Title: Their Love, Her Murder

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

POV: Danny

Chapter Fourteen: Whispers

I walk the lab with my head in a fog. I've been in pain all morning. My head aches and so does my side. My heart aches for the loss of Aiden. My world is all messed up. I probably shouldn't be at work. If Mac sees me, he'll probably say I should be home. I won't be surprised if he sends me back home. But I don't want to be there. It's empty and quiet. Too quiet. Flack wanted to stay with me. However, time was not working for him. Today he has is hearing with the Police board. I hope that things work out for him. I really do.

I see Stella and Hawkes walking down the hallway, heading in my direction. I mentally brace myself for the questions and sorrow they'll throw my way. Stella sees me, whispers something to Hawkes, who than looks up at me too. He says something in reply before they both disappear into one of the various rooms in the lab. Fine, avoid me.

I walk slowly passed Mac's office. It's empty. Is he at the hearing for Flack? I know that he talked with other detectives. If he's there, Flack will get his job back. Mac really likes him. How can you not like Flack? The state of New York would be dumb to fire him. He's a great detective. He only screwed up this one time. And only because of me.

Lindsay looks up from the papers in her hands as a get closer to her. She gives me a sad smile and a small wave. Some things never cease to amaze me. I've known Stella and Hawkes for years now. When tragedy strikes, they avoid me. Lindsay, a girl I hardly know and haven't been kind towards, shows more care than they do. What is my world coming to?

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend, Danny," she says. Her voice is filled with concern and a slight hint of sorrow with a drop of remorse. "If you need to talk, I'm here for you. Okay?"

That's the second time I hear those words. Flack said that to me last night. "Okay," I mutter. I don't want to talk. I really should say something else to her. She's been so kind to me. It's wrong to be so rude. My mother would be ashamed of me.

I walk a few steps before turning back toward her. She's studying the paper work in her hand again. "Lindsay, I know I haven't been that nice to you, and I'm sorry."

She gives me a nice smile. "It's okay. I understand. There's a chance I would have done the same, had I been in your shoes. Everyone reacts to change differently. Don't worry about it."

She walks away before I can reply. Why is she so nice to me? Why is anyone nice to me? I turn and continue walking toward the Trace Lab. I have work to do. I want to show Mac that I am a dedicated member of this team. Even when my friend is murdered.

She died because of you. It's your fault. It's always your fault. Can't you see? Flack could be fired because of you. What kind of person are you? Being responsible for one friend dying and the other losing their job. What a shame you are, Daniel Messer.

I close my eyes. My hand rests on the door to the lab. I can't be here. As much as I want to stay, it's not right. I don't belong here. Mac will understand. He will, won't he? I quickly turn and begin to retrace my steps. I'm going to go home. No one will miss me here. Lindsay is busy with paperwork. Mac isn't even here. Hawkes and Stella feel the need to avoid me. I feel like I carry a plague with me. I'll just go home to my quiet apartment and wait for Flack to return. It'll be nice. Maybe the quiet will make the pain in my head go away. Something has to, right?

The walk out of the building is easy. No one stops me in the halls. Yet again, I feel so invisible. The feeling is comforting. This scares me. I don't want to be invisible. I want to hear Aiden laugh again. I want Flack to keep his job. I want my life back. Can't I have my life back?

The ride home is spent in silence. I don't even bother to turn the radio on. Why bother? The music is always up beat and happy. I don't want to listen to that. All I want to hear is a voice that cares deeply for me. It can belong to anyone, as long as they love me.

I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. Walking passed so many brown doors that look alike. The sounds of the tenants are muffled. Someone is cooking pizza one the first floor. A baby is crying on the second floor. A couple is fighting on the third flour. Life revolving around me. Everyone with their own problems. Their own ways to cope. I open my door and I'm greeted by my good friend, the darkness.

I throw my keys into the black that is my apartment. I can worry about finding them another time. I stumble to the kitchen, looking for my pain medication. My body aches. The medicine will make the pain go away and bring sleep to me. I pop two pills. I should only be taking one. Does it matter, though? Two should cut down on the pain a whole lot faster. Life will be easier when the pain is gone.

A peek into the fridge for something to drink. There has to be something good. I rummage around. Moving the milk, the bottled water, and even the soda. None of that is appealing to me. There's nothing else in the fridge. I close the door in frustration. There has to be something. I begin to open the cabinets. One by one. I know it's here. I remember getting it as a gift from my brother. Where did I put it? It's just what I need to chase away the words in my head.

My eyes finally fall on the treasure I seek. A bottle of whiskey. I pluck it from the cabinet. I pop the top and inhale; it smells like a good night of sleep. A little voice inside nags me about drinking. Haven't I been down this road before? Why yes, I have. At least I won't lose my way. I take a swig of the foul tasting liquid. Foul tasting or not, it'll put me to sleep. I'll be able to escape this world. It's about damn time.

I drink down more and stumble to my bedroom, bottle in hand. Nothing sounds better than drinking myself to sleep. Tomorrow I'll call my brother and thank him for the dreamless night. I'll also make a call into Mac, letting him know that I won't be in. He'll never know that I'm drinking. I flop down on my bed, removing my shoes. Another swig of whiskey before I place it on my night stand. I remove my shirt, ridding myself of the smell of the lab. Piling up my pillows I swing my legs onto the bed. I lean against the pillows, the bottle once again in my hands.

I take yet another drink. By now I notice that half the bottle is gone. What a pity. I don't even feel the slightest buzz. This won't be enough to knock me out for the night. Cursing, I sit up, placing the bottle on the night stand, and reacquainted my feet with my shoes. I grab the discarded shirt and put it back on. Bottle in hand, I leave my bedroom.

I down the last little bit of the whiskey before turning on a lamp to search for my keys. The darkness is pushed back by the dim light, creating an area of gray. I hardly register it. My keys are lying on the floor beside the couch. At least they didn't go under it. Leaving the light on, and the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, I leave my apartment. If I lock the door, I don't remember. My only thought is to find the nearest liquor store.

I climb into the elevator. My legs still hurt from walking the stairs when I returned home from work. The elevator will get me downstairs faster. Getting downstairs faster mans getting to the alcohol and finally to my dreamless sleep. I push the button for the first floor. I feel something nagging at me. Something in the back of my mind.

Has does the little song go? The one about alcohol? Oh, that's right. It's about tequila, not whiskey. Let's see if it still applies. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila…

The small elevator blurs and I feel dizzy. My heart races faster than a buzzing bee. I bite my tongue and taste the salty blood in my mouth. The pain in my head is growing stronger. This time it's accompanied by a numbness. Thankfully, my good friend, the darkness, comes to rescue me. Wrapping me in its loving embrace as I fall to the floor.