"What did you want to eat exactly?" Lindsay asked as she pushed the cart down the aisle of the market.

"I'm not sure," Flack answered absent-mindedly as he pulled various items off the shelves and tossed them carelessly into the moving cart.

She caught his wrist as he grabbed a carton of eggs and looked pointedly at the growing pile of groceries. "I'm not paying for all of that myself."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm serious, Donny." She walked around to the back of the cart and rifled through the various items. "I don't even eat Lucky Charms. You don't even eat Lucky Charms."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going to go grab some dog food for dinner, kay?"

"Uh-huh."

She smacked the back of his head. "C'mon, Donny. Wake up! What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, he grabbed the cart and maneuvered it onto the next aisle. "I don't know Linds. I just get the feeling that somehow I'm going to get beat up over all of this."

Danny had arrived home that night expecting to be able to fix him a quick dinner and then fall asleep before his frazzled mind caught up with him. The scene with Lindsay in the locker room had done quite a number on his nerves and he wanted nothing more than to laugh the whole thing away.

His fridge, however, seemed to want to condemn him to a hell he couldn't even imagine.

How was he supposed to remember that yesterday was his market day? (And yes, he had a market day. It made things a whole lot easier and—wait. Why was he explaining this to himself?)

There he was, standing in the market down the street from his apartment, contemplating the difference between the name brand and the generic brand (it was just tomato sauce!), when a familiar voice on the next aisle broke his thoughts.

"I don't know Linds. I just get the feeling the somehow I'm going to get beat up over all of this."

Lindsay's soft laughter filled his ears, and he paused, soaking it in and mentally cataloguing it for later. He darted around the corner at the last minute as the happy couple moved into the aisle. Peering through the shelves at his friends, he thought maybe I could figure out how serious they are.

"Don't laugh at me!" Kind of hard not to, sometimes . . .

"I'm sorry, Ducky." Ducky?

"Don't call me that."

"I've been calling you that for years. You never had a problem with it before." How the hell can she have been calling him that for years when she met him a few months ago?

"I wasn't a detective in the NYPD before, dear." Oh, brother . . .

She reached out a hand and patted him on the back. "Aww . . . you poor baby," she cooed with a smile on her face.

He shrugged her hand off and tried to hide the grin fighting to break out onto his own face. "I knew I never should have taken you to see all those Disney movies," he mumbled. Disney? Oh . . . Donald Duck. Ducky. Haha. He would have to use that against Flack somehow later. But wait, how—

"It's not like I wanted to go to all those movies. You and Bobby just wanted me out of your hair while you two stood outside and tried to pick up girls." Who the hell was Bobby?

"Like there were any girls to be 'picked up' in Bozeman." Nice one, stupid. Danny heard, rather than saw, Lindsay smack Flack's arm. "Ow! Except you, of course." That wasn't a good save at all. I've really got some things to teach you, my friend. But when was he ever in Bozeman?

She laughed suddenly and announced, "We should get going. Bobby's flight comes in at ten." They walked over to the checkout lane and Danny slipped around to hide behind the bread rack.

What the hell was going on? Hey, is that French bread fresh? . . .

TBC