A/N: Let me thank you guys for reading and reviewing! gives chocolate chip cookies to Meine Welt, kamadi and Dybdahl!

Böck's apartment was everything a regular person could expect from a cold-blooded killer. Hanging on the blood red walls were dozens of black and white photos with a definite artistic touch to them, but all of them sickening. Most portrayed dead women - or pretending to be so -, naked, with plastic bags over their faces, gunshot or stabwounds. Perfect bodies, imperfect deaths. Such cruelty was precisely the reason why Mac started to suspect that Böck wasn't the murderer they were after. His years of experience told him to look for a normal person; this author was everything but normal.

Böck lead them to his balcony, inviting them for a tea. Danny felt the sudden urge to punch his mocking grin off his face when the author suggested they enjoyed the spectacular sight over the old part of Lisbon and the river, instead of staring at him as if he were some kind of criminal.

"Well, are you?" Danny asked politely, with a threatening undertone. Stella wondered how he'd managed to do that.

"A criminal?" Böck chuckled. "Please, detectives. Can't a guy enjoy his vacation in peace, after such a long year? My latest book just got published, and with the autograph sessions and whatnot I'm really tired and..."

"I couldn't care less." Danny interrupted. "Where were you two nights ago? And the night before that?"

"Well... here, where else?I told you needed to rest."

"Any witnesses?"

"Actually... yes. Let me go get her. Our nightly activities kept us up pretty late and she's still sleeping."

"We do not care for details that specific." Stella's steely voice silenced Böck the way Danny couldn't. "Bring her here, quick. We don't have all day."

Böck and his girlfriend matched oddly. Both were in their thirties, exceptionally pale and strangely beautiful. Their unnaturally black hair made them look washed out, almost as if their vital force were leaving their sickeningly thin bodies, slowly but surely. Mac suddenly wanted to leave this house, and forget the fact that Claire had been as pale, and her hair as black, when she woke up beside him, her eyes puffy and her long hair tousled. And the red of the roses he used to give her every Saturday was perfectly mirrored by the tormenting walls.

"It's him, Mac. I'm sure."

Mac shook his head sadly, staring at the wooden floor in front of him. They were back at the police station, in Detective Alves' office. The latter was sitting behind his irritantly tidy desk, scribbling furiously, his brow furrowed as if Danny's mildly loud chatter were bothering him immensely. Stella, leaning against Mac's desk, was absently running her fingers through her curly hair, stopping from time to time to wrap a curl around her index finger. Mac observed her intently, certain that looking at Danny right now would make his resolve crumble. And he had promised himself he'd forget this madness that made him want the younger man ardently, even as his heart clenched with desperate thoughts of Claire.

"No, Danny. I don't think he's our guy." Mac finally answered, once again avoiding Danny's eyes. "Don't you think he's a bit of a conventional serial killer? A little too conventional, perhaps."

Danny stared at him. "Too conventional?", he repeated, incredulously. Mac nodded. "Oh, come on, Mac...! So you think the timings were nothing but coincidences?"

"Maybe."

Danny huffed indignantly. "I'm gonna go out and get some decent coffee.", he announced, before slamming the door behind him. Detective Alves' piercing gaze was fixed upon the offending door, as if daring it to go after Danny and smack him on the head repeatedly. Stella stopped playing with her hair and stated the obvious.

"I think you made him angry."

Mac sighed.

That night, when Mac opened the door to their room, he found no sign of Danny. Part of him was glad he didn't have to face him right then, even though the other part - surely the irrational one - would rather set things straight as soon as possible. And it was never too soon.

Mac shed his jacket, for once letting it fall crumpled on the bed instead of hanging it somewhere to prevent any creasing, and was getting started on the buttons of his impeccably white shirt when Danny came in. Mac turned abruptly and saw him standing in the doorway, unnervingly still as a statue. They stared at each other for brief moments which seemed like hours, and then Danny spoke. "I had no idea absinth was legal here."

It took a while for Mac to grasp what Danny had just said. He took a deep breath. "Did you try it?"

"I was going to." The younger man took a few steps towards his bed and sat heavily, feeling the old mattress sink under his weight. "But I figured we should talk. I can't win an argument with you if I'm drunk."

"Do you want to talk or argue?" Mac asked wearily.

"Neither, I guess. Hey... I should have tried the absinth, after all."

"Danny, please be serious for once." Mac had meant to make it sound like a plea, but it had come out in an accusatory tone. Danny chuckled, a frighteningly emotionless sound.

"So, I'm an incompetent employee. I can't even recognize a murderer to save my life. Why don't you just fire me and get it over with?"

"Danny, I..." But then Mac's jaw clenched, and his face assumed the expression that stated 'It's just business, nothing personal'. Danny knew that expression all too well, so he also knew what was coming next. "I'm not going to fire you, but perhaps you should get back to New York. I have to agree that our differences are starting to affect our work. Lindsay can take your place here."

"Oh yeah, that sure shows how much you care!" Danny growled, turning to the window to get some fresh air and, hopefully, some restraint. Mac could see his back rising and falling as he bent over the windowsill, panting.

"Danny..." he whispered, not really expecting him to hear. But Danny did, and turned to look at him, defeated. Mac continued. "This case has many truths. You only see the most convenient one."

"Mac... Mac, please, don't send me away. Please."

But Mac knew it was the right thing to do. For Danny, and mostly for himself. "Sorry, Danny. I have no choice."

"What do you mean, you have no choice!" Danny yelled. "Tell me what's really going on here!"

"No, you tell me what's going on here!" Mac's self-control simply flew out the window, and both were at each other's throats. Not what he had had in mind. At all. "What's gotten into you? You never acted like this before!"

"Well, luckily I can't say the same, can I? Because you've acted like this before, like you have some problem with me! Admit it, Mac!"

"I refuse to admit something that's not true, Danny."

"Then I'll start, shall I? Since I'm the only one here who's willing to tell the truth, as embarrassing as it may be."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and me, Mac." Danny hissed, grasping Mac's shirt more to prevent him from stepping back than with any suspicious intentions - which included pushing him onto the bed and fucking him senseless. "I'm talking about me wanting you, and you being so fuckin' clueless the whole time."

There, he'd said it. But now he wished he hadn't, because Mac wouldn't stop staring at him with something akin to horror plastered on his face. Danny let go of Mac's shirt and took a few steps back. He was almost ready to apologise and bolt through the door when Mac closed in the distance between them and captured his lips in a fierce, but slow kiss.

Danny still didn't know what to think when he found himself on top of Mac, caressing every inch of him he could reach, and when he impaled himself on Mac, as if following an age-old script. Their restless dance continued, as their heated bodies competed with the night's still warmth. Mac fought the urge to close his eyes, as Danny had done. The body above him, glistening with sweat, trembling slightly, seemed so fragile; Mac reached for his hands and intertwined their fingers. As Danny's tightened around his, he whispered, "I won't let you fall", and then he knew he loved this man, and it was bliss, it was rapture, it felt so good, it felt so right.

When Danny lay on top of him, gasping for breath, spent, Mac knew. Even if Danny hadn't buried his face in his neck and chanted, over and over, the words he didn't want to silence anymore, Mac would still know.

TBC

A/N: (insert witty author's note here, because the author is braindead)