Cause your momma really needs you,
and says she's got to see you,
she might not make it through the night.
She looked like she was sleepin'
and my family had been weepin'
by the time that I got to her side.
-The Baby, Blake Shelton
The past hours had been a whirlwind of activity. One moment blended seamlessly into the next, faces and words blurring together. He vaguely remembered making five phone calls, remembered having his phone pressed against his ear and different voices on the other end. He couldn't tell you who he called or why. It was all so distant, like he had watched someone else do everything while wearing headphones that canceled out every little noise. Through all of the confusion, a few words stood out clearly. They were burned into his eyes even though he had only heard them.
We did everything we could.
He closed his eyes and his head fell into his hands, but they could barely hold his head up as he shook it slowly. The harsh ringing from his phone caused him to jerk upright and he fumbled for it in his jacket pocket.
"Flynn," he grunted. His voice sounded strange, distant, but he couldn't focus on it for long.
"Andy, it's me." It took him a moment to place the voice, to connect his thoughts and form more than one word. "How is she?"
"Don't know, won't let me back yet." He rubbed his hand over his face. Everything was tired or sore; he had to have past the point of being awake for 24 hours. She had too and the only reason she was sleeping now was—He cut that line of thought almost immediately and tried to focus on the phone call again.
"Is it—" Emily's voice was hoarse and barely audible. Andy shook his head and didn't respond. "Oh, God. Andy?"
"They don't think she'll last the night," he finally managed. "Ricky's, um, he's on his way. Rusty too."
"I'm trying to catch the next flight to LA; I'll be there as soon as I can." The desperation in her voice punctured Andy's foggy mind, but not as much as the sight of the doctor striding toward him.
"I have to go, Emily. Call when you have a flight, I'll have someone pick you up." His words came out rushed and he wasn't even sure if she caught them, but he hung up before he could find out.
"Lieutenant Flynn?" He nodded at the doctor and she offered him a grim smile as she took the seat beside him. He shifted so he could see her, futilely trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. "We've made her as comfortably as we can. We just have to see what the next few hours bring and hope for the best. If you believe it it, prayers wouldn't hurt either."
"Can I see her?" His voice is weak, shaky. He couldn't remember ever feeling this distant. In the back of his mind, he could hear the nasty voice that had been quiet for so many years.
It would make it all go away. That's what you want, isn't it? To forget what's happening? C'mon. One drink won't hurt.
He swallowed hard, his stomach physically rolling at the voice. "I need to see her."
"She's not conscious and we don't know if she will regain consciousness, but I'll take you back to her." The doctor rested her hand on his sympathetically and it took everything in him not to recoil and retort. He didn't want her sympathy, he wanted her to do something.
"Yes, please." He gathered his coat and her purse—though he couldn't recall where it came from—and stood up.
"Follow me." She walked through the double doors with him close on her heels, hands clenched tightly in the fabric of his jacket.
The hallways they walked through spoke of death. Any possibility of hope was abandoned by the sterile white walls, clean white tiled floors, and the silence filling everything. Only the occasional beeping of a life support machine or heart monitor could be heard.
This wasn't where people came to get better, this was where they waited to die.
He tried to push the thoughts from his mind as the doctor stopped in front of a door and silently pushed it open. He wasn't sure what he expected, but what he saw terrified him anyway. He tossed his jacket and her purse into a nearby chair and heard the door click shut behind him, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the woman before him.
Without the slow beeping of the monitor beside her bed, he would have assumed the worst had already happened. She was pale, her hair a stark contrast to her face as it fanned out over her pillow. He could see the dried blood around her hairline as he approached her bed, resisting the urge to clean it off. She would need a good shower to clean it out now.
"Oh, Sharon." His heart felt like it was hammering at least three times as fast as hers, almost as if it was trying to make up for her lack of beats.
He sank into a chair by her bed and took her hand between both of his. She wasn't a tan person to begin with, but the paleness of her skin was barely a step above lifeless. He squeezed her hand and stroked his thumbs across her soft skin, trying to bring some color and life back.
"You're not allowed to leave me, you understand?" His voice was shaking uncontrollably and he felt his breath hitch in his chest, leaving a painful ache behind. "I'm not going to work with Provenza in your office. Do you know what a mess he would make of the paperwork? So you gotta come back and—and… Sharon, please."
He pressed his lips to her cool hand and squeezed it firmly again. She didn't react; her heartbeat didn't speed up or slow down and her eyes didn't flutter. He wanted to see her green eyes again—a glare, her little smirk, her laugh lines. Anything but what he had now.
He stayed awake watching her, looking for any slight change in her body. None came, but he kept wishing. Messages from her kids informed him that they were on their way, but he started questioning if they were going to make it.
The weaker her heartbeat got, the stronger his need for a drink grew.
Rusty and Ricky arrived minutes apart, both swarming into the machine-filled room and to their mother's side. Andy stood back, watching as they each took a hand and whispered reassuringly to her. He had never seen Ricky cry, but the young man before him couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Rusty's own emotions were obvious on his face as he wrapped his arms around Andy—he couldn't help but think about how far he had come since they first met. All because of Sharon.
Ricky excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Andy and Rusty to hold Sharon's limp hands. He felt the briefest of squeezes and looked down, his hand instinctively tightening around hers. He smiled, a sad and relieved smile as her cloudy green eyes opened for a brief moment.
"There you are," he whispered, his voice thick with more emotions than he could name. She opened her mouth a little but no sound came out; her eyes slid closed and he felt the weak squeeze again.
"I love you, Mom." Rusty's voice was barely audible, but it drew a slight twitch of a smile from her lips.
"Mom, oh thank god." Ricky's relief was obvious as he returned, resting his hand on her ankle. "I love you so much, Mom. Just wait until Emily gets here and then you can give her a hard time about her new haircut." He laughed a little, but it was too obviously forced.
"Sharon, sweetheart." Andy rubbed his thumb over her skin and her eyes opened again to look at him. "I love you too. You know I do."
Her lips quirked up again and her chest rose in a shuddery breath. As the air escaped her lungs, her eyes closed and her hands slipped from her son's and boyfriend's, landing limply against the bed. It took all of a second before the monitor flatlined and a monotone beeping overwhelmed the room.
Doctors and nurses swarmed and the three men were shoved outside, forced to listen to the sounds of the defibrillator failing to bring her back. Andy couldn't help but count.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The monotone sound continued until suddenly it went silent, leaving the hallway to feeling eerily abandoned.
"Time of death, 7:29pm," he heard someone say, but he couldn't think past the hole that had ripped his chest open.
They were allowed back into the room, one arm around the shoulders of each of her sons. He didn't bother to hide his emotions as he stared down at her—at her body. She looked no different, but there was a definite absence. The life was gone from her laugh lines, her eyes, the way she held herself. Sharon wasn't there.
Rusty turned his head into Andy's shoulder and he heard someone let out a strangled sob. It was only when he heard footsteps that he realized it hadn't come from either Ricky or Rusty.
"Oh, god," Emily sobbed. "Oh, my god. I can't—Shit, damn it, oh god!" She held her hands to her mouth and stared at where her mother lay, thick tears sliding down her cheeks. "Oh, god. I didn't even—Mom."
Ricky quickly moved to her side and wrapped his arms around his elder sister. She turned and pressed her face into his chest, barely muffling the sobs that shook her body. Rusty joined them after a moment and Andy watched the siblings hug.
He stumbled back into a chair and turned back to her body, his hands tightly gripping his knees. There simply couldn't be a world without Sharon Raydor. It wasn't possible. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Provenza's face. The hand on his shoulder tightened and he watched a few tears leak out the older lieutenant's eyes.
"Andy," he tried, but his voice failed and Andy shook his head.
"No," he whispered, looking back to Sharon. "No."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Provenza looked to her sobbing children and shook his head a little. "You should get them out of here."
"No, she's coming back." He almost believed it, almost convinced himself, until he looked at her again. The lack of life was too obvious and it felt like a stack of weights slamming into his chest, shoving his heart up into his throat.
Forty eight hours ago, they had been curled up on the couch together watching a movie until the call for a murder came in. Twenty-four hours ago, they had been ceaselessly hunting a brutal murderer and everyone had felt the strain. Six hours ago, he had followed Sharon into a house and she didn't walk back out.
