"I thought you left," he scowled from his hospital bed. It wasn't like Andy Flynn was going anywhere right now, even though the last place he wanted to be was in a hospital bed with a gaping hole in his side. Now, here, his rest had been disturbed, and he wasn't happy about it. It was bad enough to have an actual pain in his side without another pain in his side standing at the door.

"No, I'm aware it looked like I left, but I went for coffee. Here," she handed it to him, face expressionless as she stood now with her cup in one hand and his extending toward him.

"What's the catch?" he asked, eyeing her. "Did you poison it? That would be just the icing on the cake right now. Stab wound didn't do me in, but a poisoned cup of coffee to finish me off."

"No," she rolled her eyes, sighing. "I didn't poison it. You look like you could use a cup of coffee; you've looked better, but I suppose it could be much worse."

He scowled at her, "Gee, thanks," he said swiping the cup from her, not admitting it was really hot on his hands, and the coffee spilled out just a bit. She must have noticed his quick wincing because he saw a small smile appear on her face before she schooled her features. He wasn't going to admit the coffee had burned his hand, and she wasn't about to admit she'd enjoyed seeing him suffer just a bit.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

He shrugged at her, "Will I live? Well, that's a yes, but will I be 100% or even great again, probably never. Hurts like nothing else, and doc said I might always have a lingering pain there. It grazed a few things, nothing serious. Why? Want to finish me off?"

She zeroed in on him with her eyes, "I'm not here to fight. I had to come for work. You did call me, remember? Now," she changed her stance, putting one hand on her hip, "why is that? Why did you call me? Last I remember, you told me off, told me we were done, and you didn't want to be anywhere I was. Sound familiar? Yet, I keep having to process crime scenes where you and your partner are front and center, and then tonight, when I was out for once, you call me. Now, normally, I get the calls from dispatch, even your chief, which pains her to be the one to call sometimes, but she has. Taylor has even called too, but never the detective directly, until you. Why is that?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, "Well, I knew they'd call you, and like I said-your lucky day-probably got a good laugh coming over here knowing I was stabbed. How ironic I get stabbed, though, not in the back. Seems like you stabbed me in the back, figuratively, I might add, but still," he sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Look, I don't want to answer questions here. Doc said I'd be released in a couple hours, and I can come to your office then. Okay? Can I suffer in peace?"

She changed her stance again, crossing her arms, still with the coffee in one hand, "You don't have to come into work; you need to go home and rest. As much as I don't want to, I can come there to do your interview."

"No," he said sharply. "You're not coming to my house. I'll be at the office in a few hours. Not open for discussion."

She nodded, silently, as she decided what to say to him next, "Look, Andy," she sighed, "we discussed that we have to work together, so can we be professionals about this?"

He glanced at her, "Fine with me, Captain," he snarled. "Just so you know, he did attack me first before I shot at him. That's all I'm going to say, but I didn't want you getting any crazy ideas like I'd gone rogue or something. I didn't break any of your precious rules."

She looked at him over the top of her eyeglasses, "I know you well enough that I don't doubt that. So, unless you want our past in the open, I'd suggest you get over the excessive hostility toward me, at least at work. I get it no one likes me; fine, you can have that attitude there, but this complete bitterness, well, no one there knows about the past, and unless you want that out in the open, you might want to reign it in with me. I'll do my job, if you can do yours. I'll ask the questions; you answer. Whatever might have happened tonight, I don't want you in pain from your injury. Obviously, the stabbing has hurt you severely, and I'd prefer you go home and rest, but who am I to say that?"

"No one; you've got no say in my life, that's right," he added. "Go on," he waved. "Go to work, and I'll let you know when I get there. Okay if I call you when I arrive, or is that too personal, Captain?" he scowled.

She raised an eyebrow at him, "That would be fine. I'll be in my office working on my report. Drink the coffee; it's got cream in it, just how you like it, no sugar. It will give you a little energy, and I thought it was better than food right now. Food might turn your stomach even more."

He looked away and leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. He really didn't want to talk to her anymore, yet he could tell she was still there. "I'll be fine. Provenza is coming back for me. He went back to work, but I promised to call him when they were going to discharge me."

Sharon didn't reply, and he didn't open his eyes to look at her. He could still feel her presence, but then he heard the click of her heels as she moved down the hall. When he could tell she was finally out of sight, he opened his eyes again, sighing, as he looked at the cup of coffee she had brought him. Sharon. Actually, Captain Raydor. Raydor as the team liked to call her. Darth Raydor in fact because she was always in that dark trench coat and always had a commanding presence over everyone. It was a trait he used to like, now he hated. Why had he called her? Well, he wasn't lying when he said he knew she'd be called. He still had her number; he'd always have to really have her number in his phone as long as they both were at the LAPD and she really, was involved in many of their cases. He sighed again; he didn't have a good answer for why he'd called her. Shock maybe? Maybe for a tiny moment, he'd forgotten he couldn't call her anymore. It had been a habit for so long, but that habit was no more, hadn't been for a few months now. While things should be getting better, the anger subsiding, he found it wasn't.

As he sat there in the hospital bed, all alone, he sighed, thinking about what a train wreck the last few months had been, well the last year really. He'd been doing fine up until this past year, and now, well, he had a situation, a situation with the name Sharon, or Captain Sharon Raydor, to be exact, and while he wanted to forget she'd ever existed, it was a problem that wasn't going away. No wonder people said mixing work and pleasure never worked out.