Cuddle

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Okay, this is my first CSI:NY fic, so forgive me if it's terrible. It'll probably be short too.

Warnings – A mildly bad word or two. Mild intimacy

Spoilers – Episode 02x02 Grand Murder at Central Station, and Episode 03x03, to which I cannot remember the name. There's one more, for which I also cannot remember the name, but it's only a very brief reference.

Rating – PG-13 to be safe.

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I don't cuddle.

Three simple words that he'd said completely straight-faced and with all honesty. He didn't like to cuddle, it was smothering, coddling...and even the word sounded stupid. Cuddle? Who the hell came up with that? Hug? Just as stupid. Embrace? Sounded like something you attached to your pants.

But here he was, lying in bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, a pair of supple, slender and firm arms wrapped around his waist. A head of chestnut curls rested lightly on his lower abdomen, and he could feel the uncomfortable push of breasts at his hip.

His body was exhausted, not only from the previous day's work but also from playing hoops with Flack, as they usually did on Saturday mornings, and the time he'd spent in between with Montana.

He felt the right corner of his mouth twitch as he thought of the girl holding him. For a country girl who appeared so innocent, she wasn't really. Those sweet girlish smiles hid one very dirty mind. Those twinkling hazel eyes had seen a lot more than they'd lead one to believe.

And he was, as Flack had so kindly called him, smitten.

At first it had been a little hard; after going under cover he'd asked her out for dinner, realising that he might just miss his shot, and she'd stood him up. She'd said they couldn't be together. She wanted to, but they couldn't.

It was all thanks to Google that he finally found out why.

One night, bored and restless, he'd typed her name into the search engine, unable to help slapping his forehead in frustration as he got over fifteen-thousand search results. What had happened? He'd typed 'Montana' instead of Lindsey Monroe.

But when he'd tried again he came up in spades.

Danny Preston, aged 19, was a good-looking kid. There were several pictures on the net from various newspaper articles. One that caused a particularly bad amount of envy had been one of the two of them, apparently at a skiing resort, with Danny P's arm draped around her shoulder. Lindsey had the kind of smile on her face he had never gotten from her, no matter what he did. And at that point he knew why.

Danny Preston died in a skiing accident. Lindsey had been 17 at the time, and his fiancé. The papers said she was heart-broken.

Danny had promptly turned the computer off before he took out his frustration on it. And the next morning, walking into work, he'd bumped into her in the parking lot. Her eyes, red, swollen and puffy, had tried to look anywhere but at him.

The first thing he asked was simple and basic. The words that followed it were also simple and basic. 'Did someone hurt you? I'll fucking kill him!'

She'd reacted so sweetly, shaking her head, blinking her eyes as if that would help hide the signs of her tears. She had hesitated for a very long moment before lightly touching his arm with her fingertips and forcing a small smile, claiming she was fine.

Danny Messer had been told his whole life he was a no-good, two-bit, stubborn asshole. His closest friend's and colleagues would only agree to the last part. And Lindsey found it out first-hand when he forced her inside his car, locked the doors from the inside, and commanded her to tell him who had hurt her in such a way.

It had taken a while, with many threats of calls to Mac, Flack, Stella...Lindsey even tried using Sid as a threat. None had worked, and she had resignedly accepted that she would have to talk to get out of the car. And so she did.

She told him all about Danny Preston. All about their wedding arrangement and their already picked-out home, about the plans of a country house with a white picket fence, some dogs and maybe a cat, couple dozen kids and the two of them growing old together forever and ever.

He felt as if he'd drunk curdled milk as Montana tried so hard to remain in control as she told him all about the plans and how much she had loved Danny. His insides ached and it was as if someone had dropped a lead weight into his gut.

But he pushed aside the alpha male want to protect her as a lover, and he'd shushed and soothed and wiped away her tears, stroked her hair, forced her to gaze into his eyes as he told her everything was okay and it was okay to cry and she needed to let it out.

He also discovered that it was coming close to the anniversary of Danny Preston's death, and that she always got a little depressed around that time of year. She once again began avoiding his eyes, lifting a hand as she subtly tried to dry away the tears on her cheeks.

"If y'ever need to talk s'more, let it out, just gimme a call. I always got my cell on, and...y'know, I'm a pretty good listener sometimes. Y'feel you don' wanna be alone at night, day, whenever, I'll come by and sit wit'chu for a while. Y'wanna go out and get loaded and just forget, I'll take y'an make sure y' get home okay."

He had patted her knee, purely friendly and honourably, nothing sexual about it at all, but her next words startled him pretty badly. She'd suggested he come over that night. She'd cook, make up for standing him up, and also to say thanks for listening.

He'd managed to wrangle his way home early, thanks to a surprisingly cheery Mac, and had met her at her place. Just as Stella did with Mac, Montana had told him where she lived and had given him the spare key – just in case. After what had happened to Stella Danny wouldn't have had it any other way.

However, when he arrived, he just knocked on the door and waited for her to turn up. The food had been great, they'd talked for a while, Lindsey had cried a bit more and the next thing Danny knew, it was five am, everything was dark, he was wrapped in a blanket and sleeping on a very comfy sofa. Tired beyond belief, he'd thought no more of it and had fallen back asleep.

The next time he'd woken was at 7.30, with Montana lightly shaking his shoulder, smiling. "We fell asleep." She had announced, grabbing his arm when he showed no inclination of moving, and began trying to pull him up. She did a pretty good job, because he was soon on his feet and being led back towards the kitchen. "I woke up first and didn't wanna wake you...you looked so peaceful, so I just got a blanket and covered you...were you warm enough? Comfy enough? Sleep well enough?"

The barrage of questions left him blinking in confusion, but after a moment his head cleared and he grinned. "You cooked me breakfast huh Montana?" She'd turned beetroot and excused herself to shower.

After that...it was all smooth sailing. They'd gone out a couple of times – purely as friends, no ulterior motives. Danny even took her to play hoops with him and Flack one Saturday. Flack had shot him this superior look, but had said nothing.

Finally, she'd allowed him to take her on a proper date. And seeing as how the first went South, Danny had no intention of springing $100 on a two-person reservation at one of the swankiest restaurants in New York. No, instead he took her to the movies, then Ray's. She didn't seem to have any complaints. They spoke avidly about their favourite movie genres, and were surprised to find they both enjoyed the same basic types.

Danny had been a true gentleman, and his gentlemanly behaviour was met with shy laughter. He'd walked Lindsey straight up to her apartment door, told her he'd enjoyed the date, she had returned the sentiment, and leaned in for a kiss.

It was quick, innocent, and rather awkward, at least on Danny's part, and he'd offered her a crooked grin and waved her into her apartment. The next date went pretty much the same way, only it was a Yankee game on their day off, then dancing the night away at a rave.

She'd invited him in for coffee that night, and everyone knew what coffee turned in to. He'd restrained himself, shook his head, went home and took the coldest and longest shower he'd had in months.

On their third date she asked what his problem was, hurt and upset. He'd told her he didn't have a problem, he just didn't want to take things too fast. She'd smacked him one right across the chops, leaving him completely gobsmacked, and stormed out of the cosy Italian restaurant.

He'd followed, and he couldn't have imagined what would have happened had he not. One guy, drunk and horny, had her pinned against her car door. Danny had dealt with the matter swiftly, and actually felt rather bad when Lindsey had to shove him away from the poor guy.

Danny called Flack, who he knew was on duty and who would not make a big thing out of this, and told him what had happened. The guy was arrested and locked in a cell for the night. Montana had pressed charges, something he was proud of.

He'd taken her home, shaken as she was, and he'd gone in. He didn't regret a single second, a touch, a kiss, a whimper, a moan, a scream...he regretted nothing that happened that night.

But now...well...how did one tell their girlfriend that cuddling wasn't their thing? The first night, he hadn't wanted to tell her to back off – it would have hurt her and made her think he was only in it for the sex. And since he hadn't made the argument then...

...he was stuck with it.

"Danny..." The soft girlish voice singsonged, and he cracked open his eyes to see the grin on her face. His attention was quickly diverted as he realised where her hand was heading.

"You always get this way after twenty minutes of hugging Montana?" He asked casually, cocking a brow and tilting his head, lips curving into a smirk.

"Sometimes." She replied, eyes twinkling.

Maybe cuddling wasn't so bad after all...

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Please R&R, let me know what you think. I dunno if I made Danny & Lindsey too OOC.