Title: SNEAK

Author: Misty Flores

Fandom: Women's Murder Club/Popular Crossover
Genre: Lindsay/Cindy, Sam/Brooke, and an assortment of fun.

Teaser: Murder, Pride Parades, hot brunettes and ill-fated hookups: like Lindsay Boxer didn't already have enough to deal with.

Notes, etc: The version of Sam used in this story comes from another embarrassingly long Brooke/Sam saga I wrote a while ago called 'Just a Little Insight'. But you don't have to read that to get this. I just used Sam because... it's Sam. And Carly Pope is hot.

EPILOGUE.

"Did you know I entered law school under the mistaken assumption that being able to logically form arguments and present them would somehow or other deter me from making the bad decisions I'm so very good at making?"

Lindsay Boxer stared dizzily at her, lit roach in one hand. Leaning back against the bench, she turned her head and carefully blew out a thin stream of smoke.

"I didn't even know you were capable of forming a complex sentence when you're stoned."

Jill's smile was gentle, and carefully, she leaned forward and plucked the joint out of Lindsay's fingers to inhale.

"Please," she said, after the euphoric feeling passed through her with the tinted smoke. "I'm a lawyer. I'm a damned good lawyer."

"You're a great lawyer," Lindsay agreed, eyes closed as she leaned back and allowed the moonlight shafting down onto the porch to shine on her face like a sunbeam. "The city of San Francisco is DAMNED lucky to have you."

"Damned straight." Squinting, she offered the weed back to Lindsay. Her friend merely waved it away.

"Cindy'll be home soon," she explained, eyes closing again. "For being one of those hippie green tea college converts? Surprisingly strict about illegal narcotics."

"I find that hard to believe," Jill snorted, but obediently stubbed out the joint. "You KNOW she must have lit up in a dorm somewhere."

"Well, you know Cindy. Her and Lois Lane 2.0 are the paradigms of righteousness - the new Woodward and Bernstein. They're out right now investigating some sort of Norma Rae type immigrant scandal."

Jill didn't hide her smirk. Even underneath the weed induced mellow emotion, she could tell Lindsay Boxer was absurdly proud of her girl. "How does it feel to be shacking up with one half of San Francisco's super reporting team?"

"Exhausting," Lindsay admitted, but there was a smile on her attractive face. "You know, at first I thought Cindy was like a wind up toy, capable of slowing down."

"Not so much?"

"Still excited about… EVERYTHING," Lindsay burst, brown eyes bursting open in their expressiveness. "I've considered once or twice slipping Nyquil in her tea just to get a breather."

"Aww." Jill jostled her shoulder playfully. "You love it."

"I'm old," Lindsay drawled, not swayed by the obvious truth. "I'm her Daddy Long Legs. She's my Leslie Caron."

"That movie always creeped me out."

"Me too," Lindsay confirmed. "But now I figured out why it works."

"Tell me," Jill asked, enjoying this. "Why does it work?"

Smiling blissfully, Lindsay offered her a stoned thumbs up. "Because the sex? Is really really good."

Jill nearly choked on her own laughter, sniggering alongside her friend as she grabbed hold of the blanket and drew it over herself. "Truer words were never spoken." Snuggling into Lindsay's side, Jill laid her cheek against a bony shoulder and considered the tailspins her life had frequently taken. "I'm glad it worked out for you, Linz."

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder, bringing her in closer in a loving embrace. "So you gonna tell me what brought out the roach?"

"I need a special occasion?" she asked lightly.

"Bitch, I may be shacked up but I'm still your best friend. Don’t tell me I don't know you."

Blowing out her breath uneasily, Jill felt her buzz fade slightly and stared at the sleeping Martha nestled at Lindsay's feet. "I made out with my boss." At the admission, the blush crept up the sides of her neck, and onto her cheeks.

"You what?!" Jill flushed harder.

"I didn't start it," she said heatedly, snuggling in further in the blanket, protecting herself from Lindsay's laser vision.

"You made out. With your boss. Who is Denise. Ergo you made out with Denise?!"

Jill groaned, hands falling into her lap, even hotter now that she was reliving the entire afternoon experience. "I didn't mean to!" she snapped, maintaining her innocence. "You know we've been getting closer lately, and she's been acting weird, and I had this meeting with Hanson, and she got so BITCHY afterwards that I called her on it, and then … we were making out."

"But DENISE?!"

"I know!"

"She's your boss!"

"I KNOW!"

"She's… DENISE!"

Groaning, Jill's head fell forward, burying her face in her palms, no longer wanting to see Lindsay's incredulous face.

"Believe me," she snapped, losing her patience. "I know."

Another minute of silence, and then she couldn't take it anymore. She peeked.

Lindsay, blanket flung off of her, spine stiff, looked flabbergasted. She gaped, mouth opening and closing, before she glanced at Jill and seemed to make a sort of squeak, before she stopped herself, swallowed, and asked curiously, "Was it hot?"

Miserably, she nodded.

"Did she totally panic?"

"Stuck her tongue down my throat, felt me up, freaked out, broke away, told me if we talked about this ever, she was going to fire me, sped out of my office like her ass was on fire."

Lindsay blinked. "Wow."

Heart thumping wildly, Jill swallowed. "I was so ridiculously turned on I couldn't think straight." She shook her head morosely. "I had to literally lock myself in a stall and…," she flushed. "Finish myself off."

Lindsay blinked again, eyes wide and round, and suddenly, she smiled.

"What?" Jill asked, immediately suspicious.

"She gave you blue balls."

The summation of what happened, and Lindsay's apparent cheeriness about it, did not resonate at first, until Jill remembered a similar conversation on this exact same porch, many months ago.

"Oh, don't even-"

"DENISE KWON IS A TEASE!" Lindsay hollered, collapsing into a fit of laughter, finding this much more funny thanks to the weed Jill had given her, sniggering and looking like a total idiot.

"God-damn you, Lindsay," she retorted, because this was a horrible, horrible situation, and now Lindsay was making her laugh, and dear God, she needed it.

Wheezing, Lindsay wrapped her arms around her and squeezed, "You are SO screwed."

"I know!" she breathed, shoulders shaking. "I'm so gonna screw my boss-"

"-On a desk!"

"-On the floor!"

"-On a towel by the door-"

"-In the tub, in the car-"

"-Up against the minibar!"

By this time they were clinging to each other out of sheer necessity, because the laughter had made them weak, and the tears that were streaming from their eyes were a welcome relief, because Jill was screwed, but at the very least, they could laugh about it.

That was how Cindy Thomas found them, collapsed together on the wooden bench, looking stoned and silly and crying with laugh-induced tears.

Lindsay's little lover wrinkled her nose, beckoned to Martha, and rolled her eyes. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"Oh you do," Lindsay said, and squished Jill harder. "Jill has blue balls!"

"No," Jill corrected indignantly. "I masturbated."

Brow arching, Cindy studied them both. "I'll get the beer," she decided. "And don't think I don't know that you two have been going crazy with the Reefer Madness. The porch reeks."

"I love you," Lindsay said merrily, and Cindy blew her a kiss as she and Martha slipped back into their house.

Eyes still shiny, Jill snuggled up against her friend and glanced after the departed reporter. "See?" she said softly. "I was right. She is good for you."

Lindsay Boxer sighed, and considered the statement. "Yeah," she acknowledged quietly. "I think so too."

-FIN-