A/N: Haven't you wondered what the real story behind those Flacks is?

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DON FLACK SR. - COSTUME AND LOVE

And when I get lost in the city, you know where I'm coming from, it's just for a little while, it's either cry, or go kill someone out there…

Some inheritances are harder to bear than others… specially those that you inherit unwillingly. I know you hadn't planned things like this, either. I wonder if Mom were still around… never mind. I won't go in there.

Most people simply assume that I'm your only son. I know neither one of us has done anything to dispel the notion. Actually, I don't think no one has ever asked me. As for those who knew you, I guess they know better and let sleeping dogs lie,

I miss them, both of them. I guess I miss them differently, that's all. I know I can visit Mom at St. Mary's any day I want, and I do, once a month. As childish as it may seem, I talk to her as if she were my guardian angel or something like that, always asking for guidance and protection. I feel that is I ask her to look out for me nothing bad will happen. Guess what I forgot to do that Sunday morning almost two years ago when I was called into duty unexpectedly? Uh-huh… I didn't get a chance to pray that day.

As for Des… missing him is harder; not knowing where he is or how he is, it is even harder. And I know I said I wouldn't mention it, but have you ever wondered what would have happened if Mom hadn't died when she did? Do you think Desmond would have bailed the way he did?

I know you've told me that as parents you try not to put labels in your kids. But you did label us, somehow. I know Mom talked you out of giving your first name to your first born. The minute the doctor told you it was a boy, it was decreed he'd be a cop, just like you. That's when Mom suggested not calling him Don, but Desmond, like Grandpa, so he'd grow to be his own man and carve his own legend in the force.

When I came along, and since she had so much trouble giving birth to me, you decided to pass on the first name along with the last one. Then again, I wasn't expected to be a cop. I could, if I chose to, but Mom secretly hoped I'd take the college route and become a lawyer or something. Consciously or not, you labeled us both from birth, encouraging him to play basketball ("Cops go out and play after shifts") and me to play hockey ("Scholarship, Don, think about how a sports scholarship would make it easier for you to go to college").

And we bought them. Not because we wanted to, but because it's what YOU wanted from us and we didn't know better. And when we did, we decided not to say it out loud.

I knew Des didn't want to follow in your footsteps, but I kept quiet. Does the make me as guilty as he is in your eyes? Do you consider it as big a betrayal as you consider his? Hasn't my taking his place made it up to you somehow? I've tried, Pops, I really have. But nothing seems to be good enough for you anymore.

After Mom died everything just went to hell, didn't it? Even though I was barely 15 and didn't know better, I knew you and Des couldn't seem to agree on anything anymore. Those last months he was home were long and lonely; you two spent every single moment together fighting or sulking and I just sat there, in the middle, thinking that if I was quiet enough you'd forget I was there, and if I concentrated real hard I could pretend I was somewhere else, thousands of miles away. It never worked, though. I always ended as the sounding board for you both, having to listen to both sides of the story and not being able to do more than agree with you both, for fear of disrupting what little communication there was in our family.

Des' note telling us he was leaving to search for his own life wasn't that big a surprise, was it? I guess you should have seen it coming, I mean, I saw it coming… but I guess you just didn't feel like looking at what was happening in front of you, didn't feel like accepting that the mental picture you had in your mind for so long had been shredded to pieces. Did you always picture you and Mom sitting together, holding hands, as you watched Des receiving his badge? Did you imagine the two of you together driving me off to college somewhere? Did you think of the future and saw the two of you together, still going strong, surrounded by your grandchildren?

Mom's ill-timed death cracked the façade of your dreams, but Des' leaving shattered it beyond repair. It was as if a light had gone off inside of you. And it got so quiet at home, and the silence grew to be so bad I almost wished Des was back with you fighting… your angry voices were ten times better than the deafening, oppressing silence that surrounded us both.

It made me so mad. It made me feel like yelling at you to look at me. I carry your name, dammit; I'm part of you, look at me! But I kept quiet; I respected your mourning period and tried to deal with mine as best as I could.

I attended vocational school for a year after high school. When Desmond left, he took with him my chances of going to college. We barely spoke of that possibility, and I knew we hadn't been financially prepared to deal with Mom's medical expenses… my college fund waned alongside her health. Vocational school forced me to take a good, hard look at what I wanted in life.

It wasn't a big shock when the results of our tests came back and it turned out that all along it ought to have been me who was considered your heir apparent. I enrolled in the Academy without consulting with you. I wanted to do right by you. I hoped my decision would make you happy and we could go back to the way we were when Mom was with us. I was 20, Pops; please give my naivety some fucking credit.

I remember your face when I told you. And I remember your reaction as well. I want to believe that you were even more shocked than I was when you realized what you had just done. The physical damage of the blow has long since healed, but I'd be lying if I told you the emotional one has done so. Ten years have gone by, and that punch, bred out of frustration and rage, stands between us, thicker and taller than any wall.

Moving out of your place into a tiny room I could barely afford was never questioned. You just handed me what little money Mom had left me, and mumbled what I can only hope was a blessing of some sort. You came to my graduation from the Academy in what I can only imagine was a bittersweet moment since it wasn't what you had planned for your family, but deep down I hope you were pleased, somehow…

But we've never looked back. When Captain called you to tell you I was being promoted to Detective, and I know you knew before I did, you kept quiet. Oh, you played the part of the satisfied, proud father with the higher ups, but not one word was spared my way. When I got blown up… Mac told me you showed up once or twice, while there was still a chance of me not making it, but after I was out of danger you stopped going and started calling and when I got discharged from the hospital the calls stopped altogether.

When I made news after the cocaine bust you came by the precinct, but I was out. You left a note, though. Nice to know you didn't expect any less from me. It would have been nice to know I had finally made you proud, but I guess that given the circumstances that would be asking for too much.

You handed me down your blue dress and your names and the old school of tough love and a fading memory of a happy family life that was ours once upon a time. I hope you know I wear the first two with pride and love…

They're my inheritance, and I treasure it for all it's worth.

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"Un vestido y un amor" by Fito Paez was just so right for what I had in mind for Flack's relationship with his dad after hearing his reference to a brother in episode 4.4. Younger brothers don't get away with making fun of their older brothers, so…