"What do you want?" she asked after she had recovered her senses.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" the voice of her visitor berated loudly, loud enough for her neighbours down the hall to register their displeasure at the noise by banging on the paper-thin walls of the hotel.
She looked her visitor up and down. "I don't have to explain myself to you," she told him dismissively as she began to close the door, intent on finishing the conversation before it'd had a chance to get started.
A hand shot up to stop the door in its tracks. "Yes you damn well do!"
The person standing in her doorway would likely not take no for an answer, and she herself had no desire to create a scene in the hotel hallway, she'd embarrassed herself enough yesterday, that was more than enough to last a lifetime. Turning her back with a sigh, she sat herself down heavily on the bed and waited for the verbal volleys to begin.
"Do you have any idea what you've done to him?" her visitor asked as he stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest.
"John's a big boy, he can look after himself." She had no desire to explain herself anymore.
"You've got no idea, have you? You have no idea what they did to him….how long it took him to get back to this point…"
She interrupted her guest before he'd had a chance to continue. "Yes I do, I saw the scars. " She visibly shuddered as the image of his damaged flesh came to mind again.
"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. He doesn't need you here….messing with his head. Why did you come?"
How dare this person question her motive and actions, she didn't have to explain herself to him. "I came here because I deserved to know the truth about him!" Her outburst took her by surprise as much as it did the person standing a few feet away from her.
"You don't deserve shit from him, Laura. That guy doesn't owe you anything."
"And just what has that got to do with you, Andy?" she spat back, feeling her ire rise as she found herself on the receiving end of his angry outburst.
"It's got everything to do with me when I've been the one trying to help him piece his life back together for the last six months. Do you have any idea how hard this has been for him….for all of us, to sit back and watch while he struggled to get back on his feet?"
"What do you want…..a medal?" Her response was petulant and uncalled for, yet she couldn't seem to help herself. It was bad enough that John had pushed her away, she didn't need his old partner coming around making her feel worse than she already did.
He stood there speechless for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing several times. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
Jesus, what did John ever see in this woman in the first place? Laura flitted between angry outbursts and flat-out hurtful jibes with alarming frequency, he found it hard to believe that there was even a beating heart at all under that ice cold exterior of hers.
She was a beautiful woman, he couldn't deny that. Beauty was only skin deep, beneath the surface seemed to lurk a cold and heartless monster that took pleasure in tearing the souls out of the men that she met, stomping on them with her heeled boot until there was nothing left but shredded flesh.
He'd seen it with his own eyes, he'd seen the way she had taken a man as carefree and loving as John and turned him into nothing more than a broken shell of the person he used to be. He'd been the one that sat with him those first few weeks as the younger man drank himself into a stupor before wailing at the world and his lot in life.
Had he been a stronger man himself, he would have taken the bottle of scotch away from his partner, commanded him to get up off his ass and get on with his life. But he hadn't, he'd seen it as an excuse to indulge in his own weakness for alcohol, he'd been the one to top John's glass up every time it looked like he was close to finishing it. They had sat together in his dingy apartment, drinking and brooding.
Flashback. New York 1993:
He felt awkward just sitting and watching John as the younger man balled his right hand into a fist and gripped it between his teeth. The tension running through the man was enough to turn his knuckles white had they not been hidden under the makeshift bandages that were slowly beginning to spot with specks of fresh blood.
"John, take it easy." His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as his partner continued to chew on his bandaged hand, shaking his head every once in a while as if holding a private conversation with himself in his head.
He was at a loss for what else to do, roughly pulling himself from the kitchen table, he quickly peered down into John's lap to check that he was not currently carrying his service weapon, he let out a deep breath when he confirmed that he wasn't. John was clearly not himself at the moment, and it gave his partner cause for concern as to what might be capable of.
Trundling into the kitchenette, he rifled through the cupboard until he found what he'd been looking for. Hidden behind cans and jars was an old bottle of scotch, along with a number of other liquors, all of the glass containers had been opened, differing amounts had already been drained from them. It wasn't as if John was paying any attention to where he hid his stash, the kid looked like he could do with a drink anyway.
He picked up two glass tumblers and sat back down at the table, John still in exactly the same position he'd left him in a few minutes earlier. Unscrewing the cap, he poured two large measures and thrust the glass under his partner's nose. "Drink it," he commanded as he sunk his own quickly.
John looked at him with a dazed expression, he pointed down to the scotch again and repeated the command. "Drink it, kid." The blue eyes of his partner slowly descended to the tumbler, the bandaged hand shaking slightly as he lifted it to his lips.
"Don't make me tell you again," he growled, instantly relieved when John slugged the drink back in one and screwed his eyes shut as the heat of the alcohol registered in his throat, causing him to cough noticeably.
The scotch seemed to have the desired effect, after a few minutes as his partner's shaking slowly subsided and was replaced with abject misery instead. He kept the drinks coming, even when he could see that John had reached his limits, he didn't need much persuasion to keep going until the bottle was empty.
He eyed John with genuine concern as the tension drained from his body, the alcohol causing the strength needed to hold his frame upright to drain away. He watched as the younger man struggled to keep his head up as he began to sway from side to side on the chair.
"More," John commanded as he looked at him with unfocused eyes.
"Maybe you've had enough, kid," he suggested as he saw how unsteady John was becoming.
"And maybe I haven't," came the slurred response.
He shook his head, his partner certainly didn't have the resistance to alcohol that he had. He'd had a little buzz going himself, nowhere near enough to make him feel truly drunk though. It would take at least another two bottles for that to happen. John was more than a few sheets to the wind, so he picked up a half-empty bottle of gin and took it back to the table, hoping that the other man wouldn't notice that most of the contents had already been consumed.
He needn't have bothered, he found John collapsed on the table with his weary head resting on his arms. He debated whether or not to leave him there, the young man would certainly pay for it in the morning if he slept in such an uncomfortable position. His concern for his partner overrode his desire to pour himself another drink just yet, he grabbed John under the arms and dragged him the few feet to the couch before setting him down, lifting his legs into a more comfortable position.
Covering him with an old blanket, he sat back down on his chair and poured himself a measure of gin as he watched his young friend sleep.
"Oh, Jesus."
The pained way the voice spoke was enough to shake him out of his dreamless state, his eyes opened suddenly as the blanket fell away from his body. It was only then that he remembered that he'd sat in the comfy leather chair opposite his partner to watch over him when the hard wooden seat at the kitchen table became too much for his considerable weight.
Looking down, his eyes cast across to the empty bottle of vodka by his side and the glass tumbler that had fallen to the carpet and rested on its side. Visions of the night before came back to him slowly, he only hoped that John hadn't drunk as much as he did.
"Oh, God," the voice spoke again.
He raised his gaze and found John laying on his side looking particularly green around the gills, he watched him turn over to his back and place his bandaged hand on his forehead. "Andy?" he called out pathetically as he kept his eyes closed, trying to stop the room from spinning.
"Yeah, kid?"
"I think I'm gonna be sick." The voice was quiet but urgent. He reacted quickly and pulled himself up, grabbing the plastic waste paper basket and shoving it under the other man's nose.
He grimaced as he heard John retch pitifully, the smell of vomit wafted slowly across the room, he wrinkled his nose and made his way to the bathroom intent on taking a shower and getting ready for his shift at the Precinct.
Washed and dressed, he shuffled back into the lounge to find his partner in exactly the same position that he'd left him in. He shook the other man's shoulder gently in an effort to rouse him.
"Leave me alone," the voice mumbled miserably.
"No can do, kid. You better get your ass in that shower, our shift starts in an hour."
The eyes of the younger man remained closed as he shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going, let me sleep."
"No."
One of John's eyes cracked open, Andy couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face as he saw the pathetic look on the man's face. "What do you mean no?"
He crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke. "I mean that you're not staying here wallowing in your own pity. Get your ass up and go to work, don't let Laura think that she's won. Show her that you're more than that."
Both eyes opened now, his heart ached to see the pity in them. "But she has won. She broke my heart, Andy."
He'd never been particularly good at all the hearts and flowers type of stuff, he was more a man of actions rather than words. With that in mind, he grabbed John by the t-shirt and pulled him from the couch until he'd raised him to his feet, roughly pointing him in the direction of the bathroom and giving him a firm shove for good measure.
He let out a small laugh at the scowl John sent his way as he traipsed wearily to the bathroom muttering under his breath. Perhaps sharing his stash of alcohol with John had been a mistake, the younger man clearly couldn't hold his liquor. It was while he was in the shower that he realised that he had no desire to see the potential in his partner be drained away by addiction and grief like his own had.
He could have let him sleep it off, let him wallow in his self-pity, for that was what he had done many years ago himself. He sure wished he'd had someone looking out for him back then, maybe his life wouldn't have been circling the drain like it was right now. It was too late for him, he'd made his choice and would be forced to live with the consequences. But he wanted better for John, he didn't want him to take the same path he had. Misery was a lonely road to travel and no matter how much he might have longed for a companion to travel it with him, he was damn sure it wouldn't be the man in he'd grown to love as a son.
The pattern of drunken wallowing had been repeated consistently over the last few weeks, even though he promised himself that each night at the end of their shift it would be different. Somehow, he just couldn't resist the lure of booze as he convinced his down-heartened partner to join him at the local bar for 'just one drink' each night. One had always multiplied into several more, each night he half-carried, half-dragged John back to his apartment where they again indulged in more alcohol.
He was impressed with kid's increasing tolerance to the rancid drinks he was tipping down his throat. Listening to John bitch and moan about his failed marriage to Laura was next to impossible when they were both sober. He was hardly an authority on the subject when it came to women, the idea of sitting and talking about his feelings scared the shit out of him. No, it was always much easier to deal with John's maudlin ramblings after he'd fortified himself with half a bottle of scotch.
He realised that it was a dangerous path they were travelling, drinking had always been his choice, his answer to his problems, but now he was dragging his vibrant young partner down the same road. He'd always wanted better for the kid, not wanting him to end up like the bitter old fool he was. His intentions had been good from the start, but he'd started dragging John down before he'd even realised what he'd been doing. If it weren't for today's events he could so easily have continued ruining not only his career, but that of his partner too.
The night before had included a particularly heavy drinking session as both men entered the squad room looking bleary-eyed and uncomfortable, setting themselves down heavily at their desks. John had been in one of his more depressive moods, meandering from one sob story to another about the woman he had loved and lost.
At least the poor guy had been spared having to see Laura these past few weeks, but only because he'd managed to stop the idiot from banging on her door and begging for her to take him back. Each time John had worked up the courage to visit the apartment he used to share with his wife, he would have to be the voice of reason, the man who had to talk his partner out of making a huge mistake and a complete prat of himself.
It was inevitable that there would come a time when their paths would cross, they both worked for the same side after all. They would likely have to work together on a case sooner or later, he'd just hoped it would be later…..much later.
"Shit," he grumbled as he saw Laura make her way through the knee-high gate. It was enough to make John look up at him and then across the room. "Stay where you are, let me deal with her."
He dragged his bulky frame up and trundled over to her, meeting her in the middle of the room. "What do you want, Laura?" he growled as he made furtive glances back over to his partner.
"I need to speak to my husband about a few things, if that's ok with you?" she responded sarcastically before brushing past him and making her way to John.
He knew this wasn't going to end well, perhaps it was better if he just stayed out of it. He kept a close eye on her as he listened in to their conversation.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the beleaguered appearance of the man she loved. "How have you been?" she asked him gently.
"Dandy," he replied without looking up at her. "You?"
She let out a sigh of frustration, knowing that he would not make this easy for her. There would be no point prolonging the agony though, like ripping a band aid from a cut, it would be better to do this quickly rather than draw the whole process out.
"Look, I came here to ask what you want me to do with the rest of your stuff. Are you planning to come round for it, or should I give it to the Goodwill?"
His mouth fell open. Whatever he had been expecting his wife to say, it sure wasn't that. How could she move on so easily when he was suffering every day? Their marriage had broken down, and all she could think about was clearing out his stuff. It was as if she wanted every reminder of their time together to be erased from her memory. He just sat there staring at her, unable to move or say anything.
"John, did you hear what I said?" she repeated, loud enough for some of the other detectives to stop what they were doing and listen in instead.
"Throw it out. Burn it. Do what you want. I don't care," he said finally as anger began to set in. He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing how much he was hurting.
"Why are you being so childish?"
How dare she come here, to where he worked, to embarrass him in front of his colleagues? Hadn't she stomped on his ego enough already, was she trying to completely emasculate him?
"Do what you want. Just get out of my face." His words came out in a low growl now, she was pushing him to the edge, far too close to the edge. Much more and he would not be able to keep a lid on his temper any longer.
"I came here to sort things out," she shot back as she huffed her disapproval at his behaviour, convincing herself that this was as easy for her as she was trying to make it seem.
The speed at which he stood up and got in her face caused her to gasp audibly. "No, you came here to rip out what was left of my heart and stomp on it just to make sure. Are you satisfied now?"
"John…."
"Just go," he told her dismissively as he turned his back on her, waiting until he heard her high-heeled shoes click their way back towards the stairwell, wishing for all the world that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
That had been the final straw for him, when John had stumbled back to his apartment that night with an unopened bottle of scotch with the intent of drinking it, he took the booze from his hands and sat his partner down on the couch. "This ends here, kid."
"Give me the bottle back."
"No. You're not drinking anymore of this shit," he told him firmly as he lifted the bottle in his left hand and placed it out of John's reach. "It's time to sober up. You're gonna get your ass up early tomorrow and look for your own apartment. You're gonna show that woman that she hasn't got your balls in a vice anymore, you hear me?"
John looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. "I thought you could stay here for as long as I needed?" His words slurred slightly as he gave him his best puppy-dog eyes.
"This is not what you need, John. I'm not what you need." The other man continued to look at him with some confusion, he tried again to make him understand. "You've had enough time wallowing, now you need to get back up and start fighting again."
"And what if I don't want to?"
He crossed his arms over his stomach as he spoke. "Then I'll drag your ass every step of the Goddamn way. Don't let her win, kid. You're better than her."
Miami. Present day:
"I'm warning you, Laura. Just stay the hell away from him or so help me God…"
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, I'm telling you to pack your bags, get your coat and get on the next plane back to New York."
"And what if I don't want to?" she replied haughtily.
"Then I might do something we'll all regret." The menace was clear in his tone as he gave her a look frightening enough to cause her to gasp. "Don't make me tell you again. Go home, Laura. I'm done asking you nicely."