Well, 6,000 words later, and we're done. This supposed one-shot turned into a monster, but I loved absolutely every minute of it. And I sure hope you all have as well. This will be the last installment of these little stories, at least for a while. I hope this will tide us all over in terms of Mothership feels until Monday! We've almost made it!

"Sharon, don't start."

Sharon closed her mouth and just watched as Rusty walked into the apartment without so much as a hello and stomped over to the couch where he dropped his pack heavily on the table with a thump.

"I know that Amy called you from the car and told you about what a massive screw up I am, so can we just, like, skip the lecture?" He looked over at her standing by the bar and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "'Cause I have already heard it from, like, ten people."

Sharon still didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, yeah, maybe it was just from Amy," Rusty conceded, "but she like, yelled at me for an hour in the car non-stop. Basically the same thing."

If Sharon hadn't spent the entire day worrying about him, she might have laughed. Instead she just waited, watching him as he crashed down onto the couch with a huff.

"Am I allowed to speak now?" she asked, when Rusty had remained silently fuming on the couch for about a minute.

Rusty cut his eyes over to her, still obviously furious, but didn't say anything.

Sharon left her spot by the bar and smoothly came to perch on a chair in front of Rusty, her bare feet crossed before her. "So, how was your day?" She smiled faintly at him, both resisting the urge to smother him with her relief that he had made it through the day, and trying to open up a conversation wherein she could impress upon him the seriousness of his error and assure him that things would work out.

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Seriously, Sharon?" He sat up abruptly and pulled his feet under his body, leaning towards her in a move of obvious frustration. "Um first, don't even pretend like you weren't watching me practically the entire day, okay? I know you were."

Sharon leaned back in her seat, uncrossing her legs. "Actually, Rusty, I'm afraid you've rather overestimated my involvement today. I did have my own case to work, as you might recall."

"Whatever," Rusty scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Sharon frowned. Sarcastic and frustrating as he might be, Rusty understood her all too well these days. Of course she had sneaked a glance at the feed from the park at every opportunity. She knew exactly how his day had gone from when he had eaten his lunch to how many bathroom breaks he had taken. And they both knew it.

"And second," Rusty continued, "do you police like, ever tell the truth?"

Sharon groaned inwardly. He really had latched onto that point from the first moment she'd met him. He just loved to throw that accusation in her face at every opportunity. Probably because he knew how much it bothered her.

"Rusty," she began lightly, "you know why we had to—"

Rusty's head snapped up. "Wait. 'we'?! You knew they were going to trick me like that?!" Rusty was shrieking now, his voice high-pitched with indignation.

Sharon nodded serenely and leaned forward again, holding out a hand to calm him. "Of course I knew. I didn't know exactly what they were going to do," she relented, "but it's policy to perform a field test in situations like this, particularly with young people and civilians." She tilted her head at him curiously. "Did you really think they were going to do something like that without running it by me first? Or that I would permit them to put you out on the street without following the rules?"

Rusty didn't answer, just looked over at her sullenly.

Finally, he said, "Okay, okay. But I still don't see why you guys couldn't have, like, warned me that you were going to do something like that."

Sharon quirked an eyebrow at him, a slightly amused expression on her face.

Rusty sighed heavily. "Yeah, okay." he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans, looking away from her. "I know," he said quietly. "You guys were just doing your jobs, and I really screwed up." His eyes still refused to look at her. "It's just…I was really scared." He spoke to the floor. "And like, I dunno. I see you guys lie to everybody. All the time. And it just makes me feel like…like I can't trust you guys."

Sharon crumpled in her seat. Of all the things he could have said. She extended a hand and gently brought it under his chin, slowly lifting his face back up to hers. "Rusty." She spoke quietly and purposefully. "You can always trust me." Her voice trembled a little with emotion, and she could feel her eyes misting up behind her glasses. It had been such a worry-filled day. "Whatever happens." Sharon took a deep breath, dropping her hand from his chin. "Now," she said more evenly, "if you're going to go out there for real again, we're going to have to make a deal."

Rusty glanced up at her in surprise. "But I thought—" he started quickly.

"Hey," Sharon said seriously, "if you don't want to go out there again, that is totally fine. The FBI is coming up with an in-depth profile on this man, and we'll catch up to him at some point." She tried not to sound too hopeful as she said it, but the last thing she wanted was for Rusty to go out there if he didn't want to anymore.

"No-no-no!" Rusty cried out. "I want to!"

Sharon let out a breath of disappointment. So much for getting a good night's sleep in the near future. She kept up a brave face for Rusty's sake, but she was inwardly terrified. "Okay." She looked at him intently. "Then you need to convince me that you won't make the same mistakes again." Rusty opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon silenced him with a look. "Uh-uh. You are listening now." She pointed up at his hair. "That distress signal is not a joke. If you feel threatened, you use it. The same goes for your pepper spray." She gestured at his bag on the table between them. "The plan is the same every day. There is absolutely no reason to deviate from it." She gesticulated deliberately. "And don't ever forget that answering a phone call from me is not optional." She finally stopped, and Rusty groaned and rolled his eyes at her last words.

"Okay, okay, okay. I get it, Sharon. I will be a brainless drone. Just please, please, please let me do it."

Sharon kept her face impassive, steeling herself against the voices in her head that were screaming in protest. "Okay."

Rusty jumped up from his seat in excitement. "Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, Sharon! I promise I will, like, totally impress you all with my zombie imitation."

Sharon smiled faintly at his words, but only briefly. She still had that sick feeling in her stomach, the image of Rusty cold and lifeless in the street creeping into her thoughts again. This was ridiculous, she chided herself now. She had to pull herself together.

She stood up now, saying something about freshening up, and closed herself into the bathroom. She turned and leaned over the sink, her hair swinging forward over her shoulders and into the sink. The question floated to the top of her mind yet again. When had this happened? When had he become more than just a semi-permanent grumpy feature of her life? When had he become more than that silly ruined shirt in the back of her closet? When had she traded in that parasitic relationship for a mutually beneficial one? When had it become, well, love?

September in LA was strange. It always felt like the temperature couldn't settle, the occasional cool breeze ripping through the dry heat, leaving everyone surprised in its wake. Even after thirty years in the area, Sharon couldn't get used to it. She always felt so unsettled at this time of year. It was just odd.

Sharon glanced over at Rusty sitting in the passenger seat beside her. Well, not sitting. He was sulking, in the way that only an unhappy teenager could. Somehow his wordless attitude was deafening in the thick silence of the car.

"You want to talk about it, Rusty?" She tried to ask it in the most neutral way possible.

Rusty turned away from her to look deliberately out the window, shutting her out.

Sharon rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily out of the corner of her mouth. "Okay," she said slowly. "Well how about you just listen for a little while?" More silence. She pulled up to a traffic light and drew the car to a stop. She turned to look at Rusty more fully while they waited. "I know that you are feeling a little…" she paused, searching for an innocuous phrase. "Well, constrained," she finished. Rusty continued to look determinedly out the window. "But you need to understand—"

"It's green, Sharon." Rusty's voice was flat and annoyed.

Sharon held back her usual diatribe about interrupting and turned back to face the front, continuing through the traffic light. "Rusty," she started again, "this—this situation is far from ideal. I know that." She turned into the parking garage and pulled into her usual spot, next to the now-unused Volvo. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned towards him again in her seat. "But I need you to remember that I am trying to keep you safe. We all are." Rusty's hand reached across his lap to unfasten his seatbelt, still avoiding Sharon's eyes. He pushed open the car door and started to get out. Sharon followed suit, clenching her teeth over the angry words threatening to fly at Rusty and his infuriating attitude. She walked quickly to keep pace with him as he made a beeline for the door to the lobby. "Your safety is my primary objective." She held the door into the building open for him and waited as he walked through first. The door closed behind him and Rusty immediately proceeded to the elevator, pushing the button before she had completely caught up with him again. "I know that it's annoying," she continued in what she hoped was an impassive tone. The elevator dinged and the doors drew open; the two stepped through together. Again, Rusty pressed the appropriate button, and the doors closed again. "But you need to remember that this is not forever." Rusty looked down at his feet as the elevator rose. Sharon suppressed an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure it must feel restricting, and it's upsetting to have so little freedom, but I wouldn't insist upon it unless it was absolutely necessary." The elevator stopped and the doors opened both made their way down the hall toward the apartment, Rusty still effectively ignoring her. Sharon unlocked the door when they reached it and swept him before her.

She pulled the door closed behind her, a little harder than necessary in her frustration. "Okay, this isn't going to work for me." She dropped the neutral tone now, snapping a little. "This passive-aggressive silent treatment is not a game I'm going to play—uh-uh. Stop right there." Rusty was now creeping down the hall towards his room in an obvious attempt to escape her. She dropped her bag and keys heavily on the side table in front of her, removing her coat and shoes at the same time. She turned back to face him in the hall now. "Not one more step." She was usually so good at keeping calm during arguments. She liked it better that way. There was a power in maintaining a quiet anger. A form of control that soothed her. But her current frustration combined with the day she'd had had rendered her incapable of her usual collected tone.

Rusty finally turned around. "God, Sharon," he seethed, "can't you take a hint?" He strode back down the hall towards her. "I. Don't. Want. To talk." He paused between each word for emphasis. To Sharon's disbelief, he turned back towards his bedroom as if the matter was now closed.

"One more step, young man, and you can kiss your phone and laptop goodbye," she said sharply. Rusty froze. That had gotten his attention, Sharon thought with satisfaction. "Now you can come out here and talk to me like a civilized human being, or you can hand over your laptop and computer right now. It's your choice."

"Like anything is ever really a choice with you," Sharon heard him mutter from his place in the hall. She smiled a little to herself. He was catching on. She turned and walked barefoot towards the kitchen. She heard Rusty following close behind.

"Okay," Sharon said a little more calmly once she reached the kitchen. She spun back towards him and pointed forcefully at the bar. "Sit." He rolled his eyes, but complied. She pulled open the refrigerator door and pulled out the remnants of last night's salad and some left over grilled chicken from earlier in the week. She set everything down on the counter and reached up into the cabinet for a couple of plates. "I need you to know that what happened today can't happen again." She watched him carefully over the top of her glasses. He still had an overly-dramatic air of frustration that bordered on histrionic, but at least he wasn't avoiding her eyes anymore.

"Seriously, Sharon?" His tone was exasperated. "I just went to play chess in the park. It was not a big deal."

Sharon turned away from him to put the chicken in the microwave, sighing. He still did not get it. "Rusty, there is someone out there who wants to kill you." She divided the salad between their plates as she spoke. "Do you understand that?" The microwave dinged, and she removed the chicken.

She heard him exhale heavily behind her as she placed a piece of chicken on each plate with a fork. "Yes, Sharon. Of course I understand that. I mean, I hid all those letters for a reason. Duh."

Sharon spun toward him. "Not funny." She pointed forcefully at him with the fork in her hand. "Now set the table."

He rolled his eyes at her again, but slipped off his chair and began moving around the table, putting down napkins and placemats. "I was totally fine, Sharon. And I was fine for months before this when you guys didn't know about the letters. What was going to happen?" He turned back to the bar and picked up the plates that Sharon had just placed there, transferring them to the table. "There were people all around. Literally. What was this guy going to do? Just walk up to me, stab me, then politely apologize to everyone around for getting blood on their shoes?"

Sharon's eyes snapped back to him from where she was pouring water into glasses. What was with him and the dark humor tonight? Didn't he understand how extremely not funny those sorts of jokes were? Of course he didn't, she reminded herself. That was the point. He didn't understand how serious all this was.

Rusty caught a glimpse of the daggers flying from Sharon's eyes and grimaced, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I know. Not funny. But still. I just don't get why your goons have to hang around all the time." He sat down at the table now, waiting for her.

"Because," she sighed as she brought their glasses to the table and sat across from him, "the security detail is a non-negotiable stipulation of the deal I made with Chief Taylor and the DA's office to keep you out of witness protection." They had been over this at least five times before.

"I don't need a babysitter, Sharon. I can take care of myself."

Sharon considered her plate in silence for a few moments, keeping her response to herself. But you don't have to, anymore. She picked at her food unhappily. Clearly this approach was not going to make him understand. But he had to understand. She sighed, setting down her fork and looking over at him again. "Alright, Rusty. I understand that you think you're fine and I do know that you can take care of yourself." She spoke in that low, soft voice that she usually reserved for emotional conversations. "But I want you to consider for a moment what it was like for all of us up at the station today when your security detail came to my office and informed me that they'd lost you."

Rusty looked up at her in surprise. Clearly that aspect of his little escapade hadn't occurred to him. Sharon could see his mind processing the implications of what she'd said, could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, and knew that this had been the right button to push. For a remarkably self-involved and oblivious teenager, Rusty was remarkably selfless. It was one of the qualities that so endeared him to her. The idea that his actions might have negatively affected everyone else might be just the thing to get him to take all of this seriously. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon shook her head slightly and he closed it.

"I had every uniformed officer out there today looking for you," she continued, still in that unflappable tone. "My entire division dropped everything to insure your safety. And I—" her voice cracked on the last word, the emotions of the day finally catching up with her. She abruptly stood up from the table and turned away from him to the kitchen, her right hand rising to her forehead in that telltale sign of the tears threatening to fall. The memory of the crippling fear that had gripped her all afternoon came back in full force. Sharon bent over the counter, still with her back to Rusty, and took a deep breath. "I didn't know where you were, Rusty." Her voice still shook slightly with emotion.

A chair scraped behind her, and she heard Rusty get to his feet, shifting uncomfortably behind her. Sharon blinked softly and a single tear began to slide down her cheek. Her hand automatically came up to wipe it away before it fell.

"Sharon… God… I-I'm sorry." Rusty's words were uncertain behind her. Still not looking at him, she could sense his hand hovering tentatively in the air over her shoulder. She took another deep breath and wiped quickly at her eyes beneath her glasses before finally turning back to Rusty.

"I just need you to stay safe." She brought a hand up to touch his face briefly, and he let it rest there for a split second before he pulled away and looked at his feet in seeming embarrassment.

"I know." He spoke to the floor, quietly. "I won't do it again, Sharon, I promise."

She nodded and smiled a little tightly through the tears still glistening in her eyes.

But he hadn't kept his promise, Sharon thought to herself now.

The fear that had boiled in her stomach that day had now taken up residence in her insides. It was fear different than the occasional nervousness that visited her at a crime scene or when she herself was in danger. This was a fear that took hold of her very being and squeezed until she could no longer breathe. It was the tell-tale sign of her love, of her unwillingness to let him go. Of his constancy in her life, and the realization of what her fear during those few hours that Rusty had been missing actually meant: that he was permanent.

She still smelled of gunpowder. It was a mist that lingered around her, seeping into her surroundings indiscriminately.

Sharon was standing alone in the elevator, wedged into the corner with her back to the walls. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso. She took pleasure in the constriction; she felt protected somehow, more in control.

"He lives in your building! Apartment 321."

Cold. A soul-crushing cold rushing everywhere. Gun. Yes. She needed her gun.

"Andy, call SIS. Do it now!"

Stairs. Something cutting into her feet. Where were her shoes? Why wasn't she wearing them?

A hard, copper taste in her mouth.

5th floor, 4th floor—

The elevator doors slowly opened. She looked up and remembered to move just before they closed again. She walked slowly, toward the bustle of uniformed officers clustered at the end of the hall. They parted when she reached them, finally revealing her apartment door. She nodded in thanks to the officers and walked through the door.

A deserted hallway. 321. There. But how?…

A high-pitched shrieking. The fire extinguisher heavy in her hands. Her back ached with the impact.

"LAPD!"

Rusty's strangled cry for help. Her body shuddered as she brought the fire extinguisher against the door yet again, then she was through—

Two more officers waited inside the apartment, their full attention focused on the security of the shaken young man between them. It was a relief. She mouthed her thanks to them and proceeded slowly toward Rusty, slightly turned away from her. He turned towards her as she approached.

"Hey." His greeting was hoarse, quiet. Residual terror still showed in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Hey." Sharon's voice was quiet, soothing. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly when she reached him. "You okay?" She sat on the couch across from him as he answered.

"Just a little shaky. But never happier to have so many police officers around me."

Sharon watched him sadly. She had so urgently wanted him to take his safety more seriously, but she had never wanted it to happen like this.

"Sharon! Sharon, he's in there! Sharon, he went in there!"

The gun, cold in her hand.

The pungent smell of bleach everywhere.

The hard floor beneath her still-bare feet.

Fear in her heart, suffocating fear, suddenly replaced by a cold and calculating rage—

Sharon hadn't meant for it to happen this way. She would have given anything to have her obstinate, oblivious teenager back. The terror still in his eyes that came with his disillusionment haunted her. It wasn't worth it. He had lost something today. This day had taken something from him; stolen it like the faceless men that she knew still haunted his nightmares. And she wanted desperately to get it back for him. But they both knew it was gone.

"Rusty, I owe you an apology," she began quietly, watching him steadily. "I went against my instincts, I never should have—" She could hear Rusty trying to speak over her in protest, but continued,"—gone along with this entire operation—"

"Sharon, let me finish, please?"

She stopped and gave him a subtle nod to continue.

"I thought I had a handle on all this stuff," Rusty began. "But I didn't follow my orders," his voice began to crack, "and I almost got myself killed—" tears were falling now as his voice shook violently.

Shots.

One, two, three.

Her finger reacted on the trigger immediately, her body moving into position without thought.

Through another door. A bed, a TV, a chair. Where did he go?

She was at the window, the gun still steady in her hand.

Lieutenant Cooper's shouts echoed behind her, and she shouted, "I see him! I see him!"

But he was gone.

"—And-and-and from now on, whatever you want me to do, whatever it is, that I need to do Sharon, I promise you that I'll do it. I'll just do it. Because…"

Words suddenly seemed to fail Rusty. He fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, and Sharon looked at him questioningly, trying to decide what it was he needed. There was always such a fine line between helping him regain control over his own personal space and giving him the aid and comfort he needed; she always had to be careful with Rusty in emotional situations like these. But before she'd had time to even consider what she should do, Rusty had launched himself out of his chair, reaching for her, and she had automatically risen to meet him. His arms came around her and held her tight. Sharon could feel his desperation in that moment; the way his hands clutched at her back and shoulders, seemingly afraid she might disappear. She could sense that Rusty was holding on to her for dear life. This was a hug unlike any they had shared before. It was not awkward or perfunctory, as though he was allowing her to touch him. It wasn't akin to the sorts of reassuring squeezes she had often given him, or the feather-light guiding hand between his shoulder blades. No. This touch was raw, unyielding, anguished, and he didn't pull away. It was unexpected, and even more rarely, completely initiated by Rusty himself.

Sharon closed her eyes for a moment, restraining the storm of emotions behind her eyes. Relief that he was alright. Fear at what was to come. Bitter disappointment at her own failings when it came to his safety. Trepidation at the thought of their next move. Sorrow for that part of his dwindling child-like outlook that he had lost today. Surprise at his display of affection and newfound ability to reach out. The conflicting emotions were at war in her mind, and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"You saved me. Again." Rusty's words were muffled slightly in her hair, and Sharon opened her eyes. She pulled away from him gently so she could look him in the eyes as she breached this next topic reluctantly.

"But it's not over yet." She brought her hands briefly up to his face to make sure she had his attention, a gesture of comfort for herself and Rusty as well. "Unfortunately the guy who tried to kill you is still out there," she continued steadily.

"I know," Rusty whispered tearfully, an anxious look on his face now.

"And I am happy that you promised to do what I say," she said deliberately. "And that you know that it is for your own good." She continued to regard him unwaveringly for a moment as he processed what she had said.

Confusion flitted across Rusty's face and he began to splutter in uncertainty.

Sharon finally looked away and began to walk back to his room. "Come on," she said softly, ignoring his continued confused questions. Her hand came up to her forehead in an obvious signal of tearful distress. Still ignoring his increasingly alarmed queries, she continued down the hall. She didn't trust herself to say anything more without shedding tears. And tears were the last thing Rusty needed from her. They had reached his bedroom now, where she just looked at him sadly and began packing his bag. He had to know that this was not a rejection. That it wasn't forever.

The minutes passed in a blur as Lieutenant Provenza and Julio arrived, filling in the blanks that Sharon didn't trust herself to say aloud. There was a flurry of activity in the room now as everyone hurried to gather Rusty's things. Soon they were nearly to the front door again. She held out his suitcase to him wordlessly as Provenza chatted amiably in an obvious and completely unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood. Rusty reached for it, his hand over hers for a split second, her eyes boring into his. Then her hand dropped, and he began to move away. At the last moment, Sharon reached out and caught his shoulder, pulling him back toward her swiftly, her cheek against the side of his head, one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. There was a whispered "See you soon," and, even more quietly, "I love you." And then they were gone.

Sharon snapped the door smartly closed behind them, then turned back to the empty apartment and finally let the tears fall.

His breathing was low, steady, relaxed. Sharon smiled slightly at his sleeping form, sprawled across the bed. And Rusty slept. Like he hadn't slept in a long time, Sharon suspected. And she just stood there in the doorway, watching quietly as his back rose and fell in time with his breathing. It was calming, she realized, to see him sleeping so blissfully back where he belonged. It was nearly all she could do, however, to keep herself from sitting on the bed with him and smoothing his hair or rubbing his back. But she refrained, continuing to watch him quietly, wondering to herself how they had arrived here. When had she exchanged that sullen and tight-lipped witness for the warm and caring young man now before her? Where had the Rusty who had confided in her just a few hours ago in her office come from?

Rusty finally turned to look at her, his eyes shining with tears and his chin quivering slightly as he spoke. "Look—thank you, for everything that you've done for me, but I—I don't think I should live with you anymore."

Sharon's reassuring smile faltered for a moment. She struggled to keep her face impassive and her tone light as she asked, "why?"

She could sense that something was bothering him on a very deep level, but she kept herself from pushing, trying to give him as much control over the conversation as she could conceivably cede, the way she always did. But his expression worried her. She couldn't read it. And a part of her, the selfish part that she usually kept so well confined, was a little hurt at the thought that he didn't want to live with her.

"Because I don't think you'll want me there."

Sharon's heart sank straight to the floor at Rusty's words. "Rusty, why on earth would you say that?" Her voice was barely above a whisper now, and she wasn't sure she'd kept the hurt out of her tone. What could she possibly have done to make him think that she didn't want him? But immediately, Sharon stalled that thought. If her experience with the young man before her counted for anything, this was not about her. It so rarely ever was.

I played chess with that Wade guy," Rusty started, looking out at the murder board again. "And in some ways—not-not the illegal ways, not the violent ways, but in other ways, ways that I can't fix, I am just like him."

Sharon immediately cut in. "No, no, no, no." It was imperative that Rusty understand this. Of course she had seen the similarities between Rusty and Wade Weller; in many ways it felt like the same song, different verse. Except that they were so vastly different. Rusty was kind, and cautious, and gentle. He would walk ten feet out of his way to avoid even seeing her gun in the apartment. He would make her breakfast after a late night. The sad fact was that Rusty's and Wade's stories were all too common, and not at all remarkable in their similarities. "You are not like Wade Weller."

"Yes I am, Sharon," Rusty argued. "I am just like him. I am exactly like him. And I am like…I am just like Dr. Morales, and maybe Dr. Joe, and all those guys who picked me up on the street."

Oh. Oh.Sharon relaxed slightly at the realization that he was talking about that. But only slightly, because clearly it was upsetting to Rusty. She quickly reminded herself that his fear of rejection and abandonment were deep seated, and not at all a reflection of his feelings towards her or an assumption based on reasoned fact. But it still deeply saddened her to think that his default expectation would be rejection.

"And I can't fix it, Sharon. I can't fix it." He moved closer, nearly sobbing now, and practically collapsed on her shoulder in an embrace. "I am just like them, Sharon. I am just like them."

Sharon felt her mouth open slightly in surprise. She slowly brought her arms up around Rusty's back and swayed a little, rubbing calming circles with her hands. This hug felt different than their earlier breakthrough. This was a hug of utter desperation. Not seeking reassurance after a near miss or a wordless sign of support before he dived into a fraught family situation about which he was still clueless. This was the sort of touch that begged her for forgiveness, implored her not to abandon him, pleaded for acceptance. Sharon's heart ached as she sensed the desperation in his touch, as her neck and shoulder became slippery and sticky with his tears, as she considered how far they had come.

"Rusty, what you are," she said soothingly into his ear still pressed against her cheek, "is who I love." She felt her own tears welling up in her eyes now. But this time she made no attempt to suppress or hide them. "And all of you is coming home." She smiled tearfully into his shoulder.

They stood there for a few minutes, swaying slightly on the spot. Finally Sharon pulled away and they just looked at each other for a long moment. Tear-streaked faces and all. It was amazing, Sharon thought, how they were able to have almost an entire conversation without words now. Words of assurance, a query about their departure, an understanding nod. All contained within one look.

Finally she tore her eyes away from him and wiped her face delicately with one hand. She walked over to her desk and picked up her bag without a word, Rusty opening the door for them as they exited.

Sharon smiled a little to herself, still watching Rusty sleep quietly. He let out a deep breath and his hair ruffled slightly over his face. Sharon clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from giggling too loudly, finally withdrawing from the room and closing the door softly behind her. She walked out into the living room, turning off the lights and preparing for bed herself.

She looked around the apartment as she went, her eyes lingering on the small signs of Rusty's presence in her life. The chessboard lying haphazard on the table. A lone shoe almost hiding under the couch. A DVD or two sticking out slightly from the rest. A newly framed photo of the two of them she'd just had made this week, smiling at her from the desk.

It didn't really matter when it had happened, Sharon realized suddenly. It didn't matter how it had happened. It didn't even matter why it had happened. Somewhere she had traded in her professional distance and the general understanding that Rusty was just another part of the job, for love. At some point, she had exchanged her objectivity for irrational worry and the validation of a smile. But how, when, never truly mattered. All that really mattered was that they had made it here, now. That without a doubt, this was permanent.

And we'll just leave it there. I felt a little guilty about all the angst and tears and fighting in this one, so I hope that tiny taste of fluff at the end brought you all back down off of the ledge. Thanks to everyone for all the reviews and words of encouragement on these stories. I'm not saying I'll never write more for this series, but I am saying let's just wait and see what the new season has in store for us. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story, the new season, or anything at all, really!