Please see part 1 for all disclaimers. Thanks again to Jen for the beta and thanks to Steph for making me think about a couple of things I hadn't really thought about.

Becky

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When love is torn apart one cannot gather the pieces.

Proverb

I reach out and my hand brushes against her warm skin. I slowly open my eyes and meet her warm brown ones. I watch as she smiles and slides closer as her hands begin tracing a path down my chest.

A gentle push and I'm on my back as she continues to torture me with feather-light caresses, each touch more erotic, more arousing than the last. I try to speak, but she presses a finger to my lips as she moves over me, hovering above me. I look up at her, silently pleading with her to end this torment.

Her smile grows, becoming more feral as she shakes her head, letting me know that I'm at her mercy. I close my eyes as she wraps her hand around me, stroking me gently before guiding me to her. I hear her soft moan as she slowly takes me into her.

I press my head back into the pillow as she starts a gentle rhythm. Reaching out, I place my hands on her hips urging her to move faster, but they slide off her slick skin. When she suddenly stops moving, I open my eyes and lift my head slightly.

Her head is down, her hair hiding her features. I try to sit up, but she places her hands on my chest as she tries to steady herself. Slowly, she lifts her head and I'm shocked by the tears streaming down her cheeks. Before I can ask what's wrong, she pierces me with her gaze.

Her voice is soft and pained. "How could you?"

She leans closer and I wipe away her tears. "Syd, what are you talking about?" I ask as she lowers her head to my chest, gulping air between sobs.

She lifts her head and I see blood staining her skin where I tried to wipe away her tears. "How could you let them take me?"

"Sydney!" I shout, bolting upright in bed. It takes a minute, it always takes a minute, before the dream fades away, leaving the horrifying nightmare of reality in its wake. I fling the sheets aside, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I sit here in the dark, my chin resting on my chest, my hands mercilessly grasping the bottom sheet as I try to steady my ragged breathing.

I hear a sound in the hall and I'm off the bed and next to the door in an instant. When it flies open, I reach out, grabbing the intruder and slamming him against the wall. A muffled curse and my hands drop to my side. I turn away and walk slowly back to the bed. Sitting carefully on the edge, I rest my elbows on my knees, my hands cradling my head as I wait for the lecture I know is forthcoming.

Eric remains silent for longer than I ever thought possible, but eventually that silence is broken. "Mike, this has got to stop."

At least his statement wasn't unexpected. It's been a month since Monte Carlo. Fifteen months since she vanished. "You don't understand."

Weiss turns on the light, blinding me. "Jesus…"

My eyes finally adjust to the light and I look up at him. "What?" I ask, not even trying to hide my anger and frustration.

"Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

If I'd known he was going to turn into my mother, I never would have asked him over to watch the ball game. Now I just wish I hadn't let him crash on the couch. "Go home, Eric."

He storms over to where I'm sitting and yanks me up by my arm. Pushing me roughly into the bathroom, he forces me against the sink, holding me there as he reaches for the light switch. I know what he's trying to do, but it won't work.

"Take a good look, Mike."

My eyes fall to the counter as I refuse to look at my reflection. Suddenly my head is jerked back and I have no choice but to look.

"Do you even recognize yourself?" Weiss shouts at the mirror before continuing, "Because I sure as hell don't!"

I jab my elbow into his side and stalk out of the bathroom, heading for the kitchen. Pulling the refrigerator door open, I grab a beer and pop the cap, downing half of it before I slam the door shut.

Weiss follows a moment later still rubbing his side. "Listen, I know this is hard for you. It's hard for everyone, but slowly killing yourself isn't going to change what happened and it sure as hell won't bring Sydney back."

"Go home, Eric!"

He starts to speak, but seems to think better of it. Turning around he walks back into the living room. A couple of minutes later I walk in and see him looking for something. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find my fucking keys."

"Eric…"

He turns around quickly. "You know, I don't really want to hear anything you've got to say right now so if you'll help me find my goddamn keys, I'll get out of here and then you can go back to blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault."

"I left her alone!"

"Bullshit! You went to check on Will just like she asked you to do."

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

He finds his keys and stalks over to the door. He turns back after he opens it. "If trying to remind you that none of this is your fault makes me a son-of-a-bitch, then so be it."

He pauses briefly. "Listen Mike, she's been gone for fifteen months. And in that time we've been lead on so many wild goose chases, I've lost count. And each time we come back you close yourself off a little more. You act like you are the only one who lost her. Well you're not. You remember Marshall and Dixon? Hell while we're at it, let's not forget me. She was our friend and we still miss her. For Christ sake, Jack was her father and even he is handling this better than you."

"She's not dead." I shake my head at the thought, quietly adding, "She can't be."

"You keep telling yourself that. Keep playing the martyr. Maybe one of these days you'll get good at it." He's almost out the door, but he turns back. "Oh, and you can call me whatever name you like, but when this is all said and done, are you still going to be able to call me your friend?"

He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my beer. And my guilt.

Tbc…