Author's Note: Takes place in the same continuity as "A Fine Upbringing," this is a challenge from my friend Ribeiro1986- George learns to dance. I figured I'd stick it here with the oneshots because well, to stick it on the end of AFU would bug my OCD tendencies.

Toronto
Winter, 1888

George's Aunt Primrose looked up sharply from her desk as her honorary nephew, Constable George Crabtree, burst through the door of City Records, a panicked look in his eye. Her beau and boss, Percy Franklin, looked up as well from the record he was transcribing, as the door blowing open had sent several papers flying off his desk.

"Georgie?" Primrose asked worriedly. "Are you being chased?" she demanded as he darted over to her desk, unhooking his chinstrap from his helmet and slipping it onto the peg on his belt. His dark eyes were wide and she could tell he'd been running his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic that he'd had since he was a young man in Newfoundland.

He shook his head mutely, and Primrose stood up, placing an arm on his shoulder. "Percy, we're goin' out," she informed her boss.

"B-but it's not even your lunch break yet!" Percy protested, but it was only half hearted, as Primrose shot him a Look.

"I'll make it up to ya later!" she tossed over her shoulder with a sassy wink at him as she fetched her coat from the coat rack by the door and pushed her half-frozen nephew out into the street. A light snow was falling, coating Toronto in a powdery blanket of snow.

"Georgie Porgie, what on Earth is the matter?" she demanded as they walked, giving him a solid shake.

"I…" George coughed and cleared his throat. "The Policeman's Ball," he managed to say in a hoarse whisper.

His aunt waited patiently for him to get his bearings. "And what of it, then?" she asked patiently.

George sank onto a bench, ignoring the cold seeping through his uniform pants. Primrose dusted off a space and joined him. "The Policeman's Ball is Friday evening," he said after a few moments of watching the snowflakes fall. "It's a fundraiser, all the well to-do will be in attendance. They're having it in the ballroom of the Queens Hotel."

Primose raised an eyebrow appreciatively. "That is a to-do," she agreed with him. "But why the panic then, Georgie? It's just dinner and a dance."

"That's just it," George whispered. "I can't dance."

"You what?" Primrose's mouth dropped into an o of surprise. "Georgie, you mean to tell me growin' up with all us girls, you never-"

He shook his head miserably. "Azalea always meant to teach me but we just ran out of time before I moved here with you and Aunt Petunia. And well, Constable Hatton, he set me up with Amelia Ringrose-"

"Of the Ringrose Millinery?" Primrose clarified, and George nodded. She knew of the young woman by reputation, a lovely young woman, heir to her father's hatmaking business, and beautiful to boot. "Oh, Georgie, you're quite lucky with that pick."

"Sure, right," George said, shaking his head. "Except one look at my two left feet and she'll run to the nearest hotelier, and I'll be the laughingstock of Station House 1," he said morosely.

"Nonsense." Primrose slapped her thighs and grabbed her nephew by the collar. "You meet me here at City Records when you're done for the day, and for God's sake go get that pair of shoes Tunie bought for you last birthday, because you'll not be dancin' in those boots!"

"Oh, Georgie, you're practically glowing," Primrose gushed as she joined her nephew in a corner, her arm threaded through Percy's.

George smiled warmly. "Aunt Rosie, what are you doing here, then?"

"Oh," she gave him a flick of her hand, "my Percy's always wantin' to help out the fine men who protect this city," she said, nodding to the older man on her arm. Percy gave George a polite nod and George returned it, refraining from rolling his eyes at his aunt's beau's fake politeness. Primrose sized up her nephew, nodding approvingly at the shined brass and the polished shoes. "And where's your young lady, then?" she questioned him, noting that he was alone.

George ducked his head. "Oh, Amelia and I…we ah-" He nodded to the dance floor, where Primrose spotted Amelia Ringrose waltzing in the arms of another young man, a dapper young gent in a fitted tuxedo and waxed mustache. She saw her nephew's shoulders sag. "She's um, not terribly interested," he admitted quietly.

Primrose shook her head in annoyance at the young woman's obvious lack of taste. "Well, I never," she snorted. "Her loss then, Georgie, and someone else's gain." As the waltz ended and the band slipped into a more lively two-step, George spotted a glint in his aunt's eye. She slipped her arm out from Percy's and held one gloved hand out to George. "Let's show her what she's givin' up, eh, George?"

George shook his head, amused. "Oh, Aunt Rosie, I don't-"

She raised an eyebrow. "George Crabtree," she said warningly.

He felt his elbow stick out almost automatically. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a laugh, leading his aunt to the dance floor, handing his helmet to Percy to hold. The two stepped onto the floor and George twirled his aunt under his arm as they broke into the jaunty steps, spinning circles around the other dancers on the floor. George caught a glimpse of a laughing O'Mara, his partner at Station House 1, and his immediate superior Constable Hatton as he twisted his aunt into a pretzel, laughing as her hand missed his and she covered it with a twirl as she spun back to him. They passed Amelia Ringrose and her partner on a pass and George tossed her a sideways grin. The look on her face was pure shock, and George threw in a wink for good measure before his aunt whisked him off across the floor.