The Children of New York

Chapter 1: Voicemail

Disclaimer: I am herein using characters and themes from CSI: NY, without owning them, and without asking permission but also without profit. Before considering legal action, please consider that precedent points towards fan enthusiasm expressed and built through media like fanfiction and websites and message boards to be of ultimate benefit to entertainment products like television shows. Thanks!

Note: This chapter was originally a post ep. vignette for 'Til Death Do We Part. I finally figured a plan how to continue it, so it became also the first chapter in the longer story, which is not so much a vignette. At this point minor tweaking occurred on the Prologue/Ch 1: Voicemail.

Chapter 1: Voicemail

What with one thing and another, Stella had not checked her voicemail by the time she left the lab. The outline of a small envelope was winking at her as she boarded the subway train that would eventually leave her off three blocks from her apartment. Neither the pace nor the duration of the blinks were in any way abnormal: it was entirely her own conscience which leant it an accusatory air.

Overly familiar with the routine she punched in her code as she allowed herself to slump into a moderately defaced plastic seat. That was one perk of working late- she missed the crush of the rush hour and got a seat.

You have four new messages.

And if she had any luck left at all, one of them would not be a summons back to the lab.

Hey Stel- I went to that fortune teller with Jackie. You'll never guess- I'm going to be hungry about 8 Friday night. She didn't tell me about you, but if you're free to come over I can ply you with the good stuff and tell you what else she said. Let me know. OK, bye- Oh, and she said she'll be there until midnight if I get you drunk enough!

Stella wasn't in a particularly bad mood. They had caught a murderer. And she had been able to shout at him a bit, which usually put her in a good mood. Even so, the sound (and content) of her old friend's voice left a sweeter smile on her countenance. A home-cooked meal sounded wonderful, (Tracy was a chef and interestingly, never tired of her kitchen), and the Chardonnay and laughter that were more certain than the food sounded even better.

Stella checked her watch- 10.37. Too late to call Tracy back. Her second son had just begun to sleep through the night and, unwilling to jinx their fortune, his parents retired almost as early as he did.

To delete this message press-- Next message.

Hey Stella. This is Flack.

Recognition of his voice was instantaneous, and her first instinct was to groan. There was a there was a lack of edge to his words that seemed to confirm her suspicion of being hauled back into work- then she realized this was the message Mac had given her second hand. Her thumb slipped over the 7, about to delete it when she stopped herself. It wasn't as if she had anything else to fill her time, and hearing Flack apologize was unlikely to mar her enjoyment of the evening. Plus, with only a few strangers around her, she was free to gloat.

I just wanted to say you're right--

And a little gloating now and then was good for the complexion.

So don't worry, I'm not going to the DA until you've got it wrapped up on your end. And… Sorry I went out off on you like that. You're doing your job and I was acting like a jerk. Anyway, give me a call when you get this. Next field trip I promise, you got the wheel and no ribbing from me. Talk to you later.

More than an ego boost, his apology was rather sweet. That thought sparked a twinge of embarrassment. Directly after receiving the visitor logs she had called him over to pick her up, and had taken the proffered keys without comment or a word of thanks. Granted, she had other things on her mind and anyway, how do you acknowledge an apology you'd half gotten, and by hearsay, when its validation was about to become unequivocal?

To delete this message press 7 now. To save it, press—

His phone was already ringing in her ear when she realized that unlike herself, Flack likely had plans, which she was currently in the process of interrupting. Oops.

"Hey Stella."

"Flack?"

A crowd of voices overlapped his. One in particular, female, sounded very close to the phone.

"You're asking? You called me. Hold on a sec." He said something else, but it was muffled- his hand was over the mouthpiece. There was some rustling and he was back, now with much reduced ambient noise. "Everything okay?" Concern was evident in his voice.

"Everything's fine. I just got your message."

"Oh." Neither of them quite knew what to say. A strange silence threatened to perpetuate ad infinitum. "I hear the subway- you on your way home?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry for calling this late. I just wanted to say thanks. For not going to the DA over the kid." Her reflection in the window disappeared as the train shuddered into a station. In the comparative silence she could hear Flack's regular breathing and could picture his stance, phone to his ear.

"Stella, don't worry about it. I'm just sitting around, having a beer." Her mind filled in 'with a girl.' Call it the curiosity of her profession, but Stella wondered what she looked like, how much she giggled, and whether she was just some girl, or a 'the girl.' It was then she realized, with some surprise, that beyond knowing he wasn't married, she didn't know anything about Flack outside the job.

Strange how some things never come up. "I'll let you get back. But hey, next time I'm driving, I'll take you to lunch. Anywhere you want."

"Stella Bonasera, stop in the pursuit of justice to feed the cop?"

The rattling returned as the train again gained momentum. Opposite her, her reflection smiled right back and she let herself enjoy the fact that she was important enough that he stayed on the line to tease. A sure sign she was getting lonely. After she called Tracy, maybe she'd call Rick. He lived down the hall, had a nice smile and bestowed invitations to dinner with flattering regularity. How bad could it be?

"Well, I'll pick up a box of Pop Tarts for you in case the trail is too hot."

A warm chuckle came over the line along with a slight thump, like he'd leaned against a nearby wall. "S'mores?"

Those were the best. Though it was hard to believe there was any nutrition value in something that in every way resembled a very flat desert. "I'll pick 'em up on my way in tomorrow. Bye Flack."

"Hold up. You want to grab something to eat?"

"Now?"

"Have you eaten? Because if you got food after not letting me-" At first glance it was a buddy-buddy tone but there was a game afoot. Stella's sense for deception tingled. Even from Mac the invitation would have been odd, coming as it was late at night over an hour after they'd parted ways. Flack and she rarely saw each other outside of work, and only ever in mixed company at Sullivan's.

"No, I was just going to order in."

"Cuz Poptarts are good and all, but Italian boys need real food- when we can get it."

"Real food not including anything in foil?"

"My Grandmother would have had a stroke if I'd become an astronaut. How's Mario's? You know it? It's a couple stops past yours."

"Yeah, I know it." The proprietor's name was actually Enrique but his deli served good and cheap Italian, was liberal with the ricotta and was open all night. A cop's best friend. What gave her pause was that Flack was giving her directions to it from her route home.

"Great. 20 minutes? If I'm not there tell Rico to gimme my usual. He'll know."

Maybe it wasn't really that odd. He knew where she lived because he'd dropped her home a few times, and he'd grown up a city boy. New York was like the back of his hand. Or as Stella's college adviser always said, better than the back of your hand, 'cuz what, you're ever going to lose it? But everyone needs to know the way to the post office.

They signed off as the doors closed on her stop. After a moment Stella flicked her phone to check the rest of her messages.

There was a 24 Hour store near Mario's, if memory served.