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 7
The day Danny was unconscious in bed in his apartment before hoop night was the day the entire universe got flushed down a stinky toilet into the depths of a very confounding hell.
On most days, CSI headquarters was the entire universe to Hawkes. Whether he was an ME or a CSI investigator out on the field, it was a place where he could eagerly lose himself in his work for hours at a time. His peers were fellow scientists and researchers who understood him on a level that everyday folk would never be able to. He had no desire to relive the awkward moments when his family or dates inquired about his work, if it was viable. A piece of decent advice? Don't tell a dinner date you spent the whole day rummaging through the dead fat guy's intestines searching for a tiny piece of evidence while she's chowing on spaghetti. It's a guarantee she won't be back for a second date.
On that precise day, he was trying to identify an unknown pink fiber taken off a little boy who'd been strangled to death in his home. Brutal child deaths made an unpleasant coil of rage wind him up deep inside every time. This case gave him the first nightmare he had in years since that gruesome infanticide case that happened in Staten Island. He'd never forgotten that one.
A loud shriek coming from the reception area drew his attention away from the microscope he was gazing into.
"Wait! You can't just go in there!" It was Melinda, the headquarters' main receptionist. "Please let me inform Detective Taylor first!"
"Don't trouble yourself, Ms. Pearson. Maclaren will talk with me."
Hawkes perked up. He rarely heard anyone calling Mac by his full first name. He treaded into the hallway, eyes widening at a man who was maybe the most colossal human being he'd seen in his life. (And seriously, he'd seen a lot.)
The man had to be a whopping seven feet tall, with broad shoulders like unyielding granite. His face was as coarse and hard too, heavy-lidded grey eyes coolly checking out the surroundings. The man's crew-cut, silvery hair and the rough callouses on his mammoth hands implied he was someone who'd been around for a very long time. Even without the four other men dressed in dark macintoshes and expensive suits like himself, he exuded a formidable aura that strangely reminded Hawkes of documentaries about white Siberian tigers. They were breathtaking, but a single swipe of a clawed paw could kill a grown man instantaneously.
Melinda was scuttling behind the group of advancing men, pleading with them to stop. When one of the men ringing their giant leader forcibly propelled her aside, Hawkes decided enough was enough.
"Excuse me." Hawkes smiled politely at them. "I believe you're looking for Detective Taylor?" Although he didn't show it on the outside, Hawkes felt like he was shrinking smaller and smaller as the man loomed over him. Geez, if this guy was his friend, what were Mac's enemies like?
"Yeah. Maclaren heads this office, right?" His voice was sonorous and gruff. It befitted his physique well. "Tell him AD Turgis wants to talk to him. From the FBI."
The FBI? What had Mac gotten himself into?
"He's not here at the moment," Hawkes replied calmly. "I'll call him now to let him know you're here."
One of AD Turgis' men approached and said to his superior, "We don't have to wait for him to get everything."
It took a great deal of effort for Hawkes to keep his face neutral.
"We wait." AD Turgis' tone tolerated zero defiance.
Hawkes speedily selected Mac's contact on his mobile phone. This was not good, not good at all. Two beeping sounds, and then Mac picked up.
"Taylor." Mac was all business.
"Mac, I think you should come down to your office straight away. There's an AD Turgis from the FBI looking for you."
There was a blunt silence. "Okay. I'm there." The line disconnected.
Melinda looked dazed, and tremendously intimidated by AD Turgis. Hawkes took a slim forearm in hand and smiled kindly at her. "Are you alright?" She nodded, smiling tremulously back. Then, Hawkes heard sturdy footsteps from behind. He sighed; he was very relieved to see Mac standing there with his typical glower, hazel eyes narrowed at the group of outsiders in his labs.
AD Turgis swivelled around to confront Mac face to face. "Maclaren."
Mac's facial features stayed passive, but there was a glimmer in his eyes where there wasn't before.
"It's been a while, Jon."
OooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Jon Turgis was once a guy who smiled like it was the greatest fad in the whole freaking world. That in itself was funny, because at the time he was like this, he was a green, fresh-out-of-the-womb Marine who was receiving more shit from his commanding officer than anyone else. His penchant for smiling even when conditions went to the crapper was the major reason why Mac noticed him in the first place. Mac thought Jon was a fucking crazy guy, and Jon was absolutely fine with that. Years later, having travelled to a ton of countries across the world, slept with all the hot local chicks and shot a terrorist or ninety, they were also inseparable friends. After being honourably discharged, they joined New York's finest and became partners in crime fighting.
Jon gradually smiled less and less as the years went by. Mac remembered the case that was the beginning of the end for his friend. A father lost it one rainy night after gambling away all the family money, and in a fit of despair, slaughtered his wife and three children before killing himself. There was so much blood it covered entire walls of the apartment where the murders happened. Mac remembered the anguish in Jon's eyes too; seeing blood spilled from dying soldiers during warfare was one thing, seeing blood spilled from the ruptured bodies of little ones no older than six was something else completely. Mac had nightmares for weeks after the case was closed. At least, he had his wife Claire to soothe him in her loving arms whenever he woke up screaming at the horrors in his mind. Jon had no one.
During the fleeting years there were partners in the NYPD, Mac had sometimes speculated on why Jon'd insisted on going into the homicide department, but never went beyond that. Part of him was afraid to learn whether Jon had developed a predilection for looking at grisly, bloody scenes or missed their Marine days where slaying the enemy with a bullet to the head was part of their everyday job. Part of him was fearful of discovering he might be in the same shoes.
Then, Jon abruptly quit, joining the FBI. Mac walked his own way and delved into forensics and crime scene investigation, becoming both detective and CSI. Over time, communication between them became sparse, but their friendship hardly waned. Jon had been there to enfold him in solid arms and narrate all their fond memories of Claire in the first heartrending months, after he watched her die live on television as the plane crashed into the remaining Tower.
All this time, they had been friends, comrades in arms, even soul mates to a certain extent.
Today was perhaps another story.
"I'm guessing this isn't a social call." Mac shut the glass door to his office, giving them both privacy to talk.
Jon smirked mirthlessly. "Don't play dumb, Maclaren. Ya know why I'm here."
Mac dumped a folder or two onto the table before him, lips a thin line of stiffness. "All I know is, the FBI's blocked access to the identity information of a victim in one of my cases." Mac sat down in his chair, looking hard at the AD on the opposite side of the table. "And I need to know that information. I need to find out who the murderer is because whatever he or she left behind on the victim nearly killed one of my own."
Jon simply stared at him.
"Here's the story. We find a naked body covered in an unidentifiable substance. The ME is not only unable to figure out the cause of death, the victim's gender becomes questionable after autopsy is done for further investigation. Oh -" - Mac waved one hand in a circular motion - "Let's not forget the very unknown substance slathered all over the victim somehow exploded while one of my CSIs was studying it. And nearly killed him." Mac slammed his hand down onto the table, lips downturned in a palpable scowl.
"The way I see it, Jon, I think I deserve some answers, don't you think?" Mac's hazel eyes were ablaze.
"Nope. This case is now outta your jurisdiction." Jon's eyes were colder and more distant than Mac had ever seen them. "I'm here for all the material related to it. Research, physical evidence, autopsy reports, the works. And yeah, the body too."
"What?"
The hulk of a man exhaled. "Ya heard me, Maclaren. Everything. Order came directly from the top." Jon took out a piece of paper from inside his macintosh and tossed it into Mac's face. "And this ain't a request."
Glancing over it, Mac was at a loss for words.
"This is insane!"
Stella stormed into Mac's office, teeth bared in an angry rictus and figurative claws out for a kill. "This is INSANE! MAC! They're taking all our work and evidence on the investigation into the explosion! And our homicide case!" Stella spied her first victim.
"You! What the HELL do you think you're doing!"Only a woman like Stella would have the guts to yell at someone like AD Turgis. "Your men just compromised all our hard work!"
"Stella -"
Stella was in full rage mode, which didn't seem to upset Jon in the slightest. Mac couldn't believe it, but his former partner was genuinely smiling at her while Stella vented her frustration at him.
"Stella!"
His Greek CSI partner finally clamped her mouth shut.
"We have no choice." Mac saw the displeasure in her striking green eyes and knew exactly how she felt. Stella glared intensely at Jon for five whole seconds before stomping away, flinging his office door so hard he half-expected it to break. A few lab technicians who'd come out to see what the commotion was about wisely stepped out of her way.
Jon whistled, watching Stella's retreating back. "Whoa. Now that's a woman." Jon turned back towards him and was instantly back to his remote self. "Look, ya know how it is. I'm just doin' my job here."
Mac sighed and rubbed at his temple. "Jon, what the fuck is going on here?"
For the first time since Jon popped up at the labs, his grey eyes were filled with empathy. All of a sudden, Mac was looking at his old friend as he really knew him once more. "Need-to-know basis, buddy. I can't tell ya anythin'. I'm sayin' this to ya as a friend, stop all your investigations into this case and move on. A'ight?"
Mac kept his lips pursed. One of the FBI agents appeared at the scene, nodding at Jon. Jon took this as a signal and got up from his seat.
"It ain't worth it to chase this, ya hear me?" Jon bent over the table, thrust himself into Mac's personal space and stared Mac straight in the eyes. "The vultures are circling the dead."
With that, AD Turgis trudged out of his office, followed by the four FBI agents who had bags or boxes in their grasp. Mac sat at his table, still hearing Jon's last statement in his head, lost in a time when he was still in the Marines with his friend. 'The vultures are circling the dead' had been one of the codes they'd used between them whenever communication was jeopardized in any way.
His former partner was warning Mac he and his entire lab were now under scrutiny by the higher-ups in power. A throbbing vein in his temple marked the onset of a severe migraine. He never imagined he would become embroiled in some secret government conspiracy, of all the damn things. Mac sighed again.
In any case, Danny was okay now and would be back to work in mere days.
Right?