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 12
He loved his life. Once upon a very, very long time.
The last time Danny could honestly say he felt happy was when he went to a Mets game with his dad, over half of his lifetime ago. He didn't remember much of that day, except he laughed a lot, ate too many hotdogs and caught the home ball bare-handed, against all odds. Most of all, he remembered his dad's burly arm across his shoulders, his warm company as they eagerly watched the game together. How it seemed like time stood still while they whooped with joy at the ball he held and hugged. How it felt like they would stay together for all time.
It hurt him intolerably to even think about his father most times, but when the days grew too cold and the nights were overflowing with inescapable nightmares, that sole memory of love got him through like nothing else could. Reliving his dad's embrace was better than remembering the sensation of dark red liquid soaking his clothes, the painful scrapes on his knees as he knelt over his dad and cried into the unmoving chest.
Flack once asked him why he was never squicked out by any of the dead bodies he saw, even the horrific, stomach-churning ones. Danny didn't have the heart to tell him nothing could ever top the sight of the bloody mushiness inside his father's skull leaking out onto the worn pavement.
Happiness and love were words that no longer existed in Danny Messer's vocabulary the moment his father died in his arms.
Danny gulped down his sixth shot of tequila that night, banging the small glass cup onto the counter hard. He was going insane from boredom from being caged inside what Flack said was one of Mac's secret hideouts, an apartment in an indistinguishable, grey building located in a secluded area on the edge of Brooklyn. Danny didn't believe him at first, until he got inside the apartment and saw the grand interiors and array of weapons on display. Only Mac would hang two razor-sharp scimitars on the wall and deem it interior decoration. Being surrounded by so many things that radiated Mac also put him on an edge he couldn't shrug off.
So, against Mac's orders, here he was in some dim dump of a bar, drinking himself stupid and fighting off some of the repulsive patrons who assumed him having humongous breasts meant he was a slut looking to get molested and laid.
He needed to get drunk. Fast.
"Gimme another." He carelessly pushed the glass in the direction of the bartender, who was cleaning a beer mug with a green cloth. "Hell, just gimme the whole fuggin' bottle."
"Honey, you can't even sit upright. You sure you want some more?" Gertrude. The bartender's name was Gertrude, Danny's alcohol-dazed brain informed him.
Danny let out one of his patented joyless cackles. "Trus' me, it ain't the alcohol makin' me feel like shit, fo' shure." He tugged at the lapels of his sport jacket in a self-conscious manner. It was totally ineffective in hiding his … busty assets. He initially wanted to wear his large CSI coat, and then realized it'd be instant career suicide should someone in his line of work recognize it, and him. Not to mention how much damage it'd do to the lab. And Mac.
Gertrude reluctantly dispensed another shot of Tres Generaciones tequila. If Danny was going to get drunk, he was gonna do it with the best damn tequila in the world.
"Last one," Gertrude warned.
Danny elevated the full glass in a mock salute, then downed it in one go.
Gertrude shook her head at his antics. "Whoever the asshole is, he's not worth drinking yourself until you drop. Do you have someone to drive you home?"
Danny's muddled brain took a few minutes to process her comment and query. "Asshole? Ain't nobody makin' me drink. Drinkin' 'cos I hate these." - he pointed at the mounds on his chest - "Hate 'em."
The blonde bartender chuckled. "Do you have any idea how many women would kill for breasts like those?"
"Yeah well, I'm special. And I. Hate. Them." He shoved the empty glass at Gertrude again. "Nobody drivin' me. I can walk. I'm alone." He laid his head onto folded arms on the counter, shoulder slumped. "Gimme another."
Danny felt a sympathetic hand on his hair. "What's your name, sweetie?" He felt like weeping at the knowledge that minimal physical contact coming from a stranger already brought him so much consolation.
"Danny." His voice was muffled by the sleeves of his jacket.
"Danny. Short for Danielle?"
Danny didn't bother to correct her.
"You want to talk about what's troubling you?" Gertrude stroked his semi-long hair, and he didn't bother to tell her to stop either. "Maybe I can help."
"I can't. And you can't." He kept his face buried in the crook of his arm. "It's … complicated."
"Well, we won't know for sure until you try."
At length, Danny returned to a semi-upright position. He wasn't wearing his spectacles, so Gertrude was simply a friendly blur of blonde, black and white from her bartender attire. There was something else in his eyes that made the blurriness worse, but his brain wouldn't let him reckon why. Danny entwined the fingers of his left hand into his hair. It had grown some more in the past three days, since Flack sneaked him out of his own apartment and away from the Feds monitoring his home.
"Ya wanna hear my sob story? 'Kay, here it is." Danny sniffed. "Jus' two weeks ago, I was a regular guy with a job and a routine and things were normal. Then there was an explosion. I got hurt, ended up in the hospital couple a' days. Got out, started feelin' crappy …" - he unconsciously wrapped his arms over his chest - "Slept a lot, then I woke up and found boobs on me where there was none." Danny sniffed again. "I did say I'm a guy, didn't I?"
When Gertrude didn't immediately reply, Danny sneered at her. "So, go 'head. Laugh at me. Go on."
"You want my honest answer? I'm hardly the one to judge you, or anyone else. From what you said, you didn't even voluntarily want this. That's nothing to laugh about, hon." Gertrude smiled benevolently at him. "Lots of transsexual guys just like you come here and drink and tell me about how they used to be regular guys unhappy with their bodies before they went for the gender-change operation and all that. Except, in their case, they want giant, gorgeous breasts like yours."
Danny closed his eyes. "I didn't go for a boob job." He opened them again, sullen. "And I'm not a transsexual."
"Okay, okay," Gertrude replied in a conciliatory way. "So if you hate them so much, why not go to a plastic surgeon about it? I'm sure they can fix you back up."
" … I can't. I go to the doctors, I'll be locked up in a secret lab and become a guinea pig for their experiments for good."
"Sweetie, that's not true! Not all doctors discriminate their patients like that. I'm sure I can help you find one who'll look beyond the prejudice."
Danny rubbed his face with a trembling hand. "It-it's okay. Like I said, ya can't help me." He gave her a quavering smile. "Thanks anyway."
The sudden reek of alcohol and sweat hit him hard, and his face scrunched up into an aggravated scowl. Oh great, another lusty patron looking for some tender, loving care in size DD.
"Hi, sugar. Howzibout you and I go to the restrooms fer some fun?" Gross, this guy was not only more hairy than a gorilla, he had a pot belly bigger than that of a pregnant woman's.
Danny gave the jerk-off the third finger, not making an effort to even look the guy in the face. "Fuck. Off."
"Aww, c'moooon, I'll treat ya real nice." The guy's slurred voice took on a sadistic tone. "I'll make sure ya like it." Danny gritted his teeth at the feeling of the jerk's hand on his lower back.
"Back off, douchebag," Gertrude cut in sharply. "She said no. And hey. You're in the wrong fucking bar."
The hairy beast of a guy turned on the bartender, spitting as he bellowed, "Go fuck yourself, bitch! I been watching this one, and I know she ain't a dyke like you and the rest!"
Wha? A dyke?
"I ain't scared of you women," the asshole carried on, fisting a hand in Danny's jacket. "Not even the likes of your kind."
Danny struggled to get out of the guy's grip, cursing himself for drinking so much and leaving himself so weak and susceptible. God, he was so exhausted. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Flack again.
"You may be unafraid of New York city women … but how about one from the countryside, hmm?"
Danny hung his head low. He was being saved from a drunken ass by two women. This was humiliating. He was grateful Flack wasn't here to witness the whole debacle. The taller detective would either laugh his head off at him or take his gun and blow the heads off a few people. Preferably the bastard who was clinging on to him like a revolting, slimy leech.
"Oh yeah? I ain't scared of ya either, ya little twig." The jerk finally let go of Danny's jacket.
The next second, the pot-bellied ass was sailing backwards in the air and hurtling to the floor in a hurting heap, an audible crack echoing in the bar as the guy's tailbone connected hard with the concrete floor. A slim figure instantaneously leapt onto the sprawled drunk, slender but lethal hands tight around the guy's obese neck.
"Now you listen to me, you fat tub of filthy lard. You think you're some hot shot macho man just because you have a dick? I bet you've never known a real woman in your entire sad existence. I bet you've never ever seen the grisly remains of a man hacked to death with a meat cleaver. I bet you've never come face to face with a giant black bear and lived to tell about it." The mysterious woman tightened her hold around his neck, strangling him and causing his piggy eyes to bulge out. "I have. And I beat the shit out of lousy dirtbags like you as a hobby."
She chucked him back onto the ground, stood up and gave him a swift kick in the balls. His howl made everyone in the bar cringe with empathy. "Get the hell out of here before I do something really bad to your family jewels. Now."
Whimpering pathetically, the fat drunk struggled to his feet and limped away as quickly as he could, rushing for the doors out of the bar. The moment he was gone, the whole bar erupted into cheers for the brave woman who'd taken on a man nearly two heads taller than her.
"I'll be damned." Gertrude was grinning from ear to ear. "Sweetheart, I'll be yours any day."
The woman laughed jovially. "Sorry, I'm already spoken for."
Throughout the short fight, Danny had his head averted and his hands over his ears. Mortified didn't even begin to describe how self-conscious he was right now; he prayed for a hole to open up and swallow him so he didn't have to face the other customers of the bar.
A hand settled itself lightly on his shoulder. Damnit, no such luck.
"Hey, are you alright? He's gone."
Danny continued to look downwards at the floor, face heated. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He decided it would be incredibly rude of him not to look her in the eye to show her his gratitude.
He gazed up.
And his heart nearly jumped out of his throat.
"Danny?"
What were the chances he would meet her in an establishment like this, of all places?
" … Lindsay."
OooooooooooooooooooooO
For someone who'd recently moved to the city, Lindsay had one heck of a nice ride. Danny remembered her mentioning an uncle living here. He wondered hazily if he was really loaded and purchased the car for her. Unless Mac had been bamboozling him on his wages, there was no way in hell Lindsay could afford a high-class ride like the one he sat in on their current pay.
Man, he was hanging out with all the wrong people.
"Where do you live?" Lindsay nudged him. "I'll take you home."
Danny tried his best to recall the address of Mac's hideout apartment under his alcohol-induced stupor. Shit. He never jotted it down.
"I … I dunno." He shrugged noncommittally. He was so drained. All he wanted to do now was collapse into bed and sleep for a week straight.
Lindsay was silent for a while. Then she said in an optimistic voice, "Right. I'll take you back to my place. I have a really comfortable couch you can sleep on. No change of clothes though." She smiled.
Danny was so weary all he could do was reply with a small, "Hhhn." As much as her overt cheerfulness grated on his nerves sometimes, he thought she looked cute when she smiled.
"Then in the morning …" - Lindsay glanced sideways at the DD-sized breasts on Danny's chest - "We're going to have a really long talk. Does Mac even know what's happened to you?"
Danny's eyelids drooped dangerously. "Yesh." Wow, the leather skins of the seats felt great. He was so going to convince Flack to acquire leather seats for his car too.
"Okay." Lindsay started her car, easing onto the road. "You're going to be alright, Danny."
Danny made a vague noise from his throat. Right on the brink of sleep, the subtle hum of the car's engine easing him like a mother's lullaby, a curious thought suddenly pop into mind.
"Montana … what were you doin' at a lesbian bar?"
Even as he slipped into slumber, Danny could literally hear her grin from a mile away.
"Messer, if you can't figure that out by now, you're really drunk."