A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting - I know, I'm useless. You should be used to it by now, really! In my defence, there seems to be some kind of conspiracy against me getting this fic uploaded in one piece - but I shall not be deterred. Just delayed, apparently.

Content warning for profanity in this chapter. Not a lot, but enough to mention :)

CHAPTER TWO :: One Heart Hurt Another

It had been late afternoon when Andy and Sharon finally arrived at their Brooklyn hotel after a long day spent travelling - far too late for hospital visiting. Instead, they had simply relaxed in their room, ordering something to eat before turning in for the night. Andy's mood had been sombre all day and he was still resolutely refusing to talk about whatever it was that had him so worked up about coming back to New York.

Not that his behaviour was cold - far from it, he was as sweet and caring towards Sharon as always. There was a distance about him, though - as if he had become emotionally guarded. It was so unlike him that Sharon couldn't help but be concerned by it. His lack of communication worried her more than she would let on to him. He would usually have opened up by now, and she found herself wondering what could possibly be so terrible that he couldn't bring himself to mention it at all - even to her.

Especially to her.

That had been yesterday.

Standing on the Fifth Avenue sidewalk now, Andy took a deep breath as he glanced up at the modern-looking façade of Mount Sinai Hospital. He and Sharon had shared a cab from the hotel to Manhattan's Upper East Side, and though she had offered to come with him to the hospital, he had managed to persuade her to go shopping instead. He knew that it wasn't often she was able to spend a whole day indulging her love of high-end fashion stores and he figured it was the least he could do for her, as she had come all this way with him. Besides, this visit was really something that he needed to face alone. As they parted ways, they agreed to meet back at the hotel later.

Making his way slowly through the hospital now, towards the ward where his friend was being cared for, Andy felt the decades falling away from him. As he walked, he felt less like the senior LAPD detective he was, and more like the naive, devastated teenager he had been the last time he was in this city - it was a feeling he didn't relish one bit.

After enquiring at the nurses' station as to his friend's location, Andy headed along a brightly-lit corridor, coming to a stop outside a room to his left. The name on the door told him this was indeed where he needed to be.

'Daniel Malone'

Danny.

His friend.

Clearing his throat and forcing a smile onto his face, Andy knocked once and pushed open the door, trying to ignore the tight knot of anxiety that was festering in the pit of his stomach. Entering the small room, he was taken aback by the sight that greeted him.

Instead of the strong, handsome high school kid he remembered, the man in the bed was frail and tired. His skin was jaundiced, his face lined, and the clear green eyes that Andy remembered were dulled by years of pain and sickness.

The pervasive anxiety that he had felt since he realised he would be coming back to this place was instantly replaced by a deep-seated compassion for the man who had once been his very best friend. Immediately, he regretted not being here sooner - not being able to support Danny through what must be the lowest point of his life.

"Hey."

Andy spoke softly, closing the door behind him as the figure in the bed turned his head to face his visitor.

"Andy." Danny's voice was hoarse and his eyes filled with tears as he saw his friend for the first time in more than three decades. "You came."

"Of course I came," Andy smiled.

He watched as the other man's face crumpled, his eyes wet as he looked up from the bed. Holding a shaking hand out to Andy, he spoke again in a voice that creaked with the effort of being used.

"I did it, Andy. It was me. I'm the one."

Andy frowned, confused.

"You did what, buddy?"

Andy moved over to the bed, settling himself in the nearest chair and studying his old friend closely as he took his hand. He really looked nothing like the boy that Andy remembered - but then, he supposed they were all getting old. Nothing they could do about that. He looked around at the machines surrounding Danny's bed. The guy must be out of his mind on pain meds, Andy decided - he certainly wasn't making any sense.

Until, suddenly, he did.

"I did it," Danny tried again, more insistent this time. "I killed Abby."

Andy's blood ran cold. He dropped Danny's hand back to the bed as the room began to spin around him. The knot was back in his stomach at the mere sound of her name, clenching at his insides until he couldn't breathe.

This was it: The reason he had never wanted to return to New York. The spectre from his past that never quite went away, however hard he tried to forget.

The name that he swore would never leave his lips again.

Abby.

The Christmas lights adorning the whole of Fifth Avenue twinkled down at Sharon as she stood motionless on the sidewalk, breathing in the crisp December air that was so different from the warmth of Los Angeles. The bustle of people hurrying around her only seemed to intensify her feeling of isolation, and she found herself wishing that she had insisted on accompanying Andy to the hospital instead of allowing him to talk her into a day spent idly shopping. Gazing up at the sky, she noticed a pale - almost ethereal - hue, that hinted at the possibility of snow later.

The whole experience would have been magical, if not for the reason behind her presence in this city - and the nagging worry about the man she had accompanied here that refused to leave her alone.

Trembling, Andy stood with his back against the wall of Danny's hospital room, his dark eyes wide with disbelief.

"You don't know what you're saying," he muttered, shaking his head. He ran a hand raggedly through his hair.

"I do, Andy. I do know - and now I need you to know, too."

"You're crazy."

"No, Andy. I'm dying, but I'm not crazy." Danny's pale eyes were haunted, but contained an unmistakeable clarity as they steadfastly held Andy's gaze. There was no confusion there - only truth. "Please, let me tell you what really happened that night."

The small part of his mind that was still operating as a police officer suddenly made Andy realise what he needed to do. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone with disconcertingly numb fingers. Pressing the button which set the device to record the conversation, he sat stiffly in the chair beside the bed.

"Okay," he responded, his tone flat. "Tell me."

Danny nodded, and began to speak in his dry, halting voice…

"She looked so beautiful that night, Andy. Do you remember?"

Of course he remembered.

She had been wearing a simple, white sun dress which accentuated the suntan she had picked up in her after-school job at Central Park Zoo. Her long, dark hair was swept up in a simple ponytail and the minimal makeup she wore brought out the depth in her large, cornflower-blue eyes.

Around her neck was the simple, silver crucifix that Andy had given her for their one-year anniversary the week before. As they left for the party at his baseball team-mate's house, he presented her with a small, pink teddy bear. He had meant to give it to her along with the necklace, but had forgotten. The way her eyes lit up at the gift and the smile she gave him more than made up for that, though.

The eighteen-year-old Andy Flynn honestly thought he had never seen anything lovelier.

"I knew that night that I loved her." Andy was drawn back to the present by Danny's voice. As their eyes met, the sick man's tone turned bitter. "But of course, she was with you. Because why would anyone want Danny when they could have Andy, right?"

"What happened?"

Andy's voice was a whisper. He hardly dared to ask the question. He didn't know if he could stand to hear the answer, but it was too late now. Danny had started this and now, he needed to know everything.

"She came into the kitchen looking for you," Danny started, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he lost himself in the memory. "And she smiled at me. Flirted…"

Andy's eyes narrowed and he felt his temper rise.

"Flirted? You mean she was nice to you? Like she was nice to everyone, because that's just who she was!"

Danny ignored the outburst.

"She asked where you were and I knew that you were outside with the other guys from the team, but…something stopped me from telling her that. I suddenly thought, if I could just get her alone, maybe I could tell her how I felt about her. Maybe she would feel the same way." Danny swallowed hard. "So, I lied. I told her you left. I told her that you asked me to walk her home and she just came right along with me. She didn't even question it…"

Pushing his chair back violently, Andy started pacing the length of the small room as Danny watched him intently.

"What did you do, Danny?" Andy spun around to face the bed, before marching furiously towards it. Grabbing the other man's throat, Andy leaned down until their faces were mere centimetres apart. "What the fuck did you do?"

"We were walking through the park," Danny spoke quickly, shrinking away from Andy's rage. "I told her how I felt about her - how I'd always felt about her. She smiled again, and I thought that it was really going to happen, she was going to tell me she loved me, too." His face darkened. "But then she apologised. She told me she hadn't meant to give me the wrong impression, but that she loved you." He glared defiantly at Andy, despite the larger man's fingers still at his throat. "It wasn't fair, Andy. You could have had any girl you wanted. Why did you have to want her?" He shook his head. "Why did she have to want you?" He dropped his gaze, lost in his torturous memory now. "I just snapped. I don't remember exactly what happened, but when I came back to my senses I was standing over her and she was dead." He lifted his eyes to meet Andy's. "I'd killed her."

The memory of Abby smiling and laughing as they left for the party was instantly replaced by another, horrific image - the last image he ever had of her. Her body was laying bruised and abandoned in the park, eyes open and her neck obviously broken. Her dress was pushed up and her underwear was gone. In her hand, she clutched a tiny, pink bear.

The police had shown him the picture when they interrogated him the next morning - as her boyfriend he was a suspect, although his alibi was strong. Andy knew from his own experience how effective an image like that could be in forcing a suspect to break, but oh, God, how he wished he could erase that picture from his mind. For months afterward when he closed his eyes - when he tried to remember Abby - that awful photograph was all he could see.

Suddenly, Andy's vision turned red. His fingers tightened around Danny's throat even as the weaker man thrashed and struggled for air. He watched Danny's eyes widen in panic, pleading with him to let him go, but he couldn't. He increased the pressure, unable to stop himself now.

All at once, another image flashed before Andy's eyes.

Sharon.

With a roar, he released his hold on Danny's throat. As the other man coughed and spluttered, trying to force air into his lungs, Andy braced himself against the wall. He rested his head against the cool surface and willed himself to calm down - at least enough to not kill the guy before he had all the answers he needed.

As she browsed the many and varied department store window displays, Sharon couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

At any other time, she would have relished Christmas shopping - especially in New York - but today, she just couldn't seem to relax. She certainly wasn't anywhere near to enjoying herself, however much she tried. Even a good hour spent in the Armani store hadn't lifted her spirits much - a clear indicator that there was definitely something amiss. Her heart just wasn't in this today. It was with him, instead.

Suddenly, she would give anything to be back in Los Angeles with Andy and her team, trying to solve some impossible crime or other. Anything, other than being here, now, like this. Anything other than feeling so helplessly alone, unable to do a damn thing to help the man she loved.

Andy sat on the floor with his back against the wall, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His cheeks were wet with tears he hadn't even realised he had cried.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Andy spat at his former friend. "Why did you ask me to come here?"

"I needed you to know," Danny said simply, rubbing his throat. "Before it was too late. I needed you to forgive me."

"Forgive you?!" Andy jumped to his feet, fury turning his insides to granite. "You want absolution, asshole? After what you did?" Andy snarled. "Call a fucking priest! You won't find any from me."

He turned and pulled the door open with such force that it hit the wall, a loud bang echoing along the deserted corridor outside. With one final look at the pathetic creature in the bed by the window, Andy turned and strode quickly away.

Checking her phone for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon and still finding no message from Andy, Sharon finally gave up. She sighed and walked out of the small boutique that she had been half-heartedly scouring. It was time to admit defeat.

Hailing a cab, Sharon climbed in and placed the few bags she had managed to accrue on to the seat next to her. Directing the driver to the hotel, she hummed in disappointment at the way the day had turned out.

She was probably completely overreacting. There was surely nothing to be concerned about at all - he was only visiting an old friend. Still…at least this way she would be at the hotel soon, just in case he needed her…

Andy stormed through the front entrance and into the lobby of the hotel. He had no idea where he was headed, his mind so consumed with anger, hatred and revulsion that he seemed to have lost control of his other senses completely. Instinct took over, guiding him back into an all-too-familiar routine without him even noticing.

When he finally came back to himself enough to study his surroundings, he realised that he was seated on a stool at the hotel bar - a large glass of bourbon set on the wooden counter in front of him.

He studied the amber liquid intently. It seemed to mock him, tormenting him with its very presence, enticing him in to its warm embrace.

With shaking fingers, Andy reached out and touched the rim of the glass, before lifting it to his nose. He breathed in the familiar aroma, closing his eyes as his mind was overtaken with unwanted memories - thoughts that he knew this enchanting liquid would be able to remove from him, at least for a while.

He could almost taste it already and he ached to have the strong flavour on his lips, to feel the burn in his throat and the warmth flooding through him, giving him the relief that only alcohol could bring.

All he needed was one drink. A taste. A sip, just to take the edge off this indescribable pain that was tearing at his very soul. Just one sip to help him forget.

Almost twenty years of sobriety seemed to melt away in a heartbeat. What did it even matter any more?

With a trembling hand, Andy raised the glass to his lips.