This chapter is set following Raydor's investigation into Flynn's past in Old Money.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter 1

9:04 PM Sharon Raydor's House

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sharon groaned at the sound. She had just begun her Survivor marathon and really did not need another interruption; her DVR had been filling up for weeks. Reluctantly, she stood and jogged toward the door, white robe flapping behind her. She quickly glanced through the keyhole. Flynn? She leaned back against the closed door. What does he want?

He knocked again.

"Damnit," she whispered. Between the living room lights and her car parked out front, there would be no doubt in Flynn's mind that she was home. Maybe I could say I was in the shower.

"Sharon?" Now, he was pounding on the door.

Okay. Just answer it. She quickly pulled her robe closed and ran several fingers through her hair.

"Hello Lieutenant," she said in her best professional voice. "What a surprise."

"I thought you weren't home for a minute there."

"Oh, I was just…ah, upstairs. Sometimes its hard to hear the door from up there."

He nodded. "Sorry to drop by like this. I know it's late and everything." Flynn glanced down at her wardrobe. Although she continued to hold the robe closed, it did a poor job of hiding her outfit underneath. The striped pajama bottoms in various pastel colors made Andy smile. She seemed much less intimidating without the pantsuit.

"Oh, it's no problem. I wasn't really doing anything." She laughed nervously, pulling the robe tighter. "Please, come in."

Andy stepped into the foyer and Sharon shut the door behind him. She quietly slipped past and continued further into the house. He followed.

Andy did not know what exactly he had expected to find inside Sharon's home, but it wasn't this. Perhaps he had imagined something stale and uninviting. One of those new development houses with blank white walls and sleek granite counter tops, the kind that reminded him of the dollhouse his daughters played with as children. Perfect, but never fully lived in.

He had at least expected it to be clean.

Instead, the house seemed a little chaotic. Shoes littered the narrow hallway that followed the front door. Andy recognized a pair of familiar black pumps as he shuffled past the mess. Several coats were flung across a small bench sitting against the staircase wall. Three photographs hung opposite. The black and white pictures were breathtaking. Mountains, or at least, they resembled mountains. He had a hard time making out the blurry images. No. Not blurry…old. They were tinged with age. Andy found them intriguing, but there wasn't much time for pondering old photos. Sharon had already vanished around the corner.

Andy quickly followed. He had a hard time suppressing the gasp of surprise as he rounded the corner into the living room.

"Sorry for the mess," Sharon said, reaching across the couch for the remote. "I've been so busy with work and everything I just haven't had time to clean." She clicked off the television and began organizing the swarm of magazines that covered the coffee table.

"No, it's not that. It's just…that's a lot of books," he said, gesturing toward the back wall. Stretched out, behind the dark, leather couch, were a series of large book shelves, four, in all. Their intricate chestnut latticing stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Holy Shit. There must have been hundreds of books, all lined up next to each other in dozens of neat rows. Some were even piled on top of the rows. Every open inch of space filled. In all honesty, Andy found it a bit overwhelming.

"Oh yes, the books. They were my husband's."

Were?

"Do you like to read?" Sharon asked.

"Uhhh…not really," said Andy, still staring at sea of bindings. He noticed the thin layer of dust coating the shelves. "I guess I don't have the time for it."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Sharon was struggling to hold onto the large stack of magazines she had compiled as she teetered toward the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?" She dumped the copies into a large wicker basket on the floor.

"No," Andy responded, turning around. "No, I'm fine." Seconds later, as if prompted by some devious god of fate, his stomach made a low rumbling noise.

Sharon smirked. "Sit." She pointed toward a stool at the counter. It was an order not a question.

Andy sat down. He felt awkward, watching Sharon move around her kitchen, the robe she had been holding closed earlier was now hanging at her sides. He wished he hadn't come. Andy knew so little about Sharon Raydor and her life outside of work. Maybe it was supposed to stay that way. Him being here, sitting at her kitchen counter, felt like an invasion of the privacy she had tried so hard to protect. Who was he to force his way inside?

Sharon moved a stack of dirty dishes into the sink and then drifted off toward the refrigerator.

Sitting there, watching her long brown hair sway back and forth, Andy could not remember why exactly he had decided to drop by Raydor's house. Yes, he wanted to talk to her about the investigation. And yes, he had wanted to apologize, but those weren't reasons enough to prompt an at home visit. There was something more. Andy, not being the sort of man to drown in self-reflection, decided not to dwell on it.

"Hmmm…" Sharon said, peering through the open refrigerator door. She tapped her fingers against the hard metal. "How about a sandwich?"

"That's fine. Thank you."

"Ham or turkey?"

"Ham."

She leaned over and pulled out two small wrapped packages followed by a jar of mayonnaise. After setting them on the counter, she moved toward the back of the kitchen.

Ugh...whole wheat, he thought. Sharon pulled a half-eaten loaf of bread out of the cabinet.

Andy watched in silence while she assembled the sandwich and placed it in front of him.

"So," Sharon said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning against the counter. "What made you decide to…stop by?"

The tone in her voice irritated him. It seemed a tad too condescending. He chewed slowly, making her wait.

"Um…well, I guess I just wanted to…apologize."

"Apologize?" She seemed taken aback. "Apologize for what?"

"For my being an ass earlier today."

She didn't say anything. Her eyes narrowed slightly behind her dark frames. "Apology accepted." And with that, she uncrossed her arms, pushing herself away from the counter. Flynn noticed her breasts bounce slightly under her white tank top. Is she not wearing a bra? He quickly pushed the thought from his mind. Sharon began to rewrap the lunchmeat still sitting on the countertop.

"And…" he paused. "Those files…all the accusations." There was disdain in his voice. "I just wanted you to know. That's not who I am anymore. That guy…he's long gone."

Sharon was silent. She stood in front of him, meticulously folding parchment paper around the ham. "I know." It was barely more than a whisper. She opened the refrigerator again, putting the ham back in its rightful place.

A quiet settled over them. Andy couldn't help but wander what she was thinking...what she thought when she first saw him standing outside her door. Probably, wished she hadn't left the living room light on.

"You do know that I have no choice in who I investigate. I'm just following orders." Her voice had caught him off guard.

He tried hard not to choke on the sandwich. "Yeah, I know."

She nodded and moved toward the sink. The water hissed as it splashed against the knife's hard surface.

Andy continued eating. "Are those your kids?" he asked, pointing toward the picture frame leaning against the kitchen wall. A change of topic might be nice.

"Yeah," she said glancing at the photo.

"How old are they?" His words were muffled slightly.

"Jacob is 17 and Lauren is 15."

"My girls are 15."

"I didn't know you had kids."

"Yep, Amanda and Aubrey. Twins. Their mother liked the double 'A' thing," he added, rolling his eyes.

She was quiet, still focused on cleaning the knife. Finally, she shut off the water.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why did you call me?"

"What?" he sputtered, swallowing a large piece of ham.

"Why," she repeated slowly, "when you could have called anyone…Chief Johnson, Lieutenant Provenza…did you call me?"

"Oh, well…uh." He coughed slightly. Think, Andy, think. The truth was, Andy didn't know why he had called Sharon after the attack. "I guess I thought, 'Well, I just shot someone. I better get Internal Affairs down here and explain what happened before I get into any more trouble.'"

"Hmmm…" Sharon pursed her lips. Andy hated when she did that.

"And you know…the shock of it all. I guess I wasn't really thinking straight." He wished she would stop looking at him.

"Right." The word was soft. Andy couldn't tell what she was thinking. "I guess you did have an excuse…having just been stabbed and all." She smiled, glancing quickly at his left arm, which sat limply in a sling.

"Yeah, well, some may call me a hero," he waved his good arm for dramatic effect, "but, I was just doin' my job. Fighting crime, protecting the city from unwanted criminals, saving forgotten children…."

"Being stabbed by a conniving ex-con," she added jokingly. Was she flirting?

"Whatever it takes, Mam."

Sharon laughed. She has a nice laugh.

Andy wished he could think of something else to say.

"I guess I better go," he said finally, moving to stand up. "It's getting kinda late."

Sharon glanced at the clock. 9:31. "Yeah, I guess it is." It's not that late.

The stool screeched against the tile floor as Andy moved it back into place. He walked slowly toward the door, stopping briefly to look again at the three black and white photographs. Sharon followed behind him.

"I promise not to make any more unexpected visits."

"Oh, that's okay." He noticed she was holding the robe closed again. She tilted her head slightly so that her hair fell in her face. She brushed it away, tucking it carefully behind her ear. Jesus, she was beautiful. Why had he never noticed before?

Sharon put her hand on the doorknob but didn't turn it. She wished she could think of something more to say, but her mind seemed to have turned into a vast vacuum of empty space. Instead, she just stared, examining the lines and creases that journeyed across Andy's face. Several new gashes cut across the old scars, blatant markers of his recent attack. She had the overwhelming urge to trace her finger along the jagged edge. Oh my god, what is he doing?

Andy's right hand came to rest against Sharon's cheek, gently tracing her jaw line. Her face went flush and her eyes grew wide. Sharon opened her mouth in protest, but her words were silenced by the touch of Andy's lips against her own. His stubble scraped against her skin as he pushed closer. She parted her mouth slightly, deepening the contact. The sharp pressure of his hand against her cheek was almost painful now, but she didn't move. She wanted this to last. A moment later, he pulled away.

Sharon took a step back, tripping into the wall. Two of the photographs framed her head on either side. Andy noticed the redness that had crept into her cheeks and could hear the heightened pace of her shallow breaths. Gorgeous.

He moved past her and opened the door. A rush of warm wind billowed into the hall. Several leaves landed lightly on the stone threshold. "Have a nice night, Captain," he said. The door shut behind him.

Author's note: With the onset of Major Crimes, I have become increasingly interested in the possibility of a relationship between Flynn and Raydor. In Old Money, I was intrigued by the fact that Flynn called Raydor following his attack before he called any members of his division. I think this shows a certain level of trust building between the two characters, which is then jeopardized when Raydor is forced to investigate Flynn. There is definite tension, but I would like to see the characters come together despite that.