fic: perspective is circumstantial (the killing)
okay, just. . . disregard rick and the finale completely. CURSE YOUR SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE BETRAYAL, HOLDER. I still ship Linden/Holder really hard and Joel Kinnaman saying (about a possible romantic relationship with Linden/Holder) "It might be a little bit X-Files; if there is something, it’s very subtle. I don’t think it’s something that any of them are aware of. There’s not anything yet - I’m thinking of the possible future. I mean, I haven’t read any of the scripts yet, so I don’t know where they’re going to take it," did nothing to kill my spirits. (and my theory that rick is the killer doesn't help, either.) if Linden/Holder isn't your cup of tea, please disregard this fic, kthanx.
perspective is circumstantial. the killing. t for minor swearing and kissing. 2,315 words.
stephen holder/sarah linden.
The morning could only have one outcome; either he left first or she did.
The morning could only have one outcome; either he left first or she did.
Luckily for him, Linden sleeps like the dead and her light snores permeate through the room, leaving him with the perfect opportunity to escape undetected. Holder's apartment isn't the nicest -- far from luxurious with his paycheck -- and she'll no doubt have to shift through the mess to find the front door but he's done this before and they always find their way out, like he is now.
If she expects coffee and cuddles in the morning, she clearly doesn't know him at all. Holder isn't the domesticated, all-American man, he's not the kind to wake a lady up, the smell of freshly made coffee wafting through the air as sweet nothings are exchanged. He'll give the old fuck and farewell treatment to any and every lady that is misguided enough to fall into bed with him, that's the way it is and always will be, in his book. Rick may be able to give her all the empty words and boring sex she wanted, but Holder will never be that man.
His pants slide up his legs with some fight, his head rush causing him to nearly trip over the billowing denim. His eardrums ring and the sound echoes in his head as the dizziness finally sends him into a daze. The bed where Linden still sleeps remains inert, however, as though it were the focus of the suite.
Buttoning his jeans, he glances up at her, at the sheets modestly covering the expanse of her body, of the untamed orange locks of her hair, at the -- dare he say-- cute opening of her mouth as she inhales and exhales. Linden isn't beautiful in the traditional sense, nothing like those mainstream models; she's beautiful in her own way, and he almost wishes she would leave her hair flowing around her shoulders, making her seem like a glorious lioness in her own right. Vaguely, he remembers untying it from its tiresome tie the night before, the hair framing her face and his gape of surprise. Holder had seen her in many forms before; broken down, mirthful, neutral, disappointed and inspired but he had never seen her shy before then. It's not as though he was at his best last night, either. Being celibate for six months beforehand put a dampener on his confidence and caused his ministrations to be that of an eager virgin's because Linden makes him feel clumsy and stupid and amateur in everything he says and does and that's probably why this happened in the first place. And that's why he has to leave.
The thought of leaving a note skates across his mind briefly before he denounces it as laughable. What would he say? Thanks for the lay, Linden. See you in work. P.S. Mind picking up my coffee and bringing it to work? - Holder. No, that'll just make it worse -- if it can get any worse; sleeping with his partner and leaving as though they were strangers and will never see each other again. God, seeing her again is going to be awful. He fully expects shouting and screaming and accusations to the point in which she asks to be paired with another detective. Pairing with him hadn't been her initial intention, he knows this very well, and it'll probably be a relief to be unburdened of him.
Holder's shirt is in his hands when the sound he never wanted to hear slices the air; the groan of awakening.
He half-turns to glimpse over his shoulder as Linden's arm stretches and seeks him in the bed but instead finds cold sheets. Linden's hands are unrelenting and move up and down on the mattress as though he'll be there if she does that enough. She finally shifts and sits up, one hand holding the sheet against her chest. Holder's heart drops when she spots him there, half-dressed and ready to leave.
Linden cocks her head curiously at him. "And where do you think you're going?"
He looks around, perplexed. "I was gonna go 'round the corner and grab a bite," he lies, a thumb over his shoulder towards the bedroom door. "You want something?"
"You were going to leave, weren't you?" It isn't a question; it's a conclusion. And when he says nothing and swallows the lump that swells his throat, she sighs. "You do remember that finding the light switch and the door in a new room annoys me the most, right?"
I'm the biggest idiot in the world, he thinks, wiping a hand over his face and recalling when she revealed her experiences with foster homes, how figuring out the layout of her new room irritated her to no end.
"Jesus, Linden. I completely forgot, I'm sorry," he says, not bothering to defend his cheap lie. Holder could deceive little girls but he could never bluff Linden -- verbally, anyway.
"Sorry for nearly leaving or for not showing me where the light switch is?"
He chuckles once, but it's empty, humorless. "Both," he states sincerely, inwardly berating himself for considering abandoning her like that. Turning over to a new chapter of his life had been his goal since quitting the narcotics, since Kristy -- what a disaster that had been, didn't he know it. Finding Rosie Larsen's killer was supposed to be his penance, in a way at least.
This reminds him of when he unintentionally insulted her motherly skills and she demanded he stop the car, which he did if only to silence her shouts. Holder could have left her there, left her to seek out her son by herself but he didn't; he slowed the car to a languid pace and asked her to come back as she kept chewing her irritating gum and spitting it out after a single chew. Linden acquiesced after mulling it over, angrily opening the door and retrieving a cigarette from his pocket.
"You just going to stand there like an idiot or are you going to get in here?" she inquired, a small smile on her lips as she pats the place beside her, because who can resist Linden when she looks like she does now; her loose hair and full lips and petite form in his bed.
Holder sighs with mock reluctance and slides on the empty side of the bed, the sharp chill biting into his bare back. An arm moves automatically around his partner's shoulders. He dwarfs her in a myriad of ways, he realizes as his arm is much too immense as her shoulders fit them until his forearm and it's inelegant as she attempts to rest her head on his chest, his height belittling hers. Last night had been even more proving in how much smaller she was. To kiss her, his head craned at an awkward angle and he had to bend to half his height, she merely stood on the tips of her toes and dragged him down to meet her. It didn't matter that his neck ached for hours or that he swears something went out in his back, all that matters is that Linden had wanted to kiss him; stupid, pain-in-the-ass Stephen Holder.
The thought causes him to reach over on his disheveled nightstand, straining for his cigarette pack. Linden usually hates this habit of his, asking him to stand out in the rain and smoke rather than smoke in the car where she can breathe in the fumes. She says nothing now, much to his astonishment. It's not his best moment when he has to remove his arm from around her shoulder to light his cigarette but he returns it to it's rightful place not a second later.
"You sure you don't mind, Linden?" Holder questions, blowing out a clear line of grey mist to exaggerate his point. "You usually PMS about this kind of thing."
She shakes her head. "I think I jumped from my high horse when I snagged two cigarettes from you."
"And my name is Sarah, not Linden," she adds, resting her chin on his chest and smiling widely. Seeing her smile is something he still hasn't grown accustomed to yet. He's so used to seeing her serious and completely unmoved by anything he says, when he makes her laugh it's usually unintentional and she's probably laughing at him rather than with him.
He says nothing, because he has nothing to say. Not to her, anyway.
"Say it," she requests, her face closer than it was several seconds ago. Holder laughs.
"It."
Linden lightly smacks his collarbone. "No, say my name: Sarah."
Sighing, he says, "Sarah."
Her name feels like Latin on his lips. Sure, he's said it a number of times but only when he was teasing her about checking him out or for when she didn't thank him for being her chauffeur for the day but he's never said it in normal conversation with her, feeling like it would cross the wrong kind of line -- well, what they just did crossed all sorts of lines but her name was this sacred, personal thing inaccessible to him.
"Was that so hard?" she teases, poking his stomach with a thin, bony finger.
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, he repeats over and over in his head like a broken record. It occurs to him now that she's never said his name, and the longing he feels to hear it stuns even him.
"What? Do I not get a turn?" he asks, running the back of his knuckles along her bicep. "I got a name too, you know. It ain't like I was hatched, either."
He smirks when she mumbles something into his skin. "What was that? Didn't catch that, Sarah."
"Stephen," she mutters, looking down and tracing circles on his breast, creating circular coldness on his chest.
Leaning close, he whispers into her ear, "Was that so hard?"
They lay in silence for a time; her content with learning the geography of his torso and him happily puffing on his smoke. Holder extinguishes it when it is reduced to a butt, releasing one final breath of grey.
"I thought you were celibate," she muses into the reticence, finally glancing up to find him watching her.
Holder shrugs. "Things change, and things happen." You happened, he wants to say, but dismisses it entirely, not wanting to give her another reason to mock him. You trying to do math is kind of like a dog wearing a hat, she'd said once, not quite laughing but the amused smile was the only gesture he needed.
"So, your celibacy is like your vegetarianism," she assumes. "Completely selective."
She got under his skin, sometimes. Linden -- Sarah, he reminds himself with a wince of memory -- notices things as though she watches it all from the sky, as though she knows everything and sees everything and misses none of the miniature components. Another thing that grates his nerves? Her memory. She followed him to his Narcotics Anonymous meeting, fleeing up the stairs as the melody of a ringing phone alerted him to her presence behind the door. They never spoke about it, of course -- as they do with most things -- and he's relieved with that, but he feels the disarming of himself each day, as she chisels away the remains of his pride with a mere look of scrutinizing blue eyes.
"Perspective is circumstantial," he reminds her. "My body is my temple, and it appreciates your prayer."
"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Little Linden packs a nasty punch in those bony hands of hers, he'll give her that much. He whistles a small ow as quietly as he can while he presses indignant fingers to his ribs, foreseeing the purple that will soon be staining the white of his skin.
"Easy, little lady," Holder grins, tilting his head. "Don't break me; I'm fragile."
Whatever typicial Linden retort she was about to begin was substituted with her mouth on his, warm and wet and wonderful yet completely alien to him. The kisses he's known have usually been distant memories in a fuzzy rush of a night before, never something that occurred without the pipe in his mouth and the thrill of euphoria running through him. If she notices, she pays it no heed. A hand reaches up to touch the back of his neck, mapping the tattoo etched there; the caress of her fingers causing him to moan against her lips, deepening the kiss. His own hands shape themselves down her featherweight form, trailing to her hips and cupping what little he could. Six months without this slowed him down, somewhat, and made him want to draw this out as much as humanly possible.
Sarah had different ideas as she sweeps the sheet around herself and straddles his lap, never releasing her hold on him. The past few days have been a complete torment; Jack missing, bailing out on Liz and his nephew -- here, he could forget, all worry and troubles washing away with each press of Linden's lips on his.
She makes a noise of frustration and clasps his arms, wrapping them both around her waist. Holder grips her, not letting her go, keeping her here and not in fucking Sonoma. Their lips part with an audible smack and she looks down and bites her lip, pushing her hair behind her ear. After moments of stinging silence, she glimpses up, both hands on his face and the scratch of her nails threads the line of painful.
"I won't break you if you won't break me," she whispers, leaning her forehead on his.
"Don't you worry, Linden," he smiles, closing his eyes. Holder plies one of her hands from his face and merely holds it, marveling at the difference of size. "You got under my skin; ain't no way you getting out."