A/N: I'm back! Ready with another tale of Danny abuse to satiate the sadistic needs of you, my fellow Danny fans. Hopefully it will prove totally different from my previous stories. For one thing, more of the team will play a part. For another, it has nothing to do with Danny's past. But it should prove interesting.

On the less than plus side, updates will only be weekly until I've finished writing the entire thing, which should be fairly soon. I don't want to get ahead of myself and end up losing the quality of the story. Those of you reading my SGA fic Mercy are already suffering through this.

One Thing After Another

By

Stealth Dragon

Rating – T, violence, of course.

Disclaimer - I don't own CSI New York, it's characters, or Danny Messer. But Carmine Giovinazzo is mine! Mine I tell you! (I wish, I wish, I wish).

Synopsis – Just how hard is it to get Danny to the hospital? Sheldon and Lindsey are about to find out when a case interferes with the simple act of saving their friend's life. Suspense mostly, with a little humor (I hope). Not really much romance, but lots of Danny and Lindsey friendship you can interpret as you wish. I'm not fond of shippers.

A/N: For those of you doing, or have done, a Danny being sick story, I am not taking your ideas. There is more to this tale than Danny being sick, though that plays a major roll.

Ch. 1

Mutual Concerns

Chaos and Misfortune; you do not have to wait too long.

Five little words one should never say – what could possibly go wrong?

Personal quote

Led in the limbs, a metaphor so simple it was a cliché, but as the saying went, 'an oldie but goody', so Danny went with it. It felt like he had led coating the bones of his limbs. Danny sniffed caustically. It was joining forces with the hollow pit in his stomach where food would normally be. Now a throb was pounding out a beat at the base of his skull to the rhythm of his heart.

" Danny?"

The cold was finding a path through the coat to his body by soaking into the skin of his neck and face. He shivered, but it was an insubstantial tremor he was fairly confident hadn't been noticed.

" Danny?"

Warm moisture tried to leak down his nose, so he sniffed again. A chain reacting was started when his lungs craved a deeper breath, so he inhaled through his mouth, cold air shooting down his trachea, filling his lungs, and aggravating building congestion enough for him to cough a few times.

" Danny!"

Danny closed his eyes when the next throb was more like a pound. He turned his head to look at Stella standing by the body, Mac on the other side with his back turned, studying the sun-radial pattern of spattered blood on the grimy wood wall. Stella was looking exasperated, tapping her heeled foot, and extended one hand toward Danny.

" Camera," she demanded.

Danny blinked in momentary confusion until he finally looked down at his chest and the camera hanging around his neck. " Oh, sorry Stel." He removed it and handed it over.

Stella smiled. " Finally," and started flashing. Danny gave another cough to clear the gathering gunk before it could fully regroup. He turned the rest of his body to face the corpse painted in blood with a head half-man, half-hamburger. Through and through, with brains mixed in with the blood spatter congealed in place. The gore wasn't doing any favors for his stomach. He swallowed, and breathed through his mouth to keep from suffering the metallic stench. Blood had pooled beneath the head, and soaked the clothes to ride up to the chest.

Danny grimaced. His body's timing sucked. A high profile case, and his immune system had finally decided to call it quits and let the cold or flu or whatever it was have its way. At least Danny assumed it was the flu. Flus usually came quick with a lot more symptoms besides loss of appetite, like a fever, which hadn't manifested until today, but Danny couldn't be sure.

Danny wasn't sure of anything. He really needed to see a doctor. Two weeks of having all his meals so unappealing that he either ate only half or none at all, a constant itch in his lungs, and on again/off again headaches with fever rearing its ugly head now – Hawkes didn't need to tell him that that was messed up. But when it came to health, Danny tended to be a procrastinator. Past checkups for headaches and appetite loss had pointed toward stress and lack of sleep. So why go to the doctor when he'd only end up getting an earful of the same old mantra? Even now a doctor visit wasn't big on his to do list. He had hoped to attempt asking for some sick leave to sleep the thing off, work it out on his own accord rather than have a doctor tell him the same old, same old – you've got the flu, rest, fluids, you'll be fine. Danny had health insurance so it wasn't like he was going to suffer financially for it, but going to the doctor over nothing tended to be a pain in the butt.

Big profile case or not, Danny needed time off. But it pissed him off, because Mac had already stated he would need everyone on this thing that could be spared. It made Danny feel like he was bailing out, which was a thousand miles from the truth. If it hadn't been for the increasing cough, increasing weariness, increasing loss of hunger, increasing headache, and – hell – increase of misery period, he would have kept his mouth shut about it in a heartbeat.

" Danny!"

Danny flinched, and looked at Stella, who was staring at him oddly.

" You okay?"

Danny could only nod as he tried to hold back a cough. He wasn't out of it yet. Maybe he could hold back a little longer...

CSINY

Stella eyed Danny over carefully. " Okay." She didn't believe it, and she was pretty sure Mac would notice. It was only a matter of time before he did, then he could deal with it as needed. Going behind Danny's back and ratting him out would only do to piss him off, and it was pointless to boot since Mac eventually found out everything all the same. Better to stay on Danny's good side and let things play out as they should. Besides, he was probably just tired, like they all were. Mac had called them out at unearthly hours, long before the actual work day was to begin.

Stella pointed to the body, turning Danny's attention to it. " Check out what's all over the shirt. That can't be blood.

Danny crouched while pulling a swab from his kit. " Not unless blood can go jaundice. Looks more like some kind of amber gel or paint."

He wiped a sample. Stella pulled out her mini-flashlight and placed a hand on Danny's back as support to lean in closer. She felt him shivering through the coat, and that immediately yanked her focus from the dead body to the living one beside her. She looked him over, but in the dusky light of the dilapidated building, couldn't get a perfect visual assessment.

" Danny?"

" What?" he replied, keeping up the perusal of the shirt.

" Cold?"

" A little, why?"

" It's not that cold."

Stella caught movement in her peripheral vision. Mac was listening in.

Danny turned his head to give her a scowl, so she narrowed her eyes in self defense.

" I get cold easy sometimes," he shot.

Stella smiled tightly and patted his back. " Sure you do," she shot back.

Didn't matter anyways. Mac had caught on. He could take it from here.

NY

The ride back to the lab was of the strong, silent, awkward kind, and just Danny's ill-fated luck to be riding with Mac, Stella safe a car behind with Flack. Because had she chosen to travel in the same vehicle with the two men, Danny would have been burning holes through her head with the dirtiest look his aching brain could dish out.

No time like the present to request that sick leave, provoking the sensation of being a let-down to Mac. Mac was an easy boss to respect and look up to, but that respect bordered on nerve rattling, off and on. Mistakes of the past still motivated Danny today to be as reliable as an old, faithful dog. Hell, even mistakes hadn't been needed to get him all gung-ho when out in the field. He loved what he did, and liked being able to show himself as dependable, because he was dependable, and like hell he was going to allow anyone else to think otherwise.

Prove myself trustworthy, or die trying, he kept thinking. And he would, because if this led-weight feeling and stuffy head were nothing more than a minor cold, he was going to beat himself to hell for it.

Still, he was so freakin' tired.

Danny shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. " Hey, Mac?"

" Yeah?" Mac replied.

" Um, I was thinkin', after today, if – uh... If it'd be okay if I could take a personal day tomorrow? I know you need the help..."

" You mean a sick day," Mac cut in, never taking his eyes from the street while negotiating the heavy traffic.

" Yeah, yeah a sick day. Probably just one. I don't think it's a big deal. Head cold crap. But it's really starting to come down hard, you know?"

Danny glanced at Mac, and saw the start of a small smile.

" I know. It's okay, Danny. Take a day, more than a day, a week if you need it. Just call if it ends up being more than a day. You're no good to me a zombie if it gets that far."

Danny nodded but the tension wouldn't unknot from his shoulders. " Thanks Mac. I'm really sorry about this..."

Again, Mac cut him off. " Don't be. No offense, but you look like you could do with a few hours of real sleep."

That was Mac, always looking out for his kiddies at the lab. Danny had learned a long time ago that Mac went for the nice streak more than rock-hard cop with the Marine attitude. Set back was, the fact had never really sunk in, and Danny felt bad about that. Mac was just the kind of guy that really didn't deserve being disappointed.

Arrival at the lab was only a half hour rather than the wagered hour, and Flack reluctantly yielded ten bucks to both Danny and Stella.

The warmth of headquarters was bliss, but did nothing to change the status of Danny's occasional bouts of small coughs. He followed Mac and Stella as they wound through the halls toward the labs with evidence bags and kits in hand. Danny's own kit was feeling abnormally heavy today, which explained the periodic tremors in his arms. His muscles were rebelling. Obviously, his body wanted something, part of that something being not lugging heavy objects around.

" Hey," Danny said, getting both Mac and Stella to glance over their shoulders. Danny jerked his thumb over his own shoulder. " If it's cool, I'm going to grab an early lunch. I'm freakin' starved." And he was. Time to take advantage of it. Above that, he just wanted to sit before his legs finished their transition into jelly.

Mac nodded. " Go. We got it here."

Danny turned on his heels without stopping and pushed his petulant legs as fast as he could go to the lunch room. He set his kit on the counter – all evidence already with Mac and Stella – and B-lined to the fridge, pulling out a sack containing half a sub-sandwich, chips, and a soda. He headed to the table and dropped the sack before dropping himself into the plastic blue seat with a contented sigh, every muscle he had sighing with him, easing out of their knots. Warm and relaxed, he pulled out the foot, and started with the sandwich.

One bite, and to both his annoyance and unease, he was done. He forced himself to take a second bite, and spent a good two minutes chewing until his stomach finally relented to taking it. The soda he handled a little better, and the potato chips (half the small bag, at any rate). He set the bag down, and tried another bite of sandwich.

Swallowing, he nearly gagged it back up. He dropped it and snatched up the soda since carbon had a way of settling the stomach. He swallowed a few sips, but the churning in his gut only increased as though annoyed by the fact that Danny didn't know when to quit.

Not true, Danny was quitting now. He pushed the food away, planted his elbows on the table, and his forehead in his hands. A hot forehead slick with moisture.

Freakin' beautiful! he mentally snarled. At least his headache was still the same obnoxious throb, neither better or worse. It always struck him as cruel how the stomach toyed with the mind by feigning hunger, only to reject food when it finally came. For Danny, this had been going on for days. Hunger would come gnawing at him, then snub him the moment food was in his mouth. At one point he puked, but contributed it to the funny tasting pizza he'd had that day. Soup he'd been able to handle to some degree, getting past more than two bites. It had been a gradual escalation, starting off subtle enough not to be alarmed by, having him take fewer and fewer bites, or skipping a meal all together because his stomach just wasn't in it. Logically he should have been alarmed a while back, but like with headaches, joint aches, and bad sleep, had blamed it on stress.

Only a matter of time before he puked everything on the first bite.

" Danny?"

Danny jerked, mind snapping as though from a dream. He looked up, eyes sticky and mind groggy, at the dark face scrunched in scrutinizing concern belonging to Sheldon Hawkes, carrying his own sack lunch, and leaning in toward Danny.

Hawke's forehead lined. " You okay man?"

Danny blinked away the dry, and rubbed his sore forehead. " I've been better." Massive understatement.

Sheldon nodded. " Yeah, no doubts there." He took the seat adjacent to Danny. " You're lookin' pale, and a little raccoon eyed to boot. Comin' down with something?"

" Probably."

Sheldon scooted his chair back a little at that. Danny smiled bitterly.

" Gee, thanks for the confidence." Danny proceeded to rub the side of his face. " Can't say that I blame you though." He moved his hand away to check his watch, and what he saw made his heart drop like a rock.

" Son of a... How freakin' long was I here?"

Sheldon shrugged as he pulled out a styrofoam container covered by a plastic lid. " I don't know, I just stepped in. Looked like you were sleeping." He then gave Danny a dead-serious stare. " Maybe you should cut out early before... whatever you've got... get's any worse."

Danny looked at his watch again. He hadn't seen the exact time of their arrival, but if he had to guess, he would say that he had departed from Mac and Stella for lunch about a hour ago. It felt more like three minutes. Now that was just freaky.

" Yeah, maybe you're right." He gathered his now wasted food and dumped it on his way out, feeling oddly liberated from having to both look at it and smell it. But his stomach was still pissed about having had to endure it.

NY

Danny pulled his bag from his locker, pulled his over shirt off, but wasn't able to get to his undershirt when he needed to rest. He dropped onto the bench and rested his head in his hands while taking deep, careful breaths. Careful didn't cut it, he still ended up coughing, feeling the sting of phlegm slapping the back of his throat. He was going to regret it when he woke up tomorrow. There would be a sore throat, and puddles of mucus coating his lungs by early morning.

The mental picture made his stomach slosh. No real food for him. Just a steady diet of snot...

" Aw crap why did I think that!" Danny moaned. Now his stomach really was mad, clenching and writhing like a separate being from the rest of his body.

" Think what?"

It took monumental effort to lift his head and turn it to see Lindsey at her own locker working the combination. Her focus was mainly on her task, and she only looked at Danny on succeeding in getting the combination right and opening the locker with a metallic click. She paused with the door half way open.

" Wow, what pack of cats dragged you in?"

Danny swallowed, feeling phlegm slide down his throat, and shuddered. " The kind that spread the flu. Want a piece of it?"

Lindsey stepped back a little, keeping the door between her face and Danny in case of accidental coughing in her direction. " Not really."

Danny smiled a tired smirk. " Relax, Montana. I'm not that cruel." He stuffed his shirt into his bag then pulled out the long-sleeved hooded jacket he normally wore when going to shoot hoops with Flack. It was clean, so it wasn't like he was going to have to suffer the stench of old sweat. He didn't have the will to put on anything else, or even change into a different undershirt for that matter. He zipped the sweater up, slung the strap of the bag onto his shoulder, rose, and swayed. Lindsey's hand shot out to grab his arm and help steady him.

" Hey, easy Messer, not so fast," she said with a nervous chuckle. " Seriously, are you going to make it? Maybe I should call a cab."

Danny shook his head. " No, I usually take the subway..." he winced at the thought of maneuvering through crowds, and the noise. Right now, even Lindsey's usually mellow voice was making the throb more of a pound. " You know what? Screw it. I'll take a cab."

Lindsey smiled, almost triumphantly, as though she'd just won something. " Need an escort?"

" Not really."

" Too bad. Mac would kill me if he found you flat on your face and knew I could have helped you out. Come on."

She actually took Danny's bag as a sealing to the 'no argument' deal, and led the way out of the locker room. Danny followed reluctantly, slow at first, then trudging along without caring, one foot in front of the other. Fatigue had poured on extra led, and his joints were making a complaint by aching. Danny swung on his coat along the way, and even with a sweater and coat on in the mild temperature of outside, he still shivered, almost as though the cold was seeping from his core rather than through his clothes. City noise – the rush of cars, blaring horns, and continuous clatter of feet - plucked his eardrums that became a hammer to his skull. Lindsey was already flagging down a cab, and three Hacks later, one finally obliged to pull over.

Lindsey tossed the bag in the back seat and stepped aside to let Danny slide in. He looked up at her before she shut the door, and gave her a weary smile.

" Thanks."

Lindsey smiled back. " No problem. Just get better, and don't bring your cooties back here."

It hurt to laugh, but Danny couldn't help it. " You just get out of elementary school, Montana?"

Lindsey leaned with her arms on the door, and the smile became a smirk. " Okay, don't bring your germs. It's just that cooties sounded more... polite."

" Yeah, if you're six years old."

Lindsey pursed her lips and shook her head. " Just get better." Then she shoved the door closed. Chuckling, Danny let himself fall back against the seat. Lindsey could banter with the best of them, which was probably why he got so used to her so fast.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and Danny tilted his head back and – for once – allowed himself to enjoy the ride, distaste for cabs not acknowledged. A personal grievance more than a phobia, and this cab was legit, nothing gypsy about it. It was still early in the day, when traffic wasn't so much like a clogged artery about to give the city a heart attack. It was why Danny preferred the subways – nothing to slow a train down ( not including the occasional dead body tossed onto the tracks). But even sick, today was his day, and he actually made it home in record time.

Danny slid from the seat after handing the fare to the Hack. He slung the strap of his bag onto his shoulder and made the unusually arduous trek into his building. His body really was pissed, having him panting by the time he reached the elevator. He coughed between pants, cleared his throat, and breathed shallow to prevent another phlegm-hacking fit.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't taking much to incite another itch in his lungs. The coughing, in turn, escalated the throbbing in his head. He nearly missed the elevator chime over the hacking and blood roaring in his ears. He coughed all the way down the hall to his apartment, and fumbled with his keys when a second assault took him by surprise, doubling his body over and momentarily snatching the breath from him. Having had enough, he forced out several massive coughs until the garbage in his lungs cleared enough for more tolerable inhalations. Too bad for his stomach, the garbage had to go somewhere, and he didn't have a tissue on him at the moment.

Danny finally got his door open and lurched into his apartment, not bothering to switch on the light. His feet kept moving on momentum, and along the way he dumped his keys on the table, bag on the floor, coat on the couch, hooded sweater on the floor of his bedroom, and only stopped when he reached the bathroom. He clicked on the light this time around for a good look at himself.

Corpse pale; never pleasant even on a living face. He leaned forward on the sink with arms that quaked and tried to buckle. His eyes were a disturbing shade of red within the whites, and listless as glass.

Danny had only one immediate desire - fall on the bed and crash. The mere thought made every muscle loosen with anticipation, and he barely caught himself in time from smashing his jaw when his arms finally gave out. Sleep, however, he had to force to be last on the agenda. He had a self-made promise to keep concerning a doctor's appointment. He also needed to try and get food into his stomach. Maybe a little soup. His body needed it to fight this thing, and no way in hell was he letting it resort to eating itself (though he was fairly confident it wouldn't come down to that.)

After a few quick coughs to clear more phlegm – hacking and spitting it into the sink with mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust – Danny pushed off from the sink and dragged his sorry carcass into the kitchen. He grabbed a can of chicken soup from the bottom cupboard – the kind in the cans with the pop-off lids – dumped it in a glass bowl, stuck it in the microwave and let it nuke as he pulled his cell from his pocket. He pulled a chair from the plastic foldable table and dropped himself into it like a dumped sack. The microwave hummed with green digital numbers counting down.

Danny searched his list of numbers for his doctor. He would have laughed, but it came out as a cough instead. He recalled a conversation with Flack and Hawkes over their personal physicians. The joke was what returning ailment each man had that had them going to a doctor enough to program the number into their cells. For Hawkes, his doc was an old buddy from med school. For Flack – oddly enough – it was for the numerous times he kept wrenching his back, with a few scatterings of being shot in between. For Danny, it was more like a necessary evil. Physicals were mandatory for all CSIs, and was coupled with the occasional sprained wrist, ankle, or cracked rib caused by suspects who thought that running from authorities actually accomplished something, Danny didn't think it a bad idea to keep his doctor's number handy.

Danny's call was answered by the female secretary just as the microwave beeped in completion of nuking the soup. Danny leaned forward, popping the door open and snatching a cloth from the sink to pull the bowl out.

" Danny Messer for Dr. Georing..." Danny brought the bowl cautiously to the table. He had to rise from the chair in order to grab a spoon from the drain rack by the sink. " What's the earliest time...?" He nearly dropped the spoon, his eyes going wide. " Thursday? That's like three freakin' days from now? He can't see me sooner?"

The woman went on about the doctor's busy schedule thanks to the flu bug that's been running rampant. She tried to placate Danny by promising to push his appointment up should a time become available, and since Danny was too tired to argue, he let himself be placated.

" Yeah, sure, cool. Eight o'clock Thursday." Chances were good he'd be better enough to cancel the appointment. A happy medium if looked at just right. Danny wasn't looking forward to the visit already. The lady apologized again.

" Nah, it's cool, I totally understand. Thanks, bye." He tossed his phone onto the table with a clatter, then focused his attention and energy on the soup. Playing it safe, he ate around the noodles and chicken, going only for the broth. Three bites and so far so good. He ventured a little further, testing his stomach's limits with four more sips. Still nothing unfortold, so he upped it to five, then finally finished the broth off all together. He was tempted to go for the noodles next, but knew better than to toy with fate and fortune. He dumped the bowl into the sink and headed to his room, grabbing his cell – just in case. He dropped onto the bed with its navy blue comforter, yanked off his shoes, then forced his aching body back to his feet for another trip to the bathroom, grabbing a gray long sleeve shirt and black sweats along the way from the dresser by the door. The shirt was the kind with four buttons at the top – totally useless in his opinion – so he didn't even bother with them.

Now he was ready, and could barely stay upright at the prospect of the warm softness and a trip to the dream scape only a few steps away. He was only two steps out of the bathroom when his stomach clenched, coiled, all out rebelled, and had him whirling around to go rushing back in and dropping to his knees before the toilet as the soup he worked so hard to down came rushing right back up.

NY

A/N: So, what do you think? Like I said, there's more to this story than Danny being sick. Stick with me and You'll soon discover what I mean.