A/N- Sorry I never updated. I was super busy. I hope everyone had a good fall break, and for those of you also in uni: we're almost done! Thank God. There's a flashback in the middle (italicized) about Jack and Sharon. Super angsty. . . I hope you enjoy this and review (;

Sharon set her hand on Rusty's shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly, but her heart wasn't in the action. She understood why he'd done- or rather, not done- what he'd done, but at the same time, she had been in Gus' position too many times to cut Rusty any slack.

All the times Jack had used her for something- sex, money, a roof- and then vanished had left her with a strong opinion about misinformation.

She didn't feel bad for Rusty when Gus had shouted and walked out. She had kept herself from saying I told you so, but it was a close call.

She did feel bad that the poor boy was going to be in a trial again. He had gotten out of one investigation, only to be launched into another. In all fairness, he had brought it upon himself, but it was still- as both Ricky and Rusty would call it- a dick move on the part of Slider's attorney.

"Sharon?"

"Mm?" She raised her eyebrows and looked down at her youngest. In heels, she was still taller.

"What do I do now?"

He looked lost, much like he had when he'd first come to live with her. She could feel herself melting slightly, but she steeled her expression, nonetheless.

She shrugged. He had to figure it out on his own now. "You do what you think is right. That might involve going after Gus and apologizing-"

Rusty winced.

"Or. . ." Well, that is the best option. "Think about what you've done."

"Sharon, I'm not five!"

She wasn't offended by the snap. She had reacted with anger when she was lost, too.

"I know."

His shoulders slumped. "Sorry."

She shrugged again. "Apology accepted." Her father had relentlessly told his children not to reply to an apology with okay, as an injury wasn't to be brushed off. It could be forgiven, but not completely forgotten. Apologies were to be accepted or not. They were to mean something, not just be a casual plea for forgiveness. She had taught her children the same.

Rusty smiled bitterly. "Where do I even start?"

"The beginning is usually a good place."

He sighed. "Sharon."

She quirked a brow. "Talk to him, if you're so concerned."

"I don't think he's going to pick up his phone."

"Rusty. If you leave enough honest messages- none of that please call me, bye bullshit- he'll listen to one of them eventually." She knew that from her own experiences.

His jaw had dropped slightly at her expletive, but he closed his mouth and nodded. "And if he doesn't?"

"Shoot him a text. Email. Track him down in person. He'll want space at first, but I suspect he'll eventually want to talk to you, if just to get the facts straight in his own mind."

There was a sudden flash of understanding in his eyes, and he paled slightly. He had figured her out.

"Sharon?" Judge Grove had stepped back into the room, sans his robe. "Am I going to have to call security to haul you out of the building?"

She smirked at him. "Not this time, sir."

"Sir, my ass," he muttered. She was teasing him. "Scram."

She tilted her head to him, then turned and began walking, Rusty's elbow in a death-grip.

Rusty sighed heavily. "I'll call him this afternoon." He looked down at his subpoena again. "But what do I do about this?"

"There's not much to do. You've been served."

"But-"

"Rusty," she said gently. "I know this is the last place you want to be again. You know how it goes. You can talk to Andrea about it, but I think she'll tell you roughly what I've told you."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Okay."

They walked in silence for several minutes before she spoke. "Apologies are hard."

He glanced up questioningly.

"I once sat down in Chief Johnson's office and told her I was sorry for being a bitch."

"You said that?"

She nodded. "Word for word. I've apologized on behalf of Jack too many times to count, now, but I apologized to him a few times, too."

He waited for her to continue. She realized that after a long pause and smiled sadly at Rusty.

"It's a very long, very emotional story, and I don't think we need to go there right now."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They reached the courthouse doors before speaking again.

"I'm sorry I keep screwing up, Sharon."

She stopped. "Honey, it's a part of life."

"Yeah, but I seem to do it a lot," he muttered.

"You grow wiser from your mistakes. It takes time. You're still very young."

"I don't feel young right now."

She hesitated before speaking. "You were forced to grow up very quickly. It was very unfair. And now, you're trying your best and you're still making mistakes."

He nodded miserably. She had nailed it.

"I made just as many mistakes, if not more, at your age."

He looked at the ground. "Sure."

"We all have different paths and different mistakes. You're almost twenty now. At your age, I was about to graduate college with a criminology degree. I had a job working nights with the LAPD, and I was engaged to Jack. And- God-" she snorted to herself. "Less than a year later, I was working full-time, married, and pregnant."

"That doesn't sound like you screwed up to me."

She smiled at the memories, turning her face to the sun. "I was working twelve-hour shifts during the week. My schedule and Jack's rarely intersected, and I was as sick as a dog with Emily. It was not a good time. There were. . . words said that shouldn't have been said. And they were repeated on a horrifyingly frequent basis."

"Jack!" Sharon had left the cup of tea she'd been nursing on the kitchen counter when she saw him leaving.

"What?"

"Can't you spend one night away from your friends and stay with me?" She wrapped her arms around herself, and the overlong sleeves flopped around her hips. "I don't feel well, and it'd be really nice if, um, if you'd just sit with me for a while."

He stared at his wife. Her skin was pasty white, as it usually was now, had been for several weeks, and he would have said she looked like death warmed over if he hadn't known what was really going on.

"Come on, Sharon. I need to pass these exams."

"You're studying?" One eyebrow arched alarmingly high. "At the Buckhorn?"

"Yeah, Sharon. I wouldn't expect you to know this, but it is possible to do with friends in public places."

Her jaw dropped, and he could see her eyes turn bright with tears. Maybe that had been too harsh. She hadn't been in college that long ago, and she hadn't left because she wanted to.

"Fuck you, Jackson." She was shivering with anger in her pink jersey shorts and his overlarge UCLA sweatshirt. He could see the young girl he'd met freshman year in her still. Gangly legs emphasized by baggy clothes, a bony nose, and long hair cascading down her back.

"This is why I'm leaving tonight. This happens every goddamn week!"

Her eyes spilled over, and he felt bad for a moment.

"I'm sorry!" It came out between hiccuping sobs. She cried more easily than he would have guessed. He suspected it was partially due to lack of sleep, partially to hormones. He wasn't sure about the latter. That was in Sharon's department to understand, not his.

He looked her over, mind already made up. "Yeah, well, try again tomorrow. I'm not really in the mood for this crap again tonight." It wasn't her fault, not really, but it was effortless just to let her think it was. It was a low blow, and he kept telling himself he wouldn't do it again, but it was a way out when he wanted to be with his friends, sharing a beer or two.

There was a sharp gasp, but he didn't look back as he walked out. He knew she'd still be rooted to the spot, nose turning red and her cheeks blotched with tears. It had happened a few times now. Not every week by any means, but often enough that he knew what would happen.

When he finally returned home, several hours and only a couple study guides later, he found her curled up on the sofa. She had been too exhausted to be much fun in bed lately, but she had never relegated herself to the sofa before. She'd curl up on her side of their bed, blankets wrapped tightly around her like a Kevlar vest.

Even in sleep, she looked miserable. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, so he knew she'd been sick again since he'd left. She usually left her hair down at home. Her knees were pulled as close to her chest as possible and she had pulled the sweatshirt down over herself.

She shivered slightly in the cool air, legs bare. He realized she was asleep, flat in the middle of the sofa, no pillow, no blanket, and the truth hit him. She had tried to wait up for him. She hadn't grabbed a blanket because she hadn't intended to fall asleep.

"Oh, Sharon," he whispered. He suddenly felt like a jerk. He hadn't really studied much. It was mostly just another night on the town with the guys. It wasn't like he was failing any classes, but he could do better, too.

He quietly deposited his book bag and scooped her up in his arms. Her head rested against one shoulder, and her curled-up legs barely hung over his other arm. She was so much smaller than he was, and her near-constant nausea didn't help the matter.

She stirred slightly as he carried her to the bedroom and nuzzled closer to his chest.

He looked down at her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's hard, Rusty. Life is hard."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I can't help you more, but this is something you have to figure out for yourself."

"It's okay, Sharon. I get it."

She hugged him with one arm. "I can still offer advice, though. And I'm sure Andrea will help you with the legal part of things. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use."

"Oh, I don't know." He bumped her shoulder. "You're still pretty sharp for being on the wrong side of-."

She laughed, cutting him off. "You don't need to remind me of my great age."

He grinned at her. "Thanks, Sharon. For everything."

She nodded. "It's my pleasure. Rusty-"

He looked up.

"If I can help you avoid the mistakes I made when I was younger, I will. That's the only good thing about being old: people will listen to your advice now and again."

"Moms are pretty universally known for relationship advice," he replied.

"There's a reason for that," she said cryptically. They had almost reached her car. She crossed to the driver's side, but paused and looked at her son over the roof. "When you burn someone, it hurts for a long time, and even after that pain is gone, there's still a scar."

A/N- I wrote all this damn angst for y'all. I expect to hear some feedback, m'kay?