This one shot is part of the Fanfic Who? What? Where? Challenge set by Smuffly
in the CSI Forum. The challenge is to write a story of any length with a random choice of one main character and one object and one location.
I picked the numbers 4, 14 and 24
so I was given Don Flack, a flower and a health spa or gym so make of this what you will!
He zapped through the channels. Advert. News. Weather. Advert. Cartoons. Advert. Advert. Re-run of Friends. He paused for a moment considering the possibility. It was a good show but then he changed his mind and continued zapping. Advert. Soap. Advert. Another soap. A re-run of Quincy … tempting … but no. He gave up and switched the TV off throwing the remote down in disgust. He pushed himself off the couch wincing as the muscles in his shoulder and neck protested at the movement. He sighed as he looked at his coffee table or least what he assumed was still his coffee table provided it hadn't collapsed under the weight of detritus now covering it. He began to clear up. It was better than doing nothing. He stuffed the twice-read newspapers under his arm and grabbed the empty beer bottles from the previous evening in one hand while picking up the half-finished pizza still in it's box from beside the couch, tucking it under his chin so he could grab the vase of tired looking flowers that the guys at the lab had sent.
He staggered into the kitchen, put the papers and bottles into the recycling bin and jammed the pizza box with the other one on top of the overflowing trash. He stuffed the flowers into the trash too ignoring the cascade of petals that fluttered tiredly to the floor. He emptied the vase, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the stale water. He squirted some dish soap in it, filled it up and left it in the sink, all the while wondering whose vase it was 'cos it certainly wasn't his. Flowers weren't a guy thing, he decided. He made two more trips returning with empty coffee mugs, burger boxes, more newspapers and a tatty looking paperback. It was a second-rate thriller by M.A. Hala that he had picked up at a street market some years ago but had never got round to reading. He had liked the title. It wasn't that great but it had passed a couple of hours given that he hadn't anything better to do. He tossed the novel on the counter next to yesterday's mail. He glared at the huge pile of assorted envelopes and flyers like he should read it it's rights. However he decided to take the bull by the horns and pulled it towards him.
He proceeded methodically. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Junk. Bill. Bank statement. Pay slip. Junk, junk, junk … personal letter! He was about to investigate when his phone buzzed rattling it's way across the counter-top as though trying to escape from his clutches. Like a desperate man he grabbed at it, his heart leaping as he saw Mac's name come up on the screen. He jabbed at the answer button. "Did you get the sonofabitch?"
He heard a snort of laughter from the other end of the phone. "Normally, people start conversations with Hello or Hi or Good Afternoon, how are you today?" came the slightly distorted voice from the other end of the phone. Don could hear a lot of background noise that sounded familiar. He suspected Mac was at the precinct.
"Mac! I'm not in the mood for pleasantries."
Another snort of laughter followed by, "Clearly. Quit worrying. We got him." Don clenched a fist in triumph.
"Everyone's okay? No one got hurt?"
"Everyone's fine. No one got hurt. He's being processed now. We got the murder weapon, a stack of evidence and … his accomplice. Case closed." Don sighed with relief. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine." He winced as he realized he had now picked up Mac's stock phrase. Fine? Yeah, right! His neck felt as stiff as a board and his shoulder was aching. Then a thought came to Don's mind. "Er … Mac … as you're at the precinct ..."
"No!"
Don glared at the phone in disgust. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"
Mac chuckled. "Yes I do. You were going to ask me to have a word with the Cap so you could come back in early. Don you're on sick leave for a reason. It's almost the weekend. Once you get the stitches out and the all clear from the Doc on Monday you can come back in."
Damn, he did know what he was going to say.
"Oh come on Mac! I'm going crazy here." In fact, that was an understatement. Not only was he frustrated at being stuck at home, he was thoroughly pissed at himself for having let the perp get away. Right at that moment he wanted nothing better than to do storm down to the precinct and rip the guy into tiny shreds. He glowered down at the pile of junk mail. Maybe he could practise a little on that first.
"Don, you've got a cracked cheekbone and sixteen stitches in your shoulder. They take time to heal. Believe me I know what it's like to be stuck at home with nothing to do." Don felt a twinge of guilt. It had taken Mac six months to get back to work. He'd only been off six days and already he was going crazy. "You've got to take it easy but remember that the Doc said you should do some gentle exercise. Look I gotta go and help Danny and Lindsay finish up at the lab. I'm going to hit the gym after work but how about I bring over Chinese later and we can watch a game or one of those dumb crime shows they always put on Friday nights?"
Slightly mollified, Don smiled to himself. "Okay sounds great!" Mac told him to take care and hung up. Don dropped the phone on the counter and returned to the pile of mail. It didn't seem so bad now he'd removed the junk mail and he had something to look forward to. He tossed the junk mail into the recycling bin where it sat woebegone as if knowing it's fate. Don grimaced. Both bins were overflowing. He needed to empty the trash. He looked at the window. Trickles of water cascaded down the glass. It had been raining all week. Constant grey skies, drizzle and heavy downpours. No wonder he was going stir-crazy. Don turned his attention to the personal letter. It had been hand delivered as it was only addressed with his name written in neat capitals. He didn't recognize the hand-writing so he opened it up and found a lilac-coloured brochure with sixties style purple flowered background and a pretty brunette in a purple cat suit smiling back at him from the page. "Lina's - Free Trial Offer." he read.
What was it Mac said? Get some gentle exercise? You've gotta be kiddin' me!. He dropped the brochure and looked at the trash and sighed. Then he looked out of the window again. It was still raining. A sudden thought struck him. Mac had been going to the gym a lot since the shooting. He knew for a fact that Mac had sustained a lot of internal injury but he had bounced back and Don couldn't deny that Mac was looking pretty good considering. He wasn't really one for gyms but under the circumstances... He looked at the flyer again. Why not? After all it wasn't going to cost him anything and it wasn't that far away. It was better than being stuck indoors.
.
Lina looked up from the catalogue as the doors swished open and a tall man ducked in out of the rain. He ran a hand through his damp hair shaking off little droplets leaving him looking like a rather lost, bedraggled yet somewhat cute mongrel. Obviously too butch for an umbrella. She smiled as she looked him over. Not a regular. Around six two. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Looking a little wary. Definitely a newbie. Mm. Holding himself a little stiffly. Nasty bruise across the zygomatic bone. Accident … or a fight? Mm. Fight. "Hi, welcome to Lina's. How can I help you?"
Don walked up to the discrete front desk and leaned on it, surprised to see the picture on the flyer in the flesh though this time she was wearing black track pants and a lilac-coloured tee but it was no less flattering. He looked around. It was not what he had expected a gym to look like. In fact it wasn't even obvious from the outside that Lina's was a gym and health spa. At first, he'd thought he'd got the wrong address until he'd seen the discrete little sign with it's 'members only' notice. "Erm hi … I've been told to get some light exercise. And I found this ... " He held up the flyer. "... and I wondered if I could … er ..."
Lina smiled. "Get a free trial. Sure." She pulled out a clip-board and inserted a sheet of paper into it. "Okay, I just need you to fill out some details and I do have to ask you for ID."
Don grinned a lazy grin and pulled his badge from his pocket. "That do?" There are times when the badge comes in handy.
Lina's smile widened as she saw his shield. "Ah that explains it."
Huh? Don looked a little taken-aback. "Explains what?" Lina pointed to the side of her face. "Oh yeah that!" Don looked a little bashful as his fingers fluttered over the painful bruise. "A little collateral damage." He didn't want to admit that drug-crazed gang-banger had got the better of him.
Lina nodded as she passed him a pen. "Did you break the zygoma?" Don looked at her blankly surprised that she knew the name of the bone. "Your cheekbone?" He nodded and confirmed that it was only a hairline crack. "And the shoulder …?" Don's mouth opened in surprise. "You're holding it stiffly. Gun shot or knife?"
"Er .. knife."
"Stitches?"
"Sixteen but they're coming out on Monday." Lina nodded and moved round to Don's side of the counter. She looked at him expectantly. Don pulled at his tee-shirt to show her where the dressing was as she asked him if the muscles or tendons had been damaged. Don shook his head. "No Doc said the damage was superficial."
"Raise your arm. Tell me when it hurts." She placed her hand gently on his shoulder as though feeling the bones. "Now rotate." He did as she was asked. She prodded a couple of times but he said he didn't feel anything. She looked at him in disbelief. "Okay, you're stiff but nothing that a massage and light exercise won't cure." She fixed him with steely eye. "No weights and stay off the rowing machine. I recommend a warm-up in the machine room – treadmill, bikes, and stair-master or, if you must, the cross-walker but only if you take it slow and use your right arm more than your left." She returned behind the counter and peered at the screen. "Lily will be finished in about forty minutes so that will give me time to show you around and ..."
She was interrupted as the doors behind her swung open and a group of chattering, laughing women came out. They all said good-bye or wished her a good weekend before running out into the rain. They were followed by a muscular young man with short blond hair making notes on a tablet. He too was wearing black track pants but with a dark purple tee.
"Hey Jimmy, how'd it go?"
"Great! They're doing good. Emma's improved and even Sue's getting more co-ordinated." He rolled his eyes. "Want me to take over?"
"Please. I'm just going to show ..." she glanced down at the paper that Don had been filling out. "... Don around." She ran her eyes over the form that Don had filled in and then turned to him. "Now that's fine for today but if you choose to take out a monthly or yearly membership with classes we do require a medical certificate from your doctor. There is ten per cent discount for NYPD and FDNY and we have a special on at the moment, an extra ten per cent if you sign for a dance class with your subscription."
Don's eyes grew stalks. Dance class? No way! "Er no … dance is not really … my thing." Over my dead body!
"Hey!" Jimmy leaned on the counter. "Don't knock it till you've tried it. It's a good all-round fitness routine not to mention a great stress reliever and before you say it's only for girls, let me tell you that that's not true. I have quite a few guys come to classes. In fact I'm running one in just over an hour where there are usually more guys than girls. Why don't you sit in on it?" Don looked doubtful. "You don't have to join in if you don't want to. Just see what you think."
Er no … not going to happen! Don muttered a non-committal maybe. Lina tipped her head and he followed her through the double doors that opened with a quiet swish giving him admittance to the inner sanctum. Don was surprised. He had expected noise and bustle and loads of pretty young things in lycra but this place was different. It was quiet and peaceful. Lina gave him a whirlwind tour. The facilities were more impressive than he had expected. Upstairs there was a dance studio, weights room, exercise room, and sports room – for martial arts, kick-boxing and rhythm boxing classes, she told him. Don's eyes lit up but she told him that he would definitely have to wait several weeks before he attempted that. They pushed through another set of doors. "So here we have the locker rooms and showers – men to your left and women to your right. And beyond that is the static pool – you have to book that in advance as we don't allow more than six swimmers at once, max twenty minutes in peak periods." She looked apologetic. "Space constraints and building regulations. There is also a steam room and jacuzzi and that ..." She pointed to a blue door. "... is the treatment room. I'll see you there in thirty-five minutes. That should be enough time for you to change and have a warm up." She turned to go. "And don't forget, stay off the rowing machine!" she warned with a smile.
Left to his own devices, Don took a minute to look around. The whole place was tastefully decorated in shades of grey and lavender. It smelt fresh – not a sweaty sock in sight. He made his way to the locker room and he threw what little he had brought with him into a locker. He changed his shoes raising an eyebrow at the stacks of towels placed on a shelf. They were in every hue possible from lilac and mauve to violet and deep purple. A bit girly! He headed for the machine room. It was fairly quiet with only two women jogging slowly on the treadmills while people-watching through the large bay windows overlooking the street. He could see a sea of umbrellas going past. In the opposite corner a hefty looking guy was making a meal out of a preprogrammed rowing machine. His sweaty face was as red as a beetroot. Don wondered if he had a medical certificate because he looked like he was about to have heart failure. Don decided on the bikes. He sat on the one that looked like it was adjusted for his height, programmed in his age and weight and selected a basic programme for thirty minutes. He started pedalling. The screen transformed into a pixelated picture of mountain roads and passes. This was what he hated about gyms – the monotony and the stupid graphics. He concentrated on the screen but in his mind's eye he pictured himself on a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14, top speed of a hundred and eighty-six miles per hour, zero to sixty in two and half seconds. He zipped around corners, powered up the hills, coasted down the valleys, wind in his hair, a pair of soft arms around his waist, her face pressed against his back. Perfect!
Faster than he could have believed possible the machine beeped and the programme closed down. He was breathing deeply and he felt the slight glow of having had the equivalent of a brisk walk. He glanced at the clock on the wall and at the two women who had stopped jogging and were chatting quietly while sharing a drink. He looked over his shoulder. The man on the rowing machine was still sitting there but his feet were on the ground, his head between his knees. He looked like he was nauseous. Don got up and headed for the treatment room as Lina had suggested. The door was open when he arrived. Lina had her back to him and was busily rubbing her hands with something. He cleared his throat and she turned round. "How are you feeling? You have a little more colour in your cheeks."
Don nodded. "Yeah, it was good..." He stood in the doorway unsure what to do next.
"Well, come on in and have a seat." Lina gestured to a black leather contraption that looked like a cross between a dentist's chair and a form of medieval torture. Clearly his confusion must have shown on his face as she followed it up with. "Oh don't tell me you've never had a massage Detective Flack?" Massage? What the …? Had he agreed to a massage? She closed the door and guided him to the chair. She then looked at him and laughed. "Er … you do have to take off your shirt." Don gulped and stared at her in astonishment. Dilemma? Admit he was shy or man up? He nervously twitched at the edge of his tee-shirt.
Lina suppressed a smile. Why were the tough ones always the shyest? She turned her back and switched on the tape desk. Soft, quiet music began to play. She selected a bottle and began to oil her hands again subtly giving him a moment to decide.
Don shrugged off his shirt and leaned into the chair noticing as he did the row of diplomas on the wall. School of physiotherapy? "Now try to relax." Her hands were warm and gentle and his nostrils were filled with the subtle scents of lemon grass and coconut. Little by little she kneaded the tense muscles at the back of his neck and his shoulders all the while carefully avoiding the tapes holding the dressing over his wound. Don began to relax. Lina didn't speak. The rhythmic music combined with her firm but gentle movements was soothing, lulling him to sleep. He didn't sleep or at least he thought he hadn't when Lina stopped. "There, how's that feel?" Don blinked and sat up. He turned his head to look at her and was surprised to find that the tight feeling he had had in his neck and shoulder all week had disappeared.
"Huh … better ...er ..." He rotated his arm in the socket. The stitches still pulled but a lot of the pain had gone. "... wow … actually a lot better." Lina grinned a I-told-you-so grin and went to wash her hands. Don suddenly found himself feeling pretty good though he still felt a little sleepy. Without really realizing, he pulled on his tee-shirt and obediently followed Lina out of the treatment room. The man from the rowing machine was sitting waiting. Lina told him she'd be right back. She showed Don to the dance studio. Suddenly aware that she was about to abandon him there he stepped back, an excuse on his lips but Lina had already opened the door and was pushing him through.
"Now, now … don't knock it till you've tried it," chided Lina. Don found himself in the studio facing five other people. Three women, two brunettes and a shy-looking blonde and two men. One of the two men turned around.
"Chase?"
"I'll be damned. Don Flack. Never took you for a tango man!"
Don felt his heart stop. TANGO? What the ..?
Chase turned to his friend. "Frank, this is Don Flack from Homicide. Don, meet Frank Bayliss." Don automatically shook hands with the two fire-fighters still in shock from the fact that the six-foot four, two hundred pound ginger-haired fire-fighter took a dance-class. "Didn't see you at the practise Saturday. Heard you'd had a bit of a run in with a perp?"
Don nodded. "Yeah, just a scratch." How the hell am I going to get out of this?
Jimmy frowned as he set up a tape deck. "Sixteen stitches isn't a scratch Don so I want you to take it easy and don't do anything that feels uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable? Being in this room is uncomfortable! Is it too late to bow out? Quick think of excuse. An excuse? His mind went blank.
Jimmy turned around. "Right Don, why don't you and Gemma stay at the back. It'll be easier for you to follow the others."
Gemma turned out to be the shy blonde. "Is it your first time too?" she whispered. "Oh good, I was frightened of making a fool of myself. I only came because my friend ..." she nodded to the brunette in front of them. "... said it was more exercise than dance. I have two left feet. I can't dance for love nor money."
Don smiled sympathetically. He had a hard time believing that. At least I'm not the only one. And no one can see me if I'm at the back. God I'll never live this down if the guys at the precinct find out ... Don had a sudden vision of Danny Messer keeling over with laughter … or worse, if the guys at the crime lab found out. He groaned inwardly. He was so screwed.
Jimmy got up on a small podium and started the music "Okay let's start with a warm-up!" Don groaned. TANGO? Heaven help me!
.
Thirty minutes later, Don and Gemma were laughing as much as the others as they marched down the length of the room to the strains of 'Por Una Cabeza' followed by Frank and his partner Maggy, Chase and his partner Leonora. As it turned out, it was more of an exercise class and dancing ability was not necessary. They were both breathing heavily though not quite out of breath. Gemma grinned at him; Don didn't want to admit it but it was huge fun. Jimmy was an excellent instructor, keeping it light-hearted and informal, always moving from one thing to another, and always careful to tell Don not to move his shoulder. Don was happy to discover that none of the others were dancers either. In fact he thought they would have been at home on stage with the cast of Stomp! During the break Gemma had asked what had happened to his shoulder and her eyes had grown wider and wider as Don had told the story of the drug-crazed gang-banger albeit with a few heroic embellishments. He wasn't to about to admit it but he had rather enjoyed her rapt attention.
After a breather and drinks, Jimmy called them back together and paired them off again and gave them a brief demonstration before telling them to wing it. He turned up the music and all three couples took positions around the floor for the last dance. Before he knew it the class was over and they all trooped out of the studio and headed for the locker rooms. As they changed, Chase and Frank said that there were quite a few of them that were members of the club. "It's more discrete than a lot of places," Chase had informed him. All the main staff were qualified physio's or specialized in sporting injuries. Frank admitted he only joined after a fall during a fire. Lina had given him a personal fitness plan that complemented the rehab. Chase and Frank hit the showers. Don didn't bother as he hadn't brought a change of clothes and a fresh dressing. He could shower at home. He grabbed his stuff, said goodbye to the others and headed for the reception to find Lina waiting for him.
She smiled. "So how'd it go?" Don blushed slightly and had to admit it had been great. Better than he had thought. She handed him an envelope. "Just in case you decide to sign up. No pressure. And there's a flyer for another trial session if there's someone you know who you think would like to join. It was nice meeting you Don." Don smiled and thanked her and assured her that he would seriously think about joining. He was forced to admit to himself that the class was crazy, not at all what he had expected. They had all hoped that he could come back again. Don found he was grinning like a loon by the time he got back to his apartment block. He collected his mail, sighing as he saw more junk. He sorted through it as he rode the elevator. Stepping out into the corridor he was surprised to see Mac dressed in casual clothes and holding a large white bag with Señor Chow's written on the side waiting for him.
"Hey Mac, didn't expect you so soon. You been waiting long?"
Mac shook his head and smiled. "Hungry?"
Don nodded. "Starving." He answered automatically though he found it was true. He was hungry and the enticing aromas coming from the bag made his stomach rumble. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed past Mac to open the door.
"Thought you might be," mumbled Mac knowing Don's voracious appetite. "So you .. er … been out?" he asked nonchalantly. Don turned to look back at Mac whose nose was twitching slightly. Don hesitated for a moment and pretended to fiddle with the door while he took a discrete sniff at his tee-shirt. There was a strong scent of lemon grass and coconut from the massage oil. Damn he should have taken a shower at the gym.
"Er … yeah … you know … needed some air and … er … thought I would just take a quick walk. Been cooped up all day." Don turned his back and grimaced. He wasn't about to tell Mac he'd had a massage and been to a tango class of all things. Heaven forbid!
"Go anywhere particular?" Don muttered something unintelligible and tried to hide his bag in the closet before Mac could ask why he had a bag with him. "Right. I'll... er...put these on the table shall I?"
Don nodded again. "Yeah, thanks, you … er … wanna' grab us a couple of beers? I won't be a moment. Got caught in the rain!" Don retreated to the bedroom to grab a fresh set of clothes.
"Sure!" Mac walked over to the couch and dumped the food on the table before heading to the kitchen. "How's the shoulder?"
"Oh it's fine … er … a lot better." Don called from the bedroom. Mac could hear the squeak of the closet door.
"You know, your muscles can tighten up with an injury like that. You should think about getting a massage." In the bedroom, Don froze a look of suspicion on his face. "You know to loosen the muscles. It might help." He couldn't possibly have guessed, could he?
"Er … yeah … right. If it's okay with you I might just grab a quick shower." He didn't wait to hear Mac's mumbled response and made a dash for the bathroom. "Feel free to turn on the TV." Ten minutes later he emerged from the shower and joined Mac who was lounging on the couch with his head bowed studying something in his lap. Don stopped short. The TV was on but the sound turned down. A couple of dancers were hopping and skipping their way across the screen to the rapturous applause of the studio audience. Don swallowed. No way!
Mac looked up as he approached, his face perfectly neutral. "The Detective and the Rose?"
"Huh?" How the hell ….?
Mac waved a book at him. "The Detective and the Rose? M.A. Hala. Any good?"
Don blinked as he recognized the trashy paperback with the ridiculous title. Mac must have found it in the kitchen when he went to get the beers. He let out a small sigh of relief. "Yeah, not bad though she's got a bit of a thing for evil villainesses."
Mac arched an eyebrow. "Villainesses? Is that even a word?" He flipped a page and read a few more lines before wincing. "Ouch!" Don peered over his shoulder and was surprised to see he was already at the end of chapter eight. Damn he reads fast. Don grabbed a beer and a handful of prawn crackers that Mac had already opened before settling next to him on the couch.
"Hey you think that's bad. You should see what she does to the hero in chapter twenty-two." Don wolfed down the crackers. "You know I think she models her sadistic killers on herself."
Mac threw the book down and reached for the food bag. "Nah, she's probably a bored, middle-aged mom with an over-active imagination who needs to cut down on the coffee and cookies. Spicy orange chicken or beef noodles?"
"'eef," mumbled Don, his mouth full of prawn crackers. Mac passed him a box knowing that's what he'd choose and grabbed the remote.
"I take it this is not your thing?" He nodded at the TV and another pair of dancers whirling their way around the screen. Don shook his head slowly eyeing his friend suspiciously but Mac was busy flipping through the channels having not waited for an answer. He settled for a sports review and Don began to relax as they ate and chatted about the case, the latest football results, and whether Jo would make good on her New Year's resolution to tidy her desk. As they were already in March it didn't seem likely. As the sports review came to close, Don picked up the remote and flipped through the channels and settled on a cop show. Noting Mac's raised eyebrow at his choice, Don shrugged.
"Oh come on Mac, It's not that bad." He smirked. "The action scenes and car chases are good. It's got nice scenery ..." Mac subtly didn't ask him whether he was referring to the beaches or the scantily clad women. "... and besides, I kinda' like the snarky cop always putting soldier-boy in his place." He threw Mac a cheeky grin. Mac shook his head in amusement and smiled as he opened a box of deep fried shrimp, offering one to Don. "Seriously, they make a good team..." The two men exchanged glances for a moment each knowing what the other was saying. "... like Starsky and Hutch ..."
Mac nodded. "Or Turner and Hooch?"
Don grinned sensing a competition. "Crockett and Tubbs."
Mac decided to up the ante. "Riggs and Murtaugh"
Don though for a moment. What were they called? Bad Boys. "Lowrey and … Burnett." he finished triumphantly.
"Friday and Smith."
Don glowered. Dragnet. Going old school huh? "Baker and Ponch."
Seriously? ChiPs? Mac looked as though he was stumped but then he grinned."Cagney and Lacey," he announced earning a look of disgust from Don.
"Mulder and Scully"
"They're not cops," Mac protested.
"Near enough." Don reached for his beer peering into the half dozen food boxes scattered about the table to see if there was anything left.
"Holmes and Watson." Mac dipped into the food bag and brought out the ubiquitous fortune cookies spotting a little treat lurking in the corner of one of the boxes. He popped the last of the golden battered shrimp into his mouth daring Don to challenge him but Don had a revelation.
"Scarecrow and Mrs King."
Mac almost choked as Don burst out laughing at the look of outrage on his face. Mac decided it was time to unveil his 'pièce de resistance'. He waited until Don took a swig of beer.
"Tango and Cash!" The strangled noise and spray of foam from his friend was highly satisfying. I win!
Mac patted Don on the back and offered him a napkin. Giving Don a minute to recover and no opportunity to ask questions, Mac started clearing up the table. He asked if he could make coffee. Don merely nodded. Leaving Don to relax, Mac cleared away their meal. Don could hear him making coffee and from the sounds of clanking and running water, he also suspected cleaning the kitchen and emptying the trash. This was confirmed by the front door opening and closing. Don leaned back into the cushions and let his mind drift as the exploits of the adventurous duo on screen occupied his attention.
A few minutes later the front door opened once more and Don heard Mac go check on the coffee. He sat up. He listened carefully. Was that whistling coming from the kitchen? No way! It couldn't be … Strains of 'Por Una Cabeza' reached his ears. No, no, no!
Mac came back with two coffees, his face perfectly neutral. He placed the mugs on the table. Don glanced at him but Mac gave nothing away. His phone rang. Don only had to see the smile on Mac's face to know it was Christine letting him know that the restaurant was emptying. They had a short conversation and Mac confirmed he'd be over in half an hour. Don reckoned it was a tough life running a restaurant. He was surprised that with their respective schedules they even managed to see one another at all.
Mac tossed Don a fortune cookie. As Don did battle with the packet Mac opened his. "What you got?" Mac held it out.
'Books speak to the mind, friends to the heart, heaven to the soul, all else to the ears. ' They smiled and nodded. "Very true," said Mac but then he nodded at the paperback. "But I guess he hadn't read that when he wrote this."
Don laughed as he pulled his cookie apart and unrolled the paper for Mac to see. Neither man could believe his eyes.
'If you are going to walk on thin ice, you might as well dance.'
Mac's lips twitched. You've gotta love fortune cookies. Don's eyes narrowed and he coughed nervously. Both men reached for their coffee and sat in silence for a few minutes while their on-screen counterparts duly rounded up the bad guys and sipped beers watching the sunset. "Well, I gotta get going Don."
"Thank you for dinner." Don patted his stomach happily.
"My pleasure. It was the least I could do until you get back on your feet." Don's eyes narrowed even more. "You … er … finished with this?" Mac indicated the book. Don nodded. "I could do with some mindless entertainment on the ride over to Christines." Mac drained his coffee. "Sorry I can't make it tomorrow night but I'm on duty."
"No worries. It was good of you to come over tonight." Mac bid him good-night and took his leave. As Don closed the door he could have sworn that Mac was whistling again. He shook his head. Spying his jacket, he remembered the envelope from Lina's. He had to admit it had been more fun than he had expected. Maybe he would take out membership. He pulled the papers from the envelope out of curiosity. He stopped dead, a look of stupefaction on his face. It wasn't the fact that the form was already mostly filled out, nor the words across the top indicating that the yearly subscription had been paid in full, nor even the name in the "Member Referral" section that made Don Flack's jaw drop. It was the sticky fluorescent note attached to it in a familiar handwriting. "I'm sure the Doc will be happy to give you a second certificate on Monday. Glad you had fun. Happy Birthday!"
I'm so screwed.
.
Mac eased back into the leather seat of the cab. Tossing the book beside him, he couldn't help but laugh at the title. He pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen to select photo albums. He selected the one he had taken earlier and chuckled at the photograph of his friend and Gemma with flowers gripped between their teeth. He renamed the file. "The Detective and the Rose."
The End.