Fic: Break Down - K is for Kill
Title: Break Down - K is for Kill
Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Sharon Raydor
Fandom: Major Crimes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,402
Summary: After Sharon has had to fire her gun, she is in need of some support
Prompt: K is for Kill for lady_blackwell
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for the ABC challenge on tumblr.
The water was scalding as it beat down on her body, burning her skin, turning it red. It soaked her hair, running over her face, causing her make-up to be smeared. Steam was billowing around her, fogging up the mirror, but Sharon was shivering under the steady stream. She didn’t feel the water. She felt numb and weak as if her legs were going to give out from underneath her and she was going to collapse. Wouldn’t that be something? Sharon Raydor, captain of the Major Crimes unit, unconscious in her shower.
She covered her face with her hands, forcing back any tears that might threaten to fall. Why would she cry? It wasn’t the first time she had shot someone. It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone either. But it had been years, decades since she had last had the need to pull the trigger, beanbag guns notwithstanding. She didn’t remember it making quite such an impact on her before. She kept playing it over and over again in her head.
The words she had shouted at him, ordering him, pleading him to lower his gun. She could still hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, throwing off her concentration, her will to stop the boy. He was so young, only sixteen, but he had gotten enrolled into some gang and had ended up shooting three people. He had raised his gun to her and Sharon had pulled the trigger. Twice. And she had watched him sag to the floor.
A watered down red disappeared down the drain. Her victim’s blood that Sharon had gotten on her hands when she had tried to stop the bleeding; the splatters that had ended up on her face as he had coughed up the blood that had ended up his lungs and had breathed his last breath. It was washing off her, but she didn’t feel clean. She had killed a sixteen year-old, a few months younger than Rusty.
For the first time since she had taken Rusty in, she was grateful that had been out of the house when she returned. He didn’t need to see her, wearing a boy’s blood. She looked down at her hands. There was not a trace of blood on them anymore and yet she had the feeling that it was still there, clinging to her.
She took her soap and practically smothered her hands with it, rubbing it on her skin until she had felt she had almost rubbed it into skin before she rinsed it off. It reminded her of the time, years ago, when she had played lady Macbeth in a high school play, trying to rid herself of the blood that wasn’t there anymore, until her skin turned raw and she drove herself mad.
“Sharon?” Brenda’s voice was soft, questioning. If Sharon didn’t know any better she thought the woman sounded scared, scared of what she had found when she had walked into Sharon’s bathroom. She should have known that someone would call the blonde and tell her what had happened. She should have know that Brenda would use the key Sharon had given her months ago.
She tried to smile at Brenda, who was looking at her with wide brown eyes, but she failed miserably and looked away. Instead she just wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get some warmth into her body that somehow the hot shower stream was failing to do. Trying to keep herself together. Brenda’s hand appeared into her line of sight and turned off the shower. A moment later a towel was thrown around her body and Brenda carefully maneuvered her out of the shower.
“What are you doing to yourself?” Brenda muttered, more to herself than to Sharon, sounding far too much like her Willie Ray. Sharon just stood frozen, her arms still around her body.
“I killed a sixteen year-old boy. I shot him,” Sharon stated. She knew she sounded cold and detached as if she were giving her statement to an FID officer. She would have to do that tomorrow. Sergeant Elliot had let her go home for the night. He had always had too much compassion for his own good. Brenda looked at her, brushing back some of the wet hairs that stuck to her forehead.
“I know. Andy told me,” Brenda replied, rubbing her hands over the towel covering her arms, bringing the first sparks of warmth back into her body. Andy Flynn. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that he had been the one to inform Brenda. Sharon shook her head and pushed Brenda’s hands away, stepping away from the blonde, the towel slipping off her shoulders.
“No, you don’t understand. I killed a child, younger than my own children, younger than Rusty. He was just a boy.” She couldn’t help it when her hands started trembling, her fingers and palms still raw and red from the rough treatment she had given them. It wasn’t until she felt drops falling on her chest that she realized she was crying. “He was just a boy,” she repeated weakly.
It took Brenda less than a second to close the distance between them and wrap her arms around Sharon, not caring that Sharon’s wet skin was soaking her clothes. Sharon couldn’t move for a moment. It had been so long since she had this, unconditional support from someone who wasn’t blood-related. Tentatively she grasped Brenda’s cardigan, holding her as she cried.
“Don’t blame yourself. From what I’ve been told, you did the right thing. FID will clear you. You did nothing wrong.” It was so easy to hear those words. So easy. But nearly impossible to believe. Brenda had never met his parents or his younger sister. She didn’t know that Sharon had torn a family apart because she couldn’t talk a boy out of trying to shoot her. “It’s alright. It’ll be alright.”
Sharon knew that Brenda was right. After a shooting, an officer had mandatory counseling. She knew the LAPD’s shrink, she even liked her. She would try to alleviate Sharon’s guilt, as would the members of her team. In the end, she would know that she had done the right thing. But she wasn’t ready to believe that right now. Not yet. It was still too fresh.
“I don’t normally break down like this,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little, when she had calmed down sufficiently. She wasn’t cold anymore, not here in Brenda’s arms. She felt somewhat like herself again despite the fact that she was definitely utterly emotionally drained and suddenly very aware that she was incredibly tired. All she wanted to do right now was crawl into bed and sleep for more than the four hours she usually got.
“Everybody needs a good cry every now and then,” Brenda said and pulled back from the embrace a little.
“I don’t,” Sharon sniffled. She never really allowed herself to properly cry. She hated it. It never made her feel better than before. It only made her feel weak and vulnerable. She hated it. Brenda smiled and wiped her thumbs over Sharon’s cheekbones, removing the remnants of her tears before she leaned in and kissed her softly.
“Yes, you do. You’re just stubborn,” Brenda countered with a smirk. Sharon raised an eyebrow, fully aware that it just didn’t have the same effect when she was naked and looking like a drowned cat.
“Uhm hi, kettle,” she said pointedly.
“Shut up and let me take care of you. Let’s get you dry, make you look less like a raccoon and we need put something on your hands. You did a real number on them.” Brenda carefully traced the red patches of on the back on her hands. It would take a while before those healed. The blonde moved away from her picked up the towel, throwing it around Sharon’s body again. “And then you’re going to sleep.”
“We’re going to sleep,” Sharon corrected Brenda as she pulled the towel tighter around her body. She wanted Brenda beside her in bed, her familiar warmth against her back, as she fell asleep. She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. She wouldn’t get a minute of sleep if she had to lie in her bed alone, desperately trying not think about the boy’s face when he had died in her arms.
“Yes, we’re going to sleep,” Brenda agreed with a smile.
Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Sharon Raydor
Fandom: Major Crimes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,402
Summary: After Sharon has had to fire her gun, she is in need of some support
Prompt: K is for Kill for lady_blackwell
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for the ABC challenge on tumblr.
The water was scalding as it beat down on her body, burning her skin, turning it red. It soaked her hair, running over her face, causing her make-up to be smeared. Steam was billowing around her, fogging up the mirror, but Sharon was shivering under the steady stream. She didn’t feel the water. She felt numb and weak as if her legs were going to give out from underneath her and she was going to collapse. Wouldn’t that be something? Sharon Raydor, captain of the Major Crimes unit, unconscious in her shower.
She covered her face with her hands, forcing back any tears that might threaten to fall. Why would she cry? It wasn’t the first time she had shot someone. It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone either. But it had been years, decades since she had last had the need to pull the trigger, beanbag guns notwithstanding. She didn’t remember it making quite such an impact on her before. She kept playing it over and over again in her head.
The words she had shouted at him, ordering him, pleading him to lower his gun. She could still hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, throwing off her concentration, her will to stop the boy. He was so young, only sixteen, but he had gotten enrolled into some gang and had ended up shooting three people. He had raised his gun to her and Sharon had pulled the trigger. Twice. And she had watched him sag to the floor.
A watered down red disappeared down the drain. Her victim’s blood that Sharon had gotten on her hands when she had tried to stop the bleeding; the splatters that had ended up on her face as he had coughed up the blood that had ended up his lungs and had breathed his last breath. It was washing off her, but she didn’t feel clean. She had killed a sixteen year-old, a few months younger than Rusty.
For the first time since she had taken Rusty in, she was grateful that had been out of the house when she returned. He didn’t need to see her, wearing a boy’s blood. She looked down at her hands. There was not a trace of blood on them anymore and yet she had the feeling that it was still there, clinging to her.
She took her soap and practically smothered her hands with it, rubbing it on her skin until she had felt she had almost rubbed it into skin before she rinsed it off. It reminded her of the time, years ago, when she had played lady Macbeth in a high school play, trying to rid herself of the blood that wasn’t there anymore, until her skin turned raw and she drove herself mad.
“Sharon?” Brenda’s voice was soft, questioning. If Sharon didn’t know any better she thought the woman sounded scared, scared of what she had found when she had walked into Sharon’s bathroom. She should have known that someone would call the blonde and tell her what had happened. She should have know that Brenda would use the key Sharon had given her months ago.
She tried to smile at Brenda, who was looking at her with wide brown eyes, but she failed miserably and looked away. Instead she just wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get some warmth into her body that somehow the hot shower stream was failing to do. Trying to keep herself together. Brenda’s hand appeared into her line of sight and turned off the shower. A moment later a towel was thrown around her body and Brenda carefully maneuvered her out of the shower.
“What are you doing to yourself?” Brenda muttered, more to herself than to Sharon, sounding far too much like her Willie Ray. Sharon just stood frozen, her arms still around her body.
“I killed a sixteen year-old boy. I shot him,” Sharon stated. She knew she sounded cold and detached as if she were giving her statement to an FID officer. She would have to do that tomorrow. Sergeant Elliot had let her go home for the night. He had always had too much compassion for his own good. Brenda looked at her, brushing back some of the wet hairs that stuck to her forehead.
“I know. Andy told me,” Brenda replied, rubbing her hands over the towel covering her arms, bringing the first sparks of warmth back into her body. Andy Flynn. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that he had been the one to inform Brenda. Sharon shook her head and pushed Brenda’s hands away, stepping away from the blonde, the towel slipping off her shoulders.
“No, you don’t understand. I killed a child, younger than my own children, younger than Rusty. He was just a boy.” She couldn’t help it when her hands started trembling, her fingers and palms still raw and red from the rough treatment she had given them. It wasn’t until she felt drops falling on her chest that she realized she was crying. “He was just a boy,” she repeated weakly.
It took Brenda less than a second to close the distance between them and wrap her arms around Sharon, not caring that Sharon’s wet skin was soaking her clothes. Sharon couldn’t move for a moment. It had been so long since she had this, unconditional support from someone who wasn’t blood-related. Tentatively she grasped Brenda’s cardigan, holding her as she cried.
“Don’t blame yourself. From what I’ve been told, you did the right thing. FID will clear you. You did nothing wrong.” It was so easy to hear those words. So easy. But nearly impossible to believe. Brenda had never met his parents or his younger sister. She didn’t know that Sharon had torn a family apart because she couldn’t talk a boy out of trying to shoot her. “It’s alright. It’ll be alright.”
Sharon knew that Brenda was right. After a shooting, an officer had mandatory counseling. She knew the LAPD’s shrink, she even liked her. She would try to alleviate Sharon’s guilt, as would the members of her team. In the end, she would know that she had done the right thing. But she wasn’t ready to believe that right now. Not yet. It was still too fresh.
“I don’t normally break down like this,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little, when she had calmed down sufficiently. She wasn’t cold anymore, not here in Brenda’s arms. She felt somewhat like herself again despite the fact that she was definitely utterly emotionally drained and suddenly very aware that she was incredibly tired. All she wanted to do right now was crawl into bed and sleep for more than the four hours she usually got.
“Everybody needs a good cry every now and then,” Brenda said and pulled back from the embrace a little.
“I don’t,” Sharon sniffled. She never really allowed herself to properly cry. She hated it. It never made her feel better than before. It only made her feel weak and vulnerable. She hated it. Brenda smiled and wiped her thumbs over Sharon’s cheekbones, removing the remnants of her tears before she leaned in and kissed her softly.
“Yes, you do. You’re just stubborn,” Brenda countered with a smirk. Sharon raised an eyebrow, fully aware that it just didn’t have the same effect when she was naked and looking like a drowned cat.
“Uhm hi, kettle,” she said pointedly.
“Shut up and let me take care of you. Let’s get you dry, make you look less like a raccoon and we need put something on your hands. You did a real number on them.” Brenda carefully traced the red patches of on the back on her hands. It would take a while before those healed. The blonde moved away from her picked up the towel, throwing it around Sharon’s body again. “And then you’re going to sleep.”
“We’re going to sleep,” Sharon corrected Brenda as she pulled the towel tighter around her body. She wanted Brenda beside her in bed, her familiar warmth against her back, as she fell asleep. She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. She wouldn’t get a minute of sleep if she had to lie in her bed alone, desperately trying not think about the boy’s face when he had died in her arms.
“Yes, we’re going to sleep,” Brenda agreed with a smile.