The mental image of this chapter was too good pass up. This one's shorter, but the next will be back to the verbose length of the first.

Enjoy!

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

There are many scenarios that he has prepared for over the years; many crime scenes he's walked in on, and many more still that he's had nightmares over. You don't get to his age as a cop without a truckload of experience in strange occurrences, after all. And more than just his job, his family tree looks like a toddler's drawing; five marriages, children, step-children, all the various next generations that he lost track of in the eighties… life is chaos; expecting anything less is tantamount to failure.

But walking into his partner's home and seeing Sharon Raydor sitting in the single armchair, dressed in track pants and an oversized LAPD teeshirt, laughing as popcorn gets thrown in her face; her hair still wet and her feet bare, complete with bright red toenails. That is one sight that nearly knocks him clear on his ass.

He should have known the car on the street was hers after all.

Andy's innocent just let yourself in had seemed so innocuous when he knocked on the door and then used the hidden key from under the garden rock; he never expected to walk in on this sight. And part of him feels guilty – he has obviously intruded on a deeply personal moment; a rare sight of freedom and joviality that doesn't come easy to their Captain.

But even so. Giggling like school children in the middle of a food fight. It's enough to incite the gag reflex.

Her laughter dies down when she sees the look on Provenza's face, but her eyes still shine with mirth, no doubt in response to the slack-jawed wide-eyed expression he's sporting. Her toes wiggle where they're resting on the edge of the coffee table (a table he's been yelled at for 'muddying' with his own feet, he might add) in a fashion that, dare he say, could be called cheeky.

Andy either doesn't notice his partner's flustered state, or else just doesn't care. He looks over the back of the two seater couch and smiles in welcome, mouth still chomping on popcorn kernels. He is in an equal state of disarray, his hair betraying the fact he has not indulged in a shower himself; it sticks up in every direction with his cowlick. His clothes look slept-in and house-grubby, like he picked them off the floor of his bedroom at five in the morning (which, upon reflection, he probably did).

"Whatcha doin' here?" asks Andy. It's not like Provenza to squander a day off, especially an unexpected one, and they have no game plans together or a recording to watch.

"I could ask her the same thing" he blusters, gesturing towards Sharon. Her presence is still confusing him; the fact that she's obviously made herself at home on his partner's couch even more so. For his comment she just arches a single eyebrow and purses her lips. He thinks she might still be laughing at him, but he can't be sure; he doesn't know how to read her when she's wearing… that.

"Roof repairs" answers Andy for her, without further explanation. He turns back to Sharon and lightly tosses another popcorn kernel at her, but it's obvious that the game has lost its hilarity – she smiles at Andy and bats it away, but she's more reserved now. Andy's shoulders sag a little, but he expected that; it was only fun when nobody was watching – when nobody was judging every look and gesture.

"I'm going to go make more tea" she says, rising from her seat and tugging her shirt straight. It swims over her figure; it's obviously not hers, and that just makes him more irate. How dare she walk around his partner's place in his partner's clothes without so much as an apology. What kind of game is she playing.

"Would you like some, Lieutenant?" she asks him. She knows full well that he doesn't drink that swill, and she isn't surprised when he scrunches his nose and shakes his head. She nods at him – arches a brow at Andy who shakes his head in the negative – and then turns and walks into the kitchen. Her mannerisms almost seem sheepish, if she is capable of such a thing; certainly Provenza knows she's not as comfortable now that he has shown up. Part of him feels sorry for that, after all, he didn't handle this surprise very well. And though he wouldn't say it's a pleasant surprise, he likes her well enough these days not to call it an unpleasant surprise either.

He chances a look down the hallway. The door of the spare room is directly at the end, still ajar from last night, and through the crack Provenza can see the edge of the mattress; bare and decidedly unmade, leaning against the wall. With eyes wide and horror in his expression, his gaze flickers to Andy's bedroom door, next along the hall, then back to the spare room, and then to the back of his partner's head.

He rounds the couch quickly, getting Andy's attention off the television as he hisses, "She didn't sleep here last night?"

Andy looks at him like he's daft, and perhaps he just might be. After all, what other possible explanation could there be for imagining – considering, even entertaining the thought – that the two of them slept in the same bed last night. It's ludicrous. It almost sends him into a conniption; every stupid thing his friend has ever done pales in comparison (well… perhaps not everything. It's a long list, after all. But the point stands; this is up there.)

"Where else do you think she slept?" asks Andy, his eyes flicking with warning towards the kitchen and back. He obviously doesn't want her to overhear their little tiff. "What part of getting her roof fixed makes you think she slept at home when you finally pushed her out the office door at three in the morning?"

Provenza's look of horror morphs into something truly disgusted. "Please tell me you slept on the couch" he says, mindful not to raise his voice, his hand flicking limply towards Andy, his state of undress, and the dent his body has made in the couch cushions (not a blanket or pillow in sight). He lessens the force of his words, and their volume; for all he wants to get to the bottom of Andy's stupidity, he has no desire to truly hurt Sharon, and his inquisition would only incite true mortification.

"Are you kidding? I got home at dawn" says Andy in return; equally disgusted at the suggestion that he would murder his back in such a fashion by spending his precious unconscious hours fighting with the springs in his sofa. They both know that the only cure for an all-nighter is a decent sleep in a comfy bed.

As Provenza turns a delectable shade of plum, Andy rolls his eyes, dismissing him. "Don't worry, we had a pillow fort between us and everything" he says with an exaggerated expression and a dopey voice. It's not true, of course – memories of watching her sleep for those few quiet moments, just inches away from his arm, flit through his mind at a rapid pace. The depth of her breath in solid sleep, the curl of her hair on the pillow, the fact that she pilfered his clothes; all of it is still too raw to ignore, but also quite far away after spending half the day together.

Provenza's eyes narrow, and he takes a moment to truly peruse his partner's face; gaze piercing and honest. "Just watch yourself" he warns. His tone carries a heavy meaning, which Andy wants to ignore but can't. He's right; it's a dangerous line to dance around. Not that pursuing personal feelings is off limits in their positions, but to allow themselves to cross lines when they have never spoken about their friendship; about the boundaries they expect, or the possibility for more. No, Provenza has a point. He wouldn't hurt Sharon by blindsiding her with that kind of intimacy. He is already skirting a fine line with his family, allowing them to believe something that isn't strictly true. And the guilt of that – the selfishness of using Sharon that way – is already weighing heavily on his heart, so he won't add to it, even accidentally.

Sharon walks back into the living room then, tea mug in hand, eyeing them like she knows she has been the topic of conversation and is faintly amused by it; she must have regained her equilibrium while making her tea in the kitchen. That's often the case with her, Andy has noticed – a mundane activity can bring her back from the brink of discomfort; a silent word to herself (For goodness' sake, Sharon, you're a grown woman, act like it) can shake her lack of confidence away like water off a duck's back. She isn't upset that Provenza is here – for all his curmudgeonly ways she genuinely likes his company. And he and Andy are like a packaged deal, so there's always that to consider.

But she wonders what he must be thinking of her state of undress and her lingering presence here at Andy's place. He must know she spent the night and that she has no intent to leave any time soon. Her excuse will hold up to scrutiny, but her dignity may not; being interrupted in the middle of a childish food fight with a subordinate is hardly fitting of her rank, day off or not.

She has to remind herself, as she's done many times recently, that she is now one of them, and that they value her in a way they wouldn't have five years ago, and that she needn't worry anymore about them drawing ridiculous stick figures on the white board (at least not without her knowledge. These days she might just draw them herself, to get a laugh from them all and share no hard feelings. These days she could trust them with that, and it warms her heart to feel so confident in their loyalty).

"Was there a ball game you wanted to watch, Lieutenant?" she asks kindly, gesturing her head to the television. She knows there isn't, or else Andy would already be watching it, but she figures it's not a hardship to offer him the olive branch.

"No, I was just going to harass this idiot for the day because I've got nothing better to do" he says, waving off Andy's offering of the remote and scowling at him for good measure. "But if the two of you are having a pyjama day on the couch, I won't stay"

"You're welcome to join us" she says, fighting to hide her amusement as he gives her a scandalised look. She honestly doesn't mind if he does; she's only killing time with a friend anyway, no plans or errands to run. She figures they're all a bit lost this afternoon, half a day gone catching up on sleep and the other half banned from the office.

"I have some nice rocket ship pyjamas you could borrow" adds Andy with a smirk.

Provenza looks between the two of them in horror – they are as bad as each other! – and then scoffs and huffs and eventually rounds the couch and plonks himself next to his partner, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl as he goes, making himself comfortable.

"Just for that, you do have to put up with me today"

The sound of Sharon's laughter rings out before she stifles it and covers her mouth, trying not to fuel his indignation too much. She retakes her seat in the armchair and pointedly ignores the filthy look Andy shoots at her for daring to be amused by his suffering.

"You missed Dirty Harry" she says, taking a sip of her tea, testing the temperature and deciding it's okay to start drinking. She pulls her feet up under her, curling right back into the cushions, and looks at the two of them with a funny look on her face. She looks positively domestic.

"That windbag" mumbles Provenza, rolling his eyes. "I left to go do my grocery shopping when it came on earlier"

"Your grocery shopping, consisting of TV dinners and hot dogs?" says Andy.

Provenza rounds a look at him and says, "Do I judge your life?"

"All the time"

The both of them studiously ignore the undignified snort that comes from across the coffee table, instead turning back to the television. Andy gives Sharon a look, rolling his eyes. She shakes her head lightly at him with a smile, amused by the two of them and not at all taking sides. As much as she was disappointed by the interruption – or at least taken aback by it – she doesn't mind in the least, watching the two of them grouch at each other. At least this time it won't affect the efficiency of a case or give her a headache in the process.

And after all, when spending a lazy day with friends, the more the merrier.

She sees Andy offer her the popcorn from the corner of her eye, and she takes a handful from the bowl and places it in her lap, picking at it slowly. She misses the little grin he gives her. Provenza ignores the two of them and turns the television up a couple of notches, watching re-runs of M*A*S*H that have been on a thousand times before.

It's a little awkward, the three of them trying to consciously unwind and be fine with the odd trio of company. But it's a little bit nice too. They are the parents of the squad, no doubt – the ones that have been in the job the longest, Tao not far behind them. The ones whose conduct, for better or worse, is expected to set the example for the ranks who follow; officers look to them for guidance and leadership. It is good that they can get along like this, to show solidarity and be rid of the ridiculous little power plays that occurred in the early days of her transition.

In only a few short minutes they are all unperturbed, and simple conversation begins; benign enquiries about their various children and, in the case of the men, their grandchildren (though of course Provenza makes sure to tease that she won't be far behind them in becoming a grandparent. She studiously ignores him, and any implication that she is, in fact, old enough to be one).

Without even realising it they have talked another hour away. The light outside is becoming dimmer as the sun starts setting in the late afternoon; the chill of evening air settling in the house so that they all relax deeper into their seats seeking warmth and comfort. The three of them look set to stay right where they are for at least another hour yet. None of them particularly mind. In fact, it's rather lovely.