Super Disclaimer! I know I already said it. I don't own CSI or any of its characters (though I wouldn't mind an acquaintanship with Danny:).

Note: And thank you for all the nice reviews. You will learn what happens to Danny... eventually. (Insert evil laughter here)

Ch. 1

What's in a name, and a sternum

Danny positioned his glasses on the top of his head to peer into the lenses of the microscope. His left gloved hand drummed on the table top while his right gloved hand rested on the black hilt of the knife with the serrated blade. He was looking at some fibers he had pulled from the teeth of the knife, red fibers similar to the ones found on the victim's shirt. Danny grinned.

" There's that Cheshire smirk we know, love, and get creeped out by," said a thickly Brooklyn accented voice.

Danny gripped the hilt of the knife reflexively before Aiden could snatch it from him.

" I'm almost done with it, Aid, I swear," Danny said, focusing on the intricate spiraling weave that made up the thread. " Give me that slide with the shirt sample."

" Give me the knife."

Danny pulled his gaze from the microscope to look at Aiden. She was leaning with her hands on the table, one finger tapping in incessant impatience on the reflective white surface.

Danny, still grinning, lifted the blade. " You mean this knife?" The weapon had the appearance of something that Rambo might have used. It was a wicked weapon with the blade able to penetrate nearly to the backbone.

Aiden wore a frozen expression of utter annoyance. " Yes, Messer, that knife. Now stop smirkin' like a cat and hand it over. You got what you needed from it."

Danny ignored what she said. He glanced into the scope once more, then looked at the knife.

" You really think it happened like Goering said?"

Aiden sat down on one of the stools, folding her arms on the table surface.

" That the vic fell on the knife while attacking him? It's possible."

Danny turned the knifepoint up. " Yeah, nice and possible except for fact that the guy's chest was sawed in two."

Aiden shrugged. " The guy's weight caused it."

" The blade would have to be turned up for that to happen. Normally when someone holds a knife they hold it blade down." Danny turned the knife, pointing it at his own chest blade up. " And you usually don't get that exact of a slice from someone 'accidentally' landing on the blade. That penetration was dead center, dead center." He touched the point of the blade lightly to his chest. " And the cut in the bone was too perfect…"

" Danny, don't do that," Aiden said with slight exasperation.

" Do what?" Danny replied with the knife still pointed at himself.

" Aim that thing at yourself. Do you realize what you look like doing that? And what if someone accidentally knocked into you?"

Danny shrugged indifferently. " I'd get cut."

Aiden's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. " A cut? Danny, that knife was meant to rip through bone like it was bread."

" Only if you use force."

Aiden rolled her eyes then grabbed the knife from Danny's hand. Danny let her take it rather than pulling back and risking a cut.

" It takes a lot more than a jolt to penetrate solid bone," he said, rapping his knuckles against his breastbone.

Aiden let out a breath through her nose. " Danny, the shoulder blade is solid bone. The sternum is cartilage."

" No, it's bone… and cartilage."

Now it was Aiden who was smirking as she tapped the tip of the knife on the table. " Whatever, Messer, its not all bone, and it's not all that reliable bone either if you ask me. If a spoon can penetrate the sternum with the right amount of force then I don't think it would take much for this knife to puncture you a new entrance to the esophagus

Danny raised his hands in defeat. " Whatever you say mom. But at least I know you care about me. Do you care about me, Burn?" He asked, leaning in toward her, forever grinning. Aiden reflected his smile.

" What I care about, Messer, is not getting this knife contaminated just because you have a sicko masochist mind."

" If I had a masochist mind I would have sliced myself by now. I was being careful, Aid. I was trying to make a point. That knife entered dead center and cut dead center and dead perfect."

" Which is why our vic is dead," Aiden said, slapping her hands on the table as she got up. " Now, since you gave me the knife, I'll get you the slide, just as long as you promise not to use it to 'demonstrate' how someone might use glass to slit their wrist."

Danny lowered his head in a silent, mocking chuckle, then turned his attention back to the scope. " You slay me Aid."

" You worry me Messer," Aiden shot back. " You really worry me."

Danny moved his head back from the microscope, slipping his glasses over his eyes. " I aim to worry." He looked through the windows of the lab at the continuing miscellaneous flow of figures moving against a darker colored backdrop. He saw Detective Mac Taylor standing only a few feet away, talking to a tall, broadly built man Danny had never seen before. The man was probably around Mac's age, his dark brown hair peppered with hints of gray and his long face marked with lines like weathered rock. He wore a long, dark trench coat, and had he been wearing a fedora hat might have seemed like someone who had walked straight out of The Untouchables flick.

It wasn't really the man that had caught Danny's attention, or Mac, but the fact that Mac was gesturing toward the lab. And every time Mac turned his head, his eyes went straight to Danny, and Mac's expression boded nothing favorable.

NYCSI

Stan Maven liked Detective Taylor's office. The windows afforded an unobstructed view of everything while keeping out distracting noises. Stan had no such luxury. His desk was out in the open like a ship lost in a sea of desks, bodies, and sound. Phones were always ringing, people yammering, and some stoner was always cussing and shouting loud enough to wake the devil's wrath. He would've liked to have an office like this where he could watch while remain separated from the masses. Almost like a god, he thought with amusement, and smiled at the idea.

He wondered if that was how detective Taylor saw himself these days. Maybe not so much as a deity, but more as a king or dictator. Well, maybe not a dictator. No one ever admitted to feeling like a dictator. A commander or general would probably be more accurate for Taylor since he had once been a marine. Stan's acquaintance with Taylor may have been brief, but Stan was quick when it came to knowing life stories. He knew how to ask the right questions, and who to ask, all without ever having to confront the person directly if he didn't want. He liked to know, and always made it his business to know.

As Mavin watched the motion beyond the window he tapped a folder of files against his thigh. He had been waiting in the office for about fifteen minutes now, but knew how to wait longer. Stakeouts were his specialty, after all, and they had taught him all about patience. The waiting came to an end, though, when Detective Taylor appeared weaving through the moving bodies toward his office. He was talking to that tall, skinny kid Detective Flack. Mavin had never liked Flack. The kid tended toward pouring far too much attitude into his interrogations than was needed, and was a little too quick about making assumptions.

Taylor and Flack parted company with Flack heading toward the lab. Taylor went on into his office, giving Stan a brief look that betrayed Mac's annoyance at seeing him there.

" Can I help you, Detective Mavin?" Mac asked as he removed his jacket. He draped the jacket over the back of his chair and sat down where he began looking through a small stack of papers on his desk.

Mavin smiled, then tossed the file onto the desk. " Hopefully. You heard about the string of ATM thefts that's been going on?"

Mac picked up the file and flipped through it. " Some guy haunts an ATM at night, then tails whoever takes out the biggest wad of cash and robs them. No fingerprints and no face since it's too dark to see him." Mac's face fell into a scowl of consternation when pulled out a sketch. " Until now."

Stan nodded once. " Dumb luck. A car pulled up to help the lady being attacked and she saw his face. Now, of course a face doesn't mean much without a name. So I started showing it around to the local thugs who like picking the goods at ATMs and one of 'em dropped a name."

" Yeah?" Mac asked, studying the sketch over. " Do I know him?"

Stan shrugged. " You should. Supposedly he works for you. Danny Messer?"

Mac looked up at Mavin as though the detective had lost it.

" Danny Messer," Mac echoed, his voice thick with incredulity.

" Yeah, Danny Messer. The guy I talked to said that was him without a doubt."

Mac looked at the picture, then back at Stan. " Was this – source of yours high by any chance?"

Mavin sighed. " No, Detective Taylor, he had a pretty clear head when I was talking to him. Look, I know you trust your CSIs, but…"

Mac shook his head, looking at the picture as though looking at a piece of bad art.

" That's not it. I can't even begin to tell you what's wrong with this, so I guess I'll just have to show you."

Mac stood and headed from his office without waiting for Stan and so forcing him to hurry after. They headed toward the lab that looked almost like another world with its sterile white clashing loudly against the darker colors of the rest of the building. AS they approached, Stan could see one of the young forensics pointing a knife at his own chest while chatting with a woman sitting across from him.

Wacko, Stan thought, then snickered quietly when the woman snatched the knife away.

" So what's this about, detective?" Stan asked. " Is this guy here or not 'cause I'd really like to talk to him if he's here."

" Yes, Danny Messer's here," Mac said. He stopped and turned to Mavin. " Tell me about this source of yours. Who was he?"

Stan tilted his head slightly to one side and narrowed his eyes. He couldn't determine what Mac was getting at, but neither did Mavin really care. He had his suspect and he would take him despite anything Taylor tried.

" That's need to know, detective. This isn't your case to be asking questions."

Mac pointed toward the lab. " But that is my CSI." He looked toward the lab. Stan looked as well but did not see the man he wanted.

" I don't like the fact that someone is naming names like that," Mac said.

Stan stared hard at Mac. Was he stalling? And if he was, what for? He didn't like where this was going and tensed. He kept staring at Mac as Mac pointed at someone in the lab then jerked his hand in a short wave for that someone to come here.

Stan turned his head to see the young man who moments ago had been pointing a knife at himself exit the lab and move toward them.

" Yeah Mac?" he asked.

" Stan Mavin, Danny Messer."

Stan smiled and would have laughed had he been lacking in self-control. It was almost like a cosmic joke, or perhaps the joke of a young, panicky punk who had spouted the first name he knew.

The actual suspect was described as a big guy, over six feet tall with a baldhead, an earring, a goatee, and a body built like an ox – all muscle and almost 200 pounds.

Messer was his total opposite. In Stan's eyes, this kid was scrawny. At least compared to the suspect he would be. Messer wasn't a major toothpick or anything, but neither was he any 200 hundred pounds. Stan himself was six feet exactly, and Danny was several inches shorter than him, so he would most likely be even shorter than the perp. Messer was what one might call an average height, neither too tall nor too short. It was the kind of height the overly tall and the overly short would kill for. Finally, Messer had hair, and his ears were ring free.

" This is Danny Messer," Stan said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Danny looked Stan over with a darkened expression. " Yeah. Who wants to know?"

Mavin had barely said anything and the kid looked ready to take him down. He appeared to Stan to be high strung, constantly agitated, but not in the nervous, twitchy way of a paranoid. For Messer it was more the agitation of someone readying for a fight, even desiring a fight. Defensive, Stan thought; that was it, the guy must be the defensive type.

This amused Stan. The glasses and the lab coat were giving off an aura of science geek. If it came down to it, Stan could probably bring Messer down. Yet, at the same time, adding to his amusement, something about the way Danny was looking at him – hard, penetrating, and unwavering – told him a different story. Maybe Stan could take him down, maybe not. He was partially curious to see which it was.

What he was more curious about, though, was why Danny's name had come up in this investigation.

" You know a guy named Nick Costallo? 'Cause he seems to know you."

Danny shoved his hands into the pocket of his lab coat and shifted his weight onto the other foot.

" A little? Why?"

" How do you know him?" Mavin asked next.

" Why do you want to know?"

Mavin almost laughed again. This guy had way too much attitude than he knew what to do with.

" 'Cause he just fingered you as being this guy."

Stan pulled the sketch from the file and handed it to Danny. Messer took it, looked it over once, shook his head and snickered.

" That SOB always was an idiot," he said, handing the sketch back. " That's just his stupid way of getting revenge."

" Revenge for what?"

Danny shrugged. " Being a wuss. He used to be part of the Tanglewoods until he began running his mouth off to the whole world about the crap they used to do, half of which wasn't anything worth bragging about to begin with. The Tanglewoods got sick of it, slapped an out date on his neck, and threatened to kill him if he said anything ever again. He always talked about revenge, but the closest he got was ratting someone out for unpaid parking tickets."

" You were a Tanglewood?" Mavin asked next. This supposed lab geek was full of surprises. Danny, however, shook his head.

" No. I ran with 'em, but I never joined. Nick kind of resented that. Wouldn't be the first time he used my name against me. It's yet to work, though."

Stan began tapping the folder against his leg in thought. " You're telling me you used to run with the Tanglewood Boys and never got marked for it?"

" I was smarter than that. I didn't like the stuff they were into."

One surprise after another. This kid was proving more interesting by the second.

" And yet they let you hang with them all the same. They never tried to talk you into joining or forced you?"

" No. I mean they tried from time to time." A note of discomfort was creeping into Danny's voice. " But, you know, they backed down."

" Why?"

Anger sparked momentarily in Messer's cold blue eyes. " Look, am I under suspicion or something? You after the Tanglewoods or this guy who doesn't even look like me?"

Stan lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. " I just find it a little weird that you ran with a gang and never joined. Doesn't happen that often, you know."

Danny's jaw-muscles twitched and he yanked of his lab coat.

" You don't believe me?" he said, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He then turned his back on Mavin while pulling down the collar to expose his upper back. " Check it out for yourself."

Mavin pulled the collar as far down as it would go, disregarding the fact that he might be choking Danny. Danny made no indications. His head was down, his gaze oozing anger toward the floor.

The areas where the tattoo would have been - where spine became neck or at the top of the shoulder blades - were free of any Tanglewood tag.

" Happy?" Danny snapped, jerking his collar back up and buttoning the shirt. He placed the lab coat back on as he turned, glaring at Mavin.

Stan raised his hands in mock defense. " Sorry, man. Sorry."

Loathing poured from Danny like poison. Touchy, undeniably touchy.

" We done here then?" Messer asked, looking at Mac.

" Yeah, I think we're done," Mac replied.

Danny gave Stan one more glare, then headed back into the lab. Stan watched him go, shaking his head in disbelief. He found it a wild concept that this forensic science nerd had made pals with a rather nasty gang and never joined, yet was still breathing despite it. The lives of some people could be exceedingly boring, while the lives of others beyond fascinatingly strange.

Stan pointed at Danny before he vanished behind the door. " That guy must have a lot of issues, am I right?" He looked at Mac for a reply. Mac's return gaze was shadowed in annoyance.

" I don't think that's any of your business. You got what you came for, so I think your business here is done."

Stan feigned hurt. " What's with the hostility, Taylor? It's just an investigation?"

Now it was Mac who turned and left. Stan couldn't help a grin. He was used to cold shoulders and was very aware that it was his own fault for receiving so many. He knew what people thought of him, but that had yet to bother him. He did what needed to be done whether anyone liked it or not.

Stan returned his attention to Messer who had sat back down at the microscope. He must have sensed that Stan was watching, because he looked back up to stare daggers at the detective. If looks could kill, went the saying. Danny's gaze might have pulverized Stan if possible.

Stan shook his head. Had Messer been one of his, he would have brought that kid to his knees, taught him the meaning of respect, broken him down. Guys like Messer were nothing but talk, and when the talk was over and the harshness of life bore down hard as a driven nail, nothing but frightened children.