Author's Notes: It was pointed out to me ever so diplomatically in reviews that this story is pretty angsty, and people are waiting for some romance between our hero and heroine. I didn't set out to make it so angst-ridden, I swear, it just came out that way. But worry not, our favorite couple has suffered a lot, but the rewards will be great. The same goes for you who have stuck with this story. I promise, things will get a lot more romantic in the very near future.

That's my way of saying...this is another angst-ridden chapter. The good news is that it's short, so you can get it over with quickly, like ripping off a Band Aid.

February 14, 2007

Los Angeles, CA

Fritz Howard had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when someone was staring at him. The small hairs on the back of his neck bristled and his skin started to feel too tight. A frisson ran down his spine and he turned around, just in time to see the Hostess and the Maitre D' avert their gazes, one taking a keen interest in the menu in their hand and the other inspecting the ceiling. Fritz wasn't fooled. He knew they were growing impatient with him.

Fritz looked at his watch. 8:17. He would give Brenda five more minutes and then forfeit his table to the sour-looking Maitre D'. He picked up his phone for what seemed like the hundredth time since 8 o'clock and checked for messages, in the remote possibility that a call or text could have escaped his hypervigilance. Nothing. He set his jaw, hit the Favorite button, and chose "Brenda Cell."

After her greeting ended, Fritz left another version of the message he had left three other times:

"Brenda, where are you? Are reservations are for 8 and you are 15 minutes late. They are going to give away the table in a few minutes. Call me immediately." He hung up and, like the previous message, accompanied it with a text:

"At Cicada. U r 15 late. Call me ASAP."

He knew, in his heart of hearts, that leaving her all these messages was an exercise in futility. When she was in some type of work zone where she wasn't answering his calls, then that was that. She wouldn't answer if he called her once, and she wouldn't answer if he called her ten times. Frustration spread through him, closely followed by disappointment.

He wanted tonight to be perfect. It was their first Valentine's day living together, and he wanted to do something really nice with Brenda. Their first Valentines as a couple the prior year had been a bust; and it actually due to his job, not hers, as he was called to DC the day before on an urgent matter. Brenda said she couldn't care less, and he believed her. The only thing that was of value to her about Valentine's day was that it resulted in vast quantities of chocolate going on sale the day after. But he did care, her cared very much. They had waited so long to be together that he wanted to spoil her, to spoil them, on this romantic holiday. And he didn't care if it was commercial, or cheesy, or silly, as Brenda called it. He wanted to make it special for him and his girl. So he made reservations at an elegant restaurant weeks ago in order to secure a table. He got her the requisite flowers and chocolate. And to mark the occasion, he bought Brenda a pair of diamond stud earrings. They matched a necklace he had given her for Christmas, .a diamond solitaire in a gold bezeled setting that looked stunning on her. When Brenda unwrapped the gift on Christmas morning and saw the blue Tiffany box, he thought she was going to hyperventilate. She held the box perfectly still in her hand, staring at it with eyes wide, and said in a small, incredulous voice, "You got me something from Tiffany? The Tiffany?" Fritz had to prod her to stop gazing at the box like it were the crown jewels and open it up. When she saw the necklace, she shrieked with delight and jumped into his arms. He had never seen anyone get more excited over a present in his life. He hoped he would evoke a similar reaction tonight with the matching earrings, because he had some ideas about ways she could thank him.

If she ever showed up.

The Maitre D' came up to him, a tight smile on his face. "Sir, I am sorry about this, but if your party doesn't show up in the next couple of minutes, I am going to have to give your table to someone else. It's quite busy tonight, as you can see."

Fritz nodded. "Just give me a couple more minutes, will you, please?" he asked. The man nodded and walked off, frowning.

Fritz slumped in his seat. The man and woman sitting to his left were openly staring at him, and the two men to his right had ceased their conversation and were clearly listening in but were pretending not to. He could only imagine what they where thinking about him right now: poor chump, shown up on Valentine's day no less! What a loser!

How could Brenda do this to me? he thought. He had reminded her all week about their dinner plans, and she laughed and told him to stop his nagging. That morning, as she was leaving, he started to speak, and she placed her hand over his mouth. "Don't even say it. Cicada, 8 o'clock. Got it the first 50 times, Fritz. And I'm bringin' with me a goin' out dress-" she extended her right arm to show the black sheath hanging over it- "and shoes to work so I can change. Honey, I am all set. I wouldn't miss it for the world." She had taken her free hand, snaked it behind his head, pulled him down to her, and gave him a hot, fiery, not-your-typical-going-to-work kiss that was full of promise of what tonight might bring, and went out the door.

"I wouldn't miss it for all the world." And he believed her. With their history of broken dates and forgotten promises, when will he learn?

He looked at his watch, and then at the front door, wishing Brenda would magically appear wearing her sexy black dress, looking gorgeous and turning heads. He held his breath each time the door opened, hoping it was her, but it was always another woman accompanied by another man, out for a lovely Valentine's evening. Fritz looked at the other couples in the restaurants, dressed up and looking beautiful and handsome and very much in love, and he could barely control his jealousy.

A thought wormed its way through Fritz's distress. There was one person who knew where Brenda Leigh Johnson was at all times, at least when she was at work, which was pretty much the majority of her life. He went into his Address book and hit a number.

"Sergeant Gabriel." Fritz could tell by the suspicion in Gabriel's voice when he answered that Fritz may have him in his address book, but he wasn't in Gabriel's, so his number showed up as an unknown caller. Glad to know I'm so important, he thought.

"It's Fritz Howard," she said, impatience and anger rising within him and starting to bubble over, an unwatched pot of soup on a hot stove. Being forced to call his girlfriend's subordinate to locate her because she wouldn't return his calls, well, it was humiliating. It gave her squad the impression that he wasn't very important to Brenda. Like they need another reason to treat me like crap besides me being in the FBI, he thought. "Where is she," he asked brusquely.

"Uh, who, you mean the Chief?"

Fritz balled his fists in annoyance. "Of course the Chief! Who else would I be talking about? I've been trying to reach her for the past 30 minutes and she won't pick up. Is she with you right now?"

Gabriel hesitated. "No sir, no, she's not here."

Fritz blew out air through his teeth. "Where the hell is she?"

"She's been down in the morgue for he past hour, Agent Howard. Is there an emergency, should I go get her..."

"Oh no, no emergency," he said sarcastically. "I would hate to disturb the Deputy Chief of Priority Homicide. It's just that I've been sitting for 20 minutes at a table by myself, waiting for her to show up for our Valentine's day dinner. The staff here are going to kick me out in the next minute or so, and everyone is staring at the pathetic loser who's girlfriend didn't show up for their date. It's really comforting to know she chose to spend the evening in the morgue than in a nice restaurant with me." He had raised his voice, and several tables around him were staring. The Hostess and the Maitre D' were heading his way.

He stood up and pulled out his wallet, then threw a $10 bill on the table to cover his seltzer. He waved at the staff to signal that he was leaving. He grabbed the roses he had brought for Brenda and headed for the door.

After a brief pause, Gabriel spoke. "Agent Howard, I'm sorry you're upset. But we caught a murder around 3 today. It's awful, this guy is a screenwriter, and his stabbed his two daughters..."

The heinous crime was lost on Fritz. "Wait a minute," he said, his anger ratcheted up a notch. Since he was outside the restaurant handing his ticket to the Valet, he felt freer to raise his voice. "The squad got called out five hours ago and Brenda didn't contact me? In all that time she couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone for a 30 second conversation to cancel our plans? I can't believe her!" He knew it was inappropriate of him to be venting to Sergeant Gabriel, but Fritz's mood had soured way beyond caring about such things as fairness.

"Sir," Gabriel said, a tinge of impatience in his voice, "it was two little girls who got killed. The crime scene was a bloody mess and was not easy to look at. And you know how the Chief gets when she is handed a new case. So take it easy, bro."

Fritz realized he was shooting the messenger, and he took a deep breath to try and bring his anger down a notch. The Valet pulled his car in front of him, and he slumped against it. "Yea, Sergeant, I know how she gets."


Brenda held her breath as she opened the front door, hoping her keys didn't jingle too loudly. The last thing she wanted right now was to wake Fritz. She gently closed the door behind her and squinted at the microwave clock. 3:14AM. He should be sound asleep, even if he is broiling mad. A small wave of relief washed over her for her few hours of reprieve.

She headed into the kitchen intent on a glass of Merlot, even though breakfast was only a few hours away. She slung her large black purse up on the granite countertop and almost knocked over a bundle of cloth that was sitting there. On closer inspection, she saw that it was a pair of her pajamas with a yellow post-it note that had one word written on it in all capitols: "COUCH." Brenda's heart contracted. Fritz was kicking her to the couch for the night. Since they had lived together, they only had one fight where they had slept apart, and it was he who had spent the night on the couch, and that was done voluntarily. But the message behind the pajamas and edict was very clear: I am furious with you.

She took a small comfort in the fact that he had at least picked out her favorite pajamas.

She sighed and turned to get a wine glass out of the cabinet and saw the red roses, haphazardly shoved in a vase. They were beautiful, clearly purchased at a nice florist. She put her nose in the middle of the bouquet and inhaled. Mmm, heaven. I bet Fritz brought these to the restaurant, she thought. I wonder if he... She looked around.

Oh no. He wouldn't. Is he really that mad? Is nothing sacred?

Peaking out of the top of the trash can was the apex of a red cardboard heart. Brenda went over and pulled out a medium-sized box of See's milk chocolate candy in a badly mangled red Valentine's Day box. Fritz took his anger on an innocent box of chocolates? I think these poor chocolates were a surrogate for me. She pulled them out of the trash and set them on the counter. She removed the lid and, much to her relief, found that the candies themselves were uninjured. She poured herself a glass of Merlot from an open bottle and returned to the mangled heart, settling in to numb her pain with her two favorite drugs.

Hmmm, that looks like a chocolate crème, let's start there. She popped the piece of candy in her mouth and chewed, too impatient for a little relief to let it melt on her tongue like she usually did. Oh, this was good, very very good. A pecan caramel followed, than a chocolate covered cherry, then a toffee crisp, each one punctuated by a generous swig of Merlot.

It was wasn't until Brenda bit into her second chocolate turtle and thought, reruns, when she paused and looked down. She had eaten seven pieces of candy and refilled her glass and she wasn't conscious of doing either. She put down the half-eaten turtle and raised her hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling like she was going to vomit. She thought back to the last time she had any real food, and recalled the breakfast bar she ate around noon. She felt disgusted with herself. What is wrong with me? I don't take care of myself and I'm digging chocolate out of the trash can in the middle of the night. The last of her defenses crumbled and she was helpless against the feelings she was desperate for the chocolate and wine to block out.

She stumbled to the couch and sat down as the hot tears poured down her cheeks. Images of her day flashed through her head like an unwanted movie: two little girls, brutally stabbed by their father, blood everywhere. She saw the splatter across the dollhouse, the dollhouse which was almost identical to the one Brenda had when she was a child. One of the horrible mysteries of the entire case was the unspeakable brutality of the murders. When the father was cornered in his second home in Malibu, he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head. If had a gun, why didn't he just shoot his children, Brenda wondered. It would have been less painful for them, a quicker death, less terrifying than being stabbed . Brenda knew all about rage and choice of weapons, but these where his children. If you are going to kill someone you love, wouldn't you at least kill them nicely?

And how did she get so twisted that such questions didn't seem at all strange to her?

The longer she worked at this job, the more certain that if she didn't have Fritz in her life, she would probably lose any ability to relate to the rest of humanity. She would be like an untethered hot air balloon, brilliant and powerful but completely disconnected from the world below. It was so easy for her to get lost in work and forget things like other people and relationships and commitments. But Fritz had grabbed her by the hand and was her connection to the world. Her kept her sane, he kept her human, he kept her heart beating. And she had no idea what she did for him in return.

...

Brenda was down in the morgue this evening when Sgt. Gabriel came and found her. She thought it was very strange that he would voluntarily enter the morgue when she had assigned him a task to do while she reviewed the childrens' injuries with Dr. Morales. Gabriel looked uncomfortable, even more uncomfortable than he usually did when he was around dead bodies.

"Um, Chief, I just got a phone call from Agent Howard." Gabriel squinted, like he was preparing himself for the onslaught of something unpleasant.

Brenda was confused. "Why was Fritz callin' you? Somethin' wrong?"

"Well, he said he had tried to call you several times in the past hour but you weren't answering, so he tried me to make sure you were alright."

She couldn't pick up her phone with her gloved hands, which had been touching the bodies. "I've been down here for awhile, and there's bad reception. So tell me Sergeant, why is Fritz tryin' to reach me? Is he okay?"

Gabriel shook his head slowly. "Uh, no Chief, nothing' wrong, really. Unless you count that Agent Howard is really mad at you. I guess you were supposed to meet him at a nice restaurant 30 minutes ago and you never showed up. He sat there for awhile waiting for you and trying to get you on the phone before calling me."

"Oh crap." Brenda closed her eyes. She had completely forgot. She should have called him the second they were notified they had a murder. The thought flitted through her mind, but then there was always the chance there was little they could do until the next day, and she could have made an 8PM dinner. No point of ruining the evening until I know for sure I have to, she thought. Let me assess the situation before I call Fritz. But she took one look at that playroom, with its Barbies and stuffed animals and that dollhouse, just like that dollhouse Grandma gave me, all sprayed with blood, and everything in her brain was sucked out except for the murder of those two children. Once a suspect was identified, her attention was narrowed to a pinpoint: find that father. When she became so focused, she barely remembered her own name.

Dr. Morales stopped documenting stab wound patterns on the 6 year old to listen to Gabriel. He looked at Brenda and slowly shook his head.

"Chief, I've seen your boyfriend, and he is one beautiful specimen of manhood. You better treat that one right, because there are a lot of other women, and men, who would be happy to do so." He pointed his scalpel at Brenda to emphasize his words.

"Thank you doctor, that was so very helpful," Brenda said sarcastically. Just what she needed, reminder that she had stiff competition from all the beautiful women in LA.

Gabriel shifted from side to side, looking characteristically uncomfortable in the morgue. "Uh, Chief, I know I am completely overstepping my boundaries here, but can I make a very small suggestion? Seeing that I was the one who just got yelled at by Agent Howard since you weren't answering your phone?"

Brenda felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm real sorry about that, Sergeant. Go ahead, what do you suggest?"

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't call Fritz. Agent Howard I mean. I would send him a text. He's really pissed right now, and I think all he's going to do is yell, which you probably don't need on top of-" he gestured at the small body on the table- "this. But definitely send him a text apologizing, and by the time you see him, hopefully he will have cooled down a bit."

She nodded silently. His suggestion had merit. A fight with Fritz over the phone was not what she needed right now. The murders were pretty much solved, but since the father was dead and his confession consisted of rants and raves just prior to shooting himself, she needed to prove conclusively that he killed his children. She could never rest until she closed her case, and even though there wasn't a dangerous killer on the loose, she couldn't go home until she had some proof that the father was he murderer.

She stared at the screen of her phone for a long time, having no idea what to write. Funny, Brenda had a silver tongue, she was a spider who could spin lies into gossamer threads to capture any criminal, but she couldn't think of a few words to text the love of her life to apologize for ruining Valentine's Day.

Finally, she decided to eschew false promises. She had said "I'll make it up to you" too many times, because the thing is, she never really did make it up to him. Liar, she hissed.

In the end, she only texted two words, but they were honest. "So sorry."

...

Exhaustion pushed at the back of her eyeballs and tugged at her shoulders. Brenda rubbed her neck and looked at the couch she was sitting on, thinking how it didn't look very inviting for sleep to someone who just worked 20 hours. She only had three hours to get some sleep, then she had to return to Parker Center and work with Taylor on press releases for this case.

Usually, when Brenda only got to take a nap instead a full night's sleep, she saw it as critical that she be in her own bed with Fritz. Sure, she spent a lot of nights at Parker Center out of necessity, but she knew that, like charging a phone, it was critical to have some time sleeping with Fritz to refuel, lest she become completely depleted. It was a physical need, really, a deep body-wide ache. Even just a couple of hours of hard-earned sleep during a grueling case made all the difference, as long as he held her. Brenda liked to sleep with her head tucked beneath his chin and feel each long, slow breath he exhaled tickle the small hairs on the back of her neck. Every time he breathed in she could feel his strong chest press against her, and it made her feel safe. This rhythm is what lulled her into sleep, and oh, she needed it, needed to feel his warmth next to hers. How was she going to get through tomorrow with only the couch to hold her tonight?

She grabbed her cat pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change. After brushing her teeth and washing her face as quietly as possible, she crept out, still afraid of waking Fritz. But when she walked past the open bedroom door she felt his pull, and she stopped to peer in the dark bedroom. If she couldn't touch him tonight, at least she could look at him. The moon was full and with the light coming through the windows, everything was cast in an ethereal glow. Fritz was lying diagonal in the bed, wearing only sweatpants, the blanket pushed down around his ankles. He had one arm thrown out to the side and the other rested across his chest. His hair was sticking straight up. His handsome face was turned toward her, and she could hear his deep, heavy breathing from the door. She knew without touching him that his skin was warm to the touch; it always was. He looked younger when he slept, and she could picture him as a small boy, all energy and limbs and baseball dreams. He must have been so sweet, she thought. He still is.

She didn't know if it was the sleep deprivation, the wine, the stress of the case, or a combination, but she felt herself tear up again. I love this man so much, and all I do is hurt him. Part of her protested this, reminding her that it was just a dinner on a silly Hallmark excuse of a holiday, but she subdued that cynical voice that always seemed to speak the loudest. It was important to Fritz, and that's why it should have been important to me.She wondered for the thousandth time why he was wasting his time on her.

Fritz stirred in his sleep and murmured, and Brenda jumped back into the darkness of the hallway. She really didn't want to be fighting with Fritz at three in the morning, which is what would happen if woke up and saw her staring at him. Hell, it's gonna be ugly whenever the two of them are conscious and in the same room together. She turned to the small linen closet in the hallway and grabbed some sheets and a blanket and reluctantly left a sleeping Fritz to his dreams.

She walked out to the living room and quickly put the sheets on the sofa and lay down, dragging the blanket over her. She tossed a few times trying to get comfortable, and finally curled up on her side. I want this horrible day to be over, she thought. She closed her eyes and beckoned Morpheus to take her away and give her a respite from the world for a few hours.

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