When his door buzzer went off, Danny was curled up on his couch, half-heartedly watching TV and feeling pretty miserable.

He usually watched this show with Aiden every Sunday – she’d been the one to get him into it – but now she was gone. The last couple episodes Flack had watched with him instead for moral support, but two weeks ago today, he’d been caught in that explosion. He’d been released from the hospital a week later and Danny had tried to convince him to come over or let him go to Flack’s, not just for the show but because Danny missed him and was still sick to his stomach with worry, but he’d been declined. In fact, most of what had been making Danny miserable, was that ever since Flack had woken up the morning following the explosion, he’d been standoffish and distant with Danny. He spoke only when Danny asked a direct question and refused every offer of getting together or doing something that was made by the CSI. He’d called Flack at least a couple dozen times and was shut down every time. He’d thought about going over and forcing Flack to see him, but worried that would only make things worse. It really hurt. More than Danny wanted to admit to anybody, even – or maybe especially – himself. He tried to tell himself that he should have been expecting Flack to bail.

On top of all that, he had a killer of a headache, stuffed up sinuses, achy muscles and a rather ominous itch developing in the back of his throat. In another day or two, he was going to be one very sick boy.

So he almost just ignored the buzzer, but then the stupid fountain of hope inside him bubbled up and he thought of Flack and got up to hit the speaker switch.

“Who is it?” he asked quietly. If it was anyone other than Flack, or maybe his dad, he was telling them to piss off. He wasn’t feeling up to dealing with people at the moment.

“It’s Don. Lemme in, Messer,” came the equally weary answer.

Danny hesitated, and then pressed the release button.

As he waited for Flack to get to his floor and apartment door, he hurriedly put a fresh t-shirt, changed his pyjama pants for jeans, brushed his teeth and fumbled to tidy the living room a bit. He wondered briefly if he had time to quickly change the sheets on his bed – he didn’t have an elevator in his building and in Flack’s current state it’d take a few minutes for him to climb the three flights of stairs and get down the long hallway – but then he remembered the way Flack had said, “Maybe another time,” in a tight voice when Danny had called to ask if he wanted to watch the ball game the day before yesterday. That had been the last time he’d tried to call. He chastised himself for being such a moron and was about to dial Flack’s cell phone to tell him to stop where he was and just turn around and go home, before he also remembered that he didn’t even have Flack’s new number. He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself though, because there then came a sharp knock on his apartment door.

Danny dragged himself over and opened the door.

Flack was standing there, and the way he looked made Danny suddenly feel nervous and over-protective. The homicide detective was the kind of man to take a certain amount of pride in his attire and appearance. Even in old jeans and a t-shirt he looked neat and clean. But right now he was wearing a worn grey Yankees sweatshirt, faded jeans with the knees torn out, and battered work boots. He looked like he’d walked out of a Messer’s closet instead of his own. His normally carefully mussed hair just looked like bed head and he was scruffy with stubble. Not as bad as Danny, but bad for Flack. The cut on his left cheek was healing but still knotted with a couple stitches and he was pale with heavy bags under his eyes.

“Jesus,” Danny breathed, “You look like shit.”

Flack sighed and shrugged. “You gonna lemme in or what?”

Danny stepped aside. He noticed as he eased past him, crossed the apartment and settled on the couch how stiffly the taller man was moving. Despite his appearance, he was standing ramrod straight and moved with a slow caution. His abdomen must still be killing him.

“D’you wanna drink?” Danny asked for lack of anything better to say.

“Nah. Thought you’d want me to watch this stupid show with you,” Flack said, pulling off the sweatshirt to reveal a thin, loose t-shirt and putting his focus on the TV screen. His voice was deadpan, but there were more traces of concern and affection in his tone than in all of the past two weeks.

Danny shuffled back over to the couch and settled himself down, warily putting exactly two feet between them.

“It’s not stupid,” he corrected Flack, hoping he sounded appropriately upbeat and indignant. “It’s absorbing.”

“It’s a chick show, Messer.”

“Says who?”

“Men ain’t supposed to find Desperate Housewives absorbing. It’s weird.”

“It’s Aiden’s fault, she got me addicted,” Danny tried to argue. But it just fell flat, and the pair fell silent.

Danny sat tensely with his arms crossed over his belly, trying to resist looking at his friend or drawing attention to himself. He’d really missed Flack, just having him around to bitch about each other’s TV shows…missed him in a lot of ways, but for some reason, there was a bunch of baggage suddenly built up around them. Danny wasn’t quite sure what had caused it, but he wished it just go away so they could go back to normal.

A hand suddenly fell on the back of his neck, almost making him jump. It was warm and firm, nonchalantly kneading the tightened muscles, fingers dipping down occasionally to stroke the skin under his collar. Danny ventured a glance at Flack, but the taller man’s gaze was pinned resolutely on the TV screen. Still, this was the first time in two weeks that he’d touched him, and it took all of Danny’s will and strength not to arch into it. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but finally just sitting there trying to sponge enough satisfaction from that Flack’s one hand wasn’t enough and he tentatively eased himself into a lying position so his head was resting on Flack’s thigh. He felt him tense up and almost sat back up, but then the muscles in Flack’s leg slowly relaxed and the hand that had been on his neck dropped down the stroke up and down Danny’s ribs and back.

The all too familiar burn of tears started up behind Danny’s eyes, but he just took a couple deep breathes, pressed his cheek harder into his thigh and squeezed Flack’s knee with his own hand. Flack responded by combing his other fingers through Danny’s short hair.

“You sick?” Flack asked quietly after a minute or two.

“A little, I think.”

“You’re pretty warm, pal. Your cheeks are flushed and you sound as terrible as I look.”

Danny didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded. There was the stern but still warm and almost teasing affection he needed from his best friend.

As much as he hated – no, loathed – being seen as weak or helpless and babied, sometimes he really needed Flack to be able to just see when he was hurting and automatically try to help him. Danny had been struggling to figure out how to help Flack ever since the explosion, like how Flack had been helping him along with what happened to Louie and Aiden, but he just felt so lost about it. He’d always been the youngest, or the outsider, or the troubled one, so he had never really learned how to help anyone but himself. It was like nobody had ever needed him, he was always the one who needed people (to his dismay) and now when the only person he really truly loved needed him, needed Danny Messer; he didn’t have what was needed. It was like a vicious circle. He needed Flack to make him strong, but right now Flack needed him to be strong enough for the both of them.

“M’fine,” he finally managed, relieved he didn’t sound as choked as he felt.

“…You got any ginger ale?”

“Yeah.”

“’Kay.”

They remained like that for the rest of Desperate Housewives and were ten minutes into Grey’s Anatomy (a show Flack liked himself, even if he’d never admit it out loud) when Danny shifted a little and noticed something. Frowning slightly, he casually shifted again, he eyes widening with surprise and pleasure when he confirmed his suspicions. Flack was at least half-hard.

It took another moment or so to build up his courage, but finally he raised himself on his arms till he was propped over Flack’s lap and face to face with him. Flack met his gaze for the first time in almost two weeks and his expression was guarded, but his eyes kept dropping to Danny’s mouth. Danny leaned forward and kissed him shyly. Flack reached up almost immediately and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss and forcing Danny to settle on his lap.

Danny whimpered as the two week dry spell came to an end as their kisses quickly became more intense and passionate. He wriggled until he was straddling Flack’s lap and buried his hands in his black hair, all without breaking the kiss. He groaned and rolled his hips gently against Flack’s erection. Flack slipped his hands under Danny’s t-shirt and slid them up to his shoulders till the smaller man got the idea and pulled the tee off over his head. Danny reached down to return the favour as he shivered at the warm hands pressing and sliding against his bare skin, but only got far enough to brush his fingertips on the heavy gauze bandage still taped to Flack’s abdomen before the taller man grabbed his wrists gently and broke the kiss.

“No. Don’t. I – just don’t.”

Danny shook his head. “Don’t what?”

Flack glanced away, then back up, his face flushed with excitement but still tense. “My shirt. I – just wanna leave it on. ‘Kay?”

“Uh, sure, but-”

Flack cut him off with another kiss and made quick work of both their flies and zippers before Danny could get a coherent word in. In the end, Danny just let his friend tug at his clothes and shut him up with more kisses and dirty mutterings. It felt like this was something Flack needed, something he could actually give him, so he let it progress along.

It took some more wriggling and shifting, but they managed to get into a position that was comfortable for both of them. They’d never had sex in this position before – Danny seated on top of Flack sitting up – and the former was unsure, but the latter gently gripped his hips and helped him seat himself slowly on his hard cock. Danny had snagged a condom out of the side table drawer (he’d learned to keep them handy around Flack) but he hadn’t managed to find lube, so there was significant pain. As he squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hold on the back of the couch to fight to burn, he decided that if Flack didn’t kiss him in the soft, gentle way he always did after he pushed in, Danny would unseat himself and kick the man out of his apartment.

For a heart wrenching moment, Danny was sure that Flack wasn’t going to, that he was just going to start fucking him, but then he felt the hands on his hips tighten and tug and Flack’s mouth just barely brushing against his own.

“I missed you, Dan,” he heard Flack whisper hoarsely.

With a whimper as he started to push his hips, Danny said, “I missed you too.”

After a moment of fumbling and Danny getting into a rhythm of rocking rather than thrusting or just accommodating Flack’s thrusting, they were able to start moving in a way that made them both moan and lose logical thought.

In the past six months, they’d gotten used to having sex up to two or three times a day, so after two weeks of living by their own hands, it didn’t take long for both of them to finish. Danny came first, groaning into the taller man’s neck, but the clenching of hot muscles around his cock had done Flack in almost immediately following.

Breathless, Danny stayed where he was, his forehead against Flack’s shoulder, head turned so he could press light kisses along what collarbone and neck he could reach. Flack sank back into the couch cushions, feeling drained and light-headed, content to just occasionally run a hand over Danny’s soft skin.

After a while, Danny had to move. He stood, pulled his pants and BVDs back up, tossed the condom away and stumbled into the kitchen for some aspirin. His head was pounding, whether from the physical exertion, emotional roller coaster or the bad cold he was getting; he wasn’t sure. He downed four pills and a cold glass of water before filling another and taking it back into the living for Flack, who’d done up his own pants and was back to staring blankly at the TV.

Danny froze and felt his stomach twist when he realized how unaffected the other man apparently was by their sudden and brief but intense display of passion.

Then Flack suddenly looked up at him and smiled feebly. “M’tired. And you’re sick, pal. Wanna go to bed?”

Danny nodded fervently, the relief almost overwhelming, and handing him the glass of water.

“Thanks. C’mon.” Flack drained the glass, set it down, and put both hands on Danny’s shoulders, directing him towards the bedroom. Danny let him.

As they got under the covers after washing up though, Danny hesitated.

“Don, how – how d’you wanna…?”

Flack settled down on his side – still wearing his t-shirt with his boxers – and opened his arms. “Come’re.”

Danny, wearing only his shorts, went willingly enough. He’d missed Flack’s warm, firm touch like hell, but the fact that he was avoiding taking off his shirt and refusing to discuss it was unnerving. As he settled though, he realized he could feel the thick pad of gauze and tape through the thin tee against his back. For it to still be wrapped up like that…Danny had seen the wound when he’d managed to get into the building with the S. and R. crew, even with Mac grabbing his arm and trying to turn him away, and it had been gaping. And Hawkes had said something about ‘long stitches’ and the delicacy of patching together tattered wounds, so Danny decided he could let it go for a while. As long as Flack didn’t turn it into a complex.

If Flack was feeling a little chattier in the morning, maybe he’d bring it up. They definitely had some things to discuss otherwise.

For now though, they were both fast asleep in ten minutes.