The Minor Objects

"You're acting like this is a life sentence!" Fritz stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in one hand and cell phone in the other, dressed in a suit and tie, and ready to go to work. "It's your federally mandated paid vacation time, one that you never take!"

"Forced vacation time," Brenda corrected. "And Pope's only makin' me take it because Delk is going on and on about overtime and budget meetins." The blonde pulled her feet up onto the chair she was sitting on, still in her pyjamas. "What am I s'posed to do?"

"Go out! Enjoy life! Call Provenza or Gabriel, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to have coffee."

Brenda bit her lip, refusing to comment. She wasn't the only one who had been forced to take time off - admittedly, she was the worst offender, according to Pope.

"Right, I'm going to work." He kissed her on the head.

"No need to rub it in," Brenda grumped for good measure. When Fritz had left, she picked up the phone and dialled Gabriel who picked up on the fifth ring - an eternity, really.

"I'm in Palm Springs, Chief."

"Palm Springs?"

"Golfing, Chief."

"I didn't know you golfed, Detective."

David chuckled. "I don't but my dad seems to think I should carry on the family tradition."

"Oh...well..." Brenda swirled her finger around her breakfast ice cream bowl. "You go on and have a good time now."

"Thanks, Chief. You, too."

She called Flynn after that, just to see what was going on at Major Crimes. "Any new cases comin' in?"

"Nah," he said. "We're just picking up some of Robbery/Homicide's slack."

"Anythin' interestin'?"

"Not really. I'm just running background on some homicide victim. Looks like a burglary gone wrong. Shot with his own gun."

"Sign of a struggle?"

"Hard to tell," he said, sounding bored. "What with the burglary, the house was a mess."

"Oh."

She dialled Provenza then. He had tickets for the movies tonight, with his girlfriend.

"We're seeing some French thing, I have no idea, Chief, but Barbara is French Canadian. It's all very artsy."

"You're goin' to see an artsy movie? In French?"

"Now, don't you start, Chief!"

"Nevermind..."

She spent the rest of the morning not cleaning and not calling the only other person who she knew was also on forced vacation.

She probably has all sorts of fancy schmancy plans, swanning about town with her tons of friends. Amazin' restaurants, and all.

Brenda sulked, going over all the unfairness, bit by bit.

"Raydor?"

The blonde sucked her lower lip in. "Hi. It's me...Brenda."

"Oh!" Sharon exclaimed. "Brenda."

"Yes."

"What can I do for you? I-I was under the impression that you were on forced vacation as well."

Brenda couldn't help but chuckle at that. "So I'm not the only one callin' it that. Forced vacation."

"God!" Sharon groaned into the phone. "It's the worst!"

"Tell me about it. Taylor has my squad cleanin' up his leftovers while I'm banned from the buildin'!"

"Banned?" Sharon husked. "My, oh, my."

"I know," she mumbled. "I'm not that bad...no matter what Pope says."

"You're worse."

She probably was, Brenda thought sullenly. "So..."

"So." Sharon repeated. "Oh, uh, my son's here."

"Your son?"

"Yes," Sharon said, the smile audible in her voice. "We're having lunch."

Disappointed, Brenda nibbled on her fingernail.

"But I'm free tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"For brunch."

"Brunch?"

"Great! I'll make reservations."

Brenda rolled her eyes. "You keep doin' this to me, you know?"

"Well, Brenda," Sharon chuckled, "You're terrible at asking."

"What are you getting all, uh, how do you say?" Fritz stood behind her as she applied her make up. "Gussed up for?"

Brenda swiveled around, pouting her newly painted lips. "It's 'gussied', and I am not! B'sides, I'm goin' out to brunch."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes." Brenda smiled, satisfied with her lipstick.

"You get a hold of Gabriel?"

"Golfin'," she said, "I'm meetin' Sharon at some swank place in Brentwood."

"Raydor?"

Brenda fluffed her hair. "She's on forced vacation, too. She knows some sort of French place..."

"Raydor," Fritz repeated evenly. "In Brentwood? They charge fifty dollars for a croissant."

The blonde rolled her eyes and gave up on her appearance - she looked as good as she possibly could without adding another half an hour on her hair. She had put rollers in when Fritz had been in the shower earlier and she had picked out her most casual yet most expensive looking outfit.

"Ooooh, I'm gonna be late!"

"I thought you were having brunch? It's only eight."

"I know that," she whined. "But I was gonna stop by work-"

"Brenda," Fritz said seriously. "You're banned from the building."

"And Chief Pope's in a meetin' at 8:30 so he'll never know."

Brenda poured over the newly acquired case file with waning interest. She always, always gave all her cases her very best but maybe this time off was wearing her down.

It had only been two days yet she could feel her gray matter deteriorating into slush and her body, restless, turn to a pile of goo.

"You are the worst!"

Brenda's eyes shot up and landed on Raydor who stood before her table in the patisserie style restaurant. "Just what Flynn's been practically ordered he's allowed to give me. Cold case file..."

"Any good?" Sharon pulled out a chair, right next to her and sat, crossing her legs.

The blonde couldn't help but stare at the bare skin, the hem of the dress ending just above the knee. "Nah." Brenda looked down again at the crime scene photos then shut the file and stuffed it into her purse. "Sorry."

"Oh, it's fine," Sharon said graciously.

They had coffee while they waited for their brunch. Sharon had ordered for them both.

Brenda chomped down on her lip as the waiter laid out their food. Croissants and freshly baked bread, jams and little chocolatey cakes, fruit and honey, butter...lots of it. And a glass of champagne.

"Oooh, this is nice!" Brenda popped a petit four into her mouth.

"Just what I needed," Sharon said. "I'm glad you called, actually."

"Oh, really?" The blonde asked, surprised, around a mouthful of bread. "You bored, too?"

"Not bored. Frustrated."

"With your forced vacation time?"

"With Chief Delk's lift of the promotion freeze."

Brenda frowned. "Why's that?" She asked and then said, before she could stop herself, "'Cause he ain't promotin' you?"

"Ha! No." Sharon dead-panned. "In case you have forgotten, I'm the women's coordinator of the LAPD and I have noticed that the only woman who may receive any promotion...is you."

"And you don't think I deserve it?" Brenda snatched a croissant; whatever Sharon's answer, it wouldn't bother her either way.

"On the contrary," the brunette said. "However," she added delicately, "there are about a handful of female officers who also deserve to move up another step on the ladder but, sadly, they have been overlooked."

As Sharon spread butter on her own croissant, Brenda couldn't help but watch, fascinated. She did eat more than salad then.

"So, I was thinking, since you seem to have a great relationship with the Chief, that maybe you could, shall we say, nudge him in the right direction."

"Great relationship?" Brenda snorted. "I don't think so."

"What do you mean?"

"If I weren't such an asset to him, he'd probably have a hard time toleratin' me." Pouting, Brenda ate more chocolate. "He thinks I'm reckless and impulsive and incapable of inter-departmental politics. Nevermind that the FBI hates my guts, the DEA can't stand me and the District Attorney's Office hangs straight up when I call."

Sharon grinned, champagne halfway to her lips. "That's not true! Look how well we work together."

"Very funny," Brenda grumped. "He knows what I'm capable of, just like Will, but the only reason he wants me as Assistant Chief is because he hates Will and realizes my value. Just like Pope. I'm 'difficult to manage', he says but he don't seem to have any problem pullin' me out as his trump card: 'remember that time I hired that woman from Atlanta? Didn't that work out a treat?'"

Sharon's face fell in disbelieve.

"Delk's got a rulebook stuck up his you know what...no offence."

"None taken."

"Funny thing is," she said with a broad smile. "That's why I was hired in the first place."

"What, the rules?"

Brenda nodded. "After the Rampart scandal, after Taylor...well," she leaned closer with a conspiring smile. "I know all about the rules, Sharon."

"Gosh," she said evenly. "For some reason I have a really hard time believing that."

"It's true. I probably know 'em better than you do," she licked chocolate off her thumb and glared at Sharon who was rolling her eyes. "I was hired because I get convictions, not just confessions, and that involves a very intimate understanding of the rules."

"And how to...bend them?"

"Nooo," Brenda said slowly, "it's about knowin' where the loopholes are."

"Ah." Sharon smiled. "And it's my job to close them."

"Hmm. We really do make each other's lives difficult."

"Only marginally."

The blonde nodded, agreeing, then watched Raydor eat her croissant. "Who are those female officers?"

"Oh? You wanna help?"

"I might get Will to be agreeable, depends how aggravated I'll decide to be about this whole forced vacation time."

Sharon grinned, her eyes shining behind her glasses. "Brenda. I like the way you think."

"So that's where you get all your little suits from," Brenda said, nose nearly pressed against the shop window. Beside her, Sharon nodded nonchalanty while she did something as plebeian as slurping soda through a straw.

"Wow," the blonde swooned. "I never knew that was here." The shop was full of high end designer clothes, second hand, believe it or not.

"Don't get me wrong, I splurge on shoes and handbags all the time," Sharon said evenly, "but I can't prance around a crime scene in a thousand dollar suit."

"Yeah," Brenda dead-panned, "Whatever would you do if you got blood on it?"

"Exactly."

As the blonde's eyes roamed over a beautiful purse, Sharon cleared her throat.

"So. I showed you mine, where's yours?"

"My what?"

"Oh, c'mon," Sharon looked her up and down. "That vintage doesn't just happen."

Brenda nibbled on her lip then huffed. "China Town."

"China Town?"

She nodded casually. "A gay guy with a passion for, well, whatever you'd call my wardrobe."

"You have to show me," Sharon gushed. "I promise I won't tell."

"Fine," Brenda trotted down the sidewalk, "But you have to get me coffee first." They entered the nearest coffee shop and Brenda was tempted to order something with a giant pile of cream on top but refrained.

Even though Sharon was drinking some sweet concotion, unbelievable, really, the blonde still couldn't bring herself to indulge that much. They stood in line, the skinny girl in front ordered a mocha with whipped cream.

"That sounds right up your alley."

"Hm? Oh, no, I shouldn't-"

Sharon ordered the mocha, with cream, and handed her the beverage with glee in her eyes. Brenda felt very transparent then but shrugged it off - Sharon kind of knew her, at least a little bit.

"Oh, shoot!" The blonde licked cream off her finger on their way out.

"Here," Sharon said and stopped next to the door. "Napkins."

"Thanks." Brenda put her drink down, turned and bumped straight into a guy. He brushed past her, went for the door-

"Hey!"

He rushed out and walked, briskly, down the sidewalk.

"That's him, it's Crawley!" The blonde went after him. "Hey! Stop! Stop right now!" Crawley started running and that's when Brenda lost sight of him. Behind her, Sharon caught up with her, holding both their drinks. "I saw him!"

The blonde huffed, frustrated. "There. See? He violated the order."

"And what? We can't prove it. And besides, he might have been in there before us-"

"You know that's not true," Brenda said, taking her drink back. "He's followin' you 'round, Sharon, and the fact that he's gettin' this close worries me."

"What do you want me to do? Never go anywhere?"

"Of course not..." Staring down the road, where he had disappeared, Brenda came up empty.

After their successful first friendly lunch, Brenda had wondered whether it was actually in the realm of possibility that they were a perfect match for one another. Sergeant Elliott had once suggested that they were too much alike to get along.

So, if Sharon was anything like her - bad at friendship, bad at commitment, bad at interpersonal relationships - they were, indeed, doomed.

Thankfully, and Brenda patted herself on the back for that realization, Sharon and her weren't two peas in a pod. At all.

Men just liked to think of women that way.

Sharon was good at friendship, she was committed, and she was excellent at interpersonal relationships. If she were anything less, they wouldn't have made further lunch plans, for next week.

It was surprising, really, that the woman could stand to spend more than a minute with her. That she wanted to be friends, even.

"Friends?"

Brenda nodded. "Yes, mama. I told you before that Sharon and I get on."

"Well, you haven't mentioned her since. I just thought you'd gotten busy..."

"I am busy," Brenda said, although it didn't look much like it at that point; all she had to occupy herself with was some cold case file and a piece of cake she had picked up on her morning run earlier. "And Sharon's busy, too, which is why she don't get mad at me if I can't make dinner."

"My," her mama swooned. "She was very nice. At Christmas, remember?"

"Yes, I remember, mama."

"And she's a great cook!"

"Yes, mama."

"And she dresses like one of these Hollywood types-"

"Yes."

"-and she calls her parents every week."

"Mama," Brenda said, "d'you want me to ask Sharon if she'd like to be your daughter, too? She's so nice she might even agree to it."

"I'm sorry, Brenda Leigh, you know I didn't mean it like that."

Sighing, Brenda nodded to herself. "I know, mama."

"I'm just so happy that you've finally found a friend. Oh, I have to tell your daddy all about it! He thought," she said conspiringly, "that you and Sharon just worked together."

"We do. Sometimes. Our divisions don't really cross paths all that often." Brenda snorted, bemused. "Good thing, too, 'cause we don't get along at work."

Her mama made a tiny, curious noise in the back of her throat. "What an odd dynamic."

"Tell me about it."

Friends, then. Brenda smiled so wide her face hurt because, for once, she had actually met somebody who thought she was worth their while.