House Arrest (10/35) – WMC fic

(Lindsay’s POV)

Lindsay walked through the front door already talking, which she felt pretty stupid for once she realized Cindy wasn’t in the living room where she had expected to find her. Or in the kitchen, she realized after checking there, and putting down the appetizers she had pilfered on Cindy’s behalf. So, either Cindy had managed to slip her anklet, a possibility that wouldn’t have surprised Lindsay in the least, or she was in the one place left to look.

As she walked into the bedroom, Martha jumped down to meet her at the door.

“Hey girl,”she whispered, mindful of the sleeping form in her bed.

The room was dim. The only light on was the one on the bedside table, illuminating Cindy from the back. When Lindsay looked over at her, she was glad that her entrance hadn’t woken Cindy. There was something oddly affecting about seeing Cindy asleep in her bed with one arm holding on tightly to her pillow. She looked so peaceful that, if not for the open case file beside her, she would have let her lie. But she knew how much she and Cindy had in common when it came to their jobs. If she’d fallen asleep in the midst of work she wanted to accomplish tonight, she’d be furious with herself in the morning, which is the one reason Lindsay finally decided upon waking her.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge at Cindy’s back. It was on impulse that she reached out, but logic made her hand hover for a moment before she dropped it down to pull a thick strand of hair back out of Cindy’s face.

“Cindy.”

Cindy’s eyes opened instantly at the sound of her name, but it took a moment for her to orient herself to her surroundings.

“What time is it?” she asked once she had.

“Ten-thirty,” Lindsay answered quietly. She couldn’t seem to elevate her voice above an intimate murmur.

“That’s not late,” Cindy responded, her voice husky with sleep.

“It was an office party. I just had to make an appearance. What time did you think I would be home?”

“I don’t know,” Cindy said, hesitating on the next word. “Tomorrow.”

Lindsay laughed at the insinuation, because it was so completely absurd. Cindy sat up in the bed, not nearly as humored by her statement.

“What kind of girl do you think I…” Lindsay started.

But then Cindy turned toward her and the light caught her eyes, eyes that were bloodshot and swollen and far too glassy. Lindsay felt her chest tighten in response.

“Have you been crying?” she asked. “Again?”

Cindy hurriedly cast her eyes away from Lindsay’s.

“I’m just tired,” she muttered, rushing to get up out of the bed.

Lindsay’s more stand-ready position allowed her to beat Cindy to her feet, but the sudden move unbalanced Cindy’s attempts at getting down off the bed. She stumbled clumsily, but Lindsay was right there to catch her, and to prevent her from running off. Even after Cindy had regained her footing, Lindsay didn’t let her go. Her hands held tight enough to Cindy’s upper arms to keep her there.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

But ‘Who can I kill?’ was the question she really wanted the answer to. Who in the hell had made Cindy cry this time?

When Cindy looked up at her, and Lindsay saw the tears starting to form in her eyes again, it occurred to her that maybe she was somehow at fault for this, for yet a second time in the span of just a few days.

“Did I do something?” she asked.

“I’m just tired,” Cindy repeated, her eyes pleading. “Please.”

It only made sense in context. Cindy was beseeching her to stop asking questions. While Lindsay was dying to know what was going on in Cindy’s head, she didn’t want to create any further trauma, so she released her grip on Cindy’s arms enough to allow her escape.

“See you in the morning… maybe,” Cindy said, not waiting for a reply before heading toward the door.

“Cindy,” Lindsay called at her back. “Do you want to sleep in here?”

Cindy halted in the doorway and slowly looked back at her. The expression on her face was conflicted, as if she wanted nothing more than to accept the offer, but something was keeping her fastened to her spot.

“I’ll take the couch for tonight. I don’t mind,”Lindsay said, trying to coax Cindy into acceptance.

But it had the exact opposite effect. Cindy looked away, appearing even sadder and more desperate to escape.

“No, you should have your bed Lindsay,” she said, and immediately stepped through the door.