This section was supposed to be a standalone one-shot deal, but I guess it fit with the premise.

Please do review! Well-rounded critique is always more than welcome.

Chapter 2: Shoot First, Ask Questions Later

As was expected of a New York precinct, it was constantly thrumming with activity. People were coming in an out of the office, either on call, collaring a perpetrator, or making out their reports. It was controlled chaos in such seemingly small space. Everybody was preoccupied with their own dilemma, neither aware nor caring that one particular desk seemed to be languidly observing the commotion with growing indifference.

He bit his lip, the urge to look at his watch very, very strong. He could not recall the number of times he looked at the time in a span of a minute. Don Flack was not even sure what he was anxious about, anymore. For the day to end? For someone to give him field work? More paperwork? Oh, he's had enough of paperwork to last him his lifetime.

Flack leaned back in his chair, with an unfocused gaze fixed somewhere on his computer screen. He resisted the temptation to even open a desktop game, either. About a week ago, someone offered to install a new game to keep him busy, so to speak. But Flack demurred; he was never one to be good at such things, anyway. As far as he was concerned, him and computers are not in friendly terms. And he was not going to start to get to know it now.

What he needed was to get out. Do something. Flack felt like he was growing calluses on his behind for doing desk duty. He asked for it, after all: it was either this or inane programs on TV, or listening to his neighbors. His captain had suggested that he take a vacation somewhere warm, said something to the effect of "getting a life". Flack was beginning to regret not taking that advice.

And staying with his parents was definitely not an option. He wasn't sure which would kill him first: his mother's constant coddling, or his father's bullheadedness.

In his restlessness, his eyes 'happened' to rest on the wall clock across the squad room. He had more or less one more hour to go before he headed home.

"Some of us are just so damn lucky," someone remarked as the figure walked by his desk.

Flack looked up in time to see Det. Vicaro. "Well, the rest of us ain't that lucky to have a hole in their gut, eh?" he shot back at his departing form.

Vicaro stopped, and slowly turned to face the younger detective.

"Sorry, that was kinda low blow," was his gruff response, not directly looking at Flack.

"Nah, forget about it," Flack waved it off. He hated having to remind someone of that little fact. "I'm just--damn, I just can't stand this sitting around deal when I should be out there, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Vicaro glanced behind him, then approached his desk. "Yeah, I hear ya, man," he acknowledged, parking himself at the edge of Flack's desk. "Just that, looking at you waiting for something to happen in a place like this"--he gestured at the chaos around them--"who wouldn't want to be in your place, huh?"

Flack held back the hot retort in his tongue, knowing what Vicaro was trying to get at. Just like this great city of theirs, the precinct never seemed to sleep, and was always alive with some activity or other. Didn't he wish he had time on his hands like this?

Not weeks and weeks with nothing to do! he answered his own thoughts.

"Yeah." Flack stretched back in his chair as much as he could, hands clasped behind his head.

"I'm sure the Chief's as frustrated as hell with what to do with ya, if it's any consolation," Vicaro offered with a sly grin.

Flack offered a withered smile, then slapped Vicaro's leg off his desk. "Why don't you get outta here, while I find something better to do than talk to your ugly mug."

Vicaro let out a short laugh and cuffed Flack playfully on the shoulder before walking away. Alone with his own devices again, Flack gave his desk a once-over before finally standing up. He was tired of staring at his space for a whole damn day. It disturbed him to think that he got to organize his workspace to perfection. Five times. He really needed to get out of there.

He initially thought of going up the crime lab and bug his friend, Danny, but Flack remembered that he had been called away with Mac and Monroe on a case two hours ago. The break room was not a good option, either; that was where he spent half his day during the first two days he got back from sick leave.

There was only one place he had in mind, so Flack headed for the roof where a basketball ring had been set up. He might get chewed out for technically slacking off while on duty, but he didn't care.

He picked up the basketball from the storage room before heading out on the roof. What Flack didn't expect when he got there was company. Stella was there, standing off to the right, a picture of quiet contemplation as she seemed to stare off to the city's expanse before here.

Flack cleared his throat, the noise making Stella turn.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Oh, hey, Flack," she returned with a genial smile.

"Whatcha doing up here by yourself?" he queried, coming up to her side.

"Nothing, I just needed some air." She slowly turned back to where she was staring off to.

"Slow day?"

Stella spared him a glance of disbelief. "On a day like this? Hardly," she replied with a dry chuckle. "I just got back from a crime scene with Hawkes. Six-year -old girl was gunned down in front of her little brother while they were out playing." She clasped her arms about her. "Looked like a random shooting. Hawkes is down at the coroner's office with the little girl's body."

"Stella," Flack cut in slowly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't wanna talk about it. This is what you came up here for, isn't it?"

A soft mirthless laugh escaped from Stella, as a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Her reaction was answer enough.

"Well, what are you doing up here?" It was her turn to ask, then glanced down at the ball in his hands. "Playing hooky?"

"I've been doing that all day," he quipped. "I'm just gonna make it official." He hefted the ball in one hand. "One-on-one?"

Stella looked at him as if he was joking. "Are you serious?"

"What?" Flack calmly pressed. "Scared to break a nail or something?"

She shot him a grin. "I'm not the one who just got off of sick bay here."

Flack rolled his eyes at her. "Doc's cleared me. And it's not like we're gonna play a full game."

"From what I know, you were only cleared for desk duty," Stella clarified, taking the ball from his hands eyes fixed on him.

"Aha. Checking in on my file, Stella?"

She merely cast him a enigmatic smile. Then she stood there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. After a few moments, she spoke up.

"Tell you what," she declared, a glitter in her eyes. "Let's just shoot some hoops. We'll take turns, ask a question. If our shot goes in, the other would have to answer their question." She clapped the ball between her hands. "How's that?"

Flack eyed her warily. "What're you up to, Stel?" He felt that he had nothing to hide, but he also knew that she has this way of putting someone in the spot when she wanted to.

"Oh, nothing!" came her easy reply. "We have some time on our hands. Why not make it a bit more interesting?" She gazed at him tauntingly. "You're not gonna chicken out, are you?"

"Right," he said with a snort as he shrugged off his jacket. It wasn't as if he can weasel his way out of this. It should be a simple Q & A, shouldn't it?

"Okay, I'll go first," Stella announced as Flack returned, rolling up his shirt sleeves. And before Flack could object, she hefted the ball over her right shoulder, and launched the ball. It sailed across the air without even touching the ring.

Flack felt a smirk emerging as he went after the ball. "Damn, Stella! You shoot like a girl."

"It takes me a while to get into the game," she replied, nonplussed. She stood to the side as Flack took his place in front of the net.

Giving the ball a few dribbles, Flack made the shot. It went neatly through the net. He turned to an expecting Stella.

Not really prepared with a question, Flack asked the first thing that came to his mind. "Do you always do this when a case gets to you?"

Stella gave pause before answering. "No... well, sometimes," she admitted. "I just needed to step away for a little bit, then come back when I have my head on straight." She picked up the ball.

"You mean your emotions," Flack corrected. He stepped aside as Stella stepped up in his place.

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Did I say that?" She took the shot, the ball bounding off the backboard before going in.

Flack spread his arms. "Shoot."

Stella pursed her lips. "How are you feeling lately? Really?"

He gave a disparaging snort. "Really, Stella..." He's had enough questions asking about his health for the past two months.

She cocked a finely-arched brow at him. "Hey, the ball went in, I get to ask. And that also meant I get no BS, either."

He grinned nervously. "Aw, now you're making the rules up..."

"Oh please. This is not high school, Flack. We're both adults. Just answer the question."

He regarded her for a few moments, then answered. "I feel fine most of the time. Stings when it's cold. The doc still wants me to stick to my diet though." He made a face at that. "There, satisfied?"

She smiled in approval. "Very." She passed the ball at him. "Your turn."

He took his time with his aim. "Have you been able to sleep well at night after that incident with Frankie?"

Stella stared at the ring long after the ball went through it. "Not really, not at first," she answered slowly. "The first night after you wrapped up the case, I couldn't close my eyes without seeing him standing there." She drew in a breath. "Staying over at my sister's for a while helped a bit." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

Flack nodded, not wanting her to continue further, if not for her sake. He got the feeling that she was not over that episode of her life just yet.

"You're up." He made a bounce-pass to her.

As Stella came up for her shot, Flack observed her shooting posture was better than the last one. But he did not make a comment as she made the basket.

"Do you or did you have nightmares about the bombing?"

Back at me, huh? he thought in amusement. "Who wouldn't? It was a good thing that I only remembered bits and pieces. If you'da told me everything the first few days, it might've been worse."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "You don't get them anymore?"

"No," he said, then quickly added, "so it's a one shot-two question rule now?" He shot her lopsided grin.

"A girl's gotta try," she beamed impishly.

As his shot went in, Flack considered the thought he had earlier. "Did ya learn how to shoot while on the cheering squad?"

That earned a laugh from Stella. "No, thankfully." After a moment, she asked: "So you think I'm cheerleading material, huh?"

His shrug let it answer for him. He couldn't trust himself with what he might say.

As they switched places, Flack watched her form again. She didn't miss. He surmised she might have been the athletic type when she was younger.

"So how are you and your dad coming along?"

Flack looked up abruptly, taken unaware. He hadn't really spoken to anyone about his parents except for Gavin, who pretty much knew of his stiff relationship with his dad. Although the subject might have come up on a few occasions that he couldn't recall.

"Fine as it can be, I guess." He thrust his hands in his pockets as he stared off at a distance.

Stella tilted her head slightly. "That's... not really a definite answer."

Flack put up a hand with a slightly shamefaced grin. "My dad and I... haven't really been seeing things eye to eye, so to speak," he began. "And since the bombing incident, well, our communication lines have opened up a bit."

Stella's features softened, giving him a warm smile. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he drawled, "until he calls and tells me that Mom wants to visit." He sighed in exasperation.

"They're your parents, Flack," she pointed out. "They worry. It's an automatic parent mechanism."

Flack stopped himself from making a comeback. He flinched inwardly, reminded that Stella was orphaned early. His new-found lease in life made him feel closer to his folks, specially his distraught mother. But no adult male really liked to be pampered to death.

"Okay, me." With a quick dribble, he sent the ball sailing through the net.

Stella made a sound of admiration. "You haven't missed."

"Don't intend to," he shot back smugly. "Now. The poser: Will there be anyone for you after Frankie?"

Her brows almost reached her hairline as she cooed. "So you're my new girlfriend now, huh?"

"A question's a question, Stel," he answered with a laugh. "I think people still have this kind of conversation after high school."

"Well, of course, there would be," she answered gamely. "Not real soon. But, one day." She ended with an assured nod.

"Considered going for someone younger?" he put in slyly.

She gaped at him in open shock. "Going for someo--is that waiting for an invitation I hear, Donald Flack, Jr.?" She waited expectantly, hands on her hips.

He had the decency to wince, belatedly realizing how awkward his question came out. For all he cared, it was an innocent question! He couldn't believe she read more into it, but dared not to laugh in her face. And when she used his name on him, well, it glaringly reminded him of his mother when she was trying to get her way with him. So he let her have her way for now.

"I'm not gonna answer that," she added curtly.

Flack nodded in understanding. "So that's a 'maybe'."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Don't put words in my mouth, Flack."

"Then just answer my question. It's a simple 'yes' or 'no'," he put in casually.

Her lips formed a thin line. "I plead the one basket/one question rule."

"O-kay," he put his arms up in defeat.

As he passed her as he took his position under the basket, he couldn't resist another jibe. "I still think it's a 'maybe'," he mumbled.

"Just shut up and pass the ball," she cut him off, a playful smirk on her face as she caught the basketball.

"Whoa." It was Flack's turn to gape when Stella launched the ball as soon as she got in. It bounced off the ring a few times before it went in. "We really mean business, do we?"

"Oh yeah," she answered with a simper. "Do you still think of Aiden?"

Flack felt his features fall slightly. "Where the hell did this come from?"

"A question's a question," she shot his earlier remark back at him.

"Well, I miss her," he let out with a sigh. "We used to hang out, you know, on Fridays, after she left. Last time we talked, she was bragging about this new guy she was dating." It still gave Flack pause to speak of her in the past tense; a painful reminder that it was all Aiden was now: past. "At least then, she wasn't bitching about not finding a man that had a dick for brains."

Stella burst out laughing that Flack shrugged at her. "I was quoting Aiden," he supplied laconically.

"Why didn't you date her, then?" she asked when she was able to talk.

His eyes must have bugged out when Stella began to giggle. "Are you nuts? Date someone in the force? Then have her bust my nuts if I ditched her?"

"I'm sure she was capable of that," Stella bubbled, "but I don't think she could have done that to you."

Flack wasn't assured by that, but it filled him with sorrow that he will never find that out. He loved Aiden as a dear friend, and had never thought of crossing that sacred boundary to see if there could be something more. It just hurt that all he was left with were a whole lot of 'could have beens'.

They stood there in silence, Stella with a lingering smile on her face, as if reliving a pleasant memory, while Flack flicked the ball between his hands, unsure of how to continue.

It was Stella who broke the stilted silence. "Listen, I gotta go," she announced as she glanced at her watch. "I needed to check up on what Hawkes found out about the body." She quickly ran a hand over her hair, and gave her jacket a quick tug. "You'll be hanging around here for a while?"

"Yeah," he replied, shifting his weight to one foot.. "Until the Chief hauls my ass off to his office, I guess."

Stella gave a short laugh, tossed her head at him. "Take it easy, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am!" He offered a mock salute.

Instead of leaving right away, Stella drew near, and leaned closer.

"Actually," she revealed in a stage whisper, "the cheering squad cheered for our team when I played forward for the women's team." She gave a wink, then sauntered away.

Flack was left standing there without a witty retort. Well, I'll be damned.

End?