Brenda weaved through the throngs of townspeople, greeting as many as greeted her as she looked for Maura amid the festivities.
"Two-minute sketch for the Archive, Chief?" She turned to see a young woman holding a pad and pen. Brenda recognized her as Lucy, who helped at the food bank when she wasn't busy with the Seabrook Archivists, a group of residents who had joined up to document both the town and what had come before. Brenda hadn't thought much about how few photographs existed now, about how rare and precious the images were, but her visit to the Archive building, part of the little downtown civic complex next to the library, had brought the realization rushing home.
Two rooms of the building were dedicated to physical photographs; tattered slips of paper preserved carefully behind glass. Most in the first room were pictures of lost loved ones, stuffed into pockets of suitcases, of jackets, making the long journey to the coast with their owners. Brenda didn't like to spend a long time there. It made her think too much about how little she had from that old life that she could still see, touch.
The next gallery displayed more preserved photographs, but these featured the mundanities of life before everything had changed. Pets, landscapes, snapshots from tourist attractions, park lunches, nights out. Brenda vastly preferred this room, its images radiating life and vibrance and happiness, not like the hushed atmosphere of the portrait gallery.
Beyond the photographic displays were the art rooms, full of work by residents; sketches, charcoal drawings, paintings depicting images from daily life in Seabrook—people harvesting at the Flower Farm, the small contingent of fishermen mending their nets on the shore, a large drawing of the regular lunch crowd at Molly's, the little cafe in the center of town. Brenda paused, as she always did, in front of the two drawings of Maura; one a formal head-and-shoulders charcoal study, the other a loose pen sketch of her laughing, the sharp but deliberate ink scratches somehow converging into the elegant lines of Maura's face, capturing her in a moment of joyful abandon.
She studied the little JR in the corner of each. She'd met James Rizzoli a few times. He'd been taciturn, sullen, distrustful of her; Katie had confided that Jimmy had been closer to Jane than anyone except Maura, and that it would be a while before he liked her.
"I'm used to people not likin' me," she'd replied easily, while at the same time planning her charm offensive. It wasn't as though she needed this kid's validation, but, she thought as she gazed at his impeccably sketched image of Maura, the way his scratchy little lines cohered into a surprising gentleness, she felt herself disagree; she wanted him to respect her. Wanted him to like her. Wanted him to think she was more than a convenient replacement for a long-lost woman she'd never even met.
And she'd seen his skills. His images of Maura, of other townspeople and their families, the massive mural of Jane, three stories high, unavoidable. Didn't like looking at it, or the large portrait of her in the Archive, felt a little burn of shame about that, but she was impressed by his talent.
It had taken Brenda several weeks of working herself up to it before she'd taken a deep breath and knocked on the door of Jimmy's apartment, a converted storage building on the edge of town. He'd opened the door almost too soon, like he'd known she'd be there.
"Hi," she said, feeling a little silly.
He hadn't responded, only stared at her.
"You wanna do a picture for me?" she'd continued barreling on despite her awkwardness, the stuffed-down embarrassment of knowing how close she was to tears just thinking about what she was there to ask for.
"Who of," he'd said, shrugging his lanky body against the doorframe, but she could tell he was interested, was interested in her, by the way he leaned too deliberately, too casually.
"My, uh . . . my Sharon," she'd said simply. It had taken less time and agony to get used to everyone in town knowing her business than she'd anticipated; at least she knew everyone else's, too.
Jimmy stared hard at her for a second before shrugging again and turning back into his apartment, leaving the door ajar. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, all right."
The tiny watercolor of Sharon had taken nearly a month of visits and dozens of discarded drafts, but the end result was so accurate, so lifelike, that Brenda had wept in Jimmy's studio when he handed it to her, already framed, wrapped in a scrap of velvet.
"Thank you," she'd murmured thickly. Jimmy had scratched at the back of his neck.
"No problem," he'd said. And then, "so, uh, do you want to have dinner with us tomorrow?"
"But that's Sunday," she'd said blankly, before realizing what he was offering. He only had dinner with Maura and Cherry rarely, and in the months she'd lived there neither of them had intruded upon those Sunday nights. She wondered briefly what had made him ask now, but didn't press. They'd certainly grown closer during her visits to his studio, but she hadn't expected this.
"Yeah," Jimmy rolled his eyes. "It is. So you want to?"
That had been the start of Brenda's regular presence at Sunday dinner; Jimmy's too. That regularity had blossomed into Brenda's spending more time at Maura's little bungalow than her own clinic apartment, and after a couple of months they'd abandoned the pretense and Brenda had moved into the tiny beach house, waking up with Maura every morning, falling asleep tangled together in their warm bed every night.
It had taken a couple of weeks for the smirks of the townsfolk to die down, but Brenda hadn't minded them. She selfishly liked people knowing that not only did she love their town hero, but their town hero loved her too.
"Later, Lucy, I promise," Brenda smiled sweetly at the woman, finally sighting Maura in the crowd, surrounded by people as she usually was. Brenda strode across the little town pavilion that contained most of the entertainment, music stages and food kiosks and a few handcrafted midway games. Most of the festival booths lined the downtown streets; Jour D'Arriveé—Jourdreeve, as most everyone pronounced it—was one of the few events that shut everything down.
The festival marked the first arrival of the French research ship at Seabrook; it was their own little Thanksgiving, but with the benefit of early-summer weather. Brenda had been told that it usually rained all three days, but this year, her first, had been clear and mild. She'd watched with delight the aerial display on the beach; dozens of brightly-colored kites, ranging from simple squares to elaborate dragons with thirty-foot tails and half a dozen operators, swooping and snapping in the breeze. Had eaten perhaps more than her share of the little petit-fours and miraculously flaky croissants that Charlotte and her bakery team had spent days assembling. Had watched the first-evening concert in the town square, the little contingent of schoolchildren singing a chorus in French and English before a few of the local bands played late into the evening, townspeople and visitors dancing under strings of twinkling yellow lights.
Had woken up again, as always, curled around Maura in their warm, soft bed by the sea.
"Time to get up, pretty lady," she whispered as Maura groaned into her neck. "Big day today."
Maura was making her annual speech to the town, one that reminded everyone of all they'd accomplished in the past year, honored individual residents, welcomed the Australian transport ship that had timed its biannual arrival specifically to celebrate with them, as it had for the past few years. The presence of new people made everything feel exciting, thrumming with energy. The ship would depart with a shorter manifest than had arrived; there were always a few new residents with every visit, people from all over the ship's route who had heard about the town, wanted to settle down there.
"Big day for you too, Chief," Maura mumbled, tugging Brenda back toward her. This year the town council, ten people elected to make civic decisions, had invited Brenda to talk about their experience earlier that winter. Lev Lvovich Kuznetsov, recently appointed to the council out of session after proving himself to be a diligent, hardworking harbormaster, had made the request himself in his broken but rapidly-improving English; his face shining with pride and gratitude.
They'd incorporated the dozen rebellious members of the Ivan Grozny crew into their community—after much debate and weeks of interviews and careful observation—and as a result Seabrook found itself a distinctly cosmopolitan little town of nearly three hundred and fifty by now; stilted, cheerful Russian and French conversations floating through the streets as the townspeople learned from each other. Brenda had made it clear that people were to welcome the newcomers, that a little healthy suspicion was just fine, but that these people were now their people, too, and it had so far mostly worked.
"I'm just gonna talk about you," Brenda yawned as she allowed herself to be nestled close against Maura's sleep-soft body. "About how amazin' you are."
"Flattery won't get you out of it," Maura murmured, her breath warm against Brenda's shoulder.
"It was worth a try," Brenda grinned. "Now come on, you can't spend all day in bed. April promised me eclairs with real chocolate, and I ain't missin' out on that, no matter how good lookin' you are in the morning."
"Glad to know where I stand," Maura grinned back, stretching her arms above her head and yawning too.
Brenda couldn't resist the expanse of skin as Maura's tank top slid up her stomach. Drifted her fingers across the exposed place, making Maura shiver and giggle. Brenda swept her palm up Maura's abdomen, letting her hand stop just below the swell of a breast, biting her lip as Maura let out a soft whimper.
"We'll be late," she murmured, though she didn't pull away from Brenda's touch.
"We got time," Brenda whispered as she slowly, delicately let her thumb drift across Maura's breast, relishing her faint little gasps. "I made sure."
"But your eclairs," Maura said, arching a little to give Brenda more skin.
"I was just teasin'," Brenda said, letting her hand slide up to cover a breast. "I mean, I'm serious about gettin' one, but I promise you," she said, licking a hot line up behind Maura's ear, "I'm serious about makin' time for this."
She pressed her lips to Maura's neck, let her tongue flick out to taste her skin, lapping at her throat, her clavicle, shifting her body to continue down Maura's sternum, drifting light little kisses over her breasts, over the soft skin of her stomach. Maura was writhing a little under her now, fingers tangling in Brenda's hair, knees falling open to allow Brenda to settle between them.
"Brenda Leigh," she breathed.
Brenda felt the little hot jolt in her core she always felt when Maura said her name like that; groaned a little, ran her hands across Maura's legs, her hips, her stomach as she dropped more little kisses along her inner thigh, making Maura squirm and whimper more urgently, her fingers flexing unconsciously against Brenda's scalp, tugging lightly at her hair, sending little fizzing tendrils of pleasure through her whole body.
"I mean it, Maura," she whispered against her skin. "You're amazin'. And beautiful, and smart, and sexy, and I love you so much I reckon I might explode from it."
"Oh," Maura said, a strangled little gasp. Her hips began to rock gently against Brenda's mouth, head tipping back, one hand still woven through Brenda's hair, the other clutching at the rumpled sheets.
Brenda moved slowly, languidly, relishing the flex of Maura's thighs, the rise and fall of her hips, the faint sheen of sweat beginning to shimmer on her skin. The sweet little huffs and whimpers as Maura fell into her pleasure, not chasing it, letting Brenda's hands and mouth make her body swell and swell with that trembling heat.
"Oh," she gasped again, more forcefully, tugging harder at Brenda's hair, making Brenda shiver and groan against her, and that little low hum was what did it, made her body tense up, hips lifting off the bed as she shuddered against Brenda's mouth, as Brenda kept the same pace, both of them drawing the sensation out as long as they could.
A charming hour later, they finally disentangled from each other, pulling on clothes, combing mussed hair. Maura wore a pretty electric-blue dress, her hazel eyes tinted to gold by the shade. She pinned her long braid up around her head, slipped on a little black and white knit cardigan and the low-heeled boots she'd loaned Brenda all those months ago; it was June, but it was still the Pacific Northwest coast, and it was bound to be chilly until midafternoon.
Brenda watched her prepare, eyes shining. Loved her so much it made her tremble a little.
"What?" Maura frowned at her. "Did I miss a strand?" She patted at her braid.
"Just lookin'," Brenda said. Maura blushed, gave her a sweet smile.
"I'd look too," she said, her voice low and mischievous, "but you'd actually have to be getting ready first." She grinned, swatted Brenda's feet off the little stool in front of the vanity.
"Yes ma'am." She stood, offered a sloppy salute, turned to the closet.
"The pink one, I think," Maura said before Brenda had a chance to start flicking through options. "With the flowers."
"Most people hate it when I wear pink," Brenda said, eyeing her with skepticism. "Even more when I wear florals."
"I'd hope it would be clear by now that I'm not 'most people,' Brenda. And pink is a lovely color with your skin tone, and florals are perfect for the season and the occasion. Besides," she grinned crookedly, "it makes your ass look incredible."
"Sold," Brenda said immediately, yanking the dress off its hanger, ignoring Maura's little tut of disapproval at the rough handling.
Half an hour later they were headed down the beach road into town, Brenda in the pink dress, red sweater buttoned against the breeze, sturdy black leather boots laced up tight.
"I haven't done this since the 80s," she laughed, looking at her footwear beneath the hem of her dress.
"I can just picture it," Maura said. "Did you have a leather jacket too?"
"I did not," Brenda said primly. "I was a churchgoin' Georgia girl, the combat boots were as wild as I got."
"Hmm," Maura smirked.
"Sometimes my brother Jimmy let me wear his," she conceded. "But only when we went to parties and things. And I kept the boots in my locker at school so my mama and daddy didn't find 'em."
"Afraid they'd get the wrong idea?" Maura grinned.
"More like the right one," Brenda shrugged, winking at her. "'Course I didn't really know what a lot of it meant just then. I was scared for a long time that God would send me to hell for likin' girls too, and then when I was a little older, scared my daddy would. But then I left. Saw the great big world, and all that." She shrugged again, eyed her boots. "I like 'em, I think."
"Me too," Maura said, lacing her arm through Brenda's, planting a kiss on her cheek as they approached the town square.
"Get a room, Doc," April from the bakery teased as she passed them with a tray of what looked like the promised chocolate eclairs. "Chief," she added with a little wink.
Brenda stared longingly after the pastries. "Soon, dear," Maura murmured.
As they crossed into the little green park in the center of downtown, the people crowding the square began to clap, their applause rising until it was a cacophony of cheers, settling only when Maura approached the little podium set up on the small music stage. She knelt down and flicked on the little amplifier, grimacing apologetically at the squeal of feedback from the microphone.
"Hello friends," she said, smiling widely, genuinely at the hundreds of people crowded around. Brenda smiled too, watching her from a corner of the stage. "I'm so pleased to welcome all of you to our sixth annual Jour D'Arriveé." She paused as another swell of cheers rippled through the park. "As you know—and as some of you may not—" she smiled at Brenda, at the cluster of Russian sailors, many with festival dates holding on to their arms—"this is the day that we celebrate the first arrival of the research vessel Papillon, which marked the start of our lives in Seabrook as we know them today. Thanks to the courage and compassion of the brave men and women aboard that ship, who were willing to cross an ocean to help us, we found our world opening up again. That contact helped us reach out to others—" she glanced around the crowd, individual residents blushing and nodding as she made eye contact with the people who had joined them by ship in the years after the RV Papillon first arrived—"and to build this community into what it is today."
Another round of applause. Brenda looked out over the sea of faces, many of them now familiar to her. Caught Katie's eye in the crowd, gave a wide smile. Katie smiled and waved at her, giggling a little as the young man with his arms around her waist—Joey, Brenda thought, or Jeremy, Jason, something like that—whispered something in her ear. She'd met him once; he seemed nice enough, spending most of his time caring for the animals at the Big Farm. His father had been a livestock veterinarian somewhere in rural Oregon, he'd said, and he'd always planned on following his footsteps. Katie had shyly introduced him—what was his name? Jonathan? Jayden? Something with a J—a few months ago, and Brenda had wholeheartedly approved of the way he'd stared adoringly at her the whole time.
Maura was still talking, but Brenda had stopped listening to the words, instead watching the way the light caught her silvery hair, the way the bright blue of her dress made her stand out in sharp relief even though she was the only one on the little stage. Made her eyes into pools of shimmering gold, her pale skin glowing in the gathering sunlight as the morning haze burned off.
She thought of Sharon again, but it didn't hurt; instead it filled her with a warmth that she treasured. Thought of Sharon's thick, shiny hair, also gone gray, rippling nearly to her waist when she let it down. Of her clear jade-green eyes, owlish and glittering behind her glasses. Her surprisingly slight frame, hidden for too long under wide, structured suits, her delicate wrists, the way she never, ever stopped sighing in annoyance when Brenda huffed and puffed about some petty grievance. Of the moment that annoyance had become fond, tolerant, loving; how everything had changed so suddenly, but so inevitably.
Sharon had let her in, had given her such a gift. It still ached sometimes, when Brenda dreamed of kissing her while bathed in the light of a wintry mountain sunrise, but mostly it made her understand how love could be boundless, could exist without condition or end. That she was worthy of receiving that kind of love. That she was capable of giving it.
Sharon had helped her realize that the love they had for each other wasn't just for them alone, but a state of being. Sharon had been her best friend, her lover, her whole heart, but her death hadn't meant an end for Brenda, too.
"Don't you dare turn into a sad old spinster, Brenda," Sharon had rasped from her thick swaddle of blankets, gaunt and ghost-pale in the wan light of the late afternoon. "I refuse to take the blame for your insufferable, self-indulgent self-pity after I'm gone just because you miss me; I should hope I'd have earned a break from your stubbornness by then."
"But Sharon—"
"Don't you dare."
Brenda's lip quivered, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over.
"I can't imagine I'll have a lot of options anyway," she'd said, trying to sound light, cheerful, like she wasn't watching the flame of her love flickering out slowly right in front of her.
"Oh Brenda Leigh," Sharon had sighed, letting her eyes slide closed. "Of course you will. You're the sun, don't you know that? Looking at you is like looking into the sun. It's something everyone wants, even if they don't know why, and none of us can turn away."
Brenda had frowned, bitten her lip. "I don't wanna be all that," she'd whispered, reaching for Sharon's thin hand. "I just wanna love you forever."
"You will," Sharon's eyes were still closed as she smiled, faintly, but real, warm, beautiful. "I know you will, Brenda."
And she did. She loved Sharon, missed her fiercely, wanted to see her, to talk to her every single day. But now, impossibly, here was Maura, her first real, true love, and she thought about Sharon, how grateful she was to her for really, truly opening her heart. For letting her love Maura again, too; for helping her to see that loving her didn't mean she loved Sharon any less.
"Take love where you find it, Brenda Leigh," Sharon had murmured into her hair as the sunset painted them in red and gold. "God knows there's not enough of it."
"Seabrook's new Chief of Public Safety, Brenda Leigh Johnson," she heard through the fog of her recollection. Cleared her throat, smiled at Maura as she stepped onto the platform. Gave her a tight hug, a swift peck on the lips, grinning widely as the crowd whistled and whooped.
"Well, good mornin', y'all," she said, looking out over everyone, their hopeful, happy faces. Looked back at Maura, her eyes clear and bright, her hands clasped over her heart, her face open and loving and beautiful. "Most of you know me, but if you don't, I'm Brenda."
"Yeah, Chief!" someone in the crowd called, sparking another round of cheers and hollers.
"I'm honored to help keep everyone happy and healthy as your Chief of Public Safety, and I'm humbled by your trust in me. I know we didn't have much time to get to know each other before things went a little, uh, off the rails, but the way every one of you stood together to help each other, to risk your safety, and some of you, your lives—" she met Maura's eyes for just a moment before the other woman blushed, looked down at her feet—"in order to help people you hadn't ever even met, is a testament to the community y'all have built, and to the courage and compassion of every one of you."
She paused, suddenly overcome with feeling. There was more she'd planned to say, more about their shared ordeal, but it suddenly felt wrong. Looked out again and saw Pierre and his wife Mattie, Pierre bouncing their toddler daughter in his arms, Lev Kuznetsov next to them, stern expression stymied by his finger gripped tightly in the little girl's chubby hand. Maggie and Liz, who Brenda had eventually learned were sisters, poking at each other and grinning. Peter, sitting at a picnic table with Misha, their hands entwined. Fernando, standing by himself, but nobody could miss the glances he was sharing with the handsome Lieutenant Baranov across the green. Brenda smiled as he gave her a little waggle of his fingers. Swallowed the lump rising in her throat, took a deep breath.
"I was gonna stand up here and talk about what happened in January, but I don't think it'll help anyone to get into all that again. Instead, I want you to enjoy what you've all created together. This festival is a testament to your strength, your resilience, and your determination to rebuild the world better, and I'm—I'm so proud to call Seabrook my home." She sniffled, dabbed at her eyes. Looked out across the crowd, applauding, patting shoulders and backs, exchanging embraces. She smiled, leaned back to the microphone. "Now could someone please find April and get her to bring me one of those chocolate eclairs before they're gone? Thank you so much."
That night was the illuminated procession, a solemn, silent walk from the town square down to the beach, everyone holding small paper lanterns with the names of their lost loved ones written on them. Nearly the whole community was there; the night sky was patchy with clouds but the stars still shone down on them, matching the soft gleam of hundreds of tiny candles.
Once everyone had arrived at the beach, five people moved to the front of the group, the slowly-receding tide lapping and fizzing at their feet as they sang together, a sweet, melancholy choral piece offering the memories of the departed to the sea, to be carried across the world forever. One by one, people walked slowly, silently into the waves, pushing their little bark-bottomed lanterns out until the sea shimmered with soft lights being pulled slowly away, one wave at a time.
There were scattered sobs throughout the assembled crowd, people leaning on each other, holding each other as the little lights rippled into darkness. Gradually people drifted away until there were only a handful left staring up at the stars, out across the dark horizon. Maura brushed her fingertips down Brenda's arm, caught her hand lightly, nodded toward the little beach house.
They didn't speak on the walk there, or as they were changing into pajamas, or brushing their teeth. They didn't speak as Brenda led Maura out to the little porch with its little wicker loveseat, tugged her down, wrapped her arms around her, rested her chin on her shoulder. Didn't speak for long minutes, just watched the waves, listened to them lapping and fizzing back onto themselves.
"I love you," Brenda said finally, her voice low and gentle.
"I love you too," Maura replied, squeezing Brenda's hand.
"Thank you," Brenda said, not even trying to keep the waver out of her voice as she nuzzled at Maura's neck.
"For what?" She frowned audibly, and Brenda gave a light little laugh.
"For everything, darlin'. For all of it. For this life."
Maura was silent for a long time, Brenda pulling out the pins holding up her braid, gently loosening it, carding her fingers through long strands the color of moonlight.
"Would you trade it?" she murmured.
It was Brenda's turn to fall silent. Thought of all she'd lost, but also of what she'd found, what she'd been given.
"No," she said, quietly but firmly, "I can't say as I would."
"Hmm."
"Would you?"
"I wouldn't."
They sat there for a long while, listening to the sea. Eventually Maura stood, pulled Brenda up after her. "Time for bed," she said softly. "It's been a long day."
Brenda tugged on her hand, drawing her in for a gentle kiss. Maura smiled against her mouth and Brenda nearly swooned.
"Come on," Maura said. "I'm getting cold."
Brenda nodded, following her into the little house.
One by one, the lamps in the windows went out, until there was only one left, and after that, only the soft glow of the stars to guide any weary travelers home.
a/n: thank you all so much for going along with this little experiment! it's been a delight to tell this story, and to explore this crossover! I know it's unusual, and maybe not what people want, but it's been so fun! I wonder if anyone would be interested in more stories set in this universe; my roommate (who turned out to be my biggest fan, how neat!) and I have already developed a new exciting plot that may or may not involve doomsday cults. lmk! ilu! ty!