the morgue is never a lonely place
This is set in the middle of "Kill Shot", so obviously, you will likely find spoilers here if by some chance you haven't seen it yet.
This fic is a response to the comment_fic prompt for a Lanie/Beckett fic with my title as the prompt. It could be interpreted as friendship or something more, but this particular plot is more about comfort than anything romantic.
She's there when I come crashing through the doors, poised over a body with her tools in hand, hands covered in gloves and startled. But it only takes her a moment to set down her scalpel and within a single breathe, the gloves are off and her arm is around my shoulders. "What the hell happened?"
From anyone else the words would have felt harsh, but she's all clean soap and warmth as she draws me over to a chair, pushing my curls back behind my ears without hesitation, without fear. I can't talk but she doesn't speak again, just reaches for a tissue from behind me somewhere, pressing it into my shaking fingers. I shred it before it can be useful even though her fingers are stroking my hair and somewhere in the back of my mind I know that I'm safe here.
There are no windows down here, nothing but steel tables and doors, brick walls and Lanie. No matter how cold or empty or full of the dead this place may be, it will never be empty. Never be lonely because of her and it doesn't surprise me that even without thinking, I ended up here.
She stays silent while I shake and don't cry until she realizes that there's blood on the shreds of tissue I've dropped and then she's grabbing my elbow, straightening out my arm with a strength I forget sometimes that she has and pushing the leather jacket up. Anyone else would have been afraid to be so bold, afraid of me but she's not and the moment she sees the gash on my arm even she can't hide the gasp of surprise at seeing my skin split open.
"Kate…" her voice is soft and soothing, maybe just a bit scolding and before I can say anything she's taken off my jacket and is pulling off the long sleeved t-shirt I'd thrown on to hide the patch of gauze I'd taped on to hold back the blood. Closing my eyes, I try to hide from her gaze but the moment my eyelids close I can feel the darkness creeping back in, and the sound of her heel on the linoleum sounds like a gunshot, throwing me onto my feet.
Once more she draws me in, this time she's face to face with me and her hands are on my shoulders, guiding me back down in the chair with a gentle "Shhhh, just sit. I got you."
She stays there, her face filling my field of vision until at least I can breath and somehow I manage to focus on her familiar features. Her fingers are combing through my hair and slowly, somehow, it brings me back. The morgue is suddenly warm and exhaustion creeps up on me, pulling away whatever fight I might have had left. If the sniper walks in the door now, I would do nothing. I was nothing.
Lanie's lips tighten to a frown and she locks her eyes on me, waiting. Waiting for me to come back but I am drifting. She moves to stand, but without even thinking, I reach out, grabbing at her wrist with my good hand and hold her there. I need to see her there and she understands and she stays.
It may be hours for all I know that she stays, squatting in front of me, silently waiting while I find a handhold on reality. When she shifts, her knees crack from the strain and I feel guilt sweep in, coating over my numbness easily as I watch her try to mask her discomfort. I am here now, at least not lost in the maze of memories and nightmares that refused to let go.
Sighing, I manage to loosen my grip on her wrist and she gives me a little nod.
Dropping a kiss on my cheek, Lanie rises, then turns away to retrieve her first aid supplies. She sets them on the desk beside me. Next, she grabs for another chair, pulling it up in front of mine, taking my hand without asking. Still, she remains silent as she cleans the wound, applying a line of butterfly bandages before covering it with a gauze pad and adding a wrap to hold it in place.
Only when the wound is sufficiently covered does she finally speak, her voice raspy as her own tears come to life. "I'm worried about you, girl. I ain't gonna make you tell me, cuz I know you won't. But this is not okay."
"Lanie, I…" I try to speak, try to explain to her that I didn't do this intentionally.
Those brown eyes are shining with tears and I can feel just how much she cares. Her face softens and her arm comes back, heavily draping over my shoulder, pulling me against her side. "I know. I'm just glad you didn't hide it from me."
The words weigh heavily on my mind, but I push them out, turning my face to press into her scrubs, sinking into the warmth of her, letting her hold me. "Lanie, I… This is just…"
I don't know what I want to tell her; don't even know how I feel. The anxiety is still lurking right there outside the door to the morgue, ready to pounce on me once more. I thought I'd left this behind, this trauma, but there it is, ready to leap out and grab me by the throat at the drop of a pin.
"Shhh… We'll talk later. Just let me help you get ready," Lanie whispers, her voice somewhere close to the top of my head, close enough I can feel her breath on my hair.
I nod and feel her moving again, spinning me in the chair as she pulls open her desk drawer. "Gonna fix up this hair. You look like you got fucked in a wind storm," she teases, her hand resting on my neck, squeezing gently. The joke is a bit awkward but I laugh anyway, because it feels like peace and normalcy and everything I love about Lanie.
I shake my head, sighing as she starts with her fingers, gently loosening the matted curls. Fingertips curl against my scalp and brush against my ears and tangle in my hair as she smoothes and scrunches the angry locks gently, occasionally spritzing on something that smells vaguely fruity. Without even touching it, I know she'd tamed the frizzy, tangled mess, even as she's muttering curses about how difficult my hair is. By the time she manages to gather it at the base of my skull to wrap it into a loose bun, she's lulled my nerves, allowed my stomach to settle for the first time in nearly twenty four hours.
"There, you might be almost presentable," she declares, spinning me round to face her. I try to give her a smile which she accepts with a light caress of my cheek. She frowns slightly, reaching into her desk drawer for something else. Producing a wet wipe, she leans in closer, carefully swiping the soft aloe scented cloth over my face, then down my neck and along my jaw, cleaning away the evidence of whatever damage she found there.
Tossing the cloth into the trash bin, she falters for the first time, leaning into her desk and staring down at me. Then she draws herself up, her shoulders pulling back and she lets out a sigh, her eyes falling shut. "You heading in to work?"
I let the question hang, making a courtesy glance at the clock as though it really mattered that it's three in the morning and that no one else is going to be in the precinct. "Yeah, our guy is still out there."
She doesn't look at me, but nods. Her fingers are gripping the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles are paled and I wish that she didn't care about me. I'm not ready to name what happened and even less ready to share but she's fixed up my arm, patched it over and is sending me back to this case.
My lips part, wanting to say something but I still don't have the words. Only a sigh comes out and I manage to get up out of the chair, standing in front of her and waiting for her to look at me.
There are tear tracts on her caramel colored cheeks and it's an instinct that makes me lean in to kiss them. I don't have words but I hope that this says something to her. Her eyelashes flutter against my own and she suddenly breathes against my lips as if she's been holding it in for hours and I look up to find she'd looking at me.
I hate this.
She still has more tears and I still have no words so I kiss her nose and put my good arm around her shoulders, tucking my chin over her shoulder and hold her there against me because it's what I need, and I can only hope that it helps her too. One of us is shuddering, shaking with something that might be tears and I'm not sure that it's not me.
It's so quiet in here that I can hear every sniffle and gasp as her arms slide around me, encircling my waist and clutching me to silently demand don't you dare go anywhere.
The door to the morgue feels so much farther away here and I let my eyes close and for the first time since this began, I just see her. I draw in a breath and somehow I manage to tell her, "I'm not okay, but I'm gonna be. I am."
Her face turns and her lips are against my neck, letting me feel each breath she takes. She stays there, breathing on me and holding me and refusing to let me go until I feel a chill run through me. This is still the morgue and she took my jacket and I haven't eaten anything since yesterday. Booze can only keep you warm for so long.
I draw back carefully, wary of what lurks outside this place. She's just as a cautious and reaches for my jacket as we draw apart, helping me slide it on. "You know where to find me…" she offers, unnecessarily.
Nodding, I give in to my need to touch her one more time, my fingers sliding along her hair, hooking it behind her ears like she did for me. "I know," I manage to tell her, tugging my jacket on tighter and preparing myself for the empty bullpen and everything else that isn't here.
If I don't move, I won't go, so I turn and head for the doors, nearly out the door when she calls my name again. "Kate?"
I turn to face her, but can't speak. I'm on the line between here and not here, so all I can do is wait.
"I will come find you."