Danny Messer carried the box of evidence in the Hadler case back to the evidence vault, signing his name in the box to the far right of the sheet, and sliding it into the cabinet, securing the door. He was having a good day. A good week. Four criminals locked up in as many shifts. He ran his hand over his short hair, making it spike nonchalantly as he made his way to the locker room, the case already fading from his thoughts as he remembered what was waiting for him at home. Lindsay had caught a snag in her case, and, at Mac's suggestion, had gone home about an hour ago. She had kissed him, smiled sweetly, and promised to make her way to his apartment after a hot shower and some clean clothes.
A half hour later, he shoved his key into the lock and turned it, swinging open the door of his apartment. Glancing around for any sign of her, and finding none immediately, he pushed the heavy door back into place in the doorjamb, and tossed his keys in the bowl by the door.
"Linds? You here?" He shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of the couch. "Lindsay?" He frowned, checking the kitchen, the bedroom, and finally the bathroom, before shrugging. She must still be at her place. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper, rummaging through his drawer, and extracting a Wagner College baseball tee shirt, slipping it over his head, pairing it with the broken in jeans he had worn to work. He gave the photos on top of the dresser a fleeting look, the images he saw making him smile broadly.
His roommate from college had taken a bunch of them, after starting his own portrait studio. Black and white prints in sleek black frames, proof that even when the world looked like it had dissolved into nothing but ugly hatred and vile actions, they still had something to live for. They had worn plain tee shirts, his black, hers white, and jeans, like Mikey had asked. One print showed the two of them laughing, over what, he couldn't remember. Taken from across the room, Lindsay had wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, covering her mouth in a fit of giggles, as he ran his fingers along her thigh, where she was seated, straddling his lap.
The second shot was closer, Lindsay lying flat on her back, throwing him a completely scandalized look as he hovered over her, touching his nose to hers. She had leaned up and kissed him after that shot was taken, long, hard, full of want. It was that moment that he had fallen the rest of the way in love with her, and he was forever thankful it had been caught on film. The last shot was a close up; Lindsay had removed his glasses just before it had been taken; he was giving her his best 'tough guy New Yorker' look, and she was trying her hardest not to laugh.
She had made him feel like Joey Tribbiani instead of Michael Corleone.
He smiled; running a hand over his eyes and flicking the light switch off in the bedroom, making his way out to the kitchen, intent on starting dinner. Him and Lindsay, they were going to be okay. He glanced at the clock, frowning, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, pressing a number on the speed dial. He wasn't overly concerned when his call went straight to her voicemail. He set about constructing dinner, switching on the Yankees game and choreographing his preparations to the commentary of the announcers. It was because of Lindsay he knew how to use his oven at all. She had turned making Chicken Parm into foreplay, and to this day, months later, he still couldn't eat Italian without fighting off a wave of arousal. This posed several pertinent issues, being of Italian descent.
Three hours later, she still hadn't shown up. After leaving his fourth voicemail on her cell phone, he pulled the zipper of a sweatshirt up, turned off the oven, and grabbed his badge and his gun on his way out. Something felt wrong. He tumbled down the stairs of his building with practiced perfection, pulling his cell phone as it rang shrilly.
"Messer."
"Hi, Daniel Messer?"
"Yeah that's me."
"This is Dr. Gordon at Trinity Hospital ER." Danny stopped short in his tracks, panic shooting through him in a hot flash of sweat. "We admitted a Lindsay Monroe about an hour ago, you are listed as her- "
"Jesus Christ, is she okay?" The pause in the nurse's soothing voice did nothing to relieve the erratic beating of his broken heart.
"Ms. Monroe is stable now, yes. We're expecting a full recovery."
"Recovery from what? Can I talk to her? What happened?"
"She's asleep now, but-"
"I'm on my way."