TITLE: Temporary Girlfriend (14/20)
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)

So they weren’t going to talk about the kiss. At least they hadn’t, and there had been ample opportunity. But nary a word was uttered in regards to it, neither in fond remembrance or in shamefaced regret. It wasn’t that Cindy was complaining that it happened, she would never, but Lindsay did kiss her. Was it really so radical to think that some sort of clarification was in order?

It’s not like Lindsay had been particularly different or standoffish after the incident in question. She hadn’t forgone holding hands or refused to engage in conversation at any time during the night, whether they were outside amongst strangers or when it was just the two of them walking the halls. Everything had been normal, or, more accurately, what had become their norm over the past few days.

There was just no mention of the kiss. None. At all. And it was totally unacceptable. Because now they were fifteen paces from the room, and without proper illumination on the subject, one might think that the two of them stepping across the threshold together was stepping into potential peril. What exactly did this mean? Like, if she were to spontaneously tackle Lindsay on the bed just because it seemed hot, would it get her into trouble? And not in a good way?

Ten paces from the door passed without any sort of new information, and Cindy’s nerves started kicking in big time. At five paces, Lindsay’s cell phone intruded quite aggressively on the silence in which Cindy was so effectively brooding.

“Boxer,” Lindsay answered. “Oh hey.”

There was a long pause during which Lindsay’s face fell noticeably.

“Son of a…”

Okay. So maybe the appropriate course of action once they were behind closed doors was the last thing Cindy needed to be worried about.

“How many?” Lindsay asked, stopping in front of their room.

Cindy waited for some indication of the dilemma, but Lindsay wasn’t giving anything other than a first-rate performance in anxiety.

“Do you need me there?” she asked, combing her fingers back through her hair. “Okay. I’ve got it under control over here. Or as under control as we’re going to get it apparently. Call me.”

Lindsay punched the phone off without saying goodbye, then slid the keycard out of her back pocket and opened the door. As soon as they were inside, Lindsay turned to face her, but instead of being apprised of the situation as she would have liked, Cindy was just on the receiving end of orders doled out in a none-too-gentle tone.

“I need you to stay in here for a little while.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m running downstairs to talk to the manager,” Lindsay said, already heading back out the door.

“Lindsay!” Cindy raised her voice, which, surprisingly, succeeded in stopping the other woman in her tracks. “What happened?”

“A keg at a “men only” party was spiked with something. A lot of people are really sick.”

“Like spiked with street drugs or like they were poisoned?”

Lindsay hadn’t said it in so many words, but Cindy was pretty good at reading between the lines.

“They might have been. We won’t know for sure until it’s been tested,” she responded, her expression softening. “Please stay in here. I won’t be long.”

Cindy nodded and Lindsay disappeared out the door. For once, Cindy was fine with being left in the room, because all she could think of was getting several different friends on the phone and checking in with them.

By the time Lindsay returned, almost an hour later, Cindy had called every gay guy in her phone book, and could only be partially relieved that they were okay. The fact that her friends weren’t harmed didn’t change the fact that some people had been.

Lindsay didn’t say anything when she came in. She just went through her usual ritual of removing her gun from where it was hidden on her ankle and emptying her pockets onto the dresser.

“What did they say?” Cindy risked asking.

“They’ll check all incoming food and beverages for tampering, watch for suspicious activity, and Jacobi said that the festival organizers have offered to help warn people who are planning off-site parties.”

“What else did Jacobi say?”

“Not much yet. Just to sit tight,” Lindsay said tersely.

So much for the short-lived decrease in her tension.

“Then that’s what I think you should do,” Cindy concluded, staring at Lindsay’s rigid back. “Come here, Linds.”

She expected more fight out of Lindsay, but Lindsay just looked back at her tiredly before walking over to sit down on the edge of the bed. Without any unnecessary deliberation, Cindy moved to her knees behind Lindsay and put her hands on Lindsay’s shoulders, grimacing at the bricks she found beneath her fingertips.

Lindsay groaned as she pressed into them.

“I don’t get it,” Cindy said softly, after a few silent minutes of massaging Lindsay’s shoulders with exceptional vigor in an effort to work out the exceptional knots. “You deal with far worse things than this on daily basis. You see blood and brains and dismembered body parts.”

“If this imagery is meant to help me relax, it’s really not working.”

“I’m just saying… why does this have you so stressed out?”

“I don’t know,” Lindsay responded. “I guess I’m used to the things I see being crimes of passion or at least personal grudges. It bothers me when people just want to hurt an entire group of people for no other reason than that they don’t like what they stand for. I don’t like what the IRS stands for. I don’t want to bring them great bodily harm.”

Cindy found a particularly stubborn lump and the last word came out a pained moan.

“Hatred is a rather unattractive human quality,” Cindy stated.

“Nicely put,” Lindsay whispered.

“Relax,” Cindy quietly replied, sliding her hands up and down the soft skin of Lindsay’s arms before returning them to her shoulders.

Lindsay was finally loosening up some beneath her hands, and Cindy felt a gripping desire to feel more skin. She slid her hands over Lindsay’s shoulders unhurriedly, reaching to the bottom of Lindsay’s shirt and tugging lightly upward.

“Cindy.”

The tone was warning, but what it was warning against was open to interpretation. And, despite Lindsay’s perspective on the situation, Cindy was a big girl. She knew very well what she was doing.

“What?” she gently countered. “You’ve seen me enough without my clothes on this week. You greet me every morning with antibiotic ointment. And remember the shower? You won’t even take your shirt off for me?”

There was hesitation, but eventually Lindsay lifted her arms without verbal response and Cindy pulled the fabric up over her head, dropping it carelessly onto the bed next to her before returning her hands to their original positions on Lindsay’s shoulders.

Maybe they didn’t need to talk about the kiss. Maybe it had spoken enough on their behalf, because as she continued to massage Lindsay’s shoulders, she was getting more and more uninhibited with her strokes, and Lindsay wasn’t stopping her. In fact, from her fingertips brushing lightly over Lindsay’s throat to her hands trailing a little further down Lindsay’s chest every time they ventured frontward, it seemed the more daring her touch became, the more Lindsay relaxed into her, and the soft sounds she was producing had changed from soreness to something else entirely.

Lindsay leaned back, her upper back pressing solidly against Cindy’s chest, and her hand floated back to rest on Cindy’s knee.

Cindy let her cheek fall against Lindsay’s hair, breathing deeply, willing herself to go further, go onward until she’d gone as far as she could, or until she was told to stop. But she really didn’t think that was going to happen. Maybe that’s what Lindsay had been warning her against, starting something that she wasn’t prepared to finish. But she was about to prove to Lindsay exactly how prepared she was for this.

She’d just summoned the courage to let her hands trail down Lindsay’s arms and finally come to rest on her sides, and she was working on drumming up the nerve to put her lips to the pulse point beating violently on Lindsay’s neck, when she heard the most unwelcome sound she could think to imagine in the moment.

Lindsay’s cell phone.

It screeched from its place on the dresser, and Cindy threw it a very sincere look of loathing.

At first, Lindsay just lifted her head to look over at it, but Cindy knew that she would get up to answer. Because that’s what Lindsay did. Lindsay heeded the call. Every time. The fact that she was at least slow to answer this time did offer Cindy slight compensation.

Lindsay’s hand reached back, and a chill moved through the back of Cindy’s neck where it made contact. Then, Lindsay pulled her forward and tilted her head back, and her lips captured Cindy’s in a light kiss that left Cindy struggling to draw breath.

“Thanks,” Lindsay murmured. “Feels better.”

Then, she got up and grabbed her shirt, pulling it on as she moved to the dresser. Somewhat shell-shocked, Cindy settled back into her position against the headboard and watched Lindsay pick up her no longer ringing cell phone to dial Jacobi back.