Summary: Missing scenes from after the shooting at the courthouse. Sharon reflects on her actions and tries to comprehend what it is she has done and how this may change her. (spoilers for 5x11 White Lies prt1)

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Major Crimes or any of its characters.

Note: I intend to write missing scenes for the upcoming two episodes too. They will be posted as additional chapters to this story.

They trained for this. Attended lectures, visited psychiatrists. But nothing, nothing, could truly bring across the feeling of knowing you have fired a gun at another human being and stood over them as they fought a battle of life and death. Nothing prepared you for the tornado of emotions that ripped through you in those first few seconds after the last shot rings out and there was not a single thing more deafening than the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Sharon looked down at her hands; those hands had pulled the trigger, had forever changed the course of a person's life. Even if Dwight Darnell did survive, everything had changed.

She had replayed the events over and over again in her head throughout the interview. She spoke calmly and with a clear voice but sometimes she caught herself as her tone shifted, hinting at the turmoil simmering underneath. She knew the questions they would ask her but not even having written them herself changed the way she felt about answering them. The two detectives sitting across the table from her had joined FID after her transfer to Major Crimes but Sharon could tell there was a sense of disbelief in the two men that they found themselves sitting in an interview with Sharon Raydor.

"Thank you, Captain," the younger of the two detectives said. "That will be all."

Sharon stood up, straightened her blazer and smoothed out her skirt and gave a quick nod. "Thank you, Detective." Green eyes had inexplicably hardened. "Am I correct in assuming there will be a meeting with Behavioural Sciences tomorrow morning?"

"Ten am tomorrow morning, Ma'am."

"Thank you."

The sound of her heels clicking against the floor had never felt hollower when she closed the interview door behind her and found herself standing in an all too familiar corridor. She hadn't set foot in here since transferring to Major Crimes and Sharon shivered involuntarily before starting down the corridor in the direction of the elevators. She pressed the button.

In the back of her mind she could still hear Morales' voice as he pleaded for Assistant Chief Taylor to keep breathing. She could still hear Amy's voice as she spoke calmly to the injured man, soothing him in what turned out to be his last moments. She could still smell the blood, the scent of iron had filled the courtroom mere moments after the shooting, and Sharon's stomach turned. The frantic voice of Morales as he counted in between compressions in a desperate attempt to keep Russell Taylor alive faded out as the elevator doors opened and Sharon looked up into an unexpected but familiar face. Green eyes met brown.

For a moment she was struck by the contrast. Only three hours earlier she had watched how life faded from Russel Taylor's eyes. Moments before that she had stared into the evil that lived inside Dwight Darnell's. And now she was looking up into eyes filled with kindness. Something just didn't fit.

"Deputy Chief Howard."

"Captain Raydor." A second's pause. Long enough for her to register the defeat in his voice that she knew he didn't want her to hear. "Sharon."

"How did it go?" Sharon asked, referring to the press conference.

"About what you'd expect," Fritz answered. He looked at Sharon a little more closely. She looked tired, he thought. Like a shadow had settled around her. "How are you feeling?"

Sharon swallowed. The bitterness she tasted in the back of her throat didn't go away. Neither did the sensation of something welling up inside of her. Something dark and cold. It crept into her chest, took possession of her in a way that was both frightening and soothing. When she spoke, her words were choppy and carried an echo of anger and frustration.

"Five people died. I don't think there is a word to describe that feeling."

"More people would have died if you hadn't taken Darnell out." Fritz's eyes narrowed a little. There was something striking about seeing Sharon Raydor like this. He had never seen her face as dark as it was now. "You yourself would most likely not be standing here."

He put a hand on her shoulder. A simple touch. Only for a second or two. But it startled her and Sharon took a step back. The adrenaline rush she felt was shocking. Fight or flight. A hand on her shoulder had reminded just how on edge she still was, no matter how calm she appeared. It was clear Fritz had noticed the change too because his features softened and Sharon saw the concern.

"Sharon?" Fritz called her name gently.

She didn't acknowledge him.

"Sharon, there's blood on your face."

Her head snapped up and she stared up at him, wide eyed. "What?"

"Right here…" Fritz pointed to his own forehead.

Sharon reached to touch her face but her fingers didn't quite make contact with her skin. "Oh." She shook her head, confused. She suddenly felt sick. Disgusted. She knew the blood didn't belong to Russel Taylor. "I'm sorry… I'll just go…"

She turned around and headed back down the hall in the direction she had just come, blindly finding her way to the ladies room. Hesitantly she approached the mirror, almost afraid to face her own reflection. When she looked up and stared at herself, all her features emphasised by the harsh, unforgiving lighting, she saw the blood on her forehead. There it was. A remnant of Dwight Darnell. On her skin.

For a second she thought she might actually vomit.

Sharon opened the tap, grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and wet it before putting it against her forehead and scrubbing away the blood. The speck was small but it felt bigger. When she put the paper towel down, her forehead was a little red from where she had scrubbed it but the blood was gone. Repulsion coursed through her veins and her stomach turned. For a second she saw Darnell's twisted smile, again felt the way her finger had tensed around the trigger. But then she turned around, threw the paper towel in the trash and took a deep breath.

When she made her way back to the elevator she saw Fritz was still waiting for her. He was leaning against a wall, eyes closed. He looked up when he heard her approach, seemed to almost sense Sharon's cold and distant demeanour. She saw his eyes dart to her forehead.

"You did what you had to do," he emphasised. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Be that as it may," Sharon answered, reaching out a hand to stop the elevator doors from sliding shut before she had chance to step inside. "It doesn't change what happened."

"No, it doesn't," Fritz agreed. "But your actions saved lives, Captain." He took a step back so that the elevator doors could close. His brown eyes caught Sharon's green at the last second. "Remember that when you're staring up at the ceiling in the dark tonight. Mothers and fathers got to go home to their children today because of you."

Sharon averted her eyes and stared down at the floor. "But Chief Taylor did not."

The doors closed and she found herself alone.

Silence wasn't her friend today. As soon as the elevator started moving, she heard the voices again. Heard her own voice even if she couldn't remember what it was she'd said. She'd stood next to Morales for a few moments, until it became clear there was nothing he could do for Taylor. His body, stripped from its shirt by Morales and covered in blood, the golden badge he had worn with pride covered in the blood lying discarded on the floor, was an image that would be imprinted in her mind for the rest of her life.

The doors opened again, revealing the familiar corridor that led to the interview rooms and the Major Crimes bullpen. Sharon instinctively headed for the interview rooms first and upon entering found herself faced with several sets of eyes, all wondering the same thing. Andy asked the question and her answer was short. A single warning to keep a distance.

Her mind was sharp and she picked up on the things the clerk said. The answers alarmed her and Sharon realised that what they were facing was bigger than she had first imagined. When she made her way into the Murder Room after the interview she could feel people's eyes on her. She tried not to think about what they saw when they looked at her.

When Provenza answered the call from Amy and told her Dr Joe would most likely be ok, Sharon knew there was something he wasn't telling her. And the fact she felt nothing, nothing, when he told her that Dwight Darnell was dead, unnerved her. How was it possible she felt no guilt or remorse over the fact she had killed a man?

What did that make her?

"Captain, you had to shoot the guy." Provenza's words sounded distant, like they were coming from somewhere else.

Her own words sounded hollow. Void of anything. No guilt. No remorse. The words were constricted and she looked up at Provenza with a hardened, distant look in her eyes.

"That's not the problem, Lieutenant. What I'm finding difficult is that I took a human life today… And I still can't find a single part of me that feels bad about it."

She turned around and stepped into her office, about to face the pain she knew today had caused to Rusty. She drew the blinds. Not so that she couldn't see people but so that people couldn't see her.

~()~

Sharon closed the front door behind her, dropped her keys in the bowl on the side table, put down her purse and took off her shoes. She shrugged herself out of her blazer and barefoot, she padded into the living room. Passing the mirror, she caught sight of her own reflection and she paused for just a moment. Staring back at her was a woman she only vaguely recognised.

Rusty sat on the couch but stood up when he heard Sharon come in. He looked almost skittish, Sharon thought. Today had impacted greatly on him and she could see the worry flash through his eyes when he looked at her. She wanted to reassure him but in that moment, she had nothing to give. She silently shook her head, averted her eyes and just stared at the floor.

"I made dinner," Rusty offered. He sounded a little uncertain. "I left you a plate in the microwave."

Sharon wasn't hungry. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. But she nodded anyway. She knew Rusty knew Darnell was dead. He now stood in front of his mother in the knowledge that she had killed a man today. A bad man but a man nonetheless.

"I'm going to take a shower," Sharon said flatly and without looking at Rusty she turned back around and made her way to the bathroom.

She switched on the shower to let the water heat up and slowly got undressed. The blazer she had worn all day had hidden the blood stains on her shirt but now that she held the fabric in her hands, she couldn't hide them any longer. Russel Taylor's blood was on her clothes. She had watched a man die today, a man she considered a friend, and all she had left of that moment were the images and voices in her head and the dried blood stains on her shirt.

She didn't bother dropping the shirt in the hamper. Blood didn't wash out well and even if it did, she wouldn't be able to wear this shirt ever again anyway. She discarded it on the floor and turned to the mirror. Her gaze focused on her forehead, on the exact same spot where Dwight Darnell's blood had been. It wasn't there anymore but she could still see it.

Sharon placed the remainder of her clothing in the hamper and stepped under the hot spray of the shower. The warm water pounded down on her shoulders and back and she tilted her head back to let the water rain on her face. It cascaded down her cheeks like tears but no amount of water or soap could wash away the horrors of the day.

She scrubbed her skin until it was dark pink and she washed her hair three times but still Sharon did not feel clean. She felt tainted, marked, and when she finally switched the shower off and wrapped a light blue towel around herself, Sharon felt no better than she did before. She dried her hair so it wasn't dripping anymore and went to her bedroom. She chose a pair of simple black yoga pants and a sweater and left her hair falling wet down her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared blindly at her alarm clock. In two hours and seventeen minutes this day would be over.

The soft knock on her door made Sharon look up. "Come in."

Rusty hesitantly stepped into the bedroom. He held Sharon's favourite tea cup in his hand and flashed a nervous smile. He remembered what Provenza had said. About needing to be his mother's rock. He had no idea how to do that, or how to even handle his own sense of grief and loss, but something inside him had told him to make some tea.

"Here," he said as he handed the cup to Sharon.

Sharon went to take the cup with both hands but as she reached for it, she noticed her hands were shaking. Rusty, still standing in front of her, saw it too. For a moment he panicked. Never before had he seen his mother's hands shake like that. She looked so calm but it was clear that was not at all how she felt. Sharon struggled to hold the cup and some of the hot chamomile tea spilled onto the bed sheets.

Rusty intervened and gently took the cup from Sharon's shaking hands and placed it on the nightstand. He didn't know what to say, couldn't find the right words, so instead he slowly sat down next to Sharon on the bed. She wasn't looking at him. She stared at the floor but Rusty didn't think she was actually seeing anything at all. Her mind was in another place.

Without thinking, Rusty covered his mother's hand with his own. "I'm sorry about Chief Taylor."

Sharon's voice broke when she looked up at Rusty. Her eyes had lost their shine. She looked tired and despite the hard and distant exterior she put on, Rusty could see she was fragile. She brought her hands up to her chest, willing them to stop shaking. They didn't.

"Me too," she barely whispered.

Rusty didn't wait for her to say anything more but instead wrapped both his arms around Sharon, pulling her lovingly into an embrace. She didn't hug him back, just rested herself against him, placed her head on his shoulder and Rusty clung on even tighter. Sharon was still shaking. He could feel it and although he didn't know what it was she needed from him in the days ahead right now, Rusty knew Sharon needed to be held.. He would hold her for as long as she needed him to.

"We'll figure it out," he whispered into her ear. "It's all going to be okay."

Sharon let her eyes fall shut, silently hoping that he was right.