A/N Tag to episode 5.15 Cleared History. No beta all mistakes were mine. This one did not go where I originally planned, so I'll issue a small warning.

The bedside lamp was on low, casting a dim light across their bedroom. Andy could hear water running in the adjoining bathroom as he padded across the room in his bare feet. He paused at the slightly ajar door, his shoulder resting against the facing, he leaned a little to the left to optimize his view. He loved nothing more than to watch her nightly ritual. The way she washes and moisturizes her beautiful face intrigues him for some reason; each step precisely synchronized, like a dance almost. It often drives her crazy when she catches him staring, a fact that makes him love her even more. She looks up in the mirror, catching him just as he crosses his arms over his chest to get more comfortable. He doesn't miss the roll of her eyes, nor the soft groan she can't suppress. He steps closer this time, her green eyes silently watching his advance in the mirror. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulls her snuggly into his chest, his head coming to rest on her left shoulder. She giggles lightly as he peppers kisses along her elongated neck and jaw bone. Words cannot express how much he loves to hear her low, easy-going giggles that she reserves only for him. Smiling, he begins to sway them softly, side to side. Their eyes meet in the mirror once again as he places a chaste kiss against her cheek. "The bruise is almost gone," his voice is low against her ear. "Sykes thinks you must have been a makeup artist in another life, she even asked me if you really had a bruise."

A low hum is her only response. Their eyes meet again; this time the light seems to have dimmed considerably in her mossy green orbs. His eyebrow raises in question and she can't help but look away. "Sharon?" She recognizes his tone, yet she doesn't stop him from slowly turning her to face him.

Her hands move to the center of his chest, his grey t-shirt is soft, comforting. "Let's just say I have some experience and leave it at that." She knows even before she finishes her sentence, that he can't; he won't. Slipping from his light hold, she moves past him flipping the bathroom light off as she steps into their bedroom.

Standing unmoving, Andy silently counts backwards from ten; he knows she can't lie to him so avoidance is her only defense. He also knows that she only wants to protect him; thus, the reason she has always been very tight lipped about her past. His hands automatically clinch into tight fists, he can feel his heart rate quicken and then it hits him…he finally understands in that brief second what she has been saying all along. Letting out a deep sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair before stepping into their bedroom, "Sweetheart…" but his words die on his lips when he realizes the room is empty. The covers are pulled back, but Sharon is nowhere to be seen. He sits heavily on her side of the bed, automatically cradling her pillow to his chest. He thinks back to their discussion at dinner a few nights before; with Sharon, everything is a discussion, never an argument. No matter how undone he becomes, she stays perfectly calm; direct, but calm. She has said from day one that stress was the cause of his heart attack, an idea that he refused to give merit to. What was it she said… "I am pretty certain that when people move in together, sometimes there is a little pressure." That wasn't the first time she included them moving in together as a reason for added stress. Shaking his head, he tries to wrap his mind around her words. Moving in with Sharon was the best thing in his life, how could that add to his stress? Tossing her pillow to the side, Andy stood, intent on getting answers. Clad in pajama pants and grey t-shirt, he moved quietly down the hall into the living room.

The lights were still off, just as he had left them earlier. From the soft glow offered by the single light burning above the kitchen sink, he could just make out her figure standing at the balcony door. Her legs were bare, his pajama top falling mid-thigh. One hand rested on the cool glass, the other held at her waist. The only thing stopping her from escaping to the balcony was the gentle rain falling outside. He watched her for a few seconds before he spoke, "Sweetheart, come to bed."

"In a few minutes." She made no effort to turn at the sound of his voice. With a deep sigh, he moved slowly to the couch. Gathering the pillows to one end, he stretched out with another sigh. "Andy? Please…"

"Nope. I'll wait right here until you're ready for bed or…ready to talk." He could hear her exasperated groan, but she still did not move from her spot by the door. He knew if he was going to get any answers, he would have to ask her point blank. "Sharon?" his voice was low, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Always," her voice was almost wistful.

"Would you have told me about Stroh last week, if you hadn't been woken up by that terrible nightmare?" That wasn't the question she was expecting. Her mind drifted back to that terrible night, just a week ago; it had been a long while since she had suffered through such a vivid dream. Within the first few minutes of waking up she had not been able to distinguish between what was real and what was not. At first Andy assumed that Jeffery Day was the person haunting her dreams, but when she stumbled down the hall to Rusty's empty room, he realized that he couldn't have been more wrong. It took several minutes to calm her down enough to convince her that Rusty was safe with Gus. After that, she finally pulled the file from her desk drawer and together they sat for hours going over the information. "Sharon?" His voice pulled her from her memories, "I asked you a question."

"No, I wouldn't have." She turned to look at him, even though she couldn't see his eyes in the dark, "Eventually, yes…but I would have waited…"

"Waited for what?" his voice rose an octave.

"I don't know! You don't need the added stress of worrying…"

"Stop…just stop." He quickly sat up, knocking off several pillows to the floor. She moved swiftly across the room, coming to a stop just in front of where he sat. Reaching for her, he tugged gently on her wrist. "I love you, I'm supposed to worry about…" even in the dark, he could see her slowly shaking her head. "Oh, I see…I finally get it. You get to worry about me but I don't get to worry about you. Is that why you blame yourself."

"Blame myself?" Her whisper so soft, he could barely hear her.

"That's why you keep bringing up the stress of moving in together. You think if I wasn't here everyday, you could do a better job of hiding things from me?" Even though it was dark, he studied the array of emotions flooding her mind. "Come here…" Pulling her ever so gently on to his lap, he sighed when she gave in, resting her head on his shoulders. "My heart attack was not your fault."

"I know…but, there was so much going on at that time. That awful case, Taylor dying, then the way I handled shooting…Dwight. I didn't know how to let you help me, I could see the worry every time I looked at you," her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Do you honestly think I would have let you handle all of that alone? You couldn't have kept me away."

"I would have tried, if I thought it could have saved you," the sadness in her voice tore at his heart.

"There's no place I'd rather be in the world than here with you and Rusty. We're a family, Sharon. Do you know how long I've dreamed of spending my life with you? It's just, I'm not like you. I can't compartmentalize everything that worries me into a stack of neat little boxes in my head and only take them out when it is convenient for me."

"I don't do that!" She sat back a little to look at him.

"Oh yes, you do." He traced the pad of his finger down her nose, "It's not a bad thing, sweetheart. But sometimes I worry that all those little boxes are going to come crashing down when you least expect it."

Taking a deep breath, she shifted on his lap to straddle him, "It sounds like we're quite the pair. A number one worrier and an ace compartmentalizer, wonder what behavioral science would say?"

Chuckling, he leaned in pulling her even closer, "I never want to find out." He looked down, and even in the dim light she could feel the sadness wash over him.

"What?" She tugged on his chin, willing him to look at her.

"Promise me you will stop trying to hide things from me because you're scared I'm going to kill over or something. I'm not going anywhere. We are in this together, good or bad…"

"Happy or sad," she placed a soft kiss against his lips. "Okay, I promise, no more secrets." She studied his face for a few more seconds, "Did Amy really ask you about my bruise?"

"Yeah, she really did; actually, I think Mike or Julio put her up to it. They just couldn't understand how you covered it so well. Julio was there remember, he knows exactly what kind of blow you took. They all were just worried about you." He chuckled softly, "Even Provenza."

"Hmm." She chewed on her bottom lip before continuing, "If I tell you, do you promise to stay calm and not try to beat Jack to a pulp the next time we see him?" Andy nodded softly, afraid if he spoke the tone of his voice would belie the rage beginning to boil deep down inside of him and then she might change her mind about telling him.

"Okay…" Taking a deep breath, "It happen twice, the first time I was seven months pregnant with Emily." She moved to slide off his lap, but he tried to hold her still. "Please, I need some space, if I'm going to talk about this…" Nodding, his hands slipped from her sides, allowing her to stand and before he could stop her, she was back starring out into the dark night beyond the balcony windows. "Of course he was drunk; so drunk, in fact that the next morning he had no idea what he had done. It wouldn't have been as bad if he had slapped me, but apparently Jack likes to use his fist. He thought I had gotten hit a work. He was so upset, so concerned about me and our baby." Her breath caught before she could continue, " I never told him what really happen. I wanted to believe that he could change, that things could be good. And they were for a while. Until I got pregnant with Ricky and realized that Jack had never really stopped drinking or gambling." She cleared her throat, "After the hard time I had during Ricky's birth, he came back, promising that we could be a family again. That he would never, ever let me down. And, I so wanted to believe him."

Andy cradled his head in his hands, willing himself to stay on the couch, to give her the space she needed. But he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, to put a lifetime of distance between her and these terrible memories. He, himself could remember a young Sharon Raydor. Their paths had crossed a few times in those days and he always thought she was the most beautiful pregnant woman he had ever seen. There was a glow about her that never betrayed the sadness that he now knows was hidden so deeply behind those brilliant green eyes.

Her voice was low, startling him from his thoughts, "The second time…the second time, Ricky was too young to remember, but Emily…" He waited for her continue, "Oh, god! I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Andy. I can't. I thought I could, but…" He could see her hand move from her chest, yet before he could cross the small space separating them, she had the balcony door open and was outside. Her body trembled, her hands gripped the balcony railing with a strength that was some how comforting. Andy moved behind her, careful to not yet touch her. "I couldn't breathe," she whispered against the wind and soft rain.

His hands moved slowly around her waist, pulling her into the the solid warm of his chest, "I've got you, I've got you. You will always be safe with me." She leaned her head against his shoulder, allowing the full weight of her body to rest against him. His hands slowly traveled up her now rain soaked body, finding her nipples hard against the cool, wet fabric. Her body arched against him, the low moan slowly escaping her lips. She turned quickly in his arms, his hands anchored behind her back, pulling her even closer still, "You're so beautiful." The words were barely out of his mouth when he captured her lips in a searing kiss. Lifting her, she locked her legs around his waist. Slowly, he walked them out of the dark, wet night. Once inside, she tried to slip from his hold, "Nope, you're staying right here." He pulled the balcony door closed with one hand, his other held firmly to her bottom. She nuzzled her nose against his neck, her deep sigh the only noise in the darkened room except for the sound of his foot steps carrying them down the hall.

Kicking the bedroom door closed with his foot, Andy pressed her back against it. Unhooking her ankles from behind his back, she slipped down from his chest to the floor, his desire for her evident. Reaching down, he pushed a lock of wet hair from her eyes. Both her hands carefully came rest just above his heart, "Are you sure?" The love and concern in her eyes saying more than her words ever could.

"More than sure," the low tone of his voice, echoing his answer. Slowly, she peeled his wet t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. Her hands then pulled impatiently at the string at his waist, finally allowing his pajama pants to fall to the floor.

Leaning up on her toes, she grabbed his face between her hands, her eyes searching his, "If you start to feel anything wrong…" He cut her words off, crashing his lips into hers. Briefly their teeth clashed as his tongue seeks access. He groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat, and she pulled back, her eyes once again anchored on his. "I mean it, Andy…" Before she can continue, his hands grasp at his rain soaked pajama top still covering her. He wasted no time with the buttons, as several of them go flying across the room as he rips the offending material from her body. Their lips meet again, this time she matches his fervor, taste by beautiful taste.

It's his turn to pull back now, resting his forehead against her's they both struggle to catch their breaths. Water drips slowly from her hair, winding a cool path down between her breast. Taking her hand gently in his he pulls her to the bed, where he motions for her to sit. She frowns slightly when he walks quickly into the bathroom, only to return seconds later with a towel. He runs it over his hair a few times before gently squeezing the water from her soft auburn locks. She can't hide her grin when he finally tosses the towel to the side of the bed. "Are you done?" her voice sends a bolt of desire through him.

Passion radiates from his dark brown eyes, "Oh, believe me, I'm just getting started."