A/N: Again a weird chapter cutoff due to the new chapter division. Next one's either going to be extremely short or uncomfortably long... Let's see how things roll from here. Thanks to anyone still following/reading/reviewing.
Oh, and for some reason I refuse to acknowledge that the new building has no underground garage. Weird that, too.

Chapter 12

Sharon doesn't figure out what to do with Andy Flynn before she is alone with him. She got a small reprieve for thinking when she managed to slip into the elevator while he was distracted with a call. It didn't last long: he caught up with her halfway down the garage. Sharon didn't look up, but she felt the eye roll and the unspoken chastising all the way down her spine. For a brief moment the small of her back tingled with the nearness of a guiding hand that never made contact.

He has gone mercifully quiet, Sharon thinks. They both know they have so much to talk about but while she still doesn't know what to say, Andy is finally at the point where he has burned through his rash, insistent need for confrontation. Their conflict resolution strategies are so completely opposite that it's a wonder they can function together; so completely opposite that it is a wonder this is their first serious communication breakdown on a personal level.

Sharon likes to think that in the future their different ways of coping will be an asset. They will learn to work together, to give each other the space and freedom to express themselves in a safe way. As soon as they get through these first, horribly awkward and completely unpleasant, growing pains. Both she and Jack are avoiders in their own ways, and that has more than a little to do with why she's stuck with a marriage that no longer serves any purpose or why Jack thinks they are doing just fine. With Andy and his tendency for immediate confrontation she will never find that comfortable place of complacency and disinterest.

A little frightening that, really.

And oddly comforting, if she dares to be honest with herself.

"Come on then," Andy breaks the silence as he stops by his car, gesturing for Sharon to move further in between his and the neighboring car.

She navigates the narrow passage and reaches for the door handle in anticipation. His hand is faster however. As he unlocks the car with his right hand holding the fob in his pocket, the side of his left hand brushes down hers. She freezes, stares at their kissing hands. Sharon can hardly breathe, Andy doesn't want to. His hand makes two additional trips up and down hers before jumping to the handle. He doesn't look at her when he holds the door open for her.

She quietly folds herself in her place, nods a thank you as words fail her. She fiddles with her trench, arranges it to cover her legs, then to rest on her lap, then again to cover her legs. She's indecisive and she has too few possessions to really enable enough busywork. What is he thinking?! Why is he touching her? Why is he so quiet?

Sharon draws in a choking gulp of air as Andy lands on the driver's seat.

He's still not looking at her, only twists to and fro putting away his things. Like he even has that many things, Sharon thinks sullenly and rearranges her trench. He even adjusts all the mirrors! She lets out an irritated puff of air and folds her arms, still watching his hands out of the corner of her eye.

"All set?" he asks gripping the steering wheel with both of his palms, his eyes front.

Sharon opens her mouth but no sound comes out. She licks her lips, tries again. "Uh — ahm... yea." Her eyes close. Brilliant Sharon, truly eloquent. She is on the wrong side of forty (and not by an insignificant margin) to behave like a child. Nor is she some untried maiden who should lose all ability to function at the slightest contact with a man.

As if oblivious to her inner inequilibrium, Andy turns the ignition and signals left.

"I still think you should go to the doctor's," Andy says casually when they enter the stream of cars outside, "There's plenty of those on the way, I could —"

"No, thank you," she replies quickly, her tone an icepick.

Andy makes an aggravated noise deep down in his throat before letting silence take over. It's not an easy silence, but to Sharon silence is better than talking right now. Even if that silence stretches on and on and on. Her thoughts are at a jumble. They stray from last night to this morning, from the case to the graze of his hand on hers. In sympathy her gaze volleys from the side window to her hands to the front to the side. Her lips rub together on every other volley spreading wetness. For his part, Andy thinks she is adorably nervous. And adorable when nervous.

Their awkward confinement is disturbed by the shrill ring of Sharon's phone. Immediately she begins to dig for the offending, or in this case, redeeming, apparatus. "Oh thank God," she blurts under her breath. It comes out so quickly and with so much relief that Andy is sure he was never meant to hear it. Were it any other day, he would laugh.

"Yes, Lieutenant," she opens the call and Andy guesses the caller is Provenza. "The second son?" she asks, "What did you find out?" She pauses to listen, looks at Andy to see if he is listening too before she finally thinks to switch the call to speaker.

"— is about 18, but the ex didn't know about the mother. Says she's, and this is a quote, 'unsure' of the mother. Never asked, didn't want to know. But she knows the name," he stops on a cliffhanger and both Sharon and Andy perk up.

"Which is..." Sharon prompts.

"Logan. Logan Martin."

"Martin?"

"Yes, for some reason, while he is not listed on the birth certificate, the mother wanted to give the kid his father's last name."

"That's... unusual," Sharon summarizes and glances at Andy who only shrugs.

"Not the most unusual thing we've ever seen," Provenza counters. "So, we have a name and a rough age to narrow down on." The line goes quiet, expectant.

"Well," Sharon says after a few seconds taking the prompt, "good work, Lieutenant. I expect a report on the morrow, but tonight, let's all go home."

"Yes, Captain," he says with a satisfied tone. They end the call and Sharon takes a lot longer than necessary to put away her mobile.

Almost full three minutes later Andy sighs. "So, that's at least something."

Sharon pauses in the middle of snapping her purse shut. Hums, then finishes the action.

They drive the last miles as they drove the first. In awkward silence, Sharon fidgets, not being able to focus on anything but on thinking that the drive to her building can't open quickly enough. She starts to gather her things good five blocks away from home and is nearly out of the door when the vehicle slows.

"Hang on," Andy says reaching to grab her arm, "I'll walk you up."

"Oh, there's no need, Lieutenant." Her quick reply gets his lip curling in displeasure. First her eyes land on the hand holding her arm, then to his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. She jumps in to placate with a smile, "Rusty's coming to get me."

"I can save the kid a trip."

"No, thank you," she says exhaling and leans her head back. It's not that she particularly wants Andy to be near her longer, but it's not that she wants to push him away either. There are just things that are hard to explain and that have nothing to do with them as a 'them', no matter how their current situation is playing out. "I think he wants to do this," she clarifies, "to make himself feel helpful. Andy, let him do this."

He studies her profile, then relents, "Okay." He glances at the surroundings, and seeing no other cars coming or going, turns to face her relaxing his forearm against the steering wheel. "But I'll wait up with you." He gently tugs at her arm. "Sit back down."

She nods, relaxes fully into her seat and fiddles with her fingers. The palm on her arm is burning hot and his intense gaze scorches the side of her face. They make her nervous if anything. She used to enjoy being with him, being around him. One night and one miscalculation and that all flew out of the window. His study spurs her to reach for something to say.

"I enjoyed the ballet," she says suddenly.

"So you said."

"I did." She smiles that unguarded smile that is so Sharon, the one he always thinks as being able to light up Chicago. Why Chicago, he can't say since he hasn't even been to Chicago once in his life. Perhaps it is a quote he heard somewhere that stuck in the back of his head and only understood when he saw Sharon smile. He has never thought of it until a couple of months ago. After that, it's been on his mind constantly. She is so, too, gorgeous when she smiles. "Enjoy it, I mean," she clarifies, then rolls her eyes at her own awkwardness. "Why are we like this?" She turns to look at him, really look at him. "I don't want to fight with you," she whispers.

He leans closer, his forearm still on the steering wheel, the other hand finding home under her chin. A soft touch of thumb and forefinger play along her jaw.

"Me neither," he rumbles looking deep into her eyes as he leans closer until he is so close as to share on her breath. Which catches, suddenly. "Definitely not," he adds. He smirks at his power when her eyes drop to his lips. "I have your heels."

"I know," she inhales him, ready to repeat past mistakes. She turns a low hum into a question, "Will you give them back?"

He shifts even closer, strokes her skin with his thumb. "Come and get them?"

She hums, trapped. He likes to confuse her. There is no other reason for him to behave like this. First, she thinks, at the very beginning, he threw out flirty comments like breathing. As their acquaintance depended he was so eager to please that he was tongue-tied. Then, recently, sometimes, she felt like he was trying to honestly flirt with her. Now... Now she knows better and yet he does things like this. Looks at her with too much in his eyes, touches her so right she wants to give in to him and... And yet she knows she's imaging it all and she can't handle that. Can't handle him.

She's already pulling away as the rap on the window comes. Andy flinches and quickly pretends to be all casual.

"Okay, Sharon," Rusty opens her door and looks appraisingly at her leg, "let's get you up on the couch."

Sharon raises a brow. "Why the couch?"

"I made dinner."

"I see." She offers an amused look for Andy, tilts her head while Rusty takes her trench. "He made me dinner." Then he takes her hand and starts to help her out. Seeing that Andy comes round to offer help in any way, but Sharon is already standing on the curb and fixing the purse handle on her shoulder. "Well..." she says to Andy, "Bye now."

"Call you," he says softly.

At the front door Sharon looks back over her shoulder and sees him leaning against his car, both of his hands deep in his pockets, the look on his face a mixture of smugness and something more tender.

Upstairs, Rusty takes her coat and offers her her favorite cardigan, then ushers her on the couch and returns to put away all her things. "I'm making chicken and roasted vegs. I thought you might like that. But it's going to take a while yet, I didn't know to put it in until you texted me."

"It's fine, Rusty," Sharon says softly, "I'm going to rest here and wait," she closes her eyes and hums as her neck muscles flex over the couch's back. "Thank you, Rusty."

He quietly goes about his business while Sharon meditates her eyes closed. She resolves not to think about Andy, about throbbing ankles, about long days, about anything to do with her life. She might even doze off a little.

That is until her bladder pushes her back to the realm of succulent chicken smells. Her eyes open, she listens for a minute or two and then makes a move.

"Hey, where do you think you're going!"

She leans back on the cushions, sighs and smirks. She's being watched. Figures. "To the bathroom."

Rusty rounds the couch, falters for a second, looks down the hall and back. Calculates something in his mind. "Do you need like, um, help?"

"No thank you," Sharon says hiding her laughter; "I think I can manage." Her answer doesn't seem to be enough for the boy. He shifts his weight with an uncomfortable look on his face. "It's alright, Rusty," Sharon reassures, "I managed at work just fine."

"But like... You had Flynn."

She laughs, "Andy didn't take me to the bathroom either. It's fine."

"Yeah." Rusty flops on the couch beside her. "What's that even all about?" he says and ignores the way Sharon tenses. "Like he's usually so... I don't know. At your beck and call. And today he was, like horrible to you."

Sharon ignores the comment, pulls on the sleeves of her cardigan. Yes, he might have been horrible to her, but she understands. She can relate: she is being horrible enough to him. But what Rusty doesn't understand is the fundamental difference between Andy and her, even between Andy and him. Where she and Rusty worry by fussing and smothering, Andy's worry fuels his anger. Their responses are so opposite. He's fire where she and Rusty go ice. Besides that, Rusty doesn't know about the recent developments between her and Andy and she likes to keep it that way. Anything she might say now has the potential to change that. That's why she extends the silence as far as it will go and luckily the boy caves in first.

"I guess he's just worried about you, though. I mean, you're like together and all."

"Rusty," she clears her throat. Inadvertently he got too close. "We are not 'together'. We are friends."

The boy rolls his eyes like they need the exercise. "Yeah. Whatever. Still bugs me he couldn't be bothered to care." He finally looks at her. "You sure can pick them, Sharon."

She looks down at her hands in her lap. "It's not like that. He's not like that."

"Then what is it like, Sharon? Looks to me like you two are joined at the hip and he doesn't even need for you to say 'jump' before he does but as soon as you get hurt he doesn't get you help, he lets you work, he makes you walk in heels; he dumps you at the parking lot. Okay, he demeaned himself to giving you a ride and I guess I'm amazed he didn't get you a bus ticket and send you home. Real classy and caring."

"Rusty... There are things you don't understand."

"Like what?" the boy challenges.

Sharon was afraid of that but couldn't think of anything else to say. This whole conversation was idiotic from the start! She should have gone to the bathroom already. But since she still hasn't gone, she needs to formulate some kind of an answer.

"Well..." she buys time, "well, for one thing... We were at work."

"So?"

"So... When I tell him to back off, he backs off." Sharon shuffles closer to the edge, takes a hold of the handrest on one side and pushes her fist against the cushion on the other. "Whatever you might think otherwise, at work we are nothing, not even friends. He does as I say or takes it up with someone higher up." She stands up, a little wobbly but close to pain free. "Frankly I'm getting tired of those puppy-dog jokes and meaningful 'whatevers' you like to dish our way. He doesn't follow me around any more than... let's say Amy does. He certainly doesn't do it with the implied meaning of 'chasing me' you think I don't get."

With that surprisingly well-formulated retort — she is actually a little proud of the way she manages to shut him up — she storms to the bathroom the best she can.