Every time Kate walked through the doors and rode up the elevators up to the 12th precinct, she told herself over and over that the three months she spent finding herself and healing up in her fathers cabin made her okay. She told herself that she wasn’t terrified of every loud noise that happened around her. Everyone at work believed it, why couldn’t she?

One moment she was walking down the street with you to the next victim that had—unfortunately—been shot, discussing how the case was going and the next moment? The next moment a police siren whoops sharply in the air and Kate finds herself on the ground, pressing her back against a mailbox, breath shallow, heart hammering against her chest. Her mind raced back to that day, the sound of the gunshot ringing in her ears, her body frozen in place, the world around her blurring.

“Kate.” Your voice felt warbled in her ears. Kate’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, trying to ground herself, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the panic flooding her system. “Kate, it’s okay. You’re safe…”

She forced her eyes open, glancing up at you, your face so close. She saw the concern, the quiet understanding. It wasn’t pity. It was just there, like you were waiting for her to come back.

A soft breath left her lips. “I… hate this.”