CSI:NY fic: What Friends Are For (Flack, PG)
Title: What Friends Are For
Fandom: CSI:NY
Characters: Flack, Lindsay, Danny
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word count: 1129
Summary: Maybe if he waited long enough, he wouldn't be hungry anymore. Or maybe food would magically appear beside him.
Author's notes: For spacefiend. :D She doesn't have a wishlist, but if she did, I'm pretty sure Don Flack would be at the top of the list. Probably in the condition he's in in this fic, too!
Don felt like he'd been beaten.
I was beaten, he reminded himself silently. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. Water pounded onto his back, blissfully hot. It stung in the cuts and scrapes on his arms, back, face, and chest, but his stiff muscles loved it. He rolled his shoulders, trying in the steaming shower to relax, just a little.
They shouldn't have be able to get the drop on him. He and Jess had split up to search the building, so he'd been on his own, but that sure as hell was no excuse. He wasn't sure if he'd gotten sloppy or if the guys who'd attacked him were ninjas; all he knew was that one moment he'd been alone and the next he was swarmed by three guys all throwing punches. His gun, already out, had gone flying. He'd put up a fight, but he'd wound up on the ground pretty quick.
The joys of having a partner meant that Jess had heard the struggle and come to his rescue. The cavalry nabbed the fleeing perps and they got a good collar -- not just for assaulting a police officer, but also for the double homicide and arson he and Jess had been investigating. Somehow, though, that didn't heal his wounded pride.
He straightened, grimacing. Or his wounded body.
He got out of the shower and toweled off gingerly. He'd gotten off easy, he told himself. No stitches, no broken bones. Just a bunch of scrapes and bruises. He wasn't even taking the next day off, though the doc had suggested a day of rest. He'd rest tonight and be fine tomorrow. And if he wasn't, well, it was his own fault, wasn't it?
Rolling his eyes at his own self-flagellating, he pulled on his clothes and made his way out to the living room. His couch called to him. Who was he to resist? He sank down onto it with a groan, throwing a leg up onto the cushions. The thing, faded blue and threadbare, wouldn't win any beauty contents, but it was comfortable. He leaned into the back, sighing and letting his eyes fall closed.
He realized eventually that he was thirsty. And hungry. And the kitchen was... over there. He eyed the phone, which was within arm's reach on the end table. Pizza, maybe. Except that still meant getting up to answer the door, and dealing with one of the punk-ass delivery kids his favorite place employed. No thanks. Unless he got Jess to deliver it... except that first, she was probably still working, and second, if she knew how bad off he was, she'd feel guilty for not getting to him sooner. He didn't want that.
He let his eyes slide shut again. Maybe if he waited long enough, he wouldn't be hungry anymore. Or maybe food would magically appear beside him.
The intercom buzzed.
He turned his head with effort, glaring at it. "Great," he muttered. Now he had to get up.
It buzzed again before he reached it. Sighing, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and pushed the button. "Yeah?"
"You alive?"
Don frowned at the intercom. "Messer?"
"And Monroe," Lindsay's voice piped up. "We come bearing gifts."
He'd been about to tell them to leave -- in friendlier terms than that -- but he paused. "Gifts?"
"Let us up," Danny suggested.
Don complied. He waited by the door, propping up the wall, rather than go back to the couch and have to come back again when they got there.
At their knock, he opened the door and was greeted by a large brown paper bag emanating some really good smells. "Chinese?" He moved back, letting them in.
"Yep." Danny grinned a greeting. He had a bag, too. Don eyed it hopefully.
"Beer?"
"That depends." Lindsay went to the kitchen and set the bag of food on the counter. "Are you on painkillers?"
"Not the prescription kind." She shot him a look that promised dire consequences if he was lying. He held up his hands. "I swear."
"In that case..." Danny plunked his bag on the counter and pulled out a six-pack. "Beer." He grabbed the bottle opener out of the drawer and quickly popped open three bottles. The first he handed to Don, who took it gratefully.
Lindsay nodded towards the living room. "Take mine, would you? I'll bring the food in a sec."
Not needing to be told twice, they headed to the couch. Don suppressed a groan as he sat. He kicked up his heels on the coffee table and leaned back into the cushions. Oh yeah, he loved his couch.
Danny took the other end and grabbed the TV remote. "There's gotta be a game on, right?" He flicked the TV on.
"Hockey?"
"Could be, could be." Danny flicked through the channels, commercials and dramas and news programs flashing by. He stopped, grinning. "Classic baseball," he said with relish.
Don gave him a look. "No."
"Aw, c'mon."
"This is my place."
"I brought you beer and food."
"Boys..." Lindsay's tone was the kind mothers usually used on their children. Chastened, Don offered her a repentant smile as he took the box she offered him.
"Aright, aright." Danny went up a couple more channels, stopping when he found a hockey game. "Good?" He grabbed one of the boxes Lindsay set on the coffee table. She took another and curled up in the recliner.
Don eyed the TV. Wings and Pens? He nodded in satisfaction. "Good." Any hockey was better than a baseball game played twenty years ago, but he refrained from saying so out of respect for the fact that Lindsay was likely to start throwing things at the two of them if they got into it. She'd done it before.
They all dug in, stuffing their faces in contented silence for a few minutes. Eventually Lindsay asked him how he was feeling. He shrugged a little, hiding a wince at the motion. "I'm alright."
Danny gave him an appraising glance. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," Don said dryly.
"You don't look that bad," Lindsay assured him. "Just a little battered."
"That's about how I'm feeling." He lifted his box of mu shu pork, gesturing a little at her and Danny. "This helps, though." He didn't mean just the food. Between that, the beer, and the company, he found himself finally relaxing. He still ached, but he could ignore it. By the time the game was over, he was half asleep, his eyes drifting closed against his will. He forced himself awake when his friends rose, Danny turning the TV off. "Sorry," he groaned, rubbing his face.
"Don't worry about it," Danny told him, heading towards the door. "You need your sleep."
"And not on the couch." Lindsay's smile was gently chiding as she followed Danny.
"Yes, Mom." Grinning, he stood and followed the pair to the door. He held it open for them, propping himself up against it. "Thanks for coming over, guys."
Lindsay turned, smiling warmly. "That's what friends are for."
"Exactly." Danny nodded emphatically.
He leaned against the door after he closed it, resting his forehead on the cool surface. He was achy and stiff, but he was alright. More alright than he had been a few hours ago, even. He smiled a little. It was good to have friends.
Fandom: CSI:NY
Characters: Flack, Lindsay, Danny
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word count: 1129
Summary: Maybe if he waited long enough, he wouldn't be hungry anymore. Or maybe food would magically appear beside him.
Author's notes: For spacefiend. :D She doesn't have a wishlist, but if she did, I'm pretty sure Don Flack would be at the top of the list. Probably in the condition he's in in this fic, too!
Don felt like he'd been beaten.
I was beaten, he reminded himself silently. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. Water pounded onto his back, blissfully hot. It stung in the cuts and scrapes on his arms, back, face, and chest, but his stiff muscles loved it. He rolled his shoulders, trying in the steaming shower to relax, just a little.
They shouldn't have be able to get the drop on him. He and Jess had split up to search the building, so he'd been on his own, but that sure as hell was no excuse. He wasn't sure if he'd gotten sloppy or if the guys who'd attacked him were ninjas; all he knew was that one moment he'd been alone and the next he was swarmed by three guys all throwing punches. His gun, already out, had gone flying. He'd put up a fight, but he'd wound up on the ground pretty quick.
The joys of having a partner meant that Jess had heard the struggle and come to his rescue. The cavalry nabbed the fleeing perps and they got a good collar -- not just for assaulting a police officer, but also for the double homicide and arson he and Jess had been investigating. Somehow, though, that didn't heal his wounded pride.
He straightened, grimacing. Or his wounded body.
He got out of the shower and toweled off gingerly. He'd gotten off easy, he told himself. No stitches, no broken bones. Just a bunch of scrapes and bruises. He wasn't even taking the next day off, though the doc had suggested a day of rest. He'd rest tonight and be fine tomorrow. And if he wasn't, well, it was his own fault, wasn't it?
Rolling his eyes at his own self-flagellating, he pulled on his clothes and made his way out to the living room. His couch called to him. Who was he to resist? He sank down onto it with a groan, throwing a leg up onto the cushions. The thing, faded blue and threadbare, wouldn't win any beauty contents, but it was comfortable. He leaned into the back, sighing and letting his eyes fall closed.
He realized eventually that he was thirsty. And hungry. And the kitchen was... over there. He eyed the phone, which was within arm's reach on the end table. Pizza, maybe. Except that still meant getting up to answer the door, and dealing with one of the punk-ass delivery kids his favorite place employed. No thanks. Unless he got Jess to deliver it... except that first, she was probably still working, and second, if she knew how bad off he was, she'd feel guilty for not getting to him sooner. He didn't want that.
He let his eyes slide shut again. Maybe if he waited long enough, he wouldn't be hungry anymore. Or maybe food would magically appear beside him.
The intercom buzzed.
He turned his head with effort, glaring at it. "Great," he muttered. Now he had to get up.
It buzzed again before he reached it. Sighing, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and pushed the button. "Yeah?"
"You alive?"
Don frowned at the intercom. "Messer?"
"And Monroe," Lindsay's voice piped up. "We come bearing gifts."
He'd been about to tell them to leave -- in friendlier terms than that -- but he paused. "Gifts?"
"Let us up," Danny suggested.
Don complied. He waited by the door, propping up the wall, rather than go back to the couch and have to come back again when they got there.
At their knock, he opened the door and was greeted by a large brown paper bag emanating some really good smells. "Chinese?" He moved back, letting them in.
"Yep." Danny grinned a greeting. He had a bag, too. Don eyed it hopefully.
"Beer?"
"That depends." Lindsay went to the kitchen and set the bag of food on the counter. "Are you on painkillers?"
"Not the prescription kind." She shot him a look that promised dire consequences if he was lying. He held up his hands. "I swear."
"In that case..." Danny plunked his bag on the counter and pulled out a six-pack. "Beer." He grabbed the bottle opener out of the drawer and quickly popped open three bottles. The first he handed to Don, who took it gratefully.
Lindsay nodded towards the living room. "Take mine, would you? I'll bring the food in a sec."
Not needing to be told twice, they headed to the couch. Don suppressed a groan as he sat. He kicked up his heels on the coffee table and leaned back into the cushions. Oh yeah, he loved his couch.
Danny took the other end and grabbed the TV remote. "There's gotta be a game on, right?" He flicked the TV on.
"Hockey?"
"Could be, could be." Danny flicked through the channels, commercials and dramas and news programs flashing by. He stopped, grinning. "Classic baseball," he said with relish.
Don gave him a look. "No."
"Aw, c'mon."
"This is my place."
"I brought you beer and food."
"Boys..." Lindsay's tone was the kind mothers usually used on their children. Chastened, Don offered her a repentant smile as he took the box she offered him.
"Aright, aright." Danny went up a couple more channels, stopping when he found a hockey game. "Good?" He grabbed one of the boxes Lindsay set on the coffee table. She took another and curled up in the recliner.
Don eyed the TV. Wings and Pens? He nodded in satisfaction. "Good." Any hockey was better than a baseball game played twenty years ago, but he refrained from saying so out of respect for the fact that Lindsay was likely to start throwing things at the two of them if they got into it. She'd done it before.
They all dug in, stuffing their faces in contented silence for a few minutes. Eventually Lindsay asked him how he was feeling. He shrugged a little, hiding a wince at the motion. "I'm alright."
Danny gave him an appraising glance. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," Don said dryly.
"You don't look that bad," Lindsay assured him. "Just a little battered."
"That's about how I'm feeling." He lifted his box of mu shu pork, gesturing a little at her and Danny. "This helps, though." He didn't mean just the food. Between that, the beer, and the company, he found himself finally relaxing. He still ached, but he could ignore it. By the time the game was over, he was half asleep, his eyes drifting closed against his will. He forced himself awake when his friends rose, Danny turning the TV off. "Sorry," he groaned, rubbing his face.
"Don't worry about it," Danny told him, heading towards the door. "You need your sleep."
"And not on the couch." Lindsay's smile was gently chiding as she followed Danny.
"Yes, Mom." Grinning, he stood and followed the pair to the door. He held it open for them, propping himself up against it. "Thanks for coming over, guys."
Lindsay turned, smiling warmly. "That's what friends are for."
"Exactly." Danny nodded emphatically.
He leaned against the door after he closed it, resting his forehead on the cool surface. He was achy and stiff, but he was alright. More alright than he had been a few hours ago, even. He smiled a little. It was good to have friends.