House Arrest (7/35) – WMC fic

(Cindy’s POV)

They had exactly one minute to talk, because Lindsay got in after Cindy had gone to bed and didn’t wake her. If Lindsay hadn’t sloshed hot coffee all over her hand and yelped right as she was getting ready to leave, Cindy might not have known she had been there at all. She kind of wished that Lindsay would wake her up, no matter what time she got in. She’d hardly been home at all since this case started, and it could get pretty lonely around the house. Cindy had actually believed that, with her tethering to Lindsay’s place, they would be spending a lot of time together, so much that they’d get tired of each other. Oh who was she kidding? That wasn’t going to happen. Well, at least not on her side. But even when they did see each other, like this morning, they had time for very few total exchanges.

“Good morning,” she’d said, walking into the kitchen.

“Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lindsay said back.

“It’s okay. Have you gotten any sleep at all?”

Lindsay certainly didn’t look as if she had.

“Yeah. A couple of hours.”

“You’re gonna run out of steam.”

“We’re almost there now. I’ll be okay. How’s that sewer story going?”

“Completed and turned in. And could we never talk about that again?”

Lindsay smiled as she put the lid on her travel mug.

“As you wish. I’m heading back in. But I left something for you on the coffee table.”

“Great,” Cindy responded.

Until that moment, she honestly didn’t know just how much sarcasm she could squeeze into one word. Oddly enough, it only seemed to enhance Lindsay’s humor.

“See you later,” she said.

“See ya,” Cindy returned and watched Lindsay go for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d been there.

To say that she took her sweet time getting to Lindsay’s gift was a supreme understatement. What she did was everything she could think of under the sun to do before making her way to it, because she knew very well exactly what it was going to be, yet another list of chores, carefully selected for her own personal enjoyment. So, as she approached the table and saw the brown folder sitting on the corner, she could seriously have kicked herself for taking so long in getting to it.

When she opened the file, photos, witness statements, copies of warrants, all of it was there. The what, when, where, and how were all accounted for. Only the who and why were missing, but, even without those, there was plenty for a story. And there were also plenty of hand-written notes, like “If you even think about printing this part, you will have a very unhappy Christmas” and “Remember, you can’t run from me right now”.

Cindy laughed down at the folder. This was way too awesome… even for Lindsay. Before she knew what she was doing, she had grabbed the phone and dialed on instinct.

“Guess you finally found your present,” Lindsay said by way of greeting.

“I love you,” Cindy responded, thumbing through the case file.

If she wasn’t so preoccupied with scanning the file before her, Cindy would have realized just how long the pause was on the other end of the phone.

“Glad to know I can inspire some other emotion than gloom,” Lindsay finally said.

“Won’t you get into trouble?”

“Not if you follow my instructions.”

“There were instructions? All I saw were threats.”

“Same difference.”

“Only to you,” Cindy laughed.

And apparently the mirth was contagious, because she heard Lindsay’s chuckle float over the phone line.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I couldn’t have some hack writing a story that the preeminent crime reporter should be covering,” Lindsay replied. “This is my case. I want the best.”

Cindy could feel the blush form and was grateful for the fact that this conversation was taking place over the phone.

“Thanks Lindsay.”

“We’re almost there. I should probably go.”

It didn’t sound like she really wanted to, which felt better than Cindy wanted to admit.

“Of course,” she said. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll see you tonight. I hope.”


“Bye,” Lindsay said quietly.

“Bye,” Cindy responded.

She heard the phone click off and hung up the receiver. Martha looked up at her from the floor and Cindy leaned down to rub the dog’s head with both hands.

“Isn’t Lindsay the best?”

After she was done sharing the excitement with Martha, Cindy made coffee and settled in on the couch for a long spell. By eight o’clock, she’d read the entire file more than once and had a fairly decent introductory paragraph. But it was all that she had accomplished.

Earlier, when she was playing with Martha, she’d realized that the dog did, in fact, need a bath. So, she put on her most determined manner, gave Martha a treat, and hauled her into the bathroom. Martha jumped out of the tub twice before Cindy finally got the hang of it and coaxed her into staying put with several more treats and some excessive ear scratching.

Once Martha was dry and happy, she re-cleaned the bathroom. Then, she threw in a couple of extra chores for herself, chores she could have a little fun with, like changing the sheets on Lindsay’s bed. At a little after ten, she sat down on the couch with the fresh-smelling dog and watched some mindless television.

Lindsay called a few minutes later to say that she would be late, and Cindy waited up for a couple more hours before she called it a wash, turned off the TV, and went to sleep.

Sometime in the early morning hours, Cindy awakened to find Lindsay hovering over her from above. She was standing, but leaned down so close that her breath hit Cindy’s face, and the smell of her usual body spray was almost overwhelming.

Cindy felt her heart quicken. Waking to find someone standing over you will do that to you, she convinced herself.

“You short-sheeted my bed?” Lindsay husked in the darkness.

Cindy grinned in response, not knowing if Lindsay could see it.

“Did I? she responded, trying on her best nonchalance.

Not that she could have prevented it if she had known it was coming, but Cindy really didn’t anticipate Lindsay grabbing the sheet from where it was hanging over the back of the couch, pulling it across her, and tucking it under the couch cushions beneath her. When Lindsay was done, Cindy realized she was wrapped like a burrito, with both arms firmly stuck inside. She tried squirming out of the sheet, but it was utterly secure.

“Lindsay, I can’t move.”

Her eyes adjusted now to the darkness, she could see Lindsay smiling above her.

“Is that right?”

“For real,” Cindy squeaked. “I am seriously stuck here.”

“Guess you’ll sleep extra tight tonight,” Lindsay responded, leaning forward.

The feel of Lindsay’s lips against her forehead halted any attempts by Cindy to form a reply. Then, Lindsay pulled away just as rapidly and walked off toward the bedroom.

If she’d wanted to, Cindy would have been tucked in too tight to move, but it didn’t matter, because she was suddenly too stunned to try.

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