Chapter Text
Preparing the brew of morning coffee had by default been Andy Flynn’s sole responsibility for the last six years. It was a solitaire, meditative routine he enjoyed, having the workspace to himself. Turning on lights and dispelling darkness, awakening next to the low slumbering sound of the coffee machine as he stared off into space contemplating the day to come. This morning, he was not pleased to see the breakroom otherwise occupied.
It was as much the occupation as the person who hovered next to the machine, her profile sharp. It was still a surprise to find Sharon Raydor in his daily working life. She had made herself a home in the chief’s old office, she stalked the orange hallway and lounged in electronics when she wasn’t looking over everybody’s shoulder in interview rooms. It was as if she had slowly suffused the unit over time; flittingly sparse in the beginning when she had ventured up from her I.A lair, to more skulking around as she had investigated the leak to this complete takeover that felt absurd. Every day was a little easier, but seeing her relaxing in his breakroom, going about his morning ritual as if she belonged, was again a surprise. Not necessarily a bad one. He was undecided about it, which in itself was annoying.
She seemed softer than he remembered. The early hour and the assumption she would be unwatched, he thought. When she turned her back to him, he felt entranced for a short second by her hair and the form of her body, watching her behind in the penciled skirt that ran to her calf despite knowing he shouldn’t, and yet still his eyes strayed. He would have to correct that – for his own sanity, and well, his job security.
Just as he was about to turn around and leave without caffeine, she gave him a sly look over her shoulder. One arched eyebrow and a deliberately arranged smug smile. She must have heard him come in.
“Good morning, lieutenant Flynn. Coffee’s well under the way,” she said as she turned around and leaned back against the counter, watching him with a curious expression. “I imagine,” she looked at her watch, “it’s long due, hmm.”
“You beat me to it,” he grumpily answered, and then seeing no other recourse but to slink into the room and wait for coffee with her, he chose a table a considerable space away from the counter. Andy mimicked her stance; leaned back and his arms crossed as he tuned in to his own observation.
Two could play this game, he thought. Small talk mingled with watchful, calculated observation. He was being weighed and evaluated, every conversation, every expression and in turn, he was assessing her, trying to figure out why the top brass had chosen her? Why had she agreed of all things? Which, if honest, was the thing that bothered him the most. Like a solved puzzle that suddenly was missing corner and center pieces. It did not fit in with his image of her. To his knowledge, he had never heard her utter a word of discontent about being in the rat squad. Maybe he should ask around? Vice was sure to have gossip, even on the infallible Sharon Raydor.
Play nice, he reminded himself, stilling the need to dig into the whole thing. His track record with commanding officers spoke for itself; he had learned his lesson the last time around.
Her gaze seemed introspective as she regarded him, a heavy silence between them deepening. It was charged, and he knew it. But he couldn’t figure out what she wanted. She pursed her mouth, seemingly trying to decide what to say.
“I can tell, there’s something you want to say, something you’ve been wanting to say for a while now. So, here’s the opportunity, lieutenant Flynn. Off the record and no repercussions.” She said the words with a smooth tone, an invitation to trouble if there ever was one. The words seemed well thought out though, and maybe she had spent more than a little time on trying to figure him out as well.
“That sounds like an offer to walk on thin ice, Captain.” Andy said, hesitating. There was something in the air between them; not unakin to the electricity of change before thunder. Whatever it was, it was no stranger.
“A favorite pastime of yours, hmm,” she smiled, and her voice was strangely reminiscent of amused condescension.
He narrowed his eyes, “I do have common sense, contrary to popular belief.”
“I know lieutenant Flynn, I know. For the sake of our future working relationship, why don’t you say what’s on your mind? As I’ve said, it’s off the record and I’ll appreciate it, if you spoke your mind.”
She seemed inclined to have it out now. Low on caffeine, away from eyewitnesses and an open invitation to tell her off, well, how could he say no?
“Okay.” Andy reflected on how best to voice his thoughts and reservations in regard to the whole new working environment; balancing it with being mindful she was now his commanding officer; mindful she carried a grudge like no one he knew. No one really wanted the whole tainted truth.
“I have a hard time seeing how you got promoted to our unit, and frankly I wonder why you even wanted to land here in the first place. It’s homicide. It’s not the small cases. It’s all the horrible big cases, with dismembered bodies and rotting corpses, the killers that will make you wish you had never set eyes on them, make your skin crawl, give you nightmares. It’s kids. It’ll eat you up. You’ve been in internal affairs all your career, and I’m sure you barely remember anything else. Sure, you can handle blood and disgruntled officers. But what about back-up? What about tactical operations? What about handling the aftermath of cases that go nowhere? You like the law; you like the rules. Essentially, you like the order of things and always have. This here,” he pointed at his back, toward the bullpen, “is chaos.”
She watched him carefully, her whole undivided attention on him in what felt almost too intense. She hummed as he spoke, her mouth trembling into another smile of all things when he ended the tirade.
Andy continued, more annoyed now, having worked up adrenaline. “You have no idea how to work in a unit; you’re used to working alone most of the time, always getting your say in first. You haven’t a clue how everything works and frankly, I don’t see how you will inspire anything but disagreement.”
“So, I’m inexperienced, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t think I’ll be able to get along with anyone?”
“Nope.”
She laughed, “Anything else?”
“I don’t particularly like you,” he said, somehow lured into a false sense of security with her all smiling and laughing.
She tilted her head, her smile gone. She said the words pointedly, “I don’t need you to like me.”
“Then what do you need?”
“For us to get along.”
She paused, watching him. There was something in her look.
“I need someone to help with the transition, someone who’s not of afraid of telling me when and where I’ve gone wrong, someone who will help me understand the workings of this unit and the lay of the land when it comes to the major homicide cases.”
Andy watched her. She seemed so genuine, asking for help, wanting an ally – so unlike herself. There was no red tape, no territorial pissing contest. What did it say about him that he sort of missed it?
“Why me?” he asked, curious why she singled him out now, why she thought he would be receptive.
She answered without much thought, the tone soft and somewhat friendly, “I’ve known you the longest, lieutenant Flynn. We went to the academy at the same time, mostly. Remember?”
Andy shrugged. He barely remembered, not on account of her. He remembered very little from those days. Blackouts. Drunk off his ass. Sleep deprivation that left little room for memory. Opting for anything but a trip down memory lane, he joked with her instead. “And you’ve been a thorn in my side since,” he grinned and then punctuated it with another comment. “A prickly thorn for decades.”
Humor lifted the atmosphere, took away some of the venom of his earlier words.
The coffee machine brewed on, a tender sound that also, somehow, relieved the atmosphere.
“Andy,” she said his name with a soft reflection, that single word lathered in something sweet. He wondered if she had ever called him by his first name so many times in such a short time before? He could count it on one hand, and every instance had been in the short span since her transfer.
She continued, still seemingly amused by everything. “I know everything about you, workwise. I have your whole file, personal and otherwise, memorized. Not by design, but simply by getting to read it over so many times during the last, yes, decades, that it’s permanently stuck in my head. And you know what?”
“What?” he said, feeling put out, ready to defend whatever she wanted to say about him and his conduct. It felt combative to him despite her soft voice.
“You are a good detective.”
He waited for the ‘but’. It didn’t come.
“You think?” he asked before he could censor himself, her comment too much of a surprise for him to not feel like she was bluffing. “You’ve never said that before, or even given a clue it’s what you thought.” He even sounded surprised, his voice rough. It just did not make sense in his mind. “Last time, I was a thickheaded idiot too stubborn for his own good.”
She sighed, and then looked away for a second, seemingly exasperated. When she looked back at him, her gaze had hardened. “Yes, I do think you are a good detective.” She paused, the implicit I don’t lie left unsaid. Then, as if she was weighing whether to say anything or not, she inhaled. Having decided, she said rather harshly, “If we’re going to compare notes on every name calling or stupid fight we’ve gotten into over the years, we’ll be here for a long time. And we’ll be no further along. Just the same old stomping grounds.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” His tone was sarcastic and gruff.
She rolled her eyes and then with a sharp reply, “You would rather we compare notes then? Because I remember every single one of those names, lieutenant Flynn. I remember a lot of things I’m sure you’ve forgotten, intentionally or otherwise.”
It was back to lieutenant now.
“Well, color me surprised. I didn’t think you thought I was good enough,” he acquiesced. “In fact, I’ve always had the feeling you didn’t like me.”
“I didn’t – particularly,” she smiled only it carried a snip of arrogance.
He sneered back, and then because the whole situation was absurd – their conversation – he couldn’t help but find it funny. Under different circumstances, he would have laughed.
He mulled the whole thing over, watching her. She rarely lied, that he knew. If she did lie, it was mostly by omission. There was some advantage to having known her for so long; he could tell whether she was annoyed, angry, indifferent or insulted, usually because every single emotion had been vividly present in their earlier encounters. This woman however, who stood in front of him, seemed an entirely different creature.
Andy decided she was offering an olive branch.
“It could have been worse, you know,” he commented as he relaxed into his lean again. It was easy, somehow, to let go of discontent. He had had a lot of practice.
This time she was the one to be surprised. It was nice turning the tables around. She hummed, waiting for him to elaborate. Curiosity made her appear soft again.
“I mean, you were not my top choice.”
She rolled her eyes.
Andy hid a smile, “Well, okay. You were not even a contender, true.”
“Andy – we’ve covered this already.”
“No, I’m just saying – it could have been much worse.” He elaborated, “Anyone else, now that I think about it, would have been a fucking idiot. Anyone from Robbery/Homicide would have been a disaster. Vice, don’t get me started. Narcotics, bah. And let’s be honest, Provenza was never going to get it.”
“So, I’m not a fucking idiot, is that what you’re saying?”
He grinned.
She shook her head, amused, and then she asked him, wondering, “There’s no lost love between you and your old friends from R/H?”
Andy made a face, going for showing annoyance, “I find them insufferable. Messy, loud and incompetent. Their reports read like they were written by second-graders.”
She quickly looked down, but he caught the smile she tried to hide before her hair fell in front. When she looked up, there was a teasing glint to her expression. She tilted her head, her arms coming uncrossed as she regarded him with barely veiled mirth. “Then you know how I’ve felt for the entirety of my career.”
Andy couldn’t keep his own smile from appearing. “Touche.”
There was a pause. He watched her, the way she seemed to have alleviated his annoyance, the way in which she truly did seem like she belonged right here in his breakroom, at ease and everything.
“Anything else, lieutenant Flynn?” she asked him, her tone professional suddenly, effectively putting a nice bow around their conversation on the transfer and her presence in his working life. Before he could assess her expression, she turned her back to him and reached up towards the cabinet for the white bland coffee cups courtesy of the LAPD.
Andy watched her back and the tumble of hair, feeling a little lost. New territory, he figured.
“Nah,” he said, finally. “I think I’ve said enough.”
“You certain? I don’t think you’ll get another free pass again anytime soon.”
He nodded, even if she could not see it, and then followed with a strangely hoarse, “Yeah. I’m sure.”
She turned back around and offered him a cup, her mouth half slanted towards another smile. Andy had to stand and walk towards her. Before he could reach the cup, she held it back and then with a catlike expression, she asked, “Truce?”
Andy arched an eyebrow at her, finding the term a little childish. But he relented, “Truce.”
She gave him the cup, her smile now even softer. She sure smiled a lot; it was very disarming.
“Is this whole thing,” he pointed between them, “you deliberately testing my loyalty?” His tone was softer than his words.
“If I was testing your loyalty, lieutenant, I would send you off for lunch orders for the foreseeable future,” she gave back, her tone light.
“I would protest,” Andy smiled back.
“But you would do it?”
“If you framed it like an order, sure.”
“I am not sure that take-away falls under my purview as your captain, unfortunately. It would be a misuse of power.”
“Ah, I see. We can’t have you misusing your position. Wouldn’t do for your reputation.”
Her smile widened and Andy was positive that back in the day, before she transferred, she would have told him something obscene. A fuck off, for good measure. She seemed guarded, he reflected, despite the smiles and seemingly careless attitude. A front, he decided.
“Coffee?” Andy asked, holding the coffee pot up, wondering what a truce with Sharon Raydor entailed.
She nodded and he filled her white cup up, the waft of coffee strong. At least she was a coffee drinker. The squad already had one tea-drinker, and one was more than enough. They stood at the counter, coffee cups in hands, surreptitiously watching each other. He sipped from his own cup, watching her sipping from hers.
A very strange atmosphere, he figured.
She looked tired, up close. Immaculate make-up, lipstick applied in a hue he rather liked and her eyes alert but still, she seemed tired.
“How do you plan on winning us over, then?” he asked, curious. Sharon Raydor was bound to have a plan, of sorts. He imagined she was hell to play board-games with.
She only smiled and gave a noncommittedly shrug as if it were a secret, her eyes briefly on his with a look that screamed I won’t tell before she looked down again, her lips on the rim of the cup, sipping coffee slowly, languidly. It struck Andy that she appeared at ease with him. That, in itself, made him feel a snip of bravery, or bravado as she would undoubtedly have put it.
“And what, I don’t get the same invitation as Provenza? No dinner bribe?”
It wasn’t flirting. Close, maybe. But far enough away from any line to be misconstrued by her. Still, he noticed the minute narrowing of her eyes, the way her mouth almost pursed but then relaxed. She regarded him for a brief second, and in that time, as impossible as it seemed to him, she came to a conclusion of some sort.
“I don’t want to corrupt you further,” she said cryptically, her voice melting on the words.
Andy blew out a long-exasperated sigh, pretending hurt.
She continued, somber. “I knew he would decline the invitation.”
“So you didn’t mean it?”
She shrugged but she did not seem particularly bothered by it.
“If he had said yes, then what?”
She sighed, “We’ll never know, will we.”
Andy contemplated her, and then feeling a need to go out on a limb, he apologized. “Sorry,” he said, watching her.
“For what, lieutenant Flynn?”
“For not being more welcoming.”
“I didn’t exactly picture you being on any welcoming committee. If anything, you have yelled at me considerably less than I had imagined.”
“I do know how not to make an ass of myself, you know.”
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes locked on his. “I’m looking forward to that.”
He arched an eyebrow back, holding back a reply. Despite the whole earlier off the record he had a feeling she was not about to take lightly to the comment that seemed to almost slip easily, naturally, off his lips. Instead he took a sip of coffee, racking his brain for something else. She had a decidedly look of combat readiness.
“Why are you here so early?” he asked her after a prolonged pause where they both sipped coffee.
“I could ask you the same?” she seemed inquisitive.
“I have nothing else to do,” he told her truthfully, not minding she had more ammunition on him. She already had enough, he wagered. If there was a single person in the entire LAPD who knew his every fault down to its molecular structure, it was her.
“I’m an early riser,” she said, her eyes on her coffee for a short moment. “And I’ve always liked being in the building early, when no one’s here. It’s comfortable.” It was the first time she seemed unsure of herself. Maybe because she was divulging something personal. She never did that. And then it hit him; this was how she was going to win every single one of them over. She was already on her way with him, his earlier annoyance at finding her in the breakroom dissipated into a feeling of curiosity instead.
“First rule of homicide,” Andy said, quickly changing the subject, feeling a need to distance himself from introspection on the whole thing.
She looked up, curious, “Oh go ahead.”
“Don’t sit on Provenza’s chair.”
She laughed.