spnspringfling fic
Title: Let her under your skin
Pairing: Jody Mills/Linda Tran
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for spnspringfling for mako_lies.
They walk miles and miles every day, the sun beating down on them like a silent storm. Jody would have preferred the kind of weather that smashes windows and blows away rooftops, but she’s never been one to complain. At least they still have air to breathe. At least they still have guns and knives and the determination to stay alive.
Linda doesn’t talk much. In fact, Jody can’t remember the last time they talked. She remembers Linda storming the station at Sioux Falls, the place empty except for Jody, her eyes and hair wild, terrible questions in her eyes that Jody didn’t have the answers to.
The world has all but ended and they’re making their way to Lebanon, Kansas, to the only place where they believe they might find friends and safety. Jody secretly hopes the boys are okay, but she also retains enough of her senses to remember that the place they call home is also the place that Linda’s only child lost his life, and she’s careful not to mention it. It’s not as though dealing with the loss of your child ever gets easier. Jody should know, after all. (She doesn’t even know if Linda knows, but it hardly matters now. All that matters is that they’re both used to living with ghosts.)
The car ran out of gas two towns behind them. Jody had driven it since she became sheriff, but she’d discarded it without hesitation once it became useless, necessity supplanting sentimental attachment.
Linda’s new. She’s new to Jody’s world, the sort of hunter who’d be better off alone than working with a partner. She’s still with Jody for some reason, has been from the day a few weeks ago when everything went to hell and they left Sioux Falls together.
“There.” Linda speaks, as always, only when necessary. She’s pointing to a house a few hundred meters off the road that seems to have survived. They’ve spent nights in almost-intact houses along the road, never staying for more than the time that they need to rest their eyes, never speaking of the things they do when they’re surrounded by walls. It started a few days ago, Linda pushing Jody against the wall as they passed each other in a corridor with half the ceiling fallen in, shoving her hand into the trousers of the uniform Jody still wears every day, mouthing at the dry skin of Jody’s throat.
The house still has its walls and roof, the door swinging lightly in an innocuous breeze. In the kitchen, there’s rotting food and unwashed dishes in the sink. There are also cans of baked beans and tinned fruit, enough to see them through the remainder of their journey. If they’re lucky enough to arrive in Kansas in one piece. In the bathroom, there’s running water and scented soap and a half-full bottle of shampoo.
“Such luxuries,” Linda says as she comes out of the bath, the dirt and grime of the road washed away like a layer of discarded skin. There’s a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her body, water trickling from her wet hair along her neck and shoulders and arms. They spend the afternoon in the king-sized bed in the master bedroom.
At night, Jody sits on the porch steps and watches the stars come out as though nothing’s changed. (People lived here once, maybe a family, maybe a dog and a couple of cats.) A light wind is raising the dust at her feet, bringing with it a faint smell of rain. She imagines droplets coming down, settling the dust, cleaning the air.
When she hears Linda behind her, she doesn’t turn around.
“Look what I found.” Linda’s wearing the cotton dress she’s taken to sleeping in, as though there were any point to changing before bed when, most nights, they don’t have beds to sleep in.
She’s holding two opened bottles of beer, already raising one to her lips as she hands the other to Jody.
Jody takes it, clinking her bottle against Linda’s as Linda sits down beside her on the steps, her bare toes curling against the dusty wood.
Pairing: Jody Mills/Linda Tran
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for spnspringfling for mako_lies.
They walk miles and miles every day, the sun beating down on them like a silent storm. Jody would have preferred the kind of weather that smashes windows and blows away rooftops, but she’s never been one to complain. At least they still have air to breathe. At least they still have guns and knives and the determination to stay alive.
Linda doesn’t talk much. In fact, Jody can’t remember the last time they talked. She remembers Linda storming the station at Sioux Falls, the place empty except for Jody, her eyes and hair wild, terrible questions in her eyes that Jody didn’t have the answers to.
The world has all but ended and they’re making their way to Lebanon, Kansas, to the only place where they believe they might find friends and safety. Jody secretly hopes the boys are okay, but she also retains enough of her senses to remember that the place they call home is also the place that Linda’s only child lost his life, and she’s careful not to mention it. It’s not as though dealing with the loss of your child ever gets easier. Jody should know, after all. (She doesn’t even know if Linda knows, but it hardly matters now. All that matters is that they’re both used to living with ghosts.)
The car ran out of gas two towns behind them. Jody had driven it since she became sheriff, but she’d discarded it without hesitation once it became useless, necessity supplanting sentimental attachment.
Linda’s new. She’s new to Jody’s world, the sort of hunter who’d be better off alone than working with a partner. She’s still with Jody for some reason, has been from the day a few weeks ago when everything went to hell and they left Sioux Falls together.
“There.” Linda speaks, as always, only when necessary. She’s pointing to a house a few hundred meters off the road that seems to have survived. They’ve spent nights in almost-intact houses along the road, never staying for more than the time that they need to rest their eyes, never speaking of the things they do when they’re surrounded by walls. It started a few days ago, Linda pushing Jody against the wall as they passed each other in a corridor with half the ceiling fallen in, shoving her hand into the trousers of the uniform Jody still wears every day, mouthing at the dry skin of Jody’s throat.
The house still has its walls and roof, the door swinging lightly in an innocuous breeze. In the kitchen, there’s rotting food and unwashed dishes in the sink. There are also cans of baked beans and tinned fruit, enough to see them through the remainder of their journey. If they’re lucky enough to arrive in Kansas in one piece. In the bathroom, there’s running water and scented soap and a half-full bottle of shampoo.
“Such luxuries,” Linda says as she comes out of the bath, the dirt and grime of the road washed away like a layer of discarded skin. There’s a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her body, water trickling from her wet hair along her neck and shoulders and arms. They spend the afternoon in the king-sized bed in the master bedroom.
At night, Jody sits on the porch steps and watches the stars come out as though nothing’s changed. (People lived here once, maybe a family, maybe a dog and a couple of cats.) A light wind is raising the dust at her feet, bringing with it a faint smell of rain. She imagines droplets coming down, settling the dust, cleaning the air.
When she hears Linda behind her, she doesn’t turn around.
“Look what I found.” Linda’s wearing the cotton dress she’s taken to sleeping in, as though there were any point to changing before bed when, most nights, they don’t have beds to sleep in.
She’s holding two opened bottles of beer, already raising one to her lips as she hands the other to Jody.
Jody takes it, clinking her bottle against Linda’s as Linda sits down beside her on the steps, her bare toes curling against the dusty wood.