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

A/N:Grazie to Silvara71, who has generously corrected the Italian – I feel so much better knowing people may be able to understand it now!

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

Kill You Fast

Cruel nip of frost on tender buds –

Snow covered spring blossom –

Crushed.

Killing wind that wounds

Severed trees old before time –

Channel through living flesh.

Shock of lightning cuts gaps in the air.

Kill You Slow

Heat baking moisture out of eyeballs too sore to blink –

Arid soil too tired to sustain the life clinging to the edges –

Draining vital energy to pale exhaustion –

Mock fertility of deep brown loam leeched to poverty.

Barren soil producing weak twisted fruits –

The struggle to survive to thrive to stay alive –

Beaten down by time crushing like boulders.

Chapter 30: Keeping a Secret

Danny slid into the booth, accepting the cup of coffee automatically placed on the table in front of him, and dumping two containers of cream in before sampling it and grimacing quickly. He sat back, leaning into the corner of the booth he had picked for its view of both the front and the back door, one leg up on the bench, and settled down for a long wait. Even when she was born, Nikki hadn't been on time, making her mother Angela wait nearly a week before making her grand entrance, screaming like an opera star, according to family legend.

Danny glanced round the room; it was years since he had been in Mama Antonia's diner. They all used to hang out here: the boys from the neighbourhood sitting in the very booth he was in now – the girls across the room so they could walk by the boys on their way to the bathroom to flirt and giggle and come back out of the facilities on a wave of Charlie and bubblegum lip gloss. Just a whiff of those scents in combination was still enough to give him an embarrassingly teenage hard-on.

Over in the corner was a jukebox, still filled with the old standards: Sinatra, Vic Damone, Frankie Laine. They'd managed to sneak a little modern culture onto the list: The Police, Queen, Foreigner. They'd even talked Mama Antonia (yes, there was a real Mama Antonia) into allowing Madonna on for about a week. Then they made the mistake of putting on "Papa, Don't Preach" while Mama was actually in the restaurant, and had all suffered the humiliation of being soundly beaten around the head in disgust.

Danny could see them all now, running out the door laughing, fending off a four foot nothing Italian grandmother dressed head to toe in black, brandishing a wooden spoon, and screaming out, "Uscite fuori dal mio ristorante, piccoli malvagi ragazzi... Dio perdoni i vostri cattivi modi e vi riporti nella Sua grazia... malefici ragazzi...Diavoli..." The boys had boiled out onto the street: perhaps a dozen or so, followed by the mocking calls of the girls lined up against the windows.

In a perfect New York moment, they should have gone down the street singing and dancing to a Bernstein beat, Danny thought cynically. Instead, what had started as a retreat swiftly turned into a riot. When the first window had smashed, he had been shocked: only 14 years old, still choking his way through that first pack of smokes, hanging with the big boys for the first time. Within minutes, the street was a mess of broken glass and smashed merchandise – the corner store where the boys had been refused alcohol and cigarettes earlier that night was the first target.

Danny had followed along for a block or so, but the cops had shown up quickly – they policed the area pretty well even back then. He had stepped back into the shadows of an alley when he saw the ring-leaders get grabbed first – the beat cops all knew who the top dogs were – and had turned to go with a sigh of relief when he had walked straight into a blue uniform. He had looked, it seemed, a long way up, before meeting a pair of bright blue eyes.

"And where do you think you are off to, my son?"

"I'm not your son, copper," he had spit out, full of bravado.

"No, he's too smart to get caught up in this kind of stupid shit." The cop had pushed back his hat with a weary sigh. "Besides, he's at home sleeping, where you and your little buddies should be."

"Fuck off," Danny had muttered under his breath. Glancing over his shoulder, he had seen his brother Louie and best friend Tony Mancuso being helped into the back seat of a cruiser. His mother had blamed him for that, just as he had known she would, when the cop had brought him home, thrusting him through the door at his mother, who stood tall and cold, closing the door when he opened his mouth to say something.

Danny was startled out of his reverie when a flurry of red jacket and long dark hair fell into the seat across from him, a stream of words cascading between shiny pink lips and white teeth.

"Oh my God, Danny, whatever made you pick this place of all things – talk about the ghost of Christmases past, and Hallowe'ens and nearly every high school dance we ever went to – do you think Mama is still alive? – she couldn't possibly be, could she? – she must have been about a hundred when we were kids – we could have met up town – I never expected to see you out on the Island tonight – it's a long way to come – I'm sorry about this but I needed to talk to you and I just had to do it now before Papa pulls the plug – I mean he hasn't said he's going to but I just know he is – I can feel it…"

Danny sat back and waited patiently until the flood began to slow, and then said quietly with a grin, "And hello to you too, Nikki."

She grinned at him, "Are you eating? Mama's pie is still the best around, although how an Italian can be so good at American apple pie is beyond me."

She nodded her appreciation for the hot coffee that the bored teenager presently waiting for a more exciting life to happen to her placed in front of her.

Danny shook his head, "Can't stay long. What does your dad want, Nikki?"

"Hey copper, yard it back, 'kay? This doesn't have anything to do with Gino Messer; you know I don't have anything to do with the business…"

"Except live off it," Danny muttered.

A flash of hurt ran over Nikki's face before she spat out, "Actually, if you could see anything this family does over that pious 'I'm-too-good-for-you-now' cop attitude of yours, you'd know I've been supporting myself for three years now, working two jobs. But that's fine; I'd hate to offend your NYPD sensibilities by forcing you to associate with a member of your low-life family." She started to slide out of the booth, her eyes stormy, but Danny grabbed her arm.

"Don't. Nikki, I'm sorry," he muttered, thoroughly ashamed of himself. He ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck, where the headache presently blinding him radiated from. "It's been a bad coupla' weeks. What do you want?"

Cautiously, Nikki slid back in to the seat, and took a sip of the coffee, grimacing and adding cream just as Danny had earlier. "You'd think they could wash the coffee pot out once a decade," she said under her breath.

"Then all that good flavour would be gone," Danny flashed a grin and a hint of the cocky kid she had grown up with before the shutters came down again. "Tell me what you need, Nik."

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

"Stella?"

"Linds? What on earth is wrong?" Stella clutched the phone anxiously; she could hear Lindsay crying on the other end.

"He's gone, Stel. And he didn't take his cell phone and I don't know where he is and he's been gone for hours," Lindsay was gasping as the words tumbled out.

"Okay, breathe, Lindsay. Breathe. Don't make me come over there and slap you – I might enjoy it a little too much right about now," Stella said through her teeth. Damn Danny, anyway. And Don. In fact, to be safe, just damn all men to hell and away tonight. "Lindsay, he's fine. He knows this city inside and out. Where did he go?"

"He went to meet his cousin, Nikki. Stella, she's Gino Messer's daughter. What if it's some kind of setup? What if he's in trouble somewhere? He left ages ago and he hasn't called…" Lindsay broke into sobs again.

Stella took a sharp breath, and prepared for meatball surgery. "Now look, Lindsay, there is no reason to think that he isn't just fine. He's been walking these streets since before you were born. And why would his uncle want to hurt him? Danny's not involved in anything that could worry Gino Messer. And if he wanted to get to Danny, he wouldn't need to use Nikki in the first place. You are really over-reacting here."

Lindsay gulped down a sob, and Stella could feel her reaching for control. "I'm sorry, Stel. You're right, I know. It's just … I called his phone, you know? And it rang here in my living room – he didn't take it. He always has his phone."

Stella sighed. "So he was at your place? Maybe he just forgot his phone. Lindsay, stop driving yourself insane. Have you called his place? Maybe he went home."

"He's not there, either. Could he have gone to his parents', do you think? They live out on Staten Island, don't they?"

Stella said slowly, "He went to Staten Island to meet Nikki?" A flash of Don's face flickered across her memory, "You have to stay in the car, though, okay? I don't want them to see you."

"To Mama – Something's, a diner they used to hang out at. Why?" Lindsay's voice sharpened. "What? Why shouldn't he go to Staten Island?"

"No reason, Lindsay. Breathe. Look, do you want me to come over and wait with you?" Stella tried to keep her voice patient.

She was heartened to hear a watery giggle on the other end of the line, "Not if it means you're going to slap me, no!"

Stella laughed, "That's better! Now look, I'll come over if you really think there is something wrong."

"No. I'm sure you're right. I just panicked. I'm over it now."

Stella took in a deep breath. Now or never. "No," she said bluntly. "You're not. And I've decided what you are going to do about it."

Stella talked fast, washing over all of Lindsay's objections, pushing her until finally Lindsay agreed, rather grudgingly, to meet Stella in the morning.

"We'll talk about it then," Lindsay said, "But I still don't see what good is going to come of it. Stel, could you wait a minute? There's someone at the door."

Stella waited impatiently for a moment, staring at her own door, waiting for a knock on it, some sign that she had not been left behind. Then she heard Lindsay's voice, hushed and a little hurried, "Stella? Yeah, it's Danny. He's okay. You were right. I'm sorry if I worried you."

"That's okay, kiddo. Just don't mess me up tomorrow, okay? You promised. I'll meet you at 10:00." Stella made her voice as stern as possible.

"Yeah. Yeah, I promise. Ten tomorrow," Lindsay said, distracted and still worried sounding. "I promise."

Stella put down her phone when she heard the buzzing on the other end. She wandered to her window and pulled back the curtain, looking out over the dark, busy streets of New York. With a snap, she pulled them shut. He hadn't said he would come by, hadn't told her to wait for him. The pasta sauce she had made was still simmering on the stove, making her feel edgy and needy. Damn. She didn't know if she could cope with a low-carb diet, but she was sure she wouldn't be making pasta again any time soon, either.

She curled up on the couch, grabbed the remote, and began to cruise through the stations, humming Springsteen's "57 Channels and Nothing on" under her breath. Only now it was more like 150 channels. How could there still be nothing worth watching?

And how was it that after years of living on her own, luxuriating in her own space, she was now unable to settle, to find something to do?

Restlessly, she turned off the television and wandered over to the window again. This time she jumped back. There was someone standing in the shadows, watching her.

It took her a moment to calm herself, force her heartbeat to slow down. By the time she moved to the window again, he was gone. She moved swiftly to the door, throwing it open as he came close.

His hair and the shoulders of his trenchcoat were damp from the drizzling rain that had gone on all day. He smelled of misery and smoke and whiskey, as if he had stopped at a bar on his way to her. His eyes were fogged and dulled. He stood, swaying slightly, on the threshold, not stepping forward through the door.

"Don?"

Her voice seemed to break the spell, and he fell into her open arms, wrapping himself around her so tightly she couldn't breathe.

"He's dying, Stella. He's dying, and even then, I still had to be a cop. Even now, I still have to be a cop."

She could barely hear the words, but feeling his body shake in her embrace was enough. She held him close for a moment, until the tension in him began to loosen, then swiftly pulled him all the way into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. She led him into the bedroom, forgoing the dinner she had planned hours ago. She left the lights off, pulling open a curtain a few inches so the streetlights were the only illumination. She took off his coat, hanging it in the bathroom, and came back with a towel to find he had not moved.

Slowly, she helped him remove his damp clothing, drying his hair and face with the towel. He stood, passive, until she gently pushed him down on the bed to take off his shoes and socks.

"I'm so tired, Stella. I don't know what to do next. My mom – Danny. How do I tell them? Or do I just keep it, hold onto it?"

"Shh, it's alright, Don. We'll work it all out in the morning." She could barely understand the words he mumbled through rain-cold lips. She pulled the covers back and tucked him into her bed, quickly pulling off the sweatshirt and jeans she had been wearing, and crawling in beside him, curled against him to warm him.

And when he turned to her in wretched need, when he buried himself in her warmth, when he shuddered his way to climax, and fell into unconsciousness, she could only follow him, guide him, and finally hold him safe against the terrors of the night he had brought with him.

When she woke in the morning, he was gone.