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

A/N: I promised to try to keep updating this as I travel around the province,

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

Tell Me You Love Me

When you tell me how you feel

Tell me in words I can understand:

The words I learned at my mother's knee,

The words that speak of home and love.

The words that trip so sweetly off your tongue –

Like the music of the spheres, the lyrics of the Gods –

Thrill and enchant me, a spell woven around my heart,

But they might as well be mere notes on the page.

Without the passion in your voice,

They mean no more to me than birdsong.

Tell me in the words of the home I left for you

What you feel for me.

SMT2007

Chapter 32: Anticipation

To: Aisha Blanco

From: Adam Ross

Subject: Tonight

Hey – look, are you still up for this tonight? Only the crap is flying at work and I might not be able to get off – we're still short-handed and now something else has come up with my boss and every time he comes into the lab he looks ready to snap in two and I don't know if I can get away on time and I don't want to make you wait for me 'cuz it could be a really long wait if something else gets thrown at me today

Anyway, I want to be there don't get me wrong but if I don't show up it's not 'cuz I didn't want to or anything it'll be okay if Danny and Lindsay come in today but they're really not supposed to be working and so if things get busy I don't know

Okay so I'll be there at 7pm. Maybe 7:30.

Just phone me

Adam

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

"Mac, Danny processed the evidence in the Harlem case before he left. I've got the results."

"Do they help?"

"Not much. No CODIS hits for the saliva found on the mouthpiece, but the fingerprints got a hit in AFIS."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Not really. Matched a John Collins – sheet for some pretty minor stuff back in the 1940s."

"The '40s? How old is the guy now? And how did his prints get in the system? I didn't realize they'd input data from so long ago."

"His file and a bunch of others were included as part of a training programme about ten years ago. Guess the perps were low profile enough it didn't matter if the info was accurate. Anyway, the guy would be in his 80s now. Except for one thing."

"Which is?"

"He's dead. Died in 1975."

"So how did his fingerprints get on a trumpet with someone else's saliva on it?"

"No idea."

"This case is really going nowhere. Put it on the back burner until we find something new. Anything else come back yet?"

"The cellphone found with Reed Garrett?" Hawkes maintained the fiction the lab had tacitly agreed on, that the Garrett case was just another case, and nothing personal, but they all knew differently. Touch one member of Team Taylor, touch them all. But strike at the head of the team, prepare for war.

And war had just been declared: civil war.

"Yeah?"

"It came back to a hit in AFIS. Been a while, but the print matched old records."

"So? Who was it?"

"Antony Messer. Danny's father."

Mac said nothing, but Peyton, who was coming to his office with an offer of coffee, ran in when she saw his face, stopping dead when he raised his hand to cover his eyes.

Shit. His boys. Now two of his boys.

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

"Stop watching me, Montana." He didn't look up from the newspaper he was reading.

"What do you mean? I'm not watching you. Ego much?" She looked down defensively.

"I'm fine, Lindsay. I don't need an aspirin, I don't need a glass of water, I don't need to go lie down." His voice was consciously patient.

"What I need is for you to stop looking at me like I'm going to fall apart any second," he thought but did not say.

"I wasn't … okay, I was. You left the hospital too early." She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide the wince of pain as her shoulder ached.

"Me? You know, Linds, it's not even two weeks since you lost an argument with a truck. Don't! Don't you dare roll your eyes at me." He had promised himself he would not do this, that he would let Stella and her pet priest handle it. But she was closing off more and more. He couldn't breathe with the pain of her shutting him out. At least if he blew things sky-high, he might have a chance at catching something as it flew by.

"You limp if you're on your feet for more than 10 minutes. Every time you move, you hold your breath until you're still again. You eat less than Nicole Ritchie and you've lost at least five more pounds, and it's not like you had it to lose. You don't sleep more than an hour at a time, tops." He thrust his hands through his hair, leaving it standing up on his head, his blue eyes snapping with frustration. His voice was on a steady rise as he let go.

"You're back at work, even though you shouldn't be anywhere near the job, especially for another five hours today, and you won't talk to me. You won't even let me touch you. Christ, it's like rooming with my sister."

Her eyes flashed now. He wanted to fight, did he? This was easy; she was a woman; she was born for this fight. Her voice was cutting as she said, "So, this is about sex, is it, Messer? You haven't your rocks off since Montana? You feeling deprived?"

Her heart shriveled in her chest as the bitter words flowed into the room, hearing her own voice with a frozen sense of disbelief.

He stood and looked at her with dignity. "No," he answered her quietly. "This is not about sex. This is about love. I've told you I love you, Lindsay Monroe. I don't know what else to say. I love you. But this …" he indicated the distance between them, more emotional than physical, "is not what I want. And I can't believe it's what you want either. Let me know when you figure out what that is."

He made it to the door before he heard her soft voice, sobbing his name. Just that and nothing more, but it stopped him faster than a bullet.

They met in the middle of the room, hands reaching, bodies straining to get closer. She was suddenly, sharply reminded of his searching for her after she had set off the flash bomb in the Ghedi case. She could almost smell the smoke. She pressed her face against his shoulder, for the first time in days not worrying about how hard she held him, about the still healing wound in his side.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Danny." She repeated it over and over until his mouth covered hers, taking her apology and her breath in one move.

This time, when the heat flash came, she welcomed it, asked for it, even willed it to happen. His hands tightened on her hips convulsively as her mouth opened under his, her body moved against his. She could feel his instant response to her warmth and shook against him.

He broke the kiss, framing her face with his hands, and resting his forehead against hers. "Lindsay, I didn't mean … if you're not ready …"

She put her hand over his mouth. "I thought you wanted me?"

His eyes glazed over a little as she pressed her body against his, and he growled against her hand. "I love you," he whispered before taking her into waters so deep she knew she would drown if she didn't hold on to him, her hands tight on his biceps.

His hand wrapped around her neck and fisted tight in her hair, holding her in place as he ravaged her mouth. Even when her hand accidentally brushed against his side, he barely felt the twitching of his damaged body, so involved was he with drinking in her sweetness. When he caught her moan in his mouth, he knew he was done for.

Lindsay put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently until he stopped kissing her. At the flash of dismay in his eyes, she laughed, "I think we should move this to somewhere more comfortable, Danny."

He took a deep breath and nodded. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her off to the bedroom, but that was not going to happen anytime soon. He had to content himself with putting an arm around her and leading her down the hall. If he couldn't make it heartstoppingly passionate, he'd have to settle for heartbreakingly romantic instead.

He opened the curtains, so the late afternoon sun streamed into the room, warming it with a golden light. When he turned around, Lindsay was not in the room, but the bathroom door was closed, so he didn't panic. Instead, he looked around the room and found a few necessities.

When Lindsay came out of the bathroom, wearing only a t-shirt that stopped just above her thighs, music was playing on her sound system, the bedclothes were turned down, there was a candle burning in one corner of the room, and Danny, stripped down to boxers, was sitting on her bed. His eyes burned as he watched her cross the floor towards him.

She tried, she really did, but she could not help but glance at the purple and yellow bruising under his ribcage, the stitched and puckered wound on both his abdomen and back. He held out his hand and she sat beside him, but instead of ignoring what he plainly would prefer she not notice, she put a gentle hand on his side, just barely skimming her fingers over the visible reminder of how far he was prepared to go to protect her. Gently, she pushed him back against the pillows, and pressed her lips to the injury. He bit his lip as she moved her mouth across his belly, and up his chest. When her face was close to his, he pulled her body tight against him and covered her mouth with his again.

Music filled the room, soft and slow, dancing amongst the sunbeams that played in the corners, slanting across the end of the bed so their feet were bathed in light. They lay in each other's arms, tasting, exploring: kisses ranging from lingering sweetness to passionate demand, then gentling to something more playful.

"Sei tutto quello di cui ho bisogno, tutto ciò che desidero," Danny whispered in her ear, as he slid a hand under the t-shirt covering her. His hand was warm on her skin, sending shivers over her as he stroked her back. "Ho bisogno del tuo calore, del tuo fuoco... Mi sento davvero vivo solo quando sono dentro di te." The stream of muttered Italian sent her pulse racing. She didn't have to understand the words to feel the heat of his passion, hear his voice break on the words desidero and fuoco. She moaned as her body went limp in response to his hand cupping her breast, thumb gently teasing her nipple erect until his mouth captured it through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, his tongue quickly wetting the fabric, coaxing a quiver out of her.

She squirmed out of the t-shirt, needing to feel his skin against hers, needing the heat and the blood pulsing through her body. She arched up against him, drawing a groan from him as she pushed his boxers off his lean hips and down.

With hands and teeth and lips he explored her body, keeping her on the knife-edge of passion, neither letting her come down nor go over. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, wanted to scream but couldn't expand her lungs enough. She chanced a look at his face, and saw it tight with desire and longing, but more, saw the tell-tale signs of pain around the white lips and half-closed eyes, fogged with equal amounts of need and agony.

She thought for a moment of flipping him onto his back, but realized that wouldn't help; her shoulder made her no more up to athletics than he was. She bit her lip as his hand brushed her hair and she saw the beginning of a despondent apology on his lips. Be damned to that.

She wound one arm around his neck and brought him close for a soul-deep kiss, deliberately pulling them away from the frenzy for a moment. Then she let go and turned her back on him, lying on her side, spooned against him.

"Montana. I'm so sorry," he started on an anguished breath, his hand tracing a line down her neck and arm to wrap his fingers in hers.

She brought his hand to her mouth for a kiss, looked over her shoulder mischievously, and said again huskily, "I thought you wanted me, Messer." His eyes lit up and with only a little maneuvering, she felt him slip inside her, felt his hands on her hips. She cried out as he began thrusting, picking up speed until she felt his body go rigid as he buried himself in her. She was poised on the edge, the tension building again until she could feel every individual cell in her body start to quake. When his teeth found the nape of her neck with a growl, she felt herself finally go over with a shudder, spasming around him again and again.

They lay in each other's arms, completely wrung out. It seemed a long time before he moved, kissing her under the ear and whispering words of love and promises she almost believed.

When she realized he was speaking English, tears blurred her eyes. And once the tears began, she wasn't sure they would ever stop.