Andy watched his friend sadly as he kept his arm around the younger man's shoulders, trying to keep John in the here and now, not lost in some forgotten memory from long ago. He silently cursed God for putting the poor man through so much, hadn't the guy suffered enough recently?
He knew one thing for sure, John was tough and resilient, yet he was only human too. There was only so much crap anyone could take before it all became too much. The sight of the broken cell phone and the fallen lamp left him under no illusions that John's friendly little chat with Laura had been more than a little upsetting.
If only he had been a better friend and partner back in New York, things might have turned out differently, he wanted John to open up and talk to him, but knew that he wouldn't. Years of being on his own had caused the man to clam up tight when it came to talking about his feelings, it would be pointless trying to force it out of him either.
He let out a deep sigh as John rested his weary head on his arms, his knees drawn close to his body as he attempted to curl up even more. The man appeared physically exhausted from his meeting with the woman he once loved as the pair of them sat on the floor, backs rested against the wall, for what seemed like hours on end.
Finally, John broke free of his embrace and made an effort to stand, rubbing a hand over his tired face as he got to his feet. He pulled himself up too and followed him into the kitchen. "You wanna talk about it now?" he asked, knowing the answer would still be no.
He watched as his old partner leaned against the sink and folded his arms, closing his eyes and sighing in either frustration or fatigue. "I'm tired of talking, Andy."
Perhaps he was right, were there really any words that could make his situation any better?
No, not really, all he could do was sit back and keep guard over the man he had vowed never to let down again.
Flashback. New York 1993:
At least the pain had given him something to focus on as he clenched his hand repeatedly, watching as the blood rushed to the surface and spilled down the back of his hand with each new movement. These were the hands that had held his wife as she once again screamed his name in pleasure, both of them consumed in the flames of passion. These were the hands that had placed the wedding band lovingly on her finger. These were the hands that had cupped her face gently as he kissed his blushing bride after they had completed their wedding vows.
These were the hands that now held nothing.
These were the hands that now only had bittersweet memories to hold onto, time had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, much in the same way as his wife had done. He had reached out to pull her closer to him, yet she had already pulled away. It didn't matter how long he held his hands out for, she would never take them again.
His world had fallen apart around him, so much so that he didn't even hear Andy bustle into the bathroom a few moments later.
"What the hell is going on in here?" the burly detective asked as he saw the broken mirror and blood adorning his small sink unit. His partner had not moved and made no effort to get out of the sopping wet clothes he was standing in.
He softened his stance towards the younger man, he was still clearly shell-shocked by the day's events. He'd seen this kind of reaction before, in veterans of the Vietnam War, it had been a challenging twelve months for the poor man, he tried and failed to save a young boy from his abusive father, witnessed first-hand the horrors of the downtown subway bombing, and now his wife had left him. It was little wonder that John was struggling to cope.
Perhaps John had finally reached his limit, any fool could see how madly in love he was with Laura, he had devoted his life to her, and now life as he knew it had ended. After everything that had happened, how could John ever move on?
He took a couple of steps closer to his partner, unsure of how he might react to his presence. He let out a nervous sigh as John looked at him with dazed eyes. "Let's get you out of these clothes, buddy. Ok?"
He realised that John probably wasn't taking in a word he was saying, so he began the uncomfortable task of slipping the jacket from his friend's shoulders, folding it up and placing it on the lavatory behind him. Next, he went about removing the tie that hung limply around John's neck and then undid the buttons of his shirt as if he were undressing his own child.
The memory of undressing John years ago came to mind suddenly, things had been much different then. John was a young fool in love, he had jumped into the freezing waters of the East River without a second thought to save a young boy from drowning, a move that had made him painfully ill a few days later. His relationship with Laura was in full flow at that point, nothing could keep his perky and eager young partner down during that time. Had that only been a few years ago? How could things have changed so much in such a short space of time?
The past twelve months had hit John hard as he struggled to overcome the horrors he had seen in his job as a police officer, now his personal life had hit the rocks too. There seemed to be no safe harbour for the poor man, his support systems had all but failed him and left him feeling abandoned and alone. He hadn't been much of a friend himself, John had needed his support, yet he had often chosen to lose himself in a bottle of scotch instead.
His partner's crisis was a reason to give up drinking if ever there was one, John needed him to be the kind of friend that he had always wanted to be, but had never been able to achieve. John needed him to be sober if he was going to pull his devastated friend through this.
John had remained unmoving as he folded the clothes and placed them on the closed lavatory seat along with the jacket. He really didn't relish the idea of taking his partner's pants and boxer shorts off; he nudged John with his arm and pointed to the wet clothes he was still wearing. "Take them off," he instructed him softly as he turned the faucets on and warmed the shower up.
He left the room quietly after watching John silently make his way into the shower, satisfied that the warm water would help cease some of the chills that were wracking his friend's body, well aware that a large percentage of them were due to shock and not the wet clothes he had been standing in.
He heard the shower turn off a short while later and was glad to see that John had changed into the clothes that he had laid out for him. Guiding his partner over to the kitchen, he set about removing any remaining pieces of glass from John's hands before wrapping them in bandages from an old first aid kit he'd had stored in a cupboard.
"Just so you know," he said as he looked up briefly from what he was doing. "You're paying for that mirror."
"I'm sorry." John's voice was low, he sounded tired and defeated.
"Don't worry about it, kid," he responded with a smile, disappointed that his partner didn't respond in kind. "You can stay here as long as you need to, ok?"
John nodded his head distractedly as he looked away, feeling the tears prick at his eyes again. "I lost her, Andy."
He watched as his friend bit on his bottom lip, trying his best to stop it from shaking.
What could he say in response to that? There were simply no words that would make it any better, make it any easier for John to understand why it had happened. Giving him clichéd responses would not soothe the troubled man's soul, it would likely only serve to make him feel worse than he already did.
John was a resilient man; he'd shown that in the past twelve months, not many men could have kept their shit together after some of the things that he had witnessed. Sure, there had been times when John had wavered, but he had always maintained that steely determination to carry on, no matter the personal cost to himself. He didn't run and hide from the horrors that he'd seen, he'd used them to spur him on to do better than before, using them as a reason to try harder.
But there was only so much crap that one man could take before he broke down completely. There would be nothing he could do for his young friend except sit back and watch over him until he once more found that inner determination to pick himself up and carry on.
Present day. Miami:
She had driven back to her hotel seething with anger. How dare he treat her in such a way, she had come to Miami to make things right and yet he had pushed her away. How dare he do such a thing to her!
She had admitted to him that she was wrong, and she had asked him for a chance to show just how much she still cared for him. Just as it appeared that he would give their relationship another chance, he had pulled away and told her to leave. Dismissing her as if she were some kind of cheap tart.
Never had he turned down the opportunity to sleep with her, what had made him change so much, did he no longer find her attractive? There were both nearing middle age, she liked to think that she had looked after herself and was still relatively attractive to the opposite sex, why didn't he jump at the chance to make love to her?
It wasn't as if he were in the prime of his life anymore either, he was worn and scarred, the passing years not being kind to him as his face conveyed the strain that he had been under for so long. She silently cursed the blonde woman that had appeared to have captured his heart, feeling a pang of jealousy that John had chosen her. Was it because she was younger? Did that woman have a better figure than she did?
Throwing her purse down on the bed, she realised that she was being unfair to John. The poor man had been through so much recently that it was a wonder that he hadn't lost his senses completely. Perhaps she had been wrong in coming to Miami and forcing her way back into his life; maybe he needed a little more time to decide as to what he really wanted.
It didn't change the way she felt about him, or did it? Was she too caught up in some kind of fairy-tale illusion of how life could be with him?
Theirs had always been a primarily physical relationship, he was able to please her in ways that no other man could. Yet they wanted different things from life, they viewed the world in completely different ways. When sex was taken out of the equation, what was really left? Would they be able to sustain a relationship based on their wildly differing personalities?
Had too much time passed between them? Would they ever be able to recapture the innocence of their youth?
It was probably one of the main reasons she had sought him out again after discovering that he was still alive. A part of her felt empty and unfulfilled, as if there were a part of her life missing. She'd remarried and had children; had a good career and the house that she had always wanted in the suburbs. Yet something was still missing, there was a hollow feeling deep inside of her that she had never been able to fill, no matter how hard she tried.
And so she had convinced herself that renewing her relationship with John would fill that void, that he was the missing piece of the puzzle that would finally make her complete. Being with John again would make her whole.
But he had been unwilling or unable to give her what she wanted; he had pushed her away and told her to go back to New York and the life she once knew, told her to carry on with her life without him in it. How could she though, the way he had left their lives all those years ago had caused deep wounds in all of them, didn't she deserve the time and attention from John to help those wounds heal?
She had sat there for over an hour as she repeatedly rang his cell phone, becoming increasingly irate when he refused to answer. She didn't like the way that they had left things, he had been cold towards her, refusing to look her in the eyes as he turned his back on her. She deserved more than his childish attempts to push her away and ignore her.
It made no difference that he would not talk to her, she set about bombarding him with text messages instead as she revealed her level of frustration and bitterness towards him through a number of caustic messages, letting him know in no uncertain terms that this was far from over. She would not be satisfied until she had accomplished what she had come to Miami to do.
She stood looking at him in the hallway, the porch light illuminating his features as he hung his head, the light casting large shadows around him as he fiddled with the keys in his hands. It seemed as if the shadows were haunting him, consuming him with their darkness, she heard him take deep breaths as his hands began to shake. She had been about to ask him how it had gone but stopped herself when she saw him raise his head and walk towards her.
He was on her in an instant as his hands cupped her face; he kissed her hungrily, clinging onto her as if he were a drowning man cast adrift at sea. His movements were rough and desperate as he pushed her back against the wall and forced his tongue inside her mouth. There was nothing gentle about him, only a sense of urgency as his hands began tugging at her blouse.
After several attempts she managed to place her hands on his chest and push him back slightly as both of their chests heaved. "Horatio, what….."
He leaned into her again and kissed her passionately before resting his forehead against hers. "No talking…..not tonight…..please."
The look in his eyes unnerved her; never had she seen him react this way before. Yet she could deny him nothing, he seemed to need this, and she had promised him that she would be there for him, no matter what.
Her hands relaxed as they found their way to his shirt, she pulled it roughly out of the band of his jeans and began working on unfastening the buttons. He continued to cover her neck and face in moist kisses as she ran her hands up and down his back, his hands making short work of her pants and lacy underwear. Her hands mirrored his as she pulled at his jeans and boxers passionately, finding herself getting just as caught up in the moment as he was.
Parting her legs with his knees, he lifted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, joining together around his back as he entered her swiftly. He groaned deeply as he felt her accommodate him, kissing her again and again as his firm movements caused them both to vocalise their pleasure.
Placing one hand on the wall for leverage, he continued to thrust firmly as her back made painful contact with the wall several times. Neither of them seemed to care as they lost themselves in the moment, he felt her release moments before his own when he called out her name in a guttural groan.
He held her there as they both came down from their shared high, the palm resting against the wall now sweaty and damp, as was his forehead as he leaned it against hers.
"I love you," he whispered to her.
The realisation of what he had done hit him suddenly as he slowly pulled away and placed her shaky legs gently back down on the ground. "Calleigh…I'm sorry," he began as he bent down to pull his clothes back on.
She said nothing as she kissed him deeply before grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs to the bedroom.