"Regret" [flack/messer]
Author: tophatdance
Title: Regret
Pairing: Danny/Lindsay, sort of. Danny/Flack hopeful, I guess.
Spoilers: Spoilers for 3 x 24 "Snow Day".
Warning: Blood and angst.
Prompt: #33, regret, from the csi50 table.
Notes: This story's alternative ending is "Colorful".
Summary: "Got what ya wanted, didn'tya, Montana? Yer fuckin' snowday."
* * *
She's fucking smilin' at him, like he was her savior, her knight in shinin' armour and Danny couldn't go anything but teeter precariously on the edge of the empty trailer with his numb legs tipping his weight forward onto her. She clasps his shoulder tightly, attempting to draw him down to her and he winces at the searing feeling in his arm with a groaned "Lindsay". Fuck, just stop, he thinks. Don't touch me.
Danny slumps and she catches him and he notes how his blood, and oh fuck there was so much blood, was smearing her crisp blue shirt. And when Flack strides towards him anxiously, worry evident on his pale face, Danny attempts to turn towards the taller man but his chest aches and his knees are buckling and Lindsay is leading him away from Flack.
She's murmurin' something, about being sorry and switching shifts but Danny was groggy and couldn't understand what she way saying. She keeps saying sorry, sorry in that quiet, thankful tone into his bloody sleeve and Danny couldn't find it in him to be furious, though he should have been. No, not fury. Just deep, bone-aching weariness. That morning felt like a few lifetimes ago, and he wishes he could just erase everything in one broad sweep. Taking back the scrawled note on the chalkboard in his kitchen, and the drinks, and the heavy, sick sensation he feels just remembering the way he had pinned her to his pool table.
He realises the sensation is regret, and wants to throw a Benjamin in her smug face. Got what ya wanted, didn'tya, Montana? Your fuckin' snowday.
He wishes he could have sat down somewhere, let EMS come to him like Flack had asked for instead of being painfully lead outside to be tended to. And all the while, Lindsay keeps babblin' and strokin' his face gently as if he wasn't tired, or droolin' blood, or had his fingers fractured and splashed with sulfuric acid.
When Danny stops at the warehouse entrance, he turns around -- sonofabitch, the pain makes him arch and hiss through his teeth -- his eyes desperately searching for Flack. But Flack isn't there; just a warehouse swarming with cops and Danny shudders and closes his eyes and spits up blood and regret onto Lindsay's clean hands.
- fin -