A/N: I'd planned to post this last night, but couldn't decide how to parse the next few scenes into chapters, so that took a while to figure out... This chapter focuses mostly on Sharon's reactions (and of course the fallout with Emma), but we'll see more of Rusty doing his best to handle things in the next one.

Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story!

No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (7)

Ten minutes earlier...

Sharon had pulled over a chair and sat down to face him, her hands folded in her lap. Her sad, thoughtful look only made the knot in his stomach tighten.

It wasn't her fault. He'd repeated that to himself a dozen times. What was going on wasn't Sharon's fault. He could tell she was unhappy about it too, not that that made him feel any better. If anything it made him feel worse, because now both of them were sad and yet they still didn't have a choice and that was all so unfair that he couldn't not be angry! Why, why, why did those letters have to come? Why was Emma being so unreasonable? Why couldn't anyone see that he was just fine where he was?

"Rusty, I…" Sharon took a shaky breath, and her eyes were bright, and his shoulders hunched defensively because he just didn't want to hear what she had to say. "I need to ask you to do something, and…" she sighed, "…I know it'll be inconvenient, but please consider it anyway."

How could he say anything when she looked at him like that? Her hands tightened nervously on her lap, and for some reason even that made him angry, because it made him feel bad because it wasn't. her. fault. Or maybe it was…if she hadn't offered her apartment and given him all that… stuff, and made him think it was all going to be okay, then it wouldn't feel so awful now that it was all being taken away.

She should have known better.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead he just stared back in gloomy silence.

"It's…" Another false start, and Sharon shook her head tiredly and apologized. She gave him a sad kind of smile. "I got a phone call earlier…"

He clenched his fingers on the edges of the chair, and couldn't stop himself: "So this is it. They're making me go away. After everything!"

"Wha – no, no, Rusty," she shook her head, her voice hoarse, "this has nothing to do with that. God…" She took a deep breath. "No, I… The phone call was from my brother, Paul. My father…" she closed her eyes briefly, "passed away last night."

Whatever he'd expected, that wasn't even close – her words threw him completely. His eyes widened and his anger melted away so abruptly that it nearly left him breathless.

This wasn't about him at all.

And he had no idea what to do.

"I need to fly up to Minnesota for a few days," Sharon continued in the same forcedly emotionless tone, "and I'd prefer it if you came with me." That she looked almost pleading only added to his growing horror. "I know it's not what you want on your first week of senior year, and it will cause you to miss school and your next chess match, but I'd feel better knowing that –"

"Okay!" he blurted. "Okay, sure, fine! Whatever you want. Sharon –" Again he didn't know what to say. "I really don't mind. We can go whenever. I'll get my homework from my friends. Okay? Really." He shook his head, horrified at the whole situation. "Not a problem. Whatever you… say."

Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she gave him a thankful smile. "Okay. Thank you. I'm sor–"

"No! I mean – it's fine. I'm – I'm sorry." He was holding his hands up almost defensively, and he didn't really know what to do with them. When he opened his mouth to say something else, once more he couldn't think of anything, and he was almost grateful when Sharon wearily asked him to give her a few moments to make some phone calls in private.

Now...

Back when he was a commander, Russell Taylor used to view the office of the Assistant Chief of Police as a haven of sorts, a quiet retreat from which the privileged leader could peacefully observe and process the operations of his divisions, while avoiding the craziness that buzzed constantly on every floor of the building.

About two days into taking his much-coveted promotion, however, he had come to recognize the office for what it really was: the place where the nastiest conflicts, the ones that couldn't be resolved anywhere lower in the hierarchy, came to nest.

Chief Pope had suggestively left a bottle of antacids on the corner of the desk the day he'd moved out, and flippantly advised Taylor not to throw them away. Now, he was glad he hadn't. Because his office at the moment was certainly not quiet and anything but peaceful. It was a damn battlefield.

DDA Rios had both palms down on one side of his desk, and an impatient expression. "Look, I'm very sorry, I am," she said for the fourth time. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy here but these two things are completely unconnected! Of course you should go home and be with your family, but Rusty can't leave our jurisdiction."

"He is not a prisoner, he is a witness." Mirroring the same stance at the other end of his desk, Captain Raydor looked to have reached the limits of her patience.

"A witness under credible threat," Rios countered. "A witness who is a flight risk! And you want to take him to Minnesota?"

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to, DDA Rios," she enunciated.

Sadly the woman's hand wave looked more dismissive than apologetic. "Of course, I'm sorry. I know. But – all the more arguments against this. You wouldn't be able to focus on Rusty and his safety – and you shouldn't have to! I'm sorry," she pre-empted another protest from the Captain, "but this is non-negotiable. It's just completely unacceptable for him to make this trip with you. I'll call the Broades…"

"Absolutely not," Sharon forbade. "Rusty has made it very clear that he does not wish to be placed with them."

"So we'll call it temporary!" Emma looked so thrilled at the sudden insight that Taylor almost cringed. "While you're away. It'll be a great chance to get adjusted to the new surroundings, and then we can transition into –"

"Excuse me," Sharon said icily, "but this is a teenage boy you're talking about," her eyes shot sparks, "not a shelter dog you can just transplant into a new home whenever you think it suits you."

The younger woman crossed her arms in a clearly uncompromising gesture. "Call it what you want, but you can't take him out of California. I'm sorry."

There was a long, tense silence, then the Captain let out a long, slow breath. "He can stay with Lieutenant Flynn while I'm gone," she conceded, "or Lieutenant Provenza. Either of them is more than suitable to protect –"

But Emma just shook her head. "No." She cleared her throat. "Look, I know you can't be objective on this, and I'm doing my best to understand, but this situation has a very simple solution." She lifted her chin. "You should just… fly home, be with your family, and let me worry about Rusty's situation. It's for the best."

While the DDA spoke, Raydor's expression had grown more and more disdainful. "I disagree," she said coldly when the younger woman was done, and in a move that Taylor had been dreading, she turned a silently expecting gaze on him. "Chief–"

"It's not up to Chief Taylor," DDA Rios said plainly.

"It's not up to you, either."

"Your temporary guardianship status stipulates that you need permission from the DCFS to take –"

"I know very well what the laws are, DDA Rios," Sharon growled lowly, "I've been enforcing them a lot longer than you've been throwing them around in court...!"

Emma's expression darkened. "Then you know DCFS will never give permission for this. They know Rusty's a special case, and they consult with me, and I'll explain just like I have to you that the best thing to do given your absence is begin to familiarize the boy with the Broades…"

When the older woman couldn't contain a shaky sigh of exasperation, her hand gripping the edge of his desk hard enough to turn her knuckles white, Taylor decided it was best to step in.

"Look, Captain Raydor," he said soothingly, "I have to agree with the DDA Rios here… this is not what you want to be worrying about right now." He tried for his most understanding look. "Please take your week off, and when you're back we can discuss this again…"

But again, Sharon knew all too well, possession was nine tenths of ownership – by the time she'd be back, things would already be too far gone to fix.

Obviously thinking the same thing, Emma nodded encouragingly. "That's right. It's only temporary."

Sharon's soft voice had a menacing note of warning: "I am not a child, DDA Rios," she said slowly. "And that line won't work on Rusty any better than it works on me." As the phone on his desk rang, she turned a pleading look to Taylor. "Please give me a little time to find another… acceptable… solution."

"There is no other –"

"Fine," the Chief immediately agreed, cutting Rios off. "Of course. Let's all think about it until tomorrow morning, and then we can see what the best arrangement is."

Emma pursed her lips, but at least she knew that tomorrow she would hold all the cards just as she did today. Then a thought occurred to her. "If you try to take him away without permission –"

Sharon's eyes flashed in hot anger, but before she could reply…

"DDA Rios!" Taylor's usual honeyed tone had taken on a clearly displeased note. "Captain Raydor has already made clear to you that she knows the law, and I can vouch for the truth of that," he said warningly. "I know you're dedicated to solving this situation, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't unnecessarily insult my people in the process."

Emma wisely backed down. "I didn't mean any offense," she said with a slight nod in the other woman's direction.

Sharon only returned a cold look. "Excuse me," she murmured slowly, then dipped her head slightly at Taylor. "Chief." And at his silent nod she turned on her heels and walked out.

It was barely three-thirty, but it felt as though the day had been a year long.

It took reading the first paragraph of the SIS report three times before Sharon realized she wasn't processing any of it. Her thoughts just kept straying elsewhere, fevered, disorganized and hectic. But she had to get through the report for the 6 o'clock press release, and putting it off didn't fix anything. At the end of the day she'd still have to go home and find a way to restore some sense of order to the escalating turmoil that the last few days had brought about.

She wasn't even sure she could rein it all in anymore.

Her eyes absently flickered to the phone next to her on the counter, its screen blank and quiet.

She hadn't been able to get a hold of her daughter yet. She hadn't even tried her son; he'd once asked her to only call in the evenings unless it was an emergency… and however Sharon felt about it, this wasn't an emergency. It could wait a few hours. She'd call Ricky from home, even though she dreaded giving him the news. How could she tell her children, when her own mind just refused to wrap around it? Her thoughts ricocheted wildly whenever she tried to settle down and really process what had happened.

Probably for the best, because once the numbness faded and the reality of it truly sunk in, the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere in public, let alone at her workplace. So she kept pushing the thoughts back, delaying the inevitable until she could get home and … think about it.

Only there was so much more to think about, too.

Her mind went back to the conversation in Taylor's office, and an involuntary gasp of indignation escaped her lips. That that whole discussion had even had to happen was unbelievable. That DDA Rios had picked this time to stake out her claim… Sharon couldn't have imagined it in a thousand years, and it made her angry, outraged, and at the same time it made her desperate.

She knew she wasn't thinking straight, she tried to contain herself from making any bad decisions but the situation really had just about pushed her to the limits of her tolerance; as far as Emma Rios was concerned, reason and common sense were bowing out and all that was left was a deep loathing for the woman.

You should just… fly home…let me worry about Rusty's situation. It's for the best.

Sharon could feel her blood pressure rising at the mere memory of the patronizing suggestion, and unexpectedly a knot tightened in her throat and tears of frustration gathered abruptly in her eyes. And though she gripped the edges of the SIS report, took a deep breath and forced them back, she knew that it was really getting to her, this whole situation that was just so ridiculous, outrageous to the extreme and she still had to deal with it.

She'd called the DA's office. DCFS. Even Gavin, who had had a few choice words for her for being interrupted mid-consultation. The answer had been the same all around – their hands, and hers, were tied. The DA had given Emma full authority over the case, DCFS was legally bound to consult her regarding her witness, and both institutions were just about out of favors for Sharon, after the concerted efforts they had put in just to help her keep Rusty despite the letters fiasco.

And now if she tried to take him with her anyway, she'd be breaking the rules and handing Emma just the weapon she needed to get her material witness relocated to wherever she wanted.

But there were other solutions. Solutions that didn't involve doing to Rusty what he'd spent days pleading to be spared. She hated to leave him behind, thousands of miles away and in danger, but at the very least she'd try to find a way to do it right. The squad would look after him if she asked, and it wasn't as reassuring as having her eye on him but it was the next best thing. She wasn't throwing in the towel…

You said I didn't have to! You said I'd have a choice!

How is that fair!

Why is it so much to ask for nothing to happen?!

Sharon closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She'd seen Rusty's reaction the first time relocation had been suggested, and she'd seen him for the past few days, and she knew that moving him would do a lot more damage than anyone thought.

He was so angry. So uncertain. So young. She had to get that through to Emma, no matter what it took.

Only the woman wasn't listening. And Sharon didn't know what she could do about it.

Worse, as she felt her grip on her emotions slipping more with every passing second, the lines between what was proper and what was right and what was just plain crazy blurring fast, she was increasingly worried about what she would do about it.

She prayed that evening would give her enough time and peace to figure out the correct course of action, because right now she didn't really trust herself to do anything right anymore.

It was about half an hour later that she finally dropped off the SIS report and her own notes on it, and waved off Taylor's offer to go home and let someone else work on the press statement with (or for) him. His secretary worked nine-to-five, the LAPD PR consultant was eternally swamped, and while her own squad were excellent at their jobs and the top in their field, those jobs did not include dealing with public relations. A press statement written by Lt. Provenza was likely as not to get half the LAPD sued.

So Sharon took a seat across from the Chief and slowly helped compose a brief, coherent statement regarding what had happened to the serial killer that Provenza had rightfully dubbed 'worst houseguest ever'. And even as they thought of a way to phrase it so that the LAPD would come off looking good, she couldn't help but be struck once again by how unlikely Brandon North had been as a serial killer.

He was so young, too. Barely twenty-three, a year younger than her son even. And he'd shot himself in the head while on the phone with her. Because she'd let him say goodbye to his grandmother. And apologize.

She hadn't seen it coming, and she should have. Andy said she'd done everything right, but if that were true their killer, their twenty-three year old killer wouldn't have ended up on the living room floor in a pool of his own blood, and she and Taylor wouldn't be trying to spin that now. It was disgusting.

But it was what it was, and she better than anyone knew the value of presenting a good image to the public. So they completed their three-minute statement, and Taylor read it out loud to her a couple of times, his voice booming with that self-important note he loved to adopt when speaking to the press, and it sounded good enough to convince anyone that the LAPD had done a great job.

Anyone but Brandon North's grandmother, who would be watching the heartrending, sobbing apology of her dead grandson and wondering how things had gotten to where they were.

"You know you don't have to stay until after the press release." Taylor's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and Sharon looked up to see him standing a few feet away, having lowered his printed speech to give her a thoughtful look. "I don't imagine there will be any problems or questions about the conduct of your division. I'll even try to keep Major Crimes' name out of it altogether. There's no reason to wait around," he repeated. "Go home, Captain."

But she shook her head. "It was our case, Chief, and it's only right to wait until it's been fully wrapped up," she said softly, "and that means dealing with any fallout from the press, as well. And, it's procedure." After the debacle last year, they'd instated stricter rules about the responsibilities of division leaders, which included higher transparency and the responsibility to be available for open discussion following the resolution of a case. In her time with Major Crimes so far, none of their cases had ever needed to be questioned… but Sharon had a feeling this one might hit a more sensitive chord with the public.

"That it is." Taylor conceded her point with a few slow nods. "But feel free to change your mind. And," he added as an afterthought, "don't worry about the Robbery-Homicide case. Provenza can handle it just fine. I'll supervise."

That wasn't nearly as reassuring as the Chief probably thought it would be, but she knew it was a goodwill effort and took it as such.

Leaning against one of the counters in the break room, Sharon held her coffee mug with both hands, not only to enjoy the warmth it radiated but also to keep it secure despite the slight shaking of her fingers. She closed her eyes and inhaled the strong scent, willing her thoughts and emotions to stop their chaotic whirling and fall back into some semblance of order…

"Sharon?"

She startled enough to send a few drops over the rim, fortunately nothing drastic. But opening her eyes and summoning the energy for human interaction had seemed a herculean effort.

A few feet away, Andy was giving her a sympathetic look. Another time she may have found it embarrassing, or at least slightly uncomfortable, but at the moment she was just too tired to feel anything but a vague sort of gratitude. "How are you holding up?"

Her brow creased slightly, and her shoulders rose in a slight shrug. How, she didn't know, but she was holding up, because there were simply too many things to take care of to do otherwise.

"Shouldn't you go home? I can give you and the kid a ride."

She smiled. "Soon," she sighed, although she didn't know exactly what 'soon' meant in this case. There was still work to wrap up, for one, and she had to wait for the six o'clock press statement… but more importantly, she just wasn't ready yet to go home and…deal with anything. "And we won't need a ride, but thank you."

He didn't argue, settling instead for a few seconds of silence before his eyes softened compassionately again. "I'm sorry about your father."

The words were like a hot knife through her stomach, but she suppressed the slight flinch. She hadn't processed that yet. Hearing Andy say it just felt… alien. Wrong. Like there was some misunderstanding. It left her feeling as stunned as when her brother had first delivered the news earlier…

Sharon.

It's dad.

Sharon… he died last night.

Exhaling a slow breath, she nodded. "Thank you."

"You know that if there's anything you need, all you have to do is ask," he said earnestly. "Same goes for everyone."

"I know," Sharon said softly. "I appreciate it." But what she needed, they couldn't give her, although the quiet show of support did warm her up a little.

After a second, he asked with some caution: "How'd it go with Rios?"

Her hands tightened angrily around the mug, shifting it enough to cause some of the hot coffee to slosh onto her skin.

A/N: Next chapter will be slightly shorter, and it will finally conclude what must have been the worst Monday of Sharon's life. I considered putting it all in this one, but it was simply too much left, and there is still a major (thought not necessarily wise!) decision being made that deserved its own chapter anyway.

Thank you all so much for reading! And you know how I feel about your feedback ;).