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Lindsay knew the moment she woke up what she had to do. It really was the only possible course of action.

She couldn't speak to her mother about Connor for fear that she'd tell her father. While they'd managed to speak on the phone nearly once a week without incident, she wasn't convinced that things were perfect and easy between them yet. So her mother wasn't an option.

And she couldn't talk to Danny about it. She wasn't sure how he'd react to knowing Connor was trying to situate himself back in her life, but she was sure that it wouldn't be positive.

There was only one person she could call who wouldn't be emotionally invested.

She rushed through her morning ablutions and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee. She would need the caffeine hit. When she opened the freezer door for the beans, she was shocked to discover the food stuffing it to the brim.

She quickly opened the bottom and discovered that it, too, was well stocked. With fresh food. Closing the door, she stared motionless at the fridge, her mind whirling through the possibilities. Abruptly, she remembered Freddy disappearing for several hours the day before, not returning until long after Mrs. C had finished cleaning and began preparing dinner.

Striding to the phone, she pulled it out of its cradle and dialed before moving back to the kitchen. With the phone ringing in her ear, she grabbed the beans from the freezer and hurriedly started the coffee pot.

"Hello?"

"Did you seriously need to stock my refrigerator? I could have gone today, you know."

"But then how would you have made breakfast?" Freddy asked.

Amusement made her lips curl up. "Freddy, I can't cook to save my life. Why would I make breakfast?"

The phone crackled as he changed ears. "You still can't cook? Doesn't Molly find that sacrilegious?"

"You can't cook, either," she pointed out defensively.

"Sure I can. I just hate it."

"Well aren't you Mr. Perfect," Lindsay grumbled, huffing when Freddy laughed on the other end.

"Did you call Danny?"

Lindsay bit her lip. "Sort of."

"Okay, what does that mean?"

"Well, I called, but he was out with friends, so we didn't really talk."

Freddy was quiet for a minute. "His choice or yours?" he asked dangerously.

Sighing, Lindsay tapped her finger on the counter, watching the coffee slowly fill the pot. "Mine, I guess. It just felt awkward."

"That's too bad. Call him again," Freddy said, his voice suddenly growing absent as if something had caught his attention.

"It's his turn," she protested, grabbing a mug from her cabinet. A swear word came across the line. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's this stupid laptop. My file seems to have magically disappeared," he muttered. She could hear him banging at the keys. Then the noise stopped and he sighed. "Lindsay, you can't focus on who's turn it is to call whom. Who needs to make the next move. Your relationship with this man is way too complicated. You're both walking on eggshells already. Just make the call."

"But—"

"Do you want him or not?"

Lindsay's jaw dropped open. "Freddy!"

He took a patient breath in her ear. "Lindsay, make the damn call." He paused. "You don't happen to know how to fix computers, do you?"

She snorted and poured coffee in her mug. "Not for you, I don't."

"Oh, gee. Thanks—"

Hanging up, she tossed the phone onto the counter and pulled out the milk Freddy had put in her fridge. Once her mug of caffeine was prepared, she felt ready and she picked up the handset again.

"Angell."

"Hey, Jen."

"Hey," she said eagerly. "So you're back in your apartment, huh?"

"How did you—"

"I heard Danny mention it to Stella this morning. I was going to call, but I didn't want to wake you."

"Are you working tomorrow?" Lindsay asked abruptly.

Jen paused before answering. "No, why?"

"Well, I'm officially off the pain meds, so I thought we could go to Sullivan's."

"What's going on?" Jen asked.

Sighing, Lindsay curled up in her big arm chair, her mug cradled against her chest. "I need to talk to you. And…I need to be drunk to do it."

"That's always a good sign," Jen mumbled, then took a deep breath. "All right, meet me here at eight."

"And I can't risk running into Danny," Lindsay quickly added.

"Then is Sullivan's really the best place?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Lindsay cleared her throat. "He went out last night, I don't think he'd go out two nights in a row."

"Not any more at least," Jen agreed. "Okay then. I'll meet you at our usual table at eight."

"Thanks, Jen."

"Since when is hanging out with you a favor?" Jen asked, hanging up before Lindsay could respond.

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It felt weird being out at night. Hell, it felt weird being out at all.

Glancing around the bar for the umpteenth time, Lindsay wished she'd picked a different meeting place. She'd thought the familiarity of Sullivan's would make this easier, but it was just putting her on edge.

Finally, Jen walked through the door and spotted her. "Hey," she called with a slight wave.

Lindsay watched in amusement as every male in the vicinity turned their heads to watch Jen walk by. "Hey," she responded, slightly surprised when Jen leaned over to kiss her cheek instead of hugging her.

Apparently not noticing Lindsay's bemusement, Jen casually leaned a hip against the table and laid on a hand on the worn wood. "Are we going to need beer or something stronger?"

"Something stronger," Lindsay said grimly, the nerves coming back in full force.

"Coming right up."

Moments later, Jen was making her way back to the booth, followed by the bartender and a tray. Lindsay stared in mild shock as the bartender lined up ten shot glasses and filled them with tequila. When he was done, she smiled at him and he nodded. "Welcome back, Monroe," he said in his thick brogue.

"Thanks," she said to his back as he walked away.

"First thing first," Jen muttered, pushing a shot glass in Lindsay's direction along with the salt.

"Right."

Licking her hand, she shook the salt out and handed it back to Jen who mirrored the action. Simultaneously, they tossed the shots back and set the glasses aside.

"I used to be engaged."

Jen blinked at her as Lindsay stared back, just as shocked as Jen. She really had meant to lead up to it. "What happened?" Jen asked, toying with her glass.

Lindsay sighed. "I broke it off."

"Okay," Jen said, nodding slowly. "Why?"

"I didn't love him. I never had, not that way." Now that she'd started, it was hard to get her mouth to stop moving or the words to stop pouring out. "He was my older brother's best friend—"

Jen held up a hand. "Wait, you were engaged to Connor?"

"I forgot you met him," Lindsay said with a wan smile. "Yes, I was engaged to Connor. He asked me when I was nineteen and I said yes. But I didn't love him."

"Then why did you say yes?" Jen asked, pushing another shot in Lindsay's direction.

Lindsay waited to respond until after they'd tossed the shots back and stuffed the remainder of the limes into the glasses. "He'd saved my family's ranch. And my father loved him so much," she said, feeling the tears well up.

Sighing, she ran a hand over her face. "I couldn't say no."

"But you did eventually," Jen surmised, eyes roving over her friend's face.

"Yeah. Five years later. Sterling, I know," Lindsay said when she saw Jen's wide gaze. "I explained it to him. That I had thought I could love him, that life in Montana would be enough for me. But that I'd been wrong. It wasn't a nice way to do it, but it was the only way I could think of."

"Why is this coming up now?"

Lindsay winced and pushed a shot at Jen. Afterwards, she took a deep breath, grateful for the fogginess that the tequila was creating. "Connor wants to get back together."

Jen blinked at her owlishly, obviously beginning to feel the alcohol herself. "How do you know?" she asked, her voice still clear as a bell.

"He left this message on my machine. I think it was back when I was still in the hospital, when he had to leave for Montana again."

"He left a message for you that he knew you wouldn't get for months?" Jen asked, and Lindsay nodded eagerly, glad she understood. "What did it say?"

"That he wanted me to hear a friendly voice when I got home. And that he hoped Danny wasn't there to hear it."

Jen's eyes widened. "No."

"Yes," Lindsay said seriously.

They took another shot.

Lindsay sucked at the lime with more enthusiasm than she had the previous three shots. Jen was shaking her head. "That rat bastard."

"He's not a bastard. He's just…" Trailing off, Lindsay wondered what she could possibly say about Connor. He was an enigma to most people. How did one explain an enigma?

"In love with you?" Jen offered and Lindsay winced again. "Does Danny know you were engaged to Connor?"

"Oh, yes," Lindsay said quickly. "I told him in Montana."

She suddenly felt much more sober than she had a few minutes before. "I have to tell him, don't I?" Lindsay murmured, raising a hand to her temple.

Jen watched her carefully and waited to speak until Lindsay looked up again. "No, you don't."

Jen's voice had lost its drunkenness as well, though Lindsay knew it was just lying dormant in the seriousness of the conversation. She opened her mouth to respond, but Jen was faster.

"What would you tell him?" Jen asked, raising her palms upward in a shrug. "I'm sorry, Danny, but my ex-fiancé is trying to get back together?" She frowned. "Maybe you should tell him."

Lindsay started to agree but then Jen was shaking her head. "No, no. Don't tell him. You're not going to get back together with Connor, right?" Lindsay nodded eagerly. "Good. Then Danny doesn't have to know."

"Why?"

"He'd go crazy," Jen said casually, sliding the last two shots around the table. "I mean, look how he reacted to Emery, and you turned Emery down."

Lindsay reached out and grabbed the last shot glass. "You're right. I know. You're right. But I feel so guilty."

"Why? Why should you feel guilty?" Jen asked, big dark eyes concerned.

"Because…I don't know. Maybe I led Connor on somehow? Did I lead him on?" After a pause, she shook her head firmly. "No. No, I did not."

"That's right. Because you're in love with Messer."

"No, not love," Lindsay stressed, drawing out the sounds of the last word almost cartoonishly. "We've never even been on a date."

"What do you call what you've been doing?" Jen asked, dangling the salt shaker in front of Lindsay's face.

Licking her hand again, Lindsay made a face at the light remnants of salt, but shook some more on her hand anyway. Jen had created a small tequila puddle around her shot glass by pushing it around the table and Lindsay waited as her friend tried to get a hold of the slippery glass.

Letting her eyes drift around the room, she was surprised to find that the bar had filled in the time it had taken for them to have their conversation. She briefly considered offering the empty space of their booth to a couple that stood nearby—they just looked so nice—then came to her senses as Jen made a triumphant noise.

They took their shots, which seemed a bit anticlimactic after the preparation Jen had required, then sat in silence. "Not dating, exactly," Lindsay finally said.

Jen frowned. "What?"

"Danny and I. We haven't exactly been dating. We've been hanging out. Like friends. But there's tension, like…a…a…"

"Sexual tension?" Jen supplied gravely, leaning forward.

"Yes," Lindsay agreed, pointing a finger across the table at Jen. "And it makes it feel like dating. But there's no chance of…of…"

"Sex?"

"Yes." Lindsay nodded to underscore the importance of this point. "It's like, he wants to touch me, I want him to touch me, but we can't yet."

"Why not?"

Lindsay stared at her seriously. "The doctor hasn't said it's okay yet." For some reason, this sent Jen into hysterics. Lindsay blinked in bewilderment. "What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry," Jen gasped. "Nothing. Nothing. So the doctor told you you couldn't sleep with Danny?"

"Well, not Danny specifically," Lindsay began, only to frown when Jen started laughing again. "What is so funny?"

Jen calmed herself again, wiping tears from her eyes. "Sorry. Nothing. You need to go on a date."

"I know," Lindsay said, still eyeing Jen carefully. "But how can I ask him on a date when he's still afraid he might break me if he so much as breathes on me?"

"Is that the problem?" Jen asked.

Lindsay watched in fascination as Jen lined their shot glasses up in an empty row. She tilted her head to the side and stared at them as she answered. "Yeah. It's Freddy's fault, I think. Danny was finally looking like he was going to make a move and then Freddy comes out of no where and puts the fear of God in him."

Pulling her eyes away from the glasses, she found Jen watching her. "The fear of God?"

"Well, the fear that I'd start bleeding internally if we had sex." Jen's eyebrows shot up her forehead and Lindsay wondered when she'd lost the ability to control her mouth. "I mean from the wound."

"I knew what you meant, I just don't see how that would happen at this stage."

"It's just not a good idea for my abdominal muscles to be undergoing the type of stress they would when…contorting into different positions," Lindsay finished primly, nudging a glass in line that was slightly off kilter.

"But wouldn't it be worth it?" Jen purred, playing with the bits of lime left over.

Dropping her head onto her arms, Lindsay groaned dramatically. She felt Jen's hand patting her head and squashed the urge to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. Her pseudo-boyfriend refused to make a move on her because he was afraid he'd kill her with pleasure.

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Two cups of coffee, several Tylenol, four pep talks and fifteen hours later, Lindsay picked up the phone and dialed his number.

"Messer," he barked over the line. She wondered vaguely if he was having a bad day at work, but shrugged off the urge to ask.

"So," she said without preamble. "I have a bottle of wine my uncle gave me, and I really don't think I should finish it alone."

"Good instinct," Danny agreed seriously. What sounded like a foghorn blared somewhere near him. "I get off at five."

"Bring dinner?"

"Deal."

Lindsay paused, frowning when someone yelled confusing words about halibut. "Where are you?"

"It's a long story," he told her, his voice loud as he tried to speak over the yelling. "I'll, uh, tell you about it over dinner."

"All right," she said, smiling a little. "Give me a call when you're heading over."

"Sounds good."

"Bye, Danny."

"Later."

Hanging up the phone, Lindsay studied it as though it could solve the mystery that was Danny Messer. It didn't offer anything, and she eventually tossed it down onto the cushion next to her.

If Danny got off at five, he wouldn't be there for easily another four hours, earliest around seven. Sighing, she stood from the couch and resigned herself to restless baking. Food was good for hangovers anyway.

When the buzzer sounded at six, Lindsay frowned and checked her watch. Slowly, she slipped the oven mitt off her hand and strode across the room, idly smacking it against her leg as she went.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she leaned on the button. "Yes?"

"Hey, it's Danny."

Lindsay's eyes widened. "Hey. Come on up."

Pressing the buzzer, she groaned aloud. Her shirt wasn't covered in flour, but after wearing it most of the day, it wasn't exactly flattering. Jeans were fine, she had been planning to wear them anyway. But she desperately wished she'd run a brush through her hair recently.

As she was touching her tousled curls with a grimace, his knock sounded loud on the wood of her door. Sighing, she flipped the locks and swung the door open. He, of course, looked amazing despite the probability that he'd been wearing the same clothes all day.

She smiled ruefully and moved to the side. "Hey. You're earlier than I thought you'd be."

"Sorry," he said not very remorsefully.

He grinned down at her, switching the bag in his left to his right hand. As he wrapped his arm around her in a loose one-armed hug, she glanced curiously down at the bags.

"What's in these?" she asked, still savoring the contact.

"Dinner," he told her, letting go and moving towards the kitchen, where he suddenly halted. "Upset or bored?"

She sidestepped and squeezed past him through the doorway. "Most definitely bored." Quickly, she moved muffins out of his way.

"How many muffins did you bake?" he asked, sounding shocked as he reached up to set the bags on the cleared counter.

She hesitated, counting silently. "Seven or eight batches. Stephen stopped by earlier and took some."

"Stephen?"

His voice was casual, but pointed, making her glance at him. Busying himself with the contents of his bags, he avoided her gaze and she blinked in confusion. "Guy who lives down the hall."

Danny finally looked at her with raised eyebrows. Frowning, Lindsay watched as he crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the counter, abandoning the groceries.

"Oh," she murmured, understanding. She felt a shy smile spread across her face. "Wife, two kids. Brian, their youngest, has a thing for blueberry muffins."

Danny's face cleared and he reached behind him to pick up a muffin. "You do bake well," he said, breaking off a piece and popping it in his mouth.

"Thanks."

Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes and began spooning the last of the batter into the paper-lined muffin tin. The bags rustled again and she glanced over to see Danny taking things out of the bag. Raw things. Garlic, tomatoes, chicken breasts, a bottle of wine.

"You know, when I said you were in charge of dinner, I didn't mean you had to make it," Lindsay told him, spoon frozen and dripping above the bowl.

"Never look a gift chicken marsala in the mouth," Danny warned her, a smug expression on his face.

Lindsay's mouth automatically watered. "I'm so glad I can eat real food again."

"Me, too." His voice was low and serious as he met her eyes.

The look there, exclaiming his feelings, made her want to jump him desperately. She felt the need spread across her face and tried not to look away in embarrassment like she usually did. Whatever he saw in her face made his eyes drop to the garlic he still held. They both stood completely still, Lindsay trying to remember how to breathe, Danny staring blankly at the garlic.

Suddenly, as if remembering why he held the garlic in the first place, Danny strode the two steps across the kitchen. "Olive oil?" he asked, his voice low.

"Left cabinet."

"Cutting board?"

Reaching over, she picked it up from the top of the microwave. Wiping a hand on her apron, she swiveled to hand it to him just as he turned from the cabinet. They collided in the small kitchen and Lindsay grabbed a handful of shirt at his hip to steady herself.

"Sorry," she said quickly, still a little off balance.

"S'all right." He cleared his throat and she looked up to find him staring down at her. His eyes smoldered, driving away any thoughts of his previous rejection. Right up until she realized that she was still leaning against him, clutching his shirt.

As if she'd been burned, she jumping back, wincing as her elbow smacked against a low cabinet. "Ow," she hissed, cupping her empty hand around it.

"You okay?" Danny asked tightly.

Nodding, Lindsay sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good," he murmured.

With a start, she realized he was still staring at her, in fact hadn't moved an inch. Tension held him rigid as a deep breath shook his chest.

"You okay?" she asked with a short laugh.

"When's your next doctor's appointment?"

Confused by the question, she paused and wracked her brain. "A week from Wednesday, I think. Why?"

"Is that your last?"

"No, I have to go back in a few months for a checkup."

Danny nodded and shut his eyes. Watching him, Lindsay let her eyes sweep over him as he gathered himself. The button-up shirt stretched across his shoulders and lay flat and loose across his stomach muscles.

Abruptly turning to face her stove, he set the garlic and olive oil down and picked a skillet off the hanging rack. Dazed, Lindsay cleared more space off the counter and set the cutting board down.

Carefully, she slid the glove back on and pulled the muffin tin off the counter. She turned around and was confronted with Danny's back, just a foot away in the close quarters.

Suppressing a groan, she moved next to him and smiled shyly. "Could I just…"

He glanced at her and moved out of the way. Pulling the door open, she quickly bent over to slide the tin inside. Her butt brushed his leg and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She rose so quickly her head spun, and she slammed the over door shut.

"All yours," she squeaked, unable to look at him.

"Thanks." He looked dark but also resignedly amused.

With great enthusiasm, she attacked the dishes from the muffin spree. She concentrated so hard on the dishes, she almost managed to ignore Danny moving behind her. Finally, the last was done and she settled it in the rack next to the sink. Glad Danny was still chopping tomatoes, she quickly opened the oven and removed the last of the muffins.

"I'm gonna go change," she muttered, untying the apron.

"All right," he said with a light cough.

Hurrying into the bedroom, she nearly slammed the door. Leaning against it, she dropped her face in her hands and tried to calm her riotous heartbeat. This was not going as she'd planned at all.

She'd never felt like this before. Ever. If he touched her right now she was fairly certain she'd burst into flames.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin and strode to her closet. She flung the door open and grabbed the first lightweight sweater she saw. Yanking off her shirt and pulling the sweater over her head, she reached for her brush before she'd even straightened the garment over her hips. She didn't want Danny thinking she was primping for him.

A quick glance in the mirror told her fixing what little makeup she had on wasn't necessary; none of it had migrated below her eyes. And adding lipstick or powder would be too obvious now. The dark wash jeans looked fine with the light purple sweater; no flour anywhere. All in all, with how little she could do to prepare, her outfit was passable.

Her hair, on the other hand, was hopeless. Sighing, she pulled it back in a messy bun, fixing it in place with an elastic band as she moved to the door. The smell of garlic made her moan involuntarily as she came back into the kitchen.

"God that smells good," Lindsay murmured, coming into the kitchen behind him.

He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Garlic is man's best friend."

Laughing, Lindsay shook her head, feeling small tendrils of hair shake loose to float around her face. Maybe the hair situation was looking up. "I always thought that was coffee."

"You were wrong," he told her very seriously, making her laugh again.

Glad the tension had dissipated as rapidly as it had appeared, she pulled out several cookie tins and baskets and began lining them with wax paper. "So where were you earlier when I called?" she asked, suddenly remembering his promise.

Danny snorted. "Fish market over by the Hudson."

Lindsay blinked at his back, hands full of muffins. "Why?"

"Hawkes found a guy's card in our vic's wallet," he explained, carefully flipping the chicken breasts. "Turns out the guy was our vic's lover."

"Lover?"

Nodding, Danny lowered the heat on the skillet and settled himself against the counter facing her. "Explains the vanilla we found all over his body."

Lindsay frowned as Danny crossed his arms. "Wine's behind you if you want to open it," she told him, gesturing absently as she packed the muffins into one of the tins. "How exactly does that explain the vanilla?"

Danny picked up the bottle and the corkscrew next to it. "Our suspect, Ralph, spends the day chopping fish. He says the only thing that takes the smell away is soaking his hands in vanilla. Apparently, it's pretty common," he said with a shrug.

"I've never heard of that," Lindsay murmured as he popped the cork.

"You know a lot of fishermen?" Danny asked with a smirk. "Glasses?"

She made a face at him and pointed. "That cabinet." He poured a glass and set in on the counter near her. She smiled her thanks. "So is Ralph still a suspect then?"

Danny let out a breath. "Everything we have points to him," he admitted then looked hesitant. "But my gut says no."

"Why?" Lindsay asked, taking a sip of her wine.

"I'm not sure." He stepped back to the stove and turned off the burner.

Lindsay watched, fascinated, as he tossed vegetables in with the chicken, then opened the over door and slid the skillet inside. Closing the oven door with one hand, he reached up and lowered the heat under the covered saucepan.

Idly, she wondered if he used his skills in the kitchen to seduce women. Because it would work. She tamped down on the spurt of jealousy, trying to remind herself that he was here with her, not some other woman.

"Almost done," he murmured, sipping his own wine.

"I'll set the table."

Tapping the lid into place on the final—full—muffin tin, Lindsay moved around the counter and set it on top of the pile. She shook her head as she pulled out plates.

"How in God's name am I going to eat this many muffins?" she muttered.

Danny chuckled. "Frankly, I have no clue."

Lindsay sent him a wry smile and put the plates on her small table. "Thanks, Danny. That's real helpful."

Grinning, he turned back to the stove. "You wanna help me make the salad?"

"Now that I can do," Lindsay murmured, coming back to the kitchen to stand next to him.

She smiled up at him, and he paused briefly, as if startled. When she tilted her head questioningly, he shook himself and reached into the bag.

"We'll need a bowl," he said quietly, examining the cucumber he'd just pulled out.

"Okay. Watch your head," she warned him as she stretched to open the cabinet. The bowl was a little too far back on the shelf and she bit her lip. "Could you—?"

"Sure," he said.

While he was busy, she let the wince out and rubbed at the scar through her sweater. He started to turn and she dropped her hand, smiling brightly.

He frowned, eyes flicking down to her side and up again. "You all right?"

"Yeah," she said, brushing off his concerned tone and taking the bowl. "What do I do?"

His expression went blank. "You've never made a salad before?"

"Of course I have," she scoffed. Picking up the cucumber, she frowned at it. "I just always stopped at lettuce. Maybe tomato if I was feeling fancy."

"Fancy?" He chuckled and shook his head. "I'll deal with the cucumber. You get the carrots." He paused and looked at her earnestly. "You can chop carrots, right?"

"Shut up, Dan," she said, shoving him a little. But she was smiling as he moved behind her, laughing.

"Where's your vegetable peeler?" he asked when he'd calmed.

She stared at him blankly, eyes innocent. "My what?"

The look of banked horror on his face broke her resolve and sent her into a fit of giggles. "That drawer," she said, pointing.

He shook his head, an inordinate amount of relief visible on his face as he rummaged through the drawer. "You nearly gave me a heart attack," he muttered, pulling out the peeler and cradling it protectively.

"You Italians and your food. I'm not quiet as inept as you seem to think."

"You think tomatoes in salad are fancy," he reminded her, peeling the cucumber over the sink.

"Shut up," she said cheerfully and he laughed again.

Partly because of his skepticism and partly because of her own competitive nature, she took her time with the carrots, cutting each slice exactly the same width as the last. By the time she was finished, he'd put the rest of the salad together and was bringing the rest of the food out of the oven.

"Are you done yet?" he asked dryly, sounding impatient.

"Hold your horses, Messer." Dumping the carrots in the bowl, she grabbed the salad tongs out of the canister near the stove and neatly inserted them into the salad. Then she picked up the bowl and grinned at him.

He sighed and motioned to the table. She hid her smirk as she brought the bowl out, sitting as he refilled her glass and his own.

"Everyone at work's good?" she asked when he sat across from her.

Holding out his hand for her plate, he eyed her and she knew he'd seen through the question. "They're good. Have you talked to Mac yet?"

"Kind of," she hedged, toying with her fork as he served the chicken marsala.

Danny sent her a sharp glance as he handed the plate back to her. "And that means?"

She shrugged. "Basically, I hinted that I'd like to come back to work soon and he hinted that I wasn't ready."

"Hinted or said?" he asked, setting his own plate down and scooting his chair closer to the table.

"I believe his exact words were 'When you can jog up a flight of stairs, we'll talk.'"

"That's progress," Danny teased. "Last month he gave Adam the death glare when he asked how soon you were coming back."

"You were right back out in the field as soon as you could rotate your arm," Lindsay argued. "I'm just asking for the lab."

"Lindsay, you were shot. It's a bit more complicated than a dislocated shoulder," Danny pointed out, his voice still gentle.

She looked down at the chicken and reluctantly started to cut into it. "Yeah, I know."

"Stella had a date."

With the first bite still halfway to her mouth, Lindsay's head jerked up. "What?"

"Couple nights ago."

"She didn't mention that," Lindsay murmured, her fork hovering. Finally, she remembered the chicken and put the bite in her mouth. Nearly moaning, she let her eyes fall shut. "This is really good."

"Thanks," he said, grinning slightly.

"Do you know who it was?"

He stilled and frowned. "Who?"

"Stella's date. Do you know who it was?"

"Oh. No idea," he said calmly, blinking at her when she groaned. "What?"

"Useless," she muttered.

"Hey, at least I had the information," he pointed out, sounding disgruntled.

"And how did you come across this information?"

"Sid told me."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Since when is Sid the expert on lab goings on?" She stopped and thought back to the year before. "He's probably right." Hurriedly, she stuffed more chicken in her mouth.

Danny eyed her warily. "What?"

"Nothing."

"All right." He still looked suspicious, but he willingly turned his attention to the meal.

"So tell me about your guy Ralph. Why don't you think he did it?"

Slowly shaking his head, Danny absently cut the chicken on his plate into dozens of pieces. "I don't know, Montana. It just…He was devastated when we told him Simons was dead." Lindsay frowned, nodding to encourage Danny to continue. "But, like I told you, everything we have points to him. All the fingerprints in Simons apartment. The trace. Everything."

He went on, listing off the evidence he and Hawkes had collected. The case was obviously getting to him; he was able to recite every piece and where he'd found it almost mechanically. Lindsay let him talk, interrupting his flow only when he paused and even then just to ask a question that would get him going again.

They'd half finished the bottle of wine when they stood to put the food away and wash the dishes. And Danny kept talking, as if he'd been waiting all day to pour this out to her. But maybe it was the wine he'd been guzzling.

"So the only thing you have that you can't tie back to Ralph or Simons is the strand of hair?" Lindsay asked, drying the last dish as Danny tried to find space for the salad remains in the fridge.

He straightened and jerked his chin towards the wall of food. "I thought you don't cook."

Lindsay laughed, wiping her hands on the dish towel and tossing it on the counter. Moving over to him, she crouched to begin rearranging. "I don't."

"What happened?" he asked, still standing above her.

"Freddy happened." She sighed. "He seems to think I'm a teenage boy."

Glancing back up at him with a smile, she explained, "When the doctor gave me leave to come home, Freddy went out and stocked my fridge."

Danny chose not to respond, instead returning to the previous topic. "That strand could just be a random piece of evidence," he pointed out, handing her the Tupperware when she held her hand up for it.

"The apartment sounds too clean for random hair samples." With a shove, she managed to fit the container in the small space she'd created through sheer will.

"Yeah," Danny said, his breath whooshing from his lungs in a defeated sigh.

Standing, she turned to find him staring at her with a hopeless expression. "You'll figure it out," she assured him. "You always do."

"No, I don't," he murmured gently, letting her down easily. His eyes bored into her, as if he was trying to remind her that he wasn't a white knight or a genius. She smiled back, unconcerned with the truth of it.

"Nobody does." She shrugged and moved into the living room, snatching up the bottle of wine and her glass as she went. "But you'll get this one."

He chuckled humorlessly behind her. "Okay, new topic."

She grinned at him, kicking off her shoes and settling herself into the corner of her couch. "You pick," she offered with a grand tone.

"Gee, thanks." He thought for a moment, carefully filling his wine glass before offering her the bottle. "Okay," he finally said as she took it from him. "Tell me something about yourself."

"What?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

His smile widened at her embarrassed expression. "Come on, Montana. Tell me something I don't know."

She let the smile slide off her face to stare at him seriously. "I hate bunnies."

"What?" he asked, laughter exploding from him.

"No, I'm serious," she protested, though she laughed along with him. Reaching over, she placed the bottle on the table and took a sip from her glass. "When I was six, I begged my father for a bunny so Shelby and I could show it at the 4-H competitions."

"4-H?" he repeated, leaning back against the arm of the couch so he could face her.

"Head, heart, hands, health," she listed off. "It's an organization for kids and teens. It's supposed to teach them about leadership, citizenship, kind of an alternative to girl scouts or boy scouts."

"And you were in this group?" he asked, looking mystified.

"Not exactly." She hesitated and took a fortifying sip of wine, making Danny chuckle a little. "It all goes back to the bunny, actually."

"The one you asked your dad for."

"Right. When I was six," she repeated in case he'd forgotten. He nodded seriously to show he was listening. "So my dad gets me a bunny and Shelby and I are all excited, until we try and touch it."

She let her eyes widen at Danny. "The thing was evil. It bit both of us and tried to scamper away before Brad managed to catch it for us. We went to my dad and begged him to get a new one but he put his foot down. Said we were the ones who wanted a bunny, we had to deal with the consequences."

"Talk about throwing a kid in the deep end," Danny murmured sympathetically.

Lindsay sighed resignedly. "You have no idea. That thing was vicious. But we dealt with it, taking turns feeding it and cleaning its cage. And we were determined to get it into the 4-H livestock show."

"The what?" he asked, his lips twitching and eyes twinkling.

"Shut up, Messer." He let the chuckles loose and took a sip of his wine, watching her over the edge of the glass. "But in order to get in, we had to have the thing—"

"The thing?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"The bunny," she said grudgingly. "We had to have the bunny appraised by a 4-H judge, so we had to take it to the next meeting. Everyone brought their entries that night. Pigs, a couple goats, hens, mostly bunnies and rabbits. But, of course, Sassafras was the only one that got loose."

"Sassafras?" he said, disbelief written all over his face.

Ignoring him, Lindsay concentrated on the vaguely remembered mortification. "Bunnies may be evil, but they're also fast. Shelby and I chased it around the entire show room, knocking cages over, scaring the larger livestock. Eventually, one of the judged picked it up and brought it back to us before asking us to try another event. Shelby and I never went to another meeting," she ended on a laugh.

She let the laugh trail off and took a gulp of wine, her cheeks flushed slightly at the old embarrassment. When she finally managed to meet his eyes again, all traces of amusement were gone from his face.

"Tell me something serious," he requested suddenly. His face was almost tense, like he'd hung expectations on her response.

"Like what?" she asked nervously. His eyes were overly bright and she wondered if it was the lighting or the wine.

"What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?" Danny asked, raising his glass.

"How will I choose?" Lindsay joked, making him grin. But he was serious, she could tell, and so she bit her lip.

She wracked her brain for a moment, struggling to think of anything but the obvious. Watching him, waiting for her answer, she felt the smile slide off her face. Maybe he needed to know anyway; or maybe she needed to say it, tell someone what she'd done.

She cleared her throat. "I was nineteen. I'd just figured out that Connor was going to ask me to marry him and I knew I had to say yes."

He was studying her now, his face purposefully blank as he swirled the wine in his glass.

"We'd never—" She paused, gulping at the sweet wine. "We hadn't had sex yet. He'd never pushed and I didn't really want—"

She closed her eyes. "This is kind of embarrassing," she said wryly, rubbing her forehead.

His expression didn't change as he watched her, which, oddly, made her more nervous. Then she felt a flare of anger at herself. She'd started this; she had to finish it.

"I didn't want him to be my first, my last." She rolled her eyes at her younger self's melodrama. "So, I started going to the pool hall near campus. I didn't have a fake id, so bars were out," she explained.

"I saw this guy, probably a drop out now that I think about it, but I wasn't interested in that at the time. After a few nights, I noticed he left with a different girl every time he came in.

"So, I studied the girls he left with and took note of what he liked. Short skirts, stilettos, tight shirts. He was a simple man," she muttered dryly, staring into her wine.

"One night, I got dressed up, went to find him and challenged him to a game of pool. I let him win and he took me back to his apartment."

She shrugged. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever done." Pausing, she cocked her head to the side consideringly. "Though standing you up is a close second."

Danny didn't laugh at her lame joke and, after a minute of silence staring, she drained her glass. "What about you? What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?"

His too-bright eyes bored into hers and she felt her brow furrow. "Seriously, Danny, if you could say something, anything, that'd be great."

"Was it good for you?"

Ironically, it was his question that made her cheeks flame. Throughout telling the story, she hadn't felt the least bit warm.

"Well, let's see," she said, adopting a wry tone to cover her mortification. "I didn't tell him I was a virgin, he was pretty drunk and…large. I'm small. No, it wasn't good for me."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she reached over to set her wine glass on the table. She was surprised when Danny set his down, too; his glass was nearly full.

Carefully, he edged towards her on the couch. "What about after that?"

"After that?" she repeated breathlessly as his fingers gently brushed her arm.

"Since Connor, how many?"

Her eyes widened as what he was asking sunk in. "Danny—"

"How many?" he murmured, leaning even closer. His eyes drew hers inexorably and she couldn't resist swaying towards him.

"Just one," she whispered.

Something flashed behind his eyes, too quickly for her to read. Whatever it was, it made his pupils dilate and his irises darken to cobalt. Swallowing convulsively, she let out a shaky breath as his fingers trailed across the skin of her arm. He must have heard it because he stopped moving, eyes never leaving hers.

Then he was pulling away, so far away, until he was on the other end of the couch again. Grabbing his glass off the table, he drained it.

She watched his movements in fascination. The way his fingers tightened around the stem of the wine glass. The way his breath hitched as he swallowed.

"Would you do it again?"

The question made her jump. He still wasn't facing her, so he didn't see her shrug. "I don't know. Probably," she added after thinking about it for a minute.

"Why?" he muttered, scowling at his hands.

"I did it because I thought Connor was going to be my entire future. He wasn't what I wanted, but I accepted it. I just…"

She exhaled noisily and threw her hands in the air. "I hadn't lived, yet. I didn't want Connor to be my adventure. But I was too scared to get out completely. So I let myself have one taste, just one."

"A taste of what?" Danny asked. His forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Lindsay scrambled for the word. "Life, I guess."

Danny nodded as if he understood, though he still looked confused. "Are you still scared?" he asked quietly.

She wondered how much of the wine he'd had. It wasn't a question she ever would have expected to hear falling from Danny Messer's lips. But he'd asked, so she tried to focus her mind on what he really meant.

"No, I'm not."

His eyes searched her face. "Then how do you feel?"

"For the first time, I feel…I feel—" She paused, her mouth struggling to force words out, but unable to find the right ones to describe what she'd felt since the trial, since waking up in the hospital.

"I want to do things," she said finally, with wide, excited eyes, letting the giddiness fill her until she practically vibrated with it. His face eased and a small smile curved his lips as he watched her. "I want to parasail. Have you ever been parasailing? I want to learn to cook. I want to travel. I want to have drunken sex. Can you believe I've never had drunken sex?"

When he appeared to be considering the question, she waved a hand dismissively, still smiling. "Don't answer that."

He started laughing and she leaned towards him, laughing at herself. "I want to do things, Danny. I want to live. I've never really wanted that before."

The words calmed him, but he was still grinning at her as if she was the most amazing thing. It made her ache, but unlike the pain in her side that still intermittently overwhelmed her, this ache was wonderful.

"All right," he said, smiling directly into her eyes.

Her own smile didn't fade though she felt her forehead wrinkle. "What?"

"Make a list, we'll do it all," he told her. "What was first? Drunken sex? We'll need a little more of this, I think."

He lifted the bottle of wine and shook it gently. Groaning, Lindsay threw a pillow at him, laughing despite herself. It was a dizzy laughter, almost desperate, because she knew without a doubt that was exactly what they'd be doing if she didn't have a hole in her side.

"I can't believe I said that," she said, chuckling more calmly now.

Danny shrugged easily. "It's late. And you're a little drunk."

"Yeah, like you're stone cold sober."

"Speaking of which," he mumbled, pouring the last of the wine into his glass. Lindsay laughed and he sent her a sideways grin as he set the bottle on the table.

"So?" When he looked at her questioningly, she gestured with her hands. "What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?"

He seemed to hesitate before pasting a smirk on his face. "I jumped off of a building."

"What?" she gasped, retroactively frightened, though she was sure she hadn't known him at the time.

"It was my first case. I was working with Mac, actually," he told her. "The guy we were after accidentally backed off a roof and I just…jumped."

Reaching behind her, she threw the decorative pillow at him. "Are you crazy?"

"Did I not say it was stupid?" he asked, raising an arm to protect himself from another blow. "There was another roof about fifteen feet down. I wound up with some bruises, and Mac lecturing me for an hour."

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever done?" Lindsay asked, doubtful.

He sent her a humorless grin. "No, but it's the only story you're gonna get tonight."

"That's not fair," she muttered, hurt.

His expression didn't change. "I think I've had too much to drink. I should go."

Blinking at the sudden downshift, Lindsay froze on her end of the couch before hopping up. "Okay."

"Work in the morning," he said absently, picking up his wine glass and putting it down again.

"Right. Of course." She cleared her throat and followed him to the door. "Dinner was delicious. Thank you again. Oh, wait."

Danny paused, hand reaching for the doorknob as she hurried back into the kitchen. Grabbing one of the tins, she returned to his side and held it out to him. "Have some muffins."

The tension snapped with an almost physical force as he abruptly grinned. His change of demeanor encouraged her enough to rise on her toes and kiss his cheek, despite the awkwardness of his exit. He smiled down at her as she stepped away, then opened the door and slipped through.

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Devilla: Lindsay felt awkward because of Connor's message, so she was acting stiff. If you look at the conversation, Danny's actually quite comfortable on his end, if a little less talkative than usual, which could probably be explained by the fact that he's surrounded by people. D/L action soon. Story's almost over. :p

Tenley: Connor is making some interesting choices, I admit. Oh god, I would never write Millie with a boyfriend. Unless it was a horror fic. Hehe.

serenity2bliss: I think Lindsay and Freddy are both pretty relieved to have her out of there at this point, as much as they love each other. I think it's going to save their relationship. Lindsay is, quite possibly, Freddy's favorite person in the whole world, which I think is kinda sweet. : )

RachelHeidi: These two seem to have some sort of hyper-aware sixth sense just for each other. And right now it's totally driving them crazy. Danny's a little freaked out at the thought of touching Lindsay after Freddy's touching little display after the dinner party. I think he's going to wait for the doctor's "OK."

ReJo: I do enjoy the fact that everyone seems to either love or hate Freddy. There's no in-between feelings for him. Which is awesome considering he's supposed to be such an intense character. And things will definitely be moving forward now. But damn you Connor!

scoj: I'm so glad you feel like you can get into the story. I love to hear that people are enjoying the piece! Thanks for reviewing!

Marue61: Ask and ye shall receive (within reason): a piece from Danny's perspective coming up in the next chapter! Danny's definitely not perfect, so I hope he hasn't been coming off that way. I think they've been having enough problems to highlight that they're both far from perfect, even with each other.

The Little Corinthian: Seriously. How could they have not paired them together? How can they leave us hanging like this?? Eek. I hope you get some down time soon. Sounds like real life is getting in your way as much as mine. Damn you technology!

berta101: I think Freddy views Lindsay as half-sister and half-daughter, so their relationship is convoluted to the extreme. Yes, he does go too far sometimes. The tension you were sensing is mostly on Lindsay's side during that phone conversation. She feels guilty that she couldn't tell Danny about Connor and it made her hypersensitive to his tone. Connor…is complicated. He's not as much of a wuss as he seems right now, which will hopefully come out later. And he treated Lindsay really well, which is a plus in my book. :p

qt4good: You're right, the call will be a problem, but not because Lindsay hides it. And it won't really be a problem until the next fic. And Connor still has major feelings. He's totally in love with her. Awkward.

Leena7: I'm sorry you feel I've been drawing it out too much. Actually, I've sped up the recovery time quite a bit. In reality, Lindsay would need at least two or three more months to be up to the level she is. But, if it makes you feel better, the story's almost over. Just a few more chapters now!