A Tangled Web (26)

The heavy silence was making him angry. It was making him think bad thoughts. He felt confined in the small space, itching to get out of his own skin, itching to do something.

Headlights rushed past in the opposite lanes, their glare too-bright against the dark sky.

Rusty sat huddled in the back seat of Det. Sykes' car, arms wrapped tight around himself, staring fixedly at a loose thread on the seat in front of him. It was giving him motion sickness. His fingers bit into his flesh; if he could've, he would've curled up into a ball around his seatbelt.

He was so tired he thought he might throw up.

And he was sweating.

A lot.

When he met Det. Sykes' eyes in the rearview mirror he hunched further into himself and gave her an angry scowl. Was she planning to say something? But she only spared him a brief, neutral look, before silently returning her gaze to the road. Good, because he didn't want to be looked at, he didn't want to be talked to, didn't want to be touched, he didn't want…anything!

His chest felt like it would cave in.

Couldn't they go any faster, he wanted to ask. But the siren lights were already on, traffic parting before them, and anyway he was terrified of when they'd make it to the hospital because of what could be waiting for them there.

What if – what if they got there and some doctor walked out and…

Rusty's heart pounded madly in his ears.

No, Lt. Flynn had said that Sharon was going to be fine. And – and she'd said that she was going to be fine. She'd said that, and Sharon had never, ever lied to him so – so it had to be true, right?

It had to be.

She had to be.

Things had to go back to normal now, because Rusty couldn't deal with anything else. And – not that the universe had ever cared before what Rusty could and couldn't deal with, but this time it had to, because he couldn't deal with Sharon not being okay. That was just… not even on the table, okay, universe? That was the line.

He was feeling nauseous again. Nauseous and sweaty and so, so tired. It was like…he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been this tired. Just keeping his eyes open was giving him a headache, but if he closed them, then his heart just shriveled in on itself and … at least if his eyes were open, there was something to distract him from that.

Letting out another shaky breath, Rusty gritted his teeth and continued to scowl at the back of Lt. Flynn's seat.

He'd been so afraid of what news they'd get at the hospital that he hadn't even considered the worse alternative that there would be no news.

They'd been directed to wait in about three different places so far, walked down endless corridors passing cryptic signs and empty wheelchairs, and everyone was just ignoring them and no one said anything and…

" –understand, Sir, but I haven't heard anything else yet. I'll be sure to let you know as soon as any updates come in, okay? Now please…"

The nurse at the station was trying to wave off Lt. Flynn again. The lieutenant had lost his patience, too. At least he was asking. But no one was telling them anything. And instead of going wherever Sharon was, they'd ended up at the walk-in clinic, and Rusty had been given all sorts of forms to fill out, which was ridiculous because he was fine and – and how was he supposed to fill out the 'guardian' section on those forms, anyway? Were they like, kidding him? Maybe if they'd let him see Sharon, then – then he'd fill out their stupid forms and…

But the nurse had just snapped at him to sit back down and fill everything out, and then Lt. Flynn had snapped at her, and the two of them had had some sort of argument that ended with the head nurse or triage nurse or whatever she was coming in and telling them that Sharon had been admitted and was being 'attended' ,and that she'd make sure they got updates as soon as there were any to give.

Except there still hadn't been any updates yet, and they'd been there for like, an hour…! What were those people doing to Sharon? How could they let an hour pass and still not have any news to give?! The second nurse had said something about pain responsiveness and EKG results and drug ingestion protocols but he hadn't understood most of it, and to him it all just meant that Sharon was still not okay, and that just made his chest hurt all over again.

Rusty rubbed shaky hands to his face, the letters on those stupid walk-in forms dancing in front of his tired eyes. He'd drawn an aimless scribble in the corner of the 'insurance information' section: he didn't know his insurance information, did he even have insurance? Sharon knew all of that stuff.

Sharon…

He just wanted her to be okay.

Please.

"Rusty." A can of Coke appeared at the periphery of his vision; a second later, Det. Sykes was handing Lt. Flynn a bottle of water, too. "I have to go," she told them quietly. "That was Sanchez on the phone – the mall operation…"

"Any sign of that bastard?" growled the lieutenant.

She shook her head. "Not yet. They're expecting him to make his move later tonight. Everything's in place, SIS is on location too, but – we're already two people short, so…"

Flynn waved a hand. "I get it," he said. "Go. We're fine here."

She still looked hesitant, casting another worried glance to the complement of nurses and attendants standing at the station. "I talk to the triage nurse again – they should see you soon, take a look at that shoulder…"

"Great," the lieutenant muttered. "Yeah, that's fine, Sykes. Go."

She fidgeted. "You're sure…?"

Another nod. "I'll let everyone know as soon as… there's anything to know."

(Rusty's heart constricted again.)

"Alright, Sir."

"Just get that son of a bitch."

"We're going to, lieutenant," she promised, darkly.

And with that she was gone, and a few minutes later Lt. Flynn's name was called, and after a few last instructions to Rusty the lieutenant followed a nurse to the end of the corridor and out of sight, and Rusty was left alone, with his half-filled clinic forms and pounding heart and dark fears that clawed mercilessly at the inside of his chest.

Almost an hour later a nurse called his own name, and the boy moved automatically to follow her. He asked her about Sharon, and she didn't know anything. He asked her if she could ask someone else, and she gave him a blank look and said that she'd 'see what she could do', and then she told him to sit down so she could take his vitals before the doctor came in for the physical.

Rusty clenched his jaw angrily and tried to contain himself while she stuck a thermometer under his tongue, then made some notes on a clipboard.

Tears of frustration were threatening to spill out.

He just – he just wanted to know how Sharon was. How was that so much to ask for? He just wanted to know…

…what if she wasn't okay?

Fear swilled around in his stomach while the nurse gave him some sanitary wipes for the grime and rust still clinging to his hands.

He didn't even know if he was more scared for Sharon, or for himself, at this point. It was the most awful, selfish thing in the world, but…this was his life! If Sharon… If she wasn't okay… If she could no longer take care of him – not that he wanted her to take care of him, he'd have gladly taken care of her, or, or anything, just so long as they wouldn't make him leave – but if having him there would be too much for her to handle now, then …

He just didn't want to go.

He'd known that he'd have to do it eventually, and soon, but... now it felt like his world was crashing down around him even earlier than scheduled, and he couldn't even come up with a plan, because he was so terrified of what was going on with Sharon that he couldn't think at all. She had to be okay, first and foremost she had to be okay, but…but then, she also had to be okay with him, and…

A whole other flood of anxieties rushed at him, when there was no room left inside him to handle even just another drop.

It was eleven-thirty by the time Andy was done with the physical and the x-rays, the cleaning of whatever scrapes and bruises he'd gotten falling off that damn ladder (his protests that he'd do that at home had gone unheeded due to liability issues), and the excruciating long list of questions about his pre-existing condition and his medications (because apparently his blood pressure was 'a little high' tonight. What a goddamn surprise.)

He appreciated the medical profession, he did – God knew they'd saved his life more than once – but after sixty hours of virtually no sleep, he had little patience for them to do their job.

In the end, he'd suffered being given a shoulder brace and informed that it should stay on for one-to-three weeks, and he'd returned to the clinic waiting area.

Rusty wasn't there, but a quick inquiry revealed that he had indeed gotten checked out – and pronounced to be fine, with the exception of a racing heart and slight fever, which the young doctor who'd seen him had assigned to stress and lack of sleep. She called the boy 'agitated', but Andy was disinclined to hold that against him. They were all 'agitated'.

The doctor, too, seemed moderately understanding – between dropping one chart off to the nurses' station, and getting pointed in the direction of the next patient, she told Andy that she'd led Rusty up to one of the family waiting areas on the third floor, where he could wait for further updates. She didn't know anything about Sharon, herself – but the nurse from earlier did inform him that the doctors had ruled out immediate life-threatening conditions, and that her condition was marked as 'fair' in the directory. For more information, she pointed him to the third floor, too.

He stopped to get another water bottle on the way, and texted Provenza, but didn't hear back immediately. Again, no surprise. They were probably in the middle of the operation. Part of him was furious that he wasn't there with them – a big part of him, because waiting at the hospital for news was a hundred times harder, and he really wanted to get his hands on the bastard who'd hurt Sharon … but he had to admit that another part of him was relieved. His head was heavy and his shoulder throbbed painfully, and his palms were scratched raw from wrestling that damn grate, and all in all maybe it was better that he was here rather than out there.

Maybe.

Visions of wringing Jensen's neck still flashed before his eyes every now and then.

When he got up to the small waiting area, Rusty was folded in one of the plastic chairs, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor with the same unhappy scowl that he'd worn for the past few hours. There were still small clumps of dirt clinging to his hair. An open can of Coke sat abandoned by the foot of his chair.

The boy acknowledged Andy's presence by flickering a gloomy look at him for about half a second, then hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms.

"No news yet?" the lieutenant guessed.

A bleak glower was Rusty's only response. They'd gotten about three words out of him in total, after finding Sharon. Just...another thing to worry about.

I have a really. good. idea of what it's like to be out here alone, okay, and – and I don't want to go back to that…!

Right, then.

"Okay. Stay here," Andy said, unnecessarily, "I'll go see if I can find someone else to ask."

Rusty shifted in the chair, narrowly missing the Coke with the heel of his shoe, and gave a twitch of his shoulder that might've been an affirmative. With a sigh, Andy left him in the waiting area and went to find a nurse or doctor to ask for an update.

He hadn't known that there was a weight on his chest until he heard the words 'well' and 'stable' and 'recover', and then his lungs had seemed to expand to full capacity for the first time in a while. With Sharon's consent regarding the release of information a little unclear – she'd woken up, they said, but hadn't been quite fully alert, and privacy, and HIPPA and so on – he hadn't gotten many details, but what he had at least was positive. The doctors thought that she wasn't in immediate danger, the CAT scan had come back clean and they'd already seen improvement in her condition over the few hours that she'd been in the hospital.

When he asked if he could see her they told him that they hadn't assigned her a room yet, until the results from some last couple of tests came in. But she'd be asleep again anyway, they warned. The doctor expected her to wake up on her own once the rest and fluids did their job, but it would likely not be until morning. Plus, visiting hours were over, really, and policy, and privacy, and HIPPA…

He rolled his eyes when someone suggested that he and Rusty go home, and just asked to please be informed when they had a room for Sharon in the system.

His phone buzzed on his walk back to the waiting area; seeing Provenza's number on the screen, Andy just cast one quick glance to make sure Rusty was still there (he was, he hadn't moved an inch), then took a few steps away again to pick up.

"I just personally delivered Erik Jensen to a jail cell," Provenza said per way of greeting. His voice was rough, tired, but there was an undeniable note of satisfaction behind it.

"Too bad it wasn't the morgue," said Andy.

"Don't think it didn't occur to me." There was no hint of Provenza's usual dry humor in the reply; his partner had meant it, truly.

It had probably occurred to all of them.

"How's Raydor?"

Andy let his chin fall to his chest, leaning against the wall. "Doctors think she's gonna be okay." As he said it, it occurred to him that that was only partly true – they thought she'd be okay physically. But still no one knew exactly what had happened to her those two days, or what Jensen had done.

He hoped that son of a bitch would rot.

"We'll be there in twenty minutes," said Provenza.

Rusty woke up to the abrupt feeling of falling.

Disoriented, he flailed out, barely managing to stop himself from pitching out of the chair at the last second. Wait, chair? What was that chair? What was that smell?

Then he noticed a hand on his shoulder and scrambled backwards, nearly knocking over another chair, until –

"It's just me," said Buzz. "Sorry, I didn't realize you'd get so startled when I woke you up."

Rusty stared for a beat, his thoughts dragging back to reality, until – "What? Buzz… Where's Sharon? How's Sharon?" He looked around, confused. "Where's Lt. Flynn?" What happened?

Buzz sighed. "She's okay, Rusty. The doctors say she's going to be fine. They've just put her in a room, it's on a different floor so..."

A rush of blood to his head drowned out whatever else Buzz may have been saying.

Sharon was okay?

She was going to be fine?

Rusty had managed to bring himself to a proper sitting position, but the news made his limbs feel funny. "Where? Is she okay?" His throat felt funny, too. Like it was closing up again.

Another sigh from Buzz. "She is. She's going to get better. Come on," he said tiredly. "I don't know if they'll let you see her yet, but we can go upstairs for a minute anyway. Everyone else just –"

"What…?!" The boy scrambled to his feet, his heart beating too fast again. Why wouldn't they let him see her? Was there something more going on? Was there something else wrong with Sharon? Was she not okay?

Was she mad at him?

Buzz shook his head. "It's one a.m., Rusty," he said quietly. "Visiting hours are long over, and the nurse isn't done setting things up yet. I just don't know how long that will take. That's all."

It didn't sound like that was all. There was something in Buzz's tone, in the way he looked at Rusty, but the boy couldn't put his finger on it.

He followed Buzz down the winding corridor and to an old, impossibly slow elevator. Silence reigned between them as they waited, and then Buzz held out his hand for Rusty to go in first. It took about a year for the doors to slide shut again, and another fifty for the damn thing to actually start moving. He wanted to ask so many questions, but just making words felt like an effort, and so he just stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the button panel and repeated to himself that Sharon was okay.

He was tired and miserable and had no idea what would happen to him anymore, but at least – at least they'd found her.

She'd probably be angry with him, and the thought just made him want to crawl into a dark corner and cry, but – she was going to be okay.

Despite literally. everything. else, the fact that at least Sharon was okay made it a little easier to breathe.

Everything else… everything else was awful and he was really tired and just didn't even know what to do about anything anymore. He didn't think that he'd ever feel better.

And he really, really needed Sharon.

But he couldn't even see her.

When they got to the fourth floor, it was dimly lit and quieter, almost deserted – except for the occasional passing nurse, and a group of familiar silhouettes clustered at the far end of the hall. They made a strange sight, standing there, an agitated crowd in an otherwise empty, quiet décor.

Sharon was not in the room yet, it turned out, because of some last-minute exam from a doctor that hadn't been available earlier – and Rusty had started to panic, until Lt. Provenza had assured him that it was just an ENT doctor and the fact that they'd been okay waiting for five hours meant that it wasn't anything life-threatening or even serious. That calmed him down, a little. Lt. Flynn's more detailed updates helped a little more.

But other than that, he wasn't even sure what else was being said around him.

Lt. Provenza had decided that everyone should go home, and that he'd wait until they brought Sharon back, and keep an eye on her. Rusty had opened his mouth to argue that he could wait, that he would wait – only, Lt. Flynn made that argument before him, and Lt. Provenza told Flynn to go home because they'd worried enough about him for one day… and then Lt. Tao had said that he'd stay, and Lt. Provenza had told him that his wife hadn't seen him in three days, and then Det. Sanchez had pointed out that Lt. Provenza had to deal with someone in the morning, but he, Sanchez, could stay, at which Det. Sykes had argued that she was fine, and…

In the end, they must've worked something out, but long before that, Rusty had lost track of who was going and who was staying and who was coming back in the morning.

Tired to his bones, he'd dragged himself to the one rickety plastic chair in the corner, and dropped into it. Their voices rang in his ears, but it was really hard to follow what anyone was saying, and he was feeling too hot and sweaty all over again...

He jumped suddenly, and saw Lt. Provenza in front of him.

Rusty couldn't help himself – he yawned.

"Buzz," Provenza signaled with a small hand gesture, and the boy's eyes widened:

"What?! No!"

"You're going home. I don't want to hear it," the lieutenant cut off the inarticulate protest. "Your only choice in this matter is whether to ride there with Buzz, or with a police escort."

"Wh... no! You can't just, like –"

"I have had a very long day, Rusty," Provenza said quietly, "and as jovial as you might usually find me toward your young, misguided notions, I think tonight you'll discover that there is a limit to my kind and friendly nature. So unless you want to find that limit – and I assure you, you do not," his tone went even lower, "I suggest that you not continue to sit there falling asleep on your feet and keeping up the thoughtless teenager act – of which you've done such a spectacular job today, already," he added dryly. "Get up and do as I say."

"But Sharon –"

"I'm sure Captain Raydor can survive the night without you – and believe me," the lieutenant sighed, "you wouldn't be doing her any favors by showing up looking like this. Go home, sleep, eat – someone will pick you up in the morning and bring you back."

Rusty opened his mouth again.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Tears of frustration abruptly filled the boy's eyes again; he tried to scoot back in the uncomfortable seat, rubbing both hands to his face, fingers pressing against his eyes. Why were they all acting like this? Why couldn't they just… get it?

Provenza's hand squeezed his shoulder, and the boy pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling as he met the lieutenant's eyes.

"Rusty. I'd let you stay if I thought it would make a difference," Provenza told him quietly, "but it won't. Sharon's fine. And she'll be a lot happier to see you in the morning if you've had some sleep. You know that."

Rusty didn't argue, even though he didn't know that. He didn't know that Sharon would be all that happy with him at all – and no amount of sleep was going to change that, or how he felt.

But he went.

In the car, the memory of his exchange with Lt. Provenza gave him an inkling of why Buzz had been acting a little off, too.

"I suppose you're mad at me, too?"

Buzz's eyes flickered to him briefly. "Actually, I'm mostly just really tired. We've all had a bad weekend, Rusty."

He hadn't had a 'bad weekend'. But… there was no point in even trying to explain. "So you're not mad," he commented instead, "'cause you're acting like it."

Buzz glanced at him again, and let a few second pass before responding, "I haven't made up my mind yet."

Rusty's arms crossed instinctively, his shoulders tensing. "I'm – I'm not like, sorry for – " He pressed his lips together, determinedly. "I'm not gonna be sorry that I went, okay? Because – because…" Wasn't it obvious? "I'm not sorry," he muttered again, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

Buzz sighed, "Yeah, I know you're not sorry. That's kind of the problem."

Rusty shook his head. "Look, Buzz, I'm… I just had to, okay? I don't… I get why you and like, Lt. Provenza, are angry with me or whatever, but… you don't understand."

Another sigh. "I do understand," said the man. "That's why I'm not sure that I am angry with you – but anyway, if I were you I wouldn't worry about whether I'm angry. Or Lt. Provenza."

"Yeah, Lt. Flynn already yelled at me, too."

"Yeah?"

Rusty squirmed in his seat. It was obvious that Lt. Flynn wasn't who Buzz was referring to.

The knot tightened in his chest. He knew exactly what Sharon would say.

She'd say that he'd done exactly the kind of thing that had made her not trust him. That he hadn't kept himself safe. That – a strangled noise almost escaped his throat – that he'd disobeyed everyone and gone off on his own and… the last time he'd done that, he'd made Sharon end up in that parking garage, and what was she going to say when she heard that he'd done literally the same thing again?!

Rusty let out a shaky breath, burying his face in his hands.

Sometimes he felt it would be easier if the ground just opened up and swallowed him.

Buzz sighed. "Don't worry too much about it now," he told the boy. "In the grand scheme of things, at the moment, it's probably not the first thing on anyone's mind."

That wasn't much consolation.

It was past one-thirty when Buzz dropped him off, but even though he was more tired than he could ever remember, Rusty couldn't go to sleep. He was so tired – but every time he even thought about closing his eyes, his heart just started racing again, and that strange mixture of fear and anticipation rolled in his stomach, and… the condo didn't feel nearly as empty, somehow, but now it felt wrong because he just wanted Sharon to come home so much, that every second that she wasn't there yet made him want to scream with frustration.

He went and took a shower instead, carefully putting his dirty clothes in the hamper.

Then he gathered all the worn clothes that lay strewn about in his room and put those in the hamper, too.

Then he decided to do the laundry altogether.

He washed and dried and folded everything, and he'd have ironed everything too, only he had no idea where Sharon kept the iron. Instead, he rounded up Sharon's coffee cup from the living room table, and his Algebra books from the coffee table, and even that stray sock from under the table. He threw out the old leftovers from the fridge and took out the trash.

Around three-thirty he was arranging the throw pillows on the couch.

And since Sharon seemed to think there was a 'right' way to do it, he moved them around about fifty times until he hit a configuration that looked close enough to… something.

He fell asleep in the middle of a half-hearted effort to change his sheets, curled between the mattress and half a fitted sheet, his comforter hanging mostly off the bed onto the floor. He still had his phone in one hand, fingers curled around it even in his sleep because he was so anxious to get up the next morning...but even so he slept right through his six-thirty alarm, and didn't even realize it until his eyes snapped open ten minutes after eight, his heart already beating about two hundred beats per minute.

Next chapter is called 'Answers' for a reason! And that reason is that Sharon will be wanting ALL of them. ;) From the doctors, the team, her own memory etc. There will also be a guest appearance from our favorite DDA, who will NOT be having a good day trying to get some answers of her own to prosecute our bad guy.

Thank you all for reading. We're getting close (ish) to the end of this story, so this is the point where if you'd like to see any scenes / resolutions / answers in particular, feel free to let me know and I'll see if I can incorporate them!