Title: Resonance
Fandom: CSI: NY
Rating: nothing now, will be M
Warnings: Uhm... porn?
Notes: scarletts_awry is having a Yay!Porn!Weekend and this is my submission. This takes place in Power Generation-verse. Follows A City Alive. Post-"Care of this Post".
Previously Posted: Part One.


Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, but not when you're a CSI and the entire city of New York is calling. Danny slogged in though a rainshower and up to Flack's new room - a nice little two-bed suite with a real toilet and no one in the next cubicle. He shrugged off his jacket and slapped it onto the empty bed, then greeted Flack with a grin.

"Yeah, it's one of those days."

Flack had been gazing out the window most of his conscious day, watching the fat grey raindrops congeal on the windowglass and trickle slowly earthward. It had been two and a half weeks since the bombing, and finally he was starting to feel a little more human. Although, he had to remind himself, in the hospital, 'human' was a relative term.

"What the hell you doing here, Danny? Don't you have some other life?" Flack tried to put up a strong front for his guest, because of all the people that had gathered by his bedside - family, friends and co-workers alike - Danny was the one who had the most persistence. "You'd be proud of me. Pissed in my own bedpan today like a big boy."

Danny never let statements like that faze him, either; another reason to keep him around. He shrugged and flopped into the hard plastic chair drawn up to Flack's bedside.

"So, I hear you're gonna live. That's too bad."

"Yeah," Flack said. "It's gonna take a little more than that to keep me outta the game."

They'd had this discussion, in some form or another, for pretty much the whole time Flack had been awake. It always ended in Danny grinning like he knew something, and Flack keeping that last little inch of smile for himself to use later, when Danny went home and the whole ward was lost and empty.

But he didn't expect Danny to get right to the heart of it so soon.

"Listen," Danny said seriously, as he laced his fingers across one bent knee. "I've been talking to Mac about stuff. Are you okay with what they did to you? I mean, shooting you full of that suppression stuff and everything?"

Flack knew, and he closed his eyes a moment to reflect. "Listen, Danny. I know it seems like a big thing, but what would you rather have? They can put you back together or they can let you die. I'm really not okay with the death part."

"Yeah." It seemed all that time around Mac Taylor had grown Danny a little bit of a conscience. "Well just... don't let them put anything else in you, okay?"

Flack tried not to think about what he knew they'd done. The surgeons had needed to splice his small intestine back together, nevermind about the vein resection. And he hadn't even understood the technical jargon for 'we made your veins stop leaking' that the surgeons had given him. Yeah, that kind of talk was meant for the operation room and not in his bedroom. Right.

"From now on, it's just PT and I swear, they're stepping me back on the suppressants. I'm gonna be okay, Danny, you gotta believe that." Flack said it, but he wasn't sure if the words hit home with Danny. He was never sure, because Danny was such a hotheaded sonofabitch that he was likely to take off like a shot at the first sentence and not stick around for the end of it.

Danny scowled. "When are they gonna send you home?"

Flack shook his head. "I gotta heal up first, what, do you want me walking home holding my guts in a paper bag?"

Yeah, that might have gone too far. Danny made a sour face and scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. "Jesus, man, that's foul. I was just asking."

"Yeah, well, I don't know." Flack was getting tired, irritated with his perpetual guest. "You know they can't use staples on me in surgery? They used this kind of glue stuff and it's all over in here." He patted the side of his abdomen that was still tender, bruised black and grey from surgery and swathed in gauze. The motion made him wince. "You should see it sometime."

And still, despite that, Danny dug into his shoulder bag and pulled out a couple of half-sized pulp-paper sudoku booklets.

"You like this math stuff," he said, rolling his neck so it cracked. "I dunno. Maybe you can do 'em." He handed them over with a shrug. "Take your mind off things."

Flack couldn't help but notice how he always brought presents. Every time.


Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.

Tags: csi power generation, fic