Epilogue

"When a police offer dies, the entire city weeps," Mac Taylor said from his place at the podium. He looked out over the large crowd gathered on that warm and sunny day. His voice trembled uncharacteristically as he tried to to explain what Don Flack had been. Not a simple task. Jess was seated in the front row, her eyes fixed on the mahogany coffin. Mac hoped she wouldn't look at him, because he was sure he wouldn't be able to go on with his speech.

"And, today, this is even more true, because Don Flack was not just a good police officer, he was the best police officer, one who represented everything it means to wear this badge." Mac couldn't recall why he was the one who was giving the eulogy, he could only remember Jess's devastated eyes when she had asked him. Don and he may have had their tenuous moments, but they had always been friends. To him, Don was more than someone he worked with, he was an equal.

"Few people have the true courage to tell me what they think. If they don't agree with me, they stay silent and try to demonstrate that I'm wrong," he looked briefly, with a hint of tenderness, at his team. "But Flack didn't mince words. I can't remember the number of heated discussions we had, sometimes he was wrong and I was right, but nothing had ever stopped him to tell me what he thought, even if that meant challenging someone more powerful than him."

Mac looked at Sinclair, thinking back at the Dobson case; Flack had really risked everything with that, his job, his integrity. At the end of the trial Flack had confessed to him that Sinclair and Gerrard had tried to pressure him about his testimony. Mac remembered Flack's tone of voice as he told him; he hadn't been angry or annoyed, just explained that he had never doubted Mac. Even if the Dobson case had been a painful moment in their relationship, Flack had been completely honest, loyal to his badge and sure of Mac's innocence. Taylor closed his eyes to avoid looking at those powerful men who only appeared at funerals, men who didn't know anything about Don.

"If I had to use an expression to describe him, I'd use joie de vivre. He was like this, he was always full of enthusiasm and commitment; from working the most gruesome homicide to giving directions to a tourist who was lost. He lived life fully, as if it was the only reasonable thing to do." Mac stopped again, thinking of Flack's laughter; he was going to miss it greatly. He looked at Danny, seated next to Jess, very elegant in his dress blues, his badge wrapped with a thin black band. He couldn't count the numerous times he had come across the two of them laughing uncontrollably at something. Danny may have been a magnet for trouble, but Flack had always been there for him, ready to help when things turned tragic or to mock him until he smiled. They had been a true duo, their relationship going far deeper than a working one, more like brothers. How sad would his life now be without Flack?

"Truth is my words will never be able to honor him, and I'm sure the people who knew him agree with me. So, I'd like to read you something. Some weeks ago, Don came to me looking for advice. He was writing a letter to The New York Times. 'A letter?' I asked. He simply nodded, staring at me. He was troubled by the lack of respect given to the NYPD-" Mac paused as Jess gulped down a sob while wiping a tear away. The light of the ring on her finger hit Mac, who averted his eyes, feeling all the pain of her soul.

"This is what he had to say: Dear New Yorkers, I'm one of the police officers you have to deal with every day, whether you like it or not. My name is not important because this isn't about me. I'm well aware that lots of you think that we're only a bunch of people who misuse our power by beating innocent citizens. Nothing more than a group of crooked cops willing to do anything to have a bigger payday. And I know that news about these people always makes the front page in big letters. I'd like to tell you all a secret: we're not all the same. The crooked ones are a small minority, hated by those of use that do our jobs faithfully. Just think of the officer who helps you with a flat tire; just think of the officer who helps you crossing the road. They're not anonymous faces, they're also humans, humans helping you because they want to. The goal of the majority of us is really serving and protecting. Serving you. Protecting you. I've been working Homicide for years, and I've seen the worst side of men, but I've seen the best side too. And often the best came from the officers talking to witnesses, or offering a kind word to the victims' relatives. We do it for you, you know? Because we care. And it doesn't matter if you criticize us, if you get angry, if you threaten us because we disturbed you. We'll keep doing our job. We'll hold onto the one person who thanks us and another day will be over. And then, we'll still be there, where you need us, even if you won't want us. I know this city. I love this city and I love its inhabitants. You deserve the best we have to offer. And I'll go on serving and protecting you as long as you let me, until I can no longer do the job, until I no longer have the strength to be an officer. And it will be an honor, because you're all worth it. Signed, The officer who maybe you insulted yesterday."

Mac stopped, shivering slightly. He carefully folded the paper, as if he was trying to keep Flack's words safe and then stared at the crowd. He looked out at them, with a fiery gleam in his eyes, as Flack would do. He watched as Danny stood and started clapping, the rest of the sizable crowd following suit seconds later. Mac left the podium, walking past the coffin and pausing to press his palm against its polished surface. His attention shifted to the absurdly colored silk tie he had tied around his arm as a sign of mourning. Wearing one of Flack's crazy ties to remember him had been Sid's idea, the medical examiner had worn it in the traditional way; Mac and the team had fastened them around their arms while Jess had used it to tie back her hair. It was a simple way to show everybody that Flack hadn't only been a great detective but also – and more importantly – a great friend. Flack, the place where you're heading won't have homicide to solve, but I'm sure your sense of humor will be appreciated. Good bye, my dearest friend.

Donald "Don" Flack Junior - #8571 – Fidelis ad mortem

This epilogue is dedicated to Madison Bellows (2NYwLove) who thought this fiction was worth enough to be improved with a better editing. Thanks, Madison, you've been very gentle and you dealt perfectly with my "fears".

Another enormous thank goes to GeorgeAndrews, who found time to review every chapter. Thank you, you made me feel less lonely.

Thanks for their reviews to Rebeck, Taco Satchel Thief, Ecda, Lily Moonlight, White cat and Earthling1970.

Thanks to Don Flack's Angell, Ecda, GeorgeAndrews, Taco Satchel Thief, Earthling1970, Wolfeylady, Starlit007day and Angel1983 for adding this fiction to their followed and favorite ones.

You all rock, dear readers.