Chapter 11

The twenty minutes Sharon spends with the three day old teriyaki stir fry Rusty thought to be good for her late second lunch restore some self-restraint and perspective. She knows she is behaving appallingly and she needs to pull herself together. She's missing her own home, her own bed and a moment of solitude. However, standing between her and home is the matter of the ride with Andy which discourages her from calling it a day right now. She has still not figured out how to deal with him. The day has been trying on so many levels but to think that most of it is born of her off-duty actions leaves her a little breathless. Albeit embarrassing, it was just a simple kiss.

Liar.

And she's not desperate enough to be subjected to Rusty quite yet. During the recent months he has become increasingly protective of her and that both gives her hope and terrifies her. With her own kids she always had a sense of space and distance, a strictly parent-child relationship, but Rusty with his overkeen sense of independence and neediness seems to seep into all sides of her life. He knows more than her own children did at that age. He clings more than her own children did then. He expects more than her kids did. Maybe he will be hers too, but maybe... Maybe he will balk, think that she is forcing his hand, trying to tie him down.

And on that they are so alike. Burned too many times already. That is perhaps why they get each other. Why they ultimately rely on each other. He knows she will fight for him (because she has) and she knows she has won his affection (for the lack of a better word). The thing is, he will protect her and in the process smother her.

Sharon rolls her eyes. For the number of times her kids and her friends have complained about her hovering when they are sick or hurt... Life has a beautiful way of paying you back.

No, she must grin and bear here in the off chance their case actually manages to get somewhere. Not to mention that she still has too many end-of-the-month reports to sort through. Even the thought makes her sigh and rub her temples. Some days she wonders if someone would even notice if she just made it all up. But she won't try that; there's a reason for it all that should be taken seriously.

So, when the twenty minutes and the stir fry are gone, Sharon shuffles back towards the Murder Room. It's still quiet as she pauses in front of her office door. For a moment she hesitates but the throbbing of her ankle spurs her to a decision. She swings by Andy's desk, looks at the papers, pens, keys and other miscellaneous items haphazardly scattered over the blotter. The man could be a mess. She has noticed the same spending time at his house. Mostly he is clean and tidy, but with certain things and certain places he is an absolute mess. His living room table with its piles of magazines, books, coffee cups and writing utensils being the prime example. The most gruesome example which Sharon tries to inconspicuously clear every time she visits, under the pretense of wanting to read something from that extensive on hand library or accidentally taking one of his empty mugs back to the kitchen alongside hers.

This time she resists the impulse to tidy up. Retaking her familiar seat she turns to her laptop. Soon she is immersed in one of the spreadsheets she needs to fill and only manages to open the next one before she hears footsteps. As she picks up her head she sees Julio passing a folder on the desk in front of her. He smiles at her, she returns the gesture.

"That's the canvas results."

Sharon glances at the folder. "Anything interesting?"

"Nothing useful."

She nods. It would have been an amazing stroke of luck and this case isn't going that way at all. "Where's Amy?" she asks.

"Visiting the ex-wife with Provenza."

Sharon nods again. Evidently their paths crossed during lunch. She doesn't ask about Andy and she doesn't ask about Mike but lets Julio to sit down at his desk and carry on with his work in silence.

Ten, fifteen minutes and another spreadsheet later Mike makes the same trip across the room and hands Sharon a folder. She opens the cover to see reports and prints of the crime scene. A few photos, two general shots and then the rest of details.

"Preliminaries on the fingerprints," Mike sums the findings while she's still flipping through the information. "Mainly exclusions, a couple of provisional matches belonging to the victim, the cleaner and the manager. Not surprising since those are the three people who had business inside the private office."

"Unknowns?"

"Some, but not too many. A lot of partials and those will take time."

Sharon's up to the last page when another set of footsteps approaches. Her shoulders tense slightly at the familiar cadence. Mike lets out an uncomfortable 'uh' and when getting no acknowledgement, slinks off towards his desk. Not a moment too soon as Andy's shoes enter Sharon's field of vision. Sharon doesn't look up but notices how his steps slow as he rounds her like a cat would a scorpion.

She lets him take a seat while she casually surveys the room. The other two occupants seem to be concentrating on their work so Sharon goes to pretend she found something interesting in the last photo.

"I'm calm," she whispers, then shakes her head as if chastising herself. "That was so unprofessional."

There's a pause, probably while Andy checks the room as well. Then, lowly, "You're entitled some times." Another pause, some rustling before he adds, "But that doesn't —"

"Of course not," she says quickly followed by a deep sigh. "We'll talk, Andy. We'll have to. I'm just.." she trails off for a shrug, "a little raw."

Their private conversation gets a mercifully natural end when Mike's phone rings. They all turn to look at him while he talks. Expectant, Sharon drops the folder on the desk before turning in her chair to face Mike.

"No matches yet, Ma'am," he summarizes after the call ends. "They've ran out of clear prints and our samples don't help so they're bumping us for a more urgent case."

"Figures." Andy rolls his eyes and folds his arms. "This whole thing is a fool's errand."

"No, no, Lieutenant," Sharon stays him with reaching one upturned hand behind her. "This is a good thing."

"It is?" Andy asks, his voice a little dubious as he reaches for the folder Sharon discarded and starts to flip through its contents.

"Yes! Of course it is." Her voice rises in excitement and as she turns her head and bites her lip, Andy admires the gleam taking over her eyes. "We have a known associate of illegal businesses shot execution style. Yet we have no known fingerprints in the office, bar for those we took for exclusionary purposes." At Andy's dubious look she adds, "When was the last time we have a known enforcer shoot a 'client' inside their business, effectively hiding the body, with no fingerprints of anyone we know, anywhere?"

"Could have worn gloves."

"Yes, could have. But —" Sharon wiggles her fingers to get the folder back, then quickly flips through pages and shows Andy, "— but look at this."

Andy studies the photo that shows just the knob of the door that's been gone over with black dust. "Fingerprints?"

"Yes." She waits. "On the door. Perfect fingerprints. Perfect, unknown fingerprints."

"And if whoever left last wore gloves," Andy says slowly, "the prints would have smudged."

"Yes, unless of course the killer left the doors open."

"Doesn't sound likely, Ma'am," Julio pipes in.

"No, it doesn't."

"Sounds to me like a regular murder, not a major crime," Julio says while Andy still studies the pictures.

"I think we really should see what the kid has to say about this,," Andy says digging out his phone. He dials Provenza's number and after a short wait leaves a message. Sharon worries the corner of her legal pad while he talks. When he hangs up, the room stays silent for several long moments.

"I'm, uh, I'm going down to SI and work on our partials," Mike says and leaves the room.

The door down the hall barely closes when Julio in turn jumps to his feet. "I'll help Buzz."

A few seconds later Andy takes off his jacket and folds back into his chair. He glances at Sharon, who is still looking vacantly down at her pad. She is definitely off her game, Andy thinks. Their evening last night wasn't that bad, not in his opinion. Okay, it was a complete disaster at the end, but... He sighs and starts updating the electronic case file.

He doesn't get too far when they are disturbed by incoming footsteps. Glancing up, Andy can't help the major eye roll and the swear he mutters under his breath.

Taylor comes to a halt by Andy's desk and, without preamble, asks, "Where is Provenza?"

"With the ex-wife." Andy doesn't elaborate. "Anything the Captain can do for you Chief?"

Taylor dismisses the question and for good measure turns his back more clearly on Sharon. He proceeds to ask questions about their progress. At first Andy answers them hesitantly and regularly looks to Sharon for input or whether she minds him having the discussion with Taylor but Sharon knows that the Chief is trying to make a point here. With a nearly imperceptible smile she bends her head over the laptop, tunes the discussion out and goes to fill her spreadsheets.

After Andy finishes his recounting of the case, Taylor rounds back to confirm, "So we can rule this out as a major crime?"

"Yeah." Andy glances again to Sharon. Seeing her paying no attention to the conversation happening in front of her, he continues, "It pretty much looks like an inside job, no danger to the public."

"Good," he nods. "Priority status is lifted then. No overtime on this if possible, and all non-essential personnel is to be sent home at the earliest possible opportunity."

Andy returns the nod and adds the sloppiest possible salute for good measure. He digs out his phone and hits the speed dial for Provenza. He is the incident commander, it's his responsibility to chase people home. And whatever else.

As Flynn turns to his phone conversation (again it looks like Provenza is not picking up), Taylor turns on Sharon.

"I let you stay here under the strict understanding that it wouldn't be against medical advice and that Provenza would take lead."

Sharon raises her head and plasters on a sweet smile. "I'm not going against medical advice and Provenza is doing everything that involves walking. Chief. I'm just reading," she adds innocently. Taylor has the good sense to look dubious. He holds the eye contact for a while but Sharon's an old fox at these petty power games and Taylor relents with a deep sigh.

"At least your paperwork is in order. However, I thought you would remember the 5020 goes out in duplicate, but with only one filled." Duplicate? She only sent the one. She glances at Andy rubbing his neck. "Your division sure loves their paperwork." Taylor lays out three copies of the same form, each filled out, with only minor differences in their wordings and level of detail. He lets her look, then brings out a fourth. "I guess this is improvement."

Sharon looks at them all, then reaches out for the one she wrote herself. The other two, Andy and Provenza, if she had to guess. After reading, she pushes her form back and picks up the one filled out and signed by Taylor. It is nearly identical, with the only big difference being in the employer notes section. "I guess so," she says and adds her signature, then hands the form back. Taylor adds it on top of the others, makes a stack.

"And no over-time for you. I mean it, Sharon."

"Yes, Chief."

"Okay." He stares at her for good few moments more to emphasize his point, then turns on his heel. "Flynn, make sure she goes home early and doesn't do anything stupid."

"On it, Chief."

With a nod, Taylor leaves them alone. Sharon's barely back to her spreadsheets when Andy interrupts her peace.

"So now you lie to our boss."

"I did nothing of the sort," she says lightly as she makes a note on her pad. "The current advice on dealing with a twisted ankle calls for rest, ice and elevation. I am sitting down, my ankle is up and there is ice on it."

"You forgot compression."

"Ah. That's just a recommendation. It 'may' help. And it's usually best applied before the swelling goes up or after it has settled. I missed the window," she explains casual as hell. Knowing an excuse from her lips when he sees one, Andy raises a brow.

"You're too damn stubborn." She hums. "How are you going to get around with not getting checked out after being injured at work?"

"It was very recently pointed out to me that someone in PBS has been sleeping on the job. Apparently," her tone drops in conspiracy as she leans in and Andy enjoys her momentary playfulness, "there is a loophole. The rules are very clear about medical treatment when getting injured while actively filling your duties and seeking medical advice in case of getting injured off-duty in such a way that might impede the future dispensation of your duties. I, however, did not get to even identify myself as an officer of the law nor did I participate in anything that resulted to, or followed from, my injury. I can hardly be called 'active', can I?" She throws in an innocent half-shrug.

"That's just devious." He considers her with the strangest mixture of exasperation and admiration. She has always had the power to inspire him to strange moods and emotions and that talent has only turned more powerful as the years have gone by, the moods and emotions more complex. "Sharon, why won't you go home."

"And leave Provenza between Taylor and newscasters? Have a heart." She scribbles notes on the legal pad resting on her thigh. Then, quietly, adds, "You saw Rusty. I can't take the fussing."

"He's not fussing." It's her turn to quirk a brow. "Okay, he is a little. The kid is just worried. A little fussing won't kill you."

"If it was you injured and someone was fussing over you, you would be a bear."

"True, but that's different."

"How?"

"For one thing, I wouldn't admit to being injured. Rookie mistake, Raydor."

"And pray tell me how I'd hide this?" she asks full of sarcasm, her hands gesturing at the ugly bruise peeking out from under the ice pack.

"Longer skirts?" he deadpans, but smiles as he walks over. "No, it's a very nice skirt."

Andy rounds the desk and crouches down almost exactly where Rusty inspected Sharon's leg earlier. He places his left hand just above her knee, closing his fingers around it and very, very gently uses his right hand to move her foot ever so minutely. Her cheeks burn a lot more fiercely than the ankle as she stares his hand around her knee.

"Does it hurt at all?"

"No. Feels stiff." Like her whole body at the moment, if being truthful.

He hums, distracted by his study of her ankle.

"I can take care of myself," she mumbles. Andy smiles at her stubbornness: she wants to assert her self-sufficiency even when he made no comment to question it. He stands up and lets his hands find his pockets.

Sharon's eyes linger on his hands. A bit too long she realizes as his fingers pat his thighs inside the pockets. She barely avoids blushing as her eyes shoot up to his face. The sloppy grin she finds there almost melts her heart. As if by reflex, it ignites a smile on her own face.

"Just one question, though," Andy's voice interrupts her daydream. He crouches back down and that hand finds its way back on her knee. Dazed, she nods for a permission, expecting him to enquire about pain meds or something. "Can you wear five inch heels?"

She tilts her head, the corner of her lips twitching. "Of course I can, and more. Just not to walk in them."

Only when the words leave her mouth she hears what she says. More than that, she can't avoid the implication and that is so much worse. She picks up her pen and starts fiddling with it, too busy being embarrassed to notice how Andy's face goes as close to flushing red as it could.

'Stiff' was a great basis for a double entendre and his mind was more than willing to go there. Especially when chased with that smile of hers. And now that it had, the thought of double entendres and her five inch heels was pretty hard to get rid of — even before he thought that word too. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Great, there is no way he can get up and walk away now without embarrassing himself even further.

While Andy is busy collecting himself, Sharon turns to fighting her embarrassment once again. She blames his warm hand and compelling grin for letting that remark slip. Or maybe the smell on her shoes was more potent than she thought. Or maybe she had actually hit her head. Or maybe, just maybe, last night her body found completely insane ways to relate to one Andrew Flynn.