A Tangled Web (4)

Rusty could hear Sharon's voice before he stepped into the murder room. With the rest of the floor empty and quiet, it echoed down the corridor, its familiar cadence filling him with the same vague sense of reassurance as always. Even after all this time it surprised him, a little, how she did that.

" – careful what you touch, something poisoned him, and it might not have been airborne…"

The things he heard in that murder room.

"We'll make sure our gloves don't have any holes."

Rusty smiled at that, Provenza's gravelly voice and his deadpan reply. Hearing Sharon tell them to be careful and hearing the lieutenant take it with his wry humor just felt wonderfully normal.

He missed that, a little bit.

Not that he never saw them anymore, or anything. He did. Kind of. Obviously he didn't go to the station every day after school anymore – and it was great that he didn't have to, and it's not like he wanted to, but…a small part of him would have liked to be sure that it wasn't that they didn't want him to.

But there was no way to ask, of course, so he mostly just tried not to think about it too much. Sharon had recommended that he come by one afternoon a week to get homework help from Buzz, and a couple of times he'd come by on Thursday, when school finished late because of chess club, and he and Sharon had left for dinner together… so yeah, he still got to say hi to everyone and see plenty of them and seriously, he did not miss spending all his time in a police station…

…but…

Just a few days before he'd basically told Sharon outright that he didn't want to be there anymore.

He'd just been trying to deflect her attention, so she wouldn't find out about the fight at school – with everything else, the last thing he wanted was to give her more reasons to be mad at him – but she'd caught him unprepared and before he knew it, the conversation had gone in a totally unintended direction and he was saying things he didn't really mean and she was taking it all seriously...

… can you tell me if something happened at the station last time you were there? Did someone say anything to upset you?

No! No. It's just…I mean, everyone's great, but I don't need to like, hang around there and bother you guys anymore, you know?

Which was... kind of true, but also not quite. But then Sharon hadn't hurried to contradict him, either ('I don't think anyone thinks of you as a bother, Rusty, they've all grown accustomed to you being around' totally did not count, because 'grown accustomed', really?), and she didn't seem mad about him not hanging out at the station anymore, so maybe it was what she wanted...?

He stopped in the doorway to the murder room, not wanting to interrupt, but Sharon was already glancing over. Rusty figured that she'd probably heard him, the same way he'd heard her. When their eyes met she smiled, and he couldn't see any of the unease that he'd been noticing when she looked at him sometimes, lately. The very thought of it rippled uncomfortably through his chest; he was glad of its absence now.

There was a tell-tale crease to her brow, though, and this half-apologetic look in her eyes, and given the way that everyone looked poised to jump into action, Rusty could easily guess what was coming: "…rain check on lunch?"

Sharon looked so anxious as she confirmed it, and what did she expect him to do, exactly, flip out because she had to solve someone's murder instead of taking him out for waffles?

Maybe she did expect something like that.

Sharon was so… wary, lately.

Mostly he tried to ignore it, but sometimes it just got to him... It was as though she didn't think that she could look away for one second anymore, without him getting into trouble. It had taken her two weeks after he'd gone back to school to even consider letting him drive himself there, and then only after a few tense driving lessons in which he'd had to treat the Volvo as though it were loaded with TNT and would go up in flames at the smallest jolt.

At the end of their last driving lesson he'd had enough of the 'break more gradually!'s and the 'check your side mirrors when you change lanes!' and you know what, he could take the bus to school if she was that terrified about denting the car – and she'd said something about immature behavior, and he'd said something about how maybe her problem was with him and not his driving and... well, at the end of the day Sharon had handed over the keys and he'd made her dinner to apologize.

The next morning she'd asked him to text her when he got to school, and so he'd done it every day since, voluntarily. He did it when he got back home, too. Seven-forty-five a.m. and three p.m., he texted Sharon to let her know that he'd managed to drive the half hour between their condo and Saint Joseph's without incident. Every day, even though it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

She still seemed uneasy, in a hundred different ways.

Each time they parted ways in the garage in the mornings she said 'Be careful'. He didn't think that she even realized it anymore but every. single. time. And okay, he wasn't the greatest driver and he'd done some pretty stupid things, he knew, and… he understood, but it still felt awful that Sharon didn't trust him anymore.

If he could've, he would've taken back what he'd said to her that day after the testimony. If it meant that he wouldn't see those anxious looks that she gave him sometimes, or the way she hesitated when she left him on his own.

Rusty knew that Sharon loved him. She'd told him so a few times, and he believed her, but he also knew that he was making it hard for her to love him, and maybe one day she'd just… get tired. How much more could he dump in her lap, really, before it became too much?

He wished that he didn't have to carry all that with him. He wished that he didn't have to bring it all into her life. It was who he was, and no matter how hard he tried, there always seemed to be just… more. Why couldn't he just be happy, when the damn testimony was over, and go back home and get his life back and carry on and not … not… think about things so much? It might have all been easier, then.

But now…

"Rusty…"

The sound of his name broke into his thoughts, and he pushed back everything else and refocused on what Sharon was saying. He was pretty sure she'd just apologized for the lunch thing again.

Like that was even a real problem. 'Yes, Sharon, you broke down a door to stop a psycho from stabbing me, I'm real angry that you can't go out to lunch today.'

Honestly.

So he said, again, that it was fine, and really, he hadn't exactly been starving for three days, he could wait. If she thought she could go later. Or he could go get take-out for both of them. Or…whatever.

" –don't think that I'll be able leave any time soon, I need to be available in case we get any new developments. " She paused just long enough to acknowledge Sanchez and Sykes leaving, then smiled at him again. "So it's looking as though I'm here for the day."

"Okay, I'll just go get some take-out, then. Uh…what's that place called, again? Mario's?" That was a bistro just a short drive away. Or a twenty minute walk, if he cut through the park. Sharon had introduced him to it, and anything was better than those sandwiches next door… "You like their stuff, right?"

"Rusty, you don't have to –"

He rolled his eyes. "It's no big deal, Sharon. Besides, don't you have to eat at some point, anyway? Do you really prefer that sandwich place?" His eyebrows arched pointedly.

It was easy to tell that she was giving in, from the way her lips pressed into a poorly-suppressed grin. "I see nothing wrong with their sandwiches," she countered. "And I seem to recall someone being quite enthusiastic about their root beer floats."

Yeah, when there were like, no other options. "Yeah, well, just FYI, they never have fresh salad on Sundays."

Sharon hummed gravely. "You make a compelling argument." Her head tilted a little to the right, and she nodded. "Alright, then."

"I'll have the shaved pork, side of coleslaw," Provenza called from his desk, without even looking up from the file he was reading. Rusty gave him a slightly startled look, then glanced at Sharon, who was again failing to suppress a smile.

"Uh… okay…?"

Lt. Tao paused his typing to look over. "Do they have any kind of pasta? Like Primavera, maybe?

Just for the record, Sharon looked entirely too amused.

Provenza followed Rusty with an inconspicuous look as the boy walked out of the murder room. When the echo of his footsteps had faded, the lieutenant looked up at Raydor instead. His eyebrows wriggled fractionally, a silent comment on the kid's willingness to do a food run for all of them (well – willingness to do it for her, minimal protesting at the rest). In return, the Captain smiled a little, her eyes softening the way they often did when Rusty was involved, and she dipped her head in acknowledgment of Provenza's point.

Things were good, then... right?

It was a little hard to tell, lately, now that the kid wasn't spending all his time at the station (not that Provenza was unhappy with that, mind you, babysitting wasn't on his list of hobbies anyway). Sometimes it seemed that all was well… other times Raydor came in to work with telling dark circles under her eyes, and if Rusty happened to drop by the same day, there were subtle wary looks and uncomfortable silences between them… And then there was all the texting, which definitely hadn't been a thing before the whole SIS operation debacle…

That hadn't been one of his brighter ideas, in hindsight Provenza was ready to admit so.

He should've known, really, when Taylor had started agreeing with him. When on Earth did that ever herald anything good?

But either way the whole mess was over. Really over – he had a two-pound pile of FID paperwork to prove it – and maybe all was not smooth sailing for the kid and the Captain, but hey, anything was better than virtual house arrest and a psycho killer out there threatening them.

Right...?

In any event, whatever was going on between those two was none of his business. The team's case and his job had ended around the same time as Weller's brain activity, and Raydor was obviously trying to put some distance between the kid and the murder room, and rightly so! Provenza for one was glad to have the place stop feeling like an after-school program.

And if she was having trouble with the boy, she could always ask… What was she expecting him to do, ply her for information? Because let's make one thing clear, Louie Provenza did not do the whole mother hen thing.

"So … all quiet on the western front, then…?"

Damn it.

Oh, and he nodded at the door that the kid had just walked through, too, in case she didn't get his meaning.

A couple of slow, thoughtful nods were Raydor's reply. "Rusty seems to be enjoying being more independent again."

Unlike his expression of mild disinterest, the lieutenant's snort was entirely genuine. "Show me a teenager who doesn't enjoy that. Strangely enough," he smirked, "their idea of independence somehow doesn't preclude someone else in the background feeding them and paying the bills."

The Captain hummed noncommittally.

A little too noncommittally. Provenza gave her a knowing look. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she wasn't enjoying Rusty's independence nearly as much as the kid was.

Her ringing phone drew both their attention, and he watched her features slip into a business-like expression as she picked up. "Yes, Detective…"

Sharon sighed as she replaced the phone in her pocket.

As foreseen, the USC Animal Resources office was closed, so Sanchez and Sykes were headed to the home of its director, who would hopefully be able to answer some questions about James Donnell. The two detectives had also run a quick check through the university's Department of Public Safety, and had found no reports on Donnell; the man seemed more average and innocuous by the minute, and their case was going nowhere fast. It still wasn't clear that they even had a case…

…Although, it wasn't often that the ME couldn't confidently rule if a death had been a suicide, an accident or a murder.

By virtue of that alone, maybe they did have a case after all.

They definitely had a long day ahead of them.

The clock on the wall showed one-twenty. At least Lt. Flynn should be back any minute, and he and Provenza could go check out the dead man's residence, and get some insight into what Mr. Donnell had been up to in the days before his convoluted death.

One-twenty…her mind automatically calculated how long it would take for Rusty to drive to Mario's and back. It shouldn't have been that long... unless he'd walked...

Even as she began to force her thoughts away from that (there was 'following your instincts', and then there was 'overreacting', and Sharon was still perfectly capable of recognizing one from the other), a sudden association formed at the back of her mind. Speaking of walking...

"Mike." The lieutenant looked up. "You said Mr. Donnell didn't own a car. Did he live on or near campus?"

He glanced at the information on his screen. "Uh, no – the address listed here is off Wilshire Boulevard, near Koreatown. That's maybe … five miles away from USC? Six?"

"That's too long to walk… so how did he get to work every day? Is there an easy bus route?"

Tao was already checking. "No, he'd have to change two buses… but," he said after a few seconds of studying his screen, "he's got a bike registered through the USC… a lot of universities have this system," he added, "that allows students and staff to register their bikes with campus security, in case they get stolen. James Donnell registered … three years ago, when he first started to work there. And it looks like he's renewed it every year since."

Sharon let out a disappointed sigh. "So he biked to work." She'd been hoping for a carpool buddy that could tell them more.

"Biked across Wilshire and Central LA at rush hour?" Provenza rolled his eyes. "Perhaps we should rethink the 'death wish' angle here..."

Tao shrugged. "They've been adding more bike paths…" he said halfheartedly.

Sharon ignored the exchange, her focused frown returning. "Was there a bike found at the scene?"

This time, it was Provenza who checked the file on his desk. "There doesn't seem to be anything in the patrol officers' report about that." He paused for a moment, then added: "Never thought I'd say this, but maybe we should start teaching these kids how to write proper incident reports, at the academy."

Again Sharon ignored the wry comment. "Did they even check for a bike or a parked car? Which side of the bridge had he come from? And," her frown deepened, "since now we know that Mr. Donnell wasn't homeless, why didn't he have a wallet or ID on him? Did the responding officers check the surroundings for anyone who might've taken it?"

"One would certainly hope that they did…" the lieutenant murmured as he continued to browse the report, "…but, nothing on that in here, either. Well, they did get this call just before the end of their shift," he admitted with a lopsided nod, "and they were stuck there for an extra couple of hours until Taylor called us in... I guess they weren't feeling particularly generous with their time."

"I'm not feeling particularly generous with mine," Sharon retorted dryly, her lips pursing in displeasure. "Lieutenant, will you call the two patrol officers in to give us an actual, proper report?"

"At lunch time on a Sunday?" He sounded doubtful.

"They'll be off duty by now," Tao also warned from his desk.

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "At this point, I have no idea what exactly they found at the scene. And since I'm spending my Sunday here, I'd rather not waste time trying to redo someone else's work." She crossed her arms. "If they couldn't be bothered to fill out a proper report, they're just going to have to come in and do it in person."

The two men exchanged a look; Tao shrugged, glad that at least he wasn't the one who had to make the call. With a sigh, Provenza reached for the phone on his desk.

"I'll be hearing from the union about this…"

"If you do, feel free to direct their protests to Chief Taylor," Sharon recommended dryly.

The next fifteen minutes served only to further establish just how little information they had to go on, and add to Sharon's growing sense of frustration. Between the obviously unassisted (but maybe unintentional?) leap from the bridge, the unknown toxin, the off-the-wall threats and James Donnell's currently unremarkable history, the case was a veritable headache.

"- kind of kid these days doesn't have a Facebook account? Even my grandkids have them."

"Actually a lot of young people prefer Twitter or other social networks," Tao provided for Provenza's benefit. "But I can't tell much about Donnell's online presence without knowing his handle... uh, username. If I had his laptop, I'd know a lot more."

"We'll be sure to bring you the laptop, special delivery," Provenza deadpanned, then he craned his neck to glance at the clock. "As soon as I get my delivery. No offense, Captain," he smirked, "but next time you should pick a favorite restaurant that's closer."

Her response was a tight smile: "I'm sure your lunch will be here soon, Lieutenant," she murmured.

"Mario's is close," mentioned Tao. "Rusty must've gone through the park instead of driving."

Sharon had to willfully suppress a twinge of concern.

There was no reason to be concerned anymore if he decided to take a walk through the park, but after months of constant worrying, the habit was hard to shake. Even now, six weeks later, she still felt residual panic at times. She'd get distracted or wrapped up in thought and forget that the danger was over… then her gaze would idly wander over to the desk where he used to sit, and when she didn't see him there her heart would abruptly start pounding, until her conscious mind caught up and she remembered that everything was fine.

Or at least, that he was safe.

It was something she needed to remind herself too often. And though she tried to prevent it, part of that was tainting Rusty's return to a normal life, and she felt that maybe he resented her for it, a little. He was definitely pulling away from her, and with his eighteenth birthday less than two months away...

"Captain?" Tao's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, the lieutenant was waving her over to his computer. "You may want to see this."

Both she and Provenza made their way to his desk, and Mike turned the screen around.

"I think I know what Donnell was talking about before he jumped."

Thank you for reading! Hope everyone has a great weekend.