Bullets and Bourbon (25/25): Auld Lang Syne

[imustgofirst]

Last, final, this-is-really-the-end author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has accompanied me for all or part of this journey, whether by commenting, encouraging me, or, perhaps best of all, simply by reading. This story will always be really special to me, because while it may just be fanfic, it has become a record of the most eventful (craziest, most dramatic, epic, emotional, heart-wrenching, joy-filled) year of my life. In fact, this little story has quite literally changed my life. Who could ever have known?? I'm grateful to all of you for sticking with me and B&B for so long, and not giving up hope during the months-long gaps between updates. I hope it will have been worth the ride, and I'll catch you on the flip side.

And finally, this, along with everything else I write, is for my two most loyal readers and favorite ladies: ubiquitousmixie and helenvanpattersonpatton. So if it sucks, blame them, she concludes eloquently.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Auld Lang Syne

Brenda was about thirty seconds away from deciding that fate was again thwarting her and Sharon had somehow missed the flight - Brenda knew she hadn’t missed Sharon, because Brenda Leigh, who was never on time for anything, had arrived at LAX thirty-five minutes before the flight from Atlanta was even due to land - when a familiar figure finally appeared at the arrivals gate.

Her jaw dropped before she could recover herself and plaster on a startled smile. “Sergeant Gabriel!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting to the dark-haired woman just beyond his shoulder. “David.”

He smiled easily, looking rather travel-worn. “Hey, chief.”

“Hello, chief,” Sharon echoed in that calm Captain Raydor tone of hers. Before Brenda had time to panic - How the hell could she explain her presence here to Gabriel, since Sharon had left her car in the long-term lot? Maybe she could get Sharon to pretend she needed a ride, and they could come back later and get the car - Sharon continued, “I told Gabriel you were meeting me to get your Christmas present from your aunt. It’s just in my suitcase.” She cocked her chin toward the small wheelie bag.

As stories went, it wasn’t a very good one, but it was better than nothing. “Oh, Aunt Edna!” Brenda exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. She turned conspiratorially to Gabriel with a bright smile. “She always bakes me a cake. Double chocolate,” she confided with such anticipation that Sharon looked duly impressed.

“Yes, well,” the captain put in, rolling her eyes, “thrilled to be of service, as ever.”

At the moment Gabriel looked too tired to question the thin story. At least he was acquainted with a few members of the eccentric Johnson clan. “You comin’ back from Italy, David?”

He nodded. “Airline screwed up my itinerary. I had to connect through Atlanta.”

“And we were on the same flight.” Sharon flashed that wide, too-perfect smile. “What a coincidence.”

“Well, um - since I’m here, I can give you both a ride back to your cars. Where’d you park?” Brenda continued rather desperately.

Sharon’s fake smile turned into a genuine smirk.“Long-term three,” she replied quietly. “I can take the shuttle.”

The chief scowled at her. “Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “I’ll drive you. My car’s right outside.” Sharon’s smirk deepened, and Brenda wanted either to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe or throttle her. “How ‘bout you, David?”

“I took a cab, chief.”

Brenda noted that Sharon finally looked a bit horrified herself, but it gave her little satisfaction. “Oh, well,” she said faintly, “I can give you a ride home.”

“Excuse me,” Sharon murmured, and motioned vaguely toward the ladies’ room. The deputy chief was beyond caring what her detective thought; her eyes longingly followed Sharon as the other woman walked away.

When Sharon emerged from a stall, the slim blonde was leaning against the row of sinks, her arms folded and a sly smile on her face.
“Detective Gabriel’s waitin’ outside to say goodbye to you. He insisted on takin’ a cab.”

Sharon smiled almost shyly. “What about you, Brenda Leigh?” she asked, her voice soft. “What are you waiting for?”

Brenda bit her lip. “To say hello,” she replied equally softly.

“And to get your fruitcake from Aunt Edna,” Sharon reminded, moving closer.

“Chocolate, captain. Don’t you know me at all?”

The older woman instinctively slipped her hands into her jeans pockets. “I know you better than Detective Gabriel does,” she retorted in a low, smoky voice. “Or your Aunt Edna. Do you have an aunt Edna, by the way?”

“Of course I do. She’s my daddy’s older sister.” Brenda stepped into Sharon and reached out to touch her elbow through the soft fabric of the casual navy blazer she wore over a white tank top that clung to her curves. “Are you tired?”

The captain glanced at her reflection in the mirror and scrunched her nose. “I look it, don’t I?” The harsh, colorless fluorescent strip above highlighted every tiny line and crease in Sharon’s pale skin; her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, and her mouth was drawn, probably with the throb of the dull headache she had to have after last night’s over-indulgence.

“You are so beautiful,” Brenda whispered, gripping both of Sharon’s hands in hers, feeling the fine bones and delicate skin, like fine vellum. Her whole body flushed from the inside out with a rush of warmth. There was the carnal electricity that came from making contact with this woman, but this wasn’t merely the hot rush of untrammeled desire she was used to feeling in her captain’s presence; there was the simple, profound warmth of affection and appreciation and…

No, it would be best to save that thought for later.

“I look like shit,” Sharon replied derisively, her voice thick, but her eyes glinted with warmth.

“You’re gorgeous,” Brenda reiterated, her grip tightening. “Especially right this minute. You’re here and you’re gorgeous and I can’t wait to get rid of Detective Gabriel.”

Their eyes locked, the gaze lengthening.

“Sharon -“

The older woman gently wrested one of her hands away and pressed her fingertips to Brenda’s lips. “Shh, not now. Not in the public bathroom at the airport, Brenda Leigh.”

Brenda nodded. She was no happier than she had ever been to have to admit that the other woman was right; but she was right. They’d waited this long to say the things that needed to be said, deserved to be said. They could wait a little longer. This was not the place.

A stall door slammed, punctuating the thought, and the two women jerked away from one another as if they’d been caught in flagrante. Their eyes met in the mirror above the row of sinks, and Sharon’s lips quirked into that insufferable smirk as she pumped soap into her palm.

“I am so gonna get you,” Brenda declared, and Sharon chuckled.

“I’m counting on it.”

After they’d divested themselves of the detective sergeant, Brenda drove Sharon to the lot where she’d left her car only the day before. They were awkward together, a little stilted, as if they were afraid to say too much or to touch one another, afraid perhaps that they wouldn’t be able to stop. Sharon ducked out of the car with a quick smile and a hasty “See you soon.”

Suddenly Brenda was worried that she was going to lose the other woman before she’d really gotten her back again. “You’re gonna come right over? You promise?”

Sharon took in the blonde’s anxious expression and smiled softly. “I’ll follow you.” Reaching in through the open window, she squeezed the pale, thin hand resting atop the steering wheel. “Better yet, with the way you drive, I’ll beat you there.”

“Wait, wait.” Brenda grabbed a handful of Sharon’s jacket, preventing her from withdrawing, and tugged. “C’mere - please.”

The angle was awkward but Brenda Leigh’s lips were soft and ardent, and when the captain felt the first foray of her tongue, her knees trembled deliciously.

After a moment the taller woman pulled back and straightened her spine. “Someone will see,” she cautioned.

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Sharon smiled as she took a step back. “What is it with you and cars, hmm?” she teased huskily. “I’ll see you in a little while, and we can continue this reunion in a more suitable venue.”

Brenda didn’t know how she managed it, but, true to her word, Sharon was parked in a visitor’s space at the apartment complex, leisurely awaiting the deputy chief’s arrival when Brenda pulled up. Clearly the blonde was going to have to develop a better relationship with her GPS.

She hoped Sharon wasn’t dwelling on the fact that her only previous visit had been on the disastrous day when Brenda viewed the property, but knew that she probably was. They didn’t speak as they crossed the parking lot together, but when the smaller woman tentatively caught Sharon’s hand in hers, the captain squeezed warmly.

“So it looks a little different than it did the last time you were here. It’s still a work in progress, but I cleaned it from top to bottom last night” - she hadn’t been able to sleep - “so I hope you’ll think it’s okay,” Brenda babbled, fumbling one-handed with her keys as she gripped Sharon’s fingers with the other. “It’s nowhere near as nice as your house, of course, but -“

Sharon’s free hand cupped Brenda’s jaw and angled her chin up so she could kiss her gently, almost chastely. “I didn’t come over here to critique your interior decorating skills. Now open the door.”

Blushing, Brenda did as she was told, and then beckoned the other woman inside. This wasn’t how she’d imagined this moment - and since she’d talked to Sharon yesterday, she’d done little but imagine it (and get a contact high from Clorox fumes). Her mind had projected a cinematic reel of her engulfing Sharon in her arms and kissing her until neither of them could breathe, all protests lost in the tide of sensation. Instead she stood with her fingers linked in front of her, smiling shyly, while Sharon slipped her purse strap from her shoulder and gazed around.

“Julie was right,” the captain said after a moment. “The afternoon sunlight is lovely.”

Brenda nodded enthusiastically and wiped her palms on her jeans. “Can I get you somethin’ to drink, maybe somethin’ hot? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate -“

“Tea would be nice, thank you.”

Brenda dumped her own purse onto a chair and headed into the kitchen, Sharon trailing her. “I thought I’d paint it yellow,” the blonde said brightly, gesturing to the stark white walls. “I know it’s not the most practical color for a kitchen, but I don’t cook that much, and it’ll be so cheerful, won’t it?”

“I think that will look great,” Sharon agreed in that same low tone, watching as Brenda filled an electric kettle that was exactly like the one in Sharon’s kitchen. She waited until Brenda had sorted out mugs and tea bags, and then she stepped forward and lightly rested her hands on the blonde’s angular hips. Brenda breathed out slowly as she answered the gesture, one arm going around Sharon’s shoulders as they stepped into a hug.

“You’re here,” Brenda whispered, her breath stirring the wisps of hair at Sharon’s ear. Sharon hummed and lightly stroked her back. “It’s - It feels good havin’ you here.”

“It feels good being here, Brenda Leigh.”

They stood there in one another’s arms, just hugging, until the water had reached a rolling boil and the kettle clicked off. “Tea time,”
Sharon murmured, and softly kissed Brenda’s cheek before she moved away just enough to lift the kettle and pour the steaming water over the tea bags. Brenda felt herself grinning like a fool, her mouth stretched impossibly wide.

“Go sit in the livin’ room,” she invited. “I’ll be right there.”

She kept smiling as she assembled a tray with a sliced apple, some green grapes, crackers, and a generous dollop of the cheese and pecan spread like her mama made every year for the holidays. Her fantasy had been all wrong. This was much better than feverish kisses and wild sex (not that those things lacked appeal). She’d imagined the desperate, heated encounter of lovers who never had enough time and had to devour every second - of two people having an affair. But she and Sharon could sit on her living room sofa, sipping their tea and eating their snack and talking if they felt like it, because they had time, the greatest luxury of all. They could just be together. They could be two people having a relationship.

She sat down close enough to Sharon that their knees brushed whenever one of them shifted, but not too close. They would be close later, their bodies pressed together skin to skin with nothing in the way. For now, she was content to look at Sharon, to talk to her, to watch the way her mouth moved as they shared slices of the pleasantly tart green apple.

“You’re staring at me,” Sharon murmured after several minutes, and Brenda realized with delight that her composed captain was blushing, just the faintest, becoming flush of rose.

Brenda laughed. “You’re pretty,” she returned simply, and Sharon rolled her eyes, but she laughed too, and Brenda Leigh figured she had the right to be a little silly and sappy because it was the day after Christmas and she still hadn’t gotten to unwrap her present.

Sharon yawned, a delicate little yawn that she concealed behind her palm, but it snapped Brenda out of her reverie. “You must be exhausted. Do you want to rest for a while, take a nap? You could stretch out here, or have my bed -“

The captain shook her head. “What I would like, if you don’t mind, is a shower.”

Brenda was surprised when she felt herself shiver. She definitely did not mind. As many times as she had bathed in Sharon’s home, this would be the first time Sharon had reciprocated, and Brenda found the idea incredibly appealing. It wasn’t just the idea of a naked, wet, soapy Sharon, with its obvious appeal; but the idea of Sharon making herself at home in Brenda’s newfound space in such an intimate way.

“Of course not.” Brenda unfolded herself from the sofa and led the way into the small black and white tiled bathroom. Sharon leaned against the wall, looking appetizingly rumpled, watching while Brenda selected a fluffy green towel and adjusted the water temperature - things Sharon was perfectly capable of doing herself, but little gestures of caregiving that Brenda wanted to offer and Sharon was willing to accept. Her tired green eyes smiled at Brenda as the younger woman straightened up and turned back toward her, hands clasped awkwardly in front of her. “There’s soap and shampoo - do you have everything you need?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Brenda to join her, but as inviting as that thought was, Sharon knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t yet ready to feel quite that vulnerable and exposed. A soothing shower would, she hoped, go a long way toward reinvigorating her fatigued body and quieting her tired spirit. So she smiled and nodded, and waited until Brenda had gone, closing the door behind herself, to disrobe and step under the wonderfully hot spray.

When Sharon emerged from the shower with one towel wrapped around her body and another secured turban-style around her wet hair, she found a short black silk robe stretched out on Brenda’s bed, and stretched out beside it, Brenda herself, fast asleep.

Silently contemplating the other woman, Sharon toweled the excess water from her hair, her stomach tightening with a combination of arousal and trepidation. It’s like riding a bike, Sharon, she reminded herself, releasing a deep breath through her nose. This was the part that had been easy, even inevitable, between the two of them from the beginning, but now, with so much emotion out in the open and even more waiting in the wings, the prospect of sex was suddenly intimidating.

Not just sex; intimacy. There were no shields left for them to conceal themselves behind, only vulnerability as naked as the brunette’s body was beneath the damp towel. Just loitering here in the shadowed bedroom, listening to her own breath amid the stillness, felt incredibly intimate.

With a brusque nod to herself, Sharon moved the robe out of the way and knelt on the bed beside the blonde. “Brenda,” she murmured very low, and the other woman roused, moving instinctively toward the sound and the warmth of Sharon’s body.

Her eyes opened when her fingers encountered the material of the towel. “Good shower?” she asked, her voice rough.

Sharon nodded and pursed her lips. “Good nap?” she teased.

Brenda hummed on a sigh, tracing the edge of the towel where it rested against Sharon’s thigh. Goosebumps instantly prickled over the older woman’s skin, and Sharon knew Brenda felt the reaction. Sharon’s heart throbbed hard in her chest, and she swallowed down an instinctive flinch, schooling herself not to behave like a skittish horse. She wanted this. She wanted Brenda. She forced her body to relax, extending her legs and curling up on her side, cheek propped on her hand, so the two of them faced each other. Brenda’s hand came to rest on her waist, finding bare skin beneath the flimsy barrier of the towel.

Dark brown eyes met murky green, and in an instant Sharon stopped worrying about not knowing what to say, because they didn’t need to say anything. They’d said enough for now; the rest could wait. Brenda seemed to read her thoughts, and the younger woman’s generous lips curved up into a smile.

The kiss was a soft, leisurely one that they moved into together, as naturally as an extension of breathing or swallowing, with no remnant of the furtive urgency that had always pervaded such encounters in the past. Sharon breathed out softly into Brenda’s mouth, finally feeling like she might be able to let that guilt and tension go, as gently and fluidly as the receding of the tide.

The kiss didn’t end, instead merging into others, incorporating the scraping of Sharon’s teeth over Brenda’s lower lip, and the play of Brenda’s fingertips over Sharon’s ribcage. Instead of distinct sensations or discrete moments, the memory Sharon would have later was of a mood, an atmosphere of aching tenderness of which she hadn’t realized either of them was capable. That tenderness bathed the soft rasp of their legs tangling together, the heat of Brenda’s avid mouth on the tender skin of Sharon’s breast, the slow, steady movement of the brunette’s longer fingers against the swollen flesh between Brenda’s legs and the less measured response of Brenda’s fingertips dancing over Sharon’s clit and then pressing hard.

Sharon’s orgasm wasn’t like shattering or exploding, not a harsh, jagged burst, but was instead like that tide, swelling and lapping until it finally reached a high-water mark and she felt as if her body dissolved before being knit back together.

They were quiet for a long time after their bodies had grown still, shrouded in a kind of awed hush as if they were in church, their bodies brushing beneath Brenda’s crisp sheets. Sharon had slipped her arms through the sleeves of the robe but had left it unbelted, and the cool, silky fabric contrasted with the heat of Brenda Leigh’s skin. It was still only mid-afternoon, but the drawn curtains and cool tone of the walls made it seem later, as if they were enveloped in a never-ending twilight. It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant.

The captain realized she’d been staring at the wall for a long time before she finally really saw it. “I had no idea you were such a fan of purple.”

Brenda didn’t answer right away, as if she had to remind herself how to speak. “You know, neither did I.” Brenda cuddled closer to Sharon, a little bit for warmth but mostly just because she could, and looked around her colorful bedroom, her gaze sliding over lilac and lavender and aubergine - the walls, the curtains, the rich comforter on the bed. “It reminds me of you. It’s your favorite color.” Sharon twisted to look inquisitively into Brenda’s face and the deputy chief elaborated, “You wear it a lot. I guess even when I thought you weren’t gonna be here, I wanted this room to remind me of you.” The blonde pulled a face. “That’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not pathetic.” The older woman shifted marginally, her hips readjusting themselves beneath the sheet. “Perhaps a little… intimidating.”

Brenda wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she went with, “I just want you to know that I’m serious about us.” She instantly felt foolish - painting her bedroom in a show of affection, like a heartsick teenager? She should have written a love letter. She’d never written a love letter before, not properly, but Sharon would appreciate that sort of thing, wouldn’t she? Or - Brenda Leigh mentally face-palmed as she thought of the perfect gesture - she could have had a spare key ready and waiting for Sharon to put on her key chain.

Sharon’s lips quirked into a mild version of her usual smirk, but she didn’t poke fun, and her voice was soft when she spoke. “Okay, Brenda. Okay. I know.”

“Do you?” Brenda demanded with her characteristic earnest eagerness. “I should’ve been more understandin’ about how it felt to you, like I was just jumpin’ into your bed -“

“I think,” Sharon interrupted gravely, her eyes meeting Brenda’s and then dropping away, “if that was all either of us wanted, there were certainly easier options available.”

The younger woman remembered the words Sharon had said the night before on the phone, how she’d essentially admitted to being as afraid that Brenda wanted a real relationship as she was that the blonde wanted nothing more than a way out of a stagnant marriage. Brenda realized Sharon wasn’t yet ready to say as much face-to-face without the lubrication of the finest booze the Hartsfield-Jackson Holiday Inn had to offer. That was all right. Brenda Leigh was confident now that Sharon wanted a lot more from her than sex. The cautious captain certainly wasn’t the type to chase someone across the country for a shag.

“You don’t want to have this conversation,” she surmised now, and Sharon shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Brenda continued.

“I did my part.”

“Sharon,” she burst out, “I lo-“

“Shh.” Cool fingertips pressed firmly to Brenda’s lips. “Let’s not make any promises. Let’s just be.” The touch softened into a caress, removing much of the initial sting of the words.

For once the blonde forced herself to stop and think before reacting. A few seconds ticked by, and she propped herself on one elbow, carefully scrutinizing the other woman’s countenance. It was somber but open, and that gave the deputy chief a fragile, buoyant sensation of hope.

“Together,” Brenda clarified, relaxing. “Let’s just be together.”

Sharon’s serious expression mellowed as she realized that Brenda wasn’t going to press forward with her peculiar brand of heart-to-heart interrogation. “Together,” she affirmed, and her gentle smile transformed her face as Brenda watched. “You -“ Sharon twisted, her lips ghosting over the hollow of Brenda’s pale, vulnerable throat - “are incredibly beautiful.”

Brenda felt herself flush as her lips curved into a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, lifting the heavy fall of Sharon’s damp hair, curling as it began to dry, away from the nape of her neck and drawing it over one shoulder. Her dark eyes followed the cascading waves down the curve of Sharon’s breast until her flesh was swallowed up by the black fabric of the loose robe. Stay with me, she thought feverishly, longing to peel even that thin barrier away from the older woman’s skin. Don’t ever leave me again.

Aloud she asked, “Are you gonna spend the night?”

Sharon propped herself on one bent elbow, creating a little distance between them. “That depends,” she replied cautiously.

Brenda’s forehead scrunched. “On what?”

Whether you want me here in the morning, those green eyes said as clearly as if the other woman had spoken. “On whether or not you hog the covers.”

The deputy chief smiled. “I’ll share,” she promised.

She knew she and Sharon weren’t ready to make any grander promises or sweeping declarations to one another yet, despite what she had begun so eagerly to confide only minutes before. Even if Brenda’s first impulse was to say the words, she knew that Sharon was right. They needed time to build up the little things that made the big things, the everyday, the simple being together, before anyone mentioned the maybe-always-forever. If they were really lucky, they would wake up one morning to find that their lives had blended together until the words weren’t even necessary any more, just a nice reminder of what they both knew.

Beside her Sharon stretched, arching luxuriantly like a cat. “Tired,” she admitted in a throaty murmur.

“Yeah, you’ve had a long day.” Brenda hesitated only fractionally before confessing, “I’m tired too. I didn’t really sleep last night.”

“No,” Sharon agreed softly, curling against the smaller woman’s side and securely wrapping one arm around her waist. Brenda grinned into the low light of her bedroom.

Sharon’s eyes were closed, but apparently she had a sixth sense for more than detecting improperly completed crime scene logs. “What?” she demanded sharply.

“Just you.” Brenda turned to see one skeptical eye cracked open. “You’re a cuddler.”

Sharon held her breath, posed to stiffen and flinch away, and the blonde reassured, “’s nice. You feel so nice.”

“Nice,” the captain repeated derisively, but she wriggled closer as Brenda Leigh rolled onto her side, again drawing Sharon’s arm around her waist.

“Really nice,” Brenda insisted stubbornly, and she didn’t have to look to know that now the other woman was grinning.

No, Brenda reflected hazily as she closed her eyes and began to drift, it wasn’t I-love-you-forever. But, with Sharon’s silk-covered breasts pressed against her spine and the heat of one long leg stretched out beside her own, even the impatient deputy chief had to concede that it was a good start.

**

“I woke up and you weren’t there.” Brenda’s accusatory tone rang out in the kitchen and Sharon turned to meet wounded, bleary eyes. The captain had one of last night’s wine glasses in one hand, and a dish towel in the other.

“No, because I’m right here,” the older woman pointed out, swallowing her exasperation because it was accompanied by a rush of bemused affection and the knowledge that she, too, had amends to make. The events of the last several weeks couldn’t be erased by one conversation and a night together, not for either of them.

Suspicion underlined each of Brenda Leigh’s words. “You’re dressed.”

“I’m going to get us breakfast, because you don’t have any food,” the brunette continued in the same tone, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled slightly. “If you want to get ready, we can go out instead.”

Brenda hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she shook her head. Why leave her cozy apartment for food and coffee when she had a ready volunteer to bring those very items to her? She might even be able to lure Sharon back into bed when she returned. They could lounge and read the newspaper. Brenda had never actually read the newspaper in bed, but it sounded like something she might like to do with Sharon. She allowed herself to picture long, loose dark hair and intense green eyes, Sharon in her reading glasses and nothing else.

Besides, she needed to shower before she could go out in public (at least anywhere other than Hollywood Boulevard), and she wasn’t ready to wash the scent and feel of Sharon from her skin.

Sharon read her response in her face and crossed the kitchen, taking both of Brenda Leigh’s hands in hers and making pointed eye contact before dipping her head a fraction to kiss her waiting lips. “All right, then. I’ll be back soon. I’ll wake you up.”

Brenda pouted. “I’ll be awake,” she protested.

Sharon was already headed into the living room, but Brenda could hear the smile in her voice as she repeated, “I’ll wake you.”

And she did, with hot, sweet coffee and the tempting aroma of a fresh cinnamon-raisin bagel. The captain set the coffee on the night stand and backed away from Brenda’s grabby hands, asking, “Are those for me or the bagel?”

The blonde grinned. “Both, I s’pose.”

“Well, come into the kitchen, then.”

Brenda frowned. “Whatever happened to breakfast in bed?”

“You’ll get crumbs in the bed,” Sharon replied definitely, spinning on her heel.

Brenda felt her mouth draw into a little pout as she watched the other woman’s receding back. “But it’s my bed,” she pointed out to the empty room, but found herself following anyway, as Sharon must have known she would.

That tone of voice, Brenda reflected rather sleepily as she flopped down at the table, was one part Captain Raydor, one part parental, one part mischievous lover, and the glint in those green eyes was something new altogether.

It was hard to remember the days when she’d thought of Sharon as a one-dimensional caricature of draconian authority. There were so many incarnations of this woman; Brenda wondered if she would ever know them all. She doubted it. Sharon Raydor might be calm and stable, but she was anything other than static, constantly evolving just below the surface. Brenda gazed at her now, feeling like a voyeur witnessing some private ritual, as her green-eyed captain, her Wicked Witch, hunkered down at Brenda’s dining table, spreading a thin layer of cream cheese on her whole wheat bagel. Her gaze was studious behind her glasses, focused on the task at hand as if it were the most important thing in the world, pausing only to brush back a strand of wavy, untamed hair. Sharon brought that focus and clarity to whatever the task at hand was, and Brenda was still learning how intoxicating it could be to have all that concentration centered on her.

Maybe this was Brenda’s favorite Sharon, this one sitting in her kitchen, silently eating her breakfast. This one in tight, faded jeans, a paper-thin white cotton blouse - a wrinkled blouse, at that - and with, of all things, ratty red Converse sneakers on her sockless feet.

Brenda frowned. Above all else, she was, and would always be, a detective. “That’s what you packed for Atlanta?”

Sharon slowly chewed and swallowed before she answered, but she couldn’t hide the way her irises had flared at the deputy chief’s question. Uh-huh, Brenda thought. Caught. - But caught at what?

“Well, um, no. No, not exactly.” Sharon sipped her coffee, pondered, and finally met the younger woman’s gaze with a sheepish smile. “I packed for Palm Springs. I thought I’d get away for a few days. There’s a place up there, in the desert, where David and I went once - I’ve always thought I’d like to go back by myself.”

Blonde curls slid over Brenda’s shoulder as she cocked her head. “So what happened?” she asked, the way she was accustomed to asking questions to which she already knew the answers, but genuinely curious.

Sharon winced. “I don’t know,” she admitted ruefully, half laughing at herself. “I drove to the airport.”

Brenda’s eyes widened. “You just - you just drove to the airport and bought a ticket and got on a plane?” she demanded incredulously.

The brunette nodded tentatively.

“Oh, my goodness,” Brenda breathed. “Sharon.” She’d known Sharon’s decision to follow her must have been sudden, but this took it to a whole new level. And this was Sharon Raydor - careful, cautious, responsible, always-plan-for-every-contingency Sharon. Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids. So much for her own grand, spontaneous gesture. Coming from Sharon, this was dizzyingly, terrifyingly close to going down on one knee and declaring eternal devotion.

She was pretty sure neither of them was ready for that. “That must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Yes,” the other woman agreed, too frank to bother being disingenuous.

Brenda Leigh swallowed. “Was it worth it?”

Sharon grinned. “That remains to be seen.”

Brenda shook her head, and then grinned back, her eyes alight with promise. “Well,” she drawled, adding a couple of extra syllables to the simple word, “I’ll just have to come up with a few things that will make this a very worthwhile use of your time and your frequent flyer miles.”

**

When Brenda awoke the following morning, she found herself alone again. As soon as the encounter of her spread palm with nothing but cool, rumpled sheet confirmed this fact, her features scrunched together in dismay, and though she was still only half awake, she flung herself out of bed and stalked into the hallway, intent on finding a certain captain and informing her just how violently she disapproved of this developing pattern of behavior. If she’d wanted someone who would just get out of bed and leave her alone post-sex, la di da, she could have kept her heterosexuality card.

Before she could unleash her sleepy wrath, however, she found herself colliding with an armful of beaming, energetic Sharon, clad only in a pair of panties and her grey tank top but with her reading glasses perched rather intellectually upon her patrician nose, iPhone gripped firmly in her right hand. “Good morning!” Sharon enthused, kissing the blonde’s cheekbone with aplomb, and Brenda only blinked. The glasses and stubborn jut of the brunette’s chin were disconcertingly professional, given her dishabille.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Sharon continued, cupping Brenda’s elbow and leading her back toward the bedroom. “I was going to leave a note. I’ve got to go home and get dressed. I’m having a breakfast meeting with Chief Pope.”

Brenda again blinked foggily. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing.”

The blonde rubbed one bare foot over the top of the other as she watched Sharon extract a pair of neatly rolled pants from her small suitcase. “Will can be kinda unpredictable,” she cautioned, aware that her advice was unlikely to be welcome.

In response Sharon only smirked as she shimmied the pants over her hips. “Honey, I’ve been dealing with Will Pope for almost as long as you have,” the older woman pointed out. “And without the more - personal - dimensions of the relationship the two of you share. I’ve seen all the rabbits he can pull out of his little hat.”

Brenda bit her lip, studying the straight line of Sharon’s back. “Is your suspension over?”

“It will be.” The captain cocked her head and smirked over her shoulder. “I’ll call you as soon as it’s over, Brenda, and I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

The deputy chief cast her a last dubious look, but Sharon decided not to notice it. For all Brenda’s skill at negotiating with hardened criminals, Captain Raydor knew she surpassed the younger woman at wheeling and dealing with those on the right side of the law; that was a large part of the reason why she’d made it as far as she had. The head of FID was never going to be voted homecoming queen (or king) of the LAPD. To keep yourself from being torn to shreds by the jackals on both sides of the thin blue line, you had to be a political animal, and Sharon was.

Her confidence didn’t waver even when she walked into Will Pope’s spacious office and found herself facing not only the chief but Commander Russell Taylor over a pot of black coffee and a tray of semi-stale breakfast pastries.

“Ah,” Pope said, offering her that slightly nervous, overly affable smile of his, “good morning, Sharon. Thank you for cutting into your vacation time to join us.”

Vacation, suspension - she hadn’t come to argue over semantics. She smiled calmly, making eye contact with both of the room’s occupants as she returned, “Good morning, gentlemen,” and sat down right between them at the table, like Scarlett O’Hara at the ball, neatly demolishing whatever advantage Taylor had hoped to gain by arriving early. “You wanted to see me, chief?”

An hour and a half later, Sharon prepared to address another chief, this one of the deputy variety. She hadn’t even raised her hand to knock when Brenda flung the apartment door open and yanked her inside, demanding, “What happened?”

Sharon blinked and brushed an imaginary fleck of lint from the skirt of her pin-striped Armani suit. “Chief Pope agreed with all of the recommendations for the reorganization of Internal Affairs and its subsections, including FID, that Commander Taylor included in his findings.”

Brenda anxiously bit her lip, obliterating the effects of the effort she was making to appear confident and unruffled. “Reorganization,” she echoed dully. “What does that mean? What are these so-called ‘recommendations,’ Sharon?

“Unsurprisingly, the document is a long one. However, the most salient point is the need for greater centralization of Internal Affairs, under the supervision of a senior, high-ranking officer,” Sharon explained in that same dry, businesslike tone that Brenda had heard on countless occasions.

Brenda squirmed, finding Sharon’s tranquility now even more maddening than it was at a crime scene. “How senior? More senior than a captain? Like a commander, for instance?”

Sharon’s lips curved into a frighteningly humorless smile. “Exactly like a commander.”

Unable to refrain any longer, Brenda stomped one bare foot, causing dull pain to radiate up her leg. “I am going to kill Will Pope!” she exclaimed. “Right after I murder Commander Taylor! That slimy, squirmin’, low-down snake of a -“ She broke off abruptly as she took in the other woman’s unaltered expression. “Sharon, what on earth is the matter with you? You love your job. Why aren’t you upset?”

“Yes, I believe Commander Taylor must have harbored similar questions when Chief Pope whole-heartedly endorsed his recommendations and congratulated him on having gone so far beyond his remit in the investigation of a simple OIS.” Sharon finally allowed herself a deadly, feline smirk. “Chief Pope agrees that the rank of commander would befit the head of IA. So he’s scheduled the ceremony for Monday morning at 9 a.m.”

Brenda’s brow furrowed. “Ceremony?”

The smirk dissolved into a grin. “I’m getting a commendation for distinguished service, apparently,” the brunette confided. “Right after I’m promoted, of course.”

Brenda gaped. “Sharon Raydor, you - you - impossible woman!” she exclaimed, seizing the brunette in a fierce hug as she simultaneously swatted at her. “I can’t believe you had me thinkin’ Will was forcin’ you to retire! Did you know? How did you know?”

Sharon’s eyes sparkled as she returned the hug. “I was fairly certain. Believe it or not, Brenda, some of my people actually like me. And they tell me things.”

“Of course they like you,” Brenda scoffed, as if she’d never doubted it for a second. She held herself away from Sharon to survey her, as if the impending change in rank might have altered the brunette’s appearance, and then pulled her close again, adding a little shimmy. “Well. Well,” she repeated, a delighted smile spreading over her features. “Commander Taylor just shot himself right in the foot, didn’t he?”

Sharon allowed herself another smirk as she nodded in agreement, but refrained from pointing out that Taylor’s figurative self-mutilation wasn’t the only shooting that had been going on lately. Between playing catch-up with all the investigations she’d missed and navigating the deeps and shallows of her altered and expanded job description, Commander Raydor was guaranteed to have a full plate; but she was determined to stick as closely as possible to Brenda and her Major Crimes minions. Brenda seemed to accept Taylor’s unbelievably dilatory investigation of Raydor’s conduct as nothing more than a failed self-aggrandizing tactic, but Sharon remained unconvinced. All those coincidences and oddities that had plagued her sleeping and waking moments for so many weeks only loomed larger as Sharon contemplated her return to work, but there was some consolation to be found in the idea that at least she’d be around to protect Brenda on the clock as well as off.

“We need to celebrate!” Brenda declared, finally stepping back. “Let me get changed, and then I’m takin’ you to lunch somewhere fancy where we can drink too much champagne and be ladies who lunch. I know you’ll know some place. And you’re gonna tell me all about exactly how it happened, and what Will said, and the shade of green Commander Taylor’s face turned.”

“It was more of a gray,” Sharon mused, trailing Brenda into her bedroom.

“Why, for all intents and purposes, you outrank him now,” Brenda crowed, as pleased as if she herself had just had another star added to her collar. “Bein’ the head of Internal Affairs sounds a lot more important than bein’ the media liaison.” Brenda cheerfully grabbed a pale blue skirt, seemingly at random, and looked back at the older woman. “Just as long as you don’t have any plans of out-rankin’ me.”

Sharon shrugged. “Not officially,” she conceded, insouciant. “Only in the ways that matter.” She blithely side-stepped the shoe Brenda haphazardly chucked in her direction - fittingly, it was a flip-flop - and said, “I’ll be waiting in the living room, Brenda, but don’t be too long. Someone promised the commander champagne.”

The phone began to ring, and Brenda froze mid-shimmy with her skirt halfway up her thighs. “No,” she said aloud. “No, no, no. Not now!” She headed into the living room, trying to remember where she’d left her phone, and mentally acknowledging that while Sharon would certainly understand the call of duty, the timing was truly awful. Brenda was no stranger to the exceedingly bad timing of the homicidally inclined, but of all the emergency call-outs she’d received, this one was undeniably -

This one was undeniably not for her, she realized, stopping short as she confronted Sharon, who stood in front of the sofa with her phone clasped to her ear.

“Of course, sergeant,” she was saying in that tone of quick, reassuring competence. “You did exactly the right thing to call me. I’m officially back Monday, but I’ll be there in half an hour. Do not let them move the body or the vehicles.”

Sharon hung up, pocketed her phone, and straightened her spine, not even bothering to hide her enthusiasm as she turned to the deputy chief. “I’m sorry, Brenda. I have to go. This sounds like it’s going to be a bad one. Poor Elliott’s on the verge of an ulcer already.”

Brenda shook her head, smiling slightly as she took in the transformation - the sudden reappearance of Captain Raydor, live and in person. “You’re not a bit sorry,” she corrected, “and I don’t mind. This is what we do, so you go ahead and do it, and I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

Sharon didn’t approach Brenda, didn’t kiss or hug her, but instead studied her thoughtfully for a moment, her head cocked. Then she nodded. “I know,” she said, a smile ghosting over her mouth, and Brenda thought it sounded an awful lot like a promise for the future. “I know you will be.”

With that, she readjusted the strap of her purse over one squared shoulder, and in another minute Captain Raydor had vanished from view, but this time Brenda Leigh wasn’t worried. She knew she would see Sharon soon.

**

Sharon looked up from her computer screen at the sound of the two-fingered rap on her open office door and found Brenda gazing in at her with that oddly shy smile of hers.

“Hey.”

The dark-haired woman felt her own countenance warm immediately, a small smile curving her lips as she rested her elbows on the edge of the desk and instinctively reached up to remove her glasses. “Hey yourself, Deputy Chief Johnson.”

The smaller woman’s nose crinkled. “Oh, don’t. I hoped you’d still be here. Mind if I come in?”

Sharon gestured toward the vacant chair opposite her desk, and Brenda paused only to close the door between the captain’s private office and the dim, vacant outer quarters of FID before advancing. She didn’t take the chair, though, instead sauntering around to prop her hip against the top drawer. She looked around, surveying he small office with satisfaction. “This is where you belong,” she declared.

Sharon chuckled. “Gee, thank you, Brenda. Fit for a queen, isn’t it?”

Brenda rolled her eyes and reached out, lightly running her fingers over the back of Sharon’s thin, finely veined hand before linking their digits. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Green eyes flashed as the familiar smirk twisted Sharon’s lips, and the blonde fought the urge to lean down and taste it. “Are you?” Sharon returned coolly. “Try to remember that next week.”

The chief frowned slightly. “What happens next week?”

Those intense eyes narrowed. “I start shadowing your team again, to prepare a report for Gavin and Chief Pope.”

She watched Brenda’s mouth and throat work her eyes widen, as she fought the instinctive urge to protest loudly. “Oh,” the younger woman finally managed, looking deflated.

Sharon looked back at her computer screen. “You got a lot of catchin’ up to do?” Brenda asked wistfully, and Sharon’s gaze darted back to her face. She saw her lover there, not an adversary, watching and waiting, felt her lover squeeze her hand, and the commander’s rigid shoulders relaxed as she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Yes,” she replied. “Tim - Sergeant Elliott - did everything he could, but -“ She indicated the in-box on the corner of her desk, which was practically creaking under the weight of all the reports resting upon it.

Brenda Leigh’s rosy mouth formed a petulant little moue. “Then I don’t suppose you have time to let me take you out to dinner. I still owe you that celebration.”

Sharon shook her head regretfully, lifting their joined hands and running her thumb over the perfect, clear half-moons of Brenda’s nails. “Maybe this weekend.”

“This weekend?” the deputy chief cried in dismay.

“Yes - Friday, Saturday, Sunday. The weekend. It comes after the work week,” Sharon teased gently, still toying with the other woman’s fingers. Their eyes met and held.

“But I miss you.”

The older woman opened her mouth to retort that they’d seen each other Saturday and were together now, but she couldn’t. “I know,” she murmured, and because she couldn’t return the words she lightly squeezed Brenda’s hand. The blonde understood her unspoken language and smiled, placated.

“By this time two weeks from now you’ll be sick of me and complaining to Pope to get me the hell away from Major Crimes,” the newly-minted commander cautioned.

Breda Leigh shrugged nonchalantly. “That may be. Captain Raydor could be a pain in the ass, so I assume Commander Raydor can too.” She grinned, and Sharon felt herself grin back in response. That sweet drawl dropped an octave. “But I want my Sharon.”

Sharon cocked her head to study dark eyes and a cloud of smooth golden curls. “Good thing she’s right here,” she replied huskily. She planted her heels firmly, rolling her chair back from the desk, and tugged at the younger woman’s hand. Green eyes darkened with promise. “Come here, Brenda Leigh.”

The blonde’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and she leaned down, gripping the arm of Sharon’s chair with her free hand. She breathed her in, coffee and shampoo and the familiar warmth of her captain’s skin. Her lips grazed Sharon’s high cheekbone before finding her mouth, brushing once, twice, three times.

“This is highly unprofessional conduct, chief,” Sharon murmured.

“Highly,” Brenda agreed. Her knees spread beneath her flowing navy skirt and she crawled onto Sharon’s waiting lap, their open mouths melding together. The chief eagerly dove into the sweetness and heat that always blossomed between them, her palms rising to frame Sharon’s face and grazing her thumbs over her cheekbones. The other woman’s hand snaked up Brenda’s back, tracing the bumps of her vertebrae before curving around her neck and urging her closer, her coffee-flavored tongue licking into the blonde’s mouth.

Sharon knew she was addicted to the heat and sharpness and piercing sweetness of Brenda Leigh Johnson, and she had no desire to be rehabilitated. One of Brenda’s hands trailed down her neck, easily slipping the top button of her blouse free from its hole, and then slipped inside to cup Sharon’s full breast through the fine lace of her bra. The older woman did nothing to stop her. They certainly couldn’t make a habit of this at work, but they both wanted it, perhaps needed it, as a promise that their relationship wouldn’t be affected by Captain Raydor’s return to work. Brenda’s thumb found her nipple, dragging over it with agonizing slowness, and Sharon kissed her harder, sucking the younger woman’s tongue into her mouth.

After several minutes Brenda pulled away and eased back, finding the floor with one foot and standing. She looked down, deep chocolate eyes surveying the incredibly lovely woman with her flushed cheeks and glistening lips, the crisp cotton of her perfectly tailored blouse crumpled and hanging open to reveal the curve of one perfect breast. “Come back - I can’t reach you,” Sharon fretted impatiently, reaching out, and Brenda glowed with affection.

“No, but I can reach you. Sit back,” she cooed, fluidly sinking to her knees between the desk and her captain’s chair. After a few seconds Sharon relented and complied, leaning back, her headed gaze riveted on the other woman. Brenda bowed her head and kissed Sharon’s knee beneath the hem of her gray wool pencil skirt, tasting her skin through the sheer fabric of her panty hose, and then lightly trailed both hands down Sharon’s calf until she reached her foot. “Even if we can’t go out,” the deputy chief said, looking up with a mischievous grin as she eased Sharon’s foot from her lethal black pump, “we can still celebrate.”

Sharon smiled back, her eyes growing hooded as Brenda Leigh stroked her instep. The deputy chief then repeated the whole process on Sharon’s left leg and whispered, “Now lift up.”

The commander complied, more docile than she had ever been with Brenda Leigh (especially when she wasn’t stoned), her eyes blazing with fire. As the blonde reached under the gray skirt to skim Sharon’s pantyhose over her hips, the smaller woman realized there was no second barrier between her fingertips and her lover’s hot, smooth skin. “Why, captain!” she exclaimed, her eyebrows arching in pleased surprise. “I do believe you’re naked under that skirt.”

Sharon smirked. “Panties create a line,” she replied primly.

“Good Lord, Sharon. Now I won’t be able to think of anything else whenever you wear one of those skirts.”

Sharon’s eyes twinkled as if the thought pleased their owner, and then they snapped shut as Brenda sucked a toe into her mouth.

“You like that?” Brenda’s teeth scraped over Sharon’s sensitive in-step and her toes, with their nails polished a pale pink, curled in pleasure. The blonde’s mouth continued upward, sucking hard at the tendon at the back of Sharon’s ankle, kissing and nipping and licking until her cool, collected commander was squirming in her chair. Sharon finally reached down and yanked her own skirt up to the tops of her thighs, and Brenda’s eyes shone with triumph. She hooked her hands behind Sharon’s knees, dragging the other woman forward until her ass was at the very edge of the cushy leather chair.

“That’s it, relax,” Brenda crooned to her lover, carefully tracing Sharon’s slick, swollen sex with just the tip of her finger. “Let me take care of you.”

Sharon breathed out harshly through her nose, not looking terribly relaxed, and Brenda chuckled. Her finger slipped down, gathering more of Sharon’s thick moisture, and then penetrated with aching slowness, causing Sharon to bite her lip and buck her hips. “Brenda,” she whined.

“You’ll fall off the chair,” Brenda cautioned, withdrawing her finger, and Sharon opened her eyes and glared.

“We have plenty of time,” Brenda promised, nudging the older woman’s knees further apart, positioning Sharon as she wanted her. The blonde leaned in again, breathing deeply, and felt Sharon shudder before she let her tongue make contact with the tip of her clit. She began to lick very slowly and steadily, keeping the pressure feather-light, just the way she knew could be relied upon to drive Sharon crazy. The older woman’s hips twitched, her foot rubbing along the outside of Brenda’s thigh, and then Brenda felt her school herself to relax and enjoy, neither hurrying nor helping her along. Smiling, Brenda dipped her tongue shallowly into her lover’s opening before licking all the way back up and flicking hard at the distended nub. Sharon swallowed a moan.

Brenda Leigh felt her own clit twitch, making her acutely aware of the wetness soaking through her underwear, and she eased her hand beneath dual layers of fabric, hissing at the first touch of her own quickly-moving fingers. She looked up to find heavy-lidded green eyes trained on her. “Getting ahead of me?” teased a low, throaty voice.

“Don’t you worry,” Brenda returned, again pressing her mouth to Sharon’s hot, wet flesh, this time sucking firmly.

“Brenda, Bren-da,” Sharon hissed, her hands diving between her own legs and spreading herself wide for the assault of the other woman’s insistent tongue. She was close, but she held still, letting Brenda do the work. Brenda loved this, loved that Sharon trusted her with her body and her pleasure. Brenda Leigh kept doing exactly what she was doing, keeping the captain hovering in that place, knowing how wonderful those moments of anticipation felt when you were confident that your partner wasn’t going to tease or stop, but was going to make you come. At the same time she rubbed hard, mindlessly, between her own legs, desperate to come with Sharon.

The dark-haired woman finally began to move unable to remain completely still, and Brenda grabbed her hip lest she work her way off the slick leather and onto the floor, which wasn’t how either of them wanted this interlude to end. “There there there,” Sharon gasped, “that’s perfect”; and Brenda relished the sensation of the other woman rocking into her mouth in an increasingly jerky rhythm. Sharon gasped again before going rigid, and Brenda ground mercilessly against her own fingers until warmth exploded and flooded through her body.

When Brenda Leigh could hear again over the thundering of her own heart, the room was filled with the synchronized sounds of their labored breathing, and her cheek rested against the gentle curve of Sharon’s pale, lean thigh. She felt fingers lazily shifting through the curls at the crown of her head.

“C’mere, Brenda Leigh,” Sharon’s smooth, liquid voice requested imperatively, and when the young woman lifted her head, Sharon wriggled her skit back down and sat up properly in her chair. She smiled softly as Brenda stood, wincing when her knees popped, and then arranged herself in the commander’s lap. Sharon’s arms wrapped snugly around her waist.

“Sharon,” Brenda said pensively after several minutes.

“Hmm?” the other woman murmured, smoothing her hand down Brenda’s arm to stroke the back of her hand.

“I really am glad you’re back.”

Sharon smirked wryly. “Yeah, I got that.” She angled her chin up and Brenda obligingly dipped down to receive a soft, thorough kiss. Sharon licked Brenda’s lips, tasting herself, and Brenda shivered. “I’m glad I’m back too.”

“My team - somethin’s wrong,” the deputy chief continued softly, and Sharon squeezed her hand. “I don’t trust anybody but you. They’re supposed to be my allies, my friends. And I thought you were my enemy.”

“I’ve never been your enemy, Breda Leigh. I just do my job.”

“I know that now.” She tucked a lock of chestnut hair behind Sharon’s ear. “And you do much more than just your job.”

Sharon was silent for several minutes. “You know, at least this way I won't have to go home with ruined underwear.”

Brenda snorted at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Come home with me,” she suggested guilelessly. “You can bring all your files and work, and we’ll order in - we can get that crispy chicken you like. And I’m a lot closer to work than you are, so you can even come in early and get a head start in the mornin’.”

“That sounds ideal.” Sharon pressed a quick kiss to Brenda’s cheek. “But I can’t. You distract me.”

The blonde pouted, but spoiled the effect by being unable to hold back a grin. She was extremely pleased that Captain Sharon Raydor had found her distracting. She could only hope Commander Raydor would continue to feel the same.

“This reminds me of that first night when I came to see if you’d like to go out for a drink. Imagine if I’d just gone home, or you’d said no.”

Sharon smiled too before turning serious. “Imagine,” she echoed on a sigh. “Jesus. It was such a short time ago, Brenda.”

Brenda Leigh shifted. The last thing she wanted was for Sharon to spend the remainder of the evening slogging through paperwork and fretting over the soap-opera appropriate beginning of their relationship. It wasn’t the past that mattered, but the future. “Hey, now,” she scolded, “don’t go gettin’ all serious on me.”

After a couple of beats of silence the other woman returned, “My ass is seriously falling asleep.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Brenda squawked, but she stood up and the commander stood too, cringing and stretching.

“You know it’s going to be different now,” Sharon murmured quietly and carefully, looking down at her desk. “With me back at work. We’ll disagree, we’ll fight -“

Brenda nodded. “I’m not afraid to fight with you, Sharon.”

“No.”

“We’ve always fought, but now we can make up.”

Sharon smirked, her gaze far-away. “This is true.”

“You still look worried.” Brenda looped her arms around the taller woman’s waist.

The commander shrugged. “I’m a detective, Brenda Leigh. I don’t like mysteries.”

“Really? ‘Cause I love a good mystery.” The younger woman smiled, doing her best to look reassuring despite her own unease. Her track record with relationships was terrible.

“That’s why you joined the police, isn’t it? You wanted to play Nancy Drew.” Sharon tilted her head, her eyes sharp and shrewd. “Look, Brenda, I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, but I promise you this: you will always be able to trust me.”

Brenda swallowed hard, daunted by the intensity in that deep green gaze. “I don’t suppose you wanna be Frank Hardy to my Nancy Drew?”

The commander sniffed, affronted.

“The Cagney to my Lacey,” Brenda continued, warming to her subject. “The Scully to my Mulder. The -“

“Natasha to your Boris?” Sharon cut in snidely. “The Clarice Starling to your Hannibal Lecter?”

“Hey!” the blonde exclaimed, and Sharon smirked again, mirthfully this time.

“I work alone, chief.” She turned and slipped her feet into her discarded pumps. “I prefer not to drink alone, however. Are you coming?”

Brenda blinked, startled. “What about your paperwork?”

“It’s waited this long, so I suppose a few more hours can’t hurt.” Sharon grabbed her dainty little purse in one hand and caught Brenda Leigh’s fingers with the other. Her eyes glinted as she met the smaller woman’s gaze. “I don’t know about you, but I find myself in dire need of a double bourbon.”

Brenda wrinkled her nose. “For you, Sharon, I’ll even drink that nasty stuff if I have to. But do you think you could refrain from shootin’ anyone?”

The captain snickered as she drew the deputy chief toward the elevator. “Just this once,” she conceded blandly, stone-faced. “Only bourbon, hold the bullets.”

**

A black SUV glided seamlessly up to the curb, its driver watching the two attractive middle-aged women emerge from opposite sides of Sharon Raydor’s Crown Vic and walk toward the unassuming dive bar, their hips bumping more often than was strictly necessary. His burning gaze was instinctively riveted to the taller brunette. “I say quit dicking around and let me pop the bitches. What the hell are you waitin’ for?”

“I thought you wanted her to suffer,” returned the voice of the caller on the other end of the cheap burner phone.

“I want her dead. She ruined my career, ruined my life.”

“And she will be, but not like this. It’s too easy, Donovan. The time’s not right.”

“The longer we wait, the riskier it is. The cops know I hit Raydor’s house. I’m going to South America, not back inside. If you fuckin’ get me caught --“

“No one’s going to get caught,” replied the second, much calmer voice. “You agreed to wait, Jason. That’s the plan. So wait.”

Jason Donovan fingered the body of the nine millimeter resting on the seat beside him. The glow of a street light glinted off its barrel. Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson reached for Raydor, affectionately looping her arm around the older woman’s waist, and both laughed. Donovan snorted in disgust. He’d always known that F.I.D. cunt was too frigid to be anything other than a dyke.

“You’ve already waited four years,” the smooth, even voice continued in his ear.

“And I’m not waiting much longer,” he warned.

“You won’t have to.”

Donovan watched as Captain Sharon Raydor -- or no, it was Commander now -- impulsively kissed her companion hard on the mouth, and then looked over her shoulder as if checking to see if they were being watched. They were, but her gaze passed smoothly over the SUV. Stupid bitch.

“It’s almost time, Jason. I promise you, very soon we’ll both get what we want.”

THE END