TITLE: A Conversation in Which Cindy is Too Damn Kissable
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. (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.

A break in the case… due in absolutely no part to any of Lindsay’s own hard work and dedication. Thank all of the great deities that Claire was still hard at work, compensating for Lindsay’s failure to have a single thought throughout the day regarding a suspect or motive. If it were up to her affection-addled brain, this cold case would remain unsolved.

Which was the best part of being in the club. One person’s great work was all of their great work, so if Claire really had something for her, Lindsay could share credit and no one would ever have to know that she had been writing romance novels in her head all day, ranging from G-rated works to material that would be banned in several Middle Eastern countries and detained indefinitely by Canadian Customs.

Landing in the morgue, Lindsay expected to be immediately greeted by a bounty of useful information. Instead, she found herself alone, without so much as a lab assistant peeking out from a corner. Momentarily lacking the motivation to run around seeking all of the answers to the universe, Lindsay pulled back the cover on a freshly scoured tray of morgue toys and started fiddling, knowing that Claire would be absolutely aghast if she knew that Lindsay referred to them that way. She could hear the reprimand now. ‘Rib cutters and skull chisels are not toys, Lindsay.’ Which was true. Except when they turned into Decepticons and challenged each other to a cage match to determine which one of them should rule the morgue.

Rib cutter in her right hand, skull chisel in her left, the bell indicating the commencement of the match had just gone off in Lindsay’s head when a humored voice cut short the contest.

“I hope you’re planning to wash your hands.”

Dropping the combatants at once, Lindsay flinched against the noise as they clattered in a loud clanging ruckus against the other metal tools on the tray, and turned to face Cindy, who smiled at her from the doorway.

“They’re sterile,” Lindsay hid her embarrassment in a small laugh. “I mean, they were at least.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay smiled.

Cindy walked further into the room, gravitating in Lindsay’s direction, and Lindsay froze by the toy tray, watching Cindy’s approach as if it was happening in slow motion.

“So, what’s the scoop?” Cindy asked with a casualness Lindsay wished she could steal.

“I don’t know. Claire called me, but no one was here when I got here.” Her voice sounded rough, even to her, and Cindy glanced up at her through long lashes, which offered little comfort to Lindsay’s suddenly weak knees.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s a basic love affair gone bad,” Cindy threw out.

“Love affair?” Lindsay repeated, reiterating the words that hopped out at her 3D-like.

“Yeah, you know, these people are crazy about each other for five years, and then one night he won’t stop snoring and she knifes him in his sleep.”

Catching up to the conversation, Lindsay chuckled at Cindy’s morbid scenario. “We cleared the wife.”

“You should double-check her alibi,” Cindy declared. “Love goes good. Love goes bad. It’s evolution.”

“I don’t think you really believe that,” Lindsay returned softly.

“I can be cynical,” Cindy pouted.

“I’m sure you can,” Lindsay granted. “But you’re not. So what’s your real theory?”

Before she could speak, Cindy issued forth a great, cavernous yawn that made her look much like a sleepy baby lion. Lindsay quashed the sudden urge to cuddle and pet Cindy’s unruly mane.

“I don’t have one,” Cindy admitted, her voice still half in yawn. “Somebody kept me out all night and today my brain has been mush.”

“It wasn’t all night. We can do that though. What do you think, Mexican tonight?”

“No,” Cindy chuckled. “You can’t keep me up late anymore.”

“I bet I can.”

“No,” Cindy shook her head.

“I’m pretty sure I can,” Lindsay replied instantly.

“Do you want to fight about this?” Cindy challenged. “Fine. But I get to be the bone saw.”

She nabbed the large, threatening object, wielding it before her like a weapon. Like the pro that she was, Lindsay grabbed Cindy’s wrist, twisting it so that it posed no danger to either of them.

“You don’t want to be involved with this,” Lindsay warned. “Claire will do damage if she catches us playing with her toys.”

“She’ll do damage to you. I’ll just tell her that you made me do it.”

“You think that will work for you?”

“I know it will. Claire knows you’re the instigator.”

“Me?” Lindsay scoffed. “She knows you’re no innocent. Drop it.”

Cindy did as she was told, smiling at Lindsay’s antics, until she looked up into Lindsay’s eyes and her smile dissolved. Hand still encircling Cindy’s wrist, Lindsay’s fingertips detected the rapid acceleration of Cindy’s pulse. Cindy made a feeble attempt to back away, but Lindsay needed only the one hand to hold her in place, which made her think Cindy wasn’t all that intent on escape.

It didn’t take even a full step to engulf Cindy’s personal space and wrap her free hand around the back of Cindy’s neck, and the haste with which her lips descended on Cindy’s eliminated any spare time in which she could chicken out. Though Cindy made a little squeak of surprise as their lips met, she didn’t jerk away. She didn’t even politely withdraw. It took a moment, maybe four, but Cindy finally kissed back. Or at least parted her lips, which was all the encouragement Lindsay needed. Her tongue pressed gently through the opening, dipping inside Cindy’s mouth just for a taste. Grip tightening as Cindy seemed to teeter, Lindsay wasn’t altogether certain that she had the strength to hold either one of them upright. But if they ended up in a pile of limbs on the floor, that would be okay too.

There was a moment – an intense, satisfying flash made of incredible. There was no morgue, no dead bodies just metal doors away, no world to which to return. Lindsay stayed suspended in it, unaware of anything other than every place that her body touched Cindy’s and the swirling light-headed feeling it produced. Then, there were voices, alien at first, but more recognizable the closer they came. Backing away just before Claire and Jill walked into the room, Lindsay looked down at Cindy, who, with lips slightly ajar and eyes tightly shut, still managed to appear shocked.

“Good, you’re here,” Claire stated, moving past them to a counter as if to immediately begin their enlightenment. Jill was right behind Claire and, engaging her automatic steering system, Lindsay followed them both. Cindy, however, was rooted to her spot, a detail that Lindsay failed to notice until Claire turned around to initiate case discussion, took one look at her audience and then tilted her head to look past them.

“Is she okay?” Claire queried.

Still somewhat delirious, Lindsay turned slowly. Standing stock still in her original position, the expression Cindy wore really did look more like she’d just been hit in the face with a baseball bat than kissed.

“She’s fine,” Lindsay nodded.

Turning away from Cindy to promote the return of her brain function, Lindsay struggled to get her bearings.

“Really? Cause she doesn’t look very good,” Jill added.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Jill.” Haze finally lifting, Lindsay dodged the account like a matador.

But the bull just kept coming.

“I’m not commenting on her choice of outfit, Lindsay. She looks like she’s going to throw up.”

“Hey!” Lindsay was right back to lucid at the swift kick to her ego. “She’s not going to throw up, thank you very much.”

Realizing too late that her defensiveness instantaneously took her from witness to suspect, Lindsay glanced back at Cindy, still standing silently in place, and produced a deep, guilty sigh.