AN: Your wonderful response to this fic continues to amaze and humble me. Thank you! And, once again, thank you to SallyJetson for the beta. :)

Who Painted The Moon Black

Chapter 3

Did you see the shiny moon?
Turned into a black balloon
Just as you walked away from me

Did you see how hard I've tried?
Not to show the pain inside
Just as you walked away from me

Danny was out of the car before Stella had time to bring it to a stop. He stormed through the lab building with one purpose only: to find Lindsay.

The case could wait.

Rounding the second corner, he found his feet slowing. He had expected to find her at the precinct, the hospital, her apartment, or his even - if he was lucky. But not outside Mac’s office. He took in the image in a single glance – the fear in her eyes, the bruises on her face, the cut at the corner of her bottom lip. Her arms were protectively folded over her chest. She looked as vulnerable as she had sounded on the phone.

“Lindsay.” Already reaching out to soothe and protect, her name little more than an out-of-breath sigh.

She didn’t fall into his arms. “Danny.”

He reached a finger to the red mark above her eyebrow, briefly at a loss for words. He didn’t often struggle for something to say. “Are you …”

She answered even before he could finish the question. “I’m fine.”

The watch on his wrist read 1:03 AM. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home? You’ve been to a doctor, right? Got checked out?”

A dismissive nod; a brave smile. “Mac asked that I see him before I head off.”

“Mac can wait.” Frustrated. Furious. His ferocity hidden behind painfully gentle words. “Let me take you home, Linds. Anything you can do now, you can do better later.”

She slowly shook her head. Carefully. “I’d rather get it over with.”

He didn’t miss the flash of pain that had darkened her gaze. “You’re hurt.”

A moment’s hesitation. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mac appearing at his side, a stark nod gesturing Lindsay into his office.

He wanted to tear at his boss with his bare hands, demanding answers, an apology, an admission of guilt, anything. Anything that would make him feel better. Less bitter. Instead, he watched, exasperated, as Lindsay turned away and limped after Mac.

The deep breath did little to contain the pressure inside him. He started pacing the corridor, halting only briefly when Don Flack joined him.

“Dan.”

He acknowledged Don’s presence without words.

“Mrs. Rich’s butler is at the precinct, says he has a story to tell,” blue eyes apologetic, “which he’ll only tell to you.”

Danny’s head snapped up. His mouth opened, but it took a second or two for the words to form. “No, Flack. No.” He shook his head. Pleading. “No. I can’t.”

Stella added herself to the pair, a concerned frown between her eyes.

Danny looked from her to Don. “You can’t expect me to ….”

“This is our best chance, Danny.” Stella’s frown deepened, her tone sincere, but gentle. “I’ll see to it that Lindsay gets home safely.”

“You put your own life in danger, Lindsay.” Relentless. “And those of others.”

She shook her head. It worsened the pounding in her skull. “It wasn’t like that, Mac.”

“Then tell me how it was.”

“The officers on the scene were called away. It was late; I had done all I could. I decided to come back to the lab.” No excuses. No justifications. Just the facts, as she saw them.

“You should have waited.”

She took a breath, cursing the throbbing in her temples, the blistering knot in her stomach. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“You knew better, Lindsay.” Unsympathetic. Unforgiving. “You jeopardized the case. Lost crucial evidence in the crash. You leave me no choice: I’m pulling you out of the field.” Then, softer. “Until I am sure that you are safe again.”

“No, Mac.” The last of the post-shock adrenalin vanished, her voice frail, worn-out. “Please ….”

“It’s for your own good, Lindsay.”

He didn’t know what was good for her, and didn’t care, she was sure. All that mattered was the lab. Most other times, she would have agreed. But not tonight. She turned away, her legs as heavy and uncooperative as tree trunks, her head on fire. Each breath hurt. Each step a new agony. At the door, she turned around slowly. “I can tell you what happened before the accident. If it will help.”

“I’m listening.”

She kept the room between them. “The presenter on the radio was talking about road rage. A caller phoned in, attributing it to the popularity of NASCAR. At that moment a red sports car came up behind me, flashed his headlights and whipped past. I noticed his tag. S-P-D A-D-C-T. A Florida plate. I ….” She hesitated, embarrassed.

“Go on.”

“I shouted that this wasn’t Daytona Beach. The next thing I saw was a headlight on my side of the road. I couldn’t make out if it was a car or motor cycle, but I knew it was coming at me. I swerved. Lost control.” Summoning the last of her failing strength. Meeting his eyes. “I was doing 43 at the time. I checked when Speed Addict flashed his lights at me.”

“So the butler would only talk to you?” Sheldon asked, carefully filling a micro-pipette.

Danny shook his head. “Waste of time. Had me confused with his priest – all he wanted was to soothe his conscience about knocking up his boss’s wife.”

“So, Father Messer,” an amused chuckle - teasing, but direct, “did he really say nothing of value or are you angry because you had to leave Lindsay in Stella’s care?”

“I should have been there for her.” Barely contained rage flared in the icy blue of his eyes. “What was Mac thinking, assigning her another case? She shouldn’t have been on the road! Not at that hour! Not alone! And certainly not after working two shifts!”

Sheldon halted what he was doing, meeting Danny’s eyes across the bench. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“Why she was working that scene?”

Frowning. Dubious. “What’re you talking about?”

“It was already assigned, Danny. To you.” A soft sigh. “She begged Mac to put her on it instead.”

“What?” It made no sense. “Why would she do that?”

The response came carefully measured, saying neither too little, nor too much. Just the facts. No interpretations. “The vic was a young boy. Eight years old. Shot dead in front of his dad.”

It hit him like a bucket of ice water, wiping out his steam. He shook his head. “She didn’t have to do that.”

“No, she didn’t.” Sheldon watched as Danny clumsily, hurriedly, worked to rid himself of his lab coat, trembling fingers battling to undo the buttons. “Where’re you going?”

The last button gave way, flying across the lab table. He cursed at it. “To talk to her.”

A moment’s silence. Giving him time to come to his senses. “What are you going to say to her?”

Danny sighed; he had no idea. He just knew he needed to get to her. To sort this out. To figure it out.

“She’s probably asleep by now,” Sheldon tried again. “The doctor sent her home with a bag full of pills.”

Another blow to his chest. “A bag full of pills? For what?”

“She cracked two ribs, Danny, and sprained an ankle.”

Lindsay closed the door behind Stella and tore off her boots, ignoring the dart of pain that shot up her ankle. She had used up what energy she had left. Her room seemed too far. Farther than her legs could carry her. She looked at the bag in her hand and dropped it on the table, next to her keys, too drained to care.

Her legs gave way as she reached her bed. She crawled between the cold sheets without bothering to change.

In the moments before sleep, she wondered if Danny knew. If he was furious.