A Crossing Jordan Fanfiction
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler
"Do you want to talk about it?"
The hand on his knee was warm and comforting to the touch, a welcome
combatant to the relative chill of the apartment. The environment around
him, as tidy and well-kept as it ever was, choked him, stifling and
suffocating from every angle. Even his simple sweats, the "adventuring"
clothes he'd chosen a full two days earlier on his way out of the apartment,
felt heavy and overwhelming, and they reeked of his own sweat.
And yet, despite the stench and disarray of his own appearance - hair
matted in odd angles, sweatshirt stained around the neck, pants torn in a
few places - he could not bring himself to pull his weight off the couch and
leave the comfort of soft cushions and a small hand upon his knee, even if
he'd only be away for all of ten minutes.
Her blue eyes focused intently on his face and he sighed, shaking his head
weakly. "No, Lily, I don't want to talk about it," he replied gently. His hand
found hers upon his leg, and his fingers wandered over the vaguely Celtic
tattoo that curled around her wrist. "Thank you, though. Your company is..."
He paused, searching for the correct word. "Nice. Your company is nice."
She pursed her lips and brushed ruddy hair from her face. "Bug," she
pleaded in a tone she usually reserved for the mourning spouses she worked
with day-in and day-out as a grief counselor in the morgue, "I think this is
something you should talk about and get off your chest. You ran after a
John Doe. You could have died!"
She punctuated the last word with an particular extra ardency, and he sighed,
glancing quietly away. Returning home to his flat after two days as a
kidnapping victim felt strange, as though he'd returned to an unexpected and
altogether unnecessary change, and his head felt muddled from it. Finding Lily
standing in his living room, arms crossed and lips pursed, was something else
altogether. She squeezed his knee and he responded in kind, their fingers
rubbing together and then interlacing.
"I'm fine, Lily," he reiterated, leaning further back in the cushions. "I just had a
rough day, when I... When I wrote what I did. I never meant that I didn't
actually belong. I know I do."
She cocked her head at him ever-so-slightly, and he could see in her bright
gaze that she was not fully convinced at his self-reported mental health. He
patted her hand and rose from the couch, moving towards the open notebook
on his kitchen table. The page in question stared up at him, a hodgepodge
collection of phone numbers, web addresses, personal scribblings that translated
roughly into gibberish, and one, hastily-written declaration:
I don't belong.
Bug traced his finger over the words, feeling the contour inherent in his heavy-
handed block lettering. "I was just lonely," he admitted quietly, not looking up from
the page. "It's hard to be the outsider in a group. When you're different from
everyone else, you start to analyze yourself, your placement..."
Grunting in effort, he ripped the page from the spiral binding and crumpled it. "But
I'm here because I belong here," he decided, his dark eyes glancing in Lily's
direction just in time to see her smile widely. "I am an American citizen, and a Boston
Medical Examiner. And, even when I don't appreciate it, I belong here."
Rising, Lily overtook the distance between them in a few long strides, reaching to
place a soft hand on his forearm. "I'm glad, Bug," she replied sweetly, the familiar
smile touching her full lips. "I... I was worried about you, when you disappeared. I
mean, we all were - Jordan and Nigel worked for hours to find clues to where you
might have been- but I..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
He smiled and patted her hand. "Sounds like Jordan and Nigel, alright," he agreed
lightly. She glanced down at the balled sheet of paper on the table, and he
swallowed. "Lily, what's wrong?"
"Bug, I..." She took a deep breath and met his gaze evenly, her lips no longer in a
smile. "I realized something, when you disappeared. I..." She paused, shaking her
head. "I wasn't fair to you. I used you as a rebound after Garret, and took
advantage of your good heart. And that wasn't right of me." Her hand escaped his
and moved, touching his chest instead. "But I know, now, that I... I like you, Bug.
A lot."
Chuckling nervously, he shrugged and attempted to back up a step. She followed
him. "I like you too, Lily," he answered quickly. "You're a very good friend, and - "
"Not just like that." Her voice was firm as her fingers curled slightly around his
sweatshirt. He wet his lips, watching her blue eyes as they studied his stubbled,
sweat-stained face. Suddenly, he wished he'd had the forethought to change before
settling onto the couch with her. "I... I'm attracted to you, Bug."
Her other hand moved up to caress his cheek lightly, and Bug gritted his teeth,
looking quickly away. "Lily, I - "
"Shh." Her fingers traced over his mouth as she rose to her tiptoes, voice hardly a
whisper. "Don't talk. I mean, you said yourself you didn't want to..."
Then, more quickly than he could formulate a coherent response, Lily's lips
touched his lightly, warm, smooth and soft to the touch. Bug felt his heart leap into
his stomach as her fingers slid back from his cheek and into his hair, curling there.
His own arms, without his conscious bidding, wrapped around her waist, pulling her
body into his. Her perfume danced in his nostrils as he leaned into her kiss. Her
tongue pushed against his mouth, and he allowed her entry. She tasted vaguely of
strawberries and Vaseline, and he realized in a hazy mass of thoughts that he tasted
her lip gloss.
They stumbled across the apartment, clumsy and uncertain, and his mind raced as
he pushed her onto the couch, both lost and found within the passion of the
moment. The only coherence remaining in the back of his mind was the note,
his stupid note, and it played through his brain, a nagging, insistent memory.
He'd written it after the bombing at the law firm, a few months earlier. It'd been
a simple thought, a simple reminder, a simple realization...
Lily's lips slipped from his mouth and traced across his cheek to his earlobe and
then neck. He groaned, hands roaming to push off her hooded sweatshirt and
deposit it on the floor.
He'd smelled wonderful, at the debris-filled explosion site. Bug's memory
replayed the moment as long fingernails scratched down his sweatshirt-covered
front and teeth raked against earlobe. While Lily's perfume smelled of
wildflowers and vanilla, the scent that day had been like pheromones, filling his
nostrils and overtaking his brain with lusty, indecent thoughts.
Bug dipped his head and touched his lips to Lily's clavicle, and she gasped, the
fingers in his hair clawing at his scalp.
'Are you wearing perfume?' He hadn't meant to ask such a stupid thing, and the
question earned a snort as they left the temporary morgue tent together, bogged
down with supplies as they wandered off to find the last remaining victims of the
accident.
His companion had tossed his head of messy hair and scratched the twenty-four
hours worth of beard on his prominent chin. 'I was with a lady friend when we got
the call,' he'd answered.
Bug's sweat-stained sweatshirt fell to the floor, and he leaned into Lily as she ran her
hands over his bare chest.
Even at the site, he'd leaned in close, his nostrils filling with the musky scent of an
unfamiliar perfume. 'Smells good,' he'd decided quickly, watching as his companion
brushed it off with a laugh. Then, they'd put their hard hats on and said no more about
the olfactory incident, forgetting it entirely by the end of the day.
Well, perhaps not entirely, because, upon arriving home, he'd scrawled "I don't
belong" beneath a note to RSVP for the EMS society banquet.
"Lily..." His voice rumbled in his throat as he moved his hands from her waist to
her shoulders and, with a sigh, pushed her away. Her bright eyes were wide and lips
puffy as she raked a hand through her mussed hair, staring. He stared, too, at the
sight she made, her chest heaving and face flushed. Then, shaking his head, he
forced himself off the couch and onto the carpeting, away from her.
"Bug, what is it?" Lily's tone was insistent, and he refused to glance at her - refused
to give into the staring, the surprise, the unspoken sorrow. "Did I do something
wrong?"
"God, Lily, no, and that's the problem." He raked a hand through his hair, a hasty
finger-comb, as he turned around to meet her gaze. "I don't think this is a good
idea, though. I think..." His mind reeled, searching blindly for the right words.
He found none, and, sinking into a nearby armchair, rested his head in his hands.
"I don't want to hurt you, Lily. I really don't. I value you as a good friend, but..."
Her eyes closed slowly as she sank back against the couch cushions, shaking
her head of long hair. "There's someone else, isn't there?"
The question came not as an accusation but a rhetorical, and she sighed as Bug
shrugged his shoulders weakly. "Yes," he answered quietly, "and no. There's...
There's a possibility of something more, something that might yet be." He sat up
more fully, meeting her gaze evenly. She pursed her lips expectantly. "But Lily, I'm
waiting on the possibility, even if it is ends up being an impossible something that
will arrive on an impossible someday. And, as long as I'm waiting and wondering,
nothing between you and I would be genuine. And I don't want to hurt you by
using you like that. I..." He paused and shook his head. "I couldn't forgive myself
if I hurt you, Lily."
Smiling slightly, she hugged herself and drew her knees up to her chest. She
reminded Bug of a shy, small child, balled up on the couch as she watched him,
cheek resting on her arms. "Anyone I know?" she questioned coyly.
He smiled as well, a smaller, sadder smile, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps, Lily. Perhaps."
She sighed and shook her head, rising gradually from the couch. Bug
watched her idly as she collected her hooded sweater and purse from their
abandonment on the floor. Briefly, he wondered how much gossip would
dance around the morgue in the morning, and what personal character attacks
one coworker in particular would dream up whilst the rumor mill churned.
And, as he watched the pretty young woman gather up her things, he wondered
how many of those character attacks would smack of flirtation, jealousy, and
musty perfume.
"You know," commented Lily simply as they met in the foyer, tugging on her
jacket, "you should probably call Nigel. He was really worried about you,
but he's on graveyard tonight. He nearly threw a fit when he couldn't come
see you." Her blue eyes met his brown, and her eyebrows arched the slightest
bit. "Just so you know."
Bug nodded slightly. "Thanks, Lily."
She flushed and shrugged halfheartedly. "Hey, it's just a message," she informed
him nonchalantly. "An answering machine works just as well."
"Not for the message." He smiled warmly, rubbing a gentle hand along her
spine. "I mean for everything. You're a good friend."
Lily leaned into his hand and then turned to fully hug him, her arms tight around
his neck. "You are, too, Bug," she replied sweetly, landing a peck of a kiss on his
cheek. "To all of us. I hope you realize that."
She trailed off into awkward silence as he opened the door. "I do." He paused
briefly, and then shook his head, almost as thought he was dismissing her
compliment. But his smile remained as he held the door open for her. "Goodnight,
Lily."
"Goodnight, Bug."
He closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it, the wood cool
against his bare back and shoulders. His brown eyes drifted naturally to the
abandoned, balled-up notebook paper on the table.
He lulled his head against the door and sighed, allowing himself a moment against
the door, a brief pause of longing and regret as he listened to the whisper of the
city beyond his apartment, the honking of horns and rushing of wind through the
alleys.
Then, he raked a hand through his still-matted hair. Loneliness, he decided as
he flipped the deadbolt and secured the safety chain, could wait, along with
regret, until the day his impossible thoughts became a real, tangible possibility.
Until then, he had a comfortable couch, a functional cell phone, and a worried
friend at the morgue to tend to.
The person on the other end picked up after a single ring.
"Hey, Nigel? It's me. Bug."
There would be a thousand impossible somedays to worry about at a later date.
For now, he belonged to this reality, to this silence, and to this relieved voice
in his ear.
"Yeah... Yeah, Nigel. I'm okay."
Fin.
Standard Disclaimer: Crossing Jordan and all related characters belong to
NBC and Tailwind Productions. I am simply borrowing them with no intent to,
you know, make money. Friends, perhaps, but not money.
Author's Notes: Have you ever noticed that the Bug/Lily stuff just ends?
In the middle of all the flirtations and the sexual tension, it just HALTS.
And that's it. No more weirdness between them. And here is my take on
why. (Being as I am, you know, a Bug/Nigel 'shipper.)
Does Lily know? Maybe. She's Lily. She's not stupid, as much as I want to
throw things at her. She backed off like a good girl. Otherwise, I would gnaw
on her brain.
(And before I get nasty accusations, no. I don't think Lily's any sort of slut.
Worry and grief does weird things to people. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
Also, the conversation about Nigel wearing perfume does happen in the episode
"Upon the Wasted Building." I found it cute and endearing, and a definite "Bug
acts interested in Nigel" moment. More than he normally does - usually, Nigel's
the one who makes all the moves.
And for anyone wondering, this fic is an important piece of setup in a continuity
I am slowly creating. More on that later. For now, this fic stands alone as its own
pretty little thing. pets the fic
February 25, 2005
1:19 p.m.