Disclaimer: Everything that belongs by right to CBS remains in their custody. No infringement is intended.

A/N: I don't do songfics. But if you were to listen to Sarah McLachlan's luminous "Wintersong", you may see a soundscape that formed the inspiration for this story.

I made up a new family for Lindsay, so I hope you enjoy them.

Wintersong

"This is how I see you…"

He hunched his shoulders up to his ears, dug his hands deeper into his pockets, and moved quickly along the dirty snow-covered sidewalk. Lights flashed and glowed overhead, and out of over-decorated doors poured a stunning variety of seasonal music extolling the virtues of roasting chestnuts, frosty noses, peace on earth, and silver bells.

It had been a long shift, following a long week, following a long few months. He walked as much to fill in time as anything else, to delay getting home to his empty apartment with its drift of unanswered Christmas cards across the table he rarely sat to eat at.

She had threatened to show up with a Christmas tree – one of those artificial, already-decorated ones – and force him into a little Christmas spirit, but had relented when he pointed out, a little testily, that with both her and Adam out of the lab, out of the state, for the holidays, and Mac and Hawkes on call, leaving him and Stella alone to handle whatever New York City decided to throw at them for five days, the tree would be wasted.

And NYC had not disappointed, he thought gloomily. A triple homicide, a rash of smash-and-grabs, and a string of slickly carried out robberies at high-end jewelry stores had made sure everyone available had been called in and kept busy. No rest for the holidays, either – his hand was hovering over his cell-phone still, waiting for results from the lab whenever the remaining techs could get through the backlog. Mac had finally sent him home for a break, even though it really should have been the boss who stepped out for a while.

Danny Messer made it to his front door, key in hand, a yawn nearly splitting his head in two. The cold had made its way down to his bones and he was having some trouble controlling the deep shudders that no layers could stave off. Once into his apartment, he unwound the muffler she had knit him, peeled off the jacket and sweater, cursed the old boiler that made heavy work of these cold nights, and grabbed a beer as he stared hopefully around the nearly-empty fridge, looking for something to eat.

With a sigh, he pulled out the carton of eggs and began to whip an omelette, something he could never do without a sharp tug of guilt and grief, quickly smothered. It was all over, he told himself again, all the mistakes, all the pain: acknowledged or overlooked, forgiven and atoned for. It was a new year coming up, and he was determined to move on without dragging pieces of the past around him like Marley's chains.

Standing over the sink, eating straight from the pan, he swallowed around the lump in his throat as the door across the hall slammed cheerfully open, and people called out: Have a Merry Christmas! Thank you – we had the best time! Call me – we'll talk soon! Happy Holidays!

The voices moved towards the elevator, and the apartment door closed again, leaving a heavy silence.

He wondered how Rikki was doing, this first Christmas without Ruben. He wondered if she was with family, or with friends, or in the court-mandated group sessions, trying to deal with her self-destructive anger and grief. Or if she had defaulted to alcohol or drugs or meaningless sex to drown out the ghosts that would not leave her alone.

He wondered if he was being disloyal, wondering about her.

He threw the rest of his dinner in the garbage, and grabbed another beer. Restlessly, he turned on the television and a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth when Linus Van Pelt said, "Lights, please?"

He mouthed along with the famous lines, "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field," but when it came to "Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger,'" he suddenly choked up, and took another quick pull at the bottle in his hand.

Shit. Shit. He was going to be a father. He was going to have a child, a wife, if he could talk her into it. For the first time in his life he would be entirely responsible for another human being.

He sat back on the couch and rested his head back to stare at the ceiling. No way. No way in hell was he ready for this.

I know you, Danny. I'm not expecting anything…

Those words had burned through his gut over and over, but not as much as the single word, "No."

He'd meant it. The proposal. With every fibre of his being. Okay, he could have been smoother, could have done it up all romantic-like. But that wasn't really him. Or her. And he wanted to marry her, to tie her to him with all the formalities he could. Otherwise, he was afraid, she would just slip away on him, leaving him alone.

Other days, he knew she was right. He wasn't ready – they weren't ready – for this. And marriage may be the right thing in the eyes of his parents and the church, but was it really the best thing for them? Did he want to be pushed down the aisle, as she had said?

Or was it just that she didn't trust him? Did it all come back to I'm not expecting anything…?

He stood up restlessly, and flicked off the television, crossing the floor to stand at his window and stare out onto the grimy street. The snow had fallen, fresh and clean, from the sky, and had been immediately kicked to death by the impatient passersby. It lay in disconsolate heaps at the edges of sidewalks, in the gutters of slick streets.

He jumped when his phone rang, and sighed when Mac's number popped up on the screen.

"Yeah, boss? Need me back?" Was that hope in his voice? Danny shook his head at himself.

Mac's crisp voice came over the phone, "No. You're off the hook. Results came back negative – we've got nothing we can hold this guy on. He's being released – back to the bosom of his loving family."

Danny smirked at the wry tone, and sighed for the waste of time. "You leaving too?"

"As soon as I finish up the paperwork. I'm sorry you don't have tomorrow off, Dan. You probably have a better place to be than the lab on Christmas Day." Mac's voice rose in a slight question, and Danny shrugged before rubbing his hand through his hair and answering coolly, "Nope. Got nothing else to do. I'll go to my parents' for dinner after shift."

"Okay. If you talk to Lindsay, tell her happy Christmas for us all, will you?"

"Yep," Danny closed his mouth tight as he closed his phone up and tossed it on the couch.

Two weeks before Christmas, when he was still reeling with the reality she had dumped all over him, she had told him she was going home for Christmas, to talk to her parents.

"And you want me to come with you." He'd said it easily, immediately, and hadn't missed the flash of panic in her eyes.

"No. No, that's okay, Danny. I know it would be hard for you to get the time off…" Her voice trailed off as his eyebrow rose disbelievingly. She sighed and rested her hand on one defensively crossed arm. "I appreciate your offering. I really do. But… I think I need to do this myself. I don't think…." She flushed as he rocked back on his heels, mouth set in a hard line.

"Your parents don't know?"

"Yes. I mean… I told them. But…Danny, I just don't think… this is the right time…" her voice faded as he stepped back, ducking his head to hide the flash of anger and dismay.

"S'okay, Lindsay. Maybe you could let me know when you think it's the right time to introduce their grandbaby's father to them." He strode down the hallway quickly, trying to get away before he said something even more unforgivable.

She'd apologized, later, and so had he, of course, and they had gone on. He had driven her to the airport and managed to kiss her good-bye on the cheek without holding on too tight, and handed her the suitcase full of presents without a word, and had sent back a cheery message when she texted him to say she had landed safely and was at her parents' in Bozeman. He had emailed her later that day to catch her up on some holiday gossip, and she had sent him back a careful little essay on "Christmas in Montana," complete with a picture of her taken out in the front yard, with snowflakes the size of babies' heads floating down on her up-turned face.

He had printed it off as an 8x10 and had it in a frame beside his bed.

All very comfortable, all very easy. Friends first, lovers second, parents in approximately 5 months.

He swore under his breath and threw himself on the bed. He didn't want it all to be so careful, so controlled. He wanted the passion, the fire, the anger, even, if that was what it took. He wanted to feel something more than this cool tenderness from her.

He missed her. He couldn't believe how much. When she had left the last time, he had had no right, no reason to feel this empty inside. And yet, even then, the yearning had been so strong, it had pushed him onto a plane to find her.

This time, he was barred even from that impulsive act. She had been definite. This was for her to do, for her to deal with. She had made it clear – he had no place there, with her family.

Wasn't he her family? Now, as they started a family of their own?

He picked up the picture, and cradled it against his chest. In the corner of the cheap wooden frame he had picked up on his lunch break, he stuck the ultrasound image she had handed in him in the locker room weeks ago. It was a little dog-eared from being in his wallet, a little smeared from the finger that had brushed over it more than once. But here, in his hands, was the only future he could see.

And it wasn't enough. He wanted the real, warm, living reality of her in his bed, in his arms, her body miraculously rounded and full with his child. He wanted to stand between her and anything that could hurt her, even if that meant her family, even if that meant the job.

No more cool, rational planning for him. It wasn't enough.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he grabbed a duffel bag out his closet and began to throw essentials into it.

"Hey, Mac?" he said when the phone was answered, "I have a big favour to ask…"

*****

Lindsay Monroe was a grown woman, fully capable of carrying her own bags, finding a cab, getting herself to her parents' house on the outskirts of Bozeman, which if not as big as New York City, was still the fifth largest city in the state of Montana in the fastest growing county of that great state.

But when she turned to hear her father's voice, she was a little girl in her daddy's arms again, and had to swallow hard to stop the tears she knew he would find excruciatingly embarrassing.

She had always been her daddy's girl, right from the moment his big, work-worn hands had taken her from the doctor and placed her on her mother's stomach, her tiny hand clutching at his finger. She had followed him around from the moment she could walk, watching everything he did with the big brown eyes that stared back at her from his familiar face. He taught her to ride, to fish, to hunt with a slingshot and then a shotgun.

Danny had laughed at the buck knife she carried even in New York, but her dad had not only given it to her for her ninth birthday, he had taught her out to skin out her first deer with it the fall after she turned 11.

When she was in his arms, she was home.

And when he pushed her away gently, when he looked down at her rounded belly gravely, she struggled not to se the hurt disappointment in his eyes.

"My baby," her mother squealed, and pulled her into a tight hug of her own.

"Hi, Mom," Lindsay squeezed her in return, holding on a moment longer.

Her mother stepped back and ran a hand lightly over the baby bump before looking Lindsay in the eyes. "I am so glad to see you. To see you both. You look so good, Linnie."

"After 4 hours in a plane? I need to stretch my legs for a while, I think." Lindsay grinned at her mother – she might have her father's eyes and colouring, but the smile was pure Debbie Monroe.

"Truck's out front. This all you brought with you?" Mike Monroe scowled as he picked up the small carry-on bag Lindsay had packed after shift the day before.

"I have another suitcase coming, Dad. That's just my emergency stuff and computer." Lindsay pointed towards the carousel that bags were just now tumbling onto.

Mike grunted and went to stand in the crowd around the conveyor belt. A big man, he stood head and shoulders above most of the young college students who congregated in small groups waiting for parents and luggage.

"You're not planning on working, are you, Linnie? I was hoping this could be a real rest for you – there won't be much more chance for you to take it easy, you know."

Lindsay smiled at her mother fondly. "Just want to keep in touch, Mom – email and such, you know."

"Seriously, Lindsay, how are you feeling? Having any trouble?" Debbie wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and touched her belly again, unable to resist.

"All good now the morning sickness has gone away. Second trimester has been a lot easier," Lindsay replied absentmindedly as she watched her father. "Mom, is Dad mad about this? He seems…"

"Upset," her mother interjected quickly. "He's a little upset. Well, you know your dad, Linnie. He's still a bit traditional, and even though your brother Eric has seen fit to have children with two different women in the past seven years…" Debbie rolled her eyes and continued hastily, "Not that we don't love all our grandchildren, of course, but well…" she followed Lindsay's troubled glance, "He's worried about you ever since you went to New York. You know that. And if this isn't exactly what he was worried about, it isn't exactly what he would have wished for you either."

Lindsay blinked hard for a moment, as her father swooped one long arm out and plucked the suitcase he had bought her for her first semester away from home out of the rapidly growing pile.

"But you don't need to worry about that. He'll be fine – you'll be fine. He just needed to see you, to make sure you are going to be okay." Debbie rubbed Lindsay's back soothingly, smiling as Mike came over, keys in hand.

"Looks like that's everything. We're not waiting for some… thing else, Peanut?"

Lindsay shook her head firmly. "Just me and all the presents in that bag!"

She was a little embarrassed about the chirpiness of her voice. But she suspected his comment was only the first volley in a long campaign to come.

Mike had been… caustic about her coming out to Montana this Christmas on her own. He had asked more than once whether they should be preparing for someone to join her. No matter how many times she had said no, he had not seemed satisfied. Lindsay knew that she was going to have to answer some questions soon, but she hoped at least to get back to the house first.

When she stepped out of the airport, the snow was falling from the darkened sky, and she lifted her face up to feel it fall softly around her face. New York snow so often held a bitter tinge of ice; this felt like a finger rubbing gently over cold skin. She fought back the sting of tears that rose with the thought I wish Danny could see this.

He always complained about the snow. But that was New York snow, city snow, she would argue with him. In the mountains was different snow. She wished he could experience this snow with her. Be here with her to share this first Christmas–last Christmas–new Christmas, with her.

But it had been her decision to tell him not to come, to keep him away from her family. She had felt the need to protect him – to keep him isolated safely in New York, in that other life that had so few points of contact with this, her Montana life. She couldn't explain it, but she had not wanted Christmas to be tainted by her family's questions and possible disapproval, by Danny's uncertainty and need to prove himself. She wanted a neutral place, a place to rest herself, just for a day or two.

She climbed into the cab of the truck, scorning her father's hand, shaking her head at her mother's offer to climb into the back. Pregnancy had not made her any less determined, any less stubborn.

Just a little less agile.

She sat in silence during the half hour ride through town to the house she had grown up in. She had spent nearly as much time at her grandparents' ranch as she had in the two-storey rancher her father pulled into the driveway of. But the ranch was gone now, sold when her grandfather died and her grandmother had moved back into town soon after Lindsay had left for university. A young family lived there now, a couple who moved out from Nevada to live the Big Sky Country dream, and still called up her father whenever something went wrong that their books and high-speed internet couldn't fix for them.

Christmas lights were on all over the neighbourhood, and she could see trees covered in ornaments gleaming in every window. The snow had stopped falling, but there were gentle drifts over the yards, and snowmen a little plumper than they had been originally. Branches stood out against the sky, looking like woman with furs drooping over bare arms. The air shimmered with the promise of more snow to come.

Lindsay surreptitiously wiped tears from her eyes.

And then it was barking from King, the arthritic companion of her father's daily walks, and squealing from small children, and kisses from brothers and brothers' significant others, and the smell of Christmas baking and yes, carols on the radio, and snowball fights, and it was all suddenly "Christmas at home" and too much. Too much.

Her mother saw it first, and shooed Lindsay up the stairs for a lie-down with a cup of tea and a handful of cookies lovingly and disgustingly decorated by the preschool crowd. She could not lie down, though; she stood at the window and stared out at the sky which had gone cold and clear, and when she saw a star twinkle in the distance, she put a hand where she had last felt the baby kick, and she wished fiercely. Angrily.

Hopelessly.

Dinner was Chinese food ordered from the Golden Duck, the same restaurant for as long as she could remember, with the same chow mein and sickly red sweet and sour pork. Her fortune cookie said, "Wishes are dreams that come true, " and when she read it out loud, her youngest brother, Cal, added loudly, "In bed!" and then snickered, glancing a little askance at her belly.

And they went around the table and talked about work and friends and people they had all known and people no one remembered, and family members who were missing, and Lindsay kept wanting to turn to Danny and explain all the in-jokes and the family references, but he wasn't there, and that was her fault too.

And she went to sleep in her own bed, the same bed she had slept in for most of her life, clutching the teddy her grandfather had brought to the hospital, the one that was going back in her suitcase when she left in three days – only three more days – and with her face turned to the window and her eyes on the star that she had wished on.

The next morning, Christmas Eve morning, all the chaos started again, but this time she was more prepared. The first order of business, as it always was for a Monroe family celebration, was breakfast: mounds of French toast with cinnamon and maple syrup, served up by her dad wearing an apron with "King of the Kitchen" written across it – a gift from his children nearly two decades earlier.

Lindsay ate until she felt sick. Another fine family tradition.

Her brother Cal still lived at home, but her older brother Hugh showed up at the door after breakfast with his two children – twin boys born with identical smiles and mischievous personalities. The oldest brother, Eric, was due to arrive that afternoon with his six-year old son, whose mother had reluctantly put him on a plane from Chicago that morning. Eric's two-year old daughter had eaten French toast with Lindsay, solemnly placing her hand on Lindsay's tummy and talking to the baby in a language no one else understood.

When Eric showed up with Jonah, the whole family bundled up for a snow walk, and cheered the nieces and nephews on as they tobogganed down the same hills she and her brothers had defeated years ago.

No matter how much noise and joy and sheer fun there was, though, Lindsay felt that there was something missing.

"No, be honest," she scolded herself. "Someone. Someone is missing."

After they tramped home, her mother sent her back up to her room with more tea and more cookies for another nap, and Lindsay obediently curled up under her quilt and closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

But her mind would not settle, racing from scene to scene – the moment she had told Danny about the baby, his proposal weeks later, telling the team…

She had never meant to tell him about the pregnancy at work, or leave him with so little room to maneuver. She had waited to tell him, yes, needing to deal with the situation in her own mind first.

His proposal had been utterly unexpected, and her turning him down had been instinctive. She burned over that memory – she hated that she had hurt him. She had decided that she would expect nothing from him, and to have him take this momentous leap forward without her had been a shock.

When she thought about it now, she realized she should have been prepared: he came from an even more traditional family than she did, after all. Marriage was the usual response. She just hadn't thought it would be his response. And so she had not been ready.

She rolled over, pulling the quilt with her, her thoughts running faster than ever.

Telling Mac, though – that was a sweet memory in the midst of confusion and fear. He had hugged her tight, whispering "Congratulations" in her ear before pulling Danny into an embrace. She was pretty sure from the flush on Danny's face that Mac had said something under his breath a little more pointed than congratulations, but from the sheepish grin that accompanied the red face, it was nothing bad.

She hadn't even discussed his coming to Montana for Christmas, assuming he wouldn't want to, would struggle to find an excuse not to. His obvious hurt still surprised her, and was at the root of her unease. She didn't want to assume he was interested or involved, and so she kept putting him at arm's length.

She was getting too awkward to keep walking this tightrope, she thought.

They needed to talk. She knew that. But talking about her feelings, about her nightmares, had never been easy for her.

She got out of bed, too restless to lie still any longer, and wrapped the quilt around her as she stared out the window at the crisp snow under a moonlit sky. Tears filled her eyes as the beauty hit her, but the next moment a wave of longing for New York City washed over her.

As she watched the sky, looking for that first star once again, a car pulled up in the street, parking carefully behind Hugh's van. She peered through the snow-laden trees to see which family friend or neighbour had braved the freezing temperatures to drop by for a cup of her father's lethal rum punch and some of her mother's shortbread cookies.

The door slammed, and a lean figure in a bright green scarf climbed carefully over the snow piled in the gutter, glancing up at the house as he did. Lindsay gasped in shock, and whirled to get to the front door before any of the family did. She had forgotten the quilt, though, and it wrapped around her feet, tripping her up. It took several frustrating minutes to extricate herself from.

By the time she made it to the stairs, her father was at the open door, scowling out into the frigid night, her curious mother standing in the hallway. "Can I help you?" he said gruffly, staring down at the young man rubbing his cold hands together.

"Mr. Monroe? I'm Daniel Messer." Determined and a little defiant, he held out a hand to Mike Monroe, but looked into the hall and up the stairs, found and held Lindsay's steady gaze. "Lindsay's fiancé, from New York."

A/N#2 – A very happy holiday to all my readers – may you be warm and fed and surrounded with family and friends this season.