A/N: Yay my first Lynley fic! And I believe also only the third one out here on fanfiction dot net. I love the series and this is indented to become a full episode. I have it all set out for you, so please enjoy reading and leave a review!
A flick of a knife
I.
It had been four weeks since Helens death. Aristocrat and Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley was still grieving. The past weeks he had been living like a ghost, losing track of daily life and time, even though work carried on. His dear colleague and friend, Detective Sergeant Barbara Havers had insisted on him taking 'emotional leave,' but he had shrugged that off immediately. He knew he would be better off at work and she later had to admit that they both knew that. Nonetheless he felt heartbroken and immensely guilty about Helens death. It pained him that the reestablishment of their relationship had only just begun, and for what? Only to have her brutally taken away from him.
It was just one of those nights when he felt too alone to bear, that he found shelter in the local pub. It had never been his habit of resorting to alcohol in times of distress, but in these lonely nights the glasses of scotch were the only ones who could give him the much needed comfort.
As soon as he walked in, he sensed the steaminess of the pub and the cheerfulness of the people who were chatting and laughing, carrying on with their lives without taking further notice of the evil outside world. Lynley felt at ease here. Hanging at the bar in full anonymity gave him mental freedom. That anonymity did not last long though.
"What can I get ya?"
"What is the strongest you've got?"
The man eyed him sympathetically and poured him a drink.
"Trouble with the Mrs eh?"
Lynley smiled painfully. Little did the guy know. The bar tender was wise enough to switch to other costumers.
"Wow, you must be having a difficult time."
Lynley put down his glass and eyed the person who had launched the comment at him. It was a young attractive woman who, in turn, was sipping from a rather more decent glass of wine. Lynley smiled bitterly, hoping that she would keep to herself as from now, but she clearly wasn't done with him.
"Well, what else can you expect in this rotten world!"
She emptied the glass in one sip. She inhaled through her cigarette and offered him one.
"No thanks."
She shrugged but wasn't turned off.
"I'm Lindsay."
She reached out her hand and he slipped his hand into hers. Her hand was comfortingly warm.
"Thomas. My friends call me Tommy."
She smiled at him.
"So what burdens you? What has this rotten world done to you? Seeing as we both feel miserable, might as well join the club and spill all our grief."
She seemed carefree although he could see in her eyes that great pain was playing upon her. He did not know what it was in her that made him speak, but he did. There was something inside her that made him spill his heart out. He had been walking around with all this hurt inside, but he hadn't been able to talk about it, until now. Perhaps she made him talk because she was a total stranger, someone other than a police officer. She had welcomed him and he had taken the invitation. She too, had her troubles. Apparently Lindsay had some troubles with her ex-boyfriend. The fact that they consumed more and more alcohol during the night, made both of them losing up. They shared their grief wholeheartedly.
The following morning Lynley slowly opened his eyes. People were playing drum inside his head. He tried to focus and when he did, he made a remarkable discovery: this wasn't his own home. He rapidly (although regretting it as the drum became louder) he turned on his other side and rested his eyes on the half naked woman resting beside him. He cursed silently and carefully pulled the cover over her. Then he slowly crawled out of bed and put on his clothes. The events of last night suddenly came back to him. He felt deeply ashamed of taking advantage of this innocent, beautiful woman. He quickly scrabbled a note and disappeared. He vowed never to enter a pub again. Well, at least never to drink that many alcohol. He filled his lungs with fresh air as he walked towards the pub. Her house appeared to be on walking distance within the pub and thank God they had been wise enough not to drive. As he drove off whilst the drums were still evilly beating he blessed Sundays.