Chapter Text
“Come on, one more drink,” Lucy says, already flagging down the bartender.
Jesse is shaking his head before she even finishes begging. He’s got his keys in one hand and an affectionate smile on his face, but he’s putting a few bills down on the bar and he’s already pushed the stool in. “It’s my turn for night terror duty.”
Lucy frowns. “Still?”
Jesse shrugs a shoulder. “I did some research. Apparently, it’s a thing. But they said it’ll pass. It’s just a few sleepless nights for us while we get through it. But , that means I’ve got to get going.” He pauses, hands curled around the back of the stool as he looks at her. “You’re good on your own?”
The truth is, she’d rather be with someone. It wasn’t an easy case this time. Not that any of them are easy, really. But sifting through the life of a dead sailor only to find out he was basically an island living on an island, no friends and no family, had kind of put into perspective that, outside of her team, she doesn’t really have a lot going on.
But Jesse doesn’t want to hear that. So she smiles brightly and waves him off. “Of course. I’ll probably just finish this next drink and head home anyway so I can sleep it off. Get into work early, you know?”
“It’s been nine months since you started with us, Luce. You know you don’t have to work so hard to impress Tennant, right?” Jesse drops a heavy hand to her shoulder and squeezes gently. “She likes you. She wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if she didn’t think you were up for the job.”
Lucy feels her cheeks flare a little bit. She’s sure she’s not exactly subtle about wanting to prove herself. But this is a big deal and Tennant is… really good at her job. And she’s an Asian woman in a male-dominated field. It’s a lot to look up to. Lucy wouldn’t trade this chance for all of Texas.
“Yeah, whatever,” she finally manages. She pushes at Jesse’s hand, a smile on her face. “Get out of here, Dad . I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”
Jesse takes slow steps towards the door, walking backwards as he points a finger at her. “Okay. Don’t stay out too late. Remember your curfew.”
Lucy glances at the guy sitting next to her, staring at her and Jesse in confusion. “What can I say? Kids are having kids these days.”
Jesse laughs and shakes his head, spinning on his heel. “Goodnight, Lucy.”
“Goodnight,” she sings back, turning to face the bar. The bartender, a big guy named Gus, is putting another drink down in front of her and picking up the money Jesse left behind, tucking it into a glass jar on the bar. “Thanks.” Lucy tips the glass at him and takes a sip, sighing at the burn of the tequila in the back of her throat. She looks past the bartender at the mirrored wall behind him.
“Hey!” She turns on the stool, elbows nearly hitting the guy next to her as she spins. “What’re you doing here?”
Kate Whistler stops, one arm stuck in her blazer as she seems to register Lucy sitting in front of her. She sighs. “Agent Tara.”
“Lucy,” she corrects automatically.
Whistler doesn’t seem to care. “I’m out for a drink. Obviously.”
Lucy smiles a little wider. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” she says, doing her best Humphrey Bogart. Whistler doesn’t smile back. “From Casablanca ? You know, the movie with-”
“I’ve seen it,” Whistler says shortly. “It just wasn’t… entertaining.”
“One of the greatest movies of all time wasn’t entertaining?”
“I meant you.”
Oh. Lucy sits back in her seat a little, her shoulders dropping. The guy next to her snorts softly, and she turns to glare at him before she looks back at Whistler. “Well, why don’t you do one better?”
“Not interested.” Whistler looks at the long bar and sighs again.
Lucy follows her eyes and feels a little thrill of excitement when she realizes the only free seat at the bar is the one Jesse gave up. She can see Whistler turning it over in her mind. She either has to sit next to Lucy or put on that stuffy blazer she picked out this morning and head back out to look for another place to get a drink.
With a growing smile, Lucy pats the barstool next to her. “Come on. I don’t bite.”
Whistler eyes her warily, but another person enters the bar behind her and Whistler almost lurches into the seat, knees hitting Lucy’s thigh as she settles in the seat. “Don’t get too excited about this,” Whistler warns.
“I didn’t realize excitement was one of the emotions you were programmed with.” Lucy grins.
“Ha.” Whistler lifts a finger, trying to catch the attention of the bartender. He nods at her to wait a minute, and Lucy watches in interest as Whistler picks up a napkin and starts folding it in half. “What?” Whistler asks after a moment, voice hard and defensive.
Lucy shrugs. “Just didn’t take you for a fidgeter.”
Whistler immediately drops the napkin. “I am not someone who fidgets.”
“I just watched you fidget.”
“I did not-”
“Usual?” Gus asks Whistler.
Lucy’s eyes widen in surprise. Whistler ignores her, nodding and keeping her eyes fixed on her own reflection in the mirror. Lucy thinks she sees them flicker towards her, but it’s too quick and she can’t be sure. They sit in silence until Gus comes back with a tall-stemmed glass, putting the wine down in front of Whistler. She takes a measured sip of her tequila while Whistler sips her wine.
“So you have a usual,” Lucy says after another minute.
“I knew you were going to say something,” Whistler says almost immediately. “I’ve been here only a few times. Gus is just really good at his job. It’s not hard to mess up a glass of wine.”
Lucy shrugs a shoulder. “Who cares if you come here often enough to have a usual? Everyone should have a place they can be a regular.”
Whistler is still scowling a little bit. “I’m just an easy order to remember, that’s all.”
“Well, you’re not hard to miss,” she agrees.
Whistler’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
Lucy makes a face. “What? You’re, like, freakishly tall.”
“I am not freakishly tall.” Whistler scowls. She pauses for a second. “Maybe you’re freakishly short.”
Lucy puts a hand to her chest, feigning shock. “I am the perfect height, my daddy always said.”
Whistler snorts and the sound catches Lucy off guard. She smiles, pleased with herself for a reason she can’t explain, and takes a sip of her drink. It’s not too much this time, turning into a pleasant burn that warms her stomach. Whistler rolls her eyes, but Lucy thinks she sees a hint of a smile in the corner of her lips.
“Fine. What does your daddy say about you?”
Any trace of a smile on Whistler’s face disappears instantly. Lucy doesn’t need to be skilled at reading people to know she veered off into a conversation topic that Whistler clearly doesn’t want to participate in. She follows it up with a smile instead, holding her drink up just a little bit in Whistler’s direction.
“To drinking on a weeknight,” she toasts.
Whistler takes a second, but she holds her own wine glass up and tips it. “To weeknights.”
Lucy brightens, a large smile on her face. She keeps smiling even as she takes a sip of her drink. She smiles when she puts it down, and when she catches Whistler’s eye in the mirror, and when she turns to look at Whistler head on.
“What?” Whistler finally asks.
“I just didn’t know you went out.” Lucy holds up a hand when Whistler looks like she’s going to speak. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just a… you seem like the kind of person who likes to drink alone.”
“I was going to drink alone. You just happened to be here.”
“Lucky me.” Lucy takes a sip of her drink, smiling into her glass when Whistler rolls her eyes. She puts it down and turns to face Whistler fully. Whistler’s eyes widen, then narrow in suspicion. “So, shop talk or no shop talk.”
“Shop talk?”
“Yeah, like, work. Do you have a strict ‘no work after work’ policy?” Lucy shakes her head. “You don’t seem like the kind of girl who leaves work on a 9-5 schedule. I know I’m not. Hazard of the job, right?”
Whistler nods slowly. “Right. No. Crime waits for no man.”
Lucy laughs and Whistler seems to startle. “Crime waits for no man. You should put that on a t-shirt. Wear it to work. I’m sure your bosses would get a kick out of it.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t.”
Lucy doesn’t let her smile falter. “It was a joke.”
“Oh.” Whistler tries for a smile that turns out more like a grimace. “Right.” She taps her fingers against the bartop. Lucy sees her reach for the napkin still there, but she also glances at Lucy out of the corner of her eye and settles for folding her hands together, clenching them tightly into a fist. “I don’t talk about work when I'm in public. There’s too many strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” Lucy reminds her.
“We don’t really know each other.” Whistler shrugs when Lucy pouts.
“You’re not really a forthcoming person,” Lucy tries to argue.
“Maybe you’re not asking the right questions.” There’s a hint of a smirk on Whistler’s face when Lucy’s face drops. It widens into a smile when Lucy huffs and turns back to facing the mirror behind the bar. “I’ll give you one question,” she starts.
Lucy is already turning back to face her before Whistler is done offering. “How many times a week do you go out?”
Whistler frowns. “That’s what you want to know?”
Lucy shrugs. “It’s a safe question, right? One you’ll definitely answer.”
“What if I lie?” Whistler challenges.
“Oh, I’m well-trained in espionage.”
“Espionage.” Whistler makes a small noise in the back of her throat that Lucy immediately clocks as a snort. She’s not used to that noise; usually Whistler is scoffing at her, huffing at her questions in a way that screams “I’m done with this conversation and with you.” But this noise is different. Softer. Human . “What do you know about espionage?”
“What do you ?”
Whistler shakes her head. “You got your one question. You wasted it. Now, how are you going to tell if I’m lying or not?”
“I told you. I’m trained. And I spent years playing poker. So you can say I can spot a bluff up to thousands of miles away.” So what if it was online , she says to herself, fighting a smile.
Whistler looks like she’s going to ask a question, but closes her mouth and presses her lips together for a moment. “Once a week,” she finally says. “Usually here.”
Lucy studies her face, looking for a tell. The longer she looks, the more she thinks to herself: Huh. Whistler is pretty. Classically pretty. Sorority pretty. The kind of pretty that screams, “If I smiled more than I frowned, I could leave with at least three phone numbers right now.” But even if she’s not smiling, she’s still pretty . And Lucy…Lucy has always had a fondness for pretty girls.
She swallows, throat suddenly dry. Whistler’s face starts to twist into confusion, but Lucy opens her mouth to cut her off.
“Why this place?”
“You only get one question,” Whistler reminds her.
Lucy groans. “Oh, come on. You’re really going to cut this conversation short because you don’t want to tell me why, out of all the places on the island, you like this one?”
Whistler shrugs, but after a minute, says, “I like Gus.”
“Gus?” Lucy looks at the bartender. He’s a decent looking guy, if you’re into that. His hair is longer and around his ears, but he has it tied back with a bandana around his head. He definitely works out, if his bulging arms are any indication. And his face is… symmetrical. Weird, though. She didn’t think he was Whistler’s type. “I mean, he’s-”
“Oh. Oh , no.” Whistler’s face breaks into a little bit of a smile, and she lets out a small laugh. “No. He just helped out one night when someone got a little handsy. Not that I couldn’t take care of it myself. But it was sweet of him to try.”
Lucy lifts her drink into the air. “To Gus.”
Whistler pauses for a moment before lifting her own. “To Gus.”
Lucy waits until Whistler is drinking from her glass before she casually puts hers down. “For a minute, I thought you liked liked Gus.”
Whistler coughs into her drink, grabbing the napkin on the bartop to delicately wipe at her chin before any of her wine gets on her clothes. She coughs again, her cheeks pink. “That I liked liked Gus? What are you, twelve? Is that why you’re so short?”
“Hey, I’m funsized ,” Lucy says defensively. “And don’t change the subject. You like Gus. There’s nothing wrong with that,” she goads. She can see the gears churning in Whistler’s head. She decides to push on. She doesn’t know much about Kate Whistler, but she knows she has a limited window here. “Anyway, we should have done this sooner. Us new kids need to stick together.”
“There’s not a lot of extracurricular time with the DIA.”
“Extracurricular time.” Lucy snorts. “What is this? A sorority? It’s hang out time. After work time. Where you can let your hair…Do you ever wear it down?”
Whistler frowns and touches the terminal ponytail she always seems to have her hair tied up in. “I’ve found it much more effective to have it away from my face.”
Lucy studies Whistler for a moment. She can hardly picture what it would look like if Whistler did wear it down. It obviously hangs past her shoulders. And it looks silky in the lowlights above the bar. Like it would just slip through her fingers if she were to reach out and-
“Are you alright?”
Lucy startles a little bit, eyes blinking owlishly before she lets her face slip into a mask of indifference. “What? I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m just wondering how someone would pick you to mess with.”
Whistler bristles a little, pulling her shoulders back as her mouth presses into a hard line.
“Oh, no. No,” Lucy rushes on. “I just meant-"
“Sure,” Whistler cuts her off, taking a sip of her drink, not looking at Lucy.
Lucy sits in silence for a minute, working over how to walk back what she thinks is just a misunderstanding. She watches as Whistler starts to take more frequent sips from her drink, clearly intending to finish it before Lucy. Probably to get away faster. Lucy frantically works something over in her mind before she brings her hand down on the bartop, startling even herself.
“Jesse’s kid told me a joke the other day. Want to hear it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I think Jesse told him, personally. He has these weird moments where he’s so obviously a dad, you know? Anyway, it was, what do rain clouds wear under their pants?”
Whistler’s eyes cut to her briefly.
“Thunderpants!” Lucy smiles wide. “Get it? Like, thunder?”
“I get it,” Whistler says after a minute. The thin line of her lips loosens a little. “That was a bad joke.”
“Oh, I didn’t promise you a good one. Like I said, I think it was Jesse. It sounds exactly like the kind of corny thing he’d pass off as something he’d make Jake say.” Lucy shrugs. “But I thought it was funny.’
“It was… marginally humorous,” Whistler allows.
Lucy’s smile stretches, impossibly wide. “I’ve been told that, you know. That I’m marginally humorous, I mean. It’s my most talked about trait, really.”
Whistler rolls her eyes, shoulders softening. “I’m sure that’s the first thing people say about you, yeah.”
“Well, not the first thing. They usually say I’m incredibly hot,” Lucy volleys, waiting to see where it lands.
It lands exactly where Lucy kind of hoped it would: a pale red splash across Whistler’s cheeks. Whistler doesn’t turn to her, though, still sipping her drink. Lucy smiles into her own, finishing it and dropping it back down onto the bar with a dull thud of the glass against the wood.
“You’re better looking than Carter, at least,” Whistler finally says. There’s a quick tug of her lips, like she might be smiling for just a second.
“Oh, Carter. He’s about one wrong move from a water crime grave.” Lucy signals for Gus, holding up two fingers, and he gives her a nod of acknowledgment as he finishes up with another customer. “Another?”
Whistler sighs, fingers working around the thin stem of the glass she’s holding. Lucy can see her looking at the door in the bar’s mirror, clearly contemplating her next choice. Lucy doesn’t let herself hope too much, but she’s enjoying this. It helps that Kate isn’t hard to look at and has a sense of humor their professional interactions haven’t really alluded to. Lucy finds herself wanting to sit a little closer, and wanting to know a little more.
“Come on,” she says after Whistler is silent for a little bit longer. “I’m the funnest person at this bar. Who else are you going to hang out with?”
Whistler finally turns a little. “Who says I have to stay here and talk to anyone else?”
“What’re you going to do? Go home? That’s not very fun.”
“Maybe it’s more fun than sitting here talking to you.” Whistler arches an eyebrow, challenging her.
Lucy can’t help but smile back. She likes this. She’s always liked the push and pull of a good conversation, of skating the line between biting remarks and something genuine. And Kate Whistler is shaping up to be something totally different than what Lucy thought. Sure, she’s still a little uptight, still a little too buttoned up for this time of night, but she’s also smiled more in the last hour than she has in the entire time Lucy has known her. Something about that feels like it could be a little addicting.
“I’m the most fun you’re going to have on a Tuesday night,” Lucy drawls a little.
Whistler snorts, loud enough that the guy on the other side of Lucy looks over. She narrows her eyes at him over Lucy’s shoulder, and he turns back around quickly. “Clearly, you know nothing about me and my Tuesday nights.”
“Why don’t you stay and tell me, then?”
Two drinks appear on the bar in front of them - another tequila mixer and a wine. Gus gives them a short smile and moves down the bar to someone else.
“Looks like Gus decided for you,” Lucy sings.
Whistler looks only a little annoyed. “That’s Gus for you, always getting involved,” she says, words stilted.
Lucy slides the wine glass towards Whistler. “Don’t be too hard on Gus. He’s supposed to be trained in body language and clearly, your body is saying…” She trails off, eyes sliding casually up and down Whistler’s body as she thinks about what she’s going to say next.
She must take too long because Whistler turns to her with a raised brow, looking expectantly. Lucy swallows, her throat dry for the second time tonight.
“Yes?” Whistler prompts.
“Well, your body is saying that you, uh,” Lucy starts. She smiles, her stomach fluttering a little nervously for a reason she’s not sure she could articulate if DIA Officer Whistler decided to interrogate her about it. “I’m just saying, it seems like you want to stay. But consent is sexy, right? That’s what I always say. And if you want to leave, that’s fine. That’s better than fine. That’s great!” She winces. “It would be great, though, if you stay? Just one more drink. I’m really not looking forward to going home,” she lets slip.
Whistler softens even more. “Hard day?”
“Aren’t they all?” Lucy sighs and runs a hand through her hair before smiling hopefully. “Make it better?”
“Agent T- Lucy,” Whistler corrects quickly. She sighs and picks up her wine glass, taking a delicate slip. “I’m only doing this because I feel sorry for you.”
Lucy presses a hand to her chest, over her heart as she bats her eyes at Whistler. “You feel something for me.”
Whistler groans and rolls her eyes, already holding up a hand to stop Lucy. She doesn’t care, grinning ear to ear as she goes on.
“I’ll remember this. I’ll tell everyone. We’ll put it in the inter-office newsletter. We’ll-”
She nearly chokes when a warm hand comes up over her mouth and presses it closed. Whistler glares, but her mouth is betraying her, lips twitching as she tries not to smile.
“Shut up, or I leave.”
Lucy crosses her fingers, then makes an X over her heart. Whistler slowly lets her hand fall away and Lucy misses the heat of it, of warm fingers on her cheek. She lets her tongue wet her suddenly dry lips and gives Whistler a crooked smile before she takes a drink with a hand that only quivers for a second before she tells herself to get it under control.
“Consider me quiet,” she manages.
“Good,” Whistler says with a smile. “Then we’re going to get on just fine.”
*
“Okay, but then he went headfirst into a group of soccer moms,” Lucy says, waving her arms wildly, the bar mostly cleared out and spared the tenth story she’s told of Jesse tackling a suspect. The guy next to her is gone, making a hasty exit after accidentally touching her boob reaching for a cocktail napkin and then getting glared at by Whistler.
Whistler, who is laughing now, her chin in her hand as she looks at Lucy. “ Into soccer moms.”
Lucy grins back. “That’s the last time Tennant asked him to come to a soccer game.” She laughs again. “We wouldn’t let him live it down.”
Whistler’s eyes widen and she jabs a finger at Lucy, almost poking her in the forehead. “Is that why it was going around that Agent Boone was a hit with local moms?”
Lucy snorts. “ Jesse ,” she emphasizes. “And yeah. A hit. He took one of them out. I thought he knocked her hard enough to send her back to the mainland.” She drinks for a minute, her throat a little dry from story after story. It’s her fourth now. One with Jesse and now three with Whistler, despite Whistler’s insistence that she was only going to stay for one more.
Whistler swirls the last of her wine in the glass, finishing it in a single swallow before she puts it down on the bar. Lucy watches her as she does, eyes lingering on the elegant line of Whistler’s neck as she tips her head back. She’s been doing that the last hour or so, watching Whistler as she speaks and laughs and sips her drink. The longer she looks, the more she finds herself unable to look away. There’s something about Whistler right now that draws Lucy in and keeps her captive.
“Sorry, ladies. But we’re closing up,” Gus says, interrupting Lucy as she opens her mouth to tell Whistler about the time Tennant went up one side of a HPD captain and down the other.
Lucy pouts. “ Gus ,” she sings, drawing out the ‘u’. “Y’all can’t let us stay just a little bit longer?”
Gus gives her a friendly smile. “Sorry, Lucy. I already let you stay through picking up.”
Lucy sits up a little and looks around. Gus isn’t lying; most of the bar is picked up. Chairs are up on tables, and a young guy is mopping near the bathrooms. There’s no one else in here, either. Just them. She looks back at Whistler. Even she seems surprised.
“We’re sorry,” Whistler says, reaching into her purse. She pulls out some bills, pressing them into Gus’ hand. “We didn’t mean to-”
“No stress,” Gus says easily. “You guys were easy.”
“Still,” Whistler continues. “We’re going to get out of your hair.” She slides off the barstool and gathers her blazer, folding it over her arm. She grabs for Lucy, her hand warm on Lucy’s bare skin.
“It’s very good hair,” Lucy says as she lets Whistler tug her off the stool and onto her feet. “Seriously, what is your-”
“Thank you,” Whistler says over Lucy. She tugs again, pulling Lucy a few feet across the floor towards the door.
“See you later,” Gus calls, lifting a hand in a goodbye as he smiles. He picks up their glasses and turns away from them.
Whistler doesn’t let her go, pulling her towards the door and out into the balmy night. It feels a little sticky, but there’s a breeze that slips under Lucy’s shirt and cools her down. Lucy lets herself be led into the parking lot where a few cars sit on opposite sides of the lot. Whistler stops and Lucy stumbles next to her, their hands bumping as Whistler drops her arm.
“That’s me,” Whistler says, pointing to her car.
“No,” Lucy pouts. “We’re having fun.”
Whistler smiles. Somehow it looks better in the clear moonlight than it did inside the bar. “We have work tomorrow. Fun has to end eventually.”
“Okay, fair point. But .” Lucy curls her fingers around Whistler’s wrist, lifting it into the air and using it to point at Whistler. “What if you stayed out a little longer? You’re not going to turn into a pumpkin, are you?” She narrows her eyes, leaning in a little closer. “Are you secretly Cinderella? You’re pretty enough to be her. Maybe y’all are actually the same person.”
Whistler studies her face for a second. “You think I’m pretty?”
Lucy’s fingers tighten around Whistler’s wrist. “I think everyone thinks you’re pretty. Gus, probably. Definitely that guy who you made leave the bar. Scary, but pretty. And-”
“Lucy,” Whistler says over her, shaking her head.
Lucy smiles wide. “You said my name?”
Whistler rolls her eyes. “I’ve been saying it all night.”
Lucy thinks, for one fleeting moment that catches her off guard, that she wouldn’t mind if Whistler said it for a long time. She blinks at the thought and tries to shake it off. Instead, she gives Whistler a wide smile and shakes her hand, watching it move around under her grip.
“Just another drink,” Lucy says. She slides her fingers up Whistler’s hand until they’re tangling with Whistler’s. Her hand is even warmer now, her palm nearly burning against Lucy’s. She watches Whistler look down at their hands before looking back at her, eyes a little darker. Must be the night , Lucy thinks to herself, even as she stares longer. “You could…” She takes a deep breath in. “You are, you know.”
She’s thought it all night, really. Since the moment Whistler sat down next to her. Maybe even longer than that. She has eyes. Whistler is good looking. She’s even heard around the office that Whistler is hot. Mean girl-hot, sure. Still, hot.
But Lucy thinks she’s pretty . Softer, in this light with that smile on her face. It’s unlike every smile Lucy has ever seen before. And Lucy’ll admit it, four drinks in. She’s kind of hooked on this smile.
“I am, what?” Whistler asks.
Lucy blinks again. Whistler is closer now. Or maybe Lucy moved in. Their hands have dropped, hanging together between them. She can see Whistler’s eyes and the specks in them, catching the light. Whistler is still smiling, though it’s starting to fade the longer Lucy looks at her. Lucy opens her mouth to say something, but Whistler shakes her head, just enough for Lucy to catch it and she closes her mouth.
“This is a bad idea,” Whistler whispers.
Lucy nods, feeling like she has to agree, even as she tightens her grip on Whistler’s hand. It’s a bad idea - whatever the idea is. But it doesn’t stop her from thinking that this might be the smartest idea she’s ever had. Bad ideas can be like that.
“Do you care?” Lucy whispers back.
Whistler shakes her head again even as she says, “I think I should.”
And Lucy is going to say something. She’s going to plead her case. Something convincing that’ll knock the wind right out of the sails pushing Whistler in the other direction. But before she can do that, before she can get a word out in her defense, Whistler is ducking her head.
Whistler is kissing her.
Lucy kisses her back quickly, feeling like this moment was inevitable. She nearly presses up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer. Whistler’s hand, the one not laced in hers, comes up and rests against her cheek, holding her still as Whistler’s mouth opens under hers. Lucy can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. Whistler’s mouth is wine-soaked and a little bitter, but Lucy doesn’t care, kissing her a little harder.
A car alarm beeps as someone unlocks the door, and Whistler startles, backing up. Lucy sways into her, almost falling over.
“Wait, we can-”
Whistler is shaking her head, and Lucy feels the disappointment creeping in. But the hand in hers doesn’t pull away. Whistler brushes her thumb over the back of Lucy’s hand. “We could, uh…” She gives a hesitant smile. Lucy knows she’s going to instantly say yes to anything Whistler says. “My place isn’t far, if you wanted?”
“I want to,” Lucy says quickly. She winces. “But Gus took my keys.”
“My car?” Whistler asks.
But Lucy is already pulling her phone out of her pocket, opening the Uber app and ordering one before Whistler is done asking the question. She smiles and slides her phone back into her pocket, walking her fingers up Whistler’s bare arm and into the crook of her elbow. “How can we waste the time?”
Whistler smiles and leans in again.
*
The sun wakes Lucy up first, warming her face before it turns into something blinding. She groans as she tries to close her eyes even tighter, turning to press her face into the cool pillowcase under her. Her nose wrinkles as she breathes in an unfamiliar smell: cherry blossom, Lucy thinks.
The sound of an alarm starts, quiet at first and then louder and louder as it continues on in her ear. A long arm reaches across her, pressing at the button on the alarm clock with startling accuracy for what Lucy assumes is very early in the morning.
“Morning,” a voice husks into Lucy’s ear.
Lucy wiggles away from the hot air against her skin and groans when that arm across her tightens, trapping her. She huffs more than laughs, turning over with eyes closed, only opening them when a nose brushes her own.
“Morning.”
Whistler smiles and Lucy can’t help but smile back. She spent all night on a personal mission to get that smile aimed at her, and it didn’t stop once they managed to make their way through the door to Whistler’s apartment. She tried through tugging Whistler’s boots off one by one. She tried through finding the buttons of Whistler’s crisp shirt and the clasp on her bra. She tried through pulling off her own cotton t-shirt, succeeding in getting that smile and elbowing herself in the nose so hard that she had tears in her eyes for a moment.
Whistler had laughed hard at that, falling back onto the bed and exposing the flat of her stomach. Lucy had wiped her eyes and forgotten about kicking off her pants, running her hands up Whistler’s impressively long legs, fingertips pressing into her soft skin as she took a second to remind herself to breathe.
A finger presses into her cheek now, and Lucy starts a little, her forehead bumping against Whistler’s.
“It’s morning,” Lucy breathes. She leans in closer, her mouth brushing Whistler’s bottom lip. Whistler is probably one of those people who sets their alarm hours before they need to be at work. Usually, Lucy gives herself an hour - she needs to be at work before Tennant, definitely. But Whistler probably gives herself two, at least.
She can take advantage of that.
Whistler sighs into her mouth, her body shifting until they’re pressed together. Lucy’s hand slides along Whistler’s leg, up and over her hip to the dip in her waist. Her skin is sleep-warm, and Lucy soaks it in. She presses her fingernails in and smiles when Whistler startles a little under her touch.
Lucy moves to slide a leg between Whistler’s when the alarm goes off again. She groans, flopping backwards against the bed and slapping a hand down on the clock, not quite hitting the button. Whistler’s long arm stretches out across her and presses it easily, the noise instantly gone.
“That’s my alarm,” Whistler says. Her voice sounds a little funny, a little strangled.
Lucy smiles, pressing her face into Whistler’s bare shoulder. “I thought it was the doorbell, actually.”
Whistler stiffens a little under her touch. “We should get up.”
Lucy groans and throws an arm across Whistler’s stomach, pulling her closer. Whistler doesn’t come easily, arms moving between them like she suddenly doesn’t know where to put them, as if she didn’t run them over Lucy’s body last night with growing confidence.
“Come on,” she goads gently. “We probably have hours until we need to get dressed. Hours to do whatever we want.” She kisses Whistler’s shoulder and then bites down gently. She winces, slightly guilty, as she thinks about the two marks she left on Whistler’s skin, just below her collarbone and in the dip of her hip. “I’m sure your routine can wait for one morning. Wheatgrass isn’t really that great, you know.”
Whistler curls her arm around Lucy’s, palm sleep-warm. But instead of pulling her in, Whistler pushes gently. “We should get up.”
Lucy pouts. “Is it because I said wheatgrass? I was just kidding.” She walks two fingers up and over Whistler’s shoulder, sliding her hand into Whistler’s hair. She grins when Whistler’s eyes flutter closed for just a second. “I’m sure you’re actually into coconut water first thing in the morning.”
“We need to get up,” Whistler says again. She gently pulls Lucy’s hand from her hair, putting it down as she slides out of bed. She pauses, patting Lucy’s hand a few times, her brow wrinkled. “Yeah. We should-”
“Get up,” Lucy finishes. She sighs and rolls out of bed and stretches her arms above her head, listening to her shoulders pop. She exhales, her body loose and her eyes closed. When she opens them again, Whistler is staring at her, throat bobbing as she swallows hard. It sends a thrill though Lucy and when she picks up a loose shirt - a grey one with purple lettering that definitely doesn’t fit her - she puts it on slowly.
“Right,” Whistler says, her voice too loud. “We should-”
Lucy frowns at her. “Are you malfunctioning?”
Whistler’s cheeks flush red. “What? No, I’m just saying that- We really need to-” Flustered, Whistler picks up a sweatshirt and pulls it on. Lucy studies it for a moment. Greek letters. She files it away for later, focusing instead on the way Whistler’s long legs stretch out from the hem of that sweatshirt. Whistler clears her throat and Lucy’s eyes snap back to hers. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Lucy tips her head to one side. “Shouldn’t have done…”
“This,” Whistler says, gesturing between them impatiently. “This… thing that we did.”
“Sleeping together.” Lucy’s mouth pulls in one corner as she smiles. “Well, we didn’t do a ton of sleeping, if you know what I-”
“I know what you mean, Lucy.” Whistler sighs. She sounds exasperated, more like the Whistler Lucy knew before last night. That smile is gone, replaced by a slight frown. “But this was a mistake. An accident.”
“It was very much on purpose.” Lucy rounds the bed slowly, hands drifting to the hem of Whistler’s sweatshirt. She works it up a little bit. “Come on. It was fun. We had fun.”
Whistler’s hands come down over Lucy’s, pushing them away. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she says again.
Lucy frowns. “What happened to the woman from last night? Where did she go?”
Whistler flinches just a little, but there’s a steely look in her eyes. And that, at least, is something Lucy knows well. She’s seen it over and over again, whenever Whistler comes into the office to get something - or stop them from getting something. This is Business-Whistler. Last-Night-Whistler is nowhere to be found.
“I’m going to get in the shower,” Whistler says, her words just a little kinder than her eyes. “The coffee machine makes single cups, if you want one.”
Lucy shakes her head, still trying to catch up. “Whistler, I-”
“I’ll see you at work.” Whistler cuts her off, nodding sharply. With almost military-like precision, she turns on her heel and disappears into the bathroom off her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
It leaves Lucy in her bedroom, blinking at the bathroom door as she slowly works the facts over in her mind. Whistler was at the bar. Whistler invited her home last night. Whistler woke up this morning a completely different person than the night before. Whistler is… kicking her out.
Huh .
Slowly, she finds the pair of underwear she kicked off last night, pulling them on slowly. She keeps looking at the bathroom door, half hoping Whistler comes out to explain the sudden whiplash. She grabs her pants from the back of the uncomfortable-looking chair in the corner of the room. Her shirt is on the dresser, but she doesn’t take off the one she’s wearing, folding her own in half and shoving it into her pants pocket. Her phone is on the counter, and she scoops that up too. She runs a hand through her hair and looks at the bathroom door one last time before she makes her way back to the apartment’s front door, pausing with her hand on the knob.
The shower starts, and Lucy exhales.
She slips out the door and lets it close behind her. Leaning back against it, she sighs. Women .
Her phone beeps and she turns it over. One new message from Tennant; a new case. She texts Jesse that she’ll pick up coffee on the way and pushes off the door.
She doesn’t agree with Whistler. It wasn’t a mistake. But she was right about one thing: it won’t happen again.