Title: The Salt Wound Routine
By: Rhysenn
Pairing: Danny/Dom
Rating: NC-17
Note: Flack, Mac and Stella are still their canon selves and everything else remains faithful to CSI:NY canon. This story is set just prior to the beginning of Season 2; no specific spoilers for any episodes except #1.17 "The Fall".
Summary: Danny and Flack meet under very different circumstances. This is a Danny AU. One wrong turn in Danny's life changes everything - he doesn't complete the Academy, never becomes a CSI and ends up putting out on the street, making a living any way he can.

***

Danny lives in the basement of a walk-up in Washington Heights. It's a storage room, really, but toss in a cheap bed and slap on a lock and it's on the market for desperate renters. Danny gets it for four hundred bucks a month in exchange for picking up groceries for Mrs. Applebury, the seventy-year-old landlady, and bringing 'em up four flights to her apartment on the top floor.

That's not the only reason he's getting a good deal on a pigeonhole like this, and Danny knows why. Neighbors told him about the gunshot last year in the early hours before dawn, how the cops came and took away the young man's body; and before Danny moved in a string of tenants had passed through, none lasting longer than a month. Once Danny peeled back a bit of the gaudy floral green wallpaper just above his bed and the red-black stains he found underneath were definitely not from paint bombs.

So they say the basement's haunted, that a gun to the mouth didn't blow that guy's soul outta that cramped little room. And maybe it wasn't even suicide, maybe - maybe it was murder.

Danny doesn't care. He's not scared of ghosts - they'll just fuck with his mind, and how's that for a change.

Still he's three months behind on rent and today he gives Mrs. Applebury his best smile and a box of plain donuts along with her groceries. She pats him on the wrist and tells him he shouldn't have, then asks how his mother's broken foot is healing - did those expensive therapy sessions Danny paid for help at all?

Oh yes, ma'am, Danny answers without batting an eyelid. She's feelin' much better thank you for asking, you have a good day now and I'll bring the rent money next week. Promise.

He plasters a grin on his face and waits for her to shut the door before he turns and barrels down the stairs. By the time he hits the ground floor Danny's almost certain he's not gonna last into the next week - not unless he can find a way to make two ounces of coke out of thin air, and not even his chem major's gonna be able to help with that.

$12,000 worth of powder cocaine. Boom, gone, just like that, and Danny's not sure how long he stayed slumped against the grimy alley wall last night, the knees of his jeans soaked on the wet ground, a familiar bitter taste in the back of his throat.

And he knows one thing that makes a dealer angrier than losing his drugs is finding out his runner lost 'em to a cop.

He's so fucked.

In more than one way, too. After Danny got down on his knees and sucked him off, Gabe - or so he says, 'cos Danny's not stupid enough to believe that's his real name - made Danny write his number down and told him if he wants to see his happy powder again he's gonna do whatever Gabe tells him.

Now Danny takes out his cell phone and stares at it.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mutters, tapping the phone against his palm.

Gabe calls a bit after 4 PM. Just after shift, Danny thinks sourly, when the good cop takes a break from keepin' the streets clean and safe for the good people of New York City. Yeah, right. Fucking right. There was a time he sat through Academy classes and he's pretty sure protecting the honor of NYC didn't include scoring blowjobs from drug runners in back alleys and stealing the stash they were carrying.

Danny gives Gabe his address over the phone and Gabe shows up at his place half an hour later. He leers at Danny as he steps inside and heels the door shut behind him.

"Get on the bed," Gabe orders, unzipping his fly and fumbling with a condom.

Danny climbs onto the bed and braces his hands on the headboard. The mattress dips as Gabe gets on as well, then Gabe's hands roughly yank down Danny's jeans and his cock shoves into him from behind.

Danny grits his teeth as Gabe starts fucking him - the mattress beneath them squeaks frantically and the chain around his neck shivers, the dog tags swinging rhythmically against his chin. With every thrust Danny feels the hard edge of Gabe's badge dig deeper into his hip - and it's a harsh reminder of what he almost had, before the night everything fell apart.

Summer of '98, the last weekend of May: Danny went to a party up in Yonkers and ran a light on his way back into the city. When highway patrol flagged him down he panicked and floored the pedal instead; they put on the sirens and the chase landed Danny in the hospital with a broken leg and an immediate dismissal from the Academy. He was two weeks away from graduation.

Danny's time at the Academy trained him to look at people, remember their faces and distinguishing features; and he did a lot of that when he tricked in Times Square, along 42nd and 8th all the way to Port Authority. He watched people carefully and made sure he didn't go home with the wrong guy - that was, ironically, a lesson he learned even before he started hustling.

Other rentboys weren't so lucky. And Danny always had a hunch for this kind of thing, so when his best buddy Tommy didn't show up at their usual corner one night he knew something was wrong. A week later Tommy's badly beaten body turned up in a dumpster five blocks away, and that's when Danny quit the hustling scene and turned to running drugs instead.

That was two years ago, Danny thinks humorlessly as Gabe finally comes, then slaps him on the ass and moves away. Guess it's once a whore, always a whore.

Danny pulls up his jeans as Gabe strips off the used condom and drops it on the floor.

"You live in this shithole?" Gabe says, looking around the windowless room, not bothering to hide his contempt.

"Yeah," Danny retorts. "That's right, I live here. And since the grime of my shitty existence is obviously gettin' all over your shiny little badge there, why don't you just gimme my stuff back and get the fuck outta here."

"Sure," Gabe says, zipping up his pants. "I'll do that. Right after I fuck your pretty ass every day for two weeks."

Danny stares at him, dismay and horror and anger all at once.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" The words spill from Danny's mouth. "You said, you said you were gonna give it back if I -"

"Yeah, I did," Gabe cuts in, a gleam in his eyes. "I just didn't say how much each time."

Anger wins out; it always does.

"Yeah?" Danny yells. "Then why don't you just fuck me fourteen times right now and get it over an' done with, you lyin' scumbag son of a bitch!"

Gabe takes a step forward and backhands him across his face. Hard, so hard that starbursts of pain and light explode in his eyes and Danny can't catch himself from falling off the bed. His hands break the fall and pain shoots through his right wrist.

"You got a smart mouth there, boy," Gabe snarls from somewhere above him, and he reaches down and drags Danny up to eye level. "Just stick to using it for what you're good at, eh?"

Danny's eyes flinch away from Gabe's face. At this point he's already done everything, but somehow he just can't bring himself to beg.

"Look, man," Danny manages to infuse a note of pleading into his voice. "I ain't messing around, okay? The guys I work for, they'll kill me if I don't deliver their stuff by tomorrow."

"That's your problem," Gabe answers, then shoves him back onto the bed.

Danny glares up at him; he's never hated anyone more in his entire life.

"Yeah?" he shoots back. "Well, here's a newsflash: you can't fuck my sorry ass if I'm dead."

Gabe's smart enough to make sure Danny can't follow him when he leaves - he ties Danny's wrists in some complicated knot and with the limited movement of both hands Danny takes a few minutes to untie himself.

When he finally does Danny flings the rope away and throws himself onto the bed, flat on his back. He stares up at the ceiling, mottled with water stains and peeling paint - and it feels like the dead guy's ghost is lurking somewhere in the dark corners, watching him.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" Danny snaps; and in the silence he thinks he can hear the ghost chortling back at him.

* * *

The next morning Danny's really desperate - it's Sunday and he's supposed to have the drugs delivered tonight. So when Gabe shows up at his door in the afternoon, Danny asks for half the drugs now, the rest later.

Gabe tells him to shut the fuck up and get on the bed; which Danny expected, anyway, but at this point anything's worth a shot. Danny closes his eyes for a moment to steel himself, then looks at Gabe.

"Gimme half my stuff back," Danny says, holding his gaze deliberately, "and I'll do anything you want. Plus, I'll make sure it's real good for ya."

He sees the surprise in Gabe's arched eyebrow.

"Anything?" The gleeful anticipation in Gabe's voice makes Danny's stomach constrict.

Danny swallows, and he can already taste the sourness in the back of his throat. "Yeah."

Gabe grins; and Danny's heart sinks as he watches Gabe take his baton from his belt and come toward him.

"All right then," Gabe says, his mouth twisting in a nasty smile. "Take your clothes off and face the wall."

Danny takes a deep breath and does as he's told. He pulls his T-shirt over his head and braces himself against the wall, and he feels Gabe move to stand behind him. Gabe drags down his jeans and kicks his ankles apart - and when the hard length of the baton rams brutally into him from behind, Danny chokes back a scream and bites through his lip and tastes blood.

It hurts, it fucking hurts and Danny's fingers dig into the wall as he tries to shut out the pain but snatches of sensation still seep through like acid: the sting of teeth on his bare shoulder, Gabe's cruel laughter as his voice shapes the words whore and slut in the curve of Danny's ear.

He's not sure when Gabe's cock replaces the baton; the next thing Danny lets his conscious mind register is Gabe pulling out and moving away from him. He slides down the wall to the floor - he's aware of Gabe's voice above him, sneering and satisfied, telling him he did good and yeah, he'll bring around half the drugs tomorrow.

"No," Danny protests weakly. He can barely move and his entire body is aching - fuck this hurts worse than he thought it would. "You gotta give it to me today, man. Please," he chokes out the word, and he's about two seconds away from being sick.

"Quit groveling, bitch," Gabe snaps as he throws the used condom aside. "Or it'll be back to our old deal."

Danny stares up at Gabe and thinks of slitting the bastard's throat; he's got a pocket knife lying around that can definitely do some damage. But he knows killing Gabe won't get him his drugs back, plus the body dump's gonna be a motherfuckin' pain and if he gets caught - well, he's heard what happens to cop-killers in holding cells.

"Okay, okay, fine." Danny halts and takes a breath. "Tomorrow. Promise?"

Gabe laughs.

"What, you don't trust me?" He picks up his coat, shakes out the creases and slings it over his shoulder. "Well, it don't look to me like you got too much of a choice here, do ya now?"

Then he's gone and Danny buries his face in his hands and grits his teeth to keep from screaming out in frustration and pain and helplessness. Above him there's a hissing and gurgling noise, like something stuck in the water pipes; and Danny thinks it's probably the ghost laughing his half-blown-out head off at him for being stupid enough to trust a dirty blackmailing cop like Gabe.

Again. Not like he has a choice.

He gets up gingerly and reaches for his clothes - and that's when he sees the card, lying on the floor. It must've fallen out of Gabe's pocket when he grabbed his coat.

Danny picks up the card and stares at it. The familiar crest of the NYPD is printed in black; and the name beside it reads Detective Donald Flack.

* * *

Danny calls Miguel Alvarez, the guy he works for, and leaves a message asking for one more day to deliver the drugs.

They jump him that evening as he's leaving his block. Danny feels a big hand clamp over his mouth and his cell phone flies out of his hand as strong arms drag him into the dumpster area just behind the building.

It's been a long time since he had his ass kicked this bad - Danny curls up in a ball and his eyes are swimming with tears and red. Hands grab him by the back of his shirt and yank him up long enough to hiss in his ear: Screw us over and you'll be sorry, bitch.

Then the brick wall rushes toward him and with a dull crack his world explodes white before everything goes black.

* * *

When Danny opens his eyes - or at least tries to - he's lying flat on his back and he sees white light and a white ceiling above him.

Oh, he thinks vaguely. Hospital. Then: how the hell did I end up in the hospital?

The bed sheets rustle as Danny tries to move his limbs, making sure they're all intact. He's got one motherfucker of a headache raging in his skull and when he raises his hand to touch his forehead, his fingers brush against bandage. He turns his head a little and looks around - there's no one near him, though a distance away he sees some nurses at their station and there's a guy in a coat talking to one of them.

Danny turns his face to the ceiling again. Fuck. Even without the uniform, that's a cop if he ever saw one. He's gotta get the hell outta here. But before Danny's brain can convey this instruction to the rest of his body, the cop turns and apparently notices that Danny's awake. He leaves the nurses' station and starts walking toward him.

Fuck. Danny shuts his eyes. Okay. Play it cool. You're the one who got beat up, you're supposed to be the victim here. Just pretend you're some dumb shit who got mugged or something. Play stupid. You're real good at that, Danny thinks humorlessly. Don't even gotta try much.

Mr. Cop Guy stops next to Danny's bed.

"Hey," he says.

Danny makes a show of cracking an eye open and wincing at the light. He squints up at the cop's face and finds himself gazing into piercing blue eyes.

The cop looks young - he's probably around the same age as Danny, give or take a couple 'a years. He's got a handsome face, with floppy dark hair framing chiseled features, and he looks... pretty, almost, except there's still an edge, a toughness about him, which is how Danny instantly made him for a cop in the first place.

"Hey," Danny says in a scratchy voice. "How - how'd I get here?"

"Neighbor 'a yours called 911," the cop tells him. "Old lady on the fifth floor looked down from her back window and saw you getting beat up."

Danny remembers the last thought that went through his mind before his head smashed into the wall: I don't wanna die. He feels a surge of gratitude toward Mrs. Applebury, bless her soul.

"What's your name?" the cop asks.

Danny tenses. A fake name jumps to the tip of his tongue, Alex, his street name from his hustling days, the same one he gave Gabe in the alley just before he got down on his knees and sucked him off - but now the memory of that makes him falter.

"Who're you?" Danny says instead. The words feel thick on his tongue.

"I'm Detective Flack. NYPD."

Detective Flack. The name sets off bells in Danny's mind, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"The officer at the scene found my card in your pocket and called me," Flack continues. "What's your name again?"

Danny looks up and finds Detective Flack gazing down evenly at him.

"Danny," he answers, and then adds, "Danny Messer."

"Messer." Flack flips through the notebook in his hand. "D'you remember me comin' to talk to you about anything recently? Maybe you were an eyewitness to a crime?"

"Nope. No. Don't recall." Danny shuts his mouth.

"Then how'd you get my card?"

"I dunno. No idea. Must've found it somewhere."

Flack's looking at him in a searching sort of way that makes Danny feel fidgety.

"So you're sure we haven't talked before," Flack repeats.

"You don't remember, I don't remember…" Danny pulls himself into a sitting position, then winces a little as a nerve in his shoulder screams in protest. Fuck. "So yeah, guess it must be true, right?"

Flack regards him thoughtfully; Danny wills himself not to avert his gaze 'cos that'll just make him look all guilty-like. In the process, he discovers that Flack really does have gorgeous eyes - and he's the sort of guy Danny would take the trouble to seek out across a crowded bar and eye-fuck until he gets the message and they take a detour to the men's room or back alley or wherever.

"So," Flack clears his throat and Danny forces himself to concentrate, although his focus slides down to Flack's mouth. "Wanna tell me what happened to you back there?"

"Ah, you know." Danny makes a meaningless little gesture. "Some fellas jumped me as I was leaving my block. Stupid of me, takin' that shortcut through the dumpster alley an' all."

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many guys were there?"

"Oh." Danny halts. "I, uh - three. I think. Yeah, there were three of 'em."

"Did you get a look at their faces?"

"Nah. No. Happened too quick, then they were bashing my face in and everything became a blur." Danny chews on his lower lip. "'Sokay though. There was like, five bucks in my wallet. No big deal."

A small frown knits Flack's eyebrows.

"If they only wanted your cash and you were just some random target, why'd they beat you up so bad? Did you fight back?"

Danny bites his lip harder. Too damn many questions. He can usually keep a story straight but it's a little harder to do that when it feels like a dozen butterflies high on LSD are banging around inside his head right now.

"I dunno," Danny answers. "Maybe I did, a little. Like I said, it's all pretty mixed up and to be real honest, I'm kind of embarrassed about all this. Gettin' my ass whumped over five bucks."

He lowers his legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand up - his sense of balance wavers sharply, but before Danny can catch himself he feels a firm hand on his arm.

"What're you doing?" Flack's standing close to him and he puts his other hand on Danny's shoulder, steadying him.

"I'm getting outta here," Danny says faintly. He tries to take a step forward and the world tilts dangerously again - his hands dart out and clamp on Flack's wrists.

"Whoa, whoa!" Flack holds him tighter. "Stop it, you ain't going anywhere like this."

"No, no, I'm fine," Danny resists Flack's attempt to sit him back down onto the bed. "Really. Just a bit woozy, is all."

And even through the dizziness Danny thinks, hey, this is rather nice. Flack smells good - aftershave and a dash of cologne on his collar, a nice musky scent.

"Listen to me," Flack says, still holding on to Danny's arm. "The nurse says you gotta stay overnight for observation. Doc's orders. They wanna make sure you ain't got a concussion or anything from that nasty bump on your head."

Danny gives Flack an imploring look.

"Look, man," he says dolefully. "I got a fear of hospitals, all right? They make me real nervous and - needles. I freak the fuck out at the sight of 'em. Y'know, when I was five I fell off my bike and broke my ankle, and at the hospital they had to give me coloring books and crayons and one of those, y'know, little stuffed rabbits to keep me from hollering my head off."

Danny pauses, and he sees a flicker of amusement in Flack's eyes.

"Well, I'm not sure about coloring books and crayons," Flack says. "But I guess I can see about that stuffed rabbit."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Danny pulls away from him. "I can see how my fear of hospitals is amusing to you, but it's very real and very unpleasant to me, all right? So if you don't mind, I'm gonna go now. You have yourself a good night, Detective."

Danny steps away from the bed and starts shuffling toward the nurses' station. A few moments pass, then he hears Flack's footsteps following him and he can't suppress a little grin. Score. Another point for the Messer charm.

Flack accompanies him to the nurses' station, fends off the staff nurse's halfhearted protests and helps Danny get the discharge paperwork done. Fifteen minutes later they're standing on Riverside Drive, just outside New York Presbyterian Hospital.

"Which way you headed?" Flack asks.

"Back to my place, I guess," Danny answers. "Figure I've had enough excitement for one night." He gestures at his clothes, which are smeared with bloodstains and dirt. "Gotta get changed, anyhow."

Flack nods and signals toward a car parked on the curb. "Okay. Get in."

It's an unmarked cruiser, Danny figures; but the instinctive alarm at being told to get into a police vehicle makes him take a step back.

"Uh no, that's all right," Danny says. Flack's been a great help and all, he really has, and he's cute and smells fantastic and everything, but he draws the line at riding in a cop car. "I can walk home. It's really not that far."

Flack faces him squarely.

"Look," he says, and Danny watches the crisp night breeze tug at Flack's tie and tousle his dark hair, teasing it across his eyes. "Either I put you in a cab, or I give you a ride home. One's free and the other's not. Your choice."

Danny leans against the side of the car and looks at Flack.

"Don't you got, like, criminals to catch?" he says. "Save the world and all that?"

"Yeah, but we got time for other stuff too," Flack says affably. "Helping little old ladies across the road, driving stubborn guys with concussions home. Y'know, stuff like that."

Danny feels a small smile pull on his mouth. "Cute. Real cute."

Flack smirks, then opens the passenger side door. Danny hesitates for a moment - it is pretty late and he's tired and given what just happened to him, the idea of walking home alone in the dark isn't exactly thrilling.

What the hell, Danny thinks, and gets into the car. Flack closes the door and Danny settles in his seat and waits for Flack to go around to the driver's side. He feels oddly un-panicked; sitting in the front of a squad car is a lot different from riding in the back.

"Right," Flack says, getting in and pulling on his seat belt. "Where's your place again?"

"159th," Danny says, and Flack starts the engine and pulls onto the road. The traffic on Riverside is light on a Sunday night and Danny stares out of the window at the passing buildings and the lights beneath the darkened sky. His headache from hell has eased up a little, thanks to two aspirin he popped before signing out of the hospital.

Danny steals a glance at Flack; and now his thoughts stray to Flack's card. When he found it on the floor at his place Danny remembers wondering if it was Gabe's card. But when he opened his eyes in the hospital and this man sitting next to him now introduced himself as Detective Flack, Danny actually felt... relieved, finding out that Don Flack was someone else.

"You'll still have to come down to the station to fill out some reports," Flack says, breaking into Danny's thoughts. "You can do that tomorrow, but I'm gonna need your number so I can get a hold of you in case anything comes up."

Danny looks at him. "Real easy, huh?"

Flack gives him a puzzled glance as he makes a turns off 165th. "What?"

"Gettin' people's phone numbers. Guess that makes it real easy for you to pick up hot chicks, y'know, just tell 'em you need to get in touch with them if anything pops. Simple. And of course they all wanna be good citizens and before you know it, that notepad's your own personal little black book."

Flack shakes his head with wry amusement. "Yeah, right."

"What? Girls dig guys like you, all manly and protective and serving your city." Danny pauses, this time pensively. "Hell, I'd have liked to be a cop, if I could rewind time an' all."

"Y'know," Flack says, "I still get the feeling like I know you from somewhere."

They pull up by the side of the road next to Danny's block.

"Okay, this is me right here." Danny clears his throat; he doesn't look at the alley that leads to the dumpster. "Thanks for the ride."

He reaches for the door handle just as Flack shuts off the engine and unsnaps his own seat belt.

Danny pauses. "What're ya doing?"

Flack turns and looks at him. "This is your place, right?"

"Yeah."

Flack opens his door. "I'll see you in."

"Naw, no," Danny says hastily. "That won't be necessary. Really." He opens his door without looking and nearly knocks over a passing kid on a bike. The kid swerves sharply to avoid crashing, then turns back and yells something about Danny's mother as he rides off.

Danny manages not to yell something rude back, not so much because he's the one in the wrong but because Flack is hurrying around to his side of the car. Great. Just fucking great.

"Hey!" Flack pushes the door wide open and stares at Danny. "What the hell was that?"

"Shit, I swear that kid just came outta nowhere." So he nearly ran someone off the pavement with the door of a cop car. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, wasn't really you I was worried about there," Flack says dryly. "C'mon, let's get you out."

He reaches in and takes hold of Danny's arm, helping him out of the car. Danny stands and turns to Flack, feeling a little sheepish.

"Look, real sorry about just now. But I can take it from here. Thanks again."

Flack shakes his head.

"You got possible head trauma and you just left the hospital against doc's advice. I signed you off myself, so I think it's my job to make sure you get to your doorstep without gettin' yourself or anyone else killed tonight. C'mon."

Before Danny can reply, Flack shuts the car door, locks it, then puts his hand on Danny's shoulder and steers him toward the dimly lit entrance to his apartment block. They go inside - the hallway is musty, dust motes drifting in the stale air, cobwebs hanging in the corners. Flack looks up the stairwell, crisscrossing flights leading all the way to the top.

"Which floor?" he says.

"Minus one," Danny replies, nodding toward another staircase leading down to the basement. He feels embarrassed, but Flack just nods the way. They go down the steps and Danny's aware of the light but firm weight of Flack's hand on his shoulder.

"All right," Danny says as they reach the basement landing, "here we -"

The words die in his throat as he looks up; next to him Flack stops in his tracks.

His door is busted wide open and everything inside is completely trashed. Danny stares, rooted to the spot - he'd count to ten, usually, just to give his brain a little time to catch up, but now Flack takes a step toward the open doorway and Danny can see his right hand poised on his gun, ready to draw.

"This ex-girlfriend 'a mine," Danny says quickly, his mind racing. "I tell ya, she's got a real temper."

Flack steps inside and peers cautiously around, surveying the damage.

"What did you do, knock up her sister?"

Danny's heart is pounding as he follows.

"She's in some anger management thing," he babbles. "Though looks like it ain't working out too well, and it's pretty clear she don't understand the meaning of over."

"Yeah?" Flack goes to the bed, where the mattress has been sliced open and shredded to bits. "So this is just a... symbolic gesture, I guess."

Flack's sarcasm isn't lost on him; Danny gives a weak laugh. "Who ever knows how women think, hah?"

"All right." Flack takes out his cell phone. "I'm gonna call this one in."

Fuck, Danny thinks, his pulse rocketing.

"Wait!" Danny reaches out and catches Flack's wrist. "Hang on, stop. Don't. I'm in enough trouble as it is."

Flack halts, phone still in hand, his thumb hovering over the keypad. He looks at Danny and Danny wishes he did the sensible thing, y'know, the self-preserving thing, like walking ten minutes back from the hospital instead of taking a ride home with a cop.

Flack shakes off Danny's hand. "Wanna tell me what this is really about?"

Danny shifts his weight from foot to foot.

"No," he says, desperately stalling. "Not really, no."

"I'll rephrase that." Flack's voice is hard. "Tell me what this is about. Right now."

Danny grimaces and takes a step back. "It's a long story."

"Tell you what." Flack snaps his phone shut but doesn't pocket it. "You come clean with me about what's going on here, or in about three seconds I'm gonna arrest you and stick you in lockup."

"What!" Danny stares at him. "You - you can't do that! You got nothing on me!"

"Not yet," Flack doesn't miss a beat. "But your story's got more holes than a golf course and if you don't start filling in the blanks I'm gonna bag you for obstructing a police officer by giving false information. And we can have this conversation in a comfy little chat room down at the station, oh I don't know, maybe tomorrow evening when I got a bit 'a time on my hands." He pauses, raises his eyebrows at Danny. "So you gonna start talking now or what?"

Danny blinks rapidly. His mind's spinning a hundred miles a minute and he's nervous as hell, though he's not sure why it's so bad this time - he's been questioned by cops before, once with enough dope hidden under his back seat to put him on ice for at least five years, but he still managed to weasel his way through. He's losing his edge, Danny thinks dejectedly.

"Time's up," Flack says, stepping forward. "Hands behind your back, c'mon."

"Okay, okay, fine!" Danny holds up his hands and backs away. "Here's the thing. I do some work for some guys and - wait, you aren't narco, are ya?" He looks hopefully at Flack; hard blue eyes stare back at him. "Okay, all right, I'll take that as a no."

"Take that as a 'it's none 'a your business,'" Flack says coldly. "Keep talking."

Flack's tone stings, and Danny bites on his lower lip.

"Right. Okay. So, as I was sayin'. I just help these fellas with the, uh, logistics - I'm not a pusher, I swear, I'm just the guy who picks it up and delivers it."

"Guess you ain't so scared of needles after all, are you, Messer?" Flack cuts in, and the look in his eyes makes Danny cringe inwardly.

"Hey," he protests. "I don't - I don't use, okay? I just take stuff from point A to point B like they tell me to. That's all."

"Yeah. Don't mind if I ain't too impressed." Flack's expression remains grim. "So what smartass thing did you do, stiff the guys you work for? That why they beat you up, tore up your place?"

Danny glares at Flack.

"Do I look suicidal to you? Huh?" Danny pauses and takes a breath. "Someone - someone snatched the package I was supposed to deliver. And now I'm screwed 'cos the guy who paid me to do the pick up wants his stuff and I got nothing to show for."

"And this person that ripped you off," Flack says, acid dripping from his tone. "Don't suppose you got a good look at his face."

Danny's fingernails dig into his palms and for a moment he wants to blurt out he looks like one 'a your cop buddies, how 'bout that, huh? But Danny's heard how cops with enough juice have made brutality charges go away for their fellow officers, and he knows there's nothing like stepping on a cop's loyalty to one of their own to completely screw up his own case - and he's in enough crap as it is.

"It was dark, all right?" Danny says through gritted teeth. If only Flack knew. If only he fucking knew.

"Okay, lemme get this straight," Flack says. "You're telling me that if I dig around this place, I'm not gonna find any drugs."

Danny loses it.

"Does it fucking look like there's much left to find in here?" he yells. "Wanna sweep the place? Go right ahead. Be my guest. Because y'know, if there were actually some drugs around here I wouldn't be this deep in shit in the first place!"

Danny breaks off; when he looks at Flack he finds an oddly calm expression on Flack's face, and although the hardness in his eyes is still there he doesn't look like he's angry at Danny's outburst.

Flack reaches down and picks up a tatty old backpack of Danny's that got tossed onto the floor from its place... somewhere. Then he straightens up and throws it to Danny.

Danny catches it and blinks, confused.

"Grab some clothes," Flack says, and then pointedly adds, "I ain't done asking you questions yet. But I didn't quit smoking to stand around choking up my lungs breathing all this toxic mold floatin' around down here."

Danny eyes him warily. "Where we going?"

"I'm taking you back to the hospital," Flack answers.

"But -"

"No buts this time, Messer," Flack cuts in flatly. "You've obviously pissed off the wrong people and I don't wanna get a call tomorrow and have to come back here to scoop up your dead body, since that's just gonna mean a load of extra paperwork. So unless you wanna spend the night in lockup, I'm checkin' you back into the hospital."

Danny narrows his eyes at him. "You're a real knight in shining armor, y'know that?"

"So I've been told," Flack says calmly. "Now pack your stuff."

Danny glowers at Flack for a few more moments; finally he relents and starts picking through his clothes, strewn all over the floor. He grabs the first couple of T-shirts he finds and a pair of jeans that he remembers washing at least once before. He stuffs them into the backpack, zips it up and then straightens to find Flack standing there with a set expression on his face.

"And since my shift's officially over," Flack says, "I'm gonna stop around the corner for some coffee first. So you got a choice - I can leave you waitin' handcuffed in the car, or you can just shut up and follow me."

Flack turns and walks toward the staircase without a backward glance.

Danny slings the backpack over his shoulder and glares after him. When Flack's retreating figure doesn't spontaneously catch fire after a few moments, Danny finally sighs and follows him out of the building.

* * *

Ten minutes later Danny finds himself ensconced in a corner booth in the all-night deli place just round the corner from his block. Flack's at the counter buying coffee and Danny's already finding it hard to keep up his petulant mood, especially when the aroma of freshly brewed coffee reminds him that he's starving.

Flack comes over holding two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin wrapped in a plastic bag, which Danny eyes with unabashed greediness. Flack slides into the booth across from him; he sets one cup down in front of Danny but to Danny's disappointment, puts the muffin and other cup of coffee in front of himself.

Danny hesitates, then nods at the coffee and says halfheartedly, "Uh, how much -"

"Don't ask unless you plan on paying me back," Flack replies, shooting him a don't-gimme-bullshit look.

Danny ducks his head sheepishly and rakes a hand through his hair, ruffling it.

"Okay," he says. "Thanks. And, uh, you gonna eat that muffin right away?"

Flack gives him another look, then slides the muffin across the table toward Danny without a word. Danny gladly takes it, rips open the plastic and devours the muffin in about three mouthfuls. He can feel Flack watching him but pretends to be too busy eating to notice.

"Right," Flack says, as Danny's chasing the last crumbs in the plastic bag and licking them off his fingers. "Now that you're fed and watered, I'm gonna run down the situation for you. First off, if there aren't any drugs at your place then you're quite right, we got nothing on ya." Flack pauses and leans forward on his elbows. "But that also means we can't do anything about the fellas who want a piece 'a your ass. As far as the system's concerned, we don't have to help you - unless you help us."

Danny chews on the remaining bits of muffin in his mouth. He's heard this riff a dozen times before, this you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours crap; but this is where it gets weird, because Danny's never been inclined to believe a cop, no matter how good-cop he manages to come across. Yet now a tiny little part of his mind wants to explore the tiny little possibility that maybe Flack really does wanna help him. That he's not just selling favors to his buddies in narco, that maybe - just maybe - Danny can trust him.

Danny stretches his legs under the table and his foot brushes up against Flack's.

"Whaddaya want me to do?" he says.

"You can give me the rest of what you ain't telling me," Flack answers. "The whole nine yards. Who you're running for, where it gets cooked, who's selling and who's scoring."

Danny's shaking his head even before Flack finishes.

"I'm way low on the food chain, buddy," Danny tells him. "The delivery guy at the corner pizza joint ain't the one trading shares down on Wall Street, if you know what I mean. So, sorry to disappoint you but I ain't the big break in your career that you're lookin' for."

"This ain't about me," Flack says intensely, and Danny looks at him and there's that feeling again, like the frustration he sees in Flack's eyes is something real. "Don't you understand what I'm telling you here? You walk outta the hospital tomorrow and you're on your own, pal."

"You think I don't fucking know that?" The words burst from Danny's mouth and he lurches forward, getting right up in Flack's mildly startled face. "You think it hasn't crossed my mind, what's gonna happen to me when I get back out there on the street and still don't have what I -"

"Shut up and listen to me for two seconds, will you?" Flack cuts in, and to Danny's surprise Flack's hand darts out and catches hold of his wrist. "I don't wanna be able to do something only when your corpse washes up somewhere or turns up in some dumpster - but I can't do anything if you don't tell me what's going on."

Flack releases Danny's wrist and sits back. From the corner of Danny's eye he sees the kid at the counter eyeing them curiously. He doesn't know why he notices stuff like that, like how Flack brushes his hair out of his eyes and the way he licks his lips after talking, his tongue flickering out so quickly you'll miss it if you blinked.

Danny looks away, stares out at the street instead. He catches his own reflection in the deli window and the square bandage on his forehead stands out, a white grid on the glass. Eyes stare back at him and the person he sees feels like a stranger until he blinks, and the person blinks back.

"Okay," Danny finally mutters. He runs his fingers through his hair, tousling it harder than necessary. "I got somethin' for ya. Though I'm pretty sure it's not what you wanna hear - and you can just pretend I didn't say anything afterward, I won't kick up a fuss."

"What is it?" There's a wary tone in Flack's voice.

Danny wipes the back of his hand over his upper lip - he realizes his heart's pounding and there's an echo in his ears, high-pitched and tinny like the kind you get when you're in a plane, or when you're about to do something and you have no fucking idea what you're getting into.

Finally Danny looks up at Flack and holds his gaze squarely.

"The guy who jacked my drugs," Danny says. "He's a cop."

Flack's eyes freeze. "No way."

Danny lets out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, and that's not all," he says. "You know him, too. That's how I got your card."

***

Flack stares at Danny, unable to hide his disbelief.

"A cop," he repeats.

Danny nods curtly, once. "Yeah."

Danny's blinking rapidly and Flack thinks it could well mean he's lying through his teeth. Suspects at the end 'a their rope have the habit of making up stories about police harassment just to save their own sorry asses. And who knows where Danny got the card - Flack gives out a dozen of them everyday and Danny could've just picked up one somewhere. Not to mention trying to get the straight truth out of him tonight has been about as easy as tying an eel in a knot.

He's got no reason to believe Danny and every reason not to.

"You got this cop's name?" Flack finally says, keeping his tone neutral.

Danny shakes his head; he's not looking at Flack anymore.

"Nah." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Called himself Gabe, but I'm sure that's fake. All I know is he's from patrol."

"He was in uniform?" Flack cuts in.

"Yeah," comes the short reply.

"Which precinct?"

"I dunno, all right!" Danny's eyes flash up to meet Flack's and for a split second Flack sees frustration and helplessness in them. "Guess I should've asked to check his badge first, but I didn't. Too fucking bad for me."

Flack narrows his eyes - and maybe Danny's getting vibes of Flack's skepticism as well, because he shakes his head and exhales in a sharp breath.

"Forget it, man," he says, and now there's hurt in there along with the anger and exasperation. "Just forget it. You obviously don't believe me, so let's both just pretend I never said anything, all right?"

"Tell me exactly what happened." Flack's tone comes out more sharply than he intends.

Danny throws his hands up and brings them down onto the table with a loud bang.

"What's the fucking point?" he barks, glaring at Flack. "You're a cop, remember? It's not like you're ever gonna take my word over one 'a your own guys - so why don't you just cut the crap, since it's pretty clear what I say ain't gonna make a fucking difference to you or anyone else!"

Danny throws himself back in his seat. His eyes are dilated and he's huffing and puffing, and he kind of looks like a small angry dragon with a bandage on its forehead and dark blond hair sticking up all over the place. Any other time Flack would've found this image amusing, except now he's used up every damn ounce of patience he has.

"Hey," Flack snaps, pointing a finger at Danny. "You've been clamming up and blowing smoke at me all night, and now you expect me to just believe what you say? Don't work that way, pal, so tell you what - you want me to listen to ya?" He leans in, leveling Danny's gaze. "Well I'm listening now. So why don't you start giving me some answers I can listen to."

Flack sits back, breathing hard. He looks at Danny and sees the surprise on his face - and for the first time it seems Danny can't find a retort. Good. He's had enough of that smartass attitude.

A few moments of tense silence slide by, then Danny looks away. He picks up a crumpled paper napkin and starts tearing it into bits. Flack crosses his arms and waits.

"Friday night." When Danny finally speaks his voice is dull, toneless, as if he's telling a story that isn't his. "I picked up the package near Sunset Park, then took a shortcut through an alley just off 5th - that's where I ran into him."

Danny stops shredding the napkin and his hands close into fists, so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"He cornered me and took my drugs and I was sure he was gonna arrest me right there, but then - but he didn't." Danny's voice is very strained and now there's a deep frown knitting his eyebrows. "He made me get down on my knees."

"Wait," Flack interrupts. "You mean he -"

"Yeah," Danny cuts in bluntly; he's resolutely not looking at Flack. "Yeah, he did."

Flack feels a flush of heat around his collar. No way. That can't be right. He's seen cops get busted for being on the take or looking the other way - even Gavin Moran, his own training officer and the best teacher any rookie could ask for. But that was tampering with evidence, interfering with a crime - not a crime in itself.

"After that he made me give him my number," Danny continues. "He said if I wanted my stuff back, I was gonna do what he told me. He came to my place twice over the weekend, and -" Danny breaks off, takes a breath. "And I did whatever he wanted."

Flack tries to quash the dense, sickened feeling twisting deep in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't want to believe this, what Danny's telling him; he doesn't wanna think someone who carries a badge - someone he possibly even knows - could be capable of something like this.

He looks at Danny and finds him eyeing him watchfully.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Danny's tone is accusing, as if he's reading Flack's thoughts.

Flack pulls himself together. He's gotta play this one by the book. First thing he needs to do is figure out who this cop is, if he even exists, and for this he'll need more than just Danny's word. If they can get hold of DNA or a print, they can run it through the system and get an ID.

"This cop," Flack says. "Do you have anything he touched?"

Danny lets out a sharp, unpleasant laugh.

"He touched anything he could get his filthy hands on, you can probably find his fingerprints all over my place." He pauses, and then adds, "Oh, and he tossed a couple 'a condoms he used somewhere there, too."

Evidence, Flack thinks, and realizes he's subconsciously channeling Mac. Right now he's gotta stick with what he can prove, whether it's in Danny's favor or a fellow cop's. And even as he thinks this Flack feels a twinge of guilt, like he's selling out one of his own again. He should be giving the cop the benefit of the doubt here, instead of believing a drug runner so desperate he might be willing to point a finger in any direction.

Danny's fingers are drumming on the table, full of nervous energy; Flack reaches out and puts his hand on Danny's, stilling it beneath his own. Danny's eyes flicker up to meet his and there's a flash of surprise in them, quick like lightning.

Flack leans forward, holding Danny's gaze.

"I want you to look at me," he says intensely. "I want you to look me in the eyes and swear on your mother than you ain't bullshitting me about this."

Their faces are inches apart and Flack finds himself trying to read Danny's eyes, but it's like trying to count a jar full of live butterflies.

"I ain't lying to you," Danny finally says. His voice is quiet, if only a bit defensive. "I swear."

"Good." Flack sits back for a moment before leaning in again, abruptly, and he stares into Danny's eyes and continues, "Because if I find out you've lied to me, even just one tiny little lie, I swear on my mother that I'm gonna throw your ass in jail for it. We clear?"

Danny's expression turns mutinous.

"Yes sir," he says. "Loud an' clear," and now there's a familiar gleam of defiance in his gaze. And Flack's almost glad to see it - because anything's better than that glazed, deadened expression he saw in Danny's eyes when he was talking about what that cop made him do.

"Okay then." Flack slides out of the booth and gets to his feet. He feels Danny's gaze following him. "You sit tight, I'll be back in a couple 'a minutes."

Flack turns and walks out of the deli before Danny has a chance to protest. On the pavement outside he takes out his cell phone and hits the speed dial.

The call's picked up on the third ring. "Taylor."

"Hey, Mac. Got a minute?"

"Yeah. Sure." The background through Mac's cell phone is pretty quiet so Flack guesses he's at the lab. "What's up?"

Flack turns and looks back through the glass window at Danny, who's sitting inside the deli staring out at him with narrowed eyes.

"I got a possible scene on my hands," Flack tells Mac. "Thing is, it gets a little sensitive 'cos a uniform's involved, and not in a good way." He pauses. "But I don't wanna blow this up 'til I'm sure of what we're dealing with - so I was wondering if you got a bit of time, could you come down and look this over for me?"

A brief silence, and then: "Where are you?"

"Up in Washington Heights," Flack says. "475 West 159th Street, between Broadway and Amsterdam."

"All right," comes Mac's reply. "I'll meet you there in a half hour."

"Great. I'll fill you in when you get here. Thanks, Mac."

Flack snaps his phone shut, pockets it and goes back inside the deli. Danny looks at him questioningly as he approaches.

"Who'd you call?" he asks, even before Flack can sit down. "What was that about?"

Flack slides into the booth opposite him, holds his gaze squarely.

"This is what's gonna happen," he tells Danny. "Someone from the crime lab's coming up here and he's gonna process your place, collect whatever evidence we can find. By tomorrow we'll know if what you say checks out, and we'll take it from there. Okay?"

Danny remains still except for his eyes, which flicker searchingly over Flack's face - as if he's missing something and he's still trying to figure out what.

"That's it?" he finally says guardedly.

"Yeah," Flack answers. "What else were you expecting?"

"I dunno." Danny gives a shrug, and Flack can almost swear he sees his shoulders visibly relaxing. "Guess I was waitin' for the part where you clock me on the head and drag me out back, where a bunch 'a your pals in uniform are waiting to kick the crap outta me for telling what I just told about a cop."

Flack feels a twitch of offense.

"That what you think of us?" he says sharply.

Danny has the grace to look contrite.

"Yeah, I know it ain't fair generalizing you guys like this - and y'know, there was a time I thought bein' a cop was great thing to be." Danny pauses and blinks a couple of times, and for a second Flack thinks he looks almost... wistful. But another blink and it's gone and Danny continues, "But I seen what some cops do, y'know, just 'cos they can - and that kind 'a thing tends to stick in your mind a lot longer than the good stuff."

Danny runs a hand through his hair, and his fingers start picking absently at the bandage on his forehead.

"Stop doin' that," Flack tells him.

Danny gives him a look.

"What're you now, my mother?" he retorts, but there's no real rancor in his tone and he lets his hand drop.

Flack rolls his eyes. "You always like that, Messer?"

"Yeah, well." Danny fidgets a bit more. "I told you already, you cops make me nervous. So maybe I got a problem with authority."

"Really?" Flack answers; he tilts his head and looks right at Danny. "You know, I never would've guessed."

* * *

Mac shows up on time as usual and they meet in front of Danny's block. Flack puts Danny in the front seat of the squad car (no cuffs, windows rolled down and no key in the ignition) and goes over just as Mac gets out of his SUV.

"Hey, Mac," Flack says. "Thanks for swinging by on such short notice."

Mac nods; his attention is already fixed on the person in the front seat of Flack's car. "So who am I looking at?"

"That's Danny Messer," Flack answers. Danny is, of course, watching both of them with wary eyes.

"What's his story?"

"He was taken to New York Presbyterian earlier tonight, all beat up. I caught the case 'cos they found my card in his pocket. I talked to him and he claimed he was mugged, didn't see who, blah blah blah. He wanted out of the hospital pretty quick, so I gave him a ride back here." Flack nods toward the apartment block. "He lives in a room in the basement. When I went down there with him, we found the place completely trashed."

Flack tells Mac everything else: the drugs Danny picked up in Sunset Park, how a cop allegedly intercepted him in a back alley off 5th, stole the dope and forced Danny to give him a blowjob. When he says this Mac gives him a look that's both alarmed and mildly vexed.

"And he claims to have evidence of this?" Mac asks.

"Yeah. Not the first time it happened, but apparently the cop contacted him again and went to his place twice over the weekend. He says that apart from prints we'll also be able to find a couple of used condoms."

Mac's expression is deadly solemn.

"These are some serious allegations, Flack," he says. "Police brutality, officer misconduct, sexual assault, blackmail... not to mention failure to turn in drug contraband to narcotics."

Flack nods. "I know. That's why I called you."

"He got a name on this cop?"

"Says he calls himself Gabe," Flack answers. "If what happened is true, the name's very likely fake. But if this cop's working the Sunset Park area, I'm thinking he could be from the 72nd Precinct."

Mac looks directly at Flack.

"So you believe his story?" There's no judgment in Mac's tone, and that makes Flack feel like he can be truthful.

"I don't want to," he admits. "But - I dunno, Mac. I just can't shake a feeling."

Mac tilts his head, but as usual, gives nothing else away.

"Let's look at the evidence before we come to any conclusions." He gestures toward the building. "Has the scene been secured? Is there any chance anyone could've tampered with or planted evidence?"

Flack shakes his head.

"I was with him the whole time. As for anyone else going in after we left, I can't really say much except I don't think so." He halts, and then adds, "Any case, for now what I'm hoping to find is DNA or prints to help us track down this cop, see if he even exists. And if so, get a name."

"Right. We'll take it one step at a time." Mac gets his kit out of the car, and then turns back to Flack. "I can cover this one on my own, I think you should stay with your guy over there," he nods in Danny's direction. "Don't let him out of your sight until we know for sure what we're dealing with."

Flack halts, raises an eyebrow. "What, you think he's gonna bolt?"

"Anything can happen," Mac answers, pragmatic as always. "And in case this goes deeper than you or I expect, you've got to make sure we still have a primary witness on hand at that time."

Flack nods. "Yeah, I was just gonna check him back into the hospital, keep him off the street for the night."

Mac looks at him.

"You do realize," he says, a pointed note in his voice, "if we're dealing with a dirty cop, right now we have no idea who he is - or how much influence he has." Mac pauses. "You know how quickly word gets around, Flack. There's no altogether safe place for your informant in custody: not in holding, not even in the hospital."

Every now and then Flack gets surprised anew by how vigilant and careful Mac is, to the point of seeming paranoid. Maybe not trusting anyone is what the Marines taught him, how he made it home from all those tours of duty alive; or maybe, Flack thinks, it's just Mac. But this time he has to agree Mac's got a good point, and it's something he never even thought of.

"All right," Flack says, and makes up his mind. "I'll take care of it."

Mac gives him a searching look, but doesn't probe further.

"I'll process the scene and get the evidence back to the lab myself," he says briskly. "I'll let you know what I find."

Flack nods. "Thanks."

As Mac turns away Flack sees a troubled frown on his face - and he knows exactly how Mac feels. After what happened with Gavin Moran, Flack heard scattered murmurs through the PD: how could Don Flack Jr. help take down his own training officer for, what, wantin' to save his own son? Way to carry the grand heritage he's got, wonder what his old man thinks of that, his son kissing IAB ass.

Mac can do this without a second thought, Flack thinks morosely as he walks back to his car. He'll take all the repercussions and bad-mouthing without batting an eyelid or losing any sleep - well, whatever little sleep he gets - because there's no doubt in the man's mind that doing the right thing is more important than anything else. No exceptions.

But he's not Mac Taylor - and Flack cares, not just about justice but his own reputation as well. He values the good rapport he has with other cops, the respect they give him even though he's one of the youngest homicide detectives on the street. Yet here he is now, jeopardizing all this - for what? Some guy he barely knows?

Flack feels his mouth twist unsmilingly. Is it worth it? he thinks, and he doesn't have an answer.

He opens the door and gets into the car; when he glances up he sees Mac disappearing inside the apartment block. Flack doesn't look at Danny as he pulls on his seat belt and snaps it shut.

"Change 'a plans," he says shortly. "I'm not taking you back to the hospital."

He can feel Danny's eyes boring holes into him. "Where we goin'?"

"Chelsea," Flack answers; he pauses, then adds, "my place."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Danny sitting up straighter, and with a jolt Flack realizes how that sounds. The tension in the car soars a few notches.

"Is that protocol?" There's an odd, suppressed tone in Danny's voice.

"What?"

"Bringing home people you pick up on the job." A pause, and there's a definitely a barb in there somewhere. "I din' know that's protocol."

"It's for your safety," Flack answers carefully. "You should stay out of the law enforcement zone, at least 'til tomorrow." He halts and glances at Danny. "But if you want, I can take you somewhere else. I know a few people."

Flack sees Danny crack a rueful sort of smile and duck his head.

"You passing me around to your friends now?" he says.

The hairs on the back of Flack's neck stand on end; he has to force himself to remain calm.

"Nobody's passing anyone around, okay?" Flack can hear the strain in his own voice. "I'm just giving you a choice here. That's all."

"Giving me a choice," Danny repeats. His hand is bouncing up and down on his knee and his other leg is tapping loudly against the side of the door; he reminds Flack of a caged animal. "That's real nice. Like the choices aren't all on your side. 'Cos y'know, from where I was sitting back there, it kind of looked like you and that other guy were making some sort 'a deal. So what's that all about, hah?"

"For fuck's sake, Danny!" Flack explodes, slamming his hand against the steering wheel so hard it makes Danny jump. Flack twists in his seat to face him. "You want my help on this? Then we're gonna do it my way, understand?"

"So you're pulling rank on me now?" Danny retorts, his eyes flashing. "That how we gonna play this?"

"Yeah," Flack snarls. "And that means you keep your mouth shut and let me do what I gotta do."

"Oh, I see." Suddenly there's a thin, dangerous tone in Danny's voice. "So I'm just s'posed to shut the fuck up and do whatever you tell me?" He pauses, and then mutters under his breath, "Right, wonder where I've heard that before."

Danny's words send a rush of blood right up to Flack's brain, and the anger that surges up inside him is white hot.

"You know what?" Flack snaps, and it takes everything he has not to reach over and grab Danny with both hands and shake him hard. "I'm out there putting my ass on the line for you, and frankly I'm sick and tired of having to come back and explain myself to you every two seconds!"

"Hey, this is my fuckin' life we're talking about here," Danny retorts. "I think I got a right to know what the hell's goin' on -"

"Yeah?" Flack shoots back. "You think? Well that's funny 'cos, you know, it don't look to me like you've had too much of an idea what the hell's been going on with your life all this fucking time."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Flack immediately wants to take them back - but it's too late.

Dead silence fills the car and Flack feels the shock, the disbelief pouring off Danny; his own anger evaporates abruptly, leaving exhaustion and frayed nerves and a heavy dense feeling like a black rock hanging inside his chest. Flack's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, fingers digging into his palms - and the saying comes to mind about how it's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end.

"Fuck," he says under his breath.

And Flack half expects Danny to open the door and bolt - but Danny doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He just sits there, staring straight ahead, rigid as a statue. Flack gives him a sidelong glance: the bandage is a white pale square on his forehead and the shadows turn the bruise on his eye a darker shade of purple, making the cut on the side of his lip look almost black.

Flack turns his eyes forward again. Danny's silence is unnerving and the tension in the car is beyond awkward - awkward would be nice, Flack thinks, but it's not, it's terse and heavy and stifling like an electric-charged haze and Flack hates the feeling, this edginess that seems to be rubbing off Danny onto him.

"Look," Flack finally says; his own voice sounds loud and strange in the enclosed stillness. "I know you find it hard to believe, but - I'm on your side. And trust me, it ain't the most popular side right now, especially from my point 'a view - but you know what? For some reason here I am. On your side."

He breaks off; next to him Danny remains still, although Flack notices that he's now staring down at his hands. The seconds drag by and after what's probably half a minute, though it feels a whole lot longer than that, Danny speaks.

"Okay," he says tonelessly. "We can go to your place."

Flack cuts another sidelong look at Danny but Danny keeps his eyes forward - his mouth is pressed in a thin line and it's pretty clear he's planning on keeping it shut.

Just like I wanted him to, Flack thinks grimly; but now he feels no satisfaction, only an empty sort of strangeness, and he realizes how he's already gotten used to Danny's constant nervous chatter.

Flack bites back a sigh as he slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine. They pull onto the road, and neither of them speak for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Flack's apartment is in a one-block condo on 7th Avenue. It's one of the older buildings in the neighborhood amidst the newer luxury condos that've sprung up all around - the Tate and the Sierra along 6th, the Campiello Collection on West 17th. But the competition means he gets a good deal on the rent, and living within walking distance of one-bedrooms going for $4,000 a month for half that price isn't bad at all.

There's no garage, though, so even when he can keep the department vehicle signed out on late shifts Flack usually returns it before heading home. But the unmarked cruiser he's got tonight is discreet enough, so Flack's comfortable parking it out front on the street.

Danny gets out, slings his backpack over his shoulder and follows Flack into the building without being told. They ride the elevator in silence; even when Danny's not talking he's still got that jumpy energy about him, and he reminds Flack of his five-year-old nephew who can't be still for more than two seconds. Difference is, his nephew doesn't steal guarded glances at him when he thinks Flack's not looking, or flinch when Flack touches his arm as they step out of the elevator on the fifth floor.

"This way," Flack says, pointing down the corridor on the right.

Danny ducks his head and follows him to Apt 5B. Flack takes out his keys and unlocks the door. The curtains inside are drawn and it's dark inside; Flack flips the light switch and everything becomes bright.

Danny walks in and Flack closes the door behind them, bolts it from the inside. Since he moved in last year he heard one of his neighbors had a break-in, but it was called in some time after the fact and he didn't have to get involved. Flack barely sees his neighbors anyway; he's not even sure they know he's with the NYPD, and quite frankly he's happy it stays this way.

Flack turns around to find Danny looking the place up and down, quite literally, from the lights on the ceiling to the coffee table next to the sofa to the rug on the floor.

"Nice," Danny says expressionlessly, then looks at Flack. "I gotta piss. Can I use your bathroom?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Flack nods in the direction of the bathroom, and then adds, "While you're in there why don't you take a shower, get changed."

Danny blinks as if this idea hadn't occurred to him.

"Okay," he says, then shrugs in the same whatever way that's really starting to get on Flack's nerves. "Why not."

He takes his clothes out of his backpack and heads toward the bathroom. Flack watches him - and something about the way Danny shuffles his feet reminds him of Gavin Moran.

They met for drinks a couple of months after Moran's forced retirement, and Moran told Flack that his wife Andrea wanted a divorce and he wasn't gonna contest it. She's got every right to be mad at me, he said. I screwed up. And when Moran got up and walked to the men's room, his usual smart gait was gone and he dragged his feet, much like the way Danny's doing now - as if nothing really mattered anymore, and nothing in the world was gonna change that.

Now Flack waits until the bathroom door closes before heading toward his bedroom. He goes straight to the dresser and unlocks the drawer where he keeps his petty cash, then unclips his badge and puts it in there along with his 9mm pistol. It's not like he actually thinks Danny's gonna turn on him and snatch the gun - but there are lines to be drawn and Flack's not taking any chances.

He shrugs off his coat and pulls off his tie, then goes back outside. He can hear the sound of running water as he passes the bathroom; Flack stops briefly, and he still can't shake the heavy feeling inside him.

Maybe this is all coming too close on the heels of Moran's case, and Flack's starting to feel like he's busting more cops than criminals these days. Moran never asked him why he couldn't have left that damn notebook alone; he just never talked about it, not once, and sometimes Flack thinks not talking only makes it worse.

Flack goes into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water - and now he can't help thinking about his outburst toward Danny in the car and what led up to it. Danny was way out of line; Flack just put him back in his place. That's all it was. Not two hours ago Danny was all nervous talk and sheepish grins and self-deprecating humor, but something changed when Flack got back into the car after talking to Mac and Flack felt as if someone had pulled the pin out of a grenade and lobbed it to him. And he still can't quite figure out why Danny got so abrasive all of a sudden, but - dammit, there ain't any reason he should be feeling bad about yelling at him.

Flack sighs, finishes his drink and goes outside to sit on the sofa. A few minutes later the bathroom door opens and Danny walks out.

He's dressed in fresh clothes: a plain white T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. A set of dog tags hang from a silver chain around his neck and his hair is wet and sticking out in spikes. The bandage is gone and the bruise on his forehead is an angry shade of dark red; there's a definite shadow around Danny's left eye now, and as Danny turns his head a little under the light Flack can see an almond-shaped mark on his neck.

Danny's holding his dirty clothes in his hand; he stops short when he sees Flack sitting there.

"What?" There's an edge in Danny's voice.

Flack looks at him and suddenly feels very tired.

"Nothing," he says, then raises his chin in a nod. "Nasty bump you got there."

Danny regards him for a moment before giving a quick shake of his head.

"Nah, it's not so bad." He goes over to his backpack and stuffs the clothes inside. "I've had worse. I'll live."

Flack remembers the nurse at the hospital telling him something about a couple of stitches. "Still think you should -"

"I said I'm fine, all right?" Danny's head snaps up and his eyes blaze defiantly at Flack, as if challenging him to make something out of this.

Flack throws his hands up, palms front.

"Fine," he says, getting to his feet. "Telling yourself that has obviously been working out real well for you, so hey, don't let me get in your way."

Danny's eyes darken.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" he demands; the thin, dangerous tone is back in his voice, but right now Flack's past caring.

"It means whatever the hell you want it to." Flack takes a step forward, meeting Danny's gaze squarely. "'Cos you know what? Right now I haven't a fucking clue what's going on with you. None at all."

Flack leaves Danny standing there and strides off, heading toward the bathroom. It's still warm and steamy inside, the fresh scent of shower gel lingering in the moist air; and Flack realizes that he sorely wants a shower, but he sure as hell ain't gonna leave Danny alone in his apartment, not even with his service piece locked up in the bedroom.

With the bathroom door open Flack steps forward to stand in front of the mirror. It's still fogged up and Flack raises a hand and wipes a swath of condensation away. Then he braces both hands on the sink, stares at his reflection and thinks about all the ways he could've not gotten himself into this.

Back at the hospital, for starters, when Danny insisted he didn't know how he got Flack's card - all Flack had to do was say all right then, an officer will wait with you 'til the doc says you can go. He could've let Danny walk ten minutes from New York Presbyterian back to his place instead of driving him home, or he could've just dropped him by the side of the street instead of walking him in.

Yet here he is now, in this fucking mess.

Flack shakes his head, then turns on the tap and leans down to wash his face. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets the cool running water wash some of the tiredness away, then gropes for his towel on the rack and rubs his face dry.

When Flack turns around he nearly walks straight into Danny, who's standing right smack in middle of the bathroom doorway, blocking his path.

Flack stops short - Danny puts his hands on either side of the doorframe and shows no sign of moving aside.

Flack looks at him coldly. "Something I can help you with, Messer?"

Danny's eyes are dark and bright at the same time and his mouth curls in a lazy smile - he leans in, right into Flack's space.

"Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question." Now their faces are inches apart, and Danny holds Flack's gaze as he deliberately runs the tip of his tongue over his own lower lip. "You bring me back here for the night, tell me to take a shower - sure there ain't anything else you want me to do?"

Instinctively Flack's hands dart out to catch Danny's bare arms, holding him a safe distance away; but once his fingers clamp down on Danny's arms the contact of skin on skin sparks to life like an electric current, and he can't seem to let go.

"What's the matter, huh?" Danny pushes forward against his grip. "Am I makin' you feel uncomfortable or something?"

The heat of Danny's body is new, startling - Flack takes a step back but Danny just follows, moving in, pressing closer.

"C'mon," Danny whispers, the warmth of his breath fanning against Flack's cheek. "Since we're up close and personal here... let's stop playin' games, okay?"

Flack inhales sharply - and suddenly it feels like there's not enough air and too much Danny, and Flack knows he needs to get the fuck away from this right now but his feet don't move like his brain is screaming for them to.

Danny raises his chin so he's looking straight into Flack's face.

"I like you, y'know." The velvet tone in Danny's voice sends a shiver up Flack's spine all the way to the base of his neck. "And I think you like me, too."

Danny's right there, too-close to him, his blue eyes almost black as they stare straight at him, into him - Flack feels naked, exposed, and he has to tear his gaze away to break the intensity.

"No," he says, not looking at Danny.

Danny lets out a short laugh.

"You had to think," he says, and there's a new ruthlessness in his voice as he flattens the length of his body against Flack's. "You think, you lie."

Flack feels the wired energy in Danny's body, pressed up against his own; he takes another step back but finds himself out of space, backed up against the shower screen.

Danny boldly leans in, bracing his hands on either side of Flack's head.

"You're a bad liar, Detective," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on Flack's.

Flack sucks in a sharp breath; his mouth opens against Danny's and Danny's tongue immediately slides inside, hot and wet and thrusting deep, and Flack doesn't realize he's kissing back until his teeth graze the cut on Danny's lip and he tastes the faint copper tang of blood.

Danny's mouth moves away from his, but before Flack can react he feels Danny's lips nuzzling his neck instead. Danny's tongue slides along his jaw line, tracing a wet path; Flack tilts his head back, panting and dizzy, and when Danny sucks on the sensitive spot just above his jugular Flack has to choke back a groan. Danny lets out a soft laugh and his mouth slides up and he's kissing Flack again, rough and bruising, all tongue and teeth and -

Then without warning Danny's hand snakes lower and squeezes Flack's hardening cock through the fabric of his pants. The sudden stab of arousal makes Flack jerk back, banging his head against the screen behind him.

He catches Danny's wrist and pries it away.

"Stop," Flack blurts out, and it feels like he's hearing his own raw voice from outside himself. "This - we can't do this."

Danny's half-lidded eyes flicker up to meet his.

"Aw, c'mon now," and there's a tone of lazy amusement in Danny's voice. "Enough with the lyin' already."

Flack swallows hard, a flush burning on his face. "I'm serious."

"So'm I," Danny whispers, and his hand wriggles out of Flack's faltering grasp and slips between their bodies to grab Flack's hard-on again. A groan escapes Flack's lips before he can bite it back, and he finds himself pushing forward into Danny's palm.

Danny lets out a chuckle.

"Feels good, huh?" Danny squeezes harder, rubbing Flack's crotch, the fingers of his other hand scrabbling at the buckle of his belt. "Show you what's gonna feel even better."

Flack tenses, his hands clenching into fists. "Danny -"

But Danny's already sliding down to his knees in front of him; then he's lowering the zipper of Flack's pants and reaching inside and his fingers, hot and firm, close around his hard dick.

Flack inhales sharply and closes his eyes - this isn't happening, but it is, and the next thing he feels is the sudden wet heat of Danny's mouth closing over his cock.

Flack shudders and groans and arches forward; when he opens his eyes and looks down, the sight of Danny's lips wrapped around his cock almost makes him come right there. Danny's got a talented mouth and he sucks hard at all the right points - Flack shuts his eyes again and his fingers claw the smooth glass behind him, then they leave the cool surface and his hands are fisted in Danny's hair instead, holding his head as he pumps forward into Danny's mouth. The wet sliding sounds of his cock pushing in and out between Danny's parted lips are amplified a million times in Flack's brain, along with the roar of his own pulse in his ears.

Danny's tongue is driving him crazy and Flack feels Danny's fingers close around the base of his dick, holding it as he licks along the length with a slow, relentless rhythm, using just enough teeth, letting the hard edges scrape along the shaft just right each time Flack's cock slides out and thrusts in again -

Flack finally comes with a choked sound, low and desperate and deep in his throat; he shoots his load inside Danny's mouth and he feels Danny gag a little, his throat working to swallow. Then it's all over and Flack slumps against the shower screen, breathing harshly.

When he opens his eyes Danny's sitting back on his heels in front of him, and he looks up at Flack and wipes a hand over his own mouth. That gesture sends a jolt through Flack's groin again and he immediately closes his eyes, shutting out the image. Fuck. His pulse is wild and erratic and his heart is banging inside his ribcage, and it takes Flack a few moments to realize that the ringing in his ears is actually the distant sound of his cell phone ringing outside in the living room.

"Dammit!" Flack's eyes fly open and he hurriedly zips up his pants and stumbles outside. The phone is still ringing on the table and he snatches it up, flicks it open and presses it against his ear.

"Flack." There's an unsteady quaver in his voice.

"I just finished collecting evidence at the scene," comes Mac's familiar tone, clear and crisp. "I got a couple of dozen prints and I also found two used condoms. The sheets are - well, I've bagged them and I'll continue processing back in the lab."

Danny emerges from the bathroom and Flack looks at him. Danny's mouth is redder than usual, making the cut on his lip even starker. That mouth, Flack thinks, still dazed, the same mouth that was just wrapped around his cock -

"You all right, Flack?" Mac's voice cuts into his thoughts.

"Yeah," Flack says hastily. "Fine. Just fine."

A pause. "Where are you?"

Flack stares at Danny. "I - just got home."

"And your witness?"

"He's…" Flack hesitates, but then thinks, what the hell. "He's here with me."

"I see." Mac's tone gives nothing away. "Well - given the situation, I suppose there weren't many options."

"Yeah." Flack feels a pang; he's pretty sure the options Mac had in mind didn't include Danny getting down on his knees and giving Flack a blowjob up against the shower screen in his bathroom. "Guess not."

"I'll work on the evidence we've got," Mac continues. "I should have the results soon."

"Great," Flack jumps at the chance to end the conversation. "I'll check in with you first thing in the morning. Thanks, Mac."

He snaps his phone shut and drops it on the table with a clatter.

"Fuck," he says out loud.

Danny's still standing there, watching him with an inscrutable expression in his eyes.

"What was that about?" Danny asks.

"Nothing," Flack answers, too quickly, and he sees Danny's eyes narrow.

"Oh, right, I forgot. No questions." The sarcasm drips from Danny's tone. "Guess we're back to business again. Okay, got it."

Danny's words sting and Flack has to bite back a response. He doesn't need to get into another fight with Danny - right now what he needs to do is put some goddamn space between them and get himself under control.

Flack takes a deep breath and looks at Danny.

"You should get some rest," he says, struggling to keep his tone even. "The couch is all yours and, uh, I'll go get you a blanket."

Flack starts walking toward his bedroom, moving around the side farthest from where Danny's standing. He barely gets a few steps away before Danny speaks.

"Oh, I see what's going on here," Danny says, and there's something in his tone Flack can't quite put his finger on. "You're thinkin' maybe the same thing happened with that cop - that maybe I was the one who came on to him first, huh?"

Flack stops in his tracks - Danny's words hit him with the force of an oncoming train plowing bam! right through his mind. He slowly turns around to face Danny again.

"That's what you did with that cop?" Flack feels a creeping cold spread through him like melt ice. "Same thing you did back there?"

Danny stares at him. Just stares, and Flack watches a glimmer of emotion ghost across Danny's eyes before they turn to stone.

"You know what?" Danny's voice is sharp and thin, like the edge of a blade. "Fuck you. That's all I gotta say."

"Yeah?" Flack feels a backlash of anger rise inside him, strong enough to push aside the guilt. "'Cos it sure felt to me like you knew exactly what you were doing just now."

"Right," Danny shoots back. "And you'd know all about that, since I don't seem to recall you protesting too much either." He pauses for a moment, then snaps his fingers in mock realization. "Oh yeah, now I think I remember the part you were real reluctant an' all, y'know, right about when you were pumping your cock in and outta my mouth."

A flush of embarrassment burns on Flack's face - it's quickly chased by a white hot rage and Flack stalks toward Danny, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. He reaches out and grabs Danny by both arms.

"Don't get smart with me, Messer," Flack hisses; his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into Danny's flesh.

Danny doesn't flinch, but Flack can feel Danny's entire body rigid in his grasp.

"Fine, you want the truth?" Danny's voice is low, intense. "Well here it is. I'd rather rinse my mouth in drain cleaning fluid than kiss that bastard, so I guess that's one big difference right there."

Flack stares at him - it takes a moment for the full meaning of Danny's words to sink in.

"I'd run down some more differences for ya," Danny continues, holding Flack's gaze. "But you've made it pretty clear I'm only s'posed to open my mouth when you want me to, so."

He jerks his arms out of Flack's grip and takes a step back.

"And you wanna know somethin' else?" Danny says, his eyes flashing. "I liked you a whole lot better before I sucked your dick."

Flack feels like someone just thumped a fist into his stomach, dead center.

"Danny," he begins, but Danny cuts him off.

"I think I'm gonna try to get some sleep now, like you said." Danny goes to sit on the sofa; then he looks at Flack again, and his voice is as hard as his eyes as he adds, "Thanks for putting me up for the night an' all. Hope I made it worth your while."

Danny turns away and curls up on the couch; the silence that follows is loud, infinite, and Flack's not sure how long he stands there, his mind reeling.

Finally he turns and walks back to his bedroom. He retrieves a blanket he keeps on the top shelf in his closet, and when he goes back outside Danny's still lying with his face toward the back of the sofa - obviously not asleep, but he could just as well be dead for all the response Flack's gonna be able to get from him tonight.

Without a word Flack drops the blanket over the arm of the sofa, where Danny's legs are bent awkwardly, his feet half hanging over the edge. Then Flack walks over to the wall and flips the light switch; the living room goes dark except for the faint glow coming in through the curtains from outside.

Flack's brain is still spinning as he walks back to his bedroom again. He still can't get the image of Danny on his knees out of his head - and right now the only thing Flack knows for sure is that he fucked up. Real bad.

And you wanna know somethin' else? Danny's words echo in his mind. I liked you a whole lot better before I sucked your dick.

Yeah, Flack thinks heavily. I think I liked me better then, too.

***

Danny wakes to the sound of metal clinking and the smell of coffee. It's bright even behind closed lids and he cracks an eye open - sunlight hits him squarely in the face, and he immediately shuts his eye again.

Fuck.

He's real good at slipping out in the middle 'a the night, he's done it enough times before. But he must've closed his eyes and dozed off and now boom. It's bright fuckin' morning and here he is, still in Flack's apartment, sprawled on his couch.

Sometime during the night he also managed to pull the blanket around himself and now it's tangled around his legs. Danny kicks it away and drags himself upright. His head's pounding with a dull ache and his throat feels like sandpaper - he swallows dryly, then remembers the last time he swallowed with some effort.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Danny ruffles his hair vigorously, then holds his head in both hands. And already he's hating himself for being such a goddamn wuss, 'cos it's not like what happened was a big deal or anything - he's fucked for money, for favors, for payment, hell, even just for fun every now and then.

And when he followed Flack into the bathroom last night Danny knew exactly what he wanted: to see how far he could push Flack, to show he's got what it takes to break the good cop. Danny was gonna move in, push Flack up against the wall, hold him there and grind against him as he tongued that sweet spot on Flack's neck - then he was gonna slide his hand inside Flack's pants, talk dirty in his ear and jerk him off until Flack came in his hand, all messy and panting and helpless.

That was the plan.

But then he kissed Flack and everything changed.

Now Danny halts and glances around. Not too late. The kitchen's shielded from view and he can probably get out and make it to the fire escape stairs before the door clicks shut behind him. Danny eyes the door with great interest, but before he can make up his mind Flack steps out into the living room, a cup of coffee in hand.

Flack's all dressed and ready for work - his hair's nicely combed, although that's about where the freshness ends. There are shadows under his eyes and he looks like he hasn't slept all night. Good, Danny thinks grimly. Serves him right.

Flack stops when he sees Danny sitting up. Another moment passes before he finally speaks.

"C'mon," Flack says. "Time to get up."

Danny doesn't move. "What's goin' on?"

A pause, and then: "I'm taking you to the crime lab. You need to fill out some paperwork there."

Flack's all business again and he reminds Danny of some 'a the tricks he used to turn in Times Square and Port Authority on week nights - men in dark suits with briefcases in hand who cast shifty glances around, then sidle up to Danny and never meet his eyes as they ask for the time, and more.

"Tell ya what." Danny stretches his legs, then looks at Flack. "You can go in to your crime lab and you can fill out your paperwork. Me, I'm getting outta here."

He bends down and picks up his backpack; as he does he feels Flack's hand on his arm, stopping his movement. Danny looks up and finds himself staring into Flack's face, dark against the bright sunlight coming in through the window behind him. The light hurts Danny's eyes, but he forces himself not to look away.

Flack lets go of Danny's arm and straightens.

"I'm gonna talk to that cop," he says. His voice is low and there's a certain tenseness about him, and something tells Danny it's not just 'cos of what happened between them last night.

"You know who he is?" Danny asks.

Flack nods. "Yeah. Got a name from the prints we lifted at your place."

Danny tilts his head, looks up at Flack.

"And what about my stuff?"

Flack blinks. "Your stuff?"

"My drugs, man." Danny rolls his eyes. "What, did ya think I was doing some sort 'a public service or something, helpin' you bust dirty cops? I just need my stuff back so I can square it with my guys. That's all."

Flack has a frown on his face.

"Don't you care what happens to this cop?" he says. "After what he did to you?"

Danny rises to his feet abruptly; he feels Flack tense but still stand his ground.

"What he did to me, huh," Danny repeats coldly. "And what makes you think I care about that?" He raises his chin and holds Flack's gaze. "Yeah, so he fucked around with me. You did too. It's no big deal."

An emotion flinches across Flack's face; he looks like he's been slapped. Danny smiles thinly - a part of him revels in this, the anguish and disbelief he sees in Flack's eyes.

"And you wanna know somethin' else?" Danny leans closer, right into Flack's space. "You wanna know what that son of a bitch told me would happen if I ran to another cop about what he did?"

Flack looks thoroughly put-upon - he opens his mouth but no words emerge, and he closes it again.

"He said all that other cop's gonna do is laugh in my face," Danny continues. "And even if he didn't, he's just gonna look at me and see a whore who likes being fucked six ways from Sunday."

Flack stares at him; and in his eyes Danny sees the dismay that he doesn't try to hide, or isn't able to. They're standing face to face and suddenly it all comes back to Danny's mind - leaning in, impossibly close, until he pressed his mouth to Flack's and felt the dryness of his lips, managed to slide his tongue between them, and that's when Flack started kissing him back.

Now Danny's not even sure why he's telling Flack all this, especially when Flack already thinks he did for Gabe what he did for him last night. The spiteful, angry part of Danny wants this to be payback, wants to make Flack feel as if he's just another cheap dirty bastard cop like Gabe. But suddenly the cruel viciousness deflates and Danny just feels - tired. He just wants to get the hell out of here, go back to his pigeonhole and his crappy existence, because at least that's real. This isn't, Danny tells himself. All this, it ain't real.

Danny takes a step back.

"I should go." His own voice sounds deadened in the quiet living room.

He can feel Flack's eyes on him as he slings the backpack over his shoulder and turns away. The silence hums loud and tense as he walks over to the door and unbolts it. When he opens the door, Flack finally speaks.

"Danny." Flack's voice is low, strained. "I just - I'm just trying to help you."

Danny doesn't turn around; and he feels no spite, no glee, nothing at all.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. "Yeah, I think you mentioned that."

He steps out into the hallway and closes the door behind him. It clicks shut, and there's a certain finality in the silence that follows.

Warm light filters through the stained glass windows, filling the corridor with the color of morning. Danny halts - the sense memory returns again, of taste and touch, lips on skin, tongue on cock. And when he was on his knees Danny remembers looking up and seeing the guilt and arousal in Flack's eyes, gazing down at him, and it was a long time since anything - anyone - turned Danny on so much.

And when Flack shuddered and groaned and thrust deeper into his mouth, it was - it was somethin' Danny wanted. And that's probably the most fucked up thing of all; even more than what Flack said after it was over, 'cos Danny can almost forgive him for that.

Danny shakes his head to scatter the thoughts. Flack still hasn't come running out of his apartment to stop him - not that Danny expects him to, or plans to stick around to see if it's gonna happen.

He decides to take the fire escape stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He emerges by the side of the building, and when Danny comes around to the front he sees Flack's car still parked by the side of the road. Miracle number one, and the second is that it's not vandalized. Not even an unmarked cruiser would've survived the night in Washington Heights. But of course this is fuckin' Chelsea, and even in the light of day it feels like a different world.

Danny looks around, up and down the street at the tall condos right out of ads he's seen in the papers. Flack's done good for himself, he thinks. Stuck with the job, rose through the ranks - and Flack still looks kind of young to have made Detective, and it only goes to show.

In a different life, this could've been him. His grades in the Academy were top of his class and he was on the road to somethin' good, somethin' he could be proud of, and that's a feeling Danny never thought he'd have again after his baseball dreams shattered with the dull crunch of his wrist. He cried then, when Coach took him aside and told him that with his injury he'd never make it, not even in the minors. He cried 'cos it wasn't fair, and it wasn't right.

Then he joined the NYPD and went to the Academy, and things were looking up until - well. Until everything fell apart again.

And Danny still remembers Sergeant Amundsen, one of his Academy instructors, calling him aside the day he went back to empty his locker of his stuff. Danny was aware of people staring at him as he closed his locker, left the lock open in the hook and trailed the sergeant back to his office.

Why'd you run? Amundsen asked, once the door was closed.

Danny kept his eyes fixed on the box in his hands.

I dunno, he answered. Guess I just didn't wanna get in trouble. The irony made his mouth twist.

You would've just got hit with DUI, Amundsen told him. It was non-injury and if you'd stopped when they flagged you, it would've just been a misdemeanor. I would've been able to put in a good word, point out your top grades, find a way to keep you enrolled. But now you got willful reckless driving and fleeing arrest - and there's nothing anyone can do to help you.

Danny bit down on his lip and didn't say anything. The sergeant walked him to the door and opened it.

You gotta face this, Messer, he said. Run now, and you'll just keep running.

But that's exactly what Danny did. He ran with a rough crowd, ran drugs, ran from cops, and he's played on the wrong side of the law for so long it's hard to believe he was once on the other side. And he's seen how cops treat boys on the streets, boys like him who just gotta make a living any way they can, sellin' drugs or their bodies or whatever. Bent cops like Gabe, and Danny's almost forgotten that there are still some good cops out there, like Sergeant Amundsen. Like Flack.

Danny stops, and now Flack's words come to mind: I just - I'm just trying to help you.

It's been a long time since anyone said that to him like they meant it, and Danny remembers why he liked Flack the moment he met him - not just 'cos of his gorgeous blue eyes but because of the honesty and earnestness Danny saw in them, and that's not something you find everyday.

Danny leans against a lamp post and closes his eyes. The morning sun warms his face, glows behind his closed lids; he lets the rays soak into his skin, and he thinks about how running away cost him his career at the Academy. How he's been running all his life ever since, and no one's bothered to stop him. How he's still runnin' now.

Maybe the sergeant's right - he's gotta stop running sometime.

Danny opens his eyes and squints up at the apartment block. A moment ticks by, a standstill, and then Danny makes up his mind and pushes himself away from the lamp post. He hoists his backpack higher on his shoulder and walks over to the cruiser, trying not to look too much like he's gonna try to jack it, then leans against the passenger side door and waits.

A few minutes later Flack exits the apartment block and walks down the path. His eyes are downcast and he absently runs a hand through his hair. He looks distracted, and as he comes down the steps his coat flaps open and Danny catches a glimpse of gold in the sunlight, his badge glinting on his belt.

Halfway down the path Flack looks up and sees Danny standing there - he stops in his tracks. Genuine surprise flits across his face, quickly followed by somethin' else: relief? caution? Danny can't quite figure it out.

After a moment Flack approaches with measured steps, until he's standing just a few feet from Danny.

"Didn't think you'd still be here." Flack's voice is carefully neutral.

Danny levels his gaze. "Me neither."

Flack doesn't answer; but Danny senses a certain break in the tension that's been simmering between them. And there's still that, that look in Flack's eyes, like he's not sure what to expect, and right now that's something Danny can fully relate to.

"You know," Danny says truthfully. "I wanna believe you. I do."

An expression flickers across Flack's face. Then he reaches out and braces his hand against the frame of the car; the movement is casual, yet intimate, and it brings them closer and Danny finds himself staring up into Flack's steady eyes.

"Guess that's a start," Flack says, so quietly that his lips, inches away from Danny's, barely move.

Danny realizes that he's holding his breath; he exhales, and suddenly he doesn't feel like he's standing here with a cop in front of a police cruiser in an uptown neighborhood where he don't belong. It's just him leaning up against a car, talking to a handsome guy with sincere eyes and a nice suit who actually seems... glad to see him.

"Yeah," Danny answers, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest and he can breathe easier. "I guess so."

The edges of Flack's mouth curl in a small smile; another moment passes between them, brief and meaningful, before Flack takes a step back. He walks around to the driver's side and unlocks the door, then looks at Danny.

"C'mon," Flack says. "Let's go."

Danny hesitates, then opens the door on his side and climbs in. Flack gets into the car as well.

"Seat belt," he reminds Danny, and then starts the engine.

Danny clicks his belt shut, then leans back in his seat. And he thinks about how he was sitting right here last night as they drove away from Washington Heights, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

Now Danny steals a glance at Flack - and he's not sure why this should feel any different, or why it does.

* * *

The NYPD crime lab, it turns out, is on Broadway and 47th, which isn't that far from Flack's place in Chelsea but in morning traffic the drive takes about twenty minutes.

They ride the elevator to the 35th floor, and when they step out Danny's confronted with a place already bustling with activity at this time of morning. Walls of glass divide corridors and labs and meeting rooms, and sunlight floods in through the windows even though everywhere's already brightly lit by fluorescent white lights.

Danny slows as he approaches the officer standing guard near the entrance.

"He's with me," Flack says; the officer nods and Danny quickly follows Flack through.

They walk down a corridor and Danny looks into the labs as they pass by. Test tubes spin inside bulky machines and people in white coats stare into microscopes and write down notes, their faces lit by the blue flicker of computer screens around them.

Then they turn a corner and Danny sees a familiar face; it takes him a moment to realize that's the guy who showed up to meet Flack last night. Now in the bright light Danny sees a man with a stern expression and piercing eyes - serious, but not severe. The badge on his belt is visible, peeking out from behind the edge of his dark coat, and he's got a small, round pin of gold on his lapel.

Flack halts, then turns to Danny and holds up his hand.

"Just hang on a sec," he says, and as Flack steps toward the other man Danny hears him say, "Hey, Mac..."

Danny shoves his hands in his pockets and stands where he is. People walk past him without sparing a glance, all in a rush to do something or be somewhere; it makes him edgy, nervous, the same way hospitals do, 'cos everything's too orderly and clinical and Danny feels like some foreign particle of bacteria that don't belong.

He looks at Flack, who's now absorbed in a file that the other cop's showing him. There's a frown on Flack's face and Danny thinks he catches Flack's expression darken. Danny feels a stab of panic: maybe that's his rap sheet, and now Flack's reading all about how he was DUI and fled arrest, how he got kicked out of the Academy and -

Flack looks up and catches Danny looking at him; the frown disappears, and there's no disgust or anger in Flack's eyes. Danny feels a flood of relief, just as Flack snaps the file shut and waves him over.

"Danny," Flack says. "This is Detective Taylor."

Danny approaches warily.

"Hey," he says, and Detective Taylor nods in return.

"He's gonna help you with the paperwork," Flack continues. "Don't worry, he'll walk you through it. I've got somethin' I need to do right now, but I'll check in on you right after that. Okay?"

Danny hesitates. His flight reflex kicks in again, and he wants outta here if Flack's not gonna stick around with him. Not that this Detective Taylor makes him feel uncomfortable or anything - at least, not more uncomfortable than he already is - but a cop's a cop and Danny doesn't wanna have to think twice and be careful about everything he says.

"All right?" Flack repeats, and Danny realizes that Flack's looking at him questioningly.

What the hell, Danny tells himself. You're in this deep, might as well stick with it. He takes a deep breath.

"Yeah," he says, meeting Flack's gaze. "Right. Okay."

"Good." Flack looks satisfied, and he touches Danny lightly on the arm. "I'll see you later."

Flack turns back to Taylor again; they exchange a few more words in low tones that Danny can't hear, then the conversation ends and Flack heads off down another corridor. Danny watches him go and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Detective Taylor's watching him - and he reminds Danny of one of his grade school teachers who always looked at him this same way, like she already knew what Danny broke or who he pushed in the playground.

Taylor steps forward.

"All right then," he says; his voice is neutral, though the fixed expression in his eyes doesn't quite yield. "Come with me."

Danny figures the best thing he can do for himself right now is just shut up and follow instructions. It's not somethin' he's particularly good at, and definitely not what he enjoys; but he's done as he's told enough times before, done a lot more and a lot worse. So this can't be too bad. At least he hopes not.

Taylor leads him through the network of corridors until they finally enter a small conference room. There's a round table surrounded by a few chairs, and Taylor gestures toward one of them. Danny automatically goes over and takes a seat.

"Would you like something to drink?" Taylor asks.

Danny shakes his head, then instantly regrets it when Taylor closes the door, comes around the table and sits down across from him.

"Look," Danny says, eyeing Taylor nervously. "I dunno what, uh, Detective Flack told you, but I ain't plannin' on bringing charges against this cop or anything."

Taylor doesn't bat an eyelid, and Danny fidgets.

"I mean, you guys can do whatever you want with him," he adds. "But I ain't gonna testify. Sorry, I just - I can't do that. So I don't wanna waste your time asking me questions and stuff, 'cos I got no intention of taking this any further."

Danny breaks off and sucks in a deep breath. Across from him, Detective Taylor continues to gaze at him levelly, and Danny starts to feel like something under a microscope slide.

"We're still in the process of reviewing the evidence," Taylor finally says, still watching Danny calmly. "And for now we haven't determined exactly what happened. So regardless of whether this gets handled internally or otherwise, I'll still need to ask you some questions."

Turns out Detective Taylor wants to talk about what happened the night Danny got his drugs jacked, and the two times Gabe came over to his place after that. Danny tells him exactly what he told Flack, although he also leaves out the part with the baton - that's still too humiliating to tell anyone about.

Taylor listens, a frown furrowing his brow the entire time. He makes notes in the file, then interrupts to ask Danny whether there might still be any evidence on him of his contact with Gabe.

"No," Danny answers immediately. "No, of course not. I went straight into the shower right after."

Taylor makes another note in the file and finally closes it. Danny breathes a little easier, until Taylor reaches over to the empty chair by his side and lifts up a camera.

"I have to photograph your injuries now," Taylor says in a brisk tone. "Could you stand up and remove your shirt, please."

Danny stares at Taylor in dismay - and some of it obviously shows on his face, because Taylor's expression softens a little.

"It's standard procedure," he adds, looking at Danny. "Aside from the investigation into possible officer misconduct, we still haven't found the people who assaulted you last night. And since no photos were taken at the hospital, I need to document your injuries now."

Danny bites down on his lip. It's not just that taking off his shirt for the camera brings back bad memories of other times he's done that, and more, in front of a lens - but it's the shame of showing someone the bruises on his body, someone who isn't just a nameless doctor or nurse that he'll never have to look in the eyes after.

Danny blinks rapidly and looks at Taylor.

"Just my shirt?" His own voice is small, guarded.

"Yes," Taylor answers firmly, and Danny finds his tone oddly reassuring. "Just your shirt. That's all."

Danny sighs. Finally he lifts up his T-shirt, then raises his arms and pulls it over his head, careful not to strain his sore ribs. He drops the shirt on the table and then stands facing Taylor.

He closes his eyes as the first flash goes off, and he's vaguely aware of rapid click-click of the camera as Taylor's footsteps circle around him, moving from left to right. Sharp flashes of light hit different angles behind Danny's lids, and he keeps them closed.

Finally there's a pause; then Taylor's voice speaks somewhere to his right.

"What's this bruise here?" he asks. "On your neck. It doesn't look like an injury from getting beaten up."

Danny opens his eyes reluctantly. He doesn't look at Taylor, though from the corner of his eye he can tell that the detective is intently studying the almond-shaped bruise near the base of his neck, at the junction of his shoulder.

"Oh, that." Danny hears the dullness in his own voice. "Yeah. He bit me. Gabe, I mean. Or whatever his name is." He pauses. "But it's nothing, really. It don't hurt or anything."

Taylor doesn't respond. He just moves slightly closer, though not close enough to infringe upon Danny's space; then the camera click-clicks and the flash goes off again, and Danny bites his lip and forces himself to remain still.

Taylor finally lowers the camera and takes a step back.

"Thank you," he says. Danny can still feel him staring hard at the bruise on his neck. "That's all."

Danny turns away and puts his shirt back on as Taylor gathers up the file and the camera.

"I'll need to get these processed," Taylor says, and now there's a graver, more subdued tone in his voice. "Wait here. An officer is just outside in case you need anything."

Danny watches Taylor leave. The door clicks shut and four walls and silence surround him. This room's about the same size as his little place in the basement, except without the awful leafy green wallpaper. Danny stretches his legs and slouches in his chair. He feels cold and tired and now he regrets not asking for a cup of coffee.

Though he's gotta admit, the chat session with Detective Taylor was a lot less scary that he thought it'd be. Yeah, Taylor's all business and no nonsense and the focus in his eyes sometimes makes Danny squirm - but there's something kind and honest about him, which reminds Danny of Flack. Well, maybe not entirely, since Danny didn't think about getting Taylor in bed within five minutes of meeting him, but - well, he gives Danny a good feeling.

Danny sits and waits. There's no clock in the room and he's not sure how much time passes - twenty, thirty minutes? - before the door opens again and Flack pokes his head in.

Danny sits up straight, immediately alert. Somehow in this short time he's figured out how to read Flack's demeanor in a heartbeat - and now Flack looks tense, his composure thinly controlled.

"Danny," he says, his words clipped. "Come with me."

A cold feeling coils in Danny's stomach; he doesn't move. "What's goin' on?"

Flack slips into the room, closing the door behind him. He doesn't sit down.

"We just brought in that cop," he says; he holds Danny's gaze, his eyes dark and intense.

And an ugly thought suddenly pops into Danny's mind: Gabe told Flack everything. How they fucked, how Danny let him fuck him and probably really liked it, liked it when Gabe held him down and shoved the baton -

Flack finally seems to notice Danny's edginess. He tilts his head and looks at Danny.

"You okay?" he asks, and now there's concern in his eyes.

"What'd he say?" Danny finally forces the words past the thick lump in his throat.

"We haven't talked to him yet," Flack answers. "But I still need you to make a visual ID - it'll hold up as part of the case, even if you don't testify." He pauses. "You'll be seeing him through one 'a those one-way mirrors, so don't worry, he won't able to see you."

Flack's words trigger a sudden rush of anger, and Danny narrows his eyes.

"What, you think I'm afraid of him?" he snaps. "You think that's why I don't wanna testify?"

Danny sees a flicker of agitation in Flack's eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Flack says tersely.

"Yeah, but that's what you thought, right?" Danny glowers at him. "Well, for the record - I ain't scared 'a that cop. I just don't wanna get involved in the whole, y'know, the whole process."

"But it ain't like that," Flack sounds frustrated. "All you gotta do is -"

"No, no, don't tell me what I gotta do," Danny cuts him off. "I know it looks all simple now, yeah, but the minute I'm knee-deep the shit's gonna hit the fan and I'm the one who's gonna end up getting screwed." He pauses and takes a breath. "And I sure as hell can do without that right now."

Flack sighs. "You just... you gotta trust the system."

Danny shakes his head adamantly.

"I know what it's like when the system gets you in their sights," he says, looking straight at Flack. "And I'm not gonna let it happen again."

Flack puts both hands on the table and leans forward.

"In that case," he says, gazing right back at Danny. "I guess you just gotta trust me."

Danny stares at him, and suddenly he can't think of anything to say.

"Listen to me," Flack continues. "I got your back, Danny. You gotta believe that."

Danny looks at Flack, sees the earnestness in his eyes - and the part of his mind that, even up 'til now, has always set off warning bells and told him Run! Run! so he'll never let anyone close enough to screw him over - now that part of him finally seems to back down, shut up, and give in.

Danny takes a deep breath; he holds Flack's gaze.

"Okay." There's an odd tone in his voice, like it's not his own; Danny blinks, then says it again. "Okay."

And Danny sees a relieved look in Flack's eyes, like the expression on his face earlier that morning when he glanced up and saw Danny leaning against his car, waiting for him.

Flack takes his hands off the table and straightens.

"Come on," he says, and now there's a half-smile on his lips. "I'll walk you there."

Danny gets to his feet, and there's no mistaking the warmth in Flack's manner as he reaches out and puts his hand briefly on Danny's shoulder. They leave the room together, and as they walk down the corridors again Danny lets himself look a little more curiously into the labs along the way.

They take another turn and Danny sees Detective Taylor standing near one of two closed doors, poring over a file.

Taylor looks up as they approach. His eyes slide from Danny to Flack, and beside him Danny catches Flack give a barely perceptible nod. Before Danny has the chance to start feeling out of the loop again, Flack turns to him.

"Once we're in the room, Detective Taylor will ask the questions." Flack pauses, and Danny can feel Flack's eyes studying him intently. "You ready?"

Danny looks at him, and then nods once. "Yeah."

Flack and Taylor exchange another swift look, then Taylor opens the door nearest to them. Flack gestures the way and Danny steps in first - he finds himself in a small, dimly lit rectangular room with mostly standing space and only one chair in the far corner. There's a big glass panel cut in the wall on left, and through it Danny can see another room on the other side.

The other room is larger, more brightly lit; in the middle there's a table with three chairs, and the person sitting in one of the chairs makes Danny stop in his tracks.

In the harsh white light Gabe looks older than Danny remembers - in his 40s, probably, judging from the graying hair that's thinning at the top of his head. He's broad built and his thick arms are muscular, though his belly's sporting a paunch. He's dressed in patrol uniform and his gun and badge are arranged on his belt, along with his baton. Danny stares at it - he doesn't realize he's biting down hard on his lip until he feels a sting of pain from the cut breaking open again.

Gabe's eyes are flinty as they dart around the room, his mouth set in a crooked hard line; he's clearly agitated, and the sound of his fingers tapping loudly on the table is audible from this side of the glass. Danny looks at those large hands - he remembers them sliding all over his body, digging into his flesh as Gabe held him down so he couldn't move away from each rough thrust. And even now Danny can still almost hear the sound of his cruel laughter.

"Step forward, please." Taylor's voice cuts into his thoughts.

Danny moves closer, standing next to Taylor in front of the glass. Flack stays aside, near the door.

"Now look very carefully at the man inside the other room," Taylor says. "And tell us whether he's the same NYPD police officer who approached you on Friday night and, under the cover of law, confiscated drugs that were in your possession, then proceeded to order you to perform a sexual favor."

A flush of shame burns on Danny's face. He can feel the weight of Taylor's eyes watching him; out of the corner of his eye Danny can't see Flack's expression. Somehow that makes it easier.

"Take all the time you need," Taylor adds.

"That's him," Danny says through clenched teeth.

"You're sure?" Taylor queries.

Danny nods tightly. "Positive."

Taylor writes something in the file he's holding.

"And is this the same man who went to your residence on 159th Street on Saturday and Sunday," Taylor continues, "where on both occasions he once more demanded and obtained sexual favors from you, promising to return the drugs he had confiscated earlier?"

Danny blinks rapidly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"Yes," he says in a sharp exhalation.

"Thank you." Taylor makes another note, then closes the file. "That's all."

Danny feels himself relax, just a little bit. He steals a quick sidelong glance at Flack and finds him staring through the glass at Gabe. Then Taylor holds out the file and Flack steps forward to take it - as he does his eyes sweep in Danny's direction and their gazes meet briefly. There's a tight set to Flack's jaw, and the dark light in his eyes is like nothing Danny's ever seen before.

"Stella has the rest of the evidence," Taylor says. Flack gives Taylor a curt nod, and without a word he turns and strides out of the room. The door clicks shut behind him.

Danny turns to Taylor. "So what happens now?"

"Now that you've made a positive visual ID," Taylor answers, "Detective Flack's going to collect the evidence and speak to this officer about it." He walks over to the door. "This might take a while. I'll show you to a room where you can wait."

Danny remains where he is.

"Can I - can I stay and watch?" he asks.

Taylor looks surprised; a frown knits his eyebrows.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he replies, eyeing Danny carefully. "The law restricts contact between suspects and victims or witnesses outside of court."

Danny takes a deep breath.

"I know this ain't exactly protocol an' all," he tells Taylor. "But I mean - onlookers at a crime scene are all potential witnesses too, but the law allows them to stay and listen to any conversation between a suspect and the investigating officer, as long as they don't interfere." Danny pauses, and then continues in a rush, "So I'm just hoping you could let me do the same here."

Detective Taylor is looking at him strangely.

"How'd you know all that?" he asks, a sharp tone in his voice.

Danny blinks, and then realizes what Taylor's talking about.

"Oh. That." He tilts his head a little, watching Taylor's reaction. "D'you promise not to laugh if I told you I'd been through the Academy?"

Taylor holds his gaze; his expression doesn't alter, and finally Danny gives him a rueful smile.

"Nah, just kidding," he says, and wishes he was. "I watch a lot of TV, that's all."

Taylor studies him for a moment longer.

"I still don't think you should be here for Detective Flack's interview," he says firmly. "He's going to be asking this officer some very direct questions, which will include things you might not want to hear."

Danny holds up both his hands.

"I swear I'll just watch," he says. "I won't make a sound, Detective Flack won't even know I'm in here." He breaks off and looks at Taylor earnestly. "I just - well, I ain't gonna get my day in court, so I just wanna hear what that cop's gotta say for himself."

Taylor looks like he's gonna say no again; but then he fixes Danny with an intent gaze, as if he's actually giving this some thought. Danny holds his breath and waits.

"Fine," Taylor finally says. He walks back to stand next to Danny. "But I'm staying here with you."

Danny gives him a grateful nod. "Thanks."

Before Taylor can reply they're interrupted by the sound of the door opening on the other side of the glass. Danny immediately turns and watches as Flack walks into the other room; he's got a brown envelope marked 'EVIDENCE' in his hand and there's a gleam in his eyes, like a hunter locked on his target.

"Andrew Lovotti," Flack says, and shuts the door behind him.

Danny inhales sharply. Lovotti. So that's Gabe's real name.

Gabe - Lovotti - looks up at Flack, scowling.

"About fuckin' time," he snaps, rising to his feet. "What the fuck is goin' on? I get picked up in the middle of my shift, dragged all the way over here - and what the hell am I doing in an interrogation room?"

Danny watches as Flack strides forward, coming to halt only when he's standing face to face with Lovotti.

"You're in an interrogation room," Flack answers in a hard voice, "because I got some questions to ask. Now sit down."

He slams the envelope onto the table with such a loud bang that Lovotti actually jumps. Danny blinks, startled; he steals a sidelong glance at Taylor and catches a look of mild surprise on his face as well.

Danny turns his attention back to Lovotti, who has warily settled himself in his seat again. Now Lovotti narrows his eyes at Flack, and a certain recognition seems to dawn.

"You're that detective who came by yesterday," he says. "About the dead hooker we found in Chinatown that you guys figure could be linked to your case. Donald Flack, right?" Lovotti pauses, and then snaps his fingers. "I knew that name sounded familiar - your old man was in charge of my precinct for a while, back in the day."

"Good memory you got there," Flack says cuttingly. "Let's see how long it holds up."

He opens the envelope, takes out something in a clear plastic bag and drops it on the table in front of Lovotti.

"Here's my card, the same one I gave you when I stopped by the 72nd Precinct yesterday morning," Flack tells him. "It's got three sets of prints on it - two of 'em are yours and mine."

Lovotti glances at the card, then looks up at Flack.

"Yeah, so?" he snipes back. "You haul me all the way over here to, what? Ask me if I didn't call to update you on that hooker case 'cos I lost your card?"

He sniggers. Flack gives him a stare cold enough to freeze a lot more than just beer.

"Trust me," Flack says, his voice thin as a blade. "When I'm done, you're gonna wish this was just about that hooker case."

Lovotti's smug look disappears. "What d'you want?"

"Oh, where do I start." Flack's smile is almost feral. "All right. First, let's talk about that nice hot cup 'a coffee you had on us just now, while you were waiting." He takes a step back and starts circling the chair Lovotti's sitting in. "See, we like to keep the place clean, pick up after sloppy people like you - and we just happened to notice a tiny little bit of powdery white stuff on the outside of the paper cup you left behind."

Flack pauses, then continues to prowl.

"It also happens that our lab right here's got a great chemistry set, which can tell us exactly what that powdery white stuff is." He stops just next to Lovotti. "Wanna guess?"

Danny sees a flash of nervousness on Gabe's - Lovotti's face.

"Cocaine. That's what." Flack bends forward abruptly, one hand on the back of Lovotti's chair. "And I'm pretty sure we shouldn't be looking at the paper cup manufacturer for that, so - you wanna tell me why you got trace amounts of cocaine on your hands, Officer?"

Now there's a definite twitch in Lovotti's jaw as he pulls back from Flack's invasion of his space.

"Busted some crack head earlier this morning," he says defiantly, though his arrogance is clearly starting to slide. "Must've forgot to wash my hands after."

"No record you turned in any narcotics," Flack doesn't miss a beat. "In fact, nothing on your log this shift says anything about drug-related incidents. Wanna explain that, or d'you need a couple more minutes to straighten out your story?"

"Hey!" Lovotti growls, pointing a finger at Flack. "I know my rights, and you ain't my direct supervisor so I don't gotta answer to you 'bout anything relating to my job, Detective."

Anyone else might've been intimidated by the venom, the pure hatred in Lovotti eyes; Flack doesn't flinch.

"Once we test your hands and find them positive for cocaine, I can think of a number of people, including your direct supervisor, who'll be very interested in hearing how that got there." Flack halts, his eyes boring right into Lovotti's. "Plus, I got a couple 'a buddies over in Narcotics who'll be pretty keen to know why a patrol officer didn't turn in drugs recovered on the job."

Lovotti lets out a derisive noise.

"Don't try to scare me, threatenin' to pull strings with your pals." He raises his chin at Flack scornfully. "Y'know, your old man may've been one 'a the greats in the department - but from what I hear? You ain't much of what they'd call a chip 'a the old block."

Something flashes across Flack's face, quick like lightning and just as terrifying - suddenly a new air of danger fills the other room and Danny can feel it too, as if it's seeping right through the glass. The silence that follows is heavy, stifling; when Flack finally moves, he braces his hand on the edge of the table and leans in, getting right in Lovotti's face.

"I'm gonna give you one chance." Flack's voice is low, taut, and the deadly expression in his eyes sends a shiver up Danny's spine. "One chance to come clean with what you did to Danny Messer."

The sound of his name makes Danny inhale sharply; he feels Taylor shoot him a glance.

Lovotti's frowning at Flack. "Who?"

"Danny Messer," Flack repeats, and then picks up the plastic bag containing the card again. "His are the third set of prints on the card I gave you, which was found in his pocket after he was beaten unconscious outside his block in Washington Heights last night."

Lovotti crosses his arms over his chest.

"I had nothin' to do with that," he answers, glowering at Flack. "And I could've dropped your card anywhere, anyone could've picked it up."

"Yeah, maybe," Flack says flatly. "But I'm thinkin' not just anyone has your fingerprints all over their place."

He takes out another photograph and slams it on the table.

"Remember him now?" he demands.

With a start Danny realizes that's a picture of him - it must be one of those Detective Taylor took earlier on.

Lovotti stares at Danny's photo; a strange expression flickers across his face.

"Never seen him before," he says tightly.

"No?" Flack retorts. "Funny, 'cos we also matched your DNA to semen in two condoms we found at his place. Wanna tell us how that got there?"

Lovotti doesn't answer.

"Oh, don't get all coy on me now," Flack says, his tone scathing. Lovotti remains stubbornly silent; Flack waits a few moments. "Fine. I'll tell the story, then."

He leans down, forcing Lovotti to look at him.

"You stole his drugs that night, and then used them to blackmail him into doing whatever you wanted," Flack says brusquely. "You also went to his place twice and raped him there."

Lovotti's eyebrows shoot up - he looks incredulous for a moment, then suddenly lets out a bark of laughter.

"Rape? That's what the little rat bastard told ya?" Lovotti snorts with contempt, making the hairs on the back of Danny's neck stand on end. "Then I ain't got nothin' to worry about, 'cos no one's gonna take the word of a junkie whore like him over a cop."

Danny feels a hot flush burn on his face. Next to him, Taylor steps forward.

"That's enough," he begins, but Danny shakes his head once and Taylor halts. Danny clenches his hands into fists and forces himself to keep his eyes straight ahead.

Inside the other room, Flack snatches up another photo and shoves it in front of Lovotti's face.

"See this?" Flack snarls. "When we make a mold of your teeth and match it to this bite mark on his shoulder, it's gonna be pretty clear from the evidence what really happened."

Lovotti sits back in his chair; it's a moment before he speaks.

"Yeah, all right." He looks up at Flack with a sneer. "So I fucked him. I was off duty and I can do whatever I want in my own private time, there's no law against sex between two consenting adults." Lovotti pauses, and there's a gleam in his eye as he adds, "And lemme tell ya - that little bitch has got a real thing for cops."

Danny bites through his lip and tastes blood. He sees the frozen expression on Flack's face - and maybe Lovotti also notices the way Flack's resolve seems to falter just a little, because he leans up, all conspiratorial.

"And I gotta say," Lovotti cocks his head and a grin broadens on his face. "He gives one hell of a blowjob."

Flack suddenly lunges forward - he grabs Lovotti by the front of his shirt and jerks him to his feet.

"You filthy piece of scum," Flack hisses, and his fist comes up and lands a solid right hook to Lovotti's jaw.

"Hey!" On this side of the glass Taylor dashes past Danny, out the door; a few moments later he appears in the next room and Danny watches as Taylor rushes toward the two struggling men, almost tripping over a chair that's been knocked over.

"I knew it!" Lovotti shields his bloodied mouth with one hand while trying to fend Flack off with the other. "You're just jealous 'cos you've been nailing that pretty ass too!"

"You sick bastard!" Flack snarls, trying to wrestle out of Taylor's grip to get at Lovotti. "I'm gonna make sure you go down for what you did to him, you -"

"Yeah?" Lovotti yells, blood oozing from his lip. "Looks like I ain't the one you really wanna see goin' down -"

Taylor finally manages to wedge himself between the two men, and he forcefully shoves Lovotti back.

"Get over there and shut up," Taylor orders; then he turns to Flack. "Go outside. I'll handle this."

Flack stares at Lovotti - Danny can see anger blazing in Flack's eyes and his entire body is rigid, still poised for attack. Danny's not sure if Flack's gonna suddenly spring at Lovotti again; evidently, neither is Taylor.

"Flack," Taylor repeats more loudly. "Go get some air. Now."

Flack blinks, and then finally seems to snap out of it. He takes a step back, mutters something that Danny can't hear, then turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

Before the door in the other room slams shut Danny's already heading toward his door. He yanks it open and finds Flack standing in the corridor just outside. His tie is askew and the front of his white shirt is stained with bright red blood.

Flack looks up sharply at the sound of the door opening - his eyes freeze when he sees Danny.

Danny halts.

"Hey," he says.

Flack stares at Danny, and now the anger on his face is gone, replaced by stunned disbelief.

"What - what're you doing here?" Flack's voice is hoarse.

Danny takes a deep breath.

"I asked to stay and watch," he answers. "Detective Taylor let me."

"He - he what?" Flack slumps against the wall. "Oh, fuck." He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. "I didn't know - god, Danny, you shouldn't have seen that, you weren't supposed to -"

"Hey, hey," Danny cuts in earnestly. "It's okay. Really."

But Flack just shakes his head wordlessly and looks away.

On impulse Danny takes a step forward - he reaches out and brushes his thumb over a smear of blood on Flack's cheek. Flack flinches at the touch; the red smudge comes off easily and Danny quickly lets his hand drop again.

Flack blinks. He stares at Danny with a mix of amazement and uncertainty and something else - but before Danny can try to figure out what, the door opens behind them.

They both spring apart guiltily, Danny jumping a step back and Flack abruptly turning a 180 degrees, almost walking right into the wall behind him.

Detective Taylor comes out of the interrogation room, a chagrined expression on his face. He looks from Flack to Danny to Flack again.

"Now he wants a lawyer," he tells Flack in a pointed tone. "That wasn't very strategic."

Before Flack can respond Taylor turns to Danny; the stern expression in his eyes doesn't waver.

"You will not discuss anything you just saw and heard with anyone else," he says firmly, although there's no harshness in his voice. "Do I make myself clear?"

Danny quickly nods. This is an order he's not gonna find a problem with. "Yes sir."

Taylor signals to a uniform who's walking past.

"Officer, take him to one of the conference rooms and wait with him there," he instructs, indicating toward Danny. "I'll be coming to speak with him shortly."

Before Danny can react, the officer comes forward and swiftly shepherds him away, down the corridor. As he's being steered off, Danny twists around and sees Flack and Taylor talking - Flack's gesturing with his hands while Taylor's standing rigidly opposite him, arms by his side. Even without asserting himself, Danny thinks, Taylor's still got one hell of a commanding presence.

Then the officer directs him around a corner and Flack and Taylor disappear out of sight behind him. Danny turns to face front again, and he lets himself be led through the glass maze that's the NYPD crime lab.

***

Flack stands next to Mac and watches the officer lead Danny away. The moment they're out of earshot, Mac turns to him.

"I'm bringing IAB in on this," Mac says, all business and in control. "They'll take it from here."

"Wait a sec," Flack cuts in, frowning. "Internal Affairs? Shouldn't we be calling the DA?"

Mac takes a step forward.

"I talked to someone I know from the DOJ," he says in a low voice. "Told him about this case, strictly off the record - no names mentioned, just what we have so far." He pauses. "He doesn't think it's enough to prosecute."

Flack stares at him.

"And what about you, Mac?" he demands, bristling. "That what you think too?"

Mac doesn't bat an eyelid.

"I'd say the same thing if this were any other case," he answers, meeting Flack's gaze evenly. "For now the evidence we have is enough reason to keep investigating, but at this point it doesn't prove guilt beyond all reasonable doubt."

The rush of anger and disbelief to Flack's brain makes it hard to think.

"That - that bastard," Flack bites out, pointing at the closed interrogation room. "He just confessed, and you're telling me we don't have enough to nail the scumbag?"

"He didn't confess," Mac replies pointedly. "He admitted to having sex with Danny, but claims it was consensual. And he still maintains he never confiscated any drugs." Mac pauses. "I'll get Narcotics to check his place - but the way I see it, Lovotti's smart. If he had the cocaine, he would've sold or disposed of it by now."

"We don't need the drugs," Flack counters. "What about his prints all over Danny's place? And the condoms? And the -"

"We can tell that yes, Lovotti was at Danny's place," Mac interrupts. "His prints place him there, and DNA from the condoms confirms they had sex on at least two occasions. But without any clear physical evidence of sexual assault -"

"He bit him, Mac!" Flack raises his voice; he catches a warning flicker across Mac's face but continues angrily, "Danny has that bastard's teeth marks on him, how's that for physical evidence, huh?"

Flack sees Mac's eyes dart to one side; when he turns in the direction of Mac's gaze he finds a lab tech standing there, an envelope in hand and a startled expression on his face.

"Um, hi," says the lab tech hesitantly. He gives Flack a wary glance before looking at Mac. "Detective Taylor, this just arrived for you by fax - it's marked urgent, so, uh, here it is."

He holds out the envelope and Mac takes it from him. As Mac opens the envelope Flack can feel the lab tech eyeing him curiously. Flack fixes him with a hard stare and he hurriedly averts his gaze, mumbles something and excuses himself. Flack watches the lab tech disappear around the corner, and he knows this is gonna go straight into the gossip mill. Great. Just fucking great.

Mac looks up from the fax he's been reading; the frown between his eyebrows is so deep it looks like it's been permanently etched there.

"Come with me," Mac says, then reaches out and takes Flack firmly by the arm and steers him away into an empty meeting room on the opposite side of the corridor. Mac shuts the door behind them, then turns to face Flack again.

"You lost control back there with Lovotti," Mac says sharply. "When we step into an interrogation room, we're supposed to be the ones working over the person we're interrogating, not the other way around."

"Don't even start on me, Mac," Flack shoots back. "How could you let Danny stay and watch the interrogation? What the hell were you thinking, huh?"

The tension rockets and the air in the closed room is suddenly thick, stifling - and the new, hard light Flack sees in Mac's eyes is the most unsettling of all.

"You're too close to this case," Mac finally says, quiet forcefulness in his voice. "I need your head on straight, Flack - and I think you should recuse yourself."

Flack narrows his eyes at Mac.

"Oh, is that it?" he snaps. "Turning this over to IAB, that's your way of getting me off this case?"

"I'm turning this over to Internal Affairs because the evidence we have won't stand up in federal court," Mac replies solidly. "And since Danny's already made it clear he won't get involved, that's another crucial testimony we don't have. Handling this internally is the best chance we have that Lovotti will be punished for whatever he did."

"Yeah, right," Flack retorts. "Maybe they'll give him a slap on the wrist, put him on probation for a while. But he'll still get to keep his badge and before you know it, he'll be back out on the street again!"

"We take the criminal route, the defense is going to rip Danny's character to shreds," Mac answers, meeting Flack's gaze squarely. "It'll be Lovotti's word against Danny's - and I don't think the DA's going to like the odds of who a jury's more likely to believe."

"That's bullshit, Mac," Flack bites out through gritted teeth. "Especially coming from you."

Mac doesn't respond immediately. He takes a step back and gives Flack an odd, searching look.

"Are you aware," he finally says, "that Danny Messer was once picked up for prostitution?"

Flack stares at Mac - it feels like someone just landed a solid fist in his gut, knocking the wind out of him, and it's a few moments before he can react.

"But - I checked his rap sheet," Flack's throat feels like cotton. "He's got DUI and fleeing arrest, one drunk and disorderly, but there's nothing about -"

"After I talked to him, I put in a call to Narcotics," Mac cuts in; he holds up the envelope. "This is what they just came back with. Danny Messer was picked up in July '02 during a series of raids coordinated by Vice and Narcotics, targeting private parties in Brooklyn and Manhattan." He pauses. "Danny and a few other young men and women admitted they were paid to provide sexual services to the guests there. Eventually Vice agreed to drop charges in exchange for information about who organized these parties, and that's why it's not on his record."

Flack looks down at the envelope in Mac's hand - a cold, dead feeling coils in the pit of his stomach. He's heard what goes on at these notorious private parties, and now Danny's words last night echo in Flack's mind: He's just gonna look at me and see a whore who likes being fucked six ways from Sunday.

"You heard what Lovotti said about you and Danny back there," Mac continues, his voice gravely serious. "This goes to an IAB disciplinary hearing and you can be sure he's going to bring it up again. So right now you need to ask yourself two questions: whether you think you want to be involved in this case, and more importantly, if you're even in a position to."

Flack's eyes flash up to meet Mac's.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he demands.

"I'm not jumping to any conclusions here, Flack," Mac's tone is as level as his gaze. "But you did bring him back to your place last night - and now Lovotti's accusation leaves that wide open to interpretation." Mac pauses, then adds succinctly, "And I couldn't help noticing the familiarity in Danny's body language toward you just now."

Mac's words hit Flack with staggering force, sending a shock of anger and guilt through him. He remembers the moment Mac caught them in, standing close together, the whisper touch of Danny's hand on his face -

"Flack," Mac repeats, and this time there's a distinct edge in his voice. "Is there something I should know about you and Danny Messer?"

The dizzying rush of blood to Flack's brain makes it hard to do anything but react.

"You kiddin' me?" Flack lets out a sharp sound of disbelief, and he glares at Mac. "I call you in on this because I trust you, Mac, and now you're turning the tables on me?"

Mac holds up a hand.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he says, leveling Flack's gaze intently. "But I need to be absolutely clear on this. If there's anything that happened last night which might compromise this entire investigation, I need to know about it. Right now."

Flack takes a sharp breath - suddenly he feels the fury rush out of him, like air from a deflating balloon, and the emptiness it leaves behind is even more disquieting.

"No," Flack finally says. He looks Mac right in the eye. "I slept in the bedroom, he slept outside on the couch. Nothing happened."

Mac's expression doesn't alter.

"So your interest in his welfare," he says. "That's strictly professional."

And Flack wants to be angry at Mac for confronting him, for backing him into a corner like this - but right now he just feels... tired. Like this is a fight he's already lost, and a part of him knows Mac's not the one really responsible for that.

"You know what?" Flack takes a step back. "I think I'll just go change my clothes and get cleaned up right now. 'Cos I'm starting to feel like I'm the suspect here," he pauses, fixing Mac with a hard gaze, "and coming from you, Mac? That's kind of hard to take."

Flack turns and opens the door; he can still feel Mac's eyes on him, and if they were lasers they'd have burned two holes right through him. But Mac doesn't say anything, doesn't try to stop him, and as Flack steps outside he's more relieved than he thought he'd be.

Flack leaves the interrogation wing and walks down the corridors of the crime lab, heading in the direction of the locker room. He draws some curious looks along the way, and Flack's first thought is that the nosy lab tech must've blabbed. It takes him a few moments to realize that people are actually gawking at the blood on the front of his shirt.

He reaches the locker room and pushes the door open with such force that it bounces back on its hinges and almost catches him on the shoulder as he walks in. Luckily there's no one else inside. After the lab moved here over the summer, Flack found he'd been allocated a locker even though he's stationed down at the 12th Precinct. He knew it was Mac's doing, and he never really got around to thanking him for it.

Flack goes to the far end of the room and sits down on the bench in front of his locker. His brain feels fractured, like a jumble of words that can't be formed into sentences. Sunlight slants in through the rectangular windows along the top of the wall, hazing the edge of his vision; Flack stares down at the shadows on the floor and finds himself thinking of a night many years ago, back when he was still a rookie with patrol.

It started with a snatch theft, and Flack chased the suspect on foot down several streets before he finally cornered him in a dead-end alley. When the suspect saw there was nowhere to run he turned around, hands raised; and in the yellowish moonlight Flack could see he was just a kid, no more than twenty, only a couple of years younger than Flack was at that time.

Flack approached, gun drawn. The boy's eyes were dilated in the darkness, and Flack still remembers the way the boy lowered his hands and suddenly smiled, lazy and deliberate.

Tell ya what, the boy said, then boldly took a step toward Flack. Lemme go and I'll make it real good for ya.

It took a moment for Flack to realize what he meant - by then the boy had moved closer, right in front of him, and his eyes were fearless and bright as he looked past the barrel of the gun, directly at Flack.

I got a rubber in my pocket, he said coyly. We can do it right here.

Flack stared at him - his own heartbeat was pounding in his ears, and a long moment passed before he finally holstered his gun.

Turn around, Flack ordered in a tight voice. Face the wall.

A knowing smile curled on the boy's mouth; he turned his back toward Flack and stood with his legs apart. Flack moved forward and ran his hands down the boy's sides all the way to his ankles, then up again along the insides his parted legs. In response the boy let out a soft laugh and pressed himself back against Flack's body, then reached around and started tugging at the buckle of Flack's belt.

Flack grabbed the boy's wrist, stopping him.

Hands behind your back, Flack said in his ear. You're under arrest.

The boy twisted around and stared at him - the grin was gone, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. Flack pulled his arms behind his back, slapped on the handcuffs, then turned the boy around to face him and retrieved the snatched wallet from inside his jacket. He looked at the boy's face, pale and scared, and something made him pause.

Tell you what, Flack said to him. That other part, y'know, with you propositioning a police officer? Didn't just happen. Got it?

Wide eyes stared back at him; then Flack saw the relief on the boy's face as he nodded, numbly. Flack took him by the arm and led him out of the alley, then radioed in. Moran arrived with the cruiser several minutes later, but Flack never told him what happened back there. He never told anyone.

Now Flack gets to his feet and drags himself to his locker. As he spins the lock, Flack can't help wondering what really happened between Danny and Lovotti. Did Danny make the first move after all? Did he offer Lovotti something he just couldn't refuse?

Snatches of sense memory rise in Flack's mind: Danny's mouth around his dick, sucking hard, how Danny seemed to know exactly what to do, just how to make it good, so good, his tongue swirling around Flack's cock with deft, expert strokes, licking from base to shaft to head -

Now Flack thinks about Danny doing the same thing for Lovotti, for countless other men in dark back alleys all across Manhattan; and in Flack's mind he sees Danny's eyes gleaming in the moonlit darkness as he slips a fifty into the back pocket of his jeans, then gets down on his knees and -

Flack grits his teeth, forcing the images aside. He overshoots the combination on his lock twice before he finally manages to get it open.

He keeps a few things in his locker: a couple of towels for drying off in the shower between double shifts, two spare sets of underwear and two clean shirts (one white and the other pale blue - he favors his new pinstripes too much to leave them here), a dark silver-gray tie that goes with nearly everything, a shaver and an almost-empty bottle of cologne.

Five shot glasses are still unopened in their box, his door prize from the lab Christmas party last year. Stella won a coffee-maker and Mac, inexplicably, got a hot red La Perla thong. When he was presented with his prize Mac just stood there with the most baffled look on his face, and they all teased him mercilessly before Stella finally offered to trade. Mac, surprising everyone, then politely declined.

The memory makes Flack's mouth curl, though the brief amusement promptly fades as he thinks about his conversation with Mac earlier on. Mac suspects something, Flack knows - and it's only a matter of time before the finest CSI in New York City puts the pieces together. Then Mac will know that Flack lied to him. That Flack looked him straight in the eyes and lied that nothing happened last night between him and Danny.

You're a bad liar, Detective, and now Flack can almost hear the sound of Danny's laughter, low and husky, just before Danny leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth.

But Mac's response to Flack's denial just now was - well, for a split second there it almost felt like Mac wanted to believe him. Like a part of Mac still trusted that Flack knew how to do the right thing, where to draw the line; and now this thought is comforting only as much as it is sobering.

Flack looks down at his shirt. The bloodstains are turning a darker shade of red and he grimaces, pulls off his tie, unbuttons the soiled shirt and throws it into his locker. Then he takes out the clean white shirt - as he does, he catches sight of his hands. His knuckles are bruised, skinned, and there are still smudges of blood on them. Flack pauses, and a part of him relishes the dull crunch he heard as his fist connected with Lovotti's jaw. But for all the blood he sees everyday, it's been a long time since he saw red on his hands and knew he was the one who threw the first punch.

It's not something Flack wants to think about, like he doesn't want to think about Danny on his knees, his face buried in a stranger's crotch - he pushes the thoughts aside and concentrates on buttoning up his shirt and knotting his tie. Then he slams his locker shut, spins the combination cursorily and walks away.

He leaves the locker room and goes into the men's room next door. Another guy is there washing his hands, but Flack ignores him and moves toward the sink farthest away. He reaches for the soap - it stings the broken skin on his knuckles, but Flack keeps scrubbing for a full minute until lather's overflowing in his hands.

The other guy moves away, and in the mirror Flack sees him cast a strange glance in his direction as he exits. The door swings closed and Flack's alone again.

He turns on the tap and thoroughly rinses the soap off his hands. Then he cups his palms under the running faucet, closes his eyes and immerses his face. Cool water rushes into his nose and around his closed lids, and Flack holds his breath for ten counts before opening his eyes again. His vision swims for a moment and he jerks his head back abruptly, sending droplets flying all over the place.

Flack runs his wet fingers through his hair and blinks the water out of his eyes. He stares at the mirror - his own face stares back at him, stark and pale and grim, his reflection distorted by the drops of water on the mirror, like rain on a windshield.

Then Flack hears the sound of the door opening behind him. He tenses, half-expecting it to be Mac, then the door opens wider and Stella pokes her head in.

"Aha." Her eyes meet Flack's in the mirror. "There you are."

Flack exhales; he feels himself relax a little.

"Don't think you're s'posed to be opening the door like that, Stella," he tells her. "You could embarrass someone."

"Okay." Stella slips inside and shuts the door behind her. "There. The door is no longer open."

Flack rolls his eyes and turns away, snatching a few paper towels to dry his face. From the corner of his eye he can still see Stella watching him.

"Mac tell you to check up on me?" he asks.

"Actually, no," Stella answers, walking forward. "I knew the two of you were interrogating that cop - and when Mac came back alone, I took one look at his face and knew I had to come check this out for myself."

Flack turns to face her. "And you just happened to know to find me here."

"Don't need to be a CSI to follow the path of gossip," Stella says conversationally; she halts in front of him, unfazed. "So. Wanna tell me what happened with that cop?"

Flack balls up the paper towels and throws them into the bin. No, he doesn't wanna talk about it - and if it were anyone else he might've told them to just mind their own business and leave him alone. But this is Stella Bonasera and he knows better.

He looks at Stella. "Let's just say that his face... happened to make contact with my fist."

Stella arches an eyebrow. "You punched the guy?"

"And as you can guess, Mac wasn't too happy about that." Flack pauses, and his voice hardens as he adds, "Guess Mac thinks cops who blackmail and rape people still deserve to be treated with, y'know, dignity and respect."

"Flack." There's a tone in Stella's voice to match the look she gives him.

"What?" Flack shrugs, not feeling the least bit sorry. "Just saying."

"All right," Stella says, and now there's a keenness in her eyes that immediately puts Flack on alert. "We all know you're great at grilling suspects, so tell me this: how'd that cop get you so wound up you figured it was a good idea to rearrange his face?"

Flack feels anger flare up again.

"That son of a bitch," he seethes, pointing in the general direction of the closed men's room door, "he's a fucking disgrace to us all, Stella, you expect me to just sit back and do nothing?"

"But this isn't the first time we found a dirty cop," Stella points out. "No one's immune, not even IAB agents - you know that."

Flack opens his mouth to respond, but argument fails him. Stella's right. The NYPD's history is more scandal-ridden than any other - hell, when Flack was at the Academy they case-studied the Knapp Commission from the '70s, how Frank Serpico finally broke the blue wall of silence and testified against his fellow officers.

"And you've always taken it in your stride," Stella continues, "even when it was hard to be objective because the person involved was a good friend of yours." She pauses, and her expression softens. "We all respected you for that, you know - especially Mac."

A heavy feeling drops in Flack's chest once more. It hurt to use what he'd learned from Moran against him - in the end Flack did what he had to, yeah, but he resented Mac for being so harsh, for forcing him to stab a friend in the back.

"So, this Danny Messer," Stella's voice cuts into Flack's thoughts. "What's the deal with you and him?"

Flack's eyes flash up to meet hers.

"Not sure I know what you mean, Stella," he says tersely.

"Oh c'mon, Flack, don't give me that." Stella looks at him, and there's no exasperation or reproach in her eyes. "You know what I mean. Look - we each have our own lost causes that we need to champion: battered women, abused kids, whatever it is about a particular case that speaks to us more deeply than any other. There's no shame in that. And this case has clearly got you more worked up than I've ever seen, and that's gotta mean something."

Flack exhales slowly. He forces himself to remain calm, but his nerves are still on edge.

"That scumbag knew Danny wouldn't report him," he finally says. "He knew how much Danny needed those drugs back, and he used his badge to force Danny to do whatever he wanted."

Stella's watching him carefully.

"So it's because he's a cop?" she asks.

"Yeah," Flack says immediately. "Maybe. I dunno. It's just -" he breaks off and shakes his head angrily. "Now this bastard's gonna weasel his way out of getting punished just 'cos everyone thinks a jury's more likely to believe the word of a cop. Does that seem fair to you, Stella?"

Stella reaches out and puts a hand on Flack's arm.

"Look," she says, and there's a tone of firm kindness in her voice. "The important thing is that you stepped up and blew the whistle on this cop. And we know IAB can be quite the bloodthirsty bitch when it wants to."

Flack shakes his head.

"It ain't enough," he answers, and he can hear the frustration in his own voice. "So we got the dirty cop. Bravo for us, one up for the good guys. But when Danny walks out of here without the drugs he owes - they've already beaten him up once, who knows what they'll do next time."

"But you can't return the drugs, Flack," Stella replies gravely. "And even if you're willing to pay off his tab out of your own pocket, as a cop you could still get in serious trouble for it." She halts. "I know how this feels, believe me I do. But doing this job, Don, you just - you can't save everyone."

Flack leans against the edge of a sink and looks at Stella.

"You know he was a rentboy?" he asks abruptly.

A cautious expression flits across Stella's face. She moves to stand beside him.

"They brought me the fax from Vice when it arrived," she answers, leaning against the sink next to Flack's. "I was in the middle of firing test rounds, so I put it in a sealed envelope and got one of the techs to bring it to Mac."

Flack looks away. He feels his mouth twist, without humor.

"I didn't know," he says, staring down at the dull floor tiles. "Not 'til Mac told me. And since then I can't block it out of my mind."

Stella is quiet for a moment.

"It's never easy, is it," she finally says; her tone is unobtrusive, almost gentle. "Coming to terms with the things we can't change."

Flack pauses - and he thinks about choices, choices everyone has and how really, they don't feel like choices at all. And he wonders why Danny turned to fucking for money in the first place: whether it was just a quick way to earn cash, or if something, or someone, pushed him into that kind of life.

Flack realizes that Stella's still watching him. He takes a breath and raises his eyes to meet her gaze.

"I'm not trying to save them all, Stella," he says quietly.

He sees a glimmer of surprise in Stella's eyes - neither of them speak for a long moment.

"What're you going to do?" Stella finally says, breaking the pensive silence. Her voice is somber, though somehow Flack gets the feeling that maybe, maybe she understands.

Flack shrugs and pushes himself away from the edge of the sink.

"I'm not sure yet," he says truthfully. "Guess I'll figure it out along the way. Speaking of which, I should get going." He pauses and arches an eyebrow at her. "I'm thinking you should, too."

Stella straightens up.

"If you think you're the first guy I've shacked up in a men's room with," she answers, a small smile curling on her mouth, "then you're sorely mistaken, my friend."

Suddenly the air feels lighter and Flack can't suppress a quick grin in return.

"Wouldn't dream of jumping to those kind 'a conclusions, Bonasera," he says, then opens the door and holds it for her.

"Oh, you better believe it," Stella replies as she gracefully slides past Flack and steps outside. Flack follows her out, and a lab tech who's just passing by gives them both a strange look before continuing on her way.

Flack halts and turns to face Stella.

"Thanks for checkin' up on me," he says, and means it. "You're a good friend, Stel."

Stella reaches out and squeezes Flack's arm.

"Mac's just looking out for you too, y'know," she says, holding his gaze. "That's what we do for each other. Right?"

Flack glances away.

"Yeah," he answers, too quickly. "I'll see you around, okay?"

He turns, and he's a few steps away when he hears Stella's voice behind him again.

"Don."

Flack looks back. Stella's still standing there, and now there's a troubled expression in her eyes.

"Be careful," she says.

Flack nods, then turns and keeps walking. He feels a new sense of determination - it's the same kind of rush he gets when he's got a suspect squirming under his thumb, guilty as hell, and all he needs to figure out is the most satisfying way of making him crack.

Now the rush of adrenaline pushes him to full alertness, focusing his nerves and sharpening them to a point. By the time he turns in the direction of the conference rooms, Flack already knows what he needs to do - and when he rounds the corner and finds Mac standing there, Flack doesn't even feel the least bit ruffled.

Mac looks up - their gazes meet, and Mac's eyes remain inscrutable as always. There's a long pause.

Finally, Mac breaks the silence.

"I thought I might see you here," he says.

Flack sets his jaw and walks toward him, halting several feet away.

"I'll take your advice, Mac," Flack holds his gaze without wavering. "Given what happened with Lovotti just now, I'll step aside and let IAB do their job."

Flack's voice is controlled, expressionless, the kind he uses on suspects rather than coworkers; and in Mac's eyes Flack sees this doesn't escape his notice.

"But I'm still in charge of the original assault case," Flack continues, and in response he catches a flicker in Mac's eyes. "And since we still haven't found the people who beat him up, I'm here to talk to Danny about that."

The air feels brittle and the strain between them is still very much present.

"I just spoke to him, actually," Mac says. There's a significant pause, and then he continues, "What he tells me is... consistent."

Flack tenses, but he doesn't take the bait.

"Consistent," he repeats.

"With what you told me just now." Mac halts and now his eyes soften, barely perceptibly. "If I came across as rather antagonistic earlier on, it was not my intention."

Something about Mac's stiff attempt at reconciliation makes Flack relax, just a little. But before he can respond, Mac continues speaking.

"But there's one other thing," he says, and the frown deepens between his eyebrows again. "Even if Narcotics recovers the drugs from Lovotti, you know there's a zero percent chance any of it is going to be returned." He levels Flack's gaze. "You did make Danny aware of this, didn't you?"

Flack pauses.

"It's not the drugs we need to get hold of," he says, looking straight at Mac. "It's the dealer."

Before Mac can respond, Flack steps past him and opens the conference room door.

Danny's sitting inside, and his head snaps up as the door opens - their gazes meet and Flack sees Danny's eyes light up. A tentative smile curls on the sides of Danny's mouth, and Flack has to force himself not to think about that other stuff, the joined silhouettes of dark figures in back alleys.

Then Mac enters the room as well and Danny's smile quickly disappears. Mac moves to stand next to Flack, but doesn't say anything.

Flack fixes his attention on Danny.

"The guy you owe the drugs," he says. "I need you to give me his name. Right now."

He sees a flash of panic in Danny's eyes, which dart uncertainly from him to Mac and back to him again.

"You know I can't," Danny says, and Flack can hear the desperation in his voice. "I tell you, and he'll kill me."

"You don't," Flack replies pointedly, "and I can't stop him from doing that."

Flack sees the hesitation in Danny's eyes just before he averts them and says nothing. The silence in the room becomes unbearable - Flack feels impatience rising, but he wills himself to wait, to hold the moment. He's come too far to let this go now.

"Alvarez," Danny finally speaks; his voice sounds constricted. "Miguel Alvarez."

Flack makes a mental note of the name, then reaches into his pocket and takes out his personal cell phone. He holds it out to Danny, who stares at him quizzically.

"Call him," Flack instructs. "Set up a meet. In person." He pauses, and then adds, "Make sure you let him pick time and place, so he won't be suspicious."

At this point Flack casts a quick glance at Mac, who's standing ramrod straight next to him. Mac returns a hard gaze, and the disapproval in his eyes is unmistakable.

Across the table, Danny's staring at Flack in utter disbelief.

"You have gotta be kidding me," he blurts out, and Flack can hear the hysterical tone in his voice. "'Cos you know, I don't think you understand what's goin' on here. This guy, he works for some serious people, and if he tells them about me? 'Dead' won't even begin to describe how I'm gonna -"

"Danny," Flack speaks his name loudly. "Listen to me."

Danny falls silent. Flack takes a step forward and purposefully puts the phone on the table in front of Danny.

"You gotta trust me on this," he says, holding Danny's gaze.

Danny looks at him, blinking rapidly - there's a flicker of indecision in his eyes just before he tears his gaze away. For a long time Danny just stares down at the cell phone; he doesn't say anything, and with every passing second Flack's heartbeat quickens.

Finally Danny takes a deep breath, and Flack sees the delicate movement of his throat muscles as Danny swallows, once, twice, then reaches forward and picks the phone off the table. He doesn't look at Flack as he flips the phone open and starts punching numbers on the keypad, then holds the phone to his ear. The room is quiet, filled with anticipation.

"Yeah," Danny suddenly sits up straighter; his voice is slightly hoarse. "Yeah, it's Danny. I, uh, I got your stuff. So how you wanna pick it up?"

Danny pauses, listening, and in the silence Flack can hear the murmur of a male voice on the other line.

"No, no, I ain't gonna drop it off with some friend 'a yours I don't know," Danny answers with a frown, and Flack tenses. "What happens if you turn around and say you didn't get it, huh?"

Danny breaks off; Flack can see the nervousness on Danny's face and he finds himself leaning forward intently. Danny's got to play this right, he can't afford to -

"Right, okay," Danny says, and Flack exhales. "Yeah. Central Park. Usual place. Got it. 3 PM. I'll be there."

Danny snaps the phone shut and drops it on the table. He looks pale, shaken, and he's breathing sharply now, as if he could only hold it together long enough to finish the call.

"You did good," Flack tells him, pocketing his cell phone. The suspense fades, and now what comes next moves to the front of his mind. "So where exactly in Central Park?"

Danny looks at him.

"You planning on meetin' him?" The panic is still there in the quaver in Danny's voice, the wild light in his eyes. "What are ya gonna do?"

Flack sees the confusion in Danny's eyes, the desperation - he hopes Danny won't kick up a fuss, not here in front of Mac. And he wishes he could tell Danny something, but right now he just can't risk it. Not with everything that's at stake.

Flack puts both hands on the table and leans in, looking straight at Danny.

"I'm gonna make this right," he says, holding Danny's gaze.

Danny stares at him, his eyes wide. Finally something in Danny's eyes relents, and he sits back in his chair with a sigh.

"Entrance on 5th, opposite 102nd," he mutters, dropping his gaze. "Walk right in, fourth bench on the left."

Flack feels a rush of relief, but he's aware of Mac's eyes still watching them and he wills himself to remain controlled.

"You sit tight now," he tells Danny, "I'll be right back."

He steps away and quickly turns toward the door before Danny can change his mind. Mac leaves the room with him, and as soon as they're out in the corridor with the door shut behind them, Mac steps into Flack's path, forcing him to halt.

"Flack," Mac says sharply. "What are you doing?"

Flack looks at him, and then gives a shrug. "I'm chasing down the most obvious lead we have."

"You just set up a meet with a drug dealer," Mac answers. "If you're planning to bust him, you need to coordinate it with Narcotics."

"I know protocol, Mac," Flack retorts. "And I don't walk into your lab and start telling you how to do your CSI work, so it'd be great if you could show the same respect and let me handle my own case."

Flack steps past him, but Mac reaches out and catches him by the arm.

"I'm not trying to give you a hard time, Flack," Mac says, meeting his gaze. "But even if you're off the Lovotti case, you're still connected to it. And when IAB looks into this, you know it's crucial that you be above reproach."

Now Flack sees that the frown on Mac's face is troubled, not disapproving, and that makes some of his defiance fizzle and die away.

"Mac," he says. "I know how to do my job, okay?"

Mac releases his hold on Flack's arm and takes a step back.

"That's something I've never doubted," he answers, looking straight at Flack. "And that's not what worries me most."

Stella's words echo in Flack's mind: Mac's just looking out for you too, y'know. That's what we do for each other.

Flack takes a deep breath.

"I know what I'm doing, Mac," he says, leveling Mac's gaze. "And right now I need a favor. I need you to help me keep an eye on Danny - don't let him leave this lab."

Mac's eyes continue to study his; he doesn't say anything, and after a long moment Flack decides to take the silence as, if not consent, then at least not flat refusal. He sidesteps Mac and starts walking away, and this time Mac doesn't try to stop him.

Halfway down the corridor Flack remembers something else - he pauses and turns around. Mac's still watching him steadily, eyebrow slightly arched.

"Could you also get him somethin' to eat?" Flack says. "A sandwich or a bagel or something. I don't think he's had anything since yesterday."

A flicker crosses Mac's face; then he nods, once.

"Thanks," Flack says, then turns away and keeps on walking.

He spends the rest of the morning in front of one of the lab computers, phone cradled against his ear, pulling every string he has to get the info he's looking for. By noon Flack knows exactly what Alvarez has been up to ever since he got into the system at age 14, busting a liquor store with a buddy; by 1 PM, Flack's got everything he needs.

At quarter to two, Flack finally stands up. He puts several printouts into a file and slides it into a manila envelope along with the latest picture of Miguel Alvarez, faxed across by his parole officer. Then he grabs his coat and stops by the first lab he passes.

"Hey," Flack pokes his head in. "You got a tape?"

The lab tech - Chad, Flack thinks he's called, or was it Charles? - glances up from his work.

"A tape?" he repeats, nonplussed.

"Yeah, tape." Flack gestures a rectangle with his hands and mimes putting a tape into a VCR. "You know. Videocassette."

Chad gives him a look.

"I know what a tape is," he mutters, then goes to a nearby cabinet and rummages through it. "What kind of tape are you looking for? Or d'you want a blank one?"

"Doesn't matter," Flack answers. "As long as it's unlabeled."

Chad hands over a tape and Flack slides it into the envelope, then heads for the elevator.

He takes an unmarked car, and in afternoon traffic he makes it to Central Park in fifteen minutes. He parks across the street in an alley along 102nd, then goes into the park and finds a shady spot to stake out the rendezvous point. He doesn't have to wait long before he spots a familiar face.

It's not difficult picking out Miguel Alvarez from the crowd - early 30s, angular jaw, sporting a goatee on his chin and a visible tattoo on his neck, swaggering around with the air of a once small time dealer who figures he's risen high enough in the food chain to pretend like he owns the place.

It seems Alvarez is scoping out the perimeter as well, and Flack stays where he is and watches Alvarez slowly circle a distance away from the bench, his eyes sweeping from side to side. He's dressed in baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt - Flack can't tell if he's carrying a gun, and he's not taking any chances.

Flack moves in, catching him off guard. Alvarez lets out a yelp as Flack pushes him face-first against a nearby tree, much harder than necessary.

"NYPD," Flack hisses in his ear; he quickly frisks him, but finds nothing.

"Hey!" Alvarez wriggles out of Flack's grip and jerks around angrily. "This is harassment! I'm just mindin' my own business, you got no right to -"

"Yeah?" Flack shoves his badge in front of Alvarez's face. "This says I do." He lowers the badge, then continues, "So now you got two choices. Make a scene here and let word get out on the street that Miguel Alvarez was marched out of Central Park in handcuffs - or you can just shut up and follow me. Your call, hot shot."

Alvarez gawks at him, stunned. Flack grabs him by the arm and steers him across the street into the alley where his car's parked. He opens the front passenger door and shoves Alvarez inside, then closes it and makes his way around to the driver's side and gets in.

"What the fuck?" Alvarez spins around to face Flack accusingly. "This is unlawful detainment!"

In response Flack hits the central locking button. The lock snaps shut loudly on all the doors and Alvarez jumps a little at the sharp sound. High gray walls tower narrowly on either side, and the bright street at the mouth of the alley suddenly feels distant, remote.

Flack turns to Alvarez.

"I want the names of your buddies," he says evenly. "The clowns you sent to do that number on Danny Messer last night."

Alvarez's brow rises at the mention of Danny's name. He sits back in the seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Dunno who you're talkin' about, man," he says, a smirk in his tone. "Never heard of any Danny Messer."

Flack feels his mouth twist. Smug bastard.

"Gotta tell ya, pal," Flack says, his tone deceptively light. "I can be a really persuasive guy. And you don't wanna get cute with me right now."

"Yeah?" Alvarez challenges. "And what ya gonna do 'bout that, huh? Drag me behind a dumpster and beat me up yourself?"

"Nah," Flack answers, without missing a beat. "You ain't worth this suit."

He takes the file out of the envelope and opens it.

"See, I was just looking at your file right here," Flack says, flipping the pages casually. "Seems like you're quite a piece of work. Knocked over a liquor store when you were fourteen, then graduated to armed robbery - you and your dumbass brother ended up opening fire in a convenience store, and listen to this: you hit and killed a 29-year-old mother of two." Flack looks up in disgust. "Still think about that, huh? Those kids who grew up without a mom?"

"I did my time," Alvarez answers tightly. He isn't looking at Flack anymore, but Flack can see the tension in his profile.

"Yeah, you did," Flack says. "In fact, though you weren't even 16 at that time you were charged as an adult and sent upstate to Altona. Must've been real scary and all, getting tossed in the joint with real cons - guess you weren't Mr. Tough Guy anymore." He pauses. "And you know what they say about these medium security prisons: lesser scrutiny means more stuff goes on behind the scenes that don't get noticed for a long, long time."

Next to him Alvarez is staring determinedly ahead, though it's clear Flack's hit a nerve.

"Now it says here," Flack extracts a report from the file and takes his time looking it over. "Captain Robert Thompson was chief guard while you were at Altona. Remember him, good ol' Bobby?" He looks at Alvarez. "Or maybe he got you to call him somethin' else?"

Alvarez actually flinches. Flack takes a sheet of paper from the file and places it on the dashboard.

"Copy of your request for transfer to safekeeping," Flack continues. "Made after four months at Altona. Denied a week after you filed it, and I quote, due to lack of credible evidence of correctional officer misconduct. Unquote." Flack shakes his head and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "Man, things must've really sucked for you after that. Unless of course, you decided to string yourself up by the neck with bed sheets just for fun."

Alvarez's mouth is pressed in a thin line; he's deathly pale, and Flack can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"And you wanna know how I know all this?" Flack says ruthlessly. "A few months after your little suicide attempt got you shipped out of Altona, your buddy Thompson got canned for selling favors to the prison gangs. The DOC launched an investigation - and in his locker they found this."

Flack takes out the videotape and puts it on the dashboard. He sees Alvarez's eyes widen in disbelief.

"Case was a slam-dunk because the evidence on this tape was solid," Flack continues. "Gotta say, it's pretty nasty stuff - I watched it myself."

Flack pauses. Alvarez couldn't have looked more stricken if he'd seen a ghost.

"Oh?" Flack feigns surprise. "You mean you - didn't know he was taping it?"

Alvarez is still staring at the tape, his eyes frozen in horror; and something about the shattered expression on his face makes Flack briefly glance away. He picks up a pen and note pad, then drops them in Alvarez's lap.

"I want those names," he says.

Alvarez doesn't move for a long moment, his eyes transfixed on the tape on the dashboard. Finally he picks up the pen and starts writing. When he's done he drops the note pad in the space between the seats, then turns his face away and stares out of the window at the blank alley wall.

Flack glances cursorily at the names Alvarez has written, then slips the note pad into his pocket.

"There's something else," Flack says.

"Whaddaya want?" Alvarez replies tersely, not looking at him.

"It goes away," Flack tells him. "All of it. Whatever he owes you."

Alvarez makes a sharp, disbelieving sound.

"You gotta be kidding me," he says, looking back at Flack. "The guys I work for? They expect delivery. I don't make the call."

"Yeah, but you're the one dealing with Danny," Flack answers. "So the shipment's on your tab, which is probably why you got all jumpy when he didn't come through."

There's a beat of silence.

"Twelve thousand bucks doesn't just fall from the sky, man," Alvarez's voice is strained. "Gimme a break, will ya?"

Flack suddenly reaches out and grabs Alvarez by the front of his shirt, jerking him forward.

"Those thugs you sent to teach Danny a lesson?" Flack snarls right in Alvarez's startled face. "They dragged him behind his block, beat him until he passed out, then left him lying there, bleeding from the head. He could've died, you son of a bitch. So if you think I'm gonna give you a break?" Flack releases Alvarez abruptly, shoving him back in the seat. "Think again."

Alvarez scoots backwards, up against the door, as far away from Flack as he can get.

"I don't care who you work for," Flack continues, and his voice is so low and intense that Alvarez stares at him, real fear in his eyes. "You do what you gotta do to make sure the slate's clean. Or else," he gestures at the tape sitting on the dashboard, "I'll make sure Guards Gone Wild here gets leaked. See how much that does for your street cred."

Alvarez's eyes widen.

"No way," he says, unable to hide the panic in his voice. "You - you can't do that!"

Flack levels his gaze. "Try me."

His deadly tone hangs in the closed air; finally Alvarez's shoulders slump and Flack knows, right then, that it's over.

"All right," Alvarez mutters, sounding defeated. "Just - just get rid of that thing."

"If you hold up your end of the deal, the tape stays put in evidence lockup." Flack pauses, then adds, "And if you're thinkin' about taking this out on Danny, you can forget it. Go anywhere near him again and not only will this tape hit the stores, but I'll come find you myself."

"What's he to you, huh?" Alvarez blurts out, his eyes flashing. "You getting a piece 'a that tail?"

Flack smiles thinly.

"And you know all about that, don't you - Mr. Tough Guy?" He fixes his eyes on Alvarez, and then hits the button to unlock the doors. "Now get the hell out of my car."

Alvarez opens the door and a rush of air moves in, ventilating the heat and closed tension trapped inside. Alvarez climbs out, and Flack expects him to bolt - but to his surprise Alvarez stops and leans back in.

"New York's finest," he bites out, and Flack can see the contortion of anger and hatred on his face. "Yeah, right."

Then the car door slams shut, and Flack watches the back of Alvarez's figure hurry out of the alley and disappear into the street. Flack sits back in his seat - the stillness inside the car closes around him again and silence roars in his ears, along with Alvarez's parting words.

New York's finest.

Suddenly Flack feels sick, sick to his stomach - not that Alvarez deserves much sympathy, given what he had his cronies do to Danny. But it's one thing to break someone; it's entirely another to use the worst, most shameful memory in his past to do that.

And it's not the first time today he's crossed a line.

Adrenaline is still pulsing through him and Flack feels a flush of clammy heat on his face, burning under his collar. He yanks at the knot of his tie, loosening it.

He's always acknowledged there's a line to be drawn, yeah - but he's never gotten close enough to know what it feels to be at the edge, like this, like the badge on his belt is burning a hole in his side and he needs air, needs to be anywhere but here.

Suddenly his phone rings, startling him. Flack swears and snatches it out of his pocket.

"Flack." His own voice sounds odd in the closed space, sounds nothing like himself.

"Where are you?" comes Mac's crisp voice. "It's past 3 o'clock and Danny's flipping out here. He says he only wants to speak to you."

Flack picks up the meaningful inflection in Mac's words - and any other time he would've reacted, but right now it just doesn't matter anymore.

Flack presses the phone against his ear. "You can let him leave."

There's silence on the other line.

"You want me to release him?" Mac finally says.

"Yeah," Flack says tonelessly. "That's right. He's free to go."

"You aren't coming back to talk to him first?"

Flack hesitates for a split second.

"No," he answers. "I gotta get back to the precinct, my cases are stacking up and -"

"Flack, what happened?" Mac interrupts. "Where are you?"

The pointed tone in Mac's voice is not something Flack's ready to deal with right now.

"Listen," he says. "Just - just tell him not to worry. Alvarez won't bother him again."

"Flack -"

"Look, I really gotta run," Flack quickly cuts in. "I'll talk to you later, all right?"

Flack snaps the phone shut before Mac has a chance to reply. He'll worry about that later. Right now his brain is still pounding and he sits back and closes his eyes. And somewhere in the brightness behind his closed lids Flack wishes that exhaustion would just come, because he's had enough and he just wants to shut down and not deal with all this.

His phone beeps and Flack opens his eyes. No such luck. And this time it really is the PD.

With a sigh Flack pulls on his seatbelt and starts the car. He drives back downtown, doesn't stop as he passes the crime lab and heads straight to the 12th Precinct, just a couple of streets away. The bold sign NEW YORK POLICE DEPT passes by his window like a marquee - Flack doesn't look at it as he drives past and makes a turn into the garage.

* * *

Flack spends the rest of the day at his desk writing up reports for his other cases. For once he doesn't mind slogging through the tedious paperwork, since it means he's got no time to think about - other things. Stella comes by the precinct a little after 7 to join Detective Maka for a chat with a suspect on her case, and half an hour later she emerges from the interrogation room looking pleased with herself. She spots Flack from across the bullpen and comes over.

Flack nods as she approaches. "Guess that went well."

Stella grins. "Yep. Broke down like a baby."

Flack puts down his pen and sits back in his chair listlessly.

"Yeah," he says. "Don't we wish all our cases were like that."

Stella makes herself comfortable on the edge of Flack's desk. "I hear one of your cases went pretty well too."

There's a leading tone in her voice, which immediately puts Flack on alert.

"Talked to the drug dealer in Danny Messer's case," he answers, choosing his words carefully. "He wasn't the one who beat Danny up, but I got him to roll over on his three buddies who did. Patrol rounded 'em up and they're enjoying the hospitality of lockup as we speak."

Stella tilts her head. "And the drugs Danny owes?"

"Water under the bridge," Flack replies as offhandedly as he can. "The dealer's gonna forget about it, and he's also gonna leave Danny alone from now on."

Stella arches an eyebrow, and a keen expression crosses her eyes.

"You got him to agree to that?" she asks. "Mind telling me how?"

Flack picks up a stack of papers on his desk and starts sorting through them.

"I had a conversation with him," he says, not meeting her gaze. "That's all."

Stella doesn't say anything for a moment; then she crosses her legs and leans forward, elbows on her raised knee, and waits until Flack finally looks up at her. From the corner of his eye, Flack can see Blake, the new rookie detective sitting opposite him, looking very distracted.

"Needless to say, Detective Flack," a curl tugs on the edges of Stella's mouth, "I'm finding that just a little hard to believe."

"Yeah, well," Flack gives a shrug. "Stranger things have happened."

He signs off on a case, then tosses it across to Blake and tells him to run it over to the Captain. Stella gives Blake one of her trademark dazzling smiles - Blake fumbles with the file, stutters something and hurries away, leaving them alone.

Stella turns back to Flack.

"Mac tells me you gave the green light to let Danny go," she says, smoothly changing tack. Flack recognizes this, and he knows it's just Stella's way of taking a different route to the same destination.

"Yeah," Flack answers, keeping his tone non-committal. "The case was solved, there wasn't any reason to keep him any longer."

"Ah, but the question is," Stella doesn't miss a beat. "What makes you so sure the dealer's gonna keep his word?"

Another trick question; Flack curses that he let Stella even get him this far to spring it. Damn, but she's good.

And maybe it's not so much that Flack can't tell her why he knows Alvarez will never bother Danny again - maybe the truth is, he doesn't want to.

Yeah, granted, police are legally allowed to lie to suspects, so technically he did nothing wrong. But Flack knows that if Stella and Mac find out what he did, they're never gonna look at him the same way again. And as much of a hypocrite as this makes him, Flack doesn't want that - because he values their respect, Mac's and Stella's, possibly more than everyone else's.

Flack snaps out of his thoughts and finds Stella watching him, genuine concern in her eyes.

"What did you do, Don?" she says quietly.

Flack raises his chin and meets her gaze.

"What I had to," he answers.

Stella looks at him - an expression flits across her face, and Flack wonders if maybe she knows why this is one thing she shouldn't push any further about.

Stella uncrosses her legs and slides gracefully off the desk, then turns to Flack again.

"You know," she says, "you never did answer my question before."

Flack looks at her. "What question?"

"Earlier today. When I asked what's the deal with you and Danny." Stella pauses, and there's a glint of something in her eyes. "But you know - in a way, I'm glad you didn't feel that you had to lie to me."

Flack blinks; it takes a moment for the meaning in her words to sink in, and by that time Stella's already halfway to the door. But she stops at the doorway and glances back at him - their eyes meet across the room, and she gives him a subdued smile.

Then she's gone and Flack slumps back in his chair, his mind spinning.

Mac saw it first and called him on it right away; and now it's clear Stella knows, too. Maybe he really is a bad liar. He doesn't know. He's not sure it even matters anymore.

He did what he had to do. He made it right, like he told Danny he would. But Flack feels no joy, no victory, no satisfaction, and now it's becoming painfully clear that once he's crossed those lines there's no way of going back.

This thought is sobering, and it weighs heavily on his mind for the rest of the night. When re-reading the same paragraph a dozen times finally becomes unbearable, Flack decides he's had enough. He looks at his watch; it's nearly 11PM.

He gets to his feet and begins stacking the files on his desk in some semblance of order. He hasn't touched Danny's case file, and he gathers it together with the rest of the other files and puts them into the locked drawer beside him where he keeps his current cases. He leans over to grab a file that's been nudged to the far corner of his desk; as he does, he feels the hard edge of his badge pressing against his side.

Flack halts. He straightens, and something makes him reach for his belt and unclip the badge. He feels the weight of it resting in his palm, blue and gold on black leather.

New York's finest, indeed.

He stares down at his badge for a long moment, then drops it into the open drawer. It lands on top of the files with a thud, a heavier sound than Flack expects.

He closes the drawer and locks it, then turns off his desk lamp. He slings his coat over his shoulder and doesn't speak to anyone on the way out of the station - and as he steps into the crisp night outside, he doesn't feel one bit lighter.

***

Washington Heights - especially east of Broadway below 168th, which is Danny's side of town - has a habit of chalking up more homicides than most neighborhoods in Manhattan. Sometimes on the way home Danny'll pass a street corner cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and there'll be a human-shaped lump on the ground and a bunch of cops hanging around.

He used to put his head down and just keep walking - it's funny how nobody ever sees anything around here. But these days Danny finds himself wandering closer, and he'll stay across the street and crane his neck to look at the cops behind the yellow tape, searching for a familiar face.

It's been over two months - but Danny still thinks about Flack, thinks about that day in the NYPD crime lab when Detective Taylor walked in and told him he was free to go.

"What's goin' on?" Danny asked then, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Where's Detective Flack? I wanna talk to him, I -"

"You can't," Taylor told him. "Detective Flack needs to be someplace else, he won't be coming back here."

Flack's words echoed in Danny's mind: you gotta trust me on this. And the old panic returned, the same wild, nauseating fear that had gripped Danny's chest as he watched Lovotti walk out of that alley with his drugs.

"But he wanted to let you know that it's safe to be out on the streets again," Detective Taylor added.

"Safe? What about Alvarez?" Danny demanded, and at that time all he could think about was how fucking stupid he was to have trusted Flack - a goddamn cop, of all people. "You guys made me give up his name and set up a meet, and now you're tellin' me I'm gonna be safe?"

Taylor held up a hand. "Listen -"

"No, you listen," Danny snapped, rising to his feet in a rush; he saw the warning tension in Taylor's eyes, but he was past caring. "D'you have any idea what they're gonna do to me when they find out I've been squealin' to the cops? Huh? This is fucking bullshit, I wanna talk to Flack right -"

"Hey!" Taylor barked, so sharply that Danny stopped short.

There was a dark flash of temper in Taylor's eyes as he took a step forward.

"You may not realize this," he continued, holding Danny's gaze squarely. "But Detective Flack put himself on the line to get you out of this mess. So I think it's high time you started showing some damn respect for what he's done for you."

Danny still remembers how it felt: walking slowly like in a dream down the glass corridors of the lab, dread in every step he took. Taylor rode the elevator down to the ground floor with him and led him onto the street outside. Danny blinked and squinted in the bright afternoon sun, and the weight of his backpack on his shoulder was nothing compared to the heavy feeling in his chest.

Taylor turned to face him. "Detective Flack will contact you if there's anything else about your case."

Taylor paused, and his expression seemed to soften a little. He took out his wallet and pulled out a twenty, folded it and slipped it into Danny's hand.

"Get yourself a cab home," he said.

Danny's fingers closed around the crisp note - it was all too familiar, and the déjà vu sent a bitter flush of shame through him.

"I can walk," Danny snapped, pushing the money away.

Taylor looked at him; his eyes were stern, though there wasn't any unkindness in them.

"I'm sure you can," he replied, then pressed the bill back into Danny's palm and let go.

Danny watched Detective Taylor walk into the building. At the lobby Taylor glanced back and saw Danny still looking at him; he gave a curt nod, then the elevator doors opened and people streamed out and then he was gone.

Danny just stood there, at the foot of the Morgan Stanley Building, a twenty clutched in his hand - he gazed around him, and he couldn't remember feeling this lost, this alone.

For days afterwards Danny carried a pocket knife wherever he went. He stayed on lit streets and kept away from alleys, and he spent so much time glancing over his shoulder that he almost got run over twice because he walked in front of a car without looking. Not that it actually mattered - they'd pump two rounds into his chest in broad daylight if they wanted to send a message. And Danny was convinced it was only a matter 'a time before he got stabbed or shot or yanked into some van and driven to an abandoned warehouse, beaten to death and dumped down at the docks.

And when some port workers discovered his body in the water, maybe Flack will show up at the scene - he'll stare at Danny's bloated, disgusting corpse, chunks of missing flesh already fish food somewhere out in the sea, and maybe some other cop will ask him, you know the guy? And Flack will gaze down at Danny's body for a moment and then say, nah, he just looked kinda familiar, before turning and walking away.

But days became weeks, and nothing happened. No one jumped him or beat him up, and Alvarez didn't even make contact. It was as if he just forgot all about the drugs Danny owed him. Yeah, right. Stuff like that just didn't happen, and Danny knew it. But after an entire month went by it became clear no one was plannin' on offing him anytime soon - so Danny took it as what it was, a second chance, nothing short of a fucking miracle, and moved on with his life.

It was hard finding work with no references or a good explanation why he hadn't had a steady job all this time, so Danny got up the courage to ask his uncle for a job at his construction company. Work was tough: Danny stepped on nails more times than he could count, and once while on break he tripped and fell onto some glass shards with his gloves off and got a large splinter lodged deep in his palm. When he stupidly pulled it out, his hand bled so profusely that he nearly passed out on the way to the hospital.

Most days he was so tired he went straight back after work and crashed out cold. But it was a good sort of exhaustion, and when Danny finally got his first paycheck it was the best feeling in the world.

He started going out again, and the first night he toured the gay bars on Christopher Street and hooked up with a guy - Danny can't remember his name now but he was good looking, white-collar yet still a bit rough around the edges. He seemed to really like Danny, and Danny liked the way he ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair, brushing it out of his eyes.

Danny went home with him and they started making out once they got in the door, hands feverishly pulling at shirts and zippers, and before long Danny found himself naked, arms braced against the wall. He closed his eyes and arched against the heat of the body behind him - it had been so long, so long since he got laid, since he felt hot bare skin rubbing against his own.

The guy kissed him on the shoulder as he fumbled with a condom, slid it on. Then he whispered something in Danny's ear about the lube being in the bedroom, but Danny shook his head.

Do it, he said, urging him forward. Just fuck me now.

Danny let out a sharp hiss as the guy's cock entered him - fuck, it really had been a while. But the pain made him feel alive, and Danny closed his eyes and wrapped his hand around his own dick, jerking himself off as he pushed back against the steady thrusts.

When Danny came, hard, he didn't realize what he gasped out loud until it was over and the guy pulled out, then took a step back and asked him who that was.

No one, Danny answered, and he couldn't look the other guy in the eye as he picked up his clothes, put them on and left the apartment.

* * *

It's another week before Danny finally works up the nerve to do what he never thought he ever would: call the police. More specifically, he calls the number for the 12th Precinct, and the phone rings once before it's picked up and a female voice says, "New York Police Department."

"Uh, hi." Danny feels his pulse quicken. "I'm, uh, could you put me through to Detective Flack, please?"

"Detective Flack is not in the station right now," comes the reply. "You can leave a message with your name and number and he'll return your call."

Danny hesitates; his first instinct is to say never mind and just hang up. But if he quits now, he's not sure when he'll try again - or if he ever will.

"I really need to talk to him," Danny says, and he's startled by how much he means it. "Is there any way you can transfer me to his cell phone or somethin'? Please?"

There's a pause.

"I'll have to check if he's available to take your call." She sounds skeptical. "One moment."

The line goes on hold and Danny's brain promptly flips into full panic mode. Fuck, he doesn't even know what he wants to say. His fingers dig into his palm, and just as he's forcing himself to breathe the line suddenly goes to a ringing tone, which is immediately picked up.

"This is Detective Flack."

The familiar voice makes Danny's mind go blank - he opens his mouth, but no words emerge.

"Hello?" Flack repeats with a tone of impatience.

"Hey," Danny blurts out. "It's, uh - it's me."

Silence on the other side; in the background Danny can hear the noise of traffic and distant sirens and people talking.

"Danny," Flack finally says.

Hearing Flack speak his name sends a strange jolt through Danny's chest.

"Yeah." Danny sucks in a sharp breath, and then plows on, "Look, sorry 'bout callin' you through the main line and all. I thought I had your card but then realized you took it back, and I couldn't remember your number."

"Everything all right?" Danny can hear the worried tone in Flack's voice. "You in trouble?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Danny says quickly. "It's all good."

He pauses. He's more nervous than he thought - his palms are sweaty and he feels like a goddamn teenager. Fuck, he handled stuff like this a lot better when he was a teenager.

"Listen," Danny continues, and switches the phone to his other ear. "I, uh - I was just wondering if you'd like to get together - for a drink, or somethin'. I think I owe you a cup 'a coffee, right?"

Danny breaks off and holds his breath. The sound of anticipation pounding in his head makes it hard to think.

There's a beat of silence before Flack finally speaks.

"Danny," he says, and there's an odd tightness in his voice. "I'm working right now."

Danny feels a plummeting sensation inside his chest - and maybe the worst thing is that he's not really even surprised.

"Oh, right," he says colorlessly. "Yeah, I get it. Okay then, I'll let you get back to work now. Bye."

Danny's already lifting the phone away from his ear when he hears Flack's voice.

"Danny," Flack calls out distantly.

Danny stops. He holds the phone to his ear again but doesn't say anything; he just listens, listens to the rustle of background noise on the other side, and he half expects to hear a click at any moment when Flack decides to hang up. But with every second that ticks by the line's still alive and Danny's heart beats even faster.

Flack finally breaks the silence.

"I should wrap things up here in couple of hours," he says, and Danny hears him take a controlled breath. "I can - I can meet you somewhere after that."

Danny feels a rush of blood to his brain - only this time it's a good sort of rush, like he's reeling from an explosion of warmth somewhere inside his chest.

"Let's say 10," Flack continues. "You pick the place."

Danny thinks quickly.

"There's this place, The Grey Dog's Café," he says. "It's on Carmine Street. You heard of it?"

There's a pause.

"Yeah, I know where it is," Flack answers. "It's - not far from my place, actually."

Of course Danny already knows this, but he doesn't say so.

"Yeah, I know one 'a the guys working the bar there," he tells Flack. "And he lets me get away with a few beers at happy hour prices no matter what time."

"All right then," comes Flack's reply. "Grey Dog's it is. I'll see you there, 10 o'clock."

Danny presses the phone against his ear.

"Yeah," he says. "See ya there."

Danny waits until he hears the click on the line before he snaps his phone shut. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, letting the conversation replay in his head.

There was something in Flack's voice when he said his name: Danny. It wasn't even a question - Flack actually recognized Danny's voice, out of the million people he must have spoken to since the last time they talked. That's gotta mean something. Right?

This thought lingers in Danny's mind, along with the prospect of seeing Flack again, and makes him feel happier than he's ever been in a long time.

He heads over to Grey Dog's at quarter to ten and hangs around the bar talking to his friend Jamie. At 10 sharp he buys himself a beer and goes to sit down at a table by the window, which has a view of the sidewalk.

Fifteen minutes pass. Danny sips his beer, intently watching the people passing by on the other side of the glass. No sign of Flack.

By 10:30 Danny's mug is drained, along with his happy feeling, and Flack still hasn't showed. And because Danny called Flack via the police line, he still doesn't have his number.

Danny crosses his arms, sits back in his chair and glares at the next not-Flack person who walks into the café.

At 10:45 Danny gets another beer - because he's thirsty and he wants to, not 'cos he's waiting or anything like that. What the fuck was he thinking, calling Flack and askin' him out like that? He should know better. Except obviously he doesn't.

Danny sits and seethes, and even the cold beer doesn't calm his nerves.

At five minutes past eleven, just as he's deciding which bar down the street he should hit next to get drunk and get laid, Danny sees a cab pull up by the curb - the door opens and Flack gets out, looking hassled.

Danny stops; he inhales sharply and feels his breath catch in his throat.

Flack, it seems, went and got himself a new haircut. It's much shorter now and the floppy hair is gone, taking some of that boyish charm along with it. But something about this new look sends a warm flush curling up Danny's spine - because now Flack looks hotter than Danny remembers, which is something he never even thought possible.

Flack's wearing a pale colored shirt and the knot of his dark silver tie is loosened around his collar. Danny watches as Flack enters the café and stands just inside the doors, gazing around, an anxious frown on his face. Danny waits a few seconds before he finally raises his hand and waves - when Flack catches sight of him, the relieved look that floods across his face makes Danny's annoyance evaporate.

Flack quickly makes his way over to his table and slides into the chair opposite Danny.

"Sorry," he says, sounding slightly winded. "Case took longer than I thought. I..." He hesitates, and then looks directly at Danny. "I'm glad you're still here."

Okay, Danny thinks. This is just great. Flack has now rendered him incapable of being mad at him.

"S'all right," Danny answers. "I had your drink while waitin' for ya." He sits back in his chair and cocks his head a little. "Oh and, nice haircut."

Flack blinks, then seems to realize what Danny's talking about.

"Oh, yeah," Flack self-consciously runs a hand through his short hair. "I cut it a few weeks back."

"I like it." Danny grins. "Makes you look very cop."

Danny thinks he actually catches Flack blush a little - and at this moment it feels like they're just two guys meeting for the first time, with no idea where the night's gonna take them or how things are gonna turn out.

Before the tentativeness becomes something more awkward, Danny decides to give things a nudge forward.

"I was kiddin' just now, about the drink," he tells Flack, getting up. "I'm still buying. Since you're off the clock, wanna make that a beer?"

Flack gives a wry smile. "Yeah, I think I'll have one 'a those."

"Yes sir," Danny says, then makes his way over to the bar.

His friend Jamie sees him and comes over.

"I'll have another two beers," Danny tells him. "At the same time now."

Jamie arches an eyebrow. "Shouldn't your gentleman friend over there be buying, 'specially after making you wait so long?"

"Nah," Danny answers. "I'm still treating."

"Oh, really," Jamie smoothly fills two mugs in a flourish and thunks them down on the counter, then looks at Danny. "Well, from the way he's checkin' out your hot ass from over there, I'd say whatever you're getting tonight will definitely be worth the wait."

"Man, get outta here," Danny tells him, though he can't resist quickly glancing back; he catches Flack averting his gaze with a guilty sort of expression on his face, which probably means Jamie's right.

Jamie gives an impish grin.

"He's cute, y'know," he says, taking the ten bucks Danny slides across the counter. "You don't want him, I can offer him a lot more than beer on the house."

"Hey," Danny says, pointing at him. "Watch it there, buddy."

"Thought so." Jamie winks at him. "You go, tiger."

Danny can't suppress a smile as he winds his way back to the table, a mug of beer in each hand. Flack accepts one mug, and as Danny sits down he notices that Flack's taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

"So," Flack says, after they've each taken a couple of sips in silence. "How you been?"

Danny sets his mug down and looks at Flack.

"Good," he says truthfully. "Been staying outta trouble, and guess what? I started a job at my uncle's construction firm."

"Yeah?" Flack nods. "Good to hear. How's that working out?"

"Been learning the simpler stuff, y'know, the basics," Danny answers. "I'm getting better at it, but it was kind of tough at first." He extends his hands, palms face up. "See? Even got the battle wounds to prove it."

To Danny's surprise, Flack reaches across the table and takes hold of Danny's right hand so he can get a closer look at the just-healed scar on his palm. Danny forgets to exhale.

"Looks pretty bad," Flack says with a small frown.

"Nah," Danny manages to reply. "Just gotta remember to let the doc pull out the glass next time, that's all."

Flack's still holding on to his hand and Danny decides to push it a little further - he turns his palm slightly into Flack's hand, deliberately letting his fingers curl against Flack's.

Flack seems to realize this; he quickly releases Danny's hand and pulls back. Wrong move, Danny thinks - or, as he eyes Flack from across the table, maybe just wrong time.

Danny withdraws and changes the subject.

"How 'bout you?" he asks Flack. "How's the crime fighting life been treating ya?"

Flack shrugs; now both his hands are wrapped around his mug.

"You know, same old," he says. "Solving crimes, catching bad guys. Been having to do a damn lot 'a chasing lately, which is hell on my shoes."

Flack pauses; he looks as if he wants to say something else, but the seconds tick by and he doesn't, just raises his mug and takes another sip. He's not really meeting Danny's eyes anymore, and the atmosphere between them seems to have chilled over like the beer they're having.

And Danny knows he can break the ice, ease things up a little by talking about something else, baseball maybe - he can ask Flack if he plays, or if he thinks the Yankees will win the division playoffs against the Angels next week. But suddenly Danny doesn't want to - because the truth is, they're not just two guys meeting for the first time, and Danny doesn't wanna pretend anymore.

He sets down his mug and wipes his hand over his mouth, then looks straight at Flack.

"I've been thinkin' about you," Danny says, and maybe he's learned to lie so well that telling the truth now takes more effort than he imagines.

There's a beat of silence.

"Danny," Flack finally begins; and he doesn't have to say it, the word that fills his strained voice: Don't.

But Danny knows that if he lets this go, he's not gonna have another chance - and he's come too far, too far to just walk away, not now, not like this.

He takes a deep breath.

"And I keep thinking about that day, in the lab," he pushes on. "And why you never came back."

Flack glances up, and Danny can see him tensing.

"I had to go back to the station," Flack answers, a guarded look in his eyes. "I asked Detective Taylor to tell you -"

"Yeah, he did," Danny cuts in. "But that's not it, is it? You said you'd be right back. Remember that? I do, 'cos it's the last thing you said to me." He pauses. "So, why? Why didn't you come back?"

Flack drops his gaze. He stares at his nearly empty mug, and it's a long moment before he speaks.

"I guess," Flack says quietly, "I guess it was just better that way."

Danny feels a flare of anger rise inside him.

"Better," he repeats, his voice hard. "Right. Better for you, maybe."

Flack sits back in his chair. He looks at Danny wearily.

"You wouldn't understand," he says.

"Yeah," Danny shoots back. "So maybe you can explain it to me. I mean, I get that you got a lot more pride than I do. But I'm wonderin' exactly how hard it was for you to come back to the lab that day, 'cos you know what?" He breaks off and glares at Flack. "I took two fucking months to work up the nerve to call your police station just so I could talk to you again."

Danny sees the frank surprise in Flack's eyes - a long moment drags by in silence, and Flack's still got that look on his face, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how.

"This is the part where you say something," Danny tells him. "Anything. Whatever. Just don't sit there and say nothing, all right? 'Cos right now I haven't the slightest idea what it is you want from me."

Danny sees a flash of emotion flit across in Flack's face.

"Don't you get it?" Flack leans forward abruptly, looking right into Danny's eyes. "This isn't about what I want from you, Danny. It never was. And that's why I couldn't see you again - I didn't wanna be like those other guys, making you feel like you had to pay me back some way."

Flack halts; but something in what he just said jumps out at Danny and slams him square in the face like a two-by-four out of nowhere.

Danny stares at Flack.

"Like those - those other guys?" he repeats.

"I mean, other people," Flack corrects hastily, but it's too late.

The blinding rush of blood to Danny's brain almost shorts out all thought - then shame floods away the disbelief, and Danny can't bear to look at Flack anymore.

"Danny," Flack sounds wrung-out. "Listen, I'm -"

"When did you find out?" Danny's own voice is strange, choked. "Before or after we did it?"

A pause, and then: "After."

Danny rakes his fingers through his hair. He feels sick, sick to his stomach - though when he finally looks up, the guilt he sees in Flack's eyes sends a jolt of anger through him.

"Well," Danny snaps. "At least now I know why you didn't wanna see me again."

"That had nothing to do with it." Flack's voice is tight, but Danny thinks it wavers, just a little.

"Yeah, right." Danny lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Like I said: you're a bad liar, Detective."

He stands up abruptly, but Flack does so as well.

"Danny," Flack's voice is low, urgent. "Danny, wait."

Danny halts; he's not sure why he does. He looks at Flack and sees an uncertain expression on his face, and it's another long moment before Flack speaks.

"I crossed a lot of lines back then." Flack hesitates, and then takes a deep breath. "And I just - I couldn't let myself cross any more."

Danny stares at him. He can still feel the shame burning on his face, and right now he can't think, can't think about anything except the humiliation of Flack knowing, knowing about the hustling, about everything.

"Yeah," Danny lashes out. "I can see how scoring a blowjob from some Academy rookie turned prostitute can really throw you into a moral tailspin. My apologies about that."

He breaks off - but instead of the hurt he expects to see, he finds Flack staring at him, bewildered.

"What?" Flack says.

"It's okay," Danny retorts. "Don't need to pretend like you don't know all about the Academy, all right? You won't hurt my feelings, promise."

He starts to turn away again, but this time Flack reaches out and catches him by the arm.

"No, wait," Flack says intensely. "What Academy?"

Danny looks at him: there's a deep frown between Flack's eyes and his confusion seems real, though for some reason this only makes Danny's shame and anger harden even more.

"Nothing," Danny bites out, jerking his arm out of Flack's grip. "Just - just leave me alone, okay?"

He takes a few steps back, putting a safe distance between them, then raises his eyes to Flack again.

"Maybe you're right," Danny says bitterly. "Maybe it is better this way."

He stalks off, leaving Flack standing there. He weaves his way between the tables and chairs and makes it out of the crowded café - as he steps outside the night air rushes in his face, warm against his hot skin.

He turns left and starts walking away, quickly. The bars and cafés around him are all still in full Saturday night swing, but Danny keeps his head down and doesn't look at them, just keeps walking until a hand grabs his arm, forcing him to jerk to a stop.

Danny turns - he finds himself face to face with Flack, and suddenly they're standing much closer than he expects.

"Danny," Flack says, breathless. "Danny wait, listen to me -"

"What d'you want from me?" Danny blurts out in Flack's face. "Huh? And don't gimme that crap about not wantin' anything, all right, 'cos if you didn't want something you wouldn't be here. So did you just wanna see if you could bear to look at me, after knowing all the stuff I did before? Is that why you came here tonight?"

Danny breaks off; he can feel Flack's fingers curling into his arm, hard but not bruising, and even though he's standing still now he realizes Flack isn't letting him go.

"I don't know," Flack says. He sounds exhausted.

"You don't know," Danny repeats. He pushes Flack's hand away and takes a step back. "Don't know why you came, or don't know if you can bear to look at me?"

The hurt that flashes across Flack's face is painful to watch, and for a moment Danny feels a pang of guilt. Flack opens his mouth, although a few long seconds pass before any words emerge.

"Yeah," Flack finally says. "When I look at you I remember things I never want to think about - and I'm not talking about anything you did."

He pauses; his eyes are bright in the half darkness and Danny finds himself unable to look away.

"I'm talking about me," Flack continues. "Things I'm not proud of, things that - even up 'til now, nobody else knows about."

Flack takes a step forward, and his face is framed in the moving points of light from the street behind him.

"So you wanna know why I came to meet you tonight?" he says, and the intensity in his eyes makes Danny's chest twist. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe I did want something. Maybe I just wanted to face up to what I did, to look at you and - and see why it was all worth it."

Danny stares at Flack; suddenly his anger dissipates, although the shame still remains, somewhere deep inside him, deeper than Flack could ever know.

"It - it's not just -" Danny's voice comes out more choked than he expects, then words fail him and he just shakes his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Neither of them speak for a long moment, and when Danny looks at Flack he sees the resigned expression in his eyes.

"Well," Flack says quietly. "At least you know I came this far to try."

Flack takes a step back, turns away - and suddenly Danny thinks about what his Academy instructor told him, all those years ago.

You gotta face this, Messer. Run now, and you'll just keep running.

Danny reaches out and catches Flack's wrist, stopping him.

Flack looks back. His eyes are sharp in the darkness and the neon lights from the café sign across the road fall across one side of his face, leaving the other in shadow. Silence passes between them - and with every heartbeat pounding in his ears Danny thinks Flack's going to turn away again, turn away and leave.

But Flack doesn't. He just stands there, waiting, and Danny finally lets go of Flack's hand and closes his eyes. His mouth is dry and his brain is spinning painfully, and he doesn't know how much time passes before he finally opens his eyes, inhales a deep breath and forces himself to start talking.

"It was the last weekend of May '98, right after the Academy exams were over," Danny says; he stares down at the ground, and it feels like he's hearing someone else tell the story. "I drove to a rave party up in Yonkers with a couple of friends, though we got separated after we got there. I partied for a while before I hooked up with this guy - by then I was pretty wasted and just looking for a place to crash 'til morning, and this guy, he said his apartment was nearby." Danny pauses. "I mean - I wasn't stupid, I knew he probably wanted to get laid... and frankly, so did I."

He stops; next to him, Flack is listening intently.

"We left the party and started walking, but instead of his place we ended up in a warehouse. There were three other guys waiting for us there, and that's when I realized it was a trap - but it was too late. I was outnumbered and I saw one of them, this big dude with tattoos down his arm, he had a gun hidden under his shirt."

Danny halts, and now he can feel the embarrassment burning hot on his face and neck.

"So I - I played along. Acted like... like I was into the whole thing. Those horny bastards totally bought the act and that tattoo guy, he said he wanted to go first. When I got down on my knees in front of him, I bet he never thought I'd go for his gun."

Danny draws a sharp breath; the crisp night air stings his nostrils.

"The others backed off when I pointed the gun at them - but that guy, he just laughed in my face. Told me the gun was custom made, that he had a special safety catch put in and there was no way I'd know how to work it."

Danny bites down his lip.

"He came at me. I released the safety and shot him. Twice in the shoulder, once in the leg. He went down screaming like a gutted pig. His coward friends split, and I took the gun and bolted too."

Flack finally speaks.

"Did you call it in?" His voice is neutral, wiped clean of emotion.

Danny shakes his head.

"I just ran back to the party, jumped into my car and got the hell outta there. On the way back into the city I ran a stop sign and that's when highway patrol flagged me. I panicked because I still had the gun, so I floored the pedal and managed to toss the gun out the window before I lost control of the car and ran into a tree."

Danny breaks off - and it feels like a load off his chest, like someone lifted away a huge stone, although now Danny's not so sure the emptiness it leaves behind feels much better at all.

He looks at Flack.

"So that's how I got collared for DUI and fleeing arrest," he says. "The cops didn't know about the gun, so no one ever found out I shot a man three times point blank with a modified semi-auto and just left him there to bleed out."

Danny sees a flicker of understanding pass across Flack's face.

"You took that optional ballistics module at the Academy," he says. "That's how you knew how to work that safety catch."

Danny drops his gaze.

"I was two weeks away from graduating top of my class," he says bleakly. "My folks were devastated - first my baseball career, then the Academy. My brother never went far and all their hopes were on me, to do somethin' good, y'know, make something of my life."

Danny lets out a short, humorless laugh.

"It's pretty ironic," he continues, not looking at Flack. "I hated it when those bastards were all over me in that warehouse and I had to pretend I liked it. But later on I ended up lettin' guys do a lot more for fifty bucks." He pauses. "I mean, I stopped two years ago after my friend got murdered by a trick, but I guess - well, after I screwed up there wasn't much left to prove anymore."

Danny feels the shame sting his eyes; he blinks furiously and swallows hard, and it's a long moment before he finally raises his eyes to Flack again.

"So you look at me now and tell me, really," Danny hears his voice crack, more than a little. "That what I've done is something you can live with."

Flack looks at him - then he takes a step forward and puts his arms around Danny, pulling him closer. Danny halfheartedly tries to push him away, but Flack won't let him - he holds Danny firmly, and finally Danny gives up fighting and lets himself go pliant against Flack.

Flack's body is strong and warm and Danny buries his face in Flack's shoulder. He closes his eyes and turns his face into Flack's neck so he can breathe in, not just the smell of fabric softener on his shirt and the lingering cologne on his collar, but the scent of Flack's skin, warm and close against his.

"Hey," Danny hears Flack whisper his ear. "Listen to me."

Flack pulls back slightly, and his hands slide to hold the sides of Danny's face. Danny blinks - Flack is so close that Danny can see the shadow of stubble on his jaw, his dark lashes framing blue eyes now warmed over with an intense emotion.

"What you learned at the Academy," Flack says, "it saved your life." He tilts Danny's face slightly upwards. "And that I can live with."

Danny stares at Flack - then he moves in and kisses Flack on the mouth.

Flack's mouth is warm, like the rest of his body, and as Flack's lips part readily against his, Danny closes his eyes and thinks: maybe this is what it's all about. Every fucked up thing in his life, bringing him to this moment, right here with Flack.

Danny pulls Flack closer, kisses him hard, desperately, like this is something he needs more than he needs to breathe. Flack's tongue slides inside his mouth and Danny lets his hands run up Flack's sides, sliding inside his coat; in response he feels Flack shiver and press forward, close against him.

There's the sound of whistling and catcalls from behind them - Flack pulls back, startled, and Danny turns around to find a bunch of guys grinning at them from a few feet away. Danny feels a twinge of amusement: the Village is probably the best place in all of New York City for two guys to be caught making out on the sidewalk.

"Move along, fellas," Danny tells them, grinning back. "Ain't nothin' to see here."

"Yeah?" one of them answers. "I got a pretty good view from where I'm standing, if ya know what I mean."

Next to him Flack takes a step back; it's too dark to see if he's blushing, but Danny's pretty sure that he is.

"Aw, c'mon now, you're embarrassin' him," Danny calls back, waving them off. The guys laugh, toss in a couple more risqué remarks and go on their way.

Danny turns to Flack, who's now leaning against the side of the building.

"Wonder what they'd say if they knew you even got a set of handcuffs back there," Danny says in a light tone.

Flack breaks into a wry smile. They're standing in the darkened middle space between two street lamps and the shadows cut angles across Flack's face as he runs a hand through his hair, almost sheepishly. Danny boldly takes a step closer - Flack's gaze flickers up to meet his, and there's a tinge of disbelief in his eyes.

And maybe, Danny realizes, maybe all this is as new and strange to Flack as it is to him. This… caring about someone, wanting to be with them.

It's the weirdest feeling in the world, and Danny can't get enough of it.

"Your place?" Danny whispers, and Flack immediately nods.

They don't speak as they walk quickly in the direction of Flack's apartment block on 7th Avenue. It takes them about ten minutes, and Danny feels his pulse start to race as they get onto the elevator and wait for it to climb to the fifth floor.

They step out and head toward Apt 5B, and Danny stands and smirks a little as Flack fumbles with his keys and finally manages to get the door open on third try. Flack holds it open and Danny steps inside - brightness from the hallway slants in, and the place feels familiar even though it's been more than two months since he first walked in here.

Then Flack closes the door, shutting in the soft darkness around them, and when Flack turns around Danny makes sure he's standing right there in front of him. Flack blinks, his eyes wide in the darkness, and Danny raises his chin and leans in.

"I've wanted this," he whispers. "Wanted this for so long..."

Flack exhales as Danny's hands trail up the front of his shirt.

"Yeah?" he breathes.

Danny's fingers start working open the top buttons. "Yeah."

In the dimness Danny sees a grin on Flack's mouth.

"Well, I gotta tell you," Flack wraps his arms around Danny's waist, pulling him closer, "it never crossed my mind."

Danny lets out a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah?" he says, then slides his hand between their bodies; Flack lets out a groan deep in his throat as Danny's fingers squeeze his hard-on through his pants. "Could've fooled me."

Danny catches a gleam in Flack's eyes - then Flack moves, lightning swift, and suddenly Danny finds himself spun around and backed against the closed door.

He blinks, dazed - then Flack's mouth is on his and they're kissing, feverishly, and Flack grinds his hips forward, rubbing his dick against Danny's hardening cock through the layers of insulation. The friction sends a rush of heat spreading through Danny's crotch and he moans into Flack's mouth, and in response he feels Flack's lips curve into a smile.

"You like that?" Flack murmurs, his teeth grazing Danny's lower lip; he braces his arms against the door on either side of Danny's head and does it again.

Danny writhes and throws his head back and hits the wood with a thud.

"Fuck, ow," Danny glowers at Flack in the darkness and catches him smirking. "Smartass," he mutters, and his fingers tighten on Flack's sides as he jerks him closer and captures Flack's mouth in a bruising kiss. Flack takes Danny's revenge gamely, and Danny feels Flack's hand slide in between their bodies, palming Danny's erection through his jeans.

Then Flack pulls away - but before Danny can react, Flack drops to his knees in front of him. Danny gazes down in disbelief as Flack's fingers work open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper. Flack, on his knees, and Danny's throat is dry as he watches Flack pull his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs to free his dick, already hard.

Then Flack opens his mouth and takes Danny's cock between his lips. Danny lets out a choked gasp; his fingernails dig into the door behind him and he throws his head back against the wood again.

Flack's tongue swirls around the head of his dick, tentatively at first, as if he's getting used to this, remembering what to do. Danny takes his hands off the door and runs his fingers through Flack's short hair; Flack breathes, and the rush of warm air against Danny's shaft sends a sharp spike of arousal through him.

"Oh god, Don," he groans, and then stops, startled.

In Danny's mind he's always thought of him as Flack, not Don - but with Flack's mouth wrapped around his dick like this, some part of his subconscious found the name and now it feels... right. Like the most natural thing in the world.

Flack responds by opening his mouth wider and taking him deeper, and he sucks Danny hard, his tongue teasing Danny's cock with alternately hard and slow strokes. Danny shudders, his fingers tangling in Flack's short hair, and he can't resist thrusting his hips forward, into the heat of Flack's mouth.

Fuck, Danny thinks dizzily, he's not gonna last, he's -

Flack stops abruptly and pulls back, as if reading his thoughts.

"Wait," Flack commands, looking up at Danny. "Not yet." His lips glisten wetly and his tongue flickers out to lick them; at the same time his fingers close around the base of Danny's cock, pressing it firmly to hold him back. Danny stares at Flack: his mouth is swollen and ravished, his blue eyes liquid bright in the darkness, and Danny has to swallow hard and bite down on his lower lip. Fuck.

Flack gets to his feet. His shirt is unbuttoned down the front and Danny can see the bulge in the crotch of his pants, more prominent than ever. He takes Danny by the arm.

"Bedroom," Flack says, his voice rough with arousal, and Danny doesn't need to be told twice.

Danny quickly steps out of his undone pants and pulls his sweater over his head. Flack undresses as well, and by the time they stumble into the bedroom they're both naked. Then they're kissing again, hard and deep, all tongue and teeth, and Flack's hands on his body send a tingling sensation all across Danny's bare skin. His hard dick bumps against Flack's erection, and the contact is almost painful.

Danny breaks the kiss, breathing harshly - he pushes Flack backwards onto the bed and climbs on top of him. Flack shifts so that he's lying against the pillows and Danny straddles him, his legs on either side, then settles back so that Flack's cock is nudging just between the cleft of his ass. Flack throws his head back and groans, and now it's Danny's turn to grin.

"You like this?" he teases, and Flack lets out a sharp, breathless laugh and pulls him forward. Danny's cock scrapes against Flack's belly and the heat between their bodies is enough to make Danny shiver and arch against Flack as they kiss, open-mouthed.

Finally Danny anchors his hands in the pillow on either side of Flack's head and pushes himself back.

"Got a condom?" he breathes, gazing down at Flack.

Flack nods. "Yeah."

Several seconds pass, but Flack makes no effort to get the condom. Danny holds Flack's eyes and starts to grind his hips slowly, so that Flack's cock rubs back and forth over his entrance - Flack inhales sharply in response, and his eyes are wide as he looks up at Danny.

"If you wanna fuck me like this," Danny whispers, holding Flack's gaze. "You got nothing to worry about."

A shadow of emotion flickers across Flack's eyes, and Danny holds his breath. He's never fucked without a condom in as long as he can remember - and even after he stopped hustling two years ago he still gets himself checked out every six months, and he knows he's clean.

Danny stops moving and reaches out, taking Flack's face in both his hands.

"But you don't have to, you know," he adds, very softly.

Flack stares up at him.

"I know," he finally says, and then raises his hips a little, nudging his cock against Danny's ass.

Danny bites down on his lip and feels his pulse quicken.

"You sure?" he whispers.

Flack looks up at Danny, and in his eyes Danny finds all the answer he needs. And this wordless understanding sends a rush of warmth spreading through Danny's chest - he leans forward and kisses Flack again, fierce and desperate this time, and there's something fervent in the way Flack clutches his shoulders and holds him close as he kisses him back.

Finally Danny pulls away. He licks his fingers and moistens them with the wet drops of pre-come from his own cock, then reaches his hand around and slides his fingers inside his ass, deftly stretching the ring of muscle. He slicks Flack's cock as well, and then guides it so that the head is positioned just at the entrance.

Flack twitches and a low, guttural sound escapes his lips - Danny looks at him and his eyes are glazed, and Danny can tell that he's fighting to keep from pushing upwards. Any other time Danny might've smirked, gloated a bit, but he knows exactly how this feels and he needs this too, needs it now.

Danny puts his hands on Flack's shoulders and gazes straight into Flack's eyes as he slides himself down onto his cock. There's a tight stretch of pain as Flack's dick pushes inside him, all the way - Danny watches the raw expression break across Flack's face, and it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen.

He braces his hands on the headboard and starts moving up and down, riding Flack hard, and he feels the cool weight of the dog tags on his chest clinking to the rhythm of his movements. Flack's hands are on his waist, guiding Danny in counterpoint to his upward thrusts, and Danny presses his thighs into Flack's sides and leans down to claim Flack's mouth in a wet, desperate kiss.

Flack's tongue surges into Danny's mouth as his cock pushes in and out of him from below; his hands encircle Danny's shoulders, and then Danny feels Flack rolling them both over, together, so that their positions are reversed without breaking contact even for a moment. Now Danny's lying on his back with Flack leaning over him, his cock still buried inside him. Danny automatically lifts his legs and Flack's hands push them backwards, spreading them further apart.

Danny inhales and stares up at Flack, then slides his hand down to his own cock and starts jerking himself off. Flack's breathing is shallow and harsh, and he gazes down at Danny and continues thrusting. Danny gasps as Flack hits a spot deeper inside him each time - and watching Flack like this, towering over him and fucking him face to face, Danny can't hold back anymore.

He arches off the bed and comes, hard - oh fuck, Don, fuck - and Danny feels hot spurts all over his hand just as his brain explodes in tiny points of light and everything goes blindingly white.

When he comes back into his senses Danny opens his eyes and Flack's cock is still inside him - but now Flack's eyes are closed and Danny feels his body tensing, and Danny lifts his hips as Flack draws back and thrusts in, deep, one last time.

Flack lets out a choked sound - oh god, Danny - and Danny watches the contortion of pleasure on Flack's face as he shudders and comes inside him.

Then Flack's leaning down and his mouth closes over Danny's, and he's kissing him as he rocks forward, riding the orgasm, his dick still buried inside Danny's body. Danny wraps his arms around Flack's neck and kisses him back, kisses him like it's the only thing left to do in this world.

When it's finally over Flack finally pulls out and moves back. Danny stretches out his limbs - there's a pleasant ache in every part of his body, and the stickiness on his belly and thighs is just starting to dry. He figures he should get up, go take a shower like always does after fucking; but right now he's too dazed and breathless and exhausted to do anything but lie here in bed.

He turns to see Flack watching him, a tentative expression on his face.

"Stay," Flack says quietly.

Danny looks at him - and everything feels the same as it did a few minutes ago, when Flack's cock was deep inside him and Flack's mouth was hot and heavy on his. And right now, in this moment, Danny knows all this - it's real.

"Yeah," Danny answers, and means it. "Okay."

Flack smiles. He reaches out to touch Danny's face, feather light, and then leans in and kisses him once, full on the mouth.

"Night," Flack murmurs, and then pulls back. He doesn't try to cuddle, just stretches out on the bed next to Danny, and within minutes he seems to have dozed off.

Danny steals a sidelong glance at Flack: his eyes are closed and his arm is lying in the space between them, the back of his hand just brushing Danny's.

Danny lies there and listens to the quiet, steady sound of Flack's breathing; he smiles to himself in the darkness, then closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

* * *

A loud ringing sound blares right next to Danny's ear, jarring him from dreamless sleep. He groans and cracks an eye open - his face is nestled in a pillow with a clean musky smell, and the dim bedroom around him is unfamiliar.

"Dammit," mumbles a sleepy, irritable voice beside Danny; then someone leans over him to grab something off the nightstand and the ringing stops. "Flack."

At the sound of Flack's voice everything about last night comes rushing back to Danny's mind - how they fucked, the way Flack kissed him when he came, the look in his eyes when he asked Danny to stay.

Danny rolls over and stares up at the dark ceiling; a warm feeling curls in the pit of his stomach, making the hair on his bare skin stand on end.

Flack's sitting up next to him, holding the phone to his ear.

"Yeah," Flack's saying. "Yeah, I got it. Be right there." He hangs up, then sighs.

Danny looks at him. "What's goin' on?"

"Gotta get to work," Flack answers, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Danny glances at the clock on the nightstand: 6:57 AM. Too fucking early.

"But it's Sunday," he protests.

Flack gets to his feet; Danny gazes at Flack's naked body in the shadowy dawn light, and he figures he must've done something right in his life, past or present, to get to wake up to this.

"Yeah, well," Flack says wryly. "Bad guys don't take the day off, so the good guys don't get to either."

Danny stretches and gives Flack his best bedroom eyes.

"Not even when they got company waiting in bed for 'em, all ready to make the morning after twice as good as the night before?"

He sees a smile pull on the sides of Flack's mouth.

"No," Flack says. "Not even then." He starts toward the bathroom, then casually adds, "And by the way, twice as good? Don't think that's even possible."

Danny arches an eyebrow and sits up.

"Is that a challenge, Detective?" he calls out.

Flack halts near the doorway and turns back to Danny.

"If you want it to be, yeah," he says with a grin, then disappears into the bathroom.

Danny can't suppress a smile of his own. Obviously Flack doesn't know better than to make dares when he's naked. The good detective obviously needs to be taught a lesson or two dozen.

He climbs out of bed and wanders outside, picking up his clothes along the way and putting them on. He hears the water running in the bathroom as he goes to the kitchen and finds clean glasses in the cabinet. Wow, Danny thinks, impressed, and pours himself some water to drink.

Fifteen minutes later Flack's all showered and dressed, looking smart in a dark gray suit over a white shirt and red tie, and he's clipping his badge to his belt as he walks out of the bedroom. Danny's sitting on the arm of the sofa, waiting.

Flack sees Danny watching him and halts. An uncertain expression flits across his face, and he hesitates.

"You gonna be here when I get back?" he finally asks.

You want me to? Danny almost says, but stops himself just in time. And he realizes: they're past all this, this stupid game of lies, of never saying what they really mean.

"Tell you what," Danny answers in a tone of mock seriousness. "If you're not back by midnight, I'm gonna sleep out here on your couch."

A smile spreads across Flack's face, and he relaxes visibly. He takes a step forward and his leg bumps against Danny's knee.

"Is that a threat, Messer?" Flack says.

Danny smirks. "If you want it to be, yeah."

"Well, it's a lousy one," Flack replies, and then leans in, his lips brushing Danny's ear. "'Cos y'know what? I like doin' it on the couch."

Flack's words send a shiver of anticipation up Danny's spine.

"Well then," Danny says, feeling slightly breathless. "I guess I gotta spend the rest of the day thinking up some other form of punishment."

Flack straightens and grins. "You do that."

Danny gets to his feet and they walk toward the door together - with a shiver of arousal, Danny remembers what happened up against it last night.

Flack opens the door, and then turns back to Danny. For a fleeting moment he looks as if he's gonna say something - but then he just reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly against the side of Danny's face before letting his hand drop again.

"I'll see you later," he says.

The honest expression in his eyes makes Danny spontaneously move forward, pull him close and kiss him lingeringly on the mouth.

"Yeah," he murmurs against Flack's lips. "I'll be here."

Danny lets him go, and Flack gives him a quick smile before he turns and walks down the hallway toward the elevator. Danny watches him go, then closes the door behind him.

He goes to open the curtains, letting the warm colors of morning flood in through the windows. The apartment is quiet, and the silence makes Danny think about all the things they still haven't talked about, like what happened with Alvarez and with Lovotti.

But maybe that isn't what Danny needs right now. They'll get there, some time - and when they do, those questions will be waiting. But today all he needs is for Flack to walk back through that door, like Danny knows he will. It's really that simple.

And for now, Danny thinks, that's exactly how he wants it to be.

Epilogue

Six months later

Danny bounds up the steps, two at a time, his arms full of groceries. He rings the bell with his elbow and waits for Mrs. Applebury to open the door.

When she does he greets her hello, and then goes inside and helps her unpack the bags. After everything's been put away, Danny stuffs his hands in his pockets and clears his throat.

"Hey, Mrs. Applebury," he says. "Just wanted, uh, wanted to let you know that I'm planning to move out next month."

Mrs. Applebury looks up at him in surprise.

"I see," she begins, and a concerned expression knits her brow. "If keeping up with the rent is difficult for you..."

"Oh, no, it's not that," Danny quickly says. "You've been very fair with me on the rent, ma'am, especially back when I couldn't pay you on time."

Mrs. Applebury has a small frown on her face.

"Oh, Danny," she says. "I know it's none of my business, but I hope this has nothing to do with those people who beat you up..."

"No, no, this has nothing to do with that," Danny rushes to assure her. "It's just this friend of mine, he's got a great place down in Chelsea and he asked me to move in with him. And I'm already goin' over all the time anyway, so I figured I might as well start living there and helping out with some bills, y'know?"

Mrs. Applebury still looks unconvinced.

"And this friend of yours...?" she says inquiringly.

"He's a good guy," Danny tells her. "He's a cop."

"Oh!" Mrs. Applebury raises her eyebrows, looking impressed. "Well, that's very comforting to know. Then I'm sure he'll take good care of you."

Danny smiles.

"He will." He pauses, and then adds, "I also wanted to tell you that I'll still come around every week and bring you your groceries."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary!" Mrs. Applebury protests, but Danny reassures her that it's okay, he can always drop by on weekday evenings on his way back from work. Finally she relents, with gratitude, and Danny grins and tells her, no trouble at all.

A half hour later Flack calls to say he'll be getting off shift on time for a change, and Danny tells him to meet at Grey Dog's for a beer.

Danny reaches the café early and sits at the counter chatting to Jamie until Flack arrives, looking fine as usual, his tie loosened around his neck in a way that makes him unbearably sexy. Flack spots them over at the bar and nods in their direction before going to find a table in the corner. Jamie fills two mugs for them and gives Danny a conspiratorial nudge as he mutters, "Lemme know if he's got a twin brother or something," then smirks and takes the ten bucks Danny slides across the counter.

"What's up with your friend at the bar?" Flack remarks as Danny comes over with the beer. "Every time I look over at him he's got this huge grin on his face."

"Oh, Jamie?" Danny says casually, sliding into the seat next to him. "Nah, don't mind him. He just thinks you're really hot." Flack gives him a dubious look, and Danny chuckles. "Which you are, by the way."

Flack sits back in his seat and sips his beer; there's a distracted expression in his eyes.

"Something wrong?" Danny asks.

Flack blinks, and a flicker crosses his face.

"Nah, it's nothing," he says, although the tension doesn't leave his features.

"Rough day?" Danny suggests. He's seen Flack after really bad days at work, when Flack told him they couldn't save the victims or lost good men in the line of duty - though somehow this feels a little different, like there's anger beneath the surface instead of just regret or weariness.

Flack looks as if he's going to deny again; but finally he shakes his head and takes a breath.

"It's that bastard," and Danny can hear the hatred in the way Flack spits out the word. "Lovotti. IAB informed me today that he took a deal - he's gonna resign without pension instead of going to jail like he should. And I told them this is the kind of fucking crap," Flack stabs a finger on the table, "that makes people lose faith in the system."

Danny considers for a moment. He's not sure how he feels about knowing what's gonna happen to Lovotti - actually he's not sure he feels anything at all, though obviously the same can't be said about Flack.

"Well," Danny tries to find a silver lining, for Flack's sake. "Losing his pension, that's quite a bit of money, isn't it?"

"For what he did to you?" Flack blurts out, his eyes flashing with rage. "That ain't nearly enough. Nowhere even close."

"Hey, c'mon, listen to me," Danny leans forward, touching Flack lightly on the wrist. "What happened, it's all in the past. He can't do anything to me now - you made sure 'a that." He pauses, holding Flack's gaze evenly. "But I don't wanna let him get to me in another way by making you mad, 'cos you know how I hate seeing you upset. Especially when you're drinking my beer. Okay?"

Flack looks at Danny for a long moment. Finally, he seems to relent.

"All right," he says with a sigh.

On impulse Danny leans over and kisses Flack, full on the mouth - as he pulls back, he sees Flack blink in surprise.

"And with you around?" Danny adds, looking at him. "I think the system's still got a bit of hope left."

Danny gets rewarded with seeing Flack blush a little, and he grins and sits back in his chair. They sit quietly for a few minutes, sipping their beer, and Danny's pleased to see Flack's dark mood lighten up considerably.

"Oh, guess what," Flack finally says, setting down his mug. "I just heard that Crime Scene Unit's looking to hire someone new for the lab." He pauses and looks at Danny. "So, what d'you think?"

Danny raises an eyebrow at him.

"Well," he says, "I'm just having a bit of a hard time imagining you dressed in a white coat with a bunch 'a test tubes in your hands, y'know?"

"Not me," Flack says, rolling his eyes. "I'm talking 'bout you."

Danny stares at him.

"Me?" he echoes. "Aw c'mon, Don. You gotta be kidding."

"I checked it out, this is an entry level position," Flack continues. "Experience is preferred but not necessary. You'll be assisting one of the criminalists, and they'll teach you the ropes from scratch."

Danny looks at Flack. He's figured out by now that Flack's not yanking his chain here, but - it just seems like such an unimaginable thing, the chance to work in law enforcement again.

"Yeah, maybe," he says skeptically. "But there's still that other thing. You know. Me having a record an' all. Not to mention getting booted outta the Academy."

"Remember that detective you talked to before, Mac Taylor?" Flack says. "Well, he runs the lab and he's gonna be the one hiring you. And if there's one person I know who always gives everyone a fair chance, it's Mac."

"I dunno," Danny says doubtfully. "Still seems like a stretch, y'know. I mean, yeah, I'd love to work in the crime lab, believe me I really would - but I don't wanna get myself all hopeful and get it thrown back in my face."

Flack rests his elbows on the table and leans forward.

"Look," he says. "If Mac thinks someone deserves a place in his lab, he's gonna hire that person even if everyone else tells him he's gonna regret it." He pauses. "So all you gotta do is prove yourself at the interview. And with your chem major? You can totally do this, Danny."

"You're getting ahead 'a yourself," Danny says wryly. "I haven't even got the job yet."

Flack sits back, but the determined look doesn't leave his eyes.

"Listen," he says. "I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. The decision's entirely up to you - but this lab's a great place to work, and this is one hell of an opportunity."

"Yeah," Danny agrees wistfully. "It sure is." He takes a breath and looks at Flack. "Okay. What the hell. I'll do it."

Flack's eyes light up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Danny pauses, and then adds, "But I don't want you pulling any strings to get me in or anything, okay?"

Flack laughs.

"With Mac Taylor?" he says. "I couldn't pull any strings even if you paid me to."

Danny grins. Even though he only spent a short time talking with Detective Taylor, he thinks he knows exactly what Flack means. He gazes across the table and watches Flack drink his beer, looking very satisfied. And even now, against better judgment, Danny feels the stir of excitement start up inside him. Flack's right. This is a fantastic chance.

"You know," Danny muses out loud. "We could end up working together."

A curl tugs on the side of Flack's mouth, and he nods. "We could."

Danny leans back in his seat and looks at Flack.

"I'd really like that," he says truthfully.

Flack smiles - it's one of those rare, quiet smiles that makes Danny feel like the luckiest person in the world.

"Yeah," Flack answers. "Me too."

- fin -

***

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