A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading, reviewing, following and adding this story to their favorites! I really love hearing from you guys.

This chapter officially brings this story to 100,000+ words, which is insane considering that when I started, it was at around 30,000 and I could've sworn that it was mostly done. (again - shows what i know.) And I wanted to post this chapter right before the finale airs, because it seemed like an appropriate symmetry ;) And also because I've run out of nails to bite off and tantrums to throw in anticipation of THIS EPISODE.

Thanks again for all your support!

(And last but not least, another bit of replying-to-reviews-in-the-chapter no-no: to my anon reviewer Ginny - thanks so much for taking the time to point that out :). It had actually crossed my mind over the last two chapters, and I'm working on it! It's a hard habit to shake, but I'm aware of it now, so I'll try to keep it to a more moderate level. Thanks again! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.)

No Such Things as a Perfect Family (21)

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh, then leaned back over the desk.

There were so many papers to go through. The family lawyer had dropped off another pile around late morning, and Sharon had spent a good hour with him, trying to figure out what needed to be filled out, and how, and by what date. After he'd left, she'd continued to pore over the documents on her own, and she must've lost track of time because it was nearly one p.m. now, and she hadn't moved from the chair in what felt like hours.

Her head hurt and her body was stiff, but she was determined to finish dealing with the paperwork . Her brother had already taken on so much by himself, and after the infernal week of dealing with all aspects of the funeral, he deserved a break. Sharon was glad that the lawyer had run into her first.

Well – glad for Paul's sake, because he'd done enough work on his own. Not so glad for herself, because not only were the papers excruciating to go through and every one a painful reminder of what she'd lost, but the lawyer wasn't exactly at the top of her list of favorite people.

He talked too much and he was arrogant and he'd spent most of their hour together hitting on her, to the point where Sharon had wanted to shoot him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, again." He'd put a hand on her arm and squeezed and lingered far too long, stepping into her personal space, and Sharon had suppressed the urge to flinch.

"Thank you." She'd quickly backed up, stepping around the desk to sit in her father's chair, and only when the desk was between the two of them did she make eye contact again. "And thank you for bringing the rest of the papers over on a Saturday."

"Oh, not at all, not at all." He'd waved a hand and sat down without invitation. "It was my pleasure. And I'm delighted at the chance to see you… please let me know if there's anything I can do for you during this difficult time. Anything at all."

Unbelievably, he'd reached across the desk to put a hand on her wrist. Sharon had stared at him in disbelief. She'd met the man maybe three times in her life, as he'd taken over her parents' affairs after their old lawyer and her father's long-time friend had retired (and subsequently passed on) only a few years prior. The rapport that had existed with their previous lawyer was definitely not there with this one, and his familiarity was inappropriate and unwelcome.

She'd offered a reserved smile and shaken off the unwanted contact by picking up one of the forms and focusing on its contents. "We already filed the certified copy of the death certificate with the county…?" As far as she knew, Paul had taken care of all of that in the days following their father's death.

"That was for the funeral arrangements," the lawyer had replied, "this is to avoid probate on most of the estate that your father owned jointly with your mother. We'll also need to file the affidavit of survivorship, and…"

There were so many forms. Even as the man had explained most of it, Sharon hadn't been able to entirely process it – and having to constantly fend off his overly intimate overtures hadn't helped her focus, either. In the end she'd cut the meeting short, and had been left with a pounding headache and a bleak mood as she continued to peruse the papers by herself for a long time afterwards.

The familiar scent of old wood and leather still lingered in the study, along with a faint note of the single malt whisky that her father favored; she breathed in and held it, unsurprised to find tears pooling in her eyes again. Under any other circumstances, if she'd come home to visit, she and her father would've inevitably ended up in the study one evening, him sipping slowly from his small glass, her swirling some chilled red wine because she just could not handle his smoky old whisky. He'd make fun of her and claim the strong spirits reminded him of his younger years, and she'd counter that red wine was the drink of kings… which of course gave him the perfect occasion to point out that she preferred white wine, and where did that leave her oh so aristocratic taste?

Then he'd laugh and take another sip from his glass, feeling that he'd once again won their little debate, and he'd generously concede that, for all her failure to appreciate the finer drinks, she did know her coffee, and no one else's was as good as the one she made him …

Sharon folded her legs under her in the chair, and hugged herself, head resting against the old leather as she tried to keep a rein on her emotions. They were running too close to the surface after the week she'd had, especially after the funeral on the previous day… She could barely think back on those moments by the fresh grave, Father Connelly's voice going through the last of the prayers and the chilly curtain of light rain enveloping the scene with a surreal haze…

Chin up, little girl… it's just a cup.

The memory of the words came to her abruptly. Words meant to cheer her up, a phrase her father had spoken to her countless times, even though it didn't make much sense out of context and long after she'd stopped being a little girl. His voice rang out in her head, the words rolling in a familiar cadence.

He said it when she was disgruntled over small things, and when she pouted as a child and teenager, and when she was genuinely sad, as well, he said it as a joke when she was overreacting and he said it as an opener those few times that she'd been so miserable that there were just no words to bring her comfort. She didn't fully remember the first time he'd said it, but the family consensus was that she'd been five or six and had managed to knock over a breakfast tray; her father's coffee mug had shattered against the stone floor, and she'd burst into hysterical tears for reasons that none of them could understand and that she couldn't remember.

It wasn't until her father had said those words to her that they'd succeeded in calming her down. Chin up, little girl… it's just a cup.

And it made no sense, really, because it wasn't as though there was any magic to those words in particular and she'd probably just been ready to stop crying by then, anyway… But the phrase had somehow stuck, and he'd said it to her again and again over the years, until it actually did gain some special meaning.

And now she'd never hear it again except in her head.

Sharon let out a truncated sigh, and passed a hand over the edge of the desk, where time and use had worn a collection of notches in the sturdy wood. If she tried really hard, she could remember a time when her father's desk had seemed impossibly large, back when her head had been at the same level as the desk top and she'd had to rise on tiptoes to reach most of the bookcase shelves and the armchairs had been spacious enough to comfortably curl into for a nap.

It all seemed so small now, and with her father gone the study itself looked empty.

Shifting in the chair, she blinked back tears again and turned back to the form she'd just filled out, fighting off another wave of tiredness as she tried to focus her attention on what was hopefully the last of the necessary paperwork…

" – really sorry to miss it, okay?" Lt. Flynn was speaking in a soft, apologetic voice. "Okay… good. Yeah…" There was a brief pause, then: "Uh…yeah, I'll… tell her," he cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. "Alright, Nicky, tell Daniel and the kids hello for me. Have a good time tomorrow – sorry again... Yeah. Love you. Bye."

He turned and looked a little surprised to see Rusty, who had just walked into the kitchenette.

"I was just gonna get a soda," the boy said instantly, a little too defensive maybe but seriously, this house made it impossible not to overhear everyone else's conversations...!

Luckily the lieutenant just shrugged and shook his head when Rusty reached for a can of Coke. "Those things'll kill you," he warned. "Did you ever read the ingredients list?"

That just earned him a crooked look. Then Rusty asked: "Is Nicky your daughter?"

And Andy found himself taken aback, because when had the kid ever wanted to know personal information before? "Yeah. Nicole," he confirmed.

"The one who got married like, a few weeks ago?"

He nodded. "She and her husband Daniel had invited me for brunch over at their house tomorrow, but…" He waved hand as if to say, 'given the circumstances…'

Rusty gave him a weird look, because come to think of it, why was Lt. Flynn here in Minnesota, especially if it meant that he was missing time with his daughter's family? He opened mouth to say something, but couldn't think of any way to put it, so instead he just asked: "Was she mad, that you'll miss brunch?"

"No." Andy returned a weird look of his own, because this was a lot of personable small talk for the kid. "She understands. She's not happy about it, but she understands… And I'll…make it up to them another time." A familiar phrase that made his stomach tighten just a bit.

A little more in-character, Rusty shrugged with a noncommittal hum, then fidgeted a little – after which he surprised the lieutenant again by asking: "How come they already have kids, but they just got married?"

The continued interest was still a bit baffling, but Andy decided to just go with it at this point. Maybe the kid was bored. "The boys are her husband's kids. He has full custody, so they live with him and Nicole."

"Oh… okay." Rusty wanted to ask more, like why did the father have sole custody and how did those kids feel about living with him and someone who wasn't their mother, but asking all those questions of Lt. Flynn would have felt pretty weird. "Sorry you'll miss seeing them this week," he offered instead.

Andy sighed. He was sorry too, especially since it didn't happen that often that he got to see his daughter without the less-than-welcoming presence of his ex-wife. But… "There's gonna be a next time. I hope," he couldn't help but mutter to himself under his breath, because although improving, things were still very much on shaky grounds with Nicole and he never knew just when he could take a wrong step and mess it all up again.

"Uh…yeah." Rusty shifted in his spot a little awkwardly. "I wouldn't uhm, worry about it."

"Who's worried," Flynn sighed again.

Rusty scratched the back of his head. "Look, Lieutenant…this isn't like, any of my business or anything…but I know a thing or two about parents not showing up for their kids," his eyebrows arched wryly, "pretty much an expert at that really… and… you're, like, one of the good guys." He shrugged, somewhat self-conscious. "I don't know what the deal is with you and your daughter, but at least you're trying and you care about missing that brunch and… that…like… totally counts," he finished awkwardly, then took another long gulp of Coke.

Andy stared at him.

"Anyway," Rusty mumbled, "I've got some uh, homework… so… yeah. I'll… see you later."

With that, he grabbed his soda and vanished from the kitchenette; his rushed departure left behind a floored LAPD lieutenant, because not only had that been the longest speech (that wasn't an angry rant, he qualified), but also possibly the single most considerate thing that Andy had ever heard come out of the kid's mouth, and he had no idea how that had happened exactly, but he even felt a little better about the whole brunch thing.

But seriously, what had just happened there?

"You know, when you hopped on that plane like the idiot you are, I thought I'd at least get a few days of peace and quiet." That was Provenza's way of saying hello. "Would you quit calling every two hours like a bored housewife?"

Really he'd only called once a day since they'd arrived in Minnesota, but Provenza was Provenza. "What can I say, I miss your sunny disposition," replied Flynn, knowing that his smirk could be heard on the other end of the line.

"Goodbye, Flynn," his partner growled pointedly.

"What are you complaining about? You're probably at work right now anyway," Flynn pointed out, "thought you'd be glad for the excuse to take a break."

There was a huff at the other end. "I pride myself on my finely honed capacity to avoid work," grumbled Provenza. "Especially on weekends. For your information, I'm not at the station. I happen to be having lunch with the ex-wife."

"Really. Which one?" Andy asked with a grin, even though there was really only one answer, and Provenza didn't even bother to give it.

"She says hello." Flynn could virtually hear the eye roll.

"Hello, Liz," he said pleasantly.

"Don't encourage her."

Andy grinned again.

"So did you call just to remind me why I should've asked for reassignment when we were first partnered together?" Provenza asked dryly. "Or is there an actual reason why you're interrupting me halfway through my overpriced steak?"

"How's the case going?" asked Andy; he'd been getting daily updates, not just to keep Sharon's mind at ease on that topic, but also because technically, he wasn't really supposed to be away from work, and this was the shady middle ground where he could at least claim to be in the loop and available to help…

"One down, one to go," said Provenza. "We're still looking for the second guy, but the first one's on his way to life in prison, courtesy of DDA Hobbs."

The mention of Hobbs brought another DDA to mind, and Andy's mood soured somewhat. "And how are things with… the other matter? Still quiet?" Provenza had told him that Rios wasn't going to pursue Rusty all the way to Minnesota, at least – but that didn't mean she planned to sit on her hands.

"Haven't seen 'the other matter' in days," replied the older lieutenant, "and such a fine, refreshing few days it's been. I could get used to this… maybe you could stay away, too?"

Andy rolled his eyes; his partner was in top form today. Probably because he'd interrupted the man's late lunch. "Alright, don't let it be said I can't take a hint," he said, carefully neutral. "Thanks for the update, I'll talk to you later. Goodbye."

"Flynn," Provenza rumbled warningly.

Andy bit his lips. "Yeah?"

"Don't be an asshole – wh – it's – excuse me," there was some indistinct shuffling from the other end of the line, and Flynn waited patiently to see the result. Finally Provenza's voice came back on, just as grumpy as before. "Damn woman. Apparently you're being mistreated. You don't feel that you're being mistreated, do you Flynn?"

"Of course not," he agreed solemnly.

"That's what I thought. Now stop wasting my time and finish telling me whatever it is you called to say, so I can go back to this steak. There's nothing I hate more than cold food."

Andy sighed. "Everything's fine here," he updated in his turn. "We booked early return flights for Monday morning, should get to L.A. by ten a.m. or so." He paused. "You're sure Rios won't have an armed escort waiting for us at the airport, right?"

There was a short hesitation on the other end. "Let me get back to you on that."

"Great…" Andy muttered. "Alright," he said again, "I'll leave you and Liz to your lunch th – actually , hold on," he remembered something else, suddenly, "any news on the threat letters? Did the lab find anything?"

This time, the disgruntlement in Provenza's voice was genuine. "Not a damn thing. There haven't been any new ones, at least, but we've got squat from the ones so far."

"Damn it." Not the news he was hoping for.

"No need to tell the Captain yet. She'll find out soon enough when she gets back." They were in complete agreement on this one, and Andy hummed his assent. "How's the kid?" Provenza asked after a few seconds.

Andy hesitated, his mind flashing back to the unexpectedly personal conversation he'd had earlier with Rusty. "Uh… good. I think. Yeah, he's… okay."

"You don't sound that sure."

"No, he's fine," Flynn reassured, "it's just… " Weird. Different. He had no idea how to put it. "Never mind. He's fine."

And he was. But between Rusty trying to play host the previous evening, to the scene at breakfast when he'd called Sharon out on not eating enough, to his sudden interest in Andy's missed brunch with Nicole, the boy was really showing a side that Andy had never really seen before.

He didn't think it was a wholly new side, either; most likely, he'd just never had the opportunity to notice it before, at the station. He knew Rusty was a good kid, sure, the occasional teenage slip notwithstanding, the huge idiotic letters screw-up really notwithstanding… and he knew that the kid cared about Sharon, but in all honesty Andy had sometimes thought that Sharon was putting a whole lot of love and effort into that relationship and getting a somewhat lukewarm deal in return.

It wasn't Rusty's fault really, he'd done a whole lot better than Andy (and anyone else but Sharon probably) would've credited him with, and he and Sharon had reached a great working arrangement, with the kid definitely living up to his end of the bargain. But Andy had thought that that was as good as Sharon was going to get, and not that he'd ever agree with Rios on anything, but…

"Remember when I told you that I thought the Captain was getting a little over-attached to the kid? …And you said she was probably just fattening him up to eat him?"

Provenza rumbled something unintelligible.

"Well…" Andy shook his head. "I'm starting to see how the over-attachment thing goes both ways."

Another undefined grunt.

"Let me guess: you'd call it Stockholm syndrome," Andy said dryly, because he knew exactly how his partner's mind worked; this time, there was a very distinct sigh at the other end of the line.

"If you called just to tell me what any half-blind idiot could've seen months ago," Provenza finally grumbled, "I'm making you pay for this now-cold steak."

And Flynn chuckled and made a comment about the man's stinginess and how he'd probably been planning to foist the bill on Liz, anyway.

But the older lieutenant's reply had confirmed his suspicions, and he wasn't entirely surprised that Provenza had seen it long before. They'd talked about it sometimes, Andy wondering where exactly the whole 'legal guardian' thing was going to go, his partner swearing up and down that he didn't care, and he had enough of Raydor and her issues in the murder room, would Andy please stop subjecting him to more of the same after hours?

But he'd never once agreed with Andy's views that Sharon was maybe a little overly optimistic about Rusty's attachment to her.

And after the week they'd all had, and after having a chance to see the kid at length outside the police station, Andy was forced to admit that he, himself, had been wrong on that count.

That Sharon had gone above and beyond with Rusty was obvious from the go, but it had taken a little shifting of perspective to see how the opposite was true, too. More than true. And maybe the kid didn't know it yet, and Sharon probably didn't see the extent of it, either, but it was oh so clear now that there was an awful lot in that relationship and all of it reciprocated.

Except now that he'd finally seen it, Andy had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Especially in view of what was waiting for them back in L.A., because he'd seen Rios on Thursday morning in the murder room and she'd looked about ready to summon an execution squad.

He hoped, whatever growing bond the Captain and the kid shared, that it would survive their return to L.A.

Sharon walked into Paul's old bedroom to find Rusty cross-legged on the bed, his algebra textbook open on his lap next to a heavily scribbled notebook. He looked up when he heard her, and there was an endearing twitch to his shoulders as though he suddenly tried to stand up straighter.

"Hey."

"Hi." Smiling, she took a few steps toward the bed, and nodded to his reading materials. "How's your homework going?"

Rusty glanced down at the book. "You know… the usual. Lots of numbers and formulas I'll probably never use again in my life… and I know they're like, 'the basis for logic' and everything," he quoted, causing a small smile to bloom on Sharon's lips, "and useful and whatever… but for the record, having more unknown variables than equations doesn't seem very logical to me. Like, what is even the point of that?"

He caught her amused look and cleared his throat, ending his unintentional rant (but seriously, algebra sucked!). "Uhm. Did you need anything?"

Sharon smiled again and folded her arms. " I wanted to ask you if you'd like to join everyone downstairs for dinner tonight. It's the first time we'll all really get to sit down for a proper meal…" Her gaze softened at the way his body tensed almost imperceptibly, but he only hesitated for a second:

"Uh – okay. Sure. Now…?" He shifted hesitantly, preparing to get up, but Sharon shook her head.

"No, it's not ready yet. It'll be another hour or so, maybe even a little longer." She nodded to the open textbook. "You can keep working on your homework if you want, I'll come get you when it's time to eat."

"Okay," Rusty agreed again, having decided that that was the best way to handle her suggestions at the moment.

"Or…" Sharon hesitated.

"Or…?" There was an 'or'?

She walked over to the window and glanced outside; it was nearly five p.m. and the afternoon light was dimming, but the sun was still a way from setting. "I need to go over to my brother's house to drop off some papers and pick up a few things," she said, then turned back to him. "I was going to drive over, but then I thought it was nice enough out to walk. If you've had enough algebra for now, you can join me – if you'd like."

His eyes widened. "If I'd – yes!" Book and notebook were pushed aside in one swift move. "Now?"

Sharon smiled at his enthusiastic response, though her amusement was mixed with a note of chagrin – he'd been cooped up inside for over two days, most of it probably spent in the small bedroom, and it had taken her long enough to realize that he was probably hating every second of it.

He hadn't said a single word to complain.

Her lips pressed together a little painfully. "Let's find you a jacket or a sweater," she suggested, walking over to open the wardrobe in the corner. "September gets a lot colder here than in L.A…"

It didn't all quite work out as planned, though.

They'd gone out the back door, Rusty wrapped up in an oversized jacket that had once belonged to Paul (the sleeves of which went past his fingers by several inches), Sharon wearing an old fleece sweater that she claimed was warm enough – even though it looked a lot like the ones she had at home and how warm could those be if she wore them in their seventy-four-degree apartment?

But he'd been too excited to finally be out of the house, on foot, somewhere where he didn't have to look over his shoulder, without the constant security woes and that 'twenty four hour adult supervision' that he hated so. (well – there was Sharon, he supposed, but she wasn't like, 'adult supervision', she was…Sharon.)

And she was going to go with him, she'd asked him to come along, which really wasn't all that out of character now that he thought about it, but it still surprised him for some reason. This time though, Rusty didn't mind being surprised, because it turned out that sometimes the unpredictable stuff could be good, after all.

He held that belief for the entire thirty seconds that it took them to walk down the back steps and begin to cross the yard, at which point Sharon stopped in surprise, and Rusty turned to notice a light grey Hyundai pulling up around the corner of the house.

Ricky and the thirty-something man that Rusty had come to recognize as Paul's son got out; the latter waved them a greeting, then opened the trunk and began to carry some paper bags inside. Ricky made his way over to the two of them, with Sharon meeting him halfway.

"You're back already!" At her surprised tone, Ricky shrugged:

"We decided to go to the general store in town instead, it was closer than Target and it had everything we needed. Jamie's taking the stuff to the kitchen now." Noticing her outfit, he frowned in confusion. "Were you going somewhere?"

Sharon sounded doubtful as she replied: "We were planning to walk over to Paul's house… I thought you and Jamie would be gone longer, and that we'd be back before dinner was ready…" She glanced back at the house, as though trying to figure out if there was still time to make the trip.

"I can drive you, if you want," Ricky offered, because of course he would.

Sharon looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, honey, thank you," she said eventually, to Rusty's immense relief. "I think we're still going to walk. It's not that far, it's beautiful out and Rusty's never seen the area." She gave her son a warm smile. "You're welcome to join us if you want. If you don't have anything further to do for dinner."

And of course Ricky looked completely torn. "Uh…actually, yeah, that sounds great. I'll walk with you – do you mind if I run inside for two seconds?"

"We'll wait here," nodded Sharon. "Get a proper jacket!" she called after him as he rushed up the back steps.

Rusty sighed inwardly, because being out of the house was still great, and he was still excited to see the surroundings, and he was so, so glad that Sharon seemed to be doing a little better, but...

She noticed his expression. "You don't mind, do you Rusty?"

"No," he immediately lied, which was ridiculous because he spent all his time with Sharon and she got to see Ricky for about three seconds, and obviously she spent the rest of the time missing her son, and… "No," Rusty repeated, and it felt more truthful this time. "That's great."

A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, you know I love to hear from you. (as much as Provenza loves to hear Flynn's updates, only I'm more than happy to admit it, too!)