TITLE: Temporary Girlfriend (10/20)
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. 

(Cindy’s POV)

As soon as she cracked open the door, Cindy knew that she was in trouble. There was a distinct lack of running water noise where running water noise should have been. Twenty minutes, the day before, Lindsay had lingered in the shower. Twenty minutes. Of course, this morning Lindsay would shower at a breakneck pace and be out before she could sneak back in.

It took Lindsay all of half a second from the moment Cindy stepped into the room to come out of the bathroom in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair still slightly wet and a comb in her hand, which she promptly aimed at Cindy in a gesture that would have been considerably more menacing if it were a pocket knife or a taser.

“This… right here,” Lindsay said, using her impromptu weapon to gesture between them. “How I can see you and you’re within a few feet, this is what I meant by not leaving my side.”

“I just went for coffee and papers,” Cindy tried, but knew she’d failed to fully excuse her absence when Lindsay crossed her arms and raised one very incensed eyebrow. “And to ask a few questions.”

At Lindsay’s exasperated sigh, Cindy held out one of the coffees temptingly.

“I’m buying you a leash,” Lindsay mumbled as she stepped forward to take it.

The image that instantly sprang to Cindy’s mind didn’t make Lindsay’s words seem like much of a threat. She felt herself blushing and used the guise of putting the newspapers beneath her arm into a pile on the table to turn away.

“So, what did you learn?” Lindsay asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Not much,” Cindy answered. “Which I guess is actually something. If it were an employee, I would think someone would know something, and I don’t think they’d all be that good at covering up.”

“I was kind of thinking that yesterday,” Lindsay agreed. “I set up a meeting with the manager and some of the people in charge of the festival.”

“For what?” Cindy turned around.

Lindsay just looked at her, but Cindy got the point. She was rather amazed at how far her ability to read Lindsay’s thoughts had come.

“You’re not going to ask them to cancel.”

It would have been a question if she wasn’t well aware of the answer.

“I’m going to ask them to cancel,” Lindsay confirmed.

“You know they’re going to say no, right?”

“I anticipate that. But I’ll try to explain to them why it’s in their best interest.”

“Okay,” Cindy offered. “Practice on me.”

“That’s okay, really,” Lindsay perceptively returned. “I’ll wing it.”

“Come on, Inspector.” Cindy couldn’t seem to stem her desire to provoke a real reaction in Lindsay. “Try explaining it to me first.”

“Cindy,” Lindsay sighed. “Whoever’s doing this, they’re serious. People could really get hurt.”

“And if they cancel, then people know that all they have to do is make threats and give one good scare, and they can keep anything they disagree with from happening.”

“So, what do you propose, we just wait to clean up the bodies?” Lindsay queried.

Cindy grimaced at the imagery, but Lindsay did have a point.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Lindsay asked considerably more quietly.

“Nothing,” Cindy relented, feeling slightly guilty for pushing. “It’s your job to ask.”

Lindsay nodded slowly.

“And it’s their job to say no.”

Lindsay appeared so uncertain about the coming conference that Cindy just wanted to go over and cuddle her. Of course, that whole leash exchange might have added to the impulse. She watched Lindsay sip her coffee, her eyes trailing along the path it would follow from Lindsay’s lips down her throat.

“Did you see anyone else who’d been in the pool?” Lindsay questioned.

Cindy snapped back to the present and forced herself to briefly glance away, wondering exactly how long she‘d been staring.

“Everyone appears to be healing,” she answered. “They got dressed like me and everything.” She was exceedingly pleased when she got a small smile from Lindsay. “I just feel sorry for the people who were in there longer.”

“Yeah,” Lindsay concurred.

“It could have been worse though… if you weren’t around.”

Lindsay ignored the praise. Cindy hated it when she did that.

“Let’s just hope this guy or girl doesn’t get a big head and keep escalating.”

Cindy turned her head, frowning a little. But not quickly enough for Lindsay to miss the reaction.

“What?” she heard Lindsay’s voice utter.

Instead of trying to evade, because she never could with Lindsay, Cindy picked up the pile of papers and walked them over to her. She could tell Lindsay knew before she put them in her hands what she was going to say.

“As agreed, the Register didn’t know a thing about the pool incident, but all of the others did.”

“Damn it.”

She’d known that Lindsay wouldn’t take the news well. Her biggest concern with the episode at the pool was that their thug would get a little taste of fame and seek more of it by executing bigger, more injurious, acts. Cindy had consented to the vow of silence, because she didn’t want the person striving for more attention anymore than Lindsay. But this wasn’t exactly something that was going to go unreported. Not in San Francisco at least.

“Did your editor call?”

The question took Cindy by surprise. She thought that would be the last thing that Lindsay would be worried about.

“I had six messages on my phone when I woke up. I called. We had a conversation,” Cindy nonchalantly replied.

“How much trouble did you get in?” Lindsay actually looked apologetic.

“I got reamed. Royally,” Cindy responded. “But I didn’t get fired, so that’s a nice surprise.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“I know.”

Lindsay flipped through the papers, though she didn’t have to do much flipping. The story made the front page of most of them.

“You know what?” she said finally. “You’re here helping me. Nothing else is off-the-record.”

“Really?” Cindy couldn’t hide her shock.

“Unless it’s, you know, directly connected to the case, evidence or something,” Lindsay revised.

“Right.”

“But anything else, you have free reign.”

A smile tugged at Cindy’s lips as she watched Lindsay throw the papers behind her on the bed, obviously aggravated.

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty for getting me in trouble when the story got out anyway.”

“True,” Lindsay admitted.

Her timid smile as she looked up caused rapid fire messages from Cindy’s knees, all insistent that this might be a good time to swoon. Cindy mutely sent return messages that she would be extremely appreciative if she could remain standing.

“Can I quote you on that ‘free reign’ thing when you change your mind later?”

“We have a meeting,” Lindsay avoided the question with a smirk and stood up.

Cindy watched as she double-checked that her gun was in her bag.

“I’m actually glad I didn’t do the story, Linds,” she admitted. “If something else happens, I really don’t want to feel like it’s my fault.”

Lindsay stopped what she was doing to gaze back at her.

“Me neither,” she said quietly.

Cindy hated to admit it, but there was something about seeing Lindsay insecure that always made her feel incredibly powerful. Between the two of them, how often did she get the chance to be the strong one? While Lindsay had the gun and the brawn, maybe she still had something to offer.

When Lindsay finished gathering her provisions and turned around, Cindy held her hand out. For a moment, which felt amazingly long, Lindsay just looked at it. Then, her lips quirked into the most peculiar little smile, like she didn’t know quite what to make of the offering. As she stepped closer, Cindy was internally debating just how harmful it would be to her psyche if Lindsay thought she was kidding and slapped her hand away, or asked her what she thought she was doing.

But Lindsay didn’t do either. She just took the hand presented to her, sliding her fingers in between Cindy’s.

“Thank God you’re here, Sweetheart.”

Though it was said teasingly, the deep husk of Lindsay’s voice still made Cindy’s insides turn liquid.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in line,” Cindy teased back.

Lindsay smiled and lightly squeezed her hand.

“This close… the rest of the day,” she beseeched her. “Promise.”

“I promise.”