It had been an excruciatingly long day. Two innocent children murdered because a demented, entitled man didn't understand when a woman told him "no." He had unintentionally murdered his own daughter. It was on days like this when Andrea hated the deal making paradigm. As much as she was against capital punishment, some crimes were so heinous, some criminals whose humanity was entirely unrecognizable, that they needed to face a courtroom and allow society to determine if they deserved to continue living.
The day had taken its toll on Sharon, Sharon the mother who could hide behind the mask of Captain Raydor on most days. But not today. Today, Andrea stood in Sharon's office, long after the last of her squad had retired for the day, and held a sobbing Sharon until she was entirely spent on tears.
The car ride home had been silent, with Andrea driving while Sharon held onto her hand and stared out into the city that whizzed by. When they had finally arrived home, Sharon had gone straight to Rusty's room, where he was sleeping soundly. Andrea had come back from drawing a bath to find her sitting on the edge of Rusty's bed, her hand gently playing with his air.
"He's safe, Sharon," she had whispered. "He's safe because of you. It's horrifying to see children suffer because of their parents' mistakes. But Rusty is safe because he found a parent who loved him and fought for him without question." Sharon had looked up, tears in her eyes again, she didn't need to explain. Andrea knew. She knew the deep and unconditional love Sharon had for Rusty, the unspoken sacrifices she had made. Andrea knew Sharon didn't love Rusty like he was one of her own children - he just was one of her own and she loved him as such. Andrea had merely taken Sharon's hand and led her to the bath.
Now she was curled up against her. Andrea was reading a sassy telling of the latest food craze, artisanal toast, in this week's New Yorker, not having the energy to open up any work files, and Sharon, who had tried to read with her while resting her head on her shoulder, had started dozing off. When the essay started to describe the history of toast, Sharon's breathing had started to slow down. Her foot, which had been playing with Andrea's legs under the sheets, had stilled and was now gently resting on top of her shins. And her arm, which was wrapped around Andrea's middle, twitched each time Andrea arrived at a new paragraph.
Sleep, the act of actually falling asleep and then staying in that state, always become a formidable adversary for Sharon after such emotionally draining cases. When the Barlow kids had been kidnapped and the son murdered, Andrea had driven to her condo at 2am after receiving a tearful phone call. Sharon had only fallen asleep that night after being nestled in Andrea's arms, and even then, she had woke up multiple times. Andrea couldn't be sure that Sharon would be able to fall back asleep tonight if Andrea woke her to reposition them.
Still, she certainly couldn't sleep sitting up. So instead of moving Sharon, she just moved herself after discarding the magazine on the night table. She slowly slid down the bed in small increments until she was lying flat, and sure enough, Sharon followed her in her sleep, tucking herself into Andrea's side, head resting on her shoulder.
As she slowly drifted off, she heard the quiet murmur.
"I love you."
Sharon was definitely asleep, but it seemed she was aware of Andrea's presence even in slumber. Andrea smiled, pressing a small kiss to the top of Sharon's head and whispering her own "I love you" before succumbing to her own bought of drowsiness.