Fic: Inertia - Part 15 [The Closer]
Title: Inertia - Part 15 [The Closer]
Rating: PG - 13
Ship: Brenda/Sharon
Disclaimer: Not mine; never were! No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: With Fritz gone, and her relationship with Sharon growing more serious, Brenda begins to wonder about just how close she's willing to get to the other woman.
Previous Chapters ( One) ( Two) ( Three) ( Four) ( Five) ( Six) ( Seven) ( Eight) ( 9[a]) ( 9[b]) ( Ten) ( Eleven) ( Twelve) ( Thirteen) ( Fourteen)
~
"I think we broke up today." Brenda said. It was the first time she said it. Out loud. She hadn't even let herself think it. She offered a Twix to Laura, then snapped hers in half. It felt good to break something, even if it was just a chocolate bar. She began chewing a mouthful as she mulled over the words she had just said.
"Well then," Laura said slowly, processing Brenda's information, switching her melting chocolate from one hand to another, "I suppose this isn't how you intended to end your day."
"No." Brenda snorted, "It certainly wasn't". Exhaustion and weariness having worn her down to her most basic elements, the snort turned into a chuckle, then into a slow laugh that built up, releasing every emotion that was coursing through her, lurking just under her skin until it felt like it was crawling over her.
It was laugh, Brenda realized, or cry, but she wouldn't cry, not here. Crying would make it real and she certainly wasn't ready for this situation to be real. She didn't have nearly enough chocolate on hand.
| | |
Sharon Raydor was stubborn as hell. Sometimes the only person more stubborn than herself was...well herself.
She dropped her pen in disgust and sighed.
Fine, she thought to herself. She'd admit it once and once only and then maybe she'd be able to go back to work.
She was in love with Brenda Leigh Johnson.
She wasn't in love with everything - the woman could be annoying as hell, manipulative, inconsiderate (she wouldn't put the cap on the toothpaste, she wouldn't put her dishes in the dishwasher, she would leave her shoes where she knew Sharon would trip on them and she'd always finish the milk...she had to stop herself from continuing the mental list) - but the fact of the matter was, she was in love with most everything else about the other woman. Her intelligence, her sense of humor, her ability to read her, the way she fit against her, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she had to fight to keep a smile from her face whenever they stepped on an elevator together.
So she was in love with Brenda Leigh Johnson.
So what?
It didn't change anything. She wouldn't let it. She'd stick to her resolve and end it. Not like those other times she said she was going to end it. She meant it this time. She couldn't go around, being all...in love...with Brenda. It was one thing to have sex with her, to occasionally share a bottle of wine, to make out on the couch like they were in high school (when their high school years were far, far behind both of them). It was another thing to be in love with her. And admit it. It was funny, love was once a dramatic emotion, all chest constrictions and heart palpitations - counting down the minutes until they'd see each other, or making up some phony excuse to run into them if the minutes were too many - but now it was a fact (she had two arms, she had two legs, she was in love), an inconvenient one more than anything else. It was like a sunburn - irritating and vaguely painful but with nothing to do but wait it out.
If being in love wasn't going to force her to distraction, her poor metaphors were. Another reason to end it - love was hell on her productivity.
She picked up her pen and took a deep breath, steadying herself in the face of reviewing and notating the 2,409 page document outlining the new policies and procedures L.A.P.D. and every other major police force in the country would be expected to roll out in the next three months. She scanned the page for where her concentration gave out and returned to work - she dragged the pen across the sheet ... and nothing happened.
Her pen had ran out of ink.
She calmly took a deep breath and (very thankful her office door was closed) hurdled the pen across the room with a very satisfactory "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhhhhh!". She smiled as she watched the useless item hit of the wall then bounce on the floor a few times. Good, she thought as she rooted in her desk for another one. Screaming was childish, so was taking satisfaction from the projected pain of an inanimate object, but sometimes she was tired of being an adult. Of being Sharon Raydor, of being the force's Wicked Witch and of always being an adult. Sometimes she wished she could trip through life as carelessly as Brenda had. It wasn't to say the other woman hadn't worked for her position, her experiences, or wasn't capable. She knew how much harder Brenda had worked because of her voice and her hair and her looks she had to - it was just that it seemed Brenda never had to make the hard choices, she simply landed wherever the wind blew her. She knew her marriage to Fritz was over, she confessed one night on the couch as she went over her witness testimony for a court date, but she had waited for him to make the first move (and the final one). Sometimes she didn't want to always be the adult.
Sharon looked up, feeling eyes watching her.
Brenda stood against her closed office door, an amused look on her face.
"Most people know better than to come in without knocking, Chief." She warned, running her new pen back and forth across the corner of the page to start the ink flow. "How can I help you?"
"I did knock, Captain. You must have been too busy assaulting that poor, defenseless pen to notice." She nudged the plastic corpse with the tip of her shoe.
Which Sharon couldn't help but follow up where it led, past her slim legs which disappeared under a simple floral skirt and creamy twinset.
"My eyes are up here, Captain." Brenda teased, stepping away from the door. "What are you working on?"
"New federal mandate. Three months to roll out." She motioned towards the pile and then returned to the page in front of her, simultaneously willing herself not to look up or engage Brenda while willing the other woman to stay on the other side of the desk. From the periphery of her eye she noticed Brenda's shoes walking past her. She soon felt a warm pair of arms wrap over her stiffening shoulders and begin to play with the buttons of her shirt.
"You know," Brenda purred softly into her ear, "It's lunch time."
"It...is." Sharon agreed, trying not to notice the effect the other woman was having on her, her proximity to her, or the fact that she had used Sharon's shampoo which made her feel incredibly possessive and incredibly manipulated. She stared straight ahead at her work. She wouldn't be distracted.
"And before you ask," Brenda continued, "I did use your shampoo." She felt the other woman's tongue flick across her earlobe before her teeth gave it a quick tug, pulling her focus to the blond woman behind her and ONLY the blond woman behind her. "I seem to remember you saying how much you liked it when I smelled like you."
"Really?" Sharon lied, "I don't remember."
"No?"
"No." She lied again, trying to to not notice Brenda's hands and how they weren't playing with the buttons of her shirt - they were undoing them.
"My mistake." Brenda let go of Sharon and her buttons and seated herself on the edge of the desk so that they were now facing each other, brown eyes meeting green. Sharon welcomed the distance, she welcomed the fact that she could now think again, free from the fog Brenda and her teasing just caused. "Remember when I said you'd know if I was being romantic?"
"Is that what this is?" Sharon asked, pushing her chair back and rising to get more distance, more strength, "Trying to seduce me in my office, feet away from my staff isn't exactly romantic."
"Your staff has just been released for lunch by one very irate Chief Johnson. Did I forget to mention, I'm wearing the black bra?" Brenda pointed out, confusion in her voice.
"The black bra?" Sharon felt her mouth go dry while other other parts of her body were distinctly...not.
She liked the black bra.
She loved it.
She would do unholy things to see Brenda in the black bra. She wouldn't even mention how one shouldn't be wearing a black bra under cream knitwear - that's how much she adored it. On it's own, it was nothing special or spectacular. It was a black, cotton bra, like countless other bras - but on Brenda it was transformed. The colour was striking and stark against the fair, milky skin of the other woman. The soft curves of breast that filled the cups and the knowing smirk that often accompanied it elevated the simple cotton into something dangerous, exciting. It was the Glock of underthings - simple, unassuming, and deadly in the right hands. Brenda rarely wore it, she thought it looked to severe - she preferred her beiges, her whites, her pinks - Sharon thought it looked spectacular.
"Yes," Brenda confirmed, "The black bra." She rose up off the table and made her way towards Sharon, who kept backing away until she hit the sideboard behind her. "Why are you so jumpy?" The blond laughed, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the other woman's waist. "Expecting someone?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No." Sharon answered carefully, feeling her body betray her inner resolve and strength when it came to Brenda and her advances.
"So, you have no other...appointments, your team is out for lunch, you have a very willing me, and a very big desk. Are these facts correct, Captain?"
"Yes, Chief." She answered, finding herself unable to tear her eyes away the serious way Brenda had schooled her features.
"So what are we still doing talking?" She asked, before she pressed her lips to the other woman. Sharon had two choices, she could either sidestep the other woman and do what she needed to do, say what she needed to say and get back to work. Or she could enjoy this moment. As she felt Brenda's cool hands buzzing across her body, finishing it's earlier work of unbuttoning her blouse, she seemed to forget the first option. She was too caught up in the other woman's kisses. If this was going to be her last few moments with Brenda Leigh Johnson, she was going to commit each and every sensation to memory.
She quickly moved her mouth down, past Brenda's lips, to the curve of her neck, the smell of shampoo and perfume still strong. She could taste the soapy aftertaste as she nipped the skin lightly with her teeth. "That's more like it." She could hear the other woman egg her on softly. But she hadn't seen anything yet. Sharon pulled her head up from that delicious crook between shoulder and neck and looked at the other woman. This was going to be it. And if she couldn't tell the other woman what she felt, and how deeply she felt it, she wanted to at least be able to show her. She grabbed the hem of the younger woman's twinset and with a strong pull, yanked it up, over her head and took in the sight - Brenda standing in her office dressed in a flouncy floral skirt and a black bra - a collision of contradictions come to life. "You are beautiful," Sharon whispered as her eyes roamed over every inch that was once almost all hers before she let instinct and desire take over.
| | |
"Not that I mind," Sharon began, her ability to put words together in simple sentences slowly returning to her, "but what was that for?"
"What?" Brenda asked innocently, fitting her nearly nude body against Sharon's, chest to chest, for warmth and placing a string of kisses on her shoulder. Sharon didn't answer, the reality of what she needed to do weighing down on her. Maybe if she was paying attention, she'd have noticed Brenda being equally distracted. "Can you hand me my bra?" She asked Sharon, pointing to where it landed, somewhere between pages 154 and 155 of the new mandate on her desk. While Sharon was turned, Brenda launched her assault - "I don't know when we'll get to do that again." She took the offered bra and twisted it back into position. "Thank you, I just wanted to...have something special -"
"Well that was certainly special." Sharon deadpanned, slipping back into her shirt and turning around to button it up.
There was something heavy in the air between them.
As if what Brenda wasn't saying and what she wasn't saying were living, breathing beings competing for all the air in the room.
"Sharon I-"
"Brenda -"
They both laughed awkwardly. Sharon turned around, mostly put together and watched as Brenda put herself in order.
"You go first," She offered.
"I just wanted to say, Mama's here - I mean she's coming here and she -"
"It's over." Sharon couldn't help it. She knew what was coming out of the other woman's mouth and wanted to beat her to the punch. It was over and it had been for some time.
"Well yes, Captain," Brenda laughed, easing herself off the sideboard and reaching past Sharon for her cardigan. "It certainly is. I can see how your powers of deduction have gotten you this far."
"I mean us." Sharon stepped back, trying to avoid Brenda, as if avoiding avoiding the pain would be as simple as sidestepping her lover. "We're over."
"What do you mean we're 'over' Captain Raydor?" She asked, slipping into her cardigan and buttoning it up.
"I mean over. It's been...fun... to say the least." She explained, tucking her shirt in and hoping her nonchalantness would be believed. She kept her eyes down to avoid Brenda's. "But it's over."
"You know, you keep sayin' that -" Brenda said, standing with her hand on her hip, her southern twang pronounced and betraying her causal stance. "and I keep not believing you."
"Have you always had difficulty grasping simple concepts, Chief?"
"Why are you doin' this?" Damn it. Brenda hated when the twang came out uncontrolled. She stepped up to the brunette, uncertain of how to handle this recent turn. When Fritz told her, she was relieved, even more so by noticing the bag in his hand. He would be the one leaving. She didn't know how this was working, or why it was happening. "Why now?" She reached out a hand, playfully running it down the other woman's side, hoping she had just misread the other woman - that this was all a joke.
"When would you like for me to do this?" Sharon asked, her features set as firmly as stone. "Should we reschedule for tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? The fact is," She began, raising her hand dragging a thumb under Brenda's lower lip, fixing her smeared lipstick. "We're done. There..."
She took in the sight of a reasonably composed Brenda, the last look she'll allow herself of Brenda as a lover before she walks out that door and completes her return to Chief Johnson. "That's better."
| | |
"It was supposed to be a surprise."
"With parents? Brenda, here's a hint. No one likes surprises involving parents. Not even parents."
Laura rolled her eyes at the other woman's ineptitude. She knew that the blond was supposed to be some sort of super-ladycop with brains by the C.I.A., but sometimes she wondered just how much of that was true. Here she was, racing around the house, throwing stuff under couches, tables and beds in trying to get ready for the arrival of Brenda's mother. The plan was simple, entertain the lady, feed her some cookies, make her some coffee, and Brenda would be by to pick her up as soon as she could.
She can hear a car pull up outside, a quick peek revealing a multi-coloured cab pulling in. Sometimes she really missed New York and it's yellow cabs and tourists. She quickly opened the door before the older woman had a chance to ring the bell. "Mrs. Johnson, nice to meet you, I'm Laura Raydor." She stuck out her hand and took the woman's suitcase as she watched the cab drive off. "Sharon's daughter. How was your flight?"
"It was lovely - I was seated beside this young gentleman, I believe he called himself a...hip sir?"
"Hipster?" Laura asked, struggling to keeping her face straight. This explained so much about Brenda.
"Exactly - anyways, polite as could be, he was traveling back home to see his mother. He helped me get a cab and everything. What a good son. Brenda never comes home anymore. She barely calls. I suppose that's children for you though. I bet you call your mother, don't you Laura?"
"Yes ma'am I do. May I make you some coffee? Or -" The phone rings. "One moment." She races to the kitchen to answer it, followed by Mrs. Johnson - it's Brenda.
"You ok?"
"Yes." No, Laura could tell she was not. "Is my Mama there yet?"
"Yes, she just arrived -"
"Great - can I talk to her - one sec -" She could hear Brenda shout out instructions to people on the other end. She could hear sirens.
"She's calling from a scene." Laura explained, handing the phone over to Mrs. Johnson.
"Oh my." She took the phone and looked at Laura, "They both work too hard don't they?"
"I think it's the only way they know how to be ma'am." She explained as she set the water on the stove to boil.
"Mama? Mama you there?"
"Yes, Brenda Leigh - I'm here. Laura says you're at work?"
"Yes Mama, I'm so sorry. I'm going to stop by and pick you up just as soon as I can. Or maybe I can send Sergea-"
ONE!
TWO!
THREE! Loud shots rang out from the phone, gun shots. She'd only heard them once before, but they weren't easy to forget.
"Mama, mama I gotta go!" Brenda shouted, hanging up the phone on them. The whistle from the kettle began and Laura set forth making the coffee. She looked across the island to Brenda's mother who had gone white, impressively, she had managed to keep her composure. "Wife of an Army Captain - no stranger to gun shots." Willie Rae explained as she settled down on the stools by the island.
"It doesn't make it any easier, does it ma'am?" She asked, offering up a mug of coffee.
"No dear, it doesn't." She smiled up at the younger woman. Laura can see, not only the origins of Brenda's charm, but maybe also her strength.
Rating: PG - 13
Ship: Brenda/Sharon
Disclaimer: Not mine; never were! No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: With Fritz gone, and her relationship with Sharon growing more serious, Brenda begins to wonder about just how close she's willing to get to the other woman.
Previous Chapters ( One) ( Two) ( Three) ( Four) ( Five) ( Six) ( Seven) ( Eight) ( 9[a]) ( 9[b]) ( Ten) ( Eleven) ( Twelve) ( Thirteen) ( Fourteen)
~
"I think we broke up today." Brenda said. It was the first time she said it. Out loud. She hadn't even let herself think it. She offered a Twix to Laura, then snapped hers in half. It felt good to break something, even if it was just a chocolate bar. She began chewing a mouthful as she mulled over the words she had just said.
"Well then," Laura said slowly, processing Brenda's information, switching her melting chocolate from one hand to another, "I suppose this isn't how you intended to end your day."
"No." Brenda snorted, "It certainly wasn't". Exhaustion and weariness having worn her down to her most basic elements, the snort turned into a chuckle, then into a slow laugh that built up, releasing every emotion that was coursing through her, lurking just under her skin until it felt like it was crawling over her.
It was laugh, Brenda realized, or cry, but she wouldn't cry, not here. Crying would make it real and she certainly wasn't ready for this situation to be real. She didn't have nearly enough chocolate on hand.
| | |
Sharon Raydor was stubborn as hell. Sometimes the only person more stubborn than herself was...well herself.
She dropped her pen in disgust and sighed.
Fine, she thought to herself. She'd admit it once and once only and then maybe she'd be able to go back to work.
She was in love with Brenda Leigh Johnson.
She wasn't in love with everything - the woman could be annoying as hell, manipulative, inconsiderate (she wouldn't put the cap on the toothpaste, she wouldn't put her dishes in the dishwasher, she would leave her shoes where she knew Sharon would trip on them and she'd always finish the milk...she had to stop herself from continuing the mental list) - but the fact of the matter was, she was in love with most everything else about the other woman. Her intelligence, her sense of humor, her ability to read her, the way she fit against her, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she had to fight to keep a smile from her face whenever they stepped on an elevator together.
So she was in love with Brenda Leigh Johnson.
So what?
It didn't change anything. She wouldn't let it. She'd stick to her resolve and end it. Not like those other times she said she was going to end it. She meant it this time. She couldn't go around, being all...in love...with Brenda. It was one thing to have sex with her, to occasionally share a bottle of wine, to make out on the couch like they were in high school (when their high school years were far, far behind both of them). It was another thing to be in love with her. And admit it. It was funny, love was once a dramatic emotion, all chest constrictions and heart palpitations - counting down the minutes until they'd see each other, or making up some phony excuse to run into them if the minutes were too many - but now it was a fact (she had two arms, she had two legs, she was in love), an inconvenient one more than anything else. It was like a sunburn - irritating and vaguely painful but with nothing to do but wait it out.
If being in love wasn't going to force her to distraction, her poor metaphors were. Another reason to end it - love was hell on her productivity.
She picked up her pen and took a deep breath, steadying herself in the face of reviewing and notating the 2,409 page document outlining the new policies and procedures L.A.P.D. and every other major police force in the country would be expected to roll out in the next three months. She scanned the page for where her concentration gave out and returned to work - she dragged the pen across the sheet ... and nothing happened.
Her pen had ran out of ink.
She calmly took a deep breath and (very thankful her office door was closed) hurdled the pen across the room with a very satisfactory "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhhhhh!". She smiled as she watched the useless item hit of the wall then bounce on the floor a few times. Good, she thought as she rooted in her desk for another one. Screaming was childish, so was taking satisfaction from the projected pain of an inanimate object, but sometimes she was tired of being an adult. Of being Sharon Raydor, of being the force's Wicked Witch and of always being an adult. Sometimes she wished she could trip through life as carelessly as Brenda had. It wasn't to say the other woman hadn't worked for her position, her experiences, or wasn't capable. She knew how much harder Brenda had worked because of her voice and her hair and her looks she had to - it was just that it seemed Brenda never had to make the hard choices, she simply landed wherever the wind blew her. She knew her marriage to Fritz was over, she confessed one night on the couch as she went over her witness testimony for a court date, but she had waited for him to make the first move (and the final one). Sometimes she didn't want to always be the adult.
Sharon looked up, feeling eyes watching her.
Brenda stood against her closed office door, an amused look on her face.
"Most people know better than to come in without knocking, Chief." She warned, running her new pen back and forth across the corner of the page to start the ink flow. "How can I help you?"
"I did knock, Captain. You must have been too busy assaulting that poor, defenseless pen to notice." She nudged the plastic corpse with the tip of her shoe.
Which Sharon couldn't help but follow up where it led, past her slim legs which disappeared under a simple floral skirt and creamy twinset.
"My eyes are up here, Captain." Brenda teased, stepping away from the door. "What are you working on?"
"New federal mandate. Three months to roll out." She motioned towards the pile and then returned to the page in front of her, simultaneously willing herself not to look up or engage Brenda while willing the other woman to stay on the other side of the desk. From the periphery of her eye she noticed Brenda's shoes walking past her. She soon felt a warm pair of arms wrap over her stiffening shoulders and begin to play with the buttons of her shirt.
"You know," Brenda purred softly into her ear, "It's lunch time."
"It...is." Sharon agreed, trying not to notice the effect the other woman was having on her, her proximity to her, or the fact that she had used Sharon's shampoo which made her feel incredibly possessive and incredibly manipulated. She stared straight ahead at her work. She wouldn't be distracted.
"And before you ask," Brenda continued, "I did use your shampoo." She felt the other woman's tongue flick across her earlobe before her teeth gave it a quick tug, pulling her focus to the blond woman behind her and ONLY the blond woman behind her. "I seem to remember you saying how much you liked it when I smelled like you."
"Really?" Sharon lied, "I don't remember."
"No?"
"No." She lied again, trying to to not notice Brenda's hands and how they weren't playing with the buttons of her shirt - they were undoing them.
"My mistake." Brenda let go of Sharon and her buttons and seated herself on the edge of the desk so that they were now facing each other, brown eyes meeting green. Sharon welcomed the distance, she welcomed the fact that she could now think again, free from the fog Brenda and her teasing just caused. "Remember when I said you'd know if I was being romantic?"
"Is that what this is?" Sharon asked, pushing her chair back and rising to get more distance, more strength, "Trying to seduce me in my office, feet away from my staff isn't exactly romantic."
"Your staff has just been released for lunch by one very irate Chief Johnson. Did I forget to mention, I'm wearing the black bra?" Brenda pointed out, confusion in her voice.
"The black bra?" Sharon felt her mouth go dry while other other parts of her body were distinctly...not.
She liked the black bra.
She loved it.
She would do unholy things to see Brenda in the black bra. She wouldn't even mention how one shouldn't be wearing a black bra under cream knitwear - that's how much she adored it. On it's own, it was nothing special or spectacular. It was a black, cotton bra, like countless other bras - but on Brenda it was transformed. The colour was striking and stark against the fair, milky skin of the other woman. The soft curves of breast that filled the cups and the knowing smirk that often accompanied it elevated the simple cotton into something dangerous, exciting. It was the Glock of underthings - simple, unassuming, and deadly in the right hands. Brenda rarely wore it, she thought it looked to severe - she preferred her beiges, her whites, her pinks - Sharon thought it looked spectacular.
"Yes," Brenda confirmed, "The black bra." She rose up off the table and made her way towards Sharon, who kept backing away until she hit the sideboard behind her. "Why are you so jumpy?" The blond laughed, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the other woman's waist. "Expecting someone?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No." Sharon answered carefully, feeling her body betray her inner resolve and strength when it came to Brenda and her advances.
"So, you have no other...appointments, your team is out for lunch, you have a very willing me, and a very big desk. Are these facts correct, Captain?"
"Yes, Chief." She answered, finding herself unable to tear her eyes away the serious way Brenda had schooled her features.
"So what are we still doing talking?" She asked, before she pressed her lips to the other woman. Sharon had two choices, she could either sidestep the other woman and do what she needed to do, say what she needed to say and get back to work. Or she could enjoy this moment. As she felt Brenda's cool hands buzzing across her body, finishing it's earlier work of unbuttoning her blouse, she seemed to forget the first option. She was too caught up in the other woman's kisses. If this was going to be her last few moments with Brenda Leigh Johnson, she was going to commit each and every sensation to memory.
She quickly moved her mouth down, past Brenda's lips, to the curve of her neck, the smell of shampoo and perfume still strong. She could taste the soapy aftertaste as she nipped the skin lightly with her teeth. "That's more like it." She could hear the other woman egg her on softly. But she hadn't seen anything yet. Sharon pulled her head up from that delicious crook between shoulder and neck and looked at the other woman. This was going to be it. And if she couldn't tell the other woman what she felt, and how deeply she felt it, she wanted to at least be able to show her. She grabbed the hem of the younger woman's twinset and with a strong pull, yanked it up, over her head and took in the sight - Brenda standing in her office dressed in a flouncy floral skirt and a black bra - a collision of contradictions come to life. "You are beautiful," Sharon whispered as her eyes roamed over every inch that was once almost all hers before she let instinct and desire take over.
| | |
"Not that I mind," Sharon began, her ability to put words together in simple sentences slowly returning to her, "but what was that for?"
"What?" Brenda asked innocently, fitting her nearly nude body against Sharon's, chest to chest, for warmth and placing a string of kisses on her shoulder. Sharon didn't answer, the reality of what she needed to do weighing down on her. Maybe if she was paying attention, she'd have noticed Brenda being equally distracted. "Can you hand me my bra?" She asked Sharon, pointing to where it landed, somewhere between pages 154 and 155 of the new mandate on her desk. While Sharon was turned, Brenda launched her assault - "I don't know when we'll get to do that again." She took the offered bra and twisted it back into position. "Thank you, I just wanted to...have something special -"
"Well that was certainly special." Sharon deadpanned, slipping back into her shirt and turning around to button it up.
There was something heavy in the air between them.
As if what Brenda wasn't saying and what she wasn't saying were living, breathing beings competing for all the air in the room.
"Sharon I-"
"Brenda -"
They both laughed awkwardly. Sharon turned around, mostly put together and watched as Brenda put herself in order.
"You go first," She offered.
"I just wanted to say, Mama's here - I mean she's coming here and she -"
"It's over." Sharon couldn't help it. She knew what was coming out of the other woman's mouth and wanted to beat her to the punch. It was over and it had been for some time.
"Well yes, Captain," Brenda laughed, easing herself off the sideboard and reaching past Sharon for her cardigan. "It certainly is. I can see how your powers of deduction have gotten you this far."
"I mean us." Sharon stepped back, trying to avoid Brenda, as if avoiding avoiding the pain would be as simple as sidestepping her lover. "We're over."
"What do you mean we're 'over' Captain Raydor?" She asked, slipping into her cardigan and buttoning it up.
"I mean over. It's been...fun... to say the least." She explained, tucking her shirt in and hoping her nonchalantness would be believed. She kept her eyes down to avoid Brenda's. "But it's over."
"You know, you keep sayin' that -" Brenda said, standing with her hand on her hip, her southern twang pronounced and betraying her causal stance. "and I keep not believing you."
"Have you always had difficulty grasping simple concepts, Chief?"
"Why are you doin' this?" Damn it. Brenda hated when the twang came out uncontrolled. She stepped up to the brunette, uncertain of how to handle this recent turn. When Fritz told her, she was relieved, even more so by noticing the bag in his hand. He would be the one leaving. She didn't know how this was working, or why it was happening. "Why now?" She reached out a hand, playfully running it down the other woman's side, hoping she had just misread the other woman - that this was all a joke.
"When would you like for me to do this?" Sharon asked, her features set as firmly as stone. "Should we reschedule for tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? The fact is," She began, raising her hand dragging a thumb under Brenda's lower lip, fixing her smeared lipstick. "We're done. There..."
She took in the sight of a reasonably composed Brenda, the last look she'll allow herself of Brenda as a lover before she walks out that door and completes her return to Chief Johnson. "That's better."
| | |
"It was supposed to be a surprise."
"With parents? Brenda, here's a hint. No one likes surprises involving parents. Not even parents."
Laura rolled her eyes at the other woman's ineptitude. She knew that the blond was supposed to be some sort of super-ladycop with brains by the C.I.A., but sometimes she wondered just how much of that was true. Here she was, racing around the house, throwing stuff under couches, tables and beds in trying to get ready for the arrival of Brenda's mother. The plan was simple, entertain the lady, feed her some cookies, make her some coffee, and Brenda would be by to pick her up as soon as she could.
She can hear a car pull up outside, a quick peek revealing a multi-coloured cab pulling in. Sometimes she really missed New York and it's yellow cabs and tourists. She quickly opened the door before the older woman had a chance to ring the bell. "Mrs. Johnson, nice to meet you, I'm Laura Raydor." She stuck out her hand and took the woman's suitcase as she watched the cab drive off. "Sharon's daughter. How was your flight?"
"It was lovely - I was seated beside this young gentleman, I believe he called himself a...hip sir?"
"Hipster?" Laura asked, struggling to keeping her face straight. This explained so much about Brenda.
"Exactly - anyways, polite as could be, he was traveling back home to see his mother. He helped me get a cab and everything. What a good son. Brenda never comes home anymore. She barely calls. I suppose that's children for you though. I bet you call your mother, don't you Laura?"
"Yes ma'am I do. May I make you some coffee? Or -" The phone rings. "One moment." She races to the kitchen to answer it, followed by Mrs. Johnson - it's Brenda.
"You ok?"
"Yes." No, Laura could tell she was not. "Is my Mama there yet?"
"Yes, she just arrived -"
"Great - can I talk to her - one sec -" She could hear Brenda shout out instructions to people on the other end. She could hear sirens.
"She's calling from a scene." Laura explained, handing the phone over to Mrs. Johnson.
"Oh my." She took the phone and looked at Laura, "They both work too hard don't they?"
"I think it's the only way they know how to be ma'am." She explained as she set the water on the stove to boil.
"Mama? Mama you there?"
"Yes, Brenda Leigh - I'm here. Laura says you're at work?"
"Yes Mama, I'm so sorry. I'm going to stop by and pick you up just as soon as I can. Or maybe I can send Sergea-"
ONE!
TWO!
THREE! Loud shots rang out from the phone, gun shots. She'd only heard them once before, but they weren't easy to forget.
"Mama, mama I gotta go!" Brenda shouted, hanging up the phone on them. The whistle from the kettle began and Laura set forth making the coffee. She looked across the island to Brenda's mother who had gone white, impressively, she had managed to keep her composure. "Wife of an Army Captain - no stranger to gun shots." Willie Rae explained as she settled down on the stools by the island.
"It doesn't make it any easier, does it ma'am?" She asked, offering up a mug of coffee.
"No dear, it doesn't." She smiled up at the younger woman. Laura can see, not only the origins of Brenda's charm, but maybe also her strength.