Summary: Brenda returns to Los Angeles. She and Sharon begin a tentative friendship that may have consequences for both of them. Maybe all it takes to find happiness is a leap of faith.

Pairing: Brenda/Sharon romantically. Also includes Shandy but it isn't going to last, I'm afraid.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Major Crimes, The Closer or anything connected to these shows.

For Kait.
I hope it's everything you want it to be.

x

Though the stakes are high, give it one more try
this time you can be sure

And take a leap of faith

~ Lionel Cartwright; Leap Of Faith

x

The coffee shop was busy, even for a Friday afternoon. All the tables were occupied and she was glad she'd arrived early and had managed to get a table in the far back with two leather arm chairs. A crumpled up gossip magazine lay on the floor, slightly hidden underneath the chair across from her. So far she'd resisted picking it up and skimming through it.

The chairs were comfortable and she'd sunk into it. It felt a little like an old pair of shoes that had been worn within an inch of their life but still fitted perfectly when put back on. The brown leather was worn and had begun to fade in places. Some patches were scratched and marked and there were coffee stains on the arm rests. It looked like someone had once placed a hot cup on it too, a pale ring had burnt itself into the material.

She let her eyes drift around the coffee shop. The crowd was varied and diverse. A young couple, maybe in their late teens, sat by the window, talking softly over two large hot chocolates. A woman dressed in an expensive suit sipped from her latte as she flipped through pages full of numbers and a man, she guessed him to be in his fifties, was reading a Charles Dickens novel. She briefly wondered if it was a favourite of his as the pages seemed worn. Around her, people carried on with their day to day activities but she felt like she was stuck in this particular moment.

Her cup of coffee, with two extra shots of espresso, stood untouched on the round wooden table. Next to it lay her iPhone, screen up, and her eyes remained fixed on the door. Nerves had settled in the pit of her stomach and she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She then leaned in to the table to check the time on her phone. 11.59.

She wiped her hands along her jeans when she sat back. They had faded over time, had a cut across the knee, and perhaps they'd been in the washing machine a few too many times. She was about to pick up her phone, just for something to do, when the door at the other end of the shop opened again and she saw him.

He had grown up, had changed so much. It was the first thing she noticed when her eyes met his across the busy shop. He raised his hand; the wave was clumsy and perhaps a little wary. She watched him huddle a little deeper into the hoodie he was wearing, saw how he pulled the sleeves all the way down to his fingers. Right there, in that moment, he became the frightened young boy in the middle of her kitchen five years ago.

She waited until he was almost at her table before standing up. What was she supposed to do? Shake his hand? Would that be too formal? Definitely not a hug. Too casual. They weren't friends. She wasn't sure if they were even anything at all. They had history, and not exactly the good kind, which was what brought them to this very moment, but it wasn't friendship. Unsure of what to do, she just chose to smile.

"Hi."

He only glanced up to meet her eyes. Everything about his demeanour told her that he wasn't sure if he wanted to be here. She didn't blame him.

"Rusty... I..." She swallowed. "Thank you so much for meetin' me."

"Brenda."

He said her name softly, as if he wasn't certain.

"Sit. Please."

She gestured at the other chair before sitting down herself. She felt his eyes on her. He was sizing her up, was trying to figure out what it was she wanted from him. She couldn't blame him. She folded her hands in her lap.

She'd text him a couple of days ago. She hadn't through it through, just sent the message. It hadn't been too hard to track down his cell phone number. She had not expected him to text her back, or even accept her invitation, but here they were.

"It's been a long time. I... I didn't think you'd come."

"Five years. And neither did I."

He put his drink down and looked up and this time he held her gaze. The eyes she found looking back at her no longer belonged to a teenager who had to get by on the streets by selling himself. The eyes she saw today belonged to a young man making his way in the world with confidence, who had found a way to leave the shadows of the past behind.

Rusty shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen, I don't wanna sound like a jerk or anything but... Why are you here? Aren't you like supposed to be in DC or something?"

His directness didn't surprise her. Brenda Leigh Johnson studied Rusty Beck for the longest of moments before answering and said, "You are not a jerk for askin', Rusty. Until recently I was in DC. But I moved back to Los Angeles."

"Why?"

She detected the suspicion in his voice immediately and it confirmed that although Rusty's life had turned around for the better, he still bore some signs of the time when his life was anything but good.

"Because I felt I needed to come back," she replied. "There are things... Things that I need to take care of. Things that are in Los Angeles." She was prepared to answer any questions he had but she was surprised when Rusty just nodded.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I wanted to talk to you?" Brenda raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I figured you'd tell me."

Brenda sighed and looked down at her folded hands. It seemed that the kid had picked up a trick or two from his mother. "I guess you're right." She took a deep breath and then said, "Rusty, I want to apologise."

"Apologise? Apologise for what?"

"For what happened." She paused. "That night. At my house." She was apologising for what Philip Stroh had done. For the fact he'd held a knife to Rusty's throat, had threatened to kill him, and had stabbed him in the leg.

"And for leavin' you the way I did. I should've called you, talked to you. And I knew you were lookin' for me and I... I didn't answer your calls."

Rusty's eyes had narrowed and he was scrutinising her now. "Are you in the programme? Is that what this is? Making amends?"

"Programme?"

"AA? GA? NA?"

"No," Brenda interjected when she realised Rusty thought she was following the twelve steps. "Rusty, that's not why I'm here. I'm not in AA, or anythin' else for that matter." She saw he was about to apologise for having made the assumption but she shook her head. The few curls that had escaped from the messy bun in the back of her neck danced in front of her eyes. "Don't. If I were you, I'd probably be thinkin' the same thing."

"So, you just wanted to talk about... what happened?" Rusty asked.

His eyes were still fixed on Brenda. She hadn't changed much since the last time he saw her. She wore jeans and a simple black sweatshirt that seemed to hang a little loose around her frame. Her reading glasses were tucked into the curls on top of her head. She looked relaxed and casual, which was a far cry from what she'd looked like the night she shot Philip Stroh. He remembered the anger in her eyes very vividly.

Brenda picked up her coffee and took a small sip from the strong flavoured liquid. It tasted bitter, left a burn on the tip of her tongue. She no longer craved sugar the way she once had.

"I just... I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I left you. I should've handled it better. You," she corrected herself, "I should've handled you better."

She'd gotten so lost in her own crazy world after everything came crashing down that she'd forgotten about everyone else. She'd forgotten about the people who had her back, about the kid who almost died in her own house.

"It's ok," Rusty admitted, causing Brenda's eyebrows to rise up. "I mean, it was rough but I ended up living with Sharon and then she adopted me and now my life is so much better." He looked up and through his eyelashes met Brenda's eyes and then he smiled. "Sharon is my mom. You... You gave me Sharon, even if you didn't start out that way. So maybe... Maybe I should be grateful to you."

Brenda watched the young man sitting in front of her. He wasn't that mouthy, angry teenager anymore. He sounded different, looked different.

"How is your Mama?" she asked and then she rephrased herself, "Sharon. How's Sharon?"

"She's good. Great, actually. She works a lot and she and Andy are really beginning to figure this whole relationship thing out." Rusty leaned back in his chair and saw the way Brenda's eyes widened. It was then that something connected and he cocked his head. The mention of his mother and Andy Flynn had surprised the former Chief.

"You didn't know, did you? Chief Howard didn't tell you?"

Brenda set her jaw. "No," she slowly replied and instinctively covered her left hand with her right to mask the absence of her wedding ring. It had become a habit in recent weeks. She didn't know how long it would be until she'd stop doing it.

"It's been a long time since your Mama and I spoke last. But I'm glad to hear she is doing fine." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and effortlessly changed the subject, having spotted the book sticking out of the backpack Rusty had dropped at his feet when he sat down. "So, how's college?"

"Great. Classes are interesting," Rusty answered and his face lit up. "Hard work at times but I get plenty of time off so it's all good."

He told her about his classes and his tutors but just as they reached the subject of work experience, Rusty's phone rang. The ringtone was loud and Brenda guessed it was a song that was currently in the charts. He fished it out of the pocket of his jeans and Brenda thought she caught a glimpse of "mom" on the screen before Rusty answered.

"Hey, mom." He turned himself away from Brenda a little. "No, I'm just hanging out... with a friend..." He then checked his watch. "I can be home in thirty. Do I need to change?" There was a short pause and then he nodded. "Ok. I'll see you back home. Bye."

He hung up and apologetically looked at Brenda. "Sorry," he said. "My mom's arranged for us all to have lunch somewhere. Ricky's in town and we don't see him often so..."

"Of course," Brenda interjected and Rusty sighed in relief. "Go. You don't wanna keep your Mama waitin'."

Rusty picked up his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. He then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked up at Brenda. Shyly he then said, "It was nice seeing you, Brenda. Maybe... Maybe we can do this again sometime?"

Brenda felt a smile rise on her face. "Sure. You've got my number. Text me."

"I will." He started to walk away but changed his mind and turned back round. Brenda saw the confusion in his eyes.

"Brenda, does my mom know you're here?"

Brenda picked at her nails. "No," she confessed. She saw the way Rusty looked at her. Puzzled, torn; as if he was trying to work out how to ask the next question. She said it before he could ask.

"But it's not a secret."

He smiled in relief. "Thank you." He gave her one last look and then turned around. "Bye."

"Bye, Rusty."

Brenda watched him leave the coffee shop and slumped back down in the arm chair. The nerves that had settled in her belly earlier were gone and she couldn't quite put into words how she felt. Relieved?

It wasn't exactly as if she hadn't thought of Rusty for all these years. It was just that after she left the LAPD and went to work at the DA's office, she did everything in her power to move away from her old life. She didn't see anyone, didn't speak to anyone, didn't turn up for Christmas parties and never accompanied Fritz to any LAPD functions. She'd closed the door to that part of her life and the only way to keep it closed was by pretending it didn't hurt. But, like with most things, all shadows and demons catch up eventually. In Brenda's case, the escape to Washington had only been the beginning of the end.

After a few more minutes of sitting in silence Brenda slipped her phone into her pocket, picked up her purse and left the coffee shop. The early afternoon sun was warm and soaked through her skin immediately. The dry heat of Los Angeles was a welcome change from the humidity of DC. Her hair certainly appreciated the West Coast air. She crossed the street and made her way around the block where she'd parked her car. She got behind the wheel, stuck the key in the ignition and moments later, with the radio playing the same song she'd heard blasting from Rusty's phone, she joined the relentless Los Angeles traffic and drove home.