TWENTY-ONE

A/N: One reviewer brought up a point that I would like to address and that was that I was "punishing" Sharon for making the decision to leave and making Andy out as the wronged party here. In this context, I would just like to point out that this story is deliberately written entirely from Andy's point of view. Andy is an impulsive, imperfect, emotional human being who is currently hurt and feeling very sorry for himself. He is not supposed to be objective and, for me, that is the whole point of a character POV. I personally think Sharon has more than one very good reason to go to Boston in the context of everything she has experienced, but I'm not writing her POV because Andy doesn't know her thoughts. I kind of thought that was obvious, but I am happy to clear that up. That said, I completely get it if people disagree with certain plot decisions and I respect their opinions. Not everything is for everyone, but calling me "gross" and "sexist" for them, frankly, just hurts.

Thanksgiving came and went, but this year, Flynn had zero thanks to give. Zero fucks, too, so he ignored everyone's attempts to include him in their celebrations and spent a gloomy evening watching a string of "Diagnosis Murder" reruns instead, cursing Dick van Dyke and his entire family. Everything seemed pointless these days and when he realized one morning that it had been six months to the day since he had last seen Sharon, he seriously questioned how it was even possible that the days and weeks and months had just blurred into each other unnoticed. His team mates and even the Chief were cutting him more slack than he deserved. More often than not, he was just dragged along and never burdened with anything that required any amount of concentration or commitment. It all remained unspoken, but they could see that he had fallen headfirst into a depression, if maybe not in the clinical sense yet. Maybe it was damage control even, for he didn't really feel up to solving murders these days or even to being a productive member of a team that did.

Provenza was trying the hardest, he had to give him that. He had even attempted countless times to get the story out of Andy. Andy, however, had refused to tell it. Maybe spilling the beans would have been the first step to healing, but for some self-destructive reason or other, he largely preferred encapsulating the experience and letting it fester deep inside him. He wanted to forget, but forget he could not. If there was anything about himself that he remained proud of, it was that he had not relapsed even though the prospect of drowning his sorrows seemed all too tempting. But drinking had destroyed his life once before and he just couldn't risk losing his job even if he was nothing if not a low performer these days.

Despite his constant refusals, the others still asked him to come with them to lunch every time they went. Their commitment gave him some small measure of comfort, but he still couldn't bring himself to sit at a table with them and chit-chat about everyday things. Captain Raydor leaving the LAPD had been big news of course with no small amount of spite and celebration. The ones who were aware of the events leading up to her departure, however, did not join in. Rumor was that Pope had let her go with just two days' notice because he was afraid of a lawsuit based on what had happened.

Alone in the murder room, Andy gave in to the masochistic urge to open his desk drawer and take out the teddy bear that he had stuffed inside months ago. Why he was choosing to look at it today of all days was a mystery even to him. The others probably assumed that Sharon had suffered a miscarriage after all, because no one had ever mentioned the issue of his impending fatherhood again. They were walking on eggshells around him these days and while that made him feel weak and despicable for it, he was also grateful in some measure.

Andy reached inside his pocket and retrieved the ultrasound image he was keeping there. Every few weeks, he found an envelope in his mailbox with one of them inside. Mostly they were sent without comment, but sometimes there was a note with medical details to accompany them. That was how he knew that all the prenatal tests had come back with normal results and that he was going to have a son. There was never any information on Sharon herself in the notes and they never consisted of more than a few words in her neat script. Why she was sending them, he didn't know. It was probably out of some sense of duty to keep him in the loop. While the return address on the envelope had remained the same solid Boston suburb, the name had recently changed from Sharon Raydor to Sharon O'Dwyer, which was another mystery to him.

He leaned back in his chair, his stomach growling. Eating was not his favorite pastime lately and his suspenders were beginning to make an appearance more often than not these days because he didn't feel like shopping for suits a size smaller. Running his hand through his hair, he considered the bag of bagels Provenza had dropped on his desk in the morning when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned around and found his best friend standing right next to him. For a while, Andy had complained about people constantly sneaking up on him, but one day he had realized that they weren't sneaking at all, he was just in a perpetual state of being miles away and paying zero attention to what was happening around him. Provenza was holding a bag from their favorite diner and began to unpack its contents and putting items on Flynn's desk.

"Look, I'm really not hungry," Andy said. "I thought you were getting lunch with the others!"

Provenza huffed, but the look in his eyes was genuine. "I am not going to let you waste away here by yourself, Flynn. You can't continue this dying swan routine forever." While he was using the same impertinent turns of phrase as usual, his tone was soft. It was there and then that Flynn had no choice but to admit what he had been trying to ignore for weeks: Provenza was truly worried about him. He had been telling himself that he had no reason to be, that everyone was overreacting, but maybe, just maybe, they had a point. He reached out and took a fry.

"Happy now?"

Provenza pulled up his chair and sat down on the opposite side of Flynn's desk. The room around them was so completely empty that Flynn was beginning to suspect that it was a set-up.

"What's that?" Provenza gestured towards the ultrasound image on the desk in front of Flynn.

"Nothing," he said, but reacted a second too late when Provenza reached out to pick it up.

"That's recent," Provenza said with no small amount of surprise. "How did you get this?"

Flynn had another fry and chewed it listlessly.

"She's been sending them to me. One every week weeks."

Provenza looked up at him with a look of incredulousness in his eyes. "So you guys are still talking?"

Flynn shook his head, pursing his lips bitterly. "Nope. She's been sending them via regular mail."

"As in, she puts them in envelopes and writes you letters? What is this? The nineties?" Provenza snorted.

Flynn exhaled and took another fry. Now that he had actually forced himself to start eating, he was becoming ravenous, savoring the crispy salty fries.

"She is not exactly writing me letters, no. It is mostly just the pictures. Sometimes there is a note, but usually not."

Provenza shrugged. "But that's good, isn't it? So you didn't completely screw everything up."

Flynn was actually surprised that he still had it in him to get angry after all those months. "I didn't do anything! She was the one who just decided to take the job and move to Boston out of the blue!"

Even though this was information Provenza must have gathered from the gossip in the hallways, he looked suddenly alert because this was the first time Andy had ever said anything on the issue.

"And what did you do?" he asked almost gently. "When she told you?"

"What do you think?" Flynn dipped a fry in ketchup and put it in his mouth. He had forgotten how good these were. "I practically begged her not to go, but she wouldn't budge."

"Then why are the two of you not talking? A long distance relationship is not ideal, but you didn't even try?" Provenza crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, apparently trying to provide an image of mild interest. Flynn knew him too well, though, and saw the tension there. Provenza knew very well that it was all he could do to get his friend to talk. Talking, Flynn found, felt a lot better than he had expected. Having his friend in the know proved to be a comfort rather than just a recap of the pain.

"I yelled at her when she wouldn't change her mind. Told her to go but not expect me to come running after her. I might have made a stupid comment along the lines of me not being like her devoted little Elliott in the process."

In his quest to find out the truth, Provenza's demeanor was a lot more pleasant than usual, but he could not help but slap his palm over his eyes. He hurriedly dropped his hand after, treading as carefully around Andy as one would around a panicked horse.

"Ouch," he said instead of the scathing comment he had clearly meant to deliver initially. "She didn't take it well I suppose?"

Flynn shrugged once again. "She asked me to leave and when I went back to her apartment a few days later to apologize, she had already left."

"Have you tried calling her?" Provenza asked almost carefully. Flynn was beginning to wonder who the friendly old man sitting across from him was, because he bore very little resemblance to his partner.

"What's the point? She clearly doesn't want anything to do with me," he said, his heart heavy at the words. This was what hurt the most: Her just leaving and living her life without him in it as if it was nothing.

"Is that why she is sending you pictures every time she goes to the doctor?" Provenza raised an eyebrow. Somehow, Andy was beginning to suspect that he had been coached by someone, maybe Tao, on what to say and how to say it, because Provenza was never like this. On a normal day, he would have already called him an asshole and an idiot ten times over.

"Maybe she feels obligated. Maybe she is even worried that I'm going to take her to court over custody or something."

Provenza lifted his brows. "And are you?"

Flynn waved him away. "Of course not. I mean, what judge in their right mind would grant me custody? With my track records. Please!"

The fact that Provenza said nothing said everything.

"Who put you up to this?" Flynn finally asked. "It is as if you're an actor playing a shrink or something. It is pretty off-putting to be honest."

Provenza rolled his eyes and that was something at least. Somewhere in there was his partner.

"Flynn, we are all worried about you, okay? You're unable to concentrate on anything, you barely eat, you talk only when you have to. Everyone can see you're depressed and you miss Raydor like hell."

"It is actually O'Dwyer now as evidenced by the return address on the letters," Andy told him, trying to evade responding to the actual issue here. Because he knew he was letting himself go. He knew he was in dangerous territory, but he just couldn't help it. "I'm not drinking if that's what you're afraid of, you know."

"I'm not and… you actually have her address?"

Flynn gestured helplessly. "Yes, I do. What about it? She left and that's it. Doesn't matter if I know where she lives or not. It's not like I could just drive over after work and say hi."

Provenza groaned.

"What?" Flynn snapped. "What am I doing wrong now?"

"Seriously, Flynn? Do I need to make you a powerpoint presentation, so you'll understand?" Flynn was relieved to see the anger distort Provenza's features, because this was more familiar territory. "I'll try to put it in simple terms, so you idiot can understand!"

Provenza began to count on his fingers: "One, in just a matter of months, you two stumbled from an unplanned love affair into an unplanned pregnancy that is, apparently, complicated. Two, she suddenly has to face the fact that people want to hurt her for doing the job she has built her entire career around. Three, an officer she was very fond of fell mentally ill and was then killed, which she feel guilty for. Four, the entire LAPD knows certain details about her private life now. Five, she has fallen head over heels for a guy whose past bears more than just a fleeting resemblance to her husband. And, finally, six, that guy has nothing better to do than to confirm to her the one thing that she was afraid of all along, that he would not come after her and not try to be involved in his kid's life if she didn't force him to."

Flynn stared at Provenza in dumbfounded silence. On some level he had known all this, but having it broken down for him like that, her departure suddenly seemed inevitable. Something shook loose in him and he propped both of his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.

"I screwed up big time, didn't I?" he groaned. When Provenza didn't answer at first, he looked at him through his fingers, finding his expression less amused and more genuine than he had expected.

"I don't know about that. It is not a situation that is easy to deal with. You're damaged goods as well, Flynn. Of course you would react like that when you're so proud of having turned your life around and she just seems to assume that you haven't and that you are as unreliable an ass as that Raydor idiot."

Hearing it put like that seemed to lift a heavy, heavy weight from Flynn's shoulders.

"I don't think it makes sense to look for the guilty party in this scenario," Provenza suggested. "You were both thrown into a shitty situation and you did what you know. She protected herself and made sure you can't hurt her and you covered your pain up with anger. Figures."

"Provenza, I had no idea you were that insightful," Flynn said, a small chuckle making his way up his throat. He couldn't remember when he had last felt like laughing.

"Don't you tell anyone. I don't want anyone to know that I can read them like books."

Flynn took another fry. "So, Dr. Freud, what do you suggest I do? Write her a letter back?"

Provenza rolled his eyes and shook his head. "As if anyone was able to decipher your horrible handwriting, Flynn. Also, you don't have time for that because," he consulted his watch. "Your flight is taking off in three hours and you still need to pack."

Andy was dumfounded yet again.

"My flight?"

It was then that Provenza slapped a ticket on to the desk in front of Flynn, making him jump in the process.

"As I said before, we are not going to watch you mope around any longer, Flynn. We all pitched in to buy this ticket and therefore we expect you to use it."

"But what about…?" Andy gestured around the room. "I can't just take time off work, can I?"

"You've been useless for months anyway, Andy," Provenza said. "The Chief is okay with it. We'll call it sick leave, because there is no way Pope wouldn't believe it. Anyone who's seen you will."

Andy laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was surreal. Apparently there were people who cared about him. Maybe he was actually worth something.

"Now get your lazy ass home and hurry up," Provenza barked. "And take the fries into the car with you, I am not sure Raydor likes skinny dudes."

He had forgotten that there were places in the world that had actual seasons. Seasons that brought snow and icy winds that he was not used to at all. Having struggled to keep the rental car on the road and out of ditches, he was relieved when his GPS finally signaled his arrival. His destination was a quiet residential street with large trees that, when not bare like they were now, would shade the street from the sun. Most of the houses were red brick and the yards surrounding them were spacious and well-kept. He peered through the windshield at the house that had to be Sharon's. The yard was covered in snow that was glittering in the light of the old fashioned street lamps. The fence was iron, a string of Christmas lights wrapped around the gate that led to the short pathway to the house.

Andy sat in the car a while longer, suddenly unable to move. When Provenza had ushered him out, wishing him luck, he had just rolled with it, but now that he was finally here, he was suddenly scared out of his mind. What if she turned him away? He was showing up unannounced, after all. Light was spilling out of the downstairs windows. The living room opened up into a floor to ceiling glass wall in the back if the house was built like the others around it, but he couldn't see it from the street. Still, those circumstances indicated that she was awake and downstairs. It wasn't even that late, he reminded himself. It was just that pesky little things called east coast winter that made it seem like the dead of night.

With a sigh, he got out of the car and made his way across the street, slipping on the ice once or twice. He had heard warnings on the radio on his way from the airport, asking people to stay home if they could as they were expecting a cold and snowy night. He had dismissed those warnings initially, because how bad could a little bit of ice be, but when he had to grip the iron post of Sharon's fence to keep himself from falling on his face, he realized that the assessment might have been a bit premature.

He took a deep breath before he rang the doorbell, reminded of the day he had discovered Stella in Sharon's apartment. What if this wasn't Sharon's house at all? He didn't have time to think up a contingency plan to stand in for his already non-existent actual plan in the event that it would in fact be her to open the door, because he could hear steps in the hallway.

A moment later, the door opened.

"Andy?" Sharon's voice was barely above a whisper, her hand coming up to cover her mouth when she discovered him on her doorstep. At least she didn't ask what he was doing in Boston, on her doorstep and at nine o'clock in the evening on the coldest day of the year (or so the unnecessarily cheerful radio host had announced).

It had been six months since he had seen her last and the change had to be expected, of course, but it still took Andy's breath away to discover her round stomach. She looked almost exactly the way she usually did and maybe it was just the pure joy of seeing her again, but he felt as if she had just grown more beautiful.

"Hey," he said finally. "Um, sorry for coming by so late."

He sounded like a neighbor who had run out of flour during a late night baking session and not like a heartbroken ex-boyfriend whose colleagues had badgered him into finally taking his fate into his own hands. He shivered. It was cold and he didn't even own a coat that was a match for subzero temperatures.

"Oh my God, you must be freezing," Sharon said. "Do come in!"

He followed her into the small foyer. The floor was polished dark oak, the walls white. Through a door on the left it opened into a spacious kitchen and living room space that looked both stylish and cozy. She had a knack for that, he noticed not for the first time. Papers were spread across a large oak dining table and a laptop screen was glowing next to them. So she had been working.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them as they faced each other over the kitchen counter behind which she had retreated while he looked around.

"I got the pictures," Andy finally told her for a lack of anything else to say. "I'm glad the little guy is fine."

Sharon smiled and placed her hand on her stomach. "I didn't think he would be," she said, her tone more emotional than he would have expected. "but it's been going very well." She drew in a shuddering breath. "You're here," she said in something that could have been described as wonder. "I thought you were never going to talk to me again."

"Same here," he said, suddenly afraid that he would end up saying the wrong thing again. "Look, I'm so sorry. I should have tried to be more understanding of what you were going through, Sharon. I was only seeing my own pain."

At that, she suddenly looked close to tears. "I've been thinking about what you said back then so often over the past few months," she admitted tearfully. "You know, the part about me just taking your child away from you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for that." She wiped her cheek. Andy knew that he should have given her some space in this moment, but he couldn't help himself. Having her so close, he could not let her cry like that without holding her. He stepped around the kitchen counter and approached her slowly, offering his arms. When she stepped into them and rested her head against his chest, he felt like he could die on the spot. The feeling of her warm body in his arms made him woozy, as if she was a piece of him that had been missing for so long. He held her as tightly as her round stomach between them would allow, sure that he would never be able to let go again.

"There is something else I should have done differently," he whispered into her hair, glad that he didn't have to do it while looking at her, because then he might have run out of courage to go through with it. "I should have told you that I didn't want you to go because I love you and I'd miss you so much."

She felt her arms tighten around him. "I should have told you I'd miss you, too. I was so eager to get away that I didn't consider either of our feelings."

Over six months of tension left Andy's body at once and he suddenly couldn't remember anymore how he had been holding up for so long.

"I get it," he told her. "You probably made the right decision. I just wish I could have been part of it." Afraid that she would take it as a criticism, he drew back and smiled down at her. "How have you been? Is Boston everything you were hoping for?"

She smiled back at him, her arms still loosely wrapped around his middle.

"The job is great. Very challenging and I have a great team. And I love my house. My parents live just down the road and my sister isn't far either. I can have my kids over for weekends, because they don't have to fly across the country to visit. So yes."

He nodded, glad on the one hand that she was happy and disappointed on the other, because the better she had settled in, the slimmer the chances were of her coming back to LA.

"I miss LA, though," Sharon added softly.

"Boston is very cold this time of year." Andy grimaced. "I don't know how you survive in these conditions."

She laughed and his heart did a little summersault. He could still make her laugh and that was something.

"Did you deliberately choose today to come here, so I couldn't kick you out? Because they say that tonight is going to be rough and I don't want you to drive in these conditions."

He chuckled. "No, I swear."

She stepped back into his arms and nestled her cheek into his chest. "It's so good to see you again, Andy. I missed you so much."

He bent down and kissed her softly even though the kiss deepened quickly. Sharon hummed against his lips, sending a shiver down his spine. Maybe it was just the warmth of the house chasing the chill from outside out of his bones, but his entire body felt warm and was tingled pleasantly. He hadn't felt his good for months.

"You lost weight," Sharon said critically when they came apart. Her gaze was worried.

"You didn't," he quipped and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"I didn't realize this whole thing would hurt you so much," she said, suddenly sorrowful again.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Really? Didn't you see how much you mean to me?" He touched her cheek gently to let her know that it wasn't anger that was making him say it.

She pressed her lips together and he realized with a pang that he had made her feel guilty, which he had never intended.

"I could see that, but it was what I could always see in Jack, too," she admitted quietly. "He would be attentive and loving right up until the moment that he disappeared on me again. I know it's unfair to expect you to be the same, I really do, but I was on autopilot back when I left." She looked up at him with a certain sense of urgency, eager to make him understand what it had been like for her. "I was scared of what letting you love me would mean, so I chose what I know."

Andy vowed then and there that he would never ever let Provenza know that his assessment had been so absolutely spot-on.

"I understand, Sharon," he told her honestly. "I completely understand. I don't blame you. I really don't."

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "I am so glad that you came here, Andy."

He realized another thing Provenza had probably foreseen: She would have never made the first move beyond the pictures in the mail. It had always all been up to him. Whether that was fair or sensible or not, he had always held it all in his stupid, clumsy hands. There was no point in assigning blame to her or to him for how they had ended up where they had ended up. They weren't a pair of sunny twenty year olds who had never seen the dark parts of life and love and family before. They were a pair of damaged idiots who had, quite surprisingly, found each other in the middle of it all.

"I am glad I came," he assured her and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Now tell me about that change of last name."