A/N: Well, I didn't actually think that I'd be updating this again so soon with everything that's going on, but it seems like this one is just pouring out of me- at least for now. I'm a little hesitant to even hope that it'll continue to do so, but I'm loving the fact that I can't seem to get through the day without adding to this story (I got about half of this chapter done yesterday). Thanks so much for the reviews- you guys are absolutely awesome. I'm sure I don't have to tell you all how much they make my day, since you probably know exactly what I'm talking about and how it feels to read reviews on your own stories. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you seem to have enjoyed the others. -Jess
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI:NY or anyone you might recognize- Casey, on the other hand, is the product of my own over-active imagination.
This is stupid, Casey thought to herself with a sigh. She'd been sitting curled up in one corner of her sofa, her gaze glued to the door of her apartment, since she'd gotten off the phone with Don. Sure, he hadn't said what exactly he wanted to talk to her about at- she flicked her gaze to the digital clock by the television set- ten o'clock at night, but she could guess. The tone of his voice had told her he was beyond mad- he was positively furious. And if he wanted to talk to her about that... well, it could only mean that he'd cornered Adam and gotten him to spill something. Actually, he wouldn't have even had to corner Adam- her best friend would likely offer up at least some of what he knew about her childhood and teenage years because, quite honestly, he was scared of Don. And, having grown up next door to the guy and seen first-hand how intimidating he could be, she understood that- it was hard for people like them- like her and Adam, who'd been abused in various and awful ways for years- not to be afraid of people like Don, at least to some degree. All it took was one look at Donald James Flack, Jr., to know that he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
Did that mean Casey was scared of him? A little, yeah. She wasn't afraid that he'd hurt her- never that- but she'd seen what he was capable of when he was pushed too far. One day after school, Don had strolled into her house to find her- he'd been worried because she and Sam had made plans for the afternoon, but Casey hadn't shown up and Sam had begged him to check on her and make sure she was okay- and watched as her father had slapped her so hard she'd felt like her head would spin right off her shoulders. Don had pushed her behind him, right out the front door, and launched himself at her father. It had terrified her that Don was capable of such violence- she'd been glad he'd shown up, and surprisingly thrilled that he was willing to actually fight for her, but seeing him like that... It wasn't something she ever wanted to witness again.
And she knew, once he arrived, he'd start in with his questions- and he wouldn't let up until he had the answers. If he'd been furious twenty minutes before on the phone, she didn't want to see what he'd be like once he heard what she'd been through. She wasn't too thrilled about the idea of reopening those old wounds, either- there were lots of things she knew she was still dealing with, more still that she never wanted to think about again but that were always there with her anyway. But most of all, she was dreading seeing the look on Don's face when she told him what she'd done, what she'd tried to do.
Casey was abruptly brought back to the here and now by Don's knocks. He wasn't pounding on the door or even beating it down- some people might think that he'd cooled off some, that he was no longer as angry as he had been... and some people, those who really knew him, would realize that, sometimes, the quieter he was- the more furious he was. And Casey definitely knew him well enough to recognize the quietly seething fury behind those almost too gentle knocks at her door and his strained, "Open the door, Campbell."
Of course, the fact that he'd called her by her last name was a big hint, too. He'd rarely done that, even when they'd been kids- and, even then, only when he'd been beyond pissed, as Sam would say. Regardless, she knew better than to deny the order- if she did, he'd just bust the door down. He was more than capable of it- she'd seen it more than once.
Much to her own horror, no matter how badly she didn't want to be afraid of him, Casey realized that she was shaking with fear- it had been years since she'd faced an angry Don Flack. After that incident with her father, she'd run across the lawn to the Flack home and raced into Sam's bedroom. She'd curled up in a corner and refused to come out until the tears had stopped falling- and it had taken a good hour to calm herself down after what she'd seen.
She slowly pulled the door open, though she refused to meet Don's gaze as she stepped aside and allowed him entry to her home, her sanctuary. Without saying a word, Don stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him. He reached out to take Casey's arm and guide her to the sofa- and was stunned when she flinched at his touch. His eyes widened as he looked down at her. No longer was she the confident young woman he'd seen that morning; this was the Casey of the past, the girl who could best be described as a frightened mouse. It occurred to him then that, though he hadn't given any direct indication of what he wanted to talk to her about, she knew- she'd probably been sitting, worrying over it since they'd hung up.
For the past half hour, she'd been reliving her own personal hell. And it was his fault- he hated that. More than that, he hated that he knew he was going to push her even further into it because he needed to know what had driven her to try to end her own life. He thought back to that afternoon, to the case he'd been working- for a time, the prime suspects had been three brothers, the possible motive being that they'd wanted revenge on the monsters who'd hurt their sister. He thought of the conversation he'd had with Danny and with Mac Taylor- if the girl had been his sister, or Danny's sister, or Mac's sister... any one of them would have killed the guy for laying a hand on her. And Don knew that's what he was feeling now- he wanted to kill whatever SOB had dared to lay a hand on Casey. He'd always been protective of her, the same as he had of Sam. He'd gone head-to-head with her father, fist-to-fist. There had been moments he'd seriously thought himself capable of killing Nick Campbell for some of the things he'd done to Casey.
He watched as Casey moved to the couch, pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. She looked so much like she had the last time he'd seen her- scared, lost, and like she was all alone in the world. She wasn't- not as long as he was there, or Sam, or Tommy. They'd all take care of her- except that they hadn't been there for eleven years. And though she'd found a new family, according to Adam, the past seven years with them couldn't erase everything she'd been through before.
It tore him apart inside to see her like that, to know that he was at least partially responsible- she wouldn't be sitting in her apartment letting past nightmares eat away at her if he hadn't called, if he hadn't demanded that they talk. It hit him then that, as much as he'd like to think he'd protected her in the past, all he'd done today was hurt her. He'd taken her back to days she'd love nothing more than to forget, he was sure, though he was just as certain she'd never be able to remove them from her mind. Every slap, every punch, every angry word was forever burned into her memory. For the first time all day, he thought about walking away- walking back out her door and leaving her alone before he did any more damage. If he wasn't there to tear open old scares, maybe she'd go back to being the woman he'd met that morning.
He couldn't do it, though- whether it was the right thing or not. And he wasn't even sure it was the right thing to do. It didn't matter, right or wrong, he couldn't walk away from her and he knew it. Instead, he walked slowly, cautiously, over to the coffee table in front of the sofa and sat down on it. He wanted to reach out and wrap her in his arms, tell her everything would be okay- he'd done it a thousand times growing up. He didn't, however, want to see her flinch away from him again. Was she really afraid of him? He didn't want to think that she could be, but was forced to admit that it was more than possible, given her reaction.
He'd thought up a hundred questions to ask her on his drive over- most of which he knew he couldn't ask her now, not with the state she was in. In fact, as he raked his gaze over her, he wondered if she'd ever be ready for him to ask them, if she'd ever be able to go back to those days in her mind, move past the pain the memories brought, and answer his questions without shutting down on him. He needed to know two things, though- he could no more stop himself from asking than he could stop his heart from beating or his lungs from drawing air. In a soft voice- he didn't want to spook her any more than she clearly already was- he asked, "Why are you afraid of me?"
And he was sure she was, as much as it killed him to think that. This was Casey- Casey, who even as a child, had seemed so fearless. He didn't even think she was afraid of her father- she'd stood up to him, never once just standing there and taking anything from him. Which, Don knew, had usually only pissed her old man off that much more and made things worse for her. But here she was, cowering in fear- of him. And it broke his heart.
For a long moment, he wondered if she was going to answer or if she'd retreated so far into herself that maybe she hadn't even heard him. He'd never seen her like this before and, truth be told, it was actually scaring him to think that maybe he'd pushed her over the edge of some unknown cliff. When she finally spoke, her words were halted and broken, but she raised her head and met his gaze with her own, and Don released a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"I... I'm not... scared. Not... not of... of you," she said in a voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm... I know you're angry... and that- that's what.... what scares me. Your anger."
But not him. It wasn't much better, but Don would take it- he really didn't want her to be afraid of him. He knew that what she'd just admitted was only a step or two below that, though, and it didn't do much to ease the pain he felt at having her fear him- or his temper. With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths. "I'm not angry with you, pest," he told her, though he was almost certain she knew that. Casey bobbed her head once, but the fear in her eyes didn't go away. He wasn't a mind reader, not by any stretch of the word, but he was good at reading people- and he'd mastered reading Casey years ago. He could practically see her every thought reflected in her eyes, and he knew instinctively what she was afraid of- what she was remembering. She'd only ever seen him lose control once- and he hated himself for letting her see it, though he couldn't bring himself to be sorry that he'd broken her father's nose, among other things, that day. Not after what the man had done to her.
"Case... Adam told me... he..." He couldn't say it. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, to put into words that Casey Campbell had tried to kill herself. He couldn't because, if he did, he'd have to think about what might have happened if she'd succeeded. Sure, he hadn't really thought about her over the years, except maybe a memory here and there, and he certainly hadn't ever imagined seeing her again, but there was something about even the idea of Casey being gone forever that had a fist gripping his heart with terror, had his heartbeat speeding up, his palms sweating.
At his quiet admission, Casey's eyes glazed over with tears she refused to shed. She would not let herself cry in front of Don- in front of anyone. It had always been one of her rules. She was a wallflower, a girl who'd hated having the spotlight directed at her who'd grown into a woman who didn't know what do when she attracted more than a little attention. She hung back in crowds, always had, and she was always a little reluctant to meet new people. But she wasn't weak- there was a time when she had been, and she'd never go back there. She wouldn't let Don think she was.
"Donnie," she started, though she didn't know where she was trying to go with her thoughts. She didn't know what to say- she didn't think he wanted to hear how she'd tried to do it, or even why. And she didn't know how to comfort him, despite the fact that she could see in his eyes that comfort was exactly what he needed. It amazed her that, after so many years apart, Don actually cared enough about her to be so upset by what she'd done.
Don shook his head to stop her from going on and eyed her carefully as he moved from the table to the couch, taking the seat right beside her, and very slowly wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close to him. "Just promise me one thing," he whispered harshly, waiting until he felt her head move ever so slightly up and down against his chin in the affirmative before he continued, "Promise me you'll never do anything like that again. That if you ever get to that point again, Casey, you'll come to me, and you'll talk to me."
"I promise," she whispered into his neck, even as she marveled at how much she still meant to him after so many years. He was her hero, always and forever, had been ever since she was a little girl. She knew that she would always love him, that she would always need him- what amazed her, what moved her to tears, was the sudden knowledge that he wanted her to need him. And as she clung to him, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck she briefly wondered if she might be holding him a little too tightly before putting the thought out of her mind- he'd tell her if she was- because she knew she couldn't let him go, she just hoped he wouldn't feel the tears slipping down her cheeks and onto his shirt.