Victimized Hearts - Flack/Monroe - NC17 - Part Six [End]
Title: Victimized Hearts
Category: CSI: NY
Rating: NC17
Genre: Mystery/Romance
Pairing: Don Flack/Lindsay Monroe
Word Count: 2,147
Summary: The relationship between two partners comes under curiosity when they're both attacked. Life outside the lab has its own twists and turns that are about to be unraveled.
Previous: Part One, Interlude, Part Two, Interlude, Part Three, Interlude, Part Four, Interlude, Part Five, Interlude, Interlude,
Part VI
-Present-
When Mac stepped off the elevator and on to the ICU floor, he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Flack immediately. While he'd always shown a stoic appearance in front of Mac, Don Flack Sr. was no longer keeping a brave face as the doctor told them the bad news. Mary Flack was in tears and outright sobbing against her husband's shoulder as the doctor awkwardly apologized before walking away.
Mac's steps were nervous and despite the fact that he was sure he knew what they'd say, he still walked toward them hoping that what he'd seen wasn't what he thought it was. When Flack Sr. looked at him, his blue eyes bloodshot and rimmed with tears, he knew there was no point in denying it.
"His heart's not strong enough," Flack told him, jaw shaking just slightly. "Body's torn to shreds, mind's all screwed up..." He blinked furiously, grinding his teeth together. "You get the bitch?"
Mac heard the hard old-school detective's edge in his voice and wasted no time in nodding. "She's been charged and she gave us a full statement. She'll be in prison a very long time."
"Not good enough," Mary bit out, shaking her head. "She takes away two of my family and she just sits in a cell the rest of her life." She shrugged Flack's arm off her shoulders and lifted her tear-stained face to glare at Mac. "I grew up around cops. Hell, I married and raised one and after all these years, all the justice I've seen handed out, now I know that it doesn't mean anything. She gets to live while my boy is dying of a goddamn broken heart!"
"Mary..."
"No. No, don't touch me, Don..." She waved her hands in the air. "If there was any damn justice that woman would be the one in the morgue, not Lindsay!" Turning on her heel, she stomped away, posture tense.
"She's not handling it well," Flack explained unnecessarily. "I assume you're here to see Junior. Tell him the news."
Mac nodded, glancing at the door leading to the young Detectives room.
"Doctors say to keep the stress down, so don't get him riled up." He was quiet for a moment, tension rife in the air. "They suggested putting him on the transplant list... He's young, healthy, has a good long life ahead of him." He cleared his throat. "Don rejected the idea. Said somebody else needed it more." Sniffing, Flack Sr. shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Maybe you'll have better luck talking to him."
Even if Don did get on the list the chances of survival were slim but Mac nodded anyway, to at least make his father feel better.
"Do you have children, Mr. Taylor?"
Thoughts of Reed immediately came to mind and Mac found himself nodding.
"I grew up in a long line of cops... Showing emotion, it just wasn't done. And now I got two boys and a daughter of my own... Only one of 'em followed in my steps. Wife says it was only 'cause I named him after me; felt he had to keep the legacy or something." He swallowed, turning his eyes off. "Now that boy is dying and she blames me for it. She doesn't say it, but she thinks it. Thinks that I pushed him into this life and that if he wasn't a cop, he wouldn't be dying right now." Don Sr. raised his hard eyes to Mac. "And maybe she's right... Maybe I am the reason..." He nodded. "But it doesn't change this. Doesn't change the fact that Junior's gonna die... And damn it all, boy doesn't give a rat's ass." He shook his head, rubbing his knuckles along his jaw thoughtfully, brow furrowed. "Whether it's because he's just like his dad or because he lost Lindsay, I don't know..."
Mac thought it might be a little of both.
"He hasn't got long though, so you might wanna say your goodbyes now... Time Mary gets back she'll monopolize his room, I'm sure. She's clinging... Can't say I blame her." With that, Don Flack Sr. turned his back and calmly walked down the hall.
Nodding to himself, Mac spared a look down the hall where Mary Flack had headed before stepping up to Don's door and opening it. He didn't know what to make of the young man lying in the bed. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes and looked as if he'd aged at least ten years. The TV was playing quietly in the background, gaining Don's gaze as he laid expressionless on the bed, a pale blue blanket drawn up to his shoulders. IV's and tubes were stuck all over him and the many monitors on either side of the bed beeped continuously.
Closing the door behind him, Mac took a step toward the bed.
"You get her?" Don croaked out, not bothering to look at him as he asked.
"With a signed confession and everything."
Don nodded slightly; no sigh of relief or appreciative smile. "Ma keeps telling me she'll burn in hell... Thinks it'll cheer me up or something."
"Does it?"
Don looked at him then, lips curling just slightly. "A little."
Mac offered a small smile of understanding before crossing to take a seat next to Flack's bed. "How're you feeling?"
"When I'm not yelling at the nurses to leave me alone, I'm telling my ma to stop reminding me that crying is stressful... She thinks my heart's gonna give out any second." He shrugged carelessly.
He lifted a brow questioningly. "What do you think?"
"I think my bed back home is more comfortable... But it's probably surrounded by crime scene tape, so I won't be getting into it anytime soon," he replied bitterly.
In all the years he'd worked with Flack, Mac was sure he'd never seen him so utterly despondent. All the cases, dark and cruel, sadistic even, hadn't brought Flack down to this level before. He'd had his days where he wasn't sure he could keep doing this job but he always bounced back, always picked his shield back up and got right back into the next job. But just looking at him then, Mac knew that wasn't the case here.
They were silent for a long moment, with only the static noise of the TV filling in the space before finally Don broke the quiet. "When you lost Claire, you ever think of giving up?" he wondered, voice low.
Mac sighed, brow furrowing as he remembered his wife. Her big blue eyes and brown curly hair invaded his mind with a vengeance, still managing to make his entirety ache. "I held out hope for a long time..."
Don nodded but his mouth firmed into a hard line. "Lindsay's dead, Mac," he breathed out angrily. "And no amount of hope is gonna bring her back."
His eyes fell and he gripped his hands in his lap for a moment. "You know, Flack, after death-"
"Don't gimme any of your victim pep-talk stuff, all right?" He shook his head, dark eyes glaring into him. "I've said it all... I don't need to be fed the lines."
Mac sighed, nodding. There wasn't much to be said, really. He was right. They'd all had to give this talk to one victim or another; he had just hoped it would never be a friend. But here he stood, trying to ease the death of a loved one to his own friend and colleague. That it was a friend too who had been murdered made it all the more real and Mac's shoulders fell then, the honest truth dragging them down.
Don's voice waivered as he wondered, "You think you can die of heartbreak?"
Mac looked up at him. "I think the heart can break... metaphorically and physically. But I think death comes in part from giving in to heartbreak."
Flack's expression hardened. "I'm not a quitter."
"I know you're not."
"You know, the docs say my heart was pretty banged up even before I found out she..." His face became even more drawn, as if saying it out loud added ten times more stress and age to him. It was hard to believe this was the same guy who'd asked him to enjoy a basketball game just last week; close enough to a vacation, he'd said. And now he was falling apart.
Flack cleared his throat, lifting a shoulder. "Didn't help me any when I did, though."
He knew what that meant. Just another reminder that the death count of one friend was about to be two.
"They give you any kind of time limit?" Mac asked, steady as he was expected to be, but he was shaky on the inside.
"Who knows, right? Heart's a weird muscle."
Mac nodded to himself.
"First I thought, what better way to go out listening to a game, you know?" Flack half-smiled. "We never did get to that game on Friday."
Reaching for the remote, Mac flipped the TV channel down a few numbers. "Guess we'll have to make up for lost time."
Flack looked to him appreciatively. "Sounds good to me."
They didn't speak any more about the case or his condition, instead ignoring the obvious in favor of just being two guys, living what life was left. When Mary returned, she saw the appreciative half-smile on Don's mouth and instead of coddling him or forcing Mac away she took a seat next to her son and joined them as they watched their game, enjoying the last few moments of any notion of content.
It was three days later, after various visits from friends and family that Don Flack Jr. smiled at his ma and pops, nodded at them as if to say thanks, and then closed his eyes, never to open them again.
...
The day of the funeral, it seemed every New York cop and crime scene investigator gathered in the cemetery. It was a warm June morning and the sun shone down on the procession despite how grim its surroundings. A sea of black crossed from the curb-parked cars and hearse to the two plots already marked by marble headstones, courtesy of the city. With permission from Lindsay's parents, they'd had her grave marked Monroe-Flack in recognition of the relationship and what it was meant to become.
The Flack and Monroe families stood side by side, Mary Flack and Caroline Monroe gripping each other's hands as the caskets sat in front of them, a minister making the eulogy with a few words shared by Don's brother, Bobby and Lindsay's sister Jessica. Mac hardly heard what was said, instead focusing on the blown up pictures of his two friends that sat on stands around the area. There was a group picture of Danny, Flack, Adam and Hawkes holding beers up to the camera as they grinned, sitting at a local bar after shift. A photo of Lindsay and Stella hugging was in another frame next to one of Flack, Stella and himself. The ones that stood out most though were those of Lindsay and Flack together.
There was one from the previous Christmas where Don had Lindsay wrapped up in his arms, his chin resting on her head as her cheek was pressed against his chest; their smiles beamed out from the picture, so passionate and strong. Another had them at work, Lindsay sitting on the counter in the break room with Don standing close next to her, arm leaning on her thigh as they laughed at whoever took the picture. And the last was of the two of them looking at each other, soft expressions and loving eyes; so obvious that they were in love. He stared at that picture, a moment caught, and for the first time since either of his friends had died, a tear escaped Mac's eye. They were gone, really and truly, and the reason behind it only made him angry.
Friends and colleagues stepped forward with flowers and grim expressions, dropping them atop the caskets and whispering words of farewell. Dropping a yellow rose on either of them, Stella Bonasera returned to Mac's side and accepted his arm around her before she broke down, crying against his shoulder. Danny stood back, silently wiping at his face, scowling to hide his shaking chin. Adam and Hawkes each walked past, nodding to either Flack and Monroe parents and saying their goodbyes to their friends before returning to stand near Mac and Stella. Uniforms passed by then, cops of all levels showing their respect for their fallen colleagues.
And finally, lowered beneath the ground, side by side, with gunshots of remembrance and honor shot high above, Lindsay Monroe and Donald Flack Jr. completed the circle of life too early. Just a couple of victimized hearts in the always-rising body count of New York's never-ending fight for justice.
Complete!
Category: CSI: NY
Rating: NC17
Genre: Mystery/Romance
Pairing: Don Flack/Lindsay Monroe
Word Count: 2,147
Summary: The relationship between two partners comes under curiosity when they're both attacked. Life outside the lab has its own twists and turns that are about to be unraveled.
Previous: Part One, Interlude, Part Two, Interlude, Part Three, Interlude, Part Four, Interlude, Part Five, Interlude, Interlude,
Part VI
-Present-
When Mac stepped off the elevator and on to the ICU floor, he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Flack immediately. While he'd always shown a stoic appearance in front of Mac, Don Flack Sr. was no longer keeping a brave face as the doctor told them the bad news. Mary Flack was in tears and outright sobbing against her husband's shoulder as the doctor awkwardly apologized before walking away.
Mac's steps were nervous and despite the fact that he was sure he knew what they'd say, he still walked toward them hoping that what he'd seen wasn't what he thought it was. When Flack Sr. looked at him, his blue eyes bloodshot and rimmed with tears, he knew there was no point in denying it.
"His heart's not strong enough," Flack told him, jaw shaking just slightly. "Body's torn to shreds, mind's all screwed up..." He blinked furiously, grinding his teeth together. "You get the bitch?"
Mac heard the hard old-school detective's edge in his voice and wasted no time in nodding. "She's been charged and she gave us a full statement. She'll be in prison a very long time."
"Not good enough," Mary bit out, shaking her head. "She takes away two of my family and she just sits in a cell the rest of her life." She shrugged Flack's arm off her shoulders and lifted her tear-stained face to glare at Mac. "I grew up around cops. Hell, I married and raised one and after all these years, all the justice I've seen handed out, now I know that it doesn't mean anything. She gets to live while my boy is dying of a goddamn broken heart!"
"Mary..."
"No. No, don't touch me, Don..." She waved her hands in the air. "If there was any damn justice that woman would be the one in the morgue, not Lindsay!" Turning on her heel, she stomped away, posture tense.
"She's not handling it well," Flack explained unnecessarily. "I assume you're here to see Junior. Tell him the news."
Mac nodded, glancing at the door leading to the young Detectives room.
"Doctors say to keep the stress down, so don't get him riled up." He was quiet for a moment, tension rife in the air. "They suggested putting him on the transplant list... He's young, healthy, has a good long life ahead of him." He cleared his throat. "Don rejected the idea. Said somebody else needed it more." Sniffing, Flack Sr. shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Maybe you'll have better luck talking to him."
Even if Don did get on the list the chances of survival were slim but Mac nodded anyway, to at least make his father feel better.
"Do you have children, Mr. Taylor?"
Thoughts of Reed immediately came to mind and Mac found himself nodding.
"I grew up in a long line of cops... Showing emotion, it just wasn't done. And now I got two boys and a daughter of my own... Only one of 'em followed in my steps. Wife says it was only 'cause I named him after me; felt he had to keep the legacy or something." He swallowed, turning his eyes off. "Now that boy is dying and she blames me for it. She doesn't say it, but she thinks it. Thinks that I pushed him into this life and that if he wasn't a cop, he wouldn't be dying right now." Don Sr. raised his hard eyes to Mac. "And maybe she's right... Maybe I am the reason..." He nodded. "But it doesn't change this. Doesn't change the fact that Junior's gonna die... And damn it all, boy doesn't give a rat's ass." He shook his head, rubbing his knuckles along his jaw thoughtfully, brow furrowed. "Whether it's because he's just like his dad or because he lost Lindsay, I don't know..."
Mac thought it might be a little of both.
"He hasn't got long though, so you might wanna say your goodbyes now... Time Mary gets back she'll monopolize his room, I'm sure. She's clinging... Can't say I blame her." With that, Don Flack Sr. turned his back and calmly walked down the hall.
Nodding to himself, Mac spared a look down the hall where Mary Flack had headed before stepping up to Don's door and opening it. He didn't know what to make of the young man lying in the bed. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes and looked as if he'd aged at least ten years. The TV was playing quietly in the background, gaining Don's gaze as he laid expressionless on the bed, a pale blue blanket drawn up to his shoulders. IV's and tubes were stuck all over him and the many monitors on either side of the bed beeped continuously.
Closing the door behind him, Mac took a step toward the bed.
"You get her?" Don croaked out, not bothering to look at him as he asked.
"With a signed confession and everything."
Don nodded slightly; no sigh of relief or appreciative smile. "Ma keeps telling me she'll burn in hell... Thinks it'll cheer me up or something."
"Does it?"
Don looked at him then, lips curling just slightly. "A little."
Mac offered a small smile of understanding before crossing to take a seat next to Flack's bed. "How're you feeling?"
"When I'm not yelling at the nurses to leave me alone, I'm telling my ma to stop reminding me that crying is stressful... She thinks my heart's gonna give out any second." He shrugged carelessly.
He lifted a brow questioningly. "What do you think?"
"I think my bed back home is more comfortable... But it's probably surrounded by crime scene tape, so I won't be getting into it anytime soon," he replied bitterly.
In all the years he'd worked with Flack, Mac was sure he'd never seen him so utterly despondent. All the cases, dark and cruel, sadistic even, hadn't brought Flack down to this level before. He'd had his days where he wasn't sure he could keep doing this job but he always bounced back, always picked his shield back up and got right back into the next job. But just looking at him then, Mac knew that wasn't the case here.
They were silent for a long moment, with only the static noise of the TV filling in the space before finally Don broke the quiet. "When you lost Claire, you ever think of giving up?" he wondered, voice low.
Mac sighed, brow furrowing as he remembered his wife. Her big blue eyes and brown curly hair invaded his mind with a vengeance, still managing to make his entirety ache. "I held out hope for a long time..."
Don nodded but his mouth firmed into a hard line. "Lindsay's dead, Mac," he breathed out angrily. "And no amount of hope is gonna bring her back."
His eyes fell and he gripped his hands in his lap for a moment. "You know, Flack, after death-"
"Don't gimme any of your victim pep-talk stuff, all right?" He shook his head, dark eyes glaring into him. "I've said it all... I don't need to be fed the lines."
Mac sighed, nodding. There wasn't much to be said, really. He was right. They'd all had to give this talk to one victim or another; he had just hoped it would never be a friend. But here he stood, trying to ease the death of a loved one to his own friend and colleague. That it was a friend too who had been murdered made it all the more real and Mac's shoulders fell then, the honest truth dragging them down.
Don's voice waivered as he wondered, "You think you can die of heartbreak?"
Mac looked up at him. "I think the heart can break... metaphorically and physically. But I think death comes in part from giving in to heartbreak."
Flack's expression hardened. "I'm not a quitter."
"I know you're not."
"You know, the docs say my heart was pretty banged up even before I found out she..." His face became even more drawn, as if saying it out loud added ten times more stress and age to him. It was hard to believe this was the same guy who'd asked him to enjoy a basketball game just last week; close enough to a vacation, he'd said. And now he was falling apart.
Flack cleared his throat, lifting a shoulder. "Didn't help me any when I did, though."
He knew what that meant. Just another reminder that the death count of one friend was about to be two.
"They give you any kind of time limit?" Mac asked, steady as he was expected to be, but he was shaky on the inside.
"Who knows, right? Heart's a weird muscle."
Mac nodded to himself.
"First I thought, what better way to go out listening to a game, you know?" Flack half-smiled. "We never did get to that game on Friday."
Reaching for the remote, Mac flipped the TV channel down a few numbers. "Guess we'll have to make up for lost time."
Flack looked to him appreciatively. "Sounds good to me."
They didn't speak any more about the case or his condition, instead ignoring the obvious in favor of just being two guys, living what life was left. When Mary returned, she saw the appreciative half-smile on Don's mouth and instead of coddling him or forcing Mac away she took a seat next to her son and joined them as they watched their game, enjoying the last few moments of any notion of content.
It was three days later, after various visits from friends and family that Don Flack Jr. smiled at his ma and pops, nodded at them as if to say thanks, and then closed his eyes, never to open them again.
...
The day of the funeral, it seemed every New York cop and crime scene investigator gathered in the cemetery. It was a warm June morning and the sun shone down on the procession despite how grim its surroundings. A sea of black crossed from the curb-parked cars and hearse to the two plots already marked by marble headstones, courtesy of the city. With permission from Lindsay's parents, they'd had her grave marked Monroe-Flack in recognition of the relationship and what it was meant to become.
The Flack and Monroe families stood side by side, Mary Flack and Caroline Monroe gripping each other's hands as the caskets sat in front of them, a minister making the eulogy with a few words shared by Don's brother, Bobby and Lindsay's sister Jessica. Mac hardly heard what was said, instead focusing on the blown up pictures of his two friends that sat on stands around the area. There was a group picture of Danny, Flack, Adam and Hawkes holding beers up to the camera as they grinned, sitting at a local bar after shift. A photo of Lindsay and Stella hugging was in another frame next to one of Flack, Stella and himself. The ones that stood out most though were those of Lindsay and Flack together.
There was one from the previous Christmas where Don had Lindsay wrapped up in his arms, his chin resting on her head as her cheek was pressed against his chest; their smiles beamed out from the picture, so passionate and strong. Another had them at work, Lindsay sitting on the counter in the break room with Don standing close next to her, arm leaning on her thigh as they laughed at whoever took the picture. And the last was of the two of them looking at each other, soft expressions and loving eyes; so obvious that they were in love. He stared at that picture, a moment caught, and for the first time since either of his friends had died, a tear escaped Mac's eye. They were gone, really and truly, and the reason behind it only made him angry.
Friends and colleagues stepped forward with flowers and grim expressions, dropping them atop the caskets and whispering words of farewell. Dropping a yellow rose on either of them, Stella Bonasera returned to Mac's side and accepted his arm around her before she broke down, crying against his shoulder. Danny stood back, silently wiping at his face, scowling to hide his shaking chin. Adam and Hawkes each walked past, nodding to either Flack and Monroe parents and saying their goodbyes to their friends before returning to stand near Mac and Stella. Uniforms passed by then, cops of all levels showing their respect for their fallen colleagues.
And finally, lowered beneath the ground, side by side, with gunshots of remembrance and honor shot high above, Lindsay Monroe and Donald Flack Jr. completed the circle of life too early. Just a couple of victimized hearts in the always-rising body count of New York's never-ending fight for justice.
Complete!