A/N: It's a fic inspired by everyone's favorite saccharine, sunny, cable Christmas movies. You'll forgive me for re-using OCs...I'm sticking with a headcanon here.

As far as I know, the LAPRRA isn't a real thing, but experience tells me something like it probably exists.

"Welcome, everyone, to the LA Police Relief and Recreation Association fall and winter planning meeting. We're headed into our busiest season, but we've already had a huge year, with more events and donations than ever. That's all thanks to you."

A light applause patters around the room. "As a reminder, next month we'll be taking nominations for 1999's officers, so start thinking about whether you'd like to throw your hat in the ring."

Brad Kennan pauses in the middle of his spiel to fix Sharon with a firm look. She meets him with a grin. It's possible she'd nudged him toward running for the LAPRRA presidency last year, thus leading him into his current speech. The group had been mismanaged for years, with internal squabbling and loose purse strings turning it into a veritable soap opera. Brad is responsible, level-headed, and free of parental duties. He's also the closest thing Sharon has to a partner in IA, which, to her, made him the perfect candidate.

Working the crowd, he gestures toward the long table at the front of the room, where Sharon and three other LAPRRA members sit. "We have four big events coming up, and that's where we'll need all of you to help out. In late October, we'll have the Halloween party, chaired by Luke Gilbert — give 'em a wave, Luke." Brad laughs as Luke grudgingly waggles his fingers. "Okay, then in mid-November we have the Cops for Kids 5k up in Griffith Park." With an outstretched arm, he adds, "The chair for the race is Sergio Trent. Then, of course, in the middle of December we have the Christmas shindig — one of our biggest fundraisers — led by the one and only Sharon Raydor." Brad directs jazz hands in her direction before he moves on. "And, finally, the New Year's celebration, with Karen Young serving as the first-time chairwoman."

With their options announced, murmurs of conversation float forward from the assembled audience of about fifty people. Before he loses their attention, Brad lays out the committee assignment process that he'd sketched out with Sharon's help. "Okay, to make sure each group gets a mix of veteran help and… fresh perspectives, let's say, we're going to use the LAPRRA volunteer master list," he holds up a clipboard, "to call everyone up in waves, from most experienced to least." Turning the list into a pointer, directs it around the room. "I trust all of you old-timers to not bunch up in one group, but I won't hesitate to voluntell you into a different line, if necessary. Sound good?"

Despite a lack of response, Brad pushes onward. "Okay! Let's start with our 10-event-plus volunteers, you know who you are. Come on up and take your pick."

As Brad calls up the less experienced volunteers, four lines form before the committee leaders at the head table. The new process works well; Sharon greets a succession of familiar faces at the front of the queue. As each of them pauses to fill out a contact form, she surveys the length of each line. Although the 5k group appears to have a few extra heads at the end, they remain mostly even. Her plan — their plan — had worked.

Sharon is introducing herself to the last few people in her line when the door at the back of the room creaks open. The sound pairs with a just-familiar voice asking, "Uh, is this the LAPRRA meeting?"

Joining in the wave of craning necks and lifting heads, Sharon turns to find an astonishing sight: Sergeant Andy Flynn, with his hands hidden in the pockets of a black leather jacket. His eyes sweep the room. If he hadn't specifically asked about the R and R, Sharon would've assumed he was lost.

As it is, she can't imagine what he's doing here.

Brad, in contrast, recovers quickly, stretching on a wide smile. "Hey, Sergeant. It is. Welcome." He gestures toward the head table, where only the greenest of first-time volunteers remain in line. "We're just finishing sign-ups for our end-of-year events, if that's what you're…" He trails off with his voice rising into a question, no doubt seeing the improbability of the suggestion he's about to make.

But, around the toothpick poking from the corner of his mouth, Flynn says, "Yeah. I'm here to help." He completes the look with an exaggerated shrug.

"Right, of course." After offering a tight nod, Brad turns toward the head table, weighing the options. Sharon finds herself holding a breath while he decides, shuffling a stack of completed forms into a neat pile. She looks up to catch his brow wrinkling, the moment before he says, "Well, how about the Christmas party planning committee?"

Sharon's mouth drops open. It takes every bit of control she has to keep her initial reaction, No!, from escaping her. "Um, I'm not sure…"

"I do believe the Christmas Crew ends up asking for more help every year," Brad cajoles.

Her cheeks warm. He has a point. That doesn't mean she has to like it. Looking down, she examines her list of volunteers, which seems to have shrunk by two or three names this year.

Flynn's voice floats from the back of the room, unmistakable. "Jeez, this is worse than being picked last for dodgeball in gym class." His crack earns a chorus of snickers.

Sharon's face goes warmer. But with a deep breath, she accepts her fate. "Sure," she says, lifting her shoulder. She nods toward Flynn. "That'd be great."

"Right on," Brad says. "Sergeant Flynn, if you'll just have a seat for now, we'll have you fill out your volunteer form at the end of the meeting."

The rest of the items on Brad's agenda might as well be white noise, for all Sharon absorbs. Her attention is filled by visions of how her normally well planned and flawlessly executed party might go up in flames. Literally, knowing her newest team member.

Her preoccupation only breaks when a chorus of scraping chair feet marks the meeting's end. From Sharon's left, Karen Young leans in. "I think I got a pretty good group, how about you?'

"Yes, we had a good turnout. Lots of hard workers, plenty of experienced helpers." To her approaching surprise supplement, Sharon adds, with more volume, "And then there's Andy Flynn."

"You gotta say my name like that, Lieutenant? You're gonna give me a complex."

"God forbid." Sharon hands him a pen and a clipboard bearing a volunteer form. As he begins jotting his contact information, she can't help but appraise his presence. "I don't believe I've ever seen you at an R and R meeting before, Sergeant."

"That's because I've never been to one."

"Yes." Her voice cuts across the word. "That's my point."

"What?" He glances up from circling his preferred meeting times. "Is there some application process I missed? Do you and your merry band of elves need to jump me into the gang?"

Despite the jab, Sharon finds herself biting her cheek, fending off a laugh. The image of Flynn in the center of a circle of volunteers, cowering in a hail of tinsel and ribbon spools and ball ornaments is a not-unenjoyable one. Add in a hot glue gun and some glitter for a festive variation on tar and feathers…maybe it would work to even out the trouble he's caused her, through the years.

"Uh-oh." His voice, in its wry glory, cuts through her imagination. "I was expecting a quick, 'no, of course not, Sergeant.'"

"Hm, you should know better than to give me ideas." He flashes her a surprised smile — a surprisingly real smile. It reaches his eyes. She clears her throat before her attention can stick on the unfamiliar sight. "So, what brings you to us now?"

Flynn shrugs. "My captain told me I could use some volunteer work for my lieutenant's application."

"I see."

There it is.

Every year, one or more newcomers show up to the Christmas Party Committee, hoping to pad out their resumes in search of a promotion. Without fail, those volunteers end up going through the motions, bringing only slightly more good than harm to the process.

And that's if they don't drop out altogether.

"Here you go, LT." Flynn hands the clipboard over with a smug grin. A scan of the page shows he's actually, shockingly, completed it in whole.

"Thank you." Sharon taps the board against her palm. "I'll be in touch when I find a time for our first meeting."

He nods and tosses up a lazy salute before he heads for the door. Brad steps into his wake, wearing a wide-eyed smile. "So?"

Sharon aims a point at his chest and whispers, "You owe me.

"Oh c'mon, you still have a full committee without Flynn. He's just a bonus."

"A bonus?" Many words come to mind when she considers Andy Flynn. 'Bonus' is not one of them.

"Sure, another set of hands. And at least you know what to expect from him." Brad crooks a thumb toward the Halloween group, streaming from the room in a pack. "I couldn't foist him on an unsuspecting lab tech like Gilbert"

"Why not?"

"Look, I don't trust anyone else to keep an eye on him. And you do have a couple months to whip him into shape."

"There'll be no whipping, Brad." Sharon's gaze floats to the door. "As much potential as that idea holds."

"And here I was, figuring you blackmailed him into service after that whole running-a-guy-over debacle.

She snorts. "If I did that, I'd never have a shortage of help."

"Image rehab, then?"

"Mm, Sergeant Flynn apparently wants to be Lieutenant Flynn."

"Wow," Brad chuckles. "That might take more than a Christmas party."

"Maybe."

"You figure he'll actually show up?"

Sharon drags her eyes across Flynn's handwriting again. "I give him a month before he disappears on us."

"Well, good luck in the meantime," Brad says, backing away, wearing a grin that could only be considered devious.

She sniffs. "I still can't believe you did this to me."

His laugh rings through the now mostly empty room. "Consider it payback."