Character: Lindsay Monroe
Challenge/Prompt: fanfic100, 027. Parents, psych_30, #2 Daddy Issues
Copyright Title taken from a Snow Patrol song that has nothing to do with the fic.
Summary: Set after “Stealing Home”. Lindsay reflects on a few things.
Author’s Notes: Rung one on my “let’s make Lindsay more interesting” ladder. Also rung one on my fanfic100 ladder, and rung one on my psych_30 ladder that I’m writing parallel to fanfic100 to help me out, because I really am not imaginative enough to only work with one prompt. :D
Much love to fallen_arazil who found out how far New York and Montana are for me, in spite of her hatred of Lindsay.
Some day Lindsay will learn and perhaps remember that it’s ok to fall. To slow down and stop and take a day out to sleep on her sofa and breathe in and out and evaluate or something. Falling is not a sign of weakness, she has to convince herself of that in order to move forward or whatever. But she’s still more than a little afraid of failure.
It’s not her fault. It is. Never ending battle of nerves.
He wanted her to stay home, grit her teeth, braid rawhide until her hands split and bled rivers and then became as hard as nails, and then he wanted her personality to undergo that change too. He thought she’d grow out of wanting to leave. Convinced them both that all kids go through wanting to go to far off places and then they realise that staying at home is far more sensible.
Lindsay had a hard enough time convincing him that she didn’t want so much to go to far off places as go beyond the fence at the end of the ranch. That splintery fence that she cut her leg open on when she was about eight, trying climb over it. She needed stitches and was never quite able to articulate quite why she was trying to escape in the first place. He would never have understood.
He still doesn’t understand.
He wanted her to marry Joe Cook, the blonde, blue-eyed, boy-next-door type, spend her life on a ranch dicking around with horses and cattle and God knows what else, eventually having a few kids to trap on the ranch too. Yeah, no. Fuck that.
When she’s finally got home from work, Lindsay pours herself a glass of water and goes to lie on her couch, closing her eyes. She aches all over, and what she wants to do is pick up the phone and call him. Tell him her hair’s gotten longer, that she’s turning out to be a success here, that she’s got an apartment in Manhattan and everything’s going great.
They haven’t spoken since she told him she was leaving. He scowled and turned away and her mother threw her a helpless look but what could she say? Lindsay wanted to go to New York, and there was nothing her family could say to make her stay. She thinks that her announcement that she was going was his first indication that this wasn’t her playing around, that she was serious about being a CSI, that she wasn’t just messing about with cadavers for shits and giggles.
She could never have remained in Montana. Wheat fields are beautiful and maybe sometime she’ll show one to Danny just to prove a point or seven, but she felt trapped rather than free. Always.
She wants… hell, what does she want? She wants to cry, wants to lie around morosely picturing herself flat on her back, naked, on Hammerback’s table, another Montana girl with scarred hands for no discernable reason, chewed up and spat out by the big city. She wants to pick up the phone and make a call in case she dies, so he’ll never have to stand in a morgue and tonelessly admit that the last time he spoke to his daughter was so long ago he can barely remember the sound of her voice.
She wants lips on her pulse points, Danny’s mouth or Mac’s or Flack’s or Hawkes’, it doesn’t matter, she just wants the contact. Maybe that lovely guy who took her to the opera and wouldn’t speak to her after she ran out in the intermission, a dead body breaking up yet another date.
Lindsay’s teeth clink on the glass of water as she tries to swallow and chokes. Her throat hurts and she wonders if she’s drowning. She suddenly gets homesick in a terrifying rush, making her double over and bite her mouth together, lonely arms hugging herself. Feeling so small and so mortal and so terrified, in a way that Danny would never expect from Montana and in a way she hasn’t been in so long.
There are 2182 miles between New York and Montana and tonight, Lindsay can feel every single one of them.
One phonecall and she can talk to the people she misses like a constant ache. She made this decision and it was the right one but-
Lindsay picks up the handset swiftly and brutally, dialling the numbers with brisk clicks before she can stop herself. There’s the buzzing sound of the phone ringing and she closes her eyes and puts herself in the house where she grew up. Sitting curled up small by the hall table, waiting for footsteps. Please, someone, pick up.
“John Monroe speaking.”
Her eyes flood with tears. Please God don’t let him hang up. If she’s answered in a moment with the dial tone she’ll die.