Title: Among My Souvenirs: Prologue

Rating: K+

Fandom: CSI: New York; characters: Danny and Lindsay; later Don Flack.

Disclaimer: Danny, Lindsay, and other CSI:NY characters belong to Jerry Bruckheimer, Another Zuiker, and CBS Productions. Other characters appearing later, Ollie, Joe, Ava, Hilde, etc belong to me. The ideas in this fictional story are from the bent of my own mind. Any resemblance to any person, story, or thing is purely a coincidence. This is an idea that I has been forming and gestating for over a year when Kennedy and I were talking about the 'past' and about conscription. This type of story has been in my mind for more than four years. I've tried very hard to make this unique from other fics.

Summary of prologue: This is just the establishment of of the story. Lindsay's grandmother's estate has been settled and she has received a very interesting inheritance. Remember she's never quite been taken with 'history'. While she mulls over her grandmother's bequest at Uncle Fred's, she can't seem to escape thoughts of Danny Messer. Along the way she discovers some things about herself that she had forgotten. She also discovers some thing about her grandmother that she never knew existed.

Structure of the story: While she and Uncle Fred rummage through memoirs and her grandmother's belongings, Lindsay struggles with familiar spirits as well as haunting thoughts of Danny. The prologue is Lindsay-centric, but the story as a whole with be a D/L adventure.

Warning: None at the moment. Future chapters will be Rated "T". Dream sequence will occur later on in chapter one.

My thanks: First I'd like to think all of my fellow D/L shippers. You all are a great group---espeically superb writers like Elainhe. I want to thank my beta, SallyJetson. She is awesome!! Her guidance has helped me through a rough time here. I've been seeking her advice since May, and I appreciate her patience and wisdom. This would not be possible without her. Thanks, SJ. I want to thank my Twin, Moriel, thanks for supporting me, reading this, and that wonderful suggestion. You truly are the sister I've never had! I also want to thank, Boleyn. She's truly the definitive D/L shipper. She's a great support, and I appreciate her awesome words of encouragement on my writings. Bo, you've always been a good 'cheerleader' to shippers and writers. tear Thanks. And last but never least, I want to thank Kennedy. She and I were thinking about similiar ideas over a year ago; she let me run with it and I thank her for it. She's also been a great supporter too. Thanks so much, Ken.

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"History is a guide to navigation in perilous times. History is who we are and why we are the way we are."

David McCullough

xxxxxx

"History never made much of an impression on her."

Or maybe it did.

xxxx

Lindsay Monroe peered out the apartment window and cautiously explored the clouds gathering over Tarrytown. The humidity, compounded by the scorching heat, only made conditions more unbearable. Seeking relief, Lindsay pressed a bell-shaped tea glass against her forehead, and then ran it down along the sides of her face, soaking up the condensation. Physically, she may have felt the stinging burns from the heat, but inside she felt the cold intensity of familiar spirits. As she turned her face from the window, all she could do was stare at the old army trunk on the floor.

Nearly two years had passed since her grandmother, Ava Monroe, had died. Relocating to New York, Lindsay sought to salvage some of her past ambitions and avoid the bickering over her grandmother's estate. After eighteen months of family squabbles and contesting, the will was finally read. Each family member was awarded a minor monetary allowance along with his or her share of Ava's possessions. When her share of the remnants had been delivered to her Uncle Fred's Tarrytown apartment, Lindsay used it as an excuse to escape Manhattan for the weekend. And escape Danny Messer.

Her escape from Danny Messer was short lived, as she found her inheritance irrevocably sustaining her precarious state of mind.

"To my Lindsay, I hereby leave to you, this old black metal trunk filled with souvenirs and sentimental memories from Nebraska to New York back to Montana," she bellowed in a slight sardonic manner. "Of all the people she could have given this to …Why me?"

"Maybe she thought that you'd get the most out it, maybe more so than anyone else. She always had her own reasons for doing things. But sincerely as God is my witness, don't ever try to understand how that woman's mind worked," Uncle Fred retorted, as he scratched the top of his head. "At least you also got your bassinet and some of your other belongings from her attic. Something makes me think I'll never see the old stuff I left behind. Probably scattered out somewhere near a wheatfield."

"Oh, Fred. It's not that I'm completely ungrateful, but she could have left me anything besides this … trunk," Lindsay asserted, plopping down to the floor. "She knew how I felt about the past. History, stories of yesteryear, tokens … none of those things ever meant that much to me. Not like they did to her." Stroking the ridges on exterior part of the trunk, she unfastened the lock and began searching its side pockets.

"Why in heaven's name are you a detective? Why investigate gruesome crimes and people's sordid lives if you can't face your past?" he probed while lighting his pipe.

Lindsay moved her hands slowly out of the trunk and fixed her eyes towards Fred. Expressionless, she contemplated answering the question, but the words were unable to reach her lips. Silence persisted until garnering the gumption, she broke contact and shrugged, "For answers. Maybe not the ones I am always looking for, but my work does give me some answers … answers can't be found in the past," Lindsay tried to justify as she fished out her grandmother's enormous Bible and began strolling through the front pages. History just drudges up sorrowful memories we have locked deep within our hearts.

xxxxxxx

Fred convened to the sofa and pulled Lindsay's bassinet towards him. "The problem with you is that you try to reason everything. Goodness knows you can't reason everything, my darling. You can't always get the answers you're looking for," he muttered as he pushed through the pink blanket on top of the bassinet.

Lindsay bit her upper lip; Fred's observation opened up a floodgate of tension as flashes of Danny tackled her; she tried to dodge the feelings. "One minute you're this carefree country girl and the next you're this distant scientist trying to rationalize everything…Why can't you just let go?"

Sifting through a few baby clothes in the bassinet, a grin crept over Fred's face. He whipped out a small picture from the bottom of the pile and began sizing up its contents. "Awkward place for a picture," he murmured.

Snapping back into reality, Lindsay questioned, "Huh? What are mumbling about?"

"Oh, nothing." Pausing for a moment, absorbing another puff of tobacco, he then crooked his neck. "Say Lindsay----Your grandmother's memories, musings … they never meant that much to you, eh? Memory … umm … sure does play funny tricks on us."

The mischievous tone in his voice and his relaxed posture did not elude Lindsay. She knew he had found something significant.

"I seem to remember a puppy-eyed little girl of eight dressed to the 'nines', shiny gown, high heels, looking like Shirley Temple with pigtails, possibly singing 'Animal Crackers in My Soup'."

"Okay, some of those things might have made an impression on me." Lindsay nudged a bit.

"Good. Now listen. Visualize that tiny youngster cutting through the peach orchard and dashing up the back walkway, elated to spend Saturday afternoons with her grandmother," Fred contemplated as he leaned back against the couch blowing puffs of white smoke out his mouth.

Curiously glancing over her uncle's shoulder, Lindsay inquired suspiciously. "What did you find"?

Uncle Fred leaned forward to pick up the picture. He flipped it over and flashed it to his perplexed niece. "Bring anything to mind?"

Snatching it from his hand, she examined the picture very closely. Chocolate brown eyes stared back at her. Sporting an orange-tasseled flapper outfit, her cheeks rosy red, the little girl beamed with delight. Indeed, it was her own eyes staring back at her, highlighting a young girl imitating and admiring her grandmother.

"'All I Do is Dream of You'. That was the song I was singing that day," Lindsay admitted as her face softened. "I'm not sure how that got in there. I thought photographs like these were lost forever."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Fred shrugged his shoulder and shook his head.

"You know, I can still remember those days. I can smell the coconut cream pies cooling in the window ledge, mixing with the sweet aroma of the honeysuckle vines dangling from the porch trellis. Then I would sit and listen to listen to Grandma have her little 'story hour'," Lindsay reminisced, no longer able to deny her memories.

"Awe, there will never be another decent pie made again," her uncle observed, spellbound by the mere suggestion of baked goods.

"Very true," she stated then paused for a moment. "Perhaps ancient history did mean a great deal to me at one time. As a child, her stories meant a great deal to me; they captured my imagination and fed my dreams … at least about New York. But ramblings about combating Dust Bowl Nebraska and surviving the perils of war only to settle down to a blissfully happy life as a rancher's wife…it didn't hold my attention as time went along. So I smiled graciously and humored her, but I did always wonder why she left New York for Montana."

Fred looked at her with empathy. He knew that time, in a sense, had jaded Lindsay, yet he also understood his mother's attachment to the past. "Those stories, her chronicles, that's all she had left of that world. She fed all our dreams and ambitions; that was her gift."

"I suppose so," Lindsay agreed as she closed her eyes. "On Saturday evenings, I would often doze off, dreaming of a different time and place. Her time and place---living out those carefree ambitions."

With reservations, Lindsay handed Fred the photograph. Laying it gently back into the bassinet, he shrugged, "But times change. People change. Don't they?"

"Apparently…they do."

xxxxxx

A drizzle of rain began to fall as Lindsay rose up to peer out the window once more. Watching the raindrops splash down on patrons outside of the Tarrytown Music Hall, the struggle to hold back her dour emotions grew more intense. At one time, history and those sentimental times did mean something to me. But when all you are left with are the ashes…and the fire's gone…and you try to mend the past…but can't…then suddenly those cherished musings hold little or no value.

Those broken dreams, those afflicted memories drove a wedge between her and Danny. Being with him, she had felt, once again, like that precocious, carefree child scurrying through the peach orchard down to her grandmother's house. She tasted life with flavor, rhythm and momentum, not feeling weighed down by her experiences. But, the past rarely walks away. Ironically, a trip through it would only deepened thoughts of him….Thoughts that hit her like a jab to the gut.

Yanking his raincoat off the coat rack, Fred fought to unravel the left sleeve that had become inexplicably tangled with the bottom of his coat. "You know it would be just dandy if these things would stay in place instead wadding up. Isn't that what a coat rack is for? Keeping this stuff neat and handy?" he gasped.

"Going to your lodge meeting?" Lindsay interjected as she crossed the room, taking in a deep breath.

"You bet," he confirmed as he positioned his plaid-styled fedora on top of his head, pipe hanging haphazardly out the side of his mouth. "Another Friday night with the guys in high-waisted pants, talking about their unappreciative grandchildren and every ailment in their bodies. The thrill of my week."

Trying to hold a straight face, Lindsay strolled up to him and began fixing his tie. "I don't know who owns the crazier bunch of hats, you or Dr. Sid Hammerback. Perhaps that is why I'm so fond of Sid. He reminds me of you."

"Oh, so I have competition?" he questioned while simultaneously readjusting his tie.

"You think? Possibly in the 'dated hat' department or 'aging beatnik' turned lodge conspirator."

"That is what men do at my age. While young men ride motorcycles, wear leather jackets, and get tattoos, men my age wear colorful hats and join mind-bending lodges."

"Sounds like a young man that I'm familiar with."

"Anything wrong with your young man?" Fred whispered.

"No, not so much. Not anything you can help with," Lindsay said unconvincingly while moving back to the trunk on the floor.

"So that's it. And I had the impression that you came to see your ol' uncle for the weekend to reminisce," he stated in an arbitrary tone, stopping for a moment after he twisted the doorknob. "Lindsay, for someone that disregards history and wants to live in the present, you sure do live in the past."

He then scurried out the door, leaving Lindsay alone to ponder the last few seconds of their conversation. He is where he wants to be, and I am where I should be…

Aiming to take her mind off sobering thoughts of Danny, she started rummaging through the contents of her grandmother's Bible once again. Lindsay flipped over to the page marked by a sapphire and iridescent beaded bookmark. The passage marked was the twenty-ninth chapter of Jeremiah. It was the photo clipping, however, pasted below and labeled 1942, that caught her attention. Maybe it was the abundance of humidity or the twinkle in the man's eyes … but she found herself suddenly---spellbound---yearning to know more about this man from her grandmother's past.

History would soon make an indelible impression on her. If it had not already.

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Up next:

Chapter One: Sentimental Journey---More about D/L. Who is the man from her grandmother's past? What does she find as she continues to rummage through her grandmother's things? How in the heck will her grandmother's past help Lindsay's future? Lindsay's going on a journey where??