Disclaimer: STILL ain't mine!
Kinky Boots
See them out on the street at night, walkin'
Picking up on all kinds of strangers
If the price is right you can score
If you're pocket's nice
But you want a good time
Bad Girls; Donna Summer
He hated her in kinky boots. Those thigh high red leather boots were what landed her in the bed in
front of him. The one attached to all sorts of beeping machines. Those goddamn boots were why
she was heavily sedated and had a chart at the end of her bed. Stella had actually talked Mac into
letting Lindsay go undercover, and do it wearing those boots. Hooker Boots. Kinky Boots. To see
her in them and the rest of her get up drove him wild. No more admiring her gazelle like run. He
certainly couldn't take her to mom, and he wanted a different kind of fun when he looked at those
shoes. That should've been a tip off that something was going to go wrong. And then to let her go
on with the plan with no protection from anyone, what had he been thinking? He should've made
Mac let him be her John. Or had Flack, Hawkes, Mac could've done it. Hell Stella. One of their
own should've been the John, given her some protection. But no, he had let her down. And she was
now unconscious in the bed in front of him. He'd say she looked peaceful, but her face was too
bruised to say that, he only saw his anger when he looked at her. He was angry at himself for not
protecting her, at her for those boots, at Mac and Stella for the case. He was mad at everyone.
Couldn't they see she was precious? Couldn't they see she was too important to have anything
happen to her? Couldn't they see what they'd done to him? He had the one who had found her; it
had taken all he had not to kill the guy he found with her. He was responsible for all the internal
bleeding and bruising. Flack had to physically pull him off the guy. He couldn't see that Lindsay
was his world. After getting away from the guy he had fallen to his knees and held her. He held her
and cursed those kinky boots, the root of this problem. In those moments he had thought he'd never
see her again; and that thought hollowed him out. He couldn't feel his blood pump, his heart, his
lungs. Then all he could feel was pain, his throat burned, and his stomach was doing a gymnastics
routine. He was cynical, but never one for hopelessness. But looking at her beaten black and blue
with broken kinky boots made him lose all feeling and emotion. And he hated it.
Review? XXOO streakie
