CSI New York belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer. Still borrowing the characters to play with for a while.

Thanks to everyone for the kind comments - they were much appreciated. Here is a second chapter which I hope you will enjoy.

Note: I think there will probably be a third chapter coming up soon!

THE LONG ROAD

by Eryn Grant

"He did what?" Mac exploded angrily. His sudden anger was borne out of frustration. Frustration at the New York traffic that had made his journey an hour longer than it should have been and frustration at Danny's behaviour.

"He discharged himself against his doctor's orders," Sheldon Hawkes repeated evenly surprised at the uncharacteristic burst of anger from Mac, who was now pacing up and down the corridor.

"Why can't Danny ever do as he's told," Mac whirled on Hawkes not really expecting an answer. "And what are you doing here anyway?" he snapped.

Hawkes raised an eyebrow at the tone of Mac's voice. "I was on my way back to the office. Heard that Danny had been hurt so thought I would swing by and check on him," he answered calmly.

Catching the look on Hawke's face, Mac's anger started to abate. "Sorry ... didn't mean to take it out on you," he said.

"No problem Mac," Hawkes grinned. "Look I managed to talk to the doctor and get the low down on Danny. He probably shouldn't have said anything, but he's a friend of mine," he continued.

"And?" Mac demanded impatiently.

Hawkes sighed. "Danny has a broken wrist and a bullet ricochet wound that needed some stitches. Other than that he's OK, but they wanted him to stay the night for observation, but he refused point blank. Got quite upset apparently."

"Mmmmm," Mac mused remembering the last time he had seen Danny - he had looked ill, tired and in pain.

"Look Mac," Hawkes put a hand on Mac's arm. "Danny's tough. He'll be OK."

"You're the second person today who's told me that Danny is tough," Mac replied over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. "And I'm becoming less and less convinced by the minute."

"You heading to see Danny?" Hawkes jogged to catch up with Mac.

"Yes," Mac replied. "We have some unfinished business."

Hawkes pulled Mac to a stop. "Mac," he said. "I don't know what's happening here and it's probably none of my business..."

"No, it's not," Mac interrupted irritated again.

Hawkes stared at Mac exasperated. "Just take it easy on him. OK?"

"You know something I should know?" Mac narrowed his eyes at Hawkes who shook his head. "We have some hard talking to do. Something we have both been putting off since the Minhas shooting," Mac explained. "And it's time we talked about it."

"OK," Hawkes nodded. "You might want to give him these," Hawkes held up the bag he had been holding. "Danny forgot to pick up his meds in his hurry to leave."

Danny slammed the apartment door shut. Leaning against the door and holding it closed with his weight, he shut his eyes listening to the sound of his ragged breathing echo around the silent apartment. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt like he was drowning in cold sweat. Danny rubbed at his chest with his good hand willing himself to calm down, but the familiar feeling of panic seemed to prefer lingering. Suddenly and irrationally afraid, he swivelled around turning the key in the lock.

Tossing his key to one side and with a relieved sigh, Danny slid down the door to the floor. He cradled his arm to his chest trying to alleviate the pain. "Get a hold of yourself Messer," he scolded dragging himself slowly to his feet. He didn't bother turning on the light preferring the company of the darkness although light from the street insisted on bathing the living room in a yellowish glow.

Not able to settle, Danny started to pace his apartment like a caged animal with nowhere to go. He felt trapped and totally alone. On the twentieth circuit of his living room, he finally slumped onto the couch. Danny winced in pain as he tried to get comfortable with the sling and cast. Throwing his glasses to one side, Danny covered his eyes from the dimming light.

Danny was desperately afraid. He was spiralling out of control and knew that he needed help, but he had no-one to turn to and ask for their help. No-one cared about him enough to want to help. He was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape. Hot tears stung at his eyes again and he angrily wiped at them.

Mac sipped at his coffee. He glanced over to the couch and Danny's sleeping form. Pale and drawn, pain was etched on his usually relaxed features. He murmured softly shifting as he slept.

Mac got up quietly circling the room careful not to disturb Danny. On leaving the hospital, Mac had driven straight to Danny's apartment set on confronting the younger man. But he hadn't been able to raise Danny. Worried he had fetched the landlord ordering him to use his master keys. They had found Danny asleep on the couch and Mac had decided, rightly or wrongly, to stay.

He continued his silent circuit of Danny's living room as though it was a crime scene - it was a habit he found hard to break. The room was medium sized with large windows dominating one wall. Plants, both living and dead, were arranged on the window sill. There were two doors at the far end of the room, one leading to a small untidy kitchen diner, the second to the bedroom with presumably an en suite bathroom.

The couch had been placed in the middle of the room facing the television and stereo unit. A guitar was balanced on one of the two other chairs in the room along with a scattering of sheet music and a battered looking teddy bear. Numerous books were haphazardly lined up on a shelf - Mac glanced at the titles, mostly poetry and painting. His attention was drawn to vivid oil paintings of the city which adorned the wall behind the couch. Mac squinted down to find the artist's name - he stood back surprised glancing down at Danny. Everything about the room - the paintings, the music, the books all served a further reminder that he didn't really know the younger man at all. The only thing that the room was missing, and Mac looked around him again, was family pictures - there were none at all. His circuit of the room completed, Mac slumped back down into the chair to wait for Danny to wake.

Mac had wandered into the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee. A loud crash sent him running back into the living room. Danny was awake. He had fallen off the couch and was sitting on the floor looking around wildly. His arm was hugged to his chest.

"Danny," Mac said quietly crouching down. Danny didn't acknowledge him appearing still to be trapped in the midst of his nightmare. The sound of Danny's heavy breathing filled the apartment. "Danny," Mac repeated moving nearer to the younger man. Danny turned his head towards the voice, glazed eyes staring at Mac confused as he struggled to escape his nightmare. "Let me help you up," Mac reached out touching Danny's good hand.

Danny recoiled violently at the touch. "Don't," he cried backing away his face shiny with perspiration, his breathing continuing to come in short sharp bursts. From the confused look on Danny's face, Mac knew that he was still caught up in his dream not aware of where he was.

Mac decided the best action was to back off. "OK," he soothed. "I'll just stay here. OK." Danny half-nodded pushing himself further away from Mac. Mac watched as Danny's breathing calmed and recognition seemed to register in his pale eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Danny squinted up at Mac, his confusion suddenly disappearing.

"Bringing you your meds," Mac held up the bag. "You forgot to collect them," he placed the bag on the chair behind him.

"Thanks," Danny murmured reluctantly. Retrieving his glasses, he pushed them on.

"Are you OK Danny?" Mac asked concerned.

"Yeah," Danny stammered. "A stupid dream, that's all," he levered himself back onto the couch. He moved his arm to his chest and sucked in a deep breath wincing in pain.

"Can I get you anything?" Mac offered.

"No," Danny shook his head, hoping that Mac would take the hint and leave. He sighed when Mac perched on the armchair. He picked distractedly at his sling avoiding looking at Mac.

"Danny," Mac asked. "Where's your gun?"

Danny's head snapped up surprised at the question - it was not the question he had been expecting. "Why?" he asked defensively.

"I need to see it," Mac pressed.

"I didn't use my gun," Danny replied silently hoping that Mac wouldn't ask him to fetch the weapon - he didn't want to touch it. He couldn't face touching it just yet. He shuddered at the thought and clenched his good fist in an effort to hide his uneasiness hoping that Mac wouldn't notice. "Yeah right," his mind screamed.

"No," Mac said quietly noticing that Danny's breathing seemed to have become more rapid and he was trying to hide that he was trembling. "Why was that? You had a clear shot."

"Not really," Danny lied as a feeling of dread washed over him. He should have known he couldn't fool Mac. Danny stared towards the window avoiding Mac's gaze knowing he had slipped up saying that he hadn't used his gun. He desperately racked his brain trying to think of a reasonable excuse for his actions that afternoon. "I couldn't see him clearly."

Mac continued to stare at Danny hoping that he would open up to him. Danny remained stubbornly silent. "Don't lose it now Messer," he thought to himself struggling to remain calm.

Mac sighed defeated. "OK," he decided to leave it there sensing that Danny was getting upset and he didn't want to push him too far today. "But I do think we need to talk, perhaps tomorrow."

Relief flowed through Danny and instead of panic, he felt irrational rage welling up inside him. He glared at Mac. "There's nothing to talk about," he snapped angrily.

"I think there is," Mac persisted.

"Well you're wrong," Danny snarled. "You've said everything that's gotta be said."

"I don't think so," Mac said calmly. "We have to talk about the Minhas shooting as well as you not being able to draw your gun this afternoon. You could have got yourself killed."

"Would have been the end to all your problems. Me out of the way," Danny accused. He knew he was being unreasonable, but Danny was terrified. Mac had guessed about the gun and probably knew about the panic attacks. He was terrified of losing the job that he had worked so hard to get and loved so much. Danny glared at Mac again. "And the reputation of your precious department would be all shiny and intact," he spat.

"Danny," Mac protested alarmed at Danny's words.

"No," Danny interrupted. "I wanted to talk... asked you if we were OK... but you, the high and mighty Mac Taylor who doesn't care about anything or anyone... tells me we'll see," he yelled angrily. "We'll see... what the hell does that mean?"

"I'm sorry," Mac started to say.

"Sorry," Danny jumped to his feet pacing up and down. "You hung me out to dry," he accused bitterly the pent up anger and hurt of the recent weeks spilling over. "You never once said you had my back," he whirled on Mac. "Not once. I was alone in this," he stabbed a finger at Mac. "I should have let Walters shoot you." Mac stared up at the younger man shocked at the icy words. Danny held his stare not flinching; finally he slumped onto the couch instantly regretting the harsh words.

Still stunned at the words, Mac sat silently trying to overcome the anger and hurt he felt. Biting at his lip he was barely controlling the fury he felt inside. Mac took a deep controlling breath knowing that losing his temper wouldn't help matters. "I'm sorry you feel I didn't have your back," he finally said. "But I can assure you I was doing everything in my power to help you. We all were. Flack told you that." Danny pulled a face and went to say something, but Mac put his hand up stopping him. "But you didn't help things by going off and taking matters into your own hands."

"It felt like no-one was doing anything," Danny retaliated. "I had to do something. I couldn't just sit and do nothing."

Mac ignored the comments. "I think you need help Danny," he said firmly. "And I think you're smart enough to know that you need help."

Danny glared at Mac. "You don't know me... or anything about me."

"That may be the case," Mac agreed. "But you don't make it easy for any of us to get to know you." Danny glared again stubbornly turning his head away from Mac. "And for the record," Mac continued. "I do care. I came here today to help you."

"Too late," Danny countered. "You're too late," he leaned back into the couch suddenly tired. His arm hurt, his headache was back and the feeling of desperation had returned threatening to overwhelm him. "It's too late for anything," he whispered.

"I don't believe that... and neither do you," Mac got to his feet deciding that it was best for him to leave for the time being. "You're on two weeks sick leave starting today."

"Fine," Danny scowled at him. "And for the record I don't need... or want your help."

"That's your choice Danny," Mac replied calmly. "If you change your mind. You only have to ask. OK?"

"Go away," Danny said miserably. "Leave me alone."

"Don't give up on yourself," Mac patted Danny's shoulder. Danny flinched from the touch. "I haven't," he opened the apartment door. "And take your meds."

Mac let the door close behind him. As he moved away along the corridor, he could hear the bolts slamming home. Mac sighed hoping that Danny would come to his senses and soon.

It was a bright sunny day with clear blue sky. Mac stood alone staring up to where the twin towers had once risen regally into the New York skyline. His thoughts turned to Claire; he felt close to her here. He could see her face, smell the light fragrance of her perfume and almost feel the silky smoothness of her hair as it brushed his skin. Mac chuckled to himself - he was getting fanciful in his old age. He smiled as he thought about their life together, the good and bad times but mostly he remembered the laughter they had shared. He sighed knowing that he would have to move on with his life take that first step but it was hard giving up what had been wonderful. "I still have my memories," he thought to himself knowing that they would never fade.

"Mac," a quiet voice behind him startled him out of his reverie. He turned to see Danny. He looked tired and pale. Dressed casually in jeans and a cotton short sleeved shirt, something Mac hadn't seen him wear before, Danny shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"I...," Danny stammered letting the sentence trail off. This was harder than he had thought. After spending a miserable two days locked in his apartment ignoring his telephone and cell phone trying to fight his nightmares and inner demons alone, he had finally admitted defeat in the early hours. Mac had been right, and he had known deep down, that he needed help. But he didn't want a psychiatrist, he wanted someone who would understand him - Mac. Danny stared down at his feet kicking at a stone distractedly, then up at Mac his expression earnest.

"Danny," Mac nodded walking towards the younger man. "Something I can do for you?" he smiled encouragingly guessing that it had probably been hard for Danny to search him out. He hoped that Danny had come to ask for his help.

Danny took a deep breath gathering his resolve. "I need help," he said looking directly at Mac not flinching. "But not some shrink's help," Danny added quickly. "I need your help." He looked hopefully at Mac. "But...," he stammered looking down at his feet again. "I'd understand if you didn't want to help me ... after what I said."

Mac narrowed his eyes at Danny nodding slightly. "What's past is past. OK?"

Danny nodded relief showing on his face. "So... you'll help?" he asked again.

Mac nodded. "You've come to the right place," he patted Danny's back. He looked back over his shoulder to the city skyline. "This is the place for new beginnings."