The Lady and the Detective by DD Agent

I do not own The Closer or any of its characters, or its settings

He found her in the memorial garden. She was looking at the wall, staring blankly at all the men and women who had died in service of the LAPD. Her hands were curling themselves into balls, and Andy Flynn could only watch her, wondering why she was here instead of at her desk.

"Hey Chief."

She looked up, smiling at him weakly. He came over and joined her on the bench, deciding she needed some company. There were over two hundred officers immortalised on those walls. Some he remembered, some he had spoken too and even drunk with. A lot he hadn't, and yet he felt each one as a personal loss. He wondered why, of all the places in the LAPD and indeed Los Angeles, she had come here.

"I found this place after you were stabbed. Provenza called me that night, I was in the office and I got lost and discovered this. I just sat here for what seemed like hours, and I kept wondering if I was going to be seeing your name go up on this wall."

He was touched by her words, and he reached over to squeeze her hand. She seemed grateful at the contact. "No, it never would go up, Chief. I'm not that important."

She squeezed his hand back, running her fingers up and down his. He laced them together, smiling at their joint hands. He felt sad in the knowledge that this was one of the few moments of physical contact he had had with her. He looked over, and saw that she was thinking the exact same thing. "You are, Andy. You are more important than you know."

He smiled at her words, beaming so brightly he outshone the sun. "We should go back inside, it's cold."

Brenda stood up, and Flynn noticed that she was shivering. He hadn't seen her since early that morning when she had doled out assignments on their current murder. Andy wondered how long she had been sitting out there, thinking about the dead.

"Here," he said, dragging his coat off of his shoulders and putting it around hers.

"Now you'll get cold," Brenda whispered, putting her hands against his waistcoat. He was always so nicely dressed, well tailored. He looked like a gentleman, a proper one. Brenda was hoping that beneath all that stitching and silk he wasn't.

Andy noticed the position of her hands, noticed how they were stroking exactly where his heart was. He was sure she could feel it racing, feel how much he enjoyed and coveted her touch. She smiled as he did, his eyes growing dark with possibilities. She was right, he wasn't a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't kiss another man's wife.

"Brenda." He couldn't get out any other words. He didn't want to either - didn't want to make statements and suggestions that she was in shock, that she needed to go upstairs and find her husband and kiss him and be with him. That whatever she was going through after the last case with the addict, he wasn't the answer. But he stayed silent. He had wanted her for six years, been friends with her for five, been in love with her for one.


There was no one else in the garden, and for that he was grateful. He moved his arms around her waist, feeling the edges of the shirt she had worn to work that day. She felt so soft under his touch, felt so right in his arms. They fitted together perfectly, his arms were the right length to hold her, and her arms slotted around his neck like they were built for that purpose alone.

He could smell her perfume; it was like long LA summers outside. Her fingers stroked his cheeks, the nape of his neck. Time had stopped, the world had stopped, it was just them in the garden and neither of them cared about anything other than that.

Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her neck. Her breathe hitched as he pressed his lips to her soft skin. Andy pulled her closer to him as he slowly caressed her neck, enjoying the contours of her collar bone. Her breathing slowed, and she gripped onto his neck tighter. His lips broke the surface of her chin, and suddenly pulled away.

She looked at him, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled, her thumb tracing the edge of his lips. She had wanted this for a while, intrigued by the prospect of how soft his lips were, how his hands would fit around her hips. She smiled, keeping her eyes open. She wanted to see Andy kissing her. His head moved again, but his lips went to her ear. She gripped his shoulders like they were dancing.

"Can I be emotional now?"

Brenda laughed against his ear, as his hands moved up to hold her face. His thumbs brushed over her eyelids, and she waited for the feel of his lips against hers. Her body craved it, needed to feel the delicate brush of skin on skin. His lips were like a faint whisper, delicately making contact before retreating. She opened her mouth automatically, and Flynn kissed the corner before slipping his lips between hers. He sucked on her bottom lip, grinning at her sighs of enjoyment. He loved feeling her pressed against him, and their limbs changed places to grip the other person as close as they could be.

Hers was the first tongue to move and strike lips. Feeling her passion, Andy's own moved forward. They touched, and he could feel her tremor underneath him. His control was lessening with every move they made, with every stroke. Not surprisingly, she tasted like chocolate. Her skin tasted sweet as it was, but her mouth was his undoing. His hands were now on her waist and moving up onto bare skin, needing more dizzying contact between the two of them. He couldn't get enough of her - she was intoxicating.

He tasted like rich coffee, and Brenda drank him in. She needed more of his touch, needed more of the expert way he kissed. He caressed her loose curls, prompting a moan from her. She could keep kissing him forever, the way he would alternate stroking her tongue with kissing her lips, tracing the outline with delicate accuracy. She nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment, causing him to groan as the light pain collided with the pressure of her tongue resting against his. Her lips caressed his, softening her touch before delving back into his mouth.

It was only when his hand moved up her ribcage and reached the lace of her brassiere, that they both pulled away. Andy didn't want to cross some sort of line, even though he could feel her unravelling in his arms. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks were flushed. She looked beautiful. Brenda smiled at his own appearance: his teased hair, his own swollen lips and the light scratch marks on his neck.

"I don't know what to say," Andy whispered, his hands moving from under her shirt to tuck into hers.

She moved her hand to stroke his face. She remembered what Claire had said years ago in reference to her ill advised relationship with Will. 'A man dangerous to her heart' - a perfect description of how

Andy Flynn made her feel.

"There's no need to say anything. We said all that mattered."

He wanted to say more, but her phone ringing stopped any more words spilling over his lips. She looked down at the screen, saw it was Fritz. She left it ringing until it stopped. She knew he would call back.

"I'll see you upstairs, Chief."

He took the hand that was still caressing his cheek and kissed the back of it, his lips lingering on her skin. She smiled as he walked away. His jacket was still around her shoulders, and she inhaled his scent. Fritz indeed called back, and she answered the call, sitting back on the bench to calm down. Amongst the discussion and the failed promises of being home for dinner, Brenda realised that Andy was waiting at the doorway, the door open for her.

Maybe she did want a gentleman after all. Maybe Andy Flynn was a true gentleman underneath the swagger, the smile and the silk.

"I have to go."

She found herself pinned against the doorway, Andy's mouth gently coaxing moans from her lips. It didn't matter whether it was a gentleman, a bad boy or a boy scout. It was Andy Flynn she wanted, and he knew it.