A.N. It might be helpful to know that while writing most of this chapter, I was listening to "World Spins Madly On" by The Weepies on repeat. Listening to it might get you in the mood.
May 1
"Why is this case getting to you so badly?" Lindsay asked in a low voice.
The sound of cars flying through the night outside his apartment building filled the room as she waited for his response. She had an idea of why, but she wanted him to confirm her suspicions, to admit to her that his past was remarkably similar to these boys'. And so she whispered, worried that if she spoke too loudly it would break the spell and he'd turn away, avoiding the questions like he usually did.
Danny didn't move, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment with a disturbingly neutral expression. Danny was never neutral, too emotional at the core to be anything so subtle. The sight of his blank face made her chew on her lip. Finally, he spoke.
"Because…what happened to these guys? It's what happens to most kids from Staten Island. The girls work in bars or strip clubs, sometimes a hair salon. If they're lucky, they get knocked up right outta high school by a guy who'll marry 'em, and they're set for life. If they're lucky," he stressed in a bitter tone.
Lindsay let him brood, watching his profile as his face grew dark and resigned. "What happens to the boys?" she finally whispered.
Danny turned his head to look at her, so small next to him. He was getting too close to spilling the secrets, despite what he'd promised Mac. In a few days, after he caught the guy, what he told Lindsay wouldn't matter. He could tell her everything, would tell her everything. But right now his loyalty had to be to Mac, despite how much he hated it; Mac had done too much for Danny to be betrayed now. Carefully, Danny turned onto his side and pillowed his head on his bent arm.
"They don't usually leave unless it's in a box. And while they're there they sell cars or drugs, get married, procreate."
"But you got yourself out," Lindsay said, as though trying to remind him.
"I just got lucky," he muttered. "Baseball—"
Lindsay shook her head fiercely. "Baseball didn't get you out, Danny. You worked hard. You got yourself out. That must have taken…incredible strength of character."
Danny closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. Her fingers gently stroked his cheek until the urge to see her again overwhelmed him and his lids fluttered open. She smiled softly as his eyes roamed over her face. God, she was beautiful.
"Do you know how amazing that makes you?" she whispered to him across the three inches that separated their faces.
Gazing at her, Danny came to a rather startling realization. When he was with Lindsay, none of the crap from his past seemed as dark or threatening. It had always been that way, since the moment he'd stopped fighting her presence in his lab and accepted her for the amazing person she was. She'd smile that blinding smile, and he'd forget the rest of the world. Every time.
More than that, she'd made him strive to be better. A better man, a better investigator. He'd always tried, but now he tried harder. It wasn't that she made him want to be a better man; he'd always wanted that. But Lindsay made him feel like maybe he was getting somewhere. If she thought he was good enough…well, that was really all that mattered.
When his lips covered hers, she eased across those three inches separating their bodies and he rolled her under him. It wasn't fast or overrun with heat as it usually was for them. Their movements were slow, and Danny could feel them savoring each other.
He made it his mission to softly touch every millimeter of her body with his hands, lips, tongue. Her skin was so perfect, soft with that mild glow that he couldn't quite pinpoint the origin of. For so long—long before she'd noticed him, maybe since the moment he'd met her—she'd enticed him, lured him to her, made his heart ache with how beautiful she was.
It was the most amazing feeling he'd ever experienced, and he wanted to give it back to her. And with every moan, every gasp of pleasure that escaped her, he knew she felt it too.
By the time he slid into her, the passion had built to a fever pitch between them. Still, though, they moved slowly together, so slowly, as though they were trying to make every second last a lifetime.
Staring down at her, he was just so grateful she was in his life. That everything in his past was simply in his past now. Somehow she managed to push away the demons nipping at his heels. Lindsay was his future. The only future he wanted.
And, as time slowed around them and everything seemed possible, Danny found himself wondering if every moment of his life had been leading to this one. It was crazy, he knew that dimly in the back of his mind, but it seemed to explain so many things.
How no woman had ever charmed him like she had. How easy it was to be with her, so easy it was like breathing. How he couldn't get enough of her, even as she moved with him.
Sliding against her, he reveled in the way her back arched with the pleasure. He dropped his head to rest against her shoulder, concentrating on her and only her as he moved inside her. Her hands brushing over his shoulders down to his hips, her nails digging into his skin as he slowed even further. He had to make this last. He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to be with her forever.
The feeling rose in his chest, expanding it until his throat swelled. He'd never felt this way before. Never had sex been so intense, like a form of worship. No one could touch them here, not when they were together. Everyone else could go to hell as long as she was with him.
Raising his head, he gently brushed a kiss against her lips. "Look at me, Lindsay."
She moaned and arched her back again, her fingers trying to urge him to move faster. "Look at me," he insisted, loving every bit of her. He was in love with her. So in love with her his throat ached with the emotion.
The urge to say it, to tell her, was so intense he could feel the words rising in his throat like they were made of helium. He clamped his mouth shut, knowing this would be the wrong time. Wanting her to know beyond the shadow of a doubt how much he meant the words, not to think that he was caught up in the moment, in the feel of her clenching around him.
Her eyes finally blinked open, and he leaned down to gently brush the tip of his nose against hers. One of her hands moved back up his body to rest against his cheek and it was his turn to squeeze his eyes shut at the tenderness of it.
"Don't stop," she whispered when he faltered.
The feelings rushed through him again, a thousand times more intense at the sound of her voice and he had to beat them back or else he knew he would break. He would say the words, and she would question them. He never wanted her to question the sincerity of his love.
"Never," he whispered back, training his eyes on hers and holding them as he watched her fall over the edge.
When he woke up a few hours later, Lindsay was gone. He'd expected that, of course, since the rest of the team was going crazy while he and Hawkes were stuck on this case. He knew he wouldn't see her for another day or so, except maybe in the hallway at work. But that was all right.
He just had to cauterize his past and then they'd get married, have kids. Okay, maybe she wasn't ready for kids yet. He could wait.
They had forever, regardless of whether it started that morning or at the end of the week. The truth of it rang in his mind like a bell, satisfaction spreading through his body like warm honey. Forever would start soon enough.
May 4
Lindsay rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, the spot on his body that had been created for them to fit together perfectly. "I guess I'm not going to see you all week," she murmured.
Danny pressed a kiss to her temple and tightened his arm around her waist. He was glad he'd snuck away on his lunch hour, even though it had taken him twenty minutes to get here, would take thirty to get back at this time of day, and he'd barely gotten ten minutes with her. It was worth it.
"You got Friday off?" he asked.
"Yeah," she mumbled, busy trying to shift closer.
Watching her yawn sleepily, Danny felt a pang of guilt and hoped fervently that he'd soon find the evidence he needed. Mac had been forced to take Hawkes off the Sassone case because of the current caseload, which was all right really since Danny had been having a hell of a time trying to keep the truth of what they were looking for from Hawkes. But even with Hawkes back in rotation, the entire team was picking up the slack on Danny's end.
"Let's plan on dinner Friday, how's that?"
The reflexes of an athlete were the only things that saved his jaw as her head swept upward at lightening speed. "I'm going to cook," she told him.
"Huh?" he asked nervously. The determined look on her face told him she wasn't joking.
"I have this recipe," she said mysteriously.
His eyes narrowed. "The enchiladas?"
"Nope." He wracked his brain while she grinned. "You'll never guess, so don't even try." She looked so pleased with herself that he stifled a smile and tried to pull her even more into his body.
The perfect plan was forming in his mind. Friday night, that was the time. That was when he would tell her he loved her. He would eat whatever she made, every single bite, tell her it was delicious whether it was or not, and then he would tell her. No big speeches or grand gestures, just something quiet, normal, but special because she'd know he meant it and know that he recognized how much it meant to her to cook for him.
He longed to say the words now, right now with her snuggled in next to him, but he had to go in a few seconds and he wanted to savor saying them for the first time. To be able to follow the admission by making love to her, whispering the words into her skin until she was branded with them.
Running a hand down her hair, he wondered how something that had always terrified him could suddenly seem as easy as breathing.
"You should go," she mumbled sleepily.
Danny nodded, running his free hand through her soft curls, fascinated by the way her hair fell perfectly back into place. Other women he'd been with had used so much product he usually couldn't even get his fingers through it, but Lindsay's was always clean and shiny.
Clearing his throat, he pushed a curl behind her ear and watched it defiantly fall free again. "Yeah. I should go."
"Okay."
Her eyes were closed now, her breathing starting to even out and Danny stifled a laugh. Gently, he shifted her off his shoulder and stood, barely managing to hold her upright. Then he slipped his arms under her and carried her to the bedroom to carefully tuck her under the covers.
His eyes flitted over her face, soaking her in. Even unconscious, her soul seemed to shine through her face, so sweet and peaceful. She drew him in ways he'd never imagined a woman could. All he wanted to do was crawl in the bed with her and watch her sleep with her weight against him.
Instead, kissing her forehead, he paused only to set an alarm for her shift before booking it back to the station. Johnson, the unbiased detective Mac had managed to wrangle into taking the case, would have Julian back in interrogation by now. And Danny thought it was time he and Julian got acquainted. Though when he walked in the room and was met by the sight of Julian slouched in a chair, Danny had to tamp down on a sudden urge to punch the younger man.
Julian's eyes locked on Danny as soon as he entered the room. "Hi, Julian. I'm detective Daniel Messer. Crime scene division."
"How you doin'?" Julian asked warily.
Danny could see the kid knew who he was, could see the calculation going on behind Julian's eyes. For some reason, it made him feel cheerful.
"Better than you. Things aren't lookin' good for you here," Danny said as he slid into a chair across the table from the younger man.
Julian sighed and straightened from his slouch. "What're you talkin' about, detective?"
Danny tossed down the file he was holding. It made a nice thwack as it hit the metal. "I'm talkin' about the fact that you're the only link between these murders. That ain't good for you, man."
"Isn't that, whatcha call it, circumstantial evidence?" Julian asked, snapping his fingers as if that would jog his memory.
Danny tamped down on the uncomfortable urge to squirm. Julian was right; they didn't have anything. Danny just wanted to see if Julian would slip in his fear. But apparently cockiness was hereditary because Julian looked an awful lot like Sonny sitting in the chair across from him.
"Julian, this is serious—"
"You think I don't know that?" Julian interrupted. "I don't see how you're gonna pin this one me, though."
Danny eyed him at the implication. Was he seriously that obvious? They'd played this so carefully, never letting Julian know they suspected him.
"Julian, I'm tryin' to help you here. And you're not exactly cooperatin."
"Cooperatin'?" Julian snorted, glancing away with an amused smile. Then turning back, he leaned across the table with a serious expression. "Do you seriously expect me to cooperate while you put me away like you did my brother?"
Danny's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, Sassone."
"Oh, whatcha ya gonna do, Messer?" Julian taunted, his accent thickening. "Throw me in jail? With what evidence? You got nothin' on me, but you keep draggin' me in here."
"Yeah, I'm sure the standing warrant was a nice, friendly incentive," Danny said mockingly.
Julian sneered. "Just like your brother. Always thinkin' you know the answers."
He would not blow up. He would not smash this kid's face in. Tamping down on the rage, Danny calmly raised an eyebrow. "Knew my brother, did you?"
Julian leaned back in his chair, satisfied he'd made his point. "Yeah, I knew him. Know what got him killed, too."
"Your brother had that pleasure, though, right?" Danny said, caught by Julian's choice of language. The younger man just shook his head disgustedly and looked away.
What answers was he referring to that he had and Danny didn't? How did Julian know what got Louie killed?
The sheer number of possible answers were staggering. Tired of running in circles with the kid, Danny stood, wondering if he'd thrown away his only edge by entering this room and facing Julian.
"You did this, Julian. I know it, you know it, and soon a judge will know it." Suddenly the door swung open, and Johnson stood in the doorway, gesturing with his head towards the hallway.
Leaving Julian to stew in his own juices, Danny shut the door behind himself. "What's up?"
"We gotta let him go," Johnson said grimly.
Danny's back stiffened. "Seriously?"
"His father put the pressure on in some high places." Danny scoffed, pacing away and then back. Johnson shook his head. "We got nothing. Everyone knows it. Get the evidence and I can hold him."
"Right," Danny muttered, slapping the file against his thigh and stalking off down the hallway.
May 6
Bone tired, Danny opened his email, ready for the day to be over even though it had barely begun. The usual spam, a note from his mother, a reminder from Lindsay about dinner on Friday. Despite his exhaustion, he grinned slightly at the excitement that came across even through the words on the screen.
Opening the last message, Danny skimmed it and was about to close it when the words sank in. He slowly straightened, his eyes going over the words again, then again, then a fourth time with panic beginning to pound through his veins.
"This one's for you, Danny-boy."
Suddenly, a tinkling version of the Irish ballad came out of his speakers, and he frantically tried to find the link within the email. Nothing. It was blank. The song was an instrumental version, but he knew the words by heart having heard the song as a taunt repeatedly during his childhood.
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen and down the mountainside.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
Tis you, tis you, must go and I must bide…
In the odd context, the words were eerie, particularly since, in the middle of the second verse—all about death and lying under meadows—the song was abruptly cut off, only to start again several silent moments later.
Slamming out of the office, Danny ran through the department, jerking open doors to labs and leaving just as suddenly. He could feel everyone staring but his heart was beating too quickly, his breath too ragged, to explain. Finally, he found him, bent over a keyboard in the AV lab.
"Adam. I need you."
His body rocking back from the surprise, Adam's head jerked up. "Oh, hey, Danny. Sure. Give me twenty minutes—"
"Now," Danny snapped, slamming back out the door and hoping that Adam was following.
Hours later, they were no closer to the source of the email than they'd been that morning. After breaking the code on the email—a feat that had taken four hours just by itself—Adam had checked the lab's server and the server the email had originated from, only to find that it hadn't originated there at all. Rather, it had been bounced across the internet on a complicated trail of servers like some sort of international, digital chain letter.
But Danny knew. Oh, he knew where it had come from. Julian was after him. Danny wasn't sure if Julian had started all of this with the specific intention of going after Danny, or if his random assignation to the case had put the thought in Julian's twisted sociopathic mind.
Either way, it didn't change anything. In the face of such a direct attack, Danny was left with only one recourse: Going back to the evidence.
May 9
Danny hadn't wanted Adam's help with the trace. He'd wanted to take the load on himself because Louie had died for Danny's freedom, and now Julian Sassone was threatening to turn that legacy to ash. Danny would do this for his brother.
But Mac always had the last word, and Adam had quietly slipped into the lab at some point on Tuesday while Danny was working. And by the time Friday rolled around, the roiling feeling in Danny's stomach had cemented into a ball of resigned despair.
Nothing. There was nothing.
"Danny, there's nothing here," Adam said in that quiet way he had.
He'd spent the day going over Fancesco's clothing for the seventh time. Every molecule of dirt had been carefully processed, but it didn't get them any closer to the killer, just the ingredients in New York City asphalt.
Danny stared blankly down at the shoes he'd been poring over. Lindsay had told him once about whip-shy horses, how you had to speak softly to them, ease them into trusting you, and it suddenly occurred to Danny that Adam would have been good at that sort of thing.
Danny wondered if Adam's father had beaten all the fight out of him early on to give him that soft voice. Then he realized that Adam probably hadn't used the soft voice on himself. There had been someone else Adam had tried to soothe.
But he was thinking of nonsense to distract himself and nothing could distract him right now.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice too ragged to say anymore.
Tearing off his gloves, he tossed them in the garbage, not bothering to help Adam repack the bags of evidence. Running a hand over his short hair, he headed blindly towards the locker room, wishing he could run, but knowing that Adam was watching.
He knew what he had to do.
Banging through the door to the locker room, Danny was stripping off his shirt before he even reached his locker. He ripped at his clothing, not caring if he tore it, just needing to cleanse himself of this day. As if the essence of it was trapped in the cloth.
Yanking at his locker, he snatched his towel from the hanger and stumbled to the shower. He was losing control of his breathing, the air entering and leaving his lungs in ragged gasps, and he turned the water to full blast in order to mask the sound.
He knew what he had to do, and he hated it. Knowing Sonny's brother was out there, wanting revenge, planning it at every moment, made Danny's heart clench. Nowadays, the mob didn't kill cleanly, they went after your weak spot, watched you suffer until you broke.
One Sassone had already killed his brother. His father was his mother's protection. The only things in his life worth losing were his job and Lindsay.
Mac had his back, Danny was sure of that after the last time. And he almost welcomed the chance to beat Julian at his own game in that arena; Danny knew he could do it.
But Lindsay was a wild card. They could go after her any time, and he'd be powerless to help. She was his soft underbelly. They hadn't been very public with their relationship; he'd only told his family, and they knew better than to repeat family business. So, there was a good chance Julian had never heard of Lindsay Monroe.
Yes, Danny knew what he had to do, and it was going to break him. Pulling his arm back, he smashed his fist into the unforgiving tile of the shower.
Still May 9
"It's open," she called through the intercom.
She pressed the buzzer and flipped the lock on her door. Hurrying back to the stove, she stirred the pasta like he'd shown her then gave the sauce a stir as well, hoping it wouldn't start to stick to the pan.
Her door opened behind her, and she called hello over her shoulder. Instead of the usual slam, she heard the door quietly click shut.
A thread of worry made her glance back. He was standing in the space between the kitchen and living room with a blank expression. She tried for a nervous smile, but he just looked at her. Her eyes drifted over him, trying to discern what was wrong, and caught on his bandaged hand.
Gasping, she started towards him. The area around the bandage was almost purple and slightly swollen. "What happened?"
"Nothing." His voice was a verbal slap, and she nearly tripped over her own feet to stop herself in time.
"O-Okay." He didn't say anything else, just stared, so she tried to fill the silence. "Dinner's almost ready. Well, I think so anyway. You might want to check it."
"Lindsay," he said, cutting off her nervous babbling.
The use of her given name was the last clue she needed. Biting her lip, she met his eyes. They were so cold.
"Don't do this," she said before she could stop herself. For a moment, she wanted to wince at the pleading in her voice then she dismissed it and let herself beg. She needed him. "Please."
She wanted him to say he didn't know what she meant, but she knew him well now, and he didn't. She saw something flash across his face then his lids slid down to cover those expressive eyes.
"Was it the pasta? I swear you don't have to eat it," she told him with a laugh that sounded more like a sob.
"Lindsay—" he said again and this time she did wince.
"Don't call me that," she whispered, dropping her eyes as the horrible reality sank in.
"I'm sorry," he told her gravely, his voice even and controlled.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. There was a pause as he stared at her and she gazed at the floor. "You should go," she said finally. She hated that her voice couldn't rise above that broken whisper.
Something seemed to break between them. It was almost physical, and as the pain of it registered in her mind, he stepped forward. "I—"
"No," she said quietly, holding up her hand. Eventually, she managed to force her eyes to his again. "You don't get to see me cry over this."
Something flickered again, but she didn't care. She felt so cold as he wandered back out the door. He'd never even taken off his jacket.
Turning to the stove, she studied the sauce simmering there. His mother's recipe. Lindsay carefully turned off the heat and moved the pot to a cool holder on the counter. Dipping a spoon into the sauce, she tasted it and closed her eyes. It was delicious. With even movements, she dumped it down the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal. The pasta followed.
Ripping off the apron, she left the dishes behind and trudged down the hall to her bedroom. One of his sweatshirts was on the bed where he'd left it several days before, and she stared at it listlessly. Reaching out, Lindsay gently picked it up and cradled it in her hands as if it was too delicate to touch.
Kicking off her shoes, she slipped beneath the covers, pulling the blankets up to her chin and squeezing her eyes shut. The tears leaked past anyway, no matter how hard she tried to keep them at bay, and she quickly wiped them away only to have them replaced with more. Frustrated, she kept her eyes tightly shut, breathing in the scent lingering on his sweatshirt.
May 10
When she woke up, her head was pounding from crying half the night. She'd fallen asleep sometime after one am without ever having changed into pajamas. It had hurt too much to move.
The fuzzy feeling on her teeth didn't bother her as much as it should, but she stumbled to the bathroom to brush them anyway. It wasn't until she tried to take the cap off her toothpaste that she realized his sweatshirt was still clutched in her hand.
Staring down at it, the pain swept over her again and she shuddered. It seemed to grow with every echoing thud of her heart in her chest as she felt the fabric between her fingers. Dropping it, she roughly twisted off the cap and focused her entire being on getting her teeth clean.
While brushing, she briefly considered calling in sick, but what good would it do? She'd have to face Danny at some point—which was why you never got involved with a coworker—and he was going to see through any I'm Fine act she put on anyway.
Until the night before, she'd thought everything was okay. They'd been happy, she thought. And that was the kicker, really: She'd thought she made him happy.
She'd thought she knew him better than this; she'd tricked herself into thinking they belonged together. Now, looking back, she saw the way he'd avoided her the past few days. She'd chalked his behavior up to getting overly involved in his case, which he did on a semi-regular basis.
It had been more intense with the current case, which was understandable since he seemed to identify with the young men who'd died. Maybe he saw Louie's life mapped out in theirs. Whatever the reason, she'd explained his absence with work.
Spitting out the foam, she rinsed her toothbrush and carefully hung it back in its holder. She knew better now, she supposed.
She practically fell into the shower and it took her a full minute to realize the water was ice cold. Resting her head against the tile, she turned the water up to hot and took a deep breath. She felt exhausted, like her soul was tired. She was sure she was heavier than she had been the day before.
Frustrated with herself, she banged her head gently against the wall once, then straightened. She felt so dirty. Pouring herself into getting as clean as she could, she squeezed her eyes shut. She let every thought focus on remembering how to use things like soap and conditioner, both of which seemed so foreign in the context of this new and scary reality. One in which she didn't even know herself anymore.
She refused to fall apart. She was stronger than that.
Stepping out of the water, she pulled her hair back in a bun so she wouldn't have to dry it. Then she walked purposefully back to her bedroom and picked out a comfortable yet professional outfit. Comfort was important the day after a break up. At least, that's what she'd been told by friends who'd actually had real boyfriends. All she'd had was a fake fiancé. Danny had thrown her into the deep end, and now she didn't know what to do.
She tried to distract herself on the subway by creating people's life stories, an inane game she vaguely remembered playing with Freddy as a child. The third time she fabricated a tragic love story, she gave up and counted red shirts instead.
By the time she walked through the elevator doors into the familiar hallway of the lab, her stomach was twisted in knots. Almost as soon as she looked up, she spotted Jen a ways down the hall. A rush of relief swept through her until she saw the man her best friend was talking to.
The sight of Jen flirting with Adam—the perfect boyfriend who would never stray or leave without explanation—just made her feel worse this morning. Groaning at the weakness in that, Lindsay jerked her eyes forward and tried to surreptitiously change direction to the locker room.
"Monroe!"
She'd been trying so hard to appear calm and collected, the sudden yell made her stumble. She could feel herself blushing and wished she were anywhere but in that hallway at that moment. In fact, Communist Russia sounded preferable.
"What's with you?" Jen asked, having jogged to catch up with her.
"Nothing. I'm fine," Lindsay muttered, continuing on her path.
"You sure?" Jen asked amusedly.
"No." The honest answer made Lindsay's shoulders want to sag, but she stood straight and pushed open the door to the locker room. Jen's smiled disappeared as she held up a hand and quickly moved to check each row of lockers. Satisfied they were alone, she leaned against the locker next to Lindsay's.
"What's goin' on?" Jen demanded in her no-nonsense Brooklyn accent.
"Danny broke up with me last night." Hearing herself say it aloud, Lindsay winced and fumbled with the latch on her locker.
"Oh my God," Jen mumbled, her arms dropping from across her chest. "Linds, I'm so sorry."
"Me, too." Hanging her coat and purse inside, she closed the door and rested her forehead against the cold metal.
"Did he say why?"
"He barely said anything," she whispered. "He didn't have to. I knew the minute he walked through the door."
"But he didn't say the words? Maybe it's all just a big misunderstanding."
"It's not," Lindsay told her, lifting a hand to push away from the locker. "Believe me."
"It's just…it doesn't make any sense," Jen said apologetically.
"I know. I thought—" Lindsay nearly tore out a stray curl trying to tuck it behind her ear. "I thought we were happy, you know? Now I find out he was planning to break up with me and I thought we'd be together…forever."
She sniffled a little, and Jen began searching her pockets. "I'm so stupid," Lindsay said, angry at herself for the tears and the plans she'd hung on a love that didn't exist for him.
"You're not stupid," Jen said, offering the tissue she'd finally found.
"We…we made love a few days ago. It was so…intense. How could that have meant nothing to him?"
Jen shook her head sympathetically. "Maybe he had reasons, Lindsay."
"Yeah," she whispered. "He doesn't love me."
Jen's mouth opened then closed. After a moment of hard silence, her face softened. "Then he's an idiot."
Lindsay laughed but shook her head. "He's not an idiot. He's wonderful."
"Whoa. Oh, no you don't. This is the time to get mad." Jen stopped at the tears welling again in Lindsay's eyes.
"I'm the idiot," Lindsay told her. "I went and fell in love with a playboy."
A panicked look crossed Jen's face, and Lindsay knew her friend couldn't argue. Since moving to New York, Lindsay had heard over and over again what a playboy Danny was. She should have heeded the warnings, but he'd been so persistent, so sweet, so kind, she couldn't. She hadn't let herself believe the things she'd heard. And now she was paying for the only time in her life she'd trusted someone.
A feeling of guilt coursed through her as she looked up at Jen, staring down with a helpless expression. That wasn't true. She trusted Jen. She trusted Mac, Stella, Hawkes, Flack. Hell, the professional part of her even still trusted Danny. She knew he'd take a bullet for her in a second, as she would for him. He just didn't want to be with her.
"Okay," Lindsay said, pushing all thoughts out of the way. "Time to go."
"Maybe you should call in sick," Jen said worriedly.
Lindsay smiled, her lips trembling but strong. "I'm not sick, Jen."
"But you could be. We'll come up with something really rare and communicable. We'll ask Hawkes."
Lindsay winced. Oh God. She hadn't even thought about Hawkes. Or Flack and Adam. They and Jen were the only four at work who knew for sure about Lindsay and Danny, a fact that had bothered her when she thought they'd spend the rest of their lives together. But now she was just grateful Stella and Mac were unaware. It was bad enough Hawkes and Flack would know Danny had ripped her heart out, and she had to work with them on a daily basis. To have her boss know…To have him try and schedule them separately, try not to give them cases together…The idea made her stomach roll.
"No," she said finally, when the urge to take Jen up on her idea had bowed to her common sense. "I have to face him sometime. And I don't want him thinking I wasn't strong enough to do it."
"Okay," Jen said quietly. Suddenly, her pager went off. Slipping it from her belt, Jen pressed a few buttons and sighed. "I have to go. Call me later, okay?"
"Yeah."
May 13
"Yo, Messer!"
More than anything, he wanted to keep moving towards the elevators. But Danny stopped and turned at the sound of his name, his entire being too drained to fight the automaton-like response. Flack was striding down the hallway, a satisfied look on his face.
"Hey, man. What's up?" Danny called back.
Grinning wryly, Flack waited to speak again until he was just a few steps away. "You look like hell."
Danny forced a smile. "I'm gettin' too old to be pullin' triples," he joked without much enthusiasm, reaching up to rub at his eyes under his glasses.
Flack whistled. "Jesus, Messer. I thought you'd closed that Sassone case."
"Closed isn't the word I'd use," Danny told him, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Officially, it's filed on the corner of Mac's desk."
He knew Flack suspected at least part of the truth about that case, but he also knew that Flack wasn't stupid enough to ask questions. Danny hadn't volunteered the information following Flack's removal, and Flack hadn't spoken of it again until that moment. But Danny had noticed the concerned looks his best friend kept throwing at him.
And it was hard to forget them when Flack was giving him one again. "Well, at least Monroe's waiting at home to help you relax," Flack said, obviously forcing the leer on his face.
There was a question there, behind Flack's words, but Danny felt dazed at the sound of her name. "Lindsay went home?" he murmured, glancing vacantly around the lab, already knowing she wasn't there. He'd seen her leave two hours before, had watched her even as he told himself to look away.
Flack's smirk slid sideways into a frown. "Everythin' all right there?"
"Not really, no."
Danny shifted his bag to the opposite shoulder, his eyes still darting around, as though she would magically appear. Vaguely, he noticed Flack glance around the hallway before stepping closer. "You break things off?"
Snapping out of his trance, Danny met Flack's eyes and then let his own skitter away again. He couldn't force himself to say the words; they hurt too much.
Flack tried again. "Did she break things off?"
"No," Danny muttered, unable to look his friend in the eye as he danced around the truth.
Danny knew himself to be a close-mouthed bastard about the feelings he had for Lindsay. From the beginning—when he'd first discovered the way she made his heart thump uncomfortably fast just by walking in a room—he'd hoarded those feelings, clutching them close to his chest like a full house in a poker game.
But even back then Flack had seen right through him, as usual. So the revelation that Danny had ended things had to be a bit of a shock for his best friend. And, as usual, Flack didn't seem to know what to do with the emotions Danny had inadvertently revealed. Flack's mouth opened and closed a few times, like he couldn't figure out if he should offer comfort or not.
Apparently, Flack was even smarter than Danny had always believed since his best friend crossed his arms over his chest and gave Danny a searching look. "What the hell's going on, Dan? You've been a zombie for days."
Danny shrugged, the familiar feeling of desperation rising in his gut. He'd felt it every few minutes for the last few days and nothing seemed to help. He threw himself into work, but it didn't distract him enough. Every piece of evidence reminded him that at any given time Lindsay was but a few flimsy glass walls away from him, and he couldn't have her.
It had gotten to the point where he couldn't raise his eyes from his work-space, afraid he would see her and go to her. It hurt too much to look at her, to see her so sad. He'd done that. He'd put that look in her eyes. It didn't seem like anyone else had noticed how sad she was, but he had. He could see the pain every time her eyes landed on him, no matter that he always looked away.
"Danny?"
Jerking his eyes to Flack's face, he saw the confusion there and winced inwardly. He'd missed something while he was zoning out. He spoke quickly. "You wanna get a drink?"
Flack seemed as surprised at the suggestion as Danny was. "Sure. Yeah. Let me clock out."
Danny nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. "I'll meet you outside," he muttered, turning and practically jogging towards the stairs. Maybe the echoing of his footsteps in the stairwell would drown out his mind's pleading. Or maybe he'd sunk so low he was actually running away.
May 21
Lindsay rubbed at her shoulder, trying to ease the tension that was starting to throb throughout her body. Considering it had already spread into every muscle, though, the point was probably moot.
"Yo, Hawkes!"
Those rough tones made her throat clench tightly. So tightly she was sure she'd suffocate before she could control the reaction. Then his voice passed the open door of the lab and faded down the hall, leaving just the pain to pound in his absence.
Closing her eyes, Lindsay tried desperately to shut out all the noises of the lab. She'd been doing so well. She could tell Flack knew she and Danny had split, possibly by Danny's own admission. He was starting to rile her, staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. So intently, as though she were the final clue in a riddle.
But no one else knew. That, at least, was a comfort.
Okay, so Adam and Jen knew, which just left Hawkes in the dark. Eventually he would figure it out, but she didn't want to think about that right now—
"Hey."
Opening her eyes, Lindsay was relieved to find Jen standing next to her. "Hi. What's up?"
Jen kept the smile on her face as she asked quietly, "Are you all right?"
The concern in Jen's eyes made Lindsay sigh. No one else was in the lab; no one would hear. Maybe she could let her guard down for a minute. "I'm fine," she murmured. "Same old, same old."
Jen nodded and Lindsay saw the other woman's arms tighten where they crossed. "What're you up to tonight?"
Understanding dawned and made Lindsay cringe. "Jen, no."
Jen blinked. "What? What'd I do?"
"Nothing," Lindsay said, shaking her head. "Nothing except have me over almost every night for the last two weeks. It's gotta stop, Jen."
Jen uncrossed her arms and reached up to run a hand through her hair. "Linds—"
"I know," Lindsay assured her. "I know you want to do it, and I love you for that. You're my best friend." She smiled wanly, and Jen forced a smile in return. "But you haven't been alone with Adam since Danny—"
Cutting herself off, Lindsay swallowed and looked away. Her fingers were quick as she focused on changing the slide under the lens of the microscope. "I need to start getting over this. I needed to wallow for a little while—"
"Wallow?" Jen snorted. "I don't think sitting in front of my tv watching Nurse Betty on repeat counts as wallowing."
The fear that she would lose control, that the tenuous hold she had on the flood of emotions would waste away, made her fingers clench so hard she nearly snapped the slide in half. Carefully, she placed it back in the evidence box and began to strip her gloves.
"You need to mourn this, Lindsay," Jen said, lowering her voice despite the emptiness of the lab.
"I still love him," Lindsay whispered, refusing to cry.
Jen's eyes were watchful as she nodded, her words gentle as they left her mouth. "I know you do."
"So I have to start moving on." Lindsay's voice strengthened until it was hard, but she could feel herself beginning to crack. "Wallowing apparently doesn't work."
Jen didn't follow when Lindsay strode from the lab, but Lindsay heard her friend sigh. "I told you, you're not wallowing."
May 30
Jen followed everyone else off the elevator and felt her heart skip a beat as she spotted Adam. Moving out of the stream of people, she started towards him only to pause and frown. He was talking to a woman. A redhead whose hair lit up like fire even under the fluorescent lights of the precinct.
He laughed and the woman touched his arm, her hand finding that comfortable place above his wrist that Jen had only recently discovered. Jen felt something tremble inside and told herself she was stupid, this was Adam, nothing was wrong. Then he was nodding at whatever the redhead was saying and reaching over to hug the tiny woman, who barely came up to his shoulder.
The woman brushed a kiss over his cheek as he began to move away, and Jen's stomach clenched as he blushed slightly. She really needed to get over there. But by the time Jen shook herself out of her paralysis, the woman was striding away.
Jen tried to emote a sense of calm nonchalance as she sauntered over to him. Adam eventually took his eyes from the other woman's swinging hips and spotted her. "Hey," he called, a grin splitting his face.
"Hey yourself. Who was that?" Jen asked, gesturing towards the woman heading out the door.
He frowned lightly. "Cynthia? Old friend."
Jen raised her eyebrows. "From Phoenix? Why's she in town?"
"Uh, no, not from Phoenix," he said, glancing around nervously.
She watched him pull out a pen to fiddle with and smiled at the familiarity of the gesture. "I'm confused," she told him, reaching out to still the pen.
"She's my ex-girlfriend," Adam finally said, keeping his voice low.
"Oh. Why didn't you just say that?" Jen asked, somehow keeping the suspicion out of her voice, leaving it light, casual.
Adam shrugged. "Saying it usually leads to an awkward conversation. I was trying to avoid it."
"Ah. No need." She smiled brightly.
He looked like he was going to say something, but her phone vibrated on her belt and she pulled it out to check the caller id. "It's Mac, I gotta go."
"Jen—"
She smiled at him. "I gotta go. We still on for dinner?"
"Of course." He looked resigned as she backed down the hallway.
Flipping the phone open, she turned to head for the elevator. "Angell." This time Adam's eyes didn't leave her as she walked away.
It was a few hours before she managed to lure Lindsay out of the lab with a cup of coffee from Madeline's. Getting nowhere on her case, Lindsay handed needed much persuading to follow Jen to the miraculously empty break room while she waited for her results from DNA.
"Adam's ex-girlfriend lives in New Jersey," she blurted as Lindsay took the lid off the to-go cup.
Wrinkling her brow, Lindsay shook her head in confusion. "Why are you telling me this?"
Jen bit her lip and paced a bit. "She's sniffing around."
"Okay. Still not getting the problem."
"She's gorgeous," Jen said, arms tight around her stomach.
"So are you," Lindsay pointed out, pouring sugar into her coffee.
Waving that off, Jen sighed. "I mean, Helen of Troy gorgeous. Big boobs, red hair." She swallowed painfully. "She's probably smart, too."
Lindsay sent her a half-grin. "So are you."
"I mean, Adam smart. Like…rocket scientist smart."
"Adam's not a rocket scientist. And you're just as smart as whoever this woman is. What's her name? Bynthia?"
Trying not to smile, Jen rolled her eyes. "Cynthia." She followed Lindsay to the table and lowered her voice, despite the emptiness of the room. "Sometimes, when he talks to me, I don't know what he's trying to say."
Lindsay frowned. "Is he speaking English?"
"Lindsay, come on." Jen sighed exasperatedly.
Calming down, Lindsay shook her head again and took a sip of her coffee. "Jen, you've got him. Just trust that he loves you as much as you love him."
"Not possible," Jen muttered, rubbing her temple and shutting her eyes against the panicked tears.
Lindsay set down her the cardboard cup. "Jen," she began, sounding worried.
Jen bit her lip. Lindsay had seemed to be doing so well over the past week, almost back to her usual sunny disposition, but Jen knew that was more ruse than fact. And, really, wasn't that one reason Jen was so scared by Cynthia's sudden appearance?
Lindsay had lost Danny, the very man who'd been smitten enough to invent their own Valentine's Day so he could celebrate with Lindsay; the man who covered Lindsay's bed in rose petals the night of her birthday; the man who'd been unable to resist showing Lindsay's picture to his mother, despite his hesitance to introduce the two.
If Lindsay could lose Danny, who'd been, to all appearances, a smitten kitten, why couldn't Jen lose Adam, whose own emotions were too buried to discern?
Suddenly, Jen felt horrible. Lindsay was still heartbroken over Danny and here her best friend was dwelling on her own boyfriend troubles. Lindsay didn't need any more worries right now. All she needed was to concentrate on getting over The Jackass.
"I'm fine. I'm going to see him tonight, anyway. We'll talk then," Jen told her friend brightly. Reaching over, she picked up Lindsay's coffee and took a swig. "I gotta get back to work."
And she did have work to do. Work that should have distracted her completely from anything else, but even as she ran license plates and checked alibis, the back of her mind was wondering when the other shoe would drop. Why was Adam's ex-girlfriend suddenly popping up, so casually as if she had every right to be there, when Jen had never even heard of the tramp?
No, not a tramp. Adam didn't date tramps. Which made Cynthia all the more threatening.
xxxxx
"So, why'd Cynthia stop by today?" Jen asked abruptly.
She'd wracked her brain for a mature, adult way to broach the subject, knowing she was prone to leaping to emotional conclusions. Arriving at Adam's, she hadn't said a word about Cynthia, merely holding up the copy of Night at the Roxbury she'd brought with her.
However, the taking-the-time-to-ponder strategy had felt more like stewing in her own juices than anything else, and by the time she spoke, the words burst out like an accusation.
Adam's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "What?" he asked, pulling his eyes away from the tv.
Trying to calm down, Jen looked at him innocently. "Why'd Cynthia stop by the lab?"
Setting his fork down, Adam turned slightly to face her. "Jen, what—" He sighed as her expression became harder, molding into the interrogation mask he'd seen only a few times. "She wanted to have lunch together."
Before she could speak, he continued. "We're still friends and we get together sometimes to catch up."
"Oh." The word made Adam's breath hitch, and Jen glanced at his chest to make sure it was still moving rhythmically. "How come I've never heard of her?"
Her voice wasn't accusing and it seemed to calm Adam a bit. "I don't know. It hasn't come up, I guess."
"But you've gotten together with her recently, right?" she asked, knowing the answer already.
"A few weeks ago," he admitted after a pause.
"Why didn't you mention it?"
"I…I don't know."
The questions came faster now as Jen began to put the puzzle together. "How long ago did you break up?"
"A year or so."
"How long were you dating?"
As she grew more cool and controlled, he looked more worried. "A couple of years."
"But you were still living in—" His eyes were locked on hers and a light suddenly went off in her brain. "Is she the reason you moved to New York?"
"Partly," he admitted slowly, setting his plate on the coffee table. Reaching over, he plucked hers out of her limp fingers and put it next to his.
"Were you in love with her?" she asked, glad her voice was still strong.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"Are you still in love with her?"
"No," he told her, more firmly than she'd ever heard him say anything. "Jen, I love you. You know that."
She wanted to ask him why, why a man like him loved her, but instead she just nodded. It was what he'd told her. "What's she do?"
The question seemed to throw him. "She's an associate professor of neuroscience at Princeton."
A deep crease appeared between Jen's eyebrows. "Then why was she in the city?"
Adam shrugged, seeming to think it unimportant. "To see me, I guess."
Rocket science, neuroscience. Like Jen knew the difference. "I shouldn't have asked," she muttered, turning back to the tv.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he picked up her other hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Jen, you have nothing to be jealous about," he said, moving closer to pull her into his arms.
Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head on his shoulder. Peace settled over her when he brushed a kiss over her temple.
"I love you," she said, desperate to say the words.
"I love you, too," he whispered into her hair and, for a moment, she believed him.
