While You're Making Other Plans
by Miss Shannon and Glistening Sun
3
Having made quite a spectacle of herself by throwing up all over a set of lawn furniture in front of half of the LAPD and a handful of journalists, Sharon figured that no one would be surprised if she hid away in a bathroom for a while. The only upside to this whole incident was that she hardly had it in her to feel as mortified as the situation required with that nagging suspicion that soon there would be even more reason to be laughed at. She could almost hear them gossiping about Darth Raydor, mellowed by the notorious Major Crimes squad, having fallen for and gotten knocked up by one of the biggest skirt chasers of the whole department. And at an age where condoms should be for the grandkids to make water balloons with. Unfortunately they had both somewhat assumed that they wouldn't need them. Having been single for so long, the freedom that came with being too old to worry about contraception had been new to her.
And maybe slightly premature.
It hadn't been an easy feat to smuggle three pregnancy tests through the Murder Room into the ladies room without taking her handbag to avoid drawing any more attention, but she had managed somehow. Three because she couldn't trust only one and if two showed varying results, she would surely lose it without the confirmation of a third. With the high profile case they were working, there was no way she would be able to get away to get another one any time soon. Having somehow mastered the logistics of taking three pregnancy tests at the same time and in a public bathroom no less, she placed the plastic sticks on the edge of the sink and began to bite her thumbnail.
She should have felt sick with nerves, especially after having thrown up all morning and for most of the previous week. Instead she was beginning to wonder whether today was one of these days when Daphne down in the cafeteria would serve peach ice-cream for dessert. That craving alone was a dead-giveaway. She wasn't usually overly interested in peaches and mostly forewent them in favor of oranges. Pregnancy, however, had always changed that to the point of obsession. Especially when it came to peaches and any kind of dairy product, all bets were off. Peach yogurt, peach ice-cream and peaches with cream had made Sharon so happy that people had actually given her weird looks over it.
God, she shouldn't have bothered with the pregnancy tests.
A moment later she wished she hadn't as steps could be heard outside. Damn it, Sharon thought, she had expected to be the only woman on this floor on a Saturday except for Sykes and Sykes seemed to have an extraordinary bladder because she seldom took bathroom breaks at all. It seemed that today of all days was bound to be different. Lunging at the sink, she gathered the plastic sticks in her hands and frantically looked around for a place to hide them. Aware that she would regret it later, but short of an alternative, she quickly dumped them in the waste basket. Trying to adopt a nonchalant posture, she leaned against the wall next to the sink just in time for Amy Sykes to walk in.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of her captain as she was probably eager to make the best of their little moment alone. Bonding over being female was best done in a ladies' room, or so some seemed to think. Sharon genuinely liked Sykes and went to lenghths to mentor her and further her career where she could. Today, however, she wanted rid of her as soon as possible. Mostly to be able to wallow in self-pity and beat herself up over being very, very stupid.
"Oh, hi Captain! Are you better?" Amy chirped, taking in Sharon's appearance.
"Yes, much. Thank you, Amy." Sharon managed a smile, hoping that her detective wouldn't try to strike up a conversation.
"You know, I was actually just going to freshen up a little," Sykes explained and gestured at the small bag Sharon hadn't previously noticed she was carrying. "The smell inside that house was terrible, wasn't it?"
"You're not saying," Sharon dead-panned, but Amy was already busy chattering away about how much press coverage their case was generating all while she washed her hands and splashed her face with water, then retrieved a small tube of hand lotion.
"Those gloves at the crime scene are so bad for your skin," she said. "Do you want some, too?" She offered the tube and Sharon almost sighed. It was a cheap drugstore product, but it was peach-scented and she wanted it.
So much.
The urge to sniff the product reminded her what she was actually in here for. Three minutes were up and she was itching to see the results.
Sykes finished putting the lotion on, oblivious to her captain's predicament, and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser. Having taken the excess lotion off her palms, she balled the paper towel up and froze over the waste bin, about to throw it in.
"What's that?" she asked, causing Sharon to draw in a sharp breath at the sound of which the detective turned around, eyebrows raised.
"Uhhh," Sharon said, raising the corner of her mouth and failing spectacularly at trying to look and sound ignorant. Sykes bent over and retrieved the three pregnancy tests from the bin. Then she walked back to the sink and laid them all out carefully.
"I guess the results are in." She gave Sharon a beaming smile over her shoulder. "Three out of three, Captain. Congratulations! There's going to be a little Flynn running around soon."
"Oh God." Sharon's voice was little more than a high-pitched sigh. Having had suspicions beforehand didn't take the momentum away from finding out for sure, she realized only now. She was practically ancient, recently divorced, living with her subordinate without being married and very much knocked-up.
Her mother would disown her and give the baby away to be raised by nuns.
"That's such good news!" Sykes drew her into a bear hug that Sharon found surprisingly comforting given its potential for awkwardness. "Oh, you must have been trying for so long! You should have said something. My sister and her husband had trouble conceiving and she found a great clinic." She laughed. "But then you found one yourself, didn't you?"
Oh God, her detective thought that they had planned this. That at their astronomical ages they had gone out and had enlisted the help of a fertility doctor to get her pregnant. How could she explain to Sykes that they were just two surprisingly fertile idiots who had agreed that contraception was expensive, cumbersome and for the young.
She wished she could slap herself without looking as if she had lost it.
"Please don't tell anyone," she finally managed.
Sykes looked as if she was about two seconds away from clapping her hands with joy.
"Oh no, of course not!" she beamed. "Your secret is safe with me, Captain!"
Somehow that didn't make Sharon feel any better at all.
Neither did what she said next.
"You know, some people find it odd when people your age are having babies, but I find it really cute. You and Lieutenant Flynn are just meant for each other. I mean, the way you're giving each other those googly eyes even down in the morgue is just too sweet. I bet Lieutenant Flynn won't let you go anywhere by yourself anymore now that you're with child!"
Sharon wasn't sure what bothered her more: That they were perceived as lovesick puppies at work by their subordinates or that Sykes was dead-on in her assessment of Andy's attitude to the pregnancy.
He would follow her around like a watch dog. It was bad enough as it was, but as soon as he'd know about the pregnancy - and one that couldn't be expected to be easy at her age - he would probably not even allow her to go to the bathroom by herself.
And then she would have to yell at him to set him straight.
And she didn't like yelling at Andy.
Especially when she was known to go soft with hormones when pregnant. (She had once famously cried watching a commercial for laundry detergent.)
Sharon suddenly found herself assaulted by the sincere wish to go home, hide under her covers and wait for all of this to go away. Much like she had when she had learned that she was pregnant with Ricky. Unfortunately, the only thing that had gone away had been Jack.
(But at least she had been married back then.)
/
It took Andy some time to recognize the pile of blankets on the bed as his girlfriend. She was so well hidden underneath that not even her hair was visible. And that was quite something as her hair was usually all over the place. He sat down on the side of the bed and gently poked the pile with his forefinger.
It groaned.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said softly. "Can you even breathe in there?"
"I'm cold," her muffled voice informed him from somewhere under a blanket and he frowned, having previously thought that menopause brought on hot flushes rather than chills. After her less than favorable reaction the last time he had brought up the topic, he decided to restrain himself this time. Instead he began to peel the blankets away from her until he found her curled up on her side in her pajamas, looking up at him rather morosely, hair tousled and cheeks flushed.
"I think we need to talk," she said in her best Darth Raydor voice that was a little funny coming from the small curled up person he was looking up.
"What did I do this time?" he sighed.