Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.
A/N: Yay! Alerts are finally back up (does happy dance). Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing anyway. If I didn't respond your review, please PM me and let me know – I tried to keep everything straight.
Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
Family Ties that Bind: A Skipping Rhyme
Mama, rock your baby to sleep;
Pray the Lord his soul to keep.
If he dies while you're awake
That's the last mistake you make.
Papa, hold your baby boy,
Hold him up, your pride and joy.
Keep him quiet, have no fear,
Do it right, no one can hear.
But hush little baby and don't you cry,
Or a curse will be your lullaby.
No one wanted you to be born;
No one cares for you come the morn.
Your father's a coward,
Your mother's a whore
Your brother's a hoodlum
And that's the score.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 …
SMT2007
Chapter 11: Skipping the Past
"Are you finished, Danny?" Diane began to clear the table, looking approvingly at the empty bowl in front of her guest.
"Thank you, Diane. That was excellent soup. I feel better on the outside of that," Danny grinned up at her easily.
"Well, anything has to be better than hospital food, I guess. Now, Jamie's room is still made up for you, and I'm going to suggest a lie down for both you and Lindsay. I don't want Chris coming after me if there are any relapses." Diane didn't miss the glint in Danny's eye; she knew that he knew she was counting on them both to lie down so that the other one would. That was okay; she didn't mind being transparent, as long as she got her way in the end.
Lindsay looked over at Danny with worry in her eyes. Unlike him, she had had only a few mouthfuls of soup, and was still toying with a piece of bread. "I just want to phone the hospital and check on John McKim, Mom. Then I promise …"
"Linds, Jenny will phone us here if there is any change. You can't do anything for him, honey." Diane said it quietly, but with an underlying hint of steel.
"Mom," Lindsay opened her mouth to argue, but it was the careful blankness in Danny's eyes that stopped her cold. She nodded once, shortly, and sighed. "Okay. You'll let me know?"
"Of course I will. And I'll phone at shift change as well and check in. The minute anything happens, we'll know, I promise. Your brother will be checking as well, you know. And his dad is flying in today from Sacramento. He won't be alone."
Lindsay nodded again, blinking back the tears that still seemed to come so easily. Without thinking about it, her hand reached for Danny's, and she felt the warmth filling her as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
"Come on, Messer. Let's go for our naps." She tried to smile, and was rewarded with his answering grin as he struggled to get out of the chair without letting go of her hand.
She led him up the stairs to Jamie's room. "My room is just down the hall if you need anything. Oh, I guess you know that, don't you?" She startled a slightly guilty look in his eyes, but decided not to push for an explanation. Once again, a wave of exhaustion was threatening to knock her feet out from under her; she could feel her head beginning to float, and turned away to go to her own room, leaving Danny at the door.
When she got to her room, she curled up on her bed, pulling the quilt her grandmother had made for her thirteenth birthday over her and closing her eyes. For some reason, it smelled like Danny.
"Obsessed. You really are obsessed," she scolded herself.
She knew she had to sleep; she could feel pressure building in her head, and the pain she had pushed aside and ignored for the past two days was pushing back like a bully on a school ground. With a shudder, she gave in, and fell asleep as if she had been knocked unconscious.
Danny watched her walk down the hall, and waited a few minutes more, listening for any movement in her room. When he eventually ventured to her door, he saw with relief that she was already asleep. He stood for just a moment, watching her. If he had been able to, he thought, he would have just stood guard over her sleep from the chair beside her bed. But he wasn't stupid, although some called him pig-headed. His body was screaming for relief and as he had already flushed his pain pills, sleep would have to be the cure.
Back in Jamie's room, he pulled off his shoes and lay down on his side, pulling the quilt over him and closing his eyes. He had dealt with pain before, and knew the first trick was to isolate where it hurt, then figure out why. He ran his fingers lightly over the bandage across his stomach; he could feel the itchy pull of stitches both there and on his back. Luckily, the surgeon was old-fashioned and preferred not to use staples. Underneath that surface annoyance, he could feel the scream of muscles already struggling to rebuild themselves after the insult of hot metal tearing through them.
Regulating his breathing deliberately, Danny sought sleep as if it were a suspect to be interrogated.
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"Mama, non il dell'armadietto. Prego no. Sarò buono. Non griderò. Per favore. Per favore. Sono impaurito dei ratti."
"Christ Jesus, will you listen to him? He sounds like a little Eytie instead of an American kid. Speak English, you little shit. What do you want? Tell Mommy what you want?"
"Don't put me in the cupboard, Mama. Please. I promise I'll be quiet. I promise I won't cry. Louie says there are rats in the cupboard and they'll eat off my fingers and my toes. Please not in the cupboard."
"What's going on here?"
"Papa, I don't want to go into the cupboard. Please, Papa."
"Listen to the little puke whine. He thinks we have rats, for Chrissakes. Don't I keep house better than that?"
"Louie, did you tell Danny there were rats in the cupboard?"
"I dunno."
"Come here, Louie! You leave you brother alone do you hear?"
"Ah! My ear! Leggo my friggin' ear, Dad!"
"Danny, you're too old to be scared of things that aren't there. Big boys of five don't cry. Dovete imparare essere un uomo, il mio figlio. Now apologize to your mother for thinking we have rats."
"I'm sorry, Mama."
"Go to bed, Danny. Louie, come and give your mommy a kiss. Look at the poor ear. A quick rub, it'll be all better. That's my brave boy, my big boy."
"Mo, must you treat Danny like that? He's still just a child. Mama says …"
"Oh, everybody be quiet. Wait to hear what Mama says. She who knows it all. Except for English of course. Six years in the bloody country, still speaks nothing but Italian."
The little boy's cheek throbbed in sympathetic pain as he heard his mother's head hit the wall in the hallway. He cowered in the centre of the bed, stifling his sobs.
"By God, I will have respect in my own home. You will not speak of my mother in that way."
"Hey, Danny? C'm here. I want to tell you something – havta whisper something."
"OWW!"
"That's for telling Dad. Little pissy, whining baby."
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"Danny? Danny, wake up. Danny, it's okay. I'm here."
Danny's eyes flew open to see Lindsay's worried face hovering over him. Without a word, he reached up and gathered her warm body against his, holding her as a shield to ward off whatever had been chasing him through the shadowed world he had been wandering in.
Lindsay said nothing, simply pressing as close to him as she could without hurting him. She ran her hand over his face, exploring him gently until he opened his eyes and looked into hers.
When their lips met, the kiss was warm and loving, a giving and sharing of comfort. Before the flood of longing and desire that had so shocked her in the hospital could rise, though, Lindsay broke the kiss and tucked her head under his chin.
"Danny, what does 'danno' mean?"
"It's what Steve McGarrett called Danny Williams on Hawaii 5-O: 'Book 'em, Danno!'" Danny closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in her scent.
"So, tell me why you mutter about Steve McGarrett in your sleep?" she said dryly. "You woke me up – you were yelling out."
"Sorry. Go back to sleep and be quiet," he grumbled. Pain was hitting him in waves and he was afraid that if he kept talking he might say something unforgivable.
Lindsay took a deep breath, as if to keep pushing, but he shook his head, keeping his eyes shut tight, "Please, Linds?"
She nodded once, and pulled the quilt he had pushed off in his thrashing around back over the both of them. With a sigh, she lay with her eyes open, as he twitched and muttered around her, caught once again by whatever memories or phantasms would not let him go.
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He was early. He was always early. And Lissa, he remembered, was always late. He resigned himself to waiting; she would bounce in, laughing and apologizing, telling him the whole story of how she had been on time, really – early even – but then a shoe had broken or a bus had been late or a cab driver had misheard and some great adventure had befallen her and now here she was and she wasn't really that late, was she, and oh sorry, but she'd make it up to him next time.
Sheldon grinned. Her idea of making it up to him next time was usually to come up with an even better story.
He never knew whether the stories were true. He suspected they were. Lissa Willette was a person to whom things happened. When they didn't happen, she went out and looked for them. She had fought her way through life on helping hands and her own determination and brains. Nothing stopped her for long.
The young waitress wandered over, snapping her gum and automatically adjusting her t-shirt to show off a little more skin. "Get you a drink, sir?"
"Thanks, I'll have a pint of whatever's on tap." He smiled at her casually.
"Charming the children already, I see," Lissa said dryly, stepping out behind the waitress.
"Hey, you're on time!" Sheldon kissed her on the cheek as he pulled out her chair for her and saw her settled.
"I'm always on time, Sheldon. Whenever I show up, it IS time!" Her laugh rang out through the already crowded restaurant. People looked over and smiled. Lissa drew attention wherever she was, Sheldon thought, in the best way possible. She made people feel better about themselves without saying a word.
"So, tell me how things are going with you? Aside from the whole 'dating a freakishly tall paramedic' thing, how's your social life been?" He took a long drink from the pint glass the waitress slopped in front of him, and waited while Lissa ordered white wine.
"What social life? I'm a doctor! I only see sick people every day."
"And then there are the patients!"
Her eyes sparkled at the old joke. University, med school, residency: they had had years to perfect the routines, Sheldon thought.
"What can I get you two tonight?" The young woman had been replaced by an older man who looked a little stressed. Mulvaney's on a Saturday was always as busy as the subway at rush hour.
"Two buckets of clams and a half dozen oysters in black bean sauce. One cioppino and one seafood linguine with both red and cream sauce, please," Sheldon rattled off the order without looking at Lissa until he had finished, noting with pleasure her wide smile, lighting up her dark face.
"And lots of bread, please," she added.
The waiter repeated the order efficiently and wove his way back to the kitchen.
"You remembered."
"It hasn't been that long, has it Lissa?"
"Four years since we went for dinner together without a crowd of other people," she said, calmly.
"No way!" Sheldon was sincerely shocked. Lissa was one of his best friends; it couldn't have been so long since they had spent time together.
"Just before you left the hospital. We sat over there," she pointed to a table in an isolated corner and went on, "And you told me you had applied to the ME's office. You never really explained why."
"I didn't really know why then. I couldn't handle people dying and not being able to do anything about it, Lissa. I couldn't handle talking to the families and telling them I didn't know enough, wasn't a good enough doctor to save the person they loved." Sheldon blew out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in.
"You were one of the best surgeons I have ever seen." Her voice remained neutral, but Hawkes could see the question in her eyes.
"I still am. But now I am looking for answers, reasons for the worst thing in the world to have happened. No one expects me to stop the worst thing in the world from happening."
Lissa nodded once, then sat back in her chair and took a sip of her wine. "So, tell me how your mom is doing."