In this chapter, we establish a timeline of sorts for the present-day action. It's basically mid-to-late October of last year, so, after the letters were revealed but before they caught Stabby.

Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed the last chapter!

Previously...

"The reason I was a little late tonight was because I went to meet a friend." When he started to open his mouth, she held up a hand to signal that she wasn't finished. "A friend who also happens to be an attorney. You've met him once or twice – Gavin."

Rusty still looked confused.

Sharon let out a long breath. "I asked Gavin to help me file for a divorce."

Days Like These, pt. 2

For a moment, the boy stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then confusion melted into horror, and his eyes widened. "What? No!" He looked panicked. "Sharon, you can't do that!"

Silence fell between them.

Her eyebrows rising a fraction, Sharon smiled a little unsurely. "To tell you the truth, Rusty, that's not exactly a reaction I was prepared for…"

But he wasn't done reacting. "No, just… look, I don't care what Jack said, okay? It's fine! I swear," the boy's voice rose in pitch as he continued to look horrified, "I – I – Call your lawyer back! Oh my god …" He passed his hands through his hair, then reached for her almost desperately. "Okay... okay, it's not too late, right? Sharon, you can still call him off, right?"

"Uhm."

Sharon cleared her throat, tried again.

"I…" She swallowed. "Rusty, I'm not sure I understand why you're so upset," she admitted finally.

"I'm not upset! You're the one who's upset!"

There was another momentary pause, during which she processed through her confusion with a couple of slow blinks, while Rusty paced a frantic circle by the living room table.

"Alright…why don't we sit down and discuss this," suggested Sharon, and when he seemed disinclined to heed her the first time, she repeated, "stop shaking your head and come sit down, please." She went to her usual corner of the sofa and waited until he'd settled next to her, still giving her a look so young and wary that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Rusty… I understand that my divorcing Jack might come with a few difficulties for you, but I assure you that…" She trailed off as the boy lowered his face into his hands and groaned; letting her head fall to her chest, Sharon sighed, "What."

"This isn't difficult for me, Sharon. How are you not getting this?"

She tilted her head. "So you're this upset because you're… worried about me?"

"No!" A beat, then: "Well – I mean yes, but … no. Look, I'm sure you can like… deal with your… stuff."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she said dryly, causing Rusty to groan again.

"I don't mean it like that, Sharon." He sighed. "It's just… you were fine, with the way things were with you and Jack, and now…"

"Now, I'm still fine," she assured. "I just… made a decision, that's all."

"But… what if it's the wrong decision?"

She threw him a sideways look, because sure, having more doubts injected into this was exactly what she needed, thank you.

"I just think you should… wait," Rusty suggested, with a couple of convinced nods.

Sharon bit her lips.

"Wait for what?"

He shifted in his spot then, tensing his shoulders and looking down at the rug. "Wait… until…you're not mad at me anymore…?"

And the worst thing was, he meant it, too; she let out a slow breath. "Rusty. If nothing else, I assure you that I'm not filing for divorce because I'm mad at you."

"No, I mean I know you don't think so, but…" He only fidgeted again at her look. "It's just… Sharon, it's been like, a really awful couple of weeks and…" Her expression only grew more wry, and he grimaced. "I know, I know it's my fault and like, I'm really sorry and all but…"

"Rusty. What happened… what you did," she corrected herself, "is one thing, and the status of my relationship with Jack is another, and the two are completely separate."

"Are you sure?"

What was he, Dr. Phil? Sharon closed her eyes briefly. "Rusty."

"Just…look, don't be mad at Jack because of… like, because of me, or whatever, okay?" he pleaded. "That's just… it's messed up. I don't want to do that to you, Sharon. And I mean, I know it's your business and everything," he hurried before she could interject, "but like… I really think you should…wait."

Sharon sighed. And again she tried to think of a way to reassure him that she was most definitely not getting a divorce because she was mad at him – or even because she was mad at Jack over what Jack had said to him! She wasn't making decisions for either of those reasons. She wasn't.

Was she?

She was mad at Rusty, that much was true.

She was so mad at him. Or had been, at least; now the intensity of it was fading. She found herself able to talk to him again – even something as simple as that had been a challenge for the past two weeks. At times, she'd felt as though it would never get better.

Then Jack had shown up, and somewhere on that rock bottom, his thoughtless words had somehow jolted her right out of her gloom, her flare of indignation on Rusty's behalf burning through the numbness in an entirely unanticipated side-effect.

Oh she was still mad, but now she was just less bone-deeply unhappy about everything.

It was a vast improvement over how she'd been feeling for two weeks.

Two weeks before, she'd thought that maybe she'd never see Rusty again.

He'd complained about the security every day, every second, about the protection detail and the restricted freedoms and the basic lockdown policy, and was he going to be treated like a criminal for the rest of his life? And every day Sharon would tell him the same, that she was sorry it was hard, but he was safe. And every time he'd roll his eyes and protest more, and it had worn her patience thin as well, because a month of having literally the same argument over and over again every single day, well that was a lot.

Then one day he'd gone off on his own to play chess at the park, and it had taken all her self-restraint to send two officers after him rather than go herself. Emma had gone too, and Sharon had allowed it because Rusty had deserved it. They'd brought him back angry, one step below kicking and screaming really, flanked by the two stony-faced officers and followed by the DDA who'd looked ready to start pulling out her hair.

When he'd done the same thing again a week later, she'd sent two officers and Lt. Flynn and Det. Sanchez, who'd scared off half the chess players before escorting the loudly protesting teenager back again.

The third time Sharon had gone after him herself.

She'd walked out on a defense attorney and a Mayor's aide to go chasing after him in the park, and when he'd spotted her he'd rolled his eyes and gotten up from the chess table with an exasperated huff, and then he'd actually turned his back on her and, pointedly ignoring her, started to drag off back toward the station on his own.

It had been the biggest fight they'd had to date, started halfway through the park with her icy comment on his complete disregard of his own life, fueled all the way up the steps of the police building by his frustrated protests that the security protocols were ridiculous anyway, and made worse by both of them getting angrier with every step. By the time they'd walked into the murder room, Rusty had informed her that he could take care of himself a lot better than she could do it for him, and Sharon had threatened to plaster his picture all over the park under a big 'Wanted' poster if he ever went off again on his own.

By the time they'd reached her office, he'd decided not to testify against Stroh anymore, and she'd decided that he had no more right to make decisions about his life, because his decisions were all wrong.

There had been a lot of yelling, and in the end Sharon had said that the security detail would now follow him everywhere and if he didn't quit being immature she'd handcuff him to an officer, and Rusty had said that she was ruining his life and that he'd rather be out on the streets. And then he'd turned and stormed out of her office.

And straight out of the building.

Unbelievably, it hadn't occurred to her that he'd actually left until a few minutes later, when she'd found the security detail and, halfway through instructing them to hound his every footstep, had realized that she hadn't seen Rusty storm back in again. She'd thought that he'd gone to the break room, or the restroom, or… it just hadn't seemed possible that he'd go right back out, not after everything that had literally just happened.

She'd worked herself up into an even angrier state by the time she'd marched back to the park, only to find her anger promptly replaced by panic when he wasn't there.

Security detail in tow, she'd scoured every inch of the park, while having the team search the police building in case he'd just holed up somewhere in there after all. But twenty minutes later, they'd found nothing and she'd already half-convinced herself that the letter writer had gotten to him.

The amber alert had gone out shortly after, but by then they were far behind him.

Not that she hadn't tried. Driven by equal parts fury and blind panic, she'd had everyone out on the streets within the hour after Rusty's disappearance. Notices to local law enforcement, shelters, travel hubs and news stations had gone out before the sun had set on that awful day. She'd pulled LAPD officers off their down time and away from their families and had them searching every nook and cranny within a fifty-block radius.

But it was a big city, and Friday evening was an agitated time, and if someone didn't want to be found…

By dawn the next day, the search had become a manhunt. She must've circulated his description to every agency in the state. When the usual onslaught of phone calls started pouring in, she'd recruited divisions from SIS to Traffic and sent them out to follow every last ridiculous lead.

By Saturday night, the manhunt had become a frenzy.

Sharon vaguely recalled Taylor telling her at some point that they couldn't keep the entire LAPD engaged in one missing person action. The boy was near the legal adult age and had obviously left of his own accord, he did not qualify as 'critical missing' and their budget… Sharon wasn't sure exactly what she'd said back – by then Rusty had been gone forty hours and she'd had very few resources to spare on idiotic conversations – but it must've been something along the lines of 'no', 'mine', and 'go to hell'.

Taylor had taken it surprisingly well, considering.

So she'd kept up the search, recruiting more people and pouring more resources into it, but even so with every hour she'd been more convinced that she would really never see Rusty again.

Then a tip had come in from Stockton, four hundred miles away, and what had followed was a frantic race that involved police cars speeding down the I-5, sirens blaring, and notices flying to all rest stops and gas stations between LA and Sacramento. She'd missed him in Stockton, but had managed to follow his trail to the local bus terminal, and then there had been more racing down freeways.

She'd found Rusty again at a rest stop outside of Fresno, fifty-one hours after he'd left, trying to convince a truck driver to give him a ride back to L.A. in exchange for nine dollars and sixty-three cents. That was all the money he had left, he'd explained, so he hadn't been able to figure out the trip back on such limited funds – yet. But he was going to!

Oh, no, he hadn't wanted to call Sharon to pick him up because he'd been so far away and by his own stupid fault and he hadn't wanted to bother her.

Uh, inconvenience her.

Put her through any trouble.

Any more trouble…?

He was really sorry.

Sharon sighed.

So yes. She was still mad...

But for the first time in many days, she was finally starting to feel a little less shell-shocked.

"Sharon…?" Rusty was standing by the sofa holding a steaming cup of tea, and she almost-smiled because he'd been making her more tea over the past two weeks than he'd probably made in his entire seventeen years of life. "Are you okay…?"

The fact that it was his third time asking her in the span of one evening was not a good sign.

The truth was no, she wasn't 'okay', since not only had he been right earlier about the last couple of weeks being pretty awful, but the last two days, with Jack there again, had been no party, either. And then today… ugh. She was exhausted, and cranky, and fairly drowning in self-doubt, and tea was very nice, yes, but no amount of ginger mint was going to fix that much anxiety, and...

"Rusty." Her brain was telling her to shut up, but exhausted. And drowning in self-doubt. Sharon lowered the mug to her lap, and stared at the tassels of a throw pillow. "Rusty," she said again, quietly, "I know that… living here, living with me, can be difficult for you. Especially now. I know that. And… if I'm not always as sympathetic as you'd like me to be to your situation… I..." She sighed, "I don't mean to make things harder on you."

He was looking very unhappy, and she tried to think of a way to backpedal.

"If there's anyth –"

"Sharon, please, just… don't think like that, okay?" He shook his head. "I didn't run away because it was hard living with you – and Jack," his eyebrows drew together in an angry scowl, "I mean, no offense but like, that was… it was an asshole thing for him to say, okay?"

"Rusty."

"No – I mean I'm sorry, but he shouldn't have said that, because he has like, no idea what the hell he's talking about!" He crossed his arms, sounding upset. "Living with you isn't hard, Sharon, it's… living with you... is… " He averted his eyes, head dropping to his chest. "It's living with me, that's hard, alright? It's … or just like, being me. That's what's hard, sometimes."

She said his name again, a compassionate look in her eyes.

Rusty let himself drop into one of the chairs, propping one elbow on the dining table and leaning his forehead in his hand.

"That's why I left… It's… I wasn't running from you, Sharon. You don't think that, right?" When she didn't reply immediately he looked up, pleadingly. "I wasn't… I – I was angry, I wanted to get away, from just… everything."

She nodded softly, "I get it."

"But you were right," he said somberly, "the things that I was running from… I took them with me."

A few seconds passed in contemplative silence, both of them lost in thought.

"That's how it usually works," Sharon agreed in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry Jack said those things to you."

She shook her head. "Honey, don't apologize for him. I don't care what Jack says." She saw his doubtful look and tried to ignore it. "I'm sorry you had to hear any of that. And I'm sorry for what he said to you… God," Sharon closed her eyes painfully, "Rusty, I'd never –"

"I know." He shifted in his chair, rubbing both cheeks with his hands. "I…I know."

There was another pensive silence, then Sharon let out a small huff, a trace of sad amusement to it. Here they were, apologizing to one another over things that Jack had said. The absurdity of it was almost too much.

"If you still want pizza for dinner," she spoke up again after a moment, nodding to the kitchen, "I think that dough shouldn't be out on the counter for much longer."

Rusty glanced over his shoulder at the two packs of frozen dough. "Right. Uh… are you still like, in the mood for that?"

"Would you like to order in, instead?"

"No… I mean, the dough's already been out for like, two hours anyway, so we might as well use it, right?" He walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, while Sharon relaxed against the back of the sofa for another minute, tiredness washing over her in a slow wave.

"So... there's cheese and uh, ham, bacon…"

She felt a smile tug at her lips. "Who'd ever put bacon on pizza…?"

It was the first time in two weeks that she'd been able to say something even remotely humorous to him; the realization nearly brought tears to her eyes. She quickly lowered her face over the steaming mug.

Rusty leaned back enough to get a direct line of sight to her, one hand still holding the fridge door open, and gave her a Look.

"Everybody."

Sharon responded with a slight smile, taking another sip of her tea. The boy pulled out a couple of things from the fridge, then paused, letting the door close as he glanced back over to the sofa.

"Sharon…" His look was pleading again, when their eyes met. "I was coming home. You believe me, right?"

She looked away briefly, before dipping her head in a slow nod. "I do."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, standing there uncertainly, one hand still on the fridge door handle, while he seemed to look for more things to say. With a sigh, Sharon finished the last of her tea and got up from the sofa.

She paused next to him on the way to the sink. "I know, honey." With her free hand, she squeezed his shoulder, before moving away again. "Let's make dinner, it's getting late," she told him, and turned a brief jet of water on her empty mug.

It was almost an hour later that they heard voices outside the condo, the familiar timbre of Jack's baritone and the responses of the two security guards. Sharon closed her eyes.

She'd hoped that he wouldn't come – or at least that he wouldn't come until she and Rusty had gone to sleep, and then she could deal with the whole thing in the morning, which would've been great because she really was exhausted. And with her thoughts and emotions a chaotic whirlwind inside her head, she hadn't gotten a chance to really think about what she'd even tell him, and… now she had to do it all and she was just. not. ready.

Briefly, she pondered not saying anything and just going to bed, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. No. This had to be done. And well, she'd told her lawyer that she wanted a divorce, and she'd told her foster son that she wanted a divorce, and frankly sooner rather than later the news was bound to reach her husband's ears, so she might as get that over with tonight.

Only she was really tired, and really, really not ready to deal with Jack again.

When the knock on the door came, she considered simply not answering. The security detail wouldn't let Jack inside in a hundred years without her permission. He could just spend the night at a hotel. Tomorrow, she'd have a clearer head and the ability to handle him again and really, she didn't want him in her house and would it have been so terrible just to ignore the knocking, just for tonight?

Sharon sighed and stood up from the table. She held up a hand when Rusty opened his mouth.

"If you're finished with dinner, go to your room," she requested. "Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll do that."

He was already shaking his head before she'd even finished talking. "Sharon…"

"Honey. Jack and I need to talk about … things. And … it's not ideal, that it has to be tonight, and right here, but then there's really no good time for these things." She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder again. "So the best way you can help right now is by going to your room and giving us the privacy to have the conversation between adults that we need to have. Alright?"

"Are you sure?" He looked like he wanted nothing more than for her to change her mind. Whether about making him go to his room, or about telling Jack tonight, or about the whole divorce in the first place, she couldn't tell. "Sharon, I think you should –"

"Rusty." She straightened her shoulders and pulled the edges of her sweater tighter around her. "I understand that you have a point of view on this, and we can discuss it further between the two of us, but now is no longer the time. Are you done eating?" His plate was empty and there was no pizza left, so he had no alternative but to nod, however reluctantly. "Alright. Then off you go. And Rusty – " she gave him a look of mild warning, "when I say Jack and I need privacy, I mean it . Unless it's an emergency, I'd like no interruptions."

"But –"

"Okay?"

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah. Okay." Rusty pushed his chair back and stood up with a wary look, right as the knock on the door repeated.

She unconsciously tugged at the edges of her sweater again, and gave him one last smile before walking over to the door.

"Sharon – " he paused halfway down the hall, and grimaced at her impatient look, " I know, I know, I'm going but… uh, I know this is like, none of my business but… it's… you're…" He shifted on the balls of his feet, staring at the floor. "Living with you is not hard," he told her determinedly.

A warm smile bloomed on Sharon's lips.

"Thank you, honey," she replied in a soft voice. "Good night."

And she waited until the door to his room clicked shut before finally making her way to open the front door.

" – suppose we could try calling – oh, there she is." Jackson Raydor, her husband of over thirty years, mostly absent for the last twenty, gave her his signature grin. "Sharon, we thought you and the kid had maybe turned in early. But I'm glad that's not the case, and – ah, thank you officer," he tipped his nonexistent hat at one of the men who'd finally moved out of the way so Jack could reach the door. "– and I hope, if you've already had dinner, that you left room for dessert," he continued, "because guess who found that old bakery you used to love so much! Venezia Cara?" He held up a large paper bag. "Who knew it'd still be open after this long, right? And they still had that flourless chocolate cake! Best gluten-free dessert I've ever had," he shared with the two officers, "I'm sorry that you won't get to join us to try it. Though I get it of course, duty and all...hard to take a breather with the boss right here, eh...?" He winked at them conspiratorially. "We'll just have to save you some of this delectable treat for later. Although if I recall, someone isn't too fond of sharing..."

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose and silently stepped out of the way so he could step inside the condo, and tried to take a deep, calming breath.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter, we'll see Jack's reaction to Sharon's decision to divorce him (my reaction is a highly positive one!), as well as more of the aftermath of Rusty's misadventure.