People say there are moments in your life that define who you are, that the actions you choose to take will determine your nature and lay down forever the essential qualities of what makes your core essence. However, for some in those moments the depths of these qualities are not so much revelations as a submission to an already known and at times grudgingly accepted fact. The only kind of revelation that followed was the discovery that once again despite constant wondering whether it was the correct path to take, that core nature prevailed and Donald Flack was left chasing an instinct that burned inside him, telling him this was the right choice to make.
His knuckles shone pale against the steering wheel as he made another hastily performed right turn, leaving a delightful chorus of car horns and swearing behind him, again he hoped he wasn't simply overreacting. The detective's jaw was clenched too tight to speak, but inside his mind there were enough obscenities to make a sailor cry.
Logically, Flack attempted to reason with himself again, there could be a great many explanations for why he hadn't been able to contact Danny. The most obvious one was that someone had stolen his phone; after all petty theft was the biggest category of crime according to the statistics. It would even double up nicely explaining away the constant background of breathing sounds on the other end of the phone line; what person hadn't been privy to the age old prank call at some time in their lives? And prank calling on a stolen phone, that was a past time that could keep children and stoned adults occupied for hours if not whole days.
It all fit perfectly, except for the fact that a search of Messer's apartment using the spare key he'd been given a long while ago had shown up squat, nada, the detective heavily ingrained in Flack could even buy into the suggestion that the CSI might not have made it back the previous night. Though, truth be told, it was sometimes difficult to determine whether it was the detective in him or the concerned friend that was causing his gut to twist so violently whenever he wondered where the blond might be. If he were playing the odds, then Danny would be wandering around the city, happy as can be, perhaps having stayed over a friend's house for the night and blissfully unaware of a lost phone and all the worry his absence was causing. But that particular scenario did not stand a chance in the turmoil of thoughts and possibilities swirling around his head, despite sincere attempts to maintain a clear head by cramming those more unlikely ideas to the back of his mind.
A very small part of him hoped that the reason behind his friend's absence was a serious one, serious enough at least to justify why he had just manipulated Adam into tracking the GPS signal in Messer's phone to give a location. It sent an acid stab of pure guilt through his heart every time he thought of that particular transgression. Adam Ross could be so very eager to please at times, that lying to him felt like convincing a child the bogyman would sneak into their room and eat them alive if they didn't give you all their candy. He hadn't even questioned the logic of using lab equipment to track down the blonde's phone, even when leaving out the slight fact that its owner was also MIA, but had practically glowed down the phone at the prospect of doing his friend a favour. Flack had decided it best to keep quiet his worries and investigation into Danny's disappearance, rolling his eyes at Stella as he mentioned leaving to drag his scrawny ass out of bed, and implying to the gullible lab tech he called friend that the favour was more a request of a bedridden, fever struck Danny than himself.
Now he only hoped he could track down their resident trouble magnet so they could get their stories set straight before the blond got himself untangled from whatever mess he had gotten himself in this time and wandered into work to explain his absence.
Flack cringed to himself as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard, two pm, at five hours tardy there was no chance in hell Mac Taylor, the boss at the crime lab hadn't noticed that one of his CSI's was a no show. The man was a no nonsense sort who could make you feel like a cowed five year old with a single sharp look, a enviable skill no doubt garnered from his time in the united states marine corps. Still, despite a formidable presence and high standards it didn't take away from the fact that the ex-marine had a heart, caring deeply for anyone they accepted into their close knit fold of a team.
The detective didn't need any of the skills and qualities his career imposed to know that if he were to disconnect the call with Danny, more than a few questioning and concerned messages from both Mac and the rest of the team would be lining up in his inbox and voice mail. It was somehow both incredibly comforting and intimidating that every member of their rather odd family, as strangely fixed together as the Frankenstein style lab building they worked in, could be so emotionally concerned about each other's well-being. Which was part of the reason, he contended that he could not tell the team his concerns until he was sure there was something to concern about. One word passing his lips theorising on worries of some possible scenario involving Danny being in danger and whole fleets would be called, absurd sums of man power spent and any and all things stomped on, chewed up and spit out to get back a member of their team safely.
Pulling the car firmly into a street disturbingly close to the bar they had hung out in the night before and sliding in close to the kerb to place the vehicle in park, the impulse driven man paused finally, long enough to reflect on the disparity his actions were showing compared with the careful, rational human being he usually considered himself to be. At least, until the small phone sitting innocently atop of the dashboard just to the left of steering wheel drew his gaze. Minutes after the line had connected with nothing but subtle breathing and background traffic grinding in his ear, he had decided as any vaguely savvy New Yorker would that it was nothing but a prank, some low life getting his rocks off with a stolen phone, not even threats had changed the volume of the quiet breathing. Until that is he had done the sensible thing, given up feeding the guy's ego and simply stated 'alright, I'm hanging up now', moving the machine from his ear to do just that, he had barely heard it, not quite a sob but the monotone breathing had broken up enough to suggest one wasn't far off. Don wasn't sure of the science behind it, whether it was possible to recognise someone from only the sound of their breathing, but whatever the cause he hadn't been able to bring himself to break the connection.
Gritting teeth together in an effort to stop questioning himself once again, the dark haired detective snatched the offending object before he could change his mind, using his other arm to slam the car's door shut as he stalked onto the street. Rubbing a hand over his angular face in such a world weary way as to look old well before his time, he set off in the rough direction Adam's GPS estimate had located Danny's phone at, both hoping and dreading to find his smart ass friend there as well. Heart sinking in his chest, it was only moments before he realised that he was walking the same path Danny would have had to have taken that night when walking to the subway.
He swallowed, blinking once long and slow before he finally raised the plastic to his ear. "Danny, I don't know if that's you or if you can hear me, but if you can I need to know where your at buddy."
Nothing but breathing and traffic, currently his two most hated and loved sounds.
Flack tried again, jaw clenched so tight the words barely made their way past his lips "Comon, help me out here, you know I'm shit at this analyzing crap. What do you think I hang around with you science geeks for?"
A smile twitched across his face for a millisecond as he thought of the indignant look that would appear on his friend's expression upon slipping such a comment into a normal conversation, then the detective remembered that this was no where near a normal conversation, it might not even be a conversation with a friend. Instinct was one thing, but realistically Flack had no idea who was really on the other end of that phone connection. Frustratingly, he also didn't know where exactly his friend was, or for that matter even where his friend's phone was. GPS tracking in cell phones was certainly high class technology but as with even the most professional software it had its limitations, namely around a fifty meter radius if they were lucky, and in this urban environment with countless warrens of buildings to disrupt the signal, lucky was not likely.
Assuming the blonde wasn't lingering on the edge of the city block Adam's global positioning system had pinpointed; a charming array of rather neglected buildings tucked out of the way of the usual new york foot traffic, and also assuming the software hadn't crapped out on them then it was likely that at least the phone if not the person behind it was somewhere within this block. Easier said than done, Flack considered again just turning back and coming clean to Mac, or at least Stella, they had technology back at the lab that could break down the background sounds on the phone call. Hell, if he asked them to Flack had no doubt in his mind they could give him the location down to a bare centimeter within a few hours, only there was no way the detective could wait that long.
Only the few very curious and long standing residents of New York city knew this block existed, and very few of those would even care. Though not far from the restaurant, the bustling city center and the subway this route was not one most sane people would take, unfortunately Danny Messer was not most people, and the sane part he'd been doubting for a while. Several rather questionably odered alleyways formed a confusing, but provided you had a good memory, quick pathway from the main brightly lit streets to this forgotten block. Then it was just a short march past the boarded windows, down another alleyway or two and promptly back into more populated lands to disappear down a subway opening.
Danny had millions of these shortcuts dotted around the city, and from his time on patrol and tagging after his friend, Flack knew them just as well, but unlike his foolhardy friend, he preferred his routes with decent lighting and surveillance. Just a funny little quirk he liked to call a basic survival instinct. Of course, the disturbing amount of times his preconceptions had been backed up by reality was enough to quench any pestering by Danny on the subject. In fact it was a running joke within the crime lab about how many times the blond had gotten mugged, a current total of nine; there was even an office pool going on how long before the number hit double figures. The headstrong man however remained unfazed and stuck to his little known shortcuts with all the joy of a small child exploring a maze, in fact the last time some poor guy had decided to use him as a target, the blond had chased him for six blocks then sat on the criminal to restrain him while waiting for a patrol car to turn up.
There was no doubt in his mind that Danny could handle himself when things got rough, that was practically what the man's whole childhood had been about, but that wasn't enough to halt the worry slowly gnawing away at his insides. While nowhere near the most dangerous parts of the city, the virtually abandoned nature of this tucked away block of forsaken residences and boarded up business ventures had been known to appeal to a drug dealer or two in his time. No better place to commit an illegal act than where no one would see it, and worst of all, Flack knew that Danny Messer took his obligation as a cop with extreme dedication. If the crime scene investigator had happened upon an illegal act, he would pursue with all the doggedness of an owner of a truly messed up sense of self preservation.
Frowning, Flack held the phone to his ear with the attentiveness of a avid sports fan following his favorite team on the radio and none of the enthusiasm. Distant cars echoed against his right ear drum, but not his left, the noises turned tinny though the machine's distortion as he made his way through the alleyway paved with sopping newspaper and other such rubbish adorning his path, red carpet style. The detective stepped carefully but quickly, scanning the beer cans at his feet and graffiti painted walls crumbling at his sides with all the concentration he had seen the CSI's muster at a crime scene, looking for that elusive clue they always seemed to manage to find that would tell them exactly what to do next.
The derelict buildings seemed to swallow him whole as he stepped deeper into the crisscrossing midst of back streets; some empty enough to imagine he was the first soul to set foot on their cracked surfaces for many years and some cluttered with enough broken bottles, spent needles and discarded cigarettes to easily imagine their holder's had just stepped elsewhere for a quick bathroom break. A curious film had already built up over his smartly polished black shoes, but the dark haired man kept on, attempting with only moderate success to trace his steps as close to the path he remembered from times he had allowed Danny to drag him through his favored shortcut, the subway route to the blond's apartment.
Bringing the phone to and away from his ear, Flack cocked his head slowly like a dog catching onto a trail of scent. Hesitating for a moment in front of the entrance of two equally unappealing paths; a distant sound to the right clinched the deal, and he sped off again with purposefulness towards the noise, in doing so stepping from a vaguely remembered route to one that he was sure he had never even come across in his lifetime spent in the city. Confidence fueled his speed as he turned again and again into unknown streets, at each turn comparing the sounds from the environment to those channeled through the earpiece and at each turn the noises grew more similar in composition and volume. He was getting closer.
Unfortunately, not everything being as simple in practice as in theory, as the similarities grew so did the difficulty detecting any differences when choosing between which path was the correct direction, until finally Flack was stuck, the trail seeming equally promising each direction. Frustration boiling within his chest, his feet moved almost uncontrollably, pacing this way and that between the two opposite offshoots that had suddenly sprung from the path he had been walking down, an unconscious imitation of the disorganized energy he associated so fiercely with his best friend.
Closing his eyes in heavy resignation he sighed, collecting himself mentally as best he could before he spoke into the mouthpiece "Danny, buddy. If you're there I need you to listen to me really carefully OK? Here's what I'm going to do, I'm gonna hang up now-"
Flack paused, swallowing, wondering if he had just imagined the change in breathing on the other side of the phone; quicker, almost panicked, scared. "I'm gonna hang up now and then I'm gonna phone right back. Now listen real careful, when I call back I'm going to need you to let the phone ring three times, just three times then you pick up alrite? If this doesn't work then we'll think of something else OK?"
Receiving no answer, though he hadn't expected one Flack repeated the instructions a final time before hanging up the connection, the picture of his friend's goofy grin disappeared from the screen.
Almost as an impulse, the detective struck redial, bringing back Danny's picture to the screen. The moment ringing hit his ear, he held the phone to his side, jogging part way down each alleyway to no avail, the only ringing came from the machine grasped tightly in his palm. Not about to give up that easily, he made his way back to the main path on the second ring, praying to whoever could hear him that this wasn't one of those phones that delayed their ringing any more than that, or worse, that Danny's phone was on silent and he would never hear it no matter how much it rang. Fear rushing like ice cold water through his veins, he upped his speed, almost sprinting down the path to listen at each turn off for the mobile phone.
Three rings ran out and suddenly a new worry gripped his heart; cold thoughts worming their way so deep into the muscle it seemed to freeze and spasm beneath his ribcage. Willingly he had severed his only connection with his missing friend, all doubts that the person on the other end of the phone was not Danny having vanished in the wake of the panic fueling his footsteps. Four rings and still nothing, how many rings did the standard mobile have before it went to voice mail, six, eight, less?
"Danny?" Flack yelled out to the crumbling brickwork surrounding him, receiving no sound in return but the distant hum of intermittent traffic. Five rings, he attempted to school his emotions, reminding himself that if this didn't work then there were other options; calling back, recruiting Mac Taylor to come down here, lab in tow and turn the place upside down and inside out until they found their friend. Not fifteen meters in front of him the path opened up into a street, busier than the last one but only so far as this one looked like it might actually serve as residence for some people, with cars parked on curbs and movement from one of the few curtains within his eye line, possibly in reaction to his shout. If Danny wasn't here then he was running out of places to look.
As soon as the sixth ring hit the air, he heard it, slight and distorted but definitely there. Right. Flack turned in the direction, his feet finding the turn-off before his eyes registered it as a tiny alleyway at back of a row of small residences barely large enough to hold both arms straight away from his sides without brushing brick. While it had been built as an in between passageway for the residents of the two or three houses to walk before dropping their rubbish in the larger path for pick up, the state of the concrete told the detective that somebody didn't agree. Bags, some split and some miraculously intact lay forgotten against the brick and on the wet ground by their corpses sat a figure slumped too far forward to see his features, but in his clenched fist lay a ringing phone.
Silently Flack hung up his own phone, shoving the small machine deep into a pocket as he etched a careful path towards the slouched man. Words died, suffocating painfully in his throat as he neared, displacing sodden newspapers and apple cores as he went. It was Danny and very rarely had he been so relieved and disheartened by a single fact in all his life.
Thin brick walls did an excellent job of obscuring the afternoon sunlight, flushing the two men with a dim half darkness not conductive to answering the blaring questions about the sitting man's condition twisting around in his taller companion's head. Flack crouched, instinctively wiping away the blond hair plastered to Danny's forehead, his usually sticking up hairstyle battered into submission by the last rain shower that still glittered on the ground by their feet and turned the smaller man's clothes into a saturated mess. Cowed it clung to his skin, joined in the idea by the t-shirt the detective recognized from the night before and the jeans that were steadily absorbing water from the puddle he was part lying in. Somewhere along the way of whatever had happened, Messer had lost a shoe, the sock left half way off his foot as if attempting to chase off after it. There had been a jacket too that Flack also counted as missing, a brown leather thing that was one of the man's favorites.
"Danno" Flack uttered softly, relief lifting his voice. Cupping a hand under his friend's chin, he tilted the smaller man's face into the bare traces of sunlight that made it this close to the walled ground, turning it this way and that with the attentiveness of a CSI himself, ignoring the tensing of the muscles beneath his hand. Screwing up his face at what he saw, Flack pondered the scratch tearing at the man's cheek, split lip, purplish skin around his left eye and the blotches forming around his jawline before turning his eyes to the rest of his body. The blonde's right arm was cut up, and though Flack was still cursing the lack of clear light, he could have sworn there were objects sticking out of it; bits of plastic maybe, or glass. Trailing his gaze down the detective really did swear when he saw the same could be said for Danny's hand which was partially curled up and hovering close to his chest in protection. Swallowing deeply he gingerly removed the phone still laid in Danny's other hand, feeling his gag reflex working upon hearing the clinking of glass against metal while doing so. Stashing the phone next to his own, Flack tried to derive some relief from the fact that the blonde's left arm was not as littered with cuts as his right, though the darkening blotches in their wake failed the attempt before it had properly started.
"Can you walk?" Flack muttered, wanting to get the man out of here and far away as soon as possible.
No reply, just like the phone call, only breathing answered his query but at least on the phone, the picture of his friend had smiled and looked Don straight in the eye. Danny had yet to fix his eyes anywhere, giving the blue a glazed over appearance.
"Danny, I need to know if you can get up so I can get you outta here, OK?"
This time Danny's eyes seemed to react, but only so far as to flitter away from his own searching gaze like flies from vinegar. With a sigh that seemed to resonate through every one of his aching muscles, Flack fixed a hand to the smaller figure's shoulder, squeezing softly as if fighting an urge to try shaking the man out of his silence. Dragging his other palm down his long face in an effort to wipe away every trace of the built up frustration, concern and even dull spiking anger, Flack took less than a second to reassess his priorities before tucking both hands under the blond's armpits and hauling his friend to his feet. Or rather, a more apt description would be hauling his friend to a vaguely vertical position then using a fair amount of effort to keep him there.
Danny's toes barely whispered against the ground as the detective turned, his movements full of purpose, as he slung his friend's less damaged arm across his neck and gripping it there to keep the man steady, while being careful to hold only the undamaged skin on his forearm and not the sickening glass filled palm. His second arm wrapped around the man's back and under his arm, hand resting on Danny's chest, clenching a handful of sodden t-shirt to keep him as still as possible as they moved quickly out into the street.
Curtains fluttered in their wake, but Don didn't stop to think about what a frightening picture they must make, him dragging a bloodied limp figure down the pavements where children would play when school got out and citizens walked calmly back to their homes. The whole situation felt strangely like the moments after a bomb explodes, where the world is stilled into silence and you look around expecting to see that everyday street you were walking down gone, turned into some completely different hellish dimension, because after all that noise and all that violence, how can it still be the same street? Yet, instead you recognize normality; that bench you sat on to drink coffee, the shop you walk past every morning, just normality shredded and butchered completely into abnormality. That was the part of him that squeaked skeptically in the back of his mind that this couldn't be happening, he had left Danny at the bar last night healthy and in good spirits to make the same walk he had made every day for the past five years to the subway and back home. There had to be some mistake.
It took much less time to take the long path around back to where Flack had parked his car than he could ever remember Danny's prized shortcuts taking, but he had a feeling that it was more to do with the detachment of the moment than distance, certainly Danny would fight with him on the matter. With that thought he spared a glance down at the slumped head lolling limply forwards and towards the blond's levered arm, the image of his stubborn headstrong friend arguing with him seeming so unlikely that it sent a physical pain hurtling through his chest.
Later he would be unable to describe exactly how he managed to keep a hold of Danny's weight and maneuver his car keys, but he managed it and soon the smaller man was placed in the passenger seat as he rushed around to his own side of the vehicle. The detective had started the engine, put the car into gear and yanked on a seat belt before he noticed Danny had yet to put on his own. The man looked more like a boy as he huddled, leaning against the door, shivers racking his frame as he held his hands protectively against the sodding wet t-shirt covering his chest, feet turned inwards tucked as close to the chair as humanly possible, pink visible as Flack processed the fact that the sock seemed to at some point have gone chasing off in search of the missing shoe. Instinct guided a comforting hand toward his friend's shoulder, though from the tense muscles under his palm it was not well received.
"You're gonna be fine Danno" the dark haired man said, finally finding his voice. It felt odd as he drew the man's seat belt across his chest, carefully guiding clenched hands out of the way before slotting the metal claw into its counterpart at the base of the vinyl. One of the first things you learned about Danny Messer was that he was independent, fiercely so. Even after all these years Flack had to practically bully him into admitting when he might be too ill to work, and even then getting a obstinate Danny when focused on a case to take any time off was running close to impossible.
As they drove off, Flack without any guilt on the issue slammed the emergency police light on top the dashboard, its whining noise blaring out the silence. Heavy on the horn and quick with the wheel the car jumped through traffic towards Bellevue hospital centre faster than should be possible, particularly in New York traffic. Finally gliding into the painted tarmac car park at the front of the hospital, Flack switched off the light, barely making an effort to park before he pulled out the keys and yanked open the vehicle door.
A quick glance at his surroundings and Flack decided against calling for help, to instead rush around the silver mercury sedan to take his friend to the doors of the building himself. From the looks of things it was a quiet afternoon for the large hospital, and because of the large distance between the car park and the hospital entrance due to the ambulance bay in between it was likely to take longer if he just waited around for someone to notice them. Besides the adrenaline that was still rushing through his system demanded that he take action, muscles practically moving by themselves as he opened the passenger door and tugged the blond's seat beat loose. Flack was just about to haul the smaller man back into his arms again when a weak grip on his long sleeved white shirt stopped him.
The voice was unexpected; so raw and raspy as if the man had been swallowing sandpaper, it was enough to halt any thoughts of removing the damaged hand and simply carrying on in their tracks.
"No, 'm fine" Danny shook his head from side to side as if attempting to clear up the haziness that clouded his blue eyes and for the first time Flack caught a glimpse of matted red in the back of the sitting man's drying hair.
"Danny if your fine I'm Kylie freaking Minogue, now common I'm not arguing with you while your bleeding all over the fucking car park"
Knowing from experience not to give the stubborn man any further chance to retaliate, Don heaved the smaller figure out of the car so Danny was forced to stand shaking against the metal bonnet, single shoe gripping uncertainly at the tarmac while his other bare foot shied away from the cold rough feel. With the foreign arm still firmly clamped around his chest, Danny instinctively leaned forward looking for something further to hold his weight, exploring the dipped lines marking the hood with forearms like a toddler taking first steps before Flack noticed the danger and pulled him away, cursing himself for falling into such mundane routines as locking the car door in a time like this. Bits of bloodied glass glittered by their feet cast there by the friction and the detective could not halt a few less than savoury phrases rumbling from lungs burning with tension to spill messily over the all but empty car park and his faltering friend's ears.
As though those words had cast a sudden spell, any stability in the blond's legs seemed to fade, head lolling back limply to Flack's shoulder. Though this was frightening enough Danny had never been one to do things with only half effort, so sure enough as soon as the dark haired man had gathered his senses to bring his friend to the floor, securely holding head and torso upright to his chest, shivers travelled like a constant electric shock along the man's body, the voltage seemingly slowly to rise as eyelids fluttered to join the muscles.
No further prompt was needed as Flack gathered the shaking man in his arms, bridal style, something he had held off till now due to unpleasant knowledge of just what Danny would do to him if he found out. Street smart men after all do not get carried around like women. In that moment however, nothing Danny could do to him seemed worse than the possibilities of what could happen if his friend did not get immediate medical assistance.
Even when the taller man ran, Danny's breathing still seemed at least twice as fast as his own, ribcage moving light and fast against his chest, more like the breathing of a small bird than a human. Don shook it off, focusing only on the middle aged woman in pink nursing uniform that had appeared from through the large automatic doors. She was yelling something over her shoulder, but Flack couldn't make out the words. The affect though he quickly appreciated as a gurney rolled into view pushed by a tall doctor with neat black choirboy hair cut and a smartly turned back white coat.
The world floated out of focus as Flack felt himself place his shaking cargo onto the waiting surface, his mind taking longer than his body to process the action. All that seemed salient were Danny's blue eyes at last fixed on his own lighter pair, panicked and yet at the same time somewhat dull. A grating moan erupted from the distressed man's throat as the trolley began to move, the neat doctor using curious fingers to explore the wounds along his right arm. Immediately and instinctively the detective followed, fighting for space to see as more doctors and nurses swarmed in from all sides like part thieves to a car parked in a bad neighbourhood. Forced to evaluate them for the first time since the dim alley way, the cuts looked worse, dried blood darkened like dirt around the lacerations with fresh red turning his forearm into some kind of grotesque attempt at stained glass art.
"I'm sorry sir, but you can't go any further"
The detective looked down at the petite blonde nurse, a little thing barely out of puberty with ringlets dancing around a chubby flushed face with an incongruous look on his face as if she'd suddenly started talking in a foreign language. Room spinning with activity, he attempted to take it all in; the ringing of phones, sharp tapping of shoes against gleaming tiled floors, doctors shouting garbled stats to each other, all the while with his friend getting progressively further and further away. Flack swallowed deeply, adams apple bobbing as the raw sound scratched through the lively atmosphere of the room from Danny's throat, a noise up till now he had thought only wounded animals could make.
"You don't understand, I can't leave him" he implored, hands turned bilingual in the language of anger and pleading. "Somethings really wrong and I don't know what it is."
Eyes fixed uncontrollably, like the strange impulse people got to stare at a bloody car wreak while driving by or gaze open mouthed at a crime scene Danny and his other friends were processing. Flack couldn't draw his eyes away from the sight of his friend reaching up a jagged hand to grip around the doctor's glove with body language that he could read all too well from a lifetime of experience seeing it on victims faces, 'stop, please stop'. Then they were gone, a nurse helping to prise off the bleeding palm as the gurney disappeared through large green double doors.
"He doesn't act like this" Flack reasoned, finally turning his attention down to the petite nurse, trying to make her understand, to make her see. "Somethings really wrong."
Sympathetic chocolate eyes studied his own, "I understand that sir, and I promise you that he is getting the very best help, but in order to be able to treat him as well as possible, I'm going to need some information from you." The golden ringlets bounced as the girl, not much taller than Lindsay gestured him calmly towards a nearby chair.
"Information?" he asked, realising just how drained he felt once his weight had been lowered into the offered seat. Blue eyes glanced between the stoic wooden doors that had swallowed his friend and the waiting room, or rather the hallway leading off from the waiting room, he hadn't even noticed that he'd travelled so far. The few patients he could still see stared around the corner at him like a particularly fascinating side show attraction, yet he found he could not bring himself to care.
"Well, what is his name for a start?" her lips curled upwards into an encouraging smile as she huddled next to him on a neighbouring chair.
"Danny" he said slowly, eyes still drawn towards the silent green doors, ears ringing with the raw sound of his friend's voice. "Danny Messer".
"Good" the girl praised reassuringly, placing a soft hand on his arm, causing the detective to look down and notice for the first time the small smudges of dark blood on the sleeves and breast of his white shirt where the dark jacket had failed to protect the material. "and can you tell me what happened to Mr Messer?"
Flack looked up, his face a picture of confusion as the fact hit him that really he had no idea what had happened to Danny. He had theories of course, his head was spinning with them. Muggings, bar fights, an attempt to get lab information, gang beatings. Some unlikely, but none far enough off the edge of reason to be deemed impossible. Inhaling a sharp breath at the revelation he shook his head.
"I don't know, I just found him all banged up like that. Danny can.." the detective's gaze drifted past the girl again, trying in vain to make out any shapes present through the small windows set into the green double doors. A cleaner stepped through the forbidden divide, duty quick in his step as he wheeled his bucket down past the chairs and down the hallway to whatever mess awaited him. Flack drank up the glimpses of a long empty hallway set with tiles identical to the ones his feet rested on now before the swinging doors stilled.
"Danny's a stubborn idiot who attracts trouble like a corpse attracts flies" Flack said firmly, seeing the angry bruises in his mind, feeling the limp weight of his friend in his arms and for a moment feeling so furious at his friend for getting himself in a mess yet again that he'd quite happily add a couple of bruises of his own. "But he's also real smart and has no problem taking care of himself. I don't know what happened, but whatever did worked him over pretty bad. He wasn't acting right or talking, and usually I can't get him to shut up. His head had blood on it like it'd been hit, he was uncoordinated and in the parking lot it was like – he had some kinda seizure or something, I don't know what it was but he went limp then he was shaking all over the place."
"It could be a number of things" the girl reassured him, gentle hand still on his sleeve and eyes wide with real concern. "but I'll make sure the doctors know about it."
After the girl left, taking her cheery bobbing ringlets and reassuring smile with her, the empty hallway became his sole form of comfort. He would look at the chipped yellow tiles under his black scuffed shoes and wonder if the room Messer was in had the same kind of floor. That kind of thought pattern was corny at best, but as the minutes dragged their slow path through the hospital it became a calming alternative to wondering what was taking so long. Were there complications? Had it really been a seizure in the parking lot? Had the head trauma caused some kind of brain damage? Anything to quiet the pestering questions was preferable to the madness he was feeling.
Vibrations quivered against his hip and he could not help but duck his head forward in shame as his fingers refused to answer the questioning phone. His previous guess about how many messages would have lined up in the machine once he disconnected the call to Danny hadn't been far off, and yet any thoughts of answering to perhaps quell growing fears of his whereabouts were cut short by one single fact. At this moment in time he had no calming words to say, only more fears and questions to add to the pile. It was oddly ironic given the fact that it had been his own fears for a friend's safety that had driven him to this moment.
Still, Flack promised himself, he would call Mac as soon as he had news. To contact his friends at this point when all he possessed were questions was cruel and liable to cause a panic. The last thing Danny would want was the knowledge that he had caused yet another panic, after being trapped in a reinforced panic room, several near misses of being charged with murder, being beaten up and taken hostage, going AWOL to stop a attempted murder, and who knew what else had slipped his mind that moment, it was best to hold off for a little longer before coming clean gracefully. Yes, the detective thought to himself with confidence, after Danny had recovered from whatever knock on the head had temporarily scrambled his brains he would be grateful to be given the chance to talk through which way exactly was the best to break the news that he'd once again gotten himself into a mess. The lowest impact explanation that would be least likely to end with Mac threatening him if he didn't take time off, Lindsay awkwardly attempting to express her sympathy after the two's turbulent past, Hawkes making use of his history in medicine to make a list of strict instructions that had to be followed and yes he admitted that it was more likely to himself than even Stella to be the one to make sure the blonde got something to eat and followed every one of Hawkes's orders to a tee.
Every time a doctor, nurse or even a maintenance worker passed his small chair in the hallway it added another crushing disappointment when they failed to stop and tell him what exactly was wrong with his friend. So by the time a face he recognised walked by, the overly smart doctor with a now slightly more ruffled attire Flack could not help but jump out of his seat fuelled by questions and doubts ever present despite telling himself that really after so many years of being friends with a trouble magnet like Danny he should be used to it. No matter the situation, and there were a lot of them, Danny always bounced back, grinning up at him while nursing a broken hand or tripping up a escaping suspect with a crutch prescribed for a badly twisted ankle.
"How is Danny? Is he alright?" The words tumbled out of the detective's mouth even before he'd crossed the small space between himself and the doctor, causing the startled man to blink up at him a few times, obviously caught off guard before managing to recover his bearings.
"You came in with Mr Messer didn't you?"
Flack ran a palm through his short cropped hair in an effort to calm himself before answering, the words tight and controlled with the very much conscious trial to keep all anger from his voice, "Yeah, I'm the one who brought him in. Is he alright?"
"Your friend is stable" Flack's whole body seemed to sag with relief as the words washed over him. There was no doubt about it, once Danny was discharged the little bastard would have hell to pay for having scared him like that. Currently he was not sure what was the adequate punishment for scaring the shit out of a friend, but he was sure he would have great fun figuring it out.
"He has a mild concussion that's going to be checked out with an MRI to be safe, but beyond that I can't tell you much as Mr Messer has been transferred to another doctor."
Thankfully a few puzzled blinks from Flack was all it took for the doctor to elaborate, sighing lightly as he switched the clipboard he was holding to the other hand, feet toeing back impatiently as if there was somewhere else he really had to be. "There's nothing to be worried about, Doctor Reynolds is an excellent physician and much better specialised to deal with your friend than I am."
"A specialist?" the detective's lips couldn't seem to quite close around the words, plans of revenge against Danny seeming to wither as the questions sprouted once more, all different kinds that nudged painfully against his chest, growing quickly up to claw at the back of his throat in an effort to escape.
But the doctor was gone, scurrying down the yellow tiled corridor while clutching the clipboard to his shirt, leaving only muttered apologies and a hasty assurance that Doctor Reynolds would be with him soon. Though in the busy environment of doctors and nurses scampering everywhere like the scent tracking dogs they sometimes used at some crime scenes he was not sure that the doctor's word stood for much. With worried blue eyes Flack watched as a teenager sped past his seat on a gurney, the boy crying notes of unchecked pain as the familiar sight of a swarm of staff swallowed his form to poke and prod and ask answered questions. The child's skater style get up and pimped out wheeled footwear leading the dark haired man to his own conclusions as to the source of the boy's pain as the group disappeared through the elusive double doors.
It was only after the team had left that Flack noticed one doctor remaining, making her way with purposeful step towards him. Upon noticing the name 'Reynolds' on her white coat he stood to meet her, an odd calm settling over him as he hoped that now he would really get some answers.
She smiled, the kind that caused her face to become too tight and made him think more of nervousness than happiness. Her white coat seemed more worn than the previous doctor, hanging at least one size too large for her relatively slim form. Along with her hastily tied back thick brown hair and what could at its nicest be described as neat black trainers for shoes, she exuded a much more casual persona than Mr OCD polished shoes and ironed coat. Flack wasn't sure as yet whether that was a bad thing or a good thing since she was now in charge of his best friend's care.
"Mr Flack right? I'm Doctor Reynolds, I've been treating your friend" the woman extended a hand to shake and Flack took it, years of trained politeness not failing him even in this stress worn time. His mother had raised him right and he'd rather no one think any different.
"Is he OK?" Flack formed the words, wondering how often already he'd asked the same question.
The woman's painted lips quirked upwards again in a faint resemblance of a smile, but her brown eyes darkened as she held his gaze. "I'm sorry to ask but you are a Mr Donald Flack, yes? Named as such on Mr Messer's hospital records as a emergency contact?"
Instead of speaking, Don simply nodded, removing his detective's identification for her to pour over before she looked up again seemingly satisfied.
"We'll know the full extent of Mr Messer's head injury after a MRI. His responses have improved, so I doubt we'll find anything to worry about but its best to be safe rather than sorry when when a patient comes in with possible seizure activity and such extreme disorientation." This time she didn't attempt to smile, merely stared up at him with a deeply concentrated appearance, brown eyes wide and lips pursed as if a sudden rather challenging thought had struck her.
"I must say" Doctor Reynolds phrased finally, one eyebrow raised slight above the other, "your friend Danny has got to be the most stubborn patient I have dealt with, and believe me that's saying something."
"Yeah" Don nodded, wondering what to think of the news, mind barely stuttering in its whrilling of facts, possibilities and just what the heck he was supposed to say to Mac about the episode. "Danny's got a head harder than concrete when it comes to getting him to take care of himself, sometimes he can take more than a little arm twisting to get him to do the right thing."
The doctor's whole body seemed to still as she looked up at him, brown eyes wide and he wondered just what he had said to warrant such a reaction. "You care very deeply about your friend, don't you Mr Flack?"
"Yes" Flack answered quickly, not having to think, though a part of him did wonder the reason for this line of questioning.
"And I imagine being a detective you see a lot of injustice in your job, a lot of people never punished for the terrible things they do?"
He froze but his mind didn't stop moving, the train of thought speeding dangerously as it searched out all the possible paths, twists and turns, looking for the right station that would tell him where she was going with this. "Yes" he answered again cautiously, yet from her searching eyes it seemed she was looking for a more elaborated answer so he added "its one of the most frustrating parts of the job."
Doctor Reynolds seemed satisfied, nodding to herself as she placed a palm on his arm, ushering the man along, but not to his confusion towards the elusive green double doors, but away from them, through a small white door that stood a few steps back down the corridor. The resulting room was small, made up of three chairs much like the one he had just been passing the time on, one separated from the other two with a blank computer monitor and keyboard on a desk beside it. Tiles were covered by a worn dark blue carpet that curled up at the edges, the sterile white walls of the hallway turned creamier and less stark. To the right of the room, tucked out of the way were a large set of scales and a shining metal table much like the kind he could remember being set on as a child when it came time for an examination by the doctor. God, he had hated the feel of the cold metal edges of the table biting into the backs of his knees almost as much as he had hated the freezing stethoscope pressed against the skin of his chest.
His apprehension and confusion peaked as the doctor shut the white door behind them, turning to face him with an expression startlingly similar to the one Danny had worn once after the blonde had borrowed Flack's car to run a quick errand and wound up in a nasty fender bender with a hurrying taxi cab, minus the nervous feet syndrome that seemed to hit the CSI whenever he was in a situation like that. Though that incident had ended happily with Danny paying the repair out of his pocket to save the insurance premiums, and Don had forgiven him eventually after chewing him out for denting his baby and not letting him near the drivers seat for almost a year. This incident was more questionable and the nervous look on Doctor Reynolds face was enough to make him swallow the lump forming in the back of his throat so it sat painfully at the pit of his stomach, after all, what right did a doctor have to be nervous? That was like a bomb technician being nervous, or worse running away from a building screaming. Doctors were just supposed to fix the problems, whatever they may be and never stop to be nervous about whether they could really do it or not.
"You understand that there is a strict patient doctor confidentiality that I must stick to?" She looked around as she spoke to him, her voice lowered, chocolate eyes dancing about the room before they fixed back onto his face, her jaw set in a solid line. One thing was certain, whatever information she was bound against telling him, it was something that could get her in a lot of trouble, which had to mean it must be very important.
Flack felt his heart skip, the words head trauma and specialist blaring into his mind even though he wasn't sure that they quite fitted with the situation. Still, what else could it be? The lump in his stomach seemed to grow heavier as the doctor shifted slightly in her black trainers, the movement reminding him painfully of Danny though the rest of the woman's body was still as her brown eyes still fixed on his own blue ones. She tucked a stray strand of brown hair into place as she seemed to consider how best to phrase whatever she was about to say, taking a deep breath as if she could inhale the courage she needed to continue.
"Doctor Reynolds, what's wrong with Danny? What aren't you telling me?"