A.N. Would you look at this? I updated within my proposed timeframe!! It's like a Christmas miracle.
July 1
Lindsay smacked her hand over the blaring alarm and winced as it clattered to the floor. After a moment of lying perfectly still to give her pounding head a chance to calm down, she tentatively pushed herself up and maneuvered her body so she could lean her back against the headboard. Putting a hand to her head, Lindsay swallowed thickly, trying to lull her muscles into relaxing. She wasn't entirely sure it was possible to be hung over four days after the fact, but her body was doing its best to convince her.
Giving herself a nice internal pep talk, Lindsay finally managed to force her lids open and immediately caught her breath. Connor was leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her.
"Morning," he murmured, the bedroom small enough that she could hear his low voice across the space between them.
Swallowing a sigh, Lindsay let her eyes fall shut again. "Morning." She paused to let the vibration from those words ease before asking, "Have you been up long?"
"Long enough to make breakfast. Get up and I might even give you some."
"Okay. This is gonna take a few minutes," she warned him tiredly.
His chuckle was low, either out of deference to the hang over she couldn't shake or because he didn't want her to hear it. Regardless, she opened one eye and glared. "Shut up."
Grinning, he shook his head and straightened, uncrossing his arms and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be in the kitchen whenever you're ready."
Closing her eye against the sight of him sauntering down her hall, Lindsay moaned and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling a face as it tugged slightly at her scalp.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
Standing, she grabbed her robe off the bedpost and shrugged it on, tying the belt around her waist as she headed down the hall towards the front of her apartment. "Whoa," she said, spotting the table.
Connor looked up from his place at the counter and smiled wryly. "You haven't really eaten the last couple of days, and I thought it might be time to take matters into my own hands. So I—"
"Slaughtered a pig?" Lindsay supplied, pulling out a chair.
Coming around the counter, Connor set a mug of coffee in front of her and slid into the chair across from hers. "Well, no. I heard you don't do that in the city," Connor said solemnly.
"Bacon, sausage, bagels, cream cheese, strawberries—"
"Lettuce and tomato, if you feel like a sandwich," Connor pointed out, gesturing with his mug.
Her stomach rolled. "It looks delicious."
Bypassing the food for the moment, Lindsay picked up her own mug and took a healthy swig. The warm bitterness eased down her throat, and she could've sworn she felt her muscles immediately begin loosening.
"Mmm," she hummed, her eyes fluttering shut. "I forgot you make such good coffee."
She felt shy inadvertently referencing that period of their lives, but Connor smiled easily and shoved the plates closer to her. "Eat. You haven't eaten in days."
Sliding her napkin onto her plate, she gave him a wry look. "That's because I've felt ill from all that tequila you poured down my throat."
"Poured down your throat?" he repeated skeptically. Snatching up the bowl of strawberries, he dumped a few on his plate. "That's funny. I have this vague recollection of a tiny brunette saying 'Just one more, Connor' and then it's all a blur."
"First of all, my voice isn't that high." Setting down her mug, she reached for a bagel. "Second of all, you brought the bottle. And the limes," she added, looking off to the side as another piece of the night came back to her. "Points for extra preparation."
She wasn't sure why they were joking about it. It had been a horrible night. She'd spent most of it in silence, and when she had spoken she'd babbled about how she was a horrible person for forgetting to remember. Connor had spent most of the night trying to get her to stop, saying things like "They would've wanted you to move on, Lindsay" and "You loved them. They knew that."
He knew the words wouldn't help just as clearly as she had, but he'd said them anyway, holding her when she let him. Mostly she wouldn't let him touch her, sitting at the opposite end of the couch drinking shot after shot.
In fact, they hadn't spoken much at all over the last few days. They'd fallen into an unconventional household routine. While she was busy working, he disappeared only to return late at night just as she was feeling ready for bed. She made up the couch for him, which he slept on without complaint despite it being a good two feet too short for his six and a half foot frame. And they slept.
She never asked why he was there, and he never volunteered the information. Rather it seemed they were trying to ignore the topic altogether. Oddly, it hadn't bothered her until the moment she spotted him in her bedroom that morning.
Eyeing him from across the table, she took in the way the light played across his face and wondered why she couldn't have fallen in love with him. It should have been so easy. He was beautiful—in a fairy-tale prince sort of way—kind, intelligent, successful, caring, and too many other adjectives to list.
Plus, he loved her. Against all odds, against her own advice, he still loved her enough to come find her on the worst day of the year.
"Can I help you?" he murmured, not glancing up as he carefully sawed a bagel in half.
She kept her eyes on him as she asked, despite the sudden urge to be anywhere but sitting in that room. "Con, why are you here?"
His knife stilled but after a moment's hesitation he finished cutting the bagel and set the knife down before looking up at her. "Thought you might need a friend."
"So you flew across the country?" Lindsay asked gently, tipping her head to the side as she studied him.
"No. I've been upstate at the ranch for a couple of months now."
Lindsay blinked. "That's right. You told me that. I'm sorry, I forgot."
An easy smile crossed his face as he tossed his inky hair out of his eyes. "It's all right, darlin'. You've been busy."
"Very true," she murmured, dropping her eyes to stare down into her coffee. "Danny and I broke up."
She heard a short breath expel from his lungs, quietly but still audibly. "Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry."
She laughed almost silently as she looked up at him again. "How can you be sorry?"
"He seems like a good man," Connor said, deliberately sidestepping her question. "And you loved him."
"No," she said, shaking her head.
He gave her a sympathetic look. "Lindsay, I know you loved him. It was plain as day."
"No," she repeated. "That's not what I…How can you do this?" Suddenly, inexplicably, she was mad at him. "How can you sit there and tell me you're sorry?"
Connor didn't seem to know what to say, half of his bagel hovering between the plate and his mouth. Lindsay shook her head, her eyes staring straight at him, but no longer seeing him.
"If it was Danny, if he'd fallen in love with someone else, I wouldn't be able to say I was sorry she dumped him," she muttered, anger filling every pore of her being. It was nice. It didn't leave any room for the sadness.
Setting the bagel down, Connor sighed. "Yeah, you would."
"No, I—"
"Yes, Lindsay, you would. Because being in love with someone means wanting them to be happy, even if seeing them happy and knowing someone else can give them what you never could hurts like hell."
Deflating a bit, Lindsay dropped her eyes. She hated that she'd done this to him. "Sorry."
"No," Connor said, obviously exasperated. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Jesus, Mouse."
Biting her lip, she glanced up to find him running a hand through his hair. "Can we just eat breakfast?" he asked, gesturing to his bagel.
"Okay," she agreed, nodding.
"Thank you," he said, letting out a harsh breath.
Tilting her head to the side, Lindsay considered Connor. He wasn't what she need, though she wished to God he was. It would've made her life so much simpler. Danny had made her feel so safe and suddenly she was all alone again, fighting a losing battle against her own mind.
Struggling to shove thoughts of Danny aside, Lindsay shifted in her chair. "So, any new girlfriends?"
"You know what?" Connor said quickly, his cheeks turning slightly red. "Maybe we should eat in silence."
Neither subject came up again before he left the next morning.
July 3
Danny sat up in bed, hot sweat trickling down his back right along his spine. Goosebumps rose as the cool night air hit his bare, sweat-soaked skin, but he didn't notice. His whole body felt tense, his fingers clenching around the sheets so tightly his knuckles were colorless even in the darkness of his room. The sound of his panting was cut only with the honking of late night traffic.
He stared blindly forward, trying desperately to erase the images from his mind. Forcing his concentration down to his hands, he slowly unclenched his fists one finger at a time until his palms flattened onto the blankets. Breathing deeply, he tried to think of something, anything else, but it didn't work any better than it had the last time.
Whether he counted sheep or focused on flexing each individual muscle, the result was always the same. Her face danced just in front of his mind's eye, sometimes laughing, happy, the way he used to always see her. Sometimes beautiful and serene, the way, in the night, he used to be able to turn over and find her next to him, face easy in sleep.
In the daylight, the situation's consequences were clear, and it was easy to pretend he was okay, that seeing her on a daily basis and not being able to touch her wasn't a brand of torture. But at night his dreams tormented him, his mind taunting him with how close she always was.
In those dreams, he'd reach for her desperately before she came near enough to actually touch, and she'd just laugh, stepping into his arms as if she belonged there. He could feel her leaning her weight against him, so trustingly. And everything was okay. That knot in his stomach finally loosened and he could breathe again.
Until he woke up. And he always woke up.
Clapping his hands over his face, he scrubbed furiously, like he could somehow rub out her image. He was painfully aroused, as always, and the scent of her hair lingered in his memory, teasing his senses. Wincing, he shifted to try and ease the discomfort, his hands still clasped to his face.
He couldn't be with her. That was clear. Or at least it would be when dawn broke, and he could once again see the wreckage of his past. Dropping his hands from his face, he collapsed back against the pillows, cooling now from his sweat. It felt disgusting, but he didn't care.
She wasn't there with him, and it didn't really matter how he felt. She was safe, so he'd somehow refrain from going clinically insane.
July 4
Danny spotted Flack across the room and raised his beer in greeting. The blonde he was talking to—Kira…maybe—glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her fingers at Flack. The other detective jerked his head in acknowledgement to both of them and waited until the blonde turned back to Danny before sending his best friend a questioning look.
Ignoring him, Danny turned back to the woman whose name he couldn't remember. "So how do you know Don?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.
Flack had commandeered a redhead early on in the night, and Danny had left him to do his thing. There were a number of perfect looking women in the room, and Danny had raked his eyes over each of them, but couldn't really summon up any interest. He'd only started in with this one because she'd spoken to him first. And she was drinking a soda. No one did that at Flack's parties. It was intriguing.
Well, almost.
"We work together," Danny told her, watching to see how long she took to make logical connections.
"So you're a cop, too," she said calmly. Apparently, a few of her brain cells actually worked, always a plus at one of Flack's parties.
"Sorta. I'm in the crime scene division."
Blondie raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Is it anything like tv?"
"No, not really," he told her, grinning lazily.
Smiling back, Blondie nodded. "I didn't think it would be."
There was an awkward pause as Danny tried to decide whether or not to continue the conversation. Blondie at least knew how to talk about something aside from herself, but Danny had no real interest in getting to know another human being. He'd only come to keep up appearances. As the newly single bachelor, he needed to at least look like he was returning to his old ways.
"How'd you like the fireworks?" she asked, and the gleam in her eye told Danny she found their shared discomfort amusing.
Interest genuinely piqued, Danny raised an eyebrow. "Oh, they were amazing."
"Yeah, best I've ever seen," she deadpanned.
"Well, I don't know about best," he said seriously. "But high up there on the list of Independence Day Hits."
She widened her eyes in feigned amazement. "Your July fourth horizon is wider than I could imagine."
Laughing outright, Danny shook his head. "Where the hell did Flack find you?"
"Excuse me?" Blondie asked, laughing with him though she looked a little confused.
Shaking his head, Danny tried to look apologetic. "You're not exactly—Nevermind."
Suspicion made her eyes narrow slightly, but she didn't seem bothered by the conversation. "He's actually more my roommate's friend. She's known him for years, I guess."
"Huh," he said, not sure where to go with that one. "You called him Don, so I just assumed you were…close," he said, unable to find a better word.
Then, realizing how it might sound, Danny opened his mouth to apologize, but Blondie just shrugged. "When we met, he told me to call him Don. I didn't really think anything of it."
Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "People mostly call him Flack. I didn't mean to imply—"
"Don't worry about it. No harm done." Her eyes caught on something over his shoulder. "Crap."
Glancing back, Danny saw the front door closing. "What's wrong?"
Blondie blew out a breath in frustration. "My flaky roommate just left. She's kind of my ride," she explained.
Frowning, Danny looked down at his watch. It was nearly two am. "I can give you ride." To her credit, Blondie hesitated, and Danny smiled disarmingly. "You wanna see my badge?"
She flushed and laughed self-depricatingly. "Sorry. I just…don't usually leave parties with guys I've just met."
"And that's an excellent policy," Danny said, still grinning. "But I swear it's just a ride. I'll drop you at the door, watch you go in and drive off again. Nothin' else."
"All right," Blondie told him, smiling shyly. "Thank you."
"No problem," he told her, shrugging.
Beer bottle now empty, Danny glanced around for a bin. The room was crowded, though, and he couldn't see five feet in front of him. Setting his beer bottle down—let Flack pick the place up—Danny turned to go.
"Lemme just go find Flack." She nodded and he moved to cross the room before pausing. "You got a problem with motorcycles?"
Blinking, she opened her mouth but couldn't seem to think of anything to say except, "Uh—"
"Cuz I can borrow Flack's car," Danny offered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"He wouldn't mind?" she asked, obviously surprised.
"More like he wouldn't notice," Danny told her, smirking over his shoulder at Flack. His friend was surrounded by other cops, all yelling encouragement as Flack chugged yet another beer.
"Wow. It's like college all over again." She grimaced. "Crap, now I'm having a flashback."
Danny chuckled. "Lemme steal his keys."
"No, no. The bike's fine."
When Danny looked back, Blondie was blushing again. "You sure?" he asked, suddenly wondering how old this woman was.
"Yeah. I've actually never been on a motorcycle before," she told him, her eyes turning excited.
"All right. Where's your jacket?"
"In Kimmy's car," she said ruefully.
Danny froze, his eyes locking on her face. "Kimmy's your roommate?" he asked.
Blondie's brow furrowed. "You know her?"
Swallowing a bark of laughter, Danny just shook his head, grinning. "Yeah, I know her. Hold on, I'll grab something for you to wear."
Pushing through the crowd, Danny headed to the hall closet and pulled it open. He knew Flack's sisters would have left at least one jacket there at some point. They were always popping in, invited or not. Grabbing the first smallish jacket he could find, Danny slammed the door and retraced his steps.
By the time he made it back to the blonde, he'd controlled his laughter over the memory of Kimmy's talons and was able to smile benignly as he handed the jacket over. "Here. This should do it."
"I can't take someone else's jacket," she said, looking nervous.
Danny shrugged. "It's one of his sisters'. I'll bring it back tomorrow."
Blondie blinked and began to pull the jacket on. "You two are close, huh?"
Shrugging again, Danny didn't bother answering. "Zip it up. It's gonna get cold."
She followed him from the party without further comment, sticking her hands in the pockets of the jacket. For some reason, Danny was amused by the fact that the jacket was just slightly too small for her. And pink. He was starting to think pink wouldn't exactly be her color.
"Okay," he said as they stepped outside and into the night air. He'd shown up so early, he'd managed to park his bike right out front and he strode over to grab the helmet. Offering it to her, he eyed her when she didn't immediately put it on.
"It doesn't do much good unless you wear it," he said.
"Right," she murmured, sliding the helmet over her head.
Reaching out, he automatically tightened the chinstrap for her, just as he used to with Lindsay. When he realized what he was doing, he yanked his hands away and covered his discomfort by climbing on the bike. Not seeming to notice anything amiss, she swung her leg over behind him and gingerly wrapped her arms around his waist.
"I'll go slow," he promised. "Don't try and lean, just move with me. What's your address?"
She told him and he gunned the engine, smirking a little as he felt her gasp. It was difficult to keep his promise to go slowly when she was so obviously enjoying the ride. By the time they got to her apartment building in Queens, she was nearly vibrating with excitement.
"Oh my God, that was awesome," she said, stumbling off the bike and struggling with the chinstrap.
Laughing, Danny kicked the stand down and reached out to help her. "Here," he said, brushing her hands out of the way.
"God, now I want one," she told him, the smile not falling from her face as she eyed the bike.
Danny grinned at her and pulled the helmet off. "Nice hair," he said as he took in the flattened mess.
Not even blushing, the woman—though he was leaning more toward girl at this point—shoved at his shoulder. "Shut up."
"Kara?"
They both glanced towards the voice and saw Kimmy coming down the sidewalk towards them. "Hey," Blondie—Kara—called.
"You bad girl, leaving the party without me," Kimmy purred, a sly expression on her face.
Looking at Danny, Kara rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Sorry," she said easily. "Do you know—?"
Kimmy cut her off and sauntered forward. "Hey, Dan," she said in a throaty voice, running a finger down his chest. "How ya doin'?"
"I'm doin' all right, Kimmy," he said, watching her finger as it slid away again. "Yourself?"
She chuckled lowly, walking backwards until she reached the building's entrance. "Just fine. Maybe I'll see you around."
He and Kara silently watched Kimmy's swinging hips disappear up the stairs inside. "She still with Johnny?" he asked.
"Not this week," Kara said with a shrug. She seemed at a loss after that, and Danny watched with growing amusement as she struggled to find something to say. "Did you want to come up?"
Okay, that he hadn't been expecting. Instantly, he felt his face shut down. "Uh, not a good idea."
Tilting her head to the side, she narrowed her eyes in speculation. "It's the hair, isn't it?"
He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Oddly enough, no, it's not the hair."
Kara (not Kira, Kara) nodded as he fiddled with the helmet. "When'd she leave?"
"What?" he asked, his head jerking up in surprise.
"Your girlfriend," she said coolly, as though stating common knowledge. "When did you break up?"
"Two months ago," he told her before he could stop himself.
He really shouldn't be telling strangers these things; who knew whom Kara would talk to later. And, yes, he was a paranoid idiot, but sometimes his paranoia it felt like it was the only thing keeping Lindsay alive.
If Kara was surprised it had been so long, she didn't look it. "You must've really loved her."
Danny forced a chuckle. "Get inside. It's late," he told her, shoving the helmet on.
"Thanks for the ride, Danny," she said, smiling at him before turning and striding toward the door.
It was strange considering they were nothing alike, but Kara reminded him a bit of Lindsay. He watched her ease the door open and slip inside without any of the flamboyancy Kimmy had displayed. Then he gunned the engine and kicked up the stand to fly off down the street.
July 10
Jen slipped her badge back into its holder on her waistband and buttoned her jacket. She wished she could just take the damn thing off given the heat rising from the street beneath her stylish black pumps, but the dress code was strict when it came to detectives, and the rookie cops had a habit of watching her a bit too closely. Of course, they could just be ogling at her breasts, but she couldn't take any chances.
Glancing at her watch, Jen watched as the last of the officers on scene trailed out of the building. Case in hand, Hawkes jogged down the steps to her. "You done canvassing?" he asked, the usual tranquil smile on his face.
Jen scoffed. "No one to canvas. The whole place was empty apparently. Or at least dead to the world when I knocked on their doors. I cannot believe the callousness of people."
Hawkes blew out a breath. "If they were around, they might be afraid to admit it. Judging by the spatter in there, it wasn't exactly an easy death. She must've been screaming her head off."
Squirming at the memory of all that blood, Jen swallowed harshly. "Even our 911 caller didn't come forward."
"It's early days for that yet," Hawkes said, glancing up as one of the techs closed the back of the department truck. "I gotta go. I'll see you back at the lab."
"Yeah. See ya," she murmured back.
Jen watched silently as Hawkes and his tech climbed in the truck and pulled away before checking in with the officers assigned to watch the scene. Once she was sure they were settled, Jen turned to stride off down the street, impatience gripping her chest like a vise.
Due to the number of officers and emergency vehicles responding to the scene, she'd had to park nearly a block away. She didn't really mind the walk, but she could feel the time ticking by as the murdered woman's killer stayed free. The very idea gave Jen the shivers.
It was a busy street, crowded with restaurants and boutiques; an odd place to find a broken down apartment building, but Jen figured they'd leave 'em squished in anywhere at this point. Housing was housing even if it did offend the high and mighty.
Dodging midday pedestrian traffic left and right, Jen happened to glance up as she passed the front window of one of the classier restaurants on the block. The sight through the glass didn't really register until she'd gone several more steps, her mind stuck on the horrific case she was confronting. But when it did, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Frowning in confusion, Jen turned around and walked back the other direction, casually glancing in through the same window. The window spanned the entire front of the restaurant, but he was on the other side of the dining room, and she could only get a glimpse. But she saw him there, past the gold cursive letters decorating Marcelliano's expensive plate glass. She walked an extra dozen or so feet past the window before she stopped again, her heart pounding, face flushed.
Reaching up, she nervously smoothed her hair back, feeling how hot her cheeks were beneath the already-warm skin of her fingers. She could feel her stomach knotting up as she stood stock-still as time seemed to slow around her. Then she spun on her heel and paused, ignoring the dirty looks other pedestrians shot her for standing in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of the lunch rush.
The first step she took was hesitant, but, jerking her chin high and affecting the snooty look of the usual Marcelliano's crowd, she smoothed out her steps and strode directly into the restaurant. The hostess gave her a blasé, disinterested expression, but Jen merely smiled, all confidence. Though she knew her suit wasn't the usual class for a Marcelliano's patron, Jen also knew that beauty was as valuable a commodity as platinum cufflinks in this crowd.
"I'm supposed to be meeting someone here," Jen said in a low voice. She deliberately paused before adding hastily, "For a lunch meeting."
"Of course," the hostess said, a gossip-loving glint appearing in her eyes. "The name?"
Jen let her eyes slide away as though nervous then turned a blinding smile back to the other woman. "Could I just take a peek in the dining room?"
Obviously the hostess was used to scandalous meetings going on in her dining room since she simply smiled benignly and nodded. "By all means."
Carefully adopting a slightly edgy mien, Jen stepped forward to the doorway and peered towards the back of the room. There he was, not a mirage after all, laughing at some story Cynthia was relating. Jen could only see part of his face, but Adam seemed genuinely happy and caught in one of those rare truly animated, open moments he sometimes let her share. The moments when he managed to drop his guard and let her in completely and totally.
Jen couldn't watch for long since the hostess was still waiting for a response on which table held the other member of Jen's extra-marital affair. But the split second it took for Jen to recognize Adam and his companion was also the split second Cynthia chose to reach across the table and take Adam's hand.
Fire swept through Jen so quickly and so consumingly she almost didn't notice the sharp ripping in her chest as Adam turned his hand over to clasp Cynthia's back. Whirling, Jen walked past the stunned hostess and mumbled something about not seeing him before she pushed through the door to the street. Oh God. Oh God.
Walking as quickly as she could without being mistaken for one of those crazy midday joggers, Jen tried to shut her mind down. It was spinning so quickly she could hardly walk straight let alone reason her way through what she'd just witnessed. Stopping abruptly, Jen put her hands on her hips and turned to face the blank brick wall lining the sidewalk.
She had to calm down, starting with her breathing. She was practically hyperventilating in the middle of the sidewalk.
Pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, Jen managed to slow her heart down enough so that her whole body didn't throb with it anymore. Once she'd accomplished that, she turned and looked up and down the street for her car. She really wasn't sure where she'd thought she was going since her car was nearly a block back in the direction she'd come.
Apparently, she'd walked right past it. Haha. Wasn't that funny?
Okay, distraction wasn't working.
Narrowing her eyes as she pulled out her keys, she asked herself what she knew for sure about what she'd just seen.
Adam had been on a date with another woman. Okay…okay, she didn't know that for sure. She'd have to talk to him about that.
Adam had lied to her about his relationship (or, more accurately, his alleged lack thereof) with Cynthia. And, again, she couldn't be sure of that until she spoke to him.
Adam had lied about his lunch plans. Okay, that she knew for sure.
Yanking open the door to the department-issued vehicle, Jen stuck the keys in the ignition with a little too much force. The car turned over with a bit of a grinding sound, and Jen glared over her shoulder as she checked for oncoming traffic.
"You wanna grab a sandwich for lunch, Adam?" she muttered angrily to herself, reenacting the conversation she'd had several hours prior. "'Oh, sorry, I need to run a couple errands.' Errands, my ass!"
Screaming the last word, Jen swung out into traffic, ignoring the honks directed at her. Adam had lied. To her face. Adam had lied to her. Adam, of all people. Adam had lied.
She'd never pegged Adam as a liar. He seemed so sweet and innocent. Who would believe he'd look his girlfriend straight in the eye and lie to her about his lunch plans? While she was asking about sandwiches for Christ's sake. The whole situation made her feel ridiculous. Utterly foolish.
And, really, why would he lie unless he was doing something he shouldn't be?
She couldn't stop thinking about it while she sat at her desk, trying to get a head start on her paperwork while the CSIs ran the evidence. Particularly not when Adam's number popped up on her screen an hour later—an hour after his lunch break of lies. Which was why she didn't answer.
She couldn't stop thinking about it when Hawkes called to tell her they hadn't gotten any hits in CODIS or AFIS, so she should probably just head home for the night and he'd call if they found anything.
And she couldn't stop thinking about it when Adam's number popped up again on her cell while she was heading to the subway. Which was probably why she ended up getting off at his stop instead of hers and was sitting in wait for him on the highest of his front steps when he came home an hour and a half later.
He smiled when he saw her. "Hey. I've been trying to call you."
"I noticed," she said, trying to smile back.
His smile faltered and suddenly he was worried. "You okay?" he asked, still not climbing the stairs, just gazing at her from down below.
Standing, she ran her hands down her pants to smooth off the dirt. "Can we go inside?"
"Yeah," he said, glancing around as if the other pedestrians might be able to explain his girlfriend's coldness.
Jogging up the steps, he didn't try to touch her like he usually did, for which she was grateful. She would've lost all pretense of composure if she'd felt his hand on her arm, always so gentle.
The trip up to his floor in the elevator was made in silence. Jen stared straight ahead at the fake wood of the double doors, trying not to feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face.
Adam cleared his throat as he opened the door, but still neither of them spoke and Jen was glad. Her mind was a bit fuzzy from the emotions and his nearness, and she wasn't sure yet what she wanted to say.
When he held the door open for her, she slid past him and walked to the middle of the large open living room. She took a deep breath, hearing the door close and the lock click behind her, then she squared her shoulders and turned to face him.
Adam stood just a few feet away from the door, his keys still clutched in his hand. "What's going on, Jen?" he asked, his voice wary.
"You've still got your bag on," she murmured, gesturing vaguely to the messenger bag strapped across his body.
He glanced down in confusion then looked at her in disbelief. Tearing it off, he tossed it and the keys in the general direction of the couch. "Better? Jen—"
"I saw you."
She'd always be proud that her voice didn't waver as she said it. But the effect was somewhat ruined when Adam just shook his head, clearly not understanding. "Saw me…what, Jen? Saw me what?"
"I saw you at lunch." Something flashed across his face and he looked away, his lips moving without words coming out. "I saw you with her."
Oddly, he didn't look guilty, just tired. "Jen, that was…That wasn't—"
"Wasn't what?" she whispered before she could stop herself.
Looking back at her, seeming a bit sad, he took a step forward. "It was just lunch."
Cold seeped out of her soul to chill her bones. "You were holding her hand."
Adam shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Jen watched the sunlight from his huge windows glint off his ring and felt her body throb with wanting him. It wasn't sexual, though she felt that, too. She just…wanted him near her.
Cynthia had such tiny hands, dainty really. How had Jen never noticed how much taller than Adam she was? She was like an Amazonian. Sex with her must be like an attack of the sixty-foot giantess. If she said it out loud, Adam would laugh and she might be able to pretend she hadn't seen what she had. But she couldn't do that.
"I don't get it, Adam. You say it's nothing, just lunch. But why didn't you tell me about it? When I asked you about getting lunch, you said you had to run some errands," she cried out, biting her lip at the weakness.
His face was so closed off it was frightening. "I thought it would upset you."
Jen stared at him, almost unable to even comprehend the words. "Upset me? You lied to me so you wouldn't upset me?"
"Jen, it didn't mean anything," he said desperately.
"If it didn't mean anything, why did you lie?" she asked, tears suddenly welling.
"Jen—" He stopped when he caught sight of the tears, looking horrified.
She was horrified, too. She never cried, but she couldn't seem to stop them, so she let them fall. "Don't," she said softly, trying to regain her breath. She felt choked and incoherent, and she made a frantic attempt at calming herself down.
Adam stared at her, eyes wide. "Jen, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
The words were so final. Nodding, Jen wiped at a tear that hung off her jaw. She must look terrible. "I'll go," she murmured, turning to the door.
"Jen, wait—" The words were so desperate they made her heart ache.
"Adam," she said, turning back to him. "Even if you're not cheating on me—"
His eyes widened. "Jen, no. I would never—"
"I can't be with someone who lies to me." Here, her breath gave out and she let out a little sob.
He jerked forward automatically, but she shrank away from him and he froze. "So that's it?" he asked in a whisper.
"I guess."
They stared at each other and for an instant Jen wished she'd never found out. Then she remembered the look on Adam's face as he'd held Cynthia's hand. So open, in a way he'd never been with Jen. Fresh tears welled and she fled for the door.
Slamming it behind her, she ran full out for the elevator. She pressed the button repeatedly, scared Adam would come out and try to argue some more, heartbroken when he didn't. As the doors slid open, she fell inside, ignoring the couple already standing against the back wall.
She wiped angrily at the tears on her face, waiting impatiently for the car to hit the foyer. The couple was silent and tense beside her, making her hyperaware of the whole ridiculous situation.
As soon as the doors opened again, Jen was out and pushing through the front door of Adam's apartment building. Stumbling down the steps in her desperation to get away, the thought that this was the last time she'd ever come here flitted through her mind.
At that, she stumbled to a stop on the sidewalk, right into the middle of pedestrian traffic. She didn't know where to go. She didn't want to go home; she knew Adam had left things there and she didn't want to face them. She didn't want to go to work.
Pulling out her cell, she dialed the familiar number and waited until Lindsay picked up. "Monroe."
"Hey."
"Hey, Jen. You're not going to believe what Hawkes, Danny and I are about to do with your evidence," Lindsay laughed. Jen squeezed her eyes shut and took a shaky breath. "Jen?"
Jen raised a hand to shield herself from passers by. When she still couldn't answer, Lindsay spoke again. "What's wrong?"
Nothing came out but a sob.
"Where are you?" Lindsay tried, sounding panicked but determined. "I'm coming to get you."
No, that would take too long. She had to get out of there now. "No," she managed. "No, I'm okay. I just…"
"Meet me back at my apartment," Lindsay told her.
"You're still at work," Jen argued, grateful for something to latch her attention on.
"I got off at three. I'll be home in fifteen minutes. Use your key."
"Okay," she said, not questioning how Lindsay thought she'd get across the city in fifteen minutes. It was Lindsay; if she said she'd do it, she'd manage.
Sure enough, less than twenty minutes later, Lindsay came stumbling through her front door, and Jen collapsed in relief as they both sank onto the sofa.
July 17
Sometimes it made her mad how badly Adam had screwed things up.
Lindsay hadn't been able to get the whole story out of Jen that night, since she'd barely been able to breathe let alone speak through the sobbing. But, eventually, she'd pieced it all together like a quilt of betrayal.
"It would have been so easy," Lindsay complained as she took the glass of wine from Connor. "All he had to do was tell Jen about the lunch. Done."
Connor sank into a cushion on the other side of the couch and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Cuz it sounds like she was already uncomfortable about this woman."
Taking a fortifying sip of wine, Lindsay shook her head and gestured with her glass. "Jen might have been uncomfortable but she would've trusted him. Cynthia might have been a point of contention for a while, but Jen would've gotten over it."
"Maybe he wasn't so sure of that," Connor offered. "Maybe he really was trying to protect her feelings."
"He was holding the woman's hand," Lindsay pointed out, her voice rising in volume.
Connor gave her a chiding look. "Lindsay, I take your hand all the time." Her eyebrows jerked up in surprise, and he suddenly seemed to realize the connotations. "Uh…"
"That's not the point," Lindsay added, hastily looking away.
Clearing his throat, Connor set his glass on the table in front of them and leaned towards her. "Look. It sounds like Cynthia might have some feel—"
He cut himself off and visibly regrouped. "Lindsay, when I take your hand, you hold mine back," he explained gently. "But it doesn't mean you have feelings for me."
Heat suffused her face. "Yeah, but that doesn't excuse—"
"I know, Mouse. You hate what happened, and you're mad at Adam for breaking your best friend's heart. I get it. But just because you want to blame him doesn't mean he did anything wrong."
Lindsay glared at him. "He lied to her, Connor. Straight to her face. Or is that okay in the Average Guy's Approach to Life?"
Connor sighed and shook his head. "Yes, that was bad. You're right." Picking up his glass again, he leaned back against the arm of the couch. "What I meant to say is that it's not entirely his fault. If he'd told Jen, do you really think she would've been happy about it?"
"Happy, no. But I really doubt she would've broken up with him," Lindsay countered. "Jen hates being lied to. Hates it."
"I think everybody does," Connor said agreeably, setting his glass down again to untie his shoes. His muscles rippled beneath his black t-shirt, but Lindsay didn't notice as she tried to organize her thoughts.
"No, I mean, she really hates it. Her father and older brothers were a bit…overzealous when it came to protecting her."
Connor smirked and glanced up at her, still bent over. "That sounds familiar."
Lindsay sent him a shy grin before turning serious again. "She became sensitive about being lied to. And I think her mom's death made her father and brothers smother her even more."
"Ouch. I'm sorry about her mother," Connor said, finally straightening.
Unsure how much Jen would be comfortable with her revealing, Lindsay twirled the stem of her glass between the fingers. "She doesn't really talk about it. I only found out when I went to her father's place for Thanksgiving last year. God," she murmured, her eyes losing focus as she counted back the months. "That was almost a year ago."
One year prior, when she and Danny had been dancing around each other, she'd been convinced Danny would inevitably leave her should she pursue a relationship. It had driven Jen mad with frustration. And now here she was, heartbroken and alone. How had she lost sight of that knowledge?
Shaking off the melancholy, Lindsay sighed. Jen's heartbreak was at the forefront now. She didn't have time to be thinking about herself when her best friend was too much of a mess to remember she had to pay her rent. Lindsay had literally had to place the pen and checkbook in Jen's hands.
Lindsay leaned over and set her nearly empty glass on the coffee table. "You want some more?" Connor asked, his voice lazy.
Looking over at him, Lindsay curled her legs up underneath her. He seemed completely at home in her apartment, settled into the corner of her couch, one elbow propped on the arm. It made sense since he'd spent the last few weekends practically living on her sofa. He'd show up on Friday and leave on Sunday, and they'd never really discussed it. It's just what they did now.
And suddenly she understood. He'd been taking care of her; quietly, without having to tell her that was what he was doing. A warm feeling spread through her chest at the thought that he still cared that much, even if she couldn't love him the way he wanted her to. In fact, she felt stupid for not recognizing it before that moment.
A slow smile spread across his face as his eyes searched hers. "What're you thinking?"
"Nothing," she murmured, smiling softly at him. "You wanna watch a movie?"
Letting it go without explanation, he laughed and put his bare feet on her coffee table. Gesturing at the bookshelf, he leaned his head against the arm propped up by the sofa. "You pick, Mouse."
July 25
Lindsay stared down at the bowl of ice cream and wondered if this was what Jen had meant when she waxed poetic about Lindsay needing to wallow. It didn't really make her feel any better to chow down on take out and sundaes, though it was distracting to say the least. Particularly afterward when her stomach felt the size of the balloons in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.
For the past fifteen days, Jen would go from calm to sobbing in point-five seconds flat, so anything that distracted her for more than a few minutes was all right in Lindsay's mind. It gave both of them a well-earned respite from the emotional rollercoaster Jen seemed to be strapped onto.
"You think they're together right now?" Jen asked in a low voice, dipping her spoon down and pulling up a gooey pile.
Lindsay paused. "Adam and the professor?" She couldn't bring herself to say the woman's name since just the sound of it made Jen flinch like she was being tortured. "No."
Staring at her spoon, Jen tipped it and watched the pile fall with an audible plop back into the bowl. "Why not?"
"Because he still loves you," Lindsay said, determined to be honest.
"No he doesn't," Jen muttered. "They're probably having a ton of sex now that I'm out of the picture. Her and her pneumatic chest must be keeping him up all night."
Lindsay tried to make her voice soothing. "Jen, I really doubt it."
"He had a shift today, right? How'd he look?"
Wincing, Lindsay set her bowl aside. "Jen, you don't want to talk about this."
"How'd he look?" Jen asked, her voice hard with determination.
Lindsay looked away, giving up. "He looked tired. I don't know. He didn't talk much. To be honest, he looked a little…blank," she tried for lack of a better word.
"Great. Our breakup meant absolutely nothing to him," Jen said, snatching up Lindsay's bowl and stalking to the kitchen.
Lindsay stared after her best friend and sighed silently. There wasn't anything she could say. The truth was Adam didn't look very upset about the situation. He really didn't look much of anything. He just mechanically did his work, churning out result after result, clocked out precisely when his shift ended and disappeared until the next one started.
It was creepy. Like Stepford lab tech kind of creepy.
Fortunately, though, Jen didn't have to see Adam at work. She kept to the crime scenes and precinct; Adam kept to the lab. They never ran into each other, and Jen no longer came looking for Lindsay.
After taking the time to calm down and really consider what Connor had said, Lindsay began to wonder if Adam wasn't as heartbroken as Jen. She wanted to be sympathetic to both of them, but she couldn't get past the lying part. It was just such a guilty thing to do. What had he been trying to hide?
Hearing a soft noise over the sound of Jen washing the bowls, Lindsay stood and wandered into the kitchen. She came up next to Jen, frozen in front of the sink, and settled her back against the counter. Reaching over, Lindsay shut off the water before placing a hand on Jen's shaking shoulder and letting her cry.
July 29
"All right, Monroe," Flack said, rubbing his hands together. "It's you and me."
Lindsay glanced around the empty lab as if looking for a way out. "Excuse me?"
"Everyone else has disappeared and it's time for lunch."
Smirking, Lindsay finished yanking off her gloves. "Oh, I see how it is. You try everyone else, and then you come find me."
"No. You're always my first choice, but you're usually so busy…" Flack trailed off, trying to tamp down on his smile.
Lindsay shot him a quelling look. "Yeah. Right. Okay, Flack, you win. Where're we going?"
His eyes lit up and he fell into step with her as she left the lab. "I was thinkin' a sandwich from Joe's."
Lindsay eyed him suspiciously as she paused outside of the locker room. "You don't like Joe's. You like the barbeque place down the street."
"I like Joe's," he said defensively. When she just stared at him, one hand resting on the locker room door, he sighed. "Are you always this suspicious?"
"Yes," she said seriously.
Pushing through the door, she was gone just long enough to pop her locker and grab her purse. Flack hadn't moved an inch and he immediately jumped into motion when she reappeared, following her to the elevator.
"We're going to the barbeque place," she told him. "I have a craving for french fries."
Pushing the down button, she frowned and her eyes slid to him. He looked immensely pleased with himself as a smug grin played with the corner of his lips. "Wait. Did you just play me?"
The smile immediately turned into a frown. "Does that really matter, Monroe?" he asked, sounding disappointed in her.
"I cannot believe you just manipulated me," she said, shaking her head. "About lunch of all things."
"Oh, so if it had been something else, you'd be okay with that?" he asked sarcastically.
Playful bickering was their MO according to the rest of the team, and Lindsay wondered if anyone else saw the parallel between them and how she and Danny had been. It didn't feel the same; there was no sexual tension between she and Flack to make the hairs on her neck stand on end when he came near her. But from the outside looking in, it might appear that way.
The thoughts kept her quiet as they walked down the street, but Flack didn't seem to notice. He blithely filled the silence with the details of his most recent case file, and, slowly, Lindsay found the darker thoughts ebbing as she listened.
"God, I love this place," he said in a low voice as he pulled open the door for her. "I been comin' here since I was a kid."
"Really?" Lindsay said as they stepped inside.
She'd noticed that most New Yorkers didn't have that sort of connection with things that had been established in childhood. The city was too large, as adults they pick and chose their favorite places. It was refreshing to hear she was wrong; it made her feel a little less alien.
"Yeah, my dad worked at our precinct," Flack told her, absently scanning the place for a waitress. "To go?"
"Sure." She waited a beat before pushing. "So you'd come hang out with him?"
Flack let out a guffaw. "When I was a kid, sure. After that, I was usually in some sorta trouble. Cops all over the city knew my dad. Any of 'em came across me, they just brought me back here."
Smirking, Lindsay hid her surprise under a teasing look. "Mister quintessential cop?"
He shot her a grin just as the waitress came up to them. "We'd like an order to go?"
"Sure. What can I get ya?" she asked, pulling out her order pad.
"Two big orders of the shredded chicken," Flack said, looking to Lindsay for confirmation and she nodded. "Cornbread, coleslaw. The works."
Without looking up from her pad, the waitress asked, "Anything to drink?"
Lindsay shook her head and Flack stuck his hands in his pockets. "Nah, we're good."
"It'll be just a few minutes," she told them, already walking away. Three years and Lindsay was finally getting used to New York's brand of polite interaction.
"You probably never got into trouble," Flack said teasingly as he leaned against the wall. "The perfect little angel."
Lindsay snorted. "The most commonly spoken phrase in my house was 'Lindsay if you don't start eating over that plate, so help me God, I'll sell you to the gypsies.'" Flack laughed and she smiled wryly. "It took me years to realize there were no gypsies in Montana."
"That hardly counts, Monroe. I'm talkin' somethin' that gets ya grounded. At the very least."
Lindsay tilted her head to the side and pretended to consider it. Then she shrugged and smiled. "No, you're right. I was perfect."
"Wonderful. Remind me never to tell you about my adolescence," he muttered, though his eyes were still laughing.
xxxxx
Anonymous Reviews:
oddie33325: Yeah, Danny and Lindsay are both pretty miserable. Stupid Danny and his stupid unlogical logic. But he's so sad it's hard to be angry with him. :( Thanks for reviewing!
shorteemoi: Oh, Connor's out. Connor's waaaaaaaaaay out, and practically ensconced on Lindsay's couch, apparently. :p Thanks for the review!
backdowngravity: A jealous Danny, you say? Hmmm…A Christmas wish for this story? I think we might be able to manage a few of those… :p Okay, see, now you're asking PLOT questions. I don't know if I can give answers to those…but hints I can swing. ;) Whether or not it's Lindsay and Connor will become clear in the next couple of chapters, I promise. Thanks for reviewing!