I have been absent far too long (sorry), and thought it was time to get back into Sharon's head for a while before this hiatus from hell finally ends. Unashamedly Shandy fluff. (Also, I must pay my respects to Isolith, whose writing I have been re-reading lately, which undoubtedly shows in the style of this piece. Shine on Iso)
The Slow Turning Tide
As she slowly closed her front door, lingering to watch him walk down the corridor, a smile crept upon her. He was thoroughly endearing; calmer than he had been those first few dinners. Not that they had been tense or awkward, but they were born out of her invitations with his family and had slowly evolved from there. She was pleased to note that the evolution had brought them this far. Her body still remembered when they touched. Not in a fanciful schoolgirl crush type of way, but like muscle memory – the feel of his hand on her back, guiding her; the touch of his palms on her shoulders as he settled her jacket around her; the kiss to her cheek, their usual ritual, platonic and yet intimate. Burning, yet hardly a long enough touch to matter.
She felt the urge to wipe the spot, the way one might wipe away an eyelash. Foolishly – perhaps exactly like a schoolgirl after all – she left it to tingle with the thought of him. The door closed with a tiny click and she surveyed the quiet condo. Rusty had retreated to his room, ostensibly to sleep though she suspected he was probably downloading and watching television shows. It was good she upgraded her internet to an unlimited connection, or there would be hell to pay with the boy's usage. No matter, he was holed up for the night, so she wandered to her room to start getting ready for bed. It was getting late.
As she shed her jacket and stepped out of her heels, she thought over the night, and smiled again. It was a strange feeling to be so comfortable in her own skin, even as her whole world was shifting on its axis and settling in a different rotation around the routines she had gathered around like a blanket. Such a revelation shouldn't be so easy. Yet when she realised it was love, Sharon wasn't shocked, or afraid, or even embarrassed. It felt nice – simple – to finally put a name to the comfort she felt and the ease in his presence. To finally realise why she smiled so quickly and laughed so deeply and was content to simply sit in the silence with him and enjoy being in the same orbit.
She was not so unaware of herself as to not notice the road they were travelling, step by step, dinner after dinner; family invitations one after the other until the extra dining set at the table was always hers. If anything, she knew before him, she was sure of it – before he even realised what was happening between them and noticed her longer glances and softer touches. She was not certain he had noticed it at all yet, and his obliviousness was amusing to her. He was totally unaware of his own inner motivations, which made it so much easier to accept the role of friend and confidant. She may have been bitterly let down in her longest relationship to date – not so much failed, for nothing she could have done would have made a difference to the outcome, and it was not her failure to live with but Jack's. It was not a blight on her name, on the contrary, it only proved how susceptible she was to her emotions. Even in its vicious dying breath, her marriage was a testament to her love, if only for her new son.
For his part, she had to wonder if Andy would come to the same realisation she had, or if he was still wandering around in a baffled state of confusion, his fragile role as father on one side and their undefinable relationship on the other. For all Provenza's blustering, Andy was genuinely changing. He was softening around the edges, and though she wouldn't have cast a second thought if he had, she was almost certain he hadn't been on very many dinner evenings except with her. His focus was one-track; unwavering in its devotion to rebuilding his connection to his children and his new grandchildren. It was an incomparable sight to see, and so she could forgive him his ignorance; his efforts only warmed her heart.
And she wanted to believe that one day he would notice what was between them, if only so they could acknowledge it. She had no expectations for them. Hopes, certainly, she had many of those in secret. But no expectations, and yet, his behaviour suggested, well, something. He was bashful, not cocky – different completely to the way he acted with all other women, and she wasn't sure if she should read more into that. Their personal relationship was certainly founded on friendship, and in the beginning the dinners and family functions were for support not romance. He was never trying to woo her – perhaps to impress her on occasion, in order to also impress his family. But she never felt like a prize meal or a trophy, and perhaps that was the difference. She had no expectations, but she relished the affection all the same.
It didn't make her feel uncomfortable around him, this new sense of freedom; this ability to name the slight tightening in her chest and tingle in her fingertips. She was not drunk on love – it was not the quick kind, the kind twenty-something's fall into when they scurry quickly down the aisle, with heavy intoxication and the crippling hangover to match when it was all over and done. This love burned under her skin; could easily settle into a platonic affection if that was all to be given, because to grow old as friends would serve her heart just as surely as lovers. She had always believed that the best kind of romances started as the closest friendships, and with Andy they certainly had that in spades.
Still, she did harbour hope for them. It was not right at the moment; he wasn't ready, and even if he came to this knowledge tomorrow he still wouldn't be ready. Their priorities in this moment were their children, as it should be. After all, if they did move forward one day, a short wait wouldn't make the difference. All will turn out as it is supposed to, which is how she liked to approach all uncertain paths in her life.
With a start she realised she had drifted off with a vacant look, with her blouse half unbuttoned, one finger resting on her bottom lip in contemplation. She chided herself, amused really. Like a schoolgirl indeed.
A light tap on the front door startled her, and in a rush she fixed the three buttons that needed to be done up, padding barefoot out to the foyer. A brief glance showed no movement or even a flicker of light under Rusty's door. Either he didn't hear or he didn't care to investigate. Given his recent dealings with danger this blasé attitude was a minor miracle. Her lips quirked in happiness.
She opened the door, already anticipating who was behind it. Lo and behold, there he stood, looking apologetic and slightly amused, his eyes adjusting to the subtle height difference since she lost three inches in taking off her heels. She could see him trying not to notice the blood red nail polish she liked to treat herself with, and smirked a little. He took that as permission to relax, and held up his excuse for returning.
"I figured you'd need this" he said, waving her black wallet towards her. She took it gratefully. Truthfully she hadn't even noticed it was missing, distracted and relaxed after the evening. She'd thrown it clumsily into her bag when she was in his car, hoping to aim just right for it to land inside the top. Obviously her aim was off.
"I saw it on the passenger floor. If it was an umbrella or something, I'da given it to you tomorrow, but…"
He let the sentence hang. Obviously he had deemed it important enough to return to her as soon as possible, hence was standing at her door with a smug little look that she couldn't decipher.
"Thank you" she hummed softly, giving him a smile for his efforts. He only shrugged good-naturedly, not blowing off her thanks so much as downplaying himself; it was no trouble at all to bring the wallet back, he hadn't even started the car when he saw it.
"For the record, I could've kept it and gone on a spending spree with your credit cards, but apparently the cops are on to that sort of thing"
"Yes, I know people who know people – they would track you down"
He laughed, if only because their most recent case was a join FBI task force, heavy on the cyber-tracking and Tao was completely in his element the entire time, talking about the latest in policing software and digital footprints. She grinned with him; she could be funny sometimes. Perhaps he was one of the few who knew that.
"Anyway. I'll let you go" he said, his eye just briefly flicking to her feet and back up. It was obvious she had started to decompress and change for the night, and she got the impression that he was assessing her in a strange way. Not scrutinising, really, because he was not so critical, but perhaps cataloguing. He was certainly taking notice, and it was enough to please her. Again, she was not embarrassed, but simply drawn to him; completely comfortable, and why shouldn't she be. It was her house and her feet and he was, if nothing else, a close friend.
"Thanks again, Andy. I'll see you tomorrow" Her voice intoned up a little at the end, turning her statement into a sort of question. They both knew it was a work day, but she was searching for confirmation from him. Of what, she couldn't say.
"See you in the morning" he replied. His gaze was definitely fond when it landed squarely on her, of that she was certain. He smiled in that fond way he had, something she was seeing more and more of recently, and she smiled back, her eyes flicking down then up again, always a little shy to hold eye contact too long. "Sleep tight" he said. "Bed bugs, and all that"
She chuckled and rolled her eyes a little at his attempt to end the evening. It was a strange balance between intimacy and awkwardness – 'sleep well' felt too much like thinking of bed, or of imagining each other sleeping, which was not wholly appropriate; 'see ya later' felt like a brush off after such a warm evening. They settled for little waves as he slowly backed further down the hall towards the elevator bank. Still, he didn't take his eyes off her, and if she chose to analyse his expression too closely she might have found an answer to her earlier question. He may not be ready to name it the way she was, but everything from his stance to his expression told her what he felt.
"Goodnight" she lilted softly as her lips involuntarily pursed towards him and her hand gripped the door frame like support.
"Night" he whispered back. He turned and walked away with purpose then, already several paces from her door. She was glad for it. Had he lingered any longer she might have taken it the wrong way; might have invited him in for another coffee and given herself away with the look on her face. She knew he was getting better at reading her. She was almost surprised he hadn't realised her feelings already. Then again, his total ignorance made this all the funnier to her. She had the distinct feeling that the day she told him the truth he would choke on his tongue, his eyes bulging like a cartoon.
She closed the door with finality and did not linger, walking straight back to her room and continuing to get undressed for the night. The only thing that surprised her was how calm she was over this. She remembered love being all-consuming; being unbearable at times, with sweaty palms and giggle fits and butterflies in her stomach. Almost fearful in its intensity. Perhaps this love was different, or perhaps the years had tempered her and taught her a lesson. Either way, her calm acceptance over these monumental feelings was refreshing. She smiled to herself. It would all work out, she was sure. Time would tell, and when it did, she would only look back on these funny days and grin at his ignorance. But she was also certain she would love him still. That, at least, would not change soon.