This story is dedicated to my amazing friend loves_jibbs_ncis on instagram. I don't know if this is anything like what she expected, but this is what my mind managed to conjure up. Comments and PM's are appreciated, and as always, I'm not James Duff.
It had been another hard day, another extremely long and grueling case that had taken its toll on the team.
A young boy was found beaten to death in an alley, and after their investigation, the team had discovered that he was an escort. He had to pay for his mother's drug habits, along with their food and clothing.
Sharon sits down on her couch with a shiver, the similarities between this boy and her son eerily similar. She picks up a pillow and clutches it tightly against her chest, the realization sinking in that the boy they found in the alley could have easily been her son, and probably would've been, if things had gone differently.
She pushes herself up from the couch with a moan, walks to her bedroom, and dons a baggy t-shirt and flannel pajama pants before returning to the kitchen and pouring herself a generous glass of wine. If there was one thing she wanted right now, it was to be comforted, but she knew that wouldn't happen, so she settled instead for some television.
The Good Wife. Her guilty pleasure, her dirty little secret. After a particularly long day at work, or while just trying to relax, The Good Wife would illuminate her television. But tonight was different. The T.V. talked of Peter's scandal and Alicia's desperate struggle to provide for her children. She tuned it out and instead opted for yet another glass of wine.
Tonight the demons were becoming all too real as she sat alone in her living room, thinking of the boy in the alley and her 'Peter Florrick', the pain and the need to escape suddenly suffocating her, the weight of her thoughts and burdens too much to bear.
Three heavy glasses later, and all she hears is Jack. The characters on the T.V. play on, but she doesn't seem to notice, because his voice keeps booming in her head, telling her that he was a good husband and father.
"No. No you weren't." She laughs and walks towards the fridge for yet another glass of wine when her phone starts to ring.
Even in her drunken stupor, she can't help but smile at Andy's ringtone, the sound of a quacking duck.
"Andy." She sits back down on the couch with a fresh glass of wine and closes her eyes, letting out a long sigh.
"Hi. How are you doing? I know this case was rough on all of us and I, uh, I just finished at a meeting. Could you use a friend?"
"You went to a meeting?" She asks, still sounding surprisingly sober, "Didn't know you were going still."
"You've been drinking." He replies sadly and she can almost see his heart break as he says the words.
"I have. Little too much."
"I'm coming over, okay, Sharon?" He asks and she hears him open and then close the door to his condo before she can utter a word.
"You- you sure? You'll be okay? I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize Sharon." he comforts as he starts the car, "I'll see you in a little bit."
"Little bit." She shakes her head and carefully walks to the kitchen, pouring her full glass of wine down the drain.
Their relationship borders a thin line, they were more than coworkers, but less than lovers. It crossed each of their minds every day, trying to decide what to say, to determine what was really going on between them, but neither said a word, too afraid to disturb the fragile balance that had blossomed between them.
She hears a key start to turn in the lock and rises from the couch much too quickly, a hand flying to her forehead. She knew it was Andy using the spare key she had given him, but right now, she just wanted to be in his arms. She hoped he knew that it was not a time for words.
"Sharon?" He calls and opens the door, dropping his key in the bowl on the table to the side, "Shar-"
"Andy, please don't." She whispers and turns the corner to see him standing there, a look of pure worry on his face.
She says nothing more, just walks over and wraps her arms around his waist before burying her face in his chest. He holds her in his arms and squeezes her gently, trying his best to comfort his friend.
It was not the first time the two had exchanged a moment like this, it happened frequently, but not often enough to be considered unusual. A quick peck on the cheek after dinner, or a warm embrace after a difficult day. They almost expected it from one another, this strange form of intimacy almost normal for them.
"Do you want to talk?" Andy finally breaks the silence, the two of them still standing in the doorway.
"Not yet." He hears her mumble into his chest as she shakes her head. Andy begins to rub circles on her back when he feels her let out a little shiver.
"Hey now," he pulls her out of his arms and bends his knees so he can look into her eyes, "You don't need to cry."
She can't take it anymore. The worry in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch just cause her dam of emotion to burst. She doesn't mean to, but she starts to cry, really cry. She closes the gap between herself and Andy, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him so tightly it causes him to draw a breath.
"Thank you." She whispers in his ear, standing on tip-toes in the doorway, "I need you here."
"I'm here, Sharon." He whispers back as he presses his lips to the side of her head, "I'll always be here."
"I didn't mean to drink so much." She apologizes and Andy starts to loosen his grip around her waist, "Please don't let go. Not now."
"I don't expect you to apologize."
She was breaking for him, breaking in front of him, in his arms, after a difficult day at work. He knew what she was feeling, the regret that she couldn't save the boy, numbed by the ethanol coursing through her veins. He remembered the feeling all too well, and just being there with her smelling like wine nearly made him sick. But he knew what she needed, and right now she needed a friend, which he knew he was.
"You can let go now." She whispers in his ear almost ten minutes later, "My arms are starting to hurt."
"If you say so." He smiles and releases her before planting a kiss to her forehead, "Fancy some coffee?"
"Let me."
"No, Sharon," he persists, "I can hear the television in the other room. Go, I'll be there shortly."
"Thank you Andy, I-" her eyes grow wide with shock before she quickly turns and shuffles towards the living room.
He had been to her condo enough times to know how her kitchen was arranged. He rounds the corner and lets out an audible groan at the sight of it, an uncorked wine bottle. He turns on his heels and runs a hand down his face, this case had been hard on him too, so much so that he had gone to a meeting. But he wouldn't throw away nearly twelve years of sobriety over a teenage escort. He was sober, and more importantly, he was finally becoming happy.
She wants coffee, and coffee she will get, he thinks to himself as he carefully corks the wine bottle and places it back in the refrigerator before turning on the coffee pot.
Now the real question, what was she going to say? I... something. I'm glad you're here? I'm sorry I drank so much? I love you? Oh God. He sighs and rubs his temples, jumping back when the coffee pot beeps, disturbing him from his thoughts.
Now he was confused by her, something which didn't happen often, something he was intimidated by.
"Here's your coffee." He smiles and places it on the end table next to her, "Where should I sit?"
"Doesn't matter." She shrugs, pulling her feet beneath her on the couch, "Wherever you want."
"Could I sit right here and do this?" Andy asks, sitting next to her and pulling her petite figure into his lap, "If this is what I want?"
Sharon doesn't reply, she just nods, running her hand up and down Andy's chest as they sit on the couch. He drapes an arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer to him, she instinctively rests her head on his collarbone and they both smile.
"This is nice." Andy whispers, turning his head to look at her better, "I'm proud of you, Sharon."
"I don't want you to be proud of me. I've managed on my own for long enough without anyone's help. I've defended myself when I've had to, and I've never needed anyone to tell me otherwise."
"Can I, just this once?" He asks carefully as she shifts in his arms.
"You can." She smiles and presses her lips lightly against his.
She looks at him and half-smiles, waiting for some kind of reaction- anything- to show her what was hiding behind those hazel depths. He takes a deep breath and pulls her closer to him before meeting her burning lips with his, an intense passion sparking in his heart.
In that moment, he remembered what it had felt like to be drunk all those years ago. To feel nothing and everything all at once, to feel his heart beating in his chest and hear the blood pumping in his skull. As their lips and tongues tangled together, he realized what he was giving up.
He was drawn to her, always had been. He would pretend he didn't care, but that's all it was, pretend. He was an alcoholic, and always would be. He would pretend he didn't care, but all along, he had known she would be his next addiction. She was the one he would break for, the one he would always go back to even if he knew it would cost him everything. And like an alcoholic, he didn't care because for the first time in a long time, she made him feel something.