wheelsy_sheriff | [[friday]]

["I'm planning on going with you, if that's okay."]

It's been months since he's been in uniform, even longer since he's worn the one he's putting on now.

It's a little tight, but then it always seemed that way to him, and he doesn't have the badge to go with it.

Straightening the jacket he twists his neck, trying to free up room in the collar. Taking a slow breath he stares at his reflection in the mirror a moment then picks up his cap sitting on the counter by the sink.

Leaving the bathroom he heads down the hallway to the bedroom and stands in the doorway.

"Ready?"

-----

It's cold, a dusting of snow on the ground and a cold breeze blowing through the cemetery, whipping the coats of the mourners and the edges of the flag draped over the casket.

His ears and fingers burn red with the cold but Bill stands stoical through the ceremony.

Kate is at his side, and although his eyes shift only between the casket and Mrs. Hargrove standing by, he can feel her presence next him.

It takes a conscious effort but he doesn't flinch when the rifles sound, and when it's over and the crowd breaks he keeps his place instead of leaving quickly, waiting as the rest of the attendees speak with Hargrove's widow.

She says a tearful 'thank you' to the last in line and looks up, eyes locking on Bill's. He walks over and doesn't break her gaze until he's in front of her.

"Mrs. Hargrove, I wanna say I'm sorry for your husband." There's more in his voice than sympathy, it's an apology and the woman before him can hear it.

She shakes her head, chin trembling.

"No... it's not... "

Bill looks up then and the guilt he's been carrying breaks in his eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

Suddenly she closes the distance between them and she's hugging him fiercely, face pressed against his chest.

"It's not your fault, Sheriff, please... Chris loved his job, an' he'd never... he'd never blame you so please... don't-- "

He only hesitates a moment before his arms go around her. He feels her body trembling and holds on a little tighter, nodding to her words, hearing them finally,

"This isn't your fault -- it isn't."

and believing them, finally.