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

A/N: Well, I'm not sure this chapter will answer any questions, but it's time to hear Lindsay's side of things! As always, R&R and let me know what you think.

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

It's A Long Journey Home

Chapter 12: You Can't Go Home Again

There are places I'll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

Lindsay sat on the plane, eyes closed, listening to music through her headphones – something vaguely classical – the musical equivalent of a wine cooler, a touch of alcohol wrapped up in soothing syrup. She wasn't really paying attention; it was just a way to keep the friendly bear of a man sitting beside her from talking to her and expecting her to answer.

It accomplished half the goal, anyway. He didn't leave conversational space enough for her to answer him.

Behind her closed eyes, the night before played on a continuous loop: the moment Danny had wrapped his hands around her face, running his fingers into her hair, the sound of her back hitting the wall, the exhilarating rush of heat pooling in the pit of her stomach when he had overwhelmed her and held her effortlessly in place.

She gnawed at her lower lip. Was there something wrong with her for finding that so exciting? She could remember every other moment of their love-making in embarrassingly exact detail, but for some reason it was that one moment which she kept returning to with reddened cheeks and hurried breath. Maybe she was a masochist at heart – needing to be hurt or forced in order to find pleasure?

A smile curved her lips even as a small part of her mind continued to worry at the question of exactly how perverse she was. Pleasure was certainly something she had found in Danny Messer's arms. Muscles she had not even known she had were sore and achy today, but she would not have traded one moment of her education at his hands for anything that could be devised by mortal man. She had not known it was possible to feel that good that many times in one night.

She might have had sex before, but it had been a bit troubling to discover she had never had a lover before last night. She'd slept with one man in New York a few times: a nice man, who seemed safe and easy to be with. Sex was pleasant if unadventurous with him. Of course, when she found out he was married with three kids and another on the way, she knew why he didn't need any extra excitement.

No matter how committed she had felt at the time to the two men she had slept with in college, they had never come close to making her feel what Danny did with just one look. She swore he could make her come just by saying her name.

Especially in that ragged hoarse voice as he came, a whisper in her ear filled with yearning.

She turned up the music, uncomfortable with where her thoughts were taking her. This was Danny Messer she was mooning over: founding member of the "Girlfriend of the Week" Club. She may have made him come apart – more than once – but that might have more to do with him first flipping a car on his own head, then thinking she was dead, than with any special qualities she had.

No. She wasn't going to make this mistake. Danny was a friend, had been for a while perhaps her best friend. She'd screwed this up so many ways already; she was not going to mistake sex, even incredible, melt-the-flesh-off-your-bones-and-leave-you-in-a-puddle sex, for anything else.

Even if he had said he loved her.

Twice.

Once in Italian.

She nearly came again just thinking of it.

"Yes, please," she answered the flight attendant. "I'd like a glass of ice water. Excuse me? Could you fill it up again?"

The direct flight to Bozeman took about four hours, and Lindsay finally fell asleep three hours into the flight.

When she came off the plane, her father was waiting for her. She had texted her parents the arrival time once she had been sure that she was on the flight, but had expected to see her mother. He must have taken time off work to meet her. Tears filled her eyes when she saw him.

"Hey, Dad. How ya' doin'?" She deliberately mimicked a New York accent – no, Danny's accent – to make him laugh, ignoring the pull at her heart when she did it.

He caught her in a hug which nearly broke her ribs, but felt so good she simply relaxed and stood for a moment in the safest place she had ever known: her father's arms.

"Hey, girl-o-mine. Flight okay?" He looked down at her with worry in his eyes; his little girl looked strained and ill and as if she needed to go home and sleep for a year. "Where are your bags? Oh, like what New York's done to your voice, by the way."

Lindsay grinned up at him. Whatever else happened this week, it would be good to see her dad and mom, sleep in the bed she'd slept in since she was two in the bedroom she had re-decorated when she was fifteen and refused to have changed, eat at her mother's dining table which had been handed down through three generations. Maybe the First Aid attendant last night had been right: she needed to be looked after, just for a few days.

Home is where you go to be looked after, isn't it? Home isn't where you lose your balance, or go up in flames again and again.

"I'd like to take you straight home, Lindsay, but Sheriff Olafsen asked me to bring you to the station as soon as I could. They need to go over your testimony and …" Ted Monroe concentrated on the road in front of him. He didn't want to do this again.

"That's okay, Dad. I need to see Bob anyway, and I want to talk to John McKim as well." John had been her first street partner when she joined up; he was the one who told her to get out of Dodge and go to New York, or anywhere, before the Forbes case ate her alive.

Ted reached out and grabbed her hand. "I wish you could just come home and rest, doll. You look like you haven't been sleeping. Are you okay? Your mom will want to know."

"I'll phone her. It's been tough, you know?" Lindsay sighed, and squeezed her dad's hand, although she looked out of the window away from him. "I've been really off at work, worrying about this. I messed up on a case. I yelled at my supervisor. I … hurt my friends. I think … I think I've screwed things up there, Dad." She blinked back the sudden tears.

"Honey, there's no way they're going to blame you for anything you've done once they know why. They all sound like good people. You may need to mend some fences, but hey! You're an expert at that after all those summers on Grandpa's ranch." His teasing coaxed a smile out of her, he was glad to see, although it wasn't her usual sunny grin and it didn't last long.

"Not all fences can be mended, Dad. I learned that on the ranch too," she said quietly.

He lifted her hand and kissed it. If he had his way, the guy who had put that look in his daughter's eyes was a dead man. If he had seen the bruises, that guy would have been rendered and sold off as dog food.

Lindsay wouldn't let him come into the station with her. "Go back to work, Dad. I know you're busy. Tax season is coming up."

"Hey, what's the point in being self-employed if you can't ditch work for something more important? Come by the office when you're finished and I'll take you home." He put the truck in gear and started to pull away, then braked and yelled out the window, "And phone your mother!"

She nodded and waved, and pulled out her cellphone as she climbed up the once familiar stairs to the Bozeman Police Department. She hit speed dial and waited for the phone to be answered.