Brenda looks around and feels that bad feeling in her chest settling down into the pit of her stomach. She feels old. Most of the people look college aged which makes sense - the flyer said 18 and over. When they'd paid their cover, a huge bouncer had stamped their hand 'Over 21' and also given them bracelets made out of glow sticks. Brenda had gotten a green one - Sharon a pink one.

Now, heading toward the bar that had been set up near the back of the floor space, Sharon says, "You want to swap?"

It's hard to hear her over the beat of the music and Brenda shakes her head, confused. Sharon holds up her bare arm with the bright pink glowing circle. "Trade?" she says again.

"Oh," Brenda grins. "Yeah!"

She can practically feel Fritz rolling his eyes from inside his FBI van. But she doesn't care about that as she easily slips the green bracelet off and trades with Sharon for the pink one.

Sharon leans into her ear and says, "Now all is right in the world."

"We should make a loop," Brenda says, before Sharon pulls away. Sharon nods and this time, when Brenda slips her hand into Sharon's, Sharon doesn't flinch. Ultimately they head toward the bar but the make a wide loop on the way, peering into all the dark corners they can find. She can see their people here and there - standing at the high, round tables, there's Kate in line for the bathroom and Irene is dancing with someone Brenda doesn't recognize in the middle of the room.

Brenda feels like her pulse is thudding in time with the dance music. She pulls Sharon along by their linked fingers. Ann and Kate are at the bar and Brenda slides up next to Ann, who doesn't look at her. Brenda is proud of Sharon when she looks over everyone near them but doesn't hesitate at all at the people she knows.

"What do you want?" Brenda says loudly.

"Surprise me," Sharon says, flashing her a smile. Brenda can't help but smile back at her - Sharon is a better actress, perhaps, than she gives herself credit for. If she were this pleasant and smiley all the time, maybe people wouldn't loathe her department quite so thoroughly. By the time she'd upended their professional life, they'd already be lost in her smile.

It takes a while to get a bartender's attention and even when they do, there's more waiting. Brenda looks up and notices that the catwalk isn't empty. That she can see several men up there, looking down on the undulating, neon adorned crowd. One of them, she's almost certain, is Iosif Sokolav.

And he's looking right at her.

She smiles up at him, before reaching over and brushing Sharon's hair aside. Puts her mouth right up her ear and says, "They're watching us from the catwalk."

Sharon turns to look at her, confused and then glances up. Looks back at Brenda.

"What do we do?" she asks.

"Nothin'," she says. "Wait and see."

She can see Amy across the room glance up. Which means someone in the surveillance van has heard what Brenda told Sharon and relayed it through the earpieces. No earpieces for Brenda and Sharon, though. No guns. No kevlar. No wonder Taylor gave up command of this op without more of a fight. What is Brenda supposed to do? Taylor gets to sit in the van and call the shots anyway and if something bad happens, Brenda supposes she could hit someone with the heel of her shoe, but that's about it. Scream for help.

Why does have such an uneasy feeling about this?

She usually has the answers, is all, but this. Well, they're going in pretty blind and this is a feeling she's not used to.

A bartender appears in front of them with a tray. Two shots. Two flutes of champagne.

"Oh, we didn't order that," Sharon says.

"Compliments of the house," the bartender says, young and tan and buff. He grins at Brenda but doesn't hang around to answer any questions. Ann and Kate have already moved away from them, close enough to watch but not enough to hear. Brenda picks up the flute and raises it up to the catwalk.

Iosif Sokolav nods down at her.

"I'm not sure we should drink this," Sharon says.

"We don't have a choice," Brenda says, setting the flute down and picking up the shot. "Rude not to."

"I wish you hadn't made me-"

"Hush," Brenda says. She hands a shot to Sharon, holds up her own. "Look happy."

Sharon smiles at her, arching one eyebrow and brings the shot glass to her lips. Tilts her head back.

Brenda drinks hers down too.

Kind of tart, but cold and doesn't even burn much going down. When she looks up again, the men on the catwalk are gone.

oooo

Sharon is a better dancer than Brenda ever would have imagined. Though she is doing a great job, Brenda can tell she's uncomfortable but when they move to the dance floor, whatever it is in Sharon that is pinging a red flag in Brenda goes away. In fact, Brenda feels awkward next to her, like she's somehow gangly and out of proportion despite being much more compact than Sharon.

"Twelve years of ballet," Sharon says when Brenda stops and stares. There's too many people around them for Brenda to stay still for too long and Sharon tilts her head slightly, reaches out to touch her elbow. "Just move to the rhythm of the music. It's not hard."

"I know it ain't hard," Brenda snaps sullenly as someone bumps against her, jostling her closer to Sharon. When they'd arrived, there were a fair amount of people already here, mostly girls. But now, later in the evening, there are a lot more men present than Brenda had really been expecting, though she can't say why she thought they wouldn't show up to a party with loud music, booze, and women. She feels more out of place than Sharon, feels like someone's mother or aunt. Feels every line in her face, feels acutely the ache in the arches of her feet in these damn high heels.

Sharon dances with her arms over her head, grins at a man who can't be more than twenty-five, who is probably younger than Sharon's own son. Spins and puts her back to Brenda, dances the rest of the song with the man. The boy, really, who keeps sending cocky glances to his friends, like he's bagged himself a cougar. When the song changes - it doesn't end, but slows down a little - Brenda slides up behind Sharon, wraps her arms around her waist and gets on her tiptoes to whisper into her ear, "Now, now, Captain."

She feels Sharon tense and shudder into her grasp. And when she starts to turn, Brenda loosens her grip but doesn't let go.

Here they are, face to face.

Sharon leans in and nuzzles Brenda's cheek a little, whispers, "They're watching us. Four o'clock."

Brenda doesn't, turn, trusts Sharon to be telling the truth. "I think we're suppose to give 'em something to look at."

She tries not to think of the men in the van. She knows Taylor is in there, Cooper, her own husband is probably listening in. But she hopes her own division is still farmed out to other cases and aren't any of the officers holding the perimeter around this god forsaken warehouse of bad ideas. She hopes Flynn and Provenza can't hear their suggestive murmurers filtered through Buzz's expensive speakers, can't see the dark, shaky footage their camera's relay.

Sharon pulls her off the dance floor. Micki had told them that the best place to make a scene would be on the far side of the bar. Away from the dancefloor, nestled in between the tall tables and extra seating. There's an illusion of privacy because it's shadowed by the catwalk above and behind the speakers that drown out the dance floor, but in fact everyone there is visible from almost anywhere in the warehouse.

This is where Sharon leads her, their hands tangled and sweaty.

It's not like Brenda has never kissed a woman before. She'd gone to her fair share of college parties, had gotten drunk with girlfriends and it had always started as putting on a show for the boys but occasionally had carried over to the backseat of someone's car. But no farther than that.

So this is like that, then. Putting on a show, folding long legs into the backseat of a Cressida to see exactly where an evening might take them.

Sharon leans against one of the concrete columns, apparently waiting for Brenda to make the first move. Which is cowardly, maybe, but Brenda gets that this is probably easier for her than for her straight, Catholic, rule-obsessed colleague. She thinks she'll have to ease Sharon into it, but when she steps up to her, Sharon grabs Brenda's face and guides their mouths together.

Sharon might actually be a little drunk.

Because Brenda can still taste champagne on her Sharon's lips, soft and sweet. They just have to look engaged, so Brenda tilts her head a little, pressing her body into Sharon's. Their closed lips slide and Brenda is surprised when Sharon pulls back a little and then presses in again, letting her hands fall from Brenda's face, wrapping her arms around her instead.

Brenda wants to hate it. Wants not to want the soft kisses, wants not to fill her nose with Sharon's scent, not to feel bare arms tighten around her. But she can feel her pulse racing, can feel the slow heat start to pool and spread. She curls her fingers around Sharon's waist, sliding them down until she feels the bottom on the vest and then the sharpness of skin over bone.

And it's Sharon, fascinatingly enough, who whimpers and then slides her tongue into Brenda's mouth.

Please, Brenda thinks. Please let her be drunk. Because this is a complication her life does not need.

oooo

A particularly popular song comes on and everyone on the dance floor cheers. It's enough to get Brenda's attention, enough so that she tears her mouth away. Her back is against the concrete and she's not sure when that even happened. She looks over Sharon's shoulder and sees Micki watching them. She nods her head up to the catwalk where Brenda sees two men in suits looking right at her.

"Brenda," Sharon says, voice low and thick. "I have to pee."

"Okay," Brenda says. "Yeah. We should… we should take a break."

There's a line for the bathroom, Brenda can see it from where they are. And when they head toward it, Brenda feels wobbly and knock kneed and out of sorts. Forgets, for a moment, that none of this is real. The kisses or the clothes or even the party. Brenda realizes that this friendship she has struck up with Sharon isn't even real, and that's a sobering enough thought that she straightens up, pulls her dress down from where it has ridden up a little and leads Sharon to the end of the line with a firm hand on her back. Because tomorrow, even if this op is a bust, it's just gonna be Chief Johnson and Captain Raydor, adversaries again, and if Will wants to keep running these stupid operations, then he can figure out how to do it without Brenda.

The line moves, though not as fast as one might hope. They don't talk because it's too loud to hear much of anything, but she looks around and tries to find their people. Irene on the dance floor, the lights shining off her glittery skin. Micki over where they'd left her. Ann still hovering around the bar. That's all she can see. Maybe that woman there, talking to the girl in the little denim shorts - that might be one of the patrol officers, but Brenda can't say for sure.

The bathroom is little, lit poorly with fluorescent lights and has two small stalls and one large one. The large one opens up first and Brenda pushes Sharon into it, waiting for the smaller one next to it. Brenda locks herself into it happily when it becomes available, careful not to upset her wire as she lifts her skirt and pushes down her panties. She hopes the guys in the van can't hear her pee.

When she wipes, she realizes that she's wet. Really wet. That the crotch of her panties is soaked through. She holds in a groan, rolling her eyes at her own rotten luck and wipes again before pulling up the uncomfortable underwear and flushing the toilet with her foot. This is all so stupid. She's married for one, and she doesn't even like Raydor! There are things, perhaps, that are attractive about the woman. Individual things like auburn hair or green eyes or the rare combination of the two together. Pale skin and bony hips. The way she smiles only in little flashes, so if you see one, it's like getting a special treat. Maybe she likes her round little nose, maybe she likes long, long legs. Maybe she likes the way she'd sucked Brenda's bottom lip in between her teeth and worried at it.

But she doesn't like Sharon. Not everything all put together into one stick-up-the-butt package, no matter how lovely the wrapping.

She washes her hands at the sink, wedging herself in next to a girl applying fresh lipstick in the mirror. Another girl presses in past the line, crying. Brenda ignores this, steps aside and gives up the real estate in front of the mirror to look at the closed door of the large stall. She waits and waits but it stays closed.

"Have you seen anyone come out of there?" Brenda asks the girl at the front of the line.

"No, she's been in there forever," she says.

"Anyone?" Brenda asks, but no one answers and Brenda calls, loudly, "Sharon?"

Nothing.

She knocks on the stall and says, "Sharon, you all right?" Hears no reply. Brenda feels worry prickle along the back of her neck, throws caution to the wind and says, "Captain Raydor, answer me."

She peers under the stall door, getting on her hands and knees on the disgusting bathroom floor, but she can't see feet. Just the white, porcelain base of the toilet.

"Shit," she says. "Shit. Commander Taylor, I need help in here. Repeat, I have an officer missing. Y'all get in here right now!"

And since she's already down on the floor, she ducks and rolls into the stall, ignoring the horrified gasps of the girls in line. She unlocks the door and opens it just in time to see Micki and Ann come into the restroom, shooing girls into the hall as they go. Brenda hadn't noticed it when she'd all but shoved Sharon into the stall. The white wall and the door with a brass handle. The black sign on the door that says 'Supplies'.

"It's only been a few minutes," Brenda says. Ann tries the door but it's locked so she draws a gun and fires two shots at the handle. Brenda mashes her fingers into her ears a little too late and they ring after the shots. She'll have a headache for the rest of the night.

When the door opens, there's no closet full of pink soap and toilet paper. Only a dark hallway and Brenda doesn't know where it goes.

oooo

Fritz hands her her purse the moment she steps outside and she puts it on her shoulder, feels instantly more herself. They've brought up the house lights, corralled all the employees of the party outside, separate from the complaining guests inside. Nothing looks more ridiculous than people standing in a well lit room covered in glow sticks. Even outside, where the light comes from yellow security lights and streetlamps, her own wrist looks dumb with the pink circle. She slips it off and tosses it into her bag.

"There's a perimeter set," Fritz says. "We think they put her in a vehicle but they'll get stopped before they can hit an onramp."

"No one saw her?" Brenda asks. They're walking toward the van which has pulled close to the building.

"We sure didn't," Fritz says. "But I'm not sure about your guys."

Brenda bangs on the back of the van and the door swings open. Taylor looks grim.

"What happened, Chief?" He asks it like it's Brenda's fault things went south, like she's blown the op singlehandedly.

"You tell me?" Brenda spits. "I don't remember seein' any door on any blueprints. Why didn't you know about that?" Throws it right back into his face. After all, all Taylor has done so far is complain about Brenda and sit in the back of the van. It's Brenda who has put herself in the line of fire, had coached a nervous Sharon into playing along, had dressed herself up and whored herself out in order to save human lives. Taylor can kiss her ass.

"Looks like an illegal addition the Sokolavs added after they purchased this property in 2004," Taylor says.

"You don't say," Brenda mutters.

"Hey you guys?" Buzz says, holding a finger to his ear, trying to hear through the earpiece. "The blockade outside the 110 ramp says they stopped a van, they think it's the Captain."

"Well is it?" Brenda asks.

"Hang on," Buzz says. "The officer says there are four women in the back…"

"Four?" Brenda screeches. "You missed four?"

"All of them are unconscious but… they think it's Raydor."

"I'll drive," Fritz says. "Come on."

"No, I'm going in a black and white, it'll be faster with sirens," Brenda says. She can't rest, can't relax until she knows that Sharon is okay. Sharon is her responsibility tonight and this was exactly what she didn't want to happen.

The rational part of her brain disagrees with her, tells her this is what they'd wanted all along. For one of their own to get captured, for the kidnappers to be caught in the act so they could be swiftly brought to justice, a murderous empire toppled. The people of Los Angeles safe once more. It's why they'd done all this nonsense in the first place. But now Brenda can see that it was too much, too expensive. Sharon's life is worth more to her now. She'd meant to keep her safe and she'd failed.

She grabs the elbow of a uniform and barks an order to take her to the blockade. He hesitates until she pulls her badge out of her bag and thrusts it into his face. "I am not screwin' around, I mean now!" she says.

"Brenda!" Fritz calls, but she ignores him. She doesn't even turn around or look back.

It's chaos at the roadblock too. They can't get that close because the whole thing is circled with black and whites but she can see a line of ambulances so that's where she heads. She holds her badge high and people move out of her way because she's terrified and mad and underdressed for the situation. Or over, depending on how one might view things. She sticks her head in the first ambulance and sees a young blonde woman getting strapped in.

Another ambulance, another young woman, closer to Brenda's own age which is upsetting. She sees Flynn, which is jarring but she's swept with gratitude nonetheless.

"Where is she?" Brenda demands. "Where's Captain Raydor?"

"That one," he says, pointing to a silent, but flashing rig that already has its doors closed. Brenda hurries over, bangs on the door. One of the paramedics opens it and looks at her.

"Cedars-Sinai, lady," he says.

"I'm coming with you," she says. She can't see all the way in but she can see the woman, plastic tubing in her arm. Sharon's jeans.

"Sorry," he says and reaches for the door but Brenda holds up her badge. "Who are you?" he asks.

"I'm her partner," she says, climbing in which is no easy feat in her shoes.

"You're a Deputy Chief and you have a partner?" he asks, skeptically.

"I did for this op," she says, looking down at Sharon. She doesn't look hurt, exactly, though Brenda can see that she'd obviously been through something. Her hair is messy, her wrist on the left still has duct tape on it. Brenda sits on the little bench and takes her hand. "They drugged her?"

"We're not sure what with, so it's not safe to wake her up, but her vitals are strong," he says as the rig lurches forward. She reaches out and takes Sharon's hand, the green glowstick bracelet overpowered by the light overhead. Brenda eases it around Sharon's hand and off, putting it into her purse too.

Her phone starts to ring and she jumps. Forgot she had it. A glance at the screen and she sees Pope's name.

"Johnson," she says. The paramedic monitoring Sharon glares at her but she ignores him. "Yeah, I'm with her now. Cedars."

"You're still wired, you know," Pope reminds her before she hangs up.

"Shit," she mumbles. She's far enough from the van now that the camera still probably isn't transmitting live footage, though it's certainly recording. But the sound… that'll transmit a surprising distance. She has to let go of Sharon's hand to reach behind her and unzip her dress a few inches so she can dislodge the battery pack from under her bra. She doesn't realize how much it had been hurting her until she wrestles it free but that's any pain, she figures. Always the worst just before the moment it disappears. She yanks the pack hard and then reaches down the front of the dress, wincing as she peels the tape away and pulls the wire out.

Shuts the pack off and looks up, where the paramedic is staring with his mouth hanging open.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Um, Calvin?" he says.

"Calvin," she says. "Watch her, not me, okay?"

"Oh," he says. "Yes, ma'am. She's stable."

They don't let her past the emergency room when they take all the women in, no matter how hard she waves her badge.

"Someone will be out to speak with you shortly," a nurse tells her firmly. And then she's just left standing there in her painful shoes and her short dress that is half unzipped and she's all alone. And she realizes she's scared. She's totally scared.

It doesn't take long for people to show up - Taylor and Pope and most of her division. Not Julio - he's gonna be mad when he realizes everything that he missed because Brenda had benched him over paperwork.

"I don't know," Brenda says over and over again when people ask. "They sedated her but they said she was stable."

She's been there almost forty-five minutes when Fritz shows up with a change of clothes for her and her little white sneakers.

"Oh my god," she says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says. "I know exactly what kind of night you've had."

She takes the plastic grocery bag full of clothes and her purse on her shoulder and goes down the hall to the restroom. Can't make herself go into the handicapped stall even though it'll give her the most room. No, she wedges herself into a small stall and takes off her shoes first thing, the cold floor of the hospital bathroom a relief on her bare feet. She gets the zipper the rest of the way down and lets the dress fall to the floor. Rests her head against the hard laminate of the stall door and stands for awhile in her underwear. Takes three slow deep breaths and feels everything hitch on the last one, tears threatening to spill over.

But no, that's just a bad idea and so she straightens up, swallows all of that nonsense down and steps out of the circle of the dress. Reaches in for what Fritz brought her. Blue jeans and a green t-shirt, her beige sweater. The sweater must have been an afterthought because it looks god awful with the green but she puts it all on anyway, even the little socks. She realizes with a start that they're Sharon's socks, the same ones from earlier in the week, laundered and balled up and stuffed into her bureau drawer by her domestic minded husband.

She shoves everything into the bag, steps into her shoes and unlocks the stall door. Looks at her reflection. She looks tired and every bit her age. She wets a paper towel and wipes under her eyes before washing her hands and rummaging through her bag for some gum and some lipstick.

Both the bracelets glow softly within.

Andy will have gum, she reassures herself. Andy always has gum.

oooo

Fritz sits next to her on one of the seats while she waits, her fingers tucked between her knees.

It occurs to her, now, to ask about the Sokolavs.

"FBI custody - we got Iosif and Marat, though Peter was nowhere to be found."

"Pasha," Brenda corrects absently. "You won't get him easy."

"No," Fritz agrees. "But this… this was worth it. You did good work."

Brenda presses her lips together. "I guess."

"And they said she'll be fine. So why don't you let me take you home?"

"I want to stay until she wakes up," Brenda says and not for the first time. She wishes he wouldn't push it. "You can go home if you want."

He shakes his head, rubs his face. Brenda has no idea what time it is but the sky outside is still dark. She glances at Fritz's wrist, but can't see the face of his watch, looks up around for a clock on the wall. It's just after two and she's tired.

"Do you think you could maybe get us some coffee?" she asks.

"Sure, honey," he says. She digs in her purse for her wallet, but he waves it off, heads toward the elevators. She hopes that the doctor will come out and tell her that Sharon is awake while Fritz is gone but that doesn't happen. He comes back with two styrofoam cups with lids and the liquid inside is scalding and doesn't have enough sweetener in it for her taste but she gulps down mouthfuls of it anyway. The roof her her mouth tingles with hurt.

"Can I do anything to help?" Fritz asks.

"I just hate waiting," she complains. "I just want to talk to her for a minute is all."

"Are you sure they're even going to let you in? You're not family."

"Someone has to take her statement," Brenda says hotly, having not considered that at all.

"Has anyone taken your statement?" he asks.

"Technically I may have left the scene but… I was wired so… everyone knows what I know," she says. "It's all a mess, anyway. This whole thing is mishandled and haphazard."

"That I agree with," Fritz says. And then, after a pause. "Raydor's a better actress than I would have thought."

Brenda thinks maybe he means the kiss, that maybe they should talk about it while they're spooling out time like endless thread but he doesn't say anything else and she can't talk about it, doesn't even know how to begin to try.

She does get to see Sharon in the end, because Sharon asks for her. Fritz doesn't come in the room with her and Brenda makes the uniformed officer wait outside the door. He can take her statement when Brenda's done.

Sharon is sitting up in the bed when Brenda comes in, forcing a smile and says, "Hey."

"Chief," she says, forcing a smile.

"How are you feeling?" Brenda asks, stopping halfway between the door and the bed, suddenly unsure.

"Groggy and a little sore but… I think, fine?" She shakes her head. "There were other girls, I understand. They're okay?"

"Yeah," Brenda says. "Yeah. Three others but they're all… fine. You all didn't get very far so… Pope is pleased, anyway. The FBI took care of the arrests."

"Good," Sharon says. "No one has come in to take my statement yet."

"There's someone outside," Brenda says. "But there's no rush. You can talk to me first."

She nods again. She's in a hospital gown, her hair down and her makeup only remnants, now. "Will you sit?" Sharon asks, pointing to the chair.

Brenda can do that. She even drags the chair over to the side of the bed and sits. "I'll have someone run you some clothes over in the morning," Brenda says.

"There's no reason for me to spend the night here," Sharon says. "I'm fine."

"Night's half over now, may as well," Brenda says.

"I thought since you were here… I thought you maybe could take me home if I discharged myself," Sharon says.

Brenda bites her lip.

"I don't think I could sleep anymore anyway. Apparently they gave me a sedative. I don't… I locked the stall door, felt something sharp in my arm. The rest… is a blur. Mostly… just waking up here," she says. "Not much of a help."

"Sharon," Brenda says. "I'm sorry I… I'm sorry they got to you."

"Sorry?" Sharon asks, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "That was the whole point!"

"Still," Brenda says. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Sharon waves away the apology.

"You did great, though," Brenda says. "Best undercover dancing I've ever seen."

"You look exhausted, Chief," Sharon says. It's an awkward change of subject, a clumsy effort to lead Brenda away from talking about what they'd done. "Maybe you should send that officer in here."

"Okay," Brenda says. "I'll go talk to the nurse about your discharge papers."

"Thank you," Sharon says. "Thanks."

oooo

"Brenda, I have to be at work in five hours," Fritz says. "How long are we supposed to wait?"

"She's finishing her statement and then they'll discharge her," Brenda says. "Not much longer."

"Shouldn't someone call her family or something?" he asks.

"I think her kids don't live nearby," Brenda says, though she doesn't know that for sure. She thinks about all the things about Sharon she doesn't know. Thinks about how what Sharon tastes like when she kisses her isn't one of them, anymore. "Take the car, I'll get the black and white to take us back to the station and drive her home myself."

"No," Fritz says. "No. We'll wait."

It's another forty minutes before they wheel Sharon out in her jeans and her vest. Brenda shakes her head, mortified, and unties her sweater, taking it off and handing it to her. They have to wait until she's at the doors, wheeled by a bored looking guy in his twenties, before she can stand up and put the sweater on. She doesn't even offer token resistance which is telling. Just ties the belt and lifts her hair out from under the collar, wincing just a little.

"Thank you," she says to Brenda. "And to you, Agent Howard."

"Our pleasure," Fritz says. Brenda glances at him but doesn't contradict. Fritz can be a really good and thoughtful man, though those attributes start to slide when he's tired. He gets edgy and impatient. Banging cupboard doors, the dishes rattling and the cat slinking away. That's the Fritz only she ever sees.

It's this edgy Fritz she's sensing now as he looks over Sharon in his wife's favorite sweater. "You don't have a purse or anything?"

"Oh," Sharon says. "I suppose all that is still at the office. If you drop me there, I can drive myself home."

"Forget it," Brenda says exhaustedly. "We have a guest bed. I'll take you in the mornin'."

"Chief-"

"Sharon, please, please, please don't argue with me about this, please," Brenda says. "Come on. Let's go."

Fritz leads them down the sidewalk toward the parking garage and Sharon looks unsure but Brenda just shakes her head. It's not worth it, the token argument, and anyway Brenda will feel better she can see Sharon in the morning, wholly herself and uninjured. When they get to the car, she offers to drive but Fritz just rolls his eyes at that notion, though Brenda is perfectly capable of getting them home. She gives the front seat to Sharon, crawls into the back of the big SUV and slides down on the leather seats until her feet are tucked under Sharon's seat. She watches Fritz glance back at her in the rearview mirror, she watches Sharon sit as straight up as possible, her hand gripping the door.

No one bothers with small talk.

When they pull into the drive, Brenda hops out first, hurries ahead to unlock the door, bounding up the back steps so they'll enter through the kitchen and not through the front. She can hear Fritz on the stairs first, heavy, trudging footsteps, and then Sharon's lighter ones.

She scoops up the cat the moment she gets the door open. Fritz doesn't look at them as he passes by, but Sharon smiles a little at Joel.

"He's always tryin' to escape," Brenda says, which isn't true so she's not sure why she says it. He only greets them at the door like this when they've been gone for longer than normal and he's hungry. Still, she kicks the door closed behind her and sets Joel on the floor where he leans against her leg and meows.

"I'm going to bed," Fritz says. "Captain, I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you, Agent Howard," she says.

Fritz closes the bedroom door behind him a little harder than normal and Brenda wonders if she's even welcome in there at all.

"Here you are," Brenda says. "In my house. Twice in one week."

"Uh," Sharon says. "You made me come here."

"I'm not… sayin' it's bad," she says. "Anyway. Um, are you hungry? I'm hungry."

"I guess," Sharon says. Which, from her, is as good as a yes. But she tucks her hands in the tiny pockets of her tight jeans, a struggle, and says, "Brenda you've got to be wiped out. You should go to bed."

"I'm fine," Brenda says. "Not my first all nighter with this job."

She hides in the refrigerator for a moment. It feels like she hasn't been home in ages but there's the leftover pizza from last night, there's three apples in the drawer, there's half a gallon of milk.

"Cold pizza? Sandwiches? Breakfast. We got eggs, I think," she says.

"Can I warm up the cold pizza?" Sharon asks.

Brenda crinkles up her nose. "I guess I won't stop you." She pulls out the box. "Microwave is over there, plates to the right of the sink. I'm gonna go find you something to sleep in and a toothbrush if we've got one."

"Bless you," Sharon says.

Brenda doesn't dare go into the bedroom, instead, she veers into the laundry room where she knows there's a load wrinkling in the dryer. She pauses to shake some food into Joel's bowl and then she digs through the dryer, pulling out a soft pair of shorts edged in lace and a Falcon's shirt, bright red, but fitted and comfortable from years of washing. She only ever sleeps in it, unless she packs it when she goes home to wear on Thanksgiving while her brothers are all screaming at the TV.

There's one fresh toothbrush under the sink and it's neon orange and green which is why it's the only one left in the package. She wrinkles her nose at it and pulls it out. Caries her bounty back to the kitchen where Sharon is sitting at the table with a slice of pizza on a plate in front of her and she's plated one for Brenda too. She's even found glasses and filled them with ice water.

"Thanks," Brenda says, setting the things down at the other end of the table and slipping into the empty seat. It's a mistake because as soon as she sits, she's tired. But she picks up the pizza anyway, still cold, and takes a bite. Sharon takes a much smaller bite, sets her slice back down and looks at Brenda.

"I'd like to talk about something," she says.

Brenda feels her shoulders tense. "Okay."

"About my behavior, tonight," Sharon clarifies.

"You behaved exactly like you were suppose to," Brenda says. "No need to discuss it."

"That's not entirely true." And here, Sharon glances down and then back up again. Brenda thinks maybe she was looking at her mouth, but she can't be sure. Then she looks at Sharon's mouth. She can't help it.

"It's okay," Brenda says.

"I think, perhaps, we figured out the reason it's been so difficult… to… maintain a friendship," she says carefully.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Brenda asks. "I will talk about it, but not right now."

Sharon presses her mouth together but nods. "Fine."

Brenda lets her have the bathroom first, makes sure the guest bed is made up and gets Sharon settled before brushing her own teeth and stripping down to her underwear in the bathroom. Pads mostly naked to the laundry to get the big t-shirt she'd seen in the dryer. Takes off her underwear and bra and drops them in the open washer, pulls on a fresh pair of panties and the shirt.

She pauses outside the closed guestroom door for a moment and listens hard. She's not sure what she's listening for - snoring? Tossing and turning? A suppressed whimper? But she hears nothing at all.

Fritz doesn't even stir when she climbs into bed.