ALL MY TEARS
The Edge of Water
"We're getting close Detective," Lieutenant Ryan said his voice sounding distorted over the headset's microphone.
Mac Taylor glanced down at the map and the hand written directions that were spread out in his lap. "We're looking for a small grey building on a hill above the water," he said, "The Commissioner said that it was in a large enough clearing for us to land."
The pilot nodded and began looking for the described grey house. He adjusted his course to follow the coast line exactly, figuring it would be easier to spot the target that way. The coast was rocky here, and filled with dozens of little sheltered coves, and though Ryan was careful to try and fly over every one, he couldn't shake the feeling that he may have missed their target.
Danny was starting to hyperventilate now, he was scared, oh so scared of what they might find. His fingers were numb from his grip on Don's badge, his knuckles were colorless as he cut off the flow of blood all the way down to his finger tips.
Please, please, please! He thought over and over and over, God please, give us time! Just a couple of minutes can make the difference! Please…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…
"That's it!" Mac said, lunging forward suddenly and pointing out the cockpit window. "There, grey house. Do you see it?"
"Yep." Ryan replied, swinging the chopper around in a fast arc that sent the occupants slamming violently to the left.
Danny scrambled against the restraints and G-forces to see, and by the time he could look out the window again they were beginning their careful descent to land.
The way the car was parked made it tricky for Lieutenant Ryan to fit the chopper into the grassy stretch by the house. It was almost like Flack had known they were coming and had left the vehicle that way on purpose to thwart their landing. But after only a second's hesitation, and some quick minute adjustments, Ryan got the chopper on the ground with out taking out the car or any of the nearby trees that ended up being closer to the still revolving blades than he would have liked.
The pilot hadn't even killed the engine, and Mac had only slid his door open a tiny crack before Danny was scrambling over him, all flailing arms and legs in his rush to find Don before it was too late.
"Don! Don!" Danny screamed, looking around wildly while running towards the house. "Donny where are you?!" He leaped up the porch steps and almost killed himself catching his foot on the loose top board. Mac, who was two steps behind him, caught his arm and hauled him up before he fell and cracked his skull open on the nearby railing.
Danny didn't even notice as he bolted to the front door. He banged on the glass screaming Don's name, and reamed on the ancient door knob which was unyielding in his hand.
"It's locked!" he exclaimed to Mac who was peering in one of the grimy front windows.
"I'm sure he's been in here," Mac muttered, "But I don't think he's in there now…." He turned and glanced over his shoulder at the tree line that grew along the edge of the hill. He could hear the waves coming in from somewhere below, but he couldn't see them from his current vantage point. "You can't see the water from here…he wanted to see the ocean."
Both he and Danny looked around trying to figure out where the Detective had gone. Danny was in full on panic mode and could only really just stand there and continue to try and compel the locked door to open with frustrated violence. Mac's less emotionally charged brain continued to analyze the scene around him.
How do you get to the water from here? He wondered, scrutinizing the wall of dense vegetation that ruled beyond the frail barrier of the porch railing. Mac walked to the rail, which was loosing its valiant fight against the green onslaught, and absently stroked a random tendril of some plant that had penetrated the wooden barricade.
His gaze wandered along the edge of the forest of pines and line of continuous undergrowth until something caught his eye. There! Some of the plants had been disturbed, and as Mac walked off the porch to get a closer look, it became quite clear that the stems and branches had been broken by someone going threw them.
"Hey Danny!" he called, peering into the trees and spotting what looked like the faint remnants of a trail.
Danny flew from the porch and to Mac's side. He followed Mac's outstretched arm as he wordlessly pointed out the faint trail and broken foliage. Without a thought Danny pushed past Mac and raced down the treacherous slope screaming out Don's name.
"Donny!" he called, leaping over tree roots and dodging the good sized boulders that made up part of the path. He could hear the waves much louder now and suddenly he broke through the trees and on to the shore line. There in front of him was the small ramp that connected the floating dock to the land. Danny squinted into the red glare of the setting sun and tried to make out the scene below, but the light shining directly in his eyes made that impossible.
"Don! Don!" Danny screamed running on to the rickety board walkway. He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Don!" he cried again, seeing his friend at last. Not looking where he was going, Danny suddenly slipped in something wet and sticky and went down on to his knees.
"Donny…." He gasped; reaching out to the prone body slowly, "Don!" it came out as a harsh sob when there was no response. He quickly thrust his fingers against the other man's throat, but unlike that night in the bathroom there was no fluttering pulse to give hope of any kind.
"No...no…no…" Danny whispered, gathering Don Flack up into his arms. His body was limp; all the things that made him Don were gone. "No…no…" he sobbed burying his face in his lover's silky black hair and rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry Donny…I'm so sorry!"
Mac skidded to a halt at the top of the dock. His heart stopped beating as he saw Danny holding Flack. They were too late, too fucking late. "Oh Don," he breathed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes even as Danny's heartbroken wailing reached his ears.
"I love you baby, I love you…" Danny told him over and over again. His tears falling onto Flack's pale white face. His aquamarine blue eyes were open, staring blankly up at the sky, but his face was composed in a peaceful expression. He had found what he had wanted at last, but it shattered Danny's heart to know what it had cost them both.
"I'm so sorry….I tried Don, but not enough," Danny choked, stroking Don's cheek and gazing down into his empty eyes, "I failed you again."
Mac moved quietly down beside his distraught friend. He was careful to avoid walking in the pool of blood out of habit; and part of his mind recorded the little details of the scene: the way the body had been positioned, the amount of blood, the two deep slashes across both of Flack's wrists, and the knife.
But his heart was breaking as much as Danny's, and he wasn't ashamed to let his own grief show as he kneeled beside Danny and put an arm around his shoulders. "This is not your fault." He said quietly.
"Yes it is!" Danny cried hysterically, "I drove him to this! Me! Mac…me…" He hugged Don closer to his chest and began to weep hysterically. He rocked Don like a child in need of comfort, while actually being the lost child in need of someone to hold him.
Mac was at a loss, both for himself and Danny. He didn't know how to comfort the younger man, he was too hurt himself. He gazed down at Don's body, wrapped tightly in Danny's arms. The Detective looked happy; Mac detected a small smile on his lips, but he felt that perhaps he was the only one.
Danny was a mess now, babbling incoherently and beginning to hyperventilate. "Donny…Donny….I….I…" he whispered in the other's ear. "I love you. I love you." Danny gently kissed Don on the forehead then on the mouth.
"Shh… Danny….shhh. It's going to be okay," Mac said soothingly, hugging both of them.
Danny didn't really hear him; he had withdrawn into himself, and was gazing out across the cove, watching the red tinged waves march steadily towards them. They were surrounded by two red seas, one endless and unchanging, the other the end of all that was dear to him. The sun was sinking fast, changing slowly from blood red to deepest purple; it flickered across Don's face eerily, almost giving the impression of life.
Lieutenant Ryan came stumbling down the path, locating the two CSI's at last. He came to an abrupt halt at the end of the dock. "Oh Jesus…." He muttered, seeing and hearing that they were too late. He crossed himself and whispered a soft prayer for the Detective, "May you find peace in the arms of the Lord. Amen." Ryan continued to watch in respectful silence as Detective Taylor tried to comfort the other CSI then got up and headed his way.
Mac looked up and was surprised to see Ryan standing there. He quickly brushed the tears off his face as he approached.
"I'm so sorry sir," Ryan said quietly.
"I am too," Mac replied, "I…I need to call for some back up. Danny….he won't leave..." he caught himself before saying 'the body'. No, that was too impersonal to say about some one he knew, some one he cared for. "He won't leave Don…could you please just keep an eye on him…"
"Of course Mac," Ryan said, knowing what was being left unsaid.
Mac had already removed the large sharp knife from its discarded state on the blood stained boards, just in case Danny got any 'bright ideas', he wasn't about to take any chances. He had already lost one beloved colleague and friend, he would not loose another.
As Mac returned to the house to get a better signal, and Ryan stood watch over him from his boulder perch, Danny stayed with Don. His crying had almost stopped now, downgraded to a slow keening noise that poured from every fiber of his being. It was getting cold now down close to the water, and the tide was beginning its ebb as the sun sank almost out of view.
Danny continued to gently sway from side to side, his face hidden in Don's hair. His lover's familiar scent was strangely comforting, and it was almost like he could pretend that they had been sitting on the dock watching the sunset and Donny had merely fallen asleep in his lap. But the strong, dull ache in his chest told Danny otherwise; running the illusion completely. Time slipped slowly away, and Danny lost all track of it. He could have been down there on that dock with Don for a hundred years and not even felt the whisper of time passing them by.
He jumped slightly as he heard someone's soft tread behind him, and he looked up to see Mac's recognizable form in the on setting gloom. Mac crouched beside him, and rested a kind hand on his shoulder.
"It's time Danny," he said softly.
Tears brimmed in Danny's blue eyes again and he convulsively hugged Don closer again as he saw the coroners with the body bag moving from the shadows like the grim reaper's henchmen.
"No," he croaked, "no…" He wasn't going to let go of Don, not ever! They would have to pry him away from Danny's own dead body first; he would not let them touch his beloved Donny….never.
"You can't stay here forever Danny," Mac told him gently, he reached down and brushed some of Don's dark hair back on his colorless forehead, "He wanted to stay here forever, but in spirit Danny….I'm sure his family would like to bury him with them…."
Danny let out a stifled wail, in his heart he knew what Mac was saying was true, but he didn't want to admit it, to think that far, to actually be faced with the reality that Don was-no! He wouldn't say it!
Mac looked down on Flack and shook his head sadly, "You have to let go Danny, you can go with him, but right now I need you to let him go…"
Danny crumpled and relaxed his hold on Flack a little, the tears still flowing freely down his face. Mac tenderly removed Don's body from Danny's loose grip and nodded to the coroners. He lovingly lay the detective back down on the still warm boards of the dock, careful not to set him back down in the pool of his own blood. Then he wrapped a reassuring arm around Danny's shoulders, helped him to his feet, and out of the way of the coroners.
The younger man buried his face in his friend's shoulder, hiding from the sight of his lover being put into that black bag. But he didn't need to physically look to know how it went; he had seen it so many times before that it played like a movie behind his tightly shut eye lids. He shuddered violently, suddenly feeling sick.
Mac felt the tremor run through his body and he patted Danny on the back, "Come on Danny," he whispered, "Lets wait up by the house, there's nothing we can do now."
Danny sniffled, Mac's words echoing in his head. Your right, there is nothing I can do. I already did all the wrong things… and there's nothing at all that can make this right. I'm sorry Donny, He thought, as Mac guided him up the treacherous path. I'm so sorry….
Even Angels Cry
It was hard for Danny to stand there and watch. It was so fucking hard for him to actually have to face the cold sharp reality that Don was really gone. He could still feel the moment when the truth blasted threw his body like a bullet.
He had looked like he was just sleeping, lying there inside the coffin. Don had looked so serene, so much like he often did in the wee hours of the morning when Danny would wake up before him and would lie there watching him dreaming quietly. Dressed in his dress uniform with all his conduct badges pinned proudly across his left shoulder, and his hands and arms carefully arranged to hide the horrible wounds it seemed so possible that he would wake up at any moment; that those beautiful blue eyes would open, and he would sit up and tell them that they were all insane to be sitting there crying.
The funeral home in Brooklyn was packed with friends and co-workers from all over the city and from dozens of different precincts. They were all taking in the universal respectful low voices one always adopted when around the deceased, and it grated on Danny's nerves. Don hadn't been like that; he was loud and obnoxious and totally the type to laugh at a funeral- Danny would know, he had seen him do it.
But he was one to talk; he had stayed totally silent up until it was his turn to speak during the memorial service. He hadn't planed anything to say; in fact he didn't even want to say anything at all ever again. How could he put in to words the feelings that raged through his soul? How does one just tell a bunch of strangers what they didn't know about the one you loved, and all the things you shared? The early morning love making before work, the nights that you held him while he cried in frustration and pain, all the times he did stupid little things just to make you laugh because he knew you had had a rough day. How could one do that?
So Danny Messer stumbled up to the podium after Stella and babbled mindlessly about how great Don Flack had been and what a good and loyal friend he was- blah blah blah. But inside he was screaming; the things he could never say beating against his brain in a wild attempt to be heard. He couldn't bring himself to look up while addressing the crowd, but the one time he did, his eyes locked with Mac's, the one and only other person in the crowed and deathly silent audience who really knew what Danny was trying to say. It tore him apart, the sympathy and understanding in those serious hazel eyes, and he had to look away to keep himself from blurting out the truth- I loved him, and at one time he loved me…but I failed him when he needed me most, I should be the one to die for my sins not him…I wish it were me….
He went on for a few more seconds then stopped abruptly, unable to continue for fear of crying hysterically. He moved swiftly off the dais and back to his seat, shaking violently with silent sobs and never once looking back at the coffin.
That was the hardest thing for him, actually looking into the stain lined wooden casket, actually making himself face the fact that Don was not in fact going to wake up ever again. Danny refused to get close to it, even when Stella and Lindsey tried unsuccessfully to coax him over saying that Don looked 'so handsome.' He had felt sick when they had said that, and while it was true, Danny preferred to remember Donny how he was when he was a person, not just the empty shell of one.
But his ability to hide from the reality could only last so long, and soon people began to file out of the room, leaving only Don's closest friends and family. It was at last time, and everyone lined up to look down on their deceased friend and coworker one last time. Danny hesitated, afraid of what was happening and ended up being the last in the solemn line. The tears started to fall even before he reached the point where he could see Don clearly, and when it was just him alone, standing there looking down on his lover at last Danny lost all control.
Hysterically sobbing he leaned on the edge of the dark wooden rim of the casket and reached in to gently stroke Don's face and hair.
"Wake up baby please!" he sobbed quietly, "Please Donny…just wake up for me…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Danny stretched in even closer to kiss Don softly on the mouth.
"I love you Don, I always will." He whispered, his tears falling on Flack's uniform. "Nothing you did ever made me stop, nothing. I was the one who…who…" words ceased to mean anything once again and he just dissolved into weeping.
The others watched him with unveiled interest not fully understanding what they were watching, but Mac knew, and it broke his heart to watch Danny fall to pieces in front of people who would never know the truth. He noticed some of the attendants whispering with Don Sr. and noted the impatient look on his face. They were ready to move on with the rest of the burial, but were obviously being held up by Danny.
Mac decided that perhaps it would be better for all involved if he himself went to deal with the hysterical Danny Messer. At least that was what he thought until he actually reached Danny and saw that it would take a small army to get him to leave Don's side.
"Danny," he said softly near the younger man's ear, "It's time to say good-bye…" The words hit him like deja vu and he felt Danny stiffen.
"Never," Danny whispered, "I won't say it! I won't leave him!" he clung to Flack's body desperately, not caring what anyone saw or thought.
"Danny." Mac said more forcefully, laying a strong hand on his shoulder, "You have too….at least to his body. That's just a shell…his spirit is still with you Danny, he never left and never will…" he found his voice breaking, and it was a struggle not to cry along with him.
Mac's words hit home in Danny's shattered heart, physically causing the breath to leave his lungs in a painful gasping sob, "No!" he repeated over and over.
Biting his lip in mild frustration, Mac wrapped his arms around Danny's shoulders and began to haul him off, much like he had down on the dock. "Danny…Danny! Listen to me! This isn't hard for just you…we're all hurting right now." He said tightening his grip as he made progress. "We are all hurting…."
Danny became less resistant, he was loosing the will to fight it anymore, and he just didn't have the strength to keep the denial alive too much longer. Even as Mac was pulling him away from Don he struggled close one last time. He gently kissed his lover's cold lips a final time, "I love you." He breathed over them. "I love you…."
He allowed Mac to lead him away from Don's side, but he continued to look mournfully over his shoulder, hating the universe in general for separating them once again.
As soon as Danny appeared to be a safe distance away, the attendants stepped quietly forward and began to close the open lid of the casket. Danny's blue eyes widened in sudden terror and panic, he had forgotten this part of the ritual.
"No, no, no!" he cried raging against Mac's firm hold on his arms. "No!" They were not going to shut him in there like that! He wasn't dead! He wasn't!
"Easy Danny, easy….It's okay…" Mac said quietly, wrapping his arms around the younger man to contain him and to keep him from interfering.
But Danny would not be still, and he fought with all his soul to get free of his friends iron grasp. "No, no, they can't!" he sobbed quietly, "They can't…."
Softly, guided by the white gloved hand of a somber attendant, the lid silently shut blocking Don Flack from view forever. Danny let out a muffled wail as he buried his face in Mac's chest. His knees began to shake and finally gave out, the room was spinning and he felt sick to his stomach. It was true, it was all true. Don was dead, everything was over.
That had been the moment when the reality he had been staving off came crashing down on him; the realization that Don would never come home, that he would never fall asleep or wake up with his lover breathing softly beside him, that he would never again glance up and see that brilliant smile and those sparkling blue eyes taunting him or silently seducing him from across the squad room. Thousands of other things blazed across his mind as the entire world burst into flames around him, and he struggled to breathe despite the swirling smoke.
Now he stood in the ashes left by that fire, beside the evil looking hole that was to be his lover's final resting place. Danny felt nothing now, he was as empty as that hole, he couldn't even cry anymore tears; he was drained of even those. He stared straight ahead, his face blank and his eyes unseeing. To any onlookers his gaze was fixed on the flag draped casket, but in reality his mind and eyes were far away in another place and time, seeing things no one else ever would.
But there were plenty of tears around him, Stella was sobbing into Sheldon Hawkes shoulder. She couldn't believe that Don would do something like this, it was so unlike him. Sure he had been acting strangely for a while, but she had never caught the vibe that he was thinking about taking his own life. He had always been a stable person she could depend on, like after she had been beaten up by her boyfriend Frankie and had killed him in self defense; Don had been her rock. Stella would never have opened up about it to anyone else, she trusted him completely, and felt that the feeling had been mutual. She regretted beyond words that she hadn't been able help Don when he had been so obviously struggling; the guilt over not even noticing his pain was consuming her. Stella couldn't stop the tears now that they had at last started, she had held them back all threw the service but now that the time had come to say good-bye to Flack she realized she couldn't and didn't want too.
"There, there Stella….It's alright," Hawkes whispered soothingly, hugging her tightly.
While not as visually upset as Stella, Sheldon was grappling with some guilt of his own. He had never been as close to Don Flack as some of the others like Stella or Danny, but they had always gotten along on the professional level. When Don's body had come into the morgue the former medical examiner turned CSI insisted that he do the examination for the detective's death certificate. It just didn't seem right for any of the other coroners to do it; not because he doubted their professional skills, but because he had seen Danny's distraught face as they wheeled the black bag into the cooler room and knew that letting a stranger manhandle the body of their friend would only further upset the other detective. Hawkes had been reverential with Flack's body, and had quietly mourned him even as he had worked late that night in the empty tomb like morgue. Because the cause of death was obviously and officially 'suicide' there had been no need to make any incisions on the body, the two that were already there told him everything he needed to know.
Both the slashes were deep; some of the deepest he had ever seen, and told him that Don's suicide had been premeditated. The angle of the knife cuts were deliberate, cutting cleanly threw the radial arteries and nerves, leaving no chance for survival. The detective's 'tox' screen had come back clean, there was not a trace of alcohol or any other mind altering substance in his blood stream, giving chilling testimony to his cold, calculated, almost cerebral methodology. Hawkes had quietly noted all these things in his report, but they were mostly just side bars to the obvious and really didn't answer any of the burning questions. He really had no idea why Don Flack would kill himself, he didn't know him that well or know enough about his personal life. There were several 'educated' guesses he could offer, but those kinds of things never went in reports.
After he had finished the report Sheldon had stood meditatively beside Don's body, looking into his deep blue eyes. Even in death they were their usual shining aquamarine color.
"I hope you found what you were looking for," he whispered, reaching out and tenderly closing Don's eyes. Even now, as he stood there in the cemetery he continued to hope that Flack had found his hearts desire, there on the 'other side', but he also wondered if he knew how much pain he had left behind for those gathered around him now.
Lindsey Monroe stood beside Hawkes as well, her face carefully composed to show the proper amount of grief; not too much like Stella, but not nothing at all like some of the others in the small crowd. She glanced briefly sideways at Danny, and noted his vacant stare. This was certainly a change from his earlier hysterics back at the funeral home. She really couldn't understand what his deal had been, sure, Don Flack had been his best friend for time out of mind, but still, his whole reaction to the closing of the casket had seemed a little extreme. Admittedly Lindsey herself had only known Flack for two years and while she had truly liked him, she had always been a tiny bit green-eyed over his closeness with Danny, now she wondered how this event would change her relationship with Danny. But even as she considered it she was convicted by her guilt and shame over thinking such a thing while standing beside the grave of her friend, and she looked suddenly down at the ground to hide the slight pink flush rising in her face.
Mac caught the movement and looked at her for a second noticing her coloring and arched an eyebrow. He had also noticed her furtive glance at Danny and could almost guess what she was thinking. He returned his attention back to the priest, who was finishing his prayer over the body. Mac had missed most of what had been said in the service, he had gotten lost in the memory of the day he had saved Don from bleeding out in that dark, dusty bombed out building. He still could not believe that he had saved Flack in vain; he would not believe it! Sometimes this all felt like a big mistake to Mac, that it wasn't really happening.
They had almost walked this road before after the explosion when Don had been in the coma and the doctors had given him a tiny percent of making it through. Mac had fallen asleep in the bedside chair during a late night vigil and had dreamed about this- burying the detective in a ceremony just like this one, and eerily enough it had been at about this point, when the priest was leading them in the Lord's Prayer, that he had awoken with a start and realized that it was just a dream and that Don was still breathing steadily beside him in the faint light cast by the machines that were keeping him alive.
But Mac knew that this time there was no waking up, this was no dream. Don Flack was not going to wake up and continue on with his life. Though in hindsight Mac now saw that things had been a little off with Flack from the day he got out of the hospital, but the total cause of his sudden and rather violent downward spiral was still a painful mystery to him. It wasn't all because Danny broke up with him; there had been several little hints in his note about being in pain and perhaps trying to kill himself once before but being caught, but Mac had the strong feeling none of them would ever know the whole truth. Only Danny did, and he knew that Don's former lover would never give away his dirty secrets.
"...Amen." Mac chorused with the rest, and obediently crossed himself in time with the priest.
Danny had remained silent up until this point, but as Don Flack Sr. stepped forward and placed a single rose on top of the flag adorned casket, he tensed and couldn't suppress a low growl of displeasure. Throughout the entire service Don's father had stood ramrod straight in his full dress uniform beside the head of the casket, his face totally composed and expressionless. If he felt any sorrow or remorse over the death of his only son, he was doing a damn fine job of hiding it from the world.
But Danny personally thought that he didn't feel anything at all. Don had never gotten along with his father, and it seemed that the dislike had been more than mutual. Never once had Danny seen Don Sr. shed a single tear, not here graveside, not at the funeral home, or even when he had come down to the morgue to confirm the identity of the body. It had been a mere formality really, and the Commissioner had treated it as such. It made Danny sick to think about it even now, how those cold blue eyes had glanced over his son like he was just another random dead person that he had never seen before. His curt perfunctory nod had made Danny grit his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed, and as Don Flack Sr. had turned to walk away he had wanted to run after him and strangle him for his cold indifference.
He had wanted to scream: He was your son! Your son! Your own flesh and blood! Show some kind of remorse! Show something! But Mac's restraining hand had kept him from acting out and doing something he would regret later.
And now he felt Mac's hand on his shoulder again, only this time it was to comfort as well as restrain him. Danny's blue eyes snapped suddenly into focus again and he started at Mac's touch. He glanced around, people were leaving in quiet groups, Hawkes was leading a still sobbing Stella away, talking to her in low reassuring tones; Lindsey was following them but looking over her shoulder at Mac and Danny.
"Come on Danny," Mac said softly, gently guiding the younger man forward.
Danny's body resisted the motion at first, but Mac was firm and propelled him along as he craned around to stare at the coffin. He nearly tripped but Mac supported him, and he struggled slightly against his grasp.
Good-bye baby…I'll be back soon…when there's no one else around… He vowed silently, his eyes filling with tears. I love you Don…I love you… A small sob escaped his throat as the gravesite fell out of view behind a stand of ancient trees. "Don…"
Mac couldn't bring himself to look at Danny as he dragged him along, and his last soul wrenching cry was enough to bring the other Detective to tears himself. Danny continued to drag his feet all the way back to the car, never once turning around.
A part of him was dying, had died, and was being buried with his lover at that very moment. He wanted to go back, he wanted to be buried with Don, and with that part of himself that was in that coffin lying next to the one person he loved above all others. He deserved to be in a box like that, to be put in a hole and smothered with dirt for what he had done, not Don. This all was his fault, him, Danny Messer!
A small voice inside his head was telling him to leap from the slow moving car he was imprisoned in, to run back before it was too late! His fingers were on the latch, toying with it, giving in…
Lindsey reached over and put an encouraging hand on his arm, breaking into his thoughts.
"It's okay Danny," she said with a small smile, "Maybe he's happy now."
He only gazed out the window in silence. But I'm not fucking okay! And so what if he's happy?! I'm not…and it's my own fucking fault!
Silence
He stood there in the doorway of the darkened apartment afraid to go any further inside. He had been the only one with a key, and in his will Don had specifically said that the apartment and most of its contents were Danny's to do with as he pleased.
Danny took one hesitant step and then another into the familiar dim space, memories roaring around him like a rip tide. The only sound in the cloying, suffocating quiet was his own racing heart beat and it was driving him literally insane as shadows of the past moved around him, acting out the scenes of their life together.
Even the most common place, everyday events stood out like vivid lightening strikes as Danny moved very slowly around the place he had once considered home. His hand gently trailed along the back of the couch in the living room, the black leather soft and warm beneath his finger tips. So many memories there, most of them involving ripping each other's clothes off…
Into the small kitchen now where he had helped, but more often just sat and watched as Don prepared dinner. This had been Don's kingdom; he was the undisputed Master of the Kitchen. Unlike Danny, who could burn water, Flack had been the proverbial 'angel in the kitchen, whore in the bedroom'. And now Danny realized he was going to be eating tons more takeout, it was a stupid inconsequential thing, but standing there in the kitchen where he could see Don stirring something on the stove top, and could imagine how good it smelled, it seemed like the end of the world again. The tears came to his eyes and he turned quickly away from the phantom by the stove only to be accosted by another one.
Will this ever end!? He wondered, Will I be haunted by you forever?!
He wandered listlessly back through the living room, his minds eye conjuring the picture of how the apartment had looked the last time he had walked this way. Just as dark and foreboding, but the bottles were missing from the floor, as was the odd feeling of urgency. It had been replaced with a strong feeling of reluctance and something like fear.
Danny stared at the closed bedroom door for some time not wanting to go in, but knowing he had to. A force stronger than the aversion and his will was dragging him in there, the door opened, but it didn't seem like it was his hand that turned the knob.
He swallowed hard, fighting a feeling of nausea and his raging heartbeat as his eyes fell on the all so familiar objects that occupied his lover's bedroom…their bedroom. Hazy bits of memory pantomimed before his tear fogged eyes; the ghosts of things he would never experience again. Danny stumbled to the bed and fell heavily on it, the sobs ripping from his chest with unexpected violence. He didn't think he had it in him to cry this hard anymore, he had felt that his heart had already been broken into a million microscopic pieces and could no longer shatter-but he was wrong.
Burying his face in Don's pillow, where his comforting scent still lingered, Danny let his true grief pour out in the privacy of the room that had been his refuge in the past. His whole body shook with the anguish which doubled each time another memory flitted threw his tumbling thoughts. So much had happened in this room on this bed, it was almost too much to bear. Conversations, confessions, the occasional fight; all came flooding back to him, but what hurt the most, and cut deepest were the all too vivid memories of their hours upon hours of lovemaking.
Danny whimpered and curled up in a ball on his side, trying to forget those memories, but not really wanting to. He could remember clearly the last time Don had lain in his arms, staring disinterestedly up at the ceiling as he had nibbled and whispered in his ear. That had been almost five weeks ago…could it really have been that long ago? He should have realized then that there was a serious problem, that Don had been high, the signs were all there; but only in hindsight. Danny had been content then to write it off as 'other' things at the time, but had he intentionally been blinding himself to the truth just as he had been accusing Don of doing?
These recollections and questions were tearing him apart; he curled up tighter against his churning stomach.
"I'm so sorry baby…" he sobbed to the room at large and all its ghosts, "I looked the other way…I didn't want to see it…what was happening to you, to us. I'm sorry Donny that my denial had to cost you your life…"
Danny suddenly felt like he was suffocating, that the walls were closing in on him. He needed to get out, now. He got up quickly before the apparitions and ghosts could wrap their sultry arms around him and drag him any further into the darkness of his own memories, where he feared he could loose himself in the depths.
He ran from the apartment, just like he had the night they had their final fight, and the night that he had found Don overdosing in the bathroom. He couldn't get down the stairs and outside fast enough; it felt like the demons from upstairs were pulling at his heels, trying to drag him back. Danny couldn't even bring himself to look in his rear view mirror as he pulled away from the curb, afraid that if he even glanced back once he would see the phantoms beckoning to him to return.
Returning to work wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Danny walked into the lab like nothing was wrong, like his heart hadn't been buried days before with Don, business as usual was the look he was going for.
Danny instantly threw himself wholeheartedly into his work and cases, hoping the constant activity would keep his mind from wandering aimlessly in the past and hoping that it would also produce some kind of stimuli to combat the all pervading numbness.
His silence caused everyone to give him room for the first couple of days. He pretended not to notice Mac's casual walkthroughs to check on him, or Stella's open concern. Where was this behavior when Don was upset? He wondered, You never cared or noticed that he was hurting…hell…I didn't either…but still…. He couldn't quite quench the bitterness never the less.
Lindsey on the other hand just didn't seem to get his general 'leave me alone' vibes. She was his new constant companion, his annoying little shadow. She was always batting her eyes at him, leaning suggestively across tables with her less then regulation cut tops. But worst of all were her blatant attempts to touch Danny or otherwise draw him out. He resented that extremely.
Danny had only ever flirted with her to keep up pretexts and keep his and Don's relationship a secret; it had been innocent and playful-never anything serious. Of course he had encouraged it more strongly than usual after he and Don had fought that last time, just to spite his lover and make him jealous. It had apparently worked on both parties, Don had thought he was serious and so had Lindsey apparently.
A serious backfire of a plan. He mused during lunch while 'Montana' babbled on and on unheeded by her male companion. She had no idea he wasn't listening, she didn't notice the far off look in his blue eyes or the way he just played with his sandwich. She was having too much fun.
Danny sighed quietly and toyed with his straw, if he had known that his over exuberant though entirely fake flirtations would push Donny over the edge he wouldn't have done it. It had been childish and spiteful and he was regretting his actions with his entire being for so many reasons. Does this chick ever shut up!? He glanced up at the clock.
"Sorry Lindsey, I gotta run. That acidity test I was running should have been done ten minutes ago, and Mac put a rush on it." He lied getting up and tossing his half eaten turkey sandwich in the trash can as he walked out, "I'll catch you later." He tossed over his shoulder at the last minute.
"Okay," she called after him with a bright smile. She couldn't see his look of pained despair, or the way his hands were shaking with the need to kill something, anything to relieve the pressure of the guilt he carried because of his actions, and in part, because of her as well.
The pressure of the guilt and the frustration at his inability to come to terms with his grief was building by the day. Danny tried and tried to fill the hollow feeling in his chest by working inhuman hours, going anywhere but home at night, and by spending hours sitting beside Don's grave in complete silence. He desperately wanted to say something, anything but the words never seemed to come. Danny had so many stories and thoughts he wanted to share with his lover, but whenever he tried his grasp of the English language failed him and all that would come out his mouth were little gasping sobs-or nothing at all.
It was driving him crazy, that along with Lindsey's constant attempts to get him to go out with her, to come over and have dinner at her place, to come hang out with her…it was all becoming a little too much to bear. The case load he had taken upon himself was also a major point of his aggravation, a way to escape, but that escape came with a price. Danny had fifteen new homicide cases on top of five older still open ones; he had even caught one of Don's old cases in the reassignment shuffle. That had been like having a hot nail driven threw his chest, a nasty reminder of what he had lost, so carelessly thrown on his desk by the Captain.
And it was on that particular case that Danny was working on now. He had just returned from picking up some results from Adam in the lab, with Lindsey as usual in tow, and was walking across the busy, noisy squad room to his desk when a conversation caught his ear.
"…I really can't believe he just offed himself like that!" one male officer was saying to a companion, "That just doesn't seem like Don…"
"Well, I always thought there was something not quite right about him, even before that explosion." The second blue suit replied, "I mean he is…was the son of the goddamn Chief Commissioner! There was always something up with that."
"He never carried a chip on his shoulder though," the first officer countered, "I mean he was pretty down to earth most of the time…"
"Yeah well, whatever. I guess that explosion fucked him up worse than anyone knew….and it was pretty obvious that he was taking serious heat from Internal Affairs…guess he couldn't take the pressure…or was guilty or hiding something." The mouthy uniform shot back.
Danny came to a sudden halt, causing Lindsey to crash into him.
"What's wrong Danny?" she asked in surprise.
But he didn't hear her. The words of the second cop were ringing in his ears. He began to tremble, how dare they talk about Don like that! How dare they! His vision swam literally red.
"You son of a bitch! How dare you talk about him like that!" Danny hissed, striding the short distance in seconds.
The two cops looked up at him in shock.
"You bastards have no fucking clue what you're talking about!" he shouted, "Show some fucking respect!"
The insolent cop sneered, "Show respect to what? A crooked cop who couldn't take some heat? Who killed himself rather than wait out the investigation?"
Danny's blue eyes became wide and shot bright sparks. The man had no idea the kind of danger he was in, how truly irate he had just made Detective Messer. Danny's blood was boiling, there was an uncomfortable yet familiar roaring sound in his ears as without his consent his fist went flying out, striking the jaw of the man hard, and decking him instantly. His buddy jumped to his defense and Danny almost gleefully swung out at him too.
The entire squad room came to a dead stand still, almost like a collective held breath, and then burst into raucous commotion. Mac Taylor and Sheldon Hawkes were just entering the huge room from the main entrance after returning from a crime scene. They came in just in time to see Danny slug the first guy and pounce on the second.
"Danny!" Mac yelled, dropping his sliver kit and sprinting forward, Hawkes a length behind him.
Lindsey had stepped back a safe distance from where the three men were exchanging blows, but she looked up when she heard Mac's voice. Taylor and Hawkes reached the brawl and after pushing bystanders aside, Mac lunged into the fray and hauled Danny off one other combatants kicking and swearing, while Hawkes collared the most riled up of uniforms, who was actively trying to score a hit on anything that moved.
"Danny! Danny! What the hell is wrong with you!?" Mac demanded, as the younger detective tried to land another punch to one of his opponents.
"Assholes need to watch their fucking mouths!" Danny seethed, struggling against Mac's tight embrace.
"He hit me first sir!" the obnoxious officer said quickly, "Todd here saw it; it was totally uncalled for and unprovoked." The other cop nodded in agreement with his friend's statement, rubbing at his cheek where one of Danny's wild shots had obviously landed.
Mac was surprised, but before he could question the offending party it snapped, "You deserved it bastard! You and your ignorant, lying mouth needed to shut up!" he tried to wrench away, "You don't know a single fucking thing about Don Flack! So keep your filthy lies to yourself!"
"Danny!" Mac admonished, suddenly getting a vivid picture of what must have gone on and what might have been said, he had heard some of the whispered rumors and speculations surrounding Don's death himself. He dragged Danny away from the crowd before it became an angry side taking mob. Messer realized he was in serious trouble but he wouldn't be sorry for his actions, never in a million years.
"He started it Mac…he said Don killed himself because of the investigation! He said he was guilty of some-"
"Stop Danny." Mac snapped, angry too, "Shut up and go home. This is no place for your pent up rage…"
"Aren't you listening to me!? He started it! He said-" Danny protested.
"Go home! That's an order!" Mac shouted over his arguments, "Go home Danny and cool off…I don't need you flipping out…not right now…"
Danny glared at Mac, his face flushed, chest heaving. He couldn't believe this, any of this. His fists were still clenched tightly as he struggled to keep the urge to hit Mac in check.
"Fine." Danny snarled threw forcefully clenched teeth. He tore his arm free of Mac's grip and without bothering to grab his coat or anything from his desk he stormed out, leaving Mac to stare after him in mild irritation and concern.
Danny slammed the door to his apartment so hard it echoed threw the whole building and made things rattle on the walls. He was still violently angry, not only over what the dumbass cop had said, but at the world and his life in general. His frustrations had found a small outlet in slugging that ignorant asshole, but the pressure was still building.
All at once the dam of his rage and despair burst and like a flood it poured out of him in a wordless cry of fury. Blinded by tears and his own ire, Danny surged around the apartment like a maelstrom, ripping things off walls and throwing things around. Glass flew everywhere as he destroyed a collection of pictures on the wall, a lamp shattered on the floor as he tore it off the end table sent it flying across the room.
The sounds of his destruction mixed with his cries and screams, and nothing was spared his wrath. The coffee table and most of the kitchen chairs were overturned, the contents of the recycling bin fell prey to his tempest and were scattered over half the apartment.
Danny's rampage was becoming less violent now, his energy almost spent. His shrieks of rage were downgrading to rasping sobs. He gave a table top display of more photographs a half hearted shove, and only half tumbled to the ground, the rest just fell over on top each other in a heap. But one particular picture had fallen face up at his feet, catching his eye. It was of him and Don in Central Park, Danny was perched on the edge of a large fountain, Don sitting proudly in his lap. The angle of the image was a little bizarre since Don had taken the picture himself, holding the camera out at arms length.
Danny sank slowly to the floor, all his anger completely gone, and with a trembling hand picked up the undamaged photo and stared intently at it. They were both grinning like idiots, he had his arm possessively tight around Don's waist, the other one was braced against the rough stone basin to keep them from both toppling into the murky water during Don's picture taking antics. He remembered the day vividly; it had been their first anniversary, and on one of Don's whims they had spent it in the park.
We look so happy, he thought as a tear dropped down on to the glass, we look so damn happy…
"Where did it go wrong? Oh god where?!" Danny sobbed brokenly, "Why? Why?! Why did you leave me? Why didn't you let me fix it!?" He asked the Don in the picture, shaking the image in a sort of daze. Their smiles seemed to mock him, to send daggers of guilt and sorrow into his chest where they jabbed into the hollow empty place his heart had once been.
"Why did you leave me?" He whispered, "Why Donny? Dying wasn't the answer…"
Or was it? Danny hugged the precious picture to his chest and rocked silently back and forth. He was the one who deserved death for betraying the person he loved. He had walked out on Don. It was almost like he had held the knife and made the cuts himself. He had driven Don to that desolate dock and to the depths of the Darkness he had so longed for. Poor Donny had no where else to go and find comfort but in the arms of the Shadows…Danny had seen to that.
The memory of the deeply wounded look Don had given him after he had told his lover to 'move on' still hunted him. He knew that had been the breaking point for the other man, the thing that had pushed him into the Darkness. This revelation was sickening. An icy chill ran down Danny's spine and he shivered suddenly, hating himself fiercely.
"I've got to make this right," he muttered, "I've gotta make it right somehow…I have to tell him I'm sorry…."
As Danny sat surrounded by the devastating wreckage of his earlier frenzy, he wracked his brain painfully for an answer, for away to amend all his sins against the only person he had ever bared his soul too or willingly gave his heart. But his mind had emptied of all thoughts and emotions, Danny felt completely drained and hollow; nothing would come to him. No solutions presented themselves, the only thing he was aware of was an all pervading ache in his body that emanated from his chest and threatened to consume him.
Danny sat beside Don Flack's grave staring at the grey granite marker. It was the same dismal shade as the sky above him, which was cloud packed and threatening rain. The only spot of color in the bleak setting was the dozen blood red roses someone, most likely Stella, had brought and set at the base of the stone carefully arranged in a tasteful fan beside a picture of the Detective.
A cool breeze made Danny shiver slightly and brought a stronger smell of the impending rain as well as a warning of the change of season that was drawing near. Time just kept crawling slowly by for Danny, each day was a new struggle- to get out of bed, to get through work, to not kill his coworkers, to try and sleep at night. That was the hardest part, lying awake night after night in his dark, silent apartment with only the ghosts of his memories to keep him company-and awake.
He rubbed at his eyes; he was so tired- in every sense of the word. As he sat there gazing at the picture of Don he realized he was beginning to understand exactly how his lover had felt. Detached and abandoned by the world and the people closest to him, lost within his own head and in places he had spent his whole life. And while Danny might not be able to relate to the physical pain Don had experienced, he could certainly understand why the emotional pain had driven the other man beyond recall. The ache in his chest never left, and the guilt- god the guilt he carried over breaking Donny's heart was enough to drive him insane too.
This was how you felt wasn't it? He silently asked the stone monolith bearing Don's name, Forgotten and rejected and alone in your pain…like no one cared or saw your suffering. Like no one understood how you felt and how empty and meaningless life is when you've lost someone important to you….
Danny also understood now why Don had chosen death over the empty half life he had been living; he understood why the Darkness had become so appealing. Eventually it all just became too much to bear, you couldn't live with yourself or the constant daily reminders of what you had once been-once had, and rather than deal with it any longer you just ended it.
He desperately wanted to tell Donny that he got it now, that he could relate. He also wanted to tell him he was sorry, so sorry…And the only way to do that had finally occurred to him. It had come in the guise of an innocent comment made by Mac during an investigation of a particularly twisted murder-'If you can't beat them, join them.' It had been as simple as that and had stopped Danny in his tracks; the answer to the question of how to make things right with Don had been under his nose all that time. The only way was to confess his foolishness was face to face and there was just one way to do that.
Slowly Danny removed his service piece from its holster at his hip. The metal of the gun was cold and clammy in his suddenly sweating hand. He looked down on it without feeling, much like Don must have looked upon the knife he had used to end his own agony.
If you can't beat them… Danny repeated to himself with a wry smile playing on his lips, If I can't fix it here, then I might as well join you…There…. Death was the only option for him too, not as an escape or a refuge as it had been for Flack, but as a penitence. It was the door that he could open to reconnect himself with the person he needed to beg forgiveness of.
The gun was strangely heavy in his hand as he resolutely held it to his temple with a shaking hand. He had never noticed the weight before, it felt like a cinder block now as he pressed the freezing muzzle against his skin, and it seemed so heavy that he wondered how his arm could support holding it there.
Danny swallowed hard; this was what he wanted right? He wanted to see Donny again to apologize and to tell him he loved him. That was the plan. He must carry out the plan, to live with anymore guilt would be a fate worse than the bullet he was about to put through his temple. He curled his finger hesitantly around the trigger, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding, his entire body trembling; and despite how cold the air around him was he was sweating.
Danny pictured Don's face, not how he had looked the last time they had spoken, but how he had looked in that picture of them by the fountain. I've got to do this! I have to see him again! His finger tightened on the sensitive trigger, he could feel the resistance building in the firing mechanism. Just a second longer, then the bullet would roar out and he would feel nothing…but he would find everything…just a little more squeeze….
Suddenly fear surged through his body, the trembling of his hand grew so violent the muzzle slipped from his temple. I can't! A strident part of his mind screamed, I don't want to die! The gun dropped from is hand like it was white hot and it fell to the damp earth without a sound. Tears were cascading down his face unbidden and Danny began to hyperventilate. He couldn't do it….he just couldn't bring himself to pull that trigger. No high ideals or well meant intentions and apologies could make him take that step into the Darkness.
I'm a coward. He thought bitterly, I'm a fucking coward….
"How did you do it Don!? How!?" He demanded, speaking aloud in the cemetery for the first time since the funeral. "How could you just…just…weren't you afraid? Didn't just a little part of you want to live?!" The tears burned his skin, and they mingled with the now softly falling rain. "How Don, how?"
Danny collapsed on the damp grass of the grave, his entire body engulfed in spasms of grief and self-loathing. "I'm such a goddamn coward! I failed you again! I can't even kill myself…even though I want to…though I deserve to die…." His voice broke, "I want to die…god I just want to die!" But no amount of longing however sincere and no desire no matter how deep, would bring about the pined for condition if he could not perform the act itself. Danny knew this, and the reality of it echoed around inside his skull like the sound of the gun that he hadn't been able to fire.
The rain was falling harder now, but he didn't notice the big, heavy drops as they soaked him to the skin. Danny had fallen silent, words and tears could no longer give voice to the depths of his self-loathing, or of his grief over his own courage's betrayal.
Disappear
"What the hell is wrong with you Danny?!" Mac Taylor demanded, "That was stupid and dangerous! I can't believe you just did that!" His tone was loud and angry and he stared intently at the other detective who was standing in front of him doubled over and panting hard.
Danny couldn't find enough oxygen in his lungs to make a reply, so he continued to stare down at the grimy pavement that heaved in time with his labored breathing. Besides, Mac was right. It had been stupid and dangerous to chase that two-hundred pound guy armed with the crowbar down that alley and on to Madison Ave. at rush hour. But that had been the point. Even Danny's suicidal leap in front of the rapidly moving bus had been an uncalculated risk worth taking.
Mac knew why Danny wasn't answering him, and he plowed on. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but it needs to stop. I can't have you just running off into traffic like that, or throwing yourself into situations that are dangerous like you have been for the last few weeks." He reached out and rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
But Mac did know why Danny was on a sudden reckless streak. He wasn't coping well with Don's death; he felt he had nothing and no one to live for, so logically he had no reason to live. This obviously suicidal tendency worried Mac extremely and the faster it escaladed the closer he tried to keep Danny. But it was hard, he couldn't watch the detective every hour of the day, and of course he eventually did go home.
"Danny, I know you miss him…but being stupid and irresponsible isn't going to bring him back." Mac said quietly.
The point isn't to 'bring him back,' Danny thought bitterly, it's to join him. Aloud he replied, "I know that Mac, I know." He sounded more defeated then he intended to.
Mac's expression softened, "I don't really want to loose you too Danny," he confessed in a bid to make Danny feel like he mattered to someone.
Messer looked up at him; his blue eyes sparkling in the shadow cast by a nearby building; the statement had caught him by surprise. I wonder if you had shown Don more concern like this rather than all that persecution, we wouldn't be here talking like this…. He could only offer Mac a half hearted smile for his troubles; he felt that of all of his friends Mac could relate most to his inner pain and torment. He was the only one who knew the secret of his and Don's relationship, but also Mac had lost the person he loved most to a tragic circumstance and knew what it was like to live with not being able to say good-bye.
Mac squeezed the tense shoulder beneath his fingers reassuringly, "Come on, lets get back to the truck." He said, letting the entire incident go-for now.
Danny nodded silently, straightening up and hiding a wince. He would have some serious bruises from this round; just a few more small reminders of his latest failure.
Danny ducked under the yellow police tape automatically, his mind wandering a million miles away. His eyes glanced around the bustling crime scene taking in everything and nothing at the same time. It had been like this a lot lately, every scene he was called to bringing back some memory or familiar-yet-uncomfortable feeling that made his already twigging mind go over the edge.
For instance he always expected Don to greet him as he crossed the line with a smile and some morbid comment before briefing him on the scene. Even now he had to blink twice to clear the ghosts from his vision as he approached the center of the hubbub. But instead of Flack walking to meet him it was Detective Angell. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face and she studied him with intense dark eyes.
"Your late again Messer," she chided, looking him up and down.
"Yeah, yeah," Danny muttered rolling his eyes in annoyance and setting down his case. "What have we got?" he asked.
"White female, mid twenties, dead obviously," Angell replied sarcastically, "Any more info you want you'll have to get from your much more prompt partner inside."
"Who?" he asked ignoring the barb and fighting a sinking feeling in his gut. It wasn't going to be Mac, he had just seen him back at the lab along with Stella. It wasn't Hawkes, he had caught a case in Queens this morning that was rumored to be grisly, so that left him only one option….
"Monroe." The woman replied, carefully noting the barely perceptible change in his expression.
"Great." Danny muttered, like rubbing salt in a wound. He sighed and picked up his case again.
"Got a problem Messer?" Angell asked, watching him out of the corner her eye as they walked towards the building.
"Oh no more than usual," Danny shot back with a wicked smile, he was trying very, very hard not to scream out the string of obscenities that was running loudly through his head. It wasn't Angell's fault he felt like shit and had a death wish, it wasn't Lindsey's fault or Mac's…Hell it wasn't anybody's fault but his own.
Someone called the female detective's name and she changed direction without another word to her companion, leaving Danny to enter the building by himself. He stepped into the dimly lit front room and was greeted by the overly bright flash of Lindsey's camera. She looked up at him as he set his case down with a loud bang.
"There you are," she said rocking back on her heels. "What took you so long?"
"Traffic." Danny snapped it was his favorite lie. He kneeled down beside the body across from Lindsey. The young woman's long blond hair was matted with thick, black congealing blood. "Looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head to me." He pronounced.
"Yeah…" Lindsey agreed standing. "But it looks like she was dragged, look there's a blood trail…" she pointed to a long, substantial smear of blood that led off into the darkness of what could be another room.
The woman drew her flash light from her belt and began to follow the crimson trail with its narrow beam, walking slowly, her camera dangling loosely from her other hand. Danny took out his own camera and began setting it up to finish taking pictures of the body. He paid no attention to Lindsey; she was a big girl and could do her job unaided. All he wanted to do was get his part done and get the hell out.
Danny fumbled with the flash on the device; it evidently hated him today too. He set it on the ground a little more violently then was reasonable and muttering the curses from earlier, pulled his gloves off and searched for his own flashlight.
A woman's scream rent the darkness surrounding him. "Lindsey!" Danny shouted leaping to his feet and rushing in the direction the sound had come from. His gun was in his hand with out his remembering drawing it. He felt blind in the murky passage way, but as he rounded a corner gun at the ready, he was inundated by the small intense light shed by Lindsey's hastily discarded flashlight.
And in that beam of concentrated light a scene from one of those horrible cop procedural movies was playing out in slow motion. At first Danny thought it was just another one of his numerous nightmares, but Lindsey's frantic shriek of his name told him it was not.
There was a man, a big man holding Lindsey tightly and pointing a large caliber weapon at her head. Danny couldn't make out any of his features, or even what he was wearing; the only thing that registered in his mind was Lindsey's terrified face.
"Let her go!" he shouted as he stepped from the shadows, his cover blown by her cry, and leveling his gun.
It was happening so quickly, too quickly. What had happened to the deliberate dragging sensation of moments before?
What the hell?!
Danny didn't even think about it, he saw the clear shot; he was going to take it. It didn't even register that the other guy already had a bead on him even as he pulled the trigger aiming high at the mans chest.
The gunshots were simultaneous, blending together into one long endless roar-one big flash of dazzling white light. Monroe shrieked again. Danny heard deeper more guttural cry from the woman's captor.
A stab of that white light hit him and there was a burning sensation. He felt suddenly strange. His vision wouldn't clear of the dancing lights. He couldn't catch his breath. He was falling….
Oh my god! Oh my god! He couldn't tell if it was his voice or hers. It hurt, it hurt so much. He could feel the blood now…feel it leaving his body in great pulsing torrents. The darkness was coming, bearing softly down on him.
Oh my god this is it…this is it…I'm dying…finally I'm going to die! The revelation hit Danny almost as hard as the bullet that was now ending his life. I did it! I did it! He wasn't scared, like before in the cemetery, instead he was joyful-giddy even. Donny…Donny…I'm coming...
The Darkness was swirling around him now, pulling him close and tugging him away. Away from the pain and the guilt- from everything he had become since he had let the best thing to ever happen to him slip away. Was this how you felt baby? Peaceful…calm, waiting for it to come? No fear…it doesn't even hurt….
Danny could still hear Lindsey's hysterical sobbing somewhere in the distance and even that was fading quickly. He couldn't feel anything now, it was rather pleasant really; there was nothing now but the Darkness. It was everywhere, and all that mattered….
"Donny…" he breathed aloud, barely audible over the final beat of his heart.
The Darkness was complete. Suffocating. Final. It was over.
….There was light again….the sound of something pulsing evenly… surrounding him completely…pulling him up….
No! No! Fuck! I don't want to live! No! Danny panicked trying to cling to the darkness that was quickly dissipating like the grey mist that hovered over the Hudson River early in the morning during the spring. Let me die! He shrieked.
But he couldn't fight it; the soft slightly pink light was winning, it was forcing him to open his eyes. Grudgingly Danny gave in and allowed the gentle warmth in. What he saw took his breath away. He was most certainly not alive-there was no way in hell.
And this was most certainly not Hell, quite the opposite; he was standing in Paradise on a beautiful beach where evenly spaced waves broke upon the white sand in a soothing rhythm. Danny stared around him in awe. The sky above was tinged with pink and purple, like an invisible sun somewhere was setting, lighting the sky with its dying rays.
Wow! Was all he could manage as he spun slowly on the spot taking it all in. The shore was unvarying for as far as the eye could see, and seemed for all intents endless... Danny stopped mid rotation with a jerk. Something incongruous with the bleak but lovely scenery had caught his attention. There was something, someone, sitting by the waters edge staring out at the far off horizon. Danny couldn't breathe- if that was even an action he could do any more, and his heart- if that entity even still existed within his body - began to race uncontrollably.
Even at a distance he could recognize the familiar dark hair, the lean body reclined in the sand…
Don! He shouted. But it wasn't a sound in its truest sense, though Danny had opened his mouth the say it. It was more like a thought or a vibration, and for a horrible drawn out second he feared the other man couldn't hear him. He was mistaken. Don turned his head at the sound, and even from as far away as he was Danny could see those intense aquamarine blue eyes, which were so brilliant that they made the nearby sea literally pale in comparison, widen in surprise.
He was running now, without even realizing it he was running…Danny felt the distance melt away between them…he was close enough now to make out all the features of his lover's face…he had done it….he could fix it now….Danny was only strides away now and with a cry that was half a sob and half an exclamation of intense joy, he flung himself at Don.
Surprise.