Kimmychu (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} csiny_sl) wrote,@ 2007-08-24 01:55:00 |
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| Current mood: |  sleepy |
| Entry tags: | fanfiction, the_first_time |
The First Time, Part 1
Think of this as what canon might be like from the viewpoint of a Danny/Flack shipper. And yes, I did write it in response to how the show has been since season two, as well as what the spoilers have been like for the upcoming season four so far. Thank you for reading! I appreciate your reviews. :) Edited to add: Thank you to a reviewer at Fanfiction.net for correction on the IRA issue!
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Danny/Flack, hints of Danny/Lindsay, Flack/Canon female character
Content Warning: Angst!
Spoilers: Major ones for 1x21 (On the Job), 2x20 (Run Silent, Run Deep), 2x24 (Charge of this Post), 3x18 (Sleight Out of Hand), 3x23 (… Comes Around), 3x24 (Snow Day), Flack-centric spoiler for season four.
Summary: Life is a journey of many first times, and for Danny Messer, they will eventually lead him to the one person with whom he’s always been predestined.
Disclaimer: Yes. They’re mine. I keep them in my attic and feed them seaweed and cream crackers. They’re just fine, thanks for asking.
The first time Danny met Detective Don Flack, Jr., it had taken place in the locker room of the CSI laboratories almost six years ago. He’d accidentally spilled some tea onto his dress shirt and had to change it, along with the white tank top underneath, for a black, short-sleeved top he stored in his locker in case something like this happened.
It was so dumb how clumsy he was that morning. He stubbed his toe on his bedside table after waking up and scrambling out of bed. He broke a plate during a breakfast that was two pieces of toast and hot chocolate. He tripped on some fallen red-and-yellow leaves scattered all over the pavement on his way to the train station. And then, while he was in the break room getting to know his new co-workers, he just had to go and tip over his hot cup of tea and give Stella, Hawkes and Aiden a fleeting display of his Riverdance skills.
He was so caught up in his own embarrassment and stripping off his jacket and shirt that he didn’t hear the door of the locker room open, or the heavy footsteps that approached him.
“Hey, are you Messer?”
Danny was naked from the waist up, but he had no qualms about turning around to face the owner of the baritone voice. No woman had a voice that low.
“Yeah, I … am.”
Maybe it was just the chilliness of the room that was making goosebumps pop up all over his bare torso and arms. Maybe it was just the dampness from the tea that had soaked through his clothes.
Or maybe, it was the force of the gaze the other man was casting upon him from such large, blue eyes.
“I’m Flack. From Homicide.”
Flack was holding out his right hand.
Danny swiftly eyeballed the taller detective from head to toe and back up. Flack was over six feet tall, at least; Danny had to tilt his head back a bit just to look the guy in the eye. Flack wore a black leather jacket of evident quality, along with a white dress shirt, a striped tie and black tailored pants. The unusual leather jacket and tie combo caught Danny’s attention in the beginning, but it was Flack’s handsome face that arrested him to the spot, and oh, it was a very handsome face.
Flack’s facial features were framed by trimmed sideburns and dark, copious hair. A wavy strand or two dangled over the man’s forehead past thick eyebrows, directing Danny’s sight to a straight, patrician nose and dark pink lips that were neither too thin nor too thick. They were just right. Unlike him with his goatee and light moustache, Flack was clean-shaven.
Two whole seconds passed before Danny realized he was staring straight into Flack’s big eyes, in a way he never would with somebody he’d only met moments ago.
Another second, before Danny realized that Flack was staring just as hard into his eyes.
Like he was all that existed in the universe.
It was very odd how he was suddenly feeling light-headed and hot and cold at the same time.
“Hey, good to meet ya,” Danny said in a rush, clasping Flack’s extended hand with his own. “Gonna be workin’ together on the Dillinger case, right?”
“Yeah.”
Wow, Danny thought to himself, this guy’s got one strong grip.
For some reason, discovering this helped him to relax taut shoulders he didn’t even know were tense to start with. Didn’t somebody once say that a person who held your hand tight while shaking hands was more often than not someone trustworthy?
“Taylor told me this is your first case,” Flack added.
There was something about the way Flack’s eyes became so unexpectedly warm and deep that did something unexplainable to the left side of his chest.
“Yeah, I just joined the team, actually,” Danny replied, lips curving up in a small smile. “Second day on the job.”
The grin that spread across Flack’s visage was breath-taking.
“Heh, guess that makes two of us.”
Danny blinked, then asked, “This is your first case too?”
“My first case as a homicide detective, yeah. It’s also the first time I’m workin’ with … CSIs, right?”
“Yeah. Crime scene investigators.”
“Huh,” Flack murmured.
Danny blinked again. Wait a minute.
Flack was still holding his hand.
So why wasn’t he feeling the slightest bit awkward about it?
“Interestin’. Ya sure don’t look like a CSI.”
Danny couldn’t help chuckling at that. No, he certainly didn’t appear like the average CSI, not with his peroxide blond tints and spiky hair and, well … his muscular body. Being smart didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of his physical health too. Nothing wrong with maintaining both intelligence and fitness.
“Ya know, I’ve had quite a few people tell me that,” Danny said with a smirk that wavered after he made eye contact with Flack again.
Whoa. Flack brought the staring game to a whole new level.
Did the guy have any idea how intense his eyes were?
And more importantly, why the hell wasn’t he feeling uncomfortable at all about this either?
Danny was perturbed enough by the answer to the question that he blurted out, “You don’t look like a homicide detective.”
Flack’s grin returned with full power. It was amazing how it brightened up the man’s handsome mien like the sun.
“Ya know, I’ve had quite a few people tell me that.”
Danny laughed once more. Hm, he had the hunch this Flack from the NYPD’s Homicide department was somebody he was going to get along with very well.
Flack released his hand at last.
Danny didn’t want to think about why he felt disappointment at the loss of that contact.
“Call me Danny. All my friends do.”
Against all the odds, Flack’s stare managed to strengthen tenfold.
“Danny.”
It was a damn good thing Danny was only naked from the waist up, and that he was holding his jacket and stained dress shirt in front of himself with his left hand.
Nobody had uttered his name like that. Ever.
Danny couldn’t do anything much except stand there and gape at the other man with wide eyes.
It was freaking crazy. It was just crazy to think Flack had said his name as if it was the finest wine in the world. He was just imagining things, yeah, that had to be it. Either that, or somebody laced his tea with some unbelievable drug.
“Call me Don.”
Flack’s voice dragged him back to reality.
“S’that what all yer friends call ya?” Danny murmured, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
All Flack offered in reply was an enigmatic smile that floated around in Danny’s cogitations until late into the evening. His shift was over and he was in the locker room again to pick up his tea-stained shirts and bring them back to his apartment for washing. Coincidentally, Stella showed up to get some personal items from her own locker before heading home herself.
After greeting each other, they conversed for a few minutes. Stella was a gracious and jovial woman who seemed to be on good terms with everyone at the labs, so it was no surprise she would already have chatted with Flack even though it was only Flack’s first day working with them CSIs and all that.
“Oh, I’ve known Flack for a while,” Stella clarified as she took out what looked like a stainless steel box with a padlock from the upper compartment of her locker. “An all-around good guy, takes his work seriously and gives it his best.” She sent Danny a broad smile. “Handsome too, that’s for sure.”
Danny’s brows lowered in a contemplative frown.
“Detective Flack … wait, isn’t his dad … ya know -”
“The legend?” Stella said. “Yeah, his dad’s the same cop who single-handedly brought down one of the biggest drug cartels in the city fifteen years ago.”
Danny let out a whistle. Geez, not only was Flack attractive, diligent and reliable, he was the son of a police superstar too.
The first thought that followed that was: Well, Flack’s Mr. Perfect all bundled up into one neat package, isn’t he?
The second thought that immediately darted on the heels of the first one was: There’s no way in hell Flack’s single.
And the third, the one that rocketed out of the blue and made Danny jump, was: What kinda chance do I have with a guy like Flack?
Danny’s eyes widened and he was suddenly conscious of Stella watching him with her green eyes, red lips arched up in a soft smile. Like a godmother would a child under her guardianship.
“So, uh, does he have a habit of … starin’ at people?”
Both of Stella’s eyebrows shot up in amusement at his hesitant query.
“Staring? No, not that I know of. I know he doesn‘t stare at me.” Her pearly teeth showed through her grin. “Why do you ask?”
Danny shrugged, attempting to behave nonchalant. Oh, great, so that meant Flack didn’t stare at everyone the same way.
So what did that mean?
“Nah, just a random question, that’s all.”
He fidgeted with the strap of his bag, then asked, “Has he ever told ya to call him Don?”
Stella gazed at him in silence for a moment.
“As far as I know, he’s pretty touchy about people calling him by his first name. He did say at one time he wasn’t fond of people he didn’t know calling him anything other than Flack. Even his friends call him Flack … and no, he’s never told me to do that.”
Danny was grateful that Stella didn’t ask him why he’d want to know something like that or pursue the issue any further. He wasn’t sure if his response of it being another random question was going to cut it a second time.
It took hours for the enormity of what Stella disclosed to hit him in its entirety. He was sprawled on his bed under the covers when his eyes snapped wide open, and he stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, feeling like he was simultaneously hovering in the air and being swallowed by his mattress.
If Flack was a woman, he’d have no doubts whatsoever what their first meeting today would eventually lead to.
But Flack wasn’t.
And yet …
Danny scrunched his eyes shut, rolled over on his belly and tried very hard to not think about the throbbing between his legs.
The first time Danny discovered what a good friend he had in Flack was the night he’d been ripped apart by Mac’s callous words in the older CSI’s office. It was bad enough that he felt sick to the stomach at the mere thought of knowing he’d played a role in getting an undercover cop killed. He really, really didn’t need to know that people were talking crap about him behind his back and telling his boss he was a lowlife who couldn’t be trusted and wasn’t worthy of being hired by the great Mac Taylor.
He didn’t remember much of the hours spent drinking his ass off at Sullivan’s. What he remembered most was slinking out of Mac’s office, head down, staring at the floor the whole time he shuffled towards the main entrance of the labs. Sensing distant albeit morbidly curious eyes following him as he did.
Look, it’s the cop killer! He killed one of his own!
How can anyone trust a guy like him?
Cop murderer!
Tanglewood Boy wannabe!
“I’m not a fuckin’ wannabe,” Danny slurred under his alcohol-tinged breath. “Fuck ya, the whole lotta yuh.”
Shit, the hallway leading up to his apartment was spinning like some psychedelic, insane merry-go-round. He wanted to vomit big time. How was he even walking?
“C’mon, Danny, just stick with me a few more minutes.”
Somebody had an arm around his midriff, propping him up and stopping him from sliding down to the floor in an inebriated heap. His own arm was wrapped around broad, sturdy shoulders that were a little higher than his and he could feel the muscles in his right arm and flank stretch in a way that was worsening his nausea.
Or perhaps it was the awful stench of smoke and alcohol and God knows what else on his clothes that was doing that.
And how the hell did Flack know he was going to drink himself stupid tonight at Sullivan’s anyway? Was the guy following him around or what?
He wasn’t some helpless baby -
Danny nearly giggled at the sensation of Flack rummaging around in the pockets of his pants for his apartment key. It tickled. Felt nice.
It’d feel real nice if Flack just moved his hand a little more to the left -
There was a loud click. A short creak as the door opened.
“Danny, c’mon, don’t bail on me now.”
The sternness in Flack’s resonant voice sliced through his lethargy and queasiness, and he made the effort to put one foot in front of the other although it increased his urge to upchuck the contents of his stomach a hundred times more.
Don’t get mad at me, Don, please?
He had no clue whether he said that aloud.
“Lie down … that’s it. Don’t get up.”
He found himself on the edge of his bed, curled on his side with his arm hanging down and his fingers grazing the floor. Then, Flack was maneuvering his limbs, positioning him onto his back with his legs straightened out, removing his shoes and socks while the guy was at it.
Something very bright was shining next to his head, and Danny peeled open eyes he didn’t realize he’d shut to look at what it was.
It was a huge mistake.
The dazzling, orange light from his bedside lamp hurled him over the edge he had been teetering on since he guzzled down that twelfth shot of whisky.
“M’gonna throw up,” he mumbled in a hoarse voice.
Danny heard Flack’s hurried treads becoming softer as the other man left the bedroom, then grow louder again upon returning a few seconds later. He had to clamp one hand over his mouth when Flack hoisted him up to a sitting position.
Oh shit, it was coming up his throat, too late -
Thank God Flack was holding a pail or something in front of his face. The torrent of bile and unabsorbed alcohol that spewed out from his gaping mouth was disgusting. The reek triggered him into retching a few more times.
Ah, fuck, his sides were hurting.
Flack was patting his upper back. It made him feel somewhat better, and Danny had no logical explanation for that.
Flack always made him feel better.
“I gotta tell ya, Danny, I’m impressed you didn’t already throw up after the five beers and seven whisky shots.”
Flack was gently wiping at his lower face with a cloth.
“How ya know I drank all that?” Danny rasped. Ugh, there was a horrible taste in his mouth now. Alcohol sure didn’t taste as nice going up as it did going down.
“Frankie was keepin’ an eye on yer orders.”
There was a thunk as Flack put away the pail on the floor out of sight, and Danny immediately took a deep breath of clear air. His tummy was still rumbling. His eyes were sore and tear-filled. His head felt like it was ten times bigger and heavier.
That’s it, he was not gonna drink like that again for a long, long time.
“Lift up your arms.”
It took Danny some time to figure out Flack was taking off his jacket. He wanted to tell Flack to strip off his dress shirt and tank top too, because he always slept naked, but his lips wouldn’t move properly.
Somehow, Flack just knew.
Danny was only in his boxers by the time Flack was tugging the blankets up to his shoulders. He was exhausted to the marrow of his bones. He could barely keep his eyes open, and that was a bad thing. He was seeing the bloody corpse of Detective Minhaus in front of him again. Minhaus’ grayed-out eyes were open. The dead man’s lips were contorting.
You shot wild, Danny.
“I shot wild,” Danny whispered, more to himself than Flack.
His vision abruptly turned blurry and moist and searing. His mask was gone, torn up and useless and there he was, lying on his bed with nothing except a blanket separating him from Flack who sat on the side of the bed at his hip. He had nothing to hide behind anymore, and he was utterly exposed and he was finally going to lose it and cry like he’d been fighting not to the whole fucking day.
So why was it that he didn’t feel ashamed at all Flack was seeing him this way?
“S’not your fault, Danny. It was a bad situation.”
A large hand was stroking his mussed hair and the side of his face. It was very soothing. He hadn’t been touched like that in a very long time.
In all honesty, he couldn’t recall anyone ever touching him like that.
“I’ve got your back … I’ve got ya, buddy.”
Those few murmured words drove away any nightmares he might have had.
Even if he’d experienced any, they paled in comparison to the dreadful migraine that attacked him the instant he soared to awareness and opened his grimy eyes to slits. He groaned, rolling onto his side away from the bedroom windows. His curtains were doing zilch to block out the radiant morning sunlight.
“Damn,” he croaked.
His head felt like it was this close to splitting into a bazillion fragments. His throat was raw. His mouth tasted like something wet and furry died in it and invited its family to die in there as well. He must have been drinking like a horse last night to feel this crappy. He hoped he didn’t do or say anything ludicrous either. He already had enough shit drowning whatever was left of his rep to last a lifetime.
Over a half hour ticked by.
Then he made another endeavor to open his eyes.
Seeing the two white aspirin pills and bottle of plain water on his bedside table prompted him to blink numerous times.
Huh, that’s funny. He didn’t remember leaving those there. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t even remember what the hell happened after the first couple of beers at Sullivan’s, so who -
I’ve got ya, buddy.
The memory of Flack’s hushed pledge woke him up quicker than twenty cups of caffeinated coffee. He jolted up. Winced at the pain that zigzagged through his skull.
Flack.
No, oh no, was it Flack who dragged him home? He went alone to Sullivan’s last night, and he’d made extremely sure to not call Flack for the very reason that he knew he was going to be a total drunken ass.
So who called Flack up in the first place?
How the heck did the guy know he was going to drink himself to the ground?
More than anything else, why did Flack bother going through the hassle of hauling his ass from the pub all the way back to his apartment and undressing him and tucking him into bed?
The homicide detective had no obligation to do that. Flack wasn’t responsible for him.
Flack didn’t deserve to be burdened by his dilemmas.
Damnit, that was exactly why he didn’t want Flack to be there at Sullivan’s last night.
Danny stopped thinking and popped the aspirin into his mouth. The water in the plastic bottle was refreshing and cool and washed away some of the ickiness in his mouth.
He spent twenty more minutes bundled up in the bed covers, nuzzling his face in the pillow, wracking his aching head in the hopes of recollecting everything that happened last night. There was a flash of him sitting at the bar, smacking his hand on the counter and demanding an entire bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold from a flabbergasted Frankie. There was another flash of him, reeling on the stool he sat on and rambling about two-faced assholes in suits and tossing his gun away while he gulped down his sixth shot of whisky.
Then there was the flash of Flack’s sturdy arms around his torso, bearing him up when he was far gone and nobody else had his back. Flack’s voice, telling him it’s time to go home. Flack’s scent, so understated and yet so tangy and uniquely Flack. Flack’s big blue eyes, gleaming with a light that Danny dared not name.
Ashamed was the understatement of the century to describe how Danny was feeling right now. What a fool he must have been last night. Flack had witnessed the worst of it.
Danny covered his face with his hands.
Oh God, he threw up right in front of Flack. And Flack had been holding the damn pail.
How was he ever going to look his friend in the eye again?
In due course, Danny struggled upright, sliding his legs off the bed and planting his feet onto the cold floor. A shiver traveled down his spine. Ah, geez, he forgot to buy a new pair of bedroom slippers. Now he had to walk around the apartment the whole day with frozen feet. Hopefully the heating was going to behave and not give out on him like it did last year.
He was about to drape the blanket around his body when his gaze fell on the dark blue robe laid at the foot of the bed.
What the … how did Flack -
Danny reached out and pulled the robe onto his lap, unfurling it with one flap. Yep, it was his favorite robe he kept in the cupboard. It mystified him that Flack knew precisely which one he preferred, considering the fact he had three different robes. Sure, Flack had stayed over at his place loads of times but Flack never came into his bedroom, much less know which robe he liked to wear when he was alone and chilling out.
There was a tiny smile on his face as he ambled from the bedroom to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash his face with water. It stayed on even as he continued onwards to the kitchen to check what he had left in the refridgerator for breakfast. It was a smile he wasn’t quite aware was there, and it grew wider in both surprise and appreciation at the sight of his newly restocked fridge. There was fresh milk. A full loaf of bread. A tray of eggs. A pack of sausages and salami. There was even a bottle of orange juice. His favorite brand, too.
His fridge was nearly empty yesterday morning.
This could only mean one thing.
“Don, you nut,” Danny said with exuberance that was atypical for a man who was supposed to be suffering from one nasty hangover.
He poured himself a cup of orange juice, cooked up two pieces of toast and fried eggs, and noted that it was a little over half past nine. On any other weekday, he’d be at the laboratories by now or on the streets interviewing a suspect or two. Today, however, he had the day off. He had no wish to remember why. Mac’s angry face wasn’t very conducive to his recovery.
Sitting at the dining table, he suddenly spotted a small, rectangular paper partially wedged under the base of the flower vase that was set in the center of the table.
“What’s this?”
Danny chewed on some egg yolk, picking up the piece of paper and reading out loud what was written on it.
“‘You’re welcome.’”
The two words, written in Flack’s elegant and rounded handwriting, did wonders for what remained of his headache and lassitude.
“You nut,” Danny said for the second time that morning, still oblivious to the affectionate smile that crinkled his features.
Vivid rays of light were cascading into his apartment via the windows. It was a gorgeous, cloudless morning, and feeling miles better, Danny spent it shopping for new bedroom slippers and a thank you present for Flack that consisted of some untraumatizing ties. And in the afternoon, while he lounged in the living room thinking about a certain homicide detective, Danny had to continuously convince himself the warmth suffusing his whole being was just the sunshine.
Just the sunshine, that’s all.
The first time Danny realized Flack was in love with him, it’d been the night his brother Louie was almost beaten to death by Sonny Sassone and the other Tanglewood Boys. It was an atrocious night. The kind of night a person would deem the worst night of their lives whenever they looked back on it, or the kind of night they wouldn’t wish to ever summon up in their mind.
Fifteen years was a long time to tell his only brother he loved him. Fifteen years was an even longer time to realize that one and a half decades wasted on pointless estrangement were gone forever, that he’d never get them back or relive them, no matter how much he paid or what he did.
It was his fault he and his brother were on such complicated terms, because he pushed Louie away every time Louie wanted to patch things up between them.
It was his fault Louie was lying on the hospital bed with those bruises and cuts and those plastic tubes sprouting out of him. Looking like death had already paid him a visit and taken him away on a ride to the afterlife.
It was his fault, and he made certain Flack knew it.
“Danny, listen to me.”
Flack was speaking into his disheveled hair. Flack’s arm around his shoulders kept him grounded to the real world. Flack’s warm hand cupping his cheek stopped him from falling apart at the seams.
“It’s not your fault, ya hear me? It’s not your fault.”
Danny didn’t say a thing. Guessed Flack was as stubborn as he was.
And the guy was a lousy liar.
“They beat him up real bad, Don,” Danny heard somebody whisper in a broken voice. “They beat him up real bad.”
The six words seemed to do something terrible to his face and chest. Bands of steel were crushing his lungs, and there was hot wetness burning trails down his cheeks. His fingers scraped at the folds of his shirt and jacket, at his collar, at his neck, and he was overwhelmed by the rapid and sinister compulsion to scratch and shred his flesh.
He could feel it beneath his skin. He couldn’t endure it anymore. He had to get the pain out, get it out, getitoutgetitoutGETITOUT -
Large, powerful hands clutched his flailing wrists. He thrashed weakly against a broad chest and unyielding arms, trying his damnest to shove himself away, to be alone where people wouldn’t feed him any more lies and tell him he’s innocent and it’s not his fault.
It’s his fault. It’s always his fault.
“Stop it, Danny. Please.”
Flack sounded as if he was choking up and unable to breathe properly. Danny could relate to that very well right now.
Part of Danny yearned to fight back more than ever, to claw at Flack’s flawless face, to dig his way into Flack’s body and hole up inside his friend, the best friend he ever had. Another part, the much greater part, could merely whisper over and over in a small child’s voice how sorry he was. Sorry he was such a failure, sorry he was so self-righteous in his ignorance. Sorry for everything.
I’m so sorry, Louie.
As he lay twisted on his side on the couch in Flack’s embrace, he listened to the voices in his head and had to agree with the one that spoke the mildest. It was right; saying sorry will never be enough for his atonement.
Flack was running long fingers through his hair now. It was a calming sensation. It reminded him of happier, simpler days when he was just a kid and his brother was his hero and Louie would ruffle his hair every time he did something good. Something that made Louie proud of him.
Louie smiled and laughed a lot more then. So did he.
He stared at the grayish-white smoothness of his living room ceiling with glazed, bloodshot eyes, wondering how long it’ll be before Flack got tired of holding him like this and get up and leave him on his own in his apartment. Nobody ever cared for him like this, not without a catch, without a disgusting, fat price tag that he could never afford.
Except Flack.
Only Flack.
Knowing this, really knowing this for the first time, floored him. It weakened him and strengthened him all at once. The cage around his chest loosened, and slowly but surely, the iceberg that had been ravaging his insides began to melt. The heat of Flack’s being always did have its way of thawing all the walls he built around himself, no matter how frozen and solid and monumental they seemed.
Somebody was talking now, in a gravelly, faint voice about a boy from Brooklyn who had a big brother he loved very much. The little boy who had to wear glasses grew up to be a very smart young man who not only wanted his brother’s love, but his brother’s respect as well. The problem was, the little boy who became a smart young man was still far from being a wise, experienced person who would understand the sorrow of bad choices and the destructive nature of pride. In his pursuit of his brother’s admiration, what he received in return instead was his brother’s scorn and his own shame, and fifteen years of discomfited conversations, cold shoulders and unspoken apologies.
Danny thought it was such a coincidence the person’s story was exactly like his.
What a coincidence too, that the croaky voice sounded exactly like his.
“You embarrass me in front of my boys?! Gedoutta here, you‘re a DISGRACE!”
Danny shook his head, or at least he tried to, seeing as it was tucked under Flack’s chin and the right side of his damp face was pressed against Flack’s neck.
I never meant to do that, Louie. I’m so sorry.
“What happened in Rutherford stadium that night … you didn’t know what was gonna happen, Danny,” Flack was rasping. “Yer brother knew. He knew what was goin’ down was gonna be bad. He was protectin’ you, do you understand?”
Danny’s lips didn’t move, nor did any sound emit from between them. Flack was telling him sugar-coated falsehoods again. The man was only doing it to make him feel better, he knew that.
“If you’d been there and you saw Sassone kill that guy … God knows where you’d be today. You woulda been a witness to a murder, or worse. Who knows what the hell Sassone woulda done to you if your brother hadn‘t kept ya outta the gang.”
He quietly considered what Flack’s reaction would be to him replying that, perhaps, he was better off dead like the poor bastard the Tanglewood Boys kidnapped and shot and buried in the stadium. Executed just for the sake of showing off. Maybe his mommy wouldn’t be crying her eyes out right now, and maybe his Pop wouldn’t be unhappy and pissed off with him because it’s his fault Louie was in a deep coma now and the Messer firstborn son was never going to wake up.
Maybe if he closed his eyes and pretended he was dead, it might become a reality too.
All of a sudden, he was struck by the need to ask Flack the one question to which he’d been dying to know the answer.
“Why do you put up with me?”
He anticipated some sort of cynical comeback. Flack was notorious for his sharp tongue, after all.
What he didn’t expect was an inscrutable enigma murmured with such tenderness.
“If I had to tell you, Dan … then I can’t tell you.”
Upon hearing those words, Danny was devastated within all over again.
Flack didn’t have to tell him. Not anymore.
His friend’s arms around him and the compassion in that vast, noble heart and the tears in that low voice declared everything.
Danny’s eyelids fluttered shut over stinging eyes.
He kept as motionless as possible, not letting a single finger twitch, leaving his face nestled in the crook between Flack’s neck and shoulder. He was so weary. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up in the morning and hear Flack tell him everything that occurred today was just a nightmare. Just a silly dream, nothing more.
His head slid back to rest on Flack’s shoulder.
His breaths slowed and deepened.
A millennia passed.
Then, he sensed Flack’s blue eyes on his visage.
“I wish I could tell you, I do,” Flack whispered.
Danny felt the other man’s fingertips trace four parallel lines down his left cheek.
“It’s just - I just don’t know what to say or do, not without … without knowin’ you won’t hate me. You’re not ready for it yet.”
Flack’s feathery touch scorched him to the core.
“But I can wait … I always have.”
And Flack branded him on the forehead with a single kiss that halted the earth on its axis.
It took everything Danny had inside himself to not react to it. He’d spent his whole life avoiding what Flack was offering. Over a year ago, during that case where that bride had dropped dead in a church from formaldehyde poisoning, he had been more than happy to let Mac know how foolish it was for a guy like him to believe in that emotion that supposedly conquered all things.
To encounter it?
That was unthinkable. Unbelievable. Too good to be true.
Too good for somebody like him.
He didn’t deserve it.
He didn’t deserve Flack’s love.
Danny wasn’t certain when Flack carried him from the living room to his bedroom. He must have actually dozed off at some point. By the time he was somewhat cognizant of his surroundings again, he was tucked into bed with the blanket up to his chin. Flack had one hand resting on the middle of his chest. Palm down, fingers spread.
Flack’s hand became the center of his universe. It was all that was important to Danny there and then, this tenuous connection to the other man he was being gifted through a mere touch.
It was a marvel how safe he felt.
It was even more of a marvel how right it felt.
Danny nearly opened his eyes after Flack took away his hand from his chest, severing their bond, separating them. He began to squirm under the bedcovers, his eyes still shut. No, he didn’t want Flack to leave, he needed Flack to stay, to keep the shrieking wolves of his past at bay, before they caught up with him and -
Flack’s hand was upon his cheek.
“I’m here.”
Astounding, how two simple words brought him peace and dreamless slumber that lasted long into the morning.
As soon as Danny opened his eyes and gazed at the sunlight darting in shape-shifting shards across the ceiling of his bedroom, he forgot who he was for a while. He was half-expecting his mother to call out his name any time now. Time to get out of bed and eat breakfast and get ready to go to school. He couldn’t be late like the last time or his English teacher, Mrs. Hutchinson, was going to send him to detention for sure.
It was Louie’s fault each time he arrived late at school. His brother always had to pick a fight with Pop about everything.
Louie.
Danny squeezed his eyes close, but the sunlight continued to dance behind his eyelids, taunting him with its far-away luminosity in his maroon darkness. The anguish that stabbed him in the chest was soul-rending.
He would give anything to be a child once more, if it meant Louie never joined the Tanglewood Boys and he never lost his brother to violence.
The muffled noise of footsteps somewhere beyond his bedroom completely awakened him.
There was somebody else in his apartment.
It had to be … Flack.
Danny jumped out of bed and rushed into the living area. His heart was thundering way too much for its own sake this early in the day. The floor under his soles felt cold even through his socks. The collar of his jacket was biting into the side of his neck. His eyes were gritty and he was quite sure his hair’s a freaking mess. It took him a full two minutes to work out that he was still dressed in his clothes from last night, and Flack was also in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
He stared wide-eyed at the taller man who stood near the dark brown sofa and was smoothing out whatever crinkles there were in his gray-colored jacket with both hands. There was absolutely nothing else about Flack’s appearance that betrayed the impression the guy had stayed overnight, much less crashed on the couch.
It was mind-boggling, the way Flack constantly looked his most pristine regardless of where he was or what he was doing.
“Hey,” Flack greeted him softly.
A kind glimmering in his friend’s eyes warmed him up in a manner the sun itself never could.
“Hey,” Danny replied. He battled the impulse to straighten out his clothes or run fingers through his hair.
Flack was standing in front of him now.
“You goin’ in to work today?”
Danny’s eyes honed on those dark pink lips that were so near.
He could still feel them brushing his forehead.
“No … no, Mac gave me some time off,” Danny mumbled, forcing himself to lift his head and look Flack in the eye. “Gonna go back to the hospital.”
“Okay.”
Flack was staring at him again, like he was all that counted in the world.
Danny didn’t flinch or rear back in any way. He mirrored the concentrated gaze, hoping that Flack was going to unearth whatever he was seeking within him.
“I’ll see you there later?”
Danny was incapable of rationalizing the utter relief that flooded him at hearing Flack’s tacit request.
Can I be there, for you?
“Yes.”
Danny bit his lower lip in order to not attach always at the end of that solitary word.
He watched Flack blink, then send him a small, almost tentative smile.
“Okay.”
Danny’s sight descended with a definite inevitability to Flack’s lips once more.
Flack kissed him. And he knew it.
Should he say something about it? Let Flack know that he … that he had heard and felt the secret of his friend’s heart?
Was Flack right, beyond doubt, that he wasn’t ready for it yet?
Danny opened his mouth in the beginnings of an answer to so many things.
“Don, I …”
“It’s okay. It’s gonna be alright.”
Flack had a hand on his left shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement.
Danny felt it all the way to his heart.
“It’s gonna be alright, Danny.”
Hearing it from Flack, he could believe it. For a while.
He nodded in reply. With a man like Flack, there were times when no words were necessary. Flack was an astute man who had the capacity to read a thousand words in a single motion.
Danny sensed Flack’s hand on his shoulder and Flack’s lips on his forehead even as he sat by his brother’s bedside late in the afternoon, accompanied by the hissing and sighing of the ventilator pumping air into Louie’s lungs and the beeping of the monitors checking the unconscious man’s vital signs. He gripped Louie’s bruised hand in his, careful to not press on the contusions but also afraid of letting go, afraid that Louie will depart and never come back if he let go.
Louie’s hands were much bigger in the past. They were big and calloused and steadfast. They shielded him, and then, they shoved him away.
“He was protectin’ you, do you understand?”
Danny’s hand tightened, and he shut his eyes, thinking of another hand that had laid upon his chest, protecting him from his own damnation.
The first time Danny realized he was in love with Flack, he was on his knees in his friend’s blood, staring into the infinity of the crimson carnage that was Flack’s mangled abdomen. There was a rolled up ball of cloth in its center, soaking up more and more of Flack’s life. There was a shoe lace knotted around an artery, an alien white thing that was possibly all that averted Flack from death.
It was the shoelace that granted Danny the means to go on. It stuck in his mind, the foreignness of its presence in Flack’s torso so enormous that its image ate at him. It consumed his thoughts, distracting him enough to wash away Flack’s blood on his hands and arms and knees without exploding like the bomb that hurt Flack. To stare at the shattered pieces of a cell phone once embedded in Flack’s skin and flesh under a microscope. To travel to the hospital and stare at another loved one who almost died in some unfathomable brutal event.
Was this a punishment for something he committed in a past life?
Was it his punishment to see his comatose brother everyday, to tell Louie again and again that he loved him, only for it to fall on deaf ears? For it to be too late?
Was it his fair reward that one of his closest friends perished in a flaming wreck of a car, her last seconds of life expended to grapple with a cold-blooded rapist freed twice?
If so, was it the ultimate retribution of Fate then, that he would comprehend just how much he loved Flack at the same moment he understood just how easy it was to lose Flack?
Eternal loss, in the blink of an eye. In a flash, and the love that he’s craved his entire life, that would complete him, would be no more.
Truly, the knowledge of all this was the utmost cruelty to Danny.
And apparently, it showed clear as Flack’s insides had on his haggard mien.
“Are you okay?”
Lindsay’s brow was furrowed.
Danny was clueless as to what to say.
They were standing in front of Lindsay’s apartment door, side by side with the distance of a planet between them. The door was an olive green color. It was immensely different from scarlet red, for which Danny was grateful.
He would have screamed his own guts out if he had to come into contact with anything the color of Flack’s blood one more time.
“Danny -”
“I - I gotta go. Back to the hospital,” Danny said in a hurry.
His brain was telling him he’d just driven from the hospital twenty minutes ago and had the best excuse right there standing next to him, the easiest excuse to get the hell out of Flack’s hospital room before he cracked like a twig. His brain was also telling him that Flack was okay now, Flack was being cared for by a professional medical staff now and Mac was there as well.
His heart, though, simply whispered a word.
Go.
“But, Mac and Stella are there …”
Lindsay suddenly trailed off into silence. She was looking at his face with wide eyes.
Frightened eyes.
Danny discovered his face had become set like stone, in an expression he’d probably be taken aback at himself, should he see it in a mirror.
“I gotta go back to the hospital,” Danny said again. The statement fired off his tongue with the pointedness of a spear.
“Okay, sure.” Lindsay was no longer gazing at his visage. “Thanks for the ride.”
The cheerless droop to her lips caused him to feel something akin to guilt. With some effort, he relaxed his stance and countenance, pasting on a blank slate of a face. It wasn’t reasonable of him to take out his frustration on her. And she did have a point about Mac being there with Flack.
It made no difference. He was going back, one way or another.
“No problem,” he replied in a placid voice. It belied the anxiety within him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He nodded at her, the final soundless remark of their brief conversation.
Lindsay was looking at him again, with an intent that hadn’t been present before. Danny blinked, and saw, for the first time, the gleam of interest in her eyes. It was similar to what he always saw in Flack’s blue eyes, but there was something … missing. No, similar wasn’t the right description for it. It was more like a parody of what he saw in Flack’s eyes. Something that seemed like the real thing, except it wasn’t.
However, Danny noted it down in his head, and ruminated about it with a slight scowl as he drove aimlessly around the city that never slept. Every time he verged on the corner that would lead him to the hospital, his hands would take on a life of their own, rotating the steering wheel and guiding him somewhere else. His heart ached to go. His brain had other ideas.
Hours passed in wordless frustration and perturbed deliberations before he was striding down the hospital hallway to Flack’s room for the third time in the gloomy, early hours of morning.
Mac was slumped in the chair next to Flack’s bed, fast asleep. Even in slumber, slouched as the man was, Mac had a dominant air about him. Mac was a dangerous man, awake or sleeping.
Danny touched the older CSI on the shoulder.
“Mac?”
In an instant, Mac was sitting upright, hazel eyes open and alert.
“Danny,” Mac said with mild surprise.
“Hey, Mac.” Danny took a step backwards to give Mac some space. His left thigh was touching the side of Flack’s bed now.
Mac appeared almost endearing as the guy rubbed at his eyes.
“What time is it?”
Danny glanced at his watch.
“About … five minutes past three.”
Mac made a low sound, a cross between a long sigh and a hum. Danny could tell that Mac was worn out. The other man’s eye bags were more noticeable than ever, darker, heavier. It looked as if there were more lines around Mac’s mouth, or maybe it was just the stark, white illumination of the hospital lights that was accentuating all of Mac’s facial contours.
“He’s been sedated,” Mac said, slowly getting to his feet. “The doctors want him to get as much rest as possible. I think he’s really sleeping now, but he could hear me when I spoke to him earlier on.”
Mac’s lips curved up in a tiny, pleased smile.
“He squeezed my hand.”
Danny echoed the smile, feeling a colossal weight vanish from his shoulders.
The doctors were telling the truth. Flack was going to be alright.
“S’okay, Mac, I can stay here with Flack,” Danny murmured a couple of minutes later, gazing at the unconscious homicide detective swathed in blankets on the bed.
Flack looked like he was just snoozing off a long day. If it wasn’t for the dark circles around Flack’s closed eyes, the nasal cannula snaking under Flack’s nose and around the ears as well as the rectangular bandage on the left cheek, Danny would swear Flack was fine and dandy.
Thank God for hospital gowns and bandages and advanced restorative surgery.
Mac’s eyes were boring holes into the side of his face.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to -”
“It’s okay, Mac,” Danny asserted, displaying a reassuring smile. “Really. I’ll stay. You go home and get some rest.”
He knew he was right about Mac being fatigued when Mac didn’t put up much of a protest to his proposition. Mac’s hand had squeezed his shoulder in consolation just like Flack’s did weeks ago, and he was damn glad to be alone with Flack after that. It wouldn’t do at all for anyone to see the glistening of his eyes, or the way he grasped Flack’s limp hand, stroking it like he stroked his brother’s, fervently seeking some sign of life.
“Don.”
Danny received no response apart from the monotonous bleep of the monitor above Flack’s bed on the wall and Flack’s unhurried, steady breaths.
Flack’s eyes remained shut, oblivious to the storm that raged inside Danny’s chest.
“Don … it’s me,” Danny whispered.
The noises outside the room faded into nothingness.
Danny swallowed visibly, once.
The world held its breath for five long seconds.
Then, one by one, Flack’s fingers curled inwards, enclosing themselves around Danny’s hand.
And the world exhaled in unison with Danny in relief and inaudible joy.
Flack heard him.
Flack was alive.
Danny couldn’t stop himself from smiling, nor could he halt the rush of elation that would, unfortunately, endure for only a few hours.
In his memory, Flack was standing before him, gazing at him with those big, blue eyes, declaring with a look what words couldn’t say. This time, rather than merely squeezing his shoulder, Flack crossed the distance between them and planted a tender kiss on his forehead.
And the instant he reached out to hold Flack in his arms and tell his friend that he’s ready, he’s ready … Flack wasn’t there.
Flack was stretched out in a pool of blood, and his soul was nowhere to be found.
At dawn, as Flack roused to full consciousness and asked the nurse for some water, Danny was halfway across the city, leaning against the railing that bordered the Hudson river, his heart as heavy as the sludge that bogged the waters. The sunlight reflecting off the undulating waves was stinging his narrowed eyes. There was water, water everywhere. Now, there was water in his eyes too, there because of an agonizing decision made, a coward’s escape from the greatest thing he’ll ever be bestowed.
Staring at nothing, feeling empty and close to bursting, Danny contemplated the senselessness of the heart, and questioned how long it would be till Flack’s burning kiss was washed away by his weakness.
The first time Danny knew he was losing Flack occurred to him four days after he returned to New York city from Montana.
