A/N: A what-if post-ep for "Probable Cause." Because when that final scene happened, I told Linds, Jenn, and Em that I'd be the person to do this. And so I did.
Also, this is terribly, tragically angsty. If that's not your cup of tea, move on.
He was too slow. Too goddamn slow. He gets the shot off into Tyson's shoulder in time to catch her body as it crumples forward. He's thankful for the dark clothing he's wearing, for the dim darkness that blinds him to the red already staining his shirt and pants.
"No, Beckett. No," he murmurs, voice shaking as his fingers scramble over her stomach to find the ragged edges of the wound. "Not now."
The salt breeze from off the Hudson stings his face, mingling with the salt water from the tears leaking from his eyes as he cups her cheek, other hand pressing into her abdomen. Her eyes are fluttering, the light draining out of them.
And there's nothing he can do.
He has to duck his head down, his cheek against hers, to hear the words she's whispering. The same three words over and over, broken by choking coughs. A strangled whimper escapes and he's not entirely sure who it originated from.
No. She doesn't get to give up now.
She's a dead weight when he picks her up, cradling her as he stumbles back toward the main road. Her fingers are clenched at his shirt and when he takes a moment to glance down at her face, he finds her pale, eyes shut against the pain.
He just needs to find someone. Anyone with a car or a phone or anything. He needs to get help.
"Just… hold on," he pleads.
He can't lose her.
Except he does.