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discoveredinaljThis is a sequel to my last year's DIALJ contribution, Benevolence (linked). I think it's quite different in tone, however.
Emergence
The piles of presents were all handed out, the kiddies dispersed to their homes. McCabe had hobbled off, alone and maybe just a little disappointed. Ruth had delivered Cowley's message and gone on her way to wherever she usually went at the end of a shift. Sally had no idea about that; as Cowley's driver and frequent assistant, Ruth had always held herself slightly apart from the other CI5 women, and apparently two years with a field team in Birmingham hadn't changed her much.
Between the two of them she and Liz checked that the heaters were turned off, interior doors closed in case of a fire, shutters shut and lights off before they left the hall. Sally waited at the gate while Liz walked down the side path to drop the keys through the mail slot in the rectory door. The Reverend Edward Stapleton had already gone inside, no doubt settling down to toast and tea or perhaps something a little stronger.
The bag of costumes was heavy. She'd picked it up in her right hand, unthinking, and now that arm ached. She changed hands, shards of the bitter cold, encroaching night pricking through her gloves as she stretched her cramped fingers.
Liz returned, striding briskly as she dodged around the wet shrubbery that spilled over the narrow path, her heavy overcoat swinging around her legs as she moved. Pools of light from street lamps barely illuminated the long boots she wore. They looked almost black in the artificial light, but Sally remembered that they were red, oxblood red. She felt her heart speed up.
"Indian or Italian?"
"Hmm... Pardon?"
Liz chuckled. "I'm starved. There's a few decent restaurants near here."
Sally wanted to go home. There was a packet of spaghetti in the cupboard, hothouse tomatoes and dried herbs as well. She'd have been happiest cooking a simple supper for two, as the flat warmed up around them. Her flat - although Liz was there more often than not these days, and it was the only one that they'd bothered decorating for Christmas.
It would also have been easier to defuse the bombshell they'd just been handed in the privacy of her home.
On the other hand, Liz wanted to eat out; they were on leave, and there was no reason why they shouldn't enjoy themselves first.
"Italian," she said, finally.
"Good, it's closer. Here, let me take that!" Liz took the bag from her and tossed it in the boot, which she quickly locked. "It's this way."
Sally sighed and followed in the indicated direction. The afternoon had been tiring - apart from the healing injury to her arm, she was not terribly keen on any activities involving sticky-fingered, hyperactive brats. That was Liz's thing, Liz the eldest daughter with the big extended family that she kept talking about, but Sally hadn't met. Yet… And that was another story, the source of messy feelings and much dithering.
When Liz had joined CI5, Sally had acted as her mentor, a strictly professional relationship during the first difficult months of adjustment to CI5's quick and sometimes brutal method of operating. A short while later, and the tables had turned. Liz's self-confidence had increased exponentially. Sally supposed that she should count that as a success, if only she didn't feel that she was floundering in Liz's wake now their relationship had changed.
Was she in love? If so it would explain this complaisance, this willingness to bend, a mood she was quite unused to experiencing in her private relationships. Normal Sally obeyed orders, responded to cries for help, and did other things when they seemed good to her. Nothing about this fitted that mould, not the constant, gut level awareness of her lover, the desire for her smiles and her touch, her downright agreeableness with everything Liz wanted.
Liz's boots rapped out a rhythm on the pavement, while the duller sound of Sally's own brogues provided counterpoint. Tap, tap, tap… ta-tak… ta-tak. They walked along the busy night streets together, and Sally lost herself in thought.
I want. I must. I need to know…
It was like waiting for a case to break, she thought, reaching for the familiar to explain the strange, because she knew how to manage those days on the job, how to break them down so each five minutes contained its own worries and no more, and the hours took their problems with them as they passed. Only this evening there was no operation in progress, no directives to pass on or new orders to give. Just one small decision from their boss - that might change everything.
Liz touched her elbow, a gentle pressure of fingers drawing her attention to their arrival outside a brightly lit café. Through the fogged-up windows Sally could see woodgrain, shining metalwork, and red checked tablecloths, and in view of so much light and warmth, decided she was hungry after all. Inside, the greeting was as efficient as it was effusive. Liz, it seemed, had been a regular here at some point in the past. They were promptly seated at a table while the owner, Marcello, was as effusive with greetings as he was swift to provide them with a basket of crisp rolls and glasses of water.
"I used to come here when I was a student." Liz dismembered a roll and spread it with butter, pressing the yellow curls firmly onto the bread. "I'd walk miles to lectures, save my travel money then buy a bowl of pasta e fagioli and a glass of wine on Friday night."
"Did you go to that church as well?" Not that Liz had said anything, but she'd seemed familiar with the place and the rector.
"Well, yes. Mum told me ages ago that Uncle Ned needed help with the party, and I mentioned it to Mr Cowley because I was due for a day off. Next thing I knew he'd stepped in and half-organised the whole affair. Not to mention roping in everyone on the injured list."
The bean and pasta soup was still on the menu. Sally thought it sounded hearty and filling, and so they both ordered it, and some red wine, which turned out to be more than passable. If not for that one nagging problem, Sally would have begun to enjoy herself.
"I thought you knew about my clergyman uncle," Liz commented.
"I'd forgotten." There had been other priorities in recent weeks, like healing her injured body. And none of this should have mattered, except Sally had left religion behind years ago: not out of neglect, but deliberately, with good reason.
Liz's brow furrowed and she put down the remains of the bread roll. "I sometimes go to church of my own volition, but you know that. That's not the problem, though, is it?" Her beautiful face was grave with concern as she waited for Sally to reply. It was disconcerting to be such an open book, and Sally winced.
Liz reacted - too quickly, she must be feeling some tension as well - reaching across the table, but hesitating to touch.
"I'm sorry, I should have thought. Does your arm hurt?"
"Only when I shoot." It was a tired response, inaccurate anyway, as she'd been told to stay away from the range for at least another week. A kind of pulsing ache had started up, but it was less insistent than a toothache and would pass.
"God, could you be any more stoic? I've got some Panadol," and Liz started to rummage around in her bag.
"Of course you do. Probably got a complete surgical kit in there as well." There was an edge there, she'd not been able to help it. Liz looked flummoxed for an instant, then the puzzled expression was replaced by something else, hurt, possibly anger. What might have been a sharp retort was bitten off short when their food arrived.
The soup was delicious, Sally supposed, but her stomach felt constricted, tight, and she had to force herself to eat it, one spoonful at a time. All the while her thoughts were furiously raging, trying to find the right words to defuse the tension between them.
It wasn't the party this afternoon - and yet it was. It was Liz's family, and Christmas plans, and knowing that their affair probably wasn't secret any more, and it was all terribly difficult.
"I'm sorry," she said eventually. "I'm being a complete idiot, I know. But I've been avoiding decisions about a few things, and now I can't dodge any longer."
"Christmas." Liz relaxed a little. "And now we've both got the time off…."
"I have to decide whether to accept your family's kind invitation for Christmas Eve. I applied for leave, but I didn't think I'd get it. My sick leave's almost up and I didn't see it coming."
"What's the problem? We'll share my room."
"With two single beds, I suppose, since I'm your girlfriend from work?"
"Well, mum's always put any visiting boyfriends in a separate room, so that's… oh!"
Oh, indeed.
"But we can't say anything. You know that, Sally."
"I know. But I wouldn't mind if we were just friends. Or if we'd had a fling and it was over or we'd kept parts of it for a rainy day. But it isn't like that at all, anymore. Not for me."
There was a blush of heightened colour on Liz's throat now. Sally had kissed that throat, traced the outline of the long muscle from behind the ear to her collarbone, with fingers and tongue and, once, a feather. Liz had gorgeous skin, soft and warm and nearly edible. Her body was beautiful too, strong and curvaceous without heaviness. Light enough to lift and spin and sweep her onto the bed, solid enough to make the mattress dent where she landed, so when Sally tumbled down too she could roll towards her and straddle her in one easy movement. And she'd bend down towards Liz's breasts and watch those clear, blue eyes darken with desire.
But Liz had a history of boyfriends, never girlfriends, until she'd met Sally. She'd gone to church, might do so again, might find herself persuaded away from Sally by beliefs that they didn't share, by men who would be drawn across her path by any number of well-meaning matchmakers. And even if it never came to that, Sally's relationship to Liz would not be known to anyone, other than that she was the friend.
"It's complicated," said Liz, twisting the wine glass back and forth by the stem. "At first I thought I'd wake up one day and it would be like flipping a switch. Everything would have gone back to the way it was before."
"Then why didn't you say something, dammit!" Sally snapped, because the twisting in her gut had risen to an unbearable level.
"Please - let me finish." Liz rubbed at her temple with one finger. She looked unhappy. "It was when they lost you in Bristol - after they found you again all I knew at first was that you'd been attacked, but you were alive, that was all. I had no right to know anything more. I would have charged into Cowley's office and demanded to know where they'd taken you, but Betty wasn't there. No-one was. And the ready room was full of badgers."
"What, not literally?"
"No, just the usual crowd of the bruised and exhausted but still running on adrenaline. I… you never wanted anyone to suspect. I had to honour that. I didn't say a word."
"It's not just the rules. You don't know what people will say, no matter how brilliant they seem on the surface. I learned that the hard way."
She expected Liz to baulk at the rebuke, but all she saw in her eyes was love, and she drank in the feeling of it, felt the grey cloud of uncertainty lift. She'd tried to keep control of this for too long, it was time to have faith.
"I had Anson for company when I woke after the surgery. He's a good egg, but I would much rather have seen you. I think that might happen now," she admitted.
Because chances were that someone now knew, even if it was unofficial.
Liz took both her hands in a warm clasp, across the table as though preparing for some secret ritual.
"When we visit my mother for Christmas - and we will - we'll go for a walk with my favourite sisters. We will hold hands, and kiss, and they won't say a word, I promise. But if you need anyone to vouch for you, if anything happens, then you'll know who to turn to."
Although privately Sally decided she would wait until she met those sisters, it was good enough for now. One day perhaps all this caution would seem unnecessary, but not today.
"Tell me - do you really have a surgical kit in your handbag?" she asked, squeezing Liz's hands a little to let her know her plan had been accepted.
Liz giggled. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a thin pouch. "Just the usual first aid palaver - the suture pack's in the car. For all your emergency sewing needs."
"I feel that I'm in very good hands." Somehow true, despite being said in jest. They'd finished their meal, and the wine, and were just resting. It was comfortable in the restaurant and it was cold outside.
Marcello came to their table to clear away the plates and take their orders for coffee. But before the drinks arrived, he brought them a light, fluffy confection in a single stemmed glass, with two spoons. "Zabaglione, to share between the two of you. It means we'll see you both here again."
The dessert was creamy and sweet, and they ate it all, spoons duelling for the last scraping.
Title: Emergence
Author: Kiwisue
Slash or Gen: Femslash Sally/Liz
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above): KWS
Notes: Sequel to my last year's DIALJ contribution, Benevolence. However while the previous ficlet was really all about Ruth and Cowley, with a little 'gotcha' at the end, this one contains no such surprises. Thanks to MLM for the last minute Brit check.
Emergence
The piles of presents were all handed out, the kiddies dispersed to their homes. McCabe had hobbled off, alone and maybe just a little disappointed. Ruth had delivered Cowley's message and gone on her way to wherever she usually went at the end of a shift. Sally had no idea about that; as Cowley's driver and frequent assistant, Ruth had always held herself slightly apart from the other CI5 women, and apparently two years with a field team in Birmingham hadn't changed her much.
Between the two of them she and Liz checked that the heaters were turned off, interior doors closed in case of a fire, shutters shut and lights off before they left the hall. Sally waited at the gate while Liz walked down the side path to drop the keys through the mail slot in the rectory door. The Reverend Edward Stapleton had already gone inside, no doubt settling down to toast and tea or perhaps something a little stronger.
The bag of costumes was heavy. She'd picked it up in her right hand, unthinking, and now that arm ached. She changed hands, shards of the bitter cold, encroaching night pricking through her gloves as she stretched her cramped fingers.
Liz returned, striding briskly as she dodged around the wet shrubbery that spilled over the narrow path, her heavy overcoat swinging around her legs as she moved. Pools of light from street lamps barely illuminated the long boots she wore. They looked almost black in the artificial light, but Sally remembered that they were red, oxblood red. She felt her heart speed up.
"Indian or Italian?"
"Hmm... Pardon?"
Liz chuckled. "I'm starved. There's a few decent restaurants near here."
Sally wanted to go home. There was a packet of spaghetti in the cupboard, hothouse tomatoes and dried herbs as well. She'd have been happiest cooking a simple supper for two, as the flat warmed up around them. Her flat - although Liz was there more often than not these days, and it was the only one that they'd bothered decorating for Christmas.
It would also have been easier to defuse the bombshell they'd just been handed in the privacy of her home.
On the other hand, Liz wanted to eat out; they were on leave, and there was no reason why they shouldn't enjoy themselves first.
"Italian," she said, finally.
"Good, it's closer. Here, let me take that!" Liz took the bag from her and tossed it in the boot, which she quickly locked. "It's this way."
Sally sighed and followed in the indicated direction. The afternoon had been tiring - apart from the healing injury to her arm, she was not terribly keen on any activities involving sticky-fingered, hyperactive brats. That was Liz's thing, Liz the eldest daughter with the big extended family that she kept talking about, but Sally hadn't met. Yet… And that was another story, the source of messy feelings and much dithering.
When Liz had joined CI5, Sally had acted as her mentor, a strictly professional relationship during the first difficult months of adjustment to CI5's quick and sometimes brutal method of operating. A short while later, and the tables had turned. Liz's self-confidence had increased exponentially. Sally supposed that she should count that as a success, if only she didn't feel that she was floundering in Liz's wake now their relationship had changed.
Was she in love? If so it would explain this complaisance, this willingness to bend, a mood she was quite unused to experiencing in her private relationships. Normal Sally obeyed orders, responded to cries for help, and did other things when they seemed good to her. Nothing about this fitted that mould, not the constant, gut level awareness of her lover, the desire for her smiles and her touch, her downright agreeableness with everything Liz wanted.
Liz's boots rapped out a rhythm on the pavement, while the duller sound of Sally's own brogues provided counterpoint. Tap, tap, tap… ta-tak… ta-tak. They walked along the busy night streets together, and Sally lost herself in thought.
I want. I must. I need to know…
It was like waiting for a case to break, she thought, reaching for the familiar to explain the strange, because she knew how to manage those days on the job, how to break them down so each five minutes contained its own worries and no more, and the hours took their problems with them as they passed. Only this evening there was no operation in progress, no directives to pass on or new orders to give. Just one small decision from their boss - that might change everything.
Liz touched her elbow, a gentle pressure of fingers drawing her attention to their arrival outside a brightly lit café. Through the fogged-up windows Sally could see woodgrain, shining metalwork, and red checked tablecloths, and in view of so much light and warmth, decided she was hungry after all. Inside, the greeting was as efficient as it was effusive. Liz, it seemed, had been a regular here at some point in the past. They were promptly seated at a table while the owner, Marcello, was as effusive with greetings as he was swift to provide them with a basket of crisp rolls and glasses of water.
"I used to come here when I was a student." Liz dismembered a roll and spread it with butter, pressing the yellow curls firmly onto the bread. "I'd walk miles to lectures, save my travel money then buy a bowl of pasta e fagioli and a glass of wine on Friday night."
"Did you go to that church as well?" Not that Liz had said anything, but she'd seemed familiar with the place and the rector.
"Well, yes. Mum told me ages ago that Uncle Ned needed help with the party, and I mentioned it to Mr Cowley because I was due for a day off. Next thing I knew he'd stepped in and half-organised the whole affair. Not to mention roping in everyone on the injured list."
The bean and pasta soup was still on the menu. Sally thought it sounded hearty and filling, and so they both ordered it, and some red wine, which turned out to be more than passable. If not for that one nagging problem, Sally would have begun to enjoy herself.
"I thought you knew about my clergyman uncle," Liz commented.
"I'd forgotten." There had been other priorities in recent weeks, like healing her injured body. And none of this should have mattered, except Sally had left religion behind years ago: not out of neglect, but deliberately, with good reason.
Liz's brow furrowed and she put down the remains of the bread roll. "I sometimes go to church of my own volition, but you know that. That's not the problem, though, is it?" Her beautiful face was grave with concern as she waited for Sally to reply. It was disconcerting to be such an open book, and Sally winced.
Liz reacted - too quickly, she must be feeling some tension as well - reaching across the table, but hesitating to touch.
"I'm sorry, I should have thought. Does your arm hurt?"
"Only when I shoot." It was a tired response, inaccurate anyway, as she'd been told to stay away from the range for at least another week. A kind of pulsing ache had started up, but it was less insistent than a toothache and would pass.
"God, could you be any more stoic? I've got some Panadol," and Liz started to rummage around in her bag.
"Of course you do. Probably got a complete surgical kit in there as well." There was an edge there, she'd not been able to help it. Liz looked flummoxed for an instant, then the puzzled expression was replaced by something else, hurt, possibly anger. What might have been a sharp retort was bitten off short when their food arrived.
The soup was delicious, Sally supposed, but her stomach felt constricted, tight, and she had to force herself to eat it, one spoonful at a time. All the while her thoughts were furiously raging, trying to find the right words to defuse the tension between them.
It wasn't the party this afternoon - and yet it was. It was Liz's family, and Christmas plans, and knowing that their affair probably wasn't secret any more, and it was all terribly difficult.
"I'm sorry," she said eventually. "I'm being a complete idiot, I know. But I've been avoiding decisions about a few things, and now I can't dodge any longer."
"Christmas." Liz relaxed a little. "And now we've both got the time off…."
"I have to decide whether to accept your family's kind invitation for Christmas Eve. I applied for leave, but I didn't think I'd get it. My sick leave's almost up and I didn't see it coming."
"What's the problem? We'll share my room."
"With two single beds, I suppose, since I'm your girlfriend from work?"
"Well, mum's always put any visiting boyfriends in a separate room, so that's… oh!"
Oh, indeed.
"But we can't say anything. You know that, Sally."
"I know. But I wouldn't mind if we were just friends. Or if we'd had a fling and it was over or we'd kept parts of it for a rainy day. But it isn't like that at all, anymore. Not for me."
There was a blush of heightened colour on Liz's throat now. Sally had kissed that throat, traced the outline of the long muscle from behind the ear to her collarbone, with fingers and tongue and, once, a feather. Liz had gorgeous skin, soft and warm and nearly edible. Her body was beautiful too, strong and curvaceous without heaviness. Light enough to lift and spin and sweep her onto the bed, solid enough to make the mattress dent where she landed, so when Sally tumbled down too she could roll towards her and straddle her in one easy movement. And she'd bend down towards Liz's breasts and watch those clear, blue eyes darken with desire.
But Liz had a history of boyfriends, never girlfriends, until she'd met Sally. She'd gone to church, might do so again, might find herself persuaded away from Sally by beliefs that they didn't share, by men who would be drawn across her path by any number of well-meaning matchmakers. And even if it never came to that, Sally's relationship to Liz would not be known to anyone, other than that she was the friend.
"It's complicated," said Liz, twisting the wine glass back and forth by the stem. "At first I thought I'd wake up one day and it would be like flipping a switch. Everything would have gone back to the way it was before."
"Then why didn't you say something, dammit!" Sally snapped, because the twisting in her gut had risen to an unbearable level.
"Please - let me finish." Liz rubbed at her temple with one finger. She looked unhappy. "It was when they lost you in Bristol - after they found you again all I knew at first was that you'd been attacked, but you were alive, that was all. I had no right to know anything more. I would have charged into Cowley's office and demanded to know where they'd taken you, but Betty wasn't there. No-one was. And the ready room was full of badgers."
"What, not literally?"
"No, just the usual crowd of the bruised and exhausted but still running on adrenaline. I… you never wanted anyone to suspect. I had to honour that. I didn't say a word."
"It's not just the rules. You don't know what people will say, no matter how brilliant they seem on the surface. I learned that the hard way."
She expected Liz to baulk at the rebuke, but all she saw in her eyes was love, and she drank in the feeling of it, felt the grey cloud of uncertainty lift. She'd tried to keep control of this for too long, it was time to have faith.
"I had Anson for company when I woke after the surgery. He's a good egg, but I would much rather have seen you. I think that might happen now," she admitted.
Because chances were that someone now knew, even if it was unofficial.
Liz took both her hands in a warm clasp, across the table as though preparing for some secret ritual.
"When we visit my mother for Christmas - and we will - we'll go for a walk with my favourite sisters. We will hold hands, and kiss, and they won't say a word, I promise. But if you need anyone to vouch for you, if anything happens, then you'll know who to turn to."
Although privately Sally decided she would wait until she met those sisters, it was good enough for now. One day perhaps all this caution would seem unnecessary, but not today.
"Tell me - do you really have a surgical kit in your handbag?" she asked, squeezing Liz's hands a little to let her know her plan had been accepted.
Liz giggled. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a thin pouch. "Just the usual first aid palaver - the suture pack's in the car. For all your emergency sewing needs."
"I feel that I'm in very good hands." Somehow true, despite being said in jest. They'd finished their meal, and the wine, and were just resting. It was comfortable in the restaurant and it was cold outside.
Marcello came to their table to clear away the plates and take their orders for coffee. But before the drinks arrived, he brought them a light, fluffy confection in a single stemmed glass, with two spoons. "Zabaglione, to share between the two of you. It means we'll see you both here again."
The dessert was creamy and sweet, and they ate it all, spoons duelling for the last scraping.
Title: Emergence
Author: Kiwisue
Slash or Gen: Femslash Sally/Liz
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above): KWS
Notes: Sequel to my last year's DIALJ contribution, Benevolence. However while the previous ficlet was really all about Ruth and Cowley, with a little 'gotcha' at the end, this one contains no such surprises. Thanks to MLM for the last minute Brit check.
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no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 02:55 pm (UTC)Lovely, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:24 pm (UTC)I hope you have a grand trip!
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Date: 2013-12-24 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 03:51 am (UTC)I wish that perfect little Italian cafe' was just down the road from me. *g*
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Date: 2013-12-24 12:14 pm (UTC)I want that cafe too.
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Date: 2013-12-24 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-26 03:24 pm (UTC)I can see all of Sally's hopes and fears in that paragraph about "But Liz had a history of boyfriends, never girlfriends, until she'd met Sally...". And then Sally's "I learned that the hard way"... no wonder she is so tense.
no subject
Date: 2014-01-01 06:15 pm (UTC)I will collect my thoughts about Sally (and Liz) into a post one day. For now - Sally's upbringing leads her to be conscientious and dedicated, and she's always carefully managed conflicts between off-duty relationships and the job.Until Liz. I haven't quite 'got' Liz yet, but I'm working on it *g*
no subject
Date: 2013-12-29 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-02 09:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-02 09:40 am (UTC)