A Lindsay/Cindy FanFiction

Category: Tv Shows Women's Murder Club
Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy
Plot Outline:
Cindy's really gone and done it this time; but will Lindsay be able to forgive her like she always does, or will their working relationship and their personal relationship be ruined forever.


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




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 paralysed 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 any more, 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:


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.