Part III; Green

-o-

The color was raw and dangerous. A painstakingly dark green wrought with the tale of morbid, gruesome happenings. Virescent, a deep green etched into the trappings of his mind, nauseating and sickly. He could feel his mind churning. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing it's only a matter of time before you fall; not a matter of if. There were no hands to steady him, no one to pull him back – he would fall and crash, surely. Into a dark unfathomable green sea, claiming him into its depths with an intensity that would overwhelm him, reel him into the center of its mass and envelop him into arms that would cling to him, unyielding. It did not comfort him; no, the almost tender tendrils ensnared and engraved into his body, his mind, was the slow but painful road to dark misery.

Sharon's hair fell in red tresses, her eyes red from crying and the gashes were still angry and fresh – bruises dark and still red. The aura of her encompassed him, enveloped him in an embrace far from comforting, tying strings around his throat and squeezing the life slowly from him. Never had guilt taken such a stronghold on him, never had he felt so lost. Lost in the feeling, lost in an angry haze of confusion and the feeling of spinning out of control; the blur of absinthe-colored horror in his soul.

Andy had a hard time keeping his gaze on anything but her. The fragile form, the bruised and bloodied woman drew him in, confined his sight and took his breath from his lungs. Nausea seemed ever constant – a dark and rancid force twisting its way inside him, curling and trembling as a foreign creature lodge inside his heart, sickly green in its center.

The hospital was quiet – still as if waiting for the people to take breaths. Their room albeit small felt light however – he wondered why. Trembling and in pain, his whole body aching, Andy tried to make sense of everything – every breath drew out an excruciating pain in his sides – two broken ribs and a few bruised. His head pounded and throbbed and no matter how much he tried to, he couldn't sleep. The hospital bed he was confined to was doing nothing to soothe his pain. All he could do, all he wanted to, was watch over her.

His existence seemed to revolve around her lithe form lying motionless opposite him in another hospital bed – eyes vacant and staring into a space beyond him. It pained him – how she pulled into herself and closed off. Pain that only intensified when the door into their room opened silently and Sharon's husband came into view. Andy gave a brief polite nod to the well-dressed man, trying to contain his agony over seeing him. But watching Sharon's eyes fasten on her husband, present and not empty, Andy had a hard time reconciling.

She still seemed lost to him – her silence since being brought to safety louder than any words she could have spoken. She had hung onto his hand all the way in the ambulance – quiet and eyes distant but her grip desperate and very much present. The other arm had been lying limply by her side, odd angles and bruised. Hair covered in sweat and grime hung loosely, in knots, covering a split brow, blood sticking to a couple of tresses. He had kissed her hair nonetheless – spoken soft words of comfort – her warmth and nearness had comforted him. His own cracked lip kept opening, fresh blood prickling his skin, his voice reverberating with the flavor of metal. A heavy bruise under her right eye seemed to change in front of him, changing color and form.

He had swathed her in his shirt back at the crime scene when the had ambulance arrived, first then comprehending the blood and why she tensed every time she moved – long, angry gashes down along her spine, along the sides of her abdomen – the bastard had sliced her.

Andy watched as her husband rushed inside and reached out to draw Sharon into his arms. He watched, his mind reeling and nauseous as her husband drew circles of comfort down the sides of her uninjured arm, and he trembled when he saw her cling to the well-dressed man.

Sharon eyes caught his over the shoulders of her husband – an empty gaze devoid of the familiar warmth he had grown accustomed to. He grimaced but continued to watch her.

Andy needed a drink – needed to pass out and never feel again. He needed to disappear, to empty himself of emotional turmoil. He desperately needed to drown – lock himself up in darkness.

They both stayed the night for observation – him to make sure his bruised and broken ribs wouldn't compromise his breathing, her to make sure a concussion wasn't intracranial bleeding. Light from a small lamp illuminated the room in a comforting glow, shadows cast into corners. Noises came from outside their closed door but their room had a silent calm to it. Her eyes were open – staring straight at him, dark green in their depths. He stared back – took comfort from being close to her. He felt the air move when she breathed in – when she exhaled he took comfort in this too.

"Sharon," he whispered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, loud in the still room.

She blinked.

"Yes" the word feather light and almost too low to hear.

"I'm sorry" he apologized, fearing she did not know how sorry he truly was.

"I know" she whispered.

He fell asleep to the sound of her breathing.

-o-

"You asshole! You ruined it!" Sharon accused him in a low growl, her lips quivering, standing just inside his main doorway, the first words leaving her mouth since he found her banging her fist on his front door.

"Ruined what?" he asked coldly, brutally and not willing to let his guard down. Andy hadn't seen her since the hospital – the bruise under her eye now dark and faded instead of red and angry. She had never answered the phone when he'd called.

"Why?" she shouted at him, "do you insist on ruining my life?"

"Your life! What about mine – you destroy that just as easily," he yelled back at her, watched almost mesmerized as she flinched at the words, taking a step back.

"I hate you," she cried, the words ripped from her throat in a half-strangled curse, her eyes sad and teary. She spun on her heels and exited his apartment, her accusing voice pinning him to the spot and so he stood, unmoving, and watched her depart, hate you, hate you ringing in his ears. Stand in line, he thought darkly still staring at the closed door, the silence in the room unnerving and despondent.

"I hate you too," he whispered in the empty hallway, feeling hollow and empty – but not for long. Anger suddenly flared in him, reared its ugly head, and he followed her outside, his steps hurried and furious.

"I hate you too," he yelled at her back as he caught up with her.

"Bastard," she cursed at him still marching away in forceful, angry strides, her trench coat billowing behind her. He caught the edge of her sleeves and spun her around.

Fury shone around her in a shimmer; her eyes dark and sizzling and her breath uneven – and he knew she was losing control, fast. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.

A lone tear travelled down her cheek, shining transparently in the silvery light from the half orb moon, almost nonexistent in its transparency. He felt almost gleeful at its existence even though on some level he felt like crying too.

"You've destroyed everything," she breathed and he felt needle-sharp pain accompany the words as she projected her anger onto him – he welcomed it, soaked in the blazing, poundings emotions as they swam through him. Warm, intense green fury.

"Ah, but I am not the one who's married!" he hurt her back, his hands clenched on her arms, the skin pale white under his hold.

"You stupid fuck" she cried and tried to wriggle out of his grip, "Why would you tell him! You were drunk – I was drunk. It was a mistake, okay!"

Something cracked in him – he could feel it slip away into the dark and leaving him an empty shell, malicious and full of a deep desire to hurt her, to inflict some kind of pain onto her.

"Mistake! Hah" he spit.

"Ye-es," she breathed, her eyes cold and unforgiving; a dark deep forest green.

The word slapped him hard and he had trouble forming an angry retort. In the sudden silence he looked at her eyes, opaque and obscure in their virid color, and he wondered for a split moment why she couldn't see him, see every thought and feeling he had concerning her.

He sighed, saw her eyes widening.

"You're jealous!" she sounded suddenly surprised at the words, her eyes alert with the revelation.

"So what if I am – I have every right to be. You're my fucking-" he stopped anything more from leaving his lips.

"Your what, exactly?" she hissed, angry again.

"Partner," he told her automatically, the words sounding stale and hurtful. She wrinkled her nose and her eyebrows knitted together in further vehemence.

Somehow though words rushed out of him – he wanted her to know, needed her to know. Needed to expel the words before thye strangled him from the inside out.

"I can hear your screams still – hear as that fucking guy tortures you. And it kills me, okay. I am a goddamn drunk and the reason the whole mess blew up in our faces, okay! I'm in fucking love with a married woman, and I want to go drown myself in booze till I don't feel a fucking thing - How's that for ruining my life!" he roared into her face, his voice loud in the silent street.

He watched in horror as she understood; her eyes wide and scared and he was reminded of her as a rookie, out on their first stint, guns held in shaking hands. She had the same look upon her face now. This was not meant to happen, he knew that. She didn't know, she couldn't know – and yet he had just told her, his anger quickly fading and leaving him cold, a sinking feeling of despair in his mind.

"No, no - no" she whispered, her voice desperate and begging. He couldn't form words, he tried but he was petrified.

No, no, no – this was not meant to happen.

"Sharon," he spoke hesitantly but she closed her eyes and turned her face away from his, tears streaming down her cheeks now.

And that was when he did another unforgivable thing, the second one in a short time, leaning down and catching her lips with his own, feeling her involuntary shudder at first, then claiming his lips and kissing him back.

Her unbandaged hand came up to rest on his cheek, a soft caress along his jaw and she broke the kiss, leaning back and stared at him, her eyes forgiving but determined.

"Andy," her voice sounded small and fragile, "I care about you – you know that."

She seemed to be waiting for him, so he gave a nod.

"But this," she pointed between them, "this cannot be anything but a mistake. We aren't good for each other, okay. You drink too much – and I drink with you."

He swallowed – this sounded remarkably like the speech his ex-wife had given him upon filing for divorce – just devoid of a few well-chosen curses.

"We are not supposed to be involved. We cannot do our jobs, if we continue this."

Her hand brought him closer, her green eyes beseeching in the dark light.

"I'm married," she paused and drew a breath, the warm air slithering across his jaw, "well – I was married. I think Steven wants to call it quits. But I love him, okay. I love my husband."

Her lips trembled.

"I'm sorry, Ray – I really am. I shouldn't have told him," he took a step closer and brought her close, enveloping her in his arms, nestling her head under his jaw and pressing a soft kiss to her hair. He felt her shake a little and then she calmed down, warm and soft in his embrace.

"My fault – I shouldn't have fucked you"

"No, no – I shouldn't have fucked you," he dryly retorted and she gave a short laugh.

-o-

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Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and for following this story; =)

/Iso