Thanks as always to Jess! I always love reading what you have to say! Here's the next chapter, sorry for the wait! x

Smithy returned to Andrea's room, glancing in the pane of glass before opening the door; he didn't want to barge in if she was in there with her parents, but she was alone, a book clutched idly in her hand. She glanced up when he came in and smiled widely, putting the book aside.

"I hope I didn't interrupt you at a good part," he said and kissed her head before sitting down.

"Don't know," she said. "I couldn't really concentrate. Dad bought me a load, but I can't focus. Where's Angus?"

"He's gone. He asked me to tell you he's sorry, but…"

"No, no need to apologise," she said. "I'd find it hard to be around people too. How was it?"

"Cold," he said. "Quiet. I gave him a bit of space. I think Angus had some things he wanted to say, even if Bruce couldn't…well, you know."

Andrea nodded and remembered talking to Bruce herself before the life support machine was turned off.

"And the staff gave him Bruce's belongings. I think he just wants to be alone for a bit."

"Yeah," she said. "Of course."

"Nothing's changed," he assured her. "He still doesn't blame you."

"I know," she said, then realised something was different about Smithy; the cast was gone. He saw her look down and smiled, flexing the arm.

"Feels good," he said. "Finally being able to use both arms, now that pain of a cast is off."

"Good," she said. "So you're going back to work?"

"No. Still a few weeks, because of that damn concussion. "So, I'm all yours." She tried to smile and he frowned, his heart sinking. "What?"

"I've been talking to mum and dad," she said. "I'm going back home."

"Oh," he said, and though it wasn't really unexpected, he still felt disappointed. "For how long?"

"Don't know," she said. "They want me to stay at least until I've fully recovered. After that, we'll see."

Smithy looked at floor, the disappointment beginning to crush him. He couldn't be selfish though, Andrea needed time to heal. And it was Scotland, not the other side of the world. Andrea slid her hand into his and squeezed it.

"Smithy? You cross with me?"

"No," he said, gripping her hand and looking up at her. "Of course I'm not. I get it. I do. You've been through a lot recently. It'll be good for you to get away."

"I'm not sure it doesn't qualify as running away."

"Well, either way," he said. "It's what you need. How could I be mad about that?"

He moved to sit on the bed and pulled her into his arms. She burrowed her head into his shoulder, knowing being away from him would be painful.

"I'll call you," she said. "Every day."

It wouldn't be enough for her, nor for him, but he nodded his assent, rubbing her back.

"I want to hear all the stories about that mad old woman," he said, releasing her from his hold.

Andrea choked out a laugh, and said, "We'll be on the phone for hours."

"I'm not complaining," he said, then turned, his crow crinkled at a commotion.

"…you can't go in there!"

"…I just want a minute!"

He stood up as a young woman crashed through the door, followed by the bulldog of a nurse he'd seen on several occasions. Andrea pulled herself up, staring at the stranger. She'd seen her eyes before, and they were as sad in her face as they were cold in another's

"You're Kit's sister," she said.

"Yes. Shannon."

"Who should not be in here," the nurse said, shooting her a furious look. "And I will call security…"

"No," Andrea said. "You don't need to do that. Let her stay, please. I want to talk to her."

"You should be resting, and you're not to be stressed."

Andrea fought the urge to close her eyes. Was everyone going to treat her like a delicate flower forever? She let out a breath, fighting for some patience.

"I'm in bed," she said. "I'm resting. And if it becomes too much, I'll say. But Shannon needs some answers as well. Please let her stay."

The nurse shot a look at Shannon as if she was a spoilt child getting her own way and said; "I'll come back and check, young lady, and if my patient has so much as a raised heart rate…"

She left the threat unfinished and left the room. Shannon looked over her shoulder as the door closed and shook her head.

"Man, someone needs to change careers. Personal security maybe."

Andrea laughed and put a hand to her head. Smithy's brow crinkled in concern and she waved a hand at him.

"How did you know?" Shannon asked, sitting tentatively next to Smithy. "That I'm his sister?"

"Your eyes," Andrea said simply.

"Hopefully that's all we share," Shannon said and squeezed her hands together. "I really don't know what to say. I'm sorry, for everything he put you through."

"You don't have to apologise," Andrea said softly. "From what I've been told, he put you through a lot too. You and your family are just as much victims in all this."

"I have no good memories of him," Shannon said. "None. My mum keeps crying and talking about when he was a good boy. However hard I try, I can't picture it."

"He could be nice," Andrea said. "He could be charming, and generous. But I realise now, that it was all superficial. When he didn't get what he wanted…"

"He hurt you," Shannon said softly. "Before now, I mean. I talked to that detective, Sam. She said you met him first in South America."

"Yes," Andrea said and glanced at Smithy who'd kept a respectful silence. "He got violent. More than once. I didn't remember a lot of it before he came back. I guess I just didn't want to."

"Nobody would blame you if you didn't want to so much as say his name again," Shannon said and twisted a shiny ring on her middle finger. "My dad doesn't even want his name mentioned under his roof again, after hearing everything he'd done. My mum still hasn't left her bed. I think she always held onto hope that he'd come back as the good kid she always said he used to be."

"It must be hard for your parents," Andrea said. "Even if your dad says what he says. To know what Kit is. Nobody wants to hear stuff like that about their child, even if they had essentially disowned them."

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened. If dad had him charged for attacking him when he had the chance."

"Probably the same thing," Andrea said. "Except it would have been you, your dad and your mum in the firing line. Where loyalty was concerned, Kit doesn't have any. Anyone who crosses him, however small, were in his firing line. Sometimes even people who didn't. Unfortunately, he's really good at exploiting people's weaknesses."

Shannon nodded and said; "have they told you? He's breathing on his own now. He might wake up soon."

"Good," Andrea said and smiled when Shannon's eyes widened in surprise. "Don't get me wrong, there have been times I wish he wouldn't, but people need justice, Shannon, and they won't get it when he's lying in a mortuary."

"Some people might argue with that," muttered Shannon. "But you're probably right."

"And you know what? I'll be there every day, at the trial, however long it takes."

The door opened and the nurse came back in. Shannon got to her feet, scowling, and said; "all right. I'm going. I said I just wanted a few minutes."

"No, it's not that," said the nurse and her tone was quite different. She glanced at Andrea, then back to Shannon. "It's your brother. He's awake."

Kit cast a cruel eye around the hospital, eye being because the other was swollen shut. One might say poetic justice after the state he'd left Andrea's lover boy in but Kit had never been one to care what anyone else said, even if it did happen to be true. Everything hurt; his head, his arm, his back. His head was immobilised still, the doctor who'd been to see him had explained that they were unsure of the extent of the damage to his neck and until they were, he'd have to stay like that. Stuck up know all using all the long, posh words, and if he'd been able, he'd have shoved him headfirst out of the window. Like what have should have happened to Andrea, damn that bitch Kirsty. At least he'd dragged her with him. He assumed she was dead; nobody would tell him when he asked, not even the copper standing guard outside, and that to him said it all; sometimes the blatant ignoring of a question said far more than answering it. He'd rather she'd had to live with the image of him throwing Andrea off that building, as she deserved, but you couldn't have everything, even he knew that. She equally deserved to be dead as well, for all she'd done to him. She couldn't stand in his way of Andrea now, so he'd grit his teeth and do all the physio these silver spooned assholes said, then he would see her again.

"…go gently, he's still very unwell!"

"…I don't care!"

Kit's brow crinkled at the voices, he didn't recognise them but seconds later, two women, one middle aged and the other significantly younger, came crashing through the door. The older was a nurse but the younger woman stared at him with a hatred so intense, for a minute he was unnerved, but then the recognition set in, though it had been years since he'd seen that face. It had lost the soft baby roundness and she had more teeth now, that were clenched, her mouth twisted into a snarl. The hair was flying loose about her face, the curls unruly, like his tended to do if he didn't do something with it. She's lost the whiny child's voice, then again, she was over a decade older than she had been. For a moment, he admitted, he was shocked.

"Shannon?"

She sneered, and said, her tone mocking his; "Kit. Ten out of ten."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Come to see you suffering," Shannon said, crossing her arms. "And I will say, it's satisfying."

"Good for you," he said, bored. "So where are mum and dad? Waiting in the wings with their two cents about what a naughty boy I am?"

"Mum hasn't left her bed," Shannon snarled. "Dad refuses to even talk about you, so if you were expecting them to be here, fawning over your sorry ass, they won't be."

She might have lost the whiny child's voice, but Kit thought her angry tone was just as annoying, even more so maybe. He yawned. Why couldn't that ecstasy tablet have finished her back then?

"Good," he said. "You mean to tell me I'm missing dad's speech about how I'm a disappointment and mum's simpering about where her ickle little boy went? I'm heartbroken."

Shannon gave him a look of disbelief and dropped her arms, walking right up to his bed.

"You really don't care, do you? The police have been to see us. Told us everything. About what when you left our family. We didn't hear anything from you, we thought you might be dead! Now we find out all you were doing was spreading poison around South America."

"Everyone needs to make a living," he said, his tone condescending. "Dad cast me out of the home, little sister. Like he even cared if I was dead."

"He cast you out after you nearly killed me," Shannon hissed. "What do you think he should have done, Kit? Let you carry on selling that…that filth from our house?"

Kit laughed. "Drugs, Shannon. They're drugs. And if people are stupid enough to take them, that's not my issue. Like with you. You were stupid enough to take something without even knowing what it was. Not exactly my problem, is it?"

"I was six," Shannon snarled. "What six year old sees something falling out of her favourite doll and thinks, 'oh of course! My druggie waste of space big brother has found a new hiding place for them'. Maybe dad had a point when he used to say you being born on a Wednesday was a foreshadowing."

"Sticks and stones," he said and she shook her head.

"You really are just remorseless, aren't you? I've been to see her, you know, Andrea. You've tried, but you haven't broken her."

"Oh? Well do me a favour, Shan, next time you see her, tell her I'll see her soon."

"Nobody's going to let you near her. You've done enough to her. Those cops are doing to send you down, Kit, and I hope you never see the light of day again."

"Whatever. As nice as this catch up has been, I'm rather tired right now and don't feel so well, so nurse, would you mind escorting this young lady out?"

"Don't worry," Shannon said. "I'm going. This man stopped being by brother sixteen years ago. Maybe even before that. Bye Kit."

"Hope you feel better to have gotten that off your chest!" he called after her, then sank back into the pillows, shaking his head. Whatever had possessed her to come here, he'd never know. His 'family' had cast him out, so what did he care? He glanced at the door again, at the copper watching him through the pane of glass. It was the same one who'd caught him on the stairs with Andrea, and something told Kit that he didn't much care for her either, nothing he'd said as such, it was just something in his eyes, and he was honest enough to admit that he knew another…likeminded individual when he saw them. He waved him in and he entered, giving Kit a look he couldn't quite interpret.

"Hail the conquering hero," he said sarcastically and the officer's lip curled in a way which Kit knew his sometimes did, and a way he admired. He crossed his arms.

"Did you want something?"

"You don't like her, do you?"

"It's irrelevant," he said and Kit noted he didn't need to ask who he was talking about.

"You were just doing your job, duty of care," Kit said. "Right? Well you can spare me the speech. I've heard it before."

"What do you want?"

"Straight to the point. I like it," Kit said. "My sister there said she got to see our mutual friend."

The other man's lip curled further and Kit smiled, amused, knowing that he'd hit his point directly on the head earlier.

"And?"

"So, I'm guessing she's not under guard like me – honoured, I must say. But of course, your macho mate must be sticking to her like glue.

Gabriel's eyebrow twitched and Kit raised his own.

"Oh. Not your mate, right? Can't say I blame you."

"Look, you can either spit out what it is you want, or…"

"All right, all right, impatient, aren't we? Got the short straw today, did you?" Kit laughed again as Gabriel's eyes narrowed, getting a kick out of winding him up. "Just do me a favour, will you? Give her a message for me."

Angus sat in the darkening living room, staring at the items in front of him. There hadn't been much in the bag, just personal belongings, Bruce's wallet, his car keys, his watch and a ring. No clothes. He supposed that the clothes would have been taken for forensics when he'd been attacked. Not that he would have wanted them; he'd just seen the state of his brother, even in death, so God only knew what his clothes looked like. His brother's battered and bruised body would stay with him forever, it would be the last memory he had of his. Their relationship hadn't always been strained, in fact, when they were younger, they'd been inseparable. Angus was only three years younger, and had always looked up to his big brother. Still, to this day, he couldn't say for sure what had made it all change. He'd told the truth when he'd described to Andrea that their parents were proud of the both of them. There had been no comparison, no 'why can't you be more like Angus.' Nothing. He couldn't understand why Bruce had thought so. Maybe he got asked a bit more about his career, but as far as he knew, he'd never played up to it, or been smug or superior.

Even though he'd done so many times already since he'd returned to his brother's house clutching the bag of items, he picked up the wallet and opened it. There were cards, cash, Bruce's driving license, and in the clear patch, front and centre, was a school photograph of Angus' kids, the most recent one he'd sent in the post. He always did, when there was a new photograph, and he wondered if Bruce always replaced the picture with a new one when he got it. Even though he'd seldom replied to Angus' letters, he always replied to the twins'. He'd read the letters, of course with the permission of his kids, and they were so full of interest in their lives, praising their achievements and how he wished he could see them more. Angus wished he could see his brother just one more time. Now he never would. There was another photograph behind the one of the twins, which Angus eased out and his eyes widened. It was of himself and Bruce, taken at the party celebrating their parents' anniversary, the last one before the boating accident which had claimed their lives. The boating trip had actually been a present from the brothers to their parents. Angus' eyebrows knitted as he thought back. It had been around then that their relationship had changed. Did Bruce, in some way, blame them for what had happened? Angus would have been lying if he hadn't had the same feelings, but he'd worked through them. Would he now have to live the rest of his life wondering if Bruce had never stopped blaming them? He put the photograph in his own wallet. It would stay there until the day he died.

Angus cast his eyes on Bruce's car keys. He guessed he'd have to sell it, he couldn't take it back to Australia. Maybe a second hand dealership would take it, even if they did scrap it. He picked up Bruce's watch. Maybe his boy might like it, something to remember his uncle by. He'd packed away Bruce's calligraphy set for his daughter, who had inherited her uncle's love for the creative arts and writing. Then he picked up the ring, a heavy gold piece bearing the letters BM. He had one of his own, he wore it right at that moment, of course with the initials AM. Their parents had bought them each one for Christmas some years ago, and as the years went by, it seemed wearing it was the only thing they'd have in common. Angus slid the ring onto the little finger of his right hand. He'd keep this piece. At least he'd have a piece of Bruce he could carry with him for the rest of his life.

He'd had to wait until Smithy unpeeled himself from her bedside; he wouldn't want him anywhere near his precious Andrea, who, he and everyone else seemed to have forgotten, spent a whole year leaking information to a newspaper. It wouldn't shock him if Okaro offered her back her job at the station if he could. Gabriel glanced back over his shoulder at Kit, whose eyes were closed. Asleep or not, he couldn't tell, but he was strapped in the neck brace, it wasn't like he was going anywhere. He crossed the ward to Andrea's room and nodded at the nurse at the station.

"I'm just checking in. Keep an eye on him, can you? Any problems, just come and get me."

She nodded and looked back at her work. That was the thing about being a police officer; nobody ever questioned the uniform, even if they should. Andrea was lying with her back to the door. With everything that had happened to her recently, he thought she'd be a bit more on her guard, after all, Kit had dragged her off in the hospital of all places. He pushed open the door and walked up to her bedside. Even from a side view, he could see she still looked a state, with a black eye, cuts and bruising everywhere and the turban of bandages wrapped around her head. Sensing a presence, she stiffened and he thought she could tell she wasn't sensing a friend. She opened her eyes, whipping her head around and on seeing him, her hand shot for the call buzzer. He was quicker though and grabbed her wrist before she could, her hand only clutching the wire. She stilled and he laughed.

"Finally leaned, have you? To stop playing with fire where – what was it you called me? Twisted people are concerned."

"Get your hands off me!"

"Let go of it," he said and tightened his already vice hold on her wrist when she didn't. "Let. Go."

Slowly, she did and he pulled the device out of her reach. She sat up, rubbing at her wrist. It was the one with the cannula in, already sore, now agonising. Her eyes found her phone on the bedside table. Following her gaze, he just laughed.

"You wouldn't even get to dial. So do yourself a favour, and don't bother."

She eyed him as he walked around the bed, the buzzer still in his hand, the ring she'd seldom seen him wear glinting on his finger and glanced towards the door.

"What, waiting for someone to save you from the big, bad wolf?"

"What do you want?"

"You've surprised me, you know."

"So you've said," she snarled. "You also said that, unlike me, you have a job to be getting on with. So why aren't you getting on with it?"

"No. Not that. I'm surprised that you'd keep pushing the buttons of people you consider twisted."

"I didn't go looking for Kit, he came looking for me. He's crazy enough without anyone pushing his buttons."

"I wasn't talking about him. You never really backed off when I warned you to, did you? Did you think I didn't notice?"

She met his cold eyes with an unwavering gaze. What was he really going to do with a whole lot of people yards outside the door, some of whom would have seen him come in there.

"Well that would only bother you if you actually had something to hide, wouldn't it?"

"Some secrets are best kept just that, Andrea," he said. "I thought you'd know that better than anyone."

"Actually they're not."

"No, as long you're the one outing them, right? You'd think it had never happened with the way everyone's fawning over you."

Of course that would be what bothered him; that people were willing to look past them and at the Andrea they actually knew, and not the journalist they all thought they hated. Maybe part of it was sympathy, but she wouldn't expect someone devoid of all empathy to understand anything about that.

"Are you done?"

"Well Kit isn't. You're still his brown eyed girl. He wanted you to know that."

Her palms began to sweat, and she knew her mouth must have slackened as it tended to do before she went into a panic. He must've seen it in her face, for he laughed.

"Get out," she said

He laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender, then put the call buzzer back down where he'd taken it.

"Hey. Don't shoot the messenger. It's a comforting thing to hear from a man who used you as a punch bag."

"And you're stupid enough to be his messenger? You think he'll keep quiet about that, even if I do?"

She saw him hesitate before leaving the room, and she threw the thin blankets off her, getting up, fighting back against her tightening chest. It was just want he wanted; probably what both of them wanted. To send her into a panic. She wouldn't give either the satisfaction, but she wanted to get out of there and get this damn thing out of her wrist. She set about stuffing things into her bag and a nurse came in, her eyes widening.

"What're you doing?"

"I want to go. Now."

"Calm down, stop," the nurse said, taking the bag from her hands. "Look, are you okay? I saw him leaving here. Call me cynical, but I don't like the look of him, even if he does wear a uniform."

"Forget him," Andrea said dismissively. "He was just trying to wind me up, as usual. That other nurse, she said Kit's awake. I want to go. I want to leave. I can't be near him."

"Andrea, stop. You're not well enough to leave. You had brain surgery a few days ago."

"I can't. I can't be here with him across the corridor."

"Look, you're not well enough to leave. You still need to be monitored. But the doctor thinks you're well enough to leave intensive care. We can step you down to another ward. Away from him. How about that?"

It hadn't stopped him finding her the last time, but then he had escaped during a riot and hadn't found her on a ward. She calmed, considering.

"When? Tonight?"

"I'll have to speak to the doctor, see what space we have where. I'll do my best, all right? And I'll keep an eye on both those men."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Can I have this out?" Andrea held up the arm with the cannula. "I think I might have slept on it, it's really painful."

"That's fine. I'll deal with that, then I'll see what I can do about getting you moved."

The ward was darkening, but apparently the fun didn't end. Kit could hear nothing but comings and goings, ward alarms going off and the damn buzzing of people wanting to be let in. the copper watching him now wasn't the same one who'd been here earlier, no, fatboy was back in his place, giving him a look as if he were something on the bottom of his shoe. As he'd said to Shannon, sticks and stones. The other copper had given Andrea his message though, or he assumed so. He'd left shortly after they'd spoken and when he'd returned not long after, he'd just had a look. Maybe he'd have to look him up when he was back out and about. It would be useful to have a…associate with his means. Until then, he was still stuck like this; neck still and being turned every now and then. That smug doctor had been back to explain that there was a fracture in one of the bones of his neck, quite a serious one. The orthopaedic doctor could tell him more, but he would require a stay of several more weeks in hospital, he may need a neck cast, he may need surgery. Until then, he'd have to put up with this, being fed through a tube, suctioned every time he was sick and staring at four walls. And put up with it, he would. He hadn't finished making his point yet.

The alarm went off again and he closed his eyes as he heard shouts for help from the ward. Fatboy glanced in at him then rushed out of sight, presumably to assist. Or maybe he just wanted another donut. Kit looked at the ceiling, singing to himself amidst the noise going on outside.

"…Slipping and sliding all along the water fall, with you, my brown eyed girl, you my brown eyed girl…"

The slow clapping startled him and he strained his vision to the side towards the source. Over the racket, he hadn't heard the door open, but then, he could barely hear himself sing. Not, he admitted, that it was necessarily a bad thing; Andrea did used to say he couldn't hold a tune and she wasn't wrong, though she didn't seem him mind it all the same.

"Oh," he said blandly. "It's you. Visiting times are nearly up, you know."

The figure stared at him without blinking, the ring glinting in the dim light on their finger. They stared silently and Kit stared back.

"Did you want something? Or do you have something for me from Andrea? I can't wait to hear it."

Still the visitor didn't speak. Kit rolled his eyes, reaching for the call button, which was swiftly jerked away before he could, put high from his reach.

"Look, fatboy will be back in a minute, and I can't see him letting you stay, even if it is you."

Kit locked the eyes of his visitor and they stared back, without a flicker of emotion.

"If you're waiting to hear a tearful confession, you're going to have a…long…wait…"

Kit's words began to muffle and the visitor watched his eyes widen in panic as he gargled, then began to choke, fluid dripping out of his mouth. He was still immobilised, unable to sit up and clear his own airway, and the staff were still distracted by the ongoing emergency. Kit grabbed at the hand of his visitor, the cruel glint in his eye giving way to pleading panic. The visitor jerked their hand from Kit's grip, the other man's fingers sliding down theirs, taking the ring with it. The visitor, transfixed as Kit's breathing became laboured, didn't notice and backed away, before turning their back and leaving the room.