Sorry for all the angst but these two are a slow-burn for me and Lindy's not exactly where I need her to be yet. Soon, I promise.
They're silent on the way to his apartment. He still has questions he doesn't dare to ask and dreams of unattainable triviality he refuses to share. She doesn't mention his earlier comment on Sara and he's grateful for it. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be between them, all quiet doubts and underlying sorrow. Maybe they're destined to be at this standstill forever.
He lets her inside his building and he can see her curiosity piqued. He's been to her place so many times he forgot she still hasn't been to his. He hopes this isn't the first and the last time but there's never any certainty when it comes to her, when it comes to them.
She looks around as discreetly as possible but doesn't really comment on anything. He supposes there's nothing to comment on. His place is bare and she doesn't ask for a big tour.
"So you didn't manage to get your stuff back?"
Right, the Bubonic thing. Feels like a few lifetimes ago now. He was never one to get attached to things and he can count on the fingers of one hand the number of small objects that truly mean something to him. A couple of pictures, a watch. People (and the past) are more difficult to let go.
"Found some of it," he replies. He's actually surprised she knows about it. He doesn't remember ever mentioning it to her.
"Sophia told me," she says as if she just read his mind.
Boris stands in the kitchen looking hilariously confused; it's definitely been a while since Tommy had a woman over. He leaves Lindy gushing over his dog for a minute to gather the files and when he comes back Boris seems to have found his new best friend.
She grins at him, "George was right. Boris is easier to figure out than you are."
He grins back even if she's wrong about that. He's well aware he follows her, looks at her like a lost puppy. She just refuses to see it.
"It's already late. Maybe we should get to work," he points to the documents laying on the table.
3 hours later they're sitting in the middle of his living room, papers all around them like crop circles on the wooden floors. The air feels heavy, the cracks in their fragile relationship deepening with every frustrated sigh. There's nothing here but wasted time. They're both exhausted, both ready to explode. He can see how restless she becomes and it scares him. They're both too good at running away.
She forcefully pushes a pile of folders, pets Boris who is now shamelessly occupying the couch and goes to grab a beer from the fridge. He notices how easily she fits in his living space. It's painful not to imagine the what ifs. Apparently she has a similar thought.
"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if I never got that dating profile?"
This is it. This is how it ends. She is going to peel off his feelings like an old chipped paint trying to cover something that wasn't supposed to be.
"Yep. You'd continue hacking and I would probably arrest you at some point."
The joke falls flat and she seems disappointed that this is the answer he chose. This isn't what she is looking for. He knows perfectly well where this is going, what she thinks she needs. She wants this to be ugly and harsh. He's too tired to care anymore; for once he wants to be bitter and resentful. Just a lovefool drowning in self-pity. He can oblige her.
"You and Ben would've found a way back to each other. You'd be having a happily ever after. There. This is what you wanted to hear, right? More blame, more guilt."
She wordlessly sits next to him. Her love life is a sick, twisted fairytale and he's a distraction until her new prince charming arrives and Tommy finally disappears from the last chapter. What a useless waiting game he's playing; he's not even a replacement guy. He wants to blame it all on Ben so badly it makes him hate himself even more. It always comes down to him, isn't it? The great, noble Ben. The one who had (has?) her love. He's always with them, his shadow obscuring their every interaction, always reminding Tommy that he was nothing but a liar, a manipulator, a traitor. He's still a traitor because Ben is dead and he's still around. And despite everything that's happened he's here with her.
"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you met me first?" His voice seems so frail, so unlike him. He's afraid of her answer. He's afraid she'll confirm his fears or validate his desire. Either way it's not how he wants it. How he wants her.
She doesn't answer just glances at him with an indescribable look on her face. She gulps the rest of her beer and moves closer, hesitantly stretching out her hand. Everything seems to slow down. Her finger softly traces an invisible line on his forearm, raising goosebumps, turning his blood into lava. This isn't right but he closes his eyes and leans into her touch all the same.
"You could've been... the one to..." She doesn't need to finish her thought, he already knows where this is going.
He chuckles bitterly because as much as he doesn't want to die, he feels like he won some kind of unfair lottery of life. Ben was the one with bright future, with plans for white picket fences and kids playing in the backyard. Always so open with his feelings, ready to give his heart away. Tommy remembers when he admitted falling for Lindy, the spark in his eye and defiance all over his face. He remembers a sharp pang in his own heart so quickly hushed and buried. It's nothing but a simple attraction. Go out, get laid, get her out of your system and focus on the case. And he did.
Her finger keeps drawing small patterns on his hand. He gently catches her wrist and moves it away. His heart is so full of her it spills on everything he touches.
"This isn't right, Lindy," he murmurs, his voice breaking a little. "I don't want it this way."
"What way, Tommy?" She's no longer soft touches and whispers. She seems angry.
"I don't want pity," he looks away. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and see regret written all over your face. Maybe you should go."
She gets up and slowly puts her jacket on. He's afraid to look at her. He's falling apart and it's unfair to her. She deserves better. She deserves someone she loves, she chooses, not just an idea of someone loving her at the moment she needs it.
"You know," she says in a low, calm voice, all anger seemingly gone now, "for the longest time I couldn't figure out why would Ben choose you for his best friend. Why he loved you."
She pauses and he can hear her opening the front door.
"I get it now."
And with that she's gone.