A/N: The clock keeps ticking… and time is running out.

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

They made it as far as the bed.

Later on, much, much later on, that's what he remembered. They stumbled there, him carrying her, her legs wrapped around his hips, and how he relished the feel of skin on naked skin, and he was surprised how much he missed feeling a woman's naked chest on his naked torso, and he prayed he had enough self-composure to last longer than a sixteen year old, which he was seriously doubting, not with the way his body was reacting to the feeling of his hands splayed all over her satin covered ass, or how his mouth seemed to have found permanent residence in the crook of her neck, or the way her hands were anchored on his shoulder blades or the kind of wicked, deliciously wicked things she kept breathing in his ear…

They had yet to kiss, but he was saving that for last, until they were in bed, until he could take his time leisurely exploring her mouth, marking her as his, selfishly wanting to erase every vestige of any other man in her life. And then he'd kiss away the damage done by Nico, and then…

As if invoking it by merely thinking about it, duty called just then and there. Just as they had reached the end of his bed, just as he was considering how to lay them down and how to make her his and surrender to her, his phone rang. Or maybe it was hers which rang first. In any case, both devices demanded their attention, and after a half-sighed moment of apology, they disentangled and morphed back into homicide detectives in the midst of a dangerous and delicate undercover operation.

As he spoke with Cap, he glanced at her, deep in discussion with whoever it was on her end. He could catch glimpses of naked skin here and there, and desire still coursed deep in his veins, but he was surprised at how easy it had been. Of course it had been frustrating as hell; the ongoing joke about blue balls to match a cop's uniform had a profound basis on reality. But for the first time since his work life had interrupted his sex life, there hadn't been any of the uncomfortable, silent reproaches, none of the pouts and exaggerated sighs, no "do you really have to answer it" pleas. For the first time since he could remember (and the only time he had NOT answered his phone he had been mid orgasm) it had been done in a natural way, no explanations necessary, none demanded, none given. Frustrating as hell, yes; harder than it already was, no.

By the time he was done talking, she was coming out of the bathroom, Jezebel's costume back in place, the delicate garment of moments prior carefully folded in her arms.

"Here" she said, extending it towards him.

"Keep it"

"You sure its owner won't mind?"

"It's yours"

"Oh… thanks. Why was Cap so upset?"



It still surprised him how easily she could go from Jenn to Angell and back.

"Seems he got the report form Vice and wants to go over it with me, ASAP. There's something about it with which he's not happy about, and he seems to think I have something to do with it…"

"Now what on Earth would have given him THAT idea…"

"Watch it Jeze…Jennifer…" he inwardly cursed himself for momentarily forgetting.

"It's okay, Don. It IS my given name, after all. Too bad my mom was such a diehard Bette Davis fan, huh? One thing is certain, though…"

"What is it?"

"If I'm ever crazy enough to work with vice again, I won't allow them to choose my undercover name again…"

Don wondered if they had given her a name during the Jergens case, and decided he never wanted to find out.

"So who was that on your side?" he asked, trying to change topics.

"Hmm? Ah, Rick…" Distractedly fixing her make-up

"Rick?" Raising eyebrow and tone.

She softly cursed under her breath. "Silva? From Vice? He just got the transcript from my interview with Nico and wants to discuss some things…"

Don hated himself for it, but he had to know.

"Jenn… if Cap hadn't called…"

"Silva could have shoved his briefing wherever he felt like it, cause I had better things to do with my life at this time of the night than meeting with him over this fucking case…"

He smiled and she smiled back and she sat on his couch to put the boots back on. For a moment he wondered if he ought to have kissed her right then and there, but by the time she stood up the "moment" between them had passed. The hard core that protected her was back in place and he decided not to risk physical injury by approaching in anything but a professional manner.

They parted at his front door without a single word, without a single glance back, allowing the night to swallow them whole.

X xxx X

To say Cap was upset would be akin to saying that the Chrysler Building was just another skyscraper in the city. He had just received official confirmation as to Angell's participation in the Jergens case and he wanted to know if a) Flack knew, b) Flack was planning on informing him any time soon, and c) what the fuck was Flack going to do about it.



For a moment, Flack pondered his options. He could flat out lie to Cap, but hell would be a nice place to live in if Cap found him out. He could tell him a half truth, but which parts should he leave out? He could always go for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but then Angell would have his hide, not to mention his balls. In the end, he went for the edited version of the truth, leaving out her break down, the how he found out, and what had happened next.

Cap was still mad as hell for Vice playing him like that. If it had been up to him, Angell would never had gone to see Nico on her own, now would she have risked her physical integrity. He was regretting having fallen for the "victims need you" line Vice had fed him; there was a reason he worked Homicide, and part of it was that his victims usually came in wheeled feet first. And now, not one, but two of his men, were risking serious physical and emotional damage. The Flack/Angell team had a good closing record, and a good part of it was the comfortable banter they shared. And that delicate balance was about to be put through the grinder, and all because the idiotic nephew of a moronic asshole in office was presumably in danger.

He had been called over from Queens to cover for Gerard, and he was no pansy when it came to danger… but he was not one to put his people in unnecessary danger, either. He didn't care much for Manhattan politics; the only labels inside his suits were the ones sewn in by his tailor and he was almost sure the young man sitting in front of him spent more on a pair of shoes that he did on half his wardrobe. To each his own, he guessed, but he still wasn't comfortable playing games with his guys' security. He was considering pulling the plug and calling the whole thing off, Vice and Sinclair be dammed…

Until Flack told him what Angell had seen inside that madman's place.

Cap knew Angell had cojones, but he had no idea they were so big. Not that he was surprised; she was an Angell after all. He had no complaints about Junior, either. He'd worked with both their fathers, and he knew the apples had not fallen far from the trees.

It was that he just didn't trust damn Vice. Agnetti seemed too soft and mild-mannered to be running such a tough division and that Silva… an hijo de puta if he had ever seen one. Sneaky bastard who'd sell his own mother to get ahead in the job, and probably had done so already. Maybe Cap was being too harsh on his judgment, but the fact that it had been precisely the Jergens case that had given Silva his break was making him nervous; Cap wasn't a man to believe in coincidences. Not when the office gossip mill had Agnetti retiring any minute now and Silva openly vying for his position.

Like Flack, Cap now had to make a decision on how much to tell and what cards to keep closer to him. In the end, he just told the young detective to keep an eye on Silva, but didn't tell him why. He had more pressing things in his mind that an asshole with political ambitions.

"Flack?"

"Yes, Cap?"

"You ARE aware that this Nico guy will not hesitate to off you both if he doesn't buy it, aren't you?"



"Yes sir"

Silence as the older man pondered how to pose the question he needed to ask.

"How good are you, Don? I mean, are you good enough to fool the bastard?"

Fidgety stalling. "She's been doing a great work, Sir..."

"Oh, she's good. I've seen the tapes, Flack. She's frighteningly good. It's you I'm worried about…"

"Me?" Feather ruffled instantly.

"Forgive me for saying this, Don, but you don't look gay enough…"

"So I've been told…"

"I don't know, Don. I mean… I can see why this psycho picked you, but it was something done based solely on looks alone. The moment he sees you he's gonna realize he's got a very good looking STRAIGHT guy to play with, and I'm not sure how well THAT is gonna sit with him…"

Flack wondered how much he could trust his new Captain.

"I've been worrying about the same thing myself, Sir…"

"The way I see it, Flack, your best shot is if the two of you give a convincing show together. Have you practiced your roles as mistress and slave together?"

"Uh… actually… we hadn't had a chance so far…"

"Are you fucking kidding me??"

Flack felt like vanishing into thin air. He hadn't thought about practicing together before meeting with Nico, but, then again, he had more pressing things on his mind. Of course, he couldn't share this information with Cap, so he'd have to take the reaming as stoically as possible.

Cap was hard, but fair. In his defense, Flack had only known he was the chosen one for about 5 hours now. That gave them 24 more to prepare before the meeting with Nico. Cap wanted to see them interact at least once before they left for the rendezvous, and he warned Flack that if he wasn't convinced, he was going to call the whole thing off.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?"

Hesitation. "Have you ever been to "The Oyster's Cult" in Harlem?"

Blank stare answered. Cap sighed, opened one of his desks drawers, and after some moving around, came out with a card, which he slid across towards Flack.



"If there's a place for you kids to polish your game, this is it. Call Angell and tell her to meet you there ASAP. Go downstairs to the evidence locker room and get some of the stuff Vice bought and change into… what idiotic name did Vice give you?"

"Uh… Donnie…"

Disgusted snort. "Brilliant. Go change into Donnie and meet Angell at the Oyster's. Do you have any gay friends you could trust?"

Flack's mind flew back to Bryan March and nodded.

"Good. Call him. Her. Whatever. Ask them to meet you there as well. Tell them the whole story. Beg for their help if necessary. But have them watch everything you two do and correct every single flaw you have. Tell them to be merciless. Make out with them if you can stomach it and your friendship can stand it. Do what it takes, I don't want to know. But I want you out of that place alive, you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir"

Another moment of silence. Flack inwardly braced himself. He was slowly getting used to the brutal honesty of his new superior officer, and although he appreciated it most of the times, it was still unsettling.

"Flack… what you're doing… it ain't easy. And I'm not talking as a cop here. Guys will be guys and there will be talk… even if you made Captain and earned a bazillion medals, locker room talk WILL be there. It's a macho thing I guess. Even if nothing happens, people will assume the worst, given the nature of this case. Are you… prepared for that?"

Don thought for a moment before answering.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone calls me "fag" sir..."

"What did you do the first time around?"

"Told them I'd tell Messer they'd sent their love…"

Cap laughed out loud. He had heard the rumors. And he had caught Messer and Monroe making out in the parking lot. And he'd heard of the socialite and the James Bond case in more than one precinct, too.

Soon he sobered. There was something else that worried him and needed to be addressed before Flack could be dismissed and he could go back to Queens to his family.

"Have you and Jennifer talked about the case? As friends, not as cops…"

"Uh… well Sir… talk, talk, really talk… not really…"

Sigh.



"You need to talk. You know that, don't you? You're going to be crossing all sorts of lines in this case, and I'm not sure you'll ever be able to go back to what it is right now. It might cost you your friendship… have you considered that? On the other hand, you two are going to get all sorts of intimate, and I don't think I need to tell you that she's one hot looking lady, do I? That would be hard to control under normal circumstances… and in this case she's gonna be whipping your ass for the sheer pleasure of doing it… and she might find out she likes it. Even worse, YOU might find out you like it. Do you think you can go back after that?"

Fuck. Cap sure knew how to ask the tough questions he had been putting aside for later but never coming back to them. Maybe it had been for the best they had been interrupted earlier…?

"You don't need to tell me, Don. It ain't none of my business. But you need to tell her. You both need to know the other one will be there at the end of the tunnel. Now let's get out of here. You got places to go and my Graciela is going to kick my ass all the way into Jersey if I don't get home at a decent hour…"

They walked to the elevators, making small talk about the weather and the Giants and the Yankees. When the elevator stopped at the evidence floor, Cap stopped the doors from closing after Flack had gotten out.

"Think about what I said Flack, and do what you need to do. I'll have both your backs even if Vice doesn't. And talk to Angell. I mean it."

"Thank you, Sir, I will."

"Did you know that Graciela and I were beat partners? We fought all the time about whose turn it was to drive the patrol until the day I asked her to marry me…"

And with that, Cap let the doors slid close.

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

A/N: Not the kind of chapter we were expecting, huh? But I like the way Cap addresses some issues that had been left loose…