/ECOTONE/
Disclaimer: MC and its characters belong to .
Summary: In the end they flow together, integrating – meeting like the flow of water. Three small moments of insight in a budding relationship. Sharon/Andy.
A/N: Feeling shipppppyyy.
…
That feeling in your gut; in the depth of your being; visceral:
Strangely enough, Provenza was right all along. Andy was not about to enlighten the idiot on that fact however.
"Stop putting damn ideas in my head," Andy growled at the white top of Provenza's hat, the idiot managing to solve word puzzles and annoying Andy out of his mind at the same time. Multitasking, how fucking quaint.
"Oh, my friend; the ideas are already there in your head."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not the one telling you to -," the old man looked up and then with a grimace, lowered his voice, "I'm not telling you to behave like a lovesick fool, now am I? I'm trying to get all the ideas out of your goddamn head, Flynn – it's for the best."
"No, no," Andy shook his head and pointed angrily at the seated man, "You are the only one who puts ideas in my head – insane ideas okay," Andy inhaled and then imitated Provenza with his mouth downturned, "You are the one who thinks there is something wrong with going out to dinner with a friend – you are the one who thinks I had something to do with Sharon finally getting a divorce – and apparently, you think I smile too much; whatever the heck that has to do with anything, beats me - ,"
Provenza interrupted with an offhand shrug, "I am merely pointing out the peculiarities of your actions."
His partner's tone was too glib.
Andy shook his head and then snarked, "No, you are putting ideas in my head. You are painting it in a different way. We are friends, okay! She's my superior, Christ."
"Yes, thank you," Provenza threw his arms out in mocking glee, "So I have finally managed to beat some sense into that head of yours, huh. You should stop all those dinner dates with your superior, or whatever it is you call them."
"Fuck you," Andy said, jaw clenched.
Provenza huffed, his eyes once again on his crossword puzzle, and then the old guy nonchalantly asked, "What's another word for pompous?"
"Screw you," Andy said and walked away.
"Nah, all wrong," the idiot chuckled out behind Andy's back.
There was a distinct difference between saying something out loud and then keeping it close to your heart; a very definite line between stepping in it and shutting up.
…
One of two equal parts; moiety:
She had an odd knack for springing statements on him.
"I like breakfast."
Who didn't like breakfast?
As it turned out; Andy adored breakfast – with her.
It – whatever the heck it was – was fast turning out to be something other than simple having dinner once in awhile. Dinners entailed a lot more – they revolved around something other than simple friendship – not that friendship was not in it. Andy had nothing against breakfast – lunch – opera, whatever she wanted, he naturally wanted as well.
"I like walking on the beach."
Andy liked the beach as well; the quiet of the waves before dusk and the setting sun a tranquil background; the scent of salt and freshness; the wind that swept close to his skin.
Though least of all, had he imagined she would say something that turned his world upside down in a heartbeat; and yet it felt natural - he wanted it as well:
"I like kissing," she said softly, breathily, her mouth slightly apart as she directed a nervous gaze up at him, her bare feet in the sand making her smaller.
Who didn't like kissing?
He liked it.
No.
He loved it.
The tinge to it; the sweet taste of her lips that drew him in; the scent of her heavy like dew in the morning when he neared; the breath she took just before he closed in, hitched and warm; the way her eyes closed, eyelashes dark against her pale skin, just before his mouth touched hers; the small sound in the back of her throat, subdued when he covered her mouth.
Exquisite.
The depth of that kiss, in the setting sun, in the warm glow of a summer's eve, followed him like a shadow; on the fringe of his consciousness. It settled in her eyes; like a part of him - in the green color, warm and captivating; inviting.
Love.
Perhaps.
…
The distinct smell of rain; damp, earthy; petrichor:
Out of shadows and the downpour of rain, the cemetery shrouded in the dark, it was a surprise when out of the corner of his eye, Andy caught movement.
The ground was cold, the smell of grass and earth dense and tangy in his nostrils.
He was drenched through and in pain, cold, shivering.
It was a cold fact; some criminals held tight to their revenge; nursed it like he had used to nurse a tumbler of bourbon; lighted it on fire and kept the embers smoldering till one day, they felt it appropriate to collect. Another cold fact; Andy seemed to invite these grudges with unparalleled comparison.
Another cold fact – this one to contemplate with his face numb from lying on the uneven ground of a cemetery, his eyes dead set on the limb body next to him on the ground, the body unmoving and eyes limpid with death; the gun clenched in his hands as if it was still a life vest. The gun was a life line so much that to give it up – even now, even under the influence of what could only be either a concussion or something worse – was without question not feasible.
Andy held on as if his life depended on it.
The movement, however, drew his gaze. Out of the shadows, flickering with motion, came what turned out to be his savior.
She must have run hard for when she crouched by his side, her breath was out of sync and her hands shook.
She turned his face and the look in the depths of her eyes, the excruciating look of hope when he smiled back, imbued him with enough adrenaline to sit up.
Soaked through, rain heavily pounding down, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.
She smelled even better, her arms immediately around him, bringing him to her chest.
She smelled like raw earth caught in infinite rain.
…
=)