bsi: contaminated
stellaluna- has invited me to be an official co-writer of the BSI verse with her. This is my first official entry.
title: Contaminated
with: Flack, Danny
rated: R
herein: He’s thinking nownownow, get this shit off of me
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
They shove Flack bodily down the hall, and he’s thinking nownownow, get this shit off of me. The crawling black miasma has sunk into his skin. He had been standing next to Danny in the lab when Danny picked up a piece of evidence, and it just expanded. Everything after is a blur of pain, and Flack has raw furrows up and down his forearms where he’s tried to claw it off of him. They need to get it off of him, now, before it gets too far inside him. Last week he had cut open a peach to find it spongy and grey. Cut him open, he doesn’t care, his bones are aching, his chest feels like it’s collapsing.
Someone is making a terrible high-pitched noise. Flack can’t take his eyes off the white of his own knuckles, the blood under his own fingernails, and he can’t track where the noise is coming from. He thinks it’s Danny. It might be both of them.
Flack is dimly aware that they’re being dragged along by several people in the BSI’s equivalent of hazmat suits. He stumbles, and he’s caught, and the hands burn. Fighting is a gut reaction. A hundred stress fractures crash through his body. They strip his clothes. Someone is repeating his name.
Then he’s under the hot spray of decon, and he’s burning outside and in, and he’s screaming until he can’t breathe, whiting out-dying, he thinks-but then he can breathe, and he breathes, and he breathes, and he sobs against the slick tiles on the wall.
Flack’s head slowly clears, and he realizes that he’s on his knees, leaning heavily against the wall while the decon spray pounds his back. It still burns, a cascade of needles that makes him twitch, move away, and curse magic when the spray follows him. He grits his teeth and turns around, wincing when the spray hits his chest.
Flack slides down to sit with his back against the tile. Danny’s sitting in the middle of the floor, curled in on himself and rocking back and forth. The water courses around his neck, down his shoulders. Flack can see his mouth moving in a silent litany, probably no more complicated than oh God make it stop.
Danny’s strangely pale under the hot spray. Flack’s own skin is blotchy red. He shudders. Danny must have gotten hit harder by whatever it was; he was holding it. His arms are wrapped around his chest, and his hands are careful fists. He hasn’t clawed himself up like Flack did.
“Hey, Danny,” Flack says when he thinks he can get his voice to work. “You hanging in there?”
“Fuck.” Danny nods, but it makes his rocking go erratic. Flack bares his teeth against his fist, the closest he can get to a smile.
“I’m hanging in here,” Danny says. His voice is raw, but he gets the rhythm of his rocking back. “Way I figure it, if we’re clean enough now to be coherent, they’re still gonna leave us in here for twenty more minutes.”
“Fantastic.” Flack’s starting to tremble helplessly.
“Then they’ll want to keep us downstairs overnight.” Danny tries to grin, but his face twists. “Better cancel your plans.”
“That sounds fun,” Flack says. He’s never had the pleasure of the BSI’s hospitality.
“Loads.” Danny presses his face to his knees, and Flack can see the muscles of his back knot. Flack rubs his arms. He wants to scratch again, rip all his wet skin off to make sure they’ve washed it away. Danny lifts his head. He’s still rocking. “Motherfucker!” Danny shouts. Flack nods his head.
“Don’t tell me you had plans tonight,” Flack says. He has started to rock a little in time with Danny. It’s hard not to, just watching him.
“I did.” Danny’s laugh is hysterical. “I really did.”
“She important?” Flack tries to grin at him again.
“No, but I’d rather be getting laid then stuck here, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Flack wraps his hands into fists. “Yeah I would.” He doesn’t care how long they leave him in here just so long as that black shit is gone. But it would be so much better if it had never touched him in the first place. He squeezes his eyes shut. The shower spray bursts like white stars at the back of his skull.
Flack kind of wants to crawl over to Danny, but he doesn’t know what for. The rocking thing helps a little. He thinks that the pain might not be as bad if they had each other to brace against. It’s a moot point because his muscles are all locked up. He couldn’t make it over to Danny for anything. He opens his eyes and pulls his knees closer, wrapping his arms around them. It doesn’t make a difference. Nothing makes a difference.
“Hey, Flack.” Danny’s voice shakes. “You hanging in there?”
“Motherfucker,” Flack says, loud as he can.
title: Contaminated
with: Flack, Danny
rated: R
herein: He’s thinking nownownow, get this shit off of me
disclaim: I only own the dvds; everything belongs to Zuiker, CBS, et al.
They shove Flack bodily down the hall, and he’s thinking nownownow, get this shit off of me. The crawling black miasma has sunk into his skin. He had been standing next to Danny in the lab when Danny picked up a piece of evidence, and it just expanded. Everything after is a blur of pain, and Flack has raw furrows up and down his forearms where he’s tried to claw it off of him. They need to get it off of him, now, before it gets too far inside him. Last week he had cut open a peach to find it spongy and grey. Cut him open, he doesn’t care, his bones are aching, his chest feels like it’s collapsing.
Someone is making a terrible high-pitched noise. Flack can’t take his eyes off the white of his own knuckles, the blood under his own fingernails, and he can’t track where the noise is coming from. He thinks it’s Danny. It might be both of them.
Flack is dimly aware that they’re being dragged along by several people in the BSI’s equivalent of hazmat suits. He stumbles, and he’s caught, and the hands burn. Fighting is a gut reaction. A hundred stress fractures crash through his body. They strip his clothes. Someone is repeating his name.
Then he’s under the hot spray of decon, and he’s burning outside and in, and he’s screaming until he can’t breathe, whiting out-dying, he thinks-but then he can breathe, and he breathes, and he breathes, and he sobs against the slick tiles on the wall.
Flack’s head slowly clears, and he realizes that he’s on his knees, leaning heavily against the wall while the decon spray pounds his back. It still burns, a cascade of needles that makes him twitch, move away, and curse magic when the spray follows him. He grits his teeth and turns around, wincing when the spray hits his chest.
Flack slides down to sit with his back against the tile. Danny’s sitting in the middle of the floor, curled in on himself and rocking back and forth. The water courses around his neck, down his shoulders. Flack can see his mouth moving in a silent litany, probably no more complicated than oh God make it stop.
Danny’s strangely pale under the hot spray. Flack’s own skin is blotchy red. He shudders. Danny must have gotten hit harder by whatever it was; he was holding it. His arms are wrapped around his chest, and his hands are careful fists. He hasn’t clawed himself up like Flack did.
“Hey, Danny,” Flack says when he thinks he can get his voice to work. “You hanging in there?”
“Fuck.” Danny nods, but it makes his rocking go erratic. Flack bares his teeth against his fist, the closest he can get to a smile.
“I’m hanging in here,” Danny says. His voice is raw, but he gets the rhythm of his rocking back. “Way I figure it, if we’re clean enough now to be coherent, they’re still gonna leave us in here for twenty more minutes.”
“Fantastic.” Flack’s starting to tremble helplessly.
“Then they’ll want to keep us downstairs overnight.” Danny tries to grin, but his face twists. “Better cancel your plans.”
“That sounds fun,” Flack says. He’s never had the pleasure of the BSI’s hospitality.
“Loads.” Danny presses his face to his knees, and Flack can see the muscles of his back knot. Flack rubs his arms. He wants to scratch again, rip all his wet skin off to make sure they’ve washed it away. Danny lifts his head. He’s still rocking. “Motherfucker!” Danny shouts. Flack nods his head.
“Don’t tell me you had plans tonight,” Flack says. He has started to rock a little in time with Danny. It’s hard not to, just watching him.
“I did.” Danny’s laugh is hysterical. “I really did.”
“She important?” Flack tries to grin at him again.
“No, but I’d rather be getting laid then stuck here, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Flack wraps his hands into fists. “Yeah I would.” He doesn’t care how long they leave him in here just so long as that black shit is gone. But it would be so much better if it had never touched him in the first place. He squeezes his eyes shut. The shower spray bursts like white stars at the back of his skull.
Flack kind of wants to crawl over to Danny, but he doesn’t know what for. The rocking thing helps a little. He thinks that the pain might not be as bad if they had each other to brace against. It’s a moot point because his muscles are all locked up. He couldn’t make it over to Danny for anything. He opens his eyes and pulls his knees closer, wrapping his arms around them. It doesn’t make a difference. Nothing makes a difference.
“Hey, Flack.” Danny’s voice shakes. “You hanging in there?”
“Motherfucker,” Flack says, loud as he can.