Title: On the Edge

Pairing: Aiden/Flack (CSI: NY)

Plot: Does such thing really exist in my world?

Disclaimer: Sadly, any character you recognize here doesn't belong to me.

Even the streaks of streetlight falling through the blinds were piercing needles to his eyes. Breathing and swallowing hurt, and the throbbing of his left temple created the sensation of lying right next to a railroad as a train with a hundred freight cars rolled past him. His left hand reached for the glass of water on the nightstand while he covered his eyes with his other arm, trying to block out the light. Why didn't they make blinds that could shut completely, he wondered. It seemed so logical at the moment.

Don Flack didn't get migraines often; even if he did have them, they never lasted long. This time, however, was different. His head had been throbbing ever since half past two, and he was sent home by a concerned Stella, who was working the same case with him. He doubted that she had the authority to give him orders, but he didn't want to stay there anyway. It would be too embarrassing to let the other CSI on the case to see him like this, one hand rubbing his temple, the other hand clenched into a fist as he tried to speak coherently. Boy, was he glad that she was already inside the building and too concerned about the case to notice his strange behaviors. Or at least, that's what he hoped for. He had never wished to be ignored by her except this one time.

Finally he lost himself to sleep. He dreamed of going in for brain surgery in a hospital that looked more like the lab. He didn't recognize the faces of the nurses who were wheeling him into the operating room. Their faces were white as a piece of paper, and their eyes vacant. He was being rolled down a long, empty hallway to the operating room. The doors were opened wide enough for him to see the big light; but was it supposed to be turned on before surgery? He wouldn't know since he had never stepped into an operating room before, and he had always hoped there wouldn't come a day when he'd find himself inside one. But now he's going in for brain surgery, and he didn't know why. "What is wrong with me?" He asked one of the nurses, who replied flatly, "Partially blocked foramen lacerum." Flack wanted to laugh, but his throat hurt when he tried to. So instead he asked, "What in the world is that?" The nurses were silent this time as they lifted him onto the operating table. He saw his father now, in his glorious old self. He looked not a day older than forty, Flack thought. Even though he knew that his father never had any medical training, he felt happy and safe to see his father standing next to the operating table. "What's wrong with me, Dad?" He asked. His father grinned and said, "There's a little hummingbird in your head, son, and we're going to get it out." So that's why he's having migraines… then all too fast, the dream started to slip away. The next thing he knew, he was sliding out of the room, his father still smiling at the now empty table.

The lights never went out in the lab. Even if New York was to face a blackout at this moment, the lab would still be as bright as high noon. After all, there were bodies in the morgue to be kept cool, the evidences in the fridge need to stay fresh, and they didn't have their own generator for nothing.

Aiden hovered over a microscope, her eyes peering down at the green fiber she collected earlier through the eyepiece. Cotton, she thought. They didn't have much to go on beside this fiber - no body fluid to provide DNA, no hair, no fingerprint, not even a tire track - the guy who got himself killed in that old warehouse sure had shit for luck. Besides, it's early spring, and everywhere she looked there were people wearing green. The problem with green was that both sexes wear it well. Not many men could wear pink, and even the ones that could would be too embarrassed to wear it in broad daylight. That's why pink was always a good color on her list, even though she never wore it herself.

Her lips curled upward as she pictured her male coworkers wearing pink. Mac would look downright awkward, and she didn't even know where to begin with the lab techs. She snorted at the image of Danny in a pink shirt, flashing his 1,000 watts smile and still looking like a dork. Flack would look like a dork, too, a little voice reminded her. A cute dork, though, she retorted back at her own consciousness and felt embarrassed for it. Great. Like she really needed the image of Flack in a pink shirt, looking cute and dorky at the same time, to be stuck in her mind.

She heard Stella walking in and pulling out a chair. "Someone brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the break room, and you'd better go now if you want some."

"Yeah, I can just imagine Danny hogging down all of it." All of a sudden she felt sorry for herself and other people still hanging around the lab at this hour. She also felt tired; when was the last time she slept for more than five hours? "What time is it?" She turned around and asked Stella. She didn't have her watch; she must've left it at home when she rushed out in the morning.

"Nine o'clock," Stella shifted in her chair. "Well, we don't have much to go on. I say we go home and catch some sleep, then go back tomorrow. See what fresh eyes could turn up."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Aiden got up from the stool; her back was stiff, though she was sure it's nothing a short walk couldn't cure. Then something hit her. "Where's Flack?"

"He's probably at home, if he knows what's good for him." Stella got up from her chair. "He was having a migraine attack earlier today; you already went inside the crime scene. I told him to go home and get some sleep."

"Maybe I'll stop by his place before I go home." A surge of guilt rushed over her; she was just about to ask if they get weird calls from that warehouse too. Here she was, laughing at Flack behind his back when he probably felt like his head was about to explode into a thousand pieces. She watched Stella leaving the room, and then took off her lab coat. She would go see Flack; she wouldn't tell him about the joke, of course. She would visit him as a coworker and a friend. Nothing more and nothing less.

Someone was at the door; he could hear the key turning. Who could it be, though? His mother? Was he supposed to be home for dinner tonight? She'd usually call if he missed family dinner. She seldom came to his apartment. "Mom? Is that you?" The door opened, and he whimpered at the sight of the hallway light. "Close the door, will you?"

"I'll close the door, but I'm not going to play mommy with you." Aiden felt her way to the bedroom, cursing under her breath whenever she bumped into furniture and hard objects that she couldn't name. Flack's apartment was pitch black except for the streaks of light sneaking in through gaps in the blind. "Heard you had a migraine attack, so I thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

"How did you get in?" He pushed his back again the wall and sat up. He wasn't expecting any visitor, especially not her. But since now he had company, he might as well as try to be a pleasant host.

"I told the super that I'm your sister, and I'm worried because you didn't show up for the family dinner. He gave me the key and told me to let myself in." Although he couldn't see her face, he was sure that she had that grin on her face. He closed his eyes and tried to call out what that grin looked like, the one she flashed only when she fooled someone else, like the time they were at the old monastery, that time when Stella told her to hold his hand.

"You? My sister?" He let out a dry laugh. "He's got to be blind."

Her laughter joined his. "I know. Which part of our faces look alike? You've got the prettiest blue eyes a guy could have, and what have I got?"

The most kissable lips a woman could ever have, he wanted to say; he knew that "kissable" wasn't a real word, but that didn't seem to matter at this moment. But instead, he decided that the joking path would be the safest way for both of them. "What, are you calling me a pretty boy?"

"Hey, I didn't say that. The only reason you're concerned that other people might see you as a pretty boy has to be that you think you're one."

"Am not."

"Am too."

"Am not." He reached for the glass and was surprised that it's empty. She seemed to notice it too.

"You want me to fill that up for you?" Aiden reached out for the glass, which he handed over obediently. "One more thing. Can I at least turn on the light for a minute? So I won't break your glass or spill water all over the place, you know."

"Be my guest." He pulled the cover over his head and listened to her movement around the apartment. It felt funny and yet soothing at the same time, he realized, to have someone around him. He heard the click when she turned off the lights, felt her weight as she sat down on the edge of his bed. He came out of his hiding place and she handed him the glass.

"Careful, don't spill." He was startled by this warning; Aiden Burns wasn't the kind of person with maternal instinct spilling out in every direction. He would guess that she'd prefer beating the living daylight out of some guy than babysitting a five-year-old. But he took her advice, however out of character it was for her, and took sips of the water instead of one giant gulp as he had intended.

She waited until he was done with the water before asking him, "Feeling better?"

He nodded and lied down. "Yeah. Now tell me about the case."

"Are you sure? I don't want to gross you out and make your migraine worse."

"Oh, c'mon," He teased. "I have to find out about it one way or another. Hey, I know - tell it to me like a story. That way no one will get grossed out."

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "I told you, I'm not going to play mommy with you."

"You're not playing mommy with me; you're just telling me about the case without grossing me out and worsen my migraine. Now, the case."

Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew that she was smiling. Not the "I'm so much cleverer than you" grin, but something else. Something along the line of "Okay, I really don't know what to do with you." Something he was sure that no one else had ever seen. "Alright, you win," he heard her saying, and he crossed his arms behind his head, realizing that he was actually thrilled to hear about a case. A case told as a story. He smiled at the idea.

"Once upon a time there was this old warehouse sitting on the edge of the city…"