Adrift and Apart

by Kadi
Rated: T

Disclaimer: This is not my sandbox. These are just my favorite toys. I promise to return them when finished.

Chapter 4 - Need Blurs All Lines (Road Block)

It was late when Sharon finally left her office. The act of arresting a Police Commissioner's wife had created a firestorm of paperwork for more than just the Major Crimes division that uncovered her crime. Sharon had been in and out of meetings for most of the day, moving almost constantly between her office and the Chief's, meetings with the Mayor, and finally the commissioners had been called together to discuss the resignation of Jay Meyers.

While all agreed that it was tragic a life had been lost due to Gail Meyers's actions, the primary concern on everyone's mind had been the impact that the incident would have on the Department. Impact and response had kept Sharon busy throughout the day. An internal investigation had been launched. The Chief, in response to the Mayor, now wanted to know if anyone within the department had, at any time, given Gail Meyers a free ride because she was a commissioner's wife. They needed to uncover that before someone outside the department did, and it created a negative backslide, possibly even another lawsuit.

When finally she was able to slide into her car, Sharon let herself slump in the seat. Her head fell back against the seat rest. She sighed, allowing the tension of the day to flow out of her. Her feet were aching and her shoulders were tight with tension and fatigue. She wanted nothing more than to go home and pour herself a glass of wine and run a steaming, hot bath. The thought of soaking for a while made her body tingle with anticipation.

Sharon sighed again as she turned the key in the ignition and started the car. As badly as she wanted to go home, there was something else that she needed to do first.

She had gone looking for him, when at last she could lift her head from the paperwork littering her desk. Sharon used the guise of having questions for her own report to seek him out in the ninth floor Murder Room, but she was told that Lieutenant Flynn had already gone home for the night. Sharon didn't believe that. She didn't think that she was being lied to, but she didn't believe that he had gone home. She knew him far too well for that.

A year might separate the time in which it would have been prudent for her to go hunting for him, but time could not erase the worry that one felt for another. He was still important to her. She wasn't a switch. She couldn't stop caring for someone just because they no longer spent time together. She didn't work that way, and honestly, she didn't believe that he did either.

She had seen him earlier. Sharon got a glimpse of him in passing and the sadness in his eyes had felt like a physical ache. She had been worrying about him ever since, but there hadn't even been a moment that she could slip away to check on him. Not until now.

Sharon knew where he would go. When he was especially bothered, or upset, Andy had a spot. She knew that he would drive away from the city, well away from people and stores, from bars and the temptation to drown or numb his sorrows. He would go where he could use his mind, think over his troubles, and find a solution that he could live with.

She pointed her car in that direction and maneuvered it through traffic. She drove toward Santa Monica, and then up into the hills beyond the Palisades. Andy had a spot there, a quiet little lookout from which he could stand and look out over the glittering lights of the city. She knew about it because he had taken her there, on more than one occasion. It was quiet, peaceful.

It took almost an hour, with traffic, to reach the turn off. Sharon smiled as she pulled her car to a stop, just off the road, beside a familiar dark Camry. She slipped out of her car and looked around. There was a short, narrow, wooded path that led to the lookout. Sharon drew a breath as she strolled along it. Within just a couple of yards it opened into a small clearing. The lookout was once a popular picnic spot. There were a couple of old, wooden picnic tables that had seen better days.

Sharon spied Andy standing just beyond them. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he stared at the glow of the city. Sharon approached him slowly, her hand touched his arm when she neared. She let it slide down to curl around his wrist. Her fingers settled against the inside, slid beneath the gold chain he wore, stroked gently. Sharon looked up at him, eyes concerned, a sad smile at her lips. "Hi."

"Hey." He glanced down at her before letting his eyes move back to the city. He shook his head, sighed quietly. "I had a feeling that you'd show up." Andy closed his eyes, let the sorrow move through him. "Hell of a week."

"Yes." Her fingers continued to stroke along the inside of his wrist. Sharon tipped her head to the side, let it rest against his shoulder. "I won't stay long," she told him. "By the time I made it upstairs, you'd already gone. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. It was a hard one."

"You could say that." Andy looked down at her again. "Drunk runs down a girl. That kind of thing happens more than we want to think. So she was a Police Commissioner's wife, doesn't make her special. It just made her more dangerous." Anger rolled, bitter and hot in his gut. They had found the one DUI, but how many others could there have been? How many times did she get pulled over and let go because of who her husband was? How many cops out there looked the other way. Andy sighed, shuddered a bit. "Shit." He shook his head and looked away again. "That could have been me."

"Andy." She spoke quietly. Sharon turned toward him, she held his wrist with one hand, but curled her other arm around his and leaned into his side. "That was a long time ago. Things are different now. You're different."

"Am I?" Andy grunted in response. "I might be sober, but how different am I really? I'm still an ass. I still don't know how to keep my mouth shut, and somehow, being sober didn't keep me from tossing away a really good thing. So tell me, Sharon, how different am I really?"

She exhaled quietly. The bitterness in his tone made her heart ache for him. "You can recognize it. The man you were then wouldn't be able to see it, and even if he had, he wouldn't care." She stroked his arm. "It wasn't you, and you didn't hurt anyone. You got help. Now, whether she wants it or not, Gail Meyers is going to sober up."

"Yeah but look at the price for her sobriety," he ground out. "It wasn't worth it, Sharon." Andy looked down. "That girl didn't have to die."

"No," she murmured. "She didn't." Sharon shook her head. "Unfortunately, that's where I come into it." She was not looking forward to the weeks that lay ahead of her. The lawsuit they were facing was bad enough, but now she had another investigation to add to it. Sharon pushed those thoughts aside and looked up at him again. "You were with Gracey at the end. She wasn't alone. It isn't much, and it's not a lot of comfort, but it is something to hold on to."

"Yeah." His stomach twisted into a knot, his chest clenched. They were usually already dead by the time he got to them. Andy didn't have to hold their hands and wait for the end to come. He didn't have to talk them through the fear of passing. This one was going to stay with him for a while. Like he'd told the Chief, he had already spoken to his sponsor, a number of times, and it helped knowing they got the person responsible. It was just cold comfort. Andy's teeth ground together as he thought of Gail Meyers. He looked down at Sharon again. "It happens more than you think," he said. "I can't tell you how many times I got pulled over while I was drinking, over the limit, and I got let go because of my badge. So yeah, that could have been me. Thank god it wasn't, but it could have been. Shit, Sharon… the officers that drove her home didn't even put in their official report that she reeked of boozed because of who her husband is. So how many times did she get pulled over and let go? How many times could we have stopped her from being behind the wheel of that car the night she hit Gracey? It didn't have to happen," he repeated. It was the one thought that kept playing in his mind. Gracey didn't have to die.

Sharon moved in front of him. She lay her hand against his chest, let her thumb stroke the edge of his tie. "Listen to me," she said quietly, voice thick, "I know that it happens. I will do whatever I can to find anyone responsible for allowing Gail Meyers to have a pass and make them pay for their part in this tragedy, but you are not responsible for this. You were not driving that car, Andy, and your past does not make you like her. When you had a choice, you made it. You stuck to it, and you owned your mistakes. You didn't hide behind your badge. You owned it. It is why you still have your badge, it is why you're still here. It is why you're my favorite troublemaker and I know that you can be counted on."

Andy stared at her. It was dark in the clearing. There was barely any moonlight to speak of, and they had only the glow of the city below. Still, somehow he could see her eyes flashing with emotion, echoing the passion and conviction with which she spoke. Air left his lungs in a rush, it trembled through him. He reached for her and drug her forward. His hands slid into her hair, gripped her head. Andy inhaled deeply and the mingling scents of her perfume and shampoo were so familiar, so comforting, he felt almost like weeping. His forehead rested against hers, and when her arms circled his middle, instead of pushing her away, Andy drew another thick breath. "Sharon."

"I know, honey," she whispered. She leaned into him, let her hands stroke up and down his back. She felt the tension in him, the way the muscles bunched. He was angry and filled with grief. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's okay."

"No," he rumbled, "it really isn't."

Andy clenched his eyes tightly shut. His nose nuzzled at her cheek, just a moment before he let his lips close over hers. Christ almighty she tasted just as sweet as he remembered. When her lips parted and she moaned quietly, he angled his mouth over hers and let himself get lost in the taste and feel of her. He had dated since Sharon, and he didn't imagine that she had been sitting around pining for him either, but there was just something… something in the feel of her, in the way that she gathered him close, in how they fit together, that went far deeper than any urge he had to scratch an itch, or use her to forget his pain. It was how he had known that she would come to him, how he had known that she would check to see that he was okay. In some ways they were still drawn together. She was still a flame, and he was still willing to be burned.

When his arms wrapped around her and he tucked his face against her neck, Sharon drew her arms away from him. She let them slide around his neck and gathered him close. She exhaled quietly. A hand slid into his hair, she let her fingers and nails stroke gently through the short cropped silver hairs just above his collar. She felt him shudder again and she held him closer. His arms were locked around her, she could feel the heat of his hands through her blazer. She turned her face, let her lips brush his ear and the side of his head. "Andy." She whispered his name, crooned softly.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," he rumbled softly. He drew back and looked down at her, dark eyes nearly black in the dimness of the clearing. A hand lifted, his thumb stroked the familiar curve of her cheek. He closed his eyes, shook his head. "So you should probably leave." He wouldn't use her, he gave too much of a damn for that.

"Hm." She hummed quietly. She lifted a hand and wrapped it around his wrist. "Have you been to a meeting?" When he nodded, she smiled. "Good." Sharon gave his arm a tug and moved around him, pulling him with her.

"Sharon?" He pulled back, drew her around. Andy shook his head, but there was a question in his eyes.

"It's okay," she said gently. "It's just tonight. I won't let you be alone." She gave his arm another gentle tug.

He continued to stare at her. There was only a gentle understanding in her eyes. An acceptance. Sympathy and caring. He took a step forward. His hand cupped her cheek. His head lowered again. His lips brushed hers, gentle this time, lingering. There was still something here, something between them, left unspoken and undefined. It went beyond simple compassion. It went beyond just caring. He thought, as his lips moved along her cheek, to her ear, that he could have loved her. Maybe he already did a little. Maybe that was why he kept wanting her. Even when he knew that he couldn't have her, when he knew that he shouldn't have her.

She sighed when he touched her, far gentler, with much more care. The initial desperation was waning, but it was only a lull. He needed to feel, and he needed to think, and he needed to not be alone. She could give him that. If she could offer him nothing else of herself, she could help him tread the water of his grief and anger.

Despite what people thought of her, she had not lived twenty years worth of separation in complete loneliness. She didn't actively date either, but there were those, people that she spent time with… men who saw beyond the tough exterior and were willing to accept the limits of what she would, or could, offer them. She was, after all, still a married woman. Her husband was gone, out of the picture, but he was still a shield that she could use when it suited her.

With Andy it had been just a little different. She opened herself up to him more, and perhaps it was made easier by the fact that he already knew so much about her. He understood the hours she kept, the importance of her badge, and the emotional strain that wearing it could bring. He might not necessarily agree with or like her job, but on some level he got it. It was the first time that she had dated within the department, and she wouldn't regret it, even now. Just as she knew she wouldn't regret this. She wasn't pining for him, but nor could she ignore him when he needed her.

Sharon drew him with her, back to where they'd left their cars. They parted there so that he could follow her home in his own vehicle. Andy was tempted, more than once during the long drive out of the hills to turn off, go on back to his own place and pass the night in solitude. Every time the thought crossed his mind his stomach would churn. It was a physical pain, the thought of being alone. It kept him driving, kept his eyes focused on the taillights of Sharon's car in front of him.

When they reached the condo, he followed her upstairs. She made coffee, although he wasn't much in the mood for it. He stood, instead, staring out the glass balcony doors. She had a hell of a view. The city stretched out before them, and to one side, lay Griffith Park. When she suggested a shower, he took her hand and drew her down the hall with him. Andy remembered the way.

He set the water as hot as they could stand it, and while steam filled the bathroom, his hands parted her silk blouse. He tugged it from the waist of her skirt, pushed it from her shoulders. His hands followed its path, fingertips dancing gently along her arms. The sound of the shower muted the soft sighs and quiet moans as their hands explored familiar curves and planes. After the last article of clothing was removed, Andy stepped backward into the shower. He drew her with him, let his arms circle her.

Steam enveloped them. The heat of the water rained down. Pain and doubt, and fear were forgotten in the cloud of desire that settled around them. Theirs was heat and want, and need. In that moment he needed her more than he needed to breathe. He needed to feel her more than he needed to feel anything. He pressed her into the cool, marble tile of the shower wall. When her back arched and her head fell back, he buried his face against her neck and lost himself in the feel of her, in the way that their bodies melded together. His name was on her lips, and as he answered her plea for more, more of him, more of what he could offer her, he let the thought rattle through the back of his mind. It was only for tonight, but he wished that he could hold on to her. She wasn't his to keep, but he longed for that to be different.

Early morning light was streaming through her bedroom windows when Andy let himself think in anything resembling a coherent fashion. Hues of gray and blue danced through the room, chasing away the darkness of the night as he rose from Sharon's bed. He left her sleeping. He glanced back at her as he retrieved his clothes. She lay on her stomach, an arm curled beneath her, the other was bent, curled toward her face. A blanket was bunched around her hips, and in the faint light of the room, the pale ivory of her back seemed to gleam enticingly.

Andy dressed quickly. He tucked his tie into the pocket of his jacket and draped it across the foot of the bed. His shirt was untucked, and he left the top two buttons open. Andy eased down onto the edge of the bed, slipped back into his shoes. Only then did he turn, reach out with one hand and gently sweep her hair back from her face. He smiled when she sighed. His hand slid down her back, fingers gentle, the caress slight. She moved, shifted toward him. Andy leaned down and let his lips brush her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered, they opened and she blinked sleepily up at him. "Hey."

"Hey." He grinned at the thick, husky sound of her voice. Andy drew her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. "I have to go," he said quietly.

"Hm." She shifted where she lay, drew her arms up and wrapped them around the pillow beneath her head. Sharon smiled up at him. "Yes." She lifted her head and focused on him as the haze of sleep faded. Her hand reached out, stroked the length of his arm. "Are you hungry? I think I have eggs…"

"No." Andy leaned down, kissed her cheek again. "It's too damned early for that. Go back to sleep, sweetheart." Leaving her was even harder this time, then watching her walk away had been last year. But he knew that he wasn't what she needed. He would only hurt her again.

Sharon hummed. She gazed up at him, searched his face. "Are you going to be okay?" Her hand stroked the length of his arm again. "You don't have to run out just because the sun is up," she told him.

"I know." His fingers stroked the smooth, bare expanse of her back again. "But I gotta get home. I need to change, and I think… I should find a meeting. Then maybe call my sponsor again. Oh yeah, and go to work." His dark eyes sparkled. "I'll be okay," he told her, and knew that it was true. She had gotten him through the worst of it. "Sharon I…" His jaw clenched and he shook his head. There was a lot that he wanted to say, but knew that he shouldn't. Instead, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," he whispered thickly.

Her eyes closed. Sharon curled a hand around his arm and leaned into him. Her lips touched his shoulder. "Andy, I will always be here for you," she said quietly. "We don't always agree, but I hope that you know, I…" She trailed off, drew a thin breath when her voice hitched. "I'm here," she finished quietly.

"I know." But he couldn't allow himself to get into the habit of using her to make himself feel better. She deserved more than that. She deserved better than him. Andy leaned down and let his lips touch hers. "Goodbye," he whispered.

She smiled, a bit sadly, against his lips. Sharon murmured her response, and then she watched as he drew away. He took his things and left her room. She sighed as she lay her head back against the pillow. It smelled of him. How long, this time, would his scent linger in her condo? Sharon closed her eyes and turned her face into the scent. She wanted him. But there was a line drawn in the sand, one they didn't seem to be able to cross. They stood on opposite sides of it, and it might as well have been a canyon.

They would be no good for each other as long as it existed.

Perhaps someday they would find a way to bridge that gap. They simply could not live their lives waiting for a tomorrow that might never happen. Time moved on. Life kept going. They kept going.