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.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Author's Notes: Oh, yeah. Many apologies for the slow updates for this story. Been busy as a friggin' bee. I nearly went crazy with the angst content, so I started another story called One Week to counter it all. I ended up writing five chapters in a row for that one, hence the lack of updates for this one. But no worries! This chapter is extra long. And I mean, it's the longest chapter by far in the story so far. For everyone's info, there's implied character death in this one. If you've watched Heroes, you'll know who I'm refering to. This particular chapter is also dedicated to all FlackAiden fans. I, too, would have really liked to see the two paired up on the show.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Chapter 8
It was impossible.
She couldn't be dead.
Danny's breath caught as he slammed both hands against the glass of the building's main doors, shoving his way past a couple of people in business suits and outside into the approaching drizzle.
It was impossible.
Aiden couldn't be dead.
A few raindrops struck the lenses of Danny's spectacles, trickling down the transparent plastic and distorting his already blurred vision. A distant flash of light high above made his eyelids flicker. He stood there on the sidewalk, trembling non stop, the iciness in the air all around him seeping through his clothes. Wrapping his arms around his torso didn't make him feel any warmer.
He sucked in a moist, ragged breath.
Somebody was laughing as they walked past him. Another person was talking agitatedly on her mobile phone, accidentally bumping into his arm when she brushed by him. Danny said nothing. He didn't even register the physical contact, staring sightlessly in front of him with wide, impassive eyes.
There was a far-off rumble of thunder, a portentous growl from the heavens. More droplets fell from the dusky sky, creating dark, damp circles on his brown jacket.
She couldn't be dead, he'd only seen her a few days ago and she was laughing and smiling and telling him to come over again soon -
He was walking, walking somewhere and he had no idea where he was going.
"Danny, you gonna come over and try my chicken cordon bleu, right?"
His frantic steps increased in speed. The pavement beneath his feet was becoming wet from the rain that now poured freely onto the concrete jungle that was New York city. The sound of his uneven breaths seemed to be all he could hear.
That, and the voice of one of his closest friends. His sarcastic, beautiful woman of a best friend.
Who was dead. Burnt to a horrifying, blackened crisp of bones and ashes.
"You're gonna come, riiiight? I know ya love chicken."
There were globules of water all over his glasses. There was more of it in his eyes, rolling down his face.
It was just the rain. That's all.
"What? Poison ya! Ohh, you got a lotta nerve sayin' that, Messer!"
This time, he knocked into somebody else, hard enough that he staggered and almost fell to his knees. He dimly heard the person, a man, yelling at him. There were other hands, kind hands that touched his shoulder or arm, kind hands that belonged to people asking him if he was alright.
He tried to reply, to tell them to leave him alone, stop touching him, bring his friend back -
"Ya better not expect me to cook for you anymore! And stop laughin' at me, ya ungrateful dork!"
Danny ran.
He was no longer on the sidewalk anymore. Going onto the road.
A sudden, piercing screech of wheels on wet tarmac.
He instinctively dashed away from the source of the noise, heading blindly for where he assumed was the other side of the road. Car horns were blaring. Someone else was shouting at him now.
Or maybe everyone was.
"Danny, what have you been doin' to yerself?"
He stumbled onto the pavement, jostling his way through the small crowd of people standing there. They had umbrellas open above them, protecting them from the freezing torrent from the skies.
He had nothing. As always.
"C'mon, lie down here. Make ya some tea … think I still have a change of yer clothes in my cupboard."
Danny kept on running. Clutching the lapels of his sopping jacket close together. His teeth rattled audibly against each other. He couldn't stop shivering. He was cold everywhere, except for his eyes. They seemed to burn like coals. The wetness running from them was equally hot.
"Shhh, it's okay now, Danny … ssshhh, I'm here."
His stinging eyes finally scrunched shut.
One of his boots caught on the rough edge of a slab of sidewalk.
He tripped, plunging fast towards an unyielding ground.
"It's okay, I'm here."
Another bright flash of illumination high up, followed by another roar of thunder.
There was new warmth oozing from the palm of his left hand. His silver-framed spectacles were on the pavement near his right forearm, still intact. He stared numbly at his badly scratched and bleeding hands. At the red blood contrasting with the pale skin of his palm. At the raindrops striking his stigmata of wounds with pinpricks of ice.
"It's okay, I'm here."
He blinked. The storm wasn't beating down on him anymore.
And there was a shadow looming over him.
"Danny."
He wearily lifted his head. He saw nothing except a shady blur bent over him, holding a white umbrella over them. A tall, familiar and reassuring figure. His lips moved silently.
Aiden?
Danny stared into downcast eyes as blue as his own.
At length, his voice found freedom in the form of a raspy croak.
" … Don?"
Flack said nothing, his sole response a thinning of his lips into a line on his handsome visage. His large eyes were glistening.
Danny felt a strong arm envelop itself around his waist.
"C'mon, we gotta get outta the rain."
He was on his feet now, swaying listlessly. Flack was placing his folded spectacles into his own coat pocket. Danny mulled over whether to ask for his glasses back so he could wear it again. There wasn't a point in doing that. He couldn't see anything with or without them. The moisture in his eyes was severely clouding his vision anyway.
Flack got a secure grip on him with one arm tight around his hunched shoulders.
"Stay with me, 'kay?"
Danny was walking once more. No, being led by Flack into some place that had to be a diner, from the various aromas that assaulted his sense of smell. Somewhere above him, a bell chimed. A doorbell?
"'Cuse me, ma'am, is there a restroom?"
Flack was talking to someone. Danny blinked numerous times. He squinted. A blob in yellow and white was moving toward them in a tentative but concerned manner.
"Yeah, it's in the back … next to the kitchens."
Without his glasses, everything was a blur of colorful splotches. However, up close, the yellow-and-white blob transformed into a short-haired brunette in her late thirties, dressed in a waitress' uniform. Danny felt a delicate touch on the back of his wounded left hand. He heard her gasp loudly.
"You're bleeding!"
He involuntarily jerked his hand away and shrunk from the stranger, burrowing against Flack's warm body. Why wouldn't people stop touching him?
"Look, there's a first aid kit, in the break room." The woman strided away from them, changing back into a yellow and white blob again. "I'll show you where it is."
Danny could feel eyes staring at him, those of the other customers, while Flack guided him to the back of the diner. Their detached, indifferent gazes were like sharp, stabbing needles in his flesh. He bowed his head, keeping his scratched hands against his chest. Fuck, he hated it even more when people looked at him like that.
A door opened.
A light was switched on.
"There's a couch here … if your friend wants to lie down or something."
Danny tried to stop shaking. He looked down at his hands. They wouldn't stop shaking either. His palms and fingers were covered in crimson trails and smears.
A drawer was opened, and then closed a moment later.
The waitress came back into view.
"Here's the first aid kit. There're some bandages and antiseptic in there." She was unfurling what resembled a white, rectangular cloth. "Here's a towel too."
"Thank you. I really 'preciate it."
Danny's knees decided to buckle. He sat down hard on what had to be the couch, slumping back with an exhausted sigh. He shut his eyes, turning his head sideways and away from the direction of their voices. Flack now had one hand around his wrist. Counting his pulse rate? He wasn't sure.
He shuddered violently. The chilly wetness was beginning to seep through his shirt under his waterlogged jacket.
"Is it alright if we have some privacy?"
"Uhm, well …"
"It's okay." Flack was rummaging for something in his pocket. Then, a flipping, leather-squeak of a sound. "We're both NYPD."
"Ohh, okay … yeah, it's okay." The woman paused. "He doesn't look too good. Should - should I call the ambu-"
"No, it's fine, he just fell down on the sidewalk, that's all. Thanks."
"Okay. Take your time … Let me know if you need anything else."
"Thanks."
A moment later, there was the sound of a door closing.
Flack moved away from him.
A click, the lock of the door pressed down.
Danny heard a heavy sigh.
Some rustling noises.
After a minute, he felt something soft and warm around his head, over his face. Flack was toweling his hair dry. Now he couldn't see anything at all even if he opened his eyes. For a second, Danny tensed up in resistance, then went limp on the couch, letting Flack wipe at his face and neck.
It was okay. This was Flack, not somebody else. It was okay.
The towel was removed.
"Danny."
He was being tenderly nudged in the shoulder.
"C'mon, buddy, you gotta take off yer jacket. It's soaked."
His eyes opened into slits. He struggled to sit up. So worn-out. He just wanted to sleep. And forget the nightmare of seeing Aiden's face superimposed onto that skull on that computer screen.
She couldn't be dead.
Hawkes had to be wrong -
The homicide detective stooped over him again, helping him to strip off the wet garment. Flack had to literally peel it off. It was so wet the very act of taking the jacket off was squeezing water out of it. A very distant part of Danny's mind hoped the couch was water-proof.
His trembling intensified tenfold the instant the jacket was gone.
"Your shirt's kinda wet too … do you …"
Danny enfolded his own arms around his midriff, grabbing at his damp shirt. No, he still couldn't bear to look at his body himself, not even after the positive progress he'd made so far in his recovery. There was no way he was going to let Flack see him. Not yet.
"Okay … it's okay."
Flack swiftly swaddled his body in something warm and dry. It was the man's long coat. Danny tugged it tighter around himself, whispering his gratitude.
The homicide detective was kneeling in front of him. Flack's eyes were bloodshot.
"Gonna clean yer hands and bandage 'em, 'kay?" Flack said in a mellow tone.
Danny stared at his friend, or rather, the top of Flack's head, with half-lidded eyes. He never realized how gentle the taller detective's touch was. How those big hands could dab antiseptic at the cuts and scratches on his hands with some cotton wool so tenderly and efficiently.
It reminded Danny of another rainy day long ago, when he'd fallen during playtime at that playground near his childhood home. He hurt his knees pretty badly on the rough concrete ground, and they bled while he limped all the way home. Mommy and dad were at work, but Louie was there. Louie had spotted him long before he arrived at the front door, rushing out to meet him and carry him back inside the house.
It was only in the privacy of the living room, with Louie helping him to change his sodden clothes and Louie cleaning his wounded knees and bandaging them, that he broke into tears. Louie always teased him about being a baby and crying like one. But that afternoon, Louie did no such thing.
Danny would never forget the tight hug. Or those affectionate pats on his head. Or the way Louie wiped the tears away from his cheeks and told him it was alright, that his big brother was there now and nobody was going to hurt him ever again.
"See? There ya go. S'okay now." Louie stuck the last piece of tape in place, patting it to make sure the bandages would stay.
Danny stared at his brother's thick head of dark hair. Louie was the one who had mommy's luxurious hair. He was the one with dad's brown hair instead.
"You'll be good as new in no time." Louie glanced up, his lined face crinkled in a rare and fond smile. "Don't worry 'bout the rain, Danny."
Danny felt his big brother patting his hands. Louie's fingernails were stained with tobacco.
"The rain … it don't last forever. When the rain stops, the sun will shine again."
Louie's brown eyes were old and sad.
"Dan?"
Danny blinked.
The eyes he gazed into were no longer brown, but blue.
And the face was similarly lined like Louie's, and just as calming.
A shiver ran down the CSI's spine. It wasn't 1980 anymore. The playground where he fell down and injured his knees had been bulldozed decades ago. His childhood home was sold just a couple of years after that. And Louie …
The blue-eyed man with the thick, dark hair touched the side of his face. The guy looked worried.
"Danny? Stay with me, buddy."
It wasn't 1980 anymore. It was the year he got trapped in a vault with a billionaire's corpse. It was the year his only brother was almost beaten to a bloody pulp by Sonny Sassone's henchmen, and now lay at death's door at Mount Sinai hospital. It was the year an incinerated body was discovered in a razed car, mutilated beyond recognition by intense flames.
Danny inhaled sharply. His wet eyes widened.
"Aiden's dead."
Flack's hand crushed his in a vice-like grip. Danny ignored the pain. The one in his heart overwhelmed it by far.
"Aiden's dead."
Through the blurriness in his eyes, he stared with wide eyes at the other man, pleading silently with Flack to tell him it wasn't true. That it was alright, and Flack was there now and everything was going to be alright.
"I know, Danny. I know."
Danny's wan face screwed up in anguish. He tried to shake his head, but Flack's hands cupping his face now stopped him from doing so.
No, no, Flack was supposed to tell him it wasn't true, that it was okay -
"No." One of Danny's bandaged hands curled up, fingernails biting into an already hurting palm. "No."
Against his own volition, he swung his fist in an infuriated arc down onto Flack's chest. The homicide detective seemed prepared for it, taking the blow with nothing more than a grunt.
"No." Another punch.
"No." And another. And another.
"NonononoNONONONONOOO-"
Flack was grimacing, grabbing his forearms in a half-hearted effort to halt his frenzied fit of violence. Some part of Danny wanted Flack to become enraged and aggressive towards him too, instead of letting him bombard more and more punches onto the guy's exposed chest. Some part of him wanted Flack to return the blows.
Hurt him on the outside.
So perhaps, he would stop hurting so much on the inside.
With his fists still pounding the other man, Danny head butted Flack in the center of the man's chest. He kept his head there, pushing against Flack, hoping it would be enough to get the taller detective to retaliate. He was screaming.
Hitmehitmehitmehitme …
He sensed Flack releasing his forearms.
He stiffened, awaiting fresh pain.
In the days to follow, Danny would never forget the tight hug. Of Flack's solid arms in a crushing embrace around him. Or the long fingers running through his damp, tousled hair in consolation. Or how soothing Flack's low voice was as the man murmured into his hair, telling him it was alright, that he wasn't alone and that the bastard who killed Aiden wasn't going to get away with it.
"We're gonna find him, Danny." Flack sounded strange, like he was talking with his throat all clogged up. "We're gonna find the sonofabitch who murdered her, and we're gonna bring him to justice."
All Danny could do was cling onto the other man's suit jacket as he wept in silence. Bury his face into Flack's dress shirt and tie that was getting saturated with his tears. Shudder from agony that no manmade medication or bandage could heal.
"We're gonna get him, Danny."
Flack was warm and brought some hint of life back into his numb body. Flack was warm. Like the sun.
"We will."
Danny sobbed inaudibly, unable to say a word.
And outside, the heavens continued to cry with them.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO
It was oddly temperate for a late autumn night.
Flack stuck one hand into the pocket of his long, dark blue coat. Exhaled a visible wisp of smoke as he stood outside on the sidewalk, waiting for the others to come out of Sullivan's. He took one last puff on the half-burnt cigarette, then plucked it out of his mouth and put it out on the empty cupboard carton in his hand. It was the final one.
Scowling, he crushed the box and cigarette in his palm and chucked it into the trash bin nearby. Shit. He'd promised himself he wouldn't smoke anymore. And he didn't. Not unless a seriously nasty case popped up. Like those damn awful child murders. Or when he had to confront his dad and end up fighting with him over the most ridiculous of things. Fucking good thing then, that he never saw his dad much these days. Fucking good thing too, that those sickening murders perpetrated by that serial killer, the Body Hacker, ended months before. The murderer seemed to have vanished into thin air. As well as that green-eyed creep.
Good. He didn't intend to buy a new packet. He didn't need to be addicted to smoking again.
Flack strolled aimlessly up and down the sidewalk in front of the pub. An evening at Sullivan's never fell short of relaxing him. After all, it wasn't just the place that did it, but the people he was surrounded with whenever he was there.
Except tonight, his get-together with the team was something else. It hadn't been easy to stamp a smile on his face and laugh along while one of his best friends, whom he had nearly lost, talked about another one of his best friends, whom he had lost. Every second of sitting there listening to Danny reminiscing about Aiden turning him down for being way out of his league had hurt like a bitch.
"You might be outta Messer's league, Burn … How 'bout me?"
Flack closed his eyes, lips downturned. A mild breeze swept at his shorn, dark hair.
Had it really been merely two weeks ago when he said that?
And had it really been only the day before that Stella had called him up and said that Aiden was dead?
"I dunno, Flack. You're here with me, and I'm here with you. What does that tell ya?"
Something inside his chest constricted painfully.
He glanced behind to his left, towards Sullivan's entrance. Danny and Stella were already out, standing to one side of the metallic, red doors to allow Mac and some other patrons to exit the pub after them. Lindsay and Hawkes had left a little earlier, Hawkes needing to attend to a family matter and the new CSI also having to leave after receiving a call on her mobile phone.
Flack had thought Lindsay's presence at Sullivan's tonight was … awkward. Mainly because she never knew who Aiden was, and, although nobody would ever say it out loud, she was there to replace Aiden.
And there was no way in fuck all Aiden could ever be replaced.
Especially not now.
Flack sniffed. Considering the reason behind their gathering tonight, he was halfhearted about excusing Monroe for her abrupt question to Danny about needing a ride or not, when it was obvious the guy didn't want to leave yet. Perhaps she basically asked out of courtesy. Perhaps she thought it was an advantageous opportunity to get into Danny's good graces that way.
His blue eyes narrowed as he stared down at his polished shoes. He remembered what Stella had mentioned to him yesterday evening, after she and Lindsay'd combed the car where Aiden's body was discovered. The newcomer had inquired about Aiden. Said that Danny spoke often about their friend and former co-worker. That she wished she could have met her.
Flack snorted, smirking mirthlessly to himself. Yeah. He had a pretty good idea why the new girl would want to have met Aiden. If Aiden was way out of Danny's league, then Danny was way out of Monroe's league. She was going to have to do way better than that to get into Danny's pants.
The homicide detective took a few steps to the side, turned around then ambled back to his original standing spot. Well. Whatever the hell her reason was, he supposed he could excuse her. This time. But he wasn't going to forget it anytime soon. Trying to come onto a guy when he'd just lost one of his closest friends was seriously low in Flack's books.
He turned his head back in the direction of the pub's entrance. Stella had an arm around Danny's shoulders, huddling close to the bespectacled CSI while she said something to him. Looking closer, Flack realized that their foreheads were literally touching each other's.
The homicide detective smiled. Yeah. Danny really was on the mend, at express highway velocity too. The fact that the brown-haired CSI was so composed this evening was more proof Danny was much more emotionally stable than he was months ago. His outburst of grief in that diner's break room on the day they both learnt of Aiden's passing didn't count. Flack would have been shocked if Danny had reacted any less harshly.
He knew how much his friend had cared for Aiden. Had more-than-friends kind of feelings, even.
Danny loved Aiden.
Flack looked away, bowing his head to stare blankly at the pavement.
So did he.
His vision started to mist over.
He felt a heavy hand grasp his shoulder.
"Flack?"
Flack blinked a couple of times, then raised his head. He put on a small smile.
"Hey, Mac."
Wise, hazel eyes gazed back at him. Mac squeezed his shoulder once.
"You alright?"
It took a while for Flack to crop up an answer. "Guess I'm good as I can be."
There was a calm silence between them for a minute. Flack was grateful for it. It gave him the time he needed to inwardly get himself together in front of the other man. He couldn't afford to let the walls crumble now. It wasn't the right time yet.
"I made a promise to her."
Flack glanced sharply at the older detective.
"I made a promise to her that I'd capture Pratt and make him pay for his crimes."
Flack swallowed visibly. "You did."
Mac smiled in a sorrowful way. It was a smile that was filled with regret, one that conveyed everything of what Mac truly felt about the conclusion of Aiden's case. Seeing it had the unintentional effect of making Flack's sight cloud over once more. He knew exactly what the other detective was feeling.
The hazel-eyed CSI remained silent, and merely gave Flack's shoulder another sympathetic squeeze. That, too, said more to the homicide detective than any words Mac could possibly have uttered.
Unhurried footsteps signaled the approach of Danny and Stella.
Mac was the first to turn towards them, placing a hand on Danny's upper back and patting the younger CSI twice. Danny glanced at Mac with an uncommonly open, softhearted expression. Stella cast a closed-lip smile at her CSI partner and Flack.
"I'll go start the car," Mac said to Stella. Then, he said to Danny and Flack, "I'll see you both tomorrow. Have a good night."
Flack simply nodded.
He felt a hand touch his forearm.
Stella's large eyes gleamed beneath the bright, neon lighting of Sullivan's sign.
Without a word, Flack opened his arms and embraced the beautiful Greek woman, slanting his head on top of hers. Her arms were firm around his waist. He didn't mind. Here was another close friend he'd also almost lost. If Stella hadn't been forced to shoot her psychotic stalker of a boyfriend in her apartment, he'd have gladly done it in her place. Ten times over. Maybe he would have made the dead bastard experience everything Stella had to go through that night as well. A hundred times over.
He tightened his hold, and closed his searing eyes. Stella smelled nice. Like apricot. And lavender.
"How are ya doin'?" Flack whispered.
"I'm okay." Stella leaned back, looking at him tenderly. "Really."
The bruises on the upper side of her face had faded to minor shades of blues and black. But they were still there. The well-concealed despondency in her green eyes was still there.
"You were there for me, Don," Stella added, her lips curved up. "I'll always be thankful for that."
"Hey, s'what friends are for, right?" Flack cleared his throat. He hoped Stella didn't catch the slight break in his voice at the last word.
Stella's kind smile widened, and she gazed at him with warmth for a minute or two. She affectionately ruffled his hair.
"How are you doing?"
With Mac, it had taken less effort to maintain his stoic facade. Stella, on the other hand, was different from the others, even Danny. There were certain boundaries around him that only she had ever crossed, certain things about him inside that only she had ever had the vision to see. He was sure she was aware of how close he was to falling apart within.
He inhaled deeply, sustaining eye contact. His lips moved.
"I'm holdin' up. Ya don't hafta worry 'bout me."
There ya go, Donny, one more smile for the show, a voice in his head murmured, just a little while more, and you'll be on your own. It'll be safe then.
The Greek CSI had a knowing expression on her fine features. She wisely kept quiet.
"C'mon, I'm a big boy." Flack made a funny face.
It worked. Stella laughed. Still, her melodious laughter had a tinge of melancholy to it.
"Take care of yourself, alright?" She gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Flack didn't reply. The kiss suddenly reminded him so much of Aiden doing the same that he had to grit his teeth to keep his composure. He couldn't bear to look Stella in the eye anymore.
He felt her gently squeeze his hand in hers.
And for some reason, that straightforward action made his heart contract more excruciatingly than it did before.
When Flack looked up, he saw the two CSIs were standing a couple of feet away. Stella was talking to Danny once more, her refined brows low in a slight frown. She was worried about something. Flack couldn't hear what they were discussing. Whatever it was she was saying, Danny appeared to be in agreement with her. He nodded, and said something in return. Then, Stella hugged the blue-eyed CSI and bid them both farewell with a hand wave.
"Don?"
Danny was next to him.
"We gonna stand 'round here all night, or what?" The CSI smirked and punched him good-naturedly in the upper arm.
Flack jerked slightly, then punched Danny in the same manner, face flushed. For the first time in ages, he had no witty rejoinder to his friend's banter. Danny noticed. Flack could tell from the meaningful gaze the CSI aimed at him.
"C'mon, I'll take ya home," Flack eventually mumbled.
The homicide detective didn't recall much of the drive to Danny's apartment building. Parked outside. Danny said something about his heating not working. Something about whether he could stay over for the night or not. And Flack remembered that he'd been stunned by Danny's unexpected request. Sure, he'd stayed at Danny's place tons of times. But Danny at his? Flack had been even more stunned to realize the shorter detective had yet to ever sleep over at his apartment.
Of course he said yes, absolutely, no problem. C'mon, didn't the guy know better by now?
And so, there they were, some time later, nestled on his double bed under a thick, woolen blanket in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. Flack left on a single, small lamp, on the bedside table on his side so Danny could sleep undisturbed. The shorter man was lying on his side facing Flack, his hands sticking out past the edge of the blanket and grazing the homicide detective's forearm. The left palm was still bandaged.
Flack, lounging against the bed's headboard, carefully used his fingers to inspect Danny's hands. The scratches were already scabbed over and healing. They would be just fine. Flack covered his friend's hands with the blanket, then shifted his inspection over onto Danny's relaxed visage. The CSI was sleeping on his right side, and therefore, the left side of his face was bared to Flack's view. The bruises he had gotten after his accident were completely gone. The only visible indication now that Danny really fall down those stairs was the extremely faint scar that ran across the top of his left temple, at the hairline. It was hardly noticeable. With the way Danny combed his hair nowadays, no one would even know it was there, up close or not.
In his slumber, Danny took a deep breath, rolled forwards until he was nearly lying on his chest and stomach, face half-nuzzled into the pillow under his head. Now he was even closer to Flack, pressed against the length of the taller man's body from flank to toes. Flack quietly rearranged the blanket around Danny's shoulders and neck, tucking him in. He couldn't blame Danny for snuggling up close to him like that. It was getting cold. All Danny had on was a black t-shirt and a pair of thin track pants. And all he had on was a grey t-shirt and boxers.
Flack kept his gaze on Danny's sleeping form. He'd initially wished to be alone tonight. He had been very sure of it, until Danny asked to stay over at his place for the night. The conspicuous concern in those blue eyes … changed something within him. Or maybe, maybe he never did want to be on his own. Maybe he'd been in denial the whole night until that very moment. That he couldn't be the tough one twenty-four seven, three-hundred and sixty-five days of the year.
That he needed someone.
He sprawled lower on the bed, moving slowly till his upper body was supported by the two plump pillows piled against the headstand. Tugged the blanket over his arms to his shoulders. Exhaled audibly.
God, Aiden would be smacking his head by now. Telling him that it was Danny's job to be the drama queen, not him.
The corner of Flack's lips curled up. Aiden always did have the naughtiest smile, like an imp's.
"So. How is the resident drama queen?" Aiden was pouring him some coffee. It smelled fantastic.
"He's doin' good, Aid. He really is." He thanked her when she handed him the filled black mug. It had Big Boss written around it in humongous, white letters. "He's eatin' like normal again, he's talkin' to everybody again, drivin' Mac nuts as usual -"
The long-haired brunette laughed at that, her brown eyes crinkled.
"Yeah, the resident drama queen is back on stage." Flack chuckled. He took a sip of the hot coffee. It tasted fantastic too.
"That's good. That's good." Aiden got her own cup full with the drink, then sat beside him at the kitchen counter. "I'm so glad to hear that, I really am."
She was dressed in a white sleeveless dress decorated with flowers. She looked gorgeous, lit by sunshine streaming in from the open windows nearby. Flack was itching to place his hand on her thigh.
"When was the last time ya saw him anyway?"
Aiden ran a hand through her dark tresses. "Oh geez, musta been a couple of weeks now." She tsked. "I really need to see him again. I know you guys have been real busy the last few months."
"Yeah." Flack frowned. "Don'tcha just hate it when a psycho serial killer decides to show up and terrorize the city?"
Aiden let out an understanding chuckle. "Hell, yeah. I gotta tell ya, Don, I'm kinda glad I'm not workin' at the labs anymore. I don't think I coulda handled those cases." She reached out to hold his hand. "You guys are all amazin', did I ever tell ya that?"
Flack intertwined his long fingers with hers, staring at her pixie-like face. Aiden wasn't the sort of woman who liked to make sentimental declarations like that. It was causing an internal alarm to ring inside his mind. He gazed into her big, brown eyes. There was something secreted, veiled in those eyes of hers. Something that was hurting her in some way. His gut instincts told him something bad was going on behind the curtains in Aiden's life. His instincts had been right about Danny. He was certain he was right in this case too.
The big question was, why wouldn't she tell him about it?
Could it possibly have something to do with the case that required Mac to fire her?
"Hey, c'mon, you're pretty damn amazin' yerself, Burn." Flack smirked, attempting to lighten the mood. Like Danny, it would be a mistake to force her to talk. When the time was right, she'd tell him. She always did.
Aiden's smile gradually faltered. "So … what's the new girl like?"
Flack's smirk turned somewhat sardonic. Aw, man, Aiden was worried about the newcomer from Montana? He snorted.
"She's no you." He squeezed Aiden's hand. "She really isn't."
He was gratified to see the little smile on her face. Wow. He'd really missed it.
"I hear Danny's got a crush on her or somethin'."
The cheerless pitch of her voice really got to him.
"Bullshit."
His snappish tone made her look at him sharply.
"That's not true, and ya know it. He's had a crush on you for the longest time, and you know it."
Aiden gazed at him expressionlessly for a moment, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. She glanced away, still smiling. "Yeah."
"Yeah, and I know what ya said to him too." Flack guffawed. "He keeps tellin' me 'bout it all the time. I think ya hurt his feelings, man." He smirked widely.
"Aww, c'mon, Don, he knows I don't like him that way! He's like … my brat of a brother or somethin'."
That got Flack laughing again. After a minute, he gradually fell silent, tenderly fiddling with Aiden's fingers. They were soft and warm to the touch, feminine hands that he could hold all day. She would probably smack him on the head if he ever said that out loud to her.
And he wholly did expect her to smack him when he said the next words.
"You might be outta Messer's league, Burn … How 'bout me?"
He waited with bated breath for the blow, his blue eyes already scrunched shut.
"I dunno, Flack. You're here with me, and I'm here with you. What does that tell ya?"
His eyes snapped open. Her face was mere inches away from his. She was inclining forward on her stool, her hands on both his thighs. Her eyes were even more luminous this close up. He could smell her, a mild but spicy scent that went straight to his groin.
He stopped breathing.
She leaned forward some more, her lips brushing softly against his.
He angled his head, parting his lips.
Her hands glided up to his shoulders.
Somebody moaned.
The phone rang.
Aiden drew back.
And the moment was lost.
"Oh shit, I gotta answer the phone." She crawled off his lap, and he tried to drag her back.
"Don, I gotta answer the phone." She smiled in apology at him. "Be right back."
Flack rubbed his face with one hand, laughing to himself. Man, sometimes he had the worst of luck. He found out who the caller was, he was going to personally strangle the person with his own bare hands.
Aiden had the phone to her ear. She stood in profile view, so Flack could still see her face. Whatever good feelings he had from their near-kiss instantaneously dissipated at the stark expression on his friend's mien. The only word he could use to describe it was pure rage.
"Okay … Yeah, yeah ... Okay." Her voice was cold and unfeeling, so dissimilar from how she was talking to him mere moments before.
She put the phone down.
"Aid?"
She seemed to have forgotten he was even present.
"Aiden?"
She startled, glanced at him.
"Don. Sorry, I -" She gesticulated with one hand in an absent-minded way. "I - I hafta go somewhere, it's an emergency."
Flack got to his feet, all alert and perceptive. "There anythin' I can do?"
"No! No, it's - it's okay." Aiden walked up to him and ran hand down his arm. "Just somethin' I gotta deal with. It's okay."
Before he could hold her, she was dashing into her bedroom to grab her bag and whatever else she needed.
"Are ya sure? I mean, I could …"
Aiden came back out and quickly hugged him. "It's okay, Don, really." She rushed to her apartment door, then turned around and smiled at him apologetically once more. "I'm sorry, I really am."
Flack scratched at his neck, smirking good-humoredly. "Sorry for what?"
"Sorry that things got cut short."
He grinned. Geez, he wasn't blushing, was he?
"Look." She walked back to stand before him, grabbing his hands. "Why don't we meet up again? Are ya free next weekend?"
"I dunno, Aid. Ya know what our schedules are like." He shrugged regretfully.
"Tell ya what then. I'll give ya call when I'm free, and we'll see how things go, 'kay?"
Flack gazed down at her, biting his lower lip in thought. "Okay."
She flashed one of her brilliant smiles at him. "Great. I'll talk with ya later then. Lock up when ya wanna go."
Again, she was hurrying for the door.
"Aiden!"
She already had the door open. With one hand on the edge of the door, she turned around and looked inquiringly at him.
"If … if somethin' big's goin' on with ya … you'd tell me, right?"
This time, the smile he received was one of those that he didn't want to see on her face. One of the sad ones that made him feel bad in the worst ways.
"Don … I … 'Course I'd tell ya. I promise I'll tell ya everythin' the next time we meet up. I promise."
"Okay." Flack sighed, then smirked. "You call me. Tomorrow."
"Can I call ya tomorrow tomorrow?"
Flack made a face at her.
"If not tomorrow tomorrow, then tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow?"
He waved her away. "Geddoutta here, okay?"
Aiden laughed.
The harmonious sound echoed in Flack's mind.
It was the sole place in the world he would ever hear it now.
He clung onto the memory of that bright Sunday morning as tightly as he could, recollecting each and every sensation of her body against his. Her voice, her silky hair, her mischievous smile. Her laugh. It was hard, so hard to remember her as she used to be, before the sick bastard rapist got to her, before the flames reduced her to ashes and bones.
If only he had made her talk to him that day. If only he had stopped her from answering that call. If only …
There was something enfolded around his shoulders and torso, arms that kept him safe, kept him from exploding into a million, untraceable pieces. His head was tucked under somebody's chin, his hot tears running in rivulets down his face onto the black fabric of a shirt. Someone was stroking his head, whispering words he couldn't understand.
He never did cry with any sound, not even when his ribs were broken after he fell - no, was pushed - down those stairs in his old childhood house.
His eyelids fluttered shut over wet blue eyes.
In the embrace of one of his best friends, Danny Messer, a man called Don Flack, Jr. cried soundlessly for a future that he would never live.
And a love he would never know.