the space between silence and speech
title: The Space Between Silence and Speech
with: Lindsay/Stella
rated: PG
herein: post-“Silent Night”
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
Lindsay wanders around her apartment, too wired to sit, to read or watch television. Whatever she’d do on a rare sickday. That’s all this is, an unexpected sickday, but the weight in her bones, the worm in her stomach-it’s not from the flu.
Stella sent her home. Because she’s sick.
Lindsay starts to re-arrange her bookshelf, scooping books up and dropping them all on the couch. She’s not sick. Stella didn’t send her home; she let Lindsay off the hook today and that’s their excuse. Their cover story. Lindsay stares at the paperbacks in her hand and starts shoving everything back up on the shelves in uneven stacks. She turns on her computer and reads the news online. She orders Chinese food and doesn’t eat it. She doesn’t even realize that she’s left the radio off until Stella finally knocks on the door and the unmuffled sound of it makes her jump.
It’s dark outside now, but still early. Stella must have come straight from the lab. Lindsay lets her in, locks the door, and clears her throat against the tightness rising in her chest.
“Okay, talk,” Stella says.
The words are right there in Lindsay’s head. She already started to say them earlier today. She stares at the carpet. She opens her mouth and stutters.
“It’s-I just-”
“All right.” Stella sighs and gives Lindsay a quick hug. “All right.” Stella steps back presses a hand to her eyes.
“Sorry,” Lindsay manages, even though she’s not sure what she’s apologizing for.
Stella looks away, and Lindsay knows she’s fucked it up. Whatever it is, this thing they don’t have, Lindsay’s fucked it up. Stella goes to the kitchen and takes the vodka from the icebox, finds two glasses in the cabinet. She knows Lindsay’s kitchen far too well.
Lindsay takes a deep breath that stays in the top of her chest. “Stella.”
Stella shakes her head and doesn’t look at Lindsay. She carries the glasses and the bottle of vodka to the living room. Lindsay follows.
“Drink,” Stella says and tilts her own glass at Lindsay before swallowing half of it.
The alcohol is clean and cold, and it raises goosebumps on Lindsay’s arms. They sit in silence until Lindsay finishes her glass and Stella refills it.
“Now talk,” Stella says.
And Lindsay does. She talks for a long time, but the words hum and blur together until she thinks she’s said either far too much or nothing at all. Stella stays quiet through most of it, but she watches Lindsay all the while. Lindsay can feel it, even as she keeps her own eyes trained on the coffee table. When she’s done talking, she stretches to put her empty glass down, and the coffee table sways beneath her hand. She starts to apologize again but frowns and bites her tongue.
“I think you got me drunk,” Lindsay says.
“Sorry.” Stella takes her hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m glad you told me.”
Then they’re in Lindsay’s bedroom, and it’s a little bit of a relief. It’s all fucked up, but it’s always been that way. Lindsay’s too tired to do more than shimmy out of her pants and pull her bra off from beneath her shirt. She crawls under the covers, trying to ignore the whirling in her stomach, and Stella watches her for a minute.
“Do you want me to stay?” Stella finally asks.
“If you want.” Lindsay rolls onto her side, facing away. “Yeah.” She pulls the blanket up to her chin and listens to Stella move about the room. After what feels like a long time, Stella slides into bed and curls up against Lindsay’s back. Her hand rests warmly on Lindsay’s waist, and her thumb traces the hollow of Lindsay’s hip.
“Thank you for telling me.” Stella’s breath is hot on the back of Lindsay’s neck.
Lindsay nods a little and closes her eyes tighter.
...
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated
with: Lindsay/Stella
rated: PG
herein: post-“Silent Night”
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
Lindsay wanders around her apartment, too wired to sit, to read or watch television. Whatever she’d do on a rare sickday. That’s all this is, an unexpected sickday, but the weight in her bones, the worm in her stomach-it’s not from the flu.
Stella sent her home. Because she’s sick.
Lindsay starts to re-arrange her bookshelf, scooping books up and dropping them all on the couch. She’s not sick. Stella didn’t send her home; she let Lindsay off the hook today and that’s their excuse. Their cover story. Lindsay stares at the paperbacks in her hand and starts shoving everything back up on the shelves in uneven stacks. She turns on her computer and reads the news online. She orders Chinese food and doesn’t eat it. She doesn’t even realize that she’s left the radio off until Stella finally knocks on the door and the unmuffled sound of it makes her jump.
It’s dark outside now, but still early. Stella must have come straight from the lab. Lindsay lets her in, locks the door, and clears her throat against the tightness rising in her chest.
“Okay, talk,” Stella says.
The words are right there in Lindsay’s head. She already started to say them earlier today. She stares at the carpet. She opens her mouth and stutters.
“It’s-I just-”
“All right.” Stella sighs and gives Lindsay a quick hug. “All right.” Stella steps back presses a hand to her eyes.
“Sorry,” Lindsay manages, even though she’s not sure what she’s apologizing for.
Stella looks away, and Lindsay knows she’s fucked it up. Whatever it is, this thing they don’t have, Lindsay’s fucked it up. Stella goes to the kitchen and takes the vodka from the icebox, finds two glasses in the cabinet. She knows Lindsay’s kitchen far too well.
Lindsay takes a deep breath that stays in the top of her chest. “Stella.”
Stella shakes her head and doesn’t look at Lindsay. She carries the glasses and the bottle of vodka to the living room. Lindsay follows.
“Drink,” Stella says and tilts her own glass at Lindsay before swallowing half of it.
The alcohol is clean and cold, and it raises goosebumps on Lindsay’s arms. They sit in silence until Lindsay finishes her glass and Stella refills it.
“Now talk,” Stella says.
And Lindsay does. She talks for a long time, but the words hum and blur together until she thinks she’s said either far too much or nothing at all. Stella stays quiet through most of it, but she watches Lindsay all the while. Lindsay can feel it, even as she keeps her own eyes trained on the coffee table. When she’s done talking, she stretches to put her empty glass down, and the coffee table sways beneath her hand. She starts to apologize again but frowns and bites her tongue.
“I think you got me drunk,” Lindsay says.
“Sorry.” Stella takes her hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m glad you told me.”
Then they’re in Lindsay’s bedroom, and it’s a little bit of a relief. It’s all fucked up, but it’s always been that way. Lindsay’s too tired to do more than shimmy out of her pants and pull her bra off from beneath her shirt. She crawls under the covers, trying to ignore the whirling in her stomach, and Stella watches her for a minute.
“Do you want me to stay?” Stella finally asks.
“If you want.” Lindsay rolls onto her side, facing away. “Yeah.” She pulls the blanket up to her chin and listens to Stella move about the room. After what feels like a long time, Stella slides into bed and curls up against Lindsay’s back. Her hand rests warmly on Lindsay’s waist, and her thumb traces the hollow of Lindsay’s hip.
“Thank you for telling me.” Stella’s breath is hot on the back of Lindsay’s neck.
Lindsay nods a little and closes her eyes tighter.
...
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated