Title: Conduct Unbecoming
Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels
Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.
A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. This is part one of thirteen.
There were two points during the course of an investigation that Detective Irene Daniels could pinpoint as her favorite. Of course, the inevitable dull phone inquiries, information digging and gathering, paperwork, and dead leads accompanied them. But it made her favorite moments, while fleeting, that much more sweet.
The first of her favorite points was the interrogations. The boss, Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson accompanied by one detective sit across from their current suspect in one of the interview rooms, while the rest of squad squeezed into the surveillance room to listen and watch remotely.
Daniels had her personal chair in the surveillance room that no one dared sit in while she was present. Detective Sanchez had only dared once and had not risked doing so since. From her seat, she had a perfect view of all of the video monitors, so no matter how the interrogation proceeded she had a decent perspective from all angles.
She wasn't a voyeur or some kind of freak. It was simply the only opportunity where she could watch Chief Johnson without worrying that her gaze was too intense or that something might betray there was more than polite attentiveness in her eyes. During an interrogation, she was supposed to be watching the chief, so she could afford to allow her eyes to linger intently on the other woman's lips, her eyes.
It was the only time when appreciating her boss's beauty was not a liability.
Her second favorite part came when the entire squad gathered in the murder room for a briefing. It did not happen every time; it only happened when another detective was presenting the case on the murder board. Deputy Chief Johnson would move back to a distance where she could listen and watch, usually sliding up to sit on the corner of a desk.
Usually, the corner of Daniel's desk. She would cross her legs, nudge her glasses up on her nose, and listen attentively to the details of the case without the slightest inclination of the torture she was inflicting on the woman behind her.
And Daniels had the best view in the murder room. Brenda's skirt would hike up halfway up her thigh, revealing long, slender legs kissed a natural golden, honeyed tan. It was the closest she ever was to Brenda. Normal standards of professionalism dictated they were rarely closer than an arm's length.
But during a case briefing, Brenda was close enough to touch. All Daniels needed to do was lift her hand and her fingers would graze the older woman's thigh, lift it a little higher and Daniel's could place her hand in the small of her back. It was agonizing to be this close with the knowledge she could only think about it, never act on it.
The proximity between the two was intoxicating, painful. Daniels anguished each second Brenda sat so close, barely a foot away. It was more painful than any other time because it illustrated that the distance between them was so much more than physical. Brenda was her boss, straight, romantically attached to a male FBI agent, and woefully unaware of Daniel's feelings. They might as well have lived on opposite coasts given the likelihood they would ever be anything but coworkers.
But as much as she suffered during those moments, she loved them. Every time they gathered in the murder room, her chest fluttered with the wisps of hope that Brenda would simply sit next to her. That simple gesture touched Daniels in a way that could not be defined; even if it wasn't Brenda's intention, even if she was blissfully unaware of the effect she had on her.
It always left Daniels's heart throbbing and her head swimming when Brenda finally slid off her desk.
There had been a passage of Shakespeare that Daniels remembered from a college English class. It had not meant anything to her at the time, but her current predicament made it incredibly relevant. She had not ever really enjoyed Shakespeare; he was too melodramatic, too mushy for her. She wasn't one of those girls who swooned when her lover recited love sonnets or some ridiculous passage from Romeo and Juliet, but when Brenda started working for the LAPD, the passage needled its way into the back of Daniels mind, popping to the foreground randomly. Finally, she had relented and looked up the passage, reread it.
"She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief."
It was a passage about unrequited love, as so much of Shakespeare was. For once though, Daniels felt the raw truth of the words and appreciated them. For once, she thought, Shakespeare knew what he was talking about.
So when Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson invited her squad for drinks after trashing all of their resignations for the second time, Daniels had been the first to vocalize her endorsement of the idea.
"Sounds great, chief." She had said, then swallowed hard, hoping she had not spoken too quickly. She relaxed when the other members of the squad added their agreement.
Even if the night awarded nothing but a smile and a few personal words, Daniels thought it might be worth it.
"Another round?" Flynn asked, slamming another crumpled bill on the bar, motioning vaguely for the bartender to start pouring more drinks.
Daniels waved the bartender off. She was still slowly sipping her second beer, unlike her colleagues, with the exception of Sergeant Gabriel who was responsible for driving Sanchez home. It was a good thing too because the Hispanic detective was in a stiff drinking competition with Lieutenant Provenza, and losing.
Even the chief, Brenda, was on her third glass of wine. And while she did not seem tipsy, her smile was more ready and open than usual.
"Come on, Daniels, loosen up," Flynn clapped a hand on her shoulder and slid another bottle of beer to her.
Rotating on her bar stool, she glared at the lieutenant. "I'm as loose as I want to be, Flynn." She replied sarcastically, adding a pointed eye roll for effect. She had her reasons for abstaining this evening. First of all being, she still had to drive home. The second was she did not trust herself sloppy drunk around the Chief.
Flynn grinned around his toothpick and picked up the rejected beer, taking a long swig without removing the toothpick from the corner of his mouth. Daniels wondered if it was the same toothpick, or if he traded them out periodically. "Suit yourself."
"You alright, Daniels?" Brenda's drawl crept up from beside her like a lover's hand, concern lulling her tones.
"Fine," Daniels responded automatically, abruptly turning her gaze to the chief who had slipped onto a barstool beside her, unnoticed. "Just not much of a drinker is all." Daniels took a slow slip from her half-full bottle, feeling her mouth suddenly go dry.
Brenda was silent, seemed to study her a moment. "As much fun as I'm having," she said, loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. "with my luck a case will pop up in a couple of hours, with half my squad completely inebriated." She smiled broadly, the way she did when she was being overly gracious with her wording. "So, at the very least, I believe I should be sober."
There was a general consensus of groans from the rest of the squad. Gabriel stood from his table with Provenza and Sanchez. "Hey, you need a ride home, Chief?"
"No, no, no," Brenda motioned for him to sit back down. "You've got do drive Detective Sanchez home." Her soft brown eyes fell on Daniels. "Detective Daniels, would you mind givin' me a ride home, please?"
It took several beats for Daniels to find her voice, but she finally managed, "Sure thing, chief." And she was already on her feet, pulling on a blazer she had thrown over a neighboring stool.
"Y'all have a good time now," Brenda was saying as she slung her oversized purse over her shoulder. "And thank y'all again. Thank you very much." She said, waving as she led the way to the door of the bar. "Bye bye now."
Dutifully, Daniels followed her boss out and took up the lead, since Brenda had no idea what kind of car she drove. Her mind reeled. The two of them had never been alone together before; it was more temptation than she could stand. It would be okay though; she had done this before. So long as she hid behind the guise of professionalism, she would be fine. It worked perfectly well before, this was no different. Just a different environment.
"Where to, Chief?" Daniels asked, once they were both situated and seatbelts were fastened, car started.
"It doesn't matter." Brenda sighed the words. Daniels quirked a brow at her, perplexed. The small, strong woman next to appear seemed to have suddenly deflated. Her elbow propped on the center console, she had buried her face in her hand and slouched into the seat. "Just drive."
Turning the ignition, Daniels complied and began driving. The abrupt shift in Brenda's mood left her feeling awkward. "I don't know where your house is, Chief." Daniels prompted.
"I don't want to go home," Brenda straightened in her seat.
"Um," Daniels tried to think of the appropriate response, but there was none. She had tried to imagine before how the Chief might act on a personal level, when she wasn't Deputy Chief and simply Brenda. Now that she was experiencing it, Daniels did not know how to respond. So instead, she focused on driving, even if she did not know where she was driving to.
"I didn't think I was going to have a job tomorrow." Brenda said finally, staring sightlessly ahead.
"We weren't going to let that happen, Chief." Daniels slipped back into the comfort of professionalism. "Besides," She tried to suppress a smile but failed. "We heard what you told the district attorney and the FBI and Captain Taylor. I wish I could have been there to see their faces."
Brenda chuckled, then laughed. "Well, Pope said to apologize. He didn't say for what." The laughter eased the tension Daniels felt. It was one of the things she admired most about the older woman; she did not seem to care what people thought of her, regardless of who they were. Gradually, the laughter eased and subsided. "I am grateful for what y'all did, for what the squad did. Probably saved my job."
The hand on Daniels arm would not have surprised her more if it had electric current running through it. Get a grip on yourself, Daniels. She chided herself mentally. A deep breath steadied her enough so she was able to refrain from swerving into oncoming traffic or slamming on the breaks. "It's no problem, Chief," Daniels forced herself to sound casual, and risked a glance over at the passenger seat, at Brenda. "I… we all respect you. A lot."
Brenda's hand remained on Daniel's forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. It was a gentle pressure not firm enough to be grasping, but not light enough to be a caress. But it held Daniels completely immobile all the same.
Daniels turned her head, and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"You know, in Atlanta, red means stop." Brenda commented casually as if oblivious to Daniels mental struggle.
"What?" Daniels brow knit together in bewilderment. She was used to Brenda's somewhat odd personality, but this was one of those instances where she was completely lost.
"The light is red." Brenda broke eye contact and pointed in front of them.
Daniels followed her finger to the glowering red light in front of them, the line of stopped cars. It took a moment for it to register, but when it did, she stomped on the brake. They stopped short of the SUV in front of them, but just barely. Heart racing, she felt her safe flush. "Sorry, Chief." She glanced over sheepishly.
The Southern woman appeared unruffled by the near-wreck. In fact, she seemed to be holding back a smile. "It's alright, Detective." Her hand was still on Daniels's arm, her grip somewhat tightened. Clearing her throat, she pushed herself up in her seat and leaned over the center console.
Daniels watched as if a third party looking on through the windshield. Brenda used her hand on the other woman's arm for leverage to lift herself over the center console and bringing her so close their noses brushed. She hesitated at Daniels sharp intake of breath, searching her face for a reaction, some reason to stop. When Daniels did not stir, Brenda pressed her lips against Daniels.
Oh, God, her tongue is in my mouth. Was the first coherent thought that reached her brain when she returned to her body. Then she was shocked still as Brenda's mouth hungrily sought her lips, her tongue. Her mind was assaulted with the fact that her lips were locked with her boss's, that a moment she imagined a dozen times over was manifesting in a way could never have planned.
Of their own volition, her lips responded, her tongue begged entry to Brenda's mouth. Hands left the steering wheel and instead slid over the soft contours of Brenda's abdomen and hips, the only thing separating Daniels's hands from the other woman's skin was a frustratingly thin, floral print dress. With the recklessness common to secret lovers, she drank Brenda's taste and smell: tangy and sweet from the wine, faintly of spice from her perfume, and hot with need.
She kissed Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson without regret or thought. This was her moment. It was a moment she had desperately craved, imagined, wanted but never thought possible. Whatever happened afterwards, she just wanted to enjoy kissing Brenda, love her while she had the opportunity.
Until some asshole leaned on his horn, abruptly yanking both women back to reality. Brenda fell back in her seat while Daniels reeled, trying to figure who and why was honking at them. The bright green light glared at her, as if chastising the couple.
Fingers tightening around the wheel once more, she threw up her free hand to flip the agitated driver behind her off. Not that he was in the wrong, but because he had interrupted the best kiss of her life. Only when she lifted her hand, it bumped into something. Perplexed, she glanced over to find that Brenda's arm was already raised, that she had beaten her to it.
The two women looked at each other, laughed. "Well, it's good to know we think alike." Brenda said, her voice a notch huskier than usual.
Daniels nodded, licking her lips to taste what remained of Brenda's mouth on hers. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound nonchalant. "Where to?"
"You decide," Brenda said immediately, though her tone suggested that she might have a few places in mind.
A corner of her lips quirked in mischievous not-quite-smile, Daniels nodded. "I know just the place."
"Oh. My. God." Brenda fell back, completely sated. "I think that was the best I ever had."
"Wait till you try this." Daniels grinned smugly.
"No. I don't think I could take anymore."
"Okay, if you say –" Daniels feigned acquiescence and backed away.
"No, no. Come here." Brenda made a great show of leaning forward again, as if exhausted. Her dark eyes closed to narrow slits, her mouth open just slightly. It was the sexiest thing that Daniels could ever think of.
Brenda closed her mouth and groaned. "Oh my, is that chocolate strawberry?"
Daniels chuckled and lowered the fork to her plate. "It is. So, was it the best?"
Opening her eyes slowly as if drifting out of ecstasy, Brenda swallowed and gestured to one of the empty plates on the table. "It's between that one and the pecan pie, I think. Or the custard pie." Her brows knit together in a concentration that Daniels had only witnessed when she was on a case. "It's hard to choose."
"Yeah. Du-par's has got the best pies anywhere I've been." Admittedly, Daniels didn't go many restaurants searching for pies to try, but Du-par's was renowned in LA for having the best. "There's still a couple bites left of the custard left, if you want it?"
"I don't think I could eat another bite if my life depended on it." Brenda wiped the corner of her mouth and placed the napkin on the table.
They had been easy with one another during the entire meal, if it could be called that. They enjoyed seclusion in a corner booth. The late hour lent to the quiet atmosphere that would soon be shattered by the bar crowd stumbling in for breakfast. They hadn't mentioned the kiss. Instead they talked about the squad, about the two dozen pies they had sampled, the merits of custard cream over banana cream, and a million things that did not matter.
And now that they had finished eating, both seemed at a loss for words.
"Where to now?" Brenda finally asked.
"Won't Fritz be worried about you?" Daniels was loathe to bring up Brenda's… she supposed he was her boyfriend but she wasn't sure. There was no hiding the jealousy that colored the question, but she felt obligated to ask. If Brenda really wanted to pretend as if nothing happened, this was the opportunity Daniels felt obligated to present. But she hoped so hard that it ached in her chest, that Brenda wouldn't take it.
Cocking her head to the side, Brenda smiled wistfully. "Do you read Shakespeare, Detective Daniels?"
Some part of her felt like she should be used to the chief's habit of answering questions with one of her own, but she was still thrown off. "Uhm," She stuttered, confused. "I took a class in college."
"He said, 'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.' Does that answer your question?" Brenda folded her hands in front of her; face void of expression.
Daniels rummaged through her purse, using the time it took for her to find her wallet and remove enough money to cover the bill, to mull over what she had said. "Shakespeare knew what he was talking about sometimes." She said finally, tucking the bills under one of the empty plates.
"Then take me to your place, Detective Daniels." It was almost a plea.
Daniels stood and hesitated before offering her hand to the other woman to help her slide from the booth. "You do know my name is not Daniels right?" She asked, smiling at the feel of Brenda's hand in hers. "It's Irene."
"Well, if I were to address you by your first name that might be construed by some as conduct unbecoming." Brenda said, her words sweet with sarcasm.
Daniels didn't release her hand, even after Brenda stood. "And kissing one of the junior detectives in your squad in the middle of traffic couldn't be?"
"Let's go to your place then, Irene."
To be continued...
