Yes, it's sad. Still sad, will be sad for awhile yet. :) Hopefully we'll get some squee-licious moments to offset it in Wednesday's ep! As usual, thanks to my beta Cyko1003, and the readers, and reviewers, of this fic.


Chapter 8
Danny: Wondering

Waking up without her was the hardest part.

Normally, on work days, Lindsay would reach over and turn off the alarm clock just before it rang, then nuzzle his neck gently to wake him. She would whisper in his ear, saying things that he found both shocking and thrilling. He would open his eyes to see her there, curled into him. How he loved the warmth of those moments, when they were skin to skin, nothing in between.

Yet this morning, when Danny awoke, Lindsay was not there. Her absence left him chilled. It took a moment for the fog in his brain to lift; for him to remember where he was, and exactly why. He was alone.

He rolled over and glanced at the clock. 10:47. He had certainly overslept. Fortunately, Joe was likely to be back and standing guard outside. Ed, Danny's night guard, was gruff and caustic, militant in both appearance and demeanor. Danny disliked Ed instantly, and he had the distinct impression that those feelings were mutual. He burrowed deeper under the covers, pretending to be anywhere else but this bleak room.

Before he could drift off again, he heard a light tapping on the door. "Come in," he mumbled as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Joe came in carrying a tray of food and two cups. The aroma of fresh coffee drifted over to Danny, and his stomach growled instinctively in response.

"Room service," joked Joe, placing plates, utensils, and food from the hotel kitchen onto a small round table. "I thought you'd probably be hungry, since you missed dinner last night. Hope you don't mind if I join you." He passed Danny a steaming mug. "How'd you sleep?"

"Okay," Danny said quietly, taking the cup and inhaling the scent of the coffee. "It was a lonely night."

"I know," Joe said gently. He took the remote and flicked on the television. It flashed to life, broadcasting all the news from the outside world.

"Do you know?" Danny asked. Without meaning it, irritation saturated his voice, making him sound petulant.

Joe studied him quietly. "Think about it. My wife has no idea where I am. In order to protect you, I can't have contact with her." There was no hint of chastisement in Joe's voice - he was simply being honest.

Danny was instantly humbled. "I'm sorry," he began apologetically, but Joe stopped him by reaching over and patting his shoulder.

"Son, I know how it hurts," he said. "That's all I'm trying to say."

The two men ate in silence. The food hardly interested Danny; he remembered Lindsay's comment from Sunday evening - "Is that all you ever think about?" The recollection caused a lump to form in his throat, making swallowing any more food impossible. He put down his fork and sipped his coffee instead. As he listened to the weather, he nearly laughed at the irony: sixty-three degrees and sunny, yet he would be denied fresh air for days.

A bubbly newscaster began rambling off the latest news. The trial was covered briefly - there was a clip of Sassone being led into the courtroom in his orange jumpsuit and leg shackles, a sight Danny found immensely satisfying.

Joe nodded in acknowledgement. "The D.A. will be coming up any day now to record your deposition. You ready?" he asked.

Danny shrugged. "I just want to get it over with," he admitted. He just wanted this all to go away, and let him get back to his life. Back to Lindsay.

He listened vaguely as the newscaster moved on to more local headlines. "The private chef of Ms. Cecelia Truesdale was murdered yesterday morning. Police say someone entered the rear entrance of the mansion early Monday, beating Alan Rothbart over the head and killing him."

On the screen was video shot from the morning of the crime: the outside of the fancy house, cops and various investigators filing in. Danny recognized a black pick-up truck in the background, and he smiled when he saw Stella climb out. It was nice to see a familiar face, even if just on television. Then the realization hit him forcefully: wasn't Stella working that case with--

Oh God.

"Lindsay." He spoke her name just as he saw her.

He first spotted her brown curls, as she walked around the truck and then turned slowly, almost facing the camera before she disappeared into the mansion with Stella. Danny's fingers went numb, and the coffee mug slipped from his grasp. A brown puddle spread quickly over the table, engulfing the food and the napkins while he stared blankly.

Joe leapt up out of his seat and began swabbing up the mess. "Hey! Everything all right?" he asked with a worried glance.

Danny aimed the remote control and pushed "power", then put his head down on the table. "Can I be alone for a few minutes?" he asked softly.

Joe appeared to sense what had just occurred. "Sure," he said easily. "Let me get rid of our trash, and I'll be back in a bit."

When Joe left, the door lock clicking shut behind him, Danny stood up and began pacing. He felt as if he was going to explode. He was fighting tears, fighting rage, fighting fear. Get yourself together, Messer, he told himself. Being in a situation where he had no control was alien to him - and he hated feeling so helpless.

When Joe returned a few minutes later, Danny had calmed himself and was seated back at the table.

Joe sat down opposite him. "So, tell me about Lindsay," he said.

Danny beamed - he couldn't help it. The thought of her made him grin so hard that his face hurt.

"Wow, you actually can smile," Joe laughed.

The two men talked for hours. Danny told Joe about Lindsay - how they first met, how they taunted each other like schoolchildren for months, how they finally came together. He learned that Joe's wife, Roberta, had once dumped a milkshake over his head for teasing her. Danny told of how Lindsay was from out west, and Joe said that he had spent one summer at a hunting cabin in Montana. Joe listened while Danny explained how Lindsay had become his rock, through everything with his brother and Tanglewood. She kept him going and provided him with a sense of escape.

Talking about Lindsay in such vivid detail made Danny feel closer to her, so close he swore he could feel her presence. He sighed at the realization of his present state, and how far apart they truly were. "And now, it's been over twenty-four hours since I talked to her," he said. "I wonder what she is thinking about all this."

"And you're wondering if she'll stand by you," Joe predicted.

Danny remembered the cigarette butt containing his own DNA, and how Lindsay had unwavering faith in him. "She's stood by me before, but will she do it again?" he pondered, biting his lip. "What if I'm more trouble than I'm worth?"

Joe smiled sympathetically. "Speaking of trouble," he said, "my shift is almost up. I need to go out and do some paperwork. Catch you tomorrow morning?" He reached out his hand, which Danny shook.

"See ya, Joe," he said, sad to lose the companionship. Joe's fatherly presence was a nice distraction.

Before walking out the door, Joe turned back to Danny one more time. "What is your biggest fear?" he questioned. "What if she doesn't stand by you this time?"

Danny sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled with a shudder. His mind wouldn't let him venture to this place, but he knew the answer the question nonetheless: "Then I'll break."

----

Danny was lying on his bed that evening, when Ed walked in the room without knocking. He was carrying a stack of magazines, which he dropped onto the bed with such force that Danny found it jarring.

"Some magazines," Ed announced gruffly. "Don't write in them or tear anything out."

Danny looked blankly at the stack of outdated magazines, which included Women's Day and Martha Stewart Living. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would read these?" he snapped irritably.

"Suit yourself," grunted Ed, leaving the room as quickly as he came. "It's not my job to entertain you."

"Ass," Danny muttered under his breath once the door shut. Out of sheer boredom, he thumbed through the magazines until he found a cover that didn't look remotely feminine or domestic. Conde Nast Traveler, the title read. Danny flipped open to a random page illustrating a beautiful spread of mountain peaks, and his eyes settled on the article name: "Montana Biking Trails".

Montana.

The toxic mix of grief and anger coursed through him once again, and he hurled the magazine across the room, where it smacked against the wall and fell into a tattered heap.

"Don't give up on me," he whispered.