from the stop sign I couldn't see the truck stopped in the middle of the road. By the time that I did it was too late. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I have replayed that scene in my head at least a thousand times. It doesn't always end the same, sometimes it is worse. Sometimes no one survives. Sometimes sitting alone, in my apartment, thinking about what happened, I feel like I didn't either."

"How long were you unconscious for?"

"I have no idea. It was late, and it wasn't busy. The driver of the pick up was knocked unconscious too."

"No one knows how long you were there?"

"The highway patrol estimated that we were sitting in that intersection for at least twenty, or more minutes before anyone came upon the accident."

"What happened to the guy you were with?"

She cocks an eyebrow, "You read the report."

"I want to hear it from you," he answers.

"He was injured pretty badly," she responds.

"Several broken vertebrae, right?"

"And some broken ribs."

"He was a fellow NYPD officer?"

"Yeah."

"Your significant other?"

"I would not refer to him as that."

"Your boyfriend?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Then what would you call him?"

She shrugs, "A fling."

"You would have to be pretty serious with someone to drive to the middle of nowhere, New Jersey to meet his parents."

"It wasn't serious, it was complicated," she explains.

He takes a deep breath, and instantly the pain hits him. He opens his eyes, and finds himself in chaos. The airbags have deployed, and there is blood on him. He looks over to the driver's seat. Kate is strapped into her seat, bleeding, and unconscious. He tries to take a deep breath. The pain nearly overwhelms him. He can smell gasoline. Instinctively he reaches for his seat belt. The belt releases, and he manages to get his door open. He walks around the front of the vehicle, past the vehicle that they have t-boned. He makes his way around the other vehicle, and finally reaches her door. He tugs at the door, until it comes open. He ducks into the vehicle, and attempts to remove her belt. It won't unbuckle. He reaches for the knife in his pocket, and cuts the belt off of her. There is glass everywhere. The smell of gasoline grows stronger with each passing second. He cradles her body in his arms as he lifts her from the car.

Every single step is painful as he turns around, and heads for a grassy area near the guardrail. He gently lays her in the wet grass, off to the side of the road. He whispers her name, "Kate?" She briefly opens her eyes, and looks at him. Satisfied that she's alive he turns to face the car. He slowly begins to move towards it. Before he can reach it the car ignites.