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

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers; you all make me think about where the story is going and how to make it better. I especially love knowing the things that amused, annoyed, or tickled you. And thanks to the people who are reading the story every day as well – I hope you continue to tune in!

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 15: Mothers Know Everything

Though she was born a long, long time ago

Your mother should know

"Mrs. Monroe, this is Detective Stella Bonasera from New York. I work with your daughter, Lindsay?"

"Oh yes, Stella! Lindsay has told me a lot about you. Can I help you?" Lindsay's mother sounded pleased that someone had phoned from New York.

"Actually, I need to speak to Lindsay, if that would be possible. She had to leave so quickly, there were some details that didn't get cleared up." Stella's voice was cool and professional, but underneath she was seething. How could Lindsay leave Danny in this state? Last she had checked, he was still sleeping in Mac's office nearly eight hours later, looking young and somehow defenseless curled up under the bright red blanket Claire had bought for Mac years ago, his glasses carefully folded and placed on the arm of the couch in easy reach.

Stella gave herself a shake. Just because she could see Danny, see the pain he was in, didn't mean he was the victim here. If he really had hurt Lindsay, he better hope he stayed asleep; it would make killing him so much easier.

"I'm sorry, Detective Bonasera," Diane picked up on the professional tone and automatically responded to it, "She's still sleeping and I'd rather not wake her yet. It's only 6 am here in Montana."

"Damn," thought Stella, "I forgot about the time difference." She had been in the office for a few hours herself, checking on Danny and trying to catch up on paperwork before new cases hit their desks, even though today was supposed to be her day off. With Lindsay gone and Danny out for the count, everyone was going to have to try to cover them both.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Monroe. I didn't mean to wake you…" Stella's apology was cut short by a peal of laughter.

"Honey, we live on a ranch. Morning starts at 5 at the latest, earlier in the summer. Animals may not know much, but they know when the sun comes up, it's time to eat! Is there anything I can help you with? I can get Lindsay to phone when she wakes up."

Stella thought quickly. She was pretty sure that Lindsay would not phone, not if something was wrong. The young woman had been consistently shutting herself off from everyone the past few weeks, and even knowing why now did not ease the frustration Stella felt with her.

"Mrs. Monroe," she started, a little hesitantly.

"Call me Diane. I get the feeling we are about to get to know each other better," suggested Lindsay's straight-forward mother.

"Diane, I know Lindsay probably isn't in great shape with everything going on. But did she talk to you at all about anything else that might have happened before she left New York?" Stella felt a little awkward asking this pleasant-sounding woman if she believed her daughter had been sexually assaulted.

She heard a sigh come down the line. "Lindsay should really tell you about this herself."

"Yes, she should, Diane, and if I thought she would phone me back, I wouldn't ask you to share any information. But I think we both know Lindsay won't talk and I have two friends here who are in a lot of pain. I want to help them both if I can."

After a few moments of silence, Diane's voice returned, sounding confident. "I can't tell you everything she told me, obviously. Aside from anything else, she didn't give me many specifics. When she came home with bruises on her wrists, I assumed the worst. It seemed to explain her utter collapse when she got to the house."

Stella couldn't speak. It was beginning to look like Danny had been right.

The voice continued, "But when I asked her about it, she said she was a more than willing participant. The one thing she wouldn't tell me was who the young man was."

Stella put her hand over her eyes, nearly crying with relief. Although she could readily believe most young women would lie to their mothers about their sexual exploits, she did not believe Lindsay would lie to this woman, nor that Diane would believe her if she tried it. Sensible competence flowed through over the phone; Stella looked forward to one day meeting the woman behind the voice.

She said, "Thank you, Diane, for telling me. I know it couldn't have been an easy decision to share that information. I promise you I think it will help Lindsay."

"Can you tell me who Lindsay has gotten herself involved with?" There was no doubt that payment was due for giving up a confidence, and Diane was not the type of person to let a debt go.

Stella chewed her lip for a minute. Then she sighed, "Daniel Messer –

Danny."

The silence on the other end of the phone seemed to go for a long time. Finally, Diane said, in a tone which reserved judgment, "You said he was in a lot of pain. Why?"

Stella had to clear her throat, "He seems to think he … forced her." She couldn't use the word he had – the ugliness of it was too outside her knowledge of Danny. She went on quickly, "It had been a terrible day; he was concussed in a car accident, then we were told that Lindsay had been in the plane that went down. We all thought …" she couldn't go on.

"Yes, I see." Another minute went by; then Diane's incisive voice broke through again. "Stella, I have to thank you for clearing up some things which have been troubling me since Lindsay got home. I only know what she has told me in the past about Danny – he is sometimes her partner, isn't he? And he's had some trouble this past year or so?"

That was an understatement, Stella thought bitterly as she agreed out loud.

"Well, all I can suggest for now is that you look after him there, and I'll look after Lindsay here. Somehow, we are going to have to get them talking. I don't know how long Lindsay will be home, but she can't leave this unfinished too."

Stella heard a sigh, and what sounded like a stifled sob from the other end of the phone, and said, "Diane? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," her answer came almost immediately. "She used to be so brave, always so strong. Then that rat bastard, Forbes, blew it all away. She carries so much guilt for not knowing enough, not being able to save them all. She was sixteen, Detective. Sixteen and she blames herself for not being able to stop a crazy boy with a gun from blowing up her world."

Stella understood guilt. She knew that it was irrational and overwhelming. She knew it was as destructive as any anti-personnel device some evil genius could come up with. She also knew how seductive it could be: feeling guilty could neatly keep you from feeling anything else. Who would know that better than she?

Stella thanked Lindsay's mother again, and Diane promised to tell Lindsay to phone, although the women agreed that was unlikely to happen. When Stella hung up the phone, she felt better than she had in days. One way or another, she had an ally in Diane Monroe, and Stella suspected that was no small thing.