They've decided to be just friends. Or, more accurately, Lindsay decides and Danny reluctantly accepts. The decision comes after her rain walk, after deciding it would be easier to just be friends. It seems too exhausting, impossible really, to try to anything else. Although being just friends has its own tiring and awkward moments.
But sometimes Lindsay questions this status because sometimes it feels wrong. It feels like they are more than just friends. She assures herself these doubts are normal, but can't deny their frequency or strength.
The first hiccup came during a double shift at the lab. It's a big case, and everyone is working overtime. It's late and dark and Lindsay is alone in her office, waiting for DNA results when Danny comes in.
"I didn't realize you were still here," he lied. "I'll walk you home."
"Oh, it's okay. I still have a lot of work to do."
"My latest vic was alone his office before he ended up in the morgue downstairs," he teases.
"Actually, statistics prove that most crimes are not committed by strangers but by spouses and in the comfort of home."
"That's very true," he says with a laugh. Lindsay shivers at his smile. She still has a soft spot for that charming, sexy, lopsided grin. Probably always will.
"Can I help with anything?" he asks.
Before she can reply, he steps forward, stands close to her, closer than a just friend would. His hip brushes against her shoulder but she focuses on typing her email instead of the scalding heat from their brief contact. She can barely think over her thundering heartbeat. Her arm tingles. The familiar scent of him, the nearness of his body pleasantly, momentarily overwhelm her.
Lindsay stands up, desperate to break the unusual mood. "No, thanks. But if something does happen to me, I'll be sure to call you so you can tell me 'I told you so.' Or if you're still here, then I guess we'd both be in trouble."
He laughs, so does she. Mood gratefully broken. But his expression and tone suddenly turn serious.
"I'd protect you." Even though he couldn't protect her from him.
She looks up to meet his eyes, realizing her mistake too late, because she temporarily loses herself in them. They stare at each other, waiting for the other to look away first. He leans forward. As if in a magnetic pull, she does too. Lindsay can remember, imagine, taste the kiss they're both contemplating. It would be soft and satisfying.
But way too complicated.
She quickly steps away, her cheeks burning, afraid to look at Danny even though he's just a friend.
"Thanks for the offer," she says quietly, "But you don't have to wait for me."
Before leaving Lindsay turns back towards Danny. The confusion on his face mirrors her own.
"Bye," she says to her friend.
The office door swings closed behind Lindsay, shutting out the possibility of being anything more than that.
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It's late again the next time Lindsay realizes their just friends status is not as cut and dry as she'd like. Everyone is at O'Neill's, relaxing after a particularly draining week of crime and murder. Everyone that is, except Danny. Alone in a corner booth, he's practically hidden and clearly miserable.
Inexplicably drawn to him like a moth to flame, she walks up to him. A slight tilt of his head is the only acknowledgement of her presence.
"Everything okay?" she asks. His nod is barely perceptible. She turns to leave, his desire to be alone obvious.
"Stay," he says, stopping her retreat.
She slides into the bench across from him. "What's wrong?"
He starts to say something but stops. Starts again and stops. His mouth is tight, lips slightly pursed in a struggle to talk about whatever is weighing on him.
"Did you hear about my case this week?" Hopefully talking about work is a good distraction. "It was a convenience store shooting. The perp's girlfriend was with him and filled out a contest entry form for a free iPod on the counter - complete with her name, address, and phone number. We picked them up in a matter of hours."
"Wow." He smirks a little so Lindsay continues.
"Tomorrow I have to testify at the Simione trial. I'm nervous. I just have to remind myself that I know my work was solid. And maybe imagine everyone naked."
"I think about you when I want to feel better about things," he says, his voice low and serious.
"What?" she asks, incredulous, shocked.
Danny doesn't explain himself. Instead he looks up to face her.
"You'll do fine tomorrow."
Lindsay suddenly feels sick. And angry. That everything is so complicated and confusing now that they're just friends. Being just friends is supposed to easier than this. She's at a complete loss for words, unsure of how to comfort him or even what she's comforting him about. It seems like he wants to say something else, but instead he remains silent, absorbed by once again by his unspoken thoughts.
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Their just friends status is tested for the last time on a Tuesday evening. Danny's not at work even though he always works that shift. It takes some discrete investigating before she learns he called out. Flack is particularly evasive, and Adam's rambling more nervous than normal, making her think they know something. Making her worry about him all day. She almost calls him. Because that's what a friend would do. But she decides to leave him alone, give him his space. That's what he wanted before after all.
Later that night, she's on her way home when her phone rings. Her stomach drops to her toes when she sees Danny's number and goofy grin pop up. She wanted to delete him from her phone as an ex-boyfriend. But was required to keep it in as a coworker. Plus he's still a friend.
"Danny?"
"Linds, I'm sorry to call so late."
"That's okay. Is everything alright?"
"Can you come over? Please?" There's something in his unexpected and unexplained question that worries Lindsay, reminds her of another time his tone had been distant and vague. Reminds her of a similar request when she'd been walking in the rain. Her mind spins in a way that only Danny can make it.
"I'll be right there."
When she reaches his apartment he thanks her for coming. She enters, immediately looking for signs of a problem, the source of his anguish, but observes nothing out of the ordinary. She does notice the tiredness in Danny's eyes. Suddenly, he pulls her into a powerful hug, gently crushing her against his solid, warm, familiar body. She's confused and nervous and curious, but tentatively circles her arms around him.
"Danny, what's wrong?"
Without answering, Danny pulls her onto the couch. She sits next to him, hyper aware of their closeness and contact. She ignores the tingles that shoot to her stomach and focuses on her friend. "What's wrong?" she repeats.
He won't - or can't - answer. After a deep gulp and breath, he reaches for her hand and starts to talk. The words come fast and furious and he won't - or can't - look at her while they spill out. Words about Ruben and Rikki and deceit and pain and forgiveness and confusion all blend together as she digests what he says.
When he's finished, he covers his face with his hands, exhausted from the mental and emotional release. Instinctively she pulls him close, hugs him fiercely. He burrows into her. She realizes he's crying only after tears trail down her arms. She rubs his back, drops kisses on his face and hair, and cries a little bit too.
They sit like that for minutes, hours. They falls asleep in each other's arms. Lindsay wakes first. Moonlight filters in through the windows , sprinkling him with splinters of silver. He seems so vulnerable and so breakable, the opposite of how he existed in her mind's eye.
Groggily looking around his apartment she sees nothing has changed. A lot of things, like the pool table, are still memorable. Everything is familiar. Except that large frame on the side table was new. Lindsay cranes her neck for a better look, surprised at what she sees. The ornate wooden frame held a photo of her.
She was laughing in the picture, not looking at him but at something in the distance. She looks carefree and happy. She remembers the day clearly - they'd spent a lazy afternoon together at Central Park. But she doesn't remember taking the picture. He must have taken it without her realizing. And held onto it despite her being just a friend.
Danny wakes up then, slowly. He smiles at her self-consciously.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
He sits up, but maintains their closeness.
"Thank you."
For what, she wants to ask. But is paralyzed by the look of pure longing transforming his face. It's felt like a lifetime since she's seen that look. Actually, she realizes it's somehow different this time and she's never seen it before. When his gaze slides down to her mouth, she's helpless to stop what she knows is coming next. So she removes the distance between them, kisses him deeply, feels him go even deeper. It feels right. It feels right that they are so much more than just friends.