Sharon POV

"You can't do that here."

My words were spoken in a soft tone, even though he closed the door just moments ago and there's no possibility of anyone hearing me.

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

As if he doesn't know the suggestiveness of his remark what do you need me for.

I narrowed my eyes a little, and insisted, "You know what."

He sat down in the chair across from my desk, taking a moment to adjust his tie as he sat back, and then he replied, "You started it."

"I…I started it?"

My surprise had my words coming out in a stumbled mass, because I can't even begin to imagine how I started a conversation about our personal relationship while in the office.

Because we've discussed this. I mean, we've discussed needing to discuss it.

It.

This thing between us that's been living and breathing for longer than I care to acknowledge and yet we still haven't given it a name.

And sure, I've been the one to procrastinate. If it were up to him, we would've talked about it weeks ago. Months ago, even.

But I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about it, and I would certainly never suggest that we talk about it here. And I'm not about to, either, but I need to address his comment, and I suppose what I really need to do is bite the bullet and designate a time to talk about it.

It isn't fair to him, for me to keep putting it off.

"I don't need you for that?" he said, repeating my earlier statement, emphasizing the last two words. "When you say something like that, I think it's only fair that I ask you to quantify your statement, don't you think?"

His expression is cocky. And yes, he looks cute, which is probably why I'm having a hard time giving any serious rebuke, even though he deserves one since he's showing blatant disregard for the lines I drew with a bold, black sharpie.

Whatever it is, it doesn't belong at work.

Those are the rules.

And can I make rules about something we haven't even discussed?

Sure, I can. I'm Captain Raydor.

"Andy…" I began, trying to ignore how good he looks in blue, and how he has an adorable unruly patch of hair that insists on standing up, and how I want to smile when he looks at me, even when I shouldn't.

"You didn't have to call me in here and close the door," he interrupted. He sat forward in the chair and lowered his voice to a more intimate tone. "You could've said I need you to finish the witness statements. You could've said I need you to help Sykes with the evidence. Hell, you could've said any number of things, but you didn't because you put it out there, and you know exactly what I was asking, because you know what we really need to talk about and you feel guilty that you've been putting it off."

He has a point. A frustrating and scary point, but still…

I really hate when he's right. Why did I have to say for that?

I don't need you to look out for me. That's all I had to say, end of discussion.

But no, I added the for that, and if I'm honest with myself, I did it because I didn't like chastising him for something so gallant and annoying and sweet and unnecessary as looking out for me.

So I opened the door. And then he called me out on it.

Damn the man for picking up on the subtlety.

And for looking out for me in the first place. It makes me feel things I have no business feeling.

Right, Sharon, because that's why you like him…he looks out for you, I thought with heavy sarcasm.

It couldn't be because he's a really nice man with a great sense of humor. Or that he's attractive and a good listener. Or that when he looks at me, I feel like he really sees me, the woman, and not just a police captain.

"Okay," I said at last.

"Okay?"

And now it's his turn to be surprised. I have no doubt he thought I'd bob and weave my way out of any kind of personal discussion, just like I've been doing for what feels like forever.

"Okay," I said again, giving him a half-smile, even though my impending words are sending a torrent of butterflies through my stomach. "Finish your witness statements so that you can get out of here at a decent hour, and then come over to my place. And we'll talk."

"About how I can't say anything remotely personal at work? Or about us?" he pressed.

I don't blame him.

I probably wouldn't believe me either.

How many times has he tried to have this conversation, only to have me nip it in the bud, at first with outright denial and then later with flimsy excuses?

And lately my reasons have revolved around Stroh, but for how long can I put things on hold?

I already took the step to restore Rusty's privacy, something I should've done a while ago. Rusty is no longer the witness who can put Stroh away. Killing a judge and then the subsequent escape…those crimes will get him the death penalty without Rusty, so there's no reason for him to go after my son anymore, and I know that. I've known that. It's just hard sometimes to let go of the fear.

Like with Andy.

It's not like me not to meet something head-on, I know, but this is different.

This is…personal.

Acknowledging, even just to Andy, that I want more from him, that I think about him as so much more than a friend…it's terrifying.

My extended silence has Andy adjusting in his chair, making a move to get up, like he's about to let me off the hook.

Again.

And the adorable arrogance is gone from his expression.

Now he just looks resigned.

Resigned to being in a relationship with a woman who won't admit to being in a relationship, even to him.

Or maybe he's starting to wonder if I'm too much work.

That's scary, too. The thought of not sharing a closeness with him…

"About us," I said before letting that notion fully develop.

My words stopped him in his tracks and he held my gaze for a long moment, and then he smiled and gave me a nod.

"Okay, then. So…seven o'clock?"

I smiled back at him, and then shifted my focus to the papers on my desk as I said with feigned sternness, "Only if you finish those witness statements by then."

I heard him chuckle as he crossed the room, but I didn't look up until I heard the door close behind him.

Oh my God, what am I doing? I thought with a flash of panic.

My eyes stayed focused on the door, but my mind was picturing Andy as he'd stood minutes ago, smiling at me as he asked the provocative question.

And he's exactly right. I could've headed him off easily enough, telling him exactly what I needed him to do, in the work sense. I didn't have to take his bait.

So maybe it is time.

But two hours later, I was having second thoughts.

Probably because I'm nervous. Like, really nervous.

It's not an emotion with which I'm familiar.

"Are you sure?" Rusty questioned, causing me to turn around and look at him.

He's sprawled in the orange chair with a notebook in his lap, and I've spent the past ten minutes rearranging various items in the living room.

"Because I like the vase where you had it the first time. And the third time. And the fifth time," he remarked with amusement. "And that picture was perfect when you put it on the table over there. All four times you put it there."

I took a moment to scowl at him before returning the vase and picture to their original locations.

"I'm just making sure it wouldn't look better somewhere else," I said defensively.

"No, you're making a bric-a-brac merry-go-round," he corrected, his description causing me to lighten up and laugh a little.

"Maybe so," I confessed.

"So…want to talk about what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Sharon…"

With impeccable timing, it was that moment that Andy knocked on the door, and my nerves were once again strung taut and Rusty glanced back and forth between me and the door, apparently mistaking my anxiety for actual concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he hopped up. "Are you expecting someone?"

"Yes," I assured him quickly, feeling guilt over making him worry. He's still learning to live with Stroh on the outside, too, I chastised. "It's fine, Rusty. It's Andy."

"Oh," he said, pulling up short and not answering the door. He stared at me for another moment as I self-consciously ran my hand over my hair and then straightened my blouse, and then he said, "Oh."

"Not oh," I replied. "Just dinner."

"Dinner," he repeated, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, because you're usually a basket case before dinners with Flynn."

"I am not a basket case," I argued.

Andy knocked again, and Rusty waved his hand at me dismissively, saying, "No worries, Sharon. I was about to head out anyway."

"No, Rusty!" I called out in a loud whisper, but he ignored me and headed for his room, presumably to grab his things, so I turned towards the door.

I hadn't planned on Rusty going anywhere. The idea of being alone with Andy has my palms sweaty and my heart racing, and then I realized that it didn't even occur to me to be worried about Rusty going out somewhere without a detail…I paused with my hand on the knob and explored how I feel about that, about the fact that I was focused on Andy and me, rather than on my son.

He's living his life. He's not scared. And he's been doing that for months because he didn't know about the security detail, so…I need to let it go.

Stroh isn't coming after Rusty. Not anymore. I shouldn't feel guilty for not obsessing.

"I thought maybe you changed your mind," Andy said when I finally opened the door.

"And that I was going to hide out in here, pretending not to be home?" I asked in amusement, both excited and apprehensive by the sight of him. "I typically like to make good on my word."

"True," he agreed with a nod. He was still standing in the hall, waiting for me to invite him in, so I stepped back, swinging the door wide. At the same time, Rusty came back into the room.

"Hey, kid," Andy said.

"Hi and bye," Rusty replied with a smile, glancing over at me and giving me a look, something along the lines of it's about time. "Buzz said he'd help me out with my Alice project, so I'll be over at his place, okay?"

I wonder if it's exhausting for him to always keep me apprised of his whereabouts or if it's become second nature.

"That's fine," I said, trying to play it off, but I'll admit it. I'm glad he's going to Buzz's. I'm trying not to worry about him, but it's not like I can just turn it off at will.

"I'll text you when I get there," he offered, stopping as he went past me to place a kiss on my cheek.

"Thank you," I answered quietly.

"See you later, Flynn."

And then he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him so that Andy and I were left in the entryway, in the silence of my condo.

"Hungry?" I asked as I moved towards the kitchen, forcing myself to act natural even though we're about to have a serious and scary discussion.

"No," he answered, and I could feel him following right behind me.

"You already ate?"

"No."

I turned around when I got into the kitchen, and I wasn't wrong about him being right behind me, because suddenly we were face to face with only mere inches between us.

"I want to talk," he stated, his eyes burning into mine for an intense moment before dropping and taking a purposeful walk over the rest of me, and I don't know if it's because the oven's on, or if the thermostat is set wrong or what, but the kitchen has gotten inexplicably hot. As his eyes finally returned to mine, my mouth went dry and the butterflies are back in full force, and maybe it's because the months of stalling has come to an abrupt end, or maybe it's because he's looking at me like he wants to have his way with me right here on the kitchen floor, I don't know. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

Although it's not like I think just because we talk about us that we're suddenly going to start having an intimate, physical relationship. Maybe it just means that he's not going to hide how he feels anymore. I didn't think he was hiding it before, but now I think maybe I was wrong. I think maybe his feelings for me run deeper than I realized.

What I do know is that if we keep standing here like this, I'm going to be the one to crack and start tearing off his clothes, because his closeness and his intensity and the scent of him and those dark eyes…

"Okay, we'll talk first," I agreed, my voice sounding husky and ragged.

"You have to admit, I've waited long enough," he said, relaxing his stance slightly and taking a small step back from me.

I took a few calming breaths and then hummed my agreement and gestured towards the table, so we went over and sat down. I wasn't exactly sure where to start a conversation like this, but he started it for us.

"How about you answer my question?" he posed.

"Which question was that?"

"What do you need me for?" he asked carefully. "And don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to put pressure on you to make this into something it's not. I really just need to know where I stand. Where we stand. Or if there's even a we to talk about."

I find it endearing and a little sad that he seemed to lose his confidence as he spoke. It's almost like it occurred to him as he was saying the words that maybe I'm not where he is.

I can suddenly see how hard these past months have been for him. I've always been great at hiding my feelings, at playing it all close to the vest, and until now, I didn't consider how difficult it's been on him.

"Well," I began carefully. "I think we've already established that we're friends. Very good friends."

He nodded, and I could see him swallow hard, and I'm not trying to draw this out as any kind of mind game, it's just really hard to sit here and talk about my feelings. At least with him. Maybe because there's so much at stake, because with my kids, I have no problem being open and honest. Even when it comes to Jack, I don't mince words when it comes to how I feel.

But with Andy, it's such a delicate situation. We work together. Or rather, he works for me.

But we'll keep it out of the office, I reminded myself. As much as we can, anyway. Everyone already knows we spend off-hours together. I can just imagine what might be going through the rumor mill, and I don't like it, but that's beyond my control. People were talking before there was anything to talk about. There currently still isn't anything to talk about. We're just really good friends.

Except we're not. We're more than that.

"Okay," he said at last, since I was still engaging in an internal monologue. "So…okay."

He got up from the table, and I reached out, putting my hand on his arm to stall his progress.

"Not okay," I said. "I'm not finished."

He sighed and sat back down, and now I can just imagine he's thinking I'm going to offer platitudes of some sort, so I quickly said, "We're very good friends who are exploring the possibilities of a relationship."

He continued to stare at me somewhat blankly, and then he said smartly, "Can you be a little more vague? Exploring the possibilities? That's what we've been doing all these months? That's the longest experiment in history. We should've either found the possibilities or determined they don't exist by now."

His sense of humor is one of the many things I like about him, even though sometimes it drives me crazy. This is one of those times because I'm trying here, and he's asking for…well, I don't know what he's asking for. I don't know how much I can give.

"They exist."

"Possibilities?"

It was my turn to sigh, which I did heavily, and as I rolled my eyes for good measure, he reached over and took my hand, and a rush of pleasure surged through me at the innocent contact.

"I like you," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "As so much more than a friend. I don't want us to keep making excuses to see each other. I want us to just call them dates. And I know it stays out of work. I don't want it there anymore than you do. But I do want to do this, and I can't keep guessing about where you're at with this. I need to know. If we're only friends, then I'll deal with it. But if you want more…"

"I want more."

The words came out of me without forethought, but once they were out, I was glad for it.

I like him. I'm happy when I'm around him. And don't I deserve a little happiness?

A smile lit up his face, and he brought my hand up to his lips, kissing the knuckles for a lingering moment, and then he said, "Okay. See, was that so hard?"

"Yes, it was," I answered playfully.

"You know, things really aren't going to be that much different," he reasoned. "It's just that now I'll know it's not only in my head. You do kind of like me a little."

I smiled and said, "Yes, just a little."

With the awkwardness of the all-important discussion out of the way, we had a lovely dinner with engaging conversation, and little hand touches, and laughter, and it was the nicest time I've had in a long while.

Afterwards, we cleaned up the dishes together, and then he said it was time for him to head home, since he has a boss who expects him to be at work at an ungodly hour.

"Seven is not ungodly," I argued teasingly as I walked him to the door. "But yes, you do need to get your beauty rest."

He laughed and turned towards me when he reached the door, and then he reached for my hand again. His fingers slid easily through mine, and I felt my heart beat just a little faster.

"See? Nothing really changes for us. It'll just be easier and better because there's no guessing and second-guessing…"

"I know. You were right," I admitted with dramatic reluctance.

"Can I get that in writing?" he joked.

"Absolutely not."

"Good, because I might not be entirely right."

"No?"

"Well, there might be some slight differences now," he confessed, and he looks so cute and happy and I love knowing that I'm the one making him feel this way.

"What happened to nothing really changes?" I asked with amusement.

"Nothing except this."

That's when he kissed me. I wasn't really expecting it, but at the same time, it wasn't a complete surprise, and it felt so natural, as if we've done it many times before, and then his hands slid around my waist, pulling me to him while keeping the kiss just this side innocent, and it all felt so good that I wanted more, and then I realized that he was waiting for me, giving me the control in how quickly we move things along.

I feel like as slow as we've been up to this point, there wasn't any harm in speeding things up a bit, so I pressed more fully into him, deepening the kiss and eliciting a low moan from him that sent arousal zipping through me at a feverish rate. His hands stroked over my back and moved into my hair as he held me even closer, and I let myself get lost in the moment.

"Yeah, so that changed," he said breathlessly when we finally parted.

"Mm hmm," I hummed, running my hand over his tie because I wasn't ready to break contact yet.

"And you're sure we can't do that at work?" he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. I gave him a patented Captain Raydor look of admonishment, and then I kissed him again, after mumbling something about how this would just have to get us through the day tomorrow.

We ended up spending more than ten minutes kissing goodbye, and it was the perfect end to the day.

Once he was gone, I closed the door and then leaned back against it, my fingers against my lips that were still tingling.

I should've stopped procrastinating a long time ago, I thought.

Because Andy's right. Nothing's really going to change.

We'll work together, professionally, and then we'll spend time after work together.

The only difference is that we were finally honest with each other about our feelings.

And the kissing, I added with a smile as I pushed away from the door.

My phone buzzed from the kitchen, so I went in to get it and found a text from Rusty.

I'm just going to crash on Buzz's couch. See you tomorrow.

With my smile still firmly in place, I took my phone and headed for my bedroom.

Rusty's safe.

Andy and I are dating.

Life goes on.

I just might get a good night's sleep tonight after all.

The End