Title: Their Love, Her Murder

Disclaimer: Serious slash. Violence. Language. Character death.

POV: Danny

Chapter Two: Confessions

I spread the evidence on the table in front of me. Who would murder a guy with over a million dollars worth of jewelry and leave that jewelry behind? I look at the only box that I took from the closet. It was the only one that had any weight to it. The rest of the boxes had been empty. So, either someone did rob the guy and they missed a box; or, he kept all those empty boxes to hide the real treasure.

So what's in the box?

With my gloved hands I pop the top. "Holy shit," I mutter.

"Find something good in your case?" Hawkes asks as he enters the room.

"You bet I did. Do you need something tested?"

"Nope. Just stopping by to let you know Flack has a suspect he's about to interrogate."

No sooner did Hawkes leave the room than Stella grabbed him by the arm. They have been trying to figure out if the mid-aged man who died in a car accident was suicide or murder. That didn't seem as appealing as my case. For once I was glad that Mac had seen me first. My last case had not been that great. A girl had died from jumping off a building. She had gotten high and thought she could fly. Drugs love to fuck with your head.

I slip the box into an evidence bag. Flack is going to love what is inside. Why hadn't Flack called me? Why did he call Hawkes? I check my cell phone. It's fully charged. No missed calls. I would love to get a call from him. To hear his voice.

Perhaps he's mad that you brushed him off.

I did avoid his question earlier today. Yes, I would love to get a drink with him. But at that time, my voice just wouldn't work. My brain went dead. So I said nothing. I climbed into the car and left.

Damn you, Daniel. You're a Scientist, this should be easy.

Matters of the heart being easy?

"Hey, they you are, I've been looking for you."

The pace of my heart quickened. His voice always did that to me. He said that he was looking for me. Is it just for the case? Or could it be…?

"I have a young lady who has confessed to the murder of Mr. Jackson. I figured you'd want some DNA to test her story."

"What's her story?"

He grabs my arm above the elbow and directs me into a room full of filing cabinets with a table. I look into his seriously blue eyes. Why do I feel like I'm floating in a sea of emotion?

"She says the guy rapped her. That he took pictures of her and made threats," he explains in a low tone. "Danny, she can't be any older than sixteen. If what she says is true, than I'm happy that Jim Jackson is dead. Scum like him deserves it."

"I think she's telling the truth." I walk over to the table. I remove the box from the bag and place it on the table.

"What is that?"

"He had a ton of shoe boxes in his closest. All empty. Except for this one." I remove the lid. "He didn't want anyone to find his personal collection."

Flack makes his way slowly to the box. He takes one peek inside and looks away. I see the disgust in his face. I'm all too happy to close the box back up. Silently I slip it back into the bag.

"How many pictures you think are in there?" He asks. "How many girls you think he's exploited?"

"They weren't just girls, Flack," I say softly.

"I think the jury will go easy on the girl. Personally, I'm happy she did the guy in. One less pervert for me to worry about."

I agree with him. He looks disturbed and deeply troubled. Cases with kids are always the hardest. Such innocence. This man exploited so many children. Their ages ranging from seven to seventeen; both boys and girls. I bet he used the jewelry to catch the eyes of the girls. Maybe he told the boys that they could purchase the merchandise for their girlfriends or mothers.

"Well, I guess I should be getting on with this," Flack says. He makes his way toward the door. He wants to distance himself from the evidence. Can't say that I blame him.

"Yes," I blurt out.

"What?" Confusion makes his blue eyes look a little darker. Dark blue, light blue, bright blue; didn't matter, they always make me feel the same.

"The offer you made earlier, about getting a drink, I'd love to."

"Oh, I-"

I don't want to hear him say the offer is off the table. "I'm sorry that I didn't answer you sooner. It's just, a new case, you never know where it's going to go. I figured that I'd have to work late. But now my night is free." I chew my bottom lip. "So, does the offer still stand?"

"Um, sure. I'll swing by and pick you up after work. See you then."

And he left. My heart flutters. I can't believe I did that. Mac shouldn't have a problem with me going out earlier tonight. All I had to do was match the DNA of the girl to the sample from the under the guy's nails. If it is a match, case solved. I grab the evidence bag and head back to the lab.

Flack keeps his word; he's here to pick me up as soon as his shift is over. I remove my lab coat.

"You ready to go?" He asks.

"Just have to clear things with Mac." He gives me a questioning look. "I need to make sure it's okay that I leave. It should be okay though. The DNA matches the confession."

"Alright. I'll be waiting out front."

I watch him walk away. Coming and going, he's nice on the eyes. Mac has no problem with me leaving. He's happy to have the case solved so quickly. That so very rarely happens. He does explain to me, though, that if no new cases come in that I'll be helping Stella and Hawkes. I tell him that's fine. Then I make my way out to spend the evening with Flack.

The bar is kind of depressing. Low lights, country music, hookers. Why did Flack bring me here? I feel like I'mat a future crime scene. The placeis disgusting.

Maybe he just wants to get you wasted so that he can take advantage of you.

I have no problem with that. The more time I spend with Flack, the happier I feel. I haven't felt so happy in so long. I wake up every morning knowing that at some point in my day I'll get to look into those blue eyes. It makes the job a little easier to handle.

The bartender places the third round of beers in front of us. I usually don't drink so much. Mac wouldn't be pleased. I know that if he finds out he'll be unhappy. He'll get over it. You've got to live a little, right?

Flack leans over to whisper in my ear. I nearly drop my beer when I hear what he says.

"I want to have breakfast with you."