A/N: An update...finally! I've been working my butt off at school, then I got sick (occupational hazzard--1/3 of my students are sick, so of course, I am too), and life just got in the way :-P But here I am now with a brand new chapter for you, a bit of a variety pack because 1) the story's been pretty heavy on the Maddie/Danny aspect, and 2) because that's what the characters told me to write ;-)

Enjoy!

After Maddie's miscarriage, there had been no funeral, no burial, no wake, not even a headstone marking an empty grave. Since the baby had been a stillborn there had been no birth certificate, and because he hadn't been far enough along there had been no fetal death certificate either. Maddie and Danny had nothing to show for the loss of their child, nothing to give them closure, no place to mourn.

Until now. Aiden had asked gently if she could put together a small memorial for the baby that the State of New York said never existed, to help her best friends heal. Maddie and Danny had consented, receiving a shoe-boxed sized package from Virginia a few weeks later. They carried it with them now as they picked their way through the small cemetery on Staten Island in search of one particular gravesite.

"Here she is," Danny called softly.

Maddie followed him, moving beside him and taking his hand in hers as they gazed at the headstone.

Caroline Messer
April 9, 1951—May 14, 1991
Beloved Wife and Mother

They stood together for several minutes without speaking. Danny lay his head against Maddie's shoulder, prompting her to release his hand and wrap her arm around him in comfort and support. It was always hard for him to come visit his mother's grave, and today, with thoughts of their stillborn child heavy on his mind, was harder still.

Finally, the silence was broken when Danny sniffled a little and lifted his head, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself. "Well, should we…?"

Maddie nodded, brushing a hand over his back. "Yeah." She bent down and retrieved the box Aiden had sent from the grass near her feet and lifted the lid, carefully pulling out the memorial the former CSI had so lovingly constructed—one of the last sonogram pictures from the first pregnancy, framed in a simple black wood. Across the top and bottom of the frame, Aiden had painted in delicate silver script

Our Sweet Angel
Adam Daniel Messer
January 27, 2004

Danny sniffled again, sliding an arm around his wife as he leaned his head against hers, brushing away some of the tears that had begun to spill from her blue eyes.

"He was so tiny," she whispered, clutching the sonogram tightly. "So defenseless…and I couldn't protect him…"

"Shhh," he returned, comforting her now as he gently nuzzled her cheek. "It wasn't your fault." More tears fell as he spoke, from his eyes along with hers, and his voice caught in his throat.

"Danny, it wasn't yours either," she returned quietly, knowing he still blamed himself. "You have always taken such good care of me…and our children. I love you for that, you know."

He smiled a little through his sorrow and kissed her hair. "I know. I love you, too."

She kissed him softly, then turned back to the sonogram, pressing it tenderly to her lips. "And we love you so much, little Adam," she told the picture. "Our first boy…"

Danny squeezed her shoulders and kissed her temple, releasing her for a moment as she bent down and placed the memorial against his mother's headstone. "Take good care of him, mom," he whispered.

Maddie straightened up and leaned against her husband, resting her hands on her swollen abdomen. "And we'll take care of this one," she added. "Your granddaughter…Adam's little sister."

Danny wiped his eyes, caressing his unborn child with his free hand as he said a silent prayer for her. She was as far along now as Adam had been when they'd lost him, and both Danny and Maddie were terrified that it would happen again.

He felt a flutter underneath his fingers and smiled softly, hoping the baby's movement was a good omen. "Our little girl."



"So how is it?" Sarah asked, anticipation written all over her face.

Sheldon grinned as he finished chewing the bite of salmon in his mouth. "It's wonderful."

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

He swallowed and shook his head, leaning across the table and planting a kiss on her lips. "Of course not. It's fantastic."

She kissed him back, beaming proudly. "Now, if only I could get you to make your famous apple pie," she giggled. "I bet that's pretty fantastic, too."

"Who told you I make apple pie?" he asked, surprised.

Sarah laughed. "Maddie," she informed him. "She said that when she was pregnant the first time she kept craving apple pie, and she couldn't find anything that tasted good to her until you baked one…"

"…using my secret recipe," he finished with a chuckle, remembering the incident fondly. "It's actually my mother's recipe, but whatever it was it worked for Maddie. Every couple of weeks I'd steal a few minutes at the morgue to put one together and throw it in the oven when I got home."

"What a sweatheart," she smiled, leaning over to kiss him again. "Just tell me you washed your hands first…"

He laughed out loud this time and nodded. "I even wore gloves," he promised.

Sarah sat back down in her chair and picked up her fork, returning her attention to her food. "Maybe you could make one for me sometime?"

"This time I'll mix it up at the lab…no bodies to worry about," he grinned, tilting his head a bit as he always did when he teased her.

"How about for Thanksgiving?" she asked casually. "And maybe…we could…take it to dinner with my family?"

Sheldon stopped eating and looked at her, a little surprised. "You want me to meet your family?"

Sarah met his gaze and nodded. "Yeah. My parents will be there, and my grandparents…my aunts and uncles…some of my cousins…"

"You want me to meet your whole family," he clarified.

She nodded again. "Yeah." Rising from her chair, she walked the short distance to the other side of the table and brushed a hand over his face, her smile softening. "I love you Sheldon Hawkes. And I want my family to love you, too."

He stood, taking her hand in his and pulling her to him. "I love you, Sarah Curtis," he answered. "And I would be honored to meet your family."

She kissed him again, sliding her arms around his shoulders and drawing him closer. She smiled happily when she felt his arms encircle her waist, one of his hands coming to rest on the small of her back, and giggled a little.

"But don't forget the pie."



"I still can't believe you've never been to Virginia before," Aiden repeated as she and Don walked across campus at the University of Virginia.

"I never had a reason to," he replied.

"So you need a reason to do everything?"

She was teasing him, goading him into arguing with her, and he was trying not to let her get to him. It was much more fun to torment her by not arguing back. "Maybe," was all he said.

She knew what he was doing and laughed out loud, squeezing his hand in hers as they walked. "Come on, Don…you love arguing with me," she reminded him with a smirk.

He shook his head. "Not today."

"Is it because I made fun of your driving?"

He didn't respond, keeping his eyes forward as they walked, suddenly not wanting to play anymore.

"That's it, isn't it?" she grinned. "Hey, all I said was that you drive like a New Yorker…"

"Aiden, I am a New Yorker."

She laughed again. "I know that…I didn't get dumb all of a sudden when I left the city," she quipped. "But what I meant was, you can't drive like that in Charlottesville. You have to drive like a Virginian around here."

"Oh? And how do I do that?" he asked, trying to hide his bruised ego.

A sarcastic smile formed on her lips. "The same way you drive in New York, but with a Southern accent."

That made him smile a bit and he squeezed her hand in return. "You're a funny woman, Aiden Burn."

"I know," she winked.

They reached the part of campus known as the Rotunda, a large grassy area complete with bronze statue and several clusters of students spread out on blankets in the still-warm November weather. The pair found a place away from the crowd and sat down, Aiden releasing Don's hand and drawing her knees to her chest. They sat without speaking for a while, enjoying the bright sunshine and the academic atmosphere, happy to be spending a little more time together.

"I feel so old here," Aiden admitted, breaking their silence. "I'm not really—not for a graduate student. But still, I feel old here."

Don nodded. "It's the life you've already lived," he told her philosophically. "You've done the college thing once already, gotten a real job—a very serious and important job—and lived your own adult life before you came here."

"I fell in love, too," she said softly. "I had this whole wonderful relationship before I came here, that I totally and completely screwed up." She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes and caught the expression on his face. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, to help her the way she wouldn't let him help her before.

But he didn't budge, even to look at her. They had had similar discussions before, and he had already decided to allow her to make the first move, whenever she was ready. Instead, he spoke four simple words.

"We're here together now."

She glanced over at him, her dark brown eyes appraising him as though she were seeing him for the first time. She took in his tall frame, his long legs, his large hands, his broad shoulders, and remembered why she had been attracted to him in the first place. Her gaze rested on his face and she read his feelings in his brilliant blue eyes, remembering why she had fallen in love with him.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked quietly.

He smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm scared, Don," she confessed, shifting her gaze out over the Rotunda. "I just took off and ran away from all my problems, which makes me feel like a coward. So then I think I want to go back to New York, to face everything I left and prove that I'm not a coward, but…I'm afraid I'll end up right back where I was…"

This time he didn't stop himself—that was the move he had been waiting for. Reaching over, he took her hand in his and held it firmly, running his thumb over her smooth skin. "You won't," he told her.

She shook her head again, her forehead wrinkled in thought and fear. "You don't know that…"

"I do know that," he interrupted, squeezing her hand gently. "You're already different than you were when you left. You're trustin' me…"

Her eyes met his and she saw the love he still had for her. "Yeah," she replied with a small smile. "I am."

She squeezed his hand in return, thinking—hoping—that he was right. Maybe things would be different this time around.



Stella and Mac sat together in a little out-of-the-way hole-in-the-wall diner, a place very familiar to both of them, filled with many happy memories. Yet they were both uncomfortable, both re-thinking the decision to come. They made small talk, trying to pretend neither of them was bothered by the past they had there, but failing miserably.

Stella was the first to drop the charade. "This was a bad idea," she said quietly.

Mac continued to study the menu, shaking his head. "No, I think we needed to do this."

"Then why are you acting like I'm an ugly cousin you haven't seen in twenty years and barely know?"

Her unusual comparison jolted him from his musings and he looked up at her. "What are you talking about?"

She slid her hand across the table and laid it over his. "Mac, I know this is hard, coming to the same place you and Claire and I used to hang out together, but the whole point of this was to confront the past."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"No, it isn't," she told him, her curls swishing around her shaking head. "Not if you're going to sit here beside me and act like we're barely acquaintances. You haven't touched me since we came in…you've hardly even looked at me."

He sighed, turning his hand over and clasping his fingers around hers. "It's just gonna take me a few minutes, Stella. That's all."

"That's all?" she repeated.

He nodded. "That's all," he answered again, more firmly. "It's just strange being in here again. The last time we were here, we sat over there…" He pointed to a booth on the far side of the little diner, near the big picture window. "And you and Claire kept hitting on the waiter…"

Stella smiled as the memory came back to her. "We kept asking him for extra quarters when the jukebox ate ours and wouldn't play the songs we picked out…"

"And he gave 'em to you, too," Mac marveled. "I'll never forget it…"

"…we played Brown Eyed Girl six times in a row…"

"…even though neither of you have brown eyes," he finished with a chuckle. "You drove the rest of the customers crazy."

"But you loved it," she smirked, leaning close to him and patting his chest.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and smiled gently. "I did," he told her. "Because I loved both of you."

"You still can, you know," she replied quietly. "Even though you're not wearing your wedding ring anymore."

He glanced down at the faint tan line on his left hand, all that remained of the gold band that had only recently been removed. The sadness that had permeated his life when Claire died was still a part of him, but the pain of losing her was finally beginning to ease. "I know."