Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Author's note: Kind of a sequel/companion piece to Someday. Hope you enjoy.
Waiting
It didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, she always knew when he was there. In the lab processing , lifting fingerprints, eating a sandwich - if Danny Messer was in the room, she knew.
She felt his eyes on her, even if she wasn't looking at him. The intensity of his gaze is what penetrated, what burned into her soul. It wasn't sexual - she worked in a male dominated field, she was used to that - it was piercing, as if Danny was trying to see into her very soul, the center of her being.
Who knows? He might have been trying to guess her bra size, but in her heart, Lindsay knew that wasn't true.
Danny had always looked at her, but now it was different, ever since that night he drove her home from the hospital. She wasn't sure what made her reach out to him then, only that it was something beyond her control. Lindsay didn't consider herself a nurturer, necessarily, but something about those blue eyes, the pain she saw, haunted her.
"Are you all right, Danny?
Such a simple question on the surface, and his offhand comment about not being the injured party that day was meant to keep it there. By the tide of emotions rippling through the blue of eyes made her reach out even more. Flack … Aiden … Louie. Names designed to bring out the feelings she knew simmered in his mind.
For a moment, when she embraced him, his arms encircling her waist, hot breath on her neck, she thought he would open himself to her. But then his entire posture stiffened, and he left her with his usual smile. She felt empty, but resolved to listen to the signals he was sending - He didn't want her help, and she should mind her own business.
It should have been easy - Lindsay was not the type of person to pry, not even care that deeply - the scars of her own past dictated that. But something about those eyes. She almost felt he was reaching out to her … but no. She needed to wait for him to make the next move, wait for him to realize that she cared without judgment. She resolved to regard him impassively, until he dictated otherwise.
Still, she always felt his eyes on her, staying with her even when she was alone in her bed. That was probably why she felt compelled to go to her window late one night. She arose shortly after 4 a.m. to get a drink of water and somehow …
She just knew.
Lindsay crept to her window and peeked outside, careful not to disturb the blinds more than she had to. And there he was. Sitting slumped on that rotten old bench across the street. He was partially concealed in shadows, but she knew it was him. She wanted to go to him, but restrained herself. He would come when he was ready. If he didn't, it meant he didn't trust her, and there was no sense wasting their time.
The next day he came to work, eyes red-rimmed, yawns punctuating his conversation throughout the day. His hair stuck up in odd directions and his leather jacket smelled of cheap perfume. She felt anger boiling up inside, but it wasn't jealousy - not much, anyway. Lindsay was angry that he tried to take the easy way out, drowning his sorrows with booze and some nameless woman he probably met in a bar somewhere.
But until Danny came to her, it was none of her business. So she waited.
One day they were working a case in which a prostitute was found stabbed to death in some fleabag in a poor section of Brooklyn. Danny watched her critically that day as she efficiently processed the evidence.
A couple of days later, they wrapped up the case - some drug-fueled idiot thought he saw the devil in the young girls eyes and tried to kill it with his hunting knife. As Lindsay wrapped up the paperwork and closed the file, she sighed deeply. You could get used to the cases, but that didn't mean you weren't affected.
"Toughen up, Montana. We'll probably get another one next week."
Lindsay, angered, spun around to face him. "I'm plenty tough, Danny, don't you worry or condescend to me. But I'm allowed to take a moment to mourn."
"Mourn what? A dead hooker?"
"No, Danny. I mourn the young girl that once existed in that body. I mourn innocence lost, a life of bitterness and dependency. I mourn the death of someone who couldn't reach out, that let life eat at them, little by little."
Suddenly, she felt tears threaten, and turned on her heel. "I have to go, Danny. Have a good night."
He didn't answer her, let her walk alone down the hall to elevators. But she felt his gaze, burning into her retreating back. But for once she didn't care. It's your move, Danny, and your loss if you don't make one.
That night, Lindsay couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, seeing his face, despite her resolve not to think of him. At one point, she even peeked out the window, but he wasn't there. Finally, resolving to get some sleep, she went to bed.
Although restless, she slept, and she awoke to pale dawn sunlight sneaking around the blinds. Groggily, she took a shower and dressed, glancing briefly at the clock. 5:22 a.m. She usually tried to leave by 5:30.
Turning to brew some java for the road, she suddenly stopped short, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Walking slowly, as if in slow motion, she went to the window, raising one of the slats to gaze outside.
And there he was, partially illuminated by the early morning sun, sitting alone on that same bench.
Holding two cups of coffee.
THE END