Raydor/ Flynn Fic ~Such Is My Life
Title: Such Is My Life
Pairing: The Closer - Raydor/Flynn
Rating: M for language, sexual situations
“Hey batter, batter, your Momma said to say hi!” Provenza, well into his fourth beer and second dog, yells out from mid-way up the third base line. Beside him, also decked out in Dodger blue, Andy Flynn rolls his eyes as a smile forms.
“You really need some new lines,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his bottled water.
“Hey kid, bring me another,” his partner waves down the beer vendor while pulling out his wallet. “This drinking for two has a monetary downside, but at least the seats were free.”
“Drinking for two?”
“Just consider this your chance to live vicariously through me,” Provenza smirks, handing the vendor his money while taking the beer, “Nothing like a cold brew and a sunny day at the park.” He holds up the plastic cup, which Flynn taps with his bottle as the two toast the day. “Alright, batter, swing baby swing, just like I did your momma last night.”
Flynn laughs, “You know he’s from Nebraska right?” His partner shrugs. “So how many hot models have you seen come from there?”
“Flynn, you’re not supposed to get into my head, but his,” Provenza waves him off before taking another gulp from his beer. “Oh, hello,” he chokes out after catching the sight of a buxom blonde a section or so over. Flynn gives her a once over but shakes his head.
“Nah, barely legal”
“Not illegal to look.”
The crack of the bat draws their attention back to the game and the men to their feet as the foul ball comes sailing over their heads. They turn to follow the path, catching sight of a pair of teenage boys at the ready. The taller of the two grabs the ball with a barehanded clasp that makes the detectives wince.
“Damn, tough kid,” Flynn says, averting his gaze back to the field as he takes his seat. Provenza, however, is still staring at the boy. He flicks his gaze to the big screen, getting a better view of the kid.
“Uh Flynn, you keeping secrets?”
“Huh?”
“I thought I knew all your kids.”
“You do, now sit down before you make me miss the next pitch.”
“You sure Jesse isn’t here today?” Provenza asks as he reluctantly sits, but he can’t keep his gaze from the row about two sections over.
“If my kid was here, don’t you think he’d be sitting on the other side of me begging to get away from you?”
Provenza purses his lips in a mocking expression. “Fine then, but did you see that kid?”
“It was a great catch.”
“I’m not talking about the catch, Flynn. That kid looked like you.”
“Ok, I’m cutting you off,” Andy quips, reaching for Provenza’s beer.
“Hey, I’m not drunk. That kid, up on the screen, Flynn, he looked just like you.” He gestures to the jumbotron, now back on the pitcher as he readies to throw.
“Sure, another one of my lost children.”
“Joke if you want,” Provenza stands, scanning the area around them. When he spies what he’s after, he darts up a few stairs to a man holding a pair of binoculars. “Can I borrow those?” The man hesitates, so Provenza whips out his badge. “LAPD, just need them for a moment.”
When he returns to their seats, Flynn has his head in his hands. “Can’t I take you anywhere?”
“Height, check, hair,” he glances from the binoculars to his partner, “check, eyes…damn…don’t these things zoom?”
“Really? Can’t I just watch the game?”
“I’m telling you, Flynn, this kid…woah wait a minute, oh now that’s a beautiful sight.”
Flynn looks up at Provenza with a mixture of shock and wariness, and a hint of disgust. “I will take your beer away.”
“Hello, momma,” the older detective catcalls. “Well, now if that is your kid, and that’s his mom, well I can’t fault you for keeping her a secret.” Provenza is drooling when he winks at Flynn, Cheshire cat grin at full wattage. Flynn, at his limit with his partner’s teasing, grabs the binoculars away and uses them to see what his friend is going on about. He finds the kid, shifts his gaze slightly and sees what caught Provenza’s attention.
Talking to the kid is a woman with her back to them. Brunette, hard to tell her age, but if she is the mom Flynn is sure she’s more legal than Provenza’s blonde bombshell, and that is good news. Because like his partner, Flynn’s gaze moves down from her Dodger blue jersey to her blue denim skirt and her very long and very attractive legs. He lets out a low whistle.
“I know right, hello come to papa and all that,” Provenza smirks. Flynn shifts his gaze back up her body, seeing the back of her head as the ball kid nods at her. He does look a little like his youngest. Flynn guesses the kid’s about fifteen, dark hair, gangly body but good looking. “You see it right? He looks like Jesse, doesn’t he? Could be his twin if not for the age difference.” Flynn shrugs but starts to see what Provenza is getting at. The kid does look familiar.
“Now you can say what you want about Nebraska, but if that kid got his looks from his momma, and if that is his momma, well I think we should move a few rows closer, you know.”
“Holy sh-” Flynn gets a jolt when the woman turns round. The sight of her makes him pale, the hand holding the binoculars going limp. Provenza, confused by his friend’s sudden mood shift, grabs up the glasses as Flynn slumps back down in his seat.
“Oh my…it can’t be,” Provenza’s eyes widen as his stomach feels queasy. “The wicked witch? I almost had a, but those legs, how the hell can it be? That’s just wrong.” He joins Flynn, slumping down in his own seat. The binoculars’ owner taps his shoulder. “Hmm, what do you want?”
“You done, I mean I really do-”
“Here, take ‘em,” the dejected detective tosses the glasses to the man. “Sharon f-ing Raydor? What the hell?”
“Yea,” Flynn sighs, a sudden headache hitting him, “what the hell.”
“Flynn, you and Raydor, I mean if you did, well the legs but…”
“I need to go to the john,” Flynn starts up, the need to get away from Provenza as strong as a nagging feeling ripping through his inners.
“Sure, ok, and um could you, you know while you’re up and all, get me another?” his partner holds up his nearly empty beer.
“Fine, yea.” Andy waits until he’s out of Provenza’s sight before glancing in the direction of Sharon Raydor and her kid. “There’s no way,” he whispers before shaking his head and walking to the head.
Fourteen years ago, Andy Flynn was a different guy; in fact, he was a total wreck. Most days he’d wake up with a hangover just to grab a beer or whatever alcoholic beverage he happened to have within arms reach to get through the morning. As soon as his shift ended, he hit the bar and he hit it hard. He knew the guys blamed his ex for his relationship with the bottle and, to be honest, part of it was because of her. When the fighting got to be too much, heading to the bar was a welcomed relief. But once the marriage crashed and burned, Flynn made up different excuses to keep the liquor flowing. He didn’t see his kids enough, the bodies were hard to forget, the weather didn’t please him, and on and on. The saying in AA is that a person has to hit rock bottom before sobriety can begin. Flynn’s bottom had been a straight plummet, a head first dive into a chain of events that started one night over fifteen years before at the annual police officers’ ball.
“Lt. Flynn, do you care to take part in the conversation?”
Flynn shakes his head, stands up from his desk and falls back into his job, pushing aside the memories of his life before he was sober. He didn’t know why, but since the ballpark, he’d been reliving that time. “Sorry Chief, the vic, a uh Travis Martin, was last seen coming out of a downtown club at 2 a.m. three nights ago.”
“So the kid belongs to the Wicked Witch after all. Daniel Raydor, just shy of sixteen, and the youngest of her three.”
“Since when are you so interested in Raydor’s kids?” Flynn hands Provenza a coffee as they walk back toward the tech room.
“Curious,” the detective shrugs. “Plus I saw one of her FID guys this morning on the way in. Just thought I’d ask, you know, in case you were wondering. I know some things from that time are still cloudy.”
Flynn stops short, mid-sip of his coffee, fighting not to choke. He swallows hard, clears his throat and wipes at his chin, all the while flashing a death glare at his partner. “There is no way in hell! You seriously need to get a new obsession.” Not intimidated in the least, Provenza laughs.
“Come on, Flynn, I don’t think I could do it now,” Provenza’s gaze wonders as he contemplates the thought, “Although she does have some gorgeous legs, but all that ice in her veins. Hell, I bet she’s got a leather suit and a whip just waiting for any poor unsuspecting fool.” Flynn winces his eyes shut, another headache threatening. “I know, I know, it isn’t the best thought.”
“Then change the subject.”
“But I’m just saying, you said yourself you can’t remember much from those years. And even if she was a hard ass, well she did have a hard-” Provenza grins and raises his brows up in a ‘you following me’ gesture.
“Have you been drinking?” Flynn scowls, brushing past him and into the tech room. Provenza follows him in, determined to continue the conversation, but Flynn is already talking to Buzz. “This our guy?”
“One of them. Chief is about to go in.”
“Even though she was a hottie back then she was also a hellcat. You’d had to of been wasted to go there.”
“Enough,” Flynn spits out through gritted teeth, the image of Sharon Raydor and those long legs wrapped around him, while not an entirely unpleasant thought, was certainly not a welcomed one at the moment. He hated the woman, well perhaps not full out hatred but something in that realm.
“Want to let us in?” Tao turns round from his seat by Buzz to look at the two men.
“Have you noticed the legs on Raydor?”
“Yeah, what a waste,” Buzz remarks, punching at his keyboard as the Chief walks into the interrogation room, “Oh here we go.”
“What got you thinking about Raydor? She’s not breathing down our backs again is she?” The line is too good for Provenza to pass up and Flynn knows it, but before his partner can make a sound, Flynn looks at his coffee in disgust.
“Which one of you made this? It tastes worst than Taylor’s.”
“Mr. Cruz, I’m Deputy Chief Johnson and I have just a couple of questions for you…” the guys settle down as the Chief begins her investigation.
It’s past midnight when Flynn falls into bed. He’s dead to the world a second after his head hits the pillow. Deep in REM sleep, Flynn sees himself in a hotel room wrapped in the arms of a woman. Her soft hair, dark brown with hints of red, brushes against his chest. He grips her hips, groaning when her nails dig into his shoulders. Flynn feels all of her - flushed skin, wet kisses, and even the shift in the mattress she creates as her knees press against the bed - as if this isn’t just a dream. She makes these breathy little cries that turn into commands as she reaches her climax. He smirks, tightening his hold on her hips to prolong the moment. He’s drunk, because this is a younger version of himself, and being drunk was the norm for this Flynn. He can taste the alcohol in her kisses, so he knows she’s drunk too. They’re sloppy, their balance off, but it doesn’t matter. When she looses her balance and falls to her side in a fit of laughter, he follows her, settling between her thighs. Her sexy, throaty laugh has him bracing on one arm so he can push that long dark hair out of her face to see her eyes.
Andy Flynn’s eyes pop open, his mouth incredibly dry. “No fucking way,” he groans at the remembrance of the dream. “Provenza, you bastard!”
By dawn, Flynn is on his third pot of coffee. He takes a sip, staring at the notebook in front of him. Moments after waking from the dream, he grabbed the book and wrote down everything he remembered from it. In full investigative mode, Flynn’s doing what he does best - tracking down leads. Of course, he’d given a few moments of thought to the idea that all it was all just a dream brought on by Provenza’s dumbass cracks. But it was too real, too familiar.
“This is screwed up,” Flynn slams down the notepad, running a hand through his hair. “How the hell could I have slept with? Oh shit, the kid.” He slumps down on his worn out couch, huffing out a disgusted sigh. Flynn closes his eyes, desperate to recall as much as he can about that night so long ago. After hours of running over the scattered memories again and again, he doesn’t have much to go on, other than her face. That face, which no matter how much he tries to change it or deny it, never changes. He can’t remember the details, but he’s positive Provenza’s ribbing hasn’t influenced his dream. Nope, he knows for a fact that he slept with her. “Sharon fucking Raydor,” he spits out her name, fury building inside him. Why had she never said anything? Deny the sex, fine, but if that kid - Daniel, right? If that kid was his… Flynn glances at his watch and grabs his jacket. Knowing Raydor’s strictness, she’d be in by now, and she certainly has a lot of explaining to do.
Pairing: The Closer - Raydor/Flynn
Rating: M for language, sexual situations
“Hey batter, batter, your Momma said to say hi!” Provenza, well into his fourth beer and second dog, yells out from mid-way up the third base line. Beside him, also decked out in Dodger blue, Andy Flynn rolls his eyes as a smile forms.
“You really need some new lines,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his bottled water.
“Hey kid, bring me another,” his partner waves down the beer vendor while pulling out his wallet. “This drinking for two has a monetary downside, but at least the seats were free.”
“Drinking for two?”
“Just consider this your chance to live vicariously through me,” Provenza smirks, handing the vendor his money while taking the beer, “Nothing like a cold brew and a sunny day at the park.” He holds up the plastic cup, which Flynn taps with his bottle as the two toast the day. “Alright, batter, swing baby swing, just like I did your momma last night.”
Flynn laughs, “You know he’s from Nebraska right?” His partner shrugs. “So how many hot models have you seen come from there?”
“Flynn, you’re not supposed to get into my head, but his,” Provenza waves him off before taking another gulp from his beer. “Oh, hello,” he chokes out after catching the sight of a buxom blonde a section or so over. Flynn gives her a once over but shakes his head.
“Nah, barely legal”
“Not illegal to look.”
The crack of the bat draws their attention back to the game and the men to their feet as the foul ball comes sailing over their heads. They turn to follow the path, catching sight of a pair of teenage boys at the ready. The taller of the two grabs the ball with a barehanded clasp that makes the detectives wince.
“Damn, tough kid,” Flynn says, averting his gaze back to the field as he takes his seat. Provenza, however, is still staring at the boy. He flicks his gaze to the big screen, getting a better view of the kid.
“Uh Flynn, you keeping secrets?”
“Huh?”
“I thought I knew all your kids.”
“You do, now sit down before you make me miss the next pitch.”
“You sure Jesse isn’t here today?” Provenza asks as he reluctantly sits, but he can’t keep his gaze from the row about two sections over.
“If my kid was here, don’t you think he’d be sitting on the other side of me begging to get away from you?”
Provenza purses his lips in a mocking expression. “Fine then, but did you see that kid?”
“It was a great catch.”
“I’m not talking about the catch, Flynn. That kid looked like you.”
“Ok, I’m cutting you off,” Andy quips, reaching for Provenza’s beer.
“Hey, I’m not drunk. That kid, up on the screen, Flynn, he looked just like you.” He gestures to the jumbotron, now back on the pitcher as he readies to throw.
“Sure, another one of my lost children.”
“Joke if you want,” Provenza stands, scanning the area around them. When he spies what he’s after, he darts up a few stairs to a man holding a pair of binoculars. “Can I borrow those?” The man hesitates, so Provenza whips out his badge. “LAPD, just need them for a moment.”
When he returns to their seats, Flynn has his head in his hands. “Can’t I take you anywhere?”
“Height, check, hair,” he glances from the binoculars to his partner, “check, eyes…damn…don’t these things zoom?”
“Really? Can’t I just watch the game?”
“I’m telling you, Flynn, this kid…woah wait a minute, oh now that’s a beautiful sight.”
Flynn looks up at Provenza with a mixture of shock and wariness, and a hint of disgust. “I will take your beer away.”
“Hello, momma,” the older detective catcalls. “Well, now if that is your kid, and that’s his mom, well I can’t fault you for keeping her a secret.” Provenza is drooling when he winks at Flynn, Cheshire cat grin at full wattage. Flynn, at his limit with his partner’s teasing, grabs the binoculars away and uses them to see what his friend is going on about. He finds the kid, shifts his gaze slightly and sees what caught Provenza’s attention.
Talking to the kid is a woman with her back to them. Brunette, hard to tell her age, but if she is the mom Flynn is sure she’s more legal than Provenza’s blonde bombshell, and that is good news. Because like his partner, Flynn’s gaze moves down from her Dodger blue jersey to her blue denim skirt and her very long and very attractive legs. He lets out a low whistle.
“I know right, hello come to papa and all that,” Provenza smirks. Flynn shifts his gaze back up her body, seeing the back of her head as the ball kid nods at her. He does look a little like his youngest. Flynn guesses the kid’s about fifteen, dark hair, gangly body but good looking. “You see it right? He looks like Jesse, doesn’t he? Could be his twin if not for the age difference.” Flynn shrugs but starts to see what Provenza is getting at. The kid does look familiar.
“Now you can say what you want about Nebraska, but if that kid got his looks from his momma, and if that is his momma, well I think we should move a few rows closer, you know.”
“Holy sh-” Flynn gets a jolt when the woman turns round. The sight of her makes him pale, the hand holding the binoculars going limp. Provenza, confused by his friend’s sudden mood shift, grabs up the glasses as Flynn slumps back down in his seat.
“Oh my…it can’t be,” Provenza’s eyes widen as his stomach feels queasy. “The wicked witch? I almost had a, but those legs, how the hell can it be? That’s just wrong.” He joins Flynn, slumping down in his own seat. The binoculars’ owner taps his shoulder. “Hmm, what do you want?”
“You done, I mean I really do-”
“Here, take ‘em,” the dejected detective tosses the glasses to the man. “Sharon f-ing Raydor? What the hell?”
“Yea,” Flynn sighs, a sudden headache hitting him, “what the hell.”
“Flynn, you and Raydor, I mean if you did, well the legs but…”
“I need to go to the john,” Flynn starts up, the need to get away from Provenza as strong as a nagging feeling ripping through his inners.
“Sure, ok, and um could you, you know while you’re up and all, get me another?” his partner holds up his nearly empty beer.
“Fine, yea.” Andy waits until he’s out of Provenza’s sight before glancing in the direction of Sharon Raydor and her kid. “There’s no way,” he whispers before shaking his head and walking to the head.
Fourteen years ago, Andy Flynn was a different guy; in fact, he was a total wreck. Most days he’d wake up with a hangover just to grab a beer or whatever alcoholic beverage he happened to have within arms reach to get through the morning. As soon as his shift ended, he hit the bar and he hit it hard. He knew the guys blamed his ex for his relationship with the bottle and, to be honest, part of it was because of her. When the fighting got to be too much, heading to the bar was a welcomed relief. But once the marriage crashed and burned, Flynn made up different excuses to keep the liquor flowing. He didn’t see his kids enough, the bodies were hard to forget, the weather didn’t please him, and on and on. The saying in AA is that a person has to hit rock bottom before sobriety can begin. Flynn’s bottom had been a straight plummet, a head first dive into a chain of events that started one night over fifteen years before at the annual police officers’ ball.
“Lt. Flynn, do you care to take part in the conversation?”
Flynn shakes his head, stands up from his desk and falls back into his job, pushing aside the memories of his life before he was sober. He didn’t know why, but since the ballpark, he’d been reliving that time. “Sorry Chief, the vic, a uh Travis Martin, was last seen coming out of a downtown club at 2 a.m. three nights ago.”
“So the kid belongs to the Wicked Witch after all. Daniel Raydor, just shy of sixteen, and the youngest of her three.”
“Since when are you so interested in Raydor’s kids?” Flynn hands Provenza a coffee as they walk back toward the tech room.
“Curious,” the detective shrugs. “Plus I saw one of her FID guys this morning on the way in. Just thought I’d ask, you know, in case you were wondering. I know some things from that time are still cloudy.”
Flynn stops short, mid-sip of his coffee, fighting not to choke. He swallows hard, clears his throat and wipes at his chin, all the while flashing a death glare at his partner. “There is no way in hell! You seriously need to get a new obsession.” Not intimidated in the least, Provenza laughs.
“Come on, Flynn, I don’t think I could do it now,” Provenza’s gaze wonders as he contemplates the thought, “Although she does have some gorgeous legs, but all that ice in her veins. Hell, I bet she’s got a leather suit and a whip just waiting for any poor unsuspecting fool.” Flynn winces his eyes shut, another headache threatening. “I know, I know, it isn’t the best thought.”
“Then change the subject.”
“But I’m just saying, you said yourself you can’t remember much from those years. And even if she was a hard ass, well she did have a hard-” Provenza grins and raises his brows up in a ‘you following me’ gesture.
“Have you been drinking?” Flynn scowls, brushing past him and into the tech room. Provenza follows him in, determined to continue the conversation, but Flynn is already talking to Buzz. “This our guy?”
“One of them. Chief is about to go in.”
“Even though she was a hottie back then she was also a hellcat. You’d had to of been wasted to go there.”
“Enough,” Flynn spits out through gritted teeth, the image of Sharon Raydor and those long legs wrapped around him, while not an entirely unpleasant thought, was certainly not a welcomed one at the moment. He hated the woman, well perhaps not full out hatred but something in that realm.
“Want to let us in?” Tao turns round from his seat by Buzz to look at the two men.
“Have you noticed the legs on Raydor?”
“Yeah, what a waste,” Buzz remarks, punching at his keyboard as the Chief walks into the interrogation room, “Oh here we go.”
“What got you thinking about Raydor? She’s not breathing down our backs again is she?” The line is too good for Provenza to pass up and Flynn knows it, but before his partner can make a sound, Flynn looks at his coffee in disgust.
“Which one of you made this? It tastes worst than Taylor’s.”
“Mr. Cruz, I’m Deputy Chief Johnson and I have just a couple of questions for you…” the guys settle down as the Chief begins her investigation.
It’s past midnight when Flynn falls into bed. He’s dead to the world a second after his head hits the pillow. Deep in REM sleep, Flynn sees himself in a hotel room wrapped in the arms of a woman. Her soft hair, dark brown with hints of red, brushes against his chest. He grips her hips, groaning when her nails dig into his shoulders. Flynn feels all of her - flushed skin, wet kisses, and even the shift in the mattress she creates as her knees press against the bed - as if this isn’t just a dream. She makes these breathy little cries that turn into commands as she reaches her climax. He smirks, tightening his hold on her hips to prolong the moment. He’s drunk, because this is a younger version of himself, and being drunk was the norm for this Flynn. He can taste the alcohol in her kisses, so he knows she’s drunk too. They’re sloppy, their balance off, but it doesn’t matter. When she looses her balance and falls to her side in a fit of laughter, he follows her, settling between her thighs. Her sexy, throaty laugh has him bracing on one arm so he can push that long dark hair out of her face to see her eyes.
Andy Flynn’s eyes pop open, his mouth incredibly dry. “No fucking way,” he groans at the remembrance of the dream. “Provenza, you bastard!”
By dawn, Flynn is on his third pot of coffee. He takes a sip, staring at the notebook in front of him. Moments after waking from the dream, he grabbed the book and wrote down everything he remembered from it. In full investigative mode, Flynn’s doing what he does best - tracking down leads. Of course, he’d given a few moments of thought to the idea that all it was all just a dream brought on by Provenza’s dumbass cracks. But it was too real, too familiar.
“This is screwed up,” Flynn slams down the notepad, running a hand through his hair. “How the hell could I have slept with? Oh shit, the kid.” He slumps down on his worn out couch, huffing out a disgusted sigh. Flynn closes his eyes, desperate to recall as much as he can about that night so long ago. After hours of running over the scattered memories again and again, he doesn’t have much to go on, other than her face. That face, which no matter how much he tries to change it or deny it, never changes. He can’t remember the details, but he’s positive Provenza’s ribbing hasn’t influenced his dream. Nope, he knows for a fact that he slept with her. “Sharon fucking Raydor,” he spits out her name, fury building inside him. Why had she never said anything? Deny the sex, fine, but if that kid - Daniel, right? If that kid was his… Flynn glances at his watch and grabs his jacket. Knowing Raydor’s strictness, she’d be in by now, and she certainly has a lot of explaining to do.