Title: Naming the Bones
Author: stellaluna_
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mac/Danny
Summary: Trying to fix what's broken. Post-ep for "Snow Day".
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: For the stagesoflove Five Breaks theme set (prompt: Broken Bone). Additionally, for fanfic100 (Prompt 072: Fixed).

***

Danny clenches his fingers into a fist and holds it, then relaxes them. He does it again, watching the movement of his hand, paying careful attention to the way his fingers stretch out when he spreads them and the flex of the joints when he squeezes them into a fist for a second time, listens to the soft pop of his cracking knuckles and watches the way the bones at the back become more prominent the more he tenses his hand, the way the blue veins stand out beneath the thin layer of skin.

He recites the names of the bones to himself, going through them one by one as he continues to flex his fingers: Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx, metacarpal, trapezoid, capitate...

All in working order, all perfectly lined up and functioning the way they're supposed to.

At least on his good hand. His broken hand is something else again, swathed in layers of bandages and plaster. Beneath all of that there are metal pins to hold the bones in place, and the doctors are talking about putting in screws and a plate, too, to make sure it has a chance at healing better. Danny is already sick of these conversations, and he'd laugh at all of it if he weren't so beyond exhausted.

Broken is too kind a word for what's been done to his hand. Shattered would be more accurate. Crushed. Ground to dust.

Grind your bones to make my bread, he thinks randomly, and shudders.

The painkillers, at least, are doing their job, and if nothing else, he's grateful for that. He can't feel a damn thing, can't even tell that he still has a hand there at all most of the time, and he really doesn't want to consider what kind of agony he's going to be in once they start to wear off.

He leans back against the pillows with a sigh. The meds also have the bonus effect of making everything else seem numb and far away, too, and that's also a relief. There are things he's going to have to think about sooner or later, and he's not ready, yet, to face any of it. Naming the bones in his hand seems to be about as much complex thought as he can handle right now.

There's a sound at the door, and he looks up, expecting to see one of the nurses. Instead, Mac is standing there.

"Mac," Danny says. "What are you doing here?" The words come out thick and slow, slurred a little even when he tries to pronounce them carefully, and he wonders idly if he isn't imagining this, if he hasn't fallen asleep after all without realizing it.

"I wanted to stop by and see you," Mac says. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, just...visiting hours are over, you know."

"I showed my badge," Mac says. "Told them you were one of my people. They didn't say too much."

"Nice," Danny says, and waves at Mac with his good hand. "C'mon in. I can't sleep, anyway."

Mac steps inside the room and shuts the door. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," he says, "but I've been a little tied up."

"Guess you would have been," he says.

"You think filling out DD-5s is bad, you should see all the paperwork they make you do when you actually blow up the lab." There's an odd tone in his voice. Danny thinks he's trying for levity.

"Yeah, I guess." There's something he almost remembers, something he thinks is important, but he can't quite grasp it. It's too far away. "Flack told me about some of it." And Hawkes and Stella had tried to, but he hadn't said much when they showed up, and eventually they had changed the subject. Everyone was all right, and that was all Danny really wanted to know. He had already been too strung out from dealing with Lindsay and Flack, too uncertain of his status with Lindsay and unsure of how to ask her if that was a one-night stand or if they were still friends or what, and not ready to find the words to tell her that her guilt over the warehouse was pointless.

He had enough of his own guilt, anyway, Flack's cheerful bluster just as worrying as Lindsay's jumpiness. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about how a year ago it had been Don in a hospital bed, and how he had cut and run instead of sticking around, how he hadn't wanted to face it. How he'd let the distance between them grow ever since. Just like he hasn't asked about seeing Adam yet. And just like this is the first he's heard from Mac at all, even though he's been in the hospital for a whole night and a day.

He's not even angry. He can't be.

Mac steps into the pool of light cast by the bedside lamp, and Danny looks up at him. He looks the same as ever: tired and a little careworn, but calm. There are a few cuts here and there on his face, but otherwise there doesn't seem to be a mark on him.

"London," Danny says. That's what he was trying to recall. "Ain't you supposed to be in London right now?"

"Oh. No," Mac says. There's a faint note of surprise in his voice. "Not until next month. Peyton's pathology conference is the third week in June."

"Right. Got it," Danny says. He'll believe that Mac is taking a vacation when he sees it, but good for him if he goes through with it.

"Anyway." Mac steps closer. "I brought you something." He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a paperback.

"Oh, hey, you didn't have to do that," Danny says. "Thanks."

"I thought you might like to do a little reading while you're in here."

"Any naked girls?" Danny asks.

"No," Mac says, "but it looks like you're already taken care of there." He sets the book down on the nightstand, then picks up the copy of Playboy lying there.

"Yeah, Don's got me covered," Danny says.

"Good for him." Mac drops the magazine.

"'Course," Danny says, "you could also view it as cruel and unusual punishment. Be kinda tricky to jerk off for awhile, what with my good hand out of commission and all."

Mac actually gives him a half-smile for this. "How's your hand?" he asks.

Danny nods toward it. "Take a look for yourself," he says. "They already put pins in it, but I'm gonna have to have more reconstructive surgery once it heals some. And physical therapy."

Mac pulls a chair up to the side of the bed and sits down. "Lot of work ahead of you," he says.

"Fine with me," Danny says. "I'm not afraid of work." He meets Mac's gaze as steadily as he can.

"So you're fine then, too?" Mac asks.

"What kinda question is that?" he says. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mac doesn't say anything.

"I mean, just 'cause I got taken hostage and got the shit kicked out of me, why shouldn't I be fine?" he says. "You went all John McClane on those guys, and you don't look any the worse for wear."

Mac still doesn't say anything, just looks at him, and Danny swallows hard. He still feels numb, but he can't seem to stop himself from talking, and there's a growing tightness in his chest. "Just 'cause my hand got all busted up, so what? I do the physical therapy, I'm fine, right? I should be used to it, anyway. Not like I don't have experience with this."

"Your wrist," Mac says in a low voice.

Danny's surprised, a little, that Mac remembers that, but he nods. "Yeah," he says. "I broke my wrist, I got through that no problem. Why should this be any different?"

"You're worried it won't be different." Mac doesn't turn the statement into a question.

"Maybe." Danny has to look away. "I mean, it all worked out okay. I got this out of it, and I thought -- I had no idea what I was gonna do when they told me I couldn't play baseball any more. Now..."

He stops, and tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling, blinking hard. "What am I gonna do if I end up not able to use this hand so good after all this?"

"You can't think about that, Danny," Mac says. "Now that you're back on the promotion grid, you need to just focus on getting better."

He says it just like that. Just like it's nothing. Danny almost misses it, and then, when the words register, he tells himself that he heard wrong. That the meds are doing an even bigger number on his brain that he'd realized.

"Wait," he says. "Say that again."

Mac looks at him, and Danny can't, for the life of him, read the expression in his eyes. "You heard me," he says.

"Yeah, but..." Danny sits up straight, as best he can. "Don't fuck with me on this, all right? Just...say it again."

"I put you back on the promotion grid, Danny," Mac says. "So don't go psyching yourself out about your hand."

"And you swear this is true," Danny says.

Mac starts to look a little impatient. "Why would I lie?" he asks. "Yes, I promise it's true."

"Okay." Danny holds up his good hand. "Okay, fair enough. I just..." His chest feels tighter than ever, heart pounding hard, and he forces himself to speak slowly.

"I just...I -- Jesus." He closes his eyes. The promotion grid. Mac said it. He heard him.

Mac promised.

Something else occurs to Danny, and he opens his eyes. "This isn't a pity promotion, is it?"

"A what?"

"A pity promotion," Danny says. "You know, like a pity fuck? Are you just doing this because I'm all banged up and you feel sorry for me?" If that's the case, he's going to feel worse than ever, but he needs to know. Before they take one more step here, he has to find that out.

"I'm not doing it out of pity, Danny," Mac says, and he definitely looks annoyed now. Danny finds this oddly comforting. "Your injury did remind me that it was time to get you back on the grid, but it's been on my mind for awhile now."

"Okay." Danny takes a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you, Mac. Really. I don't know what to say, I just..."

"Don't thank me," Mac says. "Just get better so that you can get back to work and we can focus on getting you bumped up to Second Grade."

"Yeah, all right." Danny looks at him, and Mac meets his gaze. Something flickers in his eyes that Danny can't read, some momentary vulnerability or hesitation.

"Danny..." he says in a low voice, and Danny's chest tightens again; whatever Mac is about to say, he doesn't want to hear it. Not now, at least. He's got too many other things to sort out, and he doesn't need any more complications at the moment.

"You gonna stick around for awhile?" he asks.

Mac doesn't answer for a moment, and Danny thinks he's going to go ahead anyway and say whatever he was about to, but then he shakes his head. "It's late," he says. "You need to sleep."

"I can't sleep," Danny says, but even as he forms the words, he can feel a wave of exhaustion rolling over him, everything beginning to fuzz out the way it seems to periodically with the drugs he's on. "Hang out. Just...talk to me or something, and I'll try to rest."

"Just talk?" Mac asks. "I wouldn't know what to -- "

"Then just sit there. C'mon."

"I could read," Mac says after a pause, and Danny nods.

"Sure," he says. "Reading's good. I think there's some oral sex tips in that Playboy."

"How about we try the book?" Mac asks. His cheeks look a little red, but he's smiling.

"Well, if you want to be that way about it..." Danny shrugs. "I'm kidding. The book it is."

Mac takes the book and opens it, then settles back in his chair. He clears his throat. "'The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there." Some seventy miles east of the Colorado border...'"

Danny closes his eyes again and settles back against the pillows. He can do this, he tells himself.

He listens to the steady rise and fall of Mac's voice as he goes on reading, and thinks lunate, scaphoid, trapezium, and tries not to think about anything else.

***

Note: Quote from In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote.

***