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"You did it so good."
Jake's voice is low and warm and Rosa can hear the relief and care in every word. Usually, it would have felt irritating and choking to have so many feelings directed at her, but after today, she has little energy left to care. It feels nice - safe - to just let herself be cared for, for once, and when Jake moves his arms around her in a hug, she feels the tenseness that had been biting at her muscles since the shooting began finally begin to disperse. Ignoring her own rule of personal space, Rosa hugs him back just as tightly, savouring the affection and assurance she found in the embrace.
She swallows the throng of sombre emotions rising in her throat, managing a weak smile instead as she takes in the relieved smiles of her colleagues. She finds her voice again, internally cringing at the slight wobble in it."Were you guys worried about me or something?"
"No," comes Jake's immediate response, and her grin brightens, despite the obvious lie. Good, it was good that they weren't getting all mushy and feelings-y with her, just because of what had happened. Rosa would probably explode if her friends began treating her like some fragile, over-dramatic weakling; the whirl of exhaustion and stress inside her mind was enough, anything more and she wasn't sure if she could handle it without breaking down.
Jake's hug abruptly begins to feel suffocating, and she steps back from him, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of feeling exposed and unprotected. All that she wants to focus on is the thought of a bottle against her lips and some bitter alcohol to ease her sorrows.
"So what happened? Did they shoot at you? Were you in the thick of it?" The questions come too fast for her too process, - the smell of gunpowder, blood, shouts of panic and pain are all that comes to mind instead of words - and she just ends up shaking her head for an answer. When Rosa finally can speak, her voice comes out choked. She weakly waves a hand, as if she could physically wave away the questions and their worrisome origins."It's been a really tough day, I just want to get a beer-"
Terry cuts her off, his brows furrowed and hands fidgeting, voice still carrying a fretful tone, "Are you alright, though? You got something-" he gestures vaguely towards her face, and Rosa moves a hand up to her cheek. When she moves her hand down again, she sees reddish-brown stains and specks miscolouring her skin. Blood.
Rosa blinks numbly. "Oh," she manages, distantly.
-the head of the officer before her splits into a cloud of red and pink mist, the noise a mix of a horrifyingly loud bang and disgusting wetness of brain and flesh flying-
-the blood that splatters on her face is warm, and she doesn't realize what it is until much later, the adrenaline flowing in her blurring everything but the two men that they are hunting-
-the radio shakes in her hand, the image of the body burning behind her eyelids-
"Rosa?"
-her voice is shaking, her eyes staring emptily into the other officer sitting next to her, both of them huddled behind an overturned table-
"Rosa!"
-the gun is still steady in her hands, though; the bullets leaving the chamber - much too loudly, angrily tearing through the air with a whistle - find their mark, the shooter crumbling like he was made of sand, his legs giving out-
"Diaz!"
-there is blood on her hands as she cuffs him; she isn't sure if it is her own or from the man beneath her-
"Rosa!? Here, come-"
She looks up from her trembling hand, meets Jake's worried eyes, and swallows thickly. Someone is easing her down in a chair, while a soft voice speaks to her. "There, sit down, alright. Uhm- can you breathe? Do you want to talk about it?"
Rosa shakes her head, mumbles no, no, no, and gently pushes Jake away from her side. The exhaustion is clinging to her limbs, but she is unable to relax, let the unsettling feeling of being exposed leave her. Her head is swimming, lungs aching as if she had run a marathon. Her breathing is beginning to come easier and she clears her throat awkwardly. "It's fine. I'm fine," her eyes move down to her hand again, "The blood - it isn't mine."
They are all staring at her with concerned, disgustingly worried eyes, and Rosa has to inhale deeply to keep herself from bursting. Anger chokes its way up her throat, their staring making her skin crawl with discomfort. "Stop," her voice sounds wrong; it is hoarse and uneven, "I'll just drink at home. Alone. In silence."
Somehow she stands again - and not quite as roughly as usual - shoves a staring Hitchcock out of the way as she hurries towards the stairs, the elevator feeling all too claustrophobic for her right now.
On the way, Gina waves at her, beckons her to come with her to- ...somewhere (Rosa wasn't listening), but she is dismissed with a low 'not now, Gina' as Rosa continues towards the exit.
Her motorcycle gets left behind at the precinct, her hands feeling all too weak to be able to steer the vehicle. The air outside is cool, and it burns in her lungs, but Rosa can't get enough of it. Somehow, she gets home, and before she knows it she's at her door, shakily fishing out her keys from her pocket. She stumbles into her apartment, the door shutting disproportionately loudly behind her, and she jumps at the sound.
-the gunshots are coming closer and closer, cutting horrifying screams into silence as they end another innocent life-
Rosa finds herself unable to recall anything from her walk home, but from the water dripping from her hair and clothes, it must have been raining. She sinks to the floor, back against the door as she tries to catch her breath. Her clothes are sticking unpleasantly against her back, the textile cool and wet from the rain. The room is spinning slightly, and Rosa presses her nails hard into the palm of her hands. It stings, where her nails dig into her skin, and they leave small crescent-shaped indents behind when she moves her arms to fold them tightly across her chest.
-there is blood in the corridor, screams in the distance-
A clatter of claws against hardwood floor makes her look up, and her eyes meet big, brown ones staring deeply into her own. She sees herself in the reflection of Arlo's eyes; a small, pitiful Rosa, hugging herself tightly with wet, tangled hair framing her pale face. He waves his tail happily, unknowing of the world's evil, padding forward to greet her like he does whenever she comes home from work.
-she moves to take the vest from where it had hugged her rib-cage, the relief enough to make her dizzy; it was finally over-
His nose is wet and cool against her cheek, and Rosa lets him run his tongue along her face, circling her arms around his neck. Her fingers tangle in his yellow-brown fur, the warmth of his body comforting against her own. She feels safe, finally. Her lips twitch into something akin to a smile.
"Hey, dum-dum," she whispers into his golden fur, letting herself breathe in his comfort, "you're such an idiot." He continues to lick her face, oblivious to the insults.
.