Yes, I am aware that this story is still set on that one day around Christmas time (remember the mistletoe?) and that the CSI episode when the TV crew followed them around was set later on than that, but I'm rearranging some timelines for my story to work. Hope you'll forgive me. And again, I'm sorry that the update took so damn long. Hopefully the next one will come a lot faster. :D

"Danny."

"Hmm?"

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"You can't do that here."

"But you like it."

"Danny . . ."

"Why should I stop, Linds? I'm just getting to the best part."

"Because we're on a public subway train, for one thing. For another, that guy over there has been staring at me since we got on, and it's kind of creeping me out."

Danny looked up from rubbing her bare foot and glanced over his shoulder to the back of the train. True to Lindsay's word, a guy was sitting in the seat next to the door. His dark eyes were fixed on a path that traveled down her body to where his hands rested and back up, again and again.

"You know," she said in a shaky whisper, "I watched that stupid forensic reality show the other night."

"Really?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice as his head turned back towards her. Since the show had premiered, Lindsay had said nothing about it – except to call it a "pathetic and insulting use of valuable air-time."

She shrugged. "There was nothing else on, and I couldn't sleep."

"You could have called me," he grumbled jokingly.

Swatting his arm playfully, she laughed. "This was before our little . . . thing under the mistletoe. Anyways – the episode was showcasing the Vegas crime lab-"

"You know we're so much better than they are."

"They're number two in the country, Danny."

"Only number two? Please," he scoffed.

Lindsay hit his arm again, this time harder. "Lemme finish!" He held up his hands in defeat, and then resumed his earlier ministrations. She grinned, leaning back in her seat. "Thank you. As I was saying, they followed the Vegas CSIs around for the duration of this rape case. Only it wasn't just about rape."

Danny looked confused, and she had to work hard to hold back a laugh at how childish he looked before continuing. "The guy, their culprit, dressed as a fireman to get inside the women's apartments because he was obsessed with their feet."

"Aw, honey . . . I think that guy is more interested in you because of what you're wearing, and how you look in it. Not your feet."

"I knew I should have changed before we left." She paused, glanced at the stranger, and then looked back at Danny. "Are you sure it's not my feet?"

He couldn't help it. As she finished her sentence, she got a funny look on her face and he burst out laughing at the sight. Her response was a little different.

"Hey!" she cried as she grabbed his shoulders and shook him, pulling his face closer to hers and her foot out of his lap in the process. "It's not funny! Creepy firemen obsessed with feet? It freaked me out!"

"Why?" he asked with a grin.

"I have . . . this . . . strange fear of fire and getting burned."

"What do you do when you get an arson case?" He was genuinely curious about her phobia and how she dealt with it.

"I . . . umm, I—"

She was cut off as the subway cars jerked to a violent stop and she was roughly thrown forward into his arms. The main lighting went out and they were forced into a silent dark glowing green with the faint emergency lights.

"What the hell was that?" she breathed out as she sat up in his lap. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on her while reaching for her shoe to hand to her.

"I don't know, but I'm getting really sick of these blackouts." He looked around a few times then motioned towards the door connecting the two cars together. "Let's go check on the conductor. You got your badge?"

She nodded, pulling it out of her jacket pocket and clipping it at her waist. "Let's go."

There were two people in the head car, college-age kids who looked like they were heading out to a club. Danny told them quietly to stay in their seats, pointing to their badges as he and Lindsay walked towards the conductor's little booth. Throwing open the door, they found a surprising sight.

"Where the hell is he?" he exclaimed in confusion. She bent down and squinted at the seat in front of her.

"Danny – is that blood?" He glanced down at her quiet question, confirming her suspicions that the dark pool on the seat was indeed the crimson liquid they were so used to seeing.

He spun around to the clubbers. "You two see anything'?"

"Naw, man," the guy spoke up. "We, uh . . . we were kinda busy."

The girl added, "I think we mighta fallen asleep or sumthin'."

Lindsay locked eyes with Danny, motioning for him to join her in the corner. He did so, leaving their backs turned towards their new "friends."

"They're definitely high off something," she whispered.

"Ya think?"

"I'm not sure they're telling us the truth, drugs or not."

"Alright. I'm gonna call Mac, let'im know we need a team out here. I wanna get home already." He pulled out his cell, punched in the speed number for his boss, and was about to lift it to his ear when he heard one of his least favorite sounds in the world.

The click of a gun cocking in his ear.

"You're not going anywhere, popo."

TBC