{the facts}
Story comes with a song: Broken Social Scene’s Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day).
title: The Facts
with: Flack, Danny, Mac; memory of Flack/Moran
rated: R
herein: post-ep for “The Fall”
disclaim: they continue to own me, not vice versa
note: set in the same ‘verse as Sometimes and Awake (two-part Mac/Flack “Officer Blue” post-ep); there’s more coming in this ‘verse, though it’s still without a name.
thanks to stellaluna_ for the beta; dedicated to stellaluna_ for the general encouragement she's given me with this 'verse in particular
Startling how the temperature dropped after the sun went down.
Flack shoves his hands deeper in his coat pockets, but he doesn’t really feel the cold. Because he’s drunk. Several shots of whisky warming him inside out. He stops at a corner, waiting for the light to change, and begins to shiver. Yeah, it’s cold, he’s just not feeling it much. Inside his coat pockets his hands clench into fists. The light flashes to green, and he’s okay when he’s moving.
About a block from the lab he slows down a little and turns onto a cross street. Not so much turning around as circling. Buying some time.
The walk from the bar and the cold air probably sobered him up a little, even if he can’t feel it. Because he’s drunk, but he’s not so drunk he’s turned stupid.
He fumbles for his cell phone.
Bursting into the lab and beating the shit out of Mac might make him feel good right now, but in the long run it wouldn’t do any favors.
Besides, he doesn’t even know if Mac’s still there. He’d lay good money on it though.
Danny picks up on the third ring.
“You still at the lab?” Flack asks.
“Just walking out of the building-where are you?”
“Was Mac still there?”
There’s a pause, and if Flack keeps walking down this street he could probably intersect Danny two blocks from here.
“How you doing, Don? You want to go get something to eat.”
So Danny ran into Stella.
“You want to fuckin answer my question?”
There’s that pause again, and Flack can practically hear Danny thinking. Flack would stop walking but when he does he starts to shiver again.
“Don, are you drunk?”
“Fuck you Messer. What’s that got to do with giving me an answer?”
“You want to know where Mac is so damn bad, why don’t you call him instead of bugging me.” For a second Flack thinks he’s been hung up on, then Danny continues in a flat voice. “The fuck do you think. Yeah he’s still at the lab, but he was just getting ready to head out when I left. Where-” Danny sighs. “Look, Flack-just call me okay.”
“Yeah sure.” Flack cuts down an alley, moving straight for the lab now. “Thanks Danny.”
“Right. Talk to you later.”
Flack fumbles the phone again, and he must be drunk if his coordination is shot like that. Drunk or cold. He doesn’t really feel either. Numb fingers maybe. Then he’s through the alley and can see the lab down the street.
He won’t call Danny. Not about this. Danny does this thing where he swings in and out of Mac’s orbit so fast it makes Flack’s head spin. No telling where he’d land with this. One minute Danny’s clamoring for Mac to pat him on the head, the next he’s spitting venom and had it up to here with the way Mac always waits for the science no matter what the circumstances. No matter what they already know is true.
The phone call could’ve gone worse though-would’ve if he’d called Stella. Stella and Mac practically have a psychic connection, even if she’s the human side of it.
Flack scans the street in front of the lab, but he doesn’t see anyone likely to try a conversation with him right now. Shift changed several hours ago-not like that means a whole hell of a lot-but Danny and Aiden were on the same case so if he’s gone for the day she is too. And Stella’s probably left since they wrapped their own goddamn case.
Flack lights a cigarette and slows down again as he draws even with the lab.
Mac, on the other hand.
Mac has his own set procedures. And for Mac just getting ready to head out is code for he might leave sometime in the next hour. If they’re talking about work, that is.
Several feet past the entrance to the lab, he turns around and settles in to smoke and wait. Yeah, Mac has his own set procedures and sure as hell proved that today.
He’d thought he understood Mac. Even if there had been a moment that night after Officer Velasquez’s funeral when, if he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought Mac looked shy. Or they fell down the rabbit hole or something. How drunk had Flack been that night anyway. He thought he understood Mac and he thought Mac understood this. Mac sure as hell had held on like he understood this.
Flack takes a long drag on his cigarette. Whatever gratitude he had that he got to be the one to bring Gavin in and do it quietly-whatever gratitude he had for Mac, and it couldn’t have been much-all evaporated on the drive to Central Booking.
Next to him in the passenger seat Gavin just sat there stiff and awkward and silent. Flack wanted to reach over, touch him-wanted to stroke Gavin’s neck with his thumb, kiss him and coax his mouth open.
The only other time Flack had seen him so tense was a couple months into training when some spooked banger had pulled a gun on the two of them. It had been the first time Flack ever got shot at; a bullet had grazed his arm-barely a flesh wound. Then Gavin had fired and brought the maggot down. Kid bled out before the paramedics arrived. Flack hadn’t understood how fast someone could bleed out until he’d watched it happen.
That night Gavin had taken him home, had stood in Flack’s living room like he was still bracing for something. Looked at Flack like maybe their eyes were playing tricks. Flack had led him to bed, had needed it every bit as much as Gavin.
Today, on their way to Central Booking, Gavin wouldn’t look at him.
(and gavin wouldn’t look at him when flack first asked about the soda can. not really. flack’s gut twisted. then gavin did look at him and partners don’t do that, partners don’t lie. gavin taught him that, gavin said how can i have your back if you don’t tell me what’s going on.)
Flack fishes the pack of cigarettes out again and lights another from the butt of his first. A couple years ago he cut back and hasn’t chain smoked since, but if he’s going to wait here he’s going to smoke-the whole pack if he has to. He’ll probably regret it tomorrow, lungs raw and aching. Fuck it, he’ll probably be too busy regretting the hangover. He tilts his head up toward the blank strip of sky and exhales.
Can’t go in there drunk. No, he’s gonna stand here and have a nice little smoke until Mac comes out of the lab. Then they’re going to have a nice little conversation. Then he’s going to have a few more nice little drinks.
Fuck. Or he’s going to pace here and smoke until Mac comes out of the lab. He shifts his weight and walks a slow, shaky line. Can’t hold still without starting to shiver. Jesus, he’s worse than Danny, king of can’t-sit-still.
Just cold, even if he doesn’t feel it. Alcohol constricts the blood vessels and makes you think you’re warm when you’re really cold. See, Flack knows things-he’s not stupid. In fact, he’s a damn sight smarter than the people in the lab, at least about the things that are really useful.
Flack misses the moment when Mac walks out of the building. He’s looking out over the few cars in the street, he turns, and there’s Mac walking down the sidewalk toward him. Mac just a few feet away.
Dropping the cigarette, Flack falls into step beside him. “I don’t know, Mac-”
“Flack.” The impatience in his voice is clear. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
“No we haven’t.” Flack almost chokes on the words, on the pressure inside his chest. He stops, grabs Mac by the arm, and when Mac turns, Flack throws a punch that glances off the side of his head.
Mac steps to the side, jerks his arm away, and stares at him with hard, shocked eyes.
“We have not had this conversation, Mac, because I barely get three words out before you decide the conversation’s over.” Even though Flack’s standing too close, standing over him and damn near shouting, and they’re not even a block from the lab-Mac doesn’t flinch. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his eyes don’t waver.
“What do you think there is to talk about here?”
“C’mon, Mac.” He forces himself to smile and knows it’s bitter. “You know how it works. Cops look the other way for other cops’ kids all the time.”
“We’re not talking about underage drinking or disorderly conduct.” The words are sharp, bitten-off. “A man was murdered. You know we couldn’t look the other way.” Mac stares for a long moment. “You didn’t know about Hector, did you.”
Heat shoots through Flack, and he hopes it’s not visible on his face. “No.”
“If you had known, would you have covered for Moran?”
Flack looks away, shaking his head a little. He went back to the scene, found the soda can. Insisted on it. There’s no right answer he can give Mac.
“Hector is accessory to murder in the commission of a felony, and Moran tampered with evidence.” Mac’s voice is lower now, his words still clipped. “I can’t ignore those facts.”
Flack’s jaw tightens. He thought Mac understood. Because Mac is still a marine, present tense.
“Right. The facts. Thanks for reminding me.” You son of a bitch. Flack nods and gets in his face again. “There are a lot of facts out there Mac, and aren’t you a lucky bastard for getting to decide which ones are important.” He pushes Mac, but not very hard. Mac doesn’t react, doesn’t back away.
They’re just standing there, not moving, and it’s still cold. Flack is not starting to shake again. He’s not.
Mac has that x-ray stare of his going.
“You do realize that both of them could be going to jail, but they’re not.”
Flack’s hand is fisted in Mac’s shirt, but he relaxes it, spreading his palm out on Mac’s chest. “There are a lot of facts out there,” he repeats.
“Are there.” Mac says. His voice is only a shade away from patronizing.
“Yeah.” He pushes Mac again, and Mac shifts his weight for balance.
“Like what.”
“Like this.” His hand is still heavy on Mac’s chest. “This is a fact too.”
Mac’s face flickers in confusion, then softens a little. Flack’s brain catches up to his words, and he steps back.
“Don,” Mac says quietly.
“No.” He points at Mac, and he could really use those nice little drinks now. “No, I get the last word on this one.” Flack shoves his hands back in his pockets, watching the pavement in front of his feet. “Twenty good years and one really bad night. Aren’t you a lucky bastard getting to decide which facts are important and which aren’t.”
Flack doesn’t look up before he walks away.
…
thanks for reading; feedback much appreciated since I’m in this ‘verse for the long haul.
title: The Facts
with: Flack, Danny, Mac; memory of Flack/Moran
rated: R
herein: post-ep for “The Fall”
disclaim: they continue to own me, not vice versa
note: set in the same ‘verse as Sometimes and Awake (two-part Mac/Flack “Officer Blue” post-ep); there’s more coming in this ‘verse, though it’s still without a name.
thanks to stellaluna_ for the beta; dedicated to stellaluna_ for the general encouragement she's given me with this 'verse in particular
Startling how the temperature dropped after the sun went down.
Flack shoves his hands deeper in his coat pockets, but he doesn’t really feel the cold. Because he’s drunk. Several shots of whisky warming him inside out. He stops at a corner, waiting for the light to change, and begins to shiver. Yeah, it’s cold, he’s just not feeling it much. Inside his coat pockets his hands clench into fists. The light flashes to green, and he’s okay when he’s moving.
About a block from the lab he slows down a little and turns onto a cross street. Not so much turning around as circling. Buying some time.
The walk from the bar and the cold air probably sobered him up a little, even if he can’t feel it. Because he’s drunk, but he’s not so drunk he’s turned stupid.
He fumbles for his cell phone.
Bursting into the lab and beating the shit out of Mac might make him feel good right now, but in the long run it wouldn’t do any favors.
Besides, he doesn’t even know if Mac’s still there. He’d lay good money on it though.
Danny picks up on the third ring.
“You still at the lab?” Flack asks.
“Just walking out of the building-where are you?”
“Was Mac still there?”
There’s a pause, and if Flack keeps walking down this street he could probably intersect Danny two blocks from here.
“How you doing, Don? You want to go get something to eat.”
So Danny ran into Stella.
“You want to fuckin answer my question?”
There’s that pause again, and Flack can practically hear Danny thinking. Flack would stop walking but when he does he starts to shiver again.
“Don, are you drunk?”
“Fuck you Messer. What’s that got to do with giving me an answer?”
“You want to know where Mac is so damn bad, why don’t you call him instead of bugging me.” For a second Flack thinks he’s been hung up on, then Danny continues in a flat voice. “The fuck do you think. Yeah he’s still at the lab, but he was just getting ready to head out when I left. Where-” Danny sighs. “Look, Flack-just call me okay.”
“Yeah sure.” Flack cuts down an alley, moving straight for the lab now. “Thanks Danny.”
“Right. Talk to you later.”
Flack fumbles the phone again, and he must be drunk if his coordination is shot like that. Drunk or cold. He doesn’t really feel either. Numb fingers maybe. Then he’s through the alley and can see the lab down the street.
He won’t call Danny. Not about this. Danny does this thing where he swings in and out of Mac’s orbit so fast it makes Flack’s head spin. No telling where he’d land with this. One minute Danny’s clamoring for Mac to pat him on the head, the next he’s spitting venom and had it up to here with the way Mac always waits for the science no matter what the circumstances. No matter what they already know is true.
The phone call could’ve gone worse though-would’ve if he’d called Stella. Stella and Mac practically have a psychic connection, even if she’s the human side of it.
Flack scans the street in front of the lab, but he doesn’t see anyone likely to try a conversation with him right now. Shift changed several hours ago-not like that means a whole hell of a lot-but Danny and Aiden were on the same case so if he’s gone for the day she is too. And Stella’s probably left since they wrapped their own goddamn case.
Flack lights a cigarette and slows down again as he draws even with the lab.
Mac, on the other hand.
Mac has his own set procedures. And for Mac just getting ready to head out is code for he might leave sometime in the next hour. If they’re talking about work, that is.
Several feet past the entrance to the lab, he turns around and settles in to smoke and wait. Yeah, Mac has his own set procedures and sure as hell proved that today.
He’d thought he understood Mac. Even if there had been a moment that night after Officer Velasquez’s funeral when, if he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought Mac looked shy. Or they fell down the rabbit hole or something. How drunk had Flack been that night anyway. He thought he understood Mac and he thought Mac understood this. Mac sure as hell had held on like he understood this.
Flack takes a long drag on his cigarette. Whatever gratitude he had that he got to be the one to bring Gavin in and do it quietly-whatever gratitude he had for Mac, and it couldn’t have been much-all evaporated on the drive to Central Booking.
Next to him in the passenger seat Gavin just sat there stiff and awkward and silent. Flack wanted to reach over, touch him-wanted to stroke Gavin’s neck with his thumb, kiss him and coax his mouth open.
The only other time Flack had seen him so tense was a couple months into training when some spooked banger had pulled a gun on the two of them. It had been the first time Flack ever got shot at; a bullet had grazed his arm-barely a flesh wound. Then Gavin had fired and brought the maggot down. Kid bled out before the paramedics arrived. Flack hadn’t understood how fast someone could bleed out until he’d watched it happen.
That night Gavin had taken him home, had stood in Flack’s living room like he was still bracing for something. Looked at Flack like maybe their eyes were playing tricks. Flack had led him to bed, had needed it every bit as much as Gavin.
Today, on their way to Central Booking, Gavin wouldn’t look at him.
(and gavin wouldn’t look at him when flack first asked about the soda can. not really. flack’s gut twisted. then gavin did look at him and partners don’t do that, partners don’t lie. gavin taught him that, gavin said how can i have your back if you don’t tell me what’s going on.)
Flack fishes the pack of cigarettes out again and lights another from the butt of his first. A couple years ago he cut back and hasn’t chain smoked since, but if he’s going to wait here he’s going to smoke-the whole pack if he has to. He’ll probably regret it tomorrow, lungs raw and aching. Fuck it, he’ll probably be too busy regretting the hangover. He tilts his head up toward the blank strip of sky and exhales.
Can’t go in there drunk. No, he’s gonna stand here and have a nice little smoke until Mac comes out of the lab. Then they’re going to have a nice little conversation. Then he’s going to have a few more nice little drinks.
Fuck. Or he’s going to pace here and smoke until Mac comes out of the lab. He shifts his weight and walks a slow, shaky line. Can’t hold still without starting to shiver. Jesus, he’s worse than Danny, king of can’t-sit-still.
Just cold, even if he doesn’t feel it. Alcohol constricts the blood vessels and makes you think you’re warm when you’re really cold. See, Flack knows things-he’s not stupid. In fact, he’s a damn sight smarter than the people in the lab, at least about the things that are really useful.
Flack misses the moment when Mac walks out of the building. He’s looking out over the few cars in the street, he turns, and there’s Mac walking down the sidewalk toward him. Mac just a few feet away.
Dropping the cigarette, Flack falls into step beside him. “I don’t know, Mac-”
“Flack.” The impatience in his voice is clear. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
“No we haven’t.” Flack almost chokes on the words, on the pressure inside his chest. He stops, grabs Mac by the arm, and when Mac turns, Flack throws a punch that glances off the side of his head.
Mac steps to the side, jerks his arm away, and stares at him with hard, shocked eyes.
“We have not had this conversation, Mac, because I barely get three words out before you decide the conversation’s over.” Even though Flack’s standing too close, standing over him and damn near shouting, and they’re not even a block from the lab-Mac doesn’t flinch. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his eyes don’t waver.
“What do you think there is to talk about here?”
“C’mon, Mac.” He forces himself to smile and knows it’s bitter. “You know how it works. Cops look the other way for other cops’ kids all the time.”
“We’re not talking about underage drinking or disorderly conduct.” The words are sharp, bitten-off. “A man was murdered. You know we couldn’t look the other way.” Mac stares for a long moment. “You didn’t know about Hector, did you.”
Heat shoots through Flack, and he hopes it’s not visible on his face. “No.”
“If you had known, would you have covered for Moran?”
Flack looks away, shaking his head a little. He went back to the scene, found the soda can. Insisted on it. There’s no right answer he can give Mac.
“Hector is accessory to murder in the commission of a felony, and Moran tampered with evidence.” Mac’s voice is lower now, his words still clipped. “I can’t ignore those facts.”
Flack’s jaw tightens. He thought Mac understood. Because Mac is still a marine, present tense.
“Right. The facts. Thanks for reminding me.” You son of a bitch. Flack nods and gets in his face again. “There are a lot of facts out there Mac, and aren’t you a lucky bastard for getting to decide which ones are important.” He pushes Mac, but not very hard. Mac doesn’t react, doesn’t back away.
They’re just standing there, not moving, and it’s still cold. Flack is not starting to shake again. He’s not.
Mac has that x-ray stare of his going.
“You do realize that both of them could be going to jail, but they’re not.”
Flack’s hand is fisted in Mac’s shirt, but he relaxes it, spreading his palm out on Mac’s chest. “There are a lot of facts out there,” he repeats.
“Are there.” Mac says. His voice is only a shade away from patronizing.
“Yeah.” He pushes Mac again, and Mac shifts his weight for balance.
“Like what.”
“Like this.” His hand is still heavy on Mac’s chest. “This is a fact too.”
Mac’s face flickers in confusion, then softens a little. Flack’s brain catches up to his words, and he steps back.
“Don,” Mac says quietly.
“No.” He points at Mac, and he could really use those nice little drinks now. “No, I get the last word on this one.” Flack shoves his hands back in his pockets, watching the pavement in front of his feet. “Twenty good years and one really bad night. Aren’t you a lucky bastard getting to decide which facts are important and which aren’t.”
Flack doesn’t look up before he walks away.
…
thanks for reading; feedback much appreciated since I’m in this ‘verse for the long haul.