She pushed another bobby pin in to the bun on the back of her head and reached down to buckle the thick belt hanging at her waist. Her uniform fit a little looser than the last time she'd had it on-maybe keeping up with two teenagers was beneficial after all. She liked her uniform. It was safe. It made her one of many, instead of the bitch that called everyone out. She hated it, too. Every time she wore her uniform it was for a funeral. Today would be no different. Another coffin, another flag, another gun salute. It was always the same and it never got easier, burying your friends. They were the invincible few, they protected one of the toughest cities in America. They weren't supposed to fall; they weren't supposed to die. Funerals always made her feel like a hypocrite. She hadn't seen active duty in the force since her kids were born. Putting on the uniform and honoring her fallen 'partners' felt like a sham; they weren't her partners. It was them against her, she knew that. She straightened her badge on her hip and grabbed her cap, taking one last look in the mirror before she closed her cabinet and stepped out of her office.
He couldn't help but watch her as she stood at attention, honoring his partner. She held perfectly straight; she knew what she was doing for an officer who never left her office. She held her hand against her forehead as she paid tribute, but he was focused on her eyes. There was something deep and dark in them, something troubled. Surely the fallen officer hadn't caused her this much pain. He wasn't even sure it was possible for her to care for anyone on the force; after all her entire job revolved around making them suspects, questioning then like common criminals. Use of force. Of course he'd used force. The bastards shot his partner, he was going to stop them come hell or high water. How she had the nerve to question that was beyond him. Still, there she stood, tears gleaming on her cheeks as they rolled down her face. He turned away. He couldn't bare to look at her, standing there pretending to care that he was dead.
She sat in the corner fiddling with the hem of her black dress as everyone else chatted and reminisced. She was exhausted, she didn't want to be there, but his sister had asked-demanded, really, that she attend the wake. She sipped her glass of white wine and stared at the wall, her long red hair now falling in her face. She knew no one would speak to her, especially not with the active FID case against Lieutenant Flynn. Being here was torture. She wanted to go home and cry, bury her head under her blankets and give up on life for a few days. She didn't want to face her job tomorrow. She didn't want to question Andy, she didn't want to talk about Richard. She wasn't sure she'd manage to hold it together if she had to hear his name again. She drained her glass and walked to the bar for another. Her mother would pick her up soon-she refused to let her drive herself today. For now, though, she could drown her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and ignore her fellow officers as they looked at her like she was an intruder.
It bothered him that she was there. She had no right to be there, no reason for sitting in the corner crying like she'd cared about Richard. He watched her as she spun her wine glass carefully on the table, ignoring everybody around her. Maybe he could talk to her, figure out why she was there, pretending to give a damn. Then again, talking to her had never been a pleasant experience and not really one he wanted to have today. He had just buried his best friend, his partner since he was a rookie. The last person he wanted to see was the woman who was questioning that. Richard had died honorably and Flynn had tried to defend him. Sharon Raydor stepping in to call him out was unacceptable in his head. What was worse, though, was her sitting there in that corner, crying. She'd cried since she showed up. It was obvious she was trying to hide it, but she wasn't doing that very well. Her eyes were puffy and red and her cheeks were stained with her tears. She looked beyond miserable-she looked broken. Flynn couldn't help but feel like he had missed something.
Sharon stared down at her left hand as she sat on the curb, waiting for her Mother to pull up. She simply couldn't stay in that restaurant anymore. She couldn't take one more glare from Andy Flynn. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to be going home to an empty bed, she was supposed to be going home to him, sitting up waiting for her with her kids. The day had taken its toll on her; her once pristine make up was all but washed off her face and her hair had started to curl from the moisture in the night air. She'd started the day strong and unwavering in her uniform; now here she was, reduced to tears, sitting in the gutter in her tight black dress. She knew his sister was only trying to help when she gave her the ring after Richard had been shot. Still, Sharon wished she never known he was going to ask. Somehow being his grieving girlfriend felt better than being his almost fiancée. Knowing she'd never hear him say her name again, never have to face Andy or the rest of the force to tell him they were together, never wear the ring he bought, it was all too much. She crouched lower on the curb and hugged her torso tight to her knees, wanting to disappear. Tomorrow she would have to put a brave face on and interview Andy whether she liked it or not. Tonight, though, all she had to do was miss Richard.
