Hours
By Kadi
Rated K+
Disclaimer: It's Duff's sandbox. I just like to play in it.
A/N: Follow up for Episode 5.10 – Dead Zone. For the twin kate04us to whom I promised a fic if she got her term paper done on time. Good job luv!
After closing the blinds on the conversation that was happening in her conference room, Sharon ushered Rusty out of her office. She wanted to give Julio and Mark the privacy that they needed for what was about to transpire for the boy. Rusty was only too happy to go once he spotted Buzz, finally back from the crime scene. Sharon sighed quietly. She hoped that he would not push too hard. The interview would still be a raw experience for the other man, and with everything that had followed she hoped that her son would exhibit some consideration.
Sharon knew that she could only guide him so far, and then he would have to be responsible for his own actions. Letting go was just so hard. She wanted him to do well, and at the same time, she wanted to look out for Buzz too. Sharon shook her head as she picked up her favorite travel mug and headed down the hall with it. It was going to be another long evening, and despite the state that her nerves were in, she knew that she would need caffeine to get through it.
To describe the day as trying would be an understatement. She couldn't believe that it was only that morning that she was sitting down to breakfast with Andy and Rusty while her son attempted to bribe her into allowing him to watch Buzz's interview. Had that truly only happened some nine hours ago?
Sharon strode slowly down the hall that led to the break room while her mind pondered those thoughts. The clicking of her heels against tile echoed in her mind, much like the ticking of a clock. Nine hours. She was finding it hard to believe that was all the time that had passed since leaving the domestic sanctuary of her home. That wasn't even the length of most of their workdays. Every single day they were reminded just how quickly life could change, or end, and this was yet another reminder that the day could begin with their lives on one path, and end on a completely unrecognizable note.
Nine hours ago she was seated between two of the three most important men in her life. She had enjoyed breakfast, despite its start, and once they had moved on from the subject of Julio and Mark, she had found the morning quite enjoyable. They talked about the house they were planning to look at the next afternoon, and the place they had seen in the hills the weekend before. Sharon wanted to take another look at it. Andy wondered if that might be the one, it was the only house they had looked at so far that Sharon had wanted to take a second look at. He was cringing a little at the asking price, but if she wanted it, they would make it work. That was what he had told her. Sharon questioned sometimes if she was making the process a little too hard for both of them.
"If it's what you want."
"If you don't like it, Sharon…"
"You liked the place in Echo Park better, let's look at that one instead."
How many times had she heard these things from him, or similar? Rusty joked that now that Andy's house was sold and in escrow that he would live on her balcony if she asked him to. Her son had painted a rather comical image of the other man, standing on her balcony with a box of his belongings, in his bathrobe, in the rain, with only that broken old umbrella of Jack's that was in the laundry room that she kept forgetting to toss out with the rest of the garbage. Sharon had admonished Rusty quite severely at making jokes at Andy's expense, even as she had quietly chuckled about it.
She wasn't laughing now.
Nine hours ago she had spoken to that man about the one decision that was going to start and define the rest of their lives together. Two hours ago it had very nearly come to a violent and explosive end. Only seven hours to separate happiness and despair. Hope and desolation.
It was not only Andy that she had worried about. Sharon was taken back to those few, heart stopping, breath stealing moments after their suspects' suicide bombs had detonated. As the ache had risen in her chest, tightening her throat and closing off her ability to breathe, a flood of images had played out behind her eyes. There were any number of officers on the ground, spread out behind barriers, but it was hard to determine just how close that blast had come to those barriers.
Where was Amy? The bright, young woman that she could easily see leading her own division at some point in the future; had she settled things with Cooper? Were the two of them still at odds about their future? Suddenly Sharon felt guilty for not having inquired about that, for not knowing if that situation had been resolved or if Amy was still struggling with a choice that was going to need to be made.
Would she be sending Mike home to his wife that evening? Was she too critical of his over-zealous explanations? The man enjoyed his job. Was it really that terrible if he sometimes became a little too enthusiastic with his reports? She could hear Julio's voice in the cacophony of sound, of other officers asking for a status. He was safe in his rooftop sniper den. She would not have to explain to his mother that he had, once again, been hurt on her watch. She had promised that woman that she would keep an eye on him. It was not a very realistic thing to do, but it was not something that she had done as his Captain. It was a promise made between mothers. Sharon had done it as someone who understood what it was to be worried about the welfare of her son.
Where exactly was Lieutenant Provenza? How close was he to the blast? Did he know just how invaluable she found his experience and counsel? Had she told him that? Were those words ever spoken, or did she just assume that this information was understood between them. Would she have the opportunity to thank him for the knowledge and the guidance that she had gained from having him as her second in command? Chief Taylor had allowed her to maintain command of the operation while he had gone out with the others. Wasn't his daughter getting married this fall? His sons were both in college now, but hadn't she caught him commiserating with Andy not that long ago about the difficulties of having an only daughter that was about to be wed? Where was he in all of the chaos?
Andy.
Eight hours ago he stood with her beside her car, an arm looped loosely and lazily around her waist as he had opened her door for her. He kissed her quickly, told her that he would see her soon, and flashed that goofy, crooked smile that always made her laugh.
Ten hours ago she stood beside him in the bathroom, running through her schedule for the day and all of the things that they needed to accomplish if they were going to find any leads in the murder of poor little Mark's mother. She had been applying her makeup while he shaved, the two of them moving around each other with the practiced ease of a couple that had been living together for many years, rather than one that was only just in the first stages of making that commitment. Sharon had wanted to know if Julio had managed to get any information out of Mark, and Andy had slipped around her, a kiss dropped casually against her shoulder as he moved into the bedroom to start dressing. He told her that he would text Julio while she finished getting ready.
Sharon's steps slowed. She came to a stop in the hall outside the break room. Her head tilted. Her lips parted and she drew a quick, shallow breath. She was staring at the floor in front of her, but without really seeing the random patterns of the pale, gray tile. Her thoughts were still turned inward. Only eleven hours ago, not even half a day, she had awakened to the feather light caress of fingers tracing a path up her spine. Her eyes had fluttered open. She found Andy lying beside her, head propped in his hand. They were only minutes away from her alarm going off. He didn't look as though he had been awake for very long. His eyes were still hooded, his voice thick as he mumbled her name. She recalled thinking that it was a rather more enjoyable way to wake up than to the incessant beeping of her alarm. She had turned her face into her pillow, for just a moment, humming as she shook off the vestiges of sleep and thinking that it couldn't have really been that long since they had laid down. Then he reached for her, and she hadn't thought about anything else.
They shared her shower. He washed her hair. She had soaped his back, hands rubbing out the kinks from a night spent on a mattress that was a little too soft for him. She had promised him, again, that they would go shopping for a bed soon. She couldn't stand his mattress, it was just too hard for her, but certainly there was a middle ground and they would find it. He laughed, even as he groused at her for making him sound like some dotty old man. "You are a dotty old man." She had paid for that comment, and they had both paid for the ruckus it caused, as their laughter had risen to a level that had Rusty banging on the bathroom door and reminding them that he could hear them for crying out loud!
They snickered at his disgust, and as they left the shower, Andy said two words that had her rolling her eyes at him. "Garage apartment." The house they had looked at in the hills had one. Rusty had liked it. He tried to get them to buy it on the spot. Later, over breakfast, she told him that maybe they should look at it again.
There was nothing at all unusual about their morning. They often shared such moments together. Was she taking it for granted? Was she taking him for granted?
Sharon went through every memory she had of that morning, from the moment that her eyes opened until they said goodbye at her car. She tried to recall all the words she said to him, and she drew another shallow breath as she came up lacking. They talked of house hunting and the case, they flirted and they played, and made plans for the evening, but her stomach clenched tightly, painfully, when she realized that they had parted that morning without anymore said between them. Sharon promised herself after his surgery that she would never allow that to happen again, that she would never again find herself questioning whether or not she had sent him into a dangerous situation without knowing how she felt about him.
She thought that she was able to push it all aside, once she was able to see for herself that all of her people were okay and accounted for, that all of the support officers on the ground were okay. Sharon believed that the ability to breathe had chased away the pain in her chest, but now she realized that she was wrong. She was catapulted back to that moment and she had no better answer now than she had two hours ago of whether or not she had told Andy that she loved him that morning. He left her in the command truck so quickly that afternoon, moving in to action just as he was meant to. His hand had touched her shoulder, she felt it slide across her back, and then he was gone. Her eyes tracked him until the door closed, and yes, while the sound of that explosion was still ringing in her ears, she had searched through the thick plumes of dark smoke until she was able to lay eyes on a familiar silver head. She had counted off on each and every one of her team, but not until she had seen him, moving, and waving SWAT toward the burning van, was she truly able to breathe again.
"Sharon."
The sound of her name had her head snapping up. Sharon blinked. Andy was staring back at her. He stood at the opposite end of the hall and a concerned frown was drawing his brows together. He took a step toward her and she exhaled quietly. She saw him only briefly once all the commotion was over with. She handed out orders, and then as op commander, she had a report to write up. There wasn't time for much more than a quick look, a second to assure themselves that they were okay.
He took another step toward her and Sharon lifted her empty travel cup. "Coffee," she said quietly.
"Ah." It wasn't often that he found her so lost in her own thoughts that she seemed either unconcerned or unaware of her surroundings. Andy walked over and opened the break room door for her. He pushed it inward and stood to one side. She seemed troubled; far more troubled than when last he saw her a couple of hours ago. Andy waited for her to step into the room before he moved into it behind her.
Sharon crossed the room and stopped in front of the coffee maker. The carafe was mostly full. It seemed fresh enough, and from the aroma, she would guess that Amy had made this pot. The younger detective preferred the richer coffee blends, something that Sharon appreciated. If she was going to drink coffee, it might as well be good coffee. She screwed the top off her travel mug, aware the entire time that Andy had followed her and stood nearby. When she lifted the carafe and it shook in her hand, her eyes closed. The actions of her body had belied the outward appearance of calm that she was attempting to portray. She had known that he would see right through her façade, but she had hoped to be a little more successful than this.
A warm hand wrapped around hers before she could lower the coffee again. Sharon drew a breath and allowed her eyes to open when she felt him move against her back. His other arm reached around her and his fingers covered hers as they both held the travel mug steady. "Hm." A small smile curved her lips. "You know, I have been managing to pour coffee for my entire adult life," she said quietly.
"Yeah. Maybe." He spoke quietly, right against her ear. "From where I'm standing, it looks like you definitely need me for that."
She hummed again. It was all that she could give him, along with the smile that was now lighting her face. Sharon leaned back, just a fraction of an inch and sighed when her head rested against his shoulder. She drew her hands back while he finished the task for her and allowed her eyes to close again. She heard the click and clang of the carafe being placed back on the burner and a moment later his hands had settled at her waist. Sharon exhaled a slow breath and let her hands cover them. She drew his arms around her, and for just a moment, she allowed herself to be content to stand there. The break room was far enough removed from their professional responsibilities that she could allow this small interlude. "Are you still coming home with me later?"
"Well," he continued to hold her. His back was to the door and the glass windows that peered into the hall. Unless someone was really looking, they wouldn't know that he was doing more than making coffee. "Some crazy lady packed up my whole kitchen and stacked a bunch of stuff in my living room, so I thought I might." He kept his voice low, turned his face inward so that his nose brushed her hair away from her ear.
"Did she?" Her fingers stroked the familiar lines of his hands. She found the chain around his wrist and toyed with it. "I can only assume that she was attempting to assist in an activity that you have been quite eager to complete, and oddly enough, procrastinating with at the same time." They had spent the weekend going through his house, deciding what he wanted to take, what he would donate to charity, and what belonged in a recycling bin. There were a few items of furniture that had been in his family for generations, heirlooms that would obviously go with him to their new home, but of the rest, he only asked for the wide-screen television that took up a good portion of the wall in his living room and the recliner. They were still negotiating the latter. The old, faded leather chair was comfortable, she wouldn't deny that, but it was never going to go with her living room set. Sharon sighed. He could have the recliner. She would make it work. The rest was just aesthetic and not at all important. It was him that she wanted. Her fingers tightened around his wrists. There were so many things that she wanted to say, but the words were stuck in her throat. This was not the place. She gave his arms a squeeze and then she drew them away from her. Sharon turned in the narrow space between the counter and his body and looked up at him. Her brows lifted, her lips parted, but she could only shake her head as her hands reached for him, one to stroke the lapel of his jacket, the other to fidget with his tie. This was the complicated dichotomy that she had chosen. She didn't want to wait, and yet, she would because opening herself up in this place was simply not who she was.
"I know." She had averted her gaze to look at his tie. Andy watched her trace the pattern with the tip of her nail. He ducked his head and caught her gaze. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. His eyes sparkled at her. "I know," he said again. They hadn't chosen the easiest path, and they hadn't gotten this far in their careers without knowing the realities of the job. He wondered for a moment whether or not he had simply made a difficult situation even worse by pursuing her. She was always unsettled when any of them were in danger. That was just Sharon, it was what made her the excellent leader that she was. In this job you could try to keep the personal and professional separated, and she did it better than most, but lines got crossed. You cared about the people that you worked with, the people that you relied on to keep you safe, those that likewise relied on you to keep them safe. It was just how it went. If you didn't give a damn about the people in uniform beside you, then you were in the wrong line of work. Then they had gone and added another complicated layer of emotional entanglement on top of it.
Andy knew that Sharon could take care of herself, but he worried. He always worried until he saw her again, and then he just wanted to hold her until the chill of those emotions were gone. It wasn't always possible. They had a job to do. However hard it was on him, he knew it had to be worse for her. She was the one sending him out there. They'd had that conversation before. As much as he might wish that he was not the reason that parts of her were being chipped away, he couldn't help but be selfish too. He couldn't walk away, not now. He tried to tell himself that if it got really difficult, if it was better for her, he'd do it. It was a lie, and probably the biggest damned lie he'd told himself in a really long time. She'd have to send him away, because he was going to hold on for as long as he was allowed. He loved her too damned much.
"Do you?" She was looking up at him now. She tugged on his tie and leaned forward just a little more. She had always believed that actions spoke much louder than words, but she was questioning that now, in the shadow of everything else that happened that day.
He leaned forward. His hands rested against her shoulders. They stroked slowly downward until his calloused fingers curled around her thin wrists. Andy turned his face into her hair and whispered a quiet, simple, "I sold my house."
Sharon looked up at him. She found his brows arched and a knowing gleam in his eyes. He tilted his head and she smiled. It was a house that he bought decades ago, with a thought toward his kids and the kind of father that he wanted to be after getting sober and maintaining his sobriety. It was not a dream realized, since the road to recovery and forgiveness was much longer and harder to travel. He hadn't given up; he wasn't selling it now out of regret. He was doing it because time didn't stop. It moved on, hours became days, and then weeks, months and years. People changed. Dreams changed. He wasn't worrying about any of the small stuff. He was focused on the bigger picture; the goal that they were moving toward, the life that they were building together. Her gaze lowered to his tie again. She stroked the length of it before resting her hand against his chest. A smile turned her lips upward, chased away the doubt in her expression. He was doing it because he loved her, and moving forward without hesitation because he knew that he was loved in return. They would talk later, but for now she was able to close the door on her earlier concerns.
Her head cocked to the side and she looked up at him again. "Garage apartment, hm?"
"Don't forget the pool." That was something that she had expressed an interest in since the very first house that they had looked at together. All of the properties that she had wrinkled her nose at and dismissed out of hand didn't have one. Andy knew Sharon; he knew that she was imagining garden parties and outdoor gatherings. He also recognized that with the light back in her eyes, she was okay again. Whatever had threatened to fell her emotionally was pushed aside, compartmentalized until she was better prepared to deal with it. They would talk later, he knew.
Her lips pursed. Sharon picked up her travel mug and carried it to the refrigerator. She added cream before screwing the top back on. "I am not giving up my couch," she warned him.
"Good thing it has a den." Andy reached for one of the plain, white mugs they kept on hand in the break room and filled it for himself. "It's okay," he continued, "we'll make sure that you have a woman cave to keep it in." He hated that sofa, it killed his back, and she knew it. He would give her a lot of leeway on many things; she could have those ugly orange chairs of hers, but he was putting his foot down about the couch. They had already discussed it, a number of times. She could only push him so far.
"Mmhm." Sharon let him open the door for her again and stepped into the hall. She had threatened him with a man cave if he insisted on bringing the recliner. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. "We'll see," was all that she said. If he was bringing the recliner, she was taking her couch, and that was all there was to it.
He knew that look. Andy's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You bet we will." Stubborn, that's what she was. His hand hovered against her lower back as they made their way toward the murder room.
"Oh, I don't bet," she remarked. "I know." Sharon heard him snort and fought the urge to laugh. Back in the murder room they found the rest of their team, with the exception of Julio, already gathered and working on their after action reports. Sharon's gaze swept the room and she nodded to herself. Julio would need more time. She would wait. She would not leave until the final report was submitted. It was going to be a long evening. Hours ahead of them and hours behind, and still here they were. All of them. Still moving ever forward.
FIN