Author's Note: Much thanks to my reviewers. I'm real happy with the pairing challenge (Smacked or Fiesta(?)). You were definitely up for it. Don't worry, the answer shall be revealed...just not in this chapter!

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Chapter Ten

When Danny and Lindsay returned to the precinct, Don Flack had beaten them there. He was sitting with his head on his arms on his desk.

"He looks so beat," Lindsay noted.

Danny nodded solemnly. "We gotta get him outta this building." He looked at her. "Be right back?"

Lindsay nodded. Danny left her and walked up to Flack's desk. "Hey," he said quietly.

His friend looked up. "Hey," he replied. "What are you two doin' here?"

"Stella sent us to check up on you. Actually, she sent me after you and sent Lindsay after me," Danny attempted to clarify.

Flack tried to process that statement, and gave up. "Sure."

Danny tugged on Flack's jacket. "Let's go."

"What?" Flack brushed his hand away. "No, I gotta-"

"You don't 'gotta' anything," Danny said. "In the interest of preserving your mental health, we are getting out of this building, and get our minds off the job for a while."

"Danny…"

"Grab your stuff, O Stubborn One," Danny said. "We'll take my car. How does a drink sound?"

"Right now?" Flack asked him. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Sounds like a damn fine idea."

Danny smiled. "Good." He kept his hand on Flack's shoulder all the way to the garage for moral support.

The drive to the bar didn't take long. It was a place Mac Taylor's team frequented often. Enough so that the bartender, also named Mac, knew who they were when they walked in. "Hey, Flack," Mac called. "Heard about the fire. Sorry, man."

Flack nodded. "Thanks Mac."

"Whatever you all want, 's on the house."

Danny ordered for all three of them, and they took their seats at the bar. When Mac slid the bottles down the bar to them, Danny held his in the air. "To Officer John Garrison."

Flack and Lindsay held their bottles high. "To Officer John Garrison," Lindsay said.

Flack said, "To a hero." He took a long drink.

After the solemn toast, they kept conversation to lighter things. Flack teased Danny and Lindsay about their relationship ("When will you two set a date, already?"). Danny gave Flack grief about being single ("When are you gonna get yourself a nice girl, Flack? Did ya call any of those nurses from when you were in the hospital?") A few hours later, the three friends said goodnight. Danny drove Lindsay home. Flack opted to walk back to the precinct, after swearing to his friends that he was fine.

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Danny crawled into bed at his apartment around 2:30 in the morning. He was half-hoping between the day's events and the alcohol that he might get a decent night's sleep.

He was in the building, again. The flames were so hot, the smoke so thick, that Danny had a hard time breathing. He coughed, trying to clear the thick smoke from his lungs.

He was searching. He had to find him. He had to. "Flack?" Danny yelled. "Flack?" He was hoarse, and his voice was barely a whisper.

"Danny!"

Danny saw a closed door near the end of the hall. Flames licked the wall to his right. "Flack!"

"Danny? In here!"

Danny kicked open an apartment door. Dust and smoke and fire poured into the room. He looked around, his eyes stinging. "Flack!"

"Here!"

Danny saw him on the floor. He looked hurt. "Can't move my leg," Flack groaned.

"Here. Come on, I got ya." Danny helped Flack to his feet and they started for the door. He could hear someone yelling.

"Detective Messer!"

"In here! We're in here!" Danny yelled.

The flames licked at the propane stove in the apartment. Suddenly it caught, and Danny felt himself thrown forward by a flaming wall. He hit hard. "Flack?" he called.

He turned. Don Flack lay on the floor, unmoving. Still.

"FLACK!" Danny yelled.

Danny awoke in a cold sweat again. The dream was almost parallel to the one he'd had before. Except it wasn't Lindsay this time, this time it was his best friend.

He shook his head, looking at the clock. 4:45. He flopped back down on his pillow and started up at the white ceiling. What in the hell am I having these dreams for? A guilty conscience, or what? I don't get it. I don't understand!

What does it mean?

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