A/N: In the previews for season 9 Flack has a dog. This was a surprise and I always wondered why and how he got a dog – therefore this little plot bunny demanded to be written. As always, I hope you enjoy.

Characters: Det. Don Flack Jr (minor mentions of Lindsay, Danny and Sheldon).

Set: Sometime after season 7 or during season 8.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of normal CSI happenings like a crime scene/death

Disclaimer: I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit but for fun.

Man and His Dog

The clouds shrouding the mighty city of New York hung like a black sheet ready to drop at any moment. Flack didn't like it. He was in combat with the daily traffic trying to respond to a new scene and the presence of rain would make more people take cabs or their own vehicles, blocking up the streets even further.

That, and he knew what rain could do to evidence. It made the CSI's job harder which in turn made his job harder to catch a perpetrator. He was racing against nature, trying to get to the scene and save some evidence before the inevitable downpour came. "Come on, just hold on," he muttered to himself. He shot through a set of red lights, sirens wailing, finally finding a gap in the traffic and then jerking the wheel to take a shortcut through an alley. The roar of the motor eased some tension. He was cutting his arrival time in half by doing this.

He finally pulled up to 107th street and spotted the first responder's squad car easily. He parked in that miracle car park he managed to always find no matter where he was and stepped out.

The uniformed officer had just finished putting crime scene tape up. As he approached, Flack asked, "How long ago did you get here Williams?"

"Only about five minutes ago. You were quick."

"That's the aim," Flack replied with a hint of smugness. He had a reputation for being one of the fastest responders to a scene if he was at the police precinct – one he tried his damndest to uphold. "Body down the alley?"

"Yeah," Officer Williams replied, jerking his thumb backwards.

"Thanks," Flack said and ducked under the tape, pulling his gun out as he did. While Williams probably cleared the scene, he never felt secure unless he did it himself. That had been one of the tips he had taken from his own father when he had first began as a detective. It was just another NYC alley – cracked pavement, trash and debris from the multitudes of people that had passed through here, and a few bricks that had crumbled from the old buildings rising up on either side of him. The only thing that was a marked difference from most alleys was the presence of the dead man towards the end.

Sensing no danger, the detective tucked away his gun and approached the victim.

The man on the ground looked about mid-30's, average height, average looks and well-dressed. Probably had a steady job. A bullet hole through his forehead was the key factor in revealing the cause of death. A quick glance at the left hand revealed no ring, but Flack knew that didn't mean anything. Some people chose to wear their rings on a chain around their necks and others hid it so when they went to cheat on their spouses it wouldn't be an obvious giveaway. There were no visible tattoos and no apparent defensive wounds. Carefully, Flack wrapped his hand in a clean spare handkerchief and reached for the wallet that lay by an old dog leash at the victim's side.

No cash or cards. The only thing left was his license. The victim's name was Lewis Penwright.

The detective grimaced and shook his head slightly in disgust. Another life lost and for what? Another old fashioned mugging gone terribly bad. It was petty.

A crackle of thunder reminded him to try and preserve some evidence before the CSI's got here. He wrapped the wallet in the handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. He collected the shell casing of the bullet and looked around for anything else.

Thunder boomed again, louder and closer than before.

The thunder didn't bother him. It was the rustle of garbage bags four feet in front of Flack that caught his attention. Instantly, his hand flew to his gun again. He blinked in surprise as a dog came out from behind the bags, limping and favouring it's front left leg. It was a fairly big dog, a mix of breeds…looked like a Boxer crossed with something else darker, for its hide was dark and mottled brown in some areas.

The dog whined pitifully and came forward – completely ignoring the stock still detective – to lie next to the dead body. It whined again, sniffing the air.

Flack just watched. If a dog could look depressed, this was it. The big brown eyes were sad and the tail was tucked between its legs. He was about to shoo it out of the alley when the dog snuffled at Penwright's hand and whined once more, licking out at it.

The pieces clicked.

The leash must have belonged to this dog. The dog was Penwright's and the only witness they had to the crime.

Reaching forward, Don picked up the abandoned lead. He would at least need to hold onto the dog so it wouldn't leave. The lab had found evidence on animals near the scene of a killing before, and sometimes the most important pieces of information came from the animal witnesses. Crouching, he shuffled along to get closer to the dog. It didn't seem to notice until he was close enough to put the lead on. A low growl rose from the back of its throat.

Flack simply extended his hand, letting the melancholy creature sniff it. It did so and deemed him trustworthy enough for a lick. "Hey guy," he murmured in a low, soothing tone, "you're not going to bite me if I put the leash on will ya? Because if you don't, I'm sure I can promise you a hot dog."

The dog whined pitifully and didn't move for a moment. Then, it got up, bowing it's head towards Flack. As it did, he noticed something. "Huh. Girl, not a guy. Well, good girl," he said as he clipped on the lead. To confirm the identity of the dog, he took a quick look at the ID tag. While there was no name, it confirmed that her owner was indeed his murder victim.

"Flack."

The detective turned and saw Lindsay and Hawkes heading for him. "Hey," he greeted.

"What have you got?" Lindsay asked.

"Looks like a robbery/mugging that escalated. Wallet trashed, license was the only thing left. Vic's name is Lewis Penwright," Flack replied as he stood, revealing the dog. "And this is the only witness. It's his dog."

"Good thinking," Hawkes mentioned.

"I try," quipped Don.

He stepped back, pulling the dog with him although she whined and dragged her paws, trying to get closer to her dead owner. They all shook their heads at this display of devotion, which epitomised the tragedy. Flack crouched once more, wary of its emotional state, and ran his hand over her head, scratching behind her ears. "They have to process the scene sweetie. In a perfect world I'd let you stay there," he whispered.

She did a doggy sigh and flopped to the ground, snuffling.

"Nice going Ceser Milan," Lindsay teased.

"Hardy har." Flack rolled his eyes. He was just giving some kindness to the poor dog. Besides, he had to keep her calm so they could gather whatever evidence was left.

When the body was taken away, the dog howled out her sorrow just as the rain bucketed down.

"Hey dog whisperer," Danny greeted Don as he came towards the entrance of the precinct, the dog in tow.

"Lindsay already called you?"

"When you left the scene 20 minutes ago," the other man grinned.

Flack found himself rolling his eyes again. The Messers sure lived up to their names – their curiosity was never ending. "Why is everyone making a big deal out of me making friends with a dog?" he asked tersely.

"Just because you're a big softy when it comes to dogs. Don't give me that look, that's why you never worked with the K-9 units when we started because if one got shot you'd always go down in your off time and play with it while it was recovering," Danny retorted and glanced down at the morose dog by Don's side, leaning down to give it a pat. The dog didn't seem to notice. "Found next to the owner, huh?"

"Yep," replied Don. "I'm taking her down to K-9 until the evidence gets cleared."

"And after that?"

"What do you mean 'after that?' She's probably going to go to the nearest pound after that and if she's lucky, get taken in by a good family," Flack said.

As he walked off, Danny smirked to himself and muttered, "If you don't get a dog within the next month I'll be damned."

Two weeks later Flack was joking with another detective at the vet two blocks down from the precinct. One of the sniffer dogs had gotten shot by some off his head junkie and Flack had given the detective a ride because he was procrastinating – he had a mound of paperwork on his desk waiting to be sorted.

The vet was within a pound for lost and abandoned dogs. As it so happened, while Flack and his friend were laughing, a commotion rose from the room next to the veterinary waiting area. A dog was barking ferociously and there was yelling. Concerned, Flack got up and pushed his way through the door.

There was another room with doors leading off from it. He followed the sound and found himself within the pound, row after row of gleaming cages around him. He was at the beginning of a hall that bisected the cages and at the end was a burly man tugging on a dog's lead. The dog was growling and barking, it's paws scrabbling for purchase. Frowning, Flack strode forward. There was something familiar about the dog.

"Hey, what's going on here?" he ordered.

The man holding the lead glared at him. "Who wants to know?"

Deftly flashing his badge, he replied, "Detective Don Flack. Answer the question."

Now he was closer, there was a moment of disbelief as he noticed the dog was, in fact the dog he had rescued from the Penwright murder scene. It was the same mottled colour, same shape and height. Only she wasn't as sad and depressed. She looked feisty. Although she had calmed with his approach.

"I'm just doing my job and this mutt is resisting me," the man replied gruffly.

"Which would be? Torturing animals?" Flack shot back acerbically. "The dog didn't look like it wanted to go with you."

The burly man shrugged. "Of course it wouldn't want to come with me. She's due to be put down. No one has bought her and we don't have room and she's first on the list."

Flack's mouth turned down in irritation. It was a sad part of the system that good, healthy animals had to be put down because of lack of space. He looked down at the dog, noticing that she was straining at the lead again, but towards him. She whined, pulling against the grip on her leash and her tail wagging.

He wasn't an expert on animal behaviour, but Don guessed that she had somehow detected his presence in the veterinary next door and wanted to get to him. She had remembered him. The knowledge sent a warm jolt to his heart.

He made a split second decision.

"How much is she?"

The burly man's expression turned to surprise. "Uh…I think because she's 4 years old, she's only $50."

"Check it. Because it's not this dog's day to die," Flack said firmly.

The man pressed the lead into Flack's hand as he scurried away, presumably to his supervisor to get some form of paperwork. Don couldn't really care less. He just wanted to make sure the dog was coming with him. He dropped down to his knees and the dog immediately came to him, snuffling his hands in a gesture of remembrance and welcome. "Hey sweetie," he crooned with a smile. "You missed me huh? Not enough guys around you to entertain you then."

Her tail just wagged in response to his voice.

A part of him nagged that his apartment was only big enough for one and that looking after a dog would take a sizable chunk out of his time and money.

That was drowned out by the love in this dog's eyes. Don barely remembered the dogs of his childhood but he knew that look of adoration that could only come from a devoted pet. This was it right here. This dog needed him. And if he was being frank with himself, he was lonely. It was over two years since Jess's passing and he was still guarding his heart. If anything, a pet would probably be good for him. He could just imagine it now: Coming home from a trying case to have his dog bound up to him to welcome him home.

It was a thought that gave him hope.

Burly man came back as Flack was stroking over the dog's side, over her short fur. "Uhm, my boss said if you want to have her, you can have her for free. All you have to do is-"

"Get her licensed. I know," Don replied quietly. "I'll come out and do it on the spot."

With his new pet trotting merrily behind him, Flack left the pound. A fresh ID tag swung from her new collar he had purchased from the vet. He grinned. "What do you say Sweetie? Want to go to your new home?"

Sweetie barked, her tail wagging happily.

"I don't speak dog, but I'm guessing that's a yes." The man and his dog strolled down the sidewalk and Don began to talk. "I never did give you that hot dog, did I? Well I tell you what, I make a mean eggs Benedict…."

A/N: And so Don got a dog. Reviews are greatly appreciated.