[fic] bury me beside you; the killing, holder/linden; r
title; rating: bury me beside you; r
fandom, pairing; count: the killing, holder/linden; ~2100
notes: post-season 2 spoilers
Two days after the arrest, Stephen comes home to find Sarah sitting at the stoop of his apartment building.
"You know you coulda just let yourself in, Linden," he tells her, holding the door for her.
Sarah nods. "Next time," she says, implying that there will be a next time, implying that she's not done with him just yet, as he had feared she might be. And when she says it, he finds himself letting out a breath he'd been holding without even realizing it.
Relieved.
She stays a few hours, and already he can see a difference in her. She takes off her coat, kicks off her shoes, lets him make jokes about how she ain't got nothing better to do now that she's unemployed. And she laughs, really and truly, tells him that he has no idea. Stephen puts a plate full of hot food in front of her, and she even asks for seconds. He wonders, briefly, if she's going to stay, but it's late and she yawns and she gets up to look for her shoes. When she gets to the door, Stephen grabs her by the wrist.
"Hey," he whispers, and he swears he can see color flood her cheeks when he moves close to her. But, maybe not. Maybe it's just a trick of the light. "Jack," he says this time; a statement, a question, the eight-hundred pound gorilla that's been trashing his sanctuary all night.
Sarah goes cold, pulls her hand back. He knew she would. He also knew he had to ask. "What about him?" she says, briskly.
"Come on, Sarah," he tells her, leans down a little further, kindness in his voice. "This is me you're talking to. Ain't nobody else here."
She relaxes then, looks up at him, almost apologetically. "He'll stay in Chicago," she says. "Until the end of the semester, maybe..." she starts. "Maybe longer? I don't know. I just... -he... We both need time."
Stephen nods. "Don't worry Linden," he says. "He'll be back. Trust me on this one."
At that, she meets his eyes.
"I do."
-
After that, she shows up a lot, lets herself in when he's not there, sometimes every other day. Sometimes more.
He'll find her sitting on his couch, reading a book, or back in his room, catching some Zs. (Told you, Linden. That mattress is fucking magical and shit.) Or sometimes she's out on the fire escape, freezing her tail off.
(Sarah, get your bony ass back in here.)
Those are the nights he worries about her; sitting out there in the cold, in the dark, alone. But those nights are few and far between. Mostly she's fine. Mostly, she even seems happy. He becomes used to this, used to her, in his space, to being the one who makes her laugh. And on those rare nights when she's not there? He finds himself wishing she was.
Sometimes? She cooks.
This blows his mind the first time it happens. And sure, maybe it's just a tossed salad and some chicken and crusty bread from the bakery down the street, but it's food. Real food. And he doesn't dare make jokes over dinner because he knows she's trying; tying to be like a normal person again, trying to be okay again. And that's all that matters to him, that she's okay, that she doesn't feel alone.
And maybe it matters a little to him that he doesn't either.
Maybe, he thinks, that matters to her too.
-
"Rick called," she says on one Saturday after bringing him lunch.
"Yeah?" Stephen takes a bite of burger, ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach. "And?"
"And... he wants to see me," she says, watching his face, almost testing his response.
"That's a good thing. Right?"
"Yeah.
I guess?
I don't know."
She shrugs.
Silence.
"He wants me to fly down there. Just for a week or so."
"You going?"
"I doubt it. I have things to do. Here."
"Yeah, right. You're just so busy."
Sarcasm.
"Whatever, Holder."
"So, are you going or not?"
-
Sarah doesn't show up for a week.
When she gets back, a little more color in her cheeks, looking like a woman who's just had a good lay, Stephen can barely bring himself to ask about Rick. Every time he thinks of the guy he remembers how he just left her there at the hospital. Not even a hello. Or a goodbye for that matter. And then there's that fucking look on her face when she came into the lobby, the disappointment when she realized he'd bolted.
Just when she needed him the most.
Motherfucker.
"Sonoma cure all your ills?" he asks, because making a joke about it seems like the most logical thing to do at the moment.
"Not all of them," she says, elbows him in his now-healed ribs, hands him a stupid key chain. "Brought you a souvenir."
"Great," he says, drawing out the word, not even looking at it. "Just what I always needed."
"Come on, it's got a bottle opener," she points.
Stephen can't help but laugh at that.
"Thanks."
-
It's almost Christmas and she's sitting next to him on the couch in front of his tiny plastic tree with the multi-colored lights and he's telling her about something stupid Carlson did, who, as it turns out, is a huge ass-kiss. And Sarah laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear and says, "I would have liked to see that." And that's when Stephen just leans in and kisses her because it seemed like the right time, and because they're both full of wine and good food and it's been a while since she mentioned Rick and he doesn't know if he'll ever get up the nerve again. Her hands go to his face and she makes a little moan at the back of her throat and it's awkward because of the way she was sitting when he just went for it, her knees now pressed to his chest. It takes everything in him not to slip one hand between them and move them apart so he can get closer to her, so he can feel her against him. But he doesn't. He doesn't.He doesn't. But fuck, it's hard.
Sarah slides her hands from his face to the back of his neck to his hair, twisting her fingers through his short locks and then tugging him back. Stephen groans once in the moment she pulls him away, a protest, a plea.
"Been wanting to do that for a while," he breathes, and his lips brush hers when he speaks because they're still so close.
Sarah nods. "I know," she says and she doesn't let go of him like he expects, instead she kisses him again, sighs a little when his tongue brushes the roof of her mouth, lets him move his hands over her thighs. But then she untangles herself from him and stands up, like if she doesn't they're just going to fuck right there on the couch. It disorients him for a second, but he reaches out to grab her hand.
"You know where all my light switches are," he tells her. Meaning... what exactly?
Sarah almost laughs. "I know," she says again.
But she doesn't stay.
-
Terry Marek pleads guilty two days before the new year.
Stephen watches her at the sentencing, that look on her face like she's just been crying or is just about to, her hair pulled up into a tight bun. Lawyer dressed her up real good, but she don't look pretty this way. She looks like she must probably feel; dead, inside and out, eyes on the table, just trying to hold it in and not look at Stan.
Stan, the only Larsen family member in attendence on this day, sits at the back of the courtroom, hunched over, elbows on his knees, and even from this distance Holder can see the man's jaw is clenched tight, can see him figit with his hands, opening and closing white-knuckled fists while the judge talks. Stephen knows he'd like to wrap those meaty fingers around Marek's throat until she stopped breathing, until what little life is left in her slips away.
Stephen understands the feeling. If anybody hurt someone he loves...
But, no. That wouldn't be justice.
Hell, Stephen thinks, what's justice?
-
After, Stan approaches him, shakes his hand, thanks him.
Stephen doesn't respond, just feels stupid standing there in his suit. (A nice one this time. One that fits.) They're both just standing there on the front steps of the courthouse, looking like something they're not; all proper, like civilized human beings and shit.
"You made a promise once, Detective Holder," Stan says, and there's an earnestness in his voice that Stephen wishes he could ignore. The man is truly grateful. "You kept it."
Holder only nods. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Larsen."
And then he turns around and he doesn't look back.
-
Sarah's at his place when he gets home.
He expected her. Not that she said anything, she never does, but she knew the sentencing was today, knew he'd be there. So he figured she'd turn up, sooner or later.
"So?" she asks from her perch on the counter, the look on her face telling him she's unsure if she even really wants to hear it.
"What can I say?" he says, gestures widely, stopping just in front of her. "Ain't no justice in this world, Linden."
"But it's over." It's not a question, but it feels like one.
"It's over." He nods. And fuck it feels good to say it. He watches Sarah close her eyes, and he can tell she's processing that too. For a minute, neither of them says a thing and he just stands there in front of her, resists the urge to put his hands on her jean-clad knees. Finally, she opens her eyes, looks him up and down, smiles.
"You wore a suit," she says, and then she reaches for his collar, tugs on it a bit.
Stephen lowers his head, his eyes falling to her hands. "Yeah," he says. "You caught that?"
"It looks good," she says. "Who bought that for you? Carlson bought that for you?"
Stephen laughs. "Nah," he says, shaking his head, meeting her eyes. "Catalog."
Sarah nods. "Seems a little tight."
Now he can only really mutter a response under his breath because she's pushing his jacket over his shoulders and whatever he was gonna say is lost when he takes her mouth in his, rough and urgent. This time, he doesn't have to think about her knees because she's already got them wrapped around his hips and all he concentrates on is finding purchase on her waist so he can lift her off the counter and take her back to his room.
He whispers her name against her neck. Asking for permission? Maybe? Maybe not.
She nods. At least, he thinks she nods. He can't really tell. But what he does know is that her little hands are tugging his pressed, white shirt out of his pants and and her fingers are cool against his skin, and he's hard, up against her, and she moans this tiny moan when his teeth scrape her neck. And really, what more does he need to know?
They fumble back into the room and, in there, it's skin against skin. In there, Sarah says his name. Not Holder or Hey but Stephen. And he presses into her and she bites down on her lip and his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts and he thinks maybe he always knew it was leading up to this. No, not because she's a woman and he's a man. Insert A into slot B. Human nature. All that. No. That's not what this is about. Even if that is what it's about right at the moment, her nails scraping his neck at the tattoo there, his mouth on her shoulder.
Nah, this is something else.
He thinks.
Maybe.
-
"He wants me back," she says this, after, when they're still sweaty and naked, with Sarah's head tucked under his chin and Stephen's pupils still blown.
He's about to say What, now? or The actual fuck? or maybe even Jesus Christ, Sarah, and she must feel him tense up because she quickly adds:
"Carlson."
Oh.
"He called me today," she explains. "Says you need a partner."
"He did not say that," Stephen is fairly certain that this is total bullshit.
"Okay," she agrees. "It was implied."
"And did you imply anything back?" He's not sure how he feels about this. He wants her by his side. No question. Always. But is she ready? And is she gonna be okay?
"I might have," she says.
"Well, okay..." he says, traces a finger down her spine.
She closes her eyes, shivers.
"Let's do this."
fin.