Later that evening, Sharon sat in her living room, nursing a glass of wine, and watching an old movie. She tried to put the events of the day out of her mind, reminding herself of the key cons against dwelling. Brenda was her superior officer. Brenda was straight. Brenda was married. And even if there was a modicum of physical attraction between them, surely it was overshadowed by the general animosity. Brenda had made it clear from day 1 that she was no fan of Sharon's. So what had possessed her to offer comfort earlier? A literal shoulder to cry on, no less? Sharon tried to forget the warmth of the Chief's arms, the reassuring sweep of her hands, because remembering that, inevitably led to remembering that hand cupping her cheek, tenderly, gently. Remembering that meant remembering the heat of Brenda's thumb across her lip, the taste of chocolate lingering faintly. Sharon groaned as a wave of heat pulsed through her body. Clearly, one glass of wine wasn't going to cut it tonight. She pushed herself off of the sofa, and padded barefoot into the kitchen to top off.
Brenda sat across the table from Fritz, absently pushing the Happy Family around her plate. She'd caught him up on the case, and all that had happened, with three glaring exceptions. It was the first time she could remember keeping something from Fritz on purpose, outside of staving off FBI interference in a case. Fritz, for his part, was being unusually silent and moody. Brenda knew she should ask, she should care enough to pry, and dig for the root of his melancholy demeanor, but her mind wouldn't stay focused, kept flashing back to the sensation of the captain's smooth, wet lip beneath her thumb, that enticing slope of her neck. Brenda was sure that if the elevator hadn't stopped, her hand would've swept right on down, over those exquisite collarbones, the perfect swell of her breast. She shook herself out of that reverie, and looked across the table at Fritz. He was staring morosely down at his plate, his hands in his lap. Brenda grabbed two fortune cookies from the bag, and held them out to him, encouraging him to pick his. He took the proffered cookie, and they both tore into the wrappers, breaking open the cookies to find the slips of paper within.
"Mine is stupid," Fritz said, crunching into one half of the twisted shell, "it says 'he who hesitates is lost.'. That's not a fortune, it's a cliche." He crumpled the paper and tossed it to the table. Brenda held hers with trembling fingers, her mouth suddenly dry, too dry to speak. She reached for her wine, taking a long sip, before chuckling.
"Mine is stupid too, Fritzi. We make our own destinies, anyway, right?" Brenda still clutched the unspoken fortune in her fist.
"What does it say, Bren?" Fritz asked, noticing how pale her face had become.
"Oh, it's just rubbish. It says 'the thin line between hate and love is erased with desire'. What does that even mean?". Brenda sounded slightly hysterical to her own ears, and took another sip of wine.
"Heh. No idea. Listen, I'm going to bed. You finish the Happy Family, just, please clean up after yourself when you're done. I'm tired of finding your dinner plates on the table at breakfast, you know?" Fritz stacked his plate in the sink, and left the kitchen. Brenda was actually fairly relieved that he hadn't paused to kiss her, and almost buckled under the guilt that that relief brought. She pushed her chair back from the table, and grabbed her plate and wine glass. She dumped the plate in the sink, and refilled her glass, then put the leftover food into the fridge. She wandered into the living room, unsure of her next step. By all rights, she should be exhausted, but she was too keyed up to sleep. The events of the day had left her tightly strung, a piano wire of nerves. Sitting down in front of her laptop, she switched it on, and waited impatiently as it booted, drumming her fingers on the bell of her wine glass. She surfed to a search engine, and typed in the lyrics from the song she'd heard earlier, and discovered the title was Drive, and it was by a woman named Melissa Ferrick. Just for fun, Brenda searched for more information on the singer, and discovered that she was, indeed, a lesbian, confirming Brenda's initial interpretation of the song. She found a site offering the song for 99 cents, and decided she'd buy it, not for any sentimental value, but because the skillful guitar and husky voice of the woman made a pleasing combo, and Brenda was a sucker for good music. She transferred the track to her MP3 player, and logged off, closing her laptop lid, and staring out of the living room window. She popped the earbuds of her MP3 player into her ears, and skipped ahead til the track she'd just added began to play. She stretched out on the couch, propping her head up on a pillow, and closed her eyes, listening to the beginning strains of the song. Her mind skipped back over the day, cataloguing all the foolish encounters she'd had with the Captain. Dangerous, to focus too much on her elegant fingers. Dangerous, to focus too much on that lower lip, the breath ghosting over her thumb, almost in a pant, quickening with want. She was married. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter, how smooth that throat was. Brenda shifted on the couch, ignoring the flare of desire she felt. She just needed to go to sleep. Things would all make sense again tomorrow. She tossed the music player aside, and made her way to the bed, crawling in beside Fritz, stony and silent even in sleep.
The Captain was also laying in bed, though not asleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the Chief, that smoldering gaze, those lips parted, her breathing quick and uneven, her cheeks flushed. The look in her eyes, as she trailed her hand along Sharon's neck, ever downward. She was fairly sure that Brenda had stopped short of her ultimate destination, thanks to the sudden stop of the elevator. She wondered what those gentle fingers would've felt like cresting the slope of her breast, the hardened peak of her nipple. Sharon let out a small groan, and rolled on her side, determined not to follow that thought all the way through. She could not let the Chief become a part of her fantasy material. It was entirely inappropriate. And clearly, if today had been any indication, the woman had more intensity than she'd given her credit for, and Sharon wasn't sure if her imagination would do the encounter justice. She squashed the following thought immediately, realizing that to actually HAVE the encounter would mean both of their jobs, if they were found out. Not to mention Brenda's marriage, not that that was any of Sharon's concern, mind, but she liked to think she had some control over her morals. Still, she admitted deep down in the smallest part of herself, that she wouldn't say no. She wouldn't start anything, because that would be reprehensible, but if the Chief approached her? She most definitely wouldn't turn her away. Sharon resolved to put distance between them, until her brain came back to it's senses. Hopefully Major Crimes could keep itself out of any OIS or Force related cases, and they wouldn't even need to cross paths. Nodding into the dark, Sharon finally relaxed enough to let sleep claim her.