Disclaimer: I do not own Major Crimes or its characters and am in no way associated with the writing or production of the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 1

Flynn hadn't wanted a formal farewell party but the squad had managed to coax him into appetizers and drinks at Donovan's, although Flynn would gladly skip the drinks part. Once he wouldn't have—gladly or otherwise—but fifteen years of being sober had dulled the requisite desire for his standard gin and tonic. He could actually go to a sports bar with friends, sit back, and simply enjoy himself without wanting to plunge headfirst into the nearest bottle. He was still proud of the accomplishment.

Provenza hadn't been able to resist the endless supply of jokes now at his disposal since Flynn had announced that he was leaving Major Crimes for a transfer to EPEU: Elder Persons Estate Unit. EPEU would investigate crimes related to theft or embezzlement from elders or dependent adults when a substantial loss of the victim's entire estate was at risk. It wasn't glamorous but it wasn't murder and Flynn felt that he had seen his fill of homicide. Half a block from Major Crimes, Flynn promised the squad that he would be available for lunch—if he could still remember how to get there, beating Provenza to the punch with a boyish smile and a dash of pride.

"She's not there anymore, you lovesick fool," Provenza told his friend gruffly as Flynn gazed forlornly at Raydor's recently vacated seat.

"Huh?"

"Oh please. You've been making sappy doe eyes at her all night long." Provenza did his best Bambi-twitterpated impression and then promptly glowered at his friend. "She's not your supervisor anymore, which, I suspect, is one of the reasons you found the Old Folks Unit so appealing. Grow a pair already and ask her out."

"That's ridiculous. I barely even-like her."

Provenza snorted.

"Besides," Flynn pointed out, "She left."

Provenza polished off his beer with one hearty, final swig. "She'll be back."

Flynn gave his buddy a quizzical look.

"Poor Captain Raydor," explained Provenza, "Big caseload lately. And then with the divorce on top of everything else and empty nest syndrome with Rusty heading off to college. She's a tad off her game. Usually so meticulous. So unlike her to be absent-minded. Of course, it could happen to anyone."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Provenza stood up and stretched as Sharon Raydor clomped rapidly back into the bar and toward the table looking uncharacteristically ruffled. With an imperious shake of her long, caramel colored hair she began lifting napkins and pushing plates aside, clearly looking for something with the pragmatic air that was so completely hers.

Provenza was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "What ill luck! It appears that the good captain has lost her keys." Flynn heard a telltale jingle as Provenza slipped his hand inside his coat pocket.

"You stole her keys?" hissed Flynn.

"Everything all right, Captain?" called Provenza in a lilting coo of empathy and concern.

"I can't find my keys," explained Sharon crossly.

"Oh, that's terrible. Let me help you look. Did you go through your purse?"

"Three times," Sharon replied through half-clenched teeth. Sharon Raydor did not like her orderly world to be in any way mussed. This was both inconvenient and embarrassing.

Flynn watched, both amused and annoyed, as Provenza made a big show of trying to help Sharon find her missing keys. He even spoke to the bartender on her behalf and helped her out of her stylish black trench coat, which, Flynn noted-looked amazing on her-so that she could check the pockets one more time. Provenza was the angelic picture of decorum and solicitous concern.

While Sharon was distracted going through her purse one last time, Provenza mouthed, "Offer to take her home NOW or I will." He proceeded to give Sharon a provocative little once-over purely for Flynn's benefit. Flynn glared at him but looked instantly possessive. Too easy. Provenza chuckled to himself.

Flynn touched Sharon's arm to get her attention. He grabbed her coat and gave it a gentlemanly shake, opened it up for her and nodded toward it.

"Come on," he offered. His voice was huskier than he'd intended and he had to clear his throat. "I'll drive you home." Sharon allowed Flynn to help her into her coat. His heart lurched as he watched her untuck her hair from the collar and he had to look away for a moment when she turned toward him, afraid that she'd see the unwavering warmth in his eyes. This was exactly why he'd had to leave Major Crimes. He was losing the ability to be professional around her.

The truth was—he didn't want to be.

"Thank you," Sharon said simply. And she smiled. A look passed between them, quick and subtle. It was a moment. It was a half of a breath, gone even before it came—a spark.

Provenza triumphantly hummed the melody to As Time Goes By under his breath as he watched a flustered Lieutenant Flynn escort an equally distracted Captain Sharon Raydor out of Donovan's, Flynn's hand resting briefly on the small of her back as he held the door for her.

It was an usually chilly December night, cool even for balmly L.A. Flynn's phone vibrated as they neared his car-a little silver Subaru Imprezza. He had finally replaced his previous dilapidated car, which had finally reached its more than timely end. The vibration was a text from Provenza. I expect to be best man.

"I know I put them in my purse," Sharon mumbled with frustration as she slid into the passenger seat beside Flynn.

"Don't worry. They'll turn up, Sharon. Do you have a set of keys for your apartment on you?"

"Damnnit" Sharon sighed. "No. They're on the keyring with my car keys. And Joe's in San Diego this weekend." Joe was the sweet little Portuguese man who was the caretaker at Sharon's apartment. "I'll give his son a call." She looked up his number in her cell phone address book, punched the call through, and sighed again when voice mail picked up.

"2:30 in the morning on a Friday night. This isn't looking promising."

"Maybe not but I can offer you my bed." Flynn instantly reddened. "A bed," he clarified. "In the guest room. Of my house." He couldn't be sure but he thought he saw her smiling in the darkness. Andy Flynn decided that he was going to throttle Louie Provenza for putting him through this humiliation and for putting Sharon through all of this inconvenience.

"Thanks. Looks like I don't have much of a choice."

Not exactly the words you want to hear from the woman that you're desperately attracted to but then again, just the thought of Sharon Raydor and him alone together was doing very unfair things to his senses. And it wasn't as if they weren't friends. Over the past year, they'd been spending an awful lot of time together because of the job. He'd been a sounding board through the progress of her divorce from that atrocity of a husband and he didn't regret one moment spent with her. But it had always been through the arm's length lens of their professional relationship. Other than the occasional brush of a hand or a lingering look, no lines had been crossed. There was banter. Flynn loved the verbal repartee. Sharon was a clever woman; he had a sense of humor. Their flirtation often wore the guise of mutual disdain but that was half the charm.

Sharon had always loved Andy's house. It was more Boston than L.A. and she adored him for it. It was cozy and unpretentious. Like him. She quickly censored the thought. She shouldn't be thinking about Andy Flynn like that.

"It smells good in here," Sharon commented as they stepped into the spacious kitchen.

"I made spaghetti and meatballs last night. You hungry?"

Andy loved to cook as much as Sharon hated it, a fact he often teased her about when he tried to identify the mysterious and highly questionable home-made lunches that she brought to work. Eventually, Flynn had started letting her try the stuff he brought in for lunch. She'd been reluctant at first but he'd worn her down with his classic Italian cooking. It had almost become a weekly tradition of bringing something in just for her. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed flexing his culinary muscles for her.

"Mmmm," Sharon hummed. "I am a little hungry." She could smell the scent of his after shave mixed in with the leather of his jacket as he leaned over to help her out of her coat.

"I'll heat something up for us," Flynn offered. "Mind if I throw on some jeans?"

"Go ahead."

Flynn observed her when she wasn't looking, something he'd become quite adept at doing. She looked stylish and so elegantly beautiful in the knee length black pencil skirt and deep red blouse. That dark shade of red was such a great color on her.

"I can hook you up with a pair of sweatpants that I shrunk in the dryer and a sweatshirt. They'll be big on you but maybe you'd be more comfortable?"

Sharon considered this for a moment. "Okay. Thanks."

"Come on. Let me show you the guest room." He stopped himself a split second before he almost reached for her hand.

Andy led Sharon to a cheerful room painted in buttery yellow. There was a dresser, double bed, and a nightstand. Andy disappeared for a few moments and returned with the promised sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a pair of socks.

"I didn't want your feet to be cold," he explained about the socks. Socks were pretty obvious. There wasn't really any need to explain socks. He felt like a fifteen year old boy with a crush. It was unnerving.

"Thanks," she said as she took the clothes from him. There was a pause, another moment in time suspended.

Yet another spark. Andy would have thought that he'd be used to them by now. But he wasn't. And neither was she.

"I'll...um...let you change. And while you do that, I'll warm up the leftovers." There was another pause, awkward, but also charged with an electricity and a fire that just wouldn't seem to elude them tonight.

Sharon nodded. Andy exited the room and gently closed the door behind him. Pulse racing, he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath on his side of the door while Sharon Raydor did the exact same thing on the opposite side. Slow, symmetrical breaths. In sync. Simultaneous.

Together.

Only a door apart.