Author's note: Hey everyone! Thank you for reading and reviewing, even though I know the last one shot wasn't everyone's cup of tea (also, noted) . I just wanted to say that updating times might change, since uni started again and it is a lot. I will try to keep it at twice a week, but I make no promises, so please don't be mad if I won't update as much anymore.
This one takes place right after 3X12 ended. It was such a shame they didn't show us what happened right after Pruitt died, so I decided to write it.
Hope you enjoy and leave me your thoughts!
It isn't his grief to feel, it isn't his sadness to take over his body and drop him to his knees. It isn't his tears to cry, it isn't him who needs to search for a back to lean against, it isn't him who needs to find a shoulder to cry on. It isn't him who needs to find someone to carry him to safety.
Robert and Pruitt Herrera, or maybe he should think of him as his father in law now, had known each other for many years, have crossed paths on many occasions, but were never practically close by any means. Even after Robert saved the undocumented restaurant workers from being deported, he still had a feeling deep in his guts that Pruitt didn't really approve of him, didn't really believed he was good enough for his daughter. But when he sees the cap standing on the edge of the ladder, the only remnant of the man who rescued all of them all from a certain death, Robert's knees feel like they are going to give and fold in, leaving him sprawled on the ground.
He has to breathe, has to remind himself that there is someone else who probably feels everything so much stronger now. The woman he has been sharing every one of his mornings and every one of his nights and every free moment he had in between with. The woman to whom he recently started calling his wife.
His eyes search for her. They left the storage unit together, but somewhere along the process he lost contact with her, and by now, it seems as though she disappeared into thin air. Everything around him is a mess of shouts and black smoke, of firefighters coming and going, so he can't locate her at first, isn't able to recognize her in the sea of helmets and coats all looking exactly the same.
He is able to catch a glimpse of Hughes standing next to the ladder, leaning against someone who Robert suspects is Miller, and he is almost convinced she is crying. He keeps looking for his wife, finally walking, finally able to move his stiff body, even though it still feels like his leg is on fire, still feels like someone came and stabbed him with a thousand knives right at that particular spot up his thigh.
He walks slowly, using the vehicle for support, until he spots his wife in the distance.
Andy stands far away, as far as she possibly can from the chaos the scene has become. Her hands fumble with the blue cap, twist it around over and over again, but as far as he can tell, her eyes are dry and her cheeks are stain free.
She is probably in pain, so much pain, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. He wants to hold her in his arms, to reassure her he is there if she wants to fall, to crumble. He is there to catch her, and if it is up to him, he will always be there, until he takes his dying breath.
When he promised her he would have her, for better or for worse, he meant it, every word he said.
"Bishop." He calls the direction of the captain he appointed.
"Sir." She nods. "I just wanted to say, I tried to talk him down, but he didn't listen." She tries to explain what happened while he was inside the storage unit, attempting to save the woman he loves, tries to give a reason as to why things escalated to such a point a retired firefighter had to lose his life in order to save theirs.
"If he is half as stubborn as his daughter is, there is no way you could have convinced him to step down. There will be a time and place to talk about the chain of events that ended up with him on that roof, but it isn't right now, that's for sure." Robert reassures, lets her know he is not there to reprimand or investigate, and only then he realizes he talks about his father in law as if the man is still among the living. "I need you to do something for me."
"Yeah, of course." Maya nods. She looks at him with her eyes wide, as if she is ready to take notes and follow his order by the word.
"Call the C shift as soon as possible, and tell them we needed them at the station an hour ago. If they are unavailable, call whomever will be willing to come from B or D shift. You all lost a father figure today, and I want everyone from the A shift to go home as soon as possible, so you will have the time to grieve properly."
"But…" Maya starts to protest, yet Robert interrupts her before she has a chance to say anything else.
"Every minute someone from the A shift remains on duty poses a threat to both my firefighters, and to the poor unfortunate soul who will be stuck in the wrong time and the wrong place and will need a rescue. Go back to the station and get someone to take over. I will not ask again."
"Yes, sir." Maya answers. He has a mouthful of things to say about her, especially due to the way she hurt his wife, but he can't say she is unprofessional. She doesn't cry, just looks at him with no expression at all, not letting anyone know how she really feels, even though he is sure Maya was as close to Pruitt as any other person who has ever spent time under his command. "Anything else?"
Maybe she is inhuman, like the rest of the team members believe her to be.
Robert takes a deep breath before he lets the words standing at the tip of his tongue out. They might expose his relationship, his marriage, but at the moment, he doesn't care. His wife needs him, and he is willing to do anything it takes to be there for her, willing to sacrifice everything he has. "Yes, one last thing. Leave taking care of Herrera to me."
"Sir, do you really think it is the best idea?" Maya asks.
He isn't sure how much she knows about the rollercoaster that has been his and Andy's relationship, isn't sure how much his wife shared with the woman she used to call her best friend. Everyone at the station knew Andy and Robert were friends, it wasn't a secret, and when they had their falling out after he kissed her, then banished her out of the captain's bank, everyone knew they were back on bad terms, even though they weren't sure exactly why they sent each other heated stares across the room and only spoke to each other in screams.
They tried to keep the façade up after she came to his door, begging him to kiss her, but he isn't so sure they did an exceptional job, considering the fact that they giggled like two lovestruck teenagers every time they were certain no one was watching.
"Yes, I am sure it is the best idea." He snorts. "Now go get the team and leave as quickly as possible." He orders, and Maya runs, never looking back. He watches for a moment as she gathers everyone around her, and they start to load the engine and the ladder with all of the equipment that wasn't lost during the fire.
"Hey." He whispers as his wife walks past him. He wraps his hand around her wrist slowly, making her linger, signaling her to wait.
"I need to help them." Andy looks at her teammates, but stays put, as if she is too weak to remove her hand out of Robert's light grasp.
"I told Maya not to wait up for you."
"Then, how am I supposed to go back to the station?" Andy asks, as if she genuinely thinks he is just going to leave her there, still covered in ashes and dirt, so close to the place her father found his death.
"You are coming with me." Robert states.
He looks at her for a moment, really looks at her. She seems sad, doesn't have the usual mischievous grin on her face, the one she has been wearing since the first morning she woke up in his bed when no one else was looking. It is a very specific kind of smile, one that tells him she is planning to do dirty, dirty things to his body once they are all alone. She doesn't have that smile, but doesn't have tears in her eyes either, and her voice is so monotone he might as well have been talking to a robot.
He is worried about her. His Andy, his wife, his second chance in love and happiness.
She doesn't say anything. Doesn't object, doesn't suggest it might not be the best idea, considering the fact they still haven't made their marriage public. She just climbs up to his car and remains silent through the entire drive, staring through the windshield into the horizon.
"Babe, talk to me, please." Robert begs once they made it halfway to the station and she was yet to let out a word.
She says nothing, does nothing to fill the silence. He tries to touch her, to slide his thumb up and down her thigh in a manner that is supposed to be calming and reassuring, but when she flinches away from his touch, he takes his hand back, and makes a mental note to ask for her permission next time he tries to offer some sort of contact as comfort.
When they finally reach their destination, Andy remains seated in the passenger side, staring blankly at the outside of the firehouse she was practically born and raised in.
"Do you need anything from your locker?" Robert inquiries.
"No, I have everything I need at your place." Andy shakes her head, her voice barely audible, and his heart breaks as he watches her like that. He goes around the car and opens her door, waiting for her to step out, but doesn't reach out his hand to help her, too scared of what her reaction might be if he touches her again.
"Take off your turnout gear for me?" Robert requests.
Andy does as he asks, still staring at the brick wall, still avoiding any eye contact. She lets the clothes fall to the ground, yet makes no move to pick them up, and he suspects she has no power left inside of her to carry out even the smallest of tasks.
Oh, how he wishes he could read her mind. How he wishes he knew exactly where the pain is, so he could take it away from her, making it his.
He bends down and picks up the coat and pants she left, dragging them inside to place them in their rightful space. "Wait for me?" He calls.
Andy nods, and he walks quickly into the station. He sets the turnout gear in place, then goes up to his office to pick up a few of the papers he still didn't have the time to go through. He has a feeling it is going to be a few long days before he will feel comfortable with the idea of leaving her side, because as of right now, she isn't even able to form a complete sentence.
He makes his way down the stairs as quickly as possible, going down two by two. Andy is still at the exact same position he left her, and it seems as if she hasn't done as much as breathe, hasn't moved even an inch, her eyes still fixated to the outer part of the station.
She is still wearing her turnout boots, he realizes, but he doesn't have it in him to tell her to go inside and change them, not when she looks like that. Tiny and tired and about to collapse. "Come on." He coaxes.
He is surprised when she initiates a contact, sliding her palm into his and squeezing. He looks for his phone with his free hand, typing a text for Bishop, asking her to store Andy's shoes in her locker and inquiring about the status of his request from earlier. It takes him twice as long than it usually does, writing a full text only using one hand, and he has to erase more than once, accidently typing the wrong letter, or changing a word completely.
He can't fathom a case where he lets go of her hand, though.
The drive goes by quickly, and after a few more silent moments they stand in front of the house they have been sharing.
When he opens the front door, the house feels big and empty, and Robert isn't sure how he managed to live there all alone, without her filling in the empty spaces. Without her cuddling into him as they watch a movie on the sofa, or the little dance she has every morning as she storms around the kitchen, taking care of breakfast and coffee for the both of them. He told her time and time again he only drinks green smoothies in the mornings, but his comments kept on falling on deaf ears, as she claimed that a smoothie does not count as breakfast every single time he tried to argue.
Andy looks around as she finds herself in the living room, examining every part and every detail of the house, as if she hasn't been spending all her free time inside these four walls for the past few weeks. As if she is a stranger, walking in for the very first time.
"How about you going to take a shower, and I will order us something to eat in the meantime?" Robert suggests. He doesn't feel like doing as little as using the microwave, let alone cooking something from scratch, and he is afraid that if he lets her take care of dinner, she is going to stand and stare into the open fridge, in the best case scenario. In the worst, she is going to end up with a burn on her skin that will require a trip to the emergency room.
She doesn't reply, doesn't tell him what she would like to eat.
And there it is again, that empty, hollow stare, the one that scares him to death, frightens him way more than screaming or crying or blaming him for her father's death ever could.
"Okay, I know what you like." He claims, and it is true. He knows that she hates raw onion, but doesn't mind it as much when it is cooked. She is willing to eat tomatoes, but only the cherry kind, or as a sauce. He even knows her favorite dish to order from every single takeout place they like.
He types quickly on the screen of his phone, his fingers moving up and down frantically, trying to get the task at hand done as soon as possible and shift all of his attention back to her. When he gets a text saying his order has been successfully placed, another one pops up, Bishop letting him know that she managed to find a last minute replacement for all of them, and that it is only a matter of time before they will be able to leave, each to his home, or probably all of them to Joe's bar.
Robert can't remember the last time he did something like that, but he turns his phone off and leaves it on the kitchen counter.
They can look for him all they want, but right now, his attention is directed only to his wife. Life and work and the outside world can all wait.
When he looks back, she is still there, standing in the middle of the living room, looking around like an alien who just landed from outer space, or a time traveler waking up in a completely different century. "Andy…" Robert whispers her name, lacing it with as much comfort he can find in himself to grant.
"I can't move." She lets out. Their conversation is nothing but hissed voices and shallow breaths, as if they are afraid to wake some kind of a sleeping beast neither of them can see.
"Come here." He opens his arms for her, waiting until she slides into his embrace. On any other day, on any other circumstances, he would just take her in and hold her as close as he possibly can. But he already saw his touch might make her uncomfortable, and the last thing he wishes is for her to drift further apart from where she is now. The last thing he wants is to deepen the gap that formed between them, which he still tries to figure out how to close, so he just stands there, waiting for her to come to him, waiting for her to use him as the person she leans on.
Her person.
To his surprise, she does just that. She walks into his open arms and rests her head against his chest, and as she does, he lets all of the air go out of his lungs with a loud sound. "I am going to help you shower now, is that alright?"
Andy nods, makes just the slightest of moves telling him she is too tired to think for herself, to do anything on her own. He can't carry her, not with his leg injury still pulsing and very much present, reminding him every single day he is not completely well, even with the device Dr. Shepherd gave him. Robert does the best he can, and takes her hand in his, guiding her up to their bedroom, step by step, stair by stair, until they finally make it to the upper floor, a journey that seems to take a small forever.
He helps her out of the grimy uniform, his fingers fast as he unbuttons her top and pulls her crew T-shirt over her head. He has done this many times in the short while they have been together, so many times he lost count, but this time is different. This time, undressing her has nothing sensual to it. Tonight, her nakedness isn't supposed to lead anywhere.
When her clothes are all shed, Robert works the same actions on his body, unfastening his belt and throwing his pants in the pile of clothes next to the bathroom door.
Usually, this type of mess would bother him, and he would even tell her so. Usually, she would silence him with a kiss, a promise to clear everything later, and then another kiss, just for good measures.
But there is nothing usual about this day, so Robert does nothing to tidy up, even if his fingers are itching to pile the dirty clothes inside the laundry basket, for the very least.
He walks into the shower, and turns the water on, then lets it flow until they reach the exact temperature Robert knows she loves so much, even if he finds it scorching hot. Robert reaches his hand out, but she doesn't take it, just walks into the shower herself and closes the glass door behind her.
He thanks God for the fact his shower is large enough for two bodies to occupy, and they even have a little bit of space to move around. He reaches for her shampoo and leathers it between his fingers before he massages it into her scalp.
Andy likes to share her morning showers with him. She invited him in the first morning she spent in his bed, telling him they should be eco friendly, and shower together in order to save water. He has his fair share of experience washing her hair and scrubbing her body, but every single time it leads to more. It leads to kisses and soapy touches, to them holding on to every possible nook and cranny in the shower in order not to slip as he moves inside her, as she calls out his name.
Today is not like every other day.
Well, there is one thing that says business as usual. His body.
He tries to fight it, tries to work quickly and efficiently, avoids lingering anywhere as he works over her skin with body wash. But nature is stronger than him, he is so attracted to her, and tries all he might, he is still half hard in no time at all.
"Robert." Andy whispers as she accidentally moves her backside against him, feeling his body's reaction to her bare skin and nakedness. She is about to do it again, purposely this time, about to grind against him, but he stops it with his hand on her shoulder.
"I am not going to take advantage of your grief." He lets her know.
"You are not taking advantage if I am initiating it." Andy tries to convince, then lowers her voice to nothing above a whisper, one that Robert isn't sure if he really heard, or he might have just imagined. "Please, make me feel something other than this excruciating pain."
Sex makes Andy feel. It didn't take long for him to understand it.
She is completely immersed in the action, enjoys every single part of it, big or small. It makes her feel pleasure, and content once they are done. It didn't take him long to learn what exactly makes her toes curl, what makes her come and scream his name in ecstasy.
He loves it, loves to watch her in the process, loves the way her entire face relaxes when he touches her just in the right spot. He loves seeing her almost as much as he loves being a part of the act.
Because he loves her, he won't let her use sex as a way to shield herself from him, won't let her use the pleasure of the flesh as a means to avoid using her words, giving an out to her emotions.
Robert shakes his head, then goes back to making sure the both of them don't have any more dirt from this day on their bodies, even though he knows this call has marked her soul and her mind for years to come, in a way he won't be able to disappear, no matter how much he will want to scrub it off her.
Usually, she would fight, she would try to seduce him, try to get what she wants from him.
But there is nothing usual about any of it, so she just stands there, lets the water rinse off the dirt and the ashes, lets her husband run his fingers through her hair to make sure it is completely clean, until the stream turns cold and Robert switches the tap off.
He wraps her in a towel, offering to help her dress and brush her hair, but she refuses, claiming she is able to do that task on her own.
Robert lingers, though, takes his time as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, and watches her as she brushes her hair slowly in the process, pretending to tidy up the bedroom without trying to make any conversation. It isn't like he has anything to say to her anyway. He of all people knows how empty and vain words are when another person you love is taken away from you.
He knows it, and Andy knows it, too, considering the great losses she has experienced through the years, so he lets the silence fill in the space of the room, let it sit on their shoulders, let it tell her he loves her, and that he is there for her, without saying a word.
"Babe, I am going to get our food. Meet me downstairs, okay?" Robert requests. Andy nods, and after watching her untangling her hair with patience she doesn't usually have, he feels confident enough she will be able to find her way to the kitchen.
Robert makes his way downstairs, then paces back and forth in front of the front door, waiting for the bell to ring.
She hasn't cried yet, and he is worried, his mind racing.
He thinks he should go back up and check on her, just to make sure she is fine, but then their food arrives.
When he is done setting the table, she is there, wearing nothing but one of his old T-shirts.
He hates it when she does it, despises her habit of stealing his clothes, one she picked up rather quickly after she started spending her nights in his bed, warm and naked. He usually tells her so, which ends up with her pulling her shoulders and telling him to suck it up.
But there is nothing usual about this night, so he tries to smile at her, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
He gets nothing in return.
"I didn't know what you would like to eat, so I ordered you some chicken fried rice. Is that alright?" Robert asks.
"Thank you." Andy blurts, doesn't answer his question if this is something she would like to eat.
He pulls a chair out for her, and she sits down, but doesn't eat, even after he already takes the first bite from his plate, trying to get her to follow his lead.
He is half way through his meal as he realizes she hasn't touched her food, just shoved it around the plate with her fork, not even taking one bite for good measures.
"Babe, you have to eat." Robert tries, then he makes this mistake again. He touches her without warning.
She is up on her feet in a moment, jumping from her seat, and in the process her plate flips over and shatters, the rice flying everywhere. "Stop treating me with kids gloves!" She yells.
And finally, it is there. An emotion. To be frank, anger wasn't the first thing Robert expected her to let out, but at least now he knows she feels something as she lets her fury into the air, as he can watch it blazing in her eyes.
"I am going to bed." Andy calls, leaving her husband with his mouth slightly open and a lot of filth to clean up behind her.
He wants to follow her. Wants to hug her, wants to take her in his arms. He wants to tell her everything is going to be just fine, that she can count on him. But he knows his wife well enough, even if they haven't been sharing a bed and a relationship for a long while. He knows that once she feels, she feels everything deeply, and he knows to recognize the signs she sends his way when she says she wants him to give her time to calm down, to grant her space until the anger and rage subside inside her.
So he does just that, finds all the reasons in the world to avoid climbing up those stairs and taking her in his arms. He finishes his dinner and cleans hers off of the floor. He does the dishes and brushes his teeth in the guest bathroom. He keeps himself occupied for as long as he possibly can, coming up with insignificant tasks he has to get done, but she doesn't come strolling back those stairs.
He waits to hear footsteps behind him, waits to feel her arms as she wraps them around his middle, waits to feel the weight of her head as she rests it between his shoulder blades, the way he knows she likes to do.
When he feels nothing, he decides he has had enough, and tiptoes his way into their bedroom. A part of him is scared she went to sleep in the spare bedroom, a part of him afraid she will try to avoid him, even though they didn't have a fight, not really. As he sees her tiny form in the bed, he releases the air that was caught in his lungs, and when he notices she is occupying his side, her face shoved into his pillow, inhaling his scent, he can't help himself.
There is a tiny, little smile on his face, even though the day gave them no reason to be happy.
He says nothing as he slides under the covers, forcing her back into the right side of the large bed, which he referred to as hers in his mind ever since the first night she spent over.
"Robert." She hums after a while, checking if he is still awake. "Can I hold you tonight?" Andy asks. He says nothing in return, just turns on his side, facing away from her. He feels a hand around his middle in no time, and the pressure of her head against his upper back.
Just the way they are supposed to be.
"I am sorry." She apologizes.
"You are allowed to feel, Andy. Feel anything, feel everything. Don't apologize for being human."
The hand she has wrapped around his waist travels down, rubs his lower back reassuringly. It isn't supposed to be that way, he is supposed to be the one comforting her. It is her father who passed away no more than a few hours ago.
But he says nothing, doesn't protest the way she tries to sooth him instead.
His eyelids are turning heavy, his breaths becoming even and slow, and Andy lets herself believe her husband has fallen asleep, lets herself believe he can't hear her, or feel the first tear out of many she finally sheds, as it slides down her cheek and wets the back of his shirt.
"I love you. Please don't leave me." She whispers through her tears, and if Robert is able to hear her, since he hasn't drifted to sleep completely, not yet… Well, he says nothing about it.