"Domestic Disarray" - Hobbs/Raydor Fic
Title: Domestic Disarray
Pairing: Hobbs/Raydor and Rusty
Rating: T
Word Count: 2, 922 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for sharon_ray. Because it's been a long week for her (already).
Summary: Sharon finds herself relearning the dance that is domestic life, with a new partner and new perspective.
On ff.net: Domestic Disarray
I. Variations
Her bed sheets were noticeably more rumpled these days. Andrea was a restless sleeper; she tossed and turned and curled up and stretched out when she slept. Sometimes she’d wrap her entire body around Sharon; sometimes she’d curl up in a ball against Sharon’s front, silently asking to be held. Sometimes she’d take up the entire bed, affording an irritated Sharon only the very edge of the mattress.
In the mornings Andrea always rolled over (from whatever position she had last been sleeping in) to face Sharon and smile up at her. The skin around her eyes would crinkle and her lips would curl upwards in a satisfied grin. Sharon loved to touch the skin around Andrea’s eyes; she loved to feel the markings of every one of Andrea’s forty-four years beneath her fingertips. Sharon loved to feel the smile forming across her lover’s face.
After a particularly restless night, she’d wake and sheepishly apologize to upon seeing Sharon clinging to only a sliver of their bed. She’d kiss Sharon’s frown away and massage the kinks out of Sharon’s back and shoulders.
“Sorry,” she’d say, “it’s been a while since I’ve shared the bed with anyone beyond a night or two.”
Sharon would huff and try to sound stern but the sincerity of Andrea’s apology, the sweetness of her kisses; they’d disarm Sharon completely.
“S’fine,” Sharon would mumble as she accepted Andrea’s early morning affection.
“Just kick me next time until I get the hint and move over,” Andrea would joke.
Sharon would agree to do just that (another attempt at being stern) but always refrain from doing so the following evening.
Then there were nights when they made love; softly, sweetly, desperately, passionately, lazily, adoringly, and the sheets never seemed to smooth out the next day. Sharon would strip them off the bed, wash, dry, then iron them out; yet still the wrinkles seemed to cling to the fine fabric.
Often, Andrea would find Sharon ironing their bed sheets. Andrea would wrap her arms around Sharon from behind and nuzzle the back of her neck.
“Oh honey, don’t bother,” she’d laugh, “I have plans for us tonight.” She’d caress Sharon’s hips and kiss along Sharon’s neck and jaw. “In fact, my plans start right about now.”
Andrea would slip her hands inside Sharon’s shirt to tickle the skin of her tummy. Sharon would carefully unplug and put down the iron to follow Andrea, giggling, to their unmade bed.
Her bed sheets were noticeably more rumpled these days, but Sharon found that she minded less and less. Especially that moment every morning, when Andrea would roll over and smile up at her; her lined eyes stood out just as proudly as the wrinkled and disheveled bedding.
II. Negotiations
When Sharon first became a single parent (after Jackson’s second stint in rehab) she had purchased nearly a dozen self help books. Books on stress relief and coping, books on proper breathing techniques and how to lower one’s blood pressure in high stress situations.
Deep breaths. Even breaths. Measured, controlled, and rationed breaths.
As she stood in front of her closet she surmised that those books were not just handy for dealing with an estranged alcoholic husband and single-parenthood, but also for dealing with newly moved-in partners and co-adopted foster sons.
Andrea had moved in officially last month, bringing the last of her items in a few well-labeled boxes over on a Friday night.
“This is the last of it,” Andrea had beamed. “The new owner moves into my condo this weekend. I’m officially all yours,” she’d said with the brightest smile Sharon had ever seen. They’d celebrated that evening by making a proper mess of their bed (they’d had the good sense of course to wait until Rusty went out with a friend that evening) and then enjoying a bottle of champagne and a midnight snack in bed.
Sharon had been hit with case after case in the last few weeks, and thus came home everyday feeling both exhausted and irritable. Despite the joy she felt now that she was officially sharing her home with Andrea, Sharon was completely lacking the energy to help Andrea finish unpacking her belongings and settle in properly.
“Just make yourself at home,” she had asked of Andrea, “put your things wherever you think they’ll fit in.”
Andrea had been good at hiding the hurt expression on her face. She’d been good at ignoring the loneliness she’d felt as she unpacked box after box, all alone.
Deep breaths. Even breaths.
The closet had been completely rearranged. Divided neatly in half to accommodate both Andrea’s wardrobe and her own; while the logical part of her mind knew that Andrea had to rearrange things (she herself had given Andrea permission to do so) the not so logical part of her mind was in a panic at how different everything about her home was starting to look.
It was inside the walk-in that Andrea found Sharon, fists balled and mouth parted slightly to accommodate the deep, measured breaths that she was taking. Andrea approached her partner with caution.
“You rearranged my clothing,” Sharon said without turning around.
“Yes,” Andrea said slowly, carefully (she was still trying to gauge Sharon’s mood). “How else was I going to fit my things in here?”
Sharon ground her teeth and nodded her head silently.
“I started two weeks ago, I just finished yesterday. Sorry it took so long, but it’s a lot to do on your own especially when you work the hours that I do. And I tried to fit as much of my clothing as I could in the empty drawers of your dresser so that I only had to move a few of your items over. Only you forgot to clean your drawers out like you said you would.”
Sharon turned around and regarded Andrea who was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed protectively across her chest.
“If you’re unhappy with how I’ve arranged things, the next time that I move in with you then perhaps you can help me organize our room,” she said pointedly.
Sharon had the good sense to look properly ashamed. She hung her head slightly and took a few steps closer to Andrea. “I’m sorry that I left you to unpack alone,” she said quietly.
Andrea regarded her for a moment, then opened her arms and accepted Sharon’s warm embrace. “Don’t worry. I still have to unpack all my law books and old textbooks,” she said as she rubbed Sharon’s back, “since it’s Sunday and we’re both obviously free at the moment, you can help me with that.”
Sharon let out a cleansing breath and nodded her head. “I’d be happy to help you.” She already knew that there were about a dozen books that she’d happily give up to create some space for Andrea on her bookshelf.
III. Timing
Sharon had always loved her bathroom. When she had moved into her condo years ago she’d splurged a little to rip out the existing tub and replace it with a luxurious clawfoot tub. Her tub soon became her sanctuary, the place that she loved to unwind in at the end of the day. She hadn’t bothered at the time to upgrade her shower stall beyond a basic glass enclosure, as she generally preferred baths over showers.
She’d arrived home well past midnight tonight (another last minute case, another evening of overtime) craving the comfort and luxury of her bathtub and lavender scented bath salts. Yet as she tip toed into the master bathroom, she found the lights already on, and the shower occupied.
Andrea was smoothing her wet blonde hair back under the steady stream of the showerhead and humming mindlessly. At the sound of the door closing again Andrea focused her gaze on Sharon through the glass of the stall. She smiled warmly and crooked her finger, silently asking Sharon to join her.
Sharon sighed and looked longingly at the tub, then back at her partner. It was with some regret that she stripped down and stepped into the shower to be with Andrea.
“I’m glad that you’re finally home,” Andrea purred as she brought Sharon to stand with her under the hot water. “I was so worried that you’d get stuck at the office overnight.”
Sharon relaxed a little as Andrea lathered her hair, working the rich shampoo through her auburn strands. “We did everything that we could tonight. I’m going in tomorrow afternoon to finish up a few things,” Sharon sighed.
Andrea rinsed the shampoo from Sharon’s hair and combed a generous amount of conditioner through it. “Before you go in you are getting a solid eight hours and you are eating a proper breakfast. Don’t even try to argue with me because I promise you that if need be I will hide your car keys.”
Sharon snorted softly at Andrea’s threat. “Yes dear,” she murmured with a slight eye roll.
Andrea rinsed Sharon’s hair again then turned her around so that they were face to face. “You must be so exhausted,” Andrea whispered as she caressed the dark circles under Sharon’s eyes, “My dedicated, brave, LAPD Captain,” she said fondly.
Sharon smiled into Andrea’s kiss and puffed her chest out a little bit; she couldn’t help it, pride suffused her whenever Andrea called Sharon her Captain. Shivers danced along Sharon’s spine as Andrea’s lips gently worked the skin of Sharon’s jaw and neck. Andrea’s hands gently worked out the kinks in Sharon’s back as she lathered and rinsed her body with their citrus scented soap. Within minutes, Sharon’s legs had turned to jelly; she felt light as a feather and utterly blissful.
“Wrap your legs around me,” Andrea requested huskily. Sharon complied and gasped as Andrea lifted and supported her slight frame. “You’re starting to prune. Let’s get you to bed.”
Andrea carried Sharon outside of the shower where she set her down briefly to gently dry her and wrap her hair up in a towel. With that accomplished Andrea picked her up again and brought her over to their bed; the sheets were an unmistakable mess, clearly Andrea had been struggling with her insomnia this evening.
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” Andrea admitted sheepishly as she rearranged the duvet around Sharon’s body, “So I thought I’d take a hot shower to relax. I’m so glad that you came home when you did. I was starting to wonder how long I could stay in the shower before I used up all the hot water. Again.”
She grinned at Sharon’s half-hearted scowl. She had to admit, she had a terrible habit of using up all the hot water during her morning showers. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she wasn’t living alone anymore, that the resources around their home weren’t just for her.
Sharon’s scowl morphed into a content hum as Andrea joined her under the duvet. Tonight was one of those nights where Andrea was going to wrap herself around Sharon completely; limbs soon became a hopelessly tangled mess and lips were barely a breath away from one another.
As Sharon began to drift off to sleep Andrea tickled her side and snuck a quick, drowsy kiss. “Thank you for joining me. I like sharing my showers with you,” she sighed happily.
Sharon recalled the feeling of Andrea’s hands as they worked through her hair and gently caressed every inch of her skin. She recalled the warmth, not of the water, but of Andrea’s body against her as they held one another under the steady stream of water.
Suddenly, her beloved clawfoot tub seemed a lot more lonesome.
IV. Routine
Sharon used to revel in the peace and quiet of her condo. She’d always found the silence in her condo to be a much-craved counterpart to the hustle and bustle of her office in downtown Los Angeles.
When Rusty has moved in her modestly sized home had gotten considerably louder. Between the television, iPod, and Rusty’s general grumblings, Sharon had found herself well outside of her comfort zone. When Andrea moved in, things changed yet again. The DDA meditated every morning to a playlist of running water and chirping birds and chiming bells before her twenty minutes of yoga and then her subsequent shower; getting dressed was never a quiet affair either. She hummed along to awful pop songs that she and Rusty listened to on the radio, she huffed and sighed as she contemplated which skirt/jacket/pant combination she wanted to wear; every part of her morning routine had a distinct soundtrack.
When she read, she tapped the spine of her book; the tempo of her fingertips against the bound paper told everything that Sharon needed to know about the novel. Fast, light tapping meant that Andrea had come across a humorous passage, slow, measured, and heavy taps meant that the conflict had reached a boiling point. Soft, almost caress-like tapping meant that Andrea was mourning the loss of a beloved character.
When she cooked, Andrea often muttered to herself: Too much salt. Damn, forgot to add the cilantro. Yes, perfect; they’ll love this.
Sharon used to spend every Saturday and Sunday morning out on her balcony, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. She loved the silence of the early morning that the weekends afforded her; she loved getting lost in someone else’s world while under a blanket of that much loved silence.
Today she’d forgone her usual cup of green tea for a chai tea latte. The first thing that Andrea had brought over during her move was her beloved Tassimo along with a basket full of coffee, tea, and latte discs for the handy machine. At first Sharon had protested its arrival, she had a perfectly good percolator and didn’t see the point in having as many coffee-making machines as adults in their home. Andrea had been quick to demonstrate the perks of having such a handy machine around by delivering a different type of latte to Sharon in bed each morning of their first week living together.
Sharon forgone her book as well; she didn’t have the heart to leave her world behind this morning. Through the glass sliding door, she could hear Rusty shuffling around from his room to the living room; she winced as she heard him flop somewhat carelessly against her cushions on the couch. Moments later, Andrea’s measured steps could be heard from the hallway into the kitchen; some incoherent grumbling proceeded the sounds of the Tassimo being turned on and put to good use.
“She’s on the balcony,” Sharon heard Rusty say.
Sharon focused her gaze on the sliding door as it opened to admit her pajama-clad partner outside. Her honey-blonde hair was a tangled mess but her eyes were bright and her grin hinted at her amusement.
“Are you hiding out here?” Andrea whispered conspiratorially. “Because if you are, you may want to pick a stealthier hiding spot.”
Sharon giggled. “You caught me,” she said dramatically. “Is that my sweater?” she asked a moment later, noticing the black cardigan that hugged Andrea’s upper half overtop her cotton t-shirt.
“Maybe,” Andrea answered playfully. “You were up early this morning and you left it at the foot of the bed. I was cold,” she said.
“Looks good on you,” Sharon hummed.
Andrea offered her a warm smile. “Rusty and I were just about to make breakfast. Any specific requests?”
Sharon stretched her arms above her head, pretending to contemplate her response. “Hmm, special requests? Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to an omelet,” she replied. She ignored Andrea’s affectionate glare at her obvious answer.
The sound of pots and pans colliding, along with Rusty’s muffled, “I’m fine!” broke both women out of their reverie.
“Come on, let’s get in there before he sets the place on fire,” Andrea deadpanned as she held out an arm for Sharon.
“Not funny. Ricky had a habit of setting our fire alarm off when he was a kid,” Sharon chuckled as she followed Andrea inside to join in the symphony of sounds coming from her once quiet and unoccupied home.
Rusty was surrounded by a pile of cooking utensils on the counter along with an array of breakfast foods. “I wasn’t sure what everyone was in the mood for. So I figured a little bit of everything might be a good choice?” he offered as an explanation.
Sharon laughed and rolled the sleeves of her casual blouse up her arms. “The poor kitchen! Whatever am I going to do with you two?” she laughed again and shook her head at Andrea and Rusty as they enthusiastically started their meal preparations.
“Love us?” Andrea teased.
Sharon wrapped an arm around each of the blondes in her kitchen. “I do love you, both, despite the fact that this place is hardly ever clean anymore,” she said sternly. The tone of her voice was a direct contrast to the intensity of her embrace.
“Okay, we’re loved, we get it,” Rusty huffed good-naturedly as he pat Sharon on the back and wiggled out of her embrace to start cracking eggs.
She used to find solace in the silence and order of her condo; she used to revel in the lack of noise and commotion and in the presence of peace and order. But, more and more, she found herself craving the hustle and bustle that the latest additions to her family brought to her life. To their home.
Pairing: Hobbs/Raydor and Rusty
Rating: T
Word Count: 2, 922 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for sharon_ray. Because it's been a long week for her (already).
Summary: Sharon finds herself relearning the dance that is domestic life, with a new partner and new perspective.
On ff.net: Domestic Disarray
I. Variations
Her bed sheets were noticeably more rumpled these days. Andrea was a restless sleeper; she tossed and turned and curled up and stretched out when she slept. Sometimes she’d wrap her entire body around Sharon; sometimes she’d curl up in a ball against Sharon’s front, silently asking to be held. Sometimes she’d take up the entire bed, affording an irritated Sharon only the very edge of the mattress.
In the mornings Andrea always rolled over (from whatever position she had last been sleeping in) to face Sharon and smile up at her. The skin around her eyes would crinkle and her lips would curl upwards in a satisfied grin. Sharon loved to touch the skin around Andrea’s eyes; she loved to feel the markings of every one of Andrea’s forty-four years beneath her fingertips. Sharon loved to feel the smile forming across her lover’s face.
After a particularly restless night, she’d wake and sheepishly apologize to upon seeing Sharon clinging to only a sliver of their bed. She’d kiss Sharon’s frown away and massage the kinks out of Sharon’s back and shoulders.
“Sorry,” she’d say, “it’s been a while since I’ve shared the bed with anyone beyond a night or two.”
Sharon would huff and try to sound stern but the sincerity of Andrea’s apology, the sweetness of her kisses; they’d disarm Sharon completely.
“S’fine,” Sharon would mumble as she accepted Andrea’s early morning affection.
“Just kick me next time until I get the hint and move over,” Andrea would joke.
Sharon would agree to do just that (another attempt at being stern) but always refrain from doing so the following evening.
Then there were nights when they made love; softly, sweetly, desperately, passionately, lazily, adoringly, and the sheets never seemed to smooth out the next day. Sharon would strip them off the bed, wash, dry, then iron them out; yet still the wrinkles seemed to cling to the fine fabric.
Often, Andrea would find Sharon ironing their bed sheets. Andrea would wrap her arms around Sharon from behind and nuzzle the back of her neck.
“Oh honey, don’t bother,” she’d laugh, “I have plans for us tonight.” She’d caress Sharon’s hips and kiss along Sharon’s neck and jaw. “In fact, my plans start right about now.”
Andrea would slip her hands inside Sharon’s shirt to tickle the skin of her tummy. Sharon would carefully unplug and put down the iron to follow Andrea, giggling, to their unmade bed.
Her bed sheets were noticeably more rumpled these days, but Sharon found that she minded less and less. Especially that moment every morning, when Andrea would roll over and smile up at her; her lined eyes stood out just as proudly as the wrinkled and disheveled bedding.
II. Negotiations
When Sharon first became a single parent (after Jackson’s second stint in rehab) she had purchased nearly a dozen self help books. Books on stress relief and coping, books on proper breathing techniques and how to lower one’s blood pressure in high stress situations.
Deep breaths. Even breaths. Measured, controlled, and rationed breaths.
As she stood in front of her closet she surmised that those books were not just handy for dealing with an estranged alcoholic husband and single-parenthood, but also for dealing with newly moved-in partners and co-adopted foster sons.
Andrea had moved in officially last month, bringing the last of her items in a few well-labeled boxes over on a Friday night.
“This is the last of it,” Andrea had beamed. “The new owner moves into my condo this weekend. I’m officially all yours,” she’d said with the brightest smile Sharon had ever seen. They’d celebrated that evening by making a proper mess of their bed (they’d had the good sense of course to wait until Rusty went out with a friend that evening) and then enjoying a bottle of champagne and a midnight snack in bed.
Sharon had been hit with case after case in the last few weeks, and thus came home everyday feeling both exhausted and irritable. Despite the joy she felt now that she was officially sharing her home with Andrea, Sharon was completely lacking the energy to help Andrea finish unpacking her belongings and settle in properly.
“Just make yourself at home,” she had asked of Andrea, “put your things wherever you think they’ll fit in.”
Andrea had been good at hiding the hurt expression on her face. She’d been good at ignoring the loneliness she’d felt as she unpacked box after box, all alone.
Deep breaths. Even breaths.
The closet had been completely rearranged. Divided neatly in half to accommodate both Andrea’s wardrobe and her own; while the logical part of her mind knew that Andrea had to rearrange things (she herself had given Andrea permission to do so) the not so logical part of her mind was in a panic at how different everything about her home was starting to look.
It was inside the walk-in that Andrea found Sharon, fists balled and mouth parted slightly to accommodate the deep, measured breaths that she was taking. Andrea approached her partner with caution.
“You rearranged my clothing,” Sharon said without turning around.
“Yes,” Andrea said slowly, carefully (she was still trying to gauge Sharon’s mood). “How else was I going to fit my things in here?”
Sharon ground her teeth and nodded her head silently.
“I started two weeks ago, I just finished yesterday. Sorry it took so long, but it’s a lot to do on your own especially when you work the hours that I do. And I tried to fit as much of my clothing as I could in the empty drawers of your dresser so that I only had to move a few of your items over. Only you forgot to clean your drawers out like you said you would.”
Sharon turned around and regarded Andrea who was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed protectively across her chest.
“If you’re unhappy with how I’ve arranged things, the next time that I move in with you then perhaps you can help me organize our room,” she said pointedly.
Sharon had the good sense to look properly ashamed. She hung her head slightly and took a few steps closer to Andrea. “I’m sorry that I left you to unpack alone,” she said quietly.
Andrea regarded her for a moment, then opened her arms and accepted Sharon’s warm embrace. “Don’t worry. I still have to unpack all my law books and old textbooks,” she said as she rubbed Sharon’s back, “since it’s Sunday and we’re both obviously free at the moment, you can help me with that.”
Sharon let out a cleansing breath and nodded her head. “I’d be happy to help you.” She already knew that there were about a dozen books that she’d happily give up to create some space for Andrea on her bookshelf.
III. Timing
Sharon had always loved her bathroom. When she had moved into her condo years ago she’d splurged a little to rip out the existing tub and replace it with a luxurious clawfoot tub. Her tub soon became her sanctuary, the place that she loved to unwind in at the end of the day. She hadn’t bothered at the time to upgrade her shower stall beyond a basic glass enclosure, as she generally preferred baths over showers.
She’d arrived home well past midnight tonight (another last minute case, another evening of overtime) craving the comfort and luxury of her bathtub and lavender scented bath salts. Yet as she tip toed into the master bathroom, she found the lights already on, and the shower occupied.
Andrea was smoothing her wet blonde hair back under the steady stream of the showerhead and humming mindlessly. At the sound of the door closing again Andrea focused her gaze on Sharon through the glass of the stall. She smiled warmly and crooked her finger, silently asking Sharon to join her.
Sharon sighed and looked longingly at the tub, then back at her partner. It was with some regret that she stripped down and stepped into the shower to be with Andrea.
“I’m glad that you’re finally home,” Andrea purred as she brought Sharon to stand with her under the hot water. “I was so worried that you’d get stuck at the office overnight.”
Sharon relaxed a little as Andrea lathered her hair, working the rich shampoo through her auburn strands. “We did everything that we could tonight. I’m going in tomorrow afternoon to finish up a few things,” Sharon sighed.
Andrea rinsed the shampoo from Sharon’s hair and combed a generous amount of conditioner through it. “Before you go in you are getting a solid eight hours and you are eating a proper breakfast. Don’t even try to argue with me because I promise you that if need be I will hide your car keys.”
Sharon snorted softly at Andrea’s threat. “Yes dear,” she murmured with a slight eye roll.
Andrea rinsed Sharon’s hair again then turned her around so that they were face to face. “You must be so exhausted,” Andrea whispered as she caressed the dark circles under Sharon’s eyes, “My dedicated, brave, LAPD Captain,” she said fondly.
Sharon smiled into Andrea’s kiss and puffed her chest out a little bit; she couldn’t help it, pride suffused her whenever Andrea called Sharon her Captain. Shivers danced along Sharon’s spine as Andrea’s lips gently worked the skin of Sharon’s jaw and neck. Andrea’s hands gently worked out the kinks in Sharon’s back as she lathered and rinsed her body with their citrus scented soap. Within minutes, Sharon’s legs had turned to jelly; she felt light as a feather and utterly blissful.
“Wrap your legs around me,” Andrea requested huskily. Sharon complied and gasped as Andrea lifted and supported her slight frame. “You’re starting to prune. Let’s get you to bed.”
Andrea carried Sharon outside of the shower where she set her down briefly to gently dry her and wrap her hair up in a towel. With that accomplished Andrea picked her up again and brought her over to their bed; the sheets were an unmistakable mess, clearly Andrea had been struggling with her insomnia this evening.
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” Andrea admitted sheepishly as she rearranged the duvet around Sharon’s body, “So I thought I’d take a hot shower to relax. I’m so glad that you came home when you did. I was starting to wonder how long I could stay in the shower before I used up all the hot water. Again.”
She grinned at Sharon’s half-hearted scowl. She had to admit, she had a terrible habit of using up all the hot water during her morning showers. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she wasn’t living alone anymore, that the resources around their home weren’t just for her.
Sharon’s scowl morphed into a content hum as Andrea joined her under the duvet. Tonight was one of those nights where Andrea was going to wrap herself around Sharon completely; limbs soon became a hopelessly tangled mess and lips were barely a breath away from one another.
As Sharon began to drift off to sleep Andrea tickled her side and snuck a quick, drowsy kiss. “Thank you for joining me. I like sharing my showers with you,” she sighed happily.
Sharon recalled the feeling of Andrea’s hands as they worked through her hair and gently caressed every inch of her skin. She recalled the warmth, not of the water, but of Andrea’s body against her as they held one another under the steady stream of water.
Suddenly, her beloved clawfoot tub seemed a lot more lonesome.
IV. Routine
Sharon used to revel in the peace and quiet of her condo. She’d always found the silence in her condo to be a much-craved counterpart to the hustle and bustle of her office in downtown Los Angeles.
When Rusty has moved in her modestly sized home had gotten considerably louder. Between the television, iPod, and Rusty’s general grumblings, Sharon had found herself well outside of her comfort zone. When Andrea moved in, things changed yet again. The DDA meditated every morning to a playlist of running water and chirping birds and chiming bells before her twenty minutes of yoga and then her subsequent shower; getting dressed was never a quiet affair either. She hummed along to awful pop songs that she and Rusty listened to on the radio, she huffed and sighed as she contemplated which skirt/jacket/pant combination she wanted to wear; every part of her morning routine had a distinct soundtrack.
When she read, she tapped the spine of her book; the tempo of her fingertips against the bound paper told everything that Sharon needed to know about the novel. Fast, light tapping meant that Andrea had come across a humorous passage, slow, measured, and heavy taps meant that the conflict had reached a boiling point. Soft, almost caress-like tapping meant that Andrea was mourning the loss of a beloved character.
When she cooked, Andrea often muttered to herself: Too much salt. Damn, forgot to add the cilantro. Yes, perfect; they’ll love this.
Sharon used to spend every Saturday and Sunday morning out on her balcony, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. She loved the silence of the early morning that the weekends afforded her; she loved getting lost in someone else’s world while under a blanket of that much loved silence.
Today she’d forgone her usual cup of green tea for a chai tea latte. The first thing that Andrea had brought over during her move was her beloved Tassimo along with a basket full of coffee, tea, and latte discs for the handy machine. At first Sharon had protested its arrival, she had a perfectly good percolator and didn’t see the point in having as many coffee-making machines as adults in their home. Andrea had been quick to demonstrate the perks of having such a handy machine around by delivering a different type of latte to Sharon in bed each morning of their first week living together.
Sharon forgone her book as well; she didn’t have the heart to leave her world behind this morning. Through the glass sliding door, she could hear Rusty shuffling around from his room to the living room; she winced as she heard him flop somewhat carelessly against her cushions on the couch. Moments later, Andrea’s measured steps could be heard from the hallway into the kitchen; some incoherent grumbling proceeded the sounds of the Tassimo being turned on and put to good use.
“She’s on the balcony,” Sharon heard Rusty say.
Sharon focused her gaze on the sliding door as it opened to admit her pajama-clad partner outside. Her honey-blonde hair was a tangled mess but her eyes were bright and her grin hinted at her amusement.
“Are you hiding out here?” Andrea whispered conspiratorially. “Because if you are, you may want to pick a stealthier hiding spot.”
Sharon giggled. “You caught me,” she said dramatically. “Is that my sweater?” she asked a moment later, noticing the black cardigan that hugged Andrea’s upper half overtop her cotton t-shirt.
“Maybe,” Andrea answered playfully. “You were up early this morning and you left it at the foot of the bed. I was cold,” she said.
“Looks good on you,” Sharon hummed.
Andrea offered her a warm smile. “Rusty and I were just about to make breakfast. Any specific requests?”
Sharon stretched her arms above her head, pretending to contemplate her response. “Hmm, special requests? Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to an omelet,” she replied. She ignored Andrea’s affectionate glare at her obvious answer.
The sound of pots and pans colliding, along with Rusty’s muffled, “I’m fine!” broke both women out of their reverie.
“Come on, let’s get in there before he sets the place on fire,” Andrea deadpanned as she held out an arm for Sharon.
“Not funny. Ricky had a habit of setting our fire alarm off when he was a kid,” Sharon chuckled as she followed Andrea inside to join in the symphony of sounds coming from her once quiet and unoccupied home.
Rusty was surrounded by a pile of cooking utensils on the counter along with an array of breakfast foods. “I wasn’t sure what everyone was in the mood for. So I figured a little bit of everything might be a good choice?” he offered as an explanation.
Sharon laughed and rolled the sleeves of her casual blouse up her arms. “The poor kitchen! Whatever am I going to do with you two?” she laughed again and shook her head at Andrea and Rusty as they enthusiastically started their meal preparations.
“Love us?” Andrea teased.
Sharon wrapped an arm around each of the blondes in her kitchen. “I do love you, both, despite the fact that this place is hardly ever clean anymore,” she said sternly. The tone of her voice was a direct contrast to the intensity of her embrace.
“Okay, we’re loved, we get it,” Rusty huffed good-naturedly as he pat Sharon on the back and wiggled out of her embrace to start cracking eggs.
She used to find solace in the silence and order of her condo; she used to revel in the lack of noise and commotion and in the presence of peace and order. But, more and more, she found herself craving the hustle and bustle that the latest additions to her family brought to her life. To their home.