Perks
Pt 2/2

"I haven't done that in ages!" Sharon exclaimed carrying the tray of coffee paraphernalia to the den.

That little dancing stunt had paid off big time, Andy was glad to note. Surprisingly it had relaxed her and gotten her to talk without inordinate amounts of... self-consciousness. The word still sounded funny.

The same wry part of him that laughed at her semantics went back to cataloguing her mood.

'Radiant smile, easily pleased.'

'Conversation: improving.'

And, he could throw in 'Dancing skills well above par' for good measure though how that related to her state of mind was a little unclear.

His huffed laughter stopped her mid-pour and her manner turned defensive.

"It's a bit silly to dance in your living room, isn't it?"

"It's a bit silly to fake a relationship, still we are doing that too," Andy countered accepting the offered coffee.

"Are we?" Sharon questioned setting herself down on the couch beside him. With the same fluid movement she pulled her legs to curl between their bodies and took a sip of her own steaming drink.

Andy turned a little on his seat to better hold the conversation. He noted how her other hand came to rest on one bare foot and started unconsciously kneading small circles on the sole.

"I mean," she expanded, "this really is our relationship, isn't it? I'm not adding anything because of what your family might think."

"Yeah. I'm getting confused too. We are lying, but I'm not sure how."

"I haven't said or done anything I didn't mean. And I think, between us, neither should." He nodded, but the way she focused in the middle-distance made him wait for her final thoughts, "Still I know they are not reading the story I write."

"Power of words I guess. I promise to get this straight."

She smiled.

In silence, they drank their coffees and he pondered on how to get some sort of a resolution out of their situation. Being honest with himself, he liked the friendship, no matter how much as a forced one it might have started out. If 'getting things straight' meant losing her company such as it had been up to this point, straightness was over-rated. However, he hesitated to bring up that concern. Either she would be insulted by the implication that her friendship was connected to the girlfriend ruse and never talk to him again, or she would misunderstand and draw away thinking he was expecting — asking for — something else.

This was good. Having an ally in his plight was good. Hell, even talking about ballet was good. That, if nothing else, was a point for Sharon, against Provenza. Provenza was too rigid. He had his own ideas of friendships and things to do and damn if anyone dared to suggest something new. Whereas, Andy liked to think, suggest a thing to Sharon, she would be in. Or at least she would be in for a light-hearted sparring match over not doing it. Provenza would say 'no. I don't do —', whatever the idea was, and, 'you're an idiot'.

Comparing a friend against a friend was a little harsh. Nevertheless, the friendship he had with Sharon was different. Somehow.

And somehow Andy knew he would push that 'getting things straight' part of it all forward as much as he could.

Maybe that made him an ass, but he was, after all, an idiot. Plain and simple.

Accidentally he found himself confirming that by realizing he had been staring at the neckline of her shirt. A smarter man would have hidden it by slowly, as if still in thought, moving his eyes to the side, staring at a point on the wall and then snapping out of it. He, in the absence of such smarts, raised his eyes to meet hers staring back at him with an amused glint.

The lopsided sliver of smile was confirmation enough that she knew of his staring long before he did.

His gaze averted to her fingers still rubbing the balls of her feet. His eyes flitted over her to determine why. Not cold; comforting, possibly; tense, told her shoulders.

Right.

Andy shuffled in his seat, leant forward to put away his cup.

"Lie back," he told her. Sharon tilted her head back and fixed him a wide-eyed stare after pushing her empty cup on the table. "Don't act surprised, lie back."

For a beat, Sharon did act surprised, then, "Andy, I don't —"

"What? You can't take a simple command or you don't trust me?"

She stared at him with feigned defiance while she considered. Did she trust him? Did she trust herself? What was there for him to do to test that trust?

"Come on," he urged her impatiently, "it'll make you feel good."

"That's what all the boys say."

The comment escaped her lips before she could get around to thinking it. Instead of getting embarrassed herself, she wasn't sure, but it looked like he flushed. That gave her confidence to do as he asked. Soon as she gave in, she realized the logistical problems with her legs and hesitated. What did he expect? Andy noticed her hesitation, leant forward and picked her legs on his lap.

"You should consider sensible shoes," he said matter-of-factly as he laid his fingers around one foot.

"I have very sensible shoes, thank you. In fact, they were boots today." The -ay of 'today' raised in pitch as he practically folded her foot in half. She squinted daggers at him. "A little gentleness wouldn't be sneered at."

"I am being gentle, you're too sore and tense."

The tenseness in her body was belied by her ankles flexing her toes straight up towards the ceiling above and her hands pushing down the couch cushion on either side of her body. Andy shook her ankle to get it to loosen its tension. With an apologetic smile, she relented.

"Breathe," he coached her. The exhale was ragged, but evened out on every round. He waited, just cradling her feet. "Should have made you drink those wines before I started," he mused. She couldn't help the titter.

Andy shot her a smile and then concentrated his eyes forward. Sharon's hands landed on her stomach and started fiddling with her fingers.

This was odd.

Neither spoke. He studied the decor and she watched him manipulating her foot. His hands felt very good. The warmth alone eased the muscles, transmitted a soothing calm all over her body. Sharon had a hard time placing if this was part of the perks of being friends with Andy Flynn or if this was more of his quirky ideas about what you should do with fake girlfriends to make them not think you gay.

Truth didn't really matter to her, even if it should have, since it made her feel like this.

He, on the other hand, seemed to find a hard time directing his gaze. Rarely he looked at his hands or her feet, and the room started to look pretty much gone through. To Sharon, he looked like he'd want to read something.

"I have Time."

"Good," he replied, "I've got some too."

Sharon snorted. He twisted his neck at her in question.

"I meant the magazine. You look like you'd like to read something. New Yorker too."

"I'm good."

She let him finish with the first foot and start with the second, but kept scrutinizing him.

Sharon was convinced Andy hadn't come over for a cup of coffee or a dance in her living room, and certainly not for to give her a foot rub. Though, she had offered the first one only; the two latter items were his ideas. When asked, he had explained his visit as 'checking up on her mood'. He hadn't, however, asked one single question pertaining to the matter. No 'how are you?', no 'anything I can do for you?'. Not very plausible from someone claiming a want to know about someone else's mood.

"Why are you here?"

"Told you, wanted to check on how you were."

His answer sounded honest, unrehearsed and the accompanying smile was plain friendly. Sharon nodded and started fiddling with the seam of the couch cushion. How was she? Sad, defeated, tired? Angry, disappointed, subdued?

"Provenza texted to say Rusty wasn't happy," he said, a little apologetically.

"Is he... alright?"

Andy shrugged, but she couldn't look at him. "As good as you can expect. Rattled. Missing home, missing his mom. Already sick and tired of the sty Provenza calls a house."

"I'm not his mother. This isn't his home."

He shook her foot to get her look up. "Hey, in every way it matters you're wrong on both."

"In every way except legally, biologically, mentally and emotionally."

"You're selling both of you short. Even when he ran away he ran here, to you. Tell me that doesn't signify a bond of any kind."

For a lack of any acknowledgement from her, he kept rubbing her foot, debating if he should press the issue.

"He'd like to hear from you."

Sharon shook her head, making her hair even more mussed. He liked the look.

"I can't. I'll cry and that will help neither of us. I'll text him good night." A few flicks of the seam later, her voice was stronger, more accusing than it had been the whole night. Andy guessed it was her supervisory tone, when she said, "This is exactly what I didn't want and I made it happen by doing what I wanted."

He didn't have a reply, so he concentrated on her feet and getting those tiny humming notes from her. She was holding up in the vicinity of what he had rationally expected. Not actually crying, but not far from it.

'Expressing inordinate amount of guilt.'

She had heard all the rational arguments against feeling the guilt. From people better equipped, less compromised, to exert any authority over matters. There wasn't much he could do but to listen if she wanted to unload.

But she seemed like she didn't. Her fingers on the cushion's seam had stopped, her eyes had closed. She wasn't fighting his ministrations.

'Able to relax.'

When she missed three things she usually hummed over, Andy turned to smile at her.

"Are you falling asleep on me?"

Her lips melted into a wide smile, but her eyes remained closed.

"Yes. Do you mind?" Mind? No, not really. "You are very good at that."

"Good to know. My first time doing this."

Her eyelids snapped open, her clear green eyes fixed on him.

"It is? Really? How?"

"Yeah. If you don't count my mother. She had problems with her legs and I tried to help. Never found anyone since whose feet I'd like to touch."

Her scrutinizing gaze was back. It tingled his skin but he didn't explicate on the issue or the amount of joking involved.

Instead, his hands went to work on her calves. When he laced his palms around her left leg and pushed up with delicious pressure, she barely kept quiet by biting her lip. When he repeated the gesture on her right, a mew escaped with a heaving breath. Her feet jumped instantly to the floor.

"Thank you, Andy. You are very good."

"I'm not done."

He tried reaching for her legs, but she stood up hastily.

"You've done more than enough. They are like new."

She moved to gather the dishes on the tray, throwing the book in for good measure. Her first step was to go past him, but she faltered and turned around to round the couch the other way. Walking past the dining table, she paused to blow off the candles. After depositing the tray on the kitchen island, Andy heard her opening the fridge door, then slamming it shut and noticed how the room was brightened from the light seeping in from the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything else?" she called out.

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

Andy was dumbstruck. One minute she was practically asleep on the couch, the next minute she was... cleaning the kitchen? All because of an innocent effort to relax her.

Alright, maybe that was foolish, but honestly, it was just a massage. Fully clothed. She was tense.

Coming back into view, she smiled at him, went to reach for the stereo's remote on the table and switched it off in the middle of 'Strangers In The Night' which Andy happened to like.

The small talk and thanks didn't really hide the fact that she practically pushed him out of the door.

Locking the condo, walking around to turn off the lights one by one, she downed both glasses of wine in rapid succession.