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The young woman smiled through her tears, gratitude shining in her eyes. As she walked away, Morgan took a deep breath, trying to find solace in the knowledge that at least one life had been spared from Joe's twisted grasp.
Now, all that was left was to hear Joe's fate – and to face whatever consequences came with it.
The sterile scent of the hospital mixed with the lingering smell of stale coffee as Morgan stared at the floor, her thoughts a whirlwind. The linoleum beneath her feet was worn from years of countless patients and visitors who had walked these halls, each carrying their own burdens. She wondered how many lives had been forever changed within these walls.
"Agent Cross?" a voice called out, pulling Morgan's attention to a doctor standing in the doorway of the waiting room. His face held a mixture of exhaustion and sympathy, his eyes briefly flicking down to the clipboard he held.
"Joe Dancer," she replied, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.
"I'm sorry, Agent Cross," he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "He didn't make it. The bullet caused too much damage."
Morgan's chest tightened, a mixture of relief and regret washing over her. She shifted in her seat, her legs suddenly feeling weak. "Thank you, Doctor," she managed to say, her voice barely audible.
Morgan looked into the doctor's eyes, searching for any hint of hope. His solemn expression, however, told her everything she needed to know. With a heavy heart, she nodded and managed a weak smile. "Thank you, doctor, for trying." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried all the gratitude she could muster.
"Of course," he replied, giving her a small, sympathetic smile before retreating down the hallway. Morgan watched him go, then turned toward the exit. The sterile white walls seemed to close in on her as she walked, each step bringing her closer to the warm embrace of the night outside.
As the automatic doors slid open, Morgan stepped out into the balmy air. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the distant hum of traffic, momentarily grounding her in a semblance of normalcy. She took a deep breath, savoring the sensation of life pulsing through her veins – something Joe Dancer would never experience again.
"Hey." A familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Derik." She turned to see her partner standing nearby, his usually stoic features marred by grief. His green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, making him look more vulnerable than she had ever seen him before.
"Is it true?" Derik asked, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions. "Did Joe…?"
Morgan hesitated, wishing she could spare him this pain. But they were partners, and the truth always came first. "No," she admitted, lowering her gaze. "He didn't make it."
"Damn it." Derik's shoulders slumped, as though the weight of the world had just crashed down upon him. He rubbed a hand over his face, visibly struggling to maintain his composure.
Morgan wanted to comfort him, but she knew that her own emotions were too raw to offer any solace. Instead, she focused on the sensation of her heart pounding in her chest, reminding herself that she was alive and had a duty to keep fighting for justice. Joe Dancer's life might have ended, but hers would continue – even if it meant shouldering the burden of guilt and grief.
Morgan observed Derik as he stood there, his tall frame slumped and defeated. The fluorescent glow of the streetlights illuminated the trails of tears streaking down his face, making his green eyes appear even more haunted than usual. Concern washed over her, and she couldn't help but ask, "Derik, why are you so upset? I mean, I know it's not easy, but you've had to kill on duty before."
He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know, Morgan. It's just... I never like killing, no matter the circumstances. And with everything so bad between us, it's just a lot." He looked away, his gaze settling on a crumpled beer can in the corner of the parking lot. "I'm trying really hard not to drink right now."
Morgan's heart twisted, understanding the weight of his struggle. She knew all too well how much he relied on alcohol to numb the pain. In that moment, she saw the vulnerability in him – a vulnerability that mirrored her own.
"Derik," she started gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath her touch. "I know we have our issues, but right now, we need to focus on what we can control. We stopped Joe from hurting anyone else, and that counts for something."
His eyes locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. "But at what cost, Morgan? A man is dead because of me."
She squeezed his shoulder, holding his gaze. "You did what you had to do. Don't let Joe's actions define your worth."
Derik swallowed hard, nodding as he processed her words. Around them, the night air hummed with the distant sounds of traffic and life continuing beyond their bubble of sorrow. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and slowly straightened up.
"Thanks, Morgan," he said quietly, his voice wavering.
Morgan hesitated before she spoke, watching Derik's despondent posture. "You need to go home and get some rest, Derik," she said firmly. "And for God's sake, don't drink."
"Right..." he replied, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. He flashed a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Take care of yourself, Morgan."
"Likewise," she managed, her heart aching as she watched him walk away into the night.
EPILOGUE
Later that evening, Morgan found herself on her couch, buried beneath a soft blanket. Skunk, her loyal Pitbull, lay beside her, his warm body pressed against hers. The comforting weight of him seemed to be the only thing keeping her grounded in the moment.
Her thoughts drifted back to Derik, his tear-filled eyes haunting her. She couldn't deny that she cared about him, but she couldn't be his emotional support when she was still struggling with her own demons. It wasn't fair to either of them.
