A/N: Let the drama commence...

When the Penny Drops

SID had it all wrapped up two days later, not the next day, as Brenda had hoped. She had seen Sharon once, yesterday, to hand back her gun after the ballistics report had come in.

She had seen Provenza cornering the woman on her way out, his face solemn and, dare she say, empathetic. Then Flynn had joined their conversation, all stony faced and serious.

Brenda had remembered then, that they had used to work together, that Sharon had, in fact been partnered with Andy once, when she had been a rookie.

That evening SID had released the scene - Sharon's house - and Brenda had gotten the best crime scene cleaner upper Lieutenant Tao knew of and had then presented Pope with the bill. He didn't mind pushing things like that through for her these days - he was getting fired soon, as far as he was concerned.

"I've cataloged the evidence, Chief," Provenza had said late that evening. "I'll walk it down there now."

"It can wait 'til the mornin'."

"Eh," he had grumped and given her a very pointed look. "Maybe it would be better if I took these tonight, Chief."

The diaries, or log books, of course. Brenda had nodded and gone home.

Fritz had been very cheery when she had arrived, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and had asked how it all went.

"Good, good. Ballistics came back, no surprises there..."

"And?" He had prodded over Chinese take out.

"And, we're cataloging the evidence and I made Pope pay for a clean up crew."

He had chuckled at Will's expense.

"I'm recording the ball game..." He had then said. "Maybe we can watch that movie we missed yesterday."

Brenda had felt her own face hurt from smiling. It had been almost like it had been before. Fritz's arm around her, curled up on the couch together - that was what it was all about.

Safety. Comfort. Love.

So the next day, when Provenza handed over the summarization of statements, and they saw Delk waltz in, Brenda, for the first time since yesterday, felt her good mood dwindle.

"Does he have some sort of telepathy or why does he always turn up just at the wrong time?"

Provenza just looked at her.

"Chief Johnson...uh, Provenza," Delk said. "I just heard."

"News travels fast," the blond drawled and then said, quite on purpose, "I haven't even had the chance to call Sharon yet."

"Well." He smiled at her boyishly yet with hawk-like eyes. "I just wanted to personally thank you for a speedy conclusion. I'm sure...Captain Raydor feels the same."

"I'm sure she will."

"Well," he said again and shook her hand. "Good work."

"Thank you, Chief."

He gave her a very tight smile then he left.

"What was that all about?" Provenza grumped.

Brenda just shrugged.

"What an odd little man."

"Really, Lieutenant?"

"Hey," Provenza said, "I may be short and I may be odd but I sure don't moon over Darth Raydor." He cleared his throat. "Unlike some people."

Gritting her teeth, Brenda said nothing. Instead she called Sharon. She got her answer phone, both times, and in the end Brenda just left a message.

"And don't forget that appointment with Behavioral Science," she chirped just for good measure.

When she got home that night, late, and pulled onto the drive, she wondered where Fritz was. He hadn't called but then again, neither had she.

Nevermind, she thought as she stuck the key in the lock, a glass of wine was waiting for her.

What greeted her on the other side of the door, after she had almost tripped over it in the dark, was a suitcase. One of two as she discovered once she had turned the light on.

Brenda just stared at the set.

Then the penny dropped.

She dug into her purse, shifting its entire contents from one side to the other five times before dumping it all on the floor.

They weren't there, she realized with increasing horror.

Brenda abandoned everything and hurried into the bedroom. There, she went through the hamper, frantically throwing clothes onto the floor until it was empty.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no!"

The underwear was gone from her purse, and her clothes gone from the floor where she had discarded them. With a sickening feeling she sank to the floor, cradling her upset tummy.

"No, no, no..."

Several thoughts went through her head.

She should call Fritz.

She should call Sharon.

She should check the washing machine.

She should check the closet because maybe Fritz was going on a trip.

Brenda opened the closet, slowly, her head so hot and thumping with terror, she might just pass out from it.

Yes. Half her work clothes were gone. Half her casual outfits, too. Packed into two small suitcases. Her body shook and her heart constricted painfully in her chest, sucking her lungs, her entire rib cage, into a black, bottomless abyss.

She stood there, staring, blinking, and for a moment she felt suspended somewhere in the air, looking down at herself with a detachment usually reserved for crime scenes. Then her face went even hotter, her limbs heavy, leaden.

He had found out.

At first, Brenda wondered how then searched her memory, puzzling over last night, when they had sat on the couch together. Had he known then?

It had been a goodbye, Brenda realized. Au revoir to this marriage. Aufwiedersehen, Brenda Leigh. He had known.

"Oh, Fritz," she mumbled.

Out in the hallway, she collected her things and stuffed them back into her purse. If she hadn't been so careless...

If she hadn't. If she hadn't...any of this.

Then, stuck to one suitcase, she found an envelope. A note, maybe? Brenda opened it and scribbled onto a post-it was Fritz's handwriting.

'Don't call.'

The post-it was stuck to a key card for the Hyatt. Funny, Brenda thought, that's where she lived when she first came to LA.

She chuckled.

And then she burst into tears. She cried like she hadn't cried in a very, very long time. She sobbed, wailed with her forehead pressed against the floor as the world, her life, spun around her in never ending circles.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "What did I do? What did I do?"

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes." Brenda left it at that as the concierge gave her a tight smile.

In the bathroom she realized that her make-up had run all sorts of places and had then dried in black streaks. She stared at herself for a very long time in a mixture of disbelieve and disgust.

She had no idea how she got here. Not the hotel. But here, to that point in her life. If she were honest with herself which, unbeknownst to most, she was most of the time, brutally so, she'd have to examine that part of herself, the one that she shoved back into the furthest corner of her very being, and deal with what she had avoided for months.

But she couldn't, not yet, think about that. Rationalizing wasn't on the agenda - sorry, compartments full to overflowing.

She laid on the bed for another long, long while with a bottle of wine that she hadn't bothered pouring into a glass. She drank the whole thing, gulping mouthful after mouthful until she couldn't taste the bile.

She thought about calling her Mama but then, maybe, she was too drunk to be careful about what she said when, really, all Brenda wanted to do was to call and cry into the phone and tell her Mama what a huge mistake she had made.

She switched the TV on when the silence became too much. She drank the tequila from the mini bar, and the vodka, both of which she heaved up over the toilet.

Then, around 2, she passed out on the bed.

Brenda woke up slowly. It was her phone buzzing, she knew that, but couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. As she turned over, the buzzing stopped and started anew.

Work. She was meant to be at work! Her eyes shot open and she realized with startling clarity where she was.

Fritz. Maybe it was Fritz.

"Hello?"

"Chief?" It was Gabriel. "Chief, are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. What's goin' on?"

"What's going on?" Gabriel parroted. "We've been calling you for over an hour."

"Ooh, no," she whimpered as the room began to spin around her. "I'm sorry. I've just-I've-"

"Where are you? I'm at your house. And Agent Howard isn't picking up the phone either. We thought you'd been in a car crash or something."

"No, no, I'm fine, I'm just..." Just what? Brenda looked around the room, her unopened suitcases still where the concierge had left them. "I'm..."

"Chief?"

"I can't drive."

"What?"

"And I need you to pick me up...from the Hyatt."

"The Hyatt Regency?"

"Yes," Brenda said slowly. "You still remember where that is?"

Gabriel remained quiet for a moment then said. "Uh, okay, sure. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Brenda hung up and bit her lip, hard. She wanted to stay right there on the bed and not move for at least a whole decade - waste away into nothingness.

As she dragged herself to the bathroom, her stomach lurching and rolling, she tried to come up with an explanation for Gabriel. She showered, mulling it over.

She ended up wrapped in a towel and staring at the suitcases wondering what Fritz had packed for her. Brenda hoped he had remembered a toothbrush and immediately felt heartbroken at the thought.

She always relied on Fritz to organize her things and take care of stuff - she always managed to get to work on time though and he had once complained about that after she had left a dirty plate in the bedroom for over a week and had run out of clean bras.

She opened the first suitcase and found mostly work clothes. She picked an outfit - a skirt, very brightly colored and printed - to divert attention from her swollen eyes and pale complexion. A fuchsia top, glaringly bright, and a somewhat muted black blazer.

He had packed underwear for a week. Was that how long she was supposed to not call?

In the other suitcase she found jeans and shirts and sweaters. Her blow dryer. Make-up. Toothbrush.

For someone who had never really needed anyone, who had merely permitted people to partake in her life, Brenda felt decidedly helpless and left behind. Perhaps that was how Fritz had felt when he had found out? The blonde pushed the thought aside, cramming it into a box at the very back of her mind.

When Gabriel picked her up outside the hotel, reminiscent of her first weeks with the LAPD, Brenda tried to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

David just kept glancing her way for all of five minutes before he had to say something. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

He usually wouldn't speak to her in this way but she could tell he was upset and angry.

"Too much wine," she said, her head pounding and her eyes nearly falling out of their sockets behind her sunglasses. "I..." She took a breath. "I want you to know that, whatever happens, I've always appreciated your candor and your...friendship-"

"You're not gonna quit, are you? I mean, if the Pope becomes Chief now, I'm sure you can pick-"

"Wait." Brenda shook her head. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Chief?" Gabriel looked at her as they came to a stop at an intersection. "Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Chief Delk," he said. "He's dead."

"What?!"

"Massive stroke."

"But-but I only saw him last night." She replayed their encounter in her head for anything out of the ordinary. "When?"

Gabriel sighed. "He collapsed in the middle of City Hall late last night."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," she grumped and tried to muster up some sympathy. "That's terrible."

"So, Pope's the acting Chief."

"Oh, god."

"And you're next in line for his job."

Brenda glared out of the window. "Tell me something I don't know, Detective." She rubbed her temples, fighting the pounding in her head.

"Soooo, Chief. What were you talking about?"

The blonde sighed. "I'm afraid that'll have to wait."