"There is a lion in my living room. I feed it raw meat
so it does not hurt me. It is a strange thing to nourish what could kill you in the hopes it does not kill you.
We have lived like this, it and I, for so many years.
Sometimes it feels like we always lived like this.
Sometimes I think I have always been like this." — Clementine von Radics, The Lion.
It was a normal morning so far. She had woken up, on time, even with some extra time to spare to lay in bed comfortably. She brushed her teeth as usual. Made coffee. Arrived on the dot, clocked in.
But for some reason, something just feels… off. The minute she walks into her office she can feel it. She sits down to organize her desk and start working on some files and then not even seconds later Chief Johnson appears like she hadn't even been there. Her face is unreadable and dark, and Sharon knows this isn't a friendly social call.
Sharon jolts and her pen flies onto the desk out of her hand. "Brenda! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Are you avoiding me?" Brenda's expression might be steel but Sharon has always been able to read her and she thinks about the meaning underneath the words.
Brenda seems hurt. Confused. Like trying to untangle a knot or solve a puzzle. The way she looks when everyone else has gone home and she's still staring up at the murder board, trying to see what she can't see yet.
Am I avoiding her ? That was still to be determined. She wasn't quite sure herself. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with Brenda - more time than was appropriate, actually, which was what prompted the sudden distance. Sharon was drawn to the other woman like a magnet and it frightened her.
And the idea that Brenda had pondered it, thought about it for hours, maybe, trying to figure it out, the intensity of her gaze alone…
Sharon shook herself out of it, still no answer for Brenda. She pursed her lips as she tried to think of a reply.
Brenda cocked her hip. "So you are avoiding me."
The older woman sighed, rubbing her temple. She knew this good day was too good to be true.
"Can this not wait until we're off duty?" Sharon asked, and Brenda's expression became stormy once again before closing off completely. Sharon almost didn't recognize the completely stiff, severe woman in front of her now.
"Of course, Captain," she replied curtly, and swept from the room, leaving so quickly she was a gust of curls as she passed by Sharon's desk. "Let me know when you figure it out."
Brenda didn't slam her door like Sharon expected, seemed to hesitate, but in the end she straightened her back and didn't turn around to look at Sharon again and shut the door quietly behind her, the sound of her kitten heels clicking down the hall getting further away as she approached the elevators to return to her floor.
Sharon breathed a sigh of relief and exasperation. This is madness. Absolute madness. I've never wanted someone so badly.
When Brenda got to the elevator she finally released the sob that she'd had to stick her fist in her mouth to cover in the doorway of Sharon's office, shadowed by the half-closed door. But the elevator was empty so she could let the tears fall, sniffling into her hands.
Why am I even cryin'? Brenda's face crumpled. I may have well lost my only friend. That's why I'm crying. And I don't regret kissing her, the realization nearly throwing her into tears again. I'd do it again.
She returns to her floor and buries herself in work. She snaps at her squad, her heart hurting even more when she does but finding that her tongue was sharp like a whip. That she can't not lash out to protect the bruised heart in her chest that aches with every beat and every breath.
Sharon swears that since she and Brenda have crossed paths, this is the most 'exciting' her job has gotten. OIS' and investigations of force were routine; a part of the job. But this? She deserves a raise and a drink.
Andrew Flynn of Major Crimes calls her, far later than when it is proper to be calling a superior officer at night, to gasp into the phone that this is her lucky day (it wasn't) that he's been stabbed and that he discharged his weapon and that he wants to make as little trouble for the Chief as possible.
Oh, trust me, Flynn, she thought somewhat furiously and somewhat numbly from her state of acceptance of where she is in her situation, grabbing her purse and fumbling in the dark for her shoes, you'll be making as little trouble for someone alright. Probably for you.
Not so much for the Captain herself when she had to face Brenda. They'll cross that bridge when they get to it. Guess this will have to count as off duty, Chief Johnson.
"Captain? Y-you there?"
Sharon snapped to attention again. "Yes, Lieutenant. I'll have black and whites and an ambulance at your location in two minutes. Just hang on. I'll be there soon."
"Just… don't get the Chief yet. You two have been… getting along…"
"Lieutenant, focus on staying awake," she barked into the phone, throwing her car into drive and her sirens on.
She thought about the decreasing volume of texts and calls from Brenda that she had been ignoring since… the incident… and she fought the impulse to scoff at the idea of her and the Deputy Chief getting along for the immediate future. Sorry to burst your bubble there Lieutenant.
So as soon as she has her guys on the scene and Flynn on his way to the hospital, she calls Brenda, flashlight in her other hand, inspecting the blood trail and carefully drawing chalk lines around them.
"Captain Raydor," she greets, her voice syrupy and low and completely dangerous, and from the sound of it she's still in the office. "What a surprise."
"No time for pleasantries, Chief Johnson; Lieutenant Flynn was attacked and you need to get to the hospital. I'll text you the room number," Sharon answers curtly, and if it weren't so urgent she would have just melted over the phone into the voice she's been avoiding.
It sounds like Brenda sits up and scatters something across her desk. "He's been—What?" The phone drops to the desk with a careless clang that makes Sharon briefly pull her phone away from her ear.
There's the rushed sound of her gathering things before Brenda picks up the phone again. "Okay. Um… Okay. Thank you Sha—Captain Raydor."
And then the line clicks.
Guess I earned that, Sharon thinks, looking down at her phone and the unanswered phone calls and texts from Brenda once more before pocketing it.
"So there is a hell," Flynn groans as he wakes up, blinking his eyes open to see It's a girl! Written on a hot pink balloon, held by his partner.
A familiar Southern voice laughed dryly next to him. "You're not there yet, Lieutenant."
He grunts as he tries to sit up, and that's when he notices just how close his boss is hovering nervously next to his bedside, practically leaning over him.
"Oh! No, don't try to get up." Brenda's pitch raised while she gently pushed him back onto the hospital bed.
Provenza just shrugged when Flynn finally looked at him questioningly and gestured to the balloon. "It's the only one they had in the gift shop," he justified.
Brenda wasn't entirely sure about that, but had been too worried about Flynn to chase him down about it. She hoped he was telling the truth, anyway. They usually didn't lie to her… too much. Only the stuff that didn't count.
"Yeah, it's okay. It doesn't matter because I'm not staying," Flynn grunts, and then yelps when Chief Johnson pushes him back down onto the bed. "Hey! Ow!"
"Yes, you are!" She frets bossily, petting his shoulder. "You have thirty stitches in your side alone. Lay back, lay back; are you comfortable?"
"Yeah, yeah," he murmured, relaxing under her 'Mom' habits, knowing they only really show whenever one of the squad is really hurt or sick. "I'm fine, thanks."
She's looking down at him with those wide, worried eyes that make him think he might be worth a damn and dammit, he's staying in this hospital, isn't he? If only to make the Chief less stressed while they solve this.
He looks up at the ceiling. How did he end up here? Right, he transferred to Priority Homicide and let Miss Atlanta wrap him around her fingers.
But, he reasoned, feeling her hand hold his gently, here might not be such a bad place to be.
"Good, because I've got some questions for you," she says tightly. "But if you need to stop at any point you let me know and we'll stop, you hear?"
"Like, 'who would want to kill me?'" He suggests wryly. "'Cause I have no idea. I didn't even know the guy who attacked me."
"Lots of people would jump on the chance, I'm sure," she raises an eyebrow at her detective. "But who would actually go through the trouble?"
"Are you positive you didn't know the guy?" Provenza asks, his face serious and grave.
"I've never seen the guy before in my life," Flynn insists. "I was leaving an A.A meeting. This young man, around thirty, talked to me for a while. Definitely not the attacker."
"Anything stand out?" Brenda fluffed his pillows a bit.
"I mean... I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he hung out until everyone else was gone," Flynn winced as he adjusted himself.
"Okay, Lieutenant, alright," she cooed. "I'll need to take a look at the sign in sheet for your A.A. meetin', or the logs?"
Flynn squinted at her. "Chief… there is no 'sign in sheet'. It's anonymous. Hasn't your husband ever told you about this?"
Brenda bites her lip and looks away, her cheeks bright red. Provenza has known for a long time that the Johnson-Howard marriage was not as they projected it to be. He's had five of them, after all.
In his less than lucid state Flynn lost what little tact he usually reserves for Brenda and their victims, so Provenza clears his throat, willing to take up the slack. Their team is a family, and that's what family does.
Quiet as a mouse Captain Raydor joins them, but doesn't interrupt. Just glances at Chief Johnson, who doesn't move an inch, or even acknowledge that she entered.
"Alright, so the guy that was waiting for you, did you even get his first name?" Provenza interrupts, wanting to change the subject as fast as humanly possible.
"No, I didn't. I watched him walk out, and then I went to my car — and oh, damn, look at me," Flynn groaned.
"You should see the other guy," Captain Raydor finally made herself known, causing Brenda to swivel around with narrowed eyes. But the file she has in her hands as a peace offering seems to calm her, at least momentarily.
"Oh, Captain Raydor," Brenda said, pulling on her reading glasses. "Have you found the Lieutenant's assailant?"
"The hospital alert I put out didn't pick anyone up; but my crime broadcast found a white male shot in the chest left in San Bernardino, ID'ed as Bobby Harris," Captain Raydor reports, a little too eagerly, hoping to make peace with Brenda early on in the case.
Flynn shakes his head. "Never heard of him."
Brenda nods, looking it over with a sharp eye. "And photo ID?"
"I had a detective in San Bernardino email me a picture," Raydor hands her phone over, letting Flynn see too, but she pulls it away at the last second. "Though, if you ID the victim, this case becomes mine, right now. If you don't, this case will remain an investigation of Major Crimes. So, with that in mind; Lieutenant Flynn, do you recognize this man as the one who tried to kill you?"
Brenda looked at Lieutenant Flynn and shook her head slowly. "It's so hard to tell… it all happened so fast."
Raydor quirks the side of her lips up. "Perfect. Chief, here is the knife from the crime scene. Good luck."
Provenza and Brenda shared a glance. Now it's getting a bit weird. "Thank you… Captain Raydor."
The look they shared was far too long to be appropriate for professional company, but neither Brenda nor Sharon broke it until the other woman turned to leave the room and had broken the corner. Provenza just watched them both, Raydor more so than the Chief, suspiciously. He never liked when Raydor was sniffing around and he had never once known her to willingly be nice professionally.
"Chief, I swear that's the guy," Flynn insisted as soon as Raydor was out of earshot. "That gash on his face—"
"No, no, no," Brenda shook her head. "You've never seen that guy. I don't want you ID'ing anyone until you're in a better state of mind. Let Captain Raydor come back with the results from ballistics and then you can ID."
Flynn rolled his eyes just as Gabriel entered the room. He looked at the It's A Girl balloon strangely, but just shook it off, clearly more bewildered by something else.
"Hey, Lieutenant," he said, hands on his hips in the way he does when he's unsure. "Hope you're uh… feeling better."
"Never better, David," Flynn laughed, but it turned into coughing halfway through.
"By the way, Chief, I just saw Captain Raydor in the hallway, and she said 'hello' to me," Gabriel said, pointing back and looking towards the hallway, like the woman would just show up again at any moment. "Like, willingly?"
Oh, that woman! Brenda could just bang her head on her desk for switching all the rules up like that on all of them. None of them knew how to act or what to think with her acting all nice.
Provenza turns to Brenda. "She's up to something," he says accusingly of Sharon.
Brenda sighs, rubbing her forehead. "Can't she just be bein' nice?" She says hopefully. Provenza raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her attempt at optimism.
She knows that's unlikely. Even trying to make up with her, she wouldn't let her go first so easily unless something is up. And she wore that skirt swishes around her legs in that tantalizing way... with that dark, smokey look... She must be trying to kill me, Brenda decides grumpily.
"So… did we ID our victim?" Gabriel asks Flynn.
"Yes," Flynn replies.
"No," Brenda says at the same time.
Gabriel throws his hands up in exasperation.
"Let's get out of here, Gabriel. I don't want her flying back in and deciding she wants to cook us up for dinner after all," Provenza grumbles, waving a hand to Flynn on his way scurrying out the door. "I'm heading up to San Bernardino. Feel better!"
Gabriel followed after the older detective, still bewildered, but waved to Flynn on his way out. "Yeah, feel better, Flynn."
"Feel better, Lieutenant," Brenda gathered her things. "And for heaven's sakes, keep your hands off the nurses!"
"I'll be on my best behavior, Chief," Flynn promised tiredly with a grin, giving her a little two finger salute as she left.