So, I found this prompt on the Mary Fic Fest 2014 page. It wasn't claimed at the time, and I found it after submission/claiming/writing/publishing was over. I reached out to see what was happening with the fic fest and if anybody minded if I stole one posthumously; I didn't hear back, so have taken the liberty of writing and posting anyway. Sorry if that ruffles anybody's feathers.
"Prompt 179: Andy is surprised to find Sharon asleep in his bed after a long day at work"
Pre-ship/ship(ish) fluffiness. One-shot.
To sleep, perchance to dream
Throwing his tie over the back of the couch with a long sigh, Andy shrugs out of his jacket, rolling his neck with the motion. It's the 24 hour catch-a-serial-killer type days that truly remind him he's not twenty-five anymore. He's not even forty-five. Or fifty-five. Good lord.
With that thought he toes out of his shoes, right there in the living room. His obsessive compulsive need to keep it neat can wait until tomorrow, just this once. He looks around the room, bleary eyed and barely conscious, so very glad that Sykes – fresh faced and rested after being sent home – had driven him home. He's sure he wouldn't have made it in one piece in LA traffic if he'd had to get himself here.
Andy scrubs his hands over his face and then, the urge overtaking him, collects his things anyway and starts walking to his room. The lights are off, but it's almost sunrise (a bleak reminder of how long it's been since he slept) so the grey glow of dawn filters through the small two-bedroom house just enough that he can see. The place had seemed too big when he'd first bought it, just little old him; now Nicole frequently visits with the boys, and it's just the right size. And there's a spare room with a queen bed, if they ever need to have sleep-overs further down the road. If his relationship with his family ever gets good enough that he's trusted for overnight visits. The room isn't set up yet, but the furniture is on it's way, one piece at a time. It will happen.
Anyway, that's neither here nor there on this particular day. For now, sleep is on the agenda.
He opens his bedroom door with his foot, his jacket and tie in one hand, shoes in the other, and then stops. He is momentarily startled. The room is dark – it's the first thing he notices; even if the world is not yet awake, his curtains are drawn, and they are blackout curtains so the room is almost pitch black to his unadjusted eyes.
And the bed is occupied.
Not that he minds his bed being occupied, for sure, it is wonderful. But this is… it's not… this is unexpected. He approaches softly, just close enough that he's standing by the end of the bed, peering at the face that's partially covered by the doona.
It nearly knocks him on his arse to identify the culprit. As if the hair poking out of the covers wasn't clue enough.
Sharon Raydor is sleeping in his bed.
He just barely stops himself from laughing.
He had sent her home hours ago – she'd been on first watch with Provenza, then he and Tao had taken over, then Sykes and Sanchez had come in to relieve everybody, though most of those shifts had overlapped and they were all collapsing under the weight of a never-ending manhunt. (All except Sykes; three hours at home sleeping and she was the Energiser bunny again, it was disconcerting).
Sharon more than most had been exhausted, on her twentieth hour awake; she had blatantly refused to leave with Provenza. She had ended up being there until Sanchez all but wrestled her to the elevator bank and shoved her inside. Andy told her to go home and sleep, and they would call her in when needed. Only half an hour later – she was still barely awake and getting out of her work suit when he called – the FBI had taken the case, connecting it to several murders in… Utah… or Arizona… somewhere. Might have been both. It didn't matter. The whole mess was not their problem anymore. They had been relieved, and Sharon had sighed, and then he had said into the phone with a smile get some sleep, and she had hummed her agreement.
And here she is. Sleeping in his bed.
When he told her to get some sleep, he had forgotten that would mean she'd be at his place.
Her ceiling was being repaired today due to a leak in the air conditioning unit on the condo roof. She'd bemoaned the fact the repairs would undoubtedly be loud and smelly; exactly the conditions that would prevent sleep anywhere on the top floor of her building. So he had told her to go to his place – use the spare key you've got – and he would tip-toe when he got home. He had forgotten the spare room was not set up; that the mattress was still up against the wall, awaiting a new base. It didn't occur to him that she'd make herself right at home.
He sighs again, silently.
Looking at the things in his hands he puts them on the chair in the corner, being very gentle so as not to rustle the fabric too loudly. He spares a glance at the bed. Not a peep. He can hear her breathing though; not so much a snore as just very deep and obviously exhausted. She is out cold. It's kind of adorable. He indulges himself and watches her for a moment – just the fuzz of her hair and tiny movement of blankets with her breath; in and out. He shakes himself out of it.
Tip-toeing into his bathroom, Andy closes the door gently, his hand against the jam to guide it silently closed. Picking up his old teeshirt and long pyjama pants from the tiled floor, he sniffs them once, and decides that despite them being abandoned so gracelessly some time yesterday, they are acceptable clothes to pass out in. Mentally he calculates how much effort it requires to flip down the spare mattress and make the bed with sheets and blankets and finding the spare pillows and matching pillowcases and… now he understands why Sharon chose his bed instead.
He sighs again, and presses his palm to the back of his neck, rolling it again. It's just that kind of day. He can feel the tension headache building the longer he stands; he needs sleep. He undoes his belt buckle and lets his pants drop to the floor; slides out of his shirt and undershirt, and then tosses them all on top of the laundry hamper to be tomorrow's problem. He gets into the pyjamas, leaving on his socks for good measure. Looking at himself in the mirror, he looks every bit his age today; tired and drawn, and who has time for vanity when he's literally so exhausted his head hurts.
There's just nothing else for it.
He opens the bathroom door again and walks out. Just as he left her, Sharon is tucked on her side facing away from him, neatly taking up just one half of the queen bed. She even graciously left him enough doona to work with; not that he's cold, in fact with his long pyjama pants and socks he's just fine, but he likes sleeping under something heavy.
It feels very comforting to find himself standing here, even if she is asleep and therefore oblivious. He rolls his eyes at himself; he can ignore his stupid crush for the fifteen seconds it will take him to fall unconscious, surely.
Approaching the bed cautiously, he pulls back the cover on his side and gingerly – awkwardly, really, because how many years has it been since he snuck back into his own bed – he slides in next to her, careful not to rock the mattress too much or shuffle around for a comfortable position.
The moment he is horizontal he can't help but sigh in relief. His entire back releases its tension vertebra by vertebra; his head rejoices at the pillow beneath it. Immediately, he feels the tug of sleep. He spares a glance next to him, but she hasn't moved – she is still on her side facing away from him, her hair on the pillow, her breath deep and even.
He reaches out one finger to touch a stray lock of hair, but stops; pulls back. He's already breaking every single rule in the book by getting in this bed – no need to make her feel like they actually did anything wrong, and the last thing he wants to do is wake her. They really do deserve their rest. After all, they're both adults – very sleepy adults with only one quiet bed to share, and anyway it's a bed big enough for two. What's some sleeping among friends.
The shift of the doona when he moves his arm shows him just a sliver of the collar of what she's wearing, which turns out to be his academy teeshirt; he only has one teeshit in that shade of blue, and he can't help but grin at the thought that at some point today (or last night, depending on how people choose to classify 3am these days) Sharon went snooping through his wardrobe and is now wearing his clothes. He briefly – dangerously - ponders if she also found some pants in there, and then mentally slaps himself. Of course she did; she wouldn't be in his bed half naked, that's only in his dreams.
Still, he wonders how she did it; she was too tired to even consider any option besides pass out in Andy's bed, so did she just grab the easiest things she could find? Or was it more calculated, despite the fatigue – the academy teeshirt because they both attended and it's neutral; plain grey track pants because the draw string will keep them respectably above her hip bones when they wake up. Just over her head he can spot her watch and earrings on his side table; she cared enough to take off her jewellery. She doesn't seem the kind to not be deliberate. He decides that she was very specific in her choices, including falling asleep on one side of the bed (her side of the bed?).
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself. He really is getting desperate and pathetic.
Not wanting to rock the mattress too much and disturb Sharon, he relaxes as he is; it's not his favourite position, sleeping flat on his back, but he really is too tired for it to matter. Already, despite his tumultuous emotions, he is falling into dreamless sleep.
His last thought, before he is gone completely, is that he would love for Sharon to be there when he wakes up. Would love to see her fresh from sleep and bleary eyed – hair mussed and throat croaky. Intimate, maybe, and completely inappropriate, but he can't help himself. He's becoming more and more infatuated by the day, but so help him he will take full advantage of this opportunity while he can. It's only fair, given his dreams are apparently becoming reality, moment by moment.
After all, it's not every day he can share a bed with a beautiful woman. Might as well make the most of it.