Everything We Are - Chapter 9
by Kadi
Rated: M
Disclaimer: It's not my sandbox, I'm only visiting for a time.
Taylor was true to his word. Andy knew he was going to have to thank him, as much as he hated the idea. He was able to get his family home before the vultures showed up. There were a few press trucks already parked at the end of their street, which was as close as their LAPD brethren would let them get. There would be a few images of the car moving through those barriers, but nothing overt. It was the middle of the night, and the crews manning those trucks had been slow to react.
It was late when they got home. Into the wee hours of the morning. Andy sent the others to bed. Rusty was camped out in his old room, along with Ricky, while Charlotte had the spare room. Sharon took Ian upstairs while Andy locked up the house and set the alarm. They'd had every light on, and he went from room to room, shutting them off. Finally he let himself into the room he shared with his wife. Andy wasn't surprised to find that she had Ian in their bed.
Even hours later, with the sun slowly rising, as tired as he was, Andy found that he still couldn't close his eyes. He lay watching them, Sharon's gaze on his for sometime after they lay down with Ian between them. She stroked his back with feather light touches, drawing lazy circles in the dinosaur pattern of the green and blue pajamas until finally her eyes were too heavy and she too slipped away into slumber. In his sleep, Ian was curled against her chest, a hand wrapped tightly in her sweater. Clinging to her, even in sleep. Children were resilient, but Andy wondered how much of this ordeal would remain with him. He was only two, and Andy prayed that much of it would be forgotten, buried far in the back of his mind. This nightmare would stay with the rest of them, but there was no reason for Ian to remember.
He worried about Sharon. Being a mother was such an integral part of who she was, something none of them had ever seen before she transferred to the head of their division. This had rattled her, far more than he thought she was willing to let on, even to him. Hell, who could blame her, here he lay, afraid to take his eyes off of either of them out of this feeling that wouldn't go away… this terror that if he closed his eyes, even for a second, they'd be taken from him. Andy was still afraid that he'd wake up and realize it was a dream, that Ian was still missing. That, far more terrifying, he'd lost them both.
Andy rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling above, not quite seeing it. His chest tightened painfully as he thought back to that moment. His lungs burned with the need to breathe, but his body was frozen in time. He was lost in those horrifying moments, walking through his house with its eerie silence. Despite the television playing the annoying cheerful DVD that his son adored, it was still far too silent. There was no childish chatter, no Sharon replying to the gibberish of toddler speak mixed with known words, as though she understood without a doubt every word their son was saying. He was lost in the nothing, in the darkness of finding only his wife, unconscious and injured.
He pressed a hand to his forehead while the other clenched into a fist. There was that second, when he couldn't reach for her, when he was afraid to touch her. Afraid to know if he'd lost her or not. Andy finally drew a breath and it rattled, painfully, in his chest. His throat burned with emotion. There was a weight pressing down on him, it throbbed painfully through his body. Unable to stand it, he pushed from the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.
He pushed the door closed and slumped against it. The light filled the room, but he still felt strangely cold. A chill filled him. Andy trembled with it. He rubbed a hand over his face and found it damp, a cold sweat had broken out, covering his body. He moved, slowly, toward the shower and turned it on. He set the water as hot as he could stand it and waited while steam filled the bathroom. His body felt sluggish, heavy as he pulled at the t-shirt and boxers that he'd gone to bed in. He let them fall carelessly to the floor.
The shower stood in a corner of the room, encased by glass on two sides, and marble tile at the back and side walls. He stepped inside and wanted the pain, so set both shower heads in the large, double structure to pouring down on him.
The water was biting, painful against his skin when he stepped into the shower and beneath the spray. Andy bent his head and let it rain down on him. He braced both hands against the tile and stood there. His chest heaved, painfully. When his legs threatened to give out beneath him, he leaned more heavily into the tile. He drew, painful, rattling gasps of air. The pressure behind his eyes took him by surprise. Andy lifted his face to the hot spray from above and let the sting of the hot water chase away the sting of the moisture in his eyes.
He couldn't recall having wanted a drink so badly in recent memory. He could almost taste the bourbon, and he knew… after just a few swallows of the warm, golden liquid, he'd no longer care just how close he'd come to losing everything. He could almost feel the coolness of the glass in his hand, hear the clinking of the ice, the slight hiss as the bourbon poured over it.
Andy clenched his jaw together. His hands curled into fists against the tile. It shuddered through him. The warmth would fill his belly, it would cloud his mind, and then nothing else at all would matter. He could forget. If only for just a few moments.
A hand against his back startled him. Andy jumped and glanced behind him. He found Sharon, leaning against the side of the open shower door, eyes wide and concerned. She tilted her head at him and her lips parted, but there was no sound forthcoming. He was breathing hard, but couldn't speak. He shook his head at her and looked down for a moment, suddenly ashamed of the thoughts that were just filling his mind. Andy's shoulders slumped, when he looked up at her again, there was moisture filling her eyes. He reached for her then, he curled a hand around her thin, tiny wrist and tugged her into the shower with him. His hands moved into her hair, he tipped her head back. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, her lips.
He lowered his face and their noses touched. Andy drew another, thick breath. The smell of her perfume, barely there and clinging to her hair and clothes filled his senses. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth. Suddenly there was something he needed far more desperately than any drink. Though it remained at the back of his mind, and he'd be finding a meeting first thing. No, he needed this too. He needed her.
His mouth angled over hers and he pressed her against the back wall of the shower. The water was drenching her clothes, and he didn't care. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth and when his teeth grazed it, he felt her shudder, heard the whimper. It was all it took to propel him into movement. His hands began pulling at her clothes. He dropped the sweater onto the floor of the shower, beneath their feet. He stooped and swept the sodden yoga pants down the long length of her legs.
As he stood again, his hands slid back up her legs, to the backs of her thighs. Andy lifted her, using the wall at her back as a brace. His back protested and he ignored it. She gasped, rather from the action or the coolness of the tile against her bare skin, he didn't know. His lips attacked her neck, teeth tugging at her skin. With her legs around him, he slipped his hands up her back, to the backs of her shoulders. He gripped her tightly and tugged her into an arch. His mouth moved over her collarbone, and the scrape of her nails in his hair made him groan.
His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, he sucked at her skin, following the rivulets of water that ran over them. When she tugged at his head, Andy lifted it. They stared at one another for a moment and he saw the answering desperation in her gaze. Her eyes were dark, nearly moss colored. He tipped his face up and sought her mouth again. Their lips meshed, tongues tangling as they fought to get closer, impossibly closer. He would drink her down, hold her forever, if only he could.
It was that which was the crux of his problem. He was going to lose her. It was inevitable. Either now or in thirty years, it wasn't a matter of if, but when. His knees buckled, and he sank with her to the floor of the shower. His knees protested the weight and the hardness of the tile as he sat with her in his lap. Water continued to rain down on them, but he curled his arms around her and held on, just as tightly as was possible. Her arms were curled around his neck, his shoulders. Andy turned his face into her neck and felt the pressure in him expand, and finally break. His chest heaved and the sound he made was broken, lost between a sob and a groan. He couldn't hold her forever. He could only pray to not outlive her, and how selfish was that? How much of an absolute prick was he, that he could fathom such a thing?
Hours of fear and uncertainty had brought him here, intellectually he could recognize that fact. His heart wasn't willing to listen. Not when it was aching so keenly. Not when it was breaking. He'd asked her, begged her, not to give up on them. Not to give up on their son. Being strong for her had taken its toll, and now he was falling. He couldn't be strong for her now. His weaknesses were bearing their ugly heads. He needed her, and this life they'd built. Even if it had the power to destroy them.
Naked and shaking, and clinging to one another on the floor of the shower, Andy drew his mouth against her ear. "Don't give up on me," he muttered, and realized that the salt he tasted on his lips was from his own tears.
"No." Her nails bit into his scalp when her hands gripped his head. She tipped it back to look down at him. There was pain and fear, and love, written across the familiar lines of her face. "God no. Andy." She drew her teeth across her bottom lip and shook her head. Her hair fell in thick, sodden strands around her face. The moisture clinging to her lashes was a mixture of tears and water. He was breaking. Shattering in front of her. "Never," she whispered, the sound almost lost in the hiss of the shower's spray. Her mouth lowered to his, barely touching. "I need you," she said in a thick, low tone.
The arm that was curled around her waist lifted her slightly, repositioned her weight against him. He lifted his other hand to the back of her neck. His chest was still heaving, the pressure still palpable. "Still?"
Her tongue swept his bottom lip, even as she nodded. "Always."
He pulled her down, claiming her mouth in a way that threatened to consume both of them. The taste of her chased away the lingering memory of the bitter bourbon on his tongue. With a low rumble, he pushed her onto her back, pressed her into the floor of the shower, and braced himself against the tile. He slipped an arm beneath one of her thighs and drew it high as he sank into her. Their voices mingled as he stretched and filled her. It wasn't comfortable, and they'd both be sorry for it later. They were too damned old for this, but that seemed to be the central theme of their lives of late, and now, he no longer gave a damn.
The shower chased away their tears. She moved with him, beneath him. Clinging and arching and giving him all of her. It was pain and pleasure. Threatening to drown her, to pull her down into its darkness. Then there were his hands, pulling her back, driving her higher. He was all around her, and inside her. The tile was cold, and it was hard. She braced a hand above her head, fingers splayed against the marble and using it as a purchase. The other was thrown around his neck, holding on tightly as he plunged, again and again. She could taste his tears, and hers. They were both crying, and it was too much and not enough at the same time.
It was desperate and fast, and then his hand was between them. He was touching her and she was sobbing for an entirely different reason. She was breaking apart and he was joining her. Both of them shuddering toward a release that had little to do with sex. Chests heaving beneath the impossible weight of fear and relief.
Minutes passed before he lifted her again. She was curled around him, arms and legs. They couldn't get any physically closer, even as he began to grow soft inside her. The shower's spray rained down on them, losing some of its heat, but they ignored it. They allowed it. They let it wash away all of the terror and the doubt, until all that remained was the two of them. Breaths mingled, lips barely touching, eyes wide and gazing at one another. They had their child back. But this, the two them. It lay at the center of all they needed. It was everything.
Once they finally left the shower, Andy drew a towel around her from behind and continued to hold her close. They stood together for several long moments until he reached for another towel and began to gently pull it through her hair. She groaned quietly and he winced, recalling the laceration. A gentle kiss was placed against the back of her head.
Sharon turned slowly in his arms and looked up at him. Her brows lifted inquisitively. She took the towel out of his hand. "Did you sleep at all?" She asked quietly.
Andy sighed and shook his head. "Not yet. I will." He shrugged. "I was watching you. Both of you."
Warmth filled her, but so did concern. She leaned into him, hands sliding gently up his arms. "Andy," his name left her lips on a sigh.
"Sharon, it's fine." He shook his head. "I'll…" She was looking at him, a knowing gleam in her eyes. He bent, forehead against hers. "I was afraid it was a dream. I didn't want to wake up and realize you were both gone. Then I was thinking that…" He shuddered and the admission cost him. "That having a drink might fix it all. I wouldn't care anymore."
Her hands came up to cup his face and she kissed him, so gently that it was barely a caress at all. "I'm sorry." She had broken, and left him to carry them all.
"God, Sharon. Don't be," he said roughly. "It's.. it's just part of the beast. It's always going to be there. I should have gone to a meeting last night, but I didn't want to leave you. I'll go this morning. It will be fine." He slipped his arms around her waist again, drew her closer. "I'm not… I wouldn't—"
"I know." Her hands gently stroked his face. "I don't worry about that," she told him. "I worry about you. I need you, Andy." Sharon drew a thin, shaking breath. "You're right, my children are my weakness. It's why I need you to keep me grounded. I need you to keep me moving forward. But I also need you to tell me what you need. We're in this together. It's not only about you or I. I won't give up on you," she promised. "But I can't have you giving up on me either."
"Never gonna happen, Lady." He stroked her back gently. "You could try to get rid of me, and I still wouldn't go anywhere." Andy lowered his face, nuzzled her cheek and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth.
"Good." Her lips curved. "See that you don't." She leaned into his embrace, head against his shoulder. Her head was pounding out a rhythm behind her eyes to the tune of her heartbeat. Sharon hummed quietly. "Do you think you could lay back down with us for a little while?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "I think I could do that." Andy didn't make any attempt at moving from where he stood currently, however. He continued just to hold her. It wasn't until he felt her shiver that he finally sighed and stepped away. "Come on," he took her hand and tugged her with him.
Together they stepped back into the bedroom, still draped in only their towels. In the middle of their bed, Ian slept on. He'd drawn his legs beneath him and had his bottom pushed into the air. Andy shook his head, chuckled quietly. "Love that kid," he rumbled against her ear.
"Hm." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I know what you mean." When she felt his gaze, she looked up at him. "At least if we're living the farce," she said softly, "we might as well enjoy it."
Andy nodded. "Somethin' like that." He drew her to the dresser and they both changed quickly, quietly, lest they wake the sleeping child.
When they lay back down, Sharon maneuvered Ian carefully, without waking him, so that he was curled against her chest while she lay against her husband. He curled his arms around both of them and she sighed quietly.
Sharon wouldn't sleep this time, she resisted the urge. Her hands stroked his arms where he held her, and she waited until she felt him grow heavy against her, his breaths more even. Her teeth sank hard against her bottom lip at the tears which filled her eyes. Her body trembled slightly with it. Sharon took small, shallow breaths until she felt more in control. She lay with her sleeping child and her sleeping husband, and for the moment, was content just to be.