FIC: The Care and Feeding of a Teenage Boy ~ Pt. 2
Title: The Care and Feeding of a Teenage Boy ~ 2
Author: bugs
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,700
Characters: Sharon, Rusty
Spoilers: Through Season One of Major Crimes; Set during MC 1.2: Before and After
A/N: I've given up trying to find a plotted story, so I'm going to make these pieces vignettes tied together by the first season timeline and the common theme.
Day 2:
"School?"
Sharon turned into the shopping center parking lot. "Yes, school. You remember that place. Text books, Pee-chee folders, chalk dust," she lectured Rusty as she cruised the aisles, looking for a parking spot.
"You can't just shove me in a school," he protested.
"First, yes I can. It's the law. Second, I won't just shove you in one tomorrow."
He looked relieved but then asked suspiciously, "What kinda school? Like one of those alternative schools that they send the juvvies to?"
"Of course not." Another car cut her off from a good spot. Pursing her lips, she went down another aisle. "It is a private school, but that's so I can assure your safety. It's St. Joseph's High School."
"A religious school?" He looked confused.
"There's just one class a day that has any religious studies. The rest is perfectly normal. They even teach evolution. Catholics believe in evolution."
"I'm not Catholic," he said.
"That doesn't matter." Finally finding a spot, she parked the car. "You will have to take a placement test first, so I've gotten some study materials for you to review."
He opened the door and hopped out to glare at her over the top of the car. "Placement test?" he said, indignant.
She glared right back. "Unless you spent your time on the streets home-schooling yourself?"
He hunched his shoulders and hid behind his long bangs.
Her door slamming shut made him look around. "What're we doin' here?" he asked, suddenly aware they were in front of a Target.
"Socks," Sharon said, heading toward the brightly lit entrance. It had been a long day with the hanging Chad but she couldn't take looking at those dingy socks, even after bleaching, for one more day.
He started to protest but slunk after her rapidly walking figure, sighing deeply.
She yanked a big red plastic cart loose from a tangle of other carts and pushed it through the opening doors. "Put your pack in," she said, nodding to the basket.
He glanced around. "They don't let me keep my backpack in these stores."
"Who?" She looked around too.
"Security."
Raising her chin, she told him, "No one's going to bother you with me here."
"Okay," he muttered, flopping his bag in. Sure enough, as they headed down the side of the store with clothing, a large man in dark clothes closed in on them. Before he could say anything, Sharon flicked open her blazer, revealing her shield and gun on her hip.
The man moved away without a word. Sharon turned her cart to cut between displays of socks and underwear. Rusty remained in the main aisle for a moment, watching the security melt back into the crowd of shoppers.
"Rusty," Sharon barked, getting his attention. He hurried to join her.
She held up two packages, one striped boxers and one white briefs. Mortified, he snatched both out of her hands and shoved them back on the display. "Sharon!" he hissed.
"What?" She rolled her eyes. "I've got a son, Rusty--"
"Well, I'm not your son," he grumbled, flipping through the packets of underwear, looking for his size.
She watched him. "No, you aren't."
He removed a pack of three pairs of black briefs with bold grey lettering around the band. She squinted at them suspiciously.
"Are they too expensive?" he said quickly, checking the price tag.
"No..." She'd seen that same black waistband exposed by many a pair of drooping jeans. Call her old-fashioned, but Rusty wasn't going out looking like that--
"All right," she said grudgingly. "Get two packages. That's a week's worth of underwear."
"I've still got some pairs--"
"Which we shall burn. Some strange boy's underwear..." She turned to the socks. "White for these, I suppose--"
"They're just socks." Rusty grabbed two packages and dumped them into the cart. She tossed another pack in. "Socks tend to disappear in the dryer," she explained.
She put in a package of white undershirts, ignoring Rusty's continued grumbling.
"Pajamas?" she suggested leadingly. Rusty pretended not to hear her. Refusing to use the guest room, he had slept the first night on the sofa, with his backpack on the floor right by his head. Frankly, she was surprised when he had been there in the morning.
Seeing he wasn't going to respond, she pushed the cart out into the main aisle. "I guess we can grab some food as well," she muttered.
He perked up. She was going to remain resolute though. No junk food. Perhaps some granola bars and a flat of bottled water...
Twenty minutes later, exhausted, she pushed toward the toiletries section. She'd managed to fight off the 'vitamin' water and Red Bulls, but had allowed one four-pack of bottled Starbucks coffees. There were two large bags of Lays potato chips, but at least the cookies were made with organic oatmeal.
"I've got stuff," Rusty mumbled when she looked over the deodorants. He was blushing again.
"You could use more," she said a bit unkindly.
Pursing his lips, he snatched one off the shelf and tossed it in the cart. Just glad it wasn't Axe, she led him to shampoo aisle.
After waiting what seemed like forever for him to select a shampoo, conditioner and numerous other hair products, she asked uncertainly, "Do you need razors?"
"Yes," he said huffily, snatching a slender razor and some shaving cream of the shelf.
She pushed the cart past the condom display quickly and headed to the checkout, at last. As her purchases moved along the conveyer belt toward the indifferent clerk, she added a trial pack of headache medication.
The total kept going up with each item run over the bar code reader. Rusty looked more and more distressed. Sharon was checking her phone--thank God, no messages or texts from work--and rooting for her wallet in her deep purse.
"Uh, Sharon..."
"Yes," she said, distracted as she was trying to remember her PIN.
"Can I get a job?"
"A job?" She blinked at him through her glasses, confused.
"Yeah. I can do real work, you know," he said, blushing.
"You don't need to work," Sharon said, dismissing his puzzling anxiety. "Other than putting those bags in the cart," she added, nodding to the pile of red and white bags.
While pushing the cart toward her car, he returned to the topic bothering him. "The state is gonna reimburse you for this, right?"
"For what?" She still wasn't paying attention; another bright store sign caught her eye across the shopping center.
After she opened the trunk, he loaded in the bags. "For all this," he said stiffly.
She finally understood what was bothering him. "Don't worry about it," she said.
Stubborn, he folded his arms and stayed outside the car as she slid behind the wheel. She rolled down the passenger window to look at him. "What is it?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"I don't think you should be wasting your money on me. I mean--" He wave his hand around. "I could be gone tomorrow and you'd be out that two hundred bucks."
Damn. She hadn't put those aspirins in her purse; they were in one of the bags in the trunk.
"Then I'll just wear those briefs myself. Get in."
His mouth fell open comically but she kept her face impassive. He finally opened the door and sat.
She drove to the Old Navy store.
"Now what?" he whined.
"You've been wearing those same jeans for three days now," she pointed out as she parked in front of the second store.
Herding her reluctant charge, she selected another cart. This time, he'd wisely left his backpack in the car.
"Jeans," she suggested, finding several racks. She turned to face him, making eye contact and staring him down. "No drooping allowed."
"Jeez, Sharon--"
"My money, my rules."
"I'm not the one demanding that I get new clothes," he grumbled.
She looked over the mannequins. "I will concede to a lower crotch--" He blushed again and she seriously wondered how he survived as a street hustler. Then she realized his customers probably paid for that very quality and she frowned even more darkly.
Taking her expression as targeting him, Rusty snatched a few pairs from the shelves and headed to the changing room. While he was in there, she selected two pairs of chinos in the size he'd taken and added them to the cart. He'd need them for school but she wasn't going to waste her breath arguing with him about the unfashionable slacks.
He peeked out around the changing room door. "Did you want to see?"
"Yes, I wish to verify the waistline," she announced.
He looked around quickly to see if any of the customers heard her, and sure enough, two other teen boys quickly turned away, smirks on their faces.
He stomped out. "See," he said, waving his hands at the only slightly droopy jeans.
"Lift your shirt," Sharon said, not fooled for a moment.
He flung back his head dramatically. "Oh my God!" But he yanked up his shirt. She walked slowly around him, checking how low the waist rode on his narrow hips with her narrowed gaze.
Grudgingly, she nodded. "Okay."
He stomped back into the changing room without another word.
When he came out and tossed the pairs into the cart, she mused, "How could I know that I'd be going through all this again? Of course, with my son, the jeans were too tight. The problem changes but the headache remains the same."
"Guess you're just lucky that way," he said sarcastically. Frowning, he noticed the kaikis but didn't say anything about them.
She whipped the cart around the store, giving him little input other than color choice as she added a hoodie, a couple of sweaters, and some tee shirts to the pile.
But he did protest, loudly, when she reached for a lime green and black messenger bag.
"I've got a backpack," he growled.
"It's much too large, and God knows where it's been," she said artlessly. "You'll need something smaller for school."
"It's mine," he said.
Opening her mouth to try and make it see logic, she was stopped by his expression. Gone was the mulish set to his features. There was a naked pain in its place and he was holding his breath. She didn't know the story behind that faded and tattered backpack with its red star stitched on the top flap, but she didn't need to. She placed the brightly colored messenger bag back on the rack.
"I'm starving. How about you," she said casually.
Rusty released that breath. "Yeah."
She pushed the cart toward check out. "Want El Pollo Loco?"
"Sure," he said, "can I have two burritos? I'm really hungry all of a sudden."
"Sure," she echoed, feeling oddly relieved.
~ end
Author: bugs
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,700
Characters: Sharon, Rusty
Spoilers: Through Season One of Major Crimes; Set during MC 1.2: Before and After
A/N: I've given up trying to find a plotted story, so I'm going to make these pieces vignettes tied together by the first season timeline and the common theme.
Day 2:
"School?"
Sharon turned into the shopping center parking lot. "Yes, school. You remember that place. Text books, Pee-chee folders, chalk dust," she lectured Rusty as she cruised the aisles, looking for a parking spot.
"You can't just shove me in a school," he protested.
"First, yes I can. It's the law. Second, I won't just shove you in one tomorrow."
He looked relieved but then asked suspiciously, "What kinda school? Like one of those alternative schools that they send the juvvies to?"
"Of course not." Another car cut her off from a good spot. Pursing her lips, she went down another aisle. "It is a private school, but that's so I can assure your safety. It's St. Joseph's High School."
"A religious school?" He looked confused.
"There's just one class a day that has any religious studies. The rest is perfectly normal. They even teach evolution. Catholics believe in evolution."
"I'm not Catholic," he said.
"That doesn't matter." Finally finding a spot, she parked the car. "You will have to take a placement test first, so I've gotten some study materials for you to review."
He opened the door and hopped out to glare at her over the top of the car. "Placement test?" he said, indignant.
She glared right back. "Unless you spent your time on the streets home-schooling yourself?"
He hunched his shoulders and hid behind his long bangs.
Her door slamming shut made him look around. "What're we doin' here?" he asked, suddenly aware they were in front of a Target.
"Socks," Sharon said, heading toward the brightly lit entrance. It had been a long day with the hanging Chad but she couldn't take looking at those dingy socks, even after bleaching, for one more day.
He started to protest but slunk after her rapidly walking figure, sighing deeply.
She yanked a big red plastic cart loose from a tangle of other carts and pushed it through the opening doors. "Put your pack in," she said, nodding to the basket.
He glanced around. "They don't let me keep my backpack in these stores."
"Who?" She looked around too.
"Security."
Raising her chin, she told him, "No one's going to bother you with me here."
"Okay," he muttered, flopping his bag in. Sure enough, as they headed down the side of the store with clothing, a large man in dark clothes closed in on them. Before he could say anything, Sharon flicked open her blazer, revealing her shield and gun on her hip.
The man moved away without a word. Sharon turned her cart to cut between displays of socks and underwear. Rusty remained in the main aisle for a moment, watching the security melt back into the crowd of shoppers.
"Rusty," Sharon barked, getting his attention. He hurried to join her.
She held up two packages, one striped boxers and one white briefs. Mortified, he snatched both out of her hands and shoved them back on the display. "Sharon!" he hissed.
"What?" She rolled her eyes. "I've got a son, Rusty--"
"Well, I'm not your son," he grumbled, flipping through the packets of underwear, looking for his size.
She watched him. "No, you aren't."
He removed a pack of three pairs of black briefs with bold grey lettering around the band. She squinted at them suspiciously.
"Are they too expensive?" he said quickly, checking the price tag.
"No..." She'd seen that same black waistband exposed by many a pair of drooping jeans. Call her old-fashioned, but Rusty wasn't going out looking like that--
"All right," she said grudgingly. "Get two packages. That's a week's worth of underwear."
"I've still got some pairs--"
"Which we shall burn. Some strange boy's underwear..." She turned to the socks. "White for these, I suppose--"
"They're just socks." Rusty grabbed two packages and dumped them into the cart. She tossed another pack in. "Socks tend to disappear in the dryer," she explained.
She put in a package of white undershirts, ignoring Rusty's continued grumbling.
"Pajamas?" she suggested leadingly. Rusty pretended not to hear her. Refusing to use the guest room, he had slept the first night on the sofa, with his backpack on the floor right by his head. Frankly, she was surprised when he had been there in the morning.
Seeing he wasn't going to respond, she pushed the cart out into the main aisle. "I guess we can grab some food as well," she muttered.
He perked up. She was going to remain resolute though. No junk food. Perhaps some granola bars and a flat of bottled water...
Twenty minutes later, exhausted, she pushed toward the toiletries section. She'd managed to fight off the 'vitamin' water and Red Bulls, but had allowed one four-pack of bottled Starbucks coffees. There were two large bags of Lays potato chips, but at least the cookies were made with organic oatmeal.
"I've got stuff," Rusty mumbled when she looked over the deodorants. He was blushing again.
"You could use more," she said a bit unkindly.
Pursing his lips, he snatched one off the shelf and tossed it in the cart. Just glad it wasn't Axe, she led him to shampoo aisle.
After waiting what seemed like forever for him to select a shampoo, conditioner and numerous other hair products, she asked uncertainly, "Do you need razors?"
"Yes," he said huffily, snatching a slender razor and some shaving cream of the shelf.
She pushed the cart past the condom display quickly and headed to the checkout, at last. As her purchases moved along the conveyer belt toward the indifferent clerk, she added a trial pack of headache medication.
The total kept going up with each item run over the bar code reader. Rusty looked more and more distressed. Sharon was checking her phone--thank God, no messages or texts from work--and rooting for her wallet in her deep purse.
"Uh, Sharon..."
"Yes," she said, distracted as she was trying to remember her PIN.
"Can I get a job?"
"A job?" She blinked at him through her glasses, confused.
"Yeah. I can do real work, you know," he said, blushing.
"You don't need to work," Sharon said, dismissing his puzzling anxiety. "Other than putting those bags in the cart," she added, nodding to the pile of red and white bags.
While pushing the cart toward her car, he returned to the topic bothering him. "The state is gonna reimburse you for this, right?"
"For what?" She still wasn't paying attention; another bright store sign caught her eye across the shopping center.
After she opened the trunk, he loaded in the bags. "For all this," he said stiffly.
She finally understood what was bothering him. "Don't worry about it," she said.
Stubborn, he folded his arms and stayed outside the car as she slid behind the wheel. She rolled down the passenger window to look at him. "What is it?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"I don't think you should be wasting your money on me. I mean--" He wave his hand around. "I could be gone tomorrow and you'd be out that two hundred bucks."
Damn. She hadn't put those aspirins in her purse; they were in one of the bags in the trunk.
"Then I'll just wear those briefs myself. Get in."
His mouth fell open comically but she kept her face impassive. He finally opened the door and sat.
She drove to the Old Navy store.
"Now what?" he whined.
"You've been wearing those same jeans for three days now," she pointed out as she parked in front of the second store.
Herding her reluctant charge, she selected another cart. This time, he'd wisely left his backpack in the car.
"Jeans," she suggested, finding several racks. She turned to face him, making eye contact and staring him down. "No drooping allowed."
"Jeez, Sharon--"
"My money, my rules."
"I'm not the one demanding that I get new clothes," he grumbled.
She looked over the mannequins. "I will concede to a lower crotch--" He blushed again and she seriously wondered how he survived as a street hustler. Then she realized his customers probably paid for that very quality and she frowned even more darkly.
Taking her expression as targeting him, Rusty snatched a few pairs from the shelves and headed to the changing room. While he was in there, she selected two pairs of chinos in the size he'd taken and added them to the cart. He'd need them for school but she wasn't going to waste her breath arguing with him about the unfashionable slacks.
He peeked out around the changing room door. "Did you want to see?"
"Yes, I wish to verify the waistline," she announced.
He looked around quickly to see if any of the customers heard her, and sure enough, two other teen boys quickly turned away, smirks on their faces.
He stomped out. "See," he said, waving his hands at the only slightly droopy jeans.
"Lift your shirt," Sharon said, not fooled for a moment.
He flung back his head dramatically. "Oh my God!" But he yanked up his shirt. She walked slowly around him, checking how low the waist rode on his narrow hips with her narrowed gaze.
Grudgingly, she nodded. "Okay."
He stomped back into the changing room without another word.
When he came out and tossed the pairs into the cart, she mused, "How could I know that I'd be going through all this again? Of course, with my son, the jeans were too tight. The problem changes but the headache remains the same."
"Guess you're just lucky that way," he said sarcastically. Frowning, he noticed the kaikis but didn't say anything about them.
She whipped the cart around the store, giving him little input other than color choice as she added a hoodie, a couple of sweaters, and some tee shirts to the pile.
But he did protest, loudly, when she reached for a lime green and black messenger bag.
"I've got a backpack," he growled.
"It's much too large, and God knows where it's been," she said artlessly. "You'll need something smaller for school."
"It's mine," he said.
Opening her mouth to try and make it see logic, she was stopped by his expression. Gone was the mulish set to his features. There was a naked pain in its place and he was holding his breath. She didn't know the story behind that faded and tattered backpack with its red star stitched on the top flap, but she didn't need to. She placed the brightly colored messenger bag back on the rack.
"I'm starving. How about you," she said casually.
Rusty released that breath. "Yeah."
She pushed the cart toward check out. "Want El Pollo Loco?"
"Sure," he said, "can I have two burritos? I'm really hungry all of a sudden."
"Sure," she echoed, feeling oddly relieved.
~ end