TITLE: House Arrest (24/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/30 – LINDSAY’S POV)
Cindy had attacked her. There was no other word for it.
When she’d arrived home the previous night, her hands completely full, it was nice knowing that she didn’t have to juggle everything in them, or put something down, at her door the way that she had to downstairs to let herself into the building. It was nice knowing there was somebody inside and a kick-knock would bring that person over to open the door for her. But once the door had opened, and their eyes met across the threshold, Cindy attacked her. She had the bite marks, scratches and bruises to prove it. Of course, most of those were well hidden beneath her clothes.
And while it was happening, Lindsay didn’t care about anything else. She didn’t care that she had just passed her nosiest neighbor in the hall, and they were now making out with the door wide open. Or that she couldn’t hang on to the takeout she had grabbed on her way home and when they slammed the door closed on a container, food splattered all over the entryway. How little they both cared about that was proven by the fact that they left it there for Martha to clean up while they disappeared into the bedroom.
Cindy had been different. There were when times she still looked a little timid, like the shy smile she first opened the door with, and again when she was taking off her clothes. But for the most part, she was… assertive… confident… dominant. She’d led the way in reenacting many of the scenes from the previous night, along with some that Lindsay never would have thought to write on her own.
Just thinking about them… Damn, she needed to get home.
And she really wished that Jacobi would stop looking at her with that perceptive leer, and questioning her about her “abnormally pleasant mood”.
“Uh Lindsay.”
She turned to see Tom coming down the stairs toward her.
“Uh Tom.”
“That was a… uh… good call on the fibers under the couch. Most people would have missed that.”
“We missed it the first time.”
“Yeah.”
And then there was silence. Tom fidgeted. Lindsay loved it.
“So, I… uh… I told Jacobs and Smith that you might want in on the investigation,” Tom said, squirming even more before he could finally spit it out. “Do you want to interrogate him?”
Lindsay watched Tom stew in his own awkwardness. She tried to find the satisfaction in it. But she couldn’t. It was of little concern to her at the moment.
“I think they can handle their own interrogation,” Lindsay said, standing up and grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. “I’m going home.”
Tom slowly nodded, dismissing her.
“Later Jacobi.”
“Yeah huh,” he muttered, not looking up in an effort to hide the grin threatening to overtake his face.
Lindsay smiled at him, and his ineffectual attempt to hide his supreme comprehension, and started to walk off.
“Lindsay.”
She groaned and looked back at Tom.
“Tensions were high, you know,” he said.
“And you acted like an asshole,” she returned quickly.
“Yeah, I know,” he responded. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” Lindsay said, smiling. “Thanks.”
