Kimmychu (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} csiny_sl) wrote,@ 2007-04-17 01:53:00 |
|
| Current mood: |  sleepy |
| Entry tags: | dec2006req, fanfiction, you_and_i_unselfed |
You and I Unselfed, Part 2, request by ka990 [complete]
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM
Pairing: Danny/Flack
Content Warning: ANGST.
Spoilers: Episodes 1x21 (On the Job), 2x20 (Run Silent, Run Deep), 21 (All Access), 23 (Heroes) and 24 (Charge of this Post).
Summary: In the aftermath of the bombing that almost kills Flack, Danny discovers what loss really means. Danny/Flack.
Disclaimer: No, they don’t belong to me. I shall go be all emo and write epic odes about it now.
But it’s Mac, who has bestowed him with the keys to unlock them.
On the evening of the day Mac had driven him home, Danny stands in front of his bathroom sink and mirror, wearing just his boxers. He rubs a hand across his belly, lips puckered, envisioning himself in Flack’s place.
What would he be like, if he had been the one who was caught in the explosion instead of Flack?
He stares at his abdomen in the mirror, picturing horrific scars that extend from one flank to another, and he swallows hard.
He’d be … enraged. Pissed off at the whole fucking world that he was the one who had to get blown up, of all people. Pissed off that people saw him at his lowest, weak and feeble and needing other people to assist him in doing simple crap like bathe and go to the toilet. Pissed off that his body isn’t the way it used to be, that it’s marred and ghastly and he can’t eat big meals like before because some of his intestines’ gone. Just like that.
And how would he feel about Flack seeing his body then?
He’d be … terrified.
Danny lifts his head to gaze at his reflection. He sees a man in his early thirties with shorn, brown hair and heavy-lidded, blue eyes. A prominent Italian nose he’s inherited from his father, lips that aren’t very full though not thin either, a light moustache and goatee shadowing his lower face. Broad shoulders and chest, muscular arms thanks to his frequent visits to the Y, a dark blue tattoo on his upper right arm and a flat, smooth stomach.
His body’s far from perfect but it’s the only one he has.
And yes, he’d be scared stiff to display himself to Flack should it be disfigured with a mass of scars, like the ones his friend and lover must have.
He unconsciously presses his palm hard against his tummy, a frown wrenching the ends of his lips downwards. Is that why Flack has been ignoring him and pushing him away? Because the guy thinks he’ll find the scars disgusting or something?
It makes sense, it makes a lot of sense.
Only problem is, it doesn’t enlighten Danny why Flack is so resentful and hostile towards him in the first place. Things aren’t connecting somewhere. He’s beginning to see the dots, just not all of them yet. He’s … missing out on something.
Damnit.
He ponders the issue while he brushes his teeth and wipes his face with a damp cloth, and by the time he’s sprawled in his bed, his brain’s reeling from reiterating the same information again and again. He can’t recollect doing anything to provoke Flack before the bombing occurred. If truth be told, Flack had been at his most accommodating and devoted towards him in the months preceding the incident.
He’d been a total wreck after what happened to his brother. He didn’t just cry once that night, and it was pretty damn humiliating that he snapped in front of Mac, that once was more than enough. No, his frigging body had to betray him and make him weep multiple times, all the way into the next morning in Flack’s embrace, costing the guy a whole night’s sleep.
And Flack never complained. Not even when he rambled on and on in the Godfather’s voice about random childhood memories and Flack probably had no idea whatsoever what the hell he was talking about.
Flack never complained.
His eyes flicker shut, and he sees Flack standing in the hospital corridor, watching over him as he stares into the room where Louie’s being treated by doctors and nurses in white coats and green scrubs. Flack is like a tower, tall and solid, a reliable presence in a sea of flitting people who are in a constant hurry and have no time to aid anyone.
Those large, blue eyes are gazing at him over Mac’s shoulder as Flack speaks to the other CSI.
We ain’t goin’ anywhere.
And then, as Mac turns away, he sees Flack’s lips move in two words that are meant solely for him.
Trust me.
Danny rolls onto his side on the bed. It’s too warm for a blanket, so he leaves it bunched up around his hips and legs. The faint noise of laughter drifts up from outside and through the window and into his ear, a sound tinted with melancholy due to his chain of thoughts. He remembers listening to the tinkle of a little child laughing as he waited for news of his brother’s condition in the hospital foyer. Flack had rested a hand on his shoulder then, his lips unmoving but his eyes saying everything.
Trust me. Let me bear your grief and halve it.
A severe pang within his heart strikes him out of the blue, an inner paroxysm so bad he curls up into a fetal position, grabbing at the left side of his chest. God, he misses Flack so much. He hasn’t seen Flack for almost a week now, not since he walked out on the man.
Does Flack still want him?
Will Flack trust him and permit him to bear the man’s sorrow too?
There’s only one way Danny can find out.
Like the Chinese woman who deliberated over a plan to save her husband so long ago, he spends the night doing the same, thinking of all the ways to prove to Flack that he still loves him. That he’ll be there till the end, no matter what may hinder their path.
“We ain’t goin’ anywhere, Don,” he whispers into the night, wishing the winds will carry his declaration to his other half. “Trust me.”
Flack is staring at him.
It’s a major change from the guy disregarding him all this time, and it pleases Danny.
“Are you finished with that?” Danny asks in a placid manner, gesturing at Flack’s half-eaten dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. He’s a bit saddened that Flack’s appetite is still far from its original black hole capacity but beggars can’t be choosers.
Hell, he’s rather happy there hasn’t been a repeat performance of Flack tossing dinner around the kitchen. For a second, and only a second, he wonders if Flack will do that again, maybe chuck the plate at his head the next time and split it open or something. The ridiculous notion is squelched in a flash. No, Flack isn’t like that. Not even this Flack.
There’s a vast difference between a man who’s filled with hatred and enjoys hurting people, and a man filled with so much fear that it engulfs him and drives him to do things he doesn’t intend.
Elephants dance in Danny’s stomach when Flack doesn’t react at first.
Then, Flack merely dips his head in a nod.
“Okay, I’ll clean up,” Danny says.
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Flack is staring harder at him now.
Danny carries their plates to the kitchen sink, and forks the remainder of Flack’s meal into an empty container to be stored in the fridge. Flack loves spaghetti and meatballs, he knows that very well. The last time he’d attempted to dispose of some leftover spaghetti, Flack had literally shaken him like a rag doll and elucidated with prodigious detail the cardinal sin of throwing out good spaghetti and meatballs and to never, ever do it again.
Their bouts of lovemaking after that had appeased Danny enough to not bite Flack in the ass for it later. Figuratively, of course.
The kinky homicide detective would have enjoyed the real thing too much.
Danny chuckles to himself as he washes the dishes in the sink. Wow, it’s been some time since he’s fantasized about sex with Flack. He’s amazed he hasn’t gone off the deep end yet, in view of the fact that he hasn’t had any in months and he’s just fine and dandy with that. He hasn’t even given a thought about pleasuring himself. All he’s been thinking about is Flack, worrying about him, wanting to make sure he’s alright, that he’s safe and recovering.
This is what love is, a firm voice in his heart says, putting somebody else’s needs above yourself, and doing it because their happiness is your happiness too.
It takes him a minute to become aware of Flack standing near him by the sink. The taller man is gazing at him with that particular look, the one full of bewilderment and anxiety that seems so alien on Flack’s facial features. Flack’s been staring at him like this on and off since yesterday, which also happened to be his first day off via Mac’s orders.
Danny had been ready for ire and perhaps even violence when he came by Flack’s apartment yesterday morning. What he hadn’t been primed for, after letting himself in, was the astonishing relief he saw on Flack’s countenance.
Relief, because he came back.
The whole day afterwards, Danny felt as if he could take on the entire universe. What he’d seen in Flack’s expression, despite its brevity, kept him going long after Flack became surly and quick-tempered and did the ignoring act.
Flack wants him around. Which means the whole ignoring thing is a sham.
But why is Flack pushing him away when he actually wanted him around?
Danny’s hoping, really hoping, that Flack will disclose the reason very soon.
There’s always a reason for everything.
“Why are you doing this?” Flack asks gruffly. He’s gripping the edge of the kitchen counter tight, doing that like it’s all that is holding him back from blasting up like the bomb that nearly slaughtered him.
Danny knows Flack isn’t referring to him washing the dishes.
He can hear the taller man’s other tacit questions although they remain unspoken.
Why did you come back? Why are you still here, with me?
Why haven’t you abandoned me yet?
He returns the frightened stare with a tender one, shrouding no secrets, baring his soul through his blue eyes. He considers murmuring sweet words and going off into some ode about why lovers do things for each other and then, he checks himself.
For such a question, there is no greater answer than the plain truth.
“Because, I love you.”
His avowal has a visible and physical effect on Flack. The lanky detective, still ashen in complexion with dark circles around those beautiful eyes, stumbles back as if he’s been kicked in the chest.
Danny is unable to prevent hot warmth from springing to his eyes. He’s never seen Flack appear so shaken before. All because of three words.
Three words, that he’s uttered for the very first time to Flack’s handsome face.
It’s evident that Flack hardly expected them at all.
The homicide detective, dressed in a loose, long-sleeved black sweater and jeans, staggers another step or two backwards to prop himself up against one of the kitchen cupboards. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Danny the entire time. His lower lip trembles, and under the warm-hued ceiling light, it seems as if those big eyes are glistening too.
“It’s true. I do love you, you know,” Danny says with all sincerity. “I always will. Never doubt that.”
The resonance of water in the sink flowing over plates and eating utensils fades away.
Noises of the city wafting in through the windows wane into nothing.
Time itself grates to a halt.
“I … but you -”
Flack cuts short his stuttering by pursing his lips taut.
Danny has to bite his lower lip hard to restrain himself from rushing up to the disconcerted man and hug him and beg him to speak his mind. To demolish this wall that still separates them.
Time. Give him time.
A half minute ticks past with them facing each other in silence, Flack’s gaze darting here and there nervously and Danny maintaining slow breaths and praying his heart isn’t going to leap straight out of his chest. Is this it? Is Flack finally going to open up to him tonight?
Please, he whispers without a sound, please don’t be afraid of me.
Flack abruptly takes a step towards him, one hand rising, and he stays where he is, looking into Flack’s wide, anxious eyes, returning reassurance with his own blue ones.
Talk to me, Don. I’m here.
“I … I’m gonna watch some TV.”
Flack’s hand slowly withdraws.
Danny nods, and veils his slight disappointment with an encouraging smile. “Okay. I’ll join ya in a little while.”
He turns back to the sink, recommencing his washing of the dishes. Listens to Flack shuffling away, hesitant steps that stop at the kitchen entry. He doesn’t twist around to glance at Flack, though he knows the other man is standing there observing him. It should agitate him, this constant staring that’s similar to being studied under a microscope, except it doesn’t. Not at all.
He never appreciated how often Flack stared at him and drank in his presence as if he was the elixir of life itself, until the guy no longer did so.
Flack shambles away to the living room when Danny starts drying up the plates and pots he’d used to cook the bolognaise sauce and spaghetti. The television comes on, and random sounds emanate from it as the homicide detective switches channels for something interesting to watch. Once Danny’s done with the drying up, he stacks up the dining paraphernalia into two piles and brings them over to the cupboard where Flack stows his plates, bowls and the likes.
His heart’s beating at a frenetic pace, not from unease or anything like that.
He said the three words to Flack.
And the world didn’t end.
No, instead, it feels as if his world … has just begun.
He heaves in a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment.
God, why didn’t anyone tell him how amazing it’d feel to say it to someone, especially someone he loved with all his soul, someone who deserved to hear it ages ago? Why had it taken a horrendous event like a bombing for him to tell Flack those three words? He’s such a fool sometimes.
There’s a smooth, rectangular aperture in the wall next to the cabinet that looks into the living room from the kitchen. He peeks through it from time to time as he shelves the utensils back where they belong, seeing Flack sitting on his black sofa, eyes honed in on the television set.
Flack’s sitting in a pose that’s much more comfortable, slouching with his long legs stretched out, one arm at his side and the other over his belly. Like the alteration from disregard to persistent staring, Danny also considers this an improvement.
The fourth time Danny glances through the opening, Flack is looking towards the kitchen. Towards him.
Their gazes lock across the space.
Danny’s lips shift into a closed-lip smile on their own volition. There’s something different about the expression on his lover’s face, he notices, and his breath snags the instant the insight comes to him.
The fear is gone.
And as their connection prolongs, the ends of Flack’s dark pink lips arch upwards in a diminutive, bashful smile.
It’s a dazzling sight, one that widens Danny’s smile into a jubilant, toothy grin. His grin broadens even more when Flack flushes and goes back to watching the television, the shy smile having never left his visage.
Danny begins to whistle softly while he tidies away the last couple of forks and spoons, his face crinkled in elation.
Mr. B-O-M-B, zero.
Love and kindness, four.
It’s taking time, but he‘s winning a streak and that‘s all he needs to know.
On Danny’s fourth day off, he and Flack are in the homicide detective’s living room watching television together like they’ve been doing for the last three days. They sit side by side with an arm’s gap between them. Danny’s squeezing a pillow to his chest, legs spread and straightened out. Flack’s sitting more upright than Danny is, a hand on top of his tummy over his white jersey.
Danny notes this from the corner of his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks mellifluously, glancing upwards at Flack.
Flack seems to not have heard his query at first, staring at the television screen with impassive eyes. Then, Flack blinked and bowed his head to look at Danny.
“Hmm? Yeah, I’m okay.”
Flack’s reply is said in an equally mellow manner.
They aim their eyes at the screen once more. Of all the things they’re watching, it’s a Discovery channel documentary on the subject of peculiar sea creatures that live thousands of feet below sea level. There’s a reddish-brown squid whizzing around on the screen, and Danny thinks it’s absolutely captivating, the way its blue bioluminescence glows in the dark water, the way it’s turning itself inside out like it’s in an elegant ballet.
Thing is, this isn’t the kind of show Flack’s ever interested in, which is sorta suggesting to Danny that Flack’s got something substantial on his mind.
Forty minutes of more fascinating and sometimes ugly-looking sea critters zoom by. The documentary is so enthralling that by the end of it, Danny’s half-questioning himself why he hadn’t delved into marine biology instead so he could see all those extraordinary organisms for real.
Suddenly, the television screen goes blank.
Flack has the remote control in his hand, his thumb on the red power button.
Finally, a voice in Danny‘s mind utters, finally, he‘s going to talk to me.
The quiet hovering over them is deafening.
One, two, three minutes, and Danny’s doubting the situation now. Huh, maybe Flack’s just tired and wants to nap or -
“Mac was the first person I saw when I woke up,” Flack says. He’s still staring at the television screen, except his mind’s in another world and time.
Danny pushes himself up, bending his legs and drawing his knees up to his chest on the couch. He puts the pillow he’d been holding aside. His intuition’s telling him this conversation’s going to be a profound one. Either that, or it’s going to be one that rips him apart.
“The funny thing is, when I opened my eyes and everythin’ was hazy … I kinda thought it was you at first. I remembered … somebody holdin’ my hand and talkin’ to me, and … I thought it was you.”
Danny’s eyes shut on their own accord. What he would give now, to go back in time and replace Mac in that hospital room.
“He was smilin’ at me, and askin’ me how I was feelin’ and … I dunno. I guess I musta asked him where you were.”
Flack’s eyes become shuttered.
“He told me, you weren’t there ‘cause ya drove Lindsay home.”
Danny’s eyes snaps open and wide at the words and the dejection in them. He gapes at the other man, an iceberg the size of the moon crushing his insides.
Oh, fuck.
He’d forgotten. He’d completely forgotten about driving Lindsay back to her apartment that night, recalling only his necessity to get away before he broke down in front of his peers, his solitary misery in the rain at Battery Park.
Oh, fuck.
Flack’s known about it all this time.
“The moment she started workin’ at the labs, I knew I was done for,” Flack murmurs, his mien frighteningly vacant. “The way you were lookin’ at her, the way all the lab techs were goin’ on ‘bout how you were both makin’ googly eyes at each other … I knew that was it -”
Whatever is left of Danny’s composure dissipates straight away.
“C’mon, Don! I was just curious ’bout the newbie! Everybody on the team was curious ‘bout her!” he objects in outrage.
What? Flack’s been thinking he had some - some thing for Lindsay since then?
“I just knew it, ya know?” Flack continues, as if Danny hadn’t said a word. “People say all things gotta come to an end sooner or later, right? I just … I just didn’t think it’d happen to me. I thought, maybe I’d finally found somethin’ good, ya know? Maybe I’d finally found somebody who understands me and knows me, really knows me, somebody who’ll -”
Flack bites his lower lip. He won’t look in Danny’s direction, not even when Danny inches his way across the couch towards him. He’s too deep in his cogitations to realize how likewise the agony is for Danny to hear all this.
“I figured it was just a matter of time. I mean, I was in the deep end from the start. A guy, a homicide detective whose legendary old man would rather die than have a son who’s in love with another guy? Yeah, I was fucked from the start … but I didn’t care ‘bout that.”
There’s emotion showing on Flack’s pale face, at last. It’s one that causes something to ache intolerably in Danny’s chest.
“I didn’t care ‘bout that. All I cared ‘bout was that I’d found somebody. And … and it was all goin’ to be taken away from me. By this … this new CSI from Montana who doesn’t know a thing ‘bout you, doesn’t know a thing ‘bout this city. My city.”
Those sad, blue eyes are looking at him, arresting him to the spot, cleaving him in two.
“Mine.”
I am yours, Danny yearns to tell him, I am, why can’t you see that?
Something massive jams his throat, so huge he can barely breathe.
“I thought I could ignore all the gossip. At the time, you were always comin’ over to my place, or me to yours, and you were the same, you didn’t act any different to me so I thought things were gonna be okay … And then people started talkin’ more and more. I mean, hell, even Hammerback told me ya had a crush on her.”
Danny rubs at his forehead, his brows furrowed in an intense scowl. As nice a guy Hammerback is, he’s going to have a long talk with the ME when he’s sorted things out here.
“One day, I went over to the labs to look for Stella to get an update on a case, a couple a’ days before the explosion took place … and I overheard some techs makin’ bets on how long it’d be before you jumped into bed with Lindsay. And ya know their longest estimated time? A month.”
It’s hard, very hard, to see Flack through brimming eyes.
A month. A freaking month.
Which means … Flack’s assuming he’s been fucking Lindsay all this while.
Behind his back.
“I dunno. I dunno … I just felt like stupidest bastard in the world. A selfish prick. I mean, what kinda right did I have to chain ya to me, ya know? I can’t help how I feel ‘bout you, and you can’t help how ya feel ‘bout other people and …” Flack inhales, a long, shuddering breath. “S’not right to tie people down when they’re not happy with ya, s’not right, I know.”
Danny’s dying to touch Flack, touch his hand, stroke his face, anything. Flack’s rambling, and he only rambles like this when he’s really, really upset, and Danny’s scared. One touch can be all it takes to push Flack into a very bad place.
“So I’m thinkin’, okay, Danny’s gonna be happier with her, and that’s what counts to me. I’m thinkin’, okay, if ya really love somethin' or somebody, ya gotta let them go, right? If they come back, they're yours for life. But see, there’s just one problem I have with that …”
Streaks of moisture are streaming down Flack’s cheeks, highlighted by the sunlight spilling in through the windows.
“I don’t know how to let you go, Danny.”
It isn’t the tears stemming from the taller man’s eyes that trigger Danny’s own to fall. It is the heartrending smile that is filled only with love for Danny that does so.
“You think I slept with Lindsay on the night you were hospitalized. After you almost died. You think I slept with her. After you almost died,” he croaks.
Flack is staring at him now, glistening eyes gigantic and doubtful.
“You think I’ve been sleeping with her after that too, don’t you?” Danny rears up onto his knees on the cushions, a fire blazing hotter and hotter by the second within him, devastating him. “What, ya think I’ve been fuckin’ her behind yer back, while I come here and play nice with you so that you won’t suspect anythin’? Huh? Is that what ya think, Don?!”
“I -”
“No, Don, that’s not what I’ve been doin’!” He whips his spectacles off his face, tosses it behind him onto the pillow and swipes at his wet face before saying, “Okay, yeah, I did drive Lindsay back to her apartment at night, but I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even go into the damn building. Shit, I didn’t even get out of the car, and you know why? Because all I could think ‘bout was you, and how I couldn’t be there with you because Mac wanted to be there and I couldn’t stay without snappin’ like a twig and cry worse than I did when Louie got beaten up!”
He’s so angry at Flack, at himself, that he jostles the shell-shocked man back against the couch, straddling Flack’s lap and getting right into Flack’s face.
“And no, I have not been sleepin’ with Lindsay behind yer back. I never even once thought of doin’ anythin’ close to that. And ya know why, Don? Because it’s you I love, you stupid bastard. It’s you I wanna have sex with, you I wanna make love to, you. I love you, damnit, so what do I hafta do to make you understand that?!”
His harsh breaths echo in the ensuing silence. He’s not sure, he’s not quite sure but as he blinks numerous times to clear his vision, he’s seeing something wondrous in Flack’s eyes.
Faith.
Faith in them, once more.
Flack swallows visibly, then mumbles in a tiny voice, “I look like fuckin’ Frankenstein from the chest down.”
“And what?” Danny thrusts his arms out on either side of Flack’s head and grips the back of the sofa, shifting his head forward till their foreheads are almost touching. “Ya think that’s gonna make me stop lovin’ you? Ya think I’m that shallow? That I‘m gonna run the instant somethin‘ bad happens to you?”
Flack licks his lower lip, and then, shakes his head from side to side.
“Then ya don’t hafta worry ‘bout me ever lovin’ you less ‘cause a’ this, ya hear me? I meant what I said, Don. I love you, I always will, and I’ll always be here.” He lets out a growl and punches the cushion next to Flack‘s shoulder in his dissatisfaction. “God, I can’t believe you actually thought I was cheatin’ on you with Lindsay! I'm so pissed off at you, I could kick yer ass to kingdom come and back!”
They stare into each other’s eyes, noses touching, breaths mingling. Flack’s thighs are firm and hot between his legs, and it feels so good to have a part of his best friend and lover touching him there again, to just feel Flack there with him.
And then, a familiar, large hand is stroking his bristly cheek.
“Hi. I missed you.”
When his heart registers Flack’s words, Danny feels his visage crumpling in contradictory emotions of euphoria and retreating melancholy, and he doesn’t give a damn. Nothing in the universe is able to deter him from enfolding his arms around Flack’s broad shoulders in a squashing hug or keep him from burying his damp face into Flack’s long, warm neck.
“Oh God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, his voice cracked and high.
Flack’s heartbeat is steady and robust against his face, so different from the imperceptible, irregular pulsation he’d hardly sensed that day when Flack’s guts were out for all the world to see. The familiar rhythm grounds him, floors him.
Flack’s returned.
He’d let Flack go after things got so bad for them … and Flack came back.
Flack’s returned, and now, the man is his.
For life.
“I’m so sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” he hears Flack rasp. “It’s just … it’s just the thought of you and - It drove me crazy.”
“S’okay.”
Danny sits up, easing their embrace just enough that he can look Flack in the man’s beautiful, blue eyes.
“S’okay,” he whispers a second time into Flack’s parted lips, and the rest of his sentence is garbled in an open-mouthed kiss, a tentative kiss that quickly turns insatiable and mind-blowing and oh so good. He’s kissing Flack so hard that he’s bruising his lips against his lover’s teeth, but he doesn’t give a damn about that either, only that Flack’s so hot and tastes so exquisite and feels so fucking incredible that he wants to weep again.
Large hands slide under the hem of his white tank top, caressing his lower back and up to his shoulder blades, pressing him tight against Flack’s heaving chest. He breaks their kiss just briefly enough to suck in a fast breath, and releases a high-pitched moan of pleasure into Flack’s wide mouth when their groins grind together. Flack’s as hard as he is, and Flack’s moaning and panting as much as he is, and oh God, he’s missed Flack so much, he’s missed this so much, he’s missed them so much, ImissedusImissedusImissedus -
The next muffled whimper Flack lets out paralyzes Danny on the spot.
“Oh, shit, Don, I’m so sorry, I forgot -”
He immediately disengages himself from the taller detective by clambering to his knees and off Flack’s lap, and he would have gotten to his feet if Flack hadn’t seized his forearms, stopping him.
“Don’t be,” Flack replies in a very fluent, tender voice. “Ya didn’t hurt me, babe.”
Danny’s heart skips a beat at the familiar endearment.
“Are ya sure? I heard you -”
“I’m okay, really.” Flack gives him a heartening smile. “Just a twinge, that’s all. Happens once in a while when I twist my body ‘round too much. So are ya gonna sit down on my lap again and kiss me or do I hafta resort to kissin‘ myself instead?”
Danny’s laugh resonates in the air. It’s an uplifting sound, a pleasing sound that sets Flack off and makes him cackle too.
Just a dozen seconds later, Flack’s mouth is stretching broadly in a cavernous yawn. The eye-squinting yawn carries on for so long, it cracks Danny up all over again. He parks himself back onto Flack’s lap and affectionately strokes the other man’s cheek with the back of his fingers.
“Uh, Don? Yawnin’ is not a new trend in makin’ out, ‘kay?” he says between snickers.
Flack blinks tears out of his eyes, appearing exactly like a young boy who’s stayed up long past his bedtime. “M’sorry, Dan. S’only three in the afternoon and I already feel sleepy.”
“S’alright, it’s the meds makin’ ya sleepy. You’re not up to full health yet either.”
“Yeah … the doc says no heavy action allowed for another month too,” Flack mumbles with an unhappy twist of his lips, then looks down at the vicinity of his groin. “Least I know things down there are in workin’ order.”
Danny cackles, his teeth gleaming. “Yeah, the part that counts, right?”
Flack simply grins at him, the pallor of his mien instantly dispelled by it.
Danny stands up despite Flack clinging onto his arms. He plucks up his glasses from the couch, puts them on and glances at the square-shaped clock hanging on the wall nearby. Indeed, it’s a little past three. Perfect time for a nap before dinner.
“C’mon, up and at ‘em.”
Flack quietly does as he’s told and allows Danny to lead him to the bedroom by the hand while rubbing at his eyes.
“Whatcha wanna eat tonight?” Danny asks, as Flack sits down on the side of the bed.
“I dunno, we still have them pastrami sandwiches in the fridge?”
“Uh hmm. I can heat them up in the oven later, if ya want. All crispy like ya like ‘em.”
“Okay. That’ll be nice.”
Danny smiles at Flack, but the smile falters when he realizes Flack has closed up once more, countenance deceptively deadpan. Uh oh, there’s something going on in the guy’s mind again.
“Danny?”
“Yeah?” He upholds a poker face of his own, waiting to see what Flack has to say or do.
“I, uh …”
Flack merely sits where he is for a minute, and out of the blue, pulls his jersey up over his head, taking it off. He’s not wearing another shirt beneath it, and Danny sees the bandages around Flack’s tummy for the first time. They’re a pale beige color, fastened around Flack’s body by small, metal clips. He frowns a bit as it hits him that, at this point in time, Flack shouldn’t even require such extreme bandaging anymore. Staples and sutures are usually removed after ten days at most. Wounds always begin to heal after an operation and even though total healing takes six months to complete, it’s been over a whole month since his friend was hospitalized.
If your belly got shredded up like mince meat, you‘d do anything to not look at it either, Danny’s brain rationalizes.
It’s surreal, how it looks like Flack’s physical being hasn’t changed a bit since the last time he saw his lover in the nude. Flack’s shoulders and chest and arms seem the same, all that pale, supple skin covering just the right amount of muscle mass. The light dusting of hair on Flack’s chest is still there. But below the man’s chest …
“I, uhm. I need some help changin’ the bandages. Do ya mind helpin’ me?” Flack says in a rush.
Danny stares at him in puzzlement. Huh? Help him change the bandages? Flack’s been doing it himself all the while, why would he need -
There’s a click in his head, like a key fitting into its lock.
Oh.
Ohhh.
His smile flares back up in full force.
“‘Course I don’t mind.”
As Flack begins to remove the bandages around his midriff, Danny goes into the bathroom and searches for fresh bandages and the antiseptic ointment in the cabinet by the sink. His hands are trembling. He didn’t think Flack would show him the scarring so soon. What if he’s not ready to see them after all? What if he upsets Flack with the wrong reaction?
He gives himself a fierce stare in the bathroom mirror. Stop worrying, he berates himself. Whatever happens, they’ll see it through together.
And with that positive thought in mind, he walked back into the bedroom.
The bandages are in a mound on the bed next to Flack. He’s looking at anything except Danny, and Danny doesn’t say anything about it. He senses Flack’s edginess like a tangible presence in the room. He slowly approaches the seated man, kneeling before Flack without a word. There’s a humongous gauze pad taped across Flack’s abdomen, the only thing between Danny and what Flack’s feared to reveal to him the past weeks.
The tips of his fingers graze the edge of the tape.
He glances up to see Flack’s expression.
There’s absolutely none.
“Don, are you -”
“Please.”
Flack’s mien is devoid of any emotion, a flat wall to Danny’s vision, but the taller man’s hands, clawing into the edge of the bed, tells Danny everything.
“Okay. I’m gonna strip it off now,” Danny murmurs.
The gauze pad is carefully and gently peeled away and lifted off.
Danny has seen his fair share of gruesome sights in his years of being a CSI, everything ranging from decapitated people to people fried crunchy by electricity to people getting stabbed dozens of times in the face and chest.
And still, none of them prepare him for the scars that mar Flack’s once unblemished belly. It isn’t the scars themselves that hurt him deep inside. They’re not as bad as he’d presumed at all; one long one, the most noticeable of the lot, extends from one side to the other in a jagged pattern while smaller, fainter ones meander outwards at various points along the main scar. With time, they will all fade to a lighter shade and blend better with Flack’s skin. The surgeon had done a very adept job at stitching up the wound.
No, it is the knowledge that it’s the man he loves who must bear them for the rest of his life that rends his heart.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks, swallowing once. His fingers float above the longest scar, tracing the air.
A tense couple of seconds pass before Flack whispers, “No.”
Flack’s fingers are digging so deep into the mattress that his knuckles are white.
Danny feels a shudder travel through his lover when he finally strokes the bumpy disfigurement, exerting only the slightest pressure. It’s harder than Flack’s skin, with ridges here and there where the massive laceration was severe. It’s different, neither ugly nor aesthetic, but he will become accustomed to it in time. It’s just another new addition to Flack’s body, another part to love as much as he loves the rest of the man.
He knows words alone won’t convince Flack of his acceptance of the scars, and he proves it with a stoop of his head down to the other man’s stomach, leaving butterfly kisses along the darker skin, healing what science and medicine could not.
There is a sound, akin to a sob, that raises Danny’s head.
In a silence where a million words are exchanged, Danny stood up and took a weeping Flack into his embrace, letting Flack release all his fear and sadness with noiseless sobs. And he smiles into Flack’s cheek, knowing that the final barrier that stood between them is gone forever.
“It’s okay, Don, I’m here … I’m here.”
Later, Flack is lying on the bed on his back with the blanket up to his waist. He isn’t wearing his white jersey, and there’s a fresh gauze pad covering his tummy. Flack had decided to not hide his scars anymore, but Danny didn’t want to take any chances yet and had rubbed some antiseptic cream on the majority of them before redressing them.
There’s vivid sunshine cascading onto their lower legs through the bedroom windows, saturating Flack’s light blue blanket and Danny’s faded jeans with intense color. Danny’s on his side next to Flack, scrutinizing every inch of the homicide detective’s face.
“Ya don’t have to stay here with me,” Flack mumbles. His eyes are almost closed in drowsiness.
Danny’s amused by the statement. It’s like Flack telling him that they aren’t meant for each other, and how crazy is that?
“S’okay,” he answers with a tender smile. “Feel like nappin’ too.”
“Okay.”
Flack’s eyelids flutter shut.
Danny continues to gaze at the slumbering man’s features long into the afternoon, powerless to look away. He reaches out and caresses Flack’s cheek and lower jaw, reveling in the feel of stubbly sensation of the man’s beard growing out.
You’re okay, he thinks to himself, I’m okay.
We’re okay.
A cool breeze blows in through an open gap in the window, and once it rustles his hair and brushes his face, he is reminded of the night he slept alone, alone but wiser in heart and mind thanks to Mac and Stella. He shifts closer to Flack, putting an arm around his lover and humming in pleasure when Flack unconsciously rolls into his arms.
And as New York city bustles outside with its typical hubbub, all is tranquil inside as Danny murmurs into Flack’s temple, “We ain’t goin’ anywhere, trust me.”
Fin.
Uhm. Okay. Right now, all I can remember is that I wanted to touch upon Stella's experience in All Access, and have her speak a little about it, ya know? Oh, and I thought Mac telling Danny about people advising him not to hire Danny in On the Job was really petty for a man of his character.
I'll add more notes later when my brain isn't so fried.
EDIT: Additional author notes!
The title of this story comes from a poem by Jalalu'l-din Rumi, entitled A Moment of Happiness.
A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.
Considering the overall theme of the story, I thought the phrase I picked would make for a nice title. *g*
People who've read Amor Aeternus may find the first part of the story somewhat familiar. That's because I also wrote Danny on his own angsting away there at the promenade in Battery Park in that other fic. (And yes, the Battery Park City promenade is real.)
Dr. Bayles, who is mentioned in the story as the department shrink, isn't canon. Just a name I made up for the fic.
The story that Mac relates to Danny is a rather popular 'chicken soup' story. (Heheh, I just gave ya a big clue where I got it from. *g*) At first, when I wrote out the outline, the entire scene with Mac wasn't in it. Then, as I began writing the whole thing out ... I thought it would be nice for Mommy = Stella and Daddy = Mac to both talk to Danny at some point or another. And to me, Stella would someone who'd be direct about what she has to say in regards to Danny's relationship with Flack, but Mac would probably approach it in a more subtle manner. Oh, and Mac saying that he'd be a hypocrite for judging Danny and his relationship? I had in mind that he was thinking of his relationship with Peyton, and that he'd be two-faced for calling Danny out on having a relationship with a co-worker. (Danny doesn't know about Mac/Peyton until late into season three.)
Touching on the scene from Run Silent, Run Deep, there has been discussion about what Flack actually says after he says, "We ain't goin' anywhere," to Mac. Some viewers think he said, "I promise," while others think he said, "Trust me." I decided to go along with the latter.
Annnnnd lastly, that documentary Danny and Flack were watching? It's a real one, called the Blue Planet - Deep Sea. You can see Part 1 and Part 2 here. Fascinating stuff.
