Don let himself into Danny’s apartment at half past six. He was surprised to find the man nowhere in sight considering he knew Danny would head straight home after dealing with Matheson and Mac (he’d already gotten the lowdown on that from Hawkes), but he could hear the faint warbling of music though, so Danny was somewhere.

“Messer?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” came the call from the other side of the half open bathroom door.

Don sighed and shivered in relief as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his tie and jacket. He moved to cross the living room towards the bathroom, but paused to take note of the spot beside the Mickey Mantle poster Danny had on the wall beside the couch. Fresh dent marks were visible, about five feet up from the floor, and there was a fresh smudge of blood, just a little one.

Don shook his head and resumed his route. Better Danny punch a wall when he was pissed and tell people his knuckles were bruised and split from closing his hand in a door or something than losing his shit at work, punching out a suspect or Hilborne and trying to talk his way out of that. And at least Don could use that patch of dented and faintly stained wall as a gauge to how fucked Danny’s day had been. Today? ‘Bout a solid eight it would seem.

He stuck his head around the bathroom door and found Danny in the tub, sunk in the water up to his collarbones and playing with the bubbles idly. Don could see the puffy redness and little splits on his knuckles. Nothing to worry about. There was also a dark red, purpling bruise marring his left cheekbone. His hair was wet and sticking up in darker-than-usual horns and cowlicks. The bright sunlight coming through the small, open window and bouncing off the water was making the CSI’s eyes even bluer. Don could smell the vanilla of the bubbles.

Two months ago Don would have teased Danny mercilessly about the girly choice of scented bubbles, but knew the significance of the bath product. After her funeral, Sam and Nicky Burn, Aiden’s father and eldest brother respectively, had taken the two detectives back to their car and given them a couple of filing boxes each. Danny and Don’s inheritance from Aiden. Don got a lot of her movie collection, some CDs, a framed photo of the three of them at the Jersey shore and her spice rack. Danny got most of her books, some CDs and the photo too, and all her bath products keyed towards relaxation, including the vanilla bubble bath he sometimes used after a rough day. Another way to determine how Danny was feeling.

So instead of commenting, Don just turned down the volume on the CD player that was sitting on the counter – noting that it was Danny’s mellow music; John Lee Hooker – and reached back to swing the door shut.

Danny suddenly sat up a little and said hastily, “No. Leave it – leave it open. It’s – the fresh air.”

Giving him an amused frown, Don asked, “What’s with you today? I mean, you’ve always been a nervous little creature, but today you’re acting noticeably mental. Acrophobia this mornin’, claustrophobia now? What was it that Mac accused you of havin’ that one time? Mathophobia or somethin’?”

Danny scowled. “First of all, it’s bathophobia, okay? And secondly, I’m not anythin’-aphobic. I just occasionally have slight discomforts with certain situations where I’m high above ground with nothin’ to stop me from becomin’ a human pancake. And small, inescapable spaces…and bein’ deep underground.”

Don’s smiled broadened. “Yeah, I ‘member the panic room incident. Key word ‘panic’. But you forgot to mention your ‘slight discomforts’ with crowds and strangers.”

Danny slipped deeper into the water sullenly, tipping his head back to say in a snarky voice, “Agoraphobia and xenophobia.”

“Whatever, dweeb,” Don muttered affectionately, stripping down the rest of his clothes now. He couldn’t help noting with relief that when Danny gave him the customary once-over, his eyes didn’t pause at the wound/scarring on his belly. They did pause other places though, which made him smirk a little. “Just shut off the science brain for two seconds and move over.”

Danny obeyed, drawing his legs up so his knees breached the deep water and watched silently as Don climbed in and settled down. The water was just on the warm side of lukewarm and Danny’s skin was even warmer and lovely against his own.

“Heat broke, ‘bout a half hour ago,” Don told him quietly, as he ran his now wet hands through his hair to dampen it and squinted out the window. The sun was strong and blue sky still visible, but there were some rather ominous looking clouds on the other side of the horizon from the earlier storm. It’d been a brief storm, but enough to break the humidity.

“I know. I just barely missed gettin’ caught in it comin’ home. Cool breeze is a friggin’ godsend.”

“Good for sleepin’.” Don narrowed his eyes at him. “Were you in here durin’ the storm?”

“I’m not a complete moron. I do know thing or two ‘bout thunderstorms and conductors, y’know.”

“Science brain; deactivate.”

“You started it,” Danny grumbled for the sake of grumbling.

Don leaned back against the tiled wall and relaxed, so his legs were tangled with Danny’s and said casually, “So I heard through the grapevine ‘bout Stella’s DB and how fucked up that was. What’d the third turn out to be like?”

Danny shook his head firmly and involuntarily pressed a hand against his belly at the wave of nausea that thinking about the third DB brought on. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Ookay,” Don said slowly, deciding that if Danny’s grimace was any indication, he really didn’t. Tapping a finger against his own cheek, he nodded to Danny and asked, “Who did that to you?”

“The fuck-nut who was doin’ that stuff. Put up a fight goin’ inta custody.” There was a faint smirk playing on Danny’s lips, but his forehead was also scrunched in frustration and displeasure. “I wanted to send ‘em off with a fuckin’ rupture, but I doubt Mac woulda liked that. Fuck-nut or not.”

“Probably not, no.”

“So, uh, what happened with that Morello thing, behind the Lucchese’s? Mac wouldn’t tell me.”

“…You don’t wanna know.”

Danny’s face went tense and stoic. “What is it.”

Don sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Nothin’ really. Case was fine. Just this guy spoutin’ off ‘bout you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Said he grew up with ya, knew you were a cop now. Keep askin’ questions, bein’ a dick, y’know?”

Danny licked his lips nervously. He was pale under his tan and freshly acquired bruising. “Who was it?”

“Punk named Joey Mazzarelli. He was a fuckin’ dishwasher, Dan.”

Sagging lower into the water in relief, Danny huffed and grumbled, “Jeez, that asshole. He lived next door to my Uncle Tony. God, was he a stupid kid. What’d Mac say?”

Don smirked and shook his head. “Went ape shit on the guy. Knew he was all talk.”

“Good,” Danny said quietly, distantly. He worried constantly about keeping the past and present parts of his life separate, and about what Mac Taylor thought of him every time the two sides leaked into each other.

“He’s not even really mafia, man. He’s a waste with a big mouth, is all.”

Danny smirked and murmured, “There’s no such thing as the mafia, Donnie.” Then, louder, “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Don leaned closer and stroked a thumb over Danny’s cheek. The water had softened the scruff and the feel of Danny’s skin warm and wet made Don’s cock stiffen.

“Messer…”

“M’fine.”

“I know.”

“You believe me?”

Don nodded at the other man’s immediate and unavoidable suspicions and gripped Danny’s jaw firmly in his large hand. “Yeah.”

Danny leaned into the touch, but kept his piercing gaze on Don, studying him carefully. “Come’re,” he finally said, opening his arms.

Don shifted and turned around, settling back into Danny’s embrace, against the CSI’s chest, hips between his thighs, letting him hug him from behind. He tilted his head back onto Danny’s shoulder and against the side of his neck. It was warm and wet, and Don was now half-hard, but he wasn’t thinking of sex, only of what had happened throughout the day. He let out a slow breathe and closed his eyes, concentrating on Danny’s steady breathing and the rhythmic thumping of his heart against Don’s back.

They sat in the lukewarm bath silently, listening to John Lee Hooker growl out the blues, for ten minutes before Danny tightened his arms around Don’s chest momentarily and ducked his head to press a kiss to the taller man’s collarbone. He was the kind of person who preferred to just let things go, forget about them and move the hell on, let the issues rot in some dark corner, but he knew this wasn’t something he could let Don dwell on and let spoil him.

“You ‘kay? And I want a real fuckin’ answer,” Danny finally asked gently. He was an ornery and stubborn man, but he hated when people tried tough love on him. It only worsened things with the Messer. He’d never use it on anybody else either. So he couldn’t stop the belligerent words from coming out of his mouth, but he could soften the tone of them. At least he could with Don Flack.

Don sighed and murmured, “That really was a fucked up DB this mornin’.”

“Yeah, agreed.”

“Thanks for verbally abusin’ those two uni’s.”

Danny flexed his arms and bared his teeth into Don’s shoulders in response. “What assholes.”

“It wasn’t just them. When I saw those wounds…I dunno.” He paused, then, knowing Danny was very familiar with bad experiences and violent acts, asked, “Does it get easy to deal with, or do I just haveta get better at dealin’ with it?”

Danny was silent for a minute before mumbling something Don didn’t catch.

“Say again?”

“I said, ‘play through the pain’. My old man…that’s what he’s always tellin’ me. Since I was a little kid. Since I learned what pain really was. Louie…he says-said…says it too.” Danny was speaking slowly in a gruffer than usual voice, and Don could hear the sadness behind it. “It – man, you just…play through the pain. It…it gets better in some ways. Y’know?

“…You caught the guy, right? I mean, there’s no way he’s gonna get out of it and do somethin’ like this again. Right?”

“Right.”

Don paused, then said quietly, “Good. That helps...Play through the pain, huhn?”

“Yep. You smacked Mazzarelli for me, right?”

“Right. Waited till Mac had left for the lab and the uni had gone to get his patrol car, then I booted him right in the shin.”

Don smiled as he felt Danny’s mouth shift into the feral grin he loved so much.

“Good,” Danny said firmly, not caring if it was true or not, “That helps too.”

Out of the blue, Don started chuckling. Danny frowned, trying to think what was so goddamn funny, and when the chuckles turned to full out laughter, he demanded to know, “What the hell is so fuckin’ hilarious, Flackie?”

“What you said a minute ago, ‘bout how there’s no such thing as the mafia.”

Danny smirked. “Been gettin’ that line since I was seven years old, man. It’s like, our family motto.”

“Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in!” Don growled, and then cackled.

Danny laughed and dug his knuckles into Don’s side. “Awright, new rule. No more Sopranos or Godfather after consuming large amounts of alcohol.”

“Killjoy.”

“Bite me.”

“Snappy comeback.”

“Shaddup.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that was much better. It’s like hangin’ out with friggin’ Bugs Bunny over here. You got me there, whippin’ out the ‘shaddup’ like that. Quite the verbal jouster there, Dan.”

Danny sighed. “You say such pretty things to me.”

Don snickered and elbowed Danny gently in the side. “I know. You don’t deserve me.”

For once in his life, Danny had no smart-assed comeback. Instead, he dug his knuckles harder into Don’s side and shoved him away.

“C’mon. Game’s on.”

He was in a towel and out of the bathroom before Don could get a ‘what the fuck, Messer?’ out.

csinycsinycsiny

At the first commercial break they caught, Don hooked a finger around the shoulder of Danny’s wife-beater and tugged him into the kitchen. He’d found some sweats and a t-shirt for himself, they’d ordered a pizza in lieu of cooking, the heat had officially broken for the night, and he was really ready to just crash on the couch with his best friend, but there was one more order of business to deal with before that could happen.

Don led the way over to the fridge and got out the steaks that Danny had gotten for their late dinner. He opened the wax paper wrapping and hefted one of the pieces of meat, eyeing Danny as warily as he was being eyed. He gave the front of Danny’s beater a sudden, hard tug and pulled the Messer closer.

“You needta ice it, pal,” he said as he slapped the cold raw steak against the side of Danny’s face, onto the flowering bruise.

“Ah! It’s cold!”

“Shaddup, you wuss. You're still gonna look like Petey the Dog, but it’ll take the swellin’ down.”

Danny squirmed under the steak Don was pressing to his face, but didn’t really try to pull away. He did glare though, at least through his uncovered eye he did. “That’s bullshit, y’know. It’s like an old wives tale or whatever.”

“Would you prefer frozen peas, dweeb?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’ma haveta pass, Donnie. The dead cow on my face is charmin’ enough for this boy.”

Don smirked and kissed Danny on the mouth. It wasn’t a chaste kiss. It lingered and made them both almost forget about the pound of raw meat being held to Danny’s eye. When Don finally pulled away, he was smiling at the CSI. Danny felt his cheeks heat up even more at that smile. It was the easy, gentle one that Danny was pretty sure only he got, the one he loved best. He pulled the steak from his eye and dropped it onto the wax paper left on the counter, crinkling his forehead at Don and giving him a nervous little smile.

“What?” Don asked, doing the thing now where he smiled with amusement but caution too and drew his eyebrows together, in a what’s-this-new-game? expression. He didn’t seem to care about the steak or Danny’s shiner or peas anymore.

Danny shrugged one shoulder. “Nothin’. Just…thinkin’.”

“’Bout what?”

“Didn’t I just say nothin’?”

“Dan, c’mon, tell me.”

“No way.”

“Please?”

Danny rolled his eyes at the puppy dog face Don was giving him. It was so stupid and dorky and adorable. Danny hated it, mostly because it always tipped the odds in Don’s favour.

“No,” Danny said firmly. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Flackie.”

His hands countered his hard words by slipping up around Don’s neck and pulling him closer.

Don grinned. “Puh-puh-puh-please?” he mock whined as he started kissing down Danny’s neck and dipped his long fingers into the waistband of the man’s sweatpants, then out.

Danny groaned and pushed half-heartedly at the taller man’s chest. “No. Shaddup awready. Just knock it off.”

Don ignored him and continued to plead as he massaged the skin just below Danny’s ribs, brushed their groins together and kissed, sucked and nipped at Danny’s neck.

Finally Danny couldn’t take it anymore. He dug his bitten down fingernails into Don’s back and growled out, “Fine, I was thinkin’ I loved you.”

Don froze and pulled back a few inches, his face carefully composed. Danny watched him intently from under half-closed eyes and fidgeted nervously.

Finally Don responded calmly with, “Really? You only think you do? You don’ know for sure?”

Danny caught the amusement in his voice and didn’t know whether to be relieved or infuriated.

“I mean,” Don continued, hands still under Danny’s wife-beater skimming them up and down his ribcage, making it hitch up, “Usually you’re all cocky and self-assured. But now you only think? Not exactly reliable on your part, Mister CSI.”

Danny knew the guy was just trying to bait him, get him going, get him defensive enough to accidentally let something slip, but he was kind of glad. He liked making Don work for things just for kicks, but also found it was a good way for himself to admit or do something without coming off as a total douche. If Don made him say or do something, then he couldn’t be held completely responsible. It was self-preservation tactic.

“Yeah, ‘cause I get accused of bein’ reliable all the goddamn time.”

A frown briefly graced Don’s face but he shook it off and leaned closer to Danny, touching their foreheads together.

“Sure, you’re reliable. Like Murphy’s Law.”

Danny shifted, rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers around the hem of Don’s t-shirt.

“You’re so restless,” he heard Don mutter.

Danny closed his eyes and grinned a little at that, tilting his head to nip at the taller man’s jaw line. Normal people wouldn’t consider those last couple sentences compliments, but Danny loved them as if they were. Words like that from Don made his chest ache wonderfully and right now gave him new confidence.

“Fine, you wanna hear it? Yeah, I love you.”

Don smiled broadly at him. “I know. I love you too. But you should see how red your face is now, Dan.”

Scowling playfully, Danny made to give Don a quick punch to the gut, but stopped himself just in time. He tried to play it off by moving his hand up and grabbing a handful of t-shirt at sternum level, and opened his mouth to make some smart-assed comment, but Don caught to almost gesture and tensed.

“Messer…”

Danny winced. “What?”

“…I wish it’d never happened. I hate that it happened to me. I wish it had been somebody else.” Don face hardened into a dark scowl.

“I know. Me too,” Danny sighed

"And it keeps comin' back. I'll be just fine, we'll be fine, we'll be great, and then boom. It all comes rushin' back. I fuckin' hate it."

Danny's forehead crinkled with concern and he gave Don a half-pleading, half-stern look. “Don’t let it get to you. Just…forgeddabout it. Let it go. Play through the pain, Donnie. Please.”

Don pulled Danny closer and pressed his forehead into the crook of the smaller man’s shoulder. Danny circled his arms securely around him.

“I’m tryin’,” Don said in a low voice, his words muffled but audible. “That’s what I’m tryna do, baby.”

Danny just nodded and tightened his hold. He knew that that was all Don could do. All anyone could do.

A/N: okay, I lied, there’s no real sex in this one, so that rating’s just for language and gore. sorry. next time.