After walking for hours around streets he didn't know trying to get his head around what had just happened, Doug Penhall came trudging up the Chapel stairs, his feet aching and his head spinning, wanting nothing but to collapse at his desk and pretend he wasn't there. After he had laid his partner flat on his ass that was. The only thing stronger than the urge to shout and scream at him was the nagging worry and fear that was knawing away at him. He couldn't stop thinking about that distant look in his friend's eyes and how it had seemed that it was someone else in the car with him. Or the fact that his best friend seemed to be developing some kind of death wish. However looking around the Chapel, his partner was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere between confused and worried Doug wandered over to Judy's desk.

"Where's Hanson?" he asked her.

"I thought he was meant to be with you. What with you guys being partners and all."

"Yeah well, I decided I'd walk back before I punched him out?" Judy's heart raced as any number of horrific scenarios flew through her mind. The way Hanson had been recently anyone of them was possible.

"What's he done know?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice level.

"Nothing much. Just pulled a knife on a seventeen year old kid." he spat.

"What?" Judy said her eyes growing at least five sizes as she looked up at Penhall. "Hanson? But he's hardly even touched his gun since Tower."

"That's probably because he prefers using blades now."

"He must have had some reason. This is Hanson we're talking about. He just doesn't attack people for no reason."

"Doesn't he? You wanna know what he did next?"

"What?"

"Nearly drove us under a truck." Judy opened her mouth to say something but her words died on her lips. "That's right. My best friend just tried to kill me."

"Hanson would never..."

"So I'm making it up am I?"

"I never said that. Are you both ok?"

"I am. Can't answer for Hanson though."

"And you just left him?" Judy yelled as she jumped out of her chair.

"Oh, come on? What's he going to do?"

"I don't know. Drive his car under a truck, maybe"

"He wouldn't do that."

"You're saying that after what you just told me. Doug he has been acting real weird lately in case you hadn't noticed."

"He's had a lot to deal with lately, or had you forgotten." Penhall retorted as his overprotective partner instinct kicked in.

"Doug, Hanson has not been himself lately and you know it. Threatening people, setting up innocent kids, turning up to work drunk, and now this?"

"I know. He just needs some time, that's all."

"So what do we do? Do we tell Fuller?"

"No!" Doug said a little too quickly.

"Doug, time is not going to fix this. He nearly killed you both."

"He wouldn't do that. He's just letting off some steam."

"He needs help, Penhall. I know you don't want to admit it..."

"Look, let's get one thing straight ok. Tom is my problem. He has been since the first day he walked in here, I know how to deal with him. Just because you cry on his shoulder and batter your eyelashes at him a few times does not mean you know what's best for him."

"And blindly protecting him is not going to help. This isn't some outside force threatening him with physical danger. What ever is going on is going on inside him. Can you protect him from himself?" Judy spat as her anger began to rise.

"I can try." Doug said, determination in his hazel eyes.

"Doug, your best friend is falling apart before your eyes and you're too blind to see it."

"I'm blind?!" Doug scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing" he snapped.

"Doug, if something's hurting Hanson I want to know."

"Why?" he replied, his voice bitter and accusing.

"Because bad habits are heart to break!" she snapped returning his glare. "I care about him and I want to help him."

"He doesn't need your help" he seethed. "Don't you think you've done enough?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, you work it out. One minute my best friend is fine, he goes out with you once and the next thing I know he's turning up drunk and trying to kill me."

"This has nothing to do with me." Judy yelled.

"Well he was fine before you started messing with him."

"Come on Doug. We both know he hasn't been 'fine' for a very long time now." Judy said trying to calm her voice. "If anyone has been messing with people its Hanson. One minute he's looking out for me, then he's yelling at me, then he's taking me out to dinner, where he accuses me of sleeping my way through the department. Yeah that's right." she snapped as Penhall's eyes widened. "Then he stumbles in here and drunkenly shouts out that he loves me. So you tell me Doug. What have I done to him?"

"I'm sorry, I'll sort it. He needs time out, and as soon as this case is wrapped up I'm going to make sure he gets it."

"Doug, when was the last time you really looked at him?"

"I see him everyday."

"Fine. Look in his eyes and tell me honestly that you can see Hanson looking back at you."

"Oh my god, does that detective badge come with a psychology degree now?!"

"You know what I mean, don't you?" she said staring straight into Doug's face. He didn't answer, she didn't need him to. His reaction told her exactly what she already thought. He had noticed, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Doug, will you listen to me..."

"I'm not discussing this anymore." Doug said through gritted teeth as he caught sight of Fuller heading their way.

"What's going on here guys" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing Captain" Doug answered shooting a glare towards Hoffs.

"Whatever it is, save it for later ok."

"Yes sir" both officers replied.

"Penhall, you and Hanson got anything new for me?"

"One of the kids, Casey Moore, offered to get us something with a little more range than a knife." Doug said meaningfully.

"A knife?" Fuller asked looking puzzled.

"Never mind" Doug said shooting Judy another withering glare. "We've got a meeting with him before school tomorrow."

"You gonna need any back up?"

"Against this kid? No. He looks like he couldn't even beat Elmo in a fight. In fact he makes Hanson look like the incredible Hulk. We'll be fine."

"As long as you're sure."

"Don't worry Captain. We'll lean on him, get him to tell us where he got the guns and have this wrapped up before first period."

"Let me know if anything changes." Fuller said. He turned to return to his office but before he had taken a step he spun back round. "Doug, where is Hanson?"

"Following up a lead. He wasn't convinced this kids telling the full story." he said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Ok. As I said, let me know."

"Sure thing Captain." Doug said. Fuller gave him another questioning look as he headed back to his office.

"Doug..." Judy began as soon as Fuller was out of earshot.

"I've nothing else to say Judy."

"Fine, you do what you think is best."

"That's just what I'm going to do." Doug said turning and walking away.

"Where are you going?" Judy called after him.

"To find Hanson" he answered before storming towards the stairs.

"What's going on?" Harry said rushing over, his scared, panicked eyes scanning Judy.

"Hanson's not doing so good."

"Yeah, I know." Harry said darkly.

"Doug told you what happened?"

"No. But I think you ought to see this" he said pulling a tatty sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Judy. "I better warn you, it's not pretty." Her eyes widened and she gasped as she scanned the paper.

"This is Hanson's writing" she said as her voice shook.

"Yeah."

"Harry, what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"I've gotta talk to him." she said springing to her feet. Harry reached out and put his hands on her shoulders to restrain her.

"Judy, no. Doug's gone to find him. Let him talk to him first."

"Harry, I….."

"I know. But if he's going to open up to anyone it'll be Doug." he said looking directly into the young woman's eyes. Judy looked back at him, her expression scared and defeated as she collapsed back into her seat.

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On reflection Tom figured that driving around for hours around back roads he didn't know just so he could avoid facing people probably was taking the easy way out. Not that it mattered. He knew what would have happened anyway. They would have shouted and told him how much of a screw up he was, he would have agreed with them and apologised and they would have said it was ok and he hadn't meant to do it. Maybe he had meant to do it. Had they ever entertained that possibility? Of course not. That would have meant that there was something very wrong with him and then they would have to have faced the fact that they were at least partly responsible.

After spending hours putting off returning to the Chapel, he decided he'd rather go home, crawl into bed, pull his covers over his head and shut out the world. Maybe there was something really wrong with him? He had nearly just killed his best friend, the man who was as good as his brother, plus most people didn't have conversations with voices in their head.

"Oh yeah, you're totally cuckoo pal!"

"You know if I could cut you out I would."

"Try it."

"Fuck you!"

He arrived at his apartment and on opening the door he recoiled at the sight and odour that greeted him. The sour smell of stale whisky and rotting food assailed his senses and he looked in disgust at the disguarded empty bottles and packages that littered the floor and the barely touched food on the plates scattered around the room. How had he been able to even stand over the past few days he thought to himself as he began picking up the empty bottles. After a while, loaded with more whiskey and vodka bottles than he had ever seen in his life, he headed over to the kitchen area. Not being able to see where he was going, his arms being piled high with rubbish, he slipped on a diguarded packet of potato chips and fell crashing to the ground, landing clumsily and very heavily on his rear end. He raised his arms to shield himself from the glass that was coming crashing and splintering around him, letting out a string of profanities that his partners would be surprised to discover he even knew. Before long he was surrounded by shards of multicoloured broken glass. Following a very short argument with himself whether or not to just leave it be he began picking up the largest pieces. If only the mess his life had become was as easily tidied away. As he picked up a particularly large and jagged shard of glass he found himself looking at it in fascination. As it caught the light shining through the window it cast a whole spectrum of colours glistening over the wall. As he looked from the useless piece of glass to the rainbow on the wall he found himself thinking that maybe something beautiful could be salvaged from something you thought was broken beyond all repair. Even him.

"Who are trying to kid. You're past all hope man. You know that"

It was true he did. He had tried so hard to fix what was so wrong with him. But what's the point in trying when nothing was ever going to change? He had thought that quitting the job he had become so disillusioned with may have been the answer, but he had been unable to do that. Quitting the force would mean cutting one of the last ties he had to the father he missed so much, and he could never do that. It would also mean disguarding the last connection to who he used to be. He had thought Linda had been the answer, telling himself he was still in love with her after all this time, he hoped she would be able to help wipe everything clean. She was a link to his past, a time before any of this had happened, when he was young, innocent with his whole life ahead of him, shining brightly full of hopes and dreams. But she remembered the bright happy kid he had been. That was who she had been in love with, and this broken man with all those dreams firmly behind him, shredded and gathering dust, had not been enough to keep her there. Leaving Doug to bum around Florida with some girl from a magazine had seemed like a good idea at the time, it had almost worked too. He couldn't even remember her name now. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she had no idea who he was, no expectations of him, and no knowledge of his past or the things he'd done and been through. For a while he had just been Tom and it had felt good, she had made him feel normal. Of course it couldn't have lasted. Costumes can only be worn for so long before the thread runs bare and they have to come off. When they had finally got Crane, and he had personally seen to it that he was safely where he belonged he thought he would be able to put it all to rest. But he'd found out years ago that revenge didn't solve anything.

Now his future was a giant black hole stretching out in front of him blocking everything else from view. He had tried to look round it, see what was on the other side, but it was just too damn big. The past stretched out behind him, full of regrets and mistakes. A thousand things he could have, should have done differently. Memories flashed across his mind of when he was small boy playing basketball with his dad in their driveway. He was too small to be able to aim for the basket with any accuracy and nearly always missed. When he did his dad would always call foul and let him retake the shot until the ball found the basket. He could really use a reshoot right now.

"I think you're a bit too old for that now sport. You're an adult now, take responsibility for your mistakes."

In life you only get one chance, there is no one to call a reshoot, and once that chance has gone no amount of money can ever buy it back.

He sighed deeply as he turned away from the bright colours and began turning the glass over in his hand. He found himself drawn to its ragged broken edge. One move and it would all be over. It would only hurt for a while and then he could rest. He could retreat into peaceful unconsciousness and none of this would matter. And to think, he'd once thought life so precious. Pulling back the long sleeve of his checked shirt and raising his arm, he examined the prominent veins glowing blue against the transparent skin on his too thin wrist. He wandered briefly when he had last eaten. It must have been days ago and even that hadn't been much. Not that it was that important.

"Nothings that important anymore is it?" Harry's voice echoed in his ears.

"No not really no." he said absently still staring at the glass in his hand.

"Go on. It'll be easy and over so fast you'll never notice it. All of this will be gone."

"Will it?"

"Yep." came the casual reply. "No more guilt, no more shame and you won't be able to hurt anyone else. There won't be anything, only peace and quiet."

It really wouldn't take much just one quick motion he thought to himself as he looked from the rough edge of the glass to his wrist. In a dreamlike state he brought the glass up to his wrist and drew the edge slowly across. He wasn't surprised to find that as the glass sliced through the pale skin he felt no pain whatsoever. He just watched in fascination as the blood began to flow, tracing along old nearly forgotten scars. It began very slowly but soon it made its way down his arm as he held it up to the light. He lowered his arm and watched the blood as it trickled down over his hand, and followed its progress as it dripped onto the floor. Before long a small pool had begun to form beside him.

"There's a lot of blood on your hands isn't there?"

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"But it's not just your blood is it?"

"Who else's would it be?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"I thought you had an answer to everything."

"Ok. How about Amy Pearson's? Kenny Wheckerly's? Am I forgetting anyone? Ronnie Seebok's maybe?"

"I didn't kill them."

"Then why do see their blood all over your hands whenever you look at them?"

"Cos I feel responsible."

"You are responsible. You're poison. Like a cancer that eats away at everything till there's nothing left but ashes and dust. Your lies and your hate ruined their lives."

"I didn't hate them."

"You can't lie to me pal. You hated Amy because she couldn't be who you wanted her to be and you were too gutless to tell her so. You blamed her even though it was your own fault. It wouldn't have mattered who she was, you would never have loved her anyway because you're not able to."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? The way you treat Judy is how you are with someone you love is it?" Tom suddenly felt very sick. "Why didn't you help Kenny when he asked you too?"

"I had to follow procedure."

"You weren't following procedure in that juve lockup when you let Matty die all because you thought you were too good to play the game."

"He'd killed someone."

"Who made you judge, jury and executioner?"

"Probably the same guy who did you!" he snapped.

"Jack Weaver. You screwed him over too."

"He's not dead."

"He may as well be, because you condemned him to a life he didn't want. You know how that feels, so why did you do it?"

"It's my job!"

"What about Ronnie?"

"What about him?"

"You hunted him down like a dog and then you stood and watched while they put him down like one even though you all knew he didn't kill that guy.. Now you see his face every time you close your eyes don't you?"

"I couldn't help him. I tried but I couldn't, I wish there was something I could have done. I can't turn back time. That's why I can't get him out of my mind."

"Its hatred not guilt my friend" the voice continued its tirade, and even though he knew he was alone Tom could've sworn he was talking to Dennis Booker. "You hate him because he showed you what you've become. Used up, drained and hollowed out. You stood there and watched as his life slowly drained away. You watched a kid die and you felt nothing."

"Shut up!" he yelled as he raised his hands to his ears to block it out.

"That's why you cried. You weren't crying for his death you were crying for your own."

"I'm not dead."

"You might as well be. Just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive. Look at your wrist. You're probably bleeding to death and you don't care do you?"

And it was right he didn't. But then his life had been over the second he heard the words guilty as charged, maybe even long before that. Then they had taken away everything he was and everything he could ever be and replaced it with a few digits. Tom Hanson reduced to a faceless number. He had clung to that name like a security blanket, because behind those bars that was the only thing that was truly his. But even his name wasn't entirely his own. His father had taken it before him and now all it was was another label to live up to. Something else he hadn't been able to do. All those nights he had lain in that cell after the lights had gone out, listening to the clanging of the doors as they closed and the keys scraping in the locks, telling himself over and over again that he was Tom Hanson and he would get through this. Now at night he wakes in a panic and has to convince himself that he isn't surrounded by bars and locked doors. Nights had never held any fear for him before, now they fed his fevered mind with horrors he thought he'd left behind.

No, Tom Hanson had disappeared a long time ago. He had watched the system he had grown up believing was infallible and just, turn on those who were weak and vulnerable until finally it had turned on him and sent him somewhere he couldn't fight his way back from, while those he thought cared for him gave up on him and left him to rot. All except Doug, and he had repaid him by almost squashing him under the wheels of a truck. Whoever he was now, watching his life blood pool on Tom Hanson's kitchen floor, was a stranger to him. It looked like Tom Hanson, it had his life and his memories, but it was just a useless empty shell. Feeling light headed he struggled to his feet and made his way unsteadily and slowly over to the counter and picked up yet another half empty bottle of whiskey. Collapsing heavily back on the floor he drained half of what was left in one gulp before going back to watching the red trail running over his hand with the trace of a smile on his face. Because whoever he was now didn't want Tom Hanson's life, and the kids memories made him sick. He had danced to his soulless, empty tune for too long. He had tried to carry the melody but now for him the song was over, and, as old Jim Morrison used to say, when the music's over, you turn out the lights.

"Amen to that Jimmy" he said to the empty room as he raised the bottle and downed the remainder of the liquid still inside. Then he let his head fall back to rest against the wall as the lights were indeed turned out.