I really have absolutely no idea what this is. Blame yetanotherramblingfangirl and the fact that I'm on vacation this week. It's ridiculous, and I totally understand that. Believe me.

Tara

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

Five years of hearing it, and it still took her by surprise sometimes. Rusty had now been calling her "Mom" longer than he had called her "Sharon." But it still made her heart flutter just a little sometimes, particularly at the big moments.

Like this one.

"Are you sure, honey? I could stay…"

Their voices echoed slightly in the empty room. It was a nice apartment, especially for what he needed. They were standing in the middle of a still-bare living room. There was an old couch Rusty had gotten from a college friend, and several bookshelves Sharon had gotten for him at Ikea. Everything else was still in the boxes piled around them.

"Nah, I'm good. James is coming in a minute to help. We'll be fine."

Sharon quirked an eyebrow and smirked at him.

"Ah. And you don't want me hanging around when he gets here, hm?"

Rusty reddened slightly and rolled his eyes.

"Oh my God, Mom. Seriously. You do not need to be thinking about that. And I don't need to be thinking about you thinking about that."

He crossed his arms, still a little red. "Anyway. You literally live, like, 20 minutes away. I'm good."

A little reluctantly, but willing to take his hint, Sharon sighed and swung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright. Well, if you need me—"

"I know." Rusty had already turned from her to open a box, crouching over it.

"And you call me when you get home from the paper on Wednesday," she said firmly to his back. "I want to hear all about it."

"I will."

Sharon leaned down and touched his shoulder lightly. "Say it again," she whispered gently.

Rusty rose and turned to her, a little exasperated.

"I will."

She smiled. "Good." She reached for him. "Now come here, before I go."

And he did, allowing her to pull him in for a firm hug. Sharon held him tightly for a long moment, rubbing his upper back and swaying ever so slightly. When she finally pulled back, there was just the slightest glisten of a tear in one eye. She looked up at the ceiling just for a second, taking a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. Her hand came up automatically to brush his hair back from his forehead before coming down to pat his cheek gently.

"I love you." He nodded as she stepped back, towards the front door. Rusty followed her.

"Love you, too." He held the front door open for her, and she started to pass through it, but turned back one more time.

"Rusty, be—" She stopped, swallowing hard and changing her mind. "Have a good time," she whispered and turned away.

The apartment was dark and quiet when Sharon arrived twenty-five minutes later. Of course it was. He did not live here anymore. Only she did. Dropping her keys and bag on the front table with a heavy sigh, she stepped toward the kitchen, flicking on lights as she went, stopping only briefly to hold on to the wall and step out of her heels, picking them up and dropping them onto the couch as she passed. In the kitchen, she made a beeline for the counter just beside the refrigerator, pulling down a wineglass from the upper cabinet with one hand, simultaneously reaching for the open bottle of Shiraz on the counter below. Pouring herself a generous measure, she looked around the apartment slowly.

What was it that she had done in the evenings when she had the apartment to herself, during those years between Ricky's departure and Rusty's sudden appearance? She really did not remember.

Sinking down onto the couch beside her shoes, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV.

She jumped.

Something very large was exploding loudly in outer space, remnants of some spaceship or something flying everywhere. Startled, she instinctively turned the TV off again. Standing up once more, still with her wineglass in hand, she wandered over to her desk and picked up a book. Atonement. She had started it weeks ago, but never gotten back to it. She walked back toward the couch, book and wine in hand and lowered herself into one of the chairs this time, setting the wine on the small table beside her. Finding her place, she began to read.

Sharon had been sitting there for barely fifteen minutes when a series of banging knocks sounded against the front door. Loud, persistent, unrelenting. It sounded as if someone was trying to knock her door down.

Jumping yet again, she instinctively reached for her waist, but her gun wasn't there. Silently dropping the book onto the coffee table, she padded carefully over to the table beside the door, upon which someone or something was still loudly banging, and pulled her gun out of her bag. Without a sound, she peeked through the peephole to see who or what could possibly be making such a racket, but there was something covering her view on the other side. Sharon clicked back the safety on the gun in her hand and spun to stand with her back against the wall, parallel to the door.

"Who's there?" She called out cautiously, gun at the ready for whatever might be behind the door.

"It's the Ghost of Christmas Past, Sharon. Now open the damn door!"

"What the—"

Sharon relaxed, gun falling to her side, clicking the safety back on at the familiar but completely unexpected voice. She reached over and turned the lock, swinging the door open to reveal the speaker. Tall and thin with waist-length and wild grey hair, a woman nearly pulsating with energy grinned down at Sharon. She wore long black pants nearly overshadowed by a bright purple blouse and the most wildly patterned long flowing scarf Sharon had ever seen, finished off with an even more colorful beaded necklace and earrings.

"Tara," she breathed quietly. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sharon held up the gun a little ruefully. "I nearly shot you!"

Tara shrugged, unconcerned. "Wouldn't be the first time, now, would it?"

Standing aside to let her in, Sharon rolled her eyes. "Never gonna live that one down, am I?"

"Nope," Tara replied, dragging a large duffel bag into the foyer while Sharon put the gun back in her bag, shutting the door behind her.

"To be fair, it wasn't you, it was your car. And it's not my fault you and what's-her-name decided that would be a good place to park and do… whatever it was you two were doing."

Tara smirked. "What was her name? Jenny? Jamie? Something with a J…" She dropped the duffel bag with a loud thunk to the floor. "Whoever she was, she was worth it. I remember that." She winked at Sharon, who was trying hard not to laugh. "It did sort of ruin car sex for me, though. Getting shot will do that, I suppose."

"It was a ricochet," Sharon corrected, pointing at her in a would-be serious pose. "And it barely touched your car."

Tara didn't reply, just gave her a supremely unconvinced look.

"But what are you doing here?"

The other woman shrugged. "The kid called. Said you could use some company."

"So you just casually decide to take a Transatlantic flight because Rusty tells you to?"

Sharon was unbelievably happy to see Tara so unexpectedly, but rather mortified to hear that Rusty had called her. What could he possibly have said to make Tara jump on a plane from Kenya?

"What can I say? The kid's got a way with me."

Sharon smirked. "You bought his love, you mean. You know, that hand-carved chess set you brought him five years ago is still his go-to. He doesn't even touch that nice one I got him for his high school graduation anymore."

Tara did not even have the decency to look guilty. "The kid's got good taste." She stepped into the living room, looking around curiously. "So…first night on your own, huh? What're you—" Her eyes fell on the forgotten book and wineglass by the chair, and she groaned. "Sharon, no. You are not spending your first night alone in this apartment with a book." She stalked over to the table and lifted the book to her eyes and groaned again, louder. "My God. It's not even something light or fun. Could you have picked something darker and angstier?"

Sharon smiled and shook her head wordlessly.

"Oh, right," Tara continued. "Who am I talking to?" She tossed the book onto the couch beside the abandoned shoes.

Finding her voice again, Sharon gave her a reproachful look. "I like it. Play nice with my books. And Tara, we are not doing anything crazy tonight."

Tara crossed her arms, collapsing on the couch heavily. "Define crazy."

"Anything involving tequila, vodka, strip clubs, or glitter." She ticked the items off on her fingers.

Tara pouted. "Come on. No glitter is just sucking the fun out of everything. And when have I ever taken you to a strip club?"

Sharon gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh. Right." She had the decency to look sheepish. "To be fair, though, that wasn't a strip club. How could I have known that Ginger was going to jump up on the bar and start stripping?"

Finally, Sharon cracked, a hand covering her face as she giggled. They both laughed for a long time until finally Sharon choked out, "It was a gay bar! In what world was that a good choice to take someone just off maternity leave?!"

"You make me sound terrible! You weren't actually pregnant anymore. And Ricky wasn't with us. Be fair."

Sharon shook her head, a wave of giggles taking her again. When they finally subsided, she took a deep breath and met Tara's eyes on the couch again. "Alright. Here is what is going to happen tonight. I am going to go have a few words with my youngest son, you are going to order some takeout, and then we are going watch whatever terrible movie you want and go to bed."

Tara sighed. "Okay, fine. You win. Tomorrow, though."

"Tomorrow I have work."

"Okay. I can do that, too. Crime-fighting, and all that jazz."

Sharon almost chuckled again, visited by a vivid image of Tara in the Murder Room, attempting to feng shui her office and the detectives' desks. It might be worth it just to see her take on Provenza.

"Come on! I wanna meet everyone from Rusty's stories."

Finally relenting, Sharon sighed. "Alright. But try to keep the meddling to a minimum, okay?"

"I make no promises."

Groaning a little, Sharon pointed to the kitchen. "Takeout. I need to make a call."

She headed back toward her bedroom as Tara called after her, "Don't be too hard on the kid, now!"

Closing the door behind her, Sharon pulled out her cell phone and sank onto the end of the bed. There were three rings before he finally picked up.

"Hello?" There was music playing in the background, rather loudly.

"Hey."

The volume of the music went down as he asked, "What's up?"

"Did you call Tara?"

He sounded puzzled. "Yeah, a couple of days ago. Just to, like, tell her I was moving out and stuff."

Sharon hummed noncommittally. "I see. And did you just forget to mention to me that you asked my oldest friend to fly across the globe to stay with me because I'm lonely and empty without you here?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then—

"Wait, what? I didn't say—whoa, she's HERE?! Why didn't you tell me she was coming?"

Sharon rubbed her temple for a moment before replying. "Well, darling," she started, emphasizing the word so it sounded less than affectionate, "had I known she was coming, I would have warned you."

"Hey. I didn't know she was going to jump on a plane! Can I come over tomorrow? I haven't seen her in ages!"

Finally losing her exasperation with him, she smiled. "She's coming to work with me. You don't start until Wednesday, right? Why don't you come down to the office and keep her out of Provenza's hair?"

Rusty chuckled over the line. "Oh, yeah. You're going to need some help with that. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. Tell James I said hi. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Holy shit! That guy's face is everywhere!"

Tara's own face was inches away from the photos on the murder board. Sharon was on hold in a corner of the room while Hurricane Tara blew through her squad. She pulled her face away from the board and turned to Lieutenant Provenza at his desk behind her.

"You know, Lieutenant, I think you could really be productive if you were more in touch with your inner self. Before anyone could think to stop her, Tara had pulled the Lieutenant back from his desk on his chair and started moving paper and personal items around on his desk while the Lieutenant sat there in shock for a moment before regaining his voice and beginning to shout.

"Now wait just a minute! I get things done just fine here. And I'll thank you" he snatched his bobble head out of her hand roughly, "to keep your paws off."

Thankfully, Rusty rounded the corner at that precise moment and headed them off before Sharon had to intervene herself.

"Tara! Hey! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Sharon relaxed a little, and redirected her attention to her phone call, which was finally taken off hold at that moment. When she hung up a minute later, Rusty was introducing Tara to Amy Sykes. Sharon strode over in time to see Tara closely eyeing something that Sharon was quite sure was not Amy's face.

"And how are we doing over here?" She squeezed Rusty's shoulder from behind while shooting Tara a look that clearly communicated a cease and desist order.

Tara leaned down towards her, mouthing, what?

Sharon smiled tightly at Amy and turned Tara away from the rest of the room for a moment, whispering almost inaudibly. "Maybe a little less obvious staring?"

"Oh come on. Anyone can see she doesn't play for my team. I'm not going to do anything!"

"She is a human being, Tara. And she's thirty years too young for you."

Tara merely rolled her eyes as they turned back to the rest of the room.

Amy, seeming to want to gloss over the awkward whispered conversation, smiled and asked, "So how do you know the Captain, Tara?"

Tara ran her hands through her long hair, away from her face and replied, "Oh, you know. The usual. Police shoot-out, a back seat, a couple shots of tequila, and a gay bar."

Rusty choked, next to Sharon, unable to hold back a loud snort and subsequent cackle. Provenza looked at Flynn, who had just strolled in from the back as they both turned red from suppressed laughter, and Amy looked unsure whether it was a joke she was allowed to laugh at. Sharon hid her face in her hands, embarrassed.

Tara managed to hold a straight face for about fifteen seconds before she gave in to a smile.

"No, really," Amy said with a small smile, "how did you two meet?"

Tara winked at her. "It's true."

Finally looking up, Sharon nudged Tara on her other side. "Come on. You have to tell them the whole story."

"Oh, fine. So one fine morning about what, thirty? Thirty-five years ago?" She glanced at Sharon.

"Let's leave that part to the imagination," Sharon said quickly.

"Oh, alright then. One fine morning many moons ago, back when I was but a young and innocent med student—"

Sharon snorted in disbelief.

"—Well, more innocent than I am now," Tara amended to general chuckling. "I was in the backseat of my dear old station wagon with another young lady of irrefutable class and innocence. Jenny? Jill? Whatever."

Rusty and Sharon exchanged an amused look. Tara was always fun to watch, but she seemed in rare form today.

"So there we were, engaged in some of the most mind-blowing, orgasmic sex I had ever experienced, when suddenly a car screeches to a halt beside us, closely followed by the police, and suddenly they are shooting." She sighed mournfully. "My poor little station wagon was never the same. A part of her died that day, when the bullet came through the window."

"Dramatic, much?" Sharon rolled her eyes.

Tara ignored her. "It was a traumatic experience. The ghost of that missed orgasm still haunts me." At this, everyone but Sharon seemed to lose it completely.

When the laughter died down, Tara continued, "So of course, when a young and completely professional officer gave me her number and encouraged me to call if I needed anything, well," she grinned. "I sort of have a thing for women in uniform."

Good lord, Sharon thought, she could never trust her to tell an accurate story again. "Should I take over, Tara? Remind you of the actual events that occurred?"

Tara waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, hush, Sharon. You'll just ruin it. I'll tell it er… straight, I promise. So, after she takes my statement, I head into a bar across the street to calm myself down, but I drop a twenty as I'm walking a way, and Sharon follows me in. In some serendipitous stroke of genius, I talk her into a drink since she's coming off the clock and seems completely oblivious to the fact that we're in a gay bar. Anyway. Five tequila shots later, Sharon here and I are the best of friends despite that dirty rotten scoundrel of a husband, the fact that she'd never had a shot in her life before, and that at some point a naked drunken lesbian poured glitter on her head."

At this point, the entire squad had gathered to listen to the story, all torn between disbelieving looks towards Sharon and all-out laughter at the mental images.

"I would just like to point out here that I was just coming off of a nine-month dry spell, and completely coerced. The shots were completely your fault. Also, I was twenty-seven."

Everyone laughed, and Sharon reddened a little.

Well, she thought ruefully, there were some things you just couldn't do without ending up friends. A gunfight punctuated by tequila shots with a glitter bomb delivered by a naked woman must be one of them.

I told you. Ridiculous. But there's always the possibility of more in the Adventures of Tara and Sharon. So. Yes? No? I should be ashamed of myself and never write another word again?