Smoke & Mirrors [WMC: Cindy/Lindsay]
FANDOM: Women’s Murder Club
PAIRING: Lindsay/ Cindy
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Passion & Perfection. All others with the permission of the author, only.
A/N: Inspired by Tracy Lawrence’s song “I Know That Hurt By Heart.” I am leaving the ending open with the possibility of a continuance of the story.
Smoke & Mirrors
Sitting back into the corner booth that had become her nightly home for the past four months, Lindsay Boxer swirled her Corona in its bottle, watching the dim light from the bar dance inside the amber liquid. The noise in the bar created an unintelligible hum in the background as the jukebox turned over to another tune. A crooning ballad by Tracy Lawrence drowned out the din of the crowd. Lindsay sighed and took another long pull from her bottle.
Her attention was pulled from her drink moments later as a new person pushed their way through the throng of people lining the bar. Lindsay’s profession meant that, even at a distance, she was easily able to gauge much of what made a person. She’d have recognized this particular form anywhere, no matter how much alcohol she had consumed. 5’5”, medium build, and flaming red hair-leave it to Cindy to intrude on her one retreat. Wondering if she shouldn’t stay where she was, hiding in the darkness that enshrouded her corner, Lindsay fought the irritation that came unexpectedly from having her work life intrude on her here.
Before she could stop herself, Lindsay stood up and walked determinedly towards the bar, intent on telling the intrepid and nosy reporter to get lost. Midway to the bar, her steps faltered as she really looked at Cindy. The red head now sat slumped on a bar stool, her forehead resting on an open palm, a tall glass of beer sitting in front of her, already a third of the way empty. As Lindsay watched, Cindy raised her head long enough to take another long drink. In the slightly better light of the bar, the look on Cindy’s face shocked Lindsay. She’d never before seen her look so… beaten. And was she wrong, or were those tear tracks cutting along the side of her cheek?
Lindsay considered again returning to her corner, but she had never before turned her back on a friend in need. And Cindy definitely looked like she was in need. Steeling herself, Lindsay closed the distance between them, sliding onto a bar stool next to the slim and uncharacteristically quiet reporter. The bartender glanced her way and she said “I’ll have whatever she is having.”
With a jolt, Cindy looked at Lindsay. Her surprise at seeing Lindsay there masked the pain on her face, but not fast enough to avoid Lindsay catching the ends of it. “What are you doing here?” Cindy asked.
Lindsay offered a wry grin. “Rather rude of you. I was here first, after all.”
Cindy rolled her eyes at this and turned back to her drink with a scoff. “It’s a free country,” she said, “And I am of age. I can go into a bar for a drink if I want to.”
The bar tender returned with a glass of whatever Cindy was drinking, pushing it in front of Lindsay. Lindsay reached for it and took a sip, choking as the alcohol burned her throat. “Christ, what the hell is this?”
“Local brew,” Cindy said with a smile.
Lindsay cocked an eyebrow. That smile had looked almost forced. How bizarre.
“So,” she said in her most conversational, barely interested tone, “What does bring you in here, alone of all things? What happened to that officer you charmed at the crime scene today? You didn’t score his number?”
Lindsay saw a small, sad smile appear on Cindy’s face in profile before she took another gulp of her drink. After a long pause, Cindy answered, her voice falsely cheery. “I just felt like a drink on my way home.”
Lindsay took this in slowly, taking a sip of the noxious beverage in front of her. She could practically feel Cindy willing her to ignore the fact that home for Cindy was nowhere close to this place. They drank in silence for several minutes, during which Cindy finished her drink and called for another one. “What about you?” Cindy asked quietly, glancing at Lindsay for the first time in a long while.
“What about me, kid?” Lindsay returned.
She was rewarded with another eye roll. “Why are you here, Linds?”
Lindsay frowned into her beer, before glancing sideways at the reporter. She was under no obligation to the reporter with regards to her personal life. And given the boldfaced lie she’d just been offered when asking the same question, there would be no shame in blowing the question off. Lindsay found herself wanting to be honest for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down. Perhaps because no one else had cared to ask where she went at night, let alone why? Regardless, the words came out and Lindsay didn’t try to stop them. “This was my dad’s bar,” she stated simply, and took another drink of her beer.
She felt Cindy’s eyes on her and steadfastly ignored the desire to turn and let their eyes meet, no matter how much she wanted to. The feeling that she would self-combust if Cindy locked eyes with her was very strong at that moment. “How long have you been coming here?” Cindy asked gently.
Lindsay paused for a long moment, fighting back a wave of strong emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She finally managed to control herself enough that she felt sure her voice wouldn’t shake. “Since the day we buried him,” she confided, “After you and Claire and Jill took me to dinner, and Jill dropped me off at my apartment. I felt so… alone. I never thought him dying would have this impact on me. I needed to be closer to him, so I came here.”
Lindsay pointed over her shoulder at the darkened booth way in the back. “That was where he always sat,” she said, “I know because he brought me here a few times to meet informants.”
Cindy had been watching her thoughtfully through all of this, and at this she looked dubious. “Your father took you to meet informants?”
Lindsay nodded and chuckled. “He did. I would sit and color in a coloring book while he talked. He said it made things look better and calmed the informants down.”
Cindy laughed at this. “How old were you?”
“I dunno, maybe seven?” Lindsay found herself smiling at the memory.
Cindy took another drink of her beer and then her eyes met Lindsay’s, dancing in the low light of the bar. “That’s so cute,” she said, and after a slight pause added, “Weird, but cute.”
“It’s what made me want to be a cop, you know,” Lindsay said, looking away from Cindy to take a drink from her own beer.
“Coming here with your dad to meet with informants?”
Lindsay nodded. “When I got old enough, he’d let me ride with him in the police car sometimes, when he was doing routine stuff. Nothing dangerous, of course. I was completely and totally fascinated. He taught me how to shoot when I was old enough to hold a gun safely.”
Lindsay frowned into her beer and then said quietly, “I guess I really owe him a lot.”
Cindy didn’t respond at first, and they were silent for a long moment. Lindsay closed her eyes as she felt Cindy’s hand on hers, her fingers twining around Lindsay’s. Opening her eyes, she looked down at their hands, now joined and resting on the bar. “So why are you really here,” Lindsay breathed out around the sudden swelling of unexpected emotion caught in her throat.
Cindy remained quiet for a long moment. When Lindsay looked at her a moment later, there were fresh tears trailing down her face. “Cindy?” she asked softly, “Please tell me?”
Cindy smiled at her, a teary, somewhat sheepish smile. “You’ll just laugh at me.”
“Try me,” Lindsay whispered, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
Cindy took another drink of her beer and then a deep breath, as though steeling herself for a painful experience. “I did actually go home after work,” she said, staring down at their linked hands and Lindsay’s thumb, moving slowly over Cindy’s own knuckles.
“When I got home,” Cindy continued, “There was a message on my answering machine.”
Lindsay’s eyes were firmly fixed on the redhead in front of her, and she saw the shaky inhalation Cindy took. “It was my ex-girlfriend. She wanted to tell me that she had found someone in Santa Barbara, and that she’s moving there to be with her.”
Lindsay worked hard to control her shock at the gender of Cindy’s ex and what this confession could mean for them. Cindy looked up at her, seeming oddly shy. She spoke next without dropping her eyes from Lindsay’s. “You know there was this time when she was everything to me. I thought we’d be together forever. And then she said she needed a break, and the break turned into breaking up, and I still hoped that someday she’d come to her senses and realize that I was who she wanted.”
She paused here, looking expectantly at Lindsay as though waiting for a comment from the dark haired inspector. “Wow,” was all Lindsay could get out, and she regretted her word choice instantaneously.
Cindy’s gaze darkened and she stood, pulling her hand away from Lindsay. “Thanks, Linds,” she said with venom, grabbing her bag and turning to run.
In the thirty seconds it took Lindsay’s brain to catch up with the sequence of events, her hand reached out of its own volition, grabbing Cindy’s upper arm, and pulling her back around. “Don’t go,” Lindsay said, her mind finally catching up to the present.
Cindy looked at her, her sudden anger masking the pain written all over her like a book. Lindsay stood herself and tugged on Cindy’s arm, gesturing towards the back booth, where shadows offered more privacy than the glare of the bar. Reluctantly it seemed Cindy followed her. Lindsay slid into the shadowed booth, and Cindy slid in across from her, clasping her hands on her lap and avoiding Lindsay’s gaze.
“Cindy,” Lindsay said, her eyes on the reporter.
When Cindy did not look up, Lindsay repeated her name, softer this time, until finally their eyes met. “I’ve been there too,” Lindsay whispered, keeping her eyes locked with the younger woman’s, “I know that pain, that anguish.”
“I know, Linds,” Cindy said, her voice somewhat bitter, “I know all about Tom.”
Lindsay reached out her hand to touch Cindy’s cheek, silencing her abruptly. “There are others, Cindy,” Lindsay murmured, “Tom was my attempt to play the straight life after an awful break up with the girl I dated through the last two years of college. It didn’t work out with him for reasons a lot more complicated than my obsession with a case.”
Cindy’s eyes met Lindsay’s again, and this time there was disbelief there. “But you and Pete…?”
“People do stupid things when they’re lonely,” was Lindsay’s slightly shamefaced reply, “I knew there was no future there. There can’t ever be, with a man.”
Cindy sat back into the booth. “Wow,” she finally said, and Lindsay laughed lightly.
“That’s it?”
Cindy nodded. “I never knew,” she said thoughtfully, “I mean, I suspected. No entirely straight woman could wear a leather jacket quite the way you do. I hoped, even….”
Cindy trailed off and looked away from Lindsay, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. Lindsay smiled. “What did you hope?”
Her blush deepening, Cindy grimaced and then looked back at Lindsay. “That you might be, you know… like me. That someday you might see me as more than a geeky junior sidekick, or at least that there would be a chance.”
Lindsay nodded and stared across the bar, seemingly lost in thought. She turned her gaze back to Cindy who looked nervous, hopeful and scared all at once. “You don’t need to trust in hope anymore,” she said quietly, reaching her hand once more for Cindy’s, and twining her fingers around the reporters.
There was promise in her words, and promise in Cindy’s eyes, and Lindsay found herself suddenly glad that this particular aspect of her work life had intruded so neatly and totally on her personal life.