These character's aren't mine, they belong to CBS. But ... I love them anyway.
Takes place the night after Boo.
The lights from the squad car were flashing across the dark night. The old woman's hands curled around her arm. Her eyes, deep with age, looked desperately at her. "Please don't let them take my babies."
Lindsay looked passed her, desperate for help. Danny. But he wasn't there. This time she was alone. She looked back at the woman. "I'm sorry," she said, and started to pry the woman's hand from her arm. "I'm really very sorry—"
"No—" the woman cackled, desperation in her eyes. "You're not sorry. It should have been you. It should have been you, you know. You know that now."
And the woman suddenly released her. Lindsay watched her stand up and take one step back.
It should have been you.
It was suddenly not just the woman, but a chorus of voices, of women … of the mother's of her friends. Of people she didn't know. Of other cases. Of the Duncan family that had come for Rose.
There on the drive in front of the Duncan family house, they visited her yet again.
Lindsay pushed to her feet as the mothers surrounded her weeping, chanting. I want my daughter back.
Betty Willens was among them.
Then she was back in time, in another room. She'd gone to say goodbye to her friends, despite the fact that her parents had told her repeatedly that she didn't need to do it. She'd made herself go.
As she entered the viewing room, she picked up the smell of age. Felt the darkness, the grief. It had become part of her. People turned away from her. No one could look at her.
But she had a promise to make.
She put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the casket. This one was Kelli. Sometimes she saw the others. She looked down, reached for her hand.
"I promise," she began…
But the eyes of her friend opened. The hand she held tightened on hers.
"I had so much to do with my life. You should have died."
Lindsay pulled back her hand, but the grip was strong.
"Let me borrow yours."
It was a common Kelli phrase, but this time she wasn't referring to a sweater or a pair of jeans. She wanted her life.
No … she wanted a chance to live.
"I really wanted you to live," Lindsay said, even as she tried to pull back her hand.
"Then show me. Trade places with me. Give me a chance to live."
And the voices behind her chorused: You let them take my babies. You let them take my babies.
Our babies.
No—Lindsay shook her head and started to push through them. They tried to push back, tried to lead her to the casket. She fought them. She fought back.
Until she saw the little girl.
Rose Duncan.
"I want my mommy."
Lindsay dropped down in front of her. "I know, sweetie."
"No you don't. You shouldn't be here. You wouldn't make a good mommy."
Lindsay woke, drenched in sweat, as she did after these dreams. She'd made her friends a promise. One she'd kept—two fold. She'd helped put their killer behind bars and she kept working for their justice.
But the demons of her dreams were never satisfied.
She wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Experience had taught her that. So she climbed out of bed and got dressed for the day. She had work to catch up on, and the night shift lab techs always appreciated the extra hand. She never clocked in on moments like this. It was just her own type of medicine.
The need of which came further and further apart.
She headed for the lab, but instead of going to her office as she sometimes did, she went down to autopsy. A body lay on the table, still dressed and waiting for the on shift coroner. There were few people in the room, the bare shift minimum.
She walked back and opened one of the drawers, pulling out the body of Amy Duncan. As always, like her friends, the deceased appeared to be asleep. Lindsay just stood there for a moment and studied her; a mother, not unlike her own had been at one time. At peace.
I promise to keep going. She didn't say the words out loud. Amy Duncan couldn't hear them anyway. I promise to keep doing my best to put them behind bars. I can't bring you back, but I can keep going for you.
It was the promise she'd made to her friends … the promise she'd fumbled on time and again as she'd awkwardly made her way through high school and into college. But when she'd started her job, every thing, every part of the promise had fallen into place.
"Dreams chasing you?"
Lindsay jumped, and turned to find Sid behind her, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Sid, you scared the life out of me."
"I tend to do that to most of the people I see."
Lindsay snorted a laugh. Who knew the person she needed to see the most right now would be Sid Hammerbeck?
He stepped over, looked down at Amy Duncan. "Sometimes they follow you into your dreams, don't they?"
Lindsay looked at him, watched him study the woman. She wasn't just a cadaver to him, not at this moment. But she didn't answer him. She didn't need to.
"They always have so many questions. So many stories they haven't been able to tell," he looked over at her, his gaze so full of knowledge that Lindsay just watched him. "They remind us we have a job to do."
She nodded. "I guess so."
He reached out a hand, grabbed on to hers. "Your friends would be proud of who you are, Lindsay. Don't ever let the deceased tell you different."
She smiled and felt the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She wouldn't let them fall. She never did. She'd cried those tears a thousand times already.
She turned her hand over, grasped his and for a moment found comfort in his eyes. "Thanks, Sid."
She glanced at her watch. It was too close to her shift to head home, but she was tired again. She headed instead to her office she shared with Danny. She pulled on his CSI jacket they'd hung up just yesterday and smiled as she caught the faint trace of his scent. For a moment she just let it settle inside her, warming her, helping her to feel real again. She took her own and folded it into a pillow.
Sitting down, she scooted her chair back into a corner position and put her jacket behind her head. She'd caught sleep a few times like this when Mac had commanded them to stay until he case was resolved. She fell easily into a light sleep, the dreams held back, thanks to Sid.
On call, Danny walked into his office and reached for his CSI jacket, frowning when it wasn't there. He turned around to see if he'd tossed it over his chair, then spotted the shadows out of the corner of his eye.
Lindsay.
She'd been chased by the dreams again. He'd known, even as Betty Willens had grasped her arm, that Lindsay was more shaken by the circumstance then the woman herself. A mother, desperate. It always shook her to her core.
She hadn't wanted to talk about it on their way to the hospital to check on Rose. They'd made the trip while the Willens were being booked. They'd figured the mother and son had waited this long with their secrets, a little more time would not matter.
Rose had been asleep, the family who had come to be with her weeping. Lindsay had just watched them in silence, pulling into herself in a way that made him want to shake her ... in a way that made him want to hold on.
She shifted then, and her eyes blinked open.
"Morning, Montana," he knelt down and sat on the balls of his feet. "You alright?"
"Yeah."
"Should have called me," he said.
"I'm getting used to it."
"How 'bout we practice," he took her hand and stood, pulling her up as he leaned back against his desk. She settled into his arms, resting against him. It was still early, and if someone saw them through the clear glass walls, they wouldn't think anything of it. Neither of them would take it further than the simple hold.
Besides, if there was anyone on staff people wanted to protect and hold on to, it was Lindsay Monroe. If there was a fraternity of brothers, she would be the sweetheart. She just had that way about her.
And if she knew what he was thinking, she would scalp him. She was from the west and when the laser had scalped their vic in what he liked to call their Batmobile case, Lindsay had told him exactly how scalping had been done in the past.
Danny placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He didn't think anyone would mind. They knew her story, rooted for the Messer and Monroe pairing and placed bets behind their backs.
Lindsay closed her eyes and listened to his heart. It beat strong, reminding her that this was real. As real as his scent. More real than her dreams.
That night, in the diner, her friends had been talking about one of the bad boys in town. How they'd liked him, how cute he was. She'd told them they were crazy. She'd been so clean cut then. So straight and conservative. She'd wanted a hard working cowboy.
Not the bad boy cop.
But in the end, this was what she'd found. A little of both, she thought. It ended up being her dream of choice. One she could hold onto and believe in.
And her friends would have found him exciting. They would have liked him. She didn't need to see them in her dreams to know that.