Giving Up On Greener Grasses

by missparker85

New job, new neighborhood, new life.

10. Chapter 10

Brenda can hear the key slide into the lock. She sleeps with her bedroom door open because she's the only one who lives there anyway and because there's almost always dry cleaning hanging on the door and it doesn't actually close. So she hears the lock turn right away.

She supposes it's technically Sunday morning and not Saturday at all anymore but she's still going to count it as Sharon keeping her word. It's dark and it's hard to see the front door from the middle of her bed so she doesn't see Sharon hesitate but she can hear that she opens the door and doesn't come all the way in - had she expected Brenda to wait up for her? Had she expected warm lamps lit and the wine uncorked at one in the morning?

The fact that Brenda is waiting up for her isn't the point. She wasn't sure she'd come, but she couldn't sleep thinking she might. And now, here she is.

"I'm awake," Brenda calls.

She hears the door close, can see the light from the kitchen turn on. Only now is Brenda overwhelmingly tired. Her limbs feel heavy, she's reluctant to leave the warm, soft center of her bed. She listens to Sharon move around her apartment half awake, the sound of her heels on the hardwood and then just her bare feet. The sound of her keys hitting the counter, the kitchen faucet running. Finally the sound of her coming to the doorway of the bedroom. Brenda opens her eyes but it's hard to make out anything past the shape of her. Her hair is big, though, wavy and full of body. Probably from the wet weather - a crime scene outdoors.

"You aren't tired?" Brenda says. Her voice sounds sleepy even to her own ears.

"I'm so tired that I've looped back around to being awake again," Sharon says. "And I thought you wanted to talk to me."

"I always want to talk to you," Brenda says. "You can come in, you know."

"Do you want me to turn on a light?" Sharon says. She shrugs out of her leather jacket, hangs it on the doorknob.

"I can see you well enough if you come closer," Brenda says. She sits up enough to prop herself up on her pillow and scoots to give Sharon enough room to sit on the bed. She hesitates only long enough for it to be noticeable and then perches. Her toes are covered in the same blood red varnish as her fingers; Brenda catches just a glimpse before she tucks them up under her. She stays at the foot of the bed, Brenda at the head.

"It's raining," Sharon says.

"That's what you came here to say?" Brenda asks with a laugh.

"No," Sharon says. She's quiet for a long moment, an intense look on her face that shifts into a brilliant, unsteady smile. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"There's no right or wrong way," Brenda assures her. "Just tell me how you feel."

"I am trying to do just that," Sharon says. "I feel like I don't know… I am not the type of person to go around and kiss my friends."

"I have some evidence to the contrary," Brenda says, curling her fingers into her lap.

"I am not the type of person who kisses women," Sharon offers.

"Neither am I. I think the three wedding rings between us can attest to that," Brenda says.

"But… the first time I saw you, I thought that you were very pretty," Sharon says rolling her eyes. Mostly at herself, Brenda thinks. "When Pope brought you in from Atlanta. Someone got ahold of the memo about you meant for the brass and it circulated pretty thoroughly. You were so pretty that I felt threatened by it and then, when we met finally… I had already decided not to like you."

"I can see, now," Brenda says, "how that might have been an isolating job for you."

Because even if Sharon had wanted to make friends with her, the new girl in town, people don't get friendly with Internal Affairs. Brenda wouldn't have, not off the bat like that.

"You should've been different," Sharon says. "We got off on the wrong foot."

But Brenda doesn't begrudge Sharon anything now. If they had been polite to each other at the get go, if they would have worked well together, would Sharon be sitting here now? At the foot of Brenda's bed while the rain pelts the glass of her window?

"You think I'm pretty?" Brenda asks.

Sharon snorts and it makes Brenda giggle and it helps ease things back to a more tolerable level.

"I think I've been flirting with you," Sharon says. "I mean, I know I have but it wasn't on purpose. Not at first."

"I just got confused," Brenda admits.

"Me too," she says. "Listen. We can go back, if you'd like."

"We keep sayin' that," Brenda says. "That it doesn't have to mean anything and that we can go back."

"We do," Sharon says. "You're my best friend and I don't want to lose that just because I'm attracted to you."

"We're attracted to each other," Brenda says. "This isn't something that's happening to just you."

Sharon shakes her head. "I told you that I don't know what I'm doing."

"I think..." Brenda says and she can feel her heart pounding. She's not sleepy anymore because there's adrenaline coursing through her and when Sharon reaches up and pulls the glasses from her face, it makes her fingertips tingle with anticipation. Her eyes are so clear under thick lashes. "Nobody has to know what we do when we're alone."

Sharon exhales like someone has pushed the breath out of her.

It's the first time they kiss leisurely. No crowd of people, no threat of discovery. Just warm lips and tongues. Just fingers sliding through silky hair, hot skin, heavy breathing. Sharon moves her mouth along Brenda's neck and then Brenda, returning the favor, nips her way along Sharon's jugular.

"That smell," Brenda moans, the first words spoken in quite awhile. "What is it? It makes me crazy."

Sharon chuckles and Brenda can feel it in the skin of her neck where Brenda's mouth still lingers. "Chanel."

"Number five?" Brenda asks, freezing.

"My kids get me a bottle every year for my birthday," Sharon says. "Why?"

"I just like it," Brenda says. Now is not the time to think about Sharon's kids or her own mother. Maybe Sharon is thinking the same thing because she tilts her head and catches Brenda's mouth again. Kisses her again and again until Brenda balls up her hands in the bed sheets just to keep them to herself.

Sharon pulls back, looks a little embarrassed at her own enthusiasm. "I have to go home."

Brenda glances at her night stand and oh god, it's already after three which means they've been necking on her bed for close to two hours like high schoolers afraid of rounding the next base.

"You should get some sleep," Brenda agrees. "Thank you for coming over."

"Are we sure we're okay with this?" Sharon asks.

Brenda nods.

"Okay," Sharon says. She uncrosses her legs, stands, something popping loud enough for Brenda to hear. "Okay," Sharon says again, tucking her hair behind her ears. It looks all tousled. She puts her glasses on and slips her hands into her pockets. "Okay."

"I'll walk you out," Brenda says, getting out of the bed. She's in a long sleeved henley and cotton shorts and she pads after Sharon as she gathers her things - her coat, her bag, her shoes. At the door, Sharon smiles at her.

"Goodnight, Brenda," Sharon says. Brenda wants to kiss her again and Sharon wants it too, Brenda can tell, because they both hesitate, the moment stretching out between them but it's so late and just because Brenda wants to press the length of her body against Sharon doesn't mean it's a good idea. She knows that, at least intellectually, though her body has other ideas. They're in waters uncharted. What does Brenda know about touching women beyond touching herself?

"Goodnight," Brenda says, opening the door.

When she closes the door, she slumps against it and takes a deep, shaky breath.

oooo

Brenda's meeting with the Chief of Police is scheduled for eleven in the morning on a Thursday and Brenda only bothered to schedule an actual appointment to illustrate how serious her request is.

Pope looks overworked to say the least. She can't tell if he's gotten back to his heaviest weight or if the uniform - a size too small, probably - is just making a bad situation worse. He doesn't seem thrilled to see her, though she's dressed to be disarming. Hair up how he likes it, a floral skirt and a matching sweater set. She looks more like the Brenda he knew in Atlanta and not the woman Los Angeles has shaped. Thinner, harder, maybe, but certainly sharper and less apologetic. Brenda can see the change in herself and knows that it's not all bad. Professionally, she's grown. Personally, well. Things are certainly different.

"Chief Investigator Johnson," he says. "I suppose this is what I get for dodging your calls?"

"That certainly woulda been easier," she agrees. "But I thought maybe you just wanted to see my smiling face."

He gives her a false smile, sarcasm evident. Extends a hand to offer her a seat, which she takes, dropping her tote into the other chair and crossing her legs.

"I really am here on somewhat official business," she says.

"Somewhat," he says, sitting in his chair, the leather creaking.

"Well, I won't deny that I'd get something out of it," she says. "They're sending me to the Homeland Security conference in D.C. this month."

"The one on electronics?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

"Armed Forces Communications and Electronics," she says.

"And they're sending you?" he laughs. "To a conference about communicating and also technology?"

"Ha, ha," she says. "They send me to everything because I've worked for so many law enforcement agencies. And I'm a woman."

"And this has what to do with me?" he asks.

"I think you should send Captain Raydor," Brenda says.

He blinks at her, his mouth falling open.

"Now, this ain't me tryin' to tell you how to do your job," Brenda says. "But she is the head of your anti-terrorism unit and will have to liaison with Homeland Security in the event of a terrorist attack."

"I'm sure there are benefits but it's really not in the budget," he says.

"It's just the conference fee and the plane ticket," Brenda says. "She can stay in my hotel with me. And think about it, Will, here you are about to stare down the last year of your term. Your promotional freeze has lasted virtually your entire tenure as chief and the LAPD has essentially become a farm force for other cities. You're hiring good people, training them, and then they're leaving en masse to go work for San Francisco, Chicago, Boston, New York. Major Crimes is the most successful project you've ever piloted and Sharon has told you before she's eligible for her Captain's pension. You think she's gonna hang around forever with no raise, no promotion, no token gesture that anything she's doing at all important to you?"

He rubs his forehead and looks at her through narrowed eyes. "So your plan to get me to send Captain Raydor to this conference with you is to outline my many failures?"

It isn't but Will is not exactly the poster child for police chiefs across the nation. The best she can say for him is that he'd maintained the status quo which was good when the economy was in the tank but things are, if only marginally, better now and she can't see why he keeps sitting on his hands.

"I'm saying," she says, exasperation creeping in. "This is an inexpensive way to show one of your division heads, and maybe all of them, that you haven't totally forgotten about them and that their careers are important to you. That morale is important to you."

"And what does Captain Raydor have to say about this?" he asks.

"I haven't told her," she says. "It needs to be your idea, don't you think?"

"Don't you think it makes more sense to send Deputy Chief Howard as the head of the Special Operations Bureau?"

Petty, Will is so petty but she'd expected this. "Go ahead," she says. "The more people you send, the better. People notice what kind of showing agencies make at these national conferences. Send ten people. It can only be good for you."

"It's something to think about," he says. "Why do you care so much?"

She shrugs. "Had things gone differently, I would've never left the LAPD. I care what happens. It's my city, it's my home. And you used to be my friend."

"We're still…" But he trails off. "I'll think about, Brenda. That's all I can say."

She nods. "Thank you, Chief Pope. Thanks for your time."

She pops down to the ninth floor before she leaves. She's totally unannounced and expects not to find Sharon but she's there, in her office, Amy and Tao at their desks doing paperwork. It looks like the end of a case, maybe. The drudgery after the thrill. Amy buzzes her in and Brenda opens the glass doors.

"Hi y'all," she says.

"Hi Chief," Tao says. "She's in there."

"Thanks," Brenda says, walking across the murder room. Sharon sees her, lights up at the surprise and waves her in.

"What are you doing here?" Sharon asks, standing up. It's true, Brenda had just seen her the night before. Brenda had dinner at the condo with Sharon and Rusty. They'd watched an hour of television while Rusty did homework and Sharon worked on her laptop and Brenda mentally worked through what she was going to say to Will. Sharon had walked her to the elevator, had given her just a soft kiss on the cheek. They were always careful, now. No funny business in Sharon's building where Rusty might see and misunderstand.

"Oh, I had a meeting nearby," she says. "You wanna go out for lunch?"

Sharon glances at her computer, the clock on the wall. "Why not?"

"That's the spirit," Brenda says. "Where do you want to go?"

There's a sushi bar not too far - not walkable but close enough that driving doesn't seem like a chore and Sharon offers because parking in her car is always easy. Brenda likes riding with Sharon and it doesn't matter who is driving. It feels comfortable just sitting next to her. She likes when Sharon drives, though, it gives her a chance to sneak glances at her while she's concentrating on the road and if Sharon knows she's doing it, she lets it pass. Allows Brenda to drink her fill.

They get a small table and put in their order right away. They get a vegetable roll - Sharon's choice - and and rainbow roll, Brenda's favorite, but they share both.

"What was your meeting?" Sharon asks, tearing the paper off her her chopsticks.

"What?" Brenda asks.

Sharon's chopsticks crack as she breaks them apart. "You said you were nearby because you had a meeting. What was the meeting?"

The best way to get away with a lie, Brenda knows, is to offer up something more embarrassing than the truth.

"I lied," she says. "I didn't have anything, I just wanted to see you."

Sharon stills for a moment. "Just call!"

"I know, I know, I just… I don't know."

"What if I hadn't been there?"

"Then I would've gotten a walk," Brenda says. "I just started thinking about you and I lost my head a little."

Sharon looks at her over the rim of her glasses, "Careful now," she says with a small smirk glancing around, though everyone here is a stranger. "We're not exactly alone."

But her foot nudges Brenda's under the table.

"Can we be?" Brenda asks. Sharon's eyebrow arches. "Alone, I mean?"

"I bet we could carve out a little time," Sharon says. "How about Saturday?"

"Saturday is good for me," Brenda says. "You could come over."

"I could," Sharon says. "I would like that."

Brenda smiles, has to push her happiness down off her face when the sushi comes so she's not grinning at their server like a total moron. When she glances up at Sharon, she has her lips pressed together in just the same way.

oooo

Sharon is at her apartment when Brenda gets home.

"Shoot," Brenda says, trying to juggle her grocery bags and get her keys out of the door. "I'm late."

Sharon just rolls her eyes, stands and walks over to take one of the bags. Brenda tosses her keys onto the little table by the door and closes the door with her foot.

"You're here now," Sharon says.

"I realized I didn't have anything," Brenda says, setting her bags on the floor. "Like, anything."

"It's been a busy week," Sharon says, setting hers onto one of the counters and peering inside. "Three boxes of ding dongs?"

"Don't look in there!" Brenda squeaks.

"Two bags of Hershey kisses and I didn't know you could buy kit kat bars in bulk like this."

"It's cost effective," Brenda mutters. "I told you I had to replenish."

"I thought you kept your sweets at work," Sharon says.

Brenda feels her face warm. "That bag is still in the car."

Sharon barks out a laugh. "Believe me, it's with all the affection in the world that I say this, but you are a skinny bitch and I hate you."

"Yeah well, the line for people who hate me starts back in Atlanta," Brenda says.

Sharon's smile falters a little. "What happened? You okay?"

"Yeah," Brenda says. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. Just a little tired, I think. It's been crazy at work and my daddy's been talking about coming for a visit but I don't like the idea of him traveling alone."

"One of your brothers, perhaps?" Sharon offers.

"Lord," Brenda says shaking her head. "No. Heaven help me, no, the last thing I need is two Johnson men. I mean I love my brothers, but we're not… we don't visit outside of my parent's house."

"You have three?" Sharon asks, taking one of the other grocery bags. She knows Brenda's kitchen as well as her own so she can unpack her groceries easily enough.

"C.J. - named after my daddy. He's the oldest. Then Bobby, then me, then Jimmy," she says. "Don't you already know everything there is to know about me? You vetted me for Chief."

"That doesn't tell me everything," Sharon says. "Information is always purest from the source."

"I suppose so."

Sharon shoves a bag of apples into the crisper and closes the refrigerator. "And they're all in Atlanta?"

"Jimmy and Frank live in New York, now," Brenda says, dumping a pound of coffee beans into the plastic container she keeps by her coffee machine. The whole kitchen smells like coffee now. "Shall I make a pot?"

"That's okay." Sharon says. "Your brother is gay?"

"I mean," Brenda says. "He's never officially come out to any of us but that is everyone's understanding, yes. We all like Frank, they've lived together since, gosh, like '95?"

"I always took you for the youngest, Brenda Leigh," Sharon says. Brenda knows when she's being teased, that Sharon's just verbally poking her in the ribs to see if she'll flinch.

"I was the only girl," Brenda says. "Same thing. Your mama must've had her hands full. Three girls right? And two boys?"

Sharon nods. "My mother died, actually, when I was three. But my father remarried when I was five to a wonderful woman so… to me, my stepmother is my real mother."

"Do you remember her? Your real mama, I mean." Brenda asks.

"Not really," Sharon says. My older siblings do, maybe, but… my younger brother and sister are half, though none of us think of it like that."

Sharon folds up her paper grocery bag, now empty. She's obviously not used to talking about her family because it's closed her up, a little. Her body language is all off, rigid and uncomfortable. Brenda walks up to her, takes the bag from her and sets it aside.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," Brenda says. "I just like knowing about you, that's all." She reaches out, grabs Sharon's fingers.

Sharon's eyes glance down to Brenda's mouth and that's always her undoing. While Brenda is particularly adept at reading body language, Sharon's been a cop for a long time and she knows how to hold herself, knows how not to give everything away. So it's particularly gratifying that she just can't seem to help it when she's looking at Brenda. Brenda would want Sharon no matter what but the fact that Sharon wants her back just cranks everything up to eleven and it's Brenda who pushes up onto the balls of her feet to press their lips together.

Sharon kisses her back, humming a little, her fingers clenching against Brenda's. It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning and the light is filtering into her kitchen, spring is around the corner, and Brenda is kissing her best friend so slowly and softly that she might just burst at the seams. Sharon's lips are soft enough that Brenda doesn't even mind the bump of Sharon's glasses or how she's taller because she has on a little heel and Brenda's in flats.

Sharon pulls away and says, "I don't… I'm not ready for more than this."

Brenda's feels a stab of shame and says, "I'm not askin' for more."

Sharon nods and then furrows her brow, says, "We don't have to stop though, right?"

The desire swells again and any shame she feels is stamped out at the hopeful look on Sharon's face. "Come sit down with me," Brenda says. Brenda's couch is just a loveseat, small and cozy and it sinks down a little in the middle so when they both sit on it, they slide into one another which is just fine.

Brenda wonders, though, if kissing Sharon will ever not feel surreal. Time stretches out like taffy, like they'll always be awash in ethereal, golden light of this particular morning on this particular day. When Sharon is kissing her, she can't hear the cars on the street or her noisy neighbors upstairs or a parrots that live in the tree outside her window that squawk incessantly. All of that fades and Brenda knows is the lips attached to hers, Sharon's fingers circling her wrist and squeezing every time their tongues touch. How it's enough for awhile until it isn't and Sharon shifts her leg so it's on top of Brenda's instead of pressed against it.

Brenda can feel them both holding back. She concentrates on keeping her hands to herself, is concentrating so hard on not crossing any lines that it's startling when Sharon seems to give in, whimpering and then throwing her knee over Brenda's thighs and hovering over her. Sharon likes to kiss Brenda with her hands in Brenda's hair, likes to hold her head hard. She'd done it in the stairwell, fighting against her better judgement and losing and she does it now, groaning into Brenda's neck and sinking down so slowly onto her lap.

Brenda presses her hands against Sharon's back because she's got to touch somewhere, she's just got to. Her back is hot, clammy, like she's worked up a little sweat and Brenda doesn't mean to do it but her hips move all on their own, jerking up against Sharon in her lap. Just a little pressure. Just a tiny bit of friction and Brenda thinks maybe her head will clear again.

Sharon groans and so Brenda does it again, something wicked curling inside of her.

Sharon is moaning, deep in her throat and the noise makes Brenda brave so she catches Sharon's bottom lip between her teeth and gets her fingers just under the hem of her shirt so she can feel skin, soft and smooth and perfect, Brenda just knows it.

Sharon pulls her lip away and Brenda makes to follow, to get back what has been taken from her but Sharon turns her head and gasps, "My phone, my phone is ringing."

A string of firecrackers could've gone off on her coffee table and Brenda's not sure she would've noticed. Sharon crawls off of her, gets to her feet though she looks a little wobbly. Brenda stares at her feeling a little drunk. Not the soft kind of tipsy that makes her feel warm and numb but like she's just on the wrong side of drunk, like if someone were to mouth off to her, she'd end up in a fist fight. She wants to dig her nails into someone, wants to bite down on something hard and not let go.

She watches Sharon find her phone and answer it with an impatient "Hello?"

She's flushed and sweaty and rumpled. Brenda doesn't often see her rumpled. Brenda likes that she's the one who mussed her up.

"Hi, hi honey," Sharon says. It's Rusty then. "I'm with Brenda." Sharon closes her eyes, does the conversation in the dark. "Mmm, sure. Okay… we're going shopping, I think. Fine, just not too late, okay? I love you, too."

She drops the phone into her bag and presses her back against the wall. Sharon's eyes are dark and heavy and she looks at Brenda like she's a last supper. Brenda darts her tongue out to moisten her lips.

"Well that was something," Sharon says, finally.

It's so strange to feel again. But looking at Sharon now she can feel a kaleidoscope of things - desire and lust and affection and fear and anxiety. How long had she been fading away? Year after year with Fritz, trying to trick her own brain into believing she was something she was never gonna be. How she'd forgotten that loving someone is different than being in love. She'd expected her love for Fritz to carry her through the rest of her life and it didn't even make it through a decade. People always think of a broken heart as something heavy and fragile being dropped - a sudden shattering. But Brenda's heart feels more solid, like a stone in her chest and the breaking had been gradual. Like water gushing over it relentlessly, wearing down a groove until it wore straight through and all she had left was two pieces that didn't fit together anymore.

I thought your heart was a garden, her mama's voice says. Now it's a stone?

She tries not to flinch at the intrusion, at the slightly disgusted tone of her mother's voice. Has she been here the whole time, watching and judging?

"Somethin' else," Brenda agrees.

She pushes her mother out of her mind. Even if she's nothing but a patch of tangled weeds, well. Even weeds can grow good and strong.

"Maybe we should-" Sharon starts to say.

"Shopping?" Brenda asks.

"What was I supposed to say?"

She shakes her head. "You really want to go? Get outta here for awhile?" Go to where there are people, is what she doesn't say. Strangers to act as chaperone, to force them to keep wandering hands to themselves.

"Okay," Sharon nods. "Yes."

Because if Brenda can't spend the afternoon with her hands on Sharon, she'll take an afternoon with Sharon's at least in arm's reach and anyway, she really does need a TV.

oooo

Sharon calls in the middle of the day and Brenda hates it, but she's got to send it to her voicemail. She's working, waiting for a conference call and it's nearly five before she can call Sharon back.

"I was starting to worry," Sharon says. "Where are you?"

"I'm still at work, where are you?" she demands.

"Pacific Palisades," she says.

"Swanky," Brenda says.

"I think you know I'm not here sightseeing," Sharon says.

"Oh," Brenda says. "Still, don't you ever just dream of having that much money?"

"You and I and my entire division could pool our money and we'd still never afford to live here," Sharon says. "And that's buying the smallest house on the block."

She hears something in the background and then Tao saying, "Hi, Chief!"

"Are you after my professional opinion about something?" Brenda asks.

"No," Sharon says hotly. "I don't need you to do my job for me."

"I just mean how does he know who you're talkin' to?" she asks. Sharon is still so territorial.

"Because the only other person I talk to who isn't currently at this crime scene is you," Sharon says.

"And Rusty."

"We left him at the office doing homework," Sharon says.

"Why are you calling me then?" she asks.

"We're waiting for the medical examiner so… I have a couple minutes to tell you something," Sharon says. "I talked to Pope."

"Uh huh?" Brenda says, sitting up a little.

"He wants to send me to a conference which is just… so out of character I think I made him repeat it three times."

"Oh," Brenda says. "Well isn't that a good thing? Must means he values you."

Sharon scoffs and Brenda can hear the wind blowing where ever she is. She wonders if she can see the water, if she's gonna come home smelling salty and looking sun-kissed with new freckles across her nose. Brenda swallows.

"Or that he's starting to worry about keeping his job into another term," Sharon says. "Anyway, it's all the way in D.C. so I don't know. I'd hate to leave Rusty alone for three days and it's just the flight and the conference, I'd be on my own for food and lodgings. And I'm not even sure if I'm interested in the conference at all."

"D.C.?" Brenda says. "When?"

"Three weeks," Sharon says. "Homeland Security."

"Get outta town," Brenda says. "Did you know I was going to that?"

"What?" Sharon demands loudly. She must draw some attention to herself because she says, "You are?" at a much more reasonable volume.

"Yeah, I've been registered forever." Brenda tries to sound casual, bored even. "It's going to be tedious but D.C. is lovely in the spring so I thought why not? If you're worried about… I mean, I have a room already so… you could just bunk with me, Captain."

She freezes, paralyzed, waiting for Sharon's answer.

"Something to seriously consider," Sharon says. "Oh, there's Kendall. I have to go."

"Let me know what you decide," Brenda says and ends the call.

She's been home for several hours when Sharon calls again.

"My, my, twice in one day," Brenda says. "To what to I owe this immense pleasure?"

"I have to tell Chief Pope my decision in the morning," Sharon says. "I asked Andy if he'd come stay in the condo while I was gone so Rusty wouldn't be alone."

"So you're gonna go?"

"Our nation's capital in the spring," Sharon says. "Not a bad way to spend a few days. If your offer still stands."

"Of course," Brenda says. "What are friends for?"

Sharon laughs uncomfortably and says, "Hmm, friends."

"Or whatever," Brenda says.

"You want to come over?" Sharon blurts it out and Brenda thinks that maybe she hadn't meant to say that, not at all. Just the idea of being in the same room as Sharon makes her whole body clench and tingle. But she spends less time at the condo than Sharon spends over here and she has to wonder if she's going to survive an evening over there where she's not allowed to touch what she sees. The last time she'd gotten to touch Sharon, they'd been in her car parked on the far side of the park and Sharon had gotten her hand half way up Brenda's skirt before she'd yanked it back and held onto the wheel, breathing heavy.

Brenda had wiped her mouth and pressed her thighs together. Frankly, she's not sure she's ready for everything either but her body certainly is and it's getting difficult to focus, walking around so turned on all the time. Half the time she's barely got the door closed behind her before she's got her hand down her own underwear.

So can she go over there tonight? Her staff might not survive another day of her with her teeth on edge and overly fatigued.

"Sure," Brenda hears herself say. "Let me just put on some shoes."

Weak and foggy-brained, that's what Brenda is. A chicken shit basket case who has fallen so hard for her best friend, who she didn't even used to really like all that much. A woman so unprepared for the road ahead that she'd had to look up the word bisexual online because she felt bad about still thinking about sex with men sometimes, too.

On the walk over, she tries to remember all the reasons she never cared for Sharon in the first place but all she can picture is dark hair and pale skin and long, long legs. How her mouth looks when she smiles. How well she cares for Rusty, how her cheeks turn pink whenever they run. The little noise she makes in her throat when they kiss.

"Did you eat?" Sharon asks when she answers the door. Brenda shakes her head no. She's in jeans, a black t-shirt, her pink jacket. She must look like someone who needs to be taken care of.

"I saved you a plate," Sharon says. "Come on, I'll warm it up."

She steps in and looks around. "Where's Rusty?"

"At work," Sharon says. "He's helping out on Lieutenant Tao's show again this week. I guess half the crew is out sick with some flu."

"He's not here? He's not coming back?"

"Not until late," she says. "Is that okay?"

"Of course," Brenda says. "I just… didn't know."

"You want some wine?" Sharon asks. "I have a white open or I think there's still that cab bottle we could uncork."

"White is okay," she says.

Sharon touches her elbow as she passes and goes to the kitchen. Brenda shrugs off her coat, hangs it over the back of a chair. Sets down her bag, takes off her shoes. Makes herself at home. She feels a little out of sorts now. She'd come over here expecting one thing and feels like she's been given something completely different. An evening alone with Sharon in her clean, well decorated condo. Her beautiful, brightly lit life. The television is still on in the living room and it's on low, droning the evening news.

The microwave beeps and Sharon pulls the plate out with a dishtowel and sets it on the counter so Brenda can eat on one of the stools. Pours her half a glass of wine and then tops off her own glass. She stays in the kitchen, watching Brenda pick up her fork, inspect the piece of chicken, the broccoli with cheese, the dinner roll.

"Are you going to watch me?" Brenda asks. "That feels weird. Don't watch me eat."

"Sorry," Sharon says. It's not a real apology; her inflection makes it clear that she thinks Brenda is a little crazy. While Brenda eats, Sharon putters around. She turns off the television and double checks that the sliding glass door to the balcony is locked. She wanders down the hall and Brenda can hear her doing the laundry. Banging metal doors and then the washer filling with water. When Brenda is finished, she rinses her plate and puts it in the dishwasher and then carries what's left of her wine with her to find Sharon.

She's never been in Sharon's bedroom before so she lingers in the doorway. Sharon's got her back to Brenda so she doesn't notice at first. She's folding clothes, all the darks tangled across her mattress. Of course Sharon is the type to make her bed before she leaves for the day, of course she'd have two matching nightstands with matching lamps on either side.

"Want some help?" Brenda says. She turns, smiles at her.

"I'd take some company."

She walks in but hesitates at the edge of the bed and doesn't sit on it until Sharon pats the mattress in an invitation. Sharon's bed is comfortable and has one of those duvet covers that feels as soft as suede though Brenda knows she can probably throw it right in the washing machine. It's brown, everything seems to be some variation of brown - well that's not fair. Beige? Taupe? But even the sheets and the bed skirt. It's all soft, though. And there is color in the room - art on the walls, the lamps, the dark furniture. Brenda reaches out and pulls what looks like one of Rusty's t-shirts to her. It's inside out, so she rights it and smooths it out before folding it and setting it aside.

"How's your new case goin'?" she asks. "Your wealthy dead body?"

"Mmm," Sharon says. "Not the owner of the house. The housekeeper body was reported by one of the neighbors. The owners are out of town but are coming back in the morning."

"The maid?" Brenda asks. "How'd she die?"

"Hanged herself," Sharon says. "But I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"She's got two little kids at home and is a single mom. Her family is all in Mexico. Who would just leave their kids like that?"

"Maybe she just got overwhelmed by it all," Brenda says but Sharon shakes her head.

"Mothers just don't… not without some sort of plan set up. But there was no note. The kids just never got picked up from daycare."

"That's awful," Brenda says.

Sharon reaches over and takes the t-shirt that Brenda had folded and drops it to the top of a stack of Rusty's things.

"Be right back," she says and disappears down the hall. Brenda reaches out to touch the second stack of clothes - the things that belong to Sharon. On the top is a pale green camisole with narrow, lace straps. Something to be worn underneath something else - a suit jacket, a blouse. Practically underwear. She yanks her hand away, tucks it into her lap.

Sharon comes back and Brenda watches her put away her stack of clothes, quickly sorting it between drawers and then she turns, sticks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and looks at Brenda expectantly. "What would you like to do?"

Brenda pats the bed next to her.

Sharon sits next to her, adjusting the pillow behind her back and then stretching her long legs out, crossing them at her ankles. She has socks on, Brenda can't see her toes. There's a small television sitting on top of the dresser and Sharon leans over, grabs the remote off the nightstand and flips it on. Brenda finds it telling, always, to see what station a television turns on to. Brenda almost never bothered unless she knew her case was going to be on the news, but whenever she turned on the television after Fritz, it was almost always left on a sports station.

Sharon's TV turns onto the food network. Brenda stretches her legs out too and nudges Sharon's foot with her own. Sharon smirks, allows it. Allows Brenda to drag her foot up her denim covered leg. See, Brenda is coming up with a little plan. She's starting to wonder just how long it's been since someone has touched Sharon. Not just… not sex, even, but just human physical contact outside of a professional setting. Maybe Sharon needs to be eased back into someone touching her reverently. Someone running their fingertips along her skin because it's so soft and so pale that it's a sin not touch her.

Brenda touches Sharon's wrist, the bone there, the pale blue veins under the skin. She traces the blood flow up her arm to the crook of her elbow and touches the delicate creased skin. Sharon jumps, a little ticklish.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Shh," Brenda says. "This is the only time I'm ever gonna learn how to make a lemon meringue pie and you're chattering through it."

"Oh," Sharon says and chuckles, low and soft. "My apologies."

Brenda studies her hands next, the crescent moons of her nail beds, each bump of her knuckles. Sharon gasps a little when Brenda swirls one finger along her palm. Sensitive skin just on her hands. It makes Brenda wonder where else she's sensitive. She reaches up and tucks Sharon's hair behind her ear, touches the bare lobe and the shell, drags a finger down the line of her jaw and to her neck. Her neck to her collarbone. Sharon is flushed now, turning a splotchy pink.

"You got pretty skin," Brenda says.

"The secret to meringue is room temperature egg whites," Sharon says, though she sounds a little out of breath.

"Is that so," Brenda says, moving her hand down Sharon's arm to her rib cage. Brenda feels Sharon huff in a surprised breath but still, she doesn't ask Brenda to stop. Brenda fits her fingers into the grooves of Sharon's ribs and leans over, drops a little kiss on her shoulder.

"Also," Sharon murmurs. "The eggs should be a couple days old or they won't… they won't hold."

Down her ribs, across the soft plane of her stomach. She can feel Sharon instinctively suck in and so Brenda doesn't linger. Just touches the swell of her hip, runs a warm hand over her thigh. Sharon's ankles uncross.

"Is it better to whip them by hand or use an electric hand mixer?" Brenda asks, drumming her fingers across Sharon's knee.

"I use a whisk," Sharon says, letting her head fall back against the headboard. Her eyes flutter closed. "But then, I'm a purist."

"That does not surprise me," Brenda says feeling bold and sliding her hand back up to the edge of Sharon's shirt. "That does not surprise me one iota." She slips a few fingers under and feels the warm skin of Sharon's belly and Sharon groans, just a little. Brenda smiles to herself and pushes her whole hand under, splaying her hand flat over Sharon's belly button. Rubs slow circles on the skin. "Roll over," Brenda says, bravery making her ambitious. "I'll rub your back."

"I…"

"Just do as I say, Captain," Brenda says. "You had a tough day. You deserve a little TLC."

"This is the most complicated friendship," Sharon says, but she rolls over, crosses her arms and rests her head on them.

"It's not," Brenda says. "It's simple."

She rubs circles over Sharon's shoulder blades before slipping her hand under the shirt. Rubbing and then scratching. The scratching makes Sharon, god, she almost starts to purr.

"Christ," she moans.

"See?" Brenda says. "Not complicated at all."

oooo

She doesn't remember falling asleep. Sharon has rolled onto her side but Brenda's hand is still under her shirt, resting where her spine curves, her fingernails against the band of Sharon's bra. She sits up, propping herself on her elbow. Rusty's home, turning off the television in the bedroom. It must be really late. She pulls her hand to herself, flushing with embarrassment. Rusty looks at her, gives her a small smile. Raises a finger to his lips and reaches out to flip the lightswitch. The room plunges into darkness, it settles over them like tiredness, like fog over the hills.

Beside her, Sharon shifts and sighs. Brenda, her heart beating so fast, puts her head back down. Closes her eyes.