Title: Siúil A Rún

Disclaimer: Medium Slash. Explicit Violence. Angst. Language.

POV: Danny

Chapter Four: Blood, Sweat, and Tears

I've been awake for hours, pretending to sleep out of fear. The place is silent except for the frantic beating of my heart. I push myself from the bed. My body screams in protest and pain. It doesn't want to be moved. It wants to lie on the bed and let the world take its pain away. With heavy steps I make my way to my bathroom. The short distance has never seemed so long in all my life. I climb into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it will go. Before one drop can even touch my skin I'm turning the water off. The tears I've grown so used to stain my face.

I check the glaring red of my alarm clock. It's a little after midnight. Too late in the night for anyone to be up. Too early in the morning for a wake up call. Like a drugged patient I pull my clothes on. The same outfit I wore to work. Was that really only yesterday? It feels like ages have gone by.

The door man is half asleep when I walk into the lobby. One look at me and his sleep is forgotten. I ignore him. Best to not say anything. So I'm up late. It's not like people don't come and go at all hours of the day. The drive to Flack's place is more like a dream than actual life. One minute I'm climbing into my car, the next I'm climbing the stairs to his apartment. My feet carry me to the familiar brown door. Will he answer when I knock? It's late. I shouldn't rouse him from his sleep. I can always go home. Home to the silence and the memories.

I knock on the door. No, I bang on the door. I want to make sure I get his attention. I have to wake him. A few seconds pass. It doesn't look like he'll answer. This time I knock softly, all my energy disappearing into anguish and depression. Soft footfalls come from the other side of the door. Locks click as they are undone. Flack swings the door open. All signs of sleep leave his body when his eyes fall on me.

"Danny, what the hell happened to you?" He asks ushering me in. The words catch in my throat. He directs me to the couch. "Here, sit, I'll be right back."

The couch is soft and more comfortable than my bed. Yet sleep is miles away. My head is throbbing. My entire body aches. Even my bones feel tired. Flack returns with a few bandages and some damp towels. He pulls out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from one of the towels were it had been concealed.

"You want to tell me what happened?" He asks again. With careful hands he cleans the cut above my eye. The sting of the medication is dulled by the aches in the rest of my body.

"I want to shower," I say. Do I really say it or do I just think it?

"Alright, you want help getting to the bathroom?"

I shake my head and climb from the couch. My muscles protest the movement and never let up as I head to the bathroom. I close the door behind me as an after thought. Privacy doesn't matter with Flack. He's seen me naked. My muscles are mad at me. My whole body is unhappy. As payback I find myself feeling nauseous. The feeling quickly disappears as I lean over the toilet and throw up.

Unlike at home I manage to with stand the showering. The water burns my skin, turning it red. The pain is hardly noticeable. I feel like I'm in a fog. Blood colors the water a pinkish red and stings the few serious cuts that I have. An ugly bruise is growing over my ribs. I touch them gingerly. At least two of them are broken. A few minor bruises discolor my skin. Nothing else is broken.

I slide down the wall until I'm sitting. The water continues to run over me. It joins the tears and masks their existence. Flack knocks on the bathroom door. He says something. The water muffles it. A minute of silence. More knocking. Then he opens the door.

"Danny?"

I don't move.

"Danny, are you okay?" Worry fills his voice.

He opens the shower door to find me sitting there, not moving. All the blood has been washed down the drain. He turns the water off, takes my arm, and helps me to my feet. His eyes take in the many cuts and bruises, especially the one over my ribs. He hands me a soft towel and leaves the bathroom. I dry myself off mechanically. The fog hasn't cleared yet. Flack returns with the peroxide. I shake my head.

"At least let me take you to the hospital. You should get your ribs checked out."

I shake my head again. "Sleep, that's all I want. Let me sleep." I put my boxers on. The touch of the cloth on my skin is uncomfortable.

"Danny-"

"I'm tired," I explain as I stumble pass him to his bed. The blankets and pillows welcome me with their comfortable embrace. The sleep that has been hanging around the edges of my subconscious finally closes in. The last thing I hear is Flack saying my name. Then the darkness takes over. Forcing the pain to flee.

A banging in the distance. I wish the sound to end. To fade away. My wish is granted and the noise stops. Non-too hushed voices take its place. I strain to hear them. Waking up would make them understandable. Waking up would make my head hurt more. I force my eyes to stay closed. I try to forget the voices. The noises. Where is that sleep that held me so fast? Why has it gone away? It's left me in the light with all my pain.

"He's in here," I hear Flack say to the owner of the other voice.

The bedroom door opens. Footfalls. Rustling of clothing. Someone turns the light on. More footfalls. I search my mind, looking for the darkness that kept the pain away. It's long gone and there's no telling when it will return. Heavy weight settles on the bed. I moan as the movement causes my body to scream in pain. All my nerves send shocks to my brain. Instinct tells me to curl up the fetal position. The pain is too great. I'm afraid that moving will cause me to shatter like a pane of glass. I moan again as the bed is jostled.

"I think he's finally waking up," Flack states. The relief he feels fills his voice. I slept for a few hours. There's no need to be worried.

"Good," the other person speaks. I'd know that voice anywhere. It's Mac. Why…

I feel the presence of someone standing in front of me. Their shadow falls over my face, chasing away the blinding light. A hand touches my shoulder. I bite my tongue to keep the scream in that has crawled up my throat. Leave me alone. Please. Let the darkness have me. There's no pain there.

"Danny, come on," Flack urges. He gently shakes me. This time there's no keeping the pain locked inside. The cry of pain must scare Flack because his hand moves from my skin.

"He should be at the hospital," Mac states.

"I know that. I've been afraid to move him. I'm glad that you showed up. Perhaps between the two of us it'll be easier," Flack says.

I can just see Mac shaking his head. "Easier, yes, I can see that. But I believe that we're going to cause him a lot of pain if we move him. All you did was touch him and he screamed. He may have to lay here another day or two, as much as I'm against it."

Frustration hides the concern in Flack's voice. "We have to do something. Leaving him here doesn't sound like a good idea. He has numerous cuts that can get infected, at least two broken ribs, and who knows what else. Something could be really wrong with him. Seriously wrong."

Stop talking about me like I'm not here. I try desperately to yell the words. They don't come. My throat is dry. Despite my sleep my body is drained of energy. I try to roll over onto my back. My ribs are numb from the pain. Flack said they are broken. I can't feel them. I can't feel them and I'm so damn happy about it.

"At least you know he's not dead, Don," Mac says matter-of-factly.

Flack scoffs. "He might as well be."

His indifference angers me. The anger gives me the power to roll onto my back. The cool air hits my bare, bruised chest. I shiver. The light is strong. I drape an arm over my eyes and mumble something. The words are so soft that I can hardly hear them myself. Yet, someone hears me. The light fades. The ceiling light going off. A click is followed by a soft glow. The lamp being turned on. At least it's not as bright.

Look upon the world, Danny-boy.

For the first time in my life I can officially say that my eyelids hurt. I open my eyes, squinting in the near darkness. Even the lamp is too much. I close my eyes again. A hand brushes against the bruise on my chest. The numbness has departed. My eyes open from the pain. Mac is inspecting my ribs. If I had any energy I'd pop him in the back of the head. Instead I pray that my glare works the same. Hey, I wasn't aware that I could glare. The muscles don't protest so much. That's a good sign. It has to be.

"Daniel, you look like shit," Mac says.

I try to laugh. Okay, so I laugh only in my head. Actually laughing will probably kill me. Flack moves across the bed so that he's standing next to Mac. I feel self-conscience having them stare at me.

"Do you feel any better?" Flack asks. Not trusting myself to speak I shake my head as much as I can. Bad idea. The movement aggravates the headache that pounds on my brain like a sledgehammer. Worry pales Flack's blue eyes. "Shouldn't he feel better? He's been sleeping all day."

All day? Wasn't it only an hour ago that I passed out on Flack's bed? It was, wasn't it?

"He ever get around to telling you what happened?" Mac enquires.

"Nope," he replies. I hate when people talk about me like I'm not hear. My eyes are open, I'm conscious; at least I think I am. "You said you were going to stop by his place before you came here. Find anything of interest there?"

Mac shakes his head. "Everything looked in order. Messer is the only one who knows what happened and he doesn't appear to be talking anytime soon. I'm sorry, Flack."

Why is he apologizing?

Mac mumbles something to Flack. He leaves the room to get whatever it is that Mac wants. He studies me as he sits on the side of the bed. The waves of pain aren't as bad but they do still hurt. Flack returns with a glass of water which he hands to Mac. An extra pillow under my head props me up. The touch of the glass and the water inside itis welcoming. My parched throat is happy. I down half the glass before Mac pulls it away. Five seconds later I realize that something is not right. The coming coughs seize me. Pain be screwed. I force myself to move until I'm leaning on one elbow. The coughing reminds me of an earthquake. My entire body shakes. I cover my mouth and wait until the hell passes by. Then flop back on the bed, my arm lying across the pillows.

"Is that blood on his hand?"

Blood? What blood?

Flack moves in for a closer look. "Yep, that would be blood."

No.

"Damn. Alright, you grab his shoulders. I'll get his feet."