A/N: Just for the record, I do know that Anna Belknap who plays Lindsay is older than Eddie Cahill who plays Flack. But for the sake of the story, I needed to make her younger. I think that she looks younger on the show anyways. I hope you'll forgive me for this little switch.  Oh, and sorry that this took so long for me to update. I've got a lot of fics in the works, so hopefully you'll forgive me for that as well.

And in case anyone doesn't get the 'Arto' reference, Arto Lindsay had a band in the 70s- 80s called DNA. I thought it was cute . . .

"One way or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha," Lindsay sang along with the radio as she spun around the kitchen. Bags from the market sat on the counter in various states of being unpacked.

Traffic wasn't so great that night (even for New York) so Flack had left a bit early for the airport. They had decided to eat dinner with her brother when they got back.

As she began chopping some things for a salad, she thought back to the night when she and Flack had had their first "date". Everything had been planned down to a T. Danny was a CSI, and (hopefully) a very jealous man when motivated properly. Neither would put it past him to have followed them that night, or to ask one of her "neighbors" how they had acted while saying goodbye.

The building Flack had dropped her off at was that of one of their mutual friends from the precinct. Lindsay had hid out there for a few hours, and then headed back to the apartment she shared with the detective.

Everything that night had gone so well. She just hoped that everything else would go the same way.

Danny had no idea what the hell he was doing. What possible reason could he have for standing outside of Flack's apartment building at – he looked at his watch – nine at night?

He had to have had one earlier – why else would he be there in the first place. Too bad he couldn't remember what it was.

Might as well go up and at least say hi, since he was there anyway.

Lindsay got off the phone with Flack and reached for the door to the fridge, humming softly to herself. As she grabbed the package of chicken and straightened up, the doorbell rang.

"Just a second!" she called out, wiping her hands on her jeans.

She pulled the door open and came face to face with the one person she probably shouldn't be standing in an apartment doorway with. "Danny?"

"Lindsay?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes wide in surprise.

"I live here." They live together already? I didn't think it was going that fast.

"Oh."

"Yup."

Unlike the silences that normally fell between them while they were working, the quiet they were experiencing at that moment was uncomfortable. Lindsay was never one for clichés, but the only way she could describe the tension in the air was with that stupid knife-cutting metaphor. What the hell was he doing to her, anyways? She was the one who was supposed to be doing things to him . . . no. Not good to go down that road again.

"So what are you doing here?"

Danny broke out of his thoughts with a jerk of his head. "Huh?"

"Is there a specific reason you're standing at my door well after shift is over or are you just here to ruin my doormat?" He glanced down and noticed that he was dripping water all over the floor. Since when had it started raining?

"I . . . uh, I actually came here to see Flack."

Oh. That would make more sense.

"He's . . . not here right now. He'll be back in about an hour if you want to—"

"Nah. That's alright. I'll just see 'im tomorrow. Let 'im know I stopped by?"

"Of course." He started to turn around, but she shot out her hand and grabbed his arm to hold him back. "At least take an umbrella."

The heat from her hand was unbelievably intense even through his soaked jacket – it surprised him so much that it didn't register that she was shoving Flack's favorite umbrella into his hands until she had let go.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Danny," she said quietly as she slowly shut the door. That was too close.

"I really appreciate you givin' my lil sis' a place to live, Donny," Robert Monroe told Flack yet again as they lugged his two suitcases up the three flights to the apartment. He had an accent that was much stranger and much more pronounced than Lindsay's (probably from hanging out with a native New Yorker every summer for thirteen years).

"For the fourth time, Bobby, I told ya – t'was no problem for 'lil ol' me'. She doesn't listen to that country crap that you do." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys as they reached the third floor landing.

"Yeah, that's just cuz you gave her that mix tape for her sixteenth birthday. She still has it, you know. And why didn't you tell me it was going to rain?" He shook his arms at Flack, spraying his already wet figure with even more water.

Flack shoved Bobby in the arm. "Cuz I didn't know, ya nut." Grinning childishly, he unlocked the door, pushed it open, and called out, "Hey, Arto!"

"I don't know how many times I've asked you . . ." Lindsay began as she sauntered out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a green dishtowel, but upon catching sight of her brother, she trailed off and ran towards him. "Bobby!" she yelled, throwing herself into his arms.

The siblings hugged for a moment as the detective stood off to the side and watched with a smile on his face. When they pulled apart, he scoffed jokingly, "Geez, Bob. I didn't even get that kind of response when I picked her up at the airport."

Lindsay smacked his arm and dragged them both to the table where she could see them from the kitchen. As Flack extricated himself from her grasp and turned back to move the luggage inside and close the door, she removed her brother's coat and ran to fetch him a towel. "So – spill; where's the dirt in Bozeman now?" she asked excitedly as soon as they were both dry and seated and she was in the kitchen finishing up their dinner.

"Still on the ground as usual," Bobby replied casually as he sipped the beer she had given him. "There's not much to tell. Everything's pretty much the same since you left, Linds."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Oh! The Millers had a baby girl!"

Flack had no idea who the Millers were, so it was a safe bet that tuning the reminiscing pair out would make no difference, seeing as how he could care less. As he sipped his own beer, a towel draped round his neck to catch the water dripping off of his messy hair, he studied them. While Bobby had more signs of age on his face, and Lindsay had lost some of her natural tan from Montana summers, the two looked more alike than either of them would ever care to admit. He had grown to notice that many of their gestures and habits were similar as well.

Who would have known that at five years old, a dreaded trip to his great-grandparents' home in Bozeman would have turned into one of the most important times of his life? He had gone to the unknown state expecting to spend all of his time playing in their huge backyard or inside watching their ancient TV. The day when he kicked his soccer ball over the next door neighbor's fence and met Bobby Monroe and his little sister Lindsay when he went over there to retrieve it (as per his parent's request) was one of the best days of his life since.

He laughed as he remembered the look on his parent's face at the end of that summer when he requested if he could return there the following summer, and the ones after that (it was only when his great-grandparents passed away when he was eighteen that he stopped traveling there when he could; he still kept in touch regularly, though, through phone calls, letters, and later on, emails).

They stopped talking at the sound of his laugh and turned to look at him. He raised his eyes to hers and asked, "What?"

She just laughed and shrugged it off, turning back to her work. Less than a minute later, she turned back to him and said randomly, "You'll never guess who stopped by while you were out."

"Danny," he replied without even blinking.

Lindsay seemed shocked. "How did you know?"

"Who else would matter enough for you to tell me?" This seemed reasonable to her, but her brother was a different story.

"Who's Danny?" he asked warily. He knew he wasn't going to like the sounds of this from the looks on their faces. "Okay. Out with it. The whole story, right now."

Flack looked to Lindsay for help but her eyes were fixed firmly to the pot simmering on the stove. Guess I'm on my own for this one . . .

"It all started like this . . ."

TBC