"Like Home" - Raydor and Rusty Fic
Title: Like Home
Characters: Raydor and Rusty
Rating: T
Word Count: 1, 675 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Please join me in wishing a very happy birthday to rococoms! She asked for hurt/comfort and Rusty and Sharon. (I'm posting this a day early because my days start at 5:30 am lately!)
Summary: Rusty and Sharon talk the morning after Jackson leaves them. Set during season two.
TW: Brief, non-graphic mention of Rusty's time as a teenage sex worker.
“Coffee’s ready,” Rusty said in greeting as Sharon walked into the kitchen. They were both already dressed for their day; they both had dark circles under their eyes and looked exhausted from the events of their previous day.
She smiled warmly at him and squeezed his shoulder gratefully. “Thank you Rusty. Do you feel like anything specific today?” she asked him as she opened their fridge to survey the contents; they had all the essentials, eggs, milk, fruit, and bread.
“You have to be in court today, right?” Rusty asked.
Sharon nodded and offered him a weary smile. “Yes. But not until 11:00 am.”
“Fruit salad?” he offered. He knew that Sharon was often nervous on days that she had to appear in court; she’d appreciate a lighter breakfast. Anything heavier would make her feel sick all morning.
He could discern the slightest change in her tone when she spoke, as well as the tightness around her lips; it was like she was simultaneously pursing her lips and speaking at the same time. He also noticed how often she clenched and unclenched her hands when she was upset or uncomfortable; he’d noticed how often she tugged at the hem of her blazer or twirled the fringes around her throw pillows when they were on the couch having a difficult discussion. More often than not, her tells were the even subtler; sometimes she said volumes with just the slightest adjustment in her posture, the briefest gaze, and the quietest hums.
“Just-“
“A small bowl for you. I know,” Rusty finished for her. Sharon rolled her eyes affectionately as he gathered strawberries, bananas, apples, and the container of sliced melon from the fridge. “I’ve got this. Enjoy your coffee,” he said as she went to grab a knife and a cutting board.
“Alright,” she said as she held her hands up in mock-surrender.
She watched in comfortable silence as her foster son cleaned and chopped the fruit up into bowls for them both. She couldn’t hold back the grin when she noticed that he took extra care to include more strawberries - her favourite fruit - in her bowl; he sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar over each serving, mixed the contents of the bowls, and then placed them on the kitchen bar.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely as he placed her bowl with considerably more flourish on her place setting than when he set his own bowl down.
“No problem,” he said brightly. “I figured you might like it if someone made you breakfast today.”
“Honey you don’t have to make me breakfast every morning I’m scheduled to appear in court, or when I have a meeting,” she said knowingly, “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness very much but you can just wish me luck on the way out the door you know.”
Rusty shrugged his shoulders and poked at a piece of banana in his bowl. “It’s not just that. It’s the morning after…well, you know. Jack left last night.” As he spoke the last four words, he noticed Sharon’s back stiffen considerably. “And I thought that you might like a bit of a change?” he tried.
“Change?” she asked.
“You were cleaning up constantly when he was here. Helping him find work, helping him find an apartment; you were cleaning up his life. Taking care of him. And he couldn’t even remember that you only eat one pancake. I thought that you should have someone take care of you, you know, instead of the other way around,” he said quietly.
Sharon set her fork down next to her bowl and reached for Rusty’s forearm. She gently squeezed his arm and took a deep breath before speaking. “Rusty, I appreciate every thoughtful thing that you do for me. But don’t you ever think that you owe me anything. All that I ask is that you be respectful; you don’t have to take care of me,” she said.
Rusty shrugged again as Sharon withdrew her hand. “You deserve it though,” he said quietly. “You’ve been good to me, right from the beginning,” he reasoned.
She hummed softly. He recognized the dual meaning of her tone; it was affection and sadness at the same time.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I cleaned up a bit too, after he left. He didn’t leave the place dirty or anything. But he didn’t fold the blankets on the couch the way that you like them. Or put the pillows back properly. It didn’t feel right, it felt less like home with them a mess like that. How does he not know the way you like the pillows? Or the blankets? How does he not know that you eat only one pancake? I mean, you’re so specific about that kind of stuff…” he trailed off.
Her heart broke a little at his admission. She had wondered, when she arrived home last night if Jackson had been extra considerate when putting her living room back together or if Rusty had stepped in. She swallowed the lump in her throat when she pictured Rusty putting the place back together again after yet another adult had walked in and out of his life within a matter of a few weeks.
“Rusty, I’m so sorry that you had to do that,” she said. “That shouldn’t have been your responsibility.”
She worried her bottom lip and looked at him with glassy eyes. “Some people are incredibly selfish. And then there are people like you, people who are so aware and so sensitive to those around you. Don’t ever change. Don’t ever stop being the loving, kind, intelligent, sweet young man that you’re becoming,” she said fondly.
She clenched her fingers around her fork; Rusty dared to cover her hand with his own. “You did enough cleaning up after him. Consider it repayment for when I accidently dropped mac and cheese between the cushions of the couch and you had to scrub the whole couch down. And then replace one of the cushions.” He dared to offer her a small, guilty, smile.
“Repayment, hmm?” she hummed again; the affection was still there. He noticed that it often was when she spoke to him.
“Okay, perhaps a partial payment. Like a down payment?” he countered hopefully.
“I like that. Yes. A down payment, without interest so long as you continue to do your very best in school and you treat those around you with kindness and respect,” she said.
He considered her words for a moment. “I can do that.” He nodded and a piece of his dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes.
Sharon lightly swept the lock of hair out of his eyes. She’d taken Rusty to her hairdresser a few weeks ago so that they could both get a haircut, she’d been curious as to why he insisted that the hairdresser keep the hair around his eyes and forehead longer. The light smattering of acne on his forehead was visible as she pushed his hair back and she smiled sympathetically. Her son had acne in the exact same place when he was a teenager and had grown his hair out for a number of years to cover it up; she’d forgotten momentarily how complex and difficult adolescence was, she’d forgotten details like what long hair meant to teenage boys over the years. As she stood from her seat, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his exposed forehead.
His initial reaction as soon as her lips touched his forehead was to run, to push her away and keep running until he was alone again. But as soon as she stepped back and regarded him with that affection in her eyes again, he felt himself craving her presence.
“I’ve got the dishes,” she insisted as she gathered their bowls, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher.
He watched her nervously as she loaded the dishwasher and gathered her jacket and purse. He wanted to return her gesture. He just didn’t know how to. His own mother had never been particularly affectionate; he couldn’t remember the last time that she had offered him a hug or a kiss, or had used a term of endearment when referring to him. He could barely remember ever being held by her.
He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of jingling keys. “Here, why don’t you drive us to school today, and I’ll switch with you once we get there?” Sharon offered as she held out her car keys. “It won’t do you any good if you lose your good driving habits.”
“Sure, yeah,” he said as he took the offered keys.
She smiled warmly, again, at him and he took his chance. It was a bit clumsy, and perhaps a bit too forceful, but it was also the first hug he’d ever initiated with another adult in his whole life. He went into the hug head first, colliding somewhat with her shoulder, and arms second, wrapped around her middle. He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and her head lean against his forehead briefly before he left the security of her embrace after a few mere moments. He almost didn’t trust himself to hold her for too long; he still wasn’t sure that he deserved her affection.
“You’ll be kick-ass in court today,” he mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his bag from the dinning room table and swung it over his shoulders.
“And you’ll be kick-ass in school today,” she said. Her voice shook and he looked anxiously into her eyes. Had his gesture been unwelcome? Did she not feel comfortable having him embrace her? Did he not do it properly?
When he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see the resentment that he had often seen in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t see the repulsion that he had often seen in her boyfriend’s eyes. Or the greed, lust, and hunger for power that he had often seen in the eyes of his clients.
It was something else entirely; it felt like home.
Characters: Raydor and Rusty
Rating: T
Word Count: 1, 675 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Please join me in wishing a very happy birthday to rococoms! She asked for hurt/comfort and Rusty and Sharon. (I'm posting this a day early because my days start at 5:30 am lately!)
Summary: Rusty and Sharon talk the morning after Jackson leaves them. Set during season two.
TW: Brief, non-graphic mention of Rusty's time as a teenage sex worker.
“Coffee’s ready,” Rusty said in greeting as Sharon walked into the kitchen. They were both already dressed for their day; they both had dark circles under their eyes and looked exhausted from the events of their previous day.
She smiled warmly at him and squeezed his shoulder gratefully. “Thank you Rusty. Do you feel like anything specific today?” she asked him as she opened their fridge to survey the contents; they had all the essentials, eggs, milk, fruit, and bread.
“You have to be in court today, right?” Rusty asked.
Sharon nodded and offered him a weary smile. “Yes. But not until 11:00 am.”
“Fruit salad?” he offered. He knew that Sharon was often nervous on days that she had to appear in court; she’d appreciate a lighter breakfast. Anything heavier would make her feel sick all morning.
He could discern the slightest change in her tone when she spoke, as well as the tightness around her lips; it was like she was simultaneously pursing her lips and speaking at the same time. He also noticed how often she clenched and unclenched her hands when she was upset or uncomfortable; he’d noticed how often she tugged at the hem of her blazer or twirled the fringes around her throw pillows when they were on the couch having a difficult discussion. More often than not, her tells were the even subtler; sometimes she said volumes with just the slightest adjustment in her posture, the briefest gaze, and the quietest hums.
“Just-“
“A small bowl for you. I know,” Rusty finished for her. Sharon rolled her eyes affectionately as he gathered strawberries, bananas, apples, and the container of sliced melon from the fridge. “I’ve got this. Enjoy your coffee,” he said as she went to grab a knife and a cutting board.
“Alright,” she said as she held her hands up in mock-surrender.
She watched in comfortable silence as her foster son cleaned and chopped the fruit up into bowls for them both. She couldn’t hold back the grin when she noticed that he took extra care to include more strawberries - her favourite fruit - in her bowl; he sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar over each serving, mixed the contents of the bowls, and then placed them on the kitchen bar.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely as he placed her bowl with considerably more flourish on her place setting than when he set his own bowl down.
“No problem,” he said brightly. “I figured you might like it if someone made you breakfast today.”
“Honey you don’t have to make me breakfast every morning I’m scheduled to appear in court, or when I have a meeting,” she said knowingly, “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness very much but you can just wish me luck on the way out the door you know.”
Rusty shrugged his shoulders and poked at a piece of banana in his bowl. “It’s not just that. It’s the morning after…well, you know. Jack left last night.” As he spoke the last four words, he noticed Sharon’s back stiffen considerably. “And I thought that you might like a bit of a change?” he tried.
“Change?” she asked.
“You were cleaning up constantly when he was here. Helping him find work, helping him find an apartment; you were cleaning up his life. Taking care of him. And he couldn’t even remember that you only eat one pancake. I thought that you should have someone take care of you, you know, instead of the other way around,” he said quietly.
Sharon set her fork down next to her bowl and reached for Rusty’s forearm. She gently squeezed his arm and took a deep breath before speaking. “Rusty, I appreciate every thoughtful thing that you do for me. But don’t you ever think that you owe me anything. All that I ask is that you be respectful; you don’t have to take care of me,” she said.
Rusty shrugged again as Sharon withdrew her hand. “You deserve it though,” he said quietly. “You’ve been good to me, right from the beginning,” he reasoned.
She hummed softly. He recognized the dual meaning of her tone; it was affection and sadness at the same time.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I cleaned up a bit too, after he left. He didn’t leave the place dirty or anything. But he didn’t fold the blankets on the couch the way that you like them. Or put the pillows back properly. It didn’t feel right, it felt less like home with them a mess like that. How does he not know the way you like the pillows? Or the blankets? How does he not know that you eat only one pancake? I mean, you’re so specific about that kind of stuff…” he trailed off.
Her heart broke a little at his admission. She had wondered, when she arrived home last night if Jackson had been extra considerate when putting her living room back together or if Rusty had stepped in. She swallowed the lump in her throat when she pictured Rusty putting the place back together again after yet another adult had walked in and out of his life within a matter of a few weeks.
“Rusty, I’m so sorry that you had to do that,” she said. “That shouldn’t have been your responsibility.”
She worried her bottom lip and looked at him with glassy eyes. “Some people are incredibly selfish. And then there are people like you, people who are so aware and so sensitive to those around you. Don’t ever change. Don’t ever stop being the loving, kind, intelligent, sweet young man that you’re becoming,” she said fondly.
She clenched her fingers around her fork; Rusty dared to cover her hand with his own. “You did enough cleaning up after him. Consider it repayment for when I accidently dropped mac and cheese between the cushions of the couch and you had to scrub the whole couch down. And then replace one of the cushions.” He dared to offer her a small, guilty, smile.
“Repayment, hmm?” she hummed again; the affection was still there. He noticed that it often was when she spoke to him.
“Okay, perhaps a partial payment. Like a down payment?” he countered hopefully.
“I like that. Yes. A down payment, without interest so long as you continue to do your very best in school and you treat those around you with kindness and respect,” she said.
He considered her words for a moment. “I can do that.” He nodded and a piece of his dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes.
Sharon lightly swept the lock of hair out of his eyes. She’d taken Rusty to her hairdresser a few weeks ago so that they could both get a haircut, she’d been curious as to why he insisted that the hairdresser keep the hair around his eyes and forehead longer. The light smattering of acne on his forehead was visible as she pushed his hair back and she smiled sympathetically. Her son had acne in the exact same place when he was a teenager and had grown his hair out for a number of years to cover it up; she’d forgotten momentarily how complex and difficult adolescence was, she’d forgotten details like what long hair meant to teenage boys over the years. As she stood from her seat, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his exposed forehead.
His initial reaction as soon as her lips touched his forehead was to run, to push her away and keep running until he was alone again. But as soon as she stepped back and regarded him with that affection in her eyes again, he felt himself craving her presence.
“I’ve got the dishes,” she insisted as she gathered their bowls, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher.
He watched her nervously as she loaded the dishwasher and gathered her jacket and purse. He wanted to return her gesture. He just didn’t know how to. His own mother had never been particularly affectionate; he couldn’t remember the last time that she had offered him a hug or a kiss, or had used a term of endearment when referring to him. He could barely remember ever being held by her.
He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of jingling keys. “Here, why don’t you drive us to school today, and I’ll switch with you once we get there?” Sharon offered as she held out her car keys. “It won’t do you any good if you lose your good driving habits.”
“Sure, yeah,” he said as he took the offered keys.
She smiled warmly, again, at him and he took his chance. It was a bit clumsy, and perhaps a bit too forceful, but it was also the first hug he’d ever initiated with another adult in his whole life. He went into the hug head first, colliding somewhat with her shoulder, and arms second, wrapped around her middle. He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and her head lean against his forehead briefly before he left the security of her embrace after a few mere moments. He almost didn’t trust himself to hold her for too long; he still wasn’t sure that he deserved her affection.
“You’ll be kick-ass in court today,” he mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his bag from the dinning room table and swung it over his shoulders.
“And you’ll be kick-ass in school today,” she said. Her voice shook and he looked anxiously into her eyes. Had his gesture been unwelcome? Did she not feel comfortable having him embrace her? Did he not do it properly?
When he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see the resentment that he had often seen in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t see the repulsion that he had often seen in her boyfriend’s eyes. Or the greed, lust, and hunger for power that he had often seen in the eyes of his clients.
It was something else entirely; it felt like home.