A/N: This chapter came a little quick than I thought, so here you go!

Key West Blues

Chapter 9

Lindsay took a deep breath and entered the room. Performing an impromptu demo for her boss in the course of her job was a relative snap compared to … panning the room … calculating … approximately five rows of ten … fifty students! And one advisor at the back of the room, leaning casually against a table next to his chair, looking more hippyish than academic and as disinterested as the entire back row. A guy on the end yawned and she swore it caught fire and passed along the whole back row like the wave at a football game. Looking to the front row to boost her confidence, she noted with relief they were the typical front rowers, notepads opened, pencils poised and hands almost twitching in anticipation of grabbing their moment to question, answer or clarify. Sandwiched in between the two were the middle rowers, chatting amongst themselves, fidgeting with their cell phones or rocking in rhythm to their mp3 players – the swing group – ready to fall into ranks with eager-to-please front row or the couldn't-care-less back row depending on the appeal of her presentation.

She plunged in before her planned introduction abandoned her short term memory. "Hi, and welcome to the New York City Crime Lab. I'm Detective Lindsay Monroe. I've worked here in The Crime Lab as a Crime Scene Investigator for the past three years. Before that I was a CSI in Bozeman, Montana. So not only will I describe the average day in the life of a CSI but I will bring you personal perspective on a small town CSI versus a CSI in a major city. But first let me discuss what's required to successfully operate in the position of a CSI."

She removed the first slide from her folder, placing it on the overhead projector as she switched it on. She began her iteration of the bulleted items but glanced up upon hearing the crinkling of paper – like a candy wrapper. A head nodded in sleepiness in the back row, the advisor shifted in his seat, stretching his legs, long, out in front of him, a twitter of whispers scuttled throughout the middle rowers while the front row, attentive and expectant, squirmed at her hesitation. She fanned herself with the file, realizing she was caught in a much too warm room, compliments of the row of picture windows lining the east wall, and in a time zone of the after-lunch, mid-afternoon urges for a snooze. A virtual no man's land in the world of presentations. Suddenly a cell phone pealed the classic, You're No Good.

Irritation at the subliminal message in the tune and the fear that the presentation was heading south even before it started caused her to blurt out, "What do you do when your cell phone rings in the middle of an important presentation?" Realizing too late the inappropriateness of her outburst, she blithered on, "Or at 2am on a Saturday or when you're in the movie theater or … or when you're stuck in traffic in the Holland Tunnel?"

A smart aleck in the back row, suddenly awake, answered, "Well, duh, you answer it."

"That's right! You answer it." Feeling a wave of ingenuity replacing her shock, she continued, "And what if it's your boss calling you to a crime scene on a desolate stretch of the East River with snow in the forecast and a wind chill of minus ten degrees?"

Hands all along the front row popped up, but a middle rower answered before she could call on any one specific, "I guess you go."

"Exactly, you go, because that's your job as a CSI."

A front rower taking liberties dropped her hand and said, "I could do that. I exist on as little as 2 or 3 hours of sleep during exam week."

Shuffling through the file quickly, grabbing a handful of photos, she distributed them into the eager hands of the front rowers, "But could you do this?"

Suddenly the middle rowers were leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the body shots and the back rowers were on their feet peering over the middle rowers.

"Could you look at a floater pulled from the East River – bloated, blotched, partially clothed, covered in seaweed, rank and foul smelling – look at a floater for hours on end, photographing, examining, processing … for hours on end in the biting cold with the wind whipping off the water?"

She heard a retching sound as one of the front rowers dropped a photo, hands clutched to their stomach as they rushed from the room. Lindsay knelt to pick it up, tapping it against her palm as she stood.

"And that's only one of the requirements of being a CSI. Now let's take a closer look at these photos for clues to the cause of death."

--

Danny, passing by the conference room, caught her animated movements out of the corner of his eye. Fifty or so students clamored for her attention as she moved about the room, calling on this one or that. Nodding enthusiastically when one tendered a correct answer or an insightful guess, she knitted her eyebrows and pursed her lips in the face of wrong answers or trips down a dead end path then responded with leading questions or encouraging suggestions.

It was a Lindsay he knew well, one that made even the toughest or boring cases bearable, the Lindsay he loved to be around … but the Lindsay to who was off limits to him … as were all versions of Lindsay.

--

"What brings you to The Crime Lab, Don?" Mac asked as Flack held open the door for him.

"Got a heads up that a uni picked up a suspect in yesterday's hotel murder. Thought I'd swing by on my way back to the precinct and see if Messer or Hawkes had anything for me to use during the interrogation."

At the mention of Danny Mac hesitated, reluctant to take advantage of a friendship but unwilling to let a valuable team member ruin his career, "I know this is off the subject and little personal, but what's your take on Danny right now?"

Pausing at the elevators, Flack jabbed the up button then rubbed a hand along his jaw, reluctant to put his best friend deeper in with his boss but unwilling to ignore the severity of the situation, "Mac, if something doesn't give, I think he's headed for a breakdown."

They followed a swarm of people onto the elevator. Mac looked sideways at Flack, "I think you're right. If and when it happens, I just hope one of us is there to catch him before he does any real harm to himself or someone else."

Flack traced the geometric pattern of the carpet with his eyes as he sighed, "Unfortunately, I think it's more a matter of when than if."

The doors dinged their destination and they stepped off, heading down the hallway in a shared but frustrated silence.

--

The presentation finished, Lindsay gathered up the photos and stacked them back into the file folder. She could feel the flush of success on her cheeks. Whether or not she'd convinced any of these students that they'd be suited for the position of CSI, she had no doubt they understood what it took to be a successful CSI.

"That was quite a presentation, Detective Monroe."

Blue eyes caught hers as she looked up. Shaking the hand offered, she quickly assessed the longish haired advisor with his wide smile and easy manner as sincere and replied with a wide smile of her own, "Just doing my job."

"Well, if we had lecturers in our department at the University doing their job like you just did, we'd have no problems attracting and keeping promising students."

"Thanks. And what would be your department? … uh, Mr. Dr.?"

"Sorry, Rand, Rand Silsbee and the department is Forensic Science. Interested?"

"In what?"

"In a job … with the University?"

"Oh, umm, hadn't really thought about it."

"Well give it some thought while I get you my card."

Pushing the overheard projector back against the wall, she halted as she looked up into another pair of blue eyes, soft and beguiling.

"Lindsay that was some kind of presentation."

She swallowed and froze, not sure what to say or do as the caress of the gentleness and awe in his voice surrounded her.

Taking advantage of her hesitation, he stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Look, I know this isn't the best time but we really need to talk."

Turning away from those eyes, she managed a whisper. "No, no, I don't think so Danny."

Brushing by him closer than she'd like due to the students milling about the room, his hand on her upper arm halted her. She stared at the bandage wrapped about his fingers, images in her mind and on her heart of another time when the same fingers were encased in bandages, an earlier time when he had sacrificed for her, then turned to her for comfort during his healing, not like the most recent time when … jerking away from her thoughts and him, she tried to make an escape but his fingers tightened and his voice grated with emotion.

"Lindsay, please."

"No!"

"Here you go, Detective Monroe."

Emotions flaring at yet another rejection from her and the untimely interruption from this … this stranger, Danny said, "Could you give us minute? This is private."

Lindsay, in attempts to keep the situation calm, threw an apologetic and frustrated look at Rand Silsbee as she took his card. "I'll definitely give it some thought. And please call me Lindsay."

"I'd like to call you … Lindsay."

The double meaning of Rand's statement did not escape Lindsay or Danny. But while Lindsay let it go without acknowledgement, Danny lost out to blind jealousy as he released Lindsay's arm and gave Rand a two handed shove to the chest. Rand took a couple of unexpected steps backwards but recovered before crashing into a row of chairs.

Suddenly, Flack had Danny's arms twisted behind his back and Mac in his face, "You may take down yourself, but you will not take down this lab. Do you understand me?"

Danny lurched once but Flack hiked his arm further up his back which gained a perceptible nod from Danny but still no eye contact.

Mac angled his face so he could look Danny in the eye. "You're out of here Danny. Gather your things and get out."

Mac nodded at Flack and Flack released him, Danny stumbled at the abruptness of the release but regained his balance and strode towards the door.

"Escort him out, Flack."

Lindsay pushed past Flack, Mac and Rand, calling, "Danny, wait!"

But he continued without a backward glance and she paused at the doorway, wondering if she'd done the right thing by turning him away, shutting him out completely, building her wall while his foundation crumbled.