Disclaimer: The characters and the show CSI:NY are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.
A/N: This story is part of the Wenches' Fairy Tale Challenge. Inspiration came from the Grimm Brothers' marchen, The Boy Who Wanted to Learn How to Shiver, as found on the surlalune site.
The Boy Who Learned to Shiver
Don Flack Jr was his father's boy.
"No Flack man ever knew the meaning of fear," his dad would always say, ruffling the boy's hair.
His mother would roll her eyes. "All Flack men are congenital heroes," she would always say, in a voice that left no doubt that when she said "hero", she meant "idiot".
Flack had known he was going to be a cop when he was 12 years old and turned in his best friend for swiping candy bars from Mr. Santos at the corner store.
When the gang had cornered him behind the school, he had taken the beat-down without a sound, and had told no one who had done it, not even Mother Superior when she called him in to the Holy of Holies, her office.
He had known he would be a good cop when he was 16 and it was a girl who was in trouble.
This time, the gang had switchblades and a gun stolen from a bedside table. He had lost a slice off his ribs and caught a black eye.
The kid with the gun had a broken arm and three years in juvie.
When he left high school, he was scouted by five different college basketball teams.
He joined the Police Academy the minute they would take him. Out in seven months, at the top of his class. His father shook his hand at the graduation ceremony.
The kids on the neighbourhood basketball court called him, "Blue." The other recruits called him "Ice." First in, last out, take no unnecessary chances, take no shit from anybody.
He put in his time as the local rookie on the beat, learning from Gavin Moran, who was the best until he fucked up. Flack took his mentor down with cool compassion.
By the time he made detective 3rd grade, his rep and his skills were secured. Flack was getting noticed, and not just for his name. He was out of his father's shadow.
He cleared drug houses with no back-up.
He threw himself out of windows and across the hoods of cars in pursuit of a perp.
He stood between men with guns and never broke a sweat.
When the building was going up, he ran towards it. Every time.
He faced down an Irish mob without turning a hair.
He shrugged on the city like an extra jacket every morning, and held it close to him every day.
He put himself between the world and the bad guys.
"No Flack man ever knew the meaning of fear."
But now he stands in front of Stella Bonasera staring into her laughing eyes, and opens his mouth, and all the words he had so carefully prepared drain from his mind and all he can do is open the small box clenched in his sweaty hand and slip the ring on her finger and wait for her to answer.
And waiting for his life to begin? That scares him to death.
A/N2: Corrected for nyakattia