Notes: Last part! Thank you all for reading. I've started another story but I'm moving from California to Illinois tomorrow (!) so... I have no idea when I'll start posting that. I'm giving casefic another try, and it'll probably be set in some kind of AU parallel to canon S4, I haven't decided yet.

Holding On and Letting Go
Part V: January

It was a pleasant, balmy day, bright and sunny and warm enough to run the air conditioner in the car. It was also breezy. Sharon carried her jacket with her, folded over one arm. Rusty didn't bother with one. He wore one of his long-sleeved plaids and toyed with the hem for the entire drive, his eyes fixed somewhere between his lap and his feet.

They spoke little in the car, and less out of it.

Cemeteries were always quiet.

Sharon had always found it a peaceful quiet, but there was nothing serene about the pained grimace on Rusty's face.

She followed him. She hadn't been back here since the burial in July. Rusty clearly had been, because he showed no hesitation in his movements. She knew when they were getting close when he started dragging his feet.

It was a short walk. She remembered that, and remembered being grateful for it, because Rusty had walked with jerky steps and stiff, unbending legs.

When they stopped, at the edge of a long row, near enough the wall that the space was shaded by shadow and a tall tree, Rusty released a shaky breath and bowed his head.

Sharon followed his eyes downward, to the stone that read simply:
Sharon Beck
Beloved Mother
1979 – 2015

Rusty had agonized over the word choice. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to say Loving Mother. He knew who she was, and he loved her anyway. That was the part that hurt Sharon's heart the most.

It was funny, Rusty had told her bitterly one night. Funny how her heart had killed her, when sometimes he hadn't known she'd had one.

Then his face had crumpled, and he'd fled the kitchen before she could see him cry.

His face was blank now. What he saw as he stared down at the grave marker, she didn't know.

There had been things that Sharon wanted for Rusty's other mother. Sobriety. Insight. Therapy. She had hoped that, somehow, Sharon Beck would find her way to some kind of stability. Despite everything, Rusty had wanted her in his life. Sharon had wanted her to appreciate that for the gift it was.

Sharon lowered her eyes, studying the slab of granite.

They had helped him pay for the burial. He would sooner have dug the grave himself than ask anyone for money. He'd had enough, barely, saved up from working on the Badge of Justice set. Sharon wasn't sure what had changed his mind about accepting their help, but she was grateful.

But the marker, he had insisted on paying for himself.

"Sharon," Rusty said hoarsely.

She lifted her head, and waited.

Rusty shook his head.

"Would you like me to give you a minute?" When he nodded, she told him, "I'll wait by the car. Stay as long as you need."

She hesitated, her hand extended towards his shoulder when she passed, but she walked away without touching him. She wasn't sure he would appreciate that now.

Sharon waited outside of the car for Rusty, leaning against it with her arms folded across her chest. From where she stood, she could just see him, a small, sad figure with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

She'd spent years carrying around the dread of someday having to tell her children that their father was dead. Her fears had all come true with a different child and a different parent, but it had been every bit as terrible she'd thought it would be, and worse.

"Are you sure it's her?"

Behind Rusty's head, she saw Lieutenant Provenza grimace.

"Yes." Sharon swallowed. "Honey, I am so—"

"You're just—you're wrong, Sharon, okay?" he said, white-faced. He shook his head wildly from side to side. "You made a mistake. It's not—it can't be her, okay? Okay, Sharon?"

"Rusty..."

He batted away the hand she stretched out to him. "No, but see, I—I just talked to her, Sharon." Blood returned to his cheeks, his face flushing as his voice rose insistently. "So you just have to call them back and tell them that."

She shook her head.

She remained sitting when he jumped to his feet. She'd wanted to tell him here, in her office, so he wouldn't have to think about it every time he walked through the door at home. She'd been kidding herself to think it would make a difference.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not listening to me, Sharon." Rusty paced a small, tight circle around his chair. He stopped facing Provenza. "What about you, Lieutenant? Can't you—you have to do something."

Provenza cleared his throat. "Sit down, son."

And Rusty did.

He almost fell into the chair as the fight left him. He doubled over, head hanging between his knees, and brought his arms up to cover his face. His breath came in marked, measured pants, his shoulders rising sharply with each one.

Sharon could hardly breathe herself. The lump formed in the back of her throat, just under her chin, and her chest burned with every swallow she made.

Rusty flinched when she touched his shoulder. Sharon jerked her hand back, her fingers hovering in midair over his head as she looked despairingly at Provenza. He stared back silently.

Rusty straightened up abruptly. Sharon pulled her hand back the rest of the way, interlacing her fingers in her lap as she waited for him. His face was red and his bangs were on end, but otherwise, his expression was composed and when he spoke, he sounded calm.

"How much did she take?" he asked.

What was left of her heart broke then. "It wasn't an overdose," she said, speaking slowly as she watched his face. "She wasn't high."

Rusty gave her a blank stare. "It... wasn't?"

"No." Sharon shook her head. "She had a heart attack."

"I don't—" Rusty shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Dr. Morales believes that her drug use may have been a contributing factor,' she said. "When we know everything, I'll tell you."

"Oh," Rusty said, and leaned forward, burying his face in his arms once again.

Rusty took less time than she expected.

It was hard to tell from a distance, but she thought she saw him scrub his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

When he reached her, instead of going around to the passenger side, he stood beside her and leaned back against the car. He was taller than her today, but when he slouched and slid down, his shoulders were even with hers.

Sharon waited.

And waited.

Rusty kicked the ground, his toe scuffing against the pavement. "I thought she'd be back in jail by now."

Sharon hummed quietly in response. She'd wondered the same thing, if the first trip to jail would be Sharon Beck's rock bottom, or if there were more depths to be found there.

"Do you think she would've?"

"It's impossible to know."

"Dr. Joe thinks I shouldn't fixate on that."

Dr. Joe didn't generally use the word fixate. Sharon smiled faintly. "I think he's right."

He was silent.

"It's easier said than done, I know."

"Yeah." Rusty folded his arms so that his pose mimicked hers, leaning forward as he hunched his shoulders defensively. "I just keep thinking..."

The same thoughts had kept her awake at night once. Swallowing, Sharon nodded. Rusty let out a shaky breath. When his tense shoulders quivered, she chanced reaching out to him, her hand hovering in the air between them until he nodded his head.

He relaxed when she rubbed his shoulder. She would've liked better to hug him properly, to just pull him into her arms and let him hold on until he hurt just a little less, but he didn't seem to want that right now.

"I could've died," Rusty said.

It came from absolutely nowhere. Sharon frowned, doing her level best not to let on that she felt sick every time he reminded her.

"On the streets," he elaborated. "Or, like, that Wade guy, he almost killed me."

"But he didn't," Sharon said. It had taken months to forgive herself for that.

"No, but Sharon, just listen—" Rusty turned to face her. "If something happened to me, like before my mom came back—would you have told her what happened to me?"

"If she had come looking for you?"

"Yeah."

"I would have, yes."

"So..." Rusty hesitated. "So you wouldn't think that because she left me, she didn't deserve to know?"

"No." The opposite, in fact. Truth was its own punishment sometimes. "Why do you ask?"

"Can I ask you a question?" At her look, he added, "I'll tell you, I promise. Just... one question?"

"All right," she said.

"It's kind of a personal question."

"Go ahead."

"What would you have done, if Emily had gotten pregnant?"

She been expecting something about Jack, but even as she felt her eyebrows rise in surprise, Sharon thought she could see where Rusty was heading with this. "At your age, you mean?"

"Or... younger, I guess."

"I think I would've worried a lot," she said. Beside her, Rusty snorted. She'd been serious, but it made her smile. "I always told her that I hoped she would feel safe coming to me."

There was much, much more, but she thought that was the part that he wanted.

"You guys talked about it?"

She hated how surprised he sounded to realize it. "We did," she said. "I wouldn't have wanted her to make any decisions out of fear, or any decisions that were less than fully informed."

"And you wouldn't have kicked her out." That, at least, didn't sound like a question.

"No," she agreed.

Rusty slumped down a little further. "I need a favor."

"Okay."

"It's kind of a big favor," he said.

"Don't worry about that," she told him. "Do you want me to find your mother's parents?"

"Can you?" he asked. "Like, is that legal?"

"Death notifications are part of my job," she reminded him.

Rusty shrugged. "When my father—Daniel—whoever—when he first showed up, you said you couldn't look him up."

"Oh," she said, remembering. "That was about background checks and you're right, I can't run one of those."

"That's all right," he said. "I don't want to meet them. They threw her out, Sharon. Or... maybe she ran away, I guess," he said, a frown crossing his face. It was always hard to know what was true and what wasn't, with Sharon Beck. "But—but even if she did, she wouldn't have if things were good. Right?"

Sharon hesitated. "I don't know," she told him. "I don't think it's unreasonable to say that your mother was probably unhappy at home."

"It's why I ran away," he said. "From foster care. The first time, I mean. Before I, you know."

Surprised, she turned for a better look at him. Whatever had happened in that foster home, he'd never brought it up before. That seemed to be all that he wanted to say, because he shrugged and kicked the pavement another time. "Anyway. I don't want to meet them. You wouldn't want to meet my mom if I weren't here, would you?"

Her stomach made another unpleasant little twist at the hypothetical. "I think I would, actually."

"Really?"

"It would help me understand," she said.

"Understand what?"

"You."

He frowned. "You think I should meet them?"

"Not necessarily," she told him. "I'm only explaining how I think I would feel."

"Oh," he said. "I still say I don't want to."

"You don't have to," she said. "Although... you should be aware that they will probably ask about you, and you may run into them."

He scoffed. "Where?"

"Well... here, for example."

"Oh," he said again. "I hadn't really thought about that."

"I'm not trying to change your mind," she promised him. Truth be told, she was relieved. Not because she wanted to keep him for herself, but she was tired of seeing him hurt by the people who should've been his family. "Meeting them, or not, is your choice. I just don't want to see you surprised."

"You really think they'll ask about me?"

"It's likely." Sharon regarded him in silence for a moment. "I'll tell them as much or as little as you'd like me to. If you want to take a couple of days to think about it—"

"Just tell them that I'm okay." He cut her off. "If that's enough."

"All right," she said quietly. "If they ask, that's what I'll tell them."

"I'm doing the right thing, though, right?" he asked. "Like... when she was gone, when I didn't see her for three years, that was terrible. Knowing that she was out there somewhere, and wondering if she ever thought about me..."

He let out a shaky breath. "It was just really hard. And even if her parents are totally awful people, twenty years is a long time to wonder."

"It's a very long time," she said. "I think you're doing exactly the right thing."

"Thank you," he said. "And thanks for—you've just been really great about everything."

Sometimes, he wanted a response, some kind of reminder that there was something in this for her. She thought all he wanted now was to say it. Sharon nodded slowly, and Rusty inched closer, until the length of his arm pressed against hers.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

She watched him stare out over where they'd been, a faraway look in his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he no longer felt like sharing. When his gaze focused again, he straightened up without saying anything.

"You ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She felt his hand on her elbow. That was all the warning that she had before he wrapped his arms around her awkwardly from the side. With one of her arms trapped between them, Sharon returned the hug one-armed, her hand resting on the back of his neck.

He whispered something indistinct that sounded like something between a thank you and an I love you, like he'd started with one and then changed his mind halfway through, and then he shifted, freeing her arm.

Nodding, Sharon wrapped both arms around him and held on.