/Reckless/
Summary: First meeting. Sharon/Andy. For Rococoms for the major crimes livejournal holiday gifts exchange.
A/N: I hope you enjoy =)
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What is a moment but the time leading up to it and the time that follows, and in-between that essence which holds everything together. What is a kiss but the meeting of lips, greeting – acknowledgement, inquisitive.
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1994
…
/Pre/
It happened in a ruckus of chaos.
The practically square room, filled with desks and tables, chairs and boxes and cabinets for files and folders, full to the brim with people. It was the natural flurry of their squadroom, homicide and robbery tended towards bringing in the crowds. Hollywood division – the snooping brownnosers, bright-eyed and intent on situating themselves into an investigation – in among the more politically minded and the higher-ups who wanted updates, mixing from time to time with an insufferable, know-it-all outsider who insisted on following an investigation.
Andy Flynn found it a hilarious circus, entertaining to watch on the sidelines and even more entertaining when he got pulled into the mess of it. The ones who knew him stayed clear of him, all too familiar with his temper. Why, he could stop the room in its motion with a single yell, voice brusque and annoyed.
Not this time though.
This time he was in a shouting match with a brunette who insisted on delaying procedures; who insisted on making time for her to interview their suspect, her 'witness' as she so coolly informed him.
She was petite and frankly, she seemed almost brittle to him. Porcelain skin, barely out of the academy he assumed. In uniform, gun and badge securely at her hip and her eyes narrowed in a glare directed his way. The ire in her eyes annoyed him; the way her arms were crossed and the distinct little curl to her lips annoyed him too.
There was absolutely no reason to focus all her unjustified anger on him, it made no sense to him. Why, Andy's Captain would be a more appropriate target. Captain Blake was however in his own little shouting contest with the Chief who had descended from his mighty throne and had gone down in the trenches to make a bit of trouble. The squadroom was filled with people shouting back and forth, suspects in between shouting as well. It was always chaos when they had to bring in whole streets of gangs.
Andy's partner stood with one of the suspects – the one the little brunette wanted to question – a hand around the guy's upper arm, eagerly following all the commotion. Andy always shoved his way into these things whereas his partner stood back.
This time however, Andy was pulled into the center of the storm by this damned girl, a haughty look upon her face, chin up and eyes zeroed in on him. It was an intense look, he would give her that. He reciprocated with an equally hard glare.
It was in the midst of this that things escalated; in the middle of pointing his finger at her, yelling and taking a step towards her to appear intimidating, her mouth becoming a straight firm line the closer he came, her eyes almost shrouded in indignation; it was in the middle of this that chaos happened upon them.
The suspect wrestled free from his partner's grip, pushed him aside and tried to make a run for it. Andy, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, reacted and pushed the chick aside and went for the guy. They tumbled to the floor, a fist to the corner of his temple, a knee into his abdomen and he was heaving for breath. The guy quickly got to his feet, about to run again but he got tackled by the brunette, her small body not able to generate enough force to push him to the ground. Instead they orbited into the side of a desk, another swing of an arm and he saw the guy's knuckles connect with her nose, saw her small grimace of pain that was quickly swept aside as she slid a leg in under the guy's ankle and had him down on the floor. She had the idiot's arm behind his back and a steady hand around the back of his nape, forcing the idiot firmly into the floor.
He watched her heave for breath as well, watched the trickle of blood that started running from her nose.
"Stay down," she bit out in a clear voice, extra force in the hand around the neck.
/In situ/
"You gonna bleed out or what?"
There was a steady flow of blood running from her nose, already smeared onto her lips, her hands in front of her not doing much to contain the blood.
"Are you?" she hissed at him, her voice muffled from behind her palms, "Or are you just going to faint again?"
The idiot had hit him right on his right temple, along his eyebrow splitting the skin. He could feel the wet feel of blood, even more certain when his fingers came away red. Andy scowled, "I got the wind knocked out of me."
Her head tilted, a condescending snarl to her lips, "If you say so."
"Whatever," he snarled back.
Other officers had subdued their guy, handcuffed him and brought him along to an interview room. Well out of his hair, Andy thought – if only the same could be said for this auburn-haired hissy-fit. He watched her shake her head from side to side in a little show of irritation.
"If you've let me book the guy none of this would have happened."
"Yes, sergeant Flynn, it's obviously my fault. I see why your deductive skills are so widely held in regard."
"I've got skills alright, missy, don't you worry about that."
Her eyes became clouded.
He could not help but smile at her, knowing his smile would be condescending. He pointed in the direction of their restroom, outside in the hallway, "Toilet's that way."
She arched an eyebrow.
"You've got blood all over your pretty face, darling," he showed his teeth again.
Her upper lip curled in slight derision, "You better join then, you look grotesque yourself, sergeant."
Curiously, he followed her to the restroom.
He did indeed look grotesque in the mirror, the red blood on the brunette's face matching quite nicely with the trickle of blood from his own eyebrow.
"Don't we make a pair," he commented, catching her eye in the mirror.
He swathed the blood away with a tissue, watching as she tenderly tried to feel her nose.
"Is it broken?" It was more out of curiosity than concern he asked; more out of a strange yearning for it to pain her as much as his temple throbbed.
She grimaced, "I don't know."
He tilted his head, "May I?" he indicated her nose, flexing his fingers.
She gave a reluctant nod, lips tight together when he approached her.
Gently he applied pressure to the back of her nose, then threaded up and followed the line of her upper eye sockets, then feeling the bones under her eyes. She grimaced again but refrained from articulating her pain.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not much."
"It's probably fine."
"Why thank you, doctor."
He rolled his eyes.
/Post/
The next moment her lips were firmly placed on his, two small hands on either side of his jaw, cupping and nails digging into the underside of his jaw as she pulled him closer. Lips that seemed intent on being almost bruising, the faint taste of metal as he kissed her back. He did not mind, frankly, he only felt spurred on by the weak taste of blood on her lips, felt pushed into this with more aggression, his own hands fitting on her throat and the back of her nape, buried into the auburn hair.
Their noses bumped into each other and she bit down hard on his bottom lip, a little sound high in her throat, a mix of pain and something else.
They both let up for air, the sound of his breath perturbed and hers a little more even.
Her eyes were still dark and her smile was still too smug, too condescending.
It had been a bit presumptuous of her to kiss him he thought with a thrill, a bit arrogant. He did not mind; it suited her.
She turned away from him. She wet her lips, and then proceeded to wash away the remaining blood on her lips with a towel from the dispenser.
"How's the nose?" he grinned, his eyes finding hers in the mirror again.
"How's the head?" she countered back with a likewise show of teeth.
"Just fine, nothing gets past my thick skull." He gently patted his own head.
She laughed, eyes crinkled, "Thick-headed, I'd have to agree."
…
=)