Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, you've been more helpful than you know. Also, big thanks to Lily Moonlight, you've been a star reading through and correcting and suggesting! I hope you'll continue when the new book is started!!

I don't own CSI:NY or any of the characters. I also don't own the fantastic poem quoted. It's by William Butler Yeats and I first heard it read out at the funeral of a character in Ballykissangel many years ago; it's remained a favourite ever since then, and no doubt I'll be using it again at some point.

For the last time – enjoy (and then please review!!)

Chapter 23

Tread Softly

HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

W.B. Yeats

Lindsay was in the lab when he found her, labelling evidence from the murder of a man whose body had been found in a telephone booth. She seemed oblivious to his presence, and at first he wondered if she was ignoring him, although she seemed to have gotten over that. Eventually.

He watched her for a moment as she worked, realising she was completely absorbed in what she was doing, totally engrossed. She'd finally forgiven him, about the same time as she'd forgiven herself for Tomas More's death.

"You want to grab a coffee?" she asked after they found out that Jess had regained consciousness and was no longer on the critical list.

"Sounds good," he said, feeling his pulse rate rise a little in hope.

They went to a small coffee house, not too far from the hospital where Jess was, and where Danny knew Flack would be, as he had been for the past two days, along with Jess' parents.

"It's good news then," he said, when the ice around them got a little too thick.

Lindsay nodded. "Jess is tough and she's a fighter. Besides, she's got too much to live for."

Danny nodded, not sure how to respond. The ice began to grow again.

"Look, Linds. I know I'm really no knight in shining armour, but…" he licked his lips, thinking. "I'd really like us to try and make it work. If it had been you instead of Jess…"

She looked at him, and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. Then she smiled. "I'd like to give it another chance too."

He felt himself breathe again, and then felt the brush of her leg against him and smiled. It was a good day.

Eventually, she looked up at him, almost jumping, and that smile re-emerged. "I thought you were out with Flack tonight?" she said.

"We've been out," Danny said. "Had a couple of beers, found a couple of girls…"

She laughed and threw some object at him. "Hey! That'll get you fired! You fancy dinner?"

Lindsay nodded. "I'm just about done. I've got a steak in, if you want to come back to my place?"

He gave silent thanks to whichever god had decided to smile on him that night. "You lead the way," he said, gesturing with his hand.

She smiled, and he wondered if the light had just got brighter.

-&-

The dying sun was reflected in the water, its image rippling as a breeze softly blew. He watched her as he approached the lake; curls being playfully nudged by the breeze, her hands around her, trying to keep a little warmer, even though the evening wasn't cold.

"Mac," Stella said, turning round and catching sight of him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've just been to see Angell," he said, his hands in his pockets. "She's doing well. No lasting damage, although it'll be a good few months before she's jumping across cars to catch criminals again."

Stella smiled as the sun let out one last gasp of light before sinking into the lake. "And how's Flack?"

Mac laughed as they set off walking back down the path, towards the lab. "He's okay. Over the moon that she's going to be fine. They'll be good, the two of them."

"They make a good couple," Stella said. "They fit well together." She looked at him, and he read the unspoken words in her eyes, the same ones that were written in his.

He noticed her shiver and pulled off his jacket. "Take this," he said. "Keep warm."

She took it, their fingers brushing as she did so and for a second he wondered if they could fit, before dismissing the thought from his mind, like he had done so many times previously.

"Mac," he heard his name and looked up, seeing Stella stood in front of him. "It's late and we haven't eaten. You want to grab Chinese?"

He smiled, grabbing his coat that was still laced with faint traces of her scent. How could he refuse such an offer?

-&-

The last time Jess had been in this room had been two weeks ago, a few hours before the raid of the building on Bramhall Avenue. She hadn't slept in Flack's bed then, instead they'd found solace on his couch, waiting for the hours to pass, waiting for that dark hour just before dawn.

The dark hour had continued after dawn had come.

She sat down on the bed, noticing the freshly washed sheets and smiled. Since she'd been discharged a week ago, she'd stayed at her parents, ignoring Flack's protests that he'd take time off work to look after her, but she hadn't wanted looking after, didn't want to be made to feel like an invalid, or to have her be the weaker one in the relationship.

Instead, they'd compromised, and he'd stayed with her some nights at her parents, after his shifts had finished, saying that he was perfectly happy with the interrogation he'd get from her parents.

And it was then she'd seen another facet to him, one that seemed to work at a slower pace. It was tender and yet burned deeply, and was something that he couldn't explain or put into words. The first night he'd stayed, after the grilling from her father and two of her brothers who had just 'happened' to drop by, he'd been quiet, a quietness that had worried her at first.

"Spit it out, Flack. What's up?" she said, looking at his back as he gazed out of the window, overlooking the lawn that her father tried to keep manicured, but failed.

He shook his head, not wanting to speak and she stood up, her leg still weak, very weak.

Putting a hand on his back, partly to steady herself but mainly to touch, she wondered what it was he needed to say, but wouldn't.

"If you want out, I'll understand." It wouldn't be logical, if he wanted to end the relationship, she knew, and the biggest part of her brain understood that. If he didn't want to be with her, he certainly wouldn't have put up with the Spanish inquisition her father had just put her through. But there was still that niggling doubt, and she wasn't one to brood.

He turned around, his figure dark with the sun behind him, and placed his hand around her waist.

"I think it should be me saying that, Jess," he said.

She gave a small, unbelieving laugh. "Really? You know, Don. You need to get yourself some game, because this silent business really isn't doing it for me."

He smiled, and his blue eyes looked a little brighter. "I told you. I ain't got no game."

"Then play mine and tell me what's eating you." She took a step back and sat on the queen sized bed that she knew would be a squash for them. There had only ever been one other boy in that bed, and that had been ten years ago, light years ago.

He shook his head in exasperation rather than refusal and she waited needing to know what he was going to say, needing to know what had changed.

Flack looked at her, and she wished she could read his mind. Then he bent down, his hand at the back of her head, pulling her to him in a kiss, one that seemed to set her very soul on fire and burn away any trace of doubt.

When it ended, she found she had tears on her cheeks that had run into his, or were they his tears? She wasn't sure. "That was what you wanted to tell me?" she said as he sat beside her on the bed, his fingers drying the tracks of her tears from her skin..

He shrugged; his eyes still on the picture outside. She could hear her father watering the garden; hear him singing some song that was unrecognisable to any ear bar her mother's. "It's only been a few weeks," he said, eventually, still looking outside.

"Has it?" she said. "Are you sure it didn't start with 'hello'?"

He laughed and managed to look at her, then averted his gaze away again, this time to his knees. "Yeah, I guess it pretty much did, although your taste in movies hasn't improved since then," he paused for a moment, and this time she didn't try and rush him, instead waiting, waiting for words to arrive.

"Jess, I didn't know if you were going to live. I didn't like it when I thought you wouldn't be around, and I know there's a lot of people – aside from the scumbags of New York – who prefer you to be here… but I want you here with me," he looked up at her, almost hopefully, almost like a small boy waiting to find out whether he was forgiven for breaking his mother's best vase.

She waited, knowing there was more, knowing that at some point there would be a snappy summary, he would get to his point.

"You know, maybe I'm not good enough for you. Maybe your dad's down there right now working out how to get me off his premises…"

"I think it's more likely he's saying to his plants the same sort of crap that's just poured out of your mouth," she interrupted. "Fertiliser. Quit with the self-doubt Flack. I want you here, with me."

He nodded, and she noticed his eyes were now shining. "Okay, Jessica Angell. I was trying to be subtle…"

"I'm surprised you know the word exists!"

"If you weren't injured…" he looked at her, and she felt something electrical connect them, as it had been doing for months, for all the time they'd been doing this dance around each other.

"If I weren't injured would you be here?" she said, still holding his gaze. The answer formed in his eyes before he spoke.

"Yes, I would. I can give you all the romantic crap, about how I'd go anywhere and do anything, but you'd laugh and that's not me. If I could have swapped places with you in hospital, I would have; if I could have shot Rachael McKinsey when I thought you were going to die I would have; if I could have had one more conversation with you when you were in that ambulance I would have turned my badge in and sold my soul to the devil," the words were fast and hard; there was a furiousness to them that made butterflies take off in her stomach and beat through her chest.

"I believe you," she said. "I heard you, in the ambulance. At least, I remember thinking it was you but I wasn't sure if I was just dreaming. I remember trying to answer back but I couldn't."

"What did I say?" he said, his eyes dancing. "It could have been one of the paramedics."

"If it was it must have been love at first sight," Jess said, raising a hand to touch his cheek that was reddening.

"Did I tell you that?" he said, his voice had become softer, huskier. "Really?"

"And I remember wanting to say it back," she said, sliding her hand down to the bottom of his t-shirt and pushing it up, over his chest, exposing his scars.

"Is it not too soon?" he said, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt as her hands drank in his skin, reading it, every sentence, every word.

"How can it be too soon when another day might be too late?"

Jess lay back on the sheets, feeling the cool crispness of them. He'd told her in a midnight confession, that he hadn't changed his sheets since before she was shot, needing the smell of her on them. She'd laughed, and teased him, and found his embarrassment endearing. Then she'd made him promise to have them changed before she next stayed over.

And he had done.

She stood up, smiling, the memory of that first night at her parents imprinted on her mind in indelible ink. She heard the noise of the key in the door and Flack's presence entering the apartment, and she moved into the living room to greet him.

"I'm home," he said, reaching for her.

And so am I, she thought, feeling his lips on hers. I'm home too.

-&-

The sun was setting, leaving trails of colours in the soon to be night sky. It was a scene he'd watched a thousand times before, although he knew he'd only see it a few times more before he gave up the ghost of this life for whatever was in the next.

Elior Rostow sat beside the unmarked grave, finding he was unable to mourn the son he'd never understood. Instead he thought of those souls he'd taken with him, out of this life before their time.

He stood up slowly, using a stick to help with his balance and began the walk out of the cemetery, the sky losing its light to the temporary shroud of darkness, while the rest of the city glowed, not with the neon bulbs of the buildings, but with something else. Life.