A/N: Thanks to MariaLisa for putting up with my temperamental sentence structure and just basic cheerleading! hugs

Rated M: for language... that should be my standard rating from here on out. LOL!

DISCLAIMERS: The CSI:NY characters belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and the wonderful writers for CSI: NY. However everything else is mine.

Wild Montana Skies and My Father's Eyes

The price of peace is in the letting go. –Sally Jetson

The jet circled the Gallatin Valley treating Lindsay to a sweeping view of the mountain ranges that encircled the valley like ancient and majestic guardians. As the scenery began detailing itself to her, an eerie sense of unfamiliarity caught her by surprise. Why? She wasn't sure; after all this had been her home until she moved to New York City just over two years ago.

As their descent continued, she began to familiarize herself again with the look and feel of the area. A few skiers were on the snow-capped peaks; further down the steep mountainsides ski lifts and high end homes dotted the landscape giving way to the ski villages at the base. As the land flattened into the valley, amply spaced farmsteads surrounded by perfectly squared fields ringed the town of Bozeman. Interstate 90, the main transportation corridor, pulsed through the town feeding the businesses congregating around it while homes and schools radiated outward. The campus of Montana State University, her alma mater, came into view, swarming with students scurrying around during the class break.

Then, before she realized it, the runway loomed up in front of her, hard, straight and black.

As she departed the plane she could already smell the freshness of air as it seeped through the worn seams of the jet way. Inhaling deeply, she entered the terminal searching for a familiar face.

"Lindsay girl!"

She whirled around as long arms engulfed her, crushing her to a lanky body that smelled faintly of barnyard, dirt and diesel. Unexpectedly tears sprang to her eyes at the realization of what she had been missing the most since she'd left Bozeman.

"Daddy!"

She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shirt front hoping she could smother the tears. No such luck.

"Lindsay girl, lemme look at you." Matt Monroe held her at arm's length as glinting blue eyes took in her appearance bringing to mind another pair of blue eyes not so glinting the last time she had seen them. "You look plum wore out and your mama's gonna have a fit when she sees how thin you are." He shook his head in dismay at the scene already playing in his mind as he wiped a tear that had slipped free and started to trail down her cheek.

"C'mon, you can tell me all about fightin' the bad hombres on those crime ridden streets of New York City on the ride home."

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She slammed the door of the old Dodge pickup, once, twice, then remembered the trick. The door hinges were slightly out of whack from the time that her older brother, Kurt, had been doing donuts on the icy streets, lost control and slid sideways into a telephone pole. She lifted up slightly on the door, effectively straightening the hinges long enough to allow the door to catch when she gave it one last swing.

Matt flashed a big grin at her. "Your brother Kurt didn't always use the common sense the good lord gave him, did he?"

"No, Daddy, I guess he didn't." Lindsay quirked her eyebrows playfully at Matt as her wide smile deepened the cleft in her chin, "But at least he didn't decide to sleep with his Easter candy during that spring camping trip and wake up with a 25 pound raccoon having a midnight snack inside the sleeping bag with him still in it."

Matt threw back his head in laughter and slapped the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. "Dad gum, I forgot about Kyle and that raccoon. I swear I think those boys spent too much time around your Uncle Lariat when they were younger, given their hair brained ways and all."

"Uncle Lariat," Lindsay's face creased into a wide smile at the thought of Matt's younger, free-wheeling brother. "Is he here?"

"Yep."

"I thought he said he'd never spend another winter in Montana."

"Well between you and me, I think he didn't pull as much on the rodeo circuit this year, clowning and he's a little low on the dollar. As soon as the holidays are over though, he'll be high tailin' it back to Texas for the start of the rodeo season down there."

"I can't wait to see Uncle Lariat," she said wistfully before falling silent for several minutes.

"How about your mama?" Matt finally asked, glancing at her as he gave her hand a playful tug.

"Yeah, her too," she murmured as she avoided Matt's eyes.

Matt took a cleansing breath before he finally decided to delve into the realm of female emotional psyche. It certainly wasn't his forte, but he'd never seen stubbornness in two people more than in Patrice and Lindsay Monroe. Completely alike in almost every way, looks, mannerisms and reasoning; the undercurrent never ceased to flow between these two.

"She's been looking forward to your visit even if it isn't under the best of circumstances."

"Daddy, I think your perception is a little off."

"I don't think so Lindsay; I live with the woman day in and day out. She's worked through a lot of issues these past couple of years. I'm just asking you to take the blinders off for a bit and see what gives."

She bit her lower lip staring at nothing in particular. An internal battle waged, but deep down she knew her dad was right; she had to give it a chance. Nothing good ever came of holding a grudge.

She looked at him, forcing a faint smile to curve her lips but allowing doubt to cloud her face. "I'll try Daddy. But if it goes south, I'm going over to Kurt and Judy's to stay while I'm here."

"Fair enough; all I ask is that you give it half a chance….for Laurel."

Damn it, why did he have to add that last past in there?

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Danny's fist hovered inches from the door, torn between the desire to provide support and the trepidation at who would most likely be on the other side. He pushed against it before he had another moment to think about it.

Two surprised faces greeted him, the first he acknowledged with a curt nod while the other he gave his complete attention.

Joe, never taking his eyes from Danny, clipped out quietly.

"Cara, give us a moment will you? I need to talk to Danny."

"Joe, remember what the doctor said." Caitlin placed a kiss on his cheek and turned trying to catch Danny's eyes as she walked by him. He refused to meet her eyes and sidestepped to avoid any contact with her.

After the closing click of the door, Danny approached Joe's bedside.

"Dad, are they treating you okay in here? I bet the food sucks but I can sneak you in some…"

The expression on Joe's face was like a dark cloud rising and he clutched a hand to his side as he shifted in the bed.

"Danny, be quiet. I want to say something to you and I only want to say it once, lo capite. mio figlio?"

Danny's chest tightened at those last words and his hands fisted around the bed rail realizing that he couldn't in good conscious argue with Joe.

"You had no right to speak to your ma the way you did yesterday. That woman has been to hell and back for every person in this family, particularly you, Danny."

"But…D-," he choked on the word, frustration and anger mounting. "I have every right. She fuckin' screwed up my life…your life!"

"Screwed up your life?" Joe pointed an accusing finger at Danny. "Danny, she gave you life and as I recall she kept you alive more than once, mio figlio."

"That still doesn't excuse what she did."

Joe struggled to find the rights words as he eyed Danny's whitened knuckles clutching the bed rails, recalling his own anger and pain at dealing with this very issue years ago.

"Just remember there are always three sides to every story… his, hers and the truth somewhere in between."

"So what the hell is your side of it? Huh? Why was she with Uncle Sal and not you? Where were you all those years when I was growing up? Huh Dad? Or maybe I should call you Joe?"

Joe flinched but he did not rise to the bait, holding his calm mask in place as Danny continued his tirade.

"You know it all makes sense now! Why you weren't there all those years… all those questions you brushed off, all those baseball games you missed, your indifference when it fell through for me… why you left it all to Uncle Sal. It's because you never thought of me as your son… isn't it?

"Danny…"

Joe's placid tone incensed Danny further. "ISN'T IT?…. JOE!"

"Mio figlio…" Joe began again, but Danny cut him off.

"Mio figlio, my ass!" Danny snorted in utter disgust, "I'm outta here."

"NO! Danny wait, wait!" Joe put up a hand to halt Danny as he clutched his side with the other, a grimace of pain crossing his face.

"Whether or not I thought of you as my son," he gritted through his pain, "that wasn't the issue."

Danny folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.

"I'm listening."

"Do you remember the delivery you made for the wise guy?"

Danny licked his lips and nodded for him to continue.

"Your ma and I fought that night like we've never fought before. She…. She… insisted she was not going to lose you to the streets like she was losing Louie. She said she would do whatever it took and if I didn't support her, she would leave me."

"So you're putting this on Ma. You fuckin' bastard after all she's been through with you, sticking by you…"

"Danny, just shut the hell up and listen will you?"

"The mistake was mine, mio figlio. I should have met her halfway. I should have cut the work hours, I should have been home more, I should have spent the time with you and Louie but I didn't…. I didn't and I've never regretted that more than in this past year. So I'm asking you… no, I'm begging you to see your way clear to make up with her. You're breaking her heart, mio figlio. You're the only son she has left."

The disillusionment weighted his head to his chest, as he jammed his hands into his pockets. "I can't just go back to the way it was… I don't feel the same way."

"Danny I know that you're frustrated and angry. Trust me mio figlio, I understand that, but remember she's your ma. Don't throw that away over some little mistake that was made years ago before you were even born."

Danny jerked his head up in crushing insight, as his eyes blazed in fury.

Before I was even born… it was because of that mistake that I was born!

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"Patrice! Lindsay's here!" Matt shouted as he and Lindsay crossed the threshold of the old white farmhouse that had been in Patrice Chartier Monroe's family for 5 generations.

"Daddy, do you have to shout it to the world?"

Lindsay ruefully tugged at her ear. Either her dad was really excited or just getting hard of hearing.

Patrice emerged from somewhere within the depths of the house, wearing an old flannel shirt and faded, ratty blue jeans. Her soft, brown eyes glowed with subdued welcome as she embraced Lindsay.

"Lindsay, I'm so glad you're home," she murmured against her daughter's ear. Lindsay's arms tightened of their own accord around the soft, comforting frame, genuinely surprised by the warmth of her mom's greeting.

Patrice released her, allowing a tentative smile to grace her face as she pulled Lindsay by the hand toward the kitchen.

"C'mon, you need something to eat. I felt those bones through your clothes. That may be acceptable for a winter in New York but there isn't enough meat on them to get you through one week of winter here."

Lindsay sat down at the family breakfast table watching her mom bustle around the kitchen and suddenly felt overwhelmed with fatigue. She began to wonder how she was going to weather this week. It had been tough enough fathoming it under normal circumstances but now with things coming totally unraveled just before she had left New York it seemed insurmountable. She closed her eyes and shook her head trying to focus. She couldn't afford to have her head in two different places at a time like this.

"Here you go, just the way you like it," Patrice quietly acknowledged as she sat the sandwich before Lindsay. "Are you okay?"

Lindsay blinked her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her temples, "I'm fine. I'm just tired. I'll take coffee if you have it."

As she began massaging her temples she reminded herself that she would be meeting with Prosecutor Rawlings in the morning to go over her testimony. She knew it was to be a grueling trial with the evidence of seven victims to cover, and the thought of seeing that bastard… She immediately cringed when that word came to her mind.

Patrice placed the coffee on the table, sat down beside her daughter and laid a hand on top of Lindsay's, noting the chill and trembling in her daughter's fingers.

"Lindsay, I know this is hard for you and things between us haven't been…"

Lindsay threw a stricken look towards her mom as her emotions began to churn at the thought of what was coming. Just a few days ago she might have welcomed the chance to clear the air, but now…

"Mom, I don't think I can do this right now."

Patrice held up her hand, closing her eyes in concentration. "I need to say this Lindsay. Please… just let me say it." Her chin began to quiver as she opened eyes full of pain and regret.

Not another grieving mother; Lindsay inwardly winced. She pushed aside the plate containing the sandwich as queasiness gained the upper hand, and reached instead for the cup of coffee, curling her fingers around its bolstering warmth.

"Lindsay?"

She looked into her mom's pleading eyes.

"Okay, Mom."

Patrice let out a grateful sigh and began, choosing her words carefully. "It was devastating for me losing Laurel. She was the last of my children, my baby. I nursed her the longest, wanted to keep her home when it was time for her to go to kindergarten and felt the empty nest pangs when she left to marry Chad."

Patrice paused, pressing fingertips to eyelids to hold back the tears.

"Lindsay," Patrice said her heart in her words as she opened her eyes once more. "I took it out on you. I'm sorry. One of the worst things a mother can do to her child is to place blame where blame is not due, and I'm not proud of that."

"I know, Mom. It's okay."

Lindsay wrapped her arms around her mom. Although she felt relieved, she was very wary. The trial hadn't even started yet and once the ugly details of Laurel's murder were relived blow by blow she wondered if her mom could maintain her forgiving stance.

As her mom sobbed on her shoulder, she felt as if her emotions were walking a tightrope without a net. Could she be here for everyone? Could she do what they all were depending on her to do? If she fell, who would catch her? The one person who was strong enough was almost 3000 miles away struggling with his own grief and pain.