This story is sort-of the result of a prompt/challenge/series of conversations with Rosabelle and Force Unbroken, relating to the delight we seem to take in heaping angst on Sharon and Rusty, and the (im)possibility of writing a story in which - GASP - nothing. bad. happens to them.
Crazy, right?!
So I set out to test the theory of whether such a tale is indeed possible. And then this story took shape, which was centered more or less around birthdays. And therefore this story is being posted at this time, with a special dedication to the lovely Force Unbroken, who (much like a certain leading lady we all have a crush on), is celebrating her birthday today! Happy birthday!
Les Bons Temps (1)
Snow Day
First there was actually convincing him to go.
Sharon would've expected Rusty to jump at the chance to get away. After months of heightened security, with officers following him around and someone trying to kill him, and then several weeks of struggling to get back to a normal life which involved catching up on impossible amounts of schoolwork, she'd have thought that a vacation was exactly what he wanted. Plus he'd never been outside of LA, and she'd thought that he'd appreciate the chance to do so. An adventure, if you will. Exploring a new place. She'd have imagined that he'd be all over that.
Rusty had let her finish about two and a half sentences about her plan to go to Park City for a week, before adopting his best deer-in-the-headlights look and asking if they can't just have burgers at that nice place around the corner instead.
Turns out, his sense of adventure only applied to his driving habits. He did not want to leave LA. Did he have to? She could go on her own, he'd be fine staying home! Sharon had explained that this was as much a trip for him as for her, as an early birthday present, and that wouldn't work very well if she left him behind. In turn, Rusty had suggested Skype.
It had taken half an hour of excruciating prodding before making him admit to his various concerns about leaving LA, and the rest of an evening to assure him that no, this wasn't some sort of ambush, and her entire family wouldn't be there judging him the whole time, and yes, they'd definitely be coming back to LA after a few days and no, he wasn't required to know how to ski, nor were there any bears, ice storms or avalanches likely to occur.
He'd still spent the entire next day looking up the abominable snowman. Then he'd informed her that he thought maybe he was allergic to pines.
It wasn't until she'd bought the tickets and the dice was cast, so to speak, that Rusty had finally resigned to his fate, though each time she spoke about it he still gave her these pathetically uncertain looks, as though she were planning to take him to the seventh circle of hell, for God's sake, and not on vacation!
After that, came the plane ride.
Having convinced her skittish foster son that Park City was not, in fact, a nightmare land populated with bloodthirsty wild bears, abominable snowmen and – horror of horrors – dozens of her family members, Sharon had thought the worst was out of the way.
Then Rusty had started looking up airplane crash statistics.
Of course, it didn't occur to him to talk to her about this new set of concerns until they were in the car on the way to the airport, at which point he decided to list all the reasons that planes were a bad idea. Did she know that the landing gear sometimes didn't lower? What if a bird hit an engine? Had she checked whether the pilot was well rested? Wouldn't it be safer if they like, packed a parachute, just in case?
By the time they'd reached the airport and she'd assured him that they would not be flying through the Bermuda triangle, either, Sharon had started to doubt the wisdom of her vacation plans, after all.
And that was before they went through security.
First Rusty wouldn't take off his shoes. Didn't those people know that Sharon was a cop? Then he got all confused about the purpose of the plastic bins, and couldn't decide what went inside the bin and what went straight on the belt. Then he mounted a public protest when one of the officers tried to take away his bottle of Coke, which he'd somehow brought along despite Sharon having warned him about ten times not to do so.
He also had to pass through the metal detector a grand total of five times, before he'd finally extracted all the coins, clips, keys, his belt, an emergency mini-screwdriver kit ("what if the plane malfunctions, Sharon?"), and three USB drives from his various pockets.
She did have to show her badge eventually just to make sure they weren't banned from the flight.
Taking a detour through some duty-free shops had served as impromptu retail therapy for her, and helped Rusty warm up to airports a little bit, because no place that had walls full of twenty kinds of giant chocolate bars and five-pound bags of M&Ms could be all bad.
She'd given him thirty dollars and permission to get whatever he wanted, because her willpower reserves had been sapped, by that point. Watching him come back with an armful of assorted sugary confections, she hadn't even batted and eye. And when they'd finally begun boarding and Rusty had broken into yet another soliloquy on how small planes were particularly susceptible to an impressive list of fatal mishaps and malfunctions, she'd just tuned him out and tried to ignore the glares from the other passengers. (he only stopped when one little girl started crying after hearing him describe the potential results of an encounter between a swan and an airplane engine)
On the plane, she'd have gladly given him the silent treatment for the infernal torments he'd put her through, if not for the fact that when the engines had revved up for take-off, he'd turned an alarming shade of green, and then Sharon had taken pity on him.
The best thing she could say about the flight was that it had been mercifully short.
All the worrying, the flailing and the chocolate had caused Rusty to exhaust himself, so when they'd landed in Salt Lake City he'd been much better behaved on account of being half-asleep. There had been a mix-up with their scheduled shuttle, so by the time they'd retrieved the luggage and finally got on the ride to Park City, it was nearly eight p.m. and getting dark. Rusty had climbed into the furthest corner back seat and passed out with his head against the window within five minutes. By the time they pulled up to the lodge, it was completely dark outside, and she could tell how out of it the boy was when he'd stumbled sleepily out of the shuttle, taken a bleary look around and said, in all seriousness, "Oh, I didn't realize it was night in Utah."
Rolling her eyes, Sharon deposited his backpack in his arms, pulled out their suitcases from the back of the minivan, and led him to the lodge entrance, one hand on his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't accidentally walk into a tree.
And now here they were, Park City, a cozy, warm cottage in a beautiful lodge, snow-covered mountain slopes that glittered in the moonlight, the smell of crisp air and pine trees… and Sharon was watching her foster son and wondering what on Earth she was going to do with him for the next six days.
He surprised her by getting up at eight a.m. the next morning, a loud crash from the direction of his room heralding his return to the land of the living.
"Rusty?" Sharon paused half-way through brushing her hair to take a couple of steps toward his door. "Everything alright in there…?"
The door opened a few seconds later, and his disheveled mop stuck out. "The floor feels weird," was the first thing he said.
"You should be wearing socks," she returned. "And good morning to you, too."
Rusty rubbed a hand to his cheek, and blinked at her. "Does this place have like, a bathroom?"
"Oh – well… no," she said. "You'll have to go out into the woods in the back. Didn't we already discuss this?"
"What?!"
Sharon rolled her eyes at his panicked expression, and pointed to the bathroom right behind him. "This is a top quality mountain resort, Rusty, not the wild Siberian tundra," she told him dryly. "You'll find that it has all the comforts of civilization...and if you make a modicum of effort to keep an open mind, you might even enjoy it."
"Yes, Sharon."
"And put on some socks," she called after him as he disappeared into the bathroom wearing his most unconvinced mien.
Twenty minutes later, she was beginning to get worried. She hadn't heard the shower running, yet he hadn't come out yet. An upset stomach was definitely not how she'd have wanted them to start their vacation… but then, how would he even get that? They hadn't even had dinner last night because Rusty had just stumbled straight to bed right after they'd checked in. And he hadn't had that much chocolate on the plane…had he?
"Rusty?" She knocked lightly on the bathroom door. "Honey, are you okay?" When there was no response she knocked and called out again, and in the continued silence her heart started beating faster. "Rusty!" Still nothing. "Okay – Rusty, I'm coming in," she warned, and when there was still no reply after a few moments, she pushed the door open and thanked the heavens that he hadn't locked it, because breaking down doors was not exactly her idea of a good time.
She rushed into the bathroom in a mild panic, to find her foster son's pajama-clad lower half dangling from the small window above the toilet.
The tips of his toes were perched on the toilet lid for balance, and he'd somehow fit his head and arms through the window. He seemed to be doing some sort of awkward wriggling acrobatics, trying to reach the clump of snow on the nearest tree branch. The picture he made was something else.
Sharon did the only thing she could: she burst into laughter.
That sound must've finally been loud enough to reach him, because he tried to turn around abruptly and banged his head against the window frame. At the sound of his yelp, she only laughed harder.
"Sharon…!"
"Rusty, if you wanted to see the snow, you should know that there's an actual door that leads to the outside."
He gave her a dark glare to let her know he did not appreciate humor at his expense. "I just wanted to see what it felt like."
Sharon chuckled again.
"So is there like, breakfast anywhere around here?" Half an hour after the bathroom incident, Rusty emerged again from his room, dressed in jeans and one of the warmer hoodies she'd gotten him in preparation for the trip. "I know, I know, 'comforts of civilization'," he sighed at her look. "But like… do we order food, or…make it, or…?"
"We do have a toaster oven and a microwave," Sharon nodded toward the minuscule niche that served as a kitchenette, "but in terms of real food, the lodge has a very nice dining area. Breakfast is served until ten, so we still have plenty of time."
"Dining area?" He was back to looking worried. "Like, with other people?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Rusty, dining with other people – I assure you it's no different here than in LA. You've been to restaurants before, I'm certain you can survive it."
He gave her a doubtful look. "Yeah but like…my kind of restaurant, or your kind of restaurant?"
"Your kind of restaurant is a food truck," Sharon informed him matter-of-factly. "Now come on, get your shoes on, so we can finally go see what's outside this room...!"
Rusty seemed rather skeptical at the prospect. Still, he reached for his new hiker boots and managed to put them on with only a minimum of complaining about the amount of shoe-lacing required. She put on her own shoes, grabbed her purse and finally managed to convince the boy that both their interests were better served if she did not have to physically drag him each time that they had to leave their little suite. That and the promise of breakfast finally got him out the door.
But as it turned out, they did not make it to breakfast after all.
Rusty glanced around the lodge as they made their way downstairs to the lowest level, registering now all the details that he'd completely missed in his half-asleep state the previous night. He snickered at some of the tapestries on the wall ("someone actually like, made that?"), spent too much time interested in the lodge convenience store ("but it's different candy in Utah!"), and stopped for a good two minutes to stare at a bear fur and a mounted set of antlers, until Sharon, who had mixed feelings about all the hunting trophy displays, nudged him on.
Then they got to the downstairs lobby, and through the enormous glass wall the snowy mountain side was finally visible in full, and they both paused for a second, then, to watch the sparkling slopes and the frosty tree branches, and the occasional skier sliding gracefully down. Sharon smiled.
"Breakfast is that way," she pointed somewhere to their far right, reading the signs for the dining area.
"Uh… yeah?" Rusty glanced at her, then turned to stare some more at the unfamiliar landscape. "Do people actually get on those things?" He pointed to the ski lifts, that so early in the morning were still mostly empty.
"They do. It's a lot easier than trying to climb to the top with your skis on."
"But like… don't they fall out?"
"Not usually, no." She smiled at his scandalized expression. "Honey, it's like an amusement park ride. There's a bar to keep you in place. It's all perfectly safe."
"Mm."
"Come on. Let's get some food." A hand on his shoulder, she directed him toward the breakfast room again.
"What's that?"
She turned to look out again, and let out a mental sigh. "Snowmobile."
Rusty's eyes lit up, and he turned an impossibly pleading look on her.
"We'll negotiate," said Sharon, because she couldn't outright say 'not in a million years' to a more-or-less reasonable request, but she also wasn't sure that this vacation – or the world – could handle Rusty's driving skills combined with a snowmobile. "For now, let's just get…"
But the boy was staring at something else again, his attention captured this time by a lodge employee using a snowblower to clear the area in front of the lodge. Rusty's gaze followed curiously as the snow was funnelled sideways at great speed, and his eyebrows rose in fascination.
Sharon tilted her head to give him an amused smile. "Do you want to go outside for a minute?"
And suddenly he looked unsure, again. "Uh…"
"Why don't we just walk out and around the lodge," she suggested. "The dining area has an entrance on the other side, too."
Rusty shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, I mean if you want to… you know, it's like, your vacation…"
She rolled her eyes. "It's our vacation, Rusty," she reminded him. "And you are going to enjoy it. That's the deal. Understood?"
He gave her a sideways look. "This is one of those 'or else' kind of situations, isn't it?"
"That's precisely what this is," Sharon confirmed. "Now come on. Let's go outside and see how you fare with a bit of climate change."
He fared really well with it, it turned out. Though neither of them was wearing their jackets (after all, they'd only been planning to go to breakfast), Rusty didn't seem to mind the freezing temperature. He walked down the stone-paved path along the side of the lodge until they'd passed the more crowded and exposed area near the entrance, and then he dared to step off the path and into the snow.
And then further off.
And further.
"Rusty." Sharon waved him back when he'd ventured about thirty yards off. "Don't go on to the ski slope." It was really just a far side of the beginner slope, with barely any incline at all, but that also meant that whoever was using it would have very little control; she didn't need to see her foster son rammed over by some overexcited beginner tripping over his own skis. "Come back."
He walked back over, trying really hard to not look like he was intentionally clomping his feet to see how the snow felt. Sharon lowered her head and smiled. She couldn't understand what it must've been like to see snow for the first time – having grown up in a place with four seasons, that wasn't a memory she possessed – but Rusty seemed to be enjoying it. While of course trying to appear completely unfazed and cool about the whole thing.
A little more clomping, and he finally made it back to her. By that time Sharon was starting to feel the cold, a little. Hey, not everyone was a teenager, okay?
She nodded toward the far side of the lodge. "The other entrance is right across from that green sign."
Rusty took exactly three more steps before stopping by a tree very much like the one that had prompted his bathroom adventure earlier. He reached a hand over one of the lowest branches and ran a tentative finger over it, dusting off some of the snow gathered there. Then he tried to grab some more to study it, and failed a couple of times because he was picking up too little snow between his thumb and index finger, and it melted before he had a chance to get a good look. Finally he grabbed a bigger handful, studied it while it turned into water in his palm, smelled it, and –
"It doesn't taste like anything."
Sharon was having a little too fun watching him. "Were you expecting Rocky Road?"
He flashed her a wry glance and wiped his wet hand on his jeans. Then he grabbed one of the larger snow-covered branches from just above his head, and pulled that down to study it –
"Rusty, be careful when you –"
He let go abruptly and, snapping back into its original position, the branch dumped its several inches of snow directly over his head.
" –let go," Sharon finished, too late.
The boy stood there motionless for a second, his mouth gaping slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. A small clump of snow slid down the side of his head, clinging to an errand strand of blond hair before finally dropping on his shoe.
"Wha- what the hell was that, Sharon?!"
One hand covering her mouth, she diplomatically cleared her throat. "Gravity."
Rusty was not amused.
They'd finally made it all the way to the far entrance, when the boy made his newest discovery.
"Why are my jeans wet? Wait…" He frowned at the water stains spreading down from his knees, and then at the snow he'd been walking around in. "Oh." Another moment of pondering. "Guess that's why you wanted to get waterproof boots…?"
She refrained from reminding him that she'd also suggested getting waterproof snow pants, and Rusty had taken one look at them at the store and declared that no human being would ever wear those.
Well, at least his feet weren't wet.
Sharon taught him how to stomp his shoes a couple of times before going back inside so as to avoid dragging snow trails all through the lobby, and they re-entered the lodge. She took another look at his soaked jeans, and decided breakfast could wait a few more minutes. "Let's go back to the suite so you can change into dry pants."
Only once they had returned to their quarters, Rusty noticed something he'd completely ignored that morning, namely that their cozy, wood-paneled living room had a floor-to-ceiling window that opened onto a small terrace then a quiet snowy patch of trees. As soon as he'd made that discovery, he wanted to walk out "for one minute" and see what that was all about, and he wouldn't be swayed by Sharon's argument that it could wait until after breakfast.
She could have made him drop it and go eat… but she didn't.
Instead, she pulled the curtains open all the way, opened the glass door onto the terrace, and stood patiently by while his one minute turned into ten, and he came back to inform her that they could see the slopes from there. And like, the roof of the lobby was right below, at the edge of their terrace. Did she think he could slide down and walk on the roof? Just kidding, Sharon.
So they missed breakfast, in the end.
Rusty didn't seem overly upset by that. He just went back into his room and returned with a Lindt bar more or less the size of his arm, and graciously offered it to her first.
"Go change into dry jeans," said Sharon, and shook her head and smiled at herself as he disappeared into the room again.
They spent the next couple of hours exploring the lodge, because Sharon wanted to make sure he wouldn't get lost if they got separated. Phones could be a little unreliable there. So she toured up and down the stairs and elevators with him, showing him the main lobby and the front desk area, the lounge and the dining area and the customer service at the far end of the lodge, as well as all the entrances and exits she could think of. Their suite did have that terrace door to the outside, yes, but because of the level difference he couldn't actually get to the lodge through that door, not without detouring about half a mile through the woods which he was Not Allowed To Do. (That had been one of those things that she'd made him repeat back to her.) He was also not to walk around on the ski slopes, and look out for icicles hanging from things.
"You know, it'd be easier if you just gave me like, a safety handbook," the boy grumbled as she lectured him on watching his step on icy patches. "Oh my god Sharon, I was joking." (because her face had lit up at the idea.)
"They sell safety helmets at the convenience store," she returned, "don't make me go and get you one."
Rusty rolled his eyes. "Didn't you spend like, two weeks telling me how this was totally safe and all the dangers were in my head and whatever?"
"Dangers like the abominable snowman, yes," she acknowledged. "You are entirely unlikely to be eaten by a bear here, Rusty, or buried under an avalanche. However, I would rather not see you get lost in the woods, or get run over by a skier, or break an arm slipping on a sheath of ice because you weren't paying attention. Now," she held up a finger, "where's the front desk area, again?"
Rusty groaned. "Level 1, by the big staircase."
"And you're supposed to go there if…?"
"You know I'm like, eighteen years old, right?"
"If…?"
"Did you do this to your own kids?"
"You can ask them when they get here in two days. So what's the front desk for?"
There was just no point in even resisting anymore. "I can ask them to point me in the right direction if I'm lost, get them to call you if I need to… and… other stuff."
Sharon rolled her eyes. "And where is the main entrance?"
"Level A… right under the big sign that says 'Main Entrance'…"
"And what's our suite number?"
"Sharon."
She let him off the hook eventually, feeling confident enough that he had sufficient survival tips to make it through the week. They went down for lunch in the dining area a little after noon, and Rusty was thrilled to see six different kinds of burgers on the menu. Between that and the duty-free chocolate, it seemed that food was really helping him warm up to this trip. Well… anything that worked.
"Can we get like, dessert too?"
Part of her felt like she should've said no just to remind him that vacation didn't mean the complete removal of parental authority.
But she said yes, anyway.
In the afternoon, Sharon suggested a brief hike in the woods surrounding the lodge. Rusty's apprehensions about bears and wolves and various cryptids needed another reassurance, but it took far less convincing to get him out the door, this time.
They started out a well defined path behind the lodge, and basically just snaked around the slopes, avoiding the skiing routes, while Sharon took the opportunity to teach him a little about trailblazing and how to not get lost. It was a short walk, just an hour or so before they'd circled back to where they'd started (Rusty's jeans were soaked again to his thighs), but enough to get a great view of the mountain from various angles.
They'd also gotten some other important tips out of the way, such as how not to step straight into a snowbank without knowing the layout of the land underneath…
" –yeah, but how was I supposed to know that there was a hole?" Snow clung to the edges of his jacket, which was thankfully waterproof.
"It's a mountain, honey. That's why you watch where you're going."
"But like – how was I supposed to know that there was a hole?"
Sharon smiled and motioned for him to change direction. "Let's stop by the ski school before we go back to the lodge," she requested.
Rusty was instantly wary. "Why?" His eyes automatically sought out the ski lifts, and he stopped in his tracks. "Uh, we really don't have to. It's fine."
She waved him to follow, again. Instead, the boy backed up a step.
"Uh…"
Sharon rolled her eyes. "Rusty."
"But like – Sharon, why? I don't want to ski. Really. It's fine. We can go for another walk. How about if you show me uh, like, the… the… other trails?"
"Rusty, I'm not planning to force you into a pair of skis and push you down the mountain," she told him, half-amused, half-exasperated. "I just want to take a look at ski rental program and rates. Now come on," she repeated, "and if you're that worried, you can wait outside."
Which he did, for about forty seconds, before he got bored and walked into the reception area of ski school after her, shooting circumspect glances as the two employees as though expecting them to ambush him. Sharon shook her head and continued to study the flier she'd picked up.
"And the weekly pass includes access to all the lifts – night hours included?" She and Ricky did share a love for that, and if weather conditions held, it could be that they'd get a chance to do it again.
"Yes – and we've got special student rates, too," the girl behind the counter offered helpfully, with a glance in Rusty's direction. (the boy crossed his arms) "All the other rental information is in the flyer… we also have special daily passes and deals, lessons and events – here," she handed Sharon a card, "you can call this number in the mornings and see what's going on each day."
Sharon thanked her and, taking another look to make sure she hadn't forgotten to ask anything, folded the flier and put it in her pocket, then motioned her panicky teenager to the door.
"You're not gonna make me do it, right?" he asked again, as they walked around the start of the beginner slope, where a group of six year olds were practicing skiing backwards (Sharon assumed their instructor was the blue-clad man currently looking in the wrong direction).
"You're at complete liberty to choose what activities you want to do while we're here," she assured him.
"Yeah? Can I rent a snowmobile then?"
She paused to give him a dry look. "Let me amend that to the more accurate, 'you are at conditional liberty to choose what activities you want to do while we're here, and being a smart mouth is likely to severely limit your options'."
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come," he grumbled. The sulky silence effect was somewhat ruined when he lost his footing on the snowy slope and yelped, flailing wildly until Sharon caught his elbow to make sure he didn't start rolling downhill.
When he chanced a look at her, she was smirking.
"So unfair, Sharon."
His eyes landed on a particularly fluffy looking snowdrift, and a thought started forming in his head. Since she seemed to like snow so much –
"Before you take whatever you're thinking any further," Sharon advised without even glancing at him, "I would consider that we still have several hundred yards to walk to the lodge, and your balance on these slopes might not be sufficiently good yet to risk antagonizing me."
Rusty huffed indignantly and picked up speed, managing to only trip three more times on the way. True to her word, she did steady him each time without further commentary on his walking skills.
They sat down for dinner a little after six, and halfway through his steak Rusty began to yawn. He rolled his shoulders and drank some more of his orange soda (Sharon's vacation-time relaxation of the rules still drew the line at Coke after five p.m.) and ate two French fries and a piece of asparagus impossibly slowly. He blinked, and yawned again.
"I don't get it, why am I so tired?" He placed both elbows on the table and slumped over his plate. "We didn't even do anything…?"
"It's the air, honey. Higher altitude, colder temperatures than you've ever been used to, it'll make you tired. Besides – we did have a pretty full day. There was all that walking…"
"But... it's like my brain feels tired."
"It's probably the altitude."
Rusty cut another piece of steak. "I think it was all that making me memorize the layout of the elevators," he mumbled around a mouthful of food.
To his surprise, Sharon didn't admonish him to chew with his mouth shut. Instead, a small smile curled her lips and she nodded at something behind him.
"Look."
The boy turned around in his seat. Through the large window on the far wall, they could see the slopes in the copper light of sunset, several grey-purple clouds floating around the mountain top. Sharon found it breathtaking.
Rusty looked on in silence for a few long moments; she could see his expression, but he'd paused with his hand on his fork and wasn't moving.
Then he said, "Cool!", and took out his phone to take a picture.
Sharon suppressed a long-suffering eye roll.
Teenagers.
By the time they finished dinner around seven-thirty, they were both more than a little tired as they trudged back toward their suite. Rusty was still stealing glances outside every few steps.
"How come they're still skiing?" He pointed to the dozen or so people they could still see coming down the slopes. "Isn't it like, dangerous to do it at night? When you can't see?"
"The slopes are still well lit. And it's beautiful, less crowded… quieter… "
Rusty gave her a curious look. "Do you like it?"
"I do," she smiled. "It feels very… peaceful."
At least his small sound of doubt was low and almost inaudible.
"So… what now?"
Sharon cocked her head, halfway through filling the electric kettle. "I thought you were tired."
"Well – yeah but… it's not like I'm going to sleep, it's just like, eight or something! And the wireless here is awful, by the way. Gmail takes ten minutes to load."
Her lips curled into a small smirk. "There's a business center downstairs, if you have any pressing affairs that require high speed internet."
Rusty just rolled his eyes.
"There's also an after-dinner program, if you'd like some live entertainment. We can call the front desk and see what's scheduled for tonight. It could be comedy night, music… We could meet some of the other guests –"
"I'm kinda tired," Rusty said.
She smiled at him. "I agree. Well, there's also a game room somewhere, and an indoor pool on A level… but if you'd like something a little more low-key," she walked over to the TV, and opened the cabinet below, "we've left a fair collection of DVDs here over the years, so you can pick one to watch and I'll make us some hot chocolate."
That earned her a curious look. "Really? What happened to 'no caffeine after five p.m.' and 'too much sugar in the evening'?"
"Hot chocolate is the only appropriate beverage to have under these circumstances," Sharon informed him. "Which warrants an exemption."
"Really? An exception from The Rules? Wow, you're like, a totally different person in Utah." Rusty smirked. "Can we move here?"
"Pick a DVD, young man, before I send you to bed without entertainment or hot chocolate."
He rummaged through the haphazard collection while she pulled out two mugs and the box of hot cocoa. There were sugar packets near the coffee machine and condensed milk in the fridge, and by the time she had everything prepared the water had boiled and Rusty had chosen The Shining.
"No," said Sharon.
"How about Alive?"
Great – first snowed in with a psycho, then a plane crashing onto a snowy mountain.
"I see the theme you're going for here," she deadpanned. "Next."
Some more rustling.
"The Grey?"
Sharon hummed. "I don't know if I've heard of that one. What's it about?"
"Oh, uhm, err… it's Liam Neeson and… his buddies… and they're… fighting… against, ah, some…"
"Rusty."
"Hey," he pointed out, "I'm not the one who put together this DVD collection!"
"There are advantages and disadvantages to a time share," she relented. "Now pick something nice. Or we're watching one of the three French movies that I know for a fact are in there."
He huffed indignantly.
They settled on Ice Age, eventually, and Rusty put in the DVD while Sharon pulled a large thick blanket from the closet. It was more than big enough for both of them to share, and she let the boy burrow under it first while she walked around the room to turn off all lights except a dim, soft lamp on the desk. Then she pulled the curtains open, so they could have a good view of the terrace and the snow-covered trees beyond. There were a few days left to the full moon, but it was close enough, and the silver light reflected in the snow, bathing the living room in a surreal glow.
Rusty watched her from a corner of the sofa, hands clasped around his mug of hot chocolate. "You really like this stuff, don't you? Like… the snow and everything."
"I think it's beautiful," she said quietly, "and it's not something I get to enjoy very often, so… yes."
"Why'd you choose to live in LA, then – if you like winter so much?" In the quiet living room, the soft light, the questions came more easily. "Was it – because of Jack…?"
Sharon walked back to the counter to get her own mug. "I first went to LA for college," she replied. "It was a great school, and an opportunity to see a different part of the country. And then… I stayed," she shrugged. "First for Jack – well, for both of us really, at the time… Later, for myself." She walked back over to the sofa, sitting down. "And the city grew on me. I like the sun, too, you know," she said in a humorous tone. "I like being warm."
"But you miss this?" He waved a hand to the landscape outside.
"Sometimes." Sharon smiled. "But I'd have missed LA too, if I'd left. Sometimes," she mused, "you just can't have everything in one place."
Rusty shifted in his seat. "I guess."
There were a few moments of silence, during which Sharon set down her mug on the coffee table and settled in, tugging on the blanket to cover her legs. Then she picked up the hot chocolate again and took a long sip, smiling at the familiar taste.
Rusty watched her content expression. "Sharon…?"
"Hmm…?" She opened her eyes again.
He squirmed under the blanket again. "Uh – for the record…the snow is like, nice and everything but… I'm glad you stayed in LA."
She lowered the mug to her lap, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "So am I."
Guys, you know me. I have never posted a humor oneshot and said, 'this is entirely 100% done in one chapter', though NOT FOR LACK OF TRYING. This was originally planned to span three days of Sharon and Rusty's trip - up to the point when her kids joined them, basically - but shockingly the word count got out of hand so we stopped at the end of day 1. I swear I don't do these things on purpose... I really mean to post the whole thing in one go, each time, but 15,000-word oneshots are just... not a thing.
So while this carries the 'Complete' tag, that's kind of a misrepresentation. There might be more etc. Same old, same old. I need to work on better mapping the word count in my head to the word count that actually comes out on paper :P.
Thank you all for reading :) And Force Unbroken - happy birthday again!