((they can't see what you're born to be))
Yes. Yes, I do have a strange and malleable definition of ficlet. ~2000 words. After weeks of barely managing ~300 words.
title: Family
with: Danny (gen) Flack, Mac, Louie, Sonny
rated: R (violence)
herein: missing scenes from “Run Silent, Run Deep,” and other memories.
disclaim: I only own the dvds. Everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
note: a present for stellaluna_: because the holidays are coming up and because she asked me to set Danny to “Flying Dutchman” (tori amo) and because she’s so good and efficient at talking me down from a cliff when I need it. (or if not from a cliff, from standing on a rather high chair. yes.)
“Yeah, we’re not going anywhere,” Flack says. “Trust me.” The way his eyes cut over, he’s telling this to Danny as much as he’s answering Mac.
Mac is disturbingly real, sharp and clear in the nightmare haze of not-happening. Mac may be the most solid force Danny’s ever encountered. Mac who believes him this time, and Mac who will figure out how to set things right.
Mac stands with them for a minute and places a hand on Danny’s shoulder before he goes.
The doctors are doing everything they can. Of course. Danny knows- He knows that doesn’t mean a damn thing. The action in Louie’s room is slowing down, and he gets longer looks at his brother hooked up to all the machines. When he drags his eyes away from the window he finds Flack several feet back, still at his post. Danny has always seen straight into the cop part of Flack’s brain, and Flack still hasn’t decided if Danny’s going to bolt-if Flack will have to give chase, tackle him to the ground like they do a suspect.
Thank God it’s Flack, though. Flack won’t hand him any stupid platitudes or a thick dose of pity. Danny can already feel the headache wrapping around his temples, and if it were anyone else he might bolt just to get away. He’s staring at Flack now, and Flack stares right back.
“Mac is going to get these guys,” Flack says. Flack only says it because he knows. He knows.
Danny laughs. He bites down on it fast because he can hear just how hysterical he sounds, but Flack doesn’t waver.
An hour later Flack trails him into the bathroom, like Danny’s going to sneak out the nonexistent window and go do something stupid. Danny’s done enough stupid shit to fill a half-dozen lifetimes. His hands clench, and he forces them open again.
“What, you want to hold my dick while I piss?” Danny spins on his heel, and if Flack were in reach-yeah, Danny would’ve taken a swing.
“Nah.” Flack’s smirk is sharp, but his voice is soft. “My hands are too big for your prick anyway.”
Familiar territory. Flack knows him too goddamn well, so Danny doesn’t start to shout. It’ll only draw this out longer. Bastard. It’s a blessed piece of normalcy all the same.
Danny stands in front of the sink and stares at the mirror without looking into it. He just wanted two minutes alone, enough time to gather up the parts of himself strewn all over the floor. His chest aches, and he’s so hollowed out he can imagine the Y-incision. The water from the tap is cold and hurts the bones of his hands.
Danny wets his face and breathes.
. . .
After Danny doesn’t make it to Atlantic City, he manages to avoid Sonny and his boys for months. It’s easier than Danny thought because Louie isn’t around much, and when he does come by he won’t look at Danny.
The Saturday after Danny turns eighteen, a bunch of the guys he plays baseball with take him out drinking. They hang out at a dive that doesn’t care how young they look or how bad their fake ID’s are. Except the ID Danny made himself is pretty fucking convincing, everyone says so, and Danny’s coming up with a business plan. He’ll make some more IDs and scrape together enough cash that he can move the fuck out of the neighborhood as soon as he graduates high school.
It’s all low key, just hanging out and shooting pool. They’ve hooked up with a couple girls from school, and Cindy Ames has all but crawled into his lap and promised to blow him when they leave.
Then Sonny walks in and sits down at the bar. Danny’s heart stops beating, and Tommy Caton keeps trying to chat up Cindy like nothing’s happened. Sonny’s alone, and Sonny loves an audience, so something is not adding up. Something is very wrong.
Danny waits it out twenty minutes. Cindy presses her tits up against him, Tommy wins the next round of pool, and Sonny still hasn’t looked over at them. Danny says he’s going to take a leak, but instead he ducks out the back exit.
In the alley are three guys that look just familiar enough to make Danny’s guts freeze. He tries to jog by, keeping his head down, but they get in the way and shove him against the wall. Then Sonny’s there, and the other guys back off-two down to the mouth of the alley and the third inside the bar. On guard.
Sonny smiles like the world is his own private joke.
. . .
It’s a constant.
Sonny smiles like the world is his own private joke.
Problem is, Danny knows what that smile feels like from both sides of the line. Sometimes he’ll even practice that smile himself.
. . .
Louie’s stable-for a coma-but the doctors won’t let visitors inside the room yet. Flack sweet talks a nurse into bringing them both coffee. He stays just out of reach, hovering five to eight feet away from Danny at all times. The coffee sours Danny’s stomach, but he needs it. He’s starting to shake from the adrenaline crash.
Flack does not goddamn know Danny, not at all, and Danny’s pretty sure he’d be screaming this if all his energy weren’t taken up by staring through the blinds and willing Louie to wake up.
The knot dead-center between Danny’s shoulder blades is tightening further and sending branches up and down his spine. Danny can feel Flack watching him, just as hard as he’s staring at Louie through the window.
No. When it comes down to it, Flack is just like Mac-there’s Us and there’s Them, and we protect our own come hell or high water. Danny’s just lucky enough to be on this side of the line tonight. Flack’s worse, really, because there’s nothing Danny could say or do right now to get himself moved over to Them. Not in Flack’s book.
Louie’s doctor, who looks like she’s been on her feet way too long, goes to check on him again. She has delicate circles beneath her eyes, and finally nods at Danny through the window.
. . .
After high school, it’s several years before Danny runs into anyone from the old neighborhood like that.
Danny’s been playing in the minors, and his life is pretty good. The team is fresh off a winning season, so it’s vacation time and Danny’s volunteered to show some of the guys around New York. They’ve had a few beers and done a few lines, but it’s not like any of them has a real habit.
It’s just Danny’s luck that they run into people he knows, other kids who used to run errands for the Tanglewood Boys, like Danny did back in the day. It’s cool though. He thinks they’re cool. One minute they’re clapping Danny on the back, crowing about this promising baseball career he’s got going. The next minute something shifts, and they’re talking shit about Danny’s family. It doesn’t take too long for his fucking teammates to goddamn bail, and then it’s just him and Tony Baba and Joe Spengal and a couple other guys, and Danny hasn’t yet learned when to keep his mouth shut.
When Danny comes to, it’s quiet and cold. He’s in a vacant lot, not far from the bar they’d met in. Gravel digs into his side. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, and his head feels like it might roll right off. He stares at a shadow on the ground in front of him until he realizes it’s the smudge of a footprint. The edges of the world are all blurred, and Danny doesn’t know if it’s because his glasses are gone or because of the way his head throbs.
When he thinks he can move, he shifts forward, trying to get his legs under him. Pain shoots up his elbow and down through his fingers, and he curls in around his arm, holding his breath even as he starts to gag. He is not going to puke all over himself. He is not. He is not.
Someone touches his neck, and Danny jerks away.
“Easy, easy.” Louie kneels on the ground next to him. Danny hasn’t seen him in over a year, but he looks the same-eyes that won’t quite meet Danny’s and a cigarette stuck behind his ear.
Louie doesn’t ask what the hell happened or call him an asshole for getting shit-kicked. Danny can’t think of anything to say, so he just focuses on not listing to the side. Louie stays there on the ground with him for a few minutes, hand cool and careful at the back of Danny’s neck.
“Think you can get up now.”
It’s not quite a question, so Danny struggles to his feet with Louie’s help. They make it back to Danny’s car, and Louie drives to an emergency room. Danny tries to pass out again, curled up against the car door, but Louie keeps reaching over to tap his knee.
The nurse who sits him down has ink black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her hands are small, but too strong and precise. She starts to cut away his shirt. He asks about Louie, and she ignores him. So he asks her again, where’d my brother go.
She looks at him blankly, and she tells him to calm down, and when he shoves her away she stumbles into some kind of tray, then there are hands holding him down again, again, holding him down so he can’t breathe and it hurts, goddammit don’t touch me, don’t, and he’s falling, falling, way too fast because he didn’t get a chance to tell them hey, these aren’t the first drugs I’ve had today.
He has to stay in the hospital a couple days. Louie doesn’t visit him. Louie never says anything about that night, and Danny’s too chicken shit to bring it up himself.
Danny’s memory of that night is broken, like little fragments of clouded glass. He does remember Louie, solid against his side and helping him to the car. He does. He doesn’t want to hear that somehow he got himself off the ground and drove to the hospital, that between the concussion and the drugs he only hallucinated his brother. Because that’s not how it happened.
. . .
Later, Sonny is taken to jail. Later, Flack wraps an arm around Danny’s shoulders before he goes back to work. Later, Danny cries until he’s sick to his stomach, hands fisted tight in his pockets. He leans into Mac, who’s warm and solid and holding on to him. Every time Danny starts to pull away his chest breaks open again, because Mac has always been sharp and definite, cutting through the nightmare haze of not-happening, and it makes the past two days unbearably real.
When he finally does step back from Mac, Danny’s eyes are gritty, and he closes them for a few burning seconds. Mac’s talking again in that soft, steady voice. Mac doesn’t use that voice often, but it’s nice. Maybe because it’s nice. Danny’s light-headed, not listening to the words, just the tone.
“Okay? Danny?”
Danny blinks a few times, but it does no good. He sniffs and scrubs his face. “Yeah?” At least he can’t see how Mac’s looking at him.
“Call if you need anything.” Mac steps closer and squeezes Danny’s arm. “Anything at all. Call any of us, any time. Okay?”
“Right.” Danny nods and tries not to lean into Mac’s touch. It feels like the only thing holding him to the ground, but he’s got to get his shit together again. “I gotta get back inside.”
“Okay,” Mac says.
Danny starts to walk away, but stops after a few feet. “I will though. Call. If I need anything.”
“Good. You should.” Mac’s voice is louder now. An ambulance pulls into the bay not a hundred feet from them. “Go be with your brother, Danny.”
Danny nods to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can do that.”
………
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated
title: Family
with: Danny (gen) Flack, Mac, Louie, Sonny
rated: R (violence)
herein: missing scenes from “Run Silent, Run Deep,” and other memories.
disclaim: I only own the dvds. Everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
note: a present for stellaluna_: because the holidays are coming up and because she asked me to set Danny to “Flying Dutchman” (tori amo) and because she’s so good and efficient at talking me down from a cliff when I need it. (or if not from a cliff, from standing on a rather high chair. yes.)
“Yeah, we’re not going anywhere,” Flack says. “Trust me.” The way his eyes cut over, he’s telling this to Danny as much as he’s answering Mac.
Mac is disturbingly real, sharp and clear in the nightmare haze of not-happening. Mac may be the most solid force Danny’s ever encountered. Mac who believes him this time, and Mac who will figure out how to set things right.
Mac stands with them for a minute and places a hand on Danny’s shoulder before he goes.
The doctors are doing everything they can. Of course. Danny knows- He knows that doesn’t mean a damn thing. The action in Louie’s room is slowing down, and he gets longer looks at his brother hooked up to all the machines. When he drags his eyes away from the window he finds Flack several feet back, still at his post. Danny has always seen straight into the cop part of Flack’s brain, and Flack still hasn’t decided if Danny’s going to bolt-if Flack will have to give chase, tackle him to the ground like they do a suspect.
Thank God it’s Flack, though. Flack won’t hand him any stupid platitudes or a thick dose of pity. Danny can already feel the headache wrapping around his temples, and if it were anyone else he might bolt just to get away. He’s staring at Flack now, and Flack stares right back.
“Mac is going to get these guys,” Flack says. Flack only says it because he knows. He knows.
Danny laughs. He bites down on it fast because he can hear just how hysterical he sounds, but Flack doesn’t waver.
An hour later Flack trails him into the bathroom, like Danny’s going to sneak out the nonexistent window and go do something stupid. Danny’s done enough stupid shit to fill a half-dozen lifetimes. His hands clench, and he forces them open again.
“What, you want to hold my dick while I piss?” Danny spins on his heel, and if Flack were in reach-yeah, Danny would’ve taken a swing.
“Nah.” Flack’s smirk is sharp, but his voice is soft. “My hands are too big for your prick anyway.”
Familiar territory. Flack knows him too goddamn well, so Danny doesn’t start to shout. It’ll only draw this out longer. Bastard. It’s a blessed piece of normalcy all the same.
Danny stands in front of the sink and stares at the mirror without looking into it. He just wanted two minutes alone, enough time to gather up the parts of himself strewn all over the floor. His chest aches, and he’s so hollowed out he can imagine the Y-incision. The water from the tap is cold and hurts the bones of his hands.
Danny wets his face and breathes.
. . .
After Danny doesn’t make it to Atlantic City, he manages to avoid Sonny and his boys for months. It’s easier than Danny thought because Louie isn’t around much, and when he does come by he won’t look at Danny.
The Saturday after Danny turns eighteen, a bunch of the guys he plays baseball with take him out drinking. They hang out at a dive that doesn’t care how young they look or how bad their fake ID’s are. Except the ID Danny made himself is pretty fucking convincing, everyone says so, and Danny’s coming up with a business plan. He’ll make some more IDs and scrape together enough cash that he can move the fuck out of the neighborhood as soon as he graduates high school.
It’s all low key, just hanging out and shooting pool. They’ve hooked up with a couple girls from school, and Cindy Ames has all but crawled into his lap and promised to blow him when they leave.
Then Sonny walks in and sits down at the bar. Danny’s heart stops beating, and Tommy Caton keeps trying to chat up Cindy like nothing’s happened. Sonny’s alone, and Sonny loves an audience, so something is not adding up. Something is very wrong.
Danny waits it out twenty minutes. Cindy presses her tits up against him, Tommy wins the next round of pool, and Sonny still hasn’t looked over at them. Danny says he’s going to take a leak, but instead he ducks out the back exit.
In the alley are three guys that look just familiar enough to make Danny’s guts freeze. He tries to jog by, keeping his head down, but they get in the way and shove him against the wall. Then Sonny’s there, and the other guys back off-two down to the mouth of the alley and the third inside the bar. On guard.
Sonny smiles like the world is his own private joke.
. . .
It’s a constant.
Sonny smiles like the world is his own private joke.
Problem is, Danny knows what that smile feels like from both sides of the line. Sometimes he’ll even practice that smile himself.
. . .
Louie’s stable-for a coma-but the doctors won’t let visitors inside the room yet. Flack sweet talks a nurse into bringing them both coffee. He stays just out of reach, hovering five to eight feet away from Danny at all times. The coffee sours Danny’s stomach, but he needs it. He’s starting to shake from the adrenaline crash.
Flack does not goddamn know Danny, not at all, and Danny’s pretty sure he’d be screaming this if all his energy weren’t taken up by staring through the blinds and willing Louie to wake up.
The knot dead-center between Danny’s shoulder blades is tightening further and sending branches up and down his spine. Danny can feel Flack watching him, just as hard as he’s staring at Louie through the window.
No. When it comes down to it, Flack is just like Mac-there’s Us and there’s Them, and we protect our own come hell or high water. Danny’s just lucky enough to be on this side of the line tonight. Flack’s worse, really, because there’s nothing Danny could say or do right now to get himself moved over to Them. Not in Flack’s book.
Louie’s doctor, who looks like she’s been on her feet way too long, goes to check on him again. She has delicate circles beneath her eyes, and finally nods at Danny through the window.
. . .
After high school, it’s several years before Danny runs into anyone from the old neighborhood like that.
Danny’s been playing in the minors, and his life is pretty good. The team is fresh off a winning season, so it’s vacation time and Danny’s volunteered to show some of the guys around New York. They’ve had a few beers and done a few lines, but it’s not like any of them has a real habit.
It’s just Danny’s luck that they run into people he knows, other kids who used to run errands for the Tanglewood Boys, like Danny did back in the day. It’s cool though. He thinks they’re cool. One minute they’re clapping Danny on the back, crowing about this promising baseball career he’s got going. The next minute something shifts, and they’re talking shit about Danny’s family. It doesn’t take too long for his fucking teammates to goddamn bail, and then it’s just him and Tony Baba and Joe Spengal and a couple other guys, and Danny hasn’t yet learned when to keep his mouth shut.
When Danny comes to, it’s quiet and cold. He’s in a vacant lot, not far from the bar they’d met in. Gravel digs into his side. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, and his head feels like it might roll right off. He stares at a shadow on the ground in front of him until he realizes it’s the smudge of a footprint. The edges of the world are all blurred, and Danny doesn’t know if it’s because his glasses are gone or because of the way his head throbs.
When he thinks he can move, he shifts forward, trying to get his legs under him. Pain shoots up his elbow and down through his fingers, and he curls in around his arm, holding his breath even as he starts to gag. He is not going to puke all over himself. He is not. He is not.
Someone touches his neck, and Danny jerks away.
“Easy, easy.” Louie kneels on the ground next to him. Danny hasn’t seen him in over a year, but he looks the same-eyes that won’t quite meet Danny’s and a cigarette stuck behind his ear.
Louie doesn’t ask what the hell happened or call him an asshole for getting shit-kicked. Danny can’t think of anything to say, so he just focuses on not listing to the side. Louie stays there on the ground with him for a few minutes, hand cool and careful at the back of Danny’s neck.
“Think you can get up now.”
It’s not quite a question, so Danny struggles to his feet with Louie’s help. They make it back to Danny’s car, and Louie drives to an emergency room. Danny tries to pass out again, curled up against the car door, but Louie keeps reaching over to tap his knee.
The nurse who sits him down has ink black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her hands are small, but too strong and precise. She starts to cut away his shirt. He asks about Louie, and she ignores him. So he asks her again, where’d my brother go.
She looks at him blankly, and she tells him to calm down, and when he shoves her away she stumbles into some kind of tray, then there are hands holding him down again, again, holding him down so he can’t breathe and it hurts, goddammit don’t touch me, don’t, and he’s falling, falling, way too fast because he didn’t get a chance to tell them hey, these aren’t the first drugs I’ve had today.
He has to stay in the hospital a couple days. Louie doesn’t visit him. Louie never says anything about that night, and Danny’s too chicken shit to bring it up himself.
Danny’s memory of that night is broken, like little fragments of clouded glass. He does remember Louie, solid against his side and helping him to the car. He does. He doesn’t want to hear that somehow he got himself off the ground and drove to the hospital, that between the concussion and the drugs he only hallucinated his brother. Because that’s not how it happened.
. . .
Later, Sonny is taken to jail. Later, Flack wraps an arm around Danny’s shoulders before he goes back to work. Later, Danny cries until he’s sick to his stomach, hands fisted tight in his pockets. He leans into Mac, who’s warm and solid and holding on to him. Every time Danny starts to pull away his chest breaks open again, because Mac has always been sharp and definite, cutting through the nightmare haze of not-happening, and it makes the past two days unbearably real.
When he finally does step back from Mac, Danny’s eyes are gritty, and he closes them for a few burning seconds. Mac’s talking again in that soft, steady voice. Mac doesn’t use that voice often, but it’s nice. Maybe because it’s nice. Danny’s light-headed, not listening to the words, just the tone.
“Okay? Danny?”
Danny blinks a few times, but it does no good. He sniffs and scrubs his face. “Yeah?” At least he can’t see how Mac’s looking at him.
“Call if you need anything.” Mac steps closer and squeezes Danny’s arm. “Anything at all. Call any of us, any time. Okay?”
“Right.” Danny nods and tries not to lean into Mac’s touch. It feels like the only thing holding him to the ground, but he’s got to get his shit together again. “I gotta get back inside.”
“Okay,” Mac says.
Danny starts to walk away, but stops after a few feet. “I will though. Call. If I need anything.”
“Good. You should.” Mac’s voice is louder now. An ambulance pulls into the bay not a hundred feet from them. “Go be with your brother, Danny.”
Danny nods to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can do that.”
………
thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated