FOUR

A/N: I wish to not comment on my lack of updates... I guess Sharon's death in the show put me off writing for a bit. Now I was in the mood again and chose "The Uninvited" as my first careful baby step back into the writing business. I hope you enjoy and leave me a note. Thank you to everyone for all of their encouraging comments over the years!

Sharon Raydor's office. Where dreams went to die, or so LAPD lore put it. Others would call it the „Principal's Office", which rang true to anyone who, like Andy Flynn back in high school, had spent a lot of agonizing afternoons being berated for one offense or another, often, but not exclusively having to do with underage drinking. Having been on the more or less straight and narrow ever since he had quit drinking for good except for the occasional stunt with Provenza, Andy hadn't been in her office for a while. Actually, he wasn't even able to say for exactly how long he had not made an appearance there, which seemed remarkable even to him given his history.

The FID offices were not a bullpen, so no glass walls allowed the rest of the team to catch glimpses of their boss working. Instead, there was a straight, institutional-looking corridor from which several doors led to offices, usually occupied by two or four officers. At the end of the hall, Purgatory (another term for Sharon's office, this one actually coined by Andy) loomed. It was actually almost funny that a place that was referred to in so many colorful terms was, quite objectively, one of the nicest offices in the building. For one, he remembered as he walked in now, the outer wall was completely made of glass and allowed a breathtaking view of the city. And then there was the fact that Sharon Raydor had such impeccable taste that she was able to make even a standard issue police office, which should have been dingy and overcrowded with files, look not only perfectly organized but also airy and inviting.

Inviting, the person inside the office was not, he decided. Sharon didn't even look up from where she was sitting behind her desk when he entered and shut the door behind him. He spotted a neatly detailed to do list on her desk that she was reading from, glasses perched on her nose, the lines around her mouth hard while she was typing more quickly than anyone should have been able to. As a lieutenant, Andy hadn't been assigned the position of personal watchdog for a while, so he found himself unsure of how to go about things. Sharon was clearly in the middle of rescheduling meetings and directing her workload elsewhere. While she was doing that, he decided, he would sit in the visitor chair in front of her desk like a sorry little delinquent. After that, he wasn't sure. He would figure that out as he went along.

His mind went back to the pictures, the first one, in particular. Despite the very real threat that was embodied in them, he couldn't help wondering if he could get ahold of a copy of that first one. It displayed an intimacy of which not a single trace was present at this very moment. Sharon was still ignoring him while she briskly went about her business, looking stunning in a tailored black suit and high heels. He hair was tumbling down over one shoulder, where she must have pushed it upon arrival in her office. He wondered whether she always did that when she did administrative work. Watching her work was enticing in itself, he decided. She was efficient and the way she took charge and made a few quick phone calls, the tone of which did not at all give away how terrible she probably felt, impressed him.

Finally she was winding down, he could tell. Her movements became less measured, her lips pursed slowly as if she was finally admitting to herself that she was nervous. And out of things to do.

"So," he said. "What next?"

As she looked up and met his eyes for the first time, Andy was stunned how neutral her gaze was, as if he was really just a rookie assigned to make sure she was not assassinated at a street corner, not a man she had spent a lot of the past half year's nights with.

"What next," she repeated slowly, then averted her gaze when a little sound signaled the arrival of an incoming e-mail.

When she finally turned back towards him, he spread his hands on his thighs in a little gesture of defeat. It was a peace offering and he hoped that she would recognize it as such.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said, well… not for what I said, but for the way it came across."

She didn't quite react to his attempt at an apology, just raised her eyebrows questioningly. It hadn't been good enough, he realized.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that my passionate denial of our being, you know, boyfriend and girlfriend when I was talking to the Chief wasn't supposed to mean that I, you know, that I—„

"It's fine," she cut him off, rising from her chair and pulling at her blazer even though it was already perfectly in place. "You did the right thing." She looked back at him, but it seemed to him that she still was not quite meeting his eyes. „We are not in a relationship. It's best that this should be known to the Chief, so she is in possession of all the facts of this case."

For a second, he just stared at her. Her gaze was level, as if she was, in fact, talking about any other case. He had to admit, despite starting to get irritated with her, that it hurt just a little bit.

"Anyway," he said with a little too much bravado. "I just wanted you to know that I am not ashamed of having an affair with you."

Sharon gave a humorless laugh. "Why, thank you. That's nice to hear."

Andy rolled his eyes skyward. "Why do you always purposefully get me wrong when I say something?"

For a second, the tension left her shoulders and her face softened. "Andy," she said quietly. "Let us not go there."

And he knew that she wasn't talking about the getting him wrong part, that she was addressing a far more pressing point.

She did not want to broach the subject of the possibility of their becoming more than just two people wrapped up in an affair. For a moment, he considered pushing her on it, insisting that they talk. Maybe he would have even admitted to her what he was only just admitting to himself: That he did, in fact, want to discuss this possibility very seriously. But then he saw the haunted look in her eyes and he relented. Now was not the time.

"I suggest we go back to the Chief and sift through some more files. What do you think?"

She gave him a tiny, cautious smile.

"Okay."

Sharon was sitting on top of a desk, legs and arms crossed, looking defiant.

"Yes, that one hates me, too," she said, boredom over-pronounced. Flynn dropped the folder onto the "hates me" pile that had long since far outgrown the very meagre "doesn't hate me" pile that really consisted only of a female officer with a drug problem who still sent Sharon Christmas cards to thank her for putting her back on the right path years prior. The third pile contained the files of officers who were dead and was, depressingly, far larger than Flynn had anticipated.

Usually, he would have started to become annoyed with her, but he couldn't really find it within himself today. Instead, he couldn't stop wondering how on earth she was actually still doing this job. Everyone she dealt with seemed to hold a grudge or ridicule her. The monotone in which she recounted the details of each poisoned relationship did not divert from the fact that she did remember each and every officer she had ever disciplined, stripped of rank or sent to sensitivity training. Even after years and years in IA, she hadn't forgotten a single face or story. How did you store all these stories that made you out as the villain and not just up and run? If it had been him, Flynn would have left the job years ago, he decided.

When Provenza left to grab coffee and they were alone, he approached her and perched on the edge of the desk, turning his head towards her.

"You've had it pretty rough over the years, didn't you?"

She turned her head, too, and for a second it looked as if she was about to be candid with him. Then she snorted and flipped her hair back with a subtle shake of her head. "So did they. I am not known to let anyone off easy."
He kept his silence for a moment. She didn't want pity, of course. Not so long ago, he would have heard all those stories and wouldn't have admitted to himself that it was right to take the constantly drunk investigator's badge, to send the detective who still called every female officer „babe" to her face to sensitivity training and monitor him closely, to go to the bottom of the story of cop who had shot the witness to a crime rather than the perp. He knew many of these guys personally, had hit the bars with them decades ago, had swapped war stories with them and had made fun of Raydor, Miss Prim and Proper in IA who took everything too seriously and didn't have a sense of humor. Now that she had become a person to him rather than just a nuisance, he could see that hers was a job that needed doing and that she was nothing short of brave for having stuck to it for all those years.

"I'm surprised something like this hasn't happened before," she said, her voice soft now. "I am actually rather grateful that I don't have to worry about my kids." She fell silent for a moment and he could see from the way her shoulders squared subtly and the look in her eyes that she was imagining going through a thing like this with small children at home.

He reached out and squeezed her hand that had grabbed the edge of the desk, his gentle touch easing her grip ever so slightly.

"Emily's is training in New York and Ricky's in college in Maine. They are as safe as can be," he said softly. "Have you told them about this yet?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth in a lopsided smile that conveyed no mirth at all. "And worry them silly? No. And also I don't feel compelled to tell them about the pictures that surfaced this morning."
Andy weighed his head and feigned ignorance. "Why though when you look rather hot in them."

She rolled her eyes. "Remind me to thank the photographer for getting my good side once we have him in custody."

He chuckled and looked down to notice that his hand was still covering hers, his fingers spread out possessively. She followed his gaze, then looked up again.

"What are we doing?"

He lifted his hand and closed his fingers around the edge of the desk right next to hers.

"Nothing," he said.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about this… affair now that you have got the full picture of how evil my doings are." It was worded like a joke, but he could tell that the sarcasm in her voice was on the wrong side of bitter. He also hadn't missed the little pause before the word "affair". For some reason that made his heartbeat quicken just a little bit and drew his eyes to her lips.

"You're right, I've never taken the time to get to the bottom of your cases," he told her. "Now that I have, I am afraid it will get harder to trash talk you with the boys."

She rolled her eyes again, but couldn't help a tiny smile.

"You must be wondering why I still do this." She leaned her head back and drew a deep breath, eyes closed, but didn't elaborate.

"Yeah, I kind of do. Do you get off on being hated? I could adjust."

She drew her head back up to give him a pointed stare, but didn't comment on his joke. Taking a few steps into the direction of the door, she spoke with her back to him.

"I've had an offer."

"An offer?" This was news to him.

She turned around and he could see uncertainty in her eyes. "A private security consultant position. Quite prestigious and well-paid."

He wanted to tell her to go for it by all means, but the words got stuck in his throat. What if that job would take her away from L.A.? For a moment, they were both silent, then he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Are you going to take it?"

"I don't know." Sharon blew out some air. "I've been thinking about it for a week or so. I'll have to let them know soon."

Damn that guy who was threatening her for his timing, Flynn thought. If he wanted to run her out of the LAPD, now was the time to actually succeed. The thought stuck and his eyes met Sharon's, both of them having the same realization at the same time.

"Have you told anyone?" he asked her, not quite able to keep the urgency out of his tone.

"Um, no, I mean… No, I really haven't. The only person I've told about it is Sarah."

Sarah, so Flynn had learned recently, was Sharon's best friend who could hardly be suspected of trying to run her off the road.

"Do you think someone might have found out about it?" she asked. "Someone who wants to get rid of me?"

Flynn shrugged, even though the theory sounded plausible and had struck a nerve somehow. HIs instincts told him that he was on to something.

"Who would become head of IA if you were out of the picture?"

"I don't know. There would be several candidates." She began to pace. "I am the head, but I have delegated a lot to different people who are all in a similar position in the hierarchy."

It was no secret that her management style was different from that of other department heads and that it worked well for it. If anyone knew how to police the police with top efficiency, it was her.

"Maybe we should concentrate on your HR files for a while," he said. "There might be something there."

She nodded, looking numb and he could finally see signs of hurt in her posture. He understood now that she had built a wall to keep the hatred of the officers she had disciplined from getting to her. Someone from her own team, he thought, was a completely different story.

She cleared her throat as if she was about to say something, but then said nothing at all and produced a smile that was much closer to a grimace.

"Who knows. Maybe I should take the offer."

„Maybe," he said, going out on a limb. „but someone might miss you after all."
The door opened and Provenza barged in, grumbling about slow baristas, but he thought he'd seen her smile as she turned away.