Late Thursday night, Rusty woke up and realized he was about to throw up, yet again. What the hell?! He'd never thrown up so much in his life. He crept across the hall and lowered himself to the floor. Sharon had left the hall light on before she went to bed, undoubtedly in anticipation of the trips to the bathroom he would be taking during the night. He practically stuck his head into the toilet when he started throwing up, trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. Not that it mattered. He was no match for Sharon's Mom Radar. No matter how little noise he made, she would still wake up and come take care of him, like she'd done the other two times he'd had to get up since she went to bed.

Rusty's suspicions were confirmed when he felt a cold cloth softly dabbing his face and a soothing hand rubbing his back. He didn't have to turn his head to know that Sharon was on her knees, right beside him. He was too miserable to try to tell her to go back to bed, or maybe he knew by now that he'd just be wasting his breath. When he was finished, Sharon flushed the toilet for him and gently wiped his mouth.

Sharon filled the glass she'd left in the bathroom for this purpose with water and crouched beside him again. "Here, honey, rinse your mouth out." Rusty obeyed and spit back into the toilet. Sharon flushed again and helped him off of the floor. Once he was back in bed, she tucked him in and felt his forehead. "You're still burning up," she murmured. "Does your head still hurt?" Rusty nodded slowly. "Let me get you some medicine." Sharon quickly cleaned the bathroom, then went to the kitchen and dug through her purse for the Advil she kept there, not wanting to overdo it with the Tylenol. Medicine, thermometer, and glass of Ginger Ale in hand, she went back to Rusty's room.

"Temperature first."

Rusty groaned. "Mo-om, just let me go back to sleep!" He whined.

"Come on, Rusty. It will take two seconds." Sharon pressed the power button on the thermometer and slipped it into his mouth before he could protest again. "See, was that so bad?" She asked, as she pulled the beeping thermometer out of his mouth a couple of minutes later and checked the readout. Rusty scowled in response. "102.6," she sighed. She turned the lamp on beside his bed so she could get a better look at him.

"Moooom, it's bright!"

"I know, honey, just give me a minute." Sharon put her hands on her son's flushed cheeks and studied him critically. Rusty felt bad for whining when he saw the concerned expression on her face, especially since she was being so patient with him, but, God, he felt terrible. "Do you feel bad enough for me to take you to the ER?"

"Seriously?! People with a damn stomach virus don't go to the ER."

"People with a damn stomach virus don't have temperatures close to 103, either," Sharon retorted. She supposed it was possible, but not likely. "If you feel too bad to wait until we can see Dr. Blakely tomorrow, then I'll take you now."

"Noooo, just wanna sleep."

"All right..." Sharon brushed her fingers through Rusty's hair and turned his lamp off. As long as he was able to sleep and could hold down liquids, she was still willing to wait until the next day. "But, if you start feeling even a little bit worse, then you need to tell me. Are we clear?"

Rusty nodded. "Cold," he mumbled, giving her one of his best pouts.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in a minute with some extra blankets."

"Wait, I feel gross. I'm going to take a shower."

"I'll bring you some clean pajamas," Sharon quietly called after Rusty as he stumbled across the hall. She changed the sheets on Rusty's bed, washed her hands, gathered some extra blankets, and tossed some fresh pajamas into the bathroom while she was waiting. When he was back in bed, she covered him with a couple of blankets before straightening his sheets and comforter over him.

"Mom..."

Sharon patted his back and sat back down on his bed. "I'm right here, sweetie. I'm not going anywhere." Recognizing the empty side of Rusty's bed as her fate for the rest of the night, she rubbed his back until he was asleep before getting another blanket for herself and lying down on top of his comforter.

Andy woke with a start on Friday morning to Sharon's alarm on her phone going off. Ugh, why wasn't she turning that damn thing off? He rolled over so he could reach over her and get it, but there was nothing to reach over. Her side of the bed was empty. And cold. She'd obviously been up for a while. She sometimes got up before her alarm, but when she did, she always turned it off so it wouldn't wake Andy half an hour before he had to get up. Like now. Hoping she was just in the bathroom, Andy listened, but the condo seemed still. He silenced her alarm, but the stillness of the condo seemed odd. If she'd had trouble sleeping during the night, maybe she'd watched TV and fallen asleep on the couch. If that were the case, he'd need to wake her up. Damn it. He had thirty more minutes! The kitchen, living room, and patio were empty, so he peeked into Rusty's room. The kid was spooned against Sharon, with his face buried into her back. They were both unconscious. He wondered if he had gotten worse overnight. He didn't know how bad it would have had to be for Sharon to stay in his room. He'd vaguely heard Sharon get up a couple of times during the night, but he'd gone right back to sleep each time and hadn't noticed when she didn't come back.

Andy sat on the edge of Rusty's bed and ran his hand over Sharon's face.

"Hmm," she mumbled.

"Don't shoot the messenger, but-"

"Can't. Gun's in my room."

"Ha, ha. Anyway, your screaming phone just informed me that it's time for you to get up."

"Nuh-uh." Sharon pulled her blanket over her face, trying to find some peace.

"I know, but we have this pesky little thing called work..."

"Not going," Sharon murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. God, she was exhausted. She carefully eased herself away from Rusty and held her hand to his forehead, growing more worried when she realized he felt hotter than he had when he last woke up. She indicated for Andy to get up and followed him to the kitchen, not wanting to wake Rusty.

"You're seriously staying home?" Andy brewed some new tea he'd bought the day before and got some fresh fruit out of the refrigerator. "He's twenty, I think he can handle it."

"Of course I am. This isn't a little virus, Andy, he's really sick, and he needs me here. He's clingy. I've never seen him like this before. I can't even think about leaving him alone like this. You just saw him. If that were Nicole, would you be able to leave her by herself?"

"Well, no, but...That's different."

"Different how?!"

Oh, no. The hands were on the hips, and her eyes were flashing angrily. Even more frighteningly-so when her glasses weren't there to soften the effect. He'd summoned Darth. This wasn't good. He didn't even know what he meant, but it certainly wasn't bad. It was too damn early for this. What the hell were they even arguing about?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean different. I just get what you're saying now, I guess," Andy conceded.

Sharon eyed his tea suspiciously. "Does that have caffeine in it?"

"Are you kidding, Sharon?! When was the last time you saw me touch caffeine? I could have a little bit if I wanted it, anyway, and I don't need you to oversee my diet!"

"And I don't need your permission to stay home with my sick son. He'll be on his own soon enough, and I have more than enough sick days to spare. Not that I have to justify that to you."

"You're right, you're right, forget I said anything. I'm sorry." When in doubt, go to the safest responses. 'You're right' and 'I'm sorry' were the quickest paths he knew of to get himself off the hook. "Why don't you let me stay with him? You don't want to get behind on your paperwork, and I didn't go back to work until this case was over, so all I have to do is be Provenza's bitch. He's having a little too much fun with that, by the way."

"Thanks, Andy. I trust you to take care of him, but he'll be more comfortable with me. I was up with him for most of the night, so I won't be any good at work, anyway. I also don't want you to get sick. I can't imagine the level of whining if you actually were sick!"

"I'll get you for that." Andy wrapped his arms around Sharon and went straight for her neck.

"Andy-" Oh, what the hell. It had been entirely too long. Rusty had gotten up less than an hour before, so Sharon figured she had a good hour, if not longer, before he woke up again. She waited until they were safely in the bedroom before pulling her t-shirt over her head. Andy threw his pajamas off like they were on fire and was completely undressed before Sharon's t-shirt had even hit the floor. Sharon started to pull her pajama pants down, put Andy stopped her.

"Please, let me. Taking off the flannel pants of doom is probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." He hooked his thumbs inside the waistband, ready to tear them off of her. "Hmm, I could have sworn these things had a padlock! They won't zap me or anything, will they?"

"Shut up. Are you taking them off or not?"

"I'm going to take them off and burn those damn things."

"I'd rather you burn me, but do what you have to do."

"Oh, I'll burn you, all right."

Sharon shot a concerned look in the direction of Rusty's room before practically jumping onto the bed. Andy was right behind her and wasted no time covering her mouth with his. He knew just how to get her started. His hand drifted lower and worked with the same rhythm as his mouth. They were just about to really get started when what had to be the curse of the flannel pants of doom intervened.

"Mooooom!" Rusty's voice drifted from his room.

Sharon bit down on Andy's tongue nearly hard enough to draw blood.

"Don't answer, he'll think you're still asleep," Andy pleaded. Nice. The second time in three days that he'd gotten his engine started with nowhere to go.

Sharon pulled away and quickly put her pajamas back on. In her haste, she unknowingly put her t-shirt back on backwards and inside-out. "He wouldn't call out for me this early unless he really needed me, Andy. Will you please see if Provenza will pick you up for work so you can bring Rusty's car home tonight? It's parked at PAB, and I don't want to leave him to take you." She rushed into Rusty's room and sat on his bed. "Honey, what's the matter?"

"My head hurts, like, bad. I've had a concussion before, and it didn't hurt this bad." He looked at Sharon with frightened eyes. "Something's, like, bad wrong, Mom."

"I know, baby." Sharon smoothed her hand over his face and kissed his forehead. "Dr. Blakely's office opens at 8:00. That's an hour and a half from now. I'll call and see if she can fit you in this morning. If she can't see you until this afternoon, then I'm taking you to the hospital." She wanted to avoid that if at all possible, since she'd already taken Rusty to Dr. Blakely several times and he was comfortable with her, but she wasn't willing to wait much longer. She gave him more Advil and held him in her arms, with one hand holding a cold cloth to his forehead to soothe his headache.

Rusty shifted against Sharon to get more comfortable, and in doing so his cheek brushed against the tag of her t-shirt. He realized it was on wrong. That was weird. Considering the slight flush to Sharon's cheeks and the fact that her hair seemed to be disheveled from something more than sleep, he wrinkled his nose. He'd never seen her like this, but he could only guess the culprit. "Gross, Mom, it is 6:00 in the damn morning!"

"What? Oh!" Sharon noticed the state of her t-shirt. Damn it. Rookie mistake. "I-"

"Stop, I don't want to know. You at least washed your hands, didn't you?"

"Stop being ridiculous, Rusty." Her hands weren't the ones that needed to be washed. She hoped she'd diffused Rusty's suspicions, or that he wouldn't remember this. He lay limply against her with his eyes closed, but she could tell he wasn't asleep. Andy appeared in the doorway a little while later, dressed for work.

"Provenza will be here in a couple of minutes. Where are Rusty's keys?" Sharon stifled a laugh at how Andy's words sounded. She'd obviously hurt his tongue when she bit down on it.

'Sorry,' she mouthed.

Rusty opened his eyes and looked confused. "Why are you talking like-God, Mom! Seriously! What were you-never mind."

Andy looked flustered. "What? I'm just...um, sleepy?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. Smooth.

"Come on, you guys, I'm nauseous enough as it is without you two being disgusting."

Sharon put her hand on Rusty's cheek. "It's not what you think, Rusty, don't worry about it. Andy, just get my extra set of keys out of my desk when you get to work. We'll find Rusty's keys later." Rusty's irritability reminded her of something she'd read in one of the packets she'd gotten in the mail from UCLA's student health center about serious illnesses that tended to favor college campuses soon after he'd transferred. She couldn't remember exactly what it was, but she remembered sarcastically wondering why a health professional would bother listing irritability as a symptom for whichever disease she'd been reading about. Who could tell the difference between irritability meaning illness or just another day for a college-aged kid?

A little while after Andy left for work, Rusty had finally fallen asleep again, but that didn't last long. He started gagging, but made no move to get up. Sharon grabbed the basin from his nightstand and held it in front of his face. When he was finished, she cleaned it out in the kitchen and got a damp cloth and glass of Ginger Ale. She wiped his face and helped him take a few sips, and she noticed that he was being careful to avoid moving his neck. That rang another bell with her, but she couldn't quite place it. Nausea, high fever, irritability, neck pain...That was one of those illnesses she'd read about, but which one? Mono? No. Emily'd had Mono the summer after her freshman year of college. This wasn't it.

"Rusty? Is your neck bothering you?" He didn't answer. Sharon put her hands on his cheeks and looked into his eyes. "Rusty! Talk to me. Does your neck hurt?" He remained silent, and his eyes looked empty. It was like he wasn't seeing her. "I'll be right back." Sharon went to the living room and dug through the bottom drawer of her desk, hoping she still had that packet from the student health center. Once she found it, she flipped through it for the section she was looking for. She was already quite familiar with the Mono symptoms that had put Emily to bed for almost two months, so she skipped over that one for the illnesses with which she was less familiar. It took less than a minute for it to hit her. Meningitis. Oh, shit, this wasn't good.

Sharon sat in a daze of denial for a few moments before springing into action. Anticipating Rusty being admitted to the hospital, she quickly threw together a bag of clothes and things for both of them, then put the bag, her work things, and her purse in the car before coming back to get Rusty. She picked through the clothes on his bedroom floor for the pants he wore the day before, praying that his wallet was in his pocket and not in his car. She knew she'd need his driver's license to check him in. She found it, so she fished his license out and went back to Rusty. He was awake, but still seemed out of it. Sharon pulled his covers back and smoothed her hand over his hot forehead. "Get up, honey, I'm taking you to the ER."