Now and Then

Summary: It is 1991 when Andy Flynn makes the acquaintance of a certain FID-officer.

A/N: So my flight was delayed and suddenly this popped into my head. As I already had the whole story mapped out in my mind, I figured I might as well write it down. There are about a thousand other things I'll have to get done today, so I'll have to split it up into several parts, though... Oh god, I might actually be addicted to writing.

[ Part One ]

Andy decided that it was time to step outside and get a breath of fresh air to clear his head and so he waved at the uniformed officer and left the bar. The night outside was clear and the cool air helped soothe his upcoming headache that he'd been trying to rub away furtively when still inside the stuffy room. He contemplated trying to score a cigarette from the grouchy, slightly overweight woman standing a few feet away for a moment but then decided against it. He had stopped smoking a long time ago and he had never really liked it in the first place. And the welcome nicotine hit would certainly not compensate for the effect the smoke would have on his already aching head. So he stood, back against the brick wall, inhaling the air instead. He had screwed-up, again and not even deliberately this time. Although he hadn't had time to reach his usual blood alcohol level, he was clearly intoxicated and FID wouldn't let him get away with it again. Ted, the friendly old guy who had been working his cases so far, had been more than lenient and Andy hoped that his general disinterest in seeing fellow officers punished would get him off one more time.

He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps approach. It took him a moment to sharpen his vision – how many tumblers of scotch had he drowned his sorrow in today, he fleetingly wondered – but when he finally accomplished his goal, he liked what he saw: The young woman in front of him was wearing a blue trenchcoat that looked professional but still accentuated the curve of her hips and breasts that Andy found quite impressive on such a slim body. What he could see of her legs in silk stockings was also quite promising and he found himself with the sudden urge to take the damn coat off her to find out what was underneath. Maybe he would start with running a hand through that mane of auburn hair that he could see even in the bad lightning out here, held a promise of red that he found very appealing. She was wearing the sort of glasses that inspired fantasies of naughty librarians and his enthusiasm only faltered slightly when he found that her hand was firmly holding on to that of a small boy of about four years. He decided to try anyway.

"What would a beautiful woman like yourself be doing entering a seedy bar like this one at three in the morning?" he asked with forced nonchalance although the scotch made it kind of hard to wrap his tongue around the words.

She cocked her head slightly and curled her lip in a condescending expression. "LAPD. I'm looking for one Detective Flynn," she said coldly and then added sarcastically: "At three in the morning. In a seedy bar."

Andy's gaze fell upon the little boy next to her who shyly pressed his face into the folds of her coat, squinting up at him.

"Is it bring-your-kid-to-work-night again?" he joked.

"Did you ever try to find a babysitter on short notice in the middle of the night?" she snapped and made to march past him into the bar.

"Wait," Andy said. "I am who you are looking for."

For a moment she looked as if she was taking his statement for a bad chat-up line but then she rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks.

"Detective Flynn," she said evenly. "How very nice to meet you. Your file's been a pleasure to read although it took a while to get through it. Sergeant Sharon Raydor."

She didn't extend her hand for him to shake so he didn't either and just shrugged instead.

"So you and the kid are here to beat my ass for being an idiot?" he asked, earning a glare from her as he was intentionally using foul language in front of her child. As if on cue, the little boy began to whine.

"Mommy, I'm tired. I wanna go home."

She gave Flynn a look that could have cut through glass and bent down to comfort her son. "It won't take long, Tommy. I just have to get a few statements and then it's back to bed for you, okay?" The kid pursed his lips but didn't protest further. Raydor straightened up again and took a small notepad and pen from her pocket.

"Did I get that right? You came to this bar after completing your duty for the day and brought your loaded service weapon with you. While you were sitting at the bar, drinking, two other patrons got into a fight and one of them got hold of your weapon to then fire it into the wall?"

"After which I took him down and wrestled the gun from his grip, yes," Andy supplied. "No one got hurt, everything's fine. Where's Ted, by the way?"

She gave him a hard look. "If you mean Sergeant Bynes, he was transferred. It is now me who will have the pleasure of cleaning up after you. I'll have to get a few witness statements inside. Please stay and hold yourself available for a more detailed statement later."

She breezed past him with her child in tow and entered the bar. Andy could see from the look that flashed across her face that she'd rather be anywhere but here and he could see why. The floor was a creaky wooden one with countless stains. Every piece of furniture in the room was old and looked as if it was about to collapse into itself any minute. The heavy stench of stale beer and sweat made the sergeant cover her mouth with her hand. Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"Mommy, it stinks." Raydor bent down and lifted the child into her arms as if that could keep him from being negatively influenced by the scruffiness of the place. Flynn wouldn't have liked his own children in a place like this one and he was beginning to feel a little guilty for being the reason that they were here. He watched her quickly and efficiently collecting statements from everyone involved, frequently cutting people off if they were straying from simply answering her questions. Somehow no one seemed to dare not to take her seriously just because a half-asleep child had slung its arms around her neck and he was impressed, wondering whether he would have been able to pull that off. She finally said her tight-lipped goodbyes to everyone and motioned for him to join her at the table she had occupied to be able to take notes and hold her child in her lap at the same time.

The ancient chair noisily scraped across the worn floor when Andy sat down and startled Tommy who immediately began to cry. Raydor closed her eyes for the shortest of times but when the crying didn't cease but increased in volume, she set down her pen and tended to her son instead. It seemed, however, that the little one was inconsolable at this point.

"Hey, if that's okay, we can just do this tomorrow," Andy offered but the determined look in her eyes told him that she would not let him off the hook that easily.

"You've been involved in enough incidents to know by now that I will have to file my report first thing in the morning," she said, raising her voice to be able to be heard over her child's noisy complaints. "There's no way around this."

She looked stressed and tired underneath the hastily applied make-up and although she didn't exactly appear like a damsel in distress, he felt the urge to make things a little easier on her. He was the reason she'd had to get out of bed in the middle of the night, after all.

"Okay, then why don't we drive to your house so you can put your kid to bed?" he asked, earning an exasperated look. He could tell that she didn't want him anywhere near her home but he also knew that there were little alternatives. She hesitated for a moment but then nodded reluctantly.

"Okay. But you will not drive anywhere by yourself tonight. Come with me." Her words were spoken in a rapid staccato, conveying the dismay she was feeling at this whole situation, so he followed her out in silence that persisted through the entire drive. She finally turned into the driveway of a small and rather old, but cosy-looking house that appeared tiny compared to the big houses surrounding it. Its garden was also not more than just a stretch of lawn and he had the immediate suspicion that it had been quite a bargain considering the rather good neighborhood. She climbed out of the car and unlocked the door, stepping aside to let him enter before her. When she flipped on the lights, he found himself in a small entrance hall that was stuffed with boxes.

"Sorry," she said. "We just moved in a couple of days ago. The place is still a mess."

They were standing so close in the confined space that he was suddenly painfully conscious of the alcohol on his breath.

"Could I use your bathroom?" he asked, hoping that she'd had time to unpack the toothpaste so he could try to use it in order to make himself a little more presentable.

"Yes, follow me," she told him, still looking rather uncomfortable at having him inside her house. He did as he was told and climbed the stairs behind her until they'd reached the landing that presented him with four doors to rather small rooms. She pointed at the second one to the left and carried Tommy into the one right opposite. Andy entered the small but clean bathroom and raided the medicine cabinet for something to make his headache go away. Relieved at the discovery of both peppermint toothpaste and a box of advil, he washed a painkiller down and spread some toothpaste across his teeth, using his finger. He then ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips in dismay at the prominent bags under his eyes. The alcohol wasn't kind to his skin but then he had never tried to stop drinking. Maybe he did have a problem. Taking a loaded service weapon into a bar and being too drunk to notice that someone had gotten hold of it was despicable. He knew it and Sharon Raydor knew it, too. No wonder she didn't want him around her house.

He smiled at the sight of a big and a small toothbrush in a cup and a Donald Duck towel that clearly belonged to Tommy. He wondered for the first time why there was no husband around to watch the kid in the middle of the night. Was he just away on a business trip or did her moving house have something to do with a recent separation? He opened the bathroom door and took a look into the kid's room from across the hall. There were boxes, too, but the bed was made and Raydor was sitting at the side of it, tucking her child in. She was in stocking feet but still wearing her coat, maybe as an armor against the intruder that Andy Flynn knew he was to her. She bent forward and kissed the little boy's cheek.

"Sleep well now, honey. I'm so sorry for dragging you out of bed. I'll make up for it tomorrow, okay? We can go and have some ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?" Tommy murmured sleepily and the smile that was gracing his face was audible in his tone. She kissed his forehead and rose from the bed.

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

She was almost at the door and turned around again to face Tommy.

"When will we go home?"

She seemed to understand because her shoulders sank. "Honey," she said softly. "this is our home now. We'll unpack your things tomorrow and this room will be just as nice as your old one, okay?"

"But it's so much smaller," Tommy protested sleepily and Andy could see that Raydor was too tired and too worn to have that conversation right now. She stalled by taking a deep breath and then seemed relieved as her child's eyelids fluttered shut and he fell asleep, holding on to his teddy bear. She tiptoed out and then shut the door softly behind her, holding on to the doorknob behind her back while she narrowed her eyes at Flynn.

"Eavesdropping?" she inquired sharply.

"Didn't want to disturb your privacy by marching into your living-room by myself so I decided to wait around for you," he said smoothly. Raydor just gestured towards the stairs and he followed her again to then enter her living-room a moment later. It had two large bay windows and, though small, possessed great charm. He imagined that it was awash with light in the daytime and the few pieces of furniture that were visible among the boxes spoke of good taste and, surprisingly, money. He was a detective, after all, so he was pretty sure that moving into this house constituted some kind of downsizing. Monetary problems, probably. She sat down on the couch and motioned for him to to do so, too, as there wasn't another chair yet. He pointedly took off his overcoat and took his seat beside her. She looked a little defeated as she unbuttoned her own coat and shrugged out of it, leaving it on the arm of the couch. Underneath it, she was wearing a soft white sweater and a simple black pencil-skirt but her attire wasn't what caught his attention. Instead his eyes were drawn to her softly rounded abdomen underneath her sweater. She seemed to see where he was looking and straightened up, covering her middle with one hand.

Great, now he had roused a pregnant lady out of bed in the middle of the night.

"How far along?" Andy asked, wondering once again where her husband was off to.

"That's none of your business," she replied and looked up at him. Catching the tender look in his eyes, she softened slightly and added: "Four months next week."

She rubbed her belly with her left hand while she poised her right one to take more notes. Andy resigned himself to his fate and began to recount the events and answer her questions. He knew from experience that there was yet an extensive FID questionnaire to be filled out and signed by the both of them, so he decided to make a suggestion.

"Did you unpack your coffeemaker, yet?" he asked her and was surprised to find a smile playing in the corners of her lips. She looked quite lovely when she smiled, he found with surprise. Shaking her head slightly, she rose to her feet and he decided to follow her into her kitchen without actually being asked to. It was another nice but small room and it looked a little more habitable than the others. The woman was a neat freak, it seemed, when she was not busy unpacking boxes. He felt a little out of place leaning against the counter to be out of her way while she made coffee. Her movements were graceful; maybe she'd been a dancer at some point and he found himself liking the way she flipped her hair back from her face every now and then. Maybe the fact that the small table by the window only had two chairs was owed to the limited space the small kitchen offered, but somehow Andy didn't believe that.

"Why did you move?" he asked conversationally, trying to hide his curiosity. She looked up and a dark look crossed her face before she turned away again without answering his question. Apparently she was not about to tell him her secrets and he wasn't particularly surprised.

"You're drinking," she said while she reached up to take two mugs out of the cabinet. "I do think you should get help. Judging from your file, your habit has developed into an addiction."

Andy was stunned. Many of his friends and colleagues had hinted upon that but no one had ever addressed the problem head-on. It seemed that Sharon Raydor didn't have a problem doing so, however, as she turned to look at him. He didn't know exactly how to react but deep inside him he knew that she was right. He'd been contemplating the problem for a while now, but he had always found a way to avoid taking action. One of his attempts at justification had been that he couldn't possibly have a problem if no one ever told him so. That had changed now and although it was just a very small step, he knew he had crossed into unfamiliar territory now. He felt anger rise inside him but he instinctively knew that it was just a defense mechanism and he couldn't possibly attack the woman in front of him. She was right, she was FID and she was pregnant.

She turned away, maybe to grant him some privacy, and poured coffee into the two mugs.

"Milk or sugar?" she asked and handed him the cup when he declined by shaking his head. She added some milk to hers and headed back to the living-room without another word. When he finally decided to follow her after a prolonged moment of hesitation, he found her back on the couch, the dreaded questionnaire already spread out on the coffee table in front of her. He sat down and blew the steam off his coffee while she did the same.

"Look," he said. "I'm really sorry for being the reason for you to be dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night. I guess you need your sleep in your condition."

She rolled her eyes at his comment and set her mug down, once again without answering him. She seemed comfortable with uncomfortable silences and that impressed him more than any witty comeback could ever have. She went through the questionnaire, asking her questions in that monotone voice she liked to use and completed it with quick efficiency. The strong black coffee helped with the aftereffects of the alcohol that hadn't already been wiped out by the shock of discovering someone with his weapon raised, ready to shoot and Andy felt the whole weight of what happened and what could have happened crash down upon him. Once he had signed the document, he buried his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm such an idiot," he confessed, slightly amused besides himself at hearing no words of encouragement from her in response. Instead he heard her get up and walk over to the dining table to retrieve something. When she came back she scribbled something on to her notepad and ripped out the page, handing it to him.

"This is the number and address of the local Alcoholics Anonymous organization. They meet daily at seven o'clock in the evening."

He looked up at her quizzically, wondering why she had those numbers handy. For the first time this evening he found himself hesitant, almost a little shy.

"Did you have a problem with alcohol, too?" he asked quietly to which she gave him a humorless smirk.

"Not me," she simply said, leaving it at that.

He stared at the digits for a moment and then nodded. "Thank you, Sharon."

She gave the first real, yet clipped smile of the evening at the usage of her first name and set her pen down.

"I guess we're through with this one, Detective. I'll file my report tomorrow but I think if you actually get help, I can get you off this time around. If you screw up again, however, I'll have your ass. Understood?"

He was a little surprised at her lenience but nodded his gratitude. "I promise I won't let you down."

"We'll see," she said ominously and got up, extending her hand for him this time. It was an awkward affair that found them standing almost too far apart to shake hands without effort, but he felt comforted anyway.

"Well, thank you," he said again. "And, um, all the best for you and your little ones."

"Thanks."

She walked him to the door and when he turned around to say goodbye, she had already closed it. He stood motionless for another moment, the information on the AA meetings still in his hand. There was an air of sadness around Sharon Raydor, especially when it came to alcoholism and he found himself intrigued by it. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful, too, he had to admit to himself. Her house wasn't far from his so he decided to walk through the two blocks to his home. At the corner of her driveway he paused and watched the light go on one of the rooms upstairs, wondering what Sharon Raydor's secrets were.


Not drinking was harder than he had expected. Before he'd finally been able to admit to himself that he had a problem, he'd assured himself and everyone else that he was drinking because he liked the taste of it, but now he found his hands shaking slightly and his mind yearning for the buzz that would numb his senses. He was drinking to forget. Forget gruesome images. Forget his messy divorce. Forget that his kids were growing up without him. Forget that everything that was going wrong in his life was his very own fault. And forgetting by drinking made it worse because the supposed cure was actually the cause of all of his problems. But Andy attended all of the meetings that week, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment every time he switched off his bedside lamp at night with the sure knowledge that he'd gone another day without a drink. It was one day at a time, they'd said at the AA-meetings, baby steps.

He had met Sergeant Raydor on a Monday, had started going to the meetings that Tuesday and found himself on her doorstep the next Saturday. He rang the doorbell, unsure what on earth had actually brought him here but unable to drag his feet away. Usually he would have brought a bottle of wine as an apology but that seemed most inappropriate considering both his own state as now an alcoholic in the first stages of recovery and the fact that she was expecting a baby. The door opened slightly and a small face peeked through the crack.

"Hello?" Tommy Raydor said, catching Andy off-guard.

"Um, is your mom home?" he asked uneasily but was rescued by approaching footsteps and Raydor's voice admonishing her son not to open the door without her present. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him in his weekend attire of jeans and his favorite leather jacket and her body tensed visibly. She was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail that fell over her right shoulder.

"Detective Flynn!" She looked unsure what else to say for a moment so he took the lead.

"Well, sorry to disturb you on your weekend, but I thought you might need some help with the whole unpacking as you shouldn't really lift heavier objects," he rambled. "I brought some pastries," he finished weakly.

"I assure you I get by fine by my-" she began but was cut off by her son's excited squeals when he spotted the bag of pastries Andy was holding up for their inspection. She shook her head and stepped aside, nodding for him to get inside. Grinning at his luck, Andy entered her home. The boxes in the hall had vanished and when he entered the living-room, he found that she had begun to sort books onto shelves. Soon Tommy was on the couch, munching his way through the pastries Andy had bought and Raydor was eying her guest with a fair amount of suspicion. Once again, there was no sign of a husband or boyfriend, for that matter.

"Okay, what can I do for you, Ma'am?" he asked, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. She reacted by stepping aside to be out of her son's earshot and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest.

"What do you really want, Detective? I still don't see a fit reason for you to be here."

He got it. FID-officers were notoriously cautious when it came to private relations with officers, well aware of the fact that they weren't liked and rarely respected among the rest of the force. His showing up unannounced did have to appear suspicious to her.

"Look, I'm here to do you a favor like you did me. I know it doesn't seem like much but supplying me with that info and telling me that I am an alcoholic like that gave me the nudge that I needed. I've been in recovery for four days now." He grinned self-consciously. "I know I have a long way in front of me, but I have you to thank for being able to at least make a start."

She shook her head. "I didn't do anything," she said. "And I suggest you tell me what it really is that you want. Get rid of the complaint that's attached to your file now? Because I won't do it. You may be able to bribe Tommy with candy, but not me."

His shoulders sagged in defeat. "I don't care about the damn complaint. God knows I have enough of them already. One more won't do any harm, but if you want me to go, I'll go. It's just..." He wasn't sure whether he was overstepping his boundaries but he was about to be thrown out anyway, so he might as well try. "I think we're both in need of a friend right now."

She snorted. "A friend. On the force?" She turned away and angrily began to stuff books onto the shelf. "Are you sure you want to be seen with someone from FID? Because that could hurt your reputation."

He could see that she was filled with bitterness but he also understood why.

"Nah, that's why I'm visiting you at home and not at your office," he said lightly, taking a book out of the box and putting it onto the shelf. "That way the others won't find out that I am about to befriend someone from the dark side."

He hadn't been sure how his light tone was going to go down with her but her smile was enough of an answer. She shook her head slowly. "If you really want to help, you could assemble the other shelf. I can deal with the books, but it took me ages to keep this one from falling apart. I have two left hands, it seems."

Andy familiarized himself with the bookshelf and began setting it up, casting furtive glances at Raydor from time to time. She was very methodical when it came to the books and when she had finished with one box, she flattened it and disposed of it by the door. When she had finished the task, she chose another one, this time sorting tea towels and other odds and ends into a chest of drawers in the other corner of the room. What guy in his right mind would leave his pregnant wife behind with a new house to organize all by herself? He had also found out that she'd recently gone from part time to working full-time again and with another baby on the way, he found that this was an indication for separation from her husband if there ever was one. He wasn't sure why he was so interested in her and her private life, but something about the woman drew him in. He worked in silence until a hand appeared in his line of vision and offered a small bottle of water that he accepted with some enthusiasm. He followed her into the kitchen where she had put what Tommy had left behind of the pastries onto a plate. The smell of coffee hung in the air and the lights were on, indicating that the rainy afternoon had gone by a lot more quickly than he'd expected it to.

"Tommy has certainly made a go of these," Andy grinned and helped himself to a battered looking strawberry sundae tartlet.

"He does love strawberries," she said. "but apparently he likes raspberries, apple and mango, too." Her smile was genuine and she bit the small, yet intact chocolate biscuit she had chosen for herself.

"So you're a chocolate fan?" he asked, trying to find a topic of conversation that wouldn't turn out to be a minefield.

She shook her head, her mouth full. "Not so much, normally, but the baby demands it." Placing her hand on her stomach, she smiled at him.

"You're lucky, though. My ex-wife used to crave the weirdest kinds of food and it was up to me to go find them in the middle of the night."

He couldn't tell from the expression on her face what she was thinking but she tilted her head playfully. "So you have kids, I take it. How many?"

"Two," he said, his heart heavy. He hadn't seen them in a while since he'd preferred spending his days and nights in bars recently. "My daughter's eight and my son is six."

"Tommy turns four next week. I hope to get the place cleaned up until then." She sighed, looking around the spotless kitchen. "It's so hard to find the time, though, when crazy LAPD-officers get their guns taken off them in the middle of the night by drunken strangers."

She had actually made a joke, Andy thought in awe. Maybe there was more to her than the very reserved personality she'd shown him so far. She was certainly beautiful when she smiled.

"Are you having a big party?" he asked her and was surprised when a dark shadow fell over her face. She didn't look a him when she shrugged.

"My parents live on the East Coast and, well, I don't know that many people in this part of town, yet." Andy sensed that a lot of what was making her sad remained unspoken but he knew that it wasn't his place to inquire any further.

"Maybe pastries will be in order."

She laughed. "Indeed. You will have to tell me where you bought these. I suck at baking, truthfully."

"I've never tried it," he agreed. "I'm a good cook, though. Italian roots and all," he said with a faked Italian accent that made her laugh again. It was a warm, pleasant sound that calmed him somehow. "I might be a little rusty, though." He hadn't cooked in a while since he tended to burn everything when he was drunk.

She sighed. "I am not very enthusiastic about cooking. You could call me less than talented in this department."

"I could teach you." It was out before he even knew what he was doing, so he rambled on, unwilling to think about it. "Cooking is great actually. Very relaxing. And it's not that hard if you know some basics."

To his surprise, she didn't seem insulted or taken aback. "I might take you up on that offer one day," she said quietly. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were a vivid green. She held his gaze then quickly rose. "More coffee?"

He held up his hands. "No, no. I'm fine. I have an appointment at seven, so I have two more hours to be at your service. Anything else you could use me for?"

She shook her head, smiling again. "No, that's okay. You really don't need to do this."

"Sergeant," he shrugged in order to be appear a little more relaxed than he really was. "I get some nice company in return. That's more than enough to reward me, you know." He hesitated, unsure how to explain his interest in being here. "I have to admit that I'm trying to avoid my friends at the moment as they could also be described as drinking buddies."

She shook her head again, nervously running a hand through her hair. "Well, you certainly won't find me breaking out the booze any time soon." He watched a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "If you follow me upstairs, I have heavy objects in need of being moved galore." She paused on her way to the door and looked at him over her shoulder. "And you can call me Sharon."