Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.

A/N: Argh! The site wouldn't let me upload this chapter, so sorry for the delay. Thanks to SallyJetson for her help with bypassing the system! Thanks as always to the people who are reading, and to the people who are reviewing. I appreciate all comments.

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

Chapter 6: Homecoming

When Don woke up, the space beside him in the bed was cool. He could hear Stella moving in the kitchen.

"Nice one, idiot. Falling asleep after sex is a rookie error," Don thought, rolling his eyes. He rolled out of bed, and started pulling his clothes back on as he went to the bathroom, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and leaving it untucked.

It didn't take him long to join Stella, who was wearing more casual clothes than he was used to seeing her in, her hair pulled back and a serious look on her face as she cut up vegetables for a salad. He leaned against the door, just watching her for a moment.

"I know you're there, creeper," she said lightly, without turning around. "See something you like?"

"I'm sorry I fell asleep, Stel," he said quietly. He grew up with sisters; he knew there was a definite time limit on apologies.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes laughing, though her face remained solemn. "You do know that it is every woman's goal to exhaust her man until he can't move, don't you?"

"Mission accomplished, then. And may I just say, damn good job." His voice was husky, and he moved towards, enveloping her in a hug. He could just see a clock over her shoulder, and sighed with relief; fifteen minutes was not too much to recover from, he hoped. At least neither pot nor knife had come his way yet.

She felt warm and soft in his arms, and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss her. She tasted of cucumber and spicy tomatoes, and his stomach rumbled loudly before he had even half satisfied his need to have her under his mouth.

She laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. "Dinner, I think. Before you get distracted and ruin my pasta."

"Is that home-made pasta?" He looked into the pot of boiling water, content.

"Yes, but not mine. I tell you, Don, if it wasn't over the bridge and far away, I'd go shopping at that grocery every day. Does Danny see his family much? Maybe I can give him a shopping list next time he goes out to the Island." Stella was draining the pasta, serving up a big plateful swimming in sauce and handing it to Don to put on the table before passing an open bottle of wine and the salad bowl. It took her a moment to realize he had gone still.

"What? What did I say wrong?" Her voice held an unspoken "now".

Don sighed, "Stel, could we eat, because this meal looks and smells too delicious to ruin, and then I promise I'll tell you whatever I can?"

Not, she noticed, whatever he knew.

Tightly, she nodded. She wasn't used to being kept out of things like this. "Put it away, Bonasera," she counseled herself, looking into those wary blue eyes. "Give it a chance. Don't screw this up so quickly."

She smiled and poured two glasses of deep red wine, handing one to Don. Then she lifted hers and said lightly, "Salut!"

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

When Mac pulled up the car in front of his brownstone, he turned off the engine and held the keys in his hand for a moment, considering. Then he put his head down on the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

She'd refused. Oh, she had smiled, and kissed him as sweetly as only Peyton could, the soft lilt of her voice caressing him as she thanked him. But in the end, she had walked to her own car and driven to her apartment alone.

Damn, damn, damn. He didn't know what else to do. He'd brought her home and she'd refused to stay, claiming the house was still Claire's. Of course, he had brought her by accident, driving to his home automatically after a long and difficult day, but tonight he had told her he wanted her in his house, that he wanted her in his life all the way. And she had seemed to accept that.

Then she had walked to her car and driven off.

Maybe he should have followed her. Maybe she had wanted that, wanted him to prove something to her, prove that he was willing to fight for her. He shook his head at the thought. That wasn't like Peyton. She had walked away before, when they had fought, when he had accidentally called her "Claire", after he had snatched her hand away from his face in the office. She hadn't played games then, hadn't set up some female obstacle course for him to run through to try to get back to her. She had just walked away.

This time was different. She wasn't angry or disappointed. She seemed the same as always. She just refused to come home with him. She had looked at him the way an indulgent mother would look at a child who wanted something that was not good for him, and was moments away from pitching a temper tantrum to get what he wanted.

Mac put his head back against the headrest wearily. He wasn't a child, unsure of what he wanted or needed. He knew he was ready to move on, and he wanted to do that with Peyton. Now, how was he supposed to convince her of that if telling her wasn't enough?

He opened his eyes, and saw a young worried face peering in the window at him. His heart leapt into his throat, even as his hand automatically went for his gun concealed in his shoulder holster. The kid stepped back, hands up, startled, words tumbling out of his mouth.

"Mac? Mac, I'm sorry. I was waiting for you; I wanted to talk, to ask you something. I didn't mean to …"

Reed. It was Reed. Mac swallowed hard and dropped his hand, which had been hovering over his gun. Swiftly, he got out of the car and moved towards the distraught boy.

"It's okay, Reed. I'm sorry. You surprised me, that's all. You okay? Come into the house; we'll talk there."

As he led the boy into the brownstone, he wondered briefly what Peyton was doing.

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

Chris stood at the door of Danny's hospital rooms, his arms crossed, his face set in a scowl. "This is completely against my recommendations, Detective."

"So noted, Doctor," Danny barely grunted as he zipped the sweatshirt up, avoiding the bandages around his abdomen carefully. He had already managed to pull on his sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, although he was pretty sure socks would defeat him.

Lindsay was sitting in a chair beside the window, arms crossed protectively around her body, a worried frown on her face, but biting her tongue. After her own escape from the ward only days ago, she was not in the best position to argue common sense with someone as pig-headed as Danny.

"My mother is taking off a couple of days, Chris. She'll look after him," she offered quietly. When Danny shot her a killing look, she amended that quickly, "Us. She'll look after us."

"Lindsay, there is no one I have more respect for than your mother, you know that. But still, she's not …"

"What? A third grade Math cheat?'

Lindsay turned with relief to her mother, framed in the door. "Mom, are you sure Danny shouldn't stay in the hospital another couple of days?"

"Nonsense. Hospitals are for sick people, and Danny is just fine, aren't you, Danny?"

He nodded, biting his lip against the wave of nausea that rolled over him when he looked on the floor for his shoes.

Diane's careful eye missed nothing, but she continued on, "Look Chris, I may not have a dubious medical certificate from some cut-rate university …"

"Harvard," Lindsay murmured in Danny's direction.

He raised his eyebrows and fought down a grin. Damn, he liked Montana's mother.

"…But I am perfectly capable of monitoring an injured boy for a few days. It will hardly be for the first time."

Chris threw his hands in the air. "Once again, please note for the record that Detective Messer is leaving against the express recommendation of his physician, and has agreed to sign a form to that effect."

Diane looked over at Lindsay with one eyebrow held high and drawled, "Waal now, don't he talk purty?" She ignored Chris's disgusted snort and Lindsay's stifled giggle and kneeled down in front of Danny to put on his socks and shoes. Danny's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Diane paid no more attention to that than she had to Chris. She just looked up at him with a grin and said, "Now, no refusing the wheelchair, okay? Otherwise, we're just going to have to sit here for several more minutes and listen to him yammer some more."

Danny shook his head, "I'll take the wheelchair, as long as it heads for the hills."

Lindsay stood, locking her knees so that she didn't hit the floor. No matter how lightly she treated her injuries when repeatedly asked about them, she was vulnerable to sudden bouts of pain and exhaustion, which she hid as much as possible. Leaning on the wheelchair for support, she brought it over to the side of the bed and bowed gallantly, "Your chariot awaits, milord."

Danny grinned up at her, and took her hand as he pulled himself from bed to chair. "Only until we get to the door, okay?" he muttered under his breath.

"Of the car, okay?" she whispered back, not moving until he reluctantly nodded.

They made a slow royal progress through the hall way, as nearly every nurse wanted to speak to Lindsay and sneak one last look at Danny. When they got to the front door of the hospital, Mick peeled himself off the wall where he had been waiting for them, and smoothly took over for Lindsay. "Truck's out front, peanut. Go get yourself in; I'm on city boy patrol here."

"Mick, it's your truck!" Lindsay said with surprise. "We left it at the cabin."

"I went out with John yesterday and picked it up." Mick's voice was casual, but no one missed the hard swallow or the shadows in his eyes as he recalled the bloody scene. "I am going to help you, Messer, so just shut up, would you?" He followed Lindsay out to the parking lot, pushing the chair as close to the truck as he could get. His hands as he lifted Danny out of the wheelchair and into the front seat of the truck were gentle, and Danny was seated before he could do more than open his mouth, but not before he could roll his eyes.

"I'll meet you at home, Mick. Drive like a reasonably sensible human being, would you please, and not like you're trying to break in a particularly nasty horse?"

His only response was a quick grin and a flip of the hand at his mother.

The long trip out to the ranch was quiet. Both Danny and Lindsay dozed in their respective seats. When Danny roused at one point and looked out the window at endless winter-empty fields and snow-capped mountains rising in the distance, he realized that he had driven that same road perhaps three times, and had seen virtually none of the surrounding countryside. As his eyes shut again, he thought wryly his record was still unblemished.

When they got to the ranch, Mick took Lindsay in first, picking her up against her protests and sternly telling Danny to stay still, "I'll be back for you in a moment, and if you've moved I'll break something. You, for preference."

Lindsay relaxed once Mick placed her in a chair in the living room, instead of taking her upstairs to her bedroom, as she had thought he might. "You are a big bully, Mick Monroe."

"Yes. Yes, I am. But I'm good at it. Stay there. I mean it. I don't want you to see what I do to Messer." Mick glanced out the window to see Danny standing beside the truck, leaning against it heavily to get his breath back. "Geez, Linds, you had to find someone even more stubborn than you are?"

"Who else would put up with me?" she answered dryly.

Mick jogged out to the front yard and stepped up beside Danny, "Stupid ass," he said mildly, putting a strong hand under Danny's arm.

"Bossy ox," Danny grunted back through clenched teeth. "Give me a minute to catch my breath and I can still take you."

"How? By biting my legs off?"

Danny nearly fell over, he laughed so hard. He relaxed a little against Mick, allowing him to take some of his weight. By the time he was on the couch in the same room as Lindsay, he was white and sweating, but his eyes sparkled mischievously as he grinned at her.

"So, I think I'm starting to understand something about you, Montana. Did they boss you around the whole time you were growing up?"

"Unmercifully!" she said with a sideway glance at her brother.

Mick stalked out of the room, grumbling under his breath, "You try to be nice."

She put her head back and laughed for the first time, it felt, in weeks. Danny reached out and grabbed her hand, linking her fingers with his.

And for a fragile moment, they were balanced, one with the other.