A/N: I decided that these belong together, and the chapter title needed changing. Some slight editing done, not very noticeable though. I hope it reads more coherent now (:

Confusion

It took a lot of effort to distract myself from thinking about Danny, which ironically, was distracting me from my work. I couldn't utter a single word to him. In the lab full of CSIs and lab technicians, I couldn't very well scream or curse at him, which was the most probable consequence should I open my mouth. Somehow, I managed to leave the lab without him noticing. I needed to get home.

I needed to cry. I needed to lock myself away from the rest of the world and withdraw into the safety of my room.

The ride back on the subway was calming. There was a certain beauty in watching the half empty train empty out, and snoozing people scattered across the cabin. It's been some time since I've sat on the subway at 10 at night; recently Danny's been driving me home. I'd gotten use to this arrangement and it got me thinking. The ride back, alone, was somewhat symbolic, like I could live without him. I didn't depend on him. I did not need him.

Or did I?

My apartment offered me an odd sense of comfort I had never really relied on it to give me before. It was lonely and undecorated and I never spent much time in it. But today, I felt safe buried under the covers with the side of my face pressed into the pillow. A box of tissues set on the bed by my pillow was the only preparation I made before giving in to the dreadful torrent of emotions that had accumulated since midday.

At least the weekend had arrived and I wouldn't have to show up at work with puffy eyes, I thought, before surrendering to restive sleep. The last few fragments of thought involved a painful debate over my next course of action. It irked me; I didn't like being confused very much.

Lindsay didn't utter a single word the rest of the day. She didn't even work in the same lab as me. For a brief moment, I thought she was acting out, albeit in a very un-Lindsay like manner. However, when I combed the lab for her at half past ten, Stella told me she had already left. Then, it struck me that it could've been something I had done. What, though?

It felt strange not driving her home. After a month I thought of her presence on these long nights as a fixture of some sort – permanent and necessary. I anticipated that sleep would fail me even before I stepped into my apartment. I didn't dare call her to ask what was wrong; some things are better done face to face.

I started planning. In the morning, I was going to buy her breakfast, dig out from the depth of her stubborn reticent soul what was amiss, kiss her better, and wrap her in my arms. It was a good plan, but a part of me wished I didn't even have to think up such plans.

If he thought he was going to kiss me and expect the hatchet to bury itself, he certainly thought wrong. His confused blue eyes told me everything when he knocked on my door this morning and expected to be let in; he didn't even know what the damn hatchet was. He was standing there, like a gormless dork, holding a white plastic bag filled with croissants and jam. The sight of him, with that mischievous grin which reeked of innocence, made me want to cry.

"Good morning, Montana."

The sound of my… pet-name stopped me from bursting into tears and instead caused the wave of rage to surge through me again.

"My name is Lindsay." I couldn't help but snark.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" He smirked and waved the plastic bag in my face. I wanted to smack it out of his hands.

"No." I had quite nearly shut the door when he used a palm to push it back before it smacked into his head. The shocked, confused look in his eyes pleased me, and hurt me at the same time.

"Lindsay?" He was hoping for an explanation now.

How was I going to answer him? Should I give him the honest version, the "go figure it yourself" version, or the sarcastic version? With the bitterness in me, I gave him the sarcastic one.

"Ooh, nothing's wrong, Danny. Except that I don't want to see you ever again."

I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to be the 'evil' one causing misery this time.

She scared me. The saccharine voice she used was coated with poisoned honey.

"You've been crying." I noticed the tenderness beneath and the capillaries, red and vicious across the white of her eyes. Lindsay glared and pushed the door again.

I had to stick my foot out to prevent the door from crushing my nose. If I had not been so scared and worried I would've been mad.

"Are we going to fight?"

Her shoulders tensed, "If you leave, we wouldn't fight."

She looked like a painting torn into two. "Can we take this inside?" A cloud of hesitation crossed her face before Lindsay reluctantly stepped inside to let me in. She made her way to the couch and sat stiffly; I think she was trying to stop herself from crying.

"Lindsay…" I started, she looked broken, "What's going on?"

There was a flash of anger in her eyes before she stood up, towering over me. I gripped onto the coffee table I was seated on for safety. "Do me, Danny. And then, go."

I was stunned into silence. Had I suddenly woken up in the Twilight Zone? This wasn't the Lindsay I knew. The Lindsay I knew was passionate, but not angry and violent, and definitely not …whoever/whatever she was acting as now.

"Do whatever wild sexual fantasies you have involving me, Messer. Right now, and then get the hell out of my life." Her voice was soft like thunder.

I gulped; I don't think she even knew what she was saying. "Lindsay, this isn't you talking." She intimidated me so much I resorted to pleading. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Pfft! This is me talking. A very angry, hurt, me talking." Lindsay moved towards her bedroom. "What's wrong? You kissed another woman yesterday. Don't try to deny it. I saw you with my very own eyes! Don't give me any of that 'I didn't kiss her back' crap. You didn't even realize when I closed the front door."

I couldn't argue with her, she was absolutely right. I had kissed Lisa back. I hadn't realized Lindsay was just five feet away from where we were, behind a door.

She continued talking, the shrill tone giving way to a weary one. "Go away, Danny. I can't look at you." As the tears fell from her eyes, guilt washed over me. I had screwed up good, and that was an understatement. Had I been an optimist, ever looking for silver linings on clouds, I would've said at least I hadn't slept with Lisa. But to point that out to a woman that angry was suicide.

I moved over to her, thinking of a hundred different ways I could apologize. What I wasn't entirely prepared for was for her to be sad and furious enough to scream at the top of her voice for me to go away. After screaming those two words, she let out a huge sob, before locking herself in the bedroom.

This time, I had not the slightest idea what to do to even begin salvaging the situation. I left her apartment, stifling a sob of my own from escaping my lungs. Guilt was never, ever a good feeling.

And to think, yesterday my spirits had been lifted somewhat after seeing Lisa. What severe repercussions.

Review, please.