TITLE: House Arrest (27/35)
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.  

(12/31 – CINDY’S POV)

Cindy could practically feel Lindsay’s eyes on her. All night long she’d been trying to concentrate on work in an effort to get some things done, and, if she was completely honest with herself, avoid talking to Lindsay, and Lindsay hadn’t bothered her. But she hadn’t gone away either. She’d just sat in the chair, watching her work, without a word. She probably didn’t know what to say. Or she was too afraid to say anything.

Cindy could hardly blame her. The morning’s dialogue between them had been forced. She hadn’t slept at all when Lindsay came in to tell her that she was running in to the station. She knew that would happen. It was, after all, where Lindsay really lived. Lindsay told her that it wouldn’t take long. She didn’t believe her, but, in fact, Lindsay hadn’t stayed gone nearly as long as she would have liked for her to.

And since Lindsay’s return, Cindy just kept working, kept her eyes glued to the laptop, for eight hours straight. Except when Lindsay brought her a sandwich and asked her to please eat, and she obeyed without moving from her spot. Lindsay tried talking to her then, but Cindy told her that she was busy and asked if they could do it later, and now was later, and Lindsay hadn’t given up.

“I should have told you about Tom,” she said without forewarning.

So, apparently, once the alcohol haze had faded, Lindsay realized exactly when she’d gone off the deep end.

Cindy glanced at the time on the screen. It was 11:57. She knew she wouldn’t get out of this before day’s end.

“It wasn’t my business,” she said, without looking up. She even typed a few words that she knew she’d have to delete later for the sole purpose of trying to make Lindsay think she was too busy for this conversation.

It didn’t work.

“Yeah. Well, now it is.”

“No, it’s really not.”

Lindsay sighed loudly. Good, maybe if she frustrated her enough, she’d stop talking.

“I should have told you. But we weren’t… Does it really matter? Does it really change anything?”

It changed everything. How could she not see that? But Cindy didn’t feel like explaining it, so she didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what I did. I really don’t. But, whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Cindy said softly, biting her lip, hoping Lindsay couldn’t tell that she was trying not to cry.

“I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” Cindy declared, hitting a few keys harder than she had to. “I did this.”

“Did what?”

Lindsay’s voice was so gentle, so… loving. It really didn’t help.

Cindy couldn’t answer her, but it was true. She did do this. She let this happen. She knew very well that Lindsay was still in love with Tom. No matter what Lindsay said to contradict that, she was clearly in love with him recently enough to fall back into bed with him not that long ago.

What had she really expected to happen between them? Did she really delude herself into thinking that Lindsay was in love with her just because they had sex? That was ridiculous logic. A child’s logic. Thinking that would make her as naïve as Lindsay always accused her of being. But she wasn’t that naïve, not really.

She just wanted to believe it. She wanted to, and so she’d let herself think that there were things there that weren’t, things being said that weren’t, and then she was reminded of the way things actually work. She was reminded that there was a Tom that Lindsay was in love with, and she was personally just… available. And it hurt, just like she had known that it would.

The noises outside indicated that midnight was rapidly approaching, and Cindy glanced out the window behind her. When she turned back around, she saw Lindsay, staring so unwaveringly at her, and forced a small smile. She really didn’t want this to be as awful as it felt. Instead of answering Lindsay’s question, either the spoken or unspoken one, Cindy put the laptop down on the coffee table and walked around the arm of the couch to the windows.

People were shouting down on the street. Somewhere in the distance, she saw a firework explode in the sky. And then she heard Lindsay coming up behind her, before she saw the reflection in the window, before she felt Lindsay’s hands land lightly on her hips. But she couldn’t meet her eyes. If she did, she’d give in. Again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Why did Lindsay have to ask that? Why? What was she going to say in response? No? Lindsay had to know that she wouldn’t.

Cindy turned in Lindsay’s arms, which tightened instantly around her waist, and met Lindsay’s eyes, and slid her hands up Lindsay’s arms to her shoulders, and tried to remember everything about the feel of it, the perfection of it, because she knew that this was the last time.

And Lindsay ducked her head down to meet her, and their lips came together, and she was in Heaven. And she was in love. And she was in so much fucking pain.

Someone yelled Happy New Year. Lindsay’s palm moved to the small of her back and pulled her in closer, and she tried not to lose herself. But she did.

Just for a minute, Cindy let herself think that this was forever, that this woman was hers, that her love was requited, and that this kiss was a promise of something more than this one night. Then, she pulled out of the kiss, out of Lindsay’s arms, and went back to the sofa and the article that was waiting for her.

There would always be an article waiting.

Lindsay didn’t move. It was impossible to know if she was looking out or looking at her, but for more than twenty minutes, she just stood there behind her. Completely silent. Then, she walked over to her bedroom door and looked back at Cindy.

“Goodnight.”

“Night,” Cindy responded, glancing over, but only for the briefest of moments.

“Happy New Year,” Lindsay said, and disappeared.