The Brightest Star

by Kate04

"It is often in the darkest

skies that we see the

brightest stars."

― Richard Evans

A/N: This was written for lontanissima who was so sad about the lack of Shandy touching and kissing in 4x14 – Taking the Fall. I tried my best to explain it. There's also a vague-ish mention of domestic abuse, so consider yourselves warned.

A big hug and 'thank you' goes once again to RockinRobin B for the speedy and wonderful beta! She's amazing and I really need to buy her another drink.

lontanissima and my darling twin Kadi219 get hugs for listening to my whining and for providing input and opinions and all those things that make them such wonderful friends.

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, not my toys. I promise to be careful and put them back where I found them.

Sharon stepped through the door and gave it a half-hearted push to close it. Her purse and keys landed on the small table as she wearily trudged down the hallway towards the kitchen, her phone firmly clasped in her hand as it had been for the last two weeks. It was very late, midnight having come and gone a long time ago while they had wrapped up their case. They had worked so hard to close it in time for Thanksgiving, and not only because Assistant Chief Taylor had asked so nicely. Everyone had wanted to make it home for their celebrations and they had accomplished that.

For her, the holiday was thoroughly ruined, however. Her children weren't coming home. They hadn't been in LA for Thanksgiving in years, so the idea had been to celebrate with Rusty and Andy this time. It was supposed to be a quiet little dinner with two of her favourite people, but it wasn't meant to be. Instead, they would have a little gathering at the hospital later that day, after everyone had celebrated with their loved ones. The thought that her team was willing to sacrifice their precious family time to cheer up their sick colleague was a much-needed ray of light in an otherwise dark time.

Earlier, when she had heard Buzz over the earbud, she had known that the emergency he had mentioned involved Andy. In that moment, dread had settled in her stomach like a large, heavy stone and it hadn't dissolved since then. Instead it had grown bigger and colder when she had seen Rusty in the hospital waiting room, his shirt stained with Andy's blood and the scared expression on his face. At some point she would have to talk to him, to let him know how very proud she was of the way he had handled the situation and how grateful she was for his help in all of this. Despite all his issues with Andy's new role in her life, he was just as concerned about the other man's health as she. It filled her with hope that, at some point in the near future, he would be able to truly accept their relationship without feeling threatened or uncomfortable.

A very unsettling thought passed through her mind, but she pushed it away before it could take hold, refusing to think too much of everything that could go wrong, of the heartbreaking possibility of losing Andy. As she wandered into the kitchen, she considered warming up some leftovers, but even though she hadn't had anything since breakfast, the thought of food made her feel even worse. Instead, she put on a kettle and prepared some tea, hoping that it would help warm her up. From the moment she had stepped out of the interview room, coming face to face with a concerned Lieutenant Provenza, she had been cold.

It was a chill that went deep into her bones and settled there, making her want to curl up under a blanket with a cup of hot tea in her hands and Andy's warm, comfortable body next to her, his heart beating a reassuringly strong rhythm beneath her cheek. That wasn't an option, however. Andy lay in a hospital bed with a concussion and a dangerous blood clot, waiting for surgery. He was not allowed to hold her close, even though she had seen the need for it in his eyes earlier. Instead of drawing comfort from his embrace, she had spent most of the day with her arms wrapped around herself, trying to find some heat and to hold herself together. If it kept the people around her from noticing her shaking hands, it was even better.

She couldn't afford to fall apart, to let anyone see how frightened she was, least of all Andy. It was what she would continue to do until this crisis was over. Years of being a single mother, of trying to shelter her children from the kind of man their father was, had taught her to put up a calm, reassuring front even if she was an emotional mess on the inside.

There had been one brief moment when her precious control had slipped. Shortly after they had transferred Andy to his own room, Rusty had excused himself to clean up and get some coffee. She was aware that it had been a pretext to give her some time alone with Andy, and she had been grateful for the much-needed privacy. By that time, she had been nauseous with anxiety, having been close to being sick more than once. She had stepped close to him, carefully sitting on the edge of his bed as she had reached out for his hand with one of hers, the other briefly touching his cheek before she had let it settle on his chest. Her fingers had smoothed out the fabric of his hospital gown, and she had reflected on how pale it made him look.

Andy had reached up to caress the line of her jaw with the back of his fingers, gently coaxing her to lean down until their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. With that one touch, with the familiar feeling of his mouth against hers, her walls had crumbled. She had sobbed once, quietly, before the tears had started falling. She had been unable to stop them, nor had it been within her power to stop her body from shaking. He had tried to wrap an arm around her, to pull her head down to his chest. She had been reluctant, scared that she might hurt him, but he had insisted, mumbling reassuring words into her ear. In the end, she had taken both of his hands in hers, holding them close to her heart as her forehead rested against the uninjured side of his.

Never before had she let him see her lose control like that. The last time anyone had witnessed her without her protective walls in place had been decades ago, when she had still trusted Jack enough to not use her vulnerability against her. Sharon had never been comfortable with letting others see her break. Her emotional outbursts had a very specific time and place and she did not allow them anywhere else. It was in the shower that she permitted the tears to come, the hot water disguising them and serving as a comforting embrace.

Her uncharacteristically emotional reaction to his touch had frightened her a little, and she had kept her hands to herself after that. Besides not wanting to make a scene in front of anyone, she had also been concerned about Andy. He had been so worried about her, which was the last thing she wanted. It had taken a moment for her to compose herself, to stop the tears and rebuild her crumbled walls. Once she had sat up, Andy had gently wiped the moisture and her slightly smudged makeup off her cheeks. He had gazed up at her, his warm, expressive eyes holding hers, and she had seen something in their depth that had made her heart clench and her stomach flutter in a very pleasant way. She wasn't ready to give voice to her feelings for him, but it was becoming more and more clear to her, that she cared very deeply for him.

When Rusty had returned from his coffee run with Lieutenant Provenza in tow, she had already found control, every trace of her tears gone. She had kept her distance from Andy, once again wrapping her arms around herself to keep them from reaching out for him. Her emotions had been too close to the surface, the thought of touching him making her eyes sting with tears once more. She had drawn comfort from watching Andy and his partner bicker like an old married couple, and the older man's steady presence had grounded her when they had learned about Andy's stubborn refusal to admit to having been dizzy from his medication. It had made her heart stop briefly, horrifying images of what could have happened filling her mind. Why did he have to be so proud? She was resolved to talk to him about that.

Leaving him to return to work had been hard and she had almost refused, but her sense of duty had prevailed. Focusing on their case had also helped her distract herself from Andy's situation, even though the sight of his empty chair never failed to make her think of him, to fill her with longing for the pleasant sight of him at his desk and his sarcastic remarks.

It had been a long day and their case had been hard, the outcome not something she would have hoped for. While she could easily relate to a woman defending herself against her abusive husband, planning his death down to the financially most convenient time and then trying to put the blame on someone else was an entirely different thing. That was where her sympathy for the woman had ended. There were options in those situations that did not involve cold-blooded murder.

Sharon was still thinking about Mrs. Palmer and how she had ended up in prison when she walked into her bedroom. She placed her teacup and phone on the dresser and peeled herself out of her clothes, with each layer of fabric she shed a part of the horrible day, let it all fall to the ground at her feet, for once not caring about the mess she created. Grabbing her peach-coloured satin robe from the hook at the back of her door, she slipped into it, tying a loose knot at her side to give the illusion of modesty, even though she knew no one would see her.

When she looked up as she walked into the bathroom, she froze, her feet rooted to the cold tiles. The nauseating fear that had just begun to retreat with fatigue and the reassuring text Rusty had sent her when she had been on her way home was back with a vengeance. Her bathroom was in shambles. The shelf next to the bathtub had been knocked over, its contents spilled all over the ground, a blood-soak towel lay among the mess, along with used rubber gloves and all sorts of discarded first aid equipment. What drew her attention, however, was the large pool of dried blood in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the white floor. It was smeared across a large area where the paramedics had moved Andy and tended to his wound before they had taken him to the hospital.

Bile rose in her throat and it was all she could do not to be sick. Carefully sidestepping the crimson spots, Sharon rushed out of the room and down the hall towards the small utility closet next to her kitchen. She tore a bucket, a brush, and several old towels from their usual spots, not paying any attention to the other cleaning paraphernalia that tumbled from the shelves as she hurried back to the bathroom. A sense of panic had her in its relentless grip, a strange, irrepressible urge to purge every last evidence of Andy's accident from her home. She was exclusively focused on this objective as if failing to do so would bring disaster over them, would somehow lead to something more horrible happening to Andy.

After filling the bucket with hot, soapy water, she knelt down on the ground and started scrubbing at the dried blood. The worst of it came off easily enough, turning the white foam pink before she wiped it away with a towel. She knew that the edges of the puddle would be hardest to clean away, because she had done this before. This time, however, it was not her own blood she was wiping away, and the desperate need to make it disappear was unfamiliar. Instead of the reassuring sense of closure she had felt back then, when she had erased that last reminder of her horribly drunk husband from their house, this time she felt frantic, scrubbing viciously at the unyielding traces of Andy's accident.

She was hot, sweat making her hair stick to her face and neck. Her heart was racing and her breath came in short, quick gasps, leaving her almost dizzy. Jumbled images flashed before her eyes, her mind overwhelmed with disjointed memories. Andy lying in a pool of blood, his face pale and his eyes closed. Jack's angry expression, skin red and eyes bloodshot as he came towards her. Blood on the floor, dried, crystalline, an irony taste at the back of her throat. Andy's brown orbs staring up at her, dull and lifeless. Jack's loud, booming voice, screaming insults at her. Andy in his hospital bed. Jack's hand. Machines beeping. The crack of flesh on flesh. Fear for his life. Fear for hers. Pain and anger and helplessness and nausea. More blood, always blood, crimson turning to brown, warm and soft and sticky turning cold and hard and dry. A crying child. Salty tears of fear and desperation. Hers, theirs. An apology. A threat or a promise. Maybe both. A final line drawn with blood. No more. He was gone, but Andy was still there, still with her. White tiles once more spotless. Deep breaths. Clarity. Relief.

Sharon let the soiled towels drop into the bucket and pushed it away from her, careful not to spill any of the dirty water. With a deep, exhausted sigh, she sat down on the cold ground, her back leaning against the closed bathroom door, legs drawn up against her body and her arms wrapped around them. She let her forehead fall against her knees and closed her eyes, drawing deep, calming breaths as she tried to untangle her chaotic thoughts.

She had not invited Jack into her head, and thoughts of that particular episode of her past were not welcome. These days, she seldom remembered that night when he had been crazed with alcohol and the insane notion that she was unfaithful, when he had yelled at her, refusing to listen, until he had started pushing her. It had escalated with his fist in her face and her blood on the hardwood floor where she had hit her head. Jack had not meant to hit her and he had apologized immediately, but she had been done with him, had sent him to pack his things and leave, never to show his face in her house again while drunk. Emily had seen the last part of their fight, had cried in her arms, frightened by the blood that ran down her mother's face, by her parents shouting, had been heartbroken when Sharon had told him that he would not see his children again unless he stopped drinking. Jack Raydor had never laid a hand on her again, neither in anger nor in love. She had pushed the incident out of her mind not long afterwards, focusing instead on her career and her children, only occasionally dwelling on it when she was confronted with battered wives or domestic abuse cases, which brought back the shock and the pain and the sense of betrayal.

Andy's blood on her floor and their latest murder had brought those memories back once more. Now that the case was closed and her tiles clean, it was time to put her ghosts to rest again and move on. It would take a while to shake off the lingering unease, but she would get there eventually. There where more important issues to focus on. She still needed to pick up all the things that had fallen off the shelf Andy had tried to hold on to before she could take her much-needed shower and get some sleep, and she only had a few hours left until morning. She had promised Rusty to be at the hospital at eight so the boy could go home and get a few hours of sleep before their little surprise party.

The shelf was put back together after only a few minutes, its contents undamaged, and Sharon made quick work of her evening routine, the long, hot bath she had originally envisioned turning into a short shower. When she stood at the sink to tend to her face and brush her teeth, a small note attached to the mirror caught her attention. It was written in Rusty's slightly untidy scrawl and it made her blink away fresh tears.

Don't worry about the mess, Mom. I'll take care of it later. I'm serious! Leave it!

He was so thoughtful, even though he should know that there was no way she would ignore the state of her bathroom and simply walk around that large puddle of blood on the ground. Besides, she would never let her son do that kind of work for her. It was bad enough that he had been alone with Andy when he had fallen. Rusty had already done so much for both of them. She would not burden him any more.

When she was done in the bathroom, she tugged the note off the mirror and wandered back into her bedroom, placing the small piece of paper in the top drawer of her dresser. She had so few mementos of Rusty's presence in her life that every single one was precious to her. She took her phone off the dresser where it lay next to her cup of cold tea and slipped underneath her covers.

Unlocking her phone to set the alarm, she noticed a new text message and smiled when she saw who had sent it. Apparently, Andy had trouble sleeping, which was not surprising. Hospitals where not exactly the most restful places and she was sure that the thin mattress would kill his back. She had seen him move around restlessly earlier, trying to find a comfortable position. By now he was probably huffing and puffing and sighing as he wriggled from one side of the bed to the other. The thought made her smile widen even more. Not that he would ever admit to being uncomfortable or in pain, which was what had gotten them into this situation in the first place. She opened the message, still grinning, hearing his voice inside her head as she read.

Hey you. Just wanted to say good night and let you know that the kid finally gave up and fell asleep. Had to fake sleep myself to get him to relax. How are you doing?

It looked as if Rusty had taught him how to use those annoying smiley faces that her children seemed to be so fond of. Her son had added them to her phone at some point, intending to get her to use them, but so far she had successfully resisted. Instead, she all too frequently hit some key that took her to a gallery of those things. The first time it had taken her several minutes to figure out how to get back to her keyboard.

Now Andy seemed to be rather proficient in the use of that yellow plague and highly amused by it, judging from all the images that decorated his short text. Maybe she was a fool in love, but it was sort of cute. Some of those things reminded her a little bit of Andy, making it even easier to imagine his facial expressions that went with the words. As she began to type out her reply, she decided that maybe she could try using a smiley or two herself.

I'm fine. Exhausted. It was a tough case, but it's over now. She paused for a moment, considering her next words. They were getting very close to a truth that was still unspoken between them, but she was tired, the emotional rollercoaster from earlier still casting its shadow over her soul, and she longed for an emotional connection with him. I missed you today. Try to get some sleep. Please? I'll see you in a few hours.

She ended her message with a little kiss face that had a heart attached to its mouth. It looked sweet, conveying her feelings for him without being too obvious. Proud of herself for managing such innovative technology without her son's help, she pressed send before she turned off the light, her phone still cradled to her chest. Sure enough, only a minute later it vibrated once more.

I promise as long as you do the same. I missed you, too. Please don't ever leave me alone with Provenza. I swear he wants to kill me. Good night, sweetheart.

Her heart jumped once, before it started beating a little faster. He had never called her sweetheart before, or anything else except Sharon or Captain, and she wondered if he had even noticed. A pleasant warmth spread through her, starting in her belly and moving along her limbs until her fingers and toes tingled with it. Yes, they were getting to that point in their relationship where certain intimidating truths might be a lot less frightening to share.

Sharon wished that Andy were with her in that moment, that she were able to snuggle into his side and feel his arm around her. She longed to hear him call her sweetheart in his deep, rumbling voice and to share with him how much happiness he brought into her life, how he filled her heart to the brim with love. Sometime very soon she would do that, once he was feeling better, once he was able to hold her. She did not want those words to be spoken between them because they were scared or they felt that they were running out of time. That would not be fair and it would not do justice to the depth of those feelings. The right moment would come. For now, she let thoughts of him calm her mind and soothe her soul. In a few hours she would see him again and she would show him how much he meant to her.

~~FIN~~