A/N- Finals are over, I have a few days off, Major Crimes is on . . . Happy Holidays, indeed! Although, I have to admit, I laughed a little because certain fanfics definitely called some of what went down tonight. Also, sorry it's late. I was trying to light brandy on fire with candles... Anyways, I think this one might be pushing the envelope a little, but technically I don't think anything is out of canon.

"What Mom doesn't know won't hurt her."

"I hope not." Rusty watched her through the glass. Sharon had an uncanny ability to read people- to read him- and he had nearly let Emily's secret slip. He hoped the soloist thing was true. She hadn't said a word about it before. It was probably true. You couldn't lie about something like that without Sharon finding out.

"I get why you want to tell her." Ricky didn't look at the little brother he never wanted but found he liked having around. "I do, too, but . . . I . . . I dunno, it's just, like, she seems happy. I don't want to burst her bubble."

"If we don't do it, something a lot more unpleasant is going to crush her."

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be today."

"I guess. It's just . . . she's just so good at reading us. I mean, what if she guesses?"

Ricky shrugged, finally looking at Rusty. "Then we spill it and she pops her own damn bubble. I keep saying we're trying to protect her, but we're trying to protect Dad, too. I mean, think about it. You can see her going all mother lioness on Dad if she figures it out, can't you?"

"She promised Dad he would never see his kids again if he fell off the wagon."

Sharon would do it, too. She tried so hard to do right by her family that she didn't always do the smartest- or kindest- thing. Rusty wanted to see her like the saint she tried to be, and let her be painted in gilded light, but he couldn't do so completely. He had found that there were people, like Jack and his mother, that Sharon had completely burned bridges with. From what Emily and Ricky had said, those ties were still smouldering, belching black smoke into an otherwise clear sky.

"Are you two going to stay out here all evening?" Sharon had swung around the doorway again. She was smiling broadly, and her face was slightly flushed from laughter.

Rusty realized he must have had a slightly stunned expression on his face when she looked at him curiously.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, you just surprised me is all."

She snorted. "Can I get that on tape? Come on." She reached over and grabbed their wrists, dragging them into the other room.

Someone, probably Buzz, had cued up some Christmas music, and Emily was currently trying to dance with Flynn. He seemed rather bemused, as she led him around the room, occasionally using him as a balance for an arabesque or grand battément.

After a few moments, Provenza's lady friend half-dragged him onto the impromptu dance floor. Rusty hardly knew her, but he liked her. He stifled a grin. She and the lieutenant were a good match.

Emily led Flynn back around, and dumped him for her brothers. They found themselves shoved across the room into their own semi-private corner.

"I have a deal for you two."

The boys groaned.

"You've just like Sharon," Rusty told Emily.

She raised her eyebrows, like her mother again. "Mmhmm. But seriously, I have a plan."

"Is this about Dad?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Nothing," Ricky said, raising his hands. "I just want to know what I'm getting into."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I was thinking about what you said-" It was directed towards Rusty. "-and I think we should tell Mom. After Christmas, though. I mean, it's only one more day. And I think she will figure it out soon enough." She turned to Ricky in a sudden panic. "You did take the trash out before we left home, right?"

"I'm not dumb."

"You cut your own hair."

"Jesus, Emily!"

Heads turned.

Emily laughed. "Mom can fix it again, now that you're here. You were just trying to save money on a professional haircut."

He rolled his eyes. "You're the one to talk." He let his voice slide up an octave. "Mom, can you fix my practice tutu? I can't afford a new one, and I forgot to take it to the shop before I came out here. Bullshit, Em. You meant to bring it. You probably have your holey leg-warmers, too."

Rusty laughed when Emily flushed slightly.

"So?"

"Nothing. Just making my point."

"Yeah."

Sharon sat down next to Andy, and watched Emily continue to drag her team out to dance.

"Did you help them orchestrate this?"

"Just a little bit. All they really needed was someone to let them into the building."

She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Thank you."

"Hey, anything for a friend."

She laughed.

"What?"

"You're being Switzerland," she said, recalling the kids' earlier joke.

"Huh?"

"Very neutral."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure what term we fall under."

She hummed in agreement. "Kindred spirits."

"Erm. . ."

She laughed. "Homies."

He snorted. "Rusty teach you that?"

"Ricky, actually."

"Ah."

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the high spirits around them. Sharon was leaning against his shoulder, Andy realized. How long had it been since a woman had been relaxed enough around him to just rest against him like that? How long had it been since she was so at ease with someone else?

"'Unfriendly wall, why do you hinder lovers? How hard would it be for you to let our whole bodies meet, or if that is too much perhaps, to open to the kisses we give each other?'"

"What?"

She smiled against his arm. "Ovid's Metamorphoses."

"English, please, Shar."

"It's a verse from an ancient Greek poem by Ovid. Two lovers are separated by a wall, and they ask it why it cannot dissolve enough for them to touch each other, or kiss, at the very least. They just sit on either side of the wall all night and talk to one another."

"Is this a metaphor?"

She looked at him. "It's a poem."

"Well, yeah, I know that."

She shrugged. "You can read into it, I suppose, yes."

He sighed, and she laughed.

"That was cruel of me," she said quietly. She was silent for a moment. "I mean what I said though. You can read into it. I just don't know where to put us. You've given me plenty of time and space-"

"And I'll continue to. Like I said, I can wait. Take as long as you want."

"And I thank you for that, but I can't wait forever. Neither of us is getting any younger. Our jobs aren't getting any safer. If anything, everything that's been happening lately proves that. I mean, honestly, it's fortunate that none of our team was pulled to help with the riots at Berkeley."

"Sharon-"

She set a hand on his arm. "I forgot something in my office. Maybe in a minute you'll remember something you left on your desk."

He stared at her in confusion as she got up and made her way out of the room, pausing to reassure her daughter that, yes, she'd be back in just a minute or two.

Flynn sat still and watched the festivities for a moment, until someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and found Provenza looming over him, two styrofoam cups of cider in hand.

"Go after your girl, you idiot."

"What?" He seemed to be asking that rather frequently lately.

"The Captain. Sharon. Go get her. If that wasn't a cue, then I've been doing it wrong my whole life."

"You have been doing it wrong your whole life." Andy turned to look at his partner better. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"No, but the little whisper-in-the-ear thing and then leaving the room . . . Come on, Flynn. Take her a drink and go." Provenza shoved one of the cups into Flynn's hand and gave him a push. "Go on, Tiger."

Andy shot Provenza the darkest glare he could muster, and left the room, trying to ignore Provenza's chuckle.

He didn't know where she had gone, but it wasn't hard to figure out. The lights were motion sensitive, and they had all gone dark until the Captain had set them off again, leaving the party. She had literally left a glowing trail behind her. He almost lost her, though, when he reached the back door to the murder room. The sensor must have been near the front entrance, as the room was still dark and there was no where else she could have gone.

"Sharon?"

She was sitting on Provenza's desk, holding something in her hands. There was moonlight and streetlight streaming through the windows, but it was still too dark for him to see anything clearly.

He approached her and set the cider down on his desk. "Compliments of Provenza."

"I think this is also from him." She held up what had been in her hand, and smiled. It was a little ball of green leaves and waxy white berries, the stems bound by a red-and-white striped ribbon.

"Mistletoe?"

"Mmhmm. It was on your desk."

Andy looked down. "I'm going to kill him."

"Please don't. We're already on overtime this week."

He laughed. "I'll wait 'til we slow down a little, then."

"That would be excellent, thank you."

He stood before her, hands at his sides, neither of them speaking in the darkness. She seemed to have something on her mind, so he waited for her to speak.

"I think the kids are holding something back. Emily and Ricky don't want to tell me, but I can just see it in Rusty. Something is bothering him, but he doesn't think it's his place to talk about it," she said, using the same words he had earlier. "I think it's Jack."

Why the man always had to make his way between Sharon and himself, Andy didn't know. It was frustrating as hell, sure, but he understood it.

She seemed to be thinking the same thing. "It's always Jack, dammit." She sighed. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"He's not your responsibility anymore."

"I know, but I still feel the need to keep him out of trouble."

"You aren't Superwoman. You can't do everything, and it's okay. What Jack does is his choice. There are plenty of resources for him in LA, should he need anything. Emily is with him. He's got a job and a place."

"Emily called it his 'shitty little excuse of an apartment' earlier."

Andy didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. It's Christmas Eve, and I should be enjoying the holiday spirit. I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to take this turn down memory lane."

"It's alright. I can be hear to listen. Sometimes you just need to let it out, and that's what friends are for."

There was that word again.

"Friends," she said softly. "Is that what we are?"

"I dunno. What do you think?" He didn't want to blow it again.

She was quiet. "I think . . . I think there is definitely a potential for something more. And I'm . . . willing to test those waters."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Can you promise me something?"

"What?" Again.

"Can we go slow? And I don't want things to change between us, professionally. I've seen so many cases that start like this, in IA, and-"

"Sharon." He looked at her. "Hush. You're thinking too hard."

Her mouth quirked in a small smile. "Maybe." She set the mistletoe ball down and slid off the desk in a single, fluid motion. Before he realized what she was doing, she rose on her toes and kissed him.

He gently wrapped his arms around her, and, when she didn't tense up, tightened his grip. She turned her head slightly so she was comfortable against his chest, with her arms drawn up between them.

"Merry Christmas."