A/N: Still hasn't gotten terribly sexy yet, but all in good time my pretties. Thank you so much for your reviews, follows, favourites, etc. You're all amazing!
Tracks of my Tears – Chapter 3
Sharon is nervous as she fidgets in her seat at the kitchen table, waiting for Brenda to arrive.
Reasonably, she shouldn't be nervous at all. This is what they've been doing for months now: calling each other up whenever nothing else will work to calm them. At first it was Brenda's turn – weeks spent responding to her new-divorcée whims, helping her forget each twist of the knife by the application of affection – and then, after a lull in their correspondence, Sharon had begun to feel an absence. It had prompted her to call Brenda, after a period of total silence, and ask for the Chief's reciprocation of comfort.
To which the Chief willingly obliged.
But this has been going on too long and Sharon is beginning to feel an unbalance. She knows that it's only a matter of time before the silence resumes and they're back to leading their solitary lives apart. Sharon has no doubt that Brenda has many potential candidates waiting to pick up where Fritz left off and, after all, Sharon is just a pseudo-spinster trying to take care of a foster child and, at times, feeling like she's failing miserably at holding the pieces of her life together.
Once Brenda feels her obligation has been fulfilled, Sharon is sure she'll break off this thing between them. And the thought has her stomach upending over and over. She feels like she's on the precipice, waiting for a fall, waiting for the moment Brenda decides to leave.
And Brenda hasn't even arrived yet.
It's in the midst of one of these hurling stomach turns that Sharon hears a faint rapping against the door. She practically leaps to her feet and chides herself for the way she attacks the door: on it in a moment, opening it abruptly.
Brenda is there. And she looks tired and worried. Under her jacket she wears a tiny pink camisole and plaid pyjama pants. Over her arm is her monstrous purse and an overnight bag. Sharon realizes she is staring too long – as though the woman might just be a mirage – so she smiles tightly and sidesteps to allow her guest inside.
Brenda is barely through the door before she drops her bags and pulls Sharon into a firm embrace, her arms viced around Sharon's neck. Sharon nudges the front door closed with her foot, refusing to leave the hold, and returns the gesture in kind. Her eyes close and she lets out a sigh at the glorious weight of Brenda's arms, the scent of her skin, the brush of her cheek. If this has to be a last time, Sharon wants to be able to recall every, vivid detail.
Brenda pulls her arms back slightly so she can hold Sharon's jaw in her hands. She observes Sharon's features closely: the creased brow, the soft bags under her eyes, the reddened whites exposed without her glasses.
"Did he hurt you?" Brenda asks in a whisper.
Sharon smiles and shakes her head. Her hands are slung comfortably around Brenda's waist. "No. No, he just scared me a little. I really shouldn't have imposed on you like this," Sharon says. She always feels the need to apologize for needing this so badly. Brenda leans in and stops her with a kiss.
"Don't." She mutters against Sharon's mouth. "I ain't listenin' to you carryin' on like that when you've been s'good to me."
Sharon smiles at how much thicker Brenda's accent becomes when tangled with sleep. It's impossible not to adore her when she's like this – sleep-addled and doting.
Her smile drifts when she realizes the words that Brenda has said are still an indication of what she fears: that it's a favour that brings Brenda back. Not like the noticeable absence that drives Sharon to crave these meetings. Sharon nods and grabs one of Brenda's hands from her cheek, squeezing it softly.
Brenda smiles and picks up her bags from the ground, never letting go of the proffered hand, and lets Sharon lead her to the master bedroom.
Brenda drops her bags on the ground and shuts the door as she watches Sharon sit on the far side of the bed. The Captain is brimming with tension and Brenda doubts very much she's had much sleep tonight. Brenda climbs into bed and lies down, her back perched against the pillows. Sharon remains seated on the edge, her back to Brenda, her shoulders slightly hunched.
"C'mere." Brenda says. Sharon turns on the bedspread and Brenda reaches for her, pulling the woman all the way onto the sheets. She forces Sharon to settle so that she's lying stomach-down along Brenda's body.
Sharon's cheek rests against Brenda's chest as it rises and falls. For a moment she feels herself relaxing until her mind slips back to Jackson's voice laced with anger and his eyes drawn hard and cruel.
Brenda feels the woman's body stiffen against her.
"No, no, no, none of that." Brenda coos. She kisses the top of Sharon's head. Her hands begin a lazy dance over Sharon's back and neck and arms, her fingers dragging in looping, nonsensical shapes over her nightdress and freckled skin. "You have t' sleep, Cap'n, or else everyone in the office tomorrow's gonna grate on you like a freight train."
Sharon chuckles against her and her taut muscles slacken some. Brenda nuzzles her cheek against Sharon's hair as her fingers continue their aimless trek.
"Mornin' will be here before you know it and you can get on with your day and be much happier for it. I promise." Brenda smiles as she speaks softly. She recalls the times that Sharon has held her in similar ways, with a similar, tranquilizing impact. She knows the motions because she has learned them in Sharon's arms.
Brenda blinks a little to keep herself awake, unwilling to pass out before Sharon has drifted completely.
Soon enough, she feels Sharon waver into rest: her breathing evens; her muscles lose all tightness; her breath washes out over Brenda's skin in sleepy little exhales. Brenda smiles to herself and lays another reverent kiss on top of Sharon's head. As she drifts off to sleep herself, she wonders if Sharon knows that this process is a gift to both of them. She wonders if she knows that Brenda feels as safe holding her as she does when she's held back. Unsure of how deep Sharon's understanding goes, Brenda submits to this comfort, this relief, of just being with her, as she too drifts off.
When Sharon rouses in the morning, it's to the sensation of wet kisses being placed against her chest. In the night Brenda has moved only slightly, their bodies still pressed front-to-front, only now they lie side-by-side under the comforter.
Sharon hums approvingly to signal she's awake then mumbles a groggy, "Good morning."
"Mornin," Brenda manages before she moves up and sucks lightly along Sharon's throat.
Sharon's mouth falls open even as she smiles and lets herself sink into the feeling of Brenda's tongue swirling over her neck. Sharon grasps at Brenda's hair in encouragement. Brenda smirks against her skin and shifts a leg between Sharon's thighs. When Sharon grinds lightly against her, Brenda's smirk broadens and she separates only slightly to lock eyes.
She reaches around and grabs Sharon's ass to pull her harder into a steady rocking. But before Brenda can progress too far into her passionate assault on Sharon's mouth, they both freeze at the sound of the bathroom door shutting in the hallway. They breathe harshly as they hear the shower start.
The sound jolts Sharon out of this fantasy she's pretending she belongs in and she pulls out of Brenda's arms, stands from the bed, and adjusts herself. She glances at the clock on the nightstand and notices that at least she hasn't missed her alarm. Rusty's just up earlier than usual. Because he probably didn't sleep much either. And while he was sleepless, she had been playing make-believe with Brenda in the next bedroom as if she is a woman approaching 20 years instead of 60.
She sighs and soothes her forehead with her fingers. A rustling behind her tells her Brenda has sat up in bed.
"Sharon?" Brenda's voice is a fraction of its usual tenor. She sounds small and afraid. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Sharon turns around and puts her hands on her hips. She chews her bottom lip for a moment. "What are we doing, Brenda?" The words are out of her mouth before she can think better of them or re-word or reconsider how frail this question must sound. She waits.
Brenda sits up straighter against the headboard and pulls her knees into her chest. She seems to think hard for a few seconds. Her mouth falls open and she inhales to speak, but then she stops before uttering a word and closes her mouth again.
Sharon purses her lips and nods to herself. "I need an answer to that question before… well Rusty already is suspicious and I don't know what to tell him. Because I don't know what we're doing."
Brenda shifts her eyes from the bedspread to Sharon's face. "Neither do I, I'guess. But," Brenda smiles weakly. "I know I don't want it to end." When Sharon says nothing in response, Brenda reaches out her hand.
Sharon only stares at it at first. Then she takes her hand and sits back down, their fingers intertwined on the bed between them. She sighs. "Then we need to figure it out."
They can hear the shower fall silent and they both glance towards the bedroom door before looking at each other again.
"Well there probably isn't enough time for deep conversations right now," Brenda says with a smirk. "But how about we plan somethin' this week. Find some time to talk." She draws her thumb over the back of Sharon's hand.
Sharon nods, mulling this over. "And how do I explain to Rusty why you're in my bedroom right now?"
"Assumin' he hasn't realized that anyone else is here," Brenda drops her volume down another register when she hears the bathroom door open, followed by the open and close of Rusty's bedroom door. "You go get ready for work, take Rusty to school and get out of the apartment, and I'll shower and head out as soon as you're gone."
Sharon almost laughs at how quickly and casually Brenda suggests this plan, as if this sort of thing is old hat to her. Then Sharon realizes it is in a way. The affair with Pope must have had Brenda organizing all kinds of elaborate escapes and rendezvous. But that's not exactly what this is, Sharon reminds herself. She tries to suppress the hope that it's more than that.
"Okay." Sharon agrees with another squeeze of Brenda's hand. She crosses the room to her purse and pulls out her keys, sifting through them until she finds the spare she wants. She returns to the bed and passes it to Brenda. "You'll need this to lock-up after we leave." Sharon tries not to place any significance on the fact that she's just given Brenda a key to her home.
Brenda grins broadly and takes the key, then pulls Sharon down to the bed and kisses her soundly, deeply. Sharon moans into Brenda's mouth and arches into the hand that moves to roam over her stomach. Sometimes she hates that this is so easy, that it's so natural to fall back in to Brenda's touch at any moment. If it were easier to resist, she'd be just fine. She'd be allowed to be the same old Sharon: respectable and immovable and unstoppable in her will.
But that woman can break her with one look, one touch, one word and Sharon just can't bring herself to care right now.
Brenda stops kissing her for a moment, throws her a cheeky smirk, and leans in so her mouth is next to Sharon's ear. Sharon holds her breath, waiting for Brenda to speak or bite or something.
"Don't use all the hot water," Brenda says. Sharon covers her mouth to silence the sputtering laughter that tries to spill out. When she's composed, she turns her head, places a peck against Brenda's lips, and slides out from under her.
"You're terrible." Sharon says as she collects her clothes for the day from the closet and tries desperately to hide her grin.
"I know!" Brenda says, as she stretches out across the bed like a cat and produces a satisfied groan. She watches Sharon collect her things and then gives her a little wave when she ducks out of the bedroom door and pulls it closed. Brenda reaches for her purse and resets the alarm on her phone. She might as well get a little extra shut-eye while she waits for the other two to leave. The notion of staying longer in Sharon's bed is simply too good an opportunity to pass up.