Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-12-07 08:35 am
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2007-12-07 08:35 am
Flack - Holes in Walls
Fandom: CSI:NY
Title: Holes in Walls
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, mentions of Stella Bonasera
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
csi50 Prompt: 012. Blood
realmofthemuse Prompt: 1.85.5
fic_variations Prompt: work (#1)
Content Warning: Spoilers for "All Access," mild ones for "Grand Murder in Central Station, " "Run Silent, Run Deep."
Summary: Flack has to roll with another punch.
Author's Note: N/A
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.
He didn’t react until he got into his apartment. It had taken every ounce of control he had to not take the bastard’s body and mutilate it in every way he could. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Stella. This was about Stella, and making sure she was okay, so he kept his head. No matter how much he may have wanted to resurrect Frankie and kill him all over again—this was about Stella.
He sat with her in the hospital, and as they talked, tried not to think of the blood in her apartment, both hers and Frankie’s. He was used to the smell of gunpowder and blood, but coming from Stella’s apartment made him sick to his stomach. It wasn’t supposed to hit this close to home. He could get up, go to work, do his job. He could crack jokes over the bodies of dead people he barely knew—eccentric rich men who died in the same ways they lived, or regular working class Joes stabbed in a fit of rage or an accident. He didn’t know them, and it was part of his job in a sense. Lighten the mood, make the air in the room less heavy, push the stench of death farther away. They weren’t his friends, family, or loved ones. If he detached himself far enough, they would be just another nameless face who died for a stupid reason before their time.
But he couldn’t do that with this one. He couldn’t do that with Stella.
He listened to her as she recounted the whole event. And the entire time he listened, he couldn’t help but think about how if the Chinese food hadn’t come, or if Frankie had hit her a little bit harder, or if he had managed to figure out the safety before Stella could get the gun from him. Or if he hadn’t had any patience at all, for that matter, just wanting to make this as quick as he could. It wouldn’t be Stella sitting here in front of him, traumatized and scared, and they wouldn’t be in a hospital. It would have been Frankie in an interrogation room, and as much as he loved his badge, he couldn’t say for sure whether or not Frankie would be walking out of it.
None of that really mattered in the end, though. Stella was going to be fine. Eventually. Somewhere down the line. It was another gut punch that everyone had to roll with this year, and while it had been three too many for his taste so far, they were good at rolling with the punches. He just wished some of them didn’t have to happen. Aiden getting fired, Danny with his brother, now Stella—this just wasn’t shaping up to be their year. And as much as he wanted to hope that this would be the end of it, that things really couldn’t get very much worse—he knew the job. He knew the job when he signed on and he knew the job now, and he knew that anything could happen, and people weren’t guaranteed to be safe. That thought only pissed him off all the more.
Flack was pacing and he hadn’t even realized it. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to find some way to release all the anger that he had been sitting in his chest all day. He had kept his cool, kept his calm, for Stella and for the job, but Stella wasn’t here anymore. Stella was somewhere safe, and his badge stopped being relevant the minute he shut that door behind him. And just as that thought settled over him, his fist went through his bedroom wall.
He swore softly as he pulled his hand back, shaking it off, and checking to see if he broke the skin. He did, but it was nothing a little ice and some Neosporin wouldn’t cure. As his hand throbbed, he could feel his anger throbbing away with it, finding some release in the hole in the drywall. It wasn’t exactly kicking something, but it was just as satisfying, and he didn’t ruin his new shoes.
Supe was gonna kill him for the hole in the wall though.
Title: Holes in Walls
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, mentions of Stella Bonasera
csi50 Prompt: 012. Bloodrealmofthemuse Prompt: 1.85.5fic_variations Prompt: work (#1)Content Warning: Spoilers for "All Access," mild ones for "Grand Murder in Central Station, " "Run Silent, Run Deep."
Summary: Flack has to roll with another punch.
Author's Note: N/A
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.
He didn’t react until he got into his apartment. It had taken every ounce of control he had to not take the bastard’s body and mutilate it in every way he could. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Stella. This was about Stella, and making sure she was okay, so he kept his head. No matter how much he may have wanted to resurrect Frankie and kill him all over again—this was about Stella.
He sat with her in the hospital, and as they talked, tried not to think of the blood in her apartment, both hers and Frankie’s. He was used to the smell of gunpowder and blood, but coming from Stella’s apartment made him sick to his stomach. It wasn’t supposed to hit this close to home. He could get up, go to work, do his job. He could crack jokes over the bodies of dead people he barely knew—eccentric rich men who died in the same ways they lived, or regular working class Joes stabbed in a fit of rage or an accident. He didn’t know them, and it was part of his job in a sense. Lighten the mood, make the air in the room less heavy, push the stench of death farther away. They weren’t his friends, family, or loved ones. If he detached himself far enough, they would be just another nameless face who died for a stupid reason before their time.
But he couldn’t do that with this one. He couldn’t do that with Stella.
He listened to her as she recounted the whole event. And the entire time he listened, he couldn’t help but think about how if the Chinese food hadn’t come, or if Frankie had hit her a little bit harder, or if he had managed to figure out the safety before Stella could get the gun from him. Or if he hadn’t had any patience at all, for that matter, just wanting to make this as quick as he could. It wouldn’t be Stella sitting here in front of him, traumatized and scared, and they wouldn’t be in a hospital. It would have been Frankie in an interrogation room, and as much as he loved his badge, he couldn’t say for sure whether or not Frankie would be walking out of it.
None of that really mattered in the end, though. Stella was going to be fine. Eventually. Somewhere down the line. It was another gut punch that everyone had to roll with this year, and while it had been three too many for his taste so far, they were good at rolling with the punches. He just wished some of them didn’t have to happen. Aiden getting fired, Danny with his brother, now Stella—this just wasn’t shaping up to be their year. And as much as he wanted to hope that this would be the end of it, that things really couldn’t get very much worse—he knew the job. He knew the job when he signed on and he knew the job now, and he knew that anything could happen, and people weren’t guaranteed to be safe. That thought only pissed him off all the more.
Flack was pacing and he hadn’t even realized it. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to find some way to release all the anger that he had been sitting in his chest all day. He had kept his cool, kept his calm, for Stella and for the job, but Stella wasn’t here anymore. Stella was somewhere safe, and his badge stopped being relevant the minute he shut that door behind him. And just as that thought settled over him, his fist went through his bedroom wall.
He swore softly as he pulled his hand back, shaking it off, and checking to see if he broke the skin. He did, but it was nothing a little ice and some Neosporin wouldn’t cure. As his hand throbbed, he could feel his anger throbbing away with it, finding some release in the hole in the drywall. It wasn’t exactly kicking something, but it was just as satisfying, and he didn’t ruin his new shoes.
Supe was gonna kill him for the hole in the wall though.
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I hate to see though what will happen with Aiden...are you going to write that too?
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I'm glad you liked it.
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