I got so bored at work, so I came up with this vignette.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the creators of CSI:NY. No copyright infringements intended.
KILLING TIME
"Hey, crime stopper."
Det. Don Flack looked up from staring down at his finger ends and shot the newcomer a grin. "Hey."
The timing could have never been perfect. He had been lying there for almost an hour with nothing to do but stare at the same white walls. There was nothing good on TV; the soaps were just about to make him go postal. The nurses were a welcome distraction—specially the cute ones—but one can't really pull them from duty, not even for the most pathetic alibis just to make them stay and keep him company.
Danny Messer responded with a smirk, holding up the paper bag in his hand. "I got you some stuff," he gestured vaguely at it, depositing it on the floor by the bed then settling down at the foot of the bed with old familiarity. "Got some contraband in there. Ice cream."
Flack felt his world lit up upon hearing it. "You've finally come to your senses. Gimme. Now."
Danny shook his head in reproach as he helped his friend up to a sitting position. Once Flack was settled, he dug his hand into the bag for the tub of ice cream, and scooped up a helping for Flack and himself.
As soon as the bowl was in his hand, Flack took a spoonful, and let out a satisfied groan, relishing the guilty sweet taste in his mouth. "Now this is what you call food." He stuffed his mouth one after another. "I owe ya, Danny."
"Whoa, whoa, slow down there!" Danny warned. "Wanna get brain freeze or something?"
Flack stared down at him with a snort. "Screw you, Messer. Nobody gets in the way between me and my ice cream." He chomped on a large scoop just to spite him.
Danny merely gave him a mock-insulted look. "You're welcome."
He settled down and began to update Flack on the latest happenings in the lab and the current case they were working on as they ate. Flack listened to every detail, hung onto every word. Damn, if I could just be there… It felt like he had been out of commission for years, but have only been confined to a bed for almost two weeks. He was a man in constant motion, and it was killing him to be bedridden like this.
"Sounds exciting," he deadpanned as Danny got into the more technical details of the evidence they gathered. Danny was yapping like a dog in heat, for all he cared.
Danny must have detected his lack of interest that he paused in his storytelling and looked around. "You wanna get outta here, doncha?"
Flack didn't answer, but the look spoke for him. You think?
After a beat, Danny spoke up. "Then why don't we bail you out, huh?"
Thrilled as he was to hear it, Flack was wary. This was Danny, after all. Who knows what kind of stunt he'll pull off? "I dunno, man…"
"Come on! Some filthy city air should do you good." He had already gotten up and made for the wheelchair that was folded up in the corner. He wheeled the contraption near his bed.
"So whaddya say?"
Flack eyed the wheelchair with something close to revulsion. He had been carted to and fro with that thing, it's become the usual routine. It was a painful reminder of his weakness, the need to depend on others. And it was chafing his ego sore for the last eleven days since he woke up. Not that he was counting. But if he was only able to at the moment, he would get up and burn that cursed thing. For now, though, it was his means of transportation.
"Whatever," he grumbled, grunting against the pain, but not waiting for Danny to offer help. But his friend was already at his side, helping him onto his wheelchair.
"Comfy?" Danny arranged the blanket over his lap. He must have seen the question on Flack's face as he added, "I know it'll be drafty down there." He flashed a cocky grin.
"Oh, just fuck off, Messer."
Danny didn't take offense by it, and only made his grin wider. "Not 'til I give you a joyride first."
After some debate on where to go, Flack decided they go to the hospital roof. There won't be people there, he guessed. He was not in the mood to mingle with other patients. Besides, the hot nurse he had been checking out was nowhere to be seen today.
Flack found himself smiling as the first hint of a breeze touched his face as they crossed the door that led out onto the roof. Thankfully, the next building offered a cool shade from the afternoon sun, so he didn't mind the heat too much. He was busy admiring the view of the city, as if seeing it for the first time in his life.
"Nice view," Danny remarked behind him, as if he read his thoughts.
"Yeah." Flack breathed in slowly, taking it all in. Nothing beats feeling alive.
Then Danny came round, patting down his pants pockets. He fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and offered him a stick.
"Are you thick or something?" Flack asked in disbelief. "I can't handle those 'til the doctor says so. And you can't smoke those around me, either."
Danny's brows went up. "Didn't figure you to be a good little patient and follow doc's orders." He walked some ten paces off, lit a stick and gave it a long drag as Flack stewed in envious silence.
"Why don't you just lie down so I can roll this damn thing over you?"
"Would oblige ya, but I need to get back in a couple of hours," Danny shot back, looking around as he strolled casually.
Flack followed him with his eyes, wishing to get up and join him. His wound was still too tender, and it hurt like a bitch that one time he did go against orders and tried to move that he actually saw stars. Unlocking the chair, he carefully wheeled himself to follow Danny, mindful of the IV on his left arm and the IV drip attached to the backrest.
"Look what I found." Danny came over, a worn rubber ball in his hand. He turned his back on Flack, then launched the ball. It made a dull clang in the distance.
With a muttered oath, Danny jogged after it. It was then Flack noticed the small metal trash bin Danny must have been aiming for.
"Over here," he called. It's the closest thing to some activity he can get around there these days.
Danny complied and brought the ball over. Flack poised the ball over his head, but stopped.
"Can't you give a guy a little handicap here? I mean, come on," he gestured at himself.
Danny snorted, but went and brought the trash bin a little closer. Flack grinned his thanks, then threw the ball.
"Hn. Looks like someone hasn't lost his touch," Danny grudgingly admitted as the ball went in, going after it.
"Damn straight," he shot back with a smug grin.
They took turns in shooting in companionable silence, occasionally trading barbs and blurted swearing.
It was then that Flack remembered to ask, "So, how's Mac doing?"
Danny was in the act of shooting. "I dunno. The same, I suppose." He gave a shrug before releasing the ball, missing the target by inches.
The same. He didn't buy it. "Nobody's the same after something like that," Flack admitted slowly.
Danny turned then, a sober expression on his face. "Seriously?" He was thoughtful for a second, then gave up. "He seems a lot quiet, you know. Keeps his to himself more often. Hell, I dunno. You know how Mac is."
Flack gave a brief nod. He knew about his wife and the events that surrounded her death. He couldn't help but see the parallels with what happened recently, and wondered how it affected the older man.
"Haven't really talked to him about it, you know," Flack revealed. "I wanted to, but…"
Danny stomped on the remains of his cigarette before coming over, went on his haunches to face him. "Something on your mind?"
There actually was. Plenty. Flack didn't really know where to start, and how much he could tell his friend. He didn't want Danny to patronize him with his condition. And with him fixing that look of his, Flack felt like he was being driven to a corner.
"I dunno, man," was his vague reply. "I wanted to ask him what happened after the blast. Part of me doesn't want to, but… not remembering everything is kinda frustrating." He looked away, beyond the city skyline, wishing he was somewhere else but here.
"Do you really wanna know?"
"That's the thing, Danny. I don't know if I wanna go through that again." He clenched his jaw, suddenly feeling very weary, feeling the daily physical and emotional struggle was taxing what little reserve he had.
He said he doesn't remember much; but those fragments of memories he does have scared the hell out of him. He did hear Mac then when they were in that building, but his voice felt miles away. And the pain… he must have passed out just to escape from the intense pain.
And the worst part of it all was seeing the pain in the faces that he loved, the ones he cared for the most. He felt that part of his heart died when he saw his mother's anguish, when she thought he wasn't looking.
Flack wasn't sure if he was comfortable sharing these fears with Danny, either. So he's on the road to recovery. Then what's going to happen to him? He wasn't sure if he can be the same cop as before. And Danny… he just didn't want to be a burden to him. The guy's got things on his mind, too. There's his brother he had to think of. Then there was Aiden's death. He simply didn't want to be someone else's emotional baggage to lug around.
"Then you don't." Flack turned to look back at Danny in time to see him stand up.
He frowned. "That's it? You're not gonna indulge me with the details?"
"You said it yourself. It might be too much for you to handle at the moment."
Flack sat up slightly. "Hold on—I didn't say I can't," he began to protest.
Danny held up a hand. "Don, Don. It's okay, man. It's me. You don't have to put up the tough guy act." He passed the ball between his hands. "That was hell you guys went through. It had to be tough."
Flack calmed a bit, reminded again that Danny just went through his personal little hell not too long ago, and was still going through it.
"Things are gonna sort itself out in the end." Danny took careful aim, then released. The ball went in this time.
Flack couldn't help but grin slightly. "I hope you're hearing y'self talk, Messer." I hope it works out for all of us.
"I'm waxing philosophical, here, jackass," Danny jabbed a finger at him. "You're ruining the moment."
"And not a moment too soon," Flack shot back. "If you started going all huggy and touchy on me, I would definitely have to run you over."
"And get your hospital stink on me? No thanks, man." He walked away to retrieve the ball.
"And I love you, too, man," he called to his back in half-jest.
Danny gave a disgusted sound and flipped the finger at him in response. Flack couldn't hold back his laughter.
"Shit, Danny, look what ya made me do," he was reduced to chuckling and groaning, with a hand on his midsection.
"Hey, you brought that on yourself." His words did not reflect his action, though, when he approached and looked him over.
Unrepentant, irreverent Danny. He doesn't want his brother any other way.
"So when are you and Monroe gonna get it on?" He thought a change of subject was in order. Neither one was comfortable wallowing in their misery.
"'The hell did that come from?" Danny blurted with an incredulous look.
"You haven't been getting down to the dirty details with your Montana," Flack shrugged. "Just thought I'd help you along."
"The last time I checked, I'm still taken," Danny pointed out archly.
"Like that will change anything," Flack retorted. "You never brought Cindy down at the crime lab."
"What? And subject her to lechers like Sid? Fat chance."
"A man has his ways to keep his women from meeting each other; you know what I'm saying?" Flack put in with a cheeky grin.
Danny gave an incredulous laugh. "Okay, that's it. You and me and the ball right now, Flack." Danny stood at full height, a taunting smirk on his lips as he looked down at him.
Flack couldn't help but grin back at the look of bravado. He'll let Danny have his moment of enjoying the temporary height advantage over him.
"Let me remind you, Messer, I'm condemned to this damned chair."
Danny made a face at him. "Aw. Poor widdle Flackie couldn't play 'coz he's sicky-wicky." His pout grew.
Flack grimaced. "Doubt you can beat me even while I'm in this chair. I can take you on with my left hand tied behind my back."
"Five bucks says you're gonna eat the ball." He passed the ball to Flack.
He caught it with his right hand. "Afraid I left my wallet in my other PJs,"
"Pity. Then if I win, I'm taking the rest of your caramel fudge sundae." He waggled his eyebrows at him.
One brow shot up. Danny's done it. No mercy. "You're on."
THE END.
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