Notes: One last breather chapter before we move into the ending! Many thank yous to SChimes for getting me unstuck and putting me back on track to finish before S3 starts, and thank you to all of you for still reading this story that was supposed to be finished sometime in January.

When It Rains

rosabelle

Chapter XIV: Thanksgiving

It was strange to see Sharon moping.

It was a side of her she rarely allowed herself to show, at least around Rusty. Only on major holidays. And on her birthday. And on her kids' birthdays. He guessed it was becoming sort of a tradition. She didn't usually spend a lot of time feeling sorry for herself—and it wasn't even that she was making a big deal about it now, because she wasn't. She was just... quiet, and when she thought he wasn't looking, her smiles vanished.

This was why he'd said it was okay with him if they didn't celebrate. Last year had been awkward too. Worse, probably, than this year would be, because they were still new to each other and she'd been trying really hard to make him feel cheery and he had been anything but. He didn't see this year shaping up to be any better, because she was mad at him and sad that her kids weren't there, and she could say that it wasn't his fault all she wanted, but it kind of was and even if she didn't blame him, her kids probably did. He would have to meet them eventually, and it wasn't like they didn't have enough reasons to dislike him already without adding more.

So maybe Sharon wasn't the only one moping. Rusty sighed, shifting on the couch until he was lying on his stomach and staring glumly at his phone. He'd finally texted a couple of his friends Happy Thanksgiving. So far, no one had answered, and he was losing at chess, and Sharon was upset, and some psycho wanted to kill him and Sharon, and and and.

He raised his head at the sound of muffled cursing from the kitchen, at first trying to swallow a laugh. He'd never heard Sharon say anything more interesting than damn before. When it was followed a moment later by the oven door slamming and the sound of the faucet running, Rusty pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Hey, Sharon?"

There was a pause. "Yes?"

"Are you, like... okay?"

There was a longer pause. "I'll be fine."

Right. Rusty rolled his eyes and set his phone down. When he went into the kitchen Sharon had her back to him, still running her hands under cold water. Rusty glanced at the stove. The turkey breast was still sitting in a pan on stop of the stove, ready for the oven. Inside, the pies were still there. While Sharon was nursing her injuries, he went to the stove and pulled the pies out.

Before Sharon turned off the faucet, he'd put the turkey in the oven, adjusted the temperature, and set the timer—without hurting himself. "Did you burn yourself or something?"

Sharon turned around, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"Hardly," she said. "It's not even red. Did you get the pie out?"

"I put the turkey in." When he stared at her hands, she tugged her right sleeve down to cover her wrist. "Are you sure you don't—"

"Thank you." Sharon cut him off. "We have awhile before we need to start anything else. What would you like to do?"

It was the first time that she'd offered to do anything with him besides eating since he'd come home.

He shrugged.

"What were you doing just now?"

"Playing chess on my phone."

"We could play a few games," she offered, and he stared at her.

"Wait, really?"

"You're always saying you miss playing with people, aren't you?"

"It's just that last time we played I won in two moves," he told her. That was months ago now. "But we can play if you want, I guess..."

Her smile faltered. "Of course, we don't have to."

"I—I just meant that..." Too late he remembered that right, unhappy Sharon. "It can't be that fun for you."

"Set the board up," she told him, and checked her watch. "As long as you don't mind taking a break in the middle when Ricky remembers that he was supposed to call me an hour ago." She rolled her eyes when she said it.

"If you're sure," he said doubtfully.

She motioned him out of the kitchen, and he went to retrieve his chess set from his room while Sharon made herself some tea. She joined him at the dining room table with her drink and a soda for him, sipping her tea in silence while she watched him set the board up. He never let her win, but he did always let her play white. Not that it seemed to do her much good, really, because seriously two moves.

She was off to a better start this time, at least.

It confused him every time, because basically all she did all day was play chess with people, and people were way more complicated than wooden pieces. Rusty would know. He'd tried it before, when he'd told Brenda that if she found his mother, he would tell her whatever she wanted to hear. But there had been too many moving pieces to keep track of—he really hadn't seen Stroh trying to kill him the second time coming—and he'd been in over his head before he knew it.

Maybe Sharon just wasn't very visual.

He won in five minutes.

Sharon frowned at the board afterwards, fiddling with a captured pawn she held in her hand. He couldn't tell if she was trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong, or if she was just that unhappy.

He started to set the board up again. "Sharon?"

She made a distracted hum.

"If you want to, like, go call your kids..."

She gave him a tight smile and shook her head. "I talked to Katie and my parents this morning, before you woke up. Ricky wasn't sure what time his girlfriend's parents actually wanted to eat... I don't want to interrupt their dinner, if that's what's taking him. I'll call him tonight if I don't hear from him. We can play another game."

He reached over and tugged the last piece out of her hand.

"You'll be happy to hear that Dr. Bowman is a much better chess player than I am," she told him.

He hesitated with his hand still on the piece. "Is that his name?"

She nodded, frowning at the board as she studied her side of the board, debating between pawns. "You promised me one full session," she reminded him.

"I know." He watched her hesitate some more. "What if I don't like him?"

She gave him a look. "Make an effort," she advised him. "There are only so many chess playing therapists in Los Angeles."

That was probably true.

"It, um—" He glanced away awkwardly. "Thanks for... doing that."

She nodded a little, and finally moved the king's pawn forward. "Your move."

It amazed her how intently he could concentrate when he wanted to. He bent his head close to the board, his bottom lip between his teeth, and he focused in a way that she rarely saw. She wasn't sure she saw him blink once during their third game, which he won. Of course. Sharon smiled a little ruefully. He glanced at her and started to set the board up again, apparently content to keep playing.

He didn't seem to be especially enjoying himself. She couldn't quite tell if it was guilt (though why he felt sorrier for disrupting her holiday plans than he did for running away, she couldn't say), or boredom at having no better company than her, or if it was something more akin to homesickness for his mother. He had been quiet and reserved last year too. Perfectly polite, and he'd said thank you for all of his gifts, but he'd been withdrawn at Christmas and when his birthday had come around he had hardly touched his cake, and she knew very well that chocolate was his favorite.

She didn't know what memories the day brought back for him. She hardly felt like celebrating herself, with a security detail on her front step and a moody teenager at her table and her other kids nowhere in sight.

Ricky had called her the night before. But Mom, I see Julie's parents all the time. They'd probably be more thankful not to see me for a day.

It had been hard, telling him no, that he should call her instead. She was losing hope that things would go back to normal by Christmas. She wanted to bring Rusty with her to Park City. Maybe she should just take him and go anyway. It would almost certainly be safer there than Los Angeles... but she knew that she would be too worried to enjoy herself, and what if something happened, she would never...

"Sharon?"

Rusty's worried voice broke into her thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking herself. "Did you say something?"

"No, just—" He looked so desperately unhappy. "I know I said I wanted to, but I know you're made at me, and... and... we don't have to," he finished uncertainly.

Yes, eating alone would vastly improve her mood. Sharon pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Believe it or not, this is not the worst Thanksgiving I've ever experienced."

He gave her a doubtful look.

"The year my daughter graduated high school," she told him. "She wanted to have dinner with the boy she was dating at the time. I told her no. She spent the day in her room sulking instead. And then Ricky begged me to invite their father over—" Which had only furthered Katie's refusal to come to the table. "—but then he and Jack had an argument within ten minutes of his arrival and he refused to come to dinner, either, and then Jack, of course, wouldn't leave once he was invited in. I think he spent the night on the couch."

"Oh." Rusty gave her a small smile. "That does sound bad."

"Yes." She shook her head.

"My mom and I..." The smile faded. "Christmas was usually the worst. Everyone at school would want to know what I got. I'd tell them it was none of their business and then someone would ask if we were too poor for presents, and then I would..."

He stopped, lowering his eyes guiltily. She could guess the rest, and she just nodded without saying anything. Even now, after everything he had put her through, if there was one thing she wished she could make him understand, it was that he was a good kid. He tended to get agitated when she tried.

Rusty stared at the chessboard. "Like you said. I've had worse."

"Come on," she told him. "I thought you wanted mashed potatoes."

He hesitated, toying with one of his bishops, but then he nodded. When she stood, he followed her to the kitchen. She took that as an encouraging sign. Sharon remembered her wrist, and maybe he did too, because he took the knife and the cutting board before she got to them, and left her to wash and dry the potatoes. She hid her smile. Maybe it could be a good day after all.

"Hey, Sharon?"

Or maybe not; she knew that tone. She tried not to sigh as she rubbed a potato dry. "Yes?"

"Have there been any more letters?"

"Rusty..."

"You said not to ask to see the letters," he said. "I'm not."

She thought the look he gave her was supposed to suggest that he thought he was being very reasonable. "No," she said. "Not since the last one."

"And?" he pressed. "Have they been getting worse?"

"Try not to think too much about that," she advised him. "We're doing everything we can to—"

"But, like, have you found anything?"

The desperation in his voice made her turn away, in the guise of grabbing some more potatoes. "Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "The FBI used the letters to profile our suspect. We're fairly certain he lives in Los Angeles and works within the radius from which the letters were mailed."

"So, like..." When she turned around, she found him watching her hopefully. "How long does that take? To find him?"

"It's... difficult to say. Rusty—"

"But you said there's a radius," he said. "You can, like, narrow it down, right? Can't you?"

"And we're working on it," she promised him. "It's just going to take some more time. But it is progress, and in the meantime, you're staying right here. Try and remember that."

Sharon's phone rang halfway through dinner. She stood to pick it up from the breakfast bar, her fork still in hand. "It's Ricky."

"You're not going to answer it?" He frowned at her when she didn't.

"I'll call him back after dinner."

"It's fine, Sharon, really." Her kids were who she really wanted to spend the day with.

She finally smiled at him and made a little nod, turning away as she answered it. "Hello?"

Rusty watched her walk down the hall to her room. He finished his plate before she returned, and took second helpings of everything. When he finished that plate without Sharon returning, he got up in search of plastic wrap. He covered Sharon's plate with it and stuck it in the fridge, and then started on the dishes.

Once the dishwasher was full, he piled everything else in the sink before returning to the couch and pulling out is phone. Sharon would be unhappy if he didn't wait for her before starting in on the pumpkin pie. She would probably be unhappy anyway, because that was how she seemed to be about everything, now, but he wasn't trying to upset her.

He didn't expect the message he saw waiting for him.

It was only a Happy Thanksgiving from Ana from the chess team, but that was all he had sent too, and more than that, it was the first he'd heard from anyone since... September. He thought about texting her back, asking how her day was going, but that just opened the door for her to ask how his day was going, and no one wanted to hear that it was going terrible. Mostly terrible.

But it was still nice to know that he still had some friends that weren't, like, old.

He was still cheerful when Sharon emerged from her room twenty minutes later. It must have shown on his face, because she raised an eyebrow as she passed. "Did you win this time?"

"No," he said. "Not all my friends forgot about me."

She frowned at him.

"Ana texted me," he told her, and paused. "Is that... like, okay?"

"That depends," Sharon said. "Do I know Ana?"

"Girl from the chess team," he elaborated. "The one with dark hair, not the blonde one. You've met her."

"You'll have to show me a picture," she said, and he rolled his eyes because there were five people on the chess team. "I take it you haven't talked in awhile?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "You're not mad, are you?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because..." Rusty stared at her, but he thought she honestly sounded confused. "I thought I was grounded for the rest of my life."

"Oh, you are." Sharon took her seat at the table again, folding her hands in her lap as she watched him on the couch. "There's no question about that. But if you were my—" She stopped. "When my children were younger, when they were grounded, they would see their friends at school. I can't send you to school, and it's not good for you to never speak to someone else your own age."

"Does that mean I can invite people over?" Not that he really wanted to bring people over because the security would either freak them out or turn him into some kind of a joke at school, but...

"It means that I let you keep your phone for a reason," she told him. "Two reasons. The other one being so that I can talk to you."

She was getting that tone in her voice, that note of finality that warned him away from asking again. He'd been pushing, earlier, asking about the letters. He hadn't been able to help himself, and it had been worth it, because it made him feel a little less like throwing up to know that they were narrowing it down. Then he could go back to school and Sharon could see her kids for Christmas and Rusty would even try to get alone with them if it would make Sharon happy.

In the meantime... "Can we have some pie?"