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

A/N: Thanks to all my readers, and those who let me know what they think about the story. I appreciate all the support this story has had.

Thanks to Prefect Rachel, not only for the beta, but also for the gift of Natalie Chance, her OC from the story "His Boys". Anything that rings true in Natalie and Reed's relationship comes from her.

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

Waiting for You

A breath, a sigh, a piece of a dream

And a moment of time that will never return.

A touch, a kiss, the press of a hand

Are the focus and centre of all that I do.

A dream, a cry, a touch in the night

A refuge and safe place from all that I face:

The lies, the pain, the casual violence

The hate, the fear, the blinding indifference

The death of all the soft and the loving thoughts

All brought to life again

All given force again

All finding peace

In you.

SMT2007

Chapter 46: Coming to the Rescue

"Natalie?" It was Reed's voice, sounding small and scared.

She swallowed hard and said, "What's up, Reed?"

She'd wanted it to come out light-hearted, teasing, normal. But her
 voice squeaked on the "up" and flattened on the "Reed", leaving her
 apprehension sitting in the middle of the conversation like a large
 hairy dog.

"My mom. She's not … She wasn't … Mac said …" It was as if he
 couldn't catch a full breath, couldn't make the words come out. She
 thought he was crying, but didn't know how to ask.

"Babe, it's okay, it's okay. Calm down, I'm here, I'm right here. Where are you?" She tried to control the shaking in her voice, in her hands. She was afraid she would drop her cell, and grasped it
 tightly in both hands, tiny though it was. She was on her feet and 
moving fast, out of the dorm room, down the stairs, pausing only to
 grab her backpack. She didn't know where she was going, but she felt
 a frantic urge to get there in time.

"I'm home. At my parents'. Can you come? Natalie? I need to talk to you."

"I'm on my way, sweetie. It'll take me 20 minutes, maybe?" She said it as a question, as if she hoped those twenty minutes wouldn't be too long for him, as if he might slip away in that time. "Are you 
okay? Are things okay?"

She was running now, her breath short and choppy, pushing her 
way through the students walking in large laughing groups, freed from
 classes for the day, making plans for study groups and parties, for
pizza and beer. She was heading towards the main bus loop, but so was
 most of Chelsea's student body.

She bumped into one guy who seemed to be standing alone against the 
tide, and muttered, "Watch it!" as she ducked around him. She had
 almost dropped her cell, and she hung on with desperate hands to her
 only link to Reed. The bus she needed was just pulling into the stop,
 and she sped up to catch it. She flashed her bus pass at the unseeing driver.

"Reed? Talk to me, babe. I'm listening. I'm here. I have to catch my breath. I'm on the bus."

"I can't. There's too much to say. I can't do it on the phone. You're
 on the bus now?" His voice was quiet, the panic submerged but still
 bubbling under the surface.

"Yes. Sweetie, you aren't alone, are you? Is your mom with you? Your dad? Anybody?" Natalie was trying to breathe normally, but anxiety kept
 stepping in and knocking her off balance.

"Everyone's here," he said wearily. Since his kidnapping, Reed had reluctantly moved back home. Miranda had yelled; Peter had begged. He had held out against them both for two days.

Mac had simply said, "Reed, you'll stay at your parents' place."

And Reed had nodded, packed his bag, and shown up on his mother's doorstep.

Natalie said, "Fuck, there's a traffic jam on the bridge, for fuck's sake. Oh, no. No, it's okay. It's okay;
 we're moving again."

"I'll wait for you at the stop near my house, in about 15 minutes, then?"

"Okay. Wait for me there. Reed, I'm coming, babe. Just wait for me." She
 closed up her phone and stared blindly out the window.

It would have taken a trained observer to notice she was being 
followed. It would have taken a trained observer to see the
 involuntary scowl of dismay the young man in jean jacket, leather
backpack, and expensive running shoes gave as the bus doors closed in 
his face. Only a trained observer would have noticed him wince while speaking quietly into the Bluetooth he was sporting, the sheepish shrug as he accepted the sharp reprimand transmitted back into his ear.

But that young man was a trained observer, and even he missed the figure dressed casually in hooded black, old Converse sneaks with ragged laces, battered NYU pack on his back, the one who had reached the bus door a moment, no more, faster than the older man, the one who stepped onto the bus and walked purposefully to the back, where he sat two seats behind the bright young girl in the pink Chelsea U sweatshirt, her feet bouncing nervously as she willed the bus to go a little faster.

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

The three detectives walked silently to Stella's car, Lindsay moving blindly, stumbling every so often. Stella fell back with John for a minute.

"What did you find out?" she said quietly.

"Mauser did tell his grandson that the Sassone baby grew up to be an FBI agent," John replied, "He had heard it through one of his sources. I didn't quite get all the connections he was talking about, but it seems that Sassone the elder, Lorenzo's father, kept an eye on the kid. He was adopted out of New Jersey – that's where Maureen was sent."

Stella nodded slowly, still watching Lindsay. "Get a name?"

John shook his head, "Not for sure: the old man was getting tired, and a little drunk."

Stella rolled her eyes and John shrugged, unrepentant.

"Got a couple of possibles." His eyes were cold. "I'll do a little more digging."

Stella looked up at him. "It is possible he's a good agent, you know."

John smiled down on her. "I'll keep that in mind, I assure you."

The drive back into the city was quiet: Lindsay curled up in the back of the car, Stella speaking only to point out to John rather unique sites in New York City, like Tiffany's and other case-related buildings. They were nearly back at the lab when Lindsay suddenly spoke up, colourlessly. "Could you take me to Danny's place, Stella?"

Stella looked at her in the rear-view mirror carefully, but shrugged and nodded. "What about you, John? Where can I drop you?"

John glanced at his sister, "Am I staying at your place?"

She handed him a set of keys, and explained which was which. He noticed that she did not look him in the eyes.

"You okay, Peanut?" He turned around to look at her, still huddled in the back seat.

She shook her head. "I don't know what to do now."

"About what?" John said quietly.

"He didn't tell me any of this, John. He doesn't want me to know. And now I do – I deliberately went behind his back to find out about him and his family." Lindsay shuddered; could Danny's nightmares really have stemmed from his mother? Could any mother treat her child like that? She had heard only bits and pieces, but she would never forget the horror of hearing Danny, so strong and confident, whimpering in fear and pain as he woke, crying out in Italian.

John nodded, risking a quick glance at Stella when Lindsay briefly closed her eyes. She looked back at him uncertainly. "Damn. I knew this was going to bite me," she thought wearily. Out loud, she said, "Look, Lindsay, he probably didn't want you to know about this. I know Danny, and he's proud. Maybe a little too proud."

She waited until Lindsay gave a little nod, showing she was paying attention. "So he wants to be all strong and invulnerable for you. Where does that leave you?" Stella's voice rose just a little. "I'll tell you. Nowhere. Sitting around waiting for him to tell you what's going on inside him - what's driving him so crazy he can't sleep or eat or take care of the most basic of things."

She stopped, realizing she had maybe exposed herself a little more than she had planned. John and Lindsay studiously looked out opposite windows. Her phone beeped with an incoming text message, and as she stopped at the next light, she read it quickly, then again before the light changed. With a muttered curse, she snapped the phone shut and caught her breath. Lindsay was looking down at her hands now, and Stella could see she was close to tears.

She grimaced a little and started again, a little quieter. "So, sometimes you have to push your way in. Otherwise, he just might succeed in pushing you out."

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

Adam looked at the clock nervously again. "No matter how many times you look at it, moron, it won't go any faster than one minute at a time," he reminded himself. Years of watching clocks had obviously taught him nothing, he thought.

"I'll start this test, and it will be finished by 10 o'clock," he said under his breath.

"Adam? If you're talking to yourself, it's probably time to book out," a quiet voice said from behind, startling him enough so that the test-tube he was carefully holding went flying out of his hand.

"Whoa," Hawkes said as he caught the fragile glass tube in one hand before it had a chance to drop to the floor. "Good thing you had that stoppered, buddy."

Adam nodded nervously and reached out for the evidence. "Liquid trace from a crime scene," he explained briefly, "Just going to analyse it." He placed it in the relevant machine and turned back to Hawkes. "Do you need something? I'm actually off – well, not until 10, actually – although I should have been off at 6 but something came up and I had to deal with the trace from this scene and …" he faded uncertainly at the patient look on Hawkes' face.

"How come you're booking so much over-time these days, man?" Hawkes said casually. He had been watching Adam carefully since Danny and Lindsay had come back from Montana.

"Need the money, at the moment," Adam said with a private grin, thinking about the reservations he had made for a fancy French restaurant on the West Side. Mac and cheese for the rest of the week, he thought, but it ought to be worth it.

Hawkes raised an eyebrow, but Adam didn't respond, looking a little lost in his own world. Hawkes decided the dreamy look in his eyes has less to do with mourning the loss of Lindsay to Danny, and more to do with some new interest, so he decided stop worrying about the lab tech for the time being.

"So, this trace from my crime scene?" he said patiently, "What is it exactly?"

"Oh – uh – yeah, sorry. It looks to be a combination of isohumulones, alcohol, CO2, 4-O-α-D-Glucopyranosyl-D-glucose, and H2O…" Adam started.

"Beer?" Hawkes looked up from the file he had been skimming through, "Beer and water?"

"Together with corticosteroids, urea, creatinine and ureic acid," the tech finished off.

"Beer, water, and piss." Hawkes shook his head, disgusted. "That's our mystery liquid?"

"Yep. Just another Saturday night in the dorms." Adam shook his head and turned back to look at the clock and saw to his relief that it was a few minutes to 10 o'clock – just enough time to pack up his station and get down to the lobby. "Anything else you need from me, Doc?"

Hawkes shook his head, already absorbed in the implications of this additional evidence. Why was it chemicals made so much sense until they all got put together into one living, breathing, contradictory person? The biggest mystery he had ever faced on the job had nothing on women, he thought glumly.

"Hey, Adam," he said over his shoulder as he left the lab to go back to the body, "Have fun tonight."

Reflected in the glass window, he could see the grin spread over Adam's face.

Adam packed up his station, humming under his breath, glancing at the clock. He wanted to be down in the lobby waiting for Aisha; she wouldn't be allowed past the waiting area and he didn't want to risk her leaving. On the other hand, he wasn't perfectly sure she would show up, so he was a little hesitant about hanging out in the lobby where everyone would figure out he had been stood up.

When his cell went off, he flipped it open absently, answering "Yeah?" as he finished securing the evidence he had been working on.

"Adam? Am I in the right place? There's a guy here with a gun looking at me funny."

"Aisha? I'm sorry – uh, you're early – I wasn't expecting – I'm sorry – I'll be right down…" he could feel the blush starting, and knocked a stack of files of the table as he spun around to grab his coat. "Shit. Look, Aisha, just sit tight, okay? I'll be just a second. Don't …"

"I'm sitting in the lobby, Adam. I'm not going anywhere." There was an undercurrent of amusement in Aisha's voice, and he blushed again.

By the time he was in the glassed-in elevator, he had nearly got his breath under control again. That peaceful state lasted until he was two floors above the lobby, and caught sight of Aisha. At that point all the breath left his body, and he felt as if he had orbited into deep space.

She was sitting demurely in one of the uncomfortable chairs, her long legs crossed and her coat pushed off her bare shoulders. Thin golden chains held a wisp of chocolate coloured fabric over her breasts, flowing down over her body to end mid-thigh. His eyes ran over smooth brown skin to the deep red heels that he knew would have her standing taller than him. He swallowed hard, then noticed that several more people were in the lobby than would be normal at this time of night. It only took him a moment to realize that every person in the lobby was male, and surreptitiously or not, every man in the room was glued to Aisha's every breath.

By the time he stepped off the elevator, she was on her feet, moving towards him with a mysterious smile on her face. She stepped into his arms, and leaned forward to kiss him. He closed his eyes to savour the moment: the hottest girl in town, in his workplace lobby, and she was kissing him senseless. Waves of male jealousy very nearly pushed him onto his ass.

"Dinner?" Aisha said softly when she broke the kiss.

"Huh?" He could feel his brain scrambling to catch up to his tongue, which felt a little thick and slow.

"Where are we going for dinner?" she repeated slowly.

"Oh, yeah. Umm. We need a cab. How did you get here?" He took her hand, thrilling when she pressed up against him.

"I walked."

He glanced down at her shoes uncertainly. "Far?"

She laughed and ran a hand over his cheek, "I can go as far as we want, even in these shoes. I promise."

"I'll flag a cab."

French food, fine wine, a beautiful, intelligent woman that no man in a two mile radius could keep his eyes off – after two years out from Phoenix, Adam finally felt like a New Yorker.