Previous part of To DD or Not to DD.

***

Chapter 10

Mac was floating peacefully in a very happy place.

He could tell he was lying down on the floor, on top of some thick rug that made him muse about hot Arabian nights and scantily clad belly dancers with curvy, full bodies. He smiled languorously, eyes closed. Ahh, he could feel one of them lying on top of him right now, her hands wrapped around his face and neck. He thought it was a little odd she was joggling his head like she wanted him to wake up instead of caressing him. Perhaps this was some extraordinary, enigmatic Arabian massage he didn't know about.

"Mac? Can you hear me?"

Huh. He never knew Arabian belly dancers had thick New York accents like that.

Or had a deep voice like a man's.

"Mac." He felt a mild slap on his right cheek. "C'mon, open yer eyes."

Mac eventually obeyed, peering at the low-voiced, comfy form hovering above him from beneath half-closed eyelids. Hmmm, wherever he was, this place sure had unique belly dancers. Those were really pretty sapphire eyes. He didn't mind the short, spiky hair either. But since when the heck did Arabian belly dancers wear tank tops?

"I'm going to go get a cup of water. You guys stay here with him." Gee, the other belly dancers had New York accents too. At least this one sounded much more like a woman.

"C'monc'mon, Mac, gedduuup." The dancer on top of him slapped his face a few more times.

He growled. Ohh, so that's how she liked to play, eh? His open hands lunged upwards and made contact with the closest fleshy mounds he could take hold of. He grinned broadly, all teeth. Whoa, now those were what he called plentiful.

"Ho. Ly. Crap." Wha, there was another dancer? Nevermind that that one had an even deeper masculine voice than the one lying on top of him. Mac Taylor was a lucky, lucky man tonight!

"Don, he's grab- he's grabbin' my -" A high-pitched squeal made him wince. A powerful, brain-boggling slap across his face made him wince even more. He reluctantly let go.

"Owowoww, stop hitting me!" Mac blocked the oncoming blows with his forearms, pushing with his feet to try to get away from the now infuriated belly dancer. "Stop it!"

The other one (and boy, was this one a giant of a woman) enveloped her arms around her upset co-dancer and forcibly pulled her off him. Mac collapsed back onto the floor, arms spread out, eyes still almost closed. He had enough. He was going to tell off Jon big time for dragging him to a place like this.

A door suddenly opened, and Mac heard a piercing, "Incoooomiiiiiiiing!"

SPLOOOSSSH!

As irritating as it felt, Mac had to confess the chilling sensation of having a whole cup of cold water splashed all over his face and chest sobered him up quick. After a minute or two of listening to the water drip off his hair and face, he sat upright and wiped off the rest of the water from his face.

Okay. Clearly, he was drunk. He would never ever have done what he just did if he wasn't. Right, apologies. Then he was getting out of there like a bat out of hell. One last rub across his eyes, and he opened them.

What the? This was no belly dancer bar in Saudi Arabia.

Mac was sitting on the wooden floor of a bedroom, surrounded by three other people who were staring at him with unanimous alarmed expressions. They weren't belly dancers, they were three regular people who were New Yorkers just like himself.

Well, maybe the one with the glorious pair of massive breasts was more than regular.

The tall guy to his left, in a black sleeveless shirt and track pants, leaned over to the beautiful woman holding a cup in front of Mac and said, "Ya think he got some kinda brain damage when he fell over?"

Mac glanced to his right, grimacing in apology at the woman who was glaring with wet eyes at him. If that glare had the power to kill, he'd be vaporized dust by now. He had to literally pinch himself excruciatingly to stop himself from staring at her chest. Those blue eyes seemed so familiar, as well as the distress in them.

You shot wild, Danny.

Mac gasped. The events of the morning rushed back into his mind, and he shivered as if he'd been doused with another cup of water. Oh shit. That was no woman.

"Oh. My. God. I-I thought … I thought I was back in Saudi Arabia, at-at that bar with all those belly dancers and-and …"

All three people simultaneously raised their eyebrows at his blurted admission.

"Danny, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that …" Mac clasped Danny's forearm, and felt an unexplainable twinge of hurt at the other man's flinch. He was beginning to learn what Danny might have felt like that evening in his office at the former CSI headquarters, after he said all those damning words to the younger detective. Why did he say all those things about being advised against hiring Danny eventhough it wasn't necessary? His pride be damned. The twinge grew stronger when Danny wrapped his arms over his chest and perceptibly slanted away from him.

"It … it's okay. You were knocked out. Didn't know what you were doin' anyway." Danny couldn't look him in the eye, which only served to make him feel worse.

Flack and Stella looked at each other meaningfully. Stella cleared her throat.

"I'll go get a towel for you, Mac. Flack, do you mind brewing up some more coffee?"

"Right on it." Both of them got to their feet and quietly left the room, closing the door with a faint click.

The silence in the bedroom was deafening.

Mac ran a hand through his sodden hair. The last time he'd been in awkward circumstances like these was during his first date with Claire, after he accidentally spilled a glass of red cordial drink onto her ivory dress at a posh restaurant. But that was a different kind of awkward. This was the unsettling kind that caused goosebumps all over his body, the kind that made him want to flee as far away as possible.

Danny had drawn his knees up to his chest, arms on top of them, face hidden from view. Part of Mac's brain noted the younger man's new head of hair. Another scientific impossibility, as Danny'd been nearly bald mere days before due to the explosion at the labs. Mac became conscious of what a vulnerable and terrifying position Danny was in right now. If he woke up one day and discovered he'd grown a pair of DD-cup breasts … demolishing a single coffee table would have been the least of what he would do. Taking an AK-47 and shooting wildly at everything in sight might have been more like it.

Mac spied a thick, blue robe situated on the queen-sized bed amidst the rumpled blanket and sheets. He pulled it over and enfolded Danny with it.

"Did … did I hurt you?"

Danny tugged the robe closer around his body, whispering a rasping thank you and then replied in a small voice, "That's one hell of a loaded question, Mac."

Mac perched himself beside the other man on the floor, leaning back onto the side of the bed. He took some time to think his words carefully.

"I know we never talked about things much after the subway shooting incident. And yes, I was disappointed in you." Mac saw Danny's face screw up at that. "But not for the reasons you think." Mac twisted his body to face the younger CSI.

"I was disappointed … because you chose to distrust me, after all our years of working together." Danny's head snapped sideways at him. Those blue eyes were brimming. "You chose suspicion and resentment above our friendship. You chose to disobey me, knowing that the decisions I made was all for helping you out, not to trap you or simply to protect the integrity of the lab."

When Danny didn't say anything, Mac asked, "You knew that, right?"

It took a long time before Danny answered him with a tiny shake of his head. Mac frowned in dismay.

"You mean, you really thought all I cared about was the lab? You thought I didn't care what happened to you? "

Danny bowed his head, shielding his face from Mac. For the second time that week, Mac was at a loss for words. It was becoming unmistakable why Danny had been acting so uptight and restless around him all these months. Mac couldn't believe he'd been this blind.

"Danny, I … we're part of a team. Together." Mac tentatively rested a hand on Danny's shoulder, exceedingly pleased that Danny didn't shy away this time. "We're … well, family, in a way. We look out for one another. And I, as the supervisor … I look out for everyone. Including you."

Danny rubbed one palm over his eyes, huddling in his robe and avoiding Mac's gaze. Mac waited patiently for a response.

"I'm sorry." Danny looked him straight in the eye as he said it.

Mac was stunned.

It was the first time since they met each other that Danny had ever apologized for anything.

"I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass. I'm sorry I can never do anythin' right. I'm sorry I'm always causin' problems for you." Danny wiped away the wet tracks on his cheeks. "Look a' me, Mac. If you were disappointed in me then, what would you think of me now? I've become a-a damn freak. I go back to work, the lab'll be the laughin' stock of the city. You might as well fire me now like Aiden and save everyone the trouble."

A spark of anger ignited inside Mac at that.

"Did you hear a word I said?" Mac saw apprehension develop in the other man's eyes. Mac held on to Danny's shoulders. "It doesn't matter whether problems crop up or not. They always do. And it's not always your fault. Danny, if you think I'd simply abandon you to the wolves at the first sign of conflict, you must think so little of me."

Danny immediately shook his head violently in protest. "No, that's not true-"

"No? Then why can't you believe that I care about your wellbeing? Why can't you believe I'm here for you?"

Danny appeared stupefied. "I … I'm not worth it."

Mac sighed. So this was the real underlying issue.

"Okay. You listen to me now. Listen." Mac ascertained Danny was staring him in the eye and attentive before continuing. "When I hired you over five years ago, yes, there were people who advised me against hiring you, but I decided to do so anyway. Because I believe in second chances. I believe in looking beyond a person's past and mistakes and focusing on who the person is today. You understand?"

Danny nodded. Within the watery blue, hope was blossoming.

"I had a selection of over a thousand prospective candidates for the CSI post. One thousand. And I picked you. Not only because you graduated at the top of your class, but because I knew you were capable of being a valuable and accomplished CSI the minute I interviewed you. And guess what?" Mac smiled warmly. "You are."

Danny dipped his head shyly, but not before Mac caught a glimpse of an encouraged smile. "Wow. I dunno what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just do your best. Oh, and stop disobeying me so much."

Danny gazed at Mac coyly from beneath his eyelids. "And what if I don't wanna?"

There was a sudden electric charge to the air between them. All Mac could see was Danny, his face mere inches away from his. He never noticed how long Danny's eyelashes were, how the blue of his eyes reminded him of a sunny, cloudless morning sky. Or how lush Danny's pink lips looked when he pouted that way. Mac felt an uncontrollable shiver travel up his back to his neck, making him inhale sharply.

"If you don't … I might just put that cane in my office to good use." Damn, where the hell did that come from?

Danny's mien turned strawberry red, eyes wide and mouth agape. A squeaky noise emitted from Danny's open mouth. For some reason even he didn't know, Mac was hit with the desire to dance around on the bed and sing that La Bamba song.

At last, he'd found a way to keep Danny in line!

The sound of someone coughing at the door broke the mood and jolted them out of their reverie. Still blushing hotly, Danny tied the robe more snugly around his body while Mac sat back and scratched at his neck, unknowingly smiling to himself.

Stella was at the door with a large colorful towel in hand. "Uhm, this was the only towel I found in the bathroom." She looked pointedly at both guys, as if she was searching for some clue about what they were discussing. Apparently, she got it; she grinned especially at Mac, chucking the towel at him. "You look like a drowned rat."

Mac caught the towel and idly dried his hair and dabbed at his damp clothes. He'd completely forgotten he was even soaked. He sensed Danny staring at him while he did so.

"Flack's done with the coffee and tea. You two come out when you're ready." Stella closed the door again.

"Hope you don't mind me using your towel." Mac wiped at his chest under his button-up shirt. Geez, how much water did Stella souse him with?

"Hm? No, it's fine. I got more than one towel anyway."

Mac smiled, folding the towel over his arm. "Okay then. Let's go have ourselves a drink, then we'll see what to do about you."

Danny smiled back. "Okay."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Flack nonchalantly ruffled Danny's hair as the CSI slept on the couch in the living area, his afghan wrap cozy around his shoulders as he lay on his side. Flack was worried about his friend falling asleep so much. It wasn't normal. Heck, nothing since last night was normal.

"Did he sleep last night?" Stella sat on one of Danny's black-and-steel stools, holding a mug of coffee in hand. She was frowning in concern.

"Yeah. He's been sleepin' like this on and off since Wednesday, accordin' to what he told me." Flack was sitting on the edge of the couch, Danny's head partially on his thigh. "If I didn't come lookin' for him, he probably wouldn't have drunk or eaten a thing since then. Said he was exhausted all the time and felt pain in his chest."

Stella bit on her lower lip, toying with a button on her v-neck, long-sleeved top. "Well, I guess we all know the reason why now."

"Babies, particularly newborns, sleep a great deal in their first months of life." Flack and Stella looked at Mac. Mac was also sitting on a stool like Stella, his coat taken off and doubled over the back of the couch at Danny's feet. He looked handsome in a dark red shirt and black trousers. "They sleep to conserve energy for the rapid development of their bodies. It makes sense why Danny's sleeping so much. His body's been using up huge amounts of energy for the … extreme physical transformation."

"Now that I think about it, this also explains the condition of our DB. The blue substance we found all over the body must have been the catalyst for the similar physical changes. Hammerback may have been right about it being some radical cosmetic treatment we've yet to hear of."

Flack made a revolted face. "What the hell kinda crazy guy would wanna grow giant breasts?"

Stella smirked. "Well, if there was such a procedure where surgery wasn't necessary, I think there would be many transsexuals who'd be interested in it. As well as hundreds of thousands of women all over the world who want bigger breasts."

Flack threw up his hands in the air. "Hey, I'm all for freedom of choice, but me? I'm a lover of au naturelle women, if ya know what I mean. I'd take small real boobs over Godzilla plastic watermelons any day."

Stella grinned. "Good for you."

"So, okay. This blue stuff is the thing that changed the DB and Danny." Flack instinctively retucked the afghan wrap around Danny when the sleeping detective moved onto his back on the couch. "And the Feds have taken all the evidence and research away. Can't go barging into their HQ without exposing Danny. Unless another body pops up with the same MO … we're at a dead end." Flack look beseechingly at the older detectives.

" … Not quite." Mac got off his stool and walked over to his coat, digging around in the inner pockets until he uncovered what he was looking for. He went back to his seat, passing Stella an opaque white container. Stella unscrewed the cap, her smooth face crinkling into a big smile.

"Mac. Have I told you lately I love you?"

"Yes, but I love hearing it anyway."

Stella laughed.

"Hey, c'mon. Share it with everybody here." Flack smiled sideways hesitantly.

Stella stretched out the arm holding the container in his direction. Flack grinned like the Cheshire Cat at the neon-blue gooey matter glowing inside.

"Mac, you bastard." Flack laughed exuberantly. "Hah, the Feds didn't get everything after all!"

Stella rotated the cap back on and handed the container back to Mac, who patted it.

"I've been warned that the lab and all its activities are under heavy scrutiny now, so we'll have to be extra cautious from here on. Stella and I will handle investigation of the substance." Mac watched Danny napping, totally oblivious to the world. "Flack, I'll give you an address of one of my … hide-outs. I want you to pack Danny's things and bring him there as soon as possible. The Feds probably have this place staked out by now. Make sure you're not followed."

"Hey, you're talkin' to Don Flack, Jr. here. I eat dumbass Feds for breakfast." Flack paused. "What about Hawkes and Monroe? You gonna tell them about Danny? I don't think Danny'll want them or anybody else to know about this."

Mac pursed his lips. "The less who know this, the better. But if we need their help, we won't have much of a choice. We're a team. We look out for each other." He rolled the opaque container in his palm.

"And I'll be damned a thousand times over before I let the sonsofbitches who created this stuff get away with it."

***

Chapter 11

"Fascinating."

It figured Hawkes would say something like that.

"Look at them. They look just like those … Mac, have you watched those Matrix movies?"

Mac's lips twisted into a semi-smirk. "Yes, I saw the first one, but the later two had too much CGI special effects to keep me interested."

Hawkes glanced meaningfully at him. "Wow. Mac Taylor actually watchesmovies."

This time, Mac grinned. "Like I said, it's my job to know a little of everything. And by the way, I thought Queen Latifah was funny in Bringing Down the House."

Hawkes' eyebrows would have gone all the way up to his hairline if it was anatomically doable. "I'm impressed," he said lightheartedly, "You're not developing a crush on her, are you, Mac?"

"Hey, Doc, move over, I wanna see."

Mac, Hawkes and Flack were clustered around a weighty high-magnification microscope in one of the windowless, white labs at CSI headquarters. Stella sat opposite them, leaning her chin on one hand on the table and observing the three men with an almost maternal expression. Mac had specifically chosen a closed-up lab to evade any spying eyes; they couldn't risk being exposed and lose the last evidence they had that could help alter Danny back to his original self.

"Eewww. They look just like those tentacly robot thingies in the Matrix movies." Flack's blue eyes widened even more as he gazed at what made up the neon-blue substance through the microscope. What appeared to be tiny, blue-white hexagons with feelers piled and scuttled all over each other like a hypnotizing swarm of aliens from another planet. "There're … zillions of them."

"I think that's exactly what they are."

Everyone faced Hawkes' direction.

"Robots. That's what they are."

Flack's brows met in a puzzled frown. "You mean, microscopic robots? As in … nanotechnology?"

"Yes! Microscopic robots the size of a human body cell! Isn't that amazing?" Hawkes' kind eyes were alit with excitement. "I've read some about nanotechnology. Did you know nanotechnologists have recently created alcohol- and hydrogen-powered artificial muscles that are a hundred times stronger than natural muscles? They're able to do that many times greater work per cycle and even produce larger contractions than natural muscles at reduced strengths!"

"But what about smart nanobots?" Mac tapped his fingers on the table surface. "Nanobots with highly developed artificial intelligence?"

Stella stood up, walking over to join the men. "Whoa, it's one thing to create artificial cells that're capable of basic functions. It's another to create robots that small with artificial intelligence." Flack moved over to let her look at the sample on the microscope slide.

"Who knows how far nanotechnology has come along? But … hmmmm." Hawkes absentmindedly scratched his chin. "Nanotechnology with superior artificial intelligence? I'm not sure if that technically even exists yet."

Mac appeared distant in contemplation. "If our speculations are correct, it's no wonder the FBI came as fast as they did and took everything away from us. Imagine the potential of such an advanced technology. In the wrong hands, it'd be disastrous."

"Mac. If this case is already taken out of our hands … why are we still investigating it?"

Stella instantly tensed at Hawkes' inquiry. Flack looked pointedly sideways at Mac.

Damn. Mac was hoping that question wouldn't pop up. He should've known better though. This was Sheldon Hawkes the Walking Encyclopedia he was speaking to, the guy who loves to know everything. Hawkes answered himself before Mac could reply.

"This doesn't have something to do with Danny … does it?"

Mac sighed, rubbing his temple. How was going to break the news to the guy without freaking the daylights out of him?

"Uhm, Sheldon." Mac felt a headache looming. "Did you see the DB for my case? Before the FBI claimed it?"

Hawkes' facial expression said everything. "Let's just say … I was quite jealous of Hammerback being the ME for a while after I did."

Flack made an impish face.

"Okay. Uhm." Mac couldn't really look Hawkes in the eye. "Danny … uh. Danny -" - Mac flailed his hands around - "Danny's become a … a less curvy version of it."

Stella slapped her hands over her face. Flack looked liked he was about to burst. Hawkes merely stared blankly at Mac.

Fine. Mac was going to go the straightforward way.

"Danny's grown DD-sized breasts. And lost most of his body hair." Mac didn't dare to ponder over at all whether Danny still had hair down there.

Hawkes' blank stare lengthened. "Danny's. Grown. Breasts. DD-sized breasts."

Mac coughed. "Uhm. Yes."

"And. He's lost. All his hair."

Mac cleared his throat loudly. "Uhh, not on his head, and … uhm. I-I'm not sure."

Hawkes made a confused face.

"Mac, is this some kind of a joke?" Then he suddenly grinned as if he understood. "Ohh, I get it. Danny put you up to this, didn't he!"

Flack finally cracked and sniggered uncontrollably.

Mac felt like dissolving into the ground under his feet and disappearing there for a long, long time. "No, Hawkes. It's-it's not a joke. Believe me, I wish it was."

A part of Mac terribly wished he had his camera with him. It was extremely rare to see Hawkes looking like somebody had just grabbed him between the legs. Hard.

" … Y-you mean … Danny … re-really has … giant breasts?"

Flack keeled over, Stella smacking him on the back as he choked. Mac grimaced.

"Yes. We believe this blue substance we found on the DB was what caused the transformation. Danny came in direct contact with it during the explosion. I don't have any other explanation."

Stella got Flack to sit on a lab stool while Hawkes gradually reverted to his usual professional self, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I … I'm not sure what to say. Who would program nanobots to grow gigantic boobs?"

"That's what I said." Flack was still red in the face, but he was breathing fine now. "Whoever the guy is, he must be one fucked up scientist." Flack considered his statement. "Or a genius."

"You know, what I'm interested in right now is why your sample of the stuff hasn't exploded yet." Stella lifted an eyebrow.

Mac startled inwardly, looking down at the closed, white container on the table. She had an excellent point. In his mind, he backtracked to the day the explosion occurred, which was less than twelve hours after they were first called to investigate the nude corpse in the alley that night. Danny had clocked in early for his shift, and gone to one of the newer, less-used laboratories after Mac instructed him to study the blue matter. Danny was never the type to avoid other people. Mac presumed this had been yet another obvious sign of Danny's well-concealed emotional upheaval. Mac mentally noted this for future reference; he would have to further discuss that with Danny sometime soon.

Mac recalled the layout of the lab Danny worked in. In a way, he was thankful it'd been one of the less-used labs. In fact, it was so new, the only evidence lost had been the one Danny was asked to investigate. Still, IAB already had a field day interrogating everyone as much as they could anyway. If Mac didn't see Chief Hillborne ever again, it would still be too many times.

Mac's brows met in a concentrated glower. He idly handled the container in front of him, then studied his surroundings. Danny would have been transferring the gooey stuff onto a slide to study it under a microscope. He thought about the younger CSI, that morning in his maroon shirt, khakis and pristine lab coat, nimble fingers manipulating delicate lab equipment. His spectacles perched on his prominent nose as he squinted in the bright sunlight of the mor-

That was it.

"Mac?"

His two CSIs and one homicide detective were watching him avidly. Stella tilted her head at an angle, sculpted eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"Sunlight." Mac smiled. "Sunlight."

Mac grabbed a thin spatula and marched over to the laboratory next door, white container in hand. Flack, Stella and Hawkes followed behind.

There were windows in this particular lab. Sunshine streamed in, bathing the empty room in a warm glow. Mac drew the plastic blinds over the windows, throwing the room into semi-darkness as he didn't turn on the lights. He went up to the table closest to the windows and shifted all the equipment on it to another table far off. He uncapped the container. Then, using the spatula, he scooped out a minute amount of the neon-blue goo and pasted it onto one corner of the bare table.

"Get back." Mac closed the container shut and motioned at them to move backward to a safe distance. Flack automatically held his long arms in a protective stance in front of Hawkes and Stella as he backed them nearly out of the room.

Mac wrenched the blinds open, and ran from the windows to be with the others.

For over three minutes, nothing happened.

Then, all four of them heard a strange bubbling noise emanating from the empty table. The blue substance was now shimmering blindingly, forcing them to shield their eyes and squint. They swiftly shuffled out the door.

Pop.

The table corner blasted apart with an earsplitting bang, sending the splintered table crashing to the floor and the separated leg flying straight at Mac's head. He ducked just in time, the leg smashing to pieces against the wall above him by the mighty force.

"Mac!" Stella was immediately at his side, running her hands through his hair and over his shoulders in alarm.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he reassured her. He got to his feet, wincing slightly at the pinch of some splinters in his shoulder. He'd get those out later. Mac brushed himself off and locked the lab door behind him. "The nanobots seem to be volatile in sunlight. Those on the DB didn't explode because it was discovered at night. My sample didn't explode until now because it's been kept in an opaque container all this time. Hammerback had samples in his fridge too, but since sunlight never reached them, they never exploded either. Danny's did because he had been working in an open lab during the day." Mac scowled. "He had a whole beaker full of the stuff too. It's a miracle he wasn't killed."

"Least we know how the explosion happened now." Flack looked grim. "But where do we go from here? It's pretty obvious none of us know anythin' more 'bout these nanobots."

"If we even search for nanotechnologists and ask for their help, we'd be alerting the FBI at once." Hawkes looked as dour as Flack. "Where is Danny? Is he safe?"

"He's fine. Flack got him to one of my safe hideaways." Mac glanced at Flack, who nodded in affirmation. "The Feds won't be looking for him there."

"He can't stay there forever, Mac," Stella said, full lips pressed together. "Sooner or later, he'll have to return to work. All the FBI have to do is wait."

"Then we'll figure out how to change him before that happens," Mac answered resolutely. "He's got way too many unused off-days anyway. I can give him at least another week or so. That'll give us more time."

They fell silent, brooding over the dilemma. Flack's frustration was palpable on his face and in his big blue eyes.

"This fuckin' stinks," Flack snarled. "There's got to be someone who can help Danny."

An image of a smiling goliath in Marine camouflage uniform materialized in Mac's thoughts.

Mac's hand curled into a steadfast fist.

"I know someone who just might."

***

Chapter 12

He loved his life. Once upon a very, very long time.

The last time Danny could honestly say he felt happy was when he went to a Mets game with his dad, over half of his lifetime ago. He didn't remember much of that day, except he laughed a lot, ate too many hotdogs and caught the home ball bare-handed, against all odds. Most of all, he remembered his dad's burly arm across his shoulders, his warm company as they eagerly watched the game together. How it seemed like time stood still while they whooped with joy at the ball he held and hugged. How it felt like they would stay together for all time.

It hurt him intolerably to even think about his father most times, but when the days grew too cold and the nights were overflowing with inescapable nightmares, that sole memory of love got him through like nothing else could. Reliving his dad's embrace was better than remembering the sensation of dark red liquid soaking his clothes, the painful scrapes on his knees as he knelt over his dad and cried into the unmoving chest.

Flack once asked him why he was never squicked out by any of the dead bodies he saw, even the horrific, stomach-churning ones. Danny didn't have the heart to tell him nothing could ever top the sight of the bloody mushiness inside his father's skull leaking out onto the worn pavement.

Happiness and love were words that no longer existed in Danny Messer's vocabulary the moment his father died in his arms.

Danny gulped down his sixth shot of tequila that night, banging the small glass cup onto the counter hard. He was going insane from boredom from being caged inside what Flack said was one of Mac's secret hideouts, an apartment in an indistinguishable, grey building located in a secluded area on the edge of Brooklyn. Danny didn't believe him at first, until he got inside the apartment and saw the grand interiors and array of weapons on display. Only Mac would hang two razor-sharp scimitars on the wall and deem it interior decoration. Being surrounded by so many things that radiated Mac also put him on an edge he couldn't shrug off.

So, against Mac's orders, here he was in some dim dump of a bar, drinking himself stupid and fighting off some of the repulsive patrons who assumed him having humongous breasts meant he was a slut looking to get molested and laid.

He needed to get drunk. Fast.

"Gimme another." He carelessly pushed the glass in the direction of the bartender, who was cleaning a beer mug with a green cloth. "Hell, just gimme the whole fuggin' bottle."

"Honey, you can't even sit upright. You sure you want some more?" Gertrude. The bartender's name was Gertrude, Danny's alcohol-dazed brain informed him.

Danny let out one of his patented joyless cackles. "Trus' me, it ain't the alcohol makin' me feel like shit, fo' shure." He tugged at the lapels of his sport jacket in a self-conscious manner. It was totally ineffective in hiding his … busty assets. He initially wanted to wear his large CSI coat, and then realized it'd be instant career suicide should someone in his line of work recognize it, and him. Not to mention how much damage it'd do to the lab. And Mac.

Gertrude reluctantly dispensed another shot of Tres Generaciones tequila. If Danny was going to get drunk, he was gonna do it with the best damn tequila in the world.

"Last one," Gertrude warned.

Danny elevated the full glass in a mock salute, then downed it in one go.

Gertrude shook her head at his antics. "Whoever the asshole is, he's not worth drinking yourself until you drop. Do you have someone to drive you home?"

Danny's muddled brain took a few minutes to process her comment and query. "Asshole? Ain't nobody makin' me drink. Drinkin' 'cos I hate these." - he pointed at the mounds on his chest - "Hate 'em."

The blonde bartender chuckled. "Do you have any idea how many women would kill for breasts like those?"

"Yeah well, I'm special. And I. Hate. Them." He shoved the empty glass at Gertrude again. "Nobody drivin' me. I can walk. I'm alone." He laid his head onto folded arms on the counter, shoulder slumped. "Gimme another."

Danny felt a sympathetic hand on his hair. "What's your name, sweetie?" He felt like weeping at the knowledge that minimal physical contact coming from a stranger already brought him so much consolation.

"Danny." His voice was muffled by the sleeves of his jacket.

"Danny. Short for Danielle?"

Danny didn't bother to correct her.

"You want to talk about what's troubling you?" Gertrude stroked his semi-long hair, and he didn't bother to tell her to stop either. "Maybe I can help."

"I can't. And you can't." He kept his face buried in the crook of his arm. "It's … complicated."

"Well, we won't know for sure until you try."

At length, Danny returned to a semi-upright position. He wasn't wearing his spectacles, so Gertrude was simply a friendly blur of blonde, black and white from her bartender attire. There was something else in his eyes that made the blurriness worse, but his brain wouldn't let him reckon why. Danny entwined the fingers of his left hand into his hair. It had grown some more in the past three days, since Flack sneaked him out of his own apartment and away from the Feds monitoring his home.

"Ya wanna hear my sob story? 'Kay, here it is." Danny sniffed. "Jus' two weeks ago, I was a regular guy with a job and a routine and things were normal. Then there was an explosion. I got hurt, ended up in the hospital couple a' days. Got out, started feelin' crappy …" - he unconsciously wrapped his arms over his chest - "Slept a lot, then I woke up and found boobs on me where there was none." Danny sniffed again. "I did say I'm a guy, didn't I?"

When Gertrude didn't immediately reply, Danny sneered at her. "So, go 'head. Laugh at me. Go on."

"You want my honest answer? I'm hardly the one to judge you, or anyone else. From what you said, you didn't even voluntarily want this. That's nothing to laugh about, hon." Gertrude smiled benevolently at him. "Lots of transsexual guys just like you come here and drink and tell me about how they used to be regular guys unhappy with their bodies before they went for the gender-change operation and all that. Except, in their case, they want giant, gorgeous breasts like yours."

Danny closed his eyes. "I didn't go for a boob job." He opened them again, sullen. "And I'm not a transsexual."

"Okay, okay," Gertrude replied in a conciliatory way. "So if you hate them so much, why not go to a plastic surgeon about it? I'm sure they can fix you back up."

" … I can't. I go to the doctors, I'll be locked up in a secret lab and become a guinea pig for their experiments for good."

"Sweetie, that's not true! Not all doctors discriminate their patients like that. I'm sure I can help you find one who'll look beyond the prejudice."

Danny rubbed his face with a trembling hand. "It-it's okay. Like I said, ya can't help me." He gave her a quavering smile. "Thanks anyway."

The sudden reek of alcohol and sweat hit him hard, and his face scrunched up into an aggravated scowl. Oh great, another lusty patron looking for some tender, loving care in size DD.

"Hi, sugar. Howzibout you and I go to the restrooms fer some fun?" Gross, this guy was not only more hairy than a gorilla, he had a pot belly bigger than that of a pregnant woman's.

Danny gave the jerk-off the third finger, not making an effort to even look the guy in the face. "Fuck. Off."

"Aww, c'moooon, I'll treat ya real nice." The guy's slurred voice took on a sadistic tone. "I'll make sure ya like it." Danny gritted his teeth at the feeling of the jerk's hand on his lower back.

"Back off, douchebag," Gertrude cut in sharply. "She said no. And hey. You're in the wrong fucking bar."

The hairy beast of a guy turned on the bartender, spitting as he bellowed, "Go fuck yourself, bitch! I been watching this one, and I know she ain't a dyke like you and the rest!"

Wha? A dyke?

"I ain't scared of you women," the asshole carried on, fisting a hand in Danny's jacket. "Not even the likes of your kind."

Danny struggled to get out of the guy's grip, cursing himself for drinking so much and leaving himself so weak and susceptible. God, he was so exhausted. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Flack again.

"You may be unafraid of New York city women … but how about one from the countryside, hmm?"

Danny hung his head low. He was being saved from a drunken ass by two women. This was humiliating. He was grateful Flack wasn't here to witness the whole debacle. The taller detective would either laugh his head off at him or take his gun and blow the heads off a few people. Preferably the bastard who was clinging on to him like a revolting, slimy leech.

"Oh yeah? I ain't scared of ya either, ya little twig." The jerk finally let go of Danny's jacket.

The next second, the pot-bellied ass was sailing backwards in the air and hurtling to the floor in a hurting heap, an audible crack echoing in the bar as the guy's tailbone connected hard with the concrete floor. A slim figure instantaneously leapt onto the sprawled drunk, slender but lethal hands tight around the guy's obese neck.

"Now you listen to me, you fat tub of filthy lard. You think you're some hot shot macho man just because you have a dick? I bet you've never known a real woman in your entire sad existence. I bet you've never ever seen the grisly remains of a man hacked to death with a meat cleaver. I bet you've never come face to face with a giant black bear and lived to tell about it." The mysterious woman tightened her hold around his neck, strangling him and causing his piggy eyes to bulge out. "I have. And I beat the shit out of lousy dirtbags like you as a hobby."

She chucked him back onto the ground, stood up and gave him a swift kick in the balls. His howl made everyone in the bar cringe with empathy. "Get the hell out of here before I do something really bad to your family jewels. Now."

Whimpering pathetically, the fat drunk struggled to his feet and limped away as quickly as he could, rushing for the doors out of the bar. The moment he was gone, the whole bar erupted into cheers for the brave woman who'd taken on a man nearly two heads taller than her.

"I'll be damned." Gertrude was grinning from ear to ear. "Sweetheart, I'll be yours any day."

The woman laughed jovially. "Sorry, I'm already spoken for."

Throughout the short fight, Danny had his head averted and his hands over his ears. Mortified didn't even begin to describe how self-conscious he was right now; he prayed for a hole to open up and swallow him so he didn't have to face the other customers of the bar.

A hand settled itself lightly on his shoulder. Damnit, no such luck.

"Hey, are you alright? He's gone."

Danny continued to look downwards at the floor, face heated. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He decided it would be incredibly rude of him not to look her in the eye to show her his gratitude.

He gazed up.

And his heart nearly jumped out of his throat.

"Danny?"

What were the chances he would meet her in an establishment like this, of all places?

" … Lindsay."

OooooooooooooooooooooO

For someone who'd recently moved to the city, Lindsay had one heck of a nice ride. Danny remembered her mentioning an uncle living here. He wondered hazily if he was really loaded and purchased the car for her. Unless Mac had been bamboozling him on his wages, there was no way in hell Lindsay could afford a high-class ride like the one he sat in on their current pay.

Man, he was hanging out with all the wrong people.

"Where do you live?" Lindsay nudged him. "I'll take you home."

Danny tried his best to recall the address of Mac's hideout apartment under his alcohol-induced stupor. Shit. He never jotted it down.

"I … I dunno." He shrugged noncommittally. He was so drained. All he wanted to do now was collapse into bed and sleep for a week straight.

Lindsay was silent for a while. Then she said in an optimistic voice, "Right. I'll take you back to my place. I have a really comfortable couch you can sleep on. No change of clothes though." She smiled.

Danny was so weary all he could do was reply with a small, "Hhhn." As much as her overt cheerfulness grated on his nerves sometimes, he thought she looked cute when she smiled.

"Then in the morning …" - Lindsay glanced sideways at the DD-sized breasts on Danny's chest - "We're going to have a really long talk. Does Mac even know what's happened to you?"

Danny's eyelids drooped dangerously. "Yesh." Wow, the leather skins of the seats felt great. He was so going to convince Flack to acquire leather seats for his car too.

"Okay." Lindsay started her car, easing onto the road. "You're going to be alright, Danny."

Danny made a vague noise from his throat. Right on the brink of sleep, the subtle hum of the car's engine easing him like a mother's lullaby, a curious thought suddenly pop into mind.

"Montana … what were you doin' at a lesbian bar?"

Even as he slipped into slumber, Danny could literally hear her grin from a mile away.

"Messer, if you can't figure that out by now, you're really drunk."

***

Chapter 13

The first thing Danny saw was a cuddly armadillo plushie the length of his forearm. He stared at it with bleary, half-open eyes. That was not his. No, he did not cuddle. Period. He shook himself to forget Flack teasing him about hugging the blue teddy bear that receptionist at his workplace gave him, at the hospital. He had been cold, damnit. That was the only reason he'd been holding it.

He took stock of his surroundings. This unfamiliar place where he was definitely wasn't Mac's hideout apartment either, unless the guy crept in during the night and secretly switched his interiors for western cowboy deco. Danny was a little weirded out he seriously believed his boss could very well just do something like that. Mac was different in that way that enraptured him long after everything else bored the hell out of him. And holy cow, was the a preserved bull's head hanging on the wall?

He was reclined on a hefty leather couch, covered by a dark red, warm plaid blanket. Above him on the wall, a vibrant tapestry of desert scenery brought life to the pale-colored wall behind it. All around him were indications the owner of the home had an affection for the cowboy culture; the majority of the furniture were made of wood and the lamp fixtures had a Native American motif to them. Next to the couch was an antique rocking chair with two plush pillows. Another colorful tapestry hung above the television set at a distance from the couch.

The armadillo plushie was stuck in his arms, snuggled against his face and chest. Okay, he did not willingly hug it. Somebody put it there, he was certain of it.

The pleasant aroma of brewed tea assailed his nostrils.

And then his whole body became determined to remind him what a shitty, skull-splitting hangover felt like.

"Rise and shiiiiine!"

Danny buried his face into the pillow under his head, and groaned. He felt a troop of hammers start their relentless battering on his helpless brain. No way was he going to handle Montana cheeriness dressed in a t-shirt and jeans properly this early in the morning.

"Danny, I made some tea. I got something to help you with your headache too."

He struggled to his elbows like an old man, groaning some more. He shifted the big armadillo plushie under his chin for support, rubbing at his eyes with the sides of his hands.

"Didchu put this armadillo here?" Danny could feel his hair flopping in all directions. He stuck out his lower lip and blew air upwards to get some strands out from his eyes.

Lindsay chortled. "Uh, no … it was on the couch when I brought you here. You wouldn't let it go, so I left it with you." She grinned at him.

Crap.

"Jus' so you know, I was drunk." He sat up and appreciatively took the cup of tea from her. Mmm, jasmine tea. "I'm not responsible for my actions when I'm drunk." His pounding headache receded somewhat as he swallowed the hot drink.

When he finished it, Lindsay handed him another glass filled with a dubious-looking concoction. "It's a family remedy. It'll make you feel lots better." She smiled again. "I know it smells funny, but trust me, it's good."

Danny stared at the greenish-brown liquid with an aghast face. The hammering in his brain came back with full force. He halfheartedly raised the glass to his lips and gulped it down as quickly as he could. Gyaah, it tasted yucky. He stuck his tongue out and crumpled his face in disgust.

Lindsay laughed. "Whoops, forgot to tell you it tastes a little funny too."

"A little? You tryin' ta poison me? That was, like, New York sewage!" He wiped a hand across his lips.

Lindsay went to her kitchen to clean the now empty cups. "You want something to eat? Toast, maybe?"

"Nah, I'm not hungry." Danny shivered in the cool air and pulled the plaid blanket around his shoulders. Lindsay had probably removed his jacket last night; it was folded neatly on a short side table on the opposite end of the couch. He reflexively tugged one band of his white tank top upwards. The one he wore was only one out of three other tank tops that could fit over his chest now. One of his black ones literally ripped open in the middle when he strained it over his breasts. Fuck, it was one of his favorite ones too.

Oh shit. Now Lindsay knew about his … transformation too!

He swathed his upper body, neck and jaw with the blanket until only his eyes and nose showed, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself. Damndamndamndamndamn …

Lindsay came back into view, sitting down on the rocking chair next to him. She had a plate with two pieces of buttered toasts on it.

"Uhm, I called Mac earlier while you were asleep." Her light eyes were all-knowing. "He told me the details."

Danny closed his eyes and curled up into the blanket. "Okay."

An awkward silence reigned for a few minutes.

"You look like you're waiting for me to laugh my butt off at you."

Danny's lips thinned and downturned. "Well, aren't ya goin' to? This is your ultimate piece of blackmail right here, Montana. One sentence is all ya need to say at work to ruin me for life."

"Danny. I'm not the only one here who's learnt a secret that could destroy someone."

Danny's blue eyes opened wide at the statement. He looked hard at Lindsay. She had a tiny smile on her lips, but her eyes were old and sad.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Are you … uncomfortable with … who I am now?"

Danny snorted. "Gee, Lindsay, taken a good look at me lately?" He whipped open the blanket and blatantly displayed his ample bosom.

She giggled, her face crinkled up in good humor. Danny had to smile. She had a cute laugh too. Perhaps, in another time and place, he could have had something remarkable with someone like her. He visualized six feet of flawless skin, big cerulean eyes, dark shorn hair and a blinding smile. No, he wouldn't consider her as someone more than a colleague, not in this time and place.

"So, uh. How long have you … ?"

Lindsay smirked. "Been a lesbian?"

Danny grimaced, playing with the floppy ears of the armadillo soft toy. "Yeah. I mean … I couldn't tell at all."

"I'm good at hiding it." Lindsay smiled mirthlessly. "You learn to be good at it once you've been burnt long enough. And I've been doing it for a long time." She inclined forward, elbows on knees. "How are you feeling?"

Danny realized his headache had nearly dissipated completely. He even felt reinvigorated. "Hey. That icky stuff really worked."

"It's a secret. I might tell you sometime, since we've moved to the chatting stage and all." Lindsay winked. "Danny, you up for listening to a story?"

"Sure. Got nowhere to go anyway." He moved to a more relaxed position on the couch. "Off day for you?"

"Yeah. We're very lucky cases have been few this past week. Everyone at HQ has been acting strange lately. Mac's more short fused, as well as Stella. Hawkes' more distant than usual. And Flack …" - Lindsay shrugged - "I know he doesn't like me very much."

"Well, ya can't blame them for being that way these days. They're like that 'cos of me." Danny fidgeted with the rim of the blanket. "Dunno why they bother worryin' so much 'bout me."

Lindsay smiled. "It was Mac who insisted on me staying with you today. I think your drunken foray at a bar on your ownpanicked him." Her lower face contorted in exertion not to laugh.

"You didn't tell him 'bout that-that jerk, did you!" Danny exclaimed.

Lindsay gave up containing her laughter. "Of course not! Then he would have demanded to know what we were both doing at a dyke bar, wouldn't he?"

"Thank GOD." Danny visibly slouched in relief. He crossed his legs and sat on the couch Indian-style. "Well … what's this story of yours then?"

Her expression turned solemn. "Did you ever wonder why I left Montana and came here to New York city?"

Danny shrugged. "Mac picked ya for your achievements. You broke that case. Figured that was an obvious reason."

Lindsay chewed on piece of toast, leaving the other one on the plate on her lap.

"When I started out as a CSI fresh out of the academy, I thought I had the whole world at my feet, you know? I thought, here I was, with these skills and knowledge that could save people or put their hearts at peace. I solved my first few cases, got my reputation jumpstarted and I was on my way up the ladder."

She inhaled audibly.

"Then, I was transferred to a better facility, received better pay, got bigger cases." Lindsay's eyes were glossy in reminiscence. "And that was when I met the person who changed my world and flipped me head over heels. She was … amazing. She knew everything, did everything perfectly. She was, well, the kind of CSI I wanted to be."

"There was just one problem." She smiled despondently. "She was married. With two kids and a loving, oblivious husband."

Danny winced in sympathy, breath hissing through his teeth.

"The irony was, she was the one who made the first move. Our affair lasted for nearly a year. In the beginning, she promised me she was going to leave her husband to be with me. And being the foolish, naïve thing that I was, I really believed her. I thought things were going to work out for us. For a little while." If Lindsay's eyes were watery, Danny was sensible enough to keep quiet about it. "But the weeks turned into months and … I knew she'd never go through with it."

Lindsay set the uneaten toast and plate onto a side table nearby. "I confronted her about it. Told her I had enough and wanted to break the relationship. She wouldn't allow it. She threatened to expose me and destroy my career if I did it. " Lindsay wiped her face. "But she was at a stalemate, you see. Exposing me meant exposing her too. At her position in the labs, the entire staff would be affected as well."

Understanding dawned on Danny. "Your ex-lover. She was your supervisor."

"Yeah," Lindsay replied hoarsely. "When I insisted on breaking up anyway, she switched tactics and gave me three choices. Continue the affair, resign from my job or break up and suffer her wrath of giving me the crappiest work. She made my life a living hell for over four months. I didn't know what to do. I felt so … lost, you know?"

Danny's mind evoked the memory of incensed hazel eyes and unforgiving words. In retrospect, especially after Mac's brief talk with him back at his apartment bedroom, the friction between them was, in all probability, nothing compared to what Lindsay went through. But he truly understood how she felt. Sinister laughter reverberated in his thoughts, the image of a shadowed man standing over his dead father with a smoking gun and a malicious grin crystal-clear. Danny Messer was no stranger to betrayal of the highest level.

"A little while after that, I received a letter from Mac, offering me a job right here in New York. It was my way out." Lindsay attempted at a sincere, positive smile. "And as you know, the rest is history."

Seeing Lindsay try so hard at being cheery while she still had tear tracks on her cheeks made a great part of Danny's heart ache. It hurt more so than the persistent soreness in his neck and back. All the occasions where he mocked her or gave her a really hard time in the past months since they met struck him like a sledgehammer. In light of what she just imparted to him … he'd been an utter asshole towards her.

"I dunno what to say." Danny smiled apologetically at her. "'Cept … I'm sorry I acted like a total jerk all this time."

Lindsay gaped. "Oh my God. Did you apologize?"

Danny made a face. "What? Whaaat? What's the big deal 'bout that?"

Lindsay's mouth stayed cavernous. "It's the end of the world. Danny Messer apologized." Then she tumbled back, laughing out loud and clutching her sides. Danny rolled his eyes dramatically, but he was privately delighted to see her laughing again. He hated watching his friends cry or be depressed.

Whoa. He just called Lindsay his friend.

And he was absolutely cool with it.

"Hey, I'm a normal guy, ya know." He glanced downwards at his chest. "Well, almost normal."

Lindsay's laughter slowly trickled away; her smile remained. "I had a good reason to tell you all that. I thought, if you realized I'm not interested in men, we would be able to put aside our differences and start over."

"Whaddaya mean? I've never had anythin' against you." Danny's face heated up at Lindsay's skeptical expression.

"Mac likes ta be called 'sir'. Remember that?"

Danny grimaced, both rows of pearly teeth in full view. "Heeey, I was just kiddin'! Teasin'! People in Montana know what sarcasm means, right?"

Lindsay looked daggers at him for another second, then her face split into a huge grin. "Truthfully, I liked the teasing." The grin diminished to a small smile. "Apart from Mac, you were the only person at work who talked to me like I was a person with a life, not just another laboratory automaton."

Danny never saw things that way before.

"And Mac … well. I know how you feel about him."

Danny frowned. " … huh?"

"Mac! I know you've been teasing me and ragging on me all this time because of Mac." Lindsay waved her hands in circles. "You're attracted to him, aren't you? You were jealous of me possibly taking over your place as his 'young protégé'."

It was Danny's turn to drop his lower jaw. "Whoawhoa, I - you … I - how do y-" He bounced once where he sat. "I-I don't even know that for sure."

Lindsay smiled benignly. "The part where you're attracted to him, or the part about you being jealous?"

Danny scratched at his ear in nervousness. "I …" All of a sudden, he was thinking back to a hot afternoon at a pizza parlor just a couple of blocks away from Flack's precinct, chowing down on a delicious slice of pepperoni-and-cheese pizza. It was the day after he got trapped in that schizophrenic billionaire's panic room, and Flack'd kept in mind his demand for pizza while he was still stuck in there. Flack was staring ardently at him as he licked the tomato puree off his fingers, saying in a low, near sensual voice, "Now that's how you treat good pizza."

"Man, hearing it in words … the jealousy thing sounds so petty." Danny cackled goodnaturedly. "You're huntin' in the right field, but you're aimin' at the wrong moose."

Lindsay angled her head in a surprisingly mature, introspective way. Her eyes gleamed. "Huh. Now that explains a lot of things. No wonder he doesn't like me, what with you and I working together a lot lately."

Danny's face became even redder. He bowed his head and fidgeted with the armadillo plushie. "Believe me, he's not as bad as ya think. It just takes some time for him to get used to new people 'round him." He smiled bashfully. "I dunno whether he feels the same way anyway. And neither of us are … ya know."

"Oh, I know about your track record with women, Messer." Amusement rang clear in her voice. "In fact, Hawkes mentioned one of your girlfriends a long while back. Cindy. The One Who Talks Too Much." Lindsay grinned.

"Ex-girlfriend," Danny amended. "We lasted a total of twelve days. Longest relationship I had since college. Heh. Like ya said, she talked too much for my liking. The minute she started goin' on about bringin' me to formal functions and movin' in together, I was outta there."

Commitment-phobe, a voice that sounded a lot like Flack whispered in his head.

"I bet you had more girlfriends than I did." Lindsay leaned back and kicked lightly at the floor to move the rocking chair back and forth. "Counting my current one … I've only had four."

"Nothin' wrong with that." Danny scratched the spot between the armadillo plushie's ears. "Aiden always liked weird animals like armadillos," he murmured under his breath. He decided it was Lindsay's turn to lay down her cards on her relationships instead. "So, who's the lucky chick?"

Lindsay bit her lower lip, gazing at Danny with a weighty expression for a few minutes before standing up and heading to her bedroom nearby. She returned moments later with her wallet in hand.

"Here. Take a look for yourself." She passed it to him, opened to reveal a single photograph inserted into one of its transparent sleeves.

In the picture, Lindsay was touching cheeks with another woman, a long-haired brunette with a bright smile and a pert, upturned nose. They both grinned at the camera, their intimacy evident in the way they held hands and had their other arms enveloped around each other's waist. It must have been an evening party for they were clothed in eye-catching, glittering dresses and jewellery.

Danny stared at the other woman for a very long time.

"Lindsay." He couldn't take his eyes off the photograph. "That's …"

Lindsay was sitting back on the rocking chair, her fingers entwined together and held apprehensively in front of her mouth. She didn't say anything.

"That's Aiden."

Lindsay smiled diminutively. "Yes, I know. She's a wonderful woman."

"Aiden's your … your girlfriend?" Wow, he was using up at least fifty years of his quota of life-shockers in a single week. "She - I mean … she never told me she was a lesbian."

"She isn't. She's bisexual. Likes both men and women. She had a crush on you for a long time. And Flack too."

Oh hell, he just used up a quota of another ten years on yet another life-shocker. Geez, how did that famous Chinese saying go? We live in interesting times. He was finally hearing fresh, if shocking, news about one of his best friends, and yet, all he could feel was … exasperation. Frustration. Betrayal.

His surroundings rapidly felt acrimonious and remote.

Fuck it. He had to get the hell out of the place. Pronto.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Aiden." Lindsay heard an entire universe of hurt in the utterance of that single name.

Danny gave her back her wallet. Lindsay could virtually see the walls building back up around him by invisible hands with every silent tick of the clock. His face was shuttered.

"I wanna go back to Mac's apartment." He didn't look at her; he scowled at nothing in particular, his thoughts far away. If it wasn't for the toast left on the side table, Lindsay would have been almost convinced none of their conversation had happened at all. She knew there was the chance Danny would react negatively towards this final revelation.

Danny tossed the plaid blanket aside, grabbing his jacket and donning it. He was trying hard to behave aloof, but Lindsay saw the quavering of his hands while he smoothed out the lapels. Danny wasn't as unaffected by Aiden's abrupt departure as everyone assumed, after all.

They stayed mute throughout the journey down the apartment building elevator and to the car park where Lindsay stowed her vehicle. She sighed. As poorly as it'd ended, she still felt everything that took place that morning was phenomenal progress in both their professional and personal relationships. She never imagined it was to Danny, of all people, whom she would tell about her dark secret. Life was unpredictable that way.

As for this Aiden-related hurdle that popped out of the blue, Lindsay was sure it was far from too late to mend the broken bridges between Danny and his former CSI partner.

Aiden's armadillo soft toy he embraced as she drove him back told her more than any spoken denial of his ever would.

***

Chapter 14

The Red Lion was a pub situated in the heart of Little Italy, at the corner of a street bordered by a diversity of family-owned stores, restaurants and cafes. Naturally, they were all owned by Italians whose immigrant ancestors concluded their exodus there in the nineteenth century. Mac seldom came into this part of the city, except to attend the annual, raucous San Gennaro feast for the canoli.

What a british pub was doing in the center of this neighborhood was something that baffled him. Only Jon would choose a place like this for a rendezvous.

"So, Maclaren. I'm guessin' this ain't a social call." Jon Turgis smirked sardonically.

Mac smirked back. "Don't play dumb, Jon. You know why I'm here."

The two men sat facing each other in an isolated section of the pub, right next to the narrow hallway that led to the washrooms and the pub's backdoor. A rectangular lamp above them caused their angular faces to be cast into stark shadows. A half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's whisky stood forlornly on its own next to Jon's brawny arm on the table. They each nursed their own glass; Mac's was still full, while Jon's was almost finished.

"I told ya not to pursue this." Jon's silver eyes glinted sharply even in the darkness.

"I can't back off. It's personal now." Mac took a sip of his whisky, eyeing his friend with a veiled expression.

"Fuck." An oversized hand seized the Jack Daniel's and irately poured more of the alcohol into an empty glass. "You never let anythin' go, do ya?"

"I mean it." Mac scowled acutely. "Your secret technology has … seriously affected one of my employees."

Jon stilled. "What the hell are ya on 'bout?"

"Did you really think I'd let you invade my lab and take everything?" Mac's lips curled into a charade of a smile. "You know what I'm talking about. Microscopic, sentient robots sound familiar?"

The colossal man squeezed into his seat stared at Mac in silence.

"Can't imagine what people would want with that kind of technology. What do you think, Jon? Got any bright ideas about that?"

Jon continued to stare, then grinned mirthlessly. "Smart boy. Shoulda known you woulda hidden away some of it for yer own personal research."

"I want to know."

"Know what?"

"Tell me about it. This advanced nanotechnology the FBI's developing."

Jon sucked the inside of his cheek, coolly gauging the other man. "I tell ya, I'll have to kill ya."

"You've said that to me at least five times in the past, Jon. Closest you ever came to killing me was when you coerced me into going to that appalling belly dancer bar in Saudi Arabia. You remember that?"

His friend smiled frankly for the first time that evening. "Goddamn, I remember. I had to drag you out by the ankles the next day 'cos the women sucked you dry." Jon's grin stretched. "Literally."

Mac's face warmed. His body revived the sensation of lying on a soft rug and squashing two very abundant womanly body additions in his hands. His face warmed even more.

"Geez, I didn't think you'd even remember that." Jon took another swig of whisky. "Whadda hell brought that on?"

" … My employee." Mac grimaced. "The nanotechnology's … changed him."

"Into what? A friggin' belly dancer?" Jon's face slackened at Mac's lack of response. Or rather, the discomfited expression on his face. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me."

" … No, I'm not."

"Sonofabitch." Jon burst into a thunderous guffaw that compelled the other customers of the pub to glance in their direction. "Now that's one fer the books! Who's the unlucky bastard?"

Mac pouted, drawing circles in the water rings left by the chilled glass.

"So we're gonna play the guessing game, eh? Right." Jon cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in concentration. "A him, eh? There's … that ME turned CSI. Sheldon Hawkes, was it?" Jon watched Mac intently. "Hmm, no, it's not him. How 'bout … the pretty boy? The son of that New York legend, they call 'im. Flack. No?"

Mac remained hushed.

"Hmmmm. Naah … " Jon's brows went straight up his lined forehead. "It's that Messer guy, hhn?"

Mac returned his stare at long last. "Yes."

Jon erupted into another round of cackling. "Poor bastard. Shoots a fellow police officer, gets locked up in some panic room with a dead guy … and now he's turned into a …" - he gesticulated with his callused hands as he searched for an appropriate term - "A what? A guy with boobs? A mishmash of both man and woman?"

Mac didn't take the trouble to update him further on his recruits; his old friend most likely had information about them even he didn't. At least Jon wasn't aware of the fine details of Danny's … predicament.

He pointed at Mac with a long forefinger. "Told ya he was gonna be a buncha trouble, didn't I?"

Mac frowned. "He needs help, Jon. What happened to him wasn't his fault."

"And ya think you can just call me up and demand a meetin' and then tell me, 'Hey Jon! We bein' such old pals and you bein' an FBI assistant director and all, why don'tcha hand over top secret government secrets so I can help out one o' my rowdy brats? Hey, it doesn't matter it'll putcha in deep shit and fuck up yer life … a bullet into yer brain's quick and easy anyway, right?"

Mac shut his eyes and squeezed his temple, frown intensifying. He couldn't tell if was his friend's angry black humor or the whisky that was triggering another of his migraines.

Jon huffed with the power of a jet engine.

"I could never say no to ya … could I?"

Mac gawked at Jon with wide eyes, face heating up at the implication in those words. Jon gazed in return from beneath lowered eyelids.

"Geez, after all this time, you still blush at my mention of -"

"Jon, just tell me about the nanotechnology. Or any useful information," Mac cut in, evading Jon's eyes. Jon's intimate scrutiny were bringing back memories that were rather unbecoming in their current circumstances.

"Well, like I said. I could never say no to ya."

Jon downed what was left of his whisky. He decanted more into Mac's glass and his own before speaking again.

"Okay. Okay. It's like this. Our country's at war now. We've got enemies who'd do just 'bout anythin' to destroy us, if they could. They got to us once already." Jon didn't need to bring up the September 11th calamity; it was present like a suffocating elephant in the room. "But the thing is, we've been flappin' our dicks and stompin' on other countries long before these guys even thought 'bout doing the same thing to us."

Jon scoffed at Mac's affronted look.

"Oh, c'mon, Maclaren. It's the truth and ya know it. Do I even hafta mention Vietnam? The Middle East? Iraq?" Jon grunted. "Weapons of mass destruction. Hah. Believe me, their weapons are nothin' compared to ours."

"Ya think you should be scared of them? Naah, monsters exists, alright, and they're right here. At home. Fuck, the things I've seen … ya can't even begin to imagine the fucked up crap I've seen in our labs since I became a Fed." He gulped another mouthful of alcohol, licking his thin lips. "Ya remember those Cyclops babies we saw in the Gulf? That was nothin'."

"So, let's be honest with each other here. The second the word 'terrorist' pops up, ya'll be thinkin' of some bearded, Asian man with a turban on his head talkin' 'bout jihad and killin' infidels and Jews. Even if ya don't look like that, it don't matter jack shit. Don't even matter if you're of any other religion or race, specially if you're from a Muslim country. We don't like yer face, yeeeeer out."

Jon leaned forward. "Now, let's just say, some dumbass scientist in some laboratory creates the ultimate weapon the world's never supposed ta know. He makes teeny weeny nanobots capable of doin' anythin' the guy programs them to. Anythin'."

"And let's just say, this technology gets stolen by the wrong people. Let's just say, they figure out how to program the nanobots to transform their bodies and make themselves look like completely different people. Like, oh, I dunno … your typical white, american folk. Gonna be kinda hard to figure out who's the terrorist and who isn't if that happens, hhhn?"

Mac's hand clenched into a fist on the table top.

"That's not even the worst shit. Just imagine the kind of bioterrorism weapons that could be made from this technology. You won't even need any o' them viruses anymore. All ya need is a fuckin' warped imagination and a nanotechnologists who knows what he's doin'. And the whole world gets fucked faster than a young whore in Amsterdam."

"'Course, none of that crap's happened. Yet. We've been observin' the entire project really closely from the start, and nothin' leaked out." Jon sighed heavily. "But yeah, of all the messed up things … we just had to have a male nanotechnologists with a fetish for dressing in drag and wantin' to be a freakin' woman."

Jon sneered, while Mac's brows raised dramatically.

"Yeah, you'll never know what comes yer way, huh? So, the guy creates his special nanobabies, and then he throws a fit requestin' the big guys that he be allowed to use his creation to change himself into one. For real. You can picture how that turned out. He freaked out big time at their denial, and the little bastard turned fugitive on us and vanished into thin air."

"I got a whole buncha crap for it. The higher ups held me responsible for the guy going missing." The giant man rubbed jadedly at his face. "I dunno why the fuck I assigned those two idiots to watch 'im, of all o' 'em. Least they're workin' in my favor now, even if the poor fucks don't know it."

"The agents who went to my CSI's apartment last week." Mac gazed meaningfully at Jon. "It was you who called me."

"No, Maclaren. It was friggin' Smokey the Bear."

Mac couldn't help himself and smiled at the non-sequitur.

Jon reached into his coat pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes. It surprised Mac. He never knew Jon had picked up the habit of smoking.

"The scientist is incognito for a couple o' weeks. I get my men searching 'im high and low, and no one finds a trace of him. Then, we hear 'bout a suspicious dead body abandoned in upper Manhattan covered in the stuff we've been tryin' to hide from the world all this time. And of all the sonoftheguns who gets the case … it juuuust had ta be you." Jon pulled out a single cigarette and lit it with a black plastic lighter. "Somebody up there hates my guts, I tell ya."

"So, the end of the story is, we don't know if anybody else's gotten a hold of the nanotechnology. All we can do is wait. And here we are, with your guy in one hell of a mess. You ever thought 'bout recommendin' 'im to go into the strippin' business?"

Mac pointedly stared at him.

"What? I can't even crack a joke no more?"

"I need information. Anything that can help him. I know you know how he can be changed back. I'm not going to leave you alone until you do." Mac bared his teeth. "And you know how persistent I can be."

Jon's face was blank, but his silver eyes said many, many things. "Oh, I know how persistent you can be. I'm just damn glad I was always clever enough ta keep a large supply of condoms 'round."

Mac flushed crimson.

"You're so easy." Jon puffed on his cigarette, grinning like a cat who got the canary twice over. He got out a pen and small notepad, scrawling down an address.

"Go there. On the outside, it looks like a derelict building but don't let it fool ya. There's an exclusive club in there. Look for someone called Gideon." Jon slid the piece of paper to Mac. "That's all I can do for ya."

"Thank you, Jon." Mac was genuinely grateful.

"Hell, don't thank me yet. Ya don't even know what you're up against." Jon blew out some smoke through his nostrils, looking like a quiescent humanoid dragon. "But as I said, you're a smart boy, top CSI that you are."

"Jon … are they blackmailing you?"

"Blackmailing me? Hah, you've gotta be kiddin' me. This is Nuclear Jon you're talkin' to. The guy who friggin' wipes out everythin' in sight, remember?"

Mac gave him a tiny smile.

"By the way …" Jon put out his cigarette on the table, then got to his feet. He had a wicked smirk on his weathered face.

"If you're gonna crash that club … don't bother bringin' any of your female detectives. If ya know what I mean."

***

Chapter 15

"I deserve a raise. Just for this."

Hawkes squirmed in his seat, attempting to find a relaxing position and finding his efforts in vain thanks to his … irregular outfit.

"Relax, Hawkes, it's just a club we're hittin'. Be happy it ain't one of those seriously weird ones." Flack was in the backseat, his length extended along the pale leather, head behind Mac in the driver seat.

"I … wouldn't say that."

Flack sat upright at Mac's dubious comment, pushing his head between the seats to look at Mac. "Heey, whaddaya mean by that? I thought you said we were scouting out some private club in uptown Manhattan. Like, a regular dance club, right?"

The trio were in Mac's black SUV as it voyaged through a dark, narrow alley, headed for what Mac'd been informed was an abandoned ten-storey apartment building at the end of the passage. Hawkes sat next to Mac, attired in clothes his mother would have screamed her head off at, if she ever saw him in them. Flack, who was behind them both, was in a clubbing outfit Hawkes' mother would also have screamed about. And maybe passed out right after that.

While Mac had his usual work clothes on, Hawkes was wearing tight, white trousers with gold studs and simple star deco down the sides, pure white dress shoes and a sleeveless, white turtleneck that felt two sizes too small for his liking. A gold pendant hung from a thick, black cord around his neck. He had more bling on his wrists and fingers than he'd ever worn in his life; if he started rapping, he'd thoroughly fit the bill of a gangsta rapper. The orange-shaded, trendy spectacles that curved around his eyes completed the look.

Flack looked like a dark angel in his black and white gear. Like Hawkes, he had on tight trousers, except his were black, and had shiny, silver chains hanging from the leather belt on one side. One thin chain hung from Flack's neck, bearing a simple circular ornament. Bulky spiked and buckled boots adorned the tall detective's long feet. His top was much more provocative than Hawkes'. The tribal-patterned, long sleeves reached all the way past the wrists, but beginning diagonally from the shoulders towards the body and down, the shirt was nothing but a near-transparent black mesh. It left very little to the imagination. Indeed, Flack's suits hid an exceptionally fine body.

What riveted Hawkes, however, was the dramatic eyeliner and mascara work on Flack's large, blue eyes. Plus the bright blue lip gloss on the man's lips that glittered brightly under the soft light radiating from the car interior ceiling. There were more sides to the homicide detective than he ever expected. Hawkes reflected with amusement on Stella's almost fangirl-like reaction at Flack's spanking new look. He supposed the women wouldn't complain about seeing all those hidden sides one bit.

"There's a good reason why Stella and Lindsay aren't part of tonight's investigations."

Flack glowered unabashedly at his boss, who seemed to be trying his hardest at not smiling and doing it quite badly. " … It's a gay club, isn't it?"

Hawkes pivoted to look at Mac too.

"Alright, according to what I've been told, it's an elite underground club catering to those who … walk a different path from the regular people."

Flack fell back and slumped in the middle of the backseat. "Yeahyeah, I get it, it's a gay club."

"Something like that. Don't be surprised to see BDSM activities in there either." Mac added under his breath, "I hope you two aren't the prudish type."

Flack snorted.

"You … you're not expecting Flack and I to go in as … lovers, do you?"

Flack sputtered indignantly at Hawkes' question.

Mac smirked, turning the steering wheel as the car cleared the alley and entered a fenced compound, nearly full with other vehicles. There weren't any ordinary, cheap cars either. Just like Jon said, the appearance of the building that housed the club was very deceptive. Had Mac not been told the truth, he would have assumed it was about ready to be demolished right down to its foundations. The only indication something was shady about it were the massive, metal front doors of the building. They were brand new.

"I'll have ya know there're people out there who'd kill for a date like me," Flack said huffily.

He glanced outside at the other cars. "Whoa." Flack's eyes were bugged out at one particular car. "Whoawhoawhoa. Is that a Bugatti Veyron? Holy crap, that car costs over a friggin' one million dollars. And it's not even here in the States yet." He stared slack-jawed at another car nearby. "And … that's - that's a Pagani Zonda Roadster. That baby's over six hundred and sixty thousand dollars."

Hawkes whistled in akin appreciation. "Boy, we're talking high class clientele here."

"Which is exactly why you two are going in." Mac grinned. "How did Stella put it? You're the pretty boy eye candy looking for your hot daddy."

"If I get to drive one a' those babies, I'll be a pretty boy." Flack was probably drooling all over his upholstery at this point.

Mac reached into the side compartment of the driver door and took out a thin, light folder. "Here are the two headshot photographs of the DB I kept from the Feds. You'll need to show them to the person called Gideon. There's no other way we can approach things since we don't even know the victim's name. All I'm told is that this Gideon has information about the DB which'll help us with Danny's situation."

"Where did you get the address of this place from?" Hawkes' brown eyes were filled with innocuous curiosity. "Or the information about this Gideon person? From the person whom you mentioned could help us?"

"Think of my informant as an ally we have who's working for the other side and for us. That's all you need to know."

"If this informant of yours was so helpful, why didn't the guy supply you with the name of the victim, at least?" Flack might be looking like a tempting offer on the outside, but he was still all cop on the inside. "Or more details on Gideon? We're goin' in blind here. Without back up, apart from you."

"Trust me. My source is one hundred percent trustworthy. If he says it's safe for us to see this person, it is." Mac sucked on his lower lip. "The fact he even met with me in person to disclose the information has already put him at great risk."

Flack evaluated this for a few moments, then said, "Okay. But anythin' feels off, I'm gettin' Hawkes and I outta there fast as lightning." Flack frowned. "I'm doin' this for Danny."

"We all are." Mac opened the folder and gave Flack a small piece of paper that was inside it. "The password for entry."

Flack took one look at it and snickered. "Heh. Niiice."

"Whatever it is, I'm leaving it to you to say it," Hawkes said, holding up his hands. "My jacket, please?"

Flack passed Hawkes a white jacket that had a custom-made, large pocket in the back, in the inner recesses. Mac slipped the folder into it.

"Only items security will allow are cel phones and wallets, so we'll have to hide the pictures in there. No guns either." Mac looked uneasy, even with the knowledge Jon handed him. "So be careful. I don't know how they'll react to having two police officers in their midst."

"We have our phones. Things go bad, either Flack or I will speed dial you to alert you." Hawkes sighed. "And if we don't even have the chance to do that … let's hope it won't come to that."

Mac clasped Hawkes' arm in support. "I'll be here. With the artillery." Hawkes smiled at that.

Flack opened one of the back side doors, getting out of the car. He looked ethereal in the moonlight.

"C'mon, Hawkes. Time to look for our sugar daddy."

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

A rectangle of metal slid to one side to reveal a pair of leery, jade eyes.

"Password."

Flack swaggered up to the door, thrusting his face close up to the rectangular peephole. He smiled in a seductive manner that, to Hawkes' incredulity, made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"Give it to me hard and good, biiiig daddy."

Hawkes could have sworn Flack absolutely enjoyed saying that.

The eyes scrutinized the tall detective for a few minutes. Then, the rectangle metal slide abruptly resealed the peephole, and with a loud clang, the metal doors opened inwards.

Hawkes stood in awe at the muscular African woman in a black, dazzling tuxedo who stood as sentry at the door. Nevermind that the bouncer of the club was a woman, her immense bulk and steely gaze were signs she was not the kind of woman who tiptoed on high heels or carried tiny dogs in her purse or broke like a branch at the slightest blow. On the contrary, Hawkes was most certain he was the one who'd snap in two should he end up in a brawl with her. She glared at them from under the rim of a stylish bowler hat, her round face ringed by two gigantic half-hoop, gold earrings. Her peroxide blonde braided hair flowed down the sides of her neck.

"Who is your master?" She had a low, rolling voice that prompted Hawkes to think of spouting, active volcanoes.

Flack's teeth flashed. "Gideon."

"Gideon? I was not told of any new acquisitions by the boss."

Flack didn't even blink. "Yeah, we're fresh meat. Comin' for … trainin', aren't we?"

Hawkes inhaled clearly as Flack's blue eyes focused on him. He never realized how deep they were. His mouth was dry.

"Hhhnn." The bouncer inspected them for yet another minute. Then her green eyes settled on him with even more intensity than Flack's. "Well, well." Her full, red lips split open to show two rows of ivory-white teeth. "What do we have here?"

The intimidating woman grasped his face in one large hand and compressed his cheeks between her fingers until his face and lips were smooshed like a fish's. "My name is Samiya Sinn," she said huskily. "You can be my Hershey chocolate kiss anytime."

Hawkes wanted to squeak like a church mouse.

She let go, pinched his nose almost playfully and said in a much more amiable tone, "The club's been wholly booked by one of the regulars for a party tonight. But for you …" Samiya winked at Hawkes. "I'll let you two in."

Flack grinned sideways, stroking his hands down his thighs. "Awright. Where do we find Gideon?"

"Ask the bartenders. The boss might be making the rounds with the guests." She stepped to one side to let them in. "You rookies keep out of the Black and Red rooms. They're for the experienced."

Hawkes was too nervous beneath the towering woman's fervent gaze to wonder what she meant by that.

"Stick 'round, Hershey Kiss. I'll be looking for you later." She blew him a kiss.

He gulped. Hawkes had a bad feeling he was going to be snapped in two that night anyway.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Flack's primary impression of the club was that it was the sort of place he'd like to work at, if he wasn't a cop or the son of a renowned one he could never live up to. Instead of being irritating, its multi-colored neon lighting created a dreamlike, suspended atmosphere that made Flack want to lie right where he stood and start gushing abstract poetry. Throbbing dance music induced his body into swaying and writhing subconsciously to the unceasing beat.

The interior architecture was constructed in such a way it resembled one of those ancient roman stadiums where gladiator battles used to be held. Flack and Hawkes had strided through a short corridor to arrive at the base of the club, the main spherical zone where the bar dispensing drinks was located in the center. Above the bar, two DJs in neon costumes and makeup spun their musical sleights of hand on an elevated platform. Encircling the bar were plush pillows and mattresses all over the place; patrons lounged on them as they drank and interacted with each other. More mattresses and pillows littered the club's many levels, stacked upwards in the shape of a staircase. At the highest level, Flack could see black doors spaced out on one side, and red doors on the other.

He desired to enter them and see what it was that took only experienced people to … experience.

"Flack … we should head for the bar." Hawkes was standing really close to him, yelling into his ear. The CSI was checking out the milieu with inquisitive but anxious eyes, staring in particular at a group of clients on a black mattress close by. A man in an ankle-length, dark PVC ensemble lay on the middle of the bed, flanked by two other men who were collared around the neck and wore nothing but semi-transparent body suits. The collars were hooked with chains bound around the middle man's fists.

Flack joined Hawkes in gaping at the two men in body suits licking each other's faces and necks for some time, until someone bumped hard into him as they walked past. Flack impulsively turned to glare at the person, gasping at the bespectacled man in black leather who stuck his tongue out at him. Or rather, the other man's exposed, tattooed buttocks where the seat of the leather trousers were meant to be.

Shit, the guy looked just like Danny. Flack nearly slapped himself silly as that thought brought on even more kinky notions about the CSI. Geez, it was already bad enough his best friend was gifted with DD-cup breasts. Flack did not need the additional imagery of the guy in skintight, leather trousers with his butt out in the open.

Hawkes prodded him in the side and tugged on his arm towards the bar. It took them a mere two minutes to wrestle their way through the throng of people, but it felt like an eternity. Flack had never been so physically harassed and fondled in his life. His bottom had been squeezed at least six times, there were constant hands running all over his torso and legs, and he had to roughly bat away probing hands away from his groin a few times. Perhaps he was dressed too well for the occasion.

Poor Hawkes was suffering the same quandary, the redness of his face apparent even in the diffused lighting of the club. "I think I just contracted at least twenty assorted types of sexually-transmitted diseases."

Flack snickered gruffly. "Think of it this way, Doc. Least ya know you're hot."

Hawkes merely made a cynical face.

The two detectives literally collapsed onto the glass counter of the bar, Flack's arm around Hawkes' broad shoulders. Flack beckoned the bartender with dreadlocks and ordered two martinis. They sat on the stools available, staggered into silence by more shocking and sometimes erotic sights around them. Flack's brows lowered in confusion when he noticed two women entwined on a pile of pillows, chatting in close proximity to each other. Guess the club's customers wasn't restricted to only men, after all.

Flack glanced to his right and was face to face with another female patron. He smiled, face crinkling with laugh wrinkles. Hey, just because he was working didn't mean he couldn't flirt with a hot chick while he was at it. And wow, this one was something out of the ordinary.

Compared to him, she was a tiny thing, around five feet tall at most. She had on a very low cut, black lacy top, with long bell sleeves that covered her small hands. Around her abdomen was a black leather corset laced up in the back. Another black, plain corset wrapped her neck and a single star pendant hung from the neck corset onto her chest. Three-inch long silver earrings with stars complimented the pendant. Flack's eyes grazed downwards. He had nothing on her tight, black trousers or steel-spiked boots. He hoped he never learnt what it felt like to be kicked by those on any part of his body.

His eye flitted back up. Her round, heart-shaped face was unhelpful in enlightening him on how old she was. For all he knew, she could have been only twelve. Her chest area and the agelessness in brown, almond-shaped eyes that looked back at him from behind black-framed glasses told him another story. But, damn, this was the first time he'd ever met a woman who had a Mohawk haircut like hers.

His smile grew into a full-fledged grin. "Hi."

Her thick lips, filmed with pink, glittery lip gloss similar to his, curled into a smirk. "Hi."

Thank you, Danny, for the introduction to cute, Asian women.

"So … you come to this joint often?" Oh, reeeal smooth, Flack.

Her smirk stayed. "Sometimes. It's nice to have a place where no one cares what or who you are."

Flack angled his head, chewing on his lower lip. "I'd say only a fuckin' idiot wouldn't like you, babe."

She lifted an eyebrow, smirk turning into a closed smile. "I think I shall take that as a compliment."

Flack laughed. Man, he wished he wasn't actually on an investigation. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know a guy called Gideon, would ya? He's the boss of this place."

The bartender handed Flack his martinis, and Flack passed one to Hawkes, who'd been sitting quietly beside him all this time. Hawkes was having a blast being enraptured by some women in skimpy club clothes having a pillow fight. Heh, the guy sure was learning a thing or two tonight. Flack was so engrossed in his new acquaintance he missed the suspicious, sideways gaze the bartender directed at him, or the subtle movement of the bartender's hand under the counter as he pressed a button there.

The woman simply continued to smile at him.

"Huh, guess ya don't, hhn? That's okay." Flack shifted closer to her, carefully avoiding the hazardous spikes of her boots. "I'm Don. What's your name?"

"Flack …" He sensed Hawkes standing up.

The booming music drowned out the forceful footsteps that loomed on them.

"Flack -" Whatever Hawkes was going to say hacked off into a asphyxiated gurgle.

One second later, Flack was choking himself as he felt a crushing hand around his neck. He was hauled right off the stool, and his hands grappled instinctively at the vice-like grip in order to breathe.

"No, Samiya."

Flack drew in a powerful breath at the release of his throat. He scowled at the bouncer while rubbing his neck. Samiya grinned brazenly back, still clinging onto Hawkes who looked like he was being suffocated to death between her generous bosoms. Then he realized who it was who'd commanded her to let him go. He stared at the Mohawked lady with big eyes.

She beamed, displaying uneven teeth in a vast smile.

"I'm Gideon."

***

Chapter 16

All Don Flack, Jr. knew was he was in deep, deep crap.

In the time the Asian woman in corsets introduced herself as Gideon, eight men had joined the party to enclose him, Hawkes, Samiya and their manager. All were dressed in impressive black tuxedos like the bouncer, except the difference was that the men had guns at hand. Nine millimeter pistols, Flack's brain observed.

"I personally know all my clients," Gideon said. She had a british lilt to her accent. "Everyone is screened before they're even informed of my club's location." Her eyes narrowed. "And I'm very sure I've never seen the two of you until tonight."

One of the security guys stepped forward and roughly searched over Flack's body, snatching out the detective's cel phone and wallet. Flack stayed still; he wasn't that stupid to fight when there were at least eight guns aimed at his head. The goon flicked open the wallet and displayed Flack's golden badge for Gideon's view.

"NYPD." Gideon smirked at Flack. "You have no idea just how many of your fellow officers are in this club at this instant."

Hawkes let out an outraged squawk.

"Boss, Hershey Kiss here's NYPD too." Samiya had taken out Hawkes' wallet and cel phone as well. She had a mischievous expression on her mien, and was still holding onto the distraught CSI as if he was the greatest treasure in the world. It was like watching a mouse tussle with an anaconda.

"Samiya." Flack had no idea how such a powerful voice could come from such a lightweight body like Gideon's, much less how it effortlessly overwhelmed the deafening background music. "Why did you let them in?"

The African bouncer grimaced. "They had the correct password, boss. The scanners didn't detect any weapons on them either."

Wait a minute, Flack didn't remember going through any scanners.

"We'd have cleaned them out before they even got into the club if they did. The tall one said they were your new slaves too."

Ah, the scanners must have been installed in the walls of the corridor he and Hawkes walked through. And what? Slaves!

"So. Someone told you about the password and address of the club." Gideon's brown eyes stabbed Flack to the core, arresting him in position on the stool. "Someone sent you here to see me, hmm? Who?"

"Nuclear Jon."

Thank God. It was Mac. Half the guns swung to point at the newcomer in the scene.

Mac had somehow skulked up to the group without detection, and was standing before them, cool as a cucumber. His long coat, dark trousers and light grey shirt and were as immaculate as ever. Even his hair was still perfectly in place. However, the stark annoyance in the narrowed hazel eyes and the little blood stain on the side of his mouth was evidence it hadn't been a trouble-free task for Mac to get to them.

"How the hell did you get past Gerard and the boys!"Samiya roared. Hawkes winced at the volume. He really, really wanted to breathe properly again, and not go deaf while he was at it.

"I'm a Marine. I'll let you ponderon that."

Mac stalked up to Gideon, heedless of the clocking of guns and the sudden spike in tension. "Tell your bouncer to let my detective go."

Gideon and Mac had a staring showdown, nose to nose, for over a minute. Eventhough Mac was standing over her and literally head and shoulders above her, she was scarcely afraid. She smiled with amusement, not breaking eye contact with the lead CSI. She hadn't had this much entertainment in ages.

"Samiya."

"Aww, boss, I get to play with him later, right?"

Hawkes was shaking his head violently and looked as if he was going to burst in tears. His head and neck were all but the only body parts he could move; the bouncer's strong arms around him efficiently paralyzed him from shoulder to waist. He'd quit kicking with his legs a while ago. He was a couple of inches off the floor, and Samiya turned out to be invincible even down there. Why did he always attract the bizarre ones?

"Samiya." Gideon's voice brooked no disobedience.

With a low whine, Samiya grudgingly freed Hawkes from her embrace. The tearful CSI instantaneously rushed up to Mac and hid behind the man. The poor guy was possibly traumatized for life.

"Nuclear Jon." The diminutive club owner laughed softly. "You know him?"

"Yes." Mac stood back. "We were in the Marines together. As well as the NYPD."

"Ahh." Gideon appeared even more child-like when she grinned from ear to ear. "You're Maclaren. The Screaming Mac Attack!"

Flack's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at hearing the nickname. Apart from having four guns trained on him, he was actually finding the whole situation riotous. Danny would be laughing his ass off and rolling on the floor by now. Or totally start hitting on Gideon. Unless she kicked him to bloody bits with her boots first. Or he did. Or something.

Tonight was yet another night Flack was going to write in his diary, if he had one, as one to tell his fan club one day when he was older. His imperturbable, firm supervisor was blushing red as a cherry. Mac. Blushing.

"Oh yes. Jon has certainly told me much about you." Gideon stroked Mac's warm cheek with one, red-fingernailed hand. "He was right. You do look adorable when you blush." She waved at her employees. "Stand down. They're harmless."

Flack started on his seat when Gideon looked meaningfully at him from beneath lowered eyelids. "Compared to me, anyway."

The security goons sheathed their weapons and left, blending in with the surrounding crowd, who were completely unmindful of the short-lived confrontation. Only Samiya remained to watch over her manager, and evidently, Hawkes too. Hawkes took cover behind Mac completely when she twiddled her fingers and winked with both eyes at him.

"Jon wouldn't have sent you to me without a good reason. Therefore, what is it the NYPD wants with me, hmm?" Gideon crossed one leg over the other gracefully, keeping her gaze on Flack. "My club is legit, but you're free to check it up for yourself. Every client is a consenting adult."

"Technically, we aren't here on an official case." Gideon's eyebrow raised at Mac's statement. "This is a … personal one."

"Hmmm. I understand the …" - Flack wriggled under Gideon's eyeballing of him from head to toe and back - "Undercover costumes now. Well, good friend of Nuclear Jon." Gideon switched her concentrated gaze onto Mac. "How may I be of service?"

Flack's mind went to very dirty places at the huskily uttered question.

Luckily, Mac still had his head on straight. "We believe you may be able to identify a murder victim whose case we were working on two weeks ago."

Hawkes took off his jacket and handed the black folder in the inner pocket to Gideon. He was very sensible to stay out of Samiya's reach. "Any information you can give us is appreciated."

Gideon flipped open the folder and stared at the two photographs for a moment. Some emotion flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before Flack could pinpoint it. She closed it and gave it to Mac. Whatever amusement she felt was gone now.

"Yes. I know him." She glided off the stool onto her feet, motioning to Samiya with one twist of her head, her long earrings tinkling. "Samiya, take them to the Velvet Room." She then turned to Mac, who was visibly pleased at her answer.

"Come. Let us discuss this in private."

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The Velvet Room was aptly named.

The entire room was covered from ceiling to floor in purple velvet adorned with gold filigree patterns. Flack couldn't find any seams in the carpeting at all, so it was as if he was entering some velvet womb where he could roll around all day in a texture feast of the senses. Like the club, the room itself was round in shape too. It was lit by six lights high on the walls, bathing the chamber in a warm, orange luminosity. Four ornate chairs were arranged around a square block made of white granite to the front of the room. Beyond them, was a circular, mammoth-sized bed draped in shiny gold sheets and pillows, a garland of red and white roses set on the middle of it.

Whatever discussions had taken place here previously, Flack had the inkling they were mainly of the physical type.

Samiya pulled out one of the chairs for her boss. Mac and Hawkes followed the two women to the seats and sat opposite each other. After staring at the bed for a few minutes, Flack eventually took his seat opposite Gideon. He was subject to her avid inspection once again. And truth be told, he found it flattering, even if he'd never say it out loud.

She grinned at him, a perceptive glint in her eyes.

"This room is a favorite of many of my customers. I'd be more than happy to let you stay a night here, Don." Her eyelids lowered. "It's soundproof."

Flack's face heated, and his hands tightened into fists. He suddenly felt like somebody had torn open his chest and exposed his heart to the universe. He parked himself on the last empty seat, pointedly looking away from the others.

Gideon tipped back in her seat, arms resting on the curving armrests and calmly studying Mac and Hawkes. Flack had the sudden inclination to prostrate himself and call her Your Majesty or something alike.

"I am Gideon, owner of The Seventh Gate. Tell me your names."

"I'm Detective Mac Taylor." Mac gestured at Hawkes, who seemed to be back to his normal, composed self. "This is Detective Sheldon Hawkes, and this is Detective Don Flack, Jr."

"Hmm. Don Flack, Jr."Gideon rubbed at her chin with one finger. "You look just like your father."

Flack was speechless.

"Don't worry. I've only met him a few times outside of the club at … certain official functions. It pays to know people, after all. He's much too conservative to come to place like this, if he ever got to know about it." Gideon's face cracked into yet another grin. Her asymmetrical teeth gave her a distinctive appearance. "I can't say the same for his namesake though."

Flack was sure his face was on fire.

Gideon's facial expression turned somber.

"But, to answer your inquiry, Detective Taylor, yes, I know the man in the photographs you showed me." She tapped her fingers on one armrest. "Adam. Professor Adam Kovacs. He was a scientist working clandestinely for the government. He used to come here to … escape the torment of his life. The FBI always turned a blind eye on his extracurricular activities and tolerated his … transgenderkinks, if it meant he wouldn't run off and defect." She glanced at Mac. "He specialized in advanced nanotechnology."

Mac perked up at this; Gideon noticed the action.

"This is related to your investigation?"

Mac nodded. "You've helped to confirm some information I was given."

The door to the Velvet Room opened, and a waiter dressed in nothing but silky, black trousers, black dress shoes and a collar with a bowtie on it entered with a tray of red wine in crystal glasses. He set the glasses onto the granite block that served as a table, smiling shyly when Gideon sincerely said, "Thank you, Stuart." Then, the young man left as quickly as he came.

"The finest wine." Gideon took a sip from her glass. "For New York's finest." She appeared to have a partiality for smiling puckishly. "If I'd known the NYPD had such fine men … I'd let my club be raided every night."

"I got a question for ya." Flack was tired of being on the defensive. Time to turn the tables. "What's up with all your employees being guys only?" He thrust his chin at Samiya, who stood guard behind Gideon. "'Part from her."

Gideon puckered her lips. "Let's just say, there was a negative incident where one of my former employees became too … obsessed with me. She attempted to shank me with a plastic knife she concealed where the sun didn't shine." She smirked joylessly. "If it wasn't for my loyal Samiya, I would be buried six feet under the ground by now, so to speak. It is also why my security has been upgraded to include metal detectors and x-rays."

Samiya had a satisfied smile on her face, her chest puffed out and hands crossed in front of her. It obviously meant a great deal to the bouncer that her boss thought so highly of her.

"Most of all … there's nothing wrong with being surrounded by pretty men, is there?"

So that's why Mac's informant advised him on sending in only his male detectives for the job. Stella and Lindsay might never have made it past the security goons, much less received any attention from Gideon herself.

Out of the blue, Gideon's eyes turned steely. "Jon knew about this?"

"Yes. He's … at a precarious position," Mac said.

Gideon sighed, and frowned.

"Adam was one of my friends. He spoke often about his work. I was a shoulder to cry on when the pressures became too much for him. It was common for him to disappear for weeks at a time as his work constrained him to his labs most of the time. But still, I should have known something was wrong when he didn't contact me after what he proposed to do to himself."

"To use his nanotechnology on himself?"

Gideon lifted her eyebrows in response to Mac's question. "Yes. He intended to use to … change his gender. Sounds like something straight out of a science fiction book, doesn't it?"

"Believe me, if none of us saw the body, that is exactly what we'd have assumed too."

"A terrible ending was what I've always anticipated for him thanks to his line of work, and the people he worked for. Although I wish it could have been anything other than that." Gideon's voice was mellow with sorrow. "How did he die?"

"Our examiner was … unable to determine an exact cause of death. We found his body lying naked in the back of an alley. It was covered in a blue substance we've clarified to be the nanotechnology he created. We originally assumed the victim was a woman, from the, uhm …" - Mac was at a loss for words for a minute - "Large female parts. And lack of male genitalia. Our speculation is that it was the nanotechnology that killed him."

"Naked. Thrown like trash in the back of an alley." All three men shrank inwardly at the ire in Gideon's wide eyes and louder intonation.

Gideon covered her mouth with a hand, eyes narrowed to slits. "It wasn't a wig he was wearing in those photographs, was it? That was his real hair."

Mac nodded in verification.

"Detectives." Gideon gazed intensely at each of them. "You must understand, Adam was a perfectionist. He would never go through with any major operation unless he was as certain as possible it would be a success. When he contacted me to inform me he was ready to perform the experiment upon himself, it was proof he was sure everything would turn out fine. Not ending up dead and naked in an alley."

"So, what you're saying is … it was sabotaged." The fierceness in Hawkes' eyes was a different kind of anger; regardless of who the victim was, murder was a vicious crime. Especially when the corpse was discarded in the most humiliating way for the world to see.

"I wouldn't even blink an eye if she was the culprit," Gideon said scornfully.

"Who's she?" Flack sat forward in his seat, his wine untouched.

"Delilah. His wife. She's a nanotechnologist, like him. In fact, they worked on the same project."

Mac and Hawkes looked significantly at one another. This was the break they'd be waiting for!

Flack was on it like a rottweiler mauling a piece of meat. He leapt to his feet, slamming his hands on the granite block in front of him. "Where is she?"

Samiya paced forward at Flack's violent reaction, prepared to defend her boss against an attack. The bouncer growled menacingly, but Gideon raised a hand and halted Samiya in her path.

"Detective Taylor said this was a personal investigation." Gideon's almond eyes were compassionate as she gazed into Flack's upset blue ones. "Someone you care for deeply has been harmed by the same nanotechnology."

Flack gritted his teeth, a sudden wetness burning behind his eyes. "Tell me where she is. Now."

Gideon stared at him another moment, then asked Samiya for a pen and paper. The African woman got out a golden pen and a notepad from inside her black tuxedo jacket. Using them, Gideon wrote down an address. She handed the piece of information to Mac.

"You can find Delilah Kovacs at her penthouse there. I should warn you, the pompous bitch is a handful to deal with. I suppose all that power got to her head the moment she realized the advantage she had over her employers. What with her expertise being so atypical."

"Like Adam, the FBI will be watching over her too. However, I have a tip that might aid you and give you some time. Apparently, she's a full-blown heroin addict. Very adept at hiding it, but I have my sources that substantiates it." The Mohawked lady smirked. "One of her dealers is a sub of one of my customers. She recently restocked her stash. She conceals it in a secret compartment in the pedestal of a mermaid statue. You'll know it when you see it."

"Thank you. We really appreciate this." Mac folded the piece of paper with the address on it and slipped it into his coat pocket.

"Anything for Nuclear Jon's … friend." Gideon's eyes sparkled at Mac's flush. "There is one way you can thank me, Detective Taylor." Gideon looked back at Flack, who hadn't bothered to sit down and was seething with the drive to hunt down their suspect.

"I'd like to speak with Don. In private, if I may." Don stilled at Gideon's request.

Mac glanced at Flack. "It's up to him."

Flack bit his lip, then nodded. Samiya went to open the door.

"Do take your wine with you. Samiya will bring you back down to the bar for more, if you like. It's on the house."

Mac and Hawkes thanked her, then took a wine glass each, heading for the door. Hawkes sent Flack a sympathetic look, like the one kids at high school would whenever one of their own was about to be punished by their school principal. Mac sauntered through first, and missed seeing Samiya deftly pluck the glass out of Hawkes' hand and heave him up by the arms towards her face.

All Hawkes could think of was mouth-watering candy and sunshine and honey as the woman's full lips covered his in one profound, stunning kiss. Maybe it was the fact he was off the ground by a few inches that gave him the illusion he was floating on Cloud Nine. Or was it the wine?

"Whoa, Doc. I think she likes ya." There was laughter in Flack's voice.

Samiya let him go with a final smack of the lips, winking at him and pushing a piece of paper with a number written on it into his jacket pocket. "Mmm, Hershey Kiss, you sure live up to your nickname. Gimme a call anytime." Hawkes could only smile lopsidedly and rock dangerously on his feet. Samiya laughed, closing the door behind her.

Well, gee, at least somebody was gonna have a good time tonight.

"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."

Flack swiveled to face Gideon once more. "Yeah, so who's the spider and who's the fly?"

Gideon pouted, standing upright. "I, for one, am no aficionado of spiders. However beautiful their webs may be."

She reached into a pocket on the back of her tight trousers, giving Flack an ideal view of her bottom. Flack shamelessly stared. Oh yeah, maybe Hawkes wasn't the only guy on the team who was going to get lucky tonight.

In her hands were two rectangular pieces of black plastic with some wordings on them. She took his hand and placed them into it.

"Huh?" He studied them closely. "VIP passes?"

"Yes. Do bring your significant other with you when this case of yours is solved. I wish to meet the man who has such power over you."

Flack stammered, "M-man? What makes ya think it's a man?"

Gideon's pink lips curved into a shrewd smile. "I observed the way you were staring at those men in the body suits. As well as your reaction to Silas."

Oh, the guy with the tattooed butt. Flack's face reddened.

"You care very much about this man."

Flack avoided looking in her eyes. "Yeah. I guess. Dunno 'bout him, though. He's … like fire. Entrancin', ya just can't look away, but when ya try to get too close, ya get burnt. The worst thing is that he doesn't mean to do it, but he can't help it anyway."

"Well then, perhaps a certain handsome homicide detective just happens to be fireproof."

Flack chuckled. "Yeah, I'm one of a kind, babe."

"He's a very lucky man. I hope he knows that."

Flack smiled timidly at the remark.

Gideon touched him gently on the chest, over his heart. "Can you promise me one thing? Promise me you'll bring Adam's murderer to justice?"

Flack smiled benevolently down at the owner of The Seventh Gate, patting her hand with his giant one. "I promise I'll do everything I can."

Hell, for what happened to Danny, he was gonna make sure that bitch went down good.

***

Chapter 17

Danny sneaked past the rainbow-colored front entrance of the bar, dropping his head and shielding his face with the lapels of his latest coat. Eventhough he knew the chances of anyone in there looking out the windows would spot or recognize him were exceptionally slim, his face still turned bright red.

The Rainbow was a very fitting name for the dyke bar where he crashed and burned his despair that night.

And the dirty-blonde, shoulder blade length wig he wore should be dispelling any suspicions he was the same person who was nearly molested by that fat, nauseating jerk-off. He shivered, zipping up the coat up to the top of the collar until only his blue eyes showed.

He had whined to Flack about wanting a large, bulky coat similar to his CSI one with the excuse he was cold in Mac's hideout apartment. There was no way Danny was going to tell Flack about his jaunt into a lesbian bar, much less getting his ass rescued by the new girl in town. Flack would tease him for months. Within a half hour after his call via a secured line, Stella was there with what she said was one of Flack's smaller coats and a few … bras. Danny could barely look Stella in the eye as he took them, but she was very sweet and never once mocked him about them. Instead, she related to his neck and back aches, and insisted that he wore them for the sake of his comfort.

With hot breasts like hers, Stella was one woman whose advice he'd take any day. She was right too; he instantaneously felt much better once the pressure rescinded, the weight now supported by the black, lacy bra. The bra felt really unpredictably pleasant too, except for the tautness around his chest caused by the belts running to the back where the bra was fixed firmly by metal clips. Danny was never, ever going to treat women disrespectfully again. He was wrong all along; they had it way worse than guys.

He was tremendously grateful Mac trusted him enough to leave him on his own at the apartment, even after his drunken escapade. There was also no way in hell he was going to let anyone know he spent over forty-five minutes simply admiring the DD-cup breasts he now owned in their new brassiere. Wow, if they weren't on his own chest and on a real woman, he'd be trailing her on his hands and knees dribbling like a St. Bernard dog. He knew he wasn't the only guy who thought they were the bomb. Flack and Mac did a piss poor job of concealing their caveman ogling whenever they were around him. What the heck did women need guys for when they had fantastic body parts like breasts to play with all day?

He looked like a completely different person in the mirror. He'd given up on waiting for any of his facial or body hair to grow back. He was starting to grow fond of the smooth appearance and feeling big time anyway. At the very least, he still had hair down there. As well as his manly equipment, thank God. If those disappeared on him, he was going to go on a freaking homicidal rampage whether anyone liked it or not. His arms had slimmed; they were still toned but were more … feminine. His legs were still the same but they were always skinny in any case. His eyelashes were probably longer than an average woman's. Even his lips had become more plump.

The hair on his head finally stopped growing a day after his stay at Lindsay's apartment. He didn't want to think about that much; what he learnt there still made him bite the inside of his cheek. If he were to comb his hair straight down, it'd droop just a bit past his chin. He hoped Mac didn't mind him using the scissors or barber's shaver he found in the apartment's bathroom cupboard. He never knew Mac cut and trimmed his own hair; yet another hidden talent of his supervisor. In the morning after breakfast from Mac's stocked fridge, Danny had shaved short the hair in the back as well as the sides. He left the front long as it was, merely trimming it a little and layering it the best he could so it reached to his lips. After much testing, he decided on a side-parting style, tucking the hair on the more narrow side behind his ear while letting the hair on the wider parting fall across his face, veiling one eye. It was definitely a novel look, and he thought it suited his new physique. Combined with his silver spectacles, it lent his overall appearance an air of sophistication.

Discovering the wigs in Mac's bedroom closet was a real shocker to Danny. He spent over a half hour browsing through a huge box of them, laughing at some of the radically-colored ones. Who the heck wore a violet and yellow, curly wig with pigtails? He picked out a few wigs he thought were appropriate for outside wear; he'd need to wear them if he wished to be certain no one would distinguish him when he was out and about. He was still puzzled by the presence of the wigs, until he looked into another box and saw a whole stack of photo albums, a layer of dust coating the top one.

The upper few were all packed with photographs of Mac and his late wife Claire, a striking brunette with a kindhearted smile. He'd met her only once, when he began working for her husband. Her open affection for Mac and those around him left a lasting, positive impression on Danny. In many of the pictures, Mac and Claire were kneeling or huggling different children, smiling almost playfully into the camera and wearing some of the wigs he found. The various children were also wearing silly wigs, some with circus clown make up on their beaming faces. There was one thing all the children they were with had in common.

All of them were attired in light hospital gowns, some appearing as pale as the gowns they wore. Some were terribly emaciated and sickly, as if they were going through a grueling medical treatment their young bodies couldn't handle. Some, who weren't donning wigs, were bald. Some had nasal cannula tubes attached to oxygen tanks snaking across their faces, as well as IV drips in their skeletal wrists. Some were too weak to stand or walk and were in wheelchairs, blankets laid across their laps and legs.

In one specific picture, where Mac was wearing a bright green, shaggy wig and embracing a group of these laughing children in his arms, there was a sign above them.

The bold words, 'Children's Cancer Ward' were meticulously printed on the rectangular plaque.

Danny should have been laughing his guts out at the vision of Mac in a ridiculous wig like that, but all it did was bring stinging tears to his eyes. If he ever had any misgivings about Mac lying about genuinely caring for him, they were permanently expelled now. It seemed Danny had been erroneous about many things in regards to his boss and fellow CSI. He wasn't the pitiless, emotionless bastard people presumed he was at all.

Based on the delighted smiles of these cancer-stricken children, Mac had a bigger and more loving heart than anyone could ever have imagined.

Danny sat on the bedroom floor spending his time looking through the photographs throughout the afternoon before tenderly putting the photo albums and wigs back where they originally were. He silently pondered whether Mac still visited the children's cancer ward at that hospital after Claire's untimely passing.

Now, as the sun began to set in the distance skyline, Danny strolled aimlessly on the streets to clear his mind and get some fresh air. The wig was feeling more and more like a cap with each step, so it no longer bothered him as much. Flack's coat was just right on his shoulders, keeping him snug and warm from the dropping temperature of the evening. He pressed the collar against his nose, breathing in the natural scent permeating the woolen fabric.

Damn, Flack smelled good. Like roses and fresh apricot.

He stepped off the curb, rapt in meditation about squiggling initials within a heart into wet cement and buying Flack a pair of shoes. Where he and the tall detective could go for a couple of rounds of golf sometime, after this was all over. He couldn't help thinking Flack was trying to hint at something when he chitchatted about the initials in cement thing, during their investigation of that urban golf case. Kinda strange of the guy to jump to conclusions that people writing their initials like that would automatically end up bickering, much less get married.

Danny half-expected Flack to doodle their names in a heart on the wet cement, just for a joke's sake. He smiled sideways at the idea, ambling towards the pavement on the opposite side. That would have been amusing. He would have sliced it out and kept it to tease Flack about it then. And even if there was no teasing, it would be nice to keep it for memories.

The shocking impact of a car's bumper on his leg took his breath away. He was flung sideways onto the hood of the car as the car attempted to brake, landing hard on the unyielding metal surface then spinning off and rolling twice before lying facedown on the abrasive road. His spectacles clattered away somewhere into the distance.

"Oh my God! Are you okay!"

Danny tried to lift his head, but even that was too much of an effort over the trauma he was just subjected to. An image of Mac's concerned face materialized in his mind, followed by Flack's visage, the homicide detective's eyes round with trepidation.

I'm sorry, Danny whispered soundlessly.

His eyes fluttered close.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Flack slumped on Danny's couch alone, scowling at the television as it showed some peculiar cartoon about a talking yellow sponge who fried Krabby Patties for a living and had a fat, pink starfish for a best friend. His heavy-lidded eyes were directed at the television, but his mind was distracted by other issues. Flack's pint-sized companion on the couch next to him nudged him in the arm to encourage him to speak.

"This here apartment belongs to one of my best friends. I told ya 'bout him, remember? He's a CSI, means crime scene investigator. He's a detective like me, 'cept I work in the homicide department and at another precinct in the city." Flack took a mouthful of beer from the can he held in hand. His brain was berating him for drinking alcohol during the day, a work day. He told his brain to shut the hell up because he got to leave early so he was technically off already, so there. And it was his body too, so there.

"See, he's not like other guys, my friend Danny. He's like, like …" Flack gesticulated wildly with his free hand like a theatrical actor starring in Macbeth. "He's like, the ultimate drama queen. He whines better than a spoilt little brat with too much for his own good. One time, he drove this chef at this Italian restaurant nuts over a cold lasagna. We were out eatin' after a movie, okay? So, there we were, me with my hot ravioli and him with his cold lasagna and he demands ta see the head waiter or the chef. The chef comes over, and Danny reams him a new one over why a cold lasagna's a fuckin' crime the guy oughta be arrested for. So, get this."

The yellow sponge on television suddenly screams and runs around like a mad … yellow sponge, eyes popping out of their sockets and wailing something about bad Krabby Patties. Flack thought that complimented his story really well.

"The chef mistakes Danny for really wantin' to arrest him, and hightails it right outta the place! Whoosh! Me and Danny do the chasing cop thing, we bag him just a couple a' dozen feet outside the restaurant 'cos the perp's so fat he was already wheezin' when Danny slams him like a quarterback." Flack laughed, sipping more beer. "That was good. Danny bounced off the guy like he was a friggin' trampoline. You shoulda seen his face when he landed on his ass after that." Flack sniggered some more. "Danny was bruised in the toosh for over a week. But the thing is? Turns out Danny's drama act paid off for the NYPD. We came up with over a million dollars' worth of drugs in the perp's fridge. Guy was so anxious 'bout his stash, he couldn't even cook his food right. Heh."

Flack smiled happily for a minute then hastily returned to scowling like an old man with no teeth who could no longer eat his favorite food. "Fuck, I miss the little snarky bastard."

He bounced on the couch to face his conversation buddy. "Did I mention I haven't seen him in nearly three days? Three freakin' days?"

His companion gazed at him with round, russet eyes and made a noncommittal sound.

"Man, I can't even call him unless it's on a secured line Mac set up. God knows where the hell the guy knows these things, but whatever. Least I get ta talk to Danny once in awhile." Flack selected an undersized slice of pizza and handed it on a plate to his pal, who eagerly chewed on it. "I hate waitin'. Did I mention that too? I hate waitin' to bust that scientist broad for drug possession when we could be doin' it now. I hate knowin' Danny's out there on his own and we're stuck havin' to work on other cases too instead of putting his to the forefront. And I hate havin' to pretend like Danny's around here so the Feds'll think nothin's up."

"So, Danny calls up and says, 'Flack, I'm cold here, gimme a big coat, will ya?' I mean, geez, if Mac was gonna give him a hideaway place ta stay, ya think he'd turn on the heating too. But yeah, I got to talk to Danny and tell him the good news we're on ta somethin'. So if everythin' goes accordin' to plan, we should be havin' a nice, little chat soon with somebody who'll be able to turn Danny back to his old self." Flack's lips twisted into an abominable smirk. "And if the bitch doesn't wanna, I'll make sure she knows what it's like to be interrogated by Don fuckin' Flack, Jr."

His little chat buddy let out a high-pitched whine.

"Yeah. I know 'xactly how ya feel. I'll let ya have a go at her too, if ya want. You're way too good for her though."

Flack finished his beer and sighed, looking glum. "I don't like it, ya know, when he's left alone too much. I know him. Always gets kinda hyperactive and mad when he's got nobody 'round him for too long." Unease narrowed his blue eyes.

"I just hope he's not gonna go out against orders and get into major trouble, ya know?"

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The tarmac was icy and coarse beneath his cheek.

"Are you alright? Please say something if you're conscious."

Danny felt two strong hands on his shoulders, turning him onto his back. There was a burning soreness in his left thigh and knee, and he ached all over his body. He wasn't sure if he'd broken any bones, but it didn't feel like it; he'd be shouting his head off if he did. He felt slightly woozy too; the whole world spun around him like a sadistic merry-go-round. He wanted to get off this frickin' ride. Now.

Somebody patted him on his cheek. He moaned, twisting away. As long as he closed his eyes, he didn't feel like throwing up the contents of his stomach.

"Please, tell m-"

" … Stop shakin' me. I'm just … dizzy." He shoved the hands away, keeping his eyes closed, wincing at the sprain in his left bicep. He was going to feel that for some time.

"Thank goodness. Here, let me help you up."

The same hands grasped him under his arms and deftly lifted him to his feet. Danny groaned. All his bruises were making themselves known now. Why did this crap always happen to him? Did he have some poster stuck on his back that said, 'Potential Victim Here'?

"Do you need to go to a hospital?" That voice … it sounded familiar.

"N-no, it's okay. I just need a moment." Danny shielded his eyes with a hand, nearly tripping over when his left leg buckled. Fortunately, the other man was speedy as he was strong.

"Whoa, okay. There's a bench nearby." He led Danny to it, seating him there and then sitting next to Danny himself. "Are you hurt anywhere? You landed pretty hard on my car although I already braked."

Danny inhaled sharply, grimacing at the dull pain pulsating unabatedly in his left thigh. "Just my leg. Think I just bruised it badly."

Danny's eyes snapped open when the man tenderly squeezed his left leg. Ouch. Now that hurt.

"Sorry. Just checking to see how bad it was. You're right, it's only bruised."

He felt something being placed into his hand. It was his spectacles.

"T-thanks." Danny put them on.

"I regret to tell you your, uhm, wig is now crushed under one of the front wheels of my car." The man chuckled. "However, I don't know why you're wearing one. You have lovely hair."

Danny swore he knew that voice. He stared down at his chest and realized his coat had by some means unzipped during the accident. Anyone who looked at him now would have one amazing view of his cleavage.

Including the guy who'd knocked him down and then helped him.

Oh shit! He had to get away!

"I-I'm sorry, I have to go." He lurched to his feet and hobbled away as swiftly as he could. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap …

"Wait! Please!" He felt a hand clutch him not unkindly by the arm. Okay, as mortifying as it was, this was one of those situations where he wasn't going to think twice about screaming like a woman.

He pivoted to face the guy headlong, his mouth falling open to shriek as loudly as he could.

And any sound that emanated at all died into a pathetic croak at the now identified face.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you. I'm a police officer, see?" The man had taken out his wallet, displaying his NYPD badge. "I head the Internal Affairs Bureau."

He flashed a huge grin at Danny. "Chief Hillborne. But you can call me Neville."

"I … I-I-I … I-"

Oh. Fuck. He was fucking DOOMED.

"Won't you at least tell me your name?"

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Okay, this is how it's been so far." Flack was consuming his fourth can of beer. His jacket was flung somewhere behind the couch, and his shirt was opened wide at the collar. His striped tie was askew. His blue eyes were half-open, giving him a sleepy, inebriated look. He sprawled indolently on the long furniture, his pizza-eating buddy now lying on top of him, examining him with big brown eyes.

"I'm the one who's always makin' the first move, see? First word, first touch, first whatever. And he's always the one who gets to think out his move 'cos I'm the one who hasta figure out whaddahell he's thinkin'. I say, 'Hey Danny, whaddaya think a' my new suit?' and he says, 'I dunno, Flack, ya ever thought 'bout gettin' yer eyes checked?' Budda-budda-budda-ching! See, it's like this game we play. We tease each other 'til one a' us breaks down and laughs."

Flack sloppily takes a swig from the beer can. "Geez, it's tough ta make the guy laugh … but when he does, it's like the Eighth Wonder of the World. And I get ta see it all for myself." He frowned suddenly. "Ya know what I heard, pal? I heard from Mac that Danny stayed over at Monroe's place. Ya know that? Slept at her place. He's never crashed at mine. Ever." His frown intensified. "What's she got that I don't? Hahnn? Some country hick, comin' over here like she thinks she owns the place, like everybody's gonna forget Aiden so easy. Hmphh. I miss Aiden too. I could always talk ta her 'bout Danny." Flack wiped at his mouth.

"Yeahyeah, she's replacing Aiden, but it'll be fuck all 'fore she replaces me. I ain't so easy to be kicked outta the competition, if ya get what I mean. Danny and I, we got somethin' special goin' on. It's been there since we first met over five years ago, ya know that?" Flack huffed, closing his eyes in resignation. "Least I know there's somethin' special I feel for him."

Flack's tiny companion whined again and laid his head on Flack's chest.

"Aww, it's not you I'm mad at, Einstein." Flack affectionately scratched Mrs. Penrose's pet Corgi between his cute, triangular ears. Einstein stuck out his tongue and panted in enjoyment at the head scratch. "Danny likes ya too much anyway."

"Einstein? Eiiiinsteeeeeeeeein! Where are you? It's dinner time!"

Lying on the couch, Flack grimaced. Einstein raised his head and woofed at Flack.

"Whoops. Guess I shouldn't have fed ya all that pizza and beer, huh?"

Cuddling the Corgi, he got to his feet swiftly albeit a little unsteadily. He opened Danny's apartment door to see Mrs. Penrose in a flowery dress and sandals with her wooden cane, about to yell for her pet dog again.

"Einstein! There you aaareeee."

Flack smiled at the petite old lady, placing the adorable dog onto the floor. Einstein scampered up to his owner, licking her hands and barking with enthusiasm.

"I, uh, I kinda fed him already, Mrs. Penrose. Sorry 'bout that."

"Oh, of course it's fine, Donny." Mrs. Penrose glanced up at him. "Is everything alright with you and Daniel?"

Flack made an ambiguous face. "Well, uhm, yeah, everything's fine. Danny's, uh, just gone on a short holiday. Wanted me to look after things here." His lower face split into what he hoped was a benign grin.

Mrs. Penrose old, kind eyes oddly reminded Flack of Gideon's. "Ah, I see. No wonder I haven't seen him in a while. He deserves a holiday once in a while. That boy works too hard sometimes."

They watched Einstein scurry into Mrs. Penrose's apartment on his stubbly legs.

"Don. You can talk to me. Anytime."

Flack was pissed off at himself for feeling like he wanted to bawl.

"Thanks, Mrs. Penrose. It's just … difficult. I can deal with it. But I'll keep yer offer in mind."

Mrs. Penrose smiled at him, and then returned to her apartment. He went back inside Danny's, closing the door. He slid down it, kneeling at its base.

In the privacy of the empty apartment, Flack silently sobbed to the soundtrack of the cartoon's ending credits.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"You do have a name, right?"

Danny was so petrified he couldn't even breathe.

"D - D … Dan- …" He suddenly recalled the name that bartender Gertrude at The Rainbow had dubbed him. "Danielle."

"Danielle." Hillborne was still smiling. "That's a beautiful name."

Danny wanted to laugh hysterically. This was the guy who humiliated him when he tried to clear his name over the Minhaus subway shooting. The guy who bestowed him with one of the lowest, sorrowful days of his entire existence. Yet, here he was, the chief of IAB, hitting on him.

And the dumbass. Didn't. Recognize him.

"I really am sorry about the accident, Danielle. I hope you'll forgive me. It was entirely my fault. I should have been more cautious when driving. Please, let me take you out to dinner. To make up for it."

Danny's brain broke into a thousand pieces. A muscle twitched uncontrollably in his forehead.

"I just made reservations at Nobu this coming Friday, at eight in the evening. I was intending to dine alone, but since we're here …" Hillborne's eyes were pleading pitiably for a encouraging answer. "Do you like Japanese cuisine? I'd love to take you there for a good meal. My treat, of course."

Danny was certain his skull was now simply a vacant cavern where the IAB chief's remark of Nobu and Japanese cuisine ricocheted over and over. Nobu, on Hudson street. One of the most opulent, star-studded Japanese restaurants in the whole of New York city.

Hillborne tugged a card from inside his wallet. "Here's my number. I can pick you up from your place … if that's what you like."

What Danny would like was to run far, far away and hibernate in a cave for a decade. Or maybe a century.

But his lips parted to say, "I'll meet ya there."

Hillborne's mien was lit by a humongous grin. He appeared that close to leaping into the air and clicking his heels. "That's … that's great! I'll see you there then. Take care!" The man strutted back to his car, a polished, black Mercedes Benz S320 model car.

Geez, he was walloped by that? Danny was amazed he wasn't squished pancake on the road.

Danny stood like a scarecrow as he stared uncomprehendingly at Hillborne waving at him, the chief's name card flapping between his fingers. The black sedan veered around the corner and departed from view.

Oh. My. God.

What in Hades had he just done!

***

Chapter 18

Stella's blazing eyes were ultra green in the brilliance of the sunlight that sifted through the slits in the blinds.

"Hmm, what do you think, Flack? Think our illustrious member of society here is innocent?"

Flack half-sat on the sole table in the room, glaring down with murderous eyes at the tanned, blonde woman clothed in an expensive, red Chanel suit.

"I dunno, Stella." Flack's voice was remarkably cool in contrast to the ferocity in his blue eyes. "Kinda hard to believe that, ya know? What 'bout the five kilos of heroin we found at her apartment, ah?"

The wife of the late Professor Adam Kovacs was seated with her back facing the screened windows, but her runny nose and watery eyes were plain for both detectives to see. Even though her makeup was scrupulously done, it wasn't good enough to cover up the dark bags beneath her eyes.

"Would you like some tissue paper, Mrs. Kovacs? Perhaps I can get a fellow officer to buy ya some herbal chicken soup from one of your posh restaurants." Flack towered over her, one hand on the back of her chair and the other flat on the table. He shoved his face next to hers, the sunlight casting one side of his face into the shadows. "I mean, I'm sure all ya have is the flu. A respectable, qualified professional like yourself couldn't possibly be a heroin addict."

The trio were in one of the interrogation rooms at Flack's precinct. It happened to be his favorite one too; he'd busted many perps in this very room. The last one, a retired local wrestler, ended up sniveling like a baby. After all the crap he had to go through to get this woman onto his home turf for grilling, he was gonna wring her for everything she had.

"You can't do a thing to me." Delilah Kovacs was the mainstream pretty, blonde and filthy rich woman in the big city, enclosed with a nasty fake tan that caused her to look more like an orange than anything else. She looked liked a Barbie doll come alive. Gideon had been thoroughly accurate in her description of the nanotechnologist. She was an utterly snobbish bitch who was unmoved by Flack's bullying tactics and peered down her noses at them both as if they were lower than dirt.

Flack noted that there wasn't a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, nor was there a paler circle around that finger that indicated she'd recently worn one.

"Do you know who I am? I'm the government's most prized scientist." The blonde woman ignored Flack and glowered blatantly at Stella, who sat opposite her with her fingers steepled on the table. "Without me, they'd be on their knees. The FBI will be here any minute now to deal with this stupidity and release me." Correction. She wasn't just snobbish. She was egotistical beyond belief.

"Oh, yeah, most prized scientist." Stella smirked mirthlessly. "Bet you only got that title after you killed your husband."

Flack sneered at the tremor in the woman's hands.

"Adam? I haven't seen him in weeks. I don't know what you're talking about."

Stella merely gazed at Delilah with a calm expression. "Gee, Flack. She sure is upset at his demise, isn't she?"

"Yeah. She's cryin' rivers of tears." Flack remained in her personal space, eyes wide with impatience. "Loves him so much she couldn't give a damn where her beloved hubby was for the last few weeks."

"Mrs. Kovacs, allow me to enlighten you on your husband's situation. We discovered his naked corpse lying in an alley. In fact, we weren't even sure if it was your husband, because his genitals were missing and he'd grown G-cup breasts. Oh, and here's the most interesting part of it all." Stella leaned forward slowly. "His body was covered in a neon-blue substance we've identified as the oh-so-secret nanotechnology only you and your late husband had the skills to work on. Hmmm, extreme body transformations and advanced nanotechnology and one dead man turned woman. How do they connect to each other?"

Delilah's pastel blue eyes were filled with disbelief and consternation. "How … h-how do you know all this! No one outside the project is supposed to know! No one!"

"You have your sources. We have ours." Flack smiled like a cobra snake.

Stella went in for the kill. "You murdered Adam, Delilah. Chucked his body like rubbish so everyone could see what a freak he was."

The blood drained from Delilah's visage, leaving her pale and drawn. Her teeth bared in antipathy. "You don't know what it's like to live with a - a sick thing like him." Her voice began to escalate in volume. "Do you know how shameful it is to have a husband who - who dresses in women's clothes! Who wants to be a woman! HE HUMILIATED ME!"

Delilah's frenzied admission resonated in the room.

"Whassamatter, Mrs. Kovacs? Jealous 'cos he got prettier than you? 'Cos he got bigger boobs than you? Killed him off 'cos ya didn't want him ta get the limelight for being the hottest scientist 'round too?" Flack was in total asshole mode now.

"Yes, I killed him. I killed him, and I'm glad he's dead." The nanotechnologist resembled a rabid Chihuahua when she was mad. "He thought he could just escape and use our creation for his perverted kinks. Well, I showed him who the real expert was, didn't I? Wanted a woman's body, did he? I gave him what he wanted."

"You sabotaged his experiment."

"Oh, yes. Fucking perfectionist. Calculated everything to a tee. All I had to do was reprogram one phase to put him down for good. He was too weak from the new computations to move, so I watched him thirst and starve to death. And since he desired it so much for the world to see him as woman … I gave him that too, didn't I?" Delilah smiled primly. Flack wanted to whack it off her face. Many, many times.

Stella could merely shake her head. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe all he wanted was someone to love him? But of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? You're too busy loving yourself."

"You can't do anything to me." Delilah tucked her long hair behind her ears, snubbing Stella's last statement. "I'm too precious to the FBI to be imprisoned. Look at the lengths they went to keep Adam in their service. Letting him go to that disgusting club. Letting him parade around in women's underwear. Look at the lengths they've gone to keep me in their employment. They know about my taste for heroin, and they've turned a blind eye to it all this time. You've got nothing on me."

"Ohh, I don't know." Stella took a brown folder from her lap and chucked it on to the table in front of the nanotechnologist. "I'm thinking we do."

Flack grinned pitilessly. Delilah froze.

"You seem the kind of woman who … values her reputation a lot. You did murder Adam to keep it. You admitted it yourself." Stella flipped open the folder, revealing two color photographs. "The way I'm seeing the whole scenario, the only reason you married Adam in the first place was because he was just a means to get to the top, wasn't he? Bet you thought he was just some boring, old scientist, but he wasn't. Oh, instead he was everything that was capable of destroying your status for a long, long time."

Stella held up the first picture. It was a head shot of Adam in his transformed state, on the autopsy table. "Yeah, the FBI may be covering your ass and letting you suck up drugs and all kinds of crap for your expertise. But they're only human too. They can make mistakes. You're a smart girl, Delilah. Tell me, how are your peers going to feel about finding out what Adam was like? How are they going to feel knowing his dear, wonderful wife killed him and watched him suffer before he died? I bet they don't even know about your heroin addiction, do they?"

Stella glanced at Flack, who looked back at her with an identical smirk on his face. "Them being such … esteemed, indispensable members of society. Please, do tell us."

"Y- … you're blackmailing me."

"We prefer ta call it persuasive co-operation," Flack said gleefully.

Delilah choked in her horror, grasping her throat with one hand.

"However." Stella slammed the photograph down onto the folder. "We're in a good mood today. We'll consider letting you off the hook if …" She tapped her fingers on the table.

"You tell us how to reverse the transformation process your nanotechnology caused."

Delilah was stock still in her seat for a few minutes, then angled her head. "Why do you need to know that?" She narrowed her eyes in distrust. "Adam's already dead."

Flack grinded his teeth as understanding dawned on the woman.

"Someone else was changed by it. Someone you know." The nanotechnologist laughed cruelly. "And you actually think I'm going to help you? I hope this person dies too."

Flack lost control of his body.

"Flack! NO!"

Flack felt frantic hands over his, trying their damnest to pry them off the thin neck of the woman he was strangulating to death. His whole vision was pure white. All he saw in his mind was an ashen Danny laid on the unbending, angular steel of the CSI labs' autopsy table, dead blue eyes staring at the ceiling. From a distance, he heard the guttural voice of a frenzied man roaring wordlessly.

"Flack! Let her GO!"

One of Stella's arm wrapped itself around his neck, stifling him. Flack started to cough. His hands constricted even more. Delilah's face was turning as blue as her eyes, her jaw sagging as she attempted to breathe in vain. A scratchy noise emitted from her throat. A forceful punch into his kidney triggered his eyes into tearing up, but his hands were indefatigable in their mission to crush the flesh in them to a bleeding pulp. He couldn't let go. Wouldn't let go.

ShehadtohelpDannyshehadtohelphim … nononono -

"What the hell is going on here!"

The pressure on his neck vanished. Two gigantic hands clamped over his wrists.

The overwhelming agony when the bones in his wrists crackled caused him to cry out.

In a flash, Flack was smashed on his back onto the table, bent over at an awkward angle by the hands still binding his wrists. Through moist eyes, he stared into the lidded, silver eyes of a gargantuan man. He hadn't felt this feeble in a long time.

"Detective Bonasera! I demand to know what is going on!"

Flack closed his eyes at Chief Hillborne's enraged words. Deep inside him, he felt something wither away. His body fell limp. His hurting wrists were freed.

"Chief Hillborne, we were just interrogating a potential suspect -"

"He tried to kill me! The bastard tried to KILL ME!" Mrs. Kovacs' voice rang shrill with rage. "I want him FIRED! NOW!"

Flack opened his eyes again to see the same colossal man gazing down at him. The man's hard, lined face was void of expression, but within the silver eyes was something very close to sympathy. Flack reclined where he was, brushing one hand over his forehead and eyes. His mother used to warn him about keeping his temper in rein, that someday, he was going to regret not doing so.

He wished with all his heart he had the ability to turn back the clock.

But life was a bitch like Delilah Kovacs. It never gave you what you wanted.

"Detective Flack."

Time to face the firing squad. Flack rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. He straightened out his jacket and tie before he stood and faced Chief Hillborne and the others.

Hillborne's scowl contorted his face into a furious mask.

"Give me your gun and badge."

Behind Chief Hillborne, Stella gasped aloud.

"In just this past year alone, I've had over eleven complaints about Detective Taylor's misbehaving subordinates. Three of them were for Detective Bonasera here. Six of them were in regards Detective Messer … and two were about you." He pointed crudely with his forefinger at Flack's chest. "I don't care who your father is, and I don't care whether he's a damn New York legend or not. You're not going to use your name to get off easy anymore."

One hand thrust forward with the palm upwards.

"For what the hell you've just done here, I'm putting you under internal investigation to review your suitability to be a police officer. Until it's over, you're suspended. Now give me your gun and badge."

There was no sound in the room except for Delilah's harsh breathing. The nanotechnologist had a vindictive smile on her thin lips. Stella looked extremely pale in the sunlight. The giant who held him down stood quietly in the corner of the room, coolly observing the scene.

Gradually, Flack's features twisted into a scowl more severe than Hillborne's. He wrenched out his gun from its holster and hurled it, along with his NYPD badge, onto the table top before him.

"For your information, Chief Hillborne, I've never abused my name to achieve anythin' in life. I reached where I am today on my own power, not my father's. I abhor the fact you assumed I took advantage of my name to earn my status as a detective. And yeah," Flack glared at Delilah Kovacs with icy, blue eyes. "That broad there should be the one who's investigated. She stashed heroin in her apartment and murdered her husband and confessed it to both Detective Bonasera and me. If I were you, Chief Hillborne, I'd set my priorities straight."

Hillborne took Flack's gun and badge, sweeping away Flack's authority with one broad stroke of a hand on the table.

"Go home now."

Flack shifted his glare onto the colossal guy in the custom-made suit and macintosh. His guts told him the guy was a Fed. His wrists were still aching.

"How much they payin' ya, Chief?"

Hillborne was livid. "Go home now. Before you get fired."

Flack ignored him, directing his lethal gaze at Delilah.

"You can try and run as far and fast as ya can, but I'll find you. I found you once. I'll do it again."

Delilah shriveled visibly at his declaration.

Flack roughly shouldered his way past Hillborne, hearing Stella's concerned, "Flack …" but not responding to it. He thumped the semi-open door with his foot so hard he cracked it. He stormed down the hallway to the entrance of the precinct building, his curious work colleagues wisely clearing a way for him to leave.

He stood on the steps of the precinct entrance for some time. The chilly air outside served to only make him feel colder, inside and out.

He needed to feel warm again. He needed to be with the one thing in the world that grounded him like nothing else could.

He stomped to his car, already reflecting on how he was going to break the news to Danny.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

AD Jon Turgis watched the tall homicide detective stamp to the interrogation room door, ramming shoulders with Chief Hillborne along the way. Heh, so this was Don Flack's boy. He was every bit the hot-tempered, proud man his old man was. Even had the pretty looks down pat.

His partner, the gorgeous Detective Bonasera, tried to reach out to him by calling his name but it was a futile effort. Jon inwardly tsked. He couldn't blame the guy for being so pissed off. After all, he was just stripped of his badge and gun and was literally told to his face he was a pansy who was respected only because of his dad.

The blonde broad was now sinking her fangs into her next victim, figuratively speaking.

"She should be suspended too! They were working together!"

Geez, just five minutes in the room with her and Jon felt like choking her himself. How the hell did that poor bastard Adam ever stand being her husband?

"Now, now, everything's settled. No need to stir up more trouble." He placed a single hand on her shoulder, effectively shutting her up. Oh sure, she put on a bravado act with everyone else, but he knew she was scared shitless of him. Heck, even the torture masters back in the Middle East were scared shitless of him. He made sure it stayed that way.

And the ditzy bitch already caused enough crap for Maclaren and his people. He definitely wasn't going to let her ruin this hot Greek babe's life too.

"Agent Turgis, I apologize for what happened." Hillborne was such a suck up. "Detective Bonasera, I suggest you return to your labs immediately. Don't think you've gotten away easy. I'll be questioning you later."

The female detective shot daggers at the chief with her fiery eyes. If she shoved her third fingers at Hillborne's face and told him to fuck off, he was gonna have to kneel and propose to her right then and there. And this was coming from a guy who went batshit crazy at the mere mention of the word marriage.

Her glare was extra strong on him, but he could care less. Jon grinned back at her. She really was a beautiful creature. Maclaren was a friggin' idiot for not being with her yet.

"I remember you." She looked very pretty when she was infuriated.

"Heh. I sure hope ya do. I remember you. The Shrieking Greek Goddess." His grin widened at her expression of indignation. His heart, or what he thought was left of it, skipped a beat at her rude gesture with her middle finger at him. Hot damn, was this woman trying to kill him or what?

"Detective Bonasera!"

The Greek detective stormed out of the room without another word.

Hillborne was spluttering like a dolt.

"Ah, forget it. She's pissed off. Who wouldn't be?"

"Yes. Yes, as I said, I apologized for everything. Please, allow me to accommodate Mrs. Kovacs at another location until the investigation is over. For her safety."

Jon mulled over this for a second. "One a' them witness protection houses, eh?"

"Yes, and I'll make sure it's stocked with whatever Mrs. Kovacs wants. Your agents will have plenty of space too."

'On your dime, huh? Fine. Gimme the address later and you can talk to Mrs. Kovacs here about her requests."

He headed for the door, intent on searching for the young homicide detective. He snickered under his breath when he heard the blonde broad begin her rant about her specialized food and drinks. Dumbass didn't have a clue what he'd just gotten himself into.

He felt alarmed eyes on him as he plodded evenly for the police station's lobby and entry. Heh, it felt good to know he terrified even New York's finest. He wasn't so certain about terrifying Don Flack, Jr., however. That kid might appear like a pretty boy on the outside, but if he was anything worse than his old man, he wasn't somebody to be underestimated.

He caught sight of the young cop already at the driver's door of his car. In a mere dozen steps, he stood side by side with the guy. Flack was apparently daydreaming about something because it took him a whole minute to realize he was there. Flack jumped at his sudden presence, then made a acquiescent face. The detective sighed.

"Whaddayawant? Come 'ere to finish the job on my wrists?"

"Nah, I'm not into pretty boys. But ya mighta hit a close mark with the wrist thing."

Flack jumped again at his reply. Huh, was that lust he saw in those big blue eyes? Looks like Maclaren wasn't the only kinky guy in his team, in any case.

"So, whaddayawant?"

"Just to tell ya, don't give up."

The young man stared uncomprehendingly at him. Okay, he couldn't fault the guy for not understanding either. Jon decided to take a wild swing at things.

"C'mon, kid, do I hafta go nuclear on ya 'fore ya get it?"

Flack's jaw dropped. The guy had nice teeth. " … You're Nuclear Jon," he murmured.

"Well, hell." Jon's voice dwindled to a dramatic whisper. "It's anything better than the Screaming Mac Attack."

It seemed out the young detective had one heck of a laugh too. It rang clear on the streets.

"I don't get it." Flack appeared confused, the animosity gone from his eyes. "Y-you're the one who took away all our evidence and stuff. Even if you're Mac's pal, why are you helpin' us?'

"'Cos I've seen enough fucked up crap to last a lifetime. Sometimes a man just hasta do somethin' when he sees bad things goin' down." Jon glanced surreptitiously from side to side, studying the people and environment around them. It was already late in the afternoon, and the day was overcast. There was barely anyone on the streets, nor was there anyone in suspicious cars he could see. "I've been studyin' you and your friends too. You guys've got what it takes ta get yer friend back to his normal self. And maybe even expose this insanity 'fore it's used ta hurt people. But like I told Maclaren, it won't be easy."

"I know I'm under surveillance now too, but I'm gonna try and help out best I can anyway. So, don't quit just yet, pretty boy. It ain't over till the big-breasted man loses his fat. Tell Maclaren I'll be seein' him sometime." Jon winked at Flack, and walked off back into the police station.

He felt the young detective's eyes on him all the way until he closed the precinct entrance doors behind him.

***

Chapter 19

"You. Got. Suspended."

Flack had his head bowed low, fingers intertwined in his cropped hair.

"You. Got Suspended."

Flack winced. "I'm sorry, Danny. I fucked up bad."

They sat next to each other on the black sofa, looking towards a glass display of Chinese antiques that included miniature kettles and cups, small porcelain vases and what looked like a row of mini terracotta soldiers standing at attention on the bottom shelf. Danny made a mental note to ask Mac about those sometime. Who'd have figured Mac had a fascination with Chinese culture too?

"Don." He squeezed the back of Flack's rigid neck affectionately. Whoa, the guy was tense. "What happened?"

Flack kept his eyes glued to the carpeted floor. "Stella and I, we had her in our hands. Told her straight what we were capable of doin' to her unless she helped us. Thought it was enough to get her on our side." Flack's hands scrunched into fists in his hair. "We were wrong. She was the most foul bitch I ever met. She figured out what was goin' on. Said she hoped you -"

Flack kicked aggressively at the floor. "I tried ta kill her. Hillborne saw the whole thing and suspended me. Took my gun and badge. Fucker."

Danny moved his hand onto Flack's lowered head, stroking what was left uncovered by the other man's own hands. Flack was hurting himself by grabbing his hair like that.

"C'mon, leggo. You're hurtin' yerself." Danny gently pried open Flack's stiff fingers one by one until Flack finally stopped trying to pull out all his hair by the roots. Danny stayed hushed when Flack took his hand in both of his and repeatedly rubbed his thumbs over the knuckles. It felt kinda nice.

"My old man called me up a half hour after the whole fuck up and screwed me up on the phone all the way here. So now I don't hafta go back to work. Hillborne and the Feds probably have that scientist bitch locked up somewhere I'll never know, and we're at a dead end. Again." Flack's voice was raspy. "I fucked up bad."

Danny had no idea what to say. His best friend had gotten a black mark in his formerly impeccable records thanks to him. He felt crappier than he did on that subway shooting day. At least at that time, he was the only one who was in near deep shit. Danny bit his lip.

Flack continued to massage his hand, as if it was the only thing keeping him sane. "I met Mac's informant. You wouldn't believe who the hell it is. But there's only so much he can do for us too."

Flack's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Danny," he apologized once more. "It's my fault."

Danny felt a prickly wetness behind his eyes. "What are ya talkin' 'bout? It's my fault you ended up doin' what ya did. You got suspended 'cos of me."

"I don't give a flying fuck 'bout my job! Only reason I ever went into the academy was because my old man forced me to. Wants his only boy to be a great cop like him. I hate it."

Danny was taken aback at Flack's vicious confession. He sealed his fingers over Flack's, turning the clasp into a close-fitting handhold. His mouth opened to reply.

The doorbell of the apartment chimed.

Flack wouldn't release his hand. Part of Danny didn't want him to either, but he had to go see who it was at the door. He looked at his friend's disheveled and exhausted appearance. Flack was in no condition to do so.

"Don. I gotta go see who's at the door. Maybe it's Mac." He tugged softly at his held hand. Flack only let go when the doorbell rang a second time, fingers touching until Danny walked too far away for contact.

Danny peeked through the peephole. Lindsay, Stella and Hawkes stood on the opposite side of the door, waiting to be let in. Danny glanced back with a relieved smile. "It's the guys."

Flack didn't answer. His mauve jacket was haphazardly thrown on the back of the sofa. He'd yanked off his tie the moment Danny let him into the apartment; it lay on top of the jacket. His white dress shirt was open wide at the collar, revealing the top of muscular pectorals. If it weren't for the dark circles around Flack's big cerulean eyes or the downturn of his pink lips, Danny would have earnestly commented on how nice the guy looked without a jacket on and his shirt opened like that.

Danny unlatched the door and stepped back as his three co-workers entered. The two women smiled warmly at him, but Hawkes couldn't stop an audible gasp from escaping. Danny's face heated, and he folded his arms over his chest on impulse, eluding Hawkes' brown eyes. He felt naked eventhough he was wearing a long-sleeved, black v-neck sweater that was much more loose than his usual tops. It'd only hit him as he swung the door open that this was the first time since the hospital visit that Hawkes had seen him in person.

Stella greeted him and gave him a hug. The woman would probably beat the crap out of him if she knew, but Danny always thought of her as a marvelous mother figure. His own mother had never been there for him much. Stella appeared more fatigued and wan than usual.

"Flack?" she asked in muted tones.

Danny nodded. "He's … not holdin' up too good."

Stella peered past his shoulder and caught sight of Flack on the sofa. Her lips thinned into a worried line. "I'll go talk to him."

Lindsay was next in line to hug him. He presumed it was going to be really unnerving seeing her again after their illuminating conversation at her apartment. He was glad to be proven wrong.

"Hey, Danny." Her affable, genuine smile brought a smile out of him too. She lifted up a full, white plastic bag with a red dragon logo on the side. "Got enough Chinese takeout for everyone." She shook the bag mischievously at him. Ah, well, even the new girl knew about his weakness for Chinese food now.

Danny was suddenly struck with the necessity to make an apology to her. "Lindsay." She gazed attentively at him. "I'm sorry 'bout the way I acted that morning. It was just … shocking, ya know? I needed some time to process all that."

"It's okay, I know." Lindsay squeezed his arm with a grin. "You still have the armadillo plushie? You can keep it. She insists."

Danny's face warmed again. He was beginning to sense Hawkes' stare on him too. He was pretty certain he knew where those kind, brown eyes were settled on. Lindsay headed for the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

"Hey, Doc."

Hawkes glanced up with a start. Danny grinned broadly.

"I'm up here." Hawkes turned bright red.

"I-I'm sorry, Danny," Hawkes stammered. "I'm, uhm … well, I -" Man, the Doc was lovable when he was flustered.

"It's okay, Doc. A real bombshell, I know."

Hawkes' eyes inescapably wandered downwards again. "Bombshell for sure," he muttered in a preoccupied manner.

Oh hoh. Danny was getting the drift why so many women in the world craved big boobs. He had to admit it. It gave him a kick sorta like inhaling on a cigarette, back when he used to smoke. It was bad for you, but it was a feeling you just couldn't stop hungering for.

"Yeah, well, it ain't as fun as it looks, 'kay? They're freakin' awful on my back and neck."

Hawkes coughed. "Yes, uh … yes, big … breasts will do that." The blushing ME scratched at his head for a few moments, then looked up once more and smiled. "I'm happy to see you're alright though."

Okay, that went better than Danny expected. He'd taken for granted the Doc was going to totally flip out on him and scream his head off or faint or something. He had to give Hawkes credit for reacting much better than Flack or Mac or even Stella did.

"I'm okay. Bored like fuck, but I'm okay." Danny's expression became crestfallen. "I can't say the same for Flack. You know?"

Hawkes grimaced. The Doc was one of those guys who could wear a red turtleneck top and pull it off with class. "Yeah, Stella told me and Lindsay about it. IAB's going to give us a hard time for a while. Not that they haven't before."

The two men ambled into the living area. Stella sat close beside Flack, one arm around the homicide detective's shoulders and speaking mellifluously to him. Whatever she was saying was helping the guy to relax little by little, and Danny was grateful for it.

Lindsay turned up at Danny's side, gaining Hawkes' and his attention. "If you guys are hungry, the food's ready."

Right on time, Danny's tummy decided to make itself heard. Danny grimaced sideways at the wild growl emitting from his stomach. Hawkes chuckled while Stella lifted both eyebrows and spectacularly slanted away from Danny.

"Whoa, Danny, what do you grow in that belly of yours? Tigers?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Ha. Ha. I didn't eat anythin' since this morning, 'kay?"

"Well, let's chow then." Stella stood up and patted Flack on one shoulder. "C'mon, Flack, some hot food'll do you good."

Lindsay smiled at Danny. She flicked at the hair partially veiling his eye and spectacles. "Like the new haircut. Anyone ever told you you could have been a hairdresser?"

Danny laughed. "That's funny, Lindsay, 'cos my Pop used to tell me that all the time. He thought it was a job I could go for if I didn't make it as a baseball player." He shrugged.

With his back turned towards Flack, Danny failed to notice the deepening scowl on Flack's face, or his clenched fists, as he watched Danny and Lindsay conversing together.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"So. Where do we go from here, ladies and gentlemen?"

Hawkes' inquiry was met with a bout of silence at the round kitchen table. Danny still had his mouth full from the last piece of siew mai, and he gulped it down with some tea. Lindsay had a timid smile on her lips, tapping her fingers randomly on the table top. Stella wiped her mouth with a piece of tissue paper. Flack slouched in his seat, playing with his fried noodles with a fork, glowering at nothing in particular.

"I don't know." Stella's answer was mirrored on everyone's faces, especially Danny's.

Danny played idly with the chopsticks in his hands. "Where's Mac?"

" … He's with Hillborne." Stella glanced furtively at Flack who sat opposite her. "He was adamant on seeing Mac as soon as possible for the … internal investigation."

Flack made an aggravated face. The silence lengthened.

"I went back to Flack's precinct again later this afternoon." Flack raised his head at Stella's remark. "Guess who I met there? Detective Vicaro."

Danny cackled. "Oh, I remember him. He had the hots for Aiden. She was waaay outta his league."

Lindsay lifted an eyebrow, smirking minutely.

Stella also smirked, although hers was of a much more sardonic sort. "I suppose I should be grateful he's not covert about showing how he feels towards female police officers." She huffed. "He heard through the grapevine that Hillborne and the Feds are working together on housing and shielding a potential witness. Three guesses as to who the witness is."

"So IAB's in on the whole mess too?" Lindsay asked.

"Hillborne is, as far as the gossip goes. He is the chief."

"In other word, the only way we'll find out where they're keeping Delilah Kovacs is either through the FBI … or Hillborne." Hawkes looked like he wanted to punch someone.

Stella finished her tea. "Looks like it."

"Wonderful," Hawkes said derisively, pinching at the flesh between his eyes.

Flack started to stab brutally at the mangled remnants of his noodles.

Danny was restless, squirming in his seat. An idea was forming in his brain … a really, really fucked up one. But right now, it was all they had.

"I have an plan."

Everyone shifted their gazes on him.

"Just - just hear me out first, okay? No interrupting." Danny cleared his throat. Ohh, he had a gut feeling some people were gonna be pissed off with him when he was through. He took care not to look directly at Flack.

"I, uh … yesterday, I went out for a walk." Danny held up his hands defensively at the cross expressions on their faces. "It was just a walk! I didn't go drinkin' myself drunk again or anythin', really! Lemme finish." He rambled on before anyone could say a word.

"Okay, I went out for a walk, to get some fresh air … and I dunno, I guess I wasn't lookin' 'round properly and this car … kinda … ran me over."

"What?" Flack was quite scary when he was mad.

"Luckily, I wasn't hurt 'cept for a bruised left leg. And … some bruises here and there." Danny avoided Flack's irate stare. "The thing is … the guy drivin' the car was - was Hillborne."

Both women gasped noisily. Hawkes could catch a hundred flies with his gaping mouth.

"WHAT?" Oh yeah, Flack was fuming mad.

"And - and … he felt so guilty … h - he asked me out. To dinner." Danny grimaced, pressing his eyes shut. "At Nobu," he concluded with a very small voice.

The terrible silence in wake of his explanation was so thick it could be carved with a sword.

"That. Sonofabitch. Ran you over. And asked you. Out on a. Fuckin'. DATE."

Danny kept his eyes squeezed close. He didn't dare to open them and see the accusation in Flack's clear blue eyes. "Yeah."

"Oh my GOD, what did you say!" Stella's voice was so shrill she sounded like a chipmunk.

Danny winced. "I - I told him … I was gonna meet him there." Danny opened his eyes into slits.

Stella was going to give Hawkes a run for his money with her gaping mouth. Lindsay, on the other hand, had both hands clamped across her mouth, eyes wide with astonishment. Flack was so angry, all the blood was gone from his face. Danny felt like evaporating into thin air at the sharp anguish in those blue eyes.

"Oh, that's just greaaaaaaat." Flack shoved his seat backwards, toppling it onto its side. "First Mac, then Monroe. And now, fuckin' Hillborne." Flack's face warped into a visage of torment. "Everybody gets a piece a' ya, don't they, Messer?"

Danny felt something fracture within him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"I give everythin', and ya just take! And these people don't even give ya anythin', and yet you just throw yerself on them like it doesn't matter!"

Danny lunged to his feet, poking a finger into Flack's chest. "Shit, that is NOT true!"

"Yeah. Whatever. Just you livin' up to yer last name, hahn?" Flack kicked at the fallen chair and stormed out of the kitchen to the living room to get his jacket and tie. Danny followed him, trying to grab Flack's arm to make him stay.

"Don, wait -"

Flack violently wrenched his arm away.

"Whatever, man. You just go on your fuckin' date with fuckin' Hillborne. Hope you have a good time. I'm sure he'll buy ya a nice, diamond ring."

The apartment door slammed in Danny's face.

Lindsay tentatively slinked out of the kitchen to see Danny sitting on the couch with his knees drawn to his chest, face obscured in his arms. His shoulders trembled.

"I'm doin' it for you, you stupid bastard," Danny uttered in a subdued, quavering voice to the man who was no longer there.

Stella and Hawkes stood at the kitchen doorway, feeling powerless and unhappy at the same time over the entire situation. As Lindsay embraced Danny in a comforting hug, Hawkes sighed heavily.

"It's going to be a long night."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"What's your name, sweetie?"

Flack felt a hand touching him on the back of his head. It took him back to Mac's hideout apartment where Danny was stroking him on the head the same way. He burrowed his face deeper into his folded arms.

"It's okay, you can talk to me."

Flack thought the bartender of this particular bar was nice.

"You ain't sheh first lady ta say that ta me. Every lady wants ta talk to me, but nobody wants ta go further than that. Figures." Flack struggled to an upright pose, blearily looking at the blonde woman in her black and white uniform. What was her name again?

"You've already had eight shots of whisky. I'm not letting you drink anymore until you can prove to me someone's going to drive you home." She was a lot like his mother, except she was cool in a … bartender, badass way.

Flack smirked lopsidedly. "Heeey, I'ma big boy. I can handle it." Flack hiccupped on cue.

"C'mon. Talk. You look like you have a lot to say." Gertrude. Yeah, her name was Gertrude.

"Itsh complicated." Flack thrashed his arms around like a feral octopus. He almost fell off his stool and would have if Gertrude hadn't grabbed one of his arms. "You wouldn't believe any a' it anyway."

"Try me." The bartender jiggled his forearm encouragingly.

"Itsh like this. I got this buddy, see. We've known each other for a couple a' years." Flack slumped back on the counter, disconsolate. "I'm confushed 'bout 'im. One second, he's showin' all the signs there could be somethin' goin' on 'tween us. Next second, he's goin' 'round flirtin' with everybody else. And none a' 'em care 'bout him like I do." Flack let his forehead fall onto the cool surface of the bar counter. "Sucks."

"Oh, sweetheart, have you talked with him about it?"

"Can't. He's not sheh type ta siddown and listen. 'Less I force 'im. He gets mad when people do that ta 'im."

Gertrude resumed stroking his hair. It made Flack feel lots better.

"You know, sometimes, people put up walls around themselves especially around people they care about. They're afraid of getting hurt by those people, see?"

Flack spoke into the counter, eyes half-closed. "I wouldn't hurt 'im."

"Uh hmm." Gertrude's melodious, rich voice was all-knowing. "So … what are you doing here then?"

Flack spent some time contemplating the question.

"I dunno. I just wanna drink. Got no job, no friendsh. No nothin'."

"I don't think that's the truth."

Flack was too washed-out to respond.

"There was this cute guy who came in here the other night. Drunk himself silly just like you too." Gertrude tsked. "Now he was one with an unusual story. If he didn't tell me he was a guy, I would have thought he was a woman with one heck of a pair of num-nums."

Flack's eyes opened wide.

"He told me he was involved in a nasty explosion that put him in the hospital for a while. And ended up growing a pair of giant breasts. He didn't even want them. Honey, there're people out there who've got it way worse than you do. I'm sure you're just exaggerating about having no friends, gorgeous man like you."

Flack slowly raised his head. "He had dark hair? Blue eyes? … Glasses?"

Gertrude stopped pouring some golden beer into a mug part way to consider it. "Hmmmm, you got the dark hair and blue eyes right, but I don't remember him wearing any glasses."

The tap recommenced its dispensing of alcohol. "Anyway, he was sitting where you are now, drunk on tequila and this disgusting jerk comes around and literally molests the poor guy. Can't say I blame him though. Those were some mind-blowing looking boobs."

Flack shot upright at all that, his buzz gone in a jiffy.

"The jerk-off wouldn't back away until one of new patrons came and saved the night, so to speak." Gertrude grinned. "Man, if she wasn't taken already, I would have been hers on the spot. Whoever her ladylove is, she's one lucky woman."

Her ladylove? Huh?

Gertrude took note of Flack's perplexed expression with a grin. "Oh, honey. You don't know, do you?" She leaned forward and whispered, "This is a dyke bar."

Flack scrutinized his surroundings with narrowed eyes, scanning the entire bar that was filled with women, then looked back at Gertrude. He was the only man in the whole place.

"Well, shit. And here I thought I got lucky."

Gertrude laughed merrily at his comment.

"Don't worry, handsome, I'm sure there're lots of them who'll be happy to overlook your gender."

Flack was interested to know more about the new patron who'd saved Danny's ass. Mac had told him about Danny getting drunk at a bar and staying over at Lindsay's, but he sure never incorporated any details about the bar catering to lesbians. Huh, maybe Mac didn't know either.

"So who was this chick who saved …" Flack waited for Gertrude to supply him with a name for the hot-boobed guy who'd sat on his stool that other night.

"Danny." Gertrude chewed on her lip in happy reminiscence. "She was incredible. The fat ass was nearly two heads taller than she was, and she just puuuuuushed him around like he was a marshmellow. A really stinky one, anyway. I was really impressed, seeing that she's new to the city too."

"What's her … name?"

Gertrude grinned. "Cute name. Lindsay."

Flack's head creaked to a forty-five degree angle to the left.

Lindsay was … a lesbian? A LESBIAN?

"Got to chitchat with her when she came back to pay for Danny's tab before she drove him home or something. I think I'll pay a visit to Montana some time. If all their women are like her."

But … if she was a lesbian, and she was already spoken for, then … she and Danny …

Oh. Crap.

"Are you okay? You look pale."

Oh, crap. Flack grimaced at the spiteful things he'd said to Danny before he stomped off in a huff that evening. He was a Goddamn asshole.

"I … I gotta go." Flack pulled out some bills from his wallet and handed them to Gertrude. "Keep the change, ah?"

"Thanks, sweetie." The blonde bartender had benevolent, knowledgeable eyes. "Good luck with your guy."

"Thanks." Flack made a remorseful face. "I'm gonna need it."

He thought of blue eyes overflowing with hurt. Don Flack, Jr. had a hell lot of apologizing to do.

***

Next part of To DD or Not to DD.

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