A/N: I just watched Disney's "Miracle", starring Kurt "Snake Plissken" Russell and Eddie Cahill, last night. So in case you're wondering, this is where this whole fic is coming from.

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Don Flack was toweling his hair dry when he heard a knock on his front door and frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone, had yet to decide what kind of take out to order and it was way too early for Messer to be bugging him out. He was surprised to see the mop of curly hair through the peephole, but it was a nice surprise all in all.

"Hi!"

Stella's breathless greeting, accompanied by a luminous smile made his smile as well, and he moved aside to let her in.

"I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but the Navarro case got closed and…"

That got his attention quickly. "Navarro's case is closed?! How the hell did that happen?"

Stella put down on the table the bunch of files she had in her hands and turned around to face the young detective.

"You'd never believe it."

"Try me."

"He got involved in a fender-bender with a 16 year old girl… on the Lincoln Tunnel."

The expression on his face was priceless. His smile grew bigger and soon gave way to laughter. He sat down on the couch, trying to control himself.

"No way, Stell. No fucking way! And on my day off! Damn, I'd love to have seen his expression…"

Armand Navarro was a known pedophile whom they've been trying to capture for the past 4 months; they had gotten close twice, but had had to let him go on a technicality both times. Flack and Stella had been busting their asses trying to find enough evidence to nail him for good. The only thing they had for certain so far was that he was of an aggressive nature, that he had a penchant for 15-16 year old girls… and that he was claustrophobic.

"He must have been in a hurry to leave the island of he risked going inside the tunnel…" he muttered

"The radio report said that traffic was deemed as light, so he went for it. The cameras show that he was speeding and driving recklessly, changing lanes in a forceful way. Patricia Russell has had her driver's license for 2 weeks. She was, in no way, prepared to deal with a driver like Navarro and didn't get out of the way fast enough. Miss Russell might not be too experienced when it comes to driving, but she's one smart cookie: she blocked his way out and called the police."

Flack was following her narrative with great interest, picturing the whole thing in his mind.

"Imagine his surprise when he got out of the car intent on beating the living daylights of the other driver, only to find out it was a teen girl wearing a bikini top and a denim skirt…" she noticed Flack's raised eyebrow and was quick to add: "Miss Russell and her friends were on the way to the beach at the time, it seems."

Flack nodded in understanding. A broad smile was playing on his lips. He was raised a good Catholic and didn't wish ill on anyone most of the times… but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit Navarro's predicament brought him some sort of satisfaction.

"As you can see…"

"Yeah… he was stuck between wanting to get her out of the way and getting his way with her… sorry, lame, I know, but still…"

"I know… fitting somehow. By the time he made up his mind the police had arrived and they took him to the precinct. All it took was a hit on CODIS for his prints and they booked him. Had Miss Russell been 3 years older, they'd just get him for reckless driving and attempted fleeing, but with his previous record…"

"Is it official, then?"

"He's scheduled for arraignment tomorrow noon. Which brings me back as to why I'm here on your day off…" she gestured towards the files on the table and Flack groaned.

"Paperwork?"

"You think I'm that cruel?" Stella smiled, "You owe Cindy big time for this one, babe. You just have to fill in the missing blanks and sign the gazillion copies needed to close the file and hand the report over to the DA"

"Cindy, huh? I'll keep it in mind. Get me a pen, BABE, and I'll pull in my share of the work…"

Stella grinned at the use of the term of endearment. It had slipped out unnoticed, a lapsus linguae Freud would call it, but she liked that he took notice and used it back. She unclipped the pen from on of the folders and placed it next to them. Flack sat down at his own table and was soon engrossed in the work at hand.

She let the younger officer go about this tedious duty, and she began perusing her surroundings. This wasn't the first time she had been at his place, having spent a good part of last summer as part of the nursing staff that helped him back to health after the bombing, but this was the first time she had time to take a good look around. She remembers thinking it struck her as odd that Flack had his living room walls covered with bookcases. She wouldn't have given it a second thought had it been Sheldon's or Lindsay's home. She wouldn't even find it particularly relevant had it been Danny's place… he was, after all, a curious scientist. But Don Flack… well, he didn't strike her as a bookworm kind of guy.

Stella sauntered nonchalantly towards the bookcases, looking over her shoulder once or twice to check if he was aware of her snooping. He seemed engrossed in the files, so she started perusing the contents of the cases. Photo albums. School yearbooks. Framed photos. James Patterson, Stephen King, Don Brown, Thomas Harris. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. She had to smile when she saw his DVD collection. "The Red Shoe Diaries" and "The Best of the Playboy Mansion" shared space with "The X-Files" and "Friends" box sets. A dozen or so sporting events raging from hockey to basketball and everything in between was also there.

She stopped short at the next shelf. Kurosawa, Fellini, Buñuel, Malle… Stella had no idea Flack liked foreign films. It came as no surprise to find some French, Spanish and Italian dictionaries tucked on one side. There was also a nice collection of so-called classic books, and by the dog eared pages and the clips placed here and there, they had been read more than once. "War and Peace", "Crime and Punishment", "Canterbury Tales", "Pride and Prejudice", "Doll's House", "Nostromo"… He had collections for Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Greek philosophers, 18th and 19th century poetry… He had Kafka and Nietzsche next to Miller and Nin. He had new-age stuff, like Deepak Chopra and Richard Bach. He even had a whole section on what Stella assumed were Latin American authors, such as Coelho, Neruda, Garcia Marquez, Sabines, Paz and Allende.

Stella looked back at Flack. He seemed to be inspired, as his writing flowed uninterruptedly as he wrote his own statement. She looked back at the book collection and back at him. The man at the table had a penchant for lousy one-liners and even lousier ties, and yet he was, perhaps, the wisest man she'd ever met when it came to street-wise smarts. And yet… she was having a hard time picturing him reading these books and marking them as well. On an impulse she got out one of them. "Illusions" by Richard Bach, and opened to the first mark. The edition wasn't a very good one, rather cheap paper with the words on the upper corners slightly smudged where the fingers had touched them over and over again. But on the outer margins she could see some notations. She would recognize those scribbles anywhere. She'd been reading them at least twice a month for the past 4 years. She controlled the urge to read what he had written, though. It felt like too much of an intrusion.

Putting the book back, she moved on to the next case, and found his CD collection there. Eclectic didn't begin to describe it. Tim McGraw was next to Toni Braxton. Celine Dion and Cinderella. Apocalyptica and Amanda Marshall. Frank Sinatra and Foo Fighters. Gustavo Santaolalla and Guns n' Roses. There was classical music, hip hop, movie soundtracks, instrumental scores from performers and countries she wasn't familiar with, as well as some Latin beats and Stella wondered if Flack knew how to dance them. She was also beginning to wonder if she, or anyone else for that matter, knew the real Flack at all.

The next case was full with trophies and plaques and medals and all sorts of memorabilia, both professional and amateur, from all sorts of sports. And photos. There was one of Flack and Danny playing street handball, Flack and some other agents playing basketball at the midnight courts. A souvenir card from the Yankees, autographed. Flack grinning like an idiot standing next to a guy Stella could only tell was a pro football player, or someone wearing a pro football player jersey. A whole hockey team huddling together and smiling for the photo whilst they held out a trophy of some sort. Flack standing with his parents (no mistaking Don Flack Sr. in there) and fully geared as a hockey goalie… Stella grabbed hold of the picture to take a closer look at it. Then, on a hunch, she took the hockey team photo as well. Peering into it more closely she realized that Flack was also in that one as well.

"That's the 92 Yonkers team, with the Hudson Valley Hockey League Trophy."

"Jesus, Flack, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack…"

"It was too good a chance to pass up, Stell. So… do I pass inspection, Detective Bonasera?"

Stella felt her cheeks burn. Busted! She quickly tried to weasel her way out of that particular situation.

"I didn't know you played hockey…" she muttered.

Flack considered for a second coming up with wisecrack, something like "As opposed to, say, knowing that I read Spanish poetry?", but he decided against it, opting for straight answers. He liked Stella a lot, and he was sure there were many things about her he didn't know, and he was sure he'd like to get to know them, and if getting her to know him was a starting point, he was not going to let the opportunity escape him.

"I started playing when I was 7 thanks to Jim Craig." When he noticed Stella's blank look of non recognition, he went on, his voice a mixture of awe and humble admiration. "Jim Craig was the goal keeper for the US Olympic team at the 1980's Lake Placid Games. They were called "The Miracle" Team cause they managed to beat the Russians after 16 years. They were also miraculous cause they came along at a time when the country's morale was at a very low point. And Jim Craig was miraculous as well: he stopped 36 out of 39 shots that night against the Russians."

Stella was following his narrative, mesmerized. Who knew Don Flack could be so passionate about something?

"I started skating right after that. I didn't want to be just any hockey player; I wanted to be a goal keeper. I was willing to work my butt off in order to make it and it paid off, I was lead goalie by the time I reached 9th grade. Hockey was probably what kept me off the streets, as well. Most of my school friends were already ganging up, a neighbor or two had already been shot… even my favorite cousin ended up being booked for auto theft. But I spent every single free hour practicing and every single weekend playing and it worked: I was alive and record-free. It even got me into college…"

"College?" It was out before she could stop herself, and she was instantly ashamed of the doubting tone of her voice. She was grateful that, either he didn't hear it or he was gracious enough to let it slide uncommented.

"Minnesota U. Spent there the whole summer after high school, at hockey camp, and what a learning experience that was. I learned real fast that being the star goalkeeper at Yonkers meant zilch outside of Yonkers. There were 14 guys aiming for the goalie spot and M.U. was only going to keep 3 guys for each position, goalies included."

"What happened?"

"I made it to number three. I was in. And then I had to do the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life…"

"Leave your family?" Stella could almost sense the teary eyed story behind this walk down memory lane, and her maternal comforting instincts were set on "Go" to spring into action the moment she felt Flack needed it. His answer, however, wasn't what she had been expecting.

"Choose my major."

Stella turned to face him fully, the look on her face priceless. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"Honest to God, Stell! I had spent the last 10 years of my life sailing on a B minus average only to be able to keep playing hockey. I had never considered what I wanted to be when I grew up, as I only had two options: pro hockey player or cop. It seemed very simple: get a college scholarship, get a pro scout to sign you up, and that was all there was to it. I never realized I had to actually study something in order to qualify for it."

"So what did you do?"

"Well, I knew science and I were not close friends, plus all those lab hours were going to wreck havoc with my practice schedule, so I chose the easiest way out. I majored in literature…"

"Literature?"

"Yeah. Literature. What's so odd about it? I like reading. I'm a fast reader. I had already read one third of the mandatory readings on the syllabus…" He noticed the look Stella was giving him. "What? I had to find a way to practice enough to get the guy in 2nd place out of my way AND I had to keep my B- average in order to keep the scholarship. That was the deal with my parents…"

Stella felt like slapping herself. His parents, of course! More precisely, Don Flack, Sr. Stella had the feeling that he wasn't all that happy with his son's decision of not following family tradition.

"Did your dad give you a hard time?"

Flack's jaw tightened for a second. "Hard time" seemed like an understatement. For all practical purposes, he had been disowned. Had it not been for his mother…

"Well, he did make it clear that if I lost the scholarship there was no way he'd be able to keep me in college…" he sighed. "It was good while it lasted, though…"

Seeing that Stella was trying very hard not to ask the obvious, he kept on going. "I managed to stay afloat my freshman and the first half of my sophomore year. I was now the replacement goal keeper and my grades were good enough…"

"But? I KNOW there's a but in there, Flack, so give it up."

"But then I fell in love…"

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A/N: I searched high and low for info on Don Flack's birth date and alas, there was none I could find. I do know that Mr. Cahill was born in 1978, which made him barely 2 when the Lake Placid Olympics took place, which totally ruined the general idea of the fic. So, for the sake of this story, I'm placing Don Flack at 33. There's also no information regarding Stella's age, but I'm keeping Melina's age for this one. 7 years ain't that much of a difference, and in RL Eddie Cahill's live-in g/f is 8 years his senior.