Chapter Text
It’s been 18 months since she last saw Jo. 18 months spent without the woman she had fallen hopelessly in love with over Friday night drinks at Fredericos and almond croissants. 18 months of crying herself to sleep, of punching the living daylights out of the bags in the station’s gym, of drinking copious amounts of white wine that costs far too much to be drunk so quickly - but it’s the one that Jo brought the first time she visited Kate’s flat and the one that made her eyes twinkle, her nose scrunching up in the most delightful manner whenever Kate took it out of the fridge once their drinks at the bar turned into cosy nights spent on the sofa. God, the thirty five year old’s heart had exploded the first time she saw her boss’s crooked smile as the DI revealed she had brought the Scot’s favourite wine - and Kate had realised in that very second, as Jo whispered in such surprised yet evidently touched tones “You remembered?”, that she was head over heels in love with her boss. Since then, she had bought only that wine, wanting to see that expression of sheer joy as much as she could. And each time she did, Jo responded just as enthusiastically as she had done the first time, never once wavering in her surprised appreciation for the fact that for once someone in her chaotic painful life had paid enough attention to remember something so trivial about her.
Looking back, the short haired brunette was flooded with soft, warm hued memories of the two laughing at something silly on TV, of joking punches when one teased the other. Curling up under Jo’s tartan blanket (“Jesus Jo, we know you’re Scottish, you don’t need to conform to every stereotype yanno” she had laughed the first time she saw it, unable to help the giggle that escaped her soft lips as the older brunette threw a pillow at her face and stuck her tongue out in a way that was hopelessly endearing) while the English weather descended outside, battering rain against the windows.
At first they had been on different chairs, both cautious not to make the other uncomfortable and unsure of how to go about these more intimate nights spent at their homes. But then, after a particularly trying day at MIT and another awful argument with her bloody ex husband, Kate had burst into a series of heart wrenching sobs when Jo had asked how she was, and the older Scot was unable to stop herself from rushing to the younger woman’s side. She had taken Kate in her arms, rocking her gently as she stroked her hair and whispered soft words of praise and encouragement and just general comforting phrases into the brunette locks as her DI cried into her jumper. The sobs soon subsided, the tears finally running dry, but neither woman seemed particularly keen to break apart from the embrace. In fact, it was only when the doorbell rang and the crackly telecom burst into life, shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had descended upon Jo’s flat, that the two suddenly sprang apart as if they’d been burnt. The younger detective had excused herself to the bathroom while the Scot had gone to the door to collect their takeaway, ignoring the bizarre looks she was receiving from the teenage delivery driver at the wet patch decorating the front of her otherwise immaculate navy sweater.
From then on, the lingering touches on the arm at work and loaded glances just seemed to increase three fold - and when the two were in the comfort of their own homes, they often found themselves gravitating towards one another. Jo took to resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder, lightly dozing during films after a long day at work, and Kate bristled with pride at the fact her boss trusted her and felt so comfortable in her presence as to be in such a vulnerable state. On other occasions, Kate would end up with her head in the other woman’s lap, blissfully content as the Scot ran her slender fingers through her chocolate coloured locks. What had once been casual drinks after work turned into takeaways at home, then weekends spent out on walks, or at galleries (Kate found it hopelessly dull but she’d have watched paint dry if it meant following Jo, who always resembled an excited puppy as she explained each painting to the smitten young DI), sampling food at restaurants they’d been meaning to try or laughing so hard they got stitches at mini golf and bowling. It was rare for them to spend an evening apart towards the end, both of them happy as larry in their rose tinted bubble, unaware of the shitstorm that was about to derail their lives.
With a choked sob, Kate grabbed the familiar slender neck of the wine, slamming the fridge shut behind her. She couldn’t stop thinking about what could have been, of what might have happened if she’d stepped up and grown some balls and told Jo how she felt about her. God, maybe it would have all turned out differently and instead of facing yet another night alone in her flat, she would be turning to face a grinning Jo Davidson who was perched on the granite counter, legs swinging casually as she rang the Chinese for their takeaway.
“STOP.” She couldn’t help the strangled yell that escaped her lips, the pale skin bruised and sore from being repeatedly gnawed on by the tense detective. Everything in her place reminded her of the woman she’d lost, she was literally haunted by memories of the petite brunette who had turned her world so unexpectedly, delightfully, upside down.
She needed to stop thinking of Jo, of what she lost. There was no turning back the clock, no changing what had happened - she had to live with the decisions that she’d made, no matter how painful or how much she regretted them. Jo, if she even still went by Jo anymore (Kate couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness that Jo, her Jo, might have even had to give up her name in order to be free from those foul men) was no doubt happy, safe and far away from the OCG (and Kate, she thought with another pang), finally living the life that she deserved. Even if the short haired detective was hurting, her heart breaking into thousands of pieces every single day, she was at least grateful for the fact that the Scot was out of harms way now.
Chucking the cork in the vague direction of the sink, Kate poured herself a generous serving of the wine and quickly drained the sizeable drink in one. She lifted the bottle to fill the delicate stemmed glass again before pausing, deciding that there was no point - she was going to finish it before the night was over, so she might as well drink from the bottle. After all, it’s not like she had any company to impress. And so, with the walk of a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, Kate headed towards the sofa, dreading the thought of work tomorrow and contemplating pulling a sickie.
After 18 months of acting superintendents, the powers that be had finally hired a replacement for Jo and her new boss was officially starting tomorrow. Already Kate hated her, had loathed her for the simple fact that she was here and Jo wasn’t. It was childish, immature and utterly ridiculous but for some bizarre reason, hating this unknown woman helped her feel a little better, so for now the detective was content to channel her pent up emotions in this direction.
At the end of the day, anything had to be better than punching holes in the wall right?