Ch. 6
Danny lay on his back staring up at the indigo dark ceiling, and had been for the past four minutes. Only a minute to go before his alarm shrieked its incessant, nerve shattering beep that always made him cringe even when he was awake. Without looking, he reached out to his side table and felt around until his hand found the clock, then flipped off the switch for the alarm. He stayed prone for that remaining minute until he finally threw back the covers and pushed himself up with one arm.
He was wearing black sweats, a gray sweater, and socks, but the cold hit him hard and fast all the same. Shivering, he pulled his legs from beneath the flipped-back blanket to plant his feet on the cool wood floor, running his hand through his mussed hair.
The only sickness he felt was that of hunger from skipping dinner and puking up everything else. His arm and side ached; nothing an Aspirin couldn't remedy. All in all, he was as fine as he could be for still recovering. No reason to stay home, much to his relief. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled from his room to the bathroom, beginning his arduous journey of getting ready for work. First step, removing the sling, then maneuvering out of his sweater without aggravating his arm. Following that he unwound the bandages around his chest and arm, gathering them into a ball and setting them on the edge of the sink.
His right side was facing the mirror. It had become a habit of his to look at his reflection and the stitches holding together his marred flesh. The infections had slowed the healing process so that stitches were still required. There were three in all running perpendicular down his still bruised ribcage, and once removed Danny would have one hell of a scar.
Arm cradled against his chest, shoulders hunched, ribs protruding ever so slightly, scarred and shadow-eyed, Danny had to turn away in disgust. He looked weak, pathetic, like something the dog had chewed and discarded. He hurried through the rest of the torment that was the beginning of his day; trying to shower then dress in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt without upsetting his arm. He felt better once he was in clothes and didn't have to look at himself and what his body had become. Physical alterations were easily remedied, but it was going to take time for him to get back to the way he had been. Weight loss was not the issue, muscle deterioration was. Lack of use and infection had weakened his right side in a way that would take months to rehabilitate.
With his milk gone, Danny settled for frying up some scrambled eggs and toasting some bread. He dumped both onto a plate when they were done, and downed them quickly. Once finished, he gathered stuff from his fridge - bread, meat, lettuce, mustard, and an orange to form into a quick lunch so he didn't have to go out and buy anything. He put it in a paper sack and dropped it into his bag still by the door. After that, he took various prescribed medications from off the counter and set them in a row on the table. He took each pill one at a time with a full glass of water, plus some vitamin C and D. Say for the Aspirin and vitamins, it was all a necessary aggravation to prevent infections from returning and spreading.
His final act before heading out was to fill a small thermos full of orange juice. Coffee was out of the picture until the medication wasn't needed anymore, since one of the bottles warned against the pill being taken with caffeine. With that done, he grabbed his bag and headed out to attempt another ride on the subway.
It was another cold and overcast day, but not cold enough to allow the snow from last night to remain. Danny's breath rose up as thin tendrils of mist that slowly evaporated away. The misting stopped when he entered the subway tunnel, caught up in the river of bodies flowing down the steps toward the awaiting train. Danny carefully clutched his shoulder protectively but even that couldn't stop people from bumping it and sending waves of discomfort rushing through his body. Danny just sighed and took it since there wasn't much else to be done. The train was a little more tolerable since people weren't moving as much. Plus the Aspirin had kicked in, so he took the train a little farther than he had the other day.
Once free from the confinement of the subway and its crowds, and heading toward work, Danny pulled out the thermos. He slowed on uncapping it and took a long drink, then picked up his pace in a rush to get out of the cold.
He was almost there, only a few more steps to go. Then nausea hit much as it had the other night - causing Danny to drop the thermos - and Danny barely lurched to the side in time before vomit came tearing out of his throat. He doubled over with his hand pressed flat against the wall of the building as his breakfast and drink was washed back up. He heaved three times, and then the nausea was gone just as quickly as it had come.
Danny spat remaining junk and straightened, looking back at the thermos still rolling around on the sidewalk in a pool of orange juice.
" Son of a..." Danny hissed. He turned and crouched to snatch up the mug and dump the rest of the juice furiously. He had never thought that orange juice could go bad. Then again, maybe it hadn't been the juice but the eggs or toast. Whatever the case, he would have to retake the medication as soon as he got home.
" A little under the weather, Messer?"
Danny snapped his head around and felt his blood drain to his feet on seeing Flack standing four feet off to the right. The tall, lanky detective had his hands in the pockets of his black leather coat while regarding Danny with the narrow-eyed incredulity normally reserved for suspects.
Danny shook the last few drops from the thermos and screwed the cap back on with three irritated twists. " I ate something that didn't agree with me."
Flack leaned his head slightly to one side. " You sure about that?"
Danny jammed the thermos back into his bag. " Yeah, Flack, I'm sure. No fever, no aches, and the need to puke is gone. It happened to me last night after I drank some bad milk, so obviously something else in my fridge went bad too. Point in fact, my fridge is due for a serious overhaul."
Flack's dubiety wouldn't fade from his face, and it was irking Danny to an uncontrollable point.
" I'm fine Don," he said a little more sharply than intended. " Honest. Just having a bad morning, that's all."
Flack nodded. " I can see that. Maybe you should start considering having nothin' but take out. Beats playing Russian Roulette with the stuff in your fridge."
Danny couldn't help a small, bitter laugh. " Yeah, for real, right?" He and Flack walked the rest of the few feet to the door and went inside. Danny headed for the nearest water fountain off to his left to rinse his mouth and suck down as much water as he could. Puking really could take a lot out of a guy, and not just food.
To add to his growing tower of annoyances, Danny was hungry again, but didn't know whether he should risk eating anything for a while.
With his thirst at least satisfied, Danny rejoined an awaiting Flack, and they both made their way to the elevator. Don started talking about the time, back in his rookie days, when he had puked all over the floor of his superior's office thanks to a bagel with some bad cream cheese.
" Thought for sure my A-- was fired," he said as he hit the button for the doors. " But Fred just laughed and told me to get the custodian. You're lucky, Messer. If you'd puked on Mac's floor – or heaven forbid his shoes – I don't think he would have been laughing."
Danny lifted his shoulder tiredly. " Doubt he would have fired me."
" For what?"
Both Danny and Flack whirled around to see Mac standing behind them.
" Hey Mac," Danny said nervously, hoping Mac had caught only that last statement of the conversation.
" Puking in your office," Flack replied, smirking. Danny shot Don his most withering glare that he hoped read 'I'm picturing a thousand ways of making you pay right now.'
" Who was sick?" Mac asked with his eyes already fixed on Danny.
" Bad OJ, Mac, I swear. I think my fridge might be busted or something."
Mac cocked both his eyebrows. " Or something?"
" I'm fine, Mac," Danny pressed. He was tired of having to keep saying it, especially since today – in terms of feeling nauseas – it was the truth.
Mac stared at Danny, hard, and long enough to make Danny internally squirm.
" Good," Mac said after a moment, still staring. " Because I need you to come with me to the morgue after you drop off your stuff."
The elevator doors opened, and three people filed off, forcing Danny and Flack to step to the side.
" I'll wait here for you," Mac said. Danny entered the elevator with Flack, and the moment the doors slid closed he breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he turned his glare back on Flack.
The detective stiffened. " What? So you puked. It's not like he's gonna fire you for it."
" No, just send me home," Danny caustically replied.
" That so bad? A little more time off? Hell, I'll trade you for that."
Danny looked up at the light jumping from one number to the next, and began twitching his leg. " Cabin fever Flack. You sit around at home with nothin' to do for too long, you start thinking too much."
" Oh yeah? What do you have to think about that you don't want to?"
Danny didn't reply to that.
CSINY
Sid was ready and waiting by the chalk-white corpse of Gerrard when Mac and Danny approached. The ME did a double take on seeing Danny, then smiled.
" Look who's back," he said, leaning with both hands on the edge of the table suspending Gerrard's body. " Of course from what Hawkes told me I didn't expect to see you for another week or so." Then, as though suddenly realizing something, Dr. Hammerback straightened and took a step back. " Your – uh – your lungs are cleared up, right? Hawkes said you had pneumonia or an infection...?"
Danny gave the doctor a heavy-lidded look. " My lungs are clean."
Sid visibly relaxed and twitched a quick smile. " Good." Then stepped forward.
" But my doctor was kind of concerned about the possibility of a flesh eating virus," Danny added.
Sid stiffened again.
" Kidding, doc," Danny replied, smirking. " Never took you to be a germ-a-fobe."
Dr. Hammerback wrinkled his brow in confusion. " I'm not. I've just had experience with pneumonia and would very much like to avoid it in the future."
Danny smirked again. The doctor was a strange, sometimes twitchy man, but in an amusing way.
" Now that we're done with the 'hellos'..." Mac said, then gestured at the lifeless Gerrard. " Take a good look, Danny. I need you to become familiar with Mr. Gerrard, specifically the nature of his injuries."
Danny studied the body over. Normally he would take all bruises and cuts in at a glance, but his gaze went straight to the jagged autopsy stitches forming a Y on the bruise-mottled chest. The similarities they had with his own stitches made him swallow in discomfort. Same went for many of the bruises, and Danny actually found himself feeling sorry for the guy.
Gerrard – thirty-seven – was of medium height and medium build, with dark brown hair receding back some from the forehead and forming a sharp widow's peak. He had a round face with a small but sharp nose, and several tattoos half-obscured by the bruises on his arms. Standing out like the empty socket for a third eye in the middle of the man's forehead was the bullet hole.
" Severe beating followed by a through and through shot," Danny summarized.
" Severe is an understatement," Hammerback said. " This man was – I suppose you could say – pulverized. Both arms broken in three places, broken jaw, ribs shattered, and each individual finger snapped," Sid pulled his own finger back as far as it would go comfortably, " backwards."
Danny blinked in alarm. " He was tortured," he stated. " Sounds... sounds mob style."
The fingers had been the give away. Jack had broken three of Danny's fingers in a similar manner, snapping them back one by one all while bragging about how his cousin had taught him how to do it. It wasn't an action uniquely affiliated with any one gang or group, just a popular method of torture among those who practiced organized crime.
The gypsy cab driver who had beaten Danny and his dad had lost the use of his own fingers the moment he was tossed behind bars. As a kid, Danny had overheard Calvin mention it to someone over the phone, and without the least bit of remorse for the man.
Danny hadn't felt remorse either.
" That's my theory," Mac said. " Torture, clean scene, death execution style – but that still doesn't mean it was mob related. You don't always have to be part of a crime family to know it's dirtier details."
" Plus the Godfather movies have been known to give people ideas," Sid added. Mac grinned at that, but Danny turned his gaze to the floor uneasily, then back to the body when the unease past. He really was starting to pity Gerrard.
" If it is mob related, it's going to make this case a lot harder," Danny said.
Mac nodded. " Exactly. I've interviewed four guys already associated with a few of the men Gerrard was employed with. They deny it, of course, and at the same time drop the hint that it was some other guy from some other family. So we bring that guy in, and he does the same thing. It's like watching a twisted game of tag. The thing is, I'm starting to think that none of them are the ones we want. Call it a gut feeling."
Danny looked at Mac. " Thought you didn't believe in gut feelings?"
" I believe in them," Mac replied. " I just don't listen to them until I know what the evidence has to say. And right now there's not much evidence to go by."
They were finished with the body, so Sid zipped it back up and slid it into the frozen crypt. Danny and Mac began heading from the morgue.
" Danny, I know I already asked this, but I'm going to ask it again and I want a straight answer from you. Are you sure you're feeling fine? You looked a little pale back there."
Danny adjusted the strap to his sling, trying to ease the sudden appearance of another ache in his shoulder. " Yeah, Mac, I'm good. It's just, you know..." he looked at Mac sheepishly, cringing at how pathetic he knew he was sounding, " bad, um..." he sighed. " Bad memories."
Mac nodded and said nothing else.
" Hey, Mac?" Danny said as they exited the morgue into the hall.
" Yeah?"
" Lindsay told me, the other day, that you've been keeping my case going?"
" Yeah. No leads yet."
Danny nodded. " I know. I just, um, wanted to say... I guess... It's no big deal if you don't find the guy. I don't really care about that. I know this isn't something I can just set aside and forget, but I don't want to dwell on it forever either. And I don't want anyone else to have to dwell on it. It happened, I survived – personally, that's all that matters."
Mac placed his hand on Danny's arm, halting him, then turned to face the younger man. " Are you saying to just go ahead and drop the case?"
Danny looked down at the floor. " I..." was that what he was saying? Truthfully, he didn't know what it was he was trying to say. It had started out as mere curiosity that had now turned into the start of some kind of confession. He would never forget what happened to him, and neither would anyone else, but that did not stop his desire for everyone to just forget, or to at least put it behind them so he could do so as well. He couldn't forget, yet neither did he want to be reminded of it so much, every single minute and everywhere he went.
He let out a short, nervous laugh. " I have no idea what the hell I'm saying Mac." He then looked up at his boss, meeting his gaze. " Yeah, maybe. I just... Really don't think it matters any more."
Mac took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Expression-wise, Mac was hard to read, but Danny sensed no anger from him, or frustration. Mac was a pro at intimidation, yet at that moment it was as though he had shut it off through some unseen switch, and all that remained was – not pity or concern – but sympathy. Mac knew, he understood.
" I'm sorry, Danny, I can't do that. Someone tried to run down a cop, and they need to pay for it. They might also be a danger to others."
Danny inclined his head with his own understanding. " Yeah, Good point. But, just so you know, it really doesn't matter, at least not to me. No desire for revenge or anything like that. Just the desire to get back to my life."
Mac smiled. " Good desire to have. Stay healthy, keep recovering, and it should."
That easy. Yeah, right. But Danny kept his tongue in check and only nodded.
CSINY
Danny tossed his sack onto the table of the break room, then set the soda from the vending machine beside it and sat in the gray plastic chair. The TV showed the weatherman going on about another chance for snow tonight that would let up by morning. After the report and a commercial, some soap opera faded back into play, and Danny mentally made fun of it as he unwrapped his sandwich.
The story line was simple. Someone had cheated on someone else, so that someone else was cheating on them to get them back.
Lindsay walked in then, setting her own brown paper-sack of food onto the table, then sitting adjacent to Danny. He gestured at the TV.
" You ever watch any of these?" he asked her. She looked up at the show as she unrolled the top of her sack, then shrugged.
" My mom was really into All My Children and got me hooked for a while, until I finished college. Not much time for soaps now though, obviously. What about you?"
Danny looked at her with the same heavy-lidded glare he had given Hammerback. " Do I look like a soap junkie?"
Lindsay, pulling out her own sandwich, smiled sweetly at him. " I can't say. I don't know you that well. You might be full of all kinds of surprises."
" Watching soaps isn't one of them," Danny stated. He took a bite of his sandwich and watched as some buff, super-model type male had a screaming match with some wire-thin supermodel female. " Bet those two are really brother and sister or something. People sleep around enough on these things to practically be related to eachother."
" I thought you said you didn't watch soaps?" Lindsay said with a smirk.
" My mom did. And I will confess that I did watch this one soap while I was laid up on the couch trying to keep my lung from coughing itself out. The story had to do with aliens and some wacko scientist. I almost undid my stitches laughing at the freakin' thing, and making fun of it."
Lindsay held up a finger as she finished chewing her next bite of sandwich. " Actually, I've found myself watching for that same reason... and doing the same thing. Hey, listen, I finally got the results back on the analysis we did of the stuff we found on Gerrard's clothes. You were right about the fish smell, or fish oil to be exact. I also found what turned out to be fish skin - pink salmon - plus some oyster juice."
Danny took a sip from the soda, then began peeling the orange. " So our vic was around a lot of sea food. The docks?"
" That's my guess. Here's the thing, though. I also found motor oil and gasoline on his pant leg and sleeves."
" He was found in a shipping yard," Danny said.
" Actually, both stains could have come from the yard if he'd been put in a bin that had been used to haul fish and was never properly cleaned. The thing is, there was a lot of both, more than what would be found left over from bins or trucks. I'm thinking he might have made a stop at the junkyard and the docks."
Danny grimaced. " We got a lot of both."
Hawkes walked in then, carrying a sub wrapped in paper and a bag of chips. He was humming a song, but stopped humming and slowed when he saw Danny.
" I heard you came back yesterday," Sheldon said, setting his food down across from Danny. As Hawkes sat, he looked Danny up and down. Danny found it annoying, yes, but kept his tongue in check. Hawkes was a man of medical science more than just science, and Danny knew that for the former ME assessing injuries had become a habit of his.
The look on Sheldon's face did not confirm whether he approved or disapproved of what he saw.
" I was going to drop in and say hi," Hawkes said, " but you were already gone."
Danny tossed peeling into his sack. " Mac's orders. No overtime whatsoever."
Sheldon popped open his bag of chips and smiled. " Glad to hear you're obeying."
Danny gave an indifferent shrug. He didn't hold it against Sheldon for continually acting all doctorly. If anything, he was thankful for it. Hawkes had understood, right off the bat, the full extent of Danny's injuries. He had explained to Danny, in plain English, the infections that had invaded his lungs and muscles. He had also made it his duty to check up on Danny, in the flesh, when he had been released from the hospital.
There had been a stint during Danny's illness in which he had been so drained that he could barely move his arm. Hawkes had come in for another check, and remained over night making sure that Danny had plenty of water within reach. If their friendship had only been an acquaintanceship before, it was solid now.
" You're taking the antibiotics, right?" Sheldon asked.
Danny smiled. " Yes mom, I'm taking my medicine."
Hawkes grinned back. " Good boy."
Lindsay snorted out a derisive laugh. " You two are strange, very strange."
Danny chuckled, and lifted his sandwich for another bite.
Nausea reared it's ugly head, kicking out fast as a mule, making Danny's gut churn in fury. He gasped, dropping his sandwich, then tore from his seat, knocking it over as he stumbled to the waste basket in the corner. He fell to his knees just as bile rose like a burning geyser into his throat, then spilling from his mouth with one massive heave that caused his ribs to cramp. He inhaled, and gasped again at the pain it caused.
He heard a chair scrape across the floor.
" Danny?" Hawkes said, and Danny felt the doctor's hand lightly touch his back. He heard another scrape, and saw Lindsay kneeling next to him out of the corner of his eye.
Then he puked again, causing both his coworkers to jerk back. The second heave was more massive than the first, though less came up. It left him coughing, panting, and shuddering with revulsion. He stayed leaning over the waste basket, just in case.
" Danny?" Lindsay said. Danny rolled his eyes in her direction and saw her concern lined in alarm. He spat junk into the basket and shook his head.
" Okay, that's it, I'm getting a new fridge," he moaned.
" What, you're saying this is food poisoning?" Sheldon asked.
" Well, considering I only puke every time I try to eat something, yeah." He straighted, sitting back on his legs. " Then I puke, and I'm cured. What else would you call it, doc?"
" Like you need a new fridge. But I'd go to the doctor if I were you, just to make sure. It might not be your food but your body rejecting food. After the crap you've been through, you really need to play it safe."
Danny spat again then wiped his mouth. " You're probably right."
" He is right."
Sheldon, Danny, and Lindsay snapped their heads around to look up at Mac standing in the doorway, his hands in his pocket. Danny cringed slightly.
" Mac..."
Mac lifted his hand, stopping Danny before he went on. " I know, Danny. But like Hawkes said, you need to play it safe. Take tomorrow off, go to the doctor, and if it is your food that's the problem, then get your fridge fixed. If it's not, then it's sick leave whether you like it or not. For now, go home, get some rest and some food that you can trust."
Danny knew he couldn't argue and win. He wanted to since he felt fine now, but truth be told he didn't trust his own body at the moment, not with all the crap it kept putting him through. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he swallowed the sour taste of vomit. " All right Mac."
Mac gave Danny a warning look, then turned and left the break room
" You sure you're all right, Danny?" Lindsay asked. Danny glanced at her, and was a little surprised by the small glimmer of fear betrayed in her eyes.
Yes, she didn't know him that well, but she had also visited him in the hospital a few times.
Danny opened his mouth, ready to respond with his usual mantra, then clapped it shut.
" You know what? Save that question and ask me again on Thursday, when I get back. Don't wanna jinx anything right now."
Hawkes clapped him on the shoulder. " Don't you mean you wouldn't want to add to the jinx you seem to already have?"
Danny turned to glared at the partially eaten sandwich. " Good point." He grabbed the sandwich, sack, and orange, and slammed all three into the vomit-splashed waste basket.
CSINY
A/N: Yuck! Anywho, I apologize to anyone who is really into soap operas. But you have to admit, some of them do get pretty stupid. The mention of All My Children is dedicated to my mom. Soaps do have an annoying allure at times, but thanks to her, I never have to watch any of the episodes, just ask her what happened, who did what, and so on. I find it humorous how a soap can take a one day holiday like New Years and drag it out for weeks and weeks and weeks (same goes for people trapped in a fire) and yet you'll have a kid who's twelve one month, and twenty the next month.
What is going on? Do you think you know? Just you wait.