1.

"I hate this!" Rusty spit through gritted teeth as he dropped his bag onto the floor and flopped onto the bed.

Not only did he have the police's collective breath on his neck because of what he saw, but on top of everything now he was stuck with that nightmare of a woman. He stared at his surroundings: the spotless marble floors and pristine white walls, and the neat geometry of the wooden wardrobe and desk. Of course her house would sparkle like a detergent commercial, and of course she would have a stupid floral bedspread in her spare room.

Prim and proper Sharon Raydor. The Wicked Witch.

Even her own people wanted nothing to do with her. Why would he want to share his life with her, day in, day out, for God knows how long? He lifted himself up on the mattress. If she could be a nightmare to him, then he could be one to her as well. He would find a way to get out of that house.

2.

So, he was really stuck. Documents had been signed and now he had to wear a school uniform and go to summer school. Catholic summer school, of all places. He was not happy, not by a long shot, but he didn't mind the soft bed, hot showers in the morning, and access to food whenever he was hungry, even when it was some godawful stale bagel from the break room in Major Crimes.

When they actually managed to get home at a decent hour, Sharon would concoct something for them, and he would help. He was probably a better cook than she was, but she probably made a better job of getting all the necessary nutrients into him. Still, when he heard her puttering around in the kitchen, he dropped his textbook aside on the bed and wandered into the living room. Maybe there was something for him to do, or to taste. He was feeling a little hungry after all this homework.

She was humming to herself, a classical tune he'd heard before on one of her CDs – some dead guy with an unpronounceable name – while chopping up tomatoes, and she was, he guessed, practicing ballet steps. He stood there, debating whether to alert her to his presence, when she turned on the toes of one foot, her other leg extended, and spotted him. Startled, she stopped dead in her tracks, and promptly blushed.

"Hey." He waved at her with two fingers. Sharon Raydor blushed, who would have thought.

"Hey. I was just, uh, starting dinner." She motioned toward the cutting board.

"I saw that." He remarked, which only seemed to increase her embarrassement. "Need any help?" Seeing her surprise at his offer, he felt the need to justify his lack of hostility. "I'm hungry, so, if I help you dinner may happen sooner."

Her lips curled in a small smile, "Of course. You could finish with the tomatoes while I get the meat going, ok?" He nodded and stepped forward, taking the knife from her hand. "So," he asked, as he set to the task, "I thought your daughter was the dancer of the family."

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. He already knew her pitch would be an octave higher when she spoke, and he was soon proven right. "Yes, she managed to make a career out of it, but I, uh, also danced for many years when I was younger. I was not pro material, but I enjoyed it." She shrugged.

"The mighty Captain Raydor in a tutu, uh? I bet old Provenza would have a field day if he knew." Rusty could actually picture the man's reaction in his head and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Rusty…" Her voice held a warning in it, but he didn't miss the vein of amusement underlying her tone. "All right, all right, I'll keep it to myself. So, what else did you do before you became a walking rulebook?"

3.

On one rare rainy Sunday, he tried to teach her how to play chess. He already knew she was sharp – she caught murderers for a living, after all – but she had no patience for strategic thinking outside the murder room. She stared at the board with a mix of determination and annoyance, head cocked to the side and a steaming mug of tea in her left hand.

She narrowed her eyes, brow furrowing, as her fingers went predictably to one of her bishops.

"Hmm, I could get your knight with my bishop" she nodded towards the black knight directly on the bishop's path and took a sip of her tea. Rusty made a show of pretending to ponder her move.

"Well, you could do that," he said, popping a peanut into his mouth, "but then I would give you checkmate in three moves."

She made a flailing gesture with her free hand, her eyes rolling upwards behind her glasses. "How?" She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "This is the third time –"

"Do you really want to know?" He asked, a smirk printed on his lips. At his smile, her own frustration dissipated, amusement now dancing in her eyes. She scrunched up her nose in refusal. "Not really. Should we, uh, put this aside for the time being and make some cupcakes for tomorrow's breakfast?" She suggested.

Rusty immediately got up from his chair. "I'll get the sprinkles."

4.

The first time he hugged her was after the whole fiasco with his mom. She had been so relieved to see him after he stupidly ran away from Lieutenant Flynn that he thought she would be the one to go to him, but she restrained herself, respecting his dislike for physical contact. He felt stupid, for trusting his mom not to abandon him again, and on top of that he felt guilty because Sharon and the others had lost the money they had offered to buy his mom the bus ticket to Los Angeles. And because Flynn had been holding himself responsible for his disappearance for hours before Sharon had found him, safe and sound, in her condo.

"I'm sorry, Sharon. About today." He whispered when he saw her stand from her couch, book in hand, ready for bed. "You don't have to be." She dismissed his worries with a flick of her hand.

"I insisted because I wanted to see my mom and it was a disaster."

Her eyes grew softer. "And it's still not your fault." He looked down at his feet. "Hey." She called his attention. "Do you hear me? It was not your fault. None of this is."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears. "Is Flynn angry that I ran?"

She shook her head and offered him a warm smile "He's as relieved as everybody else that you're home safe. They were all worried, and they will be very happy to see you tomorrow after school. Ok?" He looked up and smiled feebly at her. "Ok." She was about to turn away to walk to her room when he reached out and wrapped his arms around her back. She smelled of her evening chamomile tea and fabric softener when he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"I'm glad I stumbled upon you." He felt her squeeze him briefly and drop a kiss on the top of his head before she released him. "I'm glad I stumbled upon you, too."

5.

When she was sick, Sharon was insufferable . She'd caught a bad flu and her doctor had put her on bed rest for a few days. He'd reminded, much to her outrage, her that she was no longer 20, and explicitly forbade her from going to work and sharing her germs with the entire division.

Once her medicines kicked in and she was no longer a listless lump on the couch surrounded by mountains of crumpled tissues and empty mugs of tea, it had become a full time job for Rusty to keep her entertained while she alternatively complained about the fever and congested nose and not being able to leave the apartment.

It was somewhat of a relief to see Andy Flynn step into the condo with homemade soup and a bunch of case files on a Friday night, and he did not hesitate when the lieutentant suggested he take a night off from keeping company to the grumpy captain. As he tied his shoes and waved his goodbye, he stole a look at the two of them, huddled together over the case files, him still in his work suit, her wrapped in an afghan, chuckling lightly over something he'd said, and he felt a slight pang of discomfort as his mind went back to his biological mother and the men she brought into their house.

He shook the thought out of his head immediately. Sharon was not his biological mother, and over the course of the four years they had spent together she had proven to him over and over that his safety and well-being came even before her own. Andy Flynn was a good guy, and he had grown fond of him. And he liked that he made Sharon happy, even if that meant even more off-tune singing during breakfast.

"Don't be too late! And have fun!" she called after him, her voice still raw from her sore throat. "Right back atcha." He said, flashing her a simile from over his shoulder, and left.