A/N- Turns out I'm pretty bomb at not saving and promptly crashing my computer after finishing said unsaved document... Anyway:

"Welcome to NPR: Morning Edition. This is Steve Inskeep-"

"And I'm Renee Montagne-"

Sharon moaned and slapped her alarm clock off. She had gone to bed far too late and gotten far too little sleep to be getting up at five in the morning.

Nonetheless, she needed to go running. She hadn't been out to exercise in the morning for weeks, and she was starting to feel the effects. She was antsy in the evenings and sluggish in the mornings. For some reason, she had decided that an extra hour's worth of sleep would be better than a quick run.

That didn't mean she had to like it.

She left her glasses on the nightstand and shuffled towards the chair she'd left her gym clothes on. Black mesh shorts, blue t-shirt. She sat and slowly tied her tennies, muscles uncooperative so early in the morning. After a few more minutes, she was ready to go: hair tied up and phone tucked into her sports bra.

She edged out of the room and shut the door quietly; Rusty was still asleep. The curtains were closed, leaving the condo dark. Usually when she got up, she opened them. It was an unspoken signal between her and Rusty. He closed them at night when he went to bed, and- if Sharon was back late- she'd know he was home. She opened them in the morning. On the rare occasion he was up before her, he'd often make breakfast for both of them and then flop down to watch television before she got up. She'd text the boy if she didn't come home.

She rounded the corner into the living room and promptly slammed into an already teetering stack of boxes.

She yelped and lunged forward to save the pile from tumbling down. When it felt steady again, she looked at what she'd caught it by, holding it close to her face to see in the darkness.

A pillow, cross-stitched with a Persian cat.

She sighed. Somehow, she couldn't muster enough energy to be surprised.

"Sharon?" Rusty sounded groggy.

"Go back to bed."

He appeared next to her a moment later, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Sorry." He already knew she had walked into the boxes again. There had been a loud squawk, jolting him awake, and then soft silence. He had been worried for a moment, and then he realized what had happened.

"Why are you up?"

"I'm going to go running."

"Oh. Okay."

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't move. "Bed, mister. I'll be back in an hour."

"'Kay." He waited until she closed the front door behind herself and then headed to the kitchen. Despite what she'd said, he knew she'd appreciate a hot meal that wasn't from any of the nearby takeout places, and he had the time to provide that.

Besides, he kind of owed it to her. First she found TJ still at the house, and then she'd found all of Lieutenant Provenza's things intermingling with her things, and then he hadn't actually been able to move them again yesterday. . . so. . . The least he could do was make breakfast.

He pulled one of her cookbooks off the small shelf she kept on the counter. He flipped through the pages.

Cranberry Buttermilk Scones

Quick Apricot Bread

Low-Fat Apple Muffins

Eggs Benedict with Avocado and Grapefruit Toast

Rusty made a face. Avocado and grapefruit? He slammed the book shut and pushed it back into its shelf space. He had an idea, and it would even give him enough time to take a shower first.

Slightly less than an hour later, he was shifting the last of the quesadillas to a plate to put on the table. They were one of the few good things his other mother- calling her his real mother no longer seemed accurate- had taught him. Peanut butter, strawberry, and banana in a tortilla, melted together in a frying pan. When times had been good, Sharon Beck would buy real strawberrries, rather than strawberry jam, but either way, it was good.

Sharon Raydor had peanut butter and bananas, but not berries, so Rusty had walked to a small grocer a few blocks from the condo and bought them. It felt good to be able to buy them, even if they were simple and relatively cheap. It was a sign of how far he'd come: from homelessness to employment and a nice home and his own personal police captain.

Maybe Commander, he thought, if what he'd overheard in the break room had any truth. Provenza had once said that Sharon was promised a promotion when she transferred four years before. He had been talking to Tao about retirement and promotions, and Sharon's lack thereof had come up.

It didn't seem like four years, either way.

"Rusty?" The door rattled open, and he heard her quiet tread.

"Kitchen!" He called back.

She came around the corner a moment later, surprise written across her face. "Oh, honey, you didn't have to-"

"But I wanted to," he said. "And I was hungry."

She snorted. "Some things never change."

He grinned. "Nope."