Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body

The water is so cold, it’s stealing the breath from his very lungs, but Jeremy is beyond caring at this point. He eyes stare into the drain below him as ruddy pink swirls around his feet. His hands, curled into fists, are pressed against the shower wall before him– the only thing keeping him upright at this point. He can’t get the sound out of his head.

The sound of Matt choking on his own blood.

The call had been a DV case at an apartment nearby, and they had no idea what they were walking into. Intel dropped the ball– the guy wasn’t in the building anymore. He had circled around and been waiting for them in the alley across the street right as the sirens pulled up. They were ambushed the second they got out of the car.

Matt went down first, and Jeremy hid from the driver’s side, popping off shots to keep the perp in his hiding spot behind the dumpster. He had screamed into his radio for backup for what felt like an hour before other cars arrived, and as soon as the guy took off, rather than chasing after him, Jeremy had scrambled around to the other side. He scooped the first friend he had ever made into his arms, pressing a hand into the exit wound. “It went through clean– you’re gonna be okay, man.” He pleaded down at the male, heart breaking as the man struggled to take. The blood was everywhere, but he could only focus on being Matt’s anchor– doing everything he could to be what brought him through to the other side of his.

They had gone to the academy together, graduated together– then partnered together. And now, he had to watch as the blonde’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. Dead.

When it came time for debriefing, Jeremy offered little to the conversation. His uniform was stained in the blood of a fellow officer– what the hell could he say that they didn’t know? The subject had been taken into custody, and would be charged appropriately. He wasn’t the one on trial here.

After about three hours, they had let him go. He staggered into the locker room and stripped down, furious but refusing to acknowledge the clerk following behind– bagging ‘evidence.’

The afternoon plays over in his head for the hundredth time, and suddenly his fists are slamming into the tiled wall. His blood joins Matt’s, circling around the shower floor. He wants to scream, but nothing comes out; he remembers going hoarse trying to will his dead partner’s eyes open.

A hand comes from nowhere, wrapping around his own, followed by his name repeatedly, growing more and more urgent. “Jeremy!” Her voice finally breaks through the grief fog around him, and he slowly turns his head to take in her sight. Katherine’s face is heartbreaking on it’s own, tear stains evident on her defined cheekbones. He takes in a shaky breath and tries to find something to say, but words fall him. His shoulders begin to shake, followed by his head in a negative motion. “I should have protected him– he was my partner. My friend. And I failed him.”

As soon as he starts to speak, Katherine sighs and steps in, taking his face in her hands. “Baby, what happened is not your fault. It’s not. But I know that’s not going to matter to you right now. Right now all you’re feeling is the hurt. And it’s okay– it’s okay for you to not be okay.” His eyes close and he leans his head into her touch– a gesture that normally feels like second nature, but her reassurance feels undeserved.

Katherine steps in the shower further, positioning herself between him and the wall now decorated with bloodied knuckle prints. “Let me be here for you, like you were there for me.” She doesn’t need to say when– they both know. Maybe this is the closest thing he’ll ever feel to understanding how it felt for her to lose Elena. He’s still not sure, though. The anger and guilt and grief is coursing through his veins, and the idea of scaring her or ruining them… it would be the final nail in the coffin (at least in his mind in this moment).

He didn’t realize she had begin to move her hands over his skin, assisting the water in the difficult taste of washing the day away. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers with eyes closed, and he can feel her breath on his lips when she finally speaks again. “I’ve got you, okay? We’ll get you clean, and then we’ll get you home. And then we’ll figure out where to go from there. You don’t have to do this alone.”

A shaky hand reaches up to touch her cheek, and when he feels a water droplet too warm to be coming from the shower head above, Jeremy wipes away that tear. He pulls back, and kisses the spot just below her hairline, speaking without moving his lips away. “Thank you. He was your friend too.”