Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
A/N: As always, every review fills me with glee, and I appreciate all the people who are taking this ride with me – I'm having fun! This chapter is a little disturbing, but it sets up the next few, so you have been warned: the angst-fest returns!
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 55: The Colour of Dreams
And ignorance and hate mourn the dead
It is believing, it is believing
But listen to the colour of your dreams
It is not leaving, it is not leaving
She is kissing Danny. She can feel his hands on her ass, his arousal against her stomach. When she opens her eyes, though, it is Cameron kissing her, pushing her against a tree, forcing his tongue into her mouth, his hands hard and hurting on her. She pushes him and turns to run, but now she is in the Science lab and Cameron is staring at her with dead eyes, his head half shot off. He grabs her and kisses her again; she can taste the blood running down his face, see his brain pulsing in his broken skull.
She hears a shot, then another, and turns, her mouth still full of blood, to see a figure in a long black coat, holding out his hand to her. "Come on. Let's go." It is Danny; he has a shotgun in one hand and he pulls her down a street in New York. She doesn't recognize it, but she knows it is New York because no one notices that Danny is carrying a shotgun. He pulls her into an alley; she can smell garbage and decomp. "Why didn't you stop it? You could have." She can hear voices all around her, whispering in the shadows.
His mouth comes down on hers and she is back in the Science lab – her hands and cowboy boots are covered in blood and she can smell it on her skin. She looks up and stares into a pair of eyes: gray, ringed with black, looking worried but determined.
"Why can't you see me? You see them, don't you? Do you want to be like them? You didn't ever see me. It's my turn! Look at me! See me!"
Lindsay sat up with a strangled scream, breath rasping through constricted throat and labouring lungs. Her face was streaked with tears and she could taste blood.
"Linds! Lindsay, honey, it's okay!" She heard a voice, but screamed and struggled away when she felt hands on her body, scrambling back into a corner of the bed, her hands held protectively in front of her.
"Don't touch me. For God's sake, don't touch me." She knew she was begging, knew she should have more pride, but she couldn't help it.
"Lindsay, it was a nightmare. You had a nightmare, sweetheart. Take a breath. It's okay. It was just a nightmare."
She could hear the voice, soothing and calming, but couldn't tell who it was.
"Stavate sognando. Era soltanto un incubo." The voice dropped to a murmur, and she strained to understand it even as she felt a gentle hand running through her hair.
She flinched away, huddling against the wall. Sobs shook her body uncontrollably; she gasped air into her lungs but still felt as if she were suffocating.
She looked down at her hands, expecting to see blood dripping, but it was dark, and she couldn't see anything at all. Her breathing hitched again; she could feel a scream building and pressed the back of one hand to her mouth to stop it, rocking back and forth, keening softly.
She felt the bed give under her as the other person in the room got up and turned on a light in the next room, sending a soft glow over his alarmed face.
"Danny," she choked out.
"Lindsay," he reached out a cautious hand to her and sat with the full width of the bed between them, so as not to crowd her. "You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?"
She nodded jerkily, but didn't move towards him. His hand dropped to the bed between them.
"What did you say?"
"Sorry?"
"You were talking. Said something about incubo." She pronounced it carefully.
"Oh," Danny thought a moment, then said, "Stavate sognando. Era soltanto un incubo. Was that it?"
She nodded again, breath still heaving, arms crossed over her shaking body.
Tentatively, he pushed a blanket toward her, saying, "My grandmother. She used to tell me that. 'You were dreaming. It was only a nightmare.'"
"Your grandmother?" Lindsay took the blanket and wrapped it around her, still huddled in the corner, holding on hard to the sound of Danny's voice, trying not to hear the whispering in her head.
"She lived with us when I was little," Danny moved slowly, not towards Lindsay, but to pull a cover over himself. The room had cooled to the point that he could see puffs of condensation when their breath hit the air. "She spoke Italian at home always. Wanted us to know our father's language. Louie laughed at her, said he was American, didn't need to know nothing else." His face creased into a brief smile, "She said, 'Siete un ragazzo stupido piccolo con una piccola mente.' " He said it with an outrageous Italian flair, hands moving expressively. "He bugged me for weeks to tell him what it meant."
"What does it mean?"
"You are a stupid little boy with a small mind." He was relieved beyond measure to see her crack a smile.
"Is she …?"
"Died when I was thirteen."
"I'm sorry."
"You'd 'a liked her. She'd 'a cooked for you. Nona was famous for her cooking."
Lindsay smiled tremulously. The darkness had receded and the feeling was starting to return to her petrified body. Danny's quiet voice and undemanding presence stood between her and the horror her mind had taken her into. "It's cold."
"I'll put some wood in the stove, make some tea. Ya' okay?" He hadn't wanted to leave the room until he was sure she was all the way back.
She nodded again, but as soon as he moved out of the room, her heart started to race, and she jumped out of bed. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she followed him into the other room. He'd pulled on a pair of track pants, and was squatting in front of the wood stove peering in nearsightedly. Carefully, he blew on the handful of flickering coals, and started to put in a log.
Lindsay stopped him with a quick hand. "Too big. Try these." She handed him some smaller pieces and watched him carefully place them so that there was air around the logs and coals to encourage burning. Once the smaller pieces were fairly started, she handed him back the one he had started with. "A couple like this now."
He looked up at her with a grin, and her breathing stopped as their eyes locked. He flushed and turned back to the wood stove, closing the door and adjusting the dampers with fierce concentration.
The hand that had reached toward him dropped.
"It'll warm up in a moment." He stood and brushed his hands together, not quite looking at her. "Sit down. I'll make you some tea." He disappeared into the bedroom and came back out, shrugging on a hoodie and zipping it up, adjusting his glasses. "Cools off fast out here."
"I forgot to set the fire. I'm sorry," Lindsay started, but blushed when Danny turned away from her.
"Ya' all alone here?" he muttered.
She made her way to the couch and put her head down in her hands, teeth chattering. She could feel the nightmare drifting cobweb-like strands of nastiness through her mind. She knew none of it had been true, but could not get rid of the image flashes: of Cameron hurting her, of Danny with the rifle, of the blood.
She could feel her stomach twist as she tasted, smelt, felt the blood again. She bolted for the bathroom and made it to the sink just in time. She curled back miserably on the floor, sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. Her unhealed ankle throbbed in time to her still racing heartbeat.
"Lindsay," Danny's voice broke and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Lindsay, I put some clothes on the bed for you. Come on, sweetheart." He was so afraid to touch her, so afraid of seeing that horror-stricken look in her eyes again, but she refused to move, and he was more afraid she was going to freeze on the floor like that.
He squatted down beside her and hesitantly touched her naked shoulder. She pulled away for a moment, but then threw herself against him, knocking him to the floor. He landed hard, but with his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her into his lap, soothing and cuddling her, speaking soft Italian phrases, "Shh. È tutto il di destra. Non siete danneggiati. Il tesoro, è calmo. Shh."
She whispered into his throat, "I swore I wasn't going to do this any more."
"What?" Danny said.
She answered tiredly, "Cry."
He brushed her hair back from her face, "You can cry any time you want to."
"Don't want to." Her voice, exhausted and thin, was petulant and annoyed.
"I know. Mia cara, I wish there was nothing for you to cry about." He kissed her on the temple, and she was wracked with another sob, coupled with a bone-chilled shiver.
"Put on some clothes, 'kay? I'm going to make you tea and some eggs."
"What time is it?" Lindsay rubbed her eyes like a little girl, but managed to get up and move towards the bed.
"I don't know. 4 am, maybe?" He had no idea where his watch had gone in the night, but the stove had a digital clock and he had noticed it unconsciously.
"Oh Danny, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to …" She stopped when he turned away from her.
"Don't apologize." His voice had gone flat, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.
She ducked her head. It hardly seemed fair. Didn't loving someone so much it filled your whole body mean you didn't hurt them anymore?
"Guess not," she thought.
Danny tried not to listen as Lindsay pulled on the clothes he had found for her, sniffing. He knew she was crying again, but as much as he longed to hold her in his arms and beat back the nightmares for her, he knew that was not his role here.
She'd told him in no uncertain terms: she didn't want to cry any more.
He could respect that. So he'd have to make sure she fought instead.
He went to the fridge and pulled out a handful of eggs, whipping them up in a bowl, adding a little water, and searching out a frying pan. No olive oil, of course, but butter would do in a pinch. Searching through the fridge again, he found some tomatoes and sour cream, and blessed Diane Monroe for her home dried herbs: a little basil would work. Fresh was better, but this would do.
By the time Lindsay had brushed her hair, washed her face, and dressed, Danny was setting a beautiful, fluffy omelette on the table, smothered in a tomato basil cream sauce. He poured a fresh cup of coffee for her and went back to make a second omelette for himself.
She was surprised to find that even at 4:30 in the morning, she was starving. Of course, they had missed dinner. And the food was heavenly, which might help explain her hunger.
By the time Danny sat down across the table from her, she was sopping up the last of the sauce with more of Diane's home made bread. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but devoted himself to cleaning his own plate to a similar shine.
She sat, drinking her coffee while he ate, then cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink, filling it with very hot water and soap.
"Leave those." Danny's voice was soft.
"I'm going to." Lindsay hobbled over to the couch, sat down and pulled the case box towards her. Then she looked up at Danny, her chin set at a determined angle he recognized. "Well? Are you going to help me?"
A/N As requested, translation!
Danny says (very roughly): "It's all right. Nothing will hurt you. Darling, (treasure) be quiet."
I use an online translation programme, so this is ungrammatical baby talk. I apologize profusely to any actual Italian speakers.