Blurb: Tessa's POV in the two final scenes of the episode.

THE WEIGHT OF THE BADGE ("CAT AND MOUSE")

The gunshot rang out after Steve's many warnings, and Tessa saw the man who would kill their friend crumple to the ground like a boneless sack of potatoes. All that blended into the background, though, as she rushed ahead of Steve to embrace Dee and check whether she was hurt.

Her heart thundered, and Tessa felt her own shakes almost as much as Dee's, who sobbed in a familiar sense of relief and grief. The hug grounded her — them, maybe, based on how tight Dee had wrapped her arms around her — and Tessa breathed hard, trying to ease down from the adrenaline high.

That had been too close. The thought flurried round and round in her head like an errant but persistent fly. Had they been just a little later… Had she not called Dee when she had… Had Steve not made the shot when he had…

Steve.

Eyes wide, Tessa craned her neck back, heart thundering again, and found him crouched next to their presumed serial killer. His face was grim, his gaze locked on the other man's face, and Tessa's gut wrenched. Oh God. He—

Killed him.

Kill.

Steve's gaze lifted to hers, dark and shadowed, and she only halfway registered the tight set to his jaw and thin-pressed lips before he got to his feet and holstered his gun.

Before she could speak up, he'd waved down the uniforms arriving at the scene as back-up and entered quiet talks with a patrol Sergeant. Tessa watched the Sergeant report on his radio and she heard its echo on another officer's radio, who had come to aid her and Dee. In amidst questions of both care and procedure, she caught snippets of the radio call.

"VKG, this is Leichardt 39 mobile—one deceased—officer-involved shooting—need supervisor and critical incident detectives at the scene."

Tessa's innards froze, even as the relevant protocols came to mind near-instantly. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. Steve had killed a man. Shot him dead. But he'd saved a potential victim too. Had done his duty. And now he'd be scrutinised for it. Not just from the force, but from the media too. They'd keep his name out of the papers, sure, but there'd be an inquest or a trial, depending on the outcome of the internal investigation, and—

"Here, ma'am. Might be better to get off the ground. Bit of a chill tonight." The Constable next to Tessa and Dee looked tense, but focused on them as if it managed to take the mind off everything else. A rookie, maybe? He insisted they get up and Tessa realised only then that her knees hurt from being pressed into the gravel by the majority of Dee's weight. And those damn new leather shoes were sore against her skin, too.

The redhead was still crying, but haltingly, as if trying to get hold of herself. Tessa helped Dee get up, but didn't let go. With her on one side and the Constable on the other, they manoeuvred Dee towards the nearest police car where she could sit in the backseat for warmth and comfort.

The walk took them past the body on the ground, another uniformed Constable now surveying the scene with a roll of crime scene tape in his hand, and Steve who disassembled his weapon and put it into an evidence bag the patrol Sergeant held out for him.

Steve didn't look at her as they passed. All of his focus was downward — the gun, his hands, the ground — and Tessa's heart thudded hard again, her shakes worsening.

If only she could—

But she couldn't say a word. Couldn't tell him he was in the clear, as far as she was concerned. Couldn't comfort him. Couldn't do anything until after the critical incident detectives had taken both their statements and they'd written their separate after-action reports.

So she focused on Dee instead, even as her eyes burned with sudden emotion. Dee was her friend too and needed comfort. She was shaking bad next to Tessa in the backseat, and Tessa hugged her tight — reminded of a reverse situation in which she'd been the one needing this support.

Except the one who'd given it was now standing stiff and alone with his gaze distant on the man he'd killed.

Steve was still distant when Tessa saw him at the office in the morning: back at his desk and typing at presumably the case files rather than the after-action report. That would've been taken care of yesterday before the critical incident detectives had dismissed him.

She'd done her round with them in the later hours of the night and barely slept after, being too triggered and tense. Restless dreams had haunted her enough that she'd gone for a run in the morning and finally felt her head clear and the fight instinct quelled to something less immediate. At least four times yesterday she'd wanted to pick up the phone and call him, check on him, but the unknown had stayed her hand. What if the detectives still had him in an interview? It could take hours. And after, maybe he'd fallen asleep? If so, she should let him sleep. Trouble would come back again soon enough.

Seeing him now, though, bathed in the hazy light of a cloudy Sydney morning, Tessa regretted her own inaction. Steve looked, for want of a better word, dead. His eyes weren't really focused even as his fingers typed on the computer. His jaw was slack, his face shadowed with lack of sleep, and his shoulders slumped.

While Tessa lingered outside the double glass doors, she saw Steve close his eyes all of a sudden and put both palms together in front of his face. A prayer? A moment of reproach? She didn't know, but it kept her back for several minutes until the door opened before her and she had to step out of the way for Tom and Roddy, two of the Homicide Squad's veterans.

"Sorry, love," Tom said, then caught himself, added "Tessa" and looked embarrassed.

Ordinarily, Tessa would've bristled at that. Being one of the few women — as well as the youngest — on the squad, she continued to face a fair share of old-fashioned endearments and misogynistic attitudes. Change was slow to these halls and offices, she knew, and hated it.

But now Tom's slip merely rolled off her shoulders. Tessa quirked her lip briefly, stiffly, and looked back at Steve, who still sat in silent reverie. Alone and shielded in their little cubed square closest to the interview room. Separate from the rest.

Go.

Something urged her on, now. Slow and measured, she entered the office and approached their realm — both wanting and not to intrude; to make up for yesterday.

Steve's eyes opened and, whether with shock or experience, he straightened in his seat and refocused on his previous task.

Appearances. Doesn't he trust me? Does he think I'll think less of him now?

"Hey." Tessa felt the word halfway stuck in her throat. So much more wanted to be said, but where to start? "You all right?"

He sounded much the same himself with the muttered, "Yeah, I think so."

Tessa hesitated, the handbag held in her hand for a moment. What to say next? Call him out on it? Claim he couldn't possibly be 'all right'? Not when she'd seen how he'd been last night? Nor how he appeared now?

The words failed her, though, so she left her handbag upon her desk, leaned against his desk, and stretched out to squeeze his hand once. Just the once, but firmly, gently, and with hopefully the wealth of things she wanted to convey in its split-second grip.

Steve glanced up, stunned, mouth parted, and she smiled at him until his gaze dropped. Then she tensed again. Had she overstepped? Done wrong? Assumed too much? Or was he simply that far gone? Not ready for others' comfort? Or simply hers?

But Steve inhaled through his nose and something eased in his whole countenance. Made him…familiar, somehow. "If you don't stop being nice to me, I might have to say something complimentary about those new shoes of yours."

"Like what?" Tessa furrowed her brows, half with a frown and half with a smile. She sat on the precipice, she realised. Teetering on an edge that'd either take her over or back, and she didn't know which she preferred.

She did prefer the honest attempt in Steve's lie: "They look very…comfortable."

Chuckling, Tessa raised one foot from its perch as if to showcase the shiny leather heels — nowhere near as comfortable as she'd like. At that, Steve's shoulders eased and he leaned back slightly in his chair, a soft smile now on his face.

She grinned more in response. "Jealous?"

"Like you can't believe," he dead-panned. "Always imagined myself running around in a pair of heels."

"If you bring yours, I'll bring mine. We could race for lunch."

"Maybe another day," Steve said and glanced back down at his computer.

In an instant, the cheer in his eyes had deadened again. Not quite to the level as before, but enough for Tessa to reach out automatically to squeeze his hand again…and leave it there, heart thudding.

"There was nothing else you could've done."

Steve's jaw tightened, his fingers twitching within her grip, and Tessa could sense him withdraw, so she squeezed harder.

"He would've hit Dee before we'd reached him," she continued. "Could've killed her in one blow. Seriously hurt or crippled her, at least."

And maybe the killer preferred suicide by cop rather than be caught and punished. Maybe he'd wanted you to kill him. That thought had kept her up last night. She'd not mentioned it to the detectives yesterday - it wasn't her purview to speculate in such matters, just stick to the facts - and she didn't want to mention it now. Steve liked facts and proof. She should honour that. Not make him brood further.

"You saved her," Tessa said and squeezed his hand tight before finally letting go. The imprint of that large, warm, stiff hand followed her. "Don't forget that."

At that, Steve's features eased a little. For a second, his eyes closed, and then he looked up to meet her gentle smile with another of his own.

"Thank you," he said, voice low. Intimate, even. As if they weren't sat in the middle of Central Homicide and in possible view and listening range of at least ten others.

You catch flies with honey, not vinegar.

Tessa's cheeks flushed with heat and her heart rushed into a race against her quickened breaths. Why had that thought intruded now? Ridiculous.

"All true," she murmured and ducked her head away, seeking grounding elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, she found it in the whiteboard next to their desks and squared her shoulders before approaching it. "Ready to update this? I'll expect Thorne will grill us later. I'd rather be prepared."

Tessa picked up the whiteboard marker, uncapped it, and stared back at Steve with what she hoped was anything but rosy-cheeked anticipation.

Steve hid a smile behind his hand, cleared his throat, and nodded. "Let's."

END