Title: Their Love, Her Murder

Disclaimer: Slash. Angst. Language. Violence. Character death.

POV: Danny

Chapter Nine: Hiding the Pain

The lab is quiet. It's always quiet when the others go out in the field. I glare at the evidence on the table in front of me. Stuck in this prison. Alone. My side hurts. The nerves are sending waves of pain to my brain and yet, at the same time, they want me to scratch the area. I hate healing wounds. I hate almost getting shot. Things could have been worse.

My head begins to throb again. I really wish I hadn't hit it. Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital when the doctor requested it. My head has been bothering me for weeks. Probably just stress related. The evidence in front of me goes fuzzy as my vision blurs. I take my glasses off to rub my eyes. I should take my medication. But for some reason, I don't. I don't put my glasses back on. I set them on the table next to the evidence and just close my eyes. Soon I will be able to go home. Soon I will be able to lie down and stare into the dark of my empty apartment. I think back to earlier in the day. To the last talk that I had with Mac.

"Daniel, I've been informed that you took a hit to the head," Mac starts.

"Yes, but I feel fine."

"All the same. I don't want you out in the field for a week or so. Just to make sure that you're okay. A hit to the head is pretty serious and should not be taken lightly."

"Okay. I can deal with that. I'll process evidence for everyone."

"Your hours are going to change for a short time too. I don't want you in until nine in the morning and you're off at three in the afternoon. I will not have you working long days since you will be medicated," he explains. "I would just give you the time off but the whole department is busy and I can't afford to lose one of my CSI's."

"I understand. It's all fine with me." I go to leave.

"Wait, Danny, there is one more thing," Mac says. His tone is serious. What is he going to tell me now? I am so tired of being in his office. I've been in so many times this week that I can tell when things have been moved; even if only by millimeters. "You are not to see Flack while you are on duty. Not even for lunch."

I can't help but scowl. "What? Why?"

Mac sighs. "I'm sorry, Danny. I realize that you two are friends but it's really the best option. Flack is on a leave of absence until the police-board can figure out what to do with him. Until then, he's not legally allowed in the lab. Plus," he says crossing his arms, "it wouldn't look good. Flack is under suspicion for tampering with evidence. It's best if he not be seen with any CSI's."

"Mac-"

"You may spend time with him while you are off work. I don't care. But I do not want to see him around the lab. Got it?"

Of course, I had to agree. What choice did I really have in the matter? So I couldn't see Flack for most of the day. That isn't really a problem. Unless of course I run out of evidence to process. But with homicides and petty crimes keeping everyone out in the field for hours, I doubt I'll run out of fun substances to play with.

I put my glasses back on and resume piecing together a shredded note given to me by Mac. One of my least favorite things to do. It always takes hours to do and in that time I could have gotten something important done. By then again, the note could break the case.

I must lose track of time. Mac taps me on the shoulder, which makes me jump. "It's after three, you should be home by now," he says.

"I know," I mumble. What a lie. I didn't even notice the time. "But I've almost got this thing together. Would it be alright if I stay and finish it?" I can't help feeling like a little kid asking daddy to let me stay up an extra hour.

Mac actually gives in. "If it doesn't take you any longer than four-thirty."

"Thanks." I can't believe that he gave in. He's been riding my ass all week. It's nice to finally see a glimmer of my old boss.

Four-thirty comes and goes. The stupid note still isn't done. I carefully slip it into a bag, making sure to keep the pieces together. I gather up the rest of the evidence on the table and place it inside the safe. I won't make the same mistake twice. My cell phone rings as I'm leaving the building. Caller ID tells me that it's Flack. I don't answer it. I don't feel like I can speak to him. Not just yet.

On the ride home my phone beeps to let me know that I have a voice mail. I know it's from Flack. I delete the voice mail without listening to it. I just want to sleep. To give into the medication and leave the world behind. At least for a few hours.

My apartment is dark, empty, and silent. Just the way I want it to be tonight. The sun is setting fast. Night is willingly growing. I toss my keys and my cell phone on the couch. I go through the motions of showering and changing like a robot. My mind in a haze the entire time. Finally, I sit on my bed. The pain pills and a bottle of water glare at me from the bedside table. I lay down, my back to them.

Outside my window the city buzzes on. People getting off work to go home to their families. To have dinner. Maybe getting off work and going out to some club. Grab a drink or two. Perhaps going on a date. But inside, it's dark and quiet. A shell with nothing inside.

I sigh and lay on my back. The ceiling confronts me with its nothingness. My bed is big and empty. I feel empty. Wonder what Flack is doing now. He's probably at home watching TV wondering what I'm doing. Does he even think of me? Sure, he called earlier. But just once. Why didn't he call again when I didn't answer? Why hasn't he called my home phone or come to my door?

I pop a pain pill. Just to chase away conscience-ness. As the pain fades I drift off to sleep. My dreams don't comfort me. There's only one thing that can…