A/N: Just a short one leading up to the drama that is about to ensue. I hope you guys are still with me, even I am losing the will to live with this but try to hang in there, pretty please.

New Stars

Brenda pulled her glasses down her nose and rubbed her tired eyes. It was late, she had sent the squad home although Provenza was still going through boxes, dutifully cataloging the contents and delving into the next as if on a hunt.

He had found three diaries with what they realized were Sharon's habits and whereabouts. Brenda had ordered - yes, ordered - that only she herself and Provenza were to read them.

Sharon would hate knowing everyone had intimate details of her daily routines.

As soon as she saw Fritz enter the Murder Room, she realized that she had meant to call him, that she should be home at...

Brenda looked at her watch.

Nearly twelve o'clock at night.

"Oooh, shoot!"

On an angry scale from 1 to 10, he looked about a 4. Hopefully she could talk him down to at least a 2.

"I am so sorry, Fritzi, I completely forgot!"

"I figured," he said evenly and plopped a brown paper bag onto her desk. "I got you a sandwich."

Biting her lip guiltily, Brenda reached for the bag. "What is that?" She asked before she could help it.

"Hummus, red pepper and salad on wholewheat."

"...oh. Sounds-um-"

Fritz chuckled but Brenda was actually hungry. It was that Agent Morgan, for sure. Her and her crazy food ideas. Sighing internally, the blonde decided to let the jibe go - she wasn't in the mood for his criticism, or anyone else's for that matter.

"Well," she said then. "I'll have to go see Sharon." Sharon, not Captain Raydor. "She needs to sign her statement and hopefully tomorrow SID can corroborate her account."

"Ah. In other words you wanna check up on your, uh...friend."

"Yes," Brenda said. "My friend who nearly got murdered tonight." She hated when he inferred there was more to it. There wasn't, not now.

"Okay," he then said, mild mannered, and picked up the sandwich he had known she wouldn't touch. "You go see your friend and I'll go home, watch that documentary I recorded."

"Fritzi..."

"I know, I know. Don't worry, we can watch it another time."

"You sure?" She asked, hopeful.

"Of course." He gave her a tight smile and enveloped her in a brief hug, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "C'mon. Let me at least walk you to your car."

Grabbing her things, Brenda stepped into the dimly lit Murder Room.

"Lieutenant Provenza?"

He looked up from a little notepad he had just uncovered. "Notes about...Raydor. Again. God, this guy was taking obsession to a whole new level, Chief." He waved the pages at her.

"There's five more..." He pointed out. "I swear, if I have to read about Raydor going to the store one more time I will burn the whole lot."

Brenda rolled her eyes. "It's all evidence, Lieutenant."

"I'm pretty sure we can establish that the guy was a nutcase, Chief. I mean, he wrote down everything, look, here, 19:08: SR is picking up dry cleaning."

The blonde bit her lip and glanced over the pages as Provenza skimmed them, feeling a bit uneasy to have Sharon's life intruded upon like this.

"Ah! Here it is again."

"What's that?" Fritz asked.

"20:08. SR meets CJ at bar. Renaissance Hotel. Heh," he picked up another book. "Found several of those."

"Boyfriend," Brenda said quickly yet firmly.

"What? Someone who's actually frost proof?"

"Lieutenant!"

Provenza looked pointedly at Fritz. "Sorry," he held up his hands. "But what do you want me to do, Chief, it's all evidence."

"I know that, Lieutenant. However, I'm sure Cap'n Raydor, and myself for that matter, would appreciate it if your esteemed colleague's private life wasn't turned into the laughing stock of the LAPD."

He did looked remorseful then, and nodded solemnly. "I'll make sure this is my eyes only."

"Good. Now, how 'bout we call it a night."

Provenza picked up the notes again. "I'll just finish this one. Goodnight, Chief. Agent Howard."

"Provenza."

Brenda let him be, suspecting that he hid a ton of guilt behind all the cruel jokes.

"Oh, and, uh, Chief? Tell her-tell her-"

"I will, Lieutenant." Hoisting her purse up on her shoulder, Brenda gave Fritz a small smile. 'See? I'm not the only one who gives a damn.'

He smiled back. Outside, in the hallway as they waited for the elevator, Fritz bumped her shoulder. "Boyfriend, eh?"

"Girlfriend," she said. "Ex." Because they weren't sleeping together anymore.

...not that they had been girlfriends or any such nonsense.

"Ah."

"It wasn't my place to say." She decided to deflect instead of elaborating the lie. "I just know Sharon would be mortified if anyone knew her business. Even going to the dry cleaners." She adopted a slightly annoyed expression. "Heaven forbid anyone find out what brand o' coffee she buys or where she gets all 'em geometrical jackets from."

"I thought she was your friend?"

"Well." Brenda bit her lip. "I just want this over with. I'll get her to sign the papers and then I'll give SID hell, hell, hell."

Fritz frowned as they stepped onto the elevator. "Gosh, remind me to never wind up on your bad side...again."

"Very funny. It's just that Chief Delk wants this done, too, and he's been calling me every half hour-" As if on cue, her phone rang. "Oooh, I bet that's him again!" One look at her phone confirmed her suspicions. "Oooh!"

"Answer it, for christ's sake."

"Hello, Chief. How can I help?"

The man's usually calm voice boomed over the speaker. "Any news?"

"Yes, indeed, we have determined that Officer Crawley has been stalking Captain Raydor for several months, meticulously documenting her movements in the notebooks we found-"

"I'd like to have a look at them myself, Chief Johnson."

CJ.

She swallowed. "Lietenant Provenza is currently going over them with a fine tooth comb to, y'know, minimize the exposure of Cap'n Raydor's private-"

"I see," Delk sounded almost apologetic. "I understand."

"Well, I'm just on my way to see the Captain and have her sign the statement we typed up and hopefully SID will have finished with the crime scene analysis by tomorrow, so..."

"Good work, Chief."

"Thank you, Chief."

He hung up, his silky voice lingering in Brenda's mind. It wasn't as if she disliked him. It wasn't as if he was a terrible Chief of Police. Or that he wanted to demote Will and give her his job. It was just that, sometimes, she felt as if he had a soft-spot for Sharon.

He liked her. And when pretty much everyone in the department hated her guts, it was somehow difficult to reconcile that.

"You okay?"

Brenda blinked. The elevator had stopped and Fritz had stepped out, looking at her expectantly. "Yes, yes. Fine." She followed him. "It's just, Chief Delk..."

"I know," Fritz said. "Smarmy. He has a soft-spot for you."

Brenda snorted, incredulous, and laughed. "Me? He's got one for Cap'n Raydor, that's for sure." As it left her mouth and echoed around the parking garage, she realized how jealous she sounded. She looked at Fritz then, just from the corner of her eye.

He had this look on his face, that one of suspicion yet he remained mute.

Brenda had seen that look many a times, and more often than not, Fritz had bit his tongue. She knew why, now, why he chose not to lay into her anymore, and Brenda found her heart constrict at the realization that he wanted to believe her.

He wanted to believe in her.

A patrol car had been parked right in front of the house but the drive, next to Sharon's car, was otherwise empty. Brenda parked on it even though she had vowed never to again. They had sparked up a friendship, and Sharon wasn't afraid of what her neighbors might think...and they hadn't done anything wrong in, well, quite a while.

Not counting that kiss.

But Brenda preferred not to think about that particular laps in judgment; besides, she added mentally, it was mostly Sharon's fault anyhow.

The blonde greeted the officer guarding the door on her way in, leaving her badge number and name. Her heels clicking over the hardwood floor sounded strangely hollow, as if the house had been emptied of all its possessions, all its character and perhaps, Brenda thought morosely, perhaps that was true.

She stared at the remnants of broken glass in the hallway, stomach churning.

Brenda tore her eyes away, feeling a sudden shiver overtake her entire body. She decided to not look, to just find what she had come here for and leave again. Avoiding the evidence markers scattered about the hallway, Brenda managed to get into the bedroom. She didn't look at the blood pool, no, she didn't even breathe through her nose, not wanting to smell it.

What she couldn't smell, she could taste however. It nearly made her gag. Usually she wasn't affected but standing in the dark bedroom, Sharon's bedroom, her most intimate and private place, the place that used to be hers' alone, Brenda felt decidedly ill.

She turned on the bedside lamp and expelled a large breath; she had to pull it together.

Mind made up and resolve steeled, Brenda opened the spacious closet. Pausing momentarily, the blonde felt a strange sense of satisfaction overcome her; she got to choose the clothes and clothes Sharon had plenty.

Brenda entered slowly, biting her lip as her fingertips traced the different materials. This, she thought, was one of her favorites. That black Armani suit. The blonde smiled, pleased, and laid it out on the bed.

A purple blouse. It suited Sharon very well.

Ooooh, and those shiny black high heels!

Wonnerful.

As the blonde surveyed her choices, she realized that perhaps Sharon would rather wear something a bit more comfortable.

After all, the brunette didn't always wear her little suits contrary to popular belief.

Feeling somewhat deflated, Brenda reentered the closet and began her search anew. She chose a cream colored woolen sweater that, for some reason, reminded her a little of her own feel-good cardigan that she always wrapped herself up in in times of upheaval.

Did the cream go with the suit?

Perhaps not.

But Sharon would have to deal with that.

Brenda bit her lip.

Oh, for heaven's sakes.

She stormed into the closet; jeans! Jeans, did the woman not own any?!

Brenda found a pair, dark blue and very nice, she could tell they weren't any old jeans but then that was Sharon. At least now she knew how the brunette afforded it.

Under the bed she found what looked suspiciously like a gym bag which she packed with all the clothes and the shoes. Darth Raydor probably wouldn't be very pleased about the wrinkles in the suit but that, really, she would just have to deal with.

Stepping over the blood pool and entering the bathroom across the hall, Brenda grabbed the toothbrush, a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner and tossed it into the bag.

Brenda wouldn't want to be without her shampoo and her conditioner and she suspected Sharon wouldn't want to either.

As she passed the kitchen, almost on her way out, the blonde's gaze fell onto the wine rack.