It's all so boring. She knows there's good stuff being said here, but she can't hear any of it, not today. Sharon is off in another room, sitting next to Ann McGinnis while Brenda rots here, listening to three white men in the same gray suit talk about intergovernmental cooperation.

Apparently, something of worth has been said because there's light applause happening around her and she joins in, hitting her hands together three times before letting them fall listlessly back into her lap. She can, at least, look forward to lunch after this. She's still hungry, the scone she'd scarfed down hours ago not nearly enough. She and Sharon and, she supposes, Ann, are supposed to meet downstairs for lunch. There's a food court in the building or they could venture out into the world. That seems more appealing. It had been cold this morning but Brenda suspects it's nice now, later into the day. Sunny, breezy.

She tries not to let her mind wander back to the hotel room but that's a losing battle. Tonight, she wants to turn the lamp on, wants to touch every part of Sharon that she couldn't see last night. Wants to watch every micro expression, see every shade of color in her hair, to see just how pink she gets when she comes.

Brenda clears her throat, shifts in her seat.

"This is dreadful," says the man sitting next to her. He's tall, dark hair and bright blue eyes. She looks at him for a moment, surprised he's even talking to her.

"I wouldn't know," she says softly back. "I'm not even payin' enough attention to know that."

He grins. "I'm Chuck."

"Brenda," she says softly. She can't see his name badge clearly enough to know where he's from, but if she has to guess, it's CIA or NSA or one of the intelligence agencies. They all have a look. Polished but nondescript. Governmental, but standard. Nice enough to fit in but never standing out. She used to be one of them - her mentor always hated the florals. They were too memorable. She glances at her watch - three minutes to freedom.

He sees her sneak a look at the time and says, "Think they'll let us go on time?"

Someone stands and launches into a long winded question about cross jurisdictional authority and Brenda winces. "No."

He smirks. He's cute, Brenda has to admit it. She's learned her lesson about handsome men who work for the federal government, but she can admire him aesthetically. He slumps a little and his name badge shifts enough that she can see it. It says Charles Micheals, State Department, Washington D.C.. State Department. Yeah right, Brenda thinks.

It takes another seven minutes before they're free and she hops up.

"Do you have lunch plans, Brenda Leigh Johnson of Los Angeles?" he asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"I do," she says apologetically. "But you can certainly walk me down to the lobby."

"You know, I hate to judge, but you don't sound like a Californian," he says as they spill out of the room into the hallway.

"I hate to judge, but you look exactly like a government employee," she says. He manages to look slightly offended and she relents. "I'm from Georgia."

"A southern belle," he says.

"Not quite," she replies. They pass the elevator where the crowd waiting to get on is several people deep and head down the stairs. It's only two floors and when they emerge onto street level, she glances at him. "Well, Chuck, it was nice to meet you."

"You too," he says. "I'm going to the session on biosurveillance after lunch," he says.

"Oh," she says, already looking past him toward the row of windows. It's easy to spot Sharon - her hair, her legs. She's saying something to Ann, glancing at her watch.

"Maybe I'll see you there?" he asks.

"Oh," she says again. She is planning on going to that, too, simply because it's the only marginally interesting sounding thing happening in the afternoon before the three o'clock session on data-driven management, but he's looking so hopeful. She doesn't want to lead him on. "Maybe," she says. "Excuse me, I gotta go. My people are waiting for me."

"Bye," he calls but she's already rushing toward Sharon who looks at her sternly.

"You're late," she says.

"Sorry, we went over," she says.

"Who's that?" Ann asks. Brenda turns back to see Chuck who is still standing there, who waves at her. Pathetic.

"Some puppy who followed me home," Brenda says. "CIA goon."

"You were a CIA goon!" Sharon says.

"Was," Brenda complains. "Not anymore!"

"And you always say you're so bad at making friends," Sharon murmurs to her. Brenda rolls her eyes.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Captain," she shoots back.

"Lunch?" Ann asks.

There's many options, but everywhere is crowded so they step onto the street, walk about three blocks and find a little cafe with sandwiches and salads. Brenda sends Sharon to snag a table and promises to bring her something healthy and she and Ann wait in line together.

"What made you leave the CIA?" Ann asks. Her tone is friendly, conversational and so Brenda answers honestly.

"Chief Pope," she says. "I wasn't real thrilled with the work. I was never home, I had a cover so it was difficult to meet people. Will offered me a job at the DCPD and I accepted."

"I thought you came from the Atlanta PD," Ann says.

"I did," she offers. "I transferred to Atlanta from D.C. because it was promotional. Captain to Commander, plus it was home, so it was an easy choice. And then Will again, brought me out to head Major Crimes. I guess you know the rest."

"I know that Will Pope wouldn't be chief without you," Ann says. "I know that most good things he ever got credit for came right out of Major Crimes."

Brenda stares at her for a moment, legitimately surprised. She didn't think she had much of a reputation left after the year Goldman spent dragging her through the mud. It's interesting to know that someone like Ann, someone who'd spent her entire career with the LAPD - someone who works for Brenda's ex-husband - would openly show support.

"Thank you," she says. "That's kind to hear."

"Captain Raydor," Ann says and then, dipping her head a little, "Sharon. She worked tirelessly, campaigning for you to be Chief of Police. I'm only sorry it didn't work out."

Brenda feels a stab of guilt. Even all those years ago, Sharon was already a better friend than Brenda has ever been and they didn't even like each other yet.

"I'm not sure I was ready for that job back then," Brenda says as they inch toward the register. "The mayor and I didn't have much chemistry."

"Different mayor now," Ann points out. "But it's certainly not an easy or popular job. I'll give you that."

Brenda doesn't get to say anything else on the matter. It's time to order. She gets Sharon and herself the same summer salad, fresh fruit and greens, a light vinaigrette. Two bottles of water and the biggest cookie in the world to share. Brenda doesn't tend to share sweets, not with anyone and not ever, but she knows Sharon will only nibble at it and leave her with the lion's share which is more than enough. She pays, carries her plastic number and the waters to the table. Sharon looks bored, her chin resting in her hand, her phone on the table in front of her.

"Hey stranger," Brenda says. Sharon is better at flirting, makes it seem natural. Before, all Brenda could think about around Sharon was sex and now, deed done and behind them, she feels even more unsure. More than friends, nothing like partners. She wants to be familiar but not inappropriate.

Sharon winks at her, kindly, picks up her phone and says, "Andy and Rusty are alive, they have both checked in."

"It's only been one night," Brenda says. "And Lieutenant Flynn is a dad, right? He knows what to do with teenagers."

"No one knows what to do with teenagers," Sharon says dryly. Brenda sits on Sharon's side of the table and Ann comes up before too long with a bottle of cranberry juice and her own plastic number. She settles into her wooden chair.

"How was your session?" Brenda asks.

"Fine," Ann says. "I'm still not sure what we're doing here, honestly. It's an interesting conference but geared more toward federal employees and small business owners."

"Who knows why all of a sudden Chief Pope-" And here, Sharon positively spits out the title, "wants to appear supportive but I suspect it has more to do with politics than with us."

Brenda, wisely she thinks, keeps her mouth closed about that. When she'd proposed the idea, she'd been thinking more about getting out of L.A. for a few days with Sharon at her side and had thought, maybe, that Sharon would appreciate the break in routine. She had not expected their dark suspicion.

"Sending the only two high ranking women he has left, no less," Ann says.

"It's something he can look back on," Brenda says, despite herself. "Something concrete he can say when someone inevitably throws his static record in his face. No promotions, no raises. But look, here, in March, I spent just enough money to send two people to the only law enforcement conference that might possibly be of any worth."

Sharon blinks at her, her eyes big and owlish behind her glasses. Brenda can see them narrow slightly, can see that she's tired by the soft, dark skin underneath them.

"I've not ever know him to have such a long view of things," she says. Brenda feels guilty but she's determined not to look it. She just gives Sharon a little smile, turns and looks right at Ann.

"Tell me more about your sister," she says.

oooo

Chuck Michaels sniffs Brenda out like a goddamn bloodhound. She's sitting next to Ann, saving a seat for Sharon who is in the restroom and he settles himself right into Sharon's empty chair before Brenda can even say a single thing.

"You came," he says, smiling.

"No," Brenda says, flustered. And then, "I mean, yes, I came but that seat is taken."

"Oh," he says. "Well I can move when they come back." And flashes her a grin. "I know who you are, Brenda Leigh Johnson of Los Angeles. I did a little research."

"That's creepy," Ann says from her other side. Brenda looks over at her, grateful for her stoicness, how her pale hair and eyes and skin make her seem cool and distant. She hasn't even looked up from her program booklet.

"You're the Closer," he says. He waggles his eyebrows.

"I'm the what?" Brenda says, seriously uneasy now. That's an old nickname from an old time. It confirms her CIA suspicions, however, though she does not care for the idea that he called into his office to check up on her. She'd left the CIA for a reason, because she hadn't been happy there, because the things she'd found herself doing didn't sit right morally. Because she never wanted to be someone who ended up with something like The Johnson Rule attached to her name and yet, that's what she has become and she knows her time at the CIA has almost everything to do with that. That they'd trained her to interrogate but they'd conditioned her as well. When she's in the middle of an interrogation, when she's got the scent of a lie, she turns ruthless. She loses her perspective. She does bad things.

"They still talk about you in training," he says. "Have you thought about coming back to the company?"

She does consider it from time to time, only because a job offer comes through about once a year. But it requires relocating back to Washington, it requires doing the things that keep her awake at night, it requires more than she is willing to give.

"I don't care for the snow," she says. "Excuse me, Mr. Michaels."

She stands up, feels only a pang of guilt for leaving Ann in proximity to this guy but also, Ann is a police commander who can take care of herself. She rushes into the restroom and thankfully, finds Sharon at the long row of sinks, washing her hands. Sharon looks up, sees Brenda in the mirror.

"What's the matter?" she asks.

Several other women are there and a few turn to look at Brenda, the woman who'd burst into the restroom and just stopped short.

"Nothin'," Brenda murmurs and promptly locks herself into an empty stall.

She may as well pee since she's in here, though it's everything she hates about public restrooms. The toilet seat a little too warm, the not great smell, a small puddle of water on the tiled floor by her foot. She hurries up, wipes and flushes and rights herself and then opens the door, feeling silly for hiding in the first place.

Sharon is leaning against a wall, waiting on her. Most people have cleared out because the session is starting right now. There's one closed stall door with a pair of feet below it, but otherwise they are alone. Brenda steps up to the sink and runs the water over her hands knowing Sharon is watching her. Watches her soap up and rinse, watches her wave her hand in front of the paper towel dispenser and wait for it to acknowledge her. She dries her hands and walks over to Sharon, throws away her paper towel, and hesitates only a moment before leaning in to touch their lips. Just real quick. When the toilet in the occupied stall flushes, Brenda steps back.

"Brenda-"

"I don't miss D.C. and I wouldn't move back here and I wouldn't do anything without askin' you first," she says.

Sharon reaches out and touches her elbow, a little line between her eyebrows appearing. "All right." Brenda nods. They might be just a little more than friends, but even Brenda knows they aren't dating or together or in any sort of real relationship and that's fine. Brenda isn't even a year out of her divorce and Sharon has Rusty to worry about and half the time they still fight dirty, verbal jabs and backhanded compliments and it's not the right time to do anything crazy like promise forever.

But Sharon should know that Brenda cares. That Sharon's opinion matters to her.

"I love Los Angeles," Brenda says.

"I know, honey," Sharon says. "Come on, we're late."

The stall door opens and the woman who steps out looks at them and then turns away and Sharon holds open the door to let Brenda out into the wide hallway, the big windows showing them nothing but blue sky.

They have to slide past several people to get to their seats, but Chuck is gone and Brenda doesn't waste time scanning the room for him. Sharon reaches down for her bag, rummages a little and then pulls out a foil wrapped Ding Dong. Hands it to Brenda who takes it gratefully. Pats Brenda's knee.

At the end of the day, Ann leaves again, gets on the metro to go back to her sister's house and says she will see them at the airport in the morning. Brenda has received dinner invitations all day from various acquaintances but she's turned them all down. And if Sharon has been offered any invitations of her own, she doesn't say anything.

"I could eat," Sharon says as they approach the lobby of the hotel. It's close to the conference center, but they don't see many of the conference attendees milling around once they're inside and Brenda knows it's the price of the rooms that drives most people farther down the block. But here is nice and there's a bar and a restaurant in the lobby.

"We can go out, we can stay here," Brenda says. "We could always have them send something up to the room."

"Let's just eat here," Sharon says, veering away from the elevators toward the restaurant. "On me."

"We can just charge it to the room," Brenda says, glancing over the menu presented just outside the restaurant area. It's a steakhouse which is fine. It's tempting to order a big steak smothered in garlic butter but lord knows she won't. A salad maybe, or a sandwich.

"You think I don't know the small fortune you're spending on this hotel?" Sharon says. "I can buy dinner."

Brenda rolls her eyes but decides not to fight this particular battle.

When they're seated, Brenda orders wine and Sharon orders a real cocktail, a martini, and Brenda is tempted to make some quip about getting her all liquored up but she doesn't. She still feels kind of off from this odd day, from the momentous night before and she's nervous that any attempt of humor on her part is bound to miss the mark. Instead she looks around - mostly men at tables in suits, laughing over drinks. There are women at the bar, but not many. One table that she recognizes from the conference only because one of them has failed to remove their name badge.

"What are you thinking about?" Sharon asks her.

"Steak," Brenda says.

Sharon smiles over the top of her menu and says, "Liar."

"Is Rusty going to pick us up from the airport?" Brenda asks.

"He's supposed to," Sharon says. "I'll remind him in the morning."

"I'm sorry you didn't find this conference a good use of your time," Brenda says.

"Oh, I did," Sharon says. "Maybe it wasn't the most professionally stimulating but there were other benefits."

Brenda doesn't even have time to get flustered because the waiter comes back with their drinks and a basket of bread to sit between them. Brenda orders the steak salad and Sharon smiles and says, "I'll have the same."

Two salads in one day means Brenda doesn't feel guilty about tearing open the warm bread roll and smearing butter across the fluffy inside. Doesn't feel bad about drizzling creamy dressing over her salad when it comes and sipping her wine until she's full and sleepy and warm. Sharon seems to deflate a little once the plates are cleared away. They didn't get a lot of sleep and the time change is always rough and they have a long flight tomorrow, too.

Sharon pays for the meal, throws back the last of her drink and they stand.

"I could use a nap," she says.

"A nice eight hour long nap," Brenda says fondly. "I think that can be arranged." Because while she wants to put her hands all over Sharon, wants to touch her hair and her skin and her hidden, secret parts, they're not twenty five anymore.

In the room, Brenda excuses herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face and when she comes back out, Sharon is asleep on top of the covers of the bed.

Brenda eases off Sharon's shoes and pats the bottom of her bare, narrow foot.

"You'll hate yourself if you don't change," Brenda says. "Come on. Teeth, makeup, and then you can sleep."

Sharon groans, sitting up. "Why am I so tired?"

"Well," Brenda says gently. "You're very old."

"Oh, bite me," Sharon mutters, shouldering her past her into the bathroom.

"Just say where!" Brenda calls through the closed door.

Brenda is already in bed when Sharon comes out. The only light left on is the lamp on the nightstand and Brenda sets down her phone, pulls off her glasses, and throws back the blankets for Sharon. Sharon gets in, curls onto her side, her face clean, her eyes already closed. Brenda shuts off the lamp, slips down until she's flat on her back. Chews in the inside of her cheek for a moment, wondering if she should just follow suit, roll over and conk out or if Sharon wouldn't mind…

"Oh, just come here," Sharon says, the words somewhat muffled by her pillow. Brenda exhales, rolls up against her. Sharon hums happily. "Did you have a good day, Brenda Leigh?"

"I'll be happy to get home," she says. "I bet you miss Rusty."

"I do," she says, though it turns into a yawn. Brenda props herself up and leans in to kiss her cheek - gets mostly ear but that's okay. Sharon smells good, minty and like the fancy makeup removing wipes, flowery and fresh. "But this was nice too."

It doesn't take long before Sharon is snoring softly beside her.

It takes Brenda much longer to fall asleep.

oooo

Four laps around the park and Brenda doubles over breathing hard. It's always tough to get back into the swing of things after missing several days. She's exhausted already, stumbles once on the way back home. It reminds her of Sharon jumping out at her on the running path and a ghost pain throbs in her ankle sympathetically. That was a year ago now. Has it really been so long?

She glances at the clock on the kitchen microwave when she gets in and swears softly. She's gonna be late for work. It doesn't truly matter - not five or ten minutes, even, but she still feels guilty about it. Like being late for school, like getting an A- or the fact that she got 99 out 100 on her driver's license test. She doesn't have to be perfect, but why not try?

You haven't had someone grade you in 25 years, her mama says. Not everything is a test!

Brenda pauses, surprised. Her mama hasn't talked to her since D.C. and Brenda was starting to think that maybe she was gone for good, drinking sweet tea with Jesus and Aunt Sally and the little baby sister that died before Brenda was born but after Clay Junior. She thought maybe she'd gone too far with Sharon for her mama to stick around.

"I gotta go to court this afternoon, that's all," Brenda says. "I have a schedule to keep."

It's a quick shower, she shaves her legs just up to her knees and makes sure to wear a dress long enough to cover them. The royal blue one. It reminds her of Sharon, reminds her of standing outside that drug house, hands shaking and everything smelling like blood. She'd lost the cardigan but the dress had made it out miraculously unstained.

Though to be fair, everything reminds her of Sharon. Real life has come crashing back down and it's as hard to find time for one another as it ever was. Sharon's working a case and she never answers when Brenda calls except to ask if she can call back and when she finally gets around to responding to texts, it's always an absurd hour. Brenda is getting used to waking up to texts from Sharon - apologies, mostly. The occasional thinking of you or one that was just a little picture of a chocolate donut and a little glass of red wine. Brenda had called, responded to Sharon's crisp "Raydor" with "Is that an invitation?"

"It was supposed to be," Sharon had said. "But we found another body. I'll have to call you back."

Brenda showers off the sweat, squeezing the last dregs of her body wash into her washcloth and scrubbing down. Maybe she'll go to the store after work. Maybe she'll buy herself something really decadently sweet. After all, it's her birthday in two days. She hasn't mentioned it at work, hasn't mentioned it to Sharon or Rusty or David. Her daddy had been making a fuss about coming out a few months ago, but he lately has seemed resigned to staying in Atlanta and missing the big day. She told him that it was for the best, that maybe she could come home again for a little while in a couple months.

She wants to go to sleep the night before her birthday and wake up the morning after. Fritz had always planned to take her on a trip for the big five oh since she'd worked straight through her 40th, but then, they hadn't made it that far.

The day before her birthday, Sharon stops by Brenda's office for five minutes and it's a surprise, though a pleasant one. Brenda wishes she could blow off the rest of her day and spend it following around Sharon like a puppy, spend it like Sharon used to spend it with her, shadowing her every move and scratching down little notes in a book. Except Brenda would write things like "pretty hair" and "amazing skin" and "legs for miles."

Even if she could call it a day at 11:43 am, she knows this is nothing more than a drive-by. She can tell just by looking at her that Sharon has squeezed Brenda in on her way to somewhere else.

"Andy's waiting for me in the car downstairs," Sharon says, closing Brenda's office door behind her.

"Okay," Brenda says, furrowing her brow. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Sharon says, coming towards her. Brenda stands. "Everything. I don't know. Nothing in this case is going how I thought it would and all of a sudden Pope wants to do an audit of every department, including mine, so I have a departmental budget meeting every week for the next six weeks, like I possibly have time to talk about the line item for staples and dry erase markers while the people of Los Angeles are getting murdered."

That's interesting. It probably means Will is trying to find money for something, but for what?

Sharon stops in front of Brenda and says, a little whiny, "I have five minutes and I'd like to spend them kissing you if that's all right."

"Yes, that would be fine by me," Brenda says.

"Don't mess up my hair though," Sharon says.

"Me?" Brenda says. "You're the one who always-"

Sharon kisses her right through her complaint and it's easy to forget what she had been saying anyway. Oh, it has been way too long. Sharon tastes familiar and good and even though they're in a rush, Sharon still kisses like it's a lazy summer Sunday where the sun takes forever to set and the day stretches out on and on. Brenda pulls away to breathe and Sharon lets her for just a moment before catching her mouth again.

They touch tongues only a little. They're still in Brenda's office, after all, they still have people waiting on them.

Sharon pulls back and sighs, a little calmer. Her dark pink lipstick is smeared and Brenda lifts a thumb to wipe it away from above her top lip. Sharon presses her lips together in a blot.

"You know when you don't have sex for a long time and you kind of stop thinking about it?" Sharon says. "You think about it, but you don't crave it in the same way?"

Brenda nods.

"It's like you flipped a switch in me," she says. "I miss it now. I need it."

Brenda rolls her eyes, whimpers. "You're killin' me." The phone on Brenda's desk buzzes. "Hang on," she says and picks it up with a terse, "What?" She's got meetings all day with her investigators and there are two waiting outside right now. "All right, gimme a minute to finish up with Captain Raydor." She hangs up. "Come over tonight."

"I don't know if I can," Sharon says. "But promise me you'll come over tomorrow for dinner."

Brenda searches her face for a tell, for a hint that Sharon knows what tomorrow is to Brenda but she doesn't see anything.

"Sure," Brenda says.

"I'm serious," she says. "If you don't show up, I'm going to send one of my goons after you."

"I will," Brenda promises. Sharon's phone buzzes and she glances at it. "Andy?"

"Yes," she says.

"Come over tonight," Brenda says again. "Just try. No matter how late."

"I'll try," Sharon says, leaning in to peck her cheek before grabbing her purse off the chair and slinging it over her shoulder. "Bye."

"Bye-bye," Brenda says.

"Fix your lipstick before you let anyone else in here," Sharon says before opening the door and disappearing again. When Brenda pulls out the mirror from her desk, she sees Sharon's lipstick has stained her lips pink. She uses her pinky to smooth it evenly and then picks up her phone. Says, "Send 'em in."

oooo

Brenda wakes up to Sharon slipping into her bed. She doesn't know what time it is, doesn't even care.

"You're here," Brenda says, her voice croaky but genuinely happy.

"I can't stay the night," Sharon says. "But…"

"Come here," Brenda says, throwing one arm around Sharon's neck and pulling her close. Their mouths meet in a collision, hard against lips and teeth but it's easy to compensate and Brenda doesn't mind the sting. It seems like, when her hands start to wander, that Sharon has shed some layers but she's still wearing the black slacks from earlier today and the silk shell she'd had on under her jacket. Brenda is tired, though willing, but she certainly doesn't have time for removing clothes. She manages to get Sharon's slacks unbuttoned and unzipped and she slips her hand in to find her warm and slick.

Sharon gasps, sinks her teeth into Brenda's neck and jerks her hips away.

"Shhh," Brenda says. "Let me make you feel good."

Sharon does relax a little then, groaning into the skin of Brenda's neck, kissing where she'd bitten her instead and pressing into the fingers.

"You were thinkin' about me," Brenda says. "About doin' this."

"Yes," Sharon hisses as Brenda penetrates her with one, slender finger.

It takes a little longer than the first time. It's an odd angle and the clothes are restrictive. At one point Sharon shoves her pants down just over her hips so she can open her legs a little wider and that helps a lot. Brenda doesn't mind taking her time, though, because it's just a slower build and by the time Sharon does come, all the blankets have been kicked away, her pants are around her knees, her little blouse riding up around her ribs and Brenda can see a glint of sweat at her hairline. She looks an absolute disaster and Brenda loves it.

Sharon clenches hard around three of Brenda's fingers and goes rigid.

Brenda tends to cry out when she orgasms but Sharon goes quiet - no moans, not even breathing. And then she exhales and turns to jelly.

"Good," Brenda says, pulling her hand away slowly. Sharon watches Brenda's slippery fingers, watches Brenda stick them into her mouth and lick them clean. Hum happily. She'd been wrong, before, when she'd been nervous about the taste of things. That had been silly and a fear born out of nothing but ignorance.

"Yeah," Sharon agrees. "Very good." She surprises Brenda by kicking her pants the rest of the way off and pulling her blouse over her head.

"You don't… it's late and I know you can't stay," Brenda says. "I don't expect anything."

"Don't be stupid," Sharon says. "I'm not leaving now." She makes quite the picture, her hair curling at her nape, her black bra pushing everything up into place.

"You're really pretty," Brenda says.

"Thank you," Sharon says. "Take off your clothes."

Brenda snorts back her laughter and pushes her shorts and her underwear down her hips. Brenda would complain about Sharon being bossy but in bed she really, really doesn't mind it. Sharon could bark orders at her all night and she'd comply to every one.

"Shirt, too," Sharon says. Brenda has a lot of insecurities but being naked has never really been one of them, much to her mama and daddy's consternation. She was always one of those babies who pulled off everything, diaper included, always bought the skimpiest bathing suits she could get away with. So she bares her breasts with little shame, allows Sharon to drink her fill. Sharon kisses her mouth, her breasts, the little mole next to her belly button. "I want to try," Sharon says.

Brenda props herself up on her elbows, a little confused. "What?"

"I want to use my mouth," Sharon clarifies, realizing, perhaps, that Brenda has not been privy to whatever internal thoughts she's been having on the matter. Brenda flops back on the bed and clenches her eyes tight.

"Okay," she manages. Her first husband had never gone down on her, not once. They'd dated whirlwind, the marriage had been thankfully short so maybe they'd just never gotten around to it? But Brenda knows better, knows that he'd been the type of man to expect a blowjob every 28 days from Brenda but would have not once returned the favor. Will had done it plenty but had not been particularly good at it and Fritz, well, he was more of a special occasion guy. Anniversaries, Christmas, birthdays. So this is appropriate, then, Sharon pushing her legs open and blowing lightly on Brenda's swollen folds. Tentatively licking at first and then growing bolder.

Brenda forces herself to relax and thinks, humorously, "Happy birthday to me."

But of course, Sharon does what Sharon does best - learns quickly and masters the skill. Brings Brenda to the edge and then gives her a hard shove over. And when Brenda manages to come back around, to open her eyes and string two words together, Sharon looks good and smug.

oooo

Brenda wakes up to see a fifty-year-old in the mirror staring back at her. Oh, she knows she was already fifty a few hours ago when Sharon had her face buried between Brenda's thighs, but it's morning now and things seem very real. When her mama turned fifty, her daddy threw a huge party in Atlanta. Brenda had been in college then, had flown home special as a surprise. Had called that morning already in Kennesaw at C.J.'s townhouse and said, "I'm sorry I can't make it, mama, it's snowin' something fierce here in D.C." Hadn't even felt bad about the lie. And when she'd shown up at the party, her mama had laughed and clapped in delight, had gotten teary as she hugged her and said, "I knew you were lyin'! I just knew you wouldn't let me turn fifty alone!"

That had been their joke, see. They were always surrounded by boys, by men. If they had each other, at least they weren't alone.

Brenda turns the shower on and sighs. Here she is, half a century into her life, and she's all alone.

I'm here for as long as you need me, sugar, her mama's voice says. But Brenda has been starting to suspect that her mama's voice isn't very good for her anymore. Before, she'd been so lonely and adrift and numb. She'd needed the idea of her mama as a guardian angel to anchor her to the earth, but it's become a crutch. How long does her mama plan on sticking around, anyway? The rest of Brenda's life? Is she gonna be 80-years-old and still arguing with a voice in her head about manners?

Brenda plans to say nothing about anything to anyone. Plans to keep her head down and barrel through this day just as fast and cleanly as she can. The only concession she'd made to herself was her schedule. Avoid court, avoid all high level meetings except one. She has a few investigators scheduled to check in with her about high profile cases and a meeting with the mayor. She's met the mayor several times since working for the D.A.'s office and this meeting is about David Gabriel's high profile investigation of one of the councilmembers.

She's not nervous, really. David does good work and Brenda's been keeping a close eye on the case. If it had been the previous mayor, she might be concerned. She'd learned the hard way that she'd had no chemistry with that man, with a man who'd appointed someone named Tommy as the Chief of Police, but the new mayor is young and energetic and friendly. He's always willing to work with other city agencies and his father was a very decorated police officer with the LAPD so he and Brenda get along just fine.

She's just packing up to meet David downstairs when her assistant knocks and comes in with a huge bouquet of flowers. It's a beautiful arrangement and she immediately knows it's from Sharon because everything is purple. Lavender roses, hydrangeas, peonies.

"Oh, would you look at that," Brenda says. It's in a beautiful crystal cut vase. "Right here on the desk is fine, Sarah, thank you."

"You're welcome," she says, hovering only a moment to see if Brenda will say more. But she's a good enough assistant to know that after a moment of silence, she should return to her desk and so she does. Brenda plucks out the card and reads it quickly. It's not Sharon's handwriting but it's her words all the same.

Happy birthday to my dearest friend. Can't wait to see you later. XO, Sharon.

Heartfelt but not suspicious, should someone else read the sentiment. It means that Sharon had known all along today was her birthday and had said nothing! That bitch. Brenda can't complain though. She's tired today, but the few hours they'd spent together last night were wonderful and the flowers are a nice touch. She'd been worried that what they'd done in D.C. wouldn't translate back to their real lives, but that doesn't seem to be the case. It's harder here, certainly, to make the time and juggle responsibilities, but it's worth it. At least to Brenda. She hopes to Sharon, too.

David drives them to city hall and Brenda lets him lead the meeting. It's his investigation, after all, and the mayor just wants to be kept up to date. She chimes in here and there but when it's over, the mayor holds her back and she tells David she'll meet him in the lobby.

"Everything seems to be by the books here," he says.

"Mayor Garcetti," she says. "There's nothing I take more seriously than this sort of investigation. I'm not at all interested in embarrassing the city."

"Good," he says. "And you can call me Eric."

"Perhaps when we're not standing in your office," she says, only teasing a little. It's nice to be friendly, it's nice, for once, not to be the bad guy in a situation involving an investigation.

"I'm actually headed down to your old stomping grounds. The P.A.B.," he says.

"Really?" she says. "It seems like they should be coming to see you, whoever it is."

"It's nice to get out," he says. "Plus I think Chief Pope wants to show me in person his new plan for the budget."

Brenda snorts before she can stop herself. "Let me guess - you gave him more money and he's still proposing cuts?"

The mayor smiles, shakes his head. "I appreciate a fiscally conservative public servant but the city is in a much better place than it was five years ago."

"Will is a penny pincher, he always has been," Brenda says. "I've told him to unfreeze promotions a hundred times if he wants to keep this job…" She stops. "None of my business, really."

"No," he says. "You have an impressive police record yourself, Chief Johnson, I'd like to hear your opinion."

"All right. Knowing Will, and I know him well, he'll tell you he wants to double the officers on the street and freeze promotions for at least another year to pay for it," Brenda says."But morale is gonna suffer unless people start to feel they have a future. He needs to, at least, reinstate the promotional tests for Lieutenant, Captain, and Commander. For instance, you could save a ton of money by just getting some of those old Crown Vics off the street and replacing them with newer cars - hybrids, cars that don't spend half their time in the motor pool getting tuned up just to run."

"We've talked about hybrids but there were concerns about horsepower," the mayor says.

"Maybe," Brenda says, shaking her head. "But I think surely that's been compensated for by now. I remember that complaint eight years ago! And if you order a fleet with built in video, you save money too instead buying a bunch of external units that need to be installed to bring an old fleet up to speed."

The mayor smiles at her. "So you've been thinking about this?"

"No, I just… it's just an example. There are ways to save money that are practical and don't come at the expense of the officers that make up the force. I also don't think spending money up front to save money long term is a bad investment."

"That's often true," he says.

"But then," she says, shaking her head. "I wasn't raised here. I wasn't here for Rodney King or for Rampart, so I have a different perspective and that's not always popular."

"Some might call that an asset," he says. "What other forces were you on?"

"Atlanta P.D. and Washington D.C.," she says. "A little time in the intelligence community."

"It's a shame you left the force, though I know the D.A.'s office was thrilled to have you," he says. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

She asks after his family and that carries them through the elevator ride. David looks relieved to see them, tucks his phone into his pocket and stands.

"I'll mention your motor pool idea to Chief Pope," the mayor says in parting.

"Don't tell him it was my idea," she says with a smile. "Let me know how it goes."

They shake hands and as soon as they step apart, two aides flank him - they've probably been hovering the whole time.

"I didn't know you and the mayor were so close," David says.

"I didn't either, frankly," she says. "He asked me to call him Eric."

"Did you?" he asks.

"No," she says. "But I think… never mind, it doesn't matter."

"Come on, then," David says. "I'll take you to lunch. On me today."

"As long as no one sings, okay?" she says. "I couldn't stand it."

"Deal," he says.

She thinks about her meeting with the former mayor, the interview that Sharon had claimed to be a chemistry test. If it had been with Mayor Garcetti, she might be in a real different place right now.

Oh well, she thinks, slipping into the passenger's side of David's car. Doesn't matter now.

oooo

When she gets home, Rusty's waiting on her couch, Sharon's keys in his hand. He's got on a white button down shirt and a skinny green and blue tie, jeans and a sport coat. She's surprised to see him but not upset. He's always welcome in her home, always. Well, maybe not when she's screwing his mama, but any other time is fine.

"Hi honey," she says. "Don't you look nice."

"Happy birthday," he says.

"Your mama send you to make sure I don't flake out?" she asks, kicking off her shoes and tossing her tote onto the rocking chair.

"She didn't phrase it like that, but yeah," he says. "I'm just supposed to escort you here and home so you don't have to walk alone."

"You're sweet," she says. "Your mama is cold and untrusting, but you I like."

He grins. "She's not so bad."

"Let me change and then we can get this over with," she says. She changes into a pink dress, flat sandals. When they walk outside, the sidewalk smells sweet from all the jasmine winding through the hedges that has burst into bloom. It's her favorite, it reminds her of being young, it reminds her of pressing her nose into Sharon's skin.

"I know you're tired," Rusty says. Brenda had gotten lost in her own thoughts and hasn't said much for the block and a half that they've walked. "But she worked really hard so-"

"She's a great cook, I know I'll like whatever it is," Brenda says and then, "Do I really look that tired?"

"Well, she got home super late and she said she stopped by your apartment before she came home so I imagine you didn't get a lot of sleep," he says.

"She told you that?" Brenda asks, going still inside. Holds herself carefully so she doesn't give anything away.

"She said she wanted to be the first one to wish you happy birthday," he says.

Well, she'd certainly accomplished that in her own way. Brenda smirks at the memory.

"What did you guys do, anyway?" he asks, his blue eyes wide, his hands in his pockets as they walk.

"What?" Brenda asks, nearly tripping over her own feet in surprise.

"How do you celebrate a birthday at two in the morning?"

"Oh," Brenda laughs uneasily. "Girl stuff. You know. Girls."

"I honestly don't know that much about girls," Rusty says. "Not sure I want to."

"Girls aren't so bad," she says.

"Not my particular cup of tea," he says. "But I like Sharon and I like you."

He unlocks the glass doors to the condo building and holds the door open for her. In the elevator he starts looking a little nervous.

"We went a little crazy on your present. I hope you like it."

"I thought dinner was my present?" she says.

"It's part of it," he promises. When they get down the hall and to the door, he says, "We're supposed to knock."

"For heaven's sake," she says and pounds on the door. "Might as well have just stayed home and eaten take out for all this-"

But she doesn't finish the thought or the sentence because when the door opens, something extraordinary happens.

"Daddy!"

Brenda finds herself wrapped in his warm arms like so many times before and it's not the sight of him that makes her cry, but the smell of him, so familiar, so deeply ingrained into all her most important memories. "Daddy," she says again, but this time it's a sob.

"I couldn't miss my best girl's birthday," he says, laughing at her display but he sounds a little choked up, too, truth be told. She gets so worked up, so emotional, that it takes her a moment to realize that the person standing behind her daddy isn't Sharon at all.

"Charlie," she manages. "Oh honey, come here, come here."

Her niece grins, hugs her mess of an aunt. "I couldn't let grandpa fly all the way out here on his own," she whispers.

Brenda looks past Charlie to see Sharon watching the display. She nods at Brenda once, as if extremely pleased with herself and turns away, heads into the kitchen.