A/N: So, here we are at long last. The angsty new story I've been promising you all for the past few months. Since "Mine, All Mine" wrapped up, I've been having a hard time deciding on exactly what story I want to tell, and then suddenly this popped into my head and wouldn't let go.

As with some of the other two-shots I've been working on lately ("Trick-Or-Treat" and "Whose Side Are You On"), this one is set earlier on in the D/L timeline – perhaps a month or two after Sleight Out of Hand in Season 3. Basically, I'm assuming that the story follows the show up until that episode, but after that, all bets are off. I'm not promising to stick to the show or anything that does or doesn't happen between Danny and Lindsay from then on.

I am so excited to see what you all think of this one, and I've got a lot of ideas on where to go with it and how I want it to play out, so please sit back and (hopefully!) enjoy the ride.

Summary: Something from Danny's past returns to haunt him, sending his life spiralling out of control. People are dying and Danny knows its only a matter of time before whoever or whatever it is comes for him. Can he save himself? And can he open up and let Lindsay be there for him in his moment of darkness?

Rated: M

Warning: There will be plenty of violence in this story, possibly torture and lots of other unpleasant things. But there will also be some of the other stuff that you love so much. I promise to add in bits of fluff, and some smut as well at some point. We're going on a journey to a very dark place, and I think those moments will be necessary to keep the story balanced.

Oh, and as always, I'll include my little disclaimer that italics = flashback. That being said, I'll shut up now and let you all carry on with Chapter 1: Something's Just Not Right.

Don Flack was not in the mood for this crap. Not at all. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in his warm cozy bed, catching a few more Z's before he was woken up by his alarm clock at a decent hour of the morning.

But no. Instead, he found himself standing in the pouring rain at 4:30 in the morning outside of what could only be described as the seventh circle of hell. The ghetto was filthy, the buildings surrounding him coated in a thick layer of muck and mire and piles of garbage lay strewn about the narrow streets after years of neglect. He pulled his collar up around his neck in an effort to keep at least some of the rain from dripping down his back, knowing full well that it was a wasted effort. He was already soaked to the bone.

He squinted as the bright lights from an approaching vehicle shone in his face, brightening momentarily before darkening as the vehicle's engine was turned off. He watched a solitary figure descend from the crime lab's standard issue Avalanche, an evidence kit clutched tightly in his hand.

He continued to watch as Danny bent to go under the yellow crime scene tape that roped off the forecourt that separated the dilapidated buildings and began walking toward him. Actually, bounded was a more apt description. There was no mistaking the jaunty lilt in Danny's step, and as he neared Flack, he could hear Danny humming softly to himself.

"Mornin' Don," he said. Flack grunted a response, disgusted with his friend's chipper demeanor. "So," Danny said, setting his kit down at his feet and snapping on a pair of latex gloves, seemingly oblivious to the scowl on Flack's face. "Whadya got for me this morning?"

Flack pulled out his notebook, flipping it open and using his hand to try and shield the small sheets of paper on which he had taken detailed notes from the damaging effects of the rain.

"Gunshot victim on the fourth floor of that building there. Pretty nasty," he said. "Looks like the guy was tied up and beaten severely before whoever did this to him finally put him out of his misery."

"Alright," Danny said, grabbing his kit and jogging off toward the building Flack had pointed out. "You coming or not?" he shouted over his shoulder, realizing that Flack was still staring after him.

Flack narrowed his eyes at his friend's retreating back, heaving a sigh of displeasure. How was it that Danny could be so damn cheerful at this godforsaken hour of the morning? He shook his head, quickly catching up to his friend thanks to his taller frame and longer legs.

"What the hell are you so damn happy about this morning?" Flack asked.

Danny turned to him and grinned. "Nothin'."

Flack rolled his eyes. "Right," he said. "Shouldn't you be exhausted?" he asked. "I mean, you were on the late shift last night after pulling a double… you've probably had less sleep that I have. Am I right?"

"Ah, who needs sleep?" Danny asked, clapping Flack on the shoulder.

Flack stared back at his friend. Something was definitely off. It was the middle of the night and Danny Messer was happy… no, scratch that. He was downright giddy.

"Ugh," Flack sighed, shaking the excess water from his hair as they entered the ground floor hallway of the building. "I was kinda hoping to have someone to bitch with about having to show up here at the crack of ass in the morning in the middle of a fucking monsoon. Way to ruin my fun."

"Hey, I'm a happy man this morning, Flack. What can I say?" Danny said, shaking his own head and sending droplets of freezing cold water flying in Flack's direction. "But feel free to bitch all you want. Don't hold back on my account."

He grinned at Flack, giving him a cheeky wink, then took off up the stairs, bounding up them two at a time. Flack sighed and began trudging up the stairs after Danny, at a much slower and more normal pace. He shook his head and let out a grunt of annoyance as he listened to Danny whistling happily to himself as he thundered up the stairs above.

While he waited for Flack to huff and puff his way up the four flights of stairs, Danny set his kit down beside the body and got to work gathering evidence. He checked the man's pockets, finding them all empty, save for a scrap of crumpled paper that was soaked in what Danny could only presume was the victim's own blood. There was something written on it, but it was too badly damaged to make out the words.

Sitting back on his haunches, he looked over the victim. He could see abrasions on his wrists where he had been bound, the rope or whatever had been used to restrain him apparently having been removed. He grimaced as he looked at the man's face. Flack hadn't been kidding when he'd said the poor guy had been beaten within an inch of his life, his face having been pulverized to the point where Danny felt like he was looking down at a slab of raw meat. Continuing his initial observation of the body, Danny felt his gut wrench when he looked down to see that the man's fingertips had been neatly sliced off, leaving it impossible to identify him by way of fingerprints.

Hearing Flack on the landing outside the apartment door, Danny looked up to see his friend leaning against the wall, his face red and flushed and his chest heaving from his exertion. Despite his gruesome surroundings, Danny couldn't help but grin at Flack. It delighted Danny that his own jubilant mood was such a thorn in Flack's side. He made a mental note to try to be more upbeat every morning, because the entertainment value he got from watching Flack slowly simmer like this was just too much fun.

"Hey, Flack," he said, standing and moving over to where his friend stood by the door. "Glad you finally decided to join me."

"You're a dick," Flack panted and Danny chuckled at Flack's sharp retort. "What the hell is up with you this morning?"

"What? Can't I be in a good mood just because?" Danny asked, a smirk on his face as he began to methodically circle the room, being careful to mind where he stepped so as not to disturb any potential evidence. He heard Flack give a derisive snort and looked up to catch his friend eyeing him suspiciously.

"You and mornings go together like oil and water, Messer," Flack pointed out. "Therefore, putting my substantial detective skills to work, I can only conclude that something happened last night after your shift ended… and I'm pretty sure that something had to do with a girl. Because there's no other reason that I can think of as to why you'd be prancing around here like the goddamn bluebird of happiness at fuck-o-clock in the morning. So what I wanna know is; what side of whose bed did you wake up on this morning?"

Danny shook his head, rolling his eyes at Flack before he bent down to examine the body once more. If he only knew.

"So, are we thinking body dump?" he asked. He heard Flack scoff at his feeble attempt to change the subject. "Because, I don't see anything here to indicate a struggle took place in this apartment. I mean, not that there's a lot to mess up… place actually looks pretty empty."

"Yeah, I talked to the landlord of this dump," Flack said. "Cheery guy; a real morning person. You'd like him." He grinned at Danny, who raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Alright, so apparently this place has been empty for about two months. But as you can probably imagine, security's not all that tight in a dive like this, and the vacant apartments in this place tend to have their fair share of squatters."

"So either this guy was a squatter himself, which seems unlikely, given the quality of the suit he's wearing, or…" Danny trailed off.

"Or we're still looking for the primary crime scene," Flack finished for him. "But why bring him here? I mean, whoever did this took a big risk. He could have been seen dragging the body across the courtyard, and then he had to bring him up four flights of stairs. It doesn't make sense."

"It's murder, Flack," Danny said morosely, sighing as he tucked away the little bags of evidence he'd gathered while he and Flack had been talking. "It never makes sense. The very thought of doing something like this to another person… it's beyond reason. I mean, look at this guy's face. That's just inhuman rage, Flack. And did you see his fingers? Whoever did this really didn't want to make IDing this guy easy."

"But then he goes and dumps his body here, taking all those risks. Why? It just… it seems strange, don't you think? I mean, the perp takes the time to smash this guy's face and cut off his fingertips, but then he traipses around this place where there are probably over fifty people nearby who could have looked out of their windows and seen him."

"I don't know," Danny said, shrugging his shoulders as he pushed himself up to his feet. "Maybe we're looking at two people; one guy committed the murder, and the other was brought in to get rid of the body. Either that, or there's something significant about this building, and the perp wanted to make a point. What that point is… I just don't know."

"Well, whoever these guys are, they're good," Flack said, looking around the room. "I mean, there's no drag marks in the room or on the stairs, no blood spatter; nothing to indicate that anyone besides this guy was ever here. It's like he just materialized out of nowhere. How is that possible?"

"I got no clue," Danny said, picking up his camera and starting to take overall pictures of the scene before moving in to take more detailed pictures of the body. He paused, lowering the camera and leaning forward to peer down at the victim's chest where a small lapel pin was affixed to the man's suit jacket. It wasn't something that would usually catch his attention, but there was something amiss. The pin was backwards, the clasp facing out with the face of the pin hidden behind the folds of the victim's lapel. He grabbed a magnifying lens from his kit and squinted down at the pin, turning the fabric over so he could look at the face. "Huh," he mused as he sat back, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What's up, Dan?" Flack asked, looking over from where he was examining the lock on the door for signs of tampering.

"I don't know. Maybe it's nothing," Danny said, peering through the lens at the pin once more. "It's just… he's got this pin on his jacket. But it's backwards. I mean, who puts a pin on backwards? And why would they want to?"

"No idea," Flack said. "Maybe he got dressed in the dark?"

"Yeah, but even if that was the case, it would be pretty hard to put the pin on backwards without noticing it."

Flack shrugged his shoulders before squatting down next to Danny and taking a look for himself.

"Maybe he didn't put the pin on himself," Flack suggested. "Maybe the killer did it… Some kind of message, or a signature maybe."

"Yeah, I guess so," Danny agreed as he snapped a few photos of the pin. "This pin though… There's something familiar about it, but I just… I can't remember." He looked up at Flack, his brow furrowed as he tried to wrack his brains. Finally, he shook his head, giving Flack a wry smile. "It's probably nothing… it's too early and my brain's playing tricks on me."

"Should have gotten more sleep instead of getting all hot and heavy with…" he paused, looking expectantly at Danny to finish his sentence.

"Come on, Don," Danny said, tucking his camera away in his kit and taking one last look around the room to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything. "I'm a gentleman. I never kiss and tell."

"Bullshit," Flack declared as he and Danny left the room, nodding to the uniformed officer out in the hallway to have him send the ME up for the body. "Since when? Usually, I can't get you to shut up about your conquests. So what's different about this one?"

"It's… I don't want to jinx it," Danny said quietly. "I don't know where we stand just yet, and before I go shooting my big mouth off to everyone that we know, I wanna be sure that, you know, that we're going somewhere."

"So… I know her?" Flack asked, a smirk on his face as he picked up on Danny's involuntary revelation. Danny groaned at his slip of the tongue as they started down the stairs. Suddenly, Flack stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Danny's arm, turning him so that they were face-to-face on the landing between the third and fourth floors. "It's not my sister, is it? Please, tell me it isn't Sam."

"Relax. It's not Sam," Danny said. "Jesus. Give me a little credit, Don. Sam's a nice girl, but she's your sister, and that means that she's off-limits as far as I'm concerned." Flack breathed a sigh of relief and began to descend the stairs once more, leaving Danny standing on the landing behind him. "But what if it was Sam?" Danny asked, causing Flack to miss his step, catching himself on the railing before he tumbled down the stairs. "Not that it is her," Danny continued. "But if it was, would that be a bad thing? I mean… I'm not such a bad guy, am I?"

"Oh, no… Dan, that's not what I meant," Flack replied as he took in the hurt look on his friend's face. "No... It's just that, well, she's my sister, you know? I gotta look out for her."

"Right," Danny mumbled as he walked down the stairs, pushing past Flack. "And I have a reputation."

Flack let out a sigh as he watched Danny disappear around the corner, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty stairwell.

"Dan…" Flack called out after his friend. "Come on, man."

"It's fine, Flack. I get it," came Danny's disembodied response from the floor below.

"Shit," Flack muttered as he hurried down the stairs, hoping to catch up to his friend.

Emerging from building, Danny frowned, his head hung low as he made his way back across the courtyard toward his vehicle, his good mood from earlier now all but evaporated. He could hear Flack still calling out behind him, but he didn't look back. Shoving his kit into the backseat of the truck, he slammed the door and climbed into the front seat, turning the key in the ignition and cranking up the heat, letting the truck warm up and his temper cool down before he attempted to make his way back to the lab through early morning rush hour traffic.

Without actually saying the words, Flack had managed to dredge up in Danny all the misgivings and flaws he saw in himself when it came to relationships. He had a reputation – an undeserved one, in his opinion – but a reputation none the less. He didn't know where this misguided image people had of him had come from. He'd never dipped his pen in the proverbial office ink before. Sure, he loved women and he flirted with some of the girls at the lab, but he always treated them with respect and had never pushed his boundaries with any of them. He'd had his share of one-night stands, but if truth be told, he preferred to have an actual girlfriend to the awkwardness that came with spending just one night with someone. His heart sank as an unpleasant thought came to mind; if his best friend thought he wasn't good enough, what were other people saying about him? He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. It had been a slip of the tongue. Flack hadn't really meant it that way. As he said, he was just looking out for his sister.

But whether his words were intentional or not, they still cut Danny deep. He'd been trying so hard for so long to shed his image as some sort of trouble-making playboy, especially in the past few months. Especially since he first realized his feelings for her. For Lindsay. Since then he'd put in the extra effort to better himself for her, waiting until she was ready to give them a chance.

He had never felt like this about anyone before, this overwhelming desire to just be around her, to make her laugh, to see her smile. He knew he was falling hard for her, and he wanted nothing more than to make things work out between them. But there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind. He knew she had hesitated in starting something with him months earlier because of her past. She had needed to take some time to deal with the realization that the man who had murdered her friends so many years ago had finally been caught, and she was going to have to go home to testify. But part of him wondered if some of her hesitation hadn't been because of what she'd heard about him. The rumour mill was in full swing at the lab, and he knew that as the new girl, people would have had plenty to say to her about her new coworkers, and him in particular.

But still, she had given him a chance. A smile spread across his face as he remembered her face upon seeing him walk into the court room in Bozeman. He'd dropped everything and hopped on a flight to Montana without agenda or expectation; he'd just wanted to see her. And from what Stella had told him during their brief conversation earlier that day, he thought that she'd needed to see a friendly face. And since her return to New York, her hesitation had seemed to dissipate a little more every day. She found reasons to be around him, to spend time alone with him, to brush up against him. She'd opened up to him, talking to him about growing up in Bozeman and how affected she'd been by the death of her friends. He'd talked to her about his brother, his family, and growing up on the wrong side of the tracks.

Things had been steadily progressing between them. They spent time together outside of work, having drinks or dinner, watching movies together at her place or playing pool at his. But so far, nothing had happened between them. He'd kept his distance, wanting to respect the boundaries she'd established so many months ago.

But then, last night had happened.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

After spending nearly 20 hours at work finishing off the case Mac had assigned them the day before, he and Lindsay had finally decided to call it a night and head to their respective homes. It was nearly midnight and he'd insisted upon walking her to her subway station, telling her that he didn't want her wandering around alone at this time of night.

Arriving at the steps that led down to her stop, neither of them had been willing to be the first to walk away, both of them needing just a few more moments with the other. Finally, he'd leaned forward, pecking her lightly on the cheek and bidding her goodnight before turning and heading back the way they had come to catch his own train home. Her voice calling his name had stilled his feet and he'd slowly turned to face her.

She'd taken a few cautious steps toward him before taking hold of the front of his jacket and pulling him closer, her face mere inches from his. He began to protest, telling her that he didn't want her to do anything rash because she was tired and not thinking clearly, but she'd silenced him when she'd pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. It was soft and sweet, and it absolutely blew his mind. She tasted so much better than he'd ever imagined, and her perfume was intoxicating, overwhelming his senses and leaving him feeling slightly dizzy.

She'd deepened the kiss, snaking her arms around his neck and he'd eagerly reciprocated, parting his lips and allowing her delicately probing tongue entrance to his mouth. They'd stood at the top of the stairs, blocking the entrance to the station until they heard the rumble of her train approaching below them. She'd pulled back and smiled up at him as she took his hand in hers and led him down the stairs toward the train that would take them back to her apartment.

This morning he'd awoken to the sound of his cellphone blaring somewhere in the room. He fumbled around in the dark, feeling slightly lost as his phone was not on the bedside table where he usually left it. He reached out and flicked on the table top lamp and blinked hard as he realized he was not in his own bed. He gazed around his decidedly feminine surroundings, his heart thudding loudly in his chest as he felt movement from the other side of the bed. Turning his head, he gazed down at the woman still sleeping soundly beside him, her face a mask of pure beauty and contentment, her eyelids fluttering delicately as she dreamed. He was about to reach out to stroke her cheek, needing to touch her, to see if she was real and if he was really here in her bed. But his cellphone let out yet another persistent chirp, letting him know that whoever had been trying to reach him had left a voicemail.

Unraveling himself from the sheets, he grabbed his jeans from where they had been discarded only a few short hours ago and pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it open and listening to the message from Flack. There was a scene and he was needed ASAP. He grabbed a pen from the jar on Lindsay's desk and scribbled the address down on the back of his hand before turning around in a circle, looking for his underwear. He blushed and a grin spread across his face as he located his boxers hanging precariously from the lamp in the corner of the room.

He pulled on his wifebeater and was just looking for his shirt when he heard her stir.

"Danny?"

"Yeah, Montana. I'm here," he said, sitting down on the side of the bed and gently caressing her bare shoulder. She rolled over and smiled blearily at him.

"Hi," she said and he felt his gut tighten at the way her voice sounded first thing in the morning. It was low and slightly rough, and it was music to his ears.

"Hey."

"Are you going?" she asked, her disappointment evident on her face. "Don't go. I don't want you to go."

"I gotta, Linds," he said, his heart fluttering wildly at her words. She didn't want him to go. "I'm on call tonight, and Flack needs me at a scene. I'm sorry."

"I'll make you breakfast," she said, pushing herself up, the sheet that had previously been covering her falling away and revealing her perfect, round breasts. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, completely unabashed at her nakedness in front of him.

He tried to object, to tell her to go back to sleep, but she would have none of it. "You can't go to work without breakfast, Danny," she informed him as she began to untangle herself from under the blankets. She found his shirt and instead of handing it to him, she drew it over her own arms and fastened two of the buttons before pulling a fresh pair of panties from her drawer.

He found himself unable to say no to her, looking as she did; her hair tousled from sleep, her face fresh and free from any and all makeup, and wearing his shirt. He followed her out into the kitchen as she set about making breakfast. It wasn't much, but as far as he was concerned, toast and coffee had never tasted so good.

He glanced at his watch, noting the time. Downing the last of his coffee, he set his cup in the sink before he turned to see Lindsay try in vain to stifle a yawn as she sat at her kitchen table. He smiled at her, crossing her tiny kitchen and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I gotta get going," he said, tentatively running his fingers through her hair. Each strand felt like silk against his skin, and he heaved a sigh as he shoved aside the sudden urge to simply bury his face in her hair. He knew that if he did that, if he gave into that small temptation, he would never be able to drag himself away from her. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his stomach, her fingers toying with his belt loops. "Go back to bed, Montana. I'll see you at work in a couple of hours, okay?"

"Don't you want your shirt back?" she mumbled into the fabric of his wifebeater, her hands skimming around his waist until they came to rest on his backside.

He chuckled, grinning down at her as he stepped back, gently disentangling himself from her grasp. "You keep it," he said, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on over his bare shoulders. He zipped it up all the way and checked his pockets for his phone, wallet, badge and keys. "Gives me an excuse to drop by and pick it up later."

She smiled at his words and followed him to the door, leaning against the doorjamb as he stepped out into the hallway. He didn't want to go. He really, really wanted to stay here with her. He wanted to do everything they had done together last night over and over again. But duty called and after stepping close and brushing a tender kiss to her forehead, he turned on his heel and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as he walked away from her. He glanced back over his shoulder while he waited for the elevator to arrive and he felt a wave of euphoria wash over him as he realized she was still standing in her doorway, a wistful little smile playing on her lips as she watched him. He raised his hand and waved as the doors slid open and he stepped inside the elevator. He turned just in time to see her blow him a little kiss before she disappeared back into her apartment and the doors slid closed in front of him.

He'd been completely oblivious of the rain as he jogged the few short blocks from the subway to the lab. He found himself whistling a happy little tune as he changed his clothes, donning the spare set he always kept in his locker in case of emergencies, and he sang along to the radio as he drove the Avalanche borrowed from the lab's garage to the scene where Flack was waiting for him.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

A sharp rap to the glass of the driver's side window brought Danny back to the present. He blinked, shaking his head as he looked out at the dismal scene before him. The rain still pelted at the windshield of the Avalanche, although the sky was lighter now than when he'd first arrived; the sun having risen above the horizon, albeit still hidden by a thick blanket of dark, angry clouds. He turned to see Flack standing beside the truck, his hair plastered against his head, his clothing soaked right through, and a worried expression on his face.

Danny lowered the window, shivering as a cold blast of air shot in from the outside and raindrops dribbled their way in to the truck, hitting his face and dripping down the glass onto the sleeve of his jacket.

"Hey, Danny," Flack said, his voice full of concern and remorse. "You okay, man? I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to upset you, it's just…"

"Forget about it, Don," Danny said, giving his friend a small smile. "I get it. She's your sister, and you're just looking out for her. It's alright."

"Danny, you know I didn't mean… What I'm trying to say is…" he paused, taking a breath and flashing Danny an encouraging smile. "Whoever she is, she's a lucky girl, Dan."

"Yeah? You mean that?" Danny asked, a grin spreading across his face as Flack nodded his head in response. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

"So… we're good?" Flack asked, his expression brightening and his voice hopeful.

"We're good, Don. Don't worry about it."

"Alright. See you back at the lab?"

Danny nodded his head as Flack turned and trudged through the rain and muck toward his own car. Danny rolled up his window, brushing the errant raindrops from his forearm and turning on the windshield wipers. He put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street, making his way toward the lab.

As he drove, he forced himself to push aside his earlier thoughts of Lindsay, concentrating instead on the scene. Something about it bothered him. Every murder scene bothered him to some extent, but there was just something about this one, and it irritated him that he couldn't seem to put his finger on what it was. There was something about that pin, something just so familiar to him. He needed to get back to the lab and get a really good look at it, get rid of the blood that obscured part of its face and see if it was just a trick of the mind, or if there really was something to it.

*Holds breath while waiting for the verdict*

So? Are we all on board for more? Have I piqued your interest? Or should I go back to writing fluff and leave the angst to the people who really know what they're doing? Your feedback is always appreciated!