[fanfic] beggars and liars; the killing, holder/linden; r; 1750

[krickets]

title; rating: beggars and liars; r (for language)
fandom, pairing; count: the killing, holder/linden; ~1750
notes: post season 3, beta by slybrunette

It’s two weeks and the department is still unearthing bodies.

Stephen figures: As long as little girls keep piling up? Nobody’s ever gonna convict the cop that got the bad guy.

No matter how high-profile the case.

Besides, ain't no way Holder's letting Sarah go down for this.

Not on his watch.

The intel Skinner gave her, and Stephen’s consistent (bullshit) story that he overheard a struggle before the second shot, will be enough to get her off, but he makes sure that Skinner’s bloody prints are on the barrel of her gun anyway.

As a precaution.

To make it look real.

After they make their way to his car, away from the body, he brings her a bottle of water, lets her clean up, waits for back-up with her with the engine running, heat on low. “Look,” he says, under his breath, as if somebody’s listening in the trees, waiting for them to slip up. “Let me take care of this. You say jack about what happened out here, alright? You’re in shock. You don’t remember what happened. He told you he had Adrian, you took a drive, you got out of the car, and you remember nothing, got it?”

“Stephen,” she says. “There are other girls. Other bodies… out there. He told me.”

“That’s good,” he says, and he nods. A little wrinkle, sure, but it can work in their favor. Then, off her look, “I mean. …that helps. It’s the proof that he was our guy. Just stick with that and that's it. You remember nothing else. You hear me?”

She closes her eyes, drops her head to his shoulder.

“I hear you.”

-

There’s a part of her, on the ride back, that tells herself she won’t let Holder fuck up his life for her by telling stories to the very people that can put them both behind bars.

But she finds herself letting him take the lead anyway, and by then it’s too late and there’s no going back.

She’s gotta let this play out, otherwise it’s her that’s gonna doom him.
Might be, no matter what she does.

When they’re alone again, he kneels in front of her, puts a hand on her knee.

“You alright?” he whispers, and he’s looking at her like he did when she was lost and floating away in that mental institution.

She floats away a little now, but brings herself back, nodding. That in itself is another lie.

“Okay,” he sighs. Squeezes her leg where his hand rests.

And she wonders then, how she ever deserved a friend like Stephen Holder.

-

Holder’s practically made a career out of being a liar.

You don’t talk? They got nothin'.

You’re home free.

These are the things he learned when he was conning his sister out of house, home and otherwise; when he was keeping his superiors in the dark, to keep his job and his cover. They're the ones that taught him that anyhow. Gil, professional motherfucker that he was, was also a pretty good teacher. Truth is, Holder learned more about lying when he was stone cold sober than he ever did as a junkie.

He starts wearing suits again, minus the tie, because he wants to be taken seriously, because he doesn't want his narc past to come back and bite him, and Sarah, in the ass.

And only a little because he looks damn good in them.

It's not long after that that Caroline pieces things together.

"You can't lie for her," she insists. "I don't know what happened out there, Stephen, but I know it's not what you say, and I don't want you to get dragged down in the mud with that woman."

It's the last straw.

Stephen crosses his apartment to the door, unhinges the lock, gives her a blank stare.

"You should probably go."

And that's the last word about that.

-

Sarah overhears a conversation between him and Reddick once.

She's at his place, sleeping on the couch again because they've got an early deposition in the morning and it makes more sense than staying on the island or in another shitty hotel. Their hushed tones from the hall through the cracked front door waft into the room, waking her just shy of eight hours sleep.

"Let's just say it's complicated and leave it at that," Holder says, loyal to the end.

"You..." Reddick seems to change the subject. "You've met my daughter, right?"

Sarah remembers the picture on his desk, he and his wife beside a beautiful girl a little older than Jack, smiling, happy, on the verge of something. It makes her think of Rosie Larsen in a room full of butterflies. She wonders if Holder has the same thought.

Holder's voice drops. She can't hear what he says, but it sounds apologetic. Another regret on his list of many: terrifying Reddick's family after he lost Bullet, after he lost control.

Reddick sounds choked up when he replies. "I get it man. And I'm not here for your confession. Or hers. I just want to wish you luck today. Both of you."

Later, when Holder comes back inside, she doesn't pretend she didn't overhear.

"That Carl?" she asks, still curled into the couch, and it's not a question, because she knows damn well who it was, but he answers anyway.

"Yeah," he nods at her back. "He's a good man."

Sarah turns over, pulls the blanket under her chin. "Well are you just going to stand there, or are you making coffee?"

He grins. "One dark brew coming up for the squatter."

-

When it's over and Sarah gets her firearm back, Holder teases at the precinct about going out to celebrate with the rest of the squad.

But the reality is that Sarah killed a man.

"Not tonight," she says, and Stephen gets it.

He nods, feels like a huge jackass. "Sorry," he says. It comes out sheepish, and Sarah actually grins at that.

"Don't be," she says, and there's more, so much more, but she is forced to bite her tongue because just then Jablonski and a couple of officers in uniform are walking past, and they all shout an elongated "Hey!" and fist pump in the air, like she's goddamn Rocky or something.

Sarah almost rolls her eyes at them, but Stephen commands her under his breath to act normal, so instead she calls out a, "Good to be officially back," and then turns back to him. "Happy now?"

He chuckles.

"Oh, you have no idea."

-

So they don't go out to celebrate, but Sarah does show up at his door sometime past ten anyway.

"Grabbed dinner, missed the ferry," she offers as an explanation.

"Girl, you have got to move back to the mainland. Did you at least bring me a doggie bag?"

Sarah unveils the white paper bag from behind her back. "As a matter of fact..."

Holder takes it from her and is already moving toward the cabinet with the plates before she can finish. "We should do this more often," he says, turning around as he pulls out one of his mismatched dishes. "You know how much I love free food."

She sits next to him at the bar, watches him finish off her baked spaghetti. And they don't talk, partially because Holder's mouth is full of pasta and meatballs, and partially because Sarah just can't think of what to say.

What do you say when you basically owe somebody your life? When he was standing there, shouting, telling you to open your eyes, and you still did the stupid thing and he still saved your ass, risked absolutely everything, for you?

He wipes his mouth with a napkin, downs the ice water in front of him, and then slams the cup down on the table. "Damn, that was good."

"Good," Sarah says. "You know... I noticed... How come I never see Caroline come around anymore?" she asks, because she obviously didn't get that particular memo.

Stephen picks up his plate, carries it around to the sink.

"You really know how to ruin a good meal," he says.

"What? Things go south?"

He saunters back around the counter, hops back into the stool next to hers. "That's the general direction," he nods. "About four weeks ago."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't know."

"You didn't ask.” And then there's that awkward silence again, one they haven't experienced in a while. Silence, sure, all the time. But comfortable, never awkward.

"Stephen..." she starts. "I didn't have anything to do with it, did I?" Of course she hears herself speaking and she braces for the quip. Something about her falling in love with him all the time and how she shouldn't flatter herself. But it doesn't come. Only more of that silence.

"Shit," she mutters. "Fuck."

"Sarah," he says her name like forgiveness so loud that he doesn't have to say the thing that follows. "It was my choice. All of it. Don't go blaming yourself. A hundred percent worth it."

And there are tears in her eyes because those come far easier to her than words these days.

"Jesus," he says and he's off the stool and pulling her to the couch where he's got a box of tissues. "Don't fucking cry. I didn't even fucking cry. She's just a girl." He shoves the tissues in her direction. "It ain't no thing, Linden."

She laughs then, through her tears, and she wipes them away and they're gone. Just like that. Because being strong is second nature to her, and she finally knows what she wants to say to him. "Yeah, actually," she says, "it is. All of it."

And then her lips are on his and he leans into her for a minute, but then he's pulling back, pushing at her shoulders, because they've been here before, quite literally; one of them a fucking mess and the other one just trying to fix the other, because that is, apparently, the thing that they do.

Sarah's eyes open wide and she searches his face and she doesn't have to ask because he's already explaining.

"See there was this time... and I made a fool out of myself. And then I made a promise to a lady, and I don't wanna go around breaking promises, you see? It's not my thing... not anymore.."

Sarah looks down, pulls her white sweater over her head, meets his gaze.

"This one, you can break."

-fin