"Home Sweet Home," Jack muttered to himself as he stood in the elevator, watching the numbers rise. 8, 9, 10, 11. Yes, he was home, whatever that was. 'Home is Where the Heart is', right? Well, his heart was probably all over the place, a lot of it in Vegas, but he could easily say that now in his life, no one person had his heart. Being down and out on his luck for the moment, his heart had found its way back home, sort of. Here he was, Condo 1109, his home, even though it technically never was his home. It was Sharon's home, though, and technically-since he was dealing in technicalities tonight, even though legally separated, he was still married to her; thus, his home was with her. So, by default, he had concluded, he was home. 'Home is Where the Heart is'…well, his heart used to be with Sharon, long long ago, and even though things hadn't gone as planned, he was still married. Now, for a place to stay, since his wife had a home…

The key still worked, as Jack grinned to himself. Good old, gullible Sharon, she hadn't changed the locks. Years and years of coming and going, and she'd left the locks alone. To Jack, that was confirmation she still wanted him, still needed him at home, however brief it was. If Sharon really wanted Jack out of her life, she would have changed the locks. Quite frankly, she never would have given him a key, or really, because let's be honest, she never *gave* him a key, but if she hadn't wanted Jack to have access to her condo, she wouldn't have left a key in plain sight on one of the many occasions he'd visited the homestead. But, she knew he had a key, she hadn't taken his key, she hadn't complained, and she hadn't changed the locks. All of them were signs to Jack that, after almost 30 years, Sharon still wanted him, her husband, in her life.

He entered the condo and found it just as it always was, spotless, neat, orderly, all Sharon. His life, now that was a different story. He couldn't remember the last time he could describe himself, or anywhere he'd lived as spotless, neat, and orderly. Quite frankly, maybe that was why Sharon couldn't detach herself from him. She was such a rule follower; she enjoyed the bad boy side Jack offered-so he told himself, the tarnished, messy, chaotic man Jack was. He closed the door and moved some of his groceries to the kitchen. Jack wasn't a total mooch; he could at least make an attempt to grocery shop. Truth was, some of it was the stuff only he liked. Gluten free, for one, and Sharon didn't eat like that. Also, his charm to win over Sharon always included making her breakfast and on occasion, dinner. Who could help it if that dinner ever might turn romantic? Just part of his charm, right? He had Sharon's number and knew what worked, what always worked. He dropped the groceries on the counter, knowing that he may be hungry later and went back for his luggage. He'd always stored that in the guest room-Sharon didn't let him into her closet, no, that was her space-ironic as it might be-he couldn't use her closet, but he could use her- but he headed toward the guest room, where sometimes, he ended up staying there too. Sometimes. Other times, well, he'd always managed to charm Sharon, worm his way back in even if she had the two-night rule about staying. Two nights, that was all it took, if even that long. She was always glad to see him, even if she acted irritated initially. For the incredibly smart woman she was, she never seemed to catch on that he was using her. He was using her for whatever he needed, sometimes money, sometimes, well, just her, and once he got whatever it was, he disappeared again. Her door was closed; he'd surprise her soon. First, he needed to take care of a few things. He'd been traveling all day, and he wanted to get settled. Sure, he hadn't been to the condo in a few years now-how long had it been? He couldn't remember, but it had been awhile. He'd last heard she had changed jobs, probably for the better. What guy wants his wife as head of the rat squad? She'd been head of FID for far too long; it was embarrassing quite frankly, and whatever she was doing now, it had to be better than that. So long FID. That might make her likeable and more relaxed. She'd become pretty hard, pretty cold since she'd been running FID. Maybe, just maybe, this trip, he'd get more out of her than he needed, in all areas of his life.

Jack made his way down the hall to drop off his stuff so he could get a shower. Yes, a hot shower and then he'd find Sharon. Well, he knew where Sharon was, but he didn't want to see her until he'd cleaned up a bit. If he was here to surprise his wife for the first time in years, he'd at least try to be presentable. Locked. The door was locked. Was he drunk? Was he just having difficulty opening the door? No, he wasn't, at least not yet. Now, later, he might need a drink, depending on how things went with Sharon, but for now, the door was definitely locked. He was sober, and he couldn't get in. Fine. He'd put up his groceries and find his clothing from the couch. He could use the couch as his base of operations for the time being. He'd get Sharon to open the door tomorrow. Must have just locked from the inside, and he knew Sharon liked keeping the room doors closed. Easy fix, tomorrow. Tonight, he had things to do and people, well one person, to see.

The phone. Oh, where was that phone? Yes, he knew there had to still be on in the kitchen. Sharon always kept a phone in the kitchen, had since they married in their early 20's. Who would be calling in the middle of the night now? Certainly, not a gentleman caller, no that was more his style, to call someone or have a lovely lady call him. That idea with Sharon, downright laughable. He was her middle of the night person. Work? Must be work.

"Raydor residence," he answered, and as he listened to an ancient Louie Provenza, he rolled his eyes, thinking that guy should have retired decades ago. He couldn't even remember exactly what he said to grumpy Provenza, only that he wanted to clarify that he, as Sharon's husband, was home. Home to stake his claim. He remembered saying that Sharon was asleep, and he'd leave it at that. Any inferences to her husband now being up in the middle of the night, well, they were married after all.

What took him by surprise was the surprise attack that had him staring down the barrel of Sharon's gun. He didn't see that coming, no way. He should have known she'd get up at the sound of the phone. He had to hand it to her; she was fast, and man, she still looked good. Gun aimed at him, ready to shoot, even in her nightgown. Whatever she was wearing, well, she looked good, and it had been a long time since he'd seen her. Listening to her on the phone with the dinosaur Provenza, he saw just how in charge she still acted. Bossy, confident, both qualities he loved and loathed in her. Giving orders, well, she'd become the expert on that dealing with him, one of the things he despised about her. She saw him as just another person to boss around, something he was hoping she'd loosened up on now that she was't running FID. What exactly was she doing that she was with Provenza? Robbery/Homicide? Seriously, he should pay better attention, but what did it really matter? She ran a division, and she caught murders, apparently.

The phone call ended; time to turn on the charm. Surrpise, surprise, she's maybe happy to see him? He not sure yet. It's late, and he really want to figure out the arrangements for the night. Whoa, who is the kid? Now, the door makes sense. This kid, who let's face it was using a lamp as a weapon-where did he come from? This kid was not in his plan, but let's face it; there are two grown children with the last name Raydor who weren't exactly in the plans either. This kid, though, here tonight, puts a damper on anything he had planned. An obstacle, but one he knew he could easily manage. He has dealt with his share of obstacles surrounding Sharon before.

The couch, really? How has he been suddenly banished to the couch? 30 minutes ago, honestly, 15 minutes ago, he thought he would have his choice of beds in this place, and somehow, even with two beds, he's been cast out to the couch. NOT in the cards; not the kind of gamble he wanted to take. In this gamble, the house won, literally. Sharon won; he'd have to give her that. No other option tonight. Her door is locked, as the guest room door, where apparently, the kid, Rusty, is staying, The couch-it's almost laughable. Well, he has slept in worse places, and it's only for half a night. Tomorrow, he tells himself that he'll turn the tables and reclaim a bed, one in particular he's got his eye on for sure. He's thinking that after Sharon leaves for work, he will even take a little catnap on her bed and poke around. Surely, he can find some extra cash, maybe even something to pawn. After all, they are married. Home Sweet Home; he's back, and as a betting man, he's betting on a good visit.