Los Angeles, December 2008
This was torture, pure and simple, and Pope had to have known that it would be when he had insisted that Sharon come to this damn party. She stared at herself in the mirror above the glistening sink in the bathroom in the back of the hotel ballroom, her makeup perfect and her expression forlorn. She needed to get out of here, but she also needed to play nice. She liked her job, and she liked the position it afforded her, as far away from Brenda Leigh Johnson as she could be, but she detested the sheer amount of ass-kissing that seemed to be involved with having a higher rank. There was always someone above you, and the higher you got, the more those people seemed to crave subservience.
And Pope, God, Pope was the worst of all. Sharon had not attended the yearly policemen's ball since Brenda Leigh had arrived, and until just a few days ago she was certain that no one had noticed her absence. No one except for Andy, and even then she couldn't be sure because they hadn't spoken in at least a year. He had been too busy fawning over his pretty new Chief to even fight with her, and Sharon found that while she didn't exactly miss him she missed having someone in her life. Brenda Leigh's arrival had made things difficult for her in more ways than she ever anticipated.
And then last week, Pope had called her into his office to "ask" (which actually meant order) her to attend. Evidently Pope had noticed her repeated absences, and he apparently thought it wasn't good for interdepartmental relations. He seemed to think Sharon's not showing up to the yearly gathering was being construed as a sign of her contempt for the department. And though she tried to argue that no one would care if she were there, that if anything people would be glad to not have to worry about a hated Internal Affairs officer wandering around while they were getting drunk with their buddies, Pope was having none of it; he dismissed her arguments with a wave of his hand and said, "I'll see you there" in an overly cheery tone of voice that set her teeth on edge.
So she was here, hiding in the bathroom because she needed a moment to pull herself together. She looked good, and she knew it, but she also knew that the chances of her bumping into Brenda Leigh Johnson here were very, very high, and that scared her more than anything in recent memory. Thoughts of Brenda in a pretty dress, hanging on the arm of her pretty husband, filled the Captain's mind, and swam around alongside the image of Brenda as she was the last time Sharon had seen her, naked and sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that Sharon was about to walk out on her, never to return.
She shook her head and took a deep breath, rushing out of the bathroom before she could think better of it. She focused on the perfect click of her stilettos against the floor, and the brush of her long black dress against her legs, but the sound of her shoes made her lonely, and the silken feel of fabric against her skin just reminded her of Brenda's lips, and Sharon desperately, desperately wanted to leave. She would find Pope, she would say hello, she would nod to Andy Flynn if she happened across him, and she would get the fuck out.
That's the plan Sharon. Stick to the plan.
···
Brenda hated things like this. She hated the formal dresses and she hated the small talk, and she hated dancing in public while everyone stared and made her feel as if she were on display in a museum; she just hated it. Fritz, on the other hand, was loving it. He moved easily from group to group with Brenda on his arm, talking to everyone, getting drinks for Brenda and club sodas for himself. He did look dapper in his tux, but he was so damn chipper it was starting to make Brenda's teeth itch. She looked around desperately for a member of her squad, someone who was bound to feel as out of place here as she did, someone she could hide in a corner and commiserate with. Her eyes fell on Andy Flynn across the room, and she made a beeline for him.
Before Brenda reached him, a dark-haired woman moved between them, her back to Brenda. The woman paused, speaking to Flynn, and Brenda watched from a slight distance, surprised to see that even from here the distress was plain on Flynn's face. His expression waffled between surprised and sad and uncertain as the woman talked, and Brenda watched, fascinated. Who the hell was he talking to?
All Brenda could see of the woman was a long cascade of dark, artfully tousled hair and an expanse of smooth pale skin revealed by the plunging back of her black dress. Brenda tried to change her position, to catch a glimpse of the woman's face or perhaps move in close enough to hear what the pair were saying to each other, but she feared that if she went too close Flynn would notice her and the element of surprise would be lost. She would also have to explain why she was hanging around, staring at him and the mystery woman he was speaking to.
As she watched, she was struck by the feeling that she knew the woman. She couldn't place it, couldn't identify how just the slope of another person's back could seem so familiar. And then, for one delirious moment, she was completely and utterly certain that it was Sharon Raydor. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and her palms felt clammy; how, she wondered how could it be?
The answer was obvious, of course. It couldn't be Sharon, and she knew that. Sharon was long gone, long, long gone, and if nothing else, the woman's hair was all wrong. Too long, and too dark. Under the lights sparkling down from the various chandeliers overhead, Brenda could see none of Sharon's familiar auburn highlights. Get a hold of yourself, Brenda thought harshly, taking a long sip of her Merlot.
And then the woman leaned in and dropped a kiss on Andy's cheek before walking past him, heading for the exits. Andy turned to watch her go, hands in his pockets.
Brenda walked up as his back was turned, calling out when she was close enough, "Lieutenant Flynn!" he turned back to her, and the sadness she had seen on his face moments before lingered around his eyes.
"Chief," he responded with a slight nod. He remained quiet, and the sadness stayed, too, infecting Brenda Leigh. Though she knew it wasn't Sharon, the appearance of the woman had dragged up all of those memories, of all the long nights they'd spent together, and the way she'd felt when Sharon held her close. She shivered despite the warmth of the night.
"Making new friends?" she asked, nodding her head in the direction the woman had gone, and Flynn just shook his head.
"Just catching up with someone I haven't seen in a while," he answered, his eyes flickering towards the door the woman had disappeared through, and for a moment Brenda wanted to tell him to follow the mystery lady; he clearly wanted to.
"You don't seem to be doing a good job of catching her," Brenda joked, ashamed of her own pathetic attempt at lightheartedness. "You let her get away."
"Yeah, I did," Flynn told her, and the heaviness of his tone told Brenda that he meant that in more ways than one. The conversation had taken a morose turn that did not suit the festive atmosphere, and Brenda desperately wished for a way to escape.
"Chief, would you like to dance?" Flynn asked her suddenly, his face oddly hopeful, and Brenda found she did want to dance. To dance with him, actually, to sway together to a sad song as they shared their secret heartbreaks, commiserating in their loneliness in the midst of all these happy people. She had her mouth open to answer him when she felt a familiar hand on her elbow and heard her husband's voice in her ear.
"There you are," Fritz said cheerily. "Dance with me, Brenda Leigh," he told her, and began to lead her away without waiting for her answer. She pulled back long enough to look deep into Andy Flynn's eyes as she said, "I'll catch up with you later, Lieutenant."
Andy just nodded, and as Brenda allowed her husband to lead her away he downed the last of his club soda and headed out the door, chasing after Sharon.
Los Angeles, 2009
"You can't be serious," Sharon said softly, hoping her voice didn't carry past the kitchen into the bedrooms beyond. Ethan and Lily were both in their rooms, Lily sleeping and Ethan playing on his computer, and the last thing Sharon needed was for either of them to come waltzing into the middle of this conversation. What she needed, if she were honest with herself, was a very large glass of something. At this point she would have taken just about anything, so long as the alcohol content was high enough.
"You just graduated from college. You can't throw your life away like this, sweetheart," she continued, and Garrett shook his head.
"I'm not, Mom. Joining the Air Force will give me lots of options, and I'm going to OTS. I'm going to make a career."
Sharon closed her eyes and saw the Humvee blowing up in front of her. It had been nearly fifteen years since that sweltering day, and she still felt it in her bones. The fear, the danger of it, and she hadn't even been a soldier. The thought of her son, her baby, in that same situation tore at her heart, and she could barely keep the tears at bay.
"And it's the Air Force, it's not like I'm talking about becoming a Marine." He crossed his arms over his chest, and she was struck by how much he looked like Jack in that moment. Tall and broad-shouldered, so very strong, and so very stubborn.
"You were going to be a lawyer," she said in a small voice, remembering how happy she'd been when he told her didn't want to be a policeman or a fireman or a soldier but a lawyer, someone who worked behind a desk and went home at the same time every day. She saw that dream slipping away from her, only to be replaced by sleepless nights spent worrying about him, about where he was and what he was doing and when she was going to see him again.
He sat down across from her at the dinner table, and this seemed suddenly so very reminiscent of conversations she'd had with his father years and years ago, with the roles very much reversed. Sharon had sat across the table from Jack and tried to explain how important her work was, how she'd be back soon and he shouldn't be so upset, and Jack had tried to remind her that they had a family, that her job was hurting them. She couldn't see this conversation ending any better than the old ones had.
"Mom-" Garrett started, but then her cell phone rang, the tone oddly loud in the stillness of the kitchen, and her son rolled his eyes. He was used to this sort of interruption, and he sat back quietly as she answered the call.
"Raydor," she said, her heart sinking when she heard Will Pope's voice on the other end of the line.
"Captain," he said, and Sharon reached out, laid a gentle hand on her son's arm. He knew then, knew that she was going, that they were going to have to finish this conversation another time, and Sharon found herself once more hating, not her job, but what her job did to her family. What it did to her.
"David Gabriel has been involved in a shooting outside a bar-" Sharon's heart leapt into her throat as she listened to Pope's words. She had never met the young man in question but she knew his name, and she knew who he worked for. He was Major Crimes. Investigating David Gabriel meant investigating Brenda Leigh. Please, God, no, not tonight, please, she thought desperately. "Commander Taylor is at the crime scene now, evidently he was a witness. I need you there as quickly as possible, Captain."
Sharon struggled to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, to force the air out of her lungs into words, some excuse. "I'll send my Sergeants," she said finally, "I cannot investigate, Chief-"
He cut her off quickly. "Captain, that excuse will not work this time. I understand your prior relationship with Andy Flynn has kept you from investigating Major Crimes in the past, but I need you on this one. I need this investigation to be above reproach, and you're the only person I trust to do this."
What could she possibly say? She would have to go. She could see no other option. She would have to see Brenda Leigh, she would have to speak to that woman, to hear her voice, and she would have to find a way to face her former lover without falling to pieces. She took a deep breath to answer him but Pope was rattling off the details he had on the case and she was trying to reign in her thoughts, to listen and process and try to ignore the way the memories pulled at her.
···
Brenda sighed, the stillness of her home stifling her tonight. Fritz was gone, another meeting, and even the cat seemed to be avoiding her. She had no case files to go over, no urge to watch television, no one to call. She was utterly alone, buried under the weight of the life she'd built for herself. And there seemed to be only one person to blame, only one face that swam before her eyes. Thirteen years since she'd first kissed Sharon Raydor, twelve years since Sharon had walked out her door, never to be seen again, and Brenda still couldn't shake the dark-haired woman from her mind. Especially not on nights like this. Long ago, when she lived in D.C. and her life was hers and hers alone, Brenda would have called Sharon on a night like this. And Sharon would have offered some excuse to her husband and she would have slipped out into the night, coming into Brenda's bed because Brenda had asked her to.
But Sharon had made her choice, put her family first like she always should have done, and Brenda didn't know where she was, and all this moping and reminiscing was only making her situation worse. She tried to be pragmatic, to turn her emotions off, to remind herself how much she loved her husband, but all she could see was Sharon. She rose up off the couch, heading for her bedroom.
Once inside she laid down flat on her stomach and shimmied under the bed, pulling out a shoebox. Brenda was a notorious hoarder, and this shoebox contained everything that remained of her relationship with Sharon; and once again she found herself devastated that all that remained was a single photograph, taken long ago. Brenda used to keep the picture in the box that housed Will Pope's letters, the letters she had thrown away years ago when Fritz first told her he loved her, but she had found herself unable to throw away the photograph of Sharon. She stared at it now, running her fingers over the glossy paper.
Sharon smiled with her arm draped around Brenda's shoulders, the pair of them wearing desert camo as they stood side-by-side in that Army base in Afghanistan, the day before the explosion. Sharon's auburn hair burned fire-bright in the unrelenting sun, and Brenda's cheeks were pink from the exposure. All she could think as she stared at the picture was how young they looked, how happy, how unaware of the emotional devastation they would cause each other. She assumed Sharon had been devastated by the end of their affair; she sort of hoped so, at least. It didn't seem fair that Brenda should be the only one to suffer.
Brenda was in the middle of some full-blown nostalgia when her cell phone rang and she rose to answer it immediately, not even bothering to replace the photograph she still clutched in her hands.
The caller id flashing on the cell phone's screen proclaimed Andy Flynn's name in bright letters, and Brenda sighed again as she answered. She had been doing that a lot tonight.
"Lieutenant Flynn?" she said.
"Chief, we got a problem." His voice was low and plainly irritated, and Brenda immediately regretted having answered the phone. "Gabriel's shot someone-" Well, Brenda thought, that will certainly get my mind off Sharon.
As she listened to Andy sketching in the situation, her heart sank. Gabriel's recent behavior had been like the rebellious streak of a previously buttoned-up teenager, and Brenda felt very much like the frustrated mother who had reached the end of her rope. "Gabriel's on his way to the hospital," Flynn told her. "Provenza and I will try to keep Raydor off your tail so you can question him first."
Raydor.
The name echoed in Brenda's mind like a gunshot, like the distant sound of a Humvee exploding, like the quiet click of a front door closing. Raydor.
It can't be.
"Who, Lieutenant?" she asked, the words coming out stuttered, unsure, and for a moment she worried that Andy wouldn't understand the question, but he did.
"Captain Sharon Raydor, head of the Force Investigation Division. Pope must think Gabriel's really fucked up here, I don't think he would have sent her otherwise."
Captain Sharon Raydor.
Brenda dropped into one of her kitchen chairs as her knees gave out from beneath her. Sharon Sharon Sharon… her thoughts ran chaotic with the images and sounds and smells of Sharon she remembered so well from all those years ago, and her heart beat so wildly she feared she would lose consciousness. Brenda Leigh was seldom surprised by people anymore, but this had done it. This night was more than she could handle. David Gabriel had shot a teenager and Sharon Raydor was working for the LAPD.
A memory surfaced unbidden of Andy Flynn at the Policemen's Ball, of him talking to a woman with an elegant bearing and pale skin, and Brenda fought the urge to throw up. It was her, it had to have been her. They had been ten feet away from each other, and Brenda had not spoken to her. Had not really seen.
Brenda had danced with her husband and watched as Andy Flynn chased after Sharon, and for the briefest of moments she was insanely jealous that Andy knew her, that he knew she was here, that he had spoken to her more recently than Brenda had. Sharon belonged to her, damn it.
Stop this, Brenda Leigh, she told herself forcefully, coming back into the conversation as the Lieutenant on the other end of the line told her where to go. He hung up and she found herself alone in her kitchen, clutching a photograph of Sharon Raydor, her heart clamoring uncontrollably in her chest.
Time to go to work.
···
The steady clack of her heels on the linoleum echoed an angry tune as she made her way down the hallway. Her feet carried her onward, even as her heart begged her to turn around and run, to get as far away from this place as she could. They had sent her to the wrong hospital, and she knew this was only the beginning. They would not cooperate. Andy Flynn would behave as though they had never been friends, as though he had never spent a single night lying next to her, naked and sweaty in her bed. And Brenda.
Sweet Jesus, Brenda.
What was she supposed to do? What could she do? What would Brenda do?
Sharon wasn't an idiot; she knew Brenda would not reveal that they had once been lovers. She had a husband and a job she'd gotten from Will Pope, and the blonde would certainly not want to throw away either of those things by revealing their prior relationship. But would she tell people that they had known each other before? Did she know that Sharon was here? Brenda didn't respond well to surprises, Sharon knew.
The sound of a too-familiar southern drawl floated down the hallway, and Sharon fought down a wave of nausea. She kept breathing, and she kept walking.
···
Even as Brenda listened to David Gabriel's story her ear strained for any sound coming from the hallway beyond, for any hint that Sharon was approaching. She resisted the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear for the thousandth time. She focused on breathing, leaned back against the wall to keep herself upright. Sharon is coming, Sharon is coming… the thought kept popping up at all the wrong moments, and her eyes kept flickering towards the doorway before she could stop herself. This was madness, pure and simple. Waiting for Sharon's arrival was driving her mad.
And David Gabriel was almost certainly going to prison. No gun, no other witnesses, a teenage boy with no money in his pockets; this did not look good for her young Sergeant. The fact that Sharon Raydor would be investigating made matters worse; Brenda remembered her as a formidable interrogator, sharp, quick, and manipulative when necessary. Brenda physically shuddered when she imagined how awful this was going to be, how difficult it would be to find herself on the other side of this investigation, no longer working together with Sharon. They weren't on the same team anymore, and Brenda feared that whatever fondness they had once felt for one another could only have been turned into malice by the passage of time.
So she decided she would strike first. She could not let Sharon break her again. She could not stand here, hopeful, extending an offer of friendship, only to be once again rejected by the lovely Captain Raydor. She would be cool, and she would remind Sharon that she was in control here. This was her home, damn it, this was her squad, and Sharon was not allowed to take that away from her.
And then Sharon was there, and Brenda lost the ability to breathe.
···
Sharon's momentum carried her around the corner, and then she was there, Brenda was there, in that atrocious pink coat and her perfect blonde curls, and for the space of a single heartbeat Sharon couldn't stop herself. She stared into Brenda's eyes, dark brown eyes that stared right back at her, and she very nearly lost it. The temptation to run, or worse, to throw herself at the Deputy Chief, was almost irrespirable, and when she looked into Brenda's eyes she could see the same struggle. She saw hurt there, and confusion, and the tiniest bit of hope, and it was the hope that felt most like a knife through her heart. Sharon wrenched her eyes away, moving past Brenda even as the blonde murmured, "Captain Raydor" in that familiar drawl, and she kept her back turned.
Just keep breathing, she told herself, holding her back rigid. So Brenda had known she was coming. Someone had warned her. Sharon would wonder later about how that conversation had happened, about how Brenda had responded, about how long Brenda had known they were living in the same city, but right now it was time for work. Work was the only thing keeping Sharon together in this moment, and she knew it. She could feel Brenda's eyes on her back, and she fought the urge to cry. She had left Brenda all those years ago, she had made that choice, for the sake of her children and the sake of a marriage that had been doomed from the start, but she had done that, and she had no right to feel betrayed by Brenda.
She went straight to David Gabriel, and began her interview. She had to make it through this. She had to.
···
Brenda had wondered, right before Sharon showed up, if the Captain would remember her. Their affair had lasted barely a year, and it had been over for more than a decade; what if Sharon had forgotten her name, or her face? What if she was wrong about this whole thing, and there just happened to be another woman named Sharon Raydor, and her Sharon was still gone?
That thought gave her hope and steadied her nerves, but it was dashed to pieces when Sharon rounded the corner, eyes locked on Brenda's. They were the same color green, though they were hidden behind glasses.
And then she looked away. Their eye contact had only lasted a moment, but it had answered Brenda's questions. Sharon certainly remembered her and she was not surprised to find her here.
The dark-haired woman brushed by her without bothering to speak to her, focused with laser-like intensity on David Gabriel, and Brenda could only stand against the wall and fume her quiet outrage. How dare she ignore Brenda? After everything they'd been through together, Sharon had breezed past as though none of it had ever happened, as though Sharon had not screamed with pleasure with Brenda's fingers buried inside her and Brenda's mouth warm against her throat. As though Brenda didn't know exactly what she smelled like, tasted like, what she looked like when she came.
Brenda allowed Sharon this moment of control, watching carefully to see how the woman would act, to see how Brenda would need to respond, and indulging in a careful examination of the way the years had changed her Sharon.
If anything, this Captain seemed smaller than her Sharon, thinner; her lovely face bore more lines than Brenda recalled, but the beginnings of those lines had been present thirteen years ago. Her hair was lovely like this, so much longer than Brenda had ever seen it, darker, too. It seemed to suit her, as did the navy trench she wore. Though Brenda couldn't see what lay beneath the navy coat, she could see that it fit the Captain well, and it showed off her long, lean legs. Brenda had to force herself not to stare at those legs, not remember how they had felt wrapped around her waist.
She listened to Sharon's words, to the precise tone of her voice, the careful articulation of each syllable, and she very nearly lost her precious control. Sharon was saying something about a breathalyzer test and Brenda had to tilt her head back, catch her bottom lip between her teeth. That's Sharon, she kept thinking, that's my Sharon, right there, and she won't even look at me.
···
Sharon knew she had no choice. She had to speak to Brenda. Gabriel had gone to take the breathalyzer as she had requested, and there was absolutely no reason for her not to speak to the Deputy Chief. She took a deep breath and turned around.
"Captain Raydor, it is so nice to finally meet you," Brenda said, and Sharon steeled herself for what would come next. Brenda's tone had been cold, despite the politeness of her words, and Sharon understood her meaning. This was how they were going to play it. Pretend they had never met, never kissed, never fucked.
Sharon wasn't sure she could do that, but she was damn sure going to try. She had to.
Their conversation was stilted, forced, fraught with a sort of tension she didn't recall existing between them in the past. There had always been a friendly tension, an attraction, but the energy between them now was bitter. Angry. And when Brenda spoke, her words cut Sharon to the core.
"You are a Captain, and a subordinate officer, and you will remember that when addressing me. Do I make myself clear, Captain?"
Sharon balled her hands into fists at her side, the only outward sign she gave of the turmoil going on in her mind. Brenda hated her. She saw that now. And the blonde had every right to; Sharon had left her lying naked and alone, and given no explanation. And Brenda was not some random lay; they had loved each other. Brenda had dragged Sharon's body from the burning wreckage of a Humvee while taking enemy fire. Brenda had comforted her like no one else ever had. And now?
Now Brenda was insisting that Sharon call her Chief. That she remember her place. Which, it would seem, was no longer by Brenda's side.
"Perfectly, Chief," she answered Brenda's earlier question. "Excuse me. Got work to do," she said, offering a tight smile, trying to calculate in her head how long it would take her to reach the nearest bathroom. She was certain how much longer she could keep the tears at bay.
···
"Captain Raydor!" Brenda called out, moving as quickly down the hallway as propriety and her heels would allow. She couldn't let Sharon go. She had seen it, had seen the brokenness in Sharon's expression as she walked away, the tears just about to fall, and she had known in that moment that she had made a misstep. There was no reason for her to pull rank like that, to try to keep Sharon down; she had looked into the Captain's eyes and seen the woman she had once fallen in love with, and the thought that she might have hurt her was more than she could bear.
Sharon spun on one elegant heel when she heard Brenda call out her name, confusion written all over her face and her officers forming a semi-circle behind her, watching Brenda with mistrust.
"May I speak to you in private, please?" Brenda asked, and Sharon stared at her, dumbstruck. Finally she nodded, and Brenda turned to open the nearest door, ushering Sharon into another waiting room, though this one was empty. The second the door closed behind them an awkward silence fell. They faced off against one another, older now and both of them hardened by the passage of time, uncertain of what to say or do when faced with the physical reminder of their shared history. They studied each other's faces, and the minutes dragged on, until finally it became too much.
Brenda broke first.
"Sharon," she said, her voice small and broken, barely more than a whisper, and Sharon launched herself at the Deputy Chief, arms wrapping around the blonde's lithe frame and lips landing right on Brenda's mouth, and all she could think was that this was where she belonged.
Brenda kissed her back hungrily, furiously, one hand clutching her ass possessively, the other tangled in hair that was so much longer than she remembered, but just as soft. Brenda held the other woman tightly against herself, as though she never wanted to let go, and Sharon clung to her just as desperately.
Their tongues warred with each other, Brenda's pushing forward to taste Sharon's mouth before the dark-haired woman retaliated, longing to feel the warmth she had missed. The passion was there, as strong as they each remembered, an undeniable frenzy that was building faster than either could have anticipated.
And then Sharon broke away. She rested her forehead against Brenda's, each of them gasping, their bodies close enough for their breasts to brush together and their hips to bump one another.
"I missed you so much," Sharon whispered, terrified of what would happen next.
Brenda could only sniffle, trying so hard not to cry, keeping Sharon close to her.
With each passing second, Sharon became more aware of how precarious their situation was. Anyone could walk through that door, and anyone could see this. Could see her with Brenda, could make assumptions, could take control of when and how their secret came out. And this, this thing between them, it did not belong to anyone else. More than that, though, this thing between them was over. Had been over for years. Sharon had three children to think about, Brenda had a husband, Sharon was investigating a member of her squad; they couldn't do this. Not now. She kissed Brenda's forehead and moved away, reaching for the door handle before she could stop herself.
Brenda let her go, let her slip out of the room without another word, and as Sharon rejoined her squad with the taste of Brenda Leigh on her lips, she found herself no less certain than she had been twenty minutes before. All she knew was that her life was about to get much, much more difficult.