First of all: OMG OMG SHANDY IS MARRIED. MARRIED. SHARON'S HEART HAS NEVER BEEN SO FULL. NEVER. *_*

Okay, now that I got that out of my system...

I'm glad you enjoyed the previous two chapters. Thank you for the kind reviews and messages! :)
Let's hope my addition to 6x03 doesn't disappoint. This time I focus on Andy and Rusty.

As always, here's a shoutout to the wonderful escapewithstories. Posting any stories without her 'nitpicking' has become unimaginable.

When Rusty arrived home, he was surprised to find Andy alone in the living room, watching TV. "Hey," he greeted, dropping his bag to the floor. He glanced over his shoulder toward their bedroom. "Where's Mom?"

"Ah," Andy tilted his head toward Rusty, but his eyes remained glued to the TV, "still at work." There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, and Rusty had a feeling he wasn't even bothering trying to cover it up.

He sank down into one of the chairs next to the coffee table, and muttered sarcastically, "Perks of being Commander."

"Perks alright," Andy said on a scoff, then finally looked Rusty's way, a surprisingly expectant look on his face all of a sudden. "Got any plans for tonight?"

Thrown off by the unexpected inquiry, Rusty scratched his knee and let out a lame, "Uhm..." On a questioning lilt, he then finally answered, "No, not really."

Andy perked up a little at that and turned fully to face Rusty, his hands clasping the armrest of the couch. "Up for some shooting practice then?"

Rusty's eyebrows went up, and he sat up ramrod straight. "Right now?"

"Why not?" Andy replied on a shrug. "Sharon won't be home for a few more hours, there's nothing on TV," as if to make his point, he turned it off and tossed the remote over his shoulder onto the couch, "and God knows you can use all the practice you can get."

Rusty stiffened and shot him a bland look. "I'm not that bad."

Andy smirked, but refrained from teasing him further. "So," he lifted his chin challengingly, "you wanna go or not?"

Rusty was not about to decline an offer such as that one, and within half an hour they found themselves at the firing range. The place was oddly quiet, not many people having the same idea as them, so they were able to occupy the last two firing lanes and enjoy a rather private setting for their shooting practice.

Practicing with Andy was slightly more different than with his mother. First of all, the atmosphere at the range felt far less charged without Sharon, the lack of her rank barrier making Andy's interactions with his colleagues more informal, which in turn made Rusty feel more at ease. At the same time, however, Rusty got the distinct feeling that Andy was much less inclined to allow him to go through with his training than Sharon was. He had grumbled about it on more than one occasion, never truly dismissing Rusty's reasoning or completely disagreeing that all of this was bound to do him more good than bad, but he had grumbled about it nonetheless, insisting, just as adamantly as Sharon actually, that he should take on a protective detail as well. Rusty could have also sworn that the first time he agreed to taking him down for practice himself, the man had questioned his own sanity at least once under his breath. Yet, somehow practicing with Andy wasn't as intense as it was with Sharon. It was equally as challenging, for they both had the same expectations of him, and they focused on very much the same things, but Sharon's rather meticulous, as opposed to Andy's more ad-lib approach, made his sessions with the man feel somewhat more relaxed–even if there was also a slightly light-hearted element of fun there with both of them.

That evening, however, that element was sorely missing. Despite keeping up their usual banter, Andy was tense, sullen even. His mood was making Rusty quite uncomfortable, and it certainly wasn't helping his concentration, but it wasn't until Andy challenged him to beat his score that day, that Rusty decided to address the matter.

Unsurprisingly, Andy still outshot him, but in the few times they had been together, his score had never been that low. It wasn't a failing score by any means, but it was low enough to give Rusty pause. When, upon inspection of his handiwork, Andy merely shrugged as though he wasn't bothered by his poor performance, Rusty's suspicions were confirmed. He hadn't been giving it his usual best because his mind was elsewhere, and it didn't take a genius to figure out where.

When Andy took his earmuffs off, Rusty followed suit, and even though he knew his question would make it glaringly obvious he wasn't just prying into their work, said, "How'd Mom's confession go?"

"Good enough for her to still be stuck at the office." Andy's response was muttered instantly, indicating just how closely to the surface his troubles were really bubbling. He took out his irritation on the paper target by crushing it into a ball with a few jerked movements. What surprised Rusty more than his small outburst was when much more calmly, softly almost, he added, "She won't admit it, but I can tell she's not feeling well."

Rusty had noticed as much himself, but Andy actually voicing it intensified his worry. "Something happen today?"

"No," he answered, drawing out the syllable on a sigh." Under his breath, he added, "Nothing obvious at least."

"But?" Rusty waved his earmuffs through the air, urging Andy to elaborate.

"But if she keeps this up," Andy shrugged, and turned around to put away his ear gear. "I'm kind of expecting something to."

When Andy turned back again, Rusty mumbled, his mood plummeting too now, "It's not just her shaking off the flu, is it?"

As if anticipating the musing Rusty was going to share next, Andy shook his head at him and said, "I don't think it's just worrying about Stroh either." He suddenly threw his hands out in frustration. "It's this goddamn case, those kids and the Church, and," he hesitated, hating to say it, but ploughing on nonetheless, "the wedding being just around the corner."

"She just needs a break," Rusty concluded, sounding more hopeful than convinced.

"Yeah," Andy agreed, before his look turned dark and he challenged sarcastically, "but go ahead," he twirled his hand around in a circle, "try talking her into it." He heaved a deep, bitter sigh. "God knows I couldn't."

Rusty doubted he'd be any more successful than Andy, but quite determinedly said, "I just might."

Andy chuckled mirthlessly. They were a rather pathetic duo when it came to worrying about Sharon Raydor. He started packing up their stuff, and after a few moments of silence, his demeanor shifted, his movements become less jagged and more fluid. Quietly, somewhat of a weariness seeping into his tone, he said, "Sorry, Kid." He threw him a lost look. "She's just-"

"Driving you crazy?" Rusty interjected, pausing on his way to put away his earmuffs. Not waiting for a response, he added, "I've been living with her for 6 years, trust me," he shot Andy a wide-eyed look and nodded his head, "I can relate. And unlike you," he closed the rest of the distance toward the workbench and finally hung up his earmuffs, "I didn't have the benefit of stopping by here to work my frustrations off."

Andy holstered his weapon, and attached it to his belt. "Was I that obvious?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Obvious?" Rusty scoffed, turning around to face him. "For a second there, I thought I was living with Lieutenant Provenza."

"Oh, God," Andy started on half a groan, half a laugh, "then I'm even more sorry."

Rusty laughed, too, then walked to the window and picked up his bullet riddled targets to roll them up. "You know," he looked at Andy sideways, mischief creeping into his features, "it's not too late for you to escape the madness." He shrugged. "Unlike me," he was speaking pointedly, "you haven't signed and sealed anything in ink yet."

Andy grinned. "I didn't know being adopted at 18 made you her prisoner," he said, just as pointedly.

Rusty paused, then put up a finger. "Touche." There would come a time when he'd move out and venture into the world on his own, but for now, he couldn't imagine living with anyone else but his adoptive mother. That Andy's commitment carried a similar, and certainly more long-term, resolve and that he wouldn't even joke about leaving her side, filled Rusty with a strange affection for the man, but that was something he decided to keep to himself.

Suddenly Andy patted his shoulder, and briefly, Rusty worried he had guessed where his thoughts had taken him, but he quickly relaxed when Andy peeked at the targets he was only halfway done rolling up, and said, "She'll be glad to know your aim is improving."

Rusty inspected the bottom part of his targets and nodded uncertainly. He still doubted he'd be any good against a moving target, but he had graduated to at least not missing stationary ones.

This time Andy definitely picked up on his thoughts. "If we have any say in it," his low tone was both intimidating and encouraging, "you won't have to worry about putting your skills to the test at all."

Rusty's shoulders slumped and he rolled up the targets all the way, then squeezed them between his arm and side. "Hard to have any say in it when we can't even prove it's him," he said dejectedly.

Andy leaned a shoulder against the short strip of wall that separated their firing lanes, and gave him a long look. "That murder board of yours is bound to make some sense eventually." Rusty opened his mouth to say something, but Andy put up a hand, not allowing him to. "And until it does," he went on, his hand pointing out their surroundings, "we prepare for the worst."

Rusty slowly nodded. "Not much else I can do anyway," he mumbled.

"You could agree to a protective detail," Andy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Rolling his eyes, Rusty said, exasperated, "We've been over this."

Andy pushed himself off the wall. "And we'll go over it as many times is necessary for you to see some sense in it," he warned even as he dropped the subject for the time being. He ignored Rusty's silent frown, and started walking toward the exit. "How about we get some takeout on our way home?" His voice was suddenly cheery. "I'm starving."

Rusty shook his head at him, but followed. "Something for Mom, too. I bet she skipped lunch today."

Andy's bitter laugh confirmed that she did.