It’d been five and a half weeks since Louie ended up in the hospital. Danny wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty about it or not, but he’d gotten to actually liking to visit his brother now. He missed him so, so much and would give anything to have him wake up and talk back and give him a hard time over stupid, geeky brother stuff, but at least he was present now and Danny could see him anytime he wanted and just talk to him.

When they were kids – quite young, before Louie hit puberty and started getting in trouble, and their dad moved them from Brooklyn to the Bronx and Louie got his own room, when the brothers were the best of friends too – they would lie in their twin beds and whisper in the dark till past midnight. Visiting his brother now was kind of like that. He could just talk and ramble about anything and it didn’t matter if it was he was a dork or embarrassing or anything. Louie just listened. Or at least, Danny hoped he was able to listen.

“Okay, so…kinda a shitty couple of days. Flack, man…he’s pretty beat up. I mean, he’s okay and all, but I’m-I’m still kinda scared shitless, Louie. He just…he just looks terrible and there was a lot of blood. I didn’t know that much blood could come outta one guy’s head…or…I did, but I never thought…with Flack. Um, anyway, he’s okay. He’s…his parents, his old man’s a dick. Real fucker. But it’s weird, neither of ‘em have got blue eyes. Jus’ Don…

“Pop says that if you wake up before the World Series he’ll take us. I do not wanna know how he’d get his hands on tickets, probably Uncle Sal or Tony, but I don’t care. If you wake up…I just want you to wake up. I miss you. I have for a while, but right now…” Danny rolled his shoulders and chuckled hollowly. “Man, wake the fuck up, ‘cause that…that would just be really good, ‘cause I…I dunno. I-I need you ‘round.”

Danny stood suddenly and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“I gotta go, Louie. Go back to Don. I’ll-I’ll see ya later.”

He stood staring at his brother for an extra minute like he always did now, waiting hopefully for the slightest wave or nod or ‘geddoutta here’. Anything. But nothing, as usual. Danny let out a frustrated sigh and left.

When he got off the elevator on Flack’s floor, he slowed his pace to a shuffle, wanting as much chance of Mr and Mrs Flack to be gone as possible. No such luck. Typical. Danny jerked and reflexively clenched his fists when someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He didn’t relax when he saw he was face to face with.

“What’s your game, kid, huhn?”

Giving Donald Flack Sr. his best feral grin, he asked, “Whaddaya got?”

Donald scowled and stepped closer, looming over him. Danny hated that. Flack had about four inches on him, but it never felt like he was frigging looming. With suspects it did sometimes though, took advantage of Danny’s only average height. That’s what this felt like. An over-confident, jerk-off suspect trying to get in his face.

But why the guy was picking on him, Danny had no idea. Maybe it his way of ‘dealing’ or something. It was stupid and the CSI would not give the ex-cop the pleasure, not today.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Donald Flack asked in a hushed, cold voice.

Danny shrugged and gave him an innocent look. “I dunno. I just met you.”

“Smart answer for everythin’, huhn?”

“Nah, just for you. Look, man, why don’t you gedoffa my back? You ain’t got nothin’ on me. Geddoutta here,” Danny told him irritably, bored with this confrontation now. He never took note of it, but his New York ‘dis and dat’ accent got more pronounced when he got like this.

A humourless smile broke out on Donald’s face. “Well, I might not have anythin’ on you, kid, but I was a cop for thirty-four years. Don’t think I don’t know the name ‘Messer’. So are you Jackie or Tony’s boy? Louie or Bobby’s brother? I seem to remember somethin’ ‘bout Jackie-boy Messer havin’ two sons, but either way you got some mean wop blood in you, kid.”

Danny’s squared his shoulders and clenched his hands into hard fists. He glared deeply at Donald and said in a gruff voice, “Don’t ever fuckin’ call me ‘kid’. I’ll break your fuckin’ arm, ya hear me?”

Donald raised his hands in mock defence and gave Danny a cheery grin. “Oh sure, sure. So. Does the great Mac Taylor or my boy know you’re nothin’ but an Italian father-made-twenty-bucks-a-week-movin’-sludge-for-the-mob son of a bitch?

Normally Danny would have busted the nose of anyone who went after his old man. But for some reason, the anger and pride that usually keep his back straight, head up and fists swinging suddenly seeped out of him, leaving him drained. He let his hands loosen and slumped his shoulders.

He shook his head and said quietly, “You’re not worth it.” He turned around to go back to Flack, but stopped dead.

Mac Taylor was standing about eight feet away, and if the look on his face was any indication, he’d heard the whole conversation, or at least enough.

“Boss-”

“I think Don wants you, Danny,” Mac said evenly, gesturing with one hand down the hall.

Danny hesitated, then nodded and resumed heading back to Flack. As he passed him, Mac silently gave him one pat on the shoulder.

When he heard, “Mr. Flack. I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying to my CSI…” he picked up his pace. Even when it wasn’t directed at him, Danny knew Mac’s lectures were scary as all hell.

CSINYCSINYCSINY

Flack looked over as Danny came in and murmured to himself, “Well, this doesn’t look good.”

Danny nodded distractedly in agreement and said to Mary, “Mrs. Flack, would you mind excusin’ us for a few minutes?”

“Is somethin’ wrong? Where’s Donald?” She asked, rising from her seat next to her son.

“He’s-he’s just talkin’ to Mac Taylor, my boss, uh, Don’s colleague.”

“Yes, I know him, but’re you alright, honey?” Mary came towards him and touched his arms.

Danny swallowed back the lump and his throat and nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta talk to Don for a sec.”

Mary stared at him, studying his face and frowning slightly, and Danny knew from experience with his own mother that she was trying to read for lies.

“Alright. I’m gonna go find your father. I think we’ll head home after that, sweetie,” she told Flack, going back to him, giving him a kiss on the forehead then running a hand over his head, watching the stitches. “I’ll come back tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure, Ma.”

Mary walked up to Danny and kissed his cheek. After rubbing a hand twice up and down his bicep maternally, she smiled and left, closing the door behind her.

Danny watched after her for a moment, then turned back to Flack, eyes wide and brimming with tears.

Flack propped himself up on an elbow. “What? What is it? What happened, man?”

He just shook his head slowly, and the tears began slipping unheeded down his unshaven face.

“Dan…get over here, pal.”

Danny Messer was the kind of guy that responded to orders or even strong suggestions by getting defensive and touchy (he would not have made a good soldier), the day of the Minhas shooting was a prime example of this, but for some reason, this time he just obeyed.

He got over there.

He immediately fell into Flack’s open arms and let himself be held. His back was sore from so much standing and sitting in plastic chairs and leaning over, so he climbed onto the bed and curled into the other man’s side, trying to be careful of their respective aches and pains. Flack didn’t complain or say anything, he just hugged Danny tightly against him.

After he settled and had his face buried in Flack’s neck, he started full out crying. There was a desperate edge to his sobs.

Flack let him cry for a while, and when the CSI had calmed down some, when his breathing had evened out, he repeated his question.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’ I guess. Just the usual shit that goes along with my name. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Did my old man say somethin’? Was it that crap ‘bout getting’ a girl-”

“I said, don’t worry ‘bout it.” His voice was soft and wet with tears, but firm.

“…Fine. But you gotta gimme somethin’, Danny. Some kinda reassurance here.”

“Whaddaya want me say? I miss my brother, I miss Aiden, I’m pissed ‘bout what happened to Stella, I don’t know where I stand with Mac or any of the rest of the crew, and I’m worried sick ‘bout you. And I can’t sleep.”

Flack was silent for a few minutes, then said, “You sorted out how you felt.”

“Yeah. Guess I did. Yippee for clarity.” Flack was silent again, and Danny sighed. “That’s not reassurin’. Is it?”

“M’ not sure. Might be. Makes you feel better, I feel almost the exact same way.”

“…Yeah, it kinda does.”

Flack shifted, winced and cleared his throat. “Listen to me, baby. I’m gonna be outta here by tomorrow afternoon. We’ll figure everythin’ out and get through it. I promise.”

Danny let out a slow breathe and wriggled to he was lying close against Flack’s side, but not putting his weight on his battered body. He closed his eyes and murmured, “’Kay.”

Flack combed his fingers through Danny’s short hair and asked quietly, “If I limp will you make fun of me?”

“Sure.”

“…I think you’re taking the cadence of my question the wrong way.”

Danny chuckled and rubbed his fingertips into Flack’s sternum, feeling the padding of bandage and gauze under the gown and sweatshirt. “I’ll only do it if it turns you on. How’s that sound?”

“Like you’re a goofball.”

“Yeah. Uh, hey. I think Mac’s out givin’ your old man a dressin’ down out there.”

“Nice…Hey, maybe when we get home and I’m laid up in bed, you can get yourself a nurse’s outfit and we can play doctor.”

Danny lifted his head and gave him an unamused look. “That’s not even funny.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s ‘bout as funny as givin’ a guy like me a pink Hello Kitty cell phone,” Flack deadpanned.

The smaller man snickered and dropped his head back onto the pillow next to his lover’s.

“…Danny?”

“Mm.”

Danny loved how Flack said his name. Like he really knew him. When he said ‘Danny’ it never sounded like ‘Danny the CSI’ or ‘Danny the son of a Messer/kid brother of Louie’ or ‘Danny the fuck-up’. It sounded like ‘Danny’. It sounded like ‘Dan’, something only Flack ever called him. No one else said his name like that, like he was just ‘Dan’, no fucked-up past or personality or temper required. And when Flack actually said ‘Dan’? He’d immediately get half hard and just feel so good. He lived for that feeling, especially these days.

Flack got the fingers of his broken arm under the layers of cotton and pulled out the chain. He snapped the clasp and pressed the silver chain and tags into Danny’s hand.

“Thanks.” He didn’t move to put them back on though, just stayed where he was and held them in a loose fist.

“When we get home? We’ll sleep. ‘Kay? Just…just sleep. Nice and long. My bed or yours. We’ll pile all the blankets on one bed and close the blinds and turn off our phones and bolt the door and get under the covers and just sleep.”

“Good. Good, that’s what I want. Just sleep. And you.” Danny murmured, dozing off already.

“Me too,” Flack breathed, closing his eyes. “Me too, Danny. Thanks for the sweater.”

“Don’t mention it. I want you to have it.”