To DD or Not to DD
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (it may go up later)
Pairing: Danny/Flack, Danny/Mac
Content Warning: Cracktasticness, odd body changes, language. Did I mention cracktasticness?
Spoilers: Set after 'Fair Game', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: After a freak laboratory accident at CSI headquarters, Danny is cursed (or blessed, depending on how you see things) with very unusual … add-ons. Inspired by a forum comment: "Danny is the show's DD breasts."
Disclaimer: Nope, none of the characters belong to me. What a shame. I would treat them oh so well. They have no idea what they're missing.
Chapter 1
It all started with a bang.
Or more accurately, it all started the morning Detective Danny Messer was working alone at the labs on a recent murder case involving a strange, neon-blue gooey substance slathered all over their victim. It even glowed in the dark, reminding Danny of the time his encyclopaedic co-worker, former ME Sheldon Hawkes, showed him picture slides of those deep-ocean creatures with their eerie bio-luminescence.
He had been uncharacteristically early for his shift for the fourth time that week, which made him wonder whether he was beginning to love his job too much for his own good. Not that he didn't have a life or anything like that, but there was nothing wrong with working eighteen-hour shifts on a nearly regular basis, was there? It was his duty to study and assess evidence to catch murderers and criminals, after all. And in a city like New York, there's never a shortage on both species. He was quite sure his boss (one of the best CSIs in the country, his mind added) would agree on all accounts. At least, he used to be sure the great Detective Mac Taylor would have backed him up in all times.
It's funny how nobody noticed a single bullet or two had killed more than one cop that day in the subway.
Danny scowled hard enough to squeeze his blue eyes shut for a few seconds, shaking his head once from side to side. The memory of seeing the bloodied NYPD badge as Detective Minhaus lay dead still packed a mind-numbing punch even after all this time. The headquarters' whole move over to a new building didn't help him to forget either. He had two pairs of fierce eyes to remind him everyday. One glacier blue, one deep hazel. Blue was the colour of iciness. Indifference. Yet, those large, blue eyes had held more warmth and understanding than the hazel ones ever did.
He's got your back, Danny.
Nah, his best friend, Homicide Detective Don Flack, was wrong there. There was somebody who got his back then, but it sure wasn't Mac. He only wished he hadn't been so selfishly blind to his friend's concern and empathy.
As he meticulously transferred some of the gooey matter from a large beaker onto a transparent slide, he recalled a quiet, late evening in a stark white laboratory. Sitting in front of a miniature model of a diner's structural layout, arms folded, head bowed. So lost in thought it had taken a good twenty minutes after Mac informed him of the good news and left for home to realize what he'd just been given. Perhaps it was his overconfidence in his unofficial position as Mac's golden boy that dampened his reaction to being on the promotion grid. Perhaps he believed he absolutely deserved it after having worked for Mac for over five years. Perhaps he was simply damn tired that day and needed a hell lot of sleep after a multiple murder case like that.
Whatever the reason, that was a closed chapter in his book now. The chances of him getting back into the grid was lower than Flack ever losing his delight in consuming hot dogs from street vendors. But the fact that he lost his opportunity at a promotion to Detective Third Grade wasn't even the thing that made him feel sick to the stomach these days.
What made him feel that way inside was that his golden child status had been replaced by a Montana hick. (Mac would have told him off for calling her that instead of her name, Lindsay Monroe, but he was smarter than saying that out loud in front of him, wasn't he?) A country girl who (and this always made him grind his teeth) had taken over the place of another best friend no longer in his life. Fuck, he missed Aiden like crazy. He knew Flack missed her just as much, if his livid, drunk mutterings during long nights at Sullivan's about Mac firing her without telling his reason why was any indication. Damn her for not picking up her phone.
Even though half a year'd already passed, he still couldn't bring himself to call Monroe by her first name unless it was absolutely necessary. It was like trampling on the memorial grounds of his friendship with Aiden in boots with sharpened, steel spikes in the soles. It stung and pissed him off at the same time. It made him want to cackle like a madman every time someone whispered behind his back that he had an interest in the CSI newcomer. When Flack casually mentioned it once, and only once, Danny's twisted expression said more than words ever could. Flack was wise enough to never bring it up again.
If Montana thought she could come flying in and occupy his place, she had something coming her way. He'd rather eat a hundred Peruvian centipedes than let that something be Mac. And if everyone assumed things were all good between them, he was fine with that too, since it meant Mac wouldn't be suspecting anything also.
The sharp ringing tone of his mobile phone startled him in the silence of the laboratory. He frowned, taking it out of his trouser pocket and glancing at the caller ID. He'd never admit it, but seeing Flack's name popping up on his phone always gave him a innate sense of reassurance. Flipping it open, he was already predicting the questions Flack was going to ask him that early in the morning. Flack was exactly that kind of guy who wanted to make sure he got the details for everything, every time. Especially if it winded Danny up in a good, stress-relief way.
"Hey, Danny. Black or latte espresso?"
Danny grinned, all pearly teeth. "Fuck you. Ya know I don't drink coffee. I want friggin' tea." He turned away from the table he was working on, looking out through massive glass windows at the city skyline thrown into shadows by the rising morning sun.
"Yeahyeah, in your dreams, Messer. You want some of that Earl Grey crap, right? Or was it that Darbeeediiing stuff?" Danny could literally hear the trademark smirk in the other detective's voice.
"I'm gonna kick your ass when my shift ends. And you owe me twenty bucks, remember?"
"Do not." The audio cacophony of bustling New Yorkers and vehicles on the streets filtered through to Danny's ears. A man with a rough, Turkish accent curtly told Flack the price of his hot dog, and Danny's grin turned into a semi-grimace. Flack was still eating those hot dogs. Gross.
"Do too. You took twenty from me to pay for that extra beer. For that chick with the big bazongas." Danny blinked when a sudden, bright light appeared in the corner of his eye.
"Ohhh, her. Yeah, I remember her. Too bad she couldn't hold her alcohol as well as she held her … abundant assets, heheheh."
Danny faced the table again, staring with squinted eyes and his head tilted sideways at the neon-blue stuff on the slide and inside the beaker. It was now shining with a white radiance, so glaring it started to hurt his eyes. Flack was still ranting at the other end about his former heavily bosomed companion as Danny slowly backed away, one hand shielding his eyes.
" … Flack?"
Danny heard a bizarre bubbling sound. Then a pop.
"Danny?"
The force of the blast blanked out Danny's whole world.
OooooooooooooooooooooooooO
"Danny?"
There was nothing. A second later, Flack cursed and pulled his cel phone away from his ear. He knew the deafening sound of an explosion when he heard one. He instantly put the phone back to his ear and yelled into it.
"Danny! Danny! Are you alright! TALK TO ME!"
The connection was dead.
"Shit!" Flack continued to swear loudly, snapping his mobile phone close and sprinting to his car. He vaguely heard the street vendor shouting at him, something about him forgetting his hot dog. He shot out onto the road with the screeching of tyres, almost running over a group of pedestrians on the zebra crossing, but at that point, he couldn't give a damn if he actually did.
The last time he lost his nerves this bad was when Mac had notified him Danny'd been caught in a crossfire on his own with a suspect who tried to escape. He'd been in a red haze, imagining Danny lying on the ground with bloody holes mangling his body, until he saw with his own eyes Danny was alright apart from a slight wound to his forehead. It took many nights of beer at Sullivan's and playing hoops together to help him stop thinking about the ghastly vision.
It was ironic he was allergic to cats. He always believed Danny was very much like one, packaged along with nine lives. If even half of what Danny'd told him about his past was true, Danny would have used up most of his nine lives by now. Flack couldn't bear to think that this time was the last one.
The only thing echoing in his mind over and over now was Danny saying his name.