I'm... just a man of flesh and blood- Erik, The Phantom of the Opera
He supposed seeing her all dressed up was worth siting through the performance. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what was going on up there on the stage- thanks mainly to a quick glance at the summery in the programme. But he didn't get why they couldn't quit singing and prancing around and get to the damn point already.
When the curtain dropped and the lights came up he was horrified to find it was only the intermission. There was a whole second half to go yet.
He turned to find her looking at him, a smirk on her lips. He sat up straight in his seat. "What?"
"You're bored to tears, aren't you," she said. "Don, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged. "You wanted to see it."
She smiled and rose to her feet, the bracelets she was wearing clinking together musically as she held out her hand. He took it and stood, following her out of the row of seats. She tugged him along as they weaved through the crowds in the isles and in the brightly lit lobby. Outside the theater she stopped and turned to face him.
The warm breeze ruffled her curls as they stood together on the sidewalk, her hand still clasped in his. He liked the way she looked set against the lights of the Great White Way.
That smile was still firmly in place. "I can't believe you were willing to sit through that for me." She shook her head and took a step closer, looking up at him through her lashes. "Very impressive, detective."
He grinned. "Oh yeah?"
Instead of replying, she leaned up to kiss him. He responded in kind, moving his free hand up to cup her head. When she pulled back she licked her lips. "Yeah," she said. "Maybe you should take me to your place instead."
His eyes widened. He knew exactly what she meant by that comment and boy, was he ready for it. Still- "You don't mind missin' the rest of the show?"
"Does it look like I mind?" she demanded, hand on hip.
"No ma'am," he replied honestly
"Then lets go," she said, stepping back and tugging on his hand as she moved to walk to the nearest subway station. He walked beside her, absurdly pleased at the feeling of her hand in his. He turned his head to look at her and squeezing her hand slightly.
A man stumbled out of the alleyway just a meter in front of them and flailed around before running straight into him. The man grabbed at Flack as he sank towards the ground, red blood on his chest standing in stark contrast to his white shirt. "Help," he gasped. "He stabbed me."
Flack quickly lowered the man to the sidewalk. "Who? Who did this?"
"He did," the man gasped, pointing down the alleyway where a figure startled and started to run away. "He did."
Flack spared one glance her way. "Go," she said, crouching down next to the man. He turned and ran.
His dress shoes slid on the concrete, still slick from the afternoon rain. Ahead he saw the person turn a corner and he put on another burst of speed, stumbling just a little as he swung around the corner and onto a laneway that ran behind the theaters.
He dodged around the overflowing trash cans and quickly wormed between the wall of the building and an illegally parked van. He looked up to see the man he was chasing jump up on a wire chain link fence, scrambling upwards in a desperate effort to get away.
"Oh no you don't!" Flack shouted, lunging forward to grab the man around his ankle, pulling him downwards. He lunged upwards again, grabbing hold of the other leg. After hanging on for a moment, the man lost his grip and fell to the ground. Flack pulled him back up again, wrenching his arm behind his back as he slammed him into the fence.
"You," he panted. "Have very bad timing."
--
An hour later Flack entered the interrogation room where the perp, one George Rithers, was slouching in his seat, feet up on the table.
"Get your feet off my table," he snapped.
The young man, only twenty three years old, sluggishly complied with the order. Flack slapped the folder he was carrying down on the table.
"You're not that bright, are you, George?" he asked.
George shrugged. "Whatever dude."
"See, you're in trouble here. We got the guy you stabbed, who, by the way is recovering in hospital and will be able to identify you. We got the knife you tossed in the garbage with your fingerprints on it. And you were stupid enough to do it where other people could see you. Like me, and my girlfriend."
George shifted uncomfortably in his seat but didn't say anything. Flack braced his hands against the table and leaned forward, glaring at the kid. "You interrupted a very important third date, George. Instead of going home with my girl, I had to drag your sorry ass in here. And if I don't get what I want in the next ten seconds I am going to get really angry. So start talking."
George gulped and looked up at him, fear flickering in his eyes. Perversely, Flack smiled. "Five seconds," he warned, standing up straight and cracking his knuckles. "Four. Three. Two-"
"Look, look, he owed me money, okay? I didn't mean to hurt him, just scare him a little. But he wouldn't give me the money. What was I supposed to do?"
Flack shook his head. He had heard the same story a hundred times. "Yeah, well maybe some time in Sing Sing will help you reflect on that," he said and left the room, motioning for the uniformed officers to take him away.
He sat down at his desk with a sigh. Now he just had to fill out the paperwork pertaining to the case. He checked his watch only to find it was after midnight. He had been looking forward to this night for weeks, months even, and now he was stuck doing paperwork.
"Hey, Flack," he heard his best friend call out. He looked up to find Danny approaching him, holding a file folder. "We found the knife, it has his fingerprints all over it. And Stella said the guy picked George Rithers out of a photo line up."
"Yeah, I got his confession," Flack said, accepting the report anyway.
"Already? What is that- some kind of record?"
Flack rolled his eyes. "Yeah well I was a little angry."
A grin crept across Danny's face. "Yeah I heard you were out and about tonight. So how long have you been sleepin' with my boss, Flack?"
"I'm not," he admitted with a grumble. "... yet."
"Whoa... no wonder you're pissed," Danny said, his grin getting even bigger. "Hey, why don't you let me get the rest of this done. You head on home... or wherever you were goin'."
Flack knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He stood, grabbing his jacket from where it was hanging over the back of his chair. "Thanks man."
"No problem," Danny said, taking his place. "Oh, Flack?"
"Yeah?"
"In case you wanted ta know... Stella was in her office when I left."
Flack clapped his friend on the back. "Thanks Messer."
Unfortunately Danny couldn't resist one last dig. "Have fun!" he called out.
Flack shook his head, but let it go. The Crime Lab was only a few blocks away. If he walked fast maybe he could get there, convince Stella to come home with him... aw hell, they both had to work early tomorrow. Today. Flack swore under his breath as he punched the button at the elevator.
It dinged straight away, and opened to reveal the woman he was looking for. "Hey," he said. "What are you doin' here?"
She smiled. "What do you think?" she said, staying where she was. He walked into the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor. Reaching out he took her hand in his again.
"I got a confession. And I got Danny to do the paperwork."
"How did you manage that one?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"He offered," Flack said, with a small smile. There was no way he was telling her why. He was sensible enough to know not to tell his girlfriend that he had been talking about her with his best friend behind her back. Especially when she had to work with him.
"Sorry about the interruption," he said, turning to face her.
"It's okay," she replied. "You know we could still go back to your place."
He was distracted, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "Don't you have work tomorrow?"
"Don't you?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I see your point." He grinned, turning to face the doors once more as they dinged open at the ground floor.
"And you know, watching you run after that guy," she said, leaning up to place her mouth near his ear. "That was pretty hot."
He smirked. "Oh yeah?" he asked as they walked out into the lobby.
She sent him a knowing smile. Looked like his night was back on track after all.
---------------------------
This resulted from being forced to listen to music from The Phantom of the Opera during a car ride home. Suddenly Flack was telling me he didn't like it either, but he would put up with it for a certain woman... Oh, and I quoted a bit of 403 in there, too, because I couldn't resist.
Please let me know what you think!