Truth Comes Out (2/3) – WMC Fic

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

She’d debated whether or not to leave the house, whether to drive to her requested destination or to a dive bar, and whether or not to get out of her car once she was parked out front, but, ultimately, Cindy realized it would be easier to show up and face the music than face Lindsay’s wrath if she didn’t show up.

All afternoon, she’d been doing nothing but going over scenarios in her head. Luckily, what-ifs were her forte, and coming up with likely responses to her revelation wasn’t that difficult. She’d even written the possible responses down so that she could prepare clever retorts to each of them. She’d gone over them at every red light, and now they were in her back pocket, doing very little to help her courage.

The way she figured it, there were only a few things that Lindsay could say:

1. Puppy love is only cute in puppies.
2. Sleeping with me won’t get you scoops any faster.
3. You’re out of the club. (because, honestly, she always felt as if Lindsay was just waiting to revoke her membership)

Which of these likely responses Lindsay would use was the only real question. Probably all three. Getting her point across was one of Lindsay’s fortes. That’s why it was imperative she be ready.

These were the responses she had prepared for each of Lindsay’s.

1. Charlie Brown and the little red-haired girl? Adorable.
2. Rude. Who mentioned sex? I come from a long line of eunuchs.
3. It’s not a club, remember?

They weren’t good replies, she knew that, but she was under a bit of pressure, and they were the only things she’d been able to come up with. It has been considerably easier determining Lindsay’s responses to her responses.

1. Okay. Puppies and cartoons.
2. How exactly does one come from a long line of eunuchs? Doesn’t the whole eunuch thing pretty much prevent that?

To the third thing, she didn’t actually expect a verbal response from Lindsay. An open palm to the face would pretty much sum up her feelings regarding sassy backtalk.

She didn’t want to have this conversation at all. In hindsight, an obvious lie would have been easier. But now here she was, knocking on the door of Lindsay’s apartment with a knot in her stomach and a list of Lindsay-isms in her back pocket, with absolutely no idea of whether or not they would even be friends after this sharing session. That thought almost made her sprint back down the hall, but, thanks to her moment of honesty, this was a dialogue that was going to happen sooner or later.

But maybe it didn’t have to be tonight, because no one came to the door. A glimmer of hope! Maybe someone had been murdered and Lindsay couldn’t come home. She knocked again, softly, and kept her figurative fingers crossed. A frazzled “Who is it?” from the other side of the door quashed her optimism.

“It’s me,” Cindy said.

Lindsay yanked the door open so fast, Cindy was knocked backward by the gale-force wind.

“I didn’t buzz you in,” Lindsay sounded almost panicked

“Someone was leaving,” Cindy responded. “They let me in.” Then, she decided to stop pretending there was nothing abnormal about the situation. “Linds… you’re not wearing a shirt.”

Lindsay looked down at herself, seemingly shocked by the revelation. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I was changing,” she explained. “I’ll get one.”

And then she was dashing off into another room before Cindy could even prepare any kind of answer to that. She watched Lindsay go through the door from where she stood perched halfway out in the hall.

“I’m gonna come in?” she called toward the other room.

“Yeah. Come in,” Lindsay yelled back.

So she stepped inside and proved her city-girl status by automatically locking the door behind her. When you lock your own door, you are just streetwise. When you lock the doors of other people, you are acclimated.

At a loss for what to do next, Cindy walked back and forth near the door. She briefly considered putting her junior high tap lessons to work to relieve her nervous tension, but then decided that the last thing she wanted was Lindsay laughing at her, which was pretty much a certainty if she walked in on such an impromptu performance.

She heard the soft footsteps, indicating Lindsay’s return to the room, but pretended not to. She wasn’t quite ready to face her yet. Brief exchanges were one thing, but sitting down for the coming heart-to-heart was something she had every intention of avoiding as long as possible. In that endeavor, she didn’t even turn when Lindsay was so near that it had to be obvious that she was purposely ignoring her presence.

The next thing that she was aware of, her bag was sliding off of her shoulder. She turned to see Lindsay setting it down on the floor. Then, Lindsay took one step toward her and the detective’s long arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in so that the front of their bodies were flush against each other. Though Lindsay’s arms were surprisingly gentle, the move still stole her breath.

“Is this close enough?”

Cindy tightened her grip on Lindsay’s shoulders and looked between them.

“There’s still space.”

Lindsay’s mouth melted into a smirk that Cindy was certain she bestowed on every perp she bested in the interrogation room, and then the space was gone.

“Is that better?”

Knowing that she would stumble over several noises without actually managing to form a single word if she tried to speak, Cindy nodded in response.

She might have been embarrassed by the immediate loss of all her faculties if not for the catch she’d detected in Lindsay’s voice when she asked the question.

Lindsay lowered her head, brought it so close that her breath was hot on Cindy’s lips, but she didn’t close the distance. She just hovered there as if they hadn’t already waited too long.

“You really don’t think you tease me enough?” Cindy said, rising just enough for her bottom lip to barely brush against Lindsay’s when she opened her mouth to speak.

Lindsay’s resolve dissolved instantly, but before she had a chance to initiate the kiss, Cindy put her hand on the back of Lindsay’s neck and crushed their lips together, earning a loud moan from the other woman in the process. Lindsay’s arms tightened around her waist, pulling her upward until only her toes were making contact with the floor, and when Lindsay’s tongue brushed past her lips and made contact with her own, Cindy was incredibly grateful that she wasn’t the one supporting most of her weight at the moment.

But Lindsay’s strength and balance weren’t faring any better than her own, because suddenly they were crashing against the door. Cindy’s back hit with a substantial thud and all of Lindsay’s weight ended up pressing against her.

“Sorry,” Lindsay whispered.

“Are you kidding me?” Cindy said back, pulling her back in for another kiss.

But this kiss was different. It was slower, more exploratory, less raw need, and more raw emotion. Halfway through it, they started a slow slide down the door that would have taken them all the way to the floor if not for Lindsay grabbing onto the doorknob to stop their descent and pulling out of the kiss. She was still leaned against Cindy and panting, and it was all that Cindy could do not to dive right back in.

“Now what?”

Lindsay could have meant the immediate ‘what comes after this?,’ or meant the bigger picture ‘now, what does this mean for us?,’ the conversation that Cindy had really expected to be in the middle of right at this very moment in time. Since she was pretty certain that Lindsay knew what usually followed a kiss like that, she was more than likely referring to the latter. But the way that Lindsay’s leg was resting between hers, and where exactly Lindsay’s knee hit due to their substantial height difference, made the former question slightly more urgent.

“Now, maybe you should pull me close in your bed. Just a thought. Though, right now, I’d be good with the floor too.”

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