FIC: The Hiatus ~ Chapter 2

[bugsfic]

Title: The Hiatus ~ Chapter Two
Author: bugs
Rating: T+: Salty cop talk and adult concepts
Pairing: Sharon/OC, Sharon/Flynn UST, Sharon, Rusty
Spoilers: Through season 1 of Major Crimes
Summary: Sharon must deal with her past as her everyday responsibilities call for her attention.

~*~
Chapter 2:

Sharon fished around at the very back of her desk drawer and found one stray butterscotch candy which Fritz Howard had missed when he collected his wife's stash. She'd seen it every time she'd reached for a pen, but had resisted its siren call until now.

She acknowledged that she was stressed as she popped the candy in her mouth and glared through the blind slats to the squad room, where her force was trying not to look her way with little success.

Thankfully she'd been out in the field on their new case most of the day; there was too much necessary while coordinating the investigation for gossiping to begin.

But now they were back in the squad room, greasy take-out lunch bags were being chucked in the garbage, ties loosened, or in the case of Sykes, her blazer was shed, and lips started to flap. One by one, they were drifting past Flynn's desk and then their gaze would lift to look through her window, only to dart away when she glared back.

This was exactly the sort of unprofessionalism she'd wanted to avoid in her career...And had succeeded ever since Nick Raydor and his overpriced luggage had caught a plane to New York City. He was tucked away in a corner of her life like his dirty Nikes and faded jeans had been moved into the back of the guest room's closet for his few, limited visits to the West Coast. She sucked hard on the candy, giving herself a sharp sugar rush.

Louie Provenza stopped by Flynn's desk. "What the hell's wrong with you and Raydor today?" he growled. "You've been a rude asshole and she's been a snippy bitch--at least more snippy than usual."

Flynn hunched his shoulders and didn't look up at Provenza. "Nothin' wrong with me," he muttered. "Couldn't say for the captain."

"Let's see...Couldn't be our case. Just another missing pretty young white woman," mused Provenza, leaning on Flynn's desk. "Sadly all too common in this squad--"

"I just think," burst out Flynn, "that we've been doin' pretty good here, considering all the changes that have happened in the last year. We've got a smoothly running unit, and I'd hate to see that fucked up!"

The older man's bushy eyebrows rose. "And what would be fucking that up?" he asked, glancing around the room.

Sanchez had been reading through his notes, but looked up to shrug.

Tao, who had been examining the dregs in the office coffee carafe with suspicion, shrugged as well. They'd all tried stopping by Andy's desk to find out what had put a burr up his ass today, with no success. No one had dared to storm the ramparts of their captain's office, though. Their failure didn't stop the most seasoned investigator on the squad; he would get to the bottom of things.

Provenza rubbed his chin. "Let's see. You picked up the boss and the kid this morning--"

Andy began shuffling his files rapidly, still not making eye contact.

Hooting, Provenza asked, "What, did you find a big ol' man in our maiden queen's bed?"

Flynn tried to control his expression, but couldn't.

Clutching his chest, Provenza gasped: "Holy shit!"

Even Sykes, who'd been pretending to work, cocked her head. Buzz hurried from across the room to hear better.

They all tried to not look toward Raydor's office, but unfortunately, once an impulse is there, it couldn't be stopped. Six sets of eyes swung up, just in time to see Raydor move to the window and snap her blinds shut.

"Do tell," Tao said silkily, being the first to find speech after Flynn's shocking confirmation.

"It wasn't some man," Andy insisted. "It was her husband. That's all. Her husband's back."

Shoulders slumped. That wasn't such titillating news after all. Squad members wandered away, but Provenza remained. The old hunter still smelled blood.

"So what's he like?" he asked innocently.

"Like?" Flynn shrugged. "I dunno. A man."

"Tall man, fat man, old man?" peppered Provenza. "You're a cop; give a description."

"Just not the kinda guy I'd imagine her with, that's all." Andy turned his back to face his computer screen.

Provenza leaned over his shoulder and murmured in his ear. "Really? And just what sort of man were you imaging her with?"

Flynn's "Fuck off," was succinct and to the point, but before the discussion could continue further, Rusty arrived from school, dragging his book bag behind him.

"Is she in a meeting?" he asked, motioned to Sharon's closed window blinds.

"I believe she was seeking some privacy," Buzz informed him. "Why don't you have a seat here?" he said, pointing to a spare desk.

The squad began to reform, drifting closer to the young man as he pulled his school books out.

"So..." said Tao. "Anything new these days?"

Rusty looked up at the expectant faces above. "Uh..."

Sharon's door flung open. "Rusty," she barked. "Get in here."

Everyone else hurried back to their desks. "Yes, I believe there's a new case to work," she pronounced with sarcastic approval. "I will be out in ten minutes and expect a full update."

"Yes, ma'am," said Flynn coldly. "We'll have everything in order."

Sharon shut the door sharply behind Rusty, who dumped his hastily gathered books on a table.

"You can study in here," she said.

"So they wouldn't pumped me?"

"Were they trying?"

"I think so," he admitted.

"Dammit to hell. Damn that man," she growled.

"Listen, Sharon, if he's bad news, you should get a restraining order or something--"

She gave a ragged laugh. "No Rusty, he's not that sort of bad news. He's..." She said no more until an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

She made a tight smile. "Good day at school?"

He tried again. "Sharon--"

Her cell phone rang. Unable to disguise her relief, she dug it out and answered without looking at the identity.

"Captain Raydor."

"I thought you didn't answer the phone for unidentified calls."

"What you want, Nick?"

"What time will you be home?"

"What the hell?" she muttered, but then had to wave off Rusty as he came closer, concerned.

"The kid gets home from school soon, doesn't he?"

She stared at the phone as though it was biting her. Putting it back to her ear, she said, "If it's any of your business, he comes to the headquarters after school until I'm free. Then we go home together."

"Is that good for him? To sit around that squad room for hours a week?"

She was fairly certain her head was going to explode at any moment. "It's none of your business--"

"Listen, I'll come pick him up."

"I thought you were going to be so busy. Working late seven days a week."

"A witness on our disposition list flaked. I'm free. Going to lease a car and then I'll pick Rusty up."

She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off--but then she looked at Rusty, who'd sat at the table and was trying to sort through his schoolbooks, all while giving her worried looks.

"Okay," she finally said. "We're on the eighteenth floor--"

"I can find your squad," he said with annoying confidence. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

The ever hungry teenager's head shot up.

"Yeah, I'll cook somethin'."

"The New Yorker remembers how to cook?"

"I miss it. I miss a lot of things about our old life," he said, his voice low.

"We'll see you in an hour then," she said, cutting him off from any more confessions.

Nick sounded like he was making notes. "Eighteenth floor--"

Sharon stared at the closed blinds. "Actually, give another call when you're downstairs. It'll just be easier if Rusty meets in you at the curb. No parking issues."

His familiar chuckle, intimate and infuriating at the same time, came through her phone. He knew what she was hoping to avoid.

"Call," she warned and disconnected without saying goodbye.

"You're going to make me go with that guy?" Rusty asked as soon as she ended the call.

"He's offering you a ride home, Rusty," she explained. "It's not conducive to your studies to hang around here. You're exposed to--"

"What, bad things?" he said sarcastically.

"You can call me if he's being a pain," Sharon told the young man. "But go home, do your homework, eat a hot dinner, not something I've nuked in three minutes--"

"I'm sure he'll treat me like a son," Rusty grumbled petulantly.

She stared back at him. A thousand thoughts tore through her mind like windblown leaves. Finally she said, "Do your homework," and left the office for her briefing.

Despite his best efforts to talk Sharon out of it, Rusty found himself in an low slung Audi coupe, speeding toward her condo with Nick Raydor.

"I'm gonna stop at the store. You need anything?" asked Nick.

"We've got plenty of food," protested Rusty.

"I'm sure she doesn't have a six pack of Dos Equis tucked in the back of the fridge."

"You drink?" Rusty asked disagreeably.

Nick raised his eyebrows but didn't take his eyes off the road. "I have a beer after work, yes."

Rusty stared out the window They were driving down Sunset. There was Corey, still on the same corner...Jake had a new leather jacket...

He focused on his hands twisting in his lap. "Stop at the store. I don't care."

But once they got home, Nick Raydor didn't settle on the couch with a beer and his case files as Rusty expected.

"Let's get some sweats on and grab a basketball," he suggested.

Rusty watched the older man head into his bedroom. "Huh?" He trailed after Nick, fretful at the invasion of his space.

"My stuff should still be here," grumbled Nick, pushing through Rusty's clothes in the closet.

"Yeah, there's some of your things back there." Rusty craned his neck, nervous to see someone going through his belongings.

Nick quickly found what he wanted. "There's dust on this ball," he said accusingly. "Don't you ever take it out?"

Rusty held out his arms. "Do I look like a basketball player?" He looked over Nick. "And you don't either," he added rudely.

Nick tossed the ball toward the boy, who bobbled it but managed to hang on.

"It's all in the heart, not the body," he said, "Meet you at the front door in five."

Rusty groaned, but reached for the dresser drawer holding his gym clothes.

The condo complex had a half basketball court and two tennis courts, as well as a workout gym. No one was on the basketball court in the evening gloom, the October weather putting a cold snap to the air.

"Don't play basketball much," grumbled Rusty, wanting to clarify what his skill level would be. This old guy probably thought he could beat up the kid's ass and show who was in charge here. His first foster father had been like that.

Nick dribbled around, finding his rhythm. "Damn, haven't played ball in at least ten years," he said, joy in his voice. "Used to go to the park down the street from my co-op. Bunch of old fat men talking smack and clanking the rim. But after about four heart attacks, the gang sorta broke up." His grin was wide under his thick mustache and his dark eyes twinkled at Rusty.

The boy shrugged, trying not to laugh at the mental image. Nick had bowed legs under his long shorts and his loose shirt didn't disguise his stout trunk. Maybe he could take this old guy....Rusty moved in, trying to steal the ball--

With surprising quickness, Nick pivoted away and took a shot at the basket. Sure enough, it hit the rim and bounced back toward Rusty, who took possession.

Nick stayed an arm length away but ready to block his shot. "Nice attempt at taking me down last night," he said smoothly.

Rusty craned his neck, trying to see around the older man's bulk to get his shot. "Yeah, thanks," he said dryly. "Too bad Sharon gave me shit about it on the way to school."

"As she should. I could have killed you," Nick said. "But I'm glad to see you've got Sharon's back."

Perversely, Rusty switched points of view. "She doesn't need some man to take care of her," he protested and took the opportunity to chuck the ball at the basket.

It missed by a mile and bounced off the chain link fence, back into Nick's waiting hands.

"Of course not," he agreed. "But even cops have partners. Loner cops end up as dead cops."

"Were you a cop too?" Rusty moved to block the basket from Nick's charge.

The older man stepped back, dribbling as he checked for a good shot. "Nope. Just listened to a lot of shop talk while being married to one. My best friend was Sharon's old partner--he knew what I expected of him."

The dark gaze bored into Rusty again and the boy stood taller. Nick slipped past him to try for a lay-up. It rolled around the rim tantalizingly, but didn't fall in. Rusty made the recovery and darted to the back of the court to try for a three pointer.

"Sharon knows I've got some good moves," he grumbled more to himself than Nick. "I coulda taken you if she hadn't come along." He gave the other man an unfriendly look. "The case I'm a witness on, I held my own with a serial killer who'd killed like, tons of woman." He tried for his shot and it rebounded off the backstop, right back into his hands. He dribbled and considered the elusive basket again.

Nick put his hands on his hips. "She's got a point. Someone who victimizes young woman, children, hookers, they choose those people because they're weak and can't defend themselves. A sociopath is dangerous because they can't feel empathy for anyone, but they're nothing more than a coward." He moved forward, blocking the basket. "Now me...I'm a trained killer. I wouldn't do it for a thrill and to feel control. I do it to survive and you grabbing me in the dark wasn't going to end well."

Rusty laughed, but the sound was high and nervous. "What the hell--"

"A Marine in Vietnam, son." Nick charged forward and neatly stole the ball from Rusty's slack grip. "Just a couple years older than you." But when he tried to make a fade-away shot, it fell short. "Shit," he muttered.

Rusty took possession and turned away, dribbling on the edge of the court, watching the older man from the corner of his eye. He'd call bullshit on the trained killer thing, but there was something matter of fact in the way Nick had said it, and the tired resignation in his drooping eyes.

In that blank gaze, Rusty saw the difference. The nudge of Philip Stroh's erection against his back as he'd held Rusty tight to him with a knife to his throat...It had been very different from Nick's solid grip on his neck the night before. Phillip wanted to kill him; would enjoy doing it. Nick would have done it because he had to and probably would have gotten drunk afterward.

And then the moment of understanding was gone. Nick moved in close, putting a hand on Rusty's back to keep the boy from turning toward the basket. His voice was low. "I take care of my own. No one's going to take advantage of my wife. Nice cell phone you've got. Who's paying the bill? Two hundred dollar sneakers; who bought those? Is that the outline of a laptop I see in your backpack?"

Rusty wheeled to face him. "You don't know shit about me--" he spit out. "I didn't even want to stay with Sharon! So she's given me some things--"

"That's how the con always works." Nick pressed closer, hissing in Rusty's ear. "Never act like you want it."

"I didn't want it!" Rusty insisted. "I wanted to live with my real mom!" He kept the ball tucked under his arm to protect it.

Nick took on a more conciliatory tone. "Listen, I came from the streets. I had my hustles. FIgure you did too."

"I doubt my hustle was like yours," Rusty sneered, looking Nick up and down. The thought of him standing on Sunset was ridiculous.

The hard gaze softened, and in horror, Rusty realized that Nick somehow knew about his past. Sharon wouldn't have told him; she couldn't have--

"We both survived, that's the important part," Nick said. "Sharon's tough as nails, but I know from experience, she's got a thing for wounded bad boys. Sort of her blind spot--"

"And you think I'll hurt her like you must have?"

Nick's grin was rueful. "Something like that."

Rusty took the older man's inattention as a opportunity and quickly fired off another shot, but it bounced off the rim again. "Shit," he growled.

"Yeah, screw this," Nick agreed. "Let's bag it and hit the showers. Gotta get dinner made before the ol' lady gets home."

Rusty nodded in agreement, and followed Nick's wide back toward Sharon's building, the night sky now as inky black above the city's yellow glow.

"I won't, you know," he said to the thick head of sweaty hair before him going up the stairs.

Nick didn't look over his shoulder. "We'll see," he said, and Rusty heard that world-weary tone again. He bit back any retort.

Sharon took careful bites of the pasta Nick had prepared, needing swallows of water to force down the food which seemed dry as sawdust despite the creamy sauce.

Rusty kept darting his gaze between Nick and her, but chomped through his dinner with his usual efficiency.

Nick chatted blandly while taking swigs from his bottle of beer. "--So should be going to trial by next Wednesday," he finished his story.

"How long do you expect the trial to take?" she asked.

"They could always offer a settlement," he told her, "but unless it's for the ten million we're asking, I'm not going to let the client settle."

"Gotta wring every penny out for your half, right?"

"Yep," he said, unrepentant.

"Done," Rusty announced. He jumped up and took his plate to the sink. "Guess I need to get going on my homework."

"I can drop you at school tomorrow," said Nick, "no need for Sharon to take the time."

She ground her teeth at his usual slick moves, but gave a short nod.

"Thanks," Rusty said, uncertain. "Goodnight then."

They both murmured, "goodnight," as the boy headed to his bedroom. Nick collected her half-eaten plate without asking and took it with his to the sink.

Sharon waited until she was sure Rusty had closed his bedroom door. "Nick," she said.

"Yeah?" He didn't turn to face her as he scraped off the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

"I want a divorce."

End ~ Chapter 2