Summary: Lindsay in Montana, Danny in New York. What else is new? Based on selected lyrics from Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes.

AN: I posted this second part to this story just because it's sitting there looking at me, and Danny needed a response. Motivation disappeared after the most recent epi "Sleight of Hand." So, this one's going to have mistakes and might not actually make any sense. Apologies.

Disclaimer: You know I own nothing. Not even my computer. It's still being paid for.

Moments

love, I don't like to see so much pain
so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away

It's been several weeks. If you were to ask, that's what I'd say. Several Weeks. Several weeks since she left me that note, and… well, left. Aw, who am I tryin' to kid. It's been 36 days, 15 hours, and 52 minutes. And some seconds. Or… you could say it's been almost 880 hours. 52,792 minutes.

Not that I'm counting.

Really. I'm not…

Just like I'm not reading the Bozeman Daily Telegraph every day online. And I can't believe I'm doing it either, but I had to know. I had to know why it was my Montana was broken. (And I do realize that I just called her MY Montana, but really, who else calls her that? hmmm??)

So, the Telegraph has told me all the things I wish she had told me. Her friends, her injuries, her struggle to live. Her determination in becoming a CSI because of it. Each bit of information that I come across breaks my heart a little more. And yet, each bit of information makes me realize what it was she had to overcome, and I'm pretty damn proud of her. If anyone asks, I won't tell them this, but I think I'm falling in love with her over and over again. So yeah. She breaks my heart over and over and I still fall in love with her over and over.

I know. I'm a fucking contradiction.

I hate Thursdays.

I wonder what's going on today in Bozeman.

Bozeman Daily Telegraph

Click here for a local poet's observations on the trial of the decade: The People vs. Daniel Cadence.

Should I read this? Do I click? Who am I kidding? We all know that I'm clicking…

James Johnson's Observations on the Trial of the Decade

Thursday, Bozeman, Montana -

First, let it be stated that I do not have any more than a professional relationship with those involved in the trial. Suffice it to say, this will be a piece based solely on my observations.

The person who interests me most is the sole surviving witness. A Miss Lindsay Monroe. But, I'm sure she's top on everyone's list. Today I learned, as we were breaking for the day, Miss Monroe's testimony begins tomorrow. As I'm leaving the courthouse, I stumble upon an impromptu press conference for the person who has been occupying my thoughts, and garnering my sympathy.

Her lawyer is offering a statement, and it's in lawyer-speak. So I turn my attention to the woman to his right. She's smaller than you'd think, but unless you have a critical eye, you won't see it. She stands about five-foot-one, but projects this aura that demands attention, and screams control. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes scanning the sea of hungry reporters, her eyes never landing on one spot for more than a few seconds. It's almost like she's looking for someone. I'm not entirely sure she's listening to her lawyer.

On her right, her mother clutches her hand. On her left, her father has his hand on her shoulder. Both parents grim, but determined. They're the epitome of the supportive family. You may think that's presumptuous, but I'm from Bozeman. Everyone knows about everyone in Bozeman. You can't get away with anything without half the town knowing about it within thirty minutes. And everyone knows that the Monroes are "good people".

The lawyer turns his head and raises his eyebrows to Miss Monroe. Now, it's obvious she wasn't listening, because she seems surprised. Realizing what her lawyer is asking, her jaw clenches again, and she steps forward, releasing her mother's hand. Laying both hands in front of her on the podium, she takes a deep breath. She nods, and a roar of questions comes from the crowd of upturned faces, all vying to be heard.

Her agitation is not obvious, but the muscles in her jaw are working overtime. She raises both hands, indicating she wants the reporters to calm down, which they do. I'm amazed at her self control, and her power to get others to do what she wants. She nods to her right, and a question is fired at her. It's pretty inappropriate, but she deflects it like a pro.

It's times like this you realize why she is so good at what she does. Miss Monroe is a Crime Scene Investigator in New York City. Through Bozeman gossip, I've learned it was this horrific turn of events that lead her to finding answers for others. Because she did not have answers herself. Her comments are short, informative, and heavy with emotion. Her final comment of the press conference strikes me as hopeful. She was asked if the defendant was guilty in her eyes.

Her response? And I quote…

"I am here to find justice for my friends. To help their families find peace. Not a day goes by where I do not think of them, but it is because of them that I found the strength to continue to live. I have an incredible support system with my family and friends here in Bozeman, and my friends in New York. Right now, my full attention is on the trial, and my testimony. I understand the importance of the role I play in this trial. When this trial is over, regardless of the verdict, I will return to my life. Christine, Andrea, and Jessie would have wanted it that way. Thank you."

Deflected once again. She leaves the podium with dignity, an image that I hope she is able to portray tomorrow on the stand. Holding her mother's hand again, she walks slowly to the waiting sedan.

I'm left in a little bit of shock, I think. I'm not sure what I was expecting when I read this guy's 'observations', but I sure-as-shit wasn't expecting it to be about Montana. And I wasn't expecting to see her through another's eyes this way.

Ok yeah. Shock is one word for it. Jealous is another. I'm jealous that this "local poet" gets to see her go through something this important, and I'm not even supposed to know about it! And this guy? I'm jealous that he can see the woman that I see.

I hate Thursdays.

I'm reading the article for a third time, trying to gleam even the tiniest bit of hope for me from her comments, when Stella walks into my office. She's talking before she even hits the door, so I know she's coming and can close the internet browser before she can see it. But it still scares the living shit outta me. Like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to be doing.

I try to act nonchalant, but we all know I'm a bit of an open book, especially when it comes to Montana. So when Stella meets my eyes, she stops mid-sentence. I feel a bit sick when I realize that look is coming. It's a motherly look, as if Stella is the lab's resident care-giver. But the underlying emotion is pity.

Pity. I can't take that today. Not on the Thursday before Montana testifies. I sigh, and close my eyes to try to regain some of my dignity, but that word brings me back to the article. When I open my eyes, Stella has her head cocked sideways, reminding me a little bit of that tiny, furry creature from Return of the Jedi. Not that I'd tell her that.

She looks as if she's about to say something, but I shake my head. Not today, Stel, please. She nods. Almost imperceptible, but I know she knows. I know she understands. And I know she still pities me.

Ugh. I hate Thursdays.

I get so tired of working so hard for our survival
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive

Maybe I'll call Montana tonight when I get home. You know. Follow those instincts that people keep telling me I have.

Hell. Maybe I'll just go to Montana. Carpe Diem.

AN the second: Ok, so it doesn't follow the storyline already set out by CBS. But, whatever. here it is.

Also, I get the impression that Danny hated every day that Lindsay was away. I see him as working twice as hard, and mentally telling himself every day, "I hate Mondays." ... "I hate Tuesdays."...

Review and let me know whatcha think? Thanks!