Warnings: Sorry, guys. This was originally the first chapter and when I wrote the other one, I forgot to put the warnings in. So please be aware that later chapters will discuss Rusty's history specifically and the sexual abuse of children more generally, and if reading that is upsetting or triggering to you, you may want to not proceed any further.
Additional Notes: Thank you everyone for your lovely feedback on the first chapter! This is actually my first time writing a mystery/suspense plot (my goal here is for the reveal later to seem like I thought it up logically, instead of picking the villain because I was watching TV while writing and recognized the actor when he guest starred on another police show and went "oh, why not him?") so your comments were encouraging. :)
Also I didn't include anything that I know to be factually incorrect about police procedure or the law, but my knowledge comes almost entirely from Wikipedia, TVTropes, and other police procedural shows, so... uh, let's just assume in advance that I've taken significant liberties with both.
I should have chapter three up Friday or Saturday at the latest.
Monsters Old and New
rosabelle
Chapter II: Threat
September 2nd
10:17 PM
"I should've killed him."
There were many qualities Sharon had learned to appreciate in Brenda Leigh Johnson, and presently she was lamenting them all. The woman had remained still just long enough to let the doctors stitch up her shoulder. Then, the second her husband had arrived with a change of clothes, she'd dressed herself and marched across the hall, where she'd proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes pacing barefoot in agitation, hovering over Sharon, and soundly refusing all orders to sit down, for God's sake.
From her bed, Sharon massaged the back of her neck and watched silently. Sometimes Brenda needed to be contained. Sometimes it was best to stand back and let her steamroll everything in her path. Right now, Sharon was content to let her get it out of her system.
Fritz Howard was of a similar mind. He sat in a chair near the door looking none too pleased, and kept a hand close to his gun despite the uniformed officer standing guard outside.
If nothing else, her nerves could use the distraction and she could hardly call Lieutenant Tao back five minutes after she'd last spoken to him to ask if the car had been found yet.
Sharon glanced at her wrist out of habit, but her watch was gone. Her left arm was bare and bruised, her
right was stitched and bandaged. There was a sharp ache in her hipbone from where weight had been thrown against the seatbelt clasp, and the belt itself had drawn blood from her neck.
Her hands hadn't stopped trembling for an hour afterwards, but she was only bruised and not broken.
The wall clock told her that forty-five minutes had passed since she'd called Rusty. He should be here soon, then, and then she meant to dress herself and walk out of here.
"You sure it's a good idea to leave, Captain?" Fritz sounded skeptical as he looked her over. "Couldn't hurt to let them keep you for observation."
"You look pretty banged up, Captain," Brenda agreed. "Sharon. You should take it easy."
Irony was often lost on Brenda.
"You were shot."
"Grazed," Brenda said. "I was grazed, and I'm fine, and I'm goin' home tonight."
"As am I." Sharon closed her eyes, reaching to rub her neck again. She could sleep a thousand years. "The doctor said I was cleared to go home, and that's what I intend to do."
"You're sure that's safe?" Brenda fussed at her. "Y'all are welcome to spend the night with us, but considerin' what happened to Rusty the last time I brought him home with me, he might feel better if you stayed with someone else."
"This may seem unlikely, given what we discussed earlier, but have you considered that maybe this was an attack on you?" Sharon asked. "We were in your car. You were hit."
"I don't irritate serial killers for a livin' anymore," Brenda said. "Don't go makin' this all about me."
"Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza cleared the apartment when they brought Rusty there to get me a change of clothes," Sharon said. "Two uniformed officers will stand guard at the door until we return home. We will be fine."
"Should've killed him," Brenda muttered again. "Should. Have. Killed. Him. Ooh, I should've—"
"Brenda," Fritz said wearily. "Honey. Please sit down."
Sharon opened her eyes in time to see Brenda round on him. He held up his hands; she glared at him. Then, with a wordless sound of frustration, she stamped her foot and returned to pacing—but silently, and with her good hand rubbing the back of her neck.
Sharon exchanged an exasperated look with Fritz. He shook his head.
Time to wrangle her in.
"I," Sharon said, gingerly turning her head towards Brenda, "would have been very unhappy had my first act as head of Major Crimes been to arrest you for manslaughter, so I, for one, am glad that you did not kill him."
That, at least, annoyed Brenda into standing still for two seconds and she turned her glare on Sharon.
"Don't flatter yourself. I've arrested people I like far more than you."
"If it makes you feel any better, she did say it would've made her very unhappy," Fritz said.
Brenda sputtered at them both in outrage.
"This woman," she said to Fritz.
He cracked a smile. Another moment, another look between them, and they broke into desperate, shaky laughter.
Sharon's smothered chuckle turned into a sharp pain and a muffled groan. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her ribs. "Don't make me laugh."
"Are you okay?" Brenda moved towards her. "Do you need some water? Fritzy, get her some water."
"I am fine." Sharon held up a hand when Fritz started to rise. "Thank you, Agent Howard."
"Okay," Brenda said, and she did seem calmer now. "Okay okay, you're right. I know. Just—he makes me so mad. You could've been killed."
"I could have been, but I wasn't," Sharon told her. "I'll be fine, and now I need you to tell me who knew where we were going to dinner."
"Besides him?" Brenda nodded towards Fritz. "I might've mentioned it to Andrea. And—"
She stopped suddenly, pressing both hands to her face with a groan.
Fritz leaned forward. "What is it?"
"David Gabriel?" Sharon finished softly.
Brenda bit her lip. "No. He didn't conspire to kill you."
She sounded near tears.
"I don't believe that he did." Sharon reached to lay a reassuring hand on Brenda's arm. "But I need to speak with him, Andrea Hobbs, and anyone else who knew where you were going."
"Tomorrow. First thing."
"Thank you."
Brenda smiled at her, strained and teary. "I'm sorry we were hit from the passenger side."
Sharon's hand slid from Brenda's elbow down to her wrist. Her heartbeat pulsed angrily against Sharon's fingers. "It wasn't your fault."
"Sharon?"
She realized how worried she'd been that something would happen to Rusty on his way here only when he rushed into the room and relief enveloped her like a wave. He went straight to her side and she reached for him with her free hand.
He stood beside her bed, clutching a paper bag in his hands. His eyes were wide in horror, and he flinched away from her touch.
"It's all right," she murmured, and withdrew her hand. "I'm okay."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and before he looked away she saw that his eyes were bright with tears. "Sharon, I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh, Rusty. You can't blame yourself for this."
"This is all my fault."
"It certainly was not," she said firmly. She sat slowly, with Brenda's help. "You brought me something to wear?"
"In here." He held up the bag.
Motion drew Sharon's eye back to the doorway.
"Hey, Captain." Lieutenant Flynn rapped on the doorframe. "Chief. Agent Howard."
Behind him, Sharon saw Lieutenant Provenza walking up the hall at his usual sedate pace.
"Hello, Lieutenant."
Flynn glanced from one to the other. "Is everybody okay in here?"
"We are fine," Sharon said firmly.
"Good." Provenza had joined Flynn in the doorway. "Now will someone please tell me what in the hell happened?"
September 2nd
7:35 PM
"You didn't have to take me to dinner," Brenda said, studying the menu with a frown. "Somewhere so nice, too."
"I needed to speak with you," Sharon said. "Outside of our offices. And they have great tiramisu."
Brenda eyed her, then flipped the page to read the dessert selection. "Ooh, chocolate mousse."
"Think of it as an apology," Sharon said. "I've noticed that you're more receptive to bad news when there's food nearby."
"And what do you need to apologize for?" Brenda was still hesitating over the menu. "What bad news? Is the chicken alfredo any good?"
"Delicious." Sharon pursed her lips. "I may have been wrong about something."
"Oh?" Brenda's voice lifted in interest. She glanced up from her menu. "Well, I sure am sorry to hear that, Captain."
She wouldn't be smiling for long.
"When you were investigating Phillip Stroh," she began in a low voice, and sure enough, Brenda's smirk rapidly faded, "I said there was no evidence that he was working with a partner."
"No," Brenda breathed. "Nonono. You're not tellin' me this."
"There have been letters," Sharon went on. "Sent to Rusty, and now to me."
She kept the story to the relevant details, picking at her salad while Brenda ate half a basket of breadsticks.
"And you've nothing to go on? No physical evidence?"
"Some of the letters smell faintly of cigarettes. But otherwise, no, and there's one more thing that bothers me."
"What could possibly make this worse?"
"The first letter I received was postmarked the day we were notified of the ongoing threats against Rusty."
Brenda buried her face in her hands. "Dammit," she muttered. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."
"Precisely."
"Okay," Brenda said, voice muffled through her fingers. "Let me think a minute."
"I know this is difficult to hear."
"No worse than the first time," Brenda said, voice bleak. She ran a hand through her hair. "There's a leak. Again. Or worse, someone from the DA's office sendin' them directly. I do not like investigatin' my own people."
"Nor do I," Sharon agreed. "Has anyone spoken to you about the case?"
"No." Brenda shook her head. "No one who had no reason to ask."
Sharon gave her a pointed look. "And you've had no contact with Phillip Stroh yourself since the day of his arrest?"
"Trust me, Sharon, I never want to see that man's face again as long as I live."
It was a testament to the fact that Brenda actually had changed somewhat that when their food arrived, she picked up her fork and began to eat instead of barreling out of the restaurant to launch her own investigation.
"I'll look into it," she promised. "Now if you don't mind, this all looks delicious and I don't know if I'll be able to stomach it if you keep talkin'."
"Of course," Sharon said, taking a sip of water. "So how is Agent Howard? They've been sending us Morris lately."
Brenda did the better part of the talking, but by the time they strolled out into a pleasantly cool evening, Sharon found that despite everything, she'd enjoyed herself. If someone had told her that the woman she'd met the night of Sergeant Gabriel's officer-involved shooting would be her best friend five years later... She would've had some trouble believing it.
Brenda's car was warm, and Sharon slipped off her blazer before buckling her seatbelt.
"Well, thank you for dinner, Captain."
"It was my pleasure." Sharon cleared her throat. "Chief."
Brenda gave her a sidelong look before pulling out into traffic. Sharon smiled serenely back at her, and Brenda laughed. "I guess it's no wonder no one believes we're friends."
"I do believe there are other reasons for that," Sharon said dryly. "I hardly see you, for one."
"Hey, if that's about how I cancelled lunch last week—"
"That was two weeks ago. And something came up, I know."
"Something important," Brenda complained. "No one ever remembers the important part."
If Sharon hadn't felt her phone vibrate, they could've argued about Brenda's priorities all the way to the freeway. She reached to fish it out of her purse.
The text was from Rusty. He'd sent her a picture of himself with the lieutenants and Buzz, seated before a small mountain of fries. She was happy to see that he was smiling—she'd been worried what effect of their conversation earlier would have on him.
Glad you're having fun, she sent back. Will be home soon.
Many things happened next.
Brenda took a left turn towards the entrance to the freeway.
Sharon bent to replace her phone.
From Brenda, there was a sharp intake of breath.
Glass rained down on them.
There was the squealing of tires, the crunching of metal, and the car spun, hit from the passenger side.
Sharon was flung painfully against her seatbelt and then backwards into her seat.
When they came to a stop, Brenda was shouting and they were both bleeding.
September 3rd
12:04 AM
She'd never been happier to be home.
It was an instinctual thing. Crossing the threshold didn't lesson her discomfort. By that point, she was leaning more heavily on Lieutenant Flynn's arm that she would've liked, and lowering herself shakily onto the couch only caused an entirely different set of muscles to ache.
But—just being here, in her own home, on her own couch, loosened some of the tension in her shoulders, and she took a moment to close her eyes. Rusty, too, seemed to breathe easier.
"Thank you, Lieutenants," she told them. "I will see you in the morning."
"Provenza and I could—"
"We have work to do," Provenza grumbled at him. "And I don't sleep on couches."
She was delighted to hear Rusty's muffled snort of laughter, and she suppressed a smile of her own. "That won't be necessary. The protection detail outside is more than enough."
She paused. "But my car is still parked at the station, so if you wouldn't mind..."
She'd anticipated a protest, there, but none was forthcoming. But then again, Flynn had once come in hours after having thirty stitches put into his arm and Provenza just shrugged.
"We'll send a car to pick you up," he said. "Get some rest, Captain. We'll find you something to work with in the morning. Maybe we'll have the moron himself waiting for you in an interview room."
"Who knew you were such an optimist?" Flynn joked, as he followed Provenza out the door. "Night."
"Night," she echoed, shaking her head after them.
Rusty locked the door, and then came around to help her stand. The stiffness was beginning to settle into her now.
"I'm okay," she murmured, when he hesitated to release her arm. "Just sore."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she said gently. She touched his shoulder and tried not to sigh when, again, he shrugged off her hand. "Go to bed, honey. Try to get some rest."
He scoffed at that.
"Rusty."
"I—" He looked away. "I'm glad you're okay."
"So am I," she said. "Now, I mean it. Go to bed."
He went to his room and she to hers, to long-awaited sleep.