Fic: Burning Daylight | WMC | L/C | PG-13
Title: Burning Daylight
Author:liz_estrada
Fandom & Pairing: Women's Murder Club, Lindsay/Cindy
Rating & Summary: a PG-13 trip to the lake
A 'lil quickie slapped together for the 48 Hour Summertime Challenge at passion_perfect
******
First day off in weeks, and the morning heat ran them out of town, pushed them into the car headed for a remote Napa lake with a packed cooler and a single bag. They traveled light because sunscreen, summer duds and one gun don't take up much room.
“Are you sure that little pistol will be enough?” Cindy teased. “There's room in the back for a shotgun.”
“Don't pick on me.” Lindsay frowned and tucked in an extra five-shot moon clip. “I can turn it down, but I can't turn it off.”
“It's a day at the lake! What exactly are you planning to shoot?”
“Nothing.” Lindsay zipped the bag and hefted it onto her shoulder. “Zodiac stabbed two people up there in '69.” She shrugged, seeing no need for further justification, and headed for the Jeep.
Check-mated, just that fast. Cindy blinked a few times, sighed, and went to double check the cooler.
*
Lindsay had worked all night closing a nasty double murder, so Cindy drove. She'd burned a mix disc for the trip, stuffed with summery tunes from four decades. Somewhere between Todd Rundgren and The Sundays - just outside of Emeryville - Lindsay fell asleep.
It was strange to Cindy, seeing the woman so peaceful after the hell of the last few months. Lindsay almost smiled as her head lolled with each rhythmic bump-bump over interstate concrete joins. Gradually, her hands unclenched and lay open, rocking gently on her lap.
Cindy wanted to reach over and take hold of one, but feared waking her. Instead, she kept sneaking longer and longer looks all the way up I-80.
She nearly ran off the road twice.
*
The late spring heatwave would have the Berryessa shores hopping at week's end, with boaters and water skiers cutting the peaceful surface to bits. Before noon on a Tuesday, it seemed almost like private property, with no one around as far as the eye could see.
They spread a blanket on a patch of grass near a sheltering oak. They stripped to their swimsuits, slathered on sunblock and cracked open a couple of iced cans of Dale's Pale Ale. Sunning like lizards and sipping beer, they listened to the whip of the lake breeze, the soft lap of water on sand, and reveled in the sinful luxury of doing absolutely nothing on a weekday.
Lindsay fell asleep again.
*
She woke to the feel of a sandy palm pressing on her stomach.
“You need to turn over before you burn,” Cindy advised. She turned to rummage in the cooler.
Lindsay lifted her head and squinted, adjusting to the noonish glare. She grinned at the sight of Cindy's multicolored sun hat, and the dark Jackie O. glasses that obscured half her face. “Greeks don't burn,” she said. “We marinate.”
The fair-skinned redhead gave a dubious grunt. “It's been twenty minutes. If you don't turn over soon, you'll have a Baklava booty and boiled lobster frontage.”
“M'kay.”
As Lindsay drifted toward her third nap in less than four hours, Cindy feared their day out might amount to no more than a series of sunny, silent snoozes. Perhaps unwisely, she undertook a drastic remedy involving a handful of ice and a dozing cop's bikini bottom.
A hoarse scream rang out, splitting the serene day into two parts - the nice, calm bit before the ice attack, and the messy aftermath.
Cindy jumped up and scrambled backward. She barely avoided the grasping hand which snagged the floppy brim of her sun hat.
“Like ice, do ya?” Lindsay muttered as she shook the ice chips out of her lumpy suit bottom... and let them drop into Cindy's new designer lid.
The reporter gasped and gaped at this juvenile revenge tactic. “I understand you're ticked, but please don't take it out on my Pucci!”
“Well, you tried to freeze my poochie!” Lindsay shouted. “Fair is fair.” She tossed the $200 ice bucket away and walked deliberately forward, feinting side to side with her long arms outstretched to block Cindy's escape routes.
The younger woman felt slightly chilly water lap at her ankles and realized Lindsay intended to herd her into the cool lake. “Can't we talk about this? I mean, I was just trying to wake you up!”
“You could have offered me a drink or a sandwich,” Lindsay suggested. “Or said, 'Hey! Lazy bitch! Let's get up and do something.'”
Cindy kept backing into the cold water, which had reached mid-calf. “Umm... do you want a drink or a sandwich?”
“Too late now.”
“Calling you a lazy bitch at this point really wouldn't help matters, huh?”
“Nope. Why didn't you just kiss me? That always works.”
That was a good question. Cindy frowned as she realized they could be necking on the blanket instead of arguing and courting hypothermia. “Too late now?” She puckered up and opened her arms, just in case the kissing solution was still in play.
“Whatta you think?” Lindsay darted forward and Cindy retreated quickly, splashing in up to her waist.
“Dammit.” Growing desperate as the chilly water soaked her swimsuit, Cindy faked up some fright and pointed into the distance. “Hey, there's a guy by the Jeep! He's wearing a black hood and carrying a big knife!”
Knee-deep in Lake Berryessa, within a stone's throw of Zodiac Island, Lindsay halted and sternly set her hands on hips. “That's not funny.”
Cindy's shoulders drooped. “I know. Sorry.” She whisked a hand through the water. “I just don't wanna get dunked. The lake hasn't warmed up as fast as I thought it would.”
“That ice hadn't warmed up much, either,” Lindsay observed.
“Only because you shook it out too fast. It totally would have melted by now.”
Lindsay cocked a brow. That sounded vaguely like a come-on, and she wasn't keen on ruining the rest of their day by holding a grudge. “Go under and we're even.”
“No way!” Cindy squawked. “Full body submersion is not equal to poochie icing.”
“Fine. Stay in the lake.” Lindsay turned away, walked toward the blanket. Untied her bikini top and swung the strings in a lazy, lassoing motion. She stopped and cast a Bathsheba glance over her shoulder. “Faster you do it, faster I can get you warmed up again.”
Cindy, just short of drooling, audibly snapped her teeth together. “You. Are a dirty rotten scoundrel.” She stuck out her tongue, poked out her bum, and waded backward into Lake Comeuppance. “Be warned - I fully intend to shake my wet hair at you like Martha did whe-WHOA!”
There was a sudden splash, a brief thrashing of hands above the surface, and Cindy vanished.
On shore, Lindsay waited two ticks... three... and even though she knew Cindy was suckering her into the cold lake, she wouldn't take the chance. She threw her top down and raced for the water, then dove toward the spot where Cindy went under. After circling several times with no result but a growing sense of panic, she went up for air. And saw Cindy standing by the blanket, toweling her hair.
“Lose something?” she casually inquired, though her cool faltered when she caught sight of Lindsay's deep scowl, hovering disembodied over the water.
They locked eyes and stared at each other for several seconds, until Lindsay broke off and swam away. Only then did Cindy understand that Lindsay wasn't just angry. It wasn't that simple.
With precious little else to do, she sat on the blanket and waited her out.
*
Any doubts Cindy may have had about Lindsay's physical stamina were months in the rear view mirror, but even she was surprised by the half hour of steady movement. Freestyle, backstroke. Freestyle, backstroke. A hundred feet this way, then back again, for thirty solid minutes.
In the interim, Cindy had killed another can of Dale's, and she tossed the dead soldier into the cooler. An impulse of guilt prompted her to scoop up a handful of drippy ice and slip it into her swimsuit nethers. When the solid state H2O hit her crotch, she screeched like a puma, jumped up and hurriedly shook it out. It was wildly unpleasant, and Cindy felt guiltier than ever.
From the churning lake came the sound of laughter. Shortly after, Lindsay made for shore and collapsed on the blanket. Her body was nearly all gooseflesh.
Cindy draped a towel over her naked, chilled torso. “Sorry,” she said.
“Forget it,” Lindsay told her. She dried off, popped on her shades, and lay back with the towel as a pillow. “My sense of humor is on the fritz.”
“Still. Bad idea. Followed by worse idea.” Cindy waited a few minutes, watched her breathing slow and her skin smooth out as the warming sun worked its magic. “Do you want a drink? Or a sandwich?”
Lindsay grunted out a no-like sound.
After a respectful interval, Cindy advanced to stage two. She scooted a little closer. “I guess you don't feel like getting up and doing something.”
From behind her Wayfarers, Lindsay grinned. “This lazy bitch isn't leaving her blanket 'til it's time to go home.”
“Okay.” Cindy stretched out beside her. Propped her head up with elbow and palm. Let her other hand rest on Lindsay's stomach.
The water toyed with the shore. The breeze kicked up, and Cindy watched an osprey dive off a high tree to ride the invisible wave. Somewhere out there, beyond the furthest stretch of her eye, was their city. In a while, night would fall, and the bridge lights would beckon them home, guide them safely back into lives that routinely skirted death. The thought of even a single squandered hour in this rare day away made Cindy feel like a thief.
“You planning to kiss me anytime soon?” Lindsay whispered. “We're burning daylight, here.”
Unwilling to waste time on words, Cindy moved onto her body, her mouth, and kissed Lindsay so honestly that time must have rolled back; it was like that last hour never happened.
*
Dressed and warm, locked together back to front like kids on a sled, they watched the sun coast into the cool lake. Cindy packed the Jeep and Lindsay drove them toward home. Somewhere between Bananarama and Len - just outside of Vallejo - Cindy fell asleep.
Without taking her eyes off the road, Lindsay reached over and took her hand.
END