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bedlamsbard*shakes head* The senior Taylors are so getting theirselves shot. You have no idea the stuff they're saying about CSI divisions in general. "People are ignorant and are falsely led on by the sugard pscyho-babble of so-called criminalists and their false evidence. Frankly, if I had my way about it all the forensics labs in America would be scrapped." Justice Taylor, you are so lucky Stella doesn't have her gun with her. Although I think he's just pissed off Mac dared to talk.
Flack, you're an idiot. That's all I can say.
The Black Emerald hadn’t changed in the past five years. Flack tilted his head up to frown at the neon of the sign, a brighter echo of the paint above the door. An ex-cop named Bobby O’Neal had bought the place and fixed it up after he’d mustered out, almost twenty years before Flack had gotten his badge. The Emerald was probably one of the few places in the Bronx that hadn’t been robbed; it was tough to work up the nerve to work a joint frequented almost solely by New York’s finest, toughest, and craziest.
“You’re early, Donny,” Gavin said.
Flack turned to see him coming down the street with his hands in his pockets. “Traffic was good,” he said.
Gavin stopped a few paces away from him, a small frown curling his dark features. He didn’t move to touch Flack at all, and Flack had to wonder if that was a good sign or a bad one. “How’ve you been?”
“Been worse. You?”
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Andrea made me take her to Europe,” he said. “When I say I’m from New York, they all look at me like they’re not sure I’m a matter of national security or something to be comforted. I’ll stick to the States, thanks.”
Flack laughed. “It’s good to see you again, Gav.”
Gavin met his gaze evenly. “Is it?”
He considered that a moment. “Yeah…it is. Makes for a nice change of sanity.”
“I thought you said you’d gotten used to them,” Gavin said, holding the door open.
Flack snorted. “That’s half the problem.”
They were silent a moment, then Gavin said, “Let me buy you a drink, Donny.”
“No, I’m buyin’.”
“First round’s mine,” he pressed. “Hey, Bobby,” to the bartender. “A draft.”
“Bobby,” Flack nodded, and the bartender’s eyes widened as he recognized him.
“Well, if it ain’t Don Flack’s little boy,” Bobby said, raising his voice. Half the bar turned to look at Flack, recognition brightening in some faces. “All grown up and gold-badged. You too good to come down and drink in your dad’s old bar, Donny-boy?”
Flack bunched his fists, dug his nails into his palms, and tried to think how bad it would look if he punched out an ex-cop – one who happened to be his dad’s old partner – in his own bar. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t remembered that this had been – still was – Donald Flack, Sr.’s bar either, even though he’d almost always managed to slide away from his father everytime they’d run into each other back when he was in Patrol. Trying to keep his voice even, he grated out, “I work in an uptown precinct, Bobby, it’s a little far to come for a drink.”
“Maybe it’s too far to come for a drink, but it’s not too far to get your old partner fired, huh?” Bobby said. “Then again, you work with a cop-killer and a goddamned scientist freak who arrests cops like it’s a reflex action. I guess your priorities have changed since the last time you walked a beat. Not that you ever got much chance to do that, since you used all the credit your father spent his life building up to make sure you –”
Flack hit him in the mouth. “Don’t you fucking talk that way about my partner,” he spat as Bobby staggered back against the shelves lining the back wall. He caught himself on the edge of one, and a bottle of Stolichnaya slid off and shattered on the floor. “Don’t you fucking dare talk that way about my partner, because if you ever say a goddamned thing about Danny – or Mac – again, I’ll make sure you never fucking talk again. You son of a bitch, you –”
Gavin grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back as he made a furious move toward Bobby. Flack struggled gamely, but Gavin’s familiar touch threw a calming balm over him, and there was another cop hanging onto his other arm too, a stranger, but whose hands were familiar through the leather of his jacket. “You son of a bitch,” he panted. “You son of a –”
“Donny!” Gavin said sharply.
“My fucking partner,” Flack spat.
“Donny,” Gavin said again, softer, more soothing, and Flack shook both him and the strange cop off. He reached up to pull off his tie and ball it in his fist before sticking it into his pocket. His hand brushed against the badge at his hip as he did so, but he kept his fingers away from the gun, because that was somewhere he didn’t want to go.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about Danny,” he spat at Bobby. “Or Mac either, so don’t fucking try to pretend you do, you got that?”
Bobby touched a hand to his jaw and came away with his fingers bloody. “You got your dad’s right hook, you do.”
Flack made a furious move toward him, and Gavin grabbed the back of his jacket. “Don’t you fucking bring my fucking father into this,” he said. “Ever thought you met him, you thought my father hung the moon, so don’t you fucking bring him into this because you know it don’t got a fucking to do with fucking anything.”
“Your name might have gotten you that fancy badge,” another cop said, an older one, Gavin’s age, “and it might have gotten you that fancy position with the scientist freaks uptown that don’t know a damned thing about real work, but it’s not gonna –”
“Real work?” Flack repeated in a roar. “Real work? You say they don’t anything about real work? Listen here, pal, how ‘bout you do their job for a day and they’ll do yours, we’ll see who wraps their case faster. You try looking at blood spatter and telling me where it came from. Let’s see you fit together broken glass, or hey, how ‘bout I’ll hand you a body and tell you to find COD and TOD, huh? Real work – real work my fucking ass, you son of a bitch, you –”
“Donny!”
He spat on the floor of the bar. “Fuck you all, you bastards,” he said, and stormed out. Once in the wet summer heat he stood and clenched his fists, trying to get the pure fury that flushed his body to recede. This was a bad idea. He knew that now. He needed, he thought, to go home, grab a beer, unwind, bend Danny across the back of the couch and do nothing but kiss him till he squirmed. Anything but this. He shouldn’t have come. Past was past, and no matter who you were, you couldn’t change that.
“Donny?” Gavin’s voice from behind him; there was a sudden burst of sound as the door swung open, and it cut off as suddenly as it had begun.
Flack didn’t turn around. “Sorry I…I ruined your evening for you, Gavin,” he said.
“Not your fault. Bobby’s never known when to keep his mouth shut, and you –” He put a hand lightly on Flack’s arm. “None of what happened’s your fault, Donny.”
“Try tellin’ anyone else that,” he snorted. “Maybe I didn’t do none of it, but no one can deny I wasn’t there, and I didn’t do nothin’ to stop it, either.”
“You did your job,” Gavin said. “Ain’t nothing more important than that.”
“Aren’t there? Stuff like loyalty, and partners, and justice, honor – ain’t that more important than just doin’ a job, no matter what that job is?” Flack shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I am anymore, Gav.”
“Whatta you mean?”
“I mean – shit, I don’t got a fucking clue what I mean. I’m a homicide dick.” He dragged his hands through his hair, frustrated. “I’m a homicide dick,” he repeated, “and a detective, and a cop. I’m assigned to the Crime Lab, though, and ‘cause’a that, none’a the homicide dicks’ll do a damn thing with me. I can’t walk into my old precinct anymore; most’a the guys there’d like nothing better than to string me up. You saw ‘em, Gav.” He nodded back at the Emerald. “Come on, you tell me. What the fuck am I?”
Gavin gave him a slow, considering look. “You’re Don Flack,” he said. “And that’s all. You’re a cop, and a detective, and the two ain’t mutually exclusive. And you’ve found your people. No use looking for another pack when you’ve already got your own.”
Flack shook his head slowly, thinking of Danny. Of Aiden and Stella. Even of Mac, and Hawkes, in the rare occasions when things in the morgue had slowed down enough he could join them in the field. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I have. But I still –” He shook his head again. “Gav, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Not calling. Not – saying anything. I shoulda –”
“You did what you did,” Gavin interrupted. “And nothing’s gonna change that. I don’t regret that, and you shouldn’t either. And what you said – about the cops in there – most of them would buy you and Danny Messer a drink for doing for Phil DiCarlo and Curly Sassone. It’s not like Tanglewood’s exactly liked around here.”
Flack snorted. “Guess not. I remember –” He shook his head. “It’s not that, ya know? I mean, there was Tanglewood, but that’s not – fuck, I dunno. Not that shit.” Shivers arching down his body, and he fisted his hands again to try and stop it. Tanglewood. No. Don’t go there. He shook his head again. “How’d ya hear ‘bout it?”
“Lou Acosta called me. You remember him?”
“Lou – oh, yeah. Ain’t he, like, a lieutenant now or somethin’? One’a the big brass.”
Gavin nodded, a small pleased smile on his face. “In Vice, yeah. He heard it over the police scanner and recognized the name. And then it made the front page of the Post.”
“Well, of course,” Flack snorted. “’Cause it’s not like privacy’s got somethin’ goin’ for it or anythin’.”
“I tried to call you,” Gavin said. “I’ve been calling –”
“I know,” he said shortly, and then relented. “I moved outta my apartment. Been stayin’ with one’a the crime scene dicks.”
Gavin raised his eyebrows. “One of the women?” he asked curiously.
“Christ no, that’s a scary thought,” he shuddered. “Aiden and Stella are as likely to bite you as talk to you. Danny Messer.”
“Ooohhh.” Gavin managed to insinuate a surprising amount of innuendo in the two syllables he dragged it out into. “So it’s like that, huh?”
Flack felt his cheeks burn, even though no one would call him modest on a good day. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s like that. I guess. Gavin,” he said suddenly, “and his voice was soft and serious. “I’m sorry. I really am, ‘cause I shoulda called. But I – well – I didn’t really wanna talk to anyone, ya know? I had to go in to counseling, and I didn’t talk much there, either. Some. Not much.”
“How much of it was the truth.”
“About a fraction of a percent.” He grinned suddenly, even though it wasn’t funny at all, and then it turned upside just as quickly. “Not even Danny knows, so don’t feel like I – I –”
“Donny,” Gavin said calmly. “It’s all right.”
He took a shallow breath, then another. “It’s good to hear that, Gav. It really is. You got no idea – well, maybe ya do.” He shrugged, turned his head back toward the bar. “So who was the other cop? The one tryin’ to make sure I didn’t get my ass arrested for assault.”
“Oh, Eddie? Shame’a you, Donny, not knowing your own partner’s relatives.”
“What?”
“That was Sergeant Eddie Messer, Jr., one’a the new Narco guys just transferred outta Brooklyn South.”
“Danny’s brother?” Flack bit out. He’d known – well, he’d known Danny had brothers and all of one half of his family (his father’s side, obviously, his mom’s side veered to the other side of the blue line) in law enforcement, but he’d never met any of them. Never even breached the subject.
Gavin nodded sagely. “Yep. Came in just before I…retired.”
“Gav, I –”
Gavin slung an arm around his neck. “Forget about it, kid. Let’s see if the nice cops in there have forgotten about your hair-trigger temper already. It’s been awhile, they’ve probably drunk it away.”
“Ya know, I don’t really think that’s such a hot idea, Gav.”
Gavin cut his eyes at him. “Donny,” he said, suddenly serious. “Come on. You need a drink. ‘Sides, you wanna thank Eddie in person, huh?”
“I –” Truth be told, he’d rather go home to Eddie’s brother, but a drink sounded almost as good right now. As long as it came without risk to life and limb. He did that enough on the job, off it was something else entirely. “Okay, sure. Bring it.”
Gavin walked him back into the bar, then dropped him at a table full of strange and vaguely familiar cops. “I think ya already met Eddie’s brother,” he said.
The cop offered him a hand. “I heard you work with Danny, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. Better than good.”
Eddie sipped at his drink. “I’m glad he found his niche,” he said finally. “Never thought he would, but I’m glad he’s finally found his people.”
“Yeah,” Flack said, thinking. “Yeah, he’s got them. We’ve got him, too.”
Flack, you're an idiot. That's all I can say.
The Black Emerald hadn’t changed in the past five years. Flack tilted his head up to frown at the neon of the sign, a brighter echo of the paint above the door. An ex-cop named Bobby O’Neal had bought the place and fixed it up after he’d mustered out, almost twenty years before Flack had gotten his badge. The Emerald was probably one of the few places in the Bronx that hadn’t been robbed; it was tough to work up the nerve to work a joint frequented almost solely by New York’s finest, toughest, and craziest.
“You’re early, Donny,” Gavin said.
Flack turned to see him coming down the street with his hands in his pockets. “Traffic was good,” he said.
Gavin stopped a few paces away from him, a small frown curling his dark features. He didn’t move to touch Flack at all, and Flack had to wonder if that was a good sign or a bad one. “How’ve you been?”
“Been worse. You?”
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Andrea made me take her to Europe,” he said. “When I say I’m from New York, they all look at me like they’re not sure I’m a matter of national security or something to be comforted. I’ll stick to the States, thanks.”
Flack laughed. “It’s good to see you again, Gav.”
Gavin met his gaze evenly. “Is it?”
He considered that a moment. “Yeah…it is. Makes for a nice change of sanity.”
“I thought you said you’d gotten used to them,” Gavin said, holding the door open.
Flack snorted. “That’s half the problem.”
They were silent a moment, then Gavin said, “Let me buy you a drink, Donny.”
“No, I’m buyin’.”
“First round’s mine,” he pressed. “Hey, Bobby,” to the bartender. “A draft.”
“Bobby,” Flack nodded, and the bartender’s eyes widened as he recognized him.
“Well, if it ain’t Don Flack’s little boy,” Bobby said, raising his voice. Half the bar turned to look at Flack, recognition brightening in some faces. “All grown up and gold-badged. You too good to come down and drink in your dad’s old bar, Donny-boy?”
Flack bunched his fists, dug his nails into his palms, and tried to think how bad it would look if he punched out an ex-cop – one who happened to be his dad’s old partner – in his own bar. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t remembered that this had been – still was – Donald Flack, Sr.’s bar either, even though he’d almost always managed to slide away from his father everytime they’d run into each other back when he was in Patrol. Trying to keep his voice even, he grated out, “I work in an uptown precinct, Bobby, it’s a little far to come for a drink.”
“Maybe it’s too far to come for a drink, but it’s not too far to get your old partner fired, huh?” Bobby said. “Then again, you work with a cop-killer and a goddamned scientist freak who arrests cops like it’s a reflex action. I guess your priorities have changed since the last time you walked a beat. Not that you ever got much chance to do that, since you used all the credit your father spent his life building up to make sure you –”
Flack hit him in the mouth. “Don’t you fucking talk that way about my partner,” he spat as Bobby staggered back against the shelves lining the back wall. He caught himself on the edge of one, and a bottle of Stolichnaya slid off and shattered on the floor. “Don’t you fucking dare talk that way about my partner, because if you ever say a goddamned thing about Danny – or Mac – again, I’ll make sure you never fucking talk again. You son of a bitch, you –”
Gavin grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back as he made a furious move toward Bobby. Flack struggled gamely, but Gavin’s familiar touch threw a calming balm over him, and there was another cop hanging onto his other arm too, a stranger, but whose hands were familiar through the leather of his jacket. “You son of a bitch,” he panted. “You son of a –”
“Donny!” Gavin said sharply.
“My fucking partner,” Flack spat.
“Donny,” Gavin said again, softer, more soothing, and Flack shook both him and the strange cop off. He reached up to pull off his tie and ball it in his fist before sticking it into his pocket. His hand brushed against the badge at his hip as he did so, but he kept his fingers away from the gun, because that was somewhere he didn’t want to go.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about Danny,” he spat at Bobby. “Or Mac either, so don’t fucking try to pretend you do, you got that?”
Bobby touched a hand to his jaw and came away with his fingers bloody. “You got your dad’s right hook, you do.”
Flack made a furious move toward him, and Gavin grabbed the back of his jacket. “Don’t you fucking bring my fucking father into this,” he said. “Ever thought you met him, you thought my father hung the moon, so don’t you fucking bring him into this because you know it don’t got a fucking to do with fucking anything.”
“Your name might have gotten you that fancy badge,” another cop said, an older one, Gavin’s age, “and it might have gotten you that fancy position with the scientist freaks uptown that don’t know a damned thing about real work, but it’s not gonna –”
“Real work?” Flack repeated in a roar. “Real work? You say they don’t anything about real work? Listen here, pal, how ‘bout you do their job for a day and they’ll do yours, we’ll see who wraps their case faster. You try looking at blood spatter and telling me where it came from. Let’s see you fit together broken glass, or hey, how ‘bout I’ll hand you a body and tell you to find COD and TOD, huh? Real work – real work my fucking ass, you son of a bitch, you –”
“Donny!”
He spat on the floor of the bar. “Fuck you all, you bastards,” he said, and stormed out. Once in the wet summer heat he stood and clenched his fists, trying to get the pure fury that flushed his body to recede. This was a bad idea. He knew that now. He needed, he thought, to go home, grab a beer, unwind, bend Danny across the back of the couch and do nothing but kiss him till he squirmed. Anything but this. He shouldn’t have come. Past was past, and no matter who you were, you couldn’t change that.
“Donny?” Gavin’s voice from behind him; there was a sudden burst of sound as the door swung open, and it cut off as suddenly as it had begun.
Flack didn’t turn around. “Sorry I…I ruined your evening for you, Gavin,” he said.
“Not your fault. Bobby’s never known when to keep his mouth shut, and you –” He put a hand lightly on Flack’s arm. “None of what happened’s your fault, Donny.”
“Try tellin’ anyone else that,” he snorted. “Maybe I didn’t do none of it, but no one can deny I wasn’t there, and I didn’t do nothin’ to stop it, either.”
“You did your job,” Gavin said. “Ain’t nothing more important than that.”
“Aren’t there? Stuff like loyalty, and partners, and justice, honor – ain’t that more important than just doin’ a job, no matter what that job is?” Flack shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I am anymore, Gav.”
“Whatta you mean?”
“I mean – shit, I don’t got a fucking clue what I mean. I’m a homicide dick.” He dragged his hands through his hair, frustrated. “I’m a homicide dick,” he repeated, “and a detective, and a cop. I’m assigned to the Crime Lab, though, and ‘cause’a that, none’a the homicide dicks’ll do a damn thing with me. I can’t walk into my old precinct anymore; most’a the guys there’d like nothing better than to string me up. You saw ‘em, Gav.” He nodded back at the Emerald. “Come on, you tell me. What the fuck am I?”
Gavin gave him a slow, considering look. “You’re Don Flack,” he said. “And that’s all. You’re a cop, and a detective, and the two ain’t mutually exclusive. And you’ve found your people. No use looking for another pack when you’ve already got your own.”
Flack shook his head slowly, thinking of Danny. Of Aiden and Stella. Even of Mac, and Hawkes, in the rare occasions when things in the morgue had slowed down enough he could join them in the field. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I have. But I still –” He shook his head again. “Gav, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Not calling. Not – saying anything. I shoulda –”
“You did what you did,” Gavin interrupted. “And nothing’s gonna change that. I don’t regret that, and you shouldn’t either. And what you said – about the cops in there – most of them would buy you and Danny Messer a drink for doing for Phil DiCarlo and Curly Sassone. It’s not like Tanglewood’s exactly liked around here.”
Flack snorted. “Guess not. I remember –” He shook his head. “It’s not that, ya know? I mean, there was Tanglewood, but that’s not – fuck, I dunno. Not that shit.” Shivers arching down his body, and he fisted his hands again to try and stop it. Tanglewood. No. Don’t go there. He shook his head again. “How’d ya hear ‘bout it?”
“Lou Acosta called me. You remember him?”
“Lou – oh, yeah. Ain’t he, like, a lieutenant now or somethin’? One’a the big brass.”
Gavin nodded, a small pleased smile on his face. “In Vice, yeah. He heard it over the police scanner and recognized the name. And then it made the front page of the Post.”
“Well, of course,” Flack snorted. “’Cause it’s not like privacy’s got somethin’ goin’ for it or anythin’.”
“I tried to call you,” Gavin said. “I’ve been calling –”
“I know,” he said shortly, and then relented. “I moved outta my apartment. Been stayin’ with one’a the crime scene dicks.”
Gavin raised his eyebrows. “One of the women?” he asked curiously.
“Christ no, that’s a scary thought,” he shuddered. “Aiden and Stella are as likely to bite you as talk to you. Danny Messer.”
“Ooohhh.” Gavin managed to insinuate a surprising amount of innuendo in the two syllables he dragged it out into. “So it’s like that, huh?”
Flack felt his cheeks burn, even though no one would call him modest on a good day. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s like that. I guess. Gavin,” he said suddenly, “and his voice was soft and serious. “I’m sorry. I really am, ‘cause I shoulda called. But I – well – I didn’t really wanna talk to anyone, ya know? I had to go in to counseling, and I didn’t talk much there, either. Some. Not much.”
“How much of it was the truth.”
“About a fraction of a percent.” He grinned suddenly, even though it wasn’t funny at all, and then it turned upside just as quickly. “Not even Danny knows, so don’t feel like I – I –”
“Donny,” Gavin said calmly. “It’s all right.”
He took a shallow breath, then another. “It’s good to hear that, Gav. It really is. You got no idea – well, maybe ya do.” He shrugged, turned his head back toward the bar. “So who was the other cop? The one tryin’ to make sure I didn’t get my ass arrested for assault.”
“Oh, Eddie? Shame’a you, Donny, not knowing your own partner’s relatives.”
“What?”
“That was Sergeant Eddie Messer, Jr., one’a the new Narco guys just transferred outta Brooklyn South.”
“Danny’s brother?” Flack bit out. He’d known – well, he’d known Danny had brothers and all of one half of his family (his father’s side, obviously, his mom’s side veered to the other side of the blue line) in law enforcement, but he’d never met any of them. Never even breached the subject.
Gavin nodded sagely. “Yep. Came in just before I…retired.”
“Gav, I –”
Gavin slung an arm around his neck. “Forget about it, kid. Let’s see if the nice cops in there have forgotten about your hair-trigger temper already. It’s been awhile, they’ve probably drunk it away.”
“Ya know, I don’t really think that’s such a hot idea, Gav.”
Gavin cut his eyes at him. “Donny,” he said, suddenly serious. “Come on. You need a drink. ‘Sides, you wanna thank Eddie in person, huh?”
“I –” Truth be told, he’d rather go home to Eddie’s brother, but a drink sounded almost as good right now. As long as it came without risk to life and limb. He did that enough on the job, off it was something else entirely. “Okay, sure. Bring it.”
Gavin walked him back into the bar, then dropped him at a table full of strange and vaguely familiar cops. “I think ya already met Eddie’s brother,” he said.
The cop offered him a hand. “I heard you work with Danny, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. Better than good.”
Eddie sipped at his drink. “I’m glad he found his niche,” he said finally. “Never thought he would, but I’m glad he’s finally found his people.”
“Yeah,” Flack said, thinking. “Yeah, he’s got them. We’ve got him, too.”
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 01:21 am (UTC)It works so *well*, the bond he has with Gavin, and the mention of familiar grip from Danny's brother.
I like.
And yeah, Stella's gonna give someone a verbal beatdown soon. Poor Mac.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 01:51 am (UTC)*shakes head* Flack's going to get himself frickin' killed, he is. He's almost scarily loyal, and Mac better do something damn good to deserve that. He doesn't know what he's got. *sigh* Poor Flack. He should have a strong sense of identity, and he did, to some extent, but it's been ripped to shreds by life. Advancement to detective, posted to the Crime Lab, Curly, the fact he has, ya know, actual loyalty to his scientist freak partners...none of them endear him to most other cops. And he overexaggerates a little of it, but it's also true. Poor guy.
It works so *well*, the bond he has with Gavin, and the mention of familiar grip from Danny's brother.
Did I ever mention that Gavin was originally slated to make an appearance in Snafu? Only I couldn't quite figure out how to work it in, so it got dropped. I'm glad he and Flack have finally made their peace.
And yeah, Stella's gonna give someone a verbal beatdown soon. Poor Mac.
Mac spoke. However, then his parents spoke up and he went back to cowering. However, it was very outraged cowering. Stella would very much like to kill someone. I wonder if I can work Mac's crazy feminist (ahem. She actually doesn't like the term "feminist," she prefers "women's liberation.") cousin in?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 01:58 am (UTC)He does tend to color things in broad strokes, I have to say. But... he does have a need for identity, to classify and catalogue if nothing else... people. Friend or foe. Who are you. What is a cop, if not what he was raised on, and what he cut his teeth on? It's like he spent so much time so certain of who he was that, like, it wasn't really *his*.
However, it was very outraged cowering.
I swear to god I'm not laughing (because I know how the poor bastard feels). But oh, man, that's so getting iconed. "Very Outraged Cowering".
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 03:10 am (UTC)Exactly. He was a New York cop, and he still is, but - like we've talked about before - he tends to straddle worlds. Detective and crime lab. Crime lab and uniform. He didn't have enough time in uniform to be that, and he's separated from the rest of the homicide detectives because of the lab. He's separated from the lab because he's homicide. And because of everything that's happened over the past year, it's all come to the surface finally, and he's lost.
I swear to god I'm not laughing (because I know how the poor bastard feels). But oh, man, that's so getting iconed. "Very Outraged Cowering".
Hey, it's his dad. Who is scary. Of course, something his mom says a little later: "Why do you do this, Maclarin? Always go the opposite direction from your father and I want? I swear, you do these things to be deliberately contrary. Are you trying to shame your father?"
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 03:24 am (UTC)And I think its *deeper* than that, too, I mean I think his very basic sense of who he is-- from when he was little, how many people are saying, you're going to be just like your dad when you grow up? Even his CBS bio says he "never questioned" what he was going to be. He *had* to have. I mean... everyone has to question who they are sometime. Maybe this is his delayed reaction. But his base sense of identity, then, is based on inarticulate senses of what's *right*, and on how others see him. (and how does Curly see him...)
I shall not philosophize at this hour.
Hey, it's his dad. Who is scary.
I think we've met, his dad and I, vicariously. *nod* I think I can guess where Mac got his skeeryquiet voice, too.
Of course, something his mom says a little later: "Why do you do this, Maclarin? Always go the opposite direction from your father and I want? I swear, you do these things to be deliberately contrary. Are you trying to shame your father?"
*wince* Oh, Mac.
You know, there's -- and I have noticed this before, it's just struck me again-- it's deeply... tragic, for lack of a better word, how fast and deep he sinks into these old patterns, the song and dance, hang your head and bite your tongue. Even after how long he's been gone, and even with Stella.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-09 12:40 am (UTC)Right. He is what he is, and nobody can change that, but he's not what he'd thought he would be, which is probably screwing with his mind at least a little bit. He was raised to be a cop, just like his dad, and he is a cop, but he's a detective, and subconsciously at least, he has trouble seeing these two overlap.
*wince* Oh, Mac.
Sadly, a few bits of dialogue haven't worked themselves into the scene. And they'd be really good bits of dialogue (mostly Mac and his parents, one with Stella and Evelyn), but I wrote the scene straight through and I can't figure out how to slot them in. And it makes me sad.
You know, there's -- and I have noticed this before, it's just struck me again-- it's deeply... tragic, for lack of a better word, how fast and deep he sinks into these old patterns, the song and dance, hang your head and bite your tongue. Even after how long he's been gone, and even with Stella.
It is. It's really depressing. And in the second part (which huh, I should probably post, y'know?) he speaks up a little, but the moment his parents so much as blink in his direction he goes back to trying to blend into the wallpaper. It is tragic, because he's been away from home for almost thirty years, he's a Marine, a detective, and a widower, and yet his parents can still reduce him to a ball of mush.
Crap, it doesn't seem unrealistic, does it?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-09 12:47 am (UTC)Crap, it doesn't seem unrealistic, does it?
Oh, no no no. It's not unrealistic at all. Not by my lights, anyway. I mean not only then have these patterns been so evidently *branded* into his brain that they can still get woken up, but he hasn't... he's never actually *dealt* with it, I don't think, never-- ok, until the pr0n when Stella points it out to him-- managed to wrestle them down. I think that it makes it that much more pointed, how subtly and painfully damaged he is. If that makes any sense.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-09 01:48 am (UTC)Oh, good. God, he's going to get screwed up during Bloody Friday. Dad as lead suspect, that's going to go well.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-08 08:10 pm (UTC)As for Mac and Justice Taylor, oh dear. Yeah, *that's* going to go well. Poor bastard.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-09 12:17 am (UTC)Exactly. Like I said to
As for Mac and Justice Taylor, oh dear. Yeah, *that's* going to go well. Poor bastard.
I think I'm especially happy about the part where Stella tells the Taylor parents, "If you're what parents are like, I'm damn glad I never had any."