It wasn't much more than a week after Christmas when Sharon's doctor raised her position on the transplant list for a third time. This meant her surgery loomed, waiting only for the arrival of a matching heart. After New Year's, her absence from work became obvious, and she couldn't shake the idea that she was a distraction to the team.
She called Mason before so much as mentioning the idea to Andy. Not that he deserved any say in her choice, but he could have provided some perspective, as someone who'd been at work since she'd left. Everyone in the Murder Room missed her, of course, but they were getting along just fine. Everything would've continued to be fine until she got back.
Instead, he'd come home on a Thursday night to find her in tears on the couch, still clutching her phone. The sight of her sent fear careening through him, given the topic of her last, well-deserved, breakdown. She let him pull her against his chest, hold her until she calmed enough to explain.
Sharon had told the Chief that she would be retiring, effective the following Monday.
As she'd said at the time, she didn't realize how final it would feel until she ended the call.
So, then, maybe she also hadn't realized how final it would feel to empty out her office, to remove almost every physical trace of herself from the PAB. Or maybe she did. She decided to do it on the Saturday in between, so that the removal of her belongings wouldn't (of course) distract from work on Monday. Andy and Rusty tagged along to take care of the heavy lifting.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that with Sharon's retirement, the LAPD was losing one of its most decorated officers. Name any good conduct or civic engagement medal, she earned it during the course of her career, along with near-countless awards from community groups. The plaques Andy layered into a box spoke to her immense success. So did the certificates, news clippings, commendations that Sharon scooped from her desk and into a box.
It was quick work, really. No more than an hour and eight boxes. That's all it took to pack up the six years of her tenure. With the boxes stacked and secured on a dolly, the walls bare and charmless around them, it felt too much like a blip in time.
Rusty grabbed the handles of the dolly and tipped it back onto its wheels. "I'll take these out to my car and get them home."
Sharon gave him a short grin. "Thank you, honey." Once he was through the office, she turned to the window. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, arching her back just slightly as she took in the view.
How many times had Andy watched her do this, over the years? From his chair, he'd catch sight of her in this pose, every now and then. Sharon Raydor, surveying her domain. He'd watched first out of curiosity, eventually with hints of desire mixed in, and ultimately because it was adorable.
Now, given the circumstances, he felt like the voyeur he'd been all that time.
"Do you want a minute?" He asked.
Without looking his way, she said, "Alone?" Then, on a sigh, "No." She held her hand out, a silent invitation for him to join her in her reflection.
It was an offer he couldn't refuse. Coming to stand behind her, he grasped her outstretched hand, bringing his other arm around her. She relaxed against his chest. Outside, the sky pinkened toward sunset and cars flowed up and down the street. A stiff breeze rustled through the palm trees planted in the park across the way.
After a moment of watching the world go by, she said, "I've always loved the view in here."
"It is excellent."
"Much better than my old office down on the third floor." In their reflection, he sees her lips quirk upward. "And my office in Parker Center couldn't even compare."
"It didn't even have windows, if I'm recalling my many visits there correctly."
This earned a small laugh. "You are." She went quiet again for a few long seconds. Her voice was thick when she said, "This isn't how I wanted it to end."
It broke his heart, her speaking this truth out loud. "I know."
She should've been allowed to make this choice in her own time, when she reached a point of satisfaction with her career. Maybe even after she'd received a better job offer. Then again, with Sharon, that point may have never come. He could relate to the feeling, that neverending drive, that stable voice saying you're not done yet .
But, with this, Andy was also feeling the pull of the door. Everything was about to change here and, given how well things had been going, it probably wasn't going to be for the better. If he could have done it without Sharon blaming herself, he would have submitted his retirement paperwork right along with hers.
It had a certain poetic ring, the two of them bowing out together. Sharon wouldn't have seen it that way, not when she'd been piling guilt onto her own back for weeks. And she was having a hard enough time dealing with her own retirement.
As the sky turned purple, she let out a long breath. "Okay." She squeezed his hand. "We should probably get going."
"Wait." He guided her to turn around, even as he kept her in his arms. A risky, but potentially worthwhile scenario had just popped into his head, an act that might make her last memory of this place a more positive one.
Her brow furrowed. "What?"
With one of those half-grins that she once admitted drove her crazy , he asked, "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to kiss you in this office?"
Even though her eyes rolled skyward, a smile bloomed across her face. "How long?"
Andy hadn't planned to get into specifics, beyond 'a really long time,' but he saw an opening for further distraction and took it. He let his voice drop low. "You really wanna know?"
As she cocked her head, her fingers brushed over his wedding band. "What's it going to hurt now?"
"Three, maybe four years."
As her eyes dropped from his, he would've given anything to be able to read her mind. She had to have figured out, somewhere along the line, that his infatuation — "crush" didn't even begin to cover it — with her began long before they spent an evening together at Serve. And she must have had a hunch that even after that, even after he'd spent considerable time enjoying her company in bed, his mind sometimes wandered in the vicinity of this room.
Even so, his admission sent color to her cheeks and a thoughtful hum to her lips. "That's a long time to wait." Sharon brought her palm to his cheek, her expression softening with the contact. "You better make it count."
"Yes ma'am."
Who would he have been, to disregard an order from his boss?
And on her turf, no less.
He couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face, even as he dipped his mouth to hers. Because how did this happen? Not only did he get the girl he'd daydreamt about, despite what had felt like improbable odds, but she'd agreed to be his wife. And she was clearly the best , given she was indulging his half-juvenile, vaguely Freudian fantasy in the middle of her departure from the office.
He wanted to savor every millisecond of the moment, so he left the barest hint of space between their lips, until her frustrated exhale grazed his skin. At that, he closed the distance, brushing his lips to hers once, twice. He was content to keep it as light as she wanted. Which, as it turned out, was not light at all. She brought her hands to grip his shoulders, then one slid to the nape of his neck as she parted her lips under his. He buried his hands in her hair and her teeth grazed his bottom lip as he tasted her. It was incredible and dizzying and, honestly, beyond anything he'd ever imagined.
Well, anything that he imagined while sitting at his desk , at least.
The soft moan that rose from her throat encouraged him all the more. He went chasing the sound, his mouth trailing a line along her jaw and down the side of her neck. He applied the smallest bit of suction to her pulse point and was rewarded with a gasp and a breathy, "Oh."
But then, within a second, Sharon's voice went full and urgent. "Andy."
A bolt of panic shot through him, a certainty that he'd pushed too far, that even this much contact was testing her heart. When he pulled back to ask what was wrong, she was flushed and half-breathless. But her eyes were fixed on the partially open door. "There's someone out there."
And this conventional type of disaster, this exact outcome, is why they'd never crossed the line before. Even on a Saturday. Even after everyone knew they were together. Of course .
Taking a steadying breath to smooth his pulse, Andy ran his hands over her hair, trying to ease the strands back into some kind of order. She wiped at his mouth, no doubt removing traces of her lipstick.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
The corner of her mouth quirked up as she stepped around him, taking his hand as she went. "Don't be."
When she pulled the door fully open, it was to find Provenza standing behind his chair, leaning against its back. His widened eyes and pursed lips said he'd peeked inside Sharon's office within the last few minutes. It was enough to make Andy glance at his shoes. Busted.
Sharon cleared her throat, no doubt having the same thought. "Lieutenant, what are you—" she broke off when she saw the rest of the squad, dressed for the weekend, gathered near Mike's desk. Her hand tightened around Andy's. "What's—" She turned to him with a raised brow. "What's going on?"
He shrugged. "This is all Provenza."
And, because of that, it was hard to tell what, exactly, was going on. His partner had called as he and Rusty gathered empty boxes from around the condo for the trip to PAB. Provenza hadn't had to work very hard to pull the truth of the situation out of Andy. But he hadn't said anything to hint that he would show up .
The man in question cleared his throat and straightened his back, holding his hands out at his sides. "With all due respect, Commander, you didn't think we could just let you walk out the door without saying goodbye, did you?"
Mike leaned forward from his perch on the desk. "Especially given your sense of occasion."
"Which we've all benefited from over the years," Amy added.
"I…" Sharon trailed off, flustered by the appearance of her team. "I think I was hoping to get," she gestured toward her office, " this part out of the way first, then let you all know on Monday."
Julio grimaced. "How're we supposed to celebrate on a Monday morning, ma'am?"
The guy had a point. But, from where they stood, any levity was broken as soon as Provenza opened his mouth, "Oh, I think the celebration already started ."
Andy fired a glare in his direction, but it was Sharon who shut him down with a sharp, "Yes, thank you , Lieutenant."
"We were fine with waiting, really." Wes said, with an respectable lack of discomfort.
Buzz followed that train of thought, "Nothing we haven't seen before."
Andy winced. "Wait. What?" Either Buzz had a secret hobby, or they'd been less careful than they thought.
"We were at your wedding reception, remember?"
And here they thought they'd been sneaky by stepping out into the darkened garden at the hall. Andy let his mouth fall into an o, considering the scene. "Right."
"Okay, well, now that we've covered that …" Sharon brushed her hair away from her forehead, over her reddened cheeks. "I have news that I should really share with all of you myself."
No doubt wanting to save her the trouble of saying something the entire squad had already managed to put together, Provenza said, "Commander—"
He bit off the rest of his point when Sharon held her palm up in his direction. "Please, Lieutenant. I want to say it in my own words." He nodded, backing down.
With a reinforcing breath, she turned to the group. "I'm sure you've all figured out that I'm sick, and that the illness goes well beyond just the flu, or any lingering effects of it." She brought her hand to her chest. "The truth is, my heart is...failing."
Not even Andy had heard her sum up the situation with such frankness. The phrase, so short, but so heavy, punched yet another hole in his gut. From there, it traveled like a wave across the room. The confusion and worry of it hit her audience in the same second. Amy, in particular, looked like she was about to puke.
"So, I need a new one," Sharon continued. Somehow, she managed a grin. "New hearts don't come cheap, and they don't come easy. So, while I wait, I have to be...exceedingly gentle with the one I already have."
Her eyes traveled to the board, to the door to Electronics, to the super-cubicle, back to her team. "There is almost nowhere I'd rather be, than in this office, with all of you, contributing." Her voice broke. She clasped Andy's hand between both of hers. The contact helped to keep his own emotions in check as she said, "But, unfortunately, I've reached the point where being here, working, is a threat to my health. As hard as it is for me to admit, I'm no longer able to lead this division. And, as such," she cleared her throat, "I'm retiring from the LAPD."
A few whispered whats floated across the room. They'd expected that she'd take a leave of absence. Maybe because that's what Andy had hinted at, before he learned her plan. But they hadn't expected this. That this would be the end.
"Working with all of you has been," she shook her head, blinking against tears, "it's been the absolute highlight of my career. I've never met such a dedicated, brilliant, and honorable group. Thank you," she bowed a little, "for allowing me to be a part of it. I…" she trailed off, flattening her mouth into a line for a moment.
She glanced at Andy before continuing. "I think I speak for both of us when I say that we consider each one of you to be part of our family. And family doesn't end. Not for anything. Certainly not for this."
Andy contributed a lame, "Couldn't have said it better myself."
There was nothing more to add. This wasn't the end of Sharon being part of the squad, but it was the end of her being here. That's how it had to be.
In the ensuing quiet, Julio half-raised his hand and asked, with full gravity, "Does that mean we're still gonna have the Rams playoff party at your place?"
Leave it to Julio to ask the important questions. On a watery laugh, Sharon said, "Of course!"
"I already picked out a spot on the counter for your pulled pork, Julio," Andy pointed at him, "so don't think you're getting out of it that easily."
"Well, ma'am," Amy said, lifting a large, flat object, wrapped in blue paper, from under Mike's desk. "Before we move onto the next party, I should give you this."
The photo had been Amy's idea. Both the taking and the framing. They'd all been in uniform for Sharon's promotion ceremony with Pope, where Rusty and Andy got to pin her new stars and badge to her shirt. Afterward, once Pope finished his glad-handing and awkward schmoozing, Amy corralled them together and handed her phone to Rusty.
"I have to get a shot of us looking all official in the Chief's office," she'd said with a shrug.
Much later, during Sharon's second hospital stint, Amy brought a printout of the photo, along with an oversize mat and a sleek hardwood frame, to the Murder Room. "I thought we could all sign it, for the Commander, to let her know we're thinking about her." She looked at Andy. "What do you think, Lieutenant?"
He'd said then that she'd love it. Watching her unwrap it, under these circumstances, he was even more certain. Once Sharon pulled a strip of the paper off, revealing part of the image and bits of the scrawled messages underneath, she paused. "Oh."
With her fingers hovering at her collarbones for a moment, she took a shaky breath, then continued ripping. By the time she finished, tears shone in her eyes. She steepled her fingers at her mouth, taking a minute to take in each word, humming as she went.
You are, by far, the most worthy commander I've ever known. LMP
Thanks for making us better, Commander. - J. Sanchez
Meritorious. Praiseworthy. Estimable. Honorable. Admirable. I'd say you're all of the above! Mike Tao
Thank you for seeing potential in me and for being a patient teacher when I needed it. You're the greatest mentor a lady could ask for! - Amy
Sharon - Pinning stars on your collar was my proudest moment wearing this uniform. You prove every day how much you deserve them. All my love, A
Thanks for welcoming me into this amazing team. So happy to be a part of it. Wes.
Starting my 2nd LAPD career, I'm so fortunate to have your guidance and help. You're truly an inspiration. - Buzz
"Oh my goodness," she sighed, shaky. Andy rubbed circles on her back as he traded a look with Amy. Told you so.
"I—" Sharon lifted her shoulders to her ears and let them fall again. Her voice trembled when she tried again. "I don't know what to say. This is...just…"
Amy tipped forward onto her toes, rightfully happy with the reaction to her gift. "I think you already said it."
While Sharon gathered herself, Provenza nodded at Wes, who disappeared around the corner. He came back hefting a checkerboard-sized bakery box. "Cake, anyone?"
He laid it on the Cursed Desk and flipped the lid open to reveal a chocolate-frosted layer cake, decorated with purple and white roses and a scripted Best Wishes .
"It's strawberry filled," Julio said, leaning forward.
"Oh my God," Sharon chuckled, wiping at her eyes again. "You're all too much, really."
Mike nudged her shoulder. "And how many cakes have you wheeled into this office, over the years?"
"It was supposed to be a 'good luck with your treatment' cake." Provenza gestured toward the icing. "Now it's that, and a 'good luck with everything' cake." He handed her a spatula. "Pick your slice, Commander. Any one you want."
—
Captain Neil Williams must pick up on this bond, this devotion to a leader he would never be, right away. He must sense it in the seven pairs of eyes that track him as he enters Sharon's office and starts unpacking his belongings. (The way his wood carved nameplate thuds onto the desktop might as well be a kick to Andy's gut.)
Williams maybe catches onto it with the overly diplomatic way Mason introduces him, or the silent conversations exchanged around the room as it happens. But he definitely notices it when they jump into their new case the way Sharon would have directed them to, with Provenza collecting Amy, Wes and Buzz to head with him to the scene, leaving Andy, Mike, and Julio to cover the victims at the hospital and morgue.
As they set into motion, Williams strides into the middle of the office and bellows, "Hold the fuck up!" His eyes flit around the room, loaded with steel. "I don't think I ordered anyone to go anywhere," he levels a cold stare at Provenza, "as much as I appreciate your suggestions."
"Ah, Captain, I was just on my way in to brief you." Provenza keeps his tone even, in contrast to Williams.
"Oh, well," the Captain's voice carries a hint of a taunt. "That won't be necessary, Lieutenant Provenza." He flicks his hand toward Amy. "Detective Sykes, I want you at the hospital, questioning that witness. Uhhh," as he scans the group, Williams finds Andy. He smirks. "Oh, right. Flynn. Get down to the crime scene, take—"
"Sir," Provenza's voice cuts across the word, "I usually head up the scene, which leaves the CO—"
"And I said. I. Don't. Care." Williams looks around the room again. "Is that clear? I don't give a shit about how you used to do things." He looks straight at Andy, and now the smirking and prodding feels less like a coincidence. "This is my house now."
He lets the words hang, waiting for something.
When he doesn't get it, he says, "Is this not my house, Lieutenant Flynn?"
Andy shifts his jaw. What the hell is this asshole trying to prove? What is he supposed to do, kiss the guy's ring? He hasn't been willing to do that thus far, over the wide span of his career, and he sure isn't gonna start now.
His eyes find the office door, just visible over Williams' shoulder, and as memory cuts at him, he knows what to say. "Well, sir," he offers the Captain a short nod, "your name is on the door."
Williams' mouth curls into a sneer. "Yes. It is." He must remember that there are other people in the room, because he goes back to barking out orders. "Flynn, Tao, Sanchez, Nolan, Watson, crime scene. Sykes, hospital. Provenza, I'll be at the morgue in twenty." He claps his meaty hands together at his waist. "Go!"
They set into faux-motion, gathering enough random crap off their desks to convince Williams they're leaving. As soon as his back is turned, though, all eyes point to Provenza.
With his voice low and an eye on the back office, he says, "Sykes, go to the scene. Tao, head things up there. Flynn, go to the hospital. Everyone else, do what the Captain said."
For a second, they remain still, as if measuring the danger of disregarding Williams' orders. It's Sykes, of all people, who breaks it with a nod. "Yes, sir."
With that, they head out for real. Andy hangs back, waits for the Murder Room to empty around him before stepping to Provenza's desk. "Listen, I don't want you to—"
He doesn't look up from where he's trying to glare a hole in the paperwork on his desk. "Flynn, go to the hospital."
"He's not gonna stay blind to this for long."
"I'll deal with it when it happens," he grits. "Just. Go."
