A/N- Here's round two! This is about the time Sharon shot someone, if it's not your thing, feel free to skip (: It's not in depth or anything.

"Hey, Jack!"

Jack Raydor turned to face his ALA, Chris. He and Sharon still lived in student housing, even though they had been married almost a year before, in the summer after she graduated academy. They had moved to the school-owned apartments on the edge of campus, as it was cheaper than any other place in town.

"Hey, Chris," he replied. He shifted his books to his other arm and waited for the other man to catch up. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fine. I've only got two more finals, and they're going to be pretty easy."

"That's good. The same for me." Jack made a motion to keep moving, but Chris pulled him back. "What?" Jack frowned slightly.

"Everything okay with you and Sharon?" he asked. "I'm sorry to pry, but I just gotta keep up with my residents. . ."

"Yeah, no, I understand," Jack said. He frowned deeply. "We're good. Why?"

"Annie said something to me just a little while ago. Said she saw Sharon come in and she seemed pretty upset."

Jack shook his head. "I just got here. She left for work before I got up this morning. She got a couple of long shifts. She was fine then."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure. Thanks for the heads up." Jack waved and walked the last few feet to his apartment. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in quietly and set his books and bag down on the coffee table. "Sharon?"

There was no response, but he could hear the shower running. He kicked his shoes off and walked back to the bathroom. Again, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open. "Shar? You in there?"

"Go away, Jack."

There wasn't much force in her words, so he let himself in, and nearly tripped over Sharon's uniform. It was in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. He stepped over it and pushed the shower curtain back enough for him to see her. He kept his eyes firmly on her face until he realized she was still wearing her underwear and a tanktop. There was a pinkish stain spattered across her chest.

"Sharon? What happened?" He reached forward and pushed the wet strands of her hair away from her face.

"Nothing," she said sharply.

He leaned against the shower silently, knowing she'd tell him. The water sprayed him, but he stayed, watching her. After another minute, he reached down and turned the water off. She stood still, water dripping, then sobbed loudly.

"Oh, Shar," he sighed. He reached forward and picked her up, holding her close and carrying her to the bedroom. He snatched a towel on the way out and fumbled it onto the bed before setting Sharon down on it. He laid down next to her and swept her hair back again. "What happened?"

She squirmed closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her as best he could. She mumbled something into his chest.

"What?"

"I shot somebody."

Jack jerked back slightly to see her face. She looked like a tearful basset hound. "Tell me what happened."

She ducked her face back into his chest. "We pulled this guy over for a traffic stop and he came out with a gun. He kept coming towards us, and I told him to stop, but he didn't stop, and I told him to drop the gun, and he didn't and then he raised it up and shot at us and I think it was a warning shot because it was way off, and then he aimed again and-" she cut herself off and clung to Jack tightly.

He jumped slightly at the sudden pressure and returned it.

"I shot him," she whispered. "Oh my God, I shot him."

"Did you kill him?" Jack asked softly.

She twitched and shook her head. "No. I mean, I don't think so. I don't know. I just. . . there was this bang, and he fell down and Arthur was calling for back-up and an ambulance. And I don't know. It's all blurry. I think- I know- FID came and they took my gun, and I guess I told them what happened  and they put me on administrative leave for the next. . . Oh my God, I don't know. I don't even know when I can go back to work, Jack!" She started crying, so he just lay there and held her.

"Shar, you don't have to go back if you don't want to."

She looked up at him. "No, we need the money."

Jack tipped her chin up with a finger. "We don't need it that badly, love. We can find something else."

"Nothing like this. It pays well and it's secure. That's what we need. You still have two more years of school and we need my job to pay for that. I don't want to take out loans, and your internship doesn't pay enough." She took a deep breath. "Besides, I'll get over this. I'm pretty sure I'll be cleared, and then I can get back to work, and everything will be normal again."

He watched her calm herself with fiats and pragmatism, knowing that once she'd set her mind to something, she'd accomplish it somehow. "Okay. But if you change your mind, we'll figure something out. Okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled.

They lay in silence for an indefinite amount of time before the phone rang. Sharon jumped and rolled off the bed in a single, fluid motion, lunging for the receiver.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

Jack came to stand next to her, and she tilted the phone so he could hear, too.

"Is this Sharon Raydor?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Hey, this is Andy Flynn, from Vice? We met, uh, earlier?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I already talked to someone from your department, I think."

"Yeah, yeah, you did," the man sounded vaguely impatient. "But look, I heard it on the grapevine that FID is gonna get you cleared by tomorrow morning. They've got some sorta deadline, and the guy you shot wasn't hurt bad or anything, and they've got something else on their hands, so they're trying to get you through their hands as fast as they can."

"Oh."

"Yeah, just wanted to let you know. I was in there a little while ago and heard them talking. You didn't hear it from me, but you've got a lot of cops rooting for you, and we thought you ought to know."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, sure." The man rang off, and Sharon looked at Jack.

"That's good," he said."

"It is. But it's completely illegal for him to tell me that."

Jack laughed. "Shar, illegal or not, I would buy him a drink for bending the rules like that. It's like a white lie. It's not a bad thing."

She snorted. "Jackson Raydor. You are a law student."

He grinned at her. "And your point is? Come on, let's go finish that shower."

A/N- Murphycat- Thanks! I'm glad the characters seem right to you. (: As for Taylor, I don't think he was necessarily nicer then, I think he just had less experience, both on the job and with Provenza.  Also, I'm not entirely clear about how much med. school Tao had. Some sources say one year, but I just recall him saying something non-specific. Idk

"Mike, can you clear some room on the table?" Kathy held a glass pan in a set of hot mitts.

Mike Tao looked up. "Yeah, sure. Sorry about that." He waved a hand over the mess of papers over their kitchen table. He was partway through his fellowship year as a traumatologist. The more time that passed, the more paperwork he seemed to generate. He reached across the table and gathered the multi-colored papers into stacks. There was mint green, lavender, blue, yellow, pink, and white.

"You've got a veritable rainbow there," Kathy said gently as she set plates and silverware down. Her long, black hair swung across her face as she leaned forward to slice lasagna. She had layered spinach, sausage, alfredo, ricotta, and noodles.

"It seems like everything I do equates to paperwork. One stitch is four pages. An x-ray? A solid half-hour of forms." He sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry. Work and home are separate." He set the stacks on the spare chairs and pushed his pens neatly to the side.

"It's fine," Kathy said. "I know it's hard to keep up." She took a bite of her lasagna.

"That's no reason for me to take it out here." He leaned over to Kathy and kissed her. She squeaked in surprise. He pulled back after a moment, and she reached up and swiped her thumb across his lip.

"You had some alfredo there," she said, grinning. He smiled back, and the conversation took a lighter turn. They talked about Kathy's day, her job at Eastside Elementary, teaching kindergarden. How there was a new kid, all the way from Wyoming.

It wasn't until hours later, when they were getting ready for bed, that Kathy came back to the original subject. "Mike, did you ever think about changing professions?" She began to pull her hair back in a French braid.

He spat out his toothpaste. "What?"

"Ever since you've been on the fellowship, you've had so much paperwork. Even in residency, you were telling me about how it seemed like doctors spent as much time covering their-" she paused. "Covering themselves as stabbing their friends in the back."

"Yeah." He picked the mouthwash up from the counter and took a mouthful. He swished it around, then bent over the sink and spat it out. "What were you thinking?"

"Emmy's father came in to pick her up. He's just joined the LAPD."

"The police?"

"Mmhmm." Kathy turned and walked out. "He was talking about how much he loved it. Said he had already met a bunch of great guys," she called from the bedroom.

Mike looked at himself in the mirror tiredly. Hell, he looked tired. He fingered his mustache slowly. Maybe it was time to give up the scalpel. He'd been working towards a medical career for years, but he'd never really, truly, enjoyed it. At first, it was to please his parents. Then he found pre-med classes to be legitimately interesting. It kept getting better after that, until he had enough responsibility to see his own patients and do his own paperwork. So far, he'd been lucky enough to make more friends than enemies. It seemed like the smarter you were, the more friends you had.

It was only a matter of time, though, before someone's knife made it past his armor and stabbed him in the back.

He turned towards the door. "Hey, Kathy?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Emmy's dad say if the LAPD was hiring?"

He heard a laugh. "I'm not Wikipedia, I can't keep giving out information for free."

He smiled to himself. "Well, what forms of payment do you accept? Visa, Mastercard?" he asked jokingly.

"Come here, and I'll show you."

"Name?"

"Louis Provenza."

"Age?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Do you have your papers from the physical eval?"

"Yeah." Lou pulled the slightly crumpled two-page packet out of his back pocket. "Here."

The recruiting officer took them with a raised eyebrow and unfolded them, smoothing them as best he could. "Psych eval?"

"They wouldn't give 'em to me, kid. Think they were worried I'd screw with them."

The officer's face reddened, but he was clearly several years younger.

"Some respect, please."

Lou snorted. "Kid, this is respect. I can show you dis-"

"Why do you want to join the LAPD?" the boy interrupted.

"I tried the LAFD for a while, but I've decided I'm not to keen on fire." Once burned, twice cautious. 

"You have to expect to fire and be fired upon-"

"Not guns, kid. Flames." Lou sat up and leaned forward. "I'm not doing fire anymore."

"But why the LAPD?"

He sighed and was quiet for a rare moment. "I like the idea of bossing people around."

The kid frowned. "Look-"

"I'm assuming my rank with transfer from the LAFD?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No, kid, you look." Lou tapped the desk with one knuckle. "I've been on the streets longer than you. I've seen more than you, rescued people from burning-" his voice cracked and he stopped. "There's some kind of. . . I don't know. It's nice to save people, to know you're doing something good in a scummy world. I can't live without it."

"You're an adrenaline junkie," the kid stated flatly.

Lou snorted, leaning back. "And you're an idiot if that's what you're getting out of this discussion." He stood. "Thanks for your time, Officer. I've used enough of it, and you're clearly looking for someone else." He saluted sarcastically and left the office. Christ, Lou, you really blew it.

Russell Taylor set Louis Provenza's docket down on his desk. He felt like he shouldn't like the man, but something in the former firefighter seemed genuine, once one cut through the caustic exterior. Provenza had more experience than all the others who had walked through the door that day. He seemed quicker and more prepared. He'd passed the physical with flying colors, as well as the psych eval, though the latter suggested there was a possibility for trouble-making.

He'd take the risk. Taylor wrote up his recommendation in the appropriate space on the recruitment packet, signed the bottom with a flourish, and set it in his outbox. Provenza would be getting a call within the next few days, notice of a sign-on bonus and a new job as a Sergeant in Robbery-Homicide.