Author's Notes: I wrote part of this story about 2 years ago, and finally decided to take a break from Welcome Her Home with Red Roses to finish it. It is a "M" story if ever there was one, but I edited it down so there could be a T version too. (This is sort of T-plus; I did my best). The M version is published here too.

I give many thanks to LadyFey, who edited this story. She's not just an editor, she's a cheerleader, a support system, and a friend.

Please read ManateeMama's story "The Seer." It's a multi-chapter Brenda and Fritz fic, and it's fab, much better than this nonsense.

Chapter 1

Fritz was in trouble. He had committed a crime, a moderately severe one in Brenda's book. And she was mad at him. But the punishment she meted out, in Fritz's opinion, vastly outweighed the offense.

She wore The Dress to work. The Dress. When she knew he would be there. All day. With her.

She had gone too far this time.

Brenda bent over Provenza's desk right as he walked in, right in his line of sight, the oversized black blazer she wore over The Dress pulling away from her body and doing little to disguise the fact that the red garment underneath hugged every curve and showed off her figure beautifully. He pulled his eyes away only to be drawn back to her shapely legs accented by three inch black pumps, and he remembered how she always wore thigh-high stockings and a tiny thong with The Dress because it was so form-fitting that any little bit of undergarment would show. He cursed under his breath and Lt. Provenza looked up from the case file Brenda was showing him to raise an eyebrow.

"You got a problem, Agent Howard?" Provenza was next to Brenda and wasn't getting the eyeful Fritz was.

Fritz caught the smirk on his wife's face and, without answering, turned away. He had to get away from her, fast, before he embarrassed himself.

His mind turned to the previous night. They hadn't seen each other all day, and met at a casual Italian restaurant for dinner. While they were waiting for their entrées, Brenda was chatting about a funny story Charlie had told her via e-mail when something, or rather someone, caught Fritz's eye.

A beautiful woman had entered the restaurant and was following the hostess to be seated. LA was full of beautiful women, but this one was different. She had long auburn hair that hung nearly to her waist, and pale alabaster skin that glowed around striking blue eyes. She was tall, much taller than Brenda but not model tall, with the curves of a real woman, her full breasts barely contained in what looked to Fritz like a bustier worn under a leather jacket. A long leather skirt with a slit and high heeled boots completed her look, and despite her provocative clothing, there was something about her that looked innocent and natural. Maybe it was because she wasn't a bottle blonde or starved model-thin, but she had an engaging beauty that was different than other LA women.

When he was finally able to pull his eyes away from her, Brenda was staring right at him. With daggers in her eyes.

"See something you like, Fritz?" she said, icicles dripping off each word.

Oh crap. He had just touched Brenda's jealous nerve, and he didn't know how he was going to get out of it. I'll pretend nothing happened, he thought desperately. I'll just slide right back into the conversation and spend the rest of the evening being as nice to her as I can, and maybe she won't castrate me when I'm asleep tonight.

"So, Charlie was telling you," he prompted her, casually picking up his water glass and taking a sip, trying to strike a pose of normality.

"You would have known exactly what Charlie told me if you were listenin' and not starin' at that woman," Brenda spat. "I didn't know you were into redheads, Fritz. Should I talk to my stylist next time I get my hair done? Or would a wig do?" Her pupils had constricted into pinpoints.

"Sorry, Brenda, I got distracted." He started to feel desperate. He had no idea how to talk his way out of this one, not when Brenda so easily flew into a jealous fit.

"You sure did, Fritz. You got distracted by your crotch."

As the word "crotch" hung in the air like an accusation, the waiter came with their meals. He looked at Brenda strangely, but she didn't care he had overheard her. She was way too busy fuming. Fritz was hoping the food would distract her and tried to make small talk about their meal, the restaurant, pasta in general, but Brenda would have none of it. She said nothing else to him, her lips set in a straight white line, silently stabbing her cannoli.

Fritz admitted he's a red-blooded American male. He liked looking at attractive women, even though he's married to the love of his life who is sexy as hell and loves to go to bed with him. What man doesn't? He would never cheat on Brenda, not in a million years. She was everything to him. But like his partner Jerry said, he was married, not dead. A hot woman was going to catch his eye. It just happened. And it wasn't unusual for women stare at him and occasionally flirt, and he always felt very flattered, glad to know women found him good-looking even though he wasn't as young as he used to be. Men certainly paid attention to Brenda, especially when she was dressed up, and yea, that made him a little jealous, but he lived with it. And when a handsome man crossed Brenda's path, well, he's seen her check out a guy or two, so she's not perfect. People will always be attracted to other people, it's just human nature. Can't she understand that?

She can't. Brenda was always jealousy prone, and if she caught another woman looking at Fritz, she gave her the hairy eyeball until the other woman got the message loud and clear. And when she caught Fritz looking at another female, which didn't happen too often because he tried to be discrete, her reaction ranged from cold fury to a fit of insecurity, or a mixture of both.

It might have been okay, Brenda might have thawed if he had showered her with attention the rest of the night, if there was only one infraction. But he was a repeat offender.

Halfway through their stony meal, the redheaded women made her way past Brenda and Fritz, probably to go to the bathroom. For some reason-and Fritz can't figure out why-she sought him out with those mesmerizing blue eyes. She looked right at him and gave him a slow, sexy smile, her face lighting up. As she passed their table and he was forced to break eye contact, he caught a whiff of her perfume, which brought to mind warm cinnamon cookies. He turned slightly to watch her pass, her long red hair swaying as she moved.

The spell was broken by the sound of Brenda's open palm slamming down on the table. Startled, he turned around, only to be confronted by her fury face.

"I have had it," she said, now speaking in her cold, deadly voice. "You have disrespected me enough for one evenin'.'" She reached for her purse and pushed her chair back from the table.

He grabbed her sleeve. "Brenda, honey, please don't leave." He knew the extent of the damage and grasped at anything to try and fix it. "You haven't finished your wine. And you barely touched your meal. Please stay, Brenda." He wasn't above begging.

"I am not sitting here another minute with you," she spat, and a nearby table turned to look at them. "Plus, you can stare at that woman's ass as long as you want to when she gets back from the bathroom, because you won't have your wife here. Not that that seems to make a difference to you anyways." She yanked free of his grasp.

Fritz flushed with embarrassment, hating that they were making a scene. "Seriously, Brenda, we can't leave yet. We have to pay, and you drove me to work today because my car's in the shop, remember?"

She stood up and slung her large bag over her shoulder. "You can walk home for all I care," she said, and turned around and stormed out. By this time, several people had become interested in their argument and were looking at Fritz, the only one left at the table. He mustered what dignity he could and waved down his waiter to get a doggie bag and the check.

He got home an hour and a $50 cab ride later, angry at Brenda for stranding him at the restaurant, but angrier at himself. He knew better. He knew much, much better. Under any circumstances, it was disrespectful to ogle another woman in front of your wife. And disrespecting Brenda was something he never did. Brenda wasn't an ordinary woman. She came with a complicated set of instructions, and she had "Fragile" stamped all over her. One false move, a little rough handling and she would explode—or shatter. He never knew which. But what he did know was that she was prone to jealousy, and when another woman crossed their path, he needed to make sure to keep his eyes on the floor, or his eyes on her. Not his eyes on the curves of a beautiful redhead.

He was never sure where her jealousy streak came from. Brenda was stunning and had men tripping all over themselves. In DC, she was the hottest thing at the Metro Police, and he had plenty of competition for the pretty CIA officer's attention. Willie Rae said Clay was always shooing off boys when Brenda was younger, and she told him herself that she had plenty of boyfriends at Georgetown. Why did she get so jealous of other women? He blamed Will Pope. Will had lied to her, told her she was the center of his universe, and he was going to leave his wife for her. And he did leave his wife…for a woman he was dating at the same time as Brenda. Fritz thinks this shattered any trust Brenda could ever have in men, and unfortunately, Fritz was suffering the aftermath. Bastard.

The house was quiet when he got home, but he could tell by the cat food in the bowl and the bottle opener on the counter that she was there. And as usual, she had turned on every light in the place. He went in search for her, prepared to grovel. She wasn't in the living room, or the bedroom, or the bathroom. He went to the guest room and saw the door was closed. Brenda was hiding from him. After the scene in the restaurant he was expecting an assault, not retreat, on her part. He tapped on the door and called her name, but got no answer. He stood for a minute or two, wondering if he should leave her alone or not, and laid his forehead against the cool wood door in defeat. He knew that he had to give her space; an apology yelled through a locked door would not be well-received. Reluctantly he turned away and walked slowly into the living room.

All evening long Fritz listened for the click of the door to the spare room, waiting for Brenda to get over her anger at him and come out of hiding so he could apologize for his bad behavior. But she never left the room, not even to use the bathroom, and at midnight Fritz gave up and went to bed. Alone.

Brenda was gone by the time he woke up at 7:30 the next morning. How she managed to sneak into the room, get her clothes, and shower without him being disturbed were beyond him. Must be her CIA training, he thought. Fritz stopped by her favorite bakery and bought a conciliatory pastry and mocha latte for her, which he nearly dropped on the floor when he walked into the Murder Room and saw what she was wearing. She looked at him and her eyes said exactly one thing: screw you.

End Chapter 1

Author's Notes Part Deux: This is not the dress Brenda bought in "About Face." You will learn what The Dress looks like, and why Fritz is so fond of it, in the next chapter.

LadyFey commented that my Brenda was really, really jealous. This story is written to be a little over the top and silly. Read it with a sense of camp and humor.

Speaking of jealousy... I get really jealous when I see other fanfic writers who get a ton of reviews for their stories. I wonder what I'm doing wrong. Any ideas? It really bums me out. If you want to anti-bum me, in other words make me happy, please leave a review. Thanks so much.

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