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

A/N: So, I had some requests for Adam to have a special someone, but come on – he can't have a "usual" relationship! Let me know what you think!

Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".

Chapter 5: Networking

To: Aisha Blanco

From: Adam Ross

Subject: Long Week

Hey!

Yeah, so remember I was telling you about those two friends of mine, out in Montana? She's from there originally, and he went out – well – I guess he went out for her. She was in trouble – big trouble – and he couldn't sit back in NYC any longer. He's been like totally into her for months, you know? I don't know what happened but a few months ago she just shut off and he went all quiet and shit. Then she got called back home and I guess things went bad and he rides to the rescue.

So anyway, they end up in like witness protection Wild West style in a little cabin in the woods, like made of log or something, real old pioneer stuff, you know, and this guy skis in, shoots my buddy in the back, then goes after her again, for good this time.

She shot him. Just up and shot him dead. But not before she gets him confessing to two murders 13 years ago, on tape yet! Shit, she's amazing.

So my buddy's been shot in the back and he crawls to the cabin for – I don't know – like twenty yards or something and gets to the cabin just as she takes care of business. And then the Feds drop out of the sky like in some movie or something.

Man, I wish I'd seen that. Except for the whole blood thing. I can only handle blood in the lab. When Mac started sending me out in the field, I thought it would be pretty cool, you know? But I still like the lab best.

Weird though – the guy who did this? His name was Ross Adams. How creepy is that? I keep looking over my shoulder every time someone says his name.

C Y Saturday?

A

send

"Adam. Where are we with that trace?"

"Oh … ah … Doc, we got nothing we didn't have before. Trace came back to paraffin wax on the jacket." Blushing furiously, Adam minimized the email programme he'd had up, waiting for a response.

"Like candle wax?" Hawkes reached out a hand for the results.

"Umm, more like canning wax? You know – like on homemade jams? It's used for sealing the food? The trace is compatible with wax used for food preparation – candles are more likely to have dye or perfume added." Adam flushed when Hawkes queried him with a raised eyebrow.

"If you look," he rushed on, a little breathlessly, "You can see that the traces are on the lapels of the jacket? Like maybe the wax was on someone's hands and they grabbed him? Smudged, though. No prints, although you'd think that there would be something in the impressions in the wax, but it's smooth. I haven't tried yet for epithelials or skin trace, but I guess there could be if the wax got warm enough to melt so no fingerprints showed … you'd think that there would be some trace then from the oils on their hands or something …"

Adam's voice trailed off as Hawkes was obviously no longer paying attention, tapping the folder Adam had given him against one hand as he rapidly ran down his mental list of suspects. "She said she was home all day, though. Maybe he came home a little unexpectedly."

Adam looked on, confused, "What? Who?"

Hawkes smacked him with the folder. "Thanks, man. This should get me a warrant, anyway. Let's see what Mac says. Nice work."

Adam shrugged as Hawkes walked quickly away, "You're welcome? So, you want me to test for biological trace …?"

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

Stella tried to keep quiet as Flack braved the afternoon bridge traffic again, but finally, after sitting in a line up for a good fifteen minutes, couldn't keep it in any longer.

"Don. Don?" She waited until he had glanced over at her. "Was that Mouse I saw you talking to?"

"Shit," Flack thought. Briefly, he considered lying, but really he knew better than that. They'd worked together a long time before they started seeing each other, which really had only been a couple of days. "I forgot you knew him."

"Yeah, well, he's a little hard to forget, especially if you've ever been stuck in an interrogation room with him. His smell is permanently etched on my visceral memory," she said wryly. "Was he selling something? Anything good?"

Flack frowned and answered slowly, "I don't know. But I'm thinking I need to talk to Mac, at least. And maybe …"

Stella waited impatiently as Flack stopped talking, sunk in thought, then prodded him, "Maybe what? Are you going to tell me what he said?"

Flack shot a look at her, "Trust. It's all about trust," he thought again. "I trusted her as an investigator long before I started looking at her as a girlfriend. Plus, she'll kick my ass if she figures out I'm trying to keep anything hidden here."

"Yeah. He said Sonny Sassone has another brother, an older one. Changed his name and is a Federal agent."

Stella sat back, and blew a hard breath out, "No way."

Flack shrugged, "Louie Messer has a brother on the NYPD."

Stella started to argue, opened her mouth to do it, then closed it again. "Yes. Yes, he does."

She sat silent for a few minutes, then sat up and shook her head, "No way. No way. These days, getting into the FBI is nearly impossible without records going back to the Mayflower. You don't just waltz in with no history, no background. Even a hinky family member can keep you out."

"Backgrounds can be paid for." His voice was quiet, thoughtful, though not yet convinced. This was familiar, this to and fro of discussing a case, building on each other's information and, yes, instincts, though it was better not to use that word around Mac.

"Who is going to pay for something this big? Tanglewood? I know they were vicious, Don, but I don't see them having this kind of brain power behind them. I mean Sonny was a thug, a punk. His little brother was muscle through and through, especially in the brain department. This would take an organization."

"Yeah. Like the Mafia. I mean the real Mafia. Old-school."

His voice remained calm, but Stella could hear him thinking. He had his own history and background, and it was impressive, Stella knew, especially considering his age. But that was because he also had access to the collective Flack family memory: both his father and grandfather had dealt with many of the same families in some of these gangs. Together, Don had a breadth of knowledge on New York City crime that rivaled anyone's.

"So we go to Mac." It wasn't a question.

"Well, we start there. Then we see where this leads us."

She sat quiet for a minute longer, then grabbed his arm. "Danny. You think this has something to do with Danny?"

Don hunched his shoulders, but did not remove her hand. "He goes out to Montana, and meets the FBI agent brother of the woman he's in love with, a woman who just happens to be a New York CSI? Then we get told that a Mafia family, with deeply personal connections to the Messers, has someone planted in the FBI? You know what they say about coincidences, Stella? It feels wrong."

"You know what Mac says about feelings, don't you?"

"I don't answer to Mac. I'm allowed to follow my gut on an investigation. Besides, I've known him to act on feelings before. Let's see what he says about this one."

Stella sat silent, mulling over what they had. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. Even given all that Mac and Don were not telling her about Danny and his involvement with the Tanglewood Boys or his family's involvement with the Mafia, it still didn't add up to something which should be making her feel so uneasy. But the fact was, it did, and she was.

They were over the bridge and back into the city before she spoke again.

"We went off the clock an hour ago. Let's go home, and I'll make supper. We can talk this out and meet with Mac in the morning." Stella waited a moment for Don to respond, but he was sunk in thought.

She waited a moment, and touched his arm again. "Don?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, Stella, sorry. Yeah, Mac should be off by now too. Are you sure you're inviting me for dinner? I may not be the best of company."

Stella returned his grin with a smile of her own, feeling a pleasant little flutter in the pit of her stomach, "I can hear the wheels turning from here. Let's see if we can come up with some theories together, shall we? And I can't possibly eat all this food on my own. I found fresh Roma tomatoes. It's the middle of winter! I asked the woman who owns the store where they were from and she took me into the back. She has a little greenhouse out there with tomatoes and peppers."

She continued chatting about the grocery store and the conversation she had had with the owner, trying, with some eventual success, to draw Don out of his thoughts. She had known it was going to be difficult for him to see the Messers; that much had been obvious from the moment in the incident room between Mac and Don. She really wanted to know more about this situation, but she had promised not to pry. She would just have to find a way to satisfy her curiosity without breaking that promise.

Without discussing it, Don drove to her place, where she had a fully stocked kitchen and a fridge with more in it than a couple of cans of beer, a half dozen eggs and the leftovers his mother had sent after last Sunday dinner. Don carried the bags of groceries up for her and together they chopped and mixed and prepared a pot full of fresh tomatoes, garlic, onions, and chicken.

They worked well together, moving smoothly around the small kitchen, feeding each other pieces of tomato and pepper, chatting about neutral topics like why the Rangers kicked the Islanders' collective ass, and how the lab had been far too quiet without Danny around.

It was comfortable and felt familiar, thought Stella as she stood at the sink, washing her hands. Don came up behind and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Is it true," he whispered in her ear, "That the longer a tomato sauce simmers, the better it gets?"

She arched her neck so that he had better access to the sensitive skin under her ear. "I have heard that, yes." Her voice shook a little as she turned in his arms.

"Why don't we give it a little time to simmer then?" He groaned into her mouth as she pressed up against him, and lifted her easily off her feet, heading down the hallway to the bedroom.

The flash of heat Stella had experienced on the Island up against Don's car was nothing compared to the quick boil they reached this time. Effortlessly, she reduced him to a quivering heap with hands and tongue, only to fall apart herself when he took control and sent her on her own swift journey into bliss. They found new ways to taste, touch, explore, and pleasure each other until they moved together, came together.

The world just stopped around them, so there was nothing but the evening lights of the city flooding into the bedroom, the smell of tomato sauce and spice filling the air, and the whisper of body to body.

It might have seemed too fast, might have seemed too casual, until they lay together, bodies tingling and breath coming heavy. Until he rolled off her, pulled her into his arms, and mumbled, "Love ya', Stel," as he fell asleep.

She lay with eyes wide open, body slowly cooling in his arms.

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

To: Aisha Blanco

From: Adam Ross

Subject: WTF?!

I don't know what you're talking about. I am not in love with her. I just think she's really brave and smart. She's an amazing scientist and a good friend. None of that translates into "I'm in love with her".

Or have a "crush". Geez, what is this? High school? I stopped having crushes when I was 16 and started having girlfriends.

Where do you get something like that from what I said about her? I'm as worried about him as I am about her. Does that mean I have a crush on him too?

Man, women really are crazy, you know that? Why can't men and women just be friends without everyone accusing them of something else? Do I get to pull this insanity on you? What about that photographer? You going to tell me again he just sees you as an interesting collection of shapes? Yeah, boob and ass shapes!

Get in touch again when you're over it, would you? I'll be waiting, for YOU, not her!

A