/PANACEA/
Summary: The solution – to friendship, to tension, to touching, to handholding, to gazes – inevitably shows itself. Andy/Sharon.
A/N: I just wanted to write a short smut fic about that precious first time 'fuck' in a relationship but nooooooooo! It took a devious fluffy romantic detour instead, demanding to even be a multi-chapter. Yikes.
Hope you enjoy =)
Part I
The first time, unsurprisingly, was well-planned in advance.
Not well-planned as mutually agreed upon verbally. No, it hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken, unresolved tension whenever she happened to stand too close to him. It hung heavy like two celestial bodies in gravitational orbits inevitably meeting; the point of convergence was in her mind too explicit to talk about. Despite the natural progression that surely followed the path of handholding and drugging kisses, it was an astronomical gap to leap across even if she had spent an inordinate amount of sleepless nights cataloguing fantasies. Daylight had her dissecting those exact fantasies as follies – as a too great divide to attempt to cross.
In all honesty she was on the cusp of rapturous panic.
So in an effort to dismiss anxiety, Sharon Raydor confidently chose a suitable night and calculated the route of fine dining to her bedroom, determined to bring about this tight ball of mixed anxiety and excitement in her chest cavity. Her whole being had hovered precariously between these two life states, mutually exclusive and yet tightly alloyed, and the back and forth would not hold in the long run. It sprung euphorically up through her abdomen, pooling from the center of her groin to somewhere just beyond her sternum, pulsating and animated. It tingled to the tip of her fingers and it brought forth a dyspneic sensation.
She steeled herself, and yet she also melted.
A conundrum.
Alone at night she could admit, in a fit of frankness and self-awareness, that the idea of intimacy frightened her to the core, past experiences painting everything in a gruesome light. The notion of letting anyone that close to her, whether it was her heart or her body, was devastating. Jackson had left his footprint; heavy and sunken in imprint. Exposing herself in the work sphere was easy and ingrained but the moment the tables turned, her personal life involved, it caused ripples in otherwise calm waters.
At night she could even acknowledge that she felt inadequate in matters of romance and in the subject of sex – and yet at night she felt magically imbued when she thought long enough about it – about him. There was just enough longing and desire to compensate the feeling of inadequacy and so most nights she lingered on pleasant dreams.
The very night in question began different than she had assumed.
Maybe she should have let him in on the secret, on the plan so to speak.
Sharon was beginning to think Andy Flynn was being obtuse on purpose.
How many times in a conversation could she casually sneak in that Rusty was away for the whole weekend without seeming completely bold seeing it was Friday? Or without it seeming so obvious that she might as well say it out loud to him?
Andy, ever wearing his trademark lopsided smile, eyes merrily twinkling without a care in the world, was deeply fascinated by the vegetarian main course – the beansprouts, truffle sauce and Indonesian butterfish apparently to die for, accordingly Sharon was extensively informed about a herb garden he was contemplating starting up, possibly once he retired, not that that would be within the near future, and then he laughed a little too forced. Then the man became even more interested in the subject of their latest case, yet to be solved, chatting away with his hand this and that way.
It would be intriguing but all Sharon could think about was how to get him on the same wavelength – and then all she could think about was how everything would unfold; a train of thought that left her feeling impatient and nervous.
Oh, the man was attentive as always; a curious aspect of his that she found surprising and endearing. He was a good listener and he was a gentleman – he was just missing all the signs, either out of obliviousness or on purpose.
Sharon found herself humming more often than not, her impatient mood prompting her to linger on touches between them, trying to coax some reaction out of him.
Andy cordially requited every touch albeit the manner was a tad friendlier than she would have liked. Restrained in some fashion, as if he was holding back. Which was a confusing concept seeing they were officially on a date. Well, as officially as they could be under the circumstances.
On numerous occasions Sharon let her hand stray and land on him – his knee, his elbow, his wrist – with prolonged touches she followed with less than subtle looks and yet she was waiting for him to acknowledge that tonight was different from any other night they had dined out.
Apparently Sharon needed to spell it out for him; he seemed to be clueless about the fact that she would be inviting him up to her apartment and into her bed at the end of their date – or maybe she was reading everything wrong.
Needless to say, dinner was a nightmare. A nightmare of raw bundles of nerves that tittered every time he so much as looked at her; she wouldn't be surprised if she developed a nervous tic by the end of the night or needed to spend the rest of the night peeing seeing she was consuming more water than her thirst required.
When Andy looked on the verge of ordering desert and coffee, his eyes drawn once again to the menu card, Sharon promptly interceded. She smoothly looped her arm though his and leaned heavily into his shoulder and then with more bravado than she thought existed in her, she let her mouth hover precariously close to the shell of his ear.
"I have dessert and coffee at my place," she whispered, her hand gliding loosely down his arm till she could tighten her grip around his elbow, "and even all the ingredients for breakfast tomorrow."
She heard the hitch of his breath and watched his smile falter curiously. His Adam's apple bopped up and down and for an uncharacteristic moment he simply stared sideways at her, his mouth apart in surprise.
"Oh, okay," he stuttered uncertainly, his finger on the table-cloth in a likewise nervous pattern, "I mean that sounds, erm, great."
This close to him, he smelled too good to let go and so she enjoyed the warm scent of him up close, the muscles in his arm twitching beneath her grasp.
Just when she started to feel sufficiently self-conscious, the man finally spoke again, this time more in lieu of his sure self. Andy leaned into her and then whispered back, "Just for the record, when you say coffee – what exactly are you, you know – saying? And breakfast, does that mean you want me to stay over – on your couch, or?"
Sharon leaned slightly back but kept a firm hold of his arm.
There was a look of curiosity in his expression and in the depths of brown eyes, an even warmer look.
"Do you even have to ask?" she quirked an eyebrow, her mouth twitching into a smirk because against all odds, he was also out of his comfort zone. The notion calmed her.
Andy gave an eager nod, "Oh yeah, I definitely do. I really have to ask – because I don't wanna screw this evening up."
She briefly looked at the table-cloth, hiding the warmth of her smile.
"You are not going to screw anything up," she told him, confident in her assessment.
He gave a good-naturedly shrug, "I thought we were taking it slow, you know, the whole relationship thing."
She shook her head, feeling breathless and even more flustered when his eyes darkened.
"You know I will be fine with whatever coffee you wanna invite me over for, right?"
There was a timbre of humor in his voice.
This time she leaned back towards him, her smile easily depicted as beaming.
She whispered, "I fully intend to invite you over for the good kind of coffee."
Andy chuckled, "Oh, so that's the game we're playing."
She wet her lips and then gave a small nod, just perceivable enough to warrant another wide smile from him. Her voice was playful when she answered, "Oh and other kinds of games – foreplay comes to mind."
"Well then, let's just ditch this place alright," he grinned and then surprised her when he patted her knee under the table cloth before he softly gripped around her thigh, the squeeze soft yet tantalizing.
Everything escalated from there.
When they walked to his car, his hand lingered surely on the low point of her spine and once, in the cover of the darkness outside a street lamp, the hand even snuck downwards in a caress.
Their hands briefly touched over the console in his car, the tingling of anticipation spreading throughout her body both when he touched her and when he did not. It simmered beneath the surface of her skin, unfolding and promising to soon let completely loose. She felt warm, unbelievable warm, and the darkness outside the car only heightened her senses.
Once, his hand strayed and his fingers tentatively touched her thigh in between shifting gears, his head turned for a brief second. His gaze blew through her not unlike a silent explosion; it rendered her speechless. So she spent the last minutes of the car ride embarrassingly silent, too preoccupied to think about anything but the tension in her body.
When the elevator doors of her condominium complex opened to the ground floor, Andy guided her inside with a gentle hand and then cheekily commented, "Coffee at 11 pm, my my, what a rulebreaker, huh."
Sharon laughed somewhat nervously, "Oh, don't start. I'm not a hall monitor nor do I have a schedule for when coffee should be consumed."
Andy chuckled in return, "I won't start then. I'm just trying to alleviate all the tension, lighten up the mood. You do seem a bit tense."
She quickly looked away from him.
He was partly right; the closer to her front door and her apartment, the closer to the actual act. In some ways she wanted it to be slow and patient, with plenty of time for exploration and focus but in other ways she simply wanted to skip foreplay entirely and just have him inside her.
The elevator doors closed and the sound was almost ominous.
Sharon sought him out first when the elevator took them up with a low hum. Her hand reached out and she drew a slow line down the side of his thumb, over the back of his hand and then he caught on, grasping her fingers. Handholding, so innocent and yet so meaningful. It still baffled her that the simple act of holding his hand could elicit such turmoil in her – and that it still felt raw and new when in actuality they had been holding hands on and off over the course of many months now.
His palm was warm, just on the verge of being sweaty, and his thumb touched patterns upon her hand and over her knuckles.
She smiled invitingly up at him.
Andy cleared his throat and then his eyes took a detour to their connected hands before he locked his eyes on her.
"Did I tell you Nicole invited me to the boys' birthday?" his tone was oddly rough but she took comfort from the caress he kept applying to the side of her hand.
Sharon smiled wider, "No, you didn't."
He looked relieved, "Oh, she did. You are invited as well – if you would like to, I mean. I mean, only if you want to and your schedule is clear."
She hummed in reply and then let her gaze sweep down his chest instead, the color of his tie and the turquoise shirt, stylish and soft to touch. The shape of his jacket. Then she let her gaze travel lower to his belt and pants, then to the junction of his thighs – and then quickly up again, to his brown warm eyes, her own cheeks heating up.
The doors opened to her floor and Sharon walked in front of him as they walked down the hall.
Sharon leaned towards him as she put her key in the lock, her voice teasing, "So what coffee blend do you feel like, lieutenant?"
"Blend?"
The front door opened.
Sharon took a step inside, "I have mild Ethiopian beans and then a stronger Indonesian blend."
"The strong one," he replied with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow, "I like them strong."
He surprised her when he slipped his hand around her waist and held her on the threshold, turning her around to face him. His thumb went up and down in a reverent pattern, his breath warm as he looked at her. Thankfully her heels were high and she did not have to crane her neck too much.
Her breath hitched at the contact.
The kiss that followed was short and sweet.
She would almost liken it to being friendly if it was not for the pressure in her chest that threatened to run wild; if he had had any other look in his eyes but that dark shimmering desire and then maybe it would have felt merely friend-ish.
As it was, it felt earthshattering.
…
The dim of exuberant voices and the upbeat orchestra was thankfully subdued out in the back hall.
There was cool air to breathe in and there was room enough to leisurely move without stepping on someone's toes. Sharon did not get the chance to breathe anything in but the sweet taste of Tiramisu and bitter coffee on soft lips that eagerly landed on her own the very moment the door into the oval ballroom closed.
Andy Flynn was nothing if not relentless.
Only, the man was reckless in a fashion that had her underwear in an undeniably arousing twist; in that exciting way where it evoked sparkling heat to coalesce in the lower pit of her abdomen. Her thighs had been pressed tightly together throughout the main serving of food, in no way alleviating the tension. It had only reinforced that part of her anatomy that vied for attention. It had only resulted in a lot of fidgeting and nervously stuttering whenever someone had posed a question on her.
It did not help that the culprit – the man charmingly astute in his dark suit and purple tie – had been palming her knee and upper thigh all night long, the gesture hidden under their table, right under the eye of a congressman or two, Chief Taylor off to the side remaining oblivious. Andy had purposefully neglected the warning scowls she had sent his way.
For all practices and purposes she should not be reciprocating his kiss.
She did kiss him back however, the notion to not kiss him back when he captured her mouth in a surprising kiss absurd.
The kiss was glorious, she would give him that.
Yet she felt truly exposed and uncomfortable, standing out in the open and being thoroughly kissed by him, their bodies too close to explain away. Anyone could walk in on them, either on their way to the restroom, the coat room or to get a bit of fresh air. She did not like the odds.
The notion of getting caught was as exciting as it was nerve wrecking. So Sharon quickly wrapped her fingers tightly around the labels of his jacket, hesitating when he made to deepen the kiss further. She evaded his mouth.
"Andy," she breathed with a little puff of aggravation, holding onto him with tense, now white fingers, "we talked about this."
He lifted a mocking eyebrow.
Okay.
She could relent; talk was maybe not the correct phrase.
They had not talked that extensively about it, their relationship and where it was headed, not in a way that qualified proper talk. They had touched upon the subject but it had not been talked about – not genuinely and truly since the shipping yard. After that whole debacle, in a show of confidence, she had talked to him about certain concerns she had when it came to the two of them; one of those finer points had revolved around public displays and work functions.
True to her earlier reflection, Andy Flynn only grinned cheekily at her outburst and then leaned down and kissed her again. The man was reckless, indeed. This time he also bumped his hips against hers, quite on purpose, his hands soft upon the top of her bare shoulders.
To say she was not affected was a lie.
"Not here," Sharon said, her voice resigned but elated.
It was late and nearing midnight and she felt uncharacteristically bubbly with giddiness.
She latched onto his hand and pulled him further into the hallway and away from the festivities. They went through a personnel door that led through a narrow, cold corridor, the place devoid but for a passing waiter.
Her smile was broad and animated as she pulled him through another personnel door into a back alley stacked with boxes. The alley was empty for other human beings, the low orb of the moon having just appeared above the crest of a fence.
The darkness felt comforting and secluded.
The moon, half obscured by a palm tree now, felt romantic.
She barely noticed the trash cans – mostly because his lips descended on hers again the moment they went through the door, brisk air demanding he step closer to her as well. His body covered hers in warmth, full contact delirious.
She barely had time to think before he quite determinedly pushed her against the brick wall just next to the entrance door. His hands went into her hair and then flittered to her neck – he apparently changed his mind again and instead let them slip onto her hips, pressing into the clothed flesh of her waist.
Sharon exhaled rather deeply when he let go again.
Motionless and trancelike, he rested his lips on hers, his eyes closed. She tried to get her breath under control, to get some sort of bearing of the situation but she couldn't contain the way her mouth automatically curled upwards in excitement. Nor could she deny the feeling of fire that coursed through her, leaving a blazing trail of desire down from her lungs to the core of her groin.
She was not used to sneaking off from police commissioner's New Year's celebrations to kiss a coworker. She was not used to being kissed like this. There were a lot of things she was not used to – and recently she found herself embracing them fully.
Sneaking off felt entirely too sinful.
Only, it felt sinful in that way where her lips tingled at the prospect of further kisses in the dark and only in that way where her fingers itched to touch him back too. In that sure way where her center throbbed and she could feel the bottom of her underwear moisten in anticipation.
Her fingers went into his hair and she pulled him further away, eye contact between them suddenly feasible.
If she had to pick one emotion in his eyes then it would be warmth.
"Have you lost your mind?" she asked him opting for sounding scandalized. It was a shaky success; she only sounded out of breath and happy.
Andy smiled, "Nah, not my mind. My heart though, that's another matter."
She smiled back, hesitant at first and then brightly.
"You cannot kiss me whenever you see fit to it," she started to admonish him but his smile stayed the same. She smiled giddily, "You cannot drag me into secluded places, just to overwhelm me like this."
Andy shrugged, "You started it, and may I remind you, Captain, you dragged me out here."
She raised one eyebrow in disbelief, "I have done nothing to instigate anything. I have barely touched you tonight."
"Exactly – you haven't touched me at all. In fact you have barely looked at me all night. And when you do look at me, it's with that look where you look entirely too kissable and inviting. You should applaud me for the strength to go through a whole three course dinner – I thought about dragging you away just when we got our appetizers and Taylor began to embellish his accomplishments as Chief."
"I don't look too kissable," she disagreed with a smile.
"Oh, you sure do," he grinned, "Just like now."
To prove his point he kissed her again, this time it was short and more a peck on her lips.
"Andy," she drawled his name, half admonishing and half wondering.
"Hey," he ran his hands down the length of her arms, catching her fingers in a gentle hold, "I'm sorry if it's too much. I just feel, a bit excited, you know."
She quickly shook her head, "No, no. Don't apologize. It's just me, I'm not used to all this, – oh I don't know."
She sounded exasperated.
She cleared her throat and then said, "It's so new this thing – between us. It's new for me."
He nodded and squeezed her hands.
"I'm not sure how it fits in with the rest of my life," she explained, "I'm not even sure how I fit in it at all."
She wanted to tell him she was out of her depth, out where she couldn't reach the bottom. That the prospect of being in a relationship again frightened her to the core even if it was what she wanted. That was the crux; she had not given into her desires for a long time. Usually her personal wants – her yearnings and her sexual, romantic wants – had been pushed aside for the sake of others and her sanity. Career and children; that had been her life for a long time, with a little side order of Jackson rearing his ugly head.
Andy leaned further towards her, his hand on her cheek in a soft touch. His thumb was just in front of her ear now, his hand cradling one side of her head.
"That's the exciting aspect," he commented, his voice low, "figuring it all out."
"Well, yes. To some extent," she agreed.
He chuckled, "Oh don't' worry. I know you after all. You want it to make more sense – to fit in some recognizable order in your head."
She let her mouth protrude.
He continued to smile soft and understandingly at her, "It's a simple New Year's kiss."
She shook her head, "That's not it. I don't mind kissing – I love the kissing," her mouth curled initiatively but then she felt nervous, "But it's so much more than that. I mean, what happened at the shipping yard, what you told me, I mean – that's so much more than simply kissing. It's a bit overwhelming for me. That's all."
She couldn't tell him love was too complicated for her. That the notion that he was in love with her and the knowledge that she only requited that position, was too overwhelming.
Andy gave another nod, his thumb tracing a warm pattern on her cheek now, "I understand. I really do. I'm nervous too."
"You understand?" she was both curious and apprehensive about what he understood; mostly because she barely understood herself nowadays. She had counted on her own sense of self but with Andy Flynn it was muddled and distorted. Sometimes she felt a bit dizzy at the prospect of it all – and a bit scared.
His eyes were locked on her.
She liked the warm color; it was soft and comforting when he looked at her.
He nodded again. When he answered, his voice sounded gravelly, "I do understand your hesitation and it doesn't seem strange to me. Okay? We've got nothing to rush for; we've got no frame to adhere to. It's just you and me. We will just decide where it all fits along the way, in our own pace."
She nodded, relieved.
The fizzing sound of a firework rocket going off resounded, subdued and yet shrill. The night sky erupted into a kaleidoscope of green and golden colors. Then others followed and everything paled in contrast. She felt even freer in the cover of the night and tje vivid display of fireworks; she felt elated beyond comprehension.
Feeling mischievous, she pulled him back, her fingers once again around the lapels of his jacket.
Kissing had after all become quite necessary in their relationship.
She wanted to kiss in the New Year with him.
She wanted him.
For once, she would try to open her heart to the feeling of love.
…
From the void of darkness, there was a soft touch to her shoulder.
Then a not so soft push.
Then the familiar voice of Andy Flynn woke her up.
"Oh hey there. You finally awake. C'mon, let me help you up," he grumbled close to her ear in the vastness of a space she was entirely too unfamiliar with. His voice carried remnants of unmistaken anger, the characteristic gruff tone both customary and familiar. What the man was angry about remained a mystery to her, not unlike the mystery of waking up on a cold floor feeling battered.
The familiar timbre of his voice however gruff constituted a lifeline in the dark. When Sharon resolutely opened her eyes, the first thing they landed on was his outstretched hand, charitably offering assistance and yet the gesture displayed some sort of petulant offense.
The floor was unrelenting and her knees ached when she moved; she briefly worried about the fainting that surely precipitated waking up on a cold floor. Other concerns took precedence; such as, why were they in a shipping yard container and why was Andy giving her such an agonized look.
Sharon did not take his offered hand.
"I'm fine," she declined in a curt tone, brushing off the lint on her thighs and legs as she rose somewhat shakily from the floor. The ground seemed to loom and tilt when she looked down, so she tried to keep a steady look on the solid form of Andy instead.
"Suit yourself," he bit back and then crossed his arms in a huff.
There was a natural strain in your patience when you had been working nonstop for 37 hours straight. That much she remembered but how the two of them ended up here, was frankly beyond her.
"That's 'suit yourself, Captain' to you, Lieutenant Flynn," Sharon retorted back, her own anger making an appearance. She imitated him and likewise crossed her arms, pushing down hard on the sudden urge to open her mouth and gag the contents of her breakfast up.
Concussion, she wondered?
The remark threw him off for a second, his eyes widening. Then his mouth turned considerably downwards and his voice turned gruffer, restrained but on the brink of breaking free.
"Yes, Captain."
Sharon stared back at him, holding his gaze evenly.
"Good," she said in a smooth tone, "Now, what's going on?"
She vaguely recalled the plan of doing a wide sweep of the shipping yard, the whole Major Crimes division and SID to man the vast span of the grounds. She did not recall wandering aimlessly into a container and fainting on the spot.
Andy shrugged, his arms more loosely crossed when he started talking. "That's all courtesy of Thomsen, the dirtbag who you conveniently thought was a charming fellow at first, remember? Well, the idiot took my phone and gun right after the idiot had his goonies shoot the place to pieces. Don't worry, I'm still in one piece."
Sharon ignored his manner and then quickly patted down the pocket in her LAPD windbreaker and the holster for her gun and he added, "The dirtbag took yours as well."
She contemplated their situation then, the container small and half-hidden in the darkness, the one lonely hanging bulb from the ceiling giving some countenance to the dark. At least she could see Andy's expression. She wondered why there was a hanging bulb in a shipping container. She wondered what was in the dozen crates.
"I checked the container opening while you were knocked out, Captain," Andy rattled off in a formal voice, "and it's completely barred. Nothing in here but boxes full of gods knows what – rotten fruit and heroin, who knows."
Sharon hummed distractedly and then sat down on a crate, her hands going over the holes in her black slacks, blood peeping forth and darkening the cloth. It was just grated skin – from being dragged across gravel unconscious surely. Her scalp felt sore – as if someone had dragged her by the roots of her hair.
"You alright, Sharon?" Andy asked her when she remained unresponsive, his voice softening, "Are you hurt? You don't look that good."
Her eyes flickered up and caught his expression, "No, I'm fine. Just some abrasions, I think," she gingerly touched the back of her head, confused when her hand came back red. "Or not," she hastily added, musing over how she had managed to crack her head open.
Andy hurriedly edged closer to her, inspecting her face closely before his eyes landed on the blood on her fingers. Anger transformed to concern and he wholly invaded her space, his large hands holding her head firmly while he looked at the back of her head.
Sharon would have protested but her eyes were drawn to his chest, the LAPD protective vest he had donned in honor of their searching the premises, the hole where one bullet had ricocheted its way in. The metal caught the light from the bulb when he moved to get a better look at the back of her head, his fingers parting her hair with a soft touch.
"Stubborn woman," he mumbled and yet it sounded affectionate.
"What?" Sharon asked even if she had heard him, strangely engrossed by the form of him so close to her. She let her hand follow the length of his covered chest, coming to rest where the bullet had burrowed in, the pad of her index finger passing around the edge of the hole. It was five centimeters under his left collarbone, above his heart surely but situated away from the midline of his sternum. Just in front of his left upper lung.
"When did you hit your head?" he asked her and she thought it was a stupid question.
"I didn't," she replied and she heard him sigh heavily.
"Damn," he cursed but it contradicted the soft touch on her jaw where his thumb was drawing a comforting caress while he placed his other hand to the wound in the back of her head, pressing tentatively on her scalp. "You've got a nasty cut and it's still fresh but I think the blood is beginning to stop."
Sharon nodded.
Andy continued, "You hair is all bathed in blood – how did not you notice it before now? How the hell did I not notice! Shit."
"Maybe I was hit with something then," she relented, thinking that she might even recall the force of the blow connecting with the back of her head if she concentrated on it.
"You don't say," he replied somewhat impatiently.
"I feel fine," she said. When she looked up at him, he took a step back, his hand sliding down from her jaw and briefly touching her shoulder before he let go.
His jaw looked tensely clenched, "Of course you do." His voice was decidedly sarcastic and then he lifted two fingers up, "Now, look at me."
She looked at him, a bit dazed.
"You tell me the moment you start to feel unwell? Woozy or anything, okay?"
"Okay," she replied and then after a brief pause, "I might feel a bit woozy now."
He gently took a hold of her shoulder, "Just don't faint on me again."
She smiled wanly.
The container was silent, eerily so, and when she started taking in the surroundings she felt the dull throbbing in the back of her head, loud and bold the more she focused on it.
"Damn," Andy cursed again next to her as he likewise let his eyes sweep across the room, "This is all my fault."
He looked angry again, hands fisted by his side.
Sharon shakily sought out his hand, and after a small caress across his tense knuckles, he opened up and enveloped her fingers.
The look he bestowed on her was pensive and searching.
"We will be fine," she said to calm him down, "It's not as if no one knows where we are. They must have heard the gunshots at the very least. Or realized we haven't checked in yet."
His face fell.
"What?" she prodded.
"Nothing," he lied. She could tell by the way he avoided her eyes and then quickly let go of her hand. "We just need to find a way out. Heck, I don't really feel like putting my trust in getting found within a reasonable time frame; did you see the map? This shipping yard is full of nothing but thousands and thousands of containers; it could take a week to search them all."
"You said the door was barred," she reminded him.
He smiled but it lacked warmth, "With a little effort maybe I can break down the door."
She lifted a dubious eyebrow, "Really?"
He shrugged noncommittally, "It's worth a try, right."
She nodded reluctantly but then she turned her head and looked at the side where the container normally opened. She gave him another look of disbelief, "You are just going to bust your shoulder."
Andy grimaced, "Well, it beats sitting around doing nothing."
He then jiggled the handle but to no avail and then he threw his shoulder into the frame. Nothing happened but for a flash of pain and indignation across his features. He threw his weight against the frame again, this time with an exaggerated grunt.
Sharon knew him too well, so in anticipation she made herself comfortable on the crate and observed him patiently.
The macho charade continued for a while, his grunts becoming heavier and more frustrated.
"Even you cannot defy physics," she commented, her eyes on the trail of sweat from his brow.
Andy looked back over his shoulder and gave her a derisive glare.
He then fisted both hands and started ramming them on the door, his voice raised without warning. The echo of his loud 'help, help' rang in her head, throbbing along with pain.
She forcibly breathed in through her nose.
After a long period of incessant knocking, he finally sat down next to her on the crate, breathing hard and obviously admitting defeat.
"Shit," he belabored when he had air to speak with.
"What happened? – before this I mean? I don't remember much. We were closing in on the smuggling ring?"
"I haven't the foggiest," he said in resignation, "I mean, I have no clue what happened to you after I was knocked out. We were coming around the back of the shipping yard and Thomsen and his goonies surprised us. Somehow we lost radio contact with the others; I still don't get why. Sykes and Sanchez should have been just around the corner – they should have heard the guns going off."
"Someone must have tipped the smugglers off, surely. How could they have known we were going to search though the containers otherwise?"
"Yeah, it would appear we have a mole. My money's on deputy sheriff Moore."
Sharon sighed, "Dennis is a decorated officer."
"Oh, Dennis is it," his eyes narrowed and became hard, "The idiot is a bit too nosey for my liking. And decorated officers can be involved in drug trafficking, just so you know."
Sharon rolled her eyes and let her mouth protrude in semi annoyance.
Andy grimaced back at her. His dislike for the deputy sheriff had been quite overt throughout the whole investigation so far; a dislike that Sharon had yet to figure out where stemmed from.
"Rats aside," he scowled, "Thomsen and his goon squad surprised us, shooting left and right and by some luck of the draw, they actually managed to not kill us. I caught a bullet in the vest and the force of it knocked me to the ground and next thing I know, a big guy forces me in here while another dirtbag heaves you after him."
"Do you think this might be one of the containers they've been using?" she asked as she looked around with a scrutinizing look, half expecting the crates to reveal the illegal trade of narcotics. She ended on the lonely bulb in the ceiling, "Why have a light bulb in a container unless you mean to be in here, doing something you need a light for – like unpacking heroin?"
Andy shrugged, "Yeah, it's gotta be this one or the other dozen we actually have a warrant to look through. Lucky us, huh. We don't need a warrant for this one when the idiot forcibly threw us in here."
"Should we look in the crates?"
"Nah," he shook his head, "Better to wait – do you feel up for looking through stacks and stacks of bananas to find heroin cut with who knows what?"
She shook her head, "Not really."
There was a brief silence and then Andy spoke again,
"Damn, we are never going to live this down with Provenza and the others. Getting locked in a shipping container, for crying out loud."
"It's better than being executed," she commented wryly.
"They could be coming back for that," he mused darkly, "Or maybe they just thought starvation was a fitting end-of-life choice for cops."
She gave him a scathing look.
In return he delivered an open-handed shrug, "Hey, I am being realistic here."
Sharon sighed, and then decided to tackle his issue head-on, "You have been awfully realistic all week." She stressed the word with sarcasm, certain if she told him he had been an asshole all week, he would strike the ceiling.
Andy crossed his arms again, "What's that supposed to mean?"
She purposefully pointed at his chest, "You seem upset about something. What, I don't know. It seems to be directed at me, somehow. Frankly you haven't acted like this since well before I transferred to Major Crimes and it confuses me."
"No, no," his eyebrows knitted together, "I am more than simply upset."
Sharon lifted an inquisitive eyebrow and then waited for him to continue.
Andy only sighed somewhat perturbed and then nonchalantly commented, "That however, is a conversation for another time."
Her eyebrow lifted higher, "Why? I am not going anywhere – neither are you."
"Look," he threw his hands up again, "I am just looking out for you. I don't think having a disagreement right now is in your best interest. You banged your head pretty bad, okay. Who knows, maybe you have a concussion."
"Disagreement? So you are upset about something you think will result in a disagreement?"
His frown expanded, his expression going through a myriad of emotions till indignation was the clearest. Then he heatedly erupted, "You are dating."
"Dating?" Sharon repeated in an incredulous voice, not sure she had heard him correctly. "I am dating?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's news to me," she tried to laugh it off with a hand gesture and a shrugging smile.
"Hell, it was news to me too," he retorted sarcastically, his brows now low and his expression similar to the one he had resolutely worn all week – on account of her apparently dating. The notion tickled her and yet she couldn't place the feeling.
"Dating not to mention flirting with that good-for-nothing deputy sheriff."
"I am not dating – anyone," she said, the comment sounding absurd to her. Who was she supposed to date? When in the world would she even have time to date, let alone want to date?
"And I am most certainly not flirting with Deputy Sheriff Moore or anyone else for that matter," she bit out, feeling defensive all of a sudden.
Andy looked uncomfortable then and he quickly looked away, his eyes on the weakly illuminated container. When his gaze flickered back to her again, he sported an expression she likened to apologetic. "Look, I didn't mean to but I overheard your conversation with Rusty last Monday. The kid was waiting for you in his cubicle and I passed by. He said you were dating, plain as day."
"Oh," Sharon breathed out in relief. She thought back to that awkward conversation with Rusty last Monday. He had completely baffled her. Then she gave Andy a raised eyebrow, "Did you happen to eavesdrop on the whole conversation?"
"What? No, I am not some creep, you know. I have some decency." He rolled his eyes at her question.
Sharon contained a smile, "Maybe you should have. Then you would have known that Rusty is under the impression that I am dating you."
"Me?"
"Yes," she gave a nervous, embarrassed laugh, "Rusty thought I was keeping it a secret. Apparently, well, according to him, he is sure that all the dinners we have are, erm, romantic in nature. He thought there was something fishy going on and that I was keeping it a secret."
"Oh."
Silence descended then, heavy in the semi darkness and oppressive. She could feel her cheeks flame up with embarrassment and her hands nervously rested on her thighs where she proceeded to brush off lint again.
She had felt awkward enough with Rusty throwing the accusation at her but having it out in the open with Andy was even worse. Why, she wasn't sure.
After a stretch of silence, she finally forced herself to turn her head.
Andy was staring at her, intensely.
"I would like to date you," he said truthfully, his voice hoarse with emotion. She could read the nervous anticipation in his expression and voice as if it took a great deal to admit it, and yet relief at having said it was vivid as well.
His words threw her off balance.
"I mean," he quickly spoke again, one hand at the back of his neck, "you are not married now." He chuckled uncertainly, "You are not a married woman, right. I mean, you are single. Sort of."
She opened her mouth but then closed it again, not sure what she wanted to say.
His eyes widened considerably the longer she stayed silent.
"You want to date me?" Sharon repeated when she finally found her voice, the tone tremulous.
He nodded, shy and eager.
She quickly looked away, a bit overcome by the frank expression. His words were genuine and to some extent a surprise.
"I thought we were headed that way," he spoke again, this time in a contemplative tone. When she looked at him, he was still staring at her. In the same intense, overpowering way that really was old news; it was nothing new and yet it felt so different now.
"Or am I making a complete fool of myself, misinterpreting everything?" he asked uncertainty in his tone and demeanor.
She shook her head, feeling breathless, "No."
That one word imbued him with a sudden broad smile and his eyes centered exclusively on her face, "I have been waiting for the right time to tell you that, you know, that I think I am in love."
His smile looked caught between embarrassment and exhilaration, and then he clumsily added, " – with you, I mean. I am in love with you." He smiled big and wide.
The notion only blew her further away.
"I'm not exactly looking for a relationship," she found herself telling him and she caught on to the way the words deflated him. She reached out and took a hold of his wrist, her fingers soft around his sleeve before she slipped her thumb along the inside of his wrist. "I am kind of out of practice when it comes to the whole relationship, falling in love kind of deal."
He nodded, his mouth half-open, "Well, so am I."
"What I mean," she rambled on, knowing she needed to get her thoughts in order. It was hard, however, to get any semblance of order when his declaration still resounded in her head, "Is that I think I might have overlooked the significance of our dinners and everything."
He only looked further confused, "Okay, you've gotta spell it out for me."
She smiled and quickly looked down. "I think it snuck up on me – falling in love."
He turned his hand around and caught her fingers. The touch was exciting and she could not remember the last time simply holding hands with someone had this impact on her.
"It snuck up on me too, big time," he grumbled, his eyes warm when they connected with hers, "I just really enjoy your company – more than I've enjoyed anyone's company in a long time."
She smiled, "I enjoy spending time with you too."
He looked almost boyish, "So you wouldn't be remiss about dating? I mean, we can take it slow? It's all up to you. I won't mind waiting. I'll wait. For you, I mean."
"I wouldn't mind dating," her mouth curled upwards as she answered him.
The smile that spread across his face was enlightening, his eyes even warmer than before.
Naturally, she became even more aware of herself. Her body and its proximity to him, the solid hand around hers. The way he leaned closer, anticipation tingling under her skin. The thing about first kisses, she thought as his mouth neared hers, was unprecedented excitement.
Sharon met him half-way, her hands curling around his forearms as she drew him to her, the muscles beneath strong and firm. His mouth landed squarely on hers, his lips soft and tentative at first. She kissed him back, excited by the touch, her mouth opening. He caught on and then kissed her back, all hesitation gone and in its stead there was something that felt like affection and passion, something she had sorely missed in decades.
"Captain? FLYNN?" someone yelled from outside the container, the voice subdued. "You in there?"
"Provenza to the rescue," Andy groused and then quickly slid back from her, his eyes lingering on her lips nevertheless. He raised his voice and answered back, "Yeah, yeah, we're in here." He ended it with a well-placed fist against the metal door.
Sharon smiled, relieved.
"It's a good thing," Andy smiled crookedly as he turned to look at her, "now we can finally get your head checked out."
She lifted an eyebrow, "Why? You think I wouldn't kiss you otherwise?"
He grinned, "Nah, I just think the less blood when we kiss, the better," he raised his bloodied hand up as evidence.
She bit her lower lip; it would be good to get her scalp fixed, and even better to wash out the caked blood in her hair.
Provenza opened the door with a loud clang, Mike looming behind him with bolt cutters and an excited expression.
"Thank heavens," Provenza grumbled, "we were just about to list you two idiots as missing."
"Nice to see you too, lieutenant," Sharon replied in an even voice.
Tbc
=)