Her Grief
Disclaimer: If I owned CSI: NY, I wouldn't be writing this stuff. I'd be writing tons of D/L fluff and would stop screwing with the heads of all the Danny/Lindsay fans around the world. Judging from the promo for next week's eppy, it's obvious I don't own anything.
A/N: Lol! All I seem to be doing is posting angst, which is ironic since I can barely stand to read other angsty stories! SPOILER! One-shot based on 4x16's promo! SPOILER!
"I told Mac that I'm not good at these things and I'm not. It's a flaw of mine. But...despite that, not knowing what to say or do, I want to be here for you. I could listen or I could sit here with you in silence lending my support the only way I know how. The one thing I want to do the most right now is simply be here for you.
It's only been a few weeks and the pain and guilt hasn't gone away. This I know from experience and from helplessly watching you day after day at work, suffering in silence. I don't believe it ever will. You're grieving; reeling from a personal loss - it happens to everyone. It's not something to be taken lightly and the words 'I'm sorry' become baseless. So, instead of that, this is my own version. You're grieving. And there is no cure for a thing as terrible as that. But...everyone eventually muddles their way through it - slowly or quickly. In their own way. At their own pace.
You chose to do it seemingly alone. And I respect that. I respect it, but I hate it. It kills me to see you this way. It kills me just as much to know that to offer my help would cause you to spurn me away even more so than now.
Watching you hurts; the guilt, the pain, the tiredness on your face, in your eyes, hurts. You look trapped, you know? And I want to be the one to lead you out - to be among the ones to support you while you climb back onto your feet, still hurting, but standing nonetheless. I just don't know how to do it.
I see you standing here, probably wondering why I'm standing here telling you these things that you probably have no interest in and will most likely forget the moment I walk out your door. I hadn't intended to say all this when I came; instead it was to tell you this: I've fallen in love with you." Pause. "I don't know if this was the wrong time to tell you or if it was the right time. I really don't. A part of me foolishly believes that by telling you, it will give you some light back in your life. To know that there's at least something in this darkness surrounding you that's good. A stepping stone through it all. I love you. I love you, Danny Messer.
There. Now I've laid myself bare and still you stand there silently and I have no idea what is going through your mind. But I've said my piece and right now, it hurts a lot to realize that this could be it for us when I desperately don't want it to be. It's up to you. Right now, we're moving at your pace. You waited for me. Now, I'll wait for you and if, at the end of this, you don't want to be with me...I will grieve the loss in my own way through it. Though I'm praying with everything in me that I won't have to.
This isn't exactly a heartfelt declaration full of passion and joy, but it's a heart-wrenching confession. My last ditch attempt, one would say, to get through to you. To break this cycle. To get us back at the start of something good. I told you that I'm not good at these things; it's taken everything I got to say all this and it still falls short of the helplessness I feel inside.
If you get anything from everything I said, it should be this: I love you, Danny Messer. I'm right here. I understand. And I will wait for you."
The words she had spoken an hour ago replayed in her mind as she sagged against the wall beside a fast-becoming unfamiliar apartment door. He hadn't said a word. Hadn't done a thing. The constant noise New York wrapped itself in quieted and silenced in that hallway where she leaned; defeated, lost, helpless. Heartbroken.
Her head was bowed. Tendrils of hair had fallen forward, shadowing her despaired face. Two tears slipped, gliding smoothly down the curves of her cheeks and chin, hanging precariously before their weight plunged them to the ground.
Slowly.
In her own way.
At her own pace.
Lindsay had already begun her own grieving for her loss.