The wail came from the break room like a banshee shrieking, and Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe looked from each other, to the direction of the wail, then back at each other again. They slowly made her way towards the break room, and as they got close enough, Emma Peters came flying out of the room and straight into Lindsay's arms.
"Whoa, Ems," Danny frowned, as Lindsay gave him a concerned look. Flack came up from behind them and shot Danny a look, and the other man shrugged. Then she let go of Lindsay, and went back to the doorway and shouted back in.
"Your father was a hamster, and your mother smelt of elderberries! I fart in your general direction!"
"Oh my God," Lindsay gasped, "You can't go?"
"The Bunny of Doom won't give me the time off!" Emma sighed, starting to overdramatically cry, before going back to Lindsay. Flack eyes went wide and he started pumping his fist in triumph before his girlfriend's back before she turned around, and he stopped, put on a sympathetic look and took her in his arms.
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, "I know you were looking forward to it."
"That's the understatement of the year," Lindsay muttered. Danny shot her a questioning look, and she frowned. She was about to say something when Emma tore her face from Flack's chest and turned to Lindsay.
"Do you two have off that night?"
"Yeah," Lindsay nodded. Emma reached into her back pocket and put the tickets into Lindsay's open hand.
"You must go! One of them must suffer!"
"Don't worry," Lindsay replied, "He will."
"I will WHAT!?!?!" Danny shouted, getting annoyed that he was the only one in the conversation not knowing what was going on.
"Emma had Spamalot tickets, but Harper won't give her the night off," Lindsay explained, "So now we have to go in her and Flack's place."
"I have to?" Danny replied, "Can't Stella or somebody go?"
"No! You must go! I demand it!" Emma replied, and Flack was shooting Danny a smug look over her head, and Danny shot him an evil glare.
"Have fun, man," Flack grinned, ignoring the look.
"You gotta be kidding me," Danny groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, before continuing into the break room. Lindsay rolled her eyes and followed him. Emma turned back to Flack, and gave him a smile.
"You know, you're not getting out of this completely unharmed," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I'm not?" he frowned.
"Nope," she shook her head, "I'm renting Dirty Dancing on the way home."
"Dear God no," Flack shook his head, "Not Dirty Dancing."
"Yup," she replied, giving them a quick kiss before skipping away.
"Oh, God," he groaned, "Not Dirty Dancing."
"Danny, trust me. You'll love it," Lindsay sighed, as she walked around their kitchen, tossing out the left over take-out containers.
"How do you know that?"
"You liked Monty Python and the Holy Grail."
"Yeah, but—that's different," Danny replied defensively.
"It's not that different."
"Yes it is," Danny replied.
"Fine, it is," Lindsay conceded, wanting to end the bickering, "But still, you'll enjoy it. Trust me."
"What if I don't?" Danny sighed, as she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"If you don't enjoy the show, I'll—" she leaned forwards and whispered softly in his ear, and his eyes went wide.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," he sighed pulling back from her and she gave him a smile.
"You do have to make an effort to enjoy it, Danny."
"I will. But if I don't, I'm going to hold you to that."
"OK," Lindsay nodded with a smile as he pulled her in for a kiss, "You do that."
"You're that confident I'm gonna like this."
"I'm that confident."
"Alright," Danny nodded, "Let's do this."
Summary: [Sequel to "Whipped Cream and Spray Cheese"] Through an unforseen turn of events, Danny gets caught in a situation he's not necessarily fond of.
This story is in two parts: the Spamalot part which has an overall rating of PG-13 and has no warnings whatsoever, and the "Aftermath" part which is somewhat graphic, has an overall rating of R, and the warnings listed below. Therefore the warnings and ratings apply to the fic as a whole, not just the first section.