To DD or Not to DD
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (it may go up later)
Pairing: Danny/Flack, Danny/Mac
Content Warning: Cracktasticness, odd body changes, language. Did I mention cracktasticness?
Spoilers: Set after 'Fair Game', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: After a freak laboratory accident at CSI headquarters, Danny is cursed (or blessed, depending on how you see things) with very unusual … add-ons. Inspired by a forum comment: "Danny is the show's DD breasts."
Disclaimer: Nope, none of the characters belong to me. What a shame. I would treat them oh so well. They have no idea what they're missing.
Chapter 4
"Yo, Flack! When's Messer getting over here?"
Flack made a face at the guys playing hoops on the outdoor basketball court. It was Saturday night, also affectionately known as hoop night. He sat on an old wooden bench, inclined forward with his elbows on knees, mobile phone to ear. The New York night breeze cooled him off, drying the sweat that made his sleeveless black jersey cling to his torso.
"Hold on. I'm callin' him again."
He listened to the beeping tone, vigorously tapping his right sneaker-bound foot on the cement ground.
"C'mon, c'mon, pickuppickup."
His brows furrowed when he was directed to Danny's voice mailbox for the third time. What the? This was not like Danny. A soft thumping of shoes towards him, and he gazed up to see Chad with the basketball being juggled between wiry, dexterous hands.
"No answer?" Flack wasn't well-acquainted with the young lab technician, though Chad already worked at the labs at the CSI head office for a number of years. It was after the explosion that the skinny, eccentric man shyly asked if he could join him and Danny at their hoop sessions, to his astonishment. Chad was not only damn good at his job, he turned out to be damn good at basketball too. Flack suspected the lab technician was still sensing the trauma from the explosion nearly two weeks ago. Hell, he was still feeling every bit of it himself.
And Chad had been the one who lent Mac a hand in pinning him to the ground. Literally. He was mortified about it for days until Chad accosted him in privacy to discuss the incident while he was at CSI headquarters. The young lab tech's exterior front of an odd punk camouflaged his inner professionalism and maturity very well. Their short talk was a solemn reminder to Flack to not judge a book by its cover so straightforwardly.
"Nope." Flack closed his mobile phone with a huff and stood up. "I think I'm gonna go over to his apartment and see what's going on."
"Okay. I'll let the guys know." Chad bounced the ball twice and jogged back onto the court. "Take care, see ya later!"
Flack waved goodbye, picking up his knapsack next to him on the bench. He should have known something was up by this morning. Flack'd called up Danny only to get to his voice mail, so he assumed Danny was busy with something or was chatting with somebody else. Flack hadn't seen him for a few days either thanks to the rapid increase of workload over new homicide cases. Left a message reminding Danny about hoop night and didn't think more about it. He was so certain Danny was going to show up, what with the newly discharged CSI going on and on about bounding back into action when he picked him up at the hospital last week.
He dumped the knapsack in the backseat of his car, mechanically locking the side door and clinching his seat belt. He was getting that sinking sensation again, in the pit of his stomach. He hated it. Flack picked up his phone and attempted one last time to contact Danny.
"Damnit, Danny."
He revved the engine, heading for the CSI's apartment in Queens. If Danny was messing with some chick and merely forgot to call him back, he was so going to kick that guy's butt, explosion survivor or not.
OooooooooooooooooooooooooO
The hallway leading to Danny's apartment always took Flack back to the sixties. The multi-coloured tiles spanning the floor made him feel like he was descending into a psychedelic whirlpool, and maybe if he actually jumped in, he'd come out a long-haired hippie on the other side. Tonight, they made everything seem even more dreamlike. Could somebody get nauseous just looking at ugly tiles? He thanked God the nasty things didn't go up onto the walls and ceiling too.
Danny's door was, in contrast, a simple black door, with the gold numbers 316 on it. It was just like Danny to go for black when everyone else on the same floor had doors in pale, pleasant colours. Flack rapped on it with his knuckles.
"Danny! Hey, it's Flack." He waited for a few seconds. Peeking downwards, he could see orange lighting seeping through from under the door.
"Danny, open up, I know you're in there. C'mon, I got your favourite Chinese takeout from down the street." He knocked harder on the door. That was a little white lie, but he hoped it got Danny to come to the door.
He was slightly startled when an old, petite woman half his height suddenly materialized next to him. Flack beamed at her.
"Oh, good evening, Mrs. Penrose! How ya doin'?" Mrs. Penrose was a ninety-three year old, sweet lady who lived in the apartment next to Danny's. She was very short, even for a woman, and suffered from arthritis. It forced her to use a cane to move around, but she was scarcely helpless. For someone her age, she was amazingly astute and intellectual. Flack found that out the hard way the first time they met. He'd ended up red-faced after she corrected him on some police procedures he was explaining to her, and later learnt she was completely right. Her late husband was a decorated police officer during his time, which enlightened Flack on how she knew what she did, and why she had a soft spot for both him and Danny. That, and she baked the yummiest chocolate brownies ever.
"Good evening, Donny. It's lovely to see you again." Apart from his former partner Gavin Moran and his dad, Mrs. Penrose was the only human being who got to call him that way and live to tell people about it. (Danny had yet to call him that, but if he did, chances were, he'd join the exclusive list too. But only him.) "I had a wonderful day today. Magda came over for tea and brownies. Would you like to have some?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Penrose." He took one delicate hand and patted it. "I'll hafta take a rain check on that. I'm here to see Danny."
"Ohh." She motioned for Flack to bow down, whispering to him in stagy, hushed tones. "Daniel hasn't come out in three days. I'm worried he might not be feeling well." Flack's eyes widened.
"Are ya sure, ma'am?"
"Oh yes, he always wakes up every morning before eight. The walls here are quite thin, so sometimes I can hear him moving around in his apartment." She puckered her lips for a moment. "I know he's having a week off work, he told me so this Tuesday."
Flack recalled that time clearly; it was the day he drove Danny back to his apartment from the hospital. They never did tell her what happened to Danny.
"But ever since Wednesday, I haven't seen a peep out of him." Mrs. Penrose's kind eyes were filled with anxiety. "I heard something crash this morning … I thought he'd simply dropped something. Would you be so kind to see if Daniel's alright?"
"Of course, Mrs. Penrose. I'll take care of it, okay?" He gave her a comforting smile, leading her back to her open door nearby. "Don't worry about it." He smiled at her again, closing the door.
It was official. The sinking feeling in his stomach was going code red.
"Danny! Open up!" Courtesy flew out the window with the banging of his fist on Danny's apartment door. "I mean it -"
"Leave me alone, Flack!"
At last. He exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. The little brat was okay after all. It took a few seconds for his brain to figure out something wasn't right with Danny's voice. He might well be wrong … but he could've sworn Danny sounded like he'd been bawling his eyes out for hours.
"Hey, just let me in, will ya? I wanna know you're okay. I swear I'll break down the door. You know I will!"
Silence. Then a shuffling of feet to the door. Two distinct clicking sounds, and the black door gradually creaked open. Flack pressed his way in, footsteps harsh on the boarded floor.
A single lamp was on, leaving only a tiny area by the left side of the apartment door lit. The rest of the apartment was in semi-darkness. Danny hadn't bothered to turn on the other lights, and for some reason, this caused an imaginary alarm to go off in Flack's head. Flack instinctively reached out to flick the light switches on the right side of the door, eyes squinted as he searched for the other man. The main ceiling lights came on.
Everything appeared normal, at first glance. Danny's apartment was sparse in interior decoration and furniture. The art posters of Klimt and Schiele were neatly framed and arranged at equal distances on the wall above Danny's television set. The black-and-stainless steel dining table and chairs were exactly where they always were. A shelf of forensic journals, art books and a whole collection of eclectic tomes still leaned precariously perpendicular to the television. The small kitchen was neat and clean, and the door to the bedroom was closed.
And on a brown, battered couch facing the turned-off television was Danny, huddled in a puffy, oversized coat, his back towards Flack.
Flack cautiously walked into the living area. He hadn't forgotten Mrs. Penrose's mention of something crashing that morning. Another imaginary alarm had gone off the instant he saw the stark 'CSI' letters of Danny's coat. What was he doing wearing it indoors, and off-duty?
"Danny? You okay?"
Danny didn't answer, except to tighten the folds of his coat around his body.
Moving closer, Flack finally saw the source of whatever noise Mrs. Penrose had heard that morning. The glass coffee table in front of the couch was shattered to pieces, angular transparent shards littering the floor around it. There were dark red specks on a few of them, glistening under the illumination. Flack immediately presumed Danny'd injured himself, seating himself next to his unnaturally quiet friend.
"Hey, c'mon. Talk to me, buddy." His voice unconsciously dropped to a soothing tone. Flack caught sight of more flecks of red on Danny's right hand. He carefully stretched out a hand to touch Danny on the arm, reeling back in disbelief at Danny's violent recoil. How did they go from being so open and responsive to each other to this?
"I said, leave me the hell alone." Flack undoubtedly knew now he hadn't been hearing things. Danny was all hoarse and gravelly. Red, swollen rings encircled his blue eyes as he glared at Flack, gripping the lapels of his coat as if his life depended on it. The acute misery in them struck a chord of déjà vu in Flack. The last time he'd seen that emotion in those eyes, he was face to face with Danny at that diner near his precinct. Hours after Danny was accused of killing that undercover cop.
Something snapped within Flack.
"Ohhh no. You're not pulling this shit on me again." He seized Danny's upper arm in a solid grip, ignoring Danny's outraged cry. "I'm here and I'm listening to you. I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."
Danny's face was frozen in an expression of terror, and for a second, Flack regretted scaring him like that. Then Danny swung a fist at him. Flack's physical training kicked in on the spot; he blocked it with his forearm, hurling his body onto Danny's and squashing the shorter man beneath him. Danny acted like a feral cat gone rabid, arms and legs thrashing here and there, fighting Flack off. Flack used his height and longer limbs to his advantage, pinning Danny's arms to his sides so he wouldn't hurt either of them.
"Owww! Geddoffame! Geddoff!" Danny's face now contorted into one of real pain.
Lying with all his weight on top of his friend, that was when he felt them.
Flack leapt off the other guy as if he got electrocuted, landing painfully onto the floor next to the couch and miraculously missing any glass shards. There was no fucking way he felt what he thought he felt. He sat up, absent-mindedly rubbing at his hip. Danny was curled up on the couch, knees drawn upwards. The poor guy was still wincing, his arms wrapped around his chest.
"Owww, fuck. They really do hurt being squeezed too hard."
Flack could only stare with saucer-wide eyes and a gaping mouth … at the most voluptuous, smooth pair of DD-sized breasts he'd ever laid eyes upon on his friend's formerly flat chest.