A/N: Thanks so much for reading! And to those of you who review - I really, really appreciate all of you taking the time to write these amazing comments. They absolutely make my day.

So I know, I know that I said this chapter would get us through the funeral... but then it really would have grown to be like, 12,000 words. So instead, I split it in half, so now we get two bonus Andy scenes (in reply to your comments on family interactions you'd like to see, so thank you!) and the last scene, all of which would've otherwise been left out. And from now on I'm just not going to make any more forecasts about how this story evolves :P. Because honestly, the more I try to anticipate it, the more out of hand it gets - it's like one of Flynn & Provenza's suspect-escorting road trips!

No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (15)

" – and the kitchenette is at the end of the other hall and to the left, right by the back door. There are sandwiches and snacks in there... although, if you're hungry now, I can warm up some casserole…"

Andy hurried to shake his head. "That's okay, I'm not that hungry. Had a big lunch at the airport waiting for our flight…"

Katie gave him a quick glance as they headed down the hall, then spoke in a quiet tone: "Thank you, by the way." She met his eyes again. "For bringing Mom…"

"I didn't," he replied earnestly. "Just… tagged along, more or less." Even he didn't know why he'd done it exactly, but when they'd been at the airport and Sharon had looked so stressed and conflicted after hearing that Rusty's flight had taken off, he just hadn't been able to imagine her going off alone, without even the time to go home and pack a suitcase. So he'd flashed his badge, spun some story to the airline employee and wrangled an extra seat, and he'd…tagged along.

More or less.

This time Sharon's daughter was giving him a slightly doubtful look that was eerily reminiscent of her mother, but she didn't ask for clarifications, saying instead, "Thanks anyway," with a small but sincere smile.

He liked her – in some ways she reminded him of his own daughter, probably because they must have been around the same age. In other ways, of course, she reminded him of Sharon. At first glance, she'd looked incredibly young and naïve, a little blithe and out of her depth…and then her brother had asked for help getting Andy settled, and Andy had witnessed Katie square out the situation in about three seconds flat, figuring out sleeping logistics and summoning an air mattress and other necessities seemingly out of thin air, and in the blink of an eye it was all done and she was asking him if he wanted dinner, too.

Ricky hadn't seemed surprised at all, and Andy had remembered that those two had managed to accomplish what the whole of Major Crimes had failed to do: they'd gotten Sharon to her father's funeral, and they'd taken on DDA Rios, Rusty's private catholic school, airport authorities and apparently even the Air Force to do it. So despite the innocuous appearance and slightly eccentric manner, clearly he shouldn't have been surprised to find Katie every bit as capable as her mother.

He could see Sharon in both her children. Maybe not physically, although her daughter's expressions were a faithful replica of her own, and her son's resemblance to a younger, better-looking Jack Raydor was mitigated by the green eyes and the high cheekbones that were all Sharon's. But no, he could mostly see her in the way they acted, in their gestures and their warmth and the way they were so polite and accommodating even though he was a complete stranger crashing a sorrowful moment in their lives and making extra work for them.

It wasn't his place to feel that way, but nonetheless he felt incredibly proud for Sharon, because of how good her children were, and how evident her influence on them. Which of course came as no surprise whatsoever, because all of them on the team had seen her with Rusty for nearly a year. That Sharon Raydor was a good mother was no longer news to anyone.

Andy prayed that the kid could stay with her, because there were good things in his future if he did. And he knew it went both ways, too … but the thought wasn't as uplifting as it should've been because there was too much threatening that relationship, and it was likely as not to end in heartbreak for everyone involved...

"Are you sure you don't want to take Ricky up on his offer? He really doesn't mind sleeping in the study, and you'd probably be a little more comfortable in an actual bed…"

Katie's words startled him out of his thoughts, and he was a little surprised to notice that they'd moved into a totally different part of the house and he'd missed it, so lost had he been in his contemplations.

"Er – no, thanks, don't worry about it." He gave her an easy nod. "And I'm sure the air mattress is fine…hey, I've slept on a lot worse on stakeouts."

Katie gave him a funny sideways glance that again reminded him of Sharon. As did her next words: "I'm not an expert here, but isn't it kind of the point of stakeouts that you don't fall asleep, Lieutenant…?"

And he had to chuckle. "Don't tell your mother."

They found Sharon in the kitchenette, unexpectedly, her voice having drifted down to them before they'd even reached the room, causing Katie to instinctively pick up the pace.

" – sure I can't tempt you with a sandwich?" Andy hadn't recognized the first voice: it had sounded somewhat young, and had a faint sort of accent that he couldn't exactly place, not quite southern, not quite mid-western.

"I think coffee is enough for now, thank you," that had been Sharon's voice, and hearing her words Katie had let out a soft, unwilling huff that he could sympathize with.

"...how about some tea?"

They'd entered the room then, and Andy had identified the speaker as a young redhead, in her early thirties at most, and he wasn't sure but he thought she might have been related to the woman with the short grey hair sitting across from Sharon at the table.

Katie walked up behind her mother's chair and leaned over to circle both arms around Sharon's neck and kiss the top of her hair. "Tea sounds great, Jules," she said meaningfully, and Sharon leaned her head briefly against her daughter's arms in a quiet gesture of acquiescence. Then she turned her head and noticed him, and Andy was a little sad to see her body automatically tensing up the slightest bit, her expression schooled into something more neutral, her posture just a note more guarded.

He understood it, of course, but it still made him feel bad that his presence was stopping her from relaxing. Still he tried not to take it too personally, because it couldn't be helped: her work and family life were clearly separate entities, and no matter how close a friend anyone was, they'd have probably gotten the same reaction under the current circumstances…

And at least Sharon was giving him a small smile that said she was glad to see him. "Andy." Her voice still had the same tired quality from earlier. "I'm sorry for not checking in on you."

He suppressed a wry look, although she could probably read it in his expression anyway. "Don't worry, I've got everything I need," he tried to keep his tone light, "thanks to this young lady and her brother." He nodded in silent appreciation to Katie, who had straightened back up, although one hand was still resting on her mother's shoulder.

Sharon smiled up at her daughter. "Good. Oh –" she seemed to realize that he hadn't met the others."Andy – this is my sister, Stephanie," she indicated the older of the two, "and her daughter Julie. Lieutenant Flynn and I work together at the LAPD," she explained for their benefit."He was… kind enough to accompany me here." The last words were spoken with a small, grateful nod in his direction.

Katie retrieved a couple of tea mugs while he exchanged the common pleasantries with her aunt and cousin, and gave them his condolences. He noticed that Stephanie, too, had red-rimmed eyes and slight dark circles underneath. But her voice and movements were filled with an erratic kind of energy, almost as though she couldn't quite get herself to sit still.

And perhaps she couldn't: on the plane, Sharon had briefly mentioned that Stephanie had spent most of her life traveling, and although she hadn't gone into details as to where or why, Andy could definitely see how a kind of nomadic lifestyle would have suited the woman he saw in front of him now. She looked like a woman around fifty or so, but her general air was that of someone far younger and more unpredictable… between her and Julie, the daughter had the more restrained and mature manner, for sure.

" – you can take it upstairs, it's almost ten anyway…" Katie was back to coaxing her mother into (probably) getting some sleep, and it seemed that Sharon was considering giving in, although she did give him a questioning look that made him immediately hold up his hands.

"I'm all set," Andy hurried to assure her, "I've got a couple of phone calls to make, and then I know where to find my bed. Don't worry."

Sharon frowned slightly. "If you'd like some dinner…"

"I'll warm up something," Julie piped in. "I'm still sorting through what Mrs. Annie dropped by, anyway. I'll be happy to find you something, Lieutenant Flynn."

He really wasn't all that hungry, but further argument wasn't going to help anyone, so instead he nodded. "Thanks." He watched Sharon get up and reach for her tea mug, and gave her what he hoped was a supportive look. "Have a good night. Try to get some rest."

And she gave him that small smile of hers and said "Thank you," in a soft voice, and he could tell that she meant it in more ways than one, even though he really hadn't done that much, and certainly not more than she'd have done for him.

"I'll come up, too." Stephanie pushed her own chair back. "I want to check on Mom before we go to bed… Nice meeting you, Andy," she smiled a little absently. "Jules, I'll see you upstairs."

Julie hummed her agreement while she moved the electric tea kettle back to the counter, and she also wished Sharon and Katie a good night, and then it was just the two of them left in the kitchenette. Andy carried two empty water glasses to the sink, then he excused himself and pulled out his phone to dial Provenza, who earlier had grumbled his vehement and sarcastic disapproval at Andy's impromptu decision to accompany the Captain. He'd also informed Andy that he was an unequivocal idiot, and that when sticking his nose into the Captain's business backfired, he wasn't interested in being dragged into it and Andy had better not call him to complain.

Which had basically been Provenza's way of politely asking to be updated on the situation, and Flynn knew better than to do otherwise.

And he didn't even point out, when his partner's voice came on before the first ring had even ended, that for someone declaredly uninterested in hearing anything about it, Provenza sure had picked up the phone awfully fast.

Rusty couldn't sleep.

It came as no surprise: he'd known that would be the case from the moment Katie had decided on sleeping arrangements that had him sharing a room with her brother. It wasn't her fault, not really... and it wasn't even Ricky's fault, although he was the noisiest sleeper in the world – but then he could've been quiet as a tomb and Rusty still wouldn't have been able to let himself fall asleep. He was proud of himself for even managing just to stay quiet and keep his heartbeat under control.

It really wasn't as bad as he'd expected, though. Yes, he was too nervous to actually sleep, but all things considered, he wasn't freaking out too badly. Which actually was a little surprising, seeing as how just a few hours earlier he'd been about ready to make a desperate run for the woods. And that before he'd found himself in tight quarters, at night, in a foreign house, with a man he barely knew.

Yet now his anxiety was more a mild bubbling in the pit of his stomach than the encroaching dread from earlier in the afternoon. And although he tried not to think about it too much, he knew exactly why.

That afternoon, this had been just a creepily-somber, intimidatingly-huge house filled with foreign sounds and foreign smells and strangers.

Then Sharon had arrived. Suddenly it was her house, and those strangers were her family, and somehow everything imposing and weird and foreign didn't seem all that scary anymore. Oh, it was all still uncomfortable, and Rusty still felt awkward and superfluous and oh so uncertain, but at the same time the heavy dread had lifted and in some weird way, he felt okay about all the chaos.

He didn't even bother to wonder why that was, anymore. It was Sharon. Even though he hadn't even seen her yet, just knowing she was there made all the difference.

Even if he still didn't know where he stood with her, or how angry she was, or what would happen...

A loud creak in one of the walls made him jump, and Rusty reminded himself that this was an old house and of course everything squeaked and groaned. Especially in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep and everything else was quiet.

Too quiet.

Granted, the house was basically in the middle of the forest, but for someone who'd only ever known the constant racket of the city, the lack of noise pressed uncomfortably on the eardrums and every little sound seemed amplified tenfold. In the eerie silence, Rusty could hear water running through pipes, and some tree branches scraping against the window, and those awfully creepy creaks and cracks that kept coming out of the blue. It did unsettle him a little, and it certainly didn't help his agitated thoughts relax into any semblance of tranquility...

Still wide awake while the rest of the household slept, he felt his mind circle chaotically... Most often, of course, it came back to Sharon and her family, and what a constant source of confusion it was to see her like this, in this totally different world populated with people who related to her in a totally different way. And there were so many people, and so much Sharon shared with them, smiles and frustrations and secrets and unspoken signals, blood, relationships, years, a whole other life that he'd known almost nothing about.

If it was because she'd never told him, or he'd never asked, he couldn't guess. But it was all so complicated... and he simply couldn't understand how or where or even whether he could fit into all of it.

He had seen Sharon since her arrival, actually – twice, as a matter of fact, though neither time really counted. Briefly, on his way back upstairs earlier, he'd noticed her talking to her niece. They'd been about halfway down the other upstairs hallway, and then Sharon's sister had joined them, and of course Rusty hadn't been about to go butt into their conversation. He'd paused in his tracks for one second, but Sharon had been facing the opposite way and Stephanie and Julie hadn't been paying attention to him, and he'd finally made himself head quietly back into the room.

I thought I heard your voice. Sharon's sister had given her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Rusty had once again been struck by how little they resembled each other, lithe Stephanie with her short grey hair and tight-fitting yoga pants and shirt, and her quick speech and rapid flowing gestures, and Sharon, who in every way looked, sounded and moved differently...

I was just coming to see Mom.

She's asleep.

Sharon had seemed like she still wanted to proceed, but her sister and Julie must have eventually dissuaded her, because Rusty thought he'd heard the three of them walking back downstairs, although he wasn't entirely sure where they'd gone.

The second time, he'd just finished brushing his teeth and was heading back to the bedroom when he'd glimpsed Sharon right on the landing at the top of the staircase. Her sister and Katie had been with her, and they'd been talking to someone whom at first Rusty hadn't been able to see.

He'd noticed that she was still wearing the same outfit she'd arrived in – and really, how could he hold it against her that she hadn't come to find him, when she hadn't even taken a few minutes to go to her own room and change? At this point he felt more inclined to be angry about the latter than the former.

…don't need to worry about it, I'll go down and check it in a little while. He couldn't hear the conversation very well, but Sharon's tone had been soft, soothing, in a different way from the soft tone she used on him however, different from the one she used on Ricky or Katie, too.

But someone needs to turn on the pump and reset the cycle… every Thursday night … He'd heard the new voice, low and hoarse, and suddenly he'd known who Sharon was speaking to, even before the owner of the voice had come into his line of sight.

He'd instinctively taken a step back as he'd recognized the same slightly scary elderly woman he'd seen from a distance 's mother. Obviously not asleep any longer, she'd still been wearing the same all-black clothes, and looked every bit as small, frail and unsettling as before.

And she really did look a lot like Stephanie, and maybe even like Katie, a little. She only came up to Sharon's chin.

He'd lingered a moment longer in the hallway, to hear Sharon's voice, which at the moment he'd found so reassuring...

I know. Paul's already taken care of that. I'll take another look if you want, but I'm sure it's all fine.

Are you sure…? Does he know to set the basement switch…?

Whatever her mother had been worried about, she hadn't seemed to want to let it go; Stephanie had put a hand on her shoulder. Mom, who cares about the basement switch?

But…

Just forget about it… Stephanie had cut her off with a quick hug, and a string of her rapid, slightly garbled whispers had covered her mother's words, until the older woman's anxious voice had trailed off.

Rusty had hesitated only a few moments more, then retreated into the bedroom again. But the full scene he'd witnessed stayed with him. Even now, a few hours later, he wasn't able to entirely put it out of his mind.

Sharon hadn't hugged her mother.

He didn't think it was because she didn't want to. Even from a distance, Rusty had seen the way her body had shifted, angling slightly toward her mother, her arms uncrossing, her entire posture seemingly frozen just on the verge of reaching out. Surprised to find the motions familiar, he'd abruptly realized that Sharon did the same around him sometimes, and he wondered how he'd never recognized it before.

He wondered how her mother didn't see it, because once he'd become aware of it, it had looked plain as daylight that Sharon wanted to reach out and touch her, and was holding herself back. And he hadn't known what to think about that, except that admittedly the somber elderly woman, with her ramrod straight posture and the air of chilly detachment about her, didn't exactly seem like the warm and fuzzy PDA kind, and Sharon probably knew what she was doing and how to deal with her own mother...

But then, Stephanie had been constantly touching and patting the older woman, with an arm around her waist or her shoulders, and she'd hugged her mother, and the woman had willingly leaned into it, even though she'd made no overtures of the sort toward her older daughter.

Rusty didn't know just what to make of it, because literally the only experience he'd had with parents with more than one child had been Sharon with Ricky and Katie – somehow he couldn't imagine her acting the same way as her mother, but then really, what did he know?

For her part, Sharon had seemed content to stand by, although she'd wrapped her arms around herself, and she probably hadn't even realized she'd done it but Rusty's chest had tightened a little at the sight. Somehow, holding herself back while her mother allowed Stephanie to comfort her felt exactly like something Sharon would do, but it still felt unfair to him, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why the scene bothered him so. Maybe because from his angle it had looked too much like a very subtle sort of rejection.

Was that why she seemed to get him, sometimes?

The very notion of it pushed all his angry buttons, because of all the people in the world, there was no one who deserved that kind of crap less than Sharon. No one who deserved to be loved more, and… okay, alright, he was probably overthinking the thirty seconds' worth of interaction he'd seen, and obviously her mother must've loved her, but damn it, if the woman was going to love one kid more than the other, well then it should've been Sharon.

Rusty let out a muffled groan. This really was none of his business. Not his business how Sharon's mother felt about Sharon, or about Stephanie, or how she acted, or how Sharon felt about any of that, or … just… none of his business, any of it.

Except it bothered him anyway.

He knew he was probably reading too much into the whole thing, but he was so well acquainted with rejection and the constant uncertainty and weight of not knowing where one stood... and he simply refused to even consider Sharon feeling anything like that, because it made him sick just to think about it.

Your mother is the one who's losing out here...

Well, just for the record, in his opinion Sharon's mother didn't know what she was missing. And he felt bad for the elderly woman and everything, but really, she had no idea. And he'd gladly tell Sharon as much. Because she was doing everything right...

He heard a mattress creaking through the wall, and it must have been from Sharon's old bedroom next door, and Rusty wondered if she was sleeping or lying in her own bed, awake and anxious, as he did. He thought about Sharon's family, and all he'd seen of it in that one afternoon that had somehow felt so much longer. And he thought about his own mother, and how little he really knew about how real families worked, and he wondered whether he'd really ever have the chance to learn it all…

Sharon hadn't been able to fall asleep.

It wasn't that she wasn't tired, because she'd been in a constant state of exhaustion for days, and even just the effort of climbing up the staircase to her old bedroom and taking a shower had felt monumental. But after finishing her shower, changing into a pair of slacks and an old shirt, she'd sat down on the bed for one second and unintentionally drifted off for some little while, then she'd abruptly startled awake in the sudden darkness and hadn't been able to go back to sleep since.

So now she lay on her back, eyes open, keeping her breathing steady and feeling so exhausted and yet so completely awake that it was almost painful. She'd experienced that kind of sensation before, but closing her eyes and focusing on taking deep breaths usually worked, and she'd fall asleep after not too long.

Except this time, whenever she closed her eyes, the image of her father's face seemed etched on the inside of her eyelids, and the second she so much as blinked too slowly, it would come, unbidden, inexorable, causing the same wave of suffocating panic that she'd barely managed to keep at bay when she'd seen him earlier. She couldn't face it, and she couldn't make it stop no matter how much she tried, because every time, every single time she closed her eyes there it was... and so she'd given up and was simply staring out into the darkness, letting the sounds of the night and her daughter's soft breathing wash over her.

Katie was sleeping on her side, facing her, and Sharon had spent a good amount of time just watching her daughter's face, a soft smile playing on her lips; however bleak everything else seemed, those moments had still held a warm kind of peace that slowed down her frantic heartbeats and held the icy dread at bay. She could've done just that all night, and been content, if not for the fact that the fatigue was starting to impair her vision, causing flashes and odd shapes to play in the corners of her eyes as she tried to see in the growing darkness.

Whenever that happened, she'd tried to look away briefly, letting her gaze wander over the still-familiar contours of the room, but after a while even that didn't work anymore, and her eyes felt too dry and the shapes looked distorted. Even the walls seemed to move ever-so-slightly, giving her a vague sensation of vertigo. Which wasn't all that unusual given how tired she was, but it was also making her slightly nauseated.

She tried not to hold it against herself too much, but she did partly think that she wasn't putting enough effort into handling her emotions. She shouldn't have indulged herself into these kinds of psychosomatic reactions – she knew it was all just in her head and she was only making things worse by giving in and letting the dread and the numbness and the dark thoughts get the better of her. But it was a slippery slope because now she wasn't sure she could stop it anymore, and her body was just refusing to cooperate, with her heart beating too fast and her vision playing tricks on her and the queasiness and the slight pounding in her temples…

Sharon let out a slow breath, closed her eyes again, opened them a moment later and, sinking her head deeper into the pillow, admitted to herself that this wasn't working. If she didn't find a way to take a mental break, she didn't know what would happen the next day, and the last thing she wanted was to have finally made it all the way to her parents' house only to miss the funeral because she'd made herself sick. Part of her knew that her grief had been causing her to make a lot of questionable calls, but she didn't know how to stop it, or how to channel that grief into less harmful reactions…

Still she knew one thing, and that was that she had to get some sleep, or at least get some rest, and just sitting there waiting for it to happen was clearly not the way to go.

Cautiously, she slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb Katie, and made her way down the unlit hallway, grateful that she could still navigate the house in the dark without making any noise.

She'd left the lights off, the kitchenette lit only by the residual glow from the wall lamps along the downstairs hallway. It was enough light for her to be able to fill the electric kettle and plug it in, and Sharon leaned tiredly against the small counter as the water boiled. She didn't particularly think tea would help, but it couldn't hurt, and at least it might settle her stomach at little. When a thin wisp of steam began to rise from the kettle, she opened one of the drawers and felt around for the tea, pulling out a couple of small boxes. One in particular felt familiar, and she held it close to her face and inhaled the strong smell of chamomile, then reached up into a cabinet and got a mug.

She was just setting the mug down when she suddenly felt someone behind her, a long shadow seemingly come out of nowhere, and she startled so badly that the tea pack slipped out of her shaking fingers and the mug rattled loudly against the counter.

"Sorry – sorry, it's just me, Sharon!"

She closed her eyes briefly, one hand still gripping the edge of the counter while her heartbeat tried to return to normal.

"I – sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Rusty had retreated a few good feet back, looking almost scared to go any closer again. "I though you heard me."

Not quite ready to speak yet, Sharon just shook her head to indicate that she'd hadn't, and took another deep breath. "What are you doing awake?" she managed finally.

"Uh..." He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't think of a single plausible reason to be there; all of a sudden he felt a little overwhelmed, too. "I uhm..."

She pressed a hand to the base of her throat for a moment, and breathed out a little more calmly. "Do you need anything...?"

Rusty didn't know what to say to that, but he had a pretty good idea that there was only one thing to say at nearly 2 a.m. the day before her father's funeral, and it definitely didn't involve any of his needs. "No. Uh..." He swallowed.

Just say sorry, and be nice.

"Sharon..." In the dark, the house felt even more somber, the air heavy with the weight of a terrible loss, and he could smell the incense all the way here and how could he 'just say sorry' when there was just so much...

She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing for a moment, then she looked at him again. "What is it, Rusty?" She sounded so tired, with even the shortest sentences leaving her breathless. When he hesitated again with his reply, a frown creased her brow: "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

They'd been down this road before, a few days ago in her office, and maybe Rusty hadn't figured out how to talk to her or even what he wanted to say, but he'd at least learned to not make things worse again – and so he hurried to cut her off. "No –it's fine, it's just... weirdly quiet in Minnesota."

Usually she would've said something in return, maybe joked about him being a city kid or teenagers nowadays wanting to live with constant noise... but instead she only hummed softly in reply, and bent to retrieve the tea pack that she'd dropped.

He should've left her alone, he knew, but somehow he found himself speaking again: "Can I... have some of that tea, maybe? Like, if you made enough for two people?"

Sharon gave a small nod, turning around to pull another mug out of the cabinet. The water had started boiling by now, so she unplugged the kettle and poured hot water into both mugs, and opened the drawer again to get out another tea bag.

"Thanks," he said quietly when she handed him his tea, and again she just nodded imperceptibly.

He leaned against the fridge door, and watched her pick up her own mug with slow, deliberate movements, and she leaned against the counter again and inhaled deeply.

Seconds went by, and Sharon didn't move or look at him, and Rusty felt his stomach churning. Was she not talking to him because she was mad? It was too dark to see her expression well, but from her body posture and general manner she didn't seem mad, she just seemed... tired. But she did have reason to be mad, and Lt. Flynn had said that Rusty would have to work it out with her, but what if it was too late?

"Did you have dinner?" she asked, so softly that he almost had to strain to hear it. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Uh – Katie made us some sandwiches earlier... I'm not hungry." He'd anticipated the fleeting smile on Sharon's lips at the mention of her daughter, because she'd done that when talking about Ricky, too. Again he couldn't help thinking about how different that was from her mother's reaction, and how telling... And that in turn made him wonder about his own mother, and did she ever smile like that when she thought about him...or did she ever even think about him at all?

His fingers clenched around the hot mug, and he lowered his face into the rising steam.

A scraping sound let him know that Sharon had pulled out a chair, and he looked up to see her sitting down at the table, forehead resting tiredly against her joined fingertips. She stayed that way only for a moment, before lowering her hands to the table top and clasping them around her cup of tea. A little hesitantly, Rusty sat down in the chair across from her, propped both elbows on the table and started to drink his tea in silence, even though he didn't really like tea at all.

Twenty times he wanted to open his mouth and say something. Apologize for running off. Ask her what she needed, if she'd be okay. Tell her she was a better daughter than her sister, a better mother than her mother and ... He wanted so badly to say all of it but he stopped himself every time because none of it was enough, there were no words... and why wasn't she talking to him?

He wanted to at least tell her he was sorry for her loss, but somehow the words that came so easily for everyone else he'd met in her family got stuck in his throat before he could say them to her, because for Sharon, 'just say sorry' was too little, too insignificant, just... not good enough.

The tea ran out much too soon, long before Rusty could figure out anything, and Sharon waved him off when he moved to carry the mugs to the sink. He pretended to miss it, and was about to clean them anyway when she came up behind him. "Leave them," she said quietly. "I'll wash them."

"Sharon–"

"Go back to bed," she told him, stepping to take his place by the small sink, and as she proceeded to empty out the kettle and replace the tea box in a drawer, he was again overcome by the frustration of not being able to do anything for her, and she was standing right there and he wanted her to know and suddenly the need to reach out somehow, anyhow was just overwhelmingly strong, and...

"Go on upstairs, Rusty," Sharon urged again.

Rusty flinched, then swallowed hard.

"Yeah...okay." His voice sounded a little strangled to his own ears. "Thanks for the tea..."

"Goodnight," she wished him in the same soft murmur, and he didn't even know what to say back. It took her telling him to go for the third time until he finally made himself leave the kitchenette, and he nearly turned back a dozen times afterwards anyway. But he still couldn't find the words, and she was barely talking to him, and why keep imposing his presence on her if he couldn't do any good?

And it had been obvious that Sharon didn't need conversation anyway – she needed sleep, a break, and for the second time that week Rusty wished from all his heart that life would give breaks when they were needed.

At least her father's funeral was the next day, and for better or worse the stressful build-up would be over. Rusty had to think it would be for the better, because he couldn't imagine that things could get much more tense or draining. He'd never been to a funeral and the whole prospect unsettled him, but it was supposed to give the family closure, and that had to be a good thing, right?

He hoped Sharon would get her closure. And he really, really hoped that she'd get a break.

And somewhere at the back of his mind, though it made him feel terribly selfish, a small, young part of him also hoped that maybe after the funeral, things would eventually go back to what they'd been. Before the letters had been revealed, before Emma and her one-woman-war against him, before Sharon's terrible loss, before that whole godawful week that had only rained chaos and heartbreak on them. He just wanted things to go back to normal. For both of them.

Maybe after the next day, they'd be able to go back to where they'd been before.

A/N: No more forecasts at all. Next chapter will be a chapter. And it will have words in it (maybe), and it will probably have our favorite characters in it (maybe! unless someone steals them while I'm getting coffee.)

Thank you so much for reading and staying with this story. As always, I love your reviews ... more than Lt. Provenza loves his printer money-jar!