Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-07-23 01:16 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-07-23 01:16 pm
Flack - Hurt Me, Hurt You
Fandom: CSI:NY
Title: Hurt Me, Hurt You
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, Stella Bonasera
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
csi50 Prompt: 033. Regret
theatrical_muse Prompt: Topic #188
Content Warning: Spoilers for "Charge of this Post," "All Access."
Summary: Flack's psychiatrist asks him to write two letters.
Author's Note: I didn't write the actual letters. Although I probably should have--Flack's not so good with the letters thing.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of CSI:NY. They're owned by CBS. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please do not use them without my permission.
Dear To Mr. Lessing Asshole
Fuck.
Flack crumpled the piece of paper and chucked it at the wall. He hated this assignment. He hated shrinks. He hated this fuckin’ hospital, and he wanted to go home. But he still had a week at least in physical therapy before they even considered sending him home. And he would still be required to come back for shrink visits. He hated shrinks. He really hated shrinks.
He stared at the piece of paper again, before picking up the pen, and started letting it scratch all over the paper. It was a few minutes before there was a knock on the door and he looked up, giving Stella a bright smile as she came in.
“Hey, Stell,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”
“Just popping in,” she said, returning the smile. “Wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He shrugged, “As good as I can be when I’m stuck here.”
She moved over to the side of his bed, before looking down at what he was doing, “Very nice. What is it?”
“It’s my psych assignment,” he replied, leaning back to let her have a better look. “I have to write a letter to someone I hurt and to someone who hurt me.”
“And you drew a picture of—” Her head tilted to the side slightly, and she frowned at what she was looking at. “—what is it exactly?”
“It’s a chicken,” he replied, matching her head tilt. “Or at least, that’s what I was aiming for.”
Stella raised an eyebrow, before giving him a look, “Which letter were you writing.”
“The one to Lessing,” he replied slowly. Stella frowned before sitting on the edge of the bed so that she was facing him.
“Any particular reason you picked him?”
He shrugged, “It’s what the old quack is looking for.”
“Just because it’s what the doctor is looking for, doesn’t mean he’s the one you have to write for,” Stella replied. “I’m sure there are other people who have hurt you that you can use.”
“If I give the guy what he’s looking for, that’s less of me that I have to talk about,” Flack replied, running a hand through his hair. “Which means less times I have to see him.”
“Then what’s the point of seeing a shrink, Flack?” she frowned.
“There isn’t one,” he sighed. “I’m only going because they’re making me.”
Stella laughed slightly, “Of course you are.”
“I mean c’mon, Stell,” he said, giving her a look. “If this guy told you to write a letter to Frankie after what he did to you, what would you say?”
Stella hesitated for a minute before shrugging, “I don’t know.”
“And you actually had a relationship with the guy,” he said, shaking his head. “With Lessing, I never met him, I don’t plan on doing so, I don’t remember anything from the attack—what the hell am I supposed to tell him?”
“I don’t know, Flack,” she sighed. “It’s your assignment, not mine.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled before leaning back in the seat. Stella looked over his shoulder, and spotted a full letter sitting on the night table.
“That the other half of the assignment?” she asked.
“Yup,” he nodded. “That one wasn’t so hard.”
“Really?” she smirked. “Who’s it to?”
“I had this dog when I was a kid—Petey,” Flack nodded. “Tiny little Jack Russell terrier. He was more of my mother’s dog than mine, but—besides the point. Anyway, I let him out of a minute when I was a about ten, and I forgot about him until it was the middle of a pretty intense downpour, and my mother asked me where the dog was.”
“Oh, no,” Stella shook her head, laughing slightly. “What happened?”
“Poor little guy got pneumonia,” he said. “But he survived. He died a couple years ago—old age.”
“So the letter is to apologize for leaving him out in the rain?”
“Pretty much.”
Stella sighed heavily, “Don’t think that’s quite what the good doctor is looking for.”
“Yeah, well—for that one I was just having fun,” Flack sighed. “I know who you think I should write it to, but I don’t need to. We made our peace with that.”
“I don’t think these are actually going to the people, Flack,” she replied. “They’re just for you—a kind of emotional catharsis.”
Flack shrugged, “I’m fine with it.”
“Whatever you say,” Stella nodded, before getting off the edge of the bed. “I gotta get back to work. You get better alright?”
“I’m doing my best,” he nodded, watching her disappear before looking down at the piece of paper in front of him. He picked up the letter to Petey, and then crumpled it in his hand, before pulling out a fresh piece of paper, chewing on the end of the pen for a minute before starting to write.
Gavin,
I’m not exactly sure what to say here…
Title: Hurt Me, Hurt You
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, Stella Bonasera
csi50 Prompt: 033. Regrettheatrical_muse Prompt: Topic #188Content Warning: Spoilers for "Charge of this Post," "All Access."
Summary: Flack's psychiatrist asks him to write two letters.
Author's Note: I didn't write the actual letters. Although I probably should have--Flack's not so good with the letters thing.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of CSI:NY. They're owned by CBS. However, any and all original characters are mine, so please do not use them without my permission.
Fuck.
Flack crumpled the piece of paper and chucked it at the wall. He hated this assignment. He hated shrinks. He hated this fuckin’ hospital, and he wanted to go home. But he still had a week at least in physical therapy before they even considered sending him home. And he would still be required to come back for shrink visits. He hated shrinks. He really hated shrinks.
He stared at the piece of paper again, before picking up the pen, and started letting it scratch all over the paper. It was a few minutes before there was a knock on the door and he looked up, giving Stella a bright smile as she came in.
“Hey, Stell,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”
“Just popping in,” she said, returning the smile. “Wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He shrugged, “As good as I can be when I’m stuck here.”
She moved over to the side of his bed, before looking down at what he was doing, “Very nice. What is it?”
“It’s my psych assignment,” he replied, leaning back to let her have a better look. “I have to write a letter to someone I hurt and to someone who hurt me.”
“And you drew a picture of—” Her head tilted to the side slightly, and she frowned at what she was looking at. “—what is it exactly?”
“It’s a chicken,” he replied, matching her head tilt. “Or at least, that’s what I was aiming for.”
Stella raised an eyebrow, before giving him a look, “Which letter were you writing.”
“The one to Lessing,” he replied slowly. Stella frowned before sitting on the edge of the bed so that she was facing him.
“Any particular reason you picked him?”
He shrugged, “It’s what the old quack is looking for.”
“Just because it’s what the doctor is looking for, doesn’t mean he’s the one you have to write for,” Stella replied. “I’m sure there are other people who have hurt you that you can use.”
“If I give the guy what he’s looking for, that’s less of me that I have to talk about,” Flack replied, running a hand through his hair. “Which means less times I have to see him.”
“Then what’s the point of seeing a shrink, Flack?” she frowned.
“There isn’t one,” he sighed. “I’m only going because they’re making me.”
Stella laughed slightly, “Of course you are.”
“I mean c’mon, Stell,” he said, giving her a look. “If this guy told you to write a letter to Frankie after what he did to you, what would you say?”
Stella hesitated for a minute before shrugging, “I don’t know.”
“And you actually had a relationship with the guy,” he said, shaking his head. “With Lessing, I never met him, I don’t plan on doing so, I don’t remember anything from the attack—what the hell am I supposed to tell him?”
“I don’t know, Flack,” she sighed. “It’s your assignment, not mine.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled before leaning back in the seat. Stella looked over his shoulder, and spotted a full letter sitting on the night table.
“That the other half of the assignment?” she asked.
“Yup,” he nodded. “That one wasn’t so hard.”
“Really?” she smirked. “Who’s it to?”
“I had this dog when I was a kid—Petey,” Flack nodded. “Tiny little Jack Russell terrier. He was more of my mother’s dog than mine, but—besides the point. Anyway, I let him out of a minute when I was a about ten, and I forgot about him until it was the middle of a pretty intense downpour, and my mother asked me where the dog was.”
“Oh, no,” Stella shook her head, laughing slightly. “What happened?”
“Poor little guy got pneumonia,” he said. “But he survived. He died a couple years ago—old age.”
“So the letter is to apologize for leaving him out in the rain?”
“Pretty much.”
Stella sighed heavily, “Don’t think that’s quite what the good doctor is looking for.”
“Yeah, well—for that one I was just having fun,” Flack sighed. “I know who you think I should write it to, but I don’t need to. We made our peace with that.”
“I don’t think these are actually going to the people, Flack,” she replied. “They’re just for you—a kind of emotional catharsis.”
Flack shrugged, “I’m fine with it.”
“Whatever you say,” Stella nodded, before getting off the edge of the bed. “I gotta get back to work. You get better alright?”
“I’m doing my best,” he nodded, watching her disappear before looking down at the piece of paper in front of him. He picked up the letter to Petey, and then crumpled it in his hand, before pulling out a fresh piece of paper, chewing on the end of the pen for a minute before starting to write.
Gavin,
I’m not exactly sure what to say here…
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I'm glad you liked it.
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