The problem with working Major Crimes was that even the days that looked like they were going to end on a high note could suddenly, unexpectedly and heartbreakingly wind up making her wish she'd never agreed to the transfer. Instead of leaving at 5pm after she'd wrapped the case, embarrassed the FBI, and horrified her immediate supervisor with the news that she was in a relationship with Andy Flynn, Sharon was stuck telling a young man that the sister he expected to be reunited with at the PAB was instead wrapped in plastic in the county morgue.

Sharon ushered Gus Wallace out of her office and patted his shoulder, a small, awkward measure of comfort for the boy who had just been given the news that he'd never see his sister again. She promised to meet him at the morgue in the morning for the identification, then gave him a sympathetic smile as he made his way out of the murder room.

She'd thought that finally knowing Alice's identity would give some sense of closure to the case, but having to tell Gus that his sister was dead – it just opened barely scabbed wounds and left her bleeding all over again at the pain written on his face.

God willing, he'd only have to hear news like this once in his lifetime. Her job was not nearly so kind.

"You ok?" Before she could even draw a breath and collect herself, Andy was beside her. Andy, who always seemed to know when she needed his support, even if she still hadn't quite figured out how to ask for it. He rested a hand on the base of her spine, his thumb rubbing against the ridges of her vertebrae. She was still unsure about the pace of their relationship and the lines between personal and professional he was allowed to cross, and ordinarily he'd never do something so blatant in the murder room, but she was grateful for his touch. Just this once, she'd accept the comfort he so freely gave and damn the consequences.

"Am I ok? No," she admitted. She pushed their professional boundaries even further aside to settle into him, letting her shoulder rest on his warm, broad chest. Sharon wasn't about to start engaging in PDA in her murder room, but a little bit of body contact after the day she had wasn't outside the bounds of professional conduct. She should know - she wrote the section on interpersonal relationships in the LAPD ranks herself.

"Hell of a day," he said, and she hummed in response. "You still want to get some dinner, or do you want to go home and unwind?"

"Yes," she said.

Andy's brow furrowed. "To which?"

Sharon let her hand drift along his tie, tugging at the end of the satin fabric, just enough to bring his head down close enough to hear her whispered answer. "Both."

Andy kept shooting worried glances at her as he drove up the 110. After the third sigh, her patience finally reached its end. "What?" she snapped.

"Nothing."

Great. What was supposed to be a romantic night had already been derailed by Alice's brother appearing in her murder room, and now she was spoiling for their first fight. Of all the milestones she'd hoped their relationship would check off this weekend, that was certainly not on the list.

"It's obviously something," she said, taking care to soften her voice. "You might as well let it out."

Andy's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. For a man who'd spent the bulk of his career shooting off his mouth and winding up in her office as a result, she was endlessly surprised by his ability to choose his words carefully with her. Surprised, and a little frustrated. She'd spent the last few years of her marriage censoring every word she said - the last thing she wanted was to make Andy feel he had to do the same, especially when they'd only been dating - officially, anyway - for a few weeks.

"Andy." She reached over and laid her fingers on his with just enough pressure to stop his irritating tap-tap-tapping on the wheel. "Please, just talk to me. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear, or hold it in because you think it'll upset me. Just - talk to me."

His silence was deafening, and she was about to throw up her hands and tell him to just drop her off at home and leave her to sulk. His resolve not to upset her disappeared when she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't like it. The kid, showing up with Alice's brother and leaving you to do the dirty work of telling him that she's dead. Not even giving you a heads-up. It's just kind of a dick move."

There it was, the bluntness she'd come to know and expect, if not appreciate, over the years. She fought down her irritation at his unkind, but definitely honest, appraisal of her son's motives. Truth be told, she was none too pleased with Rusty at the moment either, so she could hardly be angry with Andy for summing up her own frustrations with her well-meaning but utterly myopic son. "Heads-up or no, it was the right thing for Rusty to do, bringing him to the station. It's our job to give notifications, not his."

"I still don't like it." His fingers resumed tapping on the wheel. "Jackass," he muttered under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What?" Andy caught the flush rising on her cheeks and immedately started to backpedal. "No, no, not the kid! That guy!" He pointed to a luxury car that was cruising on the shoulder, looking for an opportunity to cut into traffic. "Although, I gotta say, if the shoe fits…"

After 20 years of learning how to navigate around Andy Flynn's temper, she should have been better at talking him down. 20 years of knowing Andy, though, had never prepared her for the full force of Andy's ire being focused on protecting her. Andy was about six seconds away from pulling some entitled executive who was most definitely not using his blinker to merge into their lane out of his car and beating the shit out of them on the shoulder of the 110, just so that he could punch somebody, and the commanding officer in Sharon Raydor should have been furious with him.

That Sharon Raydor had been left behind at the PAB for the weekend. This Sharon was touched that he'd be so angry on her behalf, even if it wasn't needed or especially welcome. Andy Flynn, her personal knight in shining armor, ready to slay dragons just to keep her day running smoothly. "It's a lousy situation for all of us. Even Rusty. You don't have to like it, you know, but you do have to respect how I choose to handle it."

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll respect it. But I still don't like it."

"Honey, you don't like anything."

She'd never called him honey before, and the term of endearment melted the glare on his face into something softer, warmer. "I like you."

"Just me?" she asked, unable to hide her own silly grin at his surprisingly tender words.

Andy gestured at the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 110. "At the moment, just you."

Before he could resume drumming on the steering wheel, she pulled his hand into her lap and laced her fingers through his. "I like you too," she said, punctuating her soft admission with a squeeze.

"Just me?"

"Well, not just you."

He grunted in reply, so she softened her response. "Not just you, but at the moment...you're definitely at the top of the list."

Traffic opened up enough for Andy to ease into the exit lane for the 5, and he relaxed as he merged into the flow of cars going something that approached the speed limit. "Well," he said, his smug grin back in place, "just as long as I get to be on top. Of the list, I mean."

"We'll discuss that later," she shot back. Andy's eyebrows shot up at her reply. Whatever he was hoping the evening would entail, she doubted he was expecting that. But they had the whole weekend off, they were officially dating as far as the LAPD was concerned, Rusty had shot her a text that he'd be out for the night working on his story with Buzz, and...since it didn't look like they'd be having their first fight, she was only too happy to have a different first with her handsome lieutenant instead.

Having Andy in her condo was hardly unusual. He'd been here to pick her up, to watch baseball and football, and to help her pick through minute details of cases that were driving her crazy late into the night. When he came in, he always toed off his shoes and placed his badge and holster on the table by the door. If Rusty was home, he laid his suit jacket on her desk and settled in the orange chair; if her son was out, he preferred to sit next to her on the couch. At first, they sat at opposite ends, but as months went by and they got more comfortable in each other's company, he'd plop down right in the middle, forcing her to settle close enough to him to feel the heat from his skin and catch the last lingering scent of aftershave as he gestured at the tv.

Tonight, when she knew that he'd be seeing more than her kitchen and living room, she was hyper-aware of every movement. She should be kicking off her own shoes and curling up next to him as they argued about ordering Mediterranean over sushi, but instead she paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again, collecting menus, pouring glasses of water, and generally making a nervous wreck of herself.

"Whatever you want is fine with me," he said, after she finally stopped her five-minute monologue on the virtues of edamame vs. hummus long enough to take a breath. "Just pick one, and for the love of God, sit down. You're making me tired just watching you."

She sat down long enough to turn on the TV and change the channel to ESPN, then was up and once again wearing out a stretch of hallway from her bedroom back to the living room as she ordered dinner.

She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. She was also, she feared, being obvious. If she didn't get a grip, and soon, Andy was going to figure out that she invited him over for more than just dinner. If he did, she'd totally lose her nerve. And send him home without ever getting to the point of inviting him over in the first place.

Sex. That was the point. It seemed like a good idea yesterday when she'd woken up from a dream about him, drenched in sweat and desperately needing a few minutes to calm down before she made her way into the kitchen to make coffee. It seemed like an even better idea when she'd asked him this morning to come over after work, but now that he was here, and they were one meal away - one very light meal away; it wouldn't do for them to pass out from a carb-and-cheese coma - from winding up naked in her bedroom, she was legitimately starting to panic.

She wasn't afraid of sex - neither in theory nor in practice. Contrary to popular beliefs held by the ranks of the LAPD and her children, Sharon was not some pristine, lonely-hearted madonna who abstained from the sins of the flesh after her husband up and left her. She didn't lie - much - didn't take the Lord's name in vain, and didn't covet, so she figured that if she committed some purely recreational sins and confessed afterward, God would forgive her for wanting to feel the warmth of another body against hers. So far, it seemed, God had turned a blind eye to the discreet dalliances she'd indulged in over the years, but Andy Flynn in her condo, watching her tv, and yelling at her about missing the bottom of the 6th inning was legitimately about to send her into a series of Hail Marys and Our Fathers. It seemed that God was finally starting to pay attention to what Sharon Raydor did when the lights were out. Whether or not He was displeased, she couldn't tell, but He was definitely sending her strong signals that He was aware.

She sure as hell didn't need that level of pressure, not now that she'd decided that it was finally time to cross that proverbial bridge. It wasn't sex in and of itself that was making her palms sweat - it was sex with Andy. It was sex with a man whose last partner she was reasonably sure had been at least 20 years younger than she. It was sex with a man who turned a kiss goodnight into a goddamn Hollywood movie. It was sex with a man who made her use the Lord's name in vain while thinking about kissing him, and it was sex with a man whom she knew, absolutely knew, wouldn't think of it as sex at all.

No, with Andy, it wouldn't be a recreational sin. It would absolutely be a violation of her marriage vows. They knew each other too well and cared about each other too much for it to be just sex. If she let him into her room, let him into her body, he wouldn't just roll off of her and throw on his clothes, he wouldn't be content to throw his clothes back on and let her push him out the door when they were done. He'd carve out a little corner for himself in her life, her home and her heart, no matter how small and cramped the space may be, and set up permanent residence.

Get a grip, Sharon. Even if he left tonight with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to talk the next morning, a part of him would still stay with her, digging into her heart when she turned out the light. If she was going to be stuck with a part of him regardless, she might as well have all of him.

"Dinner will be here in 30," she said, settling onto the couch next to him. He grunted in reply and didn't take his eyes off the game, but wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close enough that he could rest his chin on the crown of her head.

"Dodgers are creaming the Mets," he said. "This is gonna be their year."

"Didn't you say that last year?"

Andy shrugged. "What can I say? I'm an optimist."

"At least about baseball," she said, poking his side. With his free hand, he caught her index finger, then slid his own fingers down to her wrist, settling their joined hands on his stomach. He idly stroked his thumb over her pulse point. If he were paying more attention to her and less to the postgame wrap-up, he'd notice that her heart was pounding.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and his thumb stilled on her wrist. "I'm an optimist about a lot of things lately."

Maybe he was paying attention.

"If the Dodgers actually pull out a win, maybe I'll think your optimism is founded?"

"And if they don't?" he asked with a grin, playing along with her teasing.

"If they don't….maybe I'll have to find another way to make you optimistic."

Andy's hand stilled on her wrist. "Care to elaborate?"

She leaned in and kissed him, a light kiss meant to tease and promise. Just enough to get his attention. "After we eat."

Andy always ate faster than she did, but she was barely halfway through her caterpillar roll before he tossed his napkin on the table and grinned at her. "Can I clear some of this away?"

She paused, a roll suspended halfway to her mouth, and fought back a grin at her obviously eager lieutenant. "Can you wait until I'm done eating?"

"Oh, uh...sure." He took his plate to the kitchen and rinsed it, stacking it neatly in the dishwasher before coming back to clear empty sushi containers and wrappers. "Just, you know, take your time."

She wasn't the type to tease, but it had been so long since she'd been a position to have a man eager to get her clothes off that she wasn't above making the most of it. "Sit down, Andy. I have every intention of enjoying my dinner." She popped the roll in her mouth and chewed slowly, enjoying the way Andy's eyes never moved from the rise and fall of her jaw. Her tongue peeked out to lick the last remnants of eel sauce from the corner of her mouth, and he groaned just loud enough for her to hear.

"Anything worth having is worth enjoying, isn't it?"

"God, I hope so," he muttered.

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing. You just...uh...enjoy your dinner, babe. I'll be right here when you're done."

Of that, she had no doubt.

Once the table was cleared and the dishwasher was humming away, Sharon tossed her cloth into the sink to be dealt with later and snapped off the kitchen light. Andy, too tense to watch her wipe down countertops, had decamped for the couch and switched the tv back on, this time to an old Western she knew he'd seen at least fifty times. She sat on the edge of the couch, just close enough to brush his knees with hers. "Aren't you sick of this movie yet?"

Once again, he wrapped his arms around her and and pulled her close. "I hope you know by now, when I love something, I never get sick of it."

Oh. Oh. Andy pacing in her kitchen, staring at her ass while she bent over to load the dishwasher was unsettling, but not unwelcome. Andy, sitting on her couch and idly throwing out words like love...that Andy was terrifying.

Andy, sitting on her couch and holding her close, but not daring to look at her for fear that hed spooked her enough to send her running - perhaps she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

She'd faced down worse in her life than a man who was clearly head over heels for her. She ran down eight flights of stairs barefoot to have a shoot-out with a man who was threatening her son, for crying out loud; surely the thought of getting undressed in front of the man who had held her afterward and let her cry on his chest until they fell asleep on her couch shouldn't be nearly as frightening.

"Hey," she said, and he hmmmed in response, his lips teasing her hairline. "Turn off the movie."

He pulled away just far enough to hit the button on the remote, but didn't settle down against her on the couch. "Are you tired?"

"No," she said. "But I want to go to bed." She pushed herself off the couch and tugged at the hand that was still entwined with hers. "Come to bed, Andy."

She fantasized about the two of them tripping over their clothes and their feet to get to her bedroom, the first time they had sex. She imagined it being sweaty and fast and a little desperate. She didn't imagine leading him back to her room, the two of them barely looking at each other as she snapped off lights and locked the front door. She didn't imagine Andy stopping at the bathroom door and asking her if she'd like a few minutes to get ready for bed. She'd been ready for bed with this man for what felt like years, and he was worried that she hadn't washed her face?

So much for his ladies' man reputation.

She'd fantasized about surprising him with fancy lingerie, but when she finally emerged from the bathroom - because damn him, she didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with yesterday's makeup smeared all over her pillow and all over her face - she was still in her work clothes, because all her fancy lingerie was in the dresser he was leaning against.

She jerked her chin at the bathroom behind her, the overhead light casting just enough of a glow in her bedroom to see that he was still fully dressed. "Do you-"

He closed the distance between the two of them with just a few hurried steps. "Later," he murmured before he pressed his lips to hers. Heady, the feel of him against her and the gentle tease of his lips brushing against hers. Dangerous, she amended, when his tongue darted out to trace her lips. She opened her mouth - to sigh, to protest, to beg for more, she wasn't sure which - and he took advantage of her momentary lapse of composure, his tongue tracing her teeth, then teasing her own. Any illusions she had that she was in the driver's seat for the night, she let go willingly as she surrendered to his kiss.

His kiss, like everything about him, was intense, impatient. He nibbled at her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, teasing the sensitive skin with his tongue. When she tried to reciprocate, he pulled away just a bit, then swooped in again to take control. His hands swept up her sides and along her back, then his fingers dug into her hair, holding her steady against the onslaught. God, she could kiss him all night. She was tempted to do just that, but when he stopped to take a breath, she remembered...kissing wasn't the point here.

"You're incredible," he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers.

"You're not supposed to say that yet." She released the death grip she had on his jacket and let her hands snake up his chest to start tugging at his tie.

"Sharon," he said, his own hands covering hers, stopping her from working the knot of his tie free. "You wanted to go slow. And you know, it's your pace."

She tilted her chin just up enough to plant a line of kisses along his jaw, taking a second to breathe him in. "I wanted to go slow so that we could get this right. This feels right."

"God, you have no idea how right this feels," he groaned.

"So, can I-" she tugged against the fingers that were still holding hers immoble.

He let her go, only to rest his hands on her hips and pull her even closer. "By all means. Like I said, it's your pace."

"We can still go slow," she whispered.

"You keep touching me," he teased, "and I can't promise that slow is gonna be an option."

His smile fell away when she tensed in his arms. "What?"

She'd been so used to having Andy all to herself for so long that it was easy to forget that before her, his conquests had definitely been younger. Probably none of them even knew how to spell menopause. Or for that matter, lubricant. The sad truth was that no matter how much she wanted this or wanted him, there was no guarantee that her body would comply.

"Sharon? Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, it's not that. Honey, not at all. It's just that…" She'd asked him to be honest earlier; it was only fair to be honest with him, no matter how embarrassing. "I'm not 25 anymore. Going slow...it isn't exacly an option so much as a requirement." She stared intently at the knot in his tie. "I just don't want you to be disappointed if things don't happen the way you're used to."

"I don't want what I'm used to. I want what I have, right here and right now. I want to touch every little bit of you, and if it takes all night, well, I've got nowhere else I want to be."

A little giggle escaped her throat before she could stop herself. Oh, God, that was the last thing she needed, to get the church giggles in the middle of seducing Andy Flynn. "You really are smooth, you know that?"

Andy looped his fingers through hers and brought them up to his neck, pressing them into where his pulse was thudding a fast staccato. "Babe, I'm nervous as hell right now. You scare the shit out of me."

The thought of her handsome, brash lieutenant being afraid of her was enough to melt the last of her reserves. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

"Don't hold back on my account," he growled, then he was kissing her again, harder and deeper this time, driving all insecurities out of her mind to make room for the taste and feel of him.

They'd wasted far too long holding back. Tonight, everything else be damned, she was moving forward.