Sleeping Cindy
by Erin Griffin
Fandom: Women's Murder Club
Pairing: Lindsey/Cindy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters owned by Dan Patterson, ABC and some others who aren't me
Note: First WMC fic after finally seeing the episodes (sans virtual season). I am still getting a feel for the characters (*snirk*) and it is unbeta'd, so this is not my best. Thanks to those who pointed the way to the episodes. This story is for you.
Lindsey thinks that maybe it was the doey eyes or the auburn hair. Or the way she could weave the oddest stories to anyone else but those within the 'not a club'. Perhaps it was the way she was adorably annoying when she just pops up at crimes scenes and passes the yellow tape like it isn't even there, or checking up on a lead that could get her killed, all because she 'just wants to help'. Then there was the fact that Lindsey just couldn't hurt her feelings without she herself feeling like she'd kicked Martha or something. It might just be the way she could stand up to her, or the fact that her Spanish is so fluent that she wants to know the story of how she learned it. She wonders if it was the fact that she held up her end of the bargain when Tom was getting married, and succeeded in making her laugh, insisting to stay with her even though they weren't spa-ing. It really was a nice speech, and no one had ever told her to just let them be there for her. No one ever thought she needed to hear it, though Jill or Claire would have said it all by just giving her a Look. Whatever the hell it was about Cindy Thomas, it made her fall. Hard.
Lindsey looks across her desk at Cindy, who is sprawled around her laptop, her arm outstretched and her head rested on it. Her mouth is slightly open, her glasses crooked and close to falling off completely. Even as Lindsey is tempted to laugh, she can't help but see how cute she is, how young. When Cindy is awake, she would prove that though young, she definately wasn't as naive as people would assume. Looking at her now, Lindsey wonders about her. Its obvious that Cindy is smarter than the average woman her age. She wonders if she skipped several grades and was in college long before she was supposed to be. Lindsey wouldn't have been at all surprised. The inspector sighs, rubbing her eyes. She feels tired herself, but she was still trying to figure out what the Kiss Me Not killer was trying to say (or not say) with the clues he left behind. None of them seemed to connect, which led them to think that maybe there were many things he was pointing at that somehow told bits and peices of his messege. When Lindsey mentioned that she was going to be spending the night researching, Cindy offered her services, and hoping it would get done at least a little bit faster, Lindsey agreed. It didn't, but she appretiated the company. She had watched as Cindy tried to stay up, and she would tell the younger woman that she could go home, but the conversation always sounded a little something like this:
"You should go home and get some sleep. You're snoring again."
"I do not snore."
"Go home, Cindy."
"Are you leaving?"
"Not yet."
"Then neither am I."
Now, even Lindsey is ready to call it a night. Looking at her watch, she sees that it was nearing one in the morning, and she knows that Cindy works earlier in the morning than she does. She stands up and stretchs, and then she leans over to shake the younger woman. "No, I'm not sleeping." Cindy mumbles. She sits up with a small wince at the position she had been in, and yawns. She takes off her glasses and puts them in the holder she had placed on the other side of the laptop, the side she wasn't sleeping on.
"Worst liar ever," the brunette teases. "Come on, I'm giving you a ride home." Lindsey shrugs into her leather jacket and watches as Cindy shut down her laptop and delicately puts it away in its carrying case.
"I can drive," Cindy protests, but it is weak. Lindsey only has to stare at her, her hand outstretched as she waits for the younger woman's car keys. With a grumble that sounds like, 'Fine,' Cindy gives in, and the detective smiles smuggly in return. Cindy stands and also stretchs, her shirt riding up a little bit as she does so. Lindsey forces herself to look away before she is caught staring. "What about your car?" Cindy asks after a moment. Lindsey only shrugs.
"No one will be surprised to see it here,"
"How are you getting in tomorrow morning?" Cindy shoots back at her. The cooler night air hit them, and she seems a little more awake now, but Lindsey isn't sure how long that would last. Besides, she needed any excuse to spend just a little more time with the young woman without Jill's smirk or Clair's knowing looks and words of wisedom. She shrugs again at this, and Cindy rolls her eyes. "If you drive me home tonight, at least stay over and I can drive you in tomorrow morning."
The detective thinks about this, knowing she should decline, use the lame exuce she needs to feed, walk and water the dog, but she has those eyes directed at her, and she could swear Cindy knew exactly what they could do. "Deal," Lindsey says, and she looks around for the small car that Cindy had named. "So, why Maggie?" Lindsey asks.
"I wish I could impress you by telling you that she was named after the photo-journalist Margaret Bourke-White or Maggie Rodrigez of The Early Show or even Dame Maggie Smith.... But the truth is, I like the Simpsons," Cindy admits somewhat sheepishly. Lindsey laughs, and Cindy shrugs as she opens the passenger side door as soon as Lindsey had unlocked it. As soon as the car starts up, Cindy makes a quick movement towards the radio, which blares loudly in Spanish. From the sounds of it, punk rock, which surprises Lindsey. She thought that if it was going to be anything in Spanish it would be something like Selina or even Shakira, but the song sounds like it is sung by a bunch of emo teenagers with much the same sound as Evanescence, at least for this song. As it ends less than a minute later, a more pop-like ballad comes on, and Lindsey looks quickly to Cindy.
"Who is this?" she asks. Cindy, who is resting her head against the head rest of the passenger seat, let her head roll to the side in order to look at Lindsey. She seems to be trying to look sheepish, but is too tired to try again.
"Its a mix CD of a Chilean pop/rock group called Kudai. A friend made it for me. They're so emo, but the music is catchy. We can turn on the radio if you-" Cindy looks as if she's about to turn the music off, but Lindsey shakes her head.
"No, its fine." She doesn't know what is being said either, but it isn't all that bad. The only thing that ever worried her about foreign music was liking it, only to find out that it was saying derrogitory things without her even knowing it. From there, the drive is pretty quiet as the music continues and Cindy fell asleep again. Lindsey smirks, glad she insisted on driving. About fifteen minutes later, the make it to Cindy's apartment building, and she shuts off the engine. This time the younger woman wakes up on her own, looking around at her familiar surroundings before she opens the door and leads Lindsey inside. The tour is short, mostly because Lindsey has seen the inside of the apartment before, after Cindy had been shot. She watchs as Cindy takes her shoes off at the door, and she follows suit, and she thanks the younger woman when she hands her a couple of blankets and a pillow for the couch.
The two stand in silence for a moment afterwards, almost to the point where the moment becomes a little bit uncomfortable. Finally, Cindy places a hand on Lindsey's shoulder, tipped forward and leaves a kiss on the detective's cheek. "Goodnight, Lindz," she says softly. The brunette's cheek is flushed where the younger woman kissed it.
"Erm- Goodnight," she returns, and watches as the auburn haired woman walked into her room and softly closes the door. Lindsey shakes her head, knowing that if she didn't end up spilling her guts to Cindy or melting into a pool of instector goo, that Cindy would find some way of being the death of her. Lindsey spreads the blankets on the couch and tries to fall asleep, but she is very aware of the woman in the other room and the lingering feel of the kiss on her cheek. As she closes her eyes, she smiles.