Title: Breaking the Ice 2?
Author: Ceindreadh
Characters/Pairing: Flack, Stella. Eventual Flack/Stella
Rating: T/PG-15
Summary: Flack is in trouble; Stella looks out for him
Genre: Het, hurt/comfort, a little romance (hopefully!) on the side.
Notes: Started writing this mid-way through S3, so that's roughly where it's set.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI NY characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished.
Previously on my CSI NY - Stella and Mac went to meet Flack, but found him injured.

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"Suppose you'll be wanting the shirt off my back for evidence again," mumbled Don, tiredly.

"Don't think we'll need to go that far," said Stella, rubbing Don's arm gently, "But I will need to get shots of your injury. You know the drill."

"Yeah," said Don, sighing heavily as the paramedics approached.

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[2]
Don did indeed 'know the drill'. He'd spent many hours hanging round Emergency Rooms waiting for a perp or victim or fellow officer to be treated. He'd even spent time there as a patient, having picked up his share of knocks while in uniform. The one constant in all these things was the time he had spent just waiting.

Don looked at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "What the hell's taking so long? I should a been back at the house ages ago."

"Technically you're a 'minor injury'," said Stella, looking up from the notes she was making. "We got in just after a multi-vehicle MVA. You're lucky you even got a bed."

"Call this a bed," muttered Don, thumping the mattress of the gurney he was sitting on.

He'd been feeling much better by the time the paramedics had shown up, and only Mac's refusal to countenance otherwise had made him go with them to the hospital. He had drawn the line at being strapped down to a gurney though, insisting that he was perfectly well able to sit up straight. Of course after a few blocks of stopping and starting in New York traffic, Don's head had started spinning again and he'd started to regret his earlier stubbornness. Only Stella's comforting presence beside him as they'd taken yet another sharp corner had kept him from giving in and passing out again.

By the time they'd reached the hospital, Don had been too groggy to make more than a token protest when they'd been met by a nurse with a wheelchair. He'd been assessed, directed to a cubicle, waited to be seen by a kid doctor who looked barely out of High School. Then he'd had to wait until he could be wheeled up for an X-Ray, more waiting for his turn in the machine, and now he was sitting here waiting for somebody, Ianybody/I to show up and give him the all clear.

The only bright spot in the whole afternoon had been that Stella had been waiting for him when he'd gotten back from X-Ray. Bad and all as it was being stuck here waiting, at least he wasn't on his own. Don knew that she was probably only waiting there to see if there was any more debris in the gash on his head that could be matched up to the weapon used, having already bagged and tagged a few samples from the doc's examination. But still, it was nice to have Isomebody/I to pass the time with. Not that Don was feeling like he was much company.

"I'm sure it won't be too much longer," said Stella, glancing quickly at her watch.

"Look, you don't have to stay here," said Don. "I mean, if there's anything left in here..." he indicated the dressing on his head, "...I'm sure the doc will just bag it up for youze. Not like it's gonna be any different from what you've already got, and Mac's probably pitchin a fit wondering where you've got to."

"I told him I'd be here as long I was needed," said Stella. She smiled at Don, and suddenly he was feeling a whole lot better.

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Don wasn't feeling so well after the Doctor had come back and stuck a few stitches in his head, but he was damned if he was gonna give the guy an excuse to lock him up overnight. He'd spent way too much time looking at the four walls of a hospital room, and even an overnight stay wasn't something he wanted to repeat.

"I'm telling you Doc, I'm fine," he repeated as the Doctor shone a light in his eyes for what felt like the twentieth time.

"No dizziness, no nausea?"

"No and no," said Don, "Look just give me my clothes and let me outta here!"

"Headache?"

Don hesitated only briefly before answering, "I got smacked in the head with a two by four, what do *you* think?"

"I think that you could easily have a delayed reaction to the concussion and it would be far better for you if you stayed here overnight for observation, but if you insist on leaving, then I can only sign you out on the condition that you have somebody at home who will be able to check on you every few hours. *Do* you have somebody to look after you?"

Don's face fell, "No," he said reluctantly. He glanced over at Stella and seemed about to say something, but sighed heavily instead. "No."

"I'll get the paperwork sorted then," said the doctor. "We'll move you upstairs as soon as they can find a bed."

"More waiting," groaned Don.

Stella looked at his disconsolate face and quickly made up her mind, following the doctor out of the cubicle. "Doctor, do you really think that Don...that Detective Flack's condition is likely to deteriorate?"

"Admitting him is really just a precaution," said the doctor. "In all likelihood he'll be fine with a few days rest. But obviously we'd prefer to err on the side of caution."

"I see," said Stella.

A few minutes later she was back in Don's cubicle. "Get your clothes on, Flack, I'm busting you out of here!"

"What? How? Why?"

"I told your doctor you'd be staying at my place tonight. He's just gone to sort out the paperwork, but I told him if he wasn't back in fifteen minutes I was hijacking a wheelchair and staging a hospital break."

"Shit, Stella, you're the greatest!"

"Well you've served enough time in this place." Stella patted Don on the hand, "Come on!"

Don didn't need telling twice. He pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. The sudden movement made his head spin, but he held tightly to the edge of the mattress and waited until things had settled down. A light touch on his arm made him look up.

There was a look of concern on Stella's face as she asked, "Can you manage or do you need some help getting dressed?"

Don was still somewhat embarrassed over the whole 'using Stella's breasts as a pillow' incident, and the last thing he wanted at this present time was for her to be helping him with his clothes. "I can manage," he said a little gruffly, as he reached for the bag with his things.

"Are you sure? I can get a nurse to help."

Of course she wouldn't have meant to help him *herself* thought Don. Out loud he said, "I'm good."

"Okay, I'm just going to update Mac. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Don nodded in acknowledgement as Stella pushed her way through the curtains of his cubicle.

A few minutes turned out to be closer to ten, but Don needed every minute of it to pull his clothes on. He didn't know whether it was the concussion or the painkiller the doc had pumped into him, but it was taking a heck of a lot more concentration than normal just to even make sure he had his shoes on the right feet. And as for the buttons on his shirt, forget about it. He tucked it in as best as he could and then wearily slid one arm into his jacket, finding it necessary to take a breather before trying to pull it the rest of the way on.

"Let me..." Don almost jumped at the sound of Stella's voice, but he didn't resist as she gently pulled the jacket into place and smoothed down the lapels. "That's better," she said, "You look a bit more human with your clothes on."

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To be continued
Ceindreadh