She found him in the parking lot. Mac had asked her to grab Flack and go re-question one of their witnesses in a triple homicide - but she had searched the lab and the precinct and come up empty-handed. She called his cell phone more than once, and the fact that he wasn't answering caused her stomach to knot. Finally, she headed out to the car, debating if she should call Mac, or if maybe Danny would be able to find the suddenly-elusive detective.
And that was when she found him. Moving closer to the SUV, Stella saw Flack sitting in the driver's seat, staring out at the rain and seeing nothing at the same time. She watched him for a moment and then headed toward the passenger's side, closing her umbrella before opening the door and climbing in.
"Flack?" she asked quietly.
He turned away from her, wiping away the tears that she had just caught a glimpse of. Her chest tightened - she had never seen him cry before.
"Don?" she tried again.
When he didn't respond, Stella reached out and rested her hand on his arm. He sniffed a few times, again wiping at his eyes as he tried to compose himself. Finally he turned to face her, his eyes red and his cheeks splotchy.
"Stell," he whispered.
She raised a hand, softly cupping his cheek and stroking his skin with her thumb. "Talk to me."
Something inside of him seemed to give at the gentle concern in her voice, and he took a shuddering breath. His voice shook, and a few more tears fell down his face. Stella watched the emotions warring on his face, and she was surprised to see the anger flashing in his eyes. "He's gone...my dad...they said...they said it was a heart attack."
He was breaking in front of her, and Stella reached out to catch the pieces. It was awkward in the car, but she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. Don buried his head in the crook of her neck, his shoulders shaking as the sobs overcame him. Stella held him tightly, giving him whatever strength she could as the rain continued to fall.
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Danny kept a close eye on his best friend through the entire service. He saw the distant look in his eyes, and the stiffness of his shoulders. He saw the way he held onto Stella's hand, desperately clinging to her as though drawing strength through her fingers.
Cops were everywhere. Donald Flack, Sr. had been a police officer for more than thirty years, and he had made a lot of friends. They all stood there now, their uniforms clean and crisp, their buttons gleaming in the sunlight. Danny had been standing close by as almost every one of them came up to Flack, shaking his hand and murmuring something about what a great man his father had been.
The reception following the funeral was held at the same hall where they had celebrated the older Flack's retirement years ago. People milled about, and more retired cops came up to Don, telling him stories about his old man that he had heard hundreds of times. But the younger man handled it with more poise and grace than anyone could have asked for. As another group of men started to make their way toward Flack, Danny decided that his friend had had enough. Moving across the room, he took him by the elbow and led him outside, grabbing two beers in the process.
Finding a bench that faced the little garden, Danny handed opened the beers, handing one to Flack.
"Thanks, man."
"No problem. Ya looked like ya needed some air."
Flack nodded, staring down at the ground. The two of them didn't say anything for a long time, just drinking and staring out at the flowers. Danny thought they looked just a little too bright, as though they didn't care that they had just buried someone. Taking another drink, he glanced over at his friend, wondering what was going on inside his head. He knew him well enough to know that he was struggling, but that he wasn't going to let any of that show while other people were around. He hadn't even shed a tear as far as Danny could tell. But Danny knew that Flack was a lot like him - a lack of tears didn't mean he wasn't hurting.
"Where's your sister?" he asked suddenly, realizing that he hadn't seen her.
Don shrugged. "She left right after the funeral. Said she had to get home to the kids."
Danny frowned. "And your brother?"
"I called a few times...left some messages. He called back this morning to let me know he wasn't gonna be here. Somethin' about bein' busy with a case out in Queens."
"And he couldn't come into the city for his own dad's funeral?"
Flack shrugged again, not meeting his friend's eyes. "I'm not holdin' it against him, Danny. I get why he didn't wanna come."
"Look, I know him and your dad didn't get along, but leavin' you to do all this alone -"
"I wasn't alone. I got you guys."
Danny knew from his tone that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Reaching out, he rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly.
"And we're here no matter what, Donnie. You need anything, I want you to tell me, okay?"
Don nodded. "Actually there is somethin' I need your help with." He lifted his eyes, finding Stella in the doorway, watching the two of them. He nodded at her, and she started to walk over to the bench. "Both of you."
"Anything, man. We're here."
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Flack took a deep breath as he pushed the key into the lock. It had been a long time since he had walked into his father's apartment, and he hoped that it would be one of the last times he would have to do it. Opening the door, he led his friends inside, glancing around the space. There wasn't much in the way of furnishings - a ragged couch in the living room, facing a small TV; a cramped kitchen with a few dishes piled in the sink; a couple books scattered about, and two framed pictures sitting on the table by the couch. Flack sighed. Maybe this would take even shorter than he thought.
"I didn't know your dad moved," Danny said quietly as he and Stella came in, closing the door behind them.
"He sold the house after Ma died."
"So you just want us to box stuff up?" Stella asked.
Flack nodded. "I guess you can separate it...clothes, books, whatever...there's less here than I thought."
He could feel Danny watching him, could practically hear the questions swimming around in his head. But for now Don chose to ignore them, picking up one of the empty boxes they had brought and carrying it into the bedroom.
They worked quickly and quietly. Don tried not to focus on what he was doing as he emptied his father's drawers, pulling out the clothes and folding them before placing them into a box. Don Flack, Sr. had been a large man, and had only grown larger as he got older. None of his clothes would fit his son, and Flack made the easy decision to give them all to the local Goodwill center. At least then they'd be helping someone.
The last thing he pulled out of the drawer was his father's gun. It was clean, and Flack could just see his father sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning the weapon just as he had in his days of walking the beat. It had been a good number of years since he'd worn a shield, but his father would never let his gun grow dusty from misuse. Don opened the chamber, and emptied the unused bullets into his hand - his father hadn't even upgraded his revolver to a Glock. Sighing, he set both bullets and weapon into a box, reminding himself to take it out later before dropping the clothes off.
Carrying both boxes back out into the living room, Flack saw that Danny and Stella were almost done. They looked up when he came in, sympathy clear in their eyes. Instead of meeting their gazes, he turned to the table, where the two pictures still rested. Walking over to the couch, he picked them up, taking a seat as he stared at both of them, wonder and confusion in his eyes.
The first picture was of his mother. She was young, and her beauty was striking. She smiled at the camera, and Flack thought that maybe his dad had taken the picture - her eyes were bright and her face glowing, as though she were looking more at the person on the other side of the camera instead of at the lens itself. Reaching out, he traced the lines of her face even as his chest tightened. It had been almost six years since her death, and he still missed her so much that it hurt. She had been his only source of light at times, and he wondered how he had ever found his way without her.
The second picture was the one that surprised him the most. It was a picture of him, at his graduation from the Academy. Flack remembered the day clearly as one of the few times that he had seen his father smile at him. He had shook his hand, telling him that he was proud of him, and Don remembered his chest swelling with pride. He'd never realized that his father had kept the graduation photo, or that it would be one of the only two he kept in his apartment.
He felt more than heard Stella sit down next to him. Danny moved closer as well, sitting on the edge of the recliner. They both stayed quiet, giving him space, but letting him know that they were there at the same time. Flack wasn't sure he could have gotten through this without them.
"I hated him," he said finally, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
"What?" Danny asked, clearly confused.
"All those cops, coming up to me, telling me what a great man he was...none of them ever really knew him. They didn't know that he beat his wife almost every night, and that when that wasn't enough..."
He could feel Danny staring at him in disbelief. He was his best friend, but he had never opened up to him, never let him see the scars that his father had left. Flack still wasn't entirely sure why he had done that, but he suspected that it had something to do with shame. People saw him as some kind of tough cop, as a good man, and yet...he hadn't put a stop to his father's abuse. Even when he finally stood up for his mother, and his dad turned his fists on him instead, Don had never raised a hand to him, never fought back.
He shook himself out of his thoughts when he felt a hand slip into his. Looking up, he saw that Stella was sitting closer, squeezing his hand and watching him closely. He tried to give her a smile, to tell her that he was really okay, but a tear slid down his cheek instead, and he took a shaky breath.
"She died in a car accident," he said quietly. He wasn't sure why he was finally telling someone, but his chest felt like it was going to explode, and he was afraid that if he didn't get it out right now, his heart would burst. "He was in the car with her. I don't even remember where they were going..." Stella squeezed his hand, and Flack closed his eyes. "They said it was an accident," he continued, his voice dropping even lower. "But we knew. The cops knew. There was no reason she should have lost control of the car. No alcohol in her system, nothing in the road..."
The tears were flowing freely now, and Don reached up to wipe them away, frustrated with himself for breaking down. Stella tightened her hold on his hand, though, and reached out to touch his face. Flack felt her brush her lips across his cheek, and he'd never been so grateful for a friend in his entire life.
"But you're free now," she whispered, her mouth right next to his ear. "You're free of him, Don. You don't have to come back to this place ever again."
He glanced over at Danny then, wondering how his friend was handling his sudden display of emotion. But Danny was looking right at him, without any trace of embarrassment at the tears Don was shedding. Standing up, the C.S.I. walked over to his friend and leaned down, kissing the top of his head. In any other situation, Flack probably would have hit him or asked him what the hell was going on. But right then, at that moment, it was the most comforting thing Danny could have done.
"Come on," he said, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
Nodding, Flack wiped the rest of his tears and stood up, looking around the apartment one last time. He had told the super that he could keep the furniture, and everything else was boxed up and ready to go. As he followed Danny and Stella to the door, all of them carrying boxes, Don turned and looked back once more. With a deep sigh, he realized that Stella was right - he never had to come back here. Balancing the boxes in one arm, he turned off the lights and walked out into the hall, letting the door close firmly behind him.