As soon as Lauren slams the phone back into its cradle, she wishes she hadn't. Not because she regrets hanging up so abruptly, but because it begins to ring again seconds later, before she can even finish her sigh of relief. Trust Kenzi to be persistent. It doesn't stop when Lauren rejects that call, or the next one, and when finally a fit of frustration strikes and she just yanks the cord from the wall, her cell phone begins to vibrate in her front pocket.
Lauren's never even given Kenzi her number. How the hell- never mind, she doesn't want to know.
It feels childish, to block Kenzi's calls and turn off all her notifications so she doesn't have to see that same number (that familiar area code) pop up on her screen over and over again. It feels even worse when Kenzi finally gives up, a dozen attempts later, and simply sends her an email with the Zamora family crest stamped at the bottom. Lauren scans it without really reading it, too distracted to concentrate.
But below everything, below the date and dress code and RVSP request, Kenzi has typed her own little note.
p.s. I'm really sorry you had to find out through me, Lo. Some things need to be done in person.
See you in two months.
Now Lauren has a broken phone on her desk, a wedding date burning a hole in her calendar, and a powerful urge to plant herself firmly at the nearest bar and start drinking it dry.
But even the escape of alcohol would be a little too much like high school, remind her a little too much of blending into the background of obligatory drunken parties, watching everyone get progressively more wasted until Lauren finally wasn't the only one being ignored. And then there was that one party, where half-tipsy Bo started out kissing Dyson and ended up kissing her, and the incredible inconsistency that followed has permanently soured heavy drinking for Lauren. Which is a real pity.
The years haven't dulled that sting of rejection. As Lauren sits in the familiar darkness of her offices, she hates how little has changed since high school. She's still alone, still waiting for a moment of clarity, still unbelievably attached to the past.
Yet.
Some things remain the same, but some things change.
Her mind flits to her girlfriend as quickly as it flitted to Bo, once, and there isn't any denying the smile on her face when it does. She wasn't looking for anything, but she found it in Tamsin.
Tamsin, who is at work, and has no idea of the turmoil roiling through Lauren's chest. In all honesty, she is probably waiting at a speed trap for the next unlucky soul who decided to drag race down an empty interstate. Tamsin's complained about it often enough that Lauren's learned to simply nod and make sympathetic noises when she goes on about the various losers she has to rein in each shift.
It boggles her mind, now, that she could love a person like Bo and a person like Tamsin in the same lifetime. Their similarities need to be seen through some neurotic lens to be noticed, much less understood. Both of them ruin her rationality. Both of them can drive her up the wall. Both of them, at some point, have owned all of Lauren in a way that they'd never asked for. God knows Lauren hadn't.
Which brings her to another problem.
As of now, neither of them knows about the other. There's no reason for them to.
But Tamsin needs to know about this, in the interest of full disclosure and the interest of Lauren's conscience. She needs to be told about Bo. To understand Lauren is to understand her past, and her past is undeniably saturated with Bo's
Every time Lauren thinks too hard about it, a wave of horror threatens to overwhelm her.
But what would she say? Oh, my childhood friend/high school lover/single greatest heartache has suddenly dropped back into my life to rearrange the furniture like she always does, but don't worry, it hasn't happened yet. I'm not sure it will. But hey, let's get out the nice silverware for when she does show up.
Lauren lumps all the broken plaster together and starts tidying up, slowly, automatically. White flakes of material coat her hands in a fine dust.
Maybe she's overreacting.
There is no crisis to stave off here. Bo isn't the force of nature she was when Lauren was caught up in her, young and naïve and infatuated with the idea of someone like Bo rather than Bo herself. Lauren's not that girl, and Bo is not that threat. Hell, she's not even sure she'd recognize Bo if she ever saw her again.
Closure. It's almost more important, psychologically, than understanding. She knows this, has seen enough case studies and college lectures to know that having an answer, regardless of the truth, can heal wounds decades old. When you're grasping at anything, a fucking straw is better than empty air.
Lauren can't deny that she wants an explanation. Whenever she'd thought of Bo Dennis in the past, curiosity always piques after the sadness and anger have burned down, and now that Bo's gotten a new prerogative and apparently, a new backbone, it only makes Lauren more amiable to diving into the enigma that has shrouded her for years.
Maybe the ultimate test would be to just let Bo find her. Lauren can see it now; someone will knock at her door, asking for Dr. Lewis, and refusing to leave until Lauren came to the door. She'd invite Bo inside, coolly, and ask her to sit. Bo wouldn't. Instead, she'd clasp her hands in front of her and get that look that Lauren remembers unbearably well.
The one that says I'm back, and I'm sorry.
Lauren would remain aloof, composed. She'd allow Bo to finish, accept whatever apology she's given, and then send her out. Vaguely offer to meet up for coffee, sometime.
Maybe she could get Bo to meet Tamsin. Wow, Lauren would not want to be in the middle of that conversation. She could simply keep her mouth shut, and let the events play out in their due time; not say a word to Tamsin or Bo until she's sure of the outcome.
However, there is a sticky note on their refrigerator that says otherwise.
Be honest.
But underneath that-
Be kind.
She weighs her options. She can't fulfill either promise without breaking the other, and Lauren Lewis is not a liar (usually). But she can be forgiven for making an exception now, because it's not exactly lying if she's preempting the truth. It's not the kind of lie that makes her any less honest.
Bo doesn't mean anything to her anymore. It's a free country, and Dr. Lewis isn't defenseless or naïve as Lauren Lewis was. Let Bo search all she wants; she won't find the Lauren she's looking for.
Lauren gathers her things, arranging the now-broken phone neatly beside the wall, and flicks the lights off in her office. Almost giddy with relief, she squares her shoulders against an invisible wind as she walks, light on her feet. Making a definitive decision, even without knowing the outcome, is always freeing. It's fixed. She's ready.
As Lauren heads down the silent hallway, she spots a white object still sitting a few yards from her office. Upon closer inspection, Lauren sighs and puts a hand to her forehead. Tamsin's takeout bag, forgotten outside the lab door.
Not the first time.
There's no real point in going back to the empty apartment, with Tamsin away all night and her bed empty. There's a serviceable desk right there, where the nurses and staff sit. Eating recently has become a chore rather than a pleasure; might as well get it over with.
Lauren settles down in the waiting area they reserve for patients' relatives, tucking her legs underneath herself. She rests the bag in her lap as she opens it. Tamsin has brought Chinese, lo mein with extra broccoli just as she likes it. Lauren eats slowly, deliberately, not even wrinkling her nose at the now-chilly broth and chewy noodles. Her mouth is dry and the food has no taste on her tongue, but as she starts to relax she realizes just how hungry she is.
The fortune cookie sits at the very bottom of the bag, and as Lauren breaks it open the slip of paper uncurls in her hand.
Great things are coming your way. Open your doors to let them in.
Lauren simply reminds herself to plan something sweet for Tamsin tomorrow, as thanks for bringing her dinner. Maybe she'll surprise her at work. The one thing she won't waste anymore thought or energy on is Bo.
She tosses the fortune in the trash along with the empty takeout boxes, and heads home.
It is almost three in the morning, and Tamsin is about to go on a rampage.
It's a simmeringly hot Tuesday: not so much as a noise complaint coming in through the police lines. Too lethargic for crime, apparently. Even the Dal Riata is closed- she and Bill had done a drive by earlier, only to find the windows darkened and the doors locked. Lack of interest or lack of customers, Tamsin doesn't really care. All that she knows is that because Ryan Lambert caught wind of their suddenly empty evening, she's stuck at the police station, staring out the windows at her own reflection.
Thank god Bill's name is the first one on the payroll. He'll take the brunt of Lambert's ire, tire him out so Tamsin doesn't have to. Brilliant.
Tamsin adds another paper clip to the chain she's been diligently working on for the last hour, slinking down to her feet. It's slowly reaching epic proportions, and she's about to go hunting for more clips when a door down the hall slams very, very loudly.
Tamsin forces her face into a state of extreme boredom.
Bill wanders in, a little dazed, with two coffee cups in hand, and puts one on her desk without a single comment. He doesn't even tell her to get her feet off the desk, so Tamsin knows he's sorry. But she doesn't say a word as she takes a sip of the iced coffee, dragging the moment out for as many minutes as she can get away with. Bill starts to lift the second drink to his mouth, but at Tamsin's pointed glare, he puts it down and slides it in her direction. He has the good grace to look embarrassed while he does it.
"Lambert says he'll call you in soon."
His eyes flicker from her face, to the clock, then to the floor. Tamsin maintains her stony silence.
"Okay, I told you I was sorry."
"You still fucked up."
"I know."
"You owe me."
"I know that too."
Tamsin rummages around in the desk and finds another box of paper clips.
"I didn't think the bar would be closed. And even when it was, I didn't think he'd find out."
"Wow. That's a lot of thinking you've been doing, it's just too bad it all went in the wrong fucking direction." She scoffs, and eyes the two coffees on her desk. "And don't put those so close to the computer, I don't need to fry anything by accident."
Bill obligingly moves the cups.
Tamsin puts another few clips onto her chain and then sighs, setting it down.
"Alright, alright. How bad is it?"
"Shitty. Lambert wasn't the most patient flower to begin with, but we just happened to get the worst of it just as he was pissed. You'll get to find out all about that soon." Bill rubs the back of his neck. "What else could I fucking do? I told him we have a promising start, but the son of a bitch won't listen. And you can quote me for as much."
"God, why'd you shoot yourself in the foot like that? You could have just made up some evidence and flung that shit out the window when you got something substantial. Don't you know that's how things like this work?" She's only half-joking. There aren't a lot of clean records here, not anymore.
Bill glowers.
"I didn't lie the first time. That girl from the bar has answers to everything we want to know, we just need to pump her for it."
That girl from the bar, Beth.
Tamsin had tried and failed to get her last name, and her face hasn't matched any of the arrests in her age range. She's too pretty, for one, but also not tempted by anything Tamsin throws her way. Most people acted like they'd been hit by a tow truck when Tamsin really, truly used her powers of persuasion (hint of cleavage here, a quick touch on the arm there- it ain't rocket science) but Beth's lips had remained as tightly sealed as Tamsin's evidence files.
Still, she's intriguing. And their last chance at avoiding traffic duty.
"Ryan thinks we're chasing a bad lead."
"Ryan thinks out of his ass. The lead is good, we just need more time, more resources- we could get a shitload more done if someone cared for a little more than two plainclothes officers and a recycled moving van. No offense."
"None taken." She shoots him a look. "Kind of."
Tamsin swallows another gulp of coffee and looks around the room. Maybe she can run before Lambert finishes whatever he's doing. Maybe she can get into a parallel universe where he doesn't exist. Maybe she'll get a miracle.
"You're buying breakfast in the morning, if I don't die of boredom first. And if Lambert doesn't scalp me in a few minutes. Bonus points for both."
"Hey, I've got your back." Bill says, defensive. His large hand covers Tamsin's own, and she lets him rest it there for a moment. His smile is grim underneath his unkempt beard. "I'm not giving up this fucking fight, and I'm not going to take you with me if I go down. Lambert's going to have to pry this case out of my cold, dead hands if he believes I'm giving in to his bullshit." Tamsin watches him push away from his desk and yawn with both fists over his mouth. He scratches his belly through his uniform shirt and glances at the clock, standing up. "In the meantime, I need to fucking move around. My ass is about to fossilize in my chair." He flicks her on the shoulder, windmilling his arms and stretching at the waist, senior-citizen style. Tamsin smirks.
"Yeah, grandpa- can you even touch your toes?"
Bill twists his head to glare up at her, fingers hanging inches away from his feet.
"I'll have you know I got injured in the line of duty. Saving innocents before you were even born, smartass."
"Clearly." She's seen him sprint with more energy to his car after shift than he's putting into toe touches right now. But her own shoulders ache like hell after so many hours in her chair, so he has a point.
She'll have to save the exercise for later, because just then Ryan Lambert walks through the door. Or, rather, shoulders the door open and heads straight for Tamsin with ridiculous speed. His feet thunder against the floor.
"You, me, office. Now." Tamsin stops trying make herself small in her swivel chair and sits up straight for the first time all shift, hiding the paper clip chain behind her coffee cup. Bill flashes her a thumbs up and steals away to his own desk. Tamsin drags her feet behind Ryan all the way to his office.
They enter, and the door shuts with a click.
No escape.
"So."
"Sir."
He just stares at her like he's choosing the exact method to rip her career (or her face) to shreds. God, this was the part she hated the most about being in trouble. When the villain just had to draw out the congratulatory speech for hours, savoring the moment of victory with a sort of sickening glee. Context clues are only semi-reliable here. Tamsin's pretty damn confident in her ability to read people, but Ryan's face is giving her nothing.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"Um- no?"
"Well, let me reassure you. We're not here to talk about your performance, Skarsten." He steeples his fingers and draws his chair up close to the desk. Behind him, the curtains are pulled shut to obscure them from the outside.
Tamsin swipes her tongue across dry lips.
"With all due respect, sir, I wouldn't be in here if we weren't."
"You're a smart cookie, aren't you. You want to show some respect for once?"
Tamsin almost blurts out, "No way in hell", but her common sense kicks her impulsive self in the ribs and she stays quiet.
"To reiterate, we aren't here to talk about you. We're here to talk about this report that I received this morning."
He dumps a file, thick with paper and plastic, onto the desk in front of her.
Tamsin picks it up and flips to the first page.
Her heart sinks about the same time that her head does.
Goddamnit.
"I called Bill in here earlier, so now I'm going to ask you the same question I asked him. When the police commissioner of Detroit sees shipments of poisoned heroin enter the city, realizes that we had the same problem three months ago, and when that same commissioner demands to know why the detectives concerned didn't stop it before it reached the border, what the fuck am I supposed to say?"
His voice begins low, gradually rising in volume until he's practically bellowing the last words in Tamsin's face. She flinches at the sudden rush of hot air and sound but still, sets the file carefully down on the table.
"We have a potential witness-"
"Bill said that too. Not good enough."
Tamsin, cut off, bites on her lip so hard she feels the sting as the skin breaks. Some muscle in Ryan's temple twitches as he looms over her, breathing like he's just surfaced for air, and Tamsin is the lifeguard who held his head under the water.
"I put the two of you on the job because neither of you made much sense anywhere else. Did I think it would blow up in my face like this? Maybe, considering it's an Army reject who never made sergeant and some castoff from the police department, who only made it in because of a recommendation and a death wish. Imagine my surprise."
Maybe it's his incredibly aggravating tone. Maybe it's the way he talks about Bill, who has quickly become her closest confidante in the division. Maybe it's wanting to protect Vex, who is probably listening in while he waits for his turn, though Tamsin isn't sure why she's bothering to do that at all.
Mostly, though, it's because Tamsin's fucking pissed.
"Look, asshole, this is fucking unfair. You can't expect us to break a potentially international drug ring in three months- hell, what we have is already more than anyone else in this entire building could have done. In any other city, this would take the entire task force just to organize the other fucking task forces. We have three people because that's all you're giving us."
Ryan slams his fist down with a bang.
"This isn't little league, Skarsten. You don't get an award just for showing up. Either do your job or I'll find someone who will."
"With all due respect, sir, you don't know half as much about this case as we do. But we need so much more than what you're giving us, so if you're serious about solving whatever's going on here, I'm only asking for what we're owed." She takes a short, furious breath. "Sir."
Ryan glowers down his nose at her, but takes a step backward in retreat.
He can't fire her. Not yet, not before she becomes the person who takes the fall for failure.
"You came here from a job as a beat cop. I suppose I can't blame you for not being prepared for…work like this. I'll consider your request for more funding, but I won't promise anything. You understand that if I don't get results soon, I'll have to reassign cases and positions here. Until then, you're being given more time. But not a lot of it. Understand?"
Tamsin grits her teeth and nods. Ryan stands up and walks behind his chair, pressing his hands against the leather.
"You're not celebrating. Giving up this early?"
"You just said that I'll be fired if I can't catch a criminal that's evaded everyone here and, apparently, in Detroit. Forgive me if I want something more than that."
Ryan, mismatched and red-faced, just shakes his head at her. God, would he stop doing that?
"Have you seen your file?"
Tamsin blinks.
"I have a file?"
He doesn't seem to hear her.
"You had several reservations going into this job. Says here you declined it originally for "personal reasons", until your superior strongly encouraged you to take it. I'm well aware you're not a coward. So what made you apprehensive about it in the first place?"
Tamsin's eyes narrow in suspicion. He has some alternative agenda, for sure, and she's well aware of his capacity for malice. Of great achievement, sure, but ready with a knife behind the back.
"Still personal, still important. But I've made progress." Tamsin says, cold. He's not getting a single detail about her life, or Lauren, or the relationships she's made and values. Those stay solely hers.
"Mmhmm." Ryan picks up an empty picture frame from his desk, and wipes it spotless. He continues even when it sparkles shiny clean. "The point I'm trying to make is that back them, you didn't even think you were right for this job."
She looks down and away.
"Sometimes I still think I'm not."
"Honesty isn't always the best policy, Skarsten."
"Just letting you know, sir." She draws out the last word for longer than necessary, rolling it mockingly off her tongue.
From the look of Ryan's face, he's either going to fire her or throw her out of his office, and maybe her task force or the entire police department. And surprisingly, right now Tamsin is fucking fine with it.
Instead, he presses his lips together until they are thin and bloodless.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Tamsin leaves not knowing if she's fucked herself over or not.
Vex loiters in the hallway outside, awaiting his turn in the chair, but he steps in front of Tamsin as she passes by. His steps leave traces of ash on the floor; he's been smoking and trailing the remnants everywhere. The choking smell doesn't help the fact that he looks like he hasn't slept in days.
"So?"
Vex looks at her, eyes shifting like he's trying to decide if she's joking, or lying, or what- but it doesn't make any sense. His voice is tight, strained to the point of cracking. His job's not in danger. He's not a full detective, and he's here under orders. His neck isn't the one wrapped in rope if they fail.
"It's not good. But Lambert is at least on the right side of reasonable. He's bringing in more personnel, more funding. Hopefully."
"Other people are coming? Well then. We might get out of this yet."
He starts to make his way into the office, but Tamsin grabs his arm and hauls him back.
"Wait- you're thinking of skipping out now? After we're starting to make real progress?"
"What progress? We can't even find a schedule for the bar we're supposed to be staking out. Nice going, by the way, you and our precious, precious head of house over there."
Tamsin's sympathy vanishes pretty quickly after that, which happens often when she has to deal with Vex and she knows arguing with him will be a mistake that she'll regret later. But absolutely not now.
Vex makes an attempt to wrest his arm free from Tamsin's grip, but she pins the limb back against his side.
"Ever heard of something called initiative? Bill and I go by the Dal Riata on a daily basis, talk to the bartender, plant wires and cameras on the place. We haven't stopped working since day one. What's your excuse?"
Vex can get dangerous when he's truly pissed, and Tamsin sees that side of him slowly emerge, a snake slithering out of its hole. He's always a bit of a dick, but Tamsin's always managed to mold him into someone actually useful when the time grows desperate.
This doesn't seem to be one of those times.
"You can't order me around, sweetheart. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've changed. Ever since you've been shacked up and shackled down to this pathetic excuse for a task force, you haven't been the cop that you were. It's a sinking ship we're on. I'm getting off as soon as I can."
"So this is a fucking ego thing. Look, I don't give a shit about your career prospects or your, but I'm going to ask you: do Bill and I need to watch our own backs now?" Tamsin hisses, tossing his back his arm. She suddenly can't stand the thought of touching him, can practically feel the force of his glare burning through her forehead.
Vex snorts, a sneer forming on his lips.
"Right, of course you decide this because I'd rather shoot myself in the head than listen to him bark another command like I'm not worth speaking to."
"Why the hell not?"
"He's an arrogant prick. That enough for you?"
"Funny, I would pick those words to describe you too. On a fucking good day."
Vex stays sullenly silent, as Ryan calls and Tamsin begrudgingly steps somewhat aside.
"We can't be enemies here, if we want to actually prevent people from dying. Keeping our jobs, getting something in this fucking empty case file? That doesn't matter to you?"
Vex smiles, disarming and terrifying.
"I don't look out for anyone but myself, sweets. You're a fool if you don't do the same.
Then he's disappeared into the office, and Tamsin is left with the smell of cigarette smoke wafting through the air.
The Dal Riata looks different in the daytime.
The thick wooden door is chipped and splintered in the sunlight; it looks less like a nightclub and more like the broken down bar that Bill told her it used to be, rugged but having seen better days. Tamsin runs a hand along the side of the wall. It's been repaired recently, but badly- she can still make out the plywood under the thin coating of paint, and her hand comes away with a fine layer of splinters characteristic of a shoddy job.
Tamsin shakes her head.
She's no businesswoman but even she can tell that this bar doesn't have many years left.
"We're closed!" A muffled yell comes from the storeroom, swinging door still moving. Tamsin eyes the only man hunched over the bar, dead asleep with his had still clasped around an empty tankard. Charming.
"I didn't come for a drink." She calls out, and someone stops clinking glasses together behind the door. Beth emerges a second later, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees Tamsin leaning against one of the chairs.
"Oh, it's you."
Tamsin chuckles nervously, keeping a safe distance away from the bar's only patron when she walks up to the dark-haired woman. She looks different from when Tamsin saw her last, surrounded by admirers, and with the bar illuminated by daylight and the dimples showing on her cheeks, Tamsin can see why.
"Um, hello to you too. Keep that up and I'll think you're not happy to see me."
Beth must have a thing for snarky because Tamsin's pretty sure that line would have gotten her slapped in any other situation, and thrown out on her ass. Instead, Beth wipes her wet hands on her apron and leans back against the cabinet, curious.
"You should be grateful I remembered you at all. Lots of customers, lots of men and women coming through here every night. Can't see how you're any different."
Tamsin clutches her chest in mock horror.
"Ouch, I'm horribly offended." Beth laughs softly, and Tamsin points to the drunk man, still snoring away with his face in a puddle of beer. "Do I need to get him out of here?"
Beth shrugs.
"Nah, he's an old friend of my grandfather's. Comes in here every evening to get wasted, then drags himself out at noon. He'll wake up soon if you just leave him alone."
"That seems…unwise."
Beth's next laugh is rueful and filled with something past bitterness. Tamsin sets both elbows on the bar and leans forward, intrigued. There's part of a story here that she's missing.
"Somehow, I think his supply of wisdom has just about run dry. Would you believe it, he's spent more time in this bar than out of it for the last year. Can't help someone who doesn't want it."
Tamsin only nods in agreement, and when Beth takes out a towel from the many compartments of her apron and starts wiping the bartop, Tamsin tries again.
"Grandfather, huh? Guess he has a lot of clout around this place if the owner's willing to just let any bum disturb the scenery like that. I don't see anyone complaining." Beth snorts and wipes her hands on the apron around her waist.
"Would you believe it if I told you he owns this place?"
Tamsin whistles and looks up at the rafters. She hears Bill's excited whispers in her earpiece and grows suddenly paranoid that Beth can see the plastic nub in her ear, and know that Tamsin's here for less than pure purposes. The next time Beth's back is turned, she yanks the earpiece out and stuffs it into her jacket pocket.
Something crackles as she disposes of it, and Tamsin winces as she feels the earpiece's delicate inner wiring crunch between her fingers.
Oh well. Collateral damage.
"Your grandfather's a lucky guy, then. A place like this must be worth a fortune, what with all the people I saw here the other night. A haven draws a lot of people in a desert."
Beth stares at her like she's speaking gibberish, which she is. No one with eyes would consider this place anything close to a paradise.
"You're joking, right?"
Tamsin grins.
"Will you get mad if I said yes?"
"You're not the only one who would. I keep telling him he needs to remodel, redecorate- just something to make this place seem more like a bar and less like a hobbit hall. But I'm just a young, lowly bartender- the hell would I know?"
"You seem pretty young to be so cynical."
Beth raises an eyebrow and sprays cleaner into yet another towel. The sharp lemon scent tickles Tamsin's nose, and she fights the urge to sneeze. Somehow, she doesn't think that will get her into Beth's good graces.
"And you seem really sketchy to be here at eleven in the morning. What's the catch, Rachel?"
Tamsin shrugs. Keep it light, keep it small. You have all the time in the world, just don't fuck this up.
"That fabulous martini from a few nights ago. Got the recipe?"
"You don't want to know what goes into whatever we're pouring into the drinks, trust me. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't go around telling that to everyone."
"Got it."
Beth suddenly looks slightly irritated and a lot confused, and Tamsin scrambles to get the conversation to productive ground. She's not used to someone like this, someone not belligerent and crass and unwilling to talk. Criminals don't usually tend to be witty, and certainly not as unconcerned with secrecy as Beth seems to be.
"Okay, real talk. I think you're interesting and I came back because I was bored. It's not a crime to want someone to talk to. You ask me to leave, I'm gone before you're done talking."
Beth seems to consider her offer, chewing on her lip in thought.
"Sure, we can talk if that's what you really want. Don't expect me to talk too much back, though, I have work to do before we open this afternoon."
She gently pushes Tamsin aside as she walks up to the tables, taking a tray of empty glasses back into the back room. Tamsin catches a glimpse of an industrial-sized dishwasher as the door closes. When Beth comes back, Tamsin steps in her way.
"Well, at least let me help. I'm not going to just stand here while you work."
The man slumped over the bar groans and twitches. Beth glances at him and then at Tamsin, slowly stepping away from the entrance to the back of the bar. She hands Tamsin a glass and a rag, withdrawing immediately afterwards.
Tamsin doesn't blame her. A stranger showing up and offering free and slightly shady labor? She'd be calling the police herself.
"Well, you can help me polish the glasses, but you're going to regret offering, I swear. No take-backs."
They wipe in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the clink of glassware and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Beth, predictably, goes about twice as fast as Tamsin does, and when she tries to catch up all she gets is an extra crick in her neck and a couple close calls as the damp glasses slide through her hands.
Christ, she doesn't need to be destroying property if she wants to impress Beth. That much Tamsin is sure of.
After a while, when Tamsin's hands have turned red and raw and Beth's hardly broken a sweat, they wipe the last glass in the cabinet and Tamsin is almost smiling with victory when Beth whips out a key and unlocks another. Tamsin's shoulders slump when she sees just how many glasses there are- rows and rows of them, some as big around as her head.
Shit.
Beth notices her crestfallen expression and laughs.
"Not used to manual labor?"
"Labor nothing- you have, like, three hundred glasses in here! That's not work, that's torture- whatever you're being paid, it isn't enough."
Beth laughs ruefully. "Try eight-hundred glasses. We don't get the business we used to. My grandfather used to tell stories of when he had to turn people away at the door every night. Now I'm lucky if we fill all the tables on a Saturday. But still, have to keep the bar running as smoothly as if we were the most popular one in all of Canada. It's a pride thing."
"Why the slowdown? I mean, if you were so successful before." Tamsin asks, carefully tiptoeing over what seems to be a sensitive subject. Beth wouldn't be working at a bar if it wasn't.
"This place isn't going well, but we're still doing better than most. There was apparently some criminal activity here under the management of the old owner. My granddad got the place cheap because of it, but it seems like the reputation of the place hasn't changed. Not since he put me to work here."
Strange. She talks so openly about it Tamsin immediately gets the impression that she's telling the truth. If there's something shady happening here, Beth doesn't know about it.
Or she's the best liar Tamsin's ever come across.
"What, don't tell me he's grooming you to take over when he retires, because you don't strike me as that kind of girl."
Keep her talking. The more time she spends talking, the less time she spends thinking about what she's said.
"Oh? And what kind of girl do I strike you as?" Beth asks.
"The kind that's too good for a place like this. Someone with ambition, drive, willingness to do something better."
"You assume a lot."
"I assume correctly."
"Wow, all that from one night at a bar? Don't tell me you're a detective in your day job."
Tamsin very nearly breaks and bolts at that, but even as the sweat drips down her neck Beth turns away, kneeing a drawer shut as she does. It wasn't intentional. She doesn't really know.
Does she?
"Actually, I only got here a few weeks ago. If he's grooming me to take his place, I'm not exactly in a position to say no."
"What convinced you to come, then"
Beth looks away from Tamsin; her hands slow to Tamsin's pace, absentmindedly polishing the same spot over again. When Tamsin nearly cracks another glass against the counter she doesn't break her rhythm.
"I needed a life change. I didn't know my grandfather growing up, so I went looking for him after high school. Nothing I could study at a college interested me, and I figured some travel would make my calling more clear. Turns out it wasn't worth it."
"If you found what you were looking for, it was."
Beth snorts.
"Believe me, searching for a ghost turns out to be less fulfilling than you think. I gave up a lot to find him, and look at me now. Five years, tramping around Canada searching for myself, and I end up here, serving drinks to drunks who try to grope me every night. Funny how life works out."
Tamsin nods in sympathy, and puts the last glass onto the shelf. Bo hands her a stack of bowls to polish next, and Tamsin's arms begin to ache, just looking at all they have left to do. But Bill and Vex are waiting with bated breath outside, and Bo is looking at her with a challenging glint in her eye, so she really has no choice but to pick up her rag and start again.
The sun is at its highest peak. It's been at least an hour.
"You haven't thought of leaving this place?"
"Well, I can't leave him alone with all this work to be done. Even if I'm long-lost family, he still trusts me more than anyone he could hire. Family means a lot to him, and as long as I'm paid what he's paying me I'm fine with it. And anyway, I have business here that doesn't have to do with wiping drink spills off the tables."
"And what's that?"
"I'm fixing my mistakes." Beth places her hands flat on the table and looks down at them, her voice dropping a scale. Her eyes fall to the floor, and somehow Tamsin knows she's not looking at the dirty tiles at her feet.
"I trampled over a lot people that I loved in getting here, but I have a chance now to make up for it." The bar suddenly darkens with expectation, with some somber memory Beth is revisiting and as Tamsin watches she shifts from foot to foot in nervousness. She feels like an intruder in something incredibly personal. "I'm going to make things right this time."
"I know you will."
And just like that, the woman's sunny disposition returns, and Beth punches her lightly in the shoulder as Tamsin ducks away, smiling.
"Sorry, I'm probably boring you to death, aren't I? Working here and listening to all the sob stories that come my way, I think it's rubbing off on me."
"Hey, sob stories are my weakness. Nothing like hearing about how the family lost the farm to put your life in perspective."
Tamsin steps behind Beth to grab a stack of coasters, and doesn't miss the way the woman jumps slightly when their bodies brush. She sets them down on the counter, her carefully rehearsed words falling from her mouth.
"Well, I'm going to have to leave soon but I'll come tomorrow night, if you still think I'm interesting enough to keep around."
"You're more than interesting, Rachel. You're special. I can tell."
They look at each other.
Tamsin looks away uncomfortably, with the burn of Beth's gaze still lingering behind her eyelids, and rushes instead to help Beth lock all the cabinets back up.
"Hey, let me help you with that."
"Hmm. You keep helping me like this, I might have to give you something in return."
She winks and laughs with no real seriousness, and if she wasn't the prime suspect in an undercover investigation Tamsin thinks they could have been friends. She can only wish.
"See you tomorrow night, Rachel."
She puts a hand on Tamsin's arm and squeezes, and before Tamsin can think to react Beth walks back into the storeroom and out of sight. The door swings shut behind her.
Tamsin walks out of the bar with her head held high and a comical expression of smugness on her face, but after she walks the blocks towards the hidden van her smile slips off her face. Bill jumps out the back of the vehicle Tamsin's rapidly coming to despise, grinning broadly, and punches the air. Thank God he doesn't mention the expensive technology that's lying in pieces in Tamsin's pocket.
"Perfect, perfect. You're in."
"Yeah, except we were lying to her." Tamsin grumbles. It doesn't sit right in her stomach, the bold-faced lies she's been spouting. Beth is a still a girl- a girl who's trying her best, and a pang of sympathy troubles Tamsin to no end. Vex, who has not spoken a word all morning, has no such qualms.
"Well, the people our little darling knows could be responsible for probably three deaths, maybe more. Getting soft over a pretty face and an ace rack, eh?"
Tamsin bites her tongue. She hasn't forgiven him for being a jackass a few nights ago. She'll probably never forget, either, so he can try to act nonchalant now but he's not getting Tamsin's trust back. "You know that's not it. I just don't know why we had to go after her, someone who might actually be making something positive of herself. There are plenty of lowlifes who need handcuffing and interrogating, and of all people, we pick her."
Vex blows a raspberry. "You seen one, you've seen them all. Don't pretend you wouldn't tap that, given the chance. All's fair in love and sex, darling."
Before Tamsin can launch herself at him Bill grabs her by the arm, yanking her out of their confined space and into the afternoon sunlight. She struggles against his hold but it's no use. He drags her bodily out of the van and towards the sidewalk, looking around for bystanders before gently pushing her forward.
"Walk with me."
She's seething but follows him anyway, because Ryan's never going to believe that Vex fell and broke his own nose. She doesn't need to be cited for assault now. Bill lets them walk in silence until they're far enough away, then stops Tamsin with an abrupt hand on her shoulder.
He looks at her, eyes wide in understanding.
"Calm down. This isn't about Vex."
"Of course it is, he's a total asshole."
Bill, in his eternal patience and with the thrill of (small) victory under his skin, shakes his head.
"Look, I get it. This part of undercover is a fucking nightmare to navigate with everyone else but yourself, and if it's easy you're not doing it right. But if you're going to do it, you go balls to the wall and just do it. We can't afford niceties. You know that."
Tamsin nods, and fiddles with the phone in her pocket. Bill prods her in the shoulder and when she doesn't react he sighs.
"None of this is real. It's temporary and necessary, and any girl worth having is going to understand that."
Tamsin, who had been staring sullenly at the ground, looks up.
"Lauren. Her name is Lauren."
Bill smiles fondly.
"Okay. Lauren will understand it, I promise you."
He walks away before Tamsin can respond, presumably to chastise Vex for the umpteenth time, leaving her to her thoughts out in the middle of the street. As the people fade in and out around her, Tamsin shoves her hands into her pockets and follows. She whispers into the worry around her.
"I hope she does."
Ciara dumps the lab coat on her head.
The door opens and she heard the familiar sound of Ciara humming some pop song as she walks in. There's a momentary pause, and Lauren squeezes her eyes shut. She listens to the sound of Ciara putting away her things, changing into scrubs, walking closer to Lauren.
She opens her eyes just time to see Ciara throw another set of scrubs into her face.
"Get up."
"Excuse you." Lauren splutters, muffled by the mass of fabric that's blocking her airway. She shoves the coat to the floor and hauls herself up to a sitting position.
"You smell like you've been dunked in formaldehyde." Her friend pushes a pack of sanitizing wipes towards her. "Here. I got you a muffin from the cart but you're not coming near it until you're germ-free."
Lauren wipes her hands and then bites off the top of the offered muffin in one go, as Ciara looks on with a sort-of disgusted look on her face. "Full of sugar, processed wheat flour, and other fabulously nutritious chemicals." Lauren chews, closing her eyes in rapture, and swallows. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver."
"Didn't take you long to get over that, did it." Ciara mutters, but as she reaches over to hand Lauren a bottle of water, her eyes grow wide. "Hold on, the lab door is open. Why is it open?" Lauren swallows a mouthful of her water, guiltily, as Ciara gapes. "Oh my god, you slept here again, didn't you. Didn't you!"
"Tamsin's working again. No point in going home to nothing, so I thought I'd get some work done." Lauren shrugs.
"Not everything is an excuse to 'get some work done'." Ciara argues, crumbling up the wax paper from her own breakfast. She aims for the wastebasket and misses. "I mean, I appreciate all the help you're giving me with my patients, but there really isn't a need. There are other capable doctors on this floor. You remember that patient of ours, Crystal?"
Lauren sits up straight, her attention piqued.
"Are you kidding? I gave her the latest sample serum two days ago and she hasn't shown any chance since then. What about her?"
Ciara looks miffed.
"Like I would get you excited for no reason. She's up this morning, asking to go home. I checked her charts before I came here, she's remarkably stable. Electrolytes, t-cells, hemoglobin levels: it's all normal. I kept her here one more night so you could check her out this morning, but afterwards I'm letting her leave."
Thank God she'd capped the bottle of water, because it falls from Lauren's hand in a thump.
"She was practically comatose when I saw her last! What happened?"
"It looks like whatever you gave her worked." Crystal says, grinning. "Never mind that it was a last-ditch effort, it looks like you saved her bacon, Lo. When Miss Marquise hears about this, I'm guessing your star is going to be rising again."
Lauren doesn't even think of Evony, just snatches Crystal's chart from Ciara's startled hands and scans the lists of numbers. She's right, of course she's right- Ciara is just as meticulous as she is, and would never let a patient go unless she could stake her life on the patient's survival.
Crystal took the toxic heroin and lived. Cyrstal's been in hospital and effectively detoxed in two weeks. Crystal is showing little to no signs of withdrawal.
Lauren leaps up and in her joy, kisses Ciara sloppily on the cheek. As Ciara squirms and wipes frantically at her face, Lauren is up and running, slinging her lab coat on backwards in her excitement.
"Goddamn- Lauren, that's disgusting! I'm telling Tamsin!"
Ciara's voice is lost on Lauren's ecstatic ears as she barrels down the hall, heading for the outpatient ward where Crystal is undoubtedly waiting for her release. A nurse looks up, alarmed, as Lauren races by, but lets her in as Lauren scans her badge through with shaking hands.
Crystal's bed is on the end farthest from the door. Lauren pulls back the curtain and looks down at a young woman, cheery, flipping through a decades-old issue of TIME magazine. When she closes the curtain again, the woman's head pops up and she flashes a blindingly optimistic smile.
"Hi, Dr. Lewis!"
Lauren smiles back. Even if Crystal wasn't the center of all her attention right now, she'd still be fond of her. Why couldn't all patients be like this?
"Hello, Crystal. How are you this morning?"
The blonde-haired woman stretches with a yawn, examining her arms and legs.
"Compared to the last few days, I feel like Hercules. What kind of miracle drug did you give me, anyway? I'll invest in that!"
"It was an experimental drug. One that I had to develop quite quickly, so there was no clinical trial or even test group before I gave it to you. But looking at your response, I'll go so far as to say that it was a surprising success."
"I'll say! I haven't felt this good in months. No offense, but does that mean I can get the hell out of here now?"
Lauren scribbles notes down onto Crystal's chart, stowing away the records for later.
"If you make it until noon today, yes. If I can request something of you, though, please don't inform anyone of the nature of your recovery. There's still quite a chance that the drug was only useful on you for the short term, or just you as an individual. I have a lot of research to do before I can confirm the results, and then my report has to be verified by numerous sources before I can safely issue the drug to others. It could take years. I'll use a pseudonym in place of your name, of course, but I have to get your approval to use your results in any other research I do."
"Of course you have it. I'm just glad I'm still alive." Crystal says, a relieved look on her face as she picks at the IV bruise on her arm. She'd come to the hospital almost dead, blue in the face and with a heartbeat that would have been slow for a sloth, and they'd barely been able to stabilize her through the night. When Lauren had offered to give her the experimental drug, Crystal hadn't even glanced at the paper before scrawling something on the signature line.
"And by the way, the oatmeal this morning tasted like sand."
Lauren rolls her eyes.
"Well, you know what they say. When a patient starts complaining about the food the doctor knows they're better. I'll get the nurse to give you some Jell-O."
"I've eaten nothing but Jell-O for the last two days. Got any pizza?"
Lauren hesitates, while Crystal adopts a look akin to that of a toddler asking to stay up late. She's giving Tamsin a run for her money in that department.
"Well, as your doctor I would recommend against it, but as me, you can have anything you can keep down. Consider it a gift for being a guinea pig." Lauren says, turning away to get a nurse, but first fixing Crystal with a stern stare. "No alcohol. And I don't even have to warn you about drugs, I hope."
Crystal holds up two fingers, solemn.
"Never going to be a dumbass college freshman again. I've learned my lesson, doctor."
Lauren nods.
"Good."
The nurse comes over, issues Crystal enough Jell-O to last her a week, and then conveniently turns her back as Lauren calls the cafeteria to request two servings of pizza. Crystal's eyes light up when Lauren winks at her, tells her to stop picking at her IV, and then leaves with a swish of her lab coat and a feeling of jubilation in her veins.
Crystal will be okay. That, by itself, makes all of Lauren's efforts worth it.
As she's taking the stairs two at a time, typing out a text to Tamsin with the good news, she hears the sound of rustling footsteps snaps her out of the whirlwind of busy thoughts in Lauren's head. She cranes her neck up and down, scanning the maze of staircases above and below her- nothing.
A key rattles in a lock.
The footsteps suddenly start again, quicker this time, and Lauren follows the sound up the stairs. When she reaches the next floor, she sticks her head out into the hallway, looks around- but there is nothing but the steady whir of machinery, and a solitary receptionist giving her odd looks from behind the desk.
She must have imagined it.
"Hey."
Tamsin is smiling and looming over her, all open arms and ruffled uniform creases, and Lauren slowly wipes the sleep from her eyes so she can see her girlfriend properly. The stillness of the late night has turned into a trickle of traffic at dawn, and she doesn't have to look at the clock to know that she has to be up soon. Tamsin practically droops in exhaustion, and her head comes down to rest heavily on Lauren's shoulder. Lauren scoots herself up into a sitting position, wrinkling her nose when Tamsin's hair brushes over her face.
"You smell like a distillery."
"Kind of inevitable when you spend all night in a bar." Tamsin grumbles, doing an impressive flip to land on the bed beside Lauren, face-down. All Lauren can see is a head of blonde hair, and a disembodied voice floating from it. "God, gangsters can drink. No wonder half of them have more teeth than brain cells."
"I would think that was a given. You know, by dint of the job description of being a gangster."
Any other time, when she isn't loopy from the lack of sleep, Tamsin would answer seriously. But it's almost three in the morning, and she has to find something funny about this situation or she would quit on the spot.
"Who still says "by dint of"?"
"I do. It's convenient."
"It's archaic.
"Big words, Officer."
"I try."
The entire exchange takes place with Tamsin's face muffled in the comforter, and Lauren trying in vain to get her girlfriend to behave like a living person instead of the brain-dead corpse she feels like. God, she never thought she'd get sick of coffee, but here she is.
"You're hunting down gangsters…by drinking with them?" Lauren says, running a hand through Tamsin's disheveled hair. She shakes her head to wake herself up a little more; Tamsin had insisted that she should come in as quietly as possible, to avoid waking Lauren at odd hours. Lauren had insisted that Tamsin come in and immediately wake her, so she could see her for a few hours before Lauren had to go to the clinic. Lauren ended up winning that argument. "And technically, heavy drinking first seriously impacts the liver and the kidneys, not the brain. Though long-term alcohol abuse does affect all organs, the oxidation process to metabolize the substance occurs mostly in the small intestine. So if you value your liver, you might not want to match them drink for drink."
Tamsin presses her face harder into the mattress. Leave it to Lauren to take a conversation from Tamsin's whereabouts to liver failure.
"Thank you for that tidbit, doc."
"The more you know…" Lauren singsongs, reaching and rolling Tamsin onto her side.
Tamsin keeps her eyes closed and rolls back.
"I didn't drink that much, Lauren. You don't have to clear my airway or anything."
"Ha ha." Lauren deadpans, pushing Tamsin back into a position that didn't completely clock her airway. Tamsin's face shakes with the effort of holding in her smile, as Lauren looms above her in concern. She kisses Tamsin on the nose.
"And no, I'm after the people who will get me to the gangsters. So, I'm hanging out in some of the better known haunts and waiting for some information to come my way." Tamsin stops when she sees Lauren's face, drawing back and completely perplexed.
"So, being bored in a bar all night helps you do that?"
"Well, not really. I can't tell you everything, but we have a potential witness-"
"Why potential? I thought they were a witness or they weren't."
"We don't actually know if they know anything valuable, but we're hoping that we can make sure one way or the other…"
She trails off when Lauren only looks more confused. "It's actually much more promising than it sounds, I swear."
Lauren just shakes her head.
"Whatever you say. I trust you."
Tamsin stills the movement of Lauren's head by kissing her on the jaw, trailing a few more towards her chin for good measure. Even that part of her is soft over the bone, and she can't resist moving up to kiss her lips and then down to the dimple in her chin. For comparison's sake.
When she pulls back far enough to look at Lauren again, one hand fitting to the curve of Lauren's neck, Tamsin finds Lauren looking at her with a serious expression on her face.
"I have a favor to ask."
Tamsin raises an eyebrow.
"Shoot."
"An old friend contacted me a few days ago. We were friends in high school, and she's getting married in my hometown in two months. Wanna do me a favor and go on a roadtrip to nowhere, Canada?"
A slow smile spreads across Tamsin's face.
"That's not a favor, that's a present. I'd love to go with you, doc, just tell me when- wait, am I going to meet your parents?"
"I'm actually a little scared of giving them heart attacks if you do. They don't technically know we're dating yet."
"Technically?"
Tamsin knows that her girlfriend is remarkably private, reserved on matters of family in a way Tamsin understands. She knows that she's never spoken to Lauren's parents, despite dating their daughter for a few months now, and can't even recall from memory what their names are.
They're not invested in their daughter's happiness the way they should be. Tamsin has to try extremely hard not to resent them for that. Unsurprisingly, this makes it a hell of a lot easier to accept Lauren's careful safeguarding of their relationship from her parents.
"Yes, technically, which means my mom's going to be suspicious when we show up and I take you to my bedroom. Which, by the way, is not covered in the posters of Albert Einstein."
Tamsin laughs, and catches Lauren's hand on its way towards her hip, kissing the back of it in apology.
"It was a fair guess."
Suddenly, Tamsin's phone rings loudly into the silence, making both of them jump. She pounces on it, readying herself to throw it across the room when she glances at the screen and sees Bill's number staring back at her.
Lauren waits expectantly. Tamsin quickly rolls to a sitting position on the bed and wriggles her other arm out from under her, shaking it as the numbness dissipates.
"Sorry, it's work." She mumbles, and doesn't miss the terse nod her girlfriend gives her before turning away. Tamsin hauls herself off the bed and slips into the bathroom, putting her hand over the receiver.
"Hey, Bill."
"Kiss my ass and call me a sorry bastard, Skarsten."
"Um, I'd rather not. What happened?"
"My contact went searching through the property records of every previous owner of the Dal Riata. Turns out everyone's favorite bar isn't the upstanding beverage vendor it claims to be. The property originally belonged to the McCorrigan's. It's now in the hands of the great-great grandson of the original owners, Trick McCorrigan."
"Who the hell is that?"
"Sorry, I almost forget you're new to this. Irish crime family, immigrated in the 1800's to Brooklyn and hopped the border soon after that. Don't let the place fool you, the Canadian branch of the McCorrigans are known for assassinations, drug trafficking, forced prostitution-"
"Okay, okay." Tamsin says, her headache starting anew as anger rises in her stomach. Having a name perks her up, sharpens her focus, but she can't picture any of those crimes without wanting to hunt down whoever was responsible and making them pay. "But he didn't own it when the crimes happened, right? That's not any probable cause to search the place."
"Right. But then there's our favorite bartender-"
Tamsin whirls around, cupping her hand around the bottom of the phone as she moves even further out of Lauren's earshot. She can't hear it, won't understand what they're talking about even if she could hear it, but it's not worth the risk of Bill exposing exactly what Tamsin's intentions are for this girl.
"She's more important than ever, now. Trick hasn't been written up for anything yet, but I bet you dollars to donuts that Beth knows something about what's happening underneath the liquor license. You're heading back there, tomorrow, and every night after that, until we get something out of it."
"I don't know, Bill, if I get too close she might get suspicious and push me away."
"Pshh. Are you blind or something? She's into you. Really into you."
Tamsin casts a quick glance back at Lauren, who has drawn the covers over herself with her back to Tamsin. Her head is tucked into her shoulder, her body rising and falling with the steady regularity of sleep.
But no one falls asleep that fast.
Fuck.
"And I am into someone else. Bill, we talked about this."
"And you seemed to understand it when I explained it to you yesterday." His tone has shifted from joviality to sternness, and Tamsin sees him on the other end of the phone, the lines of his face harshening, cradling the phone between head and shoulder as he types away on the division computers. "You're the only one who can pull this off. Compromise on your morals just a little bit, and we track down a criminal who's probably killed a dozen people. C'mon, it's a simple choice."
She doesn't respond for a long while.
"Tamsin?"
This job. This goddamn necessary job.
"Okay."
"Are you sure?"
"I have to be." Tamsin snaps, and hangs up on him before he can say anything else. She stares at the white bathroom door for a second, gathering her courage, and walks out of the bathroom with Lauren still in the same position on their bed.
She's not asleep. She didn't expect Tamsin to believe that she was asleep.
When Tamsin touches her on the shoulder, Lauren waits a second before turning over to face her girlfriend. She traces the creases on Tamsin's forehead, dabbles her fingers in the crook of her neck, covers her lips in small, feathery kisses. Every inch of her screams exhausted.
"Is everything okay?"
Tamsin doesn't answer right away. Instead, she pulls Lauren into a sweet, deep kiss, and lingers over her lips when it ends. Lauren waits for the hammer to drop.
"I have to tell you something."
Her body tenses in apprehension. Tamsin hesitates, rubbing her hands up and down Lauren's back in an attempt to calm her. Or prepare her.
Either way, it doesn't work.
"You're going to be mad."
"Tamsin, just tell me."
Tamsin takes a deep breath.
"I can't make it to our date tonight. Or really any other night for the foreseeable future. Bill found something he thinks can blow this case wide open, and with Lambert on my case we can't afford to let it go. There's too much at stake, and-"
"It's your responsibility. I get it." Lauren says, slowly rolling away from Tamsin like she's contagious. "You don't have to explain yourself to me all the time, just- get it over with. Go."
"What? No, wait, we need to talk about this."
"What's there to talk about?"
"Lauren, c'mon."
"No." Lauren says, suddenly biting in her annoyance at Tamsin, and hating herself for what she knows is a displaced rebuke. There's taking something out on a physical being and taking it out on something looming in her future. One is more satisfying than the other.
"I'm not going to stand here and let you dictate how I feel about this. If you can't give me any warning, then you don't get to have all my understanding."
Tamsin ruffles her hair in frustration, hair that Lauren had combed down minutes earlier. She does that when she's nervous or angry, and Lauren's willing to bet that right now, it's both.
"I don't have any warning to give you, Lauren; that's the whole point of an undercover operation. When they say go, you go. When they say stay, you stay."
"And when they say jump, you ask how high. I already told you I'm accepting it, Tamsin. That doesn't mean I have to like it."
"I'm not asking you to like it."
"You're asking me to put up with it and to not complain when you take off in the middle of the night? Or don't come home for days? Just call it what it is, you're not doing anything by blinding yourself."
"I didn't mean for this to take over our lives as much as it has, you know that. This came out of nowhere." Tamsin is standing now, her eyebrows creased in irritation. In the lamplight they have an almost menacing quality. Lauren's never considered what Tamsin was actually capable of, but seeing her like this makes her wonder. "I'm fucking lucky I still get to have my life. Do you know what most undercover operations are like? You have to disappear, get a new family, a new past, a new life. We wouldn't be able to have any contact if they stop cutting us the slack that they've been doing for months!"
"So what if they haven't done it yet? They'll threaten you with that if you don't step in line!"
"I'm not willing to give up my job-"
"And I'm not willing to give up on us!"
None of this is anything but ridiculous. But she's in a fragile state, and the alternative to being desperate is being angry, and the line between the two is getting more blurry by the second.
There's self-pity and self-loathing floating around her, if that's even possible, and the toxic mix makes her want to just turn away from Tamsin and hide in the pillows until her girlfriend just gives up and leaves. Childish moves seem to be the theme of the evening.
Lauren crosses her arms across her chest, as if that will protect her.
"The fuck?!"
She wishes Tamsin's exclamation didn't make her ache with regret.
It's just with Bo's arrival some uncertain point on the horizon and Lauren's job running her jagged and now Tamsin, the one constant in her life, being pulled away from her piece by piece. The universe is conniving against her. That, or there's actually a crisis going on here.
They're having their first argument and it may likely be their last.
Tamsin, luckily, has no such qualms. She looks at Lauren like she's grown a second head.
"You're not seriously considering breaking up because of this, right?"
Lauren doesn't answer, and Tamsin physically flinches.
"Right?!"
Lauren fits both hands behind her head and wills herself to calm down. Return to equilibrium. Behave like a fucking adult. She breathes hard and deep, and finally opens her eyes to put her hands on Tamsin's shoulders.
"No, yes. Maybe. I'm not mad because you're missing this one date, but- I don't know how long I can take this. How long as it been since I got to see you for more than three days in a row? If this is going to become normal for us, I need to know now."
"You spend a lot of time at the hospital too." Tamsin mumbles.
"I spend my time there because I'm required to do so, and someone might die if I didn't. You don't get to compare your situation to mine."
"Yeah, well, there are lives at stake in my situation too. Do you really want to solve this by weighing bodies?" Tamsin snaps. As if realizing what she's said, she steps back from Lauren and presses her hand to her forehead. On cue, a siren whistles through the night outside. "Sorry, sorry. That was out of line. But you're honestly worried about nothing, Lauren."
Lauren shrugs helplessly.
"What if this keeps happening? The hours, the danger you're in, my work at the hospital. I'm just so afraid that whatever this becomes, it'll eventually get to be too much for us to handle."
"Of course it won't be. You realize that that's not fucking inevitable, right?"
Lauren hears Tamsin's sharp intakes of breath, noisy and laces with a sort of panic that, surprisingly, sets her a little at ease. They're both aware of this problem, and now it's them against the world rather than Lauren and Tamsin against each other.
Thank God.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions like that. It's just- work is hard, especially with all the new drug cases, and I'm not getting results fast enough to suit me. Not knowing where and how you are all the time doesn't help."
"I know." Tamsin says, guiltily, rubbing the back of her neck. "That's completely my fault. But I'm doing it to protect everyone in this city, including you. I'm sorry that I can't change that."
"I get that you need to do your job. And I want you to do it well. But it seems like everything we ever say to each other is either over the phone or when one of us is so tired that we can't. What kind of relationship is that?"
Tamsin shakes her head.
"After this is over, I'm never taking on a job like this again. Just boring old shit. Getting cats out of trees, walking old ladies across the street. You can see me whenever you want then."
Lauren laughs, ruefully. Tamsin crosses her wrists in the small of Lauren's back and pulls her closer, until they are nose to nose.
"Are you kidding me?" You'll quit in a week."
Tamsin shrugs.
"I wouldn't mind spending more time with you."
Lauren feels a deep, deep love for Tamsin well up and fill her, and walks in slow steps back to her. She holds Tamsin's face between her hands, and scatters kisses along her favorite parts; her eyelids, her nose, the place where Tamsin's dimples appear when she smiles.
She actually does smile then, and Lauren kisses her again, for good measure.
"Keep your job, Tamsin."
The exhaustion weighs heavily on them both, and as Tamsin burrows under the covers and pulls Lauren in with her, she doesn't resist. Their arms and legs tangle together, warmth spreading through Lauren's body, and the pressure of Tamsin's limbs quell Lauren's fears.
"Close your eyes."
"Tamsin." Lauren warns, sliding Tamsin's hands out from under her shirt.
"Just humor me, okay?"
Lauren closes her eyes.
"I'm going to be honest with you." Tamsin murmurs. "I wanted anything but . Even if I can't, though, you have to know that you come first. If I start becoming someone you don't know anymore, tell me. Because you always, always come first."
Lauren lets herself get lost in the soothing tone of Tamsin's voice.
"Okay."
Tamsin tilts her head to burrow her nose in Lauren's hair.
"When do you have to go?"
"Not till tonight. It's four right now."
When Lauren pulls Tamsin over her body without any more hesitation and Tamsin collapses on top of her, snickering, she doesn't think of anything else.
Lauren doesn't know where the notion comes from.
All she knows is that one minute she was sitting on the couch, watching infomercials instead of worrying about Tamsin, and the next she is heading down into the shared storage of their apartment. Somewhere between watching salesmen pitch her a heavy-duty juicer and a used car, she's suddenly seized with a fierce, unexplainable desire.
The small cellar below their apartment complex is divided into compartments, one for each tenant, and it's been so long since she's been down there Lauren's forgotten what is stored there.
Except for one thing.
She coughs; dust showers down on her head as she maneuvers inside the tiny crawlspace. along with old medical school notes and CD's that she couldn't bring herself to throw out.
She gropes around until her fingers graze the faux-leather covering and
There is Kenzi flipping the bird in the middle of a school assembly. God knows which member of the yearbook staff she'd bribed to get that one on a two-page spread. Hale is on ice, the goalie for the hockey team, who played thirteen matches and won none of them. She hasn't thought of Dyson in years but he's there too, covered in body paint and screaming from the top of an overturned car on Bonfire Night.
They all look indestructible. No one's heart has been broken and everyone's dreams seem to be nearly in reach.
In hindsight, maybe the glory years weren't so glorious.
Lauren herself is in there more than a few times. Member of the science club and debate team, president of the student honor society, winner of prestigious scholarships no one else in her school even applied to. So in their senior class's Who's Who, she was naturally voted most likely to find the cure for cancer, and granted a section of the yearbook just for that. Now she winces to see her innocent grin against a cheesy background, cradling a fake stethoscope around her neck.
Five years will do a lot to a girl.
Lauren flips through the rest of the pages aimlessly.
But then there was Bo.
Bo Dennis is everywhere, as Lauren turns the pages, surrounded by people that are not Lauren and adored by all of them. But the smile on her face is one of joy, not arrogance, and no matter how much she wants to cast Bo as being cold to her core, Lauren can't.
She puts the book carefully down, picks up her phone, and dials a familiar number.
"Hello?"
"Hey mom, it's me."
She rarely calls; holidays, emergencies, birthdays. She sends money back occasionally, clandestinely because her mother's never going to ask for money in a million years. It's your classic mid-twenties parental relationship; too busy to return, too guilty to forget.
"Do you remember B- the girl who lived across the street from us? She moved in elementary school, but she came back."
Her mother coughs into the receiver. Her voice is haughty, disapproving. "You mean Bo?"
Lauren nods, realizes her mother can't see it, and clears her throat.
"Right. Her."
"I never liked that girl. What a bad influence, just up and running away like that. Do you know the torment her poor parents went through? I never see Mrs. Dennis at church anymore."
"They're still there? In town?"
"Yes. A little less involved in community affairs than they used to be, of course, but who can blame them? Her parents must have added ten years the day that girl left home, but I hear they keep her room the same way it always was. Perhaps they think she'll come back one day. Unlikely if you ask me, with the way Bo carried on, disgraceful. Why do you ask?"
"I ran into an old high school friend the other day, and I'm going to call around to see if I can connect with any of my old friends from high school. For old time's sake."
Her mother clucks disapprovingly. She's probably sitting by the phone, twirling the cord of the phone around her fingers, wishing Lauren were there to primp and mold again.
"Oh, high school. You know, dear, you've come so far, I don't know why you have to go back to that awkward time. I know you never quite fit into this little town, why would you want to put yourself through it again?"
Her mother never really approved of Kenzi either. Something about fishnets and excessive mascara didn't exactly scream wholesome; come to think of it, her mother didn't like any of her friends except for Hale. And that was after she discovered the weight his last name carried.
"Mom, it won't hurt to meet my old friends again, even if I have new ones."
"I always knew you could do better. Ciara is such a nice girl. And your roommate, Tammy was it? You don't talk about her, but I want to meet her someday. You need more lovely young women as companions, darling."
Lauren laughs, ruefully, and carefully folds down one corner on the yearbook page where Bo smiles brightly at the camera as all eyes look at her from her background. She can't imagine how Ciara and Tamsin would have fit in to her life back then. They wouldn't have liked the Lauren they saw.
"Right. Ok. Thanks, mom."
They exchange their usual pleasantries; to her mother, Lauren is healthy and happy and polishing the rungs of the ladder to her dream career. At least someone is happy right now, and that's worth the willful ignorance.
She considers putting the yearbook back, but instead walks back up the stairs, stowing it safely under her bed.
There it stays.
AN: To be clear, I don't intend to demonize Bo or anyone else in this story. It's only human to make mistakes and have conflicting priorities and I'm not aiming for anyone to be completely flawless or awful, just for everyone to make decisions that seem true to their character. Thanks.