A/N: This is the follow-up to First Kiss… If you haven't read that and just stumbled across this, keep reading, it'll still make sense! And if you have read it… Enjoy the next step!
Much thanks to the following awesome reviewers of First Kiss: Everyone-Loves-A-Canadian-Girl, sissi, Lime Sweet Pea, tina, afrozenheart412, wolfeylady, terriberri23, Nienna Tinehtele, falling into heaven and alwaysalice. Keep up the good work guys, and if the rest of you want a mention, you know what to do!
Special thanks go to afrozenheart412, who has been so helpful with ideas etc, and generally encouraging me to keep writing! Check out her wonderfully quirky story, CSI NY FML style… Classic.
Lyrics are from First Time by Lifehouse (again, thanks to afrozenheart412!)
Disclaimer: If I owned CSI:NY, why would I be writing fanfiction?
Kisses,
Ciara
Looking at you, holding my breath
For once in my life I'm scared to death
I'm taking a chance, letting you inside
"Flack? Hey, Flack!"
Don turned around reluctantly. Standing in front of him, hands on her hips and scowling spectacularly, was NYPD Homicide Detective Jessica Angell. She looked tired; dark violet shadows bloomed across the delicate skin beneath her eyes, which were glossed over and devoid of their usual spark. Her normally sleek hair hung tangled and bedraggled around her small face. It had been a long day, but that didn't prevent the tell-tale crease of irritation from puckering her brow or her lips from pursing tightly.
"What do you want Jess?" he asked half-heartedly.
"Oh, charming!" she exclaimed, affronted. "We're all supposed to head out for a drink when we clock off, remember?"
"Ugh," Don groaned, his conversation with Martinez earlier coming flooding back to him. "I-I mean… It's been a really long day, Jess. I think I'll take a rain check."
"Oh… OK." Jess nodded slowly, managing to look only slightly disappointed. Don felt a pang of guilt. After that night, that blissful night when he'd forgotten reality for a few short hours and let himself think that kissing Jessica Angell would make everything OK, nothing had gone to plan. Sam was calling him every half-hour, fluctuating from begging him for cash to sobbing down the line until he came over to hold her, just like he had when they were kids and she fell and scraped her knee. He didn't have time to breathe, much less talk to Jess about… whatever it was that had happened between them. It was hard, and it wasn't fair on either of them.
"I mean, some other time for sure," Don said quickly, reassuringly. A vein pulsed in Jess's neck, pain flickering in her eyes. Great, she thought he was being condescending. "I definitely want to, just not tonight. It's been a tough day, that's all."
"It has been a tough one," agreed Jess. A slight shudder rippled through her, impossible to suppress. "We really are gluttons for punishment, aren't we? Those poor kids, finding their mom like that… I just don't know. Sometimes this job really sucks."
Don forced himself to nod. This was torture. This day, this case… It was too much. Too close to home. He needed to get away. Away from here. Away from the precinct. Away from this case, which was bringing all the old nightmares to the surface again, making him feel weak and scared and just crap in general. Away from Jess and Danny and Mac and Stella and everyone else who kept asking him questions. Just away.
"Don, is everything alright?"
"As alright as it can be."
"I mean, other than the stuff with Sam."
"What else is there right now?"
"Well, it's just- I mean," Jess stammered awkwardly, glancing around surreptitiously. She lowered her voice. "You-you kissed me! You kissed me and now you're acting like nothing happened. Except that… You're not. You're not acting like nothing happened, because you're not acting like you. You've shut down, and I get that Sam's got you worried but… Don, tell me to butt out if you want, but is something else up? Today, you seem more down than usual. And I-I want to help, if you'll let me. If you want me to."
"Jess, it's not a matter of wanting. I don't need anyone else getting caught up in my crap. I can do this by myself."
"But-"
"Jess, honestly, I appreciate your concern, I do. But I just need some time to myself right now. Alone time. You get that, don't you?"
"Are you sure I can't-"
"Yes. Go. Have fun. The guys are expecting you."
And before Jess could say utter another word of protest, Don bolted for the door. In spite of himself, he paused and glanced back. Jess was still standing where he'd left her, but her arms were now wrapped around her own body and an expression of tender concern crossed her face. For one wild moment he considered running to her, holding her, letting her in. But then he blinked, and when he opened his eyes again she had turned to laugh as Martinez pulled the chair out from under Scagnetti. He was glad. She didn't need this.
This was his cross to bear.
Knock knock.
Don glanced blearily towards the door from where he sat, huddled on the sofa in a nest of chequered comforter. He thought briefly about getting up, then decided against it. Whoever it was would give up when nobody answered. He closed his eyes, sipping from the neck of a bottle of disgustingly warm, flat beer, waiting.
Knock knock.
"I don't want to buy any cookies!" he yelled in the general vicinity of the door.
"It's a good thing I've never been a Girl Scout then," a female voice replied, unrecognisable through the thick wood of the door. Lindsay? Stella?
"I'm not going to let you in, you might as well go home."
"I can wait, you'll have to come out eventually. Or I can kick the door in. You decide."
"I'll call the cops on you."
"Funny. Are you going to let me in?"
"Nope."
"Alright then. Hope you're not too fond of this door."
Don smirked to himself. There was no way Lindsay or Stella would try to kick his door in. They wouldn't have the guts. Whichever one of them it was, they were bluffing. They wouldn't-"
Thud.
They would.
Thud.
"Hey, hey, quit it! I'll let you in, just don't break down my door!" Don yelped, jumping to his feet. He staggered a little, tangled in the comforter, then dived and wrenched the door open. "What the hell is wrong with- Oh."
It wasn't Stella. It wasn't Lindsay.
It was Jess.
"Jess, what're you- I mean… You were going out with the guys," Don finished lamely.
Jess made a face and shrugged.
"I got tired of O'Reilly gawping at my chest over the rim of his glass," she sighed nonchalantly.
Don snorted sceptically; Jess was plenty used to the guys looking at her in the precinct, and she never let it affect her. Why should this be any different? He stared her out of it until she caved.
"OK, so O'Reilly wasn't leering at me… no more than usual anyway," confessed Jess, cringing with embarrassment. "I just- I was worried about you, Don."
"I already told you-"
"That you want to be alone, yeah I know," she cut him off, holding up her hand to stop him before he could start another rant. "But that's not a runner with me. I've got four older brothers, so I'm fully aware that guys don't like to talk about feelings and emotions and crap like that. But I also know from experience that bottling things up and keeping them to yourself will drive you crazy. I'm your partner, we spend a hell of a lot of time together. I'd trust you with my life, and you'd trust me with yours. So trust me with whatever it is that you've got going on right now. Please."
Her dark eyes were begging him to let her in, dancing with so much worry that he felt sick with himself for freaking her out. Warily, he regarded her.
"I brought food," Jess smiled, holding up a bulging bag of groceries. Don's stomach rumbled unwillingly, and a dull red flush crept across his cheeks. He stood back to let her pass, defeated, and victory crossed her face. "I knew you'd let me in."
"Don't be smug."
Jess rolled her eyes and strode past him. Don shut the door and took a deep breath. Then he turned and followed Jess back into the chaos of his apartment.
"Is there anything even resembling a clean plate in this place?" she called, sounding revolted. Don saw her standing in the small space he called a kitchen, gingerly pinching the rim of a piece of china between thumb and forefinger.
"What's wrong with that one?" he demanded, leaning in close to inspect it. "It's clean enough."
"Yeah, like E. coli is clean enough," countered Jess. "Do you even own a pair of Marigolds?"
"What the hell are they?" Don asked, staring incredulously at her. Jess merely replied with another of her infamous eye-rolls and muttered mutinously under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like "Men."
Then she started sorting through his cupboards, pulling out bottles of various coloured liquids which didn't look like they'd seen daylight in the past decade.
"Anything I can do to help?" Don asked weakly as she plugged the sink with a mouldy-looking stopper.
"You'll do more good if you just stay out of my way. Go set the table."
"I, uh-"
"You don't even have a dining room table?"
"Well, I… it-"
"Oh never mind. Go take some of your crap off the coffee table then."
Twenty minutes later, Don and Jess were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, the blue comforter stuffed behind it out of sight. Plates were balancing precariously on top of a stack of sports magazines and they were both clutching tall glasses of pale pink liquid.
A satisfied sigh rippled through Jess's lips as she plonked her glass down on the wooden tabletop, completely drained.
"I don't care what anyone says… Strawberry beats chocolate every time," she proclaimed, wiping the milk moustache from her upper lip.
"I'm a chocolate man through and through," Don argued, finishing his glass off. "But that puts up a damn good fight… It's almost as good as your mac and cheese!" He picked up a forkful of glistening golden pasta and popped it in his mouth.
"You can't beat the blue box," she grinned, licking her lips. "And it's so easy, even you could make it."
"Ha ha, very funny," Don teased sarcastically. "But you do make a good meal… Even if it is instant."
"Like you could cook anything more complicated than toast," countered Jess. "But it does make good comfort food…"
Don froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.
"What's that mean?"
Jess smiled apologetically. She may have been trying to maintain a façade of nonchalance, but Don noticed her tucking a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. That, he knew from experience, was a sure sign that she was nervous.
"I- look Don, I'm not stupid. I can tell there's something going on."
"Genius. You don't think it could be something to do with the fact that my little sister's going off the rails and all I can do is sit there watching while she causes a train wreck, maybe?" Don snapped, tossing his fork down on the plate with a loud clatter. Jess flinched at his harsh tone, but she didn't move from her seat. Instead, she jutted out her chin and looked him squarely in the eye.
"Maybe that's a contributing factor," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "But there's something else, something more. And it's something to do with today."
"No it- I…"
"Don't lie to me," growled Jess, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. "It is something to do with today, I can tell. I can tell because I know you better than I know anyone, so I know that today you were in a worse mood than you have been during any of the Sam stuff. I know that you aren't answering your cell, because when you were on your break Danny Messer stormed into the precinct in a panic and started asking me questions about you. And I know that you haven't eaten all day apart from this, because I saw you toss that hot dog I bought you at lunch when you thought I wasn't looking. So yeah, I can tell that there's something more going on. And that's why I came over here tonight, knowing full well that you'd probably be hideously anti-social and yell at me. Because I want to help with whatever it is that you're hiding from me. But fat lot of good that is if you're too pigheaded to quit shutting me out!"
The flow of words ceased as suddenly as it had started. Jess bit her lip hard, breathing heavily, and stared at him uncertainly. That did it. That half-frightened, hurt look leaping out at him from the depths of those brown eyes. It stirred whatever it was that he'd been keeping locked up inside him.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, shame-faced. "I should have let you in before now."
"You don't need to apologize," she replied promptly, keeping those soul-burning eyes locked on him. "Just talk."
"You won't like what you hear," Don warned her, shaking his head as the old nightmares swam sluggishly to the surface.
"Stalling will just make it harder to say in the end," said Jess gently. Her hand slid across the space between them tentatively. It felt warm against his own cool skin.
"I- I don't think I… I can't-"
"You can." Her voice was barely a whisper. She squeezed his hand gently.
"OK," he breathed slowly, steeling himself. He shut his eyes. "It… I… Let's just say I have a lot more in common with those kids today than you'd think."
He braced himself just in time; Jess's gasp of understanding hit him like a steel freight train.
"Oh Don, I- you don't have to talk about that," she spluttered in panic. "I shouldn't have pushed you, I…"
He could hear her voice, but it was like she was underwater. It had started again. He was too far gone.
"Donnie!"
Nine-year-old Don Flack groaned as his sister's high-pitched shriek hit his ears. He shut his sports magazine reluctantly and swung off his bed. He clattered downstairs to where his little sister Samantha was standing by the front door. She was dressed in a pair of dungarees with heart-shaped patches over both knees. Two pink bobbles gathered her hair into a pair of thick bunches and her tiny heart-shaped face was contorted by a furious scowl. Her bottom lip wobbled ominously.
"What is it?" Don hissed at her, grabbing her by the elbow. "You know mom's in the bath. We're not supposed to disturb her."
"But I've got softball practice, and I can't find my mitt!" Sam whined, looking up at him hopefully. "It's not where it usually is, and we've got our big game on Saturday so I have to go practice!"
"Where did you put it last week?" asked Don, attempting to conceal his impatience. After all, Sam was only six. He was the man of the house while Dad was at work, so it was his job to help his little sister. Mom was having her bath, and they weren't supposed to disturb her. She was tired all the time; Dad said it was because she slept all day and only got up to go out. Sometimes Don would wake up while it was still dark out and hear her clattering in the front door, sniggering to herself. Then he would hear Dad's heavy footsteps on the stairs. And then the shouting would start.
So he tried not to annoy his mom while she was resting; it just made her cranky, and then she shouted. But Sam was younger, she didn't understand. She got upset sometimes, and he couldn't stop her. Those were the bad days: the days she asked her mommy to help her. Then Mom would jump out of the bath, hissing like an angry goose, and grab Sam by the hair, yelling so loud that her daughter started crying. Don tried to protect Sam, and most of the time he managed it. He was a boy, he could take it. He learned to wear long-sleeved sweaters, even in summer, so that the bruises wouldn't show. Sam was too little to do that.
To avoid another scene, Don took Sam by the hand and led her to the storage cupboard. He helped her clamber up on a high stool so she could see inside. The cupboard was a mess, full of the chaos of a house with two kids under ten. Discarded board games, some with half the pieces missing, tumbled out as soon as Sam pulled the broken handle towards her. A tatty teddy bear landed with a squeak on the ground, and a couple of Barbies Don had shaved and tortured followed. He stood back, scanning the shelves for any sign of the elusive mitt. A couple of empty vodka bottles lay on their sides on the middle shelf, just beside the ancient NYPD jacket Don dressed up in faithfully every Halloween when he brought Sam trick or treating in her two-sizes-too-small bunny costume. And then-
"There!" Sam crowed triumphantly, stabbing a grubby finger towards the top shelf, where a worn, cracked brown mitt sat nestled behind a box of dusty Christmas decorations. She strained upwards, the stool wobbling precariously as she stood on her tiptoes.
"Sammie, be careful," Don warned. "Maybe you should let me-"
"I'm a big girl, I can reach-"
SMACK.
"Sammie, are you OK?" Don asked, rushing forward to where his little sister lay sprawled on the floor. The pigtailed child sat up slowly, looking dazed and confused. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from her forehead and felt the large purple lump which had exploded into existence above her left eyebrow. Her lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
"Sam, look at me. Sammie, it's fine," Don cajoled. "Nothing a sticking plaster won't-"
"MOMMY!!!"
"Fix," Don finished lamely as Sam sped upstairs in a streak of dark hair and blue denim. That had done it. Mom would kill both of them now.
He took off in pursuit of his little sister. His legs were longer than hers, and he caught up with her just outside the bathroom door. He grabbed her around the middle, catching her firmly. But she was surprisingly strong, and full of the blind panic of a seven-year-old. She squirmed and wriggled, but Don held firm. At least, until she kicked him in the shin.
"Sam, don't!" he exclaimed, but he was too late. The door to the bathroom swung open and his arms were suddenly empty. He hesitated only for a moment, then followed Sam inside. Maybe he could keep keep her out of Mom's line of fire.
"Mom, she-"
The words trailed off before he had even come up with an excuse. Sam stood stock-still, her bruised forehead forgotten. She was quivering from head to toe. Don followed her gaze, and immediately felt the bile rise in his throat.
"Mom?" he whispered in a strangled half-sob.
Their mother's skeletally thin form lay in the tub, water leaking steadily over the sides. A large vodka bottle sat perched on the toilet seat, the clear liquid dripping down onto the chipped tiles of the floor.
The old battered hairdryer sat on his mother's stomach, just below the water.
Sam was whimpering. Outside somewhere a police siren wailed. The cat next door yowled.
Don touched the scars of his mother's last bout of rage, deep cuts from her razor-sharp nails. "Mom," he whispered again.
"Don, stop!" Jess pleaded, scrabbling for his hands. He realised he was scraping the thin scars that had lasted through the years with such force that his arms were red raw. He froze.
"Did I…? I mean-"
"I heard it all," she said gently, putting her hand on his cheek. "I'm so, so sorry, Don. I should never have pushed you…"
"S'not you're fault. It's hers." The words tugged themselves from his lips so forcefully that he surprised even himself. He saw concern flicker in Jess's eyes again. "It's her, it's all her. She didn't care about us, she didn't think for one minute about what she would do to me and Sam if she- if she… She didn't even lock the damn door!"
All of a sudden, the tears that were sparkling in his eyes began to spill over. Slowly at first, but soon they were cascading down his cheeks at full speed, snatching his breath and making him weak. He could still see her, here in the room with him, her face drawn with spite, bony fingers flashing out with vehemence…
And then Jess's arms were around him, wrapping him up so tight that he couldn't move. He couldn't stop himself; he forgot that she was his partner, that they would have to work together tomorrow, that she knew. He just buried his head in her shoulder and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed until he had no tears left. And then he talked.
He told her everything; every last detail, every slap, every spiteful insult, every day he'd had to make their school lunches or patch up a cut knee, every night spent curled up under his bed with Sam, fingers jammed in her ears so she couldn't hear the fighting going on downstairs…
Beep beep.
The tinny sound of the cell phone ringing jolted him out of his trance. He pulled away from Jess, who shot him an apologetic look. Sorry, she mouthed, flipping the wafer-thin cell open. Don nodded numbly.
"Hi Dad," he heard her say in a low voice, walking out into the hallway. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot about last night, I got caught up with a- with a situation. I'll come over today instead, I promise. Love you."
She came back into the room, a rosy blush settling on her cheeks. "Sorry about that," she cringed. "He's very overprotective. I was supposed to call over… well, I suppose it's last night now."
Don looked at his leather-strapped wristwatch. The numbers popped in front of his eyes.
"Five thirty?" he exclaimed, staring from the watch to Jess and back again. "You've been listening to me all night! Why didn't you say something?!"
Jess shrugged awkwardly. "You needed someone to talk to," she said simply.
"But you must be tired- and we're working later!" Don smacked his forehead. "Jess, I'm so sorry!"
"You know, you really need to stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault," Jess murmured softly. He stared openly at her. "You-you kept saying it, earlier. When you were talking about what happened. You… you do know it's not your fault, don't you?"
"Of course," he said quickly. "It just… I had to say it. I had to tell myself that I was sorry she was dead, had to tell everyone. I had to let myself know that all those times she'd gotten to me, when I'd wished she was d- That I didn't mean it."
"Poor thing," Jess sighed, squeezing his shoulder consolingly. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone about this?"
"What, like a shrink?"
She nodded.
Don shook his head, grimacing at the thought. "I don't want some doctor getting inside my head, analyzing everything I say, writing it all down. I'm talking to you, aren't I? That's enough for me."
Jess smiled sadly. "Well then it's enough for me too. Do you want me to make you some breakfast or anything?" She stifled a yawn.
"No way," Don protested, frog-marching her to the door. "You are going home to get some rest. The last thing I want is you falling asleep in the middle of a stakeout because of me. Go. Sleep. I can manage."
"But I-"
"Jess, contrary to popular belief, my culinary skills do stretch as far as a mug of instant coffee and a bowl of muesli."
"Well… OK then, if you're sure."
"I am, honestly. I'll see you later."
"Good. Well, see you then."
"Yeah, bye."
He unlatched the door, and Jess strode away down the dimly-lit corridor, the banana-heels of her slate-grey boots thumping dully against the biscuit-coloured carpet. Don watched her go with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had to say something.
"Jess?" he called. She turned slowly, expectantly. "You know how earlier you were yelling at me for kissing you and then pretending it never happened?"
She winced at the memory. "Yeah… About that, I'm-"
"Sorry?" Don finished. "A very wise female police officer once told me to stop apologizing for things that aren't my fault. You should take a leaf out of her book. This one's all on me. But… I'd like to make it up to you. If you want, I mean."
"Of course I want!" Jess blurted. She froze, mortified, and ran a hand through her dark waves of hair. "I mean, I guess so. But you're in a bad place right now, so I'd understand if you didn't want to."
"It might be tough going, but I'd like to try. Please? We could start slowly… I could buy you lunch on our break today?"
Jess's face split into a radiant grin. "Sounds good to me. I'll see you once I've had a couple of hours sleep."
She turned to go again. She'd only gone a couple of steps before-
"Jess?"
"Yeah?" she answered, sounding amused.
"Thanks for everything."
Her face softened and she nodded wordlessly. Then she waggled her fingers in a jaunty wave and turned for the final time. Don watched her go, feeling like a complete mess. Tears were staining his cheeks but he was grinning from ear to ear. Pain was seeping from every pore, but a weird swooping sensation had eclipsed a small piece of the anguish. He felt- not good, but OK.
She was making him OK.
Hope everyone liked that… I'm still not sure about it! But I wanted to get another one up before Christmas If you've got any opinions/ideas/criticism/comments to make, please, please, please press that little green button down there! If you want, you can consider it my Christmas present!
Happy holidays!
Ciara