A/N: Welcome back! This is the companion piece to Shaken. Hope you all enjoy. Thanks for the reviews and comments. We're a little bit AU here in terms of the affection (canon-land was not good to us in the end, so why delay the affection in fic is my motto). I'm so happy to see this fandom alive and kicking. I'm working on another piece in this universe that involves a certain Deputy Chief and unpacks a whole lot of my musings on the two series. We'll consider it my therapy. :) Enjoy!
She just had to keep it together for a little while longer. Sharon let the mantra pulse in the background of her thoughts as she helped Rusty pack his suitcase. "Helped" might have been too strong a word, for Rusty seemed to be channeling his nervousness over the news about testifying into excessive but haphazard packing. Sharon didn't have the heart to try to rein him in, and coupled with the reality that no teenage boy wanted his mother - legal guardian, she corrected mentally - folding his boxers into his luggage, left Sharon sitting on the bed beside the suitcase and trying to keep her emotions at bay as she studied Rusty intently. As if she would never lay eyes on him again.
No. No. No. Sharon resisted the urge to screw her eyes shut. No. Rusty would testify. They would catch this monster. And Rusty would come back home. Back to this room and this bed, with the belongings in his suitcase hung back in the closet and folded in the dresser. Back to her table and her couch and her arms. But not back to her heart, Sharon reminded herself fiercely. No matter how far away or for how long, Rusty would never leave her heart.
Sharon felt the weight of the day, and really, the last year, pressing on her shoulders and snaking its tendrils around her chest, nearly making her gasp with the pressure of it all. She dreaded the moment that Rusty would be packed and on his way with Provenza and Sanchez, but part of her recognized that the sooner Rusty left, the sooner she could fall apart. And the sooner she fell apart, alone in the condo, the sooner she could piece herself back together enough to focus and nail this son of a bitch so that her son could come back home.
But she needed to get through the goodbye first.
Sharon offered Rusty what she hoped was a loving but pointed look. "You wouldn't happen to be stalling a bit, would you," she asked lightly, finally realizing that Rusty had stopped putting things of actual use in his suitcase and was basically just pacing the small room. "Not that I blame you. But you'll be in good hands."
"I...I know that, Sharon. I do." Rusty came to stand before her. "But they won't be yours."
And with that, Sharon was off the mattress and had Rusty in her arms before she even had time to process that she was in motion. She was going to fall, she realized desperately. It was only a matter of when. She could only pray that Rusty would be safely out of sight once she did or they would never have any chance of whisking him away. Or even putting him on the witness stand. And Sharon couldn't let that happen. Things needed to start in order for them to end.
Sharon held onto Rusty for as long as she could, gently kissing his cheek before easing back. "The longer we take, the harder it will be," she reminded him, and herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "I promise you, Rusty, that I will do whatever it takes to bring you home."
Rusty nodded and gamely took his bag in hand. He let Sharon maneuver him out of the bedroom and out to the living room where Sanchez and Provenza were tactfully waiting. Sharon felt as if she was passing the baton of a lifetime as she let her hands fall gently from Rusty's shoulders as he walked unknowingly ahead of her and out of her reach toward the two men.
But Rusty suddenly stopped short. "But what about you?" He looked suddenly frantic. "If I have Lieutenant Provenza and Detective Sanchez, who do you have?"
Provenza chucked in what was a clear attempt to ease the sudden tension. "Rusty, this woman could shoot a button off a snowman," he said cheerfully. "And we have uniforms outside the door. The Captain will be fine, just like you."
Rusty opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by a sudden voice from the kitchen. "Don't worry, kid," Andy said as he came around the corner from the dining room. "We're not going to let anything happen to either of you."
Sharon was comforted by the instant relief in Rusty's eyes, but not so distracted that she didn't notice Provenza's suspicious look in Andy's direction. She sighed inwardly. While this wasn't an unwelcome or even an uncalled for idea, and Andy certainly was the person on her squad that she was most comfortable with staying in close vicinity, it added a layer of...something that Sharon couldn't put her finger on, but was certain that she did not need right now.
"We'll be in touch, Captain," Provenza was saying, and Sharon dragged herself back out of her head to focus on the final image of her boy as Rusty gave her a final piercing look, almost as if he was committing her to memory, before resolutely turning to follow Provenza out the door with Sanchez taking up the rear. And then the door was closed and it all was over.
Sharon wasn't sure how long she stood there, simply frozen in time, fixated on the door and wishing simultaneously that Rusty would walk back through it and also that he would be well on his way, safe in someone else's home far away from where he'd nearly been murdered hours before. So transfixed was she by the images and thoughts whirling in her own head that she barely remembered that anyone else was still in the condo, until Andy crept up quietly to stand beside her.
He didn't touch her. Not on her hand or her back or her shoulder. He didn't put an arm around her shoulders or her waist, nor did he reach for her hips or her elbows. He didn't hug her or brush at the moisture that was pooling in her eyes and running silently down her cheeks. He didn't stroke her hair or hold her head against his chest. He didn't kiss her forehead or her cheek, and he didn't mumble soft platitudes into the shell of her ear or whisper soothing reassurances against her lips. He simply stood beside her.
Time passed in such a way that Sharon wasn't sure if hours or mere minutes had counted on. Her cheeks, once soaked and damp, dried over, and her cloudy vision finally cleared into something resembling normalcy. She let herself take obvious, steadying deep breaths now that the chance of dissolving into loud, messy tears had come and gone. She let herself feel the ache in her legs and her arms and deep within her very bones, a pain that matched the one deep in her very soul, and realized, as if from a great distance, that she needed to sit. She could sit now, finally, and sink into the soft couch and let herself be comforted. The storm inside her had passed, silently, but not without its wind and waves and desperate wishes for it to just end, please end, but she had made it to the eye. Sharon felt her reprieve creeping up behind her. She could rest now.
Sharon finally angled herself toward Andy and met his eyes for the first time in hours. She watched him watching her and told herself not to look away. She saw, as if from a great distance, Andy drinking in her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, her full lips and firm cheeks that had stifled the sobs she'd felt so deeply, his eyes dropping to her hands, finally unclenching from fists to start to tremble at her sides, before finally raking back up her body to meet her own. But he let her take the lead, as always.
She motioned weakly toward her sofa and nearly collapsed upon it, the relief that Andy was right on her heels and settling in beside her almost too much to even let herself feel. Sharon hunched over her knees, her hands clasped together in a pensive stance. She was too overcome to even speak.
Sharon was so deep inside of herself that it took a moment to process Andy's careful movement, much less the presence of gentle pressure on her hand. She watched without even really thinking about it as Andy softly took her hands and eased them apart, opening one of her palms and holding it in both of his. He said not a word, but simply traced her fingers, not light enough to annoy her with its subtle sensation but not hard enough to draw her out of herself. He stroked her fingers and her knuckles and her wrist in a consistent, soothing pattern that Sharon found herself intrigued by, and somehow Sharon realized that she was no longer alone, locked in her head with her own desperate thoughts, but here, with Andy. She slowly brought her gaze to his, offering an invitation she hoped he'd take.
Andy Flynn was many things to Sharon Raydor, but a disappointment wasn't one of them.
"You're back," he murmured gently. "You kind of went away on me there."
Sharon hummed. "You let me go." Even as it left her lips, she cringed a bit at its incoherency, hoping that he wouldn't take it as a criticism. He had let her go, she had meant, so that she could find her way back. He'd let her go knowing that she needed to catch herself before she'd be ready for someone else to do it for her.
But Andy only gave her a slight smile. "I knew you'd be back. You're a fighter. Sometimes you just need to...I don't know, sit in the middle of it before you can crawl your way up."
For the first time in days, Sharon felt something like peace seep slowly back into her. Her life was threatened, her son nearly murdered and now gone, off to face the biggest hurdle of his life without her by his side, and she was neck-deep in a vicious manhunt that was likely going to cause even more calamity. But here was someone, somehow, who understood. Who hadn't tried to distract her pain away or wallow in it with her or even try to carry it for her. Here was someone who walked beside her.
Sharon curled her fingers around Andy's, relishing the feel of his hands in hers, and continued to look fully into Andy's eyes. And Andy, to his credit, refused to look away, not even glancing down as Sharon tangled her other hand in his, both of her hands now gently grasping both of his.
"Whatever you need," Andy rasped suddenly, never tearing his eyes from her. "Anything, Sharon, that you need, I'll do. You just tell me. No matter what it is. I'm here." I'm not leaving you. Sharon could hear the unspoken declaration between his words, and flashed back to the scene in the other condo earlier, remembering the flutter that had gone through her at Andy's words even as she'd held Rusty and directed orders around the room. Neither Andy nor Provenza were as subtle as they'd like to think.
"I know," Sharon said clearly, pleased that her voice didn't shake. In this small thing, unlike everything else in her life at the moment, she could be sure. "Andy, I know." She angled herself a little closer so that their knees nearly touched as their clasped hands lay on their laps between them. She let her head ease forward gently and smiled just a little when she felt Andy responding in kind. He dipped his head so that his forehead rested against hers.
They sat quietly, intimately even, as they each measured the weight of each other's hands and listened to the careful sounds of breathing in the small, now-shared space between them. Andy shifted his head ever so slightly so that his lips were pressed lightly against Sharon's temple, even as he made no motion to move against her, to draw a line in the sand.
"You'll tell me," he question was just as cryptic as Sharon's earlier comment, but somehow she felt like she understood what he was asking. When she needed something, anything. When she was ready. When it was time. When they were there - together.
"Yes," she breathed. Was it her imagination, or had Andy's lips moved ever so slightly against her skin? "Andy, yes. I will. I promise."
Sharon missed the warmth of Andy's hands as he suddenly dropped her grasp, and she couldn't stifle the sigh of relief as his arms came up to wrap around her. "I promise, too," he said thickly, and she sighed again. Andy was right here, his warmth all around her like a comforting blanket she hadn't known that she longed for, rather than the choking straightjacket she'd fear. Sharon had never been alone afterall.