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

A/N: Thanks as always to those who continue to read, and those who continue to review. I appreciate the interest and support.

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

Memory

A room penetrated by thin beams of light

Sunset spearing through the window's blinds

Catching dancing dust motes, turning cobwebs

And the dried up remnants of a house's life

Into fantasy of swirling tiny sentient beings

Finding pleasure in ceaseless movement.

The revelers cannot be trapped or stopped:

Opening the door will let in a wind,

Kill the dance and destroy the pattern

So laboriously uncreated in

The room of a thousand unconnected objects.

Here is a chair, discarded for its faded cushions

And broken springs pressing against the seat.

Here a lamp, no longer lighting the way to any place in particular,

Shade faded and tattered, once brave and bright ribbons

Now hanging sadly, threads torn and stained.

Here a trunk; a childhood fills it:

Discarded toys, treasures

A christening gown

A box of ash

Dust to dust

Ashes to ashes.

From the earth we were made

And to the earth we will return,

Leaving only our memory behind.

SMT2007

Chapter 26: Trading in Favours

"So, Mouse, you're gonna tell us everything you know about Tag and Joe Jr." Flack sat down heavily in the chair across from the twitching addict, pushing a can of Coke at him. Mac stood in the corner, watching, face impassive.

Mouse seemed to be mesmerized by the light above Flack's head. His eyes flickered restlessly around the room, to Flack's face, to Mac's, then back to the light for a few minutes of staring before the flickering started again.

"Tag? I ain't seen Tag since we was kids, man. He went straight, got a job. Joe Jr., he's got three kids, and another his old lady don't know nothing about. Boys work for Gino. You remember, Flack? I told you Messer was in it." Flick, flick, stare.

"You told me lots of things, Mouse. Tell me again. About Gino. What's he into again?"

The thin grey face turned cunning, "Naw, I ain't going to talk about Gino. He don't like it when people talk about him. And he ain't a nice guy, Flack." Flick, flick, stare.

"That's okay, Mouse. Tell me about Tag and Joe Jr. What are they up to?" Flack could be amazingly patient when he was hunting.

"Tag's okay. He's not smart, you know? Like little brothers everywhere. Bit of a fuck-up," Mouse said confidingly. Flick, flick, stare.

"What's he fucked-up recently?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I ain't heard nothing." Flick, flick, stare.

"What about the warehouse job, Mouse? Ya hear anything about that?"

"Warehouse job? Naw. Nothing like that, Flack." Flick, flick, stare.

"Come on. You know. The snatch. The kid. Belongs to a councilwoman or something."

"Not a snatch. No. Just a … diversion. No, more like a distraction. Kid needed something else to think about. He was asking questions." Mouse shot a sudden, unexpectedly shrewd look at Flack, "Asking questions can get you killed, you ask the wrong ones."

"Or the wrong people?" Flack watched Mouse's hands; they were still, lying flat on the table.

"Yeah. Yeah. No harm, no foul. Kid gets taken outta the way couple days, business done – boom – home safe and sound, right?"

"Right," Flack said agreeably, praying that the tension he felt from the corner of the room wasn't going to explode all over his interrogation. "So kid gets let go, game over, right?"

"Long's he stays quiet, don't go poking his head in where it don't fit again." Flick, flick, stare.

"Where was his head that it shouldn'ta been?"

"You know. Yuppie spawning ground. Messer looking to move in there."

"Gino's looking to move into the university? What for?"

"Gino? Did I mention Gino? There are other Messers, ya' know, Flack. Some with a grudge. Some whose family is a little smaller than it use'ta be." Mouse was watching him carefully, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Flack shrugged, "So, tell me about Gino. What's he want with – what did you call them? The Yuppie spawn?"

Mouse rolled his eyes, miming disgust, "I tole ya' I'm not talking 'bout Gino. He's bad news all the way through. Messers ain't good people, Flack. Not like you and me. You ask your dad. He knows a little something about Messers. Knew enough to stop fishing in that pond anyway. Little too much of the Irish there, mebbe." Mouse's eyes were sly, but his hands had started a nervous tattoo on the table in front of him. He stared down at them as if they belonged to someone else, then picked up the pop can and took a long swallow.

Flack resisted the urge to shove the can into Mouse's over-large ear. "What about my father?"

"My dad knew your dad. My granddad knew yours too. I know things 'bout you and yours. Family stories. We're like brothers, Flack, you and me. Three generations." Flick, flick, stare.

"Yeah, we're family, Mauser."

There was no disguising the malice in the cold eyes now, "Serious, man. Three generations of pig on your side…"

Flack stood up in disgust, "Yeah, and three generations of squeal on yours."

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

They shared a cab, Danny giving Lindsay's address so she wouldn't have to deal with the stairs at his place. She closed her eyes when they stepped into the front hall, and, with clenched hands and closed eyes, rode out the wave of lust that hit every time she stepped into the hall. She missed the worried look Danny shot her as she stopped moving for a moment.

"Peyton ordered groceries; are you hungry?" she said quietly as she closed and locked the door.

He shook his head, "Yeah, but too tired to cook. C'm here." He pulled her in his arms and rested his head on the top of hers. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For not draggin' you outta there hours ago." He bent down as if to kiss her, but she stepped back with a smile.

"Me? You're the one too tired to eat, Messer. Go lie down a few minutes. I'm going to heat up some soup. Peyton left enough to feed an army." She pushed him towards the bedroom, but he grabbed her hand.

"Come with me. You need to get off your foot. Just a few minutes, then I promise we'll eat."

Lindsay didn't tell him she wasn't hungry; a blushing Adam had brought her food at the lab, a sandwich from her favourite deli and a very large double chocolate cookie. She just wanted Danny to lie down before he fell down.

"Okay. I'll be there in just a second."

He wandered down the hall as Lindsay went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and stood at the window, staring out at the trees in the park across the street. Although the calendar said it was still winter, and certainly Montana had still been in its strong grip when they left only two days ago, the trees had a blush of green on their tips, a hint of spring to come. She drank automatically, searching the sky for a promise that warmth was returning to the world, but saw only the sullen gray sky threatening rain.

She grabbed a couple of acetaminophen for her headache and swallowed them, then grabbed another couple for Danny. She knew how he felt about painkillers, but perhaps his resistance would be low after today. "Be prepared," she muttered to herself.

By the time she had gone to the bathroom, changing out of work clothes into a sweatshirt and shorts she had left there the day before, and made it into the bedroom, Danny was sleeping peacefully, arms slung out across the bed, covers pushed nearly to the floor. He had managed to kick off his shoes, but otherwise he looked like he had sat down on the bed and simply fallen over and rolled.

She turned to go back into the living room, but then stopped. There could be no harm in lying down with him a moment or two. She was shaking with the cold exhaustion brings, and he was warm, and asleep.

She pulled the quilt up over him first, making sure he was covered. Then cautiously, she slid in beside him, fitting herself into the curve of his body, stilling when he murmured and draped an arm over her. She didn't move until his breath steadied; then she linked her hand in his, pulling it close between her breasts and closing her eyes.

She slept, and when the dreams came, she held tightly to his hand until she reached wakefulness, then slipped carefully out of bed to wander around her apartment.

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

"You sure about this, Detective Bonasera?" Captain Torres raised hopeful brown eyes to her, almost begging her to admit she was wrong, the science was wrong, and he was not going to have to go after yet another Catholic priest, and one with potentially 50 years worth of victims.

Stella shook her head firmly. "Sorry, Captain. There is no question about it; Father Antonelli was the father of Caitlin O'Leary's baby, and Jason killed her for saying it. He's morally responsible for that child's death, and who knows how many other tragedies."

"You know this has to go to the Task Force? You'll need to testify, give evidence to the Diocese …" Torres threw his hands up at the thought of the intricacy of the case they were going to have to work. With any luck, this was an isolated case, but Torres and Stella both knew in their hearts that it wouldn't be.

"Detective Flack is going to go talk to the other priests at the church. This hit him hard; Father Antonelli was his parish priest when he was growing up. The Father's semi-retired now, but this is going to destroy that community for a while."

Torres looked at her chidingly, "You know better than that, Detective. The church is bigger than this heartbreak." His hand unconsciously brushed the Knights of Columbus pin on his lapel. "But Flack," he shook his head, "I don't know whether he should be involved; he's already too close to this case."

"Let him talk to the priests, at least, Captain. He needs that. He needs to make amends." Stella's green eyes were pleading.

Torres thought a moment, then nodded shortly. "He can do the initial notification to the other priests that they are in the clear. Alert Special Victims: they'll make the Antonelli collar, work the case. Flack's going to have too much else to do."

Antonelli already, Stella noted. The priest had already become nothing more than a perp, losing the odour of sanctity every Catholic child had bred in its bones at the sight of a priest's black cassock and vestments.

She sent a quick text message to Flack, offering to join him at the church later that afternoon, and then went to the Trace lab to press Adam for her results on the next case she was working.

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

"Okay, Mouse. Let's back up." Flack had cooled his temper and worry and gone back into the interrogation room with Mouse. Mac was in the observation room beside it now; they had decided his presence wasn't helping, and maybe Mouse would be more forthcoming with Flack alone. If not, Mac would take his place and see "what he could shake out of the little rodent," as Flack had so eloquently put it.

"Whatever you say, Flack." Mouse was all helpful eagerness again; one might be forgiven for thinking the flash of spite had been an accident.

Flack didn't make that mistake.

"You told me that there was another Sassone brother. What do you know about him?" Flack tossed out.

"Sassones? Why you busting my chops about the Sassones? I thought you wanted info on the Taglias?" Mouse mimed confusion.

Flack sat back, bored. " 'Cause I'm administering a bullshit test, and I think you are going pass with flying, crap-brown colours, Mouse. Tell me about this Sassone brother."

"What's to tell? There's an older brother. He's a Fed. End of story."

"How come you know about him?"

"I told you, Flack. My granddad, my dad, me. We know stuff. We hear stuff." Mouse sat back, expansive in his knowledge.

"So, I go talk to Sonny, he tell me about this big brother he got?" Flack kept his tone and face bored. Let Mouse think this was a diversion from the Taglias; he may shake loose something new.

Mouse snorted with unamused laughter, "Sonny don't know nothing 'bout this one."

"You going to tell me you know something about the Sassone family that Sonny don't? Give me a break here, Mouse! Look at that! The shit-o-meter has reached full! You win the prize: one night's accommodation on the NYPD. Care to go for two nights in our finest cell?"

"Naw, naw, slow down here a minute, Flack. See, my granddad – I told you. He's been around a long time. Now his brain's collecting dandelion fluff, you know? So he's starting to spill. I go to the home, I sneak him some mother's milk, I collect." Mouse shrugged. "Family business, right?"

Flack sat back, examining Mouse like he was something picked up on the bottom of a shoe. Time to shake the little shit, he thought.

"Tag, Mouse."

"You're it?" Mouse flashed a feral grin.

Flack rolled his eyes, "Joe Jr. and Tag. Tell me what they wanted with the councilwoman's kid. Who'd they snatch him for?"

"Ask them."

"Asking you. You're the information clearing house here. Give me something, or I'll keep you overnight and you won't have a chance to snort that shit you're holding."

Back and forth they went, both seasoned players in this hardball game. Flack took him to the wall a couple of times, but Mouse, though scrawny, was tough. At the end of an hour, Mac, watching from the observation room, couldn't be sure that the score wasn't actually even.

Until Flack walked out with a cold, dark look in his eyes, but a spring in his step. Mac must have missed something.

"So? What now?" Mac greeted him, his frustration showing.

"We could bring in the Taglias; the DNA match on the duct tape is enough to hold them: Robert at least. That would make Messer take notice – that what we looking for here?"

Mac frowned, "Only if we can take him down. I wouldn't mind putting Gino out of business."

Flack shook his head, watching Mouse twitch through the one-way glass. "Wouldn't get near enough to Gino, Mac, you know that. He'd toss the Tag team to us in a heartbeat, and dance off rejoicing. We need more."

Mac nodded in agreement, "I'd like a little more on this Sassone brother, too. I'm not sure yet I even believe it, but I'm not quite willing to ignore it, either."

"So, we going after the boys, or we going after the man himself?" Flack was bouncing on his toes. He knew his preference, but the Garretts had a right to know what had happened to their son and why, and he knew Mac would have an opinion there too.

"You have a plan?"

"Starting to. I need to do some research first."

"Okay. I'll talk to the Garretts and Reid, see if I can keep them from pushing. You know about the Organized Crime Unit Gerrard is revamping?"

Flack shuffled his feet. "Uh, yeah."

Mac looked at him and a grin slowly moved over his face. "So, you tell Stella yet?"

Flack shook his head.

Mac rolled his eyes. "You want to be the one to tell her, you know."

Flack just nodded, but with a hint of a grin, "I brought her a present to sweeten the pot."

Mac quirked an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Give that girl fresh tomatoes in winter and she'll forgive you nearly anything!"