In the hallway at the top of the stairs, Brenda gestured towards the guest bathroom.
"There's a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet in there. And I don't think anyone has used the toothpaste yet."
"Thank you." Sharon replied, formally.
"I'll just, uh, I'll use the en suite, and then, the guest room is that 2nd door there, next to the photo of me and Charlie, my niece." Brenda waved her hand again, then turned and stepped into the master bedroom.
Ignoring the rumpled sheets, she moved quickly into the en suite, shutting the door tightly behind her. What on earth was she doing? She squeezed some toothpaste on to her brush, and began to furiously clean her teeth. What if that woman woke up and wanted to kiss in the middle of the night? How long did a person have to be asleep before "morning breath" became an issue? She spat a foamy mouthful into the sink, then resumed brushing, and thinking. Generally, Brenda waited before becoming intimate. Generally, she was a tease, and preferred to make her suitors want her more, by making them wait. Sharon was…different. Brenda felt as though the very geography of her life had shifted this morning, in that elevator, with those slender fingers finding entirely novel landscapes, rendering her old maps useless. Rinsing her mouth with water, and dabbing her face on the floral-patterned towel to the left of the sink, she turned and scowled at the toilet. The seat was still up. For all of his grumping about her shoes and dishes, it occurred to her suddenly, that she wasn't the only one responsible for the demise of the marriage. Fritz had his unfortunate habits as well, and Brenda sighed with slight relief. It wasn't just Sharon. It was everything, the housekeeping, the cats, her parents. Brenda wasn't leaving Fritz for another woman, she realized. She was leaving Fritz because they didn't work together anymore. Maybe they never had.
Sharon walked into the guest room, surprised at the rumpled state of the lavender bedclothes, as though they'd been slept on recently. She stepped around to the left side of the bed, ready to sink into the bone-deep weariness that finally caught up with her, when she noticed something. Shoving the pillow aside, she pulled out…a blouse? She shook it out, realizing it was the blouse Brenda had been wearing yesterday. Yesterday, in the stairwell. When the damn had broken, so to speak. Sharon held the blouse to her face, noticing that, beneath the unique scent of Brenda, she could detect the faint sting of orange oil. Just then, Brenda walked into the room, spilling apologies about the state of the guestroom. She glanced up and saw Sharon clutching her blouse, a surprised kind of smile quirking her lips.
"That's uh. That's mine." Brenda said, softly.
"It is. This is, after all, your house." Sharon grinned, tossing the blouse across the bed to the startled blonde.
Brenda caught the blouse easily, and turned to chuck it into the master bedroom, meaning to move it to the hamper in the bathroom later, when Sharon spoke again.
"It was under your pillow. Though I've seen your desk, and the inside of your tote bag, I have a hard time believing you store your dirty laundry in your bed." Her eyebrow raised, a challenge.
"It must've gotten tangled up in the sheets last night. I do sometimes employ a hamper." Brenda huffed in reply.
Blinking, Sharon nodded, then settled herself on the bed, folding her legs under her. She took off her glasses, laying them down with a click on the bedside table.
"That means you slept in here last night." Sharon said softly, turning to Brenda.
"I did."
"But, this is the guest room. And I thought Fritz left last night?" Sharon pressed.
"I just couldn't…sleep in that room. Not when everything was so different. I don't expect you to understand." Brenda sat down, pulling her legs up in front of her.
"I understand more than you give me credit for, Brenda." Sharon whispered, laying down and pulling the covers up. "Good night."
Brenda stared at Sharon for a moment, the wild mess of her hair tangling across the pillow, copper contrasting starkly with lavender. She snapped of the light, and slid beneath the covers, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the woman on the mattress next to her, the hint of oranges in the air.
"Good night, Sharon." Brenda murmured, before turning away, on her side. She wanted to move closer, to wrap herself around Sharon like a caduceus, but the inches of space between them felt like miles. Her thighs ached, a testament to how close they'd been earlier, and she wished they'd waited until now, to tangle themselves up in pleasure. If they'd waited, she could fall asleep with her arm around Sharon, and it wouldn't be invasive, wouldn't be too forward if she twined their fingers together. She muffled a sigh, a peculiar tightness in her throat.
"You're a cuddler, aren't you?" Came that whiskey voice through the darkness.
"Pardon?" Brenda replied, having the momentary panicked thought that Sharon might be able to read minds.
"You're stiff as a board. I assume it's because you're resisting the urge to spoon." Sharon drew out the last word, making it sound vaguely unpleasant.
"It's all right. I just want you to get the rest you need, so you can get back to work in the morning." Brenda realized she hadn't actually answered the question, but she hoped Sharon would be too sleepy to notice.
"Brenda. Come here." Sharon's tone was commanding, what Brenda was coming to think of as her 'work voice'.
She scooted across the bed, and felt Sharon moving to meet her half way, the solid heat of her back pressing against Brenda's breasts, the curve of her backside fitting flush against Brenda's thighs. She draped an arm over Sharon's waist, pulling the woman tightly against her, and let out a shaky laugh.
"How do you always know?" She wondered aloud.
"As I said. I understand more than you give me credit for." Sharon replied dryly.
"Point taken, Cap'n," Brenda chuckled, placing a kiss on Sharon's shoulder, "I won't underestimate you again."
"Good night, Brenda." Sharon said, stifling a yawn.
"G'night,." Brenda breathed in the citrus scent of the woman in her arms, and decided not to worry about tomorrow. Fritz, and Pope, and the application for LAPD Chief could wait.
There was an insistent ringing in Brenda's ear. She rolled over, clapping a pillow over her head, but that did nothing to mute the tone. Peeking out from beneath the pillow, she noted that the clock glowed 1:30. Shifting, she reached for it, and smacked the alarm button. Turning back, she propped herself on her elbow, and let her eyes roam over Sharon's prone form. She'd kicked off the heavier cover sometime during the night, and the thin sheet draped gracefully over her body. Her face was calmer, her mouth more relaxed than Brenda had ever seen. She looked…not younger, exactly, but more youthful. Her hair was somehow still perfect, even as it spilled wildly off the pillow, a tousle of soft curls. Brenda hated to wake her, but that was the whole point of this unconventional slumber party, so she reached out, gently shaking Sharon's shoulder, softly calling her name. Sharon sighed, and turned away, mumbling incoherently. Brenda tried again, shaking her more firmly, and leaning in, placing a chaste kiss behind her ear.
"Sharon, you have to wake up, or you're going to miss your deadline for the case!" Brenda said in a low voice.
Sharon sat bolt upright, causing Brenda to move back quickly to avoid an unfortunate collision of heads.
"What? What time is it?" She asked, blinking sleepily at the clock.
"It's 1:30 in the morning, Sharon. You've got plenty of time left on your deadline, but I needed you to wake up so I could check your condition." Brenda giggled, continuing, "You should've seen your face, though. I've never seen such abject terror!"
Sharon sighed, and rubbed her hand over the tender bump on the back of her head, wincing. Brenda caught her hand, and traced the lump with gentle fingers.
"Do you think you're ready for another pill?" She asked, smoothing Sharon's hair back into place.
"I think, perhaps, that would be wise. Better to take them now, when I'm supposed to be asleep, than later, when I've got to be sharp." Sharon replied.
Brenda climbed out of bed, and went downstairs, the wooden steps cool beneath her bare feet. She used the light filtering through the sheer curtains to guide her to her purse, and she snagged the pill, then padded to the kitchen to fill a glass with water. On the way back, she peered at the pill bottle, then grabbed it, deciding that she wasn't going to keep trekking down here. Making her way back up the steps, she grinned to herself. Sharon Raydor was in her bed. Though the circumstances that had brought that about were grim, Brenda felt like skipping the last few steps to the guest room, because Sharon Raydor, unflappable, gorgeous, and dead sexy, was in her bed. Turning the corner, she schooled her features into a neutral mask, and walked into the room. Sharon was leaning back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling fan. Brenda sat down next to her, and handed her the pill and the glass of water. Sharon took the pill, then looked at the bed side table.
"No coaster?" She asked, looking around.
"Ahh. No. I never remember to use them, and they just take up table space. 'Sides, my mama taught me you can get water rings off with a little bit of mayo. So put the glass down, and come back over here to me."
Sharon set the glass down, and looked over at the blonde woman, who was propped up on one elbow, staring up at her. In the moonlight, her hair seemed almost white, and her mouth, a dark line of promise. She slid down under the covers, feeling the warmth from Brenda's body as she moved closer. She didn't quite understand how she'd ended up here, of all places. But as the pain pill started to fray her consciousness, she wondered how a romance forged in antagonism and urgency could ever have a happy ending. She wondered if her inevitable heartbreak was worth these few moments of bliss.