Ice Queen. Bitch. Emotionless workaholic. Robot.

Do they think I don't know what they call me? I'm a lawyer, I'm trained to observe.

The whispers of mere acquaintances don't hurt. Nor does the polar opposite - the little boys who flatter me in an attempt to get into my pants.

It's the comments by those closest to me, who should have seen behind my mask, they creep past my defenses, tiny daggers to the heart.

It's when I see McCoy taking Briscoe and Greene out for a beer. And when I see Nora and Anita headed out for a lunch away from the testosterone.

I know it shouldn't bother me. I've spent years building my walls. And God knows, McCoy couldn't handle any sign of humanity from Hang 'Em High. He proved that when I confessed to him what I've told no other. Why I picked him, I'll never know. Maybe I just wanted him to see a little more of the real me.

I guess we don't get to choose who sees behind our masks. I never would have picked her - not because I don't respect her, but because she, like most in her profession, makes me uncomfortable.

Yet I will forever be grateful to whatever deity granted her the power to see into my soul. For without that second sight she wouldn't be sitting across from me right now, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Ready to go home?" I ask softly.

And with a smile that blossoms like the dawn, Elizabeth Olivet laces her fingers with mine as we step together into the night.