Wherever You Go
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRT (rating will go up in later installments)
Pairing: Danny/Flack
Content Warning: Most likely a fluff overload and lots of happy, mushy sentiments.
Spoilers: So far, nothing major but there will be some for certain episodes in later parts.
Summary: When two detectives meet for the first time, their lives become inevitably linked and what results is a deep friendship born out of trust and kinship. What happens when their friendship transforms into more, and where do they go from there? A Danny/Flack story.
Disclaimer: Shh! Be quiet in the closet! Nobody's supposed to know I have you two detectives in there!
( Oooo …... oooO )
Author's Notes: After posting my story, The First Time, I received quite a few messages and emails requesting for a happy, fluffy Danny/Flack story with minimal angst and a happy ending. Well, to all of you who sent those messages and such, here is that story. A true blue romantic Danny/Flack tale from start to end, and hopefully you'll have some laughs along the way and a contented heart and a smile at the end. This is the first of about three or four installments. Enjoy, and thank you in advance for your reviews!
P.S. If you've watched episode 4x04, then you'll know that Flack's family background here doesn't completely follow canon. It's because I wrote this part before I watched it for myself and since the background info I've set for Flack is integral to the story, I decided not to change it. If you haven't watched that episode yet, then this is irrelevant.
( Oooo …... oooO )
It's taking Danny everything he has to not burst out laughing.
"Holy shit!" he hears a deep, baritone voice say somewhere behind him, and he rubs one hand over his lips to hide his amused smirk. Whoever the guy is, Danny doesn't blame him for such a fervent reaction.
He's already seen quite a number of crazy homicide scenes in the past four months of working with the legendary Mac Taylor and his team of CSIs, but this one definitely takes the cake. It isn't every day that he sees a dead, naked guy spread-legged on the kitchen floor of a pizza parlor and whose head completely wrapped in pizza dough.
He's also pretty sure it isn't a dough roller that's making the dough on the dead man's groin … tent up like that.
"Geez, some people. Ya don't treat pizza like that!"
This time, Danny doesn't bother concealing his grin. He turns his head to the right and sees a tall man in a black leather jacket, red tie, white dress shirt and black trousers standing next to him. It's the same guy who had exclaimed at the sight of Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink.
And damn, is the guy good-looking or what.
"Technically, it isn't pizza yet. It's just the dough," Danny says while studying the other man's face and hair.
Okay, good-looking is a bit of an understatement. Extraordinarily handsome is more like it. Dark, wavy hair. Thick, masculine eyebrows. A sharp, refined nose. Dark pink lips that are neither too thin or too thick, just right. Pale, smooth skin.
And intense, big blue eyes. Very intense.
"Dough or not, ya don't treat pizza like that. It ain't right, ya know what I'm sayin'?" Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome replies with a smile, and now, it's taking Danny everything he has to not gape at the taller guy.
Holy shit is right.
He's never seen a smile as beautiful as that before.
"Hey, you must be Messer," Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome says after a moment, staring hard into his eyes.
At least, that's what Danny thinks the guy is doing. He's never met anybody who has such a forceful gaze before. Does the man have a clue how hypnotic it is?
"Yeah, Danny Messer, CSI. I'm with the crime lab."
"Danny Messer, huh?" Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome smiles at him again, and extends his right hand. "Good to meet ya. Guess we're gonna be workin' together on Mr. I-Had-a-Pizza-Dough-Kink's case here."
Danny blinks. He glances down at the large hand offered to him. Then, his eyes are drawn to the vicinity of the other man's waist, and he notices the familiar golden badge dangling off the guy's belt for the first time.
Hey, the guy's a cop too.
Oh.
Danny blinks a second time.
Ohh, so this is the homicide detective Stella was talking about.
"You must be Flack," Danny says.
"Yeah."
Flack's smile seems to widen even more, and while he stands there marveling at it, Danny is thinking that Flack's name suits the guy, and yet, doesn't. It's a strong name, a manly name, though its meaning doesn't quite match the person, not with a flack being some slick publicist whose job is to twist any criticism to the advantage of whoever hires them.
Hell, Flack looks like somebody for whom publicists would kill to manage and promote.
They would probably nickname the man Mr. Extraordinarily Handsome like he did too.
He stretches out his own right hand to grasp Flack's in a handshake.
Danny is unable to describe the sensation of touching Flack for the very first time. He sees Flack's eyes widening upon contact and he has the feeling his eyes are just as wide as well, and he hears somebody's breath hitch but he isn't sure whether it's him or Flack. The sounds of other cops talking with the pizza parlor owner and employees outside the kitchen fade away. The sunlight streaming in through a window behind Flack is forming a vivid halo of light around the taller detective. A breeze is blowing in through the partially open kitchen back door that's been blocked by yellow police tape, and it brushes Danny's spiky hair and face.
If Danny imagines hard enough, it feels as if somebody's touching his cheek.
But Flack's hand is still around his. It's warm and dry, firm, somewhat calloused. A solid hand with a sturdy grip. A hand that belongs to a trustworthy man.
It's a long time before Flack murmurs, "Yeah … Don Flack. Homicide."
It's an even longer time before Flack finally lets his hand go.
All of a sudden, Danny's feeling light-headed. He unconsciously takes a step back, and something inside his chest skips a beat when Flack takes a step forward at the same time. Another skip, when Danny sees Flack's brows lower for a moment in mild disorientation, like the man has no idea what he just did.
Danny sucks in a quick breath at the fleeting thought that Flack might be as fascinated about him as he is about the homicide detective, and he doesn't quite understand why this warms him so.
He tries to speak and manages to mumble, "Flack, as in …"
"Lemme guess. You've heard 'bout my old man, the NYPD legend."
Flack's blue eyes are abruptly shuttered. They've become cold and emotionless, and Danny regrets having alluded to the other detective's father at all. Damnit, he should have stuck to Stella's tip of not mentioning anything about dear old dad to Flack. Now Danny knows for sure Flack, Sr. is a serious no-go discussion topic with Flack.
Has he already fucked things up before he even has the chance to be Flack's friend?
Danny maintains eye contact with the taller man.
"It's all in the eye of the beholder, isn't it?" Danny says, and he's pleased to see Flack give him a surprised then assessing look. "A man can be a legend to some people … but not to everybody. A man's true worth is measured by his heart, not by his glory."
Flack stares at him in silence for a minute. It feels long enough that Danny begins to presume what he just said was way too corny, although it's what he truly believes.
Then, gradually, the ice within Flack's eyes is replaced by immense warmth. Flack's lips shift into a smile even more broad than the previous ones, and the handsome man's entire face lits up brighter than the sunshine lighting him from behind.
It's an amazing sight, one that Danny will remember for many, many years to come, along with Flack's low murmur of, "I like that ... I like that a lot."
"Well, yeah." Danny doesn't know what else to say, not without tumbling straight into a rambling fest where he might end up saying things that'll merely increase his embarrassment. He can feel the heat radiating off his face.
It doesn't help that Flack hasn't taken his eyes off him from the instant they were chatting.
Flack's lips part in the beginnings of a new conversation.
And out of the blue, there's a weird plopping sound.
Danny and Flack swivel their heads and glance down in unison at Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink on the floor, just in time to watch the pizza dough tent covering the dead body's groin collapse, fall forwards and land with a splat between the spread legs.
A tense silence fills the kitchen for a while.
"Guess his dough couldn't rise high enough, huh?"
In retrospect, it wasn't that funny but right there and then, Flack's quip combined with the ridiculousness of the dead body's condition and what just occurred cracks Danny up so bad that he's giggling his head off. His eyes are squinted shut behind his black-framed spectacles and tears of mirth spring up behind his eyelids. Flack's giggling with him too, which makes it all the more difficult to stop.
Rescue arrives in the form of a blond-haired police officer in NYPD uniform who shows his face at the entrance of the kitchen. It's obviously somebody Flack is familiar with because the cop takes one look at them and smirks at Flack.
Flack's expression alters into a neutral one in record time. Danny is impressed by the homicide detective's apparent control of his outward countenance.
"What is it, Patterson?"
"Nothing," the uniformed cop called Patterson says with a twinkle in his eye. "Just wondering what you two lovebirds were doing."
Renewed warmth is immediately suffusing Danny's face.
"Haha, very funny," Flack replies. "Ya think everybody has the hots for me, don'tcha?"
"Nah, that's just your wishful thinking."
Flack snickers at Patterson's good-natured retort, and Danny wonders just how many types of laughter Flack has and how long it's going to take for him to hear them all.
"So you two gonna be okay on your own? Emilio just called, said he's gonna need me and Ormond to help him out at the murder scene on 5th avenue. Found more bodies or something."
Flack is looking at him again, and there's something in those big blue eyes that sends a shiver up his spine. The good kind.
"We're okay, Patterson. You guys go ahead. Let ya know if I need assistance."
"A'right. See ya later, Flack."
Patterson nods at them and walks away from the kitchen entrance and out of sight.
Once more, Danny is alone with the lanky homicide detective.
The tense silence is back, though it's a different kind now, the kind that's felt when two people are on their own and there's no one else to bother them and every opportunity is there for them to do things that should only be done in private.
It's an exciting feeling. A tingling that starts in Danny's soles and goes all the way up to his brain. It makes his toes curl inside his boots. It makes his stomach tighten underneath his jacket, dress shirt and tank top.
Danny hasn't felt like this in a very long time. If ever.
Flack is still staring at him, like he's all that exists in the universe.
His toes curl in just a little more.
And then, after another tense moment of gazing into each other's eyes, Flack nonchalantly inquires, "So. Did ya take pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pizza before it fell over?"
It's exactly what Danny needed to loosen up, and from the soft smile that unfolds across Flack's features, him laughing all over again is the reaction Flack must have hoped for.
The examination of the crime scene in the pizza parlor's kitchen passes in a dream-like haze. Danny can hear Flack interviewing the pizza parlor owner and his employees in the background, and it's strange that Flack's voice is the only one that rings clear and understandable to him. It's like his brain decided to filter out every single noise except Flack's resonant voice.
It turns out to be rather positive thing afterwards in the evening, after he's collected all the necessary evidence, visited the resident ME Sheldon Hawkes for autopsy results, and spent his shift at the labs verifying what really happened to poor Mr. Pizza-Dough-Kink.
Flack's voice is all he hears in the midst of the crowd packing the pizza place they're dining at for a late night supper. It's another pizza parlor, and Danny is damn glad about that because there's no way in hell he's going to eat there after knowing what the dead dude fancied doing with the pizza dough. Ugh, talk about terrible hygiene and extreme food contamination!
"Well, least he died doin' what he loved, right?" Flack says with an amused smirk while he cuts another giant slice of pizza from the pan on the table between them.
Danny sniggers even as he's shaking his head. "It's still a pretty awful way to go, unintentional suicide or not. I mean, suffocatin' yerself with pizza dough while jerkin' off with more pizza dough? That's gotta be a new fetish!"
"Oh, you'd be surprised, Danny. There are some weird, weird people out there." Flack chews on a mouthful of pepperoni-and-cheese pizza, then adds, "And I'm just talkin' Manhattan here."
Danny cackles for possibly the twentieth time that night. He hasn't laughed so much in one night before. Or met someone like Flack who can make him laugh so much in the first place.
"Yeah?" Danny raises an eyebrow and makes a mischievous face. "You tryin' to tell me somethin', Flack?"
He waits for Flack to finish another bite of pizza.
"Actually, I am," Flack answers, his expression turned somber.
The homicide detective suddenly sits up, placing his half-eaten slice of pizza on the ceramic plate before him. Danny also straightens up. Flack's rapid mood change is making alarm bells ring in his head.
What the, is Flack about to tell him something very personal or -
"I have a kink for glasses."
Flack's face is utterly blank.
But his eyes are gleaming with evident playfulness.
Danny keeps his own face just as deadpanned.
"Drink glasses?"
One end of Flack's lips twitch.
"Spectacles."
Danny dips his head in a dramatic, sagely nod, stroking his goateed chin with the manner of a wise, old man, and he says in a bad Japanese accent, "Ah, how interesting, little grasshopper."
Flack's striking visage crinkles in what looks like an amalgam of a grin and a horrified grimace.
"If that was s'pposed to be that karate teacher from The Karate Kid or something, please don't quit yer day job."
Danny merely wrinkles his nose in mock condescension, but inside, he's grinning like a loon. It's been a long while since he's able to geek out and not have the other person outright laugh at him, much less know what silly impersonation he's doing and which film it comes from.
"Anyway, it's not just glasses. I have a thing for people wearin' them."
Danny sends Flack a sharp glance. Huh. Maybe this time the guy isn't joking.
"Don't matter if it's a man or woman," Flack continues, taking a big bite out of another slice of pizza. "I just think it makes people look more sophisticated."
"That is interestin'," Danny says faintly, but it seems Flack heard it anyhow.
Flack doesn't say anything and just smiles.
It takes a minute for Danny to realize Flack is staring at him again.
And the peculiar thing is, he doesn't mind it at all.
It's actually very … flattering.
It feels like a smack to his chest when Flack blinks and looks away. It's not a bad feeling, more like a palpable sensation of a profound link unexpectedly disconnecting and leaving him high and dry and yearning for more.
The question is, yearning for what?
Danny's brain is telling him it has no idea what the heck it might be.
His heart, on the other hand, is singing another tune.
Right now, he's reluctant to listen to it. He's come across this song many times in the past, and he knows it's a song that'll change him forever in ways beyond his comprehension and that's why he's been avoiding it all his life.
He doesn't want to fall again. He doesn't want to hurt again.
But somehow … things aren't the same this time.
Flack isn't like the rest.
Somehow, Danny just knows it.
"Ya think the employees of this pizza parlor do the nasty with pizza dough too?" Flack asks.
The question snaps Danny out of his reverie.
Flack's glancing around, eyeing every waiters and waitresses who go by their table. There's an impish smile arching up Flack's lips, and Danny is cataloging it in his memory rolodex before he's even aware of it. He looks down at the last two slices of pizza on the pan, then says with narrowed eyes and a tiny smirk, "Ohh, I see what you're tryin' to do. You just wanna have the rest of the pizza all to yourself, don'tcha?"
Flack puts on an expression of mock affront.
"What? How dare you insinuate that I am a gluttonous pig!"
A second later, the homicide detective shrugs, curls one end of his lips and says in a matter-of-fact tone, "But yeah, I want the rest of the pizza." Without waiting for a response from Danny, Flack grabs what remains of the pepperoni-and-cheese pizza and plunks it onto his own plate.
Danny's laugh is loud enough that a few other patrons nearby turn their heads in his direction, curious to know what's going on.
It's unbelievable, Danny thinks, he's only met Flack less than twenty-four hours ago and yet … it's as if he's known the guy all his life.
He snorts in amusement when he detects Flack's lighthearted smile and Flack gives him a piece of pizza from his plate.
"Ya want some more? We can order another one if ya like," Flack says after they've finished their meal and drinks.
Danny shakes his head once. "Nah. I kinda feel like havin' some tea, to be honest."
"Tea?"
Flack's eyebrows have shot up his forehead.
"Yeah, tea. Ya got a problem with that?" Danny rejoins, smirking.
"Nope." Flack angles his head. "Just pegged ya to be more of a coffee guy, that's all."
"Never drink coffee. Too much caffeine's no good for me."
"Wha, you become Mr. Hyperactive or somethin'?"
Danny chuckles. "Yeah, somethin' like that."
"Tea," Flack repeats. "Hmm."
And again, the homicide detective is blatantly staring at his face. The unwavering gaze makes Danny itch to retreat to the restroom and look into a mirror and see whether he has a tree growing out of his forehead.
It sure sounds like a much more believable reason than Flack finding him … attractive.
"Yeah, I don't mind goin' to a more quiet place," Flack says after a minute or two. "You know any good tea places nearby?"
They end up at a tea bar off Union Square West on 14th Street, a small, cozy place with comfy couches and a relaxing, serene ambiance. They're lucky tonight and succeed in snagging the only available free space left, a private spot in a corner by a window.
Danny laughs together with Flack at the dark blue sofa with white polka dots they're sitting on, and then, they're chatting non-stop and getting to know one another while drinking jasmine tea from humongous white cups. Flack removes his leather jacket at some point during their conversation.
Danny learns that Flack is a single child, son of the renowned Detective Donald Flack, Sr. who single-handedly brought down an entire drug cartel in the city just a couple of years after Flack was born. Definitely loves his mom and her apple pie baking expertise, but doesn't say much about his dad apart from him being considered a legend in the NYPD. Grew up in Queens, finished high school, didn't go to college and enlisted at the age of eighteen for active service in the military instead, for two years.
The final piece of information astonishes Danny.
"Wait, you were in the army?"
Flack, lounging on the couch with his hands resting on his belly and his long legs straightened out, snickers at Danny's facial expression.
"Yeah. Either I went to college and got the required credits, or I joined the army for two years. I picked the latter."
"Wow. I didn't expect that."
Flack laughs a second time. "What, I don't have the look of a soldier?"
"No, it's not that," Danny says, shifting higher up on the couch into a more comfortable position. "Just didn't expect it, that's all. You, uh …I kinda pegged ya to be a college guy."
He sends Flack a smile that's both tentative and amused.
"Ya know, like a frat boy -"
"Ah, geeeeez." Flack instantaneously has one hand slapped over his eyes, and it's Danny's turn to be snickering. "Just don't call me bro, okay?"
"Okay." Danny pauses, then mumbles under his breath, "Bro."
After Flack mock glowers at him and threatens to dump what's left of his tea on Danny's head and they've calmed down again, Danny talks about himself at Flack's behest. He isn't fond of relating personal information to people, even to those with whom he's familiar, so there's a great part of himself that's dazed at how much he's revealing to this man sitting next to him.
He speaks of his childhood in Brooklyn, living in a cramped apartment with an alcoholic father and an iron-willed mother who had to support the whole family by working two jobs. He touches on his high school years, and how he fell in love with baseball and dreamed of becoming a major league player some day. He rushes through the day his wrist was shattered along with his ambition, as well as his various conflicts with his dad. It's talking about his brother, Louie, that upsets him the most, and he says very little about his older sibling whom he hasn't seen in almost a decade.
Flack seems to be aware of his inner turmoil, and gives him some time and space to recollect his thoughts. Danny is grateful for that.
"What's it like havin' a brother?" Flack asks some time later.
It's a query that causes Danny to frown in hushed contemplation.
What is it like to have a brother? A brother like his, who loved him once and then shoved him away because power and pride and gangster pals were more important than a younger brother's plea of mercy for an utter stranger?
What is like to have a brother like Louie?
"A pain in the ass," Danny eventually replies, unable to say anything else without it being a twist of the truth.
Flack is quiet and appears to be ruminating over his answer.
A few minutes pass in weighty silence.
Then, Danny asks, "What's it like havin' no siblings?"
Flack is staring at a painting hanging on the wall in front of their couch and coffee table. It's a full-color giclée print of Picasso's Weeping Woman, an abstract painting of jagged black lines and pointed surfaces and the raw human emotion of mourning captured in paint.
And while Flack is staring at that painting, Danny is staring at him.
There's a small, sad smile on Flack's face. It's one Danny doesn't wish to see often from the fine-looking homicide detective.
Flack's blue eyes seem to glisten beneath the tea bar's ceiling lights.
"Lonely."
The word socks Danny like a ten-ton truck.
It echoes in his head long after they've finished their tea and departed from the establishment, and now they're in Flack's car, parked outside his apartment building. Danny keeps hearing Flack say that word in that cheerless, boy-like voice in his mind, and he thinks to himself how wrong it is for a person like Flack to ever be lonely or alone.
"This is your place, right?"
Danny blinks, then turns his head to look at Flack who's in the driver's seat and has his hands on the steering wheel. The melancholy isn't there in those big eyes anymore but Danny knows it's lurking somewhere behind them, veiled from the scrutiny of the world. He, too, is a master in the art of keeping his emotional distress under multiple coats of wraps.
"Yeah … yeah, this is it." Danny clears his throat. "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."
"No problem."
Flack is smiling. It's the gentle, happy one for which Danny is fast growing a predilection.
"I had a really good time," Danny says without thinking. He's already giving himself mental kicks to the ass as the last word flies out his mouth.
His face heats up, and he hopes to God Flack doesn't notice how flushed he must be.
Oh, wonderful, he just totally made himself sound like an enamored dork on a first date with his major crush!
The thought causes his eyes to widen in momentary enlightenment.
Is it a first date?
Danny is handed an answer of sorts in Flack's murmured, "Yeah, I had a really good time too."
He sends the homicide detective a piercing glance.
Whoa. Flack isn't joking.
The guy means it.
Danny feels his face warm tenfold. Okay, he ought to get out of the car before he does something that'll really scare Flack off.
"Guess I'll see ya at work," he says, more than a bit apprehensive about making eye contact with Flack. Those intense eyes are a force to be reckoned with.
"Yeah. Hey, how 'bout lunch?"
Danny's nervousness vanishes in a puff of smoke at the very unforeseen suggestion.
"Lunch? You mean, tomorrow?"
Flack huffs out a brief chortle. "Technically, it'd be later today, but yeah … unless ya got other plans, of course."
For one millisecond, Danny considers declining. His brain's yelling at him that this is a bad idea, that he should say no, he's busy, he'll probably have lots of work to do and he can't have lunch with Flack because Flack's one hell of a guy and once Flack knows what he's really like and where he's really been and who he's rubbed shoulders with -
"Sure, lunch it is. See ya later then."
"That's great. I'll see ya later. Have a good night, Danny."
"You too, Don."
His heart's won this round. His overly paranoid brain shuts up in cowed defeat.
For once in his life, there aren't any voices in his head berating him. There's no suspicion, no fear for so readily trusting a guy he just met or letting said guy into his life so soon, so much. He hasn't been at such peace with himself for a very, very long time, and he's humming a slow song under his breath as he sits on the side of his bed in nothing except his boxers, ready for a restful night.
He takes off his spectacles. Wipes the plastic lenses clean with a soft, dry cloth.
And then, it whacks him right on the head, what Flack had said to him at the pizza parlor earlier that evening.
"I have a kink for glasses … I have a thing for people wearin' them."
He gazes at the glasses in his grasp, suddenly finding it not so easy to breathe.
Had Flack just been kidding around?
Or had the guy been serious when he said that?
And if that's so, had Flack been staring at him the whole day because of his glasses, or was it because Flack actually likes -
Danny pinches the skin above his left eyebrow and utters aloud, "Naaaah."
C'mon, he chides himself, what are the chances of somebody like Flack not having a girlfriend or ten?
Just because the guy said he'd been lonely not having any siblings doesn't mean he's still lonely now.
Right?
Feeling somewhat troubled by this new train of thought, Danny places his spectacles on the bedside table, shuts off the bedside lamp and settles under the bedcovers. Twenty minutes flow by in deep cogitation for him as he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
Alright. Okay. He'll meet with Flack later today for lunch, and he'll get to know more about this tall, dark-haired homicide detective who's become his … friend.
Danny rolls onto his side and pulls the covers up over his shoulder, tucking the hem around his neck.
Detective Don Flack, Jr.
His friend.
Yes, Danny thinks as he falls into an undisturbed slumber, he likes the sound of that very much.
( Oooo …... oooO )
The orange-and-white basketball sails through the air.
"Yeaaaaah, it's gonna get in, it's gonna get in -"
It bounces hard off the backboard frame of the basketball tower and plunges through the red ring and white netting with a fwip!
It's another score for Flack, who's more than happy to shout his excitement at owning twenty-seven scores compared to Danny's measly sixteen.
"Woohooooooo! The Flackmeister scores agaaaaaaain!"
Danny watches Flack hopping around the court in circles like a mad kangaroo and doing a rather ridiculous victory dance at the same time, and he can't help laughing and shaking his head despite being the evident loser here. It's tough to be mad at Flack when the guy's like this, full of life, optimism and vigor that can rival that of a wired two-year-old's.
It pleases him to see Flack happy, so it's a win-win situation anyway.
"Flackmeister? Are ya kiddin' me?"
Flack simply makes a silly face at him, and he laughs again, amazed at the extensive range of facial expressions his close friend is capable of presenting.
"This game ain't over yet, Don. Don't count yer chickens 'fore they hatch and all that!"
"Yeah, we'll see 'bout that, Danno!"
He's known Flack for over a year now. It seems like it was just yesterday when he met the homicide detective for the first time, in the kitchen of a pizza parlor where one of its employees died as a result of his … pizza dough fetish. It's a very memorable case. Flack brings it up every time they have pizza together, and the taller man never fails to crack him up by reminding him about the collapse of the Leaning Tower of Pizza. Thanks to Flack, Danny will always associate the real Leaning Tower of Pisa with the dead guy who had taken Viagra, accidentally asphyxiated himself with pizza dough while jerking off and then let himself be discovered by cops who got to see what happened when the Viagra wore off.
It's been over a year now since that day, and here they are, playing hoops at the Carmine Recreation Center in Greenwich Village like they always have every Saturday unless they're called in to work. Flack is part of a program called the Greenwich Village Basketball League to teach the neighbourhood children a thing or two about the game, which is why they play here after the kids have gone home for the day and they have the court to themselves for a while.
Flack has mentioned a few times that he's thinking about lending a hand at the YMCA as well, particularly to nurture children in need, and Danny will be a liar if he says hearing that hadn't warmed his heart. It's just like Flack to possess the compassion to help the less fortunate even though he has a hectic, full-time job that's stressful enough as it is.
It never ceases to astound Danny they're still friends, such close friends, considering how dissimilar their backgrounds are. Not everyone in the world can lay claim to being one of Don Flack, Jr.'s best friends; Danny thinks it's an exceptional privilege to be able to consider Flack the same. Against all the odds, this blue blood son of an NYPD legend with the face that can launch a thousand ships, with such a noble, self-sacrificing spirit … wants to spend time with him. Him, a street rat with unstable family ties and an even more unstable temperament.
And it's not just once in a while. It's all the time.
Flack calls him everyday. It's a constant pleasure whenever Flack does, be it for a case they're investigating or just to find out how he's doing. Flack also visits him at CSI headquarters as frequently as possible. Everyone there is so accustomed to Flack's presence by now that no one does a double take or even blinks whenever Flack strolls the labs following him around as he conducts his various experiments.
Off duty, he and Flack will usually hang out at Sullivan's, a popular pub a few blocks away from the CSI building. It's owned by a fifty-something-year-old, pepper-haired guy named Frankie who's taken a liking to them both and always treats them to a free glass of beer if he's around. They'll have some Guinness and whiskey, play pool, talk like they always do about everything from the latest case to world news to the new cute lab tech to their personal beliefs. Danny cherishes these moments very much.
Danny also has no reservations about discussing private matters with Flack. He can chat with the taller man about anything. Flack is the one friend he has right now who knows things about him and his family that nobody else does. Flack is the only friend so far whom he's brought to his family home for dinner, and it says volumes to him that his mother, the most hardheaded, skeptical woman he's ever known, went head over heels for the handsome detective the instant the guy set foot inside the house.
Flack is about the only guy in his life whom he trusts to not mock him or belittle his opinions, regardless of how far-fetched they may be.
In fact, Flack is about the only person in his life whom he unconditionally trusts. Always.
And he isn't frightened in the least that Flack has such power over him.
It's an enigma that continues to mystify and reassure him at the same time.
"Hey, Danny, are we gonna play or are ya gonna daydream a little while more?"
Danny blinks hard, and he's back in the present, in the middle of the indoor court in his white tank top and black track pants and green sneakers and he wonders how long he's been standing there like a dumbass.
Flack's running in circles around him and dribbling the basketball at a rapid pace with both hands. Danny turns his head to follow the other man with his gaze, silently appreciating Flack's agility and grace as well as how good the guy appeared in a black tank top and dark grey trousers. Flack's physique is … just right. Not too buff, not too skinny, with the ideal amount of muscle mass and pale, smooth skin.
They've already been at this one-on-one game for an hour, and Flack is barely breaking a sweat.
"C'mon, Danny, I've got eleven points on ya."
Thump! The ball strikes the polished floor and rebounds into Flack's hands.
"Wha, ya gonna give up already?"
Thump! The ball strikes the floor a second time.
Flack's grinning from ear to ear.
The flash of pearly teeth upon that dazzling face is what restores Danny's resolve. He smiles inwardly, and licks his lower lip.
Ohh, Flack's not going to know what hit him.
"C'mon, Danny! Are ya gonna just stand there all day, huh?"
Flack snickers, then jogs a little nearer to him, still bouncing the basketball.
Danny remains stationary. He stares at Flack, straight-faced and calm.
That's it, Don, just a little closer …
Flack takes a few more steps forward. There's a bewildered frown on the man's visage now, and Danny has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.
That's right, Donnie, juuuuust a little more …
"Dan? Are you okay -"
Danny goes on the offensive at lightning speed.
A swing of his arm, and he's snatching the basketball out of Flack's clutches and he dashes down the court as he dribbles the basketball in front of him, his gleeful cackle reverberating all around them.
"Heeeeeeeeey!" Flack hollers in disbelief.
He hears Flack stomping after him, the guy's heavy steps going bambambam behind him and Danny hastens his own, his eyes honed on the red ring high in the air.
The air is rushing past his ears.
The basketball is bounding off the floor in tandem with his swift stride.
"I'm gonna getcha!"
Uh oh, Flack sounds really close behind him -
He sees the ring above him. He's already imagining himself leaping and making that slam dunk as his right foot comes down for one last step before he jumps for real -
"Ah hah, the ball's MINE!"
He senses Flack rushing in from his right side, senses one of Flack's arms sliding over his own in a speedy effort to steal the ball away from him.
Then, one of Flack's feet is inadvertently trampling his right foot, just when he's about to execute his shoot.
It throws him off balance. His spectacles fly off his face and land with a loud clatter nearby. He hurtles forward from momentum, and there's a sharp stab in his right ankle and then another more broad and blunt throbbing that centers in his upper left back as soon as he crashes headlong onto the floor.
For an eon and a second, Danny's world is a miasma of pain.
There are white stars exploding behind his shut eyelids. There's a muscle on the lower part of his left shoulder blade that's seizing up in an acute spasm. It's way worse than the ache in his right ankle; the pain is travelling from between his shoulder blade and spine and goes down his left arm all the way to his fingers and back again. He winces, then lets out a hiss after he struggles to budge from where he's lying on his left side on the floor.
Ah, shit, it hurts to move. He hopes he hasn't broken anything.
"Danny! Are you okay?"
Danny hears the other man go down hard on his knees next to him. Feels Flack's large hands on him, groping along his arms, legs and flanks, checking him for injuries and he almost laughs at the notion Flack might be doing this just for the sake of having the opportunity to touch him.
Why would Flack want to do that anyway?
It's not like the guy will ever like him that way.
Right?
"Danny, you okay? C'mon, buddy, talk to me."
Without warning, Flack's fingers are digging into the knotting muscle on his left shoulder blade.
His eyes snap open. He goes utterly rigid in Flack's grip.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW."
Oh, fuck, it feels like his shoulder's going to shatter if he even moves -
"Whoa," Flack mumbles. "That is one nasty cramp."
Danny finally gives in to his urge to chuckle. Well, he tries to, anyway.
"Gee, Don," he grinds out through gritted teeth and a wide grimace. "Ya think?"
Aching as he is, he is still able to hear the worry tingeing Flack's faint snicker.
Now, Flack is doing something to his spasming upper back with his hands, and damn, it feels good. Whatever the heck kind of massage it is, it's easing the soreness there and loosening the cramping muscle bit by bit. That, and Danny's brain is going into overdrive at the sensations of Flack's big hands touching him this way and kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders and back like so.
The alleviation must have shown on his visage.
"You feelin' better?" Flack asks gently.
Danny lifts his head off the polished court floor to gaze at the homicide detective with heavy-lidded eyes. Flack is kneeling near his waist. One of Flack's hands is resting on his upper back, while the other is on his right forearm, moving from elbow to wrist in a rhythmic motion.
It takes Danny's brain ten whole seconds to realize Flack is stroking his arm to soothe him. It seems like the guy has no idea whatsoever that he's doing it either.
"Yeah," Danny mumbles after some time, staring up at the pale blur in black and grey that is his friend. "Yeah, the cramp's goin' away. Thanks."
"That's good … that's good," Flack murmurs. The relief in the man's voice is clear as day. "Are you hurtin' anywhere else?"
"My right ankle. Think it might be sprained."
Flack leans down and wraps sinewy arms around his midriff in something akin to a hug. Without being told, Danny places his right arm across Flack's broad shoulders, and allows Flack to elevate him to a sitting position.
His nose is just inches away from Flack's cheek and dark, thick hair. This upclose, every blemish, line and wrinkle on Flack's mien is visible to him and despite that, Danny is more captivated by the other man's features than ever. Instead of decreasing the man's attractiveness, all those so-called flaws simply add maturity and humanity to an already handsome face.
Flack smells very nice. His scent reminds Danny of sheer spring water and sunny skies and baked apple pie.
And those blue eyes, those fiery eyes, are staring into his.
All at once, Flack's arms around his body are like brands on his skin; he feels their tremendous warmth, their very presence, even through his tank top. He hears his own breaths and Flack's becoming in sync. Flack's soft exhalations are brushing his slightly parted lips like an unspoken whisper. The tips of their noses are this close to touching, and he's uncertain if the thundering heartbeat roaring in his ears belongs to him or to Flack.
Danny swallows visibly, then licks his lower lip and has to restrain himself from winding his fingers in Flack's black tank top when Flack reflexively mimics him.
In any other circumstances, he would know what the next step is but this is different, so very different. This isn't some random woman who happens to have captured his fancy, some random person with whom he can break things off without being anxious about the fallout.
This is Flack, his friend.
His best friend.
The man he's had feelings for since they met.
"Danny -"
Perhaps it's fate that the moment Flack chooses to speak, the muscle in Danny's upper back makes its own decision of contracting a second time. Danny is fortunate and glad it quickly elapses, because one, he is no fan of suffering and two, he is fast learning that it disconcerts Flack to see him in any sort of pain.
"Okay?"
Flack's hand on his left bicep grounds him.
"I'm good. S'was just another spasm, that's all," he answers, and he shows Flack a small smile to support his assertion.
Flack stares a while more at him, blinks, then asks, "Can ya get up?"
Danny gives Flack's farther shoulder a squeeze and the taller detective gets the point.
"A'right, up and at 'em," Flack murmurs close to his ear, and it sounds so close that Danny swears Flack's lips graze his earlobe.
He hisses after he sets his right foot down on the floor. Ah, the pull on his ankle isn't as bad as he assumed. He's able to walk. Just very slowly without putting too much pressure on it.
"Your ankle?"
Danny's tempted to tell Flack it's fine and that he can stand on his own. However, he replies, "Don't think I hurt it too bad. Not sure if I can walk on it though. Ya mind helpin' me to the locker room?"
Flack's arm around his midriff tightens without hesitation, and as they shuffle towards the locker room at the other end of the basketball court, Danny silently basks in the warmth and strength of the other man's form. It's remarkable and very humbling to have a friend like Flack, to have a guy of such independence, determination and stability listen to him and accommodate whatever request he makes.
As bold as it is, he has the insistent hunch that Flack doesn't behave like this with anyone else.
Just him.
He doesn't know why he knows this. He just does.
Just like he knows that something significant had taken place mere minutes before, on the court floor where they sat facing each other, staring at one another and he'd caught a glimpse of something momentous and heart-stopping and startling in Flack's big eyes. Something that he's been avoiding his whole life.
Until now.
The bench in the center of the locker room is unyielding and flat, but Danny doesn't think about the discomfort as he rubs his left shoulder in an absent-minded manner. Flack is sitting beside him, rummaging through a blue-and-grey rucksack, and Danny is suddenly longing very much to sweep his fingertips across Flack's lowered eyebrows and brush away the frown on the other man's visage.
Instead, his fingers clench around his left shoulder.
No. Temptation bad, very bad.
"Your shoulder still crampin', Danny?"
Danny blinks. Flack's rucksack is on the floor now, and the homicide detective is facing him, holding a tiny octagonal glass jar of ointment in one hand.
"A little ... It's a'right, really," Danny replies, his gaze zoomed in on the object in Flack's grasp.
Flack notices this and lets Danny see the jar, saying, "It's Tiger balm. Great for relievin' achin' muscles. I use it whenever my neck or shoulders ache."
Danny glances up from the tube of Tiger Balm and gazes at Flack.
"It's, uhm, it'll make your shoulder feel better. If, ya know," Flack mumbles, looking away for a second then back again at his face, appearing almost … shy.
Tilting forward, Danny squints to distinguish the other man's pleasant features.
Then, his eyes widen in understanding.
Wait a minute.
Is Flack asking him what he thinks the guy is?
"You wanna rub some Tiger Balm on my back?"
The rosiness that imbues Flack's cheeks is so red that it's conspicuous to Danny even without his spectacles. Danny has never seen Flack blush before, and it's an endearing and cute sight. Flack looks just like a boy who's been caught red-handed in a naughty act.
"I - you, I mean, if you wanna, I don't mind, 'cause I know cramps don't go 'way so quick so it must still be hurtin' some and you - well, it'll be easier if I rubbed it on for ya and, yeah."
Wow, Flack blushing and rambling in a single day.
And for the first time since Flack picked him up from his apartment building in the morning, the man isn't staring at him.
Danny's going to mark all this on his calendar for sure.
"It, uh, the Tiger Balm stinks a bit -"
Danny is definitely going to mark what he's about to do next on his calendar too.
"But you get used to the smell so … I can … uhm …"
His tank top's rolled up in his hands, and listening to Flack trail off into a stunned silence is all he needs to know just how much his naked torso is affecting his friend.
"Can't rub the balm on with my tank top in the way, right?" Danny murmurs.
"Huh?" A dozen seconds later, Flack adds like an afterthought, "Yeah."
Danny studies Flack from the corner of his eyes.
Ohh, Flack is staring at him again, alright. Just not at his face this time.
If Flack's stare ever becomes a tangible force, Danny would be feeling countless caresses upon his body right now. Flack is ogling him from head down to the waistband of his track pants, those wide eyes raking over every aspect of his torso, ostensibly memorizing every inch of his bare skin.
It's a rousing sensation.
Even more so because it's Flack who's eyeballing him this way.
And the guy doesn't even realize it.
Smiling inwardly, Danny shifts on the bench so that his back is facing the other man, and waits.
An abruptly tense minute ticks by.
Danny isn't aware of his fingers digging into his thighs till he senses Flack's very first and tentative touch on his exposed upper back. Flack's large hands are incredibly warm; the Tiger balm feels the same, probably due to Flack's body heat. As Flack smears it all over his left shoulder blade, his skin begins to feel hot and tingly. It's an interesting sensation, to say the least.
"It feels good," he tells Flack.
Then the pungent scent reaches his nose.
"Okay, you weren't kiddin' 'bout the smell," Danny says with a smirk.
Behind him, Flack chuckles. "Yeah, it's kinda like cough sweets and mothballs rolled into one."
Flack is massaging his shoulder and back with both hands once more, using whatever technique he did on the basketball court earlier on, and Danny has to chew on his lower lip to not moan aloud.
Flack isn't good at it.
Flack's mind-blowing at it.
"Don - oh man … where'd ya learn to do that?"
Uh oh, did he say that in such a husky voice or is it just his imagination?
"Let's just say, I'm a natural."
Danny knows Flack's grinning his head off, that smug bastard.
"Yeah? So can ya tell me - mmhh - can ya tell me why ya aren't a professional masseur or somethin'?"
Flack simply lets out a good-natured laugh.
"I'm not jokin', you do a dozen customers a day, you'll be bringin' in the big bucks in no time," Danny continues, chortling along with the other detective.
Danny's eyes flutter shut at one acutely hard press of a thumb against the muscle in his upper back that had cramped. Ooh, okay, he felt that one.
"Nah," Flack says in a blasé tone. "I only cater to very exclusive clientele."
Flack's skillful hands have moved up his torso to knead his shoulders and the back of his neck.
"Oh yeah? How many?"
Flack's hands go still and flat on the sides of his neck.
"One."
Danny's eyes open wide at the whispered answer. To him, it had been as loud as a clap of thunder.
Before Flack has the time to remove his hands, Danny spins around to face Flack, desperate to see Flack's countenance. He has to know, he has to know whether Flack's just messing around with him or not.
Don't play with me, Don, please -
Fair-skinned as Flack is, the blush spread across the handsome man's face appears to have darkened tenfold. To the guy's credit, Flack doesn't break their eye contact, as physically close as Danny is to him, the tips of their noses grazing, their breaths mingling.
Flack's right hand is on Danny's chest. Directly over his heart.
Can he feel it, Danny wonders, can he hear it?
Some message or another must have been conveyed because all of a sudden, Flack snatches his hand away, holding it against his own belly like he'd just done something he shouldn't have. It causes Danny to jolt in surprise. When Flack turns his head away, Danny gasps out loud.
Oh crap. Is he mistaken after all?
Had he been merely making things up all this while and fooling himself into believing Flack shares the same feeli-
"I'm sorry, I - I went overboard there, I didn't mean to …"
Danny's brows lower in a baffled frown. What the, why is Flack apologizing -
Oh.
Ohh, due to his sudden reaction, Flack must think he's offended.
"Hey." Danny places his hand on top of Flack's closest hand that's resting on the man's thigh. "It's okay."
Once he's positive Flack isn't going to move his hand away, Danny deliberately winds their fingers together.
He waits for Flack to look him in the eye again.
"Dan?"
Flack's blue eyes are filled with such doubt, though behind it all, Danny also sees a spark of hope that's growing with every passing second.
"Yeah."
He hopes that is enough of an answer for Flack to comprehend.
Danny can determine the exact instant enlightenment bonks Flack on his skull; he witnesses it in the great widening of Flack's eyes, the man's mouth going slack in a mixture of disbelief and joy and finally, that same mouth transforming into an abashed albeit euphoric smile.
"Oh," Flack simply says.
It's more than enough for Danny, who has never, ever anticipated in a million lifetimes that someone as extraordinary as Flack will come to be one of his best friends.
Much less, someone who loves him.
Danny senses Flack's eyes on him while he redresses himself, and he takes his sweet time tugging the white tank top over and around his head and then down his torso. The Tiger balm on his back is somewhat sticky and a little bit oily but that's okay, he can wash his tank top when he gets home anyhow. He flexes his left shoulder and discovers with astonishment that the ache in his upper back is utterly gone.
"Damn, that stuff's a miracle," Danny says, glancing at Flack who has his rucksack slung around one shoulder.
All Flack does is give him a tender, enigmatic smile that lingers in his thoughts as they leave the locker room with their backpacks and he retrieves his thankfully undamaged glasses from the court floor where they'd fallen. He includes that smile in his now enormous rolodex of Flack memories, together with all his friend's other smiles and laughs and frowns and puppy-eyed looks and silly faces. That's just one of the many things he loves about Flack, how the guy is capable of communicating with so many expressions and yet still maintain such privacy about himself.
Danny wants to know more about Flack. So much more.
And if he's right and he saw, beyond doubt, what he did in Flack's eyes today … Flack feels the same way about him too.
It's too good to be true.
"Do ya want the rest of the Tiger balm?"
They're standing in front of his apartment door now, and Flack is behaving coy again, looking here and there and scuffing one foot on the floor. With his glasses on, Danny is able to better appreciate Flack's flushed face in full clarity. The taller man really does look like a boy when he blushes.
"For your ankle, I mean," Flack adds.
"Nah, it's okay," Danny replies. "I could walk all the way up here from the car, so it's good."
Flack is quiet for a minute, and then asks in a tiny voice, "So, uh. Wanna play hoops again next week?"
Danny sends the other man a sharp glance. That's weird. Flack's never had to inquire that before. He scrutinizes Flack's body language: the atypical lack of eye contact, the feet scuffing, the redness in the cheeks and it informs him that Flack's … nervous.
Like a teenager who's asking out his high school crush for the first time and is anxious about being declined.
It's very difficult for Danny to not smile right there. He's remembering his adolescent years, when he was a skinny kid with thick-framed spectacles and a dorky haircut and he was asking out a girl for whom he'd been head over heels for a few months. It'd turned out to be a short-lived crush, but he recalls how awkward and worried he'd been, fretting over what to say and how to act and what he'd do if she rejected him.
It seems oddly apt that he would re-encounter the experience with the tables turned in his adult incarnation.
And the major difference between his past self and his current self?
Danny hadn't been in love then.
Flack's eyes are gleaming beneath the corridor's ceiling lights, shining with an unspoken entreaty that Danny is powerless to deny.
"You bet I do."
Danny's lower face splits into a broad smile.
Flack's reaction is immediate.
"Okay. Cool. Great." The homicide detective's smile is probably twice as wide as his. "I'll see ya at the labs on Monday then."
"Okay. Have a good night, Don."
"You too, Danny."
There's a lively bounce to Flack's steps as the guy strides to the elevator, and it's Danny's turn to go a little red in the face when Flack gives him an enthusiastic farewell wave while the elevator doors shut.
That dork.
That lovable, gorgeous dork.
Danny laughs faintly to himself, then lets himself into his apartment, feeling light enough to walk on air.
In the morning, after a very decent night's slumber, Danny finds his cheeks are hurting and that's peculiar to him since it was his upper back and right ankle he'd injured yesterday, not his face. It is only while he's in his bathroom washing up that he realizes why this is so.
It is, after all, quite demanding on his facial muscles to be set in a blissful smile for many hours on end.