Gray

AN: I adore CSI NY and was just utterly shocked and feeling so butt hurt for Flack after the Season Finale that I had to write this.


Danny stood by helplessly as he watched Flack go through the motions. His friend's face was completely blank, and this was scary, because Don Flack had an animated face. He was the guy that always had that goofy grin on his face. He was the guy that could make his whole face show anger or disapproval. He was the guy who knew what it was like to react to situations and feel them.

This was the last thing Danny expected since they had just caught the guys who had killed Jess. And no doubt Flack had gotten his vengeance with that last guy in basement, too.

But at that moment, he watched as Flack took off his bullet proof vest, slowly, methodically. His face was a stony mask of nothingness. But as he pulled the vest off, Danny noticed that his hands were shaking. He noticed Flack was struggling to take a breath.

"Hey, man, you okay?" asked Danny, his voice rough with uncertain emotion, almost brusque.

Flack swallowed, struggled, a few times before he replied. "Yeah."

Danny paused, wondering if he should let it go. Then decided against it. "Bullshit."

Flack turned to look at him, his face pale. And that was when Danny understood why Flack's face was so empty.

Because all the pain in the world radiated from his friend's eyes. He didn't need, probably could not muster anything more. Flack's eyes, usually a brilliant blue, were dulled to a sad gray. Just seeing the drastic difference made the world a little bit more gray for Danny. He noticed the way the gray's in Flack's hair stood out more prominently. His bright eyes usually made him appear more boyish than normal. But right now, with grief-stricken gray eyes looking right at him, Flack looked far older than he ever had since Danny had met him.

"Sorry, man…" muttered Danny, "I'm really sorry."

Flack pressed his lips together to form a thin line, to stop his lips from quivering. "I know." He replied with a hollow voice.

Danny nodded in understanding, then left him alone in the men's locker room in the precinct.

Flack forced himself to focus on the churning in his stomach, forced himself to push down the bile that was rising in his throat. Jess was dead. He didn't know how to move on from the haze of that knowledge.

He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink in the men's bathroom at the precinct. He barely recognized his own face. His eyes were darker, sadder, haunted. His normally boyish face looked haggard. His lips quivered, his hands shook. A sob broke out from him, wrenched completely out from his body by the need to somehow ease the pain that was building up inside of him.

Jess was dead.

And even after he'd shot down her killer…he still felt helpless. Because even that had not taken away the taste of ash in his mouth. Because not even the satisfaction of vengeance took away the hollowness inside of him.

And nothing would ever ease the regret he felt for never really ever giving them a chance.

Because in that moment, seeing her down, gasping for breath, her blood pooling around her, Don Flack had felt fear. Real fear. The kind of fear that told him he was losing something so precious in his life that it could never ever be replaced.

In that moment, Flack knew that he loved her.

But now, it was too late. Since the moment she died, he hadn't been alone with her. They had been surrounded by doctors, nurses, CSI's, Sid…oh God, they had autopsied her. He knew that the girl lying on the table in the exam room was just a hollow shell of who Jess used to be. He never had a moment to just tell her…

"Jess, I love you."

But it was only his broken face that stared back at him with sad gray eyes.


Thank you for reading.