Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.
A/N: Thank you to all those who review to let me know what you are enjoying, or are confused about, or would like to see happen. Thanks also to those are still reading along and, I hope, still interested in finding out what happens next!
Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
Heart Strung
There was a time when I was sure of you,
When your presence lent a truth to the world,
When the sheer knowledge of you was enough:
Like the feel of the earth beneath my feet,
Like the dance of the stars above my head,
Like the certainty that sun would rise,
And moon would set, day in and night out.
There was a time when sure was the beat
Heart to heart, with no pause or break.
But now the earth has shifted under me.
The moon does with the morning rise,
The stars come out to play with the sun.
If I cannot be sure of your spirit
Beat to beat with mine
Then how will I know that my heart
Continues to drum unbroken?
SMT2007
Chapter 50: On a Breath
"So Hawkes went to the hospital with the ambulance, and Mac went to the Garretts' to talk to Reed and sent me back here." Danny avoided Lindsay's eyes as he began to sort the evidence they had collected at the scene.
"I can't believe this," she said, folding her arms around her body as if she were cold. "Poor Hawkes. Is Dr. Suq all right?"
Danny shrugged, concentrating on the debris in front of him on the table, "The EMTs didn't pull the sheet over her face. That's all I can tell you. We bugged out with all the equipment, and then Mac got the call from the kid."
Lindsay shivered, "Mac had people on Natalie Chance. How could she be snatched?"
Danny glanced up. Lindsay was shaking and pale, and any resolutions he might have come to through a long and painful night were dashed in that moment. "C'm here."
If she could have resisted, she would have, she told herself, for his sake more than for her own. But once his arms were around her, once her head was resting above his wildly beating heart, she knew there was no turning back.
"Danny…" her voice trailed off as his lips moved over her temple, down one cheek, to finally touch on her mouth, a silent promise.
"I'm sorry, Linds."
"No." She shook her head before burying it against him again. "You don't need to be."
"I just needed … to think some stuff through. I shouldn't have shut you out." He held on a little tighter, running one hand through her hair.
"I know. It's okay. We'll talk when you are ready, Danny. Whenever that is."
"I want to keep you away from it all, you know? You shouldn't be covered in all the shit I grew up with."
Lindsay tilted her head back, running her fingers up his jaw to cup his face. "I am not the fragile thing you seem to think, Messer. Forget about the past few months. I can take nearly anything you throw at me. And no matter who your family is or was, you are the result."
She pulled his head down a little to rest her forehead against his. "You, Daniel Messer, are the result of all the shit you grew up in. And I happen to think you are pretty amazing. So don't protect me or try to keep me clean. I may not like dumpster-diving, but I prefer it to being kept in a nice sanitary lab away from the action." She looked around her with a dismissive air.
Danny couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face, "Does that mean you're volunteering for the next disgusting job we have on the board, Montana?"
"Not if it is someone else's turn, Messer." She touched her lips to his. "We good?"
He captured her mouth in a brief searing kiss, then whispered, "Give me another chance to get this right, okay?"
"All the chances you need, Danny. And we'll get it right together."
Their brief moment of comfort was interrupted by a beeping from one of the machines, and Lindsay grabbed the readout of the bomb components analysis, which she handed to Danny.
"Well, no big surprise there. Typical back-yard-bomber ANFO pipe bomb with ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel. Any idea what the detonator was? May give us a clue as to who the bomber was."
Lindsay shook her head, "Model builder's engine, like for a model airplane? Easily picked up by the dozen in thousands of hobby stores in the city."
Danny nodded, picking up the readouts, "I'll call it in to Flack, see what he wants to do next. I think he is going to interview the kids who trashed the place last week; Homeland Security never found the guy who headed up the gang."
Lindsay said, "I'll keep working; maybe I can break down the fertilizer, see if there is something unique in the chemical profile. I'll wait for word from Mac, too. Danny?"
He turned at the doorway with a smile, "Yes, Montana?"
"Dinner tonight? I'm cooking."
"Where you going to find buffalo in my city, Montana?"
Lindsay smiled in answer to Danny's cocky grin, but her face went serious as soon as he had moved down the hallway. She pulled her cell off her belt, and looked at the voice mail display. Messer 2:15 am. Unopened.
She bit her lip a moment, considered. Then, swiftly, so she wouldn't chicken out, she hit Erase.
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY
"Mrs. Garrett, I need for you to calm down. Detective Taylor will be here soon, and he will want to talk to Reed. In the meantime, I am here to take a preliminary statement from all of you."
Miranda Garrett turned toward the fireplace, her fingers over her mouth as if holding back a scream. "Reed … Reed is distraught. He can't talk to anyone now, much less one of the people who failed us."
"Miranda!" Reed's father came around the corner, and rushed to his wife's side, glancing apologetically at Flack, who seemed to fill the living room. "I'm sorry, Detective Flack. My wife is upset – she doesn't mean what she is saying. Reed is in his room. Miranda will go and get him now."
Miranda glared at him; then her face hardened and she repeated his words in a cold voice. "I will go and get Reed now, Detective." She stalked out of the room.
Peter Garrett threw himself down on the couch, running his hands through his curly hair so it stuck up off his head. "I do apologize again, Detective. I realize you are going to have to work with my wife – you are that Flack, aren't you? You are heading up the Organized Crimes Task Force?"
Flack nodded brusquely, "Where were you last night when Natalie Chance was here, Mr. Garrett?"
"Uh – I came home around 4:30." The man frowned, as if trying to remember the events. "I called up the stairs – Reed was in his room with Natalie."
Flack's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, just scribbling notes in his ubiquitous notebook.
Peter shrugged, "Miranda doesn't like girls going into Reed's room, but I can't see any difference. When he's at the dorm, we have no control over what he does. Why shouldn't he be comfortable at home?"
"Did you go up to see them?"
"No, I thought I would give them a chance to – you know – straighten up. I just went into the kitchen to start dinner."
"Is that your usual routine, sir?"
"Oh, yes. Miranda doesn't cook. The only thing she makes for dinner are reservations." The man smiled weakly; it was obviously a much-repeated joke. "And I cook early, because she has so many evening meetings. If she makes it home for dinner at all, we need to be finished by 6:15 at the latest most nights."
"Mr. Garrett …"
"Peter, please."
"Mr. Garrett," Flack said firmly, "Did you actually see Natalie leave the house?"
Peter shook his head. "I heard them come down the stairs – they were joking around, you know? Then the door opened – it squeaks. They stood for a minute talking or necking or whatever, so I called to let Reed know dinner was nearly ready. I heard the door slam a minute or so later."
"Was Mrs. Garrett home?"
"No. Not yet. She came home maybe fifteen minutes later, and I served up dinner then."
A new voice came from the door, "So I could have waited with Nat, walked her to the bus stop. I could have made sure she was safe before …"
Peter was out of his seat, enfolding Reed in his arms before the boy could finish his sentence. "I am so sorry, Reed. So sorry."
"It's not your fault, Reed. She was being followed, and not just by us."
Reed's face cleared and he turned with a glad shout, "Mac!"
"Hang in there, Reed. We're going to get her back." Mac Taylor patted Reed on the shoulder, then turned to Miranda, who was following her son. "Mrs. Garrett, just a few questions."
With only a slight scowl, Miranda led the way into the sitting room, taking centre stage as she sat elegantly in the wing chair by a window. Reed collapsed onto the floor beside her and looked up, hope shining in his eyes.
"We've canvassed the neighbours, and will be taking statements from the officer I had assigned to keep an eye on her." Mac's face was bleak, and Flack shuddered at the thought of that interview. The rookie had been out-flanked by an 18 year old in ballet flats. "Reed, did you notice anyone hanging around the house yesterday?"
Reed shook his head firmly, "No way. I've been watching – you know, because of what Nat said. I spotted your guy following me, and made sure I didn't lose him. I wish I had known you had someone on Nat too, Mac. I'd've warned her…" He swallowed hard.
"Okay, Reed. What about when you got home? Or when Natalie left to go to the bus. Anyone on the street then? A car that seemed out of place? People waiting for the bus?"
Reed frowned, "No. That time of day, the streets are pretty quiet. The Woodleys' car drove past; Keely waved to me from the back seat. She was going to ballet class. She's, like, five."
"She has a crush on Reed," Peter interjected.
Reed shrugged, "The Crowes' dog-walker was taking their poodles, Muffy and Buffy, for their walk, and didn't have their leashes tight enough. Give them an inch and they'll take the whole block. That used to be my job when I was in high school."
"Keep going, Reed. What else did you see?"
"The bus was coming up the street, and Nat ran for it. I watched her… she runs … really, really well." He choked for a minute, then struggled on, "It's the dancing, I guess. She was about ten feet away when a guy came up behind her; he kind of caught up to her, I guess, even though he wasn't running."
"Describe him," Flack said quietly.
"My height, not any taller. Slender, dark hair, wearing all black. Back pack and Converse sneakers. He … he …" Suddenly, Reed looked up, his eyes wide, losing any colour he had regained. "Mac, he's the one. The same one. The one Nat saw… and me. The one we told you about."
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY
"Dr. Hawkes? Dr. Hawkes." The young nurse put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at her, eyes still red-rimmed and bloodshot from the dust and debris at the clinic.
"Dr. Suq's doctor would like to talk to you. And Drs. Beniamin and O'Conal are outside too." The nurse stopped for a minute, then giggled a little breathlessly. "Wow, that is like totally a lot of doctors!"
Sheldon stood up wearily, and bent over Nasreen's still unconscious form on the bed. He stood and brushed a kiss against her forehead, carefully avoiding her bandaged, burned hands and wrists as well as the tubes delivering fluids and oxygen to keep her stable and comfortable.
"Sheldon, thank you," Miriam whispered as she hugged him, passing him on to Kathleen, who asked anxiously, "She is going to be okay, isn't she? She looks so grey."
"She's suffering from trauma," Lissa said, her professional tone slightly warmer than it would normally be. "Her injuries have been taken care of, and there shouldn't be any long-lasting effects physically, at least."
"What are you saying, Lissa? Or rather, not saying?" Hawkes leaned against the wall wearily, acutely conscious of the woman in the bed behind him, and the woman in her Emergency Room scrubs in front of him.
"She's not waking up," Lissa said bluntly. "She should be awake, Shel. There's no reason for her not to be, not physically, at least. We'll keep on her on this floor until all her vitals are stable, but if she doesn't improve, we'll have to move her. To the fifth floor." She watched him carefully, and suppressed a sigh as he slumped.
"Why? What's on the fifth floor? I don't have privileges here, Miri – what's on the fifth floor?"
"Coma. Kat, Lissa is saying Nasreen may be in a coma."
"No. No, she just hasn't woken up yet. You said there was no trauma to the head. You said it was mostly superficial. Lissa? Why won't she wake up?"
Lissa took Kathleen's hand in hers. "Kat, she may not choose to wake up."
Hawkes turned away to stare through the window in the door.
"What do you mean? Of course she wants to wake up. Shel? Tell her. Tell Nasreen to wake up."
Miriam wrapped her arms around the distraught Kathleen, soothing her in a quiet voice as she led her away.
Lissa looked at Hawkes hesitantly for a moment, then said on a sigh, "Sometimes, if they are talked to, coma patients respond. It is worth a try."
Hawkes shrugged tense shoulders, "You know there's no solid proof of that."
"No. No proof. But to the best of my knowledge, there is no evidence that standing outside a patient's room grinding your fist into a wall does any good either." Lissa waited a moment, then said softly, "Go talk to her, Sheldon. Tell her what you are thinking. Maybe even tell her what you are feeling."
"If I had any idea what I was thinking and feeling, I might be able to do that, Lis." Hawkes' phone rang and he glanced down at the call display with a slight grimace. "Try to get Kathleen in to talk to her, would you? I think Kathleen needs that."
Lissa nodded as he moved quickly out of the hallway, answering his phone as soon as it was safe. She took his place at the window, staring at the silent figure, dark against the crisp white of the hospital bed.