A/N: A story "vaguely" (almost completely) based off "Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood. Pre D/L but with hints of things to come. Enjoy!
Louisville Slugger
How to tackle someone wasn't the only trick Lindsay's brother taught her.
Pre – 3.02 "Not What It Looks Like" and 3.03 "Love Run Cold"
Well, the ex-boyfriend wasn't the murderer, Lindsay thought. His alibi had checked out and frankly, coming back to the batting cages had been a waste of time. He hadn't even talked to their victim in three weeks and had nothing new to add to the investigation. She stopped by the car and scanned the surrounding area for Danny, who had inexplicably disappeared. The sound of a distant crack startled her, and she headed in that direction. Danny was in the batting cage furthest from the road, his bat arcing smoothly through the air before connecting with the ball and sending it flying into the mesh at the opposite end of the cage. She watched him quietly, not wanting to disturb him.
Lindsay flew down the driveway after her brother.
"Trent!" she called. "Trent, wait for me!"
Her older brother turned and scowled at his eight year old sister.
"No! You stay here, Lindsay. I don't want you to come with me."
"Trenton Samuel Monroe!" their mother exclaimed. "You'll take Lindsay to baseball practice with you today."
"But Mom-"
"Please, Trent."
"Just today," he agreed grumpily. "C'mon Linds, or we'll be late."
"Thank you, Trent!" Lindsay squealed happily. "You're the best big brother ever!"
"Okay, squirt," Trent sighed.
"Don't call me squirt!"
"Are you coming?"
"Yes!"
"Then let's go."
Trent's team was there when they got to the baseball diamond and Trent had Lindsay sit on the benches behind home plate while the team was playing. She watched the coach divide the team into two and one half stand on the field while the others came up, one at a time, and swung the bat at the ball. She was fascinated. The young girl sat quietly for the two hours that they were at the park, coming alive again as she and her brother walked home.
"-And when you hit the ball over the fence and got to run in a circle, what was that called?"
"That's a home run," Trent replied.
Lindsay turned to look up at her brother, her face shining with excitement. "Yeah, that was awesome! Can you teach me?"
Trent laughed. "Maybe tomorrow, squirt, but right now I'm starved. Let's see what Mom made for dinner, okay?"
"Okay!"
Danny was leaning against the fence and watching her when Lindsay shook the memory off. He'd taken off the batting helmet but he was still holding the bat loosely in one hand.
"Hey, Montana," he rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry I took off on you."
"Its fine, Danny."
"'S just – I miss it sometimes, and you said you didn't need help-"
"Its fine, Danny," Lindsay said again, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Really."
"Alright," Danny said, clearly not believing her, "Did you get anything?"
"Nothing. My gut says he didn't do it, and the evidence isn't telling us any differently."
Danny nodded. "Back to the drawing board?" he offered, putting the bat back on the rack. "How 'bout the boss? Or the-"
"Hold that thought," Lindsay interrupted, pulling her phone off her belt. "Monroe." A pause. "Yeah Mac, we're on our way in. No, the ex didn't do it. I know. Back to the drawing board. Okay, Mac. Bye."
"So?" Danny asked, falling into step beside her as they headed back to the car.
"Mac's not letting us stay another night of overtime. He says we need to have real lives outside the lab." Lindsay replied, grinning ruefully. "He said two nights was enough and we wouldn't be doing our vic much good if we were too tired to do work."
"Sounds like Mac," Danny agreed, getting into the car, "On that note, the team is getting' together at Sullivan's tonight. You want to come?"
"I actually have plans, but thanks, Danny," Lindsay said, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Hot date, Montana?"
"You jealous, Messer?"
"Jus' wonderin' what could keep you from spendin' a night with some of New York's Finest."
"Dinner."
"With a hot date." Danny prodded.
"Yes." Lindsay smiled, thinking about Noah, the sexy-serious brunet she'd met three months before at her uncle's birthday. They'd hit it off immediately and he'd asked her for her number before leaving. Their first date had been two days later and they rarely went more than four days without seeing each other. It was nice to be wanted to like that. They lapsed into silence then, the remainder of the trip interrupted only by the sounds of New York traffic.
Lindsay headed for Trace as Danny went to DNA to see what they could scare up before they left for the night. Danny had no luck, and was in his office finishing some old paperwork before he had to meet the others at the bar. He had just turned off his computer and was putting his jacket on when Lindsay reappeared.
"Hi, Danny."
"Hey, Montana. What's up?"
"My date was called away on business. Think I can still take you up on the invitation?"
"O' course, Montana. Stel' will be glad – she's always saying there are too many guys in the police department – can't imagine why." He grinned. "I was jus' about to head to the car. You need a ride?"
"Sounds good. Thanks, Danny."
He shrugged, watching her. "Hey, what are partners for?"
She grabbed her jacket, walking with him to the elevators, but she had no answer for him. Danny waited a beat before speaking himself.
"Hey, I'm sure he woulda been here if he coulda, Montana."
"I know," she sighed. "It's just disappointing, that's all." She looked at him curiously as he turned left at the next intersection, instead of going straight for the three blocks it would take them to get to Sullivan's.
"Construction," he told her. "Been messin' everything up all day." He reached for the radio dial. "You mind?"
"Go ahead," she replied, staring out the window. That was the only reason she saw it. They were driving by some dive – Kitty's Cabana – and she saw the silver Mustang. The one that Noah drove. And she saw him get out with some sleazy girl hanging off his arm. Her blood boiled to an angry heat in seconds.
"Danny," she said, interrupting his rendition of Bachman-Turner Overdrive's Taking Care of Business. He looked over at her.
"I forgot something at home. Would you mind dropping me off and I'll meet you guys at Sullivan's in half an hour?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
"Sure, Montana. D'you want me to wait?"
"No, I just have to call a few people back before the time difference makes that impossible. I'm so sorry I forgot about it," she lied. "I'll be there before you know it."
Danny turned right at the next light, smoothly changing direction to her apartment. "You don't have to explain, Montana," he said as he drove. "You wanna, that's good enough for me – unless you change your mind about dinner halfway through those calls."
At this she had to smile. "No, I'm not going to change my mind."
"Good." Danny said, satisfied. He let her out at her apartment and watched her walk to the front door. Halfway there, he leaned out the window and called after her.
"Hey, Montana. You need a pickup, let me know, okay?"
"I will," she called distractedly, waving over her shoulder, already planning her next move.
Noah's betrayal had her practically vibrating with the need to do something. Thanks to her brother Trent and his overprotective streak, she already had an idea. If there was one thing Lindsay Monroe wouldn't stand for, it was being used. By anyone. Her message to Noah would be delivered swiftly, viciously, and directly. He'd told her once that his Mustang was his baby, lovingly restored from the wreck it had been, and it now looked exactly like it had in 1967, when it was fresh off the lot. The thought made her grin. It was a good thing he was a tax lawyer, otherwise he'd never be able to fix his "baby". She opened the door to her apartment, stepped inside, and opened the front closet. Inside was Trent's old Slugger, scarred from two years of use in kiddie ball, and signed with the dates of the championship games his team had won. He'd given it to her when she moved to the city, even though, as she had reassured him, she was a cop and she had a gun, so a bat was overkill.
He'd given it to her anyway, sneaking it into her car and refusing to take it back when she'd offered to mail it home. It made him feel better, he insisted, about leaving his baby sister alone. So she kept it. And for the first time, it would earn its keep. She left the apartment almost as soon as she'd entered, hailing a taxi and slipping inside, giving the cabbie the address of the bar. He barely glanced at the bat she carried, reminding her again why crime was so high in New York. People learned to ignore things they didn't want to see. She tipped the cabbie generously and stepped out away from the streetlight, angling away from the entrance and towards the parking lot. The Mustang stood out in the gloom and she stood in front of it for a moment, considering. She hefted the bat in her hands, feeling the familiar weight, remembering the first time Trent had shown her how to play.
"Lift the bat like this," Trent said, demonstrating for Lindsay. "Stand like this." He adjusted her hands and feet. "Then, when I throw the ball, try to hit it with the bat. You won't hit it all the time, but that's alright. Over the fence is a home run, and anything that's closer than that, but I can't catch, you run to the base. As far as you can before you think I'll tag you out. Ready?"
"Ready!" she echoed excitedly.
"Ready." Lindsay whispered to herself, and swung. The bat arced through the air, landing with a satisfying thunk on the hood, denting it. The alarm went off, but she wasn't that worried – it was barely noticeable over the sound of the music from the bar. She swung again, shattering the windshield. Again, and it fell apart. Again and again she swung the bat, impacting against the doors, the windows, the hood, the trunk, the bumpers, the hubcaps. Everything broke, shattered, or dented. She remembered her brother saying she had a wicked swing. If Bozeman had had a girl's baseball team, she'd probably have joined, and done well. Lindsay studied her handiwork and nodded, walking away as a couple came out of the bar and towards the noise. She walked the three blocks to Sullivan's, calling Danny on the way.
"Hey Danny? … No, I'm on my way, but I need to leave something in the car. Do you think you could meet me outside? … Great, thanks. See you soon."
"What's with the bat, Montana?" Danny asked, pushing himself off the hood of the car as she approached.
"You don't want to know, Danny," she said, grinning. The anger had drained out of her with every swing, making her feel almost giddy, and now she was done with Noah.
"Oookay," Danny drawled, opening the back door for her. She placed the bat carefully on the seat.
"Is everyone here?" she asked.
"Yeah, just. Flack got held up at the station. We're ordered already. Stella got something for you, don' worry."
"Good. Let's eat."
Danny looked back at the locked car, the bat sitting innocently on the backseat. "I really don' wanna know, do I Montana?"
"You really don't, Messer." she replied, laughing.