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

A/N: Thanks to all the people who have put this story on alerts or on favourites: I take it as a great compliment that you are following along. Thanks to all who have dropped a line, or put the effort into writing a review – you are the reason this story has become what it is.

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


Trespassers Will Be Persecuted

Our Father,

(swift hand in punishing anger)

Who art in heaven

(far away and out of reach)

Hallowed be thy Name

(not Jesus Fucking Christ, then?)

Thy kingdom come

(as if you don't control all already)

Thy will be done

(or else)

On earth as it is in heaven

(the curse of everlasting life)

Give us this day our daily bread

(dry, with water, for dinner. Again)

And forgive us our trespasses,

(what did I do wrong?)

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

(what would forgiveness look like?)

And lead us not into temptation,

(over and over)

But deliver us from evil.

(delivered into evil)

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,

(and the pain and the hunger and the anger and the hatred)

for ever and ever.

(and ever, and ever, and ever)

Amen.

(So be it)

Chapter 55: Forgive Us

"Natalie? Natalie! Omigod, are you okay? Did they hurt you? I am so sorry, baby, so so sorry…" Reed's voice broke as he buried his face against Natalie's shoulder, holding onto her for dear life.

Natalie's face, always pale, went dead white as Reed's arms went around her, but she bit her lip, obviously accepting the pain in favour of comforting her distraught boyfriend.

"Reed." Mac said softly. "Let her breathe." He put a gentle hand on the boy's stiff shoulder.

"God, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Reed eased back, but Natalie would not let him go far.

"Yes. No. It doesn't matter. Hold onto me, okay?" Her voice was hoarse; her eyes were sparkling with tears.

Mac pulled up a chair. "Natalie, I'm sorry. I have to ask you some questions while things are still fresh in your mind. Do you want to wait until your parents are here?'

Natalie shook her head. "They're away, in Maine. The hospital called them – they are on their way back. They were supposed to be gone a week. I guess that's why no one noticed I was …" Her voice died off.

Reed's face went deep red with suppressed mortification. "I should have checked. I should have phoned to make sure you got home safely. I'm so sorry, babe. I'm sorry."

She rested her head against his, putting her fingers over his mouth. "Not your fault. I was the one who knew you were being followed in the first place. I should have known – should have guessed he would go after me next."

Mac sat back in the uncomfortable chair he had placed beside the bed. "We had people following you. They failed. I apologize to you both."

Natalie shivered at the bleak look in Mac's eyes. She would not want to be the one who had to report failure to Detective Mac Taylor.

"So, let's get the information we need to catch this guy and make sure it never happens again, okay? Natalie, what happened on the bus?"

Natalie sat back against the pillows on the raised hospital bed, hands still tightly wound in Reed's. With Mac gently but inexorably leading her through it, she recounted the slight touch on her arm which had left her dizzy and disoriented, the oh-so-helpful young man who had helped her off the bus, the waiting car, the silent ride through the darkened city streets, the waking to a small room with a bucket in one corner, a jug of water, and a handful of granola bars.

"They never talked to you? Never told you what was going on?"

Natalie shook her head. "No. From the time I woke up in the room until Detective Monroe came through the ventilation shaft, no one talked to me."

Mac watched her hands carefully, but there was no nervous movement, no anguished wringing suggesting she was masking something. He nodded briskly and stood up. "I'm glad you are okay, Natalie." He bestowed one of his rare smiles on her, and enchanted, she smiled back.

Reed had not taken his eyes off her as she talked, but when Mac went to leave the room, he dropped a swift kiss on each of Natalie's hands and muttered, "I'll be back in a moment."

He caught up to Mac just outside the door, and closed it carefully behind him. "Mac, you don't think they'll come after her again?"

Mac shook his head. "I don't think so, Reed. We'll be looking for the one that followed you and snatched Natalie, but the man who set this all up is in custody. He's not likely to be active for some time."

Reed frowned thoughtfully. "Can you tell me…?" His voice trailed off as Mac shook his head again, more firmly this time.

"Let us handle it, okay, Reed? This is Officer Atherton. She will be outside Natalie's door until we determine that she is safe. No one is to go in or out of this room unless they have been IDed, Officer. Even doctors and nurses are not to be left alone with the patient. If they argue, deny them access."

If he could have relaxed his face muscles enough, Reed would have smiled at the military precision with which Officer Atherton responded. He grabbed Mac's arm tightly with one hand. "Is she still in danger? You said she wasn't."

Mac turned to his step-son and put one hand on his shoulder, "Reed, I don't think that Natalie is in danger. I really don't. But I am not going to take any more chances, with her or with you. Officer Montiveo will be your shadow," he nodded his head at a young officer standing at attention on the other side of the hallway. "Stick with him until I tell you differently, okay? I want you to stay safe."

Reed slumped against the door. "I'll be careful," he promised.

Mac smiled and squeezed Reed's shoulder in a quick sketch of a hug. "You won't have a choice."

Reed grimaced as he heard the swift tapping of a woman's power shoes coming down the hall.

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

The nurse had handed him Hawkes' note, and now all John could do was sit and wait. The problem was, he wasn't sure whom he was waiting for, or why.

Lindsay was off somewhere with Danny, he was sure. He had cruised down the hallway and glanced in the room where Antony Messer was still hooked up to machines that breathed for him and kept his heart pumping. No grieving family members, no nurses monitoring him, just a uniformed cop standing grim and silent at the door.

John shivered involuntarily. A clean shot, a quick death – that's all he hoped for when he went.

He wandered back to the waiting room, but Lindsay hadn't shown up yet, and he was reluctant to go looking for her. Wherever she was, whatever she was dealing with, he hoped that Danny was with her, and that they would come out of this together. No matter how he felt about his baby sister being with any man, Danny had gone through the fire for her more than once since John had met him, only a few weeks ago, and John knew their imprint on each other was strong.

He had been worried about Lindsay when she had gone up the side of the building, worried about what he would tell their mother if she got hurt. But he had recognized the look on her face when she had told him to back off, too. There was no role for him there any more. All he had a right to do was fetch her a rapidly cooling cup of coffee and some kind of plastic pastry with chocolate spread on it from the coffee shop.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and began to run through the case in his head. Was there anything left to tie up? Reagan was gone, with Nikki Messer in tow. His office had tracked their movements to the Port Authority, and then lost them. Reagan must have had an exit plan: new identities, money, tickets out of the country. They would find him eventually. Maybe.

"Hey, Monroe. Sleeping on the job?"

John opened his eyes to see Flack gulping down some of the coffee, making a face when he tasted the sugar and cream Lindsay favored.

"I would have pegged you for a black coffee drinker."

"I am," John answered coolly, "Lindsay, though, prefers something a little mellower." He motioned to the cup. "She disappeared before I could give it to her."

Flack shrugged and took another swig. "She'll be with Messer somewhere. How's his father?"

John simply shook his head, and Flack's face went pale and cold. He sighed and put down the empty coffee cup.

"Okay, where are we?"

"Grant didn't seem all that surprised. I wonder if he knew before?"

Flack shrugged again. "He'd have had a background check before getting into your outfit, wouldn't he? If it was that easy to find, he'd have had to know."

John sat forward, his hands between his knees. "It wasn't easy to find. And it certainly wasn't in his files. My clearance is pretty high and I couldn't find anything. It was only the stuff old man Mauser could remember that helped me work it out."

"But you said Sassone knew?" Flack sat forward too, their voices automatically dropping.

"The grandfather, not the father. Yeah, I think so. He seems to have been tracking the kid from birth. I wonder if Maureen Messer knew anything, or had been in touch with the Sassones at all?"

Flack sat back, his eyes flickering down the hall to where Antony Messer lay. "Not maybe the best time to ask."

John shook his head as well, his face grim. "No. I guess not. And it may not make any difference. The guy is squeaky clean, Flack. No flags at all until now."

"So, you watch him." Flat voice, cold eyes.

"I watch him." Mirror image.

Flack put back his head and closed his eyes, stretching long legs and cramming his hands into his pockets.

"Where's Stella?" In the opposite bank of chairs, John mimicked his stance.

"Coming. Mac is checking up on Natalie and Reed – setting up their surveillance again, with a little more stick – so she went to report in. They'll all show up here soon, I'm sure." His weary voice didn't pick up at all; one small cold coffee, even loaded with sugar and some kind of topping, had done nothing to dispel the fog of exhaustion. He needed sleep, but as that was not likely, he needed food.

The hospital cafeteria was even worse than the precinct one, as he knew to his cost. The smell and muted green of the hospital corridors made his stomach ache anyway. Waking to the unrelievable pain of having his guts spread out all over the floor, to be put back together with a little Marine spit and polish and some office boy's shoelace – the memories never left; the nightmares could still bring him sitting up straight, sweating and panting, from a dead sleep. He knew he could expect at least one screaming horror of a night coming up.

"Any word on Antony Messer?"

Flack opened his eyes at the question. Mac and Stella strode down the hall together, steps in perfect sync. He had often wondered why the partners had not simply taken that next logical step after Mac's wife died in the Towers. It was a common reaction for co-workers to become more, even without the added trauma of a loved one's death. He had never broached the subject with Stella. The thought that somehow he was a second-string player in the relationship league was one he was determined to bury as deep as possible. Who says de Nile was a bad place to live?

Unaware of the dark thoughts behind those deep blue eyes, or at least ascribing them to a different cause, Stella bent and unselfconsciously kissed Flack on the cheek as she sat beside him, taking his hand in hers, and handing him a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper from a nearby deli. It was the first time she had been so open about their bond, and he felt a bolt of gratitude shoot through his body.

"You okay?" She said it quietly, for his ears alone, and he grinned at her tiredly, unwrapping the sandwich.

"Will be."

She nodded, then turned her attention to John, who was listening intently to Mac's report on the status of the case.

"We put out a BOLO on Michael 'Seph' Reagan and Nikki Messer. He showed up at her workplace before 2 o'clock and they left together."

"Did she go willingly?' Stella asked.

Mac shrugged, "Witness said she was holding onto Reagan pretty tight, but no indication that she was under any duress. The Feds tracked them to the Port Authority; from there they have access to the common exits from the city: bus station, airports, trains, ports, even the ferries."

With a sigh, he accepted a sandwich from Stella as well, passing the first one to John, then unwrapping the next before continuing.

"Nothing under the names of Reagan or Messer, but we didn't have pictures until about fifteen minutes ago. They haven't been spotted at any of the expected places: homes, family."

Flack closed his eyes briefly again. One more apology to make to Tony Reagan.

John Monroe was nodding. "Nothing new reported by my teams. I suspect Reagan had a way out already planned. If he was coerced into playing with Messer's boys, he had to be aware of whom he was dealing with: Messer has upped his game considerably this past month. He's not leaving mistakes lying around for long." He looked at Flack for confirmation.

"Are you saying he took Nikki with him? As insurance or partner?"

Flack turned and looked over his shoulder, and his heart ached anew at Danny's exhausted, defeated face. But the criminalist's voice was strong, if heavy on the accent, and his hand was firmly grasped in Lindsay's.

Mac answered, "No way of knowing. I think she's safe though, Danny. Maybe one of the boys we interviewed tipped him off: he left school after lunch and went straight to Nikki's workplace."

Danny nodded thoughtfully. "She's a travel agent," he volunteered. "An escape route could have been set up weeks ago."

John sighed. "All we can do monitor for any activity on credit cards, that sort of thing."

Stella looked over at Mac. "What about Reed's shadow? Have you found out who he was?"

Mac frowned, "Disappeared. Messer is not talking about anything, and the thugs he had with him may actually have nothing but muscle between their ears. We're at a standstill."

Lindsay looked at Mac with a hint of challenge in her brown eyes, "Like you always say, Mac, there is always more the evidence can tell us. We haven't finished processing the room Natalie was held in, or the warehouse."

Mac looked up at her with a hint of apology in his worn face. "We've been taken off the case," he said gruffly.

Danny had been about to drop into a chair, but he straightened up swiftly. "What are you talking about, Mac? How can they yank us off this …" He stopped abruptly as Mac reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Danny. Danny. Let this go. We can hand it over. You need to be with your father now. You don't need to do any more."

Lindsay was amazed when Danny nodded once and collapsed back into the chair. She had been prepared for him to argue, to deny, to struggle against the bureaucratic restriction. She looked at Mac, then Stella, then Flack. Each face mirrored her worry. The sight of Danny Messer without any fight left was the most paralyzing one she had seen all day.

"Detective Taylor."

At the sound of that icy voice, every head rose. Maureen Messer stood in the doorway of the waiting room, her head held high, her eyes dead.

"I wanted to say congratulations, Detective. It took you a few years, but you finally succeeded, didn't you? You took Daniel a long time ago. Then Louie, and now Antony. It might not have seemed like much to you, but it was my family, everything I had. And now you've destroyed it all."

She came a little closer, and spat accurately and bitterly in Mac's direction. Her face crumpled, and she began to cry, deep tearing sobs that tore through her throat.

The men sat frozen in embarrassed silence, until Danny stood and walked to the window, staring out blindly. Mac pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face absently. Flack grabbed Stella's hand as she leaped to her feet in defense of her friends.

In the end, it was Lindsay who silently stood up, put an arm around Maureen Messer's shoulder, and led her away, murmuring comforting words too quietly for anyone else to hear.