[fanfic] closer to home; the killing; sarah/stephen; r
Title: closer to home
Author: crickets
Fandom: The Killing
Gift for: pann_cake
Characters/Pairing: Sarah/Stephen, Jack
Rating: R (language and sexuality)
Word Count: 4541
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for S1&S2.
Summary: Post-finale. Holder makes her feel safe. Is that all?
Author’s Note: Prompts, bed/sleep themes, accidental cuddling, UST, banter, "five times he didn't and one time he did" (sorta)
Holder doesn't notice the long nights.
Not after the Larsen case.
Any day's a cakewalk after those last few days; no sleep, no food that didn't come out of a vending machine. Hell, he was lucky if Linden let him have a bathroom break there at the end. Now everything's by the book, and Carlson seems to have taken a shine to him. As much as Holder can't stand being teacher's pet, it sure does have its perks, and he's not about to argue. At least as long as he gets to do things his way. At least as long as he doesn't feel like he's on anybody's payroll. Because that's a road he's not ever gonna walk down. He'd sooner walk out.
He'd do it too.
Next time he sees Linden, it's two or three weeks since Terry's arrest, coming up on Thanksgiving. He gets home from one of those long days that don't seem as long as they used to, and she's there in his kitchen, cooking food with her hair down and looking a little less hungry, but no less lean.
"Sarah Linden: civilian," Holder says. "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to break into a cop's house?"
"Figured I'd take my chances," she says, winks, and points to the key on the kitchen counter. It occurs to him that maybe he ought to find a different hiding place, but when she laughs, a good clean laugh at the back of her throat after he puts on his apron and insists that he help, he thinks he'll probably just leave it right where it is.
They eat dinner on the couch, and Holder cracks open a bottle of wine while Sarah grills him about work and the case he's on. By the time she gets to asking about any news on Terry's sentencing, their plates are empty, they're both on their second glass, and Sarah's got her socked feet in his lap, Stephen's hand resting on her ankle. It's then that the mood in the room shifts, just a little. Because it's just fucked up enough that it makes your brain and heart both hurt to think about it.
"Can't believe she didn't know..." he says, his voice trailing off.
Sarah closes her eyes. "That poor girl..." she says. And Holder's not exactly sure which one of them she's talking about. "Sometimes I wonder..." she starts, but doesn't finish.
If Rosie'd gotten away. If Terry hadn't been with Ames that night. If Jamie hadn't panicked back at the hotel.
It's all true.
"Yeah," Holder says. "Me too."
They sit like that for a minute, listening to a siren somewhere out on the street. Holder moves his hand to rest on her knee, and she doesn't even stop him at first.
"I should..." she says, placing one hand on top of his. "I should really go."
"You really shouldn't," he says, and pushes her hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her jawline.
"Stephen," she says his name like a warning, but at the same time she leans in, so close, too close.
He drops his hand, slides off the couch in one motion. "You been drinking, Linden," he says. "Let me get you a blanket. You can take the couch tonight."
Sarah smiles, grateful and yet somehow disappointed.
"Knew you'd take care of me," she says.
Holder grins.
"Always."
-
It's an hour later and Stephen is only half asleep when he hears his bedroom door groaning open. He rubs his eyes, and it's Sarah standing over him, her hair around her face.
"Can I..." she says, but it's cut off with a yawn.
"Course," Holder says, and he starts to slide up, just a little, just to get a better look at her.
"Couch is lumpy," she continues, and it's dark in the room, but Stephen feels like if there's any moment that Sarah Linden would be blushing, it's now.
This just makes him grin, satisfied and sleepy, because for some reason he likes the idea of getting under her skin. "Got plenty of room, mama," he says, half mumble, full rib. "I ain't gonna take advantage of you or nothing."
This time, she rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she says. "And scoot over." She lifts the blanket and settles down next to him, close but not too close. He's wearing a white t-shirt and looks more comfortable than she's ever seen him. She closes her eyes and lets the warmth trapped in the blanket from his body heat wash over her, and for a minute, she even forgets who they are. Not that it would, or should, matter.
But somehow it does.
It does.
Somehow.
-
In the morning, Sarah is this tiny wisp of a thing curled into his middle and sound asleep.
Holder watches her exhale through slightly parted lips, just enough space between them, wonders what might have happened if she hadn't pulled away, if they weren't pretending there isn't something more happening here. He wonders, too, if they even are pretending. The last time he shared a bed with a friend he wasn't also screwing was in grade school, and he definitely doesn't remember little Tommy Fitzpatrick going in for the cuddle in the morning.
He should get up, should get ready for work, should untangle himself from her.
But he looks at the clock on the nightstand, and even though he's already later than he should be, he says, almost out loud: Couple more minutes.
That's all.
-
"I'm not sure how you owing me one translates into me carrying your shit halfway across town and up two flights of stairs," Holder says, dropping the box he's carrying to the floor. It's a Saturday and over a week since that night in his apartment. Sarah didn't answer his calls over the holiday, and he ended up ordering Chinese food and falling asleep early. He figures she probably spent the day with Regi, but it ain't like he's gonna ask since it's obvious that Jack didn't come home.
Not that there was a home to come to anyway.
'Til now.
Sarah glares at him over the box she's digging through. "Hey, watch it. That's my stuff you're trashing."
Holder lifts his hands in surrender. "Relax, boss," he says. "It's just books."
"Okay," she says, and moves past him and out into the hall. "I'm gonna go grab the last box," she calls through the open doorway. "You can take a load off. Sofa's clear."
Holder plops down on the sagging couch, closes his eyes. Sarah's new apartment is small, but at least it's got a spare bedroom for Jack when he comes home to visit. And while Little Man's a topic that he'll try to steer clear of if he can, he isn't sure how he's gonna manage that while helping her put together the double-bed that's waiting for him in the room down the hall.
Yeah, that one's gonna be tricky.
He can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs outside before she gets to the door.
-
It's two hours later and Stephen's unpacking dishes in the kitchen when Sarah pops her head out of the bedroom door and calls from the hall. "Hungry?" she asks.
"Starving," he says, turns around when he hears her coming in behind him.
"Pizza okay?"
"Meat lover's," he says while she dials a number on her phone. "Extra cheese."
Sarah rolls her eyes, puts the phone to her ear. "You should set up the TV," she says, and Holder can't help but grin.
-
After, when the movie's almost over and their bellies are full with pizza and beer, -- Who packs beer?, he remembers asking. Gee, I don't know. People who have beer?, she'd answered in that smart-ass way of hers that always makes him chuckle, because he can hardly take her seriously -- Holder stands and stretches, his fingertips almost grazing the low ceiling.
"You're going?" she asks when he reaches for his jacket, hits pause on the remote. "Movie's not over."
"It's getting late," he says. "It's twenty minutes at least back to my place and I'm about half dead."
Sarah sits up, reaches out for him, but he's sitting back beside her before she even gets that far. "Stay," she says. "Finish the movie. You can crash here, on the couch or... wherever."
"Wherever?" he prods. "Wherever?"
"Relax," she tells him. "I'm not going to take advantage of you or anything."
He leans back on the couch, laughs.
-
He helps her find a matching set of sheets in one of her unpacked linen boxes. She, in turn, gets him an extra toothbrush while she makes the bed. It's when he meets her in the bathroom doorway and she looks up at him with her eyes all sleepy and round at the edges and says, "Pick your poison, Holder," with all that hope and fear on her face, that he wants so badly to kiss her. He raises one hand, imagines pushing her hair behind her ear, taking her by her waist, pulling her to him. But instead he runs it through his hair, scratches the back of his neck.
"Ain't no way that mattress is going to compare to mine," he says, a challenge in his voice.
Sarah nods. "Yeah well... only one way to find out."
-
Christmas comes and goes.
Sarah lets Holder come over one day to take Jack bowling so that she can spend an afternoon Christmas shopping.
"Last minute thing," she tells him. "I appreciate it."
"I got you, Sarah," he says. "Don't even worry about it. I missed this kid."
She gets this look on her face, and he's instantly sorry he said it. "Me too," she says gravely. And then, "he'll be out in a minute." She gestures to the hallway, her words pushing through the awkward moment. "He's just finishing up his shower. Tell him I said I'll see him for dinner."
"Will do," Stephen says, gestures with one finger in a mock salute as she makes her way to the front door. "And don't forget, Linden," he calls. "I like Christmas presents too!"
-
It's 2 a.m., the day after Jack leaves, two days after Christmas, when Holder wakes to a knock at the door.
He grabs his pistol from the counter and puts his eye to the peep hole.
Sarah is standing at his door looking completely wrecked. He twists the knob, doesn't say a word when her eyes meet his. Maybe if she didn't look so fucking fragile standing in his shitty apartment hallway, maybe if it were daylight, or maybe if he didn't know how much it's killing her that Jack picked his dad over her, he'd crack a joke.
But not right now.
Right now he can't think of a damn thing to say that wouldn't come out wrong or scare her away. So he doesn't say anything, just swings the door all the way open and leans against it, letting her push past him and make her way back to his bedroom.
He can hear her kick her shoes off when he closes the door, double-checks the locks. He puts his gun away, fills a glass with water, and follows her to the room. She's half asleep by the time he gets there, and when he slips in beside her, she curls into him.
He kisses her forehead, brushes her hair back from her face, holds her tight.
-
"Another New Year's Eve, another murder-suicide," Holder says to the guys from the coroner's office as they file in. "You'd think we could go one fucking holiday without one of these damn things."
They smile politely, mutter their agreements, set to work. Holder kneels down in the great room of the hotel suite, the scene of the crime, watches them do their thing.
At least this one's open-and-shut, he thinks. Grateful, whenever that's the case.
Doesn't make it any less tragic.
-
"Mom?" Jack's voice comes out crackling from the other end of the receiver. "Can you hear me?"
Sarah is climbing up the stairs of her apartment, knows she gets crappy reception until she gets to her floor. "One second, Jack," she says, picks up the pace. When she's at her front door, she sets down her single grocery bag, fishes for her keys. "I'm here," she says. "Should be better now."
A group of twenty-somethings pass her, laughing and shouting, on their way to a party.
"Are you at a party?" Jack asks. "Is Holder there?"
Sarah pushes her door open, moves the grocery bag just inside and tosses her keys into the bowl on the little table next to the door. "No, no party," she says. "Just some of the people from the apartment. As for Holder, he's probably off somewhere on a hot date. How are you?"
Jack almost groans. "Bored," he says. "Dad didn't even stay awake for the countdown. Wouldn't let me go to Garret's party."
"We always used to stay home for New Year's," she reminds him.
"That was different," Jack tells her. "You were... you were actually fun."
Sarah smiles, lets herself almost laugh at that.
-
Holder's out on the balcony, his phone pressed to his ear, arguing with somebody back at the precinct.
"No, no. Let me deal with him. You just do your job, and we'll talk about the rest when I get back," he says, tries to hang up in dramatic fashion, but fumbles trying to figure out his new gadget. "Fucking smartphones," he mutters just before hanging the damn thing up, pretty sure they heard him on the other end.
He leans over the railing, and for some reason he gets this image of Rosie in his head, back on that balcony at Wapi Eagle, cold air in her lungs. She had almost made it.
Almost.
Below him, the party-goers in the hotel bar start to count down.
-
Sarah spoons out the last of her Ben and Jerry's, watches the TV on mute, counting down the last few seconds of the year.
Good riddance, she thinks.
But then her thoughts go to Stephen, for some reason hoping he's stuck at some crime scene instead of off somewhere on a hot date like she'd suggested to Jack, not that she would admit it. And maybe she even lets herself think that the whole damn year wasn't a complete wash.
Good friends are hard to come by.
Good partners?
Harder still.
But then she remembers that she's not Holder's partner anymore, and all she can think, as she watches the seconds tick away, is how he held her that night when she'd been so messed up over Jack. How he asked for nothing in return.
She turns off the TV before the countdown is over, sits in the dark.
"Happy new year," she whispers to the empty room.
-
Five.
Stephen always makes a wish at midnight.
Four.
He's not sure whether that's what other people do, aside from the standard resolution and all. But he's done it ever since he was a kid, something his sister taught him. But this year, he's not sure what to wish for.
Three.
He closes his eyes, drowns out the sound from the crowd below, feels the weight of his cigarettes in his pocket, and tries to think. Funny thing? All he can think about is Sarah, wonders what she's doing now.
Two.
Wonders if she's thinking of him too.
One.
-
Carlson barely agrees to let Sarah back on his service, and it's an even bigger fight to let the two of them partner up again, but Holder manages. He always manages.
Teacher's pet, and all.
"So, I heard you went to bat for me," Sarah says, carrying a small box into the office. And she has the strangest feeling that she's been here before.
In another life.
Holder looks up at her over the stack of files he's reading, and the parallel seems to be lost on him.
"Oh, you know," he says, sly grin. "I do what I can."
Sarah drops her stuff on the desk, eases into her chair. "So where we headed today, partner?"
Holder looks thoughtful, as if plotting something.
Sarah throws a paper clip at him.
"Come on," he says, standing. "I'm driving."
-
Sarah has dreams that first week.
Holder's in bed with her, but it's not her bed, and it's not his. It's someplace she can't remember, but she knows it feels familiar. He's got one hand resting on her hip and his lips at her neck and she leans into him, lets him kiss her, lets him slide his hand between her legs, his fingers catching and slipping underneath the cotton fabric of her panties, his thumb grazing over her clit.
She gasps, says his name, and he pushes her t-shirt up, takes one nipple into his mouth. She grabs at the material of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head, traces her fingertips over the patterns of ink across his skin.
In the morning, when she remembers the dream, she can't help but think of Rick, how she fell for him and exchanged one kind of trust for another, one kind of intimacy for another. How maybe, in the end, that wasn't the healthiest choice she ever made. How, now that it's over, she kind of resents him for it.
She doesn't want to do the same thing with Holder.
She won't.
-
Her heart is beating hard in her chest and Holder's just a blur far ahead of her, down the darkened street. She stops, puts her hands on her knees, breathes in the cold, wet, February air. Seattle can be merciless sometimes, and it's been far too fucking long since she's done this. A month back on the force, and it's painfully clear that she's definitely out of practice.
She can barely hear her own thoughts over the din of traffic passing in the rain, but she sees Stephen's boots come into view. He's just as soaked to the bone as she is.
"Motherfucker," he hisses. "Gave me the slip."
His breath comes out in hot white puffs of air, and he mirrors her pose, both hands on his knees. Sarah rights herself, reaches for her phone to call for back up.
Twenty minutes later and the rain hasn't let up, but the suspect is nowhere to be found.
"You're shivering," he says, puts her hands between his and rubs them together, brings them to his lips and blows hot air into them. "My place is only a few minutes from here. Let's go warm up."
-
The drive to his place is short, but it's long enough to get Holder thinking, which is a dangerous thing.
He doesn't have to wonder if Sarah will stay over. It's well past midnight, dark, rainy, and they've been on shift for almost 24 hours. Where else is she gonna go? Home? No. She's not. She's gonna crawl into his bed with him, rest her head on is shoulder, keep him warm on this cold, cold night. He's going to be a gentleman. He's not going to scare her away by doing or saying anything inappropriate. And god forbid he kiss her. Because if he does she's just gonna run, and it kills him to know it, but the look on her face when he gets too close tells him everything he needs to know about all that.
So, he won't.
It'll be just like all the other times.
It'll be just like before.
Stephen thinks, okay.
He thinks, that's what's gonna happen.
-
Sarah puts on one of Stephen's t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants that she has to fold down a few hundred times to keep them from falling off.
He tries not to laugh when she comes out of the bathroom, and she can see he's already changed out of his wet clothes. They look like a pair of fucked up twins or matching circus performers or something.
"Don't you have any girl clothes here?" she asks. And then, when he can't hold it in any longer, she swats his arm playfully. "Shut up."
Stephen moves on her, grabs her hand in the air. "You shut up," he says, his voice grave as he advances on her, pressing her against the bathroom door in the hall. Sarah shivers when his hands go to her face, his fingers in her damp hair at the back of her neck.
"Holder," she says, and she looks up so that their eyes meet, her lips so close to his. "Stephen..."
"Sarah," he says her name, a growl, a whisper. "Just let me..."
And then he kisses her.
Sarah breathes him in, opens her mouth to his, lets him tug her waist tight, finds her fingers twisting at the bottom of his t-shirt, wanting this.
Wanting him.
But then, and she almost doesn't know why because she's almost forgotten the promise she made to herself, she pushes him away.
-
"Wow," he turns from her. "That was embarrassing."
"No," she grabs for him, but he's already in the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets. She follows, presses herself to his back, wraps her arms tightly around his middle. "It wasn't like that," she says, flinches when she hears him slam the wooden door. "You make me feel safe," she says. "I needed that. I'm sorry."
She can feel him nodding. "Yeah," he says, and he grabs one of her hands at his stomach, moves it down to his hard cock through the soft fabric of the pajama bottoms. "I'll give you one guess how you make me feel."
His name escapes her lips one more time and she stays like that with him for a beat too long before she lets him go, takes a single step back. "Please don't be mad," she says, "I need you not to be mad." And her voice isn't really pleading, so much as stating, matter of fact.
She needs him.
She needs him but she doesn't want him.
Not now?
Not ever?
He doesn't know.
"Okay," he says, and he turns back to her. "I don't really want to say any of this, because I'm fucking humiliated as hell, but now it's kind of too late to avoid it. I get that you need me to be your friend and all, and I'm here for you no matter what. You know that," he says. "But I'm not just some ex-junkie with no self-esteem anymore. I've got feelings. I've got a heart. And I've fallen for you, Sarah. And I can't," he gestures between them, "do this... anymore. I can't be your fake boyfriend anymore, all right? Now, you can sleep on my couch any time you want. Or I'll sleep on the couch and you can sleep on the bed, whatever. But... being so close to you? It's hard for me not to want more. Because I do..." he says, "want more. And I don't even mean sex," he emphasizes. "I mean being partners, for real. Not just pretend."
Sarah thinks for a minute, lets out a breath she'd been holding in. "I need you to know that I didn't mean to..."
"You can't help how you feel," he shrugs, cutting her off. "Ain't no use apologizing. Now, it's late, it's cold and rainy, and you don't even have your car here, so you'll stay. Just... not together."
"What if I'm not sure?" she mumbles, half under her breath.
He takes a step closer to her, closing the distance, and she looks up at him.
"I'm not sure," she says, this time with conviction.
He moves her hair out of her face, tucks it behind her ear. He gets the feeling, that if he kissed her then, she wouldn't stop him. But he knows that wouldn't be fair. He knows he needs to give her time.
"Well, then let me know when you are," he says.
-
Holder takes some personal time the next week, and Sarah's left to finish the case on her own.
It's harder than she remembers, working on her own, because working with Stephen just comes so naturally that she barely even notices just how easy it is. They pick up where the other leaves off, finish each other's thoughts, don't get in each other's way.
One night while picking up dinner, Jack calls. He wants to come home for spring break, thinks he might stay for the summer or even longer.
Sarah should be happy, she should be beaming, but she's not.
"What's wrong, Mom?" Jack asks. "You seem..."
"I seem?" she probes.
He was probably going to say sad, or down, or depressed, but instead he says, "Quiet. You seem quiet."
"Yeah," she admits. "I probably do. It's just been a long week."
"Everything okay?"
"Aren't I supposed to be the one asking you that?" she teases.
"Mom."
"I know."
"Just," he says. "I worry about you. When I'm not around."
Sarah sighs. The one thing she doesn't want her son to have to do is worry about her. "Well don't," she says, trying to sound more cheerful. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Soon."
"Promise me," Jack says.
"Promise."
-
Holder spends the week with his sister and his niece and nephew.
"I got your call," she says when he shows up at her doorstep. "What's the occasion?"
Stephen shrugs. "Just needed a little time away."
She smiles and reaches up, ruffles his hair. "Well grab your bags," she says. "Kids are excited to see you."
-
Sarah finds out from Carlson, of all people, where Holder's staying for the week.
"What's the deal?" he asks. "Can't you just let the poor guy have a little peace on his vacation?"
Sarah takes the scrap paper from his fingers, the one with the address on it, inspects it.
"I just promised him I'd give him something," she says. "That's all."
-
Holder's setting the table for dinner when he hears a quiet knock coming from the front door. He calls for his sister. "Someone's at the door!" he shouts, and for some reason this whole scenario reminds him of when they were growing up.
"Can't you get it?" she calls from downstairs.
Yup, exactly like growing up.
Sarah's got her hair down and is in a pair of jeans and a pretty sweater and she's standing on his sister's doorstep.
"Sarah?" he says her name, and for once he's kind of speechless.
"I came here to tell you," she blurts out.
"Whoa, whoa," Stephen says, stopping her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "Slow down."
Sarah takes a breath, closes her eyes, starts again. "I came here to tell you," she says, this time slower. "Okay."
"Okay?" he asks. "I don't..."
She glares at him.
"Oh!" he says, "That." He grins, takes her chin in his hands. "That's what I thought you meant."
Sarah grins, stands on her toes, lets him kiss her.
"Uncle Steve, who's that?" a pair of voices ask from behind the open doorway.
He turns, his hand immediately connecting with Sarah's.
"Hey knuckleheads," he says. "C'mere, I want you to meet somebody."
- fin.
Author: crickets
Fandom: The Killing
Gift for: pann_cake
Characters/Pairing: Sarah/Stephen, Jack
Rating: R (language and sexuality)
Word Count: 4541
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for S1&S2.
Summary: Post-finale. Holder makes her feel safe. Is that all?
Author’s Note: Prompts, bed/sleep themes, accidental cuddling, UST, banter, "five times he didn't and one time he did" (sorta)
Holder doesn't notice the long nights.
Not after the Larsen case.
Any day's a cakewalk after those last few days; no sleep, no food that didn't come out of a vending machine. Hell, he was lucky if Linden let him have a bathroom break there at the end. Now everything's by the book, and Carlson seems to have taken a shine to him. As much as Holder can't stand being teacher's pet, it sure does have its perks, and he's not about to argue. At least as long as he gets to do things his way. At least as long as he doesn't feel like he's on anybody's payroll. Because that's a road he's not ever gonna walk down. He'd sooner walk out.
He'd do it too.
Next time he sees Linden, it's two or three weeks since Terry's arrest, coming up on Thanksgiving. He gets home from one of those long days that don't seem as long as they used to, and she's there in his kitchen, cooking food with her hair down and looking a little less hungry, but no less lean.
"Sarah Linden: civilian," Holder says. "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to break into a cop's house?"
"Figured I'd take my chances," she says, winks, and points to the key on the kitchen counter. It occurs to him that maybe he ought to find a different hiding place, but when she laughs, a good clean laugh at the back of her throat after he puts on his apron and insists that he help, he thinks he'll probably just leave it right where it is.
They eat dinner on the couch, and Holder cracks open a bottle of wine while Sarah grills him about work and the case he's on. By the time she gets to asking about any news on Terry's sentencing, their plates are empty, they're both on their second glass, and Sarah's got her socked feet in his lap, Stephen's hand resting on her ankle. It's then that the mood in the room shifts, just a little. Because it's just fucked up enough that it makes your brain and heart both hurt to think about it.
"Can't believe she didn't know..." he says, his voice trailing off.
Sarah closes her eyes. "That poor girl..." she says. And Holder's not exactly sure which one of them she's talking about. "Sometimes I wonder..." she starts, but doesn't finish.
If Rosie'd gotten away. If Terry hadn't been with Ames that night. If Jamie hadn't panicked back at the hotel.
It's all true.
"Yeah," Holder says. "Me too."
They sit like that for a minute, listening to a siren somewhere out on the street. Holder moves his hand to rest on her knee, and she doesn't even stop him at first.
"I should..." she says, placing one hand on top of his. "I should really go."
"You really shouldn't," he says, and pushes her hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her jawline.
"Stephen," she says his name like a warning, but at the same time she leans in, so close, too close.
He drops his hand, slides off the couch in one motion. "You been drinking, Linden," he says. "Let me get you a blanket. You can take the couch tonight."
Sarah smiles, grateful and yet somehow disappointed.
"Knew you'd take care of me," she says.
Holder grins.
"Always."
-
It's an hour later and Stephen is only half asleep when he hears his bedroom door groaning open. He rubs his eyes, and it's Sarah standing over him, her hair around her face.
"Can I..." she says, but it's cut off with a yawn.
"Course," Holder says, and he starts to slide up, just a little, just to get a better look at her.
"Couch is lumpy," she continues, and it's dark in the room, but Stephen feels like if there's any moment that Sarah Linden would be blushing, it's now.
This just makes him grin, satisfied and sleepy, because for some reason he likes the idea of getting under her skin. "Got plenty of room, mama," he says, half mumble, full rib. "I ain't gonna take advantage of you or nothing."
This time, she rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she says. "And scoot over." She lifts the blanket and settles down next to him, close but not too close. He's wearing a white t-shirt and looks more comfortable than she's ever seen him. She closes her eyes and lets the warmth trapped in the blanket from his body heat wash over her, and for a minute, she even forgets who they are. Not that it would, or should, matter.
But somehow it does.
It does.
Somehow.
-
In the morning, Sarah is this tiny wisp of a thing curled into his middle and sound asleep.
Holder watches her exhale through slightly parted lips, just enough space between them, wonders what might have happened if she hadn't pulled away, if they weren't pretending there isn't something more happening here. He wonders, too, if they even are pretending. The last time he shared a bed with a friend he wasn't also screwing was in grade school, and he definitely doesn't remember little Tommy Fitzpatrick going in for the cuddle in the morning.
He should get up, should get ready for work, should untangle himself from her.
But he looks at the clock on the nightstand, and even though he's already later than he should be, he says, almost out loud: Couple more minutes.
That's all.
-
"I'm not sure how you owing me one translates into me carrying your shit halfway across town and up two flights of stairs," Holder says, dropping the box he's carrying to the floor. It's a Saturday and over a week since that night in his apartment. Sarah didn't answer his calls over the holiday, and he ended up ordering Chinese food and falling asleep early. He figures she probably spent the day with Regi, but it ain't like he's gonna ask since it's obvious that Jack didn't come home.
Not that there was a home to come to anyway.
'Til now.
Sarah glares at him over the box she's digging through. "Hey, watch it. That's my stuff you're trashing."
Holder lifts his hands in surrender. "Relax, boss," he says. "It's just books."
"Okay," she says, and moves past him and out into the hall. "I'm gonna go grab the last box," she calls through the open doorway. "You can take a load off. Sofa's clear."
Holder plops down on the sagging couch, closes his eyes. Sarah's new apartment is small, but at least it's got a spare bedroom for Jack when he comes home to visit. And while Little Man's a topic that he'll try to steer clear of if he can, he isn't sure how he's gonna manage that while helping her put together the double-bed that's waiting for him in the room down the hall.
Yeah, that one's gonna be tricky.
He can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs outside before she gets to the door.
-
It's two hours later and Stephen's unpacking dishes in the kitchen when Sarah pops her head out of the bedroom door and calls from the hall. "Hungry?" she asks.
"Starving," he says, turns around when he hears her coming in behind him.
"Pizza okay?"
"Meat lover's," he says while she dials a number on her phone. "Extra cheese."
Sarah rolls her eyes, puts the phone to her ear. "You should set up the TV," she says, and Holder can't help but grin.
-
After, when the movie's almost over and their bellies are full with pizza and beer, -- Who packs beer?, he remembers asking. Gee, I don't know. People who have beer?, she'd answered in that smart-ass way of hers that always makes him chuckle, because he can hardly take her seriously -- Holder stands and stretches, his fingertips almost grazing the low ceiling.
"You're going?" she asks when he reaches for his jacket, hits pause on the remote. "Movie's not over."
"It's getting late," he says. "It's twenty minutes at least back to my place and I'm about half dead."
Sarah sits up, reaches out for him, but he's sitting back beside her before she even gets that far. "Stay," she says. "Finish the movie. You can crash here, on the couch or... wherever."
"Wherever?" he prods. "Wherever?"
"Relax," she tells him. "I'm not going to take advantage of you or anything."
He leans back on the couch, laughs.
-
He helps her find a matching set of sheets in one of her unpacked linen boxes. She, in turn, gets him an extra toothbrush while she makes the bed. It's when he meets her in the bathroom doorway and she looks up at him with her eyes all sleepy and round at the edges and says, "Pick your poison, Holder," with all that hope and fear on her face, that he wants so badly to kiss her. He raises one hand, imagines pushing her hair behind her ear, taking her by her waist, pulling her to him. But instead he runs it through his hair, scratches the back of his neck.
"Ain't no way that mattress is going to compare to mine," he says, a challenge in his voice.
Sarah nods. "Yeah well... only one way to find out."
-
Christmas comes and goes.
Sarah lets Holder come over one day to take Jack bowling so that she can spend an afternoon Christmas shopping.
"Last minute thing," she tells him. "I appreciate it."
"I got you, Sarah," he says. "Don't even worry about it. I missed this kid."
She gets this look on her face, and he's instantly sorry he said it. "Me too," she says gravely. And then, "he'll be out in a minute." She gestures to the hallway, her words pushing through the awkward moment. "He's just finishing up his shower. Tell him I said I'll see him for dinner."
"Will do," Stephen says, gestures with one finger in a mock salute as she makes her way to the front door. "And don't forget, Linden," he calls. "I like Christmas presents too!"
-
It's 2 a.m., the day after Jack leaves, two days after Christmas, when Holder wakes to a knock at the door.
He grabs his pistol from the counter and puts his eye to the peep hole.
Sarah is standing at his door looking completely wrecked. He twists the knob, doesn't say a word when her eyes meet his. Maybe if she didn't look so fucking fragile standing in his shitty apartment hallway, maybe if it were daylight, or maybe if he didn't know how much it's killing her that Jack picked his dad over her, he'd crack a joke.
But not right now.
Right now he can't think of a damn thing to say that wouldn't come out wrong or scare her away. So he doesn't say anything, just swings the door all the way open and leans against it, letting her push past him and make her way back to his bedroom.
He can hear her kick her shoes off when he closes the door, double-checks the locks. He puts his gun away, fills a glass with water, and follows her to the room. She's half asleep by the time he gets there, and when he slips in beside her, she curls into him.
He kisses her forehead, brushes her hair back from her face, holds her tight.
-
"Another New Year's Eve, another murder-suicide," Holder says to the guys from the coroner's office as they file in. "You'd think we could go one fucking holiday without one of these damn things."
They smile politely, mutter their agreements, set to work. Holder kneels down in the great room of the hotel suite, the scene of the crime, watches them do their thing.
At least this one's open-and-shut, he thinks. Grateful, whenever that's the case.
Doesn't make it any less tragic.
-
"Mom?" Jack's voice comes out crackling from the other end of the receiver. "Can you hear me?"
Sarah is climbing up the stairs of her apartment, knows she gets crappy reception until she gets to her floor. "One second, Jack," she says, picks up the pace. When she's at her front door, she sets down her single grocery bag, fishes for her keys. "I'm here," she says. "Should be better now."
A group of twenty-somethings pass her, laughing and shouting, on their way to a party.
"Are you at a party?" Jack asks. "Is Holder there?"
Sarah pushes her door open, moves the grocery bag just inside and tosses her keys into the bowl on the little table next to the door. "No, no party," she says. "Just some of the people from the apartment. As for Holder, he's probably off somewhere on a hot date. How are you?"
Jack almost groans. "Bored," he says. "Dad didn't even stay awake for the countdown. Wouldn't let me go to Garret's party."
"We always used to stay home for New Year's," she reminds him.
"That was different," Jack tells her. "You were... you were actually fun."
Sarah smiles, lets herself almost laugh at that.
-
Holder's out on the balcony, his phone pressed to his ear, arguing with somebody back at the precinct.
"No, no. Let me deal with him. You just do your job, and we'll talk about the rest when I get back," he says, tries to hang up in dramatic fashion, but fumbles trying to figure out his new gadget. "Fucking smartphones," he mutters just before hanging the damn thing up, pretty sure they heard him on the other end.
He leans over the railing, and for some reason he gets this image of Rosie in his head, back on that balcony at Wapi Eagle, cold air in her lungs. She had almost made it.
Almost.
Below him, the party-goers in the hotel bar start to count down.
-
Sarah spoons out the last of her Ben and Jerry's, watches the TV on mute, counting down the last few seconds of the year.
Good riddance, she thinks.
But then her thoughts go to Stephen, for some reason hoping he's stuck at some crime scene instead of off somewhere on a hot date like she'd suggested to Jack, not that she would admit it. And maybe she even lets herself think that the whole damn year wasn't a complete wash.
Good friends are hard to come by.
Good partners?
Harder still.
But then she remembers that she's not Holder's partner anymore, and all she can think, as she watches the seconds tick away, is how he held her that night when she'd been so messed up over Jack. How he asked for nothing in return.
She turns off the TV before the countdown is over, sits in the dark.
"Happy new year," she whispers to the empty room.
-
Five.
Stephen always makes a wish at midnight.
Four.
He's not sure whether that's what other people do, aside from the standard resolution and all. But he's done it ever since he was a kid, something his sister taught him. But this year, he's not sure what to wish for.
Three.
He closes his eyes, drowns out the sound from the crowd below, feels the weight of his cigarettes in his pocket, and tries to think. Funny thing? All he can think about is Sarah, wonders what she's doing now.
Two.
Wonders if she's thinking of him too.
One.
-
Carlson barely agrees to let Sarah back on his service, and it's an even bigger fight to let the two of them partner up again, but Holder manages. He always manages.
Teacher's pet, and all.
"So, I heard you went to bat for me," Sarah says, carrying a small box into the office. And she has the strangest feeling that she's been here before.
In another life.
Holder looks up at her over the stack of files he's reading, and the parallel seems to be lost on him.
"Oh, you know," he says, sly grin. "I do what I can."
Sarah drops her stuff on the desk, eases into her chair. "So where we headed today, partner?"
Holder looks thoughtful, as if plotting something.
Sarah throws a paper clip at him.
"Come on," he says, standing. "I'm driving."
-
Sarah has dreams that first week.
Holder's in bed with her, but it's not her bed, and it's not his. It's someplace she can't remember, but she knows it feels familiar. He's got one hand resting on her hip and his lips at her neck and she leans into him, lets him kiss her, lets him slide his hand between her legs, his fingers catching and slipping underneath the cotton fabric of her panties, his thumb grazing over her clit.
She gasps, says his name, and he pushes her t-shirt up, takes one nipple into his mouth. She grabs at the material of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head, traces her fingertips over the patterns of ink across his skin.
In the morning, when she remembers the dream, she can't help but think of Rick, how she fell for him and exchanged one kind of trust for another, one kind of intimacy for another. How maybe, in the end, that wasn't the healthiest choice she ever made. How, now that it's over, she kind of resents him for it.
She doesn't want to do the same thing with Holder.
She won't.
-
Her heart is beating hard in her chest and Holder's just a blur far ahead of her, down the darkened street. She stops, puts her hands on her knees, breathes in the cold, wet, February air. Seattle can be merciless sometimes, and it's been far too fucking long since she's done this. A month back on the force, and it's painfully clear that she's definitely out of practice.
She can barely hear her own thoughts over the din of traffic passing in the rain, but she sees Stephen's boots come into view. He's just as soaked to the bone as she is.
"Motherfucker," he hisses. "Gave me the slip."
His breath comes out in hot white puffs of air, and he mirrors her pose, both hands on his knees. Sarah rights herself, reaches for her phone to call for back up.
Twenty minutes later and the rain hasn't let up, but the suspect is nowhere to be found.
"You're shivering," he says, puts her hands between his and rubs them together, brings them to his lips and blows hot air into them. "My place is only a few minutes from here. Let's go warm up."
-
The drive to his place is short, but it's long enough to get Holder thinking, which is a dangerous thing.
He doesn't have to wonder if Sarah will stay over. It's well past midnight, dark, rainy, and they've been on shift for almost 24 hours. Where else is she gonna go? Home? No. She's not. She's gonna crawl into his bed with him, rest her head on is shoulder, keep him warm on this cold, cold night. He's going to be a gentleman. He's not going to scare her away by doing or saying anything inappropriate. And god forbid he kiss her. Because if he does she's just gonna run, and it kills him to know it, but the look on her face when he gets too close tells him everything he needs to know about all that.
So, he won't.
It'll be just like all the other times.
It'll be just like before.
Stephen thinks, okay.
He thinks, that's what's gonna happen.
-
Sarah puts on one of Stephen's t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants that she has to fold down a few hundred times to keep them from falling off.
He tries not to laugh when she comes out of the bathroom, and she can see he's already changed out of his wet clothes. They look like a pair of fucked up twins or matching circus performers or something.
"Don't you have any girl clothes here?" she asks. And then, when he can't hold it in any longer, she swats his arm playfully. "Shut up."
Stephen moves on her, grabs her hand in the air. "You shut up," he says, his voice grave as he advances on her, pressing her against the bathroom door in the hall. Sarah shivers when his hands go to her face, his fingers in her damp hair at the back of her neck.
"Holder," she says, and she looks up so that their eyes meet, her lips so close to his. "Stephen..."
"Sarah," he says her name, a growl, a whisper. "Just let me..."
And then he kisses her.
Sarah breathes him in, opens her mouth to his, lets him tug her waist tight, finds her fingers twisting at the bottom of his t-shirt, wanting this.
Wanting him.
But then, and she almost doesn't know why because she's almost forgotten the promise she made to herself, she pushes him away.
-
"Wow," he turns from her. "That was embarrassing."
"No," she grabs for him, but he's already in the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets. She follows, presses herself to his back, wraps her arms tightly around his middle. "It wasn't like that," she says, flinches when she hears him slam the wooden door. "You make me feel safe," she says. "I needed that. I'm sorry."
She can feel him nodding. "Yeah," he says, and he grabs one of her hands at his stomach, moves it down to his hard cock through the soft fabric of the pajama bottoms. "I'll give you one guess how you make me feel."
His name escapes her lips one more time and she stays like that with him for a beat too long before she lets him go, takes a single step back. "Please don't be mad," she says, "I need you not to be mad." And her voice isn't really pleading, so much as stating, matter of fact.
She needs him.
She needs him but she doesn't want him.
Not now?
Not ever?
He doesn't know.
"Okay," he says, and he turns back to her. "I don't really want to say any of this, because I'm fucking humiliated as hell, but now it's kind of too late to avoid it. I get that you need me to be your friend and all, and I'm here for you no matter what. You know that," he says. "But I'm not just some ex-junkie with no self-esteem anymore. I've got feelings. I've got a heart. And I've fallen for you, Sarah. And I can't," he gestures between them, "do this... anymore. I can't be your fake boyfriend anymore, all right? Now, you can sleep on my couch any time you want. Or I'll sleep on the couch and you can sleep on the bed, whatever. But... being so close to you? It's hard for me not to want more. Because I do..." he says, "want more. And I don't even mean sex," he emphasizes. "I mean being partners, for real. Not just pretend."
Sarah thinks for a minute, lets out a breath she'd been holding in. "I need you to know that I didn't mean to..."
"You can't help how you feel," he shrugs, cutting her off. "Ain't no use apologizing. Now, it's late, it's cold and rainy, and you don't even have your car here, so you'll stay. Just... not together."
"What if I'm not sure?" she mumbles, half under her breath.
He takes a step closer to her, closing the distance, and she looks up at him.
"I'm not sure," she says, this time with conviction.
He moves her hair out of her face, tucks it behind her ear. He gets the feeling, that if he kissed her then, she wouldn't stop him. But he knows that wouldn't be fair. He knows he needs to give her time.
"Well, then let me know when you are," he says.
-
Holder takes some personal time the next week, and Sarah's left to finish the case on her own.
It's harder than she remembers, working on her own, because working with Stephen just comes so naturally that she barely even notices just how easy it is. They pick up where the other leaves off, finish each other's thoughts, don't get in each other's way.
One night while picking up dinner, Jack calls. He wants to come home for spring break, thinks he might stay for the summer or even longer.
Sarah should be happy, she should be beaming, but she's not.
"What's wrong, Mom?" Jack asks. "You seem..."
"I seem?" she probes.
He was probably going to say sad, or down, or depressed, but instead he says, "Quiet. You seem quiet."
"Yeah," she admits. "I probably do. It's just been a long week."
"Everything okay?"
"Aren't I supposed to be the one asking you that?" she teases.
"Mom."
"I know."
"Just," he says. "I worry about you. When I'm not around."
Sarah sighs. The one thing she doesn't want her son to have to do is worry about her. "Well don't," she says, trying to sound more cheerful. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Soon."
"Promise me," Jack says.
"Promise."
-
Holder spends the week with his sister and his niece and nephew.
"I got your call," she says when he shows up at her doorstep. "What's the occasion?"
Stephen shrugs. "Just needed a little time away."
She smiles and reaches up, ruffles his hair. "Well grab your bags," she says. "Kids are excited to see you."
-
Sarah finds out from Carlson, of all people, where Holder's staying for the week.
"What's the deal?" he asks. "Can't you just let the poor guy have a little peace on his vacation?"
Sarah takes the scrap paper from his fingers, the one with the address on it, inspects it.
"I just promised him I'd give him something," she says. "That's all."
-
Holder's setting the table for dinner when he hears a quiet knock coming from the front door. He calls for his sister. "Someone's at the door!" he shouts, and for some reason this whole scenario reminds him of when they were growing up.
"Can't you get it?" she calls from downstairs.
Yup, exactly like growing up.
Sarah's got her hair down and is in a pair of jeans and a pretty sweater and she's standing on his sister's doorstep.
"Sarah?" he says her name, and for once he's kind of speechless.
"I came here to tell you," she blurts out.
"Whoa, whoa," Stephen says, stopping her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "Slow down."
Sarah takes a breath, closes her eyes, starts again. "I came here to tell you," she says, this time slower. "Okay."
"Okay?" he asks. "I don't..."
She glares at him.
"Oh!" he says, "That." He grins, takes her chin in his hands. "That's what I thought you meant."
Sarah grins, stands on her toes, lets him kiss her.
"Uncle Steve, who's that?" a pair of voices ask from behind the open doorway.
He turns, his hand immediately connecting with Sarah's.
"Hey knuckleheads," he says. "C'mere, I want you to meet somebody."
- fin.