Disclaimer—I don't own the characters of CSI: NY

To be held; it's amazing that something so simple can provide such comfort. To have someone hold you is to have the basic comfort of a hug taken to the next level, a level of safety and joy that didn't seem possible moments before. When a day has gone bad or you aren't quite steady on your feet the feel of a pair of arms around you can somehow take it all away and leave you with nothing but warmth. To hold, to be held, can make everything better.

Don Flack had lived through one hell of a day. The last thing he'd expected when he woke that morning was a brush with death, but that's exactly what he'd gotten. He and Stella had gotten out of the car on a typically busy street, joking as usual. They had headed towards the building. Within seconds they were under fire, the suspects having opened fire when they'd seen them coming.

Flack had been shot at before; hell he'd lived through being blown up, but this time was different. He could have said it was the civilians scattered around or the fact that bullets were raining down from a seventh story apartment like the wrath of God; he would have been lying. What made it so different, what had terror clawing at his throat, was seeing Stella hit the ground seconds after the first shot was fired. What made it so horrible was throwing himself over her body to protect her from further harm even as he wondered if it was too late. What made it so terrible was the blood on his hands, her blood.

It was all over in minutes. Reinforcements arrived and subdued the shooters, and ambulance came and she was put in the back. He called Mac to meet him at the hospital and when they both arrived it was to blessedly good news. Most of the technical jargon went right over his head, but certain words stuck with him.

Fine

No permanent damage

Conscious

His panic receded and he somehow found a level of calm he wasn't sure he knew he even knew he possessed. He gave his account succinctly to another officer and listened to everyone tell him how lucky he was that he hadn't been hit before he went to see her. The visit was brief, but it made him shaky. She'd been shot in the arm through and through, but the bullet had somehow managed to miss anything major. She was going to be perfectly fine. But sitting there she looked fragile and vulnerable, and his mind was painfully drawn to the last time he'd seen her in a hospital bed.

At Mac's urging he headed home after he'd seen her. When he closed his apartment door it had only been three hours since it had happened. His nerves were frayed and his foundation was still shaky. With a sigh he found the one bottle of whiskey he kept around and took a pull directly from the bottle. The burn of it didn't help tremendously but it soothed out some of the ragged edges. He made his way to the bathroom and almost jumped when he saw his face. He was white as a sheet and the startling blue of his eyes stood out too brightly in contrast. There was still blood spattered on his shirt and the sight of it made him unaccountably angry at the bastards who'd shot at them. He had already stripped it off when he got to his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and tossed on another shirt at random. As he lay down and closed his eyes it occurred to him that he would have to evaluate why it was that Stella being hurt seemed to affect him so much, but for the moment he let exhaustion overtake him and he was out within minutes.

It was the knocking on his door that awakened him. He rolled over to look at the clock and realized he'd been out for the better part of five hours. The knocking stubbornly continued and he hauled himself off the bed to answer the door. When he threw it open he was shocked to find Stella standing there. All of that curly hair was rioting around her pale face and the white of the bandage on her arm was stark next to the burgundy top she wore.

"Stell, should you be out of the hospital?" he asked.

She nodded. "They let me go, I promise I didn't escape."

He stepped aside and she walked in. He did his best to shake off the worry as he shut the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. They gave me something for the pain so…" She turned to face him. "How are you?"

"I'm the lucky one remember? Nothing hit me," he said, reaching for humor even as he fought back the urge to soothe.

She nodded. "Yeah, when it started I…" She trailed off and her head dropped to her chest. He saw her take a shuddering breath before she looked up at him. "Could you just hold onto me for a bit?"

The request all but knocked him on his ass but he nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

He crossed the distance between them in no time to take her into his arms. He lowered them both to the couch and felt the fear he'd been fought all day fade away. She curled against him, her head resting against the curve of his neck, and allowed herself the comfort.

"Close call today," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Really close. We're both lucky."

"Stell, I was terrified."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Me too," she told him.

He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "If you don't mind I'm just going to hold on a while longer."

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. "Take as long as you want."