Atop the Broken Universal Clock
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (but it'll probably go up later)
Pairing: Danny/Flack (slash yet to be determined)
Content Warning: Violence, language, disturbing imagery, angst
Spoilers: Set after 'Heroes', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: In the aftermath of his brother's near-fatal beating, Danny must deal with the consequences of his past ... and finds himself losing the battle little by little. Will Flack be strong enough to be Danny's anchor in his darkest days?
Disclaimer: Nope, characters still don't belong to me. But, man, I sure wanna give Danny a big hug after what happened in RSRD.
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Author's Notes: Okay, I've decided to add angst to the content warning. It seems some readers are getting angst overdoses, bwahah. And so, finally, the major DannyFlack angst you've all been waiting for. This chapter is seriously long … did you know I originally intended to combine this one with the previous chapter? Yikes! This one's also for the Flack fans … the character hardly ever gets development.
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Chapter 7
Danny's eyes were enormous and glossy, staring uncomprehendingly at Flack.
The homicide detective shifted from his kneeling position to sitting on the solid, short coffee table instead, in front of Danny. He did that very slowly so as to not alarm his friend in any way. The blankness in Danny's gaze didn't tell him very much about what Danny was feeling right now. The guy could be thinking anything from whacking him in the face to screaming his head off at his intrusion, or even just rolling over and turning his back on him.
Flack sent the reclined man a hesitant smile.
Danny drowsily got up to a vertical position, clinging onto the afghan wrap that kept him warm.
" … Don?"
Whoa. Danny was smiling at him.
Flack's own smile became more broad. "Yeah, it's me, buddy. How ya doin'?"
Danny blinked a few times, a confused expression replacing the small smile on his sallow visage. "Don ..." He looked around his apartment, then back at Flack. "How did ya get in?" His voice was croaky.
Flack smirked sardonically. "Through yer front door. Ya didn't even lock it. Do ya know how dangerous that is?"
The CSI blinked again. His half-closed, blue eyes were bloodshot. " … I didn't?"
Flack resisted the impulse to sigh. He couldn't believe he actually thought Danny was on the mend. Perhaps he was, but it was way overdue for Flack's liking.
"It's okay, forget 'bout it," Flack said nonchalantly.
Danny didn't say anything, eyes searching for something on the coffee table. Flack pondered for an instant what the other man might be looking for, and then he figured it out. The taller detective's own blue eyes narrowed, lips pursed.
"It's in the trash."
Danny jerked, then went to staring at a spot on the floor near his sock-covered feet, lower lip sucked in. Flack stayed motionless, forearms resting on his knees, directing an impartial gaze at the shorter detective.
"How long has that been goin' on, Danny?"
No reply, except for fingers fiddling with the hem of a black, long-sleeved sweater. Danny continued to stare at the floor.
Flack waited patiently. Fine. He'd outwaited tons of perps in the interrogation room before. He could play the waiting game as well as the next guy.
A couple of minutes passed in strained silence.
"Twice." Danny sounded like a little boy being punished for having done some bad deed.
Flack remained calm and collected. He had to be. He knew his friend well enough to know that getting all infuriated and aggressive now was going to get him nowhere. Danny reminded him of a tortoise sometimes. The more a person provoked it, the longer it would take cover within its shell, sealed up in its own little world. Oh, somebody could go the excessive method and shatter the tortoise's shell to get it out in the open.
And most likely … it'd wind up dead.
Flack's hands curled into fists. No. Anger was not the answer.
"Twice what?"
The skinny CSI looked up at last. The man's blue eyes were watery. "I only drank twice." Danny rubbed the right side of his face in a preoccupied way. "'Bout a week ago. And … just now."
The homicide detective said nothing, merely maintaining eye contact. His handsome face was set in a neutral expression, but his blue eyes radiated an intensity that made Danny squirm where he sat.
Danny frowned, a semblance of his inner spark showing up in his large eyes. "That's it. I swear."
Flack stared at him a while more, then said, "I believe you."
Danny blinked.
"What? Ya thought I was gonna accuse ya of lyin' or somethin'?"
"I …" The shorter man trailed off into silence.
Without a word, Flack stood up and walked to the kitchen, yanking the stupid bottle of whiskey out of the bin and leaving it on the floor. He carried the medium-sized trash container back to the sofa and set it next to Danny. Flack sat down on the coffee table again and pulled out one of the empty cans inside the bin. It was the opened cocktail sausage tin. He held it before Danny's face, a resolute arrangement to his facial features.
"Okay. Since we're bein' honest with each other here ..." He shook the hand that grasped the light tin to draw Danny's attention to it. "Did you eat this?" He motioned with his head at the rest of the empty cans in the bin. "All of it?"
Danny glanced at the can with wide eyes. He then looked at Flack, quiet.
"C'mon. Yes or no?"
Danny blinked slowly, nodded his head a few times. "Yes."
Flack was inwardly overjoyed to hear that. Danny had looked him straight in the eye when he said it as well. Next, the important, one million dollar question.
"Did you throw it all up afterwards?"
The shorter detective's eyelids flickered. His gaze darted away to the side, and back to Flack's face a moment later. The brown-haired man chewed on his lower lip.
"Danny." Flack's immovable stare intensified. "I'll know if you're lyin' to me."
"No."
Flack kept on staring at him, expression as neutral as ever.
Danny swallowed visibly. "No … except for the spaghetti-o."
Flack's lips twitched. "Why's that?"
Danny shrugged. "Was watchin' the news … they showed a photo of that boy's corpse. Ya know, the Hall case at Central Park."
The taller man flung the can he held back into the trash bin, making an irritated sound. "Shit. I remember that. Everybody blew a fuse or twenty 'bout it ... think that network got sued for it too. Mac's still pissed off somebody got hold of a photo like that. He thinks there might be a freakin' mole at the labs selling crime scene photographs for cash."
The CSI didn't say anything. He was clutching the side of his head, wincing.
"Hey, you okay?" Flack stretched out a hand and squeezed the side of Danny's neck. Man, the guy was tense.
"Fuckin' headache." Danny hissed through gritted teeth, rubbing his right temple.
"That's what ya get for drinkin' so much."
Danny glowered at the homicide detective, blue eyes flashing. It made Flack smirk widely.
Theeeere he was, the Danny he knew.
Flack got up and gently pushed the other man into lying down on the couch. Danny didn't put up a fight, letting Flack tuck him in. That was Flack's most obvious evidence his friend was in some serious pain.
"Ya got aspirin 'round?"
There was no response. The taller detective glanced at Danny's face. Oh. The guy was asleep already. The CSI must have been more worn out than Flack presumed. Flack scratched his head, suddenly wondering what he was going to do while Danny napped. Go look for aspirin in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom? Have his dinner of pizza and then reheat the rest when Danny woke up? Watch some television?
Flack took a few steps between the sofa and the coffee table, and his foot collided with an object on the floor. It was an empty plastic cup, rolling in a half circle from his accidental kick. He picked it up, smirking in amusement at the teddy bear face printed on its side. Gee, he never reckoned Danny was a teddy bear kind of guy.
He juggled the cup between his hands. Yeah, that's it. Since Danny wasn't going to clean up his apartment … he could do it instead. Wasn't healthy to live in a dump anyway, and Danny needed all the help he could get to jump back on his feet.
The dark-haired man spent the next forty-five minutes becoming Danny's temporary housemaid. Collecting all the dirty clothes, folding them up and stacking them neatly into huge laundry bags he knew Danny kept in the cupboard in the bathroom. Placing all the books in their alphabetical spots on the bookshelf. Moving the chairs and stools back to their original places. Gathering the odd cup or mug lying around and washing them. Making up the bed and rearranging the pillows. The damn bottle of alcohol went back into the trash.
Flack was hot by the time he dropped the stuffed laundry bag next to its twin against the kitchen counter. He took off his pink-colored jacket and laid it on top of one black-and-steel stool. Phew. He slapped his palms together. There. The place appeared so much neater and cleaner. Just like it used to be, before everything spiraled downward for his best friend.
He loosened his striped tie, rolled it up and tossed it on his jacket. Now to find some aspirin and check if Danny was still sleeping or had his headache.
He headed to the bathroom, the one room in the whole place that, surprisingly, didn't need cleaning up at all. Sure enough, there was a quarter-filled bottle of the medication in the bathroom cabinet. He popped out two into his cupped palm, then got a clean cup of water from the kitchen.
Danny was sound asleep, but the guy was hardly at peace. He was beginning to writhe where he lay, the afghan wrap covering only his legs, an anxious expression twisting his face. He was also mumbling fretfully under his breath, words Flack couldn't catch.
Damnit. Danny was still suffering from nightmares.
"Danny."
Flack left the cup of water and pills on the coffee table, unsure of his next course of action. The CSI's frightened expression deepened, and a very child-like whine managed to leak out from between the man's closed lips. For some reason, that troubled Flack more than the thrashing of limbs.
"Danny." Flack went on his knees. He cautiously gripped the other man's shoulders and mildly shook him. "Wake up."
Danny gasped loudly, eyes snapped open, wide to the point the whites clearly showed around the irises. He was panting roughly, every muscle rigid like stone as he stared at Flack's face mere inches from his.
"Dan?"
"Sorry." The shorter man gulped. Loosened up bit by bit. His breathing slowed down. "Bad dream."
Flack kept his hands on Danny's shoulders, reluctant to break the physical connection. He was so close to the guy, he could see his own reflection in Danny's cerulean eyes. Beneath his right palm, he sensed the thundering heartbeat of the other man. Flack was nearly convinced Danny's heart was threatening to literally leap out of his chest.
"S'okay. I get nightmares too."
It seemed Danny was reluctant for Flack to remove his hands too. Flack felt his friend speedily calming down under his touch, slim body going limp and slack, breaths going in deep and steady. It was as if Danny was drawing newfound energy and composure from him into his own body.
The homicide detective suddenly remembered about the aspirin.
"Ya still got yer headache?"
Danny seemed to have not heard the question. He blinked, then said, "Lil' bit."
Flack turned around and plucked up the pills and glass of water.
"Here. Take these."
Danny sat up and swallowed down the aspirin without any protest, holding the cup with both hands as he finished the water. Flack sat down heavily on the sofa next to the CSI, quietly scrutinizing his friend with concentrated eyes.
"Sometimes I dream 'bout killin' myself."
Flack froze at the dispassionate statement. He stared in shock at Danny's profile.
"Sometimes … I dream 'bout bein' back in my childhood home in Brooklyn. With mommy and dad and Louie." Danny's voice choked slightly on his brother's name. "And sometimes … I dream 'bout runnin' from the Tanglewood boys, gettin' killed by them. But most times … I dream 'bout killin' my brother."
Danny toyed with the empty cup in his hands. "Sometimes I wake up in weird places in my apartment … even though I always fell asleep in bed. Took me a while to figure out I was sleepwalkin', ya know? It was always weird … wakin' up in the middle of the livin' room or lyin' 'gainst the front door, legs and knees and arms all hurtin' from fallin'. Like somethin' was missin' even when nothin' was."
Danny swiveled to look at him. "But yeah. Most times, I dream 'bout killin' my brother."
Flack was at a loss for words. "Danny ..."
The shorter man shrugged listlessly. Flack could see his collarbones protruding where the sweater's v-neck collar and afghan wrap didn't cover up.
The taller man wasn't sure what compelled him to say the next few words. His lips moved on their own accord.
"I dream 'bout seein' ya fallin' down those stairs."
Flack plainly heard Danny's jagged intake of breath.
"Ya fall. Bleedin' everywhere. And ya never get up." Flack clenched his fingers over his knees. "Haven't had it in a while now. Which is good 'cos I friggin' hate that nightmare."
Both men stared at different spots on the coffee table in front of them, lost in thought.
Some minutes later, Danny said in a faint voice, "I don't remember it."
"The fall?"
"Yeah. Can't remember a thing after arrivin' at the buildin' and goin' up the stairs to the victim's apartment."
Flack straightened. "You mean … you've lost your memory of that entire day?"
Danny cackled mirthlessly. "Yeah. Short-term amnesia. I doubt I'll ever recall what happened."
The taller detective shut his eyes and pinched the flesh between his eyes. Well, shit. No wonder Danny was happy to see him this evening. The guy had no recollection of them talking things out at the staircase, before the nasty incident. He obviously still thought Flack was mad at him and didn't want anything to do with his problems.
"Danny, we - we kinda talked things out that day. Right before you fell."
Danny pulled the afghan wrap tighter around his torso. "We did?"
Flack huffed. "Yeah. Whole lotta apologies, some bashin' on my fashion sense, the works."
The smaller man smirked softly at that. It disappeared after a second. Danny bowed his head. "What do you have to apologize for?" His face was hidden from Flack's sight. "I'm the one who's always screwin' up. Causin' trouble for everybody."
Flack was not pleased to hear the blatant self-loathing in Danny's rasping voice. Yeah, he was well aware Danny had a bad habit of belittling himself, but this time, Flack could tell Danny unquestionably believed what he said about himself to be true.
He rested one hand on the back of Danny's stiff neck and gave the guy a consoling squeeze. "That's not true. Everybody makes mistakes, Danny."
The CSI made no comment in return.
Five minutes went by in grave silence. Flack left his hand where it was, rubbing his thumb on smooth skin near Danny's ear, and Danny maintained his half-lidded gaze on his feet covered in white socks. Danny's neck felt so narrow in his hand. He glanced down at the shorter detective's scrawny wrists. Did the bones ordinarily stick out that way? That wasn't right. Danny always did pride himself on having tough, muscular arms.
Flack squeezed the back of Danny's neck another time.
"Danny. Mac told me."
Those three words hung heavy in the air. The muscles under Flack's palm and fingers immediately hardened. Danny kept his face averted.
It was a while before Danny replied.
"Is that why you're here? To let me know I don't hafta go back to work?"
Flack was too stunned to respond for a second or two. "What the heck are ya on 'bout?"
Danny just wouldn't look at him. "Mac. Did he finally fire me or what?"
"Geez, Danny, NO! Of course not!" Flack protested vehemently, throwing up his arms. "And for the record, I did not come here 'cos Mac asked me, or anybody else." He clasped the right side of Danny's face, physically pleading with him to turn his head in his direction. "Danny, look at me. C'mon."
The shorter detective resisted Flack, twisting his head even further in the opposite direction.
"Danny. Please."
Danny's whole body sagged. At long last, Flack succeeded in maneuvering his friend to face him directly. The homicide detective was appalled at the palpable despair on Danny's visage. What, did he really think Mac was going to fire him simply for quitting that hospital's eating disorder program?
Flack cupped the man's chin with his fingers and lifted Danny's head so they were eye to eye.
"I'm here … because I want to be here. Do ya understand that?"
Danny's lips were shaped in a downturned curve, eyes narrowed in skepticism.
"I choose to be here. Nobody forced me. And nobody is firing you." Flack released Danny's chin, then wagged a forefinger. "But don't think I'm not mad 'bout ya quittin' the program. 'Cos I am. You were finally gettin' help, and even knowin' how bad things were for ya, you still walked out on it."
The CSI began to turn away once more, and this time, Flack no longer had qualms about being a little rougher with his handholds on Danny's limbs.
"No, listen to me." Flack shook him, feeling the thinness of those once stout arms even through the afghan wrap and sweater the guy wore. "I know you, Messer. I know you're not the kind of guy who gets torn down easy. You're the original boy from the streets. You're the one who doesn't take shit from anyone, the one who isn't afraid of standin' up for himself. I know."
Danny was trembling.
"And I also know … you're a smart guy. You - you don't do things without a reason." Flack freed his arms, letting his own fall onto his thighs. "Which is why … I'm confused, Danny. I just can't … wrap my mind 'round what you've been doin' to yerself."
"I mean, I know you've gotta reason for it. I'm sure of it." Flack tapped at the side of his forehead with his fingers. "But ya gotta help me out here, buddy. 'Cos … I dunno what to think 'bout this whole situation anymore."
Danny was now stock still, staring with wide, terrified eyes at the vicinity of Flack's chest. He looked like he was trapped between a rock and a really hard place. And was being crushed by both.
"C'mon, pal. Talk to me," Flack implored in a hoarse voice.
The smaller man stayed utterly silent and motionless for so long, Flack assumed the other man was deliberately ignoring him. The cutting bitterness he'd felt earlier that evening was flooding back in full force. Not at Danny, but at the invisible cage that ensnared his friend so effectively and cruelly. He was this close to giving anything for Danny to throw one of his hissy, drama queen fits.
" … I can't feed it."
Danny whispered it so weakly Flack thought he had merely been hearing things.
He frowned. "Feed what, Danny?"
Danny's mouth opened. No sound came out. When he couldn't force more words out, he gesticulated with his hands, trying again to speak.
" … the pain."
Flack suddenly felt ice cold inside. Feed the pain?
Danny's tongue was loosening. Flack stayed silent, encouraging the other man to continue.
"It's - it's been there … since that night." Danny's hands weaved on top of each other in a repetitive, hyperactive manner. His eyes flitted here and there in an even more harried way. "E-everytime I … eat … it grows ..."
"In here." One of the CSI's hands clutched at his chest, right on top of the heart. Danny probably had no idea he was even doing that. "And the - the more I eat …" His hand glided upwards to the base of his neck. "It starts to choke me … and I can't breathe, I can't move … can't do anythin'." The hand tightened, creating a self-inflicted strangling hold.
"So … so as - as long as I don't eat, the pain stays down." Danny rubbed at his neck, swallowing visibly. " … and I can deal with it."
Flack's vision was blurry, a big lump caught in his throat. He never imagined it was this bad. He was torn between wanting to shake his friend like a ragdoll and knock a whole lot of sense into the guy's head, and wanting to hug him tightly and tell Danny he'd be flattered to beat the crap out of the pain, without Danny starving himself.
He decided to do a tiny bit of both.
Flack tenderly enfolded the sides of the CSI's neck with both hands, shaking the man gently to get his attention. Danny appeared like he was very, very far away, his bloodshot eyes lifeless and bewildered. The man's hand was still at the base of his neck, bent into a claw, as if he craved to gouge out whatever was devouring him inside.
"Danny." The homicide detective ran a hand through his friend's mussed hair. It seemed to bring Danny back from wherever he'd wandered off to in his mind. "Answer me this, 'kay?"
"Why did Louie do it?" Flack asked determinedly.
Some animation returned to Danny's features. He glanced sharply at Flack, eyes wide as saucers.
"Why did Louie do it, Danny? Why did he wire himself up, knowin' that there was a big chance Sassone was gonna kill 'im, huh?"
Danny made a befuddled face. "He … he wanted to tape … Sonny's confession."
Nope. Danny still didn't get it. "Yeah, but why that?"
Danny blinked a couple of times, frowning, ruminating. "He - he wanted to clear my name. So I wouldn't … go to prison for somethin' I didn't do."
"'Xactly." Flack squeezed the shorter man's shoulder. "He did it … because he wanted you to live."
He could see his words hit Danny fiercely.
"He wanted you to LIVE. Do ya understand? And - and this … " Flack made a sweeping gesture from the top of Danny's head to his waist. "Like I said 'fore, you're a smart guy, Danny. You tell me. Do ya think yer brother would want ya to waste his sacrifice by - by starvin' yerself in some … some kinda self-mutilatin' act of atonement or somethin'?"
Danny didn't reply. His face was scrunched up beneath a hand covering his nose and mouth.
"No. No, he wouldn't. And you know it," Flack said firmly. "You wanna make it up to your brother, Danny? You live. You move on with your life, you fight every battle that comes yer way with all you've got. You show him that his sacrifice was worth it. Live."
The CSI was now covering his face with both hands. The taller detective heard a muffled, shuddering inhalation from behind them.
"Danny, this pain … it's not really there." Flack ran fingers through his own dark, shorn hair. "It's all in your head."
Flack definitely didn't expect the guy to laugh.
Danny dropped his hands to bare a flushed face streaked with wet tracks. " … you've been tellin' me that for the last six months." He barked another brief, gravelly laugh.
Flack scowled. What the, what did that mean? This was only the second time they'd openly discussed about what Danny was putting himself through.
"You're always talkin' in my head, tellin' me stuff." Danny made a rotating motion with one hand. "Like … eat more, stop drinkin', stop it -" He clammed up fast, pulling the afghan wrap snugly around himself, shivering. Another throaty cackle forced itself out.
The wretched sound made something rend within the taller man. He stared helplessly at his friend. Was this what it was like for a man to ultimately snap and suffer a major nervous breakdown?
"But it's all good, ya know?" Danny suddenly babbled, almost as if he couldn't help himself. "I mean … better than hearin' all the other voices, ya know? Or - or hearin' Louie screamin' as I blow his brains out with a bullet -" - he choked, coughing for a moment - "Or feelin' his blood all over my face and my body and -" The laugh that followed had a panic-stricken edge to it.
"Dan -"
The shorter man's laughter amplified in volume, until he was hunched over where he sat, cackling like a madman with tears rolling down his cheeks. For the first time in Flack's life, the homicide detective was really scared. Scared that he was powerless to do anything to ease his friend's suffering. That he could merely sit there with wet eyes of his own, as Danny finally collapsed, face crumpling intensely, raucous sobs wracking his skinny body.
Flack instantaneously hauled the crying man into a crushing hug, careful even then to make sure he didn't push the injured side of Danny's face against himself. Danny's head was tucked under his chin, the rest of the man's body curled up in a fetal position on his lap. Rocking them back and forth, arms enclosed around his friend's quaking body, feeling wetness on his own cheeks, Flack was smacked by a great sense of déjà vu.
Gavin once mentioned that important events in life always repeated themselves, whether they were bad or good. They always repeated themselves, his former mentor said, because something about them remained unresolved, and they'd always replay themselves over and over until that something was confronted or worked out. When he last held Danny bawling his eyes out this way in his arms, the man seemed like he was eons away, detached from the situation. There hadn't been a resolution that night, just an illusory, fleeting escape.
It was different this time, Flack ascertained. He could tell Danny was wholly here with him, right now, right there, from the way the other man fisted his hands into his white dress shirt, the way Danny consciously nestled into his body for solace.
And Danny was saying something to him.
"Don …" The CSI's sobs were lessening. " … I don't wanna be like this anymore."
Flack closed hot, blue eyes, petting Danny's brown hair. At last. The stubborn bastard was seeing the light at last.
Still embracing the smaller man, the homicide detective shifted them both so that he was sitting back against the couch, allowing Danny to rest easier against him too. After a couple more minutes, Danny's crying jag was over. The man was silent and still, apart from the intermittent quiver of his torso.
Flack carried on ruffling the messy spikes of Danny's hair, the action a source of comfort to himself as much as it was to his friend. Whoever made it the unofficial rule that it was wrong of men to cry was a fucking idiot. An enormous burden had lifted off his chest when he let go and wept with the other man. He felt better, much better.
Danny wriggled backwards onto the couch cushion to relieve Flack of bearing his full weight. Flack let him, just gazing at the CSI with unguarded eyes. Danny's eyes were puffy and red, although the misery that filled them was gone. It was still a far cry from the usual Messer spark, but the expression in place was a positive improvement. The taller man could virtually see him gathering himself, contemplating private thoughts and coming to a decision.
"I don't think I can do this on my own, Don." Something snagged in Flack's heart at Danny's humble admission and little, sincere smile. " … I need help."
Flack felt light, like a sunny cloud. It was funny, him wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. "Okay, Danny. Okay."
Danny's smile widened some, then his eyelids fluttered. He inhaled deeply, rubbing at his right eye with the a knuckle.
"Bed?"
"Yeah. Slept on the couch 'nough."
The taller detective snorted. "C'mon. Up and at 'em."
Flack gently led Danny to his bedroom by the shoulders, resting one arm over them, like he always did. It was even better that Danny was tilting into it, like he always did.
All of a sudden, the CSI halted dead in his steps halfway to his bedroom, scanning his surroundings with stunned eyes. His gaze lingered especially on the two overstuffed laundry bags at the kitchen counter.
"Did you …"
Flack snickered. "Yeah, ya slob. You could have given a junkyard a run for its money."
Danny's face turned red. "Thanks. I appreciate it," he said in a small voice. Then, he was smiling. "So whaddaya charge? A dollar an hour?"
"Heyhey, I'm the expensive type, okay? And don't even think 'bout makin' me wear a French maid uniform. That'll cost ya an additional three hundred bucks."
The shorter man laughed. It was the good kind, the kind that made Flack laugh too.
Danny yawned as he sat on the bed. The cream-colored afghan wrap slipped from his shoulders.
Flack went to switch on the lamp on the bedside table, then asked, "Ya hungry?"
"Ya brought food?"
"Yeah. Pepperoni and cheese pizza. With extra cheese. Yer favorite."
Danny smiled softly at that. "Maybe I'll have a slice or two."
Flack grinned, a beam that lit up his entire face. "'Kay. I'll bring it over. Hands or …?"
The other man wriggled his fingers.
The homicide detective chuckled and ambled out to the kitchen counter. The pizza was still warm. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall nearby and was startled to see it was only a little past nine. Wow. Only over two hours had passed since he arrived. It'd felt like a millennium instead.
The two detectives munched on their meal in comfortable silence in Danny's bedroom, Danny sitting against the bed's headstand, and Flack sitting beside his knees on the bed. Flack grinned once more. He couldn't help staring at his friend eating the slice of pizza, albeit more slowly than normal. Boy, that was a beautiful sight.
When Danny finished the first slice, Flack was struck by a sudden bout of anxiety. He waited with bated breath to see if the guy was going to get sick, like before. But nothing happened. Except for Danny sucking on his fingers and requesting Flack for another slice. He had been more than thrilled to fulfill that demand.
Afterwards, once the rest of the pizza was gone courtesy of Flack's black hole of a stomach, Danny washed up in the bathroom while Flack cleaned his hands at the kitchen sink. The taller man felt somewhat guilty for listening out for any unmistakable retching sounds coming from the bathroom.
Fortunately, there was none whatsoever.
In spite of everything, Flack understood that it paid to be vigilant at all times. Particularly in this case, where it was so easy for Danny to tumble down the slope again. Drying his hands on a hand cloth, he recalled the Greek myth of Jason and his Argonauts, who'd spent decades on adventures so far away from the land of his birth. During one of his quests, Jason had been gifted with a sack that retained a mighty hurricane by Boreas, the god of the north wind. When Jason finally returned to his homeland and saw the harbor in the near distance, he supposed it was alright for him to sleep for a little while. It was a terrible mistake. Some of his crew, who suspected the sack Jason owned carried treasure, opened it up, releasing the great hurricane within. It blew their ship all the way across the world, and Jason had to spend another ten years sailing home.
Flack went to switch off the lamp in the living area, then headed for Danny's bedroom. Well, he wasn't going to make the same mistake of letting his guard down, not where his best friend was concerned.
The CSI was already on the bed, reclined on his side and facing the open bedroom doorway. His head peeked out from under the dark blue blanket, exposing the upper half of Danny's face. At Flack's entry, the other man opened his eyes, and they followed the homicide detective around the room in a warmhearted, grateful gaze.
Flack unexpectedly found himself questioning what he should do next. He stood at the foot of the bed, trying to make up his mind on whether to let Danny sleep alone, or stay with his friend. Danny spoke up before he picked a choice.
"Bed's big 'nough for both of us."
The taller man toed off his shoes, sauntered over to the opposite side of the bed, crawling under the blanket without any reservations. Danny had four pillows on his bed. Flack never did ask him why he needed so many. Flack laid down on the remaining two, letting out a low hum. Man, these were nice pillows. Danny had rolled over so he was now facing Flack on the bed instead, mere inches away.
Danny's eyes were half-closed. "Bedtime story?"
Flack made an amused sound, staring at the pastel-colored, intricate tiles on the ceiling. There was one story he'd longed to tell Danny for a long time. If truth be told, it was a story he'd never told another soul. Yet.
He felt Danny prod him in the side under the blanket. "You've been listenin' ta me rant all night. C'mon, I know ya got somethin' to say."
Flack sucked in a breath. He turned his head to look at Danny. The lamp was behind the man, outlining Danny's shape with warm light, throwing the rest of him into diffused shadows. Even so, the CSI's blue eyes glinted clear as the moonlight that cascaded in through the semi-parted curtains of the bedroom window.
Flack exhaled. It was now, or never.
He rotated his head back to gazing at the ceiling, losing himself in deep-rooted memories.
"When I was a kid … I used to think it was my fault." Flack licked at dry lips. "Ya know, gettin' punched in the face after comin' home from school. Bein' beaten with a stick or an umbrella. Sometimes gettin' shoved down the stairs when things got bad."
He sensed Danny's body freeze. He didn't need to glance at his friend to know the shorter detective was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.
Flack chuckled joylessly. "I didn't know why I was bein' hurt so much, but I thought … I was just a dumb kid, ya know? Maybe I did somethin' bad, and I just didn't know it, that's all. I thought maybe, 'cos of that, I deserved every beatin' that I got."
"It took - it took me seventeen years … to figure out the truth. Seventeen years … to understand that, just because it was one of yer parents who was beatin' ya up … it didn't make it right." He paused for a moment. He didn't realize how painful it was to open up like this, even to the person he considered his closest friend. "Thing is … I couldn't have figured any of it out on my own, Danny. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Vaughn, I might still be the messed up kid I was then."
His lips curved in a nostalgic smile. "Mrs. Vaughn was my Mathematics teacher. Never was good at math, so I always drove her up the wall." Flack let out a more genuine laugh. "She had long blonde hair and kind, brown eyes … she always looked out for me when nobody else did."
For a few minutes, Flack quietly wondered where she was now. Considering she was already in her early-fifties at the time, she would be nearly seventy by now. He didn't even know if she was still alive.
"One day, I came to school with a black eye and split lips. I could barely walk 'cos my ankle was sprained. Everybody in my class was horrified to see me … I remember one girl actually shrieked when she bumped into me in the corridor." He snorted, then went solemn once more. "Mrs. Vaughn talked with me the whole afternoon after school … 'bout what domestic abuse meant."
Flack had to clear his throat. He felt fingers intertwine with his own, and he tightened his hand around Danny's. It gave him the strength to continue.
"So after that … I was angry. I was angry. That I spent seventeen years of my whole life blamin' myself for bein' abused. Makin' myself believe that I deserved every punch and kick I got." He shook his head, sighing. "I was angry, Danny. Angry at all my friends, angry at all my other teachers for not givin' a shit 'bout me, angry at the whole world. Heck, I was angry at God too."
"And after Mrs. Vaughn opened my eyes and helped me to see the truth … I ran, as far as I could go, I just ran. I think - I think I must have run across half the fuckin' city … I dunno. All I know is, I'm runnin', cryin' my eyes out, and this gangsta wannabe gets in my way." Flack's hand involuntarily squashed Danny's in his grip. Danny didn't say anything.
"He gets in my face, and he wouldn't get lost … laughin' at me and tauntin' me, pushin' me 'round. I dunno, I guess … somethin' he said pissed me off real bad. And I just … punched him." He raised his other hand, brandishing a fist in the air. "Right in the mouth. Smashed all his teeth in. And I didn't stop." His arm flopped onto the bed. "I kept on beatin' the fuck outta the guy … couldn't control myself, ya know? Like somebody else was doin' it, not me. And I kept on goin' and goin' … until …"
"He was sprawled on the pavement, blood everywhere. He was cryin'." Flack shut his eyes. "And I stood there over him … my fists all bloody and cut … and all I saw, when I looked into his eyes …" It was getting difficult to breathe properly. "I saw the face of the person who beat me up the same way all those years … I became the person whom I hated with all my guts."
Danny's hand gripping his was the anchor that kept him in the present.
"Nobody ever found out what happened. My old man might have suspected, what with him seein' me covered in blood when he picked me up in his patrol car that night. We never talked 'bout it." Flack licked his lips again. They were so dry. "After that day, the abuse stopped. 'Cos I was too big to be beaten anymore. I stopped bein' afraid, and I started fightin' back."
He smiled scathingly. "It's hilarious, ya know. How spineless bullies turn out to be."
Danny was silent beside him, a hushed but reassuring presence. Flack knew his friend had listened to every word.
At length, Flack rolled onto his side to face Danny on the bed. He was grateful for the lack of pity in Danny's blue eyes, though he'd been ready for it. He had enough of the sentiment from everyone around him back during his schooldays to last a lifetime. He looked more closely and realized that Danny was gazing at him with … respect.
"You've never told anybody 'bout it, have ya?"
Flack's lips curved up. Heh, Danny's body was currently afflicted by poor health. His razor-sharp mind was another story.
"No. You're the first." The homicide detective bit his lower lip. "Probably the only one ever."
Beneath the dark blue blanket, Danny squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I mean … for talkin' to me 'bout it." The CSI suddenly appeared shy. "I'm honored ya trust me enough to do that."
The taller man smirked. "Yeah, well, I think we've moved up from the chocolate and flowers phase to the sharin' and compromise phase now."
Danny huffed out a muted laugh, eyelids fluttering close. Flack took the rare opportunity to overtly stare at the other man, examining every inch of his face inches away. Danny was lying on his left, so the discolored contusions were hidden by the pillow. That was okay, Flack didn't want to see them anyhow.
The brown-haired man was still considered too skinny for his height. It showed in the way the cheekbones and collarbones were noticeably prominent. Nevertheless, he looked so much healthier than he did before he was hospitalized. The tube feedings and monitored meal intake during the man's stay at Mount Sinai had significantly helped. And if Danny had stayed on with their eating disorder program, even more improvement would have been likely.
Some minutes later, Danny's eyes opened again.
"Not the bedtime story ya expected, huh?" Flack said inaudibly.
It was Danny's turn to smirk. "I'm not the only guy here who does things with a reason."
Flack acknowledged the statement with a small smile, then said, "I know how hard it is. To live with guilt over somethin' that's outta yer control. Somethin' that ain't yer fault. And yet, somethin' that ya can't help blamin' yerself for anyway." He had to give credit to his friend for maintaining eye contact and not looking away.
"I know how hard it is to break those chains holdin' ya down, to see things from another person's point of view without feelin' like you're betrayin' the people you think you've wronged. It took me seventeen long years, Danny. But the important thing is … I made it out okay. I survived, in spite of everythin'. And so can you."
The CSI finally glanced away.
Flack twitched the fingers of his right hand, and found Danny hadn't let go since the beginning. He tightened his grasp around Danny's fingers, making sure the other man wasn't going to be able to yank his hand away.
"I want ya to readmit yerself into the program at Mount Sinai."
The taller detective was prepared for a furious reaction. He was thwarted.
There was no visible reaction from Danny at all, not even the slightest jolt. He had a glazed look to his blue eyes, the kind people had when they were unwillingly falling asleep.
"No." It was said placidly and without any resentment.
The reply made Flack livid anyway. Damnit, the guy had one hell of a stubborn streak -
"They don't care 'bout me … don't need them," Danny whispered, eyes shut.
"Danny -"
Those large, blue eyes flickered open one last time.
"I've got you."
Danny closed his eyes, falling fast into a deep slumber. Gradually, the fingers coiled around Flack's relaxed, going limp.
Flack was beginning to understand what Danny meant by feeling something so intense that he couldn't breathe or move or do anything else. Something that seemed to be clogging his throat and creating wet warmth behind his eyes. The difference between what Danny had been feeling all this while, and what he was feeling right then was … he recognized his emotion to be something he thought he'd never feel for another human being ever again.
He blinked numerous times, content to simply lie there with his best friend in the tranquil hush, watching over the sleeping man.
"Yeah," Flack whispered in a husky tone, smiling tenderly.
"You do."
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Author's Notes: Just for your info, Flack's story is actually based on the real life experiences of someone who is very close to me. Guess that's why this chapter also has personal tinges to it. Flack's trial of helping Danny out of his suffering is also somewhat based on personal experiences. I am, however, happy to say that my friend is doing just fine now.