fic: "take you where your sweat won't shine"
Title: take you where your sweat won't shine
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan Amnell
Rating: PG-13 for mild language and sexual themes
Warnings/Spoilers: Modern!AU; no spoilers
Word Count: ~3450
Notes: This is an extremely belated gift for halfabubble and ditchwaterrosie, both of whom are amazing and awesome in general as well as for putting up with my antics/frequent death. My sincerest apologies, ladies: please enjoy.
To the rest of you... I'm not dead. Just a senior at uni. So, kind of dead. Also, enjoy.
It was a Saturday morning when Cara first noticed her.
Cara had made a habit of watching the sunrise after becoming a homeowner, the cool morning air interrupted only by the steam curling lazily from her cup of coffee and her breath. Legs crossed and hands wrapped around her caffeine, she would watch the sunlight filter through the trees in the park across the street and pretend she was the only person on the planet. It was peaceful, enjoyable in a sentimental kind of way she definitely didn't appreciate. Once her psycho neighbors left their house (they always waved, their standard poodle bounding at the end of its leash; Cara nodded in return) the world would be left to Cara.
So when she heard the crunch of pebbles against pavement, she turned her head in surprise.
Despite the relatively young age of the neighborhood, joggers were fairly rare. Cara squinted at the shape approaching her and tried to discern who it was. It wasn't the Psychos, the Grillers, the Newlyweds, or the Sad Single Guy. In fact, it wasn't anyone Cara recognized: as it got closer, Cara realized it was female. She was female. And she looked incredibly good in her short shorts and sweat-soaked trainer.
Naturally Cara did not attempt to flag her over (not that her clean-washed face and drying hair weren't enough to make blind women flirt), but instead observed her silently. The runner paced along with the practiced, unhurried ease of someone who ran on a regular basis, her calf muscles visible as her legs pushed against the ground. Cara merely appreciated the sight and then frowned.
“You should roll your weight along the outside of your foot.”
The woman faltered, surprised, and slowed to a walk in front of Cara's driveway.
“Pardon?”
“You're pushing off the balls of your feet like a sprinter. It's light, but if you're running distances- which you clearly are,” Cara indicated the light sheen of sweat with a wave of her hand. “You'll find it's easier on your knees and shins if you rock off your heel along the outside of your foot and onto the ball.”
“Right.” The woman looked on the verge of laughing, her frown clearly amused, and put her hands on her hips. Cara blinked. “I'll, uh, try that.”
She took off once more, feet light and the swing of her hips unchanged. Cara shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, peevishly noting that it had cooled somewhat.
-
Cara didn't see the runner the next two mornings and decided she was a lost cause. Pretty brunettes often came with an extra helping of stubborn and so Cara was not distressed. She poured her coffee as usual, yelled at clients and got away with it as usual, defended her job on the grounds that she was the best damn consultant in the state as usual, and went home not worse for the wear as usual.
She did not listen for footfalls. As usual.
-
On the third morning (God, she hated Tuesdays- espresso today, she was in a bad mood) a definitely uninteresting sound filled her ears. It was heavier, satisfying because of that, and Cara did not turn her head until directly addressed.
“Better?”
“I wasn't watching,” she said as she looked into the swirling brown of her beverage. “You seemed annoyed with my perfectly legitimate advice the other day, I'm surprised you took me up on it.”
A disbelieving snort sounded and Cara looked up, shocked to see the woman halfway down her walk. “Yeah, well, it was pretty rude.”
Cara shrugged, eyes locked on blue. “It was also true. How does your step feel?”
“Better.” The word was a compliment to Cara's knowledge, but it didn't feel that way. It made her chest tighten in a way she didn't like. “So thanks.” That helped a little.
“Fix the angle of your arms. Ninety degrees.”
“Are you serious?”
“Were you taught to run by someone with limited arm maneuverability or do you naturally carry yourself like you're boxing?”
With a shake of her head, the brunette held up her hand in a goodbye and ran off, leg form greatly improved. Cara was almost too busy inspecting the play of taut muscle along her thighs to notice the relaxed bend of her elbows.
Almost.
-
Cara hated regularity in the way that she hated small children and personal questions. They all made her uneasy and supremely bored. That was why she liked her job: she got to insult people for money and it was never the same insult twice. Her boss gave her the same eye roll, but usually a different reason for it. She appreciated the gesture.
So when the runner passed her house with alarming regularity on Saturday, Tuesday and then Thursday, she refrained from commenting. In her own way.
“Do you like abuse or something?”
Her sunrise companion slowed down to take her usual brief break (ugh, regularity) and laughed breathlessly. It was charming in that she was panting. Cara licked her lips and barely caught the words that came next.
“I guess this proves it, huh?”
“You should talk to somebody about that.”
“What, somebody like you?”
“I don't like daddy issues.”
“Too many to deal with at once?” A victorious smile emerged at Cara's nod- you take that one- and a pale hand wiped away sweat threatening to track into those blue eyes. “You know, I still haven't gotten your name.”
“I did know.”
An amused smile that Cara was getting used to (ugh) and she waved herself off, legs woefully hidden by baggy track pants. “See you Tuesday.”
-
Once or twice, Cara considered staying inside with her cup of coffee and viewing the sunrise from the comfort of her kitchen island and the bay windows she had installed her second week of ownership. She even tried it, settling onto her tastefully modern steel barstool and slipping her fingers around the ceramic of the hot cup. She took a sip, two, groaned. It was no use.
The bay windows simply weren't big enough. The view was poor.
Out she went, shivering slightly in the crisp air and wondering when it had started getting colder. She thought about going inside to get her robe, but abandoned the idea when she heard the patter of sneakers. God knew what awful form this woman had to showcase today. Really, it'd be a crime against humanity to let her ruin those legs.
“Good morning!”
Cara nodded and, feeling a little strange, tried out a smile. It sort of worked, half of her mouth quirking up. She supposed it didn't really matter- the brunette seemed pleased and flashed her a smile that could power a red light district for a month.
“Well?”
Cara looked at her incredulously.
“Yes?”
“Nothing?” A pause. “I'm not stepping the wrong way? My arm aren't liable to get me shot at? I don't look like I've been in an accident? My make up is satisfactory?”
“You aren't wearing make up.”
She earned an eye roll for that, one that would send Cara's boss into fits of jealousy.
“Kahlan.”
“Huh?” Not Cara's most glorious moment, but there it was. She refused to be bothered by her lack of aplomb.
“My name is Kahlan.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Kahlan. It was a pretty name, in its own excessively creative sort of way. Cara tried to picture a couple cooing it to one another with proud beaming faces and nearly lost her coffee to the grass.
“Shall I call you Mistress of Everything True? Lady of Self-Righteous Righteousness? Or just Woman Who Never Fails to Show Up When I'm in Shorts?” The smile turned into a smirk that could still power a neighborhood of prostitutes, but in an entirely different sort of way. Cara struggled with whether or not it was attractive. It probably was.
“Just Mistress will do.”
“I see.” Kahlan's smile dimmed somewhat and she turned to go, ponytail swinging along her back. Cara called out before she could stop herself.
“Cara.”
“Mistress Cara.” The smile was back as Kahlan left and Cara finished her coffee, watching the sunrise creep over her neatly trimmed lawn.
-
Weeks passed and Kahlan was there three times per without fail. Sometimes she stopped to chat or to listen to Cara's advice with an amused expression, other times she only paused to catch her breath, greet Cara, and run on. Cara put the distressing fact that Kahlan did so far from her mind and interacted as was necessary, smiling on days when she knew she'd have a good scream at work.
Her boss used the word cheerful to describe Cara one such morning and it took Cara nearly two days to recover.
Those two days passed and found her standing outside of her house without coffee. She pulled at the edge of her shorts- ridiculous, really, as she obviously had some of the best legs in the city- and flipped through songs on her iPod like the battery was going to die on her.
Also ridiculous, as she'd carefully made sure to plug it in the night before.
Kahlan came bounding along at her usual time and stopped short a driveway over, openly staring. Cara shifted her weight and frowned.
“Well?”
Approaching as though Cara were a rabid dog, Kahlan eyed her outfit (and those fabulous legs, unless Cara was mistaken) and chuckled in disbelief.
“What are you wearing?”
Cara snorted and crossed her arms. “Clothing. Which we can change, if you like.”
The last part went entirely ignored as Kahlan shook her head and started making her way over to Cara. “Are you going for a walk?”
“Walk? Do you think I read Runners Daily for fun or something? Just so I can give you advice on your shit form?”
Kahlan actually reached out and punched Cara's arm lightly at that, the contact making the blonde woman jump. Loathe as she was to admit it, Kahlan threw a pretty decent punch. It was certainly much better than her running.
“Are you running with me?”
“Kahlan, I never pegged you as stupid. Do I need to revisit that theory?”
“Thanks, I think.” Kahlan giggled- damn her- and Cara felt like squirming. There was far too much talking. “Come on then. I've got three miles left.” With that, she took off.
“Wait, what? Kahlan, how far do you run every day?”
-
Three miles and one dry heaving spell cleverly disguised as a coughing fit later, the pair stopped outside a house a mile or two from Cara's, having run in a loop. Kahlan walked up the drive and back down, presumably to cool off, while Cara gulped in air on the sidewalk.
“You... live here...?” Damn her sudden lack of oxygen. Cara blamed the two cups of coffee she'd had earlier. Surely those had something to do with it.
“Yes.” Kahlan took in a lungful and exhaled a little shakily, something Cara would have appreciated had she not been trying to regain her sense of wellbeing. “The morning we met was my first day here.”
The morning they met. Cara wrinkled her nose at the crawling feeling underneath her skin and distracted herself by looking around. The yard was respectable with a small garden lining the front. Blue paint on the house, white on the shutters. Somehow, she wasn't surprised. It was very Kahlan in that emotionally disadvantaged kind of way. She tried to peer into the front windows without seeming too obvious and failed. Kahlan tilted her head and caught Cara's gaze.
“Would you like to come inside?” Cara searched her mind wildly for a reason not to. “For a glass of water, I mean. I need to shower and get to work, I assume you have to do the same.”
“I should really...” Kahlan smiled. Cara caved.
And so she found herself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came straight from Ikea (which it probably had), clutching a glass of water like a lifeline.
“You have a nice place.” The words came out like blood in her mouth and Cara winced, wishing she didn't feel the stupid need to chatter. Kahlan didn't seem to notice, leaning back against a counter and swallowing a third of her own water.
“Thanks. It'll do.” Her smile bespoke her pride as she looked around her kitchen, a fingernail dragging along the stone top of the counter. “I'm just glad I could afford this neighborhood on my salary.”
Cara didn't bother asking. It was coming anyway.
“I'm a cop.”
Cara choked. She'd been expecting daycare provider, middle school councilor, something. Stripper. Anything. Not law enforcement. Kahlan was looking at her with an expression that suggested she was trying not to laugh. Cara glared.
“Cop.”
“Yep.”
“The kind with a gun.”
“Two.”
“No shit.”
Kahlan grinned and Cara was struck, not for the first time, with the suspicion that Kahlan could be and was an entirely different person than what she seemed. The brunette shrugged, grin still plastered on in a highly annoying kind of way, and took another drink of water. Cara did the same and tried her best not to alleviate the newfound tension with a handcuff joke.
God, what was she coming to?
“If you want, I can show you.”
“Huh?” Cara blanched and then realized that Kahlan had not heard any of her thoughts. That was probably a good thing.
God.
“My guns?” Kahlan's smile indicated that she either knew exactly what Cara was thinking or that she was very aware of what the alternative presented anyway. Cara finished her water in one go and set the glass down in the sink.
“I should leave.”
Kahlan nodded. “Right. Work for you too?” It was obvious that she was trying to lead the conversation once more, but Cara refused to bite the proffered bait.
“See you.” She turned on her heel and started heading out the door. She had just grasped the handle when she heard Kahlan sigh from the other room.
“Is it always like this with you? Like pulling teeth, just to get to know you?”
Unable to answer, Cara left without looking back.
-
Kahlan missed that Saturday's run. Cara started stubbornly without her, running until she vomited on someone's bushes. She fixed her most potent stare at the tiny dog that skipped up to her, barking like she'd just committed a crime of some sort. It yelped and scampered off. She spit what bitterness she could and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
She managed to run back home to collapse wearily on the floor of her living room, not even bothering to shower until the sun had shifted in the sky.
-
She sat at her counter the next day, and the next, and watched the sunrise. Kahlan ran by on Tuesday and Cara watched her from the safety of her home, hands clasped empty on her lap.
-
Cara pushed the doorbell of Kahlan's house and stood back, trying to fight the urge to take off running. (Damnit.) It was Thursday and she'd gone into work early, snapping at her boss and almost getting fired for real this time. Logic revealed that this- that this woman- was a problem that needed to be fixed. Cara was not one to sit on the sidelines and watch the world shift without her.
When Kahlan opened the door, her face read like a book.
“Cara?”
She was dressed in her uniform, or at least part of it. The thick knit top had been shed, revealing a gray shirt with the crest of a training academy. She still wore her regulation pants and her belt. Cara noted that there were no guns attached. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Hey.” Cara bit her lip and then blurted it out. “Look, you weren't out on Saturday.”
“You weren't there on Tuesday. Or today.” The hurt and confusion in Kahlan's voice was apparent and Cara hated that she could tell- and that she cared. “So you're a fine one to talk.”
“Look,” mumbled Cara for a second time, running a hand through her loose hair. “You did it first, and-”
Kahlan's laugh was hollow. It stung. “Oh my God, Cara. What are we, in third grade? I started it, right?”
“It's just a damn run.”
The door moved swiftly to close and without thinking, Cara stuck out her hand and stopped it. When Kahlan pushed back with considerable force (all that police training, maybe) and hissed for Cara to cut it out, Cara applied more of her weight and ended up standing in the entryway.
“Oh great. So now you're breaking into and entering a cop's house? Cute.”
“Gonna arrest me?” Cara shot with more venom than she intended and instantly wished she could take it back. Kahlan looked livid.
“It's not just a damn run, okay? You've been flirting with me three times a week, giving me crappy advice-” here, Cara had the decency to look offended “-and I ate it up with a spoon because here I thought I'd met someone nice. I thought I'd made a friend. And then I invite you into my home because you got off your damn steps for once and I thought... argh!” Kahlan turned, done with the conversation, and began heading up a staircase to the left of the door. “Obviously you know how to let yourself out. It's all you ever do.”
“Have dinner with me.”
Cara's words stopped both women in their tracks. Kahlan turned around slowly while Cara turned pale.
“What?”
There was no going back now. Cara gritted the words out.
“Have dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” Kahlan laughed again and though it was less grating, it still felt like a blow. “Dinner. With you. So we can not talk about you or anything really important?”
“No. Dinner so I can take you out on a date and we can do whatever it is that people do on dates.”
“And what's that?”
“I don't know,” came the unabashed reply. Despite her looks and the office rumours which pleased her greatly, Cara was not the type. Not the dating type, not the girlfriend type, not the stay-till-sunrise type. She was a far cry from celibacy of any kind, but simplicity suited her best. She hated regularity. She did not, however begrudgingly, hate Kahlan. “How hard can it be?”
“You're so romantic,” Kahlan said dryly. At least she was smiling now, still standing halfway up the staircase: Cara would never have guessed she'd think it, but she preferred smiling Kahlan to pissed off Kahlan. It seemed in Cara's best physical interest.
“No, I'm not.” Taking in a deep breath, Cara forced the words from her mouth. It was easier than she liked. “But you know that. I'm a cocky bitch with commitment issues and a God-given habit of being right and I'd like to eat food with you.”
Kahlan's laughter was loud, filling the hall between them and making Cara feel uncomfortable. She was going out on a limb and the other woman was mocking her. Kahlan must have sensed that her companion was about to flee because she jogged down the stairs and put a hand on Cara's arm. She removed it when Cara shied away, but didn't step outside of her airspace. Cara rubbed the area as though burned. What was with this woman and her infernal touching?
“I'm sorry, it's just-” Kahlan seemed to think better of continuing the sentence and simply grinned with one corner of her mouth. “I can't even stay mad at you. Yes, okay?”
“Okay. So... what now?” Cara lifted an eyebrow and took no small amount of glee in the fact that Kahlan blushed a bright red. It was far more satisfying than emoting on her arm.
“We go for a run.”
Smirking, Cara closed her eyes and leaned in, only to brush air. She opened her eyes, shocked, and saw that Kahlan was already halfway up the stairs. If she noticed Cara's awkward leaning when she turned around, she didn't say anything.
“See you Saturday?”
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan Amnell
Rating: PG-13 for mild language and sexual themes
Warnings/Spoilers: Modern!AU; no spoilers
Word Count: ~3450
Notes: This is an extremely belated gift for halfabubble and ditchwaterrosie, both of whom are amazing and awesome in general as well as for putting up with my antics/frequent death. My sincerest apologies, ladies: please enjoy.
To the rest of you... I'm not dead. Just a senior at uni. So, kind of dead. Also, enjoy.
It was a Saturday morning when Cara first noticed her.
Cara had made a habit of watching the sunrise after becoming a homeowner, the cool morning air interrupted only by the steam curling lazily from her cup of coffee and her breath. Legs crossed and hands wrapped around her caffeine, she would watch the sunlight filter through the trees in the park across the street and pretend she was the only person on the planet. It was peaceful, enjoyable in a sentimental kind of way she definitely didn't appreciate. Once her psycho neighbors left their house (they always waved, their standard poodle bounding at the end of its leash; Cara nodded in return) the world would be left to Cara.
So when she heard the crunch of pebbles against pavement, she turned her head in surprise.
Despite the relatively young age of the neighborhood, joggers were fairly rare. Cara squinted at the shape approaching her and tried to discern who it was. It wasn't the Psychos, the Grillers, the Newlyweds, or the Sad Single Guy. In fact, it wasn't anyone Cara recognized: as it got closer, Cara realized it was female. She was female. And she looked incredibly good in her short shorts and sweat-soaked trainer.
Naturally Cara did not attempt to flag her over (not that her clean-washed face and drying hair weren't enough to make blind women flirt), but instead observed her silently. The runner paced along with the practiced, unhurried ease of someone who ran on a regular basis, her calf muscles visible as her legs pushed against the ground. Cara merely appreciated the sight and then frowned.
“You should roll your weight along the outside of your foot.”
The woman faltered, surprised, and slowed to a walk in front of Cara's driveway.
“Pardon?”
“You're pushing off the balls of your feet like a sprinter. It's light, but if you're running distances- which you clearly are,” Cara indicated the light sheen of sweat with a wave of her hand. “You'll find it's easier on your knees and shins if you rock off your heel along the outside of your foot and onto the ball.”
“Right.” The woman looked on the verge of laughing, her frown clearly amused, and put her hands on her hips. Cara blinked. “I'll, uh, try that.”
She took off once more, feet light and the swing of her hips unchanged. Cara shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, peevishly noting that it had cooled somewhat.
-
Cara didn't see the runner the next two mornings and decided she was a lost cause. Pretty brunettes often came with an extra helping of stubborn and so Cara was not distressed. She poured her coffee as usual, yelled at clients and got away with it as usual, defended her job on the grounds that she was the best damn consultant in the state as usual, and went home not worse for the wear as usual.
She did not listen for footfalls. As usual.
-
On the third morning (God, she hated Tuesdays- espresso today, she was in a bad mood) a definitely uninteresting sound filled her ears. It was heavier, satisfying because of that, and Cara did not turn her head until directly addressed.
“Better?”
“I wasn't watching,” she said as she looked into the swirling brown of her beverage. “You seemed annoyed with my perfectly legitimate advice the other day, I'm surprised you took me up on it.”
A disbelieving snort sounded and Cara looked up, shocked to see the woman halfway down her walk. “Yeah, well, it was pretty rude.”
Cara shrugged, eyes locked on blue. “It was also true. How does your step feel?”
“Better.” The word was a compliment to Cara's knowledge, but it didn't feel that way. It made her chest tighten in a way she didn't like. “So thanks.” That helped a little.
“Fix the angle of your arms. Ninety degrees.”
“Are you serious?”
“Were you taught to run by someone with limited arm maneuverability or do you naturally carry yourself like you're boxing?”
With a shake of her head, the brunette held up her hand in a goodbye and ran off, leg form greatly improved. Cara was almost too busy inspecting the play of taut muscle along her thighs to notice the relaxed bend of her elbows.
Almost.
-
Cara hated regularity in the way that she hated small children and personal questions. They all made her uneasy and supremely bored. That was why she liked her job: she got to insult people for money and it was never the same insult twice. Her boss gave her the same eye roll, but usually a different reason for it. She appreciated the gesture.
So when the runner passed her house with alarming regularity on Saturday, Tuesday and then Thursday, she refrained from commenting. In her own way.
“Do you like abuse or something?”
Her sunrise companion slowed down to take her usual brief break (ugh, regularity) and laughed breathlessly. It was charming in that she was panting. Cara licked her lips and barely caught the words that came next.
“I guess this proves it, huh?”
“You should talk to somebody about that.”
“What, somebody like you?”
“I don't like daddy issues.”
“Too many to deal with at once?” A victorious smile emerged at Cara's nod- you take that one- and a pale hand wiped away sweat threatening to track into those blue eyes. “You know, I still haven't gotten your name.”
“I did know.”
An amused smile that Cara was getting used to (ugh) and she waved herself off, legs woefully hidden by baggy track pants. “See you Tuesday.”
-
Once or twice, Cara considered staying inside with her cup of coffee and viewing the sunrise from the comfort of her kitchen island and the bay windows she had installed her second week of ownership. She even tried it, settling onto her tastefully modern steel barstool and slipping her fingers around the ceramic of the hot cup. She took a sip, two, groaned. It was no use.
The bay windows simply weren't big enough. The view was poor.
Out she went, shivering slightly in the crisp air and wondering when it had started getting colder. She thought about going inside to get her robe, but abandoned the idea when she heard the patter of sneakers. God knew what awful form this woman had to showcase today. Really, it'd be a crime against humanity to let her ruin those legs.
“Good morning!”
Cara nodded and, feeling a little strange, tried out a smile. It sort of worked, half of her mouth quirking up. She supposed it didn't really matter- the brunette seemed pleased and flashed her a smile that could power a red light district for a month.
“Well?”
Cara looked at her incredulously.
“Yes?”
“Nothing?” A pause. “I'm not stepping the wrong way? My arm aren't liable to get me shot at? I don't look like I've been in an accident? My make up is satisfactory?”
“You aren't wearing make up.”
She earned an eye roll for that, one that would send Cara's boss into fits of jealousy.
“Kahlan.”
“Huh?” Not Cara's most glorious moment, but there it was. She refused to be bothered by her lack of aplomb.
“My name is Kahlan.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Kahlan. It was a pretty name, in its own excessively creative sort of way. Cara tried to picture a couple cooing it to one another with proud beaming faces and nearly lost her coffee to the grass.
“Shall I call you Mistress of Everything True? Lady of Self-Righteous Righteousness? Or just Woman Who Never Fails to Show Up When I'm in Shorts?” The smile turned into a smirk that could still power a neighborhood of prostitutes, but in an entirely different sort of way. Cara struggled with whether or not it was attractive. It probably was.
“Just Mistress will do.”
“I see.” Kahlan's smile dimmed somewhat and she turned to go, ponytail swinging along her back. Cara called out before she could stop herself.
“Cara.”
“Mistress Cara.” The smile was back as Kahlan left and Cara finished her coffee, watching the sunrise creep over her neatly trimmed lawn.
-
Weeks passed and Kahlan was there three times per without fail. Sometimes she stopped to chat or to listen to Cara's advice with an amused expression, other times she only paused to catch her breath, greet Cara, and run on. Cara put the distressing fact that Kahlan did so far from her mind and interacted as was necessary, smiling on days when she knew she'd have a good scream at work.
Her boss used the word cheerful to describe Cara one such morning and it took Cara nearly two days to recover.
Those two days passed and found her standing outside of her house without coffee. She pulled at the edge of her shorts- ridiculous, really, as she obviously had some of the best legs in the city- and flipped through songs on her iPod like the battery was going to die on her.
Also ridiculous, as she'd carefully made sure to plug it in the night before.
Kahlan came bounding along at her usual time and stopped short a driveway over, openly staring. Cara shifted her weight and frowned.
“Well?”
Approaching as though Cara were a rabid dog, Kahlan eyed her outfit (and those fabulous legs, unless Cara was mistaken) and chuckled in disbelief.
“What are you wearing?”
Cara snorted and crossed her arms. “Clothing. Which we can change, if you like.”
The last part went entirely ignored as Kahlan shook her head and started making her way over to Cara. “Are you going for a walk?”
“Walk? Do you think I read Runners Daily for fun or something? Just so I can give you advice on your shit form?”
Kahlan actually reached out and punched Cara's arm lightly at that, the contact making the blonde woman jump. Loathe as she was to admit it, Kahlan threw a pretty decent punch. It was certainly much better than her running.
“Are you running with me?”
“Kahlan, I never pegged you as stupid. Do I need to revisit that theory?”
“Thanks, I think.” Kahlan giggled- damn her- and Cara felt like squirming. There was far too much talking. “Come on then. I've got three miles left.” With that, she took off.
“Wait, what? Kahlan, how far do you run every day?”
-
Three miles and one dry heaving spell cleverly disguised as a coughing fit later, the pair stopped outside a house a mile or two from Cara's, having run in a loop. Kahlan walked up the drive and back down, presumably to cool off, while Cara gulped in air on the sidewalk.
“You... live here...?” Damn her sudden lack of oxygen. Cara blamed the two cups of coffee she'd had earlier. Surely those had something to do with it.
“Yes.” Kahlan took in a lungful and exhaled a little shakily, something Cara would have appreciated had she not been trying to regain her sense of wellbeing. “The morning we met was my first day here.”
The morning they met. Cara wrinkled her nose at the crawling feeling underneath her skin and distracted herself by looking around. The yard was respectable with a small garden lining the front. Blue paint on the house, white on the shutters. Somehow, she wasn't surprised. It was very Kahlan in that emotionally disadvantaged kind of way. She tried to peer into the front windows without seeming too obvious and failed. Kahlan tilted her head and caught Cara's gaze.
“Would you like to come inside?” Cara searched her mind wildly for a reason not to. “For a glass of water, I mean. I need to shower and get to work, I assume you have to do the same.”
“I should really...” Kahlan smiled. Cara caved.
And so she found herself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came straight from Ikea (which it probably had), clutching a glass of water like a lifeline.
“You have a nice place.” The words came out like blood in her mouth and Cara winced, wishing she didn't feel the stupid need to chatter. Kahlan didn't seem to notice, leaning back against a counter and swallowing a third of her own water.
“Thanks. It'll do.” Her smile bespoke her pride as she looked around her kitchen, a fingernail dragging along the stone top of the counter. “I'm just glad I could afford this neighborhood on my salary.”
Cara didn't bother asking. It was coming anyway.
“I'm a cop.”
Cara choked. She'd been expecting daycare provider, middle school councilor, something. Stripper. Anything. Not law enforcement. Kahlan was looking at her with an expression that suggested she was trying not to laugh. Cara glared.
“Cop.”
“Yep.”
“The kind with a gun.”
“Two.”
“No shit.”
Kahlan grinned and Cara was struck, not for the first time, with the suspicion that Kahlan could be and was an entirely different person than what she seemed. The brunette shrugged, grin still plastered on in a highly annoying kind of way, and took another drink of water. Cara did the same and tried her best not to alleviate the newfound tension with a handcuff joke.
God, what was she coming to?
“If you want, I can show you.”
“Huh?” Cara blanched and then realized that Kahlan had not heard any of her thoughts. That was probably a good thing.
God.
“My guns?” Kahlan's smile indicated that she either knew exactly what Cara was thinking or that she was very aware of what the alternative presented anyway. Cara finished her water in one go and set the glass down in the sink.
“I should leave.”
Kahlan nodded. “Right. Work for you too?” It was obvious that she was trying to lead the conversation once more, but Cara refused to bite the proffered bait.
“See you.” She turned on her heel and started heading out the door. She had just grasped the handle when she heard Kahlan sigh from the other room.
“Is it always like this with you? Like pulling teeth, just to get to know you?”
Unable to answer, Cara left without looking back.
-
Kahlan missed that Saturday's run. Cara started stubbornly without her, running until she vomited on someone's bushes. She fixed her most potent stare at the tiny dog that skipped up to her, barking like she'd just committed a crime of some sort. It yelped and scampered off. She spit what bitterness she could and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
She managed to run back home to collapse wearily on the floor of her living room, not even bothering to shower until the sun had shifted in the sky.
-
She sat at her counter the next day, and the next, and watched the sunrise. Kahlan ran by on Tuesday and Cara watched her from the safety of her home, hands clasped empty on her lap.
-
Cara pushed the doorbell of Kahlan's house and stood back, trying to fight the urge to take off running. (Damnit.) It was Thursday and she'd gone into work early, snapping at her boss and almost getting fired for real this time. Logic revealed that this- that this woman- was a problem that needed to be fixed. Cara was not one to sit on the sidelines and watch the world shift without her.
When Kahlan opened the door, her face read like a book.
“Cara?”
She was dressed in her uniform, or at least part of it. The thick knit top had been shed, revealing a gray shirt with the crest of a training academy. She still wore her regulation pants and her belt. Cara noted that there were no guns attached. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Hey.” Cara bit her lip and then blurted it out. “Look, you weren't out on Saturday.”
“You weren't there on Tuesday. Or today.” The hurt and confusion in Kahlan's voice was apparent and Cara hated that she could tell- and that she cared. “So you're a fine one to talk.”
“Look,” mumbled Cara for a second time, running a hand through her loose hair. “You did it first, and-”
Kahlan's laugh was hollow. It stung. “Oh my God, Cara. What are we, in third grade? I started it, right?”
“It's just a damn run.”
The door moved swiftly to close and without thinking, Cara stuck out her hand and stopped it. When Kahlan pushed back with considerable force (all that police training, maybe) and hissed for Cara to cut it out, Cara applied more of her weight and ended up standing in the entryway.
“Oh great. So now you're breaking into and entering a cop's house? Cute.”
“Gonna arrest me?” Cara shot with more venom than she intended and instantly wished she could take it back. Kahlan looked livid.
“It's not just a damn run, okay? You've been flirting with me three times a week, giving me crappy advice-” here, Cara had the decency to look offended “-and I ate it up with a spoon because here I thought I'd met someone nice. I thought I'd made a friend. And then I invite you into my home because you got off your damn steps for once and I thought... argh!” Kahlan turned, done with the conversation, and began heading up a staircase to the left of the door. “Obviously you know how to let yourself out. It's all you ever do.”
“Have dinner with me.”
Cara's words stopped both women in their tracks. Kahlan turned around slowly while Cara turned pale.
“What?”
There was no going back now. Cara gritted the words out.
“Have dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” Kahlan laughed again and though it was less grating, it still felt like a blow. “Dinner. With you. So we can not talk about you or anything really important?”
“No. Dinner so I can take you out on a date and we can do whatever it is that people do on dates.”
“And what's that?”
“I don't know,” came the unabashed reply. Despite her looks and the office rumours which pleased her greatly, Cara was not the type. Not the dating type, not the girlfriend type, not the stay-till-sunrise type. She was a far cry from celibacy of any kind, but simplicity suited her best. She hated regularity. She did not, however begrudgingly, hate Kahlan. “How hard can it be?”
“You're so romantic,” Kahlan said dryly. At least she was smiling now, still standing halfway up the staircase: Cara would never have guessed she'd think it, but she preferred smiling Kahlan to pissed off Kahlan. It seemed in Cara's best physical interest.
“No, I'm not.” Taking in a deep breath, Cara forced the words from her mouth. It was easier than she liked. “But you know that. I'm a cocky bitch with commitment issues and a God-given habit of being right and I'd like to eat food with you.”
Kahlan's laughter was loud, filling the hall between them and making Cara feel uncomfortable. She was going out on a limb and the other woman was mocking her. Kahlan must have sensed that her companion was about to flee because she jogged down the stairs and put a hand on Cara's arm. She removed it when Cara shied away, but didn't step outside of her airspace. Cara rubbed the area as though burned. What was with this woman and her infernal touching?
“I'm sorry, it's just-” Kahlan seemed to think better of continuing the sentence and simply grinned with one corner of her mouth. “I can't even stay mad at you. Yes, okay?”
“Okay. So... what now?” Cara lifted an eyebrow and took no small amount of glee in the fact that Kahlan blushed a bright red. It was far more satisfying than emoting on her arm.
“We go for a run.”
Smirking, Cara closed her eyes and leaned in, only to brush air. She opened her eyes, shocked, and saw that Kahlan was already halfway up the stairs. If she noticed Cara's awkward leaning when she turned around, she didn't say anything.
“See you Saturday?”