Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York or Danny Messer or Lindsay Monroe. Heavily based and inspired by Zac Brown Band's Whatever It Is. So I don't own that, either.

There was something about her. And Danny never seemed to be able to put it into words. Whatever it was was so completely indescribable that there were no words for it. Nothing that could fully encompass everything about her. There wasn't a single word, and there weren't even a string of words.

Words, sentences, paragraphs, novels would never be able to describe just how he felt about her, what she made him feel, the things she did to him just by appearing. He couldn't even turn to foreign languages of the world, Italian, French; supposed languages of love couldn't even scrape the surface of defining her to him.

There was something about her.

So when she'd asked to dance, a rarity for Lindsay, he'd been entirely unable to resist. And he found himself looking for those impossible words. He wanted her to understand, wanted to show her the truth of it all. He couldn't find the words, but he could try. He could start at the beginning and work his way to the middle - the middle, because they had no end.

He smiled, a happiness that came just from being near her engulfing him in that sudden, surprise sort of way that it always did. Even though he always knew it was coming, it still managed to knock him in the gut, leaving him winded and longing. He took her right hand in his left, and pulled her close to him with his right hand on her hip. Her left hand reached upward to find the back of his neck, her fingers lightly playing across his skin and through his hair.

He resisted a shiver of contentment at feeling her fingers in their irregular pattern of stroking and tapping and tracing. She gave a short laugh, noticing his apparent pleasure, and let her head come into contact with his chest, giving her the opportunity to note his steady, thrumping of a heartbeat. The beats were an undeniable comfort, a reassurance, a clear declaration to all the world that he was alive and that she was alive and that they were alive together.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked, bringing his lips down to her ear. She had closed her eyes, reveling in his heartbeat's declaration, and didn't bother to open them when he asked. He found himself staring at the halo the dim lights left on the soft waves of her golden brown tresses.

"You can tell me anything, Danny," she stated. She inclined her head in his direction, as though she were to make eye contact, but they remained decidedly hidden behind their lids and their lengthy lashes.

Danny breathed out heavily, the sudden change in the direction of the breeze forcing strands of her hair to separate themselves from the others, to get lost in his breath. She opened her eyes then, the light giving them a shine that made his heart leap. She smiled widely at that, hearing it just as it happened.

"It's nice to know I'm appreciated," she laughed, pointing his irregular pattern out to him as though he hadn't noticed. It was clear that his heart appreciated her more than his brain, his body, ever could.

"Trust me," Danny simpered, "You've done much worse than that."

"Really?" She asked, with a certain conviction in her tone, in her spoken melody.

"The first time I was alone in a room with you, I couldn't breathe at all." She lifted an eyebrow at him, a doubtful expression settling over her face. He nodded his head, as if stating its truth with the bobbing of his head.

"I don't recall you passing out." He laughed.

"It's surprising I'm still alive, right?" She laughed. And their laughs together filled the air with another sort of music, one that blended, one that fit, one that felt right with the soft music, and the light rustling of the breeze, and their breathing, and their heartbeats. "If I hadn't been sitting down at the time, when you turned around and gave me that smile, I would've been on the ground."

"And why is that, Messer?"

"You'd knock the wind right out of any grown man, Messer," he replied, satisfaction laced in with the rumble of his voice. Calling her by her new name would never, ever cease to feel amazing, to sound amazing, to be amazing. Saying the words 'Lindsay Messer' would always be glorious on the ears.

"I guess I can't really call you that any more, huh?" She gave a sheepish grin, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"You can always call me that," he answered, "I just get to call you Messer right back, Linds."

"It's a small step up from Montana, I suppose," she stated with a look of thorough concentration, as if trying to gauge whether she truly felt that way or not. He shook his head with a chuckle, knowing that she enjoyed her nickname, whether she'd openly admit to it or not. Just another small piece of his ever growing puzzle of whatever it was about her that made him feel the way he did. "Danny?"

"Hm?" He acknowledge, though still lost in thought, still lost in trying to decide exactly what he wanted to say. But he was still fumbling for words, because the fact of the matter was that he couldn't find the words to say just how, exactly, her eyes could cut him so easily, so deeply. He couldn't explain how her lips could taste so sweet, like a fine red wine, like chocolate coating, like freshly picked, overly plump and juicy strawberries. He couldn't describe in full how the shape of her body, the length of her legs, the angle of her chin could so easily, so fully and completely turn him on. He couldn't describe why it was that she seemed to make his heart go completely haywire.

But she did.

"What did you want to tell me?" She asked, lifting her eyes to meet his again, and the slicing feeling returned, and his heart jumped erratically, and she smiled at hearing its wild beat contrasting so apparently with the slow, soft, and steady music drifting toward their ears. He looked down at her and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, tried to find the right words, tried to capture her and him and all that they were together.

But he couldn't.

"I love you," was all he could manage. Those three words weren't nearly enough, they never were, but no matter how many times he tried to put whatever it was into words it always came out like that.

Always.

"I love you, too, Danny," she leaned up and he leaned down, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle. And when they settled back down he pulled her closer to him, before the music had suddenly changed and took off on a wild beat of its own, as if attempting to match his heartbeats. She had laughed, and he spun her about.

He didn't know what it was about her that made his heart go crazy, taking on a life all its own, but he did know that he was assuredly, conclusively, inescapably in love with her.

Because Lindsay Monroe Messer had whatever it is.

X-posted to livejournal.

The song's good, so you should listen to that, if you feel so inclined. I realize that now they're randomly married, but these are one-shots and are bound to be entirely out of order, because I'm entirely random like that. Anyway, I hope you like it, it's sort of jumpy as far as what's going on, I think, but…there you go. Also, can I just point out it's kind of weird it is that I'd rather right from a third person limited perspective on Danny than Lindsay. And, yes, using the word 'conclusively' to describe their love was absolutely necessary.

nikki.02: Ha, sorry, that tends to happen a lot in my one-shots, because they always have to end where they end…Thanks! :)

afrozenheart412: I'm glad you liked them. ;) Hm, the haircut was welcome and the aviators were just plain hot. Thanks for reviewing again; I love 'em. :)

Thanks for reading, and, if you're feeling up for it, feel free to leave a review. :)

-Piper