Brenda wakes up with a bad feeling in her chest. There's no real reason for it, just a case of the grumps, maybe. Maybe she didn't sleep well, though she doesn't remember waking up much. Maybe she's getting a summer cold, one of those chest things that she'll have to live with for several weeks, one of those dry, hacking coughs that keeps everyone up at night. But she doesn't feel sick, just bad.

Like something bad is coming.

Which is ridiculous. That is not a lifestyle she subscribes to. Paranoia and foreboding, events being out of her control and pre-determined.

Still, though. She knicks her knee in the shower and it bleeds and bleeds. The dress she'd put out for herself the night before goes back in the closet. A beige band-aid on her knee, khaki slacks and a wrap blouse instead. The moment she puts on her mascara, she sneezes and gives herself dark raccoon eyes and she's got to wipe everything off and start over, which means she's about ten minutes late for work.

Usually that doesn't mean much, but today when she hurries in, digging in her purse for the glasses she'll later find hanging from her collar, Will Pope is already in her office, glancing between his wristwatch and the clock on the wall.

"Shoot," she says. The members of her division look sympathetic but stay silent.

"Good morning, Will," she says, more cheerful than she feels. "The traffic was a nightmare."

No worse than yesterday, but it's always bad so not technically a lie. Though she has no qualms about lying to Will Pope, either. She just likes to save up the whoppers for when she really needs them.

Will says nothing. Just leans over her desk, picks up her phone and dials an internal extension. And then, "Can you send her down, please? Thanks." And hangs up again.

The bad feeling in her chest, previously a flutter, now beats like a thud.

"You got a case for us?" she asks, walking around him, pulling out her chair and settling in despite his presence. She turns on her computer, reaches over and opens the blinds to let a little more light in. The only concession she makes is leaving her stash drawer closed.

"Let's just wait for everyone to arrive," Will says.

"Who is everyone?" she demands, flopping into her seat. Will keeps standing, but she does see a little crack in his calm facade. She knows him well, after all, and his top lip sweating means he's nervous about something.

"I'd like for you to keep an open mind about this," he says. "And try to remember that I'm asking you as a superior officer."

"Oh lord," she mutters.

"I'm your boss," he reiterates.

"That is not confidence inspiring," she says, but that's all she says because she can see them coming. Commander Taylor and Captain Raydor, walking toward her office.

"Here they come," he says.

"Oh no, Will, no!" she whines. "Not her. Anyone but her!"

"You don't even know what we're asking yet!" he exclaims. "Open mind, Brenda!"

He opens the door for them but she still doesn't stand. Neither of them outrank her and she wouldn't stand for Will if he was the actual Pope. Not with their history. So she faces Raydor today slumped in her office chair, glaring out from beneath a furrowed brow. Petulant, maybe, but at least it's honest.

"Good morning, Chiefs," Raydor says, cold and polite. Brenda sits up just a smidge because it's interesting. Either Raydor doesn't know what this is about either, or she does and she doesn't like it. Brenda can't say she cares very much for Sharon Raydor, but she can no longer say she doesn't know the woman or that she hasn't spent enough time with her to catalog her tells. The corners of her mouth are turned down and she's got her fingers searching for the pockets of her suit jacket.

Will makes everyone sit down at Brenda's conference table, even Brenda. He sits next to Taylor, so Brenda takes the seat to the left of the Captain and leans in.

"You ever feel like you're bein' called into the principal's office?" she whispers loudly.

"Oh, that seems more like your past than mine, Chief Johnson," Raydor says without looking at her.

Taylor snorts back laughter and Brenda glares at him until he settles back down.

"Let's be completely honest here," Will says. "The two of you working together is a struggle for you both."

"Amen," Brenda says. This time Raydor does look over at her, an arched brow to show her displeasure.

"However, uncomfortable it may be," Will barrels on, "When you do work together, you get results."

Brenda opens her mouth to argue but finds that she can't. It's true. Certainly not because they're well suited but because it becomes a sort of crazed competition, always trying to oneup one another. When Brenda's mouth shuts again, Will looks over at Taylor.

"Robbery-Homicide and SIS have been working together for nearly a month, trying to bring down a kidnapping ring," he says.

Raydor nods. "They think the girls are being taken across the border."

"Right," Taylor says. "It's a huge human trafficking ring and this is as close as we've gotten to catching them. A low level lackey in their organization has flipped and has been giving us information on pick up times and exchange locations, but the information is not the most reliable."

"Why are you telling us and not the FBI?" Brenda asks.

"We've only recently connected the rash of kidnapping to the trafficking ring in the first place," Will says. "The FBI has their own investigation open, but we're hoping to catch them in the act before turning them over to the feds."

"Get the glory and let them foot the bill," Brenda says. Will just smiles blandly.

"Why am I here?" Raydor asks slowly, coolly, as if everyone in the room is very slow witted.

"The women being taken are diverse," Will says. "Ages have ranged from teenagers to women in their fifties and sixties. White, black, hispanic, asian, poor, rich, educated, minimum wage workers, they run the gamut."

"Jesus," Brenda says looking at Taylor. "How many women have you lost?"

"There's one thing that they do have in common," Taylor says with a scowl. "They all identify as gay."

"Or other," Will jumps in.

"Gay or other?" Brenda says."What the hell does 'or other' mean?" She makes air quotes with her fingers.

"Not heterosexual," Will says. "Our informant says that his bosses think that those types of women won't be as easily missed or sought after."

Raydor leans back, her chair creaking a little and looks hard at the men across from her.

"And what is your plan to find these women?" she says softly. "These types of women who have been disappearing from under your very noses?"

"Once they cross the border, it's up to the FBI to find them," Will says. "But we're putting together an operation to intercept the next planned kidnapping and we need female officers to go undercover. Experienced ones, ones who know what it is that they're doing and won't get hurt or get taken."

Now Raydor turns to look at Brenda, both eyebrows high in the air.

"You don't mean us," Brenda says.

"Chief Johnson, you'd be the point person on the inside, while Taylor is officially the operation's commander," Will says. "I want you and Sharon to work together, get your team of officers ready. We only have four days."

"I'm not letting Taylor call the shots, I outrank him!" Brenda exclaims hotly.

Taylor rolls his eyes and says, "I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

"Settle in," Will says. "Complete briefing in my office in one hour."

Will leaves and Taylor doesn't stick around either. Just Brenda and Captain Raydor, sitting on the same side of the table, unsure about what, exactly, had just happened to them.

"So," Brenda says finally. "He's ordering us to be lesbians?"

"Pretend lesbians," Raydor says faintly.

"Together?" Brenda asks.

"I feel that was the implication, yes," Raydor says.

"I just…" Brenda says. "I don't recall this being in any training."

Raydor uses the armrests of her chair to push herself up and looks at Brenda. "I'm going to leave now."

"Yeah," Brenda says. "See you in an hour, I guess."

"I guess so," Raydor says.

oooo

Their first assignment, Lieutenant Cooper explains, is to scout out the warehouse where the kidnapping is supposedly going to go down.

"It's actually for sale," Cooper says, pushing a realtor's flyer across Will's conference table. Brenda picks it up, holds it so Raydor can see it too. "We want you and Captain Raydor to pose as potential buyers so we can get a more detailed picture of the layout. We'll have you fitted with cameras and microphones."

"And if the owner is the one trafficking these women?" Raydor asks in that soft, deadly way that she has. It usually grinds Brenda's gears to even hear it, but it's actually very effective and Brenda can appreciate it now that it's not aimed at her.

"Then you'll hopefully be able to recognize him during the op."

"Or he'll recognize us," Brenda says.

"My preference is for no one to get taken, but if it's one of ours and not a civilian…" Cooper doesn't finish the thought.

"Who do you have for my team," Brenda demands. Taylor opens his mouth to complain but Will shoots him a look and not so subtly shakes his head. Brenda feels a wave of pleasure - she's going to win this round.

"Micki Mendoza," Cooper says. "She's one of mine. We're borrowing McGinnis and Sherman from SOB. Irene Daniels volunteered when she heard you were running the op, Chief Johnson."

"That's very sweet, but I'm supposed to do this with me and five women?" she says, glancing at Taylor who is studiously studying the tabletop, his mouth a hard line.

"And you'll get ten uniforms who have basic op training just to be eyes and ears," Will pipes in.

Raydor makes a small noise of disbelief and Brenda knows exactly what she means. The fact that all the female detectives they can scrape together she can count on one hand, practically, is a larger, systemic problem, one she plans to bring up a lot more often now that she's seen it up close and personal. She plans to rub Will's nose in it over and over again.

But for today, she's going to play nice because the only thing she hates more than pompous Will and his handful of female cops is the idea of these poor women getting sold off as sex slaves.

"The showing is tomorrow," Cooper says. "I have a little information on the owners in these packets." He slides them two folders.

"Are we supposed to… have cover identities or…?" Raydor trails off uncertainly and it takes every ounce of willpower Brenda has not to roll her eyes.

"I'll be Brenda," Brenda says. "You be Sharon."

Raydor glares.

"We find it's easier not to slip up that way," Cooper agrees. "Less lying, more truth omitting. Chief Johnson, Chief Pope tells me that you have plenty of experience working operations like this. I'm hoping you can get Captain Raydor up to speed by tomorrow?"

"I can," she says. She looks over at Raydor. "Unless FID can't spare you, Captain?"

"Oh no, Chief Johnson," she says. "Personally, I have no problem delegating to my staff."

Taylor grins.

oooo

Raydor trails Brenda back to the murder room. Her division is still cleaning up from their last case and when she comes in and then they see Raydor, they all look hopeful.

"We catch a case?" Flynn asks.

"Not exactly," Brenda mutters. "I have a special assignment from Chief Pope. Which means for the next few days, I want Lieutenant Tao and Sergeant Gabriel to go over to SIS because they're gonna be short a few people. Provenza and Flynn, you can go to SOB because they're gonna need some extra hands, too."

"What about me?" Sanchez asks.

"You stay here and man the phones," she says sweetly. "And maybe finish some of that paperwork you owe me too, okay Julio? You think I didn't notice that but I did."

Gabriel and Flynn both point at him, smirking.

"What about you?" Provenza asks. Brenda looks over at him and realizes he's talking to Captain Raydor.

Brenda sighs. "She's with me."

Raydor follows her into her office, too. Brenda doesn't say anything, but she's not sure what they're supposed to do past reviewing their packets and showing up tomorrow to scout out the place. She flops herself into her office chair - Raydor sits across from her much more daintily. Crosses her long legs and leans back, looking at Brenda over the rims of her glasses.

"We should have dinner tonight," Raydor says.

"What?" Brenda asks, blurts it right out in surprise.

"We're not exactly the best of friends," Raydor says. "I think trying to find some common ground might help us to be more convincing tomorrow."

"I can be convincing," Brenda mutters.

"Yes," Raydor agrees easily enough. "You're a very good actress, Chief. I am not."

Brenda smiles at the unexpected honesty. Feels something thaw.

"Dinner," she says. "Just you and me."

"Drinks maybe, too," Raydor says after a slight pause.

"I should hope so," Brenda agrees.

oooo

She lets Captain Raydor pick the place. She's a local, after all, and Brenda a creature of habit who doesn't like trying something new. It's always Fritz dragging her to new restaurants and sometimes it's fine, and sometimes she makes him promise they'll never go back. She'd called him once Raydor had gone back to her own office, finally, and had demanded if he knew about the trafficking ring that was about to get busted.

"I know there's a joint operation, but I don't know how you know about it," Fritz says.

"Oh, Will wants me and Captain Raydor and some other ladies to help out with the op," she says.

"What?" Fritz says. "Brenda, women are exactly who they're kidnapping!"

"Yes, that's why they're stackin' the deck," Brenda says. "Don't worry."

"How am I supposed to not worry?" Fritz says.

"It's my job," Brenda says.

"You're a division head, you shouldn't be-"

"Can we not have this fight again?" she says. "I'm not calling for your permission."

"Then why are you calling?" he asks after a pause.

"I'm going to be late, that's all," she says. "I gotta stay late and do a little prep with Captain Raydor."

"Well," Fritz says with a forced chuckle. "Play nice."

"You gonna be okay on your own?" she asks.

"I'm pretty used to you working late," Fritz says. No chuckle this time.

Captain Raydor appears in her office door just after six, her purse on her shoulder and her coat over her arm.

"Where we goin'?" Brenda asks, shutting her computer off and grabbing things from the surface of her desk and tossing them into her bag. Phone, glasses, keys, bag of gummy bears, the packet of information Cooper had given her. She hesitates for just a moment and then yanks open her top drawer and snags a round cake before bumping the drawer closed again with her hip.

"You have everything?" Raydor asks with a barely suppressed smile.

"Yes, yes," Brenda says, reaching under the lampshade to turn off the light. She tries never to turn on the florescent overhead lights, unflattering and buzzing. Her office gets dark and for a moment Raydor is backlit, just a tall, pretty silhouette.

"There's a place I like a few blocks from here," she says, holding the office door open for Brenda to walk through. "It's small, but the food is great."

"I like great food," Brenda says as they head for the elevator. "I even like bad food. Just food, really."

"So I've heard," she says, but it doesn't sound all that malicious. For once.

Brenda follows her in her own car so they don't have to come back to the office and because the idea of making car small talk before she even has a drink in her hand seems insurmountable. But when they arrive, there's no valet and just a small lot. Raydor waves her into it to claim the only available space and drives on to find parking elsewhere. Brenda waits in her car for at least five minutes before she sees the Captain coming up the sidewalk. She opens her door and waves her down.

"I called ahead from the car," Raydor says. "We'll probably have to wait, but it'll be worth it."

"I'm in no rush, Captain," Brenda says, following her through the creaky, wooden door into the crowded, warm restaurant. It smells amazing - it smells like home. "Is this…?"

"Soul food," Raydor says.

"Soul food," Brenda repeats, a little humbled. "Captain, I-"

"Hang on," Raydor says, touching her shoulder briefly and stepping over to talk to the hostess. They exchange a few words and Raydor smiles and nods. Comes back and says, "They're going to seat us now. I told them outside is okay."

"I didn't know there was an outside," Brenda says.

Outside is a tiny deck with three tables, each with a little lantern in the middle.

"Thanks," Raydor says when they're seated. It's cool out here, but not too cold and Brenda feels strangely disconnected from the entire situation. Here she is, sitting across from a woman she has cursed and hated, and she is actually sort of looking forward to the evening. Good food that reminds her of home, a small deck with tiny, twinkly white lights strung above them. Captain Raydor looking at her like they might, for once, be on the same team.

"What's your favorite?" Raydor asks. "I usually get gumbo."

"I like fried chicken, 'specially if I don't have to make it myself," Brenda says. "Not that I've ever done that successfully."

Raydor gives her a patient smile.

"Should we get to it, Captain?" Brenda asks, pulling out her packet on the case.

"What if just for this case, what if you called me Sharon," she says. "Don't you think that would be easier? More convincing?"

Brenda nods.

"After this over, we can go right back to the way things were."

"Sharon," Brenda says, trying it out. "Yeah, that's probably for the best."

She doesn't give her permission to use her first name but she doesn't say that she can't. Still, it never comes up through dinner and beer, through going over the details of the case, through Sharon telling her to dress "more like a Californian."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brenda demands.

"Maybe leave the tiny pink flower patterns at home," Sharon says as they toss their credit cards onto the tray with the check. When the server comes, Brenda tells her to split down the middle.

"I'll butch it up," Brenda promises.

"Oh," Sharon says. "I don't think anyone would buy that."

Brenda rolls her eyes, laughs. "Maybe not."

She offers to drive Sharon to her car, but the Captain declines.

"This was good," she says, outside Brenda's car. "I hope… I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to work with me."

"It ain't you, exactly," Brenda says, full and feeling a touch honest, especially since Sharon has actually been pretty nice about things and beer always sits warm in her tummy and makes her honest. "I just like to be in control of my cases, that's all."

"And this isn't your case?" Sharon asks.

"We'll see," Brenda says. "See you tomorrow, Sharon."

"Good night." Sharon gives her a three fingered wave, a little ripple, and heads down the sidewalk.

oooo

Brenda wears a black pencil skirt and a white, button down blouse. Boring, but form fitting and she can't help but wear a pair of hot pink heels. She's sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating a bowl of raisin bran when Fritz comes into get coffee and stops, stares at her.

"If you were my principal, I'd get detention every day," he says.

She stares at him over the rims of her glasses and frowns. "You don't serve detention with the principal," she says.

"You know what I mean," he says, moving to the coffee pot. "Hot for teacher."

"I'm tryin' to look like a lesbian!" she says. "Sharon and I have to go scout the warehouse today!"

"That's you being a lesbian?" he asks with a grin.

"Sharon said no florals," she says. "But she didn't say no pink."

Fritz takes the paper she's reading and carefully extracts the sports section before sitting down. "So it's Sharon now?"

"We have to pretend to like each other," Brenda says, shrugging. "What am I gonna say? This is my girlfriend, Police Captain Raydor?"

"Oh your girlfriend, is it?" he asks.

"Take it up with Pope, G-Man," she says, standing and carrying her bowl to the sink. "I'm just followin' orders."

"Please be careful," he says. "I'll be very upset if you get kidnapped and taken to Mexico."

"I will be," she says. "We're just pokin' around today." She leans over and gives him a kiss. "I'm sure Commander Taylor will let you ride along in the surveillance van if you want."

He scowls. "We have our own van, Brenda."

"Suit yourself," she says.

oooo

Sharon shows up at her office an hour before they're scheduled to meet with Pope and Taylor and Cooper.

And she's wearing, basically, the same thing Brenda is. Tight black pencil skirt, a button down blouse, though hers is green, and red lipstick. A shiny heel.

"This isn't going to work," Sharon says instead of saying hello. "We can't both look like this."

"You told me no flowers!" Brenda exclaims hotly.

"I didn't tell you to vamp it up," Sharon scolds. "I thought that you understood that no flowers meant to try pants!"

"I guess I have time to go home," Brenda says, though she doesn't, probably. "Though I don't have a better idea than this."

"Come up to my office, I brought some options," Sharon says.

"Your office?"

"Yes, I have one," Sharon says. "Just because you drag me down here all the time doesn't mean I don't have an office."

"I wasn't implyin' that," Brenda says. "But if you were so sure I was gonna blow it, why didn't you just bring your clothes with you?"

"You didn't blow it," Sharon says. "Obviously. You look fine. Just not right for the part. Come on, we can fix it. We have time."

Sharon's office is half the size of Brenda's but it's got a better view and isn't a fishbowl in the middle of her division. She's got four solid walls and a door and a window just to let in some light. Brenda hesitates in the doorway, ignoring the desks to her back and the people staring at them, and Sharon pulls a canvas bag out from a filing cabinet.

"Come in," she says. "Shut that."

Brenda complies.

"My daughter is about your build," Sharon says. "And she's an athlete so I raided what she left behind."

"An athlete," Brenda says uneasily. Sharon pulls out some brown pants and a tank top with thin straps that cross in the back. A pair of sturdy looking shoes that are a little more like a hiking boot than a sneaker. "If you pull a flannel shirt out of that bag, I swear to god-"

"No," Sharon says. "That's a stereotype."

But she does pull out a drab looking olive button down thing.

"This is mine," she admits.

"And I'm the one that has to wear all of this because?"

"Because Emily is a size four, a small, and wears a six and a half shoe," Sharon snaps. "Who does that sound like?"

Brenda stares at her. "Four might be loose," she says, finally.

Sharon snorts and hands her the clothes. "Come on, try them on and if they don't fit, we'll run down to Target."

"Here?"

Sharon rolls her eyes and turns around. "I won't look."

"I could go to the ladies' room," she says, hesitating.

"Oh that's a good idea," Sharon says. "And then you can stop along the way and ask everyone in my division what they think about your new, lesbian outfit."

"You know," Brenda says, unbuttoning her blouse and yanking it up out of the waist of her skirt. "You could be, I don't know. Not a bitch?"

"You first," Sharon mutters and Brenda has half a mind to write her up for insubordination except for that she's shrugging off her blouse and she can't exactly enforce authority when she's standing five feet away from her in nothing but a skirt, a black bra, and pink heels.

She shimmies out of the skirt and the pants actually fit pretty well. A little loose, just enough so they sit just below her hip bones.

"I don't have the right bra for this top," she says, holding it up. Sharon turns around to stay something and then whips her head back to the window, realizing that Brenda hasn't quite finished yet.

"So wear it without the bra," Sharon says.

"What's your bra size, Captain?" Brenda snaps.

"You can't have mine."

"Let me guess. 34B? C, maybe?"

"Maybe," Sharon says.

"Well I'm a 32DD," she says. "There's no such thing as no bra."

"You won't be able to see the straps with the overshirt on," Sharon says after a moment.

"Do lesbians care about showin' bra straps?" Brenda asks as she pulls the tank top over her head.

"I don't speak for all lesbians, I'm afraid," Sharon says.

"I'm decent enough," Brenda says and Sharon turns back around. Watches her shrug on the olive colored shirt and lift her hair from beneath the collar. "Why are you smirkin' at me?"

"You look so…"

"Gay?"

"Small," she says. "I think it's the flat shoes."

"You're like one inch taller than me," Brenda says. "At most."

"Okay," Sharon says, sitting her office chair. Brenda sits in the chair across from her.

"I don't have socks."

"I'm supposed to be a lawyer," Sharon says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a balled up pair of white socks. She extends them to Brenda who takes them with a huff. "You're a small business owner? What does that mean. It means nothing."

"Exactly," Brenda says, pulling the socks on. They're the kind meant to stay hidden in the shoes, coming up to just below her ankle. The toes are pink. She tries not to think that these are probably Sharon's socks and not her daughter's.

The shoes fit well, too. Damn it.

"Exactly what?"

"I can play it by ear, is all," Brenda says. "Don't worry about the lies, Cap-Sharon. I'll do the talkin'."

"This is you preparing me for the op?" she asks skeptically.

"I can't train you in undercover work in an afternoon," Brenda says. "But you know me well enough, now, I think. You can just follow my lead."

"I don't understand why they don't have you go in alone," she frets.

"Have you ever done an undercover operation, Captain?" Brenda demands now. "Because you know good and well why we don't send police officers in alone."

"I've participated in… well, not where I'm the one…" Sharon stammers.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Brenda says. "And if you aren't sure what to do, just stand there, shut up, and look pretty."

Sharon narrows her eyes.

oooo

Will laughs when he sees her. Brenda refrains, only just, from sticking out her tongue at him. No one laughs at Sharon, she notices, but they do give her a long glance. She curses Sharon's daughter for being Brenda's size and not tall and lithe like her mama. Her daughter certainly doesn't have the bust that Brenda has, because the straps of the tank top are digging into her skin a bit.

She and Sharon are tailed by the van all the way to the warehouse. They use one of the undercover cars, a small green SUV. There's a small power struggle over who is going to drive until Brenda just points to her shoes and shakes the keys at Sharon. "I've given up enough for you today, thank you."

Sharon tucks her chin, but it doesn't hide the eyeroll. They get all wired up before they go, so they are both aware that everyone in the van behind them can hear every single word.

They ride quietly until, at a long stoplight, Sharon says, "Your ponytail is too high. You look like a cheerleader."

"That's a stereotype," Brenda parrots back snidely. "And anyway there's not one way to look like a lesbian and it's homophobic to think that."

"I agree," Sharon says. "But you don't look like someone who wants to purchase an industrial warehouse either."

"Do I look like someone easy to kidnap and sell into sexual slavery?" Brenda demands.

"You do in that ponytail," Sharon says softly. She can practically hear the guys laughing in the van.

The light turns green and Brenda reaches up and yanks the elastic out of her hair. Shakes her head a little, her hair settling around her shoulders.

"I'll talk, you take a good walk around, give the boys in the van the full show," Brenda says. "Captain." She adds it so Sharon knows it's an order, not a suggestion.

"What if he thinks I'm your attorney and you just like to hike?" Sharon asks.

"The only comforting thing about any of this is that I've finally found your weakness," Brenda says. "Pretending."

She thinks she'll glance over and see a scowl but when she looks, Sharon's mouth is curled up at the corners.

"We'll see," she says.

The man who meets them is ten minutes late and everyone is very tense. Sharon and Brenda, waiting in the car, the van parked around the corner full of their guys. No one makes any small talk, even the voices in Brenda's ear are quiet. Brenda keeps staring at Sharon's hands, her dark red fingernails. Had they been that red during dinner the night before? She's certain they had not. She glances down at her own hands, dry and unvarnished. Her nails look a little ragged, actually. She curls her fingers into her palms, tucks her thumbs away.

"Heads up, ladies," says Taylor's voice in their ear and they both sit up straight. "He's here."

They both get out of the car; Sharon holds her hand up to her brow against the sunlight to get a good look at him. Brenda walks around to Sharon's side of the car and reaches out, runs her hand lightly along her bare forearm and says, softly, "You'll do fine."

Partially to comfort her, partially because the performance has already begun. Sharon manages to hide her surprise but Brenda can feel it under her fingers anyway, the little flinch. Sharon's skin is soft and smooth. Brenda's own arm is covered in fine blonde hair but Sharon's feels as smooth as a baby, hairless and brand new.

A lot of Sharon's worry disappears when they start talking to the man. He's got such a heavy Russian accent, his English so broken, that Brenda slips into conversing with him in Russian before she thinks much about consequences and the guy seems pretty relieved about it, actually.

Sharon says, "I'm going to take a look around."

Brenda keeps an eye on Sharon as they speak, watches her distantly as she pokes around and spins in place, trying to get a long shot of everything. Brenda tells the man, Marat Sokolov, that they're looking for someplace to store inventory for their business, that they sell medical supplies. Boring, nondescript.

Finally, in her ear softly, Gabriel's voice. "English, Chief, please?"

"Sharon," Brenda calls. "Mr. Sokolov says it's quiet round here. Mostly storage. Ain't that what we're lookin' for?"

Sharon comes back, stands close enough to Brenda that their arms brush. Brenda had intentionally left the collar of the olive shirt rumpled in hopes that Sharon might try to fix it and she does so now, perfectly playing the part. Reaching out to fuss with the fabric, smoothing it with a smile. An intimate gesture. Brenda smiles at her.

"Well," Sharon says. "Yes, but I was hoping if we purchase something it could be dual purpose."

Marat looks hard at Brenda, confused and she translates for him that Sharon was interested in somewhere they could throw a party if they wanted and his face lights up.

"Party!" he says in English. "Party yes. Party here. You come?"

"Here?" Sharon asks. "Sorry, I don't speak Russian like Brenda."

He tilts his head. "She okay. Funny accent."

Sharon smiles. "It's funny in English, too."

Brenda forces herself not to glare and instead slips her hand into Sharon's, lacing their fingers tight. "You have parties here?" she asks.

"Yes, yes, my son," he says. "One last one before we sell. If you like party, you come see, yes? Decide for selves?" He glances down at their entwined hands. "I get you you… uh… paper…?" He looks at Brenda for help and says "Listovka?"

"Flyer," she says. "Okay. That might be good. You want to come check it out?" This to Sharon who tilts her head.

"Could be fun," she says. "Can we bring some of our friends?"

"Da, da," he says. "Konechno!"

Sharon glances at her, her palm sweaty. Brenda just nods. "Of course, he said."

"Well thank you so much for your time today, Mr. Sokolov," Sharon says, releasing Brenda's hand to shake his. He hesitates for just a moment and then grips Sharon's fingers limply before dropping her hand completely and shoving his hand into his pocket.

"Flyer in truck," he says. "You come."

So they exit the warehouse, squinting against the sunshine. Brenda tilts her head toward the car and Sharon breaks off, grateful for the reprieve.

Brenda takes the flyer from Mr. Sokolov and she can smell the inside of his truck clinging to it - stale cigarettes and coffee. She thanks him again, promises that they'll be in touch.

"Your girlfriend is very pretty," he says in his strained, strange english.

"I think so too," she says.

"She come with you to party?"

"Oh," says Brenda. "Yeah. Count on it."

He squints his eyes just a little, smiles. "Khorosho."

oooo

"Russian?" Will sputters as soon as they get into his office.

"What do you want, Will, his english was shitty." Brenda's tired, her body feeling wrung out now that the stress is behind her. She's still in Sharon's clothes, more comfortable, anyway, than she usually is at work. She slumps in one of the chairs around his conference table, knees apart, spine curved. She catches Sharon staring at her and she swears the woman winks, amused, like Brenda is still playing her part. Maybe she is. Maybe she's method. After all, it's always been easier to be someone else than to carry of the weight of being her own, worn out self.

"What if he wants to know why you spoke Russian?" Will demands.

"I told him I learned it for my work with the CIA," she says dryly. Will turns bright red. "Oh, I know, you can call your on-call Russian translator to make sure I didn't mess anything up. Captain Raydor, do you recall who is the on-call Russian translator currently for the LAPD?"

"It would be you, Chief Johnson," she says. "I believe."

"So it would, Captain, so it would," Brenda says, gathering her hair into her hands and securing it with the thick elastic on her wrist. Not a cheerleading ponytail, but at least it's out of her face.

"Chief Pope, allow me to point out that this operation was a success. We know about the location and have been personally invited to the event where the kidnapping is supposed to take place. Not only was that Chief Johnson's doing but thanks to her, we've got an open invitation to bring as many officers as we need. So I think the phrase you're searching for, sir, is 'thank you'."

Pope stares at Raydor, his face red, his eyes narrowed. "Your opinion is noted, Captain. Now, I'm ordering both of you to report to SIS to turn in your footage and Brenda, let me be clear - I don't want you to step one foot out of this building until your entire conversation with Mr. Solokav-"

"Sokolav," Brenda corrects.

"Until your entire conversation has been transcribed," he bellows.

"Fine," Brenda says, getting to her feet and heading for the door.

"Dismissed," Pope says to her retreating back.

Sharon catches up with her in the hallway.

"You didn't have to stand up for me," Brenda says.

"You're welcome," Sharon says tersely, her heels clicking down the hall.

"I was going to say thank you if you give me half a second!" Brenda says.

"Think of it this way, Chief," she says. "If we work well enough together, he'll never let us do it again."

"There's an encouragin' thought," Brenda says with a grin.