Title: To DD or Not to DD
Author: Kimmychu
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: AO
Pairing: Danny/Flack, Danny/Mac
Content Warning: Cracktasticness, odd body changes, language. Did I mention cracktasticness?
Spoilers: Set after 'Fare Game', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: After a freak laboratory accident at CSI headquarters, Danny is cursed (or blessed, depending on how you see things) with very unusual... add-ons. Inspired by a forum comment: "Danny is the show's DD breasts."
Disclaimer: Nope, none of the characters belong to me. What a shame. I would treat them oh so well. They have no idea what they're missing.

***

Chapter 1

It all started with a bang.

Or more accurately, it all started the morning Detective Danny Messer was working alone at the labs on a recent murder case involving a strange, neon-blue gooey substance slathered all over their victim. It even glowed in the dark, reminding Danny of the time his encyclopaedic co-worker, former ME Sheldon Hawkes, showed him picture slides of those deep-ocean creatures with their eerie bio-luminescence.

He had been uncharacteristically early for his shift for the fourth time that week, which made him wonder whether he was beginning to love his job too much for his own good. Not that he didn't have a life or anything like that, but there was nothing wrong with working eighteen-hour shifts on a nearly regular basis, was there? It was his duty to study and assess evidence to catch murderers and criminals, after all. And in a city like New York, there's never a shortage on both species. He was quite sure his boss (one of the best CSIs in the country, his mind added) would agree on all accounts. At least, he used to be sure the great Detective Mac Taylor would have backed him up in all times.

It's funny how nobody noticed a single bullet or two had killed more than one cop that day in the subway.

Danny scowled hard enough to squeeze his blue eyes shut for a few seconds, shaking his head once from side to side. The memory of seeing the bloodied NYPD badge as Detective Minhaus lay dead still packed a mind-numbing punch even after all this time. The headquarters' whole move over to a new building didn't help him to forget either. He had two pairs of fierce eyes to remind him everyday. One glacier blue, one deep hazel. Blue was the colour of iciness. Indifference. Yet, those large, blue eyes had held more warmth and understanding than the hazel ones ever did.

He's got your back, Danny.

Nah, his best friend, Homicide Detective Don Flack, was wrong there. There was somebody who got his back then, but it sure wasn't Mac. He only wished he hadn't been so selfishly blind to his friend's concern and empathy.

As he meticulously transferred some of the gooey matter from a large beaker onto a transparent slide, he recalled a quiet, late evening in a stark white laboratory. Sitting in front of a miniature model of a diner's structural layout, arms folded, head bowed. So lost in thought it had taken a good twenty minutes after Mac informed him of the good news and left for home to realize what he'd just been given. Perhaps it was his overconfidence in his unofficial position as Mac's golden boy that dampened his reaction to being on the promotion grid. Perhaps he believed he absolutely deserved it after having worked for Mac for over five years. Perhaps he was simply damn tired that day and needed a hell lot of sleep after a multiple murder case like that.

Whatever the reason, that was a closed chapter in his book now. The chances of him getting back into the grid was lower than Flack ever losing his delight in consuming hot dogs from street vendors. But the fact that he lost his opportunity at a promotion to Detective Third Grade wasn't even the thing that made him feel sick to the stomach these days.

What made him feel that way inside was that his golden child status had been replaced by a Montana hick. (Mac would have told him off for calling her that instead of her name, Lindsay Monroe, but he was smarter than saying that out loud in front of him, wasn't he?) A country girl who (and this always made him grind his teeth) had taken over the place of another best friend no longer in his life. Fuck, he missed Aiden like crazy. He knew Flack missed her just as much, if his livid, drunk mutterings during long nights at Sullivan's about Mac firing her without telling his reason why was any indication. Damn her for not picking up her phone.

Even though half a year'd already passed, he still couldn't bring himself to call Monroe by her first name unless it was absolutely necessary. It was like trampling on the memorial grounds of his friendship with Aiden in boots with sharpened, steel spikes in the soles. It stung and pissed him off at the same time. It made him want to cackle like a madman every time someone whispered behind his back that he had an interest in the CSI newcomer. When Flack casually mentioned it once, and only once, Danny's twisted expression said more than words ever could. Flack was wise enough to never bring it up again.

If Montana thought she could come flying in and occupy his place, she had something coming her way. He'd rather eat a hundred Peruvian centipedes than let that something be Mac. And if everyone assumed things were all good between them, he was fine with that too, since it meant Mac wouldn't be suspecting anything also.

The sharp ringing tone of his mobile phone startled him in the silence of the laboratory. He frowned, taking it out of his trouser pocket and glancing at the caller ID. He'd never admit it, but seeing Flack's name popping up on his phone always gave him a innate sense of reassurance. Flipping it open, he was already predicting the questions Flack was going to ask him that early in the morning. Flack was exactly that kind of guy who wanted to make sure he got the details for everything, every time. Especially if it winded Danny up in a good, stress-relief way.

"Hey, Danny. Black or latte espresso?"

Danny grinned, all pearly teeth. "Fuck you. Ya know I don't drink coffee. I want friggin' tea." He turned away from the table he was working on, looking out through massive glass windows at the city skyline thrown into shadows by the rising morning sun.

"Yeahyeah, in your dreams, Messer. You want some of that Earl Grey crap, right? Or was it that Darbeeediiing stuff?" Danny could literally hear the trademark smirk in the other detective's voice.

"I'm gonna kick your ass when my shift ends. And you owe me twenty bucks, remember?"

"Do not." The audio cacophony of bustling New Yorkers and vehicles on the streets filtered through to Danny's ears. A man with a rough, Turkish accent curtly told Flack the price of his hot dog, and Danny's grin turned into a semi-grimace. Flack was still eating those hot dogs. Gross.

"Do too. You took twenty from me to pay for that extra beer. For that chick with the big bazongas." Danny blinked when a sudden, bright light appeared in the corner of his eye.

"Ohhh, her. Yeah, I remember her. Too bad she couldn't hold her alcohol as well as she held her … abundant assets, heheheh."

Danny faced the table again, staring with squinted eyes and his head tilted sideways at the neon-blue stuff on the slide and inside the beaker. It was now shining with a white radiance, so glaring it started to hurt his eyes. Flack was still ranting at the other end about his former heavily bosomed companion as Danny slowly backed away, one hand shielding his eyes.

" … Flack?"

Danny heard a bizarre bubbling sound. Then a pop.

"Danny?"

The force of the blast blanked out Danny's whole world.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Danny?"

There was nothing. A second later, Flack cursed and pulled his cel phone away from his ear. He knew the deafening sound of an explosion when he heard one. He instantly put the phone back to his ear and yelled into it.

"Danny! Danny! Are you alright! TALK TO ME!"

The connection was dead.

"Shit!" Flack continued to swear loudly, snapping his mobile phone close and sprinting to his car. He vaguely heard the street vendor shouting at him, something about him forgetting his hot dog. He shot out onto the road with the screeching of tyres, almost running over a group of pedestrians on the zebra crossing, but at that point, he couldn't give a damn if he actually did.

The last time he lost his nerves this bad was when Mac had notified him Danny'd been caught in a crossfire on his own with a suspect who tried to escape. He'd been in a red haze, imagining Danny lying on the ground with bloody holes mangling his body, until he saw with his own eyes Danny was alright apart from a slight wound to his forehead. It took many nights of beer at Sullivan's and playing hoops together to help him stop thinking about the ghastly vision.

It was ironic he was allergic to cats. He always believed Danny was very much like one, packaged along with nine lives. If even half of what Danny'd told him about his past was true, Danny would have used up most of his nine lives by now. Flack couldn't bear to think that this time was the last one.

The only thing echoing in his mind over and over now was Danny saying his name.

***

Chapter 2

Detective Stella Bonasera definitely wasn't what one would consider an average or timid woman. In fact, saying either of those to her face was something akin to searching for a death wish. Very much so if agony between the legs was part of the plan too. But, as a select few men who've survived her punch or kick of doom have attested (in oddly high-pitched voices), she was worth every second of pain.

Of course, Mac, who'd known her and been her partner for more years than most of her boyfriends combined, knew the difference between truth and exaggeration better than most people. It was part of his job to seek the truth within all the lies. However, as he silently watched her storming down the hospital hallway towards him, he could grasp why there were men who found her intimidating and even frightening.

"Has he awakened?" That was his Stella, straight to the point, green eyes flashing.

"No, he's still unconscious. But the doctor said he should wake up any moment now." Mac gestured to the semi-closed door next to him, bearing a number at head height. "Flack's in there with him now."

Stella pointedly stared at him for a moment, and he just about rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I've gone in to see him."

She sent him a brilliant smile before pushing past the door into the room. Mac remained outside, leaning slightly on the smooth wall behind him, listening to Stella greeting Flack softly. He envisioned Stella placing one hand on his shoulder, giving him an almost maternal smile while she asked the younger detective what had happened. The door muffled most of what Flack said in reply but the strain in his voice was obvious. Mac's eyebrows met together in a frown. He understood exactly how Flack felt, although he didn't show it as visibly.

Mac was in another section of the labs when he felt the massive tremors rolling through the very walls and floors all around him, followed milliseconds later by a thunderous boom. His first thought was that a bomb had exploded, that it was possibly a terrorist attack. The next few thoughts unwillingly shifted to his late wife, Claire, wondering if he was about to discover firsthand what she went through before she died when the Towers fell. The minute he realized everything was still intact around him (apart from some empty test tubes that fell off the tables and shattered on the floor), he rushed into the hallway towards the site of the explosion.

It was very fortunate there were much fewer technicians in attendance during that particular shift. Mac was certain Danny wouldn't have appreciated the entire lab seeing him sprawled on the charred floor, his clothes and most of his hair singed right off his body. The entire laboratory Danny worked in was nothing more than a chaotic wreck of broken tables and glass, smashed equipment and spilled chemicals. The outer windows had blown outwards with the blast, and Mac could only hope none of the falling shards injured anyone below at ground level.

For the first time since his Marine days, he had been at a loss what to do. Danny's back was facing him, his head turned away and tucked under an arm so Mac had no idea whether he was even alive. Tatters of his maroon shirt and khaki trousers still covered his back, hips and upper thighs, but where his clothes had burnt away, there were reddish, raw blisters. There were also splatters of some luminescent bluish substance on Danny's jaw, neck and shoulders where he could see. Mac feared touching Danny would further hurt the younger man.

Flack's heavy footsteps behind him jolted him out of his daze. It took all of his strength to grapple with Flack to stop him from grabbing Danny. Flack's lanky, slim build was very misleading of how tough the homicide detective really was; now he had the bruises to prove it. Flack's frenzy nearly convinced him to sock the blue-eyed detective in the face just to calm him down, and he was thankful to the male lab technician who helped subdue him.

He was even more thankful to the person who'd the mind to immediately call 911. The presence of the EMT at the scene seemed to calm Flack down somewhat, even if some of the ferocity remained in Flack's wide, glazed eyes. Mac was definitely going to have a talk with him later. As the paramedics deftly turned Danny over to see to his injuries, Mac saw more of the bright blue stuff plastering Danny's chest. He made a mental note to collect a sample of it himself later at the hospital, feeling a lot more like himself knowing Danny was still alive and would be cared for. He remembered it came from one of their current cases, concerning the brutal murder of an unidentified woman splashed with the stuff. If it was the cause of the explosion, whoever manufactured it was going to have a lot more than just a killing to answer for.

Everything that happened afterwards passed in a blur. Everyone who was at the scene was questioned, including Mac. Flack had the most to say, as he was the last person to talk with Danny and virtually heard the explosion via his mobile phone. The young detective was more calm, the only signs of distress revealed in the pursed thinness of his lips and the low set of his brows. Immediately after that, Mac and Flack hurried to the hospital where Danny'd been dispatched. It was a tense two hours in the waiting area, lessened a little by Stella showing up for awhile before needing to leave to deal with a suspect in one of her cases.

And over four hours later after a doctor approached them to break the news Danny was going to be fine, here he was, standing in wordless vigil before his favoured protégé's hospital room. Not that it's going to make a difference now, a small, vindictive voice in his mind said. It made him wince inwardly, because it was true.

He had such high hopes for Danny. When he first placed the young, recently graduated CSI on his hiring list years ago, he was surprised at the amount of opposition he got from his peers over it. His former partner on the force, a hulking giant of a man who always called him by his full first name, happened to be one of them.

"I'm telling' ya, Maclaren, that boy's bad news." Jon was munching loudly on a hamburger the size of Mac's head, waving it around as he rumbled. "I heard things 'bout him. He's got connections to the gangs, that one."

"'Things'. In other words, unsubstantiated rumours." Mac was smaller in stature compared to Jon, nearly a head shorter than him too. But Jon was no idiot. Mac Taylor was one tough bastard you didn't mess with.

"Yeah, but ya know how things are. People don't talk unless there's somethin' that wants to stay hidden, know what I mean?" Jon's heavy-lidded, hard eyes spoke of decades of experience on the streets of New York. "You oughta be careful about hiring this Messer. Sure, he came out top a' his class. Don't mean that automatically makes him a good cop."

Mac's eyes narrowed, mirthless smirk on the lips.

"Whatever happened to giving everyone a second chance, Jon?"

"All I'm gonna say 'bout that is, everybody makes mistakes. But some mistakes …" - Mac watched his friend finish the last of his meal - "Some mistakes, they'll cost ya more than you can pay up, Maclaren."

"They stay with you for life."

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Stella had seen a lot of things in her time as a leading CSI. Decapitated and dismembered bodies, bodies burnt to a crunchy crisp by fire, human remains that came right out of a full-grown tiger's belly. Spatula Man ranked at the top as one for squicking people out at dinners. An adult man squished into a gory, flat pancake by a ship's container wasn't something even somebody like her saw everyday. One aspect of her job she valued was that it built up her tolerance towards grisly sights and scenes. It helped her remember every murderer she hunted down had no justification whatsoever for their crimes. Her life was proof that being exposed to death, pain and violence everyday was no excuse for anyone to become a criminal or a killer.

There are some things in the world, however, that would never stop making her breath catch in her throat.

Stella slowly approached the bed where Danny rested. The sight of her younger co-worker and friend so still and quiet was unnerving, more so than the white bandages wrapped around his arms, hands and neck where the plain hospital gown and blanket didn't conceal. It was odd to see Danny's face without any facial hair; the smoothness made him look years younger. The redness all over his face made him appear to be blushing, which would have amused Stella in any other situation. She expected the clear ointment rubbed on his skin would ease the inflammation soon.

"He's gonna be so pissed off when he wakes up."

Flack sounded like he was talking to himself.

"Always gels his hair up like crazy every morning 'fore he gets to work. Drives me nuts sometimes 'cos he takes so long to make it look like he took a weed whacker to it anyway."

She gazed at Flack, noticing how rigid he was sitting in the chair next to Danny's bed. He was staring at a spot on the wall near Danny's head.

"Look at his hair now. It's all … tufts. Yeah, he's gonna be whining for weeks."

Stella stood beside him and squeezed a tense shoulder. When Flack didn't respond at all, she tenderly ran a hand over the back of his head. While she wasn't the kind to display affection openly very often, this was one of those moments where pride mattered jack.

"Hey. He's alive. He's going to be fine, okay?" Mac liked to call this her Mother Steel voice.

Flack continued to stare off into the distance, and Stella considered hauling him away to be treated for shock. All of a sudden, he jerked in his seat. She heard a rustling sound coming from the bed, and she glanced up.

Danny's eyes were open.

Flack was instantly hovering over Danny, bending over to put an ear close to Danny's moving lips.

"… where's my tea … you dumbass."

Flack's laughter was the best thing Stella heard all day.

***

Chapter 3

Danny was touched by all the 'Get Well Soon' cards and gifts he received from his co-workers at CSI headquarters. He got a surprise card from Mac, with a written message telling him he had a week off once he got out of the hospital. It also said Mac looked forward to him getting back on his feet and seeing him at work, which made his chest feel warm in a sunny way. Hawkes, who cut his vacation short after hearing what happened, personally came to visit him at the hospital and played chess with him. Danny didn't quite know how to react to Lindsay's gift of a box of liqueur chocolate. It creeped him out she somehow discovered this secret fondness of his despite him never telling a soul about it. (Except for the six-foot-tall guy who was currently looking very uncomfortable in the hard chair he was sitting on and watching television with him.)

He was also confused by a bright blue teddy bear one of the receptionists sent him, someone he didn't know at all. He threw it straight at Flack's head after the taller detective mumbled under his breath, with a sarcastic leer, that Danny was a closet girl just bursting to show off his femininity. Flack was a dolt like that. Danny would rather be strangled than confess he didn't care what Flack said about him, as long as they could hang out together this way as long as possible.

Flack visited him everyday, regardless of how much work he had to do at the precinct since Danny was first admitted four days ago. Not even the minor fever he abruptly contracted on the second day stopped Flack from getting into his room, much to the chagrin of the nurses. Stella tried to see him as often too, but with Danny out of the field and the extra investigation into the explosion, they were required to be very brief visits. They made Danny happy all the same. Stella was his ears and eyes back at headquarters while he was away. After listening to her tirade about IAB giving everyone a hard time and slowing matters down, he felt very compelled to punch Chief Hillborne in the face if they ever crossed paths again. He had a bad feeling he was fated to.

Danny ran a hand across the top of his head for the hundredth time that day. It was true he took pride in maintaining a professional and stylish appearance, though not to the point of vanity. His hair, he supposed, was one of his positive physical attributes, if it was styled right. When he was fresh out of high school, he made the mistake of growing it out into an awful mullet. Well, he sure wasn't going there again. He'd kept his hair short and spiked ever since then. It looked good on him anyway.

"Will ya stop worrying 'bout your hair? It's fine."

Flack flung the teddy bear back at him, and he caught it with his right hand. The bandages on his body came off in the morning. He'd spent a half hour simply gawking at his arms and hands. Or rather, their newly hairless appearance. He didn't even dare to pull away the hospital gown to look at his chest and abdomen. Or his legs. He had to fight back the urge to laugh at the dim recollection of one of his girlfriends dumping him just because he thought waxing his chest was disgusting.

"Yeah, suuure it's fine. I look like - like Cousin It's cousin."

Flack made a face.

"Cousin It had hair all the way down to his toes. You, my friend, have none." Flack swung around awkwardly in the chair and got up to dramatically inspect Danny's head from ear to ear. "No, waaaait. Make that, clumps of hair here and there that'll make even a poodle cry."

Danny elbowed Flack hard enough in the stomach to make him go, "Oof!" boisterously. Danny smiled innocently at Flack, who pressed a hand to the bruised area and was glaring at him.

"Whoops. It slipped." Danny lifted his hands up in the typical surrender pose.

"Ha ha, very funny." Flack still glowered, but the quivering of his lips betrayed his amusement. He flopped back into the chair, involuntarily flinching at the ache in his back muscles. Danny's keen eyes spotted it.

"Look, get your ass over here." Danny nimbly moved to one side of the bed. "Don't hafta be all Superman and act like you got muscles of steel or whatever."

"'Cuse me? Act like I got muscles of steel?" Flack took off his shoes and clambered onto the bed beside Danny. He'd already taken off his pink jacket the moment he came over. "I got muscles of steel. Don't need to act." Flack snatched the box of chocolates on a table next to the bed and shoved it at Danny's chest. "Now you, on the other hand, need all the help you can get."

"Fuck off," Danny said with a snicker. He opened it up and popped a piece of liqueur chocolate into his mouth. He had to acknowledge it; Lindsay did have fine taste in confectionary.

It was a tight squeeze, having two grown men sitting shoulder to shoulder on the single bed, but Danny wasn't going to complain. Big-ass explosion and hospitalization aside, he hadn't felt this good in a long time. They lounged in silence, watching some television series about a fictional FBI department dedicated to searching for missing persons. Half-way through the episode, he began daydreaming about what it would be like to be an FBI agent instead of a CSI. Would he still be the same guy he was today? The more he thought about it, the more persuaded he was that he'd be very different. If he'd been an FBI agent … he would never have met Flack.

"You scared the fuck outta everyone."

The vehemence in Flack's voice prompted Danny to stare at him with wide eyes. Flack kept his eyes on the television screen, chewing on a piece of chocolate, but still, Danny felt like Flack was staring right back at him. Flack didn't have to say it aloud. Danny knew what he was really trying to declare.

You scared the fuck outta me.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Danny staring at Flack while Flack avoided looking at Danny like he'd raze down to ashes if he did so. On the television, the Cuban FBI agent was chasing a perp down some sandy hill on a racing bike, the soundtrack of gunshots and fast-paced music adding a surreal mood to the moment.

" … Don -"

Some emotion flickered in Flack's big, blue eyes. He blinked, and at length, turned his head to return Danny's gaze.

And then Danny wished he hadn't.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Head Nurse Patricia Fleer, a thirty year veteran, was notorious for her sternness when it came to adhering to hospital rules. It didn't count whether they were major rules regarding the surgeons themselves or minor rules dictating how patients should conduct themselves. Rules were rules, and Head Nurse Fleer made sure all the nurses in her staff obeyed them, including herself.

That is, until the most gorgeous man she'd ever set eyes on came running up to her one morning, asking for the status on a Detective Danny Messer. One glance into those stunning cerulean eyes, and she was a goner. She wasn't the only one who became captivated with the tall police officer, and it gave her great satisfaction to be able to scold her junior nurses for gossiping about him.

And oh, there was without doubt plenty to gossip about.

Detective Flack (or Don, as she liked to call him in her fantasies) was a very regular visitor to his wounded fellow detective in room 107. On every visit, he had something for his friend, usually snack food that she turned a blind eye on the moment Detective Flack gave her a blinding smile. On the second day when Detective Messer suffered a slight fever from his superficial burns, she endeavored to stand her ground and tell Detective Flack he was not to stay in the room for more than ten minutes. Again, she fell victim to his gleaming pearly whites, and she threw her hands up in defeat. It was a lost cause to fight against a force like that. And no, she did not give up because it meant she'd get to see him more often. No way.

By the third day, all her nurses were whispering among each other that there was more to the attractive Detective Flack than meets the eye. One of them had caught him staring at the other detective dozing in bed, and it wasn't the way a regular guy would at a regular guy friend either. Another nurse caught them food fighting with some jello Detective Flack had sneaked in. Detective Messer was practically mashing dark red jello all over Detective Flack's face, cackling like a little boy. Detective Messer had yellow jello splattered on his scalp, which, Detective Flack later claimed was because the other detective 'missed his hair'.

Today was the fourth and final day of Detective Messer's stay, which meant it was also probably the last time Head Nurse Fleer would ever see Detective Flack. No, she was not tearing up at the thought. She had more important issues to attend to than lamenting over a handsome cop nearly half her age.

She picked up a dinner tray of food and headed for room 107. Detective Flack had most likely fed the room's occupant full with whatever food he brought in on his visit, but she wanted to make sure Detective Messer received his full three meals anyway. And if Detective Flack was there, that was simply a wonderful bonus.

Nearing the room, she could hear the sound of the television turned on. She knocked on the door, frowning faintly when there was no answer. She knocked again. No reply, save for the music coming from the television. Troubled now, she swiftly entered the room.

"Excuse me, Detective Mes-"

For a split-second, she saw both Detectives Flack and Messer sitting side by side on the bed, facing each other and so close their noses were almost touching. She gasped loudly. The next instant, Detective Flack was falling head over heels backwards onto the floor so his gangly legs were sticking upwards at the ceiling, while Detective Messer's whole face and neck was crimson red as he quickly jumped back under the blanket and tried to act like nothing was going on. The next instant after that, Detective Flack was back on his feet, fretfully rearranging his clothes though they were okay and also trying to act like nothing was going on.

"Uhm … dinner?" She smiled at them both, winking at Detective Flack.

"Heeey, Patricia! Nice to see ya again." If Detective Flack's voice was six octaves higher than usual, she didn't say a word about it. "I - uh - I gotta go already."

Detective Flack grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on in a manner bordering on comical. When his arm missed the sleeve opening for the third time, Detective Messer unexpectedly erupted into laughter, bending over on the bed, his face more red than ever. Detective Flack slapped one hand down his face, but it hardly hid the embarrassed smile curving up his lips.

"If you'd like me to leave you boys alone …" Head Nurse Fleer took a step backwards.

"No! No, it's alright, I really do hafta go." Detective Flack cleared his throat, smoothed down his tie and then scrupulously put on his jacket, looking like his typical, professional self again. His face was as red as Detective Messer's. She was of the opinion it was truly endearing.

"Hey, uh, Danny, I'll, uhm, be here to pick you up tomorrow morning, 'kay?" It was even more endearing how Detective Flack was behaving like a boy who just had his first kiss.

"Sure. See you tomorrow, Don." Detective Messer evidently felt the same way, judging from the gleam in his eyes and the tiny smile.

Detective Flack couldn't quite look her in the eye as he smiled politely at her, striding past, the door closing behind him with a soft click. It didn't matter. What she witnessed a few minutes before was more than enough to last her a lifetime.

"I'm sorry if I was disturbing anything." Head Nurse Fleer set the tray down next to the bed. Even with most of his hair missing and having gone through a traumatic experience just a few days ago, Detective Messer was still a very good-looking man. She wasn't sure if he even heard her; he seemed to be in deep contemplation, the smile lingering.

"Hmm? No, no. It was time for dinner anyway." She gazed intently at him, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be disappointment in his blue eyes. Ah, she'd unquestionably interrupted something, alright. She sighed inwardly.

Why were all the hot men always gay?

***

Chapter 4

"Yo, Flack! When's Messer getting over here?"

Flack made a face at the guys playing hoops on the outdoor basketball court. It was Saturday night, also affectionately known as hoop night. He sat on an old wooden bench, inclined forward with his elbows on knees, mobile phone to ear. The New York night breeze cooled him off, drying the sweat that made his sleeveless black jersey cling to his torso.

"Hold on. I'm callin' him again."

He listened to the beeping tone, vigorously tapping his right sneaker-bound foot on the cement ground.

"C'mon, c'mon, pickuppickup."

His brows furrowed when he was directed to Danny's voice mailbox for the third time. What the? This was not like Danny. A soft thumping of shoes towards him, and he gazed up to see Chad with the basketball being juggled between wiry, dexterous hands.

"No answer?" Flack wasn't well-acquainted with the young lab technician, though Chad already worked at the labs at the CSI head office for a number of years. It was after the explosion that the skinny, eccentric man shyly asked if he could join him and Danny at their hoop sessions, to his astonishment. Chad was not only damn good at his job, he turned out to be damn good at basketball too. Flack suspected the lab technician was still sensing the trauma from the explosion nearly two weeks ago. Hell, he was still feeling every bit of it himself.

And Chad had been the one who lent Mac a hand in pinning him to the ground. Literally. He was mortified about it for days until Chad accosted him in privacy to discuss the incident while he was at CSI headquarters. The young lab tech's exterior front of an odd punk camouflaged his inner professionalism and maturity very well. Their short talk was a solemn reminder to Flack to not judge a book by its cover so straightforwardly.

"Nope." Flack closed his mobile phone with a huff and stood up. "I think I'm gonna go over to his apartment and see what's going on."

"Okay. I'll let the guys know." Chad bounced the ball twice and jogged back onto the court. "Take care, see ya later!"

Flack waved goodbye, picking up his knapsack next to him on the bench. He should have known something was up by this morning. Flack'd called up Danny only to get to his voice mail, so he assumed Danny was busy with something or was chatting with somebody else. Flack hadn't seen him for a few days either thanks to the rapid increase of workload over new homicide cases. Left a message reminding Danny about hoop night and didn't think more about it. He was so certain Danny was going to show up, what with the newly discharged CSI going on and on about bounding back into action when he picked him up at the hospital last week.

He dumped the knapsack in the backseat of his car, mechanically locking the side door and clinching his seat belt. He was getting that sinking sensation again, in the pit of his stomach. He hated it. Flack picked up his phone and attempted one last time to contact Danny.

"Damnit, Danny."

He revved the engine, heading for the CSI's apartment in Queens. If Danny was messing with some chick and merely forgot to call him back, he was so going to kick that guy's butt, explosion survivor or not.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The hallway leading to Danny's apartment always took Flack back to the sixties. The multi-coloured tiles spanning the floor made him feel like he was descending into a psychedelic whirlpool, and maybe if he actually jumped in, he'd come out a long-haired hippie on the other side. Tonight, they made everything seem even more dreamlike. Could somebody get nauseous just looking at ugly tiles? He thanked God the nasty things didn't go up onto the walls and ceiling too.

Danny's door was, in contrast, a simple black door, with the gold numbers 316 on it. It was just like Danny to go for black when everyone else on the same floor had doors in pale, pleasant colours. Flack rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Danny! Hey, it's Flack." He waited for a few seconds. Peeking downwards, he could see orange lighting seeping through from under the door.

"Danny, open up, I know you're in there. C'mon, I got your favourite Chinese takeout from down the street." He knocked harder on the door. That was a little white lie, but he hoped it got Danny to come to the door.

He was slightly startled when an old, petite woman half his height suddenly materialized next to him. Flack beamed at her.

"Oh, good evening, Mrs. Penrose! How ya doin'?" Mrs. Penrose was a ninety-three year old, sweet lady who lived in the apartment next to Danny's. She was very short, even for a woman, and suffered from arthritis. It forced her to use a cane to move around, but she was scarcely helpless. For someone her age, she was amazingly astute and intellectual. Flack found that out the hard way the first time they met. He'd ended up red-faced after she corrected him on some police procedures he was explaining to her, and later learnt she was completely right. Her late husband was a decorated police officer during his time, which enlightened Flack on how she knew what she did, and why she had a soft spot for both him and Danny. That, and she baked the yummiest chocolate brownies ever.

"Good evening, Donny. It's lovely to see you again." Apart from his former partner Gavin Moran and his dad, Mrs. Penrose was the only human being who got to call him that way and live to tell people about it. (Danny had yet to call him that, but if he did, chances were, he'd join the exclusive list too. But only him.) "I had a wonderful day today. Magda came over for tea and brownies. Would you like to have some?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Penrose." He took one delicate hand and patted it. "I'll hafta take a rain check on that. I'm here to see Danny."

"Ohh." She motioned for Flack to bow down, whispering to him in stagy, hushed tones. "Daniel hasn't come out in three days. I'm worried he might not be feeling well." Flack's eyes widened.

"Are ya sure, ma'am?"

"Oh yes, he always wakes up every morning before eight. The walls here are quite thin, so sometimes I can hear him moving around in his apartment." She puckered her lips for a moment. "I know he's having a week off work, he told me so this Tuesday."

Flack recalled that time clearly; it was the day he drove Danny back to his apartment from the hospital. They never did tell her what happened to Danny.

"But ever since Wednesday, I haven't seen a peep out of him." Mrs. Penrose's kind eyes were filled with anxiety. "I heard something crash this morning … I thought he'd simply dropped something. Would you be so kind to see if Daniel's alright?"

"Of course, Mrs. Penrose. I'll take care of it, okay?" He gave her a comforting smile, leading her back to her open door nearby. "Don't worry about it." He smiled at her again, closing the door.

It was official. The sinking feeling in his stomach was going code red.

"Danny! Open up!" Courtesy flew out the window with the banging of his fist on Danny's apartment door. "I mean it -"

"Leave me alone, Flack!"

At last. He exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. The little brat was okay after all. It took a few seconds for his brain to figure out something wasn't right with Danny's voice. He might well be wrong … but he could've sworn Danny sounded like he'd been bawling his eyes out for hours.

"Hey, just let me in, will ya? I wanna know you're okay. I swear I'll break down the door. You know I will!"

Silence. Then a shuffling of feet to the door. Two distinct clicking sounds, and the black door gradually creaked open. Flack pressed his way in, footsteps harsh on the boarded floor.

A single lamp was on, leaving only a tiny area by the left side of the apartment door lit. The rest of the apartment was in semi-darkness. Danny hadn't bothered to turn on the other lights, and for some reason, this caused an imaginary alarm to go off in Flack's head. Flack instinctively reached out to flick the light switches on the right side of the door, eyes squinted as he searched for the other man. The main ceiling lights came on.

Everything appeared normal, at first glance. Danny's apartment was sparse in interior decoration and furniture. The art posters of Klimt and Schiele were neatly framed and arranged at equal distances on the wall above Danny's television set. The black-and-stainless steel dining table and chairs were exactly where they always were. A shelf of forensic journals, art books and a whole collection of eclectic tomes still leaned precariously perpendicular to the television. The small kitchen was neat and clean, and the door to the bedroom was closed.

And on a brown, battered couch facing the turned-off television was Danny, huddled in a puffy, oversized coat, his back towards Flack.

Flack cautiously walked into the living area. He hadn't forgotten Mrs. Penrose's mention of something crashing that morning. Another imaginary alarm had gone off the instant he saw the stark 'CSI' letters of Danny's coat. What was he doing wearing it indoors, and off-duty?

"Danny? You okay?"

Danny didn't answer, except to tighten the folds of his coat around his body.

Moving closer, Flack finally saw the source of whatever noise Mrs. Penrose had heard that morning. The glass coffee table in front of the couch was shattered to pieces, angular transparent shards littering the floor around it. There were dark red specks on a few of them, glistening under the illumination. Flack immediately presumed Danny'd injured himself, seating himself next to his unnaturally quiet friend.

"Hey, c'mon. Talk to me, buddy." His voice unconsciously dropped to a soothing tone. Flack caught sight of more flecks of red on Danny's right hand. He carefully stretched out a hand to touch Danny on the arm, reeling back in disbelief at Danny's violent recoil. How did they go from being so open and responsive to each other to this?

"I said, leave me the hell alone." Flack undoubtedly knew now he hadn't been hearing things. Danny was all hoarse and gravelly. Red, swollen rings encircled his blue eyes as he glared at Flack, gripping the lapels of his coat as if his life depended on it. The acute misery in them struck a chord of déjà vu in Flack. The last time he'd seen that emotion in those eyes, he was face to face with Danny at that diner near his precinct. Hours after Danny was accused of killing that undercover cop.

Something snapped within Flack.

"Ohhh no. You're not pulling this shit on me again." He seized Danny's upper arm in a solid grip, ignoring Danny's outraged cry. "I'm here and I'm listening to you. I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

Danny's face was frozen in an expression of terror, and for a second, Flack regretted scaring him like that. Then Danny swung a fist at him. Flack's physical training kicked in on the spot; he blocked it with his forearm, hurling his body onto Danny's and squashing the shorter man beneath him. Danny acted like a feral cat gone rabid, arms and legs thrashing here and there, fighting Flack off. Flack used his height and longer limbs to his advantage, pinning Danny's arms to his sides so he wouldn't hurt either of them.

"Owww! Geddoffame! Geddoff!" Danny's face now contorted into one of real pain.

Lying with all his weight on top of his friend, that was when he felt them.

Flack leapt off the other guy as if he got electrocuted, landing painfully onto the floor next to the couch and miraculously missing any glass shards. There was no fucking way he felt what he thought he felt. He sat up, absent-mindedly rubbing at his hip. Danny was curled up on the couch, knees drawn upwards. The poor guy was still wincing, his arms wrapped around his chest.

"Owww, fuck. They really do hurt being squeezed too hard."

Flack could only stare with saucer-wide eyes and a gaping mouth … at the most voluptuous, smooth pair of DD-sized breasts he'd ever laid eyes upon on his friend's formerly flat chest.

***

Chapter 5

Flack had a very special saying for situations like these.

"What the friggedy fuckity friggin' FUCKIN' FUUUUUUUUCK!"

Shocked was a major understatement in describing how Flack was feeling.

Danny sat upright on the couch, hands fidgeting and running up and down his arms frenetically, eyes darting from side to side in the predictable fight or flight behaviour. Under the bulky CSI coat, he was wearing one of those black tank tops he loved so much, and loose, grey pajama trousers that hung low on his hips. Normally, Danny's tank tops fitted just right, but the considerable breasts that'd taken the place of his flat pectorals distended the one he was wearing to the point it drew upwards and exposed his belly.

Even in its bewildered state, Flack's mind managed to note Danny's abdomen and chest were still baby-smooth and utterly hairless, as well as his hands and face. Even his feet were. Didn't make sense Danny would shave his face at a time like this anyway. A muscle in Flack's face twitched. When he got out of the hospital Danny complained so much about his bad hair condition, Flack had fetched him to the closest barber to get everything shaved off his head. Danny's head was now sporting a full scalp of spiky hair. In fact, it looked more thick and luxurious than it'd ever been. Another muscle in Flack's face twitched.

He was going to forever think back to this night as The Night He Went Into the Fucked Up Twilight Zone and Found His Best Friend with Hot DD-Sized Boobs. And he wasn't exaggerating at all by putting those into the category of hot.

His eyes inevitably strayed downwards to Danny's chest. On an average-sized woman, those breasts would be humongous. She'd be a total freak with the power to make everyone faint dead away with horror. However, on Danny's build, they were … perfect. They weren't the appalling, fake ones that looked like stone-hard basketballs so common in porn magazines. They were the kind that melted Flack's whole body into an ecstatic, gooey mass, the kind that made even the coldest son of a bitch drop on his knees with awe and adoration.

Flack's brain screamed at him to hold Danny and console the distraught guy.

His mouth had other ideas.

"Danny … I know you've been going through rough times, buddy, but - but … you didn't have to do THIS." Flack was mentally slamming his forehead into a brick wall over and over even before the last word left his lips. Correction; he was going to forever think back to this night as The Night He Went Into the Fucked Up Twilight Zone and Found His Best Friend with Hot DD-Sized Boobs AND Made It a Gazillion Times Worse With a Dumbass Comment.

Danny's ruddy eyes were so wide Flack could see the whites of his eyes all around the blue irises. Danny's face turned deep scarlet.

"I DIDN'T GO FOR A BOOB JOB, YOU ASSHOLE!"

Flack grimaced, clambering away just in time to avoid being konked in the skull by a standard ceramic flower pot.

"THEY GREW OVERNIGHT! GREW! GRRRREEEEEEEEW!"

Flack scrambled to his feet, arms up in a placating stance. Whoa, a hormonal, hysterical Danny was a petrifying, unstable Danny.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! That was a really stupid comment!" Flack cringed on impulse, eyes squeezed shut, anticipating another lethal Weapon of Flack Destruction aimed at him. Ten seconds passed. Flack cracked a eye open.

Oh, man. A hysterical Danny wasn't scary.

A crying one was.

Danny was hunched over, face buried in his hands, feet on top of each other. Lean shoulders shook with each muted sob. A broken arm couldn't make Danny cry. Falling down a flight of stairs as a kid couldn't do it. Not even getting bashed in the back with a baseball bat during a perp chase did it.

He did. Great going, Flack. Wonderful pal he was.

Flack warily tiptoed over the shower of glass wedges on the floor. He resettled himself beside Danny. Was Danny going to punch him again if Flack touched him? Only one way to find out. Flack draped one muscular arm across Danny's trembling shoulders, inwardly thankful the other man didn't push him away.

"I'm sorry, really, I am." Flack pulled Danny sideways onto him, propping the shorter man's head on his shoulder. Danny kept his face obscured in his hands, but Flack felt him nuzzle his head against his shoulder. "Shh, it's okay." They remained in that posture for some time; Flack ruffling Danny's hair continually, Danny nestling into his shoulder and chest, sobs growing fainter.

"I'm scared, Don." Danny's voice was husky and weak. He dragged his hands away, winding his fingers into the collar of his coat. "I dunno how this happened to me."

"We'll figure somethin' out. We always do." Flack saw that Danny's feet were bare. He nudged Danny gently in the side. "C'mon. Let's go to the bedroom. We'll clean this mess up later." Danny merely nodded, standing up along with Flack.

Flack made sure Danny didn't step on any of the broken glass, holding tightly to the other detective's forearm. Flack was disturbed by how thin Danny was, and how he seemed to be carrying him more than Danny was walking on his own. It was really hitting him now what a grim situation this was. Danny's head was beginning to loll a bit as Flack opened the bedroom door and laid him on his side on the queen-sized bed. Flack didn't dare to remove the coat; the last thing he wanted to do was upset Danny again.

"Have you eaten anything today?" Danny minutely shook his head. "Yesterday?" Danny shook his head again. Parking himself heavily onto the bed near the other man, Flack took out his cel phone and punched a number.

"I'm orderin' Chinese. The takeout down the street okay?"

"Thought you already got Chinese takeout for me." Danny wasn't one to easily forget the particulars. Flack smirked.

"Heh. I didn't. Figured you'd open the door if I said so, ya Chinese food freak."

Flack was infinitely pleased at Danny's diminutive smile. There was hope after all.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The prawn cheong fan looked appetizing. Danny silently chewed on a piece of siew mai while he observed Flack adeptly pluck some of it with a pair of wooden chopsticks and stick it in his mouth.

No one would ever guess at first impression, but Danny was a connoisseur of Chinese cuisine. There was even less of a chance anyone would guess he was also able to converse in rudimentary Chinese. One of the perks of having had an Asian girlfriend or three, he thought. He deemed many Asian women to be beautiful; maybe it was the idea of connecting to someone from an exotic nation he found so appealing. Regrettably, the last turned out to be a total psychobitch who ended up eloping with an old, rich geezer twenty years her senior. Heh, you win some, you lose some.

Flack, on the other hand, couldn't put up with Chinese food. Or so he thought anyway, until Danny blackmailed him into going to a Chinese restaurant in downtown Manhattan the first year they befriended each other. The tall detective was hooked to dim sum and stir-fried noodles ever since. As well as pretty Asian waitresses.

Ordinarily, Danny could devour a plate of fried vermicelli, a whole lot of dim sum and another plate of bak choi all by himself. Tonight, he could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls. The double weights on his chest was effectively killing whatever appetite he had. So this was how women with gigantic breasts felt. His back and neck ached like crazy.

"So, talk." Flack's blue eyes were piercing in the diffused glow emanating from the ceiling light above the dining table. "Startin' from Wednesday."

Danny placed his chopsticks on his plate. "Wednesday … yeah, that was gym day."

"You went to the gym? Even after the doctor told ya to relax and not do any strenuous activity?" Flack's neutral expression didn't change, but Danny knew Flack wasn't happy with that.

"Whaaat? I was in bed for nearly a week! I needed to geddout and move. Ya know, pumps, treadmill, yaddayadda."

Flack made a disapproving face. "Good old walking isn't good enough?"

Danny sighed. "Look, you wanna hear what I gotta say or what?" he asked resignedly.

Flack made a zipping motion across his tightened lips, then beckoned Danny to carry on.

"So, Wednesday, went to the gym. Came back here straight away after that." Danny fingered the long bandage plastered across the top of his right hand. "Felt really tired, so I took a shower and napped. Woke up 'bout a couple a' hours later. Still felt tired, went back to sleep some more."

Flack was frowning, tapping his fingers methodically on the table. His stare never wavered.

"Think I slept all the way past Thursday into Friday." Flack's fingers stopped tapping. "Was like I couldn't get outta bed. Every time I opened my eyes, I felt like crap. Chest was sore like a bitch. I thought I was comin' down with some flu." Danny kept his gaze on the leftover food, evading Flack's questioning eyes. "Went to the kitchen for some water, showered again to wake myself up or somethin'. Didn't work, so I went to bed again."

Danny squirmed visibly in his seat. "Slept some more … woke up this morning and -" - his voice choked up into a murmur - "There they were."

"Coffee table?"

Danny's head whipped up at the question. " … I kinda … lost it." His mouth contorted into a narrow, upside-down U.

Flack exhaled loudly. "Danny." He placed a big hand over Danny's bandaged one. "We gotta tell Mac abo -"

Danny immediately shot to his feet, his chair toppling to the floor. "Are you NUTS! If Mac finds out about this, I'm done for!" Danny paled at the sudden, horrifying image of Lindsay and the rest of the team laughing their heads off at him. The humiliation was unthinkable.

Flack was trying very, very hard not to look at Danny's ample breasts. Damn, they did look fantastic in a black tank top. "Listen to me, 'kay!" His hands landed on Danny's shoulders. "This. Is. Serious. You remember what you told Stella that day?"

When Danny had woken up at the hospital, Stella'd taken a statement from him regarding the explosion and how it might have transpired. All he recalled telling her was having a bad night, cleaning up some sections of the new lab he was working in … Flack calling him … and the weird blue substance -

"Oh shit." Danny's mouth was now in an 'O' shape.

"Yeah, oh shit. We gotta tell Mac about this … 'cos if that blue stuff's what changed you -" Flack bit his lip.

"We're talkin' 'bout one fuckin' dangerous contagion here."

***

Chapter 6

On the second day of Danny's hospitalization, a tall, silver-haired man in the light blue scrubs of an ME tied the final suture to seal up the Y-incision extending over the dead body's chest.

Syd Hammerback pinched the area between his eyes, mystified by his findings.

This was … illogical.

He placed his spectacles back onto his eagle-hooked nose as rapid, clacking footsteps alerted him to the incoming presence of Detective Bonasera.

"Hammerback, what's the news?" She was utterly lovely in a low, v-neck sweater and black trousers, her copious, wavy hair tied in a high ponytail. Hammerback smiled at her, face crinkled up. Ahh, the Greek rose in his garden of weeds had returned to grace him with her blossoming splendor. Stella paused on the opposite side of the autopsy table, looking at the female corpse lying on its chilly, steel surface.

A few days back, Stella and Mac had answered the call to a DB found chucked in the dank recesses of an alley, a couple of blocks away from the Museum of Natural History in upper Manhattan. It had been a cold night, with a biting wind that made everyone just as bitter. The body was slumped against the brick wall and a dumpster, chin on chest, arms and legs spread wide apart. Stella wasn't even going to comment on the enormous breasts.

Stella's eyes were drawn to it straight away. Even from a distance, the glowing, neon-blue substance splattered all over the corpse made it stand out like a beacon in the darkness. The viscous stuff reminded her of that slimy, green ghost from the Ghostbusters. For a woman, the victim was really tall; she'd have loomed at the height of at least six foot three. Taller than Flack, a thought that made Stella's eyebrow arch.

Looking at the same body in a reclining position and cleaned, Stella was even more aware of how tall the woman was, in addition to the squareness of the jaw and brow. The abnormally large hands and feet led her to one conclusion, but she kept quiet. She wanted to hear what Hammerback had to say. He appeared uneasy.

"Yikes."

Stella spun around to see Mac with an aghast expression on his face.

"Well, this certainly explains why more male lab technicians are loitering outside than normal."

Stella's red lips twitched.

"Detective Taylor, good of you to join us," Hammerback greeted drolly. "I'm not quite sure how to break this to you …" Hammerback directed their gazes to the victim's lower abdomen area. He had left the opening unsutured, so Stella and Mac had a first-class view of yet another human being's insides. "On the outside, this person can safely be assumed to be a woman. However, on the inside …" - Hammerback peeled back the flesh for more visibility - "Take a look for yourself."

They peered inside.

Stella made a face. "Hmm. No female reproductive organs."

"Exactly. I've found no indication that any were previously removed by surgery. No internal cut marks whatsoever. No uterus either, although the external female genitals are present."

"So, what we have here … is a transexual." She angle her head to the left, eyebrows lifted. Hammerback mimicked her, angling his head to his left. Mac allowed himself a minuscule smirk at their antics.

"Yes, I thought so too. However …" - he gestured towards the mountainous breasts - "Those are giving me second thoughts."

Stella smirked, sending him a mock glare. "Behave yourself, Hammerback."

He laughed in reply. "Oh no, I only have eyes for you." He dipped his head bashfully.

Stella was grinning now. "Beeeehave."

Hammerback coughed, pushing up his spectacles with a finger. "Yes, as I was saying, I'm having doubts about the gender of our murder victim here." He repositioned the fluorescent laboratory lamps over the corpse's chest area. "Breasts like these are impossible without both a concentrated treatment of hormones and breast implants. I mean …" - Hammerback's bushy eyebrows raised in amusement - "These are breasts the size of Mount Everest we're discussing here. Even a natural woman with huge breasts would need additional implants to get to this size."

"As far as I know, hormone treatments alone have only produced 'naturally' grown breasts with the largest size of B-cups so far. Don't ask how I know," he quickly added before Stella could make a sarcastic remark. He pressed a gloved hand against the bottom of one massive breast, exposing the underside. "No surgical scars at all. X-rays show no implants either."

It was Mac's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Hmmm. This is interesting."

Hammerback nodded. "So, we're looking at a new, very radical, non-surgical breast enlargement procedure … or it's time to give Agent Mulder and Scully a call to take back their gender-bender shape-shifter."

"X-Files fan, I see," Stella said.

"Oh yes, I particularly enjoyed the episode where Agent Mulder exchanged bodies with that government lackey after the spacecra-" Hammerback swallowed whatever else he was going to say at Mac's pointed look. "What about the blue substance found all over the body? Have you figured out what it is?" Hammerback slanted his head in a questioning stance.

Mac frowned. "No, Danny was working on that when the explosion occurred. We lost all the samples there, but -" - Mac took out a white, opaque container from a pocket in his coat - "I collected some more from Danny while they were admitting him to the hospital. It's all that's left."

"And how is Detective Messer?"

"He had a fever." Stella instantly gave Mac a firm stare, which Mac returned with an encouraging one. "It's gone down. Flack called up a while ago to let me know."

Stella sighed audibly.

Hammerback picked up some papers off a wheeled trolley next to the autopsy table, handing them to Mac. "Fingerprints."

Mac took them with a nod. "I'll get Lindsay to run them through AFIS. Meanwhile, I'll work on whatever this blue, gooey stuff is. Thanks, Hammerback."

Mac and Stella pushed through the heavy doors of the autopsy room, heading for the labs upstairs. She smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "Gooey. Now there's a good forensic word."

"Hey, I said that first!"

On the day Flack drove Danny back to his apartment from the hospital, Lindsay was sitting in front of a black, sleek computer monitor, watching AFIS scanning through the millions of fingerprints stored in its vast database. She gently kicked at her chair's strut with her heel in a monotonous rhythm. She was somewhat peeved that Mac'd delegated this menial task to her when she could be helping him or Stella or Hawkes out with the investigation into the explosion. Hadn't they already gotten over her newbie status ages ago? She was a qualified and accomplished CSI, damnit.

Her kicks became harder. She had to admit to herself the only person on the team who'd given her a difficult time since she arrived was Danny. First day on the job, she was cool with the edgy teasing from the spectacled guy. She should have known his niceness by advising her to call Mac 'sir' was all an act to get her in trouble anyway. It was so obvious, but she really wanted to make a good impression on her new boss. After all, he'd chosen her out of so many possible candidates in the country for the job opportunity. There was no way in hell she was gonna blow it.

Danny's actions and attitude baffled her. She had no idea whether to reckon he was interested in her, or hated her Montana guts. From the outside, people had the view he had some kind of high school crush on her. They didn't say it to her face, of course, but she had ears, she could hear just fine. The first week she and Danny worked together, she thought the same thing too.

On the second day alone, she'd noticed him staring at her in at least five different instances from the corner of her eye. It was always an aloof, appraising stare, as if he was trying to figure out who she really was. Or whether he could dig up her darkest secrets merely by looking at her long enough. That sent a shiver up her spine. She had secrets, alright ... secrets bad enough to make her run away forever from the place she once called home. If Danny truly had some kind of grudge against her, she had to be extremely careful. She couldn't afford to lose another job like this due to somebody's embittered heart all over again.

On the fourth day, Lindsay was beginning to figure out there was something much bigger going on in the picture than she could see. Something almost sinister. She was sick of him calling her Montana way too much for her liking, and told him off straight into his face. At first, she was pacified by his seemingly sincere apology, his excuse he was just 'protecting' her because she was new. Later that evening, she ruminated over it and realized that it was a totally lame excuse. Protect her? From what? A couple of spoilt, rich dead teenagers who got their heads blown off by bullets? She'd seen far worse sights than that. Nope, Danny wasn't sorry at all.

By the end of that week, he asked her out to lunch after interviewing a few potential suspects, an offer she declined on the spot. She heard the frustration, and even resentment, clearly in his voice. Her gut instincts told her she'd done the right thing. In some way, she knew he wasn't upset solely because she said no. She felt as if her rejection had thrown a huge wrench into the cogs of whatever ominous plan he had in mind. She was convinced the hostility brewing between them had to do with a mutual person in their lives.

Mac.

Her new boss was like the opposite mirror image of Danny. While Danny was highly emotional, prone to rebellion and brashness, Mac was a steady pillar of composure and reliability. He had a presence that commanded respect and humility. His awarded past as a Marine significantly contributed to the general public's deferential opinion of him as well. Only a fool would be stupid enough to mess around with a man who could disassemble and reassemble a variety of firearms in seconds. Even Stella, the fiery phoenix of the team, thought twice before waging verbal combat with Mac.

Lindsay had no uncertainty when it came to Mac. She liked the guy, just not that way. He was like the father or older brother she never had, someone she could look up to for counsel. It seemed he felt similarly towards her, from the way he watched her completing her tasks and commended her like a father would a favored child. She never sensed any sexual attraction between them at any time they were working together.

When Mac was with Danny, however, she could virtually see the substantial difference in his body language. The moment the spiky-haired, younger CSI was near, Mac's back would stiffen with a tension Lindsay could only describe as anticipatory. His facial features would go blank; it was his hazel eyes that said everything. Danny would become all taut too, face set in a neutral air, and like Mac, it was his blue eyes that bared his inner sentiments. As annoying as Danny was, Lindsay knew he wasn't brainless. From what she'd heard, Danny got burnt by Mac's rebukes more than anyone else to date. So, the only rationalization she came up with over why Danny was so keen on getting into Mac's face and challenging him time and again … was because Mac loved it and Danny knew it.

She didn't understand why, but the thought made her leg jerk.

The computer emitted a shrill, pinging sound. Yes! AFIS had a confirmed match.

Then she focused on the screen. Lindsay's back hit the chair heavily.

The portentous logo of the FBI unfolded across the monitor, the words 'Access Denied' blatant in red below.

***

Chapter 7

The day Danny was unconscious in bed in his apartment before hoop night was the day the entire universe got flushed down a stinky toilet into the depths of a very confounding hell.

On most days, CSI headquarters was the entire universe to Hawkes. Whether he was an ME or a CSI investigator out on the field, it was a place where he could eagerly lose himself in his work for hours at a time. His peers were fellow scientists and researchers who understood him on a level that everyday folk would never be able to. He had no desire to relive the awkward moments when his family or dates inquired about his work, if it was viable. A piece of decent advice? Don't tell a dinner date you spent the whole day rummaging through the dead fat guy's intestines searching for a tiny piece of evidence while she's chowing on spaghetti. It's a guarantee she won't be back for a second date.

On that precise day, he was trying to identify an unknown pink fiber taken off a little boy who'd been strangled to death in his home. Brutal child deaths made an unpleasant coil of rage wind him up deep inside every time. This case gave him the first nightmare he had in years since that gruesome infanticide case that happened in Staten Island. He'd never forgotten that one.

A loud shriek coming from the reception area drew his attention away from the microscope he was gazing into.

"Wait! You can't just go in there!" It was Melinda, the headquarters' main receptionist. "Please let me inform Detective Taylor first!"

"Don't trouble yourself, Ms. Pearson. Maclaren will talk with me."

Hawkes perked up. He rarely heard anyone calling Mac by his full first name. He treaded into the hallway, eyes widening at a man who was maybe the most colossal human being he'd seen in his life. (And seriously, he'd seen a lot.)

The man had to be a whopping seven feet tall, with broad shoulders like unyielding granite. His face was as coarse and hard too, heavy-lidded grey eyes coolly checking out the surroundings. The man's crew-cut, silvery hair and the rough callouses on his mammoth hands implied he was someone who'd been around for a very long time. Even without the four other men dressed in dark macintoshes and expensive suits like himself, he exuded a formidable aura that strangely reminded Hawkes of documentaries about white Siberian tigers. They were breathtaking, but a single swipe of a clawed paw could kill a grown man instantaneously.

Melinda was scuttling behind the group of advancing men, pleading with them to stop. When one of the men ringing their giant leader forcibly propelled her aside, Hawkes decided enough was enough.

"Excuse me." Hawkes smiled politely at them. "I believe you're looking for Detective Taylor?" Although he didn't show it on the outside, Hawkes felt like he was shrinking smaller and smaller as the man loomed over him. Geez, if this guy was his friend, what were Mac's enemies like?

"Yeah. Maclaren heads this office, right?" His voice was sonorous and gruff. It befitted his physique well. "Tell him AD Turgis wants to talk to him. From the FBI."

The FBI? What had Mac gotten himself into?

"He's not here at the moment," Hawkes replied calmly. "I'll call him now to let him know you're here."

One of AD Turgis' men approached and said to his superior, "We don't have to wait for him to get everything."

It took a great deal of effort for Hawkes to keep his face neutral.

"We wait." AD Turgis' tone tolerated zero defiance.

Hawkes speedily selected Mac's contact on his mobile phone. This was not good, not good at all. Two beeping sounds, and then Mac picked up.

"Taylor." Mac was all business.

"Mac, I think you should come down to your office straight away. There's an AD Turgis from the FBI looking for you."

There was a blunt silence. "Okay. I'm there." The line disconnected.

Melinda looked dazed, and tremendously intimidated by AD Turgis. Hawkes took a slim forearm in hand and smiled kindly at her. "Are you alright?" She nodded, smiling tremulously back. Then, Hawkes heard sturdy footsteps from behind. He sighed; he was very relieved to see Mac standing there with his typical glower, hazel eyes narrowed at the group of outsiders in his labs.

AD Turgis swivelled around to confront Mac face to face. "Maclaren."

Mac's facial features stayed passive, but there was a glimmer in his eyes where there wasn't before.

"It's been a while, Jon."

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Jon Turgis was once a guy who smiled like it was the greatest fad in the whole freaking world. That in itself was funny, because at the time he was like this, he was a green, fresh-out-of-the-womb Marine who was receiving more shit from his commanding officer than anyone else. His penchant for smiling even when conditions went to the crapper was the major reason why Mac noticed him in the first place. Mac thought Jon was a fucking crazy guy, and Jon was absolutely fine with that. Years later, having travelled to a ton of countries across the world, slept with all the hot local chicks and shot a terrorist or ninety, they were also inseparable friends. After being honourably discharged, they joined New York's finest and became partners in crime fighting.

Jon gradually smiled less and less as the years went by. Mac remembered the case that was the beginning of the end for his friend. A father lost it one rainy night after gambling away all the family money, and in a fit of despair, slaughtered his wife and three children before killing himself. There was so much blood it covered entire walls of the apartment where the murders happened. Mac remembered the anguish in Jon's eyes too; seeing blood spilled from dying soldiers during warfare was one thing, seeing blood spilled from the ruptured bodies of little ones no older than six was something else completely. Mac had nightmares for weeks after the case was closed. At least, he had his wife Claire to soothe him in her loving arms whenever he woke up screaming at the horrors in his mind. Jon had no one.

During the fleeting years there were partners in the NYPD, Mac had sometimes speculated on why Jon'd insisted on going into the homicide department, but never went beyond that. Part of him was afraid to learn whether Jon had developed a predilection for looking at grisly, bloody scenes or missed their Marine days where slaying the enemy with a bullet to the head was part of their everyday job. Part of him was fearful of discovering he might be in the same shoes.

Then, Jon abruptly quit, joining the FBI. Mac walked his own way and delved into forensics and crime scene investigation, becoming both detective and CSI. Over time, communication between them became sparse, but their friendship hardly waned. Jon had been there to enfold him in solid arms and narrate all their fond memories of Claire in the first heartrending months, after he watched her die live on television as the plane crashed into the remaining Tower.

All this time, they had been friends, comrades in arms, even soul mates to a certain extent.

Today was perhaps another story.

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call." Mac shut the glass door to his office, giving them both privacy to talk.

Jon smirked mirthlessly. "Don't play dumb, Maclaren. Ya know why I'm here."

Mac dumped a folder or two onto the table before him, lips a thin line of stiffness. "All I know is, the FBI's blocked access to the identity information of a victim in one of my cases." Mac sat down in his chair, looking hard at the AD on the opposite side of the table. "And I need to know that information. I need to find out who the murderer is because whatever he or she left behind on the victim nearly killed one of my own."

Jon simply stared at him.

"Here's the story. We find a naked body covered in an unidentifiable substance. The ME is not only unable to figure out the cause of death, the victim's gender becomes questionable after autopsy is done for further investigation. Oh -" - Mac waved one hand in a circular motion - "Let's not forget the very unknown substance slathered all over the victim somehow exploded while one of my CSIs was studying it. And nearly killed him." Mac slammed his hand down onto the table, lips downturned in a palpable scowl.

"The way I see it, Jon, I think I deserve some answers, don't you think?" Mac's hazel eyes were ablaze.

"Nope. This case is now outta your jurisdiction." Jon's eyes were colder and more distant than Mac had ever seen them. "I'm here for all the material related to it. Research, physical evidence, autopsy reports, the works. And yeah, the body too."

"What?"

The hulk of a man exhaled. "Ya heard me, Maclaren. Everything. Order came directly from the top." Jon took out a piece of paper from inside his macintosh and tossed it into Mac's face. "And this ain't a request."

Glancing over it, Mac was at a loss for words.

"This is insane!"

Stella stormed into Mac's office, teeth bared in an angry rictus and figurative claws out for a kill. "This is INSANE! MAC! They're taking all our work and evidence on the investigation into the explosion! And our homicide case!" Stella spied her first victim.

"You! What the HELL do you think you're doing!"Only a woman like Stella would have the guts to yell at someone like AD Turgis. "Your men just compromised all our hard work!"

"Stella -"

Stella was in full rage mode, which didn't seem to upset Jon in the slightest. Mac couldn't believe it, but his former partner was genuinely smiling at her while Stella vented her frustration at him.

"Stella!"

His Greek CSI partner finally clamped her mouth shut.

"We have no choice." Mac saw the displeasure in her striking green eyes and knew exactly how she felt. Stella glared intensely at Jon for five whole seconds before stomping away, flinging his office door so hard he half-expected it to break. A few lab technicians who'd come out to see what the commotion was about wisely stepped out of her way.

Jon whistled, watching Stella's retreating back. "Whoa. Now that's a woman." Jon turned back towards him and was instantly back to his remote self. "Look, ya know how it is. I'm just doin' my job here."

Mac sighed and rubbed at his temple. "Jon, what the fuck is going on here?"

For the first time since Jon popped up at the labs, his grey eyes were filled with empathy. All of a sudden, Mac was looking at his old friend as he really knew him once more. "Need-to-know basis, buddy. I can't tell ya anythin'. I'm sayin' this to ya as a friend, stop all your investigations into this case and move on. A'ight?"

Mac kept his lips pursed. One of the FBI agents appeared at the scene, nodding at Jon. Jon took this as a signal and got up from his seat.

"It ain't worth it to chase this, ya hear me?" Jon bent over the table, thrust himself into Mac's personal space and stared Mac straight in the eyes. "The vultures are circling the dead."

With that, AD Turgis trudged out of his office, followed by the four FBI agents who had bags or boxes in their grasp. Mac sat at his table, still hearing Jon's last statement in his head, lost in a time when he was still in the Marines with his friend. 'The vultures are circling the dead' had been one of the codes they'd used between them whenever communication was jeopardized in any way.

His former partner was warning Mac he and his entire lab were now under scrutiny by the higher-ups in power. A throbbing vein in his temple marked the onset of a severe migraine. He never imagined he would become embroiled in some secret government conspiracy, of all the damn things. Mac sighed again.

In any case, Danny was okay now and would be back to work in mere days.

Right?

***

Chapter 8

Flack awoke to the resounding yowl of a cat somewhere outside.

He blinked twice, rubbed at his eyes and promptly let out a powerful sneeze or two. Sniffling moistly, he wriggled out from under the cream-colored afghan wrap Danny always spread across the back of his couch, wrinkling his nose. His mouth agape in a yawn, he stretched his long, lean body on the couch. He looked at the antique clock hanging on the wall next to the bookshelf. Nine in the morning on a Sunday. Stupid cat. He staggered to the semi-open window facing the street, feeling the early morning draft caress his face and hair before pulling it shut.

Coffee. He needed coffee. Now where did Danny keep the coffee?

Flack stumbled into the small kitchen, scratching his chest. The white ceramic tiles beneath his bare feet were chilly and sent shudders up his back. The next time he crashed at Danny's, he was gonna bring over his fluffy slippers, and he didn't give a shit if Danny laughed his ass off at him because of them. He growled deep in his throat at the lack of any coffee in the kitchen cupboards. No coffee meant a Flack in a bad mood. He made a sardonic face at the millions of tea packets instead. Only sissies drank tea like that.

Okay, sure, Danny drank tea, but he wasn't a sissy. He was in an exclusive class of his own. Where the hell was that lazy ass? Flack yelled his name, demanding to know whether there was any coffee in the place. Then he recalled Danny didn't drink coffee.

Damnit.

Flack plodded back out into the living area, intent on bursting into Danny's bedroom and hopping on the guy if that's what it took to get him up. Half-way there, his foot suddenly snagged on something heavy on the floor, and he barely caught himself from flattening his face on the wooden floor. What the -

It was the rubbish bin. Crammed with empty Chinese takeout cartons. And broken glass shards. Flack gaped at the blood stains on some of them.

Holy shit. Danny.

The whole of last night came back to him like a kick in the teeth six ways to kingdom come.

The vision of sensual, full DD-cup breasts on his best friend's chest woke him up quicker than all the caffeine in the world could.

Flack grimaced a little as the bedroom door creaked open. He was also starting to remember how close he got his head smashed apart by a sailing flower pot hurled by a very furious Danny. He proverbially slapped himself for shouting like he did earlier. He so did not need another flower pot nearly breaking his skull this early in the day.

Danny was still sound asleep, lying on his back with one arm bent over his head and the other partially hanging over the edge of the bed. The curtains of the windows to the left of the bed were half-closed. Vivid sunlight poured through the gap in between and onto Danny from the waist down, saturating the resting man in bright colours on the bottom half while leaving his upper body in the shadows. Right then and there, Flack had his very first urge to pick up a brush and paint what his eyes were drinking in. Or if he had a camera like his CSI pals carried around so often, he'd capture this moment and keep it in his wallet always.

Flack's brain was so fuddled without his daily dose of caffeine, it was over ten minutes of just slouching in the doorway staring with glossy blue eyes before he noticed Danny's hair. It had grown at least another two inches longer. He wrapped one hand around his mouth when the manic vision of Danny as Rapunzel screaming for a Knight in Shining Armour suddenly popped into mind. Fuck, that shouldn't be as amusing as he believed it was. Danny's face showed no beard shadow or any growth of facial hair at all. Flack never realized how much of a difference Danny's goatee and facial stubble made to his face until it was gone. Flack kinda liked it. And was it his imagination or were Danny's eyelashes longer too?

Danny had taken off the CSI coat sometime in the night, and without it, Flack had the ideal view of the drastic physical transformation to his friend's body. Upon second thought, drastic was a rather strong word to use. Flack thought the word pants-tenting was more appropriate. He figured his judgement of those recent … add-ons would change with the dawn. He was dead wrong. If his best friend wasn't a man, Flack would probably propose to him. The right band of the black tank top had slipped downwards over Danny's shoulders, partly hiding the tribal-like, round tattoo on the upper arm. The bottom of the tank top was twisted around the shorter man's body awkwardly, baring the undersides of the DD-sized breasts.

Huh, they were totally real. And Danny wasn't wearing a bra. He mulled over how they were gonna walk into a lingerie store to buy some bras. All he could think of was Danny trying one on and posing in front of a mirror, asking petulantly, "Don, do these make my boobs look big?" He sniggered. He felt another spasm of maniacal laughter coming on and literally slapped himself in the face this time. Damnit, Flack, he thought to himself, what the fuck's wrong with ya?

Flack sneaked across to the bed, sitting at Danny's feet. He itched terribly to pull them into his lap and tickle the hell outta them. Geez. This was what happened when Don Flack, Jr. didn't get his coffee fix. He brushed his hands through his cropped hair in agitation. He felt so disoriented, like how Tom Hanks was in that movie where he got stranded on an island and made a friggin' volleyball his only friend. He loathed feeling like this, powerless to make a difference in a situation that was out of his control.

Danny moaned, then shifted onto his right side, away from the sunlight. Whoa, major cleavage going on there. Flack formed his decision and brought his hand down onto Danny's ankle to wake him up.

A loud series of knocks at Danny's apartment door immobilized him.

Flack immediately shifted into detective mode, all senses razor-sharp and heightened. He was highly doubtful Danny was anticipating visitors, not in the shape he was in. He creeped towards the main door on the flat sides of his feet, something he learnt from his dad in advancing stealthily and silently on perps. Instinct forewarned him whoever was on the other side were not freakishly friendly salespeople. He wished he had his gun. He peeked through the peephole in the door.

Two men in pricey, custom-made suits and coats hung around on the opposite side of the door, one rocking back and forth on his heels and the other stepping forward to knock on the door once more. If Flack didn't know better, they looked like the Feds. His face contorted into his patented scowl. He and his dad might disagree on many issues, but they had this outlook in common: New York's finest and Feds just didn't mix well.

What the hell did the FBI want with Danny anyway?

Flack waited until the FBI agent was leaning forward and a second away from touching the door, then yanked the door wide open. He smirked inwardly at the guy's clumsy attempt to straighten himself before he planted his face on the yucky hallway tiles. Oh yeah, that set Flack right back on course to being his usual, asshole self.

"Whaddayawant?" Flack inflated his chest and gave them his fiercest glare, blocking the doorway with his bulk.

The one who tripped glared in return, whipping out his wallet to display his FBI identification and badge. "I'm Agent Summers, and this is Agent Alvarez -" - he pointed at the other guy who was studying Flack - "We'd like to talk with Detective Danny Messer."

"Why?"

"We just need to ask him some questions in regards to the explosion that occurred at his workplace." Agent Summers continued to glare at him, enticing Flack to take a step forward into the agent's personal space.

"Detective Messer's already answered all the necessary questions 'bout it." Flack's tone was low and nonchalant, but something in his blue eyes compelled Agent Summers to unconsciously tilt back a bit. "If you want his whole statement, go look for his boss, Detective Mac Taylor."

"We'd like to talk to him."

Flack's eyes narrowed. Something smelled awfully fishy here.

"He's sleeping." This dumbass was getting on Flack's nerves. "And as I said, Detective Mac Taylor's the guy you should be lookin' for."

"And who might you be?" Ah, the quiet one knew how to talk after all.

"Detective Don Flack. Homicide." Flack's lips curved in a parody of a smile. "You wanna get in, you get a warrant."

Agent Summers with his overly-gelled, slicked hair apparently had a really short fuse. He jabbed roughly at Flack's sternum. "Get out of the way, detective, or -"

" … Don? What's going on?"

Damn, Danny was awake.

Flack craned his head to the side, staying where he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny a few feet away, swathed in a thick, dark blue robe and dreamily rubbing at his eyes. His hair was mussed, and strands of it dangled over his high forehead. The robe was so thick Flack could hardly tell anything was out of the ordinary with his friend's physique. Flack couldn't help but think Danny looked like a little boy who'd woken up to have some cookies and milk.

"It's okay, Danny. No big deal. These bozos were just leavin' anyway."

Flack yelled, "Hey!" when Agent Summers shouldered his way past into the apartment. Ohh, Flack was going to throttle the guy so bad …

"Detective Messer. Sorry to disturb you at this time." Agent Alvarez was turning out to be the polite one too, but Flack was stuck in a nasty mood now.

"Like fuck ya are," the lanky detective muttered under his breath. He shoved on Agent Summers' shoulder, going up to Danny and instinctively placing a hand on the other detective's arm. "Danny, I got a bad feelin' 'bout these guys. Their IDs look authentic, but somethin' ain't right," he said in a muted voice. "Ya don't have to tell them anythin'."

Danny was uncannily composed. "'S okay. Lemme talk to them."

Flack was back at that weird place where he felt like a lost child searching for his missing teddy. He was always the rock, the one who kept Danny on his feet when the waves got too powerful and threatened to sweep him away. Not the other way around.

Agent Summers was now formally The Disturbing Ass of a Fed Who Was Obsessed With Staring at Danny. The FBI agent literally eyeballed his friend from head to toe twice over, like he was looking for some clue or sign that Flack wasn't aware of. Or maybe he was. Shit, what if these Feds knew about Danny's transformation and was here to haul him away to some underground laboratory to be tested as their DD-boobed guinea pig? The mere thought of Danny trapped in some padded room while mad scientists cut him up caused him to see nothing but red.

Agent Alvarez elbowed his fellow agent in the ribs. Agent Summers coughed and fiddled with his ghastly polka-dot tie.

"As I had mentioned to Detective Flack," The agent uttered Flack's name like it belonged to a demon, "I'd like to ask you some questions about the explosion that happened last week."

Danny crossed his arms in front of him. "I already made an official statement on the incident to my superior, Detective Mac Taylor. He has my testimony which includes all the details."

Yeah, that's my boy, Flack thought.

There was a discomfited silence. Agent Alvarez came to the rescue of his colleague again, with a glib, "Very well, we'll obtain it from him. However, there's just one thing I'd like to know." Agent Alvarez's face was a professional mask. "How have you been since the incident?"

One end of Danny's lips arched upwards. "I've been better. You wanna know what it's really like to experience an explosion at point blank range, I'm sure you smart FBI people can figure that out on your own."

Agent Summers visibly bristled, but Agent Alvarez smiled sincerely. "We've been erroneous time and again, but you must admit the NYPD has made mistakes of its own as well."

"Touché."

Wow. Flack had never seen Danny this unruffled ever.

"Well, thank you for your time. My apologies if we were … interrupting you both." Agent Alvarez sent both Danny and Flack a meaningful look before striding out of the apartment. Agent Summers sneered at Flack, and mumbled a derogatory comment.

"Couple a' fags. Figures."

If Flack was seeing red earlier, his vision was now the colour of dark blood. He was already choking the greasy bastard to death in his mind, but a firm hand on his wrist was stopping him.

"He ain't worth the trouble, Don. Let it go." Danny's blue eyes were mesmerizing in the sunlight.

Flack slammed the apartment door aggressively, breathing heavy with suppressed anger. Okay, he needed to sit down before he did something he was gonna regret for a long time. He collapsed onto one of the black-and-steel stools at the kitchen counter, pinching the bridge of his patrician nose. He. Needed. Coffee.

The sounds of Danny brewing tea resonated in the quiet wake of the FBI agents' surprise visit. Flack was pleasantly surprised at the mug of steaming hot coffee that materialized in front of his face. He glanced up to see Danny smiling.

"I keep the coffee behind the tea boxes. Know you hate tea."

Flack suddenly felt ashamed of his behavior for the past hour or so. "Thanks, buddy."

Danny sat on another stool next to him, sipping fragrant tea out of a gigantic white cup. "That was interestin'. Ya think the Feds have somethin' to do with what happened to me?"

Flack snarled. "I'll bet a million bucks on it." Looking at Danny in profile, the tall detective was freaked by how Danny was not freaking out. Danny was the drama queen, for crying out loud. He was the only guy Flack knew who could make a cold plate of lasagne sound like the greatest crime in the history of the world via his whining alone. His head told him it was only a matter of time before the meltdown happened.

Both of them turned their heads in the direction of the couch when Flack's mobile phone rang, then towards each other. They gazed wordlessly at each other for a moment, then Flack paced over to pick it up.

"It's Mac."

Danny perked up in his seat. Flack pressed a button and placed the phone to his ear.

"Flack … Yeah, I'm here with him … Okay." Flack's expression was a contradictory mix of apprehension and relief. "He's comin' over. Now."

***

Chapter 9

Mac knew his off day was going to be cut short the minute his mobile phone rang that early in the morning. He paused, his red mug of coffee nearly touching his lips. The only person he could think of who'd call him at this time was Stella.

And only if it was an emergency.

Mac answered the call after the ring tone played for three seconds.

"Taylor."

Silence.

"Hello? Who is this?"

More silence. Mac was certain there was someone at the other end of the line.

"The cobra is invading the eagle's nest." The voice was distorted into a robotic, indistinct one, so Mac could hardly tell whether it was a man or woman. Before he said anything in reply, the line disengaged. Mac frowned.

What the hell kind of game was Jon playing at?

He could merely surmise it had been Jon, but his gut instinct told him he was most likely right. That cryptic statement was another code he and his former fellow Marine used during their stint in the service. Hearing it had caused the hair on his neck to stand on end.

Mac reminisced of the one time Jon'd said that to him. They were assigned as part of a team to protect an undercover mole who'd been exposed in Iraq. It had started out like any other day, except it ended with an exploding car bomb, over thirty-four people wounded and one very dead informant with three-quarters of his head crushed to bloody pulp. The simple reason the whole fiasco never got into the news was because their assignment had been top secret. And the mole's mission had been to infiltrate the Al-Qaeda sect to gather information on possible future terrorist attacks on American soil.

If that car bomb hadn't gone off at that moment and killed that informant, would they have eventually learnt about the September 11th terrorist strike?

Would his beloved Claire still be alive today?

A part of Mac deep inside ached like it was crushed in a vice-like grip. It didn't matter if he took off his wedding ring or not. There would always be one around his heart as long as he could feel and remember her voice, her touch, her whispers as she told him she loved him. The way she kissed him goodbye on the morning of the last day he saw her alive. If he'd known the fate awaiting her, he would have done everything in his power to make her stay. If he ...

If. The cruellest word in the dictionary of Man's tenuous existence.

His cold coffee was left forgotten on his kitchen table as he called his most trustworthy partner since Jon Turgis left the NYPD to join the Feds.

"Mac?" He heard the rustle of sheets. "Is everything alright?" Stella sounded like she'd just woken up, and just the slightest bit annoyed. He didn't blame her; today was her first break in weeks of continuous investigation in various homicide cases, as well as the explosion at the labs.

"Stella, have you heard from Danny at all in the last few days?" Acute and sudden urgency made him brisk.

"No, I haven't." Stella was wide awake now. "But Flack's been updating me on his condition. Last time he called was a couple of days ago, after he brought Danny back to his apartment. He was fine." When Mac didn't answer, she said, "Mac, what's wrong?"

"I received a call a few minutes ago ... I think Danny's in trouble."

"What?" Mac heard Stella throwing off her blankets and getting out of bed. "What do you mean? What did the caller say?"

"You'll just have to trust me. I have to get to Danny's now."

More noises reached Mac's ear through the connection; Stella was opening her cupboard and changing clothes. "You mean we."

Mac couldn't help but smile. "Of course, we."

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

Mac concurred, then dialled Danny's mobile phone number for his next call. His stomach was turning more and more sour with every droning beep on the line. After the tenth beep, he disconnected the call and phoned the next guy he knew who'd know what was going on with his protégé.

"Flack."

"Flack, are you there with Danny now?" Mac donned his coat and picked up his car keys.

"Yeah, I'm here with him." There was an almost hostile quality to Flack's voice, thickening the young detective's accent. Something disconcerting had occurred prior to his call. Mac was pretty damn sure now the message was about Danny. He was only somewhat reassured that Flack was there with him. What if the threat hadn't surfaced yet?

"Good. Stay with him. I'm coming over right now." Mac didn't wait for a reply.

He was going to get his answers in person, even if it meant driving like a mad man on the streets of New York on a quiet Sunday morning.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Stella was the first to arrive at Danny's apartment.

She rapped her knuckles on the black door twice. From inside, heavy footsteps gradually grew louder until they halted behind the door. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Flack, dressed in a sleeveless black jersey and dark orange track pants with white stripes on the sides. His feet were bare, and his hair was tousled. Looks like she wasn't the only one who got woken up too early on a Sunday morning.

"Hey." Stella smiled at him, noticing how his brows were lowered in a slight scowl. "Is everything okay? Where's Danny?"

"Stella." Flack looked surprised for a minute, then it dawned on him. "Mac called ya, right?"

Stella raised an eyebrow as Flack stuck his head out and checked both sides of the hallway before looking back at her.

"Did you see any Feds around on your way up here?"

Stella's green eyes widened at the question. "Feds? They were here?"

Flack took her wrist and carted her inside the apartment, hurriedly closing the door behind them.

"Yeah, two a' them. They came lookin' for Danny." Flack spoke softly, putting one finger to his puckered lips in a, "Shh!" when Stella began to say something in her usual volume. "Sorry. Danny's sleepin' again."

"Again?" Stella whispered. "What do you mean? And what did the FBI want with Danny?"

Flack led her to the kitchen, where a half-full mug of coffee and an empty giant, white cup were left in the sink. Flack gestured at her with a clean mug from the cupboard, and she said, "Coffee, please, if there's any left." Flack smirked and poured her some from a medium stainless steel kettle. She nodded in thanks, closing her eyes as the hot coffee flowed down her throat. It was good.

"The Feds claimed they wanted to ask Danny some questions 'bout the explosion, but I could tell it was bullshit. I think they were here to check Danny out in person."

Stella thought back to the day before when the FBI paid a visit to the CSI headquarters. They had something big to hide, alright. "Flack, the FBI came to the labs on Friday. They took everything on the explosion and our homicide case. Everything."

Flack's expression was indescribable. "What the fuck do you mean they took everything!"His hands flailed in the air; Stella was secretly grateful Flack'd put down the kettle. "What, the evidence? The-the body -"

"Yeah. Everything." Stella bit her lip.

Flack stood like a statue in the middle of the tiny kitchen, face utterly vacant. "Excuse me." He shuffled out towards the bathroom opposite the kitchen, and shut himself in. There was dead silence.

"MOTHERFUCKER SONSOFBITCHEEEEEEESSSS!"

Stella jumped at the enraged scream and the subsequent curses from inside the bathroom. A loud crash, followed by the sounds of something wooden being punched or kicked really hard. Then a big thump like something heavy sinking down. A grand mal like this was something she expected from Danny, not Flack. After nearly five minutes, he came out and ambled back calmly to the kitchen. Flack's face was as blank as ever, and the only clue Stella had of what he'd done was from the swelling contusions on his knuckles. They were going to hurt a lot.

"This is bad. This is really bad." Flack was behaving like he was back at the hospital right after Danny was released from the ER into the ward. "Danny's gonna go ballistic. This is bad."

Stella gripped his upper arms and shook him enough to almost jerk him off his feet. "Flack, snap out of it." She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. "It's going to be okay. Tell me what's bad."

Flack stared uncomprehendingly at her. "Danny. You guys need the evidence and your CSI research and stuff to help him."

Stella felt a cold stone settle in the pit of her belly. "What do you mean? What's happened to Danny?"

" ... You-you gotta see it for yourself."

They headed for the bedroom, its door slightly ajar. She gazed questioningly at Flack when she set eyes on the rubbish bin filled with the broken glass shards, but he just sucked in his lips and said nothing.

"Look, just ... just promise me you won't scream, okay?" Flack looked ... terrified.

"Believe me, I've been a CSI for a long time. There's nothing that can scare me. Really." She attempted to sound soothing.

Flack's giggle had a hysterical edge to it. "Oh man ... ohh, thiiiis is somethin' different. I screamed my head off when I saw them for the first time."

Them?

"Okay, just ... let me see Danny."

Flack huffed, blinked then stretched an arm towards the door. "Okayokay. Okay. If he's awake, don't-don't say boob job, a'right?"

Stella was still trying to understand what the significance of the phrase 'boob job' was in their current situation as the bedroom door was pushed open.

Then she saw Danny dozing on the bed on his side, facing the door.

And her scream was so shrill it woke up everyone on the same floor.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Mac arrived at Danny's apartment about a half hour after Stella.

He was doing his best to keep himself from thundering up the staircases and kicking down Danny's door. He'd never been the kind of guy who lost it and took it out on whatever was around him, not even whenever things went downhill during his Marine and early NYPD years. That nearly changed when he hired on one rebellious young CSI into his fold. Danny was probably the only human being in the world who could stir him up into a hissy fit within minutes.

At that thought, he was also doing his best to deny that he actually enjoyed it to a certain extent whenever Danny stood his ground and defied him. Maybe his old friend Jon was right. Maybe he really did have some dominant-submissive kink he didn't realize he had. So why didn't that concept scare him as much as it should?

Mac shoved these contemplations into a box in his mind, putting them away for another time. Right now, he had a more imperative matter to confront.

As he advanced towards Danny's apartment door, he noticed the apartment door next to it was open. An old lady in a white nightgown and pink robe was peeking out, looking anxious and fiddling with her cane.

"Ma'am, is everything alright?" He took out his golden badge and showed it to her.

She immediately relaxed. "Ohh, you must be one of Daniel's associates!"

Mac gave her a courteous smile. "Yes, I'm his ... boss."

"Ahh." She toddled unsteadily on her cane up to him. "I was sleeping soundly until I heard a loud scream coming from Daniel's apartment. It sounded like a woman."

Mac was instantaneously on alert. "Don't worry, ma'am, I'll check it out."

"Thank you so much. I do hope Daniel is alright, I haven't seen him for so long. But Donny is here with him, so I'm not so worried. You're very sweet, just like them both." She went back into her apartment, babbling on about thin walls and chocolate cookies.

It took a moment or two for Mac to realize the Donny she was referring to was Flack. Then the next realization was that the woman who screamed was probably Stella.

He clutched the handle of his gun hanging from his waist, closing his other hand on the knob of Danny's apartment door. His grip on the weapon tightened when the unlocked door opened with a creak. He cautiously stepped in, pulling out his gun and scanning the entire place. When he moved into the vicinity of the living area, Mac felt all the tension leave his body at the sight of Flack and Stella sitting quietly side by side on the couch.

"Stella?" Mac returned the gun to its holster.

It was Flack who turned to look at him. "Hey, Mac."

Something just felt off to Mac.

"Where's Danny? Is he okay?" Mac went to stand before the two detectives, and saw what remained of the coffee table there. "What happened to that?"

"Danny, uhm. Danny smashed it. With his fist." Flack looked like a child who'd gotten caught doing something bad. Stella, on the other hand, looked like someone just socked her in the face and was still reeling from the impact.

Mac gaped at them.

"I wrapped his hand up and all that. He's okay." Flack suddenly sniggered nervously. "He's ... okay. As okay as somebody in his condition could be."

"Stella, Danny's elderly neighbour next door said she heard a woman scream. Was that you?"

Stella sat stock still, her eyes wide and glassy. "Yeah."

Okay, Mac was wrong. Danny wasn't the only one who could get him into a hissy fit in minutes.

"Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Both Flack and Stella merely stared at him like little children being scolded by their daddy. Then Flack said, "Like I told Stella ... ya just gotta see it for yourself."

And Stella added, "It's not fair. They're bigger than mine."

That did it. Whatever shell-shocked his two detectives was something he was going to have to deal with himself. He stormed up to Danny's bedroom, ignoring the thwacking sounds of Flack leaping off the couch and chasing after him.

"Wait, Mac! Wait!"

Mac slammed open the door, prepared for the worst.

He certainly wasn't expecting to see a short-haired woman curled up in a semi-fetal position on Danny's bed, in a deep sleep. Her legs, hips and waist were under the dark blue blanket. Her face was partly hidden under a forearm, but the voluptuous breasts under her black tank top told Mac more than enough about the gender of the person.

He faced Flack, who was standing behind him and fidgeting agitatedly with his hands, a funny expression on his pink face. "Who is she? And where's Danny?"

Flack tried to smile, and ended up looking like he was about to be strapped into a straightjacket and thrown into the back of one of those transport vans with bars on the windows. "That ... t-that is Danny."

"Flack. That's a woman."

"No. That's Danny."

Mac stared at the younger detective. "Flack, you do realize Danny isn't a woman and doesn't have breasts, don't you?"

Flack made another crumpled face. "Y-yeah, but that's Danny. With breasts."

Mac stared some more at Flack.

Crap. He wasn't kidding.

Mac quietly drew near the bed, his heartbeat increasing with each footstep. This was impossible. Illogical. Men didn't grow DD-sized breasts period. Mac touched the person lying down on the shoulder. If this was some April Fool's joke at his expense, he was going to kill all three of them. Very slowly.

The person moaned softly, and shifted on the bed. The forearm moved away.

" ... Mac?"

Mac stared into familiar lidded, blue eyes. It wasn't a woman. It was really Danny. With the hottest damn boobs he'd ever laid eyes on in his entire existence. And they were genuine.

Mac's brain experienced total shutdown.

"Mac?"

Danny saying his name was the last thing he heard right before he toppled backwards and fainted dead away.

 

***

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