Title: My Heart
Pairing: Don Flack/ Danny Messer
Prompt: Heart
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: He watches Danny's heart flit across the monitor, knowing all that keeps it moving is the machines he's connected to.
Disclaimer: Don and Danny belong to Anthony, not me.
Notes: ANGST.
He watches Danny's heart flit across the monitor, knowing all that keeps it moving are the machines he's connected to. They breathe for him, down through that viciously large tube they shoved down his throat in the ambulance. They keep an eye on his heart rate, making sure that it's even and slow enough. They're keeping him alive.
One of Don's hands comes up to rub over his tired face. It's been three weeks, and still no signs of improvement. He sits here 'round the clock, refusing to leave. Mac and the others have stopped trying to coax him out for food, or a quick shower, not wanting to be the reason his eyes fill with tears and his fists turn white at the knuckles, ready to hit the first thing they can.
Keeping him out of the room the first night had been hard enough; it took Mac and Hawkes plus two uniforms to physically hold him away from the door to Danny's ICU room. The uniforms had gotten quite the beating as they barred the door, but thankfully neither had pressed charges against their colleague, knowing it was one of their own that was causing the detective so much anguish.
Don pulls Danny's hand up to his face, kissing the still-bruised knuckles gently before opening his fingers and placing Danny's palm against his face. Don's forgotten to shave since Danny was admitted, but it doesn't matter; he just needs to feel that touch again. Even if it's for the last time.
His eyes close, willing Danny to cup his face of his own accord. He needs to wake up; he has to. Flack's breathing hitches as he feels nothing but his own strength holding up Messer's hand. Tears slip down his face unhindered, Don's face crumbling as he allows himself just a moment of anguish and despair.
Danny's barely holding on, and Flack is withering away right next to him. The only difference is that only one of them is admitted to Angel of Mercy hospital. If his present condition is any indication, Flack guesses he won't last more than a few hours if Danny goes.
His thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It's Stella, holding a small duffel bag and a sad smile. She'd been the only one who's managed to get through the screaming in his head; the only one who could calm him down when he found Danny lying in a pool of his own blood that was much bigger than it needed to be.
"Hey." Her voice is soft, always soothing, and never rushed. She wants to be here, and Don can't thank her enough for it. The lump pinching his vocal cords makes it hard to talk, so Flack only nods a greeting before turning his eyes back to Messer.
"I brought you some clean sweats and the brush you'd been asking for. I finally managed to find it under the bed." There's a small laugh on her part and Don manages to smile, knowing how prone both he and Danny are at loosing stuff around their apartment.
"Thanks." He whispers, looking at her briefly, but unable to pull away from his watch for more than a few seconds.
"Want me to take the post while you go change?" Stella asks as she sits across from him on Danny's other side, her hand instantly sliding into his lax one.
"Would you?"
"Don, do you really have to ask? Go on." She makes a swatting motion with her free hand, trying to inject some light into the otherwise dismal room. Her attempts are crushed as she watches how much effort it take Don to get up and move towards the small bathroom in the corner of the room.
His hands shake without respite, and his back never fully straightens as he shuffles towards the door and closes it slowly behind him. As he comes out, Stella has to hold in her gasp at how pale, gaunt and frail Don looks.
"Don, when's the last time you ate something?" She asks softly, afraid of bringing up a touchy subject.
"Yesterday. Adam brought me some pizza." Flack murmurs, unable to meet Stella's gaze. She simply nods, knowing that pressing any harder might break him.
Flack resumes his position at Danny's side, standing over him for a moment to stroke a trembling hand through the unkempt sandy brown hair of his other half.
"Where's that brush?" He asks, his voice a shadow of its former self. Biting her lip to keep it from quivering, Stella digs it out of her bag and silently hands it to Flack.
Her eyes fill with tears as she watches the uncompromising act of devotion and love; there's no missing the minute smile on Flack's face as he tenderly brushes Danny's hair into some semblance of order. All resolve shatters as Flack bends over Danny and places the warmest of kisses to his forehead and the unobstructed corner of his lips, pausing for a moment to nuzzle his cheek against Danny's.
Stella's shoulders shake hard as she tries to cry in absolute silence, not wanting to ruin a moment of such perfect love.
"Stell?" Her eyes flash up to Don's and she simply shakes her head in apology.
"It's okay, Stella. Danny's tough; he'll pull through." They both know it's a lie, but nothing on Flack's face betrays the fact as he gazes down at his partner lovingly.
"Right, Danno?" The smile is all for show, as Don's own eyes brim with tears he fights to hold back.
She winces as she watches his body drop back into the chair, not an ounce of strength left; he's fading fast and no one can stop the deterioration of a body holding a shattered heart.
"I'm gonna go get some coffee. You want some?" When she finally manages to speak, her voice is barely above a whisper. Don simply shakes his head, his stare never once moving from Danny's direction.
The machine screams in his ears, causing all the blood in his veins to ice over. He's pushed out quicker than he expects, the door closing softly as soon as they have him out; leaving only a window through which to watch as his everything slips away among the chaos.
He doesn't feel nor hear the sickening crack of his head against the linoleum; simply lies there numbly. Barely recognizes Stella at the end of the hall, dropping her coffee and racing towards him, panic-stricken.
Don does, however, feel her arms pull him to a sitting position, then clamp around him tighter than ever. He simply stares at the door, waiting for them all to file out, heads down. His face crumbles as his premonition comes true, with added murmurs of "I'm sorry" and "he's in a better place now" filtering down towards him.
It doesn't take long for everyone else to arrive, swarming around him like pity-soaked bees. He simply cries; doesn't speak, doesn't wail. Simply lets the tears fall for the one person he'd eagerly take a bullet for.
Too much; it's all too much. The sting starts low, spreading its long fingers upwards until it fills his lungs and chest, making him gasp for breath. Don doesn't fight it. Lets it filter through until no part of him has any oxygen left.
'I'm right behind you, Danny. Wait for me.' His thoughts move up towards the midnight sky as his eyes close one final time amidst the chaos surrounding him.