Title: Weapon of Choice
By: Mondeo
Fandom: CSI: NY
Pairing: Danny/Flack
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Dagger
Spoilers: Season 2 in general really. I may have slightly changed some of the conversations though. Purely by accident :whistles:
A/N: Don't own, don't sue. POV switches between Flack and Danny (there's o0o0o every time that happens) starting with Flacky. Lots of Lindsay-bashing, if you like her then I wouldn't recommend this fic. Dedicated to my bethtbud Stef for all the slash marathons.

***

I'm a detective, a good law-abiding citizen, right?

So why am I having sudden homicidal urges towards a colleague? I mean, that's not what I signed up for. They gave me a gun for God's sake. And all I can think about his how much I'd like to stab her.

A bullet would be too quick. And the truth is it scares me slightly that I'm thinking in terms of my weapon of choice, and also that I've made the decision to cause as much pain as possible.

That's the effect he has on me. And I want to hate him for it. So why can't I?

Maybe I'm projecting my feelings toward him on to Lindsay. If I went to see a shrink that's what they'd say, right? That I have anger issues and should go to more therapy. Which, by some happy coincidence, would also line their pockets. Nice how that works out, huh?

Or maybe I'm just a sucker in love. Cheaper, but somehow far less appealing.

o0o0o

I'd never noticed that he was protective of me. Hell, possessive even. Not until Stella pointed it out. How he always stands next to me at a scene; always happens to be in the next seat when we go out drinking. I guess once she told me it was blindingly obvious.

But even then I just thought he was being friendly. As any of my ex-girlfriends will testify, I'm not the most perceptive guy ever.

He'd offer me a ride and I'd never suspect anything other than that he was a helpful friend. Even when that woman in my building asked if we were a couple and he grinned like an idiot for days, I didn't catch on.

At the hospital, after Louie got beat up, when Lindsay asked if I was ok, and he snapped, "Oh yeah Lindsay, he's just thrilled about what's happened," I finally got it. He didn't like her talking to me.

But that made no sense. He was just Don, my buddy. My buddy who happened to always stand just a little too close, always happened to be available for a ride. Why would he care who I spoke to?

o0o0o

Subtlety was never my strong point when it came to Danny. In fact, I would practically kick people out of the way to get a good view of his ass at a crime scene. Although obviously I was far more interested in the evidence…

I try to tell myself this so many times a day. I just haven't gotten laid for a while, that's all. Hell, maybe it's like elementary school when you hate the girl you've got a crush on.

The fact that I feel nauseous even thinking about having a crush on Lindsay doesn't exactly support this view, but it doesn't involve re-evaluating my entire life up to this point, which is never a bad thing.

o0o0o

There's only one thing to do in these situations, ask Stella. Her attempts at acting like she had no idea what I was talking about were unconvincing at best, and pretty soon she admitted that there was a tiny possibility that he liked me.

But apparently that wasn't enough, she then added, "Oh, and so does Lindsay, just so you know."

Crap. So just under half the team had a crush on me. Who was next? Hawkes? Hammerback?

I did the only sensible thing in the situation. I got paranoid. Even Mac standing near me at a scene was enough to send my brain into overdrive, thinking of what I'd do if something was to happen. Of course, it never did, because even if Mac had felt something, he'd never act on it. He was far too professional. But somehow my brain left all rationality behind in that situation.

o0o0o

He thought I hadn't noticed. That he'd inch away when I stood near now. That he'd make long rambling excuses when I asked him to come for a beer. And I knew exactly who was responsible.

Lindsay.

I became utterly convinced, based on nothing more than a hunch (what would Mac think?) that she was dragging him away from me. I constructed a whole life for them in my head (which was slightly worrying) where they were madly in love and going to have babies.

He obviously didn't bat for that team, didn't swing that way. Put it however you want, but I knew Danny Messer could never be mine

o0o0o

He thought I hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed how a tiny part of him died when I turned down his offers for beer. But I did. And I felt bad about it sure, but I couldn't lead him on, couldn't let him imagine I felt that way about him.

That's what I told myself.

That funny feeling in my stomach was probably something I ate. Or the smell of decomp at a scene. Just because there wasn't always a decomposing body didn't mean it couldn't be true.

But deep, deep down, deeper than anything I'd ever admit (even deeper than the fact that I owned a German rap album) was the feeling that maybe, just maybe, we'd be good together.

If I felt that way about him, which I didn't, ok?

o0o0o

I tried to get over him, I really did. But there was a tiny flicker of hope within me that simply refused to die. When I stood near and for just a moment he seemed to hold his breath. He was probably trying to stay calm enough not to punch me in the face, but somehow I interpreted it that he was trying to resist the urge to do something inappropriate at work.

And when I thought that I knew I was going crazy. And also in need of a cold shower.

o0o0o

The day it happened was unremarkable in every way.

A domestic dispute turned murder, a cut and dry case where the husband stood over the wife with a long knife, still screaming abuse at her as she lay dying.

When the paperwork was filed and the last box of evidence put away, Don wandered into the locker room, hands thrust in his pockets. I tried to appear very interested in the contents of my sandwich, but he knew me too well for that.

"Listen, Danny. We need to talk man."

I had always felt talking about feelings was over-rated, but for some reason I felt prepared to give it a shot. I sat down on a bench and motioned for him to continue.

His hand moved to the back of his neck, a sure sign of discomfort. "See, the thing is… I dunno if you noticed or not, but," he cleared his throat, "I-kinda-sorta-like-you-a-bit."

I blinked. He'd spoken so fast that the words took several seconds to penetrate my skull. Eventually all I managed was, "Ah, ok." Groundbreaking stuff, I thought, embarrassed.

Flack continued at alarming pace, "And I know you probably don't feel the same way about me. Hell, I'm almost sure you don't, but I couldn't go on pretending nothing was wrong anymore."

I decided ignorance was the best tactic right then. "I didn't think there was anything wrong between us, Flack." As soon as I'd used his surname I regretted it. It was so impersonal, it screamed that I didn't want to even be his friend.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Danny; we both know you've been avoiding me. And sometimes I'm fine with that. Sometimes I even think, 'Fuck that' and then I feel like I don't miss your friendship, that I don't miss having you in my life. But I'm lying to myself, Dan." He hasn't called me Dan in months, and my eyebrow-raise doesn't go unnoticed. "What? Can't I call you Dan anymore? We were so close Danny, and I can't go on without you in my life. Because the truth is, I love you, Dan. And I don't mean in a brotherly way, I don't mean in a best friend way. I mean it in a 'can't live without you', 'want to be near you all the time' sort of way. And I'm sorry, Dan, but that's how it is"

His eyes were shiny with tears now, and the truth is I had no idea what so say. I didn't even know how I felt. No, that wasn't true. I did know. I'd known all along. Years of burying the feeling, heaping denial upon it, had only served as fuel. I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do. Even if it meant everything changing irreversibly, I had no choice anymore.

o0o0o

After my strange, rambling outburst in the locker room, I would have understood Danny never wanting to see me again. I'd have understood him punching my teeth out, kicking me to the ground. I could have understood any reaction other than the one he gave me.

"I love you too, Don," as soon as he said those words he looked relieved. "Hell, you have no idea how long I've loved you, wanted you, needed you even. I'm just a coward, letting you believe I hated you." He hung his head, looking as though he might burst into tears.

"Hey hey, c'mere. Listen, I never thought you hated me." I say in what I imagine to be a soothing voice, as I step forward to hug him.

We stand there for what seems like hours. When I finally release him he slipped his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers before looking at me uncertainly, as if seeking my approval. I smiled resolutely at him, letting him know it was all ok.

It's not the beginning I imagined for us. I imagined drama and passion and, if I'm honest, sex. But sometimes I think our way was better, for what it lacked in drama it made up for in other aspects. I realise we'd been friends too long to rush headlong in, that we had to take it slow.

That not to say that, when we finally got around to the sex part, it wasn't better than I ever could have imagined.