Beginning With Bone

If anyone thought it strange that their Chief deposited a highly strung and very severe looking Captain Raydor in the media room, they didn't let on.

Provenza, though, gave Sharon a long look. Not one of antagony but rather of curiosity.

On one screen she saw Julio and Flynn talking to her former informant, on another she saw Brenda and Martinez. Gabriel stood in the corner, looking angry.

Martinez hadn't asked for a lawyer not even realizing that he was a mere sitting duck for one Chief Johnson to hunt down. It was the perfect setup.

Until Fritz walked in.

Sharon looked at him and he looked at her, and she could tell he almost huffed in annoyance. She really shouldn't blame Brenda for this, but Sharon couldn't find it in herself not to.

"Excuse me," she said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them, and stepped out and into the Murder Room. Lately, she couldn't even bear to be in the same building as him.

He hated her. Clearly.

She was hated plenty, but being despised for the job she did was completely different from being despised for kissing someone else's wife.

She wondered sometimes what had driven Brenda to do what they had done but no amount of puzzling had ever produced an answer. Somehow, she felt awful for the man - thankfully he didn't know the rest of it - yet somehow, she hated him right back.

It was such a startling and uncomfortable realization.

"It's not always black and white, Fritz!"

Sharon startled as Brenda breezed past her, followed by Agent Howard.

"You're the one who can't seem to see the bigger picture!" He said and slammed the door to Brenda's office. Not that it did anything to mute their argument, it muffled it at best.

Sharon crossed her arms as Provenza trundled in.

"What I see is a murderer!"

"How many people do you think Prince has killed, hm? Girls that disappear off the face of the earth. Addicts that die-"

"Prince is not my problem," Brenda interrupted. "My problem is Detective Tolliver, a police officer who's-"

"A dirty cop!"

"So now we're determinin' whose life is worth more by how good a person they were?"

Sharon bit her lip; she had seen that coming.

"You know that's not true." Fritz seemed to have run out of steam, or so Sharon thought, but it was merely the calm before the storm. "And what is she doing here?!" He pointed straight at her.

"Sharon happens to work here," Brenda said and Sharon wished in that instance, like so many times before, that the blonde had learned to refrain from having to have the last word.

"Right," Fritz said and then nearly ripped the door off its hinges.

So that's what it was all about, Sharon thought, and steeled herself. She hoped he'd just leave but deep down, in her gut, she knew that whatever he had always been too well mannered to say to her, was just simmering right there beneath the surface.

Sharon wasn't proven wrong. He made a beeline for her, his eyes angry and dark. "Just...just-" Fritz cut himself off. He looked at her, breathing heavily and then brushed past her.

Sharon stood impossibly still, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. Anything was preferable to this. Closing her eyes for a moment, she reached for the last shred of composure she had left then she saw Brenda, who looked furious.

"Not a word, Lieutenant," the blonde said to Provenza whose face was blank. "Come along now, Sharon, let's make sure a murderer is gettin' exactly what he deserves." And then, with a nonchalance that could only be mastered by one Brenda Johnson, the blonde breezed past them both towards the interview room.

Taking a shaky breath, Sharon decided to follow Brenda's lead. Her embarrassment abated somewhat, even as she looked at Provenza.

"I don't even wanna know," he said after a long moment. "By the way, your little CI is asking for you."

Sharon nodded stiffly. "Okay. Yes, thank you, Lieutenant."

Provenza lifted his eyebrows at her one last time then stalked off.

"Aren't you supposed to be at home," Sharon said bitterly, "With you husband?"

Brenda, who had knocked on her door for the second time that night, rolled her eyes mightily and practically barged into the house. "I happen to prefer your company, what with Fritz sulkin', but from the looks of thangs you're throwin' a pity party bash yourself."

Sharon glanced at the wine glass in her hand and thinned her lips to keep from speaking her mind. Fine, she thought, fine, if Brenda wanted to play it that way...fine. She slammed the door shut and walked away, into the living room.

She knew she was being petty, and Brenda didn't deserve it, on this occasion, but Fritz and his rightful anger had reminded Sharon that what they had done wasn't all Brenda's fault.

It was more of a joint effort.

"I'm trying to figure out what to do about Elliott, if you must know," she said evenly because it was mostly the truth, and sat on her couch, pulling her silk robe all the way down to her knees.

Not that Brenda hadn't seen it all. And really, Sharon berated herself, she needed to stop thinking like that.

"Believe it or not," Brenda snarked, "I came to see how you were, as we're tryin' to be friends but since you don't seem to be in the mood for my company, I might as well go."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Brenda, if you're trying to guilt trip me, you have to try harder. I'm catholic, remember?"

The blonde snorted then plopped down on the smaller couch, instantly creating a mess with her giant purse and her airy trench, and reading glasses, everything spilling here, there and everywhere. "I did come here to see how you were doin'." She admitted softly. "'Cause I like you. And we both know there aren't a whole lotta people in Los Angeles County that I actually do like."

"Or like you, for that matter."

"My, aren't you just a barrel of laughs."

"Ha," Sharon chuckled. "Wine?"

"Just another reason why you're my favorite person."

Reaching for another glass, Sharon wrinkled her nose. "Now you're just laying it on too thick."

"Shoulda quit when I was ahead," Brenda said and shrugged.

Pouring the wine, Sharon wondered whether to mention what had happened earlier, with Fritz. Brenda didn't seem to want to. That's why she came, Sharon realized, to see how angry she was.

The brunette handed over the glass then studied the blonde with narrowed eyes. "So," she said casually. "Why aren't you at home, really?"

"I told you." Brenda bit her lip, stared into her wine glass then said, "I'm avoidin' Fritz."

"Ah."

"It all seemed to be gettin' better. He wasn't mentionin' it anymore."

"But now he is?"

"Not really," Brenda mumbled, a look of introspection crossing her features. "He's angry at me about somethin'. But it ain't that, or not just that, I'm sure."

Sharon lifted her eyebrows, prompting.

"I mighta been irritable."

"Irritable? You? I can't imagine."

The blonde looked away. "I've been havin' a hard time lately."

"Oh?"

"After we broke-I mean, after we stopped seein' each other."

Sharon swallowed against her dry mouth; she wished she had left it alone. "Brenda..." She wasn't going to fall back into bed with the woman just because the blonde had a hard time getting over, well, whatever it was.

"I know, I know. This is awkward but honestly, it's not what you think. I just-I just sorta missed you."

"Missed me?" Sharon parroted.

"I'm sayin' it wrong!" Brenda whined and then looked away, cheeks pink. "Sharon," she said quietly, "I missed you, this, I guess and I was so angry at Fritz for takin' that away."

"You know that's not true. I took that away."

The blonde nodded. "I know. And it was the right decision. I was just angry at Fritz for not being what I thought I wanted but...I realize now that everything's how it's s'posed to be. You 'n I, we're not in love, we're not...anything. Just two people bein' selfish, is all."

Somehow, that stung a little.

"Well...I've felt awful for so long, Brenda, and I just couldn't-"

"I know," Brenda said morosely. "You're the better person, Sharon, 'cause I didn't feel bad one bit."

Sharon nodded, she knew that. She knew what Brenda was like. She knew that, if Fritz found out, she'd feel just as horrible but for as long as she could have kept this to herself, Brenda wouldn't have stopped.

Sometimes it sucked to be the grown up, Sharon thought.

"I should've felt awful. Maybe about Fritz. I should've felt awful for what I was doin' to you. So..."

Ah. "I'm sorry, too."

Brenda's bottom lip wobbled then she smiled a little. "Okay. Good, um-"

A loud knock interrupted whatever awkward thing Brenda had been about to say. Sharon made for the door and the blonde followed her, trailing a few steps behind her.

Sharon looked through the peep hole then opened the door with a sigh.

"Sergeant. Do you know what time it is?"

Elliott stood on her doorstep, fidgeting nervously. "I'm sorry, Captain." As he spotted Brenda, his eyes narrowed. "Uh, Chief. Um, sorry to interrupt."

"Can it wait 'til tomorrow?" She wanted him gone, especially with Brenda there who did exactly what Sharon expected her to do.

"Why don't you come on in, Sergeant? Sharon 'n I were just talkin', it'll keep 'til the mornin'."

"Brenda..." Sharon warned but the blonde put on her most sugary smile anyway.

Elliott seemed confused; confused about the situation, about the sugary smile, confused about 'Sharon' and 'Brenda'. He looked at her for guidance, and it broke Sharon's heart to give him a little nod.

"It's, uh, about the phone records," he said, his eyes awkwardly moving back and forth between the two women.

"I thought y'all had to hand over everythin' to Major Crimes, Sergeant."

"We did, I mean, we had a copy. I did, I mean."

Sharon couldn't watch it any longer. Before Brenda could continue her questioning, she jumped in. "What about the phone records, Sergeant?"

"Well, I just thought, you know, that it was strange," he said, his dark eyebrows furrowed. "How did they know we were coming? Right?"

Sharon looked at Brenda and Brenda looked right back.

"Have you shared this observation with anyone else?"

"No," he said immediately. "Just with you, obviously, and the Chief." He looked at them again. "What's all this about? I mean-JJ? What's up with that? And you and Chief Johnson-wait a minute! Are you two investigating-"

"We know about the burner cell," Brenda interrupted. "Now, Sergeant, can we move this conversation away from incoherent ramblins and perhaps focus on why it took you this long to mention it?"

Elliott looked scandalized. "Hey! I mean, Chief Johnson-ma'am. The thing is, oh gosh, I uh, I'm sorry, Captain, but when you told me to go over the records, well, I didn't."

That's when it dawned on Sharon. She couldn't ask, couldn't form the words and was grateful when Brenda did and put them all out of their misery.

"Then who did?"

"Um," Elliott looked away, ashamed. "Peck?"

It was late when Sharon wove her way through the Murder Room. Provenza was still at his desk, sparing her a mere glare as she walked past, but Brenda's light was still on in her office, and she could just about make out the Chief's silhouette, hunched over her desk.

When she reached the office, the door was open. Brenda was signing papers, her glasses perched low on her nose, almost slipping off. She had her hair tied into a loose ponytail, curls spilling over her right shoulder as she nibbled on her pen.

Sharon swallowed, pushing that soft, vulnerable feeling back into the pit of her stomach. She knocked on the door jamb and Brenda's eyes flew up, magnified by her reading glasses, big and brown.

"Hi," Sharon said with a smile that she hoped was inviting.

"Hi," Brenda drawled back and pulled her glasses down. "You headin' out?"

"I was about to but I was wondering, if, maybe, you'd like to come with."

"Come with where?"

Sharon bit her lip and forced herself to feel normal again. "I really need a drink," she declared. "And even though this is far from over, I thought tapas would be the perfect accompaniment for a bottle of red."

Brenda chuckled at her and stacked papers. She seemed to mull the invitation over and Sharon hoped she'd take it as an excuse not to finish whatever report she had to fill out.

"You know what?" Brenda said, her voice high pitched as if she herself couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. "Why not? I'm hungry. And people keep tellin' me I get cranky when I don't eat."

"Oooh, we wouldn't want that," Sharon snarked. "Follow me?"

"Ha," Brenda chuckled, getting out of her chair. "If you wanna get a bottle of wine in me, you're drivin'."

As the blonde shugged out of her beige cardigan, Sharon, for the first time since, well, ever, felt as if they were alone together, as if there wasn't this presence lurking somewhere in the shadows. Just the two of them, in Brenda's office.

"Here," Sharon pulled the trench off the hook and held it out. Brenda seemed to have no qualms about slipping into it as she held it out for her.

"Thanks," she drawled and picked up her purse. "This place better be good, Sharon."

They left together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. They bade Provenza goodnight and took the elevator downstairs. "What about your car?"

"Oh, we're takin' mine."

"We are?"

Brenda nodded. "I think you need that bottle more than I do. And b'sides, your car is missin' a window."

Sharon frowned then leaned back against the stainless steel wall of the elevator - maybe she did need that bottle. "I'm happy to inform you, that the Department has kindly lent me a very reliable and functional Crown Vic."

"You mean a rust bucket? From 1995?"

The brunette pulled a face. "Yes."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow. On my way."

"It's not really on your way, though."

The blonde shrugged nonchalantly and said nothing. Maybe she didn't mind going out of her way for Sharon.

The brunette smiled to herself, warmed somehow, and stared at her feet.

"Brenda?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For your help."

The blonde blushed a little and nodded. She didn't take praise very well, or compliments for that matter, and remained mute.

Sharon smiled again as Brenda avoided her gaze.

Maybe this could actually work.

Later that night, Sharon wished she hadn't jinxed it.