Rhapsody for Two #4: In This New Country
TITLE: Rhapsody for Two
AUTHOR: fixomnia
PAIRING: Flack/Angell
RATING: It's an M. Adults dealing with adult things.
SPOILERS: Various Flack/Angell scenes from Season 3-5, and Flack's season 6.
Chapter Summary: The good, the bad and the snuggly
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Chapter Four
In This New Country
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We could live for a thousand years
And if I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears
They told us that we could fly
'Cause we all have wings
But some of us don't know why...
- INXS, "Never Tear Us Apart"
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"So me and Montana, we're havin' a baby."
Flack's dart went wide, hitting the wall broadside and clattering harmlessly to the floor. He jerked his head around to stare at Danny. "What? You serious? Lindsay's - "
"Yup."
"Wow. How you dealing?"
Darts was apparently over. Danny scooped up both sets and dumped them in the cigar box, and motioned Flack back to their table, where the remaining half of their drinks waited. Single malt for Danny, and a single Pale Ale for Flack, the one drink he now allowed himself at the end of the week, most of the time.
"Oh, total shock, at first. Shakes and everything. But we've been talking a lot. It's good. I think we're good." Danny said, sitting down.
"Didn't you guys just get back together a while ago?"
"Uh huh." Danny mumbled into his drink, and took a swig. Flack quietly put two and two together, and came up with crazy unprotected reunion sex, and decided it was more than he really wanted to know. Being a detective had unexpected drawbacks from time to time.
He'd wondered why Lindsay had suddenly quit caffeine cold-turkey, and he hadn't bought any of her reasons for not coming out with them anymore. Of course, he realized now, someone would have asked her point-blank about her lack of beer. Everyone knew Montana could hold her own. She'd never out-drunk Danny or himself, but she'd come pretty close to keeping up, which was no mean feat for a little thing like her.
The best line she'd invented was: "Danny and I were smothering each other, and we both need time with our own friends." It was clever, since it was impossible to disprove, but it was clearly a ruse, especially since Danny had whined about her absence more than once. Flack had let it go, figuring it was none of his business what they did, as long as they didn't go breaking each other's hearts again. He didn't enjoy putting Danny's boots to the fire to make him confess his infidelity, as much as Danny had practically forced him to do it.
Worse than that had been simply watching them every day. It was none of his business, but it was real, and raw, and they were both bleeding all over the place. If they hadn't patched things up, sooner or later one or both of them would have made some suicidal career mistake. Lindsay was still kicking herself for leaving evidence unattended in the lab, during the worst days of their separation.
But inexplicably, sometime during the peak intensity of the Cabbie Killer case, they'd found a moment to reconnect. Flack didn't have the details, nor did he want them, but he'd been unexpectedly glad to see them back in their places. Fondly hectoring one another, challenging each other, whacking each other like a pair of cootie-crush kids in the schoolyard. They'd nearly found their balance again, though everyone noticed how careful they were around each other now.
And now this. Lindsay pregnant. Their sweet little country girl, great with child. Holy shit. He had visions of a smart-mouthed gamine with stubby pigtails and guileless brown eyes, getting in trouble for beating up the class bully. And talking her way out of it.
"So when's she due?"
"Early May. We told Mac at work today. Stel' already knew, go figure. Lindsay said she didn't mind me telling you, but we're keepin' it down-low for now, right? It's still early days, and you know everyone'll be all over her, and she hates that..."
"Yeah, of course. And congratulations, Danno, really. How's she doing?"
"Puking a lot. Sleepin' a lot. It's rough. We're gonna call all the parents tonight. Don't know if I'mma get a beat down or a slap on the back, or both. Probably both, from mine, but they always loved her. She's got this thing with my mother, they gang up and it's scary. Her folks, I dunno. They're pretty laid back. Probably just want to make sure she's doin' what she really wants...and I don't think they know we went through a bad patch before. I don't know if she told them."
"Just as well."
"I guess."
"Messer." He cleared his throat. "Don't fuck this up, or I will have your ass. You know what I mean."
"I fuck this up, my ass is all I'll have left to play with anyway. Seriously, I know. This is all really happening. I'm just trying to keep flying straight. I know."
Flack nodded slowly and finished the last swallow of his beer. Moment over.
"So, Daddy, huh?" he said.
"I know, huh?"
"Never thought I would see the day."
"Yeah, I always figured you'd settle down before me."
"You guys gonna get married?"
"Baby steps."
"Eh?"
"Montana's words. She doesn't wanna go too fast."
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, here..."
"I know, I know. I asked her, okay? I asked her."
"And she...really? Aw, shit. This about the thing with Rikki?"
"Ah...sort of? Shit, I don't wanna talk about that. First she says she doesn't expect anything of me, whatever the hell...then when I ask her, she says 'No', flat-out. Then today she asks me do I really wanna be pushed down the aisle."
"Well, do you?"
"See, that's the thing. I don't want her to be right, but she's right. I mean, I wanna be there for her, and this baby. Man, it's...it's huge. I never thought of having a kid, ever. But it's all happening, and I can't miss it. Me and Linds, we're still, I dunno, finding our feet. Suddenly this baby's all we're talking about, and it's great, it's really great, but she's right. We're not there yet. For all I know we could end up friends with a baby between us."
"There's worse things than being friends with a baby between you." Flack pointed out. "We see worse every day."
"True enough."
"But not what you want?"
"Not even close. I love her, man. Really, I do. She's it. I know she loves me, God knows why. But that doesn't make everything just fall into place."
Flack nodded with real sympathy, for both of them.
He was sorely tempted to return Danny's trust and tell him about Jess, about how twelve years of keeping his dating life scrupulously apart from work had come to a magnificent halt. (The old triteism about barely making it into the apartment? Not trite. God.) He was pretty sure that if he talked to Jess, she wouldn't mind Danny knowing they were together now. Except that it would mean bringing Lindsay into the circle, which wouldn't be a concern, but which began to make the whole privacy decision a moot point.
Besides, he wasn't sure he'd be able to wipe the silly grin off his face once he started talking. (Renewed inspiration to be a better man and a better cop? Also not trite.)
It was Danny's moment anyway. He kept his silence.
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"You're good at this undercover schtick," Stella told her. "Scary-good. If you weren't so memorable, I bet the department would make use of you."
"How do you know they haven't?" Jess returned, mysteriously. They snickered over their lunch trays, trying not to attract too much attention in the precinct Mess Hall. "Seriously - it went well, and it was fun, but what happens next? Diakos has dangerous friends, and bad things keep happening when people get too close to him. I mean, I get that you need to be invisible, but I'm starting to think I'm gonna need a wire and proper backup next time. This isn't some fishing expedition."
"I know," said Stella. "I'm trying to put something together. I'd never put you in danger, Angell."
"Well, what does Mac say? I know he's managed bigger stings than this. Or is Sinclair getting bogged down with all the diplomatic immunity issues?"
Stella looked away, and back at Jess.
"Ah," Jess said, nodding.
"You're not ticked off?"
"Me? Hell, no. But it's gonna have to work out, and bigtime, or we're both in serious shit."
"And not just professionally," Stella admitted. "Honestly, I understand if you need to back away. I'm flying under the radar here. The boys are going to hate it when they find out."
"Very likely," said Jess, "So let's make it the best takedown of the year."
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Keeping cases at an impersonal arms'-length was standard procedure, for plenty of good reasons, but when a case got through the armour and hit home, everyone felt it. Hawkes had spent the day in a sort of dull shock punctuated with outbursts, re-living the trauma of his ex-girlfriend's brutal rape. Each person on the team had felt the ripple effect of their quiet medical man's reactions, and had pulled out their A-game for him.
Flack had felt like a tool for bringing Hawkes' personal involvement to Mac's attention, but it couldn't be helped. Convictions had been lost on far less than a CSI's prior connection to a victim.
He'd had tried to talk to Hawkes, after it was all over. Hawkes said he understood. Flack knew that he was being intellectually honest, at least. Hawkes knew that Stella had shot and wounded Colin Clark, and that he would likely serve consecutive sentences for every rape, but this justice was an empty vindication. As tough as Kara was, and as well as she had put her life back together, she would never forget. And Hawkes would have a lifetime of wondering what he might have done differently for her.
Stella explained her decision not to take a justifiable kill shot as being far less humanitarian, as being able to live with herself afterwards.
"You simply can't imagine the rage," she said to him, standing in Mac's office. Mac hovered nearby, lending her support via their usual wireless uplink. "If I'd killed him, it would have been in anger. Revenge. We don't do that. I'd turn in my gun in an instant if I thought I'd slipped that far. I can't say it didn't feel good to take him down, and that's bad enough."
But by the end of the day, with the case solved and the adrenaline fading, they were all touched with melancholy, thoughtful and in need of human connection. Flack knew that Mac had left together with Stella and Sid. Adam and Kendall were no doubt transmuting sexual frustration into some sort of game night. Danny had convinced Hawkes to come to dinner with he and Lindsay, to the senior Messer's house for a proper Italian meal. Danny had asked him, too, reminding him that Elina and Joe had asked after him specially, but Flack had taken a rain check, not wanting to explain that Jess was waiting for him.
Jess had, indeed, texted him a quick message letting him know she was booking off a little early, and asking if he wanted to continue their Inspector Morse marathon over Thai takeout. He couldn't have dreamed up a better way to put this case behind him. He was a willing convert to the whole idea of counteracting a sordid day with a little human kindness and affection, but he needed not to be Danny's tough sidekick tonight. And he really needed Elina not to turn her attentions to his personal life, now that Danny looked to be settled down for the long haul. Not with Danny smirking across the table like a bratty little brother.
"Yes!" he'd replied to Jess, in his usual Blackberry-ese. "Bring what?"
"Just you." she'd replied. "Heading for bath. Use your key."
Giving her some downtime, he'd done a few errands on the way, picking up his laundry and a couple new toys for his home computer. She was still in her bath when he arrived at her apartment, and he called her name from the entryway. Surprising a cop was rarely a good idea, and surprising a cop in her own living room was definitely unwise, even for a boyfriend with free access.
"Hey!" she called back.
"You in danger of drowning?" he asked. "Need a buddy?"
She gave a quick huff of laughter. "I think I can manage. I'll be out in a minute. Make yourself at home."
So he did, shedding his shirt and shoes and socks in her room, and adding a few items to his small stash of clean clothes. Foraging in the kitchen for chips and salsa, he noticed her kettle was cold, and put some water on for tea, knowing she'd want some after her bath.
He enjoyed these moments of homey comfort. They'd been frequent visitors long before they got together, even trading apartment keys shortly after Sythe had started teaming them up on major cases on a regular basis. They'd worked through many a night at one of their dining tables, paperwork in among the takeout boxes, catnapping between double shifts. The ease with which they fit into each other's spaces had been just one of many signs along the way, he thought. Neither of them brought friends home very often, needing a quiet haven after the days they often had, but they never seemed to crowd one another. If either one of them had wanted time alone, it would have been an easy thing to mention, but for the past two months, they'd taken advantage of every shared night off they could.
And a few mornings, too.
He was sprawled on the couch when Jess emerged, damp and rosy, in her long scarlet satin dragon robe, her hair clipped up. She looked enticingly geisha-like, but for her usual Troop Commander bearing and stride.
She leaned over and kissed him hello, poured her tea, and settled herself at the other end of the couch, her legs tucked under her.
"You okay?" he asked. She nodded and sighed, and filched a few chips.
"Few bruises from the platform, but nothing major. At least we caught the asshole this time, and he won't ever get out. Sythe said the D.A.'s actually recommending he be kept in secure lockup for his own safety. I feel so bad for Hawkes...I'm glad he's not alone tonight."
He nodded and reached out with his foot to rub her knee. She smiled and lifted his feet into her lap, absently stroking. "So tell me again about this wedding gown race?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood. "It sounds worse than a reality show gimmick."
"Running of the Gowns," he said. "Sane women gone mental over discount shopping. My hand to God, they were like animals."
Jess snorted. "They were. Pure competitive breeding instinct, give or take a few thousand years of social programming."
"Jeez, and I thought I was cynical."
"Hey, I'm not dissing tradition, but it's not my thing. Why would I go deep into debt for an event I'm going to be too stressed out to enjoy, and have to endure all my relatives in one room? I get that every Christmas."
"No white wedding for you, huh?"
She flashed him an amused smirk. "Only if it's a comfy summer dress and I'm on a nice warm beach somewhere."
He filed that away somewhere, and switched tracks. "You know, I've never seen you in a dress, except for that one undercover gig. Or a skirt, even. Just that. Which is sexy as hell, by the way."
"Glad you like. Really, you haven't? I mean, I don't wear skirts much, but I do have some."
"Well, we're always at work, or hangin' out after work, I guess. Or not dressed at all." He grinned, and used his toes to push the edge of her robe over her thigh. She tried to swat him away and put her cup safely on the coffee table all at once, and ended up tumbling off the couch with a shriek, landing in a giggling heap on the floor. He leaned over to check on her, laughing too, and she looped her arms around his neck. He scooped her back up and into his lap, loving the feel of her against his skin. This playful Jess wasn't one that most people got to see, but then, even fewer ever saw playful Flack.
"You angling for a fashion show or something?" she asked, between kisses.
"Hey, they're your legs, babe."
"But you enjoy them," she said, as if coaxing a confession. She ran her hand over his chest, sliding her fingertips over a sensitive nipple. He sucked in a breath and purred deep in his throat, and smiling, she leaned in to kiss his neck.
He unclipped her hair from its loose knot, letting the strands fall through his fingers.
"You know I do." he said, and reached for the belt of her robe, watching her eyes as he tugged it undone. He kissed her softly, to tease her, as he slid his hand beneath the satin. The catch of her breath and the arch in her back as he stroked the soft curve of her breast made his head spin. He parted her mouth with the tip of his tongue, sliding her robe over her shoulders to fall around her. Christ, but she was glorious naked. He let his palm skim along her thigh, smooth and silky from her bath.
He felt her fingers through his hair, her nails in his scalp, and he ducked to sink his teeth into the cord of her throat. She gave a sharp little moan and sought his mouth again, kisses diving deep, rough with hunger. His hand closed convulsively over her hip, pulling her closer. Her hand shimmied down between them to the button of his trousers. Jesus. Okay, girl...right here.
But she pulled back and dragged in a breath. She touched his face, and climbed off him, standing nude and flushed in front of him. For a second he thought he could see the heat shimmering off her body.
"Bed?" she asked, smiling, and took his hand.
* * * * *
He woke sometime in the night, still with a pleasant afterglow circulating in his limbs, and his belly growling. They'd never gotten around to dinner. The neon signs across the street had been turned off, and the rush and flow of traffic below had dwindled to an occasional engine. So the bars must have let out some time ago, but it wasn't yet daylight.
His mind was full of the sort of middle-of-the-night thoughts that usually disappeared with the morning light and a return to duty. The hours before dawn saw the worst crimes in the city, and were the hardest hours for him to sleep through. He often woke around now, his senses alert, listening for sounds from the street below, not wanting to miss the quiet buzz of his cellphone that heralded an early callout.
Jess was many things, funny and overly intense, wise and danger-drawn, but at this time of night, she was a beacon of goodness and sanity to hold onto. Curled into him like this, with the curve of her back fitted to his front like they were made from different sides of the same mold, the world seemed like a different place. The quiet rise and fall of her breath spun a cocoon of comfort around him.
The fact that they worked out the frustrations of a bad day or the occasional collisions of their stubborn natures in bed, or sloughed off the remains of a sickening case in the mindless release of pleasure, was not lost on him. Their work was part of them. They knew perfectly well when they were making love, and when they weren't, and they didn't have to explain it. In the end, it always came back to them. Reminding each other how to feel, to play, and that they weren't facing any of it alone.
His father, in a rare moment of emotional lucidity, had once confided that the realization of love was like waking up in a new country with half a map. "Thank God your mother lent me her half, or I'd still be lost." said that militaristic figure, who at the time had been married for thirty years. He still brought home fresh flowers for his wife every Friday.
Flack thought he was beginning to understand.
He whispered into her hair: "Jess, I didn't even know I could fall for anyone like this."
He felt the words sink deep into himself. For a moment, he just breathed. Maybe the Clark case had served as a sharp reminder to them all to reach out to the ones they loved, or maybe it was just time. But what would happen if he told her out loud, detective to detective, fully dressed and in daylight? He'd never known a relationship to move ahead so quickly. He'd never had a best friend who became his lover. He had nothing in his life to compare with Jess. They made sense together.
He realized her breathing had changed. Was she dreaming? He carefully rose on one elbow and looked down at her face. Her eyes were open wide. He felt his heart jump.
She turned and slid her hand over his chest.
"You, too?" she asked softly, as if they were trying not to wake anyone.
He nodded, and covered her hand with his. "A solás mo chroi." he said.
Her eyes were luminous, dark within the framing curtain of her hair. "So are you," she whispered. Her fingers beat a gentle tattoo, over his heart.
"How d'you know what I said?"
"I just do. Solace de mon coeur." She took a breath, and continued, in an awed murmur: "J'ai cru que j'aurais peur si je suis tombé si profondément amoureux, de la perte de moi-même. Mais je n'ai pas peur. Je suis plus vraiment moi-même que j'étais jamais."
Lying in his arms, she stroked his chest as she spoke, slowly and easily, and his eyes fell half-closed, her voice washing over him. The palm of her hand slid over the knotty matrix of scar tissue under his ribs and stopped. His eyes opened again. Holding his gaze till the last moment, she ducked her sleek head and pressed a series of kisses to the old wound. The area was still a morass of numb and sensitive patches, which probably mirrored his own self more than he'd like, but he caught her point.
You, me, we're the sum total of everything we've been through in this life. How incredible to be able to share it all, with no fear, without reservation.
Her touch sent frissons of sensation all over his body. He sat up against the headboard and pulled her close to kiss her, sliding deep and searching as the tinder caught and the heat took over. And yet he didn't want to lose himself. He wanted to be completely present and remember this, every moment.
"Mon amant, je pense que tu me veux d'encore..." she smiled slyly, her hand finding him half-hard and rising.
That much he understood.
"O Crísto, na stad..." he murmured. He trailed his fingers down over her collarbone, down the swell of her breast to the tight, peaked tan nipple, and stroked it lightly and slowly, over and around, watching as the spasm of pleasure stiffened her spine and took her breath. "Ta tu go h-aileann." He moved lower, over the silky warm skin of her belly, the crisp curls at her center. Her thighs parted and he went deeper, exploring, his cock thickening in her grasp as he found her slick and responsive to every touch.
She sat up and straddled his lap, her hand still caressing him steadily, her lips brushing over his throat and chest, and he was soon ready for her again. As soon as he was protected, she rose and took him deep and full inside her. His fingers dipped between her legs, seeking out her firm little clit, slowly, in time with their rhythm. Her eyes closed, and she wrapped her arms around him, riding it out, unrushed. He had a sense of something powerful coming unleashed between them, the hunger and pleasure rising and rising till they were both gasping with it, aware of every tremor, every breath. At the end, she twisted herself down on him, clenching him tighter, and seemed to stop breathing entirely, shuddering in his arms till a final cry escaped her, and he let his own release take him, groaning into her neck.
* * * * *
"Donnie?" she murmured into his chest.
"Mm?"
"I'm starving."
"Me, too. Guess we were bad kids. Sent to bed without dinner." She snickered, and he kissed her damp forehead.
"There's a pizza in the freezer. Hawaiian, I think." she said.
"That sounds amazing."
"We're going to be zombies tomorrow."
He laughed quietly. "We'll deal. We'll deal with all of it."
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They hadn't set the alarm, for once, neither having a morning shift. They'd stayed up until two, talking and watching a late movie, but, roused by her internal alarm, she woke before he did. She spent a moment just watching him. His sleeping form was becoming familiar, and she felt no less of a pang every time, to see him so relaxed and untroubled.
Hungry as she always was, first thing in the morning, she slipped regretfully out of bed, tucking the quilt carefully over his shoulders, and wandered naked into the kitchen. She'd start the coffee and the small first breakfast he always teased her about.
"I can't help my metabolism," she'd shrug, and ladle a generous spoonful of marmalade onto her toast. He wasn't an early-morning person, but he often caught up with her after her morning run, when she stopped for a proper hot meal. Jess Angell's sausage-bacon-and-egg breakfasts had become part of NYPD lore. As much as she protested that whole grains and protein were just part of her normal morning eating plan, she still got a ribbing, usually from older cops whose wives had them on yogurt-smoothie breakfasts to combat their patrol-car waistlines. Or Don, who could never understand eating a green salad for dinner.
As the coffee brewed, she carefully poked her head out of the apartment door for witnesses, and scooped up the morning paper. She'd get a head start on the crossword and bring Don the sports section with his coffee. In the nude. Major girlfriend points. She grinned. Nice slow morning, until the swing shift started at noon.
Only it didn't happen that way.
She heard her phone buzzing on her night table, and ran on tiptoe to grab it before he did. He was programmed to wake instantly, of course, but whether he was alert enough to pick up the right cellphone was another matter.
"Angell."
"Morning, Jess. It's Sythe. Sorry for the early roll out."
"Yes, sir. What's up?"
"Couple urban snowboarders stumbled upon a severed foot. In a dumpster. How soon can you attend?"
"I'm on my way."
"I'll forward the 911 call audio to your Notebook right now. And see if you can find Flack," Sythe went on. "His battery must be dead or something."
"Oh - yeah, of course. I'll try to track him down."
Tracking Flack down wasn't difficult. He was sitting up and pulling on his boxers as he listened in, and she filled in the blanks.
"I made coffee," she finished, and kissed him. "And you forgot to plug your phone in."
"You're a star," he said, still groggy. "Now for the love of God, would you put some clothes on?"
"See something you like?"
"Plenty."
She giggled and twisted out of his reach, and rummaged in her bureau for underwear and a pair of jeans. He'd been with her for three days straight, and the comfy domesticity was only getting nicer.
"There any clean stuff left of mine?" he asked, sneaking up behind her.
"One last change. Guess you're going to have to go home," she sighed regretfully. "Or I could just throw 'em in the wash here."
"Nah, I gotta go home sometime. Haven't even checked the mail. You could maybe stay with me for a bit..."
"That's true," she said, muffled by her pullover top. "Not like I have any fish to feed."
"You want to?" he asked. He sounded so hopeful that she had to smile. She ran her fingers over the morning stubble on his jaw, and kissed him again.
"It's not a bad idea. Let's decide after shift."
"Sounds good."
"We better hustle. Sythe'll be hopping mad if we're late."
He groaned. "Oh, God, Jess, it's too early..."
"C'mon, chop-chop, one foot in front of the other."
"I haven't had my coffee yet, or I'd be running circles around you."
"Hey, that wasn't bad."
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As they pulled up to the station, with young Todd Fleming in the back, Jess turned to him and said, in her best Donna Reed voice, "Okay, honey, you spend some quality time with Junior, and I'll make us all some Kool-aid."
"Yes, dear." he waggled his fingers at her and exited the car, to let Todd out.
The kid was too scared even to comment on this, which, he thought, was strange, considering he was a brain as well as a wrestling jock. Maybe his parents had just raised him not to talk back to adults in authority, even adults being ridiculous. He certainly paid attention to his coach. At any rate, Fleming got out of the car and went with them into the station, where all hell was on the verge of breaking loose.
Cadillac Kligman, a small-time UFC-fighter, was revving up for a full performance. Resisting arrest didn't begin to describe the scene. When Kligman wasn't on speed or strung out by years of steroids, he hated cops with the heat of a thousand suns. When he was high, he was only controllable by sheer physical containment, to the extent that he had successfully sued the NYPD for assault. It was hard to tell which state he was in at present, but a dozen cops were gathering in a circle around him. A handful of visitors and witnesses were being quietly escorted into the back offices behind the bullpen.
Todd looked about to wet himself at the sight.
"I'll get started on the paperwork. Better get him out of here," said Jess. Flack nodded grimly.
"Have fun." he said.
Flack shepherded the frightened kid around the mêlée and into an interview room, hoping to find a friendly constable to sit with him while he went back out to help with the six-million dollar man. But every available pair of hands was in the bullpen, and he couldn't leave Todd unattended. So much for fostering a sense of calm control and trust. This interview was not off to a great start.
"I wanna talk to you about the e-mail Nelson sent you, the day he was murdered." he began. Todd answered hazily, and Don wondered briefly if he was drugged, or just being a punk. "Hey, Todd. Wake up." he snapped his fingers. "Come on, I know you got his e-mail and I know you were on his roof."
"It's crazy. It's our fault."
"Is there someone else involved?"
"Wasn't s'possed to..."
"You talking about Vince Nelson's murder?"
"Can I go, or what?"
Time to put the scare on, just a little bit. The quiet kid was copping quite an attitude, once he felt the heat.
"Todd!" he slammed his palms down on the table. "Your coach was murdered. Now tell me what do I gotta do to get your attention, here?"
Todd had jumped, but now his eyes slid closed, and he began to topple from his chair.
"Hey - " he grabbed him by the arms, and tried to keep him upright. The kid was sweating heavily, and was slippery and trembling, and he slipped out of Flack's grasp onto the floor, where he began foaming and convulsing.
He ran for the door. In the bullpen, he heard Jess barking: "Hey! That's my desk. Get down, now! Get on the floor, now! Take him!" and then the angry bellowing was reduced to a muffled roar as Kligman was taken down by every pair of arms within reach.
"I need an ambulance in here!" he shouted over the din, "Get me an ambulance!"
Jess whirled and met his eyes, and holstered her weapon. She pointed at Carmody, and hollered, "Make the call!", and followed Flack back to the interview room. He was administering CPR by then, and between compressions, he managed to tell her that Todd had had a seizure. Jess listened for breathing and felt for his carotid pulse.
"He's dead. Don...he's dead."
Flack finally heard her. He sat back on his heels, and felt shock and grief and horror massing inside. And Jess...my God, a kid had just died in his care, and Jess was right there watching. He was sickened.
* * * * *
"Look, Detective Flack did everything by the book The guy's a total professional."
"Unlike your relationship with him, which I understand is less than professional."
"Not only is that none of your business, but it has nothing to do with Todd Fleming's death." she rapped out. It was hardly the moment for a philosophical chat as to how their relationship was far more than professional, rather than anything less. The inspector looked at her with a sort of satisfaction. He closed his manila folder and rested his hands on top of it.
"You're free to go, Detective."
"Have you heard a word I've said?"
"I've heard plenty."
"Then if you're not going to take any of it into account, why have you wasted both of our time?"
"We were hoping that it wouldn't be a waste of time. But you have nothing of interest to tell us, so you're free to leave."
"So if I hadn't defended him to you, you wouldn't have cared what sort of relationship we had."
"Probably not." he shrugged. "Don't let it get to you. That's the way it goes."
She stormed out of the interview room and straight to Flack's desk, which was, she realized later, a mistake of the sort she thought she'd outgrown.
Flack greeted her with a tight acidic smile. "Say hello to the newest member of the rubber-gun squad. I've been officially removed from active duty."
"How did they know we're seeing each other, Don?" she broke in. He looked confused.
"Who?"
"Internal Affairs. I thought we were going to keep this thing quiet. I didn't say anything to anyone. That only leaves you."
"People talk, they make assumptions."
"Yeah, well, because of those assumptions, my word doesn't mean squat with IA. Who could've told them?"
"Look, Jess, I'm sorry. But I've got bigger things to worry about right now than squad room gossip."
His words filtered through her churning mental monologue, and she stopped in her tracks. She'd jumped into the deep end, as usual, without checking the water. A kid had died under his hands a couple of hours ago, and now he'd had his gun and his work taken away. The look on his face was heartbreaking. No wonder she hadn't wanted to see it while she was still smarting.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, since everyone apparently knew about them anyway. But that wouldn't have gone down so well. And she was steamed. This was not a good time to try to talk.
"Right," she said softly. She felt his gaze as she turned and walked away.
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"I didn't know you liked hockey."
"I don't."
Flack grinned and let Mac lead the way. As they reached the doors, he said, "Mac, you know, it's a nice thought, but I'm happy enough just grabbin' a burger somewhere."
"Oh, I'm getting into it. I might develop a taste someday. Seriously, Don, you were right. You've been riding that desk all day. You need to blow off some steam."
"True enough. All right, I'll meet you there."
In the cab, he sat silently, trying to piece the day together. Waking up to Jess being called in early. Fleming dying under his hands. Jess, rightfully, furious about having her credibility called into question on account of their relationship. Sitting at his desk all day, beset by doubts...was there some unknown medical factor he'd triggered in Fleming, that caused the kid's death? Avoiding the looks and the silences, all day. The utter contempt and suspicion with which the department seemed to regard one of their most reliable men.
And then finally, vindication. Cleared of all suspicion...so long as nothing remotely like it ever happened again.
But still no Jess. He tried once again to call, but her phone was still going through to voicemail, as it had been all day. So much for her coming to stay with him for a while. Was it possible she was already at his place, waiting for him? But surely she'd have checked her messages by now. He hadn't seen her since early afternoon, after IA had run roughshod over her.
"Jess, it's me again. I'm going out with Mac for a bit, I'll be home around ten, ten-thirty...I'll try you then, usual time. 'Bye."
He'd decided that giving her a specific window of time might be a good idea. If she wanted to talk to him, she'd know when to expect him. If she didn't, well - he'd try something else. He just wished he knew where her head was. Whether she was pissed at him for sounding like he was dismissing her, or whether she was feeling badly that she'd vented on him while he was under investigation and dealing with a young kid's death on his watch. Or both. Her silence was unusual, and weighed heavily on him. They talked every day, and he'd thought they could work through anything that came up.
His phone rang in his hand, as he was sitting thinking, and he jumped. But it was Danny, not Jess.
"Flack."
"Yeah, it's me. Where you at? I wanted to buy you a beer."
"Mac beat you to it."
"Mac beat me to it? Well, that's good, I guess. You guys doin' some talkin', or what?"
"Nah. Ranger game. We're meeting up at Mulvaney's, that new place on Lafayette. You should come down."
"Yeah, yeah, I'd like to. Lemme get Lindsay settled in for the night. She just got in and she's pretty beat. Went to take Coach Nelson's wife some flowers."
"Aw, that was nice. From the lab?"
"Just her and Stella, I think. Anyway, I'm gonna tuck in li'l mama here, and then I'm on my way."
"You do that, Daddy-o."
* * * * *
Flack was glad of the company, and that it was only Danny and Mac, who knew how not to get into a guy's head. He would have hated being at the center of a lot of fuss, but he was relieved at not having to go straight home alone, as he assumed he would be.
It was funny, he thought, here he was spending what used to be a typical bachelor evening, taking in a Ranger game with a couple of buddies and a beer, and all he wanted to do was find Jess and make sure everything was okay. It was nearing ten o'clock, and she still hadn't called. It didn't look like he'd be home by ten thirty, and he wondered if he should call and let her know, or if she was already fed up with his messages.
Mac left, and he and Danny ordered another beer each. He watched Danny get comfortable, and groaned inwardly, knowing there was a grilling in store.
"Your girl is sharp, man. I wish you coulda seen her today. She was on fire."
"Messer, don't even." he growled. "I'm not in the mood."
"No, but just listen. She slides over the hood of a moving car to take down this wrestling-team kid, lands on his back and ropes him like a li'l baby calf at a rodeo. Then all day, it was like she had this whole crusader thing going on. Like nothing in the world mattered but finding the one shred of evidence that would clear you. We've all got your back, and you know I'd go all-out for you, but Jess? It was like something bigger than her was holdin' her up all day. Whatever is going on with you two, it's...it's something to see. You gotta know people have noticed it."
He watched Danny as he spoke, his eyes and his hands. He'd wanted to tell Danny about Jess for a long time, and he was well aware that Danny had his suspicions, but it hadn't seemed right. They been so careful at work, and besides, there was something about what he and Jess had found that he didn't feel like sharing. But it seemed like it was common knowledge that they were together, which, despite IA's bitchiness, was probably not a bad way to go. It had to come out sometime.
"Yeah," he said finally. "She's something, all right."
"So how long...?"
"Hard to say. A while now. It sort of snuck up on us. I mean, we hit it off so well at first, and we got to be friends. And we're a good team. You don't want to fuck around with that, you know? Especially not in this job. But suddenly there we were, on the same page, and we had to decide...only we didn't really decide. It just all fell into place. Today was rough, though. Still is. I don't know where she is. Haven't heard from her since she talked with IA."
"Maybe she crashed early. She was running on high-octane all day."
Flack wondered why he hadn't thought of that. Plus, he remembered, she had a paper due soon for school. Had he gotten so rattled he'd completely lost his sense of her?
"Yeah," he said, "Maybe."
"Well, I wish you the best of luck, man. Really," said Danny, in a tone Flack had never heard before. Whether it was impending fatherhood, or the past few months of Lindsay's increasingly maternal influence, The Mess was actually growing up.
"Thanks, Danno. You, too. I mean, I've said it before, but - it's pretty amazing to watch you and Lindsay these days."
"Yeah...a lot to learn, in not a lot of time."
"You'll figure it out. Our parents did, and they couldn't just Google "Teething" or "Colic"."
"Or any number of things I don't even wanna talk about..." Danny raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. "I gotta say, Lindsay is so much tougher than me, I can't even tell you. I'd be running around screamin’ my head off if I had all that comin’ to me."
"I'm sure you'll be doing plenty of that anyway."
"No doubt."
* * * * *
Ten thirty came. Flack decided to try one last time to reach Jess. If she didn't answer or call back, he'd leave it in her hands.
"J, I'm worried." he texted. "Let me know you're OK and I'll leave you alone."
He sighed, pocketed his phone under Danny's knowing smirk, and sat back to watch the slow-mo replays on the giant plasma screen on the back wall.
Five minutes later, his phone buzzed.
"Can you come over?" asked a soft voice. "I just...I really..."
"I'm on my way," he said, already standing. "Hold on. I'm coming."
"Callout?" Danny asked.
"Jess needs me. Sorry, man."
"No, no. Go. I should, too, anyway. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Things really had changed, he thought, striding towards the street to find a cab. Not so long ago, the act of leaving a beer unfinished to run to a girlfriend would have been met with ribald comments at the very least - all the more so after a day like he'd had, when squad-room bonhomie was generally employed in place of understanding kindness. But not, it seemed, anymore. Maybe they'd both grown up a little. Or maybe they'd each found a reason to.
* * * * *
"Jess? Jessie?"
"In here."
The apartment was dark, and her voice was quiet and tear-shaken. He flicked on the hall light and headed towards the living room. She sat on the couch, still in her work clothes, her chin resting on her knees and her arms wrapped around them.
"Babe, what happened? I was worried - " he sat down next to her, and pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him and for the first time, he felt her silent wracking sobs. All he could do was wait, and hold her close.
"Sorry...I'm sorry - "
"What's going on, Jess?" he pushed her hair off her face, and something in his gut wrenched at the sight of her. "You were off radar all afternoon, all tonight...everything went to hell after the Fleming kid died, and then you - I thought you were pissed at me."
"I was." she brushed tears away impatiently. "Only for a while. It's a hell of a lot harder for a woman my age to stay out the gossip mill, than - "
"I know, really, I do - "
"So at first, yeah, I needed to cool off. Then the case broke wide open, and I wasn't allowed to call you. IA told me not to. Or even talk to you, till this thing was all over. Didn't you wonder why nobody on the squad was talking to you?"
He stared. "I didn't know. I should've thought. I thought they were done with you after you came out of there."
"I thought so, too. I told them everything I knew. Soon as Danny and I came back with Sheridan and had him booked, they called me in again. They wanted me to start all over again, about Fleming, every second we were with him. Even though we had the whole thing in Sheridan's own words. And then they asked about us. They wanted me to tell them everything, when we met, when we got together - Don, they knew about the time I let Sam go. They must've got it out of Martinez; he was the only one who'd have known about that."
"They what? That's completely out of line."
They sat separately, facing one another, Flack furious and Jess both grieved and angry all over again.
"Doesn't matter. They can ask what they like. Think how many cases we've worked together. If any one of those defendants decided to appeal, they might cite collusion or conflict. Fuck, I was sure they were going to ask about Rikki Sandoval. I can't believe they don't know. But it never came up."
He didn't ask her what she'd told them. He knew she'd have told them the truth, but as little of it as possible.
"So, what now? We haven't done anything against policy." he said, trying for a normal voice.
"No, we haven't. But they sure as hell weren't happy about it. One of them even asked if I'd leave Homicide. I told them that was a matter for Sythe, and if he had no problem with our work, neither should they."
"I'd have said the same, only not so nice."
"We can't work cases together, anymore," she said. "Separate assignments. That was the gist of it. You know what their reasoning was? Get this: spousal immunity from testifying. If one of us ever does, you know, cause the death of someone on our watch."
The full implications sunk in. He got to his feet and started pacing the length of the living room. "That's such bull. Everyone knows married cops don't work together, but this...that's not covering the department's ass, that's just doling out a bit of punishment 'cause we didn't kiss ass in there. And there's no way they should've been on at you about it. Why the hell didn't they call me back, if they wanted to rough someone up over it?"
"Because after the day you'd had, you'd have handed them your badge, don't you get it? They went for me because they knew I'd talk you down. There's nothing in writing. As far as they're concerned, the conversation never happened, but if Sythe assigns us to cases together, they'll know about it. It was like they knew every mistake I ever made and they were gonna come at me with it. They were treating me like a fucking dirty cop. I have worked my ass off...and there was no talking back to them. I just had to sit there and take it, and by the time I came out of there, I was such a mess I couldn't even think straight. I don't know what I thought. I thought maybe I should transfer back to GIS. I thought maybe you'd decide I was too much of a headache..."
He stopped pacing and stared. "No. Never. I've had a brutal fuckin' day, but you know what kept me going? Knowing I didn't do anything wrong, and knowing you'd be with me at the end of it. As long as I got those two things, I can get through the worst days of my life. In fact, one out of two makes for a pretty good day. Both at once is a bonus."
"You need to come over here and say that," she said, with a half-sob, half-chuckle.
So he did, and then he wrapped her in his arms again.
"Me too, you know," she said. "Do you know just knowing you're out there in the world gets me through my worst days, even if I can't see you?"
He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah. I do. Case in point: I oughta be on the phone with Sythe or Sinclair right now, shouting my head off. Instead, I'm sittin' here, thinking that maybe it's not so bad. Sythe must be pissed right off. He's gotta know how IA treated the both of us. He knows we're a good team. I know he's known about us for a long time and never said anything. I'm thinking he'll probably let it slip that he's sore at IA, not us."
"I guess we don't technically have to work on the same cases to help each other out," Jess admitted, "But it makes us conspicuous for no reason. I feel like I'm going to be watched every step, now. And we're the last two cops to want to make trouble for anyone."
"You think this is permanent, with IA? Or if we keep our heads down, it'll blow over eventually?"
"I have no idea. Maybe it's some sort of secret promotional hazing ritual, see how we deal with the heat. Todd Fleming could've turned into a major case. But I do know that at some point I'm going to be moving over to Crim Intel, and it won't matter."
She heard the words as she spoke them, and startled.
"I mean, if we're...That's a long way - "
"Shh. Jess, I wanna be there to see it happen. If I didn't, none of this IA bullshit would mean anything to me."
"Good," she said, and burrowed into his chest. "Me, too."
"A solás mo chroi," he reminded her.
"Solace de mon coeur. You are, you know. For real."
They were silent for a time, taking strength from one another. Flack wondered how a day like this might have ended, without Jess in his life, and felt a surge of gratitude.
"So does this mean we're outed?" he asked, at length. "I mean, Danny figured it out, so Lindsay knows, and he said people sort of know in general."
"Not officially, or at least, not until someone asks directly. The only non-horrible thing anyone in IA said to me today was that we were very discreet."
"What gets me is that it's gonna reflect worse on IA than us. Yeah, they had to investigate, and they went at it with sledgehammers, but the case was done. They had absolutely no reason to go after you."
"That's what they pay them for. To make sure the department stays squeaky clean on paper."
"We could grieve it. My union rep wanted me to, and she didn't even know about the treatment you got."
"Is it a fight worth fighting? Or are you just sore at them for taking it out of both of us?"
"Yeah." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her hair. "Or maybe just that they threw dirt on something that should've..."
"Been good news someday." Jess finished. "Don, are we talking about the same thing?"
"Depends on if we're actually talking about it," he hedged.
She looked up and managed a smile. She laid her fingers against his mouth and murmured, "Hold that thought. It's a good thought, but just hold onto it for a while, okay?"
"Mmkay."
"Hey, you?"
"Yes, you?"
"Take me to bed. It's been one hell of a day."
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.
Disentangling himself, he stood and pulled her to her feet.
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"So me and Montana, we got married yesterday."
To his credit, Flack thought, Danny had nice timing there - after the first coffee of the day, but before he got dug into the days' work. And there was no need to confirm: Danny was bouncing on his feet like Tigger, holding his beringed left hand up with a grin plastered across his face.
"Oh, man," Flack chuckled, shaking his head. He got up from behind his desk and clasped him in a quick, hard hug. "About damn time. Congratulations. Tell me."
"Aw, we just down to City Hall. Mac and Stella stood up for us. Kind of sprang it on her. But she said yes, so..."
"So she's stuck with you now, huh?"
"Guess so."
"Oy, what's with the bromancin' over there?" yelled Carmody, from across the bullpen.
Flack pointed at Danny, yelling back, "The Mess got married, can you believe it?"
To accompanying shouts of "Who married that face?" and "Awright, man!", Danny left, smacking hands as he went.
"So undignified," said Stella, appearing beside him. Flack shrugged, and they watched the proceedings like a pair of schoolyard supervisors.
"They're not making a fuss of Lindsay up in the lab?"
"Yeah, but it involved herbal tea and melomakarona in the break room. Much more civilized."
He looked over at her, adoration in his eyes. "You made melomakarona?"
"It's how I show my love," she sighed, and she flipped him a glance that said sad, but true. "I saved some for you and Angell, don't worry."
"Eh?"
"Oh, come on. I'm not gonna bust you or anything. Time you lived a little, Flack. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"She said something about you not going to be thrilled about our Cagney and Lacey thing with the Greek coin decoys. She was being awfully careful, talking about you. Too careful."
"Mm," he replied.
"So, I didn't mean to drag both of you in, that's all."
"This a peace offering, Bonasera?"
She pulled her spine straight and looked him in the eyes. "Not for the sting. I'm close to pulling down a whole orchestrated conspiracy, and I'm not backing down. But for talking Angell into getting involved in something she felt awkward talking to you about - yeah, for that, I am sorry, as a friend. Even if it was her decision."
"Don't worry 'bout it," he said, bumping his shoulder against hers.
"Really?"
"Really."
Stella squeezed his arm with a grateful look, and headed across the room in search of Detective Maka, who was confined to her desk after yet another duty event recovery. Flack watched her, with a crease in his forehead and the beginnings of a headache at the back of his skull.
What sting? he wondered.
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Les traductions / Aistriúcháin:
"A solás mo chroi."
- Safe-place of my heart
"Solace de mon coeur. J'ai cru que j'aurais peur si je suis tombé si profondément amoureux, de la perte de moi-même. Mais je n'ai pas peur. Je suis plus vraiment moi-même que j'étais jamais..."
- Safe-place of my heart. I always thought I'd be afraid if I fell in love so deeply, of losing myself. But I'm not afraid. I'm more myself than I've ever been."
"Mon amant, je pense que tu me veux d'encore..."
- My love, I think you want me all over again...
"O Crísto, na stad...Ta tu go h-aileann."
- Oh, Christ, don't stop...you're so beautiful.
"melomakarona"
- Slightly spicy Greek finger cakes, soaked in an orange-honey syrup, with nuts sprinkled on top.
Continue to Chapter Five: Event Horizon
AUTHOR: fixomnia
PAIRING: Flack/Angell
RATING: It's an M. Adults dealing with adult things.
SPOILERS: Various Flack/Angell scenes from Season 3-5, and Flack's season 6.
Chapter Summary: The good, the bad and the snuggly
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Chapter Four
In This New Country
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We could live for a thousand years
And if I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears
They told us that we could fly
'Cause we all have wings
But some of us don't know why...
- INXS, "Never Tear Us Apart"
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"So me and Montana, we're havin' a baby."
Flack's dart went wide, hitting the wall broadside and clattering harmlessly to the floor. He jerked his head around to stare at Danny. "What? You serious? Lindsay's - "
"Yup."
"Wow. How you dealing?"
Darts was apparently over. Danny scooped up both sets and dumped them in the cigar box, and motioned Flack back to their table, where the remaining half of their drinks waited. Single malt for Danny, and a single Pale Ale for Flack, the one drink he now allowed himself at the end of the week, most of the time.
"Oh, total shock, at first. Shakes and everything. But we've been talking a lot. It's good. I think we're good." Danny said, sitting down.
"Didn't you guys just get back together a while ago?"
"Uh huh." Danny mumbled into his drink, and took a swig. Flack quietly put two and two together, and came up with crazy unprotected reunion sex, and decided it was more than he really wanted to know. Being a detective had unexpected drawbacks from time to time.
He'd wondered why Lindsay had suddenly quit caffeine cold-turkey, and he hadn't bought any of her reasons for not coming out with them anymore. Of course, he realized now, someone would have asked her point-blank about her lack of beer. Everyone knew Montana could hold her own. She'd never out-drunk Danny or himself, but she'd come pretty close to keeping up, which was no mean feat for a little thing like her.
The best line she'd invented was: "Danny and I were smothering each other, and we both need time with our own friends." It was clever, since it was impossible to disprove, but it was clearly a ruse, especially since Danny had whined about her absence more than once. Flack had let it go, figuring it was none of his business what they did, as long as they didn't go breaking each other's hearts again. He didn't enjoy putting Danny's boots to the fire to make him confess his infidelity, as much as Danny had practically forced him to do it.
Worse than that had been simply watching them every day. It was none of his business, but it was real, and raw, and they were both bleeding all over the place. If they hadn't patched things up, sooner or later one or both of them would have made some suicidal career mistake. Lindsay was still kicking herself for leaving evidence unattended in the lab, during the worst days of their separation.
But inexplicably, sometime during the peak intensity of the Cabbie Killer case, they'd found a moment to reconnect. Flack didn't have the details, nor did he want them, but he'd been unexpectedly glad to see them back in their places. Fondly hectoring one another, challenging each other, whacking each other like a pair of cootie-crush kids in the schoolyard. They'd nearly found their balance again, though everyone noticed how careful they were around each other now.
And now this. Lindsay pregnant. Their sweet little country girl, great with child. Holy shit. He had visions of a smart-mouthed gamine with stubby pigtails and guileless brown eyes, getting in trouble for beating up the class bully. And talking her way out of it.
"So when's she due?"
"Early May. We told Mac at work today. Stel' already knew, go figure. Lindsay said she didn't mind me telling you, but we're keepin' it down-low for now, right? It's still early days, and you know everyone'll be all over her, and she hates that..."
"Yeah, of course. And congratulations, Danno, really. How's she doing?"
"Puking a lot. Sleepin' a lot. It's rough. We're gonna call all the parents tonight. Don't know if I'mma get a beat down or a slap on the back, or both. Probably both, from mine, but they always loved her. She's got this thing with my mother, they gang up and it's scary. Her folks, I dunno. They're pretty laid back. Probably just want to make sure she's doin' what she really wants...and I don't think they know we went through a bad patch before. I don't know if she told them."
"Just as well."
"I guess."
"Messer." He cleared his throat. "Don't fuck this up, or I will have your ass. You know what I mean."
"I fuck this up, my ass is all I'll have left to play with anyway. Seriously, I know. This is all really happening. I'm just trying to keep flying straight. I know."
Flack nodded slowly and finished the last swallow of his beer. Moment over.
"So, Daddy, huh?" he said.
"I know, huh?"
"Never thought I would see the day."
"Yeah, I always figured you'd settle down before me."
"You guys gonna get married?"
"Baby steps."
"Eh?"
"Montana's words. She doesn't wanna go too fast."
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, here..."
"I know, I know. I asked her, okay? I asked her."
"And she...really? Aw, shit. This about the thing with Rikki?"
"Ah...sort of? Shit, I don't wanna talk about that. First she says she doesn't expect anything of me, whatever the hell...then when I ask her, she says 'No', flat-out. Then today she asks me do I really wanna be pushed down the aisle."
"Well, do you?"
"See, that's the thing. I don't want her to be right, but she's right. I mean, I wanna be there for her, and this baby. Man, it's...it's huge. I never thought of having a kid, ever. But it's all happening, and I can't miss it. Me and Linds, we're still, I dunno, finding our feet. Suddenly this baby's all we're talking about, and it's great, it's really great, but she's right. We're not there yet. For all I know we could end up friends with a baby between us."
"There's worse things than being friends with a baby between you." Flack pointed out. "We see worse every day."
"True enough."
"But not what you want?"
"Not even close. I love her, man. Really, I do. She's it. I know she loves me, God knows why. But that doesn't make everything just fall into place."
Flack nodded with real sympathy, for both of them.
He was sorely tempted to return Danny's trust and tell him about Jess, about how twelve years of keeping his dating life scrupulously apart from work had come to a magnificent halt. (The old triteism about barely making it into the apartment? Not trite. God.) He was pretty sure that if he talked to Jess, she wouldn't mind Danny knowing they were together now. Except that it would mean bringing Lindsay into the circle, which wouldn't be a concern, but which began to make the whole privacy decision a moot point.
Besides, he wasn't sure he'd be able to wipe the silly grin off his face once he started talking. (Renewed inspiration to be a better man and a better cop? Also not trite.)
It was Danny's moment anyway. He kept his silence.
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"You're good at this undercover schtick," Stella told her. "Scary-good. If you weren't so memorable, I bet the department would make use of you."
"How do you know they haven't?" Jess returned, mysteriously. They snickered over their lunch trays, trying not to attract too much attention in the precinct Mess Hall. "Seriously - it went well, and it was fun, but what happens next? Diakos has dangerous friends, and bad things keep happening when people get too close to him. I mean, I get that you need to be invisible, but I'm starting to think I'm gonna need a wire and proper backup next time. This isn't some fishing expedition."
"I know," said Stella. "I'm trying to put something together. I'd never put you in danger, Angell."
"Well, what does Mac say? I know he's managed bigger stings than this. Or is Sinclair getting bogged down with all the diplomatic immunity issues?"
Stella looked away, and back at Jess.
"Ah," Jess said, nodding.
"You're not ticked off?"
"Me? Hell, no. But it's gonna have to work out, and bigtime, or we're both in serious shit."
"And not just professionally," Stella admitted. "Honestly, I understand if you need to back away. I'm flying under the radar here. The boys are going to hate it when they find out."
"Very likely," said Jess, "So let's make it the best takedown of the year."
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Keeping cases at an impersonal arms'-length was standard procedure, for plenty of good reasons, but when a case got through the armour and hit home, everyone felt it. Hawkes had spent the day in a sort of dull shock punctuated with outbursts, re-living the trauma of his ex-girlfriend's brutal rape. Each person on the team had felt the ripple effect of their quiet medical man's reactions, and had pulled out their A-game for him.
Flack had felt like a tool for bringing Hawkes' personal involvement to Mac's attention, but it couldn't be helped. Convictions had been lost on far less than a CSI's prior connection to a victim.
He'd had tried to talk to Hawkes, after it was all over. Hawkes said he understood. Flack knew that he was being intellectually honest, at least. Hawkes knew that Stella had shot and wounded Colin Clark, and that he would likely serve consecutive sentences for every rape, but this justice was an empty vindication. As tough as Kara was, and as well as she had put her life back together, she would never forget. And Hawkes would have a lifetime of wondering what he might have done differently for her.
Stella explained her decision not to take a justifiable kill shot as being far less humanitarian, as being able to live with herself afterwards.
"You simply can't imagine the rage," she said to him, standing in Mac's office. Mac hovered nearby, lending her support via their usual wireless uplink. "If I'd killed him, it would have been in anger. Revenge. We don't do that. I'd turn in my gun in an instant if I thought I'd slipped that far. I can't say it didn't feel good to take him down, and that's bad enough."
But by the end of the day, with the case solved and the adrenaline fading, they were all touched with melancholy, thoughtful and in need of human connection. Flack knew that Mac had left together with Stella and Sid. Adam and Kendall were no doubt transmuting sexual frustration into some sort of game night. Danny had convinced Hawkes to come to dinner with he and Lindsay, to the senior Messer's house for a proper Italian meal. Danny had asked him, too, reminding him that Elina and Joe had asked after him specially, but Flack had taken a rain check, not wanting to explain that Jess was waiting for him.
Jess had, indeed, texted him a quick message letting him know she was booking off a little early, and asking if he wanted to continue their Inspector Morse marathon over Thai takeout. He couldn't have dreamed up a better way to put this case behind him. He was a willing convert to the whole idea of counteracting a sordid day with a little human kindness and affection, but he needed not to be Danny's tough sidekick tonight. And he really needed Elina not to turn her attentions to his personal life, now that Danny looked to be settled down for the long haul. Not with Danny smirking across the table like a bratty little brother.
"Yes!" he'd replied to Jess, in his usual Blackberry-ese. "Bring what?"
"Just you." she'd replied. "Heading for bath. Use your key."
Giving her some downtime, he'd done a few errands on the way, picking up his laundry and a couple new toys for his home computer. She was still in her bath when he arrived at her apartment, and he called her name from the entryway. Surprising a cop was rarely a good idea, and surprising a cop in her own living room was definitely unwise, even for a boyfriend with free access.
"Hey!" she called back.
"You in danger of drowning?" he asked. "Need a buddy?"
She gave a quick huff of laughter. "I think I can manage. I'll be out in a minute. Make yourself at home."
So he did, shedding his shirt and shoes and socks in her room, and adding a few items to his small stash of clean clothes. Foraging in the kitchen for chips and salsa, he noticed her kettle was cold, and put some water on for tea, knowing she'd want some after her bath.
He enjoyed these moments of homey comfort. They'd been frequent visitors long before they got together, even trading apartment keys shortly after Sythe had started teaming them up on major cases on a regular basis. They'd worked through many a night at one of their dining tables, paperwork in among the takeout boxes, catnapping between double shifts. The ease with which they fit into each other's spaces had been just one of many signs along the way, he thought. Neither of them brought friends home very often, needing a quiet haven after the days they often had, but they never seemed to crowd one another. If either one of them had wanted time alone, it would have been an easy thing to mention, but for the past two months, they'd taken advantage of every shared night off they could.
And a few mornings, too.
He was sprawled on the couch when Jess emerged, damp and rosy, in her long scarlet satin dragon robe, her hair clipped up. She looked enticingly geisha-like, but for her usual Troop Commander bearing and stride.
She leaned over and kissed him hello, poured her tea, and settled herself at the other end of the couch, her legs tucked under her.
"You okay?" he asked. She nodded and sighed, and filched a few chips.
"Few bruises from the platform, but nothing major. At least we caught the asshole this time, and he won't ever get out. Sythe said the D.A.'s actually recommending he be kept in secure lockup for his own safety. I feel so bad for Hawkes...I'm glad he's not alone tonight."
He nodded and reached out with his foot to rub her knee. She smiled and lifted his feet into her lap, absently stroking. "So tell me again about this wedding gown race?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood. "It sounds worse than a reality show gimmick."
"Running of the Gowns," he said. "Sane women gone mental over discount shopping. My hand to God, they were like animals."
Jess snorted. "They were. Pure competitive breeding instinct, give or take a few thousand years of social programming."
"Jeez, and I thought I was cynical."
"Hey, I'm not dissing tradition, but it's not my thing. Why would I go deep into debt for an event I'm going to be too stressed out to enjoy, and have to endure all my relatives in one room? I get that every Christmas."
"No white wedding for you, huh?"
She flashed him an amused smirk. "Only if it's a comfy summer dress and I'm on a nice warm beach somewhere."
He filed that away somewhere, and switched tracks. "You know, I've never seen you in a dress, except for that one undercover gig. Or a skirt, even. Just that. Which is sexy as hell, by the way."
"Glad you like. Really, you haven't? I mean, I don't wear skirts much, but I do have some."
"Well, we're always at work, or hangin' out after work, I guess. Or not dressed at all." He grinned, and used his toes to push the edge of her robe over her thigh. She tried to swat him away and put her cup safely on the coffee table all at once, and ended up tumbling off the couch with a shriek, landing in a giggling heap on the floor. He leaned over to check on her, laughing too, and she looped her arms around his neck. He scooped her back up and into his lap, loving the feel of her against his skin. This playful Jess wasn't one that most people got to see, but then, even fewer ever saw playful Flack.
"You angling for a fashion show or something?" she asked, between kisses.
"Hey, they're your legs, babe."
"But you enjoy them," she said, as if coaxing a confession. She ran her hand over his chest, sliding her fingertips over a sensitive nipple. He sucked in a breath and purred deep in his throat, and smiling, she leaned in to kiss his neck.
He unclipped her hair from its loose knot, letting the strands fall through his fingers.
"You know I do." he said, and reached for the belt of her robe, watching her eyes as he tugged it undone. He kissed her softly, to tease her, as he slid his hand beneath the satin. The catch of her breath and the arch in her back as he stroked the soft curve of her breast made his head spin. He parted her mouth with the tip of his tongue, sliding her robe over her shoulders to fall around her. Christ, but she was glorious naked. He let his palm skim along her thigh, smooth and silky from her bath.
He felt her fingers through his hair, her nails in his scalp, and he ducked to sink his teeth into the cord of her throat. She gave a sharp little moan and sought his mouth again, kisses diving deep, rough with hunger. His hand closed convulsively over her hip, pulling her closer. Her hand shimmied down between them to the button of his trousers. Jesus. Okay, girl...right here.
But she pulled back and dragged in a breath. She touched his face, and climbed off him, standing nude and flushed in front of him. For a second he thought he could see the heat shimmering off her body.
"Bed?" she asked, smiling, and took his hand.
* * * * *
He woke sometime in the night, still with a pleasant afterglow circulating in his limbs, and his belly growling. They'd never gotten around to dinner. The neon signs across the street had been turned off, and the rush and flow of traffic below had dwindled to an occasional engine. So the bars must have let out some time ago, but it wasn't yet daylight.
His mind was full of the sort of middle-of-the-night thoughts that usually disappeared with the morning light and a return to duty. The hours before dawn saw the worst crimes in the city, and were the hardest hours for him to sleep through. He often woke around now, his senses alert, listening for sounds from the street below, not wanting to miss the quiet buzz of his cellphone that heralded an early callout.
Jess was many things, funny and overly intense, wise and danger-drawn, but at this time of night, she was a beacon of goodness and sanity to hold onto. Curled into him like this, with the curve of her back fitted to his front like they were made from different sides of the same mold, the world seemed like a different place. The quiet rise and fall of her breath spun a cocoon of comfort around him.
The fact that they worked out the frustrations of a bad day or the occasional collisions of their stubborn natures in bed, or sloughed off the remains of a sickening case in the mindless release of pleasure, was not lost on him. Their work was part of them. They knew perfectly well when they were making love, and when they weren't, and they didn't have to explain it. In the end, it always came back to them. Reminding each other how to feel, to play, and that they weren't facing any of it alone.
His father, in a rare moment of emotional lucidity, had once confided that the realization of love was like waking up in a new country with half a map. "Thank God your mother lent me her half, or I'd still be lost." said that militaristic figure, who at the time had been married for thirty years. He still brought home fresh flowers for his wife every Friday.
Flack thought he was beginning to understand.
He whispered into her hair: "Jess, I didn't even know I could fall for anyone like this."
He felt the words sink deep into himself. For a moment, he just breathed. Maybe the Clark case had served as a sharp reminder to them all to reach out to the ones they loved, or maybe it was just time. But what would happen if he told her out loud, detective to detective, fully dressed and in daylight? He'd never known a relationship to move ahead so quickly. He'd never had a best friend who became his lover. He had nothing in his life to compare with Jess. They made sense together.
He realized her breathing had changed. Was she dreaming? He carefully rose on one elbow and looked down at her face. Her eyes were open wide. He felt his heart jump.
She turned and slid her hand over his chest.
"You, too?" she asked softly, as if they were trying not to wake anyone.
He nodded, and covered her hand with his. "A solás mo chroi." he said.
Her eyes were luminous, dark within the framing curtain of her hair. "So are you," she whispered. Her fingers beat a gentle tattoo, over his heart.
"How d'you know what I said?"
"I just do. Solace de mon coeur." She took a breath, and continued, in an awed murmur: "J'ai cru que j'aurais peur si je suis tombé si profondément amoureux, de la perte de moi-même. Mais je n'ai pas peur. Je suis plus vraiment moi-même que j'étais jamais."
Lying in his arms, she stroked his chest as she spoke, slowly and easily, and his eyes fell half-closed, her voice washing over him. The palm of her hand slid over the knotty matrix of scar tissue under his ribs and stopped. His eyes opened again. Holding his gaze till the last moment, she ducked her sleek head and pressed a series of kisses to the old wound. The area was still a morass of numb and sensitive patches, which probably mirrored his own self more than he'd like, but he caught her point.
You, me, we're the sum total of everything we've been through in this life. How incredible to be able to share it all, with no fear, without reservation.
Her touch sent frissons of sensation all over his body. He sat up against the headboard and pulled her close to kiss her, sliding deep and searching as the tinder caught and the heat took over. And yet he didn't want to lose himself. He wanted to be completely present and remember this, every moment.
"Mon amant, je pense que tu me veux d'encore..." she smiled slyly, her hand finding him half-hard and rising.
That much he understood.
"O Crísto, na stad..." he murmured. He trailed his fingers down over her collarbone, down the swell of her breast to the tight, peaked tan nipple, and stroked it lightly and slowly, over and around, watching as the spasm of pleasure stiffened her spine and took her breath. "Ta tu go h-aileann." He moved lower, over the silky warm skin of her belly, the crisp curls at her center. Her thighs parted and he went deeper, exploring, his cock thickening in her grasp as he found her slick and responsive to every touch.
She sat up and straddled his lap, her hand still caressing him steadily, her lips brushing over his throat and chest, and he was soon ready for her again. As soon as he was protected, she rose and took him deep and full inside her. His fingers dipped between her legs, seeking out her firm little clit, slowly, in time with their rhythm. Her eyes closed, and she wrapped her arms around him, riding it out, unrushed. He had a sense of something powerful coming unleashed between them, the hunger and pleasure rising and rising till they were both gasping with it, aware of every tremor, every breath. At the end, she twisted herself down on him, clenching him tighter, and seemed to stop breathing entirely, shuddering in his arms till a final cry escaped her, and he let his own release take him, groaning into her neck.
* * * * *
"Donnie?" she murmured into his chest.
"Mm?"
"I'm starving."
"Me, too. Guess we were bad kids. Sent to bed without dinner." She snickered, and he kissed her damp forehead.
"There's a pizza in the freezer. Hawaiian, I think." she said.
"That sounds amazing."
"We're going to be zombies tomorrow."
He laughed quietly. "We'll deal. We'll deal with all of it."
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They hadn't set the alarm, for once, neither having a morning shift. They'd stayed up until two, talking and watching a late movie, but, roused by her internal alarm, she woke before he did. She spent a moment just watching him. His sleeping form was becoming familiar, and she felt no less of a pang every time, to see him so relaxed and untroubled.
Hungry as she always was, first thing in the morning, she slipped regretfully out of bed, tucking the quilt carefully over his shoulders, and wandered naked into the kitchen. She'd start the coffee and the small first breakfast he always teased her about.
"I can't help my metabolism," she'd shrug, and ladle a generous spoonful of marmalade onto her toast. He wasn't an early-morning person, but he often caught up with her after her morning run, when she stopped for a proper hot meal. Jess Angell's sausage-bacon-and-egg breakfasts had become part of NYPD lore. As much as she protested that whole grains and protein were just part of her normal morning eating plan, she still got a ribbing, usually from older cops whose wives had them on yogurt-smoothie breakfasts to combat their patrol-car waistlines. Or Don, who could never understand eating a green salad for dinner.
As the coffee brewed, she carefully poked her head out of the apartment door for witnesses, and scooped up the morning paper. She'd get a head start on the crossword and bring Don the sports section with his coffee. In the nude. Major girlfriend points. She grinned. Nice slow morning, until the swing shift started at noon.
Only it didn't happen that way.
She heard her phone buzzing on her night table, and ran on tiptoe to grab it before he did. He was programmed to wake instantly, of course, but whether he was alert enough to pick up the right cellphone was another matter.
"Angell."
"Morning, Jess. It's Sythe. Sorry for the early roll out."
"Yes, sir. What's up?"
"Couple urban snowboarders stumbled upon a severed foot. In a dumpster. How soon can you attend?"
"I'm on my way."
"I'll forward the 911 call audio to your Notebook right now. And see if you can find Flack," Sythe went on. "His battery must be dead or something."
"Oh - yeah, of course. I'll try to track him down."
Tracking Flack down wasn't difficult. He was sitting up and pulling on his boxers as he listened in, and she filled in the blanks.
"I made coffee," she finished, and kissed him. "And you forgot to plug your phone in."
"You're a star," he said, still groggy. "Now for the love of God, would you put some clothes on?"
"See something you like?"
"Plenty."
She giggled and twisted out of his reach, and rummaged in her bureau for underwear and a pair of jeans. He'd been with her for three days straight, and the comfy domesticity was only getting nicer.
"There any clean stuff left of mine?" he asked, sneaking up behind her.
"One last change. Guess you're going to have to go home," she sighed regretfully. "Or I could just throw 'em in the wash here."
"Nah, I gotta go home sometime. Haven't even checked the mail. You could maybe stay with me for a bit..."
"That's true," she said, muffled by her pullover top. "Not like I have any fish to feed."
"You want to?" he asked. He sounded so hopeful that she had to smile. She ran her fingers over the morning stubble on his jaw, and kissed him again.
"It's not a bad idea. Let's decide after shift."
"Sounds good."
"We better hustle. Sythe'll be hopping mad if we're late."
He groaned. "Oh, God, Jess, it's too early..."
"C'mon, chop-chop, one foot in front of the other."
"I haven't had my coffee yet, or I'd be running circles around you."
"Hey, that wasn't bad."
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As they pulled up to the station, with young Todd Fleming in the back, Jess turned to him and said, in her best Donna Reed voice, "Okay, honey, you spend some quality time with Junior, and I'll make us all some Kool-aid."
"Yes, dear." he waggled his fingers at her and exited the car, to let Todd out.
The kid was too scared even to comment on this, which, he thought, was strange, considering he was a brain as well as a wrestling jock. Maybe his parents had just raised him not to talk back to adults in authority, even adults being ridiculous. He certainly paid attention to his coach. At any rate, Fleming got out of the car and went with them into the station, where all hell was on the verge of breaking loose.
Cadillac Kligman, a small-time UFC-fighter, was revving up for a full performance. Resisting arrest didn't begin to describe the scene. When Kligman wasn't on speed or strung out by years of steroids, he hated cops with the heat of a thousand suns. When he was high, he was only controllable by sheer physical containment, to the extent that he had successfully sued the NYPD for assault. It was hard to tell which state he was in at present, but a dozen cops were gathering in a circle around him. A handful of visitors and witnesses were being quietly escorted into the back offices behind the bullpen.
Todd looked about to wet himself at the sight.
"I'll get started on the paperwork. Better get him out of here," said Jess. Flack nodded grimly.
"Have fun." he said.
Flack shepherded the frightened kid around the mêlée and into an interview room, hoping to find a friendly constable to sit with him while he went back out to help with the six-million dollar man. But every available pair of hands was in the bullpen, and he couldn't leave Todd unattended. So much for fostering a sense of calm control and trust. This interview was not off to a great start.
"I wanna talk to you about the e-mail Nelson sent you, the day he was murdered." he began. Todd answered hazily, and Don wondered briefly if he was drugged, or just being a punk. "Hey, Todd. Wake up." he snapped his fingers. "Come on, I know you got his e-mail and I know you were on his roof."
"It's crazy. It's our fault."
"Is there someone else involved?"
"Wasn't s'possed to..."
"You talking about Vince Nelson's murder?"
"Can I go, or what?"
Time to put the scare on, just a little bit. The quiet kid was copping quite an attitude, once he felt the heat.
"Todd!" he slammed his palms down on the table. "Your coach was murdered. Now tell me what do I gotta do to get your attention, here?"
Todd had jumped, but now his eyes slid closed, and he began to topple from his chair.
"Hey - " he grabbed him by the arms, and tried to keep him upright. The kid was sweating heavily, and was slippery and trembling, and he slipped out of Flack's grasp onto the floor, where he began foaming and convulsing.
He ran for the door. In the bullpen, he heard Jess barking: "Hey! That's my desk. Get down, now! Get on the floor, now! Take him!" and then the angry bellowing was reduced to a muffled roar as Kligman was taken down by every pair of arms within reach.
"I need an ambulance in here!" he shouted over the din, "Get me an ambulance!"
Jess whirled and met his eyes, and holstered her weapon. She pointed at Carmody, and hollered, "Make the call!", and followed Flack back to the interview room. He was administering CPR by then, and between compressions, he managed to tell her that Todd had had a seizure. Jess listened for breathing and felt for his carotid pulse.
"He's dead. Don...he's dead."
Flack finally heard her. He sat back on his heels, and felt shock and grief and horror massing inside. And Jess...my God, a kid had just died in his care, and Jess was right there watching. He was sickened.
* * * * *
"Look, Detective Flack did everything by the book The guy's a total professional."
"Unlike your relationship with him, which I understand is less than professional."
"Not only is that none of your business, but it has nothing to do with Todd Fleming's death." she rapped out. It was hardly the moment for a philosophical chat as to how their relationship was far more than professional, rather than anything less. The inspector looked at her with a sort of satisfaction. He closed his manila folder and rested his hands on top of it.
"You're free to go, Detective."
"Have you heard a word I've said?"
"I've heard plenty."
"Then if you're not going to take any of it into account, why have you wasted both of our time?"
"We were hoping that it wouldn't be a waste of time. But you have nothing of interest to tell us, so you're free to leave."
"So if I hadn't defended him to you, you wouldn't have cared what sort of relationship we had."
"Probably not." he shrugged. "Don't let it get to you. That's the way it goes."
She stormed out of the interview room and straight to Flack's desk, which was, she realized later, a mistake of the sort she thought she'd outgrown.
Flack greeted her with a tight acidic smile. "Say hello to the newest member of the rubber-gun squad. I've been officially removed from active duty."
"How did they know we're seeing each other, Don?" she broke in. He looked confused.
"Who?"
"Internal Affairs. I thought we were going to keep this thing quiet. I didn't say anything to anyone. That only leaves you."
"People talk, they make assumptions."
"Yeah, well, because of those assumptions, my word doesn't mean squat with IA. Who could've told them?"
"Look, Jess, I'm sorry. But I've got bigger things to worry about right now than squad room gossip."
His words filtered through her churning mental monologue, and she stopped in her tracks. She'd jumped into the deep end, as usual, without checking the water. A kid had died under his hands a couple of hours ago, and now he'd had his gun and his work taken away. The look on his face was heartbreaking. No wonder she hadn't wanted to see it while she was still smarting.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, since everyone apparently knew about them anyway. But that wouldn't have gone down so well. And she was steamed. This was not a good time to try to talk.
"Right," she said softly. She felt his gaze as she turned and walked away.
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"I didn't know you liked hockey."
"I don't."
Flack grinned and let Mac lead the way. As they reached the doors, he said, "Mac, you know, it's a nice thought, but I'm happy enough just grabbin' a burger somewhere."
"Oh, I'm getting into it. I might develop a taste someday. Seriously, Don, you were right. You've been riding that desk all day. You need to blow off some steam."
"True enough. All right, I'll meet you there."
In the cab, he sat silently, trying to piece the day together. Waking up to Jess being called in early. Fleming dying under his hands. Jess, rightfully, furious about having her credibility called into question on account of their relationship. Sitting at his desk all day, beset by doubts...was there some unknown medical factor he'd triggered in Fleming, that caused the kid's death? Avoiding the looks and the silences, all day. The utter contempt and suspicion with which the department seemed to regard one of their most reliable men.
And then finally, vindication. Cleared of all suspicion...so long as nothing remotely like it ever happened again.
But still no Jess. He tried once again to call, but her phone was still going through to voicemail, as it had been all day. So much for her coming to stay with him for a while. Was it possible she was already at his place, waiting for him? But surely she'd have checked her messages by now. He hadn't seen her since early afternoon, after IA had run roughshod over her.
"Jess, it's me again. I'm going out with Mac for a bit, I'll be home around ten, ten-thirty...I'll try you then, usual time. 'Bye."
He'd decided that giving her a specific window of time might be a good idea. If she wanted to talk to him, she'd know when to expect him. If she didn't, well - he'd try something else. He just wished he knew where her head was. Whether she was pissed at him for sounding like he was dismissing her, or whether she was feeling badly that she'd vented on him while he was under investigation and dealing with a young kid's death on his watch. Or both. Her silence was unusual, and weighed heavily on him. They talked every day, and he'd thought they could work through anything that came up.
His phone rang in his hand, as he was sitting thinking, and he jumped. But it was Danny, not Jess.
"Flack."
"Yeah, it's me. Where you at? I wanted to buy you a beer."
"Mac beat you to it."
"Mac beat me to it? Well, that's good, I guess. You guys doin' some talkin', or what?"
"Nah. Ranger game. We're meeting up at Mulvaney's, that new place on Lafayette. You should come down."
"Yeah, yeah, I'd like to. Lemme get Lindsay settled in for the night. She just got in and she's pretty beat. Went to take Coach Nelson's wife some flowers."
"Aw, that was nice. From the lab?"
"Just her and Stella, I think. Anyway, I'm gonna tuck in li'l mama here, and then I'm on my way."
"You do that, Daddy-o."
* * * * *
Flack was glad of the company, and that it was only Danny and Mac, who knew how not to get into a guy's head. He would have hated being at the center of a lot of fuss, but he was relieved at not having to go straight home alone, as he assumed he would be.
It was funny, he thought, here he was spending what used to be a typical bachelor evening, taking in a Ranger game with a couple of buddies and a beer, and all he wanted to do was find Jess and make sure everything was okay. It was nearing ten o'clock, and she still hadn't called. It didn't look like he'd be home by ten thirty, and he wondered if he should call and let her know, or if she was already fed up with his messages.
Mac left, and he and Danny ordered another beer each. He watched Danny get comfortable, and groaned inwardly, knowing there was a grilling in store.
"Your girl is sharp, man. I wish you coulda seen her today. She was on fire."
"Messer, don't even." he growled. "I'm not in the mood."
"No, but just listen. She slides over the hood of a moving car to take down this wrestling-team kid, lands on his back and ropes him like a li'l baby calf at a rodeo. Then all day, it was like she had this whole crusader thing going on. Like nothing in the world mattered but finding the one shred of evidence that would clear you. We've all got your back, and you know I'd go all-out for you, but Jess? It was like something bigger than her was holdin' her up all day. Whatever is going on with you two, it's...it's something to see. You gotta know people have noticed it."
He watched Danny as he spoke, his eyes and his hands. He'd wanted to tell Danny about Jess for a long time, and he was well aware that Danny had his suspicions, but it hadn't seemed right. They been so careful at work, and besides, there was something about what he and Jess had found that he didn't feel like sharing. But it seemed like it was common knowledge that they were together, which, despite IA's bitchiness, was probably not a bad way to go. It had to come out sometime.
"Yeah," he said finally. "She's something, all right."
"So how long...?"
"Hard to say. A while now. It sort of snuck up on us. I mean, we hit it off so well at first, and we got to be friends. And we're a good team. You don't want to fuck around with that, you know? Especially not in this job. But suddenly there we were, on the same page, and we had to decide...only we didn't really decide. It just all fell into place. Today was rough, though. Still is. I don't know where she is. Haven't heard from her since she talked with IA."
"Maybe she crashed early. She was running on high-octane all day."
Flack wondered why he hadn't thought of that. Plus, he remembered, she had a paper due soon for school. Had he gotten so rattled he'd completely lost his sense of her?
"Yeah," he said, "Maybe."
"Well, I wish you the best of luck, man. Really," said Danny, in a tone Flack had never heard before. Whether it was impending fatherhood, or the past few months of Lindsay's increasingly maternal influence, The Mess was actually growing up.
"Thanks, Danno. You, too. I mean, I've said it before, but - it's pretty amazing to watch you and Lindsay these days."
"Yeah...a lot to learn, in not a lot of time."
"You'll figure it out. Our parents did, and they couldn't just Google "Teething" or "Colic"."
"Or any number of things I don't even wanna talk about..." Danny raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. "I gotta say, Lindsay is so much tougher than me, I can't even tell you. I'd be running around screamin’ my head off if I had all that comin’ to me."
"I'm sure you'll be doing plenty of that anyway."
"No doubt."
* * * * *
Ten thirty came. Flack decided to try one last time to reach Jess. If she didn't answer or call back, he'd leave it in her hands.
"J, I'm worried." he texted. "Let me know you're OK and I'll leave you alone."
He sighed, pocketed his phone under Danny's knowing smirk, and sat back to watch the slow-mo replays on the giant plasma screen on the back wall.
Five minutes later, his phone buzzed.
"Can you come over?" asked a soft voice. "I just...I really..."
"I'm on my way," he said, already standing. "Hold on. I'm coming."
"Callout?" Danny asked.
"Jess needs me. Sorry, man."
"No, no. Go. I should, too, anyway. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Things really had changed, he thought, striding towards the street to find a cab. Not so long ago, the act of leaving a beer unfinished to run to a girlfriend would have been met with ribald comments at the very least - all the more so after a day like he'd had, when squad-room bonhomie was generally employed in place of understanding kindness. But not, it seemed, anymore. Maybe they'd both grown up a little. Or maybe they'd each found a reason to.
* * * * *
"Jess? Jessie?"
"In here."
The apartment was dark, and her voice was quiet and tear-shaken. He flicked on the hall light and headed towards the living room. She sat on the couch, still in her work clothes, her chin resting on her knees and her arms wrapped around them.
"Babe, what happened? I was worried - " he sat down next to her, and pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him and for the first time, he felt her silent wracking sobs. All he could do was wait, and hold her close.
"Sorry...I'm sorry - "
"What's going on, Jess?" he pushed her hair off her face, and something in his gut wrenched at the sight of her. "You were off radar all afternoon, all tonight...everything went to hell after the Fleming kid died, and then you - I thought you were pissed at me."
"I was." she brushed tears away impatiently. "Only for a while. It's a hell of a lot harder for a woman my age to stay out the gossip mill, than - "
"I know, really, I do - "
"So at first, yeah, I needed to cool off. Then the case broke wide open, and I wasn't allowed to call you. IA told me not to. Or even talk to you, till this thing was all over. Didn't you wonder why nobody on the squad was talking to you?"
He stared. "I didn't know. I should've thought. I thought they were done with you after you came out of there."
"I thought so, too. I told them everything I knew. Soon as Danny and I came back with Sheridan and had him booked, they called me in again. They wanted me to start all over again, about Fleming, every second we were with him. Even though we had the whole thing in Sheridan's own words. And then they asked about us. They wanted me to tell them everything, when we met, when we got together - Don, they knew about the time I let Sam go. They must've got it out of Martinez; he was the only one who'd have known about that."
"They what? That's completely out of line."
They sat separately, facing one another, Flack furious and Jess both grieved and angry all over again.
"Doesn't matter. They can ask what they like. Think how many cases we've worked together. If any one of those defendants decided to appeal, they might cite collusion or conflict. Fuck, I was sure they were going to ask about Rikki Sandoval. I can't believe they don't know. But it never came up."
He didn't ask her what she'd told them. He knew she'd have told them the truth, but as little of it as possible.
"So, what now? We haven't done anything against policy." he said, trying for a normal voice.
"No, we haven't. But they sure as hell weren't happy about it. One of them even asked if I'd leave Homicide. I told them that was a matter for Sythe, and if he had no problem with our work, neither should they."
"I'd have said the same, only not so nice."
"We can't work cases together, anymore," she said. "Separate assignments. That was the gist of it. You know what their reasoning was? Get this: spousal immunity from testifying. If one of us ever does, you know, cause the death of someone on our watch."
The full implications sunk in. He got to his feet and started pacing the length of the living room. "That's such bull. Everyone knows married cops don't work together, but this...that's not covering the department's ass, that's just doling out a bit of punishment 'cause we didn't kiss ass in there. And there's no way they should've been on at you about it. Why the hell didn't they call me back, if they wanted to rough someone up over it?"
"Because after the day you'd had, you'd have handed them your badge, don't you get it? They went for me because they knew I'd talk you down. There's nothing in writing. As far as they're concerned, the conversation never happened, but if Sythe assigns us to cases together, they'll know about it. It was like they knew every mistake I ever made and they were gonna come at me with it. They were treating me like a fucking dirty cop. I have worked my ass off...and there was no talking back to them. I just had to sit there and take it, and by the time I came out of there, I was such a mess I couldn't even think straight. I don't know what I thought. I thought maybe I should transfer back to GIS. I thought maybe you'd decide I was too much of a headache..."
He stopped pacing and stared. "No. Never. I've had a brutal fuckin' day, but you know what kept me going? Knowing I didn't do anything wrong, and knowing you'd be with me at the end of it. As long as I got those two things, I can get through the worst days of my life. In fact, one out of two makes for a pretty good day. Both at once is a bonus."
"You need to come over here and say that," she said, with a half-sob, half-chuckle.
So he did, and then he wrapped her in his arms again.
"Me too, you know," she said. "Do you know just knowing you're out there in the world gets me through my worst days, even if I can't see you?"
He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah. I do. Case in point: I oughta be on the phone with Sythe or Sinclair right now, shouting my head off. Instead, I'm sittin' here, thinking that maybe it's not so bad. Sythe must be pissed right off. He's gotta know how IA treated the both of us. He knows we're a good team. I know he's known about us for a long time and never said anything. I'm thinking he'll probably let it slip that he's sore at IA, not us."
"I guess we don't technically have to work on the same cases to help each other out," Jess admitted, "But it makes us conspicuous for no reason. I feel like I'm going to be watched every step, now. And we're the last two cops to want to make trouble for anyone."
"You think this is permanent, with IA? Or if we keep our heads down, it'll blow over eventually?"
"I have no idea. Maybe it's some sort of secret promotional hazing ritual, see how we deal with the heat. Todd Fleming could've turned into a major case. But I do know that at some point I'm going to be moving over to Crim Intel, and it won't matter."
She heard the words as she spoke them, and startled.
"I mean, if we're...That's a long way - "
"Shh. Jess, I wanna be there to see it happen. If I didn't, none of this IA bullshit would mean anything to me."
"Good," she said, and burrowed into his chest. "Me, too."
"A solás mo chroi," he reminded her.
"Solace de mon coeur. You are, you know. For real."
They were silent for a time, taking strength from one another. Flack wondered how a day like this might have ended, without Jess in his life, and felt a surge of gratitude.
"So does this mean we're outed?" he asked, at length. "I mean, Danny figured it out, so Lindsay knows, and he said people sort of know in general."
"Not officially, or at least, not until someone asks directly. The only non-horrible thing anyone in IA said to me today was that we were very discreet."
"What gets me is that it's gonna reflect worse on IA than us. Yeah, they had to investigate, and they went at it with sledgehammers, but the case was done. They had absolutely no reason to go after you."
"That's what they pay them for. To make sure the department stays squeaky clean on paper."
"We could grieve it. My union rep wanted me to, and she didn't even know about the treatment you got."
"Is it a fight worth fighting? Or are you just sore at them for taking it out of both of us?"
"Yeah." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her hair. "Or maybe just that they threw dirt on something that should've..."
"Been good news someday." Jess finished. "Don, are we talking about the same thing?"
"Depends on if we're actually talking about it," he hedged.
She looked up and managed a smile. She laid her fingers against his mouth and murmured, "Hold that thought. It's a good thought, but just hold onto it for a while, okay?"
"Mmkay."
"Hey, you?"
"Yes, you?"
"Take me to bed. It's been one hell of a day."
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.
Disentangling himself, he stood and pulled her to her feet.
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"So me and Montana, we got married yesterday."
To his credit, Flack thought, Danny had nice timing there - after the first coffee of the day, but before he got dug into the days' work. And there was no need to confirm: Danny was bouncing on his feet like Tigger, holding his beringed left hand up with a grin plastered across his face.
"Oh, man," Flack chuckled, shaking his head. He got up from behind his desk and clasped him in a quick, hard hug. "About damn time. Congratulations. Tell me."
"Aw, we just down to City Hall. Mac and Stella stood up for us. Kind of sprang it on her. But she said yes, so..."
"So she's stuck with you now, huh?"
"Guess so."
"Oy, what's with the bromancin' over there?" yelled Carmody, from across the bullpen.
Flack pointed at Danny, yelling back, "The Mess got married, can you believe it?"
To accompanying shouts of "Who married that face?" and "Awright, man!", Danny left, smacking hands as he went.
"So undignified," said Stella, appearing beside him. Flack shrugged, and they watched the proceedings like a pair of schoolyard supervisors.
"They're not making a fuss of Lindsay up in the lab?"
"Yeah, but it involved herbal tea and melomakarona in the break room. Much more civilized."
He looked over at her, adoration in his eyes. "You made melomakarona?"
"It's how I show my love," she sighed, and she flipped him a glance that said sad, but true. "I saved some for you and Angell, don't worry."
"Eh?"
"Oh, come on. I'm not gonna bust you or anything. Time you lived a little, Flack. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"She said something about you not going to be thrilled about our Cagney and Lacey thing with the Greek coin decoys. She was being awfully careful, talking about you. Too careful."
"Mm," he replied.
"So, I didn't mean to drag both of you in, that's all."
"This a peace offering, Bonasera?"
She pulled her spine straight and looked him in the eyes. "Not for the sting. I'm close to pulling down a whole orchestrated conspiracy, and I'm not backing down. But for talking Angell into getting involved in something she felt awkward talking to you about - yeah, for that, I am sorry, as a friend. Even if it was her decision."
"Don't worry 'bout it," he said, bumping his shoulder against hers.
"Really?"
"Really."
Stella squeezed his arm with a grateful look, and headed across the room in search of Detective Maka, who was confined to her desk after yet another duty event recovery. Flack watched her, with a crease in his forehead and the beginnings of a headache at the back of his skull.
What sting? he wondered.
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Les traductions / Aistriúcháin:
"A solás mo chroi."
- Safe-place of my heart
"Solace de mon coeur. J'ai cru que j'aurais peur si je suis tombé si profondément amoureux, de la perte de moi-même. Mais je n'ai pas peur. Je suis plus vraiment moi-même que j'étais jamais..."
- Safe-place of my heart. I always thought I'd be afraid if I fell in love so deeply, of losing myself. But I'm not afraid. I'm more myself than I've ever been."
"Mon amant, je pense que tu me veux d'encore..."
- My love, I think you want me all over again...
"O Crísto, na stad...Ta tu go h-aileann."
- Oh, Christ, don't stop...you're so beautiful.
"melomakarona"
- Slightly spicy Greek finger cakes, soaked in an orange-honey syrup, with nuts sprinkled on top.
Continue to Chapter Five: Event Horizon