House Arrest (1/35) – WMC fic

PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Characters, not mine. Story, mine.

(Cindy’s POV)

Being arrested? Please. She could handle it. In fact, she’d been handling it a lot lately. It seemed like, ever since her (very much deserved) promotion, she’d been handling it on a regular basis. But that was the gig. In the world of the journalist, being the best often came down to being the boldest, and being the best was pretty high on Cindy’s list of priorities.

So, she would serve her few hours in this holding cell, make her one phone call to her boss, and as soon as they got to the courtroom, a rep from the paper would come to her rescue, as usual, with bail money and, hopefully, a decent cup of coffee. She’d be fine, just as long as she didn’t cross paths with…

“Lindsay! Hey.”

Cindy jumped to her feet to greet her, but Lindsay seemed less enthused. She stood rigidly outside the holding cell with her arms crossed, looking intentionally stern.

“Again?”

“It’s not like you think.”

“No? You didn’t sneak into someone’s office, break into a locked filing cabinet, and get caught trying to leave with confidential files?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Lindsay turned her head and cleared her throat with a noise that sounded disturbingly like a growl. Cindy realized she was quickly losing the battle with Lindsay’s patience.

“But he’s guilty,” she pleaded.

“It doesn’t change the law,” Lindsay snapped back.

“Well, it should.”

Lindsay gave her the look, the one that always instantly busted through her bravado.

“I know. It doesn’t. I broke the law,” Cindy conceded. “I got caught… again. But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about it. As soon as I have my arraignment, the paper will take care of it.”

“The paper will take care of it, huh?” Lindsay asked.

“Yeah,” Cindy responded, feeling rather small and stupid. “They always do.”

“As soon as you have your arraignment?”

Her tone of voice was… off, so Cindy just nodded in confusion.

“Do you know what ‘intra vires’ is?” Lindsay asked her.

“Latin. Within the power,” she answered immediately, and from the scowl directed back at her, she realized it would have been better for her if she hadn’t.

“Of course you do,” Lindsay grumbled. “And wrong.”

“No, it is. Intra vires is-“

“It’s Latin for you’re a dumbass,” Lindsay cut in, stopping short her textbook definition. “You have a right to a speedy trial, but the judge has judicial discretion over what’s considered fair. Since you have been arrested five times this month, the judge decided a waiting period might help you learn to behave.”

“A waiting period,” Cindy faltered. “How long of a waiting period?”

“You’re not being arraigned until after the holidays.”

“When you say after the holidays,” Cindy swallowed the lump in her throat, “do you mean Christmas or New Year’s?”

Not that either was particularly appealing.

Lindsay didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her look said it all.

“Three weeks?” Cindy squeaked. “I have to stay in here for three weeks?”

“No,” Lindsay replied with a bothersome lack of inflection. “The judge ordered you moved to county jail #1.”

“Jail? Like real jail?”

No. Lindsay was messing with her. She’d made it up. She was just saying that to scare her. And why was she acting so freaking calm?!?

“No, Lindsay. No! I’m young, and I’m small. And I’m naive.”

Lindsay cocked her head as if she hadn’t correctly heard the admission.

“I am,” Cindy admitted again, a touch of panic edging its way into her voice. Her eyes pleaded with Lindsay. “I won’t do well in jail.”

“Yeah,” Lindsay responded, her annoyance still plain. “I know.”

She pulled a ring of keys from her back pocket.

“You’re busting me out?” Cindy lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“No,” Lindsay answered with a half roll of her eyes. “Lucky for you, you have a friend at the DA’s office. Jill told the judge that you would be an excellent candidate for house arrest.”

Lindsay pulled open the cell door and Cindy stepped outside with a deep, cleansing breath and a visible measure of relief.

“Yes. Good. I can handle solitude. At least better than I can handle prison.”

“Well, I hope you’re not looking too forward to it.” Lindsay said, relocking the cell door and turning to face her. “Not your house. Mine.”