Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2008-01-11 04:21 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2008-01-11 04:21 pm
Flack - Chatting over Coffee
Fandom: CSI:NY
Title: Chatting over Coffee
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, Celia Moran
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
csi50 Prompt: 042. Soft
theatrical_muse Prompt: #211
fic_variations Prompt: work (#4)
Content Warning: Spoilers for 117: The Fall
Summary: Someone Flack hadn't expected to see drops by the station.
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 wouldn’t have recognized her, even if he was actually looking. She was a bit more grown up from the last time he saw her. But when the pretty dark haired woman walked into the precinct, he was elbow deep in paperwork and determined to finish it off. He didn’t want to spend another night late as his desk, as he’d been doing a lot lately, so since he had the free time—no calls coming in, no alibis to run down—he was doing his best to finish it. He didn’t even look up until he had heard a throat clearing slightly above him, and he tried to surpress a groan, hoping it wasn’t the captain piling more paperwork on top of him.
When he actually saw her though, he almost dropped his pen. She was the last person he expected to see come visit him, especially after everything that had happened with his father, and he could tell by the look on her face that she hadn’t expected herself to be here either. She looked nervous. More nervous than she should be, considering she’s been around places like this her whole life, but nervous nonetheless.
“Celia.”
“Hi, Don,” she said softly. Her mouth worked for a minute, trying to form the right words, but failing, until she finally settled on a simple, quiet, “How are you?”
“Good,” he nodded. “I’m good.”
“That’s good,” she said with a shy smile, glancing down, and playing with something in her hand. She was so uncomfortable. She never used to be that way around him, and it was—unsettling. He couldn’t tell if it was the place, or if it was him, and if it was him—he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself for that.
“What brings you by?” he asked casually, trying to keep the conversation that way, as though not to get into uncomfortable waters.
“I, uh—I wanted to talk,” she began slowly, her hand trailing up and starting to play with her hair slightly. She wasn’t looking at him, but past him, over his shoulder, and that’s when he heard the whispers, and saw the looks the others in the precincts were giving her. They knew who she was, and they weren’t being shy about the fact that they knew, which wasn’t going to bode well for her, at least not now. He glanced over his shoulder, before getting up and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.
“Why don’t we go grab a cup o’ coffee?” he offered, and she looked up at him with a grateful smile, before nodding and following him out the door of the precinct.
Celia Moran was the quieter of Gavin’s two daughters. She had been a teenager the last time he had really spoken to her—getting ready to head off to college with her sister and earn her degree, but since then she had seemed to have grown up some. Then again, she always did have a good head on her shoulders—she just wasn’t the bright and bubbly teenager he remembered.
“So how’s your mom?” he asked, paying the vendor for the two cups of coffee as he handed her one of them.
“She’s good,” she nodded. “Just started a new secretarial job for this law firm over in Queens. Thinks she can help ‘manda get an in for a internship once she graduates.”
“Amanda went off to law school, huh?” he smirked. “Thought she’d be more inclined for the prosecutor’s office?”
“Ma is hoping she doesn’t. Says we’ve already lost enough to civil service,” Celia said dryly. Flack tensed slightly and she cringed, running her hand over her eyes. “Sorry—that came out wrong.”
“It’s fine,” he said softly, keeping his eyes straight ahead and taking another sip of his coffee. “So what about you? What have you been up to?”
“I’m teaching, actually,” she said with a smile. “Back at my old elementary school. Art for K through third.”
“Good for you. You like it?”
“Yeah,” she nodded with a grin. “I really do. The kids are really sweet.”
“That’s good.”
“So how’ve you been?” she said, looking up at him as she played with the cardboard ring around her coffee cup. “That bombing a couple years back—it was all over the news. Said you coulda died in there.”
“Yeah, well—you know me,” he smirked. “I’m probably gonna be the guy who lives through every single firefight he’s in, and then dies in my sleep or some shit like that.”
She chuckled slightly, before nodding, still not looking directly at her. “And then there was that sting over the summer—and the hostage situation—”
“We haven’t been that lucky lately, have we?” Flack smirked.
“Either that, or you’re a little too fond of having your mug in the news.”
Flack rolled his eyes, with a playful smirk, “Well, you know me—I’m not one to brag, but—”
“Oh, please,” she sighed with a slight laugh. “Don’t get me started.”
He grinned back at her before taking another sip of his coffee, and looking over at her again. “So what really brings you by? I have a feeling you haven’t come down here to rehash with me the times I’ve nearly killed myself in the past two years.”
She was quiet for a minute, looking down at her cup of coffee and tracing the mouth of the cup with her finger. “The kid—in that case my father worked—”
“You mean Hector Vasquez?” he asked slowly, praying that she wasn’t really asking him about this. “Your—”
“His son,” she said quietly, cutting him off before he could take that sentence further. “I—I was wondering if you know where to find him. Maybe there’s an address on file—something so that I could maybe talk to him—”
“Why?” he asked, watching her face closely. “Celia, why do you wanna put yourself through that?”
“He’s family,” she said softly. “No matter what the conditions were, or how it happened he’s family.”
Flack watched her for a minute, before swallowing hard, and shaking his head. “Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
She frowned, looking up at him in confusion. “Why not?”
“He’s in witness protection,” Flack explained. “He testified against some gangbangers for a case, and the ADA placed him in the program. Him and his mother both.”
“So I’ll probably never—”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod, watching her to see how she would react to that. She seemed very far away for a minute, before blinking slightly and looking up at him with a smile.
“Well—I tried, right?” She didn’t wait for his response, before holding up the cup and nodding. “Thanks for the coffee, Don.”
“Anytime, alright?” he said with a nod. “It was good seein’ ya, kid.”
She gave him a wider smile, before nodding and holding up her cup to him. “You too, Don. You too.”
Title: Chatting over Coffee
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT
Characters: Don Flack, Celia Moran
csi50 Prompt: 042. Softtheatrical_muse Prompt: #211fic_variations Prompt: work (#4)Content Warning: Spoilers for 117: The Fall
Summary: Someone Flack hadn't expected to see drops by the station.
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 wouldn’t have recognized her, even if he was actually looking. She was a bit more grown up from the last time he saw her. But when the pretty dark haired woman walked into the precinct, he was elbow deep in paperwork and determined to finish it off. He didn’t want to spend another night late as his desk, as he’d been doing a lot lately, so since he had the free time—no calls coming in, no alibis to run down—he was doing his best to finish it. He didn’t even look up until he had heard a throat clearing slightly above him, and he tried to surpress a groan, hoping it wasn’t the captain piling more paperwork on top of him.
When he actually saw her though, he almost dropped his pen. She was the last person he expected to see come visit him, especially after everything that had happened with his father, and he could tell by the look on her face that she hadn’t expected herself to be here either. She looked nervous. More nervous than she should be, considering she’s been around places like this her whole life, but nervous nonetheless.
“Celia.”
“Hi, Don,” she said softly. Her mouth worked for a minute, trying to form the right words, but failing, until she finally settled on a simple, quiet, “How are you?”
“Good,” he nodded. “I’m good.”
“That’s good,” she said with a shy smile, glancing down, and playing with something in her hand. She was so uncomfortable. She never used to be that way around him, and it was—unsettling. He couldn’t tell if it was the place, or if it was him, and if it was him—he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself for that.
“What brings you by?” he asked casually, trying to keep the conversation that way, as though not to get into uncomfortable waters.
“I, uh—I wanted to talk,” she began slowly, her hand trailing up and starting to play with her hair slightly. She wasn’t looking at him, but past him, over his shoulder, and that’s when he heard the whispers, and saw the looks the others in the precincts were giving her. They knew who she was, and they weren’t being shy about the fact that they knew, which wasn’t going to bode well for her, at least not now. He glanced over his shoulder, before getting up and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.
“Why don’t we go grab a cup o’ coffee?” he offered, and she looked up at him with a grateful smile, before nodding and following him out the door of the precinct.
Celia Moran was the quieter of Gavin’s two daughters. She had been a teenager the last time he had really spoken to her—getting ready to head off to college with her sister and earn her degree, but since then she had seemed to have grown up some. Then again, she always did have a good head on her shoulders—she just wasn’t the bright and bubbly teenager he remembered.
“So how’s your mom?” he asked, paying the vendor for the two cups of coffee as he handed her one of them.
“She’s good,” she nodded. “Just started a new secretarial job for this law firm over in Queens. Thinks she can help ‘manda get an in for a internship once she graduates.”
“Amanda went off to law school, huh?” he smirked. “Thought she’d be more inclined for the prosecutor’s office?”
“Ma is hoping she doesn’t. Says we’ve already lost enough to civil service,” Celia said dryly. Flack tensed slightly and she cringed, running her hand over her eyes. “Sorry—that came out wrong.”
“It’s fine,” he said softly, keeping his eyes straight ahead and taking another sip of his coffee. “So what about you? What have you been up to?”
“I’m teaching, actually,” she said with a smile. “Back at my old elementary school. Art for K through third.”
“Good for you. You like it?”
“Yeah,” she nodded with a grin. “I really do. The kids are really sweet.”
“That’s good.”
“So how’ve you been?” she said, looking up at him as she played with the cardboard ring around her coffee cup. “That bombing a couple years back—it was all over the news. Said you coulda died in there.”
“Yeah, well—you know me,” he smirked. “I’m probably gonna be the guy who lives through every single firefight he’s in, and then dies in my sleep or some shit like that.”
She chuckled slightly, before nodding, still not looking directly at her. “And then there was that sting over the summer—and the hostage situation—”
“We haven’t been that lucky lately, have we?” Flack smirked.
“Either that, or you’re a little too fond of having your mug in the news.”
Flack rolled his eyes, with a playful smirk, “Well, you know me—I’m not one to brag, but—”
“Oh, please,” she sighed with a slight laugh. “Don’t get me started.”
He grinned back at her before taking another sip of his coffee, and looking over at her again. “So what really brings you by? I have a feeling you haven’t come down here to rehash with me the times I’ve nearly killed myself in the past two years.”
She was quiet for a minute, looking down at her cup of coffee and tracing the mouth of the cup with her finger. “The kid—in that case my father worked—”
“You mean Hector Vasquez?” he asked slowly, praying that she wasn’t really asking him about this. “Your—”
“His son,” she said quietly, cutting him off before he could take that sentence further. “I—I was wondering if you know where to find him. Maybe there’s an address on file—something so that I could maybe talk to him—”
“Why?” he asked, watching her face closely. “Celia, why do you wanna put yourself through that?”
“He’s family,” she said softly. “No matter what the conditions were, or how it happened he’s family.”
Flack watched her for a minute, before swallowing hard, and shaking his head. “Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
She frowned, looking up at him in confusion. “Why not?”
“He’s in witness protection,” Flack explained. “He testified against some gangbangers for a case, and the ADA placed him in the program. Him and his mother both.”
“So I’ll probably never—”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod, watching her to see how she would react to that. She seemed very far away for a minute, before blinking slightly and looking up at him with a smile.
“Well—I tried, right?” She didn’t wait for his response, before holding up the cup and nodding. “Thanks for the coffee, Don.”
“Anytime, alright?” he said with a nod. “It was good seein’ ya, kid.”
She gave him a wider smile, before nodding and holding up her cup to him. “You too, Don. You too.”
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