A/N: This is the longest author's note I've ever written in my entire life, but it's a different kind of story, so I feel like it's important to share some insight about my process and explain a few things to my readers.

I wanted to write this story for a long time, and even made several attempts to do so in the past. But a story is like a baby – it's only born when the time is right. In short, this is a retelling of Major Crimes where instead of being a boy, Rusty is a girl. I feel that a lot of the issues surrounding Rusty would have been handled differently, and I thought it would be interesting to explore it.

Just like the show, this story deals with a lot of subjects one might find triggering: sexual abuse/assault, child abuse, substance abuse, emotional abuse, violence, depression, suicide, and homophobia. I am against all of those, but at some points in the story, characters might speak on behalf of those behaviors, as some people do in the real world.

I tried to stay as close to the original storylines, but I also modified many of them. Some conversations that took place in the show were altered, and quotes from the show may appear in different context. I didn't go through all the episodes, but I did try to touch on all the important plots. I plan to go through all six seasons (yes, even the horrifying conclusion of the show – which I will probably change). Down the line, there will be some Shandy, and other ships that the show has given us, but just like in the show, it won't happen in the very beginning. Blame James Duff for that progress (If possible, I'll skip episodes to shorten the wait).

I hope you enjoy this story and I would love it if you leave a comment and let me know your thoughts about it.

I would also like to thank blossom-of-snow for being an amazing beta. Your help is greatly appreciated.

For those who skipped my intro, please notice the following TRIGGER WARNING: This story deals with a lot of subjects one might find triggering: sexual abuse/assault, child abuse, substance abuse, emotional abuse, violence, depression, suicide, and homophobia. If you find these triggering, please avoid reading this story. Thank you.

Sharon inspected the redhead girl who was sitting on the couch in her living room and hugging a ragged and faded backpack that held everything she owned in the world. Her sullen expression made the freckles on her nose look dark. Sharon couldn't recall ever seeing a teenager so angry at the world, and that was even before the girl said anything. Sharon walked to the kitchen, opened the cupboard and took out a wine glass. She opened the fridge and took a bottle of white wine out.

"Don't think I'm gonna be all, like, thankful for you taking me in," the girl muttered, her voice tired and annoyed at the same time.

"Oh, trust me. You're not the first adolescent to grace my home with your presence." She poured the wine into her glass. "Having raised two teenagers of my own, I have a tremendous capacity for ingratitude." She placed the bottle down on the kitchen counter. "Rusty, it's so funny. Just when you get good at being a mother, you're fired," she said as she walked to the living room and leaned against the back of the couch, over the girl's shoulder. Rusty examined the Ding Dong shoved into her backpack earlier.

"Or you quit," the girl quipped and ungracefully put the Ding Dong down on the coffee table. Sharon's smile died, and she straightened and bit the inside of her bottom lip. This girl has been through a lot. She didn't have the chance to read her file yet, but she knew what Rusty had to do to survive in the street. Her prickly exterior must have been part of a coping mechanism, a way that she could shelter her soul.

"So, what are we supposed to call each other anyway?" Sharon liked the indirect way the girl wanted to know her name. That way of thinking showed that behind the angry girl there was a pretty solid mind.

"Oh," she drew the word on her tongue as she walked around the couch. "I think you should call me Captain Raydor," she said as she took a seat in the armchair and leaned forward just a little bit. She took a sip of her wine.

"Okay, then you can call me Miss Beck," the girl retorted.

"You are the child in this relationship," Sharon decided to remove the veil of ambiguity and explain to Rusty how things were going to work.

"No, I'm the witness. If you are the police officer, then I am the witness," Oh, this girl was clever, but Sharon was willing to entertain her, just for a little bit.

"There are not a lot of people around here who call me by my first name," she stated. It wasn't untrue. Her children called her Mom, and at work people around her used her title and last name. She had friends, of course, but unfortunately, she also had very little time to see them.

"Oh, well, maybe that's why you live alone with a spare bedroom," Rusty countered. Even though it hurt to have someone pointing out her rather lonely life, Sharon was not going to stoop down to the level of a frustrated sixteen-year-old by offering an equally painful retort.

"I live alone because my children are grown," she spoke slowly. "The spare room is for when they visit." She noticed that Rusty didn't look at her. Maybe because the idea of being alone was something they shared and while trying to take a jab at Sharon, the girl reminded herself why she found herself in Sharon's care, to begin with. "But, you may call me Sharon." The girl suddenly turned to look at her. "How's that?"

"Sharon," Rusty repeated her name. Sharon hummed and gave her a small nod. "What is that, like, your bad idea of a joke or something?"

"Why do you say that?" Sharon could tell something was wrong, although why her name would be an issue was beyond her.

"Sharon is my mother's name!" Rusty exclaimed.

"Oh," she suddenly understood the gravity of the situation. And she could already guess where this conversation was heading.

"God, you haven't been looking for her at all, have you?" There was no use of hiding the fact that she hadn't even read Rusty's file. In fact, she planned on doing that before she turned in. She was curious, for one, how the girl ended up with such a name, even though she suspected it might have had something to do with Rusty's hair color. If that was the reason, then Rusty may detest her name. She wanted to learn more about Rusty's background, other than her involvement in the Stroh trial. Pursing her lips, she looked at the girl who was growing more and more upset by the minute.

"Rusty, I just got this job yesterday. Give me a chance to catch up. I am making a good faith effort. I am." Rusty stood up and hoisted her backpack on one shoulder.

"Where is your bathroom?" The girl's voice shook.

"It's right down there," Sharon pointed towards the hall. Rusty grabbed her crutches and began making her way towards the bathroom. Sharon pulled herself off the armchair and took a few steps into the center of the living room. "Rusty," the girl turned around and looked at her with nothing but resentment. "If it is possible to find your mother, I will do it. I promise you."

"Sure you will, Captain. Sure you will." Rusty turned around and limped on her crutches down the hall. Sharon watched her disappear into the bathroom and sank to the couch, feeling exhaustion from the last couple of days taking over her. She wrapped her arms around one of the throw pillows, rested her head against the backrest and closed her eyes.

When Rusty didn't emerge from the bathroom half an hour later, Sharon knew that whether either of them liked it or not, it was time to check on her. She didn't know what the girl had in her backpack and how she normally dealt with disappointment; the girl could be getting high or hurting herself some other way. The thought made Sharon cringe, and she walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Rusty," she said softly. "I know you're upset, but can you please come out of there for a moment?" There was no response from the girl, and she listened for a moment, but the room was silent. "Rusty, are you okay in there?" she asked again, and no response came. "Rusty, if you don't open the door right now, I'm coming in." Nothing. Sharon pressed the door handle down and was almost surprised when she realized the door wasn't locked. Rusty was lying on the bathroom floor in fetal position, her head resting on her backpack and several pieces of crumpled toilet paper thrown around her. Sharon leaned by her side and was relieved to discover that the girl was alive and that her breath sounded normal. Sharon looked at her for a moment. She could see the smears of black eyeliner under Rusty's eyes, and by the black stains on the crumpled toilet paper that was thrown next to her on the floor, it was easy to detect that the girl had cried herself to sleep on the bathroom floor. Was that how she slept in the street? Did she have a regular spot where she slept or did she have to search for a new spot every night? Sharon placed her hand on Rusty's shoulder and shook her gently. "Rusty, wake up," she said softly. The girl opened her eyes at once and looked at her with terror. "It's okay. It's just me," Sharon tried to calm her down. "You fell asleep here," she said as if it was absolutely normal for people to doze off on the bathroom floor. The girl looked frightened as if she was caught doing something that she shouldn't. Sharon looked into her eyes, trying to tell if Rusty may have been high. With all the smeared black makeup and red-rimmed eyes, it was hard to tell. The girl used way too much black eyeshadow and eyeliner. "I don't want to sound mean, but I have to ask. Have you taken something?"

"You're a police officer, why would I tell you anything?" Rusty asked.

"I promise you won't get in trouble if you have. All I care about right now is your safety," Sharon explained.

"I don't do drugs," Rusty spat the words.

"Is that the truth?" Sharon asked. Rusty seemed insulted by the accusation and nodded. "Okay, I trust you." Rusty rubbed her eyes, smearing her makeup even more than before. She groaned when her palm blackened.

"Here, use this," Sharon pulled herself off the floor and walked to the counter. She pointed towards a decorative glass jar that was full of cotton pads and a bottle of makeup remover. The girl got off the floor as well and took a cotton pad from the jar, then unscrewed the cap of the makeup remover bottle. "What do you want to eat for dinner?" Rusty shrugged in response. "Okay, is there anything you don't like?" Another shrug. Sharon wasn't sure what to make of it. "Well, I'm going to have a sandwich. I'll make one for you too. Please come to the kitchen when you're done here."

After Rusty went to bed Sharon had the chance to review the girl's file. Her birth name was Rainie Tamsin Beck. She was almost sixteen, abandoned by her mother in a department store. Her last documented school attendance was in 9th grade, which she didn't finish, and Sharon could only assume that was around the same time started turning tricks. After the police found her, she had managed to get herself kicked out of three different foster homes within one month before Sharon decided to take her in for the night. She had to admit that she had no experience with children like Rusty, especially ones who were the victims of sex crimes. She knew that the girl's abrasive and disrespectful behavior was the source of deep trauma, and not because she was genuinely bad-mannered. This girl needed stability, and Sharon knew that she could provide her that and keep a watchful eye on her at the same time until Stroh's trial. She closed the file with a sigh and shoved it into her desk drawer and then got up and walked down the hall. As she reached for the door of her room, she heard a muffled cry coming from the spare room, followed by another one. She stood there and listened, not sure what to do. Eventually, the thought of letting a girl cry herself to sleep became unbearable and she went into the room, not bothering to knock.

"Go away," Rusty said.

"I know this is overwhelming, and we didn't start off on the right foot, but I meant what I said earlier. I will do everything in my power to help you unite with your mother," she promised.

Rusty sniffled. "How long will it take?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sharon said. "But in the meantime, you stay here."

"Great," the girl replied sarcastically. Sharon noticed that Rusty was still wearing her torn jeans and T-shirt.

"Do you have any nightwear?" she inquired. Rusty shook her head. "You can borrow one from me."

"I know you think you're saving me or something, but I don't need your help, okay?" Rusty said with irritation. "I was fine on my own, and I shouldn't have helped the stupid police." Sharon could argue with the girl about being fine on her own, but she just shrugged. The girl was upset with her situation, and it was understandable. Being a teenager was hard enough without having to deal with the things Rusty experienced.

"I'm sorry you feel this way, but this is how things are now, and you have to get used to it," she said. The girl huffed. "You've had a long day, so I'll leave you now." She turned around and went out of the room, leaving the door half open.

"Aren't you gonna lock the door?" she heard Rusty's voice.

"Why would I do that?"

"Other foster parents do," the girl replied.

"You are not a criminal, and this is not a prison. You can leave the room whenever you want." Rusty's eyes widened in awe as if the idea of moving freely around the house was foreign to her. "I'll be in the room across from you if you need something during the night. Good night, Rusty," Sharon said and went out of the room again.

As Sharon lied in bed, her thoughts kept her awake. She knew that the girl would be a handful, but she was worried about her own role in Rusty's life. Becoming a foster mother to her would be a huge responsibility; not only because of the girl's status as a material witness in a high profile murder trial but also because of everything that led Rusty to Griffith Park on the night that she reported the murder Stroh committed. She knew that a lot of resources would be required to ensure Rusty is physically and mentally safe. Luckily for both of them, Sharon knew she was the right person to do all that.

-TBC-

As always, I'd love to know what you thought about this chapter, so feel free to leave a review or send me a PM.