Disclaimer: Major Crimes is the property of James Duff, and I'm just borrowing Sharon Raydor and the others, for fun. I do not own them, nor do I own characters from Miami Vice or Battlestar Galactica- they are owned by Anthony Yerkovich and Ronald D. Moore, respectively.

A/N: I started writing this story back in late-summer 2014, so back then Assistant-Chief Russell Taylor was still alive... Sharon was still Captain of the Major Crimes unit... still married to Jack... and her adoption of Rusty had been yet to be finalized. Those facts remain true in this multi-chapter story.

CHAPTER 1

Captain Sharon Raydor paused briefly, before knocking on Assistant-Chief Taylor's door. Perhaps if she didn't rap too hard, he wouldn't hear, and she could pretend her boss was away from his office.

Damn, but it wasn't like her. Afraid to face a challenge.

She'd faced down bullets, hardened criminals, Jackson Raydor, teenage children, and one Brenda Leigh Johnson...

She could do this.

Just as Sharon was about to knock, the door opened.

"Captain. It's good to see you."

Shit. The man was in a good mood. Taylor was rarely in a good mood. In the long run, that probably would not bode well for her cause.

"It's good to see you, too, Chief," Sharon replied with a swallow.

Taylor ushered her into his office, and offered her a chair. Sharon declined, preferring to stand. She'd keep things as positive and light as possible. It would not take long to plead her case. He'd have to accept, and that would be that.

Or, she could just cut and run without saying a word.

"You wanted to see me?"

Sharon watched as Taylor shuffled papers on his desk. "Yes."

"About?"

She took the chair after all, hoping that if she faced him eye-to-eye, he'd be more receptive. See her as an equal. Agree to her suggestion. Her plea.

"The upcoming conference," Sharon stated in her usual even and rational tone. Nary a trace of her inner nervousness showed. "In Miami."

Taylor actually grinned. "You lucky ducks, you. It's been two years since the meetings were held last, and they were up in Portland. As in, Oregon. I went. It rained. Every damn day." The man handed her a colorful brochure. "That isn't gonna happen in the Sunshine State. Every day will be like Spring Break for you, and the team."

Sharon's shoulders fell slightly. "I know."

"Ah-ha! So, you've been there before?" he asked with a chuckle.

Indeed. The glossy ad in her hands, advertising all that Miami had to offer, only exacerbated the memories she had of her past visit.

The music, and the heat... they went hand in hand. Both were distinctly different from that of Los Angeles, no doubt due to their tremendous influence by the Caribbean. Hotter. Wetter. As if the air itself could open up at anytime, in one giant and colossal release.

Which, on one particular occasion, it did.

Sharon had never danced so much in her life, as she did that night. And in the rain. She could still feel her partner's hand pressed into the small of her back.

At that thought, the captain clinched her knees tightly together.

"Chief Taylor, you are the most senior officer of this unit. By all rights, you ought to be the one to represent us." And not me, she wanted to add.

"Would if I could." He leaned back in his chair. "But I've got two weddings, one graduation, health exams, and tickets to the opera, all scheduled for that week. Believe me, I've tried getting out of all of them- especially the opera, only to be threatened by a painful and certain death by the hands of my wife."

"I see."

"Besides, you've earned this."

Sharon shook her head. "Chief, I can't. I have too much happening right now. Rusty. My divorce. Work. It's-"

"All the more reason you should go," suggested Taylor. "Take the boy with you. It'll be good for you both to get away. A chance to relax."

"Pardon me for saying, sir, but you are not a mother. How could I possibly be able to relax while attending meetings all day, all the while worrying about a teenager running around unattended, in South Beach?"

"Do what every conventioneer does. Buy the DVDs, and watch them on the flight home."

The woman was at a loss for words at such a statement.

"Look, Sharon," Taylor appealed. His voice was quiet and sincere, as he all but pulled her towards the doorway of his office. "You deserve this. Rusty deserves this. You'll have fun. Provenza and Sykes are going too, and they can fill you in on things you might miss at the conference. So, you have nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about," the captain repeated.

In her heart, she knew he was right.

A real vacation would be wonderful for Rusty. And for her. They'd both been through so much together over the past couple years. A chance to just get away, sounded so good.

Dear God, they needed that.

But her brain told her otherwise. It was same exact advertisement she'd sold herself twenty years prior. She couldn't fall for it again.

"Can you honestly give me one good reason why, given all of these circumstances, you should not go to Miami?"

Sharon Raydor could think of hundreds of little reasons, all surrounding one very big one.

Instead, she could only choke out a feeble attempt at the truth. It was a reason that Russell Taylor would never begin to understand.

"I hate pink flamingos."

#TO BE CONTINUED#