Flack carefully lowered himself into the pew, automatically making the sign of the cross. It was late, and the church empty, making him feel even more alone than he already did.
He stared up a the vaulted ceiling, unsure of whether he was looking for answers, or comfort, or someone to blame. He wasn't even sure why he had picked this particular church – growing up, he had always attended Mass with his mother in Queens. But tonight he had been wandering the streets of Manhattan and eventually found himself staring up St. Patrick's, and his legs had moved him up the stairs and through the doors of their own volition.
He hadn't talked to God in a long time. Not since his mother died. It wasn't that he didn't believe, because he did, with every fiber of his being. But he found himself unable to say a word to the one who had so cruelly taken the most important person in his life away from him.
And now it was happening again. Don closed his eyes as images and memories came unbidden. Glass shards and broken equipment lay everywhere, littering the floor along with the bodies. Two bombs had gone off simultaneously, taking out different ends of the lab before anyone knew what was going on. Bullets had come next, and they had ripped his world apart.
He was still furious with himself for not being there. His sister had gotten into another scrape, and he'd been called away to another precinct to sort things out. He'd contemplated not going, and just leaving Sam to deal with her own trouble. But eventually he decided that he couldn't just abandon her, and he had instead abandoned his friends and team members.
By the time he got the call and got back to the lab, it was too late. Paramedics were already inside, rushing out the wounded, and bringing out the dead.
Mac and Danny had gone down first, taking the initial spray of bullets. Lindsay had been caught in one of the explosions, and had been pronounced dead at the hospital. Angell was out of surgery, recovering from the three bullets she had taken, and Adam hadn't left her side since, ignoring his own wounds and the burns that covered his face and neck. And Stella…she hadn't woken up yet. The doctors weren't sure if she ever would.
Tears burned at his eyes, and Don couldn't stop them. He had been at the hospital for two days straight, not eating or sleeping except when Sid came around and forced him to. Eventually, he and Hawkes had both made him get out and take a walk – they wanted him to go back to his own apartment and get some rest, but they'd settle for him just breathing something other than hospital air.
The tears slid down his face, and his shoulders shook. Reaching forward blindly, he pushed down the kneeler and slid out of his seat. He gripped the back of the pew in front of him as he finally grieved for everything he had lost, and everything he might still lose.
The ringing of his phone was shrill and painful in the silence of the church. Hastily wiping at his eyes, Don pulled it out of his pocket and dully answered.
"Flack."
"It's Hawkes. She's awake."
He didn't need to hear anything else. Pushing himself to his feet, Don stared up at the cross for a moment before turning and rushing out of the church.
Maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought he was.
