Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly, Paramount, and The SciFi Channel.
Additional Disclaimer: When Love is Gone
music by Barry Manilow / lyrics by Lisa Sennett
1984 Townsway Music (BMI) / Cityscape Music (ASCAP)
Much appreciation goes to Shallan for her beta work... thank you!
Originally published in Sensory Overload #7.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: 'Night Train'
Carole
Simon took a deep breath before reaching for the envelope that sat center stage on his desk awaiting his attention. On the outside, it was just an ordinary manila envelope, resembling hundreds of others that had passed through his office. But inside... inside it contained proof of the end of a love he had thought would last forever.
Drawing the packet of papers out, he swallowed hard as a wealth of mixed emotions swept through him. Relief. Regret. Joy. Sorrow. He felt them all.
Quickly scanning the first page, his eyes were drawn to one of the names typed so neatly at the top. The name that had been so precious to his mind and heart. Her name.
Filled with an overwhelming sadness, a soft sigh escaped his lips as he pushed the papers back inside and folded the flap into place. He sat motionless for a long moment, then, as unbidden, unwelcome memories began to wash over him, he closed his eyes.
Thai Village Restaurant, April 1993
"You're never here," Joan spat out, her face furious. "You've never been here for me and you've never been here for our son."
Fury matched fury as Simon leaned toward his wife. "You leave Daryl out of this!"
"How can I, Simon? How can I?" she protested.
"Daryl is a fine young man, and--"
"Thanks to who?" she cut in. "Thanks to who, Simon? I'm the one who raised him; he's barely seen you. He deserved more than that. I..." Joan lightly tapped her chest with the fingers of her left hand, the diamond ring he'd given her so long ago shimmering in the light. "I deserved more than that."
Simon took a calming breath, uncomfortably aware of the curious glances being thrown their way by the other restaurant patrons. "I don't work a nine to five job, Joan. You know that. You've known it right from the beginning. My position calls for certain responsibilities, and I'm not always able to--"
Joan's hand made a slashing motion through the air as she interrupted again. "I didn't expect you to be married to your job." Her voice grew soft. "I expected you to be married to me."
Banks residence, June 1993
"Joan, you asked me to come home early tonight and I did."
"And now you have to go back to the office, right? I suppose Major Crimes can't survive without you," she retorted sarcastically.
"I wouldn't leave if it wasn't important. The mayor--" Simon broke off at the sound of her bitter laugh.
"Did you tell the mayor that this was the first evening you've spent with your family in months?"
"I can't just tell the mayor I'm busy."
"No, I suppose you can't." The fury on her face faded into regret. "Simon, I can't do this anymore. I just can't."
"Joan..." he rasped, his throat suddenly dry.
"We've already put it off long enough. The love is gone. There's no denying it. We're two different people now, with different goals and needs."
"I know," Simon admitted softly.
"We tried." She looked down at the floor. "God knows we tried."
Simon heaved a sigh. "Yeah, we did."
"I think it would be best if you moved out of the house as soon as possible," she finally said after a long silence.
Simon nodded, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach. He slowly scanned the home they had shared for so many years. "I'll be out by Friday."
"I really am sorry, Simon."
"So am I, Joan. So am I."
Major Crime, November 1994
"Banks."
"Simon, it's Joan. I just wanted to let you know that you should have the divorce papers in a few days."
"Joan, I..." Simon began, rising to his feet.
"Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Please? We've got nothing left to talk about, Simon. Just sign the papers, okay? Bye."
The soft click of the phone reverberated in his ear as he dropped heavily into his chair. "Yeah," Simon whispered, slipping off his glasses to rub his face wearily. "Yeah, I will." He stared blankly at the wall. "Bye, Joan," he murmured.
Opening his eyes, Simon reached out with one finger to touch the picture frame displayed on his desk. Within its simple wooden shape a photograph of a father and son, the memento of a camping trip. A wonderful moment captured in time. Two faces glowing with happiness, friendship, camaraderie.
With a wistful smile, he remembered the picture frame that had once sat in its place. Within its elegant gold heart a photograph of a new husband and wife, the memento of a wedding. A glorious moment captured in time. Two faces glowing with love, passion, hope for the future.
So much had changed. A house divided cannot stand, and this one had fallen hard. The happy child had become an angry young man. The loving wife had become a bitter woman.
Looking back down at the envelope, he opened it for a second time to set the packet of papers on his desk. Humming softly, the faint shadow of a smile still playing on his face, he folded back the first page to see the empty space that awaited his signature. An empty space that matched the empty space in his heart.
Purposefully uncapping his pen, he prepared to sign his name. It was time to let yesterday's memories fade into the past. Time to admit that, for them, there would be no more tomorrows. Vows had been spoken and vows had been broken, now it was time to move on.
His smile faded as he stared down at the paper in front of him, truly realizing for the first time the finality of what he was about to do. For a long moment he hesitated, his hand suspended in mid-air, and then, exhaling slowly, decisively, he turned back to the first page and dropped the pen on the desk.
It could wait. The envelope and its contents could wait. He had other things to take care of first. There was work to accomplish and a detective to brief. Saying goodbye to forever could wait a little longer.
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