Here are two little additions to 6x02. The first scene is with Sharon and Andy at home, the second one is with Sharon and Rusty, shortly before the scene at the firing range.

As always, sending thanks to escapewithstories, my trusted beta and sounding board.

When Andy pulled out of his slumber, he knew that Sharon was already awake even without opening his eyes. She hadn't slept well ever since coming down with that flu, and their current case only prolonged her already sleepless nights. The latest news on Stroh didn't help ease her mind either. Keeping his eyes shut, he let out a sleepy, protesting groan, for he really hated having to get up and start their day, and shuffled closer to her, snuggling into her back while wrapping an arm around her. When she sighed drowsily, he mumbled, "Awake long?"

Her non-committal hum was answer enough, and as much as he hated that sleep continually eluded her, he took comfort in the fact that at least she was spending her vigils in bed instead of in the living room or balcony like she had after the Dwight shooting. The memory reminded him of a subject he had not had the energy to broach the previous night and, thinking it best to just rip the bandaid right off, he suddenly said, "Rusty wants a gun."

He felt her stiffen underneath his arm before letting out a long breath and relaxing again. "He asked you?" The question should have sounded accusatory or at least shocked, but instead the words carried, much to Andy's surprise, something akin to resignation, even expectation, as if she had seen this coming. She didn't wait for his answer and added another question, that one sounding more like a conclusion. "Is that why he pulled you aside yesterday?"

Andy lifted his head and hummed affirmatively. "You don't sound surprised," he told her, leaning forward to see her face, the little furrow of his brow revealing he was failing to get a proper read on her.

She rolled over on her back, forcing him to scoot a little to give her enough space. "He was talking about more proficient ways of protecting himself the other day." Her exasperated eyeroll made Andy chuckle despite the rather serious topic.

"And?" he urged her on, bending his arm at the elbow and resting his head in his hand. He could guess what decision she had already made and, despite his qualms about it, found himself not being all that much surprised by it.

"And," she repeated, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes wander to their bedroom ceiling, "Rusty's an adult." She turned her head towards Andy again and managed a half-hearted smile. "I should be happy he's still asking for permission."

Andy frowned, looking intensely at his fingers that were drawing lazy patterns across her abdomen. "Only because he wants your help to get a concealed carry permit."

Her brow drew together as well, she was just as unimpressed with that idea as he was, but she again weakly smiled. "Still."

She made a valid point, but Andy still sighed as he mumbled a reluctantly agreeing, "Yeah."

Sharon reached a hand out to his face and rubbed her fingers gently over the worried lines on his forehead. "What do you think?"

"Well," he started, the breath he took temporarily thinning his voice, "I may have," the words dripped with sarcasm, "implied he was crazy when he asked me, so," he raised an eyebrow at her and his look turned bland, "what do you think I think?"

This time her smile was bright and amused and she breathed out a small chuckle. Rather thoughtfully, however, she said, "I'd rather he not go about getting a gun on his own."

Andy sighed again, both at the loss of contact when she pulled back her hand and at her words. "I know, me, too."

She hummed and squeezed his hand that was still on her stomach. She let it all sink in for a second before tugging on his hand and saying, "Come on, time to get up."

With a groan, she made an attempt to pull herself up, but Andy moved his hand and gripped her hip, pulling her down and toward him as he dropped his head to her shoulder. "Not yet," he murmured. Snuggling closer and slipping his leg between hers to keep her from moving, he added, "There's so much going on," he groaned, "can't we just enjoy this quiet for a few more moments?" He tilted his head, and pressed a blind kiss somewhere along her jawline. "Just indulge me, would you?"

The fact that she put up no, even half-hearted, fight let him know she felt the same way. She put her hand over his arm and turned slightly sideways, just enough for her lips to meet the top of his head. Her thoughts remained on her son, however. "I should schedule a session at the firing range."

"Well," he tightened his hold on her, nuzzling her neck, "who better to teach him than you?" He lifted his head a little and wagged his eyebrows at her. "I wouldn't mind a lesson either."

She chuckled, but pulled a straight face as she asked, "As your commanding officer, is there something you're not telling me?"

Andy grinned at her teasing tone and shook his head. "Only that my boss is a better shot than me, but," he lowered his head and quickly kissed her, "you already know that."

An eyebrow and corner of her mouth lifted in that way that bordered on being smug. "I do." The words oozed with shameless confidence.

Andy chuckled and just took a moment to look at her. He liked these mornings of theirs, the few moments he got to see of her before she put on her work attire and makeup. He reveled in seeing this side of her and marvelled at the fact that she was more than content to let him. He grinned at her when he noted that her gaze turned from teasing to adoring and leaned in to kiss her and make sure it stayed there. She closed her eyes and half-moaned, half-hummed into the kiss, and he beamed a smile when he pulled back and her eyes fluttered opened slightly dazed. He found her perfect just then, peaceful and relaxed. Only the faint dark circles around her eyes and her heavy eyelids that were not the result of residual sleepiness tarnished the picture. He wished she'd slow down, take a moment to rest up. Lately, everything had been happening at such an intense pace, both at work and at home, that he worried there was only so long she could keep up with it before she regretted not heeding either his or Rusty's pleas to take a break. Knowing better than to insist on it once more, he simply hoped that her stubbornness alone would somehow be enough and she soon really would be at a hundred percent. Until then, all he could do was keep an eye on her, whether she liked it or not.

"So Rusty asked you to handle me?" Sharon's wondrous sounding words snapped Andy out of his musings. She was smiling at him, tight-lipped, bordering on dangerous, but the way the corners of her eyes crinkled betrayed her amusement.

Andy latched onto that amusement. They both knew there was no handling, or worse, manipulating her. Only wearing down her resolve a little was possible, but the ease with which she could wrap both him and Rusty around her little finger without them really even noticing (or minding) until it was too late made him not entirely sure of that. Despite that knowledge, suggestively, he smirked and said, "Smart kid, knows I have my ways."

Her smile relaxed and she ran her fingers affectionately through his sleep-tousled hair. "You have indeed," she agreed.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. Admitting that they could no longer lazy about, he suddenly groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. "Work," he grumbled.

A laugh burst out of her, shaking him, and he grinned, not lifting his head just yet. She put a hand on each side of his face and gently pried it away from hers. "Work," she confirmed, but only untangled herself from him after kissing him, motivationally.

She motivated him alright, but he still buried his face in her pillow when she slipped out of bed, not feeling like getting up just yet. In a way, he was itching to get back to work and continue looking for those boys. However, not looking forward to going to the morgue first thing had him drag his feet. Notifying a parent of the loss of their child was heart-breaking enough, watching them come face to face with that loss was even worse. He lifted his head when, on her way to the bathroom, Sharon smacked his foot. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, pushing himself up. Once on his feet, he peered into the bathroom. "I'm going to the morgue alone, aren't I?" It was just then that the thought occurred to him.

She looked at him, pausing in her motion to put some toothpaste on her toothbrush, a guilty grimace on her face. "I should talk to Rusty," she explained, "call the firing range, too."

He'd assumed as much and nodded. Grabbing their covers to set about straightening their bed, he added, "I'll have Mike meet me there instead then."

"Thank you," he heard before the sound of running water reached him, quickly followed by the sound of her starting to brush her teeth.

Rusty had barely been at the firing range for three minutes, but he was already both impressed and more than a tad intimidated by his mother. Whomever Sharon and he passed on the way to their firing lane greeted her with a, for the most part, polite nod and the word 'Commander' on their lips. A few added an odd nicety or two, inquiring about 'the young man' accompanying her and Sharon's polite, but relaxed response made Rusty realize just how well she fit in there.

Almost too well.

It wasn't that he ever really forgot the fact that Sharon was known by most everybody within the department, and with good reason, but all of a sudden somehow their surroundings made that glaringly (and unnervingly) obvious to him. He was so used to Sharon in mother mode at home or in Commander mode in the murder room that he sometimes did forget that there was more to her job than just leading her team from the safety of her office. He knew she went out into the field, saw her in action once firsthand even, but somehow walking through the firing range, this odd sense of familiarity, rather than just her usual confidence around her, all but screamed at him that his mother was far from just the thinker, paper pusher and order issuer that he was witness to most of the time.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sharon asked, an amused smile on her face as she eyed and snapped him out of his musings.

Forcing himself to relax, curious, he asked, "How often do you come here?" He suddenly realized that in all his time living with her, although she had occasionally informed him of having to go to the firing range, he had no idea how many times she went, or for what reasons.

"Often enough," Sharon replied, raising an eyebrow at him before elaborating, "I have to get qualified for my service weapon twice a year."

"Ever failed?" Rusty asked, smirking.

Sharon pursed her lips, her eyebrow twitching upward for a second, amused. "Not since I first successfully qualified." She sounded almost smug, when she added, "Never below a 95% score either."

Rusty suppressed an eye roll. "Is there anything you're not good at?" he asked exasperatedly.

They had reached their lane, so Sharon came to a stop and turned to face him, a pleased smile on her lips. "No," she shook her head, "I don't think so."

Rusty chuckled, then looked around, their surroundings slowly sobering him. "So," he shrugged his shoulders, "this is it."

"It is indeed." Sharon walked up to the workbench behind them, lifting two ear protectors of their hooks. "These," she said, offering Rusty a pair, "are a must around here."

Rusty nodded, taking a steeling breath before accepting the proffered item, as if he were already handling a gun. "Okay."

"Now," Sharon walked toward the window in front of the already put up target, putting her earmuffs on and unclipping her weapon from her holster, "a demonstration," she announced, eyeing Rusty meaningfully.

Rusty scrambled to cover his ears, suddenly nervous, and took a step back to give her space.

Sharon lifted an eyebrow questioningly, and when Rusty nodded that he was ready, she assumed position, taking a somewhat rigid stance, wrapping both hands properly around her handgun. She paused to show Rusty how to release the safety, then focused on the black drawing of her target, and released five rounds in rapid succession.

Despite the noise muffling gear on his head, Rusty still flinched at the first and blinked at each following fired shot, not even noticing Sharon lowering her weapon before pressing the button to slide the target back. Instead, he focused on the increasingly larger hole in the middle of the painted figure's chest, right where an 'x' had been just a few seconds ago.

It was Sharon's sudden snort of a laugh that snapped Rusty out of it. He suddenly pushed past her and nearly tore the target of its clasps. "Now you're just showing off."

The corner of her mouth quirking upward said, "Maybe," but when she actually spoke she had become serious. "It's all about practice, Rusty." She patted his arm encouragingly, then took her target off his hands for a proper inspection. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded to herself and folded the paper neatly before putting it down. "It might seem easy," she looked at him pointedly, "but I assure you it is not." She waved a hand around them. "There are no distractions here, no real danger, no worry about the safety of others, no pressure or fear that triggers panic, and lastly," she tapped her folded paper victim, "the enemy obviously puts up no fight."

Rusty listened attentively, nodding at each of her points. He was eager to give it a try himself though. "So where do we start?"

Sharon lifted her gun, and pressed the button at the base of the trigger guard, releasing the empty magazine. "First up," she finally said, taking the magazine out, "is safety." She moved the slide, checking for live rounds, and finding none, slid it back into position. "I'll show you how to do this and how to disassemble and assemble the gun altogether in a minute, but for now," she clicked the magazine back into its place, and suddenly handed Rusty the gun, "get a feel for it unloaded," she instructed, but didn't let go when Rusty's hand wrapped around it.

"Okay," Rusty said apprehensively, his eyes on the gun. That's when Sharon finally released her hold on it. "I never really held a gun," he said, wondrous as his hand moved up and down, as if weighing it, "it's lighter than I thought it'd be."

He looked up at Sharon and found her watching him, an almost sad expression on her face. "It's heavy enough." Her words carried a rather pointed weight, too. She offered a small, rueful smile to add, "And I wish you never did hold a gun."

Her tone of voice was so regretful that Rusty dropped his gaze, starting to fidget with the weapon in his hands. "I need," he started, plucking up the courage to meet her eyes again, "to be able to protect myself. You said it yourself," he pointed his free hand at her, "I'm an adult now. So, isn't it time I started relying on somebody other than you?" He shrugged. "You, or Andy, the team, bodyguards… you can't protect me forever."

"Oh," Sharon's voice dipped low and she shook her head in disagreement, "I can," she said sternly. "And I most certainly will."

It wasn't the first time that Sharon's absolute conviction made Rusty both uncomfortable and oddly soothed, and he found himself swallowing down the wave of emotion that came over him. "But," he decided to press on with the matter at hand and his eyes flickered toward the bullet riddled wall, "you'll still teach me how to use a gun?" Suddenly, he worried she had changed her mind.

"Sometimes," Sharon started, her tone somewhat lighter, teasing even, "I need to protect you from yourself, too," she squeezed his forearm, giving him a look that said she was only half-joking, "so, yes, I will still teach you how to properly and," she shot him a pointed glare, "safely use a firearm." Her voice suddenly softened, and she added, "But Rusty…"

He swallowed when she trailed off, the scrutiny in her gaze making him squirm. "What?"

"This," she clasped his hand that held the gun, "will not guarantee your safety. Nor will feeling threatened justify using it. Only if," she took a breath, struggling to voice the possibility, "you find yourself in a situation with no other way out, your life, or someone else's, hanging in the balance, are you to even think about firing it." She squeezed his hand. "Is that understood?"

"I won't be trigger happy, mom," Rusty said, rolling his eyes at her, "I promise."

Sharon did not appreciate his response. She tilted her head to the side and glared at him. "Rusty," she started warningly.

Rusty swallowed again, recognizing his error. "I know, mom," he said apologetically. "The gun is my absolute last option," he clarified, completely serious now.

"Exactly," she said, letting go of his hand. "Now we can continue with," she waved her hand around, "this."

Relieved that they would finally be getting down to business after all, Rusty squared his shoulders and nodded. "Okay then," he started on a sigh, "safety? And checking for bullets?" he asked, referring to the first two things she demonstrated. "Mind repeating that in slow motion?" He offered her her weapon back.

Accepting it, she smiled and set about repeating her earlier process. "Watch closely…"

Hope you enjoyed this. :)