A/N #1: I offer the longest chapter yet as a small token of appreciation to my reviewers ... and to make up for the fact that it will be after Christmas before I can post another chapter. Enjoy. Merry Christmas!

A/N #2: Ooops. My bad. I left out an important piece of information--the basis for my deadline. I've edited the previous chapter--Gavin's execution is set for that night, at midnight. That is how Danny arrives at his time limit.

Chapter 5

Who knew that a dial tone could be deafening?

After delivering his one and only demand, Collier terminated the call, leaving Detective Taylor to deal with the consequences of their brief contact.

Mac's mind flashed through the preceding conversation, filtering out the riotous emotions and ranking the points in order of their importance. Three of his friends were hostages, one of them seriously injured. Priority would be given to getting Lindsay to a hospital. Their secondary but only slightly less urgent goal was getting Danny and Sheldon out without injury. A far distant third objective would be to save Nathan Collier from himself.

To do any of the three, they needed information.

He turned to Don Flack. The black-haired detective's eyes rested on a photograph perched on the corner of Mac's desk, a candid snapshot of the entire team at last year's Christmas party. A red, pink, and white, sequin-studded Santa hat perched at a jaunty angle on Danny Messer's head, the pompom end falling over his right eye. Lindsay stood beside him, giggling even as she struggled to hold up her partner's drunken weight.

Next to a warmly smiling Mac Taylor, Sheldon Hawkes leaned over to get a better look, cell phone in hand to take his own pictures of Messer's drunken antics. Don and Stella completed the picture, laughing and sharing the moment.

"We'll get them out, Don. That's a promise."

"I know, Mac. I know. Tell me what you want me to do to make that happen."

"Contact the warden out at Clinton, see what he can tell us about this Gavin, particularly any outside contacts he might have had, who he exchanged letters with, who might have come to visit him besides his grandfather. Maybe we can find someone who can influence the way Professor Collier will react. Then pull the court records. I know it's after normal business hours, so it's going to be hard, but get me everything you can, fast as you can."

"I'm on it." Flack glanced one final time at the photo then vanished through the door.

"Stella, you take the university angle. Contact his department head, any of his fellow faculty members, staff, students, anyone who can give us some insight on this man. But before you do that, call Sid. We need his medical expertise. Get him up here right away."

Bonasera pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket, powered it up, and hit speed dial nine. After the briefest of contact, she flipped the phone closed, offered Mac a wan smile, and disappeared out the door.

Taylor faced Captain Baynes. "How much maneuvering room do we have? Would the Governor order a temporary stay of execution?"

"I don't know," the larger man admitted. He ran the nail-bitten fingers of his left hand across his short-cropped red hair then tugged down on the collar of his bulletproof vest. "In my nine years as a negotiator, I've never had this type of request. Since the Governor wouldn't be freeing a felon or permanently altering the outcome of the trial, he might agree to a short stay."

"Then let's contact him. The worst he can do is say no. Maybe if he know what's at stake, he'll play along."

"Okay, Mac. I'll phone the Chief, ask him to call the Governor's office."

"Thank you, Lar."

The negotiator left the office without a backwards glance, cell phone already at his ear.

"In the meantime," Tom Robbins said, "I want to see what's happening in there. We'll run a fiber optic worm under the door, see what images it can pick up. Mind if I borrow your A/V tech to do that?"

Mac gave him a 'go-ahead' gesture. "Whatever you need."

A three-toned, electronic twitter from the equipment next to the phone caught everyone's attention. They turned in time to see Adam Ross pull a silver-and-blue flash drive from a USB port in the right side of the recording equipment.

The auburn-haired A/V tech intercepted Mac's question. Waving the wafer-thin drive in the air between them, he said, "As soon as I help with the fiber optic line, I'll take this recording to the lab, see if there's anything that will help."

"Okay, Adam. Thanks."

Ross and Robbins left, trailed by all of the remaining SWAT members. Left alone in his office, Mac sat down in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stem a tension headache. He threw his head back onto the headrest of the padded chair and released what tension he could in one heavy gust of air. He stared at the phone until the world around him grayed out.

Mac's hand hovered over the receiver of the telephone. Fingertips curled in as he deliberately settled his fists on his lap. The urge to call the break room again, for no other reason than to hear Danny and Sheldon speak, to be there for Lindsay if only as a faceless voice, was overwhelming.

He closed his eyes and prayed--for strength to face this trial, for a speedy conclusion, and most especially for the lives of his friends.

Approaching footsteps roused Mac from his thoughts. He rose from the chair even as Sid Hammerback ran into the room, followed seconds later by Tom Robbins.

The senior coroner in the Medical Examiner's office wore street clothes instead of his usual medical scrubs. Stella must have caught him leaving work for the day. The older man met Mac with an expression of combined confusion and fear.

"Mac? What's going on? Stella called, said to get here right away, that there's a hostage situation, but she didn't give me any details. No one mentioned any body for me."

Before Mac could answer, the SWAT commander said, "That's because we don't have one, and hopefully we won't. We need you to answer some questions."

Hammerback blinked twice in Robbins' direction before he turned to a more familiar source of information. "Mac, what's going on?"

Mac waved Sid to sit on the nearby couch. The two men settled onto the padded, creaking leather surface. Rollins, arms crossed over his barrel chest despite the thick SWAT armor, moved over to Mac's peg wall, his attention allegedly on the articles and photos tacked onto its surface.

"We have a single gunman holding hostages in the break room," Mac told Sid. "He has Danny, Sheldon, and Lindsay with him. Sheldon has a minor head wound, but Lindsay's ... Lindsay's been shot. To get them out, we need your medical expertise."

"I'm not sure how much help I can be," the coroner said, "but I'll do what I can."

Robbins gestured in the direction of the break room. "Collier said he has an inoperable brain tumor. What does that mean for us out here, and for our people in there?"

"What do you mean?"

A definite undercurrent of impatience deepened the SWAT commander's voice.

"I mean, how will a cancer in his head affect this man's behavior? How will it direct his emotions, his reactions? Will he suffer from dizziness or fainting spells, any moment of inattention where we might get a jump on him? Will it make him more or less prone toward violence? Will he remain coherent or will he start to ramble and drift?"

"Without the details of his condition, it's impossible to say." Both Robbins and Taylor grimaced--that wasn't what they wanted to hear. "Any of those things could happen, or none of them."

"The man has a lump in his head," Rollins said. "How difficult could it be to judge his mental stutus?"

"Dozens of factors can influence this man and how he will behave. Before I can help, I need to know the type, size and grade of the tumor. What is its location in the brain? In what way and how badly has it damaged or displaced the surrounding tissue? Has it metastasized to other organs in the body, and if so, what effect will their degradation have on his health? Is he on medications with their own individual actions, interactions and side effects? Has he undergone chemotherapy or radiation?"

Sid sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. Until I know the specifics, I'm working blind."

Robbins ground his teeth and said, "That's not very helpful, Doctor."

"Would you rather I lied?"

"Sid." Mac touched the ME's back. A brief expression of gratitude flashed across his face. "We understand. And there is a way for you to help. You can track down Nathan Collier's physicians. You'll know the right questions to ask."

Galvanized, Sid said, "That I can do."

CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY

I've done everything I can for Lindsay, Sheldon thought. Now, we wait.

The pressure bandages were holding and the external blood loss temporarily suspended. He could find no definitive evidence of uncontrolled internal bleeding--no bruising or distension, no rigidity in the thoracic or abdominal tissue. With a bullet buried somewhere in her chest cavity, there had to be some damage to blood-carrying vessels and internal organs.

Without the proper equipment or experienced assistance, he could do nothing more for Lindsay except monitor her condition and pray that symptoms of shock didn't set in.

Lifting a fold in the silver space blanket to cover her back, Hawkes tucked it tight around her left side, leaving Danny to mirror the action on her right. He couldn't bring himself to object when Danny left her right hand free of the cover. The Italian boy from Staten Island held onto that hand with manic desperation.

"That's it then?" Danny said.

Sheldon fell onto his buttocks and leaned against the lower kitchen cabinets. The raised metal ridge of a hinge dug into his shoulder, but he was too wrung out to care. Covered in Lindsay Monroe's blood from head to toe, his gloved hands rested on the floor, limp and shaky. His insides felt like Jell-O under a heat lamp, while a hard knot bound his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Too tired to move, he ignored the red drop of blood that seeped from the cut on his brow. The single drop landed on his cheek, slowly rolled down his face and dropped off his jaw.

"All we can do now," Hawkes said, "is wait. And pray."

Eyes bright with misery, Messer looked like he wanted to vomit right then and there. Looking around for anything more to do, Danny gathered up a large cotton dishtowel that had been dislodged from the counter during the initial violence. He folded it neatly, smoothed out the smallest wrinkle, and slipped the cloth between Lindsay's cheek and the cold floor.

"We've done all we can for her," Danny said. Desperate for something constructive to take his mind off their situation, he gathered various items from the first aid kit and knelt beside Hawkes. "Now let's take care o' you, shall we?"

"I'm fine."

"Suuuure you are," Danny droned as he put on gloves and ripped open an alcohol prep pad, "which explains that little trail of red stuff leakin' from that cut through your eyebrow there."

He slapped the inch-square, alcohol-soaked pad directly onto the narrow cut. Hawkes yelped and squirmed from the antiseptic sting, but the press of Danny's body against his held him in place against the cabinet front.

"Dammit, Messer, that hurts."

"Ahhh, quit your whinin', Hawkes. You're like a little baby, cryin' cuz you got a boo-boo. Suck it up, man."

Hawkes glowered at him through one irate eye. The other eyelid was pinched closed against the pain and to prevent alcohol from irritating sensitive ocular membranes.

"I will remember this, you know."

Danny answered with a seriousness not in keeping with the earlier teasing banter. "Yeah. I don't think I'll be forgettin' it anytime soon, neither."

Danny raised the pad enough to examine the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but it wouldn't take much to break open once more.

Hawkes pointed to the white medical box. "There's a tube of butylcyanoacrylate in the kit. You can use it to close the wound."

"Medical superglue, huh?"

Danny dripped the medical glue onto the cut and pressed the edges of skin together. Hawkes hissed and grimaced but held still the required thirty seconds. When Messer slowly released pressure on the wound, the incision remained closed.

"Think I'll add a couple of butterflies," Danny said. "Just in case."

"Thanks, Dan," Sheldon said when Messer was finished.

Wrapped in their own thoughts and worries, both men jerked when their captor asked, "Tell me, Dr. Hawkes. What is Detective Monroe's condition?"

Hawkes checked Lindsay's pulse, pupil reaction, skin temperature and color before answering, "Stable ... for now."

"In that case, might I call upon your services to tend to this injury on my arm?"

Danny Messer bared his teeth at the older man. "You come in here wavin' a gun, shootin' at us, holdin' us hostage, doin' this," he pointed at Lindsay's back, "an' you expect the doc to patch you up?"

With a grunt to overcome the exhaustion of released tension caused by the earlier, frantic medical activity, Sheldon Hawkes power-pushed himself off the floor. The doctor ignored the sting of his own wound and the wave of dizziness that followed the abrupt shift in position. He pulled off the bloody latex gloves and threw them into a nearby pile of biohazard debris.

Messer threw down his own bloody gloves, grabbed at Sheldon's slacks and pulled. "What the hell are you doin', Doc?"

"Being nice to him now may mean he'll be willing to do something good for us later," Sheldon reasoned.

"Like what!"

With a wary glance toward Collier, Hawkes leaned down to whisper directly into Danny's ear, "Like let Lindsay go before the midnight deadline."

Out-reasoned, Messer fell silent.

Removing adhesive bandages, tape, alcohol swabs, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and latex gloves from the first aid kit, Sheldon Hawkes stepped away from his friends and approached Nathan Collier. The older man sat in one of the break room chairs, its back pressed against the vertical blinds of the outside window, in the section closest to the kitchen counter.

This position gave Collier a perfect view of his hostages and the break room door. It also placed the hostages between him and any attempt by the police to rush the room.

"One moment, sir," Collier said, the barrel of the revolver lifted in threat.

While Sheldon waited, the professor ejected the clips from two of the three detectives' weapons, and placed weapons and magazines on the highest shelf in the cabinet. The third weapon--Sheldon's own Glock--slid into the back of the man's waistband.

Collier removed his jacket, draped it across the back of the chair then returned to his seat, injured arm held out, and said, "Proceed."

Hawkes knelt next to Collier and spread his supplies across the seat of a nearby chair. He ripped a dozen various sized strips of adhesive tape and tacked one sticky end of each to the edge of the seat. After putting on clean gloves, he ripped into the alcohol swab packets, laid out bandages, and took the lid off the antibiotic cream.

Under constant threat from the snub-nosed .38 pointed directly at his forehead, Hawkes pulled the material of Collier's shirt sleeve away from the sticky wound. The shallow groove ran from the inside swell of Collier's wrist, starting some three inches from his left thumb and laid at an oblique angle. Tracks of blood still oozed from the bullet-made gouge.

"It's a simple graze. I can clean this and bandage it up easily enough."

"As Marcus Aurelius once said," Collier quoted another historical source, "'Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.'"

"When he said that," the doctor replied, "I don't think he was referring to a bullet wound."

Collier chuckled, but the gun barrel never wavered. "True enough. I prefer to believe he meant that one should work through their pain until it is behind them, no longer of any real consequence."

"That," Sheldon countered, "or he wasn't referring to physical injury at all, but social or societal injury. If you don't think of yourself as insulted then no insult exists."

"You are an astute man, Dr. Hawkes. Someday you must tell me the story of how a man such as yourself, a learned surgeon and gifted medical practitioner, became a criminalist."

It'll be a cold day in hell before you hear that story, old man. Sheldon wisely kept the angry thought to himself.

The doctor cleaned the wound track with the alcohol swabs, placed a thick dollop of antibiotic ointment on a 4x4 gauze pad, and applied a generous helping of the opaque gel directly to the wound. One gloved hand held the gauze in place while he reached over and picked up a compression bandage. He laid the thicker pad over the cleaned wound. The injury covered, he held the pressure bandage in place with the strips of pre-cut tape and circled the whole forearm with gauze strip until the dressing was secure. A final bit of tape held the gauze strip in place.

"I thank you for your professionalism in this matter, Dr. Hawkes. Many people in your situation," his eyes darted ever-so-slightly in Danny Messer's direction, "might have taken the opportunity to inflict pain or discomfort as petty revenge."

"Don't think I wasn't tempted," Sheldon said. He stared Collier straight in the eye. A twitch along his jaw line jumped in time with the clenching of his teeth. "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"I am curious. Why did you restrain the impulse?"

"I want to ask a favor."

Collier smiled. If not for the constant menace of the gun in his hand, his expression might have been benignly paternal.

"Allow me to guess. You wish me to release Detective Monroe in exchange for your kind treatment of my injury. One that, if I remember correctly, the young lady in question inflicted upon me."

"She's no threat to you, not anymore. Saving her could buy you a lot of good will with the people out there." Hawkes gestured in the direction of the other laboratory offices and the police officers undoubtedly filling the space. "Even more importantly, it will put in some good points for you with Governor Rice."

Collier nodded then sighed and shook his head. "Detective Monroe's delicate state of health may be the primary impetus that brings about the circumstances I desire. I can't let her go. Not yet."

Desperate to help his friend, Hawkes tried another angle. "Then let me ask for equipment from outside. IV kits and tubing, some normal saline, maybe plasma. She's lost so much blood. That little bit of extra volume could mean the difference between life and death."

"Return to your friends, Dr. Hawkes."

"Professor Collier, please."

The hammer of the revolver clicked. "Return to your friends. Now."

Caught in a struggle to control himself, Hawkes didn't move, even under threat of the gun. How could I fail Lindsay so badly? There has to be something more I can do!

"Shel," Danny called. "Give it up, man. Come on back here an' sit down."

"You should listen to your friend. For once, he is the calm soul to someone else's fiery temper."

"Fiery temper?" Hawkes repeated. The tick along his jaw line sped up. "If that sweet girl dies because of you, I'll show you a fiery temper like none you've ever seen before."

"I believe you, Dr. Hawkes. I do, indeed, believe you. Now you believe me." Collier's eyes hardened to blocks of gray-green stone. "If you do not return to your place at Detective Monroe's side, I will shoot you where you stand."

"Sheldon, come on, man," Danny's voice took on a desperate edge, "get ba--Shel, she moved." Messer's voice hitched. "She squeezed my hand! Montana?"

CSI:NY CSI:NY

" ... -tana? C'mon, swe- ... those warm brown eyes o' yours. Baby? ... do it, kiddo. Wake ..."

Her world consisted of nothing more than flashes of sensation, disconnected, disjointed, all presented out of context. She burned and froze, sometimes both at the same time. No feeling clashed with too much stimulus. A warm light bathed her closed eyelids, tempting her to open them, even as a heavy lassitude pulled her back toward the comforting darkness.

" ... layin' down on the job ... 'd Mac say 'bout ..."

She floated, feeling no particular desire for direction or purpose. She existed. For the moment, that was enough.

"Montana, please. I need you ... wake up for me?"

She knew that voice. Loved the way he drawled her name, couldn't wait to hear him whisper to her in the pre-dawn hours, before they left their bed to get ready for work. The voice always came with hands that brought life to places she never dreamed existed.

She loved waking in the morning. The first thing she'd see would be his eyes, so vulnerable and sweet, shining with lust and a loving, wicked humor.

" ... priddy eyes ... "

Hawkes hid a snort of amusement behind a hastily raised hand, but he couldn't disguise the humor in his eyes. Messer groaned and pulled a horrible face. Of all the first things for her to say when she regained consciousness, it would be something very embarrassing.

"Aw, Montana!" Danny whined. "'Pretty'? That's, like, the word o' death for a man! My eyes ain't 'pretty'. Handsome, maybe," he conceded. "Attractive--I could accept that. Hot as hell, even! But not 'pretty'."

Lindsay's lids raised just enough to reveal a tiny sliver of brown. A blurry face topped with spiky-cut, blond hair hovered in front of her own.

"Dnnee?"

Messer leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "I'm right here, sweetheart. Right here beside you. Sheldon is here, too. You're gonna be okay, y'hear me? Y-you're gonna be fine."

Lindsay tried to look around but couldn't focus on anything further away than the man who knelt beside her. "Whhhuh ... whu 'appened?"

"We're ... uhhhh ... you, me, and Shel, we're, um ..." Danny huffed and shrugged. "Well, it's kinda complicated."

Knowing she'd never get a straight answer from Danny Messer without major effort, Lindsay looked around for another source of information. "Shel?"

"I'm here, kiddo," he said, even as she felt the blanket over her shift and his fingers settle around her left wrist. Why is he checking my pulse?

"Tell me?"

"We're in the break room at the lab. We're ... we're hostages, Lindsay. There's a man here who is demanding a temporary stay of execution for his grandson. You've been shot."

"Sh ... shot?"

"Single round in the back. The bullet's still inside, so don't move, okay? You understand me, Lindsay? Lay still."

A full minute passed before she could absorb the explanation. "'kay. Won't move. m-m-Mac?"

"We talked to him earlier," Hawkes said. "He knows what's happening. I'm sure he's doing everything he can to get us out."

The closer to full consciousness she came, the further she moved from the comforting shroud of numbness. Bolts of pain shot all the way to her toes then back to her brain. Lindsay whimpered and shifted. Her grip on Danny's hand tightened until all blood was forced out of both their fingers.

"Mmmmm ... hurts. Danny, hhhrzzz!"

"Easy there, country girl." Messer did his best to distract her from the pain. He kissed her knuckles, forehead, and cheek. "Just think of the hurt like it was a buckin' bronco or some such thing. Ride it out. You done somethin' like that before, aincha? Ride a buckin' horse? This should be easy compared to that."

Lindsay tried to laugh, until pain lines creased her forehead and accented the vertical frown line between her brows. Her skin shade lightened even as tension around her mouth pinched away all color in her lips.

Danny looked toward the first aid kit, spotted a single-dose packet of Excedrin, and asked Hawkes, "There's some aspirin in there. Could she have that for the pain?"

The doctor shook his head. "In addition to its analgesic properties, acetylsalicylic acid acts as an anticoagulant. The last thing she needs is to lose more blood."

Lindsay looked up in time to see Danny's eyes brighten with tears of misery.

"God, baby," he whispered his thoughts out loud, "you're hurtin' and I can't do a damn thing to help you. What kinda man does that make me?"

"Danny? I'll be f-fine. Don' ... don't cry, 'kay?"

Messer looked toward Hawkes, undisguised anguish written across his face and body. "She's hurtin' bad, Shel. Ain't there somethin' she can have?"

"Yeah, there is," Hawkes said. "It's not much but..."

Sheldon ripped open two single-dose packets of Aleve.

"Lindsay?" Moving to the left until he knelt next to her head, Sheldon leaned over into her field of vision. Lindsay was several slow seconds opening her eyes. "I have some Aleve here. It's not much, but it might dull the pain a little bit. You'll have to take them dry, I'm afraid. I don't want you to move around any more than you have to, so you can't sit up to take a drink."

Lindsay tried to talk but didn't have enough energy to force out the words. She nodded permission and accepted the capsule-shaped tablets when Hawkes laid them on her tongue.

After five seconds, Lindsay's face scrunched up, her cheeks sank in, and her lips puckered. She emphasized the bitterness with a brief display of her tongue.

"Bleh."

Danny Messer re-took his place in her line-of-sight. His fingers resumed their gentle carding of his girl's soft, honey-brown hair. His thumb rubbed back and forth across her forehead, unconsciously trying to wipe away the lines of pain.

"Awww, Montana. Don't pull a face like that. They can't taste all that bad. I mean, I have seen some of the things you're willin' to eat. Hell, I've eaten a lot o' them witcha!"

Lindsay found enough strength to open her eyes once more and share a brief grin with her friends. Both Danny and Shelton were there, hovering close enough to practically share her skin. Under normal circumstances, their closeness would annoy, maybe even irritate her. Given the circumstances, she found their presence comforting.

Movement caught her attention. Monroe moved her gaze away from Messer's craggy, familiar face. The gunman watched them from the near the outside window. He'd closed the vertical blinds.

The old man with the balding head, silvery, boxed beard and brooding, gray-green eyes studied Danny then herself then Danny again. The clarity of his undivided attention was not natural.

Lindsay shuddered. There's something there, in his eyes something ... focused, intense. Fanatical, she thought. I've faced down crazed, drugged-up mass murderers that don't frighten me as much as this man's steady gaze.

Danny responded to her shakes by laying down flat beside her and resting his arm across her waist. From that angle, he followed the line of her sight and met Collier's unblinking stare.

"I won't let him hurt you anymore," Danny whispered for her alone. "Whatever it takes, sweetheart, I will get you out of this, I swear."

QUOTES:

"Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears."Marcus Aurelius quotes (Roman emperor, best known for his Meditations on Stoic philosophy, AD 121-180)