Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who took the time to write a review. Your feedback was much appreciated! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Richard peered at Sharon's office. The blinds were still drawn and no noise was coming from inside. He glanced at his watch. Three o'clock on the dot. It had been nearly four hours since the young man in the suit had disappeared. Four hours and Sharon hadn't come out of her office. He was beginning to worry. It wasn't like her to go this long without wandering into the squad room for updates on cases or to clarify reports. It wasn't like her to be so incredibly quiet. It was because of this isolation that Richard made a decision: he was going to get her to admit what was wrong, even if it killed him. He had the distinct feeling that it just might.

Casting a quick glance around the squad room, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood up. As he started what he considered to be his death march he could see Janiszewski eye him before promptly returning back to her work. Apparently she was of the opinion he would force her to come along. If he weren't worried about the Captain he probably would have. But he was going into this situation blind. He didn't want to embarrass Sharon in front a subordinate. Then she really would kill him. He walked without a word.

He paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to fortify himself. He was going to need steady nerves for what he was about to do: he was going to ask Sharon Raydor about her feelings. Before he could lose his nerve and slink off to a vending machine, he pushed his way into the Captain's office with a gentle knock.

Sharon was seated behind her desk, her eyes scanning a case report. Her chin rested on her left hand while she absent-mindedly tapped her pen against the desk with her other. Her lips were pursed and her forehead crinkled in a way Richard knew meant extreme frustration with whoever had completed the report. She seemed completely oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat softly to get her attention.

"Oh!" Sharon's eyes widened to an almost comic proportion as she jumped in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a pale pink. This lapse in demeanor lasted only a second, her usual composure returning as she smoothed the front of her blouse. "What can I help you with, Richie?"

Normally, if someone called him Richie, Richard would have to suppress the urge to punch that individual in the face. But Sharon was one of two people on the face of the planet allowed to call him that, the only other being his wife Stella. If they hadn't been partners when Sharon first made detective, he was sure she wouldn't have been allowed that privilege either. But they were close. At least he liked to think they were. What he was about to do would either prove or disprove that theory very quickly.

"Well," he hedged, trying to think of a good way to broach the subject of what the hell was going on with her. There was no good way. There was no subtle way to ask what was wrong. There was just no way to do this that would be comfortable for either of them. He kept his mouth shut.

"Well, what?" She smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She watched his face with laser-like focus. He couldn't help but squirm under such intense scrutiny. "Did you have something to say, or are you just going to waste my time? I have things to do before I can go—"

"Are you alright?" he finally blurted, immediately feeling sheepish. He fought the urge to stare at his feet.

Sharon was silent for a long moment. Her face was unreadable, though her gaze was sharp. It was almost as if she were deciding whether or not he could be trusted. Richard chafed at the thought that she would have to take more than a split second to see that his intentions were pure. He was worried about her, damn it. He was about to voice his frustrations when Sharon finally stated, "I'm fine."

Richard threw up his hands in frustration. "Someone who's fine doesn't take five minutes to say it, Sharon."

Sharon's eyes narrowed slightly. "It wasn't five minutes."

"Sure as hell felt like five minutes with you staring at me like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Start a fight with me because you're angry with your husband."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Richard wished he could take them back. He was frustrated, a not uncommon occurrence when dealing with this particular woman despite his affection for her, and he had said exactly the wrong thing.

Sharon visibly tensed, a flicker of hurt passing over her face before she shuttered herself to him. "What?" Her crisp enunciation of the word made him flinch.

"Well…"

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him straight in the eye, her green eyes boring a whole right through his skull. If looks could kill, Richard was fairly certain he would have been headed for the morgue shortly. "I can order you to answer me, Richie."

He stared at Sharon, trying to find some way this situation might not make him wish for his imminent death. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. If he didn't say it now, he knew he would slink off somewhere to hide until he knew Sharon went home. He would just have to suck it up and take one for the team. "The messenger said he had something from your husband, and then you just—"

Sharon cut him off by raising a hand. "You spoke to him?"

"Yeah. I didn't recognize him, and he said he was looking for you. I didn't want some kid coming in here threatening you, so I asked why he was here."

"And he said?"

"He had something for you from your husband." Richard was confused, a fact he was sure was evident to Sharon. Or it would have been if she were bothering to look at him. Her gaze had dropped to the surface of her desk. "So…I sent him in here."

For a terribly awkward moment Richard stood in complete silence, unsure of what the best course of action would be. The obvious choice would be to leave. But the choice he knew he would have to make was to stay. He needed to be sure she was alright. Clearly she wasn't. However, one simply didn't rush Sharon Raydor. Not when it came to talking about emotionally fraught topics.

"I have work to do," Sharon said suddenly, her eyes focused completely on her desk. She shuffled papers, straightening already neat stacks of forms. Richard couldn't help but note a slight tremble in her hands. "If you would excuse me."

"But Sharon—"

"No." She stopped what she was doing, but still refused to look at him. Her voice had a hard edge to it. It was almost brittle. This startled Richard. "Go back to your desk, Lieutenant."

That was the second time she'd addressed him by rank in the course of their conversation. She meant business. If she had to tell him again, he would be insubordinate. It wouldn't matter to her that he had more experience than she did, that she had once looked to him as a mentor. She didn't tolerate insubordination. Ever. "Fine. I was just concerned."

He was almost to the door when he heard it. She said it softly, as if she wasn't certain she was saying the words aloud. "I'm sorry."

"I know." And with that he exited the office, gently pulling the door closed behind him. He silently returned to his desk, his body language clearly telegraphing his desire to be left alone. Janiszewski merely raised an eyebrow at him before once again turning back to her own work.

He may not have any real answers, but Lieutenant Richard Pratt knew one thing for certain: Mitchell Kohl was completely responsible for whatever was wrong with the Captain, and for this he would have to pay.