You say you're a good girl, I say you're a liar (I say you're a liar)
How could such a good girl love a vampire? (Love a vampire)
Kisses aren't enough, I want to bite through you
I would never lie to you, I would never fool you
I know that you like me, kiss me with your eyes closed (Kiss me with your eyes closed)
Kiss me with your eyes (Kiss me with your eyes closed)
I know that's your favorite dress, set a fire to it
I know that you like me, kiss me with your eyes closed
Hate it when you fight me, love it when I die slow
She just wanna bite me, I could see her eyes glow
Kill me in my white tee, baby, let my blood flow
Let my blood flow (Let my blood flow), we just having fun though
Now my blood froze, I can't see the sun ho
You're the one though, lookin' for my love, though
Where my love go? Baby, where my gun go?
your favorite dress — Lil Peep & Lil Tracy
The scene was surreal; with music blasting throughout the otherwise silent house as the Major Crimes team began canvasing the scene, grimly taking note of every detail that can be accounted for.
Brenda was still putting her booties on, and hadn't even gotten to her gloves, but she could hear the music coming through the mansion hallway loud and clear. By the sound of it, it had just restarted; when they came up it was fading out, and then it was silent for several moments.
Next time you might wanna hold on to your girl a little tighter, you little punk
Haha, she's mine
(Let's go!)
[chorus)
Look at me now, she's rollin' with a "G"
She used to be yours now she rollin' with me
Okay, alright
She's with me tonight
(end chorus]
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she groaned.
You have (2) New Messages
Fritz
Dread settles lightly in her tummy.
"Oh, Lord," she mutters.
And then she repockets her phone without checking further, stepping into the crime scene just as Gabriel is directing another team somewhere else as her boys went about taping it off appropriately and only allowing a select few through.
She was chillin' with me all night
Everything was alright
Rollin with a "G"
I'ma put her in the limelight
A curtain billows over one of the bodies, and the sun dappled light through the lace pattern; if it weren't a crime scene, it would have been the perfect camera shot.
It would look like she might've been laying down, just resting, waiting to get back in position and pose for a photoshoot.
It's time to move on, do your own thing
I'm the new man, you're a has-been
We doing shopping sprees
I bought her new clothes
I love staring at her pretty little rose
But it was a crime scene. It was horrific; the victims were strewn across the white carpet and the couches. None of them could be in their thirties, all twenties and younger. The guards were the only ones probably mid-twenties, but that's still too young.
Oh, cause I'm a real man
You're a real punk
I got your ex on my lap
So what's up? Yeah
I know you're mad because she likes the way I'm owning it
Hey take your eyes off the prize, get over it
We so fly, we chillin' in the lear
And I never knew how small you were from up here
[chorus)
Brenda finally sweeps in, pulling her gloves on, her skirt swishing around her knees, a pensive and steady gaze trained onto each and every person she passes.
First the guards stationed at the entrance, she takes note of the bullet wounds in their heads, then the phone in one of the girl's hands. She carefully steps over the victim's with the phone in hand as she checks the call history.
It's mine now and you will not be missin' it
Quit having a hissy fit before I break a ligament
I'm all, I'm destined to be the greatest rapper alive
I'm giving you front seats
When I see you in the club
I'm coming with the thunder
One shot, two shot
Six feet under, under
No wonder your girlfriend jumped ship
She wanted a real man, that's me, that's it
Never slip, never fall
I'ma kick you when you're down
Cause you're lookin' at a King, homeboy, bow down
I hope you know now I'm the man on this block
I ain't got time to kill, I'm for real with this glock, rah
[chorus]
"Flynn, for god's sake, can you turn that off?"
What has likely been playing since last night on repeat, what became their dirge, was a loud rap song and accompanying video playing on the large flat screen TV. Flynn has the remote, but he's struggling with the controls, apparently not figuring it out fast enough.
Provenza snaps, "Flynn!"
"Oh, right, sorry," Flynn figures out the remote, turns it off and the music finally rings silent.
"911 was dialed at 2:07 AM," Brenda recites off the cell she retrieved, looking at Detective Sanchez.
He shakes his head. "No dispatch was made until the maids came to clean this morning."
"So the call never went through," Brenda murmurs, mostly to herself. "Seven victims shot… five young men and two young ladies… Do we know who they are?
Kendall, the medical examiner, crosses in front of Flynn. "The guys all had I.D., but the ladies only had business cards," he hands Gabriel a bag of evidence he got off of the bodies.
"It looks like they're from the same modeling agency… Hollywood Tease. This is Candy on the couch, and you are with Delight," Gabriel nods.
"So this massacre seems to start with the men at the door…" Brenda says.
"They have C-Street tats; means they're Clinton Street Crips," Sanchez notes.
"Probably the security team. But they never even drew their weapons," Flynn adds. She had noticed that, too.
Tao, quietly surveying the scene, says, "So they either knew the guy, or it was a professional hit - which would explain the lack of casings."
"And the young men here?"
Gabriel steps over to their musician. "The rapper's name was Christopher Brooks," he pauses, leaning over him with a hand on his hip, his brow furrowing. "Chris Brooks…"
Flynn continues for him while Gabriel seems to be thinking, "AKA, C-Game, and you can download his new single for free." He hands Brenda a flier.
Provenza scoffs, looking around them. "Gang members, empty vodka bottles, half naked girls, joints in the ashtray, it's almost like a murder had to happen!"
Brenda turns her fiercest glare on him. "Lieutenant Provenza, I know you don't mean to stereotype or be unintentionally insensitive, because I'd hate to have to make due on sending you to a sensitivity seminar."
"Yes, Chief," Provenza replies, straightening up. "I mean, no, I didn't-"
"I know you didn't, otherwise your behind would be in that seminar," she says, her voice dripping with venom like sweetness. "Don't let it happen again."
Brenda shakes it off as Gabriel walks over to the brother, Kevin Brooks, peering at him.
With a worried look towards Gabriel, she says, "Is this C-Game famous?"
"I've never heard of him, Chief, he's probably more of an up-and-comer," Sanchez replies.
"Then who lives here?" Brenda wonders aloud. "Lieutenant Tao, would you please look up the title on the house?"
"W-Wait a minute, Chief, I know two of these guys," Gabriel says before Tao can reply, looking at the I.D again. His face was grave. "Yeah, yeah… Their father is a Deacon at my Church. Both his kids, man, that's- Look, they are not gang." He shook his head. "Nope. No way. No ma'am."
Brenda, try as she might to not have a favorite, still finds that nine times out of ten, David Gabriel would be hers. All of the squad are like her family, but David is like her little brother.
The dread she feels for him as he speaks is real, and she tries to be gentle when she asks, "How long has it been since you've seen them?"
"I mean, I guess since they went off to college," Gabriel replied, looking tense. "But I see their family all the time, I mean, they're good people-"
Provenza looks around. "Gabriel, I think there might be a chance these guys might've been skipping Sunday School lately…"
Gabriel scoffed. "Right, sure, they smoked a little pot, but-"
Sanchez asked, "You have their IDs, are these guys Clinton Street, too?"
Gabriel snaps back, "Yeah, but not every Black kid on Clinton Street is a Crip, you know that!"
Brenda's starting to feel like they're all ganging up on Gabriel and he has no one left to defend him even if the evidence against the deceased is overwhelmingly not positive. As someone who frequently has herself been backed into overwhelmingly not positive corners and been completely innocent, she understands, and decides that playing referee is warranted.
"Oh, come on, Gabriel-" Flynn starts, but Brenda has had enough.
"Alright, alright! That's enough. I won't have y'all doin' this," Brenda intervenes. "Lieutenant Flynn, Detective Gabriel, would you please check out the rest of the house?"
Gabriel, giving an annoyed look towards Flynn, hands her the evidence bag and goes to the stairs, while Flynn glares at him out of principle. She rolls her eyes at his childishness, and mouths, play nice.
As they watch Flynn ascend the stairs, Provenza speaks up. "Nine times out of ten, Chief-"
Brenda interrupts her Lieutenant, "In the interest of a unified approach I'd like everyone not to jump to conclusions, thank you."
Sanchez adds, "The LAPD has a joint task force with the FBI looking into the rap business. They're probably going to grab this case anyway, Chief." Which means… Fritz. Brenda feels a headache coming on.
"And Chief Delk announces his reorganization tomorrow afternoon," Tao says, grimacing.
"Yeah, who knows?" Provenza frets dramatically, "Major Crimes may already be a thing of the past!"
"The title on the house belongs to a company called Shanked Inc," Tao reports his findings, everyone collectively ignoring Provenza's cynicism, as usual.
"Shanked? That's a record label, handles lots of rappers," Sanchez offers helpfully.
"Alright, thank you. I'll need to speak to someone from Shanked about the slaughter in their living room," Brenda sighs, rubbing her face.
Her wedding ring shifts and the weight of it reminds her of the decision that she's been mulling over the past couple of weeks.
She looks down and, desperate for any distraction, she asks, "Has anyone identified this stuff on the floor?"
"Foam," Tao replied. "Like an insulation material. I already sent off some pictures to S.I.D, Chief."
Flynn hurries down the stairs and huddles over the banister. "Chief, Buzz, we found something!"
She looks over at Gabriel without revealing how she feels, but her stomach is churning. They ascend the stairs two at a time, following Flynn to one of the rooms.
Brenda grunts when she drops the aluminum briefcase on the bed, and both Flynn and Brenda turn to look at Gabriel when she opens to reveal it's full of money. "Is this C-Game's room?"
"No, this stuff belongs to his brother, Kevin," Flynn replies almost smugly. She glares at him sharply and he straightens up, smoothing out his features.
Gabriel is quiet, staring at the cash, before he says, "This still doesn't prove they were gang."
Flynn rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. Brenda glares at him again before turning to Gabriel, her gaze soft.
"David, since these boys all lived in Clinton, and you also know Chris and Kevin's parents-"
"-You want me to do the notifications," he finishes morosely.
"Yes, I do," she raises an eyebrow, but it's questioning, not forceful. "Please, thank you. I know you can handle it."
And that hurts her to say. She wishes he didn't have to handle it, wishes that she could give him the day, let him go home and get some rest instead. But she knows as well as anyone in their department that notifications go better when someone familiar is there or does it themselves, and that they'd probably appreciate it more from Gabriel.
She knows that he can handle it. She just wishes with all her small little heart that he didn't have to.
"Alright, Chief, boys, let's roll out," Lieutenant Provenza says.
Brenda rides back with Julio and Tao, since Gabriel's doing the notification. Julio drives, and Tao graciously gives her the front seat.
It's while they're driving back that she remembers to check her texts.
"Oh, shoot," she murmurs, hastily hauling her purse up from between her legs.
Julio and Tao exchange looks in the rearview mirror. Brenda feels more than sees Julio glance at her a few times, but she ignores him in favor of searching for her phone, which she had dumped in her very large handbag earlier before leaving the crime scene.
Finally she wraps her fingers around it and leans her head back against the seat, taking a deep breath. Her teeth must be grinding a little or something because Tao says, a little tentatively, "What's on your mind, Chief?"
Brenda exhales, relaxes her jaw, and puts her purse down. She still hasn't opened her phone, and it sits unopened in her hand.
"Just something I've been avoidin', Mike," she replied, turning her phone on and cringing.
You have (5) Messages
Fritz
F: Brenda, I don't understand
F: Can we talk about this?
F: Is there someone else?
F: Is it Pope?
F: Answer asap.
Her phone starts ringing at that moment and she curses. Oh, screw it.
"Fritzi," she answers cautiously.
"Brenda, we need to talk," he said immediately, sounding like he was pacing wherever he was, and given that it was the middle of the day, it was probably his office.
"I can't right now, Fritz, I'm in the car with—"
"Then when? Because you'll find some way to put it off," he snapped, and she tried not to flinch away from the accusation.
"We'll talk once I have a chance, okay? I'll be home for it. That's a promise. But we just picked up a case with seven homicides." Brenda replied, fully aware of her boys listening.
She had no intention of sleeping in the same bed as Fritz right now, regardless. Her heart and her head have been pushed in too many different directions and she isn't quite sure what she wants anymore but she isn't sure that Fritz is it. They have a guest room for a reason.
"Okay, Brenda," Fritz sounds resigned.
Her employees exchange a look in the mirror again. Brenda sends a text to Sharon asking about lunch and receives no reply. While disappointed, she shrugs it off and tries to focus on the case.
Her mind is straying, distracted by thoughts of Sharon and Fritz and how very differently she cared about them. Distracted by her expectations for herself and the lack of drive she's finding.
Fritz lit fires for her to burn in. They just weren't good for each other anymore. She supposes that's partially her fault. She took and took and he gave and gave and neither of them really compromised on issues that needed compromising. She conceded on things that made him mad but made her unhappy and he did the same, and nothing got changed.
Sharon makes her less afraid of love, of not saying, "what's the point?" Sharon challenges her. Sharon thrills her. She isn't sure she can keep her head clear right now. Sharon scares her just as much as the idea of being stuck in an unhappy marriage suddenly does - because before she had resigned herself to something mediocre. A farce of a marriage.
But she did it for her Mama and her Daddy, so she wouldn't have to deal with Will's advances, and because secretly the idea of dying unloved and unmarried was a little daunting.
To look back and only see crime scene tape, just like Fritz said. It hung over her head like the neon street lights that lit up Los Angeles at night.
As the years go by that becomes less of a fear and more of a reality and she didn't mind it as much as she thought she might secretly end up minding it. It doesn't bother her the way everyone says it should. A lot of things don't bother her the way everyone says it should.
While Tao is mapping out the timeline using images — with her head in the clouds — Chief Pope enters the room looking rather distressed, and he clears his throat, gesturing for Brenda to come over.
She sends Tao away and goes to Will, who rolls out the new organization, beyond relieved to see her squad intact.
"Notice anything?" Will asks pointedly.
Her eyes fall to where he's pointing to his new position on the chart as Captain of Valley Traffic Bureau.
"Oh, Will!" She exclaims, her heart racing. No, no, no. I need him where he is. "That's awful, just awful. I can't believe this!"
"I'm not accepting it of course, but look who you'll be directing all your inquiries to?"
Brenda follows his finger to Taylor's position on the chart as Assistant Chief of Police. Well, that's not so bad… But she makes an unhappy noise, because Taylor would have her reporting to him over every little thing.
Will sighs. There's more?
"And that's not the only thing—"
"Good afternoon, Chief Johnson," Suddenly Captain Raydor's voice says behind her, Delk next to her.
Brenda hadn't heard her at all! They look serious, and Sharon won't meet Brenda's eyes. Is this why she didn't answer her text about lunch?
"Chief Johnson, Chief Pope, do you have a minute to speak privately?"
Brenda, sensing this was not a happy visit, tried to back herself out of this corner, jerking her thumb towards the guys working around the board. "Actually, I'm right in the middle of—"
"Oh, you're in the middle of it, all right," Delk interrupts severely, and now Brenda's a little worried. "Let's go."
Will rolls his eyes behind Delk's back. But she somehow doesn't feel reassured as she usually would.
Her squad watches the four of them go into her office and then into her conference room with sharp eyes. They pick up on her apprehension easily.
"What's this about?" Brenda's anxious to know, looking at Will, but he doesn't answer. She wonders if he even knows. He looks bored.
Sharon stands across from her with Chief Delk, and Brenda tries not to stare at her eyes or her hair or her hands, trying to stay focused; because this feels serious and she knows she needs to, but Sharon herself makes her palms more sweaty than the tense atmosphere in the room.
"Chief Johnson, last summer did Major Crimes become familiar with the case referred to as the Shootin' Newton murders?" Delk asks, and now, he has her attention. "The death of an elderly convenience store owner and his grandson?"
Brenda remembers them clearly, and now she is completely focused. She remembers Charlie Niles and his eight-year-old grandson. She stayed up all night reading that case.
She remembers that no one did anything until the killer showed up on their doorstep begging for protection from his own gang, who was raining down bullets on him from all sides.
And then, with immunity granted by them, admitted to her face what he had done. Sat back in that chair and said…
And his grandson, yeah. He licked his lips. There was a pause as Brenda saw the answer in his eyes before he opened his mouth and her stomach turned, but she still waited until he said, There wasn't no one else. I did it. I killed them.
No. She has not forgotten.
She still hasn't really forgiven Will for giving him immunity.
(She still hasn't really forgiven Will for a lot of things)
"In the process of investigating the murder of three U.S. army rangers we worked the Shootin' Newton case, yes," Brenda replies tightly, jaw tightening up and every muscle tensing. Chief Delk and Raydor exchange a look she can't decipher. "What is this about?" She repeats.
"And did you also obtain a confession from a suspect, Turrell Baylor, that you could not use in court?"
Brenda glances at Will. Both of their gazes seem to say, which one of us is going to say it? And then they both gained the understanding that if Brenda said it, it would be incredibly (understandably) pissed about that still.
So Will clears his throat and says, surprisingly, "I asked the D.A to give Turrell immunity, so yes, his confession was… useless."
Delk asks frankly, "And did you then escort Turrell, a Black gang member, back to his house, where he was beaten to death?"
"What is this about?" Brenda demands again, feeling trapped in rising water.
Sharon replies a little gravely, "Turrell's mother has filed a civil suit against the L.A.P.D, the city, Chief Pope, you, and every member in your division, for the wrongful death of Turrell Baylor. Chief Johnson—"
Brenda's breath practically catches in her chest, but she mutters, "Oh, for Heaven's sake."
Sharon's face is set professionally, but her eyes betray how worried she is. For me. She's worried for me she realizes guiltily, resisting the urge to bite her lower lip. Brenda feels guilty at just how often that's probably been the case. For so many people in her life. Guilty that Sharon is another one. Tries to stand against the wave that threatens to tug her under.
"One of the more serious accusations in the suit is that you drove him home knowing he could be killed by his fellow gang members, thus depriving him of due process," Sharon says, encouraging her to say something.
Brenda just stares back indignantly, shaken back to the present and out of her thoughts, but silent.
Pope rolls his eyes, waving a hand. "We get hit with wrongful death suits all the time. Add it to the pile and let the city—"
"And those suits are only a page. This one? It's over forty. It stipulates that Chief Johnson knowingly left Turrell Baylor in gang territory to allow him to be killed by his own gang members," Delk says bitingly, hands behind his back. He looked at Sharon now, as if to say, well?
The Captain cleared her throat. "Chief Johnson, did you leave Turrell Baylor at his home knowing he would be murdered?" Sharon finally asked directly, bordering incredulous; but her body language was begging Brenda to disagree, to not lend credence to what this was accusing her of.
Her eyes were begging Brenda to tell her that she didn't, that she wouldn't.
But Brenda couldn't tell her that, and won't. She might make a liar of herself day in and out and often to those she loves most, but she won't lie when she did nothing wrong! And especially not to Sharon.
"I'm not a fortune teller. He asked me to take him home, I took 'im there," Brenda finally said, her face carefully blank.
Sharon said nothing, but her face fell. She blinked rapidly and looked away sharply, as if seeing a new version of Brenda that she didn't know was there.
Brenda tried not to be hurt or roll her eyes defensively: Sharon had seen her work. If she had chosen to see her as a better person than she was, that was her problem, not Brenda's.
Brenda had told Fritz that she used to paint the big picture. She thought that she painted herself into that big picture too.
She's finding out that she was wrong. She's always recreating herself, painting someone new for whoever was looking. Strokes of paint across the canvas layered so many times you couldn't see it anymore. Just paint and paint and paint. There was hardly anything left of Brenda, really; just whoever people needed (or wanted) to see.
Brenda was mighty good at painting pictures for people to look at, was even better at guiding their interpretations until it was practically crystal clear for them exactly how they should see it. It was why the CIA thought she was such a good asset. It was why Will brought her from Atlanta.
Sometimes a little voice inside her head says that prolonged exposure to this, her career since she was so young, this mindset, was probably more harmful than good. That the skewed sense of ethics and morality she had picked up working for the CIA at such a young age might have made her irreparable as a person. It didn't make her too broken to get confessions, it didn't make her too broken to pry them from suspects, too broken to be an asset for Will Pope and the L.A.P.D. These were things that kept her going.
But one thing she was sure of: Turrell Baylor was a murderer.
She just has to repeat that to herself, and then all of her decisions up until this point are justified. He was a murderer. He was a murderer. He was a murderer.
She repeats it on bad nights like she was the devout Baptist that attended church services that her Momma wanted her to be, reciting Bible verses. Often, repeatedly, and faithfully.
These words were her lifeline.
Brenda's chin was tipped up and her lips were practically curled back. "I did nothing wrong," she insisted, her eyes hard in a way Sharon had only seen a few times, and never this intensely.
Delk and Raydor exchanged a look that Brenda couldn't decipher. Then Sharon took a deep breath and said, "Then a transparency audit should make that clear—"
Brenda was as flustered as Sharon had ever seen her. She was like a wounded animal kicking out; reading the signs and making her plays just a second before the rest of them. Brenda always knew when to jump ship, and this atmosphere seemed to be making her extra anxious.
"This is coming extremely close to questioning my work and my professional conduct," she bit back, chin high.
"And this lawsuit comes extremely close to questioning the conduct of our whole department. So while we're fighting to get these charges dismissed, you will refrain from discussing the subject of this lawsuit with other defendants or the allegations in the complaint, and you will cooperate with Captain Raydor." Delk's tone was harsh and didn't leave any room for questioning.
Will looked over at Brenda, who's face had an expression even Sharon couldn't read, and then he looked forward with his hands in front of him.
Raydor narrowed her eyes.
And then, Brenda pulled her last resort, which she always did when she found herself in professional hot water.
"How 'bout I just quit?"
Sharon's eyes widened. She shook her head in an almost unbelieving manner at the other woman's response. Brenda didn't meet her eyes, in a staring contest with Chief Delk, each trying to out play the other.
Instead, in disbelief Sharon tries to meet Chief Pope's eyes briefly, hoping to get any sense of normalcy, but she realizes oh, that's what he was prepared for. Jesus, Mary and Joseph this woman.
Chief Delk doesn't even blink. "Then I'll tie this lawsuit around your neck, and tell the city attorney that whatever happened to Turrell Baylor was the result of your own actions. If that's what you want, go ahead. Quit," he replies seriously, meeting her stare. Brenda's lips thinned, unhappy.
He walks towards her and opens the door, leaning in very closely to say on his way out, "I'm doing what's best for all of us. Try and cooperate, Chief Johnson, for your sake."
Sharon cleared her throat after the silence got too hard to bear. "Chief Johnson, I want you to know that I did not instigate this investigation into your conduct."
Brenda looked at her with unreadable eyes before she finally said, "You can get whatever you need from Lieutenant Provenza." Before pivoting on her heel and breezing from the room.
Chief Pope looked at Sharon with a resigned expression. Sharon knew from experience, now, that Brenda wasn't necessarily childish; her behavior was a defense. It was just… wrong in this particular instance. She stared back, helpless as Brenda stormed away.
"I…" Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn't. She was embarrassed, mortified, even, to be in such a state in front of a superior officer.
The Chief of Police she was still in the presence of decided to take mercy on her. "I'll give you a minute," and he even closes the blinds, a kindness she didn't expect from William Pope of all people. But he's also probably used to being on the receiving end of Brenda's undeserving wrath, she rationalized.
She nodded slowly, thanked him, and looked over the files while she waited for the Chief to return. Surely Brenda wouldn't be pleased when she did, but she also knew the blonde was lashing out. She hoped it wouldn't be for long.
Sharon intended to know all about this Baylor case and why Brenda was so insistent she'd done nothing wrong. What nerve that had been pulled inside the blondes chest, like a chord on a violin, or the string of a harp, that played the most haunting of sounds.
And right now, what's haunting Brenda seems to be Turrell Baylor.
Brenda, when she sees Fritz at the door, impatiently waiting to be let in, sighs deeply and plasters on a fake smile.
"Fritz. Hi," she holds her hand on the door frame, not moving back. "What are you doin' here?"
Fritz looks at her pointedly. "Brenda. What are you doing poking into Antoine Decker?"
She blinks up at him doeishly, "What do you mean—"
He sighs exasperatedly. "We have wires all around him, Brenda. We heard Sanchez call his lawyer this morning."
Brenda bit her lip and backed away from the door, her shoulders falling in defeat. "Fine."
When Brenda returns to her office with fresh information and an Agent Howard on her tail, she finds Sharon still there, studying the Shootin' Newton case.
Fritz bumps into her when she stops short and she sighs, closing her eyes in the doorway like if she did, the vision of Sharon Raydor would disappear when she, reluctantly, opened them again.
"You're in my office. Why are you still in my office?"
Sharon looks up with hopeful eyes, a little like a puppy. "I am studying the case and wanted to stay close. If I had any questions?"
Brenda grunts an agreement and plops down in her chair, rubbing her temples almost violently, before grabbing a Ding-Dong from her desk drawer. Fritz comes in hesitantly, shutting the door behind him.
"So, Antoine Decker:.."
"Would you like me to leave?" Sharon asks lightly.
Someone say yes; she'll take it. Being in the same room as Brenda and her husband is highly uncomfortable. The tension between them is palpable.
Fritz looks grateful and replies, "That would be—"
"You're just fine where you are, Captain," Brenda interrupts, glaring at Fritz to continue. Brenda looks at her for a moment, trying to convey something vague, but looks away just as quickly. Sharon gets the picture though, and sits back in her chair and looks down at her files.
He clears his throat, his cheeks a little pink. "Even if you can get him in here, he'll never confess to anything. You'll find a hundred people between you and the shooter."
"Well, we'll see about that," Brenda muttered stubbornly.
"Brenda, whatever you're planning on doing, you need to make sure you're not in the same room with this guy when you do it," Fritz warned.
"Yeah, yeah," Brenda replied, still on her computer, but no doubt scheming inside her mind.
"Brenda, I'm serious—"
"I know, Fritz, I know," Brenda rolls her eyes. "I swear you're worse than my Mama sometimes." She sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "I need a list of all the people who could have leaked that information to Antoine Decker."
Fritz nods and seems to consider something but just turns and leaves the room. Brenda is considerably less tense once he does.
Sharon risks a question. "Chief, can we talk?"
Her shoulders practically hitch up to her ears. Tensions back. "Not right now."
"When?" Sharon sounded pleading.
Brenda pursed her lips, still refused to look at her. She really wasn't going to make this easy on Sharon, was she. "Outside of work."
It was ironic how their roles had reversed. Sharon went from scared, guarded and unfeeling to practically a bleeding heart about her emotions with Brenda, and now Brenda wanted nothing to do with what Sharon was offering her. Her walls were firmly back up and Sharon could only reach out and hope Brenda took her hand.
"Dinner, then," Sharon decided. "We can talk over dinner."
Brenda panicked for a brief moment. But she took a deep breath and relaxed into her seat before nodding. "Send me the details."
When Brenda finally made it home, Fritz was sitting on the couch, looking perplexed and frustrated. "A text, really Brenda?"
"I didn't want to talk to you," she replied, bypassing him for their room to grab clothes and other such things, moving them.
"And a hotel? We have a guest room!" He called after her.
"I was thinking the exact same thing," Brenda finally remembered to put her shoes in the closet. "I needed my own space."
"Brenda, please. I'm not sure what's happened—"
I'm what's happened, Brenda thinks. A life of lies has caught up with her and she feels them burning in her throat and her hands and her tongue, and it's hard to even be in the same room as Fritz some days. It's me, Fritz.
"We can work on this," he finished, reasonably.
"Fritz, I don't know how else to tell you this ain't workin'," she says tiredly. "I didn't like how you scared my parents—" That's true, at least.
"Is this because of Sharon Raydor?" Fritz asked, his face scrunched up.
Brenda's heart catches in her throat. "W-what?"
He struggled to get the words out for several moments. "Is Raydor putting… ideas in your head? I heard she's been separated from her husband for twenty years or so—"
Brenda's eyes almost widened out of her skull but she caught herself. She knew that they were separated, but she didn't know they were still married. Though, pot meet kettle, she thinks sardonically.
Though she didn't ever call him her ex-husband, just said they were separated. She told you right there. She isn't sure why she feels betrayed by Sharon not telling her.
She'd thought they'd gotten there, at least. They'd certainly gone to other places.
I was a safe choice for her.
She isn't sure if she's relieved or betrayed further by this realization. That Sharon never felt in danger and Brenda didn't need to leave Fritz either way.
Brenda definitely felt betrayed, because she was sure she wanted more. She knew she needed more. She felt her chest constrict and blocked it out.
"Sharon ain't 'puttin' ideas in my head' and frankly I find that insultin'," Brenda finally snaps when she gets her bearings. "I'm headin' out—"
Fritz grabs her wrist and pulls her around to face him, expecting Brenda to fall into him the way she always has in that wanton way.
"Bren… Let this lawsuit business work itself out. Give us another chance…"
She doesn't. Her face is hard.
This is one decision she doesn't think she'll back out on.
"Let me go, Fritz." she mutters.
He releases her hand and she's out the door, stopping only for her shoes. Fritz runs a hand through his hair.
"Dammit!"
Brenda goes to a bar.
She doesn't want to be home, she doesn't want to be at Sharon's — not after this audit/lawsuit business — she just wants to get a drink.
The distinct sound of someone's heels has her head spinning. She wouldn't have…
"Sharon?" Brenda says, turning in her seat.
Brenda's on her…third? Glass of wine and more than a little tipsy. Sharon is standing there, behind her are Mike and Andy— the only ones available who Sharon without a doubt trusted.
Mike gives her one of his waves while he talks to the bartender, who quietly informs him that her tab was connected to her credit card, and she can go whenever.
"How many is that now?" Sharon nods to her glass.
Brenda picks it up and takes a sip, shrugging. "Not enough."
Sharon mulls that over. "Your keys, please?"
Brenda's mouth just about falls open at her audacity. "Excuse me?"
Calmly, Sharon held out her hand and repeated, "Chief, I don't want to cause a scene. Just give me your keys."
Brenda huffs, but places the wine down and begins searching for her keys. After some fumbling, she tosses them at Sharon, who catches them with more finesse than Brenda could manage at the moment. She passes them to Tao.
"I'm not going anywhere just yet," Brenda said, and it wasn't petulant, but definitely just barely. She turned around to pick up her wine again. "I want to finish my glass."
Sharon rolled her eyes, and turned to the detectives she brought with her. "Do you gentlemen mind?"
"Not at all, Captain," Andy pulled his phone out to send off a quick text.
Sharon took the seat left of Brenda, Andy took the seat to the left of Raydor, and Mike sat to the right of the Chief.
It was quiet while Brenda sipped her wine and became more pensive. Mike seemed like he was teetering on the edge of gaining the confidence to ask her a question, but Sharon shakes her head behind Brenda.
She takes her damn time finishing the wine, and when she finally does she spins around on her seat and sighs.
The Captain stands, raising an eyebrow at Brenda, who was still sitting, looking lost (and a little pale). She turned to Tao.
"Follow my car, Lieutenant."
Mike gives her a little salute and Brenda smiles at the familiarity of it, and then her face crumples.
"Oh… Chief? Chief?" He looks at Andy and Sharon, panicked, but both of them are just as lost.
"You're just… so good, Lieutenant. You know that, right?" She sniffles, reaching out to pat his cheek, but he winds up being too far away and she nearly falls off the stool, if it weren't for Sharon and him rushing to either side of her.
"I know Chief, I know," he replies comfortingly, but awkwardly. He looked to Andy for help but he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"'N I'm sorry I don't say it nearly enough…" Brenda says miserably as they stumble out of the bar with the unbalanced Chief, Flynn behind them, his mouth agape.
"It's okay," he reassured her.
"It's not!" She snaps, and then she recoils from herself, and they all nearly fall to the ground as a result, but they regain their balance easily enough. "I'm sorry," she cries harder, "I should be tellin' y'all how lovely you are all the time especially when I'm so shellfish…"
"Selfish, Chief, you mean selfish," Mike corrects gently, "and… you're not selfish, maybe just a little more goal oriented than other people…"
"I'm selfish, Lieutenant," she replies miserably. "It's just who I am."
"Let's get you to Captain Raydor's car, Chief, okay?" Mike says. "You're not selfish. I think… you prioritize the wrong things sometimes. But you have a big heart."
Brenda snorts. "My hearts about this," she makes a figure with her fingers, "big, Lieutenant, but I love y'all with every bit of it," her eyes overfill with tears, "every bit."
Mike had no idea she was such an emotional drinker, and exchanges a look with Sharon over Brenda's head that says as much, but Sharon just says, "it's been a long day for her, I think."
Mike drives Brenda's car to Sharon's behind them, and Andy in a car behind him, after they manage to get Brenda into her car.
She sobers up some between the drive from the bar to
Sharon's house, and almost tells her to drive her home, but she doesn't really enjoy being near Fritz at the moment either, and decides to take her chances with Sharon.
Sharon looks over at her periodically, but Brenda just picks at an imaginary lint on her. She won't speak until she absolutely has to.
Mike bids them both goodnight at the door — and the Captain 'good luck' when Brenda is inside ahead of her. Sharon just shakes her head. She'll need good luck and the patience of God Himself.
It's Buzz who drives both of them back to the PAB where their cars wait so they can go their separate ways, all of them feeling slightly bolstered by the trust the Captain showed — calling on them to get the Chief from Point A to Point B — and also unhappy to see their Chief in such a state at all.
Sharon made tea and placed it in front of Brenda, but the other woman didn't seem interested. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Want to tell me how you knew where I was?"
"I called you a few times and you didn't pick up," Sharon replies stiffly. "And you were… distressed," she hedges.
"You traced my phone?"
Dammit Buzz, she thinks, she thought someone else was in the car. She watched Flynn get into the passenger side of the car and shrugged it off, just buzzed enough not to care at the time.
"I was worried," Sharon snaps, stirring her tea anxiously, the spoon clattering against the sides of the mug.
"'M fine," Brenda mutters. Sharon notices that the wedding ring isn't on her hand, and her heart races. Oh my God, is it Fritz?
"Do you want to talk about—"
"I said I'm fine!" Brenda snapped, looking up directly at Sharon. Her face is hot and red.
Sharon's face was still soft. Worried. A little hurt. "Brenda…"
Brenda sighed, her stomach clenched tightly. She hated how she acted; lashing out like a hurt animal, protecting vulnerable feelings. Instead, she plays possum.
"I don't know what you want from me Sharon, I really don't," Brenda mutters, not meeting her eye.
"How about the truth and we go from there?" Sharon asks.
Brenda laughed dryly. "The truth? I can try."
Lord knows she'd been giving half-versions of truth's her whole life.
After a long time of rubbing her palms, she said, "I think I'm gettin' a divorce."
Sharon blinks. That was not what she expected.
"Um…"
"It's not because of…" Brenda gestures between them. "Well, it is, but… not entirely. Oh, this lawsuit is just the worst!" she puts her head in her hands. "I can't handle all'a this right now… I can barely think!"
"Then don't, honey," Sharon says soothingly, feeling less put together than she makes herself sound. Inside she's tumbling with new information. "Go lay down, I'll call Fritz and let him know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere, and you can stay the night."
Brenda didn't fight her, surprisingly. It seems like any fight she might have had to fight with left her with the appearance of the audit and her possible impending divorce. She just quietly stands and, after depositing her mug in the kitchen sink, goes to Sharon's guest room.
Sharon rubs her temples for several minutes before actually picking up the phone to call Agent Howard. He picks up on the third ring.
"Captain Raydor. How can I help you?"
"Um… yes, Agent Howard, hello. Your wife—"
"Is she alright? Has she done something?"
"No, no. Just found her at a bar a few cups in. She's going to stay the night, she's in no condition to drive, and she's—"
"That's fine, Captain," he replies quickly. "Thank you. Have a nice night."
He hangs up before she can even reply, and she's left staring at the phone wondering if she had that right before she just shakes her head and moves on to cleaning up for the night so she can check on Brenda.
Brenda is curled up under the blankets, asleep. Sharon smiles before getting ready for bed herself.
Sharon's eyes snap open in the middle of the night. Brenda is now curled up on the other side of her bed, snoring softly, but not sleeping restfully. She slowly reached out to tangle some of Brenda's curls around her finger, letting the silky threads fall through her fingers.
Throughout the several times they've met at hotels and had this sordid affair — whenever Fritz was out of town, usually, because Brenda was loath to get out of the bed once they've finished… fucking? having sex? making love? — Brenda has had a few nights where she either hasn't slept at all or she slept poorly due to tossing and turning and apparent boogeymen haunting her dreams, shrugging off Sharon's concern in the morning when she would sit up and try to rub the circles out from under her eyes, exhaustion seeping out of every pore. Tonight seems like it might be the latter.
She murmurs things so low they scrape the back of her throat. Sometimes for an entire hour, sometimes for less than a minute. But never English.
She wonders and wonders but Brenda never answers her questions. She isn't sure she'd really want to know the whole story anyway, and Brenda doesn't want to tell her. Sharon isn't sure she could tell her…
… but she wishes she would.
Still, Sharon pulls Brenda into her arms as the fussing starts, as the mutterings slowly start to become full sentences, and then it quiets. Brenda's arm loops around Sharon's waist in her sleep.
Her heart races, trying not to think about how Brenda is going to be getting divorced. How Brenda said it has something to do with them. She doesn't want to get her hopes up — refuses to, and clings to the parts of Brenda she does have, instead.
She pulls her closer and Brenda tucks her head into her neck. Sharon starts drifting off once her head falls back against the pillow. All she can think is, thank god we hate each other, right?
This has become so complicated.
Hi guys! Sorry this took so long. I've been incredibly depressed, discovered I have bipolar II, and my living situation has only gotten worse. Plus with the onset of winter, my disabilities are going haywire, so I'm in a lot of pain. I've been working on this a lot though. I have plans! I'm finishing this fucking fanfiction and then working on my other ideas if it kills me.
I also started working on and posting poetry. If anyone would like to know about my social media for that. Let me know. Thanks for reading guys - your comments are so appreciated 3