AN: I honestly don't know where this came from. I like to think that Danny and Lindsay had the kind of relationship where they'd talk about substantial stuff. I like to think Danny may have had an inkling of what she was talking about when she mentioned 'things to work through' later on. But, then again, maybe not.
Disclaimer: I wrote Santa Claus a letter last year. I know I may be a bit old for it, but you're never to old to deny your inner child. And for that inner child, I asked for the pony I never got when I was seven. But for the 27-year-old, I asked for Danny. Or Flack. Or Hawkes, for that matter. They're all pretty yummy. I dutifully sent it off before the 18th to be sure it would arrive on time. On Christmas Eve, I set out the best looking Christmas cookies we'd made and a nice glass of milk, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket and a book. It never fails. Santa came after I'd fallen asleep. I awoke with the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window, and rubbed my sleepy eyes. I glanced around at the sparkling lights from the tree, wrapped presents strewn everywhere, and an empty glass and cookie crumbs on table (the tell-tale signs that Santa had been there). No Danny. No Flack. No Hawkes. Damnit. Under the empty glass was a folded piece of paper: my last hope. I unfolded it carefully, my hands shaking with anticipation. I read quickly: Dear Tink, While I know you've been a (relatively) good girl this year, I could not honor your Christmas wishes, as most everything on your list was fictional. But, I did try: Season One of CSI:NY is yours. As for the pony, well... your Mom wrote me a letter when you were first born. She asked me never to bring you a pony, and since she's been a good girl longer than you, she wins out. Ho ho ho.
No Danny. No Flack. No Hawkes. And no pony. Damnit.
Just a Moment
He was tired. Tired of their games. He and Lindsay had played the game from the beginning. He was convinced it started the moment she called Mac "sir". He wondered if it was about time he did something about it.
He could pinpoint the exact time when he became tired of the game. It came down to one moment. One moment where he felt their relationship – and the feelings he'd been denying – had surprised him. One moment where he'd felt the weight of her words, and how they could affect him.
"Did you always want to be a CSI?"
Danny raised his head, his eyebrows lifted in a silent question. She backtracked, aware her question came from out of the blue. "I mean, I sort of know your family history and your own background. But what I'm wondering is, did you consider other career paths?"
Danny deliberately placed his evidence back on the table, and removed his gloves. Lindsay waited patiently, her eyes never leaving his face, as he pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Placing his glasses back on his nose, he regarded her carefully, wondering what brought the question. He knew that she, like himself, had demons to exorcise. Was she reconsidering her career choice?
"Where did that come from, Montana?" In using his own private nickname, he hoped to keep the mood light, conscious of the downside potential of this conversation.
She rolled her eyes at the name, but didn't bother to correct it. "I was just thinking about all the other careers out there," she answered, albeit vaguely.
Danny decided honesty was the best policy, and hoped she would maybe confide in him. Lowering his eyes to the table, he responded, "I joined the NYPD pretty early on. Went to community college. Once Louie got me out of Tanglewood, my only goals involved making up for what me and my family had done. I was going to be a cop, somehow or another." He shrugged his right shoulder in a half hearted attempt to downplay what he'd just said.
She made a small noise, seemingly in agreement, and he ventured a glance at her. Her eyes were likewise downcast, but she was playing with a piece of string in her hands. She slowly wound it around one forefinger until it turned pink, then removed it and wrapped the string around her other forefinger in one fluid motion.
"What about you?" He kept his eyes trained to her face, hoping for some flash of knowledge by reading her reactions.
Her hands stilled, her face paled, but she turned her eyes to him with determination. "There were … some friends died in high school. And I wanted to know what happened. Which started my interest in forensics." He knew this was the abridged version, but at this point he was taking what he could get. He nodded, not attempting to offer condolences; he was sure she wouldn't accept them anyhow.
He waited a few moments to be sure she didn't have anything to add before he tried to turn the conversation, "They have a good forensics department at Montana State?"
She offered him a small smile, she knew what he was doing, and she knew she'd told him her major before. She knew Danny wasn't one to forget things.
"They have good chemistry and physical sciences departments at Montana State."
He grinned, and hesitated for a brief moment, but asked the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the conversation, "You ever think about doing anything else?"
She paused, seriously contemplating the question posed, and he held his breath. She nodded, and in that moment he felt his heart plummet; he was just waiting for her to say she was quitting.
This was the moment. He knew whatever she said next would dictate their relationship. If she was quitting, it would be unlikely he'd see her again. And, at this moment, he was absolutely sure he didn't want to let her go.
Instead what he was expecting, she responded, "Well, there was that semester in college where I wanted to be an 18th Century English Lit professor."
He released the breath and smiled widely, "And what happened?"
"I never actually studied English Lit," she shrugged, a smirk threatening to escape across her face.
"A lot of those college English departments are pretty demanding that way," he replied grinning, glad she was staying. At least, for now. And just like that, the moment was gone.
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