Shuffle Challenge

A/N - I wasn't planning on doing this cos I'm not fond of song fics and have never done a challenge. And while I'm at it - have never even started writing a story without some sort of plan formed in my mind. But since Madison Bellows asked so nicely...

Obviously I've done this on Flack :)

No chronological order to these but hopefully you'll all be able to get from when they're supposed to be.

Warning for lots of naughty swearing below!

1. 'Bonkers' – Dizzee Rascal

Wake up. Sun's bright. Sleepy eyes. Head aches. Plod to shower. Hot needles on my skin. Piss. Teeth. Don't forget the hair. Huge grin. Looking good. Dress...suit...smart...smooth bastard that I am. Out the door. Fifteen minutes. Banana from the fruit shop. Car. Drive. Fuck off u prick! Road rage. Work. Yelling. Captain. Looks grim - fuck. Wow! Wolf whistle. Fuck me, Angell's hot! Phone - ringing. Moan. Whinge. Coffee Break! Phone. Moan. Blah. Case! Gotta run. Crimescene. Grim. Blood. Bodies. Naked. Chopped. Gross. Mac. Mac...Mac...Mac. Questions. Blah...blah...blah...boring...Zzzz. Precinct. Email. Phone. Talk. Phone. Coffee break! Mac. Science – ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! A lead. Drive. Fuck off you prick! Interrogate. Fuck. Chase. Legs running. Out of breath. Gun. Fuck. Dive. Punch. Got the bastard! Cuffs. Huge grin. Precinct. Lock up. Bullpen. Huge grin. Fuck me, Angell's hot! Danno. Beer. Beer. Beer. Beer. Sleepy. Cab. Dark. Home. Fall into bed. Repeat.

2. 'Stay' – Shakespears Sister

I clutch at her clothes, pulling her to me, holding on for dear life. I can feel her lifeforce dwindling, I know its sensation so well, have seen it so many times before. I can't lose her, I just can't. She's my life, my world, I love her. I hold her to me; we get pushed to one side as the officer swerves round a corner. The siren is loud, it clashes in my ears. Jess' blood covers me. We'll make it in time. I know we will. She'll be fine; I have to convince myself that otherwise I think I'll die. God, her blood is fucking everywhere. My hands, my clothes. There's wet on her face, my tears are dripping onto it. My heart aches, my chest aches, no air is entering my lungs. How many fucking bullets was it? There's so much blood I can't tell. She can't leave me, she can't move on, I won't let her; it's not her time to escape from this life.

"Stay with me, Jess!"

3. 'Life On Mars' – David Bowie

Flack looks down from his place high above the city, from the roof of the skyscraper. It's a funny world we live in, he muses. A strange city down there, full of odd little people going about their querky little lives, of no importance to the bigger picture. It's only when he's up here that he sees the bigger picture, otherwise he's just one of them, an odd little person going about his querky little life. Life down there, he muses, is Life on Mars. It's strange, it's wacky, people are doolally. They're funny, querky, weird, evil, good, sexy, revolting, and he's just one of them. Such a selection, and they're all the same. People commit crimes, he sometimes gets it right, he sometimes gets it wrong, beating up the wrong guy many a time. But mostly, he likes to think he does a good job. Doing his part for this crazy world. This Life on Mars.

4. 'Baggy Trousers' - Madness

"Ere, what you say?" snarled the kid.

"I said you let 'im go!" shouted the other kid back.

"Why, you gonna make me?"

"Yeah I'm gonna make ya?"

"Go on then, try."

"I will try."

Fists and scuffles. Swipes and timid punches.

"BOYS!"

"Oh shit!"

Squealing, running, pounding feet on the playground concrete. Uh oh. The nuns are on the warpath. Now they're in trouble. Hiding behind the science block.

"You idiot. Why'd you go start a fight?"

"I didn't, he started it!"

"You should have left it."

"He was hurting that kid."

"You're not superman!"

"No, I'm a cop!"

Flack's eight-year old cheeky grin.

5. 'Greyhound' – Swedish House Mafia

Flack could feel the blood in his veins surging, heart pumping it through his body. He could feel his muscles flexing, stretching, moving. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, beating painfully against his ribs. Mouth open, gasping air into his lungs, pain erupting in his upper body. His arms moved furiously at his sides, legs surging forward. He ran. He sprinted, he fucking flew! The guy was only a few metres in front of him. No fucking way was he escaping. Flack ran on. Round the corner. He sprinted up the street, tie flying over his shoulder, coat flapping behind him. Wind stinging his eyes. His arms pumping him on. Round another corner and the guy was going through a door. Flack chased after him. Fuck, so many stairs, as he looked up. He powered on. Up. Up and up and fucking up. His legs screamed out in pain. His body tried to rebel. His mind was stronger. He ran on. Out onto the roof. God, was that really thirteen fucking floors? No time to answer. He turned and ran after the guy. Over one roof. Oh shit, the guy was about to jump to the next building. The gap was wide. He was going to do it!... He fucking did it! Flack's mind groaned internally and he ran. He ran. His heart stopped. His mind went blank. He jumped. He flew. He crashed against the cold cement of the next roof's floor. Oh my holy shitting mother of God! Flack pressed himself up, he ran on. Not the fire escape. He clambered onto it. Down. He was going down. His arms screamed in protest. He slid down the railings. He fell. Only a few more floors to go. He could still see the guy. He jumped the rest of the way. Oh. My. God. He landed bang on top of him. Perfect timing. His knee crunched under his body weight. He grabbed the guy's arms and pulled them behind him, cuffing them tightly. Then he almost collapsed, blood soaking his trouser leg at his knee. God, did his chest ache. He looked up. Danny.

"Wow, Flack, you been watching formula one again?"

Fuck Messer.

(A/N -I'm soooooooo glad this was a 6 minute song!)

6. 'Better Than A Dream' from 'The Dreamstone' – Mike Batt and the London Philharmonic Orchestra

Flack sat down at his bullpen desk and stared at the wall opposite him. He didn't know what was happening to him. He felt ill, he felt sick, he had no idea why. What was this strange feeling? His mind couldn't cope. He was a simple man, easygoing, happy-go lucky and yet...and yet something had happened to him. The oddest of occurrences. He wasn't too imaginative, he liked to dream, he liked to hope. Maybe one day he'd make Captain, one day he'd get married, one day he'd own his own place. He liked to dream, but they were real life possibilities, his imagination couldn't cope with more than that. But this, whatever was going on inside him had caught him. It had got him. His imagination raced, his feelings raced, his heart raced. He blinked. His eyes focused. He looked up. He smiled. Jess. He was in love.

7. 'Parklife' – Blur

Flack grinned happily as he turned the corner onto his beat and began his usual route. Gavin was next to him like usual and their squadcar was nice and clean, straight off the night shift. The first person they saw was Big Helly, she owned the market and waved merrily to them. Next was Bill Rodger, a fat man with no hair and a strange toupee. He always wore a grubby white vest. Flack wondered if he ever washed it. They turned the next corner and Flack pressed on the brakes as Harry Cricket ran out of his house and across the road; an irritating little nine year old, his mother screaming after him in her negligee. Then there was Gally Sandy, feeding the birds as she always did. Flack grinned and pushed on the gas. God, he loved his beat.

(A/N - Could have so gone on longer here. On and on and on...)

8. 'Fire' – Kasabian

Flack sat with his head held in his hands, staring at the near lifeless form on the bed in front of him. Wires connected to almost every part of the body. He hated hospitals, they made him feel sick. They weren't where people came to heal; they were where people came to die. He sighed loudly and shook his head. Mac was sat opposite from him, staring almost blankly. He was upset, that much was obvious. Flack had never seen him so upset before. He didn't know what to say, Mac was such a strong man, sturdy, clever and to see him so speechless, looking so lost and helpless was terrifying. Flack gulped. Maybe it meant there was no hope. Was death that close? He blinked and stared back down at the unconscious form. How did this even happen? He closed his eyes and tried to remember but it was like his mind had blanked it out. Like he was protecting himself from the horror of what had happened. He wanted to help, he wanted to do something. This was much more difficult than it should have been. He wanted to see Mac smile again, make him happy and he knew what he had to do, he just had to figure out how to do it. How the fuck was he supposed to get back into his body? He thought as he stared at himself lying in the hospital bed.

9. 'Smack My Bitch Up' – The Prodigy

(A/N -When this came on I was like - Yes another six minuter!)

Flack stood in line next to his fellow officers, heart thumping excitedly, nerves surging through his body. His first raid and my God was he scared. A dirty brothel, the middle of the night and only him and the other officers preparing for a fight. Someone yelled 'go' into his ear and then the pandemonium began. The door was down and they were going forward. The corridor was narrow, dull, red walls, tiny staircase going down. Basement rooms. Dingy, long, maze like. He felt himself pushed on. Naked girls. So many of them. Sex everywhere. Man and woman, woman and woman, man and man, man-woman-woman, man-man-woman; all sorts of combinations. Strange devices, not time to work them out. Chains, cuffs, bondage gear. Men in gimp masks. So much coke, so much coke. He grabbed the nearest guy; the one coming at him with a knife and pushed him to the floor just as another fell on top of him. Hands round his throat, suffocating. Get the hell off! Elbow to the stomach and the guy was gone. Flack socked him one...and then the other guy. Snarling, spittle falling. And all of a sudden, gone was the timid officer, the boy he once was. Flack the cop, Flack the blue blood, Flack the NYPD was now who he was. And he wasn't scared. Up again, running on. A punch to one guy, screaming from his mouth, warnings to all of them. Slamming into a body, fist smashed against his face. Pain. Blood. Likely broken nose. Nobody got the best of him. A smack from his baton. Down the guy went. Flack stood over him smiling. Flack, one of New York's finest.

10. 'Someone New' – Eskobar Ft. Heather Nova

"Jess, it's me, Flack," he sighed.

A silence met his words.

"I hope you're doing ok, Babe. I miss you."

An empty room.

"I always miss you, you know that right?"

A tear down his face.

"I need you here, Babe. I need to know what you think?"

Flack glanced round his bedroom, the bedroom he'd shared so many happy memories with her.

"I just, I can't do this without you."

The sun gleamed in at the window briefly.

"Is that some kind of sign? Cos if it is I don't get it."

Silence.

"Please. Please Jess. I need you to tell me. I need it to be okay."

Nothing.

"Just let me know if I can do this?"

Static. The radio crackled on.

"You're gonna find someone new, I really hope you do, cause I love you."

Flack smiled. "Thank you Jess."

The End

A/N - And fuck me if that wasn't the fastest I've ever typed in my entire life!