Disclaimer; I own none of the CSI: NY characters and I have no money so suing me would be pointless.
The woman stared up at the apartment building, wondering not for the first time if she was doing the right thing. She really didn't want to make things worse. She looked around nervously, seeing the backed up traffic and frantic pedestrians, suddenly yearning to go back home, yearning for the peace and quiet of her suburban existence.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets to ward off the bitter chill that was creeping into her fingers. The feel of the leather box against her touch snapped her out of her desire to flee, a reminder of why she was here.
Quickly, before her resolve left her, she crossed the road and made her way up the steps. She took the opportunity the woman with the stroller presented, thankful that she could hold onto the door while the woman struggled against the wind whipping at her slight frame. After smiles and words of thanks, Sarah Smith snuck in through the door, into the warmth that the shared hallway offered. She took a deep breath and headed for the stairs, needing time to think of what she was going to say.
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"Danny Messer! Can I talk to you a second?"
His steps faltered and she watched his back stiffen, shoulders hunched in defeat. She felt her heart lurch in her chest. She didn't know if she could do this but she had to try.
"What is it?" he asked, his gaze flitting very briefly to hers before once again resting at his feet.
"I miss you," she whispered.
He closed his eyes tightly and breathed slowly through his nostrils.
"I can't do this right now," he said simply.
"Why not?" she asked, arching her brow questioningly.
It had been weeks since they'd spent any time together, her efforts to support him after Ruben's death clearly unwanted.
"I just . . . .," he shuffled his feet, his eyes still glued to them, "I just need some time," he sighed.
"A day?" she asked, moving towards him, "A week? Forever?"
His head shot up at that, eyes full of pain locking with hers. "What . . .? No, . . . I, ."
"It's okay," she said, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, "I understand, I do . . ., really . . I just, . . . ." she took a deep breath and shrugged, ". . miss you," she added finally.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, stepping into her, resting his forehead against hers for a moment.
"It's okay," she replied, her fingers reaching up to press against his chest, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.
"Just . . ., wait for me," he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice, "please."
"Of course," she said softly, "You did it for me, I'll do it for you."
He stepped back then, hesitating a moment to brush his lips briefly against hers. "I have to go," he said, his eyes holding an intensity that made her shudder.
She nodded as he turned and walked away. "I'd give you forever if that's what you needed," she whispered, unsure if he heard her.
His guilt increased with every step he took away from her. He'd never meant to hurt her, god only knew she'd had enough pain in her life. He just couldn't bring himself to be with her right now, being with her made him happy and that was something he didn't feel he had any right to. Deep down he knew he had to find a way to stop blaming himself, had to find a way to move on otherwise he might as well have died along with Rueben, or Louis, or Aiden . . . . .
Danny ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
"Dammit! Where the hell are you Montana?" he shouted, screwing up the list that Flack had given him and throwing it to the floor.
It was the same every week. Flack would come around and drop off the list of Jane Doe's that had presented in the past few days, leaving Danny to scan the details of every one, desperate in his search for any sign that one of them could be Lindsay. And every week his mind would drift back to the last time he saw her, the last time he'd touched her.
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"How is he?" Stella asked as Flack entered her office, his expression dejected and telling her everything she wanted to know.
"Lost, guilty, angry . . . . ."
It was the same response he gave every time. Stella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to clear the ache that had taken up permanent residence behind her eyes.
"You think she's gone don't you?" she asked finally.
Flack looked at her, his gaze narrowing. "Oh god Stell," he replied, his words coming out choked, "I hope not . . . . ."
Stella stood, stepping around her desk to stand before him. "We have to think it's a possibility though don't we?" she asked, tears filling her eyes.
Don reached his arms around her, pulling her into his chest and holding her tightly to him, his own eyes filling at the thought of the beautiful, bright, funny girl from Montana being no longer with them.
"I just don't know where else to look," he replied, his head dropping and resting against her shoulder.
They held onto each other, neither one wanting to let go, both absorbed with memories of the last time they saw her.
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"Hey kiddo, how's it going?" Stella asked as she entered the locker room.
Lindsay's head snapped up at the sudden interruption. "Oh hey Stell," she said softly, trying to clear her thoughts and focus on the task of packing up for the day.
Stella frowned at her. "You doing something with Danny tonight?"
The younger woman couldn't stop the pain that flitted across her expression. "Um . . . no, I . . ."
Stella sighed. "You know why he's doing this don't you?"
"What?!" Lindsay asked, shocked at Stella's words.
Stella smiled softly, reaching out and placing a calming hand on Lindsay's forearm. "He thinks he doesn't deserve you."
Lindsay sighed deeply. "He deserves so much more than me," she said simply.
"That's crap and you know it," Stella said, sitting down beside her.
"Do I?" Lindsay asked, her eyes flicking momentarily to the older woman's, "I'm no good at this sort of thing stell. The other day I went to his apartment, Rikki was there, I could see she'd been crying. He let me in, he had this desperate look in his eye, like he was pleading with me to help him and I just took one look at Rikki and froze."
Lindsay took a shaky breath, "It's the mother thing . . . ."
"And Danny knows that Linds."
"I guess," Lindsay sighed, her shoulders shrugging lightly.
Stella was about to speak when they were interrupted by Mac who gave them a measured look before holding up a file.
"We've got a new case," he said, his expression neutral.
"What ya got?" Stella asked, giving Lindsay a moment to collect herself.
"Peter Michaels, turned up at the precinct a few hours ago. Told them he wanted to confess to a series of murders spanning the past 10 years. Same MO, all teenage girls with a history of psychological problems; vulnerable, lonely girls who wind up raped and murdered, dumped in public parks, dressed identically in clothes that didn't belong to them. Twelve vics across twelve states. Most recent was a week ago here in Manhattan," he paused, glancing at the two women.
"The Stanten case," Lindsay breathed, nodding in understanding.
"Exactly," Mac said, nodding approvingly at her ability to catch on.
"It seems as though you have all the answers already Mac," Stella said with a smile.
"Almost," her boss replied, "He's given us everything; detailed accounts, photos of all the vics post mortem. The only thing he wants us to do is identify the first vic."
Stella arched her brow questioningly. "Why?"
"Because," Mac replied, "Apparently she's still alive, he let her go."
Both women looked at him sharply. "I don't understand," Lindsay said, frowning.
"I'm not sure that I do," Mac sighed, "I think it's a game. He's given us her hair," he added, holding up an evidence bag, "wants us to identify her through her DNA, says she never came forward to lodge a complaint."
"How does he know we even have her in the system?" Lindsay asked.
"I have no idea, but Flack says Michaels is certain we'll find her."
"I'll get this to Adam," Lindsay said, taking the bag from Mac before heading towards the lab.
"So much for a quiet night at home," Stella sighed, giving Mac a small smile before taking the file from him and heading towards her office.
"Adam's processing the hair," Lindsay said as she joined Stella in her office, "What do you want me to take?"
"Here," Stella replied, passing a stack of papers to the younger woman, "his diaries, I'll take the first half, you take the second."
"Why are we even bothering if we've got a confession?" Lindsay sighed, sitting down opposite Stella.
"You don't even need me to answer that," the older woman said with a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. We've gotta be thorough."
"Exactly."
The women sat poring over the diaries in companionable silence, the only sound coming from either one of them when a particularly harrowing account caused a curse to be uttered.
"I think he was grooming her," Stella said softly to herself.
"What?" Lindsay questioned, still distracted by the entries she was viewing.
"The first girl," Stella said, "he was grooming her. She was the one he wanted, the one he did all this for," she added, her hand indicated the documents littered across the desk.
"What makes you think that?" the younger woman asked.
"He seemed obsessed with her, it seems as though he'd known her for quite some time, that she'd been through some hard times and he was helping her. She was sixteen when they first met, it seems as though she had been through some sort of trauma. This isn't a professional summary but I'm wondering if he was a counsellor or some sort of shrink. He talks about her visiting him, it seems as though it went on for quite a few months and the way he writes her, it's . . . I don't know, but it sort of seems as though he loved her."
Lindsay frowned, mulling Stella's words over in her head. "Did he rape her?" she asked, "I mean, we know he let her go but do we know if he raped her?"
"I don't know," Stella replied, "There's no account of it, his last entry is about his grief at her leaving."
"I thought Mac said he let her go."
"Yeah," Stella replied, frowning. "But according to this she just stopped visiting, he talks about not being able to reach her anymore, about her distancing herself from him and how her mother called him to stop the visits. That's what makes me wonder if she was there on some sort of professional basis but the way he writes is like some sort of romantic liaison. No physical intimacy though, just his thoughts and descriptions . . . . oh! . ."
"What is it?" Lindsay asked.
"He was definitely grooming her," Stella said with satisfaction, "And he was definitely trying to capture what he believed he had with her when he took the others." Stella passed the notes to Lindsay and watched as her eyes scanned the last few paragraphs on the page.
"He dressed them like her," Lindsay whispered as she read Michaels' detailed description of the teenager and what she was wearing. "We need to find out who she was."
"I'll go and chase up the DNA from Adam, in the meantime why don't you and Flack go and speak with Mr Michaels?" Stella suggested.
"I'm on it," Lindsay replied, getting up and going in search of the young detective.
"I miss her," Stella whispered into Don's shoulder as she fought back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her.
"Yeah," he sighed, "Me too."
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Mac Taylor looked on at the scene in front of him. He could tell by the way they were holding each other that Flack had just returned from his weekly visit to Danny. The routine had become agonizingly familiar. Mac wished he could reach out to the younger man, wished he could take back everything that had happened that day.
"How's it going?" Mac asked as Stella entered his office.
"Adam should be along in a minute with the DNA profile, he seemed a little distracted an said he wanted to talk to us in person," Stella said, shrugging in confusion.
"Sounds as though he might have something though," Mac said.
"Yeah," Stella replied, "Although I don't relish talking to this girl, whoever she is, it's not going to be easy telling her that he murdered eleven girls because he was obsessed with her."
"That's what you think?" Mac asked.
"I'm sure of it, he was obviously grooming her and when he couldn't have her went looking for a replacement and when they did something to remind him that they weren't her he killed them. It's all there in his accounts."
"God," Mac sighed heavily, "That's a . . .," his words trailed off as he saw Adam head towards the door.
Mac frowned as he took in the fearful expression on the young techs face.
"What do you have Adam?"
"We got a hit," Adam mumbled, unable to look at either one of the CSI's, his gaze held steady in front of him.
"That's good isn't it?" Stella asked.
"Not really," Adam mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment, "The vic came back to an internal control sample."
"An internal . . . .?" Mac stopped talking as reality hit him, "Our internal control samples?" he asked, shocked, "How can that be?"
Adam handed him the profile, shuffling awkwardly.
Mac's gaze scanned the sheet in front of him while Stella looked on in confusion.
"Oh my god," Mac whispered, blinking before raising his eyes to Stella, "Where's Lindsay?" he asked.
Just then they were interrupted by Danny tapping on the glass door. "Hey, anyone seen Montana?" he asked cheerfully.
If it hadn't been for the fact that the three occupants in the room were reeling from shock, they might have had cause to wonder what had made Danny so happy. It was no secret that he'd been wracked with grief for weeks and as such had distanced himself from all of them.
Mac was the first to recover.
"I sent her out on a call," he said softly, "She'll be gone for a couple of hours I should think."
"Oh . . . oookay," Danny muttered, taking in the tense atmosphere in the room, "Anything you need me to do?"
"No. Just go home Danny, it will all still be here in the morning."
The younger man frowned before turning on his heel and making his way along the corridor, his thoughts absorbed by a range of possibilities that might be causing his boss to act weird.
"I don't want him to be told about this. Not yet," Mac ordered, "Let's just keep it between the three of us until I can talk to Lindsay."
"Oh my god," Stella whispered, colour draining from her cheeks, "Lindsay . . . shit! . . ..I sent her to interview Michael's."
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Don Flack Jnr stretched his aching muscles as he prepared for his routine nightly workout in the NYPD gym. It was either this or a couple of beers to unwind at the end of a long day and tonight he was on call so the beers were out. He was always especially tense after visiting Danny.
Danny Messer hadn't worked at the crime lab for over three months and Don's only contact had been through his weekly visits to drop of information that might help Danny in his search for the truth. Not that Don hadn't already gone over all the new information at least three times before he even passed it onto Dan, he had searched and searched for any sign that would help them find her. Always he came up with nothing. His mind drifted as the treadmill sped up.
"You ready for this?" Don asked with a smile.
"Yeah," Lindsay replied, "Let's give this sucker a hard time."
"This I am looking forward to," Don laughed, stepping back to let Lindsay into the interrogation room, she really was very impressive when she was in full swing, he'd seen her make grown men weep.
Lindsay stepped into the room, stopping in her tracks at the voice that greeted her.
"Well hello Lindsay Monroe," Michaels whispered in a tone that pricked at her consciousness, something familiar in his tone, "Long time no see. I had hoped I would get the opportunity to see you again."
Lindsay looked at him sharply, her gaze narrowing as she tried to place him. There was something familiar about him but it was as though her mind was shutting down, blocking out a memory that would help her place him.
"I don't know what . . ."
She struggled to gather her thoughts against the roar that was deafening her, the sound of her own blood pounding through vessels that threatened to burst at the pressure forced on them. She swayed as her skin paled dramatically. The last sound she heard was laughter, a chilling, cold sound that penetrated every fibre, every defence of her being.
Don Flack felt a moment of alarm as he saw her legs crumble beneath her. He lurched forward, catching her before she hit the ground.
"I NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!" he shouted as he lowered her body to the floor.
"Linds," he said urgently, "It's okay I've got you," he whispered.
He turned to shout again but the words stuck in his throat at the sound of pounding footsteps and a second later the vision of horrified expressions on the faces of Mac and Stella as they both skidded to a halt in the doorway.
The only sound in the room still came from Michaels as everyone stopped, comprehension reaching some while others were still shrouded in confusion.
"Get her out of here," Mac ordered, uncharacteristic panic in his tone.
Stella moved towards Don, reaching to shield Lindsay from Michaels gaze as Don lifted her into his arms and carried her from the room.
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Sarah took a deep breath as she stood outside of his door. She really didn't know what to expect but she'd found out a little about Danny Messer from her brother who still had connections on the force. Nick had carried out a few checks for her, making sure that the man she was going to see was not someone who was best left in the past.
Sarah hadn't been particularly worried anyway and the check had just been a precaution. She didn't want to bring anymore pain to the young woman who had touched her soul with her mysery. She wanted to help, wanted to heal and she'd known she wouldn't be able to do that if this young man was responsible for such pain. But he wasn't she was confident of that.
Her confidence seemed confirmed as the door swung open to reaveal the man in question. One detective Danny Messer stared back at her, the look of confusion on his expression overshadowed by the pain that clouded everything about him.
"Detective Messer?" Sarah asked as though she needed that confirmation.
"Who are you?" he responded in a flat tone as he took in the middle aged woman who looked as out of place in New York as he would on a farm herding cattle.
"My name is Sarah Smith," she replied, "I have something that I believe once belonged to you."
She took the box out of her pocket, fumbling with it slightly before handing it over to him.
"I own a jewellery store and this was brought in just the other day, I knew it was special, that it wasn't something that should be pawned for a few dollars. I knew that it meant something."
She knew she was rambling, that she really should just shut up and let the poor man get a word in edge ways.
Danny fingered the box for a moment before popping open the lid. Not that he needed to, he knew exactly what lay inside. But he couldn't help himself. Fear mixed with hope as he lifted the silver ring from the bed of foam that kept it secure in the tiny box. He lifted it up to the light where he could see the edges of the inscription, too tiny to be read by the naked eye. But Danny Messer didn't need to read it, he knew what it said.
One word that represented everything dear to him. It represented home.
"Montana," he whispered brokenly before tears broke through his resolve and escaped silently down his cheeks.
