A/N: Some jackass actually had the gall to break up with my younger sister in the same manner that Colt breaks up with Lindsay. If I hadn't been in Ohio at the time, I totally would have kicked this kid's ass from here to Mars.

References 3x05 but is not technically a spoiler. The part that I mention was in the preview for the episode.

In regards to the injury Danny sustained while playing baseball. In 1x23, "The Closer," Danny tells Aiden that he got into a bar fight and broke his wrist, and that's why he became a CSI. In real life, Carmine hurt his back, and that's why he couldn't play baseball anymore.

Thanks to Cyko and Spunky for the beta.

Oh, and Cyko? I am not Canadian! That's why the words are spelled the way they are. Learn it, love it.

Chapter 5: Strong

"Motorcycle engines are no match for the power of Danny Messer's biceps."

- Jaime Poland

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:

5. He must be strong.

Colt was a football player. And he was a good one – by high school standards, of course. He was always attempted to prove just how strong and tough he was. In his warped little mind, it wasn't a good day or a successful practice unless he'd knocked at least one person unconscious. Lindsay reminded him that he was a wide receiver, and technically not supposed to tackle anyone, but he brushed her off by saying that every position required the ability to tackle. Lindsay would roll her eyes but smile and nod.

One time, he ended up breaking the tight end's arm. How he ended up breaking the arm of someone who was on his own team was something Lindsay never bothered to ask.

"He was in my way," Colt said, by way of explanation.

"But he's on your team," Lindsay reminded him.

Colt shrugged. "Then he should've known not to get in my way."

And though she would never willingly admit this, his overt displays of masculinity were quite arousing. He was always pumped after practice. Football season was when they had their most heated make-out sessions – usually under the bleachers. He would grab her after cheerleading practice and pull her along the track until they were hidden from view.

He could lift her easily, and he often did. He'd pick her up in the hallway and twirl her around, or give her piggyback rides between classes.

His favorite game at the carnival was the 'test your strength' game. They were sometimes there for an hour, waiting until he could ring the bell and win her that dumb little stuffed bear.

But he lacked strength where it mattered most. It didn't matter how big his biceps were, or the fact that he had a six-pack. He wasn't strong enough to look her in the eye and break up with her. He was always out to prove his masculinity, but he couldn't suck it up and be a man – tell her to her face that it was over.

No. Instead, she got a note in her locker.

Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You. Later, babe.

Lindsay cried over him, yes, because she thought she was in love with him. But one of her first thoughts upon reading the note was, "What a pussy."

Dexter was an 'artist.' He hadn't exactly been strong – at least, not physically – but he was no weakling. He could lift her up and carry her around in the same way that Colt had. But while Colt's were playful, Dexter's were possessive. Lindsay sometimes believed that Dexter picked her up and carried her to bed, not as a romantic gesture, but so that she couldn't escape.

He was rough, but never violent. He tended to get more belligerent after quite a few beers; he threw a couple punches at some random bar patron at least twice a week. Whether or not he was trying to prove his masculinity was something Lindsay never figured out.

One time, he got in a particularly heated argument with a young man over one of the books their were reading for their literature class. Lindsay wasn't paying attention to what they were saying, but suddenly fists were flying and the bouncer was kicking Dexter out of the bar.

"Can you believe that guy?" Dexter asked, as he rubbed his eye gingerly.

"So he thought Catcher in the Rye is overrated," Lindsay said. "It doesn't mean you had to punch him."

She never found his displays of testosterone arousing – she found them ridiculous. She wasn't sure if he was trying to assert his masculinity, or if he was simply trying to prove that he had some. He always threw the first punch, but he also always got his ass kicked. More than once she had to drag him out of the bar before they got thrown out.

And what manly man couldn't be physically lugged from the bar by his girlfriend, who was a good head shorter and probably eighty pounds lighter?

They only went to the carnival once, and Dexter avoided the games on principle. He said that they were crooked, and he wasn't going to buy into the capitalists' attempt to take over the world. She was fairly certain he avoided them because he knew he would lose.

He considered himself to be emotionally strong, and maybe he was. He had to be pretty secure to even consider cheating on Lindsay in her own bed. No doubt about it, that guy had some cajones. Of course, he didn't have the stones to stop Lindsay from slashing the tires on his bike.

Lindsay watched him throw a hissy fit from the window of her apartment. What a wuss.

Martin was a wimp. There was no denying that. He had enough upper body strength to lift his field kit to about waist height, and that was where his physical strength ended. He told her once that he could bench-press one-eighty; she wondered if he meant grams or ounces. He certainly didn't mean pounds. Otherwise, he would've been able to lift her, and he couldn't. She would never admit it, but she missed that about Colt and Dexter. She missed being swept up in their arms. It was such a passionate gesture.

When they went to the carnival, Martin stuck with the games of chance rather than strength. Once, Lindsay tried to convince him into attempting the 'test your strength' game, but Martin staunchly refused.

"Games like that enforce the stereotype that a man has to be on steroids in order to feel adequate," Martin said, as they stood at the 'pick your color' wheel for the fortieth spin.

"It's just for fun," Lindsay said.

"I don't need to do anything like that to prove to myself that I'm a man." He put a quarter on indigo.

Lindsay had to bite her tongue. She didn't want to start an argument, but the fact that he wouldn't even try didn't prove that he was secure with his manhood. Just the opposite, in fact. If he was secure in his masculinity, he would have no problems at least giving the silly game a shot.

One thing about Martin – he was secure with his emotions. He had the guts to propose to her when she was quite obviously not interested in marriage, though there was some argument as to whether that was strength or stupidity. And he was strong enough not to cry in front of her when she turned him down as gently as she could.

She also didn't want to seem shallow, or that she was stuck in some sort of Puritanical view of the world where the man was in charge, but she hated the idea that it didn't seem as though Martin could protect her. She could take care of herself, to be sure, but sometimes it was nice to just…be the woman.

With Martin, she had to be both the woman and the man. It was annoying. And slightly weird.

Danny… Well… It was quite obvious from the get-go that Danny was strong. One look at his biceps and there was no denying that fact. Lindsay tried not to stare and couldn't help herself. Those arms – they were like pornography. He had to go to the gym, or work out, to get arms like that, but he never seemed to have the time. Could he really have just been born with such orgasmic arms?

Lindsay didn't even want to get started on what his chest must look like under those tight-fitting polo shirts he liked to wear. She would have choked on her own drool.

He never resorted to the overt displays of masculinity that Colt and Dexter had been so fond of, but he never shied away from them the way that Martin had. No, Danny was the type of guy who would eat worms just because some snotty chef had implied that he wasn't man enough to eat them. But he was also the type of guy who could easily run down and tackle suspects. He was the type of guy who didn't give a second thought to chasing a guy on a moving motorcycle and dragging him to the ground.

When he wanted to prove he was a man, he didn't throw a punch, but he didn't walk away. He stood his ground. He used words rather than fists or force. He got in the person's face, and there was something incredibly arousing about the fire that lit his eyes when he was angry. Lindsay tried to ignore it.

He was strong enough to admit when he was wrong. She loved trying to prove him wrong, and she knew that he loved trying to prove her wrong in turn. She took him to Cozy's to rub it in his face that she knew something about Mac that he didn't.

"Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought," she said, barely able to keep the satisfied smile off of her face.

Danny just stared at her, obviously amused. "That's a different way of saying, 'I told you so,'" he said.

"Just say you were wrong, Messer, and we can move on with our lives."

"Fine, Montana. I. Was. Wrong. Happy now?" She laughed and said that she was. He shook his head. "Savor the flavor. It doesn't happen often."

He could lift her quite easily, even though she knew it must irritate his arm – Stella had told her that he injured it when he played baseball. He carried her across a rooftop as though she weighed nothing. There was no denying it – he'd be able to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bedroom.

The thing that struck her most was when he drove her home from the hospital after Flack was injured in the explosion. He killed the engine, and they sat outside her apartment building for a while, just staring out the windshield. She couldn't believe how strong he was; after everything he'd been through over the past few weeks, and he was still a rock. She knew it was an act, but the fact that he managed to keep it together was inspiring.

"Flack will be okay," she said. The dejected look on his face made her want to kiss his pain away.

Danny nodded, and then, quite suddenly, he broke down. She reacted instinctively, sliding across the seat to take him in her arms. His came around her, and however inappropriate it was, she immediately thought of how safe and protected the felt in the circle of his arms. Here was a man who was able to protect her, yet still needed her to protect him.

Crap.