DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.
SO MY SELF IMPOSED HIATUS DIDN'T LAST LONG. I'M NOT EXACTLY BACK FULL TIME AND THINGS ARE STILL UP IN THE AIR, BUT THE MUSE CAME OUT TO PLAY FOR A LITTLE BIT AND THIS CHAPTER WAS THE RESULT. SHORTER THAN MOST AND NOT MY BEST, BUT I WANTED TO GIVE YOU GUYS SOMETHING. I'M ALSO WORKING ON SOMETHING JUST FOR FUN THAT HAS MY FULL ATTENTION AT THE MOMENT AND AN OLD CHILDREN'S STORY OF MINE THAT HAS CAUGHT THE ATTENTION OF A PUBLISHER. SO THINGS ARE A LITTLE CRAZY AT THE MOMENT IN RL.
A MASSIVE, MASSIVE HEARTFELT THANKS TO ALL OF THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE SENDING ME THEIR LOVE AND SUPPORT:
MICHELLE, DORI, CASS, HEIDI, CAITLIN (PADFOOT Cc), SAM (SPANKY), CHERYL (AXELLIA), MADISON, CRAZYMOO AND SO MANY, MANY OTHERS.
HUGE WELCOMES TO: WOLVES2D AND X3SUNNYDAAY
AND TO MY FELLOW HOCKEY FANS (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE): THE PENGUINS ARE STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS! WOOT! NEVER THOUGHT I'D LIKE A TEAM NAMED AFTER A BIRD THAT CAN'T EVEN FLY….BUT THE HOTNESS THAT IS CROSBY JUST MAKES IT ALL BETTER. SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING A PEN NAME CHANGE THAT PAYS HOMAGE TO MY NEW OBSESSION.
SLIGHT CROSSOVER THIS CHAPTER. COOKIES TO WHO GUESS WHAT CHARACTER AND WHAT SHOW HE CAME FROM
Two week notice
"So while I'm turning in my sheets
And once again, I cannot sleep
Walk out the door and up the street
Look at the stars beneath my feet
Remember rights that I did wrong
So here I go
Hello, hello
There is no place I cannot go
My mind is muddy but
My heart is heavy, does it show
I lose the track that loses me
So here I go."
-Same Mistake, James Blunt
Scrawling his name to the final DD-5 report of the day, Flack flipped the folder closed and tossed it onto the pile of several on his desk, and clicking his pen closed, tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket as lay draped across the back of his chair. Clocking an astonishing amount of overtime in the past week alone had both infuriated the brass and secured him an early quitting time, and upon returning from lunch with Danny, he'd found his way to his desk with a strong cup of coffee and gotten down to business. Going through reports that had been sitting on his desk for a couple of days and were in desperate need of his approval before being sent to Whitmore for her to officially sign off on them.
"I want them signed, sealed and delivered by the time the clock hits four thirty," Whitmore had stressed over the phone that morning. "You don't walk out of that station house without making sure those reports are stunningly accurate, complete and ready for my signature. You've been slacking, Detective. And if you want to keep your Sargeant stripes, I suggest you concentrate more on work and less on home. Or your lack there of one. Understand me?"
He went through the corresponding log books, looking for inaccuracies between notes taken at scenes and what was written down on the reports. And thankfully finding no glaring problems. Any call that came in he handed off to the young detectives working underneath him. Despite the often glaring, heavy responsibilities that came with the title of Sargeant, one of Flack's small joys in his professional life was being able to shrug off the shit jobs and pass them along to someone else. If it was a slow day and he had some people to spare, he sent them to scenes in favour or keeping his ass parked behind his desk and making it look as if he was hard at work. If he didn't feel like making his way over to the lab or to the ME's office, he had someone else do it for him. A personal forensic valet service. And sometimes, when he was in a particularly lazy and shitty mood, he sent a uniform to grab him coffee. A move that wasn't popular among other detectives. Especially Scagnetti, who would always frown and ask him what the hell had ever happened to him. Who the hell had ever pissed on his cornflakes that morning.
"You gotta stop letting your personal shit affect you like this," Scagnetti had growled on several occasions, after yanking Flack outside for a smoke break. And to mostly rid his ass about what a miserable prick he was becoming. "You bring crap like this to work? This isn't you, Junior. You've never been like this. Ever. And if you want to keep your job, I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and shove the personal shit aside while you're on the clock."
That was easier said than done, Flack had learned. For the past eight years, he'd been able to keep a respectable edge between the two aspects of his life. At work, he was all business. There wasn't much to him past the badge and the gun and the icy glares and the smart ass comments. Off the clock, the second he stepped out the precinct door he was a husband and a father. The guy who took the garbage and the recycling out and who fixed things around the house. Who provided for his wife and kids and tried his damndest to make life as comfortable as possible for them. Even when Sam was so sick, he'd been able to -despite how difficult it was- leave the stress at home and concentrate on the job and nothing but when he was clocked in.
Jordan Gates -or the destruction of his 'relationship' with her- had been his ultimate demise. Suddenly his personal business became the talk of the precinct and the lab. Even guys in other stationhouses in other boroughs knew about what had happened. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Sam had snapped and made news of his affair public knowledge. He'd deserved it of course, but it had also shattered a chunk of the trust he had in her and had kick started his animosity and bitterness. Things have never been the same after that. Despite repairing his marriage and Sam and the girls moving back into the house, things had been different between them. While the love and the easy going bantering still remained, they had both found that they got under each other's skin quicker than before. That the more time they spent together, the less they could stand one another.
Of course, it hadn't been until they legally separated and sat down with a therapist that they actually realized all of that. That they'd been able to finally dig deep and get to their root of their problems. And the brutal honest and the ranting and raving had been oddly therapeutic. Bearing their souls to one another had not only opened the flood gates, but had broken the barriers in communication they'd been confronted with. They'd been able to start anew. Slowly building their trust and respect in each other with each step on that rocky, twisted path.
Nothing could ever change the way he felt about her. Flack knew that. There wasn't a damn thing or a single person that could ever diminish the love that he felt for her. A love that their separation had seemed to make even stronger. Impenetrable. He was a hundred percent devoted to her. And only her. And he routinely dodged offers of coffee and dinner from single women around the precinct and laughed off suggestions from his guys when they commented that they had a friend or a cousin or even a sister that Flack might be into. He didn't know how many times he had to tell people he wasn't interested. That he's main priority in his life was getting his marriage back on track. And that even if things totally fell apart and he found himself single, he wasn't in the market for a girlfriend. Or a second wife. Or even an easy lay. It was as simple as that.
Powering down his computer, Flack pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He gathered his suit jacket in one hand and the stacks of reports in the others and hurriedly made his way to the duty captain's office. He was anxious to get the hell out of there. Sam wasn't expected to show up at his apartment until seven, but he had small errands to run to make sure that their night alone was perfect and he wanted to take a shower and freshen himself up before she came knocking on his door. There was no way in hell that he was going to ruin his third chance. He knew that if he fucked things up this time, that was it. She wasn't going to allow him back into her life in order to stomp all over her heart. This was the last ditch effort and he was going to put his all into it. His sanity depended on it.
His life depended on it.
"Got a hot date or something?" John Sullivan, the grizzled veteran with twenty too many pounds on him and a chronically annoyed voice asked from behind his desk as Flack strode purposely through the door.
"With your daughter," the young detective replied, and smirked at Sully's furrowed brow and disgusted frown.
"You're not her type Flack," Sully retorted.
"Thank God…" he said, and stepping up to the older man's cluttered desk. "'Cause I'd really hate to have to cover her face with a paper bag just so I can bear being in the same room with her. Never mind the fact she'd crush me if she ever…."
"Keep your smart ass comments to yourself," the duty captain growled. "Judging by the way you keep your ladies, you'd be lucky if my daughter even gave you the time of day."
"Sully, your daughter is enough to turn me gay," Flack shot back. "Here's those reports that gotta get out to Whitford," he dropped them noisily onto the desk. "I'm getting the hell out of here. I've got plans and I can't afford anything messing them up."
"Brunette, red head or blond?" Sully asked, and leaning forward in his seat, snatched the first report off the top of the file and flipped it open
"Red head. Formerly a brunette. Looks smoking hot either way. Need anything else from me?" he asked as he headed for the door. "'Cause if not I'm…"
"Whitford's looking to transfer you," Sully called out, just as the detective had one foot out the door.
Flack blinked, taken back by the announcement. "She's what?" he asked, and stepping back into the office, closed the door behind him.
"She thinks that all of your personal problems are getting to be a little too much for you to handle," the older man said, as his eyes skimmed through the DD-5. "And I gotta admit, after seeing the way your numbers of solved cases have just dropped like flies..."
"Blame that on the lack of evidence and the craftiness of the perps," Flack said. "It's got nothing to do with the way I'm doing my job. I can't catch the crooks if I'm not being given anything to work with. Wanna blame someone? Go up to the crime lab and ask why the hell they're not giving me much to go on and then come and bitch to me about how I do my job."
"You're not on your game Flack," Sully told him. "And the department needs you to bring you're A-game each and every time you strap on that gun and put on that badge. We can't afford you to bring anything but your best. And lately…" he looked up from the reports and focused her dark eyes on the young man standing before him. "…lately you're not doing that. And that's unusual for you."
"Like I said. The lab…"
"The lab nothing. You're letting your personal shit ruin you. You're letting it get under your skin and burrow itself there and you're letting it affect the way you do this job. You're a damn good cop. Probably one of the best. And when I see your numbers just going down the shitter and I see the dust ups you're having with perps and your own colleagues…"
"I've got that under control," Flack informed him. "I'm seeing the department shrink and I'm on meds and I'm…"
"And Whitford feels that maybe this isn't the best place for you considering your issues," Sully cut him off.
"My issues?" Flack snorted. "What the hell does that mean? My issues?"
"It means that you're a fucked up mess at the moment and this is not the ideal place for you," the duty captain informed him. "In case you haven't noticed, your life is completely falling apart."
"My life is getting back on track," Flack argued. "It's taking longer than I expected to get it to where I want it to be, but things…things are finally going good, Sully. My wife and I…we're doing good and we're getting back together and we're going to be a family again. And once that happens and shit settles down, things will pick up around here. You know they will."
"And if things don't work out at home?" the older man asked. "What then? If despite your best of intentions you find out that your marriage just isn't going to cut it? What then? How worse are things going to get for you professionally? You sink any lower Flack and you're going to be at the bottom of the Hudson. Do you not realize how bad you've been lagging behind lately? How horrific you've been handling your cases and the people below you? Or are you hiding out under some fucking rock?"
"Look…I know that I haven't been at my best, but…"
"Your best? You have been so far from your best you've been off the fucking map!" Sully fumed. "I don't think you get just how bad you've been! I've seen rookie detectives do a better job than you! And I've been trying, Flack. Lord knows I've been trying. I have been patient and sympathetic. I have listened to you bitch and moan about your personal problems behind closed doors. I smoothed shit over with Whitmore and Gerrard when it came to your diagnosis and the meds you're on. I assured them that you had things under control and that you can handle whatever is thrown at you…"
"And I can. I can…"
Sullivan held his hand up to silence the younger man. "I have bent over backwards to accommodate you and your crap, Flack. And God knows I love you like you're my own. But you…" he sighed heavily. "You're time around here is running out. You're stepping on the wrong toes and pissing off the wrong people. And I never thought that I'd see you the way you are now. And trust me, it kills me that things are as bad as they are for you. That you and your wife are having the issues you are. And that your kids are suffering. But Don…I have to worry about my squad room now. I can't be putting everyone else behind you. I can't be running the place according to your moods and your problems. Understand what I'm saying?"
Flack nodded.
"Whitmore thinks the best thing for you is to ship you out of here. So that you're not working in the same place as your wife. Especially if things go south."
"Things aren't going to go south," Flack informed his superior officer angrily. "Things are far from going south, Sully! Sam and I are working damn hard to fix things! And things aren't going to belly up again. You have my word."
"And normally that word would be good enough for me," Sully said. "But I can't…I can't take the risk, Flack. And I can't sit back and watch you bottom out even more than you already have. I want to do what is best for you. And the best for you is not keeping you around here. Some people can handle workplace relationships, some can't."
"Are you kidding me?" Flack laughed. "Are you honestly kidding me? Sammie and I have been together for eight years now! And for eight years we've coexisted around here peacefully. We kept our personal shit out of here and we've dealt with our marriage and our kids and whatever else came up at home. Away from here. Has there ever been a time when we brought our crap into this place?"
"Other than Jordan Gates you mean?"
"That was a monumental screw up," Flack agreed. "I messed up huge. And you know what? I'm still making amends for that. With a lot of people. And with myself. But Sammie and I have always been able to keep our shit together and work just fine with one another. And we're doing fine now. We work the same scenes, we do witness interviews together, we interrogate together. So what in the hell is the issue?"
"The issue is that you're a quarter of your former self!" Sully snapped. "That's the issue! You are not the same person Don! You're not the same cop! And you are better than that. Way better. And the only thing that's going to save you is getting you the hell out of here and away from the instigator of the problems."
"My wife?" Flack fought to keep his temper in check as he bit at his bottom lip and paced the width of the office, his hands on his hips, his furious eyes locked on the older man. "You talking about my wife, Sully? You saying shit about my wife?"
The other man sighed heavily, and leaning back in his chair, held his hands up surrender. "Look, Don…I know that you've worked out of this precinct for years now. That you've been doing your thing alongside of the crime lab for a long time…"
"Nearly thirteen years," Flack said. "I've been working alongside of those people for thirteen years of my life. They're not just my colleagues. They're my friends and my family. And we've all solved a hell of a lot of cases together and we're part of each other's lives and…"
"And maybe that's the problem," Sully interrupted. "You've gotten too close to people. You've let things became way too personal. And I'm happy that you and your wife are working things out. That you're both getting your shit together. I am. But I can't take the risk of how bad things will get if they fall apart again. So I think that this transfer…well I think you going to work somewhere else is a good idea."
Flack nodded slowly, allowing time for the news to sink in. "So is this a done deal or what?" he asked.
Sully sighed, and leaned sideways in his chair, yanked open the top drawer of his desk. "This is a copy of Whitmore's request that she put into Sinclair a couple of days ago," he said, as he straightened into a sitting position and held the paper out towards the detective. "I was told not to say anything to you. Sinclair wanted to tell you personally. After he signed it."
"And you didn't say anything to them?" Flack inhaled sharply and shook his head as his eyes skimmed the paper in his hands. "You didn't vouch for me? You didn't get any of my guys or even Scagnetti to stick up for me? Put their two cents in?"
"Oh I did," the older man admitted. "And all of them told me the exact same thing. That you've been slipping big time and that a change of scenery will probably do you a world of good."
"Vice and drugs?" Flack asked. His eyes widening in anger and surprise as he flipped the paper around in his hands and storming to the desk, leaned over and shoved the information in his superior officer's emotionless face. "Are you fucking kidding me? Vice and drugs?!"
"They figured a total change of pace would be the best thing for you," Sully said.
"I've worked homicide for a hell of a long time! I've worked my way up the ladder and I've shed blood, sweat and fucking tears for this department! And this is how I'm repaid for that? This is how I'm treated when for the first fucking time I'm letting shit slip a bit?"
"Don…I know you're upset…"
"This is fucking bullshit!" Flack raged, and slammed the paper down on the desk. "One time! The one time I let myself be a human being and I let my heart rule my head this is what happens?! I'm declared unfit to serve within the homicide department?"
"No one said that, Don. We're looking out for your best interests here. We're concerned about you and no one likes what they've been seeing in the past few months. A change will be good for you. Being around different people, not working with your wife…"
"My wife has nothing to do with this. Things are going great with us and we've been working just fine together and you fucking know it! So what is this really about? Tell me what the real reason is here."
"We're concerned about you," Sully repeated. "We just want you to be at the top of your game and it's quite obvious that right now, homicide just isn't the place for you. Vice and drugs has an opening and they'd love to have you. Same pay rate, still a sergeant. Nothing changes there."
"Homicide is my life, Sully! This place has been my life for years and now I'm being shipped off like nothing I've ever done has mattered? All my busts, all my collars, all the murderers and the scums of society that I've helped bring in and none of that matters?"
"Of course it matters. You've gone good work with us Don. But…"
"But the second I become damaged goods you don't want me anymore," Flack finished. "Second that diagnosis came down it was game over for me. And don't you goddamn sit there looking at me like you don't know what I'm talking about."
"What do you want me to say Flack? You want me to sit here and tell you what the brass really thinks about you? What they really think about what the psychiatrist said?"
"You mean do I want you to be honest? That's a start. A real novel fucking idea."
"They think you're a loose canon," Sully admitted. "They think that you're one step away from doing serious damage to someone. Or even to yourself. That being in this line of work is only going to irritate your condition and make it harder on your mental health. That's how they feel Don. They feel that you dealing with this every day…with gore and death and evil…that it's just going to mess you up and make you totally useless to the department. To your family. And no one wants to see that happen. We don't want to see you snap. What good would you be to your wife and kids if that happened?"
"Give me a break," Flack snorted. "Since when did the department start giving a shit about my family? All they care about is if I'll go mental and embarrass them. That's all they care about."
Sully shook his head. "We care about you, Don. We care about you and your family. And doing this…doing this is for the best. And I think deep down, you know that."
"All I know is that this is the biggest sack of shit I've ever heard," Flack declared. "Not once have I ever shown to the department that I couldn't handle being here. All the insane, disgusting shit I've dealt with throughout the years and not once have I ever freaked out on someone. And now all of a sudden I'm public enemy number one? You think I'm going to go loco one day and start busting heads? Start putting bullets between peoples' eyes?"
"Don, you're overreacting."
"So maybe I am," Flack shrugged and back away from the desk. "Maybe I am overreacting. But I've put my fucking heart and soul into my job. I've done whatever I could for this department. I've put it before my wife and my kids. I've done nothing but sacrifice for this place and this is how I'm repaid in the end? Tossed out like yesterday's trash."
"We can go on and on about this, Don. We can keep going around in circles. This is what's going to go down and I just felt like I should give you the heads up. So it didn't just jump up and bite you in the ass."
"Well isn't that just so goddamn gracious of you," Flack snorted. "Considering you've only been sitting on this news for a few days now."
"I was only doing my job," Sully told him. "Whitmore asked me to keep it back 'cause Sinclair wanted to speak to you personally. He wanted to be the one to tell you."
"He's just a goddamn modern day saint," Flack muttered, and commencing his pacing of the office, ran his hands over his head and down his face.
"I know this is a lot to digest," the older man said. "I know it's a lot to take in at once. But isn't it better to hear it from me than to walk into Sinclair's office when you're summoned and get the bomb dropped on you there?"
Flack just snorted in response.
"Transfer will take place two weeks from Friday," Sully told him.
The detective sighed heavily. "And there's nothing that I can do about this? That you can do about this?"
"I'm sorry, Don. What's done is done. In this case…we're just looking out for you, okay? That's all we're trying to do here. We've got your best interests at heart."
"Sure you do," Flack grumbled. "Department's best interests at heart are more like it."
"Go home," Sully ordered gently. "Go home and have a few stiff drinks. Get some sleep. You'll feel better about this in the morning."
Taking in another deep breath, Flack released it slowly and then turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the door. "You know," he said, as his fingers closed around the handle. "All of this would have avoided if we'd gone to New Jersey like we planned."
"No Flack," Sully shook his head sadly. "All of this would have been avoided had you been a bigger man and just said no when some trifling bitch crossed your path."
The detectives shoulders and back tensed and his hand tightened around the door knob. Leaving Sullivan preparing for a verbal -or even a physical- onslaught. Instead, the younger man simply turned the handle in his grasp and yanking the door open, stomped out into the busy bullpen. Slamming the door with enough fury to shake the glass.
Captain John Sullivan sighed heavily and looked down at the wrinkled and tattered paper before him. It's for the best, he thought. We're doing this for him. And only him. It's definitely for the best.
His brain firmly believed those words.
But his heart refused to follow suit.
Well, I thought I'd do a shorter chapter in order to get my feel back for my stories. Things are pretty damn shaky at the moment. But I think I might be getting my groove back. A little at a time. So a huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you!
Special thanks to:
Afrozenheart412
Soccer-bitch
Hope4sall
CSINYMinute
Padfoot Cc
Wolves2D
wolfeylady
HighQueenReicheru
Madison Bellows
x3sunnydaay
xSamiliciousx
Forest Angel
