Hey,
Once again, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Thank you all so very very much!
I'm in the home stretch of this story. Not 100 sure how much is left, but I'm definitely getting close to the end.
Hope you enjoy Chapter Ten. Please, read and review!
Chapter Ten
"Anyone fancy some breakfast?"
"Sure." Hawkes yawned, stretching, blinking in the clear, fragile, hesitant day light. "Where do you want to go?"
"I don't know. What about Cameron's Diner? Down on Seventh?"
"Sounds good to me."
Danny pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing over at her as she stood on the steps on the apartment building, staring up at the window, the shattered room hidden from sight by the tattered, hanging curtains, still holding the smell of blood and bullets. "What about you, Lindsay?"
She didn't answer, shivering as the chill slipped its fingers under her clothes, running across her skin in a lonesome caress.
"Lindsay?"
"What?"
"You comin' for breakfast?"
"No."
"Why not?" He glanced around and took a step closer to her, her perfume long since gone, washed away by the smell of chemicals and blood. "It'll do us both good. Get out, get some food. Forget about work for a bit."
She shook her head, her hair loose and lifeless, her dark eyes tired and bloodshot, the flesh around them discoloured with exhaustion. "I'm tired, Danny."
"We all are, Lindsay." He shivered, dancing slightly from foot to foot as the wind whipped down the narrow street, stinging at the exposed flesh, his breath frosting out in front of him. "Come on. Some hot coffee, some of Cameron's finest pancakes, and you'll be ready to take on the world again."
She shook her head again, her smile sad, almost disconsolate, surrendering. "I'm just going to go home, have a hot shower." She ran her hand through her hair, a frustrated gesture. "I'll see you at home, okay."
She stepped closer to him, brushing her lips across his, briefly.
His eyes followed her as she walked off, flexing his fingers as he stared at her. Wondering when things had all turned so…fragile, so delicate.
"Danny?"
Hawke's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Yeah?"
"You ready?"
"Yeah." He glanced back at her slight, disappearing form. "Later, Montana."
xxxXXXxxx
He almost slammed the door after him when he realised she was asleep on the couch. Curled up, her cheek resting on her folded palms, a slight smile drawn across her pale face, wrapped in the battered throw from the back of his couch.
Flack closed the door as softly, as gently as he could, leaning back against it. How many times had he come home from a late scene, a late shift to find her sleeping on the couch, waiting on him? How many times had he fallen asleep on that couch, the hockey playing out, unwatched, uncaring, waiting for her to come home?
When had it all turned so….fragile, so delicate?
He sighed and walked across his apartment, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, his stride tired, almost stumbling, dragging against the floor.
She stirred, slowly, sitting up on the couch, blinking in the harsh, fragile light. "Hey. When did you get in?"
"Just now." He dropped his shield and keys on the counter, leaving his gun on, needing the reassurance of its weight against his hip. "You want some coffee?"
"Sure." Katherine smiled, tentatively, unsure. "You okay, Don?"
"Yeah." He glanced up, his eyes dark, hooded, rubbing his hands together, then rubbing them against his trousers. "Can you check on Nick Potter when you get into work today?"
"Sure."
"I promised Jim Steele I'd find something out for him." He rubbed his hands together again, oblivious, repetitive. "They wouldn't tell him anything last night."
"They couldn't until the family had been notified. I'll look into it, Don. I promise."
His smile lifted some of the darkness clinging around his eyes. Made him look younger, made him look more like the Don she remembered, the Don she had…
"Thanks, Katherine."
"What did the suspect tell you?"
The smile disappeared as quickly as it came, vanishing like the sun behind a cloud, leaving the apartment cold and dark. "Nothing we didn't already know."
"What did you do to him?"
"Maybe you don't want to know that, Katherine."
xxxXXXxxx
"Why don't you tell us about Michael Caffee."
Declan Cassidy leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his stomach, smiling. "Who?"
"Michael Caffee." Jim's smile was brittle, cold. "I hear he's an old friend of the family."
"Never heard of him."
"Don't bullshit me, you little prick."
"Fuck you, Steele." Declan stood, the orange glow of his jump suit seeming to be the only light in the dark room, beating with a pulse stronger than Nick Potter's as he lay in a hospital bed. "On the gate!"
"One last chance, Declan…."
He stopped at the gate, waiting.
"Give me Caffee. Give me Caffee and we can work something out."
"I already told you, Counsellor." The gate slid open and Declan Cassidy stepped through it, turning to glance back at Steele's slumped, desperate form with mocking eyes. "I don't know the man."
xxxXXXxxx
She was sleeping when he got home.
Sprawled out in their bed, wrapped in the sheets, her face haloed by her hair, splayed across the pillows.
She looked so peaceful, so beautiful..
Danny sighed, leaning back against the frame of the door, watching her as she slept, his body screaming with weariness, with exhaustion.
He just wanted to…
Lindsay stirred in her sleep, murmuring in her sleep, her hand reaching out, longing, lingering. Then falling, like a cold, broken rose to the bed. Her breathing easing, settling, her sleep deep and peaceful.
Danny sighed and slipped from the room, padding across the floor with careful, quiet steps, walking across the silent apartment. Sitting down on the couch, staring at the blank, still television screen facing him.
Waiting, listening to the silence.
He didn't blame her, couldn't blame her. The job was what it was.
He sighed again, lifting the remote. "I guess its just you and me again, old buddy."
xxxXXXxxx
He watched the door of the precinct swing open and closed, beckoning him like salvation, like the gates of heaven.
Welcoming.
Judging.
He couldn't just walk in there, tell them what he knew.
Could he?
What would the Auld Man do to him?
What would the Lord do to him, when He held him to account for his sins?
What would Don Flack do to him, if he figured out what Sean O'Neill had done?
xxxXXXxxx
"Who found him?" Katherine put her gloved fingers against his wrist, feeling the pulse flutter like a trapped bird beneath her delicate fingers.
"Taxi driver found him stumbling around the Village. I think he was expecting a fare for bringing him here."
Katherine smiled briefly, brightly, concentrating as she continued her examination, skilled hands slipping quickly across the man's battered body, practised mind noting responses and reactions. "Someone's given him a hell of a beating."
"I've already called the Police. They're sending a uniform over now."
"Okay." She straightened, stripping off her gloves. "He's got multiple fractures in the rib cage, a broken nose and cheekbone. Probably got a concussion as well. Have we got a name for him yet?"
"James Cassidy. He still had his wallet."
"He still had his wallet?" She reached into her pocket, pulling out the small torch, shining the bright light into his eyes. "Mr. Cassidy, can you tell us what happened?"
"McCann."
His voice was so faint, almost a breath that she had to lean over him, the stench of blood and pain still clinging to his clothes.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing." Katherine lifted the board, scribbling down her observations, her orders, scrawling her signature across the bottom. "Have you called the Police?"
"Yes, Dr. Callaghan."
"Can you page me when they get here?"
"Yes, Dr. Callaghan."
xxxXXXxxxx
The chapel was dark when Michael Caffee walked in, the shadows seemingly drawn to him, clinging to him, welcoming him like an old friend, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floor like gunshots.
He smiled up at the crucifix, crossing himself, slowly, mockingly.
"Can I help you, my son."
Michael looked around at the sound of the Priest voice, old and frail with age, shaking with cold, the chill stalking through the walls of the old building. "Yes, Father."
He looked back at the crucifix, the smile slipping from his face, leaving it dark, shadowed.
"I've come for confession, Father."
xxxXXXxxx
He chewed on his thumbnail, watching as the doors of the precinct, the badge and the motto emblazoned on the dark glass, proud and defiant. He watched it, shivering as the cold brushed against him, dark and mocking, cruel.
Like Michael Caffee's eyes
Not allowing himself to think anymore, he walked quickly down the street, pushing open the door, walking into the precinct.
He hesitated in the door way, the noise of the busy precinct washing over him, a clashing cacophony of telephones and voices, competing to be heard.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm sorry?"
The desk sergeant rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Detective Don Flack."
"Name?"
"Sean O'Neill." He stepped closer to the desk, scared of being overheard. "Can you tell him I need to speak to him about Michael Caffee."
End of Chapter Ten
