It took a couple more hours to nail down the specifics of the plan. Brenda and Pierre had argued fiercely for bringing Dr. Avery with them first thing in the morning, but Maura, Fernando, and Katie had pushed back, citing his safety, and, in the only thing that managed to convince Brenda, pointing out that if they showed the Russians their only asset right out of the gate, they'd have less room to bargain.

Dr. Avery had stayed relatively silent, though Brenda could see the flood of thoughts in his head, could see the way his jaw and fingers clenched, over and over. He was thinking about Misha, she could tell.

The rest of the group had silently agreed that they wouldn't push him to speak, that they would only ask him if he was comfortable with the plan. They were all acquainted enough with trauma to know how frantic and bewildered he must be, they all made a special effort to emphasize that the only successful outcome, the only one they were working on, was both of them, safe, together, in Seabrook.

In the end, they'd decided on a two-part operation. They'd meet the sailors the next morning, demand to see Dr. Alexeyev in front of them as soon as possible. Once they had him on shore, they'd go from there.

"But how do we get them to say yes?" Katie had asked, frowning. Brenda liked her. She found every flaw in a plan, in a way that would have once driven Brenda crazy, but now she was grateful for how Katie's concern made her think, made her consider.

She'd been considering that very question when Peter had spoken up, softly, from his place on the armchair.

"My journals," he'd said.

As it turned out, Dr. Avery had hauled a heavy suitcase full of soft-covered notebooks, years of work, all the way from the laboratory in Alaska to Vancouver down to their tiny little town on the coast. The notebooks contained everything from the very beginning of the project a decade ago to now, here, where he'd been trying to carry on his research.

"But we'll need those," Maura had said, worried, "when this is all over."

"Obviously we'll be gettin' 'em back, Maura," Brenda had sighed a little too harshly, and Maura had given her an icy look. They were still working off their earlier argument, the air still tense from them nearly shouting at each other, and the rest of the group had been making an effort to not spectate, though she could see Fernando's wide eyes, his little nudges at Katie's shoulder.

Maura was still angry with her, and Brenda was still a little angry with Maura, but she was trying to calm herself down, trying to focus on what was important, even though it was making her a little crazy, trying to solve this problem with Maura's firm refusal to put anyone in danger. Even though she was right, and even though her compassion was a thing Brenda loved about her.

Brenda hated being challenged. Especially when she knew she could solve the problem.

Except she also knew, way in the back of her brain, that running in, guns blazing, wasn't the right way. It was just that it was her way, and it rankled that nobody else except Pierre seemed to even be entertaining it.

"We'll just give 'em a few," Brenda said, looking over to Dr. Avery for confirmation, a little gratified when he nodded. "I imagine they're in order, Doctor?"

"Yes," Peter said.

"So we give 'em a couple journals, maybe leave out some in between, just enough to prove we're serious, but not enough that they could use 'em for anything. I think somethin' from real early on and maybe one from after you got to town, Peter." He nodded.

"And then?" Maura frowned, her arms still crossed.

"And then," she'd sighed, once again a little too harshly, "we offer to trade the rest and Peter—" she glanced at him, and he nodded again, resolute—"for proof that Dr. Alexeyev is really there, and that he's unhurt. Which means—" she continued quickly, sensing Maura was about to interrupt again—"that they bring him to us before we give them anything worthwhile."

"And then?" Maura said again, more skeptically, and Brenda wanted to huff, but managed to keep it to herself.

"And then we take him," she said.

"How?"

Brenda frowned. Bit her lip. "I ain't figured that part out yet," she muttered.

"Well," Katie said, hesitantly at first, but then bolder, when Fernando nodded encouragingly. "Why don't we use their own plan against them?"

Maura and Brenda both stared at her.

"I mean," Katie stammered, but Fernando put his hand on her shoulder. "They tricked us into taking their man into the clinic so they could sabotage our radio. Why don't we demand we take Dr. Alexeyev there too, so we can at least get him away from the dock?"

"That's a good idea," Brenda said slowly, still working it out. "I can't imagine he'll be the picture of health anyway."

Peter winced. "Sorry," she whispered. "All I mean is—"

"I understand, Chief," he murmured. "It's all right."

She grimaced, felt herself go a little pink. Maura stood, crossed to him, patted his arm reassuringly. "This will work," she said gently, even though Brenda could see she wasn't totally sure herself. Felt a little pang of contrition begin to worm its way through her.

"And then," Pierre cut in, "since we will be on the shore, we will be able to surround these men and we will be able to stop them."

"Hopefully without anybody dyin'," Brenda mumbled. Maura blanched.

"What about your mutineers?" Fernando asked, trying to direct them all away from ugly visions of the worst possible outcome.

"I don't know how many there are," Brenda admitted, "but the soldier I talked with—Kuznetsov—he said there's more than we think. I'm hopin' we were able to understand each other, but I don't want to count on it."

"Hmm," Maura murmured.

"But I think we reached a consensus," Brenda said quickly. "If I'm right, we won't have to worry about the ship's guns or about the Ivan Grozny runnin' off."

"Oh god," Maura whispered. "I hadn't even thought about weapons on the ship."

"And you don't have to," Brenda said more firmly than she felt. "Lieutenant Kuznetsov seems smart and capable and I can promise you he's no big fan of Captain Volkov or his supporters."

"They don't know about him?" Maura breathed, her face pale.

"I don't think so," Brenda replied. "Far as I can tell he's done a good job of not lettin' his secret get out."

Maura frowned again, bit her lip again, her brow furrowed in thought for what felt like an eternity.

"All right," she said. "But Pierre will need to get the journals."

"Pas de problème, madame," he said. "Dr. Avery, you can say where they are kept?"

"In my room, above the workshop," Peter said softly. "In the suitcase under my bed."

Pierre nodded curtly, left immediately.

"Won't they see him?" Katie whispered. "The guards?"

"Pierre will know what to do," Maura said, smiling gently, though the expression didn't reach her eyes.

"He better," Katie grumbled. "I saw Mattie earlier and she's kind of freaking out."

"Pierre's wife," Maura supplied to Brenda, who nodded.

"We're all much better off with him around," Brenda said, directing her words to Katie. "I wish I coulda had him on my team back in LA."

Katie had smiled grimly. Peter too.

"We'll get him back," Brenda said to him, almost surprised by how softly, kindly her voice came out. "I swear, Dr. Avery, we'll get him back safe."

An hour later, everyone had gone back to their respective homes, or, in Peter's case, his temporary bed across the hall in Fernando's apartment. Brenda had only squawked a little when she'd found out Fernando's unit had two beds, but his skeptical, knowing glance flicking between her and Maura made her shut right up, cheeks blazing.

She and Maura sat in the living room, Maura in the armchair, Brenda on the loveseat. They didn't speak for a while, each of them stewing just a little.

Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, Brenda sighed. "I'm—"

"It's all right," Maura cut her off abruptly.

Brenda suddenly felt that harsh, ugly pang of something she hadn't felt in years, not since she and Fritz had been staring down the end of their short, difficult marriage. Felt herself steeling for Maura's inevitable departure, leaving her to try and figure out how she'd screwed up, what she could've said differently.

"It's fine if you want to sleep somewhere else," she whispered, feeling small and vulnerable. "I'm probably not a person you want to be around right now, and I understand."

Maura frowned at her, face shifting into confusion. "Brenda, why would I go somewhere else?"

Brenda's brow wrinkled. "It's just—we fought—"

"Yes," Maura said. "We did, and I'm a little frustrated about it, but I'm not—" she paused, examining Brenda's soft, wounded expression. "Brenda," she said softly, crossing over to her, sitting close to her on the loveseat, settling her hand gently on Brenda's knee. "Why would I leave?"

Brenda felt herself starting to crumble once again. She hated this feeling, which hadn't subsided in days, weeks, months, years; every time she had to sit with herself, when she couldn't throw herself into some bigger project, it came back; the tendrils of sadness, of exhaustion, of fear and stress and the overwhelming urge to cry.

"I'm not going anywhere," Maura murmured again, pressing her lips to Brenda's temple. "We had an argument, it happens."

"Yeah, but—"

"Brenda," Maura said patiently. "Why don't you go get ready for bed, you look exhausted and we have a lot to do tomorrow." Brenda sniffled. "And then I'll be in shortly," Maura added, her voice soft.

"I was married," Brenda said suddenly, not totally sure why, immediately regretting it. Maura stiffened next to her for just a moment.

"Oh?" she said, her voice even.

"Yeah," Brenda said. "One of those dumb things I told you about, when I was tryin' to be a different person."

Maura didn't respond.

"He was a real good person, and understandin' enough, I suppose," Brenda said, the words rushing out. "For a while. But then it turned out he was expectin' somethin' else out of a wife, I guess."

"Something you weren't," Maura said, just the faintest quirk of a smile on her lips.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "And he was—he was a recoverin' alcoholic, and every time we got into a fight, which was a lot, he'd stomp out to go to a meetin' instead of talkin' about it with me, but I guess I wasn't so good at talkin' about it either."

"So your husband would fight with you and then he'd leave you alone," Maura said, and it was clear from her tone that she already didn't care for Fritz.

Brenda nodded miserably again.

"That doesn't seem very healthy," Maura said, her voice just a little bit mad again, but at least this time it was at her long-lost almost-ex-husband and not her.

Brenda offered a watery smile. "It sure wasn't," she said. "We were headin' toward a divorce. I hardly stayed at home at all toward, uh, the end. But I still always feel like I'm just . . . always the one who's done somethin' wrong. Even still."

"You're not wrong, Brenda," Maura said, her voice warm, kind, firm. Loving, if Brenda let herself hear it. "We disagreed, but we worked it out. I'm not angry at you. I was, but it was in the heat of the moment, and we both had very good reasons for disagreeing with each other, and now we have a plan, and we made it together."

Brenda couldn't think of anything to say, just sniffled again, nuzzled her head against Maura.

"You're all right, Brenda Leigh," Maura murmured. "You're good, and smart, and kind and thoughtful." Brenda snorted a little, despite herself. "You are, Brenda, and I'm sorry you had to be in a . . . situation where you didn't get to hear that."

The tears fell, suddenly, hot and abrupt. "Thank you," she warbled, only a little embarrassed. "You're too sweet to me, Maura."

"I'm not," Maura said, her voice breaking. "I'm not."

"You are," Brenda murmured insistently, taking half a breath, pushing her head up, letting her mouth brush against Maura's. "You're so kind and good and smart and beautiful and I'm real lucky I get to be with you. Here with you," she added quickly, feeling the heat on her face.

She felt Maura's smile, felt Maura's arms tighten around her. "I'm lucky too, Brenda Leigh," she murmured against Brenda's lips.

Brenda didn't answer, just pressed her mouth to Maura's with a little more firmness, a little more urgency. Let Maura's tongue flick lightly against her lips, let them part, let Maura's tongue slide against her own. Let out a soft little whimper that turned into an anxious little whimper when Maura pulled away.

"Wait," Maura said, her voice rough. "This isn't a good idea."

"Oh," Brenda whispered, trying to scoot away, feeling the unpleasant flush of embarrassment over her whole body, immediately quenching any burgeoning desire.

"I didn't mean—" Maura blushed as well, smiled a little awkwardly. "You're injured, and there's so much going on, and—" she seemed to catch herself.

Brenda reached for Maura's hand. "And what?"

Maura frowned, bit her lip. Took a deep breath, didn't meet Brenda's eyes.

"The last time," she nearly whispered, and Brenda didn't have to ask which time she meant, "you disappeared. And you've explained all of that, and I—I understand, but this time you might not come back either, and I know it's not the same, Brenda, but part of it . . ."

"Feels the same," Brenda finished quietly.

Maura offered a slight nod.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Brenda smiled, squeezing Maura's hand. "I'm right here, Maura, I—"

"Don't promise, Brenda, please," Maura whispered.

"I won't," Brenda whispered back. "But I'm not plannin' on goin' anywhere. I want you to know that."

Maura didn't say anything, just lifted Brenda's hand to her mouth, pressed her lips against Brenda's fingertips.

"Let's get ready for bed," Brenda said after a beat. "Come on now, pretty lady, I ain't the only one tired." She stood up, tugging lightly at Maura's hand. "And I swear I'll be on my very best behavior."

The corner of Maura's mouth quirked into a little grin. "As I recall, your very best behavior is precisely what we need to avoid for the time being."

Brenda's jaw dropped. "Why Dr. Isles," she drawled. "Just what are you implyin'?"

"I never imply," Maura said archly, though her voice had a playful lilt. "Implications are often easily misinterpreted."

"And just what is it you want me to not misinterpret?" Brenda smirked, running her fingertips over Maura's wrist, making her shiver a little.

Maura closed the space between them, her eyes sparkling and serious. She leaned forward and kissed at the corner of Brenda's jaw, then ghosted her lips to behind her ear. Her hand slid up Brenda's waist, stopping just below the curve of her breast, her thumb grazing just slightly against the swell of flesh.

Brenda let out a little groan. "You're makin' it very difficult to follow your own orders, Doctor."

"I just wanted to clarify the positive outcomes of safety and responsibility," Maura murmured.

"Such as?"

Brenda gasped as Maura licked delicately at the shell of her ear, slid her palm over Brenda's breast, rested her hand there. "The better you take care of yourself, the sooner your injuries will heal, and the sooner you'll be able to once again enjoy any number of activities involving both hands."

"Mm-hmm?"

"And the sooner we can safely resolve our bigger situation, the sooner we can all relax a little. Take some time for ourselves."

"This all sounds like an awful lot of implication to me, Doctor," Brenda breathed against her neck.

"It's flirting, Brenda," Maura sighed. "Should I just say, 'we'll fuck when the Russians are gone and your arm's better'?"

Brenda's eyes widened at the words. "You . . . uh . . . you could, I mean, sure," she stammered, her breath coming in shallow little puffs as Maura slid her hand just slightly, agonizingly, over her breast, her nipples almost unbearably sensitive.

Maura grinned. "Go to bed, Chief," she said, dropping her hands and pressing a light, chaste kiss to Brenda's cheek. "You've got a big day tomorrow."

Brenda groaned again. "Don't be too long," she said, trying to get her body under control. "We've all got a big day."