Summary: Louie Provenza thinks about choices he made one night, years ago...

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A/N: inspired by a fanvid of Provenza and Sharon that's sweet and fluffy

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"And just like that, Jack Raydor had gone on his lifetime shit list..."

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He remembers. And he knows she remembers.

Just like he knows neither one of them will ever bring it up.

He doesn't remember if Jack had been cheating or drinking or gambling or just being an unsupportive asshole. He just remembers a young, stressed-out Sharon Raydor drinking alone at the one-off police bar two blocks from the usual haunt.

He had gone there to get away from well-meaning friends who would ask him how his wife was. He wasn't ready, not that day, to say he wasn't sure. Maybe when the dust settled, and he knew if he was still married, or if he was joining the ranks of the separated again, he'd know what to say.

That night, he just wanted a quiet drink.

Even now, he still isn't sure what she wanted that night. Or why he'd gone over to her booth and asked if he could join her.

She was too young, for her hands to shake like they did. Her pretty green eyes (he was married, not blind) had gone flat and bitter.

And just like that, Jack Raydor had gone on his lifetime shit list.

They hadn't talked much that night, when she got up and gestured towards the door. Maybe he should have talked more, asked more questions. She'd leaned against him, firm curves and light hands touching his arm.

When he'd taken her keys and flagged a taxi, she had given him a disappointed look, tainted with a bourbon blur. He'd hugged her, mumbled something about regrets, then kicked himself as the red tail lights disappeared into the LA night. He could have had a memorable night with Ms. Raydor…maybe too memorable. Neither of them needed that. And he was old enough to be her…well, old enough to be her older brother.

If anyone noticed his next few flings were with willowy brunettes who wore glasses and understated suits, they didn't say anything. At least not to him.

Maybe he should have done something different that night. It might have saved her from becoming such a harridan. By the time she was accusing him of misogyny and referring him for diversity training, it was obvious that she'd developed a hard, hard shell around those feelings she'd come close to showing that night.

Louie glanced over to her office, her head and Andy's awfully close together as they laughed over something. Her shell had dissolved over this past year, enough to let the team in, and Rusty. Maybe enough to let someone else in, as well.

They looked good together.

When she looked up, he took a second to enjoy the sparkle in her eyes, the warmth he saw there.

He was glad he'd been there that night, in that seedy one-off bar.

And glad he'd done the right thing.

With any luck, he'd get to hold her in his arms one more time. He might not be as young as he used to be, but he could still dance at a wedding.

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