A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up. I hope it was worth the wait.

Bryant Park, for those who are interested, is just behind the main branch of the New York Public Library. The Summer Film Festival is a real thing.

In Breakfast at Tiffany's, Fred is Holly Golightly's (Audrey Hepburn) brother. She receives the telegram about three-quarters of the way through the movie.

Thanks to Spunky for the beta.

Chapter 8: Kiss

"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly then even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender."
- Emil Ludwig

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:

8. He must be a good kisser.

Colt and Lindsay were not yet officially 'dating' and were on one of their group dates with the rest of their friends. Usually, they went miniature golfing or to the movies, but they'd taken a chance and gone to the Highwayman – one of the local bars. Depending on the bartender, they could sometimes get served. Tonight, it seemed, they would not be so lucky. The bartender on shift was the most anal-retentive son of a bitch in the world. No way in hell was he about to serve a bunch of minors. So Lindsay, Colt, and their friends ordered some Cokes and made their way to the back of the bar.

Miraculously, one of the pool tables was just being vacated as they convened in the back of the room. Colt and the other boys quickly laid claim to it before someone else could and decided to play a couple of games. Lindsay and her friends wandered over to a table nearby, out of the boys' earshot, in order to better discuss them. Most of the discussion revolved around the fact that Colt and Lindsay had not yet kissed. Lindsay patiently explained that she was waiting for the right moment, and that she didn't want to make the first move, but her friends could not believe that they had not yet taken that step when the attraction was so clearly mutual.

Lindsay shook her head. They just didn't get it. She wanted her first real kiss to be special. A person couldn't just plan for these sorts of things to happen. Planning took all the magic out of it. Planning cheapened the moment. She wanted it to just happen.

"Lindsay," Colt said suddenly, "you want to play?"

Lindsay looked at her friends before answering. They all gave her the same knowing look, and she couldn't help but wonder if they seriously shared the same brain. She giggled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "But I don't know how."

It was a total lie. She had three older brothers. She knew how to play pool. And surely Colt had to know that. But he didn't let on.

Colt shrugged. "It's not that hard. It's a lot like geometry. I can teach you if you like."

She highly doubted he could do any such thing. She'd seen his test scores in geometry. But she slapped on a flirtatious smile and did her best girlish giggle again. "Okay."

He broke but didn't sink any, and as she leaned over the table to line up her shot, she felt his arms snake around her. His hands covered hers on the pool cue, his chest pressed flush against her back, and when he spoke, it was directly into her ear.

She didn't expect Colt's way of teaching to be quite so…hands on, but she recognized this tactic. Her brothers had warned her about this. She steeled herself for the inevitable cheesy line.

"If I said you had a beautiful body," he breathed, and she shivered in spite of herself, "would you hold it against me?"

She didn't think she'd ever been this close to him. Not like this, anyway. It was incredible. Her skin tingled where he touched it, and her heart was beating a million miles a minute. But she couldn't get past that lame pick-up line. She shook her head, already tired of playing this game. She took her shot.

She sank the 9 ball in the corner pocket on a banking shot off the side of the table. She turned to smirk at Colt over her shoulder, and as soon as she did, she felt his lips press against hers.

Her heart fluttered. This was it, her first kiss. She wasn't sure what she expected, but she was positive she hadn't anticipated the way Colt would taste like mint, or the way his lips would move softly over hers. She'd heard that people used their tongues when they kissed, but Colt didn't. His kiss was a gentle caress, just his lips, and he brought his hands up to cup her face. She'd never realized how many nerve endings she had in her face until his fingers brushed against her cheeks.

When the kiss finally ended – and it seemed to last forever – Lindsay blinked and fought for her bearings. She could only stare at Colt. Then her knees gave out, and she nearly hit her head on the pool table. Luckily, Colt caught her in time.

"Whoa there, Linds," he laughed. "I didn't realize I was that good."

Lindsay opened her mouth to respond, but could think of nothing to say. She couldn't exactly contradict him after nearly fainting, but she could still try. "Actually, I think you kind of overdid it on the cologne."

His friends burst into hysterical laughter, and he flushed bright red. He released her and stalked over to the other side of the table. "You want to keep playing?"

"Sure," she said.

Her head was still spinning from the kiss, but she somehow managed to totally kick his ass.

Dexter used to stare at her in Criminal Psychology. He sat to her right and just behind her. She could almost feel his eyes on the back of her head. It made her feel giddy, knowing that he was looking at her. Colt never used to watch her in class; he used to play football with his homework. Maybe that was what attracted her to Dexter in the first place. The way he used to look at her. She never realized how wolfish, how possessive it was until later. But that look in his eyes that he got, staring at her in class, it was what prompted her to ask him out.

She had learned a thing or two in high school, so she made the first date a group event. There was a local band giving a concert at a bar down the street from her apartment; she'd heard them play a couple of times and thought that they were pretty decent. She didn't know much about Dexter's taste in music, but she figured if she made it a group thing, it wouldn't matter whether or not he liked the band. She invited a bunch of her sorority sisters and some of the guys who lived in the fraternity house across the street.

While Dexter was up at the bar ordering yet another beer, she took the opportunity to confer with her sisters. She confessed to them that she felt something akin to chemistry, but that they didn't have much in common. She got varied responses and went with the one she got the most – to kiss him and see how it felt.

She didn't know if she should kiss him. But then, she had asked him out. Her sisters tried to convince her that she should take the initiative, but she thought she'd taken enough of a risk asking him out in the first place. If he wanted to kiss her, he would kiss her.

When he came back from the bar, she saw that he'd bought her a drink, which she willingly accepted. Probably not the brightest idea she'd ever had, accepting a drink from a guy she barely knew, but she was underage and he wasn't. She wouldn't get served otherwise. She thanked him with a hand on his forearm and a bright smile.

"How are you liking the band?" she asked, gesturing at the stage with her glass. She turned back to him and saw that he was staring at her again. Or rather, staring at a particular part of her anatomy.

"I like them," he said. She didn't know if he meant the band or her breasts.

She needed a drink, and she needed it now. He'd brought her an apple martini; considering those were almost entirely alcohol, it would suffice. She ended up drinking it a lot faster than she'd intended. He bought her another one.

"What are you trying to do, get me drunk?" she asked, giggling. Once she'd finished that one, she left her empty glass on the table and headed out onto the dance floor.

Dexter followed her. She could feel him behind her. The idea excited her, and she couldn't understand why. Something about him thrilled her, made her want more. Being around him was intoxicating. So when he wrapped his arms around her stomach, she didn't protest. She breathed in the musky scent of his cologne and had to force herself not to lean back against his chest.

"That sweater is very becoming on you," he said. She glanced down at the sweater she'd chosen to wear. It was nothing special – just a green sweater with a lacy collar. It didn't even show that much cleavage. "Of course, if I were that sweater, I'd be coming on you, too."

Yeah. Well, at least that settled her inner debate on whether or not she should kiss him. She pulled herself out of his arms and turned to face him. "Did you seriously just say that to me?"

He just looked at her. She groaned and fought her way to the door. Why had she thought this was a good idea? What the hell was she thinking? She was halfway to the door when someone grabbed her wrist. She didn't even have time to say anything before a pair of lips was crashing against hers.

He kissed her with bruising force, gripping her wrists so hard that she swore she felt one pop. She was used to kissing Colt, who was gentle and tender. There was nothing gentle or tender about the way Dexter forced her lips open with his tongue. But her arms slid around his neck anyway, because there was something in Dexter's kiss that had been missing from Colt's – passion. He wasn't kissing her so much as attacking her, biting and sucking. She tasted blood. But she kissed him back with just as much vigor.

When the kiss finally ended, her lips and wrists hurt, and her heart was pounding. She couldn't believe she had such chemistry with a guy like Dexter. Even with Colt, it had never been like that.

"So," Dexter said, leering at her, "you want to go back to my place?"

She'd recovered enough of her senses to realize that she was not the type of girl who did that on the first date, and after Colt she wondered if she even wanted to do it at all. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He still had a pretty firm grip on her wrists, and he pulled her to him. "Well, I know what kind of girl I hope you are…"

And then he kissed her again, and he stole away her good sense and her rationality. But that may have also been the alcohol.

Martin asked Lindsay out about half a dozen times before she agreed to go on a date with him. She knew he had a crush on her, but she didn't feel anything towards him. He was nice enough, but there was no spark. Whenever she thought about him, which wasn't often, she compared him to Rick Moranis's character in Ghostbusters, who had that insane crush on Sigourney Weaver and didn't seem to notice that she considered him a nuisance. She wasn't sure what made her say yes; maybe his constant nagging had finally broken down her resistance. Maybe she just wanted to go out with him so he'd realize that they had no chemistry and give it up.

Whatever the reason, she agreed, and he made reservations for them at the Winter Room – the dining room at the Bozeman Country Club. She put absolutely no effort into her appearance, applying only minimal makeup and doing nothing different to her hair, leaving it instead in the tight bun she'd had it in for work that day. But Martin either didn't seem to notice or he honestly didn't care. He picked her up, and he opened the door for her – both the car door and the door to the restaurant. He was a perfect gentleman.

There was just no spark. There wasn't even a hint of a spark. She spent most of the evening trying to figure out ways to surreptitiously check her watch, only to discover that time had apparently frozen. There was no other explanation for the way that the dinner was dragging on.

Halfway through the dinner, when Martin excused himself to go to the restroom, Lindsay fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed one of her friends. She quietly asked for advice on what to do. The only advice her friend could offer was to kiss him and see if there was any chemistry.

Her friend explained how she and her husband hadn't had anything in common at first, but after they kissed, she felt the chemistry. Lindsay grudgingly agreed to give it a shot, though the thought of kissing Martin did not appeal to her.

When he came back from the bathroom, she attempted to steer the conversation towards something she thought they both might be interested in. Unfortunately, it seemed as though one of the only things they had in common was science, which meant that they eventually started talking about the lab – one of the topics she had hoped to avoid.

Martin seemed to be enjoying himself at least. And after a bit, Lindsay found herself slipping easily into the conversation. Maybe it was the enthusiasm with which Martin spoke, or maybe it was because she thought she should at least give him a chance.

"Can I borrow a quarter?" he asked suddenly.

Lindsay furrowed her brow, confused, but fished a quarter out of her purse and handed it to him. "Can I ask why?"

He smiled. "My mom told me to call her whenever I fell in love."

Lindsay rolled her eyes and laughed at the ridiculousness of that line. Martin, she had hoped, would not resort to one of those cheesy lines. Apparently, she was mistaken. It seemed that every guy she ever dated would use one of those lame lines on her.

The night was not unpleasant, though definitely not her most memorable. She mulled over her friend's advice, wondering if she even wanted to bother finding out if she and Martin had any chemistry. If they did, would she be able to suffer through endless dinners like the one they just had? Would she be able to live the rest of her life with a man who put her to sleep?

He walked her to her door. She searched her purse for her keys.

"I had a really great time tonight, Lindsay," Martin said nervously, shuffling from foot to foot.

Lindsay nodded, distracted. "Yeah. Me, too."

She let out a triumphant yell as she pulled her keys from her purse, and when she looked up to bid Martin good night, she saw that he was leaning towards her, eyes closed. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the inevitable.

Her eyes closed on instinct as she felt Martin's lips press against hers. She waited for the sparks, for the butterflies, for her foot to pop – anything to suggest that there was something between them. But Martin's mouth moved over hers very inexpertly – even her first kiss with Colt hadn't felt this awkward. She felt something wet on her chin and realized with a start that Martin was slobbering practically all over her face. He was everywhere – there was no finesse in his technique, no skill. It was like being kissed by a dog.

She broke the kiss, quickly wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve before Martin opened his eyes. He was smiling, and she wanted nothing more than to bolt through her front door. But she smiled at him, unsure of what else to do.

"Well," she said. That was as far as she got. She couldn't think of a way to finish that statement. She turned to unlock her door.

"You know," Martin said, and Lindsay froze mid-movement. She didn't even glance at him over her shoulder. "I have tickets for next week's anthropology lecture with Doctor Fordham. Would you be interested in attending it with me?"

Lindsay's mind was on overdrive, her eyes darting back and forth. She really wanted to go to that lecture – Doctor Fordham was famous for his work in the aboriginal colonies – but she'd been unable to get tickets. She turned slightly, smiling uncertainly. "Call me next week," she said, "and I'll see if I'm available."

She was. And she spent the whole night praying he wouldn't try to kiss her again. But he did.

Danny Messer was a patient man. He had to be, to put up with her. She knew they had chemistry – she felt it her very first day at the lab. Like Dexter, she had been able to feel his eyes on her before she even saw him. He watched her approach the tiger's cage. He watched her process the meat in the lab. It made her shiver, the way he was always looking at her, and his gaze wasn't possessive like Dexter's had been. It wasn't full of control; it was full of need, desire. It made her breathless, almost to the point where she was afraid she wouldn't be able to get any work done when she was around him.

She didn't even have to be around him. She could feel his eyes from across the hall.

It wasn't just his eyes, either. They always stood so close to each other when they were processing. Sometimes their hands would brush. Sometimes their arms would touch. Sometimes, they didn't have to touch for her to feel his fingers on her arm. It was electricity. It crackled in the space between them, in the air around them. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand up.

There was a deeper meaning in their flirtatious banter. She knew he wanted to take things further, and even though she denied it to the best of her ability, she knew she wanted it, too. Whether or not she was willing to admit it, somewhere along the way, she had developed feelings for the pain-in-the-ass smart-mouth that had become her best friend. She tried to search out his intentions without being obvious about it, but after the Holly case her plan went to hell. She'd been so scared – so certain she would die – that she clung to him with all her might.

But she heard the water cooler gossip about him and his reputation. She had been with guys like Danny, and he'd broken her heart. She didn't want to do that to herself again. So she pushed him away. She flirted, but she kept him at a distance. She couldn't deal with another broken heart. She didn't have it in her.

The next time she gave her heart away, she wanted it to be for good.

So she stood him up for dinner, hoping that would drive him away. But it didn't. He wanted to help her, be there for her. He didn't leave her, as she expected him to. He didn't move on, didn't find another bed to crawl into. He waited for her.

And when she came back from Montana, after the sudden death of her estranged father, he didn't immediately push her for a relationship, as she had thought he would. He was absolutely perfect, offering her a shoulder to cry on and an unbiased ear.

Damn him. Why did he have to be so damn considerate? Why did he have to be so damn perfect?

It was months after her return from Montana. Her and Danny's relationship had nearly returned to the way it was before the Holly case – before everything changed. She hadn't realized how much she missed their banter until it wasn't there anymore. She almost wished he would ask her out again. She desperately wanted to say yes.

"Hey, Montana," Danny said, coming up to her in the trace lab, "you got plans for Monday night?"

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Monday?" That was an odd choice. Why not Friday? Or Saturday? She shook her head, turning back to the microscope. "No. Why?"

"The Bryant Park Summer Film Festival," he answered, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"They show movies in the park?" she asked, making sure to keep her eyes on the sample.

"Yeah. Next week it's Breakfast at Tiffany's." She started, nearly knocking her microscope to the floor. She could feel Danny's smug smile without even looking at him. "We're both off at four, so I figured we could just head to the park right from the lab." He leaned in close. "Don't stand me up again." His breath was warm on her ear, and she shivered.

No way was she standing him up again.

Monday afternoon, she waited for Danny in the lobby. They did get off shift at the same time, but she hadn't run into him in the locker room. She looked for him in the lab but didn't find him, so she took the elevator to the ground floor and waited for him just inside the door to the parking garage. For one horrible moment, she wondered if he were going to stand her up so that she would know what it felt like, but just as that thought was streaking across her brain, she saw him approach, carrying a picnic basket and a blanket.

"You packed us a picnic?" she asked, smiling.

He grinned. "Well, I figured… You owe me a dinner, so…" He trailed off, then gestured at the door with his head. "Shall we go?"

They walked to Bryant Park and got there just as the lawn was opening. Danny let her pick the spot; they made probably three or four loops of the park until she found the perfect place for them to sit. Danny handed her the basket and spread the blanket on the grass, then motioned that she should sit. She opened the basket and grinned up at him.

"Grimaldi's?" she asked, pulling out the pizza box.

Danny shrugged, but she caught the blush that was tingeing the tips of his ears red.

The movie didn't start until dusk, so they had plenty of opportunity to talk. And they did talk. About everything. He didn't press her for details about Montana, about the reasons she had stood him up before, told him that she couldn't be in a relationship with him, but she told him anyway. Once she started talking, it was difficult to stop. She told him about Colt, about Dexter, about Martin – about her vows to never be in that situation again. And he listened, reacting appropriately. He swore so violently after her story of Colt's break-up note that several people looked over at them.

When she was finished, it was his turn to talk. He told her all about Tanglewood, all about Louie. He talked about growing up in the city, about Aiden. He told her about the Minhas case that had cost him his promotion and almost cost him his job. Halfway through his recollection of the conversation with Mac, she reached over and grabbed his hand. She didn't realize she had done so until he stopped talking and looked at her.

At last, it began to get dark, and the movie came on. Lindsay stretched out on her stomach, propping her head up on her hands. Danny sat beside her, his legs sprawled out in front of him, bracing his hands on the ground behind him. By the time Holly received the telegram about Fred, Lindsay's head rested on Danny's lap, and his fingers had found their way into her hair, which he was idly stroking.

It didn't occur to her to question how they ended up in this position. She stopped paying attention to the movie. The only thing she could focus on was Danny's touch – the way his fingertips gently massaged her temples as he twined his fingers in her hair. She suddenly found herself very aware of the fact that if she shifted position, her face would be inches away from his groin. She carefully rolled over onto her back, so that she could look up at him.

Brown eyes met blue ones. He was giving her that look again – that look that suggested all he had to do was concentrate hard enough and her clothes would just vanish. He licked his lips, and she shivered.

"You cold?" he asked, the concern evident in his tone.

She shook her head. "No." And before she could change her mind, she gripped the material of his shirt and pulled his head down to hers.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her heart momentarily stopped beating. She could feel the sparks course through her body the second her lips touched his. They traveled from her lips to her brain and then exploded out of her toes.

The kiss was anything but gentle – nearly two years of pent-up desire was finally unleashed, and it was evident in the way Danny's lips attacked hers. It sucked all the heat from the surrounding atmosphere and placed it between their lips. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she willingly granted him access, eager to taste him in return. He explored her mouth thoroughly, his hands cupping her face.

She never wanted to stop kissing him.

She grabbed his shoulders and hauled herself into a seated position, now situated completely in his lap, all without breaking the kiss. He nipped at her bottom lip, and she whimpered in the back of her throat. She could feel him smile against her lips. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, sinking her nails into his flesh. He growled and slid his hands under the collar of her shirt.

She abruptly pulled away, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. "You know," she whispered, "I've seen this movie."

Danny's eyes were piercing as they bored into hers. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "Well, what do you know? So have I."

They couldn't make it back to his apartment fast enough.