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The thing is, you see, Kate wasn’t even supposed to be here. She left her office in a rush, abandoning unanswered emails and unfinished reports to their own devices, despite how many of them were marked as urgent. Kate knows it’s gross hyperbolism in most cases anyway, so whatever. The intelligence clearing form currently pressed against her chest is of actual importance. And missing a signature by Jane Tennant, which Kate is out to get now.
So, the thing is, she was never supposed to power-march through the NCIS bullpen today, using every step to inconspicuously seek out a glimpse of bouncing black locks and in the hopes to hear that familiar, carefree laugh that never fails to make her stomach flip in the most pleasant way. In all honesty, which she usually keeps to a minimum and she’d deny it in front of everyone including herself, she’s here because she wants to see Lucy. The form is merely an excuse.
Ever since she started dating… having an affair with… sleeping with Lucy Tara, Kate has become exceptionally good at finding excuses – both for shutting Lucy out because this is the worst idea she ever had and for showing up at Lucy’s doorstep at two in the morning because Lucy might as well be the best idea she ever had. Today the excuse is ‘ I need a signature from your boss but really I am only here for you because we haven’t seen each other in forever and it’s driving me crazy ’.
Well, forever might be a bit of a hyperbolism, too. The last time they saw each other was eight days and three hours ago, but who’s counting, shortly before Thanksgiving. Lucy had come over with Chinese take-out and after watching an episode of Love is Blind, they fucked on the couch. No one mentioned the holiday.
A part of Kate wanted to. Do the uncharacteristic, spur of the moment thing that would have been inviting Lucy to come up to Illinois with her. Instead of opening her mouth to say the actual words, Kate got so far into her head, worrying about asking too much, too soon, that Lucy squeezed her hip and asked if she was okay. Instead of saying the actual words, Kate rolled them over to kick-off another round. The next morning they parted ways after sharing a cup of coffee on the balcony and Lucy saying, “See you in a few days.”
They were excruciating. Not only because returning to the haunted place that once used to be her home, where there are four plates set out at the dining table every time, is keeping the trauma of Noah’s death fresh and alive after thirteen years. She also misses Lucy. Misses her like she hasn’t missed anyone since Noah and she is not used to it anymore. The relief she was filled with when she got into the taxi that would take her to the airport outside her parents house was brutal.
Kate didn’t text Lucy once she was home, though she came close a couple of times. I’m back. Want to meet for drinks? I’m home, how about you come over? You bring food and I bad reality TV? I missed you so much, I just want to see you, please come over.
Lucy didn’t text her either and that is why Kate grabbed the excuse in the form of the security clearing form with both, eagerly desperate hands this morning. By now she’s made it half-across the bullpen, heart sinking with every step because there’s no sight of Lucy. Of course, she could be out in the field, or grabbing an early lunch, or anywhere other than where Kate really, really needs her to be.
It is utterly and completely ridiculous because they aren’t really together, Kate isn’t even sure they are a thing in any known sense of the word but the disappointment wallows up in her with such intensity that she feels the hot prick of tears in her eyes.
“So, how was Whistler?”
Upon hearing Jesse Boone’s voice, Kate instinctively catapults herself behind one of the columns under the staircase. It’s not a rational decision. She panicked, okay? Maybe because she knows that Boone is not her biggest fan, calling her Mean Girl behind her back on several occasions in the past. Or because Kate always feels a little out of place in the halls of NCIS, only ever feeling like she might belong when Lucy is there, too. Or, if she’s honest, which she rarely is, she’s curious what Lucy has to say about her in front of others.
She wasn’t sure what to expect but it sure isn’t what Lucy says next.
“Cold and unpleasant, a real bitch.”
Kate feels like someone plunged a knife into her chest. For a single moment she allows herself to be hurt and confused. Sure, Kate has a cold shoulder, has shot down date ideas, conversations and any kind of interaction with Lucy in the past. And yes, she knows that she can be unpleasant when she red-tapes an NCIS case into oblivion or holds back information or asks Lucy to not leave her clothes strewn all over Kate’s apartment. Kate is aware that she can be a bitch, it’s an armor she’s carefully crafted for years after all. But she can’t remember any reason why Lucy should suddenly call her all three things in a single sentence. Then the moment passes. Jesse and Lucy keep walking and Kate buries her hurt under burning hot anger.
For the rest of the day Kate pretends that Lucy doesn’t exist. She ignores the flurry of texts around lunch, knows without checking they are from Lucy because no one else sends one-liners like her. Kate tries not to think about them and buries herself in work. The longer she pours over emails and briefing reports the less does she feel like a complete idiot. To think that she was considering saying yes to Lucy’s next date idea, no matter how ridiculous, or that she almost invited her back home, where she inadvertently would have had to talk about Noah. Now, it seems so foolish. To ever believe that Lucy could be someone worth opening up to. That she’d see all the ugly, broken and wrong parts about Kate and love her anyway.
Furious with herself, Kate drafts a new email, beginning with the words Per my last request , and shoves her pain away. It doesn’t resurface until it’s dark outside and she’s on the way to her car. Lucy hasn’t tried to contact her again but now her phone vibrates in her purse like an angry insect. Kate lets it ring. Lucy keeps calling. Over and over again and in the darkness of her car, Kate can’t help but wonder why she even tries. She also wonders why she bursts into tears when the calls stop. So, so foolish.
(*)
The next day Kate arrives in her office in some kind of zombie-mode. She was awake all night, tossing and turning, Lucy’s harsh words on loop in her mind.
Cold.
Unpleasant.
Bitch.
She had to redo her make-up twice this morning to hide the dark-circles under her eyes and all she wants is to hide somewhere where she doesn’t have to hide her pain. That is what Kate wants. DIA officer Whistler goes to briefings that could have been emails, sits through a three hour video-conference with someone from the D.C. headquarters about a security breach a couple months ago that had nothing to do with her and she’s patient and professional and not at all agonizing over how she’s supposed to ever look Lucy in the eyes again. Which will happen sooner or later because they are sort of colleagues after all.
She hoped for one more day to nurse her disappointment and paint on a mask that would allow her to strut into NCIS like nothing ever happened. She’s not being granted such kindness.
Most people have gone home already by the time Kate squints at the last of many dilettante requests to share one state secret or another. Behind her glasses, her eyes are burning, the stiffness in her neck reaches all the way down between her trapezius and her stomach is so empty it’s giving her a headache. None of that compares to that miserable feeling in her chest. So, Kate is actually a little bit glad about the knock at her door that gives her an excuse to stay a little bit longer at work.
“Come in.”
She’s not so glad about the person entering her office a moment later, lingering by the doorway as if unsure whether they really want to be here.
“Hey…”
Lucy sounds tired. It’s the first thing Kate notices. Tired in the way that lying awake all night, staring at the ceiling while you’re trying to get off the thought-carousel leaves you tired. Kate snaps her head up way too fast, because she cares, forgetting about Lucy’s true opinion of her and how she doesn’t know how to ever look at her again. Lucy doesn’t only sound tired she looks absolute beat, her face grayish and hair wild and in an uncanny way even tinier than usual. Which is why the blush creeping up her cheeks is all the more obvious.
It’s odd, at first, then Kate remembers her glasses and that Lucy insisted it was the hottest thing she’s ever seen the first time Kate wore them in front of her. She slides them off and places them neatly next to her laptop.
“It’s late, Agent Tara,” Kate says, voice picked carefully clean of any hint on what she’s been going through, “couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”
She watches how the light slowly dims in Lucy’s eyes without any satisfaction. Seeing Lucy like this doesn’t bring her some sick gratification, it just makes her sick. Not like Lucy deserves such sentiments after what she did. Still, all of this is easier as soon as Lucy’s initial softness shifts into a steely gaze and a sulk and a quick flex of her forearms that Kate really shouldn’t be paying so much attention to right now.
“We need access to some files. Ernie said they’re above our pay-grade, so here are the clearance requests.” Lucy’s voice is flat, detached as always when she’s mad and for a change Kate welcomes it.
Lucy drops the requests on the closed laptop without looking at her and Kate half expects her to leave without another word either. When she doesn’t, Kate asks. “Is there anything else?”
Lucy crosses her arms, tension rising in her muscles and expression. “We need that information urgently, can’t you take a look at them now?”
Kate’s jaw ticks. “As I already said, it’s late. I’ll go through them tomorrow.”
“Really? I mean…” Lucy gestures at the desk. “They are right there… can’t you just…?”
“Are you suggesting I’d rush through my work as a favor for NCIS?”
It’s a low-blow and everyone in the room is aware of it, Kate has done plenty of favors to NCIS in the past. Today though, she’s not in the mood to risk her career for a group of people that use her at best and secretly hate her at worst. She might have a masochistic streak, which this will-they-won’t-they affair is glaring proof of, but she also has self-respect.
At least it doesn’t seem she has to defend it right now because Lucy’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Of course not… Wouldn’t want you to accidentally break a rule to help us out.”
It’s a low-blow and everyone in the room knows it. Kate has broken many rules for NCIS in the past. For Lucy.
“I think you should go.”
“Kate… I…,” Lucy cuts herself off with a huff and a shake of her head. “Right. No. I’ll go.”
Kate returns her gaze to her desk, to the small stack of manila folders that will torture her every second she has to flip through them tomorrow. It’s safer than looking at Lucy’s back when she leaves. Which apparently she isn’t doing after all because Kate hears the familiar click of her door handle but not how the door falls shut.
“I tried calling, you know…”
Lucy’s voice is so small that Kate must strain her ears to understand her, gaze glued to the manila folders out of fear that one glimpse at Lucy’s large eyes might shatter her.
“I was looking forward to seeing you after the holiday but you… you ghost me? I was trying to figure out what I did wrong but… fuck, Whistler, I just don’t get it…”
Kate feels how she falters. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s pretending, that watery edge not like a masquerade. A lump forms in Kate’s throat.
“Lucy…” She goes as far as pushing her chair back, willing to give Lucy the benefit of the doubt or at least any chance at all to explain herself. Then she remembers how she cried herself to sleep last night and the disappointment slams up her throat as if to throttle her. “Please, go.”
On the way out, Lucy slams the door.
The tears come hot and fast, overwhelming Kate so there’s no way of stopping them. She presses a hand in front of her mouth, doubles over in her chair to push it all down and away, not risking a complete break-down at work. The next moment, the door flies open and Lucy is bursting back inside, a whirlwind of black locks and flashing eyes. A force of nature, righteous in her fury, that’s come to strike Kate down.
“You know what?! It’s not right!” Lucy shouts, a fast rush that makes the words sound like they’ve been held back for too long, growing and growing to end up being too big for Lucy’s mouth. “We have something special here, something… something good, okay? And you don’t get to shut me out like this, so you better tell me what is going because… shit, Whistler, are you crying?”
Kate hastily wipes at her cheeks, furious at herself that Lucy gets to see her like this, barging into her private pain all demanding and confused while she’s the one responsible for the tears. Before she can get a word of protest out, Lucy has crossed the small distance and is kneeling in front of her, one hand on Kate’s naked knee, the other halfway raised to Kate’s face, her expression wiped clean of everything but fierce care. Lucy lets her hand drop at the last second which allows Kate to suck down a wet, squeezing breath and find her voice.
“Don’t act so surprised.”
Lucy frowns. “What? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, please.” Kate curls her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, a desperate attempt to not curl them around Lucy’s hands instead. “I know what you really think of me. I heard you the other day.”
Lucy’s mouth drops open, her gaze fluttering to the left like she’s trying to remember but the crinkle of confusion remains between her brows when she speaks again. “What are you talking about?”
Kate scoffs. Curling her fingers tighter while she blinks fresh tears away. “Cold. Unpleasant. A real bitch. Weren’t those your exact words?”
Lucy lets out a little gasp and how dare she, to act so confused. “Whis… Kate, I have no idea what you mean.”
At last Kate snatches her hands away, Lucy’s touch unbearable, and she swallows the wetness in her throat to replace it with ice. “Maybe you should have your memory checked, it was yesterday. You and Jesse were coming from the break room in the bullpen. He asked you How was Whistler and you called me a cold, unpleasant bitch.”
“You heard that?” Lucy’s face goes slack and Kate has half a mind to kick her out that instant.
“I was there to get a signature from Tennant…”
The rest of her sentence is overshadowed by a burst of laughter. The kind that usually makes Kate’s stomach flip in the most pleasant way. Right now it makes her stomach turn into stone.
“You think this is funny?”
Lucy shakes her head but the giggles keep spilling out of her unhindered. “In a way…,” Lucy sucks in a big breath, cheeks red and eyes sparkling. “Gosh, I can’t believe this.”
And then she’s smiling up at Kate like the sun. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Kate is mentally grappling with what she just heard, which takes up most of her brain capacity, and leads to her biting her lip and tilting her head and, “You know another woman named Whistler I should know about?”
“No, you are the only Whistler in my life,” Lucy says it like Kate is many ‘onlys’ in her life, with bright eyes and a soft smile and Kate is oh so desperate to believe her, “but there’s also the city of Whistler.”
“The what?”
“It’s a famous resort city in Canada, great for skiing. I spent Thanksgiving there with my family, not that I wanted to, of course, but uhm… anyway.” Lucy grabs Kate’s hands with such care and she’s so fucking serious that Kate can barely stand the intensity of her gaze. “I didn’t mean you.”
“Oh…” A few tears escape Kate’s eyes.
Lucy reaches up to brush them away with her thumb. “I don’t think you’re cold, or unpleasant, or a bitch. I think you’re amazing.”
The first time Lucy said this to her, Kate’s heart was ready to burst from happiness but she held back when kissing Lucy. This time Kate pulls her up by the front of her shirt and crashes their lips together in a heated, open-mouth kiss. Lucy climbs into her lap, buries her hands in Kate’s ponytail and kisses back just as eager.
“Maybe, in the future, we should fuck less and communicate more,” Lucy pants into her mouth.
Kate circles one arm around Lucy’s waist to grasp a handful of her ass, husking against Lucy’s jumping pulse point, “Or maybe we keep the fucking the same but communicate more?”
“Uh…uhmh…,” Lucy hums and guides Kate’s face back up. “Lots of fucking. Lots of communicating. Sounds great. At your place or mine?”
In honor of the new resolution, Kate leans back, not quite able to suppress a grin at seeing her lipstick smeared all over Lucy’s face. “Let me take you out to dinner first, okay? To make up for my poor communication skills in the past and so you can tell me all about cold, unpleasant, bitchy Whistler.”
Lucy leans in again and Kate takes that as a yes.