Fic: Deliberate Indifference (Raydor/Fritz)
Title: Deliberate Indifference
Rating: MA
Word count: 5600
A/N: Well, folks, the wrong!ship has finally run its course. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to finally bring the wrong!ship into Major Crimes time after Sharon and Fritz last literally rode off into the sunset. Thanks to all who encouraged this oh so wrong but oh so hot pairing. Shout outs to fragrantwoods and nixmom for β-reading.
Brenda had come back from Atlanta, and for a few unhinged weeks, continued trying to work as if everything were back to normal after her mother’s death.
It wasn’t.
She refused to set foot in their house, sleeping instead at an extended-stay hotel and relying on Fritz to ferry her clothing and accessories between home, hotel, and office.
She’d spurned all of his efforts to offer her a modicum of comfort, insisting that she was fine and finding solace instead in a wine glass the size of her head. Fritz knew things were bad when he couldn’t come close to competing with her favored merlot.
And though he’d seen the writing on the wall far enough in advance to feel things out with Sharon, he knew it was truly over when the doorbell interrupted his lonely morning coffee and he signed for a FedEx package from the Atlanta Police Department.
“Brenda?” He gave a halfhearted knock on her slightly ajar office door and let himself in, closing the door behind him. “Can I talk to you, honey?”
She didn’t look up from the lab reports she was examining. “Sure.”
Leaning over her, he placed the FedEx envelope directly under her nose. “This came to the house for you today.”
“My heavens,” she said, picking it up and eagerly slicing open the top with a letter opener. “That certainly was quick.”
“Atlanta PD?” he said with an eyebrow raised.
Brenda slid a sheaf of papers out of the envelope and started scanning the cover letter. “They’re offering me a job. Assistant Chief.”
He sat in the chair across from her desk and waited for her to elaborate.
“Fritzi...” Brenda took off her glasses and clasped them loosely in her left hand. “Things haven’t been so great between us for a while. And my daddy really needs me to be closer than three thousand miles away right now.”
“So that’s it, you’re just going to leave? Without even talking to me about it?” He tried to stay calm, but she was calm enough for the both of them.
She still refused to look at him. “I don’t want you to come with me, Fritz.”
Of all the things she could have said, that was not one he was expecting. “But we’re married.”
Brenda’s gaze dropped to the pair of rings on her left hand. “We want different things in life, Fritz. I want better for you, really I do.” Looking up at him at last, she added, “I know about you and Sharon Raydor.”
He wasn’t expecting that, either. “You know? You know what?”
She practically rolled her eyes at him and waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the doorway, as if Sharon were right outside. “That the two of you are doing, ah--” she waved her hand again, uncharacteristically at a loss for words as Southern propriety constrained her sentiments “-- it. You know? That thing we haven’t done in ages.”
Fritz’s eyes dropped to the ground. It wasn’t as if she’d shown much interest, but he and Raydor had gotten involved even before things went off the deep end with Brenda. “How long have you known?”
Brenda stood up and walked around to stand closer to him, leaning against the front edge of her desk. “Long enough. Months. I am a pretty good investigator, you know.”
Her tone made him relax from the defensive position he’d assumed when she’d first said she knew. “You don’t seem particularly upset, honey.”
His endearment made all the difference, momentarily dissolving her calm. “Don’t ‘honey’ me!” she snapped. “Look, Capt’n Raydor’s an attractive woman, I’ll admit. And you and I...well, I know I’m at least halfway to blame for things falling apart, probably more so. I’m just at a point...” she trailed off sadly, unable to continue as the weight of the events of the past few days, months, year came crushing down.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, placing his hand on her forearm.
“So ‘m I.” She looked up at him. “Do you really care for her, Fritzi?”
He wanted to tell her everything. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. God, but this was hard, harder than he’d envisioned when he let himself entertain ideas of formalizing their de facto separation. He’d preferred to think about breaking the good news to Sharon, not having this difficult conversation with Brenda.
“Yes.”
Brenda sighed softly. “You deserve someone who cares as much for you as you do her. I haven’t been that person, Fritz.”
Fritz nodded slightly. She was right on the money, but he wasn’t going to rub her nose in it. “I loved you, Brenda. Maybe too much.” He thought of all the cancelled plans, deferred conversations, the distracted lovemaking that had been the hallmarks of their marriage.
“I’m going home, Fritz.” She didn’t mean to their house. That place wasn’t their home anymore; it never would be again. “You don’t belong there. I want you to stay here.” With her, she didn’t say, but the implication hung in the air, heavy as a brewing storm.
“Are you taking Joel?” he blurted. He’d meant to ask whether she wanted a divorce, but somehow, the cat took precedence. Kind of made sense for their relationship, actually.
“I’d like to. He was a gift, after all,” she pointed out.
He nodded again in agreement. “That’s true.” He cleared his throat and voiced the difficult question. “Brenda, do you want a divorce?”
Brenda reached out, trailed her fingers along the side of his face. “I just want to get out of LA,” she confessed. “We can figure out the rest later, if it’s all the same to you.” She smiled, even as her eyes watered up. She walked toward the closed door and reached for the handle in an unmistakable dismissal. Fritz rose.
“Besides, isn’t Capt’n Raydor still married?”
Fritz looked at his watch instead of Brenda and took a few dazed steps from her office into the hall. He barely registered the forceful closing of the heavy oak door behind him as he contemplated whether he might be able to persuade the Captain to take a long lunch.
* * *
She’d been skeptical at first at his suggestion that they go to lunch together, shocked when he pulled up to the visitor’s lot of her apartment building. “What are you doing? You said you were taking me to Cantina Feliz for the sopapilla special.”
He parked and turned off the ignition, then turned to her and took her hands in his. “Brenda’s leaving LA. Leaving me.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The corners of her eyes crinkled with concern and the breath seemed to have left her body.
“I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” he continued, so she wouldn’t have to react. “What did surprise me was that she knows about us.”
That piece of news broke her emotive embargo. “Oh no. No, no, noooo.” She raked her fingers through her hair nervously. “Fritz, we were so careful--”
“Give her some credit,” he said, smiling wryly. “The important thing is, she really didn’t seem too concerned.”
“Really?” Sharon quirked a doubtful eyebrow.
He shrugged. “She’s taking a job in Atlanta and doesn’t want me to come with her.”
Leaning back against her seat and turning her head to look at him, she said softly, “So what now?”
Fritz depressed the button on her seatbelt, releasing it, then his own. “We go inside.”
They walked quickly, tense with anticipation as they rode the elevator up to her floor. As soon as Sharon closed and locked the door behind them Fritz was on her, lips claiming hers, arms braced on either side of her body as he pinned her against the door. She fumbled with his shirt buttons, making quick work of them and tossing both his shirt and jacket aside.
“Move,” she commanded, pushing against his chest.
He ignored her request at first, continuing his exploration of the side of her neck from shoulder to jaw. He nipped at her earlobe and stepped aside. “Okay.”
She took him by the hand to her bedroom, taking a moment to push aside the curtains and let bright midday light flood the room. After a moment’s consideration, she walked over to the small satellite radio on her dresser and turned it on.
He hadn’t lost any time in divesting himself of his shoes, pants, and undershirt as she’d undertaken these tasks. He lay back on her bed, arms propped behind his head as he watched her graceful movements.
“Come here, Sharon,” he said.
She hurriedly shrugged out of her jacket and unzipped her skirt, draping them over the arm of a plush upholstered chair. By the time she hovered over him, she’d unbuttoned her silk blouse and it hung open. He reached up and slid it down her arms.
“No, come here.”
She reached down and pulled his shorts over his hips first before stretching one long leg over him so she was straddling him.
“Yeah,” he said, running his hands up her sides, over her shoulders, pushing her hair back so he could see her while she ground against his hardness. His hands made their way back down to her breasts, thumbs tracing where seam met skin. She hummed in pleasure, and he responded by pinching her nipples forcefully through the thick satin before growing frustrated with the barrier and reaching behind her to remove it.
She helped him slide the garment off her shoulders and tossed it carelessly away before leaning down to kiss him, bare breasts pressing against his own chest as she nipped at his lower lip. “I can’t believe this,” she murmured between kisses.
“Believe what?” He moved his hips in warning, then held her waist as he flipped her onto her back.
Giggling at the unexpected move, she elaborated. “Being here in the middle of a workday. The reason we’re here. All of it.”
“We’re . . . liaising,” he said, referring to their old euphemism. “Let me show you what the feds do best.” And he knelt between her legs and feasted on the succulent banquet before him like the famished man he was. No tentative caresses or gentle suckling; she was wet and ready for him, more so with each circling of her clit and probing of his tongue.
“Oh, god, Fritz!” Sharon’s moans drowned out the piano concerto that was playing on the stereo.
“I’m gonna make you scream my name every night,” he promised.
She pulled her body back slightly and her eyes snapped open, looking down at him. “Every night, huh?” It wasn’t an invitation to move in, it was a challenge. He grasped her hips and brought his mouth back to the juncture of her thighs, making her writhe against him. She laced her fingers through his thick hair, arching her hips up off the bed in pleasure as two fingers slid easily inside her.
“I’m so close,” she gasped. “Fritz, please.”
He wasn’t inclined to deny her. As he curled his fingers to massage the muscles clenching around them, Sharon whimpered in ecstasy, moaning louder and louder, until the spasms that wracked her body snapped her mouth shut and she drifted down from her blissful high in silence. Fritz came up to lay beside her, grinding his cock lightly against her hip and nuzzling her ear while she caught her breath.
“Good?” he whispered, his voice deep and husky.
She cracked an eyelid open and peered at him hazily. “Mmm-hmm.”
Her hand slid off her stomach and down to take him in hand. Fritz’s breath caught as she pumped her hand back and forth several times, applying just the right amount of pressure to send his inner stallion galloping with desire.
A few more strokes and she had come back to herself enough to wrap her leg around his body for leverage and roll herself on top of him. He got with the program quickly, grasping her hips as she positioned herself above him.
“Oh, yes,” she said on a long exhale, letting her slick heat surround him. Placing her hands against his chest, she began to shift on top of him, circling her hips to feel all of him with as much of her as was possible.
“Fuck, Captain,” he groaned.
“That’s the general idea,” she said, smirking as she squeezed her inner muscles around him.
“Fuck me.”
“Since you’re offering.” She changed the angle, and he quickened the pace; that just made her laugh, and stop moving entirely, reining in his enthusiasm by implicitly admonishing him to slow down. Once he relinquished control, conceding their relative positions--she the rider, he the draft animal-- she brought her upper body down, closer to him, and pulled her hips up and away from his, though not far enough to lose their connection.
She was driving him crazy with her measured acceptance of and withdrawal, inch by painstaking inch, of his thick length. He lost count after seven or eight times, seized with a need to give into his most animalistic desires and pound into her. He grasped her shoulders and rolled them both.
“Mine,” he growled, pushing deep and palming a breast possessively. She squinted at him, contrary, even as she began to move with him.
“Gorgeous,” he tried instead. That worked better; he got a smile and a contented giggle that morphed into a moan when he slid a hand between them.
He worked circles around her clit as she ran her hand from his back down to his ass, cupping it, bringing him closer to her as he set a galloping rhythm they surely couldn’t maintain for long. “Oh, that’s good,” she sighed. “So good.” She squirmed beneath him, trying to maximize the sensation of his fingers against her clit and his cock deep within as he tried to hold back, make it last. Because this was fucking amazing, and he wanted her to take him for at least one more lap.
He shifted his hips to try a different angle, rewarding them both with the change. “Right there, Fritz,” she said, all plaintive urgency. She reached her hands up behind her head and braced them against the solid wooden headboard in an unspoken surrender to his mercy as he continued his long strokes, hitting the same spot that had elicited her deepest moans even as his fingertip continued its quest to provide more pleasure.
“Come on. Come on, baby,” he encouraged her, wanting to see her fly apart a second time. He realized a moment too late that he’d used her most disdained endearment, but she was too far gone, grinding shamelessly against his hand, to care.
“Oh god, yes,” she moaned, arching beneath him. “Yes, yes.”
Her shudder of release was his cue to let go, heightening the sensation of orgasm for her and bringing about his own end in just a few more steady thrusts.
She trembled when he withdrew from her, and rolled onto her side so she could snuggle against him and lay her own possessive hand across his chest.
“Mine,” she whispered before drifting into a too-brief nap.
* * *
Six weeks later
Fritz walked the familiar path into the Major Crimes murder room. He hadn’t had occasion to work with the unit for a couple of weeks, and was both anxious and excited at returning to see how Sharon was settling in. Fortunately, the murder of an Israeli mob informant who'd been slated for federal relocation had provided the perfect opportunity. He just had some follow-up to discuss with the lead investigators about the odd life coach.
He knocked on her office door. She was on the phone, but waved at him to come in. He hadn’t been in Brenda’s old office since he’d helped Sharon throw away all the candy from the top desk drawer. It looked very much her own space now, decorated with framed watercolors he knew she had painted herself. They were mostly landscapes, though she kept threatening to do a portrait of him whenever he complimented her work.
Fritz closed the door behind him and pulled the blinds closed. “Yes, thank you for calling, Father,” Sharon was saying as she tried to hang up the phone. “Mm-hmm. Yes, you too.”
The phone made its way noisily into the receiver, and cool green eyes met his blue ones. “Hi,” he said, letting his gaze drift down to her chest. She leaned back in her chair and let him look.
“That was the principal of Rusty’s school. Apparently Rusty forgot to have me sign a permission slip for a field trip into the desert his biology class is going on today, so he wanted to ask my permission verbally.”
“That’s nice of him to do. So I take it he was able to go,” he said, easing down into a chair across from her desk.
She nodded. “Mm-hmm. He’ll be back around seven-thirty tonight.”
Fritz leaned forward. “So can I take you to dinner, in that case?” He didn’t begrudge the troubled young man in the least, but his opportunities to see Sharon had vastly diminished in the time she’d taken the material witness into her home and under her wing.
Rusty was a challenge, but one that Sharon was rising to admirably. Her maternal instincts were unquestionably intact, and Fritz was proud of her for making a connection with Rusty.
But the three of them presented a different dynamic. With Sharon so carefully striving to create a home for Rusty, on top of the work duties Fritz was all too familiar with, she’d been distant, probably deliberately. And Fritz, while not holding it against her, found himself quite lonely.
“I was supposed to get together with Gavin for a drink tonight,” she said slowly. “I haven’t seen him in ages...”
At Fritz’s crestfallen face, she hastily acknowledged, “I know we haven’t had many opportunities to see each other, either, Fritz.” She got up and came to sit on his lap. “I’m sorry about that,” she whispered, before letting her lips brush against his.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” Sharon smiled. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.”
“Why don’t you come over for dinner at my apartment later? I’ll need to feed Rusty, anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how I’d ever forgotten how much a teenage boy can eat.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I know he’s still settling in.”
She shrugged. “He’s asked about you, you know.” She leaned into him and briefly pressed her forehead to his. “I think I would like for the two of you to get to know each other better. If you want to, that is.”
It was more than he could have hoped for. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
An impatient knock, the creak of a door hinge in need of oiling, and an awkward throat-clearing progressively startled Sharon off Fritz’s lap and into a defensive posture as she turned, arms crossed over her chest, to face an incredulous Andy Flynn.
“Captain, they need you in the media room,” he announced from the threshold of her office while looking curiously at Fritz.
“Certainly, Lieutenant,” she answered crisply, returning to her desk to once again don her blazer. Only when she was nearly to the door did she turn and give Fritz a curt nod at odds with her soft smile. “Agent Howard.”
Flynn watched his boss stride through the murder room, hips swaying, before he realized that he was standing in Fritz’s way as he tried to leave.
“You really are determined to operate under a continual conflict of interest, huh, Howard?” Flynn muttered as he stepped aside, a hint of bitter jealousy evident in his tone. “The Chief, and now the Captain?”
Fritz shrugged. “They’re very different women. Just happened to share the same job.” He pushed past Flynn and made his way out toward the elevators.
“I’ll be damned,” grumbled Flynn as he went to tell Provenza the latest.
* * *
“So you and Fritz are outed at work? I thought you haven’t even been seeing him,” Gavin asked between sips of his dirty martini.
“Hmm. I haven’t seen him in a while, but he came over on a case today.” She laughed uncomfortably. “Flynn walked into my office while I was sitting on his lap.”
Gavin’s jaw dropped, and she reached over the table to push it back into place.
“I know.”
“And now so does your whole division.”
She nodded ruefully. “Yes.”
“Very bad, Captain,” he lectured, waving the sword-shaped toothpick that had been spearing his olive at her. “Very, very bad.”
“I know,” she said again. “It was just -- I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he’s been so great about it.” She sipped her white wine thoughtfully. “I know that he’s lonely, and hurt that Brenda left the way she did, and it’s unfortunate that I’m not available right now...”
“To help him through his lonely heartbreak,” supplied Gavin. “Sharon, you’ve made yourself permanently unavailable for years, you know.”
“And I want to do something about it,” she said emphatically. “But it’s hard. You were there, when Fritz met my kids.”
“A little awkward, for sure,” he said cheerily. “And your kids are way better adjusted than Rusty.”
Sharon gasped and smacked Gavin’s arm. “Don’t speak ill of my Rusty!”
“Look, I’m not saying he doesn’t have cause to have occasional maladjusted freakouts,” Gavin soothed. “I’m just saying, he’s just getting settled with you, he’s barely comfortable with your squad despite the fact that he spends most of his day at LAPD headquarters. It might be tough for him if you were to introduce Fritz into the mix.”
“Weak arguments, counselor,” she clucked at him. “First, Rusty already knows Fritz, from when he was staying with Chief Johnson.”
“Oh, and that went so well,” Gavin said sarcastically. “What with the psychopath breaking in and holding Rusty at knifepoint, then stabbing him in the leg. Brenda ignoring Rusty’s pleas to shoot the fucker and end the whole thing. Great memories, I’m sure.” He took a long sip, brow furrowed thoughtfully. “What’s your second point?”
“I think Rusty is starting to understand that I will always be there for him,” she said slowly. “I don’t think he would react badly at having a guest over for dinner once in a while. He’s even asked me if we could invite Flynn over before.”
“Oh reaaaally.” Gavin smirked over his glass. “Sounds like Rusty’s got someone else in mind for you, then.”
“He just wanted to say thank you for trying to help bring him to his mother, and to apologize for running off when she didn’t show,” Sharon protested.
“Mmm-hmm.” Gavin’s obsequious nod mocked her.
“This discussion is entirely moot anyway,” Sharon said, pulling out her iPhone to check the time. “Because Fritz is coming over to my place for dinner in an hour.”
Gavin tossed two twenties on the table, more than enough to cover her glass of wine and the two cocktails he’d swilled. “Why didn’t you say so? Go home and get changed, Sharon.”
She looked down at her silk blouse and dark slacks, then back up to glare at Gavin, but her glare turned to a grin at his encouraging expression. “Thanks, Gavin.”
* * *
Sharon checked the French bread bubbling under the broiler and decided it could use another thirty seconds or so as a thick waft of garlic-scented heat billowed out from the oven. She took the time to give the caesar salad another toss, ensuring each bite-sized piece of Romaine was coated in the acidic dressing.
She was taking no chances that this shared dinner could lead to anything remotely inappropriate in front of Rusty. Despite Gavin’s implication that she should wear something nice, she’d dressed casually in dark jeans and a soft button-down shirt worn untucked over a camisole. All things told, she was feeling rather domestic for a weeknight.
The clack of the deadbolt turning in the lock alerted her to Rusty’s return just as she set the baking sheet of garlic bread down on a trivet and turned off the oven. He’d texted earlier in the day that the school activity van would be dropping him off, so she wouldn’t need to come get him. That had given her time to get to Ralphs to buy some things and start making dinner.
“Hey, Sharon,” he greeted her as he closed the door behind him and tossed his backpack onto the couch. “What’s going on? You’re cooking?”
“I do cook once in a while, you know,” she teased gently. “Maybe not as well as you.” She smiled at him as she turned the salmon filets over in the stainless steel pan. “We’re going to have company tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“Um...yeah, sure,” he stammered. “Who?”
Sharon motioned for Rusty to sit at the breakfast bar and sidled up to the counter so she was facing him. “Fritz Howard. Do you remember him?”
“The FBI guy, right?” he asked. “I’ve seen him around a couple of times. He always seemed to be bringing shoes and stuff for Brenda.”
She ignored the mention of the former deputy chief. “Right. He’s the FBI’s liaison to the LAPD,” she said. “He’s also a friend of mine, and I haven’t seen him in a while, so I invited him to join us for dinner.”
If Rusty was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Whatever,” he said, shrugging.
“How was your field trip?”
His face lit up, the first time she’d seen him excited about anything associated with his new school. “It was pretty cool, actually. Lots of neat rock formations. We learned about the different ecosystems in the higher desert and the lower one.”
Sharon smiled. She hadn’t been to Joshua Tree in years. Maybe she and Rusty would go hiking together sometime. “Which did you like better?”
“The Mojave, for sure. Although the oases in the Colorado desert were cool, too.”
“Sounds like a good day,” she said.
His nonchalant affect returned. “I guess.”
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, sliding off his stool. “Should I set the table?”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned to the range and shut off the gas burner under the fish.
“For three?” Rusty was in the kitchen, rummaging through the silverware drawer.
“Please,” Sharon answered.
By the time Fritz arrived fifteen minutes later, the table had been set and Rusty, having insisted that he didn't have any homework, was playing video games in his room. The flowers Fritz brought for Sharon were the perfect centerpiece.
“I hope it’s not too much,” he said in a low voice as she filled a vase with water.
She turned to him and smiled. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
He had debated over the bouquet, wondered whether it might give Rusty the wrong idea. He had no idea what she might have told him about their relationship. But seeing her today had made him realize just how much he missed her, wanted her back in his life.
And the fact that her life now included a sixteen-year-old boy...well, Fritz had always liked kids. He smiled.
Sharon noticed. "What?" she asked, looking at him curiously as she placed the attractive arrangement of tiger lilies on the table.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "Where's Rusty?"
"In his room," she answered, then called in a loud voice, "Rusty! Dinner!"
Fritz walked up behind her, placing his hands lightly at her hips. "I wasn't necessarily asking for you to call him out here just yet," he murmured against her ear.
She turned around and took a step backward, shooting him a warning look not entirely devoid of mirth. Before he could defend himself or take further action, her ward appeared.
"Hi, Rusty," Fritz said with a friendly smile. "Nice to see you again."
Rusty looked from Sharon to Fritz and back again. "Hey." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, a deliberate posture making a handshake out of the question.
"Shall we eat?" Sharon asked in a tone both men had heard her use with her squad. Her "please just act nicely but do as I say, because you know I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the face with a nonlethal beanbag gun" approach to leadership. Fritz was glad for it as they pulled out chairs and sat down, Sharon at the head of the table, Fritz and Rusty facing one another on either side.
Dinner passed surprisingly quickly, the conversation flowing more easily than Fritz would have thought. He saw the ease between Sharon and Rusty, recognized the rapport from having observed her with her son. (Her relationship with Rusty appeared markedly more relaxed than what he'd seen of her interaction with Sara.)
Fritz asked Rusty about school activities, and the boy reluctantly shared that he'd been invited to join the chess club.
Sharon looked surprised at this development. “I didn’t know you played chess, Rusty,” she said. Fritz could tell that she was trying not to appear hurt that she’d been ignorant of this fact.
He looked down at his plate and speared a forkful of salad, stuffing it in his mouth just before speaking. “Yeah. I haven’t played much the past couple of years, though.” He swallowed and added, “I just happened to walk by while someone was setting up the boards. I kicked Jeremy’s ass.” At Sharon’s disapproving look he quickly amended, “Butt. I kicked his butt.”
“Good for you,” Sharon said. “You know, I have a board around here somewhere . . . I think maybe in the linen closet. We can play whenever you’d like.”
"I play a bit, myself," Fritz add. "I'm always happy to talk strategy."
At Rusty’s indifferent shrug, Fritz turned to Sharon and changed the subject. “Dinner was excellent, Sharon. Thank you for cooking.”
“Yeah, Sharon,” Rusty said, popping the last bit of garlic bread into his mouth. “Thanks.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said, standing up and gathering plates and serving dishes.
Rusty set down his fork and pushed back his chair. “I can clean up, Sharon.”
“Yeah?” She looked from the table into the kitchen, which was still full of pans needing to be washed. “I’ll clear the table, but thank you, Rusty.”
She took the dishes into the kitchen, Fritz and Rusty following close behind her with the table’s remains.
“Sharon, I’ve got it,” Rusty said when Sharon started rinsing things.
She smiled and held up her hands sheepishly. “All right, all right. Fritz, do you want some tea or coffee?”
“No, thanks,” he said.
Sharon nodded and led him out to the living room, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for him to do the same. She looked at him-- really looked at him, with those sharp green eyes that seemed to bore down to his soul-- for what must have been the first time all evening. “So how are you doing?”
His gaze remained locked on hers. “Keeping busy at work,” he said. “They’ve got me working a joint task force drug interdiction project that’s taking up a lot of my time. Overnight stakeouts.”
She hummed as she tucked her legs beneath her and leaned back. “And when you’re not working?”
“The usual,” he said. “Gym. Meetings. Watching the Dodgers.” Not dating. How had he ended up with no family, few friends? He looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. “How are things going with him?”
“We’ve come a long way,” she said slowly. “He’s settling in, slowly. I think he’s given up on his mother completely.” She sighed. “It’s sad, but it’s made him a lot less antagonistic toward me.”
“I could tell,” Fritz said. “I think there’s a lot of respect there.”
“We’ve been working on that, believe me,” she said.
“Did he give you a hard time about having a dinner guest?” he asked.
“Hmm. You know, he really didn’t.”
Fritz reached out and covered her hand with his. “Good.”
They sat quietly like that for a few minutes, the sound of running water and clattering pans in the background as their eyes would meet and acknowledge the things they wouldn’t say.
I miss you. I need you.
Me too.
Finally the noises from the kitchen ceased, and Rusty came into the living room with a battered paperback in hand. He flopped into the armchair in the corner with barely a glance at them.
“Guess I should go,” Fritz said softly with a wistful look. Sharon gave him a similar one and stood first, holding out her hand to help him up.
“Goodbye, Rusty,” Fritz said to the reading boy.
“Bye, Fritz,” Rusty replied, politely looking up from beneath his dark blond fringe. “We’ll talk some chess strategy next time.”
Next time. He liked the sound of that. “Sure.”
Sharon led him to the door, and as they passed by the kitchen, Fritz was struck by a mental image of her, bent over the oven, maybe basting a turkey. It was a contrast to all those memories he had of her bent over the bathroom vanity or the couch, and he found it nearly as appealing.
She stopped him when his hand reached out for the doorknob. “I’m feeling back where I was a few months ago,” she said softly. “Ready to see where this goes.”
The memory of sitting hand-in-hand at the edge of a bluff at sunset, horses whinnying behind them as they exchanged vague but hopeful intentions, was apparently one neither had forgotten.
“I’m here,” he said simply.
She kissed him goodbye, and it felt like hello.
Rating: MA
Word count: 5600
A/N: Well, folks, the wrong!ship has finally run its course. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to finally bring the wrong!ship into Major Crimes time after Sharon and Fritz last literally rode off into the sunset. Thanks to all who encouraged this oh so wrong but oh so hot pairing. Shout outs to fragrantwoods and nixmom for β-reading.
Brenda had come back from Atlanta, and for a few unhinged weeks, continued trying to work as if everything were back to normal after her mother’s death.
It wasn’t.
She refused to set foot in their house, sleeping instead at an extended-stay hotel and relying on Fritz to ferry her clothing and accessories between home, hotel, and office.
She’d spurned all of his efforts to offer her a modicum of comfort, insisting that she was fine and finding solace instead in a wine glass the size of her head. Fritz knew things were bad when he couldn’t come close to competing with her favored merlot.
And though he’d seen the writing on the wall far enough in advance to feel things out with Sharon, he knew it was truly over when the doorbell interrupted his lonely morning coffee and he signed for a FedEx package from the Atlanta Police Department.
“Brenda?” He gave a halfhearted knock on her slightly ajar office door and let himself in, closing the door behind him. “Can I talk to you, honey?”
She didn’t look up from the lab reports she was examining. “Sure.”
Leaning over her, he placed the FedEx envelope directly under her nose. “This came to the house for you today.”
“My heavens,” she said, picking it up and eagerly slicing open the top with a letter opener. “That certainly was quick.”
“Atlanta PD?” he said with an eyebrow raised.
Brenda slid a sheaf of papers out of the envelope and started scanning the cover letter. “They’re offering me a job. Assistant Chief.”
He sat in the chair across from her desk and waited for her to elaborate.
“Fritzi...” Brenda took off her glasses and clasped them loosely in her left hand. “Things haven’t been so great between us for a while. And my daddy really needs me to be closer than three thousand miles away right now.”
“So that’s it, you’re just going to leave? Without even talking to me about it?” He tried to stay calm, but she was calm enough for the both of them.
She still refused to look at him. “I don’t want you to come with me, Fritz.”
Of all the things she could have said, that was not one he was expecting. “But we’re married.”
Brenda’s gaze dropped to the pair of rings on her left hand. “We want different things in life, Fritz. I want better for you, really I do.” Looking up at him at last, she added, “I know about you and Sharon Raydor.”
He wasn’t expecting that, either. “You know? You know what?”
She practically rolled her eyes at him and waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the doorway, as if Sharon were right outside. “That the two of you are doing, ah--” she waved her hand again, uncharacteristically at a loss for words as Southern propriety constrained her sentiments “-- it. You know? That thing we haven’t done in ages.”
Fritz’s eyes dropped to the ground. It wasn’t as if she’d shown much interest, but he and Raydor had gotten involved even before things went off the deep end with Brenda. “How long have you known?”
Brenda stood up and walked around to stand closer to him, leaning against the front edge of her desk. “Long enough. Months. I am a pretty good investigator, you know.”
Her tone made him relax from the defensive position he’d assumed when she’d first said she knew. “You don’t seem particularly upset, honey.”
His endearment made all the difference, momentarily dissolving her calm. “Don’t ‘honey’ me!” she snapped. “Look, Capt’n Raydor’s an attractive woman, I’ll admit. And you and I...well, I know I’m at least halfway to blame for things falling apart, probably more so. I’m just at a point...” she trailed off sadly, unable to continue as the weight of the events of the past few days, months, year came crushing down.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, placing his hand on her forearm.
“So ‘m I.” She looked up at him. “Do you really care for her, Fritzi?”
He wanted to tell her everything. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. God, but this was hard, harder than he’d envisioned when he let himself entertain ideas of formalizing their de facto separation. He’d preferred to think about breaking the good news to Sharon, not having this difficult conversation with Brenda.
“Yes.”
Brenda sighed softly. “You deserve someone who cares as much for you as you do her. I haven’t been that person, Fritz.”
Fritz nodded slightly. She was right on the money, but he wasn’t going to rub her nose in it. “I loved you, Brenda. Maybe too much.” He thought of all the cancelled plans, deferred conversations, the distracted lovemaking that had been the hallmarks of their marriage.
“I’m going home, Fritz.” She didn’t mean to their house. That place wasn’t their home anymore; it never would be again. “You don’t belong there. I want you to stay here.” With her, she didn’t say, but the implication hung in the air, heavy as a brewing storm.
“Are you taking Joel?” he blurted. He’d meant to ask whether she wanted a divorce, but somehow, the cat took precedence. Kind of made sense for their relationship, actually.
“I’d like to. He was a gift, after all,” she pointed out.
He nodded again in agreement. “That’s true.” He cleared his throat and voiced the difficult question. “Brenda, do you want a divorce?”
Brenda reached out, trailed her fingers along the side of his face. “I just want to get out of LA,” she confessed. “We can figure out the rest later, if it’s all the same to you.” She smiled, even as her eyes watered up. She walked toward the closed door and reached for the handle in an unmistakable dismissal. Fritz rose.
“Besides, isn’t Capt’n Raydor still married?”
Fritz looked at his watch instead of Brenda and took a few dazed steps from her office into the hall. He barely registered the forceful closing of the heavy oak door behind him as he contemplated whether he might be able to persuade the Captain to take a long lunch.
* * *
She’d been skeptical at first at his suggestion that they go to lunch together, shocked when he pulled up to the visitor’s lot of her apartment building. “What are you doing? You said you were taking me to Cantina Feliz for the sopapilla special.”
He parked and turned off the ignition, then turned to her and took her hands in his. “Brenda’s leaving LA. Leaving me.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The corners of her eyes crinkled with concern and the breath seemed to have left her body.
“I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” he continued, so she wouldn’t have to react. “What did surprise me was that she knows about us.”
That piece of news broke her emotive embargo. “Oh no. No, no, noooo.” She raked her fingers through her hair nervously. “Fritz, we were so careful--”
“Give her some credit,” he said, smiling wryly. “The important thing is, she really didn’t seem too concerned.”
“Really?” Sharon quirked a doubtful eyebrow.
He shrugged. “She’s taking a job in Atlanta and doesn’t want me to come with her.”
Leaning back against her seat and turning her head to look at him, she said softly, “So what now?”
Fritz depressed the button on her seatbelt, releasing it, then his own. “We go inside.”
They walked quickly, tense with anticipation as they rode the elevator up to her floor. As soon as Sharon closed and locked the door behind them Fritz was on her, lips claiming hers, arms braced on either side of her body as he pinned her against the door. She fumbled with his shirt buttons, making quick work of them and tossing both his shirt and jacket aside.
“Move,” she commanded, pushing against his chest.
He ignored her request at first, continuing his exploration of the side of her neck from shoulder to jaw. He nipped at her earlobe and stepped aside. “Okay.”
She took him by the hand to her bedroom, taking a moment to push aside the curtains and let bright midday light flood the room. After a moment’s consideration, she walked over to the small satellite radio on her dresser and turned it on.
He hadn’t lost any time in divesting himself of his shoes, pants, and undershirt as she’d undertaken these tasks. He lay back on her bed, arms propped behind his head as he watched her graceful movements.
“Come here, Sharon,” he said.
She hurriedly shrugged out of her jacket and unzipped her skirt, draping them over the arm of a plush upholstered chair. By the time she hovered over him, she’d unbuttoned her silk blouse and it hung open. He reached up and slid it down her arms.
“No, come here.”
She reached down and pulled his shorts over his hips first before stretching one long leg over him so she was straddling him.
“Yeah,” he said, running his hands up her sides, over her shoulders, pushing her hair back so he could see her while she ground against his hardness. His hands made their way back down to her breasts, thumbs tracing where seam met skin. She hummed in pleasure, and he responded by pinching her nipples forcefully through the thick satin before growing frustrated with the barrier and reaching behind her to remove it.
She helped him slide the garment off her shoulders and tossed it carelessly away before leaning down to kiss him, bare breasts pressing against his own chest as she nipped at his lower lip. “I can’t believe this,” she murmured between kisses.
“Believe what?” He moved his hips in warning, then held her waist as he flipped her onto her back.
Giggling at the unexpected move, she elaborated. “Being here in the middle of a workday. The reason we’re here. All of it.”
“We’re . . . liaising,” he said, referring to their old euphemism. “Let me show you what the feds do best.” And he knelt between her legs and feasted on the succulent banquet before him like the famished man he was. No tentative caresses or gentle suckling; she was wet and ready for him, more so with each circling of her clit and probing of his tongue.
“Oh, god, Fritz!” Sharon’s moans drowned out the piano concerto that was playing on the stereo.
“I’m gonna make you scream my name every night,” he promised.
She pulled her body back slightly and her eyes snapped open, looking down at him. “Every night, huh?” It wasn’t an invitation to move in, it was a challenge. He grasped her hips and brought his mouth back to the juncture of her thighs, making her writhe against him. She laced her fingers through his thick hair, arching her hips up off the bed in pleasure as two fingers slid easily inside her.
“I’m so close,” she gasped. “Fritz, please.”
He wasn’t inclined to deny her. As he curled his fingers to massage the muscles clenching around them, Sharon whimpered in ecstasy, moaning louder and louder, until the spasms that wracked her body snapped her mouth shut and she drifted down from her blissful high in silence. Fritz came up to lay beside her, grinding his cock lightly against her hip and nuzzling her ear while she caught her breath.
“Good?” he whispered, his voice deep and husky.
She cracked an eyelid open and peered at him hazily. “Mmm-hmm.”
Her hand slid off her stomach and down to take him in hand. Fritz’s breath caught as she pumped her hand back and forth several times, applying just the right amount of pressure to send his inner stallion galloping with desire.
A few more strokes and she had come back to herself enough to wrap her leg around his body for leverage and roll herself on top of him. He got with the program quickly, grasping her hips as she positioned herself above him.
“Oh, yes,” she said on a long exhale, letting her slick heat surround him. Placing her hands against his chest, she began to shift on top of him, circling her hips to feel all of him with as much of her as was possible.
“Fuck, Captain,” he groaned.
“That’s the general idea,” she said, smirking as she squeezed her inner muscles around him.
“Fuck me.”
“Since you’re offering.” She changed the angle, and he quickened the pace; that just made her laugh, and stop moving entirely, reining in his enthusiasm by implicitly admonishing him to slow down. Once he relinquished control, conceding their relative positions--she the rider, he the draft animal-- she brought her upper body down, closer to him, and pulled her hips up and away from his, though not far enough to lose their connection.
She was driving him crazy with her measured acceptance of and withdrawal, inch by painstaking inch, of his thick length. He lost count after seven or eight times, seized with a need to give into his most animalistic desires and pound into her. He grasped her shoulders and rolled them both.
“Mine,” he growled, pushing deep and palming a breast possessively. She squinted at him, contrary, even as she began to move with him.
“Gorgeous,” he tried instead. That worked better; he got a smile and a contented giggle that morphed into a moan when he slid a hand between them.
He worked circles around her clit as she ran her hand from his back down to his ass, cupping it, bringing him closer to her as he set a galloping rhythm they surely couldn’t maintain for long. “Oh, that’s good,” she sighed. “So good.” She squirmed beneath him, trying to maximize the sensation of his fingers against her clit and his cock deep within as he tried to hold back, make it last. Because this was fucking amazing, and he wanted her to take him for at least one more lap.
He shifted his hips to try a different angle, rewarding them both with the change. “Right there, Fritz,” she said, all plaintive urgency. She reached her hands up behind her head and braced them against the solid wooden headboard in an unspoken surrender to his mercy as he continued his long strokes, hitting the same spot that had elicited her deepest moans even as his fingertip continued its quest to provide more pleasure.
“Come on. Come on, baby,” he encouraged her, wanting to see her fly apart a second time. He realized a moment too late that he’d used her most disdained endearment, but she was too far gone, grinding shamelessly against his hand, to care.
“Oh god, yes,” she moaned, arching beneath him. “Yes, yes.”
Her shudder of release was his cue to let go, heightening the sensation of orgasm for her and bringing about his own end in just a few more steady thrusts.
She trembled when he withdrew from her, and rolled onto her side so she could snuggle against him and lay her own possessive hand across his chest.
“Mine,” she whispered before drifting into a too-brief nap.
* * *
Six weeks later
Fritz walked the familiar path into the Major Crimes murder room. He hadn’t had occasion to work with the unit for a couple of weeks, and was both anxious and excited at returning to see how Sharon was settling in. Fortunately, the murder of an Israeli mob informant who'd been slated for federal relocation had provided the perfect opportunity. He just had some follow-up to discuss with the lead investigators about the odd life coach.
He knocked on her office door. She was on the phone, but waved at him to come in. He hadn’t been in Brenda’s old office since he’d helped Sharon throw away all the candy from the top desk drawer. It looked very much her own space now, decorated with framed watercolors he knew she had painted herself. They were mostly landscapes, though she kept threatening to do a portrait of him whenever he complimented her work.
Fritz closed the door behind him and pulled the blinds closed. “Yes, thank you for calling, Father,” Sharon was saying as she tried to hang up the phone. “Mm-hmm. Yes, you too.”
The phone made its way noisily into the receiver, and cool green eyes met his blue ones. “Hi,” he said, letting his gaze drift down to her chest. She leaned back in her chair and let him look.
“That was the principal of Rusty’s school. Apparently Rusty forgot to have me sign a permission slip for a field trip into the desert his biology class is going on today, so he wanted to ask my permission verbally.”
“That’s nice of him to do. So I take it he was able to go,” he said, easing down into a chair across from her desk.
She nodded. “Mm-hmm. He’ll be back around seven-thirty tonight.”
Fritz leaned forward. “So can I take you to dinner, in that case?” He didn’t begrudge the troubled young man in the least, but his opportunities to see Sharon had vastly diminished in the time she’d taken the material witness into her home and under her wing.
Rusty was a challenge, but one that Sharon was rising to admirably. Her maternal instincts were unquestionably intact, and Fritz was proud of her for making a connection with Rusty.
But the three of them presented a different dynamic. With Sharon so carefully striving to create a home for Rusty, on top of the work duties Fritz was all too familiar with, she’d been distant, probably deliberately. And Fritz, while not holding it against her, found himself quite lonely.
“I was supposed to get together with Gavin for a drink tonight,” she said slowly. “I haven’t seen him in ages...”
At Fritz’s crestfallen face, she hastily acknowledged, “I know we haven’t had many opportunities to see each other, either, Fritz.” She got up and came to sit on his lap. “I’m sorry about that,” she whispered, before letting her lips brush against his.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” Sharon smiled. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.”
“Why don’t you come over for dinner at my apartment later? I’ll need to feed Rusty, anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how I’d ever forgotten how much a teenage boy can eat.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I know he’s still settling in.”
She shrugged. “He’s asked about you, you know.” She leaned into him and briefly pressed her forehead to his. “I think I would like for the two of you to get to know each other better. If you want to, that is.”
It was more than he could have hoped for. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
An impatient knock, the creak of a door hinge in need of oiling, and an awkward throat-clearing progressively startled Sharon off Fritz’s lap and into a defensive posture as she turned, arms crossed over her chest, to face an incredulous Andy Flynn.
“Captain, they need you in the media room,” he announced from the threshold of her office while looking curiously at Fritz.
“Certainly, Lieutenant,” she answered crisply, returning to her desk to once again don her blazer. Only when she was nearly to the door did she turn and give Fritz a curt nod at odds with her soft smile. “Agent Howard.”
Flynn watched his boss stride through the murder room, hips swaying, before he realized that he was standing in Fritz’s way as he tried to leave.
“You really are determined to operate under a continual conflict of interest, huh, Howard?” Flynn muttered as he stepped aside, a hint of bitter jealousy evident in his tone. “The Chief, and now the Captain?”
Fritz shrugged. “They’re very different women. Just happened to share the same job.” He pushed past Flynn and made his way out toward the elevators.
“I’ll be damned,” grumbled Flynn as he went to tell Provenza the latest.
* * *
“So you and Fritz are outed at work? I thought you haven’t even been seeing him,” Gavin asked between sips of his dirty martini.
“Hmm. I haven’t seen him in a while, but he came over on a case today.” She laughed uncomfortably. “Flynn walked into my office while I was sitting on his lap.”
Gavin’s jaw dropped, and she reached over the table to push it back into place.
“I know.”
“And now so does your whole division.”
She nodded ruefully. “Yes.”
“Very bad, Captain,” he lectured, waving the sword-shaped toothpick that had been spearing his olive at her. “Very, very bad.”
“I know,” she said again. “It was just -- I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he’s been so great about it.” She sipped her white wine thoughtfully. “I know that he’s lonely, and hurt that Brenda left the way she did, and it’s unfortunate that I’m not available right now...”
“To help him through his lonely heartbreak,” supplied Gavin. “Sharon, you’ve made yourself permanently unavailable for years, you know.”
“And I want to do something about it,” she said emphatically. “But it’s hard. You were there, when Fritz met my kids.”
“A little awkward, for sure,” he said cheerily. “And your kids are way better adjusted than Rusty.”
Sharon gasped and smacked Gavin’s arm. “Don’t speak ill of my Rusty!”
“Look, I’m not saying he doesn’t have cause to have occasional maladjusted freakouts,” Gavin soothed. “I’m just saying, he’s just getting settled with you, he’s barely comfortable with your squad despite the fact that he spends most of his day at LAPD headquarters. It might be tough for him if you were to introduce Fritz into the mix.”
“Weak arguments, counselor,” she clucked at him. “First, Rusty already knows Fritz, from when he was staying with Chief Johnson.”
“Oh, and that went so well,” Gavin said sarcastically. “What with the psychopath breaking in and holding Rusty at knifepoint, then stabbing him in the leg. Brenda ignoring Rusty’s pleas to shoot the fucker and end the whole thing. Great memories, I’m sure.” He took a long sip, brow furrowed thoughtfully. “What’s your second point?”
“I think Rusty is starting to understand that I will always be there for him,” she said slowly. “I don’t think he would react badly at having a guest over for dinner once in a while. He’s even asked me if we could invite Flynn over before.”
“Oh reaaaally.” Gavin smirked over his glass. “Sounds like Rusty’s got someone else in mind for you, then.”
“He just wanted to say thank you for trying to help bring him to his mother, and to apologize for running off when she didn’t show,” Sharon protested.
“Mmm-hmm.” Gavin’s obsequious nod mocked her.
“This discussion is entirely moot anyway,” Sharon said, pulling out her iPhone to check the time. “Because Fritz is coming over to my place for dinner in an hour.”
Gavin tossed two twenties on the table, more than enough to cover her glass of wine and the two cocktails he’d swilled. “Why didn’t you say so? Go home and get changed, Sharon.”
She looked down at her silk blouse and dark slacks, then back up to glare at Gavin, but her glare turned to a grin at his encouraging expression. “Thanks, Gavin.”
* * *
Sharon checked the French bread bubbling under the broiler and decided it could use another thirty seconds or so as a thick waft of garlic-scented heat billowed out from the oven. She took the time to give the caesar salad another toss, ensuring each bite-sized piece of Romaine was coated in the acidic dressing.
She was taking no chances that this shared dinner could lead to anything remotely inappropriate in front of Rusty. Despite Gavin’s implication that she should wear something nice, she’d dressed casually in dark jeans and a soft button-down shirt worn untucked over a camisole. All things told, she was feeling rather domestic for a weeknight.
The clack of the deadbolt turning in the lock alerted her to Rusty’s return just as she set the baking sheet of garlic bread down on a trivet and turned off the oven. He’d texted earlier in the day that the school activity van would be dropping him off, so she wouldn’t need to come get him. That had given her time to get to Ralphs to buy some things and start making dinner.
“Hey, Sharon,” he greeted her as he closed the door behind him and tossed his backpack onto the couch. “What’s going on? You’re cooking?”
“I do cook once in a while, you know,” she teased gently. “Maybe not as well as you.” She smiled at him as she turned the salmon filets over in the stainless steel pan. “We’re going to have company tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“Um...yeah, sure,” he stammered. “Who?”
Sharon motioned for Rusty to sit at the breakfast bar and sidled up to the counter so she was facing him. “Fritz Howard. Do you remember him?”
“The FBI guy, right?” he asked. “I’ve seen him around a couple of times. He always seemed to be bringing shoes and stuff for Brenda.”
She ignored the mention of the former deputy chief. “Right. He’s the FBI’s liaison to the LAPD,” she said. “He’s also a friend of mine, and I haven’t seen him in a while, so I invited him to join us for dinner.”
If Rusty was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Whatever,” he said, shrugging.
“How was your field trip?”
His face lit up, the first time she’d seen him excited about anything associated with his new school. “It was pretty cool, actually. Lots of neat rock formations. We learned about the different ecosystems in the higher desert and the lower one.”
Sharon smiled. She hadn’t been to Joshua Tree in years. Maybe she and Rusty would go hiking together sometime. “Which did you like better?”
“The Mojave, for sure. Although the oases in the Colorado desert were cool, too.”
“Sounds like a good day,” she said.
His nonchalant affect returned. “I guess.”
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, sliding off his stool. “Should I set the table?”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned to the range and shut off the gas burner under the fish.
“For three?” Rusty was in the kitchen, rummaging through the silverware drawer.
“Please,” Sharon answered.
By the time Fritz arrived fifteen minutes later, the table had been set and Rusty, having insisted that he didn't have any homework, was playing video games in his room. The flowers Fritz brought for Sharon were the perfect centerpiece.
“I hope it’s not too much,” he said in a low voice as she filled a vase with water.
She turned to him and smiled. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
He had debated over the bouquet, wondered whether it might give Rusty the wrong idea. He had no idea what she might have told him about their relationship. But seeing her today had made him realize just how much he missed her, wanted her back in his life.
And the fact that her life now included a sixteen-year-old boy...well, Fritz had always liked kids. He smiled.
Sharon noticed. "What?" she asked, looking at him curiously as she placed the attractive arrangement of tiger lilies on the table.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "Where's Rusty?"
"In his room," she answered, then called in a loud voice, "Rusty! Dinner!"
Fritz walked up behind her, placing his hands lightly at her hips. "I wasn't necessarily asking for you to call him out here just yet," he murmured against her ear.
She turned around and took a step backward, shooting him a warning look not entirely devoid of mirth. Before he could defend himself or take further action, her ward appeared.
"Hi, Rusty," Fritz said with a friendly smile. "Nice to see you again."
Rusty looked from Sharon to Fritz and back again. "Hey." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, a deliberate posture making a handshake out of the question.
"Shall we eat?" Sharon asked in a tone both men had heard her use with her squad. Her "please just act nicely but do as I say, because you know I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the face with a nonlethal beanbag gun" approach to leadership. Fritz was glad for it as they pulled out chairs and sat down, Sharon at the head of the table, Fritz and Rusty facing one another on either side.
Dinner passed surprisingly quickly, the conversation flowing more easily than Fritz would have thought. He saw the ease between Sharon and Rusty, recognized the rapport from having observed her with her son. (Her relationship with Rusty appeared markedly more relaxed than what he'd seen of her interaction with Sara.)
Fritz asked Rusty about school activities, and the boy reluctantly shared that he'd been invited to join the chess club.
Sharon looked surprised at this development. “I didn’t know you played chess, Rusty,” she said. Fritz could tell that she was trying not to appear hurt that she’d been ignorant of this fact.
He looked down at his plate and speared a forkful of salad, stuffing it in his mouth just before speaking. “Yeah. I haven’t played much the past couple of years, though.” He swallowed and added, “I just happened to walk by while someone was setting up the boards. I kicked Jeremy’s ass.” At Sharon’s disapproving look he quickly amended, “Butt. I kicked his butt.”
“Good for you,” Sharon said. “You know, I have a board around here somewhere . . . I think maybe in the linen closet. We can play whenever you’d like.”
"I play a bit, myself," Fritz add. "I'm always happy to talk strategy."
At Rusty’s indifferent shrug, Fritz turned to Sharon and changed the subject. “Dinner was excellent, Sharon. Thank you for cooking.”
“Yeah, Sharon,” Rusty said, popping the last bit of garlic bread into his mouth. “Thanks.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said, standing up and gathering plates and serving dishes.
Rusty set down his fork and pushed back his chair. “I can clean up, Sharon.”
“Yeah?” She looked from the table into the kitchen, which was still full of pans needing to be washed. “I’ll clear the table, but thank you, Rusty.”
She took the dishes into the kitchen, Fritz and Rusty following close behind her with the table’s remains.
“Sharon, I’ve got it,” Rusty said when Sharon started rinsing things.
She smiled and held up her hands sheepishly. “All right, all right. Fritz, do you want some tea or coffee?”
“No, thanks,” he said.
Sharon nodded and led him out to the living room, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for him to do the same. She looked at him-- really looked at him, with those sharp green eyes that seemed to bore down to his soul-- for what must have been the first time all evening. “So how are you doing?”
His gaze remained locked on hers. “Keeping busy at work,” he said. “They’ve got me working a joint task force drug interdiction project that’s taking up a lot of my time. Overnight stakeouts.”
She hummed as she tucked her legs beneath her and leaned back. “And when you’re not working?”
“The usual,” he said. “Gym. Meetings. Watching the Dodgers.” Not dating. How had he ended up with no family, few friends? He looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. “How are things going with him?”
“We’ve come a long way,” she said slowly. “He’s settling in, slowly. I think he’s given up on his mother completely.” She sighed. “It’s sad, but it’s made him a lot less antagonistic toward me.”
“I could tell,” Fritz said. “I think there’s a lot of respect there.”
“We’ve been working on that, believe me,” she said.
“Did he give you a hard time about having a dinner guest?” he asked.
“Hmm. You know, he really didn’t.”
Fritz reached out and covered her hand with his. “Good.”
They sat quietly like that for a few minutes, the sound of running water and clattering pans in the background as their eyes would meet and acknowledge the things they wouldn’t say.
I miss you. I need you.
Me too.
Finally the noises from the kitchen ceased, and Rusty came into the living room with a battered paperback in hand. He flopped into the armchair in the corner with barely a glance at them.
“Guess I should go,” Fritz said softly with a wistful look. Sharon gave him a similar one and stood first, holding out her hand to help him up.
“Goodbye, Rusty,” Fritz said to the reading boy.
“Bye, Fritz,” Rusty replied, politely looking up from beneath his dark blond fringe. “We’ll talk some chess strategy next time.”
Next time. He liked the sound of that. “Sure.”
Sharon led him to the door, and as they passed by the kitchen, Fritz was struck by a mental image of her, bent over the oven, maybe basting a turkey. It was a contrast to all those memories he had of her bent over the bathroom vanity or the couch, and he found it nearly as appealing.
She stopped him when his hand reached out for the doorknob. “I’m feeling back where I was a few months ago,” she said softly. “Ready to see where this goes.”
The memory of sitting hand-in-hand at the edge of a bluff at sunset, horses whinnying behind them as they exchanged vague but hopeful intentions, was apparently one neither had forgotten.
“I’m here,” he said simply.
She kissed him goodbye, and it felt like hello.