Eh. I'm not feelin' up for Halloween this year.

If you're lookin' for me, I'll be the guy handing out candy.

( Private )

It's Halloween again? Already?

...Are we doing the group costume thing again and I missed the memo?

Apparently Lani's sister thinks I'm "adorkable."

I have no idea what to make of that.

Made it through drunk bowling without any damaged limbs or appendages.

...I think I can consider that a good night.

Yankees: 10
Boston: 3

...Now that is the way to spend an evening.

Headed down to the DA's office yesterday for a case. Peluso wasn't around, so I wound up getting the warrant I needed from Connie instead. It was nice seeing her, I guess. I hadn't seen her in a while, and she seemed -- good.

Lindsay heads home at the end of the week and I told her I'd have dinner with her the night before. Last minute, I know, but what else do you want me to do? It's been a long month.

Danny had developed this habit of staring at the clock for a bit too long of a period of time. At least for today anyway. He knew that Lindsay's plane was going to land at eleven-thirty AM, and he couldn't stop himself from watching the clock to see when it would happen. When eleven-thirty rolled around, and he didn't hear anything about planes crashing or accidents coming out of the airport, he started to watch the clock, wondering if she would actually come down to the 1-6 or she'd just go to his apartment and wait for him there.

She still had a key after all. Could probably just let herself in and wait.

Then again, knowing Lindsay, she would call before she did that. In fact, he was banking on her calling first, so he could still have some time to get himself in the right frame of mind. So he was watching the clock, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. In fact, he was staring at the clock to the point where he thought that Lani would either ask him what he was doing or smack him upside the head.

Either way, it might have been enough to smack him out of it.

Eventually, he tore his eyes away from the clock as the evening rolled around, and the swing shift started to make their way in. He was just finishing up the last of the work he had to do for the day, running down the alibi for a guy who'd been accused of flashing the kids at a local summercamp (they didn't check out -- what a surprise), when a hand came down at the edge of his desk, and he was forced to look up at the face he'd really expected to call first.

"Hey, Danny."

He just stared, not knowing what to say, or even where to begin. But fact of the matter was, she was actually here. He never really did think she would actually come.

Things have been slow. A couple cases here and there, but nothing really interesting complicated. I haven't been out much -- not with the people I work with anyway, but I've seen Flack once or twice and Hawkes. Nothing all that interesting. Met my replacement over there too -- nice guy, I guess. Seemed kind of scared of me though -- no idea why.

Hey Millie -- does Ross still work down at the lab, or was he transferred elsewhere. I haven't seen him at all lately.

( Private )

[Set for last night.]

Danny made his way back into his place slowly, running his hand over his face. It had been a stupid move. It had been a very stupid move, and he never should have done it, but he did. He needed to know. He needed to know he at least had meant something to her before he screwed things up afterwards. He needed to know that he wasn't going to just be this guy she banged for six months because she was lonely and didn't want to be. She told him she loved him, right? That had to have meant something.

He knew that he had managed to screw things up afterwards, with the fight they had and everything else he'd done. He probably screwed up this too -- he didn't say it quite the way he was supposed to. He never said things the way he was supposed to, but this is probably one of those moments where it would have mattered.

He looked down at the box in his hands and sighed heavily. He'd wanted her to keep it. It didn't matter to him if she never wore it, or she buried it in the bottom of a box somewhere. He'd gotten it for her. He wanted her to keep it. But the fact that she wouldn't probably gave him answer more than anything else did. He clearly didn't mean as much to her as she did to him.

He left the box on his kitchen counter, before making his way to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer. Bruno was probably knocked out somewhere, and for once the place was quiet. Taking his beer, he made his way back into the living room, plopping down on the couch and just soaking in the silence. He picked up the phone, running down the list of the numbers to try and find someone he could talk to, someone who wasn't disowning him, or he'd previously got caught in the middle, or would have no concept of the situation at all. He needed someone who knew him well enough to get where he was coming from, or had been in this kind of situation with him before. And when he stopped scrolling and stared at the number he found -- he knew it wasn't the best idea, but he figured that he'd already made enough stupid moves this evening, what was one more.

He hit send and placed the phone to his ear, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. At first it was just the phone and he had a feeling he'd missed her, until there was a click on the other end of the line, and a voice he hadn't heard in months.

"Lindsay Monroe."

For a while, he just lost his nerve, and couldn't say anything, letting a long silence hang between them. She waited, patiently, before speaking up again.

"Hello?"

He swallowed. Now or never.

"Hey, Montana."

"...Danny?"

[Set for Sunday. But posted today because I'm slow.]

"How much longer are you going to be taking up my couch, Messer?"

( Danny pinched his eyes closed at the sound of her voice and winced. )

( E-mail to John Munch (set for Monday) )

Well, shit.

Now that's what I call a Superbowl.