Misunderstandings (The Verb Series), 1/2
Misunderstandings (The Verb Series), 1/2
Category: The Closer
Pairing: Brenda/Sharon
Rating: M
A couple of months ago I set myself a little challenge: I flipped open my book of Italian verbs, randomly selected twelve, and wrote something inspired by each one. (Well, okay, I cheated because two of the verbs were synonyms, but whatever; report me to the fanfic police). The result is Misunderstandings, a series of connected ficlets and drabbles. I'd strongly suggest reading them in order, as they do form a narrative :) The title of each section is the relevant verb, but I haven't translated them. Many of the ficlets are very loosely connected to the verbs, and some are connected in a way that I'm fairly certain only makes sense in my brain, so I promise it's not taking anything away from the story. And now, on with the show.
Summary: It had all been a misunderstanding that first time, a miscommunication. The kind of thing you laughed about later, if you didn't get fired, or sued, or both. The second time, the third time, the tenth time: those were a bit harder to explain.
1. Aiutare
It had all been a misunderstanding that first time, a miscommunication. The kind of thing you laughed about later, if you didn’t get fired, or sued, or both.
Sharon Raydor stared at her reflection in the surprisingly clean mirror above the dingy bathroom sink, vaguely aware of the sounds of conversation, music, and rattling glassware just beyond the locked door. She was certain she wasn’t the first patron to fight the urge to vomit in the ladies’ room, but she doubted she was the only one who’d had only one drink -- a beer, of all things. The captain didn’t even really like beer, but then, this wasn’t her pity party; it was Chief Johnson’s.
The captain had slipped away from the victory party earlier that evening after the judge’s dismissal of the Baylor suit. The blonde deputy chief had vanished some time before, and Sharon was acutely aware that she was cramping everyone else’s style. She didn’t mind. She’d had her little plastic cup filled with champagne, had politely refused a slice of cake, and, much more satisfyingly, the chief had gripped her hand and said, “Thank you, Captain -- Sharon. Thank you so much for all you’ve done.” Sharon couldn’t pinpoint exactly when a few heartfelt words of gratitude from the other woman had become a sufficient reward for months of intense labor, but it had happened. She’d been planning to go home, turn off her phone (just this once), order herself a thin-crust pizza, and drink an entire bottle of Shiraz in celebration.
“Ca -- captain?”
Brenda’s tone was so different from what it had been only moments before that Sharon had actually spun on her heel. The younger woman hadn’t bothered with a smile; if anything she looked to be on the verge of tears. “Captain,” she’d repeated. “Sharon. I’ve got to get out of here. Come have a drink?”
At the time it hadn’t even struck Sharon as odd that the chief had been seeking out her companionship, leaving Agent Howard behind and, presumably, clueless. All the captain had known was that the day’s “victory” suddenly rang hollow.
“It will be all right,” she’d said steadily after the blonde had recounted the tale of Goldman’s crusade and the new suit. “It will be all right, Brenda. We’ll take care of it.”
Having downed her first vodka and cranberry as if it were water, Brenda had fixed Sharon with swimming dark eyes. “You’ll still help me?”
Sharon had been taken aback. “Of course I will. It’s my job.”
The younger woman had winced. “You’ve just been tryin’ to help me all these months, and I’ve been awful.” Her gaze dropped to the surface of the small, high table between them. “I think you’re the only one who can help me, Sharon. Nobody else knows how.”
She hadn’t known how either -- how to answer -- so she’d waited while Brenda ordered and inhaled a second drink.
“It isn’t just a job.”
Sharon had smiled very slightly at that. “Certainly no one doubts your commitment, chief.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “I meant for you. Is it just a job? Is that why you’ve worked so hard to help me, even when I didn’t want it?”
There was something penetrating in that slightly inebriated gaze. It made Sharon’s heart thump unpleasantly, and she sipped her beer. “I believe in my work.”
“And me?” Brenda had persisted. “Do you believe in me?”
The captain blinked, wishing she’d worn her glasses for the protective barrier they provided. “I think your... methods are unconventional, chief. But yes, I do.”
Brenda had grabbed her hand as suddenly as a copperhead strikes. “Brenda,” she said fiercely. “Call me Brenda, Sharon.”
“Okay,” the older woman had replied slowly, cautiously. “Okay, Brenda.”
She’d expected the chief to release her hand, but the other woman’s grip had tightened, her other hand joining the first and completely covering Sharon’s long, pale digits. Her skin prickled as if someone were tickling her.
“Sharon, do you like me?”
The captain had felt her own eyes widen, and then narrow. It was an innocent, if drunken, question; it didn’t mean anything. Brenda, so awfully perceptive in the interview room, was still oblivious.
“I like you,” Brenda had continued, a little tremolo in her sweet, rough voice. “That’s why I know I can ask you for what I need. For help.” She’d begun toying with Sharon’s fingers, and looked down at them splayed over the table before looking back into Sharon’s eyes. “You -- you understand. No one else does, not my boys, not Will. Not even Fritz.” Brenda had been leaning forward, and the older woman would’ve sworn there was a breathless catch in her voice to math the flush on her cheeks. “Only you, Sharon. You’re the only one who can give me what I... need.”
She couldn’t even claim she’d acted without thinking. Sharon never acted without thinking, and she’d thought -- she’d known, in that moment -- that she and Brenda Leigh Johnson understood each other perfectly. There was no way she could refuse to give the other woman what she was asking for.
Brenda’s lips were silky smooth, with just the slightest trace of stickiness from the cranberry juice, as Sharon’s tongue swept past them. She didn’t hesitate; she wasn’t tentative. She’d wanted this for too long. At first the fantasy had been punitive: she’d seize the impossible deputy chief and kiss her stupid just to shut her up, show her once and for all that in some things rank didn’t matter. Gradually it had become something else, a blur of heat and want and soft tongues and gentle sights, clutching at curves and fabric and holding one another up.
Brenda had jerked away so suddenly that their lips unsealed with a pop. Sharon blinked stupidly as she took in astonished chocolate eyes and that pretty, wide mouth forming a perfectly round ‘o’ of surprise. “Sharon,” she’d gasped. “Captain! What on earth are you doin’?”
Sharon had frozen with horror. “Ch-chief,” she’d managed. “Brenda --”
She got no further, her stomach clenching. Her shin banged painfully into her stool as she bolted blindly in what she hoped was the direction of the bathroom, too horrified by her own gross misjudgment to be ashamed of fleeing.
That had been maybe ten minutes ago. Sharon continued to stare at her pale, set features in the mirror, not really seeing anything except that expression of stunned surprise on the other woman’s face. Oh, fuck.
Someone banged on the door, not for the first time. “Use the men’s,” the captain shouted.
“Sharon?”
Double fuck. So much for the halfhearted hope that Brenda would also want to exit stage left as quickly as possible, and would just call a cab.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Sharon grimaced. Oh, yeah, fan-fuckin’-tastic.
“Come on, captain. You’ve got a line of impatient women out here.”
The brunette took a deep breath and, with a shaking hand, twisted the lock. She barely looked at Brenda, registering only that they were alone in the hallway.
“Maybe just one impatient woman,” the blonde admitted with a weak grin.
Sharon swallowed hard. “Chief. I’m terribly sorry for the -- misunderstanding and my behavior. I can only say that I made a grave error in judgment due to... circumstances. I understand if you feel it necessary to report my misconduct; however, I --”
The blonde grabbed her arm, wide-eyed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m not gonna tell Will.”
The captain swallowed again, and it turned into a desperate gulp of air. “Thank you. I -- I hope to show you that my professional integrity hadn’t been compromised in any way. My desire to, um, help you to the utmost of my ability is sincere.” She shoved her hands into her pants pockets, desperately awkward, and Brenda cocked her head, eying her with a calm, disturbingly knowing expression. She almost looked amused.
“I know that, Sharon. Would you mind givin’ me a ride home?”
So, the captain thought vaguely, dazed, that was it. The deputy chief was going to be generous enough to let this go. She assured herself that she was relieved. As they stepped outside, two pairs of high-heeled footsteps rang hollowly on the sidewalk.
“Sharon?”
She looked back to see that the younger woman had stopped and was standing forlornly, staring at her. Her giant shoulder bag dangled from the fingers of one hand.
“Chief? Are you all right?” She hadn’t had enough to drink to make her sick, but perhaps combined with the roller-coaster emotions of the day -- As Sharon efficiently shouldered the other woman’s bag (which weighed a ton), she wondered if they’d be even if Brenda Leigh vomited on her dry-clean-only suit.
“Help me, Sharon,” the blonde whispered frantically as the taller woman took her arm to guide her to the car. Wide, liquid eyes fastened on Sharon’s face, and Brenda’s cold fingers gripped Sharon’s wrist. “I need you. Help me.”
“It’s okay,” the captain soothed. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. We’ll figure it all out, Brenda.”
The brick facade of the building seemed to slam into her back rather than the other way around. She registered the rough surface picking at the fine fabric of her jacket, and then Brenda’s open mouth was on hers, hot and urgent and sloppy, teeth grazing her lower lip, breath moist on her cheek. A bold of stunned rage arced through the older woman. Brenda couldn’t possibly think this was what Sharon required from her in order to do her job, to help her and salvage her career? Sharon’s hands found the blonde’s hips and tried to shove her away, but Brenda’s hands had fisted in the front of her blazer and her mouth had latched onto the tendon at the side of Sharon’s neck, sucking so furiously that she’d leave a bruise on the pale flesh.
“Please please please,” Brenda breathed against her skin. “Please, I need this.” Those cold fingers were tugging Sharon’s blouse from beneath the waistband of her trousers, greedily exploring the warm, soft flesh of her abdomen. “Help me, Sharon.”
And then the captain knew. Her own fingers tangled in loose blonde locks, bringing that wide mouth back to hers. “I’ll help you,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
That first time had been a misunderstanding, a miscommunication, the kind of thing you laughed about later.
Except that it hadn’t.
2. Vedere
“Captain, I need to see you in my office.”
It became a code. The chief always phrased it exactly the same way.
The captain never said no.
There was little talking at all; they talked to one another enough at other times. Here words were not the primary medium of communication. Few were necessary: there, yes, like that, harder, slower.
It was disturbingly easy, with the activity and ringing phones and office banter just beyond the door. It was always more or less fast, more or less tidy -- you didn’t want to spend half an hour afterwards picking up papers, pens, paperclips.
It was, for the captain, always an expected surprise. For the deputy chief it was an exercise in self-control, riding out the lust that surged through her whenever she glimpsed that cascade of dark hair, the cut of those short wool skirts, the sharp line of those razor-creased pinstripe trousers, and most of all, the knowing glint in those moss-colored eyes.
Once a month, at first. It was enough to have Sharon, half-undressed and slick with arousal, writhing beneath her on the desk, plunging inside her while Brenda trembled against the wall, once a month.
She was in control. She wasn’t an addict.
Then three weeks. Then, predictably, two.
Long, elegant fingers playing over her swollen clit, dragging precisely through pink, puffy folds. Soft, moist lips, slick with some expensive lipstick, sucking a turgid nipple. The taste of herself on that tender, talented tongue.
“I want to see you,” Brenda grated out at last, one palm caressing Sharon’s breast through the demi-cup of her lacy ivory bra. “I need to be able to see you.”
Sharon blinked slowly, her breath hitching as two fingers drove into her body with aching, perfect slowness. She bit her lip hard. “I’m right here.”
“All of you.” Dark eyes focused on her face with a sort of greedy tenderness. “There has to be somewhere we can go --” She hesitated, embarrassed and unsure, on the verge of suggesting they go to a hotel.
The older woman had tensed, gazing incredulously into that pointed, elfin face.
“Sharon?” Brenda breathed, afraid she’d ruined this, whatever this was, whatever you were supposed to call fucking your colleague on your desk.
“When?”
The blonde suddenly found herself on her back. “Soon. Next week. Saturday. Fritz is goin’ to visit his sister. Can you --?”
“I’ll arrange it,” Sharon replied brusquely, as if she weren’t buried inside the smaller woman’s body. “I don’t want to end up at the Motel 6.”
They hadn’t, of course. Sharon had chosen a nce hotel, quiet and tasteful -- a serene setting for the two women to fuck each other stupid.
They’d been desperate, eager, insatiable. Sharon wrapped herself in the delectable sensation of having all of Brenda’s smooth golden skin rubbing against hers. They kissed and touched for hours and ordered room service. There was no need to hurry.
Brenda had intended to go home Sunday morning. Instead Monday morning found her at work in slightly rumpled cothes, with her ruined panties shoved down to the bottom of her ubiquitous bag. Her thighs ached.
It wasn’t enough.
The next morning she sat in her office watching the clock. Fritz’s plane was due to be landing any minute.
She picked up the phone and dialed an extension she knew by heart.
“Captain, I need to see you in my office.”
“Soon, chief.” She could tell the other woman was smiling, could hear it in her voice. “Soon.”
3. Insistere
“I insist.” Willie Rae Johnson smiled as she gestured toward the vacant seat at the table. “There’s plenty of food. You and your sergeant join us.”
Kathleen Elliott exchanged a wordless look of alarm with her superior officer. “Ah, what’s the occasion?” the younger woman inquired politely.
It wasn’t the first time Sharon had seen the murder room turned into an impromptu banquet hall, but she certainly hadn’t expected it on a random Tuesday evening. It wasn’t Brenda’s birthday; she was sure, given the quality time she’d spent with the chief’s personnel file.
“The occasion,” Brenda began, sounding slightly brittle, “is that my mama made too much food. Please join us.” She looked at Sharon as she spoke,and the captain understood that the request was a sincere one.
“Move down, Lieutenant,” the blonde continued, addressing Andy Flynn. “Make room for Captain Raydor.”
The seat in question was next to Brenda’s own place. Andy’s countenance took on a truculent cast, but he slid down. Sharon watched Willie Rae heap a plate with baked ham, creamed corn, fried okra, and cornbread.
“There, dear,” she said, placing it before the brunette. “Can I get you some sweet tea?”
After she’d takn a few bites, Sharon addressed Brenda sotto voce. “I ddn’t know your parents were coming.”
“Not my parents, just my mama.” Brenda glanced to where the silver-haired woman was holding court with Provenza and Buzz. “And neither did I. Besides, I haven’t seen you lately.”
Sharon refrained from pointing out that their two divisions had just finished working a case together. She knew that wasn’t what Brenda had meant. After more than three months of hotel-room trysts, Brenda had suddenly stopped calling, and Brenda wasn’t one to wait by the phone.
“You’ve been busy, no doubt,” she replied evenly. The tea was sweet and sticky on her tongue and made her think of burying her face between the blonde’s legs. She took a large bite of cornbread.
“Yes, I have.” Brenda’s voice faltered. “I signed the papers last week. That’s the real reason Mama’s hear, to see for herself if I’m fallin’ apart.”
Sharon hummed. This was the first actual mention of Brenda’s divorce that either of them had made. The chief wasn’t wearing her ring, and Sharon had known the departmental scuttlebutt was true; but she hadn’t asked, and didn’t intend to. The last time they’d seen each other, the diamond and gold band had been very much in evidence. When she saw him, Agent Howard still treated Captain Raydor with his customary polite distance. She assumed that was all she needed to know.
“I wanted to see you -- call you, I mean. But I wasn’t sure...”
Brenda trailed off and Sharon let her squirm for a long moment. “Chief?”
“Don’t do that.” Brenda was cutting her ham into small pieces rather than eating it. “I’ve mised you.”
Sharon responded with that even, unfazed gaze she did so well. “My office is two floors up. Force Investigation Division. I believe you’re familiar with it.”
The chief pursed her lips. “That woulda been just the time and place, wouldn’t it? And then you just disappeared for two weeks and Will told me you’d gone on vacation -- right in the middle of this Goldman mess, and I had to hear it from him!”
Sharon cut her eyes. “I had to deal with a family matter,” she said steadily.
Brenda’s expression altered. “Is everythin’ okay?”
The captain nodded, offering no details, eyes downcast
“Well, that’s good.”
The two women ate silently, conversation flowing around them.
“Y’all go on home once you’ve finished,” Brenda said finally, addressing her team. “We don’t have anything to do that can’t wait ‘til tomorrow. You go on too, Mama -- I’ll clean up here. I need to talk to Captain Raydor.”
If Sharon was surprised, it didn’t show on her face. Brenda didn’t think she could be surprised, not after the heat that had raged between them for the past seven months. She had to know how badly the deputy chief still wanted her; she had to feel it too.
Apparently she did, enough that she was willing to take a chance that was wholly unlike her. Brenda was rinsing silverware in the breakroom’s sink when hands roughly grabbed her wrists, pinning them, wet and soapy, behind her back, and Sharon’s mouth descended, attacking her neck. The chief cried out in surprise.
“Don’t,” Sharon breathed in her ear. “You were waiting for me. Is this what you wanted to ‘talk’ about?”
“Yes,” Brenda whimpered. “No. I want to talk to you. Oh, Sharon --”
The taller woman’s fingers plucked at her nipple and Brenda squirmed, rocking her hips into the cradle of Sharon’s. She could feel her captain’s tantalizing heat.
“Are you wet for me?” The tone was one of command. This, plainly, was a different Sharon; this was Captain Raydor.
“Yes,” Brenda groaned shamelessly, grinding back against the other woman. It had been too long. She’d yearned for Sharon’s hands, her mouth, her whiskey voice.
“I know what you want.” Sharon released Brenda’s wrists, the hand that had been holding them sweeping down to her thigh ad back up, under the younger woman’s ugly rayon skirt. She cupped Brenda through her underwear, and yes, it was what the blonde wanted, but she wanted so much more too.
“My office,” Brenda gasped. “We can --”
“No.” Sharon thrust two fingers into her, and Brenda wasn’t quite ready, but after the first painful stretch moisture gushed to coat the invading digits.
“Oh, God, Sharon.” Brenda gripped the sink in front of her. “I shoulda called.”
At any other time Sharon would have laughed; instead she scissored her fingers and rubbed steadily against Brenda’s clit, her hand hidden from view beneath the speckled fabric of the skirt. Brenda bucked. The dishes in the sink rattled.
“Can’t reach you,” the younger woman complained, remembering crisp sheets and dry white wine and mile-long legs. She leaned over the sink and ground her ass into the captain, feeling as much of her as she could through the layers of their clothing.
The intense tingling, nearly painful, took her by surprise and made her legs tremble. “Sharon, Sharon --”
“I know.”
Th taller woman’s hold gentle as Brenda exploded, holding her up, holding her close. Brenda found herself leaning forward, dizzily, her arms folded on the edge of the sink. She realized the water was stil running.
“Sharon,” she said again. An arm reached around her, wrenching the tap shut. When she tried to turn around, the captain held her in place.
“You didn’t call,” murmured that whiskey voice, reproachful.
“You left me,” Brenda returned, her legs still weak. “I didn’t have anybody I could trust.”
“I’m here.”
“So am I.”
This time Sharon not only let the smaller woman turn, but lowered her head to rest her cheek on Brenda’s shoulder. When Brenda tangled her fingers in the captain’s hair, it felt like rough silk.
4. Fermarsi
She was glad to hear that Brenda Leigh hadn’t been murdered by Marvin Edmonds. She contemplated killing her herself.
Sharon had let her go alone only when it had been made clear to her that she had no choice. The deputy chief hadn’t waned her presence. She’d been Captain Raydor then, carefully and literally kept at arm’s length.
But Brenda had been only too glad to let Agent Howard storm in and save the day.
5. Proibire
The deputy chief was eyeing her across the crime scene, the two of them battened in together by the dual layers of red and yellow crime scene tape. The captain could feel her watchful gaze as she knelt over the body of a 6’7”, heavily-tattooed banger.
“All right,” she said to Sergeant Peterson, glancing up. “Talk to Lieutenant Tao about the ballistics.”
When she shifted, her black trench coat gaped open, revealing the neckline of the black sequined cocktail dress she wore beneath it. Dark brown eyes bored into hers like lasers, and Sharon didn’t bother pretending she didn’t care. She hadn’t dressed for the other woman and it was entirely coincidental that Brenda was getting an eyeful of the revealing dress, just this side of tasteful, and four-inch heels, but Sharon was vengefully glad to feel her staring.
That’s right, she thought snidely as she walked over to the Major Crimes area, it’s Saturday night, and I wasn’t home knitting. It was the look of amazed surprise that both gave her the thrill and the accompanying throb of deep, burning anger.
Brenda didn’t say anything unprofessional, but hostility rolled off her in palpable waves as the two women worked more or less side by side. When they’d finally finished, he blonde turned to her abruptly. “You need a ride home, captain?”
She’d taken a cab, so she did. The chief nodded toward her car.
In the quiet interior she finally said, “You’re awfully dressed up for crime scene, capt’n.”
Sharon smiled thinly. “And here I left my fox fur at home in an attempt to be subtle.”
The other woman’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Hot date?”
Sharon hummed.
After another moment, Brenda could stand it no longer. “Where were you?”
“A cocktail reception at the Getty, for benefactors.”
“You’re a benefactor of the Getty?”
Well might the chief sound surprised. Captains didn’t make that much, especially not captains with two kids in college. “My date.”
Brenda fidgeted behind the steering wheel and Sharon awaited the inevitable.
“What’s her name?”
The brunette’s lips quirked. “Henry.”
The steering wheel dawdled. “I -- You date men? I thought -- Aren’t you a lesbian?”
“Are you?” Sharon shot back, and Brenda was silent for several miles.
“I didn’t know you were seein’ anybody.”
This time Sharon permitted herself a dry chuckle. “It never came up.”
Mentally she dared the younger woman to utter the slightest breath in protest.
The remainder of the drive was oppressively quiet.
The captain was letting herself out into her driveway when Brenda’s low voice stopped her. “You look really beautiful tonight.”
Sharon lowered her chin slightly, listening.
“Gabriel tried to set me up with a friend of his. Can you believe that? I didn’t go.”
Sharon gripped the door handle until it cut into her palm. She considered kissing Brenda good night, even just on the cheek. When she’d kissed Henry he had smelled of spice ad soap. Brenda would smell of stale coffee and fatigue, too many hours spent standing in a parking lot. Her mouth watered.
“Maybe next time you should take him up on the offer,” she said abruptly, and got out of the car.
Category: The Closer
Pairing: Brenda/Sharon
Rating: M
A couple of months ago I set myself a little challenge: I flipped open my book of Italian verbs, randomly selected twelve, and wrote something inspired by each one. (Well, okay, I cheated because two of the verbs were synonyms, but whatever; report me to the fanfic police). The result is Misunderstandings, a series of connected ficlets and drabbles. I'd strongly suggest reading them in order, as they do form a narrative :) The title of each section is the relevant verb, but I haven't translated them. Many of the ficlets are very loosely connected to the verbs, and some are connected in a way that I'm fairly certain only makes sense in my brain, so I promise it's not taking anything away from the story. And now, on with the show.
Summary: It had all been a misunderstanding that first time, a miscommunication. The kind of thing you laughed about later, if you didn't get fired, or sued, or both. The second time, the third time, the tenth time: those were a bit harder to explain.
1. Aiutare
It had all been a misunderstanding that first time, a miscommunication. The kind of thing you laughed about later, if you didn’t get fired, or sued, or both.
Sharon Raydor stared at her reflection in the surprisingly clean mirror above the dingy bathroom sink, vaguely aware of the sounds of conversation, music, and rattling glassware just beyond the locked door. She was certain she wasn’t the first patron to fight the urge to vomit in the ladies’ room, but she doubted she was the only one who’d had only one drink -- a beer, of all things. The captain didn’t even really like beer, but then, this wasn’t her pity party; it was Chief Johnson’s.
The captain had slipped away from the victory party earlier that evening after the judge’s dismissal of the Baylor suit. The blonde deputy chief had vanished some time before, and Sharon was acutely aware that she was cramping everyone else’s style. She didn’t mind. She’d had her little plastic cup filled with champagne, had politely refused a slice of cake, and, much more satisfyingly, the chief had gripped her hand and said, “Thank you, Captain -- Sharon. Thank you so much for all you’ve done.” Sharon couldn’t pinpoint exactly when a few heartfelt words of gratitude from the other woman had become a sufficient reward for months of intense labor, but it had happened. She’d been planning to go home, turn off her phone (just this once), order herself a thin-crust pizza, and drink an entire bottle of Shiraz in celebration.
“Ca -- captain?”
Brenda’s tone was so different from what it had been only moments before that Sharon had actually spun on her heel. The younger woman hadn’t bothered with a smile; if anything she looked to be on the verge of tears. “Captain,” she’d repeated. “Sharon. I’ve got to get out of here. Come have a drink?”
At the time it hadn’t even struck Sharon as odd that the chief had been seeking out her companionship, leaving Agent Howard behind and, presumably, clueless. All the captain had known was that the day’s “victory” suddenly rang hollow.
“It will be all right,” she’d said steadily after the blonde had recounted the tale of Goldman’s crusade and the new suit. “It will be all right, Brenda. We’ll take care of it.”
Having downed her first vodka and cranberry as if it were water, Brenda had fixed Sharon with swimming dark eyes. “You’ll still help me?”
Sharon had been taken aback. “Of course I will. It’s my job.”
The younger woman had winced. “You’ve just been tryin’ to help me all these months, and I’ve been awful.” Her gaze dropped to the surface of the small, high table between them. “I think you’re the only one who can help me, Sharon. Nobody else knows how.”
She hadn’t known how either -- how to answer -- so she’d waited while Brenda ordered and inhaled a second drink.
“It isn’t just a job.”
Sharon had smiled very slightly at that. “Certainly no one doubts your commitment, chief.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “I meant for you. Is it just a job? Is that why you’ve worked so hard to help me, even when I didn’t want it?”
There was something penetrating in that slightly inebriated gaze. It made Sharon’s heart thump unpleasantly, and she sipped her beer. “I believe in my work.”
“And me?” Brenda had persisted. “Do you believe in me?”
The captain blinked, wishing she’d worn her glasses for the protective barrier they provided. “I think your... methods are unconventional, chief. But yes, I do.”
Brenda had grabbed her hand as suddenly as a copperhead strikes. “Brenda,” she said fiercely. “Call me Brenda, Sharon.”
“Okay,” the older woman had replied slowly, cautiously. “Okay, Brenda.”
She’d expected the chief to release her hand, but the other woman’s grip had tightened, her other hand joining the first and completely covering Sharon’s long, pale digits. Her skin prickled as if someone were tickling her.
“Sharon, do you like me?”
The captain had felt her own eyes widen, and then narrow. It was an innocent, if drunken, question; it didn’t mean anything. Brenda, so awfully perceptive in the interview room, was still oblivious.
“I like you,” Brenda had continued, a little tremolo in her sweet, rough voice. “That’s why I know I can ask you for what I need. For help.” She’d begun toying with Sharon’s fingers, and looked down at them splayed over the table before looking back into Sharon’s eyes. “You -- you understand. No one else does, not my boys, not Will. Not even Fritz.” Brenda had been leaning forward, and the older woman would’ve sworn there was a breathless catch in her voice to math the flush on her cheeks. “Only you, Sharon. You’re the only one who can give me what I... need.”
She couldn’t even claim she’d acted without thinking. Sharon never acted without thinking, and she’d thought -- she’d known, in that moment -- that she and Brenda Leigh Johnson understood each other perfectly. There was no way she could refuse to give the other woman what she was asking for.
Brenda’s lips were silky smooth, with just the slightest trace of stickiness from the cranberry juice, as Sharon’s tongue swept past them. She didn’t hesitate; she wasn’t tentative. She’d wanted this for too long. At first the fantasy had been punitive: she’d seize the impossible deputy chief and kiss her stupid just to shut her up, show her once and for all that in some things rank didn’t matter. Gradually it had become something else, a blur of heat and want and soft tongues and gentle sights, clutching at curves and fabric and holding one another up.
Brenda had jerked away so suddenly that their lips unsealed with a pop. Sharon blinked stupidly as she took in astonished chocolate eyes and that pretty, wide mouth forming a perfectly round ‘o’ of surprise. “Sharon,” she’d gasped. “Captain! What on earth are you doin’?”
Sharon had frozen with horror. “Ch-chief,” she’d managed. “Brenda --”
She got no further, her stomach clenching. Her shin banged painfully into her stool as she bolted blindly in what she hoped was the direction of the bathroom, too horrified by her own gross misjudgment to be ashamed of fleeing.
That had been maybe ten minutes ago. Sharon continued to stare at her pale, set features in the mirror, not really seeing anything except that expression of stunned surprise on the other woman’s face. Oh, fuck.
Someone banged on the door, not for the first time. “Use the men’s,” the captain shouted.
“Sharon?”
Double fuck. So much for the halfhearted hope that Brenda would also want to exit stage left as quickly as possible, and would just call a cab.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Sharon grimaced. Oh, yeah, fan-fuckin’-tastic.
“Come on, captain. You’ve got a line of impatient women out here.”
The brunette took a deep breath and, with a shaking hand, twisted the lock. She barely looked at Brenda, registering only that they were alone in the hallway.
“Maybe just one impatient woman,” the blonde admitted with a weak grin.
Sharon swallowed hard. “Chief. I’m terribly sorry for the -- misunderstanding and my behavior. I can only say that I made a grave error in judgment due to... circumstances. I understand if you feel it necessary to report my misconduct; however, I --”
The blonde grabbed her arm, wide-eyed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m not gonna tell Will.”
The captain swallowed again, and it turned into a desperate gulp of air. “Thank you. I -- I hope to show you that my professional integrity hadn’t been compromised in any way. My desire to, um, help you to the utmost of my ability is sincere.” She shoved her hands into her pants pockets, desperately awkward, and Brenda cocked her head, eying her with a calm, disturbingly knowing expression. She almost looked amused.
“I know that, Sharon. Would you mind givin’ me a ride home?”
So, the captain thought vaguely, dazed, that was it. The deputy chief was going to be generous enough to let this go. She assured herself that she was relieved. As they stepped outside, two pairs of high-heeled footsteps rang hollowly on the sidewalk.
“Sharon?”
She looked back to see that the younger woman had stopped and was standing forlornly, staring at her. Her giant shoulder bag dangled from the fingers of one hand.
“Chief? Are you all right?” She hadn’t had enough to drink to make her sick, but perhaps combined with the roller-coaster emotions of the day -- As Sharon efficiently shouldered the other woman’s bag (which weighed a ton), she wondered if they’d be even if Brenda Leigh vomited on her dry-clean-only suit.
“Help me, Sharon,” the blonde whispered frantically as the taller woman took her arm to guide her to the car. Wide, liquid eyes fastened on Sharon’s face, and Brenda’s cold fingers gripped Sharon’s wrist. “I need you. Help me.”
“It’s okay,” the captain soothed. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. We’ll figure it all out, Brenda.”
The brick facade of the building seemed to slam into her back rather than the other way around. She registered the rough surface picking at the fine fabric of her jacket, and then Brenda’s open mouth was on hers, hot and urgent and sloppy, teeth grazing her lower lip, breath moist on her cheek. A bold of stunned rage arced through the older woman. Brenda couldn’t possibly think this was what Sharon required from her in order to do her job, to help her and salvage her career? Sharon’s hands found the blonde’s hips and tried to shove her away, but Brenda’s hands had fisted in the front of her blazer and her mouth had latched onto the tendon at the side of Sharon’s neck, sucking so furiously that she’d leave a bruise on the pale flesh.
“Please please please,” Brenda breathed against her skin. “Please, I need this.” Those cold fingers were tugging Sharon’s blouse from beneath the waistband of her trousers, greedily exploring the warm, soft flesh of her abdomen. “Help me, Sharon.”
And then the captain knew. Her own fingers tangled in loose blonde locks, bringing that wide mouth back to hers. “I’ll help you,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
That first time had been a misunderstanding, a miscommunication, the kind of thing you laughed about later.
Except that it hadn’t.
2. Vedere
“Captain, I need to see you in my office.”
It became a code. The chief always phrased it exactly the same way.
The captain never said no.
There was little talking at all; they talked to one another enough at other times. Here words were not the primary medium of communication. Few were necessary: there, yes, like that, harder, slower.
It was disturbingly easy, with the activity and ringing phones and office banter just beyond the door. It was always more or less fast, more or less tidy -- you didn’t want to spend half an hour afterwards picking up papers, pens, paperclips.
It was, for the captain, always an expected surprise. For the deputy chief it was an exercise in self-control, riding out the lust that surged through her whenever she glimpsed that cascade of dark hair, the cut of those short wool skirts, the sharp line of those razor-creased pinstripe trousers, and most of all, the knowing glint in those moss-colored eyes.
Once a month, at first. It was enough to have Sharon, half-undressed and slick with arousal, writhing beneath her on the desk, plunging inside her while Brenda trembled against the wall, once a month.
She was in control. She wasn’t an addict.
Then three weeks. Then, predictably, two.
Long, elegant fingers playing over her swollen clit, dragging precisely through pink, puffy folds. Soft, moist lips, slick with some expensive lipstick, sucking a turgid nipple. The taste of herself on that tender, talented tongue.
“I want to see you,” Brenda grated out at last, one palm caressing Sharon’s breast through the demi-cup of her lacy ivory bra. “I need to be able to see you.”
Sharon blinked slowly, her breath hitching as two fingers drove into her body with aching, perfect slowness. She bit her lip hard. “I’m right here.”
“All of you.” Dark eyes focused on her face with a sort of greedy tenderness. “There has to be somewhere we can go --” She hesitated, embarrassed and unsure, on the verge of suggesting they go to a hotel.
The older woman had tensed, gazing incredulously into that pointed, elfin face.
“Sharon?” Brenda breathed, afraid she’d ruined this, whatever this was, whatever you were supposed to call fucking your colleague on your desk.
“When?”
The blonde suddenly found herself on her back. “Soon. Next week. Saturday. Fritz is goin’ to visit his sister. Can you --?”
“I’ll arrange it,” Sharon replied brusquely, as if she weren’t buried inside the smaller woman’s body. “I don’t want to end up at the Motel 6.”
They hadn’t, of course. Sharon had chosen a nce hotel, quiet and tasteful -- a serene setting for the two women to fuck each other stupid.
They’d been desperate, eager, insatiable. Sharon wrapped herself in the delectable sensation of having all of Brenda’s smooth golden skin rubbing against hers. They kissed and touched for hours and ordered room service. There was no need to hurry.
Brenda had intended to go home Sunday morning. Instead Monday morning found her at work in slightly rumpled cothes, with her ruined panties shoved down to the bottom of her ubiquitous bag. Her thighs ached.
It wasn’t enough.
The next morning she sat in her office watching the clock. Fritz’s plane was due to be landing any minute.
She picked up the phone and dialed an extension she knew by heart.
“Captain, I need to see you in my office.”
“Soon, chief.” She could tell the other woman was smiling, could hear it in her voice. “Soon.”
3. Insistere
“I insist.” Willie Rae Johnson smiled as she gestured toward the vacant seat at the table. “There’s plenty of food. You and your sergeant join us.”
Kathleen Elliott exchanged a wordless look of alarm with her superior officer. “Ah, what’s the occasion?” the younger woman inquired politely.
It wasn’t the first time Sharon had seen the murder room turned into an impromptu banquet hall, but she certainly hadn’t expected it on a random Tuesday evening. It wasn’t Brenda’s birthday; she was sure, given the quality time she’d spent with the chief’s personnel file.
“The occasion,” Brenda began, sounding slightly brittle, “is that my mama made too much food. Please join us.” She looked at Sharon as she spoke,and the captain understood that the request was a sincere one.
“Move down, Lieutenant,” the blonde continued, addressing Andy Flynn. “Make room for Captain Raydor.”
The seat in question was next to Brenda’s own place. Andy’s countenance took on a truculent cast, but he slid down. Sharon watched Willie Rae heap a plate with baked ham, creamed corn, fried okra, and cornbread.
“There, dear,” she said, placing it before the brunette. “Can I get you some sweet tea?”
After she’d takn a few bites, Sharon addressed Brenda sotto voce. “I ddn’t know your parents were coming.”
“Not my parents, just my mama.” Brenda glanced to where the silver-haired woman was holding court with Provenza and Buzz. “And neither did I. Besides, I haven’t seen you lately.”
Sharon refrained from pointing out that their two divisions had just finished working a case together. She knew that wasn’t what Brenda had meant. After more than three months of hotel-room trysts, Brenda had suddenly stopped calling, and Brenda wasn’t one to wait by the phone.
“You’ve been busy, no doubt,” she replied evenly. The tea was sweet and sticky on her tongue and made her think of burying her face between the blonde’s legs. She took a large bite of cornbread.
“Yes, I have.” Brenda’s voice faltered. “I signed the papers last week. That’s the real reason Mama’s hear, to see for herself if I’m fallin’ apart.”
Sharon hummed. This was the first actual mention of Brenda’s divorce that either of them had made. The chief wasn’t wearing her ring, and Sharon had known the departmental scuttlebutt was true; but she hadn’t asked, and didn’t intend to. The last time they’d seen each other, the diamond and gold band had been very much in evidence. When she saw him, Agent Howard still treated Captain Raydor with his customary polite distance. She assumed that was all she needed to know.
“I wanted to see you -- call you, I mean. But I wasn’t sure...”
Brenda trailed off and Sharon let her squirm for a long moment. “Chief?”
“Don’t do that.” Brenda was cutting her ham into small pieces rather than eating it. “I’ve mised you.”
Sharon responded with that even, unfazed gaze she did so well. “My office is two floors up. Force Investigation Division. I believe you’re familiar with it.”
The chief pursed her lips. “That woulda been just the time and place, wouldn’t it? And then you just disappeared for two weeks and Will told me you’d gone on vacation -- right in the middle of this Goldman mess, and I had to hear it from him!”
Sharon cut her eyes. “I had to deal with a family matter,” she said steadily.
Brenda’s expression altered. “Is everythin’ okay?”
The captain nodded, offering no details, eyes downcast
“Well, that’s good.”
The two women ate silently, conversation flowing around them.
“Y’all go on home once you’ve finished,” Brenda said finally, addressing her team. “We don’t have anything to do that can’t wait ‘til tomorrow. You go on too, Mama -- I’ll clean up here. I need to talk to Captain Raydor.”
If Sharon was surprised, it didn’t show on her face. Brenda didn’t think she could be surprised, not after the heat that had raged between them for the past seven months. She had to know how badly the deputy chief still wanted her; she had to feel it too.
Apparently she did, enough that she was willing to take a chance that was wholly unlike her. Brenda was rinsing silverware in the breakroom’s sink when hands roughly grabbed her wrists, pinning them, wet and soapy, behind her back, and Sharon’s mouth descended, attacking her neck. The chief cried out in surprise.
“Don’t,” Sharon breathed in her ear. “You were waiting for me. Is this what you wanted to ‘talk’ about?”
“Yes,” Brenda whimpered. “No. I want to talk to you. Oh, Sharon --”
The taller woman’s fingers plucked at her nipple and Brenda squirmed, rocking her hips into the cradle of Sharon’s. She could feel her captain’s tantalizing heat.
“Are you wet for me?” The tone was one of command. This, plainly, was a different Sharon; this was Captain Raydor.
“Yes,” Brenda groaned shamelessly, grinding back against the other woman. It had been too long. She’d yearned for Sharon’s hands, her mouth, her whiskey voice.
“I know what you want.” Sharon released Brenda’s wrists, the hand that had been holding them sweeping down to her thigh ad back up, under the younger woman’s ugly rayon skirt. She cupped Brenda through her underwear, and yes, it was what the blonde wanted, but she wanted so much more too.
“My office,” Brenda gasped. “We can --”
“No.” Sharon thrust two fingers into her, and Brenda wasn’t quite ready, but after the first painful stretch moisture gushed to coat the invading digits.
“Oh, God, Sharon.” Brenda gripped the sink in front of her. “I shoulda called.”
At any other time Sharon would have laughed; instead she scissored her fingers and rubbed steadily against Brenda’s clit, her hand hidden from view beneath the speckled fabric of the skirt. Brenda bucked. The dishes in the sink rattled.
“Can’t reach you,” the younger woman complained, remembering crisp sheets and dry white wine and mile-long legs. She leaned over the sink and ground her ass into the captain, feeling as much of her as she could through the layers of their clothing.
The intense tingling, nearly painful, took her by surprise and made her legs tremble. “Sharon, Sharon --”
“I know.”
Th taller woman’s hold gentle as Brenda exploded, holding her up, holding her close. Brenda found herself leaning forward, dizzily, her arms folded on the edge of the sink. She realized the water was stil running.
“Sharon,” she said again. An arm reached around her, wrenching the tap shut. When she tried to turn around, the captain held her in place.
“You didn’t call,” murmured that whiskey voice, reproachful.
“You left me,” Brenda returned, her legs still weak. “I didn’t have anybody I could trust.”
“I’m here.”
“So am I.”
This time Sharon not only let the smaller woman turn, but lowered her head to rest her cheek on Brenda’s shoulder. When Brenda tangled her fingers in the captain’s hair, it felt like rough silk.
4. Fermarsi
She was glad to hear that Brenda Leigh hadn’t been murdered by Marvin Edmonds. She contemplated killing her herself.
Sharon had let her go alone only when it had been made clear to her that she had no choice. The deputy chief hadn’t waned her presence. She’d been Captain Raydor then, carefully and literally kept at arm’s length.
But Brenda had been only too glad to let Agent Howard storm in and save the day.
5. Proibire
The deputy chief was eyeing her across the crime scene, the two of them battened in together by the dual layers of red and yellow crime scene tape. The captain could feel her watchful gaze as she knelt over the body of a 6’7”, heavily-tattooed banger.
“All right,” she said to Sergeant Peterson, glancing up. “Talk to Lieutenant Tao about the ballistics.”
When she shifted, her black trench coat gaped open, revealing the neckline of the black sequined cocktail dress she wore beneath it. Dark brown eyes bored into hers like lasers, and Sharon didn’t bother pretending she didn’t care. She hadn’t dressed for the other woman and it was entirely coincidental that Brenda was getting an eyeful of the revealing dress, just this side of tasteful, and four-inch heels, but Sharon was vengefully glad to feel her staring.
That’s right, she thought snidely as she walked over to the Major Crimes area, it’s Saturday night, and I wasn’t home knitting. It was the look of amazed surprise that both gave her the thrill and the accompanying throb of deep, burning anger.
Brenda didn’t say anything unprofessional, but hostility rolled off her in palpable waves as the two women worked more or less side by side. When they’d finally finished, he blonde turned to her abruptly. “You need a ride home, captain?”
She’d taken a cab, so she did. The chief nodded toward her car.
In the quiet interior she finally said, “You’re awfully dressed up for crime scene, capt’n.”
Sharon smiled thinly. “And here I left my fox fur at home in an attempt to be subtle.”
The other woman’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Hot date?”
Sharon hummed.
After another moment, Brenda could stand it no longer. “Where were you?”
“A cocktail reception at the Getty, for benefactors.”
“You’re a benefactor of the Getty?”
Well might the chief sound surprised. Captains didn’t make that much, especially not captains with two kids in college. “My date.”
Brenda fidgeted behind the steering wheel and Sharon awaited the inevitable.
“What’s her name?”
The brunette’s lips quirked. “Henry.”
The steering wheel dawdled. “I -- You date men? I thought -- Aren’t you a lesbian?”
“Are you?” Sharon shot back, and Brenda was silent for several miles.
“I didn’t know you were seein’ anybody.”
This time Sharon permitted herself a dry chuckle. “It never came up.”
Mentally she dared the younger woman to utter the slightest breath in protest.
The remainder of the drive was oppressively quiet.
The captain was letting herself out into her driveway when Brenda’s low voice stopped her. “You look really beautiful tonight.”
Sharon lowered her chin slightly, listening.
“Gabriel tried to set me up with a friend of his. Can you believe that? I didn’t go.”
Sharon gripped the door handle until it cut into her palm. She considered kissing Brenda good night, even just on the cheek. When she’d kissed Henry he had smelled of spice ad soap. Brenda would smell of stale coffee and fatigue, too many hours spent standing in a parking lot. Her mouth watered.
“Maybe next time you should take him up on the offer,” she said abruptly, and got out of the car.