A/N- So this all started a year ago with the Season 3 premiere. And we're beginning again. I'll do the same thing as last year, including all the "I won't be able to post next week, because [xyz]." Next week it's Astrocamp. Today, though. . . Holy shit, Darth Raydor is back with a vengeance. Did anyone else think she seemed (justifiably) distracted and short-tempered? But either way, here is your first after-action fic. Please do note, like last year, I will be trying to keep in line with canon, whether I like it or not.

"I don't think I've slept through the night in. . . months."

Sharon jerked awake, covers slithering to the floor. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, and pressed one hand to her chest. Like always, there was no external palpitation, and she dropped her hand.

She sighed and drew her knees up, resting her elbows upon them and cradling her head. Her eyes burned and her head ached from lack of sleep. It wasn't as though she wasn't sleeping at all, it was more. . . she just wasn't sleeping well. Nowadays, if she only woke in the darkness once, she counted it as a good night. It was typically twice, occasionally three times.

The three-times-nights were the worst. The first time she woke, she'd be awake for the better part of an hour. She'd learned to accept it and go to the kitchen for a mug of tea.

The second time, she'd just stay in bed, mulling over the choices that had brought her to where she was physically, mentally, in the LAPD. She knew it wasn't wise to continually think and re-think her actions, but she couldn't stop the little voice in the back of her mind.

What if you'd never left Stroh alone with Judge Schaffer?

Well, he might very well have killed you as well. And then where would Rusty be?

Well, at least he wouldn't have someone spying on him day in and day out.

You probably ought to go see the department shrink, the rational part of her would say. This isn't healthy.

She couldn't bring herself to go talk to anyone, though. It was hypocritical, she knew, especially after all she'd told Rusty about the difference between mental illness and emotional injury. It felt like admitting a weakness, though, and she couldn't be weak. She was the wicked witch of the LAPD. The cold-blooded investigator.

Stone-cold, she'd tell herself. You're stone-cold. A rock. A mountain.

Eventually, she'd drift off again, to be woken either by the sun and her alarm clock or her own anxieties.

If she did wake a third time, it was only a passing wakefulness, like a breaststroke swimmer coming up for a breath. She'd be far too exhausted to stay awake for long. Nonetheless, it was enough to disrupt her.

This was the first time she'd awoken for the night. She sighed, and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her cream silken robe was on the floor, having fallen with her covers. It was hot for June, even inside the condominium, but she pulled the robe on anyway. She was wearing her summer pajamas, a rather scanty daisy-patterned set: shorts and a spaghetti top from the same sort of material as the robe. It wouldn't do for Rusty to catch his sixty-something mother in mini-shorts. Not that she couldn't carry the look off- she knew she could- she just didn't particularly want to go there with her son, of all people.

This time, it was the memory of her conversation with Andy keeping her awake. I don't need you for that. She chewed her lip. It had come off harsher than she'd intended. She bit down harder, feeling her eyes water. She couldn't cry. Her head thumped against the bed as she fell back against the mattress.

Emotionally, she was all over the board. She knew it was because she hadn't been sleeping, but that knowledge didn't keep her from snapping at Taylor every time he walked into her murder room. She was mildly surprised he hadn't reprimanded her for continually challenging him, back-talking, and ignoring him. She knew he knew she was worried witless about Rusty, that Philip Stroh haunted her every thought, that she couldn't take Alice Herrera's photo from her board.

She left her room and padded into the hall. It was time for tea. She had almost reached the living room when her sleep-deprived senses caught up with her.

Voices. She could hear soft voices.

She turned and saw light shining from underneath Rusty's door. She paused for a second outside the door, trying to tell if there were multiple people inside.

He said something softly, and the words were slightly muffled by the door, but it sounded like he was talking about identity.

"Honey?"

She tapped on his door and slowly cracked it open.

"Yeah, you can come in." He tilted his laptop screen down slightly.

She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in.

"Why are you still up? It's-" she glanced to the clock on his desk. "It's nearly two."

"I was. . ." he looked down, fiddling with his computer. There were several windows open on his laptop, and she recognized one as a video editing program. "Buzz and I were talking a little bit earlier, and I was thinking. . ."

"Yes?" she prompted after another moment.

"Alice Herrera."

Sharon frowned and sat down on the edge of the nightstand. "What about her?"

"I was thinking, um, could I look into her?"

It took her a moment to understand what he meant. "You mean write about her?"

"Yeah, and see if I can figure anything out about her."

"Rusty-"

"Sharon, I know I'm not a detective or anything, but it can't hurt if I just do some research, right?"

He had read her all wrong. He thought she didn't want him to try. She didn't mind, so much as she didn't want to set him up for failure. If an elite team of detectives had turned up next to nothing about the girl, she didn't think he could do much better. She had been surprised before, but Alice Herrera's case was something Sharon knew too well to feel confident about.

She tried to smile at him and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "No, it can't hurt."

He looked up sharply. "You mean I can do it?"

"Yes. Rusty, I don't know if you'll be able to find anything out-"

"That's okay. I mean, I think I can help. Like, kids might be more willing to talk to someone closer to their own age, who isn't a cop, and who has. . ." he trailed off.

"Has what?"

He shrugged. "An understanding," he replied after a moment.

It took her another moment to understand what he meant. "Oh, honey."

"Sharon, it's okay. I'm over- well, I mean, I'll never really be over it, but. . . it's the past. I can't change it. All I can do it use it to make things better."

She slid off the table and hugged him tightly. "That is the most courageous thing you could possibly do."

He let her hug him for a minute, then fidgeted. "Sharon?"

"Mm?"

"Why are you up?"

She sighed.

Rusty sighed. "You can't sleep." It was a statement, not a question.

"No." There was no use hiding it.

"Stroh?"

She snorted. "No, actually. Not this time."

"Really?" He sounded doubtful. "You had his file on the dining table."

She needed to work on keeping her papers confined to her desk. "Really. If seeing is believing, then he's in Crete or Cyprus."

"Crete? Isn't that by Greece or something?"

"Yes." She stood and cracked her back, feeling the vertebrae crackle into place. "Do you want some tea?"

"Umm. . ."

"Or cocoa?"

"Sure." He followed her out of the room. She needed someone, he could tell. She would never admit to it, but she needed a friend. He wouldn't cut it, as her son, but he'd do what he could to talk her down. He wasn't often awake in the middle of the night when she was, but it had happened occasionally. Usually, she'd end up in the kitchen, drinking tea and staring into space. In the beginning, he'd find her pouring over case files and supposed sightings of Philip Stroh, but that was becoming rarer. He suspected she was simply too tired to focus well. It was because of him, he knew. In a roundabout sense, anyways. She was worried about him, worried about Stroh, maybe worried about something else he didn't know about. She had seemed even more exhausted than usual when she had arrived home, almost two hours after he had.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she put the kettle on.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay, Sharon? I mean. . ." he didn't know how to word it. In the five months since Stroh's escape, she had gradually become more edgy and snapish, and he could see the darkening shadows under her eyes. She covered well at work, and it was due in no small part to heavy-duty makeup. He had seen a tube of concealer in the bathroom that said it could mask tattoos. He was fairly certain Sharon didn't have any tattoos, let alone a tattoo that she couldn't hide with her black slacks and dress jackets. "You look tired," he lamely settled with.

"I'm alright." She pushed a mug of cocoa towards him and wrapped her hands around her own mug. Rusty could smell ginger and lemon.

"Sharon-"

"Rusty." She said it gently, but with more force than usual. "I'm fine. We don't need to talk about this."

"Yeah, we do."

She looked slightly surprised.

"You're not sleeping, Sharon!" He sounded slightly desperate.

"I am, too." She carried the same tone she had when she said she didn't freak out. Defensively dismissive.

"Then how come you're out here in the middle of the night, every night?" It was a guess, but based upon what he'd seen, he thought it was a decent guess.

She pursed her lips and looked down. "'Why,' not 'how come.' Have I been waking you up?"

Oh my God. She was up every night. "No, Sharon."

She snorted and smiled slightly. "I just got played, didn't I?"

"I learned from the best," he grinned back at her. "But really, are you sure?"

"Rusty, this is something I'm afraid you can't help me with."

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Why can't you sleep? Is it Stroh?"

She sighed again, turning the still-full mug in her hands. "Only partly."

"Partly?"

"Yes. Part Stroh, and part other things."

"Like what?"

She appeared to be sizing him up.

"Your 'stalker.'"

"That's only been today, Sharon." He frowned.

"No, it hasn't." She smiled, in the sad way that meant she knew more than he did, and the knowledge wasn't a good thing.

"What do you mean?"

She flashed him a pinched smile. "I had you tailed."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wait, what?" He couldn't believe his ears. "What?"

"I had Lieutenant Cooper organize a tail for you."

He felt cold, then hot in quick succession.

When he didn't say anything, she continued. "You've been followed since Stroh's escape."

"What?"

"Five months, honey. I'm sorry. I thought it was best." She was shaking her head, her hair curtaining her face. "I thought I was helping you, keeping you safe, keeping you out of harm's way." Her voice cracked.

"Sharon."

"I wanted- I just wanted you safe."

He couldn't tell if she was crying yet, but it was getting close. Her voice was wavering, getting higher. He couldn't do tears, especially when they came from Sharon. He could feel his heart rate speeding up; he was breathing faster.

"Sharon-" His own voice cracked. He couldn't be angry at her, not right now. Maybe he'd be mad in the morning, after all, she had had him followed for five months, but he was too scared to be angry now. He had to stop the tears.

"Sharon, look," he put his own priorities aside. "Sharon, it's okay."

"No," she said softly. "It's not. It's not my place to do this. I- that woman today, Anna's mother- I can't be her. I can't control your life-"

"You're not."

"But I am. You're nineteen. You're an adult. I can't treat you like a child. You have to make your own choices. I can't have you followed by security for the rest of your life. I can't be that control freak. This is your life, and even though I am legally you mother, I can't do this to you. You've earned more respect that this."

"Sharon," he said slowly. "Sharon it's okay. I probably would have done the same thing if I were you."

"Mm."

"Really. Sharon, I'm older. I understand better. I might have gotten pissed last year, or even a few months ago, but I understand better now. I might not like it, but I get it."

"Oh, honey. I wish you didn't have to understand it." She propped her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in one hand.

He was relieved. She hadn't started crying, at least not in earnest. Her eyes were red, but he was pretty sure that was just from lack of sleep. There were dark violet shadows under her eyes, streaked with the cherry-pink color that Rusty knew meant extreme exhaustion.

"Is that what you were so upset about?"

She shrugged. "Mm. There are a few reasons."

He stared at her, trying to think. Someone had been lurking outside her office when he was leaving, waiting for her. "Flynn?"

She froze momentarily. "Ah-"

"Flynn. What's going on? If I can ask, I mean."

"Of course you may ask. It's complicated, that's all."

"Come on, Sharon. He was waiting for you. Is everything okay?" He didn't really want to ask, but no one else was going to.

"Everything is fine, Rusty. He's just. . . a little overly concerned."

Rusty raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think Andy consciously realizes I've been in the policing business as long as he has, and I know the regulations far better. He's trying to help, but I've got it covered."

Well, that was as clear as mud, Rusty though. "Okay. And?"

"And?"

"Are you guys okay?" He didn't need to know more than that. As long as Sharon was okay, Rusty was okay. If her. . . whatever with Flynn was something she needed to be okay, then so be it.

"I think so."

"Okay."

"Okay." After a moment, she spoke again. "Go to bed, honey."

"Not until you do."

"Rusty."

"Sharon, I'm serious."

"I'm just going to be up again in a few hours."

"Then you need your sleep while you can get it. Go back to bed with me now."

He could be surprisingly forceful, this boy of hers. She hoped he hadn't gotten the pigheaded stubbornness from her. Of all the things he could have learned from her. . .

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and led her across the living room and down the hall. "Bed."

"Yessir," she mumbled.

He waited until she walked into her room and turned to look at him. "I thought you were going to bed, too."

"Swear you're going back to sleep? You won't come back out here after I go to bed?"

She smiled at his worry. "I promise. I am on my way to bed."

"Okay." He watched her a moment more with worried eyes. "Do you want any Benadryl or something? I have some."

"Honey," she said, with more than a little amusement. "I've tried Benadryl. And Nyquil, and the leftover oxycodone from when I broke my arm."

"They don't help?"

She shrugged, smiling. "Maybe a little. I think the tea helps most, though."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything. Wake me up, okay?"

"Rusty."

"Sharon."

She smiled and stepped forward. "Come here." She hugged him tightly. "I'm so lucky we found each other."

He nodded against her shoulder, unable to speak for a moment. He finally drew away. "G'night, Sharon. I'll see you in the morning?" He didn't think she would have to leave early after wrapping the case so late.

"Sounds good. Good night, Rusty." She closed the door halfway and walked to her bed in the darkness. A little moonlight came through her windows, turning the gold duvet on the floor into a silver lake. She liked the light and the early sun it brought in the morning. She threw her robe over the chair in the corner and dragged the duvet over the bed and herself.

She closed her eyes and drew the sheets over her head. She knew she'd kick the blankets off in the heat while she was asleep, but, for now, the heat was comforting.

He's safe.

A/N- Okay, look. That was an episode for the books, and I cranked out 3,000 words for you. Not that I didn't have fun, but that deserves some reviews, yeah? Love you all, and I'll try to get it out next week. I'm a counselor at a physics camp, but I think I'll be able to catch it, or at least get it on iTunes or something. (: