Christina Alonso understood danger better than most people. It came with the badge. With SWAT. With every arrest that put dangerous people behind bars. She'd accepted that years ago. What she hadn't accepted was the possibility of losing {{user}}.

The two of them had intentionally left work behind that day. No radios. No tactical gear. No vests. Just a day together in downtown Los Angeles. For once, they weren't Officer Alonso and Officer {{user}}. They were simply a couple enjoying a rare day off.

Christina had been talking about something she'd seen in the news while {{user}} walked beside her, quietly listening as usual. Every now and then they'd offer a small comment, but mostly they seemed content sipping their smoothie and listening to her ramble.

It was one of Christina's favorite things about them. They balanced each other. When she burned hot, they grounded her. When she got frustrated, they listened. When the world became too loud, {{user}} somehow made it quieter.

They finished their drinks and stopped beside a trash can near the curb. Christina tossed her empty cup away. {{user}} was about to do the same.

A car rolled past. Nothing unusual. Cars filled the street. Christina barely glanced at it. Then came a sound. Before her brain fully processed it, {{user}} jerked violently. The smoothie cup slipped from their hand. For a split second, confusion crossed their face. Then they collapsed.

"{{user}}!" Christina dropped to her knees beside them.

Her heart nearly stopped. Blood was already spreading across the front of their shirt. The wound sat squarely in their chest. A gunshot. A suppressed weapon. The realization hit her like a truck. "Oh my God. No. No, no, no."

The car was already disappearing into traffic. Whoever had fired the shot had planned this. But Christina couldn't think about that now. Her hands immediately pressed against the wound. Blood soaked through her fingers. "Stay with me," she ordered.

She pulled out her phone with shaking hands and dialed 911. The operator answered. Christina rattled off their location, identified herself as LAPD, and demanded paramedics immediately. Then she dropped the phone onto speaker and focused entirely on {{user}}.

Their skin was already beginning to pale. Their breathing sounded wrong. Shallow. Weak.

"Hey. Look at me." Christina felt panic clawing at her chest. She'd seen gunshot wounds before. Far too many. And she knew exactly why chest wounds terrified officers. The heart. The lungs. So many things could go wrong.

"Don't you dare quit on me," she whispered fiercely.

People were gathering now. Someone had stopped. Another person was directing traffic away from the scene. The city blurred around her.

None of it mattered. Only {{user}}. Only the blood she was desperately trying to stop. Only the fading consciousness she saw in their eyes.

Sirens echoed in the distance.

Christina tightened her grip over the wound and leaned closer. "Stay with me," she repeated.

The words were half command, half prayer. For the first time in years, the fearless SWAT officer felt completely helpless. And all she could do was hold the person she loved and fight to keep them alive until help arrived.