Welcome to chapter 8, and thanks Jess for your reviews! Maybe we need a Dan/Kit crossover; see what happens when two psycho minds merge into one! I think that would be a true Folie à deux if ever there was one! Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Andrea cursed Kit, cursed the day she'd met him, cursed the day she'd had the bright idea to take that voluntary programme, cursed even the time she and Kirsty had agreed to go travelling. It had been a long time since every creak, very thump, every rev of a car engine had her on edge. Everything had her on edge. She wished they'd locked him up in Venezuela for life, or even better, that he'd never pulled himself from the water. She'd been haunted by the guilt of his 'death' for years but now wished he really had been. Sometimes. The irony was, sometimes in her nightmares, she'd be back there. Standing on top of the falls, where she'd often go to sit and think, the wind whipping her hair around her face, and she'd be content. Then she'd see the hand, one after the other, reaching up and gripping the dirt, before he pulled himself, soaking from the water. He had the crazed look in his eyes and she'd be rooted where she stood, unable to flee, unable to scream, no matter how hard she tried, until she did, waking and scaring her parents. They'd put up with a lot from her and they didn't even know the full story as to why. She would tell them, but when Kit was no longer a threat. He'd already proved he'd go after people she cared about, she wasn't about to lead him to anyone else.

Trying to go about as normal, not let him know how scared she was, she'd decided to take herself shopping, wishing she had work to distract her. She had too much time now for thinking, and it was beginning to wear on her. Why hadn't she ever considered being a police officer to begin with? Well, she knew the answer to that; she'd always liked writing too much. Her parents used to think it was funny; finding their barely toddler daughter, holding up a newspaper nearly as big as she was, trying to read. Her father had though, sat her on his knee, and read to her. He was a bigger reader than her mother, and the two of them had often swapped books as she'd gotten older, talking about them, spending hours discussing what they liked and what they didn't like and when she was in her teens, she'd began her journaling. A career in the police had simply never occurred to her, not until Bruce had made his offer, and even during the training, to her, it had just been another assignment. It was at Sun Hill that her feelings has begun to change. It didn't matter now, though. She'd still done what she did. It didn't matter how much the job had meant to her in the end, no police force in the UK would hire her now. Maybe abroad. Her mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. Yes, maybe she'd go somewhere nobody knew her, see if they would know about her history with the police.

Talking of history – she wondered how they were getting on, chasing Kit's criminal record in South America. She couldn't imagine that being an easy task, and if they couldn't find anything, they only had her word for it, secondary of course, to Kit's. She wasn't sure which of them was the least trustworthy in their eyes.

She turned into her street, hitching the bag further onto her shoulder. She didn't even remember much of what she'd bought, which wasn't smart. It wasn't as if she had a regular wage coming in now. She would get herself a job; but when she had less to think about. She'd managed to save a lot over the last year, and if she was sensible, it would last. As she approached her door, she spared a glance at Bill's. Often, when she went shopping, she'd knock, just to see if he needed anything, and she had today. He hadn't answered. It was highly unusual, but she thought he might have been out on one of his long walks with his dog, his constant companion since his wife had died the winter before last. She'd try again, maybe tomorrow. Letting herself in to her house, she went into her bedroom to put the clothes she'd bought away, and stopped. What was that?

She inhaled again and gasped. That smell. The one, that for years, she couldn't stand without it sending her into turmoil, sometimes triggering panic attacks. It was aftershave; Kit's aftershave. Strong, pungent and completely overpowering. She'd always told him he'd put too much on. And now, he'd been back in here, in her house, in her room. She took a few steps backwards and sniffed tentatively, as if she was in a gas chamber. She couldn't smell anything there. Stepping back into her bedroom doorway, she inhaled. It was less strong now; was it even there at all? Or was his reappearance in her life making her imagine all sorts? Andrea cast her eyes around her room, then turned to look at her sitting room. Everything was just as she'd left it and she'd checked the back door and every window before she'd gone out; they were defiantly locked, and she'd just unlocked the front door not even two minutes ago; it had defiantly had both locks secured. There was no way he could have gotten in. The smell was fainter now. Andrea sat on her bed wearily; was he going to taunt her until he tipped her over the edge? Or was she going to do that to herself? Should she report this? What was she going to say?

"Oh, hey, no sign of forced entry, nothing's been taken, but I think I can smell his cologne."

She thought the Inspector would probably laugh at her, and Sam would probably treat her to a psychological assessment of her own. Shaking her head, she left her shopping bag where it was on the bed and went to make herself a tea. No more alcohol. What she needed now was hot, sweet, comforting tea. As the kettle boiled, she looked into the garden. Hugo jumped up and rubbed himself against her hand, purring. Absently, she stroked him. Maybe a psychological assessment wouldn't be such a bad thing; she hadn't given it a chance when her parents had gotten it for her because she was too worried the therapist would tell them everything. She'd spent such a long time denying the truth to herself about the abortion that she'd sometimes convinced herself that it hadn't really happened at all; that it had been someone else, just as she'd told herself during the procedure. That had been the worst bit; being awake, being aware. Even though the staff had been lovely, and looked after her really well, they couldn't do anything to make it less traumatic. That had been another thing that had given her nightmares.

Andrea made her tea and sat at the table sipping it. She should have told them, really; Sam and Gina. But saying the words when she'd barely talked about it to Kirsty, the only other person who'd known about it, had been so hard, and wouldn't they be angry at her with withholding yet more information from them? She could tell Smithy. He wouldn't judge, even though he'd have every right to, but even the idea of telling someone as kind as him made her want to curl up in a dark room and never go back out. She should go and see him anyway, he was only in hospital because he'd tried to protect her. If nothing else, she owed him the consideration of a visit; that was if he even wanted to see her. If he didn't, she'd go and speak to Sam. It was time to get everything out into the open.

He was sleeping. Part of her was relieved. She glanced down at the carrier bag in her hand, wondering what it even was really. Genuine goodwill? Bribery? Guilt? Not that a few magazines and treats would be enough, nor would it ever. Well, she'd just leave it here. Let him decide whether to throw them straight in the bin or not. She placed the bag carefully on the table and turned back to the doorway.

"Hey."

His voice stopped her. Turning back to him, Andrea twisted her hands. She could still barely bring herself to look at his face. Even though the bruising was a little better, the eye was still swollen shut, and she saw him grimace as he propped himself up on his good arm.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I was just resting my eye."

The singular wasn't lost on her and the corner of her mouth lifted. He glanced at the carrier bag.

"It's nothing really. Just some magazines. Some fruit. I wasn't sure how long you'd be in here and hospital food isn't that much good. I remember when I was in here. At Christmas, you know."

He nodded. How could he forget the panic he felt when he heard she'd been struck with a pool cue whilst out on a shout, the panic so strong, he was sure later everyone had felt it? She remembered too, his being the first face she saw when she woke up, he being the one to take her home and stay with her until she felt well enough to be alone.

"Thanks. That nice of you."

"Least I could do."

"Andrea," he said. "This wasn't your fault."

She shouldn't be here. She'd caused him enough pain. The longer she stayed here, the more she wanted to come out with everything else; everything she hadn't told the police the first time.

"I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. I'll see you around."

"Wait, wait! Andrea!"

The pain in his voice stopped her and she turned, rushing back when she saw he'd made to get up.

"What're you doing, you can't get up!"

"Don't go," he said, holding onto her arm. "What is it? Is it Maynard? Has he been near you?"

She pulled her arm free and got up, shaking her head.

"Have you seen him?"

"No."

I just thought I could smell his aftershave. No biggie.

"What then? Andrea?"

She turned her back to him. She didn't even have the guts to face him when she told him the rest, however much she wished she did.

"I didn't tell them everything. When I gave my statement."

"Something else happened? In Venezuela?"

"Sort of. Yes."

"You can tell me," he said. "You can trust me. You know that."

Andrea looked at the sky, a dusky pink with the setting sun.

"It was a holiday romance," she said. "That's all it was ever supposed to be. I was eighteen. I wasn't looking to settle down, and definitely not whilst I was travelling, doing voluntary work. I wasn't taking it seriously."

"But Maynard was."

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"I didn't see it at first. I don't know how. Kirsty did. She said he was obsessed with me, that he was bad news. I just thought…well. I don't know what I thought, really, that it would all be over soon anyway because I would be going back home, that he'd get over it. I had university to prepare for. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn't it?"

The question was rhetorical, so he didn't say anything, but the bitterness in her voice gave him chills. The silence went on and he thought she'd clammed up, but she spoke again.

"Anyway, I caught him dealing, like I said. And that was it, I told him whatever we had was done with. That was the night he followed me to the fall, and…"

She stopped, a hand to her mouth, again remembering the terror as she tried to get away from Kit's grip as he wrestled her to the ground, screaming abuse, shouting in her face that they were bound together forever and always would be, he'd never let either of them go.

"What?"

She'd said the words out loud and she could almost hear the cogs in Smithy's head begin to turn.

"That's what he said," she whispered. "Before…before he started hitting me. That I'd never be free of him, ever."

At last, she turned to him and she could see he'd worked it out.

"You got pregnant."

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, blinking back the burning tears in her eyes, glad he'd said the word, not her.

"What happened to the baby?"

She covered her face with her hands, the guilt and shame she'd been hiding for ten long years finally breaking through the cracks.

"I…I couldn't…go through with it," she said, sitting on the end of his bed. "I had an abortion."

"Andrea."

His tone was sympathetic, hurt for her. He wished she'd sit closer so he could wrap his arms around her, but her rigid body language couldn't have screamed don't touch me any clearer. He watched her wipe at her tears, pretty pointlessly.

"I'm listening," he said softly. "Whenever you want to talk."

He didn't think she would, but when she'd regained control of her crying and looked back at him.

"I was so scared when Kirsty and I got home, about what had happened to Kit. Thinking he was dead, about how it'd happened. I hadn't had time to think about the baby. But that was one thing that wasn't on my side. Time. I was fifteen weeks. The scan confirmed it. I didn't want the baby. I don't think I would have, even if Kit and I had parted on good terms, but maybe it would have been less painful if we had."

She remembered lying on that cold bed in the even colder room as the sonographer scanned her, pretending it was happening to someone else, anyone else but her.

"Who went with you?"

"Nobody. I booked myself into a private clinic and…did what I had to do. I told Kirsty after it was done, but I didn't tell anyone else. I couldn't. Until today."

"You went through that on your own?" he said. "On top of everything else?"

"Yeah. Then I spent the past ten years trying to forget it ever happened. That's bad, isn't it?"

"No. Of course it isn't."

"You're nice. You would say that."

"No," he said, sitting forward, ignoring the jolt of pain shooting through his chest. "I'm saying it because it's the truth. You did what was right for you."

"I couldn't raise a child like that, Smithy. Not on my own, and not knowing…well, thinking, what I did about Kit. Thinking he was dead. What if the baby had looked like him? I never would have been free of the reminder. How selfish is that?"

"It isn't," he said. "You said it yourself, you were only eighteen. Only just an adult. It was a hard choice, but a right one."

He put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. Then he had to ask.

"Is this why you didn't want to…when I asked?"

"Partly," she said.

"What, you thought I'd hurt you like that? That all men are psychos?"

"No, of course not," she said. "I…I didn't want you to get hurt. I knew everything would come out about me eventually. I didn't want you getting too close to me. So it would be easier to cut ties when you needed to."

"And you thought I'd react with my fists, didn't you?"

"No. I knew you'd never do that. I just thought it'd make things easier without the emotional ties."

"That still should have been my choice to make Andrea, not yours, and there already were emotional ties. You helped me through losing Kerry. All those nights you held me, letting my cry, letting me talk about her, you helped me heal. Did you really think there were no emotional ties? Don't be so stupid!"

She flinched and he sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"I couldn't stand it," she said. "Seeing you in so much pain. I know we weren't close before Kerry…and maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation now if she was still here. But seeing everything you were feeling, the anger, the pain, the grief…I understood that pain. I just wanted to help."

"You did," he said. "You really did."

"I'm sorry," she said, finally looking at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I really am. For everything. I'm sorry you got caught in the crossfire of this. And I'm sorry I came here. I just had to tell someone. Just once."

"Wait," he said, holding her arm as she made to get up. "Don't go. Not yet. He knew about the baby? Maynard?"

She nodded, looking down at her lap.

"Stupidly, I told him. I think that was when I started to see his obsession for what it was. Then when I saw him again…in my room I mean, when he came to Sun Hill, that's what he wanted to know. If he was a father or not."

"Did he get angry?"

"I didn't think so, not at first. That was stupid, thinking that would be the end of it. Then I saw him again the next day, at the pub, you remember."

He clenched his teeth, the memory of the much taller man with the messy dark hair yanking her around, the look of terror on her face, still angered him.

"What did he want?"

"What was taken from him. That's what he said. I couldn't give it to him, how could I have?"

He recalled how, how she'd shouted that she didn't have a time machine, just before he'd gotten between them and shoved Maynard away from her.

"So, what else happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, even he can't possibly be unreasonable enough to think you could go back in time or conjure a what, nine year old child out of thin air. And short of expecting you to…sleep with him again to make it happen, it never would. What else was taken from him, Andrea?"

"Nothing. Nothing else that I know of."

"And what about Kirsty?"

"Kirsty? She hated him. What could she have taken from him?"

He looked at her pointedly, and she shook her head.

"No, Smithy. If it was me, he could have done it ages ago. He was watching me for days, sent that necklace before he revealed himself. He could have done anything before you even knew about him. Whatever he's back for, I don't think it's me. Not in that sense."

"He attacked me, Andrea. Or had me attacked. Same difference."

"Because he thought you were important to me. Well, you are. But he was always like that." She barked a laugh. "There it is again, that wonderful hindsight. When we were in Venezuela, he hated not having me all to himself, even when it was just Kirsty."

"Put her in hospital too, did he?"

"No. But you were the only one who ever dared to stand up to him like that."

"He's back for something, Andrea. Whatever it is, the answer might lie with Kirsty."

"If something happened, she would have told me."

"Why? Because people are always so honest?"

His words cut the air sharper than he intended. Andrea flinched again and pulled her coat around her tighter.

"I guess I asked for that. I should go. You need to rest."

"Andrea, wait. I'm sorry. Andrea!"

The door closed behind her and he sat back with a sigh, a new sort of pain in his chest, a pain for Andrea. To hell with this. He pushed back the covers and got out of bed, cursing Maynard with every painful step and began to change. The door opened behind him.

"Young man, what do you think you're doing?"

He gritted his teeth at 'young man.' This nurse barely had ten years on him, if that.

"Leaving. Can you get me a discharge form? Please?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Advice noted," he said. "But respectfully ignored. Can you get me a discharge form, please? And this out?"

He held up his hand with the IV line.

"I'll get the doctor. He'll need to sort out the paperwork"

"Get the CEO if you have to, but I'd like to be out of here tonight."

She left huffing and he sat on the bed, picking up his phone. Andrea hadn't asked him not to tell anyone, and this was important information. He scrolled to Gina's name and put the phone to his ear.

"Gina?

"Smithy," she said crisply and the voice sounded nearer than the other end of the phone. The door opened again and she came in dramatically cancelling the call. "So, I hear you're leaving?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't start. Look, Andrea's just been to see me."

"I know," said the Inspector, her lip curling. "I saw her leaving as I was parking. Trying to worm her way back in with sympathies, was she?"

"No. But she didn't tell you everything. About Maynard."

She wasn't surprised, but Gina Gold rarely did surprised.

"And now you're gallivanting off to play her hero again after where it got you the first time?" she said, sitting on his chair. "Well, come on. Let's hear it. You still have to wait for discharge."

Andrea let herself back in to her flat. She leant against the door. She shouldn't have gone there. She could have unburdened herself to someone else. It has been a long time since she'd been to confession. She could imagine the judgement she'd get for it though, and it spoke volumes that she couldn't even let herself think about it. She judged herself harshly for it, surely what she'd get at a confession would be a hundred times worse. Slowly, she made her way back to her table and sat with her head in her hands, the tears she'd been holding back on the way home finally flowing down her face. Or, maybe the tears she'd been holding back for the past ten years. Her phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. Smithy. She declined the call and it rang again almost instantly. She turned the device off and laid her head down on the table. She was tired, so tired. It was funny how even emotional days could make you more tired than one that had been particularly strenuous. She succumbed to sleep there.

Kit Maynard watched as she murmured in sleep, mouth slightly open. She hadn't even felt his presence. His lip curled. He thought police were supposed to be perceptive, but then, she'd never really been one of them, had she? She murmured something and her head turned to the side. He'd watched her sleep many-a-night in Venezuela. Back when everything had been so perfect. Before that bitch of a friend of hers… his mouth twisted. How he'd like to have a long overdue chat with her. He stood up and crossed to Andrea soundlessly. He'd always been able to do that, move as if he were weightless, just like that night at the falls. He brushed a lock of her hair back, pulling away when she stirred.

She needn't wake up. He didn't want her to, really. It had almost exhausted him, just watching her crying. She'd know he was here regardless. He placed the tiepin by her outstretched hand. That would do. He glanced at the fridge where he'd left another message for her. Patience: that was all he had to have. He'd waited ten years. What was a few more days?