Title: Siúil A Rún

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

POV: Danny

Chapter Seven: Youngblood

Flying through red lights with siren blaring doesn't feel fast enough. We'll never reach Flack's place. We're already too late. I hope that Flack is nothing more than a missing person. Mac breezes through another red light. Someone cuts in front of him and he lays on the horn. How stupid can people be? The sound of the siren means get the fuck out of the way.

I let the expertise of Mac's driving through traffic distract me. He weaves between cars without a second thought. In what is a matter of minutes, but feels like hours, we reach Flack's apartment building. Cop cars crowd the street outside. Of course, one of their own is missing and possibly hurt. This is not something that will be taken lightly. Doing my best to keep calm I follow behind Mac. He's in charge, I have to remember that. He only let me along because of my relationship with Flack. Just as easily he can send me back to the lab. Ban me from the case altogether.

The mass swarm of cops part as Mac and I enter Flack's apartment. "I want everyone out. All of you," he instructs. "Any evidence is extremely valuable and I don't want you messing up my crime scene. Messer and I will take things from here."

I watch as the cops reluctantly leave the apartment. Mac closes the door behind them. The whole is suddenly taken over by silence. It's nerve-wracking. I place the silver kit on the floor and look around. The place, so familiar, feels like another country. Nothing appears right to me here. The décor and belongings scream Flack's name. He's not here to joke about the job or rant about how stupid some people can be. I take a deep breath.

"You stay right here, Messer, you understand me?" Mac commands. There's fire in his eyes.

"I understand, Mac."

He walks pass me with steps full of trepidation. I know what he's doing. I'm not dumb. He's giving the apartment a quick going over to make sure things aren't too bad. If there's a large puddle of blood he'll send me away. He won't want me to see it and get upset. I should even be here now. The silence of the apartment makes me shiver. A hint of copper-smell in the air brings back memories. I lost Aiden. There was no saving her. Savagely murdered in her own place. She should have been safe. Now Flack could be gone.

Maybe you shouldn't get close to people. Everyone you care for dies, Danny-boy. Set them free. Let them live happily instead of dying from your love.

"Alright, Danny," Mac says upon returning. "Nothing here appears to be out of place."

"Except that Flack is missing," I interrupt.

"Aside from that," Mac retorts a bit testy. "I need you to look around. You know the place better than I do. When it comes to evidence I need you to treat it like any ordinary crime scene. Don't think of Flack as the victim. Or Aiden. Don't even let them cross your mind."

"Alright," I reply shortly.

I step out of the entrance into the actual apartment. Nothing looks disturbed. A few unwashed dishes still sit in the sink from when we had dinner two nights ago. I smile at the memory of us cooking together. Mac can't read my thoughts so I happily think of Flack. This place is full of memories of him. It's his home, after all. Carefully I walk to the bathroom and bedroom. The bedroom is clean and orderly. Even the bed is made. I stand in the entrance to the bathroom. Nothing is out of place.

"So far everything looks normal," I mention as I walk pass Mac to the living room.

A TV Guide sits on the otherwise empty coffee table. The remote rests on the arm of the couch. I run my flashlight over the rest of the room. Didn't Mac say that they found blood? I enter the living room to make my way to the second bedroom that Flack used as sort of an office. My shin bangs against the coffee table.

"Shit!"

"What?" Mac asks as he comes up behind me.

"I just whacked my shin on the coffee table." I bend over to rub the pain away.

"One would think you'd know better."

I glare at him. "The table's been moved."

My flashlight rests on the indentation in the carpet. Something catches my eye. A little red-brown spot on the carpet. I bend down for a closer look. To my eye it looks like blood. Mac will have me test it to confirm but having seen blood so many times over the years I've learned to tell. Slowly I trail the beam of light up the leg of the table. Though the wood is of medium-darkness I can clearly make out the droplets of blood.

"What have you got?"

"Blood, but you knew that already," I comment. The edge of the table has a splash of more blood than the leg.

"More?"

I look up at him. "More? What the hell do you mean by that?"

He points to the window. "If you had finished checking out the room you would have noticed the blood on the windowsill. That's what the officers' saw."

"The windowsill?" I echo.

Mac nods. I return to the entranceway where I left my kit and remove a special piece of orange plastic. Fixing it to my flashlight I return to the living room. Mac steps aside, content to let me work the room. He wants me to feel like I'm helping. Feeling useful will keep the worry away. He also wants to test me; to see if I'm well enough to be back in the field. Finding my blood spot under the table I slowly walk toward the windowsill.

"Gravitational droplets," I tell Mac as I follow the trail.

"Coming from, or going away from the windowsill?"

"Away. He bumped the table after the wound was caused."

The small pool of blood looks out of place on the dust free whiteness of the windowsill. A small potted plant sits unmoved. I concentrate on the blood. The puddle is about the size of a cup bottom. Still on the fresh side.

I turn back to Mac. "Didn't they get reports of gunfire?"

Mac frowns. "Yes. I, however, have seen no evidence of a gun being fired. There are no bullet holes in the walls."

"And the amount of blood tells us that Flack was not shot," I finish.

"If he wasn't shot than what happened?"

I smile to myself as Mac continues to test me. He's waiting for me to slip up. I swallow my worry and study the blood again. "Perhaps it's a knife wound. The amount of blood would suggest that Flack was cut. The attacker wants him alive or there would be more blood. He would have made the cut fatal."

"There's no blood between the coffee table and the door, though," Mac points out.

I chew my lip. "If Flack was in trouble he'd make sure to leave evidence behind. He knows how valuable it is."

"Maybe his attacker does too. Maybe he covered the wound or forced Flack to cover it."

"It's a possibility. Whatever happened here, Flack left alive. There's no doubt about that," I state with relief.

Mac looks around. "I'm going to go see if I can find the first officer on the scene. You go over the place again. Don't miss a thing," he orders.

"Of course not, Mac."

He leaves me standing in the living room. I close my eyes and relax. The tension in my muscles eases. My breathing returns to normal. Having Mac study your every move can be nerve-wracking. He probably walked into this room and noticed every little detail. He tested me to see if I would too. I know I passed. I rub a hand over my eyes. My body is filled with an odd comfort. There's blood, yes, but not enough to say that Flack is dead. It's not like Aiden. He's alive. He has to be. Why didn't he leave me a sign? Why?

In answer to my silent question my phone rings. The ring-tone sends chills down my spine. I feel likeDeath is calling. With shaking hands I look at the caller-ID. It flashes Aiden's number.