Just letting you all know: there's lots of crying in this chapter. I'm sorry it's short, and I'm sorry I'm so lazy on this site - I have lots of crap going on in real life right now.
Also, sorry it's been a while. I promised some of you I'd get back on this sooner! I'm getting to an end on this. I'm thinking one or two more chapters.
Lindsay sat down in chair and let out a sob. The house was dark. She'd fought with Danny for almost an hour, screaming at him about how he hadn't bought milk on his most recent trip to the grocery store. She'd screamed so loud and for so long that her throat stung.
Since she'd found out about her father, she'd been periodically attacked by bursts of anger, depression, and then a sickening, all-encompassing homesickness. She'd been getting headaches as well, and every call home ended in her walling herself into the bathroom and sitting, stunned, on the edge of her bathtub.
People's father's died often. Women not much older than her had fathers die of old age. Children younger than her grew up without fathers.
But, like with most tragedies, her own felt so much worse. She couldn't fathom any worse feeling – it was as though a terrible pool of acid was slowly burning through her body because – for God's sake – it was her daddy that was hurting, the one that gave her a name, and told her stories, and gave her her first buck knife and a fishing rod and held her hand on the first day of school.
How could someone who gave her so much slip out of her life?
She bit back her next sob, trying to keep from waking the baby. Danny had gone out to get the "goddamn milk," as he'd put it.
The truth was that she'd just wanted him out of the house. The sun had set in his absence – enough time for the apartment to fade into darkness, leaving Lindsay sitting on a chair in the middle of the living room.
The door clicked open, startling her. She stood quickly, but was torn between locking herself into the bathroom to clean up, racing into the bedroom to pretend to be asleep, or wiping her eyes and hurrying to do something around the apartment.
That was how Danny caught her – standing beside the couch with her shirt wrinkled and wet with snot and tears, twisting her hands in a tissue, tears still dripping from her eyes, lost.
Their eyes caught. Lindsay coughed and sniffed.
Danny set the bag of milk he had in his hand and set it on the table with his keys and wallet, and walked over to her. He held out his arms and wrapped them around Lindsay.
Lindsay leaned into his arms, then sagged into his embrace.
Danny sat down on the couch with Lindsay in his hug.
Lindsay paused for a moment in his embrace, but abruptly stood and walked away.
"Lindsay, come on," Danny snapped, standing up, "I'm trying to help."
"I don't want help," she sniffed, glaring at him. She stomped away with her back to him.
"Fuck, Lindsay! This is ridiculous!" Danny exclaimed.
"Don't like it?" she asked, whipping around, "Leave."
Danny clenched his teeth and glared back at her, refusing to move from his spot. He crossed his arms, a defiant gesture.
"No, get out," Lindsay said, pointing towards the door. "You obviously don't want to be here."
"I'm not leaving," Danny snorted.
"Why not? You've done it before," Lindsay scoffed.
"And I'm never doing it again," Danny said simply.
He wasn't prepared when Lindsay let out a pained sob and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He stumbled back in surprise, then wrapped his arms around her waist.
Lindsay cried and cried, unable to even articulate why she was sobbing. Somewhere along the line of her choked, struggling cries, he bent down, crossed his arms under her butt, and hoisted her up. He walked her into the bedroom and sat with his back to the headboard.
"I get it," he said quietly.
She could not stop crying, but lowered the sounds of her sobs to hear his voice, breathy and warm on her ear.
"I know it's your dad, Linds," he said. He rubbed her back with his thumb, up and down in soothing strokes.
She sniffed loudly, swallowed a sob, and nudged her knees further forwards on either side of his lap, bringing her closer to his torso. She buried her nose in his shirt, at the corner of his collar and his shoulder.
"I know you can't decide if you should go out there and do something for him or start mourning him already," Danny said in his soothing, gruff voice.
Lindsay gave a little hiccup at the emotions and pain he'd stirred up in the pit of her stomach.
"That's probably why, I'm guessing, you've been all back and forth these past few days we've been back," Danny said, "And you're takin' it out on me. But it's OK, a'right Linds? I can take it. I know you don't really mean it. So if you wanna take out some anger on me or whatever, that's cool. If you wanna hit something, I'll take you to the gym and we can mess around with the punching bag there. I'll be here for whatever you need me, OK?"
Lindsay nodded and nudged her foot out from under her thigh, where it was falling asleep. She rested her forehead on Danny's broad shoulder and took a few deep breaths, attempting to clear the heavy pressure of the tears in her head. She looked up at Danny, searching his eyes, and swallowed.
"I'm sorry," she said thickly.
"It's OK, Montana," Danny said slowly, brushing back her hair. "Now, look, unless you wanna yell at me some more, I'm gonna go put the milk away and climb into bed with you."
Lindsay managed a watery smile and shook her head. She moved off of Danny's lap so he could get up and smiled when he kissed the top of her head.
Danny jammed another quarter into the vending machine and watched as the coffee splattered into the little paper cup he'd placed in the machine. The stuff tasted like ash, but he wasn't going to complain. Two hours to go on a grueling shift seemed like days.
He walked out of the little kitchenette area and into his office, just down the hall. He set the coffee on his desk and pulled his files toward him. He'd only started filling out the date on the first form when Flack knocked on the wall with a slap of his hand and leaned into the office.
"We gotta go. The older brother of that kid who died last week is downstairs with a gun."
"What?" Danny asked in disbelief.
"Get up," Don said, tossing him one of the bulletproof jackets he had in his right hand.
Danny pulled it on and adjusted the Velcro straps as he stumbled after Don. He barely remembered the case – he hadn't processed the scene: Lindsay and Hawkes had. He'd run some tests on a broken lamp found in the hotel room, but that was about it.
"What's he got a gun for?" Danny asked.
"He's saying we gave up on the case," Don responded, swinging open the door to the staircase and quickly jogging down them, Danny at his heels.
"Where's Stella? Maybe she or Hawkes can talk to this kid."
"Harlem. She and Hawkes are both out. Mac's coming in from Brooklyn, says you can buy some time. Linds is down there already."
"She's what?" Danny snapped, stopping on the stairs.
"She's down there," Don yelled behind him, "C'mon, Messer, hurry it up!"
Danny, filled with renewed vigor, raced down the steps after Don, hastily unsnapping his gun from his holster.
"Why aren't we taking the elevator?" he asked angrily, feeling a tight strain in his calf.
"It's shut off," Don responded, "Kid says he put a bomb in the building. Thompson's in charge; he says there's probably no way the kid had the planning to do that, but he shut off the elevators and gas anyways. Fire alarms are on on the other floors."
Danny, straining his ears, could hear the faint bleating of the fire alarm in the distance, coming closer and closer as they sped down the steps past one of the ringing alarms.
Lindsay raised her head to look at the stunned-looking young boy with the thick, coke-bottle glasses sitting heavily on his nose. "Stop!" the kid shouted hoarsely, "Stop moving!" The kid was speaking with a heavy snuffle to his voice, as his nose was dripping a steady stream of blood. The blood was soaking into his shirt, puffed out around the bulletproof vest that he was wearing.
Earlier, the security guard at the front entrance to the building had attempted to tackle him to the ground, succeeding in only getting shot in the shoulder while smacking the kid's face against the wall.
"I said no MOVING!" the kid shouted, pointing his gun at the small crowd of people which contained Lindsay.
"S-sorry," a young woman next to Lindsay stuttered. Lindsay recognized her as a secretary who had worked with Gerrard, and now for Gillian Whitmore.
"Dima?" Lindsay asked the woman softly, the name sprouting up in her memory.
The dark haired woman turned and caught Lindsay's gaze. She nodded, her lower lip quivering.
"I'm Lindsay," Lindsay responded in a whisper, "You helped me find files on Natalie Gerrard?"
Dima nodded quickly and clutched her bright red purse to her chest. "You're a CSI, right?" she asked in a voice that Lindsay could barely hear.
Lindsay whispered a quick, "Yeah."
"So don't you have a gun?" Dima asked.
Lindsay nodded. "On my belt," she whispered, "But I don't want to spook him."
She nudged her way slowly to the front of the crowd, which consisted of three people: Dima, an elderly man who worked as a janitor on one of the floors, and a jumpy looking businessman who was watching the gun with wide eyes, biting his short nails.
Lindsay took a deep breath and tried feebly to recall all of the training she'd had in hostage negotiations. Her mind seemed to be completely devoid of part of it.
"Um, sir, my name is Lindsay Monroe and I'm a CSI here," she started, gaining momentum and strength in her voice as the kid turned to her, his eyes glowing with a slight glimmer of hope that someone could pull him out of this mess. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Brian Emerson," the kid said. He swallowed, and Lindsay watched the lump move down his throat, saw his Adam's apple bob.
"Is there a reason you've come here? Something that you need?" Lindsay asked nervously.
The boy blinked and swallowed again. "P-Peter," he stammered, "I came for Peter."
"Does Peter work in this building?" Lindsay asked.
"H-he …" the young kind seemed to remember why he was there, and straightened. The hand holding the gun lifted higher, and, now having someone to direct the pain towards, pointed it straight at Lindsay. The other hand shoved up his coke-bottle glasses. "Peter was murdered last Tuesday."
Lindsay gulped and nodded, her mind racing. What was she to say? She had had training in counseling members of a grieving family, but this degree of violence and projection seemed to be far out of anything she'd learned to deal with. "I'm sorry to hear that, Brian," Lindsay said, her voice strong and sincere.
"No one else is," Brian said with a quick glare that passed violently through his features.
Suddenly, the squeak of a rubber sole echoed throughout the large lobby, which had previously been dead silent but for the sound of Brian and Lindsay's voices and the occasional whimper from one of the twenty or so people scattered around the room.
With a fearful intake of breath, Brian's head snapped up, although his gun remained trained on Lindsay.
Standing in the hallway that led to the larger room were Danny and Flack, each holding a gun pointed at Brian's head.
"I'm gonna have to ask you to put down your weapon, kid," Flack said firmly, as he and Danny took slow, calculated steps towards the young man.
Danny's gaze flicked over to Lindsay, who was watching Peter with determination.
"It's alright, Brian," Lindsay said softly, "It's going to be alright."
Brian's hand quivered, and started to fall.
"We're working on his case, Brian," she continued, watching as the hand holding the gun slowly lowered.
Danny and Flack moved forwards, wary of a change in Brian's demeanor. Their footfalls were quiet on the linoleum floors of the lobby. Danny's eyes continued to flicker over to where Lindsay stood, slightly ahead of the three hostages she'd been standing with. He was terrified that she'd do something rash – he couldn't fathom what, but he knew that the consequences couldn't be good.
"He was my baby brother," Brian said softly, "My baby brother, and I couldn't protect him."
"I know, Brian," Lindsay replied, her voice lowering to a whisper, "Believe me, I know."
A tear slipped from Brian's eye and down his cheek.
"I couldn't protect him then," Brian said. As if taken by some thought, he straightened, and the hand holding the gun raised. "I have to do something for him now," he concluded, and began firing.
Before Lindsay knew what hit her, she was shoved to the ground. She could smell Danny, and knew it was him. She found that Danny was crushing her to the ground so hard that she could barely move, much less get up.
Seeming to notice her discomfort, Danny hooked his arm around her and, slinking his way along the floor over her, dragged her behind the front desk, where the small group of hostages was hiding. He climbed off of her and quickly checked her over with his eyes, noting how she instinctively did the same. They waited until the shooting died down before Lindsay popped up over the top of the desk, and fired off a single round, which caught Brian in the shoulder.
Brain toppled over backwards in a pained arc, his gun dropping from his hand.
Flack hustled over to him, kicked the gun out of the way, and held him down as Lindsay and Danny looked on.
"Danny, don't baby me," Lindsay huffed as Danny chased her around the apartment with a dripping ice pack in his hand.
"I'm not babying you, Montana," he snorted, "I'm just tryin' to fix the damage I did with your head." He tried to corner her when she got to the door to the bedroom, but she ducked under his arm and headed towards the kitchen.
"You got me out of the way, Danny – you didn't damage me. I am not an egg. So stop," Lindsay scolded as she opened the fridge.
She let out a shriek as Danny wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up into the air.
She kicked her legs, spluttering, "Danny put me down!" as he shook the moisture off of the coldpack and pressed it to the growing bruise on her forehead. Using his knee, he nudged her up higher on his body as her feet kicked dully on the door of the fridge.
Finally, Lindsay gave up with a laugh and fell limp in his arms. Danny set her down on the floor. She could feel his smile against her neck. "I'll put the icepack on my head, all right?" she giggled, "If it'll ease your bleeding conscience, that is," she harrumphed.
Danny grinned and flattened his hand on the icepack. "Thank you, Montana," he said curtly, and pressed a loud, wet kiss to her ear.
She laughed at him and took over holding the icepack. "You're very welcome, Danny," she said.
So... Since I want to update now before I forget, and I also want to thank my reviewers, I'm going to take a leaf out of Laurzz/BEG75's pages and do it on here:
Thanks to Berta101, jules4ya, pretty7, Megan, Laurzz, BEG75, javajunkie4evr, prplerayne, Dantanafan, afrozenheart412, jordinajamaica, The Little Corinthian, TAsolo, summergirlforever, and dtd. If I ever remember, I'll actually send you a PM specifically crafted to your review :P (so sorry if I missed anyone... I appreciate you if I did...)