Of Bullets and Old Jobs by urbandaily

Disclaimer: I do not own, I do not own, I do not own.

It was a slow day for Major Crimes: paperwork, internet games, and avoiding higher-ups. A feet-up-on-the-desk day. Brenda figured now was as good a time as any to give them notice of her impending sick leave. If they didn't know now, and tried to reach her while she was pumped full of anesthetics, they'd probably assume the worst and send out the freaking cavalry. That was just the way this job made them; seeing the worst of humanity on a daily basis made them all more than a little paranoid. She stepped up to the front, in "announcement mode". The idle conversation ceased, and they all turned their attention to her.

"Just to let y'all know, I won't be in next week. Surgery," She clarified, to avoid the impending onslaught of questions. It wasn't exactly a successful attempt.

"Is everything alright?" Gabriel asked, ever the concerned one. The chief almost never had to take sick leave.

"Yes, fine, fine! I have to get a, eh, bullet removed from my shoulder." Brenda replied breezily, hoping that the ease in her voice would keep her squad from processing her actual words. She should have known better.

They all started, surprise etched in their faces.

"Did you say 'bullet', Chief?" Provenza looked mildly surprised, maybe a little impressed. He removed his feet from the top of his desk and angled his head to look up at her.

"When did that happen?" Buzz's eyes went wide the way they sometimes did.

Brenda looked at them all, their expressions ranging from curious (Flynn and Tao), to concerned (Provenza and Gabriel), to give-me-his-name-and-I'll-take-him-down-for-you (Sanchez... she knew he would if she asked him to); Brenda thought absurdly of a fish being cornered in its tank. Look who's turned the tables on the interrogator, she thought with some bemusement.

"Oh, it's nothin' to be worried about; it's like fifteen years old! The Russians just want their bullet back." Brenda replied flippantly. Her nonchalance did little to appease her people.

"The Russians?"

"What... what?"

"Why do you have a bullet in your arm to begin with?" Gabriel pressed.

"Old CIA operation." She replied dismissively, but would not add more than that. She waved away their obvious concern. "Really, y'all, it's perfectly fine! I'm just lettin' y'all know that I won't be in next week. Okay? Carry on, everybody." Brenda shook her head. Really, they could be like vultures when they wanted to be!

She returned to her office, but activity (or lack thereof) in the Murder Room had screeched to a halt. The team was still trying to work out this new piece of information.

Flynn blew air out between his teeth. "Hah! Bullet - imagine that. Goes to show you how much we probably don't know about the chief." He shook his head good-naturedly.

"I never even knew she ever worked for the CIA." Sanchez proclaimed, frowning.

"Yeah, yeah; why do you think she's so damn good at interrogatories? They trained her; she's one of the best." Provenza recalled the Farrah murder case from a few years back.

"Then why is she a cop?" Tao wondered. "She's a world-class interrogator; she could work for anyone she wanted - FBI, DOD, DHS..."

"A-S-S, S-O-B, P-R-I-C-K," Flynn continued helpfully. Gabriel snickered.

"Do you think she ever tortured people?" Sanchez asked with a glint in his eye.

"Does she look like she's capable of torturing someone?" Gabriel was a little dubious.

"Uh, yeah!"

"She says torture is unreliable."

"She probably knows that first-hand."

"Touché."

Flynn chuckled. "Just remind me never to piss her off... I don't really wanna find out first-hand whether or not she's well-versed in torture."

Brenda smirked to herself in her office as she listened to her squad's musings through her partially cracked door. Oh, they had no idea.

Fin.

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