House Arrrest (2/35) – WMC fic

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

(Lindsay’s POV)

“Is this really necessary?”

Lindsay struggled not to scream obscenities in response to the question.

“Yes, this is what house arrest is,” she said instead, clasping the cuff onto Cindy’s ankle and looking up. “Too tight?”

“No,” Cindy sighed, “it’s fine. Bulky… but fine.”

Lindsay stood and dropped the key onto the end table, then thought better of it, retrieved the key and stuffed it into her pocket, before heading into the kitchen.

Cindy trailed after. Behind her, Lindsay could hear her struggling to walk with the new weight around her ankle and muttering curses at it.

“So, stopping for Chinese on the way, did you have to get department approval for that?”

Lindsay grabbed plates from the cabinet, not even feigning amusement.

“It was a joke,” Cindy said, dropping into a chair at the table.

“This really isn’t funny,” Lindsay said back, sitting down across from her and handing her a plate.

“It’s kind of funny.”

Lindsay just sighed and shook her head as she dished rice out onto her plate with chopsticks.

“Can I have a fork?”

“Sure. Drawer on the left side of the sink.”

Cindy sat there for a moment, apparently waiting for some sort of hostess service, but when Lindsay didn’t get up to collect a fork for her, she finally got up and made a show of dragging her foot across the floor.

Lindsay dropped her eyes to her plate to hide her smile at Cindy’s expense. The situation was NOT funny, but watching Cindy drag around five pounds on her ankle was kind of amusing. There were updated versions of the house arrest anklet readily available at the station; smaller, lighter versions that served the same purpose. Lindsay had spent almost an hour digging through old equipment in search of this particular one.

Cindy found the fork and made her way back to the table.

“So, why is my house arrest here?” she asked as she sat. “Do they think I’m exceptionally menacing?”

“Yeah, that’s it. The reporter with no respect for the right to privacy.”

“The government doesn’t have any. Why should I? Seriously, what’s the deal?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lindsay answered shortly, reaching for the pepper steak and helping herself to a large portion.

“Okaaay,” Cindy responded. “I was just curious. Now, I’m suspicious. Why am I here? You don’t think you can trust me?”

Lindsay willed Cindy to just retract the question, but she didn’t. And when she looked up at her across the table, Lindsay realized the subject wasn’t going to just drop.

“I would like to think that I could leave that cuff off and you would stay put just because I tell you to, but I seriously doubt it.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Cindy returned softly.

She seemed… hurt. If she had seemed anything else, Lindsay would have just kept changing the subject until Cindy finally came to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to give in to the interrogation. But she couldn’t leave it with Cindy thinking that she didn’t trust her. Though, really, had she given her reason to?

“I said Jill told the judge you were a good candidate for house arrest. I didn’t say the judge agreed.”

“Oh,” Cindy said, and Lindsay watched the news sink in. “So, I would be in jail right now?”

“Yes.” Lindsay took a big bite and glanced across the table.

Cindy turned so pale so quickly, she looked as if she’d just been tasered. Her shocked silence lasted for quite some time, and Lindsay prepared to jump up from her chair to play catcher if she so chose to faint. Finally, Cindy regained some of her faculties and her lips twisted up into a slight smile.

“You vouched for me?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Lindsay returned quickly. “Merry Christmas.”

Cindy didn’t say anything else about it, but her smile didn’t fade as she finally started dishing some of the food onto her own plate. They started eating in relative silence. Lindsay thought it a minor miracle, considering her generally verbose dining companion. She wondered how long it would last, then guesstimated it had about four minutes when Cindy finally broke the silence.

“Martha likes me more than you,” she said out of the blue.

“Why do you say that?” Lindsay asked between bites.

“She’s been licking my sock for the last five minutes.”

“Maybe she likes you more than me,” Lindsay granted. “Then again, she could have just found something good to eat. I’m not exactly terrific at keeping this floor clean.”

She would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t delight in the disgusted tone of Cindy’s next small utterance.


After they had both sufficiently over-eaten, Lindsay went to her stash of blankets. She paused on every rough-feeling and thin blanket she came across, then chose to take the high road and picked out two of average comfort. She took those, along with one thin pillow and a set of old sheets, to Cindy in the living room.

“Here you go. Sheets and blankets.”

“Does this pull out?”

“No,” Lindsay said, dropping the bed clothes onto the arm of the couch.

“You’re seriously going to make me sleep on the sofa?”

“These are my convict quarters. Sleep tight.”

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