He sent her flowers. Not just any flowers, but a massive basket of flora that took up her entire desk, a party of roses and baby's breath with white lilies as the host and a garnish of mums as the inevitable unwanted guests. The basket of flowers was her ever constant companion that day, but she carried it as if it was a monkey on her back.
Deputy Chief Brenda Lee Johnson was an amazingly complex woman. Any other woman would have been overjoyed that her boyfriend sent her flowers, but she had begun to act odd the moment they arrived. As if flowers were the universal omen of ill tidings.
The squad automatically appointed Detective Irene Daniels to investigate the arrival of the flowers. But when she knocked on the chief's office door, she spun the basket around so the card was blocked by a spray of hydrangeas. Under the guise of relaying information pertinent to the investigation, Daniels examined the basket of flowers more closely, studied the chief's demeanor.
Daniels, no one ever called her Irene and she probably have a selection of careful words for them if they did, was the natural choice to discreetly spy on the boss. She was female, so less likely to arouse Chief Johnson's suspicion. Unbeknownst to the rest of the squad though, she was already adept at stealing quick glimpses at the boss, reading the subtle shifts in her expression.
At first, she could not stand the abrupt Southern woman who bounced in from the opposite coast, acting as if she was Miss Scarlet O'hara presiding over her own personal Tara. But she had quickly proved herself; ruffling more than a few feathers along the way, she had increased their solve rate dramatically, shown there was nothing she wasn't willing to do for her detectives, and even earned the respect of Detective Flynn.
Wheat gold hair cascaded in unruly curls and waves whenever she bent over a case file, dark doe eyes squinting, pencil clenched between her teeth. The way she crossed long, slender legs underneath the table in the interview room delicately straightening her pencil skirt as if she was sitting down to dinner and not an interrogation. Her voice that fluctuated between smooth, even tones of liquid gold and a honey sweet drawl.
Those were all personal observations that Daniels logged over the months that they worked together. Simple observations that were slowly compiled into an infatuation.
Daniels could not help it; once started it was an avalanche that demanded satisfaction. At first, she tried to ignore it, pretend as if it did not exist but that only made it worse. The aching hunger burning below her diaphragm was too insistent, so she fed it with surreptitious glimpses and careful comments. That seemed to satisfy it for awhile, and the hunger would return.
And she would have to risk another indulgence. A quick glance that would trace the curves of her lips, her mouth and what it would be to have that mouth on hers. The thought would send her heart throbbing painfully in her chest, but at least the hunger would abate. Until the next time and this time she would listen to Chief's Johnson's voice and wonder what it would be to hear that voice whisper her name in that husky drawl.
So Daniels spied, as much for own curiosity as for the rest of the squad's satisfaction.
The flowers could only be from two people. Fritz or Chief Pope.
Daniels could imagine that Chief Johnson, Brenda, was a challenging partner to have. Yet it was a challenge that she would be all too happy to undertake. Fritz was a Federal idiot; sure, he was a nice guy. It was obvious he hadn't the slightest clue how to handle a woman as beautiful and complex as her. He showed up in his suit, all neat and pressed, always whisking Brenda to dinner or whatever they did together.
And Chief Pope was nothing short of pathetic. He had her and lost, but couldn't let go. And the way he made excuses for her to people behind her back. Then he would turn around a give her gifts; he thought no one knew but the squad did. It was their job to be observant. Despite the fact that he would never get her back, he kept trying as if he had a chance, as if he hadn't already lost her long ago.
Reluctantly, Daniels followed Chief Johnson into the ladies room. It was dangerous territory to be alone with her, but she had been acting weird, even for her, since the flowers arrived. And Provenza could not very well follow her into the ladies bathroom, so the task fell to Daniels.
"Chief?" Daniels asked only poking her half her body through the door, her voice a notch higher than usual. Only the chief's maroon and pink trim heels were visible underneath the stall door, the basket of flowers unceremoniously dropped in front of the neighboring stall.
"Uh-huh." Was the terse reply.
"Are you alright?" Daniels asked, brow knitting together in bewilderment and concern.
"Yeah," Brenda breathed and it was obvious that despite being in stall, she was not using the bathroom. "Just…" The resignation in her voice was enough to cause Daniels to swallow hard, the hunger commanding her to comfort her, to be there for her. "Not where I expected to be today is all."
Daniels forced her own voice to sound casual. "Right, you were going to dinner." She said, hoping she did not sound as regretful as she felt that it was not her that was supposed to be taking her to dinner.
"What… oh, right…" Brenda forced a laugh and abruptly threw the stall door opening, laughing as if dinner was what she had meant all along.
Daniels wanted to tell her that she did not have to pretend, that she could confide in her. She wanted to wrap her arms around the slender woman and kiss her concerns away. Whatever was bothering the chief, Daniels wanted to be the one that she found solace in, that she felt safe with. She wanted to provide Brenda with security and compassion she desperately seemed to need at the moment.
Instead, she responded with a professional report on the details of the case they were working. It was safer to retreat to the common ground of work; Daniels did not trust herself, or the hunger, not to make an ass out of herself by saying anything that bordered on personal. Professionalism was the veil she retreated behind, the perfect guise for hiding her secret yearning.
When the Chief left with the new information to re-interview the suspect, Daniels stayed behind. She planted her hands on either side of one of the sinks and hung her head, unable to look at herself in the mirror.
She wanted Brenda, desperately. Not in a purely carnal way. The longing she felt was more consuming than lust, more agony than a crush. It was an irrational, voracious desire to be Brenda's everything: her lover, her friend, her partner, her comfort in hard times, her security during danger, her refuge in the storm, her laughter, her peace, her love. It was an incurable need to touch the Chief when it wasn't necessary, smile when even when it wasn't called for.
An accidental brush of the hand, an innocent hand on the shoulder, a smile in passing, fostered the ache Daniels felt for her boss.
She imagined it was similar to how an alcoholic felt whenever they tried to sober up: the constant desire, the obsession to drink. The ache of need so fierce it was tangible. When the smallest of things that could kick that desire for a drink back to the surface: a billboard, a word, a celebration, a failure, a commercial, or an activity. The memory of what it was like to drink dominating their thoughts at all times, the first cold splash that hit the tongue, the burning as the alcohol slid down the throat, heating the body from the inside out, the shock as it hit the stomach, the comfortable headiness and languor as it took effect.
It must be exactly how a recovering alcoholic felt. To want, no need something so direly, and yet simultaneously holding back with every flex of willpower, knowing it's the one thing you can never have, that it's the one thing you don't want to need.
So when Detective Provenza, with all the subtlety of a bull elephant, read the card attatched to the basket of flowers and discovered it was Chief Johnson's birthday, it was Daniel's idea to get the cake. It was a sugar loaded, double-chocolate cake because if there was one thing Chief Johnson wanted more than justice, it was sugar.
And if Daniels could not have what she longed for, at the very least Brenda could have what she desired.