Apologies for the two weeks between updates! I think meeting Sharon Beck shortcircuited my brain a little. I just didn't know what to make of her, so I was all sorts of confused, and it became hard to write these 'wind-down' chapters under those adverse circumstances!
Needless to say, my ambivalence toward Ms Beck was resolved with this last episode. I will spare you all the lengthy diatribe and let's just say, both Kleenex AND pitchforks would've been appropriate! The fact that this chapter is not one long hug between Sharon and Rusty is only the result of a long exercise in self control... :P
A Tangled Web (31)
Sharon wasn't sure that she would ever feel not-tired again.
It was a sensation so pervasive that it clung to her very bones, making them heavy, weighing her down – and yes, she was thrilled to be back home, and having returned to the condo had eased a huge pressure off her chest, but…everything was so…effortful.
The rational part of her said that it was temporary, but the feeling frustrated her more than she cared to admit.
With a sigh, she pulled the cotton T-shirt over her head, wincing as her muscles protested the movement. Still, a moment later she felt a little better; the shirt smelled fresh and familiar, her sweat pants were comfortable, and sitting down on her own bed felt like a blessing. Even if she wasn't sure how she'd find the energy to get back up and take her bathrobe back to the bathroom. Doing anything past that seemed even more insurmountable.
Just taking a shower had taken her three times as long as usual. Between the bandage on her left hand, and having to be careful not to get water in her ears, and feeling exhausted after only about forty seconds of standing, it hadn't been the relaxing experience that she'd hoped for. But she'd gritted her teeth and let the hot water wash over her, and scrubbed until every last bit of dust and sweat and hospital smell were out of her skin and hair.
She'd taken the hairdryer back to the bedroom with her afterwards, too tired to blow-dry standing up. It sat now on top of the comforter, right next to her discarded bathrobe. Dealing with either item at the moment seemed a dauntingly herculean task.
Letting out another tired sigh, Sharon shifted her position a little further up the bed, and leaned against the headboard. Her head was starting to hurt again, and she couldn't remember where she'd put the pharmacy bag. Her back ached, too. Her ears were still ringing, a bit…and she still had to call her daughter, and – oh, and call the bank to cancel all of her credit cards…figure out what forms to fill to get a new license issued and … talk to Andrea Hobbs and…
She startled abruptly with a strangled gasp, eyes flying open as indistinct panic rushed through her.
"It's just me, Sharon! I'm sorry – I…uh, I didn't mean to wake you…"
Rusty.
Bedroom.
It took a second to get her heartbeat back under control.
The room looked a lot darker, suddenly. Sharon needed a few moments more to process through the disorientation – had she fallen asleep? She must have. The reddish glow of the late-afternoon sun had almost vanished, the sky turned grey with the last remnants of daylight.
At the foot of the bed, her bathrobe and hairdryer still lay abandoned. Her hair was merely damp, now. How long had she been asleep…?
Instinctively, she reached a hand over to the nightstand, but couldn't grasp the lamp knob properly because of the restrictive bandage. Rusty made some sort of murmur that she couldn't make out (was it him? was it her hearing?), and then she felt his hands fumbling over the nightstand; a second later, the lamp came on.
Sharon blinked slowly against the stronger light.
When she focused on the boy, he was standing a couple of feet from the bed, giving her a wide-eyed, wary look. She cleared her throat, "What time is it…?"
"It's almost seven. Are you okay…?" Rusty shifted on the balls of his feet. "Listen, I didn't mean to – I was just…"
"What do you need?" she asked softly. He didn't have to apologize for waking her up.
"I don't need anything, Sharon," sighed the boy, and there was just the slightest eyeroll along with his reply. "I wanted to see if you needed something. I knocked," he hurried to add, "but like, you weren't answering, so…"
Oh. "I must've dozed off," she said unnecessarily. A slight shiver raised goosebumps on her skin; her arms had gotten cold in her sleep.
"Yeah… How are you feeling?"
"Better. Good," she quickly amended at his look. "I'm fine, Rusty. Don't worry about me."
There might have been another sigh from her foster son.
"Here," he held out the white pharmacy bag, "you need to take these meds, right? Oh – hang on, I'll bring you a glass of water." He marched two determined steps toward the door, and halted. "Or like, do you want tea? I'll make some tea," he decided. Another step, then – "Do you need anything else?"
Sharon smiled. "That's alright. Why don't you get a teapot going, and I'll join you in the living room in a couple of minutes." She tried not to take his doubtful once-over too personally. "Go ahead. I'll be right there."
The 'couple of minutes' turned into ten, but she made it to the living room eventually. Her muscles all felt stiff from the awkward half-sitting position she'd slept in, but the unplanned nap had at least given her enough energy to stand up, pick up the bathrobe from the end of the bed, and return it its hook in the bathroom. The hairdryer she'd put away without using; it was too late for that now, anyway.
She'd also taken the time to brush her hair back a little, and pin it up, and she'd pulled her black sweater out of the closet, its familiar warmth another layer of comfort that she didn't quite want to admit she needed. With those two rituals out of the way, she felt marginally better.
The phone was ringing when she reached the living room, and Rusty was rummaging through the cabinets for tea bags and a mug. Sharon smiled and nodded when he held up the chamomile tea box. Then she picked up. "Hello."
She'd recognized her daughter's number on the caller ID, and hearing Katie's voice brought another smile to her lips.
It was a brief conversation, in which Sharon continued to skirt around too detailed a description of her weekend, content to repeat to her daughter much of what she'd told her son the previous evening. An oversimplified version, with words like 'difficult case' and 'unexpected complications'. Yes, someone had tried to blow up a shopping center. Yes, they'd caught him. No, she was fine. Katie asked a lot more questions than Ricky, but Sharon managed to glaze over the worst of the details anyway. Her older children at least had been spared two days of not knowing if she was alive or dead – she had no intention of scaring them retroactively. She put a quick end to her daughter's inquiries, skillfully steering the conversation into safer waters.
She didn't miss the look that Rusty gave her from the kitchen counter, but she didn't feel bad.
If she'd had the chance, she'd have sugar-coated it all for him, too.
"I know you like lemon in your tea," the boy said when her phone call was over, "but I don't think we have any more lemons…" He peered doubtfully into the fridge. "There's like, a lime…?"
The suggestion was comical enough to break through her contemplative mood. Sharon huffed in quiet amusement, though her thoughts didn't entirely manage to focus right. There was a vague sense of … disconnection, almost, within her. Even now, days removed from the shocking events of the garage explosion, even as she sat in the peace and comfort of her own home, she still felt a little … strange.
A lot of it was probably the tiredness. It had been a long day. Long day.
Her mind was still catching up.
"Okay." Rusty's voice drew her attention again. He was bringing over her tea, in a steaming mug that smelled of chamomile and honey. "Watch out," he offered, holding it out so she could grip the handle with her uninjured hand, "it's still like, kinda hot."
Sharon hummed her acknowledgment. "Alright." She shifted a little in the corner of the sofa, and smiled at him as she took the mug. "Thank you, honey."
He took a step back and gave her a searching look as she inhaled the scented vapors. The tea was too hot to drink right away, but she enjoyed its warmth against her hands, the comforting smell. The quiet in her living room… the distant sight of the city lights outside the window…
"I'll go get you the pharmacy bag," said Rusty.
His voice again jarred her out of her reverie. "That's alright," she stopped him before he marched over to the bedroom. "I'll get it, in a few minutes."
The boy hesitated, shifted on his feet a little, with the same fretful look. "Okay… " But he still looked like he was ready to take off again. "Do you want like, more honey or something…?"
"No."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence, then they both grimaced.
"Rusty, you don't have to take care of me," Sharon reminded him a gentle tone. "I appreciate everything you're doing, you're being incredibly kind," she smiled at him warmly, " – but please don't feel that you have to … wait on me. That's not necessary. Alright?"
"Okay." It might've been an encouraging reply. If his expression had been maybe just a little less unconvinced.
With another sigh, Sharon leaned back into the sofa. Her muscles still ached, and she'd used her left hand too much; it was starting to throb slightly, under the bandage. She'd have to take the antibiotics soon.
Well – might as well do it now. She shifted again, and put the still-steaming mug on the coffee table.
Rusty followed her with a nervous gaze as she got up. "Do you –" He trailed off at her expression, and cleared his throat. "Uh… never mind."
He was trying, at least.
"Why don't we start thinking about some dinner," Sharon suggested right before heading over to retrieve the pharmacy bag. She was a little surprised to see her foster son cringe. "You're not hungry…?" She wasn't that hungry herself, but the antibiotics had to be taken with food – and she'd assumed that Rusty would want dinner…
"No it's not that, it's…" He pulled a face. "We're kind of out of… uh, everything, basically."
Oh. Oh.
It seemed like such an unexpectedly mundane problem, that for a moment she didn't even remember how to react. Groceries. Of course. The real world hadn't stopped, after all. She hadn't been home in almost five days.
Five days.
God.
She recovered after a moment. Five days. And the last grocery trip that she remembered had been the previous Sunday. No wonder they were out of everything.
"Okay." She nodded, and glanced at her watch. "The store is still open for a couple of hours. I'll make you a list, and –"
"I think we should order take-out." At her confused look, he hurried to add, "It can be like, healthy take-out! We can order from… whatever, from that Italian place. Or like – salad. There are places that deliver salad, right?"
Sharon's eyebrows rose a fraction. "…I suppose so, yes. But if we're out of everything, Rusty," she pointed out, "we'll just confront this same problem again tomorrow morning for breakfast, and I don't want you going to school on an empty stomach, so –"
The boy cleared his throat. "Yeah – you know, I've been thinking…I think I should like… stay home from school tomorrow. Only until you get better!" he defended quickly. "Like – I've already done a whole semester online, what's a few more days –"
"Rusty."
"No, but just – listen to my idea for a second, okay?"
"You're going to school tomorrow."
"But Sharon, what if you need something?"
She paused; her eyes closed for a second.
"No."
"But –"
"What I need," she told him evenly, "is for you to focus on your schoolwork and finish your senior spring without missing any more classes."
"No, that's what you want," countered Rusty, "but like, you're not looking at this objectively, okay?"
Sharon bit her lips, letting her chin fall to her chest. "Okay," she said quietly, and sat back down on the sofa. Then she patted the cushion beside her. "Come here. Have a seat."
Rusty grimaced.
"Okay – I know what you're gonna say, Sharon," he pre-empted, sitting down, "but like… yeah, I know that you can like, get your own things and whatever, but – you know, that doctor said that you were supposed to be 'taking it easy', right? So you can't like, get mad because I'm trying to ..." He paused, amended: "Okay, you're not mad, I know. But –"
"Rusty." She tilted her head at him, smiling. "You're having that argument all by yourself."
Another pause, then…"Right." He let his shoulders slump in a conceding sigh. "I just don't know what to do for you, Sharon. I feel like… like I want to, but I don't know how to help."
It took effort to keep her smile from turning sad. There was still too much anxiety in his expression, more than she'd have ever wanted to see. If only she could have spared him the long days of worrying, too…
"Honey," she said softly, "I understand. I wish things hadn't… been so difficult, these last few days. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
Rusty sighed, grimacing again. "You keep saying that – I wasn't the one having the difficult time, Sharon. I know that."
"I think you were." She breathed out slowly, a tired sigh of her own. "If our positions had been reversed, I think...I think I would have found that a far worse situation to be in, too. Often… it's harder to worry about the people we love, than about ourselves." She met his eyes as she said that, with a compassionate look.
He didn't fidget or squirm or run for the hills, he didn't even bat an eye at the word 'love'.
It was maybe the first time that that happened.
A diffuse warmth spread through Sharon's chest, at the realization.
"So… what are you supposed to do, then?"
"Well." She thought about it for a moment. "You can't keep an eye out twenty-four seven," she said. "So you can trust the other person that they can look after themselves in your absence, I suppose. Do your best to balance that trust with your concern for their wellbeing." She met his eyes again. "And let them know that you're always there for them, for whatever they need." Her gaze was meaningful; Rusty bit his lips.
"Whether they like it, or not?" There was the beginning of a smile on his face; Sharon hummed in quiet amusement:
"Precisely."
Then she patted his leg. "Now come on. I'll make you a list, and you can go get us some real food. I don't want to eat leftover pizza for the rest of the week."
"For the record…I said we could order salad."
"Go put your shoes on."
She didn't tell him that he'd been almost right, because she fully intended to shield him from any further worries regarding her person. But the truth was, about five minutes after Rusty had walked out the door, Sharon had begun to realize that she did not want to be home alone.
It wasn't that she needed anything, per se. At least, not anything that she could put her finger on. It was an indistinct sensation… a mixture of vague anxiety and frustration, that intensified the longer she found herself in the empty apartment. It wasn't fear. It wasn't sadness. She just felt…uneasy. Like she didn't entirely know what to do with herself. She was too tired to do anything, really. But too strained from the last few days to properly relax. It was a dreadful inbetween.
In the end she settled for curling back up on the sofa and finishing the rest of her tea in some sort of silent contemplation; she was tremendously relieved to see Rusty return from his grocery trip.
Even if he had forgotten to buy about one third of the list, because he'd skimmed it once and then raced through the store in a rush to get back home. That had also resulted in him buying string cheese instead of Swiss, and olive oil instead of olives.
She could live with it.
They didn't have to cook dinner, since Rusty had brought some back from the store's hot bar – for which Sharon had been very grateful, because by eight-thirty she was barely able to summon the energy to eat the food, let alone make it. She settled for some mashed potatoes and a spoonful of steamed vegetables, and decided that chewing meat was too effortful. Her half-protests when he'd offered first to put all the groceries away, and then to clean the table and do the dishes, had been entirely fake, and they both knew it. After he'd taken her plate, Rusty brought her a glass of water and the pharmacy bag, and watched her while she studied the prescription to remember how many antibiotic pills to take and how often.
She said no to more tea. Three times.
At slightly before ten, she was ready to retreat to her bedroom. She thanked Rusty for taking care of dinner, and assured him again that she didn't need anything but yes, if she did find herself in sudden distress she would make sure to call him and no, she didn't think that leaving the door open was necessary.
"Listen… about school tomorrow –"
"Rusty," she sighed. Then she hesitated. Maybe he actually had a real school-related issue. "What about school?"
"Do you want me to like, drive back during lunch…?"
Sharon arched an eyebrow at him, and the boy took the hint.
She was half-expecting another battle on the topic in the morning, but two things ended up preventing that. One, without her phone, she had no alarm, and two, her sleep had been somewhat agitated and intermittent until around four a.m. (when she'd resorted to opening the window for some extra air and noise, which had, surprisingly, helped), and so she only woke up around eight, and Rusty was already gone.
His bed was even made.
He'd also left her an omelette in the oven, that was still warm. Sharon couldn't help smiling.
She opened the balcony doors, letting the sun warm her face for a good minute, then slowly made her way to the table. There, next to the plate he'd set out, Rusty had also left her a note. It reminded her to take her medicine, and to call him if she needed anything, and he'd written his name and number at the bottom in ridiculously large font, which made her laugh.
It felt good to laugh again.
Sharon put the note on her desk, wanting to keep it even though she had no intention of calling Rusty at school, of course. His time was his own, and not to be spent worrying about her. He'd had enough of that in his life. And, she was fine. Maybe when he confirmed that she'd survived the full eight hours of his school day, it would help ease some of his worry.
And… maybe not.
The first time he called her, at eight-fifty a.m., she thought something had happened.
"Rusty," she breathed, her heart beating faster already. "What's wrong?"
"How are you feeling?"
"I…" What? "Good. I'm good. Did something happen at school?"
"No – everything's fine here. I just wanted to see if you were okay."
Oh.
It took her a second to process the fact that he'd called her in the five minute break between first- and second-period, against school policy of not using cell phones, just to … what? See if she was still breathing?
"I'm fine, Rusty," she assured. "You don't need to worry about me. Focus on your classes. And don't use your cell phone unless it's an emergency," she reminded him. "You'll get in trouble with your teachers."
She could basically hear his eye roll.
"Okay, Sharon."
Well… good, at least he was –
"Did you have breakfast?"
– really?
He called again at ten-forty, after his third period.
"Is this an emergency?" she greeted.
"That depends," said Rusty evenly. "How are you feeling?"
Sharon sighed. "Honey. I'm doing fine. You don't need to call me just to check on me. Go get ready for your next class."
"I am." She could hear the sound of a locker closing. "Don't forget to take those pills at noon."
For God's sake.
The third time, he called at the end of his lunch hour, and she picked up with an exasperated, "Rusty."
"Hey, you're the one who made me go to school today."
It was a losing battle.
With a sigh, Sharon went back to making lists and trying to figure out what else had been in her wallet and purse that needed to be canceled, changed, or replaced. She'd already called about the credit cards. Contacted her building manager about a new access card for the facilities. She'd called the right office at the LAPD and declared that she'd lost her access card, so they could invalidate it – she'd have to wait until she went back to work to be issued a new one, as they only did it in person.
A variety of store and club cards could go to the bottom of the to-do list – she could use her email or phone number for most of those, anyway. She needed a new everyday watch. Some things she probably couldn't replace – old business cards, a couple of photos. It was fine. Considering.
Her license would take a trip to the DMV, which she did not look forward to. Her phone would take a trip to the store – a new phone would be easy, but knowing that she'd lost the entire contents of her old one made her very unhappy. She tried not to dwell on it. It could've been worse. Considering.
The biggest problem were her gun and badge. The LAPD did not look kindly upon losing those, and they'd both been in her purse. Sure, she wouldn't be held liable for the loss, given the circumstances, but she'd still have to go through a routine inquiry – and about a million forms. Knowing and understanding the necessity of those protocols did not make them any more pleasant.
Before she knew it, the phone was ringing again. Two-thirty.
Sharon sighed. "Aren't you on your way home?" She'd given up on greetings entirely.
"Yeah. I'm about to leave... just wanted to see if you needed me to pick anything up on the way back."
She grimaced, at that. That was a perfectly normal reason to call – not to mention that Rusty was once again kindly volunteering his assistance – and she was being ungrateful.
"That's alright, honey. I don't think we need anything. Just come home. Drive carefully," she added as an afterthought.
"Are you sure?" There was still a note of anxiety in Rusty's voice, and it made her sad. He shouldn't have felt that way, and not over her of all people. "Do we need like, any more groceries or something?"
"Not that I can think of."
"Okay. Uh, I'll just head home then."
"Drive safe," she repeated. "I'll see you soon."
And she did. And even though he'd called her a total of four times over the course of a few short hours, when he walked through the door he still gave her a frantic once-over, and looked impossibly relieved to see her.
With a tight smile, Sharon stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket, and had to fight the urge to hug him.
Around five she began thinking about dinner.
"I defrosted some chicken, and we have enough vegetables for a stir fry." They were not eating take-out again if she could help it. "How's your homework coming? Will you be ready for a break in about an hour?"
"I'm ready for a break now," muttered Rusty. "I don't get why I'm supposed to care about how light reflects through like, a million different materials. At a million different angles." He rolled his eyes and pushed away his physics textbook. "I'll chop the vegetables."
Sharon considered the offer for a moment, before deciding to let him off the hook for his homework – for the moment at least.
"Here, I'll do it," said Rusty as she was lining up two zucchinis on the counter. "Actually – I can do the rice, too, if you want."
She did not want. Last time he'd operated the rice cooker, they'd ended up with unintentional sticky rice. Really sticky rice.
Instead, she let him peel and chop the veggies, and the meat, and set everything up in the frying pan. Frying things – that, he excelled at. Though she might have to make sure he didn't sneak any bacon in there.
"Seriously Sharon, I've got this," the boy told her when she'd accidentally hit her injured hand against the pan handle, and barely missed some flying drops of hot oil. "You can go sit down."
"Rusty..."
"Sharon."
"We've already discussed this yesterday," she reminded him. "Rusty, I'm fine. Please don't feel that you have to –"
"Okay, I don't feel like I have to, Sharon," the boy said exasperatedly, "I feel like I want to. Notice the difference?"
"Not in this instance, no. Should you feel inclined to behave like this three weeks down the road, I'll be more open to the idea."
Rusty pressed his lips together and refrained from telling her that at the moment, he felt extremely inclined to behave like that for the rest of time.
He didn't think Sharon realized just how far from 'fine' she still looked. There were scrapes and scratches visible on pretty much every inch of exposed skin. Each time he saw her left hand, he remembered what it had looked like that evening in Griffith Park, and his stomach clenched – and then he remembered what she had looked like, and then he just wanted to sit her down on that sofa and never let her out of his sight again.
She was not 'open to the idea', obviously. But she just… didn't get it.
"How come you're allowed to be nice to me, but I can't do the same?" he grumbled, trying very subtly to push her away from the stove before she managed to actually hurt herself.
"You can," she murmured back, "and you are, being exceptionally nice, honey. But I'd like you to focus on your own priorities, and not worry and go to this much extra effort on my account."
"Yeah, because you've never done that for me." He rolled his eyes.
"The reciprocity in our relationship only extends to certain aspects," she informed him through narrowed eyes. "This isn't one of them."
"Is that one of the rules?"
"Yes."
"Okay, so can I like, add my own ru –"
"No."
Rusty sighed. Then he gave her another worried look, the kind that probably annoyed the hell out of Sharon, but he couldn't help himself. "Are you still feeling okay?"
"I am," she told him with an affectionate smile. "And more than fit to stir this chicken."
He disagreed, but what could he do?
At least, when she smiled at him, her eyes looked a little less tired, and he felt a little better. But he still would've really preferred to keep her away from the hot oil.
The sound of the doorbell interrupted their silent wrestling around the stove.
Rusty craned his neck and glanced in the direction of the door, a little confused. "Were you expecting someone…?"
"Not that I know of." An unwelcome pang of anxiety ran through Sharon. It was just the doorbell, for God's sake. She did not need to think about the fact that she didn't have her gun anymore.
Overcoming her hesitation, she walked over and glanced through the peephole.
Then she smiled. Relief loosening her shoulders.
She opened the door, "Andy."
The lieutenant smiled back from the other side of the threshold.
Well, at least this looked like good news.
A lot of you did ask for this extra Sharon / Andy scene ;). No one's riding off into the sunset, but they will be having a mostly-happy conversation next chapter. Words like 'thank you' will be mentioned. And, we'll get to find out what happened to our bad guy, too!
Thank you all for reading. Three more chapters to go!