Allison Rafferty in her bed, watching her television, going through her things. Allison Rafferty in a Chicago Bears nightshirt wearing only an anklet beneath it as she paints her toes and boos the opposing team. Leslie has had dreams like this, a couple nightmares too. She takes a shower and presses her forehead to the tiles, trying to think of work or anything but the outline of Allison's body and how perfectly it fits in her arms. She'd sort of hoped this would end up like her friendship with Gabriela and down the road they'd laugh about this, but her thoughts refuse to veer in that direction. Her brain conjures up images of Allison jumping into her arms and Leslie taking her right there on the floor without a word spoken between them.
She bites into her index finger to keep her moans from echoing and forgoes a nightshirt for baggy pajama bottoms and a suffocating long sleeved shirt then edges herself to the other side of the bed and locks her arms to her side. Just as she's drifting off Allison rolls towards her and sleepily pulls her arm into position, pushes up Leslie's shirt to the bottom of her breasts and rubs the pajamas bottoms up with her feet.
She snores loudly, scrunching up her nose with each breath and scratching Leslie's stomach each time she drifts from deep sleep to light sleep and back again. When Leslie wakes her up to tell her Allison pinches her, mumbles, "Shut up pillow" and carries on for the rest of the night.
"A lot of hours you're requesting Shay." Boden puts his glasses on and pulls up the schedule. "You and Rafferty getting along?"
"We're fine. You said until the firebugs were caught you needed all the extra help you could get."
"Indeed."
He waves her out.
The little boy opens his eyes and his father smiles at him as they bounce along in the back of the ambulance. When he reaches over to squeeze Leslie's shoulder his hand feels freezing all the way through her uniform.
She only meant to have one drink before heading home, but midway into a conversation with Otis about the latest inspection one of her exes walks in. She's pre-gamed just enough to be both obnoxiously honest and unforgivably coherent-two qualities Leslie has never been able to appreciate when she's trying to stay in a good mood. She spins Leslie's barstool to face her then presses herself between her legs.
"Hi."
"Trina."
"Wow, I was just talking about you a month ago, no really!" Leslie bites her tongue. "I was saying that you had this total curse, right, because you're so good in bed you make people think you're in love with them, but you never are." Otis drops his rag and finds something to busy himself with. "I kept falling for it though over and over." She tugs Leslie's collar. "What are you doing tonight?"
She comes home relatively sober to voices in her kitchen. The entire reason she'd gotten out of the house was to give Allison some time with her friends and it isn't their fault Leslie had uncharacteristically decided to come home early.
And yet…
She quietly eases the door shut and listens in. The three of them are standing around the island with glasses of wine, the bottle nearly empty between them. Allison tops herself off and says that it could be worse, she could've had to shack up with someone like her last partner.
"Don't you think it's weird they made you stay here, though? Like what if she requested it."
Allison took a sip from her glass. "I don't think she would."
"Whatever, I wouldn't go to sleep without locking my door."
"….Mhm, that's why I keep to myself."
Leslie puts a chair under the knob of the door conjoining the bathroom to the guest room and locks her bedroom door, but not before leaving a neat stack of blankets and a pillow in front of it. Allison knocks a couple times until she gets the hint and sets herself up in Otis's old room. The bed creaks as she fidgets within it until Leslie can't stand it and pulls out her phone.
"Trina? Turns out I'm not as busy as I thought."
The bathroom light turns on when Trina is on her front, biting into the pillow as Leslie thrusts into her with her fingers, slowing as a shadow passes over the bottom of the door. She sets her jaw and quickens her movements until Trina is calling out, begging her to keep going, unable to see that Leslie's focus is elsewhere. When the light turns off and the other door slams shut Leslie gets off the bed before Trina is finished.
"You should leave."
"Huh, why?"
"Because."
Leslie reaches for her pants and begins to pointedly put them on. Trina stands with a sheet pressed to her front and lifts her free hand as if in preparation to slap her, but at the last minute curls it around her own shoulder and mutters 'over and over' while searching for her clothes. As soon as she's gone Leslie removes the chair and walks into the guest room. The lights are on all the better to illuminate the fact that Leslie forgot to put a shirt on in her haste and Allison is pacing in front of the window with tears in her eyes.
"I need a hug, Rafferty."
"Ugh," Alison crosses her arms and turns to the window, her head shaking back and forth because there's nothing funny about the fact that Leslie's waist is blotted with hickies and Allison is crying like she cares about whatever bimbo put them there. There's nothing funny about the way Leslie walks towards her, wondering what it is that makes women fall apart in her arms. This time it's Allison who tugs her close though, so maybe things can change.
Allison cradles Leslie's face and kisses her to discover her mouth is just as warm as everywhere else. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
"Us," Leslie corrects, kissing her again, "what the hell is wrong with us."