It's Not Over

Good Mourning

Oh the day of her fathers funeral, Andy didn't speak very much. She suited up on her own, having gained the strength in the amount of time since his death, but the ceremony brought back all of the grief she tried to suppress. She knew she'd always be grieving in some way but it was still fresh enough, it was difficult to function without it. She said the eulogy, which was rather traditional, but that was the same reason she was able to hold it together. Rosie stood in the back, watching with reassuring eyes. When the bells rang, tears streamed down the entire teams cheeks. Andy's eyes were glossy but she refused to let a tear escape, knowing what it was like to not be able to hold it back.

Most of the members of the funeral processions didn't attend the burial, which included Rosie, seeing how he'd never met the man. Once it was over, as people spread about the lawn, traveling to their vehicles, Andy glanced back frozen a dozen feet away, watching as they removed the device used to lower his coffin. She turned back all of the way before completely freezing, oblivious to everything but the grave.

Her friends stayed a few feet away, questioning if they should come back for her and guide her away, or if it was better to let her watch, bur Robert didn't question in. Andy didn't need to see dirt piling on top of her fathers body, separating them more.

"Andrea," her said, woefully, trying to get her attention as he approached, but there was no sign she'd heard him. The closer he got to her, the further he got from anything he felt about their breakup.

"Andy, come on," he tried again, this time placing a hand on each arm. She gasped, jumping and turning to him, startling him as well. "Sorry," he said quickly, holding onto her shoulders as she looked around, wildly. "You're okay, it's okay," he told her, attempting to calm her down. "Come on." She looked back towards the grave again, taking one last glance as Robert wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her away, holding her hand with his free hand, her grief acting as a pass for this level of physical intimacy.

Rosie picked her up at the station and brought her straight to the gym. He didn't make her speak this time. She had no words, just a strong urge to hit. She thought about how cruel it was for the world to work in such a way that her father, who saved so many lives died because of it. With one last hit, tears began streaming down her face. She ripped off the gloves and dropped them on the bench, turning away to take a deep breath, holding a hand to her forehead. Rosie, seeing she needed a minute put their things back into his bag before he stepped up behind her, planting a kiss on the side of her head.

Tears fell the whole was to his apartment until she climbed into the shower, where they turned to sobs. Locked outside, he couldn't do anything.

"Hey," he said softly when she appeared in his kitchen eyes red but dry, dressed in shorts and a hoodie. He'd always seen her dress for the job or to go out when she was in Miami. But she didn't look any less beautiful in a baggy sweater with wet hair. He poured her a cup of tea and slid it over to her.

"You don't have to hide your grief from me."

"I'm not." He didn't fight her on it, but he was very good at speaking to her with just his eyes. All it took was a look. "You've got enough going on with the lab and the trial. You came to the funeral, you took me to the one place I could actually deal with."

"I want to do that. I want to be there for you." She smiled a little in response before saying,

"Yeah, I'll only allow that if you shower." He laughed lightly, glad to hear her sound like herself.

"It's a deal."
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"Jesh, wouldn't wanna go up against you in a fight," Jack exclaimed in the gym one morning shortly before their shift began. "You been practicing."