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Summary: The aftermath; echoes of comfort, of trying to understand and move on.
A/N: I just recently found a half-written story (more like a few paragraphs) that I could hardly remember writing let alone how it was supposed to end. Sigh. On another note I was rather intrigued trying to complete it – it turned into a couple of chapters instead ;)
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REVERBERATION
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/1/
Rusty was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to get the cloying feel in his mouth to disappear but it seemed intent on taking residence in his throat, thick and gelatinous. His palms kept running along his thighs, the clammy feel of sweat persistent to the skin even if he tried to get it off.
The sky was grey outside the passenger window, his eyes on the streets and buildings they passed; he resolutely avoided looking at Lieutenant Provenza driving the car. There was this ache behind his eyes, this small itch at the corner of his eyes and he was afraid he would not be able to stop himself from crying if he did not look at inanimate objects.
It was hard not to overreact when Lieutenant Provenza pulled him out of school, in the middle of math. The lieutenant had never picked him up before – it was usually a uniform or Sharon. It was hard not to be instantly assaulted by anxiety; that hard gruff expression on the older man's face seemed ominous, even more so when it got stuck in a crooked grimace the moment Rusty asked what was wrong.
The answers to his many questions however, did not persuade Rusty to remain calm. Was Sharon alright? – was she hurt? She was fine was the curt answer; yet the answer did not reassure Rusty – why were they going to the hospital then if Sharon was fine. Why did the troubled look on Provenza's face not withdraw then if everything was fine?
Something was definitely wrong.
They stopped at a red light. Rusty watched a throng of people crossing, hurrying about their day balancing coffee cups, phones and briefcases, unaware that the world had stopped spinning.
The lieutenant had knocked on the classroom door in the middle of Mr. Davis explaining integral curves and the mathematical proof for integral equations. Every eye in the room had riveted to Rusty when Provenza said there was an emergency and he needed to pull Rusty out of school early. At least Provenza wasn't in uniform, at least it hadn't been like the last time and yet somehow this time it had felt worse. Sharon wouldn't allow anyone – even the lieutenant – to pull Rusty out of school unless something was wrong, unless there was a situation that triumphed education.
The lieutenant slowed the car down, turning right. The hospital loomed in view, grey and cold as it rose into the sky – monstrous and ugly. Rusty had never cared much for hospitals; they gave him the same tepid taste in his mouth that was stuck on the back of his tongue now. They pulled into the parking space for visitors.
"C'mon kid," Provenza said, a hand briefly on Rusty's shoulder.
Maybe if Rusty had insisted Provenza tell him what was wrong, maybe then the old man would tell him – only Rusty couldn't form any words, couldn't think coherent enough to dare force a conversation. He had thought about yelling and angrily pointing out that he had a right to know what was happening but he feared what the answer would be, feared that cloying taste in his mouth would spread to the rest of his body.
"It's alright, Rusty," the older man told him again as they went through the hospital entrance, "she's alright."
Rusty gave a hesitant nod; he would trust that assurance when he saw Sharon himself and not a second before.
Rusty followed Provenza further into the hospital bypassing the front desks and waiting rooms – the old man seemed to know which way they were heading. An elevator took them up a couple of floors and then through corridors and rooms, a flurry of hospital personal skirting past along with a patient or two. They went straight through sliding doors till they came to a larger room; Rusty eyes fastened on the people in the room, taking in the different expressions.
The team was familiar to him by now but they seemed like foreign figures in this moment; Sharon was missing from the group and somehow it made the knot in his stomach tighten more. Somehow it made the rest strangers.
Rusty looked to Lieutenant Flynn sitting in a chair; the guy looked haggard but his eyes were alert with anger. Someone had punched the lieutenant judging by the bruised skin along his jaw; maybe that was the reason for the barely buried anger in the lines around his face, in the crossed arms and sour expression.
The others did not look angry in the same way as Flynn. Tao was hard to decipher, he's eyes kind when he regarded Rusty but there was a line around his mouth that seemed to twitch with something Rusty couldn't interpret. Buzz smiled briefly, and Rusty found himself smiling back just as briefly. Sanchez gave him a gentle nod meant to be reassuring and Flynn eyes briefly took him in.
Rusty wondered where Sykes was? Mostly though, he wanted to know where Sharon was and why Provenza seemed hell-bent on not telling him anything. However judging by the aggravated look Provenza sent Flynn maybe the old man's short, curt answers had nothing to do with Rusty; maybe Provenza was as affected by this as Rusty and that was the reason he had been silent throughout most of the car ride.
Provenza's hand landed on the back of his shoulder, guiding Rusty in the direction of a chair next to Tao. Rusty reluctantly sat down and then with a worried look around, catching everyone staring at him, he asked, "Where's Sharon?"
"Rusty," Sharon's voice rang out, soft and soothing in its familiar tone.
Rusty immediately felt relived beyond comparison, watching the group of detectives releasing the same breath of relief with him.
He turned his head in the direction of her voice and saw her emerging from behind another door into an exam room. She looked tired, hair astray and glasses missing. For a short moment Rusty was confused; what had happened, what was wrong – why did Provenza look agonized and why did Flynn look as if he had choked on something bitter? Why were none of them smiling?
She was wearing the suit she had put on this morning. Nothing looked to be amiss with her. Her head turned fractionally then and her hair followed like a curtain shifting with the wind – it exposed the marks. Stark and vivid on the pale of her throat; fingerprints that had forced red angry indentations in her skin; fingerprints that had caused blood vessels to rupture.
Rusty felt sick; he knew what an outline of a handprint on the throat meant.
It was the only thing different about her. The only outward thing anyway. Rusty told himself to breathe; even if she was hurt it was an immense relief seeing her. He quickly leapt to his feet, watching as she approached him with a smile that was warm and welcoming. He could have hugged her.
"Honey, what are you doing here?" she came closer, her eyes kind but shimmery.
He knew the moment she stepped closer that she was on the brink of crying. Up close the color of her eyes seemed to strike a fragile pose, seemed to flicker with that flimsy curtain he had come to know. It was easily interpretable for him; the way she pronounced 'honey', the embrace she suddenly drew him into – it was intimate on a level they seemed to express more frequently when they were under distress. He still remembered the embrace from when he had been about to go with his prick father away for the weekend, eons ago; it felt similar to that and yet there was another chord of interpretation in it. It was an embrace meant to comfort Rusty as much as it was meant to comfort herself.
Something had happened; something that had pushed her slightly off; something that had connected with her hard. Her hand shook on his back as she held him close.
"Hi" he softly replied, bringing his own arms around her, wanting her to feel comforted, "well, lieutenant Provenza here hauled me out of class and would not tell me a thing." He tightened his embrace, wanting to let the sensation of her unharmed remain with him. She was warm and he could feel her breath; could feel the tremble she tried to subdue, the way she took another hurried breath before speaking, the way she tightened her arms around him before she let go.
"Sorry, sorry – it's been a little hectic – but I'm fine," she answered him, another smile. It faded the moment she looked away from him though, chilly when she looked up and regarded the others. Not chilly, he amended – aloof, he thought, maybe distanced.
Her hand rested on his back and Rusty looked at the others with her. Provenza was glaring at Flynn who was alternating between starring angrily at empty space and Sharon. Sanchez looked apologetic and Tao looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. Buzz's eyes flickered between everyone nervously. Something was off about the whole bunch; they seemed uncharacteristic in their behavior.
"What happened?" he asked – no one answered.
Sharon patted his back and leaned closer, whispering "I'll tell you later."
Out aloud her voice was solid and not soft; "Gentlemen, I think we should call it a day."
The others agreed, nodding, each detective with a different tilt to the agreement.
It suddenly made sense to Rusty – Provenza had pulled Rusty out of school not because he had done something wrong or because someone was hospitalized; he had brought Rusty along to comfort Sharon.
The old man knew Sharon was out of it and he had thought Rusty's presence would help.
Rusty stepped closer to Sharon then.
"I'll drive you home, Captain," Flynn said, voice brusque as he stood up.
"We'll take a cab," Sharon told the group, dismissal in her voice.
Provenza gave a worried nod, "You sure?"
"Yes," she forced a smile, "I just need a couple of hours sleep with some Tylenol – I'll be fine. You'll see me Monday. We'll finish paperwork then, take the weekend off - I think we need it."
They nodded, agreeing. Flynn frowned but refrained from saying anything.
The group set in motion, walking out of the waiting room – through corridors, silent as they walked. Rusty offered Sharon his arm and gave a narrowed look over his shoulder, watching Provenza whisper something to Flynn, vehement in his gesticulating but not loud enough to overhear. He wondered what had happened.
...
