House Arrest (15/35) – WMC fic

(December 24th, Cindy’s POV)

Cindy didn’t know quite what to do with herself. From day one, she’d been busy with the chores and then the article, both courtesy of Lindsay. Now, she was done with those things, and there was nothing to preoccupy her enough to keep her from getting up every ten minutes, tiptoeing over to Lindsay’s open bedroom door and checking in on her.

When Lindsay had called her the evening before, she sounded like she was about to drop from exhaustion. Cindy cursed the fact that she couldn’t leave the apartment to go and pick her up, but she was glad to find out that Claire had swooped in to the rescue. She’d made a mental note to buy Claire flowers and some sort of sweet food item that packed on the pounds and rotted her teeth.

It was hard getting the story of Claire’s heroism out of Lindsay though. It wasn’t that she was being particularly non-talkative, but what she did say didn’t make a whole lot of sense. She laughed through her answers to half of Cindy’s questions, even when there was nothing funny about them. Then, when she realized how much talking she was doing without actually communicating anything, she had finally just handed Cindy a file full of document copies, including a signed confession, and said ‘Here it is, wrapped with a bow. Print whatever you’d like from that. I’ve gotta get some sleep,’ after which she had walked straight into the bedroom and fallen on top of her bed without even removing her shoes.

Cindy had gone in after she was sure that Lindsay was out, pulled her shoes off, and removed her top layer of rather ripe clothing. Then, she pulled the covers up over her, and allowed herself a moment… a moment to drink in serene Lindsay, an oxymoron which seemed to exist only in sleep. But only a moment. She actually did have something important to do.

So, after a lingering kiss to Lindsay’s eyebrow, Cindy had forced herself up and out of the room, where she had put in a completely laborious call to her boss, who really wanted all of the information turned over to Reynolds, since it was <em>his</em> story. But Cindy told the big boss that her source would only work with her, which wasn’t specifically stated, but she liked to think was the truth, so he’d had no choice but to allow her to run with it. Then she’d gone straight to work on the story to which Lindsay had given her the exclusive, quite possibly saving her fledgling career in the process.

Lindsay’s hunch about the lucky wife had paid off as usual. The man she’d had the affair with had a track record in murderous affairs. This woman really was apparently the luckiest woman alive, because he’d managed to finish off the last two, one in Nevada and one in Arizona, along with their families. If having an affair with psychopath and getting her entire family murdered, then having to live with those facts could be considered lucky.

The writing had flowed fast, probably because it felt so dire, and now it was done and turned in, and it was almost twenty hours since she’d walked through the door, and Lindsay was still asleep.

Pout.