In the Cards

A/N: Sorry this Valentine's Day fic is a day late. I was frantically preparing a super fancy romantic dinner for my husband all day yesterday, and I didn't have a chance to do the final edit and get this posted until the 15th (we didn't even sit down to eat until 10PM, if that tells you anything).

This is extremely fluffy. It references my Valentine's Day fic from last year, "Five Days in the Life of Cupid," Chapters 4 and 5. You don't have to go back and read that story to understand this one at all, because I explain what's what, but I recommend it, because despite the angst, it's a much better story, IMHO.

This story was edited by a good friend of mine in real life. She's a huge cheerleader of my writing and I'm very grateful for her support and her work on this rather messy story.

Thanks, ManateeMama, for letting me borrow Brenda's Prius from many of your stories. I promise my Brenda will fill up the tank before she returns it to your Brenda. And speaking of ManateeMama, don't miss her Valentine's story," Valentine's Day Fiasco." It's yet another one of her great Brenda/Fritz stories.

February 2006

Brenda shut the bedroom door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. "Oh crap!" she hissed, softly enough so Fritz wouldn't hear her in the living room. She looked around the room like a madwoman and then suddenly lunged toward her desk, yanking open the top drawer with such force it almost came out.

Card…card…I gotta have some type of card… She frantically pushed aside jumbles of unpaid bills, pens, makeup, and hair accoutrements. Damn Fritz for being so considerate!

She thought she was completely off the hook for Valentine's Day when Fritz was called out of town on February 13. They had been dating for several months, and she feared that Fritz's planned romantic dinner out with all the trimmings might be a perfect opportunity for him to drop the "L" bomb; the look in his eyes sometimes, it was perched on his lips more than once. But Brenda didn't want to hear about love, not one bit. She was still getting used to the idea of having a man in her life after she had sworn them off forever post-divorce, never anticipating an old friend would sneak through her defenses and then reveal himself as such a desirable lover. When a dejected and frantic Fritz called her at work and said he was DC-bound and their big flowers-and-hearts dinner was cancelled, she infused her voice with false regret. Inside, though, she was singing, thrilled she could celebrate Cupid's big night Brenda-style: in flannel pajamas eating a box of chocolates. She hated the cheesy, commercial, Hallmark holiday anyways.

On the 14th she got a card Fritz must have mailed on his way to the airport, which was sweet, but she didn't think reciprocation was necessary. That was until Fritz came over tonight, the 16th, his arms so full of red roses he nearly dropped the bottle of her favorite Merlot and the box of Godiva he was holding. He was taking her to breakfast at one of LA's trendiest restaurants the next morning to make up for ruining their Valentine's plans, he said, as he kissed her on the cheek. She was dumbfounded and empty-handed, and quickly excused herself to her bedroom.

Why hadn't she bought him a card? She kicked herself as moved on to another drawer and pushed aside a knot of cords that went to her old computer. It wouldn't have killed her. But the stupid holiday was over, I was off the hook…bingo! She pulled out a packet of blank note cards, most likely given to her by her Mamma, who never abandoned hope that her daughter would actually send her a letter now and again. The cards were light pink, and the design on the front—oh this is perfect—was a heart made of flowers.

Brenda pulled a card out of the pack and grabbed nearby pen as she opened it, wondering how she could possibly fill all the blank space inside. But it wasn't blank. In curly black letters were the words, "Thank You." Oh crap and damn. They weren't blank note cards at all, not cards she could amateurishly make holiday-appropriate and hope Fritz considered it cute. Nope, the damn things were Thank You cards. When in her life had Brenda Leigh Johnson ever sent a thank you card? Willie Rae definitely bought these.

Brenda looked at the card and frowned. She knew Fritz wasn't expecting anything, but that was the thing, wasn't it? He didn't expect much and that's exactly what she always delivered. Well, not this time.

Brenda did some more rifling—why was there a pair of underwear next to her checkbooks?—and pulled out a black Sharpie. She heard Fritz call for her from the living room, wondering where she went, and she yelled back something noncommittal. It occurred to her that he might be hoping she was changing into something slinky, and boy, was he going to be disappointed. She carefully drew a box around the words "thank you" and then with deliberate strokes, filled it in. When she was done, she waved the card in the air to dry the marker and looked at it. Okay, it looks stupid with a big black box in the middle, but don't I get points for trying?

Now the hard part…what to write? The first part was easy. Brenda looked at the mound of pens and markers she had excavated when looking for the sharpie and found a red felt tip. "Happy Valentine's Day!" she printed, as neatly as she could. Not exactly Hallmark, but hey, it's got a personal touch. But how to sign it? I'm not using the "L" word, no way, no how. She thought about saying something about how she felt, like "I'm lucky to have you," or "You make me really happy," but that level of honestly made her shutter. She could go sexy—"let's celebrate with the lights off" or something of the sort, but it seemed silly. Finally, after Fritz called out to her a second time and she realized she was worrying him, Brenda grabbed a pink marker and drew a heart, then wrote her name in cursive next to it. There, that's flirty and noncommittal. And it doesn't look out of place on a second-hand altered thank you card. Although I think I gave classier cards to my second grade class. Satisfied, she slipped the card into a matching envelope and licked it shut, writing Fritz's name in red on the outside.

She was just about to leave the room when an arrow of inspiration struck. She went back over to her desk and picked up one of the tubes of lipstick scattered on top of it. She applied a thick coat of bright red lipstick and rubbed her lips together vigorously, then puckered up and pressed her lips against the envelope. Pleased with herself, she took her homemade card with its sexy seal and joined Fritz in the living room.

A few days earlier…

"Come on, Fritz, we're gonna miss our flight, man!" Jerry leaned against a display of antacids and glared at him.

Fritz pulled his eyes away from Walgreen's garish Valentine's Day display to look at his partner. "Give me five minutes, okay? I really want to get a card for Brenda. It's early enough that if I stick it in that mailbox outside she should get it tomorrow."

"Can't you give her a card when you get back? She's gonna be too busy working to notice what day it is anyways."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, I really appreciate it. You've been married for awhile, Jerry, so you may have forgotten. This is what we single men call 'wooing'."

"Well, woo away, Casanova," Jerry said, looking at his watch exaggeratedly. "You got four minutes."

Fritz turned toward the display of Valentine's Day greetings and instantly felt overwhelmed. He needed a hell of a lot more than four minutes to get just the right card, or at the very least, to get a safe one. Anything even approaching the emotional needed to be treaded upon lightly with Brenda, lest she get spooked and run away. An overly effusive card, one with a Hallmark-penned sentiment innocently given by Fritz that had dangerous words in it could land him in very hot water. Or all alone.

He skimmed the selection. "To my beloved…" Nope. "You are in my heart forever…" Oh, the word 'forever' would send her sprinting out the door. "Valentine's Day love poem…" oh my god, that is pure schlock. "I love you forever." This one gave him pause. Brenda would change her cell phone number, move out of her house, and quit her job to avoid ever having to see him again if he sent her this card. There was no way she could handle the "L" word yet, not after five months of dating. Five years maybe, but not five months.

But he did love her. He loved her in DC, and his heart was slowly shredded as he watched her being abused by Will Pope. His fire was re-ignited the second he saw her come down those hotel stairs last summer, and it had been growing stronger ever since. He had to bite his tongue time and again to stop himself from telling her how he felt when she would lie in his arms after they made love. This relationship had to be taken at her pace, he knew that, but it was torture for him, a man who liked to be open with his feelings. Sometimes he waited until she was asleep and whispered "I love you, Brenda" softly as he stroked her hair, and it felt so good to say the words out loud, to almost see them shimmer and swirl their passion and protection around his girl.

Jerry made an impatient noise in his throat, and Fritz knew his time was running out. He found a card section a little farther down the aisle that had less effusive fare, and picked out a card with a picture of a gray cat on the front who vaguely resembled Kitty. On the inside it read, "I hope your Valentine's Day is purrrr-fect." Utterly stupid, and nothing she could possibly be frightened by. He took the card up to the register, grabbing a conciliatory Snickers for Jerry, and fished out money and a stamp from his wallet at the same time. Walking briskly to the mailbox outside the pharmacy, he told Jerry to pull the car around as he quickly scribbled Brenda's address on the envelope. Then came the hard part. What to write?

He wanted, more than anything, to sign it, "Love, Fritz." But that pesky "L" word was a landmine. "Yours forever" was his second choice, but he couldn't decide if that would induce a heart attack or a stroke in Brenda, or some horrible stress-induced hybrid of the two. On hearing Jerry honk the horn, Fritz quickly wrote, "Yours, Fritz." He shoved the card in the mailbox and hopped in the car, his mind full of all the nice things he would do for Brenda when he got back from DC to make up for missing their first Valentine's Day as a couple.

Yours, indeed. He tried to ignore Jerry's teasing about how they were going to miss their flight because Fritz was so whipped. He was right, of course, though he would never give Jerry the satisfaction of telling him that. Fritz was totally, completely whipped. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

February 2009

"No no no, not wife, not wife!" Brenda said this, along with a few choice words, louder than she wanted to, and a woman buying masking tape at the end of the aisle glared at her. Brenda rubbed her head, wishing the dull headache that always accompanied her jet lag would go away. She made a mental note to pick up some Motrin when she was done.

She and Fritz had returned from their honeymoon in Italy the day before, and today was Valentine's Day. She didn't have to worry about Fritz planning something elaborate for them, because ever since she ruined Fritz's big Valentine's Day dinner the first year they lived together by not showing up, he had refused to make any effort for the holiday. Sure, he usually brought her flowers and chocolate (a small bouquet and box, respectively), but there were no fancy dinners out, and that was just fine with Brenda. An evening in with Fritz, a box of sweets, and a pizza was a pretty good time in her book.

Brenda's guilt over the infamous Valentine's day dinner fiasco motivated her to make sure she had a card for Fritz each year. It was her annual apology for ruining a night that was clearly very important to him. Not only did he not speak to her for a week after it happened, but any mention of it now made his face grow a deep shade of crimson. Since his anger never went away, she figured she should keep the cards coming. Besides, he really appreciated it, and he even saved it each year in his bedside table. So despite her jet lag, she got up early while Fritz was still asleep and drove to Rite Aid so that he would have a treat waiting for him at the breakfast table. And people call me selfish.

Brenda squatted down to see the cards at the bottom of the display, hoping that's where they hid the good ones. "From your adoring wife"…oh, I'm gonna be sick. They had been married for exactly 16 days, and Brenda was pretty sure it was going to take about 16 years for her to stop cringing at the word "wife." She hadn't had such a good experience being married the first time, so the word "wife" had the same connotation as "prisoner" or "torture" had for POW's. Fritz, on the other hand, hadn't wiped the smile off of his face ever since their wedding, and she was lucky if she could pry him off of her long enough to go to the bathroom by herself. He was physically attached to her every moment in public on their honeymoon, and referred to her as "Brenda, my wife" any chance he could get. He even introduced her to waiters in Italy who didn't speak English.

Lovable putz.

What is with this cheese? "My husband, my love, my friend." "You're my every dream." Brenda squinted at a card with a picture of entwined hands and snorted with laughter when she read the text: "In this hectic life, I am never too busy to love you." She wondered if Fritz would appreciate the irony, but she didn't think so. Her work obsession, and her neglect of him, was a bit of a sore spot.

After 45 minutes of poring through their card collection, Brenda finally chose one with Snoopy holding a red foil heart. It had a basic greeting, nothing silly or flowery, so it would do the trick. She was aware that it was probably a card designed for children, but she didn't care. It wasn't schmaltzy. And nowhere were the words "wife" or "husband" on it.

She hustled toward the checkout, eager to get back home before Fritz woke up. She may have some problems getting used to the institution of marriage, but she had no problem adjusting to the man. He was, as far as she was concerned, pretty darned near perfect.

The Day Before...

"Husband…husband…wife...come on, there's got to be a card for married people!"

Fritz had ducked into one of the many generic book stores at JFK airport in search of a Valentine's Day card under the guise of going to the bathroom. In the rush of wedding prep, it hadn't occurred to him that they would be returning from their honeymoon in Italy the evening of the 13th, and it would be prudent to get a card ahead of time.

Fritz felt a niggling of guilt. It would be prudent to do so, because he didn't do much else for her. Sure, he usually picked up flowers, but not from the best florist. And he got her a box of chocolates, but not the biggest. But he never, ever took her out. Not after three years ago.

Looking back, he knew he had put too much into that evening, but wanted everything to be perfect. It was their first Valentine's Day living together, and he was the happiest he had ever been. Every morning when he woke up to her small, perfect body, he couldn't believe how things had unfolded. Who ends up finding, and winning over, their long lost love? He wanted to celebrate that good fortune on Valentine's Day, to really spoil Brenda. He made reservations at a hot LA restaurant, Cicada, months before, bought red roses from an upscale florist, and, of course, got a box of chocolates. He reminded Brenda all week long, and that morning, she kissed him goodbye, going-out dress in hand to change into at work, and he knew that the evening he so carefully crafted was going to be perfect.

Sucker. Brenda never showed up, because she had been called out on a case several hours earlier and had forgotten to call him and cancel. To say he was angry was an understatement, and if he were completely honest with himself, he never really forgave her for it. His perpetual punishment has been his refusal to make a big deal out of Valentine's Day again. No more dinner reservations, no more plans. No more raised hopes.

Brenda, of course, didn't care. She was thrilled with the box of chocolates he usually brought her, the size being contingent on how attentive she had been in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Flowers were standard, though. She always got some sort of flowers. And a card.

The funny thing was, as neglectful as Brenda tended to be, she always had a card for him too. He chuckled when he thought about the makeshift card she gave him their first year together, a marked up thank you card she signed with a heart. As tacky and pathetic as it was, he loved it. It was classic Brenda, and that heart…he took that heart as a sign they were more than just friends who slept together. Sure, he had wished she had signed the card "Love, Brenda," but he took any sign she had real feeling he could get. A heart drawn in marker? He lapped it up eagerly.

And now they were married. He smiled and twirled his wedding band. It had a pleasant weight to it, reminding him of its presence without feeling binding or uncomfortable. It had been two weeks since the wedding and he still hummed with intense joy and awe. He had married Brenda Leigh Johnson, for god's sake. That's like catching a Moray eel with your bare hands. He knew, early on in their relationship, that this is what he wanted, but the obstacles seemed so insurmountable back then that he couldn't imagine how he, how they, would get here. Yet they found a way.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He read the text from Brenda: "You fall in, or did you run off with a stewardess?" He smiled, making a mental note to tell Brenda they are called "flight attendants" these days. He replied, "BRB" and continued to card shop.

The pickings were slim, and he was sure Brenda would roll her eyes at the saccharine verse on the front of the one he selected, but he will just claim temporary insanity from too much honeymoon sex. He was disappointed there were no marital-themed cards, but there was always next year. He smiled at the clerk as he paid for the card, adding on a few chocolate covered caramels for Brenda. That's the beauty of being married. There's always time.

His phone buzzed again with another text from Brenda. "What the hell does 'BRB' mean? Why do you use internet words when you know I don't understand them?"

Fritz sighed and shoved his phone back in his jeans pocket. Yes, sometimes marriage can seem like it lasts a long, long, long time.

February 2014

Brenda shifted her weight from side to side. Her patent leather 3" heels were killing her, but she wanted to look good, so she was determined to tough it out. Tonight was, after all, an historic occasion, and a little foot pain paled in comparison.

She stood in a small stationery store near the DA's office looking like a living Valentine in a curve-hugging red silk sheath dress with a generous V neck. Her hair was loose and very curly, the way Fritz liked it, and she wore the diamond bezeled earrings he had given her last Valentine's Day and the necklace that matched. Bright red lipstick and dramatic eyes completed a look that made people stop and stare, wondering if they had ever seen Brenda on TV before.

Brenda normally only liked attention when she was manipulating others into giving it to her, but the glances thrown her way as she browsed through greeting cards was confirmation that she was looking pretty good, and that was important. She wanted to look super sexy tonight for her husband as a little V-day gift. Besides, when she was out with Fritz she felt like she had to beat other women off with a stick. The hotter she looked, the more effective her stink eye was.

She was meeting Fritz for dinner at Il Cielo, and she was determined to be early. She wasn't sure she had ever been early for anything in her life, but she needed to be early for this dinner. Tonight was the first Valentine's Day Fritz had taken her out to celebrate in eight years, ever since she failed to show up for his extra-special evening the first year they lived together. She had been on Cupid Probation up until last year, when she arranged to have a private (student) chef cook a romantic dinner for two in the duplex. It was an incredible evening, and Fritz was moved by the amount of thought and planning Brenda had put into the evening. And somewhere between the mousse filled heart-shaped chocolate box for dessert and the new lingerie she modeled in the bedroom, Fritz forgave her for the St. Valentine's Massacre of 2006. Forgiven and forgotten, clean slate, anger and resentment purged. So this year, he made reservations at a fancy Beverly Hills restaurant, and she had no doubt there would be expensive roses and a huge box of chocolates waiting for her. And it amazed her that he had faith she would show up this time.

What amazed her the most was that he had faith in her at all.

But he did, and why he believed in her was a heavy topic on a day dedicated to overeating and hot sex. And all she needed to do on her end was participate voraciously in both those activities and Fritz will be very, very happy.

Oh, and get him his annual card. The caliber of cards in the upscale store was much better than a drug store. Many of them looked handmade, and the overall level of cheesiness of the sentiments expressed within was much lower. Brenda didn't feel the usual repugnance that historically accompanied this task, which she attributed to the sap and superficiality of both the holiday and the greetings that represented it. She was feeling much more positive about both, though, and before long, she honed in on the perfect card. It was thick, creamy stock, and on top of the front was attached a black and white unfocused photo of a man and woman on a balcony overlooking the ocean. It instantly reminded Brenda of her wedding and how regal it felt to get married with the Pacific ocean as a witness. Inside the card, to Brenda's relief, it said simply, "Happy Valentine's Day, Beloved" in lovely cursive writing.

Brenda looked at her watch. Yup, she was going to be crazy early. She took her prize to the cashier, who spilled the Coke he was drinking all over himself when he got an eyeful of Brenda. She eschewed a bag and trotted out to her Prius parked right in front of the store. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she plunged her right hand into her cavernous purse, searching for a pen. She withdrew a victorious hand and paused over the open card. What to write?

She had so much to say. Brenda had held back for so long, doling out her love in small amounts that felt safe, telling herself she was protecting her heart this way. She was protecting nothing, she knew that now. She loved Fritz desperately, and if he had walked out of her life, she would have been shattered beyond repair. It took Philip Stroh's attack and her near death layered on top of Willie Rae's unexpected passing to make her truly look at her relationships. She made the terrifying decision to let go and free-fall into love, and the results had been amazing. She had learned how to open up and really share herself, and she and Fritz were closer than she ever thought possible for two people to be. Sometimes when they made love, in the blinding frenzy of passion and desire, she had moments where she couldn't tell where her body ended and his began. It sounded like a cliché, or something one would find on the front of a Valentine's Day card, but it was true: she loved Fritz more every day.

She chewed her lip, thinking, wary of the passing time. Finally, she put her pen to the card and printed her message. She signed her name when she was done, and reviewed her efforts.

"Fritzy,

You are my everything, my forever, my one true love.

Be my Valentine?

Your wife,

Brenda"

When did I get so mushy? She sealed up the envelope and wrote Fritz's name on the outside. She started the car and was about to toss the card into her purse when she remembered something. She pulled out her red lipstick, reapplied it, and kissed the fancy cream envelope. Satisfied with her bright red kiss and laughing at the memory of the first time she did this, she drove off to her fancy Valentine's dinner with her handsome husband, grateful for love and second chances and holidays that feature chocolate.

A few days earlier…

Fritz had gotten to the DA's office far too early for his lunch date with Brenda. He had spent the morning in Major Crimes, trying to facilitate civil communication between the squad and the Cybercrime Unit while preserving delicate egos on both sides. Without Brenda around to run interference, the members of Major Crimes treated him worse than usual, as Captain Raydor's quiet reproach wasn't enough to deter their disdain for the feds. Fritz got out of there as soon as he could, before the nasties dangling on the tip of his tongue were spat out into words, because that would only make things worse. His role, after all, was to always play the nice guy.

He got a coffee and strolled down the street to kill time and enjoy the unseasonably warm weather. A colorful display in a shop window caught his eye, and he stopped to look at a tasteful Victorian cherub surrounded by deep red hearts hung in the window of a boutique stationery store. Fritz smiled. Valentine's Day. Brenda's all-time favorite holiday. Ha! Thinking of Brenda and having nothing better to do, Fritz threw away the rest of his coffee in a nearby bin and went in.

The Valentine's greeting card display was obvious but tasteful, and he soon was able to find what he was looking for: "To my wife." That's what I like. I know it makes Brenda cringe, but I am proud to say that Brenda's my wife. Fritz felt that, for what they had been through and had survived as a couple, they had earned an Olympic gold medal for marriage. Their wedding bands weren't just symbols of commitment, they were badges of honor.

Not bad, nice picture, too corny, I like this one… he should have come here years ago; these cards were a lot classier than local drug store fare. After awhile it occurred to him, though, it wasn't the elegance of the poetry or prose that decorated the cards, it was the risk he was willing to take by sharing any sentiment at all with Brenda. In the early days, any hint of love or commitment would send her into a tizzy. That got better over time, but the mere mention of marriage, even after they got engaged, guaranteed a mini-meltdown. These cards were landmines on an already loaded holiday, and Fritz had had to tread very lightly. But not anymore. When he and Brenda moved into a more permanent phase of their relationship, Fritz was finally able to release the breath he didn't know he was holding. He could be open with her and tell her how he really felt without risk of scaring her away, because she doesn't want to go anywhere. That fact alone, that she wanted to be with him, had yet to lose its novelty.

After coming up with a top five list of finalists, Fritz noticed a plain card with a black and white photo on the front. It was out of focus, but it looked like a man and a woman on a balcony in front of the ocean. Looks like our wedding, he thought. He picked it up, hoping for some beautiful verse, but it simply said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Beloved." He looked at all the other cards in his hand, all of which referenced marital status. He sighed and put them back in their slots. There was something about this simpler, elegant card that drew him in.

Still early for his lunch date, Fritz sat on bench a block away from Brenda's building and watched the people go by. He pulled the card out of his suit pocket and decided to go ahead and fill it out now, so he could just forget about it. He had, after all, a few other things to attend to for the 14th.

He was breaking the moratorium on dinner out for Valentine's Day. He had punished Brenda long enough for missing his big romantic gesture years ago. Besides, the lengths she went to last year, having someone come in and cook dinner for them in their house, was extraordinary for a woman who used to never return his calls and didn't have a romantic bone in her body. She has worked so hard on changing herself, to dedicate herself to the living, and her newfound dedication to him made him happier than he ever thought possible. The very least he could do was let go of his petty anger for a long ago crime and spoil Brenda on February 14th like he always wanted to.

His pen hovered over the card. What to write? Now that he could be as effusive as he wanted, he was tongue-tied. He smiled as it came to him. He wrote carefully, so his normally challenging handwriting would be legible. He didn't want her to miss a word:

"Brenda,

In honor of Cupid and his excellent aim, and for our 5th wedding anniversary, I'm taking you to Hawaii for a week. It's fitting to take the most beautiful woman in the world to the most beautiful place on earth. Looking forward to our second honeymoon. Love, Fritz."

Love, Fritz. Damn, that felt good to write. He felt pretty confident that this message would make Brenda happier than the most expressive declaration of love. He put the card back in his breast pocket and stood, feeling light and happy. It was time for him to go and have lunch with his wife, and tell her about the wonderful Valentine's Day he has planned for her.

THE END

OK, this isn't my magnum opus, but a word or two of a review would be welcome. Thanks! I hope everyone had a good V-Day.

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