Apologies for the delay in posting... I think it's a combination of summer schedules being all over the place, and me not being ready for this story to end :P. As usual, huge thanks to all of you reading this and sending me your thoughts :)

A Tangled Web (33)

Lt. Flynn and Rusty had done all the chopping, frying, stirring and serving, but even with zero effort involved on her part, about half an hour into their dinner Sharon was beginning to feel uncomfortably tired again. Her eyes were too dry, and her lower back had started to ache. All over her body, she could feel those minor cuts and scrapes and bruises, that were healing, yes, but not yet healed. They bothered her now, only a bit but just enough to distract her from the meal and company, and make her wish, guiltily, that time would pass faster.

Her face felt a little hot, too. Part of her wished that she'd thought to slide open the balcony door, earlier. The slight breeze would be more than welcome. But if she got up and opened the door now, Rusty and Andy would know that something was up, and then they'd give her those concerned looks, and the lieutenant would feel bad for staying and the boy would have to be again wrestled to school tomorrow and… it was just easier for everyone involved if she kept her seat and forgot about the breeze.

She rolled her shoulders as discreetly as she could, and pushed a piece of chicken around with her fork.

Maybe she should've asked Rusty to cut the meat into smaller pieces. Chewing too much felt like unnecessary effort at this point.

" – and I can like, get one AP credit for the Advanced English Lit class I took online, but I never finished the US History one or like, the last comprehensive science course, so that's why I'm taking this Biology class now even though literally everyone else in my class did it last fall…"

Sharon smiled a little. Hearing Rusty complain about his too-crowded class schedule felt almost refreshing. It was also a little surprising, though, to hear him volunteer that much information in the conversation. In her experience, when they were around others – with the exceptions of Buzz and sometimes Lt. Provenza – he usually kept his input to a minimum and mostly only answered when asked a direct question. And even then it was with brief and somewhat cagey answers.

Now, seemingly out of the blue, he'd become more willing to engage in small talk – as he was demonstrating by answering Andy's inquiries about his spring semester with a minimum of hesitation and awkward pauses. When had that happened, exactly? Had she missed it? Or was Rusty just trying harder, this evening, to take the burden of conversation off of her?

Either way, she couldn't help a quiet rush of affection for the boy. He really was turning into such a remarkable young man, in all these little ways, the best of him coming to light more and more every day. Just being able to watch it happen filled her with joy.

" –and like, probably gonna have to take at least one other science course and like, US Politics or something, in the summer, to finish my credits…"

"Politics, huh?" Andy smirked, "Make sure you don't ask Provenza for any homework help."

Rusty cringed. "Yeah, no, I think I learned my lesson after that Roosevelt thing last month…"

Sharon chuckled under her breath at the reminder. "I still can't believe you asked the lieutenant if he was around when Teddy Roosevelt was president," she told him.

"But only because I read those dates wrong ," the boy defended. "And like, it's not my fault that Buzz didn't correct me before I went and asked."

Andy laughed at the mental image the two of them were painting for him, "How did I not hear about this before?"

"I think Lt. Provenza preferred to keep the incident under wraps," said Sharon with an amused smile. "And I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate it being revisited."

Andy grinned. "I'm sure he wouldn't."

"Hey, just leave me out of it this time," Rusty requested. "I don't want the lieutenant to make me recite all the presidents to him another ten times."

Flynn guffawed again. "He did that?"

"With dates."

Sharon breathed another quiet laugh, then coughed a little against a sudden dryness in her throat. The air she exhaled tickled uncomfortably, almost too hot as it passed her lips. Swallowing, she reached for the glass of water in front of her.

She really was feeling unaccountably tired for (her eyes surreptitiously glanced to her wrist) barely seven-thirty. And it wasn't as though she'd done anything strenuous that day at all; it had been mostly writing lists and making phone calls. Maybe socializing over dinner was taking a little more out of her than usual, but honestly Rusty and Andy were doing much of the heavy lifting on that front, too, so there was just no reason to feel that out of it.

With a soft sigh, she took another sip. The water was at room temperature by now, but even so the glass felt pleasantly cool against her skin. She blinked a couple of times, hoping to chase some of the fatigue away.

It didn't work.

Across the table, Andy cleared his throat. When she looked up, she noticed that there had been a brief lull in conversation, and he was giving her a long look.

Great. Not only had she invited him to join them only to make the poor man pretty much cook and serve his own dinner, but now he was probably feeling like he had to hurry up and leave already.

She was definitely not winning any hosting awards that night.

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes the lieutenant began to make his excuses. Sharon sighed again, and tried to tell him to please not rush on her account, but it was a futile attempt. He placed his fork and knife on his plate, and pushed his chair back slightly.

" – was great, thanks again for letting me join you guys for dinner – no, don't get up," he told her as she pushed her own chair back. "I'm just gonna clean this up."

Oh God.

"Andy, please don't worry about it –"

"No, no – look, you're supposed to be taking it easy, alright, and I've already put you out enough tonight," he argued as he picked up his glass, too, "so let me just clear the table and we'll call it even."

She managed not to roll her eyes at his definition of 'even'.

"I'll do it," said Rusty. Which was only marginally better.

"I appreciate how considerate you're being," she informed them, "but you've both done more than your share and I have no problems cleaning up." She stood and picked up her own plate – though with her bandaged hand, she couldn't get the glass at the same time, too. "Andy, would you like to stay for some tea?"

He smiled at her as he put his and Rusty's plates in the sink, and turned on the tap. "That's alright, I should get going. I'll just rinse this – here, let me take yours too," he took the plate from her hands and added it to the pile in the sink, "and I'll call a cab in a couple of minutes…"

A cab…? Oh – "That's right, you can't drive…" Sharon thought for a moment, then quietly elbowed Rusty, who was putting the saran-wrapped rice bowl in the fridge.

The boy's expression grew alarmed. 'No', he mouthed to her.

Sharon's eyebrows rose pointedly.

Rusty's did the same. Then he shook his head, almost pleading.

She dipped her chin to give him a prompting look.

Rusty's shoulders slumped.

"I can drive you, lieutenant," he mumbled in the least eager tone possible. "If you want," he added, careful to not look at Sharon. "Like if you don't want to get a cab."

"Oh." Andy half-turned from where he was rinsing the plates. "Nah, that's okay, kid – thanks, but you don't have to."

"Oka –"

"I think that's a great idea, actually," said Sharon, and before they could figure out a way around this, too, she added with finality, "Andy, you came all the way here just to drop off my car keys, the least we can do is make sure you have a ride back home. It's not a problem," she assured. "Rusty will be happy to drive you."

Rusty rolled his eyes.

A few minutes later, the table had been cleared and wiped down, Andy had rinsed the dishes and Rusty had insisted on informing him how to load the dishwasher in great detail using phrases like 'Sharon wants the glasses in the top section' and 'Sharon likes the forks handle down', as though those were somehow her own idiosyncratic rules and not just the normal way to load dishwashers.

Once the dishwasher was running, their much debated post-dinner cleaning was done and, sighing in defeat, Rusty went to his room to change so he could give the lieutenant a ride.

Twenty seconds later he rushed back out to remind her to take her antibiotics.

Then he went and got them for her.

And didn't give up until he'd filled a glass of water and put it in her hand, too.

Andy was giving her an openly amused grin by the time Rusty finally went back into his room to actually change. Sharon shook her head, sighing quietly. "I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do about that." She glanced toward the closed door of Rusty's bedroom, then back at the lieutenant, her expression slightly questioning. " It's not just me, right?"

He chuckled as he picked up his jacket from the chair. "Nah, you've got your hands full, here, by the looks of it. Who knew that one'd turn out to be a real mother hen?" She looked a little uncomfortable. "Kid's just trying to take care of you," he offered in a more serious tone.

"I know, but that's not his responsibility. Anyone's responsibility," said Sharon. "I wish…" She cleared her throat, and smiled at him. "It's not that I'm not grateful. I hope it doesn't come across that way. I am, and extremely so, but…"

"Sharon," he nodded, "I get it. Hey, I don't like it when people fuss over me either. But you know it's coming from a good place." As she nodded slowly as well, he added. "Kid had a tough time those couple of days you were gone. I mean we were all worried, but – well, you don't need me to tell you."

"No," she acknowledged softly. "I know." She didn't need him to say it. If anything, she was even more worried about the underlying reasons behind Rusty's behavior, than about the behavior itself. With a tired breath, she leaned against the arm of the sofa again and shook her head. "I wish that everyone hadn't had to spend so long worrying about me."

Andy sighed. "Yeah. I know you do." He gave her an honest look. "But trust me, you're the only one looking at it that way. The rest of us, we're just happy to have you back."

She returned a small smile, then her expression wavered as her thoughts visibly shifted tracks. "Andy, I don't know if I had a chance to properly thank you," she said quietly. "For finding me… however it happened," she shook her head again, "if you hadn't been there – if you hadn't found that place when you did… I don't know. Things might have been…worse. And – well, 'thank you' falls a little short, in this case, doesn't it," she huffed with mild amusement, then met his eyes again with a sincere gaze, "but I hope you know how grateful I am."

"I know," nodded Andy. "But Sharon – you don't have to be. You'd have done the same for me," he said earnestly, "or for any of us, you know that."

She smiled, "Still. And I do have more than enough reason to be grateful," she disagreed. "To you, and everyone else too."

Andy watched her with a searching gaze for a moment, then said seriously: "Yeah – okay, but just… don't thank me for looking for you, alright?" His eyes held hers for a moment, then softened as he smiled as well, "Seeing you back is kind of its own reward."

Sharon's lips pressed together, the corners still turned upwards. She placed a hand on his braced arm, gently, and left it there for a few seconds, saying again, "Thank you."

There was something endearingly amusing about the way his expression showed both warmth and disagreement.

"You and Lt. Provenza seem to share an inexplicable dislike for hearing the words 'thank you'," she noted.

Andy laughed, at that. "Hey – how about this." He turned his head to glance around, until he spotted the small bag he'd arrived with, on the table by the door. Walking over to pick it up, he told her, "If you really want to thank me for something, I think I might have just the thing."

Sharon watched curiously as he peered into the bag, as though to double check its contents. "Andy – you didn't have to bring me anything…" She was starting to look just a little uncomfortable again.

"I didn't. Well – I did, but it's not just from me. And some of it was already yours anyway."

With that introduction she was left entirely confused. "What…?"

He reached into the bag. "Tao and Sanchez found this when they were sweeping that bunker at the park. After we'd found you." He pulled out something with a vaguely recognizable shape. "Sorry about the evidence bag – but it's been cleared. Provenza had it released back to us from Evidence – so that means, back to you – this afternoon."

Sharon's eyebrows rose with surprise. "You found my badge?" She couldn't remember having it while she'd been trapped in that underground room with Danny. But then – she did usually wear it on her belt, with pantsuits. It made sense that it would've been on her still, after the explosion. "Andy, this is great – I was expecting to have to declare it lost, and replace it…" Her fingers shook a little as she took the badge out of the evidence bag; it didn't look even a little scuffed.

She smiled up at him again, genuinely thrilled despite her growing tiredness, "Thank you!"

"Like I said, that was technically already yours," he joked, "so I'm just returning your property. Now, this…" He pulled out something else, before putting the shopping bag aside. Then he held the item out to her. "This is actually from everyone. We figured you'll need a new phone."

She couldn't believe it; the iphone he was offering her looked literally the same as her old one.

"Sorry about it being unwrapped. Mike and Buzz spent the rest of this afternoon getting all your contacts and data on it, so they had to take it out of its packaging. But," Andy's eyebrows arched wryly, "now it's got everything you need on it. Yeah, I don't know how, either," he read her surprised expression, "you'll have to ask them."

Sharon slid her finger across the screen to unlock it, and tapped the phonebook icon, and sure enough, it was true – all the contacts she could remember having were right there, her daughter's number and her parents' and Ricky's and Rusty's, and countless others. The phone held some of the photos she remembered – not all maybe, but enough, and there were notes and even the two games that Rusty had insisted on installing once, months before, that she'd never played except after he'd downloaded them.

"Andy…" Her voice was low, quiet. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he waved her off. "I told you, we just figured – well, it was mostly Mike honestly – that you'd need a phone. This way you don't have to worry about going and getting one . Although you've got a gift receipt and everything in the bag," he tapped the shopping bag he'd put aside, "plus all of its original packaging, in case you wanted a different model or anything. And Buzz will go and exchange it for you if you want."

She lowered her chin to her chest for a moment, and nodded. "Okay. That won't be necessary," she told him softly, then looked up again. "This model is fine. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Andy. "Oh – Mike says he's upgraded this one to the newest version or operating system or whatever. He says to tell him or Buzz if you have any problems."

Another nod. "I will."

He patted his jacket pockets. "Did I give you your car keys already?"

Sharon bit her lips, the beginnings of another smile forming. "I think so, yes."

"Okay, then…" He hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the phone. "You know that if you need anything, you can call me, right?"

Rusty came out of his room ready (though not very willing) to go, just as she nodded one last time and told Andy, "I know."

It was too quiet again, after the two of them had left.

Sharon leaned against the closed door for a long moment, and surveyed the empty living room with an absent look.

See, this was when having the table to clear or dishes to wash would've been helpful. It would've given her a distraction, in the silence, from her own weary thoughts.

Slowly, she moved away from the door and, walking to the small round table by the sofa, picked up her badge and the shopping bag with the phone packaging. A warm smile curled her lips, but it was fleeting; tiredness chasing it away before it was even fully formed. She dropped the bag into one of the desk drawers. Her fingers ran over the cold metal of her badge one more time, before she set that on top of the desk.

There was something else, Andy had told her in the last couple of minutes before he and Rusty had walked out the door. He'd given her a folded piece of paper with a reference number for Evidence.

They'd found her gun, too. Among the debris in the mall parking garage. It had been the dogs: of course – fire arms were one of the things they were trained to sniff out.

Sharon tried not to think of the fact that those dogs had been there looking for her in the wreckage.

Andy hadn't brought the gun back to her – the lab still had it, testing it for damage, checking that it hadn't been fired in the incident. She couldn't remember firing it and didn't think that she had. Since FID hadn't contacted her yet, it meant that she was probably right.

God. She'd become tangled with one of the worst criminals their division had seen in the last few of years, the object of a days-long manhunt, and she hadn't even gotten a chance to fire her weapon to stop the man from his violent plans.

What kind of officer did that make her?

Sharon let her eyes close as she sank into the sofa.

She'd never know if she could've somehow changed the outcome of things. If she'd acted faster, thought faster, if she'd just fired at the man, or…something. Maybe those two bombs wouldn't have gone off. Maybe Danny would still be alive. For two days her mind had circled around countless 'what if' scenarios, the effort of it leaving her as tired as her physical recovery. What if there had been a way to stop it? God - but if it had been worse? What if...

Andy had told her tonight that it was over, but it was hard to let that sink in.

What did 'over' even mean, in this instance?

Andy had looked so satisfied telling her that Erik Jensen was going to serve life without parole. Sharon found it difficult to feel the same satisfaction. Not that she wasn't glad that the case was closed and justice had been served – but it was hard to associate all that she'd gone through, all that she'd seen happen around her, to her, with someone she'd never even met. The fact that Erik Jensen would spend his life in prison didn't feel much like closure.

She didn't even really know what Erik Jensen looked like.

The man had nearly killed her. He was possibly the closest that she'd ever come to dying on the job – Sharon's breath caught in her throat as she thought that – and she'd seen him for maybe all of thirty seconds in her entire life.

He had almost taken that life from her.

And she couldn't pick him out of a line-up if she tried.

God.

Sharon leaned her head against the back of the sofa, and let out a slow, tired breath.

It was strange and disconcerting, that someone so far removed from her could at the same time have had such a direct forceful impact on her. Disconcerting enough that she couldn't feel proper relief at the knowledge that he'd been dealt with. Part of her wanted to look into it further, to go talk to Jensen and yell at him and ask him how he could've set off that bomb, how he could've almost killed her, without thinking of her family, without regard for who she was and what she might still want to do with her life, that part of her wanted to confront him and see him in a prison cell and know that he was going to spend every minute for the rest of his days regretting what he'd done.

The rest of her just wanted to forget about the man. He was a stranger, and whatever she'd gone through in that bunker, he hadn't been there, he didn't know her, he'd probably not spared her a single thought outside of trying to kill her, and Sharon didn't care if he ever would. She didn't care if he even knew her name, and she didn't plan to remember his.

In the end, none of what had happened had been about either of them at all.

She'd been caught in it, yes, and that had blown everything to new proportions for her and her team, of course, but ultimately, it wasn't about her. And though everything had started over Erik Jensen's hatred of his avaricious ex-wife, Sharon wouldn't give them the satisfaction of making it all about them, either.

To her, the case would always be about James Donnell. About Danny. Theirs were the names that she planned to remember. The stories that she cared about.

Maybe that was what 'over' meant. She could give their families an answer. She hadn't been able to save Danny, let alone his friend, but if nothing else, their story would be set straight.

And on their behalf, she could feel satisfied that the man who had killed them would never see the outside of a prison again.

She might have dozed off for a few minutes, fatigue and somber thoughts drawing her into an uneasy sleep, until she involuntarily switched positions; in doing so she rested too much weight on her injured left hand, startling herself half-awake with the mild jolt of pain.

There was a moment of disorientation, before she got her bearings, when her heart picked up the pace. But it passed quickly. She didn't scare so easily in her own home.

Her muscles protested as she straightened back into a proper sitting position, and her eyes felt too dry again. Didn't they have a humidifier somewhere in the house? Sharon was fairly sure that she used to own one; perhaps now was a good time to find it and use it.

A sound from the door drew her attention; keys were jangling right outside. Maybe it had been the noise, too, not just the slight throbbing in her hand, that had woken her up.

A second later the lock clicked open and Rusty walked in, looking as though he was trying to be quiet. He gave up when he spotted her. "Hey."

She smiled at him, "Hi, honey. Did your drive go okay?"

The boy almost rolled his eyes. "Lt. Flynn lives like twenty minutes away, Sharon." At her look, he sighed. "Yes, it went fine. It was the safest most uneventful car ride ever. He could've taken a cab," he grumbled under his breath.

"I hope you didn't tell him that."

Another half-eyeroll, then Rusty walked around the sofa to stand in front of her. "How are you feeling? Were you like, okay, at dinner," he continued before letting her answer the first question, "you looked kinda…out of it, a little."

Great.

"I was a little tired, that's all," she assured him. "It's better now. I hope Lt. Flynn didn't feel obligated to leave because of that…?"

The boy gave her a confused look, as though unsure why she seemed to be expecting an answer. "I…didn't ask him," he told her slowly, wearing his 'you're weird' frown. "Uh… did you want me to ask him?"

Sharon sighed, and didn't know whether to roll her eyes or laugh. "No."

Rusty just gave her another strange look. "If you're tired, you should go to bed," he suggested cautiously.

"In a little while," hummed Sharon. 'It's still early."

He looked like he might have argued, but thought better about it. They gazed at each other for a moment, then Sharon patted the couch cushion next to her. "Sit down for a second, Rusty."

He pulled a face. "I didn't say anything!"

"No," she agreed. Her lips pressed together in an amused smile. "This isn't a lecture."

The boy looked doubtful, but he sat down anyway.

She turned her body toward him, one shoulder leaning against the back of the sofa. Her hand reached to briefly touch his elbow.

"Am I in trouble? Is this because I didn't want to drive Lt. Flynn," he assumed, "because like, I wasn't trying to be rude or whatever, Sharon, it's just that –"

"It's not about Lt. Flynn," Sharon interrupted, and smiled at him as reassuringly as she could. There was still a trace of amusement in her eyes as she added, "You're not in trouble, Rusty."

He pulled the same unconvinced face again. "Okay. So then, you're still annoyed with me because you don't want anyone taking care of you."

"No." She paused, "Well… no," she repeated eventually, "although it is true that it's not your responsibility to take care of me, and I wish that you didn't feel like you have to."

He sighed loudly, "Sharon, I told you, I don't feel like I have to –"

She held up a hand to stop him, and acknowledged, "I know, I know." She shook her head, then smiled at the boy again. "That's not what I want to talk about."

"Really?" he deadpanned, then, faced with her Look, shifted in his spot and amended, "Okay. Okay, sorry. I'm just gonna…sit here…and… listen," he nodded slowly, and only smirked a little when she couldn't hold on to the stern look because the corners of her lips were curling upwards. "Sorry. What is it?"

Her expression grew a little thoughtful, and she glanced away for a moment, before meeting his gaze again and tilting her head. "Do you still have Dr. Joe's contact information?"

Rusty paused. "What?"

That wasn't what he'd been expecting, clearly.

"Uh…yeah." He fidgeted in his seat. "Listen, Sharon…"

She squeezed his elbow gently to stop him so she could finish her thought. "I know you already went for that one appointment at his office," she acknowledged, "but that was several weeks ago, and we didn't talk about it much so I don't have a clear idea of how it went. Rusty – I understand if you felt that it wasn't as useful as you'd thought, or if for any reason talking to Dr. Joe in a different context made you uncomfortable…"

"That's not it," said the boy, and he fidgeted again, actually pushing himself further away on the sofa. Sharon waited, absently pulling a throw pillow against her, playing with its corners as she gazed at him in patient, expectant silence. "It was – fine, when I went. I mean I like Dr. Joe, and it was useful and whatever, but…" Rusty grimaced, and pulled on the hem of his shirt. "I didn't go back again because it felt like… Okay, so I didn't know then, right, what was gonna happen after I turned eighteen," he backed up, "so…I kind of felt like, what was even the point? In starting this thing with Dr. Joe and then just having to give that up, too." He caught her sad expression and grimaced again. "Okay, I should've… just…talked to you about it, I know that now. I don't even know what I was thinking at that point, Sharon," he said honestly, "there was just…a lot of not knowing what was going on or what was gonna happen."

She gave him a painful smile. "Rusty, you know now, right," she asked softly, "that no matter what happens, you're never going to have to give up what you have here?"

"I know." He met her eyes and nodded. "I do."

"Okay." She hugged the throw pillow against her, and just watched him silently for a long moment, with that loving gaze of hers that made a strange sort of warmth spread through his chest.

"I know, Sharon," he said again. "Seriously. I just… I wasn't this sure, a couple of months ago. But like, not because of you," he hurried to add, because she was starting to get that unhappy look again, "There was just a lot of stuff going on and, I don't know, turning eighteen seemed like this big scary thing and I don't think I really wanted to talk about it. Or… think about it. So that's why I didn't want to go back to Dr. Joe."

Sharon swallowed, nodding slowly to herself. "Alright." She cleared her throat and gave him an open, warm look. "Rusty, if this is something that you're still open to – and you know I don't want you to do anything that you're not comfortable with," she reminded him, "but if your previous reservations about going to see Dr. Joe no longer apply… I think…I would like it," she said gently, "if you could spend some time considering whether talking to Dr Joe again might be helpful."

There was a second of silence, and then Rusty returned a nod of his own. "Yeah. Okay." he agreed. "I'll think about it. I uh… I think, maybe... that's not such a bad idea."

Shaorn smiled at him again. "I'm glad you think that way," she told him quietly.

Rusty smiled back. Somehow he found it almost amusing that Sharon had won him over to the side of the mental health industry after all. And honestly... he had a lot of thoughts in his head right now. Dr Joe was good about helping him to sort them out sometimes. And maybe he could teach Rusty how to get Sharon to stop being so ... weird, about the whole 'taking care' thing, because all she did was take care of him, and obviously she wasn't 'fine' now because some psycho had tried to kill her less than a week before, and could she please stop being unreasonable and get some damn rest so everything could go back to normal?

After a second, something else occurred to him. He gave her another once-over, concentration beginning to crease his brow.

Sharon missed it; she'd closed her eyes as she craned her neck to stretch it, wincing at the slight stiffness in her muscles. "I think I'm going to make some tea," she hummed, opening her eyes again to stand up. "Would you like some?"

"Yeah… Sharon, uh…" Rusty trailed off, obviously distracted by whatever he was trying to say. His wary expression gave her pause – he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. "Uhm…do you think you should…" Another worried glance in her direction, then he cleared his throat. "Okay, please don't take this the wrong way or anything… or like – I'm not trying to be annoying, okay? I swear. But, uh…"

Sharon tilted her head, her eyebrows arching slightly. She was starting to suspect where he was going with this.

Rusty swallowed hard, and adopted a half-pleading, half-wary look. "I don't know if this is something that would be useful or not… but…do you think that maybe it would be a good idea for you to talk to Dr. Joe too?"

"No."

"I mean, not to talk to him about me," he clarified. "Like - by yourself."

"I know what you mean," she said calmly. "But no."

The finality of her tone took the boy by surprise.

"But, Sharon…"

"Rusty." She perched on the arm of the sofa, giving him a patient look. "Dr. Joe is your therapist. You and he have established a good rapport, that allows you two to discuss things in a way that's beneficial for you. My only relationship with Dr. Joe," she explained, "is that I'm your guardian."

The boy still looked confused. "So it's like… a conflict of interest? 'cause okay, it doesn't have to be Dr. Joe…I'm just saying that maybe…if you needed to 'discuss things'…?"

"I know." She dipped her head, thinking for a moment, then met his eyes again. "I understand what you're getting at, honey. And – I'm not sure that it's…necessary, or that it would be useful, at this junction, for me to talk to anyone in that context – but," she raised a finger to prevent him from interrupting, "regardless of my opinion on the matter, the LAPD requires officers who have been involved in this sort of...incident, to be cleared for active duty again by a psychologist as well as a physician. So I will have to do that, and probably very soon, too."

"Oh." Rusty opened his mouth again, only to find that, that being the situation, he had gotten exactly what he wanted and had nothing else to say. "Okay."

Sharon tilted her head, her look a mixture of concern and affection. "Rusty, please don't be so worried about me. I'm fine."

He sighed. "Are you gonna stop being worried about me?"

"That's not how this works."

"Can I make your tea?"

"No."

He glanced up at her, eyebrows rising. "Yeah, okay. So then, I'm just gonna sit over here, and be worried," he informed her.

Sharon snorted with amusement, and leaned forward a little to brush her hand against his cheek, before standing up properly again and walking over to the kitchen to make the tea.

One more chapter left, and everyone's in therapy! *I'm* probably going to need therapy once this is over, because I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself after that. (Other reasons that will likely require therapy: Monday's episode and Sharon's terrible child who isn't Rusty.)

Thank you all for reading :).