DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
SPOILERS: Season 1, Episode 1: Welcome To The Club.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

By GilliganKane


Sometimes, you wonder.

You wonder how these things happen to you. They wouldn't happen to anyone else, because it wouldn't be as funny if they did.

Things like: your ex-husband becoming your boss, your ex-husband getting married to a woman who is entirely right for him, unlike you, awkward dates with wanna-be doctors, and...Cindy Thomas.

You handled Tom being your boss.

Well, it wasn't a graceful adjustement, and it involved quite a few nights yelling at the corpses in the morgue that Tom was an arrogant son of a bitch who totally stop the Lieutenant job right out from under Jacobi's nose, while Claire watched with an amused smile, even if she thought you couldn't see her laughing. It also involved sending Jacobi to give the LT the case reports, because Tom wanted to "talk" about him being in your life again. Avoidance was the key, and it was like you took stealth lessons from Tom Cruise, when he was in Mission Impossible. You managed to avoid the "talk" for a whole month before Tom employed Jacobi, your own partner, to help him corner you. And the talk wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, until you found out about Heather.

You managed to get past the Heather thing.

Instead of screaming obscenities at dead bodies, you spent your nights with your head buried in Claire's shoulder while she told you that "someday, you'll get over it". That you "had your chance with Tom, but it wasn't meant to be." It was just what you needed - from Claire. Jill, on the other hand, opened the bottle of borboun and poured you a glass that could have drown a small dog. She's the one who told you that "all men chase skirts," and that they only get married because "the girl wasn't easy." Jill was a girl who, if mixed with alchohol, was the life of the party. And it was just what you needed. You needed Claire to be your shoulder and you needed Jill to be your drinking buddy. Just as long as Claire didn't find out that you did, in fact, have a drinking buddy.

You even managed to blow off Simon: The Paramedic.

That wanna-be loser was a lie that went so far out of hand that you couldn't help but laugh when you thought about it. You slapped that guy's behind. In front of Tom. In front of Jill. You still can't believe that you let it escalate so far. You can't believe your friends set you up with that mamma's boy.

And then there's Cindy Thomas.

She's a reporter, a cop's worst nightmare. She's pushy, ignorant of the rules, and she's pretty much a child. She's nosy, annoying and inconsiderate. She calls you at all hours of the night, once, just to make sure that you were home and you weren't off playing hero without her. She's incorrigible, stubborn, trusting and niave. She thinks it's amusing when you tell her that to stay out of trouble, and she laughs the first time you handcuff her to a chair to keep her sitting still. She insists on calling the four of you a "club" even though every time she does, you want to throw a shoe at her.

Except that, when you call her at three in the morning the night you sleep with Tom, she's standing at your front door at 3:15 with "There's Something About Mary" in one hand and a coffee in the other.

And when Jamie Galvin kidnaps her at that crime scene, you insist on spending the night on her horribly uncomfortable couch, so you know for a fact that she's safe.

And after a while, you forget what your own room looks likes because sometimes Jamie knocks on her door and you know that she's going to call you right after, in a panic, and you'll end up sleeping on her couch anyways.

And even after that, you don't sleep on the couch anymore, and when she goes to sleep - because she always goes to sleep before you - she kisses you goodnight and reminds you to shut off the TV before you come to bed.

You wonder how you went from finding her irritating, to greeting her each morning with the paper, a cup of coffee and a kiss.

You wonder how you became so domesticated, leaving for work at the same time, and promising to be home at a certain time, even though you both know that niether one of you will actually make it on time.

You wonder how easy it is to be around her, an how comfortable it is to have her around.

You wonder how she managed to make you feel safe at night and happy to come home each day.

And every night, when you climb into bed, and she's already asleep but she rolls over and reaches for you anyways and you just watch her sleep, you wonder.

You wonder how you managed to make it through the day without her in your arms.

You wonder why you hated what your life had become, and then a fiery redhead broke into a dead woman's apartment.

The End

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