Title: Say It With Flowers

Author: Henabrey

Summary: after making a disastrous move on Lilly, Scotty sits in a bar feeling sorry for himself. But are things as bad as they seem? What's Lil thinking? Strong LS...steer clear if you don't like that stuff.

Rating: T for some bad language

Category: is there such a thing as angsty fluff?

Disclaimer: These character's don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

Spoilers: brief reference to The Woods & Beautiful Little Fool. I wrote this before the start of season four, & it's set recently after BLF. Joseph does not exist.

Extra Note: this is not my first fanfiction, but it is the first one I've liked enough to release into the wide blue yonder, otherwise known as the internet. Please let me know what you thought of it by leaving a review.

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Part One: Bud (Scotty)

So I kissed my partner today. I know, dumb, right? On a list of all the stupid things I've done in my life, and God knows it's a long list, that would gotta be right up near the top. That's why I am where I am, in a bar. It's a good bar...no, that ain't right, it's a terrible bar, but it's a good bar to get drunk in. It's mostly deserted, which is just the way I want it right now. Nothin' like a bunch of people havin' fun around you to make you more depressed than you are already. And I'm plenty depressed. In this bar there's just the bartender and a coupla drunks down the other end of the counter, holdin' themselves up by their beer glasses. Sometimes they mumble to each other, sometimes to themselves. Not to me, just as well. I ain't in the mood for conversation. They look kinda familiar. They were probably here the last time I was, just after George held Lilly hostage in his goddamned woods. I came here then to forget how I'd felt sittin' in the car waitin' for gunshots.

Tonight I'm here to try and forget Lilly altogether, and that is a damned hard thing to do.

Maybe the bar has somethin' to hold my attention. Anythin' to think of while I wait for the alcohol to take effect. The bar is badly lit at the best of times, but at some time since I've been here last one of the few light bulbs has blown and there are even more shadows than usual. There are a few scuffed wooden tables that I've never seen people sittin' at and a number of mismatched chairs strewn haphazardly about the room. There are six chairs at one table and none at others, and there are a coupla chairs that ain't at tables at all but stuck out in the room all by themselves, self-conscious like girls at the prom without a date. There are some paintings on the wall, but they're so dirty from years of neglect and cigarettes that I can't tell what they're pictures of. There's a jukebox in one corner that, when it plays at all, will only play dreary country ballads about girls named Betty Sue. It's quietly croonin' to itself. In the air is the stench of smoke and a faint whiff of long-ago spilled beer.

Look, I said it was a terrible bar. It ain't even interestin' enough to hold my attention for more than a coupla minutes. Of course, I coulda been in the best bar in Philly, surrounded by topless cheerleaders, and I'd still be distracted by thoughts of blonde hair, a tough attitude and the most amazin' blue eyes I've ever seen.

God help me.

The bartender is givin' me the eye. People come here to drink, and people who look around the bar like a tourist instead of drinkin' are viewed with suspicion. I nod at him - same again, keep em comin' - and he shuffles into action, movin' like an eighty year old who's just taken a sedative. Hey, don't pull a muscle movin' too fast, there, willya buddy? Sure is earnin' that tip.

I ain't drunk, but I'm in a hell of a hurry to get there.

The bartender delivers my scotch in a grimy glass and I fish a ten outta my pocket to pay. The note disappears and from the look on the bartender's face I won't be gettin' any change. If the drink helps it's worth it. The bartender, who's a thickset man in his late thirties, only slightly less rundown and scruffy than his bar, makes his way back up the other end of the counter where one of the drunks is wavin' his glass in the air. My thoughts, wayward at the best of times, drift back to Lilly.

A sigh escapes me.

It started with this damn flower I saw as I was walkin' back from lunch yesterday. Lil and me had just interviewed this woman about the case we were workin'. Tough case, tough morning. Sorry you were raped when you were six, lady, but we need you to relive it again so we can try and catch the guy who did it. We think he killed a girl after he did you. Fucked, right? And Lil, she was takin' it hard like she always does when it's little girls. Not that most people would notice, of course, she had that hard as glass attitude well in place as usual. But I could see. It's like she shrinks a little, draws herself in, puts her walls up higher than normal. That light that shines from her, it gets a little dimmer when it's little girls. Replaced by something harder, hotter and deeply personal.

One day I'll get up the nerve and ask her about it. Maybe.

So I asked her out to lunch after we were done with the witness. Share a sandwich and a little conversation. Nothin' at all to do with the fact I wanted to hold her and protect her from all the bad shit in the world. But she had this distant look on her face, this don't-touch look, and when she said no I knew better than to push her. And I tried not to take it personally, cause sometimes Lil just has to be Lil, on her own. I get that. So I had my lonely lunch all by myself, sandwich somehow tastin' like cardboard despite all the fillings I had them put on it. Nothin' at all to do with the fact Lilly wasn't there to share it with me, I'm sure. And then as I was walkin' back to the office I saw this little flower.

You know that sayin', I don't know about art, but I know what I like? Same with me and flowers. I hadn't a clue what kinda flower it was, but I knew I liked it. It was this red colour, not a washed out red but a dark, blood red, and it had this fuzzy yellow centre. It was growin' all by itself on this little plant that was maybe a foot high, growin' up between the sidewalk and this old buildin'. I think it was a lawyer's office. It looked like the little bush wasn't supposed to be there, like it was a weed, cause who ever heard of a lawyer plantin' a garden on the sidewalk, am I right? Someone said once that a weed was a plant whose good points hadn't been discovered yet, and I guess that was true about this little plant, cause it sure made a nice flower.

I stood there awhile, lookin' at this flower, thinkin' of Lilly. Wonderin' if she was okay, knowin' she wasn't. Hatin' that I couldn't do a damn thing to take the pain of her life away.

I guess you can tell by now that I have more-than-partnerly feelings towards my partner. God knows I shouldn't, but there you go. Can't choose your relatives, can't choose who you'll fall in love with despite the grief it can cause you. Yeah, I said fall in love. I'll admit it. Not to her, Christ no, but between you, me and my nearly empty glass of scotch, I'm head over heels for the woman. Have been for ages. I won't pretend it ain't been hard, keepin' quiet, but I ain't a stupid man despite the stupid things I do sometimes. And me tellin' Lilly Rush I was in love with her would be the action of a very stupid man indeed.

Well, okay, I kissed her. I'm gettin' to that.

There's so much I'd like to say to her. Sometimes when I've sampled the scotch a little more than I should, like now for instance, I let myself list the stuff I'd say if I thought I could get away with it. Say, if she was in a coma. Or behind sound-proof glass. Somethin' like that. I love you, I'd say. I'm sorry you had such a tough childhood. I'm sorry no one else seems to have treated you the way you deserve. I'd like to devote the rest of my life to makin' up for it. I'd like to kiss your pain away and hold you, worship you, until the day I die. I'd like to make you laugh. I love you again, over and over again.

There's a lot I'd like to ask her, too. Not just about her past and whatever lies in it that's made her the way she is, but regular stuff I don't know about her. Her favourite colour, for example. Does she prefer Chinese or Italian, comedy or thriller movies, classical or rock music? Where would she go if she ever took a vacation? How come she has two cats who could compete in the cat Paralympics when she could have regular cats with the right number of appendages? Has she ever thought about kissing me?

Stuff like that.

But I can't say the things I want to. Can't even let an ounce of what I feel for her show on my face. Sad, and hard, but that's the price you pay for lovin' someone like Lilly. I'm not an open person myself, I know that, I got my own issues. But I'm nothin' compared to her. She's so careful with herself; she's got these walls a mile high, and it's a rare person who's able to get more than a glimpse inside. She's been hurt a little too often, and it makes her wary when it comes to sharin' herself. She puts up her walls as protection for herself, to present a mask to the outside world. Walks tough, acts tough, talks tough when she's gotta, but I can see she's broken inside. I wish I could help her piece herself back together. But I know that if I ever told her even a tiny part of what I thought of her and felt for her her walls would go up even higher. Fuckin' Wall of China. Her personal life and her work life do not mix and that's final. And I'm just part of her work life. She cares for me more than she does her desk chair and her coffee mug, maybe, but I still ain't gettin' into that other side of her life. Like everyone she works with, I'm kept at arm's distance. Well, that's fine. No, not fine, but I'd rather love her and work with her at arm's distance than have to transfer out of Cold Cases. Which is what I'm sure would happen if she knew how I felt. I'd be lucky if she'd even look in my general direction if she knew.

See, I know all this; even half-drunk I know all this, and still I get myself into a shitload of trouble.

So there I was, standin' in front of the lawyer's office, starin' at this weed, and I think, say it with flowers, right? Give her the little flower I've been starin' at for the last five minutes. Okay, it's not a dozen red roses like I'd like to give her, but I thought I just might be able to get away with givin' her one little flower. And everythin' I feel and can't let myself show would be wrapped up tight in those five little petals. And if she asks why I gave her a flower, and she will, I can say tough case, tough morning, and I wanted to see you smile. It's at least partly true. And then hopefully she will smile, which will make me happy because first of all I'll have pleased her and second of all because, let's face it, she has one hell of a great smile.

So I reached out and picked the flower.

I was headin' up the stairs back at work when I heard her voice behind me, callin' my name. I had the flower in hand, feelin' a little foolish, cause what was Vera goin' to say when he saw it? So I was relieved I could give it to her outside.

"Hey, Lil," I said when I turned around to face her, and all of a sudden I felt like a goddamned teenager about to ask the girl of his dreams out on a date. Pathetic, right? All over a stupid flower. But, oh hell, she was smilin' at me already.

"Hey," she said, joinin' me on the steps. Probably wonderin' why I wasn't startin' to walk again. But now it came to it, there was no way in hell I was givin' Lilly a flower where the guys could see me. Wasn't goin' to happen. It was right now or I'd have to think of a reason I picked a flower for myself. She was lookin' tired and drawn, but underneath that was that fire I was talkin' about, that fierceness. Beautiful. "I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch." She didn't offer an explanation. She didn't need to.

"No problem," I said.

She looked down, and that's when she noticed the flower in my hand. "What's with the flower, Scotty?"

I looked down too. "What, this flower?" I asked, like I'd suddenly just remembered it. "Oh, this is, uh, this is for you." And I thrust it at her. Smooth, Valens, real smooth.

She got this very puzzled look on her face, like I'd suddenly started speakin' Urdu or somethin', and I felt the insane need to explain myself.

"Well, you're my friend, see," I started, babblin', "and I know this case...well, it's a shit. It's tough on all of us, believe me, but I can see...that is, well, you're...and, uh, I kinda care about you, cause you're my friend, you know..." Obviously I was goin' from strength to strength. I was fuckin' Casanova. Deep breath, finish it off. "And I wanted to make you smile."

I'd been standin' with the flower stuck out in front of me all this while, cause she hadn't taken it. But the more I babbled on, the more the corner of her mouth quirked upwards, and when I mercifully shut the hell up she smiled at me just as I'd hoped. Oh, man, that smile. It was a genuine, happy smile, not a Scotty-you-stupid-fool smile like I maybe deserved. A blindin', wonderful smile. It was like the sun came out from behind the clouds. I needed shades. It was the best smile I'd ever seen, and I was the one who caused it. The crowd goes wild. And then she reached out and took the flower, and I got goosebumps from where her hand touched my skin.

"Thankyou," was all she said, and walked up the stairs to the office. I waited a few seconds to wipe the silly grin off my face and then followed her.

Homicide was somewhat deficient in vases, so the little flower spent the afternoon in a spare coffee mug of water on Lil's desk. Vera asked about it, of course, but all Lil would say was that a friend had given it to her.

"Was it a special friend, Lil?" Vera asked with that stupid smirk he gets sometimes.

But Lil just smiled, Sphinx-like, and said nothing.

So that was yesterday. Tough case, tough morning, but in the afternoon we made real headway. We were pretty close to figurin' it all out and makin' an arrest, and we all knew it. And while we were makin' phone calls, checkin' facts and gatherin' evidence, the little flower sat in its coffee cup. I kept sneakin' glances when I thought Lil wasn't lookin' in my direction, and I was pleased to see her takin' quick looks at the temporary vase from time to time. Despite the case, underneath her burnin' desire to catch the asshole we were after, she seemed...almost happy. Made me feel like a million bucks. She got this cute little look on her face, like a half-smile, like she knew a secret. Fuckin' adorable. And then once I sneaked a look at her when I shouldn't have, because my eyes met hers. I think we were both shocked - I know my heart missed a couple of beats. She was the first to look away, but not before I saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks, and not before she smiled this delicate, shy smile.

I suppose that's what gave me ideas.

That brings us to this morning - the break we'd been expectin' happened just before lunch, and we got to surprise one Donald Franklin, murderer, rapist and all-round fuckin' waste of space, over his hot dog and fries. He didn't look too pleased to see us. Lil got the confession - I never saw anyone with interrogation skills like hers - and by late afternoon the case was closed and one more bad guy was off the streets. Some days it's good to be a cop.

The paperwork was done by early evening, Donald Franklin had had his phone call and met his new best friend, his lawyer, and the evidence boxes were ready to be taken back to the warehouse. Lilly had already picked up one, so naturally yours truly offered to carry the other one. Anythin' to be close to the woman. We talked about the case on the way, not about the flower, although it was there between us. She still smiled that little secretive smile when she thought I wasn't lookin', and sometimes I could feel her eyes on me, stealin' little glances. I stole little glances of my own.

In the warehouse, she put her box on the shelf first and then turned to grab mine. I watched as she wrote 'closed' on the box's lid with a black marker and set it in its place among all the other boxes. So many boxes, each one representin' a life ended and families' lives destroyed. Some days it's not good bein' a cop, having to wallow in humanity's filth and misery.

But Lil, now that the box was back on the shelf and another victim had their justice, seemed just that little bit lighter, less weighed down by her life and work. She always does when she solves a case. I was pleased to see that the light that shines from her was back and she seemed luminous in the fluorescent lights of the warehouse. And, oh, so beautiful.

This is where my brain seemed to stop thinkin' rationally.

When she turned around, it was to find me standin' much too close. I had somehow managed to move towards her without realisin' I was doin' it, and now I was mere inches away from her, and -

Excuse me a minute. The bartender, that excellent bartender who pockets my change and looks like he last changed his shirt the same time his bar opened, twenty years ago, is givin' me the eye again. Jesus, can't a guy tell a story without getting harassed with alcohol? Although, that reminds me, I am tryin' to get drunk. I nod at him. He's a little quicker pourin' my scotch this time - sedative must be wearin' off - and even quicker pocketin' my cash.

Back to the depressin' end-of-life-as-I-know-it story.

Where was I? Oh yes...much too close to Lilly. I was mere inches away from her, and my legs didn't seem able to move backwards at all. Neither could my brain come up with an excuse for why I was suddenly leanin' over her. Shit. She was shocked, I could see. Her eyes were filled with surprise, and her mouth (dear God, I couldn't stop lookin' at her mouth) had fallen open slightly.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a slightly husky voice that didn't sound like the normal one she used. I didn't trust myself to speak at all. Part of my brain was screamin' at me to back the hell away, that the situation was salvageable if I'd just move the fuck away, but the rest of me didn't seem to be payin' attention. The rest of me was too busy raisin' my right hand and brushin' away a tendril of hair that had fallen across her eyes. The surprise in those amazing blue eyes turned to something else, part alarm and, yes, I'm sure I wasn't mistaken, part anticipation.

Then I was leaning right in and I couldn't see her eyes anymore because mine had fallen closed, and I was kissing her.

You know how sometimes you think and dream of somethin' for so long that when it finally happens, it's a disappointment? Cause you built it up so high in your head that the reality can't compare? Not in this case. Kissing Lilly was better than I ever imagined it could be. Her lips were amazingly soft. She tasted, oh, she tasted so good. The coffee she'd just been drinkin', a hint of strawberries - not sure where that came from cause I couldn't remember ever seein' her eat one - and under it all just the taste of Lilly herself. I couldn't get enough. And she was kissing me back. However wrong it was about to go, there was that - she was kissing me back. There was that little bit of time when she wanted it just as I did.

My hand was still caressin' her face. Her skin felt so soft and delicate under my fingers and the silky tendrils of her hair played over the back of my hand as our kiss deepened. I could feel her own hand stealin' around the back of my neck, and all the little hairs back there stood on end at her touch. I had to get closer to her. My spare hand stole around her waist and pulled her into me. Our bodies crushed together.

That was where it started to go wrong.

The sudden pressure of my body against hers seemed to shock her back to her senses. I could feel her tense up, like a small woodland creature sensin' a nearby predator, and the hand which was on the back of my neck was moved to my chest, pushin' me away. I stopped what I was doin', knowin' it was over, tryin' to think of somethin' to say to excuse my actions. Sorry I mauled you, I couldn't help it? Maybe not. I was dismayed when I got the courage to look in her eyes. She looked almost panic-stricken.

"Let me go," she said. I was still holdin' her tightly, not wantin' to let her go cause I knew if I did, she'd really go. As in, the hell outta there.

"Lil -" I said, still not sure what to say.

"Damn you, let me go!" she said, and she fought her way out of my grasp. I got one last glimpse of her face, saw the anguish, fear and panic in her eyes, and then she was gone, almost runnin' in her hurry to get away from me. I wanted to call after her, chase after her, but what could I say? What could I possibly say to her to make it how it was between us? Nothin', that's what. That friendship we'd built back up over the last few months had been destroyed in a few short moments because I just couldn't keep a leash on myself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don't know how I long I sat on the floor of the warehouse, bangin' my head softly against the evidence boxes. Felt like an hour at least, although it was probably less, and when I got back to the bullpen it was deserted. Lil was long gone, of course. Only the little flower in its coffee cup vase remained to mock me and remind me of how badly I'd screwed up a good thing. The flower was startin' to look a little worse for wear. I knew how it felt. I also knew there was only one thing I could do at a time like this; get stinkin', blind, puke-and-pass-out drunk. And I knew just the place to do it.

End of Part One

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