Disclaimer: Most distinctly not mine. Not even a little bit.

Well here we are. The final installment of the Mothership revisited. I have, however, divided it into two parts. Because it turned out to be utterly ginormous. You will also notice that the form is a little different than the previous pieces. Basically, it's straight Mothership. I couldn't resist. The last half of this first bit is for Rosabelle, because she asked so nicely for a little "Final Cut" shenanigans.

This was a terrible idea.

Sharon watched helplessly as Lieutenant Cooper started to strap Rusty into the vest. Everything inside her was screaming in protest. How Lieutenant Provenza could have suggested this was beyond her. She closed her eyes for a split second, blocking out the rush of images in her mind.

Rusty, pulling his shirt off to reveal his scratched and bloody torso to herself and Brenda.

Blood pooling on the floor beneath his leg as he resisted the paramedics' attempts to lift him onto a stretcher.

The heartbreak on his face when his mother had failed to appear.

His face bruised and bloodied after Rusty's father had finished with him.

The letters, spread out before her in a nightmarish image of failure.

She sighed and attempted to pull herself together internally as Lieutenant Cooper spoke.

"Now, what is the most important thing you have to do?"

Sharon watched him intently, fighting to betray any trace of the fear boiling in her stomach.

"Stick with the plan." Lieutenant Cooper was fastening the vest over Rusty's chest now, a little unnecessarily rough and tightly in Sharon's opinion.

"Where are you going today and every day?"

Rusty's eyes finally flicked up to meet Sharon's as he spoke. "To the park to play chess." Sharon could see a fraction of her own fear reflected in his eyes. She nodded at his words and made a vain attempt to arrange her face into a reassuring expression, an attempt she failed spectacularly.

"Good." Sharon looked away from Rusty, down at his chest as Lieutenant Cooper finished strapping him in. "Now remember, you will be covered the minute you leave the garage downstairs. Just don't try to figure out how or by whom." Sharon looked him over as the Lieutenant tugged and jostled the vest into place, trying not to think about what sort of incident might necessitate the need for such a vest. Her gaze fell deliberately to the floor as she pushed the thought away.

"I will act like a zombie." Sharon's eyes snapped back to Rusty at those words. His back was to her now, and his usual sarcastic humor fell flat. The nerves and fear in his voice told the real story, at least to her. He couldn't hide things from Sharon. Not anymore.

"Now," Cooper continued, turning Rusty back to face them, "you stay in the pre-arranged safe zone, and you signal distress or threat by—"

"By rubbing the back of my head three times with my left hand," Rusty finished, demonstrating the action. Sharon was still terrified. Nothing could change that. But seeing him so prepared for every eventuality and taking this so seriously instilled no small amount of pride in her gaze now.

"Right." The lieutenant turned behind him and took up Rusty's shirt, beginning to button it over the vest. "You just graduated from Jump Street to Number One. You do everything exactly as I tell you, and we will catch this son of a bitch who's been threatening you."

"Okay."

With a small feeling of panic, Sharon realized that they were now on the verge of sending him out the door. And she needed a moment with him. They both did. She wasn't ready. It was too fast. She cast around for something she could control, something to keep her grounded. She pointed at Rusty's shirt. "I can finish that." She looked meaningfully at Lieutenant Cooper, a finality in her tone and gaze that made it clear he was excused.

Cooper walked away, saying something about a radio check, leaving Sharon and Rusty alone for a moment.

Sharon watched to make sure they were well and truly gone before attacking Rusty's front with her hands. "Is this too tight?" She unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the vest again. Rusty had a pained, uncomfortable look on his face that Sharon knew was mostly due to nerves, but she had an intense need to bring this uncontrollable situation back into some semblance of order. And getting the vest settled would fit the bill.

"You know what, yeah. Yeah. Maybe just a little. I kinda…can't feel my fingers."

Sharon nodded and quickly ripped open the velcro and adjusted the vest more comfortably. She could feel Rusty vibrating beneath her hands with nervous energy. She kept her own fear and nerves under control as she finished. "Now," she said, adjusting his shirt over the vest and bringing her hands up on either side of his shoulders, "relax your shoulders." She pulled the shirt down and closed to hide the vest. "Breathe." They took a deep breath in unison. She looked at him hard for a moment, deciding whether he needed light humor or calm reassurance in that moment. She chose the latter. "You know," she said calmly, beginning to button up his shirt, "being a little nervous is a good sign." She brought her eyes back to his face. "It means you're taking this seriously, which," finishing, Sharon brought her hands back up to his shoulders, "I really appreciate." She watched him intently for a moment, and she felt her mask slip and reveal her consuming worry for a split second. She turned away, pulling herself back together.

"Here is your jacket." She held it out, deliberately not looking at him and changing abruptly back to her usual matter-of-fact tone. She turned back to the counter. "And your chess pieces are inside your backpack." She picked up the lunch she had packed for him a few minutes earlier, placing it inside the backpack and turning towards him to hand it over. "And your lunch." Rusty reached out to take the bag from her, but she didn't let go. "And your pepper spray," she whispered, reminding him with a look that the pepper spray in his bag was non-negotiable. It just made her feel better knowing that he had it just in case. She let go of the bag, but didn't miss his exasperated look.

Buzz and the lieutenant were back, and suddenly they were all moving toward the door. And Rusty was gone. Sharon stood in the doorway as the lieutenant attempted to calm her with empty words and vague assurances. Had he just said probably? Probably. She resisted the urge to remind him just how absolutely unhelpful his words were with her usual non-negotiable tone, and returned to the apartment to gather her things.

She shut the door and leaned against it, taking a steadying breath.

Her heart was pounding, more images of Rusty flashing through her mind unbidden.

Rusty, restrained by a faceless stranger.

Rusty, falling to the ground as gunshots rent the air, blood pooling beneath his lifeless body.

Rusty, kicking and scratching, struggling to breathe with muffled screams through the pillow held over his face.

Or worse yet—he was just gone, leaving behind nothing but a crushed wire pack and a sickening smear of blood on the pavement.

Sharon's eyes snapped open. She had to stop this. It was out of her hands now. She glanced around the apartment, slipping on her coat and swinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to leave. When had this happened? When had she thrown her trademark emotional distance out the window only to replace it with, well, love? When had Rusty, with his cutting remarks and emotional mess, wormed his way into her life for good? She closed the door behind her with a snap and headed down the hallway toward the elevator, retracing Rusty's steps from just moments ago. She stopped before the elevator and pressed the down button, still mostly lost in thought. Had she known from the start that things would end up this way?

"Brenda's been asking what you're planning to do with Rusty."

Sharon took the foil-wrapped snack from Fritz and slipped it into the worn pack on her desk. Fritz looked at her, surprised. "Oh, I'm sure we'll make do," she said. "For now, anyway." She folded up Rusty's file again and placed it in her bag, bringing it up to join Rusty's backpack and duffel on her desk. "Give Chief Johnson my best—or well, whatever might be interpreted as a friendly gesture." Sharon felt a little awkward saying it. She was never quite sure where she stood with that woman, particularly in the wake of these new developments.

Fritz's eyes twinkled. "I will," he said as he strode towards the door with his paper bag of goodies in hand. "And—" he turned back to her at the door. "Good luck." He looked meaningfully at the ragged backpack on her desk. "With everything." He gestured around the office. "I'll be seeing you," he finally said and walked out.

Sharon sighed. Good luck indeed. She swung the pack over her shoulder and carried Rusty's duffel and her own purse in her other hand and made her way smoothly over to Rusty in the Murder Room. "Alright, Rusty," she said, stopping in front of him. "You're with me."

Rusty looked up at her warily. "Look, I told you, lady. I am not going back to that house. So save your breath." He made no move to get up.

Sharon looked down at him and resisted the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not taking you there." She snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Come on, let's go." He didn't look at her. "This is not a negotiation," she said louder. "Either you come with me right now, or the officers over there can make you very comfortable someplace far less accommodating than DCFS has arranged for you." She gestured at the uniforms in the corner.

Rusty looked up at her defiantly, his gaze challenging. Sharon stared back at him cooly. Finally he looked away. "Fine," he huffed. "But give me my backpack back." He reached out and snatched it off her shoulders, swinging it over his own shoulder and getting to his feet with the help of his crutches. "But don't think for a second that this means I won't be back here in the morning and every day after that until you find my mother."

They walked slowly to the elevator. Sharon smirked. "Oh I don't think that will be a problem."

The drive was short and mostly uneventful until Sharon pulled into the garage below her building and parked.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I thought you were taking me somewhere to stay. What the hell is this?" He made no move to get out of the car.

"I am," she said calmly. "You're staying with me."

Rusty looked at her in disgust. "Um, no. I'm not." He crossed his arms over his chest and slid down in his seat a little, making it clear he had no intention of moving.

Sharon turned off the car and sighed. This was precisely why she had been so vague on their destination. "Oh, I'm sorry," she began lightly, "was I unclear before? Should I take you back to the station so we can arrange for a more secure living situation for you? Perhaps one with locks on the doors and bars on the windows?" Rusty looked over at her and huffed, but unbuckled and reached behind him for his crutches. Sharon smirked and popped the trunk. Rusty was still holding tightly to his backpack, so she carried his duffel and her own things up in the elevator with them.

She was mildly concerned about him hobbling around on those crutches, so the moment she opened the door, she said kindly, "You can stay in the spare bedroom in the back while you're here. Why don't you go sit over on the couch somewhere so we can talk before we get you settled?" Rusty gave her a look that clearly communicated how unhappy he was with this situation, but sat down anyway. Sharon sighed heavily. Second day on the job, and she was already bringing her work home with her. This was certainly going to be the change that she had begged for. Careful what you wish for, she thought ruefully. She needed a glass of wine.

"Don't think that I'm going to be all, like, thankful for you taking me in."

Rusty's voice floated over to her in the kitchen as she poured a glass of white wine. Sharon smiled to herself at his words. No, such an assumption would have been optimistic to the point of foolishness. "Oh trust me," she called back to him, "you're not the first adolescent to grace my home with your presence. Having raised two teenagers of my own, I have tremendous capacity for ingratitude." She left the bottle out on the counter. She could already sense that tonight would not be a one-glass evening. She brought her glass with her as she made her way over to Rusty on the couch, attempting to lighten the mood a little with her next words. "Rusty, it's so funny," she leaned over the back of the couch as she spoke, "just when you get good at being a mother, you're fired." She looked at him expectantly, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Or you quit," Rusty shrugged, blackening the mood again.

Sharon's heart stopped and her face fell. Of course. That was the worst thing she could have said to him. She could have kicked herself.

Rusty turned away from her now and placed the half-opened ding-dong on the table in front of him, a clear rejection of her olive branch. Sharon slumped, looking down at her feet for a moment as she regrouped. He was such a good kid, really. He'd just been dealt a hand that made him distrustful and angry about everything. If only she could change that. She stood up straight again, considering another approach. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she could just come up with a way to break through his hard exterior, there might be something more underneath.

"So…" Rusty's voice cut through her thoughts, "What are we supposed to call each other anyway?"

Sharon snatched at the new opportunity to break the ice a little. "Well," she said, making her way around the couch to sit in a chair an appropriate distance away. "I think," she continued, taking another stab at humor, "you should call me… Captain Raydor." She looked over her wine glass at him, maintaining her serious look. If she could just get him to crack a smile. But no such luck.

"Okay," he said dubiously, "then you can call me Mr. Beck."

Sharon suppressed a chuckle, but kept her serious tone, a little indignant. "You are the child in this relationship—"

"No, I am the witness," Rusty interrupted, looking straight at her, completely serious. "If you are the police officer, then I am the witness."

Sharon smiled a little, finally dropping her lame attempt at ambiguous humor. Yes, she knew that people often didn't get her odd sense of humor right of the bat, but still. It had been worth a try. "There are not a lot of people around here who call me by my first name," she said lightly, still smiling over at him, amused.

Clearly, Rusty did not share her amusement. "Oh, well maybe that's why you live alone with a spare bedroom."

Sharon tilted her head slightly, and her smile grew fixed. There was something about having a teenager with no filter around the house again that would take some getting used to. She had spent the last twenty-eight years getting used to the openly hateful attitudes, the hush that fell over a room when she entered it, the suspicion with which everyone regarded her. But she had forgotten about the blatant cutting remarks that only a teenager used in the four years since she'd had one in the house.

"I live alone," she said quietly, "because my children are grown. The spare room is for when they visit." Rusty had turned away from her, a mildly guilty expression on his face at her serious tone. "But," Sharon smiled genuinely at him again, speaking more normally now, "you may call me Sharon. How's that?" She looked at him expectantly.

Rusty blinked at her slowly. "Sharon."

She nodded at him, still smiling kindly.

"What is that, your bad idea of a joke or something?"

Sharon's smile slipped off her face and she eyed him with confusion now. "Why do you say that?" she asked seriously.

"Sharon is my mother's name," Rusty said in a tone one might use to explain that two and two made four.

Sharon felt her face fall again, and she slumped slightly in her seat. "Oh." Why hadn't she looked at that file more closely? She internally berated herself. Clearly she had gotten a little, well, um… rusty with this parenting thing. Two huge missteps in about thirty seconds. This was not going well.

"God, you haven't been looking for my mother at all, have you?" Rusty was shouting now, looking at her accusingly.

Sharon sighed. This was what she had signed up for… "Rusty," she began earnestly, "I just got this job yesterday. Give me a chance to catch up." Rusty rose from his seat, swinging his backpack over his shoulder again. Sharon spoke a little more quickly now, in a frantic attempt to keep him there with her. "I am making a good faith effort, I am."

But she could see that Rusty wasn't listening anymore. "Where's your bathroom?" he asked, cutting her off.

Sharon gestured back down the hall. "It's right down there." He immediately turned to hobble down the hall. Well, at least he wasn't dashing out the front door, she thought. Though, to be fair, Rusty wouldn't be running anywhere in a hurry for another week at least. She stood up, determined to make one last effort to get through to him. "Rusty." He turned back towards her with obvious trepidation. "If it is possible to find your mother, I will do it, I promise you."

"Sure you will, Captain." Rusty's voice betrayed the emotion he was feeling, nearly cracking, but leaving Sharon with no doubt that he didn't really believe her. Sharon sighed a little at the use of her title. This wasn't going well. At all. "Sure you will."

Sharon pulled herself out of the memory as the elevator doors opened and she made her way to her car. She shook her head and pulled out of the garage. She needed to put all this worry and sentimentality aside for a while, at least. She had exploding cars and unhelpful witnesses to deal with.

She closed the electronics room door behind her and walked briskly over to join Buzz and Lieutenant Provenza in front of the monitors. "Well?" she asked, looking over their shoulders at the feed playing on the computer before them.

"Well, he's almost made it through his first day," said the Lieutenant, glancing back at her briefly.

Sharon adjusted her jacket unnecessarily as she watched, a nervous habit. "Almost," she murmured, nodding. "Almost." She tried to keep the worry out of her voice without much success. She had tried for most of the day to keep from dwelling on Rusty and the memories that had come to her that morning, but had failed quite spectacularly. Her mind kept going back to those early days, trying to understand how they had so suddenly found themselves here.

That first night with Rusty had been terrible. Indeed, those first weeks had been by far their worst. Sarcastic, cutting remarks coupled with non-stop complaints and more than a few calls from St. Josephs; but she had kept at it, if only for those rare moments when he opened up to her, that flutter in her chest when he'd made her breakfast, the pride in her eyes when he'd stopped running and faced his fear. It had all been worth it for those tiny moments of joy.

But love? Sharon thought hard as she turned away from the monitor with an effort and headed back to her office to finish up the paperwork from this mess. The understanding that he was a permanent fixture in her life? When had that happened? She'd told him fairly early on that he'd always have a home with her, she recalled. But if she was honest, she hadn't really expected it to become a reality. She'd known she'd lost her objectivity when she'd patched him up after that man, that awful excuse for a human being had used him as a punching bag. But in those days she'd known that he needed a parent more than he needed a police Captain. So the loss of objectivity hadn't bothered her. She'd happily traded it away. She'd called him family shortly after that. But no, even that wasn't really the moment she knew he was hers. There had still been that voice in the back of her head, reminding her that he probably wouldn't stay much longer. No, it was that day. That day when she had nearly lost him to Emma Rios and her enthusiastic objections to their living situation.

"You think I'm tough? Wait until the defense asks if you had a thing for older guys. Or how you ended up on the street. Or how it was you became a whore-phan."

Sharon's eyes snapped back to Emma in disbelief. Had she actually said that? In what world was it ever okay to attack a minor in that way? She opened her mouth a couple of times before any sound came out. "DDA Rios, we are stopping," she said, her voice unusually loud in her anger and in order to be heard over the resultant din. "We are going to STOP."

Emma Rios's voice rose over the chaos, "Can I enquire why we are including officers in this interview?"

Provenza's voice was raised now as well. "Rusty has the right to have his guardian present!"

Ms. Rios's face snapped back to Sharon. She smelled blood, and Sharon could see her preparing for the kill.

"Are—Are you saying my witness LIVES with you?!"

That was it, as far as Sharon was concerned. This woman was absolutely impossible, and there was no way she was going to subject Rusty to this sort of abuse. She looked over at Rusty and said soothingly, "Alright, Rusty, that's enough for now." She chose to ignore Rusty's subsequent outburst, though in all honesty it seemed to Sharon that he had hit the nail on the head with the charge of "asshole." But it wasn't really helping anyone to voice that opinion.

When the two women were left alone, Sharon began to speak again in a quiet and dangerous voice. "There's nothing in either LAPD rules or policy that says Rusty can't live with a police officer." She looked up at Ms. Rios with a little glint of triumph in her eyes, praying that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

"Stroh's lawyers will claim you coached the child."

That was preposterous. Sharon smiled a little to herself. She was willing to bet that she knew and respected the rules better than the defiant young woman before her. The idea that she would do something to so blatantly break the rules was ridiculous. "I've never discussed the case with Rusty," she continued in that same soft, measured voice, "even once." She opened a file on her desk in the vain hope that Ms. Rios would take the hint that the conversation was over.

She didn't.

Rios shook her head in disbelief. "No, you just put a roof over his head, fed him and gave him his clothes! Are you paying for the Catholic School that goes with that uniform? And were those keys to a vehicle that he just grabbed off your desk?"

Sharon smiled in disbelief. Was this woman for real? Didn't she hear how petulant she sounded, screaming at Sharon as she calmly answered each of her concerns? "I keep a car, for when my kids visit, and Rusty takes it to school," she said, her tone unconcerned as she continued to work on the file before her.

"Oh, I apologize. You're not coaching the witness, you're BRIBING him! This has to change." Emma pointed accusingly at Sharon. "But first, I need him to finish this interview."

Sharon finally gave Rios her full attention, setting aside her work for the moment. "That's not a good idea right now," she said evenly.

"Oh my God. Whatever happened to professional distance and good old foster care?" she asked venomously.

Sharon watched her for a moment. She remembered what it was like to be that single-minded. To know what your objective was and pursue it rigorously without thinking of the inconvenience or harm it might inflict on the people around her, people she didn't know and frankly didn't care to know. When her job had been so black-and-white, and it didn't matter if people liked her or not, so long as she got the job done. Honestly she missed those days. But if the last few years with Major Crimes (first observing and now leading them herself) had taught her anything, it was that the emotional depth that came from understanding the people around her was worth the headache and loss of focus. Hopefully Ms. Rios would come to a similar understanding much earlier in her career than Sharon had. And maybe Sharon could help her along by giving her just a taste of the emotions involved here. "That boy was selling himself on the streets to survive," she began meaningfully. "which puts him at special risk—"

Emma interrupted her angrily, "Don't talk to me about special risk—"

"Don't interrupt me." Sharon's voice was dangerous now, all attempts to teach Emma Rios some greater lesson out the window. This woman clearly couldn't take a hint. Sharon's eyes burned into Rios's. "It puts him at special risk for suicide."

"Don't talk to me about special risks when I'm prosecuting a serial killer."

Sharon looked back at Rios with interest. It had been a long time since she'd met someone who didn't cower in fear at that tone in her voice. This was going to be interesting, for sure.

"I want that boy out of your house, and placed somewhere else, post-haste."

Sharon looked back at her calmly. "That's not gonna happen. And I suggest you factor my legal guardianship into your case."

But it wasn't even that moment that Sharon had realized what a permanent fixture Rusty was in her life. It was almost immediately afterward, when it became apparent that she might lose him.

"But you have to testify in court." She was watching Rusty as he rummaged in the kitchen, putting away his dishes. She desperately needed him to understand this point, but at the same time needed to keep his serial contrarian attitude at bay. Why were teenagers never rational?

"Why? Brenda was there that night. She can tell them what happened."

Sharon gave him a look. He knew why. They'd been over this. "Chief Johnson was at her house, but she wasn't at the park. You're the only person who was in both places." They'd had this discussion several times already. None of this was new information. And clearly it wasn't helping. She took a different tact. "Okay, listen. We can't discuss anything about your testimony," she began carefully, "but you should be aware—"

Rusty made a quelling motion with his hands and made to flee the scene.

"Rusty, you should be aware— Rusty, you—"

"I am completely aware," Rusty replied forcefully, turning back to her. "Okay? I have waited my whole life to have friends. My whole life. And that Emma lady is about to take that away from me. Because that is what will happen when people find out what I was doing up at Griffith Park."

Sharon immediately took hold of an issue she could do something about. "You won't have to answer those questions," she said clearly.

Rusty shook his head, his panic coming through his words now. "She said that they would be asked!"

Sharon softened. She wished there were some way she could stop all this. But there wasn't. It was out of her hands. And if he refused— Well, she didn't want to think about losing him now. She nodded and guided Rusty over to the couch. "I know. But what you were doing in Griffith Park was illegal, so if the subject comes up, you can plead The Fifth." She sat down in a chair across from the couch. Rusty just looked at her, non-plussed.

"Plead the what?"

Sharon sighed in frustration. She knew she had a certain fascination with the rules that not everyone else shared, but really. Didn't they teach the Constitution anymore? The very rules that govern American society? She shook her head. "Alright, the fifth amendment to the Constitution lets you refuse to say anything under oath that the State can then use to prosecute you." She watched Rusty take this in. "That doesn't mean you should keep any information fro—"

"Oh my God, you want me to talk to her again?!" Rusty's interruption was panicked. "That is bullshit, Sharon!" She frowned a little at his language. He knew how she felt about words like that, but chose to overlook it for the moment. "I am the witness. Not the criminal. And that Emma is attacking me!"

Sharon watched him quietly for a moment. She wasn't getting anywhere with this argument. And she was starting to panic a little herself, because it was imperative that he understand this. Not just because of the greater lesson here about standing up and doing the right thing, but because she would not, could not lose him to The System. Not after everything they had been through. Not when he was finally coming to trust her. If he went back into The System, Rusty would probably never trust anyone ever again and they'd lose him forever. Not to mention what it might do to her own morale.

"Let me explain to you just how important you are to this process," Sharon tried to keep the emotion out of her voice as she spoke. "A man who raped and killed five young girls could end up going free," she continued, her words deliberate. "Unless you speak up." She looked at him seriously. "Is that what you want to happen?"

Rusty's voice rose indignantly again. "No. No, Sharon, of course I don't want that to happen. But even if, even if I plead The Fifth, or whatever, people will find out about me. They will."

Sharon looked at him sadly, wishing again there were some way she could stop all this. "And they will also find out," she said tremulously with many pauses as she tried to keep her emotions under control and choose her words carefully, "that under very difficult circumstances and against your own best interests, Rusty Beck was the kind of person who was brave enough to do the right thing." She smiled at him tearfully. "And whatever I can do to help you talk to Emma," she said the last word in a tone that made it clear how she felt about this newest player in their life, "I promise you, I will do."

And somehow, miraculously, it had worked.

The endless fighting of those early days was long over at that point. They were used to each other, and she had finally gotten through. But really, the significance of that night hadn't been about his testimony. It had been that sudden realization as she was faced with the very real possibility that they might actually take Rusty from her. That she needed him. Maybe as much as he needed her. He was part of her life now. A permanent fixture that she knew she couldn't part with. Back in those days, Rusty had been like that old work shirt she still had in her closet, the one that Beth and Ricky had tried to clean for her fifteen years ago, but had ruined instead. It wasn't functional, and its only purpose seemed to be cluttering her closet, but she couldn't get rid of it. She huffed in frustration when she came across it (because it had been such a lovely shirt), but always ended up giving it a small loving touch as she flicked through the hangers, smiling at the memory of her children's sheepish looks when she had discovered the resultant stained and shrunken mess.

But the days when Sharon had thought of Rusty as a problematic but mostly good fixture in her home, the sort of thing that drove her crazy but she really liked having around and couldn't bear to get rid of, those days had disappeared somewhere along the way.

Sharon looked down at her desk. It was nearly time for Rusty to head home, and clearly she wasn't getting any more work done today. She could take the paperwork home and work on it later, after she had concrete proof that Rusty was all right. She sighed. Gone were the days when she could leave her work in the office. They had vanished the moment she had lead that sullen young man, hobbling along on his crutches, into her home.

She didn't regret it for a moment.

Don't worry! We're only half-finished. There is more on the way, and part II is a little heavy on the completely new things that just spring from my Sharon/Rusty deprived brain. For those who are missing young!Sharon, keep your eyes peeled for my new multi-chapter entitled "The Ties That Bind." Coming within the next week or so.