Prompt: Dawn for fivebyfiction (see profile)
Summary: Flack is roped into picking up the new girl at the airport.
Notes: Part 1/5 of a Flack/Lindsay prompt set. I've never written a freaking thing before, so con-crit and a general liked it/not is love.
He had complained. Boy, had he complained. But every excuse in the book was worthless against Mac Taylor. Fifteen minutes before Flack was supposed to leave, and he was still trying to talk his way out of it. "I've got some stuff ta do, and I won't be working with her much anyways." A thick folder was shoved into his hands, and the train of thought was lost. "I'm off the clock right now."
"Oh, really?" The arid tone told him not to push it, but the younger man didn't get the memo while he was trying to balance the sheaf, his omnipresent cell phone, and a large cup of coffee all at once.
"I'm busy enough with the regular case load, I don't need to be babysittin' some chick just out of college in Podunk, Iowa."
"Bozeman. Montana. And I didn't ask you to baby-sit her, I just asked for you to pick her up at the airport, not show her around the city."
"Messer's off now. Whydon'tcha ask him?" He was about to go on, but case file flung in his general direction occupied all his brain power for the next few seconds.
"Already emailed her your cell phone number and description. And here's hers." A yellow Post-It Note was stuck to the top of the precarious pile, and Detective Flack was halfway out to his car before he realized he'd lost the argument.
She'd fallen asleep somewhere between Indiana and Ohio, and was surprised when she woke up to the grayness of a New York City dawn in the surrounding air. Looking across the bulky businessman in the seat next to her and through the window, she saw that they were less than a hundred feet from the runway.
All around her passengers and flight attendants were bracing for the anticipated jolt. It clicked in her mind a few seconds too late, and the freshly opened bottle of mineral water in her hand dumped its contents all over her torso.
It miraculously escaped the other passengers and a set of preteen twin boys two rows to her right started to giggle and point. Just my luck. Lindsay Monroe escaped from the plane ten minutes later, with a green messenger bag, a large red splotch on her shirt where there should have been only pink, and a bruised ego.
The security and baggage claim section was a breeze, and only when Lindsay was standing outside clutching a soggy, unreadable Post-It Note did she feel truly lost.
Flack saw her first as he was muttering something about 'hassle' and 'tour guide' into his cell phone. He apologized to his friend, and snapped his phone shut and started walking. She was standing off to the side, cell phone in hand, peering with frustration at a soggy piece of paper. He glanced back down at his Post-It to confirm that it was her. It had to be. Short, shoulder-length brown hair, lost in a big city look on her face.
"Detective Monroe?" She whipped around so fast she almost ran straight into his chest. He sidestepped neatly and caught her before she fell flat on her face. When they had both regained their balance, he let go of her and stuck out his hand awkwardly. "Detective Flack."
"Hi." That sounded so lame.
"Uh, hi." Sounds lame when he says it, too.
The awkward moment was broken when the twins from the plane walked by and started laughing hysterically at Lindsay again. Flack gave her a look when they started rolling on the floor, to the chagrin of their mother standing a few feet away trying to look anonymous. "Clumsy." she said in explanation, pointing to her shirt with the now securely closed water bottle.
He turned away abruptly, hunched down by the spectacle, and shoved a badge in one of they boys' faces, and spoke the magic words. Moments later, they shot of the ground like a rocket, and apologized to Lindsay with a look Puss in Boots would be jealous of. They were gone a split second after Lindsay came out with a "s-okay" and were halfway down the hallway dragging their mother with them before she turned to Flack and spoke. "What the hell was that?"
He walking away and didn't feel like turning around again. "Told them you were FBI. And also the little-known fact that the Fibbies are cannibals."
"What?" It came out in a shriek as she was practically sprinting to catch up, due to his long stride. She slammed her feet down on the ground and lunged in front of him, planting herself down on the ground as hard as possible. This time he ran into her full force, and they tumbled to the ground, much to the amusement of the several hundred other passengers traveling through the hallway.
"You're NYPD now." He explained as he was helping her pick up all the crap necessary to travel with. "Calling you FBI was actually an insult. Thought you'd understand that."
"Well excuse me for not knowing all the twisted traditions in this city."
"You're excused."
There was nothing she could respond to that without looking like an idiot, so she was silent as they strolled through the doors of JFK and out into New York City at dawn.