A/N- It didn't save... I went to publish it and my login had timed out... fml. Here is a slightly abbreviated version of what I remember. I'll try and fix it up soon.

"Julio?" The Captain's hand on his should made him jump slightly. "It's late."

"I know, ma'am." He was the last one in the murder room, and it was dark but for the lamp on his desk. He thought she had left long before. "I was just. . . moving in again."

She nodded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He reached out and readjusted the wedding photo on his desk.

He could feel the warmth of her breath when she huffed in annoyance at his short answer, even though he didn't hear her do it.

A flash of lightning lit up the darkened offices. Sharon glanced at her detective's face. He looked pained, but as far as she could tell, his eyes were dry. She knew he was doing the same once-over to her, and knew exactly what he'd find.

Unfortunately, she thought.

He'd see the dark shadows under her eyes, the fine wrinkles, and the troubled expression that too often settled across her features.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No ma'am."

She sighed. "We're all here if you want us, Julio. You can't shut your squad out forever." She was tired, and willing to be blunt.

"There's nothing anyone can do," he said shortly.

"Maybe not physically, no," she agreed. "But emotionally, yes. Mentally, yes. They're worried about you." And I am, too.

"Lieutenant Flynn is worried." It sounded like a statement.

"Yes. He is." He's told me so, himself. "He just doesn't show it the same was as, say, Mike. They all show emotions differently. Lieutenant Provenza won't say the same things to you as Amy, for example."

Julio snorted. He couldn't help it, picturing the old detective talking as quickly and excitedly as Sykes.

The Captain smiled, teeth glowing as lightning flashed again. "You should head home. There's a storm coming. The rain hasn't hit yet, but it will soon."

He nodded, looking down again. The cardboard box on the floor was empty, so he kicked it under the desk.

"Shouldn't you be getting home to the kid?" The kid was in college, and a full adult as far as Julio was concerned, but the Captain worried. She would get in touch with his several times each day, through text or phone, usually, and Julio knew she didn't like leaving him alone in the condo overnight.

"I'll be there soon enough. It's his turn to make dinner, and-" she checked her watch. "He's likely not quite done if I know him at all."

He nodded. He had noticed that she was making a conscious effort not to rush home in the evenings. It had started when she called off his undercover protection. She had to let him spread his wings without her smothering him. Sometimes, it didn't matter what you did; things could still go wrong, no matter how meticulous the planning.

"Julio?" She fiddled with her purse strap.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's her name?" He had never told anyone in the dozen or so years that he had worked with Major Crimes.

Julio looked at the picture. The Captain had never met his wife, and neither had any of the other guys, he was almost certain. She had died before Pope had selected detectives for his new Priority Murder Squad, a dozen years before.

The Captain nodded. Her hand twitched, like she wanted to squeeze his shoulder again, but she refrained. She fished her keys out of her bag. It wasn't on the same scale as Chief Johnson's patent black monstrosity, but it was too large to rightfully be called a purse.

"Goodnight, Julio."

He watched her head across the murder room, bag pinned between her side and her arm.

Tapestry bag. The term hit him suddenly. It was one of those phrases his wife knew. He used to tease her that she was a walking dictionary: able to name anything he could point at. It was a game they sometimes had when they were out. He would point out an object and she would name it.

"Sophia," he called out.

The Captian turned as the lightning flashed, and for a split second, he saw his wife: as tall as the Captain, with her hair swinging about her shoulders, a smile on her face. Then she was gone, Sharon Raydor in her place.

"Pardon?"

"Sophia," he said again. It was to hard to thread my wife into the same sentence.

The Captain froze for a brief moment, then nodded. "Sophia Sanchez."

"Yes."

She nodded and watched him for a moment. "Get some sleep tonight," she said quietly. Then she too was gone, vanishing out the door.

He looked back down at the photo, rubbing the corner of the frame with one finger. He squeezed the edge tightly, then took a deep breath, and headed for the door. There was nothing anyone could do.

"I love you."