A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing this. You guys are wonderful.

No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (11)

Ricky loved his mom, he really did, obviously he did but sometimes he couldn't say he felt the same about her decisions.

Granted, ninety percent of those times it would eventually turn out she'd been right (most of those had been during his puberty), and then some other times it would turn out that she was a free human being with the right to make her own calls independent of her kids' wishes (they were still coming to grips with that one). He suspected that the decision that bemused him now might fall into the latter category, but at the moment he was having a very hard time understanding what on Earth his mom was thinking.

Beyond that, he was also very unhappy with the fact that right after he'd inadvertently interrupted her conversation with her foster kid, his mom had been called away for the captain of homicide-something-or-other, and she'd left him and Randy alone! (Rudy? Ralphie? Damn it, Mom had said the name a dozen times on the phone, and then again just now…but Ricky's brain was on strike or something, because it just refused to offer it up).

Now, Ricky had been told, on occasion, that he'd inherited his father's (alleged) natural charm. He wasn't too sure, having rarely seen the man in action, but it was true that he usually found it pretty easy to make small talk with strangers. Katie had some trouble with that, Mom had a lot of trouble with it. But to him it usually came naturally, spontaneous words, light banter, the right thing to say to strangers.

Not so at the present moment.

Most of all he wanted to ask the boy what was going on, because he had a feeling that here, at last, he'd find the answers he was missing – which was most of them. But he couldn't find a way to bring it up, and starting a desperate interrogation out of the blue wasn't exactly a polite friendly overture. He'd have to at least try to lead in with something more appropriate.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather," the boy suddenly said, in a neutral, if slightly rushed, tone, fixing him with a guarded gaze.

"Thanks." Ricky sighed, not just at the reminder of what was going on and how urgent the situation, but also at the fact that there weren't a lot of light topics he could transition into from that. And if he didn't get the facts soon, there was no way to help Mom, and… that just wasn't an option at this point.

He sighed again. "Listen, kid –"

"I'm not a kid," the boy warned quietly, and Ricky paused.

"Fair enough. Uh–" He hesitated, and must have taken a moment too long to produce the right name, because the boy's eyebrows rose in an indignant expression.

"Seriously?" Then he seemed to catch himself. "Rusty," he provided without further commentary, and Ricky grimaced somewhat apologetically.

"Right. Sorry. Rusty." Suddenly launching straight into a Q&A seemed like pretty bad form; he sighed almost against his will. "Is there a vending machine or something around here? I could really use a soda…"

Rusty hesitated, looking suspicious again, but after a moment he just gave a small sort of half-shrug. "In the break room," he said, and got up from his seat to walk to the door. "Down the hall," he mumbled over his shoulder before going out of the room to presumably lead the way, without once checking whether Ricky was following.

Ricky sighed again. So much for that natural charm.

The whole soda excuse hadn't really helped matters along; they still stared at each other in awkward silence, except now instead of the conference room it was in the break room.

Ricky took about five times longer than usual to open his can of Coke, and tried again. "So… do you...watch any sports?" Ugh.

Rusty's eyebrows rose fractionally, almost as though the kid was silently mocking him. "Not really." He seemed to think for a moment, then let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Sometimes. If they're on TV."

"Are you on any varsity teams at school?"

"No."

This was not going well. "I was on the track team," Ricky offered.

And this time Rusty's eyebrows definitely arched in a dry manner."I know."

Which was unsettling for a moment, before Ricky remembered that this kid lived with his mom, and went to his school, and suddenly it was all unsettling for a whole different reason.

Somehow this situation had never sounded so weird over the phone. Or maybe Mom had just known how to spin it. But faced with the reality of things, the reality of this … stranger so inextricably weaved in his mom's life, in the know where he and Katie were out of the loop, present when they were elsewhere, in Mom's house, at her workplace, all the time, Ricky found it all just…

Scary.

But Mom had said she was doing the right thing.

But people made mistakes.

And he just knew so little about the whole situation, that it was impossible not to second-guess it. And this was his mom, his mom who was looking so worn today, so sorrowful and weary and who'd barely managed to get through a soup at lunch and who could hardly say a few words to him without getting tears in her eyes and… and now there was this kid, and a half-formed story Ricky just couldn't wrap his mind around, and he was beginning to understand why she'd said it was 'complicated'.

He only wished he could fix it for her.

Rusty was giving him a long, gloomy look from above his own can of Coke. "What exactly did Sharon tell you about me?" he asked suddenly.

He looked uncomfortable, which was at least one thing Ricky could relate to. "Uhm, that you're going to help put a criminal away... That you're staying with her until the trial…" Ricky shrugged, nodded to the boy's uniform. "That you're going to St. Joseph's, where by the way, don't get on Sister Mary Francis' bad side, if no one's told you that yet…"

But his attempt to lighten the mood didn't get through. "What else?" demanded Rusty, and Ricky felt taken aback by the insistence, and a little irritated.

"I don't know, nothing much," he couldn't help himself: "what's with the third degree?"

In truth, Mom had mentioned something about the boy's own mother having abandoned him at the Zoo, and how he'd not taken well to the foster family he'd been with before coming to her, and that he'd been through a lot. But no more details than that. And somehow, on the phone she'd made Rusty sound like a little boy – but what Ricky saw now was a nearly grown young man, and even though he tried not to think it, the thought came unbidden that if this kid ever wanted to hurt Mom, he'd stand a fair chance…

Ricky knew that if his mom could hear his thoughts, she'd be exceptionally displeased. But he still couldn't help it.

Rusty had his arms crossed defensively in his seat across the table. "She didn't tell you… other things." His tone was doubtful, and for good reason, and Ricky didn't like lying…

"Okay," he admitted, "she told us about your mom. I'm sorry about that." And he meant it too. Yet as the boy's expression darkened he felt a pang of concern: "If you're thinking to give Mom a hard time about telling us–"

"I'm not planning to!" Rusty sounded indignant, and scowled; but then he said in a more composed tone: "That's it? Nothing else?"

And this time Ricky recognized the insistence for what it was – anxiety, and he was taken aback once more. Nothing else? Wasn't that enough? What else was there? "What exactly are we talking about here?" he wanted to know.

But their conversation was abruptly derailed when someone else entered the break room.

Rusty felt ambushed, and he knew he didn't have a right to feel that way and that this wasn't about him, but he couldn't help it.

He didn't know why he'd been so surprised, after all when Sharon had asked him to go up to Minnesota with her obviously they were going to meet her kids. For the few hours that he'd actually thought he'd get to go, Rusty had run through a few (okay, a few dozen) scenarios in his head about what they might be like or how they might react to him, but this…

…this wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not now. Not here.

Here was his space, his shelter, the place where he was supposed to be safe, and then suddenly this stranger shows up with zero warning and Sharon just bails and … the guy hadn't even managed to remember Rusty's name, for god's sake! And there were the suspicious looks and the awkward conversation and Rusty just really wanted to hate him…

… but how could he hate Sharon's son?

Her expression had just been so happy when she'd looked at him. Even through the obvious weariness she'd radiated a quiet joy. It had been there in her easier smile, in the way her lips no longer pressed together painfully without her even noticing. In that light in her eyes that Rusty hadn't seen in days, and how could he even think about hating this Ricky if his presence alone was enough to bring the light back into Sharon's eyes?

No, Rusty couldn't hate her son. But he sure as hell couldn't like him either, even though he knew he should have... but this was a stranger who'd swept into Rusty's space uninvited (only it wasn't really his space, was it?), and there was no telling what he'd do, and it was all just too tense and sudden and weird… And anyway the guy wasn't exactly all warm and cuddly either, and that was fine with Rusty. He couldn't hate 'Ricky', and he couldn't like him, so all Rusty could do was be grateful to him, for Sharon.

And be nice.

He was definitely going to be nice. Even when Ricky forgot his name, or made stupid small talk, or looked at Rusty like he was some juvenile delinquent. Even (Rusty's jaw tensed) when Ricky looked at him like he'd try to … do something, to Sharon.

He'd be nice.

Then Emma showed up in the doorway to the break room.

The case and the joint task force were looking much better than they had this morning.

The carjackers hadn't been uncovered yet, but Buddy Hall had helped retrace the trail of one of the murder weapons, and the team would soon have another suspect in custody. There had also been some new evidence uncovered, and by some miracle (probably the absence of Lt. Collins, whom Provenza had summarily sent to stake out a suspicious garage), the remaining officers from all three divisions were collaborating somewhat more smoothly. She'd just finished a brief conversation with the Robbery-Homicide captain, and it had gone amiably on both sides, and he'd even offered further resources and the promise to reiterate to his people that Lt. Provenza was in charge.

All in all, Sharon was confident that things were going well, which helped her feel less guilty about the fact that she really didn't want to, wasn't able to be there anymore...

She knew she didn't have much time with Ricky (her heart constricted again at the thought of how soon he'd be leaving… and why), and all Sharon wanted was to take every second to spend with him, to soak up the joy of seeing him again after so long and arm herself against the inevitable low that she knew was coming. She couldn't even fathom how she'd get through the next day. How she'd be able to go one whole day, knowing that, thousands of miles away, her family gathered to say goodbye to her father… and that she couldn't. That she'd never have that, the chance to be there with them … to see him one last time…

A knot suddenly caught in her throat, and she had to clench her jaw as tears abruptly gathered in her eyes.

A light touch on her back made her turn, and there was Lt. Flynn, his body positioned to block her view of the rest of the room – and their view of her. His gaze was grave. "Go home, Sharon," he said softly, and she returned a small nod.

" – exactly are we talking about here?" Ricky was expecting an answer, but the entrance of a third person derailed his train of thought, and he was surprised but not displeased to recognize the young woman from the elevator. "Oh – hi!"

Having in turn noticed the two of them, Emma had paused uncertainly in the doorway, with a wary look.

Rusty had pushed his seat back and gotten up, his own look even warier.

Between them, Ricky just looked slightly confused.

Emma surveyed the situation for a moment, then decided it was safe enough to venture in, and returned his greeting: "Hi."

That was enough for Rusty to turn a disbelieving look on Sharon's son: "You know her?"

"Uh…"

"Don't indulge him," she sighed, and to Rusty: "that's none of your business."

But the boy ignored her.

"You know Emma?"

"Emma?" Ricky arched his eyebrows at her. "Nice name."

"What – it is not a nice name – are you kidding me right now!" Rusty's jaw dropped at the flirty tone, his eyebrows flying into his hairline in irate indignation. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

"Whoa." The sudden shouting only made Ricky irritated at the unwarranted overreaction. "Uh, why don't you take it down a notch– "

"Yeah, good luck with that," Emma muttered with an irritated eye roll, which only turned Rusty's anger back to her:

"Don't you even – you're a horrible person for what you're doing to Sharon!"

That got Ricky's attention, his expression turning alarmed: "What?"

Emma crossed her arms. "Listen, kid – "

"I'm not a kid!" He angrily threw his arms up in the air.

"Yeah, that's exactly what you are and you're acting like one!" she raised her own voice in return. "I don't know what ideas you've been getting lately, but you can't talk to me like this, okay?"

Rusty opened his mouth to shout back another retort, and stopped himself.

Just… be nice.

Don't yell.

Try to be good.

His teeth clenched together. How could he be nice, when she was standing right there, after everything she'd done, and everything that was going on, and now she was telling him how to act and what to do! Rusty wanted to be good but he just didn't know how, how was he supposed to react, what way was there to keep his mouth shut and just…take it?

Try to be good.

And so he tried, picking the only way he'd ever seen it done, and his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his eyes narrowed, and with the biggest effort he had ever made, he forced out a calm: "Excuse me." And left the break room without another word, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Emma groaned at the not-entirely-unfaithful impression of the Raydor cold shoulder. Great. Just what she wanted her star witness to be learning… so he could use it on her on the stand.

The young man from the elevator was giving her a perplexed stare. "Okay… what just happened here?"

"He's a material witness in one of my cases," she deadpanned.

He bit his lips. "Is he a material witness… for the opposite side…?"

Emma snorted humorlessly, "He might as well be, at this point." She growled in exasperation. "He and his so-called guardian are trying to ruin my case! I can't believe this…" She trailed off, taking a deep breath. "You know what, never mind. Forget it."

Yeah, right. Ricky wasn't letting this go if his life depended on it. "No, tell me…" He breathed, trying to sound casual. "What's wrong with his guardian?"

That elicited an involuntary groan from Emma. "That woman."

Lt. Flynn felt an unexpected pang of relief when the Captain nodded in response to his advice (plea, really) to finally go home. He didn't know how she'd carried on for two days, but it was clear she was at the end of the rope. Not that he could blame her, because he couldn't even imagine dealing with a similarly impossible scenario. Damned if you do, damned if you don't…there just wasn't any right answer. His heart went out to her for being forced to choose.

As Provenza had put it, a nasty situation.

And it had clearly worn her down to the last of her reserves. If her son hadn't shown up, for which Flynn could've given him a medal, the day might have gone a lot differently – a lot worse. But even with the extra boost to her spirits she'd still been teetering too close to the edge all day, and when he'd seen her eyes fill with tears right there in the murder room, he'd decided it was past time to say something.

That she'd agreed to go home had reassured him somewhat, and knowing she wouldn't be alone reassured him even more.

Then from the corner of his eye he noticed Rusty stalk back into the room, obviously angry. And for the second time in two days, he couldn't properly hide his reaction because the Captain read it on his face, and she took a step to the side to see around him. Her expression grew immediately concerned.

She hurried over to the boy. "What is it? What happened?"

He looked distressed. "Nothing. It's fine." His tone was almost pleading, and then he blurted, "I'm sorry!"

All of which, of course, only increased the Captain's alarm. "Where's Ricky?" She glanced into the conference room, then her office, and as far as she could see down the corridor. "Rusty, what happened?"

"Nothing," the boy hurried to assure. "He's fine. He's in the break room – no, Sharon don't go in there!" His tone was almost desperate and he even sort of half-stepped into her path. "Please, just, everything's fine…" But his nervous, pleading look only worried her more, and Rusty felt awful when she headed over anyway, followed by Lt. Flynn; he didn't even know whether to go after them or not.

Sharon was both mildly alarmed and mildly reassured when she noticed Chief Taylor standing a few feet from the break room, shaking his head to himself. On the one hand, that hardly indicated that something urgent had happened… but on the other, why was the Assistant Chief of Police looking so grim and where was her son?

"Chief. What's happening?"

And the man sighed. "A trainwreck. Don't worry," he told her, "your son's not the one causing it."

With that completely uninformative answer, she headed into the break room herself, and couldn't help a pang of distress at the sight of Emma Rios. The blood rushed involuntarily to her face.

At least there didn't seem to be any damage, but Ricky had that tense line to his mouth that only happened when he was upset, and suddenly Sharon couldn't believe that this woman had the nerve to make her son unhappy, too! Her eyes flashed with anger.

Emma went on the defensive at her expression: "I didn't say anything to Rusty," she protested, "he just flew off at me – as if I needed more evidence that this whole situation is out of control…"

Sharon's eyes narrowed, but her heart did slow down a little when Ricky, who had stood up the second he'd seen her, walked over with a reassuring look in his eyes. "Everything's fine, don't worry. Emma," he explained at his mom's questioning expression, "was just telling me the story of a heroic attorney's struggles to win a big profile case despite overwhelming adversity." He pause to give the DDA a dry glance. "I think it was called 'how to lose friends and alienate people'."

Flynn snorted.

"Hey!" Emma looked indignant. "What's your problem all of a sudden?"

"Okay, that's enough," Sharon still felt confused by the whole exchange, but she'd lost her patience. "DDA Rios, I'd appreciate it if you stopped terrorizing Rusty every time you see him and in addition to that," she spoke the words more forcefully to preempt the woman's interruption, "I'd thank you to not raise your voice at my son. Given your recent propensity toward lengthy discourses on professionalism," she finished icily, "I think you'll find my requests more than reasonable."

And when the younger woman didn't make an immediate reply, she was only too happy to turn on her heels and leave the room, her son silently accompanying her with only one last, discrete, glare in the direction of the DDA.

Emma, of course, hadn't processed anything past the Captain's second request, and her jaw dropped as understanding dawned; she closed her eyes in brief horror. "Oh god." She let her head fall back, hands covering her face.

A few second later, she heard a shuffle and noticed Chief Taylor leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head.

"How long have you been there?" she asked in resignation.

"Long enough."

"Why didn't you stop me, tell me who he was!"

And Taylor arched an eyebrow. "Before you picked the poor boy to use him as a convenient outlet for your frustration, DDA Rios," he said smoothly, "did it not occur to you to even ask his name?"

Emma groaned again. The capacity to ruin her day clearly ran in the Raydor family – foster and natural alike.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," Sharon murmured as they made their way back to the squad room, "today hasn't been the most relaxing day around here…"

"Wasn't expecting it to be," Ricky replied, a little absently. His brow furrowed in concentration as he was still processing everything he'd learned; about a hundred solutions occurred to him, but none that his Mom would accept. He understood now why she thought her hands were tied.

But to give up…?

She'd be heartbroken.

The source of all the complications was waiting by one of the desks in the squad room, and when they approached, his shoulders slumped.

"Sharon – I'm sorry… about what happened in the break room."

And Ricky mentally sighed, because of course the kid would be looking all miserable and making it all the more difficult to find that much fault with him.

His mom let out a long sigh. "Rusty, I don't know exactly what happened between you and DDA Rios," she admitted tiredly, "but extrapolating on the base of many, many previous interactions, I'm going to risk making the statement that you have nothing to apologize for. Okay?" She squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Now give me a moment to get my things, and we can go home."

Both young men followed her with a long gaze as she walked back to her office, then they automatically glanced at each other.

Ricky wondered what his mom saw when she looked at Rusty.

Rusty wondered if his mom would ever look at him the way Sharon looked at Ricky.

Uncle P just called back. Grandma said OK. It's done.

A shiver went through Ricky as he read his sister's text.

After seeing Mom all day today, he couldn't envision not fixing this for her. They knew, they knew that grandpa's funeral wasn't about her, but it was so wrong for her not to be there…

Ricky rubbed both hands against his cheeks and shifted his body, sinking deeper into the couch pillows. There was no going back from what they'd done. His eyes involuntarily glanced at the clock, which showed just after four-thirty p.m., and he realized they had only hours left to find a way.

OK. will try to call soon. Get creative? ?

He looked toward the kitchen, where Rusty was silently pulling out some plates for when the food delivery arrived. Mom was still changing in her bedroom. The whole house had a heavy air about it… and Ricky had no idea what to do.

There were so many problems and obstacles in place, he didn't even know which one to deal with first.

A light knock on his door caught his attention, but Rusty didn't want to open. It was either Sharon, and he was afraid of accidentally saying something to upset her, or it was Ricky and Rusty just plain wanted as little to do with him as possible. He still felt awful about that, but he just couldn't figure out any other way to feel, and he didn't know what his place was in this whole scheme of things, and it was all just too complicated.

That's why he'd holed up in his bedroom right after dinner in the first place. He'd also been hoping to give Sharon the time with her son that he was sure she wanted. He only wanted to be left alone.

Only now it looked like that wasn't happening.

When the first knock went unanswered, a second one followed, and Sharon's faint voice came through the door. "Rusty?"

"Come in," he called involuntarily.

At least he hadn't locked the door. She opened it, and from the doorway surveyed him with one of those looks of hers, and Rusty started squirming uncomfortably even though he hadn't done anything.

Sharon took another step inside the room, and he didn't want her to come closer, but at the same time she looked like she was barely standing, so he pushed his laptop away and scooted over to leave ample space at the end of the bed for her to sit. And when she did, it was with such a tired motion that Rusty began swearing to himself that he'd keep his mouth shut and only say whatever she wanted to hear.

Just… be nice. Don't yell.

Try to be good.

He didn't really know what Sharon wanted to hear, but he wanted very badly to say it to her.

Having perched at the end of his bed, she placed one hand against the bedspread and leaned slightly toward him. "Honey… I didn't get a chance to mention Ricky today. I didn't know he was coming."

It sounded like an apology, except she couldn't look quite apologetic because just saying her son's name still made her entire face light up.

And she shouldn't have been apologizing anyway.

He swallowed hard. "That's okay. That's great." And Sharon gave him that warm gaze that made his stomach tie up in knots. He automatically tried to scoot a little further, except there was no more room left.

She just kept fixing him with that tender gaze. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm great."

Sharon looked like she wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite put it into words, and so she just let out a soft sigh. "Alright, Rusty… if you're sure."

"Sharon…" He fidgeted again. "What… what do you…want me to do…?"

Did she want him to go and hang out with her son? Play nice? Or give the two of them time alone? Or something else entirely? He didn't know – he wanted to do it, whatever Sharon said, but he just needed to know what she wanted because he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

She gave him her affectionate smile: "Whatever you're comfortable with, Rusty," she said softly. "I just want you to be okay."

Which was exactly the kind of thing she'd say, but it wasn't really helping with his dilemma.

He stayed in his bedroom for a while longer, but left the door open, and from the living room their low voices drifted over, and he could even hear Sharon's soft chuckles every now and then, although, slowly, her interventions became rarer and Ricky's voice went on for longer and longer stretches, its inflections growing softer.

Sharon felt unreasonably angry at herself for being so tired.

She'd started to feel it soon after dinner, but having no intention to waste even a moment of her son's company, she'd fought it for a little while, and would have gone so far as to make herself a cup of coffee if Ricky hadn't noticed and loudly protested the idea of coffee at nearly eight p.m.. So she'd given that up, and drawn on her energy reserves as long as she could, rolling her shoulders and shifting her position and getting up for a few steps under pretexts of getting a glass of water or checking her phone… but even that wasn't working anymore.

Ricky's stories of his work and friends had kept her attention engaged, and normally she could've listened to him all night, but her body had just stopped cooperating. Curled on the couch beside him, she found herself listening more and making fewer and fewer comments, and was irritated when her eyelids kept fluttering closed.

"Mom…" She blinked heavily and heard her son's sigh. "Please go to sleep."

She waved it off again, of course.

"I'll be here in the morning," Ricky reminded her, then cursed himself because her expression sobered instantly, because of course the next day was Thursday, and he was an idiot. "It's okay…"

Sharon let out a long sigh, and swung her legs out from under her. "I'll get you some sheets and pillows."

But he put a hand on her arm. "I know where the closet is, Mom. Just go to bed."

"Honey, it's not that late and I'm not that old," she joked, and Ricky thought to try a different tactic:

"I'm tired… remember how I was driving over here at seven a.m.?"

But she only arched an eyebrow. "You're young, you'll get over it."

And they both smiled.

He finally managed to half-persuade her to at least move the conversation into her bedroom, and after she'd insisted to pull out a stack of sheets and blankets from the closet, and said goodnight to Rusty, she finally relented. Then there was nothing left to do but hold up his end of the bargain, until her eyes started to drift closed again, and still Ricky kept talking for a few minutes in a soft voice, before he pulled the light blanket up to her shoulder and kissed her temple. "Love you, Mom."

He switched off the lamp and went into the living room and picked up his phone.

He was scared. No matter how much of a brave front his mom was putting up, she couldn't bring herself to talk about grandpa, not more than a few words, and she couldn't get through ten seconds of conversation with grandma without adopting a heartbreakingly guilty look, and basically any time anyone in the family was mentioned, she'd break into frantic apologizing and torment herself over what she couldn't do.

He couldn't pretend to understand her reasons for her decision, but at the end of the day it wouldn't have mattered which way she'd decided - it didn't seem like she could forgive herself for making any choice in the first place.

They couldn't let her live with that.

And the whole family needed her with them this weekend.

And Ricky didn't care what Emma, or anyone else, said. If Sharon Raydor wanted to have it both ways, in this impossible, awful case, well then she damn very well would.

It was time for him and Katie to dive into the desperate end of the solution pool.

His eyes wandered to the spare bedroom, its door now firmly shut.

A/N: Next chapter, we'll get to officially meet Katie!

Thanks so much for reading, and you know how I feel about your feedback ;)!