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Danny pulls out the bottle of tequila just after six o’clock at night.
This raises enthusiastic cheers from the half-dozen lab techs and the lone cop gathered around the small generator-powered heater in the lab. In the dim light of the emergency-powered bulbs above him, Danny carefully pours a generous shot into the small beakers that someone quickly produced.
“To blizzards and alcohol,” Adam calls, raising his beaker in toast.
The clinks of glass against glass echo in the small room, and they toss back the drinks together. Danny sets the bottle in the center of their small group and straddles a chair. From where he’s sitting, he can see the wall of white outside the windows of the lab, the wind blowing the thick flakes so hard that he can’t see the building across the road.
The storm had come in unexpectedly around two. By three, most of the lab had decided to brave the weather and the cold and try to get home. Danny had taken one look at the traffic jam piling up on the street below his lab and settled in to do paperwork. He’d assumed the weather would die down, and he’d make the walk to the subway station two blocks over at his normal time.
He’d assumed wrong.
By four, the storm had only gotten worse, and the sidewalks were slick with ice. By half-past five, the lights were flickering in the lab as strong winds slammed against the building and, at 5:53 that evening, the lights had given one last desperate flicker over power, then died.
A tall form blocks his view of the window and the storm outside, and he looks up to see Flack staring down at him. Flack, poor guy, the only cop in a room of lab techs and geeks, trapped at the CSU until the storm dies down.
“Where’d you manage to get the alcohol from?” he asks, sliding into the chair next to him.
Danny grins. “If I told ya, I’d hafta kill ya,” he says dramatically.
“He got it from the leftover stores from the lab’s Christmas party,” a voice states in a superior tone. Lindsay nudges Danny as she walks by him, pulling herself up onto the lab table and giving him a knowing look.
Flack laughs, and Danny resists flipping them both the bird.
One of the lab geeks fires up his laptop and starts playing some music (“Oh, God, geek music,” Flack quickly states, promptly downing another shot of tequila at the realization that he’ll be forced to endure this for who-knows-how-long), and soon they have a little party going. Someone raids the fridge in the staff lounge and soon they have leftover pizza in the microwave and a Tupperware full of veggies to snack on. Chips are produced from a cabinet, and the tequila keeps flowing.
Then one of the lab techs comes up with the bright idea to play truth or dare. Flack is still sober enough to object (rather vocally) to this idea, but they quickly settle down, six grown men and women sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor of the lab, half-drunk, a bottle of tequila on the floor between them and the wind whistling loudly around them.
The questions start out immaturely enough. What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever “done it”? I dare you to sneak into Mac’s office and rearrange all of his furniture. Have you ever come into work still drunk from the night before?
Lindsay takes a shot when she refuses to divulge who she has a crush on in the lab, cheeks bright red from the tequila and the question itself. She keeps her mouth tightly closed despite the prodding to spill all. Danny studies her, silent in his alcohol-induced deep thoughts, and wonders why she won’t look him in the eye. He doesn’t hope too much, though, because she won’t look Flack in the eye, either, and what the hell does that mean, anyways?
As the liquid in the bottle steadily moves towards the tiled ground, the conversation shifts from immature to downright childish. Adam is dared to make out with one of the female lab techs, a woman Danny doesn’t really know, and does so with the enthusiasm of a fourteen year old boy, much to the poor woman’s apparent delight.
Then things change. Well, they don’t change for anyone else, but they do for Danny, and he wonders just whose dog he killed in a past life to deserve this.
Flack’s lost count of how many shots of tequila he’s had… enough to stop complaining about being surrounded by geeks, at least. Lindsay, Danny’s sure, has had at least as many, though he never really took her to be the kind of woman who’d enjoy getting totally plastered.
But the next thing he knows, Lindsay’s in Flack’s lap, and he’s kissing her, hands on her hips, and the other techs are wolf-whistling, and Danny is silent and still, a statue, because this is without a doubt one of the hottest and most wrong things he’s ever seen.
Lindsay pulls back, taking a deep breath, grins wickedly at Don, and slides off of his lap to grab the shot that’s already ready for her.
Danny swallows around the block in his throat and stands, making a lame excuse about needing to take a piss. No one pays attention as he rushes from the lab.
He pushes his way down dark hallways, illuminated only by the red glare of the EXIT signs at either end, finally stopping when he’s far enough away that he can no longer hear the laughter and the music. He tries to breath, feels like he’s failing, and leans against the wall, resting his forehead against the coldness.
He doesn’t realize that he’s not alone until he hears someone clear their throat, that annoying little noise that people make when they don’t want to surprise you with their presence. It surprises him anyways.
“You okay?” It’s Lindsay, of course, the one person he doesn’t really want to see right now. “You sort of rushed out of there pretty quick.”
Danny shrugs. He’s good at this, answering easy questions that no one really cares about the answers to. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Think I drank a bit too much, though. Just needed to catch my breath, I’ll be back in a minute.”
But Lindsay doesn’t turn away to go. Instead, she moves around him to lean against the same wall, facing him with unreadable eyes. “Are you really okay?”
Danny pulls out the big guns, flashing a big smile. “Yeah, ‘m great Montana, don’t worry.”
Lindsay purses her lips at the nickname, but nods and turns back. She pauses at the end of the hallway, debating whether or not to speak. Danny doesn’t watch her, but he knows she’s there, can feel her eyes on his back.
“If you’re feeling that left out,” she finally says, “all you have to do is ask, you know.”
She’s gone, then, leaving Danny to think about her words. All he had to do was ask? Ha, that’s worth a laugh. He had asked once, and been stood-up, and that had hurt, because he’d thought there had been something there.
Then Flack appears, like the ghost of fucking Christmas past. He’s taken off his jacket and tie, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and his eyes are startling blue in the dim light. Danny can see why Lindsay would like him, and he can’t really blame her for her choice. “Y’alright Messer?” he asks.
He gives Flack the same answer he gave Lindsay. But Flack’s known him for years, has shot hoops with him at three in the morning after a particularly bad shift, has watched him beat himself up over whatever woman or man has broken his heart that day, and Danny wonders if he doesn’t know him better then he knows himself sometimes.
“Bullshit.”
One word, but it sums everything up so fucking eloquently.
So Danny gives up, slumps to the ground with his back against the wall, buries his head in his arms. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.
Instead, Flack slides down next to him, grumbling about the dirty floor and ruining his work slacks. “This is about me an’ Monroe, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “She’s pretty torn up ‘bout your reaction.”
“She shouldn’t be. ‘S not like we’re dating or nothin’.”
And then there’s another body sliding down the wall to sit next to him, and Danny’s surrounded by warmth, contrasting against the cold tile and cold wall. “Someone pulled out the Star Trek,” she says by way of explanation, but her eyes flit over Danny’s head to meet Flack’s in silent question.
Flack shakes his head in reply.
“When did you two kiss for the first time?” Danny asks suddenly. It’s one of the questions that’s been bothering him for a while, and the words slip out before he even realizes that he’d asked it.
Flack gapes. Lindsay stiffens. Danny resists smirking, knowing he was right.
“Wha- It’s not- We didn’t-” Flack stutters, pale.
Lindsay takes a deep breath. “How did you know?”
A shrug. “I watch. I may not be the model of a CSI, but I know what to watch for, how to look for things that aren’t obvious. You two…” he motions, a short jerking motion, “ya kissed like old lovers, like you were comfortable with each other.”
Lindsay mumbles something, and this time it’s Flack that answers. “The first time was over the summer. After the murder-suicide in Queens.” His voice is quiet, barely a whisper. “It was an accident, we were drunk, and…” he trails off.
“The second time was after Thanksgiving.” Lindsay gives no details, but her voice is as soft as Flack’s, and it raises goosebumps on Danny’s arms.
“This was the third.”
Flack’s words are the finality that Danny needs. He nods once, pushes himself on unsteady feet. “Sorry to interrupt the party,” he says. “I’m gonna brave the storm, see if I can make it to the subway. See ya tomorrow.”
He turns to go, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to get away, that they’ll let him go without putting up a fuss. The moment passes before he makes it three steps, after which he finds himself slammed against the wall, an arm pressing against his chest to stop him from moving. Flack has about a six inches and fifty pounds of solid muscle on him, and he’s like a wall despite Danny’s pushing.
“Where ya goin’, Messer?” he asks, and his face is right up in Danny’s, eyes like chips of ice.
“Home, if you’ll let me go.” He pushes again, but it’s like trying to move a mountain.
“And if I don’t let ya?”
As if it isn’t enough that he’s stuck here watching the two of them making out like teenagers, now Flack wants to torture him even more.
Lindsay is at Flack’s side, touching his shoulder lightly, but he ignores her. “The… the first time, we were both drunk. We were drunk, and you’d gone home early, cause you’d just pulled a triple and you were exhausted. And the entire time I’m kissing her, the only thing I can think of is that you should be there.” Flack is talking low and fast, like he has a lifetime to explain in only a few seconds. “And then Lindsay breaks the kiss and looks at me and all she says is your name.”
Danny frowns. This isn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this definitely isn’t it. “What’s the point, Flack?” he asks, masking confusion with anger.
“The point,” Lindsay says, answering instead, “is that neither of us felt comfortable with it because you weren’t there.”
“Didn’t stop ya the second time, did it?” He sounds petulant, like a five year old who’s not getting his way, but he doesn’t care.
Flack presses harder. When he speaks, his breath is hot against Danny’s cheek. “The second time,” he says, “was after you went home from the bar with that little blonde a couple of nights before Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say anymore, but Danny doesn’t need him to. That night is one that he would rather forget, and he walked the girl to her house and left her there, going home alone. He doesn’t tell Flack that, though.
“Why’re you tellin’ me all of this?” Danny asks. “I was turned down once before,” he looks pointedly at Lindsay, who looks away and flushes, “and y’know what? I’m okay with that. I’ve moved on. Ya don’t need to justify your… relationship or whatever-it-is with me.”
“Not tryin’ to justify it, Messer,” Flack says. “Tryin’ to make you get it through that thick skull of yours. But you always were an actions-over-words kind of guy, weren’t ya?”
Danny opens his mouth to ask just what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but is interrupted when Flack steps in, pressing their bodies together.
And then he’s kissing him, hard and deep, sliding his tongue into Danny’s mouth, and someone’s making a little noise of pleasure and surprise and Danny’s half-shocked to realize that it’s him, but then Flack does this thing with his tongue and any thoughts flee Danny’s mind.
Flack pulls away slowly, reluctantly (and Danny wonders if he should call him Don, now that he’s had his tongue in Danny’s mouth and all). Danny is slack against him, the arm still against his chest the only thing holding him up still.
“D’you get it yet?” Flack asks.
“I don’t think he does, just yet,” Lindsay says. She exchanges a look with Flack that Danny doesn’t understand, and then he takes a step away and she moves in to take his place before the cold air of the hallway can rush into the void. She’s shorter than he is by several inches, and Danny looks down at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipation.
“There are things in my past that I can’t talk about,” she says. “And I’ve hurt you in the past, because of those things. And you shouldn’t forgive me, and I understand if you won’t, but I want to apologize all the same.”
Danny nods, because he knows about pasts that are better kept secret, and he knows about hurting other people because of those hidden pasts. “What happens, if I forgive you?”
Lindsay smiles. “If you do… well, I hope you won’t mind me doing this.” And for the second time that night, Danny is being kissed. Unlike Flack’s kiss, Lindsay’s is soft and gentle, warm, and she stands on her toes and rests her hands on his shoulders to deepen it.
Danny’s own hands rest on her hips in a gesture that reminds him of her kissing Flack only a few minutes (a lifetime) ago. Another set of hands cover his own, and Danny breaks the kiss, looking past Lindsay to see Flack standing behind her, watching Danny to see his reaction.
So Danny reacts, understanding suddenly.
“Wait,” he says, eyes wide behind his glasses. “You want… us? Three? What? Why?”
“Are you surprised, or disgusted?” Lindsay asks.
The question brings Danny back to earth. Is he surprised? Yes, definitely. Disgusted? He thinks about it, looks at Flack standing behind Lindsay, the two of them watching him. He thinks about Flack kissing him, hard and insistent, and Lindsay following, gentle and light. No, he’s not disgusted, he realizes.
“Why?” he asks again.
“Because neither of us can accept the other without you,” Lindsay says. Flack continues the answer, as though they’ve rehearsed this, saying, “Because you and Lindsay had a thing from the moment you met, and because you’re my best friend in this lab, and because the three of us together make sense.”
Danny nods. “And if I say no?”
Lindsay’s face falls, barely noticeable, but Danny’s looking for it and catches it. Flack nods, businesslike. “Then we apologize and let you go home, tell you we’ll see you at work tomorrow, and hope that this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”
He takes a step away, meaning to do just that, and the movement causes him to almost miss Danny’s next question, spoken in almost a whisper.
“And if I say yes?”
Lindsay’s looks at him with hope. Flack freezes, watching him.
Danny repeats the question, louder this time.
“Then I guess we bundle up and brave the storm and see if we can make it to whoever’s apartment is closest,” Lindsay says after a moment.
Danny nods. He’s silent, watching them watching him. Then he smiles. “There’s no way we’re using my apartment until I’ve had time to do some cleaning,” he says, and that’s answer enough. Lindsay’s lips are back against his own, brief, celebrating.
Flack leans in over her shoulder, kissing him as soon as her lips have vanished. There’s a noticeable silence in the hallway when he pulls away, their breaths echoing.
“Storm’s stopped,” Danny states. Outside the window, the snow is still falling, a light curtain, and the wind has stopped. He smiles, wraps an arm around Lindsay’s waist, and looks up at Flack. “Let’s get outta here.”
End