Okay, I will start off by apologizing in advance for this story. It takes some jabs here and there, so I hope it comes off as funny and not as a slam at any character, period. I am not intentionally, or for any real malice reasons being mean. Just sometimes my brain ... it's just that Lindsay had this dream ... lol. And its kind of rambling and may not be worth it. Let me know what i need to do to fix it (seriously-because it is rambling) and I will do it or try to. Or, maybe take it down. Would love some feedback on this one, if its even worth feedback! It all started with a crime. Or a crime scene. But you'll have to read to see.
Lindsay sat up, a hand held to her heart. Her head was still ringing as the nightmare chased her into wakefulness. It was just images now, but it was weird.
And why she was trying to piece it all together and make sense of it, she didn't know.
"Babe?" his voice rusty, coming out of sleep, Danny pushed up and leaned forward so he could look at her. "You al'ite?"
"Yeah." She stared forward. She couldn't even look at him, the dream was so ...
"You want to tell me about it?" he reached out and pushed her hair behind her hand, gently, "Baby, look at me."
She did then, her eyes wide with horror.
"What happened? What did you dream?"
"I shot Mac," her hands were trembling, she looked down at them, "I can't even shoot Shane Casey in my dreams Danny, and I shot Mac."
He took her hands, held them tight. "Not really. Dreams have nothing on reality." He waited a beat. "But ... do you remember why you shot him? Maybe it's the why that's bothering you."
"No," she groaned. "But I shot Jo first. She was talking and she just kept talking. We were trying to discuss the case and she was there. Talking. We were eating lunch and she was there, and you took her sandwich and she didn't notic, she just stood there talking. And we needed to get home to Lucy, but we couldn't talk about it or leave, because ... And you handed me your gun and I — Danny, I shot her first."
"Understandable. I didn't think anyone could talk more than you, but she ..."
Fighting her own laughter, she glared at him, "Shut up, Danny. This is bad."
"No it's not. So you shot Jo, so we could leave and go pick up Lucy. She's the one who held up the staff meeting the other day because she wanted us to repeat all the information we'd already added into the files, told Mac and emailed her," he shook his head. It was taking a lot of getting used to, dealing with Jo's lack of organization when Stella had been a straight arrow.
Lindsay rubbed her face with her hands. "And then Mac stepped in and said we had to clean up the crime scene. And I held out the gun and pointed it at him and said 'who's the warrior now?' and I shot him."
Danny laughed, it just spilled out of him, loud enough that she was afraid he would make Lucy. She pushed at him and he only grabbed her hands and held them back until she pulled back and folded her arms to glare at him. He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as it faded away. "Well, I still don't think it made sense the time he said it. He asked for it, if you ask me. You're a strong brave woman, a mother, the love of my life. My hero."
Which was what Danny had said when she'd told him about Mac's words the first time. It hadn't made sense to her then either, but had puzzled her enough to bring her out of her pity party, because she'd seen through him. He seriously needed Stella to come back. His wisdom had been replaced by crazy, weird, meaningless ... whatever that was.
"If I ever see you put on some paint and go to the evidence locker for a certain bow I heard about..."
She smiled at him. "That was an awesome bow."
"If you were serious about killing Mac, my Montana would have gone for the bow." He reached out, tried to pull her back down. "Now, since you got me up...we should use a little wisdom of our own."
"You're kidding, right?" she asked, laying down on her own, she intentionally out a pillow between them. "I somehow recall you saying that I talk a lot."
"Did I?" he tried to pry the pillow from her hands.
"And who tells the same stories over and over agian about growing up down the street from the—"
She squealed when he got the pillow from her and rolled over on top of her. "I told you never to mention their names again."
"You're the one—" but he stopped her with a kiss, drawing it out until she forgot just about everything.
But as he kissed her, Danny smiled to himself. At least when she went off with her facts, it turned him on. Sometimes because it was cute and sometimes because it made him think of a dozen ways to distract her. Usually, it was both.
Unfortunately, such schemes would never distract Jo. He didn't have it in him, for one. Not that way. Maybe with Flack. It would give Flack something to do since he'd started hanging out all the time.
No, that would never happen, to start with.
But whatever the case, he was grateful. Grateful that a few months ago, Lindsay had saved him and his daughter. Grateful that Shane Casey's presence hadn't destroyed his little family. Grateful for his wife and the way she made him feel.
Warrior, he thought, then leaned back, breaking the kiss. He grinned down at her. "You are my hero, you know that?"
"So you said," she looked up at him with those rich brown eyes.
He grinned. "Batman was a good hero," and then he kissed her again, not giving her a chance to respond.
And that's the end. The story came from two seperate flips in my brain-Lindsay waking up to tell danny she pointed a gun a Mac, saying 'who's the warrior now?' and Danny making the comment about Jo talking more than Lindsay (because like Lindsay, I can pull a fact out of my head too-mine are just meaningless and random).