Drifting away from darkness, he slowly became aware of his senses as he came to. The first to return was his sense of smell. He could smell pancakes. Yes pancakes, odd considering the fact that he was pretty sure he wasn't making any. And then, he caught the underlying scent of something sweet, spicy yet floral, something he was familiar with, but couldn't place a name to. Clearing his mind, all Danny Messer could be sure of was that the smell of pancakes was making him hungry. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days, which was accentuated by the loud rumbling of his stomach. Thinking for a moment, Danny realised that he didn't have any memory of the past few hours. In fact, he didn't even know where he was at that very moment.
His sense of taste didn't help much either. His parched throat and growing thirst screamed to be quenched, forcing him to move in the attempt to search for water. A groan left his dry mouth as he tried to get up, pain shooting throughout his entire body. That was when he became aware of his sense of touch. He discovered that he couldn't move the fingers of his left hand. Trying once again, Danny realised that something was stopping his hand from moving. The pain subsided as he relaxed his battered body. He could only assume that he had been battered from the unimaginable amounts of pain that speared through his muscles as the mere idea of rapid movement. It was only then that Danny realised that he was lying on something soft. A bed perhaps, but who's?
Taking another deep breath, Danny tried to listen to his surroundings, desperately grasping to anything that could give him a sign as to where he was. But as still and silent as he kept, Danny couldn't deny that New York's silence was still unmistakably loud. He could hear the sounds of horns blaring on the streets below, birds chirping, people yelling, music playing, and then... he heard singing. A calming voice, one he knew he was familiar with. It was faint and distant yet Danny found himself hanging on to every word and every note. But then it faded, overcome by the sound of pandemonium coming from below. He strained his ears to find the voice once again, but heard nothing.
Danny was almost afraid to open his eyes, scared to realise that maybe was wasn't where he wanted to be. Where didn't he want to be? The hospital. Danny Messer hated the hospital. He had received his fair share of hospital admittance over the past few years, but that didn't change the fact that Danny Messer hated hospitals. But he took the chance anyway. Slowly opening his eyes, they instinctively closed shut as his eyes disagreed with the brightness. Minutes passed before Danny drew up the courage to open them once again. Doing so, it seemed the earlier glimpse of sunlight had helped. Danny tried to move again, slowly this time, propping himself up against his pillows so he could rest his head against the headboard.
Danny squinted as his eyesight slowly returned to him. Although he saw everything in a blur, it was enough for Danny to recognise that he was in his own apartment, lying on his bed. But how had he gotten there?
Racking his brain to remember the past 24 hours, Danny realised he wasn't in the warehouse where he was held hostage anymore. Slowly the memories returned to him as he remembered his left hand being smashed, getting himself battered by the gang members, and Flack and his boys storming in guns blazing. Lindsay was there too, she had helped him to the EMT outside before he was taken to the hospital. She had gone with him in the bus, but everything after that was hazy. There was one thing that he remembered most of all. One feeling that stood out against the others, and that was her hand grasping his. Offering him the comfort he needed before he passed out under the influence of the pain killers that were being pumped into him.
But Danny didn't know how long ago that was as the next thing he realised was that he was lying in his bed. Squinting, Danny took in his surroundings. There was no doubt that this was his bedroom, noting the dark green walls, the dresser in the far corner and the window on his right. He squinted harder, trying to make out the image beyond his open bedroom door, but like everything else, he could only see blurs of colour. If only he knew what had happened to his glasses.
Knowing that his eyesight wouldn't get him anywhere, Danny closed his eyes and focused on his other senses. He heard footsteps, and they were coming towards him. He managed to grasp that familiar sweet scent once again before the overwhelming smell of pancakes hit him. Danny blushed as the smell elicited another loud rumble from his stomach. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the doorway where a blurred figure stood carrying what looked like a tray. Squinting once again, he tried to identify the figure before giving up in frustration.
Dammit, where the hell were his glasses?
Summary: What does the future have in store for our CSI's after the events of Snow Day?