You guys rock my world - seriously. Therefore, by popular demand, here is a bolt-on for Something. It may have brothers and sisters following it, I don't know yet. Let's wait to see where the muse drags me, kicking and screaming. This one is a little sadder, but that's because Lindsay's sad so Danny's sad so all us crazy fanladies are sad...which makes Lindsay and Danny REALLY sad.
"Please..." Her fingers tremble on his arm, and her eyes are dark and fawn-like.
"I'll be here," he promises, and he gives her a swift kiss on the cheek before sending her up to the witness stand with what can only be described as a heavy heart.
Danny tries not to listen to the testimony, but he hears it all just the same. It's all too easy to imagine: Montana in his mind's eye, young and giggly and surrounded by other girls with the same kind of accent and different smiles. A coincidence means that she's still alive - still with him - and as much as he wants to stare down the bastard who almost kept her dying inside and keeping him at arm's length forever, he makes sure to never look away from her pale, lovely face.
Lindsay doesn't give her testimony to the courtroom - she gives it to him, Danny Messer. It's halfway between an explanation and a hope, walking the line between I'm sorry and I love you. When she closes her eyes for a moment and nearly breaks down, she can still feel the bond between them as an almost tangible entity: stronger, warmer, brighter than anything else in this familiar courtroom, shining and holding strong through the dark mess which almost ruined her life.
When she steps down from the stand, her legs are shaking, but she walks calmly across the floor (heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe, please keep moving, do it for Kelly) and resumes her seat. Her head hits his shoulder like a stone, and she closes her eyes and slips one hand inside his shirt to feel the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat. They don't speak while the jury deliberates, though even through closed lids she can feel the burning gazes of several pairs of curious eyes. She went to high school with some of these people, and while some of them had pitied her, others had considered her survivor status a tag of freak-by-association. She kept her head down. Had a few boyfriends. Had a few broken hearts. Studied hard, followed it up with biology and forensic science and the never ending search for 'why'.
Summa cum laude, Lindsay Monroe.
"We find the defendant -"
That man in the grey suit who almost ruined everything. Danny kisses the top of her head with near ferocity, and Lindsay squeezes her eyes still tighter shut.
"Guilty of murder in the first degree."
There's applause, and cheering, and a buzz of new life running around the courtroom like a blaze of heroin through the well oiled veins of a junkie. A ripple passes through the room as the press stream in, surrounding them, surrounding the guilty man; they're a little hushed around her, though, as if she might break. Danny takes the moment to analyse the situation, diagnose it as only a scientist can and pull her to her feet, wrapping one arm protectively round Lindsay's shoulders and leading her out through a barrage of questions.
"No comment. No comment. No comment."
"Are you Ms. Monroe's attorney?"
"Are you also a witness?"
"Hey, Lindsay - this your boyfriend?"
"Shut up, Trent," she mutters, and when he looks down as her askance she blushes and rolls her eyes. "He's my cousin...not to mention the 'ace' reporter for The Bozeman Chronicle."
The flushed young man shoves a dictaphone beneath Danny's chin, and he observes that the same shade of brown eyes runs in the family. "Can you explain the nature of your relationship to Ms. Monroe, sir? My readers - not to mention Lindsay's aunt Kathy - are dying to know."
Danny feels Lindsay laughing silently into his jacket. "Detective Danny Messer, New York crime lab," he says firmly, pushing the dictaphone away with his free hand. "Here to act as official liaison between Detective Taylor and Detective Monroe during this difficult time."
"So you aren't getting married?" Trent's eyes widen. "You'd better tell your momma that, Lindsay Ann, because when you two rolled up together she started wailing about her baby finally getting married, and moving back home, and why didn't that boyfriend of Lindsay's know how to shave, he looked like such a nice young man other than that - for a New Yorker, that is."
Lindsay flicks her cousin in the nose, as she used to do when she was nine and he was eight. "No comment."
"Nicely done, Montana," Danny comments, and the media circus begins all over again.