In The Arms Of My Angel
by Kate04
in the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
- Sarah McLachlan "Angel"
A/N: This is entirely Kadi219's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely. Mostly it's James Duff's fault for giving us that cliff hanger. Anyway, my muse decided to go to a very dark and forbidden place, and it's only because of Kadi219 that it all ended well.
Despite the happy ending – and yes, it does have one – this story deserves a WARNING for character death. Just remember that not everything is as it appears to be and that it will all be fine in the end. So basically I'm asking you to trust me.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, not my toys. I just love playing with them.
Sharon Raydor thought that she knew what it felt like to lose someone close to her heart. She thought that, after watching her husband of over thirty years walk out of her life again and again, she knew what loneliness was. None of that came close to the dark abyss she was faced with when the doctors told her that Andy was gone.
She still remembered the pained expression on his face, the fear in his beautiful eyes, the small beads of sweat that stood out on his forehead, and the way his hand had clasped hers, holding on as hard as he could. She remembered the moment the warmth, the sparkling light in his gaze had started to dim, when the heat had slowly left his hands, and his face had turned pale. She recalled how the cold fist of panic had closed around her own heart as the paramedics had tried to restart Andy's, how Julio's arm felt around her shoulders as he guided her towards the elevators, following the gurney.
The antiseptic smell of the hospital waiting room was still too fresh on her mind, making her stomach turn at inconvenient moments. Whenever she heard the sound of squeaking rubber soles on the linoleum floors at the PAB, a cold shiver ran down her spine as she was brought back to the moment his doctor approached her, shoulders hunched and grim-faced.
It had been Rusty who had caught her as her knees had buckled. He had held her and let her silent tears be soaked up by his shirt. She did not remember much beyond that, apart from the emptiness. That day and the days that followed had been shrouded in a dark haze that weighed her down to the point that getting up was almost impossible.
And yet, she had done it. She had brushed away the tears, she had squared her shoulders and been the pillar of strength that their family had needed. She had risen with the sun every morning, had worked her way through mountains of paperwork, had made calls to distant friends and relatives, had made funeral arrangements, and dealt with real estate agents. She had comforted his children and his best friend, and she had spent countless hours putting on a brave front for the constant stream of visitors who wanted to make sure that she was taken care of.
The last hours of the day, when the sky slowly turned from blue to orange to purple, she spent outside on the balcony. It had always been their favorite place. How many sunsets had they watched together right there, standing at the railing, his strong arms pulling her back against his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder as he whispered loving nonsense into her ear? It would never be like that again. The beauty of that nightly spectacle was lost on her now. She was blind to the breathtaking colors. She no longer smelled the scent that was unique to that time of day. It was cold, and dark, and unbearably lonely.
She sat there every night until long after the last rays of natural light had vanished. Her thick cardigan and the woollen blanket she wrapped around her shoulders did nothing to chase away the chill that had permanently settled in her bones. She felt as if she would never be warm again.
It was even worse at night, when the bed felt cold and empty without him beside her. Andy had been her personal furnace. His arms had kept her close; they had wrapped around her slight frame and tugged her against him. Not once had he complained about her cold feet or the freezing hands she liked to slip underneath his shirt for warmth.
All that was gone now. It was just her and the oppressive silence. Gone was his heat, and the soft sound of his snores. Gone was the scent of his cologne from the pillow next to hers. Gone, too, was his unique scent from the old, faded LAPD t-shirt he had worn to bed the last night he had been with her. She had slept in it for a while, before she had reluctantly put it in the laundry.
His clothes were still in the large closet they shared. The dark green shirt was still draped over the back of the chair in the corner. It was missing a button that he had meant to fix. His reading glasses remained where he had left them the night before her world had ended, right on top of the trashy mystery novel he had been reading before she had come to bed. Sharon had not touched the nightstand on his side of the bed. She knew that there was a small notebook and a pen in the drawer, something he liked to keep on hand for when he woke up with an idea he wanted to remember in the morning. He also kept a small stack of photos of his children and step-grandchildren in there, as well as a pack of salty peanuts he thought she did not know about.
The time would come when she would have to pack up his worldly possessions, but she was not ready for that yet. For countless years Sharon had been happy to inhabit this space on her own, but those days were gone. She had decided to open her heart and her home to another, and she had expected to grow old with him. She had thought that they would retire one day and see the world, that they would watch their children and grandchildren grow and mature.
It was at night, in the unbearable silence of their bedroom, that Sharon let the tears fall. In the darkness, away from the concerned gazes of their children and friends, she allowed the despair to swallow her. She allowed the waves of grief and anguish to roll over her, to drown her until she thought she would suffocate. It was at night that she wished her pain would whisk her away from this world and into the next, that it would take her to him so that she would feel his arms around her once more, so that she would feel warm again.
Time went on without her consent, life did not stop just because hers had lost its joy. She did what she had to do, she kept going – for him, for their children. She went back to work, and she smiled for those who cared about her, even though she did not feel it. Each and every morning, she masked her broken heart and she went through the motions, but it held no meaning anymore. Her job was nothing more than a way to kill time until she could crawl into bed once again.
It was just another evening, the end of just another day in an endless row of bleak, grey days. Sharon had gotten home a while ago. She had changed out of her work clothes – the pinstripe pantsuit that Andy had loved so much – and into more comfortable clothes. She had scrubbed her face and brushed out her hair. She had prepared a cup of tea, tugged her blanket off the back of the sofa, and walked out onto the balcony. She had slipped the blanket around her shoulders and clutched her mug between both hands as she stared out into the distance. The cold breeze made her shiver despite the heat emanating from the cup in her hands and the warm layers wrapped around her body. She was used to it by now. Too many evenings like this had come and gone without the comfort of a solid body behind her.
Sharon closed her eyes against the familiar sting of the tears, her hands lowering the tea cup until it rested on the cold metal railing. Every day since Andy had left her she had spent these quiet moments between day and night reaching out towards something bigger than her. She prayed for Andy, and she prayed for the strength to make it through another lonely night, another endless day. She sent silent pleas into the void, begging for a sign, for something that would make her understand. How was it possible to live on after one's heart had been ripped out of one's chest?
She lowered her head, the thick curtain of her hair hiding the steady stream of tears from anyone who might be watching. Soundless sobs shook her shoulders and stole her breath as her fingers curled around the cup hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She swallowed hard against the anguished scream that was building inside her, clenching her teeth against the pain that had no beginning and no end. She wanted to sink to her knees and curl into a tight ball to protect herself from it, but she knew that there was no escaping it. Like so many other nights, she doubted that there was enough left inside her to keep going another mile. She had always found pride in her independence. She had never needed a man to make her life complete, but then she had found Andy, and she had wanted him to make her life complete. How was she supposed to live without him?
A gentle breeze tugged at her hair, lifting it away from her face, and caressing her cheek and neck. It was soft and warm, like a lover's touch. The sensation made her gasp and whirl around to look behind her, eyes wide and heart pounding. Her mug fell to the ground, shattering and spilling hot liquid over the tile and her bare feet. She did not even notice. Her hand covered the skin of her cheek that still tingled with the memory of a sensation that had not been real. The tiny spark of irrational hope that had flared inside her for a brief moment died down as quickly as it had appeared.
She was alone.
It happened again the next evening, and the one after that, and every evening that followed. It was the sense of someone stroking her arms, the feeling of a warm presence behind her, the faint scent of a familiar aftershave. It was a soft touch at the back of her head, almost like lips planting a kiss into her hair. It was a breeze next to her ear, warm and moist like loving words carried on a breath.
At first, it startled her, left her feeling even more bereft once she realized that it was nothing more than a trick of her imagination. After a few day she learned to accept these moments as a gift. When she stopped seeking explanations for the strange sensations, Sharon found comfort in them. For a few fleeting minutes, she could pretend that she was not alone, that he was right there with her, watching the sunset the way they had done so many times before.
At some point she had even started talking to him. She told him about her day, about Provenza and the team, about the time she had spent with Nicole and the boys in the park, about Rusty's plans to go to law school. She went through all the drama that was the competition for Russell Taylor's job, complaining to him about the pressure it put on her and the team. She confessed that, with him gone, the idea of changing positions did no longer seem so ludicrous, that their team simply was not the same anymore, and that a change might be a good idea. Sometimes she could almost hear his sarcastic comments, and it made her smile. And then she would hear his chuckle and almost feel his breath stir the hair at her temple, and she would sob because she could not lean back into his embrace, because none of it was real.
After a particularly horrible case, one that had almost ended with most of her team dying in a violent explosion, she once again sought solace in her nightly ritual. She had not felt the need to cry in a while, but as she stared into the distance and watched the slow change of colors on the horizon, the tension and fear of the day finally caught up with her. It had been nothing but luck that Julio, Amy, Mike, and Buzz had left the small warehouse at the right moment. Not even a minute later and they would have been caught in the explosion.
It was nights like these, when the harsh realities of their job were all too apparent, that she missed Andy most. He would hold her and let her think in peace until she was ready to talk. Then he would listen to her. He would offer advice and a different perspective, and most of all he would give her comfort. She longed for that so much that it was a physical pain. Her heart ached with the need to have him beside her as her body shook with grief.
"I wish you were here. I miss you so much," she whispered into the night, her voice hoarse and broken.
This time it was different. He was solid behind her as his arms slipped around her and pulled her back towards him.
"I'm right here, my love. I'm right here. You're not alone," he rasped into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
Sharon whimpered quietly as she sagged against him, her hands curling around his arms where they were crossed over her stomach. She clung to him, frightened that he would once again vanish if she let go. He kept mumbling words of love and comfort into her hair, holding on to her just as desperately. He was so warm, and the scent that surrounded her was so real. It was a mixture of traces of his body wash and his own, unique essence. It was the way he smelled at night, a little while after his evening shower, but before freshening up in the morning. She loved to snuggle against him, burrowing her face into the space where his neck met his shoulder, breathing him in.
She woke up with a gasp, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her nightgown clung to her sweaty skin, damp strands of hair sticking to her face and neck. She was shaking, and tears were running down her cheeks. Her lungs burned as she tried to breathe through the panic that had her in a tight grip.
"Hey, take it easy, sweetheart. It was just a dream. You're okay."
Andy's gentle words washed over her, slow to penetrate the lingering fog of sleep. Sharon turned around in the circle of his arms and buried her face in the soft folds of his t-shirt, her fists curling into the material. His hands drew slow, calming circles on her back, murmuring a constant stream of loving nonsense into her ear until the horrors of her dream receded enough for her to breathe more easily.
He held her for a long time, patiently waiting for her sobs to subside and some of the tension to leave her shoulders. It was not the first time in recent weeks that she had had a bad dream. She usually tried to keep it from him, but he noticed. Ever since his heart attack a few weeks earlier she had suffered from nightmares. He had had a few bad moments himself, but it had never been that bad before, for either one of them. Andy realized that it would take a while for them to get over the fear, to come to terms with the fact that neither one of them was getting any younger, and that it all could be over much sooner than they were ready for.
"You were gone," she whispered, her voice mirroring the pain and grief he saw in her wide eyes when she looked up at him. "You died, Andy. You were gone, and it felt so real. I didn't know how to go on without you." She let her forehead rest against his chest again, her tears soaking his shirt as sobs shook her entire body.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he tried to reassure her.
After a long moment, she found her voice again and continued to tell him about her dream. She shared with him the desolation she had felt, she told him about the sunset that had lost its brilliant colors, and then she talked about how she had felt his presence in the wind, how she had spoken to the evening breeze and imagined his answers.
"You were right there with me. I don't know why or what it meant, but I think maybe you were an angel," she concluded. It was difficult to make sense of all the emotions her dream had brought up. It was all still so raw, like a large wound that had only barely closed.
Andy caressed her cheek with the backs of his finger before he slid them under her chin and gently tilted her head up. His lips were soft against hers, lingering for a long moment as they breathed the same air. When he drew back just far enough so that he could look at her properly, a lopsided smile tugged at his lips, his eyes shining brightly with warmth and love.
"Maybe I just wasn't ready to leave you," he speculated. The deep, raspy tone of his voice betrayed the depth of his emotions. "No matter how long we will have together, I'll never want to be apart from you. I'll always want to be by your side, in this life or the next."
Sharon held his face between her hands, her thumbs stroking back and forth over the rough skin of his cheeks as she smiled at him through her tears. "Me, too," she whispered before she captured his mouth, pouring all the love she felt for him into the kiss. It was a wordless promise to hold on to him to the end of their lives – an beyond.
~The End~