New York Minute 17
May. 29th, 2005 05:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardSo, we went to the cabin yesterday overnight; the cabin being just barely on this side of a shack and up by Snoqualmie Pass, where I managed to write just about everything under the sun except NYM. Fortunately, NYM 17 was already written, so...here you go.
Flack killed the engine as they pulled up to the precinct, and didn’t get out. He and Danny sat and stared at each other, the silence between them hanging heavy as Justice’s sword.
Flack looked at him awkwardly. For the first time since early that morning he seemed uncomfortable and out of place, unsure about what to do or what to say. “Danny –” he began, seeming to will himself not to flinch away when Danny put his hand on his arm.
“This okay?” Danny asked.
He shuudered briefly under Danny’s hand. “Yeah,” he said. “This is okay.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing purposefully.
Danny stretched forward across the space between them and kissed Flack on the mouth.
Flack kissed him back enthusiastically, tongue curling against his, familiar yet without the frantic need Danny remembered from the night before. That hadn’t been sex so much as clawing for each others’ sanity, letting Flack fuck and fight and cry out his frustration and his terorr on Danny. There was comfort in another body, in someone kissing away your tears and your fears, in hands running down your body to help rather that hurt.
Trust me, Danny had said, and he’d meant it.
Flack put his hands on Danny’s shoulders to pull him in closer. “Trust you,” he muttered against Danny’s mouth, or maybe it was his name. He bit lightly at the corner of Danny’s mouth before pulling away.
They stared at each other, panting for air.
Danny licked at his lips, tasting the bittersweet tang of coffee and the pizza they’d had for lunch earlier. “We’re right out in front of the precinct,” he said finally, unable to keep his eyes from Flack’s swollen mouth. He looked like he’d been kissed thoroughly – and enjoyed it.
Flack’s expression was bright and slightly glazed. “Fuck the precinct,” he said.
“We’re still on-duty.”
“How ‘bout dinner, then?”
Danny put his hand on Flack’s leg, felt him start to flinch automatically away and then force himself to stillnes. “Dinner’s good,” he said.
*
“I’m thinking about strangling Mac,” Aiden said conversationally as Danny and Flack came in. She flicked a curious, gleeful eye at Flack’s glazed expression and the purpling bite mark at the edge of Danny’s jaw.
“Assaulting an officer’s a felony,” Danny said mildly, and the words twisted in his throat and kicked bile to the back of his moth at the visceral memory of all the times he’d heard them. Wrestling with his brothers and his uncles, muttered mock-serious into the thick mop of his hair. His father on the floor, spitting curses and blood at Val Constantine with his hand twitching toward his gun.
You son of a bitch. Assaulting an officer’s a felony, and kidnapping’s still a crime in New York.
Ned! Angela Messer had yelled, something like horror on her face. Danny had crouched down on the stairs, fascinated by the dull gleam of the gun in Val’s hand and the angry words Ned Messer had spat out at his wife and her brother. My brother, stay away from my brother – Her automatic reaction, and one Danny had never seen directed at him from his brothers.
Val had pushed his sister out of his way and laughed in Ned Messer’s face. I’d like to see you try and make those charges stick. Danny remembered something Vinnie Patriso had said about the Constantine Family – Fuckers have got everyone in the city of New York in their pocket, or anyone that knows anyone.
“Danny?”
He’d spat it out at Curly Sassone when Curly caught him out alone during his Patrol days. Curly’d pulled him into and alley and thrown him up against a wall, his hands tightening around Danny’s throat. Fuck you, Danny Messer.
Assaulting an officer’s a fucking crime, Curly.
“Danny!” Flack grabbed at his arm. Danny shuddered, looking up into Flack’s wide, startled blue eyes. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just…just…long fucking day, ya’ know?” He spat out the lie like he had the piece of Curly’s tongue he’d bitten off the one time Curly’d been drunk enough to try and kiss him and he’d been drunk enough to fight back.
Aiden gave him a worried look. “You wanna go sit down, Danny?” she asked. “I’m sure Stella would volunteer her wheelchair.”
“No, no, I’m good, it’s just – wheelchair? Stella has a wheelchair? Stella’s all right? Fuck all that, Stella’s awake? Since when?” Some part of his mind gave out a little scream of joy at the word “wheelchair” while the rest of his brain choked it down, beat it to a pulp, and put it in a holding cell for further investigation. Stella. Awake. He gave a great sigh of relief he hoped wasn’t too obvious.
“Since about noon yesterday,” Aiden said. She looked frustrated again. “Mac – get this – ‘forgot’ to tell us. Anyway, she’s here.” She waved a hand behind her. “In her office, looking at case files the LAPD and the SFPD sent over about the museum robberies.”
“Where’d the wheelchair come from?” Flack asked, his expression stuck somewhere between “thank god, not another dead cop” and “holy fuck, wheelchair? how bad’s she hurt?”.
“Fractured leg, broken collarbone, don’t go well together –” Aiden began.
“Stella can speak for herself, thanks,” Stella said from behind them.
“Hey, Stella!” Flack said gleefully. “You’re alive – awake! In one piece! …more or less.”
“All in one piece,” Stella grinned. “Some pieces are in more pieces than they’re supposed to be, but I’m all in one piece.”
Danny leaned down to hug her. He kissed her on the cheek, a sloppy impulsive gesture of friendship that made Stella giggle. “Hey, it’s great to see you –”
“– out of bed?” she finished. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy on that part too. I hate being on my back being useless.”
Flack gave her a hopeful puppydog grin. “How long’re you gonna be in the wheelchair?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m out of it in a month, tops. I don’t care how fucking hard it is to manage on crutches, I’m doing it.”
“It’s not that hard,” Flack said helpfully. “I mean, yeah, it hurts, but you get used to the pain after about a week.”
Stella turned to glare at him. “What? You mean it’s possible to – oh, I am going to kill Mac.”
*
“You mean we got another dead end?” Aiden said disbelievingly. “Oh, come off’a it.”
“I’m serious,” Danny protested. “These chicks have got so many fake names it’s unbelievable, and not one’a them has their prints on file. Not one. The only thing we got that might be a real name is the shooter – Akers called her Ashley, which would probably be her real name.”
“That narrows it down to what, half the females in New York?” She shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”
“I think there was someone else from that team in Starbucks too,” Danny added.
Aiden squinted at him. “Besides Shannon and this Ashley chick? Why d’ya think that?”
“Cody Polk has the blueprints for the Met, right?” Danny poked a finger down at the table.
“Right,” Aiden said warily.
“He has them out on the table in Starbucks. Shannon Akers comes by, Ashley comes in, Akers puts her coffee down on the table. Ashley shoots up the place, hits Akers and Polk, among others. Ashley runs out, so does Polk. She couldn’t get to the prints, and Polk said he didn’t have ‘em. Someone else grabbed them and got outta there before EMS arrived. Or they stayed, hid the blueprints somehow – we weren’t lookin’ for blueprints or anythin’ when we got there – acted like innocents and got outta there first chance we got.”
“Haveta be one hell of a liar,” Aiden said. She tilted her head to one side consideringly. “That sounds pretty good, Danny. Problem is, there were forty people packed into that place. One of ‘em’s dead, six of ‘em are injured and under surveillance. That leaves some thirty-some people that could be working with the perp.”
“We got prints from any of them?”
“Whaddaya think? No. No reason to ask for ‘em.”
“Fuck.” Danny ran his hand over his hair. “Christ, I’m startin’ hate this case.”
“That’s what you said this morning.”
“Fine, I’m continuing to hate this case. Where’d Flack go?”
“Mac called him in,” Aiden said, her tone as neutral as she could make it.
Danny’s eyebrows arched upward in sudden disbelief. “The fuck for?”
“Dunno. He didn’t look happy though.”
“Which he?”
“Both of ‘em.”
“Fuck,” Danny spat.
*
“I received a call from Lieutenant Markowitz over in Bronx Homicide this morning,” Mac said, folding his hands on top of a file folder.
Flack’s eyes flicked toward it, hard and fast, seeing his name typed neatly in thick black ink. “My pop’s old partner? What for?”
“He’s requesting you as a transfer to his unit,” Mac said.
Flack’s fists clenched hard at his sides. “No,” he said.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“The answer’s still no.” Flack spat out the words, “Jesus fucking Christ, this hasta do with my pop, doesn’t it? He thinks working CSU’s too easy, not prestigious enough for a Flack, that I’m not gonna make a goddamned name for myself, that it’s not cop work. Well, ya’ know what? Fuck him. Fuck him, and fuck Bronx Homicide, and Markowitz too. I’m not fuckin’ transferring.” His eyes went to Mac’s face. “’less you got a problem with that, Mac.”
“CSU’s gone through three Homicide detectives in eight years,” Mac said neutrally, busying himself with the perfectly stacked files on his desk. “The first two weren’t any good.”
Flack’s mouth quirked a little, though out of humor or anger he wasn’t quite sure. “And what about me?”
“Sometimes I have to remind myself you’re not a CSI.” His voice was perfectly honest.
Flack relaxed slightly, letting his fists unclench and lie flat against his thighs, fingers drumming some obscure cadence out against the fabric of his slacks. “That a good thing?”
“A very good thing. Homicide and CSU are –” He paused a moment, as if searching for the perfect words. “They’re not the same. We deal with evidence, they deal with people. You wouldn’t be working with a team of detectives, you’d be working with one or two others most of the time, sometimes flying solo. It would be a step up, I won’t deny that. It would be a good experience for you, Don. You’d have a better chance of a promotion than you do working as liason to the Crime Lab.”
“You want me gone?”
Mac’s hands went flat against the table. “No. You’re a good detective, one of the best I’ve worked with, even if your methods are a bit – extreme – at times. You understand about evidence and the preservation of such, about not contaminating the scene or the bodies. You know when to step back and let us take over, and you know when to let the uniforms do their job, let us do ours, and let yourself do yours. You’re good with suspects.”
“If you really feel that way, Mac,” he gave him a wary glare, “then you’ll call Markowitz back and tell him no, I ain’t transferrin’. I know my job, and I aim to keep it. If he’s got a problem with that, he can keep it to himself, because it’s not mine. I know my place.”
Mac smiled. Surprisingly, it seemed genuine. Flack squinted at him and wondered if he’d gotten into Stella’s pain meds. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Don.” He pushed a brochure he produced from nowhere across the desk. “If you’ve got the time, I’d like you to take a few classes.”
Flack picked up the brochure. “Forensics classes,” he said disbelievingly. “You want me to take fucking forensics classes? What, you don’t think I don’t know about preservation of evidence and DNA and all that crap?”
“I believe I just said that,” Mac said mildly. “These aren’t entry-level classes. They’re advanced criminalistics and forensics classes. I think you’re ready for them, even without experience in the lab.”
“You guys are the CSIs, not me.”
“Look at it this way,” Mac said, “if you qualify as a CSI, then I can hire you as one.”
“But I like working homicide.”
“Crime scene investigators make more money than the average detective,” Mac said, looking as if the concept of money was a little foreign to him. Of course it was, Flack thought. He made ninety-five grand a year.
Flack frowned, looked down at the brochure then back up at Mac. “Will I get one of the cool CSI jackets?”
“If you really want one.”
“I’m not transferrin’ out, Mac,” Flack grinned. “Make sure Markowitz knows that.”
*facepalm* There are a couple things I wanted to mention about "What You See Is What You See", but I can only remember one of them, dammit.
The one I do remember is Mac's reaction to seeing Whatshisface, the guy he was talking to about the shooter from the coffee shop, kiss his wife. The other one has fled my mind. It's not how hot Flack looked with the motorcycles, not at all. I'm pretty sure it was something about either Danny or Flack, though.
Flack killed the engine as they pulled up to the precinct, and didn’t get out. He and Danny sat and stared at each other, the silence between them hanging heavy as Justice’s sword.
Flack looked at him awkwardly. For the first time since early that morning he seemed uncomfortable and out of place, unsure about what to do or what to say. “Danny –” he began, seeming to will himself not to flinch away when Danny put his hand on his arm.
“This okay?” Danny asked.
He shuudered briefly under Danny’s hand. “Yeah,” he said. “This is okay.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing purposefully.
Danny stretched forward across the space between them and kissed Flack on the mouth.
Flack kissed him back enthusiastically, tongue curling against his, familiar yet without the frantic need Danny remembered from the night before. That hadn’t been sex so much as clawing for each others’ sanity, letting Flack fuck and fight and cry out his frustration and his terorr on Danny. There was comfort in another body, in someone kissing away your tears and your fears, in hands running down your body to help rather that hurt.
Trust me, Danny had said, and he’d meant it.
Flack put his hands on Danny’s shoulders to pull him in closer. “Trust you,” he muttered against Danny’s mouth, or maybe it was his name. He bit lightly at the corner of Danny’s mouth before pulling away.
They stared at each other, panting for air.
Danny licked at his lips, tasting the bittersweet tang of coffee and the pizza they’d had for lunch earlier. “We’re right out in front of the precinct,” he said finally, unable to keep his eyes from Flack’s swollen mouth. He looked like he’d been kissed thoroughly – and enjoyed it.
Flack’s expression was bright and slightly glazed. “Fuck the precinct,” he said.
“We’re still on-duty.”
“How ‘bout dinner, then?”
Danny put his hand on Flack’s leg, felt him start to flinch automatically away and then force himself to stillnes. “Dinner’s good,” he said.
*
“I’m thinking about strangling Mac,” Aiden said conversationally as Danny and Flack came in. She flicked a curious, gleeful eye at Flack’s glazed expression and the purpling bite mark at the edge of Danny’s jaw.
“Assaulting an officer’s a felony,” Danny said mildly, and the words twisted in his throat and kicked bile to the back of his moth at the visceral memory of all the times he’d heard them. Wrestling with his brothers and his uncles, muttered mock-serious into the thick mop of his hair. His father on the floor, spitting curses and blood at Val Constantine with his hand twitching toward his gun.
You son of a bitch. Assaulting an officer’s a felony, and kidnapping’s still a crime in New York.
Ned! Angela Messer had yelled, something like horror on her face. Danny had crouched down on the stairs, fascinated by the dull gleam of the gun in Val’s hand and the angry words Ned Messer had spat out at his wife and her brother. My brother, stay away from my brother – Her automatic reaction, and one Danny had never seen directed at him from his brothers.
Val had pushed his sister out of his way and laughed in Ned Messer’s face. I’d like to see you try and make those charges stick. Danny remembered something Vinnie Patriso had said about the Constantine Family – Fuckers have got everyone in the city of New York in their pocket, or anyone that knows anyone.
“Danny?”
He’d spat it out at Curly Sassone when Curly caught him out alone during his Patrol days. Curly’d pulled him into and alley and thrown him up against a wall, his hands tightening around Danny’s throat. Fuck you, Danny Messer.
Assaulting an officer’s a fucking crime, Curly.
“Danny!” Flack grabbed at his arm. Danny shuddered, looking up into Flack’s wide, startled blue eyes. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just…just…long fucking day, ya’ know?” He spat out the lie like he had the piece of Curly’s tongue he’d bitten off the one time Curly’d been drunk enough to try and kiss him and he’d been drunk enough to fight back.
Aiden gave him a worried look. “You wanna go sit down, Danny?” she asked. “I’m sure Stella would volunteer her wheelchair.”
“No, no, I’m good, it’s just – wheelchair? Stella has a wheelchair? Stella’s all right? Fuck all that, Stella’s awake? Since when?” Some part of his mind gave out a little scream of joy at the word “wheelchair” while the rest of his brain choked it down, beat it to a pulp, and put it in a holding cell for further investigation. Stella. Awake. He gave a great sigh of relief he hoped wasn’t too obvious.
“Since about noon yesterday,” Aiden said. She looked frustrated again. “Mac – get this – ‘forgot’ to tell us. Anyway, she’s here.” She waved a hand behind her. “In her office, looking at case files the LAPD and the SFPD sent over about the museum robberies.”
“Where’d the wheelchair come from?” Flack asked, his expression stuck somewhere between “thank god, not another dead cop” and “holy fuck, wheelchair? how bad’s she hurt?”.
“Fractured leg, broken collarbone, don’t go well together –” Aiden began.
“Stella can speak for herself, thanks,” Stella said from behind them.
“Hey, Stella!” Flack said gleefully. “You’re alive – awake! In one piece! …more or less.”
“All in one piece,” Stella grinned. “Some pieces are in more pieces than they’re supposed to be, but I’m all in one piece.”
Danny leaned down to hug her. He kissed her on the cheek, a sloppy impulsive gesture of friendship that made Stella giggle. “Hey, it’s great to see you –”
“– out of bed?” she finished. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy on that part too. I hate being on my back being useless.”
Flack gave her a hopeful puppydog grin. “How long’re you gonna be in the wheelchair?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m out of it in a month, tops. I don’t care how fucking hard it is to manage on crutches, I’m doing it.”
“It’s not that hard,” Flack said helpfully. “I mean, yeah, it hurts, but you get used to the pain after about a week.”
Stella turned to glare at him. “What? You mean it’s possible to – oh, I am going to kill Mac.”
*
“You mean we got another dead end?” Aiden said disbelievingly. “Oh, come off’a it.”
“I’m serious,” Danny protested. “These chicks have got so many fake names it’s unbelievable, and not one’a them has their prints on file. Not one. The only thing we got that might be a real name is the shooter – Akers called her Ashley, which would probably be her real name.”
“That narrows it down to what, half the females in New York?” She shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”
“I think there was someone else from that team in Starbucks too,” Danny added.
Aiden squinted at him. “Besides Shannon and this Ashley chick? Why d’ya think that?”
“Cody Polk has the blueprints for the Met, right?” Danny poked a finger down at the table.
“Right,” Aiden said warily.
“He has them out on the table in Starbucks. Shannon Akers comes by, Ashley comes in, Akers puts her coffee down on the table. Ashley shoots up the place, hits Akers and Polk, among others. Ashley runs out, so does Polk. She couldn’t get to the prints, and Polk said he didn’t have ‘em. Someone else grabbed them and got outta there before EMS arrived. Or they stayed, hid the blueprints somehow – we weren’t lookin’ for blueprints or anythin’ when we got there – acted like innocents and got outta there first chance we got.”
“Haveta be one hell of a liar,” Aiden said. She tilted her head to one side consideringly. “That sounds pretty good, Danny. Problem is, there were forty people packed into that place. One of ‘em’s dead, six of ‘em are injured and under surveillance. That leaves some thirty-some people that could be working with the perp.”
“We got prints from any of them?”
“Whaddaya think? No. No reason to ask for ‘em.”
“Fuck.” Danny ran his hand over his hair. “Christ, I’m startin’ hate this case.”
“That’s what you said this morning.”
“Fine, I’m continuing to hate this case. Where’d Flack go?”
“Mac called him in,” Aiden said, her tone as neutral as she could make it.
Danny’s eyebrows arched upward in sudden disbelief. “The fuck for?”
“Dunno. He didn’t look happy though.”
“Which he?”
“Both of ‘em.”
“Fuck,” Danny spat.
*
“I received a call from Lieutenant Markowitz over in Bronx Homicide this morning,” Mac said, folding his hands on top of a file folder.
Flack’s eyes flicked toward it, hard and fast, seeing his name typed neatly in thick black ink. “My pop’s old partner? What for?”
“He’s requesting you as a transfer to his unit,” Mac said.
Flack’s fists clenched hard at his sides. “No,” he said.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“The answer’s still no.” Flack spat out the words, “Jesus fucking Christ, this hasta do with my pop, doesn’t it? He thinks working CSU’s too easy, not prestigious enough for a Flack, that I’m not gonna make a goddamned name for myself, that it’s not cop work. Well, ya’ know what? Fuck him. Fuck him, and fuck Bronx Homicide, and Markowitz too. I’m not fuckin’ transferring.” His eyes went to Mac’s face. “’less you got a problem with that, Mac.”
“CSU’s gone through three Homicide detectives in eight years,” Mac said neutrally, busying himself with the perfectly stacked files on his desk. “The first two weren’t any good.”
Flack’s mouth quirked a little, though out of humor or anger he wasn’t quite sure. “And what about me?”
“Sometimes I have to remind myself you’re not a CSI.” His voice was perfectly honest.
Flack relaxed slightly, letting his fists unclench and lie flat against his thighs, fingers drumming some obscure cadence out against the fabric of his slacks. “That a good thing?”
“A very good thing. Homicide and CSU are –” He paused a moment, as if searching for the perfect words. “They’re not the same. We deal with evidence, they deal with people. You wouldn’t be working with a team of detectives, you’d be working with one or two others most of the time, sometimes flying solo. It would be a step up, I won’t deny that. It would be a good experience for you, Don. You’d have a better chance of a promotion than you do working as liason to the Crime Lab.”
“You want me gone?”
Mac’s hands went flat against the table. “No. You’re a good detective, one of the best I’ve worked with, even if your methods are a bit – extreme – at times. You understand about evidence and the preservation of such, about not contaminating the scene or the bodies. You know when to step back and let us take over, and you know when to let the uniforms do their job, let us do ours, and let yourself do yours. You’re good with suspects.”
“If you really feel that way, Mac,” he gave him a wary glare, “then you’ll call Markowitz back and tell him no, I ain’t transferrin’. I know my job, and I aim to keep it. If he’s got a problem with that, he can keep it to himself, because it’s not mine. I know my place.”
Mac smiled. Surprisingly, it seemed genuine. Flack squinted at him and wondered if he’d gotten into Stella’s pain meds. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Don.” He pushed a brochure he produced from nowhere across the desk. “If you’ve got the time, I’d like you to take a few classes.”
Flack picked up the brochure. “Forensics classes,” he said disbelievingly. “You want me to take fucking forensics classes? What, you don’t think I don’t know about preservation of evidence and DNA and all that crap?”
“I believe I just said that,” Mac said mildly. “These aren’t entry-level classes. They’re advanced criminalistics and forensics classes. I think you’re ready for them, even without experience in the lab.”
“You guys are the CSIs, not me.”
“Look at it this way,” Mac said, “if you qualify as a CSI, then I can hire you as one.”
“But I like working homicide.”
“Crime scene investigators make more money than the average detective,” Mac said, looking as if the concept of money was a little foreign to him. Of course it was, Flack thought. He made ninety-five grand a year.
Flack frowned, looked down at the brochure then back up at Mac. “Will I get one of the cool CSI jackets?”
“If you really want one.”
“I’m not transferrin’ out, Mac,” Flack grinned. “Make sure Markowitz knows that.”
*facepalm* There are a couple things I wanted to mention about "What You See Is What You See", but I can only remember one of them, dammit.
The one I do remember is Mac's reaction to seeing Whatshisface, the guy he was talking to about the shooter from the coffee shop, kiss his wife. The other one has fled my mind. It's not how hot Flack looked with the motorcycles, not at all. I'm pretty sure it was something about either Danny or Flack, though.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-30 02:21 am (UTC)This line especially--That hadn’t been sex so much as clawing for each others’ sanity, letting Flack fuck and fight and cry out his frustration and his terorr on Danny. There was comfort in another body, in someone kissing away your tears and your fears, in hands running down your body to help rather that hurt.
Two sentences, and I can absolutely *see* them.
And the next scene, too. The little character details between them, like Aiden's gleeful little look, and Danny's joyfully sloppy kiss to Stella's cheek. And all of Danny's memories, too, of the different times he's heard the same words.
Stella and Flack's exchange re: crutches fucking *slays* me. In a good way.
Ahh, Flack's papa wants him to move up in the world? Oh, and Mac's a sly man who exhibits a fair amount of smarts for being an emotional cripple.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 12:16 am (UTC)Yes, exactly. Last night was one thing - they were drunk and Flack was crying and nobody else was there - but this is another. They're in public, more or less. They're sober. It's daylight. It's trying to find out if they can work as partners in more than one way. It's giving themselves a thin veneer of normality.
Stella and Flack's exchange re: crutches fucking *slays* me. In a good way.
*shakes head* She is so gonna kill Mac, but he was right. I've been told it's extremely hard to manage crutches with one arm in a sling, not if you want it to heal as quickly as possible. I'm just thinking about how frustrated Stella will be until she gets out of the wheelchair.
Ahh, Flack's papa wants him to move up in the world? Oh, and Mac's a sly man who exhibits a fair amount of smarts for being an emotional cripple.
Flack rants about his father more in NYM 18. Rants a lot. 800 words of ranting, in fact, to Danny and Aiden who are just, like, "wait, I thought he was the sane one?" He's probably being a bit unfair, and he's definitely not making that much sense, but he's right in the aspect Daddy Flack doesn't like the Crime Lab or Mac and would really prefer him doing real police work, or barring that, at least "real" detective work.
I really have no idea what Mac's trying to get at. He wants another CSI? He wants to have Flack secure in his position so that no one can take him away? He's trying to tell Flack that he likes him? I have no idea. Mac confuses me.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 12:27 am (UTC)Right, it's like, not only, "Hm, was last night a fluke?" but, "Is he gonna kill me?" Sort of a radio-check on things. The status quo has clearly changed, and they need to make sure nothing got lost in the transition.
I'm just thinking about how frustrated Stella will be until she gets out of the wheelchair.
She's gonna be pissed, yeah. Probably roll over someone's foot on purpose. (hey, if she drives the wheelchair how Flack claims she drives a car...)
He's probably being a bit unfair, and he's definitely not making that much sense, but he's right in the aspect Daddy Flack doesn't like the Crime Lab or Mac and would really prefer him doing real police work, or barring that, at least "real" detective work.
Makes sense for Daddy Flack. The scientists are *weird*, after all. And no prestiege, and no power. I guess it's... well, like Gavin's snorted "Scientists" comment in "The Fall", only more dismissive. A lot more, apparently. Gavin, I think, gets what they're there for, and is fine with it. Evidently Daddy Flack does not share his son's (or his son's ex-partner's) viewpoint. And Flack has a vested interest in *staying* with the crimelab, especially now that the shit has hit the MassSpec, as it were. And Danny. ;-)
He's trying to tell Flack that he likes him?
Good god does Mac ever need to get laid. Hey, I wonder if Danny's up for a threesome?(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 12:53 am (UTC)Exactly. There was a sentence I meant to put in there, but I never got around to while actually writing - that Danny and Flack were avoiding each other most of the day, not really sure how to treat each other, and Aiden's fed up with it. And it's a relief for them to find that, "hey, we can still deal. We can do this." Because if they can't, it would royally screw them up and over. Of course, now they're just going to be trying to get their hands on each other every chance they get.
She's gonna be pissed, yeah. Probably roll over someone's foot on purpose. (hey, if she drives the wheelchair how Flack claims she drives a car...)
Probably Mac's. And then let Flack and Danny borrow it to race in the halls on boring days and laugh at Mac when he comes to complain.
Makes sense for Daddy Flack. The scientists are *weird*, after all. And no prestiege, and no power. I guess it's... well, like Gavin's snorted "Scientists" comment in "The Fall", only more dismissive. A lot more, apparently. Gavin, I think, gets what they're there for, and is fine with it. Evidently Daddy Flack does not share his son's (or his son's ex-partner's) viewpoint. And Flack has a vested interest in *staying* with the crimelab, especially now that the shit has hit the MassSpec, as it were. And Danny. ;-)
Exactly. Daddy Flack, at least, has some real pull within the department. So does Markowitz of Bronx Homicide, and both of them have seniority over Mac, so there's a very real possibility Flack could get transferred out of the Crime Lab against his will. Flack likes what he's doing. He likes his job, he likes his people, and he has that thing going on where he needs to protect them from Mac's Krazee. Also, Danny. Whose immediate reaction to learning of the attempted transfer is, "No way can my luck be this fucking bad."
Good god does Mac ever need to get laid. Hey, I wonder if Danny's up for a threesome?
*blink* Through some freak of nature, I almost wrote Flack/Danny/Mac this morning. And then I went, "Whoooooaa. No way am I this insane. I mean, Danny and Flack in the locker room, fine, but where did Mac come from?"
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 01:19 am (UTC)It's sort of an overcompensation/jumping into the icy-cold pool before anyone else kind of thing, I guess. ;-) "Hey, this isn't so bad." "Yeah, I know. Let's keep doing it. A lot. How 'bout now?" "...we're in Starbucks."
Probably Mac's. And then let Flack and Danny borrow it to race in the halls on boring days and laugh at Mac when he comes to complain.
Now *that's* a question. Mac's office is not handicapped accessible. And yeah, she'd *so* let them play with it. She'd find it immensely amusing after hours of paperwork.
Flack likes what he's doing. He likes his job, he likes his people, and he has that thing going on where he needs to protect them from Mac's Krazee.
Why do I get the feeling that there's just a little bit of Daddy saying, "You're only doing this to spite me"? And yeah, Flack has invested himself in his people. Probably wasn't at first, when he first came to work with them (Who are these people? Oh god, they're crazy.), but he's adjusted. (btw, have I shown you that screencap of Flack during What You See? The *facepalm* one by the ambulance?)
And then I went, "Whoooooaa. No way am I this insane. I mean, Danny and Flack in the locker room, fine, but where did Mac come from?"
Mac heard there was some hanky-panky, and his 3-year-dormant hormones won overExcept it is kind of hot, in a really fucked up kind of way. I mean I could almost see a scenario where Mac *saw* them screwing in the locker room, and either freaked and bolted and then like, fantasized about itbecause he's weird, or Danny and Flack decided to be highly unprofessional, corner him, and seduce the daylights out of him.(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 01:38 am (UTC)Or in the men's room of a very nice restaurant, while the rest of the team is like twenty feet away, including Mac, who keeps looking like he got hit in the back of the head with a board. No, they don't frustrate me. Not at all. Did I mention the part where they almost get arrested for indecent exposure?
Now *that's* a question. Mac's office is not handicapped accessible. And yeah, she'd *so* let them play with it. She'd find it immensely amusing after hours of paperwork.
She takes great pleasure in making Mac come to her, I'm sure. And she's extremely sick of the paperwork, because she likes to work in the field. Thus the Mac blackmail a couple chapters back.
Why do I get the feeling that there's just a little bit of Daddy saying, "You're only doing this to spite me"? And yeah, Flack has invested himself in his people. Probably wasn't at first, when he first came to work with them (Who are these people? Oh god, they're crazy.), but he's adjusted. (btw, have I shown you that screencap of Flack during What You See? The *facepalm* one by the ambulance?)
Oh, he's definitely doing this to spite his father. And his mother, and his uncles and all his relatives that go, "But why can't you do real policework, Don? I mean, the detective's badge is nice and all, but -" Flack: *storms out*
Flack has some incredible emotional investment in the Crime Lab, not just in Danny. They're his people, and it's his job. It's the one thing he's got by his own merit, not his family's. He's very protective of his people. He's spilled blood for his people, spilled blood and left behind little pieces of himself on the floor of his old apartment and in the back room of Black Meridian. You don't let go of something like that lightly.
Mac heard there was some hanky-panky, and his 3-year-dormant hormones won over Except it is kind of hot, in a really fucked up kind of way. I mean I could almost see a scenario where Mac *saw* them screwing in the locker room, and either freaked and bolted and then like, fantasized about it because he's weird, or Danny and Flack decided to be highly unprofessional, corner him, and seduce the daylights out of him.
Dude, Mac? Scares me. To an unholy degree. Although when you walk in on your employees making out against a wall with their hands down each others' pants, there's not much else to do. I suppose I could try writing this, see if I get anywhere.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 01:57 am (UTC)And it seems like they feel he's not even using his detective's badge. He's not being a *real* detective. He's just playing the scientists' sandbox, letting their results dictate his collars.
They're his people, and it's his job. It's the one thing he's got by his own merit, not his family's. He's very protective of his people. He's spilled blood for his people, spilled blood and left behind little pieces of himself on the floor of his old apartment and in the back room of Black Meridian. You don't let go of something like that lightly.
Exactly. The lab is his place. They're his partners. He almost died for them. He's seen them hurt. They're still too close, in his eyes, to being hurt or killed. His father didn't help him get this job, and his father can't take him out of it--not if he can help it.
Dude, Mac? Scares me. To an unholy degree. Although when you walk in on your employees making out against a wall with their hands down each others' pants, there's not much else to do. I suppose I could try writing this, see if I get anywhere.
Mac is distoibed. He is. I don't know he'd *join* them, as I said he might just flee to the sanctity of his apartment and end up jerking off thinking about both of them on him, and then feel hugely, incredibly, weirdly guilty afterward (but curious, because the hormones want their say). It could be interesting.
not that I'm trying to wake any plotbunnies, or anything, I swear. The seduction routine I think is like almost a vengeful thing on their part. Like showing him he can't just... *waves hand* be Mac. He's part of them. They'll prove it. They'll convince him he's human and he's alive.(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-21 01:55 am (UTC)But I had to comment on this specific line:
“Will I get one of the cool CSI jackets?”
So. Much. Love.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-21 03:22 am (UTC)