Spoilers: "Sleight Out of Hand"
Disclaimer: Danny, Lindsay, and all other recognizable characters herein are property of CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, Ann Donahue, Carol Mendelsohn, and Alliance Atlantis. I receive no compensation from this work of fiction and intend no copyright infringement.
Author's Notes: I know, I know, this has been done absolutely to death. I just recently got into the fandom and thought I'd try my hand at it as well - I love how open-ended they left the episode. I tried my best to work it so that it could theoretically remain within canon. It was never meant to be quite so long, but as I got more and more into it I just kept writing. Lindsay's family was particularly fun to create. Part 2 is completed, I'm just being extremely picky and going over it with a fine-toothed comb. With any luck it will be ready by sometime next week.
ETA: I have fixed the glaring geographic errors that were so obvious I had the urge to ram my head into a wall. I'm ridiculously embarrassed that I ever let them get past without realizing. I blame it on my Mississippi-bred mother and childhood trips to the South that started crowding in and getting the wires crossed as I was trying to write this. Thank you so much to soswimmer13 and the anonymous "me" for pointing this out so kindly and politely.
Montana is beautiful in the summer. Oh it's beautiful in the winter too, but there's nothing that Lindsay likes better than seeing the morning sun break over the mountaintops and slowly reveal the vibrant vegetation. It crawls across emerald grass accented with ruby and amethyst flowers, creating contours and shadows and warming the backs of the horses in the paddock before finally reaching the front porch of the Monroe home. Lindsay pushes herself forward on the swing and hooks her toes around the banister so that the light reaches her sooner. It's playing along the slopes of her thighs when her mother exits the house, screen door slamming noisily behind her.
Stevie Monroe is small but strong, a force to be reckoned with. It's barely six thirty but Lindsay knows that she's already been awake for hours tending to the farm. She's fully dressed, from work boots to worn blue jeans to loose flannel polo, sweat soaking into the brim of her favorite black felt cowboy hat. She cradles two cups of coffee in her hands, and passes one over as she causes the rickety old swing to creak and shift under her added weight. They blow the steam from the mugs, and Stevie reaches out to stroke the hair from Lindsay's forehead.
"You ready for this?" she asks. Lindsay grimaces, hands tightening on her coffee mug.
"I don't think I ever will be," she confesses. "But it's not like I have much of a choice, right?" The sun has broken the horizon line completely, headed for the high skies at a rapid pace. It bathes her hands, her shoulders, her face, then moves on to tackle the house and the barn behind it. Lindsay closes her eyes and lets the warmth sink in. The wide Northwestern panoramas recall in her the innocence of childhood, the fear and insecurity of such times rushing back with it unbidden. She feels even smaller against the majestic mountains now than she did before she left.
"What if I freeze up again?" she chokes out. The words spill from her mouth before she can stop them, but once voiced they hold a power over her. The cup shakes in her suddenly unsteady grip, a few scalding drops landing on her knee. She scarcely notices. "Their mothers look at me, and I feel like...like I don't deserve to be the one that survived."
Stevie reaches over and clutches Lindsay's free hand in hers, grip callused and strong. "Lindsay Monroe, you will get through this." She says it with such conviction, solemn and confident, that Lindsay chuckles.
"Yeah? Why's that?" she asks. Stevie removes her hat and sets it atop her daughter's head. The weight is comfortingly familiar.
"Because you're my daughter," she says firmly. "And I didn't raise you to back down from anything." She pushes the brim down to Lindsay's nose, and Lindsay laughs. A weight lifts - she is city tough and country strong, now more than ever. She rights the hat on her head and surveys the sun-drenched breadth of the Monroe family farm.
This bastard is going down.
The drive to the courthouse is calming. Lindsay's old pickup is rusted and trustworthy, and carries her with a security that's almost as comforting as her mother's arms. This is the truck that she learned to drive in, that she lost her virginity in, that she spent her last moments with her father in. This truck is a part of the family, a part of her. She resists the urge to roll down the windows and breathe the mountain air, wanting to appear polished for her testimony.
The farmland and forests soon give way to restaurants and gas stations, shopping malls and business centers. In her youth, she resented the intrusion as every new building was erected. Now, after growing accustomed to the New York City skyline, she has gained a new appreciation for downtown Bozeman and its mixture of the rural and the urban. City Hall is a perfect example of this, its steel-and-glass frame rising from the middle of the asphalt to tower over a parking lot full of mud-encrusted clones of Lindsay's own beloved pickup. She slides into a spot three rows back, sitting behind the wheel for just a moment to compose herself. Deep breath in, deep breath out, and she slams the door behind her with a satisfying bang.
Boom, she thinks momentarily, but shakes herself. No. Focus. Her heels dig into the cement, following a path she has walked more times than she can count. This is old hat. This is her domain. She holds her head high and crosses the threshold.
"Nice to see you wandering these halls again Linds," Carl greets her. She grins at the Bozeman P.D. officer, the broad chest and broader smile that she has known since sophomore year of high school. Carl had been small, shy, and unremarkable until the summer after he turned fourteen. All of the sudden he had shot up, filled out, and caught the eye of nearly every available sophomore girl when he returned. But it was Nadine who had caught him. He had been just as devastated as Lindsay after the shooting - she remembers clinging to each other under the bleachers at a Friday football game, unable to control themselves after the cheerleading squad dedicated a dance to their former choreographer. Outgoing Nadine, shy Kelly, flighty Brooke, and rational Lindsay.
"It's good to see you too Carl," she says, accepting a hug. His shoulders are tense, and she can see dark circles under his eyes. The town of Bozeman is small and tight-knit, and one would be hard-pressed to find a member of the community with no ties whatsoever to the three dead girls. It's taking its toll on everyone.
Reporters are coming down the hall towards them, brandishing microphones and flashbulbs. Carl tugs Lindsay's arm and leads her down the private trial participant hallway. She drops her bag in the prosecution room and flops into an uncomfortable wooden chair.
"Waiting's always the worst part," she murmurs. Carl nods. He moves to sit down next to her, but another uniformed head pokes into the room - Chief of Police Gary Stroud.
"Carl, they need some help with crowd control," he pleads. "These media hounds are relentless." Carl sighs, squeezing Lindsay's shoulder on his way out. Stroud nods her way.
"This is it, Monroe," he says. "You ready?"
This is it. Her brain is revving in overdrive, Daniel Cadence's menacing glare flashing beneath her eyelids. This is it. Her carefully-constructed confidence is beginning to rupture and dissolve. Her mouth flaps open and closed, but she is unable to formulate a response.
"You'll be fine," Stroud assures her. He looks back to the hallway. "I'm sorry, I've gotta go. I'll see you in there." He hurries off to do his job. Now it's time for Lindsay to do hers.
This is it.
She's back in the bathroom. Curled in the corner, hands clamped over her ears. The sink is overflowing, water creeping towards her and staining the hem of her jeans, but she doesn't dare move out of the way for fear of being discovered. Nadine, Kelly, Brooke. She repeats their names in her head as a litany, picturing their eyes and their smiles.
"Can you please tell the jury what happened after you heard the gunshots?" the prosecutor asks. Joe Whittenberg - she thinks she went to college with his cousin.
"It was quiet, but I could hear footsteps outside the door. And the faucet was still running - I remember being scared that whoever was out there would hear it."
Shadows shimmer in the ripples of the flooding water. The growing puddle creeps closer to the opening under the door, as if reaching for the unknown menace on the other side. Lindsay is sobbing silently, choking on her own breath.
She draws in air, shaky and unsure. She's a half-step away from full-on panic mode when the back door swings open. The squeak of hinges is noticeable against the taut silence of the courtroom. Lindsay looks up, grateful for any sort of momentary distraction from the task at hand. Her heart stops in her chest when she sees Danny enter. He pauses just inside the doors, eyes seeking out hers as if asking permission. Her entire body relaxes, buoyed by the simple fact of his presence. He takes a seat, and an awed smile creeps across her face.
"Miss Monroe?" Joe prompts.
The rest of the story spills out. She tells it like it happened to someone else. And in a way, she supposes it did - as the words leave her mouth, they leave her completely. She is ridding herself of this past that has haunted her every step of the way and now it's thisclose to truly being behind her forever.
She identifies Cadence. She feels Danny's eyes on her as she does it, but she gives all of her attention to the piece of garbage who murdered her friends. She juts out her chin in defiance, meeting him glare for glare.
"That's all we need, Lindsay," Joe says softly. She gives a curt nod, climbs down the from stand, and heads directly for her partner.
The courtroom feels a million miles away. Lindsay knows that the foreman is about to read the sentencing, but the hubbub of the trial sounds muffled and distant. Danny's shoulder against hers is tethering her to earth as she focuses on the folded sheet of paper containing the verdict.
"Will the defendant please rise?"
Lindsay reaches over and slides her hand into Danny's. He grips it tightly.
Perfect fit.
She watches the foreman's mouth. The reading stretches on, and she knows that her nails are digging into Danny's hand as she waits for that single, all-important word.
Guilty.
Every muscle in Lindsay's body releases, and she slumps into the bench. The crowd around her is a mixture of cheers and sobs of relief. Brooke's mother catches her eye, smiling through tears. Lindsay rests her head against Danny's shoulder. It's over. He's here and it's over.
He's here.
It's over.
The rest of the courtroom begins to empty, and Danny pulls her to stand. He hugs her tightly, pressed against his chest, her face buried in his neck and drowning in his scent. She still can't quite believe that he's really standing in front of her. She clutches him tighter, fingers digging into the leather encasing his shoulders, convinces herself that he is solid and real and here. He dips his head down when she pulls away, scowls in embarrassment and moves to walk out of the room. But Lindsay isn't letting him get away that easily. She catches his hand and tugs him back to her. She's smiling, wide and real, the expression calling on muscles lain dormant for years. She pulls him right up against her, and watches his nervousness melt into a smile of his own. There's nothing holding them back anymore. It's over.
But just as she cranes her neck forward to close the gap between them, there's a flash of light that temporarily blinds her. Blinking rapidly, she sees the horde of reporters clamoring around them. Danny smiles sheepishly and backs away, but does not let go of her hand. Carl steps between them and the reporters, ushering them back through the private passageway. In the dim quiet between the oak-paneled walls, he breathes a sigh of relief - both to be away from the mob and to be finished with the entire ordeal.
"I've got to get back out there," he says. "Take your time waiting it out." Lindsay lunges forward and hugs him tightly. His big, meaty arms lift her off the ground completely and she chuffs out a laugh.
"It's over," she says once he's set her down. His smile stretches wider than it did earlier this afternoon, echoing more closely the megawatt smile of Carl the campus playboy of old. She gives him a shove and he disappears into the bright fluorescence of the main courtroom hallway.
Danny is still standing behind her.
She stares in wonder, the corners of her lips curling higher upwards. Danny returns the smile.
"What, you're not gonna ask me what I'm doin' here?" he asks. Lindsay shakes her head.
"I don't care how you got here. I just care that you're here." Danny runs a hand across her shoulder, regards her solemnly.
"I'm here," he assures her. "And I'm not going anywhere."
In the bathroom Lindsay strips off her makeup with a washcloth, scrubbing away with it the tension of the courtroom, the anguish of her testimony. From her bag she pulls her oldest, most comfortable jeans, wife-beater, and the leather boots her cousin hand-branded for her sixteenth birthday. The crowning glory, however, is the battered straw cowboy hat that has seen many better days. She smiles at herself in the mirror as she adjusts it atop her head. For the first time since she was sixteen, she feels whole again. Complete. The velvety softness of the jeans caresses her like a lover, and she shivers at the sensation of finally finally being comfortable in her own skin again. It's liberating, thrilling, and scary as hell, but the adrenaline is a welcome flutter in the pit of her stomach. She is restless and alive. The knowledge that Danny is waiting for her outside the door causes her smile to widen in the mirror.
He's sitting on a wooden bench in the main hallway when she exits the prosecution chamber, the reporters long since having given up on getting a statement. Her stride is light and confident as she crosses to meet him. He lets out a sharp bark of laughter at her appearance.
"Oh, Montana, where's my camera when I need it?" he teases. Standing, he flicks the brim of her hat. She smacks his hand away.
"Messer, out here you're the oddity," she informs him primly, shouldering her bag. Danny stands straighter, throwing back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. Lindsay chuckles. His designer jeans, skintight shirt, and leather bomber jacket may get him by in New York City, but as he surveys the courtroom he discovers to his dismay that, though there are many in their Sunday best for court, the majority of the other patrons are dressed similar to Lindsay. "You could always wear the hat," she suggests coyly. The face he makes in response is priceless, and she laughs loud and clear, taking his hand once again.
"Come on, city boy - let's mosey."
"Did you rent a car?" Lindsay asks as they exit the building into the brilliant late-afternoon sunlight. She tips her head back and drinks it in, squeezes Danny's hand, and feels free. He shakes his head in answer to her question.
"Came straight from the airport," he says. "Didn't give myself a lot of time to think about it." She smiles, dips her chin to her chest. "What?" he asks, self-consciously. She tightens her fingers around his and pauses in the middle of the lot to face him.
"I just know that I haven't been fair to you in the past. And now, you coming here, to be here for me...I feel like I need to do something to thank you, but I don't know what." Danny kisses her forehead.
"You just keep bein' you, ok?" he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Lindsay breathes him in, hand fisting in the fabric of his t-shirt.
"I can do that."
Stevie no doubt spotted the pickup barreling down the road when they were still miles away from the house, because when Lindsay pulls into the driveway her mother is waiting on the porch. She blinks at Danny's lanky form climbing from the passenger's seat, watches as he pulls his jacket and Lindsay's bag from the bed of the truck and follows her up the stairs. Lindsay says nothing, but the relaxed smile tells her mother all she needs to know, and the two women hug fiercely.
"That's my girl," Stevie murmurs into her hair. When she pulls away there are tears glistening in her eyes, which she hastily wipes away before looking pointedly at her daughter's unfamiliar new companion.
"Mom, this is Danny, my partner from New York," she says. Danny grins and extends his hand.
"Nice to meet you Mrs. Monroe," he says.
"Call me Stevie," she insists, meeting his hand. She shakes, giving her daughter the eye - firm grip. She approves. "Some partner," she adds. Lindsay smiles.
"Yeah," she agrees. "He is." Stevie steps aside and gestures the pair through the front door.
"Come in. Lindsay will introduce you around, I've got to add another place for dinner."
"Oh, you don't have to..." His words fall on deaf ears as Stevie turns and strides towards the kitchen. Lindsay rolls her eyes.
"Stop being polite," she advises. Danny quirks an eyebrow. "Trust me. Swear a few times and compliment her potatoes and she'll adopt you before you know what's happening."
"Duly noted."
"And take off your shoes, unless you want to be leaving in a body bag."
There's a ruckus coming from deeper within the house, and Lindsay knows that the boys are just beginning to gather after a long day of farm labor. She leads Danny down the same path that Stevie followed moments before, into the warm-toned kitchen where the Monroe men are crowded around a small oak table. All four of them are dirt-encrusted and sweat-soaked, their hats and boots resting in a careful line out on the back porch. They stand on reflex when Lindsay enters the room, crowding forward to take turns hugging her.
"There's our good old country girl!" Jack booms. "Thought you might have forgotten what the dress code is around here."
"I'll be sure to have a good roll in the mud before I leave tomorrow," she says dryly, wiping a smear of it from Dallas' cheek. He tugs at her hair and she slaps him in retaliation. Kenny rough-houses hard enough that her hat tumbles to the hardwood floor, and Pablo replaces it as he kisses her cheek. She is laughing so hard that her stomach hurts, and tries desperately to throw her arms around all four of them at once. Growing up she was always one of the boys, but she can't imagine four better boys to have been raised by. This is her family, the men who shaped her into the woman that she has become. Following Jack's gaze back to the kitchen entrance, she realizes that she almost forgot about Danny. He's shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, looking slightly shell-shocked. Smiling fondly, Lindsay extracts herself from the tangle of rough male arms and drags him further into the room.
"Danny, this is the clan - my Uncle Jack, my brother Kenny, and our ranch-hands Dallas and Pablo. Danny's my friend from work. And it's his first time west of the Mississippi, so don't scare him off." The men grumble good-naturedly and exchange handshakes with him. Lindsay's so used to his commanding presence in the lab that it's a bit of a shock to see him dwarfed by her tall, broad-shouldered family. To his credit, he stands tall and shakes with gusto, but she can see the nervous twitch of his upper lip. It's incredibly endearing, and she feels that giddy lightheadedness return, that overwhelming urge to touch him. It's a familiar feeling, but there's a freedom to it now, with nothing holding her back. So she sidles up next to him and takes his arm, hand sliding into place to cup his bicep.
Stevie shoos everyone out to the larger table on the patio, and six pairs of hands assist her in transporting the massive amounts of food. Lindsay recognizes many of her favorite dishes - barbequed ribs, corn on the cob with lime and chili powder, mango chutney, and the aforementioned mashed potatoes. New York may have cornered the market on pizza, but barring that singular exception there's no hand quite as skilled in a kitchen as her mother's. Stevie pours lemonade, filling each glass to the brim. Lindsay receives a stern look and not a drop of drink.
"Hats off at the table," her mother commands. Lindsay makes a face but tosses the hat aside so that it lands next to Pablo's boots. She winds her flattened hair into a messy ponytail, curls escaping to brush her cheeks. The sun is beginning its evening descent, lengthening the shadows of the trees in the backyard, and she bends her head forward slightly to revel in the warmth of the last few rays teasing the nape of her neck.
Dallas and Kenny are in the midst of an inane argument about which of the mares will foal first this season - apparently there's 100 riding on the outcome. Lindsay is less than surprised - her brother is forever making and losing bets. Jack chimes in with his own predictions, goading them on, and Pablo shakes his head in amusement. The raucous boasting dies down as conversation is abandoned in favor of chewing and swallowing. It's Danny who breaks the silence.
"Damn good potatoes," he states, somewhat awkwardly. Stevie beams and offers him another helping.
"Told you so," Lindsay murmurs, leaning over the arm of her chair. Danny is smirking. "What?" He drops his fork and lifts a hand towards her, hesitates, then brings it forward to settle his thumb at the corner of her mouth. Lindsay frowns, confused, but her entire body is thrumming with excitement. When Danny pulls his finger back he holds it up to display the barbeque sauce that was previously smeared across her mouth. Lindsay blushes bright red. She only flushes deeper, however, when Danny pops the offending digit into his mouth and removes the sauce with his tongue. She shivers, slack-jawed. Danny leans back in his chair, satisfied, and drapes an arm across the back of Lindsay's.
Kenny is glaring suspiciously at them, and Lindsay stifles a groan, forcing herself to return her attention to her family. Danny doesn't make this easy, fingers absently trailing against the bare skin of her shoulder. He politely answers questions about his family and the job as the others try to make small talk, but for the most part he seems content to let them do their thing and remain a quiet pillar at Lindsay's side. She loves him so much for it, for his willingness to give even after she tried to cut him off at the pass, for that wide open heart that he hides beneath the gruff exterior.
With a full stomach and a bursting heart, she slides her hand under the table to rest on his thigh, grasping it firmly. This time she has no plans to let him go.
Danny is wholly unprepared for his impromptu trip, and has no toothbrush, no pajamas, no clothing for tomorrow. Lindsay can tell he's slightly embarrassed by his own impulsiveness, but that's just Danny Messer - throwing himself headfirst into situations with unpredictable outcomes and praying for the best. He pays for it dearly, and the behavior is borderline self-destructive.
But sometimes, it turns out for the best.
Though all four of the men of the house are far larger than him, Dallas is the closest to Danny's build, and lends him a t-shirt and flannel bottoms to sleep in. It's the first time Lindsay's ever seen him in anything that doesn't cling to each curve and plane of his chest; she hides an amused smile behind her hand. Stevie throws his clothes into the washing machine and Jack makes up a bed in the guest room. Each family member kisses Lindsay on the cheek, forehead, crown, whispering to her their gratitude and their pride. One by one they shuffle off to their own bedrooms, leaving just her and Danny at the top of the staircase. He looks rumpled and boyish in the drooping pajamas and tousled hair, so unlike the confident, professional crime scene investigator that works by her side.
"When do you leave?" he asks.
"Noon tomorrow. You?" He smiles sheepishly, and she catches on.
"Didn't book a ticket either, did you Messer?" she teases. "What are we going to do with you?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I can think of a few things," he murmurs flirtatiously, voice low and rough as gravel. Lindsay's breath quickens. She won't deny that she's entertained the thought of several of those things. He holds out his arms and she steps into them more than willingly. She takes the comfort and security of his embrace, but forces herself to give back more - he's earned it.
"I wasn't sure I was going to get through that today before I saw you walk in the door," she confesses. Danny pulls back so that he can look her in the eyes, fingers tucking an errant curl behind her ear and lingering in place. "I was channeling Stella for a minute there, but every time he looked at me I felt like I was sixteen again, trapped and helpless."
"You would have gotten through it fine," Danny assures. She makes a face and lets her eyes drift downwards, but he seizes her by the waist with his free hand and forces her gaze back to his eyes. "You may have been trapped, but I refuse to believe that you have ever been helpless a day in your life. You lived with this for over a decade, Montana - it's more than enough to knock the average person flat on their ass, but you rose above it. And that's why I came up here. Not because you needed me, but because I needed you. For my own sanity, I needed to see you kick this. And you did. You're a pain in the ass on your best days, but that's the Lindsay Monroe that I need watchin' my back."
She is fully aware that she's gaping at him. Danny leans forward and kisses the corner of her mouth, the exact site of her little barbeque sauce incident at dinner. His lips are significantly different than his thumb, however, and Lindsay's heart palpitates wildly. For the second time today she feels like she can't breathe, but she welcomes the sensation now, blind lust stabbing through her chest instead of icy fear.
"See 'ya tomorrow, Montana," he sing-songs as he disappears into the guest room.
It's a full minute before Lindsay can force her jellied knees to carry her down the hall to her own room.