Author: marialisa PM
Follows on from Blame and notesofwimseys Shame and gives us Lindsay's POV. Lindsay tried really hard to help Danny, but she's not good at this sort of thing.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Friendship/Romance - Lindsay M. - Words: 1,830 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 1 - Published: 01-21-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4025473
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Warning: Spoilers to 4.11
Disclaimer: They aren't mine and I'm not making any money from this.
Author's Note: This unintentional series started with Blame (posted by me on 19 Jan 08) which saw things post 4.11 through Danny's eyes.
Notesofwimsey then wrote Shame (posted on 20 Jan 08) which saw the events from Flack's POV.
Following a discussion and after getting lots of feedback from people we decided that we really needed to give Lindsay's POV, and thought that things would be rounded off nicely if Stella got in on the act too. Therefore, this is the third in the series and tells things from Lindsay's POV. The fourth and final part covering Stella's POV will be posted by notesofwimsey in the next day or so. They can be read alone, but probably make more sense if read in order.
Thanks to notesofwimsey and sallyjetson who both helped with this fic.
And we were happy, sickeningly happy actually. The sort of happy that ends up annoying other people if they have to spend too long in the same room as you, but I didn't really care about that. The man who'd murdered my friends was finally behind bars and Danny had flown to Montana to be there for me and made it very clear that he wanted a lot more than 'drinks, dinner and fun'. Then a night at Danny's apartment for 'a game of pool' took things to a whole new level and life was good. Actually, life was pretty close to perfect, but then poor Ruben was killed and Danny blamed himself. Everyone tried to help and for a while I thought he was going to get through it, that we were going to get through it, but he slowly stopped reaching for me and started reaching for the beer and the self destruct button.
I wish I was better at these things. People assume because of what happened to me and because I'm a woman that somehow I'll know what to say to someone in this situation, but I don't. All I feel are the walls closing in on me and my brain shutting down. So I tried to do what I thought he wanted me to do. I was there when he wanted company and stayed away when he didn't. I even got out of bed at 2am and went to his apartment when he called one night, drunk. He wanted sex and I wanted him to feel better; a recipe for disaster if ever there was one and so at 3am I was back out on the street again. That was the last time he called me or even really spoke to me for nearly three weeks.
Don was there though, seeing everything but keeping his opinions to himself. The first night I rang him I don't know what I expected (although I can tell you I didn't expect him to be alone), maybe for him to be nice but to tell me he was Danny's friend first and foremost and that I should call Stella (and come to think of it I'm not sure why I didn't call Stella), but he didn't. Instead he came over and sat with me for close to two hours while I cried (literally) on his shoulder, said all the right things and then promised he'd try and speak to Danny for me. The next morning I felt all kinds of a fool but Don was lovely and insisted on taking me for something to eat after work, listened while I talked a lot of rubbish and then made me laugh by telling me some funny stories about stuff that had happened to him as a cop. And that was our pattern for the next couple of weeks and it eased, just ever so slightly, the unbearable ache inside me.
In fact, thanks to Don, I found that (when I was with him at least) I could still laugh. It really hit me when Don, Stella and I were talking one day. There Don and I were attempting to outdo each other with our somewhat exaggerated tales of woe about our latest case whilst Stella had a look of total bemusement on her face. Usually it's me feeling like the third wheel when the three of us work together but all of sudden it was Stella. Does it make me a bitch if, just for a few minutes, that warmed my heart?
The morning Danny came to my apartment I saw him from the window, standing across the street, looking like hell and my heart leaped. I used to think that was just some stupid expression but it isn't, because I did feel my heart leap and I can't describe the happiness and jumble of thoughts that rushed through me. He'd come to see me. Things were going to be OK. I hadn't lost him. Then the buzzer rang to let me know Don had arrived to pick me up and I ran down the stairs, certain I would find Danny waiting for me outside with that 'you're not going to shout at me, are you Montana' look on his face. But he wasn't, he was still standing across the street, staring up at my apartment and all the certainty, all the happiness disappeared and I thought for a horrible minute I was going to cry. Don must have thought I was going to cry too because there was a strange look on his face. When he asked me how I was I lied to him (although in a way it wasn't a lie) and told him that it was because it was over two weeks now, and Danny still hadn't phoned me, and then he reached out and hugged me and I let him. I knew Danny could be watching and I think, at some level, I knew what he'd think if he saw us, but I let Don hug me anyway. And if I'm honest I hugged him back a little harder and a little longer than I should because I should have been standing in Danny's arms then and I wasn't and I couldn't bear it.
Danny did think something was going on and he turned up at my apartment that night ready for a fight and I thought there was going to be one until I managed to get in between them both - I don't think I've ever seen them so angry with each other. I managed to get Danny to listen to me for long enough to tell him he was a fool and that Don was just being a friend and the hug that morning was nothing more than one friend comforting another. He forced out an apology (I've heard more convincing ones but at least he got the words out) and Don accepted it although I'm sure he knew it wasn't exactly heartfelt. Then Don left, whispering some parting advice to me to let Danny do the talking and not to let him off the hook too quickly.
And then Danny and I were alone.
I took Don's advice and let Danny do the talking, and for two hours he talked. He told me about how guilty he felt about Ruben; how sorry he was at how he'd treated me; how he'd never shut me out again; how this had made him even more certain that we belonged together. I let him talk and I made no move towards him - we hadn't even touched each other at this point - and then he called me Montana as he told me how much he loved me and I can't resist Danny at the best of times but when every word is coming from his heart and he looks at me like that and calls me Montana my resistance is non existent. I have no idea who moved first but we didn't do any more talking after that, not with words anyway. Waking up the next morning, lying in his arms...I can't tell you how perfect that was. The first time, on the pool table, had been special, but this was so much more so because this time I knew I'd nearly lost him.
And now Danny is back to being Danny again and we're happy. Not like before - that sort of happiness is the sort you experience when love is new and exciting and it feels as if nothing can ever go wrong. Now we know it can, that we nearly lost each other, and neither of us wants to risk that happening again. Danny had a lot of making up to do, particularly with Don and Stella, but Danny being Danny is hard for anyone to resist and so, of course, they have forgiven him. And the friendship that Don and I forged during those two awful weeks has survived although I've noticed that when the three of us are together Danny doesn't let go of me. When I mentioned it to him he just laughed and said he wanted to make sure Don knew all his good work hadn't been wasted, but sometimes when Don and I are laughing together there's a funny look in Danny's eyes that makes me wonder.