Title: Little sad ficcie dedicated to Jilly
By: alucardskitten
Pairing: Mac/Danny
Rating: PG-13
Warning: character death
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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It was a flat, very small piece of metal. Scrap metal, he was sure. But it meant the world to him. It was everything he had left. *All* he had left except for a folded flag that still made him bawl his eyes out if he just glanced at it out of the corner of his eye. He was holding it in his hand and it was so light, but it felt so damned heavy it hurt. His fingers, shaking as they were, ran over the embossed inscription, almost as if he was reading Braille. He didn't need to read it anymore, didn't need to touch it... to know what it said. Tears were streaming down his cheeks again, because he couldn't look at this without crying either. He closed his fist around it and thought about tossing them out the window, but the whole thing was so sentimental that he couldn't bear to get rid of it. The silver chain hung down around his hand as he clutched the tags so tightly he was sure the metal edges were cutting into his palm. It wouldn't be the first time some simple pain helped him get his mind off the pure anguish he was feeling. He finally released the death grip and finally brought his blue and watery eyes to gaze upon the metal in his hand.

Seeing the name brought a fresh wave of tears on. A fresh wave of what felt like someone ripping his heart out through his mouth like so many times before. It never got easier... it never felt like it was getting any better. In fact, it almost felt like it was spiraling down even more. It was almost impossible to accept... in fact, it felt improbable... and it felt like the worse thing that had ever happened. He held the tags up in front of his face, watching them intently until they became an unrecognizable blur. A blur that was quickly distorted even more by tears. His vision was swimming as he kept staring. He closed his eyes against the vision before him and bowed his head softly. His voice echoed in his head, that soft baritone voice that seemed to haunt his every waking thought. And even when he slept he heard it as he dreamed. In fact, he never stopped hearing it. Ever. He wrapped his arms around himself, the tags warm against his suddenly chilled skin and he began to sob. Choked sad sobs that racked his body and he could never recover from. He felt like he could still feel his hands and his body, he could still feel his voice and breath tickling his ear in the early break of dawn as they laid together, waiting for the alarm to go off and single their release from bed. His hands shook even more, causing the necklace to sway back and forth on his arm.

He decided he had to take action... he needed to talk to someone. Someone who he didn't know... someone who wouldn't betray him. He knew of a group that helped recently widowed spouses get over their grief. His wasn't recent, though it was only a few months ago. He licked his lips and left the house. He found the place easy enough and went into the room, glad to see their meeting had just started. The people looked friendly enough and as introductions started, he listened to people tell their stories. He was nervous, though, when they finally got to him because he had been listening and no one else here had admitted to being gay... but, he wasn't about to betray his dead lover by pretending he was a woman. He was wearing the tags now, the cool metal acting as a pillar of strength.

"Hello." He started softly. "My name is Danny Messer and my husband died in the line of duty." He started. He saw no cruel looks, no jokes on anyone's lips, just mutual grief and understanding. "He was killed a few months ago. We were trying to bring down a gang and the leader got a little gun happy." Danny drew in a shuddering breath as the tears started falling. "I don't think he felt any pain, because the guy shot him almost right between the eyes. We... we collared the guy, but it didn't bring him back... and it didn't help me at all." His voice was getting thick with sadness. "I... I cry every night... and some mornings I'll wake up and think he's just out of bed making coffee until I see that folded flag hanging up in my living room." He swallowed thickly. "And then I'll notice other things like... his cologne doesn't linger in the air anymore... you know... stuff like that." Danny trailed off as a fresh wave of sobs came over him. A young lady next to him rubbed his back gently.

"I've been here for five years, it never gets any easier." She said softly. "It still hurts every day you wake up... every time you turn around you expect them to be there and he isn't. The important thing to remember is to think about the good times and make sure you carry on his legacy. He may be dead in the physical world, but don't let his spirit die... ya hear?" She said. And he thought that was a great idea. After the meeting, he felt a little better, he could breath a little easier... but it wasn't easier. He walked into his house and he could smell the faintest bit of his cologne. He smiled, a soft melancholy smile and pulled out the dog tags from beneath his shirt. He touched the name softly.

TAYLOR, MAC JAMES

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