Our Last Dance

by Kate04

So this is it, my first Major Crimes story. The first story I've written since my muse figured out it didn't like Star Trek: Voyager anymore. I'm still struggling with these character's voices, so it's a little rocky. I figured actually writing would help.

This story was a way of procrastination, really. The original idea was to finish a Sharon/Andy story I've been working on. :/ Anyway, it's not beta-read, because I haven't quite figured out how to acquire a beta in this fandom (anyone interested?), so all mistakes are my own.

"She laid her heart and soul right in your hands

And you stole her every dream and crushed her plans

She never even knew she had a choice

And that's what happens when the only voice she hears is telling her she can't

You stupid boy"

― Keith Urban

Jackson Raydor had always been good at getting under her skin. In the beginning of their relationship, more than thirty years ago, his charm, his easy smiles, his frequent jokes and those sparkling eyes had created an amazing, never-ending giddiness inside her that had made life seem easy for many years. The sacrifices she had made for him and their relationship had not seemed to matter at all in light of the happiness he gave her. She had gladly put off her plans for a career as a lawyer for him. She had been filled with confidence in the future of their relationship back then.

As the years went by she had learned that charm didn't pay the bills, charm didn't feed their children and charm certainly didn't keep her warm during those lonely nights. With her husband spending his nights in bars and later entire weeks in casinos Sharon had learned that charm wasn't a very reliable thing at all. At some point she'd had enough of him spreading his charm and their collective income at every bar and casino within a thousand miles and had tossed him out of their family home; the same home she had only been able to hold on to with considerable assistance by her parents. She was still embarrassed about that, even years after having paid them back every cent they'd lend her.

Untangling their finances had taken many years and a lot of Gavin's legal genius. Shutting him out of her life completely, however, was something she had yet to accomplish.

Being the father of her children and, at least on paper, still her husband he occasionally blew into her life like a storm causing chaos and confusion before he vanished again.

It was like a well-rehearsed choreography. He would show up out of the blue, act as if he had never been gone and somehow manage to make himself at home before she even had a chance to realise what was going on.

In all those years he had never once asked her how she was feeling. Well, he always asked how she was doing, but never with any real sincerity. At first she had tried to impress upon him the devastation he had left behind, both financially and emotionally. She had tried to make him understand that he had responsibilities he couldn't just run away from, if not to her then at least to his children. All that had ever gotten her were endless lectures on how difficult she was being and if only she were a little more spontaneous and a little more relaxed about everything… Depending on the amount of alcohol he'd had before their arguments he would be more or less diplomatic about it. No matter how self-assured one was and how certain one was to be right, there were only so many times one could take being called a frigid old bitch with a stick up her backside so far it should come out of her nose without starting to believe it on some subconscious level. Untangling herself from that emotional mess had taken more therapy sessions and therapeutic shopping tours with Gavin than she could remember. Her extensive wardrobe had not appeared out of nowhere, after all.

For a while they hadn't had any contact at all beyond the written reminders she sent him twice a year so he wouldn't forget his children's birthdays. Then one day he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, all sweetness and smiles and lofty promises of being sober and wanting to be a better father and maybe fixing things between them. She had believed him, mostly for the children's sake. He had managed to charm his way from the couch into her bedroom in a matter of days and for a few days she had believed it could actually work out. When she had cautiously broached the subject of him contributing financially to the upkeep of his family he had vanished again, only leaving a short letter in which he professed is profound regret over the fact that she apparently couldn't let go of the past. She had stared at the note in disbelieve for a long while, feeling completely numb. Then she had taken a deep breath, sat her children down and told them how Daddy wouldn't be coming home tonight. Later, after she had dried her children's tears and calmed them down enough to sleep, she had gone through her evening ritual – a glass of white wine, reading her mail, removing her makeup, brushing her hair out and changing into her nightgown after carefully putting away her clothes. Then she had curled up under her covers and cried herself to sleep.

Standing in her living room now, another of Jack's letters in her hands, Sharon could still remember how it had felt that first time, ten years ago. Between then and now they had gone through this little ritual more often than she cared to count. The pattern had always been the same, even if the details differed slightly. It had taken him longer to worm his way into her heart each time, as she grew more and more weary of the inevitable heartbreak. Being his naturally exuberant self, he had always ended up wrapping her around his little finger in the end. No matter the circumstances of his appearances, they always ended with her standing in her living room with an envelope in her hand and the distinct feeling of the rug being pulled out from under her. She always ended up berating herself about falling for him again. She should've known better, right? But was it such a bad thing to wish for this to work out, to wish for a happy ending for them? Was it so wrong to long for some company, to want this burning loneliness to go away? At the end of the day it never mattered. He was gone, of course putting the blame for that solely on her, and she ended up feeling even lonelier than she had before his visit.

It had almost happened again this time. He had always managed to make her insides flutter in this wonderful way with a smile and his lost-puppy-expression. No matter how much he had hurt her over the years or how fiercely they had fought, the spark, the intense, breathtaking chemistry they had going between them, had always been there. It had stopped being love long ago, but they still cared. There was still affection and there most certainly was still passion. The impulse to shoot him where it hurt most the moment she found him in her kitchen, nonchalantly putting groceries into her fridge, was just as strong as the impulse to push him against the kitchen counter and pour her anger out in a more passionate way. She had managed to resist both impulses, mostly out of concern for the impact they would have on her career and Rusty's sanity.

Rusty had been the main reason for her refusal to dance their usual dance this time around. She had been tempted more than once. When he had done his little act about the consequences of sleeping on the couch she hadn't been able to hide her reaction. He had always been able to crack her, to make her laugh, to drop her mask. When he had come towards her, smiling that sweet, tender smile of his, she had wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and forget all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

Thoughts of Rusty gave her the strength to turn away from Jack, to stop this vicious cycle of promises, hope, passion, hurt and disappointment. Rusty had spent most of his life with a mother who stumbled from one abusive relationship into the other, leaving him to pick up the pieces. Jack would never lift a finger against her, but Sharon had no illusions about their relationship. It was abusive and, to be fair, Jack wasn't the only one doing the abusing. Between the two of them they had piled up an impressive amount of emotional injuries over the years. The injuries Jack's visits left were far less visible than anything Rusty's mother had experienced at the hands of her various boyfriends and Sharon was very good at hiding the fallout from others. However, Rusty was far more perceptive than most children his age. He would know and it would probably bring back unwelcome memories. He needed emotional stability more than anything else in order to feel secure. She would not threaten this security under any circumstances, certainly not for a few days of not sleeping alone.

Sharon weighed the envelope in her hand as if she could measure the impact its contents would have on her. This would be the part in their usual choreography where she read the note, tried and failed not to let his words and the fact that he'd left her once again hurt her, before she went through her evening ritual at a decidedly too deliberate pace while pushing the tight knot of tears and hurt and loneliness down her throat until she was in the safety of her own bed.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Sharon took a deep breath and decided to end this dance. She hadn't expected the liberating feeling of ripping apart that envelope. She dropped it into the trash bin on her way to the fridge. The knot in her throat was noticeably smaller than usual and she thought that, for the first time in twenty years, she wouldn't have to cry herself to sleep over Jack's disappearance.

Sharon almost dropped the bottle when Rusty suddenly spoke behind her. When had he gotten home and how had she managed to miss that?

"So, Jack's gone again?" His voice sounded strained in a way that told her how very hard he tried to keep it neutral. There was neither disappointment nor relief in it and for a moment she wondered how he felt about the entire situation. She focused on pouring a glass of wine without letting him see her slightly trembling hands. He had startled her, after all. Her answer was a very low hum to which he did not react for a moment. He just looked at her. She knew without turning around, because she could feel his eyes on her. It was a little unsettling, because it was usually her who did the silent studying.

After another moment he spoke again, hesitation evident in his voice this time.

"Are you, like, sad that he's gone?"

Sharon stared into her glass for a few seconds. Was she sad that he was gone? She was a little surprised at the answer she found and it might have shown on her face when she turned around and gave him a gentle smile.

"No, Rusty, I'm not sad he's gone." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she walked past him on her way to the sofa. Her thoughts briefly returned to the note she hadn't read and she wondered if her time on the dance floor with Jack had finally ended for good. Maybe it was time to start a new dance to her own melody.

From her place on the sofa she fixed her foster son with a searching look, noticing for the first time since he had sneaked up on her that something other than Jack's absence was on his mind. She patted the sofa cushion next to her. "Now, why don't you sit down with me and tell me about your dinner?"