Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY.

A/N: Thanks so much to the people who are already reading and reviewing this story! I can't promise an update every day, but I will try to post new chapters as regularly as possible.

Chapter 2: Letting Go

Mac hung up the phone and dropped his head into his hands. He felt glued to the chair, unable to move, although he desperately wanted to tell someone about Danny, about Lindsay, to share this news with someone who would care as much as he did, would understand the helplessness he felt, would appreciate the restraint it had taken to not reach down into the phone and rip John Monroe in half for not protecting his people.

He gave himself a shake. Not helpful, any of that. Monroe had done his best. No one could get it right all the time. And Lindsay had done what she was trained to do. And Danny would recover. And he, Mac Taylor, NYPD, Detective First Class, had no place in this at all, and he'd better get used to that fact.

"Mac? Is everything all right?"

He looked up to see Peyton in the doorway, her eyes on him, a worried frown on her face. He held out a hand to her and she entered almost at a run, kneeling down beside his chair.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"Danny was shot in Montana, Peyton. He's just come out of surgery. They think he'll recover."

Peyton lost even the little colour she usually had. Her hands clenched on his as she asked in a hushed voice, "And Lindsay?"

"She shot Ross Adams. He found them in the backwoods safe house where they had been. He shot Danny in the back. She got the confession and then she shot him when he threatened her." Mac wondered how many times he would have to say that before it came more easily.

Peyton looked up at him, and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. "I'm so sorry, Mac. Do you want me to gather everyone together, so you can tell them all at once? Stella and Sheldon are here, Adam is on his way in, and Flack won't be hard to find. Shall I do that? Or do you want to talk to each one alone?"

Mac shied away from saying those words over and over again. "Once, definitely just once. Would you mind, Peyton? Just ask them all to meet me in the incident room we set up. We can put everything away now. I just … need a few minutes before I talk to them."

She nodded once, "What do you want me to tell them?"

"Just ask them to join me, if you could."

She kissed him again, briefly, and walked out. Mac watched her go, and his heart swelled with gratitude. She knew he would have to deal with this. She also knew how difficult he would find that. She knew him better than he knew himself, and for the second time in his life, he knew he was lucky beyond all deserving.

He pulled himself together, and went to the incident room they had set up only a few days ago, standing in front of the picture of sixteen year old Lindsay with the deadened eyes and the bruise on her head. "I hope you find some peace with this, Lindsay Monroe. I hope you can put it behind you now."

"Mac?"

He didn't have to turn around to know it was Stella, to hear the fear in her voice.

"Sit down, Stel. Let's wait for everyone. I can only say it once."

She didn't argue, always a bad sign, just sat in a chair as if her legs had given out.

Hawkes, Adam, and Flack all filed in after Peyton a minute or two later, and without a word took up their positions around the room. They were solemn and tense, and Mac hated that he had let them all get the impression that the news was the worst that could be imagined. Still, he had to clear his throat before he could get the words out.

"First of all, they are both okay. Danny was shot, but came through surgery and looks to make a full recovery. Lindsay had to kill Ross Adams, but it looks like it will be ruled a good shoot."

Everyone relaxed a fraction, as their visions of dress blues and twenty-one gun salutes faded.

"How the hell did Danny get shot? I thought Monroe had them in a secure location?" It was Flack who asked, always the cop, looking out for the case.

Mac explained the story John Monroe had given him, trying not to interpret anything or add his opinions on how things had been handled. Every time he said Ross Adams' name, Adam winced a little.

Stella stood up, and ripped Lindsay's picture off the bulletin board, running a finger over the youthful face before putting the photo in the case file. "Well, at least she took care of the problem. I can't believe that little weasel shot Danny."

Hawkes looked up at Mac, who was still standing in front of the board which Stella was dismantling and packing away, her gestures sharp and hurried.

"Any idea when he'll be back? Or the prognosis?"

Mac shook his head wearily, "She phoned me literally as he was being wheeled into the ICU, Hawkes. They only knew the basics."

"Want me to call, talk to the doctor?"

Mac's eyes lit with relief, "Dr Chris Martens. He's a friend of the family, so you may be able to push a little."

Hawkes nodded and walked out quietly, saying, "I'll let Sid and others know, too."

Adam stood up as well, "I have some tests to run. If you need anything, if I can do anything …" his voice tailed off as he turned to go.

"Adam," Mac stopped him for a moment. "Thank you for your help."

The lab tech ducked his head and blushed as he left the room.

Stella had finished with the board, and looked around the room with a sigh. "I can't believe it's over. I feel a little lost … usually we get to see the case through to the end."

"It's not our responsibility this time, Stella. We'll have to trust the system, even in Bozeman."

She snorted her distrust of the system which had conspired to protect a killer and obscure an open case. Corruption, blindness, or pure, pigheaded stupidity aside, she couldn't see trusting a system so flawed that it had allowed this to happen.

"What now, Mac? We just wait for them to come home?" Stella paced around the room, too keyed up to sit still. She wanted to do something: to help in some way. If she could have flown under her own power to Montana, she would have been out the door by now.

"Lindsay's family are all there. They'll do whatever is necessary."

Stella stopped dead in the centre of the room, a sudden dread filling her. "What about Danny's family? Who's going to tell them?"

Mac and Don looked at each other for a full minute. Finally, Don sighed and dropped his head. "I'll tell them."

"Are you sure, Don? Mac, shouldn't it be you?" Stella didn't understand the unspoken conversation between the two men, but she knew there was more to this than either was telling her.

"Thank you, Flack. I would appreciate it, and I think Danny will too." Mac turned away towards the window, clearing his throat again as he did.

"I'll get details from Hawkes and go as soon as I can." Flack stood up, a certain wariness already showing in his eyes.

Mac just nodded, his back still to the three people in the room, scanning the New York skyline. At least from this window, he couldn't see the gaping hole of the missing Twin Towers. Usually, he tried to avoid looking out the windows at work.

"I'll come with you, Don," Stella said it slowly, her eyes not leaving Mac as she followed Flack out of the room.

Mac braced a hand on the wall and slumped against it for a moment, only straightening up when he heard Peyton's soft voice.

"Is there anything I can do, Mac?"

"Not really, Peyton. You've helped just by being here. Thank you." He turned to face her, finally feeling that he had his emotions under control. As soon as he looked into her eyes, though, he realized his mistake.

"Oh Mac," she whispered as she put her arms around him, "None of this was your fault, or John Monroe's, or anyone else's. If you want to hate someone, hate Ross Adams or Justin Forbes. But it's over. And you have to let some of this go."

Mac buried his head in Peyton's shoulder, taking strength from her. She was right, and he knew that. But it was not so easy for him to let go of his anger, or to let someone else deal with a case he felt so personally outraged by.

He thought back to the conversation he had had with Peyton in his home only a few days ago. He hadn't meant to lie to her, but he had. He had let her think that his feelings for Danny were just those of any officer to a man under his command. But he had hand picked Danny, stuck by him in spite of advice to the contrary, seen him through more than one trauma. The thought of his protégé lying in a hospital bed in Montana and not being able to do anything about it roiled in his gut.

Peyton stepped back first, "Come on, Mac. Let's go and get something to eat. You need a few minutes out of this place."

Mac took her hand in his, allowing her to draw him out of the room without comment. They were in the elevator before he pulled her closer and said quietly, "Come home with me tonight."

Peyton looked down at her feet for a moment before meeting his eyes with hers. "Why?"

Mac recalled some advice he had given Danny only a few days ago, although it felt more like months. "Women need to hear it, especially if you screwed up. They need to hear it over and over again."

"Because I care about you, and I want you in my life. I want you all the way in my life, with no closed doors or empty rooms. Can you trust me enough to work through this with me?"

Peyton's only answer was a sweet smile and a tender kiss.

-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-

Pain. He could feel the pain radiating through his chilled body. It was hot, like lava flowing across an ice-field. It bubbled up through him, pulsing through his veins, burning back the ice that encased him. He almost welcomed it, seeking it out, tracing its path through his body. Anything was better than that frozen numbness, that chilled sensation that his heart had stopped beating, that his blood no longer flowed. Even pain was preferable to that.

"Pain? Ya' like the pain, doncha' Messer? It's what you're best at. Giving it anyway. Ya' thought ya'd be the hero here, didn'cha? Ya' thought you could make her love you by saving her life. Ya' screwed up again. Ya' ain't no hero, that's for damn sure. Ya' ain't no Marine, no Lieutenant Mac Taylor. Ya' just a fuckup from Staten Island, and no matter what ya' do, ya' ain't never gonna be nothing else."

"Detective Messer? I'm just going to up your morphine drip. You really shouldn't be feeling any pain even at these levels. Detective? Are you all right? Ah!"

"I'm sorry, Nurse. Danny? Danny! It's okay; I'm here. She's not going to hurt you. You need more morphine, Danny. Let go of her; I won't let anything happen to you."

"No morphine."

"What's that?"

"No morphine."

"Detective Messer, you need to have something to control the pain. Your body can't deal with too much; you need your energy for healing."

"Danny, listen to me. You know I won't let anything happen. I promise. Hold my hand. I'll stay. I won't leave. Let the nurse do what she needs to."

And he was under again, taken by the frozen fog, lost in the cavernous ice, wandering alone. The only thing he could feel was Lindsay's hand in his.