Title: Sit On the River and Watch Her Run
Author: stellaluna_
Pairing: Stella/Lindsay
Fandom: CSI: NY
Summary: One touch, one moment, can change everything.
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For the alien_altars femslash cliche challenge.

***

The front door of the motel room is old, pitted and scarred with what Stella would like to believe aren't claw marks, aren't teeth marks, but she's seen enough to know better. Little motel at the base of the Catskills, set deep in the shadows of the mountain and the trees, and even in this dense night, the walk from the front office desk across the central court to the room leaves her feeling much too exposed. There's only one other car in the parking lot besides theirs, and she figures it's the clerk's; all the windows are dark, blind eyes. It's the off-season, she reminds herself, and that's probably the reason why there are no other guests, nothing to do with people staying away for other reasons. She keeps one hand on the butt of her gun even so, and listens for sounds that shouldn't be there, and doesn't say a word.

The first thing she does is turn on all the lights, and then, when Lindsay goes for ice, she paces nervously for a few moments before she sits down on the floor between the beds and draws her knees up to her chest, and waits. She doesn't think she should have let Lindsay go alone, but she hadn't offered much argument, either, when Lindsay told her to wait here, that she'd be fine. That it would all be fine.

Stella doesn't even have to close her eyes to recall the events of the last day, or to see, all over again, the black and hunched shadow, the thing, she had seen for a second or two crouching over James Pickman's body, the thing that had seemed to leap from the smoking bullet holes she and Lindsay had put into the center of his chest, just before she'd turned away and dropped to her knees to gag. The smell of the Schoharie had been green in her nose, verdant, and underneath it there had been a swamp smell, too, a smell that shouldn't have been here but was, and she'd dug her nails into the dirt, damp seeping into her palms and the knees of her jeans as she heaved.

By the time she'd looked up again, Pickman's body had vanished, and time must have distorted somewhere in those seconds, because neither she nor Lindsay had heard a thing, and Lindsay hadn't seen anything either, even though she swore up and down that, as far as she knew, she had only looked away from the body to keep an eye on Stella, not near long enough for anything to happen. But the body was gone and neither of them had noticed a damn thing. Temporal distortions have never been recorded in this area, but it's possible. Upstate New York has always held more than its share of in-between places and blur lines, spots where reality thins out. They'll have to send another team to investigate further.

Lindsay thinks the creek took him.

Took him back, Stella thinks before she can stop herself, and shudders. She squeezes her hands together and remembers the shadow, remembers the black blank gaze Pickman had turned on her just before he'd lunged. It's not that there hadn't been anything human left in that gaze; that might have been easier. It's that there had been. Pickman's eyes had been mild and blue once, in photos and when they first met him, and there had been blue flickering in and out behind the black, like a summer sky trying to break through storm clouds.

At least he hadn't managed to touch either of them. At least there's that.

The door opens, and Stella tenses, but it's only Lindsay. "Hey," she says, and turns to bump the door closed with her hip, balancing the bucket of ice between both hands. "I got as much as I could. Hopefully this'll do the trick."

"Thank you." Stella watches her to make sure she locks all the bolts. She does, and then sets the bucket down on one of the beds while she goes to get a towel.

"If you don't mind my asking," she says when she comes back, "why are you sitting there?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" She can't bring herself to admit that she feels safer in this small space.

"No," Lindsay says, and her tone is carefully casual. "Mind if I sit, too?"

"Not at all."

Lindsay sits down in front of her, then busies herself folding ice into the towel. "I called Mac," she says.

"Oh? What did he say?" Stella asks.

"Not much. He asked if we really had no idea what happened, and then he said we needed to be back in the city as early as possible tomorrow. Here." She finishes her makeshift icepack and holds it out.

Stella takes it. It doesn't escape her notice how Lindsay holds the pack by the far edges, careful not to make physical contact. "Thank you," she says. "That's all he said?"

"That's it."

"Great." She presses the icepack to her cheek, flinching as the cold hits the bruise.

"I'm sorry," Lindsay says. "If only -- "

"Don't," Stella says. "It wasn't your fault. And if Mac doesn't understand that, I'll make it very clear to him."

"Thanks." Lindsay looks down. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap. "I just -- he didn't even ask if we were all right. I thought he'd..." She shakes her head. "Nothing. I don't know."

Stella sighs. "He figures that if we weren't all right, you would have told him. Since you didn't mention it, then there's no need for him to ask."

Lindsay raises her head. "But that -- " She stops herself again.

"That's Mac." Stella tilts her head back for a moment, closing her eyes. "God. I shouldn't be surprised anymore." She shouldn't be. Because this is Mac, and she's known him for too long to expect anything different.

Except that once he would have asked.

She opens her eyes again and looks at Lindsay. "I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have -- don't take his behavior personally, all right? That's all I'm trying to say."

"I won't." Lindsay tucks her legs into a lotus position. "I don't. I just..."

"It gets to you. This whole fucking day, this whole fucking trip, and then that's all he can say." Stella can hear her voice rising and she forces herself to stop talking. Lindsay doesn't need to hear about all the fear and anger that's tangled up in her relationship with Mac these days. It's nothing she can talk about, anyway, nothing she should be talking about, and under normal circumstances she wouldn't. This case has been getting to her, that's all, and recent events have pushed those emotions to a head. The day is too much with her, the long trip up here and then the hours upon hours of tracking Pickman through the backroads all the way to Schoharie Creek, the cries they'd heard far off in the forest, and the way he'd looked at them when she'd been shouting at him to stand down, just before they had both drawn and fired.

The dark thing, the dark thing she doesn't think she'll ever be able to forget, and it's just the latest in a long line of bad memories. She's never wanted to have a memory spell performed on her, but there are times, like now, when she's almost tempted. It would be comforting to be able to forget, but she's too sickened at the idea of her mind no longer being wholly her own to ever seek it out.

"I've never seen you this upset," Lindsay says.

"I know." She presses the tips of her fingers to her forehead. "Mac is just -- it's not him. He's just that final straw. We had James Pickman. Goddammit, we had him right there, and then...he could have killed you," she finishes in a lower voice, says it before she can change her mind.

Lindsay frowns. "He could have killed you, too," she says.

"I'm the senior agent, Lindsay. It's my job to keep you out of harm's way to the best of my ability. I failed at that today."

"No," Lindsay says. "No, that's not -- you didn't. It was both of us there. You couldn't have known how it was going to go down. Besides, you're the only one who got injured."

Stella lifts the icepack to probe at the bruise. It's starting to go numb now, which is probably a good thing. "Yeah, tripping over a tree branch like an idiot," she says. "I'll be fine. I don't know how you can be so calm about all this. I'm glad one of us is, but..."

Lindsay twists her fingers together. "To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm not more freaked out," she says. "I guess it doesn't seem completely real yet."

"You'll get there," Stella says. And God help her when she does.

"I suppose you would know," Lindsay says. She's looking at the scar on Stella's neck, the jagged one that runs all the way down the side, and then it's Stella who has to look away, who can't stand one more second of that hesitant, worried gaze.

"Sorry," Lindsay says.

"Stop apologizing."

They're both quiet; Stella can feel her heart beating hard, her nerves still tingling with aftershock and adrenaline, and she lets the icepack drop to the floor with a quiet sigh.

"I don't think I've caught up yet to the idea that this really happened to me," Lindsay says. "It's all so...my first big assignment, you know?"

Stella looks at her then. She's smiling, trying for a bright tone, but underneath that she looks sad and worried, and both of those things are plainly obvious.

"You really hit the jackpot on this one," she says.

"I know." Lindsay looks down at her hands again. "I mean, I see things all the time. I feel things. All these terrible things, and sometimes it's hard to remember that I'm just seeing them. But in the end, it's really all still vicarious. This -- this wasn't like that."

"They're rough on you sometimes, aren't they?" Stella asks. "The -- the visions. That's not the right word. The things you see."

"Yeah, they are," Lindsay says. "I never wanted -- at least at BSI, I'm doing something with it. Maybe I can make a difference, instead of just hiding inside my bedroom and trying to pretend none of it's happening. It's better than thinking I'm crazy."

"You're not," Stella says.

Lindsay waves a hand. "I know that now. When it first started, I wasn't so sure. I still don't think my family has really..." She sighs. "I shouldn't talk about it. That's a whole episode of Oprah all on its own."

They both smile at that, and then Stella says, "You know, Lindsay, you can talk about it sometime with me. If you want to."

"Thanks." Lindsay looks into her face. "When I am ready to talk about it, you'll be the first person I'll come to."

Stella takes a deep breath. She suddenly feels the need to look away again, but that would be one of the worst things she could do at this moment. She keeps her gaze locked on Lindsay's, instead, and after a moment the awkwardness passes. She smiles again, and Lindsay's shoulders relax a little.

"I've noticed you don't like to touch people," Stella says. Now is as good a time as any to bring that up, she thinks.

"I never know when it's going to be triggered," Lindsay says. "Or what I might see when it is." She bites her lip, looking ashamed.

"It's okay, Lindsay," Stella says in a low voice.

"No, it's not." Lindsay's voice cracks a little on the words. "Not only do I not like to touch other people, but when they know, they never want me to touch them, either. You should see the way the lab techs flinch away from me every time we pass in the halls, or -- or the way I always have plenty of room all to myself in the elevator. They're all so afraid of having their secrets spill out."

"I think we're all afraid of that," Stella says.

"I know, but..." Lindsay shakes her head. "It's just -- it gets -- it's hard sometimes. And then I can't, and I keep thinking I've forgotten how because it's been so long, and you could have...you could have died out there today, and I couldn't even -- " She stops talking abruptly.

Stella sits up a little straighter. "Lindsay," she says, "do you want to touch me?" The words come out much easier than she would have imagined, and maybe, she thinks, it's a question she's been wanting to ask for a long time.

Lindsay's cheeks turn red, and she looks away. There's a little quiver in the line of her mouth.

"It's okay," Stella says again, and she stretches out her hand.

Lindsay freezes, but Stella can read longing in her eyes as much as fear, and she doesn't move, doesn't drop her hand. She feels like she's holding her breath, and then Lindsay lifts her hand, slowly, and presses the tips of her fingers to Stella's. Just the lightest touch, barely there, but something sparks in her eyes at the instant of physical contact.

"See anything?" Stella asks softly, and Lindsay shakes her head. There's dawning wonder in her eyes, and Stella twines her fingers through Lindsay's, pressing their palms together.

"Me neither." Lindsay smiles, and squeezes Stella's hand, and moves a little closer. Her fingers stroke across the palm and then close around Stella's wrist, caressing. Stella draws her fingers up Lindsay's wrist and then to the inside of her forearm, inch by inch, taking her time and tracing tiny patterns as she does. The fine little hairs tickle at her skin, and Lindsay is warm and soft beneath her hands, and at the moment, she can't imagine how anyone could ever be afraid of this woman's touch. Lindsay mirrors her movements, and when they're close enough to be holding each other by the shoulders, close enough that Lindsay's knee is pressing insistently against her own, Stella leans in and kisses her.

Lindsay's mouth is as soft as her skin, yielding, and Stella drinks in the sweetness of it. It's been too long for her, too, a long time since she's touched or been touched, and Lindsay kisses her firmly, delicate little kisses that deepen gradually. "See anything yet?" Stella asks when they pause for breath.

"No." Lindsay smiles. "Just you." They kiss again and Lindsay's hands drop to her breasts. Stella can't help moaning at the touch, and she tugs at the collar of Lindsay's shirt, trying to get closer. They press together, turn, and then scramble halfway to their feet, just enough so that they can collapse to the bed together.

Lindsay pulls her shirt over her head and shimmies out of her pants, then kneels over Stella. "Let me," she says, and Stella sinks back into the blankets, lets herself relax and fall into it as Lindsay undresses her and then stretches her out. The day finally starts to fall away as they kiss, as she touches Lindsay's naked body and curls into her hands. Lindsay licks her neck, strokes her tongue across her pulse points and then moves lower, kissing her breasts. Her hair falls around her face, silky strands teasing at Stella's bare skin, and she leans into it, whispering, "Oh yes." There's a gathering tension in her body already, and when Lindsay finally takes one of her nipples into her mouth and sucks hard, rolling her tongue against it, Stella pushes up into it, moaning as she digs her nails into Lindsay's shoulder.

Oh yes turns into oh please, into now, and Stella can hear herself making little whimpering sounds by the time Lindsay finally spreads her legs wide and nuzzles into her, licking first at the gathering wetness on her inner thighs before she finally gives in and teases the flat of her tongue across Stella's clitoris, and then it's her tongue and just a little bit of teeth and her stroking fingers, it's the whole world, tiny kisses in between licks.

Stella's hips rise and fall in a quickening tempo as she arches and grinds herself against Lindsay's mouth, and there's this, she thinks; she's happy now, the whole terrible day fallen away from her because the world can't be completely terrible, not when there are sweet kisses and Lindsay's sweet mouth and all of this, this sensation and wet and the build, so close now and touch is good, yes, a good thing and they're safe, here, life; and the yes yes yes in her head is on her lips now, she's gasping it or maybe screaming it as she comes, laughing, and Lindsay's hands and lips cover her, shield her.

She floats on sensation for awhile, coming down slowly from the high of it, and when she opens her eyes and finds herself able to move again, Lindsay is lying still with her head against Stella's stomach, fingers sketching little circles across the soft skin in between her navel and the rise of her pubic bone. Stella smiles and reaches down to tangle her fingers through Lindsay's hair. Lindsay looks up, smiling, but there's a tiny flare of uncertainty in her eyes, too. They can't have that, Stella thinks, and, "Come here," she says.

She pulls Lindsay up for a kiss and now it's her turn to guide the two of them. She cups Lindsay's face between her hands and kisses her deep, licking her own moisture away from her mouth, and then she turns the two of them, rolling over until Lindsay is beneath her and she can smile down at her. She bends down and kisses Lindsay one more time, then sits back, kneeling over her and stroking her, coaxing her nipples erect into hard little points and caressing her belly until muscles are fluttering beneath her hand, dipping her fingers into the cup of Lindsay's navel until she trembles. Lindsay's eyes slide closed and then open again, the touch flashing in her dilated pupils, gaze wide and bright and yearning.

Stella spreads her legs, edges lower. She touches Lindsay's outer lips, slowly, feather-light strokes that make Lindsay sigh. The sighs slowly turn into moans and gasps as she increases the pressure of her touch, as she pushes deeper. The soft folds and the wet heat beneath her fingers are starting to excite her again, too, and she has to bite back a groan as she spreads Lindsay's legs wider and begins to slip her fingers into her. Lindsay moans louder and Stella begins to press soft kisses to her stomach, to the beginning of the soft curls between her legs, all the while working her fingers deeper into her.

When she's got them as deep as she can go, she moves until she finds the right spot, and it's not until Lindsay bucks against her hand that she bends all the way down and sucks Lindsay's clit into her mouth. She's wet again now herself, and can't stop from writhing against Lindsay's leg as she teases, pushing harder, moving inside her and licking her in tandem until Lindsay finally exclaims "Oh God," and goes tight around her fingers and starts to come, the tremors rocking her entire body.

They're both quiet afterwards. She drops to the bed beside Lindsay, and after awhile Lindsay turns and curls against her. Stella slips her arms around her back and holds her close, and Lindsay strokes the curve of her breasts with an idle, lazy touch. Stella is feeling content now, wrung out in a good way, and she's just starting to drift toward sleep when she feels a sudden tingle in her breastbone, right beneath where the palm of Lindsay's hand rests.

Her eyes open wide, and she feels Lindsay stiffen in her arms. The tingle intensifies for just a moment, like she's brushed against something and gotten a shock, and then it's gone. Lindsay moves her hand away, very slowly and very carefully.

She doesn't say a word, doesn't move, and neither does Lindsay. When some more time has passed and her heart is beating normally again, she turns toward Lindsay and kisses her softly.

"I..." Lindsay's voice isn't quite steady. "Don't worry," she says. "I won't get clingy or anything now."

"Lindsay." Stella frowns. "I didn't -- "

"I know." Lindsay lifts her head. "But I also know that BSI doesn't exactly foster, well, relationships. Or anything like that."

"That's true." It is true; she can't deny it. Just like she can't deny the buzz still lingering in her skin where Lindsay was touching her a minute or two ago. She puts a hand to Lindsay's cheek. "But sometimes we all need each other. Don't forget that, either."

"I won't." Lindsay sits up. "Mind if I turn out the light?"

"Go ahead."

Stella is half-expecting her to retreat to the edge of the mattress, if not the other bed entirely, but after she switches off the lamp, she curls up again, her back to Stella's belly, body warm and comforting.

"So you didn't see anything," Stella says. She lets one hand rest on Lindsay's hip.

"Not at all," Lindsay says, voice light and calm and remote. "You were right."

Stella stares into the darkness, wondering.

***