Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2006-08-31 11:41 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2006-08-31 11:41 pm
Flack - Ghosts
Not really in the mood for writing something new tonight, but this *points down to story* is my baby, and i haven't posted it over here, so i figured, eh, why not?
Title: Ghosts
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Prompt: N/A
Content Warning: Death of Canon Character
Summary: “I can’t believe we’re here.” The voice echoed off the pillars of the old, majestic church.
Author's Note: I started this about midway through season 2, so it's more AU than it would have been. This also started off as a one-shot that kind of exploded, so it's long.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. They're owned by CBS.
"Ghosts"
“I can’t believe we’re here.” The voice echoed off the pillars of the old, majestic church. They were all sitting there. All five of them, side by side, waiting to say goodbye to someone they never thought they’d be saying goodbye to.
“Should be me in that box,” the next voice came. It was a quieter voice. More eloquent, laced with fear and regret, “I should be the one they’re taking down the aisle.”
“This isn’t your fault,” the female voice next to him sighed, “You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for this. You didn’t pull the trigger.”
“I might as well have. I wasn’t paying attention. I shouldn’t have just been focusing on the case, I should have been aware of everything around me. He shouldn’t have had to push me out of the way.”
“Hawkes, no one expected the suspect to still be there, not even him,” the female voice came again, “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I want to believe you Stella, I do,” Sheldon Hawkes sighed, turning his eyes on the curly haired detective next to him, “I just can’t right now. But thank you anyway.”
Stella Bonasera gave the man a soft smile before their eyes reverted back to the front of the church and the altar. A large amount of people had collected to pay tribute to this man; this member of New York City’s finest, killed in the line of duty. For him, it would probably be the greatest honor he’d ever receive. Dying to protect a friend.
“I never knew he was religious,” the other female voice came, softer than Stella’s, yet having the same passion and conviction.
“I don’t think any of us did,” another voice, different than the first voice, “He had always been a bit of a mystery.”
“Mystery?” the first voice returned, “A bit more than a mystery. The man was a God damn enigma.”
“Danny, we’re in church,” the female voice scolded.
Danny Messer looked up, raising his eyes to the ceiling of the church, “Sorry, Big Guy.” A soft chuckle ran through the line, and it faded almost as quickly as it started, almost as if it was unfair to make jokes at a time like this.
“I just wish I could have known him better,” the female voice came again, “This seems so unfair, that we lost him this soon.”
“I agree with you on this one, Montana,” Danny replied, before glancing over his shoulder as the door to the church opened. The soft click of heels and the long black hair gave her away instantly. His eyes widened in surprise. “Aiden—”
All five of them turned around as Aiden Burn came down the aisle of the church. She saw them, and was torn on whether or not to sit with them. She started to make her way to another pew, when Danny shook his head at her.
“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, and she looked down, a small smile crossing her face before she made her way through the pew to sit on the other side of Danny. Lindsey Monroe gave her a soft smile before extending her hand.
“Lindsey Monroe.”
“Aiden Burn.”
Then everything reverted back to the front of the church and the altar. They sat in silence absorbing the fact that they had to say goodbye to someone they loved and respected. Then the doors of the church opened and the coffin was wheeled into the aisle. The gleaming polished wood draped with an American flag. It was followed by the parents of the deceased, his mother clutching his father’s arm tightly for support. When the reached the pew where the CSI’s were sitting she stopped briefly and clutched the hand of the man closest to her.
“Detective Taylor,” she sighed, silent tears running down her face, “Thank you for being here. He always admired you. He—he had so much respect for—for you.” At this the mom’s tears turned into sobs, and Mac Taylor gave her hand a squeeze.
“Ma’am, I am very glad to have had the chance to work with your son.”
His mother sent him a look of tearful, silent thanks before walking down the aisle after her son’s coffin.
“Most awful thing in the world,” Stella murmured softly, “Having to bury a child.”
Aiden continued to stare straight ahead, a silent tears starting to fall. Danny was surprised, never having took Aiden for a crier, but silently wrapped an arm around her shoulders as the priest reached the altar and the coffin in front of them.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to Donald Flack Jr…”
"Aiden"
Aiden tossed her newspaper down on her sofa as she made her way into the kitchen. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. Being a PI had it’s perks, but it was nothing compared to what she used to do on the force. Not that it wasn’t her own fault she wasn’t there anymore, but still, she missed it.
Missed it so much it hurt sometimes.
Pausing in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, she noticed the red message light on her machine blinking. Thinking nothing of it, she hit play, and let the message roll.
”Aiden, it’s Danny. I’ve—I’ve kinda got some bad news, and—well—fuck, how the hell am I supposed to say this?—Look, Flack’s dead, alright?”
Aiden nearly dropped her cup of coffee. Flack, dead? Impossible. No, Danny was playing with her. Danny was playing a sick and twisted game that was going to bite him in the ass the next time she saw him, because she was going to castrate him for being that insensitive.
”There’s gonna be a service, and stuff—if you wanna go that is. But he would have wanted you there—I think. I mean—”
She listened as Danny stumbled and stammered over his words. This was too drawn out to be a joke. Too detailed to be some kind of prank.
”If you decide to go, I guess I’ll see you there.”
CLICK!
Aiden dashed for the receiver and quickly dialed a number. The phone rang a few times, before the person picked up.
“Taylor.”
“Mac, is it true?”
“Aiden?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she replied, annoyed that he even had to question who it was, “Is it true? Is Flack really dead?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, and she heard Mac breath out slowly, before his voice, sounding more mechanical than she was used to hearing it, came back to her.
“Detective Donald Flack Junior was pronounced dead at nine-fifty-five PM at St. Vincent’s Hospital from two gun shot wounds to the chest—”
Aiden listened silently as Mac read the hospital report to her over the phone. She didn’t remember collapsing on her couch, but once she found herself there, she felt her body sinking deeper and deeper into it before she felt she couldn’t go any further without disappearing.
Flack, dead? No.
She would refuse to accept it. Refuse it to happen. Any second now he was going to buzz her cell phone, she would hear the call waiting beep behind Mac’s voice, he would knock on her door, and say, Ha! Gotcha. And she would kill him. She would beat him to a bloody pulp for scaring her like that.
But the more Mac continued to speak, the more her worst fears were being confirmed.
Don Flack was dead.
“Aiden, I’m sorry,” Mac sighed when he was finally finished reading.
“Same here,” she replied, somewhat curtly, but he understood what she meant. She clicked the phone off without even bothering to say goodbye, before burying her face in her hands feeling the salty wet tears starting to fall.
***
Aiden’s eyes roamed the crowd at the bar/restaurant that Flack had frequented like he needed to breathe. The food was fantastic, but she couldn’t really taste it. Wedged between Danny and Hawkes in one of the booths, she felt comforted yet smothered, all at the same time.
She didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Everyone else was there. Everyone else was at the hospital, or tracking down the perp, hell Hawkes was there when it happened.
Everyone but her. She probably was the closest to Flack, next to Danny, but she didn’t find out this had happened to him until he was already gone. She couldn’t help but resent that.
No, she didn’t just resent that. She was angry as hell.
She tossed down her fork onto the table, and nudged Hawkes in the side. “I need some air.”
Danny and Stella shared a glance across the table, and Danny followed his former colleague out the door and into the alleyway behind the restaurant. He watched her from a distance, knowing she needed the space, and waiting for the right moment to reach out to her.
“Why didn’t you call me when it happened?” she growled, turning on her friend a fire blazing in her eyes, “Why didn’t you call me the second you’d found out he’d been shot?!?!”
“I’m sorry Aide,” he whispered, “But things were crazy. We had to catch the guy.”
Aiden knew he was right. God, she hated it when he was right. “I wanted to say goodbye!”
“We all did,” Danny sighed.
“Yeah, well, at least you all had a chance,” Aiden screamed, storming at him with the wrath of God, but Danny didn’t move. He just stood his ground, looked her square in the eye, and waited for the blow that he knew would come.
Aiden got about two inches from him, and the anxiety, the stress, the pain, the grief, whatever it was exploded from inside her and she collapsed against him in a fit of sobs, and an expression of pain that he had never seen from her before. He held her close to him, rubbing her back as tears of rage poured into his chest.
“Why him, Danny? Damnit, why him?”
"Mac"
Mac had just finished informing Flack’s parents, and came into his office, looking more exhausted than Danny ever thought he could look. The younger man watched as his supervisors eyes fell from the man’s face, to the manila folder in the man’s hands. The hospital report. To go in Flack’s case file.
Flack’s case file.
Damnit.
Mac should have been there. He was stuck in traffic on the way to that very scene when he heard the call about shots being fired. He should have been there with his guys. He should have been the one taking the bullet for Hawkes. Not Flack. Flack was too young. Flack had his entire life ahead of him. Mac had already loved and lost his fair share. That should have been his bullet.
Yet somewhere, in the dark part of his brain, where the sense of right and wrong became a clouded, fuzzy shade of gray, he was thanking God for rush hour traffic. He was thanking God that he hadn’t been stuck in that situation. He was thanking God that he still had his life, that it was the younger detective instead of him. He was thanking God that he had the opportunity to continue with his life and—
Stop.
Danny got tired of the awkward silence between them, and spoke up. “I brought the hospital report down, to go in with the evidence.”
“Just leave it on my desk,” Mac replied stonily.
The younger man did so, and made his way to the door that was resting closed behind his supervisor. He paused for a second, his hand on the knob, and Mac begged him silently to keep walking, keep going, don’t say anything.
Danny didn’t.
“I called Aiden,” he replied, “I thought she should know.”
“She should,” Mac responded, the same monotonous level evident in his voice. “Anything else?”
The younger man shook his head, before finally leaving the room. Mac made sure the door was shut behind him. He shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the chair that Danny had formerly occupied. He slid into the chair behind his desk, and picked up the manila folder that Danny had placed there. Little detective work was done in catching the shooter. The man had tried to outrun the uniforms, and gotten gunned down in the process. All the evidence was there for them to process, so all the concern had been placed on Flack and if he was going to survive. And there was the case file, staring back at him, almost mocking him in its manila holder.
Flack, Donald Jr.
***
Flack, Donald Jr.
What was written on the folder seemed to be still there, mocking him, even as he sat inside the restaurant with Flack’s family. His parents were beyond consolation, which was understandable. They had just lost their only child. Their baby boy was gone. He knew what it was like to have someone you loved ripped away from you, without even the thought of your feelings.
Fate was funny that way.
It didn’t think, it didn’t wonder. It just acted. And fate had decided to have Mac Taylor stuck in traffic that day, and have Don Flack take a bullet for a friend.
He had seen Aiden and Danny leave, and he knew they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. He then glanced over at the table where the other CSI’s were sitting. Hawkes still hadn’t picked up from before, Lindsay and Stella were talking, but their conversation lacked the luster it usually had. Everyone was feeling this man’s death in a different way.
If it had been him, everyone would have been even more devastated. Stella—he and Stella had been working together for so long, what would it have been like for her, going into work and not seeing him every day? And Hawkes, Danny, Aiden, they would be loosing a friend as well. Lindsay he hadn’t known quite as long, but she would have felt it as well. It’s better that it was Flack instead of him. They aren’t loosing a leader. Even Flack—Flack would have—
Stop.
His mind had started to turn on him again. No, it wouldn’t have been better either way. Someone will always be gone. Loosing someone who’s not as powerful is not less important than loosing someone who is.
Flack didn’t deserve these thoughts.
He excused himself from the presence of Detective and Mrs. Flack, and made his way to the bar. He ordered the strongest drink they had. He needed to drown these thoughts from the back of his mind, and if it was alcohol that could do it, alcohol he was going to have. He didn’t usually do this, but he was too tormented with his thoughts to see any other way.
Tonight, he was going to take the easy way out.
"Lindsay"
BEEEEEEEEEEP!
Lindsay turned at the sound of the machine in Flack’s room flatlining. Danny was at her side and ran back to the window, the fear evident in his face.
“No. Nonononono,” he said, looking to the window as the doctors assembled around his friend, “He was stable! What the fuck is this, he was stable!”
“Danny,” Lindsay said slowly, trying to pull him away from the window.
“What the hell is this? He was going to be fine! He was fine!”
“Danny, calm down.” He tried to fight her off with everything he had, but she eventually managed to get him to turn and face her. “Danny, you’re not helping!”
Something with that registered in him, and he stopped. They both watched as the doctors rushed in, the crash carts were pulled up. The clear glass windows of the booth were crowded with nurses and doctors, and Flack was completely obscured from view.
“Clear.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
“Clear.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
“Clear.”
With every sound, Danny and Lindsay could both hear the doctor’s voice getting more and more frustrated. Eventually the nurses cleared away, and the doctor handed the paddles back to one of them.
“Time of death, twenty-one fifty-five—”
Lindsay looked to Danny and he looked back at her. The glasses came off for a brief second. He pinched his nose, rubbed his eyes, detached. Then the glasses went back on, the detective came back into play, and he turned to her and gave her a smile.
“Better go pick up the hospital file,” Danny replied, pushing past her.
***
Lindsay didn’t know Flack that well. It was different for people who knew him. The rest of the team, they had worked with him forever it seemed like. But Lindsay was the oddball. The odd man out. She hadn’t known him that long, didn’t really have any special memories of him. Didn’t have any special connection. They were just co-workers. Acquaintances. Maybe friends. But she wasn’t even sure of that.
They hadn’t had enough time.
She felt so awkward, sitting by Stella and Hawkes who were truly feeling the loss of a person they had loved and cared for so much, and feeling only a sense of sadness at a life being taken. She felt guilty. She wanted to share their grief, she wanted to understand, she wanted to empathize.
But she couldn’t. And it was killing her.
She saw Danny pull up but he didn’t get out of the car. He just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, eyes clearly focused on what was in front of him. He needed someone. And while Lindsay knew she may not be able to share in his grief, she knew that she could be there. She wanted to be there.
Because there was nothing else she could do.
She made her way out to his car, and slid into the passenger’s seat. He glanced at her, and they didn’t need to say much. He understood why she was here.
“Wanna go for a drive?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she sighed, turning to buckle herself in, “Let’s go.”
"Danny"
When Danny arrived at the hospital, Flack had just been taken out of surgery. Most of the team was standing outside the hospital room. Hawkes wasn’t; he needed to deal with his own thoughts before he could see Flack. But otherwise, everyone else was there.
“How bad?” he asked. He didn’t know much. All he had been told was that Flack had been shot. He didn’t know how, where, or why, just the fact that it had happened.
“He took two to the chest,” Stella replied, “No vest.” Danny could see she was upset about this. Don had been a rock to both of them when they had really needed it, and now he was stuck in this mess, and there was nothing they could do. And it was killing them both.
“Shit,” Danny whispered, looking at their friend, lying in the hospital bed, beaten and broken. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. And they weren’t. Flack was going to get better. He had to. “What are the doctors saying?”
“They said he’s stable, but they haven’t told us much else,” Mac replied, “I better head back to the lab, make sure all the evidence is logged for the case.”
“What about the guy who did this, Mac?” Danny asked, “What happened to him?”
“Never even got out of the building,” Mac replied, “Uniforms gunned him down as he tried to flee the scene.”
Good, Danny thought. Scum didn’t deserve to live. He allowed the thought to escape. Just that one. Because if he kept thinking those thoughts, he saw himself winding down a slippery slope that he didn’t need to take. He watched as Mac offered Stella a ride home, and she took it, leaving just him and Lindsay.
“You don’t have to stay, Montana,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs in the hallway, “I’ll keep watch for a while.”
She shrugged, “Got nowhere better to be.” She sat down next to him, quietly sipping on a cup of coffee the hospital had offered her. She was about to offer to go get him one as well when—
BEEEEEEEEEEEP!
***
Danny didn’t know what had compelled him to offer Lindsay that ride. He just needed to get out of there, needed to drive away from the pain, and the grief, and the memories, and just find some kind of quiet. Some kind of peace. And Lindsay was there, in the car. He didn’t want to abduct her. So he offered. And she accepted which was a bit of a relief on his part. He didn’t want to be alone either.
Somehow, driving through the streets, they had wound up at the cemetery where they had buried Flack earlier that morning. Lindsay didn’t question why he chose here, she just followed him out of the car, and down the path to the newly dug grave with the headstone behind it.
Here lies Donald Anthony Flack Junior. Beloved Son and Friend.
Lindsay never seen Danny fall apart before. She knew he was emotional, but he always managed to hold it together around her. And seeing Danny fall apart was something she never wanted to see again.
Because it wasn’t pretty. Or graceful. It wasn’t held together or strong. It was the exact opposite. It was ugly, and gut-wrenching, and she couldn’t help but feel her own tears come to her eyes to see him in such pain. To see him on his knees, sobbing, practically begging for his best friend back was something Lindsay never wanted to see again.
She was down on her knees next to him in a half a second, holding him, trying through some divine province to take some of his pain away, but she couldn’t. All she could do was be there, let him cry into her shoulder, and hope that this was the worst she’d ever have to see for him again.
"Stella"
“Flack’s been shot!”
The first words Stella heard out of Lindsay as she burst into the break room of the lab. At first, Stella didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t have been. Not Flack.
“What?” was what actually came out of her mouth.
“I just got the call from Mac. Suspect apparently was still on the scene, took aim for Hawkes—” Lindsay didn’t even have to finish for Stella to know what happened.
“Flack decided to play the hero,” Stella said, her head falling to her hands, “It figures. Hawkes alright?”
“He’s fine,” Lindsay replied, “He actually tried to stop the bleeding and everything. I didn’t know he was—”
“Before he was a CSI, he was an ME,” Stella sighed, “And before he was an ME, he was a doctor. Did he make a difference?”
“They don’t know,” Lindsay replied, “Flack’s on his way to Trinity General now. The suspect was gunned down trying to flee the scene, so Mac and Hawkes are just going to bag and tag what’s there, and then they’re going to meet us at the hospital.”
“Well, what are we still standing here for?” Stella said, grabbing her coat and ushering the girl out the door, “Let’s go!” She was heading for the door, when she suddenly it hit her.
Danny.
She quickly flipped out her cell phone.
“Messer.”
“Danny, it’s Stella. Flack’s been shot—”
***
Stella stared at the man sitting across the table from her, and tried to get herself inside his head without actually asking him. She knew somewhat of what he was going through, and some of it she didn’t. Yes, she had had a man die in front of her before. But she hadn’t wanted to save him at the time.
God, she didn’t know what she would have done if it hadn’t been for Flack. That whole mess with Frankie was awful, and all she was so confused and scared but Flack had sat there with her and walked her through it. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Until it all made sense.
What were they all going to do without him?
“I don’t know if I would have done it,” Hawkes spoke up.
“Done what?” Stella asked, snapping out of her thoughts.
“Saved his life at the risk of my own,” he replied, “I don’t know if I would have pushed him out of the way. I don’t know if I would have saved Don.”
“Hawkes—”
“I mean, who does that nowadays,” he continued, the tears starting to come to his eyes, “Who takes a bullet for a friend anymore? Who risks their life to protect someone elses? Who is that much of an idiot—” His voice trailed off, and Stella reached over the table, slipping his hand into his.
“Just because it didn’t work, doesn’t mean it didn’t count, Hawkes,” Stella sighed, “You tried your best. You tried every way you knew how with what you had to save him. That doesn’t count for nothing.”
“Yeah, but what does it count for?” Hawkes replied as he got up and started to walk out, “Not much.”
"Hawkes"
“HAWKES!” BANG! BANG!
Hawkes felt the hands push him out of the way. Felt his body hit the floor. Heard the shots echo all around him. Heard the footsteps of the combined officers and the suspect leaving. It didn’t register to him exactly what had happened though, until he saw the blood.
Oh, God, the blood.
It was everywhere. Spilling down the front of Flack’s shirt and tie, onto the floor. He coughed, sputtering blood. Everything surrounding him was blood. Hawkes didn’t know what to do. He was at a loss for about a split second. And then it was like a switch in his head went off and he was in doctor-mode.
“Flack! Flack, can you here me?” he asked, pulling off his CSI jacket, and examining the wound in his friend’s chest. There were two distinct holes that he could see. On both had entered the chest cavity, but he couldn’t tell if they had exited. He watched as the man nodded his head weakly, trying to stay awake and stay focused.
“That’s it, Don. Stay with me, alright?” Hawkes replied, applying the pressure to the wound in front of him. One of the officers had called nine-one-one, and but he needed to keep Flack awake, and he needed to stop the bleeding, if that was even at all possible. He watched as his friend started to cough up some more blood. The bullet had probably punctured a lung. But there was nothing that he could do for that now. He just had to at least try to keep Flack from loosing any more blood than he already had.
He heard shots fired further away from where they were, but he didn’t care about that. He was focused on Flack. He needed to save Flack.
Hawkes watched slowly as the man tried to open his mouth, as if he wanted to speak, but nothing was coming out. “Just take it easy, man, you can tell me later, alright. Just take it easy.”
“Am—I—”
“You’re gonna be fine, Don, alright? Just take it nice and slow, OK. Deep even breaths.”
Eventually the paramedics arrived, along with Mac. He walked in demanding to know what had happened as they wheeled Flack out. He told Hawkes about how the perp had been gunned down about a block from where they were standing. Asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital.
“No,” Hawkes replied, “I need to finish here.”
“Good. Keep going,” Mac nodded, “I’m going to check in with the lab.” He turned, and pulled out his cell phone. “Lindsay? It’s Mac. Flack’s been shot—”
***
Hawkes opted to walk home from the restaurant. There were so many emotions spinning in his mind that he didn’t trust himself to drive, and he really just wanted to be alone. So he walked. And with every step he took he felt guiltier and guiltier for not being about to do more.
You didn’t have the proper tools.
Should have reacted sooner.
You were stuck in someone’s apartment.
Should have been paying attention. He wouldn’t have been shot in the first place.
How were you to know the guy would be there?
Should have been more alert. Should have been more prepared. Should have, should have, should have!
He kicked forcefully and a plastic cup someone had carelessly littered in the street. He hated the way he was feeling about this. All this guilt was resting on his shoulders, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Because there was only one section, in the far corner of his mind, that didn’t believe he didn’t deserve every ounce of what he was feeling.
And he would rather feel like shit, than actually try and listen to what that small portion had to say.
"Don"
“Vic’s name was Anglea Cartwright,” Don Flack told Hawkes as the other man looked over the body, “Supe walked up looking for last month’s rent, found her like this.”
Her body was sprawled over the floor, a jagged gunshot wound had blown open her chest cavity.
“Wound looks pretty fresh,” Hawkes commented, “And at close range. No one saw or heard anything?”
“Everyone’s suddenly gone blind and deaf,” Flack replied, rolling his eyes, and Hawkes chuckled slightly. He shifted over the body, and started taking snapshots of the corpse, while Flack started to search around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, seeing if there were any voicemails on her answering machine. Unless some of the people on her floor recovered their senses, there wasn’t really much for him to do until Mac got there.
“She was pretty,” Hawkes commented.
“She was,” Flack replied. He usually refrained from making comments like that about corpses, but there was something tragically gorgeous about this particular victim. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was—off.
Then he heard it. The footsteps. He looked up, and there was an angry looking man, with a nine pointed directly at the CSI. Flack started to reach for his side arm, but there was no time. The man was ready to fire. He immediately jumped for the other man in the room.
“HAWKES!”
BANG! BANG!
THE END
Title: Ghosts
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT
Prompt: N/A
Content Warning: Death of Canon Character
Summary: “I can’t believe we’re here.” The voice echoed off the pillars of the old, majestic church.
Author's Note: I started this about midway through season 2, so it's more AU than it would have been. This also started off as a one-shot that kind of exploded, so it's long.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. They're owned by CBS.
"Ghosts"
“I can’t believe we’re here.” The voice echoed off the pillars of the old, majestic church. They were all sitting there. All five of them, side by side, waiting to say goodbye to someone they never thought they’d be saying goodbye to.
“Should be me in that box,” the next voice came. It was a quieter voice. More eloquent, laced with fear and regret, “I should be the one they’re taking down the aisle.”
“This isn’t your fault,” the female voice next to him sighed, “You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for this. You didn’t pull the trigger.”
“I might as well have. I wasn’t paying attention. I shouldn’t have just been focusing on the case, I should have been aware of everything around me. He shouldn’t have had to push me out of the way.”
“Hawkes, no one expected the suspect to still be there, not even him,” the female voice came again, “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I want to believe you Stella, I do,” Sheldon Hawkes sighed, turning his eyes on the curly haired detective next to him, “I just can’t right now. But thank you anyway.”
Stella Bonasera gave the man a soft smile before their eyes reverted back to the front of the church and the altar. A large amount of people had collected to pay tribute to this man; this member of New York City’s finest, killed in the line of duty. For him, it would probably be the greatest honor he’d ever receive. Dying to protect a friend.
“I never knew he was religious,” the other female voice came, softer than Stella’s, yet having the same passion and conviction.
“I don’t think any of us did,” another voice, different than the first voice, “He had always been a bit of a mystery.”
“Mystery?” the first voice returned, “A bit more than a mystery. The man was a God damn enigma.”
“Danny, we’re in church,” the female voice scolded.
Danny Messer looked up, raising his eyes to the ceiling of the church, “Sorry, Big Guy.” A soft chuckle ran through the line, and it faded almost as quickly as it started, almost as if it was unfair to make jokes at a time like this.
“I just wish I could have known him better,” the female voice came again, “This seems so unfair, that we lost him this soon.”
“I agree with you on this one, Montana,” Danny replied, before glancing over his shoulder as the door to the church opened. The soft click of heels and the long black hair gave her away instantly. His eyes widened in surprise. “Aiden—”
All five of them turned around as Aiden Burn came down the aisle of the church. She saw them, and was torn on whether or not to sit with them. She started to make her way to another pew, when Danny shook his head at her.
“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, and she looked down, a small smile crossing her face before she made her way through the pew to sit on the other side of Danny. Lindsey Monroe gave her a soft smile before extending her hand.
“Lindsey Monroe.”
“Aiden Burn.”
Then everything reverted back to the front of the church and the altar. They sat in silence absorbing the fact that they had to say goodbye to someone they loved and respected. Then the doors of the church opened and the coffin was wheeled into the aisle. The gleaming polished wood draped with an American flag. It was followed by the parents of the deceased, his mother clutching his father’s arm tightly for support. When the reached the pew where the CSI’s were sitting she stopped briefly and clutched the hand of the man closest to her.
“Detective Taylor,” she sighed, silent tears running down her face, “Thank you for being here. He always admired you. He—he had so much respect for—for you.” At this the mom’s tears turned into sobs, and Mac Taylor gave her hand a squeeze.
“Ma’am, I am very glad to have had the chance to work with your son.”
His mother sent him a look of tearful, silent thanks before walking down the aisle after her son’s coffin.
“Most awful thing in the world,” Stella murmured softly, “Having to bury a child.”
Aiden continued to stare straight ahead, a silent tears starting to fall. Danny was surprised, never having took Aiden for a crier, but silently wrapped an arm around her shoulders as the priest reached the altar and the coffin in front of them.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to Donald Flack Jr…”
"Aiden"
Aiden tossed her newspaper down on her sofa as she made her way into the kitchen. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. Being a PI had it’s perks, but it was nothing compared to what she used to do on the force. Not that it wasn’t her own fault she wasn’t there anymore, but still, she missed it.
Missed it so much it hurt sometimes.
Pausing in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, she noticed the red message light on her machine blinking. Thinking nothing of it, she hit play, and let the message roll.
”Aiden, it’s Danny. I’ve—I’ve kinda got some bad news, and—well—fuck, how the hell am I supposed to say this?—Look, Flack’s dead, alright?”
Aiden nearly dropped her cup of coffee. Flack, dead? Impossible. No, Danny was playing with her. Danny was playing a sick and twisted game that was going to bite him in the ass the next time she saw him, because she was going to castrate him for being that insensitive.
”There’s gonna be a service, and stuff—if you wanna go that is. But he would have wanted you there—I think. I mean—”
She listened as Danny stumbled and stammered over his words. This was too drawn out to be a joke. Too detailed to be some kind of prank.
”If you decide to go, I guess I’ll see you there.”
CLICK!
Aiden dashed for the receiver and quickly dialed a number. The phone rang a few times, before the person picked up.
“Taylor.”
“Mac, is it true?”
“Aiden?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she replied, annoyed that he even had to question who it was, “Is it true? Is Flack really dead?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, and she heard Mac breath out slowly, before his voice, sounding more mechanical than she was used to hearing it, came back to her.
“Detective Donald Flack Junior was pronounced dead at nine-fifty-five PM at St. Vincent’s Hospital from two gun shot wounds to the chest—”
Aiden listened silently as Mac read the hospital report to her over the phone. She didn’t remember collapsing on her couch, but once she found herself there, she felt her body sinking deeper and deeper into it before she felt she couldn’t go any further without disappearing.
Flack, dead? No.
She would refuse to accept it. Refuse it to happen. Any second now he was going to buzz her cell phone, she would hear the call waiting beep behind Mac’s voice, he would knock on her door, and say, Ha! Gotcha. And she would kill him. She would beat him to a bloody pulp for scaring her like that.
But the more Mac continued to speak, the more her worst fears were being confirmed.
Don Flack was dead.
“Aiden, I’m sorry,” Mac sighed when he was finally finished reading.
“Same here,” she replied, somewhat curtly, but he understood what she meant. She clicked the phone off without even bothering to say goodbye, before burying her face in her hands feeling the salty wet tears starting to fall.
***
Aiden’s eyes roamed the crowd at the bar/restaurant that Flack had frequented like he needed to breathe. The food was fantastic, but she couldn’t really taste it. Wedged between Danny and Hawkes in one of the booths, she felt comforted yet smothered, all at the same time.
She didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Everyone else was there. Everyone else was at the hospital, or tracking down the perp, hell Hawkes was there when it happened.
Everyone but her. She probably was the closest to Flack, next to Danny, but she didn’t find out this had happened to him until he was already gone. She couldn’t help but resent that.
No, she didn’t just resent that. She was angry as hell.
She tossed down her fork onto the table, and nudged Hawkes in the side. “I need some air.”
Danny and Stella shared a glance across the table, and Danny followed his former colleague out the door and into the alleyway behind the restaurant. He watched her from a distance, knowing she needed the space, and waiting for the right moment to reach out to her.
“Why didn’t you call me when it happened?” she growled, turning on her friend a fire blazing in her eyes, “Why didn’t you call me the second you’d found out he’d been shot?!?!”
“I’m sorry Aide,” he whispered, “But things were crazy. We had to catch the guy.”
Aiden knew he was right. God, she hated it when he was right. “I wanted to say goodbye!”
“We all did,” Danny sighed.
“Yeah, well, at least you all had a chance,” Aiden screamed, storming at him with the wrath of God, but Danny didn’t move. He just stood his ground, looked her square in the eye, and waited for the blow that he knew would come.
Aiden got about two inches from him, and the anxiety, the stress, the pain, the grief, whatever it was exploded from inside her and she collapsed against him in a fit of sobs, and an expression of pain that he had never seen from her before. He held her close to him, rubbing her back as tears of rage poured into his chest.
“Why him, Danny? Damnit, why him?”
"Mac"
Mac had just finished informing Flack’s parents, and came into his office, looking more exhausted than Danny ever thought he could look. The younger man watched as his supervisors eyes fell from the man’s face, to the manila folder in the man’s hands. The hospital report. To go in Flack’s case file.
Flack’s case file.
Damnit.
Mac should have been there. He was stuck in traffic on the way to that very scene when he heard the call about shots being fired. He should have been there with his guys. He should have been the one taking the bullet for Hawkes. Not Flack. Flack was too young. Flack had his entire life ahead of him. Mac had already loved and lost his fair share. That should have been his bullet.
Yet somewhere, in the dark part of his brain, where the sense of right and wrong became a clouded, fuzzy shade of gray, he was thanking God for rush hour traffic. He was thanking God that he hadn’t been stuck in that situation. He was thanking God that he still had his life, that it was the younger detective instead of him. He was thanking God that he had the opportunity to continue with his life and—
Stop.
Danny got tired of the awkward silence between them, and spoke up. “I brought the hospital report down, to go in with the evidence.”
“Just leave it on my desk,” Mac replied stonily.
The younger man did so, and made his way to the door that was resting closed behind his supervisor. He paused for a second, his hand on the knob, and Mac begged him silently to keep walking, keep going, don’t say anything.
Danny didn’t.
“I called Aiden,” he replied, “I thought she should know.”
“She should,” Mac responded, the same monotonous level evident in his voice. “Anything else?”
The younger man shook his head, before finally leaving the room. Mac made sure the door was shut behind him. He shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the chair that Danny had formerly occupied. He slid into the chair behind his desk, and picked up the manila folder that Danny had placed there. Little detective work was done in catching the shooter. The man had tried to outrun the uniforms, and gotten gunned down in the process. All the evidence was there for them to process, so all the concern had been placed on Flack and if he was going to survive. And there was the case file, staring back at him, almost mocking him in its manila holder.
Flack, Donald Jr.
***
Flack, Donald Jr.
What was written on the folder seemed to be still there, mocking him, even as he sat inside the restaurant with Flack’s family. His parents were beyond consolation, which was understandable. They had just lost their only child. Their baby boy was gone. He knew what it was like to have someone you loved ripped away from you, without even the thought of your feelings.
Fate was funny that way.
It didn’t think, it didn’t wonder. It just acted. And fate had decided to have Mac Taylor stuck in traffic that day, and have Don Flack take a bullet for a friend.
He had seen Aiden and Danny leave, and he knew they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. He then glanced over at the table where the other CSI’s were sitting. Hawkes still hadn’t picked up from before, Lindsay and Stella were talking, but their conversation lacked the luster it usually had. Everyone was feeling this man’s death in a different way.
If it had been him, everyone would have been even more devastated. Stella—he and Stella had been working together for so long, what would it have been like for her, going into work and not seeing him every day? And Hawkes, Danny, Aiden, they would be loosing a friend as well. Lindsay he hadn’t known quite as long, but she would have felt it as well. It’s better that it was Flack instead of him. They aren’t loosing a leader. Even Flack—Flack would have—
Stop.
His mind had started to turn on him again. No, it wouldn’t have been better either way. Someone will always be gone. Loosing someone who’s not as powerful is not less important than loosing someone who is.
Flack didn’t deserve these thoughts.
He excused himself from the presence of Detective and Mrs. Flack, and made his way to the bar. He ordered the strongest drink they had. He needed to drown these thoughts from the back of his mind, and if it was alcohol that could do it, alcohol he was going to have. He didn’t usually do this, but he was too tormented with his thoughts to see any other way.
Tonight, he was going to take the easy way out.
"Lindsay"
BEEEEEEEEEEP!
Lindsay turned at the sound of the machine in Flack’s room flatlining. Danny was at her side and ran back to the window, the fear evident in his face.
“No. Nonononono,” he said, looking to the window as the doctors assembled around his friend, “He was stable! What the fuck is this, he was stable!”
“Danny,” Lindsay said slowly, trying to pull him away from the window.
“What the hell is this? He was going to be fine! He was fine!”
“Danny, calm down.” He tried to fight her off with everything he had, but she eventually managed to get him to turn and face her. “Danny, you’re not helping!”
Something with that registered in him, and he stopped. They both watched as the doctors rushed in, the crash carts were pulled up. The clear glass windows of the booth were crowded with nurses and doctors, and Flack was completely obscured from view.
“Clear.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
“Clear.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
“Clear.”
With every sound, Danny and Lindsay could both hear the doctor’s voice getting more and more frustrated. Eventually the nurses cleared away, and the doctor handed the paddles back to one of them.
“Time of death, twenty-one fifty-five—”
Lindsay looked to Danny and he looked back at her. The glasses came off for a brief second. He pinched his nose, rubbed his eyes, detached. Then the glasses went back on, the detective came back into play, and he turned to her and gave her a smile.
“Better go pick up the hospital file,” Danny replied, pushing past her.
***
Lindsay didn’t know Flack that well. It was different for people who knew him. The rest of the team, they had worked with him forever it seemed like. But Lindsay was the oddball. The odd man out. She hadn’t known him that long, didn’t really have any special memories of him. Didn’t have any special connection. They were just co-workers. Acquaintances. Maybe friends. But she wasn’t even sure of that.
They hadn’t had enough time.
She felt so awkward, sitting by Stella and Hawkes who were truly feeling the loss of a person they had loved and cared for so much, and feeling only a sense of sadness at a life being taken. She felt guilty. She wanted to share their grief, she wanted to understand, she wanted to empathize.
But she couldn’t. And it was killing her.
She saw Danny pull up but he didn’t get out of the car. He just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, eyes clearly focused on what was in front of him. He needed someone. And while Lindsay knew she may not be able to share in his grief, she knew that she could be there. She wanted to be there.
Because there was nothing else she could do.
She made her way out to his car, and slid into the passenger’s seat. He glanced at her, and they didn’t need to say much. He understood why she was here.
“Wanna go for a drive?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she sighed, turning to buckle herself in, “Let’s go.”
"Danny"
When Danny arrived at the hospital, Flack had just been taken out of surgery. Most of the team was standing outside the hospital room. Hawkes wasn’t; he needed to deal with his own thoughts before he could see Flack. But otherwise, everyone else was there.
“How bad?” he asked. He didn’t know much. All he had been told was that Flack had been shot. He didn’t know how, where, or why, just the fact that it had happened.
“He took two to the chest,” Stella replied, “No vest.” Danny could see she was upset about this. Don had been a rock to both of them when they had really needed it, and now he was stuck in this mess, and there was nothing they could do. And it was killing them both.
“Shit,” Danny whispered, looking at their friend, lying in the hospital bed, beaten and broken. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. And they weren’t. Flack was going to get better. He had to. “What are the doctors saying?”
“They said he’s stable, but they haven’t told us much else,” Mac replied, “I better head back to the lab, make sure all the evidence is logged for the case.”
“What about the guy who did this, Mac?” Danny asked, “What happened to him?”
“Never even got out of the building,” Mac replied, “Uniforms gunned him down as he tried to flee the scene.”
Good, Danny thought. Scum didn’t deserve to live. He allowed the thought to escape. Just that one. Because if he kept thinking those thoughts, he saw himself winding down a slippery slope that he didn’t need to take. He watched as Mac offered Stella a ride home, and she took it, leaving just him and Lindsay.
“You don’t have to stay, Montana,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs in the hallway, “I’ll keep watch for a while.”
She shrugged, “Got nowhere better to be.” She sat down next to him, quietly sipping on a cup of coffee the hospital had offered her. She was about to offer to go get him one as well when—
BEEEEEEEEEEEP!
***
Danny didn’t know what had compelled him to offer Lindsay that ride. He just needed to get out of there, needed to drive away from the pain, and the grief, and the memories, and just find some kind of quiet. Some kind of peace. And Lindsay was there, in the car. He didn’t want to abduct her. So he offered. And she accepted which was a bit of a relief on his part. He didn’t want to be alone either.
Somehow, driving through the streets, they had wound up at the cemetery where they had buried Flack earlier that morning. Lindsay didn’t question why he chose here, she just followed him out of the car, and down the path to the newly dug grave with the headstone behind it.
Here lies Donald Anthony Flack Junior. Beloved Son and Friend.
Lindsay never seen Danny fall apart before. She knew he was emotional, but he always managed to hold it together around her. And seeing Danny fall apart was something she never wanted to see again.
Because it wasn’t pretty. Or graceful. It wasn’t held together or strong. It was the exact opposite. It was ugly, and gut-wrenching, and she couldn’t help but feel her own tears come to her eyes to see him in such pain. To see him on his knees, sobbing, practically begging for his best friend back was something Lindsay never wanted to see again.
She was down on her knees next to him in a half a second, holding him, trying through some divine province to take some of his pain away, but she couldn’t. All she could do was be there, let him cry into her shoulder, and hope that this was the worst she’d ever have to see for him again.
"Stella"
“Flack’s been shot!”
The first words Stella heard out of Lindsay as she burst into the break room of the lab. At first, Stella didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t have been. Not Flack.
“What?” was what actually came out of her mouth.
“I just got the call from Mac. Suspect apparently was still on the scene, took aim for Hawkes—” Lindsay didn’t even have to finish for Stella to know what happened.
“Flack decided to play the hero,” Stella said, her head falling to her hands, “It figures. Hawkes alright?”
“He’s fine,” Lindsay replied, “He actually tried to stop the bleeding and everything. I didn’t know he was—”
“Before he was a CSI, he was an ME,” Stella sighed, “And before he was an ME, he was a doctor. Did he make a difference?”
“They don’t know,” Lindsay replied, “Flack’s on his way to Trinity General now. The suspect was gunned down trying to flee the scene, so Mac and Hawkes are just going to bag and tag what’s there, and then they’re going to meet us at the hospital.”
“Well, what are we still standing here for?” Stella said, grabbing her coat and ushering the girl out the door, “Let’s go!” She was heading for the door, when she suddenly it hit her.
Danny.
She quickly flipped out her cell phone.
“Messer.”
“Danny, it’s Stella. Flack’s been shot—”
***
Stella stared at the man sitting across the table from her, and tried to get herself inside his head without actually asking him. She knew somewhat of what he was going through, and some of it she didn’t. Yes, she had had a man die in front of her before. But she hadn’t wanted to save him at the time.
God, she didn’t know what she would have done if it hadn’t been for Flack. That whole mess with Frankie was awful, and all she was so confused and scared but Flack had sat there with her and walked her through it. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Until it all made sense.
What were they all going to do without him?
“I don’t know if I would have done it,” Hawkes spoke up.
“Done what?” Stella asked, snapping out of her thoughts.
“Saved his life at the risk of my own,” he replied, “I don’t know if I would have pushed him out of the way. I don’t know if I would have saved Don.”
“Hawkes—”
“I mean, who does that nowadays,” he continued, the tears starting to come to his eyes, “Who takes a bullet for a friend anymore? Who risks their life to protect someone elses? Who is that much of an idiot—” His voice trailed off, and Stella reached over the table, slipping his hand into his.
“Just because it didn’t work, doesn’t mean it didn’t count, Hawkes,” Stella sighed, “You tried your best. You tried every way you knew how with what you had to save him. That doesn’t count for nothing.”
“Yeah, but what does it count for?” Hawkes replied as he got up and started to walk out, “Not much.”
"Hawkes"
“HAWKES!” BANG! BANG!
Hawkes felt the hands push him out of the way. Felt his body hit the floor. Heard the shots echo all around him. Heard the footsteps of the combined officers and the suspect leaving. It didn’t register to him exactly what had happened though, until he saw the blood.
Oh, God, the blood.
It was everywhere. Spilling down the front of Flack’s shirt and tie, onto the floor. He coughed, sputtering blood. Everything surrounding him was blood. Hawkes didn’t know what to do. He was at a loss for about a split second. And then it was like a switch in his head went off and he was in doctor-mode.
“Flack! Flack, can you here me?” he asked, pulling off his CSI jacket, and examining the wound in his friend’s chest. There were two distinct holes that he could see. On both had entered the chest cavity, but he couldn’t tell if they had exited. He watched as the man nodded his head weakly, trying to stay awake and stay focused.
“That’s it, Don. Stay with me, alright?” Hawkes replied, applying the pressure to the wound in front of him. One of the officers had called nine-one-one, and but he needed to keep Flack awake, and he needed to stop the bleeding, if that was even at all possible. He watched as his friend started to cough up some more blood. The bullet had probably punctured a lung. But there was nothing that he could do for that now. He just had to at least try to keep Flack from loosing any more blood than he already had.
He heard shots fired further away from where they were, but he didn’t care about that. He was focused on Flack. He needed to save Flack.
Hawkes watched slowly as the man tried to open his mouth, as if he wanted to speak, but nothing was coming out. “Just take it easy, man, you can tell me later, alright. Just take it easy.”
“Am—I—”
“You’re gonna be fine, Don, alright? Just take it nice and slow, OK. Deep even breaths.”
Eventually the paramedics arrived, along with Mac. He walked in demanding to know what had happened as they wheeled Flack out. He told Hawkes about how the perp had been gunned down about a block from where they were standing. Asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital.
“No,” Hawkes replied, “I need to finish here.”
“Good. Keep going,” Mac nodded, “I’m going to check in with the lab.” He turned, and pulled out his cell phone. “Lindsay? It’s Mac. Flack’s been shot—”
***
Hawkes opted to walk home from the restaurant. There were so many emotions spinning in his mind that he didn’t trust himself to drive, and he really just wanted to be alone. So he walked. And with every step he took he felt guiltier and guiltier for not being about to do more.
You didn’t have the proper tools.
Should have reacted sooner.
You were stuck in someone’s apartment.
Should have been paying attention. He wouldn’t have been shot in the first place.
How were you to know the guy would be there?
Should have been more alert. Should have been more prepared. Should have, should have, should have!
He kicked forcefully and a plastic cup someone had carelessly littered in the street. He hated the way he was feeling about this. All this guilt was resting on his shoulders, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Because there was only one section, in the far corner of his mind, that didn’t believe he didn’t deserve every ounce of what he was feeling.
And he would rather feel like shit, than actually try and listen to what that small portion had to say.
"Don"
“Vic’s name was Anglea Cartwright,” Don Flack told Hawkes as the other man looked over the body, “Supe walked up looking for last month’s rent, found her like this.”
Her body was sprawled over the floor, a jagged gunshot wound had blown open her chest cavity.
“Wound looks pretty fresh,” Hawkes commented, “And at close range. No one saw or heard anything?”
“Everyone’s suddenly gone blind and deaf,” Flack replied, rolling his eyes, and Hawkes chuckled slightly. He shifted over the body, and started taking snapshots of the corpse, while Flack started to search around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, seeing if there were any voicemails on her answering machine. Unless some of the people on her floor recovered their senses, there wasn’t really much for him to do until Mac got there.
“She was pretty,” Hawkes commented.
“She was,” Flack replied. He usually refrained from making comments like that about corpses, but there was something tragically gorgeous about this particular victim. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was—off.
Then he heard it. The footsteps. He looked up, and there was an angry looking man, with a nine pointed directly at the CSI. Flack started to reach for his side arm, but there was no time. The man was ready to fire. He immediately jumped for the other man in the room.
“HAWKES!”
BANG! BANG!
no subject
no subject
no subject
I love how you've told the tale, telling it from each person's point of view, first of the shooting, then of the aftermath. Their reactions are so in character: Danny's complete breakdown, Lindsay feeling like the odd one out, Aiden's anger, Mac's guilt. Very, very good. :)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject