Since You Went Away - Chapter Eleven: Dance, Fools, Dance

[ubiquitousmixie]

Title: Since You Went Away - Chapter Eleven: Dance, Fools, Dance
Authors: i-must-go-first & UbiquitousMixie
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer
Rating: PG-13 (Overall M)
Word Count: 9007
Disclaimer: Not ours. Please don’t sue.
Summary: A late-night craving and a coincidental meeting lead a certain deputy chief to discover that there’s much more to the inimitable Captain Raydor than meets the eye, and to realize that her mama was right: sometimes all a single woman really needs is a good girlfriend.
Authors’ Note: Raise a glass, put on your dancing shoes, and get ready for shenanigans. We hope this chapter will satisfy those of you who have been eager to see our favorite ladies’ friendship develop into something a little less easily defined. Will write for comments!

-

Sharon already had one eyebrow raised when she opened her front door to admit Brenda Leigh. She gave the smaller woman an exaggerated once-over, taking in her very short, tight midnight-blue dress with its plunging neckline, her bare legs, and the killer silver high-heeled sandals on her feet. “Oh, I’m sorry -- I thought you were still planning to go out with us tonight. I didn’t realize you were going undercover with Vice instead.”

Brenda glared at the captain, instinctively lifting her chin for effect, and shrugging one billowy sleeve off her shoulder. “And I didn’t realize we were goin’ to a church social instead of out dancin’ at a club.”

Sharon’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she pivoted, her bare feet padding down the hall. Brenda closed the door behind them and followed. “This is not what I’m wearing. Obviously.” As she spoke, she shrugged out of the gray pinstriped blazer and tossed it onto her bed.

“But I thought we were supposed to be leaving in a few minutes,” Brenda pointed out, darting a look at Sharon’s bedside alarm clock. She had been very carefully punctual, herself.

“Oh, honey.” Sharon chuckled wryly as she began to unbutton her gray blouse, apparently at ease in Brenda’s presence, but Brenda politely averted her eyes, and kept them averted even after the other woman had turned her back. “When he says ‘about 8:45,’ that means ten o’clock.”

“Oh.” Brenda’s lips drew into a pout as Sharon studied the contents of her closet. “Nobody told me.”

“I thought we could eat first, and have a drink.”

“Why, Sharon -- front-loading, at your age?”

“Exactly. At my age.” Sharon looked over her shoulder, her hair swinging, and flashed Brenda a rueful grin. “I’ve got to have at least one glass of wine to prepare myself mentally for this outing. The only reason I’m doing this is because I’m such a loyal, wonderful friend. What I can’t figure out is why you’re doing it.”

“For moral support?” Brenda suggested with a small smile. “Because I’m also a loyal, wonderful friend?”

The reality was far more embarrassing, and Brenda was quite sure it was transparent to Sharon, but the captain refrained from comment, perhaps because she was too deeply immersed in the perusal of the approximately 47 black items of clothing visible to Brenda in her closet. Brenda was going along tonight because she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being left out.

She’d been jealous. Totally, preposterously, completely jealous.

When Sharon had declined an invitation to go to the movies on a lonely Saturday night because she already had plans, Brenda had been completely taken aback. Sharon actually had plans...without her? Co-dependent was not Brenda’s style, but she’d grown accustomed to Sharon’s company. She preferred it, if she were honest with herself, to spending time alone. And despite the fact that Sharon mentioned the only reason she couldn’t go was because she promised to accompany Dr. Morales to some swanky club because his boyfriend had left him for a younger man, she couldn’t stop herself from talking Sharon into allowing her to tag along.

If anything, Sharon had probably grown sick of Brenda’s whining repetition of “I’m sure y’all will have a great time without me.”

However, it helped the littlest bit to have heard the faintest bit of relief in Sharon’s voice when she accepted the invitation she had browbeaten out of her.

As Sharon reached into her closet for what appeared to be a little black dress, Brenda cleared her throat. “Don’t wear black,” she suggested helpfully.

“Why?”

“Because you always wear black. Wear somethin’ flashy.”

“I don’t own anything that’s flashy.”

“You shoulda told me...I coulda brought you somethin’.”

Sharon snorted at the thought of the two of them sharing clothes, regardless of the fact that they clearly were not the same size. Close--but not quite. She hung the dress back up and scanned her clothes, curling her lip in distaste at the lack of appropriate club attire. She hovered a hand over another hanger, this one gray.

Brenda’s voice sounded from directly behind her shoulder. “Not that one. That one’s too...”

Sharon twirled around, quirking an eyebrow. “Do go on.”

“Too conservative. C’mon, Sharon. Live a little! D’you have a little red dress in there? That’d be perfect.”

The captain tossed her hair over her shoulder and took Brenda squarely by the shoulders, directing her toward the door. “Brenda Leigh, I am not taking fashion advice from you. Now: out you go. You can help yourself to something to drink in the kitchen.”

Brenda rolled her eyes. “Fiiiiiine. Be that way.” She pointed an imperious finger at the darker haired woman. “But if you choose somethin’ too borin’, I’m gonna tell you just what I think!”

“Duly noted.” With that, Sharon shut the door in Brenda’s face.

With Brenda out of her hair, Sharon turned back to her closet and rifled quickly through the selection, finally pulling out several suitable items after rejecting everything else. She carefully got dressed, taking the time to prepare herself for her outing. She hated the club scene and wished that the medical examiner were the type to drown his sorrows in chick flicks and ice cream instead. However, because she had a reputation as a good friend to protect (and also, perhaps, because she’d been neglecting him lately), she had reluctantly agreed to be his date.

That Brenda had badgered her way into earning an invite was simply a perk.

Sharon, despite her intense dislike for throbbing music and strobe lights, did nothing halfway. Clad in a fresher, sexier pair of lacy red undergarments (there was no reason why she couldn’t feel sexy and be supportive at the same time, she reasoned), she touched up her makeup, adding a little more eyeliner and a darker lipstick to enhance her features. Smacking her lips, Sharon nodded at her reflection and then began the meticulous act of getting dressed.

When she reached for the door handle several minutes later, it was with a smirk of gargantuan proportions plastered on her face. She would show Brenda just how boring she wasn’t.

Sharon found Brenda in the kitchen, digging through the fridge. She waited while the blonde loaded her palm full of seedless grapes and took particular delight in the look of utter shock on the younger woman’s face when she shut the door and saw her.

“Um...” Brenda’s eyes danced over her body, quickly taking everything in, before she finally settled on Sharon’s feet, which were clad in knee-high black stiletto boots. She gaped a little at the sight of the dangerously pointy heels. She then completely gawked at the dark blue jeans that hugged Sharon’s hips like a second skin. When she saw Sharon’s rather low-cut black blouse, which somehow managed to drape and cling in all the right places, she realized she’d squeezed the grapes in her hand.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed. Embarrassed to be seen with me.” Sharon reached around the blonde, plucking one of the unmolested grapes from her fingers. “All black, no sequins, nary a smear of glitter. Just typical. Boring. Sharon.” She popped the grape into her mouth and Brenda focused on the daringly dark shade staining her lips, so different from what Captain Raydor wore.

“I never said you were boring,” Brenda countered rather vaguely, still staring. “Can you dance in those shoes?”

“If necessary, not that I plan to do much dancing.” Sharon moved around the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of wine and two glasses. “What do you want for dinner?”

The deputy chief ignored the question, concentrating on Sharon’s boots. She was undeniably impressed. “Why not? We are goin’ dancing, right? Or was that a euphemism as well, like 8:45 for 10:00?”

“Oh, there will be as much dancing as your little heart desires, Brenda Leigh. I promise you that.” Sharon looked up from pouring two large glasses of pinot noir, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “They will love you there.”

Mollified, Brenda sat down at the table and placed her wine squarely between her elbows. “So, Morales’s boyfriend just up and left him for someone else, somebody a lot younger?”

Sharon bit her lip, looking askance. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that,” she fretted. “But if I know him at all -- which I do -- you’ll get the entire sordid tale straight from the horse’s mouth tonight, more than once.”

Brenda raised her eyebrows. “I hardly think you violated his trust, Sharon. Did you see the way he was carryin’ on at work this week? He looked more depressed than the corpses.” Sharon snorted, not without sympathy, and Brenda continued, “So what, Morales is out to cougar it up tonight?”

The older woman choked on her wine, spluttering. “I’m fairly certain that term only pertains to women.”

The blonde grinned. “So if you were datin’ me, for example --”

“You’re obsessed,” Sharon accused, and then scoffed, disgusted. “Hardly. I believe the point is a significant age difference.”

Brenda was all innocence. “You don’t call eight years significant?”

In response Sharon only flipped her hair over her shoulder and drank deeply of her pinot, realization finally dawning that she was in for a very long, very interesting evening.

**

"Chief, are you all right?" Dr. Morales asked over the roar of music, leaning in a little closer. "You look a little pale."

Brenda smiled politely, training her features to display a look of nonchalant interest. She noted that the man’s breath was already sour with alcohol, and she wondered just how many drinks he’d had before they arrived. "Oh I'm fine," she replied casually, willfully ignoring the two men beside her who were engaged in a furious lip lock.

The doctor exchanged an amused glance with the captain and wrapped his lips around the straw of his beverage. He slurped the remaining quarter-inch of his vibrant blue drink with relish and frowned when he had drained the glass. "I'm dry. You two want anything? Ooh--I'll get us a fishbowl!"

The older woman scrunched her nose in distaste. "Absolutely not," Sharon warned.

"A what?" Brenda asked.

"Do you really want to experience Brenda Leigh in all of her drunken glory after half a fishbowl?" Sharon asked wryly.

"I sort of do, actually." A glimmer flashed in Morales's eyes. "Can you imagine the leverage we'd have?"

"Aside from the fact that I don't know what y'all are talkin' about, I thought we agreed that what happens in Throb stays in Throb?" Brenda tilted her head in the direction of a man in a neon cowboy hat, her mouth a smirk as it pronounced the club’s slightly vulgar name. She’d thought Sharon had been joking when she’d revealed the dance club’s unforgettable moniker -- clearly indicating that Brenda still had not mastered all the shades of the older woman’s sense of humor.

“Oh fine,” the medical examiner replied with a disappointed huff. “What do you both want? I’ll get this round.”

After Sharon asked for a Manhattan, Brenda twisted her mouth in indecision. “Oh...um, somethin’ fruity, I guess.” Realizing what she’d said, she flushed. “Uh--”

Morales snorted. “I’ll be back. Feel free to get into trouble while I’m gone.” He winked and then headed through the throng of people toward the packed bar.

When he was gone, Brenda turned a pointed glare at Sharon. “You didn’t tell me this was a gay club!”

Sharon smirked and, were it not for the decidedly awkward stance the older woman had taken against the wall, Brenda would have almost believed that she was completely comfortable in her surroundings. “Look at who we’re with; where else would we have gone?” She narrowed her eyes a little, the green sparkling in the flicker of a nearby disco ball. “Are you nervous, Brenda Leigh? Afraid you’ll catch the gay?”

The blonde rolled her eyes and swatted at Sharon with her clutch. “No! Of course not. I am perfectly fine with gay people. I just...” She shrugged, casting her eyes over the crowd. “I wasn’t prepared.”

“How do you prepare for a gay club if this is how you prepare for a straight club?” Sharon drawled, her gaze drifting to the dip of the other woman’s cleavage. She noted once again the smooth, curve-hugging lines of the dress and the daring hemlines. Her eyes widened. “Brenda!”

“What?”

“Did you tag along so you could find someone to hook up with?” Even in the scant lighting, Sharon could tell that the other woman was blushing.

“No! C’mon--would I really ditch you for some stranger just to get lucky?”

Sharon pursed her lips. “You might.”

“I resent that!”

“Oh, so you dressed like that for me, then?” Sharon couldn’t resist taunting. “Or was it for Morales?”

“I just thought it’d be nice to get dressed up and go out for once,” the younger woman returned defensively. “What’s so wrong with that? Besides, look at you.” She gestured adamantly to make her point, pointing unintentionally at the hint of the dark red bra she could just glimpse deep in the shadow of Sharon’s cleavage. “That’s hardly how you dress every day.”

“You were the one who accused me of being boring.”

“I did not say -- Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Brenda’s eyes fell upon something marvelous -- a vacant table -- and she gave up arguing with the stubborn captain, seizing her hand instead and taking off at a trot. “Thank goodness,” she sighed as she sank into a chair. “Now, as I was sayin’, you can play it cool all you want, but you’re not foolin’ me. You’re not as cosmopolitan and sophisticated as you want people to think. You’re as uncomfortable as I am. You were doin’ a real good job of proppin’ up that wall back there.”

Sharon smirked derisively. “True, but that’s not because we’re in a gay club; it’s because we’re in any club.”

Instinctively the blonde glanced around. If nothing else, this was an excellent arena for honing her people-watching skills. “Oh, you shouldn’t be uncomfortable,” she reassured. “You’re definitely not the oldest person here, not by a long shot.”

Sharon’s eyebrows drew together as she scowled pointedly. “That is not what I meant, thank you. This just isn’t exactly my scene.” She looked around too, wishing Morales would hurry up with the drinks. He’d probably gotten side-tracked by some musclebound young thing at the bar.

“Well, I guess it’s not exactly my scene either,” the blonde admitted with a rueful grin. “I didn’t expect quite so many tanned, attractive men in mesh tank tops and glitter.”

The dark-haired woman snickered. “When was the last time you went out to a club, Brenda Leigh? I mean, what decade?”

“Oh, hah-hah. Very funny.” Brenda nudged her friend. “Hey, why do I get the impression that that man over there isn’t a real policeman?”

Sharon’s eyes twinkled. “Wanna arrest him for impersonating an officer?”

Brenda sighed. “No, I want to dance,” she replied, pouting slightly as she gazed around the room.

“Morales will dance with you -- if he ever comes back.” Sharon was getting thirsty.

“Yeah, I suppose I could dance with him,” the chief conceded discontentedly.

Again her friend snickered. “Not your type? Sorry, honey. Somehow I suspect most of the men here share the same opinion about you. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The blonde propped her elbow on the table and pursed her lips. “How do you know you’re my type?” she teased.

Green eyes rolled heavenward. “I meant stuck at the table with me, Brenda Leigh. But as far as that goes, what makes you think you’re my type?”

Brenda tossed her hair, golden curls dancing. “If I’m not your type, then who here is?” she challenged.

“Morales.”

“Gee, Sharon, I hate to break this to you, but if he’s your type, there may be a good reason why your previous relationships haven’t worked out.”

The captain snorted, and somehow managed to look elegant doing it. “I meant here’s Morales with our drinks.” Her eyes narrowed ominously. “Sort of. He’s got a god-damn fishbowl.”

When Brenda looked over her shoulder, she was equally amused and alarmed to see that Morales was, in fact, carrying a small fishbowl (the same size that she’d kept her beta fish, Delilah, in when she was in college), filled to the brim with a blue concoction and three straws. Her eyes widened. “What on earth is it?” she demanded.

“It’s everything,” Sharon said. When the pathologist paused to say something to a passing dancer, she placed a hand on Brenda’s arm. “For your own sake, Brenda Leigh, pace yourself.”

“Awe, what a courteous date you are, lookin’ out for my well-bein’.” Brenda batted her eyes flirtatiously, covering Sharon’s hand with her own. “I promise not to be an obnoxious drunk.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Getting friendly, are we?” Morales said, depositing the cocktail on the table. “If I have to be the third wheel tonight, you might as well just do me a favor and put me out to pasture.”

Brenda extracted her hand and rubbed his forearm. “There now...there’s plenty of love to go ‘round.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said, taking a long pull from the straw angled in his direction. “Papi’s ready for some lovin’ tonight.”

Sharon leered. “I take it you won’t be leaving with us.”

“I damn well hope not!” The man exaggerated a shudder and Brenda laughed. “I’m ready to drown my sorrows and get lost in a sea of men. Now--drink up, ladies. We’re going to have some fun tonight.”

Brenda suspiciously eyed the drink. They were supposed to share? She waited until Sharon took a sip before taking one of her own. She smacked her lips. “Mmm! This is tasty! It’s like juice!”

“Adult juice!” Morales cheerfully added, and Sharon glared. “So, if we get bored of the techno scene, we can check out the blue room downstairs.”

“Blue room?” Brenda questioned, taking another sip. When the alcohol warmed her belly, she was reminded that it was not, in fact, juice and decided to heed Sharon’s warning to take it easy.

“Different DJ, different tone. Down there you’ll hear more of the old homo standards, like Cher, Britney, Gaga, Cyndi...”

Brenda clapped her hands together. “That sounds like fun! Can we go down there later?”

Morales pressed his hands to his chest and looked imploringly at Sharon. “Who knew our little country bumpkin would blossom amongst her queer brethren?”

“Ms. Johnson is always full of surprises,” Sharon commented, the corner of her lip perking up.

“Only to keep you on your toes,” Brenda shot back.

A tall shirtless man leaned over Morales’s shoulder and spoke directly into his ear. When he stood up, the doctor waggled his eyebrows and followed him into the crowd of dancing men and women.

“Well...didn’t take him long, did it?” Brenda commented, craning her neck to try to spot the short man amidst the dancers.

“He’s resilient.”

“People sure are friendly here,” the blonde added, sitting back in her chair as she scanned the room again.

More than you realize, Sharon thought as she spotted a woman sizing up the deputy chief from across the room as if she were dessert. Her heart thudded unpleasantly when she caught the woman’s eye; to her own surprise, Sharon narrowed her eyes possessively and smirked. The woman frowned and turned away.

“See, aren’t you glad I’m here?” Brenda asked suddenly, startling Sharon. The brunette looked askance, but the blonde showed no sign of having witnessed that little exchange. Sharon leaned in and took an experimental drink of the blue concoction. It really was delicious -- lethally delicious.

“If I weren’t here, you’d just be sittin’ here all by your lonesome,” Brenda continued, and Sharon cocked her head to meet her friend’s direct gaze. Brenda’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Or would you? Sharon, what would you be gettin’ up to if I weren’t here?”

Brenda had, of course, already described exactly the evening the captain had anticipated. Minus her lithe blonde companion, she’d be sitting here, or more likely leaning against a shadowy segment of the wall, as unobtrusively as possible, nursing her Manhattan (because Morales wouldn’t have dared get her a fishbowl). But as she fortified herself with a longer drink of whatever this blue poison might actually be, it occurred to her that she could have a little fun with Brenda. So as the straw slipped from between her lips, Sharon propped her chin on one fist and responded with a slight, mysterious smile and a quirk of her brow.

“Would you be dancing?” Brenda asked, unabashedly curious. She’d taken the bait.

Sharon shrugged.

“Who would you dance with? Since Morales is otherwise occupied.” Dark lashes fluttered as Brenda twisted her upper body around, surveying what she could see of the cavernous club. “It would be a woman, right? So which woman?” The blonde tilted her head toward the bar. “How ‘bout her?”

Unerringly, Brenda had chosen the slim Asian woman who’d been eying the deputy chief a moment earlier. Sharon smirked. “I don’t think I’m her type.”

“How can you tell? Okay, not her.” Eyes still roaming their surroundings, Brenda leaned in to take another drink and nearly bumped noses with Sharon, who was doing the same thing. Startled, the blonde jerked back, her straw slipping from the fishbowl and spattering Sharon’s blouse with a shower of blue droplets. Green eyes narrowed in a glare.

“Oops, sorry.” Brenda giggled nervously. “At least you’re wearin’ black. It doesn’t show. -- What about that woman there, in the fedora? She’s cute...”

Sharon found herself surprisingly willing to play along (what else did she have to do?), so she looked in the direction Brenda had indicated. “She is cute,” she agreed, surveying the dapper woman in her crisp Brooks Brothers ensemble. “Too butch for me, though.”

“So butch doesn’t do it for you?”

The captain shrugged philosophically. “If I were going to be with a woman, I’d want someone more... conventionally feminine, I suppose.”

“More feminine: check.” The younger woman was quiet for a moment, and then exclaimed, “Ooh, her!”

“The redhead?” The woman in question was lovely, her long auburn layers dancing around her heart-shaped face as she leaned in to talk to her male companion. She wore a little red dress, not dissimilar to what Sharon imagined Brenda had been hoping the captain had hidden away in her own closet, and she was a few inches shorter than Sharon. As the captain’s gaze swept back up to the woman’s face, she was startled to realize the redhead was staring right back, her eyes warm and amused. Sharon blinked and felt herself flush slightly. The woman tilted her head and smiled flirtatiously.

Sharon’s gaze snapped back to Brenda. “I think she’s straight.”

Brenda laughed, her eyes wide with amazement. “Somehow I don’t think so.” But since she definitely didn’t want to lose her only companion in this sea of sweaty men to the arms of some little waif with garishly dyed red hair, she cheerfully moved on, suggesting, “I know -- her!”

It was Sharon’s turn to laugh. “Brenda, that’s a man.”

Brown eyes widened with curiosity. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The blonde blinked slowly. “Wow. I’m impressed. He has better legs than I do.”

Again they both leaned in to drink, but this time they were paying attention, and no near collision occurred. Instead brown eyes gazed into green from startling proximity.

Brenda’s voice was softer when she spoke again. “I guess we’re stuck with each other after all.”

Sharon smirked and leaned back, relieved to put a little distance between them. Sharing a drink was unexpectedly intimate. It took her back to high-school days of varsity letterman jackets and shared milkshakes, in neither of which had she partaken. “Oh, so you’d choose me over a gay man? I’m so flattered.”

“And other women!” Brenda insisted earnestly, and then sighed. “Poor Morales. He and Kyle had been together for a long time, right? And to have him leave for somebody younger that he met at the gym --” The blonde’s lip curled in distaste. “It must be so demoralizin’.”

Sharon heaved an uncharacteristically moody sigh. “Oh, it is.”

Brenda’s eyebrows arched. “How would you know?”

“Paul left me for a younger woman,” the brunette replied solemnly, looking down into the depths of their drink. Brenda looked too, half expecting to see a reincarnated Delilah swimming around.

“What?” the blonde gasped, appalled. “Is he crazy? Why on earth would anyone want a younger woman when he could have you? He must’ve lost his mind, Sharon!”

The other woman blinked. “I -- Thank you, Brenda. That’s very sweet.”

“Oh, it’s my southern charm.” The blonde smiled. “But I mean it. You’re smart and funny and sexy...” (Sexy? Where had that come from?)

Sharon looked into the very sincere dark eyes of the woman who’d called her a bitch, the Wicked Witch of FID, and was suddenly ashamed of herself. Brenda immediately read her unusual hang-dog expression and her eyes narrowed.

“You made that up,” she accused, and Sharon nodded. She had no idea why she’d done it -- to defuse the sudden tension she’d felt between them, maybe?

“Never lie to a CIA-trained interrogator, Captain Raydor,” Brenda continued, her voice steely. “Now you owe me. Big time.”

“Fair enough,” Sharon replied, twirling her straw in her fingers. Knowing the deputy chief’s unruly naughty streak, she could only imagine what would be her penance.

“There’s no way you’re gettin’ out of dancin’ with me now.”

Sharon barely stifled a grimace. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough (or at all, really) for dancing. Though she wasn’t necessarily the type to rely on alcohol for liquid courage, she felt entirely too aware of Brenda and her tight dress and her bare legs (which were really much, much nicer than the drag queen’s) to comfortably allow herself to lower her inhibitions. She took another sip. “Drink up then if you want to dance. This won’t be here when we get back.”

And so they did, heads close together as they casually sipped from their garish fishbowl, pausing every so often to talk. Sharon effectively distracted Brenda with stories of a much younger Morales, regaling her with tales of the man’s affinity for tasteless jokes and his ongoing crush on David Gabriel.

When they’d polished off a little more than a third of the drink, Brenda finally pushed her straw away. “I don’t wanna sit here and get drunk and watch everyone else havin’ all the fun. C’mon...it’s time to show me what you’ve got.” She clutched Sharon’s hand and pulled her to her feet, dragging her toward the packed dance floor.

When they reached the outer edge of sweating, undulating bodies, they looked at each other expectantly, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Brenda shimmied uncomfortably and, at the sight of Sharon’s smirk, stomped her foot. “I don’t wanna be on the outside,” she said, her lips close to Sharon’s ear as she competed with the loud throb of techno music. “I don’t like all these people watchin’ me.”

“No one’s watching.”

Brenda looked past Sharon’s shoulder, noticing the red-haired woman’s eager eyes pointed in Sharon’s direction. Brenda glared and once more took up Sharon’s hand. “Yes, they are.” She cast a haughty glance at the woman and tugged her into the crowd, pushing her way until they were hidden amongst the masses. Several glittered, shirtless men smiled at them, pressing their bodies closer to their partners to create a tiny pocket for the two women, which left them with barely enough room to dance without brushing against each other.

The blonde gave the older woman a challenging glare and, with a fortifying breath, Sharon began to sway her hips to match the tempo of the music’s beat.

Brenda grinned when Sharon started to dance first (of course she would go first) and began to move her body in a similar rhythm. She wasn’t the greatest dancer but she could hold her own, and the low lighting and extravagant moves of those around her made her feel instantly at ease. Meeting Sharon’s eye, she twisted and moved her feet with gusto, trying not to focus too much on the fact that their thighs were bumping together.

All things considered, there were worse things than dancing with Brenda Leigh Johnson. Sharon’s body thrummed with the infectious pulse of the music and energy that surrounded them. If she hadn’t been so comfortable with Brenda, Sharon doubted she would have left the safety of her table. However, the glint in her eye pulled directly at her curiosity, leaving the woman eager to discover just how wild and reckless the blonde was willing to get. Swallowing her awkwardness, Sharon focused instead on the way the flashing lights shimmered across Brenda’s hair and highlighted the long, sinewy slope of her neck. Moving like this, carefree and exhilarated in a faceless crowd, made Brenda look years younger and Sharon was awed to see her lose herself in it all, closing her eyes and surrendering herself completely. The sight was breathtaking.

An over-enthusiastic dancer behind Sharon jarred her back, shoving her forward. She collided with Brenda, their hips pressed flush together as Sharon placed a steadying hand on Brenda’s waist. They paused like this for a breathless moment, each woman watching the other’s face for signs of discomfort. When none came, Brenda’s mouth slowly twisted into a grin before she started dancing again, her hips guiding Sharon’s into a steady rhythm.

Sharon felt herself grin back. She gripped Brenda a little more tightly, bringing their bodies more comfortably together so they wouldn’t bump awkwardly into one another, so each woman’s hands and thighs and knees had somewhere to go. A moment ago she’d been almost jealous of Brenda’s lack of inhibition, her obvious ability to melt into the simple joy of the dance -- something that had everything to do with simultaneously fully inhabiting every fiber of your body and completely forgetting it existed. That was why Sharon did yoga; but still, it had been a very long time since Sharon had been able to melt fully into the simple joy of anything. Her life was too complicated. There was too much uncertainty, too much pain, too much inadequacy. For a few minutes there she’d felt like the moth dancing around the younger woman’s flame.

But that jolt, and that grin -- Sharon had realized something.She didn’t have to dance around on the edge. She could jump right in too, with Brenda there beside her. It wasn’t so hard after all. She laughed, just because she could, and the other woman laughed too, as if she understood.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Sharon automatically turned to see the Asian woman who’d been giving Brenda Leigh a come-hither stare earlier. Unsurprisingly, she paid no attention to the captain, but grinned at the blonde.

“Dance?” she asked winningly.

Brenda’s dark eyes widened. And then, after only a second, her eyebrows drew together in a severe frown. “That’s what I was doin’, until you interrupted.” She moved closer, hooking one arm around Sharon’s neck. “Excuse us.”

Obligingly, the captain spun them away, enjoying the dark flush that spread over Brenda’s cheeks and crept down her neck, and also, if she was honest, enjoying the envious expression on the third woman’s face. “Are you not interested because she’s a woman?” Sharon wondered, genuinely curious.

Brenda Leigh rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested because I’m dancin’ with you, unless this is your not-so-subtle way of tryin’ to ditch me for Miss Red Dress over there.”

Sharon chuckled. “It’s been about twenty-five years since anyone accused me of subtlety.”

The smaller woman grinned and fluttered her eyelashes. “So no?”

“No,” Sharon confirmed. It took her a moment to realize that the music had changed, one song merging into the next. Not that she could tell much difference -- they all seemed to have the same driving, repetitive bass line -- but this one was louder, and a black light had flashed on. Mr. Neon Cowboy Hat, now sporting a neck ruff of multi-colored glow sticks, bounced up and down over Brenda’s shoulder like a human pogo stick.

“Let’s try downstairs,” Sharon suggested.

Brenda frowned. “What?” she shouted, her white teeth flashing.

Sharon stopped moving, leaning in to speak directly into her friend’s ear. “Let’s go downstairs!” Her breath caused wispy curls to dance, and she smelled sweat, light perfume, and the chemically-rich sweetness of the drink they’d been sharing.

The blonde nodded eagerly, looking a little relieved, and clung to Sharon’s hand as the taller woman led them off the dance floor, wending through the ever-swelling crowd and an entirely unacceptable number of glow sticks, given that most of the patrons were well over thirty.

It wasn’t easy navigating through the mass of people, though Sharon noted with satisfaction that many of the newcomers seemed to be coming from the stairwell, some of them passing out glow sticks and slathering others in neon body paint. It hardly surprised her that this was the scene into which Morales would choose to insert himself with little thought to her own comfort, reminding her once more just how relieved she was that Brenda had accompanied her. She squeezed the other woman’s hand as they headed downstairs.

They passed the crowded bathrooms and came into a spacious inlet in the hallway, the half-room dimly lit but considerably cooler than the upper level. There weren’t many people; those who had sought refuge here were gulping down drinks and conversing without the blaring speakers to compete with.

“Guess the party’s upstairs,” Brenda pointed out, tugging Sharon in the direction of the small bar that was set back against the wall.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all! All those flashin’ lights and glowy things were givin’ me a headache.” She inserted herself between two people at the counter and leaned in to the bartender, requesting something that Sharon couldn’t hear. When she turned around after slapping several bills on the bar top, she held out a shot glass filled with a lime green beverage.

“What is this?” Sharon asked.

“I have no idea. I told her to make us somethin’ yummy.” The blonde extended her glass. “To us.”

Sharon grinned, the back of her neck growing warm once more. “To us.” They clinked glasses and knocked back their shots, the sour apple taste leaving them both with a slight pucker on their mouths.

“Whew...that was strong!” Brenda exclaimed, smacking her lips. “Wanna check out this blue room?”

Sharon nodded, allowing Brenda to take her hand and lead down the winding corridor. As they drew nearer to the room, they could hear the beginning of Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl.”

“How fun!” Brenda said excitedly, pulling her friend into the entrance of the blue room. Unsurprisingly, the walls were painted a vibrant sky blue, giving the room an entirely different vibe than the main dance floor upstairs. The room was busy though not overwhelmingly so and the lighting was better, giving them a chance to see each other without having to squint.

Brenda guided them onto the dance floor, immediately throwing herself into moving to the music. She bubbled with laughter and spun around, her dark eyes gleaming as she took Sharon’s hand and twirled her around. The older woman laughed mirthfully.

Sharon felt much more relaxed in this room, appreciating that the more laid-back, fun atmosphere had alleviated a little of the tension she had felt upstairs when her body had been pressed against Brenda’s. The pull of her curves and the heat of her body had been more intoxicating than the alcohol they’d consumed and Sharon vaguely wondered what it would be like to be totally, completely drunk on Brenda Leigh Johnson--if she wasn’t already.

In this blue room, dancing to Billy Joel with her best friend, Sharon felt twenty-five again...only at twenty-five, Sharon didn’t muse over what her friend looked like beneath the suggestive cling of her dress. But then, she reasoned, when she was twenty-five, having someone hold her close the way Brenda Leigh had been doing upstairs wasn’t the rare occurrence it had become today. Smirking to herself, Sharon spun the blonde beneath their joined hands, and Brenda grinned happily. Oh, if only you knew, Sharon thought, and couldn’t swallow the laughter that bubbled up from her chest.

“What’s so funny?” Brenda asked, using their joined hands to tug the other woman close again, into the cradle of her hips, so she could hear the anticipated response.

Again the captain laughed. “I -- No, I just realized I’m actually having fun.”

Brenda’s eyebrows rose. “You just realized? Sharon, you always have fun when I’m around,” she teased.

Sharon smirked. Oh, yes, she could think of many times over the past three years when she’d looked back on moments spent in Chief Johnson’s company with giddy rapture at the fun they’d had together.

Brenda scrunched her nose as if reading Sharon’s mind, which was good, because the brunette didn’t relish the idea of shouting out her sarcasm over the insistent voice of Lady Gaga, who was singing about how you were born this way, baby. “We need another drink,” the chief declared.

Sharon obligingly followed her friend back to the bar, their hands linked like those of school children on the buddy system. Before Brenda caught the attention of the bartender, though, Sharon stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Just a soda or something.” Sharon did not need more alcohol. A sweaty, smiling, gyrating Brenda was enough for her to contend with; with the dangerous aid of more booze, she feared she might forget she wasn’t a carefree twenty-five-year-old out with her pretty girlfriend, and do something really stupid. An inappropriate kiss or grope was pretty much par for the course at that age, wasn’t it? But it would be a lot harder to ignore at fifty-four.

Sharon accepted the Coke Brenda handed to her and guzzled thirstily through the little green straw. Maybe she was drunk after all. Maybe Brenda was drunk, and Sharon had absorbed the alcohol through her skin. Maybe she needed a distraction.

“Let’s dance,” she said imperatively, snagging Brenda’s elbow and leading her back the way they’d come. Brenda bobbed along with her, chewing enthusiastically on her straw. Cher asked if they believed in life after love, and Sharon slung an arm around Brenda’s waist, drawing her into an extravagant sweep. The younger woman threw back her head and laughed like one of the twenty-five-year-olds they weren’t.

They danced until they were both panting and sweating; Sharon’s feet ached, and she was sure Brenda’s did too. But still they whirled around and around, unwilling, maybe unable, to stop, laughing for no reason, smiling and hanging onto one another for support.

The older woman’s left instep emitted a painful twinge of protest at the unnatural angle into which it had been forced for hours and she opened her mouth to suggest they go see what the hell Morales was getting up to, when Brenda’s face lit from within with incandescent joy. The blonde drew back from Sharon to clap gleefully. “I love this song!”

Everyone else did too, it seemed. Sharon stood back, bemused, as Brenda Leigh began to sing along, her off-key warbling drowned out by the pulsing music and the enthusiastic singing of the crowd: “Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone...”

Sharon stepped back, content to watch as Brenda bobbed and bounced and spun, caught up in the moment and the movement of the entire crowd. The blonde had closed her eyes, and somehow that made Sharon feel like a voyeur, as if she were witnessing some private rite or ritual; but she didn’t look away. Green eyes devoured the spectacle of tangled blonde curls, the dewy flush of smooth skin, and the flexing of powerful muscles in those long, colt-like legs.

Suddenly Brenda’s eyes popped open, whether because she had felt the absence of her friend at her side or the laser-like focus of that stare, or both. Dark chocolate met that peculiar green and the blonde blushed furiously. Sharon felt her own cheeks heat with embarrassment and something both darker and brighter. Brenda’s lips curved into a shy, soft smile. “You’re not dancin’.”

“I was watching you,” Sharon replied, although the words were lost in the music. Maybe Brenda knew how to read lips. The smaller woman shuffled in toward Sharon, making more room for the enthusiastic dancers at her back. Her smile widened and laughter bubbled up to her lips, although she couldn’t have explained why. Sharon grabbed her wrist and began backing her way toward the edge of the dance floor to keep them from being crushed by the frenzied, Madonna-mad mob. She didn’t stop until her shoulder blades touched the wall, and then she leaned gratefully into its support.

“We can sit,” Brenda volunteered quickly. “Do your feet hurt?”

They did, but suddenly the captain didn’t want to sit. “I’m fine.”

Accepting that response, Brenda leaned against the wall beside the taller woman, misjudging the distance and ending up pressed against her from shoulder to knee. The solid warmth of Sharon’s curvy body was surprising but not, the blonde decided, unpleasant, so she relaxed and sucked greedily at the melting ice in her little plastic cup.

Someone jostled Sharon’s shoulder from the opposite side and she tipped dramatically into Brenda, thrown off balance by her very high heels and precarious pose, and the chief’s cup bounced to the floor as she braced herself and gripped Sharon’s upper arms to keep both of them from toppling onto the sticky floor.

Sharon whipped around, unintentionally giving Brenda a mouthful of her lilac-scented hair, her mouth already open to express her displeasure to the rude people who’d bumped her, when she froze. To her eternal embarrassment, she felt her eyes widen. Clearly, scolding would avail nothing; the women beside them were otherwise occupied.

At least, she mused, the persistent young Asian woman was too busy to hit on Brenda Leigh again.

With similar satisfaction Brenda noted that the redhead had evidently given up on luring Sharon away.

The captain felt her skin heat with embarrassment, which was silly. The pair next to them didn’t seem to care if they had an audience, so there was no reason to be embarrassed at being in the position of hapless spectator. Still, good manners dictated that she look away.

The captain ignored good manners, swallowing hard as the petite redhead drew the other woman’s lower lip into her mouth, dragging her perfect white teeth across it. Her parents must have paid a fortune for dental work. The tension in Brenda’s body, the tightening of her grip on Sharon’s shoulders, told the brunette that she, too, was caught up in the spectacle. Sharon wondered if Brenda realized that thing with her teeth was an exact imitation of what the deputy chief did constantly to her own lower lip. Green eyes still focused on the other couple, Sharon had a vivid image of herself doing just that to the younger woman, nipping sharply and then soothing the hurt with her tongue. The answering throb of arousal she felt between her legs was so swift and sure that she gasped.

The two women next to them were fused together in an open-mouthed kiss, but Sharon was much more aware of Brenda Leigh’s fast breathing, the rapid, moist exhalations tickling the sensitive skin just below the captain’s ear. The kiss went on and on, and Sharon knew that she, too, was breathing harshly, her heart thundering along as if she’d just completed a sprint. The redhead unashamedly palmed her taller companion’s ass and Sharon’s hips shifted restlessly, instinctively pressing more firmly into the cradle of warmth at her back. Her skin prickled with hot mortification, but Brenda Leigh’s hand fluttered at Sharon’s waist before settling there, grasping her tightly and fitting their bodies together. Sharon was light-headed. Brenda’s smaller body felt like an extension of her own: she could feel the other woman’s quick pulse, the thudding of her heart, the tension in her muscles -- She could feel how aroused she was. How aroused they both were.

Brenda Leigh exhaled shakily. Her lips were the barest centimeters from the side of Sharon’s neck.

Delicate fingers cupped one small breast through the flowing fabric of the redhead’s dress, and Sharon felt Brenda’s nipples harden instantly, pressing insistently into the captain’s back.

A thrilling panic coursed through Sharon’s body and she stood up straight, as if she’d been shocked. “Morales!” she exclaimed incongruously.

It took several seconds for Brenda to register that the older woman had said anything at all, so wrapped up was she in the way the redhead’s tongue was stroking inside the other young woman’s mouth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the way it felt to be kissed like that until it was on display for her, tempting her like a cake in the window of a bakery. Registering the way Sharon had shifted against her, Brenda finally blinked and looked away from the enthusiastic couple, her eyes focusing on Sharon’s mouth. Had she ever looked so intently at the shape of Sharon’s lips? She didn’t think so, nor did she think that she’d ever wanted to kiss her as badly as she did right at that moment.

It occurred to her then that the reason she had looked at Sharon’s mouth to begin with was because it had spoken. “Huh?” she asked, her mind hazy with thoughts of how good of a kisser Sharon Raydor must be.

There was a flicker of panic in Sharon’s eyes and then, just as quickly, it was replaced by awkward reservation. “We should look for Morales.”

The blonde nodded mutely, taking a distancing step back to give herself a chance to scan her eyes over the roomful of people. She craned her neck and looked amidst the jumping swarm of dancers who were loudly singing about how girls just wanted to have fun. She couldn’t see the medical examiner but wasn’t actively trying to find him either, deciding instead to give them both the space they both clearly needed. Brenda felt intensely overheated, her body buzzing with an entirely different type of unspent energy. Brown eyes darted quickly to observe the captain and was relieved to see that Sharon appeared to be in a similar state.

Brenda laughed to herself. She could only imagine what her answer would be when her mother inevitably questioned her about how her night had been. The words fun and interesting flitted about in her mind, but the one that continued to resurface was arousing--and that was something her mother just didn’t need to know.

“Let’s look out by the bar,” Sharon suggested, her lips dangerously close to Brenda’s ear.

Brenda nodded and before she could wonder if Sharon would avoid touching her, their hands met and instinctively clasped together.

The blue room had become considerably more busy, a minor detail that both Sharon and Brenda had been too distracted to notice. Sharon snuck a glance at her watch; it was the hour that most clubbers flocked to their Saturday night havens, leaving her with an itchy feeling of claustrophobia and a wave of antisocial distaste. She suddenly found herself longing for her bed, not only to rest her aching legs and feet, but to tend to other pressing aches without the confusing and tempting form of Brenda Leigh at her side.

“Wait here,” Brenda said once they’d emerged into the less-crowded hall. “I’ll get us some water.”

Sharon nodded, allowing the younger woman to fight her way through thirsty dancers for an overpriced bottle of water. She narrowed her eyes, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the change in lighting. Slinking back against the wall to support her weary frame, Sharon took a long, bracing breath and cursed her sex-starved body for reacting to Brenda’s the way it had. She knew she’d been completely obvious, just in the way Brenda had been.

But, prompted the rational little voice in the back of her mind, did you react to her because she was in the right place at the right time, or did you react because it’s Brenda?

Sharon pushed the thought away. That was decidedly not a train of thought that she wished to pursue.

To the older woman’s relief, she spotted the pathologist across the room when a group of older leather-clad men headed for the stairwell. Thankful for the distraction, she waved her arm in her hope of attracting his attention.

And then she froze, her arm elevated mid-air.

At that precise moment, Brenda reappeared at her side with a single bottle of water. “You would not believe how much they charge--Shar? What’s goin’ on?”

Sharon immediately retracted her arm, hugging it to her chest, her face taking on an expression of horrified disbelief. Brenda leaned in and peered in the direction that had caught Sharon’s focus. “Oh for heaven’s sake...” she exclaimed when she spotted him. “What on earth is Danny doin’ here?”

“More importantly,” Sharon said, her voice low and steely, “what is he doing with Morales?”

The captain grabbed Brenda’s hand and took off so fast that she wrenched the blonde’s arm painfully in its socket, but Brenda limited her protest to an exaggerated frown, so intrigued was she by the scene unfolding before her.

Sharon grasped her son’s elbow and yanked him toward her body, clearly in full lioness-protecting-her-cub mode. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded in a strident tone Brenda hadn’t heard since a certain memorable occasion (“I must go first! My investigation must go first!”) in Will’s office.

Fiery green eyes bored into the startled, semi-intoxicated pathologist, but Brenda focused on Daniel, who looked equal parts taken aback and amused. “Mom?” He peered around her shoulder, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. “And Brenda?”

She smiled and lifted the hand still clutching the water bottle in greeting.

The color was draining from Morales’s face beneath his ever-present tan. “Mom?” he repeated.

“Step away from my son,” Sharon returned, her voice every bit as dangerous as if she held her weapon, and Morales responded exactly as if she did, shuffling to the side and lifting his hands.

“Jesus, Mom -- this is really embarrassing,” Danny muttered. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell am I doing?” Sharon’s eyes widened with incredulity. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I was just going to ask to buy him a drink, I swear,” Morales muttered pitifully, shooting the older woman a look that was half resentful, half terrified.

“And I was going to decline, politely -- Sorry, man,” Daniel added, making eye contact with the pathologist, who nodded.

“You have a boyfriend,” Sharon continued sternly.

“I do,” the younger man agreed mildly.

“And you are much too old for him,” she went on, pivoting to address Morales. “He’s a child!”

“I’m twenty-five!” Danny yelped defensively. “And look at you, robbing the cradle, you hypocrite.”

Sharon stared back, mystified, and Daniel pointed a single finger at Brenda. The captain scowled fiercely. “I’ll deal with you later,” she promised her son. “You, however --” She plucked Morales’s plastic cup of whatever from his fingers. “I’ll deal with you now. Hitting on college boys like some old lech isn’t going to bring Kyle back. If this is how you’re going to behave, we’re leaving.”

Brenda looked on wide-eyed, expecting some sort of wildly affronted outburst. Instead Morales’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I’m just really not ready for this after all. Sorry, Sharon. Sorry, um --”

“Daniel,” the other man reminded with a slight smile, extending his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.” He gave the two women a wary side-eye. “And no offense, but I didn’t come here to hang out with my aged P. So --”

With an eye-roll, Sharon waved him away, and Daniel disappeared eagerly into the crowd.

Brenda’s gaze shifted expectantly between her companions. This evening was just turning out to be full of surprises. “So, uh, what now?”

The brunette looked questioningly at Morales and cocked her head.

“You two wanna come back to my place?” he asked despondently. “There’s a twenty-four-hour convenience store on the corner; they’ve got an impressive selection of ice cream. And it’s been a while since I watched my DVD of Beaches.”

To her credit, Sharon didn’t laugh. She nodded sympathetically and rubbed his arm. “Sure. Brenda?”

Her curls bounced. “I’m in.”

They began to wend their slow way toward the exit. As they shuffled along, Morales said, “You know, Sharon, you can’t ever bring this unfortunate event up again. You promised.”

At her raised eyebrow, Brenda nodded in confirmation. “Whatever happens in Throb, stays in Throb, remember?”

“That’s absurd. That was before I knew you intended to molest my son.”

“That’s harsh, captain. Younger men love me. And you might want to rethink that stance,” Morales replied ominously, appearing to recover a bit of his usual spark, and Sharon lanced into him with a very skeptical look. “Oh, I suppose you think I didn’t notice you two earlier?”

Sharon’s expression didn’t change, but there was no way she could hide her blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? You do realize you’re still holding hands, right?” he pointed out, smirking knowingly.

The older woman flung the blonde’s hand away as if it had burned her, and Brenda pouted.

“You’re right,” Sharon decreed, picking up the pace as they neared the blessed red light of the Exit sign, the others stumbling to keep up with her. “Whatever happens in Throb, stays in Throb.”

***