Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.

Note: This might seem a little rambling. I got the idea and tried to write it quickly and in one go – I hoped it would gauge the feelings a little better if I were to do it that way. I also have no one to read through and correct for me, I have gone through on my own, but I may have missed some mistakes. Sorry for that. Enjoy.

It Rains For You

The rain lashed down on the ambulance windows, beating vehemently onto the moving vehicle. Its sirens were blazing through the bustling New York streets, people turning to stare as it passed them on their daily routine.

How were they to know the horrors inside? How could they see through the thin frame to see one of New York finest expelling his life force over the floor? What could have told them that one of those inside was so close to death, so close to that sacred sleep.

Following closely behind in the car, I knew. I knew that he wouldn't even make it to the hospital. How could he possibly when most of his blood was on my clothes? Covering my shirt, no longer its pristine white, covering my neck, my hands, in my hair.

I can't cry.

Stella is beside me; she's sitting beside me focusing intently on the back of the ambulance, as if she could will its occupants life itself. No. She doesn't know there can't be any life left in him, she didn't see it all. I can't cry. I can't let her see it's a lost cause. She has to have some hope left, I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her those four bullets all hit their target. All of them hit him with such venom. I can't tell her that he lost so much blood that his mind was lost in the pain, and he somehow bit down on his own tongue. I can't let her see my eyes. I can't let her in on the secret just yet.

He told me I was his best friend. He told me it was up to me to tell the others goodbye. He said he could trust me with his last wish, his dying wish.

No, I can't think like that. He's strong. He's a fighter. The paramedics will help him. He really can't have lost that much blood, right? Maybe I'm in shock. Maybe I'm seeing things. Not all of that on my chest could be his, right?

"Flack?" Stella pulls me back to reality. I can feel her gaze on my chest, on the already drying crimson on my chest. She shows me that we are in a reality in which there is no comfort. The blood is his. There's nothing that can change that.

"Yeh Stel?"

"Is that all his blood?" She chokes, making the words barely audible. It's a horrible sound. Reminds me of that time my sisters' dog died, and I had to tell her. Such a horrible noise. She knows what the answer is; she just needs to hear it from me. She needs someone to say it out loud.

"Um." I swallow hard. "Yeh, it is."

"He's not going to make it is he?" She looks away from me. Turning her head, as though it will prevent the news from being the one she expects.

I don't know what to do. Who am I to give him a death wish in front of her? She is his colleague, his friend too. She doesn't want to here the truth, does she? She wants me to lie. She wants me to comfort her like I comfort others every day on my job. But, I'm Don Flack, and this is Stella I'm talking to. She wants it straight. She wants to know what I think, wants to know what I saw.

"No." I hear her intake of breath, sharp and fast. "I don't think Danny's going to make it."