As it turned out, it was a good thing Rusty liked Andy Flynn, as he'd been spending every waking moment outside class in the company of the good Lieutenant since his run in with a suspect's car. It reminded him a bit of the time in his life when he was followed everywhere by a security detail, except this time around it was him who was shadowing a cop. One who shuffled around in his mother's condo in plaid pants and a robe, complaining about boredom, but a cop nonetheless.

Andy's health scare had thrown the three of them into this living arrangement prematurely, and they were still trying to navigate their current situation. He was still trying to figure out which incident involving the men in Sharon's life was more ridiculous, Jack Raydor barging into the condo in the middle of the night acting as if he owned the place, or Sharon's new boyfriend stealing his room and drinking all his ginger ale.

He was trying to concentrate on his English assignment when a loud clang coming from the kitchen made his ears ring. "Perfect. When did my life turn into a dysfunctional sitcom?" He sighed, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, and padded to the kitchen, where Andy was standing at the counter, looking down at the two pans that had crashed to the floor.

"I'm sorry Rusty, I was looking for a cookie sheet, but I'm not supposed to lift my arms and trying to get these down without moving too much didn't work very well, apparently." He said, barely concealed frustration seeping into his words. At least he'd waited for help before he could do any more damage, Rusty thought as he picked up and rearranged the pans so that, hopefully, Sharon would not notice they had ever been misplaced.

"And why would you need a cookie sheet, Lieutenant?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Andy shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe. "I guess I wanted to make something for Sharon, I'm going stir-crazy in here, lounging on the couch all day like a sick old man!"

But you ARE a sick old man! The thought roared in Rusty's head, but he curbed his frustration. He reminded himself that he liked the guy, and that his mother had grown quite attached to him.

"Look, if you want to get Sharon cookies, I'll drive to the bakery and buy the ones she likes, ok? But you're not supposed to do anything that may move the clot. Like, mixing dough or bending over to put stuff in the oven. Geez, you know that if she finds out, she'll have both our asses. And heaven forbid, if anything happens to you while you're baking, she'll still have our asses and I assure you, Lieutenant, it will be awful for everybody involved."

He seemed to ponder his words for a moment, and then he saw him grit his teeth. "But if I watch another minute of Friends I'm going to go on a damn rampage and then Sharon will have an actual reason to get angry at me."

Rusty huffed. "Then don't watch TV! Do your breathing exercises, listen to some music, learn Portuguese! Sharon said you could use her Kindle and buy something new if there was nothing on it you liked." He gestured towards the living room table, where the reader lay abandoned close to a flower vase. "If you let me finish my assignment first we can play chess. Or whatever."

Again, Flynn didn't look very convinced. Rusty could see him clenching and unclenching his fists in his robe pockets. Which he wasn't supposed to do, but Rusty thought better than telling him, least he worked his blood pressure up to dangerous levels.

"Look," he said, in a placating tone. "I understand you are frustrated. I was in your situation when I started out with you guys, right? There was always someone on my heels, I couldn't do anything on my own – remember? I was a pain in you guys' asses. But all of that, even if I didn't realize it at the time, was for my own good. And all of this is for your own good now. And," he added, pointing his finger at the Lieutenant, "you know how much Sharon worries. So, no need to make her more anxious than she needs to be."

Flynn snorted, sarcastically. "Says you."

That was the last straw. "That's it." He said threateningly as he fished his phone out of his pocket. "I'm calling Patrice."