Finally, I know. Here's chapter 4. I've gone back and edited 1-3 to kind of contain a little of the information we picked up later in the season. I now know that this falls into place between episodes Sex, Lies and Silicone, and ends before Enough … or around that time.

Chapter 4:

Danny followed Lindsay into the dimly lit restaurant. A decade ago, it would have been filled with wafting smoke, but the rest of the atmosphere—the noise of conversations, the clanking of silverware and glass, the 1970s rock poured over the age old speaker system. Half the people who sat around the battered tables looked like extras from the Godfather.

Nearly three years ago, he'd challenged Lindsay to a good steak. He'd wanted to see her in this setting.

She hasn't disappointed him, even when he told himself he'd expected something different. She'd thrived. Some of the regulars knew her by name. She didn't have to place a order anymore. And she didn't balk even though this wasn't a place that kept an A ranking in the inspection category. Flack had only come with him once.

Now, she grabbed his hand. "You're hesitating."

He turned, grinned at her. "I'm remembering you. All the times we've had here."

She cocked her head to the side and chuckled. "With a scowl?"

Had he been scowling?

Lindsay smiled mischievously. "You've got to talk with him sometime."

"Earlier today doesn't count?"

"I think you'll like him."

When he still hesitated, Lindsay turned into him and played with the lapel of his jacket. "Danny …" her voice had softened, her eyes suddenly serious. "I really want you to like Marshal. I really want the two of you to hit it off."

He broke her gaze and looked off into the crowd. Her grandfather was there, somewhere, but he didn't see him. Looking into the crowd of people, he accepted his fate. Lindsay was who he wanted, and Marshal was in her heart. A major part of her heart, and a major part of what had brought her to New York in the first place. Danny had known that for years now.

Maybe that's why he hesitated.

And maybe that's what was behind the serious look in Lindsay's eyes. Was he in this with her or not?

He'd already showed her he wasn't. He'd already slipped up. Here she was giving him a chance. Not just a chance, but opening the door for him to come in.

And to stay there, he would have to face Marshal. Now or later. Unfortunately, the old man had picked now. He could have put it off.

"A'ite. Take me to your grandfather."

She laughed, the sound full and bright. "It's not an execution, Danny."

"You sure about that? He's handed those, though … right? US Marshal and all?"

"He has stories he'd love to tell you. Just ask him."

This time, he followed.

They found Marshal in the back. He seemed to blend into the setting. Old man, rough on the edges, contemplating the darkness of his day.

As they approached the table, he stood, held out his arms for Lindsay, and smiled as she stepped into them. "Girlie."

"Find your way around a'ight?" Danny asked as he followed Lindsay lead and took his seat.

"Been to New York plenty times before you were even born."

"Ah—yeah. And your son lives here so I guess you've visited him."

Lindsay looked between her two men and sighed. Her grandfather sat stoically, as he would before a fire. It was something she was used to; not something, though, that was all that normal when she was with Danny. They could be quiet together, but it wasn't hard to read the depths of the other. They couldn't not communicate.

Usually.

She pushed at the thought, though it took a moment to push aside. They were moving on. Besides, she had known he was troubled. He had communicated constantly with her. He just hadn't …

She watched him fiddle with his glasses again. When he dropped his hand to his leg, she reached over, covered it with her own. Curling her fingers around it, she broke the silence.

"So, Marshal. Are you going to tell me why you just popped into town."

"I told you—"

"Yeah, old case, called you in. You're retired." She stared him down.

Danny watched the exchange. Lindsay against her grandfather. It was almost like watching a mirror image. He knew where she'd gotten her steel side.

"Don't use that tone with me."

"What tone? What tone would you like me to use when I call home to tell Mama her father had a stroke out in New York City?"

"Your mother—"

"Or should I call Uncle Freddy? He's here in town." She'd pulled out her cell phone. Danny couldn't help but grin.

The old man stared her down, but he was the first to look away. He flipped his eyes to Danny, saw the grin on his face, and frowned further. "Careful of this girl. She's got a hard wall about her.

Danny felt her fingers flinch over his and he looked back at her. Lindsay's eyes were harder than ever. "I learned it from you."

The heat at the table seemed to flash. Even as the waiter came and got their order, tension flowed. From Danny to Lindsay to Marshal and around again. The music, the noise had both faded and become an agitator.

And then it was gone.

"Fine." Marshal sat back, picked up his drink. He looked over at Danny. "You know about the US Marshal service?"

"You handled Federal cases, prisoners, work for the justice department—"

"Among a growing list of changes," obviously unhappy about it, he shrugged it off. "We were the first law enforcement agency in the United States, written into the constitution and used by George Washington. I always knew I wanted to be part of it. Part of something that lasted. I grew up on a ranch, but my daddy didn't own any land. I could work the land, but I couldn't own it. I was made part of a posse at the age of 21—right when I got back from a stint in the war. Made some connections, moved right into the bureau. I was assigned to Montana to work with the federal authorities and Prison in Deer Lodge."

"Marshal."

"I'm givin' it to you my way, girlie."

Lindsay sighed. "This could take all night," she muttered.

"I was transferred before Deer Lodge closed in the late 70s, but it's where I met Lindsay's grandmother," he stared her down, then looked to Danny. "Didn't have a tie to Montana before that. We left Montana, went to work out of Seattle for awhile. I was there, in the 1980s, when a string of bank robberies took place across the northwest. Over the course of three years three men were killed. Good men. Family men. They were caught, four of them, though there were more. They were incarcerated, waiting their appointment with the judge."

He tapped his knuckles impatiently on the table. "First one. A Jonus Dills escaped on the way to his sentencing. There was a setup, a mess. Two officers were shot. One died. Every angle of that day was criticized and studied. For the next one, I was called in to work the job. His name was Perry Litmore. He'd done a bunch of talking. We were prepared for them to come get him. Instead, they weren't there to help him escape. They shot him. Right there on the steps."

"Third and forth one's names were Barry Carter and Simon Dills. Took them in together. Everything went fine. When it was time for their transfer to Federal prison, every precaution was made. The night before their transfer, I get called home. My wife—" his lips trembled over the word, then tightened. "She'd had the stroke. I got home just in time to be with her, before … and she was gone. And Barry Carter escaped. I wasn't there. I'd helped plan it. Set it in motion, but it fell apart. Another cop was shot."

"Simon Dills remained in custody, was transferred to the US Maximum Security prison in Allenwood, Pensylvania. There was a move, we handled it. Barry was recaptured in the process. He died in prison three years ago."

"I've studied those days. Kept my hand in for years. Couple of months ago, we registered some communication in the prison system. It got back to me, I made some calls. Simon was younger, was involved with the robberies, but not the ones with the murders. Nothing could put him there. He's up for parole."

"So you volunteered your services."

"They asked for them. They want me to go over their plans. Things are different now. Courthouses have been restructured for maximum security, but somehow, these men got in and out."

"Have to be more than twenty years older now," Danny said. "Rusty, maybe."

"There are a few robberies I think could be tied to them over the last twenty. But if it wasn't for the chatter we've been registering from the prisons …"

"There's going to be a move."

Lindsay nodded, looked at Danny—a moment of apprehension flashed—then back at Marshal. "When does this go down?"

"Next week."

She studied her grandfather's eyes, the smooth lines of age, thinned eyelashes, askew graying eyebrows. There was depth there, sadness. She understood his connection to this case. Had heard about the case he'd worked around her grandmother's death.

He'd never talked about it. She didn't imagine it was easy for him to talk about now.

Still, she knew he wanted to be involved. He'd told her the truth, but he wasn't telling her everything. "You're not planning on going to Pennsylvania, are you?"

"No plans," he said, and picked up his menu. "I'm just here to do some talking."

She nodded, looked to Danny. She was a little out of her depth here, with him. This wasn't her role—not the guardian/protector of the man she'd always loved—admired, even. Which would help him more? Stepping out? Stepping back?

The table had fallen into silence.

Danny turned his hand over, linked fingers with hers. He took a deep breath. The tension between him and Lindsay's grandfather was nothing compared to the tension between Lindsay and her grandfather.

It was time to dive in.

Later that night the three stepped out into the New York night. Marshal turned and looked at Lindsay, his eyes suddenly soft. He reached up, took her arms in his hands. "You've found your place here, girlie."

She smiled softly, somewhat sadly—a moment that meant something between the two of them only. "Yeah. I think I have."

"I'm a hard man girlie. But your grandmother would have been ashamed of me for turning that on you. You love Lindsay, you always have. There's nothing hard about that." He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "See you tomorrow, girlie."

As he pulled away, he looked back at Danny, somewhat resigned, though obviously not pleased. He nodded, and turned to walk on.

Lindsay nodded, swallowed and said nothing more.

For a moment, they stood in the night and watched him go.

A group, loud and slightly rowdy walked out of the joint. Stepped into their line of sight. Danny slid an arm around Lindsay, pulled her close to his side. She leaned into him, and rested her head against him.

"He didn't tell you everything, did he?" Danny asked.

"No," Lindsay murmured. "There are offices in Pennsylvania, the headquarters is in Virginia. He never said why he was in New York."

"Should we follow him?"

"Only if he wanted us to. He's gone."

Obviously, we're not at COL yet. But I think we will be in the next chapter. Good thing it re-airs in a week or so. Would love reviews if you are so inclined! :)