Title: Siúil A Rún

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

POV: Danny

Chapter Five: Hush

"When can he leave?"

The question breaks through my clouded mind. Leave? Leave what?

"As soon as he wakes up. He needs to stay away from strenuous exercise for about week, then come back in for a check-up," another voice answers.

What the hell are they talking about? Who are they talking about?

"Thanks, doctor." Realization stabs me in the gut. Mac's voice. The last conscious moment I remember comes back to me. In the bedroom, coughing blood. I must be in the hospital. Oh joy, my favorite place in the world.

Maybe you should get a permanent room here. You treat the place like a hotel.

I hear the shuffling of feet. "You're buddy is lucky you brought him in this evening. He looks like someone really did a number on him."

I do my best to lock out the sounds of their voices. I don't want to hear them. It bugs me that people talk about me like I'm not around. Yes, I know they think I'm asleep, but still; can't they talk about me in the hallway? That way I don't have to hear it. Back in my mind I search for the familiar darkness. My friend. It's not there though. All I can find is the nagging feeling that I need to wake up. A door closes. My shuffling of feet. A hand against my forehead.

"He feels a little hot to the touch. Did the doctor say anything to you about a fever?" Flack asks.

"No," Mac states. "Look, I'm going to head home. Make some calls. I don't want Danny in work for a few days. He needs to clear his mind and heal."

More footsteps. "Wait." I sense Flack moving away from me. "There's something I didn't tell you. Something I think you need to know."

"This isn't about you and Danny again is it? We already had that discussion, remember?" Mac sounds short of temper.

"Not that." I imagine Flack shaking his head. "The other day, Danny left me a note. I think…I think he needs to get some serious help, Mac. I had to rescue him from jumping off a building." Betrayal. "He's not dealing well with Aiden's murder. Is there anyway he can get a leave of absence from work?"

I feel the cold growing inside me. How can he do this to me? The whole incident was a moment of weakness. Mac will never be happy with me now. He'll never look at me the way he once did. Maybe I'll even lose my job. No, Mac won't fire me for that. He can't. He accepts my feelings for Flack. He must understand that I was not in my right mind.

There's silence. Part of me wants to open my eyes and see the look on his face. I don't do it. He finally replies.

"I'll see what I can do. The lab may be able to compensate for his not being there. Teams from day- and swing shift can take his place." I hear the door open. "I'm not making any promises, though, Flack. So don't get your hopes up."

"I won't." He already sounds hopeful.

The door closes. Footsteps tell me that Flack is once again by my side. He moves something, scraping it across the floor. Must be the chair that's always there. Is he going to sit and watch me until I wake up? Doesn't he realize that that is very uncomfortable? I open my eyes. He has his back to me. I can't tell what he's doing.

"Do you just tell Mac every thing?" I say, my voice sounding tired.

He jumps and whirls around. "Danny," he exclaims. "You're awake."

"Don't avoid my question. I heard you telling him about the roof."

He frowns. "Mac is not only your boss, he's your friend. He cares for you. Danny, you need time away from work. Things aren't right in your life. You can't just try killing yourself one day and act normal the next."

"My life, I do what I want," I mutter in response.

"Danny," Flack says my name with an edge to his voice. He's all serious now. "I do not want you getting hurt. If anything, just get an evaluation. That's why they have company psychologists."

"If I wanted one I would get one."

He squints at me. "What happened to you, Danny? Who hurt you?"

"I can go, right? That's what I heard the doctor say." I struggle to sit up. My ribs protest but I don't care. The pain is the only thing standing between me and the outside world. I loath hospitals. They smell like sterile death. The walls are too white reminding me of asylums.

"Now you're ignoring me," Flack remarks.

I'm sitting in the bed now, my legs hanging over the edge. "Where are my clothes?" The hospital air is chilly. I'm wearing only my boxers. At least it's better than having to wear that annoying hospital gown. My ribs are wrapped in a white bandage confirming my suspicions that they had been broken.

"Stop ignoring my questions. I want to know what's going on."

I sigh. "Can we please just go home? I don't want to be here anymore. We can talk about it at home. Please, Flack," I plead.

"Fine," he says giving in. "But you're on bed rest for the next few hours. Doctor's orders."

As we check-out and leave the hospital Flack fills me in on things. I had been coughing blood, only a little. At first the doctor feared that one of my broken ribs had punctured a lung. Nope, I got lucky there. The beating I took caused a small tear, almost like a tiny ulcer, in my stomach. According to the doctor it's not life threatening and should heal within a week or two, provided I take my medication. More pills.

I ignore Flack as he drones on while driving me back my apartment. The fear begins building inside. I remember every little thing that happened there. The feel of the gun. The voice of the man. Waking up afraid of my own home.

"Flack, I don't want to go home."

We're stopped at a red light. He gives me a puzzled look. "Did you not just complain at the hospital that that is where you wanted to go?"

"Not my place. Take me home with you."

He mulls it over for a second before assuring me that he'll take me back to his place. The relief wraps me comfortably in its cocoon. My medication must have a sleep-side affect because I lose track of time. One minute we're sitting at the red light, the next, Flack is shaking me gently.

"Come on, Danny-boy; let's get you up to bed. It's more comfortable than sleeping in this car. Trust me."

I let him lead me to his apartment in my half awake state. Inside I walk like a drunk to the bedroom where I fall into bed. The bed is so soft. So comforting. My body aches with a low pain. The medication must be working. I listen with my eyes closed as Flack moves about the apartment. He turns off the light in the kitchen and finally enters the bedroom.

He sighs in disgust. "You could have taken those dirty clothes before getting into bed. They've got blood and who knows what else on them. Their nasty."

"You take them off," I mumble almost incoherently. "I'm too tired."

"Are you awake enough to tell me what happened to you?" The bed gives under his weight.

"No," I lie.

I don't want to tell him what happened. Part of me does. The other part knows that he'll run to Mac. That's why I won't say anything. And maybe, just maybe, if I don't talk about it, it'll go away. Wipe the slate clean. Remove the memory. But still, I'll be asking the same damn question. Why me?