Fic: Inertia - Part 4 [The Closer]
Title: Inertia - Part 4 [The Closer]
Rating: PG 13
Ship: Brenda/Sharon
Disclaimer: Not mine; never were! No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: With Sharon Raydor assigned to shadow Major Crimes, Brenda's forced to figure out the root of her varied feelings for the other woman.
Previous Chapters ( One) ( Two) ( Three)
~
The days and weeks began to fall back into a routine for Brenda - she would wake up sprawled in bed alone, having willed herself to forget what it was like to wake up with someone. She would play her music loudly as she got ready. She would leave her discarded clothes where they fell. She would eat cold Chinese leftovers for breakfast. Weeks where she had custody of Joel were better than weeks where she didn't. She wouldn't describe it as fun, but it was definitely familiar - she had spent a majority of her life uncoupled - slipping back into her old way of life was like slipping into an old sweater you had found in the bottom of your dresser drawer after some years had passed.
She was sleeping more, she was smiling more, she was adjusting. So was Fritz, she had heard - when she ran into him of the lobby of headquarters, the tugs on her heartstrings weren't as sharp as she'd thought. He'd lost some weight, was up for a possible promotion, he was happy...ish. So was she.
| | |
Cross-town, Sharon Raydor contemplated the trajectory of her life as she stared at the cup of coffee in front of her. If her life was a novel, coffee would become a loaded literary symbol, weighty with meaning. If her life was a novel, she snorted, it would be going somewhere.
Captain Sharon Raydor wasn't a dumb woman - she believed in being honest, especially herself. Her father, the capitalist chalked it up to the New Englander in the Raydor family; her mother, the Psychologist chalked it up to the obstinant streak in her family. Her brother, when he was alive, chalked it up to the fact that she was just a bitch. Regardless, Sharon Raydor knew the possible options she had for her life were dwindling. Despite Delk & Pope's insistence that she shadow Major Crimes, she knew it was just for show. Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson wasn't going anywhere; and even if she was, Sharon knew she wasn't a viable candidate as a replacement. She was seen as too old to lead such a high profile team. She had been stuck too long in F.I.D. and missed her chance to branch out earlier. She supposed she could always move back to the East Coast - the kids were there for school and she knew of at least 4 publishers who'd be willing to hire her.
Every couple of months these moments and thoughts would would hit her, linger for a few days, then disappear. This time, they didn't disappear. They were with her when she woke up, trailed behind her for her morning run, sat in the passenger seat during the drive to work and would wander around her office until it was time for them to go home again. These thoughts even followed her on her date last night - she had to feign a headache to escape, unable to focus on anything her date, Jack, had said. She came home and baked again. Devil's Food Cake.
She wrapped her hands around her still-steaming coffee and glanced around her office at F.I.D. - it was still too early for anyone to have come in. She liked these moments in her life. Quiet. Half-lit. It was perfect for thinking - and lately she found herself thinking about a particular person. She knew that this growing feeling wasn't real - it was just misplaced frustrations at her current situation, one didn't listen to endless lectures from her mother without learning a thing or two about self-analyzation. But that didn't stop her from allowing herself this one indulgence. She took a sip of her coffee and sighed - it was bad enough that that woman was constantly intruding on her actual life, but the intrusion on her inner life was just inexcusable.
| | |
Brenda was developing a new-found appreciation for coffee. Which wasn't particularly a welcome appreciation as she had entirely too many vices to contend with - she didn't need coffee in addition to the sugar and the wine. Every morning she would stop by the cart on the ground floor of headquarters and order a large coffee, Dominican style. She didn't even know what Dominican style meant until she watched Captain Raydor order it a few weeks ago when she first began shadowing Major Crimes.
No matter how often she ordered it, it never tasted the same way it did, coming from Sharon Raydor's cup - dark and rich, with an unexpected burst of sweetness. Life was slowly being shifted from a before Fritz/After Fritz perspective to a Before Raydor/After Raydor. She kept trying to tell herself it was the fact that that she was essentially training her replacement that made her a figure of importance in her life, but she couldn't make herself believe it. If she was so worried about her job, she would've been lighting a fire under Will Pope's ass; or polishing her resume; maybe sending out feelers - but she hadn't. She was curious to see what would happen - as if her life wasn't hers anymore, just something that took on a life of its own.
With coffee in hand, Brenda made her way upstairs. She was early...ish. Tao's computer was on, but he wasn't at his desk. She entered her office and flipped on the lights - it wasn't until she had turned to set her coffee down to pull open the blinds did she notice her desk. Mainly, what was on the desk. Which was a cake. Chocolate to be precise. She sniffed the air - expensive chocolate. Callebaut or Valrhona. She approached the cake and eyed it suspiciously. It wasn't her birthday - there was no reason for the cake. And yet, there it was. She swiped a fingerful of icing and popped it into her mouth quickly before her mind questioned the action - Callebaut cocoa, she could taste the milder flavor. "Morning Chief!" Tao popped his head in, "Nice cake, what's the occasion?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, Lt. Tao?"
"Got me." He shrugged, "I was going through the phone dumps from last night - I got nothing, but we did recover a cell - so I'm waiting for the records on that."
"Very good..." She responded, "Any news on the wife?"
| | |
It was driving her crazy, it was toying with her emotions, just standing there, all chocolaty and rich and good. And oh Lord was it good - the lick of frosting from earlier in the morning was all that she let herself have until she could figure out where it came from, and why. There was no note, no receipt, no box, nothing. Not even a hint. All morning long she'd wracked her mind trying to think of who it could be and what it's meaning was. So far she had come up with zero viable leads and this wasn't acceptable.
Some perps needed to be finessed; manipulated into revealing their guilt and some just needed to be confronted flat out. Luckily, Chief Johnson was getting tired of being taunted by a chocolate cake - the sooner she could figure out the meaning, the sooner she could eat it - and decided to try the second approach. She grabbed the cake and marched into the middle of the room. "This is a chocolate cake." She announced loudly, halting the work around her. "It was on my desk this morning when I got in. There was no note. There was no box. There wasn't even a damned horse's head. I want to know who dropped it off and why?"
No one said anything. Someone's cell phone went off but was quickly silenced. She met the eyes of every one in the room, but could find no trace of deception amongst them. If she was supposed to be this crack, C.I.A. trained investigator, how could she not solve a question about cake? Perhaps, she thought, she should be replaced.
"Nothing? Y'all know nothing about how this cake, chocolate with Callebaut cocoa made it's way to my desk? Did it just walk there, Lt. Flynn?"
"No ma'am." He responded, eyeing her with a smile.
"And why not, Lt. Flynn?"
"'Cause cakes don't have legs ma'am."
"'Cause cakes don't have legs is ri-"
"Are you going to share the cake, Chief? Or are you just rubbin' your lady gifts in our faces?" Provenza asked.
"I am not rubbin' your noses in my ... lady gifts." She sighed. "But there will no cake unless someone gets me some answers."
The cell phone went off again - and that's when Brenda noticed it. A small detail, microscopic - a smudge of dried brown frosting on a white cuff as the arm it belonged to reached out and grabbed their phone. "Back to work." She sighed as she placed the cake off on Provenza's desk.
She went to the break room and scrounged up some paper plates and forks. She clutched the edge of the counter and shut her eyes as she took a moment to compose herself. Oooooh - that woman. What games was she playing at? It wasn't bad enough that first she was everywhere Brenda was, but now tormenting her with the cake? If Sharon Raydor thought she could bake her way to the top, she had another thing coming. She grabbed the cutlery and plates and stomped back to the room where she proceeded to cut off a giant slab for herself and forcefully shoved a bite into her mouth. "Oh." She braced herself on the edge of a desk. Perhaps she had been too hasty - maybe Sharon Raydor could bake her way to the top, especially with a cake like that. It was light, airy, and moist. It was a perfect companion for the rich, dark frosting that melted on the tongue. The matching looks of appreciation on the men's faces around the room confirmed it - it was damned good cake. The desk shifted slightly as Flynn leaned against it beside her and nudged her shoulder. "So you figured it out?" He asked as he shoveled another piece into his mouth.
"I did." She replied as she speared a piece from his plate.
"Care to share who it was?"
"Not at all." She smiled, enjoying this feeling of having a secret that was hers and hers alone
"A secret admirer?" He asked, scraping the last of the frosting off the plate.
"No. Nothing like that." She glanced around the room but didn't see who she was looking for. "Seen Raydor?"
"The witch?" He asked, "Think she went out, call from F.I.D. or something."
"You know I wish you wouldn't call her that." She said, rising up from the table.
"I think she likes it, Chief."
Brenda pushed past the doors put into the quiet halls. The change in the air was drastic - it was cool and still here. She spotted Sharon Raydor leaning her shoulder on the wall, speaking quietly into the phone. Brenda took a breath and watched the other woman, taking a rare opportunity of having the upper hand. She wasn't quiet sure of how to approach this - the stops and starts of kindness and affection were at best difficult to read but more frustrating than anything else. "You going to watch me all day, Chief Johnson?" The other woman asked, still facing away from Brenda.
"How - never mind." She shook her head, what was it about this woman that made her want to stamp her feet like a four year old? "Everything alright downstairs?"
"Yes Chief." Sharon pushed herself upright and turned to face the blond. "They had trouble finding a file."
"I see. You're missing cake."
A moment passed between them, a weary look being exchanged. Neither woman knew what the other was after and it wa-
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" The question was asked and both women looked confused at where it came from. "What I meant to ask was" Brenda began, hoping to clarify. "Would you like to...have dinner with me tonight?"
It seemed there wasn't much to clarify.
Rating: PG 13
Ship: Brenda/Sharon
Disclaimer: Not mine; never were! No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: With Sharon Raydor assigned to shadow Major Crimes, Brenda's forced to figure out the root of her varied feelings for the other woman.
Previous Chapters ( One) ( Two) ( Three)
~
The days and weeks began to fall back into a routine for Brenda - she would wake up sprawled in bed alone, having willed herself to forget what it was like to wake up with someone. She would play her music loudly as she got ready. She would leave her discarded clothes where they fell. She would eat cold Chinese leftovers for breakfast. Weeks where she had custody of Joel were better than weeks where she didn't. She wouldn't describe it as fun, but it was definitely familiar - she had spent a majority of her life uncoupled - slipping back into her old way of life was like slipping into an old sweater you had found in the bottom of your dresser drawer after some years had passed.
She was sleeping more, she was smiling more, she was adjusting. So was Fritz, she had heard - when she ran into him of the lobby of headquarters, the tugs on her heartstrings weren't as sharp as she'd thought. He'd lost some weight, was up for a possible promotion, he was happy...ish. So was she.
| | |
Cross-town, Sharon Raydor contemplated the trajectory of her life as she stared at the cup of coffee in front of her. If her life was a novel, coffee would become a loaded literary symbol, weighty with meaning. If her life was a novel, she snorted, it would be going somewhere.
Captain Sharon Raydor wasn't a dumb woman - she believed in being honest, especially herself. Her father, the capitalist chalked it up to the New Englander in the Raydor family; her mother, the Psychologist chalked it up to the obstinant streak in her family. Her brother, when he was alive, chalked it up to the fact that she was just a bitch. Regardless, Sharon Raydor knew the possible options she had for her life were dwindling. Despite Delk & Pope's insistence that she shadow Major Crimes, she knew it was just for show. Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson wasn't going anywhere; and even if she was, Sharon knew she wasn't a viable candidate as a replacement. She was seen as too old to lead such a high profile team. She had been stuck too long in F.I.D. and missed her chance to branch out earlier. She supposed she could always move back to the East Coast - the kids were there for school and she knew of at least 4 publishers who'd be willing to hire her.
Every couple of months these moments and thoughts would would hit her, linger for a few days, then disappear. This time, they didn't disappear. They were with her when she woke up, trailed behind her for her morning run, sat in the passenger seat during the drive to work and would wander around her office until it was time for them to go home again. These thoughts even followed her on her date last night - she had to feign a headache to escape, unable to focus on anything her date, Jack, had said. She came home and baked again. Devil's Food Cake.
She wrapped her hands around her still-steaming coffee and glanced around her office at F.I.D. - it was still too early for anyone to have come in. She liked these moments in her life. Quiet. Half-lit. It was perfect for thinking - and lately she found herself thinking about a particular person. She knew that this growing feeling wasn't real - it was just misplaced frustrations at her current situation, one didn't listen to endless lectures from her mother without learning a thing or two about self-analyzation. But that didn't stop her from allowing herself this one indulgence. She took a sip of her coffee and sighed - it was bad enough that that woman was constantly intruding on her actual life, but the intrusion on her inner life was just inexcusable.
| | |
Brenda was developing a new-found appreciation for coffee. Which wasn't particularly a welcome appreciation as she had entirely too many vices to contend with - she didn't need coffee in addition to the sugar and the wine. Every morning she would stop by the cart on the ground floor of headquarters and order a large coffee, Dominican style. She didn't even know what Dominican style meant until she watched Captain Raydor order it a few weeks ago when she first began shadowing Major Crimes.
No matter how often she ordered it, it never tasted the same way it did, coming from Sharon Raydor's cup - dark and rich, with an unexpected burst of sweetness. Life was slowly being shifted from a before Fritz/After Fritz perspective to a Before Raydor/After Raydor. She kept trying to tell herself it was the fact that that she was essentially training her replacement that made her a figure of importance in her life, but she couldn't make herself believe it. If she was so worried about her job, she would've been lighting a fire under Will Pope's ass; or polishing her resume; maybe sending out feelers - but she hadn't. She was curious to see what would happen - as if her life wasn't hers anymore, just something that took on a life of its own.
With coffee in hand, Brenda made her way upstairs. She was early...ish. Tao's computer was on, but he wasn't at his desk. She entered her office and flipped on the lights - it wasn't until she had turned to set her coffee down to pull open the blinds did she notice her desk. Mainly, what was on the desk. Which was a cake. Chocolate to be precise. She sniffed the air - expensive chocolate. Callebaut or Valrhona. She approached the cake and eyed it suspiciously. It wasn't her birthday - there was no reason for the cake. And yet, there it was. She swiped a fingerful of icing and popped it into her mouth quickly before her mind questioned the action - Callebaut cocoa, she could taste the milder flavor. "Morning Chief!" Tao popped his head in, "Nice cake, what's the occasion?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, Lt. Tao?"
"Got me." He shrugged, "I was going through the phone dumps from last night - I got nothing, but we did recover a cell - so I'm waiting for the records on that."
"Very good..." She responded, "Any news on the wife?"
| | |
It was driving her crazy, it was toying with her emotions, just standing there, all chocolaty and rich and good. And oh Lord was it good - the lick of frosting from earlier in the morning was all that she let herself have until she could figure out where it came from, and why. There was no note, no receipt, no box, nothing. Not even a hint. All morning long she'd wracked her mind trying to think of who it could be and what it's meaning was. So far she had come up with zero viable leads and this wasn't acceptable.
Some perps needed to be finessed; manipulated into revealing their guilt and some just needed to be confronted flat out. Luckily, Chief Johnson was getting tired of being taunted by a chocolate cake - the sooner she could figure out the meaning, the sooner she could eat it - and decided to try the second approach. She grabbed the cake and marched into the middle of the room. "This is a chocolate cake." She announced loudly, halting the work around her. "It was on my desk this morning when I got in. There was no note. There was no box. There wasn't even a damned horse's head. I want to know who dropped it off and why?"
No one said anything. Someone's cell phone went off but was quickly silenced. She met the eyes of every one in the room, but could find no trace of deception amongst them. If she was supposed to be this crack, C.I.A. trained investigator, how could she not solve a question about cake? Perhaps, she thought, she should be replaced.
"Nothing? Y'all know nothing about how this cake, chocolate with Callebaut cocoa made it's way to my desk? Did it just walk there, Lt. Flynn?"
"No ma'am." He responded, eyeing her with a smile.
"And why not, Lt. Flynn?"
"'Cause cakes don't have legs ma'am."
"'Cause cakes don't have legs is ri-"
"Are you going to share the cake, Chief? Or are you just rubbin' your lady gifts in our faces?" Provenza asked.
"I am not rubbin' your noses in my ... lady gifts." She sighed. "But there will no cake unless someone gets me some answers."
The cell phone went off again - and that's when Brenda noticed it. A small detail, microscopic - a smudge of dried brown frosting on a white cuff as the arm it belonged to reached out and grabbed their phone. "Back to work." She sighed as she placed the cake off on Provenza's desk.
She went to the break room and scrounged up some paper plates and forks. She clutched the edge of the counter and shut her eyes as she took a moment to compose herself. Oooooh - that woman. What games was she playing at? It wasn't bad enough that first she was everywhere Brenda was, but now tormenting her with the cake? If Sharon Raydor thought she could bake her way to the top, she had another thing coming. She grabbed the cutlery and plates and stomped back to the room where she proceeded to cut off a giant slab for herself and forcefully shoved a bite into her mouth. "Oh." She braced herself on the edge of a desk. Perhaps she had been too hasty - maybe Sharon Raydor could bake her way to the top, especially with a cake like that. It was light, airy, and moist. It was a perfect companion for the rich, dark frosting that melted on the tongue. The matching looks of appreciation on the men's faces around the room confirmed it - it was damned good cake. The desk shifted slightly as Flynn leaned against it beside her and nudged her shoulder. "So you figured it out?" He asked as he shoveled another piece into his mouth.
"I did." She replied as she speared a piece from his plate.
"Care to share who it was?"
"Not at all." She smiled, enjoying this feeling of having a secret that was hers and hers alone
"A secret admirer?" He asked, scraping the last of the frosting off the plate.
"No. Nothing like that." She glanced around the room but didn't see who she was looking for. "Seen Raydor?"
"The witch?" He asked, "Think she went out, call from F.I.D. or something."
"You know I wish you wouldn't call her that." She said, rising up from the table.
"I think she likes it, Chief."
Brenda pushed past the doors put into the quiet halls. The change in the air was drastic - it was cool and still here. She spotted Sharon Raydor leaning her shoulder on the wall, speaking quietly into the phone. Brenda took a breath and watched the other woman, taking a rare opportunity of having the upper hand. She wasn't quiet sure of how to approach this - the stops and starts of kindness and affection were at best difficult to read but more frustrating than anything else. "You going to watch me all day, Chief Johnson?" The other woman asked, still facing away from Brenda.
"How - never mind." She shook her head, what was it about this woman that made her want to stamp her feet like a four year old? "Everything alright downstairs?"
"Yes Chief." Sharon pushed herself upright and turned to face the blond. "They had trouble finding a file."
"I see. You're missing cake."
A moment passed between them, a weary look being exchanged. Neither woman knew what the other was after and it wa-
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" The question was asked and both women looked confused at where it came from. "What I meant to ask was" Brenda began, hoping to clarify. "Would you like to...have dinner with me tonight?"
It seemed there wasn't much to clarify.