Authors note: I'm not getting on the site much and am so far behind on stores and everything else that I probably should not be starting new ideas but what the hell here I am.

The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example.

-Benjamin Disraeli

Disclaimer: Oh to have anything of value would be nice but the only thing I own is my credit card debt.

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Everyday heroes:

The call had come earlier in the week, a courtesy from a long forgotten acquaintance with a simple 'by the way'... an 'in case you'd want to know'. She had of course planned to be there, before yet another scheme and the usual token dress down.

It was too late now; the sun had started to slowly sink into the river, the hour was late. Lisbon thought back on what had shifted in her life, and looked, really for the first time in a while, around her office. She placed so much meaning on what was essentially a small glass rectangle that separated her from her subordinates. It was meant to be a space that defined her as special, as more, but she no longer felt that way and hadn't for a long time.

She was loosing her feeling of purpose and then this. She grabbed her stuff knowing that while inherently late she would at least give the man the consideration of being there just as he was for her.

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The day had finally settled into dusk as Lisbon trudged up the sodden hill. A rare storm had wet the earth, so the sound of her footsteps squelching was her only companion. The breeze whipped loose tendrils around her face and she pushed them back, annoyed by their rebellious nature.

Her vanity had certainly increased over the years, 20 years ago when she was a rookie, a bun and a lick of mascara was all she deemed necessary. Yet that was before Jane had joined her team. There is only so many times when, while standing next to him, a woman can be sized up by others before even the most nonchalant female starts to become paranoid.

She cursed loudly at her train of thinking before remembering where she was. Damn man constantly invading her thoughts and her life. She sighs out into the wind, letting it remove her frustration.

She is not here for him. This is not about him.

She halts in front of the newly dug grave. Etched on the cool grey marble in harsh black, capital letters proudly state that Sergeant Blake, husband, father and friend has entered his final resting place.

Below that there is also a quote. "The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example."

Letting her fingers trace the letters on the stone, Lisbon's tip follows the outline of the word hero in the indentations. That's what he was, that was who he was. He didn't change the whole world but he sure as hell impacted hers and no doubts many others.

Many of the cops she knows want accolades and notoriety but fame is fleeting. Simple, kind and dedicated men like Rob Blake were a rarity and a blessing and their good name and deeds live on. They do good for the sake of it, help for no other reason than someone needs it. That is who she wants to be, he is her champion.

She presumes that to most, the assumption that her mother's death and the perpetrators subsequent release was the reason for her career choice but it was as far from the truth as you could get. She was only 12 when that occurred, the devastation was memorable but everything else is pretty foggy, nor was it her fathers influence... well not directly.

She was 17 when she met the then beat cop Blake. She was working the 9 till 2 shift most nights at a dive diner while simultaneously juggling school, three children, her abusive father and Greg; all in all she was flailing.

Blake did what no one else had done in five years; he listened to her without expectations and demands.

Most nights he came in with his smart mouthed partner and ordered waffles and coffee. He was warm and caring, his wizened eyes cataloguing her injuries but never forcing a confrontation instead simply being there. He would chat, ask her opinion on cases, and tell stories about how it should be... how life could be. He made her feel worthy and that in itself was a rare gift.

The night she decided she wanted to be just like him had begun like every other with a few stragglers wasting away the late hours in the company of strangers. Lisbon was tidying and cleaning in hopes of getting home early.

She was tired; nothing new but she had had an exam and had two more the next day. She was getting ready to close up and go home when a strung out teen came in, nervously scanning the area. While he had no visible tattoos, his wife beater was grungy and he reeked of alcohol. He was probably only a year or two older than she was, it sadden her when she saw people who had lost their way.

He approached two girls nestled in the oversized booths. The hairs on Lisbon's neck bristled in anticipation; sure he was not too tall but he had a rabid dog look, the kind that screams danger.

Despite being strung out he moved speedily over to a cute blonde sitting with another girl. He grabbed the girl and put a knife to her throat. His blood shot eyes darted back and forth unfocused and wild... His yells sounded almost like he was wounded; unintelligible and screeching.

Lisbon had known fear, she felt it daily but seeing that girl, with her cornflower blue eyes streaming and that boy desperate and crazed, she felt true terror. She was helpless, unsure and powerless, she didn't know how to help and she hated that.

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Blake slowly got up gently pushing Lisbon behind him, making himself her human shield. He approached the boy and began to calmly and reassuringly talk him down.

Despite his bulk and obvious career choice, he came close to the boy with ease and a quiet confidence. It was almost like he was a different person; the loud guffaw and booming voice disappeared replaced by soothing tones and friendly words. He was strong yet vulnerable.

Lisbon watched on from the relative safety of the booth. She saw the hostage slow her breathing down, her hysteria gone as Blake's mere presence gave her comfort. The young man too, despite whatever narcotic was whooshing through his system also became entranced by this man, this cop.

It was amazing and awe inspiring and it was the first time Lisbon had seen that true power is not snatched from others by a heavy hand and that a real man does not use violence to gain respect. She always felt drawn to helping people but in that moment she knew that she could do this... that she wanted to do this.

She only worked at the diner for three more months but every night she picked Blake's brain about becoming a cop and to his credit he answered every question and even on occasion brought her literature despite no doubt thinking this slip of a girl had no chance as a rookie.

She smiled to herself at the memories. He was a good man and the world was a lesser place without him in it. Dusk was no more and the night chill made her shiver. Noting the cold that was now seeping into her bones she moved to leave, turning back on a whim she called out into the night.

"Thank you... For saving my life."