Title: The Many Ways to Say I Love You
Chapter: Of Epiphanies and Concussion
Author: Celefinwe
Summary: Danny Messer has some difficulty to say the Big Words.
Rating: T
Pairing: DannyxMac. This is slash. That's male/male. If this isn't your thing, don't bother scrolling down.
Feedback: No homophobic emails or feedbacks, please. I gave you fair warning what this fic is about.
Beta: To my wonderful beta, fruitbat00, for ego stroking and pointing out stuff I missed.
Author's notes: I was getting depressed writing the angst-y continuation of Everything is Connected. Just a light and fun piece. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York or any of their characters. I'm not making any monetary profit from this at all. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here worrying about my car's repair bill, would I?
Update: I rewrote the chapter. Thanks to bluepenreader and of course to fruitbat00 for their constructive criticisms. Appreciate it!
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Three words. Eight friggin' letters. How hard can it be?
I l… I lo… I love pastrami sandwich. Damn, almost had it that time.
Danny sighed. His reflection in the mirror best described his inner turmoil at the moment. His hair was all spiking up in the wrong direction, he had more stubble on his chin than he liked, and it was all one Mac Taylor's fault!
It all started about three nights ago when Mac stayed over. The sex was great, as always, but it was really late and it had been an exceptionally long day. Out of the goodness of his heart, and other fantastic feeling body parts, Danny thought it would be okay if Mac spent the night, just this once. Things just went downhill from there.
Apparently, Detective First Class CSI Mac Taylor was a snuggler. After stripping the bed of soiled linen, Mac climbed back into bed next to Danny. No problem there. After all, he could hardly ask Mac to sleep on the couch right after they had mad, passionate sex, right? Mac then proceeded to pull the covers over both of them. Alright, wouldn't want to freeze to death, albeit next to a hot ex-Marine. But then, Mac oh-so casually put his arms around Danny's waist, shifted so that they were closer, and cuddled! And that wasn't even the worst part!
Maybe he wasn't supposed to hear it. Maybe Mac was just talking in his sleep. In any case, as if cuddling wasn't bad enough, Danny felt fairly certain he heard Mac say It. The Big Words.
Even the recollection of the event was giving Danny a minor hysteria. Breathe, Danny. Inhale… Exhale… Find a happy place. Remember the time when you caught that foul ball when you were eight? That was something, huh?
Hmm. Baseball. Bats. Phallic symbols. Mac.
The loud sounds that followed echoed in the otherwise empty apartment.
Thud.
Crack.
"Ow! Dammit, that hurt!"
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"Not that I'm one to criticize your choice of accessory, pal, but that bandage on your forehead doesn't match the color of your suit," Flack calmly stated while sipping from his styrofoam cup.
"You're so funny, Flack. Remind me not to laugh."
The morning had not been going well for Danny. His bathroom mirror was cracked and needed replacing, and to top it off, he didn't have time to put ice on his bruise. He could feel the lump swelling to the size of an egg already. He wasn't too worried about the cut, though. It wasn't too deep and he'll simply get it checked later.
"Are you gonna tell me how it happened or you gonna stand there and scowl all day?"
You see, Flack, I was trying to get my mind off Mac while thinking about baseball but then I had an epiphany. Baseball plus phallic symbols plus Mac can be very dangerous to rational thinking… Danny thought that explanation didn't sound too bad actually.
"Danny, you okay? You're breathing kinda funny. Do you need me to call 911 or something?"
Flack sounded so genuinely concerned that Danny had to laugh. Okay, bad idea. Now Flack looks even more worried and he even has his mobile phone out with his finger hovering over the numbers.
"I'm fine," Danny managed at last. His friend didn't look convinced.
"Don't worry about it. Hey, Flack, can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, sure. How many fingers am I holding up?"
Danny shook his head. Obviously Flack didn't believe his earlier confession because Flack was holding up four fingers right in front of his face. Probably thought he had a concussion or something.
"Eight. Now put them away before I chew 'em off. I need to ask you a question."
It took a few seconds for the sarcasm to sink in but eventually Flack put his mobile away and lowered his hand. He was grinning but he was obviously still a little shaky.
"Fuck, Danny. You scared the shit out of me."
"What? The great Don Flack… scared?" Danny mocked a faint surprise.
"Don't make fun, Danny. I thought you were gonna pass out on me for sure."
"Don, you find dead bodies for a living," Danny pointed out.
"Yeah, well, they're not my friends."
Danny sobered up at that. "I'm fine, Flack. For real."
"If you say so, pal. Now what was it you wanted to ask me?"
When Flack heard, it was his turn to laugh.
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TBC. Next chapter: Say it with Pasta