DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I AM JUST BORROWING THEM FOR A WHILE. I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANY SONGS USED AT THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTERS. THOSE BELONG TO THE ARTISTS CREDITED. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS-FLACK.
LITTLE SHOUT OUT TO PAY UP NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. JUST A TINY ONE…
PLEASE CHECK OUT MY PROFILE AND CAST YOUR VOTE! WHAT WILL FLACK'S NEW 'CAREER' BE…
A HUGE, WARM WELCOME TO SOLEIL MAR
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY TO ALL MY AMERICAN COUNTERPARTS AND HAPPY BELATED CANADA DAY TO ALL YOU CANUCKS!
A bump in the night
"See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you
Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait without you
With or without you
With or without you
Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more
And I'm waiting for you
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live
With or without you."
-With or Without You, U2
The night air was stifling. At quarter to four in the morning, a near suffocating blanket of humidity hung heavily over New York City. Despite all of the windows and both the rear and the front doors of the bus being tossed wide open, Danny found himself covered head to toe in sweat. What did find its way slowly down his legs gathered at the backs of his knees. It soaked the collar of his thin white short sleeve dress shirt and the wife beater he wore underneath. The short hair around his ears and at the nape of his neck was damp and beads of sweat glistened around his nose, along the top of his upper lip and dripped into his eyes from his forehead.
When he'd received the call from Mac - waking him up from a blissful comfortable sleep in the confines of his bedroom in a home blessed with central air- he'd been pissed at the intrusion, yet had found solace in the fact that ninety-eight percent of the buses in the city were not only powered by natural gas, but air conditioned as well. So it had been a major let down and a source of incessant grumbling when he'd arrived to discover that on the hottest, more insufferable July night ever on record, his crime scene was located within nothing more than an ancient tin can. One of the two percent of buses that the city had never replaced with a newer model.
His knees cracked noisily as he crouched down alongside the second victim sprawled near the back door. The driver had had the sense -and the strength- after he'd been ambushed to not only stop the vehicle, but call his dispatch for help and hit the emergency door release, enabling several passengers to safely escape as pandemonium and carnage erupted around them. Two innocent civilians had unfortunately never stood a chance. The first, a young man in his late teens clad in a Burger King uniform shirt and a badge clipped to his left chest advertising the name Shawn was still in his seat near the middle of the bus. Slumped to the left, his eyes open in shock and horror and blood and brain matter seeping from over a dozen head wounds. His Ipod still turned on. The volume was cranked and Danny could, from where he worked, hear gangster rap blasting from the ear phone loosely dangling against the kid's chest. The other bud still tucked in his left ear and a black and red knapsack sat undisturbed on the seat beside him. Danny assumed that the young man had been on his way home from working the late shift, and according to witnesses, he'd been dozing off and jolted awake by the unprovoked attack.
The second victim that Danny now hovered over was an off duty security guard from Bellvue. A heavy set, middle aged man with his hospital ID still clipped to his left breast pocket, had attempted to -according to the lucky few who'd escaped unharmed- to stop the perp from the attacking the kid from Burger King. Only to try and flee when he became overpowered and severely injured and have the assailant follow him as he crawled frantically towards the exit. Ending the victim's life just mere inches from freedom.
Danny reached into his open kit and laid down his final evidence marker. He'd already completed the overall photographs, and would now slowly and painstakingly move throughout the bus, going from front to rear and back again taking pictures and then writing down details of every piece of evidence that he'd discovered. From the most minute to the largest, he'd leave no stone unturned and would, as he went along, most likely discover things he'd missed the first time around.
Sighing heavily, he sat back on his heel in the midst of the blood and gore and cleared sweat off of his forehead with his forearm. Then reached into his kit once more, this time to pull out the bottle of water that he'd stashed in there before leaving the lab. The air conditioning in the family car his little piece of heaven on that sweltering night as he travelled all the way into Manhattan to pick up two kits at the lab, and get his badge and weapon out of his locker. Uncapping the bottle, he downed nearly half of it in one swallow and fought the urge to dump the rest over his head.
"Hell of a mess in there," he heard Bernstein's smooth, deep voice and the sound of three separate footsteps approaching the scene "Witnesses are telling me that the perp attempted to board the bus three stops back," the detective continued. "He appeared drunk and disoriented and got into an altercation with the driver."
"What kind of altercation?" Flack asked.
"Driver didn't want to let him on in his condition. Apparently this guy is a regular on this route and he's intoxicated on a near constant basis. Always loud and obnoxious, always threatening to other passengers. Makes sexual comments towards the women, tells any guy that sticks up for them that he's going to go home and grab a knife and come back and slit their throats. That kind of thing. Empty threats for the most part."
"They don't seem so empty now," Flack mused. "We have an ID on this guy?"
"No. But we do have several descriptions that all match and I have some uniforms going door to door in the area around the initial stop to see if they can find out from someone just who he is, where he lives, who he belongs to."
"So what set him off?" Flack asked. "Driver just try to eighty six him and he went crazy?
"That's the story that everyone's giving us at this time. We'd know more if we could talk to the driver, but he's been talking to Angel of Mercy and I'm told that he's in surgery. He's a mess from what EMS was telling me. Expected to survive but not expected to be the same ever again. Mentally and physically."
Danny looked towards the front door of the bus as he heard the small group of newcomers climb the stairs. A slow grin spreading across his face as Samantha boarded first, her hair pushed off of her forehead with a simple black head band and no make up gracing her face. It wasn't her presence that had struck him as amusing. Mac had already given him the heads up that he'd called Samantha in and had said to expect her within the hour. But it was her appearance itself that had Danny fighting back a chuckle. Clad in a pair of Adidas cross trainers, a pair of denim capris, and a baby blue man's dress shirt that, despite being tied at the waist, was still monstrous on her petite frame. The sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and the top three buttons were undone, showing off the wife beater that she wore underneath.
"Brooklyn…" he greeted, shaking his head. "What happened to you? You shrink or did the Jolly Green Giant leave some of his clothes at your place?"
"I'll beat your ass," she mouthed as she journeyed down the narrow aisle towards him.
Danny was unable to stop the laugh that erupted from his mouth. "Easy…easy…" he held up his hands in both self defence and surrender and twisted his body away as she brought a hand up as if to slap him upside the head.
"How'd the perp get out?" Flack asked, as he followed Bernstein onto the bus and gave Danny a nod in greeting.
"Driver was able to hit the emergency release button for the front and the back doors," Bernstein explained, as his superior officer pulled a pair of latex gloves from the front pocket of his faded and tattered jeans and snapped them on. "You can see the cast off from the meat cleaver on the windshield, dash, side window and ceiling," he added, shining the beam from his flashlight on each area he named off.
"That's a positive ID on the murder weapon?"
Bernstein nodded. "Witnesses saw him reach under the back of his shirt and pull it out."
"So obviously he was planning on using it for something," Flack commented, as he stepped past the other detective and made his way slowly down the aisle. "Just the two vics?" he asked.
"We've ID'd both," Danny spoke up. "This here is David Hanrahan. Security Guard at Bellvue. Confirmed by both the ID in the wallet that Bernstein plucked out of his back pocket, and from the name tag clipped to his shirt. He apparently tried to stop the perp from attacking the first guy."
"This is Shawn Miller," Bernstein nodded at the young man slumped over in the seat. "Employee at the Burger King over on Britannia Road."
A frown covered Flack's face as he looked away from the dead body and his eyes surveyed the empty bus. "Is there anything to suggest that our perp and this kid knew each other? Any words exchanged between them that maybe have indicated he was after him? Any altercation?"
"Kid was sleeping when he was attacked," Bernstein said.
"Where were the other passengers sitting?" Flack asked.
"At the front of the bus," the detective replied. "When the initial incident with the driver took place they all took off towards the back."
"And this Shawn kid didn't even wake up? Didn't even realize what was going on?"
"Music's up too loud," Danny explained. "Wouldn't have heard a thing."
"And he just attacked the kid for no reason? Nothing was said between them? What about while he was going at him with the meat cleaver? Anything that witnesses heard that could have suggested these two knew each other?"
"Nothing," Bernstein said. "Why…"
"Seems a little brutal for an unprovoked attack on a stranger," Flack observed. "If this kid was just sleeping and minding his own business and didn't even say anything to get the guy riled up even more, what the hell set the perp off? Why' d he go after him? Kid looks like his head was put through a wood chipper for Christsakes. And the wack-job bit off his ear. Doesn't seem like something you'd do to a complete stranger. Seems…"
"Personal," Sam finished for him, a grimace on her face as she stood behind the dead body of Shawn Miller and surveyed the damage.
Flack nodded in agreement.
"Where's the ear?" she asked curiously.
"Mike Tyson ate it," Danny replied.
Her eyes widened and her stomach lurched. "All of it?"
"Most of it," Bernstein told her. "Took the rest with him."
"Gives a whole new meaning to take out," Danny mused. "Bet it just makes you wish you were back home sleeping in Queens still. Or were you in lower Manhattan?"
Flack cleared his throat noisily.
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Sam responded. "So? What do you want me to do?"
"Considering how late you are 'cause you were probably detained down there in lower Manhattan…"
"Danny…" she shot him a glare and shook her head.
"Let's process the bodies before the ME gets here," he told her, a grin on his face, amused by how flustered she was. "I'll take the security guard, you take Jeffery Dahmer's boy there."
"Do you not have any compassion for the dead?" she huffed, as she crouched down and snapped open the second kit sitting alongside of him.
"Do you not have a sense of humour?" he retorted.
"We'll leave you two to fight this out," Flack said. "I want to see what some of the witnesses have to say, check up on the unis and see if they've got a bead on who this guy is. Or if anyone's come across the murder weapon."
"You do that," Danny told him. "We'll stay here in the sauna and sweat our asses off. By the time you get back, we'll both be either in our undies or totally naked."
"In your wildest and wettest Messer," Flack snorted and turned and headed back down the aisle towards the front entrance of the bus, Bernstein following behind.
"Have fun!" Sam called, watching her husband as he departed. Not ashamed to admit -to herself, at least- that she couldn't resist checking the rear view out in the faded and baggy Tommy jeans he wore. The cuffs tattered, a small hole in one of the back pockets. And with his black golf shirt tight across the chest and around the biceps, he was nothing short of one of the most yummy members of the male species she'd ever seen. One thing she'd never been able to control around him was her libido.
Danny coughed noisily to capture her attention.
Her head snapped towards him. "What?" she asked irritably.
"You just a little distracted?" Danny inquired. "You think you're going to be able to keep your head in the game or what?"
"Shut it," she grumbled, and snagging a pair of gloves from her kit, slipped her hands into them.
"So did you and Flack arrive together? You guys meet up in the street or…"
"You already took overalls?" she asked, ignoring him.
"And marked every piece of evidence visible to the naked eye," he told her, as she got to her feet. "I was thinking we could process the bodies and then go over the bus with a fine tooth comb once the ME's office comes and gets the gruesome twosome out of here. Sound good?"
"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, and using the toe of her left runner, pushed her kit towards Shawn Miller's dead body. "How's Linds feeling?" she asked curiously.
"Like complete and utter shit," Danny replied, but couldn't keep the grin off of his face. "I think you passed on the all day sickness."
"You know, as much as I loved being pregnant and as much as I would have killed to be able to have more kids, that is something I wouldn't want to go through again. I mean hospitalized for dehydration three times because I couldn't keep anything in me? That is just sheer insanity. You guys are lucky. Linds has always had pretty smooth pregnancies."
"Knock on wood," Danny said, then glanced furtively around for something to rap his knuckles against. Frowning when he realized everything around him was either metal or the cracked and worn orange vinyl seats.
Grinning, Sam leaned across the aisle and tapped her knuckles against the top of his head.
"Ha-ha," he smirked. "Very funny. What's up with you tonight? Why are you in such a good mood?"
"I'm not allowed to be happy? Come on, Daniel. I'm always perky and upbeat at work. While the rest of you are walking around moping and bitching and complaining, I'm giggling and smiling and cracking jokes. Someone needs to be the life of this party. I'm the silver lining in the proverbial black cloud."
"True…" he agreed. "But tonight? I don't know. There's something different about you."
Sam shrugged. "Life is good," she reasoned. "For the most part."
"Yeah? Life as in you and Flack?"
"Maybe," she sing-songed.
"It's either a yes or a no," Danny told her. "And judging by his goofy grin, your cheerfulness and the fact that you're wearing his clothes at four in the morning…"
"COD is definitely going to be blunt force trauma," Sam changed the subject. "I mean…the back of his skull has just been pulverized. His brain's been reduced to Jello. This took a lot of rage."
"Or a lot of crazy," Danny retorted. "Seems a bit extreme for just being told you can't get on a bus, huh?"
"We can not be dealing with a sane person," she said. "Who does this to people? What sets someone off? What makes them just snap and go completely nuts? And what was he doing bringing a meat cleaver onto a bus in the first place? Makes no sense."
"When does it?" Danny asked, and standing up, stretched and yawned noisily and a twisted his back until it cracked. "And don't be avoiding my question," he scolded her, as he peeled off his gloves and tossed them into his kit before grabbing a fresh pair.
"I wasn't avoiding anything," Sam told him. "I was just merely sidestepping it."
"Everyone already knows that he's moving back into the homestead in three weeks," Danny reminded her, as he stepped over the dead security guard. "Why go all coy on me now?"
"I'm not. I'm just…I'm basking in happiness at the moment. Can you give me that? Can you give me my moment to just bask in the realization that my marriage isn't a complete disaster and that my husband is still madly and crazily in love with me?"
"You actually doubted that?"
"At times," she admitted. "Haven't you ever doubted anything in all the years that you've been with Lindsay? I mean, after you finally got your shit together and decided to take the leap into the pool of domestic bliss?"
"I tend to refer to is as cross between domestic bliss and sheer domestic hell," Danny chided. "You know that whole saying, about love sometimes not being enough? It's entirely true. 'Cause love doesn't come with an instruction booklet on how to deal with financial problems, in law issues, work and home stress. No one ever told me before hand that love had to go hand in hand with patience, tolerance and respect."
"Or that love is sometimes what actually tears you apart," Sam mused. "I never thought it was possible to love someone but be unable to live with them. And I think that's why I'm basking in the happiness now. Because I'm afraid…I don't know…I think I'm a little afraid that when things do go back to normal and Donnie's back home…I'm actually afraid that everything will just cave in on us again. I'm worried that we actually get along better when we're apart."
"That's a lot of crazy talk," Danny said. "You and Flack are gonna be okay. You've come a hell of a long way already."
"I know. I just…" she bit her bottom lip pensively. "Danny, what if we can't live together? What if we just can't co-exist living in the same house? What if things are better living apart? Do you think that we can actually stay like that? Being married but not being together under the same roof?"
"I don't know," he shrugged and pulled on his fresh gloves. "I'm sure people have done it. But I'm also sure that that isn't going to happen with you guys. Not a chance. You guys just lost your way somewhere. Lots of things going on in your lives that you didn't deal with at the time and just all bunched together and played on both of you. And then Hawkes…" he sighed heavily and shook his head, his friend's memory still weighing heavily on his heart. "…I think that was the catalyst. The shock and the grief of that. I think it just set you two off."
"I think so too," Sam agreed, her voice quiet as she gave a small nod. A silence fell between them as Danny moved to the back of the bus. The soles of his Converse running shoes shuffling across the floor as he scoured every square inch of the rear of the vehicle. Making himself appear busy in a thinly veiled attempt to gather his emotions. "Do you want me to start photographing and cataloguing at the front?" she asked curiously, as she slid out from the seats behind Shawn Miller's body.
"Yeah…I guess…." Danny cleared his throat noisily and stuck his head out one of the windows, attempting to draw even a minuscule amount of fresh air into his lungs. "Either that or maybe once the bodies are out of there Mac will let us have this thing towed back to the garage. Then we can work in air conditioning."
"You are such a wimp," Sam declared, as she made her way down the aisle towards the front of the bus. "I can't believe your…"
When she didn't finish her sentence, Danny glanced towards her. Frowning as he noticed her completely motionless in the middle of the aisle, one hand tightly gripping the back of one of the chairs and the other clasped to her forehead. Through her reflection in the window, he could see that there was a grimace on her face and her eyes were closed.
"Sam?" he asked, cautiously approaching. "You alright?"
She didn't respond.
"Sammie?" he tried again. "Samantha…you okay or…"
"I'm fine," she finally answered in a shaky voice. "It's just…the heat…" she opened her eyes and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Just the heat. I think I spent too much time in the sun today. It always plays havoc on me. I'm okay."
He stared at her, eyebrows raised, a doubtful look on his face.
"I'm fine," she insisted. "It's just…it's stinking hot in here."
"Bodega across the street is still open," Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You want me to run over and grab you some water and something to eat?"
"Water's good," she said, and continued towards the front of the bus once more. Unable to disguise how badly her legs and arms were shaking. "I could use some water. Thanks."
"No problem," he told her, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before stepping past her and heading for the front entrance.
"And Danny…" Sam called to him as he made his way down the steps.
He paused and turned to look at her.
"It's okay, you know," she said. "To feel bad when you talk about Sheldon. I miss him too."
Danny gave a grim smile and a nod.
"And I missed you," she added. "I missed this…the way we are with each other. You know, that whole bantering, teasing thing we've always had going on. It hasn't been around in a while and I know it wasn't easy for you feeling as if you had to pick sides. Between Don and I. And I'm sorry if you ever felt like we were making you do that."
"It was just hard," he told her. "Seeing you guys like that. Seeing you guys growing farther and farther apart and not being able to do anything about it. Knowing that you were meant to be together but that you guys couldn't either see that for yourselves or find a way to make it happen. It was tough. Took a lot of will power not to grab you both and bang your heads together, you know? Knock some sense into both of you."
"I think we just needed some time," she said. "I think being apart in a way brought us back together. It made us realize what we had and how we couldn't live without each other. And I just…I wanted to say thank you. For being there for Don when he needed someone. He wasn't solely to blame for things and I never meant to make him out to be an evil person. We both made our mistakes and I…I'm just sorry for some of the things I may have said to you. Out of anger. About him. I never should have brought you into the middle of it."
He nodded in agreement. "Takes a big person to admit that," he commented.
"I'm atoning for a lot of things," Sam reasoned. "A little bit at a time. I want to make things right before…well you just never know what might happen. I wouldn't want something to happen where I never got the chance to say the things I needed to. Make amends for the things I've done."
"Quit going all fatalistic on me, Brooklyn. What's going to happen to you? Knock that shit off. I hate when you go all doom and gloom on me out of nowhere like that."
"It was just things I needed to say to you," she said. "That's all. Things I needed to get off my chest sooner rather than later."
"A'right…" he regarded her with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
"Just peachy!" she replied cheerfully. "You know…maybe that bodega has muffins. A banana chocolate chip muffin sounds might good right about now."
He grinned, then turned and headed down the steps. "I'm on it," he assured her.
"What's the word?" Danny called to his best friend, pausing with one foot off the curb as he spotted Flack rounding the corner from an alleyway several yards away, a scowl on his face and a plastic evidence bag in his hand.
"Word for today is sick motherfucker," the detective responded.
"That's two words," Danny teased. "Some may even consider it three."
"Found what's left of your vic's ear," Flack held a loft the plastic bag. "Perp must have dropped it when he hauled ass down that alley there. I've got uniforms canvassing every possible inch of the area three blocks east and west of here. Not to mention knocking on every door and talking to every cabbie, hooker, drug dealer and anyone else stupid enough to be out at this time of the day. So far, no one's cooperating."
"And that surprises you?" Danny asked, as he snatched the bag out of the other man's hand, and holding it up to the light, studied the contents. "He ate like three quarters of it," he observed.
"There are some sick people out there, Mess. In all the years that I have been on the job, I have not once come in contact with a cannibal. Or someone even remotely close to it. This…this is just plain messed up."
"Well make sure we've got a hockey mask on us when we catch up to him," the CSI remarked.
Flack gave him a perplexed look.
"You know…so that his mouth is covered. So he doesn't take a chunk out of one of us. Although you're a big boy. You might be more to his liking. There's more meat on your bones to enjoy. I'm sure he'd like to carve into you and get a hold of your liver, fry it up with some fava beans and down it with a nice bottle of Key-ahn-tee…"
Flack grimaced. "You're a sick bastard Messer."
"Come on," Danny gave a chuckle. "Linds loves my Hannibal Lector impersonation. Situation calls for it, don't you think?"
"You know what this situation calls for? A re-do. A Groundhog Day moment. Only in my version of that movie, I don't answer my phone when it rings. I simply ignore the bastards, turn the thing off and curl up and fall back asleep for the rest of the night. That's how I'd do my Bill Murray moment."
"Anyone ever tell you you've got horrible taste in movies? You forgot to add, 'curl up with my insanely hot wife and take advantage of her if she rolls over the right way in the middle of sleeping'."
Flack smirked. "Give me back my ear," he said, and yanked the bag out of Danny's hand. "You want me to just drop it in your kit or…"
"Just tuck it in your pocket or something and come and grab a coffee with me," the CSI said, jerking his head in the direction of the bodega. "Brooklyn's got everything under control in there until the ME's office gets here. Wants me to grab her a bottle of water and something to eat. I guess the heat's getting to her."
"I'll say yes to the coffee," Flack said, and reaching out, tucked the evidence bag into the breast pocket of Danny's shirt. "But you babysit this, okay?"
"Wimp," Danny muttered, as he and the detective stepped off the curb and journeyed across the barren street. "So…you're back in the saddle, huh?"
"You just could not wait to ask me that, could you."
"Come on, you guys obviously arrived together. You never arrive together. You barely showed up at the same time when you were living in the same house. So don't go all virgin, Catholic school boy on me here. She was obviously at your place."
Flack nodded in confirmation.
"And by your place I'm meaning in your bed."
"Are you going somewhere with this, Danny? Are you really trying to get me to discuss my sex life with my wife? Trying to get me to indulge in a little locker room talk? Not going to happen, okay? What's going on between me and Sammie…we're keeping that between us. Things are finally going right and we're keeping our private life just that. So just use your imagination there. Let it run wild on you. You're not getting any dirty details out of me."
"A'right…a'right…I'm just happy for you guys is all. I'm just glad to see that things are finally back on track for you two. That's all," he glanced down at his best friend's left wrist. "Nice cuff marks by the way," he commented.
Flack grinned.
"Things must really be back to normal if you do are breaking out the cuffs and…"
"Messer…come on…what did I just say?"
"Easy, Flack. Easy. I'm just making an observation. You would have thought getting laid would have put you in a better mood."
Flack stopped in the middle of the road and glared at the other man.
"Okay…okay…I'll shut up now…" Danny held his hands up in surrender. "So what's going on with Brooklyn anyway?" he asked, as the detective fell in step beside him once again.
"You just said that…"
"This is a serious question about Sam herself. She hasn't been right, Flack. Something is going on with her. Something that she isn't telling anyone about. And you can play dumb with me all you want. Everyone's noticing it. She's not herself. One minute she's all happy go lucky and the next she's biting someone's head off and going all frigid ice Princess. I know she's always had some issues with her moods and all of that…."
"Sammie's fine," Flack said. "She's just had a lot of stress."
"What about the way she's been feeling? And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the way she's popping Tylenol Three like it's going out of style and how pale she is all the time. I'm talking about the way she's always rubbing at her temples and blinking her eyes like she's got a problem seeing things half the time."
"She's fine," the detective insisted. "There's nothing wrong with her. She's just been…"
"Stressed," Danny finished. "Yeah…I heard that the first time. And now I'm hearing something else. Complete and utter bullshit coming out of your mouth."
Flack sighed heavily.
"What's going on, Don?" Danny's voice softened. "And don't tell me nothing 'cause…"
"Sammie's going through some stuff right now," Flack explained, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to betray his wife's confidence. It was up to her to tell the people closest to them about what the doctors had discovered. Or at least for her to allow him to talk openly about it. At the moment, while dying to confide in his best friend and to find solace of his own, protecting Sam was the most important thing.
"Stuff?" Danny arched an eyebrow as he stepped up the curb. "What kind of stuff?"
"Just stuff," the detective sighed. "Look…I know you're concerned, Dan-o. I know you're worried about her. And I appreciate that. I really do."
"But?" Danny asked, as his fingers curled around the handle of bodega's front door.
"But right now…right now she's seeing a doctor for what's going on and we're getting her the care that she needs. And that's all I can really tell you right now. We're just…we're just dealing with it, right now. Just the two of us."
"But she's okay, right? She's going to be fine?"
"Honestly, Danny?" Flack sighed heavily. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. It's serious and it's…it's fucking scary."
Danny gave a solemn nod. "Well…whatever you guys need, just let me know. Linds and I are always ready, willing and able to lend a hand. You know that."
"I appreciate that," his best friend said. "But you know what I'd appreciate even more right now? I'd appreciate it if you make me talk about it anymore. I'm trying to deal with. And talking about it…it's just too hard for me to talk about. Give me some time to digest the news myself and you'll be the first person I come to. I promise."
"Whatever you need," Danny told him. "No matter how big…you just…"
"Let you know," Flack finished. "I hear ya loud and clear, Mess. Just right now I need you to…."
"Flack!!!" Bernstein bellowed from across the street. "You need to get over here! Now!"
"No rest for the weary," Flack sighed.
"Black, two sugars?" Danny asked, yanking open the door to the bodega and watching over his shoulder as his best friend crossed the street once more.
Flack gave a wave of confirmation. "What's up?" he asked the other detective. "Someone find the murder weapon? Someone get the whereabouts on the perp?"
Bernstein, his face grave, grabbed a hold of his colleague's arm and propelled him towards the open door of the bus. "You need to get the hell in there. Something's wrong with Sam and you need to…"
Terror and panic shot through Flack and he shoved the other man's hand off of his arm and hurried up the steps of the bus, cursing himself for not following his gut and forcing Sam to call Mac back and tell him she couldn't take the scene. To tell him right there and then that she wasn't well and didn't think she could do the job properly anymore. That she felt as if she was a danger to both herself, and everyone working around her. The weakest link. His heart had told him the moment she'd dropped the bomb on him regarding her illness that she wasn't capable of being out in the field. With dealing with the long hours and the stress of cases. He had fought off his urge to say as much to her, instead backing off and allowing her to make her own decisions. To be in charge of the situation. To keep a handle on what she viewed as his over protective, controlling nature.
And the one time that he'd stood down and allowed her to take the reigns…
He froze in his tracks, his eyes widening in terror and his heart hammering in his chest at the sight before him. His wife lying in the middle of the aisle, her eyes closed and her skin a sickly grey, blood trickling from her right ear and both nostrils, a young uniform parked beside her on his knees, the tips of his index and middle finger pressed against the left side of her neck. Another uniform paced the length of the aisle nervously, a walkie talkie clasped tightly in his hand as he called for an ambulance.
"Unresponsive…weak pulse…shallow breath sounds," the uniform on his knees reported.
"Uniform came to check on things and found her unconscious and seizing," Bernstein's voice served to break through the foggy, surreal daze Flack had found himself immersed in. "Has she been sick lately? Does she have some kind of problems with seizures that…"
Flack ignored the questions and rushed down the aisle, shoving the uniform out of the way, sending the startled young man tumbling backwards onto his ass as the detective bulldozed his way to his wife's side.
"Sammie…" he spoke in a loud, clear and authoritative voice as he dropped to his knees beside him. Fighting to keep the fear and panic from registering and being picked up by the men around him. "Sammie…" he tapped his hand lightly against her clammy cheek. "Wake up," he ordered, and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, shook her head gently. "Wake up, Sam…don't do this…you gotta wake up!"
"Has she been sick?" Bernstein tried again. "Is this something that happens a lot?"
"Does this look like it happens a lot?!" Flack snapped. "Does someone routinely bleed from their ear and their nose when they're unconscious! What's the deal with EMS?"
The uniform pacing the aisle didn't answer.
"I asked what the fucking deal is with EMS!" Flack bellowed, causing the young man to visibly blanch and nearly jump out of his shoes.
"They said…they said it will be at least twenty minutes…" the rookie responded, his eyes wide and terrified. The proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
"We don't have twenty minutes!" the detective roared. "Tell them to get here now!"
"Sir…they're short staffed…they said twenty minutes is even pushing it…"
"Get your keys out and get to your cruiser!" Flack yelled. "NOW!"
The uniform nodded numbly and scurried off towards the back door and disappeared out onto the street.
"It's okay, Sammie…" Flack whispered, as he gently placed one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders, effortlessly lifting her into his arms and slowly standing up. "Everything's going to be okay, baby…" he assured her, hurrying towards the front door of the bus. "We're going to get you some help…everything's going to be okay…I promise…nothing's going to happen to you."
"Flack…" Bernstein watched helplessly as the other man rushed down the steps. "This isn't a good idea…wait for the bus….wait for EMS…that's their job!"
His words fell on deaf ears. Drifting on the still air as the other man disappeared into the night. On a frantic rush against time. An unwilling contestant in a battle between life and death.
Okay…so I am fully aware of just how evil I am. But I have decided to leave Sam's fate up to you guys! To the people that love the Sam/Flack pairing (flamers and haters, please let my readers enjoy something for a change and let them have their say) and who have supported me for so long! It's up to you guys and what you say in your reviews! Life or death? If it's life, just know that it won't be a miraculous recovery and that there will be long term repercussions! And if it's death, there are still past chapters up my sleeve.
As usual, a huge thanks goes out to all of those reading and reviewing! And lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!
Special thanks to:
Afrozenheart412
HighQueenReicheru
CSINYMinute
Anncorcam
Soleil Mar
Forest Angel
Soccer-bitch
Delko's Girl 88
Heart2handgun
Monoxide lullaby
Wolves 2D
wolfeylady
x3Sunnydaay
xSamilciousx
New-york-babee
