"Want a visitor?" Dr. Morales peeked around the exam room door.
"Come on in," Brenda sighed, pulling her blanket up around her shoulders. She was still wearing the thin cotton gown she'd woken up in, hoped Dr. Morales might have brought her something a little more substantial.
"I come bearing gifts," he said, handing her a button-up shirt and a thick belted cardigan, a pair of soft jogging pants. "I assumed you wouldn't be able to lift your arms for a while, so I hope these work."
"Oh, bless you," she said.
"And the piece de resistance—"
"My lord, is that coffee?"
"They even have candy," he said, fishing a piece of homemade caramel out of his pocket. This place is a dream, honestly."
"Sure," Brenda muttered.
"What's that? You don't appreciate my efforts on behalf of my injured friend? After I literally carried you in here? It was like something out of Wuthering Heights."
"Thank you," Brenda smiled. "Thank you so much."
"That's better," Dr. Morales huffed, settling himself down in the chair next to Brenda's bed. "And how are we feeling?"
"We've felt better," Brenda grumbled, biting off a piece of the caramel. "Oh lord, that's good."
"Apparently there's a woman in town who makes them with cream from the cows they—what, grow?—somewhere, uh, over there," he waved vaguely.
"Where'd they get the sugar?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "Heaven?"
"Makes no difference to me, so long as they keep doing it."
"So what do you think of that hot doctor?" he said, resting his hand on his chin. "Did you know we'd met before? Years ago, at a conference. I rescued her from the grabby old MEs. We had a delightful time getting drunk on bad hotel bar wine."
"You don't say," she murmured.
"Isn't she gorgeous? I mean, not just for these days. Honestly, she hasn't changed a bit. Well, she used to have this incredible red hair—"
"Mm-hmm."
"Come on, Brenda Leigh, I've never known you to sit out a little harmless ogling. Honestly, when's the last time you even saw a beautiful woman?"
Brenda's face clouded immediately. She set her half-eaten caramel on the table.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Morales said immediately. "I'm sorry, Brenda. I didn't mean—"
"No, it's all right," she said softly. "I know."
The specter of Sharon hung heavily between them for that brief moment.
"Well," he said brightly, clapping his hands together. "You'll be pleased to know Doctor Gorgeous Hair has set us up with places to stay. Apparently this little town was built as a resort village thing, and it hadn't really been moved into before—you know. So here it was, just chock-full of empty houses and apartments and things. This building used to be seasonal rentals, I guess. This clinic—incredible, by the way, the work Maura's done—"
Brenda couldn't suppress her light intake of breath as Dr. Morales said her name out loud. Hoped he hadn't noticed.
"—it was originally just a few rooms, can you imagine? And now they put all the newcomers up in the apartments. Sort of transitional housing for windblown strays, I guess. We're in 3A and 3C, across the hall. No elevators, but we make do."
"Mm-hmm."
"You sure you're all right, hon?" Dr. Morales leaned in, worried. "You need anything? Ibuprofen? Water? I'd love to give us all a little narcotic holiday, but I guess they're keeping a tight watch on those until the next supply ship comes. They have supply ships! Can you imagine!"
"I sure can," she said. "I'm all right, Fernando. Just tired, is all."
"Hmm," he murmured, and Brenda could feel his skepticism. "But you're okay? Physically? Maura—Dr. Isles—she checked on you, right? I only saw her for a second this morning; I suppose she's got a busy schedule as queen of this little outpost."
"I'm all right," she said again. "I swear."
"Something seems off," he said, eyeing her.
"Could it be the violent car accident and broken bones, perhaps?" Brenda drawled.
"No," he said, "that's not it."
"Fernando—"
"Brenda Leigh Johnson, I haven't spent every single day of the past nine years cooped up with you to not know you by now," he sighed. "Not even your little shadow-government tricks can fool me."
"I wish you wouldn't talk about that," she muttered.
"Well then, not even your polite Southern charm can fool me."
"That's better." She took another bite of her candy.
"So what is it? I mean, it's everything, I know. But what is it, specifically?"
"Oh," Brenda said, trying to think of something believable. "Just I guess getting here, finally. Stopping. It all catches up with you."
"It does," Dr. Morales said softly. "But I think this is a good place, Brenda. I think we made it to the right place."
"I'm sure you're right," she murmured.
"I know I am. So. What say you get into those clothes, and then maybe we'll find Maura—Dr. Isles—and she can—"
"No," Brenda said abruptly.
"No?"
"I mean yes, I'll get dressed. Thank you so much for bringing me somethin' a little more substantial."
"But no . . . ?"
Brenda bit her lip. "No to findin' Dr. Isles," she said. "Like you said, I'm sure she's busy. If you have the keys to my room—"
"Brenda Leigh." Dr. Morales's voice was firm. "What is going on."
"Nothin'!" Brenda squawked. "I swear."
They sat there in an awkward silence, Dr. Morales staring at her, Brenda wishing she could disappear.
"It's her," he said after a long moment, sitting back in his chair. "Oh my god," he said a second later, seeing Brenda flinch, lifting his hand to his mouth. "It's her."
Brenda curled into herself as much as she could, miserable. Didn't reply.
"The woman you told me about that time," he gasped. "The woman you left."
"Please don't," she whispered. "Please."
Dr. Morales frowned, rubbed his temples, sighed. "Brenda Leigh, how do you do it."
"Do what," she said, feeling small, feeling exposed.
"How do you get the most beautiful woman in any room to fall in love with you? Almost a decade, and that's the one secret you've never shared."
"Well," Brenda mumbled, "I didn't think that particular piece of advice would be especially useful for you."
"Beautiful women, beautiful men. It's all the same."
"I just . . . I can't. I can't right now. It's too much," she sniffled, embarrassed by the tears that had started falling, unbidden. Dr. Morales looked at her, his face soft, kind.
"That's just fine, Brenda Leigh," he said. "I wish you'd told me."
"Well I did tell you," she muttered.
"Well, you did not, I had to guess," he said, still smiling gently. "But no finding her today, agreed. You want me to give you a little privacy to get changed? Then if you're feeling up to it, I can show you your apartment. It has a bathtub! They tell me hot water's best early in the day, or late. They have hot water here! God, I love it."
"Yes, all right," she managed. "Thank you, Fernando."
"My pleasure," he grinned. "Oh! Wait, hold on," and he stood, moving to the supply chest. "Katie—Maura's assistant, she did your triage, you have got to meet this girl, she's a genius—she told me to give you a sling if you felt up to moving around. Can't let that bone set wrong," he said, pulling a soft bundle out, tossing it to her. "Over the clothes," he added.
"I know," Brenda groused. "You're talkin' like I ain't ever been hurt before."
"You haven't," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "Not since."
Brenda nodded, feeling chastised.
"Turns out there's a lot going on here, Deputy Chief Johnson," he said, his voice light but shaded with meaning. "And I refuse to let something as small as a broken collarbone be the reason for anything." He brushed at his sweater, coughed lightly.
"Thank you," Brenda said, her cheeks burning. "I mean it."
"Well," Dr. Morales said, turning toward the door, cup in hand. "You take your time, and I'll be enjoying my coffee in 3A whenever you're ready."
"Gave yourself the room with the view, I see," Brenda teased.
"Oh honey, you know I'll always go for the best of what's offered."
"I know you will," she said, smiling.
"And so will you." Dr. Morales paused at the door. "I'm not saying anything, but if I were—"
"You're not," Brenda said firmly. "I'll see you in a minute."
Dr. Morales smiled again, gently closed the door.
Well now, she thought. Well.
It took her a few minutes to pull on the clothes; a few minutes to let her hands remember how to button buttons. To remember how to move when part of her was broken.
It had been years since she'd been broken, and now here she was, half-dressed, blood in her hair, fumbling with a sweater. Maura. Maura was there.
She felt a lightness in her chest, despite everything, now that Dr. Morales knew. One less lie to have to keep telling.
But Sharon, she thought.
Sharon.
The woman she'd allowed herself to love after all that time. After all those fumbling men, their awkward caresses filling some vague emptiness in her, letting her remember how it felt to be touched, wanted; after that, then came Sharon.
Sharon, who had been almost an accident, who had been there at the very end, who had wanted what Brenda had wanted, when it had been long enough that every other want had faded. Sharon, with her shiny hair, her dark red lips, her immeasurable sorrow; a thing Brenda had wanted so badly to soothe. Sharon, with her dead children. Her dead ex-husband. Her dead everyone. And then there had been Brenda, a nemesis, a thing it had taken her a long time to realize meant an equal.
Sharon there with her, with Fernando, as the world came crashing down.
Sharon there with her as the bombs dropped, as they'd stayed secreted away in the morgue for days, waiting for silence. Sharon there with her, saying my family has a vacation home in Utah, they might be there. Sharon as they'd made their perilous way out of Los Angeles. Sharon as they'd found the cabin, polished and clean and empty. Sharon as they'd waited long weeks for her family to arrive. Sharon as she'd wept, secretly, but inconsolable, when they didn't.
Sharon, who had loved her. Sharon, who she had loved.
Would have loved even without this terrible new world, had she been given the chance.
Sharon, who had loved her. Sharon, whose love she had accepted, had finally reciprocated.
Sharon, who had died silently in her arms years ago. Sharon, whose invisible illness had taken them all by surprise, but then, after it had happened, Sharon, who had died with beauty, with courage. With Brenda there, holding her, brushing her hair back from her temple as she whispered I'm glad you're here with me, Brenda Leigh.
Sharon, who had said the thing Brenda had so longed to hear. Sharon, who had healed her.
"Well now," Brenda murmured, slipping the button-down shirt around herself. "Well now, here we are."