Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.

A/N: Thanks to those who are reading and reviewing - I appreciate all responses. The story is getting bigger and all cast members will have a story line. Well, except Sid Hammerback. At the moment.

Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".

The Silence is the Music

You speak; I listen.

But I do not hear your words:

They only beat time,

A pulse between the pauses.

In the silence I hear your heart

Beat for beat against mine.

I hear your love and your fear

I hear your anger and your sorrow

Your words are masks to hide behind.

In the silence we meet heart to heart.

SMT, 2007

Chapter 10: Listening to the Silence

To: Aisha Blanco

From: Adam Ross

Subject: Still waiting

You have got to be freaking kiddin me! You still hanging on to this bizarre idea? Look – I told you. She's my friend. He's my friend. He went to Montana and got himself shot. For her. Even if I had any other kind of feelings for her, WHICH I DON'T, he and she are a they.

So, are we going to keep banging into this? Or are you going to let it go?

Look Aisha, I really like you. I want to meet and see how much further we can take things. But you have to let this go.

I am not interested in Lindsay Monroe.

Not.

OK?

A

send

"Adam? Have you got a result for me on the trace we found?" Stella tapped the tech on the shoulder.

Adam flinched, recovering himself when he saw that it was Stella. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Trace? DB in the park? Covered with some sort of yellow dust?"

"Pollen," Adam corrected her absently.

"Pollen? Adam, her face was covered in it, at least a couple millimeters thick. It's getting warmer out there, but there aren't enough flowers open in all Manhattan for her to run into that much pollen," Stella objected.

Adam shoved with his feet, sending his chair careening over to one of the clacking machines, and pulled off a chemical analysis report. "Bee pollen," he corrected her shortly. "Trace amounts of minerals and vitamins. High in protein and carbs. Commercial grade."

"Commercial bees?" Flack said, obvious visions of the Honey Nut Cheerios bee running through his head.

"Okay, so bee pollen is used as alternative medicine to slow the aging process and enhance energy, among other things" Stella said thoughtfully. "But it's a food supplement, not a … face pack."

"Plus," Adam said, looking at the picture Stella had from the autopsy, "That amount of pollen would be about a three months' supply, and it ain't particularly cheap."

"But did it kill her?" Flack said.

"If she was allergic to bees, maybe. But not very likely."

"And if she was allergic, and someone wanted to kill her it would be easier to have her ingest the pollen: more efficient, cheaper, and not quite so creepy," Adam added.

"Well, I'll go see Sid, see if he has anything yet from the prelim. Then I'm sorry Flack, but I have to go to court."

"Yeah, okay. I'll drive ya'. Thanks, Adam. Beee seein' you."

"Buzzzz off."

"Boys! Beee nice!"

-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-

Mac drove into the car lot as Flack and Stella pulled out. He waved, but they were talking animatedly, arguing, if Mac knew Stella, and so didn't see him. He parked in his usual space, and took the stairs up to his office, preferring a few more minutes of solitude before facing whatever new cases had come in over the nearly fifteen hours he had been off shift.

Reed. What was he going to about Reed? The kid had spun a tale and a half; Mac wasn't surprised that he was considering journalism as a career. He had nearly suggested his talents seemed more suited for a fiction writer, or maybe a scriptwriter for one of those crime shows on television, the ones with the implausible plots and impossibly beautiful cast members. He didn't think Reed was quite ready for casual teasing yet, though.

And there was no doubt the kid had been scared. As he had told Mac what he had overheard in two separate conversations at Chelsea University, he had shown all the physical signs of severe agitation: pale, sweating, pupils dilated, and once more stinking of fear. Mac sometimes woke with that smell hovering over him like a blanket about to suffocate him. There was no way he'd mistake it.

So, whatever Reed had heard, however he might have re-interpreted it, he certainly believed it now.

Mac reached his office and spun around in his chair to look out the window. He had discovered recently that as long as he concentrated on the Brooklyn Bridge, he could avoid the glaring absence of the World Trade Centre in the skyline. Idly, he wondered what a shrink would say about his ability to focus on one thing and ignore the other.

He had a stack of new cases on his desk; he had seen them when he came in. He knew there was evidence to review, assignments to give out, people to speak to. He knew he should get his head in the work; it had always saved him before.

But he wanted to see Peyton. He wanted to talk to Stella. He wanted to prove to Reed that he didn't need to worry. He wanted Danny back in the lab, making bad jokes and crowing when he figured something out. He wanted Lindsay with her passionate magpie interest in everything, pushing everyone around her to keep up. He wanted everything and everyone back under his control.

"Mac?"

"Yeah, Sid?" He didn't turn the chair around.

"Got a minute? I need to go over some results with you."

"Yeah. Come on in. I'd have come down to the morgue, you know."

"I just wanted to review this before I leave. My shift is over in about ten minutes."

Sid showed him the results he was concerned over, and Mac gave him some suggestions for what to try next. When Sid left to return the case file to the morgue and then go home, Mac turned with a sigh to the piles of folders on his desk. Stella was in court today, he noticed, looking at the board that listed off where everyone on shift was, and even with help from the other shifts, his team was feeling the strain of Danny and Lindsay being gone.

He pulled out his phone and looked at it, deliberately scrolling down to 'Messer' in the phone list. Would Danny have his phone? Would he be able to use it in the hospital? It had probably run out of power: Danny used to be notorious for forgetting to charge the battery. At one point, it had been so bad Mac had bought him a back-up battery.

He hadn't needed back-up for a long time, though. Danny had grown up a lot in the past two years, professionally as well as personally. He had always been serious about his work, but now he was becoming more serious about his life. Mac was pretty sure Lindsay had something to do with that change.

With a sigh, Mac pushed "send" on the phone. At the very least he could leave him a message; let him know they had informed his parents, that Mac had filed his paperwork. That he didn't need to worry about anything but getting better.

"Mac?" Danny's surprised voice answered before the phone had rung one full tone.

"Danny! I wasn't sure your phone would be on. I was preparing to leave you a message."

"I just charged it up. Your call came though as I took it off the charger."

"Good to hear your voice. How are you doing?" Mac heard the slight drag of pain in Danny's voice.

"Good. I'm doing good. The doctor let me out of the hospital today."

"Really? I'm surprised. They usually want to keep you a few days after major surgery. Where are you?"

"At the Monroes' ranch. Diane Monroe, Lindsay's mom? She's a tech with nursing training, so she said I'd be better off here. I gotta tell ya', the food is certainly better here, and so is the bed. And the company is superior. It's Mac," Danny said in an aside to someone.

"What about the scenery?" Mac's voice held a tiny teasing note.

"It's pretty spectacular too. Do you want to say hi to Lindsay?"

Danny handed off the phone before Mac could say anything.

"Hi, Mac." She sounded tired and pale, if a voice could sound pale.

"Lindsay. I'm so glad you are all right." Mac had to clear his throat.

"I'm okay. Danny… Danny will be okay, too, Chris says ….You should have kept him in New York, Mac." The last was whispered.

"Lindsay? Lindsay!"

Danny's voice cut back in after a moment's silence, "Sorry, Mac. She's a little shaky still."

Mac covered his eyes with his hand. "Tell her not to worry, okay, Danny? I've got you covered. I've got both of you covered. Everything is going to work out."

"It's okay, Mac. We know."

Mac could hear a door close in the background. "Danny? Flack went to tell your parents – make sure they knew you were going to be all right."

"Yeah, I talked to them. Thanks for thinking of that." Danny said, coolly.

"It was Stella, actually. I would have gone, Danny, but you know …"

"Flack didn't let Stella go to my parents' place, did he?"

"No, she was going to stay in the car." Mac grinned at Danny's snort of disbelief. "It's okay, Danny. Flack wouldn't do anything to put Stella in danger."

"Naw, I know that. And Mac? It's okay. That Flack went, I mean. It's good, I think."

"Okay, then. I just wanted you to know. We'll deal with everything here until you get back." Mac did not want to ask when that would be.

"Wednesday. We'll be back Wednesday." Danny said firmly. "Linds has to testify Monday at Forbes' hearing. Then we expect to be cleared to go the day after. We can always come back to Montana if the prosecutor needs us, but we both have our statements on the record."

Mac noted the use of "we" with a sigh of mingled regret and satisfaction. There was no question that Danny considered them a couple. Mac wondered what Lindsay thought.

"Good, Danny. That's good. We'll be glad when you are back in New York. But no coming back to work until you're cleared by the doctors, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Dr. Martens has already torn a strip off me today, Mac. But me being in the hospital – it was doing Lindsay's head in. She wouldn't leave, wouldn't eat. When she wasn't in my room, she was sitting with McKim. He's not expected to recover."

Danny's voice was heavy with regret; he hadn't liked or trusted McKim, Mac knew, but no one would wish this on another human being, much less a fellow officer.

The younger man sighed and continued, "At least with me here, she'll let her mom do some things. And maybe she'll eat."

"Okay, Danny. Just be smart, okay?" Mac said, a little hopelessly.

"No problem, boss. I'll call when we have our flight confirmed."

Mac hung up and, with a sigh, started on the pile of files still on his desk.

"Knock, knock," Peyton smiled as he looked up.

"Hey. I thought you were off today. I would have picked you up if I had known." Mac leapt to his feet.

"Sit. I can't stay. I have two new bodies for prelim and three autopsies to complete. I just wanted to say hi."

Mac stood up anyway and came to the door, grabbing her hand to pull her into the room and sit with him on the couch. "Talk to me for minute. They'll wait."

"What's up, Mac?" Peyton said, looking at him with concern.

"I had a visitor last night. Reed Garrett? Claire's son? He showed up at my place with a wild story. And then I just phoned Danny and talked to him. I guess I'm feeling a little … unbalanced," he admitted.

Peyton smiled. Mac had always struck her as unbalanced, so focused on his job that he often neglected other aspects of life, like food and sleep. She wondered what 'balanced' would feel like to someone like him.

"How is Danny?"

"He's out of the hospital."

"What? He should be there for at least another two days to monitor him for infection." Peyton bit her lip, wondering again about the medical system in Montana.

"He says that Lindsay's mother has training and will monitor him. I think he left so Lindsay would go home and stop spending all her time watching over him and McKim."

"Any word on McKim?"

Mac closed his eyes, "Not expected to recover."

Peyton reached out a hand and squeezed his sympathetically. They were still discovering things about each other, but she couldn't help it if she sometimes found out things before Mac was ready to tell her. Hawkes had told her about Mac's father, dying of cancer, asking for his son's help in releasing him from his pain, and Mac's inability to do it. Hawkes had been approving, quoting the Hippocratic oath at Peyton when she had demurred over whether it was the only thing he could have done.

Peyton thought again how different medicine was through the eyes of men and women. Men said things like "Life at all costs". But women, who experienced the process of creating life, knew it was not so simple. Sometimes the best way to honour life was not to be afraid of death.

Not that she would be likely to say such a thing to Mac. Death was the final battle for Mac, the final insult. He had structured his life around death even before the loss of Claire. Even now, Peyton wondered a bit despondently if there wasn't something symbolic about him being with a medical examiner.

"Peyton? You okay?"

She looked into Mac's concerned eyes and realized she had ignored him for the past few minutes. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry, Mac. I just have a lot on my mind – we all do. I have to go back to work – if you speak to Danny or Lindsay again, tell them I'm thinking of them, would you?"

Mac watched her go, feeling as she was somehow moving further away from him all the time.

-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-

To: Aisha Blanco

From: Adam Ross

Subject: Club Zed

Tonight at 9:00?

A