Archive of Our Own ^beta

If there was one thing that Sharon really hated, it was rain. Rain ruined all that hard work she put in to making her hair look good. It was thick, see, her hair. Really thick. It took ages to dry, and then even longer to straighten. Typical. She flew back and the rain was so heavy she could barely see a foot in front of her.

She'd landed at Heathrow an hour previously, and had spent the intervening minutes tapping her foot in the baggage area, looking at her watch and her gaze flitting between the screen (telling her that she was indeed at the right place, just that her luggage was somewhere between the plane and here) and the conveyor belt. Luckily, her suitcase had been one of the first off the plane, and she'd heaved it off the belt, pulling her coat tightly around her.

It was funny how you got used to the warmth of Southern California a lot quicker than you got used to the cold of London, she thought, her heels tap-tapping along the walkway as she pulled her suitcase along.

She shouldn't be here, she knew that. She should be away somewhere else, drinking gin on Michelle's terrace, taking road trips up to LA and thanking her lucky stars she was finally away from Walford - and the all the small town accusatory mentality that went with it. It was a damned relief not to recognise everybody she passed in the street every single morning - to not have to square up to those people who couldn't see past Den and Dennis and her, all locked together in some infernal triangle.

Dennis.

She thought she'd made the right decision in leaving. Thought that he couldn't do other than stay - with Zoe and the baby and make a family. The family he never had. She'd told herself she was making the right decision.

Until she'd wandered around Michelle's house in the middle of the night, finally resting in the kitchen and pouring herself a gin and tonic. Easy on the tonic.

It was all too close to Angie for Sharon's liking. And much as she had idolised her mother, slowly merging into her was not what Sharon had in mind.

Dennis rang her. Every single day. At strange hours, because he'd never got the hang of the whole time zone thing. She never answered, just staring at the tiny, lit up screen as it flashed. He left her messages. Sometimes short, begging her to come back. (She cried at those, and ached for his touch). Sometimes drunken, and melancholic. (She wanted to be there, to tell him they obviously weren't meant to be, to hold him close to her as she spoke). Occasionally full of vitriol, laying in to Den and Zoe and even Sharon - berating her for leaving him. (She hated him, and cried because the rage was too much for her to bear alone).

But all the time, underneath it all, there was this level of sadness, of loneliness that echoed all through Sharon's body, from the tips of her fingers to the curl of her toes. Zoe and Dennis were fighting, she knew that. And not just from Dennis's messages, either. Vicki was on the phone to Spencer, and Chrissie, and she told Sharon in halting sentences that she should go back. Fight for him.

I can't, Sharon had told her, and busied herself with applying eyeliner with a shaking hand. You could never beat eyeliner in times of crisis. That baby needs a father.

And Vicki had blinked slowly, biting her lip. Dennis doesn't need to be with Zoe to be the baby's father, she had told Sharon, How can you let it happen... you know what it's like to grow up with your parents hating each other, Sharon, don't let another kid grow up like you did.

Sharon hadn't thought of it like that. She didn't sleep that night, clutching her purse and her mobile and wanting to ring up and book a flight home.

Dennis rang whilst she was in the shower. Left a message so drunken that she could only pick out I love you and come home.

So. Sharon was back on home turf again. Taking the tube from Heathrow into London and out to Walford, her suitcase annoying the commuters as she took up the whole of the escalator. There was a certain sophistication to taking the taxi from the airport, but at this time of the day? She'd be stuck in traffic until tomorrow. The tube would be quicker, because waiting any longer to see Dennis was a terrible thought.

But now, as she stood at the entrance to Walford East, she didn't know what the hell she was supposed to do. The rain was bucketing down. It was dark and freezing cold. She couldn't go back to the Vic, couldn't go over the flat. She didn't live here anymore. Dennis didn't even know she was back. Sharon suddenly thought she'd made a really, really wrong decision.

Until Patrick and Jim noticed her, waving from across the street on their way from the bookies to the chip shop.

Sharon waved back. There was perhaps something to be said for knowing everybody. "Patrick," she called, "Have you got a free room?"

Patrick smiled, tipping his hat to her. "Of course. For you, a whole suite."

Sharon fumbled with her bag, searching for her purse. She handed him three twenty pound notes. "I'll pay you for an extra night if you could take my suitcase back with you," she said, pleading with him, "I've got something I have to do."

Jim snatched the notes out of her hand. "Not a problem, my love. You go off, do whatever it is you have to do, your suitcase will be safe with us."

Sharon smiled. "Thanks, boys." She patted Patrick on the arm, before holding her bag over her head like a makeshift umbrella and hurrying out into the rain.

She didn't know where to look for him, she realised, hurrying into the square. Her heels sank into puddles, the muddy water splashing against her tights. Maybe she should just ring him.

There were no lights on in the flat, and the stalls were shut down for the night. The Vic looked like a haven against the wind and the rain, but she just couldn't. Not just yet. So she stopped, the water running down her face in rivulets, her hair plastered to her head. Her coat (heavy black wool, the best that Next offered) seemed a stone heavier because it was so waterlogged. This had been a stupid idea. She should never have come back.

But then the door to the caff opened, and Sharon's heart lifted. Dennis was perched on the step, collar up against the rain, cupping a cigarette between his fingers as he tried to keep his lighter alive against the wind.

Sharon opened her mouth. She wanted to speak - to shout, actually, to say Dennis and for him to hear - but she couldn't.

She stood, frozen to the spot, her stomach clenching. She hadn't expected this, this need, this desperation.

And then, he turned to face her. He stopped trying to force his lighter to stay alive, stopped cupping his cigarette. His hands fell to his sides, and even in the rainy half-light, she saw him swallow. Struggle for breath. She tried to smile.

He was by her side in a second. Stood in front of her, his eyes wide. He cupped her cheek in his hand, the thumb grazing her chin. "You came back," he said quietly, and the rain dripped down off his hair onto his nose.

Sharon took a deep breath, tried to stop shaking, "I came back," she said.

Dennis's thumb grazed her bottom lip. "Sharon..."

"Wait." Sharon pressed a finger to his mouth. She'd chipped the nail varnish somewhere on the trip across. They'd moved closer, pressing their bodies against each other, the length of his torso against hers. "I'm here for you," she said simply, silencing Dennis as he tried to speak. "Baby or no baby, I love you and I can't be without you. You can be a father without being with Zoe, can't you?"

"It's such a mess," Dennis admitted, his palm warm against the soft dampness of Sharon's cheek, "everything's such a mess."

Sharon swallowed. "Too much of a mess?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

Dennis's other hand flew to her face, cupping her chin between his fingers. "Never," he said softly, leaning in, his breath warm against her mouth. And Dennis kissed her, his mouth opening, soft against hers. Sharon's arms curved around his back, her bag in one hand against his shoulder blade. Rain ran down their faces as they kissed, his hands sliding across her shoulders, down her arms, slipping around her waist as he pressed himself against her, gasping into the kiss.

And afterwards, as they pulled away, their breathing was rushed and heavy, Sharon's face flushed from the chill of the air and the heat of their kiss. "I love you," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "I won't give up on this."

"Neither will I," Dennis said fiercely, pressing his face into her neck. "You and me against the world, huh?"

Sharon smiled before she kissed him again, her eyeliner streaked and her hair plastered to her head. And she didn't care. Not when Dennis was kissing her, his hands in her hair, the touch of his skin beneath her fingertips. She thought she had made the right decision in coming back. Definitely.

~