TITLE: Between the Shadow and the Soul (5/?)
PAIRING: A veritable clusterfuck… but there is only one way it can end up.
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. (Well, not anymore. Jackasses.) 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.

(Claire’s POV)

Another day. Another dead body. And even that couldn’t occupy her attention for more than two minutes before her mind started to wander. How disturbing was it that she could be so damn immune to the remains of deceased human beings that she could be up to her wrists in one and still have roaming thoughts?

Feeling rather unprofessional in her inability to focus, and as if she was being unfair to the man’s family, who had a right to know, with precision, exactly how he died, Claire carefully extricated herself and took a deep breath.

Slipping off her gloves, she pitched them in the biohazard bin on her way to the sink.

Water spraying over her hands, she leaned forward, letting her head rest against the cabinet above. It wasn’t the most sanitary place to put it down, but she was simply too drained to keep it upright at the moment.

She couldn’t do this right now. She just needed a minute.

Between her own problems and those of seemingly everyone else on Earth she cared about, as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she was sort of overwhelmed. And, right now, in comparison to the rest of the club, her problems seemed almost simple. Not easy to fix… but simple.

On the contrary, her closest friends now all shared a very big problem that was anything but.

Of course, only one of them knew it.

Which made it even harder.

Because, even though Lindsay had tried to backpedal from her confession and her pain-filled account of what she’d seen, playing it off as only a minor disappointment, Lindsay was shaken. Thoroughly. She could use whatever words made her feel less vulnerable and less betrayed, but it wasn’t simply a disappointment. And it certainly wasn’t minor.

Lindsay could be possessive, but she wasn’t certifiable. Claire had watched her hold onto Tom with both hands, not because she honestly felt that he belonged to her, but because she had nothing else to hold onto. And Claire very highly suspected that Lindsay would have continued to hang on, for as long as she could, if she’d needed him. She didn’t let go for Tom. She certainly didn’t let go for Heather. She let go, because she finally found something that loosened her grip, something she wanted to hang onto more. Even if she was painstakingly slow in connecting the dots, and may have taken even longer if Cindy hadn’t been shot.

Claire shuddered. She really didn’t want to think that anything worthwhile had come from Cindy’s incredibly close call with death.

And maybe nothing worthwhile had.

Because Cindy’s shooting lead to Lindsay’s realization, and, no matter which way you turned it, the picture didn’t get any prettier. Lindsay’s breakthrough was extraordinarily bad timing. All those months she’d had to recognize what she was feeling, months when Jill was in a relationship with Luke, and when she finally does, Cindy and Jill?

Trying to figure out when exactly that happened didn’t make Claire feel any less culpable. How could she not have seen it? How did she miss something like that?

The fact that Lindsay missed it too was icy cold comfort.

She would try, and she was certainly making the attempt, but Lindsay couldn’t just bury her feelings back where she found them. And Cindy had a right to know. And Jill… Jill had rights to. It was just whether or not Jill had a right to Cindy that Claire was unsure about.

Regardless, they were all on borrowed time. If it just went away, it could only be because Lindsay came to an honest realization that her feelings were fleeting or not as deep as they’d felt standing outside of that hospital. But if she did come to that determination, it would never be honest. She could make believe with Pete all that she wanted, put on a happy face and pretend to be okay with Cindy and Jill with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, but it would make none of those things true.

Lindsay was enough in love with Cindy to admit to it, as much as Lindsay ever admitted to anything. Difficult as it was for her, she’d laid her heart bare twice before Claire, and, stupidly, Claire believed that she could help. She thought she was helping when she’d given advice. If she’d had any idea that there was something going on between Jill and Cindy, she never would have suggested Lindsay walk back in that hospital. But she didn’t and she had. Nosing in where she didn’t belong, she’d given Lindsay a firm push. And Lindsay had taken a long, hard fall.

Claire knew no stronger person, but even Lindsay couldn’t just jump up after that. The hope Lindsay had walked in with, and Claire had seen it, so prominent, unusual, and refreshing, on her friend’s face that night… it was one of the things that haunted her the most… it had been dashed instantly. If it had been anyone else with Cindy, it would have survived. Anyone else, and Lindsay wouldn’t have given in. She would have just set her course and geared up for competition.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Jill. And since it was Jill, Lindsay couldn’t even fight for her. And Claire was a lot less worried about what exactly that meant for Lindsay and Cindy, and a lot more worried about what that meant for Lindsay and Jill.

They were like family to her, closer than the majority of her family, and she couldn’t take losing either of them. Any of them, really. But the one thing she had faith in was that, whatever challenges came at them, Cindy was the one person amongst them who wasn’t going to run. The only person who wasn’t going to run. Jill and Lindsay, on the other hand, they were both near experts at it.

“Hey Claire.”

Caught off-guard by the smooth and chipper greeting, Claire spun to face her visitor, hoping like hell her face didn’t betray her raw emotions.

“Hey. What are you doing down here?” she smiled, too wide she suspected, but, if it was noticeable, Jill did her the courtesy of not calling her on it.

“I had a few minutes and I just thought I’d stop in, see how you are, how things are.” Jill tilted her head, her voice softening. “Are you okay?”

So maybe she hadn’t been a blank slate, but at least she’d been provided an exit.

“I’m fine,” Claire lied, studying Jill’s easy posture, her gentle smile. “Thanks. I’m really glad you’re here.”

The small smile on Jill’s face broadened to a big, open grin.

“So, how’s Cindy?” Claire threw out, testing the waters.

“She’s doing better,” Jill answered without delay. “Not great, you know, but she’s managing.”

Jill seemed pretty up-to-the-moment on where exactly Cindy was in her healing. Rather telling. But maybe it was wrong to be going about it this way, to be lurking in the shadows, trying to sneak a peek, instead of just talking to Jill like a friend.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Claire asked gently.

Jill blinked in surprise at the direct question, her gaze dancing away for a moment, before meeting Claire’s eyes again with a soft smile.

“Lindsay told you, didn’t she?” she asked, head bashfully ducking so that long bangs concealed her eyes. “What she saw at the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Claire returned carefully. “What exactly did Lindsay see?”

“Come on, Claire,” Jill implored her.

“Sorry,” Claire smiled a little. “So… has that been going on long?”

Claire finished the question and looked away. What was wrong with her? If she were asking out of simple curiosity, it wouldn’t be a tactless question. But she wasn’t. Unsurprisingly, Jill gave her the benefit of the doubt and took it as friendly prying, but Claire was being anything but a good friend. She was interrogating Jill without Jill’s knowledge or consent. She just needed to know where to stand. She’d seen Jill flirting at more than one crime scene recently, and if Jill and Cindy were supposed to be together and Jill was already having a problem with roaming attention, she could warn her off now.

Make way for Lindsay.

“No,” Jill surprised her by saying, gracing Claire with a look that revealed significantly more than her words ever could. “That was the first time.”

The first time. Claire lingered on the revelation for longer than she should have, her thoughts taking paths she felt immensely guilty for with Jill standing right there in front of her, looking so overtly happy about the topic of their conversation.

The first time. So there was nothing for her to see. Nothing for her to miss. And Lindsay missed out by a matter of minutes. She could have been there first.

Claire took in Jill’s patient, quizzical expression and felt a rush of shame for even thinking it.

As unbelievable as it may have been the day before Cindy’s shooting, it was now quite evident that this could have all happened the other way around. It could have, just as easily, been Jill in the parking lot and Lindsay inside with Cindy. Two trains on the same track, speeding toward one destination. They were bound to collide. And someone was going to get hurt. It just happened to be Lindsay.

Claire only hoped Lindsay never had to find out what a near miss it had been.

“And was it just, you know, a one-time thing?” she asked hesitantly. As much as she tried, she simply couldn’t shake the unfair notion that it was Lindsay’s track to be on.

“Claire,” Jill sighed. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Claire seriously doubted that. At least she hoped Jill didn’t know everything going through her head.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Jill continued quietly without further prodding. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t, but I’m going to try really hard not to.”

Though, much like Lindsay, she tried to hide it, Jill was wounded by the unspoken accusation, and Claire felt instantaneous guilt for ninety percent of the unfiltered thoughts that had passed through her head since Jill walked into the room.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” she whispered.

Timidly looking up, Jill gave a small nod of confirmation.

“Does she feel the same way?”

The magnificent smile that spread over Jill’s face seemed almost unconscious, her eyes leaving Claire’s to stare softly off at nothing in particular, as if in the midst of a private, and very pleasant, memory.

“I think so,” she replied.

When Jill finally remembered she wasn’t alone and looked in Claire’s direction, her eyes were vibrant. Honest. She was so obviously happy that Claire could be nothing but happy for her. She wanted anything for Jill that put that kind of joy on her face.

Deciding that she’d played the role of backstabbing friend for long enough, and still feeling rather guilt-ridden about it, Claire walked over to Jill with an offered hug, incredibly grateful when Jill wholeheartedly returned the embrace.

Futilely wishing that she didn’t have the sensations to compare, Claire couldn’t help but contrast the happiness Jill was exuding with the sorrow Lindsay had radiated. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. How could she be so happy for one of her friends and so heartbroken for another at the same time?

But she could. She could be delighted for Jill and crushed for Lindsay. Those two things were not mutually exclusive. Though, in this instance, she really wished that they could be.

“So you’re okay with this?” Jill asked, pulling away.

There was such a need for reassurance in her question, Claire determined then and there to be the supportive voice she should have been from the get-go.

“If you’re happy… if Cindy’s happy… I’m happy,” she pledged.

“And Linds?”

Like a splash of cold water to Claire’s soul, she seized up in the wake of Lindsay’s name.

“She doesn’t trust me, does she?” Jill queried softly.

At some point, she’d need to know what exactly had been said between Jill and Lindsay to give Jill that idea, but for now, it seemed considerably more important to mend the few bridges that could be mended, before they became fractured beyond repair.

“I don’t think it’s that, Hon,” Claire said, before realizing from Jill’s face that it may have said too much. “It’s just, with everything that’s happened, there’s a lot going on in her head.”

“Right,” Jill nodded uncertainly, and Claire ground to a temporary halt, wondering if her next words might be a bigger lie than she could stand to tell.

“She’ll get over it.”