AN: I haven't seen the last episode yet, but from what I have heard, it wasn't good news DL wise. I've decided to ignore that (hard as that may be), for now, and end the fic the way I had intended all along.

For a last time: thank you very much to each reader and reviewer and to my very special beta, SallyJetson.

Who Painted The Moon Black

Chapter 5

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

Don Flack stopped just inside the locker room. “We found the Audi.”

Danny looked up without responding. With the anger spent, he had little left to offer.

“Mr. Carlish’s forty-one year old PA had decided to borrow it for a spin up the East Coast,” Flack continued. “She corroborated Lindsay’s story.”

“She saw the motor cycle?”

He nodded. “Said she narrowly missed it – the Audi is equipped with the latest and greatest, including state of the art traction control. She was the one who called in Lindsay’s accident.”

“She didn’t stay at the scene?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She didn’t exactly have Mr. Carlish’s consent for borrowing the love of his life.”

“It wasn’t Lindsay’s fault?”

“Not entirely,” Flack sighed. “They’re ruling it as an accident and she won’t be charged but…“

“But what?” Heaviness gaining weight in the face of truth.

“But it doesn’t mean her mental and physical state didn’t play some part in it – that exhaustion didn’t cause her to over react or be less alert.”

“Stella said something about lost evidence.” Looking Flack in the eye, wanting to ask if he knew about Lindsay’s grounding, but not having the heart to do it. “Will it harm the case?”

The slightest of a frown. “It might.”

Danny dropped his head again. It was the last thing he had wished upon Lindsay. It was his mess; she shouldn’t have gotten herself into it.

The tiredness settled in his fiber. He kept his eyes closed, only vaguely aware of Flack leaving as he had come.

Dammit, Lindsay Monroe. Why did you have to be the hero?

Inside him a tiny voice cackled. Mocking him. And you, Messer? What were you trying to be?

He ran his fingers through his hair. Allowed himself the briefest visit to the silly-soft place where he felt warm, cherished, cared for because of what she had done. It wasn’t somewhere he often went. If at all.

And, as always it brought the same old fear – hidden in the deepest depths of him, but entrenched in his every essence: that it wouldn’t last, that she would see through him, would turn away too. He covered his face with his hands.

Beaten. Bruised. Broken.

Stella quietly sat down next to him.

He kept his gaze on the floor, his eyes on the images in his mind. Ruben. Rikki. Louie. Lindsay. “Where do I go from here, Stella?”

A rare call for help.

“You let go of Ruben.” Undisguised honesty. “Maybe you could have done some things differently, but you didn’t pull that trigger.”

He didn’t respond.

She continued in a softer tone. “And don’t let go of Lindsay. She’ll never say it, but she needs you.”

He shook his head. “I nearly cost her her life,” sucking in a ragged breath, “her job.”

It had no effect on Stella. “What Lindsay did, was her choice, and I am sure she isn’t regretting it.” She waited for him to look at her. “How you’re going to react, Danny: that is your choice. Make sure you don’t regret it either.”

When Danny arrived at Lindsay’s door for the second time that morning, his heart was hammering against the walls of his chest, his hands trembling ever so slightly. He still had no idea what he was going to say to her, how he was going to make amends. If it was even possible at all. But he knew this is where he had to be.

He let himself in quietly. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the lamp on the table at the front door.

He dropped his keys next to hers and picked up the brown paper bag. All the packets and bottles inside were unopened.

Lindsay woke when he walked into her room. He was next to her bed in three steps. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been volunteered as a crash test dummy.”

It brought a wry smile to his face, a twinge of pain deeper inside. “No kidding.”

She tried to sit up, but gave up half way.

Concerned hands eagerly reached out to help, carefully fluffing the pillows behind her back. “Better?”

Her body was warm under the cool of his hands. He saw pain flashing across her face; saw her attempt to hide it, the way she held her breath before responding. She gestured to the bag he had dropped on the bedside table. “Maybe I should take some of those painkillers.”

The pack of Advil had a hospital sticker on it; Danny read instructions he had read a thousand times before. “When did you eat last?”

She wiped a string of hair from her face. “Yesterday afternoon,” shrugging, “around two or three o’ clock.”

There was vulnerability in her actions that tore at his heart. “Tell you what, Montana,” he did his best to smile, “let me fix that before we pump you up on the meds.”

He knew his way around her kitchen, but he didn’t remember it being as sparsely stocked. It added to his feelings of guilt and worry. He wanted to be mad at her, but he couldn’t find it inside himself. No eggs. No flour. He wanted to hate Mac and the kid who had caused it all, but it brought him no relief. No bacon, either. He sighed, and opened another door.

But it isn’t Mac’s fault or that of the motor cycle kid, is it?

A few minutes later he returned to her room with a plate of toasted English muffins, thickly covered with blueberry jam, and two mugs of coffee. “Sorry, Montana,” he slipped back into using the nickname; a few weeks ago ‘sweetheart’ would have fallen of his tongue without a second thought, “this is all I could find. You need to do some serious shopping here.”

She awarded him with a small smile. “You got something against English muffins?”

“Nah, but you can’t survive on that alone.” The truth as he saw it. He sat down at the end of the bed, took a sip of coffee. “They found the kid who had caused your accident.”

She met his eyes across a muffin. “Is he okay?”

“Drove himself to death a few miles from where you had crashed.” Another sip of coffee. “Flack located Speed Addict too. She confirmed your account of how it went down. It wasn’t your fault, Linds. Mac …” he halted, biting back the fury.

She filled in from her perspective. “Mac did what he had to do. Even if I hadn’t caused the accident, I was irresponsible. I lost evidence, risked the case ….” Her words died away as the consequences hit her again. She had promised the dad they’d do the best they could.

He read her faltering and shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Lindsay.”

“Maybe,” taking a sip of coffee, “but I could have prevented it.”

He was adamant. “If it is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Not yours.”

“How do you get that?” She gestured with the half-eaten muffin. “You want me to believe this isn’t my fault, but you won’t accept that Ruben’s death isn’t your doing? That man in the parking garage might never know who killed his son, might never get justice.” Her voice rose as she continued, adrenaline and emotion a volatile mix. “Because I made a foolish call. How could that be your fault?”

“If I hadn’t neglected you …”

“… if you hadn’t neglected me, I would still have done it, Danny. I’m not sorry I took your case. I am sorry I didn’t wait for the officers to return.” Food and painkillers forgotten. “Don’t you see? You’ve waited for me, flew to Montana for me, took the early shift for me,” she sighed, her tone softer now, her eyes still alive with fire and passion. “This was something I could do for you.”

“I’m sorry, Lindsay.” She could see the uncertainty in the way he avoided looking at her. He swallowed, licked his lips. “I’ve been an asshole. After Ruben ….”

Lindsay watched him struggling to confront the truth, aching to save him the pain, the inevitable humiliation. But it was something he had to do. She had been there herself.

“It took over my life. I could think of nothing else. I felt responsible, not only for Ruben, but for Rikki.” He met her eyes, his gaze shielded. “I didn’t return your calls, ignored your concern ….”

She took his hand in hers; it was even colder than before.

“I did it all wrong, Linds. But I never meant to hurt you.”

Tears filled her eyes. She moved closer – ignoring the pain that shot through her chest – and pulled him to her. Who was she to judge? Hadn’t she done exactly the same, pushing him away, holding him at a distance?

“Ah, Danny.” His name coming out in a soft moan. Knowing. Understanding. Remembering the conversation in the corridor. “You’re not the only one. I’ve been there too.” The card in the lab, leaving without saying goodbye. “Shut you out too." The dinner date that wasn’t. “But we got through." Because he came to Montana. “Because you didn’t give up. Now it’s my turn. And I won’t give up either.” Adding emphasis. “I’m not going anywhere, cowboy.”

He looked at her for a long time, his eyes unusually shiny. When he spoke, it was on a broken sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Now, don’t you ever” she put a finger to his lips, “ever say that again. Don’t you think I’ve felt the same way countless times? Danny Messer paying attention to a plain country girl. But,” she ran her thumbs down the sides of his face, over the dampness at the corners of his eyes, and leaned in for a moment, touching her lips to his, “people get what they deserve, cowboy, and you got me.”