So this is for SanctuaryGurl22 and akachankami after they kept planting ideas in my head on twitter :)
Sadly, still don't own The Closer :(
Flynn sighed heavily and draped his coat across the end of the stair banister as soon as he walked through the front door. Kicking off his shoes, he moved them into the corner away from the door so Sharon would trip over them when she came in. Not that it would be the first time if she did. Making his way down the hall to the kitchen, he paused briefly and turned when he heard the rustle of material, just in time to see his jacket slide to the floor and land in a dark grey puddle. Mentally shrugging to himself, he ignored it and continued on his path through the house.
Working his way around the breakfast bar, he stopped off at the sink and let the cold-water run while he collected a glass. Once the water was cool enough, he filled the glass and took a long gulp. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the counter as he swallowed. He could see her smiling. A wide grin from a girl he had never met before the final moments of her life.
And no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could see those final moments replayed over and over inside his head. Squealing brakes, beeping horns, the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears as he watched the chaos unfolding, knowing that there was nothing he could do. He knew it would haunt him.
"My dad's gonna be so mad."
"I think I'm okay. I'm good, I don't feel anything."
He felt for that girl and her family. She hadn't deserved it. He snorted into his glass as he went to take another sip. The young ones rarely did. It was cases like these that made the team really pull out all the stops to prove what happened and give closure to the victims and their families. He couldn't help but think of Ruby Williams and the effect her death had on Gabriel.
"Sorry to cause you all this trouble."
He swallowed bitterly and slammed his glass down onto the countertop harder than he intended to. Glittering shards and cool liquid rained over the edge of the marble counters and onto the floor as the glass shattered in his hand. He ignored the biting pain that coursed through his hand. It was nothing compared to what some of the victims in their cases went through before their last breaths.
He could feel the warmth of his blood trickling from the lacerations in his hand down to his fingertips and imagined that he could hear as the droplets hit the floor in a steady, rhythmic pattern. Clenching his fingers closed into a fist, he grimaced at the feel of glass in the wound, but ignored it, glancing down at the floor to see the scarlet of his blood mixing with the water on the tiles.
He remained that way, fascinated with the mingling of blood and water, until the sound of heels clipping across the kitchen tiles caught his attention. He hadn't even heard her come home.
"Hi," she said quickly. She sounded as exhausted as he felt. He didn't look up, just listened to the jangle of her setting her keys and purse on the breakfast bar. He startled when he felt her hand on his arm, "Oh my god, Andy, what have you done?" She tugged at his arm until he turned to face her, concern etched visibly on her face through the tight line of her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes as she cradled his injured hand in the palm of her smaller one.
"Oh, Andy." She said, her voice softening to an almost whisper.
He grunted in response and clenched his teeth when pain flared from the edges of the cuts where she was gently touching to check for glass, "Sorry," she glanced up and tilted her head in confusion, "I'm bleeding all over your kitchen." He elaborated.
She practically dragged him over to the breakfast bar and pushed him to sit on one of the stools, "Doesn't matter," she replied absently as she frowned at his hand, "Do you think I should take you to the hospital?" she asked, turning his hand gently to inspect it from different angles.
"I'm fine." He said shortly, mildly surprised when she didn't call bullshit on it. She left him in the kitchen and went into the small downstairs bathroom. She rummaged through the cupboard under the sink until she found the first-aid kit she kept there for emergencies. She'd never had to use it before.
She found him where she had left him, staring at his hand with a grim expression on his face. The only difference to when she had left him being the few bloody shards of glass that were now sitting on the bar instead of being imbedded in his hand. She set the box down and snapped the catches open. Taking a seat on the stool beside him and armed with a pair of tweezers, she twirled his stool until she had a decent amount of access to his hand.
They sat in silence while she checked for any small shards of glass; the only sounds an occasional sigh from Sharon or a grunt of pain from Andy when she found some he had missed. Once she was satisfied she had removed it all, she slipped off the stool and motioned for him to come with her to the bathroom. He followed her slowly, his head hanging, reminding her of a dog with its tail tucked firmly between its legs. She ran his hand underneath the cold-water tap, washing the blood away gently and giving him sympathetic looks when he flinched.
Once she was done, with slumping shoulders, he led the way back to the kitchen before she could ask, knowing what she would want to do next. While he waited for to catch up, he pulled out the bandages, cotton balls and disinfectant from the first-aid kit and lined them up for her.
When she came back, she paused at the side of the bar and looked at the mess of water, glass and blood on the floor by the sink. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her and when she looked at him she saw the dark orbs were filled with sorrow. And it scared her. She had never seen him that way before. Not even when Eric Lynch had been murdered. Of course, she knew that this was different.
She returned to her stool and took one of the cotton balls and soaked it in the disinfectant. "This is going to hurt," she told him, the cotton held just above his palm. He nodded stiffly and released a long breath that turned into a hiss as she wiped the cotton quickly, but thoroughly, over the cuts.
"Sorry," she said quickly, moving the cotton over his palm again. "I heard what happened." She lifted her eyes to meet his briefly.
"Not surprised." He mumbled, "Police Commissioner's wife committing murder wouldn't stay secret for long."
Sharon let the silence that came at the end of that statement linger for a moment while she started wrapping the bandage around his hand before she voiced her next question.
"Are you going to see a counsellor?" she asked hesitantly. She his jaw clench a little bit tighter than it already had been. She secured the bandage and put the disinfectant and the remainder of the cotton balls back into the box before flipping the lid closed.
"Brenda asked me that earlier." He replied, keeping attention on the bandage covering his hand. "I told her I would talk to my sponsor."
Sharon chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully as she fiddled the corner of the first-aid box. "Are you going to?" she asked after a moment.
Flynn shrugged slightly and lifted his face so she could see his eyes properly. They sparkled with unshed tears, and Sharon felt her own begin to fill at the pain she saw just beneath the surface.
"I was hoping I could talk to you."