Her hand trembles, a fraction of a second, but just long enough to give her away. It's difficult for her to recall when the mental replay started, likely long before he showed up at her door, but now that it's in her head, she can't get it out - Coonan's face, haughty and defiant, turned slack as the shot from her gun rings out and she stares down the barrel when he slumps to the floor, his blood gushing out over her hand, his life slipping away as she keeps trying to resuscitate the man hired to kill her mother.

"You know I wouldn't have let him - "

Beckett's voice wavers on the last syllable, the sentence unfinished, but the unspoken thought hangs in the air, the sentiment behind it obvious in her tone even as she averts her gaze again and hides her falter with another sip of whiskey. It burns less, now, in those few moments right before the numbness starts to kick in in its place.