Later that evening, after a quick dinner, Brenda crawled into bed beside her husband. He snuggled up to her back, laying his arm heavy around her waist. She felt him press his lips against her hair, and sigh contentedly.

"I'm glad you're back, Brenda Leigh." He said, his voice sleepy.

"I'm here Fritzi. I never left." She pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders, wishing she could be sure of that. She lay awake in his arms, as his breathing slowed, and she thought about her predicament. Brenda had never had a problem with monogamy before. She'd not known Will was married when they first started dating, and by the time he'd been honest with her, she was already in love. That had put her off love for a while, but then she'd rushed in, gotten married when she wasn't ready, and THAT had ended terribly. Now Fritz. They'd had such a slow burn. He'd been so kind. So attentive. He'd been exactly what she needed, back at the start. Now, it seemed all they did was argue about her job. She knew that he thought his being in recovery held him back from being promoted at the FBI, but Brenda was secretly relieved. If he got promoted, he'd want to move back to DC. And her home was LA now. She loved this job. More than her 7 years with the CIA, this was her calling. She slid out from under his arm, feeling crushed by his presence. Looking at his sleeping form, she tried to recall the passion she'd felt for him before. Instead, she found herself looking at his hands, and comparing them to a set of smaller, more delicate hands. His hair, tousled from sex and sleep, stuck up in messy spikes around his head. The dark chocolate color seemed drab in comparison to a wild, autumnal mane that smelled of citrus.

Was she falling out of love with Fritz? Because of some weird obsession with a woman who didn't even seem to particularly like her? Brenda shook her head. Whatever was going on with the Captain had to stop. She couldn't throw everything away for the possibility of one night of passion. She was a married woman. She had responsibilities. She could be an adult. She was not ruled by her hormones. She could do this.

The next morning, she sat across the table from Fritz, drinking her coffee as he munched on a bagel.

"You said last night that work had been upsetting. Wanna tell me about that?" She asked, swirling the coffee around in her mug.

"Ah, it's nothing too bad. Just, we're having trouble with an informant, and they're making me babysit more than I'd like. I should be free of it today, though, because I have to present with the Federal prosecutor. Maybe I'll swing by for lunch when I'm through." Fritz shoved the last of his bagel in his mouth, and stood, taking his plate to the sink and wiping the crumbs.

Brenda watched him, thinking that it would've never occurred to her to wipe the crumbs up until just before setting the table for dinner. They were so different. But that's why she loved him, right?

"I think lunch sounds like a splendid plan, hon." Brenda drained her cup, and set it back on the table, and went off in search of her shoes. She had just bent over to check under the table in the entryway when she heard a crash from the kitchen. She ran, and found Fritz standing behind where she'd been sitting, gripping the back of her chair so tightly his knuckles were ghostly white. The coffee cup lay shattered across the floor in front of the sink. Brenda looked at him, eyes wide.

"Fritzi?" She asked, her voice even, belying her fear. "What happened?"

"I think I might need a meeting, tonight." He ground out, still clutching the chair.

"All right. I was coming back to put that in the sink. You didn't have to destroy it, Fritz." She wanted to make it clear that he was wrong, even though she hadn't actually intended to put the cup in the sink.

"No, Brenda. You weren't. You never put your dishes in the sink after a meal. The breakfast dishes are there at dinner. The dinner dishes are there at breakfast. I work just like you do, but I manage to summon up the energy to pick up after myself. Did you know, that I was offered a promotion a while ago? That while you were off with your arch-nemesis, catching out a shady cop in her domestic violence charade, the FBI offered me a promotion? That night that you were late for dinner. That's when I was going to tell you. But I knew. I knew that if I asked you to choose between your job, and your husband, you wouldn't choose me." Fritz exhaled, shakily.

Brenda stood there, unmoving, and unsure of what to say. The first thing that popped into her head, came flying out of her mouth before she could catch it.

"She's not my arch-nemesis, for goodness sake! What promotion? Did you accept?" She asked, covering for her initial indiscretion.

"So you're friends now?" He scoffed.

"We've come to a professional understanding. We don't like each other," she hedged, "But we have to work together, so we try to do that." Brenda kept her features neutral, her voice even.

"What promotion, Fritz? And how could you not tell me? How could you not give me the chance?" At this, Brenda let some emotion seep into her tone.

"It involved moving back to DC. I knew you wouldn't go." He said simply.

"But you didn't give me a chance to make that decision. Instead, you've been angry at me for a month, for something I didn't actually do. Now you're breaking my china? I don't know what has gotten into you, AGENT HOWARD, but I don't like it. I don't like it at all. I won't be punished for not knowing. You knew! You knew when you started courting me, that I was devoted to my job. You knew who I was. Who I am. But I am also your wife, and as such, I should be privy to your huge, life changin' decisions, especially when they also affect my life, don't you agree?" The angrier she got, the more pronounced her Southern heritage became.

"I'm sorry for breaking the china. I'm sorry for not telling you about the promotion. It's still on the table. Think about it. I have to go to work." Fritz spun on his heel and walked out, leaving the shattered china on the floor.

Brenda sank to her knees, gathering up the pieces. Try as she might, she couldn't get them to fit together again. She couldn't make it whole again.