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bedlamsbardI'm getting the distinct feeling that several scenes are missing, but I can't figure out what they are, much less how to write them. Probably more Stella and Mac, since they show up less often than Danny and Aiden.
Anyway, Snafu 11:
“…very professional of you, Messer.”
Flack blinked. Pain filtered through his body as he shuddered then went still, his breath coming in shaking gulps. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
“Language, Dannyboy.” The New York accent came quickly to his ears, a familiar curl of wet syllables that bespoke the City as well as the gold and blue of the detectives’ badges or the Statue of Liberty. He opened his eyes slowly, and was greeted with this sight of a man who was familiar in a distant kind of way, although Flack douldn’t place him.
“The pretty homicide dick with blood twice as blue as yours? Your partner’s not dead…yet.”
Gavin, Flack thought woozily. Why is he talking to Gavin?
The stranger was silent for a moment, his lips curling up into a sneer. The sneer brightened as he turned and caught sight of Flack. “You kiss your partner with that mouth?” he asked coldly. “You fuck him the way Sonny fucked you?” He paused, and there was a sense of deliberancy in it. “Or does he fuck you?”
“Gavin,” Flack murmured under his breath. “Fuck, Gavin.” He coughed, shook his head from side to side, and felt blood spray off his face. Absently, he licked his upper lip and tasted blood. Not Gavin, he thought, and – “Danny.”
That was where he’d seen the guy. The Patriso house, with Danny. You remember this, or people’ll be rememberin’ you. The Tanglewood Boy. Danny.
“One of your CSI dicks I had words with last night. The one who put the cuffs on my brother.”
Had Danny ever named the guy? Flack didn’t think so. But beyond that immediate recognition, there was something else, something that gnawed at his memory. Another case? Tanglewood. What was the perp’s name, the one they’d pulled in for the kid’s murder…Sablone? Santone? Sassano? Sassone, that was it. Sonny Sassone. But this wasn’t him, this guy was older, and the face was different. Features were similar, but different people.
“You give me back my brother, you can have your damn detective back in your bed.” The gangbanger flipped the phone shut.
“Hey, that’s my phone,” Flack said, relatively mildly, as he recognized it.
Guy grinned. Fucking grinned, like a fucking wolf. “That’s not all that’s yours.” He leaned forward, put one foot on a chair, and that was the moment Flack realized the reason he hadn’t been able to move was because he was tied to another one. Huh. Imagine that. “We’ve met, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Curly Sassone. And you’re Detective Donald Flack.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I fucking hate liars and lying,” Flack said flatly. “And it’s just Flack.”
“Playing off your name?”
“No.” Insult to injury, and he’d be surprised if he hadn’t broken something, metaphorically or literally. “What about you off yours?”
That got somewhere. Sassone leaned forward, his face twisting into a snarl. “I don’t need to.”
“Neither do I. I got this shiny gold badge all on my own.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sassone regarded Flack coldly for a moment, then said, “So you’re Danny Messer’s partner, huh?”
Flack blinked. “No. He’s a CSI, I’m Homicide. They don’t do partners. Neither do I.” He cocked his head to one side, considering. “An’ who the hell are you, pal? Or should I say what? Tanglewood, right?”
“Just like Danny.”
“You’re nothing like him,” Flack stated.
“I guess he never mentioned his Uncle Valentine, then,” Sassone replied.
*
“I can’t do this,” Danny said flatly. He looked around wildly, then slumped limply against the wall. “I can’t – be two people at once anymore.”
Aiden stared at him. “Danny?” she questioned – hesitantly, like she wasn’t really sure what to call him. Whether it was really his name.
He played with the buttons of his coat, with his badge, with the strap of his holster before Aiden gave him a worried look and he forced his hands down. “Danny Messer. Danny Constantine. I can’t –” And he bursted out – “I’m not him. Not Constantine. My blood; not my name.” He choked off a sob. “Only half my blood’s blue.”
The look on Aiden’s face was anything but the hostility he expected. “Danny, you’re drunk,” she said tiredly and swung the door open. “For the second night running. At least you’re still in New York this time. Come on in, you can sleep on my couch since I know you won’t go home. There’s something fucked up about the fact we’re not even sleeping together an’ you still got your own drawer here.”
Danny looked at the open door, then at her face. He leaned in toward her. “Vampires need to be invited in,” he whispered, the heavy promise of a shared secret.
Aiden grabbed his arm and pulled him in before locking the door. “I think I’ll be fine, Danny.” She dangled a tiny silver cross on a chain in front of his face, then tucked it back beneath the collar of her shirt. “You do realize we gotta work tomorrow, right? Crime’s not gonna take a break just because you’re having an identity crisis.”
“Sonny,” Danny said.
“What?”
“He told me that once. Well not that exactly, but the identity crisis thing, he said that.” He’d said a lot of other stuff too, some of it which Danny still used. Ironic, that. “He said he didn’t care what I called myself, because he knew what I was.”
“Danny,” Aiden murmured in a voice that probably wasn’t meant to be soothing. She tugged him down onto the couch before perching on the battered coffee table. “Who’s Sonny?”
“His. He said I was his.” A half-sob. “And I forgot.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” Aiden said, leaning forward and grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Danny,” she said flatly, “who’s Sonny?”
He gave her a gloomy look, alcohol fumes wafting off him in waves. “Sonny Sassone.” For a moment he seemed like he was about to cry, then he recovered himself. “He got me into Tanglewood. Curly didn’t want me, but Sonny wanted me in. So did Vinnie, and not even Curly’s crazy enough to argue with Vinnie.”
Aiden shook her head and sat back. “Danny, you’re pretty fucked up.” She signed. “Get some sleep, moron, we’ll talk when you’re sober.” She stared him a moment, then patted him on the head and left the room. A few minutes later, she came back in and slipped his gun out of the holster at his belt.
*
“Hey, moron,” Aiden said, sticking her head into the living room. “How you doin’? You sober yet?”
Danny put his hands to his head. “God, don’t talk.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Aiden jerked her head back over her shoulder. “Shower’s yours, if you want it.”
“Thanks, Aid,” Danny said, not lifting his head.
“Anytime, s’long as you don’t screw up my love life. Mi casa es su casa.” She rolled her eyes. “You want some coffee?”
“Hey, I got great timing. I ever come over when you got a date?” He winced. “Yeah, coffee’d be great. Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?”
“Not in the past twenty-four hours,” Aiden said, grinning. “And there’s a first time for everything. Your timing’s not too hot either. Five dead and Flack missing and you get drunk both nights? That doesn’t read like good timing to me.” She ducked into the kitchen.
There were bagels and pastries she’d picked up the day before from a bakery down the street, and she put them out on a plate before darting for the coffeemaker. She was just settling down with half a bagel slathered with cream cheese and cup of coffee when her phone rang.
“Burn,” she said, snapping the phone open without looking at caller ID.
“It’s Aiden, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, this is Aiden, who’s this?”
“You missing your boyfriend, Aiden?”
She blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Look, bud, find someone else to prank call. You picked the wrong girl. NYPD Detective Aiden Burn, moron.”
“Detective Don Flack,” was the three word reply.
“What?” Aiden flipped the phone down to look at caller ID. Flack. Jesus Christ. “Who the hell is this?”
“You two-timing your boyfriend with his partner?” the stranger asked with deceptive casualty.
“What?”
“Danny Messer. You know him, right?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Aiden, give me the phone,” Danny said, appearing in the doorway. He was dripping wet and wearing only a towel draped around his hips – Aiden quirked a smile, then averted his eyes to preserve his masculine modesty.
“I don’t think –”
“Aiden, give me the fucking phone!” He snatched it out of her hand. “Goddammit, Curly, stay the hell away from my friends.”
*
“Sleeping with your partner and his girlfriend, huh?” Curly said. “The beautiful Aiden Burn. Is she the broad with the hair or the chick with the tits?”
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Danny demanded. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with me or to me, but stay away from Aiden, and stay away from Stella and Mac, and give Flack back.” He was pretty sure Mac could take care of himself in any normal circumstance, but Tanglewood wasn’t normal, and if Mac fucked with them one too many times the Mafia would get involved. Danny didn’t want ot pull what strings he had to get them off the Crime Lab’s case.
“You want that, huh?” Curly said, something that might be angry humor in his voice. “You want back in? I thought you’d beg for that someday, after you realized what you’d done. Realized what you’d thrown away, what we – what my brother – did for you.”
“No, I don’t want back in!” Danny shot back angrily. “I’m out an’ I’m happy that way, an’ I got two dates on my back an’ I’m not changin’ them. Ya’ really think I’d wanna give up what I’ve got for a bunch of Mafia wannabes? Christ, Curly, if I wanted that, I’d give my Uncle Val a call. I never do things by halves.”
“Yeah, Dannyboy, I got that. When you threw us over for your fuckin’ NYPD, you didn’t do it half-assed. Had to put your all into screwin’ us over.”
“Not that it did your career any hurt. Vinnie’s fuckin’ lawyers took care of that.” Not guilty, Danny thought, and saw the triumphant, half-remembered smile on Michael Sullivan’s face.
“Red blood over blue every time,” Curly smirked. “See what bein’ a Patriso gets you? If you’d been born a Constantine –”
“If I’d been born a Constantine, I’d have been too fucking smart to fall in with Tanglewood,” Danny interrupted. “Why have the wannabes when you can have the real thing? You never had the chance to be old time Mafia, Curly.”
Aiden, perched on the table, let her eyebrows go up in surprise. “Danny –” she began.
“Not now, Aiden!” he mouthed.
“You figured out where your pet detective is yet?” Curly asked.
Danny paused. No, don’t have the faintest idea. “We’re gettin’ pretty close.”
“You don’t know,” Curly said smugly. “Look, Dannyboy, we’ve had a long and successful acquaintance, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Danny said flatly. “Last time I checked, shoving me up against a wall and tryin’ to strangle me with my uniform tie doesn’t count as a ‘long and successful acquaintance.’”
“Discounting that –”
“Discounting that, you and Phil broke my jaw and tried to burn my tattoo off with a hot poker after I was already out.”
“Well, beyond that –”
“Beyond that, you fucking shot me.”
“You deserved that,” Curly said coolly.
“Fuck you, Curly.”
“Like I was trying to say, we’ve had a long and successful acquaintance –”
“Depends on who you ask. If you think you’re going to impress me by using words of more than one syllable, you’re wrong.”
“You want your partner back? Come and get him. You got twenty-four hours, Messer. After that I’ll give you your old time Mafia. Two in the back of the head. Then I’ll go after your girlfriend.”
“Goddammit, Curly!” Danny yelled. “Stay the fuck away from –” Curly hung up on him. Danny looked over at Aiden. “Call a cab.”
“What –”
“Curly just gave us a deadline. We gotta get to the lab now.”
“It’s seven in the morning! No one’s gonna be there!” Aiden protested.
“Oh, ya’ gotta be kiddin’ me,” Danny snorted. “Case like the ones we got? I’d be dead of surprise if Mac hadn’t been there all night.”
“You owe me an explanation,” Aiden said, downing the last of her coffee. She dropped the mug in the sink.
“Yeah, and you’ll get one.”
“Hey, hotshot,” she added.
“Yeah?”
“Ya’ might wanna put some pants on first.”
Anyway, Snafu 11:
“…very professional of you, Messer.”
Flack blinked. Pain filtered through his body as he shuddered then went still, his breath coming in shaking gulps. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
“Language, Dannyboy.” The New York accent came quickly to his ears, a familiar curl of wet syllables that bespoke the City as well as the gold and blue of the detectives’ badges or the Statue of Liberty. He opened his eyes slowly, and was greeted with this sight of a man who was familiar in a distant kind of way, although Flack douldn’t place him.
“The pretty homicide dick with blood twice as blue as yours? Your partner’s not dead…yet.”
Gavin, Flack thought woozily. Why is he talking to Gavin?
The stranger was silent for a moment, his lips curling up into a sneer. The sneer brightened as he turned and caught sight of Flack. “You kiss your partner with that mouth?” he asked coldly. “You fuck him the way Sonny fucked you?” He paused, and there was a sense of deliberancy in it. “Or does he fuck you?”
“Gavin,” Flack murmured under his breath. “Fuck, Gavin.” He coughed, shook his head from side to side, and felt blood spray off his face. Absently, he licked his upper lip and tasted blood. Not Gavin, he thought, and – “Danny.”
That was where he’d seen the guy. The Patriso house, with Danny. You remember this, or people’ll be rememberin’ you. The Tanglewood Boy. Danny.
“One of your CSI dicks I had words with last night. The one who put the cuffs on my brother.”
Had Danny ever named the guy? Flack didn’t think so. But beyond that immediate recognition, there was something else, something that gnawed at his memory. Another case? Tanglewood. What was the perp’s name, the one they’d pulled in for the kid’s murder…Sablone? Santone? Sassano? Sassone, that was it. Sonny Sassone. But this wasn’t him, this guy was older, and the face was different. Features were similar, but different people.
“You give me back my brother, you can have your damn detective back in your bed.” The gangbanger flipped the phone shut.
“Hey, that’s my phone,” Flack said, relatively mildly, as he recognized it.
Guy grinned. Fucking grinned, like a fucking wolf. “That’s not all that’s yours.” He leaned forward, put one foot on a chair, and that was the moment Flack realized the reason he hadn’t been able to move was because he was tied to another one. Huh. Imagine that. “We’ve met, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Curly Sassone. And you’re Detective Donald Flack.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I fucking hate liars and lying,” Flack said flatly. “And it’s just Flack.”
“Playing off your name?”
“No.” Insult to injury, and he’d be surprised if he hadn’t broken something, metaphorically or literally. “What about you off yours?”
That got somewhere. Sassone leaned forward, his face twisting into a snarl. “I don’t need to.”
“Neither do I. I got this shiny gold badge all on my own.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sassone regarded Flack coldly for a moment, then said, “So you’re Danny Messer’s partner, huh?”
Flack blinked. “No. He’s a CSI, I’m Homicide. They don’t do partners. Neither do I.” He cocked his head to one side, considering. “An’ who the hell are you, pal? Or should I say what? Tanglewood, right?”
“Just like Danny.”
“You’re nothing like him,” Flack stated.
“I guess he never mentioned his Uncle Valentine, then,” Sassone replied.
*
“I can’t do this,” Danny said flatly. He looked around wildly, then slumped limply against the wall. “I can’t – be two people at once anymore.”
Aiden stared at him. “Danny?” she questioned – hesitantly, like she wasn’t really sure what to call him. Whether it was really his name.
He played with the buttons of his coat, with his badge, with the strap of his holster before Aiden gave him a worried look and he forced his hands down. “Danny Messer. Danny Constantine. I can’t –” And he bursted out – “I’m not him. Not Constantine. My blood; not my name.” He choked off a sob. “Only half my blood’s blue.”
The look on Aiden’s face was anything but the hostility he expected. “Danny, you’re drunk,” she said tiredly and swung the door open. “For the second night running. At least you’re still in New York this time. Come on in, you can sleep on my couch since I know you won’t go home. There’s something fucked up about the fact we’re not even sleeping together an’ you still got your own drawer here.”
Danny looked at the open door, then at her face. He leaned in toward her. “Vampires need to be invited in,” he whispered, the heavy promise of a shared secret.
Aiden grabbed his arm and pulled him in before locking the door. “I think I’ll be fine, Danny.” She dangled a tiny silver cross on a chain in front of his face, then tucked it back beneath the collar of her shirt. “You do realize we gotta work tomorrow, right? Crime’s not gonna take a break just because you’re having an identity crisis.”
“Sonny,” Danny said.
“What?”
“He told me that once. Well not that exactly, but the identity crisis thing, he said that.” He’d said a lot of other stuff too, some of it which Danny still used. Ironic, that. “He said he didn’t care what I called myself, because he knew what I was.”
“Danny,” Aiden murmured in a voice that probably wasn’t meant to be soothing. She tugged him down onto the couch before perching on the battered coffee table. “Who’s Sonny?”
“His. He said I was his.” A half-sob. “And I forgot.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” Aiden said, leaning forward and grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Danny,” she said flatly, “who’s Sonny?”
He gave her a gloomy look, alcohol fumes wafting off him in waves. “Sonny Sassone.” For a moment he seemed like he was about to cry, then he recovered himself. “He got me into Tanglewood. Curly didn’t want me, but Sonny wanted me in. So did Vinnie, and not even Curly’s crazy enough to argue with Vinnie.”
Aiden shook her head and sat back. “Danny, you’re pretty fucked up.” She signed. “Get some sleep, moron, we’ll talk when you’re sober.” She stared him a moment, then patted him on the head and left the room. A few minutes later, she came back in and slipped his gun out of the holster at his belt.
*
“Hey, moron,” Aiden said, sticking her head into the living room. “How you doin’? You sober yet?”
Danny put his hands to his head. “God, don’t talk.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Aiden jerked her head back over her shoulder. “Shower’s yours, if you want it.”
“Thanks, Aid,” Danny said, not lifting his head.
“Anytime, s’long as you don’t screw up my love life. Mi casa es su casa.” She rolled her eyes. “You want some coffee?”
“Hey, I got great timing. I ever come over when you got a date?” He winced. “Yeah, coffee’d be great. Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?”
“Not in the past twenty-four hours,” Aiden said, grinning. “And there’s a first time for everything. Your timing’s not too hot either. Five dead and Flack missing and you get drunk both nights? That doesn’t read like good timing to me.” She ducked into the kitchen.
There were bagels and pastries she’d picked up the day before from a bakery down the street, and she put them out on a plate before darting for the coffeemaker. She was just settling down with half a bagel slathered with cream cheese and cup of coffee when her phone rang.
“Burn,” she said, snapping the phone open without looking at caller ID.
“It’s Aiden, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, this is Aiden, who’s this?”
“You missing your boyfriend, Aiden?”
She blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Look, bud, find someone else to prank call. You picked the wrong girl. NYPD Detective Aiden Burn, moron.”
“Detective Don Flack,” was the three word reply.
“What?” Aiden flipped the phone down to look at caller ID. Flack. Jesus Christ. “Who the hell is this?”
“You two-timing your boyfriend with his partner?” the stranger asked with deceptive casualty.
“What?”
“Danny Messer. You know him, right?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Aiden, give me the phone,” Danny said, appearing in the doorway. He was dripping wet and wearing only a towel draped around his hips – Aiden quirked a smile, then averted his eyes to preserve his masculine modesty.
“I don’t think –”
“Aiden, give me the fucking phone!” He snatched it out of her hand. “Goddammit, Curly, stay the hell away from my friends.”
*
“Sleeping with your partner and his girlfriend, huh?” Curly said. “The beautiful Aiden Burn. Is she the broad with the hair or the chick with the tits?”
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Danny demanded. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with me or to me, but stay away from Aiden, and stay away from Stella and Mac, and give Flack back.” He was pretty sure Mac could take care of himself in any normal circumstance, but Tanglewood wasn’t normal, and if Mac fucked with them one too many times the Mafia would get involved. Danny didn’t want ot pull what strings he had to get them off the Crime Lab’s case.
“You want that, huh?” Curly said, something that might be angry humor in his voice. “You want back in? I thought you’d beg for that someday, after you realized what you’d done. Realized what you’d thrown away, what we – what my brother – did for you.”
“No, I don’t want back in!” Danny shot back angrily. “I’m out an’ I’m happy that way, an’ I got two dates on my back an’ I’m not changin’ them. Ya’ really think I’d wanna give up what I’ve got for a bunch of Mafia wannabes? Christ, Curly, if I wanted that, I’d give my Uncle Val a call. I never do things by halves.”
“Yeah, Dannyboy, I got that. When you threw us over for your fuckin’ NYPD, you didn’t do it half-assed. Had to put your all into screwin’ us over.”
“Not that it did your career any hurt. Vinnie’s fuckin’ lawyers took care of that.” Not guilty, Danny thought, and saw the triumphant, half-remembered smile on Michael Sullivan’s face.
“Red blood over blue every time,” Curly smirked. “See what bein’ a Patriso gets you? If you’d been born a Constantine –”
“If I’d been born a Constantine, I’d have been too fucking smart to fall in with Tanglewood,” Danny interrupted. “Why have the wannabes when you can have the real thing? You never had the chance to be old time Mafia, Curly.”
Aiden, perched on the table, let her eyebrows go up in surprise. “Danny –” she began.
“Not now, Aiden!” he mouthed.
“You figured out where your pet detective is yet?” Curly asked.
Danny paused. No, don’t have the faintest idea. “We’re gettin’ pretty close.”
“You don’t know,” Curly said smugly. “Look, Dannyboy, we’ve had a long and successful acquaintance, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Danny said flatly. “Last time I checked, shoving me up against a wall and tryin’ to strangle me with my uniform tie doesn’t count as a ‘long and successful acquaintance.’”
“Discounting that –”
“Discounting that, you and Phil broke my jaw and tried to burn my tattoo off with a hot poker after I was already out.”
“Well, beyond that –”
“Beyond that, you fucking shot me.”
“You deserved that,” Curly said coolly.
“Fuck you, Curly.”
“Like I was trying to say, we’ve had a long and successful acquaintance –”
“Depends on who you ask. If you think you’re going to impress me by using words of more than one syllable, you’re wrong.”
“You want your partner back? Come and get him. You got twenty-four hours, Messer. After that I’ll give you your old time Mafia. Two in the back of the head. Then I’ll go after your girlfriend.”
“Goddammit, Curly!” Danny yelled. “Stay the fuck away from –” Curly hung up on him. Danny looked over at Aiden. “Call a cab.”
“What –”
“Curly just gave us a deadline. We gotta get to the lab now.”
“It’s seven in the morning! No one’s gonna be there!” Aiden protested.
“Oh, ya’ gotta be kiddin’ me,” Danny snorted. “Case like the ones we got? I’d be dead of surprise if Mac hadn’t been there all night.”
“You owe me an explanation,” Aiden said, downing the last of her coffee. She dropped the mug in the sink.
“Yeah, and you’ll get one.”
“Hey, hotshot,” she added.
“Yeah?”
“Ya’ might wanna put some pants on first.”
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-30 01:57 am (UTC)I love the line "Only half my blood's blue", and I'm not sure *why*, but it just feels so perfect, so rhythmic. Something poetic and ominous and mildly insane at once.
Also: "His. He said I was his." A half-sob. "And I forgot." Talk of ominous, and the promise of something twisted, or the tease of it at least.
Like Flack...I wonder if he'd be *quite* that coherent, that quickly, and while on the one hand, he's always struck me as pretty sturdy--well. Pain. And bleeding. And possible broken-things. But it depends on what's broken, how much he's bled. That sort of thing.
For some reason, I am enamored of: the broad with the hair or the chick with the tits, and I swear, it's not just because I'm internally 13.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-01 03:21 am (UTC)"Only half my blood's blue", and I'm not sure *why*, but it just feels so perfect, so rhythmic. Something poetic and ominous and mildly insane at once.
I get the idea that Danny is really hung up on his blood, maybe because of his family, one side or another. It doesn't come up much, but when it comes to him, it's always there. It's the monster that sits on his shoulder and whispers in his ear, "This is why you screwed up. This is why you're never going to be a good cop." It's his secret, one of the things he's kept hidden forever and he wouldn't even talk about it sober, but drunk as he is, with the case he's working - he's gotta tell somebody.
the broad with the hair or the chick with the tits
I really have to wonder how Stella and Aiden would react to this description. On the other hand, Curly's seen 'em both, and he's gotta assume that one of them's the "Stella Bonasera" and the other's the "Aiden Burn" on Flack's contacts, and since he doesn't know which is which, he's going to ask. In the crudest way possible, which of course doesn't make Danny happy.
Like Flack...I wonder if he'd be *quite* that coherent, that quickly, and while on the one hand, he's always struck me as pretty sturdy--well. Pain. And bleeding. And possible broken-things. But it depends on what's broken, how much he's bled. That sort of thing.
I get the sense he's been awake for awhile - not really awake and not really conscious, but he hasn't been unconscious. Mostly lying there trying to figure out who he is and where he is and what's going on, and it's Danny's name that gets through and really moves him into the real world. Of course, he doesn't quite connect "Dannyboy" and "Messer" with "Danny Messer, the CSI you work with", but after he's awake, he comes relatively quickly to consciousness. And his detective's brain starts working.