He poured tea in the small china teacups, first for himself, then for the young woman sitting next to him. He took a moment to relish in the sweet hot steam before turning to her, concern in his eyes.
"Drink up Cheryl. I know that you might not be in the mood for anything, but it'll help," he told her soothingly. Cheryl didn't respond or even recognize that he had spoken. "Honey," he pleaded, wrapping his arm around her, "I know that you're scared, but don't worry, I won't let those big bad detectives get you,"
He glanced over to the wall, on which he had taped the photos of two detectives, Dennis Thomas and Francis Cole. He knew everything about them: their cases, their personal lives, their detective strategies… he was prepared.
"I know that this is difficult for you. You must be scared to death; I know I would be. But that's okay, because we're together now. Even if they don't want us to be together, even if they think we can't function as a normal couple because of that incident, even if they don't let us get married, we'll be together. That's all that matters,"
Despite his comforting words, the worried look on Cheryl's face remained.
"All right, I understand. You want some alone time," He said, before kissing her on the forehead, right on top of a bullet wound.
Cheryl Jonson has been dead for three days.