Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
WARNING: Please take the rating seriously – this chapter is graphic and may be disturbing.
Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY; all song lyrics are from The Beatles.
Chapter 8: The Long and Winding Road
The long and winding road that leads to your door,
Will never disappear, I've seen that road before
It always leads me here, leads me to your door.
Somehow, there was no discussion about it. Mac told Lindsay to go home, and Hawkes tossed Danny a set of car keys. No one else even considered volunteering, thought both Stella and Sheldon looked worried as the younger couple left Mac's office.
So Lindsay followed Danny down to the parking garage, feeling like a child in disgrace. He did not speak to her, silently opening the front door of the car they had driven back from the airport, and pulling the blanket she had left in the back seat earlier over her.
She closed her eyes against his brooding presence and pretended to sleep. Her apartment was in Manhattan, and he drove there through busy streets still without speaking. It was eerie; Lindsay had rarely been alone with Danny when he wasn't talking a blue streak. On the other hand, they had hardly been alone since their "conversation" in the hall the day after she had been informed she would be returning to Montana to face her worst nightmare once again.
She hadn't meant to push him away then. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She had meant to push him away, just not to hurt him. She hadn't really thought she had the power to hurt him.
She wondered with trepidation how angry Danny Messer would have to be to not even be able to open his mouth. She had seen him angry before, but not like this and never with her. When they got to her apartment building some 40 minutes later, she said tentatively, "Thanks for driving me, Danny. I can take it from here."
He still said nothing, just shook his head in disgust, parked the car, and came around to open her door. She sighed and walked into her building, greeting the doorman with a small smile.
"Miss Monroe, I thought you were going to be away?" he said with an answering smile as he pushed the book towards her to sign in.
"Small change of plans, Rafael. I'll be leaving probably tomorrow or the next day." Lindsay felt Danny stiffen behind her. "I'll let you know for sure, and give you my return date as soon as I know it."
She had her keys in her hand, and turned to Danny in front of the elevator. "I'm fine, Danny. You really don't have to come up..."
"Shut the fuck up, Monroe." It was the growl that did for her; she was suddenly, startlingly afraid. For months, she'd trusted this person every day on the job, but there was an undercurrent here she just couldn't read. For the first time she felt that she really didn't know Danny Messer at all: that some of the rumours the lab rats loved to share about his dark past may have more than just romanticism and thrill-seeking behind them.
He stood slightly behind her in the elevator, as if she were under police escort, hands jammed in his pockets, rolling back on his heels, then bouncing a little on his toes, the way she had seen him move countless times before he went after some suspect or annoying lawyer. It was his fighting stance, and she couldn't help but anticipate with dread the conversation she was sure he was building up to.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of anything neutral to say. Talking had never been a problem between them before, at least not until she had first stood him up and then shot him down.
The headache that had traveled halfway across the country with her returned like a hammer blow, and she swayed a little as the elevator came to a stop on her floor. Danny slipped a hand under her elbow, and pulled her a little closer to him as they moved down the hallway to her apartment. She slid her key into the lock and stepped over the threshold, turning to thank him and send him home.
She never got her chance to speak. As soon as they were in her front hall, Danny's hands were tangled in her hair, and his mouth was searching hers hungrily, relentlessly. Slamming the door shut with one foot, he pushed her up against the wall and simply held her there while he took what he had wanted for so long. Shocked, she struggled against him, but he trapped one hand behind her, the other above her head, and continued to ravage her mouth.
She could taste the anger in him like stale smoke on her tongue. She fought him violently for another moment, struggling to get free from his weight, but the feel of his body against her, the desperation in his kiss, was too much for her. With a sob, she relaxed against him, opening her mouth under his searching tongue, and simply gave him back all the longing she had struggled to hide from him and put behind her.
As soon as he felt her surrender, the flavour of his kiss changed to something sweet and intoxicating, burning through her veins like alcohol. The bruising lips softened and gentled; the hard grip on her wrists loosened, and what he had started by taking, he now offered freely. She couldn't think, could hardly breath, could feel only the heat they generated between them. She struggled then to get even closer to him, to feel more of him against her. She was filled with a screaming urge to possess and be possessed that she had never felt before.
He lifted her easily in his arms, carrying her down the hall to the bedroom, lit only by the streetlamps shining in the windows. Clothes were pulled or simply torn off; two naked bodies tumbled onto the bed. Without any preliminaries, Danny slid into her pulsing heat and began to thrust powerfully deep, bringing her to a fever pitch within a few strokes.
It had been months since Lindsay had been with anyone; she had stopped counting how many months long ago. The roughness and speed should have been frightening and painful; instead, it was fiercely, agonizingly erotic, and she came apart, screaming his name only minutes, it seemed, after he penetrated her. Her pulsating muscles rippled around him, bringing him to his own climax as she continued to gasp under him.
She lay under his collapsed weight, stunned. Danny was breathing as if he had just finished the one minute mile, whispering in her ear, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," as he tried to regain some semblance of control. As soon as he could get his limbs under his own power again, he rolled off her, and lay staring up at the ceiling, tongue-tied.
Lindsay rolled over onto her side, trying to steady her own breathing. She lay perfectly still until she felt him relax beside her, and could hear his breath steady, then slow. She assumed he had fallen asleep; wasn't that what men were famous for? Her eyes filled; one tear rolled down her cheek, to be followed by a flood. One hand fisted in the pillow under her head as she tried to weep as quietly as she could. She couldn't face Danny knowing.
He was as far from asleep as it was possible to be, though. He had been staggered by the intensity, by his savagery, by her response. He was about to reach out to her when he felt the bed shake under her. Instantly, he sat up, pulling her into his arms.
"Oh God, Lindsay, I'm sorry. That should never have happened. Did I hurt you? Are you all right? Come on, baby, don't cry. I'm sorry, so sorry. Lindsay. Lindsay, talk to me." His voice was shaking; his apology abject.
She turned her face into the curve of his neck, sobbing as if her heart were breaking. He petted and soothed and finally gave up talking, just holding her on his lap, pulling blankets over her and rocking back and forth with her in his arms.