SOMEWHERE IN THE INBETWEEN

A Lindsay/Cindy FanFiction

S U M M A R Y
Category: Tv Shows >> Women's Murder Club
Pairings: Lindsay/Cindy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Plot Outline: What happens when the one who's hurting the most is the one that you've given your heart to?
Author: nervedamaged


CHAPTER ONE - SHORTCUT HOME

It wasn't late.

Cindy didn't keep a track of the time, but the hustle and bustle of city sounds pouring through Maggie's windows was enough to tell her it wasn't.

She drew her hand across her brow and rubbed it lightly, attempting to clear the fuzziness, I must be coming down with something she murmured into thin air. This drive was an added stress to her already busy schedule down at The Register, but it was a lead she was following, a lead from a well known source she had used many a time over the years. This was the kind of gal who only came out of the woodwork when she had something good to share.

But as the city lights slipped into darkness behind her Cindy was reminiscent of Lindsay's advice about swanning off and following leads to unknown places without letting the club, or anyone for that matter know.

She pulled up into the darkness outside an abandoned set of warehouses, whose overall appearance was out of place against the city's far away backdrop. Hesitant to leave the engine running whilst she slipped inside, Cindy killed it, pulling the key from the ignition and exiting the car.

The little handheld flashlight that Claire had given her a year ago, flickered in her hands as she called out for her source in the chilling night that had washed in like waves over the bay.

“Abbie?”

Her voice as steady though her nerves were running raw; all those stories as a child of being afraid of the dark were coming back to haunt her. She cursed herself and hissed that Lindsay would think her nothing more than a child if she learned of this fear.

So Cindy shook it off and called out again;

“Look I haven't got all night A are you here or...”

There was a rustle off to her left and Cindy whirled round, the steady resolve she had previously, coming rapidly undone as each minute ticked by.

The flashlight shook a little bit in her hand, the bright off white light beamed out into the darkness towards the sound and as her eyes focused Cindy dreaded what she might see out there, swallowing hard her voice unsteady as it broke free from her vocal chords;

“Abbie.. is that you?”

Moving closer she peered into the darkness the light almost too illuminated for her to see anything; then she saw it, a paper bag section caught inbetween the window frame and the wall, the scratching, rustling sound happening when the bag brushed lightly against the brick in the breeze.

Taking a deep breath, Cindy relaxed, scolded herself for thinking the worst and turned her attention back to the way she had come. It didn't feel right, this place, not in the dark on her own; she was only now seeing the extent of her foolish ways and had to chuckle to herself how Lindsay would see her now, how she would tell her off, all of them would, berate her for being as silly as she had been. She would go back to the car, grab her phone and call them; that's what she would do, for moral support she told her self... 'for moral support'

But Cindy didn't get that far, the rustle from the darkness was back, 'the bag, just the bag' she reminded her worried mind. Only this time it was closer, and closer still as the deepening void seemed to wrap around her tightly the only light left from the slowly dying torch in her hand. She drew a raggedy breath, psyching herself up and whipped round with the light held up high ready to shout 'who's there?' But the light didn't reach that far this time, only metres in front of her stood a dark figure his gaze trained on her rigid torso rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

In her panic Cindy's hands fumbled with the flashlight and pressed so tightly against the barrel her fingertip flicked the off switch. She and the stranger descended into the pitch black; and she stood rooted to the spot; her fear consuming her as even the need to scream wouldn't control her mouth to open to do it; 'is this it?' she worried; 'is this going to be the end of it all?' as a hand closed over her mouth and if the light could illuminate her features now, all you would see would be wide childlike eyes.

T W E N T Y   T H R E E
Truth Be Told Series

Category: TV Shows >> Women's Murder Club
Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy
Genre: Hurt/Pain/Real-Life
Author: nervedamaged

A/N: This is a series of my own personal experiences being told through the lives of Cindy & Lindsay. Everything I write here is true and I am recovering slowly, I take each day at a time, Please also note that some of these stories may be triggering, hence why they are placed under a cut for Adult Content.


----

She had seen numerous times what her anger had done to inanimate objects.
What the neighbours had done when they heard the crashes in her apartment.
What they had heard. Seen. Observed. Their lingering eyes almost judging her.
She had seen worse, what it had done to her friends and family, to her best friend, and the woman she loved.
It wasn't just anger, it was everything that she couldn't say built up over such a long period of time.
The intense fear of those she held close not understanding her need to speak out, her need to tell someone what had happened.
It was the rejection that came from those people, that burned right down to her core.
So she would do it the silent way from now on.
For her it wasn't about preparation, about the laying out of the items before the ritual.
For her it was just about release, the calm before the storm as she lay the cool metal of the scissors over her arm.
They wouldn't notice this type of anger.
It was just one small cut.

 A Lindsay/Cindy FanFiction

What was it that Lindsay had said that day;

“Joe Donovan had taken the coward's way out”

Cindy sat crossed legged on the cream tiled bathroom floor, newspaper headlines lying strewn around her figure. One screamed in block capitals

“SFPD STILL CANNOT CATCH KISS-ME-NOT”,

another;

“WILL KISS-ME-NOT RUIN SAN FRANCISCO'S REPUTATION AS A SAFE CITY”

Each heading had the byline: “Cindy Thomas” written below it.

She bought the wine glass up to her lips and took a large gulp of the red liquid, its burning sting was welcoming as it cased down her throat like it were hot chocolate on a cold Winter night.

When it came down to it, Cindy had never realized she had written so many damn articles on the slimy bastard, and yet as she took another sip of wine and pushed a silly after thought to the back of her mind, she was reminded of the look that had so fleetingly crossed Lindsay's face when the worst of the headings had finally reached the bullpen.

It had been a back step in her career, in hindsight she should have never listened to her editor, she should have held her ground when the meeting was finalized and agreed that they were running with this title as it was the only one that would get the public's attention enough to keep the police on the bat and ball to catching this son of a bitch.

She had completed the article in a flurry of caffeine hazed headache, eyes glued to the white screen as she'd placed her name under the header and hurriedly attached it to an email, the send button whisking it away to her boss' email account in the next room over.

She had known it was a stupid thing to do, and she knew even more so that Lindsay would be furious when she found out.

Cindy had been right; luckily for her, she had not been present in the bullpen when the article had landed on Jacobi's desk. Unfortunately she had been alone, in the park, when the inspector caught up with her. Cindy couldn't help but think it was part of a kinky dream that her mind would play on her as Lindsay had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the pedestrian tunnel, shoving her forcefully up against that brick wall. Had the circumstances been different, she would have reached up at that moment and kissed the tall brunette on her full lips and not regretted a single moment of it. As it were; the inspector's grip on her wrists was somewhat painful and Cindy was fully aware of the look of terror that she wore printed all over her face.

“WHAT in GOD'S name were you thinking!?”

Lindsay's furious features right on up in Cindy's personal space; causing the reporter to wince and attempt to pull away from her ever strengthening grip. Cindy wasn't even sure if she gave a response, before the next accusing question was flung in her direction...

“Scratch that, you never think Cindy! You never think about the consequences of your actions, of your articles and of the things you write! Do you!?”

Her anger had flared then; narrowing her eyes she had glared at Lindsay opening her mouth and a flurry of words had flown from it inches away from the inspector's face; but Lindsay's expression didn't change; in fact she almost seemed unaffected by Cindy's words, no matter how much spite the red head tried to filter through them. In the end she had just trailed off and glanced down at her feet, willing Lindsay to loosen her hold on her hands, feeling paralyzed to the effect that was Inspector Lindsay Boxer.

When Lindsay couldn't get any conscious thoughts or sayings from the red head, she relinquished her hold on the girl and spun on her heel leaving a bruised and tarnished Cindy propped almost precariously against the tunnel wall.

It had been entirely her fault, there was no pinning this on anyone else, because there was enough thought behind it for it to be Cindy's fault down to the last letter that she had typed. Her hand came up to rub at weary tear filled eyes, the clock on her dresser belt out a neon green light that through Cindy's drunken haze read “4:37am”. She hadn't slept in so long; the signs of which were beginning to show, not only on her face but also in her work, she was slipping, her standards were almost squandering in the dust that was kicked up from Maggie as she drove to The Register every morning.

In the neon light she reached for the almost empty bottle of wine, clanking it against the glass and she messily poured herself another; she had had way too much to drink a very long time ago; somewhere around the 1am marker; but by god the hurting hadn't nearly been numbed, so she continued to fuel the fire with more gasoline as she nearly downed the glass before the bottle had even finished pouring. Wet from the liquid that stained her clothes and the tears that dripped continuously down her face, she concluded that she was indeed a mess; that not one of her “friends” had thought to contact her after her little confrontation with Lindsay in the park. But what had hurt most was that Lindsay hadn't said anything more; she hadn't even bothered to contact her about any cases since it had happened, and that was nearing three weeks previous to her sitting on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor drowning her sorrows with bottle after bottle of sickly red wine. Cindy could distinctly remember every look that the brunette had forced her way, every disappointed look that pulled at her heartstrings and made her hate what had happened more and more; the worst part being that she couldn't take it back; it wasn't like it was a verbal retort in her direction. No this was the printed word; it was there to haunt her till....

Cindy wasn't sure anymore, nausea had gotten the better of her and through the fog that her trusty glass of never ending wine had encased her; she felt sick to her stomach. A mixture of guilt, alcohol and regret. 'Good god woman, you are pathetic..' she cursed herself as she attempted to push herself to her knees and crawl to the basin of the toilet. Unfortunately such a simple action was hampered by woozy brain function; and despite the fact that it was mere metres away, Cindy didn't make it as far, reaching out to steady her already falling body; she grasped a hold of the first thing her fist came in contact with, pulling the table cloth down and in the process raining down all kinds of medication bottles and perfumes clattering to the floor, some bursting open on impact and the contents skittered across the tiles in all directions. Attempting to blink away the haze that wrapped itself around her head, Cindy knocked over the glass, it's almost empty wetness running down the grooves in the tiles soaking through the newspapers like they were a towel under direct water contact. Knowing she wouldn't make it as far as her bedroom; the freezing tiled floor offering the most amazing feeling of comfort to her hot clammy skin, Cindy's ever increasing headache making her lay down on that ground, the cold soaking into her bare skin; the mess that she had made herself and the stupidity that had gotten her this far. 'Why in hells name didn't she stop drinking when she'd had the conscious reasoning behind not going any further!?'

Tripping in and out of consciousness, Cindy's one futile attempt to pull that one newspaper article closer was lost as she drifted into unconsciousness on the bathroom floor at 5:17am... the heading her hand rested on read:

“CAN INSPECTOR LINDSAY BOXER CATCH KISS-ME-NOT THIS TIME!?”

Somewhere in the distance of her apartment, Cindy's cell phone reverberated off the glass of the coffee table, its muffled tune associated with the one and only Inspector Lindsay Boxer.

Prt 2 to come shortly.

S U M M A R Y
C a t e g o r y : Tv Shows >> Women's Murder Club
P a i r i n g s :  Lindsay/Cindy
G e n r e :  Comfort/Romance/Thriller/Horror
P l o t   O u t l i n e : *coming soon*
A u t h o r : nervedamaged


P R O L O G U E -- M I R R O R S

A curtain of ice blonde hair draped over snow white skin, fingernails creating imprinted groove marks into it's surface, a saddistic smile that crept like a cockroach across her lips, her tongue snaking out to wet said parched line with it's tip. She's been here a while now, just watching with almost unseeing eyes at the body of a girl slumped over sink in a public bathroom on the outskirts of town.

She's walking up to her slowly, a grim expression of love and hate written all over her lipstick stained face. Reaching forward, she grasps soft curls between her bloodied fingers and lifts the dead girl's head from the messed up massacre scene, her lonely mind created, leaning in her lips only inches from her ear, the cracked whispers uttered from her broken vocal chords were clear as the mirrored glass that lay shattered all around the body.

"You and me, and the devil makes three..."

She glanced up at what was left of the mirror, and through the broken pieces the resemblance was clear. The lifeless eyes of the girl in the sink, next to those not so lifeless of the woman holding up her prize where near identical. The same ice blonde hair cascaded from both women's shoulders and skin like wax figurines lacking sunlight. They could have been sisters; perhaps they were, but the murdered over the murderer couldn't be shook off like just another Good & Evil twin relationship. There was something much much more in the pale green eyes of the girl alive, especially as she dropped the head of the other into the deep red liquid that clogged the drain, and spilled out over the sides of the porcelain white sink, as if she were just another object that was in her way.

An echoing clatter ricochets off the walls as a hunting knife slips from her hand colliding with the floor and skittering away from her route to the door, the moonlight seeping through the quartz style window pane creating patterns much like a kaleidoscope on the tiled floor. With her right hand on the door handle she pulled it ajar and slipped out into the freezing night, but not before her index finger drew the sign of the cross on her naked flesh just above her left breast.

On to Chapter One