A/N: This is a sequel to The Ninth Circle, although you really don't need to read that story to understand this one. The Ninth Circle is Tao's inner struggle about being an accomplice to Fritz's deception about keeping his heart attack from Brenda, and it ends with his decision to call her in DC.
NOTE: I wrote most of this BEFORE Monday's episode, so Fritz is much sicker here.
I am posting this in the Major Crimes Forum since I wrote it as a sequel to The Ninth Circle, and this is a MC storyline but it is from Brenda's POV and is Brenda-heavy. I can't select her as a character when I categorize the story, so I thought I'd just let y'all know.
Thanks so much to the wonderful, wonderful readers who reviewed The Ninth Circle. You are the reason I wrote a sequel-your support inspired me.
Brenda didn't mind Indian music, not at all. It made for nice ambiance whenever she and Fritz went out to Passage to India for dinner, blending into a sensory stew of exotic smells and sensuous flavors. But at the moment, stuck on the 110 with a cab driver who kept turning up the volume each time she spoke, she was convinced the sitar was an instrument of psychological torture.
She rubbed her throbbing temple and leaned toward the front seat, raising her voice so she could be heard.
"Maybe you could radio someone at Dispatch and ask them if there's another route without traffic. I really need to get to the hospital."
The driver shouted to be heard. "I know Miss, you've told me many times. I have a traffic app on my iPhone. It's bad everywhere. Don't worry, we will get there," he said, as the knob of the CD player was turned up slightly, and Brenda slumped against the back seat to marinate in a mixture of impatience, anger, and fear.
She had been in DC for a round of interviews for a temporary position at Homeland Security. The position was originally a full time, permanent job offer in an intelligence department headed by an old CIA colleague, Kevin Diaz. He sought her out and asked her to be second in command. She was thrilled—and then Fritz got the job offer to be Deputy Chief of the Special Operations Bureau. Then she was even more thrilled, because she didn't like the idea of Fritz working so closely with Ann McGuinness. She was a nice enough woman, and Brenda felt sorry for the tragedy she had endured, but what wife would want their handsome husband to work long hours with a beautiful blonde? Brenda knew all too well how a stressful job can pull two people together, and viewed through the lens of crisis and survival, friendship can appear as attraction, and attraction and raging lust. Why tempt fate? She would take the job in DC and she and Fritz would move, and that would be that.
Except it wasn't. Fritz really wanted the job. He was excited that he was finally able to take a position that challenged him and washed the stain of rehab away from his career. The money was really good, and it would be on top of drawing a pension from the FBI. Too bad they already bought a house; soon they would be able to afford a much larger one. When Brenda started to argue, beg, cajole, and do everything else she did to get her say in a conflict, Fritz reminded her of a big fight they had a few years ago in which they agreed that there may come a time where he gets a career opportunity and she would be required to makes sacrifices. "That time, Brenda, is now," Fritz said. And she knew by the tone of his voice that he wasn't going to compromise.
Luckily, her old CIA buddy was. Kevin planned to hire her as an independent contractor for one year, if higher ups liked her and approved the change in status. She knew Kevin's game was to reel her in, to get her hooked on the job so when the year ended, she'll stay on. She hoped so, too. She hoped that a year of LAPD politics and bureaucracy will be enough for Fritz, and he will move out to DC with her and take some cushy security job.
She came back to Fritz with her counter-offer, one year of contracting versus moving, and he looked like someone had run over his puppy. "Long distance for a whole year? Brenda, that's just... I don't know if I can handle that." But it was her turn to put her foot down. So, pending a successful interview with the Powers that Be, and final approval from the DA for a year's sabbatical from the head of the Investigations Bureau, they were going to be a bicoastal couple starting in two weeks.
But not anymore. One phone call and her priorities had changed dramatically.
Brenda had been sound asleep in her hotel room last night when the ringing of her cell woke her. She had been trying to get ahold of Fritz all day, and he didn't return any of her calls, much to her annoyance. She answered without checking the ID, assuming it was Fritz, launching into how nice it was for him to call her back on his own time, never mind her big job interview early the next day, when Mike Tao's voice broke in.
The rest of the conversation was a blur. She just remembered pacing around the room with tears streaming down her face and the taste of bile on the back of her throat, Mike Tao relaying her worst nightmare like a sportscaster does the evening news. In all of Tao's rambling, there were two things she grabbed ahold of: emergency room and heart attack.
Brenda felt like her own heart was going to explode. Images of Fritz clutching her chest; Fritz, turning blue, Fritz, dying... Tao's insistent voice couldn't break through her mounting wall of panic. Words of comfort, instructions to calm down and breathe... These flowed over her like water over a rock. At last Tao yelled, in a voice he must have perfected as a parent, full of authority and impatience, "Brenda Johnson, focus!" She stopped in mid-hyperventilation.
"You need to calm down and listen to me," Tao boomed. "I'm texting you the number of St. Luke's ER. Call them and check in on Fritz. The next text from me is going to be information on the earliest flight back to DC. Call the airline number I'll provide and book a flight. Brenda, say something so I know you understand."
"I understand." She heard her own voice as if listening through a wind tunnel and nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone buzzed. "Brenda, call the ER," came Tao's voice. "Now." And he hung up. With a shaky finger Brenda tapped on the number Tao texted to her, and when the stressed unit clerk answered the phone, Brenda somehow was able to form thoughts then words…then sentences.
"My husband…heart attack…just brought in…"
And it was during the terrifying process of teasing out details with ER staff that Brenda began to learn that there were some very strange elements to this story. The unit clerk knew his name immediately. A nurse taking care of him came to the phone within minutes, which surprised Brenda. She had been in enough Emergency situations to know that ER nurses and docs have a lot more to do when stabilizing a patient than talking to family members. The nurse, Amelia, asked Brenda three times who she was, suspicion in her voice. Irritation leached in to Brenda's panic.
"Were you expectin' his mistress?" she snapped. "Now I'm in DC and can't get to the hospital, and I need to know how Fritz is, and I need to know right now!" She was in full deputy chief mode.
"Yup, just as Mr. Howard described," Brenda heard Amelia mumble to herself. "Ms. Johnson, your husband is going to be fine. He had a mild heart attack, but he's going to be fine. He's going to be admitted in a few minutes to the Cardiac Care Unit."
The wave of relief made her dizzy, and she barely made it to the edge of the bed. "Oh thank god. It must have been really mild, since he just got to the ER and you are already kicking him out. Y'all aren't sure he didn't eat somethin' for lunch that didn't agree with him?"
Nurse Amelia was silent for a moment. "I'm going to have Dr. Chad-Levy call you in a few minutes. She can explain everything."
Ten minutes later, after booking a 6AM direct flight to LA and biting off half the nails on her left hand, her phone rang.
"Ms. Johnson?" Before Brenda could answer affirmatively, the called plunged ahead. "I'm Dr. Chad-Levy. I'm sorry for being so blunt, but I haven't slept in 36 hours and it seems like cardiac arrest is the catch of the day in Los Angeles, no disrespect to your husband, so I want to get to the point with as little drama as possible, alright?'
"Uh, yea—"
"Medically, I'll talk to you about anything you want. That's what I'm here for. Your husband's MI was mild, which means the blockage in his coronary artery wasn't anywhere near 100%. He was smart to have taking an aspirin before getting here. We were able to administer the 'clot-busting' drugs, which means no angioplasty. Although it was really, really close to almost being to being outside the window to do so."
"What—"Brenda started.
"Mr. Howard had a friend drive him to the ER instead of calling 911. I guess he tidied up his paperwork for his new job, snuck out the back door, and had a buddy bring him an aspirin and take him here. He lost precious minutes of medical care by doing something so stupid." Dr. Chad-Levy sighed, as if pained to have to relive the horrible experience with Brenda.
"But why—"
Dr. Chad-Levy ignored her. "Men. That could have been a fatal decision. He came in around dinner time, and when both nurse and I asked him about family, he was adamant that his wife—that's you—not be contacted in DC. He said you would have a major freakout and mess up your job interview, or terrorize DC or something like that. Well, I guess you found out anyway."
"My friend called—"
The doctor cleared her throat loudly. "It doesn't matter who told you. I'm assuming you're coming here tomorrow." Her voice softened. "He obviously loves you very much and wants to protect you, but let's face it, men are idiots. By being chivalrous he's made the situation much worse for both of you. And he had to spend three scary hours alone it he ER."
"Three hours?" Brenda started. She heard a small beeping sound in the background of the call.
"Damn that Ralph! Dr. Chad-Levy said. "One of my frequent fliers with something like five open-heart surgeries behind him is on his way in with chest pain, but paged me to let me know he stopped to pick up a pizza. Clearly hasn't grasped the concept of 'emergency.' Perhaps I should have had him carpool with your husband!"
The doctor gave Brenda the phone number to the Cardiac Care Unit and was starting to hang up when Brenda summoned her back. "I don't want Fritz to know I know," she said, the boneless panic slowly spinning into anger. "He'll just fret."
"Like I said, I don't much like the drama part of medicine, so yea, mum's the word. You two can keep doing your strange noncommunicative marital thing. But-just get here, okay? Mr. Howard seems like a really nice man."
The flame of Brenda's growing rage sputtered for moment. "Yea, he is," she said softly. "Nicest guy in the world."
Brenda never went to bed. She cried, she threw things, she sunk into deep, dark places in her soul where her worst nightmares lived. She daydreamed about Italy and weekend getaways and boring Saturday nights at home with Fritz and really hot sex and the way it felt when he spooned her from behind, and if she lost that… And then like a lightswitch the anger came, and she pictured calm, composed Fritz having chest pain but too proud to ask someone to all 911, but colluding with Lieutenant Tao to get to the hospital on his terms, making Tao promise not to tell her…"don't tell Brenda…don't tell Brenda…don't tell Brenda…" echoed through her head. Why? Because of some stupid temporary position he didn't want her to take anyways? Or because he didn't think she could handle the news long distance? Or at all? Did he think she was rendered too fragile from her traumatic year of deaths and near-deaths to handle any stress? Brenda thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Fritz.
Her violent mood swings were punctuated by hourly phone calls to the St. Luke's Cardiac Care Unit for Fritz reports. She talked to Misty, his RN, the first time about an hour after Dr. Chad-Levy. "I'm just setting him in right now," she told Brenda. "I gotta ask you, is he for real in thinking that you have no idea?" Brenda told her what she knew, and Misty laughed the laugh of one who has seen it all. "Lawdy, men. It's like they were all dropped on their head as babies. He thinks you can't handle it now, but when you take him home, guess who's gonna be king baby expecting you do all the work taking care of him?" she chuckled. Brenda honestly didn't care. Once she hit him over the head with a baseball bat for his multi-level stupidity, she was going to take him home and love him within an inch of his life.
Luckily, Misty was able to maintain her sense of humor despite Brenda's frequent phone calls. "It must be on the hour, Brenda's calling!" she said in a loud sing-songy voice. Before Brenda could open her mouth, Misty repeated Fritz's vitals, adding that he urinated once and told her one bad joke, but besides that was dosing off and on. "Talk to you in 59 minutes!" Misty said, and hung up before Brenda got a word in edgewise. Brenda knew when she was being mocked, but she was too tired and on edge to care.
The only problem about a direct flight was she couldn't do the frequent check-ins, so she made sure to leave her flight information with Misty at the 6am call, just in case. In truth, Brenda didn't know what good that would do; if Fritz got in trouble and he needed her, were they going to patch a call through, or land the plane? Somehow, though, it made her feel better. Misty assured Brenda that Fritz looked good, and he had some diagnostic tests on the agenda but she had been a Cardiac nurse for 30 years and a healthy man like Fritz usually did very well. Brenda clung to her words, held onto them like a baby blanket, throughout indeterminable flight home.
Finally, on terra firma, so close to Fritz, only to be stuck on the 110 with a sitar boring through her brain. She decided she might as well make use of her time and make a couple of phone calls.
The first one was to DC. Her friend Kevin Diaz answered the phone and hissed at her, "where are you? You were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago. Important people are waiting for you."
He wasn't happy when he heard she wasn't leaving LA. Kevin said all the right sympathetic things when she told him about Fritz, but Brenda could he felt far worse for himself. Brenda had been a golden child at the CIA, and with her law enforcement experience, as Kevin's second I command she would have made him a very important person.
"If you change your mind, now or in the future…" Kevin said.
I won't, Brenda thought, I can't. but thanked him and politely and hung up.
Staring out the taxi window at the highway and desperately scanning the landscape, and her mind, for a distraction, it occurred to her that SOB was probably looking for Fritz today too. It was noon LA time. His stealth departure to the ER yesterday showed he clearly didn't want anyone to know he had a heart attack, so she decided to call the LAPD to let them know exactly what was going on. Fritz was going to get a little payback for putting her through Hell and gambling with his life. Brenda knew she should call Taylor, but the idea of dealing with that unpleasant man and being forced to listen to his false sympathy was more than she could stomach, although he was the disseminator of all gossip. McGuinness was the next logical choice, but an image of the attractive woman, with her severe bun released and blonde hair cascading down her back, walking into Fritz's hospital room with a bouquet of flowers before Brenda could get there, flitted through her mind. She was being silly, she knew, but she was a jealous woman. Tao was definitely going to be getting a phone call from her for his stunt yesterday, oh yes, but now wasn't the time to light into him. Who then, to be the ambassador of bad news?
Who else indeed?
"Sharon Raydor," came her smooth voice after the first ring. Brenda was amazed how the woman always managed to sound calm even regardless of what was going on around her.
"It's Brenda." She dispensed with pleasantries and went straight to the point. "Did Lieutenant Tao tell you anything about Fritz?"
"No, I haven't seen either one of them today. I had a meeting with Pope and then I've been down in FID working on an old case. Brenda, is everything okay? You don't sound good. And are you calling from Indian restaurant?"
Brenda ignored the last comment, casting a dirty look at the cab driver. "No, I am not okay. Not at all. Fritz had a heart attack yesterday." She paused to allow for Sharon's inevitable reaction of concern. "It was a mild one and he's gonna be okay. Or so they keep tellin' me."
"And you're asking about Mike because…" Brenda took a deep breath to unload her complaint, but first leaned over into the front seat. "Turn up the radio one more notch, mister, and your hackney license is in danger. I work for the DA's office, and you don't want me usin' my connections to mess with you." The driver frowned and lowered the volume. Brenda returned to telling Sharon her tale.
Sharon was silent for a minute. "No wonder you're so upset. How did Fritz think he was going to hide this from you?"
"I have no idea," Brenda said, glad to have someone on her side.
"And good lord, what was Mike thinking? He went to medical school for a bit. And speaking from my with my former FID hat on, failure to properly respond in a medical crisis does put the LAPD at risk for liability."
"Ha! I knew Tao broke some rule. What are you gonna do about this?"
"What would you have me do, Brenda, send Mike to bed without supper?"
"Well, somethin!" Brenda snapped. She saw the taxi driver's hand move toward the console and she pointed her finger at him; when he caught her reflection in the mirror, it slowly retreated to the steering wheel.
Sharon cleared her throat. "Where are you? And what did Fritz say when you talked to him?" Brenda could tell Sharon wanted to change the subject.
"I'm trapped on the 101 in a taxi, and no, Fritz has no idea I'm comin'."
"Interesting plan, Brenda," Sharon continued in her unruffled tone. "Surprise a man who just had a heart attack."
Brenda suddenly had had enough of talking to the placid Sharon Raydor. She wanted to return to stirring her boiling stew of worry and anger.
"Sharon, just do me a favor, okay? Call McGuinness and let her know Fritz will be out for a few days, and feel free to tell her why. Let Taylor know too."
"Brenda," Sharon said, in a tone one used when talking to a naughty child, "may I ask why you didn't call Ann McGuinness yourself?" Brenda could tell from her tone of voice that Sharon knew exactly why, but there was no way she was going to tell her the truth.
"Cuz I would miss havin' the pleasure of talkin' to you durin' this stressful time." Brenda hung up and threw her phone in her bag. What was the point of making the effort to be friendly with Sharon Raydor if Sharon wasn't going to pick up her mantel of indignation during a crisis?
A few minutes later, when the strain of the stagnant traffic had Brenda in such a state she was half-convinced she was having he own heart attack, the taxi driver yelped and swerved sharply. "Thank Shiva!" he yelled, as he wove through a gap in two cars, into the breakdown lane, up on the shoulder, and down the exit ramp. He drove through back streets at breakneck speed, most likely eager to get Brenda out of his cab. When she finally saw St. Luke's Medical center, the anger/fear ball in her stomach began to pulsate. I'm coming, Fritz Howard, like it or not.
A quick stop at the information desk and she was up on the Cardiac Care unit, her small carry-on bag in tow. She found his room and, skin tingling with anticipation, stuck her head in. A nurse standing by his bedside looked up and held out her hand to indicate that she shouldn't come in, then made a hushing motion, gesturing at a sleeping Fritz. Her final nonverbal communication was to hold up a finger to indicate she would be with Brenda in a minute.
Brenda stood in the doorway, evaluating the scene of the crime. Fritz was shirtless, electrodes glued to his chest. His right arm had two IV fluids running into it, and his left arm had a blood pressure cuff that inflated periodically. A monitor on the wall showed Fritz's heart rhythms and vital signs and filled the room with a rhythmic beep beep beep. His face though—Brenda felt queasy. He looked awful. He was pasty with dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks puffy. He looked so sick it was hard for her to believe his heart attack was only a minor one.
The nurse exited the room and placed a hand on Brenda's shoulder. Brenda left her suitcase and followed her down the hallway.
"You must be Brenda," the woman smiled, turning around and leaning against the wall. "I'm Bernadette. I took report from Misty, and she said you were on your way from DC. I know you are quite worried about your husband."
Brenda nodded. "He looks awful. Just awful." Her voice waivered. "They said his heart attack was a little one but he just looks so sick."
"It was a mild heart attack, and he's recovering well," Bernadette said. "What people don't realize is that having an MI—heart attack—is extremely painful, and Fritz refused all pain medications. He had a really rough night, and he just finally fell asleep about 30 minutes ago."
Of course. No wonder he looked like hell. "He's in recovery, he won't take pills," she said. "But when I called Misty last night for updates, she said he was restin' comfortably!"
"She might have intentionally misspoke," Bernadette said, with a half-smile. "You were trapped across the country, and knowing he was suffering would only make you more upset. Misty was just trying to spare you."
Brenda just nodded, the exhaustion of the past 16 hours hitting her. "He should have called me," she mumbled. "I could have caught a red-eye. I could have been here last night."
"You are here now. Your husband may be trying to be the big tough guy and protect you, but I really think he needs you very much. All he did this morning is talk about you."
Brenda nodded. "I'm still gonna kill him from tryin' to keep this from me."
Bernadette laughed and patted Brenda on the shoulder, and Brenda went back to the room, sliding into a chair next to Fritz's bed as quiet as possible. She watched his chest rise and fall, taking comfort in the gentle cadence amongst the hissing and beeping reminders that all is not well. She wanted to touch him, run her hands over his chest and through his hair to feel his skin and assure herself that he was okay, he was here, but she didn't want to rip him out of his hard-earned escape from pain. She leaned her head back against the chair and unconsciously her breaths slowed to match his.
She awoke to the sound of small whimpers, like a small child might make in their sleep. She opened her eyes and saw Fritz was stirring, his fingers plucking at some of the pads at his chest, his brow furrowed. It was clear he was uncomfortable. She stood up and leaned over his bed, taking his hand. "Fritz?" she whispered. "Fritzy?"
His brown eyes, still half-shielded by reluctant lids, were unfocused and cloudy. In those beautiful brown eyes she had seen love, passion, frustration, humor, but not this. Never this.
Fear.
All the anger Brenda held in her heart, hardened by a sense of betrayal and utmost terror that she might lose her beloved, her rage that the one person who held her together could be so cavalier about his health, dissolved like summer snow. None of that mattered anymore, and seemed so petty in light of what had happened that she felt ashamed of herself.
She stroked his face, and he blinked his eyes a few times, light and life slowly returning. "Brenda," he croaked, his voice rough. "What are you doing here?"
Brenda poured Fritz a cup of water from a nearby pitcher and held the straw this lips. "That's a story for another day, Fritz. We have lots to talk about when you get better."
Fritz took several long pulls of water and then gestured for Brenda that he was done. He looked so lost, shades less than his usual handsome self, his strength compromised. It hurt her heart to look. She turned to place the cup on his night stand, and she looked at him again, he had covered his eyes.
She brushed her fingers over his forehead and Fritz took in a deep, shutter sob. She moved his hand and saw the tears streaming down his face. "I need you, Brenda. I'm so scared."
She brought his fingers to her lips, gripping him with all of her strength, her eyes surprisingly dry. "I'm right here, Fritzy," she whispered. "And I'm not leaving your side."
THE END
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