Prompt: a request to follow-up Andrea in By Any Means
Involves alcohol and angst.
Andrea gets home somehow. She doesn't really know how. She's at work; she's at the PAB, delivering Emma's files with sticky notes Andrea added, even though she doesn't remember doing it. Suddenly she's home, standing in the entryway with no idea what to do.
With no regard to the security detail that she knows is outside- for whatever good that is- she strips off her shoes, slacks, the rumpled blouse and camel coat. She walks to her kitchen, flips the electric kettle on, leaves the room, walks to her bedroom.
There's an old photo of her and Sharon on the wall, from the Brenda Era, as they called it. Sharon is cradling a garden gnome in a Santa hat for some reason, and they are both laughing. Andrea scans the wall, full of dozens of framed pictures, and finds the one of last year's Christmas party at the DA's office. It was more of a pre-game, really, since the real party was across the street at Major Crimes, as usual. She and Emma stand together, smiling, drinks in hand.
Andrea lifts both photos from the wall and carries them to her room. They sit on the duvet, either mocking her or comforting her as she unhooks her bra and pulls an old blue tee over her head. She stares at the smiling faces, wondering where all three women went.
Sharon and Emma are both gone to better places, and Andrea is. . . lost. She's not gone, but she certainly isn't here, wherever here is.
She sits unblinking, then reaches for the nightstand drawer and pulls out a bible, tea candles, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes that haven't seen daylight in years. With sudden urgency, she returns to the kitchen to collect the half-bottle of Bacardi from the cabinet.
Her home is old, has old hardwood floors, and Andrea lowers herself down to the planks. She sets the tea candles out in front, safe in their glass cups. She lights them slowly, watching the light flicker along her legs. The cigarette is next. The cellophane crackles as she breaks it opens and removes one. She rarely smoked to begin with, never picked a favorite brand, but these ones seem to be menthol, and she is appreciative of her younger self's choice.
She lights it off a candle, then cracks the rum open as well. Maybe it's lunacy to get drunk while there's a serial killer on the loose, but Andrea can't bring herself to care. All she feels is numbness. All she doesn't feel is numbness? The wording escapes her, and she lets it go.
The bible gleams in the candlelight as she alternates poisons. They say the devil comes easier than God, and Andrea certainly finds it true. She can't imagine that printed word, no matter how divine, can grant her the same recess that alcohol and nicotine can. Somehow, Sharon found grace in the word, but Andrea cannot. Not tonight.
Losing Sharon nearly broke her. It had seemed such an impossibility that she had never considered it. Sharon would always be there, the blood of Andrea's covenant, since there was no water of the womb. There were no Hobbses, just one Hobbs. Just Andrea and her friends, her covenant friends. They were all she needed.
Emma had been a friend, not as close and old as Sharon, but a friend nevertheless. Emma was the younger sister she'd never asked for, the one who was annoying but lovable and loving.
Maybe it would have been different if it was expected, for one or both of them. Andrea can't bring herself to say the d-word. Maybe expectation would have softened reality and kept actuality from hitting her like an eighteen-wheeler. It hit her friends like a truck, too, violently ripping them away from their friends and families. Andrea isn't conceited enough to think she's the only one in pain tonight. She's quite sure Rusty Beck is feeling what she is, though he's probably not trying to dull the pain with a bottle of Bacardi Black.
Her responsible self reminds her again that drinking is unwise. Andrea lifts the bottle to ascertain how much she's actually had. She hasn't done too much damage: a few shots worth over the last hour. However, life has been so chaotic that she hasn't gone out much lately, and now those few shots are more than enough to get her drunk.
She slowly screws the lid back onto the rum and sets it down. She's on her second cigarette, and knows her body won't appreciate it in the morning, so she grinds it out on the bible.
Besmirching the black leather gives her some sick pleasure, as if she is telling God or whatever higher being may or may not exist that she is pissed at Them. It may not help anything, but it feels good to grind the ashes in. There is a dark hatred of whatever power decided to stop Sharon's heart, of Stroh for taking Emma, and Andrea tries to funnel it through her fingers.
Teardrops mix with ashes, and Andrea drops the mangled remnants of the cigarette in sudden horror. The anger is gone, leaving her stunned by its power and cold in the absence of its heat.
Now she truly feels numb. She is an ocean, cool and serene, deep and endless. For a moment, she feels as though she is the entire universe: stars, darkness, sunlight, cities.
And then, suddenly, she is Andrea again.
She quietly blows the candles out, brushes off the bible, and climbs into bed, exhausted by sorrow and tears.
She sleeps heavily and well. In the morning, she is woken by her six o'clock alarm, as always. The sun is just creeping in the window.
Given her evening, she feels surprisingly good. She doesn't smell good, but she feels alright. Even mentally, she's better. It's like her sorrow has been- not compartmentalized, not swept aside, not overcome or lessened- but it's less overwhelming. It's not a hurricane or a wildfire in her soul anymore.
She throws the covers back and picks up her phone. There are a couple of new messages and missed calls, about half of them from Amy Sykes and Lieutenant Provenza. Between the two of them, there is a supportive net of interlacing calls and texts, ultimately culminating in Provenza's well, Your security team seems to think you're okay, so I'm going to bed. Call me in the morning, and Amy's softer let me know if you need anything.
She sends them both quick messages.
Thank you. I'm better this morning. If you want, come over around 7:30 for breakfast. I'm going to call Rusty and have all of them come over. They need to get out of there for a little while.
Amy is first to reply.
K thank you I will
Could you let the rest of your squad know they're welcome, too?
Yes
Provenza actually calls back while Andrea is in the shower after calling Rusty, and she towels her hand off to pick up the phone.
"Andrea."
"Lieutenant."
"How are you doing?"
Andrea sighs.
"That well? I'm surprised you're up so early."
"Yeah, I. . . I don't know, I'm just sticking to my routine, I guess. I don't know what else to do."
The old man is quiet for a moment. "I can understand that. Do you want Patrice and I to bring anything to breakfast?"
"Uh. . . Fruit would be nice. I think I have most everything else we could want."
"Okay." His speech is gentle, as if he understands that her current calm is a fragile shell. "How are you?"
She sighs, heavily, and turns the shower off. "What did my security detail say last night?"
There's a pause before he speaks. "They said you had a light on and they could tell that someone was moving because it was flickering. I asked them to make sure it was you, so they approached your yard and said they could see you reading a book or something."
Andrea laughs dourly. "Maybe that's all they saw, but that's a very kind description of what happened."
"I take it that's what warranted an early morning shower?"
"Can't show up to my own breakfast invitation smelling like the inside of a Sunset Boulevard bar."
"Fair enough."
The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable, and Andrea likes having the presence of another person.
"Is there anything else I can do, Andrea? It's been hard on everyone, but you and Rusty especially. . ."
"No, Lieutenant. Just bring yourself and your wife and some cantaloupe cubes. I'll be alright for now."
An hour later, when people begin showing up at her house, she realizes just how large her family is. There may only be one Hobbs, but there are many, many members of the Major Crimes family. Even though two of its members are gone, that is what they are: a family, bound by love and hopes and sorrow, all found and pieced together by Sharon Raydor.