Author's Note: We really need to move things along. Sharon has been with Shane and Oliver for four days. Things have not been going well. Oliver feels like he is walking a tightrope between the two, and Sharon seems to be finding fault with everything that Shane has prepared. Shane is therefore touchy and easily upset. Things have finally come to a head a mere two days before Christmas.

The sight before him almost broke his heart. Shane was seated at her home office desk, her head resting on her folded arms, and deep, gut-wrenching sobs being torn from her throat. Without hesitation, Oliver moved to her side. What happened next was an untidy manoeuvre that ended with Oliver seated on the chair and Shane on his lap, her tears soaking his jacket. He said nothing, just made a series of soothing sounds as he let her cry. Eventually, he felt her shuddering breathing calm, and she moved her head from his chest, sitting up and wiping the rivers of tears from her flushed face. Wordlessly he held up his handkerchief, which she grabbed gratefully.

'So,' Shane said with a hiccough in her voice, 'How does it feel to be a season ticketholder on the McInerney O'Toole Emotional Rollercoaster?'

Oliver smiled at her description, then wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks.

'A privilege of which I will never tire,' was the response. 'Now,' Oliver continued, 'Who or what had the audacity to upset you?'

Shane's eyes once again overflowed as she replied, 'My mother, of course.'

Feeling that she could not contain all the things she was currently feeling, she jumped up and began to pace.

'I tried, Oliver! Really, I did! I made plans, I prepared, I cooked, I cleaned. I hid sweaters and sorted the spice-rack, but was that good enough?'

Oliver had too much good sense to attempt a response.

'No! Clearly it was not! The food was wrong, the entertainment was wrong.' Shane was now well on the way to a tirade. 'I didn't wear the right things; I didn't buy the right vegetables. The decorations are too much, the Christmas tree is too cluttered…'

Deciding that Shane had vented enough, Oliver moved from the chair and pulled Shane into his embrace. The angry stiffness gradually left her, and she returned the hug, holding on as if to a lifeline.

'I don't know what to do,' Shane whispered in a tiny voice. 'I thought this was a chance for us, to build a closer relationship, to spend time together and actually enjoy it.'

The next part was said so softly that Oliver almost missed it.

'I'm scared, Oliver. What if we can't do better than this? What if I lose her for good?'

Oliver knew that he had to step carefully. Much as Shane had been the one to push him closer to his father, he felt he had to try the same for Shane and her mother. But what could he say?

Taking Shane's hand, he led her to the armchair that sat before the window. Once she was seated, he sat on the ottoman at her feet. Resting his hands on her knees, he commenced what he knew was going to be a perilous conversation.

'Shane, you know that no matter what, I am absolutely on your side. Every choice, it is always you.'

'Why do I feel there is an implied qualifier in their somewhere?' Shane smiled. 'Come on, but …'

Oliver's next statement was a surprise. 'This morning as we were getting ready for work, why did you ask me if I needed a scarf?'

Shane looked confused. Had she? 'I guess I didn't want you to be cold.'

'Did you not think that I could decide that for myself?'

'Of course! Fussing over little things is just….'

He finished her thought. 'A way to say, 'I love you' without actually saying 'I love you.'.

Shane gave that some thought. Her mother did have a way of saying things that always seemed a little terse, but maybe Oliver had a point. Was her criticism really Mom's way of expressing care? But why then did she seemingly dislike every arrangement she had made? How did not wanting to keep a reservation at one of Denver's most popular restaurants mean that Mom loved her? Why was critiquing her Christmas décor an expression of affection?

'I'm going to have to talk to her, aren't I?' Shane sighed.

'I'm going to say yes.' Oliver smiled. 'Do you remember when I told you that you wouldn't have to talk to Alex alone?' Seeing Shane nod, he continued. 'I think this one, you do need to do alone … but I will be here when you need me.'

Shane went first to the guest room. She stood looking at the solid barrier for some moments before she was able to hesitantly raise her hand to softly knock. Shane strained to hear a movement from inside, but silence was her only answer. Pushing open the door she saw that the room was immaculate; the coverlet lay without a wrinkle upon the bed, and her mother's luggage standing to attention beside it. Were her bags newly packed, or had she kept them that way for days, ready to flee at a moment's notice? Quickly exiting, Shane made her way out of the room and downstairs. Sharon had to be in the house somewhere, didn't she?

Sharon sat alone and lonely at the dining table, a mug of tea clutched in her hands.

'Mom,' Shane's voice was hushed, 'Can we talk?'

Sharon looked up, her expression brittle. 'Would you like me to stay somewhere for a few days? There is a room at the ...'

Shane's voice cut through. 'No! Of course not! Mom, I want to talk to you, not kick you out. This conversation might require more than tea, however, and I happen to know that there is a very nice bottle of Californian Syrah Oliver has been keeping for a special occasion,' Shane grinned. 'Looks like we are special.'

Sharon couldn't help but smile. Shane was right. They did need to talk, and maybe, just maybe, they could salvage something from this disastrous visit.

Shane returned with wine, glasses, cheese, and crackers. Sharon saw and let out a short laugh.

'Still with the crackers?' she asked.

'Uh huh, but now I pair them with something a little more sophisticated.'

Cheese cut and drinks shared; Shane jumped into what might be a very fraught discussion.

'Why didn't you want to go and see the ballet?' Shane questioned. 'I thought you loved 'The Nutcracker?'

The question surprised Sharon. We were starting there?

'I do, but it felt like you were trying to keep my busy. I didn't want to be entertained, I wanted to spend time with you.'

Shane blinked. Oh. That is what she was doing.

'And dining out was the same?' Shane guessed.

Sharon took a sip of her drink. Wow! That was the good stuff! She fleetingly wondered what Oliver had been saving it for, but then returned to the subject at hand.

'I think I had this picture that I could look after you a little. I knew you were still working and so remarkably busy, and so I wanted to be useful.'

Shane's immediate reaction was to read something into the comment about being busy, but she paused. Maybe there was nothing to it, just a statement of fact?

'I just wanted you to think that I had it all together. I could manage the house, the job … everything.'

'You've always done that,' Sharon responded. 'From about the age of 13, I was pretty sure you didn't need me at all.'

Shane looked across the table, shaken. 'I pretended that I didn't Momma,' Shane whispered, 'But I always did.'

And suddenly, for the first time in years, Shane found herself in her mother's arms, and wanted to be there.

'I'm sorry Mom,' Shane cried into her mother's shoulder. 'I know I can sometimes but a little … prickly.'

Sharon laughed. 'We might actually be related.'

Shane squeezed her mother, then sat back in her chair, wiping her cheeks. Calmer now, she took another sip of her wine.

'Oh goodness,' she said with a giggle, 'This really is the good stuff. Oops!'

Shane shrugged, then raised her glass.

'To new beginnings,' she said.

Sharon and Shane spent the next two hours doing something that both admitted they should have tried to do years ago, actually talking. Eventually, after sharing views on a range of topics – reminiscences of times past, shared hopes for Alex's continued recovery, and comments about how much Oliver had become so dear to Sharon's heart (at which point Shane laughingly told her that both she and Alex agreed that Oliver was Sharon's favourite child) – Shane asked one final question that had continued to flit through her mind.

'Mom, why do you hate my Christmas tree?'

Sharon looked confused. 'I don't, it's gorgeous!'

Shane narrowed her eyes as she asked, 'Then why do you sigh like you're in some Victorian melodrama every time you walk past it?'

Sharon looked ready for a dispute, but she decided that this armistice was too precious and so she capitulated under Shane's steady gaze.

'I don't hate it. It is perfect. Every part of it is special to you and this life you are building.'

'But,' Shane prompted.

'But, it is like you left everything from you past behind. There is nothing sentimental or unique to your story. I brought you some things from our old tree, but as soon as I saw yours, I knew they would not be…'

Shane quickly cut her off.

'Come with me.'

She all but dragged Sharon to the Christmas tree. Shane scanned the tree, looking for specific ornaments.

'See these,' Shane was pointing to some very glittery Santas, 'Oliver loved these as a kid. Oooh! And look! Isn't this shoe the cutest?'

Shane continued. 'And these belonged to Oliver's grandmother.' She held up some crocheted snowflakes.

'All of my stuff is new, and I love it. But I was determined to have some of the things that Oliver loved on here too.' Shane smiled. 'Of course I want to add some McInerney memorabilia on here!'

Sharon realised she had underestimated her daughter. She was looking forward to getting to know this softer but somehow stronger version of Shane much better.

Shane did her best puppy dog face. 'Mommy, can I have the ornaments now…. Pretty please?'

Eventually, Shane and Sharon said their goodnights, and made their way upstairs. Shane opened the door to her room slowly, expecting to find Oliver fast asleep. Instead, he was propped up in bed, reading something serious, now doubt.

Placing the book carefully on his nightstand, he got out of bed and came to her.

'So …,' he prompted.

Bear hugs were Shane's specialty, and Oliver received on now.

'So, it turns out,' she giggled, 'My husband is a singing, postal-detective, philosopher, relationship-counsellor guy!'

With that, Shane walked to into the ensuite, readying herself for bed.

Upon her return, she snuggled close proceeded to tell Oliver of her reconciliation with her mother. Oliver's heart swelled as he heard how two people he loved very much had begun to restore what had been lost. From his own experience, he knew that these things took time, and that even though they had made a good beginning, this would take time and work. He offered a short prayer for both Shane and Sharon, his heart full of gratitude and hope.

Almost asleep, Shane's imminent rest was spoiled by her husband,

'Shane,' Oliver asked, 'Are you awake?'

'Nope,' was the reply.

'Oh, that's a shame,' Oliver continued, 'I was hoping you could do something for me.'

Shane knew she was probably falling into a trap but decided to roll with it.

'What?' was the semi-conscious response.

'Well, I was wondering if you were wearing your watch thing-y.'

Thoroughly confused, Shane sat up and repeated her previous dialogue.

Oliver continued, 'Can't you access your calendar from there?'

Shane knew that her husband was up to something, and as cunning as a fox.

'And if I could?'

Well, this is a rather momentous day … one worth recording.'

Shane was sure she was too tired for this.

'Oliver, what are you talking about?'

His voice took on that tone that let her know he was absolutely teasing her.

'I mean, it does seem that I was able to steer you to a greater understanding of your mother, pointing out that her motives might not have been what you initially thought ….'

'Yes, Dr O'Toole?'

Oliver couldn't help himself. He was laughing now.

'It occurred to me that such an important, momentous day, where I was so instrumental in establishing this accord, might need to be recorded in perpetuity.'

Shane joined in his laughter. Oliver really was her rock.

'So, you want me to say you were right?'

'Those are your words, darling, I wouldn't dare to presume…'

'Not on your tin type O'Tooley!'