Hi! Here's my first ever attempt at writing, let alone fan fiction, so I would really, really, really LOVE reviews and would appreciate ANY comments or suggestions.

This is based after the phone call at the end of 4.19. A different path of events after that point! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer – I do not own CSI NY or the characters – only in my wildest dreams!

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine!

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Danny Messer was distracted. Not only by the guitars blaring at him from the headphones in his ears but by his task in hand. He was going to sort this out, make it right, and tell her everything…today. He had been too distracted lately to realise what was going on around him….and he was too distracted now to hear his name being screamed repeatedly from somewhere behind him.

(The night before…)

He had screwed up, he knew that much, and he hated himself for it. But he was not going to wallow in self pity as he had done so frequently recently. The only person who had even a glimmer of hope to sort this situation out was him…and he was not going to let the opportunity pass him by. Earlier that night he had talked to Lindsay on the phone, the first he'd properly talked to her in what felt like years. His heart shattered and was reawakened when he heard the pain in her voice he had caused, and that had made him determined to do whatever it was that he needed to do to make that pain go away. His immediate thought had been to go around to her place, with no agenda except to be honest with her for once. To let her back into his mind, which he kept so closed to all but a few, and let her make up her own mind about what she wanted to happen. However much he wanted her back so dearly, he had respect whatever decisions she made after he confessed all. It was him who had done the screwing up (quite literally) so it was she who got to decide what happened next. It was only fair, not that any of this was fair on Lindsay he thought.

Unfortunately as he had just built up the guts to go to Lindsay's, his phone rang and it was Stella, telling him to come in early for his shift that night so they could get to work on the Cabbie Killer case, and under pressure he had agreed.

So here he was now, 6am the next day just after his shift, yawning away and planning his morning: he was going to head straight out of the police department buildings and head home for a quick power nap and shower, wanting to be alert and ready for whatever lay ahead. So distracted was he by his iPod firmly in his ears that he missed the desperate cries across the precinct floors from the one person in the world he would do anything for. His colleague, his partner, his life…his Montana.