Unsolved Mystery | R | Major Crimes
Title: Unsolved Mystery
Prompt: Sharon runs into Brenda under embarrassing circumstances.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Challenge; E is for Embarrassed
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer/Major Crimes
Rating: R
Word Count: 881
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This did not turn out at all like I imagined. This is a little darker and a teensy bit more angsty than I planned...Let me know what you think!
-
Ducking beneath the crime scene tape, Sharon Raydor leaves the bloody hotel room, unable to unsee the lifeless glint in the two pairs of dead eyes that had greeted Major Crimes when they first entered the crime scene over 24 hours ago. Those bodies -- those people, Marla Sherry and Dino Alvarez -- are now in the morgue, and the room they died in is now being combed for anything at all that might give them a clue. All they have now are two dead bodies.
No murder weapon. No motive. No suspect.
She bristles. She feels tense, wound up like a coil waiting to spring.
There’s not much more that her team can do in the Murder Room; they have no leads, and half of her division is digging into the backgrounds of the victims for anything that might point them in a direction. The other half -- Raydor, Sykes, and Sanchez -- are back at the hotel, looking for anything they may have missed.
Sharon’s heels clack on the cement in the stairwell as she runs a finger along the cool railing. The green paint is chipping. There is gum on the stair she’s on, and there’s a used condom on the landing.
Classy, she thinks, and then chastises herself. It is not her place to make a value judgment about Marla and Dino. She doesn’t know why they chose this hotel in which to conduct their affair rather than any other, but she’s damn well going to find out.
She pulls open the door to the fourth floor and rounds the corner, only to abruptly come to a halt.
Down the hall, bent in front of a vending machine, is Brenda Leigh Johnson. Sharon’s cheeks immediately infuse with color as she takes in the sight of her, from her bare feet (on this carpet?) to her dress (which sits askew on her frame and is unzipped) to her hair (which is mussed and tangled in the back) to her makeup (which looks as if it has been kissed off of her). She gulps, reaching behind her for the door. She suddenly feels like vomiting.
“D’you have an extra quarter?” Brenda calls out, waving in Sharon’s direction. When Sharon whips around to look at her, the blonde’s hand freezes mid-wave. Redness slashes at her pale cheeks. Her mouth gapes. “Oh, lord...Uh. Sorry.” She forces a polite smile. “Hi.”
Sharon bites the inside of her cheek, hard. The pain grounds her, braces her for what’s next. She slips her fists (when did she ball up her hands?) into the pockets of her jacket. Her features harden. She takes a shallow breath and approaches.
“This is a surprise,” she finally says, her queasiness growing as she gets a better look at the other woman. Her lipstick is smeared. There’s a hickey on her shoulder.
“Yeah it is. What’re you doin’ here?” The blonde squares her shoulders, as if to draw herself to her full height and regain some composure. There’s an accusatory tone to her voice.
“Crime scene.” Sharon can’t stop herself from giving her a once-over. “You?”
“Playin’ soccer,” she throws back. “You don’t have to look at me like that, y’know.”
“Like what?”
“Like the way you’re lookin’. You don’t approve.”
Sharon’s jaw sets. “No, I don’t.”
Down the hall, a door opens. A head appears, and then a bare shoulder. The woman’s tousled brown hair is the same shade as Sharon’s. “Hey Brenda! Forget the water….come back to bed!” the woman calls out in a hissed whisper.
Brenda closes her eyes, the embarrassment evident on her darkening cheeks. “Comin’,” she calls back over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. Sharon watches darkly until the woman disappears and the door closes.
“You have a new friend.”
“It doesn’t mean anythin’, Sharon.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Brenda. Really. I’d rather you didn’t.”
“She’s not you,” Brenda says hollowly, staring down at her bare feet. “None of ‘em are.”
None of ‘em... Sharon swallows another wave of nausea. She tightens her fists and her nails dig into her palms. “No, she’s not. And she’s waiting. You’d better go, Brenda Leigh, before the bed gets cold.”
“Sharon--”
The captain shakes her head and takes a step back.
“I miss you,” Brenda says anyway.
“Yeah,” she replies bitterly. “I can see that.”
She’s in the stairwell then, and she takes the stairs as quickly as she can. The bile is in her throat before she even slams open the door that takes her to the alley, and when she vomits, she narrowly misses her shoes.
When it’s over, she stands, taking a deep breath of the sour night air. So, Brenda has another conquest. Sharon is sick with jealousy. She has no right to be -- Sharon ended their affair. What should it matter than Brenda’s fucking a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Sharon herself? What should it matter that Sharon wants nothing more than to throw the woman out on her ass and be the one in bed with Brenda?
She can’t think like this now.
She’s got a case to solve.
She’ll have to conquer the unsolved mystery of her love for Brenda Leigh another time.
---
Prompt: Sharon runs into Brenda under embarrassing circumstances.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Challenge; E is for Embarrassed
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer/Major Crimes
Rating: R
Word Count: 881
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This did not turn out at all like I imagined. This is a little darker and a teensy bit more angsty than I planned...Let me know what you think!
-
Ducking beneath the crime scene tape, Sharon Raydor leaves the bloody hotel room, unable to unsee the lifeless glint in the two pairs of dead eyes that had greeted Major Crimes when they first entered the crime scene over 24 hours ago. Those bodies -- those people, Marla Sherry and Dino Alvarez -- are now in the morgue, and the room they died in is now being combed for anything at all that might give them a clue. All they have now are two dead bodies.
No murder weapon. No motive. No suspect.
She bristles. She feels tense, wound up like a coil waiting to spring.
There’s not much more that her team can do in the Murder Room; they have no leads, and half of her division is digging into the backgrounds of the victims for anything that might point them in a direction. The other half -- Raydor, Sykes, and Sanchez -- are back at the hotel, looking for anything they may have missed.
Sharon’s heels clack on the cement in the stairwell as she runs a finger along the cool railing. The green paint is chipping. There is gum on the stair she’s on, and there’s a used condom on the landing.
Classy, she thinks, and then chastises herself. It is not her place to make a value judgment about Marla and Dino. She doesn’t know why they chose this hotel in which to conduct their affair rather than any other, but she’s damn well going to find out.
She pulls open the door to the fourth floor and rounds the corner, only to abruptly come to a halt.
Down the hall, bent in front of a vending machine, is Brenda Leigh Johnson. Sharon’s cheeks immediately infuse with color as she takes in the sight of her, from her bare feet (on this carpet?) to her dress (which sits askew on her frame and is unzipped) to her hair (which is mussed and tangled in the back) to her makeup (which looks as if it has been kissed off of her). She gulps, reaching behind her for the door. She suddenly feels like vomiting.
“D’you have an extra quarter?” Brenda calls out, waving in Sharon’s direction. When Sharon whips around to look at her, the blonde’s hand freezes mid-wave. Redness slashes at her pale cheeks. Her mouth gapes. “Oh, lord...Uh. Sorry.” She forces a polite smile. “Hi.”
Sharon bites the inside of her cheek, hard. The pain grounds her, braces her for what’s next. She slips her fists (when did she ball up her hands?) into the pockets of her jacket. Her features harden. She takes a shallow breath and approaches.
“This is a surprise,” she finally says, her queasiness growing as she gets a better look at the other woman. Her lipstick is smeared. There’s a hickey on her shoulder.
“Yeah it is. What’re you doin’ here?” The blonde squares her shoulders, as if to draw herself to her full height and regain some composure. There’s an accusatory tone to her voice.
“Crime scene.” Sharon can’t stop herself from giving her a once-over. “You?”
“Playin’ soccer,” she throws back. “You don’t have to look at me like that, y’know.”
“Like what?”
“Like the way you’re lookin’. You don’t approve.”
Sharon’s jaw sets. “No, I don’t.”
Down the hall, a door opens. A head appears, and then a bare shoulder. The woman’s tousled brown hair is the same shade as Sharon’s. “Hey Brenda! Forget the water….come back to bed!” the woman calls out in a hissed whisper.
Brenda closes her eyes, the embarrassment evident on her darkening cheeks. “Comin’,” she calls back over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. Sharon watches darkly until the woman disappears and the door closes.
“You have a new friend.”
“It doesn’t mean anythin’, Sharon.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Brenda. Really. I’d rather you didn’t.”
“She’s not you,” Brenda says hollowly, staring down at her bare feet. “None of ‘em are.”
None of ‘em... Sharon swallows another wave of nausea. She tightens her fists and her nails dig into her palms. “No, she’s not. And she’s waiting. You’d better go, Brenda Leigh, before the bed gets cold.”
“Sharon--”
The captain shakes her head and takes a step back.
“I miss you,” Brenda says anyway.
“Yeah,” she replies bitterly. “I can see that.”
She’s in the stairwell then, and she takes the stairs as quickly as she can. The bile is in her throat before she even slams open the door that takes her to the alley, and when she vomits, she narrowly misses her shoes.
When it’s over, she stands, taking a deep breath of the sour night air. So, Brenda has another conquest. Sharon is sick with jealousy. She has no right to be -- Sharon ended their affair. What should it matter than Brenda’s fucking a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Sharon herself? What should it matter that Sharon wants nothing more than to throw the woman out on her ass and be the one in bed with Brenda?
She can’t think like this now.
She’s got a case to solve.
She’ll have to conquer the unsolved mystery of her love for Brenda Leigh another time.
---