FIC: The Care and Feeding of a Teenage Boy ~ Pt. 5
Title: The Care and Feeding of a Teenage Boy ~ 5
Author: bugs
Word Count: 1,900
Rating: K+
Characters: Rusty, Sharon
Spoilers: Still just early season one. Of course, season 2 is inspiring all sorts of ideas, so I may end up going totally out of order at some point! *head desk*
~*~
Lurking by Lieutenant Tao's desk, Sharon cleared her throat and his head shot up.
He'd been studying a set of photos from a murder scene intently. "I'm sorry, Captain, you were saying?"
She gave him a pained smile. "It's nothing." She turned to go.
"No, it's okay," Tao reassured her and she faced him again.
Provena peered around her at Tao. He ignored the senior detective.
"Yes, Captain," he prompted.
"I was wondering...What the going rate for a teenager's allowance these days?"
Tao spun in his seat, obviously thrilled to be asked. He began to explain his complicated calculations. "I apply a dollar for every year of their age as a starting point. My kids can add to this accumulation by completing extra duties, but don't get paid to do the basic cleaning and upkeeping of our home, and definitely don't get paid for grades. In fact, poor grades can lead to a docking in pay." He shook his head definitely.
Flynn and Provenza exchanged raised eyebrowed expressions.
Sharon crossed her arms and nodded. "Yes, yes...So fifteen dollars a month?"
"A week," conceded Tao.
"A week? That's sixty dollars a month!"
"Kids' expenses these days--"
Provenza had to break in. "I got a quarter when I was a kid!"
"Yeah, but your cell phone was two cans and a string," pointed out Sanchez, leaning in from his desk with a grin.
The older man hunched his back and grumbled under his breath, leaving the conversation.
Sharon thanked Tao absent-mindedly and wandered back to her office. Flynn followed her.
"So the kid's been shaking you down for money?" he asked as she sat at her desk.
Blinking at him from behind her glasses, Sharon said, "Not at all. But I think he needs to learn to handle money--"
"He was bringing in a lot more than sixty a week; I bet he was making over sixty a night. But I guess you're right. His budget for the streets would be different than as a Catholic school kid."
Sharon had grimaced at her Lieutenant's observation but later, as she handed the ten and five dollar bills to Rusty and say the light in his eyes, she definitely felt uncomfortable. The way he tucked them quickly away in his pants pocket after checking the amount in a flick of his fingers, showed an experience beyond a usual teenager's.
"So if you're getting tired of my lunches, you can buy a school lunch," she said lamely.
"Your lunches are fine. I still need to pay the squad back for pitching in to bring my mom to L.A," he said with determination.
"They're not expecting their money back," Sharon protested.
"I told them that I'd pay them back," Rusty said stubbornly.
"On Saturday, we'll go to the bank and open an account for you," said Sharon, changing the subject. "And get a debit card for it. You could buy apps or music for your phone--"
His eyes lit up again.
"But you need to keep on budget and save money every week," she lectured, but he was already scrolling through his phone.
The next day, Rusty gave five dollars to Andy Flynn, asking him to distribute the funds among those who contributed to the bus ticket for his mother.
Flynn shifted on his feet. "Sure, kid. But you know you don't need to--"
Sharon gave a little wave to stop Flynn.
He kept going. "It's not like she got here, after all," he said, stumbling along.
Rusty dropped his head, as though to hide his flaming face.
"But thanks," Flynn said, trying to cover his gauffe.
"I know that I can use the money," Provenza announced from his desk.
All the squad shot him dirty looks and he shrugged, indifferent to their judgment.
The next week, Rusty brought his five dollars to Andy on Monday, after being paid on Sunday, but Sharon noticed that he ate her lunches all week, even taking extra snacks to school. She was used to her children buying the horrible junk food that she wouldn't bring into her house, but apparently Rusty was made of sterner stuff.
But she did note that the skin on his face was beginning to have more pimples. She purchased some special soap and pointedly left it in his bathroom, but his complexion only worsened.
Six weeks after she began Rusty's allowance, Flynn sidled into her office and closed the door.
"Yes, LIeutenant?" she said, glancing up from the report which she was reading.
He peered out through the blinds to where Rusty was doing his homework with Buzz.
"Thought you should know..." He rubbed his neck, vexed. "I don't like to rat--"
"What is it," she said, a touch impatient.
"The kid...He hasn't given me the five bucks in two weeks."
"Oh." She removed her glasses. "Well, you told him that you didn't need to be repaid."
"And he insisted that he was going to do it," Flynn pointed out.
It was her turn to look at Rusty through the office window. "Okay," she said cautiously.
"I wouldn't care, but I'm wondering what he's spending the money on." Flynn folded his arms across his chest and focused on her intently.
She did a quick mental inventory. She hadn't seen him buy anything at the stores when she brought him along. No wrappers in the garbage, not even one candy bar.
Logging into their bank website, she checked his balance--zero. Her breath catching, she checked his debit card activity. Only cash withdrawals eating up his small saving account within the first three weeks; no online purchases.
Andy had come around to look at the screen. "That's not good," he said unnecessarily.
"Drugs?" she dared to say.
"Can't be anything but some weed with only fifteen bucks," Flynn said, offering some cold comfort. "Or I suppose a rock of crack."
She looked up at him in horror.
"I'm sure it's nothing. He's just used to having a lot more money to spend," Flynn said lamely.
"But what is he spending it on?" she mused, looking at the young man again through the glass.
At that moment, Rusty glanced up and met her gaze. His weak smile looked guilty...Or was it just her imagination?
That evening, while Rusty showered, she decided to 'clean' his room. She'd had some trouble with her son and pot while he was in high school, so she felt well versed in the signs. Looking for the telltale ashes, she peeked under the bed, in the bedside table drawers, and dared to brave the closet, only staggered a bit from the smell of his laundry pile.
All the while, she flicked a feather duster around, so when Rusty came in, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, she had her cover set.
"I'm cleaning," she said quickly before he could even ask.
He glanced around frantically. "Kinda late--" he noted.
"Just in the mood," she said, giving him one of her pained smiles.
He snagged his backpack that sat by the door. It made an ominous clanking sound and sagged under some great weight.
A bonge? A crack pipe? Booze bottles? Sharon's mind raced.
In the meantime, the boy had slunk out of the room. She followed.
He was rummaging in the kitchen.
"Let me help," he said with a stilted tone. "I'll take out the trash."
Carrying the white plastic garbage bag that was only half full, he went out the front door...And took his backpack with him.
Sharon watched him go. She must look in that backpack.
But when he returned, the bag was notably lighter and made no sound when he placed it by the door.
Sharon watched him out of the corner of her eye as he rooted in the bag and removed his laptop and a text book. That was all right. She had the target. She just needed to stake it out.
Two days later, Rusty left his backpack by the door again as he took his phone to his room, involved in some cryptic conversation with a classmate.
Sharon immediately leapt upon the bag. Undoing the buckle on the top flap, she realized this was only the second time she'd touched the backpack since she'd placed a Ding-Dong in it. That seemed a long time ago.
His gym clothes...An effect booby trap. But she kept digging and her hand closed around a cold, glass shape. She pulled it out, her heart in her throat...An empty Yoo-hoo bottle. And another, and another...
"What are you doing?" Rusty's worried voice said from the hall.
She rocked back on her heels. She'd feel embarrassed if he didn't look so devastated, his face red and blotchy with anguish. He was hiding something.
"I've been worried that you're keeping a secret from me," she said levelly. "And it appears I'm getting closer."
She kept digging through the bag, but only found more empty bottles and finally one half-full.
Lining up the half dozen bottles, she stood. "Rusty, where is it?"
"What?" he whispered.
"Whatever you've been spending your money on."
He leaned on the wall, clutching one arm tightly. "You see it," he mumbled. "I...I have a problem."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. Picking up the half-full bottle, she removed its lid and sniffed. Just the cloying odor of overly sweet chocolate.
"I can't stop...." he moaned. "I've tried, but I can't...."
Understanding dawning, she looked at the bottles again. If this was his new supply since he emptied the bag yesterday...
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh...She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw his face crumple.
"I'm so sorry, Rusty," she gasped. "Really, I understand--"
"I thought I'd left it behind on the streets," he said quietly. "I used to drink it...A lot."
She breathed very slowly and deliberately, keeping herself from laughing again. "It was always there," she said encouragingly.
"In every Seven Eleven," he said with a nod. "And it took the taste out of my mouth."
Her legs suddenly weak, Sharon sank to sit on the couch arm. "But you don't need it anymore," she murmured. But she understood. When she'd tossed Jack out the first time, she found that a good Shiraz could wash the bitterness from her mouth.
"I guess not," he agreed, tears in his eyes. "But I can't seem to stop...And I've blown all my money--"
"I noticed," she said, feeling on familiar ground again. "Maybe you shouldn't try to stop cold-turkey. Let's just have you cut back slowly, and one day, it'll just be gone."
"You think so?" he asked, hope in his voice.
She gathered up the bottles, determined. "I know so."
Holding out the half-empty bottle to him, she said, "Do you want this?"
"I..." He bit his lower lip. "No. Might as well start now."
"You know, you don't have to let go of everything at once, Rusty," she said after putting the bottles in the recycling bin. "You have nothing to be ashamed about and sometimes running from the past only leads you down a darker path."
He finally laughed. "Darker than a Yoo-hoo addict? Don't scare me!"
She dared to drape her arm around his shoulders. "It'll be all right," she promised with her lips against his temple. He sagged against her for a moment, and she remembered the long months of anxiety with her son and his drug use. Something told her an addiction to a sickeningly sugared drink may turn out to be just as strong.
~ end
E/N: Truly, I started this as a fluffy little piece and it sort of got away from me. *sigh*
Author: bugs
Word Count: 1,900
Rating: K+
Characters: Rusty, Sharon
Spoilers: Still just early season one. Of course, season 2 is inspiring all sorts of ideas, so I may end up going totally out of order at some point! *head desk*
~*~
Lurking by Lieutenant Tao's desk, Sharon cleared her throat and his head shot up.
He'd been studying a set of photos from a murder scene intently. "I'm sorry, Captain, you were saying?"
She gave him a pained smile. "It's nothing." She turned to go.
"No, it's okay," Tao reassured her and she faced him again.
Provena peered around her at Tao. He ignored the senior detective.
"Yes, Captain," he prompted.
"I was wondering...What the going rate for a teenager's allowance these days?"
Tao spun in his seat, obviously thrilled to be asked. He began to explain his complicated calculations. "I apply a dollar for every year of their age as a starting point. My kids can add to this accumulation by completing extra duties, but don't get paid to do the basic cleaning and upkeeping of our home, and definitely don't get paid for grades. In fact, poor grades can lead to a docking in pay." He shook his head definitely.
Flynn and Provenza exchanged raised eyebrowed expressions.
Sharon crossed her arms and nodded. "Yes, yes...So fifteen dollars a month?"
"A week," conceded Tao.
"A week? That's sixty dollars a month!"
"Kids' expenses these days--"
Provenza had to break in. "I got a quarter when I was a kid!"
"Yeah, but your cell phone was two cans and a string," pointed out Sanchez, leaning in from his desk with a grin.
The older man hunched his back and grumbled under his breath, leaving the conversation.
Sharon thanked Tao absent-mindedly and wandered back to her office. Flynn followed her.
"So the kid's been shaking you down for money?" he asked as she sat at her desk.
Blinking at him from behind her glasses, Sharon said, "Not at all. But I think he needs to learn to handle money--"
"He was bringing in a lot more than sixty a week; I bet he was making over sixty a night. But I guess you're right. His budget for the streets would be different than as a Catholic school kid."
Sharon had grimaced at her Lieutenant's observation but later, as she handed the ten and five dollar bills to Rusty and say the light in his eyes, she definitely felt uncomfortable. The way he tucked them quickly away in his pants pocket after checking the amount in a flick of his fingers, showed an experience beyond a usual teenager's.
"So if you're getting tired of my lunches, you can buy a school lunch," she said lamely.
"Your lunches are fine. I still need to pay the squad back for pitching in to bring my mom to L.A," he said with determination.
"They're not expecting their money back," Sharon protested.
"I told them that I'd pay them back," Rusty said stubbornly.
"On Saturday, we'll go to the bank and open an account for you," said Sharon, changing the subject. "And get a debit card for it. You could buy apps or music for your phone--"
His eyes lit up again.
"But you need to keep on budget and save money every week," she lectured, but he was already scrolling through his phone.
The next day, Rusty gave five dollars to Andy Flynn, asking him to distribute the funds among those who contributed to the bus ticket for his mother.
Flynn shifted on his feet. "Sure, kid. But you know you don't need to--"
Sharon gave a little wave to stop Flynn.
He kept going. "It's not like she got here, after all," he said, stumbling along.
Rusty dropped his head, as though to hide his flaming face.
"But thanks," Flynn said, trying to cover his gauffe.
"I know that I can use the money," Provenza announced from his desk.
All the squad shot him dirty looks and he shrugged, indifferent to their judgment.
The next week, Rusty brought his five dollars to Andy on Monday, after being paid on Sunday, but Sharon noticed that he ate her lunches all week, even taking extra snacks to school. She was used to her children buying the horrible junk food that she wouldn't bring into her house, but apparently Rusty was made of sterner stuff.
But she did note that the skin on his face was beginning to have more pimples. She purchased some special soap and pointedly left it in his bathroom, but his complexion only worsened.
Six weeks after she began Rusty's allowance, Flynn sidled into her office and closed the door.
"Yes, LIeutenant?" she said, glancing up from the report which she was reading.
He peered out through the blinds to where Rusty was doing his homework with Buzz.
"Thought you should know..." He rubbed his neck, vexed. "I don't like to rat--"
"What is it," she said, a touch impatient.
"The kid...He hasn't given me the five bucks in two weeks."
"Oh." She removed her glasses. "Well, you told him that you didn't need to be repaid."
"And he insisted that he was going to do it," Flynn pointed out.
It was her turn to look at Rusty through the office window. "Okay," she said cautiously.
"I wouldn't care, but I'm wondering what he's spending the money on." Flynn folded his arms across his chest and focused on her intently.
She did a quick mental inventory. She hadn't seen him buy anything at the stores when she brought him along. No wrappers in the garbage, not even one candy bar.
Logging into their bank website, she checked his balance--zero. Her breath catching, she checked his debit card activity. Only cash withdrawals eating up his small saving account within the first three weeks; no online purchases.
Andy had come around to look at the screen. "That's not good," he said unnecessarily.
"Drugs?" she dared to say.
"Can't be anything but some weed with only fifteen bucks," Flynn said, offering some cold comfort. "Or I suppose a rock of crack."
She looked up at him in horror.
"I'm sure it's nothing. He's just used to having a lot more money to spend," Flynn said lamely.
"But what is he spending it on?" she mused, looking at the young man again through the glass.
At that moment, Rusty glanced up and met her gaze. His weak smile looked guilty...Or was it just her imagination?
That evening, while Rusty showered, she decided to 'clean' his room. She'd had some trouble with her son and pot while he was in high school, so she felt well versed in the signs. Looking for the telltale ashes, she peeked under the bed, in the bedside table drawers, and dared to brave the closet, only staggered a bit from the smell of his laundry pile.
All the while, she flicked a feather duster around, so when Rusty came in, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, she had her cover set.
"I'm cleaning," she said quickly before he could even ask.
He glanced around frantically. "Kinda late--" he noted.
"Just in the mood," she said, giving him one of her pained smiles.
He snagged his backpack that sat by the door. It made an ominous clanking sound and sagged under some great weight.
A bonge? A crack pipe? Booze bottles? Sharon's mind raced.
In the meantime, the boy had slunk out of the room. She followed.
He was rummaging in the kitchen.
"Let me help," he said with a stilted tone. "I'll take out the trash."
Carrying the white plastic garbage bag that was only half full, he went out the front door...And took his backpack with him.
Sharon watched him go. She must look in that backpack.
But when he returned, the bag was notably lighter and made no sound when he placed it by the door.
Sharon watched him out of the corner of her eye as he rooted in the bag and removed his laptop and a text book. That was all right. She had the target. She just needed to stake it out.
Two days later, Rusty left his backpack by the door again as he took his phone to his room, involved in some cryptic conversation with a classmate.
Sharon immediately leapt upon the bag. Undoing the buckle on the top flap, she realized this was only the second time she'd touched the backpack since she'd placed a Ding-Dong in it. That seemed a long time ago.
His gym clothes...An effect booby trap. But she kept digging and her hand closed around a cold, glass shape. She pulled it out, her heart in her throat...An empty Yoo-hoo bottle. And another, and another...
"What are you doing?" Rusty's worried voice said from the hall.
She rocked back on her heels. She'd feel embarrassed if he didn't look so devastated, his face red and blotchy with anguish. He was hiding something.
"I've been worried that you're keeping a secret from me," she said levelly. "And it appears I'm getting closer."
She kept digging through the bag, but only found more empty bottles and finally one half-full.
Lining up the half dozen bottles, she stood. "Rusty, where is it?"
"What?" he whispered.
"Whatever you've been spending your money on."
He leaned on the wall, clutching one arm tightly. "You see it," he mumbled. "I...I have a problem."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. Picking up the half-full bottle, she removed its lid and sniffed. Just the cloying odor of overly sweet chocolate.
"I can't stop...." he moaned. "I've tried, but I can't...."
Understanding dawning, she looked at the bottles again. If this was his new supply since he emptied the bag yesterday...
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh...She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw his face crumple.
"I'm so sorry, Rusty," she gasped. "Really, I understand--"
"I thought I'd left it behind on the streets," he said quietly. "I used to drink it...A lot."
She breathed very slowly and deliberately, keeping herself from laughing again. "It was always there," she said encouragingly.
"In every Seven Eleven," he said with a nod. "And it took the taste out of my mouth."
Her legs suddenly weak, Sharon sank to sit on the couch arm. "But you don't need it anymore," she murmured. But she understood. When she'd tossed Jack out the first time, she found that a good Shiraz could wash the bitterness from her mouth.
"I guess not," he agreed, tears in his eyes. "But I can't seem to stop...And I've blown all my money--"
"I noticed," she said, feeling on familiar ground again. "Maybe you shouldn't try to stop cold-turkey. Let's just have you cut back slowly, and one day, it'll just be gone."
"You think so?" he asked, hope in his voice.
She gathered up the bottles, determined. "I know so."
Holding out the half-empty bottle to him, she said, "Do you want this?"
"I..." He bit his lower lip. "No. Might as well start now."
"You know, you don't have to let go of everything at once, Rusty," she said after putting the bottles in the recycling bin. "You have nothing to be ashamed about and sometimes running from the past only leads you down a darker path."
He finally laughed. "Darker than a Yoo-hoo addict? Don't scare me!"
She dared to drape her arm around his shoulders. "It'll be all right," she promised with her lips against his temple. He sagged against her for a moment, and she remembered the long months of anxiety with her son and his drug use. Something told her an addiction to a sickeningly sugared drink may turn out to be just as strong.
~ end
E/N: Truly, I started this as a fluffy little piece and it sort of got away from me. *sigh*