Trigger Warning: Depiction of domestic violence, drinking and driving

Chapter Rating: M (for dark subject matter)

A/N: This is going to get dark, please be careful & make sure you're in a good head space – in all seriousness, this is about as intense as I'll ever get with this story. Additionally, I'd like to stress that this will never delve into the domestic violence realm. All that being said, I still felt the warning was necessary considering the fact that certain events push the envelope and that last thing I want on my conscience is someone being triggered. This was a difficult chapter to write, I hope I've treated the matter in a respectful but true-to-life way. In light of this chapter and recent events in the media, if you or someone you know is struggling...

National Drug Information, Treatment, and Referral Hotline: 800-662-HELP

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-SAFE

Alcohol Abuse and Crisis Intervention Hotline: 800-234-0246

"leave unsaid, unspoken

eyes wide shut, unopened

you and me, always be, between the lines."

Fritz ducked silently out of the meeting while everyone circled for the Serenity Prayer. Perhaps sobriety wasn't all it was cracked up to be? Initially he'd felt better, sharing the intimate details behind his most recent fall off the wagon with a community who'd also experienced its fair share of relapse. But honestly, the Special Agent was tired of feeling different. Now that he was free do whatever he pleased, when he wanted, without having to answer to anyone, there wasn't much reason he could figure to dissuade him from enjoying the occasional drink with the new woman in his life (or his FBI buddies after work). And while they hadn't exactly made plans this evening, he was hoping she'd be free before his undercover detail early tomorrow. Until then, he'd wait downtown – maybe get in a few rounds of pool or a couple of games of darts before the restaurant cut her shift.

"So what do I do," the blonde tentatively inquired, refusing to glance up and meet Sharon's gaze. Instead she focused solely on spearing the last few cake crumbs with her fork. While they'd cleared the air, the younger woman couldn't quite shake the feeling that her insensitive, impulsive actions had possibly done irreconcilable damage to their budding friendship. Normally the Chief's uncanny ability to infuriate those closest to her wasn't too upsetting, she certainly didn't lose sleep over it. But with Sharon everything seemed different. Had the brunette not shown up on her doorstep, well Brenda had seriously debated driving over and firmly planting herself on the older woman's front porch until they'd worked it out. She'd never admit it out loud, but the blonde had slowly been losing her mind over the fact that she'd possibly lost Sharon – and honestly, it scared the shit out of her. After the last few months of heartache, Brenda finally felt she'd gotten to a place of comfortable solitude. Well maybe not comfortable, but the blonde had resigned herself to a life alone. Without too many close relationships, there wasn't much chance of getting hurt, of someone leaving. Then Sharon had ever so slowly nudged her way into the Chief's life, challenging the notion that life was best spent alone.

"How am I supposed to work with him? Knowin' he's just lookin' for a way to get me fired," she practically whispered, feeling raw, a bit exposed, silently praying that Fritz wouldn't make things even worse. "I can't just pretend…"

"Brenda, I'm not asking you to pretend," Sharon sighed. "You need to keep things brief, civil – limit your interactions to LAPD matters only."

The blonde responded with a sad laugh, shaking her head at how quickly this mess had bled into her usually impenetrable work environment. Agent Howard knew a great deal about her, things she'd never imagined he'd consider exposing, all those little weak spots and personal shortcomings. But now, it was hard to trust he'd keep anything in confidence – apparently ruining her professional reputation outweighed good judgment or any sense of loyalty, respect for the happier years they spent together.

"Hey – I'm on your side. It's okay, we'll work this mess out, just trust me." The older woman punctuated her words with a light squeeze to Brenda's hand.

Well of course the blonde trusted Sharon, after all they'd been through – Goldman, Ann, Pope, and that was merely scratching the surface. Honestly, at this point, the Captain could announce the sky was actually red or fish really walked on land and Brenda wouldn't bat an eye before placing her full trust in the older woman's claims. So she'd step back, allow the system to work (perhaps also allow the brunette to work the system), and attempt to wait patiently, calmly, for things to blow over.

Sharon looked up, noting the time on the microwave. Cake finished and apologies out-of-the-way – well she didn't want to overstay her welcome. Even though the blonde had assured her they'd fixed their recent miscommunication, things still felt a little forced, fake even. For once, she wasn't quite able to read the younger woman; an ability she'd come to rely on during recent months when all else failed. And she just looked so incredibly sad. It took all the strength Sharon could muster to not jump the table and wrap the blonde in her arms, convince her things would be okay, there was light at the end if this ridiculously long, dark tunnel. Maybe they needed distance?

"Well thanks for sharing the cake, Brenda," the brunette scooped up her dish and headed toward the sink. "I should probably be getting home…"

"You're leavin' already?" The younger woman hadn't meant for that to sound so desperate.

"I haven't been home yet. I'd intended to stop by the store for dinner...but got a little sidetracked at the bakery," Sharon grinned. And for the first time, in all their years of professional interaction, Brenda was given the rare opportunity to see a genuine smile from the other women - it took her breath away. It was something so simple, beautiful, the way the brunette's eyes twinkled, those small lines became more pronounced. That little glimpse of the real Sharon, the woman normally hidden firmly behind her Captain Raydor mask, she was someone Brenda wouldn't mind seeing a smile from everyday.

"Why don't you stay? I know you're awful fond of the rules, but dessert before dinner never hurt anyone. We could order some Chinese, watch a movie, bitch about Taylor givin' that terrible briefin' to the media last week."

"I'd love to," Sharon politely responded, knowing full well she'd never actually say no, not when it came to the Deputy Chief. Who really needed distance anyway?

Fritz swerved into the driveway, hardly noticing the Captain's Crown Vic a few hundred yards away. Stumbling out of the car, he tripped up the sidewalk, careening ungracefully toward the door. Perhaps that fourth jack and coke hadn't been the best idea? Fumbling with the keys, he was surprised to find the blonde had recently changed the lock – his set would no longer turn the deadbolt. Perfect, just perfect. Because Brenda Leigh Johnson hadn't ruined his life enough…

The blonde swore she heard the doorbell ring, but glancing over at an unflinching Sharon, assumed it was maybe just part of whatever awful movie the older woman had vowed she'd enjoy. Unfortunately the Chief couldn't seem to get past the female lead losing all memory in a horrible accident, but somehow still having a desire to regain those fuzzy recollections. It seemed a little far-fetched, to say the least. While she'd never hope for tragedy, she wouldn't mind a little situational amnesia now and then. And there was the bell again...odd, it was a little before 11 – not exactly prime time for house guests. Perhaps she'd caught a case and Gabriel stopped in route? But her phone hadn't rang.

"Are you expecting someone, Brenda? I can get going…" The older woman slowly started to hoist herself up, smoothing the lines of her pants as she stood.

"No! No Sharon, stay, finish the movie. I'll be right back, someone must be mixin' up my house with the neighbors."

As Brenda headed toward the door, the Captain let out a breath she'd been holding. While the brunette felt safe in her surroundings, it was hard to simply undue decades of police training and this late night visitor had immediately put her on high alert. Midnight guests, no matter how innocent they appeared, were always cause for a bit of alarm. Quickly she scanned the living room, noting the location of her purse (which currently housed her side arm) and the back door – just in case. While she knew there probably no reason for alarm, it was always best to be safe.

Sliding the peephole cover up, Brenda let out an audible sigh. Fuck.

"Brenda, I know you're in there. Let me in, we need to talk," he slurred before stumbling over, more than a little intoxicated. "I saw light in the peephole, I know you're there…"

Taking a final cleansing breath, she turned the deadbolt and cracked the door, bracing it with her weight to prevent him from entering. "Fritz, now's not a good time," she seethed. "Maybe you could come back tomorrow, when you're feelin' better. " When you're feeling less drunk is what she'd wanted to say. But she knew from years of interrogation experience, angering someone with minimal control on their inhibitions would most likely end in a knock-down drag out – and it'd been such a lovely evening till now.

"Oh I'm feeling just fine, Brenda Leigh. In fact, I'm feeling better than I've felt in months, well years really."

"Brenda – is everything okay?" Sharon called, rounding the corner. Hearing raised voices, her body had instinctively reacted before giving her brain time to catch up – propelling her almost automatically toward the blonde's distressed tone.

"Is that Captain Raydor?" Fritz was surprised to hear the older woman's distinct voice. So they were friends now? It was rather hard to believe - but stranger things had happened, he guessed.

"We're fine, Sharon," the blonde lied, opening the door and ushering Fritz inside. Looking back, that'd been her first mistake. She'd been too preoccupied with convincing the older woman that everything was okay, she'd neglected to keep a very intoxicated Agent Howard at arm's length. "I'll be back in two shakes, Fritzie just needed a few things he forgot." Grabbing the man by the arm, she led him unceremoniously upstairs toward the master bedroom. Once they'd crossed the threshold, she slammed the door, turning to face him. "What are you doin' here?! You can't just show up, drunk, hollerin' about how we need to talk."

"You changed the locks," the Agent deadpanned, trying to maintain composure as the alcohol coursed through, inhibiting almost any chance of self-control.

"Well of course I changed the locks. You made it pretty clear how you felt about us, about this marriage, fallin' into bed with someone else."

"This is my house too, Brenda – you can't just…" He stumbled, faltered on his feet, but caught himself before he managed to crash into the bureau.

"Was your house, was," she spat. "And why are you here, anyway? I'm havin' a hard time believin' it's cuz I changed the locks. Considerin' you couldn't have figured that out till now."

Fritz's head was spinning. At some point he remembered having a reason for coming over, but now was hard pressed to figure out exactly what it'd been. Now he found himself equal parts angry and exhausted. He'd never be able to forgive the blonde, who obviously had already begun to move on, reorganizing her life without him in it. That hadn't exactly been the scenario he'd imagined. In fact, he would've bet a pretty penny on her crashing and burning, life spiraling spectacularly out of control once she'd realized he wasn't coming back. Did she not see how important he was to her very existence? Had all those little things he'd taken care of, all the sacrifices he'd made, had they really meant nothing? Shifting gears, he suddenly remembered the quick exchange the two women had made downstairs. The blonde had told Sharon he was simply there to collect things he'd forgotten – she was already running around the LAPD, telling even her arch-nemesis the state of their relationship? What was next, getting back together with Pope? Well that was something he just wouldn't stand for…

"So you're telling people," he snarled, challenging her with a piercing glare.

"Tellin' people what?" Brenda was having a hard time following his swift transition and an even harder time keeping eye contact, considering the man couldn't seem to focus for more than a few moments.

"About us, about this," he indicated.

"I hardly think talkin' to Sharon about our split - "

"So you are telling people! Who's next, Will Pope? Or maybe Flynn? I hear he's always had a thing for you…" Fritz could no longer hold it together. If the blonde thought for one moment he'd allow her to drag his name through the gutter, disrespect him; turn him into the laughing-stock of the FBI by getting back together with Will Pope. Well, she had another thing coming.

"What are you talking about? I'm not gettin' together with anyone. And even if I were, it wouldn't be any of your business. Especially considerin' your eye's been wanderin' for far longer then mine."The blonde crossed her arms in defiance, settling back on her hip.

"You know what Brenda, fuck you."

"Oh that's real mature," she snickered, unable to hold back a rather pronounced eye-roll.

"No – you know what's mature? Respecting the people who care about you. Thinking of anyone, anyone besides you first. That's mature."

"So instead of sayin' you're unhappy, maybe givin' me a heads up – you go out and sleep with someone else," she choked out the last bit. And that, that's what hurt the most. Knowing instead of simply being honest, telling her how neglected he'd apparently felt, he ran off and left her to pick up the pieces, alone. Just like everyone else she'd loved, he left. Never giving her the opportunity to fix things, or at least understand how they'd broken so spectacularly. But no - she wouldn't let him see her cry; she'd shed far too many tears on this relationship. "'Cuz that's so mature." Taking a deep breath, the blonde swiped at her eyes. "I want you out, now. You made your bed, Fritz Howard, the day you decided to fall into someone else's. I'm sure she's a real catch, hope you two are real happy together…"

"Shut up, Brenda - you know nothing about her, about what we have."

"I know one thing, if she's just fine with you cheatin' on me – it's only a matter of time before she'll cheat on you," she smirked darkly, more than aware of the ground she was slowly regaining in this argument. "Remember, I was the other woman once too." Once the words left her mouth, the blonde saw the immediate shift in the Agent's demeanor. She'd meant to inflict as much damage as possible, hit his weak spot, that constant doubt that one day she'd fall back into the arms of Will Pope.

Everything went black, rage overtaking any good judgment Fritz had been hopelessly clinging to. Before he'd registered the action, the Agent was grabbing for a lamp, ripping the cord out of the wall socket and hurling it toward the blonde's general direction. Brenda ducked out of instinct as the light shattered against the wall. Time suddenly slowed, glass rained down over the woman, slicing into her palm as she attempted to protect her face. Then things went hazy, fuzzy around the edges. At some point Sharon burst into the room, voice raised, demanding Fritz get out before she called for backup. Scooping up the shaken blonde in her arms, Brenda felt the older woman tightly wrap her hand before gently guiding her toward the car. Once she'd deposited the blonde in the passenger seat, Sharon started the car and headed toward the highway. After a few minutes, Brenda slowly began to orient back to the present.

"Where are we going?"

"Hospital – you're probably going to need stitches," she clipped, eyes still focused on the road.

"Oh no, no Sharon, that won't be necessary. I'm just fine. I'll wrap it up in some gauze, it'll be as good as new come morning."

"No, we're going. You need to have that looked at, you're bleeding pretty bad."

"I promise, I'll be fine…"

"Brenda, stop. We're going."

They were silent for the rest of the ride, hardly speaking while they sat in the Emergency Room's waiting area. Thankfully, it was a rather slow night and they were almost immediately rushed back from the triage with a quick flash of Sharon's badge.

As Brenda's legs swung freely off the exam table, she finally felt ready to break the self-imposed silence. "What do I tell them?" The blonde practically whispered, refusing to meet the Captain's eye, focusing instead on the dots scattered across the linoleum. "This really wasn't necessary, Captain. I'm completely fine."

Sharon noticed the sudden reversal back to rank, knowing the younger woman was attempting to assert what little power she could over a situation that was obviously causing her immense pain. "Brenda, you're hand's still bleeding. We both know you need stitches." Looking up to face the younger woman, she could see the dread, the embarrassment, the fear, even if she refused to look at her - Sharon knew that feeling all too well, although it'd been some time since the dissolution of her own marriage. After a few tense moments, the brunette let out an audible sigh. "We were washing dishes after the movie – I handed you one, it slipped."

"But that's not what…"

"I understand, probably better than you think. But you need to promise that's it, no more letting him back in," Sharon demanded, enunciating every word to convey how serious she was. "I know he's not normally like that, it's the alcohol. But as long as he's drinking, you've got to be smart. You need to promise you'll lock your door, pretend you aren't home, call me if he comes knocking."

"I promise."Brenda didn't need to promise however, there was no chance Fritz Howard would ever be making another appearance in her life, drunk or otherwise, again. She'd heard of women, one's who took the guy back, or excused this kind of erratic, horrible behavior as simply an accident or a result of their own nagging. And yes, alcohol could drastically alter a person's disposition. But Brenda was not that woman - there was no excuse, mind-alerted or not, that would force her to believe for one second Fritz deserved another chance. They'd both contributed to the demise of this marriage, there was no denying that. But regardless of all the wrong she'd done, he had no right, none, to come waltzing up to her door, belittling her character, accusing her of sins she'd never committed. Obviously whatever inner turmoil the Agent was experiencing, it went much deeper than the blonde. This was a road he needed to walk down alone, Brenda refused to continue to live her life at the mercy of her estranged, drunk husband.

"I'm holding you to that, Chief," the older woman stated sternly before adding, "and we'll meet with Chief Pope tomorrow? Discuss how to proceed?"

Brenda nodded, suddenly overwhelming grateful Sharon had stayed.

Two numbing shots, seven stitches, and a rather large pain pill later, Brenda was exhausted and more than a little loopy. Thankfully the Captain had wordlessly volunteered to help the younger woman into the house, taking care to minimize using her injured hand. Once she'd settled the blonde in bed, assembling a pseudo command post of two bottles of water, a few Advil, and her iPhone on the bedside table, Sharon went about quickly vacuuming the broken glass strewn across the bedroom floor. Satisfied with the hasty, but thorough job, hoping to avoid another possible hazardous situation for Brenda, the brunette glanced down at her watch, 1:37.

"Well it's getting late, I'm going to head home…"she called, grabbing for her purse and keys.

Even in her hazy state, the blonde suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed by the prospect of sleeping alone. The house felt too big, as if it'd swallow her whole the moment Sharon walked out the front door. She couldn't leave, not now, not when there was still possibly glass on the carpet, drops of blood staining her floor, making this entire evening terrifyingly real – instead of just some nightmare she'd eventually wake from. Brenda couldn't face this alone, not yet.

"Sharon," she choked out, fighting back a sob. "Sharon, please – I need, I, please stay."

"Okay," she slowly enunciated.

"I'm sorry, I know it's askin' a lot, but I don't want to be here alone…"

"Brenda, it's fine, I'm not going anywhere," the Captain sighed. "Let me just go grab my emergency bag in the car."

Sharon hadn't exactly asked for clarification as to where she was supposed to sleep and the blonde hadn't given any indication. Face washed and teeth brushed, the sweatpants and old t-shirt clad Captain settled next to the younger woman, who appeared rather enthralled in an episode of House Hunters: International. When Brenda didn't protest her presence, the brunette resigned herself to bunking with the Chief for the remainder of the evening (well, morning). Hopefully she wasn't a bed hog, or a cover hog, the older woman was hoping for at least a few hours of quality rest.

Rolling toward the wall, Sharon closed her eyes and attempted to focus solely on evening out her breaths, willing herself toward sleep that was probably hours away. She heard the blonde click off the television and felt a slight weight shift as Brenda reached to flick off the bedside lamp. Occasionally she felt the younger woman turn, apparently equally restless.

The events of the last few hours hit Brenda like an 18-wheeler - overwhelming, all-consuming. All those doubts, the fears she'd bottled up, pushed aside amid the anger directed solely at that FBI Agent. This was it, their breaking point, the bottom had unceremoniously dropped. It was startlingly, suddenly, officially over; there was no turning back. At yet here she was, still breathing, with the brunette by her side. Her presence alone was humbling, the fact that Sharon continued to stick around, for reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom. And with each passing day, she looked a little more to the older woman for wordless support, un-judgmental understanding - the thought of ever losing Sharon was terrifying. But keeping her close would eventually lead to nothing but heartache. The hopelessness of it all was shocking and she could no longer hold back a sob.

Sharon heard the cry, heart breaking for the younger woman. Without thinking, she flipped toward the blonde, reaching out her arms and pulling the smaller woman close. Brenda rolled even closer, burying her face in a curtain of brown hair. Resting her chin in the crook of Sharon's neck, she sobbed.

"Shhh - I'm right here Brenda Leigh, I'm not going anywhere," the brunette husked, gently tucking back a stray lock of blonde hair.