Bozeman to Home
………
The cup of coffee had no effect, Danny Messer fell asleep as he sat back against the upholstery of the seat on his flight from Denver to Bozeman. He was out in a dead sleep before he had a chance to buckle his seatbelt, waking only to the gentle pop of his eardrums, signaling the loss of altitude as the approached the Gallatin Field Airport, on the Bozeman limits. The flight attendant announced the local time as 9:30 AM as the plane touched down, a few moments later pulling up to its designated terminal.
At half past nine on a Thursday morning, Danny Messer got his first breath of clear, Montana air. He moved quickly, though, not stopping to enjoy the distinct lack of pollutants, coughing vaguely as the oxygen burned his lungs. The airport, the car rental, it was all a blur. He was so close to her, and all he could think of was getting to her. Danny scribbled directions to the courthouse as the guy at the rental counter dictated, the ache in his chest heavy and uncomfortable. The guy behind the counter asked him a question, but he didn't hear it, snatching his keys off the counter and looking over the directions.
"Sir?"
"Hrm?" Danny looked up, finally noticing that the guy behind the counter was just a kid, not any older than eighteen, maybe nineteen.
"I asked if you were here for Ms. Monroe." Danny froze, utter confusion across his face as his jaw went slack a bit, hanging ajar.
"Wha- how did you know that?" His tone was accusing, but he was more startled than anything. He peered at the kid carefully, wondering how he new Lindsay's name. He shrugged.
"I just figured, you know, you got a pretty heavy accent, and Ms. Monroe's been in New York for a year or so now, and she's continuing her testimony today."
"You got a live feed in here or somethin?" He asked incredulously, becoming aware of just how heavy his accent sounded. The kid nodded toward the far corner of the room, and Danny turned, squinting at the image, his eyes growing wide as he recognized a familiar head of wavy brown curls slipping through a pile of news crews.
"Oh, Lindsay." He breathed, slinking against the counter, the broken expression on her features caught in half a frame as she ducked away from the white, blinding camera lights, and into the courtroom, shutting the camera crews out. "Has there been coverage of the trial the whole time?"
"Yeah, yeah. Whole town's watching. I was like, three years old when those girls died, I don't remember, but everybody's been talking about it. Kelly Garner on channel four said that Ms. Monroe was the only survivor. And the DA says their case depends on her testimony. Something about the forensics not being stored correctly or something. Pretty dramatic." He shrugged, looking over Danny's disheveled appearance, shaking his head.
"She's been on the news before?"
"Yeah. Since she came off the plane. The press is all over her like grease on hide. Defense is all over her, too. They've been tearing her to bits every time they get in front of the cameras. Talking her off like some scared kid. Prosecution keeps saying she's a cop in New York, and it's gonna take a lot to shake her boots, but she didn't look so good yesterday, even if she is some tough-"
"Thanks, man." Danny stopped listening and took off, jerking the door open and finding his rental and climbing in, pulling out onto the 209 and closing the distance between his body and his heart. He didn't bother to look at the scenery, and he punched the power button of the radio gently, leaving himself in silence instead of the twang of country music that happened to be on. Had he not been so worried about her, so desperate to see her, he would have laughed, and made some joke about cowboys and dirt roads. Instead, his tears blurred his vision faintly, and he let out a cough, hiding a sob. "Ah, God, Linds. Hang in there."
He didn't need directions after all, he followed the trail of news trucks, the fifteen minutes drive to the courthouse taking seven or eight as his foot became heavy on the gas, the fidgety anticipation of seeing Lindsay Monroe magnified acutely now that he had heard her message, seen her struggle through the news crews, an insatiable urge to save her, to shield her, protect her from all of that weighing thickly in his limbs and around his heart.
Danny pulled took the left that lined the north side of the courthouse, avoiding the news trucks camped out in the front lawn, coming upon a back lot and pulling into the first spot he saw, killing the engine quickly and pocketing the keys. This was all so unreal, and again Danny fought off a wave of panic mixed with a hefty amount of insecurity. Would his presence do more harm than good? Chasing her across the country wasn't exactly the definition of giving her space.
"No. Don't go talkin' yourself outta this. Instincts, Messer." He mumbled, climbing out of the car and closing the door soundly, surveying the drab cement building. He hadn't thought of this part. The sun shone brightly, and Danny squinted against it, scanning the side of the building for a side door and spotting one. He wondered vaguely how far his badge would get him. Then again, if the kid at the car rental counter made him as a New Yorker, then certainly any person on this particular property would have him pegged the moment he stepped inside.
His reservations about being out of his element were won over by his need to see Lindsay, and he made his way across the small lot, trying the handle on the side door, frowning when he found it locked. He muttered an expletive, frustration stirring into his growing desperation, making the tears that he'd been putting off burn in his chest. High profile case like this, of course the only way into the courthouse was through the main entrance. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning around and leaning his back against the concrete outer wall, rummaging around his heart for the courage to get to her.
After a moment of gathering his wits, he pulled out his phone, glancing at the display. 11:47 New York, meaning it was 9:47 local time. Court, he knew, from the news report on the television at the car rental place, was due to be in session at the turn of the hour. And Lindsay's testimony would continue, he knew, from the message she had left him. He had a small window of time. This was the very last barrier between his body and his heart, and all he wanted to do was see her, make sure she was okay, be there for her, be with her. God, he wanted to be with her. He was going out of his mind without her, and he'd be damned if he was going to let this country building scare away his Staten Island nerve.
He made his way around the side of the building, slipping quietly up the steps, the handful pairs of reporters and cameramen too wrapped up in the details of the case, and the character of the DA's star witness to pay him any mind. He breathed a relieved sigh, pushing through the main door and looking around. The security guard, an older man with more salt than pepper in his hair, and a kindly expression, waved him over to the metal detector, ushering him through. The alarm sounded softly, and Danny stepped back on the other side, groaning. He didn't have time for this.
"Sir, if you could just empty your pockets-"
"Yeah, it's probably this." Danny unclipped his badge and dropped it unceremoniously into the little plastic bin, stepping through the boxy arch of the detector again silently. He bit his lip, holding his hand out for his badge, which the security guard gave back slowly.
"NYPD, huh?"
"Yeah. Forgot to take it off when I went off duty. Where's the-"
"Courtroom three."
"Thanks."
Danny slipped his badge back into his pocket, wedging the back flap between the waistband of his jeans and the leather of his belt, making it hang snugly, shining dully in the fluorescent lighting as he approached the huddled mass of cameramen crowded around the looming door to the courtroom, suspended prestigiously between him and Lindsay. Danny's breath caught in his throat, and he chewed his lip, running a hand along the nape of his neck.
"They're just starting." One of the newscasters said, jerking his head in the direction of the courtroom, catching a glimpse of the detective's badge fixed to Danny's hip. He assumed he was being mistaken for one of the detectives on the case, but he only wanted to get to her. He didn't want to see her like these animals, didn't want to watch her squirm and fold. He wanted to give her everything he was, everything he had. He wanted to be her patch of city in the flood of country. He'd only been there ten minutes and he was already drowning. "Monroe's due back on the stand. Got a little rattled yesterday." The newscaster sounded pleased, cocky almost, and Danny's stomach turned sour, and he set his jaw firmly, restraining his hand from becoming a fist.
"Watch your mouth." Danny laid on his Staten Island accent heavily as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, stepping through the door. It closed behind him quickly, trapping him inside with his insecurities and his doubts, cutting out the white noise of the paparazzi abruptly. He looked to the witness stand, hearing silence instead of Lindsay's soft alto.
His body became paralyzed, the ache in his chest squeezing and twisting his heart sharply. He opened his mouth to say something, but the fear fell out of her eyes, and he remembered Charlie Feehan's advice. He closed his mouth, opting to not speak, instead offering her a tight trace of a smile and taking a seat quickly, not wanting to interrupt the proceedings. The prosecutor turned, following Lindsay's gaze, giving Danny a once over before returning his attention to the witness stand.
"Ms. Monroe?" He watched her fluster, and straighten in the chair, reluctantly returning her attention to the prosecutor before her. When she spoke again, there was a quiet steady quality to her voice that had been missing on the message she had left him, settling his nerves. He listened, really listened, to her words and her tone and her eyes, that kept straying away from the prosecutor and catching his. The other people faded when she looked at him, and suddenly they were alone. Her testimony became stronger, more determined, beginning to sound something like the Lindsay Monroe who was a New York detective.
Almost an hour passed, and Lindsay concluded her testimony. Danny watched the prosecutor thank her, and gave her permission to step down. The mothers whose faces haunted her had tears streaming down their cheeks, but Lindsay only looked at him. The prosecutor asked for a break, and the judge agreed, calling a short recess. He stood, stepping out into the aisle of the gallery, his heart teetering between breaking and mending.
She made her way determinedly past the families and the friends, the prosecution and the defense, closing the short distance between them in the space of a moment, hugging him with such force he almost stumbled back, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders, holding her against him comfortably, cradling her head to his chest, feeling the damp of her tears through his shirt. Her arms wove around his middle, tightening around his waist with a pressure that squeezed his heart.
They stood like that for several minutes, wading in the bustling activity of the courtroom at recess, ignoring it all. The feel of her pressed against him so easily brought him right back to flash bang grenades and Kevlar vests, and his tears made his eyes sparkle behind his frames.
Lindsay pulled back first, opening her mouth to say something, finding her self at a loss of words. He shook his head faintly, releasing her shoulders to bring his fingers to cradle her face, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. He shuddered, feeling her fingers splay along the small of his back. He leaned in, kissing her swiftly, grasping her in a tight embrace, willing the world to disappear. The courtroom had emptied, and they were alone. Danny sighed, the relief that she was alright, safe, there beside him overwhelming him, and he held her tighter still, not willing to ever let her out of his sight again. Lindsay smiled in the crook of his neck, remembering how well she fit there.
He had come. Never, in a thousand years, would she have expected to see him in her home state. Never, in a thousand years, did she think he would keep up the chase. She began to cry, the stress of the trial, of battling her demons, of facing everyone she had left behind buckled under the unadulterated surprise of Danny's comforting presence, and the dull, tugging surprise of how glad she was to see him.
Her grip turned harder, hands that had been splayed now balled into fists, holding on to him. He felt her shaky, uneven tears, rocking her slowly, rhythmically, cradling her head to his shoulder, pressing another kiss to her hair, his hold softening to companionable, affectionate, steady; grounding her. Slowly, she recovered, her breathing evening against his collarbone, but remaining heated, intimate. He ran his hand through her curls idly, waiting for her to pull away. When she finally did, she smiled genuinely at him, despite the tears beginning to dry in winding paths down her cheeks, in awe that he was really there with her.
"Thank you." She whispered, heavy, startled gratitude in her eyes. He smiled warmly at her, shrugging before tilting his head and kissing her again, lovingly. She responded with something that would become eager once everything was over, her hand slipping from the small of his back to his chest, pulling him down to her by the front of his shirt, shifting and deepening their kiss calmly.
There, in the middle of Montana, Danny finally felt like he was home.