(no subject)
Title: Over You, 7/?
Rating: M
Summary: Brenda and Sharon are once again working together, and each struggles to come to terms with where their relationship stands.
A/N: Sorry for the long delay. You can blame my lady for that. This chapter picks up in Strike Three. As always, reviews are love!
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Sharon
Bitch.
The word rang in Sharon’s mind like a slap to the face. She knew the Deputy Chief hadn’t meant for her to hear, had just been venting some righteous frustration, but she’d heard, and it cut deeper than she had anticipated. She knew Brenda hated her now, knew she had done this to herself, knew that this was better than the alternative, but as she walked away from the little skinhead’s bedroom she couldn’t help the little tremor of sorrow that shot through her.
She hesitated for a moment in the hallway outside the bedroom, not wanting to go back inside to face the wrath of her former lover, not wanting to go into the living room where the dead teenager’s mother was railing hatefully against an increasingly belligerent Provenza. When had this become her life? Until just a few months ago, Sharon actually had everything together. Sure she was tormented by the thought of Brenda just a few floors away; sure Andy Flynn hated her passionately and would call her Wicked Witch to anyone who would listen, but at least then she had her memories. And her pride. Now even her memories were tainted by Brenda’s hatred of her, by of what she’d done to the little blonde. Precious moments that she had so often turned to for comfort were colored by the knowledge that she had loved Brenda when it was convenient, and turned her back the moment she was faced with the hard choice.
Finally her feet moved and then she was back in the fray, trying to calm the mother down, trying to keep Provenza from jumping down her throat, and for a while she was distracted. For a while she had something other than her own private misery to focus on, and she was, if not happy, at least not overwhelmed by misery.
Brenda
The Deputy Chief plopped down behind her desk with a soft thud, her head dropping on the smooth wood surface.
She wanted a stiff drink, she wanted a ding dong, she wanted to go home and snuggle with Kitty (oh God, Kitty’s dead)… she wanted so many things, but she didn’t have time for any of that. She had a killer to catch, for heaven’s sake! And yet, all she could feel right this second was exhaustion, coupled with a bizarre sort of guilt.
She regretted it the moment the word left her lips.
Bitch.
Sharon was many things, but she was not a bitch. Even if she’d been completely rude and cold and impossible to deal with, she had not been a bitch. And even if she hadn’t heard what Brenda said, it had still happened, and Brenda felt the guilt as sharply as if she’d spat the word in Sharon’s face.
Straightening up slightly, Brenda ran her fingers through her hair and then scrubbed her face with her hands. She knew that Sharon didn’t want her in her life, knew that their relationship had torn up Sharon’s family, knew that was a hurt that could not be healed. Even so, she couldn’t believe that Sharon could possibly have hated her as much as she appeared to. She saw the hurt in Sharon’s face; years and years of working closely together had taught Brenda how to read the emotions that no one else ever saw, how to judge in just a moment what that flicker in the depths of Sharon’s clear green eyes meant. And in the months since she’d first learned that Sharon was in LA, there had been moments when Brenda had seen past that haughty veneer to the heart of the woman she had once loved so fiercely, and there she had seen the truth that Sharon had not spoken.
Brenda had tried to hold on to her anger. Sharon had been so cruel, blaming Brenda for her divorce, and the casual way in which she’d revealed her relationship with Andy had cut Brenda to the core. She’d called him Andy. Sharon had left DC and fallen straight into Andy’s arms; why was Andy good enough for her, when Brenda wasn’t? Why had Sharon never tried to reach out to her?
The anger had fizzled out, however. Whenever Brenda tried to remind herself of Sharon and Andy, she found herself picturing Sharon, sad and lonely without her husband, with three young children to look after all on her own, thousands of miles away from all of her friends, looking for someone to hold her. When she thought of Sharon that way, it was hard to be angry with her. It was hard to want to do anything but be the one to step up, to run her fingers through Sharon’s hair and tell her everything would be all right.
Only Brenda hadn’t been the one. Brenda hadn’t been there for her, because Sharon had left without so much as leaving a forwarding address.
Brenda cursed softly to herself and booted up her computer. Sharon was too confusing, too complicated for her right now. She needed to focus.
Sharon
“I have to ask, have you ever considered what your principles cost?”
Brenda looked so bitter, so disillusioned in that moment that it was difficult for Sharon to keep her face from betraying the turmoil roiling inside her. She knew what the question meant. Brenda might have been laying blame for dead cops at Sharon’s feet, might have been questioning the very value of the job that Sharon had given her entire life to, but FID was not what put the quiet anger in Brenda’s voice. This was the Brenda of years ago asking Sharon if she knew what she was doing, what kind of devastation her decisions had wrought. This was the Brenda of years ago pointing out the hypocrisy in breaking Brenda’s heart under the guise of keeping her family together.
But that was not a question Sharon could answer. The cost of her principles, the moral guideposts that had dragged Sharon up and out of Brenda’s bed all those years ago, was high, and Sharon knew it. Maybe too high. Those principles had put Sharon’s kids through hell in the last few years of her marriage, had sent Jack headlong into the bottle, had left Sharon bitter and alone and had left Brenda Leigh a jaded shade of her old self. Sharon knew the cost, but she could not say it. Could not voice the apology that stuck in the back of her throat. Instead she feigned ignorance and answered the question on face value, talking about the importance of her work in a voice that held enough passion to be convincing for anyone.
Anyone but Brenda Leigh.
“There has to be a better way.”
Brenda’s voice was so close to breaking, and now Sharon wasn’t sure what game they were playing. Was she talking about the dead cops? Or was Brenda talking about them? There had to be a better way for the two of them to work together, to pass each other in the halls and not feel this…this… this hopeless.
Sharon smiled tightly. “Well. Until then, you’ve got me.”
She hoped Brenda got her meaning. This speaking in code, stepping around each other; this was a dance they knew very well, one they had practiced to perfection back in the days when they shared hotel beds and barrack bunks, living for the quiet peace of the nights they spent together and trying to communicate during days of deception their feelings for one another. Sharon was trying to make Brenda see that she was sorry for what she’d done, that she hadn’t meant those hurtful things she’d said, that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for them. That one day they might figure this out, that this stalemate, this bitter dispute between Captain Raydor and Chief Johnson, this was just for now.
She could only pray that Brenda remembered how to read her face.
Brenda pursed her lips, sighed, and changed the topic, and Sharon had to believe that this was enough for now.
Brenda
For the duration of the funeral, all Brenda could see was Sharon’s face, sad and drawn, every line and wrinkle highlighted by her severe bun and the high neck of her uniform. FID stood across from Major Crimes, and though Brenda was surrounded by the high wall the men of her squad created, she had a clear view of Sharon from her place.
Until then you’ve got me.
Brenda hoped she’d understood what those words meant. That Sharon did a hard job, a thankless job, because it was the best she could do. That Sharon had made the hard choices, because they were the best she could manage in the situation. And the longer Brenda Leigh stared at the quiet sadness on Sharon’s face, the more she couldn’t help but think that all of this, all this bitterness, all this anger, all this hurt, was futile. She was still Brenda, Sharon was still Sharon, and try as she might, Brenda Leigh couldn’t forget what her Sharon meant to her. Couldn’t look at her husband without feeling guilty, without feeling as though she were somehow cheating on Sharon.
How fucked up was that?
The heat of the Los Angeles afternoon and the look on Sharon’s face were all too much for Brenda to handle. Her thoughts flitted through her head, touching on places she’d rather not go, and before she knew it an afternoon in Paris was playing through her mind like a late-night Lifetime movie she couldn’t turn off no matter how badly she wanted to.
December 1996, Paris
“I know baby, I know. I promise, I’ll be home in time for Christmas,” Sharon was saying, her voice shockingly steady given the fact that she was talking to her husband on the phone while she sat naked on the edge of a hotel bed with an equally naked Brenda behind her, carefully stitching up a gash on Sharon’s left shoulder left by a poorly-aimed bullet. Jack was angry, Brenda could tell by the tension in the muscles under her hand. Playing doctor would be much easier if Sharon would just relax, but Brenda was constantly reminded that Sharon’s family came first.
“Please don’t shout,” Sharon said softly into the phone as Brenda leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the skin just above the newly finished stitches. They weren’t Brenda’s best work but the little blonde’s hands were still shaking as visions of the wounded man behind Sharon raising his gun to fire flashed in Brenda’s mind. Brenda’s lips lingered on the skin of Sharon’s shoulder, warm and blessedly alive beneath her kiss. She couldn’t help but think how ungrateful Jack was, yelling about Christmas plans when Sharon was very nearly ripped away from both of them less than an hour before.
Sharon sighed and leaned back against Brenda, giving the little blonde enough space to wrap her arms around Sharon’s torso, propping her up as Jack continued to yell about whatever it was that was pissing him off today. Brenda was grateful just to hold Sharon in her arms, even when her lover’s attention was focused somewhere else.
“I can’t do this now,” Sharon said, and Brenda hated how small her voice sounded, how defeated. Jack brought her down, made her sad, and all Brenda wanted was to see her Sharon happy. The way she should always have been. Brenda longed to take away her hurt, anyway she could.
“I love you, and I’ll be home in a day or two. Kiss the boys for me,” Sharon said, and then she leaned forward to drop the phone back in its place before turning to face Brenda.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her green eyes tired and more closed off than Brenda had seen them in days.
“Don’t apologize,” Brenda said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Sharon’s ear. “You have to take care of your family.”
Sharon caught Brenda’s wrist, brought it to her lips, kissed the sensitive skin stretched taut over pale blue veins and delicate bones. “I love my children,” she said, flipping her hand so that her fingers entwined with Brenda’s, “But some days it’s too much. All of this is too much. I have too many balls in the air, and I feel like one of them is going to drop. Soon.”
Brenda felt the slightest prick of tears in her eyes, blinked furiously to keep them at bay. Her Sharon, her strong, brilliant, brave Sharon. Sharon who only ever thought of what was best for the people she loved, who never chose to follow only her own happiness. Brenda had entertained the thought more than once, what it would be like if Sharon left Jack, if they made their relationship official, if they stopped hiding. She’d thought of how Sharon’s kids would respond to her, how they would explain their relationship to the agency, to her parents. Being with Sharon would make her happier than anything else, and she truly believed that Sharon felt the same way, but it was so complicated.
“I wish I’d met you years ago,” Sharon sighed, their hands still joined, coming to rest on the warm bare skin of Sharon’s thigh in a gesture that was not enticing, but comfortable. “Before all of this.”
“But then you wouldn’t have your kids,” Brenda pointed out. She had met the boys on a handful of occasions, had seen the pictures in Sharon’s office and in her wallet, had watched the way Sharon’s eyes lit up when she spoke of them. Sharon loved her sons, and Brenda would never, could never, wish to take that away from her.
Sharon smiled sadly. “That’s true.” And I wouldn’t trade them for anything. The words remained unspoken but they lay on the bed between the two women just the same. Sharon would never sacrifice her children; she would sacrifice her life for them, but she would never choose her own desires over their well-being. Brenda’s poor Sharon, with her principles and her quiet suffering.
Now was not the time for bitterly lamenting what could never be; now was the time for celebrating the fact that Sharon was still alive, and that was something Brenda knew how to do. Brenda knew how to lose herself in the fire of Sharon’s touch, knew how to heal her lover’s hurt with her kiss, and she would do that now before Sharon sank even deeper into the melancholy that had settled over her heavy as a blanket.
Brenda leaned forward, closing the space between them and pushing Sharon down amongst the pillows as their lips met in a kiss of quiet passion. Brenda caught Sharon’s other hand, raised both of them above her lover’s head and held them there with one of her own, keeping the auburn haired temptress beneath her in place as her tongue delved deep into the mouth she loved so dearly, saying with her body what she could never say with her words. Sharon whimpered into her mouth and it was enough, just enough, to let Brenda know that Sharon was here with her in this hotel room with the afternoon sun lighting up a brilliant Paris day beyond their window. It was enough to let Brenda know that for now, she had her Sharon, and all was well.
Brenda ground down shamelessly, draping her legs over Sharon’s thigh and letting the wetness that had begun to gather there paint the smooth skin below her. Just being here with Sharon, just holding her naked body, just kissing her, was enough to turn Brenda on beyond reason, and she wanted Sharon to know it. Sharon arched up beneath her, desperate to feel some of that arousal for herself and Brenda was more than happy to oblige. She abandoned Sharon’s mouth for the as-yet uncharted territory of her neck and collarbones, releasing her lover’s hands and feeling an odd rush of something like pride when she realized that Sharon had tangled her hands in the pillows, keeping them precisely where Brenda had left them.
Brenda ran her hands over the swells of Sharon’s breasts, down over the taught muscles of her stomach, still so enticing, even after two children, and wrapped her fingers around Sharon’s hips as her lips continued to wander slowly across Sharon’s chest, as she continued to paint Sharon’s leg with her wetness.
“Please,” Sharon gasped, a breathy plea for more that sent a thrill Brenda’s body.
“Please what baby?” Brenda asked from somewhere near Sharon’s nipple and the auburn haired woman groaned.
When Sharon didn’t answer with words Brenda nipped lightly at the dusky peak of Sharon’s nipple and grinned mischievously up at her prone lover.
“What do you want, Sharon?” she asked. “My lips?” she wrapped them around Sharon’s nipple, sucked the tender bud into her mouth until Sharon moaned. “My fingers?” She squeezed Sharon’s hips before raising her own, giving her enough room to run her slender digits through the thatch of curls at Sharon’s center and over the gathering wetness between her legs.
Brenda stared up at Sharon expectantly, taking in the dazzling sight of her lover, panting and flushed and desperate for her. She wanted so badly to take Sharon right there, to hear her, to feel her, but she wanted to give Sharon what she needed, and she resolved not to move until Sharon said exactly what she wanted.
Finally, finally, Sharon opened her eyes, meeting Brenda’s even stare with a sort of need that the blonde couldn’t recall having ever seen there before.
“Both,” she breathed, the word barely more than a whisper, the color on her cheeks rising as it slipped past her lips, and Brenda smiled.
“All you have to do is ask,” Brenda said, ducking her head down to Sharon’s skin and resuming her task. Her fingers continued to tease between Sharon’s folds, heavy with arousal and growing damper with each second as her lips traveled slowly, achingly slowly down Sharon’s skin.
Sharon was whimpering continuously now, her breath coming out in sharp little needy sounds just from the thought of Brenda between her legs, inside her, and it was enough, more than enough, to spur Brenda on. Finally, finally, her lips drifted over the skin stretched tightly over the sharp protrusion of Sharon’s hipbone and down over her thigh, and Sharon spoke again.
“Please,” she said, fingers clutching the pillows behind her head so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, just from how badly she wanted Brenda. Everything else, every other obligation that had been forced upon them was forgotten in this moment as they did only as they pleased, only sought to make each other happy.
Brenda moved her hands to part Sharon’s thighs, leaned forward to drag her tongue along the dampness of Sharon’s folds, and she took just a moment to revel in the perfection of the moment. Of them together. Of how right she felt, for however brief a time. She knew what Sharon wanted, what she needed, and she would give it to her.
Brenda kept one hand on Sharon’s thigh, keeping her leg down as her lips captured the tiny bud of Sharon’s clit and the fingers of her free hand came up, slipping and sliding through Sharon’s wetness until the auburn haired woman moaned her need. Brenda pushed just one finger inside her lover as she gently laved her clit with her tongue, feeling the gush of Sharon’s wetness around her, the rough and soft and the way Sharon’s body gave to make room for her. Brenda had to push her own body down to keep Sharon’s hips from flying off the mattress as her lover let forth a sound that was very nearly a scream, and the action caused Brenda to grind her own neglected clit against the rough blanket covering their hotel bed. They moaned together, voices rising as Brenda added a finger, thrusting up inside Sharon and suckling on her clit. Their passion built, a rising tide of need and want and maybe even love that grew and grew as Sharon’s inner muscles clenched and fluttered around Brenda’s fingers, trying to draw them further, deeper, closer.
“Close, so close” Sharon panted, arms straining above her head though she refused to lower them. Brenda could look up over her mound and see straight down Sharon’s torso, her breasts heaving with every breath, her lips parted as she moaned, her eyes opened, focused on Brenda and nothing, no one else.
Without another thought Brenda sucked hard on Sharon’s clit as she pushed a third finger inside Sharon’s tight sheath and her lover came with a wail of her name, legs rising up to hold Brenda in place as she shuddered and cried and came apart under Brenda’s steady onslaught.
They remained like that a while, Brenda resting in the cradle of Sharon’s hips, easing her through the last of her orgasm with lingering kisses until Sharon finally lowered her arms and caught Brenda by the shoulders, dragging her back up until their lips were tangling and Brenda was sharing the flavor of Sharon’s wetness with her lover. Sharon wrapped one arm across Brenda’s back, pulling her close, and used the other to catch Brenda’s still-wet fingers. With a smoldering look Sharon brought them to her own lips, cleaning each digit with enthusiastic lips and tongue, laving the sensitive skin of Brenda’s fingertips until the blonde was shivering on top of her.
Brenda buried her face in the crook of Sharon’s neck and Sharon kissed her hair fondly.
LA, present day
The funeral was over and everyone was breaking, heading back to their cars in solemn silence, and before Brenda could stop herself, she found her feet carrying her towards Sharon. Her Sharon.
The Captain stared at her in mild surprise, alone on the cemetery grass as her squad made their own way back to Parker Center. She shifted uncomfortably, hands running down the seams of her pants over her hips in a gesture that Brenda recognized as searching for her pockets. An old defense mechanism; Sharon was an expert liar, but when it really counted her hands shook, and she had taken to hiding them in her pockets to keep them from giving her away. Was she planning on lying now? What was she planning? What was she expecting? Brenda’s thoughts swirled as she drew closer, still not certain of what she was going to say, just knowing that life was precious and too short and she had to try, had to speak to her Sharon just once before all of her memories were replaced by the bitterness of Captain Raydor.
“Sharon,” Brenda said softly, purposefully, and she saw the expressions flicker across Sharon’s face, the confusion, the hope.
“Chief,” Sharon said, half-heartedly trying to hold on to her professionalism. They were still surrounded by uniformed officers after all; this was not a Paris hotel room.
“I was wondering if you and I could talk,” Brenda said. Sharon’s eyes darted to the officers milling around them, and Brenda added quickly, “Somewhere else. Somewhere private. Please?”
Sharon stared at her for a long time, so long that Brenda was beginning to fear the woman would simply walk away from her, from them. And then-
“There’s a nice coffee shop near here,” Sharon said. “Small, private. I can drive.”
Brenda smiled, and nodded.
Rating: M
Summary: Brenda and Sharon are once again working together, and each struggles to come to terms with where their relationship stands.
A/N: Sorry for the long delay. You can blame my lady for that. This chapter picks up in Strike Three. As always, reviews are love!
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Sharon
Bitch.
The word rang in Sharon’s mind like a slap to the face. She knew the Deputy Chief hadn’t meant for her to hear, had just been venting some righteous frustration, but she’d heard, and it cut deeper than she had anticipated. She knew Brenda hated her now, knew she had done this to herself, knew that this was better than the alternative, but as she walked away from the little skinhead’s bedroom she couldn’t help the little tremor of sorrow that shot through her.
She hesitated for a moment in the hallway outside the bedroom, not wanting to go back inside to face the wrath of her former lover, not wanting to go into the living room where the dead teenager’s mother was railing hatefully against an increasingly belligerent Provenza. When had this become her life? Until just a few months ago, Sharon actually had everything together. Sure she was tormented by the thought of Brenda just a few floors away; sure Andy Flynn hated her passionately and would call her Wicked Witch to anyone who would listen, but at least then she had her memories. And her pride. Now even her memories were tainted by Brenda’s hatred of her, by of what she’d done to the little blonde. Precious moments that she had so often turned to for comfort were colored by the knowledge that she had loved Brenda when it was convenient, and turned her back the moment she was faced with the hard choice.
Finally her feet moved and then she was back in the fray, trying to calm the mother down, trying to keep Provenza from jumping down her throat, and for a while she was distracted. For a while she had something other than her own private misery to focus on, and she was, if not happy, at least not overwhelmed by misery.
Brenda
The Deputy Chief plopped down behind her desk with a soft thud, her head dropping on the smooth wood surface.
She wanted a stiff drink, she wanted a ding dong, she wanted to go home and snuggle with Kitty (oh God, Kitty’s dead)… she wanted so many things, but she didn’t have time for any of that. She had a killer to catch, for heaven’s sake! And yet, all she could feel right this second was exhaustion, coupled with a bizarre sort of guilt.
She regretted it the moment the word left her lips.
Bitch.
Sharon was many things, but she was not a bitch. Even if she’d been completely rude and cold and impossible to deal with, she had not been a bitch. And even if she hadn’t heard what Brenda said, it had still happened, and Brenda felt the guilt as sharply as if she’d spat the word in Sharon’s face.
Straightening up slightly, Brenda ran her fingers through her hair and then scrubbed her face with her hands. She knew that Sharon didn’t want her in her life, knew that their relationship had torn up Sharon’s family, knew that was a hurt that could not be healed. Even so, she couldn’t believe that Sharon could possibly have hated her as much as she appeared to. She saw the hurt in Sharon’s face; years and years of working closely together had taught Brenda how to read the emotions that no one else ever saw, how to judge in just a moment what that flicker in the depths of Sharon’s clear green eyes meant. And in the months since she’d first learned that Sharon was in LA, there had been moments when Brenda had seen past that haughty veneer to the heart of the woman she had once loved so fiercely, and there she had seen the truth that Sharon had not spoken.
Brenda had tried to hold on to her anger. Sharon had been so cruel, blaming Brenda for her divorce, and the casual way in which she’d revealed her relationship with Andy had cut Brenda to the core. She’d called him Andy. Sharon had left DC and fallen straight into Andy’s arms; why was Andy good enough for her, when Brenda wasn’t? Why had Sharon never tried to reach out to her?
The anger had fizzled out, however. Whenever Brenda tried to remind herself of Sharon and Andy, she found herself picturing Sharon, sad and lonely without her husband, with three young children to look after all on her own, thousands of miles away from all of her friends, looking for someone to hold her. When she thought of Sharon that way, it was hard to be angry with her. It was hard to want to do anything but be the one to step up, to run her fingers through Sharon’s hair and tell her everything would be all right.
Only Brenda hadn’t been the one. Brenda hadn’t been there for her, because Sharon had left without so much as leaving a forwarding address.
Brenda cursed softly to herself and booted up her computer. Sharon was too confusing, too complicated for her right now. She needed to focus.
Sharon
“I have to ask, have you ever considered what your principles cost?”
Brenda looked so bitter, so disillusioned in that moment that it was difficult for Sharon to keep her face from betraying the turmoil roiling inside her. She knew what the question meant. Brenda might have been laying blame for dead cops at Sharon’s feet, might have been questioning the very value of the job that Sharon had given her entire life to, but FID was not what put the quiet anger in Brenda’s voice. This was the Brenda of years ago asking Sharon if she knew what she was doing, what kind of devastation her decisions had wrought. This was the Brenda of years ago pointing out the hypocrisy in breaking Brenda’s heart under the guise of keeping her family together.
But that was not a question Sharon could answer. The cost of her principles, the moral guideposts that had dragged Sharon up and out of Brenda’s bed all those years ago, was high, and Sharon knew it. Maybe too high. Those principles had put Sharon’s kids through hell in the last few years of her marriage, had sent Jack headlong into the bottle, had left Sharon bitter and alone and had left Brenda Leigh a jaded shade of her old self. Sharon knew the cost, but she could not say it. Could not voice the apology that stuck in the back of her throat. Instead she feigned ignorance and answered the question on face value, talking about the importance of her work in a voice that held enough passion to be convincing for anyone.
Anyone but Brenda Leigh.
“There has to be a better way.”
Brenda’s voice was so close to breaking, and now Sharon wasn’t sure what game they were playing. Was she talking about the dead cops? Or was Brenda talking about them? There had to be a better way for the two of them to work together, to pass each other in the halls and not feel this…this… this hopeless.
Sharon smiled tightly. “Well. Until then, you’ve got me.”
She hoped Brenda got her meaning. This speaking in code, stepping around each other; this was a dance they knew very well, one they had practiced to perfection back in the days when they shared hotel beds and barrack bunks, living for the quiet peace of the nights they spent together and trying to communicate during days of deception their feelings for one another. Sharon was trying to make Brenda see that she was sorry for what she’d done, that she hadn’t meant those hurtful things she’d said, that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for them. That one day they might figure this out, that this stalemate, this bitter dispute between Captain Raydor and Chief Johnson, this was just for now.
She could only pray that Brenda remembered how to read her face.
Brenda pursed her lips, sighed, and changed the topic, and Sharon had to believe that this was enough for now.
Brenda
For the duration of the funeral, all Brenda could see was Sharon’s face, sad and drawn, every line and wrinkle highlighted by her severe bun and the high neck of her uniform. FID stood across from Major Crimes, and though Brenda was surrounded by the high wall the men of her squad created, she had a clear view of Sharon from her place.
Until then you’ve got me.
Brenda hoped she’d understood what those words meant. That Sharon did a hard job, a thankless job, because it was the best she could do. That Sharon had made the hard choices, because they were the best she could manage in the situation. And the longer Brenda Leigh stared at the quiet sadness on Sharon’s face, the more she couldn’t help but think that all of this, all this bitterness, all this anger, all this hurt, was futile. She was still Brenda, Sharon was still Sharon, and try as she might, Brenda Leigh couldn’t forget what her Sharon meant to her. Couldn’t look at her husband without feeling guilty, without feeling as though she were somehow cheating on Sharon.
How fucked up was that?
The heat of the Los Angeles afternoon and the look on Sharon’s face were all too much for Brenda to handle. Her thoughts flitted through her head, touching on places she’d rather not go, and before she knew it an afternoon in Paris was playing through her mind like a late-night Lifetime movie she couldn’t turn off no matter how badly she wanted to.
December 1996, Paris
“I know baby, I know. I promise, I’ll be home in time for Christmas,” Sharon was saying, her voice shockingly steady given the fact that she was talking to her husband on the phone while she sat naked on the edge of a hotel bed with an equally naked Brenda behind her, carefully stitching up a gash on Sharon’s left shoulder left by a poorly-aimed bullet. Jack was angry, Brenda could tell by the tension in the muscles under her hand. Playing doctor would be much easier if Sharon would just relax, but Brenda was constantly reminded that Sharon’s family came first.
“Please don’t shout,” Sharon said softly into the phone as Brenda leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the skin just above the newly finished stitches. They weren’t Brenda’s best work but the little blonde’s hands were still shaking as visions of the wounded man behind Sharon raising his gun to fire flashed in Brenda’s mind. Brenda’s lips lingered on the skin of Sharon’s shoulder, warm and blessedly alive beneath her kiss. She couldn’t help but think how ungrateful Jack was, yelling about Christmas plans when Sharon was very nearly ripped away from both of them less than an hour before.
Sharon sighed and leaned back against Brenda, giving the little blonde enough space to wrap her arms around Sharon’s torso, propping her up as Jack continued to yell about whatever it was that was pissing him off today. Brenda was grateful just to hold Sharon in her arms, even when her lover’s attention was focused somewhere else.
“I can’t do this now,” Sharon said, and Brenda hated how small her voice sounded, how defeated. Jack brought her down, made her sad, and all Brenda wanted was to see her Sharon happy. The way she should always have been. Brenda longed to take away her hurt, anyway she could.
“I love you, and I’ll be home in a day or two. Kiss the boys for me,” Sharon said, and then she leaned forward to drop the phone back in its place before turning to face Brenda.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her green eyes tired and more closed off than Brenda had seen them in days.
“Don’t apologize,” Brenda said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Sharon’s ear. “You have to take care of your family.”
Sharon caught Brenda’s wrist, brought it to her lips, kissed the sensitive skin stretched taut over pale blue veins and delicate bones. “I love my children,” she said, flipping her hand so that her fingers entwined with Brenda’s, “But some days it’s too much. All of this is too much. I have too many balls in the air, and I feel like one of them is going to drop. Soon.”
Brenda felt the slightest prick of tears in her eyes, blinked furiously to keep them at bay. Her Sharon, her strong, brilliant, brave Sharon. Sharon who only ever thought of what was best for the people she loved, who never chose to follow only her own happiness. Brenda had entertained the thought more than once, what it would be like if Sharon left Jack, if they made their relationship official, if they stopped hiding. She’d thought of how Sharon’s kids would respond to her, how they would explain their relationship to the agency, to her parents. Being with Sharon would make her happier than anything else, and she truly believed that Sharon felt the same way, but it was so complicated.
“I wish I’d met you years ago,” Sharon sighed, their hands still joined, coming to rest on the warm bare skin of Sharon’s thigh in a gesture that was not enticing, but comfortable. “Before all of this.”
“But then you wouldn’t have your kids,” Brenda pointed out. She had met the boys on a handful of occasions, had seen the pictures in Sharon’s office and in her wallet, had watched the way Sharon’s eyes lit up when she spoke of them. Sharon loved her sons, and Brenda would never, could never, wish to take that away from her.
Sharon smiled sadly. “That’s true.” And I wouldn’t trade them for anything. The words remained unspoken but they lay on the bed between the two women just the same. Sharon would never sacrifice her children; she would sacrifice her life for them, but she would never choose her own desires over their well-being. Brenda’s poor Sharon, with her principles and her quiet suffering.
Now was not the time for bitterly lamenting what could never be; now was the time for celebrating the fact that Sharon was still alive, and that was something Brenda knew how to do. Brenda knew how to lose herself in the fire of Sharon’s touch, knew how to heal her lover’s hurt with her kiss, and she would do that now before Sharon sank even deeper into the melancholy that had settled over her heavy as a blanket.
Brenda leaned forward, closing the space between them and pushing Sharon down amongst the pillows as their lips met in a kiss of quiet passion. Brenda caught Sharon’s other hand, raised both of them above her lover’s head and held them there with one of her own, keeping the auburn haired temptress beneath her in place as her tongue delved deep into the mouth she loved so dearly, saying with her body what she could never say with her words. Sharon whimpered into her mouth and it was enough, just enough, to let Brenda know that Sharon was here with her in this hotel room with the afternoon sun lighting up a brilliant Paris day beyond their window. It was enough to let Brenda know that for now, she had her Sharon, and all was well.
Brenda ground down shamelessly, draping her legs over Sharon’s thigh and letting the wetness that had begun to gather there paint the smooth skin below her. Just being here with Sharon, just holding her naked body, just kissing her, was enough to turn Brenda on beyond reason, and she wanted Sharon to know it. Sharon arched up beneath her, desperate to feel some of that arousal for herself and Brenda was more than happy to oblige. She abandoned Sharon’s mouth for the as-yet uncharted territory of her neck and collarbones, releasing her lover’s hands and feeling an odd rush of something like pride when she realized that Sharon had tangled her hands in the pillows, keeping them precisely where Brenda had left them.
Brenda ran her hands over the swells of Sharon’s breasts, down over the taught muscles of her stomach, still so enticing, even after two children, and wrapped her fingers around Sharon’s hips as her lips continued to wander slowly across Sharon’s chest, as she continued to paint Sharon’s leg with her wetness.
“Please,” Sharon gasped, a breathy plea for more that sent a thrill Brenda’s body.
“Please what baby?” Brenda asked from somewhere near Sharon’s nipple and the auburn haired woman groaned.
When Sharon didn’t answer with words Brenda nipped lightly at the dusky peak of Sharon’s nipple and grinned mischievously up at her prone lover.
“What do you want, Sharon?” she asked. “My lips?” she wrapped them around Sharon’s nipple, sucked the tender bud into her mouth until Sharon moaned. “My fingers?” She squeezed Sharon’s hips before raising her own, giving her enough room to run her slender digits through the thatch of curls at Sharon’s center and over the gathering wetness between her legs.
Brenda stared up at Sharon expectantly, taking in the dazzling sight of her lover, panting and flushed and desperate for her. She wanted so badly to take Sharon right there, to hear her, to feel her, but she wanted to give Sharon what she needed, and she resolved not to move until Sharon said exactly what she wanted.
Finally, finally, Sharon opened her eyes, meeting Brenda’s even stare with a sort of need that the blonde couldn’t recall having ever seen there before.
“Both,” she breathed, the word barely more than a whisper, the color on her cheeks rising as it slipped past her lips, and Brenda smiled.
“All you have to do is ask,” Brenda said, ducking her head down to Sharon’s skin and resuming her task. Her fingers continued to tease between Sharon’s folds, heavy with arousal and growing damper with each second as her lips traveled slowly, achingly slowly down Sharon’s skin.
Sharon was whimpering continuously now, her breath coming out in sharp little needy sounds just from the thought of Brenda between her legs, inside her, and it was enough, more than enough, to spur Brenda on. Finally, finally, her lips drifted over the skin stretched tightly over the sharp protrusion of Sharon’s hipbone and down over her thigh, and Sharon spoke again.
“Please,” she said, fingers clutching the pillows behind her head so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, just from how badly she wanted Brenda. Everything else, every other obligation that had been forced upon them was forgotten in this moment as they did only as they pleased, only sought to make each other happy.
Brenda moved her hands to part Sharon’s thighs, leaned forward to drag her tongue along the dampness of Sharon’s folds, and she took just a moment to revel in the perfection of the moment. Of them together. Of how right she felt, for however brief a time. She knew what Sharon wanted, what she needed, and she would give it to her.
Brenda kept one hand on Sharon’s thigh, keeping her leg down as her lips captured the tiny bud of Sharon’s clit and the fingers of her free hand came up, slipping and sliding through Sharon’s wetness until the auburn haired woman moaned her need. Brenda pushed just one finger inside her lover as she gently laved her clit with her tongue, feeling the gush of Sharon’s wetness around her, the rough and soft and the way Sharon’s body gave to make room for her. Brenda had to push her own body down to keep Sharon’s hips from flying off the mattress as her lover let forth a sound that was very nearly a scream, and the action caused Brenda to grind her own neglected clit against the rough blanket covering their hotel bed. They moaned together, voices rising as Brenda added a finger, thrusting up inside Sharon and suckling on her clit. Their passion built, a rising tide of need and want and maybe even love that grew and grew as Sharon’s inner muscles clenched and fluttered around Brenda’s fingers, trying to draw them further, deeper, closer.
“Close, so close” Sharon panted, arms straining above her head though she refused to lower them. Brenda could look up over her mound and see straight down Sharon’s torso, her breasts heaving with every breath, her lips parted as she moaned, her eyes opened, focused on Brenda and nothing, no one else.
Without another thought Brenda sucked hard on Sharon’s clit as she pushed a third finger inside Sharon’s tight sheath and her lover came with a wail of her name, legs rising up to hold Brenda in place as she shuddered and cried and came apart under Brenda’s steady onslaught.
They remained like that a while, Brenda resting in the cradle of Sharon’s hips, easing her through the last of her orgasm with lingering kisses until Sharon finally lowered her arms and caught Brenda by the shoulders, dragging her back up until their lips were tangling and Brenda was sharing the flavor of Sharon’s wetness with her lover. Sharon wrapped one arm across Brenda’s back, pulling her close, and used the other to catch Brenda’s still-wet fingers. With a smoldering look Sharon brought them to her own lips, cleaning each digit with enthusiastic lips and tongue, laving the sensitive skin of Brenda’s fingertips until the blonde was shivering on top of her.
Brenda buried her face in the crook of Sharon’s neck and Sharon kissed her hair fondly.
LA, present day
The funeral was over and everyone was breaking, heading back to their cars in solemn silence, and before Brenda could stop herself, she found her feet carrying her towards Sharon. Her Sharon.
The Captain stared at her in mild surprise, alone on the cemetery grass as her squad made their own way back to Parker Center. She shifted uncomfortably, hands running down the seams of her pants over her hips in a gesture that Brenda recognized as searching for her pockets. An old defense mechanism; Sharon was an expert liar, but when it really counted her hands shook, and she had taken to hiding them in her pockets to keep them from giving her away. Was she planning on lying now? What was she planning? What was she expecting? Brenda’s thoughts swirled as she drew closer, still not certain of what she was going to say, just knowing that life was precious and too short and she had to try, had to speak to her Sharon just once before all of her memories were replaced by the bitterness of Captain Raydor.
“Sharon,” Brenda said softly, purposefully, and she saw the expressions flicker across Sharon’s face, the confusion, the hope.
“Chief,” Sharon said, half-heartedly trying to hold on to her professionalism. They were still surrounded by uniformed officers after all; this was not a Paris hotel room.
“I was wondering if you and I could talk,” Brenda said. Sharon’s eyes darted to the officers milling around them, and Brenda added quickly, “Somewhere else. Somewhere private. Please?”
Sharon stared at her for a long time, so long that Brenda was beginning to fear the woman would simply walk away from her, from them. And then-
“There’s a nice coffee shop near here,” Sharon said. “Small, private. I can drive.”
Brenda smiled, and nodded.