Lost in his thoughts, he had momentarily forgotten his reason for visiting here in the first place. As he looked down, he saw the flowers beside him and realised what it was that he had set out to do when he'd left the house at dawn this morning.

Taking two of the roses from the bouquet, he rested them gently against the headstone of his fallen friend, shaking his head in dismay at the overgrown mess of the man's final resting place. Old flowers that had been left previously had withered and died without the love and attentiveness of one of the living to tend to it, the grave appeared forgotten and uncared for.

Well, that just wouldn't do. He would not leave this place until the gross oversight had been corrected. Leaning forward, he began to pull at the grass and weeds that were threatening to consume the headstone of the man that he had cared for deeply. He began tearing at the reedy weeds with abandon, feeling the catharsis that removing them brought, feeling the symbolic nature of pulling out that which threatened to consume, both the grave and his own heart.

His mission complete, he leaned back on his haunches and surveyed his handiwork, pleased to find that the headstone seemed cleaner, newer somehow. He hadn't realised how much effort he'd put into his actions until he felt his chest heave and his brow glisten with the effort.

Carelessly wiping away at the perspiration, he spoke once more to his dear friend. "I'm sorry that I didn't get here sooner, Tim," he said as he adjusted the roses against the cool marble stone that marked Tim Speedle's final resting place. "Things have been a bit...shitty lately." He laughed at his own understatement, shitty didn't even come close to describing the nightmare that his life had turned into.

Suddenly, he was taken by the notion that Speed would frown, in that special way that only he could, puzzled by the fact that his old boss was laying flowers on his grave. Tim Speedle was a man's man, a person of few words or emotions, more often than not conveying what was on his mind by the slightest of twitches of his facial muscles. There was something terribly non-masculine about men bringing men flowers. Stoic men didn't do such things, they conveyed their emotions with a stiff handshake or pat on the back, not with flowers and tears.

"Tim, I have to leave Miami for a while. I don't know for how long, but I want you to do something for me, ok?" He spoke to the unmoving stone as if it would suddenly answer him back. "I want you to watch over them…..keep them safe. Can you do that for me?"

He suddenly felt foolish for talking to a dead man, it wasn't as if Tim were going to suddenly rise from the grave and answer him back. He'd been dead for years, his earthly body now no more than fragile bones, buried beneath masses of dirt. As if by some kind of divine intervention, he felt the slightest of breezes kiss his face and ruffle his hair. He smiled to himself, choosing to believe that his request had been answered. Some might have called him irrational for considering it as a sign from above, but he chose to believe that his faith in the greater good was stronger than the words of naysayers. His beliefs, his faith, that which would sustain him through what was to come. To have neither was to have nothing at all.

Gradually pulling himself to his feet, he dusted the dirt from his jeans, collecting the rest of the flowers as he rose. Taking a few steps, he rested his hand on the headstone as he spoke, "I have to go, Tim. There are things that I have to do…..I know you understand…..But I promise you that I will be back, ok? I want you to take care for me…..I know you can do that….You take care for me, ok?"

He cleared his throat quickly, feeling the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He'd said his piece, it was time to move on. Walking for what seemed like miles, he eventually found his way to her grave, giving her a sad smile as he lowered himself to the ground and rested his back against the cold stone.

On the drive over to the cemetery, he had worked out perfectly in his mind what it was that he would say to her, now he felt those words desert him. God, he had no idea where to start, perhaps at the beginning was best.

"Marisol…..I miss you….." he found the words failing him again. Why couldn't he just say what it was that he was feeling?

"Things had been falling apart since…since the shooting…things were getting out of control and I couldn't stop it. But there was someone there…every day since I woke up in that hospital….taking care of me…..loving me. I've fallen in love with her, Marisol…I've fallen so hopelessly in love with her."

He closed his eyes as he pictured Calleigh's beautiful face next to his, lying in his arms, feeling the warmth that radiated from every pore of her. "You told me…you told me to be happy….that my work wasn't done yet, I just had no idea how hard that work was going to be, sweetheart. But she…..she makes it all seem worthwhile…..she makes it seem as if I can be happy…..eventually. I haven't felt that way in such a long time…..not since…..not since you."

He winced at his own words, frustrated at his inability to articulate his complex feelings to her. "I want you to know that I'll never forget you, nor the time we shared together, no matter how brief it was. I can't live in the past any longer, Marisol…I have to move forwards….I have to. This is my last chance…..I have to take it, there's no other choice."

He sat there for the longest time, his eyes closed as he felt the warmth of the Miami sun on his worn features, feeling the gentle heat infuse his body gradually, the rejuvenating rays of the sun imbuing him with the strength to do what was right, do what was needed. The warmth of the sun was so like the warmth of the innocent young woman that had fallen so madly in love with him all those years ago. It was a sign.

She understood.

He cracked an eye open and realised that the flowers were still in his hand. Raising himself to his feet, he laid them gently on the neatly trimmed grass that surrounded her grave. Eric had been here recently, that much was obvious. The two of them had always made it a priority to tend to her spot with military precision, keeping it neat and tidy, beautiful like the woman herself. It was no less than she deserved. The white petals of the roses seemed brighter as they glistened in the sunlight, their colour reflecting the innocence of the woman who had been taken from this earth far before her time.

Perhaps he had bought them for another reason too, white signified peace, and somehow it was symbolic of the war he had been waging within himself. Was he unconsciously telling himself that he was willing to call a ceasefire between the two warring halves of his psyche? That he wanted, no, that he needed that harmony?

He stood, staring at her grave, searching for the answers.

"Eric told me I might find you here."

The gruff voice made him jump visibly as he turned to see the bulky figure of Andy Sipowicz standing behind him. "What do you want, Andy?" he asked quietly, tired of playing games and second-guessing people. He had no doubt that word had spread of his desertion of the woman that he had claimed to love, what he really didn't need right now was a lecture on it.

If the balding man was offended by his friend's words, he didn't show it. "I stopped by the Lab….spoke to Calleigh." He left the sentence unfinished, hoping that John would step in and fill in the blanks. Words were not forthcoming from the younger man. "She says you left."

Andy's tone held no hint of accusation, more curiosity than anything. But the words were true, there could be no denying the fact that he had packed his bags and left the one person who had stood by him through everything. He nodded his head, once more feeling shame for his hurtful actions towards her.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

He snorted at that. "No, not really. She probably hates me right now," he admitted as he hung his head, feeling his earlier sense of hope dwindling as images of last night flooded his mind.

"She's disappointed and a little hurt, but she doesn't hate you. She loves you."

"I love her too, but I can't be around her right now. I don't know how to make her understand that without hurting her." He looked at Andy helplessly, trying to find the answers that he was so desperately searching for.

Andy suddenly felt awkward, he'd never been any good at these types of conversations. There would invariably come a time when he would put his foot in it, say something inappropriate or offensive that would anger the other person. He shrugged his shoulders and shuffled his feet, kicking at the dirt beneath them. "Give her time, kid. She'll understand. For some reason she loves you…..God knows why." He gave his old friend a small smile, hoping to soften the words that had fallen unbidden from his mouth.

He looked shocked momentarily, almost offended, until that cheeky little grin crossed his face. It was a smile that lit the man up, changing his dour features into that of someone who seemed years younger and so much more innocent than the tortured man of recent memory. "I don't know why either," he answered finally, "I'm just glad she does."

He could feel the mood lift slightly as the two of them fell back into the friendly banter that had defined so much of their early relationship as partners. "You shouldn't be picky either, kid, there's not much of a market for gangly ginger chumps out there, you know."

"At least I still have my hair, you grumpy old bastard," the younger man shot back as Andy heard for the first time something that he feared he would never hear again, a genuine chuckle from the man that he regarded as his own son.

It felt good to see John with a genuine smile on his face, Lord knows that it had been missing for long enough. There was still work to do, and plenty of it, but at least now there was a small spark of the man that he used to know, the guy that he used to have so much respect for, as a cop and as a man. John had been so bogged down in his pain and misery that it had been almost impossible to reach him recently. There were times when all he wanted to do was grab the stubborn man by the shirtfront and shake some sense into him.

But that night when he'd found him slumped against a wall, head in his hands, that had been the signal that he'd finally hit rock bottom. There had only been one other time that he had seen his partner at such a low ebb, but this time he had made the promise that he would be the friend that John needed, that he would not let him down. Not again.

Maybe his subsequent meltdown after meeting with Laura had been the final straw, the catalyst for him to pull his head from his backside, to stand up and fight like the man that they all knew him to be. Much like being an alcoholic, the words and pleadings of others could not force change upon a person, it had to be a realisation that they came to on their own. The choice to change was in that of the beholder alone, no one else could make that decision for them.

It seemed to him as if John had made that choice and he thanked the Heavens for that, he'd begun to despair of the younger man, fearing that he would stay weighed down in his own misery forever. But he had taken the first step and made that choice, at least now they had something that they could work with, some foundation that they could build from. Maybe there was hope for him, for both of them, after all.

He wasn't sure which the best way of putting it was, and so he blurted it out regardless. "I'm coming to New York with you." He was rewarded with John whipping his head around so fast to face him that it almost made him feel dizzy.

"Andy, this is my problem. I have to do this on my own."

"No, you don't. I was a shitty friend to you the last time we were both there, I'm not letting you go through it alone….not again." There was a bitterness in his tone, not at John, but at himself.

"Andy…."

"Jeeze, kid," the tubby man let out an exasperated sigh. "Will you just shut up and accept the fact that I'm coming with you?"

"But you don't have to…"

"No, but I want to. Your flight's booked for this afternoon?"

He watched as his old partner hung his head in defeat, nodding silently as his gaze hit the ground.

"Good, so is mine." He paused as he saw John lift his head up and open his mouth, readying himself to say something, he pulled a small item from his pants pocket and thrust it in his face. "Here, I got this for you."

John looked at him in puzzlement, he watched as he stared at the cell phone in his hands. "Where did you get this?"

"Your house. I lifted it when you weren't looking." Andy arched his eyebrow as his friend gave him a withering stare. "It's not like you were paying much attention at the time. Anyway, I thought you might need it, so I got it fixed for you.

"Andy, you didn't have to…."

"But I wanted to, so just shut up and accept it," he barked back, losing patience with his old partner and his infuriating notion that he was not worthy of the kindness of others. "Just accept that sometimes people want to do nice things for you, don't throw it back in their faces." The words were meant to be gently chiding.

He was rewarded with a wry smile from John. "Yes, sir."

He gave him a satisfied smile of his own. "Hell, I don't know about you, but I could murder a coffee and a bagel, what do you say?" He looked at John expectantly.

"Sure, why not?"

"Good. No offense, but graveyards give me the creeps, kinda like I'm tempting fate with Old Father Time, you know?"

The younger man said nothing except to shake his head and follow his old partner from the cemetery, casting one last look at Marisol before he left, hoping that she knew how much he still cared for her. But he had to leave, he had to leave this city for a time, to repair the wounds that his past had caused, to right the wrongs that he alone had committed. Only then would he be able to move on from all that held him prisoner. But surely she knew that this wasn't goodbye, this wasn't the end for them, merely a pause in proceedings. He would one day return to this very spot, perhaps with the news that he had made it, that he had finally achieved his goal and found the one thing that had proved elusive so far.

In his own way he had loved her, he always would, but what he had with Calleigh was different. She was the light to his dark, the other half of him, the better half of him, and the person who made him whole and complete. But he needed time and space to work on the part of him that he alone was in possession of, he was fractured and split. Like a broken watch in need of fixing, manfully carrying on, trying to be the same as before, no longer able to keep up, like the uneven ticking of a clock out of time.

He'd expected to make this journey alone, but was silently glad for the support that Andy was offering him. He hadn't liked to ask anything of the man, he'd done too much for him already. But Andy was a stubborn old mule if nothing else, perhaps his gruff demeanour would help to inject a sense of realism into proceedings, knowing that if he made the journey alone, that he would soon become bogged down in his misery once more.

Andy would brook no insolence or pitiful behaviour from him. He would pull him up and command him to get himself together and carry on when he felt things getting too tough, never letting him waver from the course that he had set for himself.

His sense of pride dictated that he must make the journey alone and not ask for the help of others. Pride cometh before a fall, old man, he told himself as he shook his head ruefully. He would not spurn the chance to have a companion along for the ride, perhaps it would serve to bring the two men closer together, to heal some of the rifts that had been widened through the unstoppable passages of time.

With his hope and faith he could now add Andy's strength and unwavering support. Little by little, he was gathering the tools that he would need in his arsenal to complete the mission that he had set for himself. One by one, he would go in search of the things that made him the man he used to be, rebuilding from the bottom up, returning to the man he was, the man that he knew that he could still be.