Since You Went Away - Chapter Twelve: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Title: Since You Went Away - Chapter Twelve: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Authors: i-must-go-first & UbiquitousMixie
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer
Rating: PG-13 (Overall M)
Word Count: 8027
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: Thanks to everyone for your continued support and lovely comments -- they keep us typing! Also, this chapter is brought to you by the People for the Equitable Treatment of Animals. Don’t forget to spay or neuter your pets.
-
Filling her lungs with the sweet, earthy aroma of lemongrass, Sharon Raydor closed her eyes and surrendered herself completely to the sensation of her lungs expanding. Her legs trembled slightly, as they did whenever she was in a headstand, but she tingled with pride at her ability to maintain this particular posture for more than thirty seconds as she had when she was a beginning yogi. Inverted asanas had been daunting in the beginning, but she now revelled in them--controlling the entirety of her body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes made her feel powerful, charged with vibrant energy that allowed her to release the tension and negativity she’d harbored between practices.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, focusing completely on the way it felt to be just a woman doing a headstand in her living room on a Friday night. In the time she allotted for herself to practice yoga, she could forget that she was Captain Sharon Raydor, mother of two and grandmother of one and head of an entire division and best friend to a woman who had overtaken the majority of her thoughts. She simply was, and that was exactly what she needed.
On her third deep inhalation, the squeak of brakes outside broke her concentration. She frowned and carefully lowered her legs to the mat, lifting her head to peer out the window. The running motor was too close to be parked in front of the neighbor’s house and she knew, the way she always knew, that there was only one person who would show up at her house unannounced at 11:30 at night.
Sharon padded barefoot to the door, brushing aside a wisp of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail, and pulled it open before the blonde had a chance to knock.
“Oh! Hey there!” Brenda exclaimed, her fist still poised in the air. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed and Sharon could smell the wine on her breath.
“Brenda?” Sharon narrowed her eyes in concern and looked over the blonde’s shoulder at the cab driver who was ambling up her driveway. “Come inside,” she said, guiding the woman past her with a hand at the small of her back. Brenda tripped over her feet as she walked inside and Sharon frowned.
“Hey, lady?” the driver said, his Russian accent thick. He extended a handful of bills. “She give me too much.” Thrusting the money into Sharon’s hand, he retreated back to his car.
Sharon looked at the wad of twenties and stepped back inside, tucking the money into Brenda’s purse that had been abandoned on the floor. She worried her lip as she went into the living room, where she found Brenda sprawled on the couch. “Are you all right?”
“Is that a trick question?” Brenda asked, watching the flicker of the lemongrass candle on the coffee table. “I ruined your night, didn’t I?” she questioned, taking note of the yoga mat on the floor and finally noticing the outfit the captain was wearing: black yoga pants and a yellow sports bra. Brenda’s eyes widened again and she stared blatantly at her chest.
The younger woman’s intent gaze had an immediate affect upon the captain, causing her nipples to tighten and pebble against the spandex. Remembering that this was the exact reason why she’d been doing yoga in the first place, Sharon coughed and reached for a zip-up sweater on the back of the sofa. She thrust her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up, hiding her breasts from Brenda’s view, and sat down beside her. “Brenda, what happened?”
“I didn’t feel like goin’ home.”
As answers went, it would do for the moment. With a nod, Sharon sauntered into the kitchen and returned a moment later with tall glasses of iced green tea for both of them. Brenda’s head was tipped to the side, her cheek pillowed on Sharon’s wheat-colored throw -- probably leaving a makeup smudge -- and her eyes closed. They opened when the glasses clinked softly against the coffee table.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Instinctively the captain reached up, tugging her hair free of its elastic band and fluffing it around her face. It had been a stressful week for her: lots of court appearances; lots of face time with cagey, irate attorneys; lots of meetings with the Pope. And then there was that other tight, spiky ball of stress she’d been carrying around in the pit of her stomach since last Saturday night, the one she didn’t care to put a name to. She didn’t normally do yoga this late, but desperate times, etc. Besides, she’d only arrived home from work a little over an hour earlier, her back aching from hours spent hunkered over her desk.
Somehow she rather suspected an entirely different type of stress had brought Brenda Leigh to her door tonight. Sharon tucked herself into the opposite corner of the sofa, drawing one leg up beneath her, and surveyed her friend. Her skin was porcelain-pale, her eyes deeply shadowed with fatigue and sorrow, and she was picking restlessly at her cuticles.
Feeling Sharon’s eyes on her, Brenda looked over and blinked slowly a couple of times, struggling to focus sharply. She was definitely intoxicated, but far from wasted, and Sharon wondered vaguely how much she’d had to drink. Probably enough to make her realize that she wasn’t going to be able to consume enough to make her forget. The older woman knew that feeling.
And so she came here, the brunette thought, and there was no point in trying to convince herself that she was annoyed. She was too pleased that Brenda had come here, to her. She’d much rather have the younger blonde in her presence than have the uninterrupted time and solitude she needed to remind herself that she shouldn’t be devoting so many of her thoughts and so much of her energy to a certain deputy chief.
“Can I get you something else, Brenda Leigh? A snack?”
Brenda emitted a quiet little sound that Sharon interpreted as a negative, and she didn’t push, although she’d ply her with water later, and something carb-heavy -- crackers, maybe, or rice cakes. Instead she tilted her own head, mirroring the other woman’s posture, and let her eyelids droop to half-mast as she took in those regular features. “All right, then.”
Silence wrapped loosely around the two women. Sharon watched the candle flame dance and listened to Brenda inhale and exhale very slowly, very deeply, over and over, filling her lungs with the spicy-sweet scent.
Finally Brenda released a last, trembling breath. “It was a bad one, Sharon.”
Sharon sipped her tea, waiting for the other woman to go on. When she didn’t, Sharon thoughtfully cradled her glass in both hands and asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
The blonde cleared her throat and shifted restlessly on the sofa before finally twisting her body to face Sharon’s. The look in her eyes was haunted. “Mother of two killed her little girls and then herself.” She blinked back a tear. “Beat ‘em to death with a hammer and then shot herself.”
“Jesus,” Sharon said, the icy sting of disgust and horror settling in the pit of her stomach.
“It was...it was a mess. We’re lookin’ into why she did it but there’s just no answer good enough to explain it.” Brenda’s eyes swelled with tears once more and she wiped at her nose with the back of her sleeve. “What kinda mother does that to her babies? The youngest one...she was no bigger than Clarissa. What kinda woman was she to save the bullet for herself and make them suffer the way she did?” She started crying then, huge, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m just so...angry! I’m disgusted.”
“Don’t apologize, Brenda,” Sharon replied, extending a hand to smooth through blonde hair. “Some cases are too much. There’s no way to make sense out of something like this.”
“There was so much blood,” the deputy chief continued with a sniffle, shaking her head. “Some days I just really hate my job.”
Sharon scratched her nails gently against Brenda’s scalp as she soothed the blonde tresses, her own eye prickling with emotion at the thought of something her brain struggled to fathom. Her heart ached for them, for everyone involved, and for Brenda, who had tried to drink away the horrific scene of a dead family. “I know,” she said, because she did. They were the ones you could never truly shake.
Brenda choked out a sob. “I’m so sorry,” Brenda muttered again, sniffing loudly as she turned her body to collapse against Sharon’s. She buried her face in the crook of Sharon’s neck and cried. “I just didn’t know where to go.”
“Right here,” Sharon answered simply, wrapping her arms tightly around Brenda’s shoulders. “You should always come here.”
“But you--”
“No ‘buts’.” The captain resumed stroking Brenda’s hair and rocked her gently in her arms, the way she had whenever her children had nightmares. She’d never had someone to comfort her after a brutal case like this and had relied solely on her psychiatrist, keeping the darker aspects of her job hidden from her husband and friends. However, as surely as she knew that Brenda would now come to her, Sharon was certain that she’d turn to the deputy chief in times of crisis. The memories of a time when they didn’t trust each other seemed to be out of a movie; they no longer seemed to belong to her. Had there ever been a time when she hadn’t needed and been needed like this?
Sharon held Brenda for some time, rubbing her back and caressing her hair until the younger woman no longer cried. Even when Brenda’s tears no longer soaked the cotton of her sweater and her hands slackened their tight grip on her waist, Sharon kept her close, not wanting to jostle the fragile woman until she was ready.
“I’m so tired,” Brenda said with a sigh, her warm breath tickling Sharon’s collarbone. “Musta been all that wine.”
“You’ve had a long day, Brenda. Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll get you some pajamas and we can get you to bed.”
Brenda trembled as she slowly pulled back, her eyes glossy. “Will you stay with me tonight, Sharon? Can I sleep with you?” The blonde licked her lips and cast her eyes away. “I don’t think I can face those nightmares alone.”
“Of course, Brenda Leigh. You don’t have to go through any of that alone.”
Brenda was embarrassed as soon as she had asked, but, thanks to the Merlot she’d downed before coming over here, not embarrassed enough to retract her request. With one last gentle squeeze of her shoulder, Sharon got up and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, and the younger woman heard doors and cabinets opening and closing. “Brenda,” that low, soothing voice called, and Brenda followed it unquestioningly.
There was another candle burning in the bathroom, although Brenda didn’t catch the scent right away because her sinuses were clogged from her recent bout of tears; and a thick, inviting-looking towel awaited her on the counter. Next to it was a pair of midnight blue silk pajamas. “Those will be a little big on you,” Sharon said, gracefully backing out into the hallway, “but I think you’ll manage. Take as long as you want. Stay until you turn into a prune, if you’d like,” she invited with a gentle smile.
Brenda managed her own wobbly smile. “Like Clarissa?”
“Yes, and you already know where the bath toys are.”
When the door closed behind Sharon, Brenda Leigh reached up to remove her top, and then let her arms fall back to her sides when she shivered. No, she’d turn the shower on first, get it nice and hot; alone again, she found she was suddenly chilled. In fact, as she twisted them together, her fingers felt so icy cold that she wondered if they’d ever be warm again, or if today’s events had frozen her straight through. She was afraid to close her eyes, so she fixed them unnaturally wide open, gazing vacantly at the dancing candle flame and thinking of Sharon’s strong, delicate arms holding her firmly, thinking of the spicy, clean scent of her skin, ginger and a hint of something Brenda couldn’t identify. The older woman had held Brenda and rocked her and soothed her in a way no one but Brenda’s mother had ever done before. It wasn’t that Sharon’s embrace actually felt anything like Willie Rae’s, or that the sensory experience was at all similar; but somehow Brenda recognized a kinship in the way these two women had held and comforted her. There was a quiet strength, a confidence. Was it a maternal thing? she asked herself as she finally stepped under the shower spray, now almost hot enough to scald. Was there a certain kind of caring and nurturing that you somehow absorbed and diffused once you’d mothered a child, some special secret knowledge she’d unwittingly foregone?
The water droplets turned Brenda’s pale skin a splotchy pink as she watched, oddly fascinated. She felt as if her bones and muscles might melt, and her entire body swirl down the drain with the bathwater.
Brenda folded her arms over her breasts and gripped her own sides. She imagined holding Sharon the way the captain had held her, and for some reason the thought made her smile even as tears the same temperature as the water stung her eyes. She thought she could do that.
Eventually she realized she needed to bathe before her exhausted legs refused to hold her upright any longer, and she reached blindly for the shampoo. It smelled like Sharon -- the other way around, really, but that was how Brenda thought of it: the shampoo smelled like Sharon -- and that provided its own kind of comfort. This was what she needed: Sharon’s calm, Sharon’s constant, quiet strength and tenacity. She wanted to wrap herself in it, drink it in the green tea, see it in the flickering candle flame, absorb it through the older woman’s skin, and forget this terrible day.
When Brenda stepped out of the shower, she realized she’d turned Sharon’s bathroom into a sauna, but somehow the candle was still burning. Brenda breathed deeply. Jasmine, she thought. The candle smelled like jasmine. She’d never be able to smell that flowery scent without thinking of Sharon.
When Brenda emerged from the bathroom some minutes later, she had braided her hair in pigtails (secured by little plastic bands that she’d found in the drawer, undoubtedly belonging to Clarissa) and donned Sharon’s silk pajamas. It occurred to her that even if her friend had suggested she sleep in the guest room, she would have still felt her presence in the decadently soft whisper of fabric against her bare skin. It was almost like the extension of an embrace, one Brenda could carry with her.
In the hallway, dimmed now by the extinguished light of the living room, Brenda paused and took a breath, her heart beating slightly faster now that she was faced with sharing a bed with Sharon Raydor. Despite her nerves, the deputy chief knew she couldn’t face the night alone.
Sharon was setting down a glass of water on the right bedside table when Brenda timidly entered the room, her head suddenly feeling light and full of air. The older woman watched her and smiled. “How do you feel?”
“Warm,” Brenda replied, and she was surprised to discover that it was the truth. When had that icy chill left her? “And dizzy.” She laughed breathlessly, crossing the room and standing on the left side of the bed.
Sharon stirred. “Why don’t you lay down? Over here, I mean. That’s my side.”
“You sleep alone and you have a side?” Brenda asked, crawling onto the bed and scooting her way over to the right. She knelt on the bed in front of the other woman. “You sure you don’t mind me sharin’ with you?”
“Not at all,” Sharon replied at once. “I don’t even mind that you’re dripping all over my favorite silk pajamas.” She fingered one of the wet braids and smiled. “I set out some tylenol and water for you. I think you’ll probably need it.”
“I’m not that bad off,” Brenda promised, burrowing beneath the sheets.
“I know. Just in case.”
While Brenda sipped at the water, she watched Sharon busy herself around the room. She’d already changed into a pair of linen bottoms and a t-shirt, leaving Brenda to wonder if Sharon had sacrificed her nightly comforts to make her comfortable. Allowing her to show up on her doorstep had been a generous act in itself, and Brenda’s stomach tingled pleasantly at the knowledge that once again, Sharon had been looking out for her best interest.
Sharon turned out the light and got into bed, surprised by how noticeable it was that she wasn’t alone. The dip on Brenda’s side of the mattress and the warmth already generated beneath the comforter made Sharon’s heart pound, reminding her once again just how long it had been since anyone had lain beside her. She took a deep breath and hoped that Brenda couldn’t hear the thunderous thud of her heart.
“You’re so good to me,” Brenda said with a sigh, shifting her body onto her side. The position undoubtedly served to make the younger woman more comfortable but had, at the same time, brought her closer to Sharon. “What would I do without you?”
“Lucky for both of us that we won’t have to find out,” Sharon quipped back, staring ahead into the darkness.
The bed rustled and suddenly a damp braid was tickling Sharon’s neck, though the older woman didn’t notice. She was too focused on the face that was mere inches above her own, her breath sweet with wine and the faintest hint of mouthwash. “Thank you, Sharon,” Brenda whispered. She leaned down and pressed her lips to Sharon’s cheek, her mouth lingering for several seconds longer than perhaps it should have.
Sharon held her breath until Brenda lowered herself back to the bed. “Sweet dreams, Brenda Leigh,” she whispered. She didn’t sleep until well after the other woman succumbed to the blissful pull of drowsiness.
**
When she awoke, Brenda knew immediately, without even having to open her eyes, that she was alone, not just in the bed but in the room. She felt the captain’s absence the same way she’d felt her presence during the night, reassured by the simple solidity of the other woman’s body on the other side of the mattress whenever she jolted awake from vague, horrible dreams that merged with disquieting seamlessness into her own memories of the previous day.
Morales had had tears in his eyes when Brenda went down to the morgue -- alone, because she wouldn’t ask any of the guys to accompany her, not on this errand -- and hadn’t bothered wiping them away as he and the deputy chief had stared at one another in stolid misery. “The little one died almost instantly; her skull was still soft,” he’d said, his gaze trained on the slightly larger of the two sheet-covered forms, both pitifully tiny on the autopsy tables. “The older sister... took a while.”
Brenda had, at least, made it to the bathroom before she’d thrown up.
She sat up now in Sharon’s bed in Sharon’s bedroom in Sharon’s cozy house, staring at the warm green walls and the framed photograph of the twins on the dresser, and telling herself to see these things instead of all that blood, too much blood, painted incongruously around a cheerfully messy child’s bedroom.
Brenda felt her feet underneath her on the floor before she was aware that she’d decided to get up, and tiptoed out into the hall to find Sharon. The hardwood was cool against her soles and squeaked reassuringly, reminding her of how long this house had stood here. She stopped suddenly, reversing, and walked into the bedroom Sharon had set up for Clarissa. There were the stuffed animals in the crib, the soft green and yellow blanket that was surely handmade, and, best of all, the glorious flowers painted near the ceiling, twining together in a playful garland of colors. Brenda stood there for a moment, and then she nodded to herself. Yes, this was what a little girl’s bedroom was supposed to look like.
Sharon was in the kitchen, woolly socks on her feet and a soft gray sweater draped over her t-shirt-clad shoulders. She clutched an over-sized coffee mug in one hand and a spatula in the other, and when she caught sight of Brenda and smiled brightly, the younger woman’s chest tightened almost painfully.
“Help yourself to coffee,” the brunette invited, gesturing. “I’m making pancakes.”
The smaller woman’s countenance brightened. “Pancakes? I love pancakes.”
Sharon smirked. “Somehow I suspected as much.” Pouring batter into a sizzling skillet with one hand, she extended her coffee mug in the other. “Refill, please, ma’am. Milk, but just a little, and --”
Brenda waved her away. “I know, I know,” she interrupted, almost affronted. “I do pay attention to you, you know.”
Sharon looked over her shoulder, her green eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes,” she said, her lips quirking in that mysterious little half smile, “I know.”
When Sharon’s mug was full again and Brenda had her own portion of the steaming liquid, she settled down at the table, propping her chin on her fist. “Thank you for letting me spend the night, Sharon.”
Dark hair slipped over Sharon’s shoulders as she nodded. “You’re welcome, Brenda Leigh.”
“I just... I couldn’t go home. I mean, I did go home -- Andy drove me -- and it was so still, so empty, you know?” The deputy chief turned her dark red mug around and around in her hands, studying it. “I turned right around and called a cab. I waited outside until it came,” she admitted, a little ashamed of her own weakness. She darted a quick look at Sharon to see how her friend received that news, but she simply nodded again. “Last night was the first time since I left that I’ve really missed bein’ married.”
At the stove, Sharon’s whole body went still, but she didn’t reply.
Ever attentive to detail, Brenda noticed the change in Sharon immediately. “I’m not sayin’ I miss Fritz,” Brenda quickly amended, though unsure why it was so important to her that Sharon understand her. “That ship has long since sailed, I assure you. I just miss the idea of marriage. No--you know what I think it is? It’s havin’ someone at the house to keep me company.”
The brunette relaxed, unaware of the tension she’d been holding until she finally let it go. She flipped a pancake and turned to look at the other woman, who looked endearingly youthful with her hair in braids. “Sounds to me like you want a dog, not a husband.”
Brenda laughed into her coffee cup. “I don’t want either, thank you very much. But you know what I mean, though? I miss goin’ home to someone who’s glad to see me and who can make me feel better after a bad day.”
“I told you that you can come here,” Sharon began, and Brenda laughed again.
“I can’t come here every single time somethin’ gets to me at work. I’d always be here!”
Is that such a bad thing? Sharon thought, and she eased the perfectly formed pancake onto a plate and poured another dollop of batter into the pan.
“Besides,” the blonde continued, “eventually you’re gonna want your privacy. The last thing you need is for me to come bargin’ in while you’re entertainin’ a man...”
Sharon raised an eyebrow. The very idea of enjoying a man’s company enough to invite him home with her seemed a foreign concept, something that had no place in her future. She gave a disbelieving chuckle. “I don’t think we have to worry about that being an issue.”
“You say that now...” Brenda teased, smiling brightly. Why should she feel relieved that Sharon had no prospects of dating someone? Furthermore, why had she been jealous to have introduced the possibility in the first place? Deciding a change of subject was in order, Brenda set down her mug and came up behind Sharon, peering down at the bubbling batter on the skillet. “These smell amazin’! What’s in ‘em?”
Sharon smirked. “Banana and chocolate chips.”
The blonde gaped. “Really?”
“Pancakes are a serious business, Brenda Leigh. Would I lie?”
Brenda stuck a finger in the batter and licked it clean, moaning at the taste of the fruit. “I think I love you, Sharon Raydor. You’re a marvel.”
The captain blushed and flipped the pancake. “I thought you could use something special for breakfast.”
The younger woman bit her lip, her face warming pleasantly. “You’re far too good to me.” She squeezed Sharon’s shoulder and went over to the fridge in search of syrup, feeling marginally guilty over the fact that she was allowing herself to be spoiled by her friend. “I promise I’ll get outta your hair after breakfast. I don’t wanna get in the way of your weekend plans.”
“You’re never in the way, Brenda, I assure you. I had nothing much planned anyway.”
“Nothin’ much? Oh, but that means that you did have somethin’ planned!”
The brunette chuckled at the other woman’s surge of guilt. “I hardly consider filling out paperwork and watching The Sopranos to be plans. You could join me if you wanted.”
Brenda scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think I need a day not to think about work at all.”
It was the sort of simple admission that spoke volumes, the sort that Sharon completely understood. Brenda did not have to elaborate; Sharon had gone through enough difficult cases to know when sometimes, work needed to be left at work. She could completely identify with Brenda’s desire to spend the day as Brenda, a woman without the type of responsibility that required her presence at murder scenes. Of course, Sharon could not control the people of Los Angeles and had no power over any emergency calls either of them might receive, but she was more than willing to put off her paperwork until tomorrow and give her friend exactly what she needed.
Well, maybe not exactly...
“All right then,” Sharon announced, stacking another pancake onto the plate. She stirred the batter and poured a little more into the pan. “The captain and deputy chief are taking the day off, and I know exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Oooh, what is it?” Brenda asked excitedly, the way she might enquire whether or not she was receiving a pony for Christmas.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Can I have a hint? Just a little one?”
Sharon’s eyes twinkled. “Nope.” So saying, the captain placed the platter on the table and sat down across from Brenda, stabbing at the little stack of pancakes she’d assembled on her own plate. Idly she wondered how long it had been since she’d made these. Her kids had always loved them, and they’d become a Raydor family celebration food. Birthdays, straight-A report cards, dance recitals: all had meant chocolate chip banana pancakes.
Sharon took a bite and one of her molars twinged. Jesus, they were sweet. No wonder Brenda Leigh was wolfing her share down. When it came to this sort of thing, she seemed to have the palate of a child.
But not one of Sharon’s children. The captain looked at the pale blonde sitting across from her in the morning sunlight, devouring the sweet, sticky concoction. Had she been trying to mother Brenda, make it all better with a hug and an unhealthy meal and a surprise outing?
Vivien loved surprises. Daniel had always been rather more cautious, wanting to know exactly what lay before him so he could adjust to it. It was both a part of the necessary coping mechanism and a part of the pleasure, the anticipation. He was like his mother that way.
As Sharon put her fork down and sipped her coffee, glad to banish the sickly sweet taste of the pancakes from her mouth, she knew perfectly well that she didn’t view Brenda as some sort of surrogate daughter. She wasn’t trying to help Brenda because she’d been totally incapable of helping her child.
The reality was, perhaps, more disturbing. Sharon stood up abruptly. “I need to shower. Eat all you want.”
Brenda’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “But you barely ate anything,” she protested around a mouthful. She’d never had such wonderful pancakes; this was obviously some sort of sorcery.
Sharon shrugged, her supple lips compressed into a thin line. “I don’t care for them. I’d forgotten.”
Brenda was still sitting at the table when Sharon reemerged, fully clothed and made up and feeling more like herself with her customary armor in place. The blonde hugged her knees to her chest, her bare feet balanced on the edge of the chair. “Maybe I should go,” she suggested, having picked up on the abrupt change in her friend’s mood but unable to identify the cause.
“No, I told you, I have a surprise planned.” The older woman offered a slight smile, not terribly different from the ones Chief Johnson had grown used to receiving from Captain Raydor when she handed her paperwork in on time or refrained from yanking down that annoying red crime scene tape. “But afterwards I probably should do my paperwork.”
Of course, Sharon and her paperwork. Brenda nodded, her expression neutral, reminding herself that she’d barged in on the other woman’s weekend plans. “I’ll just get dressed and we can be on our way to.. wherever.”
Sharon nodded in turn and began to gather up the dirty dishes.
“Don’t do that!” Brenda exclaimed so vehemently that Sharon spun on one ballet flat-encased foot, and the younger woman faltered slightly. “I mean, you cooked, so I’ll clean up.” She glanced down at her attire. “Uh, Sharon? You don’t have somethin’ I could wear, do you? Unless my suit’s okay,” she hastened to add.
Sharon smirked, and it was Sharon again, not Captain Raydor. “Hop in the shower. I’ll find you something. -- Something that doesn’t have to be dry-cleaned.”
For the second time in 12 hours, Brenda Leigh found herself naked in Sharon’s house, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, her thoughts focused on the other woman. She worried her lip between her teeth as she ran over the events of the morning in an attempt to recall what had caused Sharon to retreat into her shell. Brenda had been especially grateful and courteous with her friend; she hadn’t pushed her and had been mindful about not putting Sharon out (aside from the part when she showed up at her door and asked to share her bed). So why did she have the nagging feeling that she’d done something wrong?
She was quick with her morning ablutions, wrapping the fuzzy red towel around her body and brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush she’d left there after the sleepover with Clarissa. When she stepped into the hallway, she heard the water running in the kitchen. “You better not be doin’ those dishes!” she yelled out, knowing that Sharon probably was elbow-deep in soap suds. Rather than investigate, Brenda opted not to drip all over the hardwood floors and ran down to Sharon’s room.
True to her word, Sharon had set out some clothes: a pair of black track pants and a white t-shirt. It was strange to wear Sharon’s pajamas to bed, but it was something altogether different to wear her clothes during the day when she’d be aware of the other woman’s smell. It was an intimate gesture, one that accompanied the many other acts of kindness that Sharon had bestowed upon her since she’d arrived. Sharon had managed, in a way that Brenda could not conceive or understand, to give her exactly what she had needed. She hadn’t expected anything more than a miserable night in Sharon’s guest room and had received unconditional comfort instead. It had been more than anyone had ever done for her without expecting anything in return.
Brenda was pulling her wet hair into a messy bun when she entered the kitchen, unsurprised to find that the dishes had been cleaned and were now drying in the rack. The younger woman rolled her eyes. “I said I would do them,” she said, looking on as Sharon squeezed the excess water from the sponge.
“I know, but I wanted to avoid having to wash them again later.” Sharon turned around and smirked at Brenda’s glare. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
**
“Uh, Sharon,” Brenda began, eyes widening as she stared at the “City of Los Angeles Animal Services” sign by the parking lot they were currently pulling into. She stared dumbly at a man carrying a little toy poodle in his arms.“What’s goin’ on?”
“I would think that’s rather obvious,” Sharon replied with a smirk.
“Are we gettin’ you a pet?”
“No,” Sharon firmly answered. “We are getting you a pet.”
“But...I don’t think I’m even allowed to have animals in my apartment.” She peered out the window at the large building and then again at the man with the poodle, gawking as he kissed its furry head and gently set it on the passenger seat of his jeep. Her heart pounded a little faster at the thought of the shelter full of caged animals, a deep mixture of guilt and excitement and anxiety swelling in her chest. “Are we really doin’ this?”
“We’re really doing this.” Sharon turned off the car. “That is, unless you hate the idea of once again being a cat owner.”
Brenda bit her lip as her cheeks flushed with unbridled excitement. “When you want to make someone feel better, you don’t mess around, do you?” She giggled breathlessly, squirming like a child in her seat. “Some people give flowers...you give kittens.”
Inside, the main animal control facility of the City of Los Angeles was barely controlled chaos. The outer waiting room was filled with people, some with their newly adopted pets, and from down the hall assorted barks, yowls, yips, and meows blended into a cacophanous roar. At Sharon’s feet, a German shepherd leapt at a young woman who had just received a sturdy cardboard carrier containing a chubby calico. Both woman and cat jumped in surprise, the human protectively hugging the feline to her breast.
The captain curled her lip in distaste. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come on a Saturday.”
Brenda’s melting eyes were fastened on a little girl and boy squirming with anticipation, dutifully restraining their squeals of excitement as a scrubs-clad employee walked their new dog toward them on a lead. The black puppy was all huge, floppy ears and oversized paws. “No, you were right,” the blonde insisted. “This is exactly what I need.” She nudged Sharon’s shoulder and nodded toward the children and their puppy. “Look. Now, that is adorable; even you have to admit it.”
Certainly it was, but Sharon only cocked her chin and replied, “Everyone wants a puppy or a kitten. -- Come on, let’s go back.”
The two women followed the signs through a fire door and down a long hallway that smelled strongly of disinfectant overlaying the inevitable odor of too many animals confined in a small space. Brenda eagerly opened a second door labeled “CATS (Down Hall for Dogs).”
For a couple of seconds Sharon was overwhelmed by the volume of sound, the pungent odors, and the Saturday morning crowd of prospective pet-owners drifting from cage to cage. Brenda lit up like sunshine, her fingers sinking into her companion’s upper arm like talons. “Look, Sharon, kittens!”
The taller woman turned to her friend, her expression incredulous. Brenda’s eyes glowed, and her cheeks were flushed. It was disconcerting, really, seeing such a wholesale change overtake the deputy chief. The blonde knelt in front of one of the cages -- good thing Sharon had just lent her track pants that could be tossed into the washer -- bringing herself to eye level with four little balls of fluff.
Brenda bit her lip. “I’m surprised there are still kittens here....you’d think all the eager little kids would’ve scooped them up by now,” she mused, poking her finger between the slats of the cage, just out of reach of the nearest ball of orange fur. “Hey there, kitty!” The kitten gave a disinterested mewl and returned to its grooming.
“I imagine there are always animals coming and going,” the older woman said. She scanned the nearby crates, noting that some were empty and others were filled with litters of cats of various shapes, colors, and sizes. “Let’s take a look at the rest of them.”
They moved down the hall, taking time to stop at the less-visited cages. The kittens were the most popular, fawned over by children and adults alike. Brenda beamed at them all, her heart twisting at the realization that she couldn’t take them all home with her. “I’ve never done this before, you know,” she finally admitted, pausing to allow a hyper tabby cat to extend its paw and swat at her hand. “I’m sort of an accidental cat owner. I’ve never gone out and chosen one.” She turned wide eyes toward her friend. “How do you choose? How do I know which one’s the right one?”
“Think about what you’re looking for in a cat. Kittens are pretty high maintenance and require a lot of attention.”
Brenda twisted her lips into a frown. “Mmm. I’m not so sure how much time I’ve got to devote to a kitten with work and no one to look after him while I’m busy.”
“So perhaps a young kitten is not the best choice.”
“But they’re so cute.” Sharon raised an eyebrow and Brenda sighed. “All right, all right. I get the point.” She moved on, kneeling down in front of a cage that contained a docile-looking gray cat. It blinked up at her with her with its one shining blue eye. “Awe, Sharon, look at this one...she’s beautiful.” She tugged the older woman’s hand, pulling her to crouch beside her while she read the little placard fixed to the cage. “She’s a ragdoll and she’s six years old. Awe...and she was neglected by her owners and lost her eye in a gang fight.”
“A gang fight?” Sharon questioned.
“Well...close enough,” Brenda teased. “She’s been here for ages...poor little thing.”
The cat was beautiful, its fur slightly patchy, the scar across its left eye puffy but healed. The cat blinked at Sharon, eyeing her with curiosity, and the older woman frowned. She was most certainly not the one leaving here with a pet.
Brenda gasped and Sharon pulled her attention away from the ragdoll to see the blonde kneeling on the cold concrete floor, pressing her face close to the cage beside her. “Isn’t she pretty?” Brenda cooed. The cat, no more than ten months old, was white and gray, peppered with black spots. The card identified it as an Egyptian Mau.
“Beautiful,” Sharon admitted, leaning down to peer at the cat’s slender body and exotic, dramatically pointed little chin.
“It’s unusual for a pure-bred Mau to turn up,” put in a third voice, and both women looked up at the man who had spoken. “She won’t be here long. And yet, did you know that in Egypt there’s such a huge population of Maus on the streets that they’re considered pests, like rats or opossums? People often shoot at them, or poison them.”
Brenda looked absolutely horrified. “Who in the world would try to kill this precious little baby?” she demanded, crouching in front of the cage as if to protect its occupant.
The man’s teeth flashed white against his cocoa-colored skin. “Don’t worry,” he reassured in his pronounced West Indian accent, “that won’t happen to this little girl. We just got her this morning, and I bet you she’ll be gone by the end of the day.”
The blonde turned those wide eyes on her companion. “Ten months old -- that’s not really a kitten, is it? She’s almost all grown up. She wouldn’t need somebody around to look after her all the time, would she?”
The man shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you plan to adopt, you need a form.” He held out a clipboard containing a stack of papers. “It just asks for basic information about yourself and any other pets you may have, and then there’s a spot at the bottom for you to list the animals you’re interested in, in order of preference.” He tapped the top right-hand corner of the card taped to a cage near his shoulder. “That’s the I.D. number. When you’ve finished, take your form down to the desk, all right?”
Already scribbling on the form he’d handed her, using her own knee as a makeshift writing desk, Brenda flashed one of her extra bright smiles. “Thank you so much.”
“Wait,” Sharon called as he turned away, surprising both herself and Brenda. “How long are the animals kept here before they’re --?”
“Euthanized?” Jonas -- that was what his name-tag said -- supplied, and Sharon nodded. Brenda winced. “We keep them as long as we possibly can, depending on the volume of animals we’re receiving. It tends to vary by season.”
“So this one --” Sharon tapped the cage of the ragdoll as if at random, but she wasn’t even fooling herself, let alone anyone else. “She’s been here for nearly two months.”
Jonas nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s not unusual for older cats.”
“But she’s only six!” the brunette exclaimed indignantly. “That’s barely even middle-aged for a cat, right?”
“Right. But really any of our animals over one or two --” He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Especially any that have health issues or behavioral problems.”
“It doesn’t say anything about that on her card,” Sharon continued in the same tone, and in a low voice Brenda pointed out, “Sharon, she has one eye.”
“Well, that’s not her fault. She can see.” Sharon danced her fingers across the metal bars and the animal followed the sound and movement eagerly, her ears pricked up and her one eye focused intently, readying her little body to spring. Of course, there was nowhere for her to go inside the cage.
“You can open the cage,” Jonas volunteered helpfully, and both women looked up to see him manfully striving to contain a smirk. Green eyes narrowed at him in a glare, but then Sharon quickly returned her attention to the gray feline.
“Hi, pretty girl,” the brunette cooed in a low, melodic voice Brenda had never heard her use before, not even with Cee, and it made her stomach twist strangely. The cat eyed Sharon’s fingers warily for a long moment before rubbing up against them and emitting a cautious mewl.
The captain scratched gently, and the cat’s purr was so loud that all three sets of human ears heard it. “What happened to her leg? She limps.”
“That’s another souvenir of her big day with the neighbors’ dogs. Isn’t it, girl?” Jonas knelt down, also reaching out to stroke the cat. “She still loves to play, though. And she’s very affectionate, as you can see.”
“You just need someone to love you, don’t you?” Sharon murmured. “You’ve got plenty of life left in you, dontcha? So what if you’re not a kitten.” Her sharp green eyes focused on Jonas again. “How much longer will she be here?”
He gestured around the room. “Until all these cages fill up. Tuesday, maybe. Wednesday at the outside.”
Brenda knew her own expression was horrified. Sharon’s merely turned stony.
“Unless someone wants her,” Jonas added.
Sharon stood up abruptly, slamming the cage door. Brenda looked at her in dismay, taking in the older woman’s grim expression. “Sha--” she began to protest, but Sharon interrupted her.
“Give me the form,” she said in her no-bullshit Captain Raydor tone.
“Are you sure?” Brenda asked.
“Give me the damn form,” her friend repeated, scowling.
“You’ve never said anythin’ about wantin’ a pet,” the blonde pointed out tentatively, rising to stand next to her as Sharon’s bold handwriting rapidly covered the printed form.
“I want this one,” the older woman returned in that same defiant tone. “Are you ready? Then let’s go. There’s no use wasting time.” She strode briskly toward the door, but paused on the threshold, looking over her shoulder to add “Thank you, Jonas” in a much softer voice.
He smiled serenely at her, as if he saw this sort of Grinch-like behavior all the time. He probably did, but Sharon was damned if she was going to be another statistic. Mind firmly made up, she led the way to the front desk to turn in their paperwork for processing, actively avoiding meeting Brenda’s gaze.
Brenda was practically swinging on her feet, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin Sharon had seen on her in ages. With a resolute sigh she turned to Brenda, saying, “Oh, out with it.”
The blonde nearly exploded with glee. “I just never in a million years expected you to fall for a cat!”
“I did not fall for her,” Sharon insisted. She brushed her hair off her forehead and pursed her lips, reasonably adding, “It was a matter of life and death for her. They were going to put her down--oh, why am I explaining this to you, you little hypocrite. You fell for a cat too.”
“I know.” Brenda smiled, wondering how much longer it would be before she could play with the cat. Would she like her new home? Would she claw up her beloved new sofa? Would she even like her new mama? She bit her cheek and watched Sharon’s expression mirroring her own. As soon as she knew that her friend was experiencing a similar ‘expectant parent’ mentality, her own anxiety ebbed. “This was a great idea.”
“Are you feeling better?” Sharon asked, wrapping her arms around herself, wondering not for the first time if she had been too hasty in coming to Brenda’s rescue. The hopeful expression on the younger woman’s face was enough to allay her worries.
“That’s a tricky word, isn’t it--better? It’s gonna take me a while to get over this case, but I think I’ll be okay. At least I’ll have someone to keep me company at 4 a.m. if I wake up from a nightmare.” Brenda raised a teasing eyebrow. “That was your evil plan all along, wasn’t it? Pawn me off on a cat to have your freedom again?”
“So much for my evil plan. I suppose the jig is up.”
“Lucky for you that it worked.”
Sharon let out a little sigh of relief. “Good. I think it would be better for both of us if I didn’t receive texts in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep.”
“Ever? What if it’s an emergency?”
“It depends on your definition of an emergency.” The older woman laughed. “I’ll draft a list of acceptable scenarios for you.”
Brenda scrunched her nose. “Use those list-writin’ skills of yours to think of all the things we need to get at Petco when we get outta here.” She poked Sharon in the arm. “You’re gonna get your kitty a giant cat bed, aren’t you? You’re gonna spoil the lil thing--I just know it!”
As an older woman leaned across the desk to explain the adoption process to them, now that she was no longer inundated by phone calls, a slightly jarring thought presented itself to Sharon like an epiphany.
She and Brenda Leigh were becoming middle-aged cat ladies.
---
Authors: i-must-go-first & UbiquitousMixie
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer
Rating: PG-13 (Overall M)
Word Count: 8027
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: Thanks to everyone for your continued support and lovely comments -- they keep us typing! Also, this chapter is brought to you by the People for the Equitable Treatment of Animals. Don’t forget to spay or neuter your pets.
-
Filling her lungs with the sweet, earthy aroma of lemongrass, Sharon Raydor closed her eyes and surrendered herself completely to the sensation of her lungs expanding. Her legs trembled slightly, as they did whenever she was in a headstand, but she tingled with pride at her ability to maintain this particular posture for more than thirty seconds as she had when she was a beginning yogi. Inverted asanas had been daunting in the beginning, but she now revelled in them--controlling the entirety of her body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes made her feel powerful, charged with vibrant energy that allowed her to release the tension and negativity she’d harbored between practices.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, focusing completely on the way it felt to be just a woman doing a headstand in her living room on a Friday night. In the time she allotted for herself to practice yoga, she could forget that she was Captain Sharon Raydor, mother of two and grandmother of one and head of an entire division and best friend to a woman who had overtaken the majority of her thoughts. She simply was, and that was exactly what she needed.
On her third deep inhalation, the squeak of brakes outside broke her concentration. She frowned and carefully lowered her legs to the mat, lifting her head to peer out the window. The running motor was too close to be parked in front of the neighbor’s house and she knew, the way she always knew, that there was only one person who would show up at her house unannounced at 11:30 at night.
Sharon padded barefoot to the door, brushing aside a wisp of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail, and pulled it open before the blonde had a chance to knock.
“Oh! Hey there!” Brenda exclaimed, her fist still poised in the air. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed and Sharon could smell the wine on her breath.
“Brenda?” Sharon narrowed her eyes in concern and looked over the blonde’s shoulder at the cab driver who was ambling up her driveway. “Come inside,” she said, guiding the woman past her with a hand at the small of her back. Brenda tripped over her feet as she walked inside and Sharon frowned.
“Hey, lady?” the driver said, his Russian accent thick. He extended a handful of bills. “She give me too much.” Thrusting the money into Sharon’s hand, he retreated back to his car.
Sharon looked at the wad of twenties and stepped back inside, tucking the money into Brenda’s purse that had been abandoned on the floor. She worried her lip as she went into the living room, where she found Brenda sprawled on the couch. “Are you all right?”
“Is that a trick question?” Brenda asked, watching the flicker of the lemongrass candle on the coffee table. “I ruined your night, didn’t I?” she questioned, taking note of the yoga mat on the floor and finally noticing the outfit the captain was wearing: black yoga pants and a yellow sports bra. Brenda’s eyes widened again and she stared blatantly at her chest.
The younger woman’s intent gaze had an immediate affect upon the captain, causing her nipples to tighten and pebble against the spandex. Remembering that this was the exact reason why she’d been doing yoga in the first place, Sharon coughed and reached for a zip-up sweater on the back of the sofa. She thrust her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up, hiding her breasts from Brenda’s view, and sat down beside her. “Brenda, what happened?”
“I didn’t feel like goin’ home.”
As answers went, it would do for the moment. With a nod, Sharon sauntered into the kitchen and returned a moment later with tall glasses of iced green tea for both of them. Brenda’s head was tipped to the side, her cheek pillowed on Sharon’s wheat-colored throw -- probably leaving a makeup smudge -- and her eyes closed. They opened when the glasses clinked softly against the coffee table.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Instinctively the captain reached up, tugging her hair free of its elastic band and fluffing it around her face. It had been a stressful week for her: lots of court appearances; lots of face time with cagey, irate attorneys; lots of meetings with the Pope. And then there was that other tight, spiky ball of stress she’d been carrying around in the pit of her stomach since last Saturday night, the one she didn’t care to put a name to. She didn’t normally do yoga this late, but desperate times, etc. Besides, she’d only arrived home from work a little over an hour earlier, her back aching from hours spent hunkered over her desk.
Somehow she rather suspected an entirely different type of stress had brought Brenda Leigh to her door tonight. Sharon tucked herself into the opposite corner of the sofa, drawing one leg up beneath her, and surveyed her friend. Her skin was porcelain-pale, her eyes deeply shadowed with fatigue and sorrow, and she was picking restlessly at her cuticles.
Feeling Sharon’s eyes on her, Brenda looked over and blinked slowly a couple of times, struggling to focus sharply. She was definitely intoxicated, but far from wasted, and Sharon wondered vaguely how much she’d had to drink. Probably enough to make her realize that she wasn’t going to be able to consume enough to make her forget. The older woman knew that feeling.
And so she came here, the brunette thought, and there was no point in trying to convince herself that she was annoyed. She was too pleased that Brenda had come here, to her. She’d much rather have the younger blonde in her presence than have the uninterrupted time and solitude she needed to remind herself that she shouldn’t be devoting so many of her thoughts and so much of her energy to a certain deputy chief.
“Can I get you something else, Brenda Leigh? A snack?”
Brenda emitted a quiet little sound that Sharon interpreted as a negative, and she didn’t push, although she’d ply her with water later, and something carb-heavy -- crackers, maybe, or rice cakes. Instead she tilted her own head, mirroring the other woman’s posture, and let her eyelids droop to half-mast as she took in those regular features. “All right, then.”
Silence wrapped loosely around the two women. Sharon watched the candle flame dance and listened to Brenda inhale and exhale very slowly, very deeply, over and over, filling her lungs with the spicy-sweet scent.
Finally Brenda released a last, trembling breath. “It was a bad one, Sharon.”
Sharon sipped her tea, waiting for the other woman to go on. When she didn’t, Sharon thoughtfully cradled her glass in both hands and asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
The blonde cleared her throat and shifted restlessly on the sofa before finally twisting her body to face Sharon’s. The look in her eyes was haunted. “Mother of two killed her little girls and then herself.” She blinked back a tear. “Beat ‘em to death with a hammer and then shot herself.”
“Jesus,” Sharon said, the icy sting of disgust and horror settling in the pit of her stomach.
“It was...it was a mess. We’re lookin’ into why she did it but there’s just no answer good enough to explain it.” Brenda’s eyes swelled with tears once more and she wiped at her nose with the back of her sleeve. “What kinda mother does that to her babies? The youngest one...she was no bigger than Clarissa. What kinda woman was she to save the bullet for herself and make them suffer the way she did?” She started crying then, huge, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m just so...angry! I’m disgusted.”
“Don’t apologize, Brenda,” Sharon replied, extending a hand to smooth through blonde hair. “Some cases are too much. There’s no way to make sense out of something like this.”
“There was so much blood,” the deputy chief continued with a sniffle, shaking her head. “Some days I just really hate my job.”
Sharon scratched her nails gently against Brenda’s scalp as she soothed the blonde tresses, her own eye prickling with emotion at the thought of something her brain struggled to fathom. Her heart ached for them, for everyone involved, and for Brenda, who had tried to drink away the horrific scene of a dead family. “I know,” she said, because she did. They were the ones you could never truly shake.
Brenda choked out a sob. “I’m so sorry,” Brenda muttered again, sniffing loudly as she turned her body to collapse against Sharon’s. She buried her face in the crook of Sharon’s neck and cried. “I just didn’t know where to go.”
“Right here,” Sharon answered simply, wrapping her arms tightly around Brenda’s shoulders. “You should always come here.”
“But you--”
“No ‘buts’.” The captain resumed stroking Brenda’s hair and rocked her gently in her arms, the way she had whenever her children had nightmares. She’d never had someone to comfort her after a brutal case like this and had relied solely on her psychiatrist, keeping the darker aspects of her job hidden from her husband and friends. However, as surely as she knew that Brenda would now come to her, Sharon was certain that she’d turn to the deputy chief in times of crisis. The memories of a time when they didn’t trust each other seemed to be out of a movie; they no longer seemed to belong to her. Had there ever been a time when she hadn’t needed and been needed like this?
Sharon held Brenda for some time, rubbing her back and caressing her hair until the younger woman no longer cried. Even when Brenda’s tears no longer soaked the cotton of her sweater and her hands slackened their tight grip on her waist, Sharon kept her close, not wanting to jostle the fragile woman until she was ready.
“I’m so tired,” Brenda said with a sigh, her warm breath tickling Sharon’s collarbone. “Musta been all that wine.”
“You’ve had a long day, Brenda. Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll get you some pajamas and we can get you to bed.”
Brenda trembled as she slowly pulled back, her eyes glossy. “Will you stay with me tonight, Sharon? Can I sleep with you?” The blonde licked her lips and cast her eyes away. “I don’t think I can face those nightmares alone.”
“Of course, Brenda Leigh. You don’t have to go through any of that alone.”
Brenda was embarrassed as soon as she had asked, but, thanks to the Merlot she’d downed before coming over here, not embarrassed enough to retract her request. With one last gentle squeeze of her shoulder, Sharon got up and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, and the younger woman heard doors and cabinets opening and closing. “Brenda,” that low, soothing voice called, and Brenda followed it unquestioningly.
There was another candle burning in the bathroom, although Brenda didn’t catch the scent right away because her sinuses were clogged from her recent bout of tears; and a thick, inviting-looking towel awaited her on the counter. Next to it was a pair of midnight blue silk pajamas. “Those will be a little big on you,” Sharon said, gracefully backing out into the hallway, “but I think you’ll manage. Take as long as you want. Stay until you turn into a prune, if you’d like,” she invited with a gentle smile.
Brenda managed her own wobbly smile. “Like Clarissa?”
“Yes, and you already know where the bath toys are.”
When the door closed behind Sharon, Brenda Leigh reached up to remove her top, and then let her arms fall back to her sides when she shivered. No, she’d turn the shower on first, get it nice and hot; alone again, she found she was suddenly chilled. In fact, as she twisted them together, her fingers felt so icy cold that she wondered if they’d ever be warm again, or if today’s events had frozen her straight through. She was afraid to close her eyes, so she fixed them unnaturally wide open, gazing vacantly at the dancing candle flame and thinking of Sharon’s strong, delicate arms holding her firmly, thinking of the spicy, clean scent of her skin, ginger and a hint of something Brenda couldn’t identify. The older woman had held Brenda and rocked her and soothed her in a way no one but Brenda’s mother had ever done before. It wasn’t that Sharon’s embrace actually felt anything like Willie Rae’s, or that the sensory experience was at all similar; but somehow Brenda recognized a kinship in the way these two women had held and comforted her. There was a quiet strength, a confidence. Was it a maternal thing? she asked herself as she finally stepped under the shower spray, now almost hot enough to scald. Was there a certain kind of caring and nurturing that you somehow absorbed and diffused once you’d mothered a child, some special secret knowledge she’d unwittingly foregone?
The water droplets turned Brenda’s pale skin a splotchy pink as she watched, oddly fascinated. She felt as if her bones and muscles might melt, and her entire body swirl down the drain with the bathwater.
Brenda folded her arms over her breasts and gripped her own sides. She imagined holding Sharon the way the captain had held her, and for some reason the thought made her smile even as tears the same temperature as the water stung her eyes. She thought she could do that.
Eventually she realized she needed to bathe before her exhausted legs refused to hold her upright any longer, and she reached blindly for the shampoo. It smelled like Sharon -- the other way around, really, but that was how Brenda thought of it: the shampoo smelled like Sharon -- and that provided its own kind of comfort. This was what she needed: Sharon’s calm, Sharon’s constant, quiet strength and tenacity. She wanted to wrap herself in it, drink it in the green tea, see it in the flickering candle flame, absorb it through the older woman’s skin, and forget this terrible day.
When Brenda stepped out of the shower, she realized she’d turned Sharon’s bathroom into a sauna, but somehow the candle was still burning. Brenda breathed deeply. Jasmine, she thought. The candle smelled like jasmine. She’d never be able to smell that flowery scent without thinking of Sharon.
When Brenda emerged from the bathroom some minutes later, she had braided her hair in pigtails (secured by little plastic bands that she’d found in the drawer, undoubtedly belonging to Clarissa) and donned Sharon’s silk pajamas. It occurred to her that even if her friend had suggested she sleep in the guest room, she would have still felt her presence in the decadently soft whisper of fabric against her bare skin. It was almost like the extension of an embrace, one Brenda could carry with her.
In the hallway, dimmed now by the extinguished light of the living room, Brenda paused and took a breath, her heart beating slightly faster now that she was faced with sharing a bed with Sharon Raydor. Despite her nerves, the deputy chief knew she couldn’t face the night alone.
Sharon was setting down a glass of water on the right bedside table when Brenda timidly entered the room, her head suddenly feeling light and full of air. The older woman watched her and smiled. “How do you feel?”
“Warm,” Brenda replied, and she was surprised to discover that it was the truth. When had that icy chill left her? “And dizzy.” She laughed breathlessly, crossing the room and standing on the left side of the bed.
Sharon stirred. “Why don’t you lay down? Over here, I mean. That’s my side.”
“You sleep alone and you have a side?” Brenda asked, crawling onto the bed and scooting her way over to the right. She knelt on the bed in front of the other woman. “You sure you don’t mind me sharin’ with you?”
“Not at all,” Sharon replied at once. “I don’t even mind that you’re dripping all over my favorite silk pajamas.” She fingered one of the wet braids and smiled. “I set out some tylenol and water for you. I think you’ll probably need it.”
“I’m not that bad off,” Brenda promised, burrowing beneath the sheets.
“I know. Just in case.”
While Brenda sipped at the water, she watched Sharon busy herself around the room. She’d already changed into a pair of linen bottoms and a t-shirt, leaving Brenda to wonder if Sharon had sacrificed her nightly comforts to make her comfortable. Allowing her to show up on her doorstep had been a generous act in itself, and Brenda’s stomach tingled pleasantly at the knowledge that once again, Sharon had been looking out for her best interest.
Sharon turned out the light and got into bed, surprised by how noticeable it was that she wasn’t alone. The dip on Brenda’s side of the mattress and the warmth already generated beneath the comforter made Sharon’s heart pound, reminding her once again just how long it had been since anyone had lain beside her. She took a deep breath and hoped that Brenda couldn’t hear the thunderous thud of her heart.
“You’re so good to me,” Brenda said with a sigh, shifting her body onto her side. The position undoubtedly served to make the younger woman more comfortable but had, at the same time, brought her closer to Sharon. “What would I do without you?”
“Lucky for both of us that we won’t have to find out,” Sharon quipped back, staring ahead into the darkness.
The bed rustled and suddenly a damp braid was tickling Sharon’s neck, though the older woman didn’t notice. She was too focused on the face that was mere inches above her own, her breath sweet with wine and the faintest hint of mouthwash. “Thank you, Sharon,” Brenda whispered. She leaned down and pressed her lips to Sharon’s cheek, her mouth lingering for several seconds longer than perhaps it should have.
Sharon held her breath until Brenda lowered herself back to the bed. “Sweet dreams, Brenda Leigh,” she whispered. She didn’t sleep until well after the other woman succumbed to the blissful pull of drowsiness.
**
When she awoke, Brenda knew immediately, without even having to open her eyes, that she was alone, not just in the bed but in the room. She felt the captain’s absence the same way she’d felt her presence during the night, reassured by the simple solidity of the other woman’s body on the other side of the mattress whenever she jolted awake from vague, horrible dreams that merged with disquieting seamlessness into her own memories of the previous day.
Morales had had tears in his eyes when Brenda went down to the morgue -- alone, because she wouldn’t ask any of the guys to accompany her, not on this errand -- and hadn’t bothered wiping them away as he and the deputy chief had stared at one another in stolid misery. “The little one died almost instantly; her skull was still soft,” he’d said, his gaze trained on the slightly larger of the two sheet-covered forms, both pitifully tiny on the autopsy tables. “The older sister... took a while.”
Brenda had, at least, made it to the bathroom before she’d thrown up.
She sat up now in Sharon’s bed in Sharon’s bedroom in Sharon’s cozy house, staring at the warm green walls and the framed photograph of the twins on the dresser, and telling herself to see these things instead of all that blood, too much blood, painted incongruously around a cheerfully messy child’s bedroom.
Brenda felt her feet underneath her on the floor before she was aware that she’d decided to get up, and tiptoed out into the hall to find Sharon. The hardwood was cool against her soles and squeaked reassuringly, reminding her of how long this house had stood here. She stopped suddenly, reversing, and walked into the bedroom Sharon had set up for Clarissa. There were the stuffed animals in the crib, the soft green and yellow blanket that was surely handmade, and, best of all, the glorious flowers painted near the ceiling, twining together in a playful garland of colors. Brenda stood there for a moment, and then she nodded to herself. Yes, this was what a little girl’s bedroom was supposed to look like.
Sharon was in the kitchen, woolly socks on her feet and a soft gray sweater draped over her t-shirt-clad shoulders. She clutched an over-sized coffee mug in one hand and a spatula in the other, and when she caught sight of Brenda and smiled brightly, the younger woman’s chest tightened almost painfully.
“Help yourself to coffee,” the brunette invited, gesturing. “I’m making pancakes.”
The smaller woman’s countenance brightened. “Pancakes? I love pancakes.”
Sharon smirked. “Somehow I suspected as much.” Pouring batter into a sizzling skillet with one hand, she extended her coffee mug in the other. “Refill, please, ma’am. Milk, but just a little, and --”
Brenda waved her away. “I know, I know,” she interrupted, almost affronted. “I do pay attention to you, you know.”
Sharon looked over her shoulder, her green eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes,” she said, her lips quirking in that mysterious little half smile, “I know.”
When Sharon’s mug was full again and Brenda had her own portion of the steaming liquid, she settled down at the table, propping her chin on her fist. “Thank you for letting me spend the night, Sharon.”
Dark hair slipped over Sharon’s shoulders as she nodded. “You’re welcome, Brenda Leigh.”
“I just... I couldn’t go home. I mean, I did go home -- Andy drove me -- and it was so still, so empty, you know?” The deputy chief turned her dark red mug around and around in her hands, studying it. “I turned right around and called a cab. I waited outside until it came,” she admitted, a little ashamed of her own weakness. She darted a quick look at Sharon to see how her friend received that news, but she simply nodded again. “Last night was the first time since I left that I’ve really missed bein’ married.”
At the stove, Sharon’s whole body went still, but she didn’t reply.
Ever attentive to detail, Brenda noticed the change in Sharon immediately. “I’m not sayin’ I miss Fritz,” Brenda quickly amended, though unsure why it was so important to her that Sharon understand her. “That ship has long since sailed, I assure you. I just miss the idea of marriage. No--you know what I think it is? It’s havin’ someone at the house to keep me company.”
The brunette relaxed, unaware of the tension she’d been holding until she finally let it go. She flipped a pancake and turned to look at the other woman, who looked endearingly youthful with her hair in braids. “Sounds to me like you want a dog, not a husband.”
Brenda laughed into her coffee cup. “I don’t want either, thank you very much. But you know what I mean, though? I miss goin’ home to someone who’s glad to see me and who can make me feel better after a bad day.”
“I told you that you can come here,” Sharon began, and Brenda laughed again.
“I can’t come here every single time somethin’ gets to me at work. I’d always be here!”
Is that such a bad thing? Sharon thought, and she eased the perfectly formed pancake onto a plate and poured another dollop of batter into the pan.
“Besides,” the blonde continued, “eventually you’re gonna want your privacy. The last thing you need is for me to come bargin’ in while you’re entertainin’ a man...”
Sharon raised an eyebrow. The very idea of enjoying a man’s company enough to invite him home with her seemed a foreign concept, something that had no place in her future. She gave a disbelieving chuckle. “I don’t think we have to worry about that being an issue.”
“You say that now...” Brenda teased, smiling brightly. Why should she feel relieved that Sharon had no prospects of dating someone? Furthermore, why had she been jealous to have introduced the possibility in the first place? Deciding a change of subject was in order, Brenda set down her mug and came up behind Sharon, peering down at the bubbling batter on the skillet. “These smell amazin’! What’s in ‘em?”
Sharon smirked. “Banana and chocolate chips.”
The blonde gaped. “Really?”
“Pancakes are a serious business, Brenda Leigh. Would I lie?”
Brenda stuck a finger in the batter and licked it clean, moaning at the taste of the fruit. “I think I love you, Sharon Raydor. You’re a marvel.”
The captain blushed and flipped the pancake. “I thought you could use something special for breakfast.”
The younger woman bit her lip, her face warming pleasantly. “You’re far too good to me.” She squeezed Sharon’s shoulder and went over to the fridge in search of syrup, feeling marginally guilty over the fact that she was allowing herself to be spoiled by her friend. “I promise I’ll get outta your hair after breakfast. I don’t wanna get in the way of your weekend plans.”
“You’re never in the way, Brenda, I assure you. I had nothing much planned anyway.”
“Nothin’ much? Oh, but that means that you did have somethin’ planned!”
The brunette chuckled at the other woman’s surge of guilt. “I hardly consider filling out paperwork and watching The Sopranos to be plans. You could join me if you wanted.”
Brenda scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think I need a day not to think about work at all.”
It was the sort of simple admission that spoke volumes, the sort that Sharon completely understood. Brenda did not have to elaborate; Sharon had gone through enough difficult cases to know when sometimes, work needed to be left at work. She could completely identify with Brenda’s desire to spend the day as Brenda, a woman without the type of responsibility that required her presence at murder scenes. Of course, Sharon could not control the people of Los Angeles and had no power over any emergency calls either of them might receive, but she was more than willing to put off her paperwork until tomorrow and give her friend exactly what she needed.
Well, maybe not exactly...
“All right then,” Sharon announced, stacking another pancake onto the plate. She stirred the batter and poured a little more into the pan. “The captain and deputy chief are taking the day off, and I know exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Oooh, what is it?” Brenda asked excitedly, the way she might enquire whether or not she was receiving a pony for Christmas.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Can I have a hint? Just a little one?”
Sharon’s eyes twinkled. “Nope.” So saying, the captain placed the platter on the table and sat down across from Brenda, stabbing at the little stack of pancakes she’d assembled on her own plate. Idly she wondered how long it had been since she’d made these. Her kids had always loved them, and they’d become a Raydor family celebration food. Birthdays, straight-A report cards, dance recitals: all had meant chocolate chip banana pancakes.
Sharon took a bite and one of her molars twinged. Jesus, they were sweet. No wonder Brenda Leigh was wolfing her share down. When it came to this sort of thing, she seemed to have the palate of a child.
But not one of Sharon’s children. The captain looked at the pale blonde sitting across from her in the morning sunlight, devouring the sweet, sticky concoction. Had she been trying to mother Brenda, make it all better with a hug and an unhealthy meal and a surprise outing?
Vivien loved surprises. Daniel had always been rather more cautious, wanting to know exactly what lay before him so he could adjust to it. It was both a part of the necessary coping mechanism and a part of the pleasure, the anticipation. He was like his mother that way.
As Sharon put her fork down and sipped her coffee, glad to banish the sickly sweet taste of the pancakes from her mouth, she knew perfectly well that she didn’t view Brenda as some sort of surrogate daughter. She wasn’t trying to help Brenda because she’d been totally incapable of helping her child.
The reality was, perhaps, more disturbing. Sharon stood up abruptly. “I need to shower. Eat all you want.”
Brenda’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “But you barely ate anything,” she protested around a mouthful. She’d never had such wonderful pancakes; this was obviously some sort of sorcery.
Sharon shrugged, her supple lips compressed into a thin line. “I don’t care for them. I’d forgotten.”
Brenda was still sitting at the table when Sharon reemerged, fully clothed and made up and feeling more like herself with her customary armor in place. The blonde hugged her knees to her chest, her bare feet balanced on the edge of the chair. “Maybe I should go,” she suggested, having picked up on the abrupt change in her friend’s mood but unable to identify the cause.
“No, I told you, I have a surprise planned.” The older woman offered a slight smile, not terribly different from the ones Chief Johnson had grown used to receiving from Captain Raydor when she handed her paperwork in on time or refrained from yanking down that annoying red crime scene tape. “But afterwards I probably should do my paperwork.”
Of course, Sharon and her paperwork. Brenda nodded, her expression neutral, reminding herself that she’d barged in on the other woman’s weekend plans. “I’ll just get dressed and we can be on our way to.. wherever.”
Sharon nodded in turn and began to gather up the dirty dishes.
“Don’t do that!” Brenda exclaimed so vehemently that Sharon spun on one ballet flat-encased foot, and the younger woman faltered slightly. “I mean, you cooked, so I’ll clean up.” She glanced down at her attire. “Uh, Sharon? You don’t have somethin’ I could wear, do you? Unless my suit’s okay,” she hastened to add.
Sharon smirked, and it was Sharon again, not Captain Raydor. “Hop in the shower. I’ll find you something. -- Something that doesn’t have to be dry-cleaned.”
For the second time in 12 hours, Brenda Leigh found herself naked in Sharon’s house, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, her thoughts focused on the other woman. She worried her lip between her teeth as she ran over the events of the morning in an attempt to recall what had caused Sharon to retreat into her shell. Brenda had been especially grateful and courteous with her friend; she hadn’t pushed her and had been mindful about not putting Sharon out (aside from the part when she showed up at her door and asked to share her bed). So why did she have the nagging feeling that she’d done something wrong?
She was quick with her morning ablutions, wrapping the fuzzy red towel around her body and brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush she’d left there after the sleepover with Clarissa. When she stepped into the hallway, she heard the water running in the kitchen. “You better not be doin’ those dishes!” she yelled out, knowing that Sharon probably was elbow-deep in soap suds. Rather than investigate, Brenda opted not to drip all over the hardwood floors and ran down to Sharon’s room.
True to her word, Sharon had set out some clothes: a pair of black track pants and a white t-shirt. It was strange to wear Sharon’s pajamas to bed, but it was something altogether different to wear her clothes during the day when she’d be aware of the other woman’s smell. It was an intimate gesture, one that accompanied the many other acts of kindness that Sharon had bestowed upon her since she’d arrived. Sharon had managed, in a way that Brenda could not conceive or understand, to give her exactly what she had needed. She hadn’t expected anything more than a miserable night in Sharon’s guest room and had received unconditional comfort instead. It had been more than anyone had ever done for her without expecting anything in return.
Brenda was pulling her wet hair into a messy bun when she entered the kitchen, unsurprised to find that the dishes had been cleaned and were now drying in the rack. The younger woman rolled her eyes. “I said I would do them,” she said, looking on as Sharon squeezed the excess water from the sponge.
“I know, but I wanted to avoid having to wash them again later.” Sharon turned around and smirked at Brenda’s glare. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
**
“Uh, Sharon,” Brenda began, eyes widening as she stared at the “City of Los Angeles Animal Services” sign by the parking lot they were currently pulling into. She stared dumbly at a man carrying a little toy poodle in his arms.“What’s goin’ on?”
“I would think that’s rather obvious,” Sharon replied with a smirk.
“Are we gettin’ you a pet?”
“No,” Sharon firmly answered. “We are getting you a pet.”
“But...I don’t think I’m even allowed to have animals in my apartment.” She peered out the window at the large building and then again at the man with the poodle, gawking as he kissed its furry head and gently set it on the passenger seat of his jeep. Her heart pounded a little faster at the thought of the shelter full of caged animals, a deep mixture of guilt and excitement and anxiety swelling in her chest. “Are we really doin’ this?”
“We’re really doing this.” Sharon turned off the car. “That is, unless you hate the idea of once again being a cat owner.”
Brenda bit her lip as her cheeks flushed with unbridled excitement. “When you want to make someone feel better, you don’t mess around, do you?” She giggled breathlessly, squirming like a child in her seat. “Some people give flowers...you give kittens.”
Inside, the main animal control facility of the City of Los Angeles was barely controlled chaos. The outer waiting room was filled with people, some with their newly adopted pets, and from down the hall assorted barks, yowls, yips, and meows blended into a cacophanous roar. At Sharon’s feet, a German shepherd leapt at a young woman who had just received a sturdy cardboard carrier containing a chubby calico. Both woman and cat jumped in surprise, the human protectively hugging the feline to her breast.
The captain curled her lip in distaste. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come on a Saturday.”
Brenda’s melting eyes were fastened on a little girl and boy squirming with anticipation, dutifully restraining their squeals of excitement as a scrubs-clad employee walked their new dog toward them on a lead. The black puppy was all huge, floppy ears and oversized paws. “No, you were right,” the blonde insisted. “This is exactly what I need.” She nudged Sharon’s shoulder and nodded toward the children and their puppy. “Look. Now, that is adorable; even you have to admit it.”
Certainly it was, but Sharon only cocked her chin and replied, “Everyone wants a puppy or a kitten. -- Come on, let’s go back.”
The two women followed the signs through a fire door and down a long hallway that smelled strongly of disinfectant overlaying the inevitable odor of too many animals confined in a small space. Brenda eagerly opened a second door labeled “CATS (Down Hall for Dogs).”
For a couple of seconds Sharon was overwhelmed by the volume of sound, the pungent odors, and the Saturday morning crowd of prospective pet-owners drifting from cage to cage. Brenda lit up like sunshine, her fingers sinking into her companion’s upper arm like talons. “Look, Sharon, kittens!”
The taller woman turned to her friend, her expression incredulous. Brenda’s eyes glowed, and her cheeks were flushed. It was disconcerting, really, seeing such a wholesale change overtake the deputy chief. The blonde knelt in front of one of the cages -- good thing Sharon had just lent her track pants that could be tossed into the washer -- bringing herself to eye level with four little balls of fluff.
Brenda bit her lip. “I’m surprised there are still kittens here....you’d think all the eager little kids would’ve scooped them up by now,” she mused, poking her finger between the slats of the cage, just out of reach of the nearest ball of orange fur. “Hey there, kitty!” The kitten gave a disinterested mewl and returned to its grooming.
“I imagine there are always animals coming and going,” the older woman said. She scanned the nearby crates, noting that some were empty and others were filled with litters of cats of various shapes, colors, and sizes. “Let’s take a look at the rest of them.”
They moved down the hall, taking time to stop at the less-visited cages. The kittens were the most popular, fawned over by children and adults alike. Brenda beamed at them all, her heart twisting at the realization that she couldn’t take them all home with her. “I’ve never done this before, you know,” she finally admitted, pausing to allow a hyper tabby cat to extend its paw and swat at her hand. “I’m sort of an accidental cat owner. I’ve never gone out and chosen one.” She turned wide eyes toward her friend. “How do you choose? How do I know which one’s the right one?”
“Think about what you’re looking for in a cat. Kittens are pretty high maintenance and require a lot of attention.”
Brenda twisted her lips into a frown. “Mmm. I’m not so sure how much time I’ve got to devote to a kitten with work and no one to look after him while I’m busy.”
“So perhaps a young kitten is not the best choice.”
“But they’re so cute.” Sharon raised an eyebrow and Brenda sighed. “All right, all right. I get the point.” She moved on, kneeling down in front of a cage that contained a docile-looking gray cat. It blinked up at her with her with its one shining blue eye. “Awe, Sharon, look at this one...she’s beautiful.” She tugged the older woman’s hand, pulling her to crouch beside her while she read the little placard fixed to the cage. “She’s a ragdoll and she’s six years old. Awe...and she was neglected by her owners and lost her eye in a gang fight.”
“A gang fight?” Sharon questioned.
“Well...close enough,” Brenda teased. “She’s been here for ages...poor little thing.”
The cat was beautiful, its fur slightly patchy, the scar across its left eye puffy but healed. The cat blinked at Sharon, eyeing her with curiosity, and the older woman frowned. She was most certainly not the one leaving here with a pet.
Brenda gasped and Sharon pulled her attention away from the ragdoll to see the blonde kneeling on the cold concrete floor, pressing her face close to the cage beside her. “Isn’t she pretty?” Brenda cooed. The cat, no more than ten months old, was white and gray, peppered with black spots. The card identified it as an Egyptian Mau.
“Beautiful,” Sharon admitted, leaning down to peer at the cat’s slender body and exotic, dramatically pointed little chin.
“It’s unusual for a pure-bred Mau to turn up,” put in a third voice, and both women looked up at the man who had spoken. “She won’t be here long. And yet, did you know that in Egypt there’s such a huge population of Maus on the streets that they’re considered pests, like rats or opossums? People often shoot at them, or poison them.”
Brenda looked absolutely horrified. “Who in the world would try to kill this precious little baby?” she demanded, crouching in front of the cage as if to protect its occupant.
The man’s teeth flashed white against his cocoa-colored skin. “Don’t worry,” he reassured in his pronounced West Indian accent, “that won’t happen to this little girl. We just got her this morning, and I bet you she’ll be gone by the end of the day.”
The blonde turned those wide eyes on her companion. “Ten months old -- that’s not really a kitten, is it? She’s almost all grown up. She wouldn’t need somebody around to look after her all the time, would she?”
The man shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you plan to adopt, you need a form.” He held out a clipboard containing a stack of papers. “It just asks for basic information about yourself and any other pets you may have, and then there’s a spot at the bottom for you to list the animals you’re interested in, in order of preference.” He tapped the top right-hand corner of the card taped to a cage near his shoulder. “That’s the I.D. number. When you’ve finished, take your form down to the desk, all right?”
Already scribbling on the form he’d handed her, using her own knee as a makeshift writing desk, Brenda flashed one of her extra bright smiles. “Thank you so much.”
“Wait,” Sharon called as he turned away, surprising both herself and Brenda. “How long are the animals kept here before they’re --?”
“Euthanized?” Jonas -- that was what his name-tag said -- supplied, and Sharon nodded. Brenda winced. “We keep them as long as we possibly can, depending on the volume of animals we’re receiving. It tends to vary by season.”
“So this one --” Sharon tapped the cage of the ragdoll as if at random, but she wasn’t even fooling herself, let alone anyone else. “She’s been here for nearly two months.”
Jonas nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s not unusual for older cats.”
“But she’s only six!” the brunette exclaimed indignantly. “That’s barely even middle-aged for a cat, right?”
“Right. But really any of our animals over one or two --” He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Especially any that have health issues or behavioral problems.”
“It doesn’t say anything about that on her card,” Sharon continued in the same tone, and in a low voice Brenda pointed out, “Sharon, she has one eye.”
“Well, that’s not her fault. She can see.” Sharon danced her fingers across the metal bars and the animal followed the sound and movement eagerly, her ears pricked up and her one eye focused intently, readying her little body to spring. Of course, there was nowhere for her to go inside the cage.
“You can open the cage,” Jonas volunteered helpfully, and both women looked up to see him manfully striving to contain a smirk. Green eyes narrowed at him in a glare, but then Sharon quickly returned her attention to the gray feline.
“Hi, pretty girl,” the brunette cooed in a low, melodic voice Brenda had never heard her use before, not even with Cee, and it made her stomach twist strangely. The cat eyed Sharon’s fingers warily for a long moment before rubbing up against them and emitting a cautious mewl.
The captain scratched gently, and the cat’s purr was so loud that all three sets of human ears heard it. “What happened to her leg? She limps.”
“That’s another souvenir of her big day with the neighbors’ dogs. Isn’t it, girl?” Jonas knelt down, also reaching out to stroke the cat. “She still loves to play, though. And she’s very affectionate, as you can see.”
“You just need someone to love you, don’t you?” Sharon murmured. “You’ve got plenty of life left in you, dontcha? So what if you’re not a kitten.” Her sharp green eyes focused on Jonas again. “How much longer will she be here?”
He gestured around the room. “Until all these cages fill up. Tuesday, maybe. Wednesday at the outside.”
Brenda knew her own expression was horrified. Sharon’s merely turned stony.
“Unless someone wants her,” Jonas added.
Sharon stood up abruptly, slamming the cage door. Brenda looked at her in dismay, taking in the older woman’s grim expression. “Sha--” she began to protest, but Sharon interrupted her.
“Give me the form,” she said in her no-bullshit Captain Raydor tone.
“Are you sure?” Brenda asked.
“Give me the damn form,” her friend repeated, scowling.
“You’ve never said anythin’ about wantin’ a pet,” the blonde pointed out tentatively, rising to stand next to her as Sharon’s bold handwriting rapidly covered the printed form.
“I want this one,” the older woman returned in that same defiant tone. “Are you ready? Then let’s go. There’s no use wasting time.” She strode briskly toward the door, but paused on the threshold, looking over her shoulder to add “Thank you, Jonas” in a much softer voice.
He smiled serenely at her, as if he saw this sort of Grinch-like behavior all the time. He probably did, but Sharon was damned if she was going to be another statistic. Mind firmly made up, she led the way to the front desk to turn in their paperwork for processing, actively avoiding meeting Brenda’s gaze.
Brenda was practically swinging on her feet, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin Sharon had seen on her in ages. With a resolute sigh she turned to Brenda, saying, “Oh, out with it.”
The blonde nearly exploded with glee. “I just never in a million years expected you to fall for a cat!”
“I did not fall for her,” Sharon insisted. She brushed her hair off her forehead and pursed her lips, reasonably adding, “It was a matter of life and death for her. They were going to put her down--oh, why am I explaining this to you, you little hypocrite. You fell for a cat too.”
“I know.” Brenda smiled, wondering how much longer it would be before she could play with the cat. Would she like her new home? Would she claw up her beloved new sofa? Would she even like her new mama? She bit her cheek and watched Sharon’s expression mirroring her own. As soon as she knew that her friend was experiencing a similar ‘expectant parent’ mentality, her own anxiety ebbed. “This was a great idea.”
“Are you feeling better?” Sharon asked, wrapping her arms around herself, wondering not for the first time if she had been too hasty in coming to Brenda’s rescue. The hopeful expression on the younger woman’s face was enough to allay her worries.
“That’s a tricky word, isn’t it--better? It’s gonna take me a while to get over this case, but I think I’ll be okay. At least I’ll have someone to keep me company at 4 a.m. if I wake up from a nightmare.” Brenda raised a teasing eyebrow. “That was your evil plan all along, wasn’t it? Pawn me off on a cat to have your freedom again?”
“So much for my evil plan. I suppose the jig is up.”
“Lucky for you that it worked.”
Sharon let out a little sigh of relief. “Good. I think it would be better for both of us if I didn’t receive texts in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep.”
“Ever? What if it’s an emergency?”
“It depends on your definition of an emergency.” The older woman laughed. “I’ll draft a list of acceptable scenarios for you.”
Brenda scrunched her nose. “Use those list-writin’ skills of yours to think of all the things we need to get at Petco when we get outta here.” She poked Sharon in the arm. “You’re gonna get your kitty a giant cat bed, aren’t you? You’re gonna spoil the lil thing--I just know it!”
As an older woman leaned across the desk to explain the adoption process to them, now that she was no longer inundated by phone calls, a slightly jarring thought presented itself to Sharon like an epiphany.
She and Brenda Leigh were becoming middle-aged cat ladies.
---