Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".

WARNING: The action may not be as violent, but the language is. If it makes you uncomfortable, don't read it.

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers and readers. I appreciate all comments and reactions to the story; if something works or doesn't work for you, please let me know!

Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY; all song lyrics are from The Beatles.

Chapter 9: We Can Work It Out

Try to see it my way,

Do I have to keep talking till I can't go on?

While you see it your way,

Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone.

We can work it out.

Danny wrapped his arms tighter around Lindsay, whose sobs were shaking her body. His mind was churning furiously as he tried to work out what to do next.

"Well, you've fucked it up completely now," said that smug hateful voice that spoke so loudly in souldark times. "Nice going, Messer. Never mind; at least you got off. Might as well pack this in now; she always knew you'd do this to her. First you fuck her, so you can fuck her up, then you'll fuck her over."

"Shut up," Danny answered his inner voice with fury.

"Why do you think she didn't want to be with you in the first place? She must have known about two hours after she arrived in New York what a shit you are. So you kept it in your pants for a year and a half. Nice coming out party. Way to show her your moves, though. Check out those bruises! Boom! Manage to draw any blood?"

Danny looked with self-loathing at her slender wrists. Sure enough, her pale skin was banded with darkening marks where his hands had held her, first against the wall, then in the bed. He dropped his head against her shoulder in defeat. She could never forgive him for this. He had forced her, all but raped her. His head rang with echoes of a conversation they had had about phone sex, about how rape was a crime of control and power, not sex. Was that what he had done: controlled her? Over-powered her?

His hand was running through her hair, as he resumed murmuring softly to her, letting her cry it all out, hoping that she would fall asleep when she was finished. Effortlessly defying the vicious voice in his head, he was gentle with her, saying her name over and over, trying to bring her back to herself. He couldn't let this end here.

She took one more shuddering breath finally, then lay in his arms, wrung out. He had no idea how long they had been in her apartment, or what time it was now. He had to make this right, but was at a loss about what to do.

She raised her face to his. Her eyes were still full of tears, her mouth red and heavy with fatigue and weeping. Hating himself, but not able to stop, Danny covered her mouth with his, kissing her gently, almost reverently.

She lay under his mouth quiescent, not reacting, but not rejecting him. He didn't push for anything, simply exploring the texture of her lips with his, stopping after a moment to rest his forehead against hers.

"Lindsay, I can't tell you I'm sorry. It shouldn't have happened, not like that. But I can't be sorry I'm here with you." Danny flushed; that harsh voice in his head was crowing loudly as he continued to dig his own grave. He struggled to find words that would make everything come right, but he had been struck dumb. All he wanted to do was kiss her senseless, bury himself in her again until they both fell off the earth.

Tentatively, she raised one hand to his uninjured cheek, caressing it softly before lifting her mouth to him again. This time, she took the lead, deepening the kiss quickly, opening to him invitingly. He pulled away slightly, "Lindsay?"

She took his glasses off and tossed them on the bedside table, "Shut up, Messer, and love me."

"I do," he said on a groan as she curled against him. He pushed her back down on the bed and began to explore her body with his hands and mouth, tasting her, branding her with his mark, his heat. He moved slowly, determined to keep the storm at bay as long as possible this time. She stirred voluptuously under his hands, responding to every touch with a plea, a shiver, a moan. He kissed the bruises he had left on her earlier, whispering self-recriminating apologies until she pulled his face back to hers and kissed him hard, biting his lower lip, then suckling it to assuage the sting.

"Shut up," she said again, and rolled him under her. He let her take charge, delighting in the glee in her eyes as she sought control, discovering him the way he had explored her. She moved over him, taking him into her deeply, then moving slowly, torturing him as long as she could stand it until she had taken her pleasure, throwing back her head and whispering his name again as she convulsed around him. He stroked her silken skin from her hips up to her shoulders as she fell against his chest, panting, then he kissed her deeply as he sat up and took her over. The words ti amo, il mio amore whispered over her skin.

As deep night slipped into dawn, Danny slipped from her one last time. Through the night, over and over, his every touch had been an act of contrition, his every utterance an act of supplication. Every time he had said her name, it had been a declaration of love and commitment. He could only hope that he had expiated his original sin of taking without asking, forcing her on her own doorstep.

But Lindsay, wrapped in his arms, held so tightly against him that his sleeping breath forced her lungs to move in time with his, looked at the marks on her wrists with a wicked light in her eyes, and slowly ran the tip of her finger over each mark, understanding for the first time the power a woman could have over a strong man.

She, Lindsay Monroe from Montana, country girl ordinaire, had made Danny Messer of Staten Island, quintessential city boy, lose control. She knew, given the chance, she could do it again.

When the sun shone high in the window, a few hours later, she was alone in her bed, but she could hear movement in the kitchen. Blessed God, she could even smell coffee. He hadn't left, although she had half expected him to, and she owed him, she knew, the same courtesy. She showered quickly, and dressed slowly, making sure her shirt had long sleeves and a high neck to mask the marks he had left on her. She packed a bag before going to face him.

He stood, hair damp from the shower, with a cup of coffee in his hand, looking through the window facing a small park full of trees. It was Lindsay's favourite view, and given the peace on his face, it seemed he agreed. She hated to break into that contentment, but there was no choice. She stepped into the room and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filling it from the coffeemaker as she moved up behind him.

"I called the airport. There's a plane leaving for Bozeman in just over two and a half hours. If we leave soon, you may be able to make it," he said huskily.

She didn't show her surprise, just said, "I'm packed. Ready to go when you are. I'll call a cab."

Danny turned and stared at her, examining her face for regret or, worse, anger. He seemed to be marginally satisfied, as he looked away again. "Finish your coffee, and eat something. I still have the SUV; I'll drop you off before I take it back to the garage."

Lindsay reached out one hand and touched his cheek, still covered by a gauze strip, then the other wound on his head. "What happened?"

He shrugged, "Flipped a car yesterday. Nothing serious."

Lindsay nodded, knowing she wouldn't get any more from Danny. Stella would spill if she pushed. "I'm sorry." She shook her head, frustrated by the inadequacy of that statement. She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for.

He walked over to the sink and rinsed out his coffee mug, placing it upside down in the drying rack with careful precision. He reached for her, carefully taking her hands and pushing up first one, then the other sleeve she had carefully pulled down to the backs of her hands. His eyes went bleak as he saw the bruising in the harsh light of day, and he gently kissed the inside of each wrist before dropping her hands and walking back to the window, standing with his back to her.

"I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be my line, Montana."

"There's nothing to apologize for." The statement whipped out fiercer than she had intended, sounding too forceful in the quiet kitchen. Helplessly, she watched him tense up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We better go."

She walked out to the front hall to grab a coat from the cupboard, and stopped as a visceral wave of memory hit her, shortening her breath and melting her insides. A little lightheaded, she wondered if she would ever be able to walk into her apartment again without feeling the punch of lust she was undergoing now. Surely, she thought, it had to subside sometime.

Then Danny stepped up behind her, and she was deeply afraid that her reaction to him would never lessen. He took her hand once she had her coat on, and did not let go even while he drove the car. They did not talk. There was nothing to say.

They arrived at the Departures gate for domestic flights and Danny came around to her door to help her out. She swung around in the seat, but did not jump down.

"Danny, say goodbye here." She saw the stricken look in his eyes, and felt her own eyes fill with tears. "I'm not good with this. I can't keep doing it. Please. Let me go here."

He stood back without a word, turning to grab her bag out of the back seat and hand it to her. He stayed an arm's length away.

She jumped down from the front seat and deliberately stepped into his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could, waiting until she felt the hard sigh ripple through him, and felt his arms go around her too. She lifted her face for a kiss, smoothing the bandage on his cheek with one gentle hand.

"Be careful, okay?" She waited until he nodded, then kissed him again quickly and stepped away toward the airport's revolving doors.

"Montana," his voice stopped her. "If you need me, one call is all it takes."

"I know. I'll call." She walked through the door without another look back.