A Hand To Hold On To
DISCLAIMER: I've no connection with CSI:NY, it's characters, the actors, scripts, or blah blah blah. I've simply written this fan-fiction because I enjoy it.
CHAPTER 1
Having a Drink
Danny Messer sat in a corner booth in the back of his favourite brew pub in New York City. After the CSI team had made a positive ID on the body of Aiden Burns, he'd felt the need to throw a few back in memory of his friend and former colleague. Now, he was on his sixth, and starting to feel relaxed and happy. It had been a rough few weeks, starting with the beating and subsequent death of his brother, and culminating in Aiden's death.
He had been unable to shake the image of Aiden's corpse from his mind. Burned beyond recognition, the skull was positively identified through computer facial reconstruction. The entire team had been in shock, and they'd gone about their jobs mechanically, dazed.
Draining his mug, Danny looked up to order another when he saw a familiar figure walk in the door through the smoke-filled air. He frowned, disbelieving as Lindsey Monroe walked up to the bar, planted herself on the nearest stool, and ordered a drink. He wondered if she were meeting someone and who it was. Although he wasn't in the mood for company, Danny stood and threaded his way around the pool tables to the bar. Quietly, he sidled up to Lindsey and tapped her on the shoulder.
"You following me, Montana?" he asked, exaggerating his already heavy New York accent.
Lindsey looked up in surprise as he sat down on the barstool beside her.
"Danny," she said, a smile lighting her face,
"What are you doing here?" She picked up the beer the waitress set down in front of her.
Danny shrugged and looked around the room.
"Having a drink; this is the best place in town for beer on tap," he said, and to his surprise, she nodded.
"I have seen it a few times, and decided to try it tonight," she explained and Danny nodded.
Lindsey was quiet a moment, her eyes taking in the darkened interior of the pub. She seemed ill at ease, and Danny wondered if it were because of him. He didn't have to wonder very long as she turned to face him.
"I've not wanted to ask, but…" she began and played nervously with her cocktail napkin.
"Ask," Danny said, taking a swallow of his beer.
"How are you doing," she asked, and at his inquisitive glance, continued,
"I mean here you've lost two people close to you within a couple weeks of each other." She felt as if she were backing herself into a hole and wished she'd not said a word.
Danny was watching her; a guarded expression on his face. Lindsey finished her statement, hoping she wasn't prying and pissing him off.
"I mean, that's pretty traumatic. I think you've done a good job at not letting it get to you."
Danny's face darkened, and he set his bottle carefully on the bar before turning to face her.
"How do you know, Montana?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers.
"How do you know it's not getting to me? It's not everyday I realize the charcoal briquette on the autopsy table is all that's left of a good friend. It's not everyday that I bury my older brother." He was on a roll now; the pain and grief he'd held in his heart spilling out on words lubricated with alcohol.
Lindsey sat mutely, listening to his words and seeing the emotion rage across his face. She'd developed a serious crush on him and considered him a friend as well as a co-worker, but now she wondered if their friendship would be damaged beyond repair by her prying.
Danny wasn't done. His words were laced with sarcasm, his tone venomous.
"You know sometimes I wake up and I wonder what we're all here for, you know. I mean, hell, anytime you walk outside you risk getting shot, stabbed, beat to a pulp or burned up in a car somewhere. Then, you go into work, and find out that no matter how hard you tried to nail his ass, some sleaze ball beat the system and is on the loose prowling for another victim." He swallowed, running a shaky hand through his short hair.
"So no, I'm not okay. I'm fed up with it and sick and tired of seeing some innocent bystander on the autopsy table because nobody respects life anymore, you know?" He looked at her, but Lindsey wasn't sure he really saw her.
Quickly, she paid for her beer, and stood, picking up her purse as she did so. Everyone within earshot was staring at them, and Lindsey felt on display for all of downtown New York. Danny was sitting hunched over on his stool, his gaze fixed on a droplet of condensation that had dropped from his bottle to the top of the bar.
"I'm sorry, Danny," Lindsey said softly, "I didn't intend to upset you. See you at work," she said and walked out the door.
Danny watched her leave; regret and remorse plainly visible on his face.
She'd just been concerned, and he'd lashed out at her, allowing his grief and anger to boil over and get out of control. Now, he'd probably hurt the young country girl he'd grown fond of. Dammit, why did he have to go off on her? It wasn't her fault that all this had happened. He wondered if she felt like he was just a stereo-typical New Yorker. TV shows always portrayed them as the typical insult comic, when in fact, New Yorkers were some of the nicest people on earth. Resolving to show her otherwise, and hoping he could catch her outside and apologize, Danny paid for his drinks and walked out the door.