Fic: A Taste of Home (Raydor/Fritz)
Title: A Taste of Home
Author: afrakaday
Rating: M
Word count: 7500
A/N: Thanks to rococoms for research assistance and nixmom for the read-through. Spoilers through The Closer 7x20, “Armed Response,” and Major Crimes 1.02, “Before and After” (kinda)
Summary: An unusual convergence of circumstances allows Sharon and Fritz to experience a brief, if unsettling, illusion of normalcy.
“Damn it.” Sharon slid a spatula under a test specimen and visually confirmed what her sense of smell had already informed her: she’d burned the cookies.
She bundled up the sheet of parchment containing a dozen inedible chocolate chip cookies and tossed it in the trash with a groan. As she started spooning out the remaining batter, she resolved to set the timer for seven minutes instead of ten. Baking had never really been her strong suit, but she’d thought her kids might appreciate their old after-school favorite. She’d once had the recipe memorized. This time she had needed to check each measurement twice.
She set the tray in the oven, set the timer, and allowed herself to lick the spoon before depositing it in the sink. She had just begun washing up some of the dishes when one of her two phones vibrated on the windowsill. The ringtone that followed told her it could only be one person.
Smiling, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked it up. “Why hello,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“How’s Atlanta?”
“The funeral was tough. I actually got back to LA last night. Had a break in a case I needed to follow up on. Brenda’s supposed to stay with Clay and her brothers for a few more weeks.”
Sharon hummed sympathetically. “I was so saddened to hear of Willie Rae’s passing, Fritz. She was a lovely woman.”
“Well, she was the glue that kept that family together, that’s for sure.” He paused. “So I’m all alone in an empty house...”
“Mmmhmm.” Sharon walked over to the oven and peered through the window; the cookies were spreading out, gooey and pale. “I’m not.”
“Alone?”
“Right.”
An awkward silence passed before he finally spoke. “Well, that’s unusual,” he teased. “Does that mean we can’t get together?”
“Likely not.” She leaned against the counter and surveyed the messy kitchen. Homemade pasta hung drying on racks and flour covered the space where she’d rolled out and cut it. A small box containing tomatoes and fresh herbs from the morning farmer’s market sat next to the fridge, waiting to be turned into marinara sauce. “My kids got in last night. They’re here for a visit before they head to Cabo San Lucas with friends tomorrow.”
“Come on, Sharon. You can’t sneak away for an hour? Maybe after they go to sleep tonight?” A hint of pleading crept into his tone.
“Excuse me, sneak away? No, I don’t think so.” She’d never been to Fritz’s house, and she didn’t intend to start now. “And anyway, they’re twenty-eight and twenty-six, not eight and six.” She opened the oven to check the cookies again and triumphantly pulled out the lightly browned treats, setting the tray over a wire rack to cool. They’d be chewy, the way Brad liked them. “Sorry, Fritz. But that’s a rather insane suggestion on your part.”
“Well, I’ll be here by my lonesome, doing paperwork, if you change your mind.”
“You can come here after Sara and Brad leave. How’s that?” She carefully loosened each cookie from the tray with her spatula.
“Tomorrow, then?”
The sound of liquid being poured caught her attention and spurred her to action without answering his question. “Gotta go!” she said in an uncharacteristically squeaky voice, before shaking hands snapped the phone shut. Dropping it into her apron pocket, she turned away from the cookies to face her daughter.
“Good morning,” Sharon said, trying to ignore the feeling that she’d just been caught.
"Morning, mother." Sara Raydor smirked into her steaming coffee, and Sharon knew she was toast. "So. Who's Fritz?" She reached past Sharon to slide a warm cookie on a paper towel and sat at the breakfast bar expectantly.
“He’s...a friend,” Sharon said.
Sara wasn’t buying Sharon’s evasive response. “Sounds like a pretty good friend,” she said. “Sneak away? He can come over as soon as we’re gone? And here I thought you were so desperate for us to visit.”
“He’s a little lonely right now, that’s all,” said Sharon, thinking of how disappointed he’d sounded when she’d said she wasn’t alone. “Just like I was before the two of you decided to grace me with your presence on your way to Cabo.”
“Who’s lonely?” a deep male voice interrupted from the living room. “Mom?”
Sharon watched her son rise from the couch where he’d been sleeping and walk stiffly into the conversation, his light brown hair sticking up in all directions.
“Mom’s friend,” Sara informed her brother as he sat down next to her. “Because she can’t come over to his place tonight, since we’re here.”
Brad Raydor did a double take. “You have a friend? Like, a gentleman friend?”
Sharon set a cup of coffee and a cookie in front of her son. “I have friends.”
“Uncle Gavin doesn’t count as a ‘gentleman friend.” Sara rebuffed Sharon’s attempt at deflection. “You’re dating someone!” The equal parts shock and glee in her daughter’s voice made Sharon’s heart ache and her face blush; her children hadn’t lived with her for years, yet they still knew how hopeless her personal life was, even without being privy to the sordid details.
“Oh, honey. I’m a little old to be dating,” she said, not wanting to encourage the topic.
“If you really feel that way, you should know that Dad’s free again. The reality TV chick dumped him,” Brad said. His sister shot him a dirty look but he ignored her, breaking off a piece of the cookie and stuffing it in his mouth. “Got any milk?”
Dutifully, Sharon went to the fridge and poured him a glass. Brad took a long swig and continued. “Anyway, he called me, drunk, from the track a couple of weeks ago. Apparently she was upset that he wouldn’t commit.”
“Couldn’t, without committing bigamy,” Sharon corrected. “And that’s his own damn fault.”
“I don’t think she appreciated the complexity of the situation,” he said, shrugging. "That was my sense, anyway. So what's the deal with your new guy?"
Sharon took her time answering. "He is someone I met through work, though he's not LAPD. We've been, uh...seeing each other...for about six months."
"Really?" Sara's face scrunched up and she ran her hand through her thick chestnut locks in thought. "Were you seeing him before Christmas? I don't remember hearing anything about this guy when we were home last."
"We kind of took a break over the holidays. We were both busy with work and with family obligations."
Sara and Brad looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay. So why aren't you inviting him to dinner tonight so we can meet him?" asked Brad.
"Yeah, Dad makes us meet all his gross girlfriends when we visit him, even though none of them ever last long. If you've been seeing this Fritz guy for months, we should get to meet him," Sara insisted. "Uncle Gavin will be here and you're doing all this cooking, and we know he's free tonight."
Sharon couldn't argue with her daughter's logic. “I’ll give him a call in a bit,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand as if to shield herself from her children’s curious gazes. It was going to be an interesting evening.
* * *
Rifling through the racks of clothing hanging in her walk-in closet, Sharon finally gave in to her indecision and called for help. “Sara? Could you come in here, please?”
Her daughter appeared in the door, blowing on newly painted light blue nails. “What’s up?”
“I can’t decide what to wear,” she admitted. “Fritz usually sees me in either work clothes, or lounge wear. I want to look nice, but not like I’m trying too hard.” She gestured to a selection of garments she’d pulled for consideration hanging along the floor-to-ceiling wire shoe shelves. “Help?”
Sara’s green eyes lit up. “Sure. So I guess you got in touch with him, then.” She surveyed the options critically. “For a casual dinner at home...” She ran her hand over fabrics and inspected tags, nodding at some pieces and grimacing at others. She fixated on a maroon leather pencil skirt, removing it from its hanger and clasping it to her chest. “Oh, my god. Can I have this?”
Sharon shook her head. “I still wear that...occasionally. Buy your own.”
“But this one is so perfect! Vintage Ferragamo! I’d never find anything like it.” Sara stuck out her bottom lip. “Or be able to afford one if I did, you know the philosophy department pays me next to nothing. Please?”
“I guess you can try it on and see if it fits,” Sharon told her daughter. Sara grinned, knowing that was as good as a “yes” as she held it up against her slender hips. Sharon didn’t know why she tried to act like she wouldn’t let her daughter take what she wanted (within reason); Sara’s raiding of Sharon’s closet during rare visits home was as close to mother-daughter bonding as they got these days. That skirt would probably earn her three ten-minute phone calls’ worth of filial toleration. “But first things first. What about tonight?”
"What did you mean about him only seeing you in work clothes?" Sara asked. "Don't you go on dates? I would have thought you’d make him go to the ballet or theater with you once in a while." Her daughter’s snide tone made clear that she did not approve of Sharon’s perceived coercive efforts, having suffered them herself.
Sharon bit her lip and looked away. Her daughter’s eyes narrowed briefly, but seeing Sharon’s reticence, dropped the subject. “Outfit for tonight?” Sharon said quietly.
“Okay,” Sara announced, willing to focus once more on the task at hand knowing she’d gotten one of the two things she’d wanted. “I think this dress is perfect for you. Far and away the best option of the things you picked out.”
Sharon eyed the wrap dress and nodded in approval. The green, black and white print jersey material moved easily and flattered her figure. Moreover, its low-cut neckline screamed “date,” not “work.”
“Done. Thanks, sweetie.” She started putting the remaining clothing away.
“What about shoes?” Sara asked, turning her head toward the wall of boxes.
“Mmm, I think flats.” Sharon had been on her feet all day, cooking and straightening up her condo, which was a near-impossible proposition on occasions when her slob of a son moved into the living room.
Her daughter looked offended at the mention of flats. “I can’t believe you have all of these heels and don’t wear them.” Sara lovingly ran her fingers across richly textured designer-labeled boxes. “If only I shared your shoe size...”
“Hey, I do wear them. Usually to work,” Sharon defended her extensive shoe collection. “Cut me some slack if I want to wear flats on the weekend.”
“Fine,” Sara said, skimming through a rack of blouses, clearly on the hunt once more, having given up on her Louboutin dreams. “Can I wear this with the skirt tonight?” She held up a black silk sleeveless top.
“Yes. Just make sure you don’t accidentally take it to Mexico with you, hmm?” Sharon kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Now scram. I need to get cleaned up.”
* * *
Gavin, as usual, put himself in charge of the wine, and had already poured generous glasses for himself and the kids when Sharon stepped out of her bedroom and into the living room. “Hi there. I didn’t even hear the intercom.” She leaned down to hug her friend.
“You look lovely, Shar,” he said, kissing her cheek. “The rugrats let me in while you were busy primping.”
“Well, thanks for coming for family dinner,” she responded, smiling. “It’s not often we get a chance to do this.”
“I see the table’s set for five. Please tell me you didn’t invite Vince? I did hear he got dumped by the tartlet,” Gavin said, sotto voce. The kids snickered at Gavin’s mocking of their hapless father.
“Hmm. No, actually, I did not invite Vince, regardless of how much he might have liked that.” Sharon blushed. “Fritz is coming.”
Gavin turned his body away from her children so he could face Sharon directly and let his jaw drop. “What?!” he exclaimed silently. “Fritz?” He gestured urgently at the bare space on the fourth finger on his left hand.
Sharon shrugged helplessly and went to the kitchen. “Excuse me. I just need to find a glass...” But before she could actually pour herself any pinot grigio, the intercom buzzed by the door.
“I’ll get it,” she called toward the living room, her voice unnaturally high.
She opened the door, and the frame was filled by a tall, dark, and handsome man holding a bouquet of calla lilies in the crook of one arm and a bottle of white wine in the other.
“Hi.” She rose up on her toes, finding the distance a lot harder to cover in flats, to give him a brief kiss. “It’s good to see you.”
It had been weeks since they’d last been together, before Brenda’s parents had come to stay once more. Sharon could barely begrudge the separation under the circumstances, but she felt her arousal flare involuntarily at the longed-for proximity to his body.
“Good to see you, too,” he said, lowering his lips back down to hers once more. “These are for you. And I’ll just put this wine in the fridge for you, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. You didn’t have to do that, Fritz,” she said, taking the flowers and gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I got some seltzer for you.”
“See, we know what each other wants to drink. This will be great,” he said, grinning. He slipped his hands around her waist as she arranged the flowers in a water-filled vase. “Thanks for inviting me.”
She finished her task and spun around to face him, covering his hands with her own. Confused for a moment, she ran her thumb over the knuckles of his left hand.
“You took it off?” she asked, pulling the hand away from her body so she could see. “Thank you for doing that, Fritz. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to explaining to my children that the man coming over for dinner is married.”
“Hey, so are you. They’d get over it,” he said lightly. “They must be used to it after all these years.”
“Legally separated,” she reminded him. She glanced around the wall into the living room. “I think some introductions are in order.”
She kept his left hand in hers as she brought him into the living room to stand before the trio giggling into their oversized wine goblets. Sharon narrowed her eyes at Gavin, wondering just what he’d been telling her impressionable children.
Fritz had greeted Gavin with an easy familiarity first and seemed to be just observing her children, looking for resemblances, she supposed. Sara shared Sharon’s eyes and build, but her olive skin tone, straight dark hair, and fiery temper were all Vince. Her son, an ex-football player and former frat boy turned recreational rugby player and PhD candidate in electrical engineering, took after his Irish maternal grandfather. Despite his jock-like appearance and laid-back mien, Sharon knew his mind to be even quicker than his athletic body.
Brad broke the impasse first. “Hey, I’m Brad,” he said, standing and holding his hand out to Fritz. Sharon noticed that he looked down at Fritz’s other hand and thought how shrewd that had been. Her scatterbrained son could be very perceptive, certainly more so than his sister, though she didn’t doubt that they’d been comparing notes about their mother and her mysterious “friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Brad,” Fritz said. He turned to Sara. "Fritz Howard."
"Why hello, Fritz," her daughter flirted, jutting a hip out and leaning in toward him as she sought his hand. Sharon fought back the urge to roll her eyes and stepped between them, offering Fritz the chair opposite the couch. "Have a seat, dinner's nearly ready. Sara, could you give me a hand, please?"
As she dragged Sara into the kitchen, Sharon shot a look over her shoulder, directed at Gavin and her son. Be nice.
* * *
Glancing around the table, Sharon was surprised at how well the impromptu meeting between her kids and lover was going as they tucked into salad, homemade pasta, and fresh-baked bread. She sat at the head of the table, with Fritz to her right and Gavin across from him, Sara next to Fritz and Brad next to Gavin. Gavin’s always-entertaining presence served to diffuse any tension, as did his heavy hand with the wine. The food had all been passed and everyone’s plates were full as Brad tapped his knife against his wine glass and said he had an announcement.
“I want you all to be the first to know that I’ve been accepted for a post-doc program at Caltech,” he said, grinning at Sharon. “I’m on schedule to defend my dissertation at the beginning of the summer, then I’ll be moving to Pasadena in July to work in their fiber optics lab.”
“Oh, Bradley, that is fantastic news,” Sharon said, standing up to walk around the table and hug her son. “I’m so proud of you. And I can’t believe you’ll be so close.”
“Congrats, bro,” Sara said, raising her glass to her sibling. “Way to set an impossible precedent for me of post-grad employment and moving back home.”
“You’re in graduate school, also?” Fritz asked her.
She nodded. “I’m in my first year of a joint JD/MA program in law, philosophy and social theory at NYU.”
“Following in her godfather’s footsteps despite my best efforts to dissuade her,” Gavin said, looking across the table fondly at Sara, who stuck her tongue out at him. “Her father and I went to law school together, you know,” he said to Fritz.
Fritz raised an eyebrow at Sharon; clearly, he hadn’t known how she and Gavin knew each other in the first place, or just how long they’d known each other. She shrugged and sat back down at the table before turning once more to her son. “So is Cal going to be having a graduation ceremony we can come up to Berkeley for, once you defend your dissertation?”
He shook his head. “Nah, it wouldn’t be until next December, and no one actually goes, anyway. They’ll mail me my Ph.D.”
“Well done,” Gavin told Brad, topping off his glass. “You haven’t told Vince yet?”
Brad laughed. “You weren’t here when I was telling Mom and Sara this, but the last time I talked to him, he was dead drunk and calling from the racetrack. I’d only just found out, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to share my news with him while he was in that state.”
Gavin clucked disapprovingly. Fritz looked at Sharon, compassion written across his face. She smiled wanly and looked down into her plate, focusing on twirling a forkful of fettuccine.
“How is school going for you, Sara?” Gavin asked next. “I’m surprised you’re able to get away for a vacation as a first-year.”
She tossed her long hair over her shoulder nonchalantly. “School’s great. I did well enough in my law classes last semester, and I’m taking mostly philosophy classes this semester, so I decided to make the most of my spring break while I can.”
“We’re meeting up with friends from high school,” Brad added. “Should be fun.”
“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Sharon asked them. “Two o’clock?”
They both pulled iPhones out from under the table to check. “Yep,” Sara said first, beating Brad to the punch. She’d always been the more organized of the two.
“So you need me to drive you to LAX around noon?”
“Yes, mother,” Brad answered.
“Okay.” She took a long sip of wine. Damn, but she sometimes missed being taken for granted as a no-cost taxi service.
“How’s your work going, Mom? They make you Chief of Police yet?” Sara grinned over her wineglass as Sharon choked and sputtered. “What?” she said innocently in response to the three judgmental looks she got as Sharon dabbed wine off the front of her dress.
“No, Chief Pope is still--”
“--an ass?” Brad finished for her.
She shot him a warning look. “Chief. And I am very busy with a detail assignment outside of FID, and of course my work for the Professional Standards Bureau is ongoing.”
“What do you do, Fritz?” Brad asked, to be polite. “Mom said she met you through work.”
“I serve as a liaison between a federal agency and the LAPD,” he explained. “I’ve been working with your mother on a particular case for quite a while.”
Gavin snorted at that, and both Fritz and Sharon sent him annoyed looks. He was clearly bursting to tell the kids everything about the circumstances of Fritz and Sharon’s involvement. Sharon was able to wordlessly express the sentiment, say one more word and I will never confide in you again, and effectively chastise Gavin into silence.
The rest of dinner passed pleasantly enough, with nary a mention of either the kids’ father or, thank god, any of Vince’s “gross,” “reality-TV” girlfriends of late. The conversation turned from Gavin’s pet chihuahua Darcy, to Fritz’ still-kenneled cat, to Brad’s rugby tournament the previous weekend, and Sara’s search for a new roommate to share her sixth-floor walk-up apartment in the East Village. Fritz was the first to compliment Sharon’s on her excellent cooking, sparking a chorus of similar sentiments made with varying degrees of sincerity. When Sharon brought out the platter of chewy chocolate chip cookies, though, no words were needed, as the quickly-emptied plate spoke for itself. Sara did, however, note how well the cabernet paired with the cookies' semisweet chocolate chips with all the worldly authority of a tipsy twenty-six year old.
* * *
Gavin excused himself from the kitchen cleanup party first, claiming a late-night date shortly after a bout of furious texting on his phone. “Goodbye, children,” he said, kissing both the kids on the cheek. “Great to see you as always. And Sara, that skirt looks much more appropriate on you than it ever did on Sharon.” He waved at Sharon and Fritz, winking once at Sharon as he took his leave.
“I guess I should head out, too,” Fritz said, wiping his hands on the folded apron wrapped around his waist as he finished drying the wineglasses. Sharon went to him, reaching her arms around his waist to untie the apron, letting herself lean into him a little. She was tired. “You sure you can’t come home with me tonight?” he said softly.
Evidently not softly enough. "Mom, just go. We're not babies," Sara said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the sink. Sharon stepped back from Fritz, who looked almost amused at Sara’s brash intervention, and busied herself putting things away. Sara’s presumptuous tone made Sharon cringe, even if being given the go-ahead by her daughter made her feel slightly more amenable to the suggestion of spending the night in a place she wouldn’t ordinarily consider. "I'm sure Brad would like to sleep in a real bed tonight,” Sara continued, looking from Sharon to Fritz and back again. “I'll take yours and he can have the guest room."
"Yeah, Mom. That couch is hell on my back. You trying to make sure I don’t feel up for parasailing this week, or something?" Brad complained. He stood up from the stool where he’d been watching everyone else clean up and intercepted Sharon before she could walk back out to clear the last of the things from the table. He placed his large hands on Sharon’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “We like him and just want you to be happy.”
"I should have put your old bunk beds in that guest room," muttered Sharon, though her eyes and smile expressed her gratitude. "All right. Thank you, then. I will do that.” She turned to Sara. “Do the two of you want to go to mass at St. Theresa's tomorrow morning?"
They both blinked at her dubiously. "Uh, how about brunch," Brad said between guffaws. "We can meet up around ten and then you can drive us to LAX."
"No eleven o’clock mass before your flight?" At the twin head shakes she grumbled, "All right, all right. Just thought I'd ask. I had some dealings with the archdiocese recently that left me with feelings for which I should probably repent." She looked at Fritz. “I just need to get some things together, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, Fritz.”
Sharon retreated to her bedroom, hastily grabbing a nylon shopper from her closet and tossing a nightgown, change of clothes, and toiletries into it. Unlike Fritz, who had taken to leaving a few personal effects at her place, she’d have to bring her own toothbrush. Glancing around the room, Sharon took stock and imagined her daughter making herself comfortable here. That reminded her...
She dug around her nightstand drawer until her fingers found a fancy antique key, the brass cold and heavy in her hand compared to the soft plastic toys and squishy tube of lube that inhabited that space. She closed the drawer firmly and fiddled with the recalcitrant key until the lock turned over. Satisfied, she tucked the key into the interior pocket in her tote bag; she was taking no chances against her daughter’s intrusive curiosity.
* * *
The car ride over to Fritz’s place was quiet, soft jazz playing on the radio as they made small talk. Her listless gaze across the freeway became more focused as they reached his neighborhood. While Sharon had been vaguely aware that Fritz and Brenda lived in West Hollywood, actually being here with him gave it a different context entirely. Blocks full of stuccoed Spanish-style houses blended into one another until he stopped in front of one, a block and a half south of Beverly Boulevard just west of La Brea Avenue.
He turned off the ignition and reached behind her seat. “I’ll take your bag in for you,” he said. She nodded wordlessly in acquiescence and stepped out of the car, following him into the house.
“Sorry the place is such a mess,” he said in unnecessary apology, locking the door behind her. “I’m not a great housekeeper at the best of times.”
Sharon looked around. A rumpled blanket and small pillow looked out of place on the still-extended reclining chair in front of the television, a half-full coffee mug and a few crumpled napkins littering the table beside it. “It’s fine,” she said nervously. “You’re doing my children a favor by taking me in for the night, remember.”
“Your kids seem really close,” he said as he set her bag down on the couch. “They’re friends. Even going on vacation together.”
Yawning, she nodded and wrapped her arms across her waist. “Their father left the first time when they were very young, and I worked a lot. I know it was hard for them, so I’m glad they have each other.”
“Tired, huh?”
She tried to glare at him, but it turned into a lopsided smile. “You try making a big dinner from scratch! It takes effort.”
“And it was delicious. But I guess I better put you to bed, then,” he said with a smirk.
“Guest room?” Sharon hoped her affected nonchalance would stave off any acknowledgment of the awkwardness of her being present in a place she surely did not belong.
Fritz re-shouldered her tote and shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. That’s, uh, just not really an option right now.”
She looked at him, confused, as she tilted her head and tried to figure it out. She hadn’t heard any details about Willie Rae’s death, but it seemed obvious enough that in the two-bedroom duplex, the guest room would have been the preferred location for their illicit sleepover but for a very good reason. She shivered at the thought of death passing through this place so recently. Or worse, the ghost of Willie Rae watching over what they were doing.
“All right,” she said slowly, nodding once. “Lead the way, then.”
She followed him down the hall and into a warm, neutral-toned room that was much tidier than the main living area of the house. A neatly-made bed sat before her, pastel wildflower prints hanging above the upholstered headboard. A residual hint of the Chief’s floral perfume scented the air, but other than that, there were few reminders of the woman. Sharon could almost convince herself she was standing in a particularly large and comfortable hotel room. Almost.
Fritz walked straight into the en suite bathroom, and from what she could hear, started brushing his teeth. She put the bag down on the bed with a sigh and began working on the knot tied at the side of her waist. Finally freeing it, she slid the garment off her shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair that sat beneath a large window. She let the heavy drapes down from to obscure the glass before slipping out of her undergarments and into her black satin chemise.
Fritz seemed to still be going to town on his teeth. She grabbed her toothbrush and went to go join him; it wasn’t as if they were shy with one another when they were together at her house.
“Nice bathroom,” she said, looking around at the dated mint-green tiling that filled the space from floor to ceiling. At least it was rather large, she thought.
“Not as nice as yours,” he admitted after rinsing his mouth and placing his toothbrush in a stand shared with another. Sharon looked away and started brushing her own teeth. Fritz walked past her, cupping and squeezing her ass beneath her nightgown and grinning at her over her head in the mirror before leaving her alone in the bathroom.
Sharon finished her own routine shortly and went to go find Fritz. He’d turned back the covers and lay on the side farthest to the door to the room, looking very appealing wearing nothing at all as he patted the space beside him. Her heart rate increased, not only at the sight before her but at the knowledge of what they were going to do, and where they were about to do it. This was not her place; she was intruding on someone else’s life. But then, she had been for the better part of six months, already. She told herself to stop thinking about it for the next few hours, and flipped off the overhead light.
Just a small reading lamp illuminated them, letting her find her way to his side. She tucked her hair behind her and out of the way as she looked up at him, reaching out to rest her hand his hip as they faced one another.
“I’m glad to have finally met your children today,” he said, cupping her jaw tenderly. “Seeing this whole other side of you, this important part of your life that I knew so little about. It made me feel closer to you.”
Having your wife on the other side of the country is making me feel closer to you, she thought as she wrapped her leg around his and pulled herself closer. Internally chastising herself for indulging the imprudent thought, she forced herself to respond to him and resolved to stay present in the moment. This moment, this evening. “Hmm. Flowers, dinner with the family. We were almost like a real couple.” Almost.
“Let us,” he said, groaning as she began to shift her hips against him. “Let’s just...enjoy this while we can.” His fingers found the hem of her nightgown and slid it up and over her head, taking his time drawing it over her body but at the same time determined to get the garment out of the way. He tossed it to the floor and captured her lips with his, the intensity of his kisses matching the heat of their flesh as limbs slid and tangled and practiced fingers sought to provide pleasure to one another.
Her hand had wrapped around his length as soon as they started kissing, and she was delighted to find him full and hard right away. She knew he was vulnerable to her machinations when he began to thrust his hips into her hand, against her body, not that she was impervious to the sensations he was eliciting with his gentle exploration between her folds. His kisses grew demanding and needy, his tongue searching for hers and exploring her lips, chin, neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear. They each gave and took, their bodies undulating against one another in perfect, anticipatory counterpoint as they chased each other’s breath away, only to capture it again with each subsequent kiss.
Her hand wandered from his front around to palm his ass, then swept up his back so she could hold the back of his neck for leverage as she rolled them both until she was on top of him.
She sat up, panting lightly, straddling him so he could run his hands along her sides, up to her breasts, gently cupping them before circling her nipples with his thumbs. “Tease,” she accused him, prompting him to lean up and capture one tight bud in his mouth, followed by the other. She shifted her stance over him, allowing his length to settle between their bodies. She fondled him gently, rocking her own hips against him, causing him to moan and pinch her nipples hard.
“Hmm, you want more,” she guessed. “I can do that for you...”
“Please,” he ground out. “Only if you do me the favor of moving that sweet ass of yours up here where I can admire it, while you do...”
She laughed and shifted off him and to his side once more, kneeling next to him and taking him in hand as she descended her mouth down to his length. She had barely wrapped her lips around the head when she felt his strong hands grasp her hips and move the lower half of her body so that her mound was directly over his face.
“Been a while since we’ve done thi--,” she said over her shoulder, gasping when his tongue made contact where she wanted it most. Whether it was practiced familiarity, instinct, or just luck that allowed him to home right in where other men might have fumbled in such an awkward position, she didn’t really care. She pushed herself up slightly and positioned her mouth directly over his impressive length, taking her time sliding her lips down as she took as much of him in her mouth as she could, and even then a little deeper. The choked gasp she both felt and heard told her that her efforts were appreciated, and she tried not to smile (as that could have unpleasant consequences) as she slid her mouth up and down, up and down, taking him a bit deeper with each stroke.
As she continued to stroke him with her mouth, cupping his balls and caressing his thighs as she did so, Fritz was keeping busy beneath her. His questing tongue now sought to discover the secrets of her lower lips, teasing and licking and seeing which spots would elicit a reaction from her. He held her hips fast, keeping her from squirming away from him until he finally felt her body relax on top of him and her hips began to match the rhythm he was creating within her.
Overcome by fiery tendrils of sensation and dizzy with lack of oxygen, she lay her cheek on his thigh, tongue lazily lapping at the side of his cock while he feasted on her like a starving man, his tongue brushing back and forth over her clit. She felt his fingers probing gently, and moaned in approval when a digit finally breached her slick depths, so very ready to accept him.
“Oh, yes,” she said, pushing back against his hand, his mouth. “Oh, god.” A few more insistent strokes of his tongue sent her tumbling over the edge and off of Fritz into a sated heap beside him.
She felt him moving next to her until he settled and began trailing his hand back and forth along her spine, the gesture tender and soothing as her body recovered from the intensity of orgasm. She turned her face to him, and he smiled.
“You are so beautiful like this,” he said. “I love doing that for you.”
She reached out a shaking hand to caress his thigh. “Me too,” she managed to get out. Really, she loved getting to go first-- and he knew it, and often made sure she did. Gathering her strength, she turned from her stomach onto her back; her feet were still up by the headboard, but she doubted the erection bobbing in and out of her field of vision would care about the odd orientation. Her eyes finally met his, inviting him to finish what they had started.
He moved over her, bracing himself on either side of her body, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and shifted herself over toward the middle of the bed. “Better,” she declared once he followed suit. “Now fuck me, Fritz. Hard.” Make me forget where we are.
He followed her command, sheathing himself gently but quickening the pace after a few thrusts. He was pounding away, relentless, as she urged him on, and soon all she could do was hold on and let herself move with him until he gasped out her name in satisfaction.
* * *
“So I finally figured out the leak.” Sharon’s sudden, unprompted statement cleared the heavy sex-scented silence. It also invited the return of the specter of the marginalized third party in their relationship.
“Gabriel?” he guessed. “It didn’t make sense that he didn’t get subpoenaed until long after everyone else.”
“Yes. He was the source, not the leak, to be fair. And he still doesn’t know it,” she said. “It happened exactly like this.” She turned on her side to face him. “Just two lovers, blithely discussing work. Because it’s what couples do.”
“So his girlfriend, huh,” he said. “That would explain it.” He usually couldn’t get Brenda to stop talking about work in bed. Sharon was a different story, though what she was telling now him went beyond mere workplace gossip. And at least she had the courtesy to wait until they’d completed the act to spring something completely distracting on him.
“He had no reason to think that this person for whom he felt so deeply would quite literally sell him out,” she said.
He fell back against his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. “Gabriel and Brenda are both going to take this so hard.”
“I’m going to try talk to Pope on Monday, hopefully deal with it before she gets back,” said Sharon. “With any luck, he’ll be gone and the issue resolved, and she won’t have to do a thing.” She bit her bottom lip. “As for Gabriel, though...I really do feel for him. He seemed so happy with Anne. And as usual, I’m the one to burst his blissful bubble.”
“Bad news Raydor,” he said, wrapping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her against him in a comforting gesture. “Unfortunately, someone’s gotta be the heavy. And with Pope and Taylor more concerned about playing politics and meeting with decorators about their big new offices, and Brenda across the country...”
“This thing has always been on me,” she sighed. “I should have gone through with my threat of retiring.”
“You still could,” he said. “You could probably find a great position consulting with police departments about their IA policies. Maybe even start your own business. Give you more flexibility to spend time with your kids.”
She considered his suggestion for a moment, and shook her head. “No, at this point I think I owe it to myself to stick it out at the LAPD as long as I can. Maybe try to get out of Internal Affairs, though.” She ran her hand across his chest from breastbone to navel.
“You’ve been there a long time,” he said, placing his hand over hers before it could explore any further.
She nodded. “Working this detail auditing Major Crimes for the leak got me out of FID, and I found that I didn’t miss that insular little world. It might be time to put in for a transfer.”
“Back to Robbery/Homicide?” Fritz asked, frowning. “I don’t know, Sharon.”
“I don’t, either,” she said, leaning over him to place a kiss against his downturned lips. “I’d take anything but Traffic, I guess. I’ll talk to Pope about it once this leak thing gets resolved.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But we can talk about it more in the morning. Someone wore me out, and I’m exhausted.” She reached over him to turn out the light, and retreated back to her side of the bed. “Good night.”
He shifted his body to maximize contact with hers and wrapped his arm around her, nestling his hand between her breasts so that he could feel the beating of her heart. “Good night, sweet Sharon,” he whispered against her ear.
She could almost let herself want this. Almost.
* * *
A phone’s jarring buzz roused Sharon from a deep sleep. “Wha--?” she mumbled, opening her eyes but unable to see anything from beneath the tangled mass of hair that covered her face.
Fritz’s body was spooned around hers, his arm holding her close, and he gave her one last squeeze before shifting away to silence the intruding alarm.
But apparently it wasn’t an alarm. “Hi, honey,” Fritz said sleepily. “Yeah, hang on. Just a second.” He tossed the covers off his body and onto Sharon, but she missed his warmth immediately nonetheless as he walked out of the bedroom.
She wanted to go back to sleep. She really did. But without his solid bulk and even breathing behind her, this place felt wrong. Very wrong. What the hell had she been thinking, coming here? Perhaps she could blame the lapse in judgment on an excess of wine and the well-intentioned yet misguided interference of her children. She shrugged off the shroud of sleep and went into the bathroom, feeling that the unpleasant morning reality of the situation was probably entirely deserved. For such a by-the-book person, she seemed to have no problem flouting one of society's most accepted rules.
Within minutes, Sharon was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on the bed expectantly. His face fell when he came back into the room and found her like that, with her tote bag and purse packed up and ready to go.
“Brenda’s coming back today,” he said in apologetic explanation.
Sharon let herself fall back onto the bed so she wouldn’t read his face to try to discern how he felt about the premature return of his wife. “Of course she is.”
“I’m supposed to pick her up from the airport later this afternoon.”
“Of course you are.”
He lay down beside her. “She’s not coming back here.”
She turned her head to the side and finally met his eyes. “Really?”
“Indefinitely. She’s a little...unsettled by this space right now.”
Sharon snorted. “Well, that makes three of us, I bet.”
“I wouldn’t trade last night for anything,” he said. “I’m glad you were here.”
His sincerity confused and conflicted her. They made no secret of their fondness for one another, didn’t play coy about enjoying their limited time together, but couldn’t he see how loaded his declaration was in the context of where they were? Was he really so unable to be alone? She decided to stop analyzing and just accept his words at face value.
“Me too,” she said, finally smiling since the first time the phone had rung.
He leaned over her body and kissed her. “I’d love to have another night together like this.”
“Not here,” she said. “Whether she comes back or not, Fritz.”
“No.” He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Maybe your place.”
“We’ll see,” she said, pushing herself up off the bed and giving him a hand to pull him up. “Come on, let’s strip these sheets.”
As they went to opposite sides of the bed, she noticed that Fritz's ring had returned to his finger. Her son’s words echoed in her head. We just want you to be happy.
For this one night, she had been. Her oft-lonely life had felt full, if slightly off-kilter, surrounded by the people she cared about, who accepted her and Fritz as a couple.
But that dreamlike experience was over. In the course of this new day, she’d be saying goodbye to her children once again, and Fritz would be trying to persuade a grieving Brenda to come back to their home.
Did last night change anything? Sharon didn’t know. What tomorrow would bring remained to be seen.
Author: afrakaday
Rating: M
Word count: 7500
A/N: Thanks to rococoms for research assistance and nixmom for the read-through. Spoilers through The Closer 7x20, “Armed Response,” and Major Crimes 1.02, “Before and After” (kinda)
Summary: An unusual convergence of circumstances allows Sharon and Fritz to experience a brief, if unsettling, illusion of normalcy.
“Damn it.” Sharon slid a spatula under a test specimen and visually confirmed what her sense of smell had already informed her: she’d burned the cookies.
She bundled up the sheet of parchment containing a dozen inedible chocolate chip cookies and tossed it in the trash with a groan. As she started spooning out the remaining batter, she resolved to set the timer for seven minutes instead of ten. Baking had never really been her strong suit, but she’d thought her kids might appreciate their old after-school favorite. She’d once had the recipe memorized. This time she had needed to check each measurement twice.
She set the tray in the oven, set the timer, and allowed herself to lick the spoon before depositing it in the sink. She had just begun washing up some of the dishes when one of her two phones vibrated on the windowsill. The ringtone that followed told her it could only be one person.
Smiling, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked it up. “Why hello,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“How’s Atlanta?”
“The funeral was tough. I actually got back to LA last night. Had a break in a case I needed to follow up on. Brenda’s supposed to stay with Clay and her brothers for a few more weeks.”
Sharon hummed sympathetically. “I was so saddened to hear of Willie Rae’s passing, Fritz. She was a lovely woman.”
“Well, she was the glue that kept that family together, that’s for sure.” He paused. “So I’m all alone in an empty house...”
“Mmmhmm.” Sharon walked over to the oven and peered through the window; the cookies were spreading out, gooey and pale. “I’m not.”
“Alone?”
“Right.”
An awkward silence passed before he finally spoke. “Well, that’s unusual,” he teased. “Does that mean we can’t get together?”
“Likely not.” She leaned against the counter and surveyed the messy kitchen. Homemade pasta hung drying on racks and flour covered the space where she’d rolled out and cut it. A small box containing tomatoes and fresh herbs from the morning farmer’s market sat next to the fridge, waiting to be turned into marinara sauce. “My kids got in last night. They’re here for a visit before they head to Cabo San Lucas with friends tomorrow.”
“Come on, Sharon. You can’t sneak away for an hour? Maybe after they go to sleep tonight?” A hint of pleading crept into his tone.
“Excuse me, sneak away? No, I don’t think so.” She’d never been to Fritz’s house, and she didn’t intend to start now. “And anyway, they’re twenty-eight and twenty-six, not eight and six.” She opened the oven to check the cookies again and triumphantly pulled out the lightly browned treats, setting the tray over a wire rack to cool. They’d be chewy, the way Brad liked them. “Sorry, Fritz. But that’s a rather insane suggestion on your part.”
“Well, I’ll be here by my lonesome, doing paperwork, if you change your mind.”
“You can come here after Sara and Brad leave. How’s that?” She carefully loosened each cookie from the tray with her spatula.
“Tomorrow, then?”
The sound of liquid being poured caught her attention and spurred her to action without answering his question. “Gotta go!” she said in an uncharacteristically squeaky voice, before shaking hands snapped the phone shut. Dropping it into her apron pocket, she turned away from the cookies to face her daughter.
“Good morning,” Sharon said, trying to ignore the feeling that she’d just been caught.
"Morning, mother." Sara Raydor smirked into her steaming coffee, and Sharon knew she was toast. "So. Who's Fritz?" She reached past Sharon to slide a warm cookie on a paper towel and sat at the breakfast bar expectantly.
“He’s...a friend,” Sharon said.
Sara wasn’t buying Sharon’s evasive response. “Sounds like a pretty good friend,” she said. “Sneak away? He can come over as soon as we’re gone? And here I thought you were so desperate for us to visit.”
“He’s a little lonely right now, that’s all,” said Sharon, thinking of how disappointed he’d sounded when she’d said she wasn’t alone. “Just like I was before the two of you decided to grace me with your presence on your way to Cabo.”
“Who’s lonely?” a deep male voice interrupted from the living room. “Mom?”
Sharon watched her son rise from the couch where he’d been sleeping and walk stiffly into the conversation, his light brown hair sticking up in all directions.
“Mom’s friend,” Sara informed her brother as he sat down next to her. “Because she can’t come over to his place tonight, since we’re here.”
Brad Raydor did a double take. “You have a friend? Like, a gentleman friend?”
Sharon set a cup of coffee and a cookie in front of her son. “I have friends.”
“Uncle Gavin doesn’t count as a ‘gentleman friend.” Sara rebuffed Sharon’s attempt at deflection. “You’re dating someone!” The equal parts shock and glee in her daughter’s voice made Sharon’s heart ache and her face blush; her children hadn’t lived with her for years, yet they still knew how hopeless her personal life was, even without being privy to the sordid details.
“Oh, honey. I’m a little old to be dating,” she said, not wanting to encourage the topic.
“If you really feel that way, you should know that Dad’s free again. The reality TV chick dumped him,” Brad said. His sister shot him a dirty look but he ignored her, breaking off a piece of the cookie and stuffing it in his mouth. “Got any milk?”
Dutifully, Sharon went to the fridge and poured him a glass. Brad took a long swig and continued. “Anyway, he called me, drunk, from the track a couple of weeks ago. Apparently she was upset that he wouldn’t commit.”
“Couldn’t, without committing bigamy,” Sharon corrected. “And that’s his own damn fault.”
“I don’t think she appreciated the complexity of the situation,” he said, shrugging. "That was my sense, anyway. So what's the deal with your new guy?"
Sharon took her time answering. "He is someone I met through work, though he's not LAPD. We've been, uh...seeing each other...for about six months."
"Really?" Sara's face scrunched up and she ran her hand through her thick chestnut locks in thought. "Were you seeing him before Christmas? I don't remember hearing anything about this guy when we were home last."
"We kind of took a break over the holidays. We were both busy with work and with family obligations."
Sara and Brad looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay. So why aren't you inviting him to dinner tonight so we can meet him?" asked Brad.
"Yeah, Dad makes us meet all his gross girlfriends when we visit him, even though none of them ever last long. If you've been seeing this Fritz guy for months, we should get to meet him," Sara insisted. "Uncle Gavin will be here and you're doing all this cooking, and we know he's free tonight."
Sharon couldn't argue with her daughter's logic. “I’ll give him a call in a bit,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand as if to shield herself from her children’s curious gazes. It was going to be an interesting evening.
* * *
Rifling through the racks of clothing hanging in her walk-in closet, Sharon finally gave in to her indecision and called for help. “Sara? Could you come in here, please?”
Her daughter appeared in the door, blowing on newly painted light blue nails. “What’s up?”
“I can’t decide what to wear,” she admitted. “Fritz usually sees me in either work clothes, or lounge wear. I want to look nice, but not like I’m trying too hard.” She gestured to a selection of garments she’d pulled for consideration hanging along the floor-to-ceiling wire shoe shelves. “Help?”
Sara’s green eyes lit up. “Sure. So I guess you got in touch with him, then.” She surveyed the options critically. “For a casual dinner at home...” She ran her hand over fabrics and inspected tags, nodding at some pieces and grimacing at others. She fixated on a maroon leather pencil skirt, removing it from its hanger and clasping it to her chest. “Oh, my god. Can I have this?”
Sharon shook her head. “I still wear that...occasionally. Buy your own.”
“But this one is so perfect! Vintage Ferragamo! I’d never find anything like it.” Sara stuck out her bottom lip. “Or be able to afford one if I did, you know the philosophy department pays me next to nothing. Please?”
“I guess you can try it on and see if it fits,” Sharon told her daughter. Sara grinned, knowing that was as good as a “yes” as she held it up against her slender hips. Sharon didn’t know why she tried to act like she wouldn’t let her daughter take what she wanted (within reason); Sara’s raiding of Sharon’s closet during rare visits home was as close to mother-daughter bonding as they got these days. That skirt would probably earn her three ten-minute phone calls’ worth of filial toleration. “But first things first. What about tonight?”
"What did you mean about him only seeing you in work clothes?" Sara asked. "Don't you go on dates? I would have thought you’d make him go to the ballet or theater with you once in a while." Her daughter’s snide tone made clear that she did not approve of Sharon’s perceived coercive efforts, having suffered them herself.
Sharon bit her lip and looked away. Her daughter’s eyes narrowed briefly, but seeing Sharon’s reticence, dropped the subject. “Outfit for tonight?” Sharon said quietly.
“Okay,” Sara announced, willing to focus once more on the task at hand knowing she’d gotten one of the two things she’d wanted. “I think this dress is perfect for you. Far and away the best option of the things you picked out.”
Sharon eyed the wrap dress and nodded in approval. The green, black and white print jersey material moved easily and flattered her figure. Moreover, its low-cut neckline screamed “date,” not “work.”
“Done. Thanks, sweetie.” She started putting the remaining clothing away.
“What about shoes?” Sara asked, turning her head toward the wall of boxes.
“Mmm, I think flats.” Sharon had been on her feet all day, cooking and straightening up her condo, which was a near-impossible proposition on occasions when her slob of a son moved into the living room.
Her daughter looked offended at the mention of flats. “I can’t believe you have all of these heels and don’t wear them.” Sara lovingly ran her fingers across richly textured designer-labeled boxes. “If only I shared your shoe size...”
“Hey, I do wear them. Usually to work,” Sharon defended her extensive shoe collection. “Cut me some slack if I want to wear flats on the weekend.”
“Fine,” Sara said, skimming through a rack of blouses, clearly on the hunt once more, having given up on her Louboutin dreams. “Can I wear this with the skirt tonight?” She held up a black silk sleeveless top.
“Yes. Just make sure you don’t accidentally take it to Mexico with you, hmm?” Sharon kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Now scram. I need to get cleaned up.”
* * *
Gavin, as usual, put himself in charge of the wine, and had already poured generous glasses for himself and the kids when Sharon stepped out of her bedroom and into the living room. “Hi there. I didn’t even hear the intercom.” She leaned down to hug her friend.
“You look lovely, Shar,” he said, kissing her cheek. “The rugrats let me in while you were busy primping.”
“Well, thanks for coming for family dinner,” she responded, smiling. “It’s not often we get a chance to do this.”
“I see the table’s set for five. Please tell me you didn’t invite Vince? I did hear he got dumped by the tartlet,” Gavin said, sotto voce. The kids snickered at Gavin’s mocking of their hapless father.
“Hmm. No, actually, I did not invite Vince, regardless of how much he might have liked that.” Sharon blushed. “Fritz is coming.”
Gavin turned his body away from her children so he could face Sharon directly and let his jaw drop. “What?!” he exclaimed silently. “Fritz?” He gestured urgently at the bare space on the fourth finger on his left hand.
Sharon shrugged helplessly and went to the kitchen. “Excuse me. I just need to find a glass...” But before she could actually pour herself any pinot grigio, the intercom buzzed by the door.
“I’ll get it,” she called toward the living room, her voice unnaturally high.
She opened the door, and the frame was filled by a tall, dark, and handsome man holding a bouquet of calla lilies in the crook of one arm and a bottle of white wine in the other.
“Hi.” She rose up on her toes, finding the distance a lot harder to cover in flats, to give him a brief kiss. “It’s good to see you.”
It had been weeks since they’d last been together, before Brenda’s parents had come to stay once more. Sharon could barely begrudge the separation under the circumstances, but she felt her arousal flare involuntarily at the longed-for proximity to his body.
“Good to see you, too,” he said, lowering his lips back down to hers once more. “These are for you. And I’ll just put this wine in the fridge for you, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. You didn’t have to do that, Fritz,” she said, taking the flowers and gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I got some seltzer for you.”
“See, we know what each other wants to drink. This will be great,” he said, grinning. He slipped his hands around her waist as she arranged the flowers in a water-filled vase. “Thanks for inviting me.”
She finished her task and spun around to face him, covering his hands with her own. Confused for a moment, she ran her thumb over the knuckles of his left hand.
“You took it off?” she asked, pulling the hand away from her body so she could see. “Thank you for doing that, Fritz. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to explaining to my children that the man coming over for dinner is married.”
“Hey, so are you. They’d get over it,” he said lightly. “They must be used to it after all these years.”
“Legally separated,” she reminded him. She glanced around the wall into the living room. “I think some introductions are in order.”
She kept his left hand in hers as she brought him into the living room to stand before the trio giggling into their oversized wine goblets. Sharon narrowed her eyes at Gavin, wondering just what he’d been telling her impressionable children.
Fritz had greeted Gavin with an easy familiarity first and seemed to be just observing her children, looking for resemblances, she supposed. Sara shared Sharon’s eyes and build, but her olive skin tone, straight dark hair, and fiery temper were all Vince. Her son, an ex-football player and former frat boy turned recreational rugby player and PhD candidate in electrical engineering, took after his Irish maternal grandfather. Despite his jock-like appearance and laid-back mien, Sharon knew his mind to be even quicker than his athletic body.
Brad broke the impasse first. “Hey, I’m Brad,” he said, standing and holding his hand out to Fritz. Sharon noticed that he looked down at Fritz’s other hand and thought how shrewd that had been. Her scatterbrained son could be very perceptive, certainly more so than his sister, though she didn’t doubt that they’d been comparing notes about their mother and her mysterious “friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Brad,” Fritz said. He turned to Sara. "Fritz Howard."
"Why hello, Fritz," her daughter flirted, jutting a hip out and leaning in toward him as she sought his hand. Sharon fought back the urge to roll her eyes and stepped between them, offering Fritz the chair opposite the couch. "Have a seat, dinner's nearly ready. Sara, could you give me a hand, please?"
As she dragged Sara into the kitchen, Sharon shot a look over her shoulder, directed at Gavin and her son. Be nice.
* * *
Glancing around the table, Sharon was surprised at how well the impromptu meeting between her kids and lover was going as they tucked into salad, homemade pasta, and fresh-baked bread. She sat at the head of the table, with Fritz to her right and Gavin across from him, Sara next to Fritz and Brad next to Gavin. Gavin’s always-entertaining presence served to diffuse any tension, as did his heavy hand with the wine. The food had all been passed and everyone’s plates were full as Brad tapped his knife against his wine glass and said he had an announcement.
“I want you all to be the first to know that I’ve been accepted for a post-doc program at Caltech,” he said, grinning at Sharon. “I’m on schedule to defend my dissertation at the beginning of the summer, then I’ll be moving to Pasadena in July to work in their fiber optics lab.”
“Oh, Bradley, that is fantastic news,” Sharon said, standing up to walk around the table and hug her son. “I’m so proud of you. And I can’t believe you’ll be so close.”
“Congrats, bro,” Sara said, raising her glass to her sibling. “Way to set an impossible precedent for me of post-grad employment and moving back home.”
“You’re in graduate school, also?” Fritz asked her.
She nodded. “I’m in my first year of a joint JD/MA program in law, philosophy and social theory at NYU.”
“Following in her godfather’s footsteps despite my best efforts to dissuade her,” Gavin said, looking across the table fondly at Sara, who stuck her tongue out at him. “Her father and I went to law school together, you know,” he said to Fritz.
Fritz raised an eyebrow at Sharon; clearly, he hadn’t known how she and Gavin knew each other in the first place, or just how long they’d known each other. She shrugged and sat back down at the table before turning once more to her son. “So is Cal going to be having a graduation ceremony we can come up to Berkeley for, once you defend your dissertation?”
He shook his head. “Nah, it wouldn’t be until next December, and no one actually goes, anyway. They’ll mail me my Ph.D.”
“Well done,” Gavin told Brad, topping off his glass. “You haven’t told Vince yet?”
Brad laughed. “You weren’t here when I was telling Mom and Sara this, but the last time I talked to him, he was dead drunk and calling from the racetrack. I’d only just found out, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to share my news with him while he was in that state.”
Gavin clucked disapprovingly. Fritz looked at Sharon, compassion written across his face. She smiled wanly and looked down into her plate, focusing on twirling a forkful of fettuccine.
“How is school going for you, Sara?” Gavin asked next. “I’m surprised you’re able to get away for a vacation as a first-year.”
She tossed her long hair over her shoulder nonchalantly. “School’s great. I did well enough in my law classes last semester, and I’m taking mostly philosophy classes this semester, so I decided to make the most of my spring break while I can.”
“We’re meeting up with friends from high school,” Brad added. “Should be fun.”
“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Sharon asked them. “Two o’clock?”
They both pulled iPhones out from under the table to check. “Yep,” Sara said first, beating Brad to the punch. She’d always been the more organized of the two.
“So you need me to drive you to LAX around noon?”
“Yes, mother,” Brad answered.
“Okay.” She took a long sip of wine. Damn, but she sometimes missed being taken for granted as a no-cost taxi service.
“How’s your work going, Mom? They make you Chief of Police yet?” Sara grinned over her wineglass as Sharon choked and sputtered. “What?” she said innocently in response to the three judgmental looks she got as Sharon dabbed wine off the front of her dress.
“No, Chief Pope is still--”
“--an ass?” Brad finished for her.
She shot him a warning look. “Chief. And I am very busy with a detail assignment outside of FID, and of course my work for the Professional Standards Bureau is ongoing.”
“What do you do, Fritz?” Brad asked, to be polite. “Mom said she met you through work.”
“I serve as a liaison between a federal agency and the LAPD,” he explained. “I’ve been working with your mother on a particular case for quite a while.”
Gavin snorted at that, and both Fritz and Sharon sent him annoyed looks. He was clearly bursting to tell the kids everything about the circumstances of Fritz and Sharon’s involvement. Sharon was able to wordlessly express the sentiment, say one more word and I will never confide in you again, and effectively chastise Gavin into silence.
The rest of dinner passed pleasantly enough, with nary a mention of either the kids’ father or, thank god, any of Vince’s “gross,” “reality-TV” girlfriends of late. The conversation turned from Gavin’s pet chihuahua Darcy, to Fritz’ still-kenneled cat, to Brad’s rugby tournament the previous weekend, and Sara’s search for a new roommate to share her sixth-floor walk-up apartment in the East Village. Fritz was the first to compliment Sharon’s on her excellent cooking, sparking a chorus of similar sentiments made with varying degrees of sincerity. When Sharon brought out the platter of chewy chocolate chip cookies, though, no words were needed, as the quickly-emptied plate spoke for itself. Sara did, however, note how well the cabernet paired with the cookies' semisweet chocolate chips with all the worldly authority of a tipsy twenty-six year old.
* * *
Gavin excused himself from the kitchen cleanup party first, claiming a late-night date shortly after a bout of furious texting on his phone. “Goodbye, children,” he said, kissing both the kids on the cheek. “Great to see you as always. And Sara, that skirt looks much more appropriate on you than it ever did on Sharon.” He waved at Sharon and Fritz, winking once at Sharon as he took his leave.
“I guess I should head out, too,” Fritz said, wiping his hands on the folded apron wrapped around his waist as he finished drying the wineglasses. Sharon went to him, reaching her arms around his waist to untie the apron, letting herself lean into him a little. She was tired. “You sure you can’t come home with me tonight?” he said softly.
Evidently not softly enough. "Mom, just go. We're not babies," Sara said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the sink. Sharon stepped back from Fritz, who looked almost amused at Sara’s brash intervention, and busied herself putting things away. Sara’s presumptuous tone made Sharon cringe, even if being given the go-ahead by her daughter made her feel slightly more amenable to the suggestion of spending the night in a place she wouldn’t ordinarily consider. "I'm sure Brad would like to sleep in a real bed tonight,” Sara continued, looking from Sharon to Fritz and back again. “I'll take yours and he can have the guest room."
"Yeah, Mom. That couch is hell on my back. You trying to make sure I don’t feel up for parasailing this week, or something?" Brad complained. He stood up from the stool where he’d been watching everyone else clean up and intercepted Sharon before she could walk back out to clear the last of the things from the table. He placed his large hands on Sharon’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “We like him and just want you to be happy.”
"I should have put your old bunk beds in that guest room," muttered Sharon, though her eyes and smile expressed her gratitude. "All right. Thank you, then. I will do that.” She turned to Sara. “Do the two of you want to go to mass at St. Theresa's tomorrow morning?"
They both blinked at her dubiously. "Uh, how about brunch," Brad said between guffaws. "We can meet up around ten and then you can drive us to LAX."
"No eleven o’clock mass before your flight?" At the twin head shakes she grumbled, "All right, all right. Just thought I'd ask. I had some dealings with the archdiocese recently that left me with feelings for which I should probably repent." She looked at Fritz. “I just need to get some things together, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, Fritz.”
Sharon retreated to her bedroom, hastily grabbing a nylon shopper from her closet and tossing a nightgown, change of clothes, and toiletries into it. Unlike Fritz, who had taken to leaving a few personal effects at her place, she’d have to bring her own toothbrush. Glancing around the room, Sharon took stock and imagined her daughter making herself comfortable here. That reminded her...
She dug around her nightstand drawer until her fingers found a fancy antique key, the brass cold and heavy in her hand compared to the soft plastic toys and squishy tube of lube that inhabited that space. She closed the drawer firmly and fiddled with the recalcitrant key until the lock turned over. Satisfied, she tucked the key into the interior pocket in her tote bag; she was taking no chances against her daughter’s intrusive curiosity.
* * *
The car ride over to Fritz’s place was quiet, soft jazz playing on the radio as they made small talk. Her listless gaze across the freeway became more focused as they reached his neighborhood. While Sharon had been vaguely aware that Fritz and Brenda lived in West Hollywood, actually being here with him gave it a different context entirely. Blocks full of stuccoed Spanish-style houses blended into one another until he stopped in front of one, a block and a half south of Beverly Boulevard just west of La Brea Avenue.
He turned off the ignition and reached behind her seat. “I’ll take your bag in for you,” he said. She nodded wordlessly in acquiescence and stepped out of the car, following him into the house.
“Sorry the place is such a mess,” he said in unnecessary apology, locking the door behind her. “I’m not a great housekeeper at the best of times.”
Sharon looked around. A rumpled blanket and small pillow looked out of place on the still-extended reclining chair in front of the television, a half-full coffee mug and a few crumpled napkins littering the table beside it. “It’s fine,” she said nervously. “You’re doing my children a favor by taking me in for the night, remember.”
“Your kids seem really close,” he said as he set her bag down on the couch. “They’re friends. Even going on vacation together.”
Yawning, she nodded and wrapped her arms across her waist. “Their father left the first time when they were very young, and I worked a lot. I know it was hard for them, so I’m glad they have each other.”
“Tired, huh?”
She tried to glare at him, but it turned into a lopsided smile. “You try making a big dinner from scratch! It takes effort.”
“And it was delicious. But I guess I better put you to bed, then,” he said with a smirk.
“Guest room?” Sharon hoped her affected nonchalance would stave off any acknowledgment of the awkwardness of her being present in a place she surely did not belong.
Fritz re-shouldered her tote and shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. That’s, uh, just not really an option right now.”
She looked at him, confused, as she tilted her head and tried to figure it out. She hadn’t heard any details about Willie Rae’s death, but it seemed obvious enough that in the two-bedroom duplex, the guest room would have been the preferred location for their illicit sleepover but for a very good reason. She shivered at the thought of death passing through this place so recently. Or worse, the ghost of Willie Rae watching over what they were doing.
“All right,” she said slowly, nodding once. “Lead the way, then.”
She followed him down the hall and into a warm, neutral-toned room that was much tidier than the main living area of the house. A neatly-made bed sat before her, pastel wildflower prints hanging above the upholstered headboard. A residual hint of the Chief’s floral perfume scented the air, but other than that, there were few reminders of the woman. Sharon could almost convince herself she was standing in a particularly large and comfortable hotel room. Almost.
Fritz walked straight into the en suite bathroom, and from what she could hear, started brushing his teeth. She put the bag down on the bed with a sigh and began working on the knot tied at the side of her waist. Finally freeing it, she slid the garment off her shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair that sat beneath a large window. She let the heavy drapes down from to obscure the glass before slipping out of her undergarments and into her black satin chemise.
Fritz seemed to still be going to town on his teeth. She grabbed her toothbrush and went to go join him; it wasn’t as if they were shy with one another when they were together at her house.
“Nice bathroom,” she said, looking around at the dated mint-green tiling that filled the space from floor to ceiling. At least it was rather large, she thought.
“Not as nice as yours,” he admitted after rinsing his mouth and placing his toothbrush in a stand shared with another. Sharon looked away and started brushing her own teeth. Fritz walked past her, cupping and squeezing her ass beneath her nightgown and grinning at her over her head in the mirror before leaving her alone in the bathroom.
Sharon finished her own routine shortly and went to go find Fritz. He’d turned back the covers and lay on the side farthest to the door to the room, looking very appealing wearing nothing at all as he patted the space beside him. Her heart rate increased, not only at the sight before her but at the knowledge of what they were going to do, and where they were about to do it. This was not her place; she was intruding on someone else’s life. But then, she had been for the better part of six months, already. She told herself to stop thinking about it for the next few hours, and flipped off the overhead light.
Just a small reading lamp illuminated them, letting her find her way to his side. She tucked her hair behind her and out of the way as she looked up at him, reaching out to rest her hand his hip as they faced one another.
“I’m glad to have finally met your children today,” he said, cupping her jaw tenderly. “Seeing this whole other side of you, this important part of your life that I knew so little about. It made me feel closer to you.”
Having your wife on the other side of the country is making me feel closer to you, she thought as she wrapped her leg around his and pulled herself closer. Internally chastising herself for indulging the imprudent thought, she forced herself to respond to him and resolved to stay present in the moment. This moment, this evening. “Hmm. Flowers, dinner with the family. We were almost like a real couple.” Almost.
“Let us,” he said, groaning as she began to shift her hips against him. “Let’s just...enjoy this while we can.” His fingers found the hem of her nightgown and slid it up and over her head, taking his time drawing it over her body but at the same time determined to get the garment out of the way. He tossed it to the floor and captured her lips with his, the intensity of his kisses matching the heat of their flesh as limbs slid and tangled and practiced fingers sought to provide pleasure to one another.
Her hand had wrapped around his length as soon as they started kissing, and she was delighted to find him full and hard right away. She knew he was vulnerable to her machinations when he began to thrust his hips into her hand, against her body, not that she was impervious to the sensations he was eliciting with his gentle exploration between her folds. His kisses grew demanding and needy, his tongue searching for hers and exploring her lips, chin, neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear. They each gave and took, their bodies undulating against one another in perfect, anticipatory counterpoint as they chased each other’s breath away, only to capture it again with each subsequent kiss.
Her hand wandered from his front around to palm his ass, then swept up his back so she could hold the back of his neck for leverage as she rolled them both until she was on top of him.
She sat up, panting lightly, straddling him so he could run his hands along her sides, up to her breasts, gently cupping them before circling her nipples with his thumbs. “Tease,” she accused him, prompting him to lean up and capture one tight bud in his mouth, followed by the other. She shifted her stance over him, allowing his length to settle between their bodies. She fondled him gently, rocking her own hips against him, causing him to moan and pinch her nipples hard.
“Hmm, you want more,” she guessed. “I can do that for you...”
“Please,” he ground out. “Only if you do me the favor of moving that sweet ass of yours up here where I can admire it, while you do...”
She laughed and shifted off him and to his side once more, kneeling next to him and taking him in hand as she descended her mouth down to his length. She had barely wrapped her lips around the head when she felt his strong hands grasp her hips and move the lower half of her body so that her mound was directly over his face.
“Been a while since we’ve done thi--,” she said over her shoulder, gasping when his tongue made contact where she wanted it most. Whether it was practiced familiarity, instinct, or just luck that allowed him to home right in where other men might have fumbled in such an awkward position, she didn’t really care. She pushed herself up slightly and positioned her mouth directly over his impressive length, taking her time sliding her lips down as she took as much of him in her mouth as she could, and even then a little deeper. The choked gasp she both felt and heard told her that her efforts were appreciated, and she tried not to smile (as that could have unpleasant consequences) as she slid her mouth up and down, up and down, taking him a bit deeper with each stroke.
As she continued to stroke him with her mouth, cupping his balls and caressing his thighs as she did so, Fritz was keeping busy beneath her. His questing tongue now sought to discover the secrets of her lower lips, teasing and licking and seeing which spots would elicit a reaction from her. He held her hips fast, keeping her from squirming away from him until he finally felt her body relax on top of him and her hips began to match the rhythm he was creating within her.
Overcome by fiery tendrils of sensation and dizzy with lack of oxygen, she lay her cheek on his thigh, tongue lazily lapping at the side of his cock while he feasted on her like a starving man, his tongue brushing back and forth over her clit. She felt his fingers probing gently, and moaned in approval when a digit finally breached her slick depths, so very ready to accept him.
“Oh, yes,” she said, pushing back against his hand, his mouth. “Oh, god.” A few more insistent strokes of his tongue sent her tumbling over the edge and off of Fritz into a sated heap beside him.
She felt him moving next to her until he settled and began trailing his hand back and forth along her spine, the gesture tender and soothing as her body recovered from the intensity of orgasm. She turned her face to him, and he smiled.
“You are so beautiful like this,” he said. “I love doing that for you.”
She reached out a shaking hand to caress his thigh. “Me too,” she managed to get out. Really, she loved getting to go first-- and he knew it, and often made sure she did. Gathering her strength, she turned from her stomach onto her back; her feet were still up by the headboard, but she doubted the erection bobbing in and out of her field of vision would care about the odd orientation. Her eyes finally met his, inviting him to finish what they had started.
He moved over her, bracing himself on either side of her body, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and shifted herself over toward the middle of the bed. “Better,” she declared once he followed suit. “Now fuck me, Fritz. Hard.” Make me forget where we are.
He followed her command, sheathing himself gently but quickening the pace after a few thrusts. He was pounding away, relentless, as she urged him on, and soon all she could do was hold on and let herself move with him until he gasped out her name in satisfaction.
* * *
“So I finally figured out the leak.” Sharon’s sudden, unprompted statement cleared the heavy sex-scented silence. It also invited the return of the specter of the marginalized third party in their relationship.
“Gabriel?” he guessed. “It didn’t make sense that he didn’t get subpoenaed until long after everyone else.”
“Yes. He was the source, not the leak, to be fair. And he still doesn’t know it,” she said. “It happened exactly like this.” She turned on her side to face him. “Just two lovers, blithely discussing work. Because it’s what couples do.”
“So his girlfriend, huh,” he said. “That would explain it.” He usually couldn’t get Brenda to stop talking about work in bed. Sharon was a different story, though what she was telling now him went beyond mere workplace gossip. And at least she had the courtesy to wait until they’d completed the act to spring something completely distracting on him.
“He had no reason to think that this person for whom he felt so deeply would quite literally sell him out,” she said.
He fell back against his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. “Gabriel and Brenda are both going to take this so hard.”
“I’m going to try talk to Pope on Monday, hopefully deal with it before she gets back,” said Sharon. “With any luck, he’ll be gone and the issue resolved, and she won’t have to do a thing.” She bit her bottom lip. “As for Gabriel, though...I really do feel for him. He seemed so happy with Anne. And as usual, I’m the one to burst his blissful bubble.”
“Bad news Raydor,” he said, wrapping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her against him in a comforting gesture. “Unfortunately, someone’s gotta be the heavy. And with Pope and Taylor more concerned about playing politics and meeting with decorators about their big new offices, and Brenda across the country...”
“This thing has always been on me,” she sighed. “I should have gone through with my threat of retiring.”
“You still could,” he said. “You could probably find a great position consulting with police departments about their IA policies. Maybe even start your own business. Give you more flexibility to spend time with your kids.”
She considered his suggestion for a moment, and shook her head. “No, at this point I think I owe it to myself to stick it out at the LAPD as long as I can. Maybe try to get out of Internal Affairs, though.” She ran her hand across his chest from breastbone to navel.
“You’ve been there a long time,” he said, placing his hand over hers before it could explore any further.
She nodded. “Working this detail auditing Major Crimes for the leak got me out of FID, and I found that I didn’t miss that insular little world. It might be time to put in for a transfer.”
“Back to Robbery/Homicide?” Fritz asked, frowning. “I don’t know, Sharon.”
“I don’t, either,” she said, leaning over him to place a kiss against his downturned lips. “I’d take anything but Traffic, I guess. I’ll talk to Pope about it once this leak thing gets resolved.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But we can talk about it more in the morning. Someone wore me out, and I’m exhausted.” She reached over him to turn out the light, and retreated back to her side of the bed. “Good night.”
He shifted his body to maximize contact with hers and wrapped his arm around her, nestling his hand between her breasts so that he could feel the beating of her heart. “Good night, sweet Sharon,” he whispered against her ear.
She could almost let herself want this. Almost.
* * *
A phone’s jarring buzz roused Sharon from a deep sleep. “Wha--?” she mumbled, opening her eyes but unable to see anything from beneath the tangled mass of hair that covered her face.
Fritz’s body was spooned around hers, his arm holding her close, and he gave her one last squeeze before shifting away to silence the intruding alarm.
But apparently it wasn’t an alarm. “Hi, honey,” Fritz said sleepily. “Yeah, hang on. Just a second.” He tossed the covers off his body and onto Sharon, but she missed his warmth immediately nonetheless as he walked out of the bedroom.
She wanted to go back to sleep. She really did. But without his solid bulk and even breathing behind her, this place felt wrong. Very wrong. What the hell had she been thinking, coming here? Perhaps she could blame the lapse in judgment on an excess of wine and the well-intentioned yet misguided interference of her children. She shrugged off the shroud of sleep and went into the bathroom, feeling that the unpleasant morning reality of the situation was probably entirely deserved. For such a by-the-book person, she seemed to have no problem flouting one of society's most accepted rules.
Within minutes, Sharon was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on the bed expectantly. His face fell when he came back into the room and found her like that, with her tote bag and purse packed up and ready to go.
“Brenda’s coming back today,” he said in apologetic explanation.
Sharon let herself fall back onto the bed so she wouldn’t read his face to try to discern how he felt about the premature return of his wife. “Of course she is.”
“I’m supposed to pick her up from the airport later this afternoon.”
“Of course you are.”
He lay down beside her. “She’s not coming back here.”
She turned her head to the side and finally met his eyes. “Really?”
“Indefinitely. She’s a little...unsettled by this space right now.”
Sharon snorted. “Well, that makes three of us, I bet.”
“I wouldn’t trade last night for anything,” he said. “I’m glad you were here.”
His sincerity confused and conflicted her. They made no secret of their fondness for one another, didn’t play coy about enjoying their limited time together, but couldn’t he see how loaded his declaration was in the context of where they were? Was he really so unable to be alone? She decided to stop analyzing and just accept his words at face value.
“Me too,” she said, finally smiling since the first time the phone had rung.
He leaned over her body and kissed her. “I’d love to have another night together like this.”
“Not here,” she said. “Whether she comes back or not, Fritz.”
“No.” He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Maybe your place.”
“We’ll see,” she said, pushing herself up off the bed and giving him a hand to pull him up. “Come on, let’s strip these sheets.”
As they went to opposite sides of the bed, she noticed that Fritz's ring had returned to his finger. Her son’s words echoed in her head. We just want you to be happy.
For this one night, she had been. Her oft-lonely life had felt full, if slightly off-kilter, surrounded by the people she cared about, who accepted her and Fritz as a couple.
But that dreamlike experience was over. In the course of this new day, she’d be saying goodbye to her children once again, and Fritz would be trying to persuade a grieving Brenda to come back to their home.
Did last night change anything? Sharon didn’t know. What tomorrow would bring remained to be seen.