8

A/N: It's been over a year since I last updated this and I have to say I am so, so grateful for all the supportive comments I have received ever since. So much has been going on in my real life that I simply didn't find the inspiration to write. I promise that I will try to be better about finishing this story. Particularly in these hard times after Sharon has been killed off on the show. Whether we agree with it or not, whether it was good writing or a cheap cop out, whether we are angry with the producer of not, just remember: It is fiction and for that, fanfiction is just as real (or unreal) as anything we saw on screen. I hope this story helps to gets people's mind off things and makes us all a little happier. Please don't forget to tell me what you think! I love reading your comments and hearing your theories.

As much as Andy wished for things to be different, the night in their bedroom had left a residue. A residue of lust for Sharon that - much worse - also manifested in a lingering feeling of affection laced with just enough regret for sleep to remain elusive. Having reread the string of messages he had exchanged with the unknown number for the umpteenth time and then having resorted to tossing and turning in his empty bed, he rose to make his way downstairs. Creeping along the corridor on his tiptoes so he would not disturb Sharon and Paddy, he found that it was quite unnecessary as there was a small strip of light under the door of the guest bedroom. Still intent on not making his presence known, he paused in front of it and listened hard to pick up the small sounds that were audible through the wood. Sobs. Deep and heartfelt, but clearly muffled by what must be a sleeve or a pillow. A pang of guilt struck him when he heard it, heard Sharon Raydor cry. Sharon Raydor, who could take anything and everything without as much as batting an eyelash, was sobbing her heart out in his guest room.

Before he had a chance to consider what it was he wanted to do - ignore her or go in and take her in his arms - she groaned softly. Whether it was that strangled groan or the crying itself he didn't know, but it launched him right into a memory. This time it wasn't as real as it had been before. He didn't feel thrown into the middle of a situation. Instead, an unbidden image entered his mind. He'd been behind a door like this before, his hand on the handle, ready to barge in. There was a certain urgency to overcome the barrier it represented, to be inside. Inside with Sharon, he now understood. The image in his mind was like a photograph. He couldn't turn and see his surroundings, could hear nothing but Sharon's noises of agony. The door looked different than the ones in his house, more institutional. Grey hard plastic, not white wood. A sign next to the door that he couldn't read. He heard the sound again, then a soft voice, coaxing Sharon.

"You're doing fine, Sharon. The baby is doing fine as well. The heart rate is perfectly normal."

Sharon's reply was hoarse, as if she was completely exhausted and in pain.

"Were you able to reach my husband? Or my friend I came in with?"

"Andy."

The picture became a scene, he smelled antiseptics, heard the bustle of a busy hospital, inhaled the stuffy air of a corridor with too many doors and no windows. He turned around and saw linoleum and white walls, found the woman he now knew as Patrice approaching him with a worried look in her eyes, addressing him sternly. "There is something we need to do."

He looked back at the door, his desire to go in and be by Sharon's side pulling at his heartstrings.

He snapped out of the memory and found himself in the present, still standing in the darkness of his own house. He knew that he hadn't gone in all those years ago. Why hadn't he gone in?

Downstairs, he pondered the half-empty bottle of white wine that he had discovered in the door of the fridge. The glass wet with condensation, it looked both tantalizing and mocking. Bourbon would have been his drug of choice, of course, but it seemed that they did not in fact have a liquor cabinet.

Sharon Raydor had become human to him in the course of the few days that made up the entirety of his recent memories. The tables had shifted. Where he had once been comfortable in his hatred of her, he was now on the brink of despising himself for failing her. And failed her he had. He had left her alone during a crucial time in her life and then lied to her about it. If what he had experienced upstairs had been a memory, then he had been there at the hospital while she was in labor, had been on his way to her, but had then decided otherwise. What was it Patrice had to do with it? What could have been that important? Their son's godmother? The woman Sharon was so grateful to for her role in it all? He felt cold when suddenly his eye was drawn from the fridge light to a bright little spot in the otherwise dark kitchen.

His heart sank when he found the unknown number flashing across his phone's illuminated screen. He didn't allow himself to weigh his options before he grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear.

"What the hell do you want?" he barked. „I'm not giving you any money!"

The voice on the other end was silky, like the purring of a small cat in his ear, and yet there was enough venom in it to make him shudder inwardly.

"I want you to acknowledge me. I want you to tell your wife the truth about us."

His heart sank, his stomach spasmed. In his mind, he shouldn't have owed Sharon a thing. For all he knew, she was the Wicked Witch from FID and yet he felt a wave of shame knocking him off his feet and crashing on top of him. Fighting the current that was threatening to pull him under, he gasped, his fingers clasped hard around the phone.

"Tell her what truth? There is no truth."

There was a small laugh at the other end. One that reminded him of the Sharon Raydor he knew, yet was completely different. Not teasing but cruel.

"Of course you wouldn't know, would you." The honey tones took on a teasing edge. "How convenient that you have lost your memories. Playing the devoted husband and daddy over dinner when you've been lying to her for years."

And swallowed. His throat was dry.

"About what?" he asked, even though he already knew. He needed to hear it, needed to be hit in the face with the ugliness of what he had done.

"About us, Andrew. About what we are, what we've had, what we will be."

"We had an affair?" His voice was hoarse and low, his breath ragged.

"Oh yes of course", Keisha said. "One hell of an affair."

There was nothing else he needed to hear, no more he could take. Andy ended the call and lowered the phone, his hand finding the neck of the bottle inside the still open fridge. The glass was cold and wet. Comforting. He would take a drink. Finish the bottle and then see whether there was anything else he could have.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He almost dropped the bottle, his fingers slipping, then being steadied by Sharon's hand. Her face was bare of make-up, her hair tousled, her eyes red but alert. They looked more green than usual even in the semi-darkness of the kitchen.

"How long have you been standing there?" Andy asked, fully aware of what a terrible cliche he was.

"Long enough." Sharon's eyes were veiled as she took the bottle from him, placed it back in the fridge and closed it decisively. Without looking at him again, she switched on the lights and filled the kettle with water. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Andy found himself imagining that the rushing of the water from the tap could drown out his thoughts.

Once the water had started to brew, Sharon turned back around, her arms folded protectively in front of her chest. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, found himself mute, unable to come up with one of his usual retorts.

"Keisha is troubled", Sharon said softly. "You wouldn't know because you don't remember her, but she often comes up with stories that aren't true."

The dread was still there, but the heaviness on his chest seemed to lift a little.

"Yeah?" he blinked. "So you think she might have made it all up? The affair and all?"

Sharon nodded slowly. "Keisha does this all the time. You have amnesia. You're the perfect victim. She usually gets called on her lies pretty quickly."

Andy shook his head. "Why do we tolerate her then?"

"Because she is family, Andy. She isn't evil, she is mentally ill and she can't help herself." Sharon took two mugs from the shelf and placed them on the counter. She looked drained but not angry.

"So…" he hesitated, unsure of whether he could actually ask her what he wanted to ask her, then deciding that it would make no difference. "So you trust me?"

She turned around and smiled. "Of course I trust you, Andy."

So she did trust him. More so than he did himself.

"She is too young for me to have an affair with her." He laughed nervously. "But I am quite an asshole. I wouldn't put it past me."

Her reaction to his heartfelt statement surprised him. It was a humorous smirk that lit up her face and looked very sexy on her. The fire in his belly was reignited and he found himself not questioning why this other him would be with her any longer. Not physically and perhaps not emotionally as well. His ex-wife had never trusted him further than she could throw him, even before he had started drinking. He wasn't used to anyone putting their trust in him in a private capacity. He was used to being regarded as irresponsible and careless. The fact that Sharon was this firm in her belief in him touched a part inside of him that hadn't been touched in a very long time. If ever.

"Andy, I know you don't remember the past few years, but you are certainly not an asshole. An idiot at times, sure, but you are not an asshole."

Before she could stop herself, or so he assumed, she reached out her hand and cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes, reveling in the soft touch.

"I keep thinking of how terrible it is for me to have lost the man I've been with those past few years, but I guess I should also consider how hard it must be for you."

He opened his eyes, surprised. "For me?"

"For all you know, you have woken up in a parallel universe where you are married to a woman you hate. That can't be easy on you either." She gave him a sad smile and his heart swelled.

"I don't hate you", he said, never considering whether it was true. It just seemed the right thing to say.

"That's good to hear," she replied. "Thank you."

"No really," he said. "You are extraordinary, Sharon. I don't think I've ever been trusted that much by anyone."

"Even yourself," she said softly. "I'll talk to Patrice about Keisha's call, okay? She usually gets her to stop when she is doing this."

Andy thought of Patrice in the hospital corridor, calling him back from the door of the delivery room. He thought of the text messages he had received that hinted at some sort of secret Keisha was keeping for him. If it was not an affair, which he still wasn't wholly convinced it wasn't, it was something else. Something Sharon didn't know about. Whatever secret was buried in the past, he found himself suddenly eager to shield her from it. For her own good and to make sure that her trust in him did not get shattered. There was something very comforting about knowing that she was always on his side and he wanted to hold on to that.

"I'll talk to Patrice myself," he told her. "Now let's go to bed," he added softly, turning off the stove and gently putting an arm around her hips. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the silky fabric.

She looked up at him with longing in her eyes.

"You're right. I guess we should get some sleep."

They climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor together, pausing in front of Paddy's door. Their son was sleeping peacefully, his breaths deep and regular. In the soft light of the night light he looked like an angel.

They exchanged a smile that was awkward but held the echo of a forgotten intimacy.

"Good night," Sharon said.

"Good night," he replied. "And thank you for keeping me from having that wine. That would have been a mistake." Before he could decide that it was the wrong thing to do, he leaned into her and softly kissed her cheek. When he drew back, he saw that she had blushed. Without another word, she vanished behind the door of the guest room.

"You and Keisha?" Provenza snorted. „That hit over the head must be been much harder than we all thought."

It felt good to be mocked by Provenza. Familiar. Comforting.

"That's what she said," he said sourly. "It's not as if I could prove you otherwise."

The old man rolled his eyes and pulled at his hat. "Look, if I weren't on my way to a crime scene, I'd tell you in detail why I think that this is total bullshit. However, since our fearless leader is currently on sick leave because he can't remember a damn thing, I am incident commander."

Andy was still surprised every time someone referred to him as the boss of Major Crimes. It still seemed too outlandish to be true.

"How did that come about anyway?" he blurted out. "Who in their right mind would put me in charge of anything other than the office christmas party?"

Provenza downed the rest of his take away coffee in one go, his eye on the car clock. "Yeah, that's what half of the LAPD thought, too. The half that didn't see you with Sharon."

It was still weird to have Provenza refer to her by her given name. He seemed to hold a certain adoration for her that Andy had never seen in him, not even for any of his numerous ex-wives. If not for Patrice, he would have expected Provenza to have fallen hard for their former nemesis. The mere thought of that made him feel jealous, which in turn made him feel ridiculous and slightly anxious. What had become of him?

"Sharon," he said. "Do you remember what it was that kept me from being with her when Paddy was born?"

"Funny you'd ask me that," Provenza said. "Back then I kept nagging you about it. I mean, she wasn't even close to her due date, but how can you put your phone on silent when you have a pregnant wife at home? High-risk and all." He rolled his eyes.

Andy's heart sank. Whatever the big secret was, Provenza wasn't in on it. "Sharon said it was a case, but what exactly it was didn't seem important to her at the time."

Provenza snorted again, but didn't interrupt Andy.

"If it was a case, wouldn't you have been there as well?"

"I was out of town," Provenza said. "One of my useless grandkids got into trouble and I had to drive up to San Francisco to get them out of it."

"Ah," Andy said, disappointed and worried at the same time. If Provenza didn't know, then how bad was it? How and why would he keep a secret between Provenza's girlfriend, her granddaughter and himself? Did he have that affair after all and why would Patrice still speak to him if it was the case? Could he trust Patrice? He certainly couldn't trust Keisha, that much he knew for sure.

"Now get out of the car and get your head checked. Sharon's gonna pick you up later," Provenza said, cruelly reveling in the fact that he was treating his old friend like a kid he was parenting along with Sharon.

"Yeah," Andy groused. "As if there was anything new the doctors could tell me."

Getting out of the car, he realized that he had to talk to Patrice, had to get to the bottom of this. And he had to regain his memories in order to find out if what he was suspecting was true: He had a lot to fight for. If there was a big secret, and there certainly was, he had to find out what it was and whether there was any way to clean it up. He owed as much to Sharon.

And that statement alone was enough to make him question his sanity.