Disclaimer: Not my characters.
A/N: Not shippy (sorry, shippers), but I mean, kind of kick-ass anyway ;) Title comes from Regina Spektor's December. Enjoy!
They shouldn't have been there alone.
"LAPD; drop your weapon and let her go."
The man put a knife to Brenda's throat. Sharon's gun trained on his face and did not waver.
"Do anything and I'll slice her pretty little neck." He threatened, and with his forearm wrenched Brenda's chin upward a little further, baring her throat a little more.
"Do anything and I'll blow your brains onto the cabinets." Sharon replied, not missing a beat. She swore she could see Brenda's pulse thrumming wildly under her skin.
Yeah – they really did not need to be there alone right now.
He'd taken them by surprise, launching himself at them just as soon as they had cleared the house. There had been two fresh dead in the foyer when they'd entered, a man and a woman, and so they checked the rest of the house, guns drawn. Every room, every floor, clear.
Clear, apparently, except for the goddamned air vent this man dropped out of, knife in hand. He landed nearly on top of Brenda, slamming her to the ground (thankfully without gutting her), and then pulling her up again just as easily, pinning her to his front and using her body to shield himself. He was quick. He was much larger than either of them. And he was clearly dangerous. The situation, to say the least, had become volatile.
It was supposed to be a simple notification, an uneventful visit to the parents of their twenty year old stabbing victim. Earnest. Sympathetic. Ginger I'm sorry's and quiet if there is anything the LAPD can do's. And then they would leave. Once they'd arrived, however, it became apparent that that would not be the case – the parents in question were dead. And then they'd stumbled upon the killer here, lying in wait.
Sometimes you just had to roll with the punches.
"Drop the gun." He demanded.
"Sir! You are in no position to be giving orders. If you stab her, I will shoot and kill you. If you kill her, I will shoot and kill you! If you want to live, you have to let her go."
He pressed the edge into Brenda's flesh, coaxing a bead of blood into forming. "I don't think so. Drop the gun or I cut deeper."
. . . There was a point where playing hardass just wasn't the smart decision anymore, and this was it. This was when you lowered your weapon and negotiated; Sharon prepared to do just that. But then –
"Captain, don't you dare." Brenda hissed. Both of her hands grasped the arm holding the knife, keeping it away from her throat as best she could. "If you have the shot, you damn well better be ready to take it." Brenda didn't care so much about the confessions anymore; not the way she once did. Kill the criminal if you had to, whatever – so long as they didn't get away. And while her methods may have shifted, her intent would always be the same. It was always about the criminal, with Brenda Leigh; the criminal at whatever cost. And apparently this time the cost extended as far as her own life.
"Are you feeling suicidal today, Chief?" Sharon questioned airily, even as she complied with the man's order to drop her weapon. She unloaded the mag, slowly placed both the cartridge and her gun on the ground, and rose empty-handed.
No matter what others thought, Sharon bled blue just like the rest of them. Just like Brenda, her friend, who was about to be butchered by a psychopathic murderer, and there was no way in hell she'd let that happen. Fritz would kill her.
"Sharon!" Brenda nearly screamed, still managing somehow to make it sound like a reprimand instead of a plea.
Raydor completely ignored her superior officer. She looked the man in the eye. "Listen to me. This is what we're going to do," she enunciated carefully. She took one deliberate step toward him, and then stopped when he pulled Brenda's head back even further. She spoke from where she stood. "You're going to let her go. You are going to let her go, because she is an LAPD officer, and I am an LAPD officer, and you really do not want to add battery to your standing charges. Which start with two of murder one." She tried not to deliberately incense him, but the thinly veiled threat lay there for the man to consider, anyway.
His lips curled. "You think I'm stupid, lady?" He snarled. "As soon as I give her up I'll have lost my leverage. Now I know what happens to people like me alone in a room with the cops! Happens all the fuggin' time, and no one cares. So no, I don't think I will, thank you. I'm just gonna hold her close and ask you to stand – over here – before I make your partner bleed all over her dress."
"Okay. Okay." Raydor put up her hands. "Let's not do anything too rash." She murmured. The situation was getting away from them. Slowly, she moved to the spot he indicated – right next to him.
"Are you feeling suicidal today, Captain?" Brenda asked through gritted teeth, but Sharon could see her brain whirring. There was a plan somewhere in this shitstorm; all they had to do was figure it out.
"Not much of a choice, Chief." She replied mildly.
"Shut up." The man snapped.
They had no back up. It was looking more and more like they would end up having to physically fight their way out of this. Sharon wasn't fond of fistfights. And there was a knife in the equation, here. Fuck.
She flicked her eyes to the side, examining their stab-happy murderer in profile. This close, she could see that he hardly looked much older than her own son. Her eyes slid forward again.
"How old are you, kid?"
"I said –"
"Right. Right." Pause. "Did you actually have a plan, or were you just going to hold us here indefinitely?" Silence. "What are you waiting on?"
"Do you want to die?" He growled. He pivoted and turned his knife on her, instead.
There's the opening she was waiting for.
In one fluid movement, Sharon grasped him by the wrist and elbow and twisted his arm roughly, folding his wrist until the knife clattered to the ground, while Brenda pulled free of his other arm and pinned it to his side.
"Sometimes we really do work well together." Sharon noted as the other woman kicked the knife across the floor.
The man shook free of Brenda's hold for just a second and swung at Sharon. The Captain ducked the blow with quick reflexes, and as Brenda repossessed the arm in a way that suggested she would break it if he tried it again, Sharon slammed the heel of her Manolo into the back of his knee, hard. He fell forward with a stream of curses.
"It's alright," Sharon said to him placatingly, even as she pulled a pair of handcuffs off her hip and locked him into them swiftly. "Chief Johnson and I both know you didn't have the balls to actually kill us. We scare you."
He began to struggle and thrash uselessly. "I would have!" He argued. "I –" Raydor clouted him soundly in the jaw.
"You have the right to remain silent," She informed him curtly, and proceeded to rattle off the Miranda spiel. By the time she'd finished, Brenda had already gathered her impossible black bag, put all of the spilled contents back into place, and was just getting off her cell. She turned to Sharon and gave her a wordless smile, the gratitude and admiration in which could not have been more clear.
"The coroner and the SID are on their way," Brenda told her, "And we should step outside now. Lieutenant Flynn is sending a black and white to take care of our homicidal friend here, and he can go straight through bookin'. I really don't care. Two first degree murders, assault and battery, and attempted assault and battery will be more than enough to set him up for life."
Sharon nodded. "Let's go, kid." She pushed him out in front of her.
"Oh, and Captain, here –" Brenda handed her back her gun.
Sharon grinned. "Thanks, Chief." She tucked it into the back of her skirt.
"No, thank you. Really."
Sharon nodded toward her neck. "You're still bleeding a little."
Brenda touched the skin gingerly and huffed, glaring daggers at the guy's back. "Idiot." She muttered.
He turned. "Thanks."
She rolled her eyes, rummaging around in her bag for a tissue. Paused. She shook her head, and reiterated. "Idiot."
Fin. I hope you enjoyed. :) Drop me a review, please!