As he closed his apartment door and leaned back against the wall, he realized that he wasn't in the mood to do anything. Closing his eyes felt good. Running his hands through his hair felt good. Going out? Not so good.
Sighing, he opened his eyes and made his way to the bedroom. He smirked when he thought how surprised his co-workers would be if they knew how few women actually saw his bedroom. Of course at work, he'd play it up, but at home he always felt more vulnerable and nervous. It was one thing to talk the talk, but to walk that walk? He had a feeling that his mother would come back and smack him upside the head, and talk about how she raised him better than that.
The coat, suit jacket, tie, shirt, belt, pants – all of it was quickly taken off and tossed unceremoniously into the hamper. He reached for his nearest pair of sweats and NYPD shirt and tossed them on, immediately feeling better than he had in his work clothes. The things he would do for his job, and wear a suit and tie everyday was the least of his worries.
"Bet the rest are out drinking," he though as he made his way into the kitchen and reached for the tumbler in the cabinet. "Probably wondering, 'hey where is Flack? And why isn't he here?'"
He sighed as he poured the amber liquor into the glass. He just wasn't up for the deduction skills of the CSIs tonight. No doubt Messer would convince the rest to figure out what was bothering Flack, and if he knew them half as well as he though he did, the one to figure it out (but not say anything) would be Stella.
Stella. If things had gone differently, he might have been with her instead of trying to get the petite strawberry blonde who twisted him up so tight inside he though he'd get sick from the butterflies. "No," he thought as he took the first sip of whiskey, "Stella would never tie me up in knots like this girl, but I need this."
He met her, Anna, six weeks ago, and yet he felt he knew her forever. Her teasing voice, the way she walked, her laughter and the flirtatious e-mails she sent. All of it tied him up so bad, and yet all he wanted to do was be near her. Talk to her. And, if it weren't for the case he had been on in the last few days, he'd call her. She was getting used to his need for quiet after the "tough cases," hell they all were tough cases, but this one was newer, fresher and made him more aware of his feelings.
This victim could have been the child of Flack and Anna – his eyes, her hair color – only she had been a street orphan, living and dying by a code none of them understood. It was when he was at the crime scene and seen the beautiful child that he knew could be foretelling his future if he let it, that he needed time tonight.
And God!, how he wanted that future with Anna. He padded into the living room, leaving all lights off, and lay down on the couch with his head propped up and feet dangling over the end. He contemplated the whiskey, swirled it in the tumbler a bit and downed a little more. A future with Anna was what he saw, and hell, they hadn't even slept together yet. He had held her, they had made out on this very couch and he'd almost gone out of his mind when she whispered his name as he kissed her neck and she arched her small body into his, but it hadn't gone further than that.
Not that they hadn't wanted to go further, but he sensed there was something different about Anna. An innocence that had been broken away at, like a sculpture that had chipped over the years. He knew it was right there, what it was, and that she would tell him when she was ready. He also knew that she needed to tell him about it before they moved to the next level.
Don glanced at the tumbler and realized that he needed a refill on the whiskey he was drinking if he was going to think about her constantly. He stretched as he got up and made his way into the kitchen. The drink refilled, he made his way back into the living room. The couch beckoned and he headed over, when he heard a faint knock at the door.
"Hell," he though, "they sent Monroe to come get me to go out." He was going to tell her to leave him be as he opened the door, but the words died on his lips when he saw Anna standing there. He opened the door, and she walked wordlessly by. It was only when she stopped to hang up her coat and toe off her shoes, that he noticed she was carrying a bag with her.
"Anna, what's going on," he asked.
"Don," she walked over and put her hand on his cheek, "I've been giving you the space you need, after the cases, since we met. And it worried me. We don't have to talk, we don't have to do anything, but I needed to see you tonight. You sounded so lost when we talked earlier. So I thought I'd bring food, can't have you sitting here tonight drinking whiskey without food."
"You're going to cook?" He grinned as he looked down at her, realizing like he always did how small she was to his lanky frame.
"Now, don't get all funny with me detective," she said as she turned and picked up the bag. "You know I'm a takeout girl all the way. Chinese?"
He smiled and followed her back into the kitchen, noticing for the first time that the lights were all still off in the darkening apartment. The sudden lightness in the kitchen made him blink for a second, as he watched her move effortlessly around the kitchen, spooning out Moo Shi Chicken and chicken fried rice onto plates.
Anna handed him his plate, and turned and followed him into the dark living room.
He appreciated the food, the fact that she had been worried and that she didn't ask him to turn on the lights. It wasn't until he had eaten half his food that he looked over at her, and had to smile as she was already done with her food.
"You want more? I'll go get it," he said as he started to get up.
"No, I'm okay. Go ahead and finish." He sat down and watched as she got up off the couch, and made her way into the kitchen. The sway of her hips never failed to get him.
He had turned back to his food so he wouldn't be caught ogling, when she sat back down next to him. He quickly finished and took his empty plate into the kitchen.
"Don?" She called while he was looking for the fortune cookies. "Since you have whiskey, would you mind pouring me some too?"
The sound of her voice, and the fact that she wanted to share in his drink of choice sent those butterflies going. He just shook his head as he poured her a glass, and turning off the kitchen light, made his way back into the living room with her drink and the fortune cookies.
She took the glass and the cookie from him, and allowed him to settle back on the couch, neither saying anything as they each opened their fortune cookie and read the fortunes by the waning summer light coming in through the windows.
Don put the fortunes on the coffee table and reached for his drink. Leaning back, he pulled Anna close to him, and he smiled when she sighed and curled up into his side. They sat there and enjoyed their drinks, without words, and when they were done he put both empty glasses on the table. He turned to her, and motioned for her to get up real quick.
"Relax," he said when he saw her face. He lay down on the couch, reached for her hand and pulled her down next to him. She turned in his arms so that she was facing him, put her right arm under her head and her left hand on his chest. He pulled her closer with his right arm, and when he tangled their feet together, he heard her giggle. He looked into her face, leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. He pulled back a little, saw the worry in her eyes fade, and again pulled her close. A kiss on the top of her head, and they both let the days worries and exhaustion leave their bodies until all that was left was the two of them, caught up in each other, asleep on the couch.
