Do me a favor. Go look up Safetysuit's cover of Hallelujah and listen to the last minute and a half.
That is where this came from.
And yes it's short but I love the image that I got in my head and tried to put into words (tried being the operative word) too much not to share it.

He stood directly behind the police barricade, trying to tune out the incessant screaming of the people around him as he stared vacantly at the spot before him that was once a building.

He should have been screaming. He's about 90% sure he could hear Lanie, Esposito and Ryan screaming from where they were near the ambulances. He should have been fighting against the police trying to push him back to get to her. The people behind him were shrieking in terror as the police station went up into flames, the debris floating down into the street.

The sirens started up again, the fire engines coming to life as they tried to douse the smoke and fire from the explosion, screaming about finding a search team to find the bodies of the bombers and anyone still left inside.


He stared, unable to look away at the scene in front of him.

Please, no.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, the soot making shadows in the bright lights of the fire engines as he saw a form start to rise out of the smoke.

He saw the figure stand up, unsteady on its feet as it stumbled from the rubble, covered in a thick layer of gray dust and the screams from the crowd increased as they saw it, too.

The figure was wearing heels.

Oh thank god.

He didn't think as his breath left his lungs on a sob. He ducked under the police tape and pushed past the police officers trying to hold him back. One grabbed at his Armani suit jacket he had worn to his meetings that morning but he spun away from him, running straight towards her as fast as his feet would carry him.

She looked up as she heard his footsteps, her shining eyes meeting his as she tried to stand up straight. He immediately caught her in his arms, one hand wrapped tightly around her waist, the other coming to grip the back of her neck. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she burrowed her face in the space there. He could the dust from the building fall onto his skin, ruining his suit, but he was focused entirely on the feel of her breathing against his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut as he held her, but he was shaking against her, sobs hiccuping through his chest.

Her nose rubbed against the side on the side of his neck, her lips just glancing over the skin she found there before she moved her head off of his shoulder slightly. She looked up at him, her dust covered cheeks stained with tear tracks, eyelashes dotted with specks of soot and he leaned down, pressed his lips against her dirty forehead and breathed her in, the scent of her breaking through the smell of the smoke. He let his forehead replace his lips and he looked directly into her eyes, his own tears sliding from the corner of his eyes. She brought her hand up and brushed the tears away with her thumb, her hand coming to rest on the side of his face. He covered her hand with his own, winding their fingers together and then he couldn't stop himself. With his free hand he swiped his thumb over her lips and then, in front of everyone, he leaned down and kissed her, relishing in the way her body immediately sank into his, her lips opening to his own.

They didn't notice the reporters, but the next morning they're on the front page of the paper. And by nightfall, they'd gone viral – the picture of the dust covered detective and the polished well-dressed writer wrapped up in each other, lit up in flashing red and blue lights as the dust fell around them.

And they didn't care.