A/N: Angsty little one-shot to get myself in the mood for writing a darker chapter in another fic. The idea has probably been done to death but I wanted to put out my own version. And yes, I know, rather unimaginative title.
Characters: Det. Don Flack Jr
Set: After 5.25 'Pay Up.
Rating: T
Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol and violence.
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own CSI NY or affiliates. I'm using the characters to no profit.
Burn
Hunched shoulders, stubble decorating his chin. In the dark. Dark, like his heart. Dark, like the blood that had spilled. Both by other hands and his own. A bullet, taking it all.
Two bullets killed her.
Two bullets had killed him.
Eye for eye.
But it made him feel worse. Gone was his lifeblood, poison had replaced it. His heart no longer pumped life but mourning. Guilt. Anger. Every beat screamed at the injustice. Why didn't he feel better? Why didn't he feel absolution? Hands clenched on the shot glass before whipping it towards the other side of the room. It collided with the wall as if in slow motion, the surface refracting what little light entered the apartment from the shuttered blinds. The caramel colour of the whiskey splattered in every direction, staining the wall.
Don Flack stared at the spot. He didn't care that there was glass everywhere now. What was there to care about?
Jess was gone.
He had killed a man. Not in self defence, but in vengeance. He had become, in a millisecond, a vigilante. He had gone against his oath.
Not a week ago he was riding high.
Beautiful girlfriend, successful career, good friends. Greed from a few men had changed everything.
His life didn't just crumble. It got crushed by a rock pounder into tiny little pieces.
He gripped the bottle of alcohol with trembling fingers, raising it to his lips. The burn of it made him feel clean again. Even if only for that split in time. Bitter. Burning.
Burning through his sorrow filled and guilt ridden heart that was eaten slowly by his conscience. Burning through the memories of him and Jess and their passionate escapades. Burning through his anguish. He wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to make something or someone else hurt. Wanted to feel more than this oblivion that loomed before him.
Dead inside.
He could finally understand it when a person said they felt dead inside after the death of a loved one.
Blue eyes, bloodshot from grief, blearily focussed on the smiling picture. Doe brown eyes sparkled up at him. They would never sparkle at him in reality ever again.
A wave of fury, treacherous and deep, exploded outwards and he slammed the heavy whiskey bottle down on his table, denting the wood as his soul felt like it was being turned to stone. Heavy as lead. Why? In his more selfish moments, he wished that the gunmen outside the bar had gotten him instead of Danny. Maybe he could handle his grief better. But no, he had been unscathed physically while his heart was ripped to shreds.
Couldn't wallow...must drink, must burn himself clean. Burning would control the beast inside of him that rebelled against the chains of self control where he had locked it up after murdering Simon Cade. A beast he didn't know until it rose with the flames of a phoenix rising upon hearing the gunshots fired.
Don raised the bottle and swilled the liquid in his mouth, savouring the sensations.
Burning his life and burning his dreams. He wanted to burn all of this hate, all of this pain.
Until he didn't feel anymore.
A/N: I was partially inspired by 'Everything Burns' by Anastasia and Ben Moody. Thanks for taking the time to read and review.