Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
A/N: Thanks to all the readers who keep coming back to this story; I appreciate the time you give it. Thanks to all the reviewers who wanted Danny and Lindsay back in the same state – things are going to heat up now in all kinds of ways! Keep telling me who you think the bad guy is (it helps me make sure I'm giving the right clues!)
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 29: We Will Remember
Someday when we're dreaming
Deep in love, not a lot to say
Then we will remember
Things we said today
Danny sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up on his forehead. Lindsay had fallen asleep again, and if the last two times were any indication, Danny was going to have to spend most of the time she was awake convincing her he wasn't a figment of her imagination, again.
He grinned. Convincing her was kind of fun, actually.
Still, in between playing the Memory Game with a drugged and befuddled Lindsay Monroe, he was having far too much time to think, and he didn't like the way his thoughts were headed. He had been in Bozeman for nearly five hours. So far, no one from the police had been in to see Lindsay. Her clothes had not been picked up for analysis, and her statement had not been taken, according to the duty nurse, who had been in a few times doing routine checks.
Danny closed his eyes, reliving the moment his heart had stopped earlier that day. He had been on edge all morning, waiting to hear from Lindsay. Not able to sleep even though he wasn't on shift until afternoon, he had found himself wandering the streets, trying to find somewhere to be. He'd dropped in at the Youth Centre to see if there were any kids wanting a game of pick up; he'd done some laundry; he'd even picked up the phone and called his mother, who was instantly suspicious of his motives.
Finally, he had shown up at work an hour early. When noon came and went with no call from Lindsay, he fought down a rush of panic and concentrated on the tests Mac had set him to run. Every few minutes though, he checked his watch for the time, and his phone for a message. By the time it hit noon Montana time, he felt as if he had been chewing on dynamite: ready to blow at a touch.
He had called the number he had gone to some pains to find the night before. As soon as he heard Diane Monroe's voice, all other thoughts flew out of his head. He had identified himself, again, as Detective Messer.
"Danny," Diane had said in a tight and frightened voice, "Lindsay has been in an accident. I just got the call; I'm on the way to the hospital now."
Even now, after holding Lindsay and knowing she was going to be all right, Danny felt his heart stop at the memory of those words.
"What the hell happened? I thought she was at the station?" His voice was raw.
"I don't know. She was walking, maybe to get a cup of coffee, and she was hit by a car. I have to go; she may need surgery. I'll have to sign."
"Mrs. Monroe, if I came to Bozeman…?" Danny didn't really know what he was asking.
Diane sighed in relief. "Danny, call this number before you board the plane." She gave him a cell number. "One of us will pick you up at the airport when you get in."
Danny was a little shaken by her certainty. "Are you sure?"
"Look, Detective," she emphasized his title, "So far with Olafsen and Evans in charge, my daughter has been ignored, belittled, shot at, and now smashed to pieces by a car. If I have to go with a hired gunfighter, you better believe I'm going to do it. So ride on into town, partner; we have a case to solve."
Danny laughed; it was easy to see where Lindsay got her spunk from. And that wasn't a word he would normally use.
Danny pushed the uncomfortable chair a little closer to Lindsay's hospital bed. If she ran true to form, his Sleeping Beauty would wake up in less than an hour, and they would go through the whole hallucination thing again. It was nearly 10:00 pm his time, and he hadn't been sleeping much, but he couldn't see that changing as long as he was stuck in this chair.
His mind went back again to what happened after his conversation with Diane. After being assured his presence in Montana was welcomed, even needed, he had gone to Mac, asking once more for help. It hadn't taken Mac five minutes to approve his vacation time, find the next flight out of Kennedy, and requisition a car. All Danny had had to do was grab his overnight bag from his locker, tell Stella where he was going and text Flack to let him know, and trust Mac to get him to the airport.
The flight had gone by in a blur; Danny wasn't used to flying, and he had no idea it was so blindingly boring. Somehow, he had a window seat, but when he looked out to see wheatfields, all he could see was brown earth streaked with patches of white, which he assumed was snow, and scored with twisting ribbons of blue-gray which were probably rivers, although whether creeks or the Mississippi, he couldn't tell.
Lindsay moaned, a sure sign she was beginning to come out from under the drugs. Danny shifted again in his chair, carefully putting one foot on the metal rung under the bed to brace himself.
Meeting her father under these circumstances had been a bit weird. He had come off the plane and recognized Ted Monroe immediately. He didn't know why; the man looked nothing like Lindsay. She was all her mother, whom Danny first met at the hospital. Looking back, Danny thought Ted and he might have known each other by the identical look of controlled panic in their eyes, the shared thought that each had failed in his primary purpose in life: to protect Lindsay Monroe.
They had talked only a little on the way into the hospital. Ted had refused to tell Danny anything about the accident, saying he thought Danny should hear it from the police so he could draw his own conclusions. "I tell you one thing for free though, Detective Messer, Olafsen better hope he gets that asshole behind bars before I catch him. I'd save the county the cost of a trial."
The grim determination in Ted's voice left Danny in no doubt of his meaning.
"Call me Danny," was his only answer. They had traveled in contented silence the rest of the way in.
The duty nurse came in quietly and put a hand on Danny's shoulder. "There are some police officers here to talk to Lindsay. Has she woken up again yet?" The nurse had figured out Lindsay's meds-driven pattern as well.
"Naw, not yet. Soon though; she's started muttering."
"Look, Detective Messer, I don't think they are going to want you in here when they interview her. Carl Evans is a good cop, but a little touchy, you know? Why don't you go and get something to eat; you must be starved."
Danny yawned and stretched as three men walked into the room. He stood up immediately and held out a hand.
"Detective Daniel Messer, NYPD, Crime Lab."
The older man shook his hand cordially, "Sheriff Bob Olafsen. A long way to come for a colleague, Detective."
Danny glanced back at Lindsay, looking pale and vulnerable in her hospital bed with tubes coming out her arms and machines blinking and beeping around her.
"She's part of my team, sir. Detective Taylor sent me out to see if I could help out." A little stretching was good for the truth, Danny figured. Kept it limber.
One of the other men turned swiftly at this, "Thanks, Messer. I don't think we need the NYPD sticking its nose in this business, but the offer is appreciated."
Danny pegged this stiffneck as Carl Evans, and smiled a little dangerously, "I'll leave the offer on the table, anyway."
Evans sniffed and turned away. "She said anything yet?"
"She's lucid when she wakes up, but not for long. We haven't talked about what happened." Talk about doing your job for you, he fumed silently.
The third man, who was in uniform, had been watching Danny carefully. Now he stepped forward, just a little too close, forcing Danny to look up to meet his eyes, and shook Danny's hand, putting a touch of pressure on. "John McKim, Lindsay's partner. Known her since high school. This is the first time I've seen her quiet." He grinned, but Danny caught the proprietary air about the comment.
"She's a fireball all right," Danny agreed with an easy air, dropping McKim's hand lightly. Damned if he was getting into a pissing match with this man, even if he was blond, Nordic-looking, and at least six feet. Danny sighed; somehow he'd just known McKim would be tall.
He motioned towards the brown paper bag, which held Lindsay's clothes. "Shouldn't those be processed by now?"
Evans looked over with a pre-occupied air, although Danny caught the look of unease under the confidence. "Shit. Where the hell is Ross? He should have picked that up hours ago."
"Look, Messer, you've been here a while. Why not go get something to eat, and we'll take Lindsay's statement. Then you can come back." Olafsen's voice was smooth, a politician's voice if ever Danny had heard one.
Danny reluctantly turned to go, knowing that he had no standing here. As he reached the door though, he turned and smiled at the sheriff. "I assume you will be putting a police guard on this door? Two attempts on the life of a police officer must warrant some form of protection, don't you think?"
He shut the door on Olafsen's surprised face, Evans' angry scowl, and McKim's thoughtful frown. Nothing like leaving them thinking.