New York Minute 14
May. 22nd, 2005 05:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardFlack freaks out, Danny joins in the fun, Aiden's okay, and Mac, surprisingly, is not at work.
Also surprisingly, things are actually going quite well.
Noise.
Screams.
Panic.
Violence.
And Danny lashed out in a blurry, half-awake kind of way. Fuck’s happening? Vinnie, coming down the stairs to the basement and yelling at him and Sonny where they lay tangled up in bed. Vic just killed a guy, we gotta hide him.
What?
Get up, Dannyboy. Don’t want ya’ to see this.
Sonny and Curly screaming their heads off at each other. Fuck you, little bro!
None’a your goddamn business, Carlo Sassone!
He didn’t understand. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because Curly was like his own older brothers and when they fought with this kind of passion, the world stopped turning on its axis and cowered among the far-off planets out of the reach of the sun. Phil tugged him away. They’ll get over it. Ya’ wanna go meet the guys downtown? Downtown for them is the Bronx, and Danny lets Phil and Vinnie take him to the bars, a skinny fifteen-year-old in a tank top and jeans with a tat he wears proudly. He didn’t count on walking in on a meeting, and he’s pretty sure Vinnie didn’t either, but Val Constantine sees Danny and half-turns away from his passionate argument with Mickey Marione. What the hell you doin’ here, Danny? and Marione slaps him across the face. Don’t you turn your fuckin’ back on me, Constantine!
That was the first time Danny saw Val fight, and the Tanglewood Boys got into the turf war with a will, whooping and throwing punches and broken bottles as the bar exploded into battle. Danny didn’t see Sonny again that night, because Carmine d’Alessandro hauled him away from the fight by the ear, saying something about his uncle and the Constantine Family’s honor. Fuck that, Danny had thought but not said, seeing the bloody scrape across Carmine’s face and the bright whirl of Val’s leather jacket reflected in the mirror behind the bar.
But. This wasn’t the Bronx, and he wasn’t fifteen. He wasn’t in a bar, and Tanglewood (and the Mafia) was behind him. Who – and what?
Instinct made him hit back, instinct and body memory that says deep down never again. His attacker shied back briefly from the blow and then flung himself forward, and Danny scrabbled for a hold as his fingers brushed against bare skin. He couldn’t see – he didn’t have a fucking clue where his glasses have gone (blind) – but he could feel and he went for the obvious weaknesses. His fist lashed against something that gave, soft scarred flesh like –
skin drawn taut above bone, and he puts his fingers against the officer’s neck like they do in the movies, but there’s no pulse
and there’s blood all over his hands
and his shirt
and his shoulder hurts
Vinnie
shot a cop
help me
The memory rocked him back long enough that his attacker pinned him to the floor, one hand fitting around his neck as the other drew back to hit him. Enough of Danny’s memories shook themselves loose that he could separate far past from near past and the only other person that should be in his apartment right now was –
Flack.
Jesus Christ.
“Flack!” Danny gasped. “Hey! Stop, you fuckin’ idiot! It’s me, okay? It’s Danny. Don’t –”
The figure shuddered all over and then pulled back, collapsing against something Danny was fairly sure was his couch. Or possibly the wall, but he really didn’t think his wall ended in a dark blur several feet up from the floor. Danny groped for his glasses, hoping he hadn’t rolled over on them and wondering just where the hell they’d gone. Flack shoved them into his hand.
“Aw, Christ,” he said, looking tired and terrified and rather the worse for wear. “Shit, Danny, I’m sorry, I ain’t – I didn’t –”
The living room was still lit by the TV and its endless reruns of Law and Order, or maybe Buffy, because Danny really wasn’t sure what channel it had been on when he dropped down beside Flack with a couple of beers in hand. Things had gone downhill, and uphill, and obviously downhill again, from there. Danny leaned over to squint at Flack’s face through his dirty glasses. “Hey. It’s okay, arright? I’ve got worse wake up calls.” Though not by much, unless you counted the last time he and Sonny slept together, where Curly had come in to find them in flagrante delicto and put a gun to Danny’s head. Get within a mile of my brother again, you goddamn traitor, and I’ll kill you.
Fuck you, Curly, Sonny had snapped, but he shoved Danny out of bed and stumbling across the floor for his clothes. Curly had followed him with the gun.
Get out, Messer, or next time you’re dead.
He’s a kid, Sonny said.
He went to the fucking cops.
Nah, they found him, and his dad’s one. What? Was he s’posed to lie or somethin’?
Next time I see you I’ll kill you, Messer, Curly had promised. He’d lied. The next time he’d seen Danny he’d had Phil hold him against a wall while he tried to burn Danny’s tat off with a hot poker. The time after that he’d broken his wrist after a game. Then thrown him up against a wall and tried to choke him with his uniform tie. Then threatened him. The last time he’d put a gun to Flack’s head, and it was Danny that walked away, not Curly.
I wasn’t the one you killed, Curly.
“Danny?” Flack asked hesitantly. “Are you gonna – I mean, I don’t have an apartment yet.”
Don’t throw me out.
Danny quirked a smile at him, reaching up to feel his nose tentatively. His fingers came away bloody. “Well, fuck,” he said in a low voice. Louder – “Hey, my bed’s big enough for two. Whadda we need a floor for?”
*
Aiden stopped him to stare in the hall between Trace and Ballistics. “What the hell happened to your face, Danny?”
He nobly resisted the urge to feel his nose. “Ran into a door.”
Her eyes went to his neck. “Yeah. A door with teeth.”
Okay, so she had him there. Danny tugged up his collar to cover the hickey Flack had left behind. “Hey, this is New York. Plenty’a strange things in this town.”
“You really want me to tell Mac you like to get off with doors? Because you know I’ll do it. And you know what he’ll say.” She turned to stare pensively at Mac’s dark office. “’Course, first I’d have to find him.”
Danny followed her gaze. “Mac’s not in yet? What, the world endin’ and nobody told me? Because if that ain’t a sign of the apolcalypse, I don’t know what is.”
Aiden shrugged. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since – yesterday.” She hesitated briefly, then put her hand on his arm. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when she didn’t jerk away. “Hey. Thanks for savin’ my ass yesterday.”
Danny grinned at her. “Anytime. Ya’ gotta give Flack some credit, though. He’s got a real skill with that tackle, and accordin’ to him he don’t even play football.”
“I heard ESU was askin’ about you,” she grinned.
“ESU? What the hell they want with a CSI? By the time they get anywhere, crime’s right in the middle of it. We don’t get there till all the fun’s over.”
“Apparently Bill Riley was veee-ry impressed.” She exaggerated the words, her eyes bright with teasing.
Danny blinked. Sergeant – Lieutenant, as of two months ago, actually – Bill Riley was the new head of the Emergency Services Unit. He and Danny’s brother Eddie had been partners once upon a time, back when Danny was still in college. “Yeah?”
“Said somethin’ about hostage negotiation. You could move up in the world, Danny.” Aiden cocked her head at him. “He told me to tell you to think about it.”
Danny thought about it. “No.” For about two seconds. “I got more important things to do, and last time I checked NYPD had a couple of perfectly fine negotiators. I don’t want the fuckin’ job. I’ll deal with the aftermath of crime, thanks. Seen too much of the actual thing in Technicolor, if ya’ know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” She punched him lightly in the arm. “I’d hate to see you leave CSU. You’re a damn good investigator.”
“You think?”
Aiden laughed. “And conceited too. No, I was more worried about the fact you’d leave me all alone with my hand in the crazy. Mac and Flack all day, everyday, 24/7? Ya’ gotta be kiddin’ me.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “And man, but does Flack got one fine black eye. Ya’ almost might not notice the hickeys on his neck.” And left Danny standing dumbfounded in the hall as she flounced off.
Also surprisingly, things are actually going quite well.
Noise.
Screams.
Panic.
Violence.
And Danny lashed out in a blurry, half-awake kind of way. Fuck’s happening? Vinnie, coming down the stairs to the basement and yelling at him and Sonny where they lay tangled up in bed. Vic just killed a guy, we gotta hide him.
What?
Get up, Dannyboy. Don’t want ya’ to see this.
Sonny and Curly screaming their heads off at each other. Fuck you, little bro!
None’a your goddamn business, Carlo Sassone!
He didn’t understand. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because Curly was like his own older brothers and when they fought with this kind of passion, the world stopped turning on its axis and cowered among the far-off planets out of the reach of the sun. Phil tugged him away. They’ll get over it. Ya’ wanna go meet the guys downtown? Downtown for them is the Bronx, and Danny lets Phil and Vinnie take him to the bars, a skinny fifteen-year-old in a tank top and jeans with a tat he wears proudly. He didn’t count on walking in on a meeting, and he’s pretty sure Vinnie didn’t either, but Val Constantine sees Danny and half-turns away from his passionate argument with Mickey Marione. What the hell you doin’ here, Danny? and Marione slaps him across the face. Don’t you turn your fuckin’ back on me, Constantine!
That was the first time Danny saw Val fight, and the Tanglewood Boys got into the turf war with a will, whooping and throwing punches and broken bottles as the bar exploded into battle. Danny didn’t see Sonny again that night, because Carmine d’Alessandro hauled him away from the fight by the ear, saying something about his uncle and the Constantine Family’s honor. Fuck that, Danny had thought but not said, seeing the bloody scrape across Carmine’s face and the bright whirl of Val’s leather jacket reflected in the mirror behind the bar.
But. This wasn’t the Bronx, and he wasn’t fifteen. He wasn’t in a bar, and Tanglewood (and the Mafia) was behind him. Who – and what?
Instinct made him hit back, instinct and body memory that says deep down never again. His attacker shied back briefly from the blow and then flung himself forward, and Danny scrabbled for a hold as his fingers brushed against bare skin. He couldn’t see – he didn’t have a fucking clue where his glasses have gone (blind) – but he could feel and he went for the obvious weaknesses. His fist lashed against something that gave, soft scarred flesh like –
skin drawn taut above bone, and he puts his fingers against the officer’s neck like they do in the movies, but there’s no pulse
and there’s blood all over his hands
and his shirt
and his shoulder hurts
Vinnie
shot a cop
help me
The memory rocked him back long enough that his attacker pinned him to the floor, one hand fitting around his neck as the other drew back to hit him. Enough of Danny’s memories shook themselves loose that he could separate far past from near past and the only other person that should be in his apartment right now was –
Flack.
Jesus Christ.
“Flack!” Danny gasped. “Hey! Stop, you fuckin’ idiot! It’s me, okay? It’s Danny. Don’t –”
The figure shuddered all over and then pulled back, collapsing against something Danny was fairly sure was his couch. Or possibly the wall, but he really didn’t think his wall ended in a dark blur several feet up from the floor. Danny groped for his glasses, hoping he hadn’t rolled over on them and wondering just where the hell they’d gone. Flack shoved them into his hand.
“Aw, Christ,” he said, looking tired and terrified and rather the worse for wear. “Shit, Danny, I’m sorry, I ain’t – I didn’t –”
The living room was still lit by the TV and its endless reruns of Law and Order, or maybe Buffy, because Danny really wasn’t sure what channel it had been on when he dropped down beside Flack with a couple of beers in hand. Things had gone downhill, and uphill, and obviously downhill again, from there. Danny leaned over to squint at Flack’s face through his dirty glasses. “Hey. It’s okay, arright? I’ve got worse wake up calls.” Though not by much, unless you counted the last time he and Sonny slept together, where Curly had come in to find them in flagrante delicto and put a gun to Danny’s head. Get within a mile of my brother again, you goddamn traitor, and I’ll kill you.
Fuck you, Curly, Sonny had snapped, but he shoved Danny out of bed and stumbling across the floor for his clothes. Curly had followed him with the gun.
Get out, Messer, or next time you’re dead.
He’s a kid, Sonny said.
He went to the fucking cops.
Nah, they found him, and his dad’s one. What? Was he s’posed to lie or somethin’?
Next time I see you I’ll kill you, Messer, Curly had promised. He’d lied. The next time he’d seen Danny he’d had Phil hold him against a wall while he tried to burn Danny’s tat off with a hot poker. The time after that he’d broken his wrist after a game. Then thrown him up against a wall and tried to choke him with his uniform tie. Then threatened him. The last time he’d put a gun to Flack’s head, and it was Danny that walked away, not Curly.
I wasn’t the one you killed, Curly.
“Danny?” Flack asked hesitantly. “Are you gonna – I mean, I don’t have an apartment yet.”
Don’t throw me out.
Danny quirked a smile at him, reaching up to feel his nose tentatively. His fingers came away bloody. “Well, fuck,” he said in a low voice. Louder – “Hey, my bed’s big enough for two. Whadda we need a floor for?”
*
Aiden stopped him to stare in the hall between Trace and Ballistics. “What the hell happened to your face, Danny?”
He nobly resisted the urge to feel his nose. “Ran into a door.”
Her eyes went to his neck. “Yeah. A door with teeth.”
Okay, so she had him there. Danny tugged up his collar to cover the hickey Flack had left behind. “Hey, this is New York. Plenty’a strange things in this town.”
“You really want me to tell Mac you like to get off with doors? Because you know I’ll do it. And you know what he’ll say.” She turned to stare pensively at Mac’s dark office. “’Course, first I’d have to find him.”
Danny followed her gaze. “Mac’s not in yet? What, the world endin’ and nobody told me? Because if that ain’t a sign of the apolcalypse, I don’t know what is.”
Aiden shrugged. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since – yesterday.” She hesitated briefly, then put her hand on his arm. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when she didn’t jerk away. “Hey. Thanks for savin’ my ass yesterday.”
Danny grinned at her. “Anytime. Ya’ gotta give Flack some credit, though. He’s got a real skill with that tackle, and accordin’ to him he don’t even play football.”
“I heard ESU was askin’ about you,” she grinned.
“ESU? What the hell they want with a CSI? By the time they get anywhere, crime’s right in the middle of it. We don’t get there till all the fun’s over.”
“Apparently Bill Riley was veee-ry impressed.” She exaggerated the words, her eyes bright with teasing.
Danny blinked. Sergeant – Lieutenant, as of two months ago, actually – Bill Riley was the new head of the Emergency Services Unit. He and Danny’s brother Eddie had been partners once upon a time, back when Danny was still in college. “Yeah?”
“Said somethin’ about hostage negotiation. You could move up in the world, Danny.” Aiden cocked her head at him. “He told me to tell you to think about it.”
Danny thought about it. “No.” For about two seconds. “I got more important things to do, and last time I checked NYPD had a couple of perfectly fine negotiators. I don’t want the fuckin’ job. I’ll deal with the aftermath of crime, thanks. Seen too much of the actual thing in Technicolor, if ya’ know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” She punched him lightly in the arm. “I’d hate to see you leave CSU. You’re a damn good investigator.”
“You think?”
Aiden laughed. “And conceited too. No, I was more worried about the fact you’d leave me all alone with my hand in the crazy. Mac and Flack all day, everyday, 24/7? Ya’ gotta be kiddin’ me.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “And man, but does Flack got one fine black eye. Ya’ almost might not notice the hickeys on his neck.” And left Danny standing dumbfounded in the hall as she flounced off.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-23 01:51 am (UTC)Right. And it's the kind of terror that--if you get used to it, or "used to it", accustomed I guess--it's like a sense memory, and it will extend to anyone who fights in your vicinity. The instantaneous need to parse a threat, and then to run, or to hide, or "please don't, I'm sorry".
And then have Hawkes put him back together so he could do it again.
Methinks Hawkes may start to have issues with this whole Frankenstein gig. ;-)
(first Mac, now Flack!)
Part of a case rather than outside looking in. One of Them, rather than Us, even though not to the degree Danny had in "On the Job." Curly made him realize he's human, and vulnerable.
Exactly. He bleeds just as red as any victim. It's possible that he could die alone.
(and actually, I want to poke you for your thoughts on this: it occured to me, writing these stories where the Traumatized Trio have been victimized in some way but never *told*, if say they--or anyone of them who'd been hurt and no one else knew--encountered the one who'd done it to them in a case, in the course of work, how would that be? It would obviously be conflict of interest, but if no one knew, how could they tell?)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-24 12:23 am (UTC)Very bad. Er. I really have very little idea. It would depend on if that person recognized them or not, or if they recognized them, and lots of little details like that. Mac would probably close up completely, Danny would probably get extremely jumpy, and Flack would lose his temper. A lot. I don't see how they'd necessarily tell or ask to be taken off the case, but I'm guessing it would come across as being extremely jumpy and absent-minded and always on edge. Not necessarily trying to prove them guilty or innocent, but...not really sure at all.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-24 01:18 am (UTC)It would be interesting, actually... in the case of my Flack, who was abused over a long period of time (and Mac, actually, though it's unlikely his mother would appear in NYC), it's probably a lot more likely that Mallory (the perp) will recognize him than it is for Danny, who was just... there. A victim of opportunity and violence. And Flack's perp took photographs of him, which Flack has never found. (actually, in Flack's case, that would make it worse: if he was among that evidence of years, and recognize. Named.)
Mac would probably close up completely, Danny would probably get extremely jumpy, and Flack would lose his temper.
Right, that works. Mac would just like... implode on himself. All business and competence to the *extreme*, but it's like trying to hold battery acid in a chocolate shell. Danny would be moving constantly, and doing everything to avoid the perp, working himself into a frenzy and snapping when he can't maintain the pressure. And yep, Flack would just... Flack would lose it. Flack would *reveal* it, fastest, the nature of his connection to the perp.
I mean, right, as you said, it's not as if they *could* tell--but it might be clear to say Mac, if he's supervising a case where Mallory is the perp, that Flack maybe needs to spend some time on a different case. A lot of time. Not that he'd *ask* how they felt, or what exactly was going on (beyond: you can't do that, you'll end up ass-deep in alligators), but he'd suggest: you know, Aiden (or whoever) needs help on her case. Shoo.