This time, the interviewer from Behavioral Sciences was a woman. Brenda sat in the molded plastic chair, shifting every so often as her thighs stuck to the seat. The psychiatrist kept a thin smile on her lips, and it kept Brenda slightly unnerved, since, after all, they were talking about her killing a man.
"So you say you were afraid for your squad, and for the people in the surrounding area. Let me ask you, Brenda, were you afraid for your own life?" She leaned back in her own chair, and steepled her fingers.
"Well, of course. But you can't think about your own life in a situation like that. We have to turn off that self-preservation instinct, I'd guess you call it, so that we can act for the greater good." Brenda felt satisfied with that response, but her spirits deflated when the woman frowned.
"I'm told that another officer had a clear shot. Is there any reason that you fired first?"
"I was in front of Lieutenant Flynn, I wasn't sure he'd be able to avoid hitting Detective Gabriel with me in the way. And the way that Masen and David were struggling, I didn't want to risk waiting. It wasn't worth the risk." She closed her eyes briefly against the resurgence of emotion from that day.
"Which risk are you talking about," the psychiatrist leaned forward, crossing her legs, "the risk to your team, or the risk that you might have to leave them if you became Chief of Police?"
"I'm sorry?" Brenda sputtered. "I hadn't the time to consider the risk that I might have to leave them to become Chief of Police. I was face to face with a certified maniac, who had a bomb, and enough nerve gas to create a mini holocaust right here in downtown. So that's the risk I'm talking about. Politics had no place in my actions that day. It was a good shoot. I did what needed to be done. And even though it's likely part of why I was passed over for Chief, I would, if faced with the same scenario, react the same way. It was not worth the risk, Doctor." Brenda knew that her voice had risen to what was probably an unacceptable level, here in this too white office, with its weird modern art chairs, and the tinkling sound of wind chimes hanging from the A/C vents in the ceiling. She knew that the doctor, with her National Public Radio style of speaking, was probably sitting there thinking that she'd lost her mind, but for the first time since she'd pulled the trigger, she felt like she had perfect clarity. It WAS a good shoot. Sharon was right. Brenda smiled, and the doctor quirked a brow.
"You've come to a realization, I suppose. Care to tell me about it?"
"Well. I know it's up to you to declare me fit for duty, but honestly, until just this moment, I wasn't sure I was fit for duty. But this was a good shooting. I didn't put anyone on my team in danger. I used an acceptable method of deadly force to remove a terroristic threat. I also killed a man, and that's something that will stay with me, it's an awful feeling, to take a life, but it's worse when you aren't sure you made the right call. Now I'm sure. So, whatever you decide, thank you so much for helpin' me get to this moment." Brenda shifted again, cringing and wishing for a slightly longer skirt, as the skin at the back of her knees pulled free from the beveled plastic.
"All right then. Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, you are cleared for duty as of tomorrow. Go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning with that same conviction. I'm glad to see it." The doctor stood smoothly, and proffered a hand to Brenda, who stood, and shook it firmly.
"Thank you Doctor. I just want to say one thing though, now that I'm declared sane." Brenda's lips twitched.
"Go ahead." The psychiatrist looked curious.
"Those are terrible chairs, if you're not wearing pants, or a longer skirt. Just awful." She said, and grinned.
"Yes, well. I didn't choose them. There was some article read by someone on the Board, who decided that a 'soothing' environment with 'naturally curving furniture' would turn out better results in counseling sessions. But you're right. They're awful." And the doctor smiled the first real smile since Brenda had walked into the room.
"Maybe bring a cushion or two, for those of us who don't know ahead of time to wear pants? In the interest of better results, of course." Brenda chuckled.
"That's not a bad idea, Chief Johnson. Not a bad idea at all. I hope I don't have to see you back here anytime soon, okay?"
"You and me both, not that you aren't a lovely person. But yes, I'd just as soon stay off your radar for the foreseeable future." Brenda headed towards the door, an eager bounce in her step.
"Don't forget. Tomorrow. You have to give me time to file my report. Don't work today." The doctor admonished as Brenda left.
In the elevator, Brenda leaned against the wall, and breathed deeply and slowly. Tonight, she'd ask Sharon about speaking with Pope about their relationship. She knew she'd have to speak with Delk, as well, but it seemed better to start with the devil she knew, after all. The elevator dropped her on the Major Crimes floor, and she stopped in the murder room to let her squad know she was cleared as of tomorrow.
"So, don't have any emergencies tonight, all right?" She beamed at Gabriel, who'd barked back a laugh at the repetition of her words from the start of the Masen case.
"Sure, Chief. I was gonna try and get Provenza to do my paperwork for this, and that'll take all night anyway." Flynn deadpanned, as Provenza whacked him on the elbow with a manila folder.
"I just…I just want y'all to know, that I am truly thankful to have such a remarkable team on my side." She said, meeting each of their eyes.
"Chief. You're gonna make us question if you are fit for duty after all, you keep that up." Sanchez grumbled, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
Brenda laughed, and waved, then stuck her head in Pope's office.
"Just wanted to let you know, I'm all yours as of tomorrow. Cleared by both B.S. and F.I.D." She chirped.
"Already?" He looked perhaps more surprised than was called for, but covered well. "Thank goodness for Sharon Raydor and her efficiency, then."
Brenda was quite proud of herself for holding back the scowl that threatened to take over her features, and she just nodded. "So I'm off to get my sidearm from F.I.D., and I'll see you tomorrow."
"Take care, Brenda. I'm sorry, again, that this messed up your chances for Chief." He looked genuinely sorry, and for a minute, she forgot she was angry.
"We don't know that it was the shooting. Maybe he didn't like my dress." She snorted a laugh, considering the Mayor had all but drooled over the red dress that day.
"I find that hard to believe. EVERYONE liked that dress. According to Provenza and Flynn, even Nikki Mendoza came up to check you out." Will rolled his eyes.
Brenda blushed to the roots of her hair, remembering exactly how well Sharon had liked the dress. "Yes, well. I'm basically all done talking about how I'm not the Chief. And about that dress. I'll see you tomorrow, Will." She ducked out, pulling the door behind her, before he could respond.
She walked back to the elevator, and as she stepped inside the empty carriage, she thought back to that first night, when everything had changed. What would've happened, if she'd kept her desk like Sharon's? It's not as though she would've had a place to lose that silly pen. But that first touch, that little brush of skin on skin, had set Brenda aflame in a way that still shocked her. Her own behavior was even more confounding. She shook her head, and watched as the numbers ticked by, bringing her to Sharon's floor. In another moment of revelation-like clarity, she decided that, once again, given the same scenario, this time her encounter with Sharon, she'd do the same thing. Except maybe she wouldn't wait so long. And maybe she would've kissed her in the elevator. And maybe… Her train of thought trailed off as the doors dinged open. She moved through F.I.D. like she belonged there, the layout of the desks almost as familiar as her Murder Room. As she approached the office, she could see Sharon sitting at her desk, glaring. Brenda craned her neck, and felt her stomach do an uneasy flip at the sight of Delk sitting smugly forward in his chair.
Brenda hovered, trying to appear inconspicuous now, as she watched Delk talk. She couldn't hear his words, but his face was tight with anger, and something that resembled disdain. She switched her gaze to Sharon, and recognized the statue-like stillness of her rage, though her face was implacable as ever. Her hands were tight on the arms of her chair, and Brenda could see white spots of tension at the knuckles, even from this distance. Then, one hand raised, and removed the thick rimmed glasses, and laid them aside on the desk. Brenda could see the bloom of color in Sharon's cheeks, and when the woman leaned forward, her elbows moving to the desk, Brenda decided to play her part.
She moved quickly to the door, and knocked twice, lightly, then pushed it open without waiting for a response. "Knock Knock, Captain!" She trilled, her voice higher than normal.
Sharon's head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed briefly. "I am in a meeting, Chief Johnson. You will have to retrieve your sidearm later." Her voice was cold, and Brenda felt the chill in her spine.
"All righty then. Oh, Chief Delk, I just wanted to say congratulations! I'm looking forward to serving on your Police Force, sir." Her honeyed drawl had turned saccharine, and sounded false to her own ears.
"Actually, Chief Johnson, we were just talking about you. Perhaps you'd care to join us for a moment?" Delk's voice was low, and scotch smooth as always, but there was something ominous, and Brenda nodded, letting her eyes slide quickly to Sharon, before taking the seat next to the man who called himself Tommy.