DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Betaed by Ashley. Thank you!

The Deconstruction of the House of Boxer
By Demeter


As the heavy door fell shut behind her, Lindsay Boxer began to feel very worried. She shouldn't have to be. But then again, she shouldn't be in this room in the basement of the network building either, with the hot seat of characters to be or not to be. Not for another seven years at least.

"What's this supposed to be?" She didn't have time for this shit either. There was a serial killer to catch, and a coming out to get through. Come to think of it, the latter was probably as terrifying as the hot seat. Well, almost. "As you know, I've got a job to do."

The two men sitting across from her shared a meaningful look, and the president said bluntly, "Don't worry about it, Lindsay. You're cancelled."

"What kind of sick joke is that? And by the way, we're not on a first name basis."

It couldn't be. She was in a show that was well-loved by the fans and had decent ratings. Aside from that, it rocked.

"It's no joke," the network president explained patiently. "You've been out of line. The boys don't like you, most of them at least, and you put dangerous ideas into the heads of good women. It's anarchy. It can't go on."

"But the fans--"

"Not like we care about them. They're not the desired demographic."

"Fuck your demographics," she murmured.

"See, it's exactly this attitude that got you here. We will see it all to a good end though, and air three more episodes." The brief flicker of hope died quickly when he added, "You won't be in them though."

Now Lindsay was very much convinced that the president had lost his mind. Not like she didn't have the thought before...

"You kill me, the fans are going to throw more at you than just chocolate," she said confidently. And damn good chocolate it had been too; she'd sneaked some Caramel Hershey's this morning from a very annoyed secretary. "It's called equality, guys. Face it. You're not going to stop it."

"I wouldn't be so sure. That's why I called your new producer in – he's going to show you the end of Lindsay Boxer. Face it," he imitated her. "You're not going to stop it."

"How stupid do you think your viewers are? They're never going to buy this. They'll know it's not me!"

"See, that's why we included some scenes they'd like and expect. Like this. They will never know."

With a mix of anger and longing, Lindsay watched herself on the screen with Cindy, a scene she supposed would fool the viewers. Only it wasn't her, but the evil twin manufactured in the secret network labs. And it was just getting worse from that.

"And what the hell happened to Cindy... and Jill?"

"They are reacting to the other you," the producer said proudly.

"That's not me!"

"Claire stays pretty much the same, you know. A good mother and dedicated wife."

"The good mother and dedicated wife kicks ass, and she'd kick yours if she were here now," Lindsay murmured. "This story sucks. No one will want to see it." A heartbeat later she realized with cold dread that it was most likely their intention. "Wait! You're killing Cindy? Come on, she had nothing to do with this. You already took away her feminist ethics, so--" Cindy didn't die, which was a relief, but the actions of the evil twin weren't.

"I would have never left her alone to go banging that boring 'love interest'--" It was pointless, though. They didn't care.

"And the best," the producer bragged, "We'll be on air on Tuesdays, 9 pm."

"What? Against Cabot and Benson?" She loved to curl up on the couch with Martha to watch on Tuesday nights. "They have been around like forever!"

Now, Lindsay was convinced this had to be a cruel, long drawn out nightmare.

"Exactly. Stupid viewers will never know what hit them, and this sad chapter of TV history will finally be over, and we can all go back to what is normal."

"They will see through you just like they did with the unaired--"

"No one ever saw it, that's why it's called 'unaired'. They have no idea."

At that, Lindsay shook her head; she had to smile at the guy's naivete. Cindy had taught her some tricks on how to be up to date with the discussions in secret fannish communities. Everybody knew about the unaired alright.

Also, these communities were very supportive of her coming out plans, so it might not be that bad after all.

"It's over," the president said with satisfaction. "They're gonna hate you, and eventually just forget about you. And don't feel so special, Boxer. Dr. Hahn is going to be next; she'll keep you company in the TV characters' great nirvana."

Too bad that she wasn't allowed to bring her gun into the basement room.

"Alright then," she said, getting up from your chair. "You do what you have to do." She smiled at them. "You think I depend on you, right? Think twice. I always wanted to say... your network sucks. Have a nice day."

"She's delusional now," the president surmised. "We covered all angles. She'll vanish soon enough."

"Did she just threaten us?" the producer wondered.

"Does it bother you not to be on TV anymore? You know, just virtual now?" Cindy asked anxiously.

With a smile, Lindsay pulled her into her arms. "Never. For one, I have the much better love interest now." She reached over to switch off the little lamp on the nightstand.

"He said what?" Claire asked indignantly. "I should have come at him with the bone saw when I still could."

"Don't worry about them," Jill advised. "We won't have to deal with them, ever, again. We get to be ourselves. Girls, you know what that means, right?"

"What does it mean?" Lindsay wondered. All the bravado aside, she was sometimes worried. This new reality seemed too good to be true, and she sometimes feared losing it again.

Cindy gazed at her lovingly before she said, "It means we're immortal now."

They raised their glasses.

"To independence!"

The End

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