Return to Me

by Kadi

Rated T

Disclaimer: If only they were mine… Sadly, they are not. I'm only borrowing them for a time, I promise to return them!

A/N: Special thanks again to deenikn8 for the beta. Also, much love for lontanissima for all the help and encouragement! I will also not forget kate04us who is an awesome partner in crime, the Provenza to my Flynn! Thanks hon!

Chapter 1 - Incomprehensible

Time. That was the enemy. It ticked by, never yielding, never pausing. It gave no care of needs or wants. It paid no mind to age. It provided more life behind than in front of her. It was the one thing in her life that she could not find any means of control over. She could not stand in its path. Even at her most resolute it would fly right past her.

She did not dwell on those things that she could not change. Age was simply a factor of life. Although she had never felt it more keenly than she did at that moment.

Her body ached with it. She was weary. It went bone deep. She felt the creak and strain of bone and muscle as she walked through her apartment. The couch had looked far too inviting and it was only the hand at her back that kept her moving. As she entered her room, she thought she might like to sink onto the bed, to lie perfectly still and let the day fall away. The only problem existed when she closed her eyes. The day remained with her.

Soft pressure against her back prodded her forward again. Sharon moved silently into the bathroom. Her eyes found a spot on the floor, and she wondered idly at when the rug in front of her tub had started to fray, and how she had not noticed that before. It was such an odd thing to focus on, and yet so very curious to her that she was oblivious to it. She always insisted upon the apartment being orderly, these, her own private rooms were no different. A place for everything and everything in its place.

She continued to consider that, even when the blazer which was hanging dirty and stained from her shoulders was removed. It was dropped to the floor, and those same hands reached for the buttons of her blouse. She stood silent and unmoving as each one was opened. The blouse felt stiff and uncomfortable. She would be glad to be rid of it. There would be no salvaging it, and that was such a shame. She always liked the purple best.

Her eyes lifted slowly to the familiar blue gaze staring down at her. Sharon didn't know what she expected to find there as he swept the blouse from her shoulders. She thought it odd. She hadn't let this man touch her in more than ten years. He had tried. Oh yes, he always tried. Odd that she would allow it now, when there was nothing but concern and sympathy in his gaze. Or perhaps it was simply that she didn't have the strength to stop him, and it was a physical weakness, not an emotional one. She watched him, her eyes dropping when he stooped in front of her to slide her heels off her feet. His knees creaked and popped and she thought, with some amount of satisfaction and mild detachment, she was not the only one aging. When he stood again it was to work open her belt and slide the skirt down her legs.

Sharon shivered in the coolness of the room. He reached beyond her, into the shower, and turned the tap on. Soon steam was filling the space. When his eyes moved back to her and he found she hadn't moved, his arms slipped around so that his hands found the clasp of her bra. The same reason her blouse was ruined had spread through to the scrap of satin and lace. It too would be going into the trash. What struck her more was that his eyes didn't fall beyond her face. He could have looked, and there would have been a time when he would have.

His hands moved to her hips to slide away the matching underwear, and upon realizing he was touching her as little as possible, moisture stung her eyes. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and she was reminded with a rush of emotion so strong that it drew a ragged sigh from her, just why she had once loved this man. There had been a reason that she once wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. A reason she had held on and hoped and waited, even long after he left her. She had eventually stopped waiting. She stopped hoping. She stopped loving. She cared for him, there was a part of her that always would.

She had once thought that in their dotage, they would have what they had missed in their youth. That they would find solace in raising their grandchildren together, even if he had left her to raise their children alone. Those thoughts were long gone, along with any intention she might have had to holding on to this marriage which became more of a safety net, a barrier between herself and further hurt.

Sharon had always felt just as much to blame in its failure that she would never call it to an end for herself. No, she held on to her failure. She held on to her regret. She did not find reason enough to let it go until Rusty came in to her life.

She wanted to adopt him. She would not do that while married to Jack. She wanted to move on. She couldn't truly do that while living in the past.

Ultimately, that was what had brought Jack back to Los Angeles. He was beckoned to her by the divorce papers she filed. He wanted to talk her out of it, to reason with her. His reasons were always filled with empty promises and even emptier hopes. This time, Sharon would not be budged. This marriage was ending.

Yet, here he stood.

Emotion swept through her. So much had changed. She was left staggered. Never had she felt more conflicted, more confused. It would pass, some small part of her intellectual mind that was still working understood that. When the shock, worry, and grief of the day had gone, she would no longer feel so torn. If there was one thing pressing through the numbness and shock she felt, it was that. It was the confusion at her current emotions.

Sharon rose onto the balls of her feet and tipped her face up. He was warm and he was solid, and although she had spent her entire adult life married to this man, kissing him felt foreign.

His hands cupped her jaw. Jackson drew back and shook his head slowly. His eyes were sad. There was a time he would have accepted exactly what she was offering, and without regret or thought. His thumbs stroked her cheeks and he sighed quietly. "No," he said softly, and with some difficulty. In a voice that was low, thick with emotion and his own regret, he admitted what he had hoped to never acknowledge. "Honey, it isn't me that you want." He had hurt her, far too many times to count over the years. Jack couldn't recall exactly how many times he watched her eyes fill with pain, how often had she swallowed it back and grown stoic instead. Then there had come the coldness, an indifference she didn't truly feel but wrapped herself in like a shield. He knew, only too well, what it was to see Sharon ache. Until that moment, he had never watched her break.

Jack watched her shatter. Her eyes dropped and it shuddered through her. From beneath closed lids, a single drop of moisture appeared and rolled down the curve of her cheek. He drew her forward and his arms slipped around her shaking form. She didn't want him. That was hard enough to accept. No, she wanted the man whose blood stained her clothes. She wanted the man over whom she had knelt, hands shaking as she tried to stem the flow of blood. She wanted the man who lay across town in Intensive Care with two bullet holes and a life that was slowly slipping away. She wanted the man that she loved, and that wasn't him anymore.

He held her until the shaking stopped. When she drew away from him, Jack moved behind her. He prodded her toward the shower. "Get cleaned up," he told her. "I'll get rid of all this." Her head tilted in acknowledgement, but she said nothing. Jack stooped and gathered the ruined clothing. Into the trash it would go. Even if it could be salvaged, he knew that she would not want a reminder of this day.