Just a quick-fic (on the fluffy side) after watching "All In."

Andy was practically dancing his own personal ballet, bouncing in place on the balls of his feet as he waited for the elevator. Even watching the numbers flash, the "ding" still made him jump. Maybe he should've taken a walk around the block first, bled off some of this nervous energy.

His little sobriety angel in his head gave him a "seriously?" look reminiscent of Sister Mary Agnes from seventh grade.

His shoulders slumped under his midnight-blue jacket. His angel had it right. It wasn't nervous energy, it was shame-faced guilt. And more than a little fear of how Sharon—Captain Raydor-would react when he told her the truth. He'd have to say something before they got to the ballet, before his ex or his daughter started asking her questions she couldn't answer. Maybe if they got there a little late, he could put it off until intermission…

He was still deep in thought on how to best work his deception when he found himself in front of her door. He thought of her laser-sharp gaze as he waited for her to let him in. She'd known something was up when he invited her, that was obvious.

He'd gotten used to thinking of that sharpness as his ally, helping him see deeper into a case, a suspect, when they worked together. The thought of it being trained against him was almost as bad as thinking about how his ex, how Nichole would look at him if he told them he didn't really have a girlfriend, that he wasn't really as squared away as he had led them to believe.

It's never just one lie, is it? his sobriety angel whispered. It's another, and another… Then it's the Big Lie. The one where you tell yourself you can have a glass of wine, for God's sake. Just one glass…

His mouth went dry as the doorknob turned. Another second and he was looking at Sharon, and oh, man, he wished he was telling the truth, that this beautiful woman was his. Her softly waved hair, her sculpted cheekbones, those eyes…

And that...bathrobe?

"Hi, Andy. Come on in." She moved back to let him enter, her fluffy slippers soundless against the tile. "I've got some bad news, I'm afraid." She sat and patted the sofa beside her. "Sit down, but don't get too close. I don't want you catching what I've got."

He sat, dumbfounded. When had this come on? Did she need anything? He had a momentary mental image of heating up some soup, bringing it to her in bed, fluffing her pillows. There'd be other ballets, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd bailed on a family event.

"I've got the flu. I can't go anywhere tonight. In fact, I'll probably need to take some sick leave."

She was frowning, even looking a little forlorn…then his detective side kicked in. Was that eyeliner? Hard to tell...she went for the natural look most of the time, but she didn't look sick. No watery eyes, no coughing, and she'd been her usual active self that afternoon. His g-rated fantasies of taking care of her vaporized.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Captain. I gotta say, I'm kind of surprised. You seemed fine just a couple of hours ago." He tried to keep his suspicion out of his voice but his sobriety angel's eye-roll told him he wasn't doing a very good job.

All he got for an answer was a non-committal hum as she sat back, crossing her legs and keeping the bathrobe closed tight.

It was the unconcerned shrug that did it.

Andy's Sicilian temper sparked just enough to get him talking.

"Sharon, you could have just called if you didn't want to go. Why put on a charade like this?" He leaned forward, suddenly very much wanting to hear her answer.

Her lips twitched, and he wasn't sure if she was holding back a smile or a sneer. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

"Well, Lieutenant, I didn't want to tell someone I care about that I felt uncomfortable being used as a prop, so instead of being forthright, I decided to lie and say I was sick."

Now she leaned forward, and for a disconcerting instant he caught a whiff of the perfume she'd worn to the wedding. "So tell me," she continued, "how's it working so far?"

He fell back against the couch pillows, defeat warring with embarrassment. What the hell could he say to that? He sure couldn't say he hated being lied to, not when his lie about ballet lessons felt like it was written in six foot high neon letters in front of him.

"I screwed up, didn't I?" He couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Let's talk about that." She made a beckoning, tell-me-more gesture. "I'm curious about when you think you screwed up."

Crap. She was worse than Sister Mary Agnes. He almost wished he'd never started thinking of 'Darth Raydor' as a warm, enchanting woman…then his gaze dropped to the curve of her mouth, the perfect bow and full bottom lip and knew it was far too late for that.

"I, um…I should've told you I stretched the truth a little…okay, a lot, at the wedding." He squirmed under her steady look. "Everybody was so happy, my ex with her husband, Nichole, the in-laws, and, you know…there I was, my boss on my arm instead of a real girlfriend, like I was some schmuck who couldn't get a date. And Sharon," he gulped as the whole truth came spilling out, "you were so pretty and sweet and fun to be with, I guess I just really wanted that to be the truth."

"Thanks, Andy," she smiled for one fleeting second, and he was back on the dance floor again, leading her in a flowing glide to the music.

The brief moment of memory ended with a thud.

"But it wasn't the truth, was it?" she said. "And that lie led to another, I'm guessing. And the next thing you knew, your daughter was inviting you and your 'girlfriend' to the 'Nutcracker.' And there you were."

His sobriety angel took on an I-told-you-so expression as he buffed his nails on his snow-white robe.

"Okay, Captain. You got me." He tried to puff up with at least a little indignation but his heart wasn't in it. "I should've corrected their impressions. Or at least told you what I'd done, see if you'd be willing to help me out again."

Her stern look softened and her smile finally reached her eyes. She was "Sharon" again, and his relief made his heart pound.

"And I would have, Andy. That's what hurt, the more I thought about it. That you felt you couldn't be honest with me because it might show you in a less-than-great light."

"I thought it'd show me as a real asshole, as long as we're being all honest here," he said, feeling a sudden lightening of spirit as he told the whole truth.

Her giggle surprised him. "Well, yeah, that's probably more accurate, now that you mention it." She put her hand on his arm. "Did you even think about how I'd react when they started asking me how long we'd been together, or invited us to come over? How awkward that would have been, if I was in the dark?"

He sighed as he patted her hand and stood up. "You made your point—again. What I might wish for and what's real are miles apart, seems like.

"Look, I'm gonna get out of here, quit bothering you, and figure out what to tell them when I show up alone." Another wave of guilt hit him. "And I'll leave you out of the explanation. In fact, I'll tell Nichole the truth when we get a minute to ourselves. She'll get mad, but…." His voice trailed off. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pissed off his family. At least this would be for a good reason.

"Don't sell her short, Andy. Maybe she'll be happy you trusted her enough to tell her an unflattering truth." She stood up as well.

"I doubt that, but I guess anything's possible." Well, not anything. He was looking at an impossibility right in front of him, and the sooner he left, the sooner he could start accepting that Sharon Raydor would be his colleague, his boss, and maybe his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

He gave her a smile he wasn't feeling and turned towards the door. "Good night, Captain."

"Lieutenant Flynn? Where are you going?"

He turned back, then stood stock-still, eyes widening as Sharon untied her bathrobe and shrugged it off, revealing a ballet-worthy ocean-blue dress, deeply scooped neckline and elegant three-quarter lace sleeves.

"I thought you said you were taking me to dinner and the ballet tonight." Her smile grew as she stooped to snag a pair of nude pumps from under the couch and slipped them on. Eyes dancing, all the Raydor sternness melted away and she was the woman who'd danced in his arms, who'd hummed contentedly when his lips had touched her hair.

"That wasn't a lie, was it?" She gave him a look filled with challenge…and promise.

His sobriety angel was making a double thumbs-up gesture and grinning from ear to ear.

"No, ma'am. That's the truth, and nothing but, if you still want to go." He stood there, waiting. Whatever he had with Sharon, whether it would stay friendship or become something more, it would be framed in honesty.

"Oh, I most certainly do. I really love "The Nutcracker." She reached up and touched his cheek, studying his face. "And I like spending time with you, Andy." Her voice turned serious. "We'll need to talk about that soon. And when we do, there can't be any half-truths or omissions."

"I can do that." He checked his feelings carefully. Nervous, hopeful…and truthful. He really could be completely honest. Maybe that could become second nature as much as lying had.

Visions of, well, maybe not sugarplums, but happy times spent with Sharon and his family danced in his head as they went down to his car, talking about music and dance and favorite Christmas carols.

They were halfway to the restaurant when a thought nagged at him.

"So what do we say about us? You know, that's the truth?"

She kept her eyes on the road. "That you're sorry you gave them the wrong impression at the wedding. That I'm your good friend who's with you tonight."

He thought she'd finished when she spoke again, slipping her hand into his.

"And if you want to tell your daughter that it might become more than that, in time—" she gave his hand a quick squeeze—"it wouldn't be a lie."

Andy caught the trace of her smile out of the corner of his eye and he matched it with his own. More than friends.

That sounded like a gift worth waiting for.