Alright readers! I started this story a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away. I've come back to it, finally, and have changed it up slightly!

This story is COMPLETELY AU and a sequel to my story 'Rise Above This' and you should read that so you're not too confused. You might catch the gist of it if you don't buuuut for my sake and for the sake of my OCs, go take a look :)

Alright, enough rambling...

enjoy:

PROLOGUE

Jim Beckett sat in his kitchen with his head in his hands, staring down at the white tiled floor. There was a small puddle of water, melted snow from someone's boots. A headache was forming behind his eyes.

Yellow. It was just a colour. Sunny, happy, mellow, bright, cheerful. Who could hate the colour yellow? Apparently, Morgan Cahill-recently-turned-Beckett could. After Morgan and her daughter Alaina had moved in just over a year ago, they'd decided to redo a few of the rooms; all Jim wanted to do was paint their bathroom yellow. Brighten it up a little, add some life to the white and chrome of the room. Was it really too much to ask?

Morgan hated the colour yellow. It reminded her of urine and bile and creamed corn and any other number of less-than-pleasant things. She liked the white. It should have been a simple discussion or compromise; maybe Jim could paint the garage yellow, since he tinkered around in there sometimes, especially when Kate rode her motorcycle over to visit.

But the woman knew why it was big deal. Yellow was not a bad colour to Jim. Kate had let it slip once, a few months back, that yellow had been her mother's favourite colour. It had been an offhand comment, one that Morgan had initially been pleased with because to her it meant Kate was getting more comfortable with her around. Now, though, she could see why this was such a big deal for Jim.

He had stormed down the stairs to the kitchen. This shouldn't be such a big deal. He just wanted to paint some stupid walls yellow. That's it. So why-

Oh.

Jim caught sight of the calendar on the fridge. The date seemed to leap off the page and smack him in the face; this was why he'd been so on edge lately. The anniversary of his wife's death. First wife's.

Jim sighed and dropped heavily onto one of the kitchen chairs, eyes still locked on the little black number 9. He'd debated telling Morgan about this day, or reminding her as it were, but had decided not to. He didn't want to dwell on the bad stuff, but remember the good times. Make new memories with Morgan and Alaina.

Johanna had loved yellow, though. There weren't many pictures of her in the house anymore, nothing to say she ever existed to him except when Katie was around. Jim had thought it was time for a fresh start, for new memories and pictures; he hadn't thrown them away though, he never could have done that. They were simply put away in the attic with a few other items of hers that he and Kate just couldn't part with.

Why couldn't he just paint the damn bathroom yellow?

A familiar urge tugged at the back of his mind as the confusion and emotions swirled into a heady haze of disorientation. If he could just relax, just numb himself down a bit, maybe he could figure this out. He was so tired, hadn't been sleeping well for the past week and now he remembered why...Maybe he could-

No. He cannot drink. He will not drink. Think of Katherine. Think of Katie, his little girl. The alcohol doesn't help, it hurts. Causes more problems than it solves.

But it had felt so good...would it still feel the same, now? After all these years? Would it dull the ache in his chest the same? Would the edge of his mind go fuzzy, so all he felt was weightless? Would he forget this miserable day ever happened?

Sponsor. Have to find Alan's number. Jim remembered being told, early on in AA, that he would always be an alcoholic, that the urge would be something he would always remember and probably fight.

Morgan moved around upstairs, another reminder to stay anchored here and not slide back down the slippery slope he'll be on for the rest of his life. Her footsteps are light and regular on the hardwood floors above him.

The alcohol had been regular too. He needed to talk to Morgan, or Katie. Katie. He has no idea why this year is hitting him harder than usual. Is it the fight with Morgan? Is it Morgan herself? Is it because he's now remarried? In any case, he knows he needs help and he needs it now.

Jim lurched to his feet and tore his gaze from the calendar, deciding he had to burn that thing if he made it through the night sober. The phone was suddenly in his hand, his fingers dialing on autopilot. Since finally getting together with her writer, 6pm had become a difficult time to get a hold of Kate. This time of night meant she could still be working, or it meant she could be out finishing up for the day, on her way home, out getting dinner, on a date...

He held up the phone when it started ringing, not even knowing what number he'd dialed.

Her work answering machine picked up, her clear voice telling him professionally to leave his name and number and the reason for his call so she could call back later. Jim clicked off and then on again, trying her cell phone.

It was turned off.

He had to go. It was a sign, he decided. It could be a cheat day; those were allowed for extenuating circumstances right? He'd been sober so long, worked so hard. Could he get away with saying this was an experiment?

A voice in the back of his head was telling him no, no he could not get away with this, he could not do this. The voice was a startling mix of Katie and Johanna.

Jim grabbed his car keys, debating with himself internally as he went out the front door and down to the driveway.

He was sober. He could have one drink, one, just to relax a little, to take the edge off, and he'd be fine. He could get up and leave the bar after one little drink. He'd even tell the bartender to only serve him one, to dilute it with water.

Before Jim knew it, he was pulling up to a parking spot next to a bar. It was far enough from his house that if Morgan suspected where he'd gone, which wasn't likely, she wouldn't find him right away, but close enough that he was sure he'd be fine getting home. Snow swirled lightly through the air and the cold bit at his nose.

The bar was a little older, a little run down. The vinyl over the stools was cracked on most seats and the bar top was worn. Little bowls of peanuts sat every few seats down the length of the bar. There weren't many patrons, a few people that looked like regulars that ignored Jim as he entered.

He could do this. He could handle one drink. Nobody here would judge him or tell Katie or Morgan and he would be relaxed and everything would be fine.

The bartender didn't understand the one-drink-watered-down order.

Hours later, Jim stumbled out to his car after convincing the older man behind the counter that he was fine to drive. The lying came back as quickly as his throat had readjusted to the whiskey burning a path to his liver.

After half-heartedly swiping the light snow off the windshield and throwing himself into the driver's seat, Jim tried to get the key into the ignition. Failed. Three times. Finally he slid the key home and turned the engine over, starting the car and smacking the wheel in satisfaction.

See? He was fine. Remembered how to drive and where he lived and everything. Didn't remember to turn the headlights on. The soft voice in the back of his head got louder, angrier. He ignored it.

Traffic was light, for New York City anyway, and Jim had no trouble navigating the streets. Every now and then a line or two blurred or squiggled. He accelerated every few lights to make the yellows. He liked the colour yellow. It was Johanna's favourite colour. Not like red. Avoid the red.

It didn't occur to him to slow down after accelerating and Jim wound his way through traffic, weaving in and out of cars. A yellow light up ahead. Could he make it? He would, yellow was good, right?

There was no car in front of him, he'd already cut the slow driver off a few blocks back.

Jim pushed down on the accelerator and frowned when the yellow turned red, with half a block until he reached it. He waved off the warning in the back of his mind though; wasn't there a delay between his red and the green for the other drivers? Sure. There was. Yellow.

He smiled as the red light passed over his head, looked up to watch it glow behind him.

Something went sideways...

There was a screech of tires, not his own, and a bone-jarring crunch, glass shattering. His world tilted crazily for a moment, his ears registering an earsplitting sound, his movement suddenly stopped. Metal twisted and groaned and he thought he heard a scream. His hand throbbed and his face hurt. Was it wet?

What just happened?

It hit him with sobering clarity. Just as he had hit something else. A car. He'd hit a car. With people in it. The voice in the back of his head was gone now, on a whisper. I told you so...

Smoke obscured the view of the other vehicle, and he could tell the front end of his own was crumpled.

Jim forced his door open and all but fell out, the alcohol burning on the way back up, too. Just like earlier today, his fingers automatically dialed a number, but it wasn't 911.

Katie was always there for him, always helped him. Gave him what he needed whether he wanted it or not. She would help him again, get him back from this, he needed her help. Couldn't believe he'd messed up again, and this bad! The other car was smoking too, but Jim still couldn't see inside.

His hands were shaking badly as he finished dialing.

Glass was everywhere. People were crowding on the sidewalks now. Jim sat in the street surrounded by glass and his legs feeling like jelly.

He held the phone up to his ear, held the other hand to his face. It came away wet with blood and something - sweat, or blood- dripped into his eye and made it sting. Kate's line rang once and then Jim heard his ringtone.

He had made a ringtone on Kate's phone for himself, so that she knew it was him calling. Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder. Katie had rolled her eyes and blushed when she'd heard it. It was...coming from...somewhere close by?

Jim frowned and looked around, but Katie wasn't running to him, wasn't answering her phone...

Isn't she lovely? Isn't she wonderful?

With horror, he turned back to the other car. His suddenly nerveless fingers lost their grip on his phone and it clattered loudly to the pavement.

'This is Kate Beckett, leave me a message and I'll try and get back to you.'

Beep.

dun dun dun

I know, I know. Okay, reviews are welcomed and appreciated! Constructive criticism ONLY. Flames will be used to heat my home in the coming winter here in Canada.