Five Kisses of Sharon and Will by DD Agent
Spoilers up until 6.07; I do not own The Closer, any of its characters or it settings
Four times Sharon Raydor kissed Will Pope, and the first time he kissed her.
She didn't know why she had kissed him that summer. It wasn't a particular graceful kiss, wasn't celluloid romantic. How could it be, as he was her married boss with a baby on the way, and she barely knew him? He had been her rock over this whole affair, offering ideas and making sure they had everything they needed to catch the bastard. Of course, that hadn't been enough.
Eddie Hanson, the UCLA Killer, had walked out of Parker Centre and onto pastures new. She had come out of the interview room where he had shredded her entire life apart, and watched him walk down the hallway. They should have been able to get a confession, he had even refused counsel. But now he was walking away.
Flynn was angry as hell, shouting at Taylor for not letting him go in with her. But they had already been chastised for having a working relationship while the case had been going on. They had practically lived at his apartment - work, dinner at a café and then back to his where they would have sex, washing away the touch of death that haunted them both. It wasn't enough this time - Sharon had had heard some of the typists say that if they caught the UCLA killer, it wouldn't be long before they were married in celebration. Now everything had crashed and burned, and she doubted she would ever work with him again.
But that didn't stop her needing to feel, needing to get the taste of injustice out of her mouth, needing to feel something ordinary. She was in one of the back corridors of Parker Centre, clutching her chest so hard to stop herself from spilling tears all over her shirt. He had come to see whether she was alright or not, and to offer condolences on the case. Officially it would still be active, and until a week went by without a murder they wouldn't be sure whether it was truly over. But they all knew it was.
Will Pope was attractive, intelligent, kind. And when he asked if there was anything he could do, he didn't mean for her to press her mouth desperately against his. But she did so; she reached up and hooked him round the neck, pressing his mouth down on hers so hard she wanted him to bruise her. The kiss was over before it had begun, her lips moved to his shoulder, where she just started to cry.
He held her quietly, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. In the end, she thanked him and walked away, smiling at the bruise she felt growing over her bottom lip. It was good to feel again.
It's a comfort thing again, the next time she kissed him. But this time it was different - he wasn't her married boss with a pregnant wife, he was in the process of a divorce with two young children. He encouraged her to join FID when it was created, hoping it would be slightly less sensational than Robbery/Homicide. And for a while, it was.
She had always hated Waters, hated his prejudging attitude, and his holier than thou crap she remembered from Robbery/Homicide. He hated women in the force, especially ones that didn't type and didn't offer to suck any of his appendages. She could stand Andrews and Provenza, she knew their type and after she had reported them for misogyny [much to Flynn's amusement] they hadn't given her any crap. However, after Hanson walked, things with the boys' nose dived, and although she always had some connection to Flynn, no one talked to her. She was happy to get out.
Of course, her work in FID had always been a contention to them. Little things, little incidents, but this was big. Waters hadn't properly cleared a house, and he accidentally shot a girl hiding in the cellar. In Waters opinion, what was he supposed to have done? If it had been an armed gunman, then he could be in the morgue. But it wasn't, it was just a little girl with a bullet hole in her head.
Mitchell had put her on the case, and all of her former friends and officers had lined the corridor when she was making her final report. She was handing it to Assistant Chief Pope while a copy went to the DA. They had decided on manslaughter - and two of the officers who were clearing the house with him were also being investigated. Flynn stood at the end of the corridor, looking at her with fierce eyes. He didn't want her to hand in the report. But she had seen the girl in the morgue, and the glassy look in her dead eyes made her push past Flynn and into Pope's office.
He had taken the file from her, read over it and moved up to squeeze her shoulder. He had asked if everything was alright, if there was anything he could do. The line was accompanied with a smile, he still remembered the kiss and so did she. He offered her a hug, knowing how tough the situation was. She took it, they were bordering on friends, she had offered him a shoulder over the whole Estelle situation.
The kiss was light, soft, undemanding. She needed to just lose herself, and she did so. Closing her eyes, she kissed him gently, feeling his arms go around her middle. He kissed her back, but broke it soon after. He cupped her cheek and sent her on her way.
It seemed Will Pope was becoming her safety blanket, not that she minded. She knew any more kisses would be bad, but just knowing someone was on her side was everything she needed.
It wasn't a soft kiss of intense loneliness; this one was full of joy and the need to celebrate. He was properly divorced, with sole custody of his children. He was single once again, after ending a relationship with a married woman on her advice. They had become quite the friends, as much as they could be considering their ranks. The occasional lunch, the odd drink. But it was enough.
The 'on secondment from Robbery/Homicide' was no longer part of her identity, she was a fully paid up member of FID, and Commander Mitchell's second. She was now a Captain, too, earning a promotion after the Waters' case for decisive action. Most of the original FID team who had loathed her when she had begun had left the LAPD - they hadn't signed on to be hated so much by their fellow officers, and the tarnish stuck no matter where they transferred to. She didn't care; there was no way she could go back anymore anyway.
Everyone had known for a while that the head of Internal Affairs was leaving. Deputy Chief Aaron McCormack was getting near retiring age, and everyone thought the likely suspect to replace him would be the current head of Administration Investigation. But when she had come in one morning after attending Ray Hodge's funeral [albeit at the back and she had left before the funeral was over to avoid Flynn], Mitchell told her that he would now be taking over Internal Affairs.
She wondered who would be taking over FID; it had never occurred to her that Mitchell would want her. But he did, it was effective immediately. She was no longer the Captain, second in command to a greater man. She was in charge of her own department. She thanked Mitchell and wondered who she should inform of her great news. Flynn wouldn't be interested, Mitchell already knew and most likely so did Wendell. So she headed off to find the one person who would want to know.
Taylor and Johnson had left his office, so it was just him, working on his laptop. She had knocked on his door and he had invited her in. She told him the good news, and hadn't waited for a response. She just grabbed two handfuls of his jumper and kissed him. She didn't know why, she just wanted to enjoy herself, celebrate the moment and kissing Will Pope seemed like the most natural thing to do.
For the first time, he properly kissed her back. Hands pushing her hips toward hers, tongue slipping into her mouth to caress her own, causing her to moan. Noise stirred outside, trouble with a body in a coffin. He broke the kiss, whispered 'congratulations' and led her to the door.
No second words, no second kisses, no second thoughts. Some friends hugged, some friends got taken out for coffee. They kissed. It just seemed natural to them, and she liked it.
She couldn't remember a time when she was more in pain. When she had taken over her own department, she had never suspected anything like that. For one of her own to betray her, it was something she couldn't quite understand. Of course, Will had been by her side like he had been through every major step, and this one was particularly major.
Ally Moore had known how to manipulate her, how to get her attention and make sure that she would try and do her best to protect one of her own. She had always tried to do her best with her detectives, keep them from being ridiculed and beaten up by others. They were family, and she wanted to keep them safe. Of course, she had tried and failed in that regard. Ally Moore, in Brenda Leigh Johnson's words, was a little sociopath, and there was nothing more to it.
Murdering her own husband to keep her house - it was sick, and she was undeserving of the badge and the respect she had been given by her and by Mitchell, who had come down to the hospital at four o'clock in the morning to see how she was doing. But in the end there was nothing left to do but let Major Crimes arrest both Ally and her lover for their role in her husband's death.
She had retreated to her own office, looking out the window as a fine trickle of rain dropped down from the LA heavens. He found her, waiting at the door to be allowed entry. She didn't say anything, so he moved into her office. He put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. She leant her head gently on his shoulder, feeling relaxed against him. Soothing words of comfort and mutterings of calm did not alleviate her shaking. Will put an arm around her middle, causing butterflies to start in her stomach. Her anguish was gone, all that was left was this warmth she felt, tangled up with the smell of him.
The kiss was gentle - her mouth leaned up to touch him. But she didn't need his tongue in her mouth; all she needed was the feel of him calming her. Her mouth rested in the crook of his neck, tasting his skin. She was grounded by him. They kept standing like that, entwined in each other until the rain began to beat heavily on the windows.
He let her go, and she pushed back onto her desk, her body tingling. She missed him, missed the pressure of his body, the way he could so easily reassure her. By the time she had turned around to explain that to him, he was gone.
He had been a dick, a bastard; he had let what was going on cloud everything around him. He had been his public persona rather than the man he truly was, and he had lost everything in a cloud of confusion and pain. Two wives, many girlfriends, true friends and plenty of colleagues. All was lost to him now.
He had so wanted the job of Chief of Police, he had longed for it for years. He knew the world of the LAPD inside and out, and tried to keep it together above all odds. But in the end it wasn't good enough. The job of Assistant Chief was practically the Chief's job anyway; he knew he could do the work. However, his cockiness had made his chances nil.
The phone call had been a lifeline, even though he had known ever since he had woken up that morning that he wasn't going to be on the shortlist. He felt it in his gut, and as the caller relayed the information, he felt his heart sink. He had snapped at Brenda, needing to be alone and away from any reminder of what a failure he was. The constant arguments with Brenda over it all had ruined what little friendship they had, and now this made it impossible to reconcile. He had argued with Sharon the other week, yelling at her for promoting Brenda for the Chief's role when she knew he wanted it. They hadn't talked since.
As he sat at his desk, he wondered what would become of his new office. He suddenly felt very small, and very alone. Maybe he should quit before he was fired - at least that way he could move onto another job without that stigma hanging over him. But now everyone knew he failed to be Chief, there was no coming back from that.
He got up and went for a walk - the news hadn't filtered through into the general population yet, so people were still nodding and respecting him, as much as they did before. That would stop soon; he would be the biggest joke in the building. He somehow found himself outside the FID offices, and in particular the glass office of Captain Raydor. She looked tired, but beautiful. As she always did. He remembered meeting her for the first time, throwing up at a crime scene. He had found her sweet then, and things had only grown. He had always turned to her, and she him.
Sharon looked up from her desk, and saw him staring at her. To her credit, she didn't carry on working; she walked up to the side door and opened it, standing right in front of him. He put his hands on his waist and looked at her.
"I didn't get on the shortlist."
"I know, Mitchell called me."
He looked deep into her eyes. Twelve years they had known each other, he couldn't bear to throw all that away.
"I'm sorry. I was awful to you, and you didn't deserve it."
"I know, I didn't."
She turned around to go back into her office, but Will reached for her arm and pulled her to him. How many times had they stood like that, purely open to each other in times of great pain? He had brought this on himself, and he knew it. But he couldn't bear the gnawing in his gut. He moved his head down, pressing his lips gently to hers. Soft, gentle, than rough, probing, clawing to get closer to each other. Eventually they broke apart, gasping. Sharon laughed, her hands going around the back of his neck. He smiled at her.
"I love you."
Sharon moved her head to his shoulder, squeezing his hand by their hips.
"I love you too, Will. It's going to be okay."
It always was.