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"Keep in touch," he said, "you're my ride, you know."
And she smiled her same pursed-lip smile, eyes half-open to hide her uncertainty.
...and you're my home.
She said nothing, stepped aside, and sent him on his way.
---
Sarah walks the streets, a drumming in her head, unable to quiet the doubts and still-unanswered questions.
Wrong place, wrong time? This beautiful girl. Why this girl? So tragic. So, so unfair.
With a shudder, she sends the thoughts away. She briefly considers calling Jack, but what could she say? She'd still only tell him, "I'm fine," unconvincingly when he asks. She'd tell him, "I love you," hang up the phone, miss him desperately, but still have no idea how to be the mother he deserves. That is the one true revelation haunting her as she continues to walk through this dark, rainy city.
---
Holder half-finishes the paperwork for the new intake and pushes it across the cluttered desk in defeat. This day has been too damned long to stare at the computer and chase down leads. Looks like some drug thing, anyway, so it can wait til morning.
He pulls into the lot at his building and drags his tired body upstairs and down the hall, barely the energy to turn the lock on his apartment door. He pushes it open to find her there: sitting in the dark, just like before, a cigarette glowing faintly as it dangles between her fingertips. The hallway light escapes into the room and illuminates her auburn hair and the loneliness on her face. Closing the door quietly, he crosses the room and sits beside her wordlessly, head down, meek as always for fear and anticipation of what she'll say (if she says anything at all). There are no words, only a silent understanding of the weight that still presses firmly on them both.
He gestures slightly toward the cigarette, and she hands it over without argument. Taking a long drag, he closes his eyes and slowly exhales, as if that smoke could carry away the things he's seen...the things they've both seen.
"Didn't expect to find you here. Guess you couldn't leave those sweaters behind," he jokes.
His eyes have adjusted to the dark, so he can see her slip a little smile as he glances over, seeking a response. Her smile fades as quickly as it appeared.
He's suddenly aware of her head on his shoulder. Her words hum through his body when she speaks.
"What do we do now, Holder? Where do we even go from here?" she asks, not really expecting an answer, "I know I'm supposed to let this go, but I can't help but feel I've lost something."
Holder takes a deep breath. He should choose his words wisely, but what can he do but say what he feels? He's far too tired to filter himself tonight.
"This isn't yours to carry, Linden."
He lets the words resonate before continuing.
"So maybe I was wrong. Maybe we didn't really catch the bad guy this time," he concedes, "But see...you're a great cop. How you gonna catch any other creeps 'less you leave this thing behind?"
He turns to face her, her eyes now so close to his own. It startles him how mournful they still appear in this low, ambient light. Without thinking, he turns his hand, offering it palm-up, hoping she'll grasp it tight. She looks down and instead traces its lifeline with a hesitant touch for a seeming eternity.
"Is it ok if I stay tonight? I mean...can we...can we just sit here for a while?"
He nods silently, before breaking her touch and handing back the cigarette.
---
It had started raining again by the time Sarah finally sank into the couch and drifted to sleep, curled up tiny and fetal beside him. Holder sat there with her a while, smoking the last few cigarettes she'd left in his pack, breathing away the last of this endless day. He thinks about heading off to bed, but there's no way he's leaving her there on that raggedy couch.
He stands up and scoops her into his arms, slowly lifting her feathery frame from the cushions. He's worried she'll wake and demand he put her down, but she remains asleep through the walk down the hall and into his bedroom. As lightly as he'd lifted her (not that there's much to lift), he sets her down atop the bed. Gently removing her shoes, he watches her face the whole time, still afraid she'll wake up and run. But she doesn't wake; she only musters a small sigh when he lifts the comforter over her, folding her safely between its halves.
He moves toward the head of the bed--to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to ask her if she'll just stay forever--but she's blissfully gone to the world. Instead, he softy touches her arm through the already-warm blanket and turns to leave. His hand is on the door when he hears her stir, then sleepily say, "You don't have to go, Holder. Please. Just stay."
He closes the door. She's afraid he didn't hear her, almost certain that he's left, but soon she hears his footfall as he walks to his side of the bed. He removes his hoodie and jeans and slides up next to her, the cool sheets soothing his worn and weathered muscles. With one last heavy sigh, he falls asleep, right where he wants to be.
---
It's still early when Sarah opens her eyes the next morning. The sun is finally shining and has sliced its way through the windowblinds behind her, warming her awake (she's still in her sweater and jeans, after all). A moment of confusion fades as she glances around the room to gain her bearings. She recalls its details from that night she and Jack stayed over--the night Holder kept them safe. A mess of hoodies and tshirts piled in the corner (Are they clean or dirty? Can he even tell?), the Buddha statuette smirking from atop a dresser, a miniature forest of bamboo sprouting behind it. She finds herself strangely comforted by the familiarity.
She rolls over slightly to see Holder soundly dozing atop the sheets. She doesn't remember him laying down beside her, either. It doesn't look as though he's moved an inch all night, though. She's always been aware of his height, towering a full foot over her, but she's never really noticed how lanky he is until now, all arms, legs and tattoos. She's also never noticed how handsome he is. There's certainly something to be said for the solemnity of a sleeping man.
She can tell he'll be out for a while, so rather than wake him, Sarah rises slowly and pads barefoot to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She hops atop the counter to impatiently await that first cup of morning salvation. As the brewer gurgles and steams, she wonders how this became a habit. She always looks to him now whenever she feels lost. It's not been a month since he came crashing into her office, knocking over files, all full of street talk and bravado. She can finally admit to herself that this man has grown on her a little bit.
OK. More than a little bit.
It's no coincidence she sleeps so well in his presence.
The coffee pot had long since finished brewing. Sarah had been sitting there so distracted in thought, she didn't notice Holder had wandered to the kitchen and was watching her with a sly smile on his face.
"You gonna make me breakfast, Linden? I can help you crack them eggs if you're not sure how. I know there's no wrapper or anything, so it might be a new thing for you."
"You need a new line, Holder," she says, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, you're the chef. I'm just the lowly barista. Coffee's done...so, where do you keep the mugs?"
He steps up next to her, almost too close. His hips peek out under his black t-shirt when he reaches for the cupboard overhead. He can feel her eyes upon him.
"Here you go," he says, handing her a mug, not wanting to call her out. "Anything else I can reach for you, shorty?"
"No, thank you, that will do," she says, hoping he doesn't notice her usual pallor has turned flush.
"Nice to know I'm good for something after all. How'd you sleep?"
"Very well. Best I've slept in ages."
"I should think so...you were out like a light. Never seen you pass out like that. I didn't think you did anything but nap," he says with a laugh.
"Thank you. You're a true gentleman. Didn't think you had it in you."
"Please," he says, "I didn't go to charm school for nothin'."
She puts her head down to laugh, and he can't resist the fiery curls cascading around her face. He walks right up to her until her knees press into his thighs, then rests each hand atop the counter, enveloping her.
He likes her up here, where he can look into her eyes so easily. She's finally upon this pedestal she's commanded for so long in his mind.
Sarah looks up, and there's really nothing else she can do. She reaches for his neck and gently pulls him toward her, his lips meeting her own, briefly, softly. Her hands are still on his face when she pulls away and looks into his soulful hazel eyes.
"I mean it, Holder. Thank you."
His eyes glass over as a blush approaches his cheek.
"Ain't no thing Linden," he says, turning to hide his face and reach toward the refrigerator door, "Now tell me...scrambled or over easy?"
---
Sarah saw Stephen off to work that morning, a pang of longing to follow. Instead, she called Carlson to formally request a leave of absence.
She needs to sort this out, this thing with Holder. Perhaps this is where she belongs. No single solved case has ever given her the comfort she found at his side last night. All she knows is that working together has gotten complicated. He's her partner. She can't just fall for this guy and pretend things are the same. She'll never focus on the job this way. She needs to see this through.
Sarah showers and dresses, putting on a pretty blouse she's not worn in a while. She'll go visit Rosie today and say one last goodbye and, perhaps, a thank you.
Starting today, maybe they'll both finally find peace.
fin