TITLE: Temporary Girlfriend (11/20)
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. 

(Lindsay’s POV)

What Lindsay wouldn’t give, at the present moment, to live in a city with a smaller gay population. She wasn’t about to voice that opinion, for fear of being labeled narrow-minded again, but it was true. Less gay people would mean less pride and less pride would mean fewer events scheduled during the week leading up to the actual festival. It was Thursday night. Who the hell needed twenty activities to choose between? Why couldn’t everyone just agree to mingle in one well-checked, well-lit, well-guarded location?

And why couldn’t the festival planners just say, “Hey, no problem. We’ll cancel. There’s always next year.”

Of the events taking place at the moment, any one of them could be at risk, and while the SFPD had dramatically increased their presence based on the incident at the hotel, it wouldn’t necessarily be enough. When someone wanted to do their damage, it could be hard to stop them, especially when there were so many choices of places to inflict it.

Why would so many people choose to stay where the pools were having to be checked regularly and sweeps of the hotels and streets were constant? Why didn’t they have the survival instinct to go home where they had a greater potential to be safe?

But there hadn’t been an unpopular event all night long. Every club and bar and restaurant and theater was packed. Everyone was laughing and having a great time as if there was no reason not to. They had been told what had happened, they had been warned to take precautions, and then they had all, apparently, decided to just forget the whole thing. Nobody even seemed worried about it.

She, on the other hand, was doing her best to see in every nook and cranny of the room and visually frisk every person who walked by her when Cindy grabbed her hand and pulled her along through the crowd. When they came to a stop, Cindy sat down in one of the chairs that had just come open and pulled Lindsay down into the one beside her.

“We should really move on,” Lindsay leaned over to say, not wanting Cindy to get too terribly set on this location.

“Sit down for ten minutes,” Cindy pleaded. “Don’t your feet hurt?”

Of course they did. After all, they’d been standing for the past five hours, but still… there were a lot of places left.

“You can’t be everywhere at once, Linds,” Cindy seemed to read her mind. “There are police all over. This is not a solo job. Relax. You’re not good to anyone like this.”

That was easier said than done. But Cindy was also right. Her tension was just making Cindy tense. It wasn’t helping the situation any.

“Ten minutes,” she conceded, and Cindy rewarded her with a very winning smile before turning her eyes to the stage.

But Lindsay didn’t bother. She couldn’t get involved in some frivolous entertainment when there could be a threat in their midst. And yet, while she should have been looking around, she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes from Cindy’s face.

The stage lights kept changing the hue of her skin from red to green to purple and back again, along with her eyes, which were fully alert to the performance instead of any possible dangers, and her smile was utterly authentic. She was having a good time, despite everything, just like everyone else in the room.

Lindsay was struck by the sudden impulse to grab Cindy’s chin and try to borrow some of that innocent delight in an impetuous lip-to-lip exchange. Instead, she finally pulled her gaze away and slackened in her seat, putting her arm across the back of Cindy’s chair.

What was the proper balance between pleasure and vigilance? That was the question. And it wasn’t just the question tonight in Lindsay’s life. It was the question period in Lindsay’s life. Cindy didn’t seem to have any trouble mixing the two, but she’d never personally been able to. That’s why she was so wrapped up in her job. She really didn’t know how to have both, because they didn’t seem to overlap anywhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a fun person. It’s just that so many people depended upon her for their safety.

After a few minutes, the music stopped and, when Cindy joined in with the whooping and applause at the stage, Lindsay couldn’t help laughing. Cindy looked over at her, an unrestrained grin on her face. She settled back into Lindsay’s arm, her hand falling to rest on Lindsay’s leg just above the knee.

Lindsay wasn’t sure if the contact was meant as comfort or distraction, but it was accomplishing both. The warm touch was, in fact, comforting, but it was also definitely managing to distract. Maybe too much, and she didn’t need to get quite that comfortable either, which is why she chose to cut Cindy’s ten minutes short.

“Okay, let’s go” she said, standing up.

“Linds,” Cindy pouted as she was pulled up out of her chair.

“I’ll tell you what. I promise I’ll bring you back some time,” Lindsay swore, moving behind Cindy to push her through the crowd.

“Really?” Cindy glanced back with a smile.

“Yeah,” Lindsay said close to Cindy’s ear, her hands on Cindy’s waist, still moving her toward the door. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said lately that I never get to see a good drag show where no one’s in danger and there hasn’t been a murder.”

They breached the exit, and her continuing pressure on Cindy’s waist caused them to stumble onto the sidewalk, Cindy still laughing at her last comment.

“Who have you been saying that to?” Cindy questioned, turning to face her.

“Jacobi,” Lindsay responded. “Claire… Jill… I’m almost certain I’ve said it in your presence. You were probably too busy thinking about something else.”

“Oh, so you’re going to accuse me of not listening to you?”

“I’m just saying, you could have missed it. Possibly.”

“Like you could have not said it. Possibly.”

“Possibly.”

“You’re bringing me back,” Cindy reiterated. “You promised. I’m not going to forget that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lindsay returned. I’m sure the first thing that you’ll do when we get back to the room is pencil it into your organizer.”

She easily caught the hand that came up to slap her on the arm, once again threading her fingers through Cindy’s, and pulled her down the street.