Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: New York or any of the characters in it. I'm simply having fun with them for a while. [finding no way in which to reinvent the standard entreaty not to sue, the disheartened author settles for a bracketed statement: fill in your own.

Chapter 1

It was the chirpy ring of his cell phone that woke him.

Danny Messer had already fumbled around for his glasses, shoved them on his face, and picked up his phone before his brain even registered what it was doing. He was, admittedly, not a morning person.

He swore half-heartedly when he saw Mac's Number on the display and answered, "Messer."

Mac, as usual, got straight to the point. "Two DBs in the park. I need you to meet Lindsay there as soon as you can."

Danny sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got it," replied Danny, glad at least it was the pretty Montanan that he was meeting at such an early hour. Thank God for small favours.

Mac quickly relayed the specifics, ending with a quick but sincere apology for dragging the young CSI out of bed.

"No worries, Mac," said Danny. "That's whatcha get for bein' on call. No rest for the weary, right?" His Staten Island accent was even thicker than usual in the morning.

"Something like that," replied Mac. "I'll finish up here and meet you over at the park as soon as I can. You might get some rest yet."

"Kay, thanks, Mac. See ya there." Danny snapped his phone shut and tossed it back on the nightstand, heading for the shower. He was dressed and ready to go in under twenty minutes, grabbing his phone, his badge, and his gun on the way out.

He made it to Central Park in record time. The early hour combined with his knowledge of the city allowed him to navigate the streets without mishap.

"Hey, Montana," he greeted, as soon as he got to the scene.

"Hi, Danny. What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were off tonight."

"Don't remind me," he griped, before continuing. "Nah, I'm on call, remember? And apparently, it's a busy night. Mac and Stel are workin' the Plaza scene, and Hawkes just got a call about some assault over on West 73rd. I guess Mac figured I wouldn't mind lendin' a hand," he said with a grin. "What do we got?"

"Double homicide, one male, one female. No witnesses, no IDs on the vics. Just a weapon found a few feet away from the bodies, and one hell of a mess. Judging by the state of the bodies compared to the lack of flesh dotting the landscape, I'd say the bodies were dumped here."

Danny looked around. "You've got that right. So, where d'ya want me?"

Lindsay rolled her eyes at his innuendo, but grinned. "Try me again later," she said with a wink. "But since you asked…Congratulations. You get to bag and tag. Start processing, cowboy. I'll photograph the scene."

Danny smiled appreciatively. "What I don't do for my Montana," he shouted after her.

She sent a sultry look and a wave from over her shoulder.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Montana," he groaned.

All jokes aside, a quick glance around him told Danny why she was so eager to pass off that particular job. The bodies were a mess. He gloved up with a snap and began processing the area around the bodies. "Jesus, what did these people do to deserve this?" he muttered.

He began collecting samples, efficiently placing them in evidence bags to be examined at the lab. He started around the body of the first victim, a female, and quickly looked away. It would be better if he didn't look at the bodies. He had seen many things, during his time as a CSI and before, but he still avoided the more gruesome sights his job had to offer whenever he could.

The steady snap and flash of Lindsay's camera kept him focused on the task at hand, reminding him also of the need to remain calm and detached. He barely registered the arrival of the ME, and kept working even as they began hauling the first victim away. When they began were moving the body of the second victim—the male—he had just started performing his final sweep of the area.

Lindsay was just finishing her job when something caught Danny's eye.

He quickly reached for his kit, drawing out a pair of tweezers and another evidence bag. He approached the body of the male victim, now covered with the body bag the people from the ME's office were about to put the corpse in. Waving them away, he squatted, and, with Lindsay looking on, pulled a small piece of metal, barbed at one end, from beneath the man's hand.

"What is that?" Lindsay asked, mystified.

"Shit," breathed Danny, the muscles in his face taut. "Looks like a flechette."

"A what?" asked Lindsay. "Never heard of it."

Danny smirked. "Well whaddaya know, something Monroe doesn't know." He neatly avoided Lindsay's mock-infuriated swat. "They're these finned nails—ya usually find 'em in grenades actin' as shrapnel. I haven't seen one of these since—" He broke off, looking around, the grin disappearing from his face.

Lindsay drew closer, worried at his erratic behaviour. She was about to say something when he spoke.

"The weapon. There was a weapon; it was gone before I got here. Where'd it go?" His tone of voice was urgent, his eyes almost wild.

Lindsay responded slowly "The officer who responded was worried about it being taken, so I put it in an evidence bag and locked it in the truck."

Danny took off toward the vehicle, and Lindsay followed, unlocking the door so that he could have a look. He picked up the weapon, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Danny, what is it?" asked Lindsay. And when he didn't respond, "Danny, you're scaring me."

He blinked and shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. "Where's the other piece?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" asked Lindsay. "This was it, this was all that was there. We didn't find another weapon—"

"There isn't another weapon," Danny interrupted. "There's another piece. It attaches here," He pointed to a worn notch in the weapon's paint. "This weapon is military issue. If ya fit it with an M-203 grenade launcher, ya can lob grenades up to four hundred yards without breakin' a sweat."

He turned to survey the two victims loaded into the ME's van, becoming more and more distressed. "Ya load the weapon with beehive-shaped rounds filled with these flechettes. The victims were hit by a cloud of nails travellin' at five hundred feet per second. They didn't even know what hit 'em."

Lindsay let out a low whistle. "Well, I guess that takes care of the how, but the why remains a mystery."

"Isn't that always the case…" said Danny with a sigh. He caught a glimpse of the ME's van preparing to leave the scene.

Danny sprinted over, hailing the driver. "Hey! Stop a minute, would ya?" He waited impatiently for the back door of the van to be opened and jumped in the back. "The second vic," he said urgently, "The man, which one?" He pointed to the two bodies.

Barely waiting for a response, he dragged down the zipper of the black body bag. He stared at the face for a moment, closed his eyes and swallowed.

He jumped out of the van, and walked away, gesturing vaguely for the van to take off. He put one hand to his forehead, and used the other to steady himself as he leaned against a nearby tree.

Lindsay approached him, worried. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Danny? Are you okay?" She became even more alarmed when he didn't answer. "Danny, talk to me, please."

"I gotta talk to Mac," he said, staring straight ahead.

A/N: I'm posting the first chapter of this story in order to gauge whether or not it is worth my while to continue. In case you're wondering, I do have the first few chapters completed and a few more planned out, so if I do decide to keep going, I'll try to post regularly. If I get enough positive feedback/constructive criticism, I'll stick with it. As much as I hate whoring myself out to reviewers, I've got to do it. Please, kind reader, a review, if you please.