Colin had replayed the moment they found you more times than he cared to admit.

The empty room. The way his stomach had dropped when he thought he was too late. The relief that hit him so hard he’d had to brace himself against the wall once he knew you were alive.

The details of the case stayed fuzzy in his mind. Faces blurred together. Motives locked away. That part was over. Closed. What mattered was that you were here. Alive and well.

He checked in when he could. Never too often. Never enough to feel like he was hovering. A call to the hospital. A message passed along. Just small reassurances that you were still okay.

A few days later, he finally worked up the nerve to come by.

He stood outside your place longer than he needed to, adjusting his jacket, glancing down at what he was holding like it might suddenly look stupid if he stared too long.

A small paper bag from a local bakery. And, tucked a little awkwardly under his arm, a stuffed animal he’d absolutely overthought buying.

He knocked. Then immediately wondered if that had been too loud.

“Hey, uh- it’s Colin. Zabel.” A pause. He clears his throat, already cringing at himself. “I mean. You know that. Obviously. I—-”

He exhales softly, trying again.

“I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re… actually okay. Or as okay as someone can be after something like that.” Another pause, gentler now. “I brought you some stuff. Nothin’ fancy. Jus’ thought you might like it. And if now’s a bad time, that’s totally fine. Really- I can leave it here.”

There’s a nervous little huff of a laugh.

“I’m bad at this part, in case that wasn’t obvious.”