A/N: The reviews have motivated me. I was very tempted to drop this story, but since I've actually have yet to that with any story and so many are into this story, I'll keep it up and continue. But don't be surprised if updates take longer. There's a lot I have to add and clean up. It's not a very long story as compared to my others, but it is rather complicated and I've hit a couple of snags. So have patience.

Ch. 3

Worry to Complications

7:00 am

The most torturous sound ever to be invented was the pulsating screech of an alarm clock. It ripped Danny from the blissful, numbing darkness he'd kept himself floating in; an in between place where pain was little more than an itch in no hurry to be scratched. Being snapped from that darkness actually hurt. His skull felt like someone had stabbed a wedge into in, and kept on hammering away, trying to split the bone in two. Then there was the thickly accumulated congestion sitting solidified at the bottom of his lungs. He erupted into a coughing fit that had his body convulsing and his chest possibly being torn apart, or at least feeling as much. His lungs constricted until no air was left. He tried to pull air in, except that his lungs wouldn't let him, as though they'd shrunk or shriveled ten times less normal capacity. He began to panic, his heart rising in speed and force that could have broken a rib.

Finally, air rasped down his trachea, enough for another couple of coughs to expel more of the gunk until more air could be drawn. He panted, coughed more, panted some more with body shuddering, and nearly drifted back into oblivion. Except that he had a reason for being torn from it to begin with.

He had a doctor's appointment at eight, and he needed to get ready for it. If he could move. He had to concentrate on commanding his led-like arm from beneath the blanket to rub his face. He didn't so much rub as drop his shaking hand onto the side of his face to let it slip off onto the mattress.

Now on to the rest of me. He groaned at the prospect of motion. His whole skeleton might as well have been literally led-based. He rolled onto his sore chest to attempt pushing himself up with his unsteady arms, and his back rebelled against the movement. He probably rose no more than an inch when he dropped back down, panting and coughing. He squinted at the digital clock reading seven ten. It had taken him ten minutes just to wake up.

He tried a different tactic for getting out of bed. He pulled himself to the edge, proving to be just as much of a work-out leaving him breathless, but at least it got him somewhere. He was able to slide his feet from the covers to the floor, then let the rest of himself slide from the bed to follow, and would have crumpled to the floor if he hadn't been clinging to the sheets. He continued to hold on, even tried to pull himself up, and couldn't get his chest passed the mattress before slumping back to the floor, breathing hard.

Okay, this is weird.

He took a moment to catch his breath and tried again, grunting and even sweating with the effort. All it got him was another small drop to the floor and a wheezing excuse for a cuss-word.

Okay, this is bad. It was time to face facts. He needed help. He leaned to the side and reached out with a trembling hand to the cell on the nightstand. He grabbed it, and turned to lean his shoulder and upturned legs against the bed in a shivering huddle, cussing at himself for not turning the heat up to a better degree. Except that he vaguely recalled wanting the heat turned down at some point in time during his illness.

This is freakin' messed up.

He sifted through the names and numbers programmed into the phone. He could have called his parents, but they lived too far away to make it in time. He needed to contact someone close by, and at this hour there was only one group that fit the bill – that is, if they were even at the lab. Danny's mind went automatically to Mac, but trepidation reined him back. If his boss was busy on a case... But then again he could send someone else... Unless they were busy...

It didn't feel right calling someone for a ride to a stupid doctor's appointment during the work hours.

Danny would have laughed if he hadn't known better. He was stuck on the floor, unable to stand, freezing his butt off, and he was worried about cutting into people's work time. There was something seriously wrong, and he would admit that. Too scared not to. He'd had his share of flus, colds, the chicken pox, strep throat and then some, and none of it had ever hit him this hard before. Not a good time to be giving into machoism.

Danny hit the number to dial Mac.

A few rings later, the click of an answered phone sounded.

" Taylor."

Danny let out a breath of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He coughed once to clear his throat, only to end up coughing a few more times before he could speak. " Hey, Mac? It's Danny."

" Thought as much when I heard the coughing. You don't sound any better. What's going on?"

Danny was shivering hard. He huddled tighter to conserve warmth, and tensed his muscles enough to keep that same trembling from reaching his voice.

" I-I-I n-need a ride." So much for the attempt. " T-to the doctors. I-I got an appointment today in an hour. B-but I'm having a l-little trouble getting around, you know? S-sure as hell c-can't take the subway."

" Yeah, yeah that's fine Danny. Listen, Sheldon and Lindsey are at a scene not too far from where you live. I'll see if they can't stop by. If not I'll come get you myself, all right?"

Mac sounded worried. The man was king of self-control, so when emotions slipped, though the self-control remained dominant, it was easy catch the subtle alteration of tenor in his voice.

" Y-yeah. That's cool Mac. T-thanks. And – and I'm r-really sorry 'bout this..."

" Danny, don't be. Being sick isn't exactly something you plan for. Evidence can wait, you can't. So just hold on for a little while. Someone'll be coming for you soon."

Danny nodded despite knowing Mac wouldn't see it. " Yeah Mac. Hangin' on." Danny then hung up when the phone nearly slipped from his uncooperative fingers. He raised his arm to drop the phone on the bed within reach, then gathered a handful of blanket in another go at trying to pull himself back up.

This time around, he couldn't even pull the blanket, or move his arm from the bed. Every act, from opening his eyes to making the call, had massively depleted him. He dropped his head against the bed, closing his eyes, and wishing like hell he'd gotten a drink of water first, because his mouth could have given the Sahara desert a run for its money.

NY

Danny's timing had been impeccable. Mac was already outside and heading to the parking lot when he disconnected with Danny. He continued to walk as he hit Hawkes' number. The former coroner was quick to pick up.

" Hawkes."

" Sheldon, it's Mac. I've got a favor. Seems a visit to Danny's place needs to be made sooner than we thought. He's got an appointment, needs a ride, and frankly he's got me a little extra worried than before."

" Yeah, how so?"

" His voice. Not only could I barely hear it, but it sounded like he was cold, and I swear I heard his teeth chattering. Maybe I'm overreacting, maybe not. Better to play it safe, and since you're closer to his place I was wondering if you could provide him the ride. Stella can keep the scene warm."

" Yeah, no problem. The body's already on it's way to the morgue and me and Lindsey were going to head back anyways to start processing some of what we found."

" Good, I appreciate this. Call me as soon as you can, let me know how he's doing?"

" No problem. Bye."

" Bye."

They disconnected just as Mac reached the truck and slid in. Tension eased from him, but not enough for his liking. Besides proximity, Hawkes' medical expertise made him the logical choice to be Danny's ride. Concern, however, kept nagging for Mac to be the one to go. It was a basic, almost fatherly worry fueling the need for physical proof of Danny being taken to the doctor's and walking through the clinic doors. Then there was the guilt of having seen signs of Danny's decline toward ill health, and not saying anything knowing that Danny would deny it. Mac couldn't quite recall when he'd first taken notice, or if he had even considered it ill health or something else entirely. Though it was redundant to think, Mac thought it all the same – life was playing havoc on Danny; heart, soul, mind and now – obviously – body. The Menhaus fiasco and fairly recently what happened to his brother, Mac's suspicions had been leaning toward possible stress, even depression. The young CSI just seemed so... subdued. Had been for the past couple of days way before his fever hit. And Mac could have sworn the kid was looking thinner.

Stress probably was a factor. After all, Louie was still in a coma, and though Danny had been cleared of having had anything to to with that Tanglewood mess, IAB had been haunting Mac's phone, asking too many questions, pushing too many hints. Mac also had the suspicion Danny was getting a few calls from them as well.

Poor kid couldn't cut a break. Mac had given him some time off after his brother was landed in the hospital. He considered doing it again, convincing Danny – maybe – to stay with his folks or head out of the city, give him more of a chance to clear his head and give his body a real opportunity to rest.

Mac thought all this as he pulled from the parking lot. The desire to be Danny's ride kept up it's pull, growing, steering Mac toward giving in. He could ignore it, but knew there'd be no getting rid of it until the call came, telling him Danny had gone to the doctor, came back, and only had the flu.

NY

Byron squinted through the binoculars.

" Byron, come on man, what's the freakin plan?" Mitchell attempted to demand only to end up whining. Byron had tuned the man's voice out until it became nothing more than white noise.

The plan? What plan? Byron had no real plan except getting to know a little about these people poking around the junk-heaps of the warehouse, doing who knew what to the now removed body. There was no formal plan, but there was the workings of one. This wasn't the first time Byron was denied access to a place due to some sort of human security or the presence of law enforcement. However, today wasn't about access to a place, but to a particular item, which was hidden somewhere in the stuff still in that warehouse, or maybe in that briefcase the black man with the young woman was carrying out to the car – or the box apparently still inside. Byron wasn't sure. He'd never been given time to look. Jack had called nine-one-one at a time that had the police sirens wailing closer and closer moments after Byron had busted a cap in the man's back. He'd had time to cover his tracks, with few tracks to cover, just not enough time to look for what Jack had taken. SOB.

" Byron. We just gonna sit here all day and..."

Byron lowered the binoculars. " Mitchell, shut up or I'll personally remove your tongue. I need a moment to think. Elliot? They pull out, you follow them, but keep a good distance."

Mitchell snorted. " That's your freakin' plan? follow 'em? You already know where they're goin."

The truck pulled from the curb. Elliot waited to the count of ten, and pulled out of the alley. Byron settled back against the seat, watching the truck head up the street.

" True. Just want to find a good spot to park so we can wait 'em out."

" Why?"

Byron fell silent. Mitchell pushed for control of the situation, and Byron had to keep reminding him who was in real control. Mitchell could prod and whine until judgment day and never get a word out of Byron until Byron was good and ready. Sort of like employing a choke-chain on a dog. And if that dog still didn't obey, then it was time to up to a shock collar – i.e. knocking Mitchell into next month. Byron even had an honest to goodness tazer if fisted violence didn't pan out.

Byron's plan, thus far, involved consideration of using one of these lab techs as a means of getting into that lab or on the scene to grab what was rightfully his. Not get him in personally, just utilize them in some way. It was the 'getting them' part he hadn't figured yet. But he had time. He knew he did. Despite Jack's back-stabbing ways, Byron had to admit the man hadn't been an idiot. He had led Byron into that little trap. Except Byron – to his credit – was a freakin' genius, and always at least one step ahead of everyone.

The needed item wouldn't be found, not for a while and not by these people since they didn't know what to look for. So time was on Byron's side to plan, prepare and act. One does not become a professional thief by jumping the gun on everything. Too bad Mitchell had yet to get that driven home into his thick skull.

Oh well.

Byron squinted at the black truck, tilting his head to one side.

" This ain't the way they're suppose to go," he murmured. An aspect to all his plans centered around knowing the location of the police station, fire station, and even the local crime labs. 'Know thy enemy' always rang true, for anywhere and anything.

" What!" Mitchell all but squealed. " What the hell do you mean..."

" Mitch-ell," Byron drawled dangerously, drawing the man's name out like a father reprimanding a child. " Can it! Probably taking a detour. Might come in handy."

One street after another, easy to move through since it was too early for heavier traffic. They entered an apartment neighborhood offset by a few shops here and there, all within walking distance. The truck pulled up to a brown-bricked complex with two stoops and the kind of doors you could just walk through rather than being buzzed in. An old fashioned kind of place not to have that kind of security, but Byron knew buildings, and though this one was open to the public during the day, it would be locked down tight with a good security system at night, with the doors only accessible to the residents through an electronic key or key-card.

The two CSIs got out of the car and headed to the right hand stoop. Byron leaned in a little toward Elliot. " Follow 'em. See what's up."

Elliot nodded without question. He hopped from the car, and Byron took the driver's seat in case a quick exit was in order. Elliot went casually, letting the man and woman go in first. Yet at the same time he walked in long strides to keep the two in sight.

Byron began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

" Byron?" Mitchell said between gritted teeth.

" Just be patient," Byron snapped. " And think to yourself 'has there ever been a time when Byron Murdo ever steered you wrong?' Think about it carefully, Mitch, along with recalling the many times you've doubted me, and the results that followed."

Mitchell said nothing more, and wouldn't for another twenty minutes until his never quieting paranoia overcame his fear. Byron smiled.

A few minutes later, five, maybe more, his cell rang. He snatched it from his pocket and flipped it open.

" Elliot?" he said. " Good news I hope?"

" Very. Get up here fast. You're not going to believe this."

Byron's smile got even bigger.

NY

The elevator hadn't moved fast enough, and neither had Sheldon's legs, so he was actually a little out of breath on reaching Danny's door. Not that he was an out of shape guy – he tried to be far from it, in fact – but worry combined with rushing tended to have the lungs working a little harder.

Lindsey was proof of that as she was also breathing with more effort.

" Danny needing a ride isn't necessarily a bad sign, right?" she asked Hawkes after he knocked.

" In my experience? I have no idea. Now, one thing I do know – if Mac's worried, then we need to worry. And he sounded worried."

Lindsey bit her lip, looking the door up and down as though trying to find another way to open it. Sheldon inwardly winced. He was an honest guy, liked to be straight forward, but tended to forget that in some situations it wasn't always wise to have such a trait. Not that he should have lied or anything, just offered up something more positive. But it wasn't too late.

" But I'm probably jumping to conclusions. Danny's a smart guy, knows better than to drive with a head too congested to think straight." Sheldon knocked again, louder this time.

" But he's also stubborn and might be playing down whatever he's got."

Now Lindsey was being the brutally honest one. Sheldon grimaced. " Damned if you're not right." He knocked a third time, even harder. " Danny, you in there! It's Sheldon and Lindsey."

No answer. Hawkes tried the door knob. He turned, it gave, and the door opened. Sheldon flinched at that.

" Oohhh, that can't be good," he mumbled. He stepped gingerly in, feeling horribly intrusive and inching toward panic. Inside the place was barely lit and heavy in blue-gray shadows. To the left was the kitchen with its foldable plastic table, to the right the single couch, TV on a stand with movies housed underneath, and an old black trunk that made up Danny's coffee table. There was also a book-shelf of books, magazines, and a few knick-knacks, baseball paraphernalia for the most part, some photos of family, a bronze statue of a bucking horse, and another of a spread-winged eagle.

" Danny?" Sheldon called. He glanced over his shoulder at Lindsey, who shrugged. They saw his bag on the floor, coat on the chair, and keys on the table. They moved slowly through the place to the small hallway. On the right was an open door leading to a room that looked to be what Danny used as a personal office. To the left, by the narrow size of the door, probably a closet. That left the partially open door before them. Sheldon reached out and pushed it open the rest of the way.

Danny was on the floor, huddled tight, leaning against the side of the bed with his head down resting on his drawn up knees, and arms hugging himself. Panic snapped, but did only to clear Sheldon's mind rather than fog it. He hurried over to Danny, dropping to his knees beside him, with Lindsey crouching before Danny.

" Danny!" Sheldon called, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. Danny was shivering. Sheldon shook him, then scooted sideways, leaning in close to Danny's head. With one hand, he began to smooth back Danny's hair. The other he kept raised at the ready. When Danny lifted his heavy head at the contact, Sheldon slipped his hand below Danny's jaw to help raise his head further and turn it enough for Sheldon to get a look at him.

A chunk of ice seemed to drop into the pit of Sheldon's stomach. " Aw, man, Danny," he breathed.

Danny's face was white, almost gray, sunken eyed and hallow cheeked. Heat rolled from his sweat-soaked head, but it was a heat he must not have felt from the way he was trembling. The man's eyes were barely open, nothing more than slits reflecting the weak light of the room.

" Danny? Can you hear me?" Sheldon asked. Danny blinked a few times and creased his brow.

" H-Hawkes?" came the whispered, croaked reply. " H-Hey H-Hawkes."

Sheldon gently lowered Danny's head to rest against the side of the bed, and to his relief it stayed there. Danny took a deep breath as though readying a sigh, only to start coughing violently into the comforter. Lindsey leaned forward to put one hand on his shoulder and use the other to run down the back of Danny's head.

" It's okay, Danny, we're right here," she said. Her voice was steady, but her face screamed of a worry going hand in hand with fear.

Sheldon scooted the other way and around to be at Danny's curved back. He placed his ear against Danny, listening to his breaths, then his coughs when they came.

Sheldon wasn't going to lie to himself – it sounded bad. Sheldon was officially alarmed, but not just because of the massive congestive build-up causing Danny's inhales and exhales to sound like they were passing through liquid. Sheldon lifted his ear away to study Danny's back, even placing his hand on it. Through the shirt Sheldon could see – and feel – Danny's ribs with a clarity the former coroner didn't like. Granted, Danny was a lean guy, the kind of lean that had his ribs showing off and on. But this was different, sharper – ribs and backbone. And how long had he been sick?

" Danny?" Hawkes said. " Hey Danny?"

Danny coughed. " Yeah?" he moaned.

" How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"

Danny's shoulder lifted in a weak, shakey shrug. " I dunno. I – I t-tried to have some soup when I got home..."

Hawkes pulled the blue comforter from the bed and wrapped it around Danny's quaking frame.

" B-but I... um... puked it up."

" Have you had anything since then?" Sheldon asked, rubbing Danny's back to get some warmth going.

Danny coughed and sucked in a rasping breath. " No. Couldn't really move. Haven't had much of an appetite lately. Guess I know why now."

Sheldon recalled Danny throwing away half his lunch, and tensed.

" Crap," he hissed, and immediately rose from the floor, pulling out his cell to dial 911. Lindsey watched him nervously.

" What are you doing? What's going on?" She asked.

Sheldon quickly explained. " Danny's congestion's bad, he's malnourished - we need to get him into an ambulance, now."

At this, Danny's head shot up. " No! No. N-not an ambulance. I-I hate those. T-they strip you. I don't want 'em strippin' me."

" Danny, you don't have a choice. Part of the reason you can't move is because you're half-starved. You need help and you need help now."

Danny cringed and dropped his head against the bed in defeat. Curiosity flitted into Sheldon's mind concerning the reason behind this odd phobia, but no time to indulge in it now. As he rattled off the address to the dispatcher, making sure to mention he was with the NYC crime lab since it sometimes made a difference (Sheldon wasn't quite sure how as of yet, just knew it from what he'd heard), he headed to the door to wait outside and lead the way.

On heading out of the hallway, he stopped, frozen, heart stuttering in its beat.

Four men in ski-masks were spread throughout the kitchen and living room, with the tallest standing before the still-open door. He smiled and nodded to Hawkes.

" What's up, my man?" and he winked.

NY

A/N: The cliffhanger was inevitable, please refrain from torching me because of it.