Imbrication (The Closer: Sharon/Will)
Title: Imbrication
Rating: MA
Words: ~2000
Disclaimer: Characters property of their creators.

They rode in silence in the back of the squad car.

Will sat frozen, his eyes unblinking, fixed on the back of the seat in front of him. His suit jacket hung open, revealing the spattering of blood on the white dress shirt he wore beneath. The pattern looked like a starburst, Sharon mused fleetingly. Some grotesquely beautiful supernova.

She turned to look out her window. In the side mirror, she could see the reflection of the ambulance directly behind them. The siren was off and no emergency lights flashed in the darkness. The vehicle moved at the speed limit. No need to rush—nothing was going to save the young woman inside.

Sharon moved to brush some loose strands of hair back from her face, but recoiled as her hand met the tackiness of almost-dried blood and what was probably brain matter. She dropped her hand to the seat, balling it into a fist, and swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.

Sharon knew why Will couldn't blink. If he closed his eyes, even for a second, he probably saw, just as she did when she closed hers, a young man duck beneath the red and yellow crime scene tapes. When he closed his eyes, Will probably saw, just as she did, the young man pull a handgun from the waistband of his pants, raise it, and fire two rounds before the officers on the scene took him down. And Will probably saw, just as Sharon did, the sprays of blood from the head and chest of the young woman they'd been interviewing.

Sharon had long since lost her sensitivity to bodies—a lot of her investigative work happened in the morgue, after all—but it had been decades since she'd witnessed a shooting. Will, though, Will saw this often, yet he seemed more affected than she was. He hadn't said a word since they'd gotten in the car.

They'd just started dating two weeks ago and had only been out once due to busy schedules and Will's children. Dinner and a goodnight kiss—albeit, a long kiss—weren't enough for Sharon to have any clue how to read Will. She didn't know if she should press him to talk, or just leave him be. She decided she'd err on the side of silence. He'd say something when he was ready.

The ambulance behind them turned off toward Good Samaritan while their car continued toward Sharon's apartment in West Hollywood.

Sharon was surprised when Will thanked the officer driving them and exited the car after her. She thought he'd want to go home, get cleaned up, get some rest. But he followed her to her door without a word, entered behind her, and locked the deadbolt.

Sharon toed off her shoes and turned to face him. He looked at her, but his eyes were distant, his posture hunched. "Would you like to use the shower?" she offered neutrally, unsure of his intentions.

Finally, Will spoke. "Yes, but you go first." His gaze shifted to her hair. Sharon swallowed, not looking forward to the thought of seeing herself in a mirror.

"Ok. But at least get out of that shirt." Sharon gestured for Will to follow her down the hall. She led him into her bedroom, stopping to retrieve some plastic bags from under her kitchen sink on the way. She placed them on the bed and studied his stains.

"I think your jacket is salvageable, but you might as well trash the shirt." Will nodded in agreement and shed his jacket. He folded it carefully and placed it in one of the plastic bags, then began unbuttoning his shirt. He was five buttons down, baring toned pectorals, when Sharon realized she was staring. She mumbled something about the shower and turned to retreat into the bathroom, closing the door partway behind her.

She nearly retched at the sight of herself in the wide mirror. The hair on the left side of her head was completely matted with blood and debris. Tiny droplets had hit her left cheek, and her skirt and sweater were ruined. Sharon turned away quickly to peel off her clothes and stuff them into the small bathroom trash.

She turned on the shower and stepped in. She leaned forward, and as the ends of her hair fell beneath the hot spray, the water circling the drain darkened to crimson. Sharon felt her stomach turn again and quickly stepped back.

The night's events hit her in a rush, stealing her breath as effectively as a punch to the chest. She flashed back to the crime scene, the interview, the man with the gun, the shots. Her chest heaved as she gasped loudly for air.

"Sharon?"

Will was in the bathroom, just on the other side of the curtain. Sharon struggled to pull herself together and she managed to slow her racing heart and quiet her spasming lungs. "I'm all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes...no." Sharon swallowed hard and took another deep breath. "I can't wash my hair, Will."

"What?"

"My hair. I can't... I can't touch it." Sheepishly, Sharon peeked out from around her curtain. Will stood in the center of her small bathroom wearing just his trousers, hands on his hips. When he saw her peer around the curtain, he stepped closer. His eyes were clear now, concern evident on his face.

"I can't touch it," Sharon whispered again, humiliated.

"Do you need me to help?" Will rubbed his head with a hand, looking uncomfortable.

She did need help, though she didn't want it. She felt silly, like a squeamish schoolgirl, and she didn't like Will seeing her this way. But the thought of touching her hair again nauseated her, and she couldn't stand in the shower forever.

"Do you want me to come in there?" Will asked again.

"I can't do it," Sharon repeated.

"Ok. I'm coming."

Sharon turned around and faced the hot spray again. A few seconds later, she heard the curtain open and close. Directly behind her, Will asked softly, "where's your shampoo?"

Sharon held one arm across her breasts to cover them as she turned slightly and pointed out the shampoo bottle on the windowsill. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Will pump a generous amount into his hand and lather it between his palms.

Maintaining some distance between their bodies, Will began to work his hands through the goriest sections of her hair. Sharon closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see what was washing down the drain in front of her.

Will was gentle and took his time. When he finished, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her forward until she was directly under the spray. He ran his fingers through her hair to rinse it.

"I think that's the worst of it," he said.

"Thank you," she replied quietly. She expected Will to step out of the shower to let her finish on her own, but the rustle of the curtain opening and closing never came.

Instead, she heard the sound of the shampoo bottle pump again. Before she could turn to see what he was doing, Will stepped forward. She could feel his body heat against her back as he loomed behind and above her. She heard him lather the shampoo and then felt him sink his hands deep into her hair to cradle and massage her head. Sharon whimpered and reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall in front of her. Will grasped her waist quickly. "Easy there."

Sharon sighed. "It feels good."

Will scrubbed from her scalp all the way down to the tips of her hair, making sure it was perfectly clean. He then placed his hands on Sharon's shoulders again, but this time, rather than guiding her forward under the spray, he turned her slowly around to face him. Keeping his eyes on hers, he tilted her head back to rinse the suds from her hair.

When Sharon lowered her head again, she found Will studying the row of bottles on the windowsill in consternation. "There are too many choices here. Which is the soap?"

For the first time that evening, Sharon felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Warmth began to spread in her belly as the sound of gunfire faded from her mind, overtaken by the sight and feel of Will so close.

And so naked. As he picked up the bottle she indicated and studied the label, she glanced surreptitiously down his body. He looked just as she'd imagined he would. His form was toned and strong and—her eyes traveled further down—increasingly interested in her proximity, it seemed.

The warmth in her stomach spread lower.

Will offered the bottle and Sharon held out her hands to receive a dollop of shower gel. She reached for her shoulders to begin washing, but Will stopped her with a stern look. "I'll do that," he said. He grasped her hands and placed them against his chest, then quickly squeezed out some soap for himself and reached for her.

They washed each other, less to seduce than to soothe and explore. Will even earned a laugh from Sharon when he directed her to scrub his head. He held her hips to steady her as she stood on her tiptoes to inspect her rinsing work. When she lowered back to her heels, Will pulled her against him.

"I was scared," he said, looking into her eyes. "When I saw him with the gun, coming toward you, I..." He trailed off.

"I'm fine, Will," she reassured. She rose back to her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

Will kissed her hungrily, in relief, his mouth traveling from hers across her cheek and down to her neck. Sharon clung to him and hummed.

Their hands began to roam, revisiting spots they'd discovered before, but with different intent this time. Sharon gasped when Will grazed her nipples with his thumbs; he groaned when she squeezed his ass in her hands.

Will turned them to press Sharon's back against the side wall of the shower. He paused his assault on her neck to raise his head and meet her eyes. He looked at her almost ruefully.

"I didn't imagine it quite like this, our first time."

"Tell me what you imagined," Sharon murmured as she lifted a leg to wrap around the back of Will's thigh.

He hooked his hand under her knee and hoisted her leg higher around his waist. With his other hand, he positioned himself at her opening. "Swanky hotel. Candles. Music. Strawberries."

"You're a romantic, Will Pope" Sharon answered on a hitched breath as he finally pushed inside her. She took his face in her hands. "But this is good too. This is—" she paused to groan as Will began to rock, "—very good."

Will moved slowly, holding Sharon's gaze all the while. It did feel good, and not at all frantic or desperate, as it might have been after the scare they'd had, as she'd suspected it would be when Will followed her inside. Sharon relaxed into their movements and dropped kisses into the crook of Will's neck as he lifted her other leg around his waist and supported her with strong hands under her thighs.

She'd imagined their first time differently as well, and though her fantasy hadn't involved strawberries in a posh hotel, it certainly didn't involve bloodshed either. But this was real and it was them, and plenty romantic in its own way.

Sharon wrapped her arms around Will and hung onto him with everything she had.