The title comes from the song Sunday, written by Stephen Sondheim for his musical Sunday In The Park With George.

None of this, but the idea, belongs to me. All the mistakes are my own.

There was nothing ordinary about her life. Every since childhood. Growing up, Sunday's were what she considered normal. Ordinary.

Sunday always started off with mass in the morning, lunch at someone's home, in their backyard with other folks from church, and then the night was reserved for last minute homework or reading. This Sunday was like any other. Her and Andy went to mass, Rusty went off with Gus, they reconvened in the afternoon for lunch, and somehow she found herself back at Church.

The five o'clock mass had just let out and Sharon made her way towards the front. She kneeled besides the pew, made the sign of the cross and made her way into the middle.

Sharon loved her children. All of them. Her little girl was now a professional dancer. Her baseball bat, vase breaking boy, was taking on Silicon Valley. And her – Rusty – the boy she chose, the young teen who became a young man before her very eyes was seeking to right the wrongs. Without them, there'd be no light.

Sharon loved her job. The complexities of it made her mind churn. Her mother always made fun of her for loving puzzles. The problem solving, the analytical intricacies that each case presented made her job fun. No matter what position, on the street, in Internal Affairs, becoming part of Major Crimes – not so much with the darker cases, but she enjoyed her work.

In the quiet of the church, the buzzing of the phone in her purse sounded so much louder. She looked around quickly, smiling apologetically at an older woman a few rows behind. She silenced her phone and took the side exit.

"Rusty?" she answered the phone, worry in her tone. "No. I went – Rusty calm down, I'm at Church."

Traffic was loud and no matter how long she lived in Los Angeles, it was a pain to talk on the phone standing in rush hour traffic.

"Tell – " she paused as her son rattled off information into her ear.

She made her way back to her car and slipped into the driver's seat. It had easily been ninety seconds before her son took a breath and allowed her to speak.

"Rusty, I'm in my car," she said. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

It was not a common occurrence that Sharon would go to church twice in one weekend. If the case was particularly rough she'd go to communion and mass, but never mass twice. And to be fair she missed a good portion of the service and didn't think God would mind.

The drive home was quiet. The sound of traffic – horns blaring, people yelling, the sound of her engine working – filled the void. Rusty, if he was in the car with her would talk about work. Andy would talk about his grandsons or Nicole or something Provenza said or something he wanted to touch on with his doctor the next time he had an appointment. She didn't mind the chatter, but when it came, the silence was nice.

Four days – it had been four days since she came home to find her apartment dark and lit only by candles. Only one set of keys were in the glass bowl and when she parked her car the space had been empty.

"Hello?" she called out. "Rusty?"

The person in question came around the corner, making her jump.

"Hi," he said quickly, adding, "Sorry."

"Where's Andy?"

"Went to go get dinner."

Sharon sighed and gave her son a pointed look. The whole point of her getting in her car and cutting her time short at church was to come calm the man down. Now, he wasn't even here.

"I see."

Flipping on the lights to the kitchen, Sharon slipped out of her shoes. She opened up the fridge and pulled out her bottle of wine. She could feel the eyes of her son watching her every move.

"Are you, like, mad at him, or something?" Rusty asked.

"Why would I be mad at him?" Sharon asked honestly. There was no reason to be.

It was a nice change to have a weekend, much less a Sunday off, that didn't revolve around a murder. Thursday and Friday was spent catching up on paperwork and home by a normal hour. It was nice.

"Because of the –" Rusty began, stopping to wave at the space behind him.

Sharon rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine.

"I have no reason to be mad at Andy."

Rusty watched as his mother swept up her shoes and carried them down the hallway. He listened as the shoes hit the floor of her bedroom in a one-two thunk. A smirk appeared on her lips as she came back down the hallway, cradling her wine glass in her hand.

"How's Gus?" Sharon asked.

"Fine," Rusty said. "Working tonight."

"Did you thank him for me for the other night?" Sharon asked, lowering herself into her chair at her desk.

"Yeah," Rusty said. "Listen, Mom –"

"Are you learning a lot from Andrea?"

Rusty blinked at his mother who was reading over a file of some sort. Her eyes were dancing over the page before she flipped it over and took a sip of wine.

"Mom," Rusty said. "What are you looking at?"

It was then the door opened and Andy stepped through it, his hands full with plastic bag. The corners of his lips quirked up into a smile when he saw Sharon and schooled his features when Rusty shot him a panicked look.

She had to weigh the pros and cons of choosing a certain college over the rest. Would she get what she wanted out of one rather than the other? She had to weigh the choice of waiting and trusting Jack to finish law school instead of pursuing it at the same time. She had to weigh the choices she made while being a full time mother and having a full time job.

Internal Affairs was her choice. She chose to defend the justice versus the injustice of her colleagues. Men and women she would have to trust on any other day to save her life if the situation called for it. Major Crimes was her puzzle. Every case was something new for her to play with. She had no choice in the deals she made as long as they were made.

Nothing in her life was ordinary. Her job, her family, her life - no one would believe her. But if she were to describe her Sundays?

Sharon grinned at the scene around her. The table was made and Andy sat to her left. He reached out and took her hand in his, the cool metal pressing against her skin, a nice reminder that this was her choice. As she quietly, in her mind, said grace, Rusty talked behind her. He was talking about something Andrea had told him. Andy released her hand and Sharon dropped hers to her lap just as Rusty approached the table.

Sunday's were her favorite day. Mornings were spent at mass, afternoons were spent having lunch with family and friends, and dinner time was spent at the table with loved ones talking about the week behind them and the week ahead.

If there was one thing in Sharon Raydor's life that she would have to choose to be ordinary – it would be Sunday's. Her ordinary Sundays.