Extreme Sensitivity… as a sign of severe girlishness. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 12

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as a sign of severe girlishness. (12/?)
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.

WARNING: Chapter exceeds daily recommended sugar intake. May produce nausea.

(Cindy’s POV)

“Wow,” Lindsay said as she answered the door. “You look… wow.”

Trying not to fidget under the excessively observant gaze, Cindy smoothed down the black skirt and wrestled with the impulse to pull up on the neckline of her rather revealing dark green shirt as Lindsay’s eyes paused in that area for an inordinately long time.

To say that the greeting was greatly appreciated was severely downplaying. Though Lindsay had seen her sick and Lindsay had seen her dirty and Lindsay had seen her bitchy and at her very worst, for some reason, it was ridiculously important how Lindsay saw her tonight. Probably more than it should have been. In fact, Cindy had spent the better part of her day worrying about how Lindsay would see her when she opened the door.

But, my, had Lindsay made an effort too.

Cindy let her eyes trail up and down the tall form standing before her in the doorway with blunt appreciation, only realizing the gaze was paired with a very animalistic lip-licking by the way Lindsay’s focus locked immediately on the movement.

“You too.”

It was all Cindy could get out in reply, though she felt as if she owed Lindsay, at the very minimum, a sonnet. Maybe something Shakespearean with light strings behind it.

No. Not Shakespeare. Something Pablo Neruda-esque. When it came to reciting people out of their clothes, Neruda was like a Ferrari to Shakespeare’s Mini Cooper.

“Did you go shopping?” Lindsay asked with a small smirk.

Cindy tried to suppress a rather heartfelt grimace. Busted.

“Well I… um…,” she stammered, with a momentary duck of her head. “I figured you’d seen me in everything I own already.”

That brought one of those huge, breathtakingly open grins to Lindsay’s face, something Cindy was quickly becoming addicted to eliciting.

“You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me,” Lindsay declared in a soft tone that made Cindy’s knees want to buckle. “You always look good.”

Even as the praise flashed through Cindy, helping quench the extreme sensitivity she was suffering under Lindsay’s inspection, she worked up a smirk of her own.

“Some nerve. How far back in your closet did you have to dig to find that?” Cindy reached out to give the strappy maroon dress a small tug.

“Pretty far,” Lindsay confessed from behind another million-watt smile.

A few mute beats that felt, not uncomfortable exactly, but a little less than normal passed between them, and Cindy was completely at a loss as to what words to use next. Unusual to say the least. But Lindsay came to her rescue… in more ways than one.

“Can I acknowledge the fact that we aren’t exactly strangers and go ahead and kiss you now?” she murmured.

Insides soaring, Cindy took a step forward, feeling a long arm instantly slide around her, a gently insistent hand pressing against her back, drawing her closer. With a silent sigh, she tilted her head up in acceptance of the soft lips seeking hers.

What was more than likely a good minute, maybe even two, later, she pulled away breathlessly and took a substantial step back, knowing if she didn’t they would end up inside Lindsay’s apartment instead of out in the hall where they needed to be if they were going to make it to dinner.

“You know you’re going to have to help me right?” Lindsay asked as she limped out and locked the door.

“You mean kissing me hasn’t miraculously healed you?” Cindy lightly teased.

“Not my ankle.”

Though it was said in jest, there was something candid in the statement that made Cindy suppress a shiver.

Lindsay hopped closer, arm landing around Cindy’s shoulders and Cindy’s drifted up to encircle her waist. The smile that Lindsay turned her way was affectionate and private and gave Cindy the distinct feeling that they were the only two people on Earth.

“You smell good too.”

“Do I?”

Lindsay nodded slowly, warm eyes holding Cindy’s.

“I smell the same as…”

“As always,” Lindsay inserted over her as they started walking. “You always smell good.”

And as fascinating as the newfound knowledge was, it was also vaguely heartbreaking.

Cindy tried not to think about the time that they lost to their busy lives and fear and anything else that had been standing in their way, and to concentrate on the fact that it was happening now. Finally. They were going out on a date. They were moving forward to places that Cindy had really started to wonder if they would ever get to.

And all of a sudden, it felt like too much.

Without warning or a reason, Cindy stopped, Lindsay lurching to an unexpected stop beside her. When a long moment passed without her offering a justification for the delay, gentle hands pulled her around so that she was standing face-to-face with Lindsay.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay asked.

“Yeah. This is just…” she began before she was silenced by the realization that what she was feeling defied explanation.

She stared toward the floor until Lindsay’s fingers pulled her chin up gently and she was met with understanding dark eyes.

“I know,” Lindsay softly assured her, once again looking at her that way.

Lindsay descended on her, capturing Cindy’s lips in a sweet kiss that proved it was only verbal description that the mysterious emotion defied. The caress of Lindsay’s lips against hers, the sensation of being held with such gentle firmness in Lindsay’s arms, were a near perfect definition for what Cindy had wanted to say.

“Alright,” Lindsay softly coaxed as she pulled away. “Let’s do this date thing.”

With a consenting smile, Cindy once again wrapped her arm around Lindsay, and counting on Lindsay for support almost as much as Lindsay was counting on her, she moved them toward the stairs.