Title: Conduct Unbecoming
Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels
Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.
A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation.
"How come I'm still in bed, completely naked and you're trying to sneak out of the house?" Irene watched her lover tip-toe from the bathroom, holding her heels in her hand so she wouldn't make any noise crossing the bedroom. Her hair was still dampened several shades darker by the shower, and she was dressed in black pencil skirt, and a contrasting white knit tank top. A matching black blazer was draped over her arm as she froze at the sound of Irene's voice.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Brenda said, whispering as if it was necessary at this point. "Pope called, I have to go to some budget… meeting thing."
Irene propped herself up on the pillow, pursing her lips. "That was the whole point of you taking two days off, of arranging it so everyone thinks I'm at some anti-terrorism conference in Montana. So we could have two days off together."
"I know, honey, but…" Brenda smiled apologetically and fussed with her hair in the mirror over the dresser. "I'll just be a few hours." She said in her sweetest voice, caught Irene's skeptical gaze in the mirror and sighed. "I promise."
"Pope just doesn't like letting you out of his sight. Especially since he found out you broke up with Fritz." Irene crossed her arms over her chest, feeling very much like a child that had just been told she couldn't have any more cookies. She hated the way Pope leered at Brenda when he thought no one was looking. All while she watched warily, unable to let on that she even noticed him eyeing her girlfriend. It was infuriating.
"Honey, Pope's just like a little lost puppy is all." Brenda said lightly, trying to play off the matter as unimportant. After four months together, so far the only disagreements they had were about Pope's intentions and whether Cool Whip was better than whipped cream. "Two hours, I promise." Brenda gave herself one final glance in the mirror before facing Irene.
Irene sighed and threw the covers off of her body and threw her legs over the side of the bed. "Well, seeing as how I can't leave the house because I'm supposed to be in Montana, what am I supposed to do while you're gone, hmm?" She said suggestively, reaching her hands above her head and stretching exaggeratedly. The movement had the desired effect on Brenda, whose eyes traced the curves of Irene's toned, nude body hungrily.
Brenda groaned as she reluctantly shrugged into her blazer. "You know I don't want to go, and it isn't fair to tease me." She went to Irene, bent down and kissed her forehead. Irene closed her eyes, concentrated on how cool the lips on her forehead and that small kiss made her feel so complete and safe and comforted. With Brenda's hand on the back of her head and her lips on her brow, nothing in the world could possibly harm her or go wrong.
She sighed again when Brenda withdrew and scooped up her cell phone from the night stand. "Brenda…" Her lover, her boss, the deputy chief stopped in the doorway and turned. Irene faltered and forced a smile. "Happy birthday, honey."
Trying to hide a wince with a smile, Brenda tilted her head. "Thank you, thank you very much. I'll see you in just a little while, honey."
Still seated on the edge of the bed, Irene watched her lover walk down the hall. She remained sitting there long after she heard the front door open and shut. She was such a coward. That would have been the perfect opportunity, and yet she had been unable to harvest enough courage to say the simple phrase, "I love you."
Instead, she had said the one thing Brenda probably wanted to hear least. A fortieth birthday was just another day, but to Brenda it was a glowering black mark on the calendar. She had been increasingly anxious and flighty as the day had approached. That was part of the reason Irene invented the scheme for them to have two days off together, her birthday and the day after. But it seemed she still had not warmed to the notion of being forty.
"I should have just told her I loved her." Irene murmured, forcing herself to stand. She dressed without thought, donning an old pair of Brenda's sweatpants and a tank top. The clothes were little more than pajamas, but she couldn't very well walk around the house completely nude. Wondering why, after four months, they still had not said "I love you," Irene began the mindless task of picking up the house.
Irene had wanted to say them since the very beginning. She had no doubt she was in love with the blond, fiery deputy chief even before their relationship began. But for propriety's sake, she had waited, hoping Brenda would say it first. She hadn't, so far.
For the past three months, they had basically lived together. Half of Brenda's closet had been cleaned out for Irene's clothing. She had her own toothbrush in the bathroom; her own shampoo and body wash in the shower. Brenda had even started buying Irene's favorite breakfast cereal to keep in the pantry. Irene only maintained the lease on her apartment for appearances; she rarely stayed over there at night anymore.
Yet there was something silent and unspoken holding both of them back. Irene had no doubt of Brenda's feelings towards her. Often times, they stayed up far too late talking about things that only mattered at that moment or watching horribly produced television movies on Lifetime. Irene had caught a cold, and Brenda forced her to stay in bed, driving home on her lunch break to bring Irene soup and cough medicine. There was a passion in their lovemaking that could not be faked or forced. They ate dinner together every night, cleaned the kitchen together afterwards. They had even taken to cleaning Kitty's litter box on alternating days.
If that wasn't love, Irene was at a loss for what was. But that did not even cover how Irene felt about Brenda. When she was with her, she was complete. She never felt more safe or secure than when wrapped in Brenda's arms. Every kiss from Brenda robbed her of breath, hastened her pulse. When Brenda smiled, Irene could not help but mirror the gesture with a smile of her own. There was nothing she wouldn't do for the older woman, and she was confident nothing that she would not do for her.
Irene threw the dirty clothes they had haphazardly discarded all over the bedroom in a fit of sweat and lust into the hamper with more force than was necessary. She wasn't sure if she was more frustrated by circumstance or herself, so she padded barefoot into the kitchen. Breakfast would make her feel better.
She poured a bowl of her cereal before adding the milk. Taking her bowl of cereal with her, she went to the living room and dropped onto the couch. Usually, she read Brenda's paper while she ate, but she wanted something more numbing to occupy her while she ate. Remote in hand, she thumbed through the channels, finally settling on one of the various Law and Order shows. Didn't matter what time it was, some variant of that show was always on some channel or another.
Halfway through her bowl of cereal and at the pivotal moment on Law and Order right before the perpetrator cracked on the stand or the district attorneys made a crucial discovery that would alter the course of the entire case, the doorbell rang. Frowning, Irene set her bowl on the coffee table and hesitated.
Irene had never been in the position to answer Brenda's door before. No one ever stopped by unannounced, and the majority of the time Brenda was there with her to answer it. Swallowing the mouthful of cereal she had been chewing, she climbed to her feet. It was probably just Avon or some Mormon kids.
Smoothing her still sleep-wild hair, she opened the door. An older woman with short, white hair and familiar dark eyes smiled and then blinked as if perplexed. Glancing down at a folded piece of paper in her hand, the smile immediately reappeared. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address. Although I'm almost certain I copied it correctly."
Irene felt a corner of her lips quirk in amusement. Here she was worried about answering the door of her girlfriend's house, and the lady didn't even have the right address. "What's the address, ma'am?" She smiled warmly at the woman who told her the address. It was Brenda's address alright. "I'm sorry ma'am, that's this address but you must have written down the wrong street numbers."
"Hmm." The woman seemed to agree. "Well maybe you can still help me. I'm looking for my daughter, she might be one of your neighbors." Irene was about to tell her that she did not know any of the neighbors here, but woman continued. "She's a deputy chief with the police department here. Her name's Brenda, Brenda Leigh Johnson." She said beaming with obvious pride.
Fuck. Was the only thing Irene could think. Fuck. She realized she had to recover quickly because the old lady, Mrs. Johnson, was eyeing her peculiarly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her mind screamed, but she swiftly shut her mouth and smiled. "Oh, Mrs. Johnson, come in. I'm Irene Daniels, a friend of Brenda's."
"How do you do, Irene." Mrs. Johnson smiled civilly, but her expression was one of studious expectation even as she picked up a small suitcase on the ground beside her that Irene had not noticed before.
"Brenda's at work," She explained quickly, shutting the door behind her girlfriend's mother. "My apartment is being fumigated for bugs, and Brenda was nice enough to let me stay here in the mean time. Here, let me take that for you."
Mrs. Johnson allowed Irene to take her bag, her scrupulous eyes shifting, absorbing her daughter's home. "What a cozy little home," She commented, seeming to accept Irene's story with little skepticism. "It certainly could stand a thorough cleaning though." She ran a finger over the nearest lampshade, disapproval clearly coloring her tone.
Still struggling to fight the panic welling up in her throat, Irene went into the kitchen and set the suitcase on the table. She should have known. The accent should have been a dead giveaway, not to mention the eyes, the same dark, all-seeing eyes that Brenda had. Sucking in a deep breath, she faced Mrs. Johnson again, "Does Brenda know you're here?" She asked casually. "I mean, she'll be so happy to see you on her birthday. Sounds like the perfect surprise."
"No, both her father and I were supposed to come to surprise her for her birthday, but..." Mrs. Johnson was exploring the living room slowly, as if something dangerous might pop out at her at any moment. "He threw out his back at the last moment and couldn't come, so I came myself."
Irene smiled as if that was the best idea anyone had ever had. "Why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable…" She gestured to the sofa even as she realized, much to her own mortification, that she was still in her pajamas, and appropriately, in Mrs. Johnson's daughter's pants. "And I'll go change real quick."
All but running for the bedroom, Irene locked the door behind her and snatched up her cell phone. The first call rang several times before cutting for voice mail. Irene snapped the phone shut before trying again, rummaging through her closet for something appropriate to wear with her free hand. Brenda still did not answer.
Cursing to herself as she struggled to undress with one hand, she tried again. And again. It wasn't until Irene was halfway dressed that her girlfriend finally answered.
"For heaven's sake, Irene, what is it?" Brenda answered without preamble.
"Guess who showed up on your front door step with a birthday surprise?" Irene could not help but sound irritated. She couldn't help but think of Brenda's initial reaction after the first night they spent together: Oh, God. What would my Mama say?
Brenda huffed, exasperated. "I do not have time to play guessing games, Irene. Pope's in a prissy mood and we're only half way through the budget reports." The hollow echo on the phone told Irene that her girlfriend was hiding in the ladies' room.
"Your mother." Irene hissed, yanking a blouse over her head while trying to juggle the phone. The panic she had managed to conceal from Mrs. Johnson was creeping into her voice now.
Silence ticked by. "Mama? Mama's there?" Brenda sounded bewildered.
"Yes. She wanted to surprise you for your birthday." Irene explained.
In the entire time she had known Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, Irene had only heard her swear a handful of times. Even when interrogating the vilest, most contemptuous suspects, she was always the portrait of propriety. Even when it was just the two of them, Brenda rarely cursed. And never had Irene heard her use the word fuck, even when that was what they were doing. Ever the Southern lady, she rarely let her anger or frustration show through in her speech.
"Fuck." Brenda finally breathed on the other end of the phone. "Fuck."
To be continued...