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The days, as it turns out, aren’t actually that hard. Kate can lose herself in work easily enough, convince herself Lucy’s out on a case, or grabbing coffee, or taking a late lunch. That part isn’t the struggle. And honestly, on the days things overlap, the days she’s too aware of exactly how her job differs from working for NCIS, the days she’s most likely to have a gun drawn on her, she’s glad Lucy’s not there, because it means she’s safe on a boat in the middle of the ocean, a thousand miles away. So it’s not bad.
It’s when she goes home to her empty apartment–to their empty apartment. Because Lucy’s still sending her rent she insists on paying for a space she hasn’t yet occupied. Kate goes home and things are empty and quiet and the scent of Lucy fades from the sheets just before she’s about to wash them anyway. And it’s harder than she expected it to be, falling asleep in her bed alone.
Kate has always valued space. Her relationships have always had a lot of it. She’d been careful about that, had always chosen to spend the night with her lovers instead of inviting them back to her place. Had never lingered long enough for things to move in—toothbrushes, extra clothes, that sort of thing. But Lucy.
Lucy had blown through all of that with ease and charm, making space for herself. Demanding it in a way that made Kate want to give it to her. But now she’s gone and the space is empty. Cold and quiet and Kate can’t stand it.
She knows what she’d said, and she’d meant it. It’s not that being away from Lucy is hard in a way that makes her doubt, or that she regrets her decision. They’re solid, they’ll be just fine. But Kate has to reconcile with the ghosts that take up the lonely spaces.
Like when she was six and woke up from a nightmare, padding down the darkened hallway of a house that, even then, had felt too big. She’d gone into her parents’ room and woken her father, who had always scooped her up before, to sleep between them in their too big bed. Safe from the monsters that always seemed to find their way in in the dark. But not this time.
“Katherine, go back to bed. It’s just a bad dream. You’re fine.” He’d sounded annoyed then, and part of her shattered.
And then she’d been ten and her prized porcelain doll had fallen off the dresser when she’d bumped it accidentally, shattering irreparably against the hardwood and she’d sobbed to her mother who had frowned and shaken her head.
“It’s for the best, Katherine. You’re too old to be playing with dolls.”
Kate had tucked the shards away. They’re still in a box somewhere on the mainland. As if holding on to the pieces would somehow absolve her.
At fifteen, the girl she’d loved, the one she’d shared secret glances and touches with under the guise of friendship, came to school with a new boyfriend, sat across the cafeteria and acted like Kate didn’t exist at all.
And at 21, her brother had died a world away, fighting to make sense of his own pieces because no one survived the Whistler house intact. No one.
So Kate thinks there are a lot of ghosts. A lot of skeletons barricaded in her closet. Maybe it’s time she confront them. Because the Whistler legacy rests with her, and letting it cripple her won’t serve anyone. She deserves to be happy, deserves warmth and compassion and someone to fight for her. And Lucy Tara is all of that, wrapped in the most deliciously attractive, badass package that Kate could ever hope for.
Holding space means learning to love the parts of herself Lucy already does. It’s worth it, Kate thinks, even as she crawls into her empty bed with sheets that smell like Tide and nothing like Lucy.
They’re both learning to be better people, to grow and mend.Apart. And when they come back together, they can build a home. When it comes down to it, that’s all Kate’s ever wanted. The night feels cold now, but that’s because she knows now, what it means to let in the light.