A/N: Many, many, many thanks to Liz (frakkingblerg) for being my beta and being absolutely wonderful as always.
Tracks of My Tears – Chapter 4
Rusty is too quiet in the car. He refuses to look at her. She pulls in front of the school and before he moves to open the door, she reaches out a hand to stop him.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
He diverts his gaze. "Look, I know you've been… seeing someone. I know someone other than Jack came over last night. And if you really don't want to tell me, that's fine. I just thought you should know that I'm not completely clueless."
There's hurt in his tone and Sharon winces as she feels guilt creep into her gut again.
"I figured that you knew. And I don't want to hide anything from you, it's just that the situation is somewhat… complex," Sharon says and almost laughs because she can't tell if this is an understatement or simply the wrong word. Confusing might be a better one. Crazy might work too. "I do intend to explain, but first I need to understand it myself." She pauses. "Does that make any sense?"
"Sure." Rusty nods and gives her a weak smile that clearly conveys his disappointment. "It's just that, I can tell because you seem like, happier sometimes, like you just found twenty bucks on the ground or something, and I can tell it's because you've been with whoever-it-is."
It's strange to think that she's so obviously displaying the effects of seeing Brenda. It makes her heart beat a little faster and she can't decide if it's with trepidation or excitement.
Rusty notices the blush in her cheeks. "All I'm saying is, if it's someone that makes you happy, you don't have to be ashamed."
If Sharon's a little surprised at the mention of shame, she shouldn't be. Isn't that how she's been acting? Hiding her little meetings and trysts with Brenda as if they're the ones still attending a Catholic high school.
She isn't ashamed of what she has with Brenda. She's concerned as to how it will affect her other relationships and unsure of exactly what she wants from the woman, whether it goes beyond a comforting, physical connection to something else.
Meanwhile, she's been trying to draw Rusty further out of his shell, easing him into his own self-identity – whatever he discovers it is – and is currently setting the worst possible example for him.
After all, would she want him to hide who he is or who he loves simply because it confuses him?
"I know and it's not that I'm ashamed, it's simply… complex." Sharon flashes a tight smile as she curses herself for using the useless word again. "I'm working on it."
Rusty nods again. He isn't used to having such an intimate level of understanding with another person. It's why he sometimes snaps and uses what he knows of Sharon to hurt her: it's a force of habit. His longest relationships before Sharon have been about use and abuse and he's still trying to navigate what is expected of him.
"Okay, well, good then." He mutters, shuffling his hands and readjusting his backpack against his shoulder. "I'll see you after school, okay?"
Sharon nods. "Have a good day, Rusty."
"You too."
Brenda carries the smell of Sharon – or rather of her shower products – around with her all day. She's happy to have discovered that Sharon's skin owes its scent to a Shea butter wash and her long hair gets its shine from some lovely herbal-y shampoo with a bizarre name Brenda could not for the life of her pronounce.
It makes the work day go faster somehow, as if she has the woman at her side throughout, keeping her sane amidst a sea of affidavits.
Still there's a seed of doubt that tells her she shouldn't be comforted at all. She's still unsure what Sharon is going to say when they eventually discuss their situation. Brenda has at least said that she wants to continue it in some way, but from Sharon there has only been the sense that maybe she does too.
Brenda knows better than most that a sense is not enough to go on. She's had far too many cases lead her in one direction only to have the opposite outcome. Her personal life has been that way too: thinking that Will would leave his wife for her; that she and Fritz would be able to hold their relationship together even after the fights worsened and lengthened. That there would be plenty of time later to speak with her mother.
What good were her senses then?
These thoughts bring a daydreamy Brenda back down to Earth. Although she hates to let these apprehensions surround her, she knows she has to puzzle through them before she ultimately talks to Sharon. Otherwise she is sure to misrepresent what she's feeling and lose her for good. And that, Brenda decides, is an absolutely unacceptable outcome.
It's the following Wednesday and Sharon's barely had a chance to breathe. She's had four cases back-to-back, etc. with no break to speak of. There have been several texts from Brenda throughout, checking in and seeing when they can schedule some time. Sharon's been keeping her updated, venting to and being consoled by the one person who knows exactly how it is. She's struck by the realization that she's never asked Brenda for advice or sympathy about work before.
But then, when she'd taken over the mantle of Major Crimes, she'd wanted to separate herself from the enigma and approach of Brenda Leigh Johnson. At least in practise. In principle, she has always admired the woman's leadership, regardless of her somewhat unorthodox tactics.
It's impossible to forget the volatile beginning to their working relationship, when Brenda's stubborn non-compliance grated on Sharon's every nerve, but lately Sharon sees this stubbornness as integrity. And Sharon admires the hell out of that too.
She's in the middle of reviewing the latest updates from Lieutenant Tao and Doctor Morales when someone knocks at her door. She checks her watch and calls out for whoever-it-is to come in.
When she catches sight of long blonde curls and a gorgeous grin, her own face fills with light. She imagines she looks like someone who's found that the oasis isn't just a mirage.
"What are you doing here?" Sharon asks as Brenda shuts the door behind her.
In response, Brenda raises her hand, which is carrying a takeout bag from a Vietnamese restaurant down the street. "Thought you might be hungry and I figured you probably haven't been feedin' yourself regularly."
Sharon feels her stomach grumble in response. "You are correct in that assumption."
Brenda turns to the blinds and closes them, opting for a little more privacy before she blushes and turns back to Sharon. "Oh, I didn't even think – I mean I was going to stay and have lunch with you if it's all right, but I can go–"
Sharon has rarely seen Brenda so fidgety and she's unsurprised that she finds the reaction adorable. She cuts her off before she can put herself in too much of a panic. "Of course it's all right. I'd love to have the company."
Brenda nods, smiles, and fiddles more with the blinds before taking a seat across the desk. Sharon's eyes are all over her as she dissembles the bag, sliding a container and chopsticks across the desk.
"I hope chopsticks are okay, I wasn't sure and I did mean to ask for cutlery just in case–"
Sharon interrupts her again before she starts stuttering. "Brenda. Relax."
Brenda slumps a little, embarrassed that she's so out of sorts. The truth is she's been planning this drop-in for the past few days and only today conjured the minimum requirement of nerve to follow through. Even though Sharon seems pleased, Brenda fears she's only being polite in the way that Sharon perpetually is.
She looks at Sharon, who is still waiting for confirmation that the blonde will be okay. Brenda glances around for a moment, checking that the blinds are providing enough privacy, then pushes herself out of her seat and rounds the desk.
Sharon watches every move with one eyebrow lifted in perplexity. Brenda sits against the edge of the desk, takes the Captain's cheeks in her hands as she leans down, and plants a gentle, lingering kiss against her lips. She slips her tongue inside the willing mouth and tastes the remnants of the morning's coffee.
When she pulls away, Sharon's cheeks are burning beneath her palms and her eyes flutter open.
"That's better," Brenda coos softly with a stupid grin.
"Except now I'm the one who's flustered." Sharon says.
Brenda shrugs as she struts back to her chair. "Well, evens the playin' field then."
"Or upends it." Sharon replies.
She's forgotten about the food. Her eyes are pinned to the blonde. They rake down Brenda's long neck, over her chest, all the way to the small tease of cleavage. All Sharon wants to do is trace the hollows of that collarbone – draw her fingers over all that tender skin and lose herself in it completely. Her eyes slide back up to Brenda's smirk. Sharon lets out a breathy laugh. "God, you're turning me back into a teenager."
Brenda grins impossibly wider as she opens her container of food. Sharon follows suit – finally – when Brenda asks a question.
"What was Sharon Raydor like as a teenager?"
Sharon chews thoughtfully and hums. "Same as now, I guess." She smirks. "Your regular, old stick-in-the-mud, pain-in-the-ass."
Brenda gives her a "what-a-load-of-shit" glare that begs for a real answer.
Sharon rolls her eyes but keeps grinning. "Okay! Okay. I was… middle of the road in terms of popularity, near the top of my class in terms of academia but not too brainy. I liked English best, liked drama too even though I was terrible at it."
"A thespian, huh? I can just imagine you recitin' your Shakespeare in front of a mirror. You'll have to perform for me sometime." Brenda says. She tries not to picture Sharon in a corset. And fails.
Sharon chuckles. "We'll see." After a pause and another bite, Sharon asks, "What was teenaged Brenda like?"
Brenda's eyes twinkle. "I want to know what you think I was like."
"Okay, well let's see. I won't insult you be guessing you were a cheerleader. I'll bet you were smart as a whip. Probably thought you were smarter than everybody else – and there's a good chance you were. Naturally pretty," Sharon grins, "Not attention-seeking. But getting attention anyway."
Brenda scoffs.
"Am I that far off?" Sharon asks incredulously.
Brenda rocks her head from side to side. "Not too far. Studious and smart – yes. Attention-getting… not so much. I didn't catch an eye or turn a head till I was in college."
Sharon's eyebrows shoot up. "I find that very hard to believe."
"Well believe it, Captain. I was a tomboy till the age of 18."
Sharon's jaw drops overdramatically. "Get out."
Brenda nods and smiles broadly. "Yep: baggy pants, overalls, men's shirts; fightin' with my brother and huntin' and fishin' with my daddy. The whole shebang. Why d'you think it is I can't cook?"
"There's a difference between can't cook and won't cook, you know."
"Mmhmm, and sometimes they're one in the same." Brenda replies.
"So when did you turn into a pastel-wearing, skirt-donning, Southern Belle?"
"Well, momma wasn't too keen on my boyish tendencies. So she made it a requirement of my going away to college to embrace a more feminine wardrobe."
"Awww," Sharon says through a sputtering laugh. "Poor Brenda Leigh!"
Brenda grins and continues. "She sent me off with barely a smidge of my old clothes and a suitcase full of skirts and blouses and all kinds of nonsense. And after a while, the nonsense just kinda grew on me."
Sharon finishes her last bite and closes the container. Brenda eats her remaining noodles in silence and does the same, tucking the refuse back into the takeout bag. "D'you think we would have gotten along in high school?"
"I think so. Although perhaps not at first," Sharon remarks with a knowing grin. Brenda laughs. "I would kill to have met tomboy Brenda, though."
"You still can sometime. I keep my old clothes around for lazy Sundays. Nothin' like oversized shirts and jean overalls to relax in."
After a hesitant pause, Brenda gets up and rounds the desk again, this time reaching out a hand to hoist Sharon to her feet. Her hands drape around the woman's waist as she pulls her close. When Brenda speaks, she does so very softly.
"I know we still have to talk, but I wanted to see you, and I've never been known for my patience."
Sharon winds a piece of Brenda's hair around her finger. "And yet you've been nothing but patient with me for a while now."
Brenda smiles. She wants to explain that this is because Sharon brings patience out in her, that she brings out all kinds of qualities Brenda never thought she possessed. But she knows these admissions are part of the imminent, larger conversation they don't have time for at the moment. And Brenda isn't about to force it when she knows she's already pressing her luck. Instead she leans in and means to kiss Sharon again – to get one last dose of the incredible feeling that accompanies it – when a knock at the door makes them jump apart. Brenda scoots to the other side of the desk – the safe side – and collects her purse, trying to catch her breath. Sharon smooths out her clothes, sits back down, and clears her throat.
"Come in," Sharon calls out and Mike enters warily, having noticed the closed blinds. His eyebrows raise when he sees Brenda.
"Chief! What are you doing here?" He smiles broadly and holds a hand towards her. Brenda takes the hand and pulls him in for a hug instead.
"Just havin' lunch with the Captain. Figured she might need a break since y'all are so busy." Brenda tries desperately not to blush. And fails.
"Well you should come by and visit sometime when we aren't drowning in suspects. Better yet, if we charge someone this century, we should all go out for a drink." Mike smiles warmly at Brenda and then – in a move that suggests he's just remembered what he's come into the office for – he turns suddenly towards Sharon and schools his features into work-mode. "Speaking of which, Amy and Julio are back with Ethan Farnum. He's waiting for you in Interview 2."
"Thank you, Mike." Sharon says with a nod. He bows out and closes the door behind him, leaving the two women to exchange a look that's part relief and part disappointment.
"Well I'll let you get to it then," Brenda says as she shifts her purse onto her shoulder and tosses the takeout bag in the trash.
Sharon crosses the room in time to stop her and she takes Brenda's hand in her own.
"I'll let you know as soon as I have time. And thank you for coming by. You really are too sweet," Sharon says as she leans in and places a chaste kiss to Brenda's lips.
The opportunity ends up being Friday night. Rusty is spending the night at the Tao household watching movies (under the guise of being tutored by Mike's son), and Sharon's most recent case has finally been closed.
Sharon calls Brenda early in the day and extends an invitation for dinner. Brenda shoots her down almost immediately, only to reverse the invitation and insist that Sharon come to her place. She also insists she'll cook, which musters enough concern in Sharon's tone that Brenda laughs.
"I recall you saying there's a difference between won't cook and can't cook, Captain." Brenda says.
"Right. And you said they could be one in the same. Without verifying which is actually the case."
After some reassurances, Sharon agrees.
She arrives at Brenda's apartment that evening and slips through the door that's been left unlocked for her. She shuts the door behind her and locks it, shucks her shoes and only then notices the near-unrecognizable state the apartment is in.
It's spotless. Ceiling to floor, wall to wall – it appears that everything has been washed and the usual clutter that only a week ago dotted various corners and surfaces of the room has been completely lifted. Sharon stands in front of the door, gaping, for a full minute before she recovers the fortitude to continue towards the kitchen. She's met by rich aromas, all shockingly pleasant.
Then she's stopped in her tracks again.
Brenda is standing in front of the oven – oblivious to her guest's arrival – stirring the contents of a large skillet. But what has stopped Sharon is the burgundy dress she's wearing. And the frilly little apron that's tied at her waist and peeking around her hips. The combination is jarring. Unexpected. Sharon is stuck staring for the second time in the evening and Brenda doesn't even know she's here.
Realizing she should make herself known, preferably without Brenda flinging whatever she's making ten feet in the air, Sharon clears her throat softly.
Brenda whips around but manages to keep the pan stationary. "Hey!" Brenda says, her lips slipping into a wide grin. She glances at the skillet and then back to Sharon. "I've just about got dinner ready – why don't you pour some wine and grab yourself a seat?"
Brenda turns back to manage the food and Sharon follows her orders and pours out the indicated Chardonnay into two glasses. She can't help but notice that Brenda has opted for something other than her usual Merlot.
She takes a healthy sip for herself and instead of sitting down, comes to the chef's side to lean against the counter and observe.
"You cleaned." Sharon says.
"Sure did," Brenda confirms.
"And you're cooking."
"I said I would."
"And you're wearing an apron. And that dress."
Brenda finally glances over at her. "Is there a point to all these observations, or are y' just provin' you've still got eyes. Cause I'm pretty sure I knew that already."
Sharon shrugs. "Just saying. It's almost like you're trying to impress me – which would be silly. And unnecessary."
Brenda flips some veggies around in the skillet absently. "Does that mean you aren't impressed?"
"No. On the contrary, I'm kind of flabbergasted."
Brenda swallows hard and her voice drops low. She strikes the spatula a little more roughly against the pan. "Well, don't hold back. Tell us just how shocked you are."
Sharon grabs the wrist that's jockeying the spatula like she's stabbing someone in the chest and stills it, forcing Brenda to stop and look at her.
"I'm incredibly flattered to have a beautiful woman put so much effort in for little old me. Especially when all she has to do is enter a room to have me wrapped around her finger." Sharon says.
Brenda tries to stifle her encroaching smile by biting her lip. She pulls her wrist gently away from Sharon and resumes cooking. "That's more like it. Now sit down – I've got it just about ready."
Sharon does as she's told – again – and settles herself into a comfortable, long-back chair. It takes her a moment to register the difference.
"Is this a new dining set?"
"Yes ma'am; picked it up last week."
Sharon wonders if this has anything to do with the somewhat judgemental look she'd given the tiny, round, battered table and folding chairs that had been here before. She had hoped Brenda hadn't noticed the reaction because she'd inwardly berated herself for it. When one was still relatively fresh from divorce, having all the required furniture was not really a priority.
Brenda comes to the table in the midst of these thoughts and sets their plates down.
Sharon's eyes widen at the meal – stunned again by how good it looks and smells.
"It's a Southern stir-fry," Brenda provides when she notices Sharon inspecting the food. "One of mama's recipes." Brenda's expression falters a little. "She left me all her old cookbooks. I guess she was hopin' I'd finally figure it out for myself. I've only made this one once before."
"It looks delicious," Sharon says and catches the drifting brown eyes with her own.
"I sure hope it tastes delicious. Or else she'll be rollin' in her grave." Brenda says and then takes the first bite tentatively. Sharon does the same.
Sharon nods as she relishes the flavours on her tongue. "I think it's safe to say she'd be very proud."
"Yeah, not too bad for a novice. If I do say so myself."
Sharon pauses.
"Brenda – everything is so lovely. But you know you didn't have to do this, right? I would have been content eating pizza on the couch in our pyjamas."
Brenda sets her fork down for a moment. "I know. I just… I know you've had a long week and I wanted everything to be–" She hesitates, trying to find the right words. "I wanted your night off to be perfect. Or as near to it as I could get it."
Sharon is struck dumb again; Brenda is trying to take care of her. Granted, Brenda has been doing this for a little while now, but usually it's with bodily comfort, not cooking and cleaning and preparing and besides, Brenda isn't exactly known for doing these things for anyone. And yet here she is: making dinner and dressing up and buying new furniture.
If Sharon can make it through dinner without kissing Brenda senseless, she'll consider it an accomplishment.
The duration of the meal is quiet but comfortable. They share a little conversation here and there but mostly they are content to just sit and eat since both of them are mentally preparing for this pre-determined necessity to "talk." It's an idea that sounds more and more daunting by the second.
Brenda sets the dishes aside and brings the remaining wine over to the couch where Sharon is sitting.
They shuffle awkwardly in their seats, glance at each other, then away, fidget aimlessly.
"I don't – I've never done anything like this, with anyone, before." Sharon says, deciding it's as good a place to start as any.
"I guess you know that I have, to some degree. Not the same way – I mean…" Brenda trails off, lost for words so uncharacteristically that Sharon's heart hurts a little. "I guess I'd like to know where you are, what you've been thinkin' about."
Sharon blinks at Brenda, then inspects her hands. She takes a steadying breath. "I feel that, perhaps you're only in this situation because you feel obligated or that you have to even the score between us. And I don't want that. I don't want you to feel like you have to be here. Like you don't have a choice."
Brenda's mouth hangs open a little. She hasn't considered that Sharon is feeling somehow guilty about their relationship, at least not in this way.
"Sharon, when you called me up the first time after everything, when you called me instead of the other way 'round, I wanted you to. It felt – it feels good for you to need me. And it makes me feel better that I wasn't just… usin' you those times when I was fallin' apart. I hated the idea that I was just taking advantage of your kindness. You were so good to me." Brenda smiles.
She recalls the state she was in when she'd first received her divorce papers. She'd known they were coming and yet having them in their hand, holding the real, tangible evidence of her continued string of personal failure – that was the point her composure left her.
She had reached out for Sharon instinctually. The lawsuit had given them an understanding of one another she'd never thought possible and they'd become something like friends in the subsequent months. Brenda also hadn't expected herself to react so suddenly and so physically to Sharon's innocent comfort.
Sharon had been obviously shocked and confused at first. And yet she'd given in, submitted to what Brenda seemed to need. She'd been generous and warm and understanding. And soft – so soft Brenda nearly forgot who she was really with at the time. This was no hard, abrasive Captain of the LAPD. She was Sharon.
Brenda feels the sudden need to verify that this is who she is speaking to – Sharon, not Captain – and she reaches for the woman's hand, forcing them to draw closer on the couch. She brings the hand between hers into her lap. Still soft, she concludes.
"When you came to me for somethin' in return. It felt so good to be able to give you something back, I didn't care what it meant."
Sharon sits very still and stares at her captured hand. "So you do want to be here?"
"Yes!" Brenda replies instantly. "I thought that was obvious."
"It is." Sharon affirms. She does not smile. She licks her lips and takes in another breath. "But I suppose I'm not asking the right question. I enjoy being with you, but I still don't know what that means. And I don't know that I can entertain a 'sometimes' affair at my age. I don't quite have the constitution for that anymore, if I ever did."
"Sharon Raydor," Brenda says, shaking her head with a little smirk. "You are perfectly capable of very many things, I can testify to that. But what if we tried something a little more… regular?"
This time Sharon does look up. She sees the nervous energy crackling in the warm, brown eyes that meet her own. She sees sincerity. Or perhaps that is her own hope deceiving her again.
"Would you even be interested in something like that?" Sharon's voice is small. She hates the sound of it. She wonders when she became insecure in this way, so critical of her own desirability or attractiveness to others. She supposes it arrived somewhere along with the dots of cellulite, the skin that hangs lower than it should in places, the nets of wrinkles that grow at every curve and corner. She's never been a vain woman; she's considered herself largely unaffected by that kind of shallow self-doubt. But there are days that she simply feels old. And these days wear on her confidence more than she'd like.
"I'm interested in you. And I wouldn't mind seein' more of you." Brenda smiles. "More often that is. Since I've seen more of you than most."
Her expression turns serious again as she pulls Sharon's hand more tightly into her own. "Maybe I am your means to an end lately, like you were mine, but it still means something to me. Tell me the truth: did you, I mean when I first came to you, did you feel like I was using you?"
Sharon supposes she could lie, but at this point the effort seems futile.
"At first. Only because I wasn't sure if you actually wanted me or just someone and I happened to be there."
Brenda smiles small, as if there is a secret in her lips. "I didn't want just anyone. I wanted you."
Sharon feels her stomach coil tightly and her skin flushes. She has been desired before, but the way that Brenda looks at her, as if she wants to consume her in earnest, is unlike any lust she's ever encountered. It's visceral; she can feel it when she enters the room. But more importantly, it doesn't seem like a shallow thing. It has depth and substance.
"And you don't think it's a little fast for you to be heading into something more serious? I don't want to push you." Sharon says.
"I mean, it is a little soon I guess. And it's fair to think maybe I am just reachin' out for the first thing that comes easy. So I understand that you've got your reservations. But I know what a rebound is; I've had enough of 'em. And this – you – don't feel that way."
"Oh? And what do I feel like?"
"Safe." Brenda says, then after a second adds, "Right."
Sharon's vision blurs and she smiles, widely, warmly. Her entire face glows. She isn't being let down this time. Someone's trying to stay with her instead of trying to leave. And that's just about the best news she's had in a long time.
Brenda continues, "I guess I want to know if you feel that too or if I'm just losin' it here." Brenda drops her eyes and lets out a breathy laugh, dark and full of uncertainty.
Sharon leans in and lifts Brenda's chin, emboldened by their collective honesty. "You feel right too, Brenda Leigh," Sharon says just before she leans in and draws Brenda's mouth into a languid kiss. When they separate she brushes their lips together and lets her words wash over the other woman's skin. "Very, very right."