Drake placed a cup of coffee in front of Lindsey, ignoring the dull throb in his shoulder. Her gaze was focused beyond the kitchen, where Warrick had just been. Worry for her mother's well being was etched into Lindsey's face, drawing lines deeper than Drake had ever seen them.
He sat across from her with his own cup, staring into the cup for a moment before looking back to Lindsey. "What's on your mind, Linds?"
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, an unaffected gaze that intensified his own worry. "Nothing really. I mean, the fact that my mother may be losing her mind couldn't possibly be bothering me right now, right?" Lindsey took a deep breath, and Drake couldn't help but notice that each of her muscles were wound piano wire tight.
She's blaming herself, he thought, feeling his face contort into a look of pained sympathy. The objectivity he was trained to portray in his assignments was well out of reach, and it took every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep from moving to console Lindsey.
He turned away for a moment, but his attention was snapped back immediately when a loud crash sounded against the wall. Coffee slid down the wall in a deep brown sheet, spreading an ever-darkening puddling around shards of white porcelain.
Looking from the wall to Lindsey, Drake frowned. Lindsey's right arm was turning a ghastly shade of pink, proof that she had carelessly flung the coffee mug against the wall. She seemed unfazed by the burns on her arm, but it didn't affect the concern rising in him.
Drake stood and walked around the table to Lindsey, taking her hand to lead her to the sink. He placed her arm under the faucet and ran the cold water, holding it still when she flinched and tried to pull it back.
"Dammit, Cam, that hurts," she protested, slowly coming out of her stupor.
"Serves you right. What were you thi-"
"What the hell was that?"
Drake looked over his shoulder to the doorway to see Warrick standing there, concern in his expression. Drake resisted the urge to shake his head in amusement at the growing theme. "Just cleaning up some spilled coffee."
Warrick looked at the wall where the coffee had left an amber stain on the ivory paint, then back to Drake. The skepticism was clear in his eyes, but anything he may have wanted to say was lost when he noticed Lindsey's arm under the faucet. "Are you okay, Lindsey?"
"I'm fine. A little coffee got on my arm. It's nothing."
More skepticism. Drake said, "It really is nothing. Not even a first degree burn. The coffee was hardly hot."
He couldn't tell if his lie had been effective, but Warrick walked over to the counter. "If you say so," Warrick said. He took out a mug and poured a cup of coffee in silence. "I'm gonna go back to Catherine. She's in bad shape, but nothing she won't recover from." He sent a pointed look Lindsey's way, "I'll take care of her."
Lindsey merely nodded before Warrick walked out of the room. When he heard the door to Catherine's bedroom shut, Drake went back to tending Lindsey's arm. "Now, do you mind telling why in the hell I'm treating what could have easily been a first degree burn on a recently stitched up arm?" She remained silent, and he sighed in frustration. "Lindsey, God dammit," he grated, roughly turning off the faucet and jerking her arm gently to face him.
What he saw when he looked into her eyes sent a dagger into his heart. Tears, streaming down her cheeks freely. But the look in Lindsey's eyes was more troubling. Anger, hot and untamed, lit her irises aflame. It was a look that, Drake imagined, could start a raging inferno.
"Look, Linds. I know you're worried about your mother. And I understand you're pissed about what happened yesterday. But I'm telling you right now that there is no way I'm going to let you do anything that could get you hurt."
"You won't let me?" she scoffed, a glimmer of amusement sparkling briefly in her eyes. "I think yesterday proved that I am fully capable of taking care of myself."
Drake grabbed her wrist and held her forearm up for her to look at. "I beg to differ. From what I gathered, if that cut had been any deeper, you'd have nicked an artery. You could have gotten yourself killed yesterday, and it would have been on my hands."
"Well, you would have been killed yesterday if I hadn't done something!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with intensity and a passion that could only be born from the pain of near loss.
"And if you had been killed playing rescuer, how do you think I would have felt? Shit, Lindsey, you know how I feel about you. And I know you feel the same way." His voice was controlled, but it didn't affect his ability to get his point across.
She looked at him warily, shaking her head. "How do I know this isn't just some situational thing? That once we get rid of Gedda, you'll feel the same way?"
"You can't know. That's what makes love so great. It's unpredictable. It sneaks up and tackles you from behind. Your only options are to fight for or run from it." His gaze locked on Lindsey's now uncertain stare. "Which is it, Linds? Fight or flight?"
She looked at him, but didn't make any move that indicated a decision. After five minutes, he amended his observation. Her lack of response was a decision.
Sighing, he turned to the counter and grabbed a washcloth, soaking it with warm water. As disappointment surged through him, Drake murmured, "Flight." He squeezed the excess moisture from the cloth with more effort than necessary, then proceeded to clean up the mess Lindsey had made.
As he was scrubbing the coffee stain from the wall as best he could without any chemical aids and a bum shoulder, he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He winced as Lindsey squeezed lightly. Turning to face her, Drake smiled dejectedly. "Yes?"
"Fight," she stated quickly, her lips on his before he could react. He stumbled back into the wall, inhaling sharply when his shoulder connected with it. Despite the breathtaking pain, he didn't stop the kiss. It felt too good. Too right.
Lindsey nipped his bottom lip teasingly, eliciting a low growl. He pushed her back just enough to turn them around so she was against the wall, never breaking their contact. Lindsey's hands slithered up his sides to his neck, locking there. Drake placed his own hands on the small of her back, pulling her close until she melted against him.
After what seemed like forever, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke Lindsey and Drake apart, two feet of distance between them in a split second. It was Warrick, the disapproving glare in his eyes softened by the smile on his lips. "Am I... interrupting something?" Warrick asked, a mixture of innocent surprise and irritation in his tone.
"Ah... um..." Lindsey stammered, and Drake glanced back at her to see her cheeks flushing scarlet. He grinned, and she glared at him. "Shut up, Cam."
"Hey, I didn't say anything!" he protested, purposefully pushing her buttons. "As for your question, Warrick... no, you weren't interrupting a thing."
"Mmhmm." Warrick looked back and forth between the two of them before walking to the counter. "Well, I just came to tell Lindsey that Catherine just woke up." He poured coffee into the fresh mug he pulled from the cabinet. He turned and stared pointedly at Lindsey. "She wants to talk to you."
"Okay," Lindsey murmured. She looked at Drake and took his hand, squeezing it quickly before hurrying out of the room.
"So," Warrick prompted, scrutinizing Drake as if he were under a microscope. "You do realize what I'll do to you if anything happens to her, right?"
Drake twisted his lips into a lopsided grin. "I think I have an idea." Drake set his jaw and stared Warrick directly in the eyes. "Which is why I'm going to do everything I can to protect her."
"What are you saying, Drake?"
"I got a call from the agent in charge just before we left the hospital. A cop in Iowa was shot point blank in the back of the head during a routine traffic stop. Witnesses who saw the suspect said he was taller, dark hair, and was driving a car with Massachusetts license plates."
"Gedda." Warrick's voice was distant, distracted. "When was this?"
"About twenty four hours ago. There were reports of a man driving eratically at the Arizona/Nevada border, and others of a very ill man matching Gedda's description checking into a hotel in Carson City." Drake paused. "That was six hours ago. I looked it up, and he's only eight hours away, give or take."
"If he stopped to sleep off a bug, he's still not going to take his time. He's out for blood."
Drake nodded, running a hand back through his hair. "We may only have a couple of hours to prepare." Warrick looked over his shoulder toward where Lindsey had disappeared. "Don't worry, Warrick. Grissom and Nick will be coming here to stay with them while we're gone."
"You don't actually think they'll let us go without them, do you?" Warrick asked skeptically.
Shaking his head, Drake flashed a knowing smile. "Not at all."