This is set after (SPOILER) Lindsay has a baby. It's kind of my take on it, and it's in the future. The story of how DL got to this point will be revealed in the story as you read, so if you're interested in that just keep an eye out. Hope you like it :)
It was difficult for Danny Messer to see his ex-girlfriend making out with another man at the bar. It was even more difficult considering he still considered said ex-girlfriend the love of his life, and that each time her new kissing partner's hand drifted down to her hip, Danny twitched. A visible, painful twitch.
It did not help that Lindsay Monroe was beyond drunk, that she could barely hold her head up without lolling it slightly. It didn't make the situation any less painful for Danny that Lindsay had spent her day working on putting a child molester behind bars, and that she was probably emotionally exhausted, and all she needed was a set of able and willing hands on her body and someone to remind her that she was alive.
As Lindsay lazily, drunkenly lifted one arm over the man's shoulders and tugged him closer to her, Danny picked up a cashew from the little bowl in front of him and chomped down heavily. He grimaced as the man with his tongue thrust down Lindsay's throat proceeded to scoot his barstool all the more closer to Lindsay's, blocking off Danny's view of his ex-girlfriend's face.
Sure, Danny had been a jerk in the past year. Yeah, he'd ignored her and forgotten her birthday, and there was the irreversible fact that he'd cheated on Lindsay with his dead friend's mother. None of that seemed to dull the pain Danny felt as he saw the kiss break, Lindsay's glazed eyes part gently, and heard the murmur of the man in front of her.
Lindsay giggled drunkenly, nearly toppling off her barstool. "Oh, Harry," she snickered, touching his shoulder gently, "you're so funny."
Danny had trouble recognizing her actions. He'd seen Lindsay drunk a few times, after drinks with the team, after dates at his place that had run late into the night. But he'd never, ever seen her act like this. She was almost … he hated to say it … ditzy. Lindsay was not a ditz. The woman who could rattle off the average velocity of a standard sized airplane, unearth myths about obscure flowers from thin air, and manage to refrain from throwing blame around like a wild victim when betrayal seemed to snap at her from nowhere – that was no ditz.
Danny was mystified as she stood, tottering on her impossibly high heels, and allowed 'Harry' to lead her out the side door of the bar. This was not Lindsay. He stood and walked calmly after them. He looked Lindsay up and down as she walked, unawares, ahead of him. She had on the tiniest skirt he'd ever seen her wear. If he hadn'tve fucked up so badly two months ago, and they'd come to the bar together, he would have suggested she wear something warmer in the cold, November air. Her shirt was barely better – a tube top that shoved her breasts up higher than he'd ever seen them.
She didn't dress that way for me, he couldn't help but think angrily, increasing his pace as he trudged after them. They were heading to the parking lot across the street. He watched Lindsay hang tightly to the man's shirt sleeve to keep herself upright. What am I doing? He asked himself, She made her choice here. She's done. Give it up, Messer, you're through.
Yet that didn't seem to deter him any, for he followed the recent couple to a row of cars and watched as 'Harry' pulled out a set of keys. He dropped them with a clank as Lindsay leaned over and kissed him, giggling wildly.
It was the wildness in the laugh that tipped Danny off. It reminded him, once more, that Lindsay was drunk, and also that three of the seven shot glasses on the bar had not been hers. He saw 'Harry' bend down and scoop up the keys. Danny did not miss the way Harry's hand shook, the way the man could barely find the button to unlock the car.
"Lindsay," he called out.
She turned, stunned and struggling to comprehend why Danny was standing there. She laughed another wild giggle, then halted mid-laugh. "What do you want?" she asked.
"Whoozat?" Harry slurred.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Danny asked Lindsay, taking a tentative step forwards.
"'S no one," Lindsay said, staring directly at Danny.
Danny walked calmly over to the couple and, to their surprise, took Lindsay gently by the arm and pulled her over to the side, out of Harry's earshot. "He's drunk," Danny said quietly.
"So 'm I," Lindsay slurred, "And I'm a big girl, Danny."
"Take a cab."
"What?" she snorted.
"Take a fucking cab. I'll call one myself if you want, but if you get into that car with that jerk I'm arresting him for driving under the influence. Understood?" he said, staring directly into her eyes.
She frowned, looking up at him. "Why are you here, Danny?" she asked tiredly. Suddenly she was no longer the ditzy, drunk chick, but the worn out, world weary girl he'd been seeing a lot of lately.
"You need to get a cab," he repeated.
"Baby, you comin'?" Harry yelled from the car.
"No," Lindsay said quietly. Her eyes locked with Danny's, a plea, a question. He met her gaze, fearful that if he broke away, something would be lost forever.
"Can't hear you, babe!" Harry yelled.
"She said no; get lost!" Danny shouted, never breaking his gaze with Lindsay's.
"Your loss," they heard Harry grumble as he hopped into his black SUV and zoomed out of the lot.
"He shouldn't be driving," Danny said. He made no move to prevent it, though.
"I'll call 911," Lindsay said. She took out her cell phone from the little clutch purse she held close to her body. With her sketchy, drunken movements, the phone dropped loudly to the pavement. She bent down to get it, and a catcall sounded from behind her. Danny glared at the two college age boys chattering loudly and gesturing at Lindsay.
He gently helped Lindsay stand upright, then bent and got the phone himself. He handed it to her. "I'll give you a ride home," he offered quietly, gently leading her towards his motorcycle. She swayed slightly, and shivered, suddenly aware of the cold. The spell was broken; the night became real.
Danny quietly slipped off his black leather jacket and subtly dropped it onto her shoulders.
Upon seeing the bike, Lindsay gave a quiet snort. "How am I supposed to ride on that in a skirt?" she asked.
Danny eyed the short skirt, then the bike. "I…"
"I'll figure it out," Lindsay murmured. Danny helped her onto the back and slid in front of her. She stuck her arms through the sleeves of his jacket and zipped it up.
"Hang on tight," he said, handing her a helmet. She popped it onto her head and barely had time to latch onto him before he roared away. The wind cut knives into her face and legs. She wondered how Danny was faring, in his thin blue hoodie. She could feel the heat oozing from his body, and wondered if his skin was the only thing that was warming her.
"I don't have to come up."
"I want you to."
"Lindsay, I'm fine."
"You're cold. You need something warm."
She seemed to be leading him one hand, but she was leaning so heavily that he wondered if she couldn't stand up by herself. At her door, she turned abruptly and kissed him.
He liked it - that was sure. But she tasted like alcohol. Her body didn't move the way it used to. She tilted her body away from Danny instead of allowing herself to be pressed neatly against him like lego pieces. Her perfume had changed - it was cheaper, faker than her normal, natural scent. And her hands – instead of lingering gently along his body, went straight for his belt buckle. She slipped a hand into his jeans, surprising him so much that he took a step back, breaking the kiss.
She stared at him, vision glazed, heavily falling back onto the door. "What?" she asked, her voice slurred and slightly stunned. "It's not what you want?"
"No," he said, "It's just not like you."
She snorted and turned to open the door. "You ruined my chance of getting any tonight," she said angrily, "First night since the birth I've gotten a babysitter and you have to ruin it –"
"I woulda taken care of the baby," he said weakly. He took a step forwards as she opened the door and stepped into the apartment. "Linds, I'm sorry; don't be mad."
She dropped the clutch purse onto the floor with a clatter. The teenage babysitter sat up roughly from the couch, her glasses askew, her perfect blonde hair sticking up in a cowlick. "Ms. Monroe? You're back already?" she asked in a whiny, high pitched voice.
"Yes, Alexa, I'm back. You took the money from the counter?"
Alexa hid her smile at the heavy slur in Lindsay's voice. "Yes, Ms. Monroe. I can give you back some of it – you came back before one –"
"No, it's fine," Lindsay snapped. "Can you get upstairs OK, or do you want me to walk you?"
"I'm fine," Alexa said, "Oh, the baby was fine except for a little trouble going to sleep. She didn't get to sleep until eight thirty –"
"That's fine, Alexa. You can go."
"Sure, Ms. Monroe," she said happily, and picked up her purse and backpack. She gave a quick, appreciative glance at Danny before leaving the apartment. He ignored, her, watching Lindsay instead. The door clicked behind Alexa. Lindsay immediately walked over to the fridge and opened it, searching for something to drink.
"I woulda babysat. I'm sorry. Look, I'll pay you back for the babysitter."
Lindsay slammed the fridge shut and turned around. "It's not the money!" she shouted.
A low wail sounded from the little room next to Lindsay's, hiccupping and wild.
"Damn it," Lindsay muttered.
"I got it," Danny said gently. He turned and walked into the small bedroom, to the little crib under the window. His daughter lay there, flailing her little limbs around, her pink mouth open in a scream. Danny bent down and lifted her up, placing her head on his shoulder and patting her back in an effort to quiet her. "Shh, shh, honey, Daddy's here."
Celia's tiny fists clutched her father's shirt, her scream assaulting his eardrums. Her cries slowly quieted as Danny rocked her from side to side. "Daddy's here," he said quietly. He kissed her cheek and cupped the back of her little head. "There," he said as her screams slowed to a low hiccup.
Lindsay stomped into the room and handed Danny a warmed bottle. "I tested it already," she said as he started to squirt a little bit of the milk onto his wrist.
"You get something to drink? Some water?" he asked as he cradled Celia in the curve of his arm and teased Celia's lip with the bottle.
"I'm fine," Lindsay mumbled. She kissed Celia's head sweetly, then turned to look up at Danny. "I'm going to bed. Put her in her crib and lock the door on your way out," she said as she turned away. She paused in the doorway and turned to look at Danny quickly, tears starting in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"Don't be," he muttered, "I'm not." He watched Celia as her little, pudgy fingers reached up to hold onto the plastic bottle, her little socked feet rubbing the skin of Danny's forearm.
"How's your nose, huh, baby? Still stuffed?" Danny asked in a gentle voice, watching Celia drink her bottle. The baby sniffed in response, a small splash of milk dripping from her mouth. Danny pulled back the bottle, afraid that she would choke. She coughed once, then reached her pudgy hands up for the bottle again.
"Still hungry?" Danny chuckled, giving her the bottle.
She finished the bottle quickly. Danny threw a rag over his shoulder, rested Celia on top of it, and patted her back gently until she burped.
Danny settled himself down in the rocking chair with Celia in his arms. He rocked her back and forth, tracing her features with the tip of his finger. He liked to remind himself that she was his baby, too, that he could see himself in the blue of her eyes, in the roundness of her chin. Sometimes, when he was alone in his too-large apartment, he would pick up the framed picture of Celia he kept by his bed and stare at her face, pink and wrinkled from birth. Sometimes, when he was feeling especially lonely, he would let his eyes follow the picture up to Lindsay, weak and puffy from childbirth, smiling widely at the camera. Stella had taken it. Danny wondered how the smile would be different if he had been the one with the camera.
Celia had long since fallen asleep. Danny continued to rock her until he, too, fell into a deep sleep, rocking Celia.
Lindsay woke to a blinding pain in her head. She stumbled, dizzy, into the bathroom, dragged out the aspirin from the cabinet above the sink with a loud rattle, and downed two pills. After waiting a moment, she dropped a third into her palm and dry swallowed it.
She stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to remember if she'd kissed Celia goodnight. She walked into her daughter's room to find Danny, holding the infant, his head tipped back on the chair.
Lindsay carefully leaned forwards and touched his cheek, stroking it lightly. It was scratchy with stubble, remnants of a two-day, grueling case. One that had resulted in rightfully putting a man in jail, yet had drained her emotionally. She moved her hand to Danny's hair, running her fingers through it before she could truly comprehend what she was doing. She stopped herself when her fingers hit his neck, too many memories of holding him there to pull herself closer.
She bent down and picked up Celia from his arms. As she did, Danny awoke with a gasp, his arms raising up to follow the infant.
"It's OK," Lindsay said hoarsely, "I've got her. Go back to sleep."
Danny's eyes reluctantly closed, and he rested his head on the chair again. Lindsay brought Celia to the crib and carefully set her down, smoothing the girl's wispy brown hair down. "Goodnight, baby," Lindsay whispered, "I love you."
She turned away, her gaze catching on Danny. The alcohol loosened her mouth enough so the words slipped out before she could hold them in. "I love you," she said softly, and left, her hands itching to touch him again.