A/N: my teeth ache from fluff – I'm sure it has nothing to do with consuming heaps of candy and coffee ;) I hope you all enjoy.
…
/into hope/
…
She stalks his living room, the white-washed wooden floor cool against her bare feet – she sees no point in striding around in her Manolo's and barefoot she has the advance of being able to sneak around almost without sound – she smiles when he yet again manages to generate more noise in his kitchen than she had thought was necessary for merely throwing together a risotto.
It might be the second time she's here at his apartment but the first time barely counts in her mind; she had practically jumped him in his kitchen then and had for all practices and purposes only seen the dark interior of his master bedroom. This is different; there's a soft light and she's able to walk around – snooping as he will put it with a cheeky smile.
She's perusing the many pictures in black frames he has assembled on one wall, her eyes soft when they land on her lieutenant obviously much younger, hair jet black and two girls in his arms. There's something strange about seeing someone from years back when you've only known them as they are now in the present; she vaguely remembers him from back when they both started their careers in the force and she has met him a number of times in between but she was not aware of him back then like she is now. She barely paid him any attention back then – and when she did it was always in connection to an excessive force complaint. She found him a bit of an irritant back then.
She recognizes a younger looking Nicole Flynn in one picture, Andy beaming with a teenage Nicole, the requisite sour teenage. Most of the pictures feature his two girls, ranging from toddlers to teenagers to women; the other girl looks even more like her father, she thinks.
There's something curiously warm about standing in his living room, merry sounds coming from his kitchen, jazz soft throughout his apartment; he put it on the stereo for her sake she thinks. There's something delirious as well about the whole setting; he's making her dinner and she's trying to acquaint herself with his home and this bubbly feeling inside her. It's been ages since she's done any of it, ages since she's had that mutual giddy feeling to share with anyone.
She shakes her head, her smile once again silly; there's a funny picture with a black-haired Andy surrounded by a throng of likewise black-haired women, their striking familiar genetics not to miss; she reminds herself to ask about his family – she vaguely remembers him mentioning a hoard of sisters.
They've planned this thing in advance, yesterday. It still baffles her that it's actually a thing. It's technically a date, surely, and it makes her all kinds of nervous – as well as a bit overwhelmed. Second date, she thinks, if they count the wedding – but they don't; even if they had been exchanging warm silly smiles back then. The umpteenth date if they count the number of times they've been together in the whole naked bodies against each other setting, with him practically living in her home for a week.
She shakes her head with a little smile; it's still feels absurd.
She turns away from the pictures - there's really only so much snooping she can do in the living room on her own and the sounds from the kitchen beckon; she sneaks to the kitchen, standing in the frame of the wide archway. She regards the flurry of him making dinner – stirring the rice on the stove, cutting fresh parsley, grating parmesan cheese and meanwhile he's humming, a deep sound resonating. She finds him absolutely adorable – and she feels a bit self-conscious at that admonition.
She smooths down her black dress over her hips, thinking it's too snug; why she made a big deal out of dressing up she has no clue – but he's done the exact same, suit and tie. They cannot really go out and dine; the probability of meeting someone from work too high even if it's a low possibility and she feels more at ease being home with simply him. She likes the pretense of being only the two of them; it's simpler then.
He looks over his shoulder, his smile rogue, "You done snooping around?"
She shakes her head, her voice vibrating with suppressed giggles, "No."
He rolls his eyes and then with a little flick he stirs the pot, eyes still on her, gleaming. She leans against the door frame, watching. She's calm in a way she hasn't been in a while, she reflects, the threatening letters almost entirely forgotten and the absence of Rusty, she can relocate that. She wonders if he feels like she does – as if it's just the two of them in the whole existence.
There's a serenity to their interactions now, a tranquil feel about his presence that she craves; she silently approaches him, her hand on his spine, palm pressed lightly against his clothed back. She stands on tiptoe, leaning over his shoulder to look at the nearly done risotto on the stove, the creamy rice smelling absolutely delicious; she likes the fact that he can cook more than the basic necessities. There's something very intriguing about that fact.
She watches as he smiles, the scent of him up close distinct now.
"You hungry?" he asks her, an arm suddenly going around her waist and he turns around, eyes brown and warm as he regards her.
She hums, trying to contain her mirth – she feels it spread like warmth through her facial muscles though, instant broad smile already firmly in place.
He leans down and she meets him halfway, the soft yet firm kiss leaving her with the impression of further warmth, like the drowsiness that settles in after soaking in a warm bath. It continues, languid and slow, bodies turning till they are pressed into each other, front to front, and she has to tilt her head even further, almost standing on her toes. She can feel the light touch of his hands now on her hips, a caress as much as a hold.
She hums again, smiles into the kiss, breaking apart from him for a second to breathe in air and then they meet again; she could continue to stand like this forever and she thinks he agrees with that sentiment, moving closer to her, a small rumble from his throat, his hands firmer in their hold on her waist.
It's a curious concept, perception and the matter of perspective; years back and she would have laughed if not cried about the prospect of being with him like this. He's the resident hothead – quick to anger, always in trouble one way or the other, an unparalleled talent for sticking his foot in his mouth. And yet he's something else entirely; affectionate and considerate. She would never have believed him to be loyal – at least not to her and yet he is; he was the first to have her back in the squad, the first to really invite her in.
She thinks one day she'll tell him how many hours she spent on trying to come up with ways to win him over in the week before it was officially announced she was the new leader of major crimes – the many hours she spent thinking he would be an absolute unwavering thorn in her side; and he simply raised his voice once and that was it. She still remembers the utter surprise she had felt then; not in the moment but afterwards, wondering where the lieutenant from her fid files had gone to. She thinks he'll find it amusing.
"I'm hungry but I'm not really hungry," she tells him, her lips vibrating against his; she opens her eyes, catching the naked look of desire in brown eyes before she once again closes her eyes, her lips fastening together like glue with his.
His fingers play with the sides of her abdomen, soft small caresses, going around in circles that broaden their horizon and she sucks in a breath when the pads go upwards, palm against the side of her breasts. It tingles in anticipation and her owns hands leave behind the short hair at the back of his neck and she turns to the labels of his shirt, lingering on the tie.
She smiles and she feels the answering smile in his kiss.
"I want you naked," he growls and it tingles even more intensely, sprinting to her groin like heavy lead where it coalesces into heat – she really wants him to be naked as well.
She nods, not trusting her voice to generate anything but breathy whimpers.
"The risotto can be reheated," he rationalizes, lips on the corner of her mouth, small little kisses as he thinks out aloud, "and well," one of his hands leaves her body and she follows him backwards toward the stove where he turns it off, "who knows how long until we get called out to a murder – we might as well eat dessert first, huh."
She laughs, shaking her head a bit.
…
It's a strange feeling that suddenly arises in her, its depths and interpretation puzzling to her; her apartment empty and silent, devoid of his presence. She's alone. It's strange how something that has been a constant in her life for a lifetime now seems alien to her. To put it simply, she misses him – she misses him like she misses Rusty and it's a surprise to find that there are these two people in her life that she misses so much that their absences feels like voids.
She had thought she had merely filled one void with a little distraction but they are two, separate voids – it's a strange realization that washes over her when she finds that he's become a void in his own right. Nothing might have happened between them if Rusty had still been in her care and yet, in hindsight, she recognizes the small little signs that have flittered between them before now. Maybe something would have happened in the future anyway – events might just have rushed things along between them.
She sighs, her eyes flickering around the ceiling of her living room, feeling empty. Her apartment is secure and she's on alert – there's no need for police protection on her now, not when she has her gun and not when back-up is a phone call away. Yet she feels lonely in her apartment.
It bothers her that he's not here now, that he's not sitting next to her on the sofa, a hand in hers. She sent him home herself and yet she's regretting it already; it's a surprise – she likes her privacy and he's been living with her for a week now. She thought she needed just a little time for herself and now she's missing him.
She shakes her head, annoyed with herself.
She pulls her mac book onto her lap, opening it. She has some files to look through, some research. There was something in the second letter she received; the trace of nicotine. So the perpetrator – the person responsible for the letters – smokes, most likely.
She can't really concentrate on the words however, instead she wonders – for the umpteenth time – why he even agreed to go home to his own place; he was far more agreeable about it when she suggested she needed a night for herself than she had imagined. She had expected some kind of disagreement and yet he had calmly agreed, saying something about laundry and clean clothes.
There's a vague pounding behind her right eye and she knows it will burst into a full headache later on – she can already feel tension building up around her neck. She rubs her temple, going hard into the skin and around in circles.
She just needed a little time to herself to figure out everything and now she apparently needs him here to figure it out; it doesn't make sense. How can she both want him to be here and yet not?
And why, of all things, does she miss him like he's been a permanent fixture of her life for the last decade? Why, now of all times, does she ache for human contact when it's practically been five seconds since he bestowed a little kiss on her? Why, when she hasn't missed contact particularly in the last decade of her life? How can he change her life so irrevocably?
For the love of god; she might as well admit it now when she's alone and no one's here to read her thoughts or reprimand her; she obviously likes him more than she first thought. She has obviously fallen for him in a way she hasn't expected.
Maybe – just maybe – she needs to just give in to the feeling.
She shakes her head yet again, feeling utterly ridiculous.
There's no reason to hold back – not really. No reason to second guess or hesitate; not really. The flimsy excuse of being colleagues and in the same command chain; why that's an absurd excuse considering how she feels. The excuse of being a married woman; that's even worse and frankly she should really stop using Jack to avoid emotionally compromising situations.
She sighs.
And then unable to hold it in she smiles.
She's truly an idiot sometimes.
…
Her bedroom seems awfully empty as well when it's only her, the room spacious and dark and her bed too wide. She feels as if she's almost drowning in the vastness of it, unable to find a place to rest and unable to feel comfortable. She turns on her side, her head on the pillow he used only yesterday; it still carries the scent of him, masculine and soft.
She ends up lying on the side he has otherwise preoccupied, her eyes on the clock on the nightstand; it's approaching 1 am and still she feels wide awake, mulling over her life and contemplating the absurdity of everything – why she apparently needs him by her side when she practically told him to bugger off and give her a few days to herself. It's absurd.
It's so awfully absurd it makes her smile to herself – again – and then she feels embarrassed, then silly, then lonely and then even more silly; and it's a vicious circle that haunts her for another sleepless hour.
Maybe it's a good thing she tries to reason with herself; he occupies her thoughts and as such her every waking thought is not preoccupied by the reality of being in danger or the suspicion that she let Rusty down; why if she focusses solely on him there's a reason to smile.
Her room is bathed by light suddenly, the display on her phone turning on; she takes it from the nightstand and finds him calling her; her smile broadens.
"Yes," she greets him, her voice sounding more breathy than she had intended.
"I can't sleep," he admits and she finds it adorable that he admits it as the first thing. It makes it easier for her to whisper back a "Me neither."
There's a little moment of silence and she can hear him breathing over the line, something rustling.
"It's ridiculous and downright silly," he says, a long drawn out breath like a prolonged sigh.
She smiles softly, agreeing, "Yes – I don't understand it."
"Me neither."
This might be the most unintelligible phone conversation she's ever had. She turns further on her side, one cheek burrowing into the pillow that has his scent and the phone at her other side, pressed to her ear. He's breathing in a rhythm she has come to recognize; it still frightens her but at the same time she finds it to be more soothing than frightening.
"Do you mind that I called?" he asks softly and for a moment she's speechless but then she understands; he's probably hesitant since she told him she wanted some time to herself. She's just immensely glad he called; she never would have gotten up the nerve to do it herself.
She hums, "I was just thinking about you." She rolls her eyes in the dark; now that sounded absolutely horrible and too cliché.
She hears the rumble of his laughter over the phone and she chuckles with him.
"Oh really," he nudges her, his voice that low rumble she finds awfully pleasurable.
"Mm-hmm."
"Mm-hmm," he imitates her, "coincidently, I was thinking about you too."
She smiles, "I like the sound of your sleepy voice – it's both rough and soft."
He laughs again, "have anyone ever told you that you're prone to bouts of randomness when you're tired."
She hums instead of answering.
"I want to make you dinner," he says in equal randomness and his voice is serious now.
"Now?" she wonders out aloud, feeling her eyelids becoming suddenly heavy. She closes her eyes, only aware of his breaths now and the feeling of warmth she's surrounded in.
"No silly," he's wearing an impish smile now she thinks and he's most assuredly rolling his eyes, "Tomorrow or something. Whenever you feel like coming over; I'll even make something sinful for dessert."
"You want to make me dinner?" she yawns and she feels all mushy and soft.
He feigns a sigh as if he's finding her difficult, "Yeah – that's what I said."
She hums, tugging the linen more firmly around her; she wouldn't mind if he lay behind her now, arms around her and his chest pressed against her back, the warm air he would speak into her neck with. The soft little kisses he would most assuredly pepper on her neck, the way he would nuzzle his nose into the hairline just behind her ear.
"You falling asleep on me?" there's a soft edge of humor to his voice that she likes.
"Mm-hmm."
"Sooo – It's date?"
She smiles, "Yes."
There's a brief little pause and she thinks she could fall asleep to the sound of him breathing.
"You still there," he asks softly, a small tone of wonder to his voice.
"Yes," she whispers, "what are you going to make for dessert?"
He chuckles, "It's a surprise."
"That's awfully reckless of you – what if I'm allergic to your surprise?"
"Are you allergic to any food?" there's that rough, raw quality of sarcasm in his voice now and she giggles a breathy "No."
"Geez, woman," he mock-laments and she giggles again.
Another little moment of silence – and she feels something that tugs at her heart, something that's both heavy and light, something familiar and heartfelt.
"Andy?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Goodnight."
"Night," he says, voice so soft she almost misses it.
…
It takes longer than she's imagined to move from his kitchen to his bedroom; maybe it has something to do with the fact that she doesn't not want to let go of him or the kiss. Every little step they take is interspersed with a prolonged period of simply standing, kissing and hands soft on each other; it's wonder they even make it to his bedroom at all.
They stand outside his bedroom, the door ajar for what feels like an eternity, his palms warm against her cheeks and his lips soft, molding into form with hers and she feels as if he's slowly and surely melting into her skin.
"You've really got to taste the risotto though," he whispers when he lets go of her lips, hovering close to her jaw for a second before he presses a kiss to her neck, the wet imprint tickling, "and I made you brownies – you really need to taste those as well."
"I will," she breathes into his hair, her hands in the short strands again as he moves further down her throat with his lips, sucking and leaving imprints in a route to the hemline of her dress; she feels that breathless tensile feeling inside her ribcage; her chest heaving to be rid of the restraint and her breasts almost aching to be touched by his lips; touched by his hands – it doesn't really matter as long as he touches her. "I just - " she stops to inhale, "I really just want to - " his hands are on the hemline now, moving it down over her shoulders, just a fraction, a thumb on the bare patch of skin at the top of her shoulder.
She exhales. "I missed you," she ends up saying, not sure where the words come from – not sure what she had wanted to say.
His eyes smile back at her, his hands still on her body; they move at the same time, lips parting and settling into another kiss, this one more hurried than the preceding ones.
They move through the door and she likes the notion that they do not have to bother with either closing or locking the door; it's still ajar and his bedroom would have been pit black but the open door brings in a soft light and she finds this exhilarating and mysterious in its own right.
"I want you all the time," he growls, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and biting down playfully.
There's something exhilarating about him voicing out aloud exactly what he wants and exactly what he feels; it's a novel concept for her but it feels like being half drunk; that and the tone of his voice goes directly down to her center and she can feel an ache, her walls almost noticeably throbbing at the idea of him so blatantly frank.
"I want you too, naked and just – I just want to lie in bed with you," she smiles, running a hand down his clothed chest.
"You're unbelievably sexy," he grins and hooks a thumb under her dress, arching an eyebrow as he slowly draws the hem up along her thighs, "and shit, I haven't felt like this in a long time."
She briefly looks down, feeling unbearably soft and happy; there's no reason to feel apprehensive about this she knows and no reason to worry about whether or not she's falling for him; it's rather inconsequential – because reality is that she is happy with him; he's solid and supportive and affectionate.
"I feel almost constantly silly," she tells him, her mouth pressing against his throat, her fingers on the tie, "silly and happy," she laughs self-consciously at the revelation. It's not a big one but she thinks he might understand what she means.
He presses his lips to her forehead, hands soft under her chin, "I like you all silly."
She grins, throwing the tie to the ground and working on the buttons of his shirt now.
"I bet you do," she flirts back.
He leans down, lips hard against hers suddenly and his hands are now pulling her dress upwards in a hurry, bunching her expensive dress around her middle; and she doesn't care at all, quickly undoing every little button on his shirt, the garment soon following the tie to the floor.
He suddenly stops, motionless, eyes on her exposed legs.
"Damn," he mumbles and he's not kissing her anymore but instead occupied by trailing fingers along the lace of her underwear – it's a deep red and she smiles, he obviously likes the color. She's unbuckling his pants, unzipping the fly and she's in the middle of sliding his pants down his thighs before he moves again, lips catching hers.
He steps out of the pants, leaving them on the floor; she finds a place for her hands to settle, fingers just under the band of his underwear, palms flat against the curve of his back, bringing him flush up against her; "and I match," she whispers in his ear, standing on tiptoe and letting her tongue trace the shell of his ear.
He chuckles, hands grabbing her ass and bringing her groin into contact with him, making sure she can feel the impact already; she kisses his jaw, hands leaving his back and going to the front, tracing the outline of his hardness instead. She captures his lips and feels the groan tingle on her lips, feels his tongue hard against her own, lips compressed together in a more rough approach. They stumble towards the bed, half jumping onto the mattress, sharing silly laughs as they land. She rolls them around, her hands on his shoulders and she keeps him on his back – she slings one leg over him and settles atop his stomach.
She grins at him, taking hold of her dress bunched around her middle and pulling it over her head – she flings it back over her shoulder, thinking it will land next to his pants.
"Mm-hmm," he hums appreciatively, eyes on the matching bra. She rolls her eyes briefly, smiling and running her hands down his chest and up again, grinding down on his cock, her underwear feeling absolutely in the way.
He hums again, hands on her hips then and he pushes her down again. She smiles. It's been some time since she's grinded against someone with underwear on; it's another silly feeling she likes. His hands travel up, a bit chilly against her skin, creeping upwards, traversing her ribs and fingering the lace of her bra and then they slide around to her back, quickly and assuredly unclasping it. She helps him, slide her arms out of it; she watches as he throws it to join the rest of their clothe pile.
His hands instantly palms her breasts then, cupping and massaging, thumbs flicking over nipples, rolling nipples between an index finger and a thumb; eyes exclusively on them as well. She smiles to herself, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling. She leans down after a while capturing his lips, the need to kiss him overwhelming.
He flips them over, his legs tangled with hers now as the lie face to face on their sides. They still their kiss and he stares at her for a long time, an infectious smile that curves his whole expression.
She smiles back, letting her fingers traverse down across his chest, travelling down his abdomen and she goes under his underwear watching his eyes as she lets her hand slide around his cock, her grip going up and down.
His lips crash into hers again, inviting and insisting – plying her lips apart, lavishing kiss after kiss on her mouth, bringing to surface that special feeling of becoming lost in simply kissing.
She continues to pump him, exhilaration streaming through her, tension threatening to turn to hissing evaporation; his lips slide up along her cheek, biting and pulling at her earlobe, "You always so hands-on?" he asks her, voice raw and yet mirthful – flirtatious and playful.
"You're fishing," she hums, immediately catching where his train of thought is obviously going. Her thumb goes over the glans, a bit of moisture already there and she flicks her thumb back, sliding it now in a caress around the head of his cock.
He groans, "Yeah – well, how about it?"
She smiles, sliding down and cupping his balls and instead of answering she merely hums again.
He press a kiss to her lips, then "I'm curious about you – beyond curious actually. I want to know every little thing about you."
She looks up finding that brown color to be a striking dark color.
"You want to know what I'm like with other sexual partners?" she asks, her tone caught between humor and confusion; it's another goddamn new aspect with him.
He laughs, one hand sliding down her back and the other trying to push her underwear down, "Not at all – I'm curious. When was the last time you -" he waggles his eyebrows, doing a little dance with his hips.
She chuckles, "Again, you're fishing."
He agrees with a cheeky smile, "Naturally."
She rolls her eyes, "You're thinking something absolutely horrid now aren't you?" his eyes turn darker, "Enlighten me and I might tell you what you desire to know."
He shakes his head, purses his lips and then, "You've been separated twenty years or something now?"
Anyone else and she would want to hit them with something hard and blunt; she merely laughs and gives him a long look, "I haven't been celibate in twenty years if that's what you're fishing for."
He smiles wide, "I didn't think so."
"You liar!" she laughs, catching that cheeky grin of his.
"Well – you are an enigma. I never know what to expect."
She smiles, "and you?"
"Me – what about me?" he pretends to be clueless and it's a little adorable, the slight pout and lifted eyebrow.
She gently hits his arm, "Stop it," she admonishes him with a smile.
"Weeell," he starts in a drawl, "there was this chick about two years back."
She shakes her head, "Chick? What are you, twenty?"
His smile widens, "Hey, if you can call yours sexual partners, I can call mine chicks."
She rolls her eyes and then feeling mischievous, "So, what you're saying is that ever since I joined your squad you've been under a dry spell." She giggles, feeling warm and soft.
He laughs, shaking his head "You're unbelievable."
"You know it," she counters, meeting his lips again, wondering how this can feel so soft and light and mirthful; another aspect she has never expected to find with him.
The kiss turns into something much more intense, hands quite insisting her underwear fly off her in a flicker of a second and she's quite insistent his likewise fly to the end of the bed; his hands grip roughly around the back of her thighs and it's a surge of pleasure, pooling in her groin and tingling, and he's suddenly heavy on top, at her opening and guiding himself inside her in a long, hard trust. He stays inside, eyes on her and his lips descend – another kiss and she arches upwards, pressing herself to him, wanting that imprint of lips to be more vivid, more heartfelt.
"You're simply wonderful," he says; and it's a new thing – all this sweet talk in the middle of everything, even more novel because it's honest.
She answers him with another kiss, her hands holding on to his back, his skin warm.
He trusts into her, a slow pace – almost lazy she thinks.
They stay like this for a little prolonged time, engaged and enveloped by warmth and soft pleasure.
It changes suddenly, his eyes darkening and his touch more powerful; he slides out of her and then in a raspy and dark voice he whispers, "turn around."
She obeys and turns around to lie on her stomach; she feels him slide a pillow in under her stomach, feels him settle on top of her again, between her legs and sliding into her again, this time another angle and oh god, he grips the front of her thighs and trust into her again, sliding out and in with force, animation in the pace.
He's warm against her spine, snuck and delicious between her legs, keeping the same rhythm, hurried and hard; his breath humid next to her ear and hair – she arches into it, her arms flying up and landing further up the mattress.
"Shit, this is perfect," he whispers in between hurried gasps and she hums in agreement.
There's another nuance to this she thinks – it's a combination of almost pain and exquisite pleasure radiating from her center at every thrust; curling in a such a way she simply wants him to go faster – she simply wants it to continue like this.
"We have to try to bend your over a desk sometime," he nuzzles his nose into her hair and her breath hitches at the mention of that scenario; there's something exciting about him when he talks like this, when he talks about the future and their next encounter.
"You'll like that, I'm sure," she whimpers, feeling her walls throb at the next thrust, pleasure spreading through her in rapid, bouldering beams. She won't be able to come like this; and yet it's too delicious to suggest another position. She can't get a finger on her clit and it doesn't bother her at all – she pushes her ass back into him, encouraging him, feeling the way his warmth intensify against her skin, becoming slick, exertion in the breath he leaves in her hair. He's pressing his lips to her cheek and she can feel sweat on her back – and everything is simply exciting.
She can feel him speed up and she knows he's close, breath turning to more frequent pants, gasps and moans and she enjoys listening to him, enjoys the way everything seems to coil tight in her pelvis like an agglomeration of electricity simmering. The last few thrusts are without rhythm and he stills, even heavier on top of her now, warm with sweat that glues him to her and she turns her head slightly able to capture his lips with her mouth instead of her cheek; there's salt in the kiss, wet and a bit shaky she thinks.
"Give me two minutes to rest and I'm gonna make you come too," he says, voice still raspy when he lets go of the kiss. She chuckles in return.
They clean themselves, a tissue box handy on his nightstand; and then they rearrange themselves and she watches as he collapses on his back, legs haphazardly placed in a way only really men can accomplish. She scoots close to his side, head in her hand and leaning on elbow as she watches him; she splays a hand on his chest, fingers lazily tracing invisible patterns on his skin.
He opens his eyes and stares back. It's a very tender look she thinks and he's surely about to tell her something when his phone starts vibrating somewhere on the floor.
She quirks an eyebrow and he shakes his head in response, "leave it."
She's about to tell him a thing or two about not answering his phone when it starts again; he rolls his eyes but scrambles off the bed. It could be a call-out; that's the nature of their profession.
"Flynn," he growls into the phone, his eyes on her, a look of admiration, up and down her naked body; it immediately changes when the person on the other end says something, his eyes darkening and a little worried line appears around his mouth. "You're kidding. Shit, no. Just shit."
There's a pause and she wonders who it is on the other line and what they're saying.
"Sure," he says, "Yeah, I'll try to call her – maybe she'll answer. Can we send someone out? To look? Hmm."
She becomes a little worried now as well, sitting up and taking the linen with her, trying to pull it around her shoulders; she feels a little cold now and uncomfortable with being naked when something is obviously wrong.
"Yeah," he says again, eyes on her and now full of worry and apprehension, "I'll get dressed and meet you, yeah. See you."
He ends the call and then simply stares at her.
"Um," he starts, brows knitting together in uncertainty.
"Just tell me," she orders him, her tone more firm than usual but he's looking at her as if she's going to break into pieces any second now.
"I'm sorry, Sharon," he says and then he takes a deep breath, "Rusty's gone from the DA's custody."
It's as if the ground disappears from under her feet.
…
A/N: sorry, that last part was obviously not even in the remote vicinity of fluff… but I couldn't help myself. =)