To DD or Not to DD
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (yep, also 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 ... 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: Nyohohohoh. More DannyFlack action in the next chapter! But in the mean time, here's the, uh, climax to the whole storyline. Or whatever the term is. And thank you to all the great reviews! I appreciate them!
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Chapter 26
One minute into the break-in, Lindsay was drumming her fingers nervously on the grey steering wheel, chewing on her lower lip. In the back, Hawkes was silent and motionless. Lindsay could sense the tension emanating from the other CSI right through the driver's seat.
Two minutes into the break-in, there was no discernible sign anything had happened. She swiveled around to check on the other two occupants of the vehicle. Danny was still comatose, swaddled in the beige blanket and reclining on his back on Hawkes' sturdy chest, between Hawkes' legs. The former ME also had his arms enfolded securely around Danny, wrists crossed and one hand clutching his mobile phone.
Lindsay touched Hawkes on the shoulder. He smiled at her, although his eyes were downcast.
"He comes and goes. He's holding on."
Lindsay gave Hawkes a small smile. Aiden was right. Messer was a fighter through and through.
Three minutes into the break-in, Danny moaned mutedly and budged his head just a little. It was enough to make Hawkes gaze downwards and pat Danny on his head, lightly calling the unconscious man's name to see if he was awakening. Danny's sunken eyes stayed shut.
Four minutes into the break-in, Hawkes moved to the passenger seat side so he could twist his head and have a better view of the house. He moved Danny onto his side so the man could breathe easier. There was still no outward sign of a fracas in the house.
Five minutes into the break-in, two shadows darted across one of the front windows of the house. Lindsay perked up in her seat, avidly watching that window. Hawkes held his breath.
Five seconds later, Lindsay heard a muffled roar coming from the house that made her flinch. Hawkes' head appeared next to the headrest of the driver's seat.
"What the hell was that?" Hawkes said anxiously.
Lindsay could merely shake her head.
A second later, a blurred shadow sailed past the window and a subdued crash sounded. A significant flash of light burst behind the curtains. Then, nothing.
Nearly six minutes into the break-in, Lindsay started tapping her foot erratically on the accelerator pedal. Hawkes inhaled audibly. More shadows flitted across the curtained windows. A metallic click alerted Lindsay that Hawkes had taken out his gun and unlocked the safety.
Seven minutes into the break-in, Lindsay reached for the key in the ignition. Her rising heartbeat was becoming louder and louder in her ears. Hawkes shifted restlessly. The car engine purred to life.
Seven-and-a-half minutes into the break-in, the phone in Hawkes' hand abruptly rang.
Both of them were startled out of their wits by the unexpected noise of that singer Shakira singing about having breasts as big as mountains. Lindsay couldn't help thinking Hawkes' ringtone was strangely appropriate in some way for Danny's situation. Hawkes swiftly answered the call.
His elated grin said everything to Lindsay. "That was Mac. He wants us to go in."
Lindsay sighed in intense relief and laid her forehead on the steering wheel.
"ThankGod."
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Agent Jon Turgis settled himself on a chair at the coffee table in the living area in an unhurried manner. He'd been about to blow his top at being forced to listen to Delilah Kovacs, unbelievably a professor in nanotechnology like her late husband, whining about not being able to yak with her galpals or why the food wasn't exactly like she wanted. Or why she wasn't allowed to leave the house to go shopping. Or why all the FBI agents were ugly except for Alvarez.
Jon sighed inwardly. He was damn happy to see Maclaren again. Even if his old friend wasn't even supposed to know where the house was, much less crash the place and kick his agents' asses to kingdom come and back. Jon supposed that was one of the reasons why Maclaren Taylor was the only man in the universe who ever succeeded in getting under his skin. And then some.
Agent Summers, that fat tub of lard, was still sprawled on the floor like a slimy, beached whale. Maclaren sure did a number on him. The poor bastard was gonna be feeling the pain for weeks. He wouldn't be surprised if the guy had broken ribs. Agent Alvarez was sitting on the sofa with an ice pack to his inflamed face. Red and bluish bruises were already beginning to show. Alvarez was a good man and agent. Jon was glad Mac had been less ruthless on him.
His Greek goddess was no longer pointing her gun at him, but her glare was just as lethal. Jon grinned impenitently at her. He knew she was a softie at heart. She wouldn't have bothered getting the ice pack for Alvarez otherwise. He wondered if she was available for a date when this whole mess blew over. He bet she was a fiery goddess in bed too. The pretty boy cop still had his gun towards a trembling Mrs. Kovacs, looking like he was waiting for the tiniest excuse to pull the trigger.
Part of Jon wanted to persuade the guy to just do it and get it over and done with.
But that would be foolish, considering the whole fiasco was to save their dying pal.
After disconnecting the call, Maclaren paced over to the front door and opened it, standing there and looking out for something. His friend walked out of sight, talking urgently to someone outside. Then, a woman, with her hair tied in a bun, and a black man in a blue shirt and light brown jacket hastily entered, carrying a limp body wrapped in a blanket between them.
Jon mentally winced. Geez, so this was the Messer guy people were yapping about. He could hardly judge whether those people were right, because the guy looked like he was already dead.
The black man, whom Jon assumed to be the ME called Hawkes, was holding tight to Messer's torso while the woman, who, if he recalled correctly, was the newly hired CSI called Monroe, lifted the legs with her arms. Messer was chalk white compared to the sheet swathing his body and legs. The only color on his face were the dark, deep-set circles surrounding his closed eyes. His head lolled lifelessly on the ME's shoulder as Hawkes and Monroe maneuvered themselves to the vacated couch. Alvarez had darted off the furniture the instant he saw the trio come in.
The kid was in a bad shape. Jon was no ignoramus to the symptoms of a man who was bleeding internally to death. He'd seen enough of his injured friends in war appear that way before they bought the farm. It was no wonder Maclaren was driven to such an extent. After all these years, the stubborn guy was still a damn martyr.
The pretty boy cop, Flack, was beside the couch straight away once the ailing man was resting on the cushions. Flack caressed the man's dark brown hair, whispering encouragements eventhough his friend was utterly oblivious. Jon's gut instincts told him Flack and Messer were way more than just friends. As he quietly gazed at Flack stroking Messer's face, he thought of humid, desert afternoons, loaded weaponry and glazed, hazel eyes staring up at him while his giant hands worked their magic.
With the direct threat of her death taken away, Delilah's spitefulness reared its ugly head and she opened her trap of a mouth.
"Well, well, well. So you've come to me for help." She stared down her nose at Messer like he was nothing more than an insignificant insect. "What's the matter, is he hemorrhaging inside?"
Hawkes glowered harshly at her. "You programmed the nanobots to do that too?"
Delilah smiled cruelly. "But of course. I had to make sure Adam died. No matter what." Her cold eyes glimmered with a disturbing madness. "And look. Now your friend is going to die too."
Hawkes openly displayed his disgust on his visage. His Greek goddess, Bonasera, scowled like a pissed off jaguar. Monroe looked centimeters away from tackling Mrs. Kovacs and beating the snot out of her.
Flack literally acted on it.
Jon was thankful he was still as fast as he was in his younger Marine days. He bulldozed Flack from the side and clamped his tree trunk-like arms around the thrashing detective, narrowly evading a strong fist flying at his face. Flack's gun fell to the floor and skidded a couple of feet away. Boy, the kid was tough for his body shape. Jon maintained his grip until Flack began to tire. From the corners of his silver eyes, Jon could see the detective's friends were hesitant over how to aid him. Even Maclaren held back, but the glint in those hazel eyes of his were different from the fluster in the others. Maclaren understood him and his actions.
"Calm down, kid, if ya wanna help yer buddy. I'm on your side, remember?" Jon whispered into Flack's ear.
Jon unfastened his hold. Flack broke out with an aggravated, wide fling of his arms, winded and pulsing with adrenalin. Jon felt sorry for the poor kid. Both times they'd met, including this time, he'd ended up ramming the guy down like a bullet train. And it wasn't really the kid's fault either.
Delilah opened her yap again. "You're all FINISHED! More FBI agents are already on their way here! And you're ALL going to PRISON!" She thrust one manicured finger at Flack. "Especially YOU!"
Flack's hands balled into fists again. Geez, the bitch never learned.
"Agent Turgis! ARREST THEM!"
Jon simply sat back down on his chair, pulled out a cigarette from a pack in his coat pocket and casually lit it. He blew out rings of smoke, then said, "Nope."
Mrs. Kovacs turned purple, and stomped her foot on the floor. "Do it! It's your JOB!"
"Ya know, for a government lackey, ya sure think you're one important person, don'tcha?" Jon puffed out more smoke from his mouth and nostrils. "I got a newsflash for ya, hon."
He whipped a hand in her direction and crushed her wrist in it. He wrenched her down to her knees. She screamed in fright. He shoved his face at hers, looming over her.
"Ya think you're so important, haahn? Think you're the only scientist 'round who knows how ta work this nanotechnology? Right now as I'm talkin', there're hundreds of others who're studyin' it and learnin' it. It's just a matter of time 'fore you're obsolete. The only reason you ain't dead, is because I haven't reported my final findings to the higher ups. They don't know yet that YOU killed their top nanotechnologist. And guess what? I've got your confession all taped and ready to be mailed at my notice. Ya know what that means? It means I'M the one who's got the winning hand here. It means I'M the one who gets ta decide how long ya get ta live as a free woman before my bosses decide ta end it with a quick shot to the head!"
The entire room was dissonantly silent in the wake of Jon's words. Maclaren and Bonasera stood together, observing Delilah and her reaction. Monroe and Hawkes were at the end of the couch over Messer, while Flack was back kneeling next to him. They stared at Jon with something analogous to trepidation and awe. Alvarez stood in the far corner of the living room, still pressing the ice pack to his face and observing things from a distance. The agent's face was a blank mask.
"So, if I were you, sweetheart …" Jon tightened his grip. The blonde scientist whimpered pathetically. "I'd be very nice to these folks and help their buddy there." Jon made a motion towards Messer. "Seeing as it's YOUR fault all this crap happened in the first place."
Delilah looked petrified for an instant. Then, her tanned face hardened. "I don't have the PDA that controls this particular batch of nanobots anymore."
Jon's lips curved into a fierce smile. "That right?"Keeping one hand around her wrist, he rummaged around in his coat and took out a rectangular, digital device with an LCD screen and some silver buttons at the bottom. "You mean … this one?"
Mrs. Kovacs' face blanched terribly.
Jon barked out a harsh laugh. "Aww, c'mon. You fuckin' hated Adam. I know. I saw it in yer eyes every time Adam was congratulated for the work, and not you. Never figured you'd be crazy 'nough ta kill him the way ya did. But, I did figure out you'd never chuck somethin' as precious as the very object that helped ya to murder him." Jon jiggled the PDA. "Betcha get a thrill just lookin' at this, don'tcha? Like an instant kick every time ya open yer handbag."
The PDA was placed into the nanotechnologist's hands. "Now be a good girl and reverse the damage you've done." Jon then gestured pointedly at Flack. "Or I'll let the pretty boy cop there do whatever he wants with ya."
Delilah was shivering beneath his hand. "Y-you can't … he … he's a police officer!"
Jon made an concurring face. "Yeahyeah, but if I remember correctly …" He smiled mirthlessly. "You got him suspended."
She was now as pale as Messer was.
Everyone in the living room waited with bated breath.
Flack stretched out and grabbed his gun.
For the first time in the whole evening, Mrs. Kovacs showed some sign of astuteness. After glaring furiously at the other occupants of the room, she irately plucked out a plastic rod from the side of the PDA and switched on the device. A flood of numbers, symbols and equations zoomed up the screen. Then, a graphic image of five bars of varying lengths appeared, along with a blank bar at the bottom of the screen where a vertical dash blinked. Using the plastic pointer, she keyed in a set of commands.
There was a beeping sound.
She replaced the plastic rod in its original place.
"It's done. I've also programmed them to self-destruct after that." She gazed at Jon with murderous eyes. "It's harmless."
The atmosphere was both bewildering and anticlimactic.
"That's it? That's all you had to do?" The pretty cop was fucking pissed off. His pistol was in his hand once more. Jon could see his trigger finger craving to press down on the lever.
"All this time … all you had to do was type a couple of things into some Goddamned PDA … and you could have spared Danny all that SUFFERING!" Flack thrust the barrel of the gun at the blonde woman, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Mrs. Kovacs' face scrunched up instantly. Monroe gasped. Hawkes glanced worriedly at Maclaren, who took a step forward, his whole figure on edge for the worst. Even Alvarez had moved forward, brown eyes wide. Jon stayed cool and simply waited to see how things panned out. His Greek beauty tentatively stepped forward around the sofa with raised, pacifying hands.
"Flack, no. This isn't the answer." She slowly approached. "If you kill her, you'd be just like her."
Jon smiled diminutively. Nice save, gorgeous.
Flack's gun hand shuddered a little. Then his grip stiffened. Flack's pretty face contorted into an agonized expression. Now, even Jon stopped breathing.
There was a soft rustle of cloth.
" … she's … right."
A pale hand was feebly clinging onto Flack's other hand, an unguarded entreaty to draw Flack away from the brink.
Well, damn. Jon smirked in a pleased way. The ditzy bitch really did as she was ordered.
Messer's eyes were open. They were just as blue as Flack's as they stared upwards at the people around him. Flack fell to his knees, an enormous grin splitting his face while he affectionately ran a hand through the reclining man's hair. It was such a tremendous change from the heartrending look only moments before that Jon blinked hard. Jon blinked even harder when he set his eyes on Messer's uncovered chest and stomach.
Wowzas.
The departed Professor Adam Kovacs may have been one fucked up guy in the head, but he sure was a fucking mastermind of brilliance too. Only an artiste could think up of breasts as splendid-looking as those. And they looked mind-boggling even on a guy in nothing but a tatty, black tank top and rumpled khaki track pants.
"Oh my God, Danny! You're awake!" Flack laughed joyously, running his hands down Messer's still gaunt but smiling face and around the man's neck. The other CSIs were smiling as broadly, crowding around their recovering friend.
Jon's little heart skipped a beat at Maclaren's uninhibited grin sent his way. Man, he hadn't seen that thing of splendor in a long time. He winked in return.
Jon seized the PDA from Delilah before she could do anything else with it.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor Kovacs, but each batch of them nanobots created can only be controlled by ONE of them PDAs, am I right?" Maclaren and his people were listening to him again.
Delilah continued to glare daggers at him.
"So, if I destroy this one, that means there's no way in hell anyone's going to be able to reprogram those nanobots ever again IF there're some left in his body, am I right?"
The nanotechnologist grinded her teeth. "Yes."
"Hey, pretty boy." He shook the PDA in his fist at Flack. "Wanna do the honors?"
Flack stood up and grinned. "Hell yeah."
The tall detective took the device from Jon and with one smooth hurl, shattered the PDA to tiny plastic pieces on the floor. It was as if a terrible weight lifted off every person in the room after that, with the exception of the fuming nanotechnologist.
"I've helped him. I've done my part." Delilah's prim voice was poisonously sweet. "You don't have to let them know what happened, Agent Turgis. They know about Adam's kinks … I-I'm sure we can compromise and find a resolution that makes everyone happy."
Jon got to his feet. "Oh yeah, I'd love to discuss things with ya." He gestured to Alvarez. "Get the tape from the kitchen, will ya?"
Agent Alvarez grinned from ear to ear. "With pleasure, sir."
Jon hauled the screaming blonde scientist with one arm to his side, paying no attention to her lame punches and kicks to free herself. He smirked at Maclaren and all the other detectives. They looked like they could use a whole week's worth of sleep, particularly Flack and Messer.
"Storm's over and the sun's shinin' 'gain. Geddefuck outta here, will ya? If I see all yer faces again in the next thousand years, it'd be too soon."
Monroe and Hawkes actually laughed at that. Flack's only response was the deep gratitude in those big, cerulean eyes. Bonasera was busy patting Messer's head and gently asking him questions. Maclaren came forward to face him as the others bundled up a sleepy Messer, smartly standing out of Delilah Kovacs' range. His old friend's hazel eyes pierced him like they always did.
"Thank you, Jon. I'm indebted to you for life," he said sincerely.
"Heh, we'll call it even when we go on that fuckin' honeymoon to the East ya promised me. How 'bout that?"
Maclaren's face reddened. "Thought we already did that."
Jon grinned widely. Oh hooooh, that was a good one.
"I ain't talkin' 'bout the Middle East. I'm talkin' 'bout Southeast Asia and the likes."
Maclaren shook his head, smiling fondly. "You're crazy."
"Damn straight. Oh wait. I meant, damn bi."
Maclaren chuckled. "You're going to remind me about that as much as you can, aren't you?"
Jon's silver, heavy-lidded eyes gazed meaningfully at his friend. "Don't tell me ya don't think 'bout the old days anymore."
Maclaren's grin lessened, but the sparkle in those hazel eyes remained. "Always."
"Mac." It was his Greek goddess at the door. She was looking at him differently now. The new friendliness in those mesmerizing green eyes made him fall head over heels with her even more. He definitely had to interrogate Maclaren about her very soon. "We'll be waiting in the car."
His friend nodded at her, and she walked out. During their brief conversation, the others had already left.
Agent Alvarez returned with a large roll of black tape, and eagerly tore a strip of it and slapped it across Mrs. Kovacs' mouth. Jon dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor to let Alvarez bind her arms and legs with the tape too.
"Don't you think that's a bit overkill?" Mac said, one eyebrow raised.
"Why don'tcha try livin' with this nasty broad for a day?" Jon's eyes softened. "Go on. Get the fuck outta here. Ya got some celebratin'ta do."
"Do you really have a tape of her confession of the murder?"
"Yep." Jon patted one of his coat pockets. "Pays to be a paranoid sonofabitch who loves to bug police stations."
Mac huffed. "You really are crazy. Are they really going to kill her for this?"
Jon wasn't quite sure how to reply. "Lemme put it this way, buddy. My bosses. They're capable of anythin' if it's a means to an end that profits them."
"What about you?"
"Heh. I'll be fine. I ain't the one who oughta be scared shitless right now." Jon flickered his eyes at the trussed up Delilah. She was squirming like a worm, screaming muffled curses through the tape over her lips. "Whatever happened here tonight stays between us. I'll just tell poor Lucas in the kitchen and Summers there on what's left of the TV Batman came and beat their asses flat. When they wake up, of course."
Mac merely shook his head in amusement at Jon's strange humor.
"Hell, only reason we got stuck here is 'cos yer IAB pal Hillborne insisted on us usin' this place on his dime after yer guy Flack attacked her. 'Course, now there's no reason for us to stay on since you've got your man outta this mess." Jon lifted a brow at Mac's stunned look. "Yeah, I stuck 'round with this awful bitch so you had time to help out Messer, okay? You owe me big."
Alvarez waved from the floor where he was wrapping up his … wrap up of the nanotechnologist. "Alvarez here is good. I guarantee he won't yak about this to anyone." Jon licked one of his fangs. "Once the higher ups receive the report on things, there's no way in hell anyone's gonna believe her. My agents and I will be off the hook too."
Jon smirked again. "Then, we can talk 'bout our honeymoon."
Maclaren smiled back. "Fine. We'll talk about who pays."
Jon laughed, then growled at a hard kick to his shin. "Okay, that's IT." Stepping over the tied up woman, he propelled his friend to the front door. "G'on, go back to yer team. They're waitin' for ya."
Under the bright moonlight on the terracotta flight of steps, Maclaren surprised the hell out of him by embracing him in a warm hug. Jon was privately touched at the open display of warmth from his usually remote pal. He'd always been the first to initiate a physical touch. He was going to remember this one for a while. He returned the hug, then quietly watched his friend amble to the black gates and further down to his SUV.
They never said goodbye.
It wasn't necessary when Jon knew in his heart that they would always see each other again.
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Mac inhaled deeply once he was in his SUV again. Glancing at the digital clock on the dashboard, he was shocked to discover only an hour plus had passed since they first arrived at the house.
"I think I'm going to crash in my bed for a month." Stella's eyes were closed. A relieved smile curved her red lips.
Mac looked into the back and saw Flack, Hawkes, Lindsay and Danny in their original positions. Mac was jubilant to see fresh color had come back to Danny's visage. The CSI was also breathing normally, the deep, regular breaths of recuperative slumber. Danny lay on his side, nestled cozily in a dozing Flack's arms with his head tucked under the homicide detective's chin. However, the blanket blocked Mac from learning whether the effects of the nanotechnology had really been reversed.
Hawkes seemed to realize Mac's curiosity about it without him even asking.
"They're, uhm … they're still there." The former ME scratched his head and smiled bashfully at his statement. His tone became somewhat more serious. "I do think it'll take some time for the change to complete. Extreme physical transformation like this? I'd say days, at least."
Mac nodded. He had also arrived at the same conclusion.
"He'll be sleeping a lot. He'll need someone to be there to take care of him, make sure he's hydrated and fed during that time." Hawkes gazed with kindly eyes at Flack, whose lips were slightly parted in his sleep. "Don't think we'll have a problem in that area."
"Yeah." Lindsay, sitting near Danny's knees, was gazing at the two sleeping detectives with affection too.
Mac pivoted back to face the steering wheel, a little smile lighting up his commonly unemotional features. He revved the engine, then slowly drove out onto the empty road.
"How does good ol' american burgers and fries sound to you all?" he cheerfully inquired.
"I'll have three cheeseburgers, please. I could eat an elephant," Stella said with a grin, eyes still closed.
"Sounds good to me!" Hawkes added.
"Right. Get takeout, and stop over at Danny's place. I think he'll appreciate being home again." Mac smirked, already contemplating Danny's return to work. It would be nice to have the resident drama queen around again. The labs simply wasn't the same without the young CSI swaggering around whining about everything under the sun.
"Oh, and when Flack wakes up? Tell him he owes me twenty bucks for the vase he broke at my apartment."