So Complicated (Part 1 of 1)
FANDOM: Women’s Murder Club
PAIRING: Lindsay/ Cindy
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Passion & Perfection. All others with the permission of the author, only.
A/N: I have found that music often inspires my best writing, but I heard this old song on country radio the other day and was shocked by how well it fits the Lindsay/Cindy vibe we saw all through the TV series. I wish to God I had any skill at all in the video making department-if I did, I would for sure make a fan vid of Cindy and Lindsay set to Carolyn Dawn Johnson’s beautiful song “So Complicated.” Enjoy.
So Complicated
Cindy Thomas smiled in what she hoped was a not-totally awkward manner as the tall, dark, and dangerously gorgeous brunette slid into the seat next to Claire in their usual booth at Papa Joe’s. The Texans eyes rose to meet hers as she settled back in her seat with a drink and her lips quirked up into that sexy smile that always made Cindy’s heart quiver. “Thomas,” Lindsay said in that deep, Texas dialect that never failed to send shivers down her spine.
Cindy choked violently on her margarita then, much to her chagrin, and as Jill pounded her on the back and Claire helpfully suggested in a motherly tone that she put her hands up, she could have sworn she saw Lindsay hide a smirk behind her glass. And was she mistaking that twinkle in her eye…?
I’m so scared that the way that I feel is written all over my face
When you walk into the room I want to find a hiding place.
We used to laugh; we used to hug the way that old friends do
But now a smile and the touch of your hand just makes me come unglued
Such a contradiction- do I lie or tell the truth
Is it fact or fiction- the way I feel for you?
“Can I walk you to your car?”
Cindy jumped, her hand going to her chest feeling her heart pounding away under her fingertips. “Jesus, Lindsay,” she muttered, still massaging her chest, “You scared the bejesus out of me.”
For a moment the inspector looked truly sorry, and then the smile was back. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” she husked, “I was only trying to be friendly. Anyway, it’s dark and you parked five blocks up and who knows what might be lurking in your back seat?”
While talking, Lindsay had placed her hand on Cindy’s lower back and was guiding her up the street towards her waiting car. Cindy paused and looked up at her. “Don’t you mean who?”
“What?” Lindsay asked, her expression clearly befuddled.
“You said “You never know what might be lurking in my backseat. You meant who, though, right?”
Her gaze darkened slightly in the overhead glow of the streetlights. “No. I definitely meant what.”
Her hand returns to my back again, and I let her lead me where she will, my mind torn in two very opposite directions at the moment.
It’s so complicated, I’m so frustrated.
I want to hold you close; I want to push you away
I want to make you go; I want to make you stay.
Should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh I want you to know… but then again, I don’t.
It’s so complicated.
“Whaddya want, kid?” Jill asks, her voice sleep muffled and her manner even more causal than usual, “I’m too tired to cover for you tonight and bust you out of jail, and I really don’t-“
“Lindsay walked me back to my car tonight. After you left with Claire,” Cindy interrupted Jill’s sleep-fogged diatribe.
There was a pause and the rustling of bed sheets as a suddenly not-so-sleepy Jill smelled blood (or sex) in the water and came to. “And?” she says, her voice much clearer and the question clearly leading.
“Nothing happened,” Cindy said quickly, “She just walked me back to my car. We didn’t even talk much. But her hand….”
“What about her hand?” Jill asked, and Cindy could almost hear the grin on her face.
“She kept it right on the small of my back, the whole time. And it felt… good. Really good.”
Cindy paused a moment, gathering her thoughts, and when she spoke again, her voice was small and scared. “I just don’t know what this means. Any of it.”
Jill lapsed into silence on the other end of the line for a long moment, and Cindy could tell she was debating whether or not to tell her something. Finally, after a long minute of not speaking, Jill’s voice returns-slightly sadder than Cindy had been expecting.
“You do know she talks about you all the time, right? I mean literally all the time….”
Just when I think I’m under control, I think I’ve finally got a grip
Another friend tells me that my name is always on your lips
They say I’m more than just a friend, they say I must be blind
Well I admit that I’ve seen you watch me from the corner of your eye.
Cindy laid in bed for a long time after Jill hung up, her mind running endlessly, as if on a loop, over all the evidence, as Jill had called it, that Lindsay-Inspector Lindsay Boxer of San Francisco PD, tall, dark, and devastating-loved her back.
The over-protectiveness. The secret looks. The momentary, not-quite-necessary touches of their hands when exchanging documents. Her unusually hostile reaction to Jamie Galvan and other possible suitors since then.
Cindy had thought that it was her doing, all these coincidences and occurrences. But now that Jill had said it out loud… what if it wasn’t? What if Lindsay really did feel for her the same way she felt for Lindsay?
Rolling over with a groan, Cindy pulled the covers over her shoulders and tried to sleep. The dull red of her alarm clock said 3:25 AM, and she wasn’t tired at all.
It’s so complicated, I’m so frustrated
I want to hold you close; I want to push you away
I want to make you go; I want to make you stay.
Should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh I want you to know… but then again, I don’t.
It’s so complicated.
Cindy still wasn’t asleep at 3:54 AM when her cell phone went off behind her. Groping in the darkness, Cindy reached for it, knowing by the song playing and her own gut instinct who it was that was calling her this late at night. She looked at the glowing face of her cell phone as Carolyn Dawn Johnson’s strong refrain rang out through the still night. The caller ID was flashing.
Boxer.
*~*~* The End *~*~*