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ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Season 1, Episode 10: FBI Guy.

Not Exactly Prince Charming
By GilliganKane


Agent Ashe had agreed with her when she said that fairy tales don't happen. They sat on the desk, the sound of the precinct's applause ringing in their ears, and she told him that she just wanted Prince Charming to love her the way she was.

The words coming out of her mouth sounded so…odd to her. Ideas floated around in her mind, overloading her senses. Prince Charming. Prince Charming. Prince Charming. Oh shit, she thought bitterly. A quick phone call to Claire, and she was sitting in the medical examiner's living room, trying to find the words to explain to "her girls" that there is a psychotic murderer out in the world that threatened her.

Then Jill has to go off on some rant about her and Claire gave up on Lindsay, but this time, it's different and they are going to protect her and yadda yadda ya. All the while, Cindy just sits there, a look of disbelief trying to hide away in her eyes, trying to show anger instead of fear. Lindsay knows that Cindy is afraid, and she can't help but feel bad for the reporter who never asked to be a part of this. Well, she certainly didn't shy away from it either, the Inspector muses.

Later, Lindsay is sitting on her couch, her head in her hands and Martha at her feet. Agent Ashe is a jerk, giving her that damn picture and that look and the cryptic sentence. "I'll be waiting in the car." Damn him. A knock at the door startles Martha and Lindsay follows the dog as she pads towards the front door. Seeing the shadow through the glass, she ripped the door open violently, ready to rip into Ashe, tear his head off and maybe even hit him, but she stops short. From behind Ashe, she can see Cindy looking at the floorboards of the porch sheepishly.

"I couldn't remember if she was at the Medical Examiner's house or not, but she won't go home so…" Lindsay waves him off.

"Yea, she's good." Lindsay lets the reporter in, holding back a laugh as she sees the redhead throw a stinging glare over her shoulder at the FBI agent. Ashe is telling her that a night detail is outside her house and when she gets back into the living room, Cindy is standing in front of her couch, a look on her face that Lindsay can't quite identify.

"Okay listen," Cindy says, launching into what Lindsay is sure is going to be a long-winded, passionate speech. "I wasn't around years ago, back when the 'Kiss Me Not' killer first entered stage left, so that whole inspiring speech Jill gave has nothing to do with me. I'm not really sure what she was talking about, but it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you called me to help you, and for that I'm grateful. I don't have very many friends Lindsay, and that's my own fault. But you and Jill and Claire are everything I could ever need from friends. But, that's not what I'm here about."

"What are you here about?" Lindsay asks with an amused smile.

"I'm here because I wanted you to know that I'm going to be here for you. I might not be able to protect you, physically, of course, because I'm about 5'3 and my fist hardly packs a punch and besides…" Cindy stares pointedly at Lindsay's discarded gun on the coffee table between them. "I think you have the physical protection thing covered. But friends are there for emotional support and well…I guess I just wanted to tell you that I'm here, for you." The brunette stood still, the look on her face halfway between amusement and confusion.

"Thanks, I think," the Inspector said slowly.

"See, I knew it was going to sound stupid when I said it out loud. It's just that, Jill's little monologue got me thinking that I haven't been around here long, I haven't been 'one of you' for more than 5 months at the most, and I wanted you, I wanted someone to understand…"

"That you can be counted on?" Lindsay interjected. Cindy nodded gratefully.

"I can be counted on." The taller woman stared at the redhead, a million thoughts passing through her mind at once. Slowly, Lindsay leaned across the open space between them and gently kissed Cindy. Unconsciously, her hands reached for the reporter and the space between them became nonexistent. Cindy is muttering incoherently in her ear as Lindsay moves her way down the redhead's silky neck, as the brunette slowly pulls them backwards, up the stairs.

Lindsay can't help thinking that she was right earlier. Maybe she wanted Prince Charming to love her just the way she was, forever and ever. But then again, maybe a Princess Charming was better.

The End

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