Fic: Falling Dreams 1/?
Title: Falling Dreams
Author: Demeter
Fandom: Women's Murder Club/Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy
Summary: On a trip to San Francisco, Boston Homicide Detective Jane Rizzoli gets a lot more than she bargained for.
Disclaimer: The WMC folks belong to James Patterson. Jane and Gabriel are the creation of Tess Gerritsen. Maggie Snow and Lindsay's grandparents belong to the wmc_vs team.
Warning: Some violence.
A/N: This story is set in the VS universe, about half a year after the events of the finale. R&I canon is taken from the book series, so it might differ from the show, but by the time it airs, the fic should be finished.
Falling Dreams
By Demeter
Lindsay had been having dreams of falling since her childhood, a sign of stress maybe when she sensed her parents' marriage fall apart before anyone dared to say it aloud. They kept returning at irregular intervals, at thirteen after her father had left for good, at twenty-four when her mother had died. Every now and then during the Kiss-Me-Not case. Sometimes, there was a certain face in it, but he was dead, gone.
Even tumbling into darkness, she knew she'd wake up to a better reality. Usually.
***
Jane Rizzoli was dead tired when she walked past customs looking for her husband Gabriel who had promised to pick her up at the airport. The original plan had been to spend a few days prior to the scheduled extradition in the beautiful city of San Francisco. She should have known that something would come up. As in, a dead body.
She had left Boston at noon and felt ready to crash after spending most of the day on airports and in the air, being crowded by the snoring businessman to her left and the crying child to her right. The man had slept through all of it, but Jane's nerves were lying blank. San Francisco could wait another day.
The young redheaded woman appearing out of nowhere, throwing her arms around her and kissing her like she meant it, effectively jolted Jane out of her reverie. It took a moment to entangle herself from the passionate embrace.
"Thank God, you're here! I thought you--"
"What the hell are you doing?" Jane had finally found her speech, and her exhaustion did not help the mood. At another time, she might have found this amusing; now, she was simply annoyed.
The woman blinked. Twice. "Linds, what's wrong?" She leaned close again, and Jane took a hasty step backwards. "What's going on?"
"What's going on is you're really testing my patience, and you're giving me probable cause to search you for drugs. You're lucky I'm far out of my jurisdiction."
"Your-" She blushed, her gaze dropping as realization must have been sinking in. Then she looked up again, her brown eyes wide with alarm.
Jane had no doubt as to what had prompted her reaction, and with a sigh, she thought that she still could shock people easily.
"I'm sorry," the other woman whispered, now completely mortified. She reached for her purse with shaking hands. Jane tensed, bracing herself, but the woman simply produced her wallet, opening it to the photograph inside. It showed her with another woman, the two of them smiling into the camera, obviously a couple.
It wasn't what made Jane's jaw drop. This was San Francisco after all.
The other woman in the picture could have been Jane's identical twin.
"Can I ask what you've been up to?" She spun around to face an amused-looking Gabriel who had most likely witnessed the woman's a little too enthusiastic greeting.
Somebody tell me this is not real.
***
This was a nightmare, turning more surreal by the minute. Even the utter mortification couldn't drown out the foreboding Cindy was feeling; Lindsay should have been here two hours ago, and she couldn't reach her on the cell phone.
All the weekend, she'd wished she could have accompanied Lindsay on her brief trip to her grandparents, checking on her grandmother who was just out of the hospital after hip surgery, but she'd had a non-negotiable deadline. Abbie was doing very much okay and already grousing about the temporary immobility, according to Lindsay's last phone call. Cindy hesitated to contact Abbie yet. It would mean there was a reason to be afraid.
They'd spend a little over half a year in relative peace now, as much as that could be said given their respective professions. Cindy had the bad feeling that this period was about to end. In any case she couldn't stop staring at the tall dark-haired woman who was just about to leave the airport with her husband, the woman who looked exactly like Lindsay.
Not just a resemblance. More like a twin sister.
Cindy felt the blood rush to her face, wondering once again how that embarrassing mistake could have happened - and what she was going to do now. If something had come up or any flights had been delayed, it would have been easy to check, and of course Lindsay would have called her.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she realized that she might have to ask for help on this.
***
Lindsay had hardly ever more longed for a flight to be over. She was infinitely grateful to have a couple of days more off after the heavy caseload. Her grandmother was, fortunately, doing fine after her surgery. Trying to keep her to rest enough was what had been the real challenge. Lost in thought and bone-tired as she exited the airport, Lindsay wanted nothing more than fold herself into Cindy's little red car and maybe catch a few z's on the way home before she could get some real sleep.
It all happened too quickly for her to react, screeching tires, the doors of the van sliding open, hands grabbing her. Her struggle was brief and inconclusive as the needle was crudely pushed into her thigh through the fabric of her jeans. Within seconds, her legs were feeling like butter, and before the sliding doors banged shut, she tumbled into blackness.
***
"Claire, thank God you're home."
Claire immediately recognized her friend's voice, and she didn't need any more clues to realize that Cindy was extremely upset. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm at the station. Please come here as soon as you can. Lindsay... didn't come home."
Claire had her coat and keys in hand before she disconnected the call.
***
Awareness returning was not pleasant. There was a pounding reverberating in her skull, making her dizzy, and she felt like throwing up. She tried to move, which only resulted in sharp pain, and warm wetness trailing down her wrists. Lindsay didn't need any more clues to figure out that she was in big trouble.
She finally managed to open her eyes, flinching at the bright light directed at her in the otherwise dark room. The man standing next to the lamp was tall and lanky, his voice giving away the grin when he said, "Detective Rizzoli. It's so nice of you to join us."
Lindsay could make out more shapes in the darkness. "Who?" she said irritably.
He laughed. "The drug must have had a stronger effect than I thought. Let's give it some time, Jane. I can call you Jane, right? Since we have a friend in common."
Lindsay shook her head, but thought better of it when the nausea rose again. However, she began to understand the reason for her dilemma. "See, you got this wrong. My name is Lindsay Boxer, and any friend of mine would have kicked you in the balls by now."
He moved quickly behind her, hand fisting in her hair and giving a quick tug. She bit her lip, stifling the cry into a pained gasp. "Don't get smart with me, Detective," he whispered close to her ear. "I know who you are. I can give you a fighting chance, or I can make this really quick - and painful."
Lindsay didn't doubt him for a second; whoever the guy was talking about, he seemed to enjoy pain quite a bit. Hers, to be correct. She had to be in a better position the next time she talked back at him. "Alright. I still don't know what you want from me. Would you care to enlighten me?"
Strangely enough, there seemed to be hesitation on his part; meanwhile she catalogued what little she had for a description. Height, voice, his after shave. The sound of a click made her tense, but a moment later Lindsay realized that it had simply been a flashlight. Whatever it was he saw, though, didn't seem to bode good for her either.
"Damn it, come on over here, you stupid idiots!" he yelled. The sound of hastening steps was to be heard.
"What's wrong?" The voice sounded younger, worried. You probably have reason to be, Lindsay thought, shifting minutely in the chair, only to make the rope cut deeper into the skin already raw underneath.
"What's wrong," the older one imitated him, still furious. "Look at this! Do you get it now?"
Lindsay didn't, but the accomplice must have, if the sharply drawn breath was any indication.
"Do you see any scars? No? I tell you why, you screwed it up just like I knew you would."
"But... but--" The other one stuttered. "Maybe she had plastic surgery."
"She was wearing those like a badge of honor, like she could ever defeat Warren Hoyt." He'd moved in front of Lindsay quickly enough to see her eyes widen. "I see you're getting an idea what we're here for." With the light behind him, his face was nothing but a dark shape. She had read about Hoyt indeed, a serial killer who had escaped from prison and then worked with a partner. He'd been called the 'Surgeon'. Lindsay had done a lot of reading on serial killers, partly because it was her job, partly for an illusion of safety. Know your enemy. What she remembered about Hoyt though, made her cringe. Rizzoli had to have been the detective on Hoyt's case, but that didn't explain why they thought she was her. Sloppy job, she thought.
"What, you're his fan club?"
"Something like that. Lindsay Boxer, huh? Maybe this isn't so bad after all. Maybe we can all start over from here."
He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand, an almost caress. For the first time, a cold shiver of fear skittered down her spine.
***
Worriedly, Tom Hogan regarded a distraught Cindy Thomas sitting across from him in the visitor's chair. Much as he'd wish it was true, he knew she wasn't one to cause an unnecessary scene. She'd come here because she knew as well as he did that while it was too early to file a Missing Person's report, she could expect him to pull some strings.
And he was glad to do it too, because it kept him from thinking of the possibilities. Lindsay wasn't a teenager running away from home; she took her responsibilities seriously. She would have found a way to contact Cindy. Any way.
He picked up the phone and hit a number; it was picked up right away. "When Inspector Snow is back, please tell her to come to my office ASAP, please." He hung up and faced Cindy again, uncomfortable with the despair on the young woman's face. "You tell her everything you can think of."
***
Author: Demeter
Fandom: Women's Murder Club/Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy
Summary: On a trip to San Francisco, Boston Homicide Detective Jane Rizzoli gets a lot more than she bargained for.
Disclaimer: The WMC folks belong to James Patterson. Jane and Gabriel are the creation of Tess Gerritsen. Maggie Snow and Lindsay's grandparents belong to the wmc_vs team.
Warning: Some violence.
A/N: This story is set in the VS universe, about half a year after the events of the finale. R&I canon is taken from the book series, so it might differ from the show, but by the time it airs, the fic should be finished.
Falling Dreams
By Demeter
Lindsay had been having dreams of falling since her childhood, a sign of stress maybe when she sensed her parents' marriage fall apart before anyone dared to say it aloud. They kept returning at irregular intervals, at thirteen after her father had left for good, at twenty-four when her mother had died. Every now and then during the Kiss-Me-Not case. Sometimes, there was a certain face in it, but he was dead, gone.
Even tumbling into darkness, she knew she'd wake up to a better reality. Usually.
***
Jane Rizzoli was dead tired when she walked past customs looking for her husband Gabriel who had promised to pick her up at the airport. The original plan had been to spend a few days prior to the scheduled extradition in the beautiful city of San Francisco. She should have known that something would come up. As in, a dead body.
She had left Boston at noon and felt ready to crash after spending most of the day on airports and in the air, being crowded by the snoring businessman to her left and the crying child to her right. The man had slept through all of it, but Jane's nerves were lying blank. San Francisco could wait another day.
The young redheaded woman appearing out of nowhere, throwing her arms around her and kissing her like she meant it, effectively jolted Jane out of her reverie. It took a moment to entangle herself from the passionate embrace.
"Thank God, you're here! I thought you--"
"What the hell are you doing?" Jane had finally found her speech, and her exhaustion did not help the mood. At another time, she might have found this amusing; now, she was simply annoyed.
The woman blinked. Twice. "Linds, what's wrong?" She leaned close again, and Jane took a hasty step backwards. "What's going on?"
"What's going on is you're really testing my patience, and you're giving me probable cause to search you for drugs. You're lucky I'm far out of my jurisdiction."
"Your-" She blushed, her gaze dropping as realization must have been sinking in. Then she looked up again, her brown eyes wide with alarm.
Jane had no doubt as to what had prompted her reaction, and with a sigh, she thought that she still could shock people easily.
"I'm sorry," the other woman whispered, now completely mortified. She reached for her purse with shaking hands. Jane tensed, bracing herself, but the woman simply produced her wallet, opening it to the photograph inside. It showed her with another woman, the two of them smiling into the camera, obviously a couple.
It wasn't what made Jane's jaw drop. This was San Francisco after all.
The other woman in the picture could have been Jane's identical twin.
"Can I ask what you've been up to?" She spun around to face an amused-looking Gabriel who had most likely witnessed the woman's a little too enthusiastic greeting.
Somebody tell me this is not real.
***
This was a nightmare, turning more surreal by the minute. Even the utter mortification couldn't drown out the foreboding Cindy was feeling; Lindsay should have been here two hours ago, and she couldn't reach her on the cell phone.
All the weekend, she'd wished she could have accompanied Lindsay on her brief trip to her grandparents, checking on her grandmother who was just out of the hospital after hip surgery, but she'd had a non-negotiable deadline. Abbie was doing very much okay and already grousing about the temporary immobility, according to Lindsay's last phone call. Cindy hesitated to contact Abbie yet. It would mean there was a reason to be afraid.
They'd spend a little over half a year in relative peace now, as much as that could be said given their respective professions. Cindy had the bad feeling that this period was about to end. In any case she couldn't stop staring at the tall dark-haired woman who was just about to leave the airport with her husband, the woman who looked exactly like Lindsay.
Not just a resemblance. More like a twin sister.
Cindy felt the blood rush to her face, wondering once again how that embarrassing mistake could have happened - and what she was going to do now. If something had come up or any flights had been delayed, it would have been easy to check, and of course Lindsay would have called her.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she realized that she might have to ask for help on this.
***
Lindsay had hardly ever more longed for a flight to be over. She was infinitely grateful to have a couple of days more off after the heavy caseload. Her grandmother was, fortunately, doing fine after her surgery. Trying to keep her to rest enough was what had been the real challenge. Lost in thought and bone-tired as she exited the airport, Lindsay wanted nothing more than fold herself into Cindy's little red car and maybe catch a few z's on the way home before she could get some real sleep.
It all happened too quickly for her to react, screeching tires, the doors of the van sliding open, hands grabbing her. Her struggle was brief and inconclusive as the needle was crudely pushed into her thigh through the fabric of her jeans. Within seconds, her legs were feeling like butter, and before the sliding doors banged shut, she tumbled into blackness.
***
"Claire, thank God you're home."
Claire immediately recognized her friend's voice, and she didn't need any more clues to realize that Cindy was extremely upset. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm at the station. Please come here as soon as you can. Lindsay... didn't come home."
Claire had her coat and keys in hand before she disconnected the call.
***
Awareness returning was not pleasant. There was a pounding reverberating in her skull, making her dizzy, and she felt like throwing up. She tried to move, which only resulted in sharp pain, and warm wetness trailing down her wrists. Lindsay didn't need any more clues to figure out that she was in big trouble.
She finally managed to open her eyes, flinching at the bright light directed at her in the otherwise dark room. The man standing next to the lamp was tall and lanky, his voice giving away the grin when he said, "Detective Rizzoli. It's so nice of you to join us."
Lindsay could make out more shapes in the darkness. "Who?" she said irritably.
He laughed. "The drug must have had a stronger effect than I thought. Let's give it some time, Jane. I can call you Jane, right? Since we have a friend in common."
Lindsay shook her head, but thought better of it when the nausea rose again. However, she began to understand the reason for her dilemma. "See, you got this wrong. My name is Lindsay Boxer, and any friend of mine would have kicked you in the balls by now."
He moved quickly behind her, hand fisting in her hair and giving a quick tug. She bit her lip, stifling the cry into a pained gasp. "Don't get smart with me, Detective," he whispered close to her ear. "I know who you are. I can give you a fighting chance, or I can make this really quick - and painful."
Lindsay didn't doubt him for a second; whoever the guy was talking about, he seemed to enjoy pain quite a bit. Hers, to be correct. She had to be in a better position the next time she talked back at him. "Alright. I still don't know what you want from me. Would you care to enlighten me?"
Strangely enough, there seemed to be hesitation on his part; meanwhile she catalogued what little she had for a description. Height, voice, his after shave. The sound of a click made her tense, but a moment later Lindsay realized that it had simply been a flashlight. Whatever it was he saw, though, didn't seem to bode good for her either.
"Damn it, come on over here, you stupid idiots!" he yelled. The sound of hastening steps was to be heard.
"What's wrong?" The voice sounded younger, worried. You probably have reason to be, Lindsay thought, shifting minutely in the chair, only to make the rope cut deeper into the skin already raw underneath.
"What's wrong," the older one imitated him, still furious. "Look at this! Do you get it now?"
Lindsay didn't, but the accomplice must have, if the sharply drawn breath was any indication.
"Do you see any scars? No? I tell you why, you screwed it up just like I knew you would."
"But... but--" The other one stuttered. "Maybe she had plastic surgery."
"She was wearing those like a badge of honor, like she could ever defeat Warren Hoyt." He'd moved in front of Lindsay quickly enough to see her eyes widen. "I see you're getting an idea what we're here for." With the light behind him, his face was nothing but a dark shape. She had read about Hoyt indeed, a serial killer who had escaped from prison and then worked with a partner. He'd been called the 'Surgeon'. Lindsay had done a lot of reading on serial killers, partly because it was her job, partly for an illusion of safety. Know your enemy. What she remembered about Hoyt though, made her cringe. Rizzoli had to have been the detective on Hoyt's case, but that didn't explain why they thought she was her. Sloppy job, she thought.
"What, you're his fan club?"
"Something like that. Lindsay Boxer, huh? Maybe this isn't so bad after all. Maybe we can all start over from here."
He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand, an almost caress. For the first time, a cold shiver of fear skittered down her spine.
***
Worriedly, Tom Hogan regarded a distraught Cindy Thomas sitting across from him in the visitor's chair. Much as he'd wish it was true, he knew she wasn't one to cause an unnecessary scene. She'd come here because she knew as well as he did that while it was too early to file a Missing Person's report, she could expect him to pull some strings.
And he was glad to do it too, because it kept him from thinking of the possibilities. Lindsay wasn't a teenager running away from home; she took her responsibilities seriously. She would have found a way to contact Cindy. Any way.
He picked up the phone and hit a number; it was picked up right away. "When Inspector Snow is back, please tell her to come to my office ASAP, please." He hung up and faced Cindy again, uncomfortable with the despair on the young woman's face. "You tell her everything you can think of."
***