Danny tossed fitfully on his bed. The crappy AC in his crappy apartment was out — again — and he had his window open. He hated sleeping with the window open, nothing but a flimsy screen between him and . . . nature.

Even mostly asleep he had the creepy-crawlies, as Gracie called it. The sensation of little legs crawling on his skin. It made him feel itchy and restless.

The next morning he found four mosquito bites on his arms.

"Damn it," he grumbled, scratching.

"What's the matter?" Steve asked, glancing over from the driver's seat.

"Damn bugs. The screen doesn't stop them from getting in at night, the little bloodsuckers."

"There's a theory that they're more attracted to certain blood types," Steve started.

"They're attracted to me, the miserable bastards."

"Well don't scratch. That just makes it worse."

"It itches," Danny said, glaring at Steve.

"You should have put tea tree oil on it."

"You'd probably go out and tap a tea tree and rub the sap on you, right?"

Steve looked at him deadpan. "I buy it at Whole Foods, actually. And why did you have your window open? You hate sleeping with your window open."

"My AC is out again."

"Again? Danny, your landlord should be brought up on criminal charges. Let me pay him a visit."

"Hey, it's not that bad. It's an older building, okay?"

"My house is old. Everything works," Steve pointed out. "Why don't you crash at mine tonight?"

Danny waved a hand at him, tired of the conversation . . . Tired of his apartment, tired of those damn mosquitoes, and just plain tired.

"It'll be fine."

It was not fine.

Danny came home after their long day of chasing down leads on a string of carjackings to find a small swarm of mosquitoes in his kitchen.

"Fuckers!"

Then he remembered it. The gag gift from the guys, the electronic flyswatter. He'd tossed it into the few boxes he was shipping; it didn't weigh that much. Now he tried to remember if he'd seen it since unpacking. There was that one box marked miscellaneous at the bottom of his closet. He stomped into the bedroom, muttering. Digging through the closet, he found the box under an old NJPD duffle bag. There it was, atop his baseball glove and the winner's t-shirt from the PD vs fire department annual charity game. It looked like a small tennis racquet.

A few mosquitoes had followed him to the bedroom, and one buzzed directly into his ear while he rummaged for batteries in his dresser drawer. He smacked at it and drew back a blood-smeared finger.

Growling in frustration, he slammed the batteries home into the handle of the swatter and tested the button. He wasn't sure if anything was happening, until he swung at the next mosquito headed straight for him.

Zzzzztttttt.

A very satisfying noise was accompanied by an equally satisfying spark as the bug was obliterated.

Suddenly, the mosquitoes represented everything Danny resented about his forced moved to this hunk of rock. He headed for the kitchen.

They were swarmed under the light he'd left on over the kitchen sink; drawn, no doubt, by the warmth and the water that resulted from the steady drip. He swatted at them, zapping three in one swipe.

"Ha! Take that. Come at me in my own house!"

With a little trial and error, he discovered that he could eliminate the little menaces by swinging at them or by squashing them against the wall. There was definitely something more satisfying about swinging hard.

"Die, you bloodsucking scum!"

"Danno?"

The voice startled him, and he instinctively whipped around, brandishing his weapon. Steve just as instinctively threw up a hand to block.

ZZZZTTTTTTTT

"Wht'a'hlllll?!" Steve yelled around the two fingers shoved in his mouth.

"What are you doing in my house?" Danny yelled, pressing a hand over his now-racing heart.

Steve held up a small brown bag. "I brought you some tea tree oil. What the hell are you doing? What is that smell?"

"The body of a thousand corpses," Danny said triumphantly. He took in the wounded look in Steve's eyes. "And possibly your fingers. Sorry. You scared me. Heard of knocking?"

"I was going to knock but I heard you screaming and thought you were being attacked!"

"What?"

"And I quote, 'die, bloodsucking scum'," Steve offered as evidence. "And — the body of a thousand corpses? Danny, that doesn't even make sense."

"Oh. Yeah. It sounded right in my head. I might be taking out some of my frustration on these damn bugs."

"Is it helping?"

"Interestingly enough, it is."

"Okay, but that's enough. This is ridiculous; you're not going to get any sleep without air conditioning and with bugs getting in. Grab your stuff, you're coming to my house."

"You don't have air conditioning either," Danny pointed out.

"Yeah, but the breeze coming off the water keeps the lightweight bugs to a minimum."

Danny sighed. He wanted to put up a token argument, but he was tired. And hot. And itchy. And as annoying as he found the sound of the waves, he had to admit the breeze was very nice.

"You know what? Fine. I will."

"Fine. I can't have my people sleep deprived, it's not safe."

They were over halfway to Steve's house when a thought struck Danny.

"Steve? What did you mean when you said the breeze kept the lightweight bugs to a minimum?"

"Um."

"Are there heavyweight bugs?!"

"Well . . ."

"Well what? Steve? Steven?"