To DD or Not to DD
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (yep, back down for this chapter)
Pairing: Danny/Flack, Danny/Mac
Content Warning: Cracktasticness, odd body changes, language. Did I mention cracktasticness?
Spoilers: Set after 'Necrophilia Americana', 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 ¼ 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.
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Author's Notes: Okay, you may have noticed the updates aren't quite as fast. That's because the story is nearing an end. Yep, in about … uhm, five or six chapters, I think. The last one promises to be one porntastic one. It's already intimidating me like crazy. Anyways, the story still remains unbetaed until now. So, my apologies for any errors.
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Chapter 25
Mac was standing at the window, his mien grim and discontented. The setting sun shed distorted splashes of saturated orange and purple hues onto his static figure.
Lindsay was sitting on the sofa next to Flack, cupping her face with her hands and appearing just as unhappy as her supervisor. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun on her head. One of her feet shuffled the floor.
Flack sat back on the couch, back ramrod straight, staring with wide, blank eyes at nothing. No one commented on his open shirt that exposed his flat chest and rippled tummy.
As for Stella, she leaned on the wall beside the semi-open door to the apartment bedroom, arms folded on her chest. She could hear Hawkes moving around adroitly in the room while he looked over Danny to see what had caused the CSI to suddenly fall unconscious like he did.
Stella had been at the lab with Mac working on one of their latest cases when Hawkes virtually smashed his way in through the door and slammed into their table with a painful thwack to pass Flack's panicked phonecall message. She and Mac instantaneously dropped everything and assigned some of the other lab technicians to handle or watch over their tests.
Work could wait.
Death did not.
Stella made a mental reminder to talk to Mac about giving that lead young tech at least a raise or even a promotion, for volunteering to help them with their workload so often without complaint. Chad. Yeah, that was his name.
Mac drove his SUV like a frigging psychopath, almost running over a group of teenage girls wearing clothes even Stella grimaced about. And she was one who thought wearing low-cut tops to work was totally fine. Usually, Hawkes was the first to balk at such road manners, or lack thereof, due to his minor motion sickness, but the former ME didn't utter a peep. He was hardly thinking about his own discomfort.
Now, only a half hour later, the entire team was over at Mac's hideout apartment holding their breaths over the questionable fate of one of their own.
The bedroom creaked open. Stella looked in and saw Danny lying still on the bed, wrapped up in a beige blanket. His eyes were closed. He appeared exceedingly pale, and had less color than the cloth around him.
Flack instantly leapt onto his feet, stomping towards a silent Hawkes. Lindsay also stood up, while Mac pivoted and looked inquiringly at Hawkes for answers. Stella went to stand next to Hawkes, resting one hand on his shoulder.
"We need to get Danny to a hospital. Now."
Lindsay gasped. Mac's grim expression contorted into a deep scowl. Stella's hand tautened on Hawkes' shoulder. Flack halted before Hawkes, eyes glassy and moist.
"What's wrong with him?" Flack's fisted hands were shaky. "He was just fine-" Flack broke off.
Hawkes gazed with compassionate, brown eyes at the tall detective. "He's bleeding internally. He's showing all the signs; clammy pale skin, rapid pulse, and his abdomen's swelled up." Hawkes looked around at the others, mouth downturned in a powerless expression. "Without the proper equipment, I-I don't even know where to begin searching for the exact source of the bleeding or stop it. We have to bring Danny to a hospital immediately."
Hawkes swallowed visibly. "Or he'll die."
Flack's eyes screwed shut and he turned away from everyone, hunched over and gripping his upper arms tightly. Mac's expression didn't change, but his hands knotted into white-knuckled fists. Lindsay looked like she was about to shed tears. Stella knew that, while Lindsay was a new member of the team, Danny was one of those people who'd grown on her over time. Danny grew on everyone over time, including herself.
"If we take him to the hospital, the FBI will be on him in minutes." Flack's voice was gravelly and tremulous. "I won't let those fuckin' bastards take him away and USE HIM AS A LAB RAT!"
Hawkes' professionalism kicked into full power. "I understand, we all feel the same, but Danny needs emergency medical attention." Hawkes squeezed Flack's forearm in empathy. "At least at the hospital, his internal bleeding can be stopped. We can buy him more time."
"But … if it's the nanotechnology that's causing the bleeding …" Lindsay said. "It won't matter if we bring him to the hospital. The doctors won't have a clue what to do."
Hawkes sighed. "I know. But it's the best chance Danny's got right now."
"We're gonna find that Goddamed bitch right now." Flack was buttoning up his shirt. It was an eerily calm action that contradicted the increasing rage in his big, blue eyes and low voice. "I don't care how many Feds are watchin' her. I'll mow 'em all down to get to her if I have to."
"What if the address Hillborne gave us was wrong?"Stella said worriedly. She glanced at Mac. "We haven't had an opportunity to check it out." She sighed in frustration. "If it's wrong …" Stella trailed off. She couldn't complete the sentence.
"Mac." Surprisingly, it was Flack who turned to the head CSI. "Whadda we do?"
Everyone looked towards the quiet, ruminating man, seeking guidance in this bleak hour.
Mac stood there without a word for another minute, took a deep breath then stalked over to a locked wooden cabinet on the far side of the living room. He wound the key in the golden lock once, opening the ornate doors to reveal an enormous compartment packed with an astounding range of firearms and bladed armaments.
Lindsay was staring at the display with humongous eyes. "Whoa … you weren't kidding about owning all those weapons, were you?"
Mac smirked minusculely at her. He picked up a black nine millimeter pistol, checked it and then pitched it fluidly at Flack along with a full clip. Flack caught the gun with his left hand, then the clip after passing the gun to his right hand. Flack removed the clip from the gun to see its clip was also full.
"Mac. It doesn't have a serial number," Flack said.
Mac looked meaningfully at the younger detective. "I know."
Mac examined three more pistols, then handed one each to Stella and Hawkes. Lindsay didn't protest at not getting one. Stella, as well as Mac, had noticed the uneasiness in her eyes when Flack mentioned the lack of a serial number on the gun he received. Hawkes was not comfortable about the issue too.
"We … we don't have to use these, do we?" Hawkes held the gun as if it was branding him. "We're police officers. Even if the FBI is responsible for what happened to Danny, we can't simply open fire on them!"
"Don't worry, Doc." Flack smirked callously. "You can let me do the shootin'." He cocked the gun. The sharp sound resonated loudly. "I promise I'll only aim between their legs."
"No casualties." Mac's tone was stern. "The only reason we're using these guns instead of our official ones is to make sure we can't be traced if things go out of control. It's already bad enough Hillborne has us in his sights …" Mac's face twisted in disgust as he said the name. "He does not need more ammo to nail us."
"Danny's life is on the line now. That little brat had better appreciate what we're doing for him."
Stella smiled at Mac's attempt to lighten the oppressive, grave mood. In all their years together, it was always the rare moments when Mac allowed himself to really smile or crack a joke that Stella cherished most. People often forgot Mac was simply a man with multi-layered feelings and secrets beneath the detached veneer.
Flack checked that the safety was still on, pushed the clip back in and put the gun in the waistband of his trousers. He walked on long, lanky legs to the bedroom. Stella stared at the gun in her hand, then placed it on a shelf near the bedroom door. Stella followed Flack a few minutes later, anxious to see Danny up close for herself.
She stopped at the doorway at the scene of Flack kneeling at the bedside, lovingly stroking the comatose man's brown hair. Danny stirred, lips moving soundlessly. Flack tilted forward to hear what Danny was mumbling, but evidently couldn't make out the words. Flack caressed Danny's ashen cheek with his thumb, imploring Danny to say it again. When Danny stayed lifeless, Flack bowed his head and rubbed his forehead to Danny's, nestling his face against Danny's cheek.
It was an incredibly intimate act that made Stella feel like an intruder on a very private moment.
Flack lifted his head after a while and slowly spun his head to look at Stella. His eyes were puffy but dry. Stella's heart ached at the small, brave smile on Flack's haggard face.
"Do ya mind gettin' a pair of socks from his luggage? His feet are like ice."
Stella went to the black, zipped bag at the end of the bed and dug around for some socks. Her vision was blurry, but she found a pair swiftly nonetheless. Flack was already carefully pulling Danny into his arms, tucking the unconscious man's head under his chin and arranging the blanket folds to keep the CSI warm. Stella gently tugged the black socks up Danny's chilled feet, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear them.
When Stella was done, Flack shifted an arm under Danny's knees and effortlessly raised himself to his feet with his load. Hawkes was at the doorway.
"Mac and Lindsay are already downstairs in his SUV. He knows a shortcut from here to the house where the nanotechnologist is."
Stella nodded in acknowledgement. Hawkes stepped aside for Flack to stride through, then shadowed the tall homicide detective closely behind.
Stella was the last to leave the empty apartment. Just as she left the bedroom, she realized her official gun was still in its holster at her side. She saw the gun Mac'd given her earlier on the shelf where she left it. Staring at it, the enormity of the whole situation was beginning to hit her like a twenty-ton anvil. If things went to the crapper, not only were they going to lose Danny, they would stand to lose their jobs and even serve prison time for illegally breaking and entering an FBI safe house.
Not to mention what Flack was capable of doing with his current mindframe. As far as the guy was concerned, he had nothing more to lose. Stella was dead certain he meant every word when he said he would do all the shooting. He had every right to be enraged.
Danny was dying.
And it was all due to the pride and wickedness of a single woman who was already responsible for the death of at least one person. Stella had the horrible feeling the woman's husband and Danny weren't the only victims of the dangerous technology she and her dead hubby were developing.
Stella gritted her teeth. She went up to the open artillery cabinet and caught sight of Mac's and Hawkes' official guns at the base of the compartment. She pulled out her own and placed it next to Mac's, sliding the other gun into the holster.
All bets were off now.
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The house was an ordinary, beige-colored wooden townhouse in the area of Red Hook, Brooklyn. Flack's brain was noting down all the details of the place even as he hugged Danny close to his body, his senses fine-tuned to the smallest changes in the bundled man's breathing and movement.
It was squarish in shape, with three white-framed windows on the first floor and two on the ground floor. A simple, dark brown wooden front door was directly beneath the left upper window. A short flight of terracotta steps lead to the door from undersized, black front gates. Attached to the sides of the gates and encircling the house was a low wall of bricks that marked the fence. Next to the flight of steps was a little garden filled with potted, iridescent flowers and a single willowy tree in the center.
A childhood memory popped up out of the blue. His parents had once searched for a new house to live in when he was about seven years old. They'd traveled here to this part of Brooklyn and inspected a house very similar to their destination, which was a couple of car lengths up the street from where Mac had parked the SUV. Yeah, that was it. His mum had called it a Red Hook clapperboard house. The house might very well be over a hundred years old.
Mac had shut off the lights inside and outside the car. He'd also purposely parked the car away from the street lamp so they were concealed in the shadows. There were other cars on both sides of the street, so it was safe to assume this was a populated locale. The appearance of their vehicle wouldn't be much of a surprise or great cause for suspicion. Fate was kind to them that night. There were so many cars in the area because one of the houses a little further down the road was apparently holding a party of sorts. There was a large group of people on the front lawn of that house, chatting and laughing together.
However, it was also as much a disadvantage as it was an advantage. If a shootout actually broke out between them and the FBI agents stationed in that house guarding the scientist, innocent people could get injured. Or worse, identify Mac and the others. Everyone was thankful Mac had his car's windows tinted so no one could look inside.
From inside the dim interior of the car, Flack peered with narrowed eyes at the hideout house. The lights were on. Flack could see shadows flitting past the curtained windows. Flack's trigger finger itched just imagining the look of horror and fright on the bitch's face when he stormed the place.
"Danny?"
Flack felt Hawkes reach out to press his fingers against Danny's neck.
"No change. But he's not deteriorating," the former ME answered Mac.
Mac turned back to face his three CSIs and homicide detective in the back. The back seat had been folded so that there was more space to fit the four people. Flack leaned against the front passenger seat where Stella sat, with his long legs partially drawn up and supporting Danny's head and upper body. The rest of the unconscious man's body lay at a near forty-five degree angle on the car floor, feet pointing towards one corner of the car. Hawkes sat behind Mac's driver seat, so he could be near Danny at all times to check on his state. Lindsay sat opposite Flack in the cargo area, next to Danny's lower legs and feet. She had steadied Danny's legs every time the SUV hit a rocky patch along their journey.
"Alright, listen up." Glancing at Mac, Flack knew this was not Mac the CSI supervisor who was speaking. It was Mac the Marine. "Lindsay and Hawkes, you'll stay in here with Danny. Flack, Stella and I will go inside the house and deal with whoever's in there."
Mac avoided Stella's intense, questioning gaze. "We'll try our best to avoid a violent confrontation, but if that happens …" Mac looked at Lindsay. "Lindsay, I want you in the driver's seat once the three of us get out. Hawkes will monitor Danny's condition. If either of you don't get a call from me in ten minutes, get yourselves the hell out of this place and go to the nearest hospital. Do you understand me?"
Lindsay gulped inwardly. "Yes, sir."
Mac shifted his eyes to Hawkes. "Sheldon, pray that you won't have to use that gun."
Hawkes pursed his lips, eyes filled with apprehension and worry for all his friends, especially the one Flack held in his arms.
Mac looked at Flack last. "It's time."
Flack clung onto Danny for a few more seconds, then reluctantly released him over into Hawkes' open arms. His hands reflexively curled into angry fists at the loss of physical contact. The rage within him boiled to an unruly peak as the tender memory of holding Danny in his arms under such different circumstances materialized so vividly in his mind. He stretched out a hand and affectionately stroke one hand down Danny's pallid face, unmindful of who saw it. He stared hard at the man whom he'd claimed as his lover just hours before, memorizing every inch of Danny's face. Then he flung open the SUV's side door and got out, his blue eyes hurting with a prickly pain.
Mac and Stella were already outside standing by the headlights. Lindsay got out of the same passenger door Flack used and went over to the driver's door.
"Good luck, guys." Lindsay's expression was an odd combination of anxiety and hope. She sent an encouraging smile towards Flack, then hopped inside and closed the door.
"We'll go in through the back," Mac said softly. "Follow my lead, and let me handle the agents we come across first. Back me up only when I say so. And, Flack." Mac stared him in the eye. "No shooting unless it's absolutely necessary, got it?"
Flack drew out his gun, unlocking its safety. If absolutely necessary meant Flack bumped into that greasy asshole of a Fed Agent Summers again and the guy was asking for it, oh, he could do absolutely necessary.
Flack bared his teeth. They gleamed in the semi-darkness.
"Don't worry, Mac. I got it."
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"WOOOO, lookit the jugs on THAT babe!"
Agent Carlo Alvarez rolled his dark brown eyes as his partner, Agent Duke Summers, chucked popcorn into his gaping, grease-covered mouth and gestured at the television that was featuring some beauty pageant. Carlo never had an interest in these types of shows. He believed they showed women in a negative light and emphasized that women were only worth being loved if they were physically attractive by world standards, looked like sticks and spent thousands of dollars getting teeth that looked like bleached dentures. He also believed all this was complete bullshit television was wrongfully forcefeeding young girls and women these days.
What was the point of wasting all that money on something as fragile as physical looks? Eventually, even the most expensive plastic surgery would fail to stop the ravages of time. People should be making more of an effort to make themselves beautiful on the inside. Didn't they understand that inner beauty was what made a person truly beautiful?
He thought about his wife, Rosalia, with a fond smile, ignoring the revolting chewing sounds from beside him. Sure, she was no beauty pageant queen. But she was the queen of his heart who loved him like he was a king, and that was all that mattered to him.
Unfortunately for Carlo, Duke was an asshole of a guy who believed in the total opposite of everything he did.
"Yeeeeeeeechh, now THAT one's a pig. Geddoff the stage, ya ugly MUTT!"
Carlo glared at Duke from the corner of his eye. "You know, the good Lord says, 'Judge not, lest ye be judged.'" Carlo grimaced as Duke shoved more popcorn into his mouth and belched loudly. "Perhaps you should look at yourself first before calling somebody else a pig."
The cynical connotation slid off his oblivious partner like the oil all over his mouth. "Awww, c'mon, Alvarez. This is a fuckin' PAGEANT. They're askin' for it!"
Carlo had to admit Duke had a valid point.
A noisy yawn from behind them drew Agent Alvarez's attention. He twisted around on the couch to see Agent Donovan Lucas slouching on a chair at the coffee table near the couch, propping his head on his hand and inches away from falling right off his seat in drowsiness. Carlo smirked in sympathy. Poor Donovan was right out of the academy and had been longing for some heart-pumping action since his graduation. Rookies were always like that. Thinking they were immortal and that being a part of some violent shootout would make them men. He couldn't blame them. Once upon a time, he was like that too.
"Hey, Lucas, why don't you just go upstairs and retire for the night, already?" Carlo asked with a smile.
Donovan blearily opened his eyes. He made a noncommittal grunt. "Boss says we gotta stay down 'ere." Their boss was, of course, Agent Turgis, who was currently upstairs with Mrs. Kovacs.
Agent Alvarez shook himself forcefully just thinking about that awful thing that considered itself a pretty woman. She was possibly the best reminder of why natural, goodhearted women were really the best kind of women in the world.
"HEY! Lucas! Go get s'more coffee from the kitchen!" Duke hollered, not even bothering to glance away from the television.
Carlo sent Lucas an apologetic look. Lucas merely shrugged and made a bored face. Lucas was young but he was a good man. As long as he didn't end up being stuck with Summers for too long, he was going to be fine. Agent Lucas pushed himself off the chair and shuffled to the kitchen, yawning again. Carlo turned back to the television, sighing. Oh great, the swimsuit segment. He was so going to enjoy Duke's commentary on this. Not.
Three minutes passed.
Duke was ripping a new one at the young, and probably underaged, model on the screen, while ogling her at the same time. Agent Alvarez expertly ignored his FBI partner and gazed in the direction of the kitchen in wariness.
That was weird. It didn't take this long to get three cups of coffee. Unless Lucas actually fell asleep in there. Carlo was about to get off the couch when Agent Summers yelled again.
"HEY! LUCAS! What's takin' so long!"
There was no reply.
Agent Alvarez stood up, drawing out his gun. His partner carelessly dumped the carton of popcorn on the floor, pulling out his own weapon. He treaded cautiously towards the kitchen entrance, gun gripped tightly before him as his training taught him.
The ear-splitting scream that blasted at him shocked Carlo so badly he thought he'd jumped out of his own skin. His grasp on his gun weakened. Beside him, he heard the ringing sound of metal striking the wooden floor. Duke cursed fluently and roughly, obviously shaken by the scream as well.
In less than one-one hundredth of a second after the scream, a hazy figure emerged out of nowhere and barreled straight into Agent Summers, sending his rotund partner flying nearly a dozen feet in the air and precisely onto the television set. There was a reverberating crash on impact, and a funny conking sound when Agent Summers' head thumped into the wall. The television fizzed out with a spark and boom, crushed to pieces under Duke's weight. The guy was out cold on the floor.
Carlo yelped in pain at the fast blow to his right wrist. The gun fell out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. A second speedy punch to his face sent him plunging to the floor in agony. He'd been beaten hard by the trainers at Quantico, but he'd never felt a blow as powerful as that. He lay vulnerably on the floor, staring up with slitted eyes at his attacker.
Agent Alvarez half-anticipated to see some super ninja in a black costume, and was stunned to see it was just a man in khaki trousers, a checkered shirt and long coat. The man's hazel eyes looked down at him. Carlo swore the man was trying to make a silent apology with the expression in them.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON HERE!"
Carlo was glad he was down for the count. His boss was a frightening force of destruction when he was mad. He distinctly heard four different sets of footsteps. One belonged to Agent Turgis.
"Oh my GOD! It's HIM! He's come to KILL MEEEEE! DO SOMETHING, AGENT TURGIS!"
Okay. One pair belonged to the plastic woman.
"Lay down your gun and put your hands up! NOW!"
Carlo moved his eyes and looked at the man with the hazel eyes. Nope, he wasn't the one shouting so there was another man in the place. Third person.
"DO IT!"
Ah. There was also another woman apart from Mrs. Spoilt Barbie. The fourth.
A thunk indicated his superior had put down his gun on the floor. Agent Alvarez slowly shifted his head to get a better view of the whole scenario. He frowned at the smile on Agent Turgis' face. What the?
"Maclaren." Jon guffawed. "I see your Screaming Mac Attack is as effective as ever."
His assailant, Maclaren, didn't laugh along. "We need Mrs. Kovacs' help."
"What are you waiting for! KILL THEM!" By God, she was irritating.
"Shut. Up." Carlo literally heard the Kovacs woman wither at the fury in Agent Turgis' command. Agent Turgis turned back to face the man called Maclaren. Carlo now saw the other two strangers who'd followed this Maclaren in. One was a young man with dark, short hair and large blue eyes, aiming his gun at both his supervisor and their charge, but mostly at the blonde woman. The other was a stunning woman with a full head of wavy hair, also aiming her gun in the same direction.
"Figures you'd find this place one way or another." Jon calmly glanced over Maclaren and his cohorts. "What's goin' on? You wouldn't pull this kinda shit unless it was bad."
"My CSI is dying, Jon." Ah. This Maclaren person personally knew his boss. Carlo could hear it in the way he spoke to Agent Turgis. "Please. He needs help. We have nowhere else to go." Carlo could also hear how difficult it must have been for the man to plead this way.
His superior was silent, his face an emotionless mask.
Then, the colossal man said, "They're outside in the getaway car, aren't they? Betcha even gave them a time limit 'fore they oughta get the fuck outta here." Agent Turgis grinned. "Call 'em." He glanced at the young man and wavy-haired woman, even winking at the lady. "Putcher guns down. I ain't gonna hurt ya."
Still lying on the floor, eyes starting to flutter close, Agent Alvarez observed Maclaren taking out his phone, a very relieved light in his hazel eyes.
"Hawkes. It's clear. Bring Danny in."