Andy Flynn

He'd followed her out onto the patio, intent on questioning her further, demanding to know why she hadn't told him about Jack. He recognized the look in her eyes, however; she was pissed and she was spoiling for a fight. He shoved his hands in his pockets, not for the first time that night feeling as if he'd made a grave misstep, and moved out of her reach as she fumed.

She wasn't ready to speak, and he wasn't going to make her; instead he turned slowly on his heel, taking in the patio, the yard, the small changes it had undergone in the years since he had been here last. He was struck with a sudden flood of memories, thoughts of the hundreds of nights he'd spent out here, sitting with Jack and Sharon. It was right after his wife left him, right after he'd quit drinking, back when he and Sharon were partners and he'd called her Ronnie and Jack had called him a friend. He'd come over on a Friday night and Jack would hide the booze and pour him a soda while Sharon put the kids to bed. He'd sit in one of the heavy wooden chairs, smoking and talking to Jack about baseball, how the girls were doing (because this was before their son was born), they'd talk about the weather or really anything but Andy's job. And then Sharon would come down and take Jack's seat while he went up and read the girls a bedtime story and Andy would talk to Sharon about baseball, or how the girls were doing, or the weather, or really anything other than their job. Those nights saved him, kept him out of the bottle, kept him sane. Sitting with Jack and Ronnie reminded Andy that there were good people in the world, people who didn't have personal lives that resembled soap opera plot lines. That was eight years ago and times had changed.

He chanced a sideways glance at her, but she was still pissed, pacing slightly, biting on her lip in that way that told him she wanted a cigarette and he knew exactly how she felt. He pulled a toothpick out of his jacket pocket, but didn't offer her one. She was still too volatile for him to risk speaking to her just yet. He took the opportunity to mull over the events of the night so far. His displeasure at the Chief's phone call waking him up, and then his complete terror at hearing her words; Captain Raydor's house…burglar in her home…his stomach had dropped through the floor. He hadn't thought about how the Chief might respond, hadn't thought about the ramifications; he'd leapt into the car, turned on the light on his dashboard and driven to Sharon's house so fast he hadn't had the time to wonder at the fact that he still remembered where it was. He never once considered she might have moved. Sharon loved that house.

He remembered that night, months ago, when Dead Bobby jumped him outside the AA meeting and beat the hell out of him. He hadn't called Sharon because she was the head of FID and would be called out there anyway since he'd fired his weapon; he'd called Sharon because his face was split and bleeding, his chest felt like it had been torn in half, he wasn't entirely certain he wasn't going to die and he didn't want to without seeing her again, without having the opportunity to apologize. And she'd come, just as fast as he had come to her tonight. He remembered the look on her face, the way she'd jumped forward to catch him when he lost his balance and almost fell out of the back of the ambulance. The last words he'd heard before completely losing consciousness were hers. He'd better wake up. She'd said it in that tone that implied there would be hell to pay if her orders weren't obeyed, as if the EMT's required an order to save a man's life.

God, was this how she'd felt? The tightness in his chest when he imagined the worst, the desperate need to see her, the sudden disappearance of eight years of enmity, replaced by fear and guilt. Had she felt all this, and not said anything? Had she said something? She had been remarkably helpful on that case. She'd bent the rules; Sharon Raydor had bent the rules for him. She'd said "hello" to Gabriel. She'd been polite to Provenza. She had even managed to almost kind of get along with the Chief.

"Don't you dare act like you're hurt I didn't tell you." Sharon spoke without warning, her words calm, measured, and stung as hard as if she'd hit him. "Don't you dare act like you still care about Jack, or about me."

"Ronnie-"

"And don't you dare call me that, Flynn, I swear to God…" her voice trailed off, too angry to keep going. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and crossed her arms so tightly across her chest Andy feared they might break.

He could sit back and wait for her to dump all her rage on him, or he could be proactive. Years of working with Sharon Raydor had taught him that the wisest course of action was usually to suck it up, and apologize, even if you weren't sure what you'd done wrong to begin with. In this particular instance, he knew exactly what he'd done wrong. It had just happened so long ago now he wasn't sure there were enough words he could say to ever make it better.

"Sharon," he started, but she kept her back resolutely turned to him. "Sharon," he said again, more forcefully, "You were my friend. He was my friend. You should have said something. It's been a whole year-"

"More like two."

He looked at her sharply, as she turned to face him. He half-expected to see tears in her eyes, but then he reminded himself ruefully that this was Sharon Raydor he was talking to.

"What?"

"Emma said it's been a year, but it's closer to two." Andy wasn't sure what kind of dance they were doing here, but he was going to keep trying, and so he did.

"What's Emma even doing here? Shouldn't she be away at college?"

"She's going to UCLA," Sharon said with a sigh as she flopped into one of the chairs. There were still police officers all over the house, the Chief and the rest of the squad inside, tying up loose ends, the Raydor children planted on the couch, but for just a few moments Andy was going to pretend it was one of those Friday nights a decade ago. He opened his mouth to ask what had possessed Emma to go to school so close to home when Sharon finished the thought.

"Jack died her last semester of high school. She was thinking about going somewhere on the East Coast, but after Jack… she wanted to stay and help me with the little ones. I can't tell you how hard I tried to talk her out of it," she added, risking a pleading glance in his direction. She needed him to understand that she hadn't kept her daughter home, that she had tried as hard as she could to encourage the girl to spread her wings.

Andy nodded. "She's as stubborn as her mother, that one."

"Don't talk about her like you know her," Sharon snapped, her mood going from pensive to waspish in an instant.

Andy went quiet, sitting in another available chair. After a moment, he decided to switch tactics.

"You recognize that guy back there?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Never seen him before in my life. But…"

"But what?" He leaned forward, trying to see her face in the dim light streaming out from the house.

"There were three cars in the driveway. The lights were on. If he'd been watching the house for any amount of time, he would have seen Emma come home; she'd only been here for about twenty minutes before it happened. What kind of burglar breaks into a house full of people? Not to mention the fact he went straight for the stairs. He ignored the TV, Emma's laptop, the damn game thing Chloe made me buy, and he went straight for the stairs." She was staring directly into his eyes now, fear in her face. "He didn't stop when I announced myself. He wasn't surprised I was a cop. He came at me."

"You think this was a targeted attack? Someone coming after you?" Andy had been thinking the exact same thing all night, from the moment Sharon had first told him her story. He'd heard her statement three or four times now, but nothing about it sat right with him.

Sharon shrugged, trying to keep the suggestion at bay. "Never seen him before, no ID in his pockets. Maybe if I hadn't…" her voice trailed off again. She kept doing that. It had been a long time, but Andy had always been able to finish her sentences, to see where she was going, and eight years of name-calling and barely controlled dislike for one another couldn't change the fact that their brains worked in an almost frighteningly similar fashion.

"You absolutely did the right thing, Ronnie. I only wish you hadn't killed him so I could do it myself."

She snorted, and shot him a smile that did its best to hide her sadness. She reached out and patted his knee, and then rose. "I should go. I need to get the kids out of this house."

He took to his feet as well, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "Where will you go?" he asked, part of him disappointed at her leaving before he had the chance to apologize, part of him grateful she had chosen not to unload all of her anger on him.

"To their abuela's house. Maria's got enough room for us. Although she nearly had a heart attack when I told her what happened. "

"I bet," Andy smiled, remembering Jack's grey-haired mother.

They turned and walked back into the house together, skirting the Chief and Provenza, and heading towards the living room. Sharon scooped her son out of Emma's arms, and held him close. "Everybody up," she said softly, "We're going to abuela's." The girls rose and made to follow her before Emma reached out and touched her mother's shoulder.

"Wait. I can't go in these clothes. I need to change," she said, plucking at the front of her short dress. Sharon nodded and headed for the stairs, making a mental list of things she needed to bring as well when she stopped short.

"I can't go upstairs, none of us can. We can't touch anything in the house until they finish the investigation."

She sounded so damn tired. That was all Andy could think, she sounds so damn tired.

"Why don't I go with her?" he suggested. "I can make sure she doesn't flush anything incriminating down the toilet."

Sharon shot a questioning glance at the Chief, who was standing in the kitchen surrounded by her squad.

"If we go quickly, she'll never notice," Andy told her with a grin.

"Alright, Emma, go with Lieutenant Flynn, but don't touch anything you don't have to. Just change your clothes, don't take anything out of your room, understand?"

Emma nodded, and headed off towards the stairs with Flynn directly behind her. They carefully sidestepped the markings on the floor that indicated where the man had been; the coroner had long since taken his corpse out of the house. She cast a sidelong glance at Andy as she climbed the stairs.

"So it's Lieutenant Flynn now? That's funny, I remember you being Uncle Andy."

Andy grinned sheepishly. "I wasn't sure you'd remember. That was a long time ago."

"Not so long," she answered. They topped the stairs, and she walked down the length of the hall, turning into her bedroom.

"Do you have to go in with me, or can I just change my clothes real quick?"

He shook his head. "You can just go in, I trust your healthy fear of your mother to keep you in line. If it takes more than five minutes, though, I'm going in."

She flashed him a trademark Raydor smile, charming and beautiful and utterly devoid of warmth, before she disappeared into her room, leaving Andy alone in the hall.

He took a moment to look around, at the walls that were the same color yellow as the rest of the house, though they bore more crayon marks and scuffs up here. He could see the doors that lead to Chloe and Lily's rooms, to the little boy's room. He was struck suddenly; he didn't know the boy's name. He had known Emma since she was little, had been Sharon's partner during each of her next two pregnancies, but he'd never seen that little boy before. He'd heard through various channels that Sharon "Wicked Witch" Raydor was pregnant four or five years ago, but he hadn't gone to see her. Hadn't congratulated her. Hadn't called Jack up to tell him it was about time they had a son. He'd chosen instead to resolutely ignore her and now he didn't know the little boy's name.

The door to Sharon's room was closed and it drew his attention next, igniting a war within himself as he tried to decide if he really wanted to open the door. What would it look like, now that Jack was gone? Would some of his things still be in there? Could Andy bear to be in the same place as Jack's belongings, the same room where the man had slept, and not be overwhelmed by his own guilt and self-hatred?

He never had a chance to find out, because Emma appeared at that moment, in sweat pants and a t-shirt, carrying a jacket. "Ok, I'm ready to go. You don't need to pat me down or anything, do you? Check for weapons?"

He shook his head and smiled, motioning for her to head out before him.