Warning: This is a story that ties into White Lies Pt. 1. If you have not watched it, do not read this. This are spoilers.
For those of you who have seen it, let me know what you think. It was written at 3 in the morning, with no beta, so all the mistakes are mine and my sleepy brains.
The first night was always the hardest. The tension ran deep in Sharon Raydor's shoulders. The anxiety set on a low simmer. The possibility of everything falling apart remained incredibly high. All of it was unavoidable, expected, and temporarily washed away by the warm shower and bed she had been pulled into.
It was in the darkness of the night that pulled it back to the surface. The quiet taunting that a friend was gone. Another one's life hanging in the balance. It was tempting to fall apart. Again.
Three seconds.
It was scary to know that he was dead when she stepped out in front of him to shoot Darnell down. While a warning shot caused his life to be lost, her shots were to do damage. Not take a life. It was point blank with no malice in her heart. She took a breath and with every shot that rang in her ears, her heart pounded.
Three seconds.
It was the knowledge that the life she one led left when the body before her dropped before she could fire another round. A smile of justified contentment smeared across his lips as his body grew slack. If anger hadn't been boiling in her veins, if shock hadn't been rattling her brain, if a single prayer hadn't reached her fingers as she hovered above him, she might have made sure she was dead. She was already changed the minute her finger hit that trigger.
Three seconds.
Before leaving the courtroom she had squeezed Andy's hand. He was her comfort. The way a simple touch to her shoulder was his comfort before he went out. FID had given her permission to linger a little bit longer. Then they had reconvened in the hallway, where they were taken out a side entrance to avoid the press. The warmth had been an anchor as she answered her questions and gave her answers. She wanted out. She was beginning to drown.
It had been Andy who had met her when she came back. He had taken her to an empty set of offices that had a bathroom at the end of the hallway. He had pressed a kiss to her cheek and then reached for a paper towel. She watched him move about the small room, wetting the paper towel, and gesturing for her to sit. She hadn't made sense of any of it. He wasn't quite sure how she got to the PAB with FID.
They had gone to court together. Andy had driven the car back to the PAB while she was off with FID. Not being near her, close to her, drove him quietly insane. His phone had begun ringing almost immediately. His children and hers. Hers were more frantic. His were more subdued. He didn't know if it should bother him, but it didn't. Sharon's quietness bothered him.
Kneeling in front of her, he offered the paper towel. He would never touch her face in times like this. He knew better. He had seen that look on so many people's faces over the years. While they had been important, they weren't her. They hadn't been family. He knew his family.
"Splash some water on your face," he said. "It'll help."
Three seconds.
Andy had come into her office after the day had come to a close. When there was nothing left to do or could wait for the next morning, Provenza called it a day. Emotionally spent were they all and weary. Provenza had gone, his wife picking him up. Julio had to stop by a store to pick up things for Mark. Amy had slunk off when Cooper arrived. Buzz and Tao had disappeared too, to go home hopefully.
The home that Andy Flynn once had was empty. The sale to come to an official close after the first of the month. Boxes had been taken to storage. Nothing remained but the walls. His home had become her home. Her home would be empty too if he didn't take her with him.
Despite it being open, Andy still had rapped his knuckles against the door. Her back was to him. She was standing with her back to her desk, her chair pushed aside, with her arms across her chest. At the knock, she looked over to see who it was. Something settled over her face at the realization that she was not alone and why.
"Where's Rusty?" Andy inquired.
Stepping up behind her, Andy settled his hands on her shoulders. He let his hands travel down and around to her front where his fingers weaved in with hers. He pulled her back and let her stiff body fall against his.
"Home," she said tiredly. "Something about making dinner."
"That sounds good," He asked and was met with silence. "C'mon."
He untangled them and just as quickly took her hand again. He had pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer where she kept it and settled it on his shoulder.
There had been no snide remarks about chivalry when he opened the passenger door and she just melted into the seat. There may have been a sigh of contentment when he reached over the console and took her hand. There weren't any either when he killed the engine in the parking space and rushed around to open her door before she had a chance. Not that she had moved to do so. She was just sitting there, still and emotionless. He took her hand and led her upstairs. Her fingers tapping against her leg.
Rusty fed them. She made small talk with the boy. One word answers here and there. He had made a valiant effort in trying to make her smile. It was difficult, even for the boy, knowing his friend was fighting for his life when someone else was gone, and his mother could have been too. Andy was just grateful to be home.
Three seconds.
The presence of warmth and love is what ultimately broke her. Still in a trance from the day's events, Andy had stripped her down into nothing. He had deposited her clothes into the hamper in the corner of the room and settled her under the spray that wasn't too hot or too cold. The hotter the better, but he didn't want to scold her. He was sure she had enough of that with her friends from FID.
He had gone in with her, washing her hair, washing her back. His hands had been on her shoulders, his thumb kneading away the knot that had formed in her right arm. In an instant she had turned and curled into him. Her forehead was against his chest and suddenly this tall woman was reduced to the size of a child. So he held her.
He held her why the sobs racked through her. While she pounded his chest with her fists. While she screamed into his chest, muffling it from Rusty who was surely in the next room. He toweled her off while she apologized. He put her hair up in one of those stupid clip things that she liked to wear when she was at home. Her hair would be in curls the next morning but he didn't care. He liked it that way.
She managed to dress herself in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt of his. She managed to crawl into bed with him and settle herself down. Not enough to fall asleep.
Three seconds.
She listened to every tick of the clock. She measured the time by groups of 3.
As she sat next up in bed, with Andy's warm breath at her hip and an arm around her legs, she thought about the morning.
One. Dr. Joe; shot once in the shoulder.
Two. Shot twice. In the chest.
Three. Shot three times; Dr. Joe, friend and colleague had to drop to the floor.
One. The taser system had to fail.
Two. Simms. Shot once in the chest.
Three. Shot twice in the chest.
One. The DA had to try and run.
Two. Shot once in the back to stop him from moving.
Three. Shot twice to kill.
One. The lawyer was never wanted, disposed of with a shot to the chest.
Two. The Judge is next. The gun is raised. The Judge, defenseless.
Three. Taylor shoots. A warning shot.
One. To the chest.
Two. Another to the chest.
Three. Russell Taylor falls.
One. Shoot to disarm. To the shoulder.
Two. Shoot again to disarm. To the shoulder. Tighter grouping.
Three. Shoot again to disarm. To the shoulder. A perfect grouping.
One. Darnell had to die.
Two. Sharon Raydor had to kill him.
She had to kill a man.
In 20 seconds, 6 people shot. Every 3 seconds.
The thought of it made her stomach churn.
She barely made it into the bathroom. Her day finally catching up with her. She dropped to her knees and emptied the contents of her stomach. The satisfied smile on Darnell's face. Russell Taylor in a body bag. Her son panicked that a friend was gone. It all made her puke.
A warm hand shocked her. Sent chills up her spine. A water cup was in her face. She shook her head and heaved again.
The idea of her being shot unsettled her stomach. The idea of Andy being shot unsettled her stomach. Her sons. Her daughter. The idea that her family was and could be in danger. It made her stomach churn.
"What time is your appointment with Behavioral Sciences?"
"Nine," she said once her stomach stopped rolling.
He had not stopped rubbing her back while she heaved. He hadn't stopped touching her since he found her in here. The bed had jostled. It woke him up. The light was bright which alerted him to something being wrong. If she got up in the middle of the night she usually waited until the door was closed to flip on the light.
"You up for it?"
Taking the water cup from nearby, she shrugged. She knew what they wanted to hear, knew what to say, she wrote the damn book. The thought of playing with the justice system, falsifying her statement made her stomach roll and she turned towards the bowl. She took a breath through her nose and spit bile into the water. The sound of the water flushing was somewhat soothing.
"Do I have any other choice?"
It was a fair question. Yet the answer was no. There was no other choice. No other solution. If she wanted to get back to work, back into the field, this is what she had to do.
"Ready to go back to bed?"
"I wasn't asleep."
"I know," Andy nodded. "C'mon."
A familiar dance they had fallen into that evening. Or early morning. She had a few hours before she knew Rusty would be pattering around. Maybe some sleep would do her good. Maybe thinking about sleeping with Andy would clear her mind.
Andy was on his feet and pulling her back to bed. He had her settle down and she rested her head on his chest.
One. Safe.
Two. Warmth.
Three. Love.
Twenty seconds of safety, warmth and love and Sharon felt the tension leave her body. Twenty seconds of the safety of Andy's arms settled her. Twenty seconds of warmth eased the ache in her soul. Twenty seconds of love filled her with hope.
As her mind began to ease and the twenty seconds became sixty seconds, and the sixty seconds turned into minutes and then hours, the one thing she couldn't shake. It took three seconds to fire a perfect grouping into someone. It took three seconds for a doctor to pronounce him dead.
And the time it took for her to find contentment with him being dead?
Three seconds.