Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: NY

Special thanks goes to Lily Moonlight who so patiently endures my little "drama moments" and so dedicatedly reads through and picks out mistakes!! And for her encouragement to post that!! Thank you!

Thanks also to cmaddict for an early read through and giving her opinion.

The story contains minimal spoilers (just reference) for 2x21, 5x24, 5x25 and 6x01, the idea, however, was born simply out of my interest for exploring emotions and reactions and Flack happened to be my "object of desire". He's shown in a different light from the show, so if you're sensitive to and/or protective of his character you might not be comfortable reading it.
I had planned on posting it much earlier, the rough draft was finished by late October and it had been supposed to be done before episode 6x08. Obviously, that didn't work out.

Lastly, it is a oneshot plus epilogue but because of its length I broke it into three chapters.

Stepping into the elevator, Stella glanced at her watch, content to find that she still had half an hour before she would meet Mac back at the lab, the thought bringing a smile to her lips. Years ago they had begun a tradition of spending one evening each month at a small Spanish restaurant located in a back alley and run by Spaniards. It was mostly frequented by their countrymen and to this day all of Stella's attempts to find out how Mac had come to know that place had been futile. Nevertheless she was still determined to learn how he had discovered the perfect retreat for them, its intimacy permitting them to escape life with all its cruel reality.

Because of that; their need for at least a few hours of forgetting, that routine had continued even while he had been dating Peyton but once he had come back from London it hadn't been picked up again. Neither one was able to say exactly why; they had just let it happen, allowing work and life to devour that small amount of reserved time as well.

However, when Mac had walked Stella to the door after a fabulous Christmas dinner at Sid's two nights ago, he had asked her about it, suggesting hesitantly they could pick their tradition back up again. The proposition had caught her by surprise yet she hadn't let on to it, offering a simple, warm smile in return before accepting gratefully. It was precisely what she was in need of; time away from everything, to forget what the past months had put them through especially and to have a constant again, something that felt right; that she could look forward to. She had seen in Mac's eyes that it was the knowledge of that need which had given him the courage to ask; that and the awareness of the effect the crime scene she had worked this morning had had on her despite her not giving away any details just yet.

Sooner or later, she would tell him though; would fill him in on that disturbing similarity to the scene of Angell's death, about that brunette victim roughly the same age as her late friend and all those emotions which had overwhelmed her. But she needed to deal with it herself first, like she had needed to earlier upon entering the scene, just standing and staring for a long moment, unable to do anything against the tears which had welled up inside of her. Yet she had managed to push all those feelings aside on time, recomposing herself and looking for the detective in charge.

After the crime scene itself, that, however, had been the second shock of the day and was exactly the reason why she now stepped out of the elevator into the hallway leading to Flack's apartment.

She had found him talking to a witness, appearing calm and professional but his devastated eyes had been the perfect window to the agony that had raged inside of him; to the desolation he struggled with and lost. It was that one look which had been enough to confirm that the wound which had finally begun to heal had been torn violently open again; that it had ripped almost wider than before. The pain, his pain, had broken her heart and she had been overcome by the desire to strangle the officer who had been so inconsiderate as to not specifically request anyone but Flack.

The irritation had flared up again later that evening once Flack, despite all her efforts to convince him, hadn't shown up at Sid's, her calls having remained unanswered. But the more the evening had advanced, the more the nice atmosphere and especially Mac's presence had gotten her mind away from her mourning friend, from the case, her concerns, and it hadn't been until the following day that she had been reminded about the harsh reality. Flack had reported in sick, her calls again not being answered and when she had told Mac over a coffee after their shift, she had been genuinely worried.

Since their friend had continued to be a no-show today, she had, after having used her afternoon off to run some errands, informed Mac that she would stop by Flack's before meeting him back at the lab for their planned dinner. He had agreed quickly, sounding relieved that someone would check on the distraught detective but prior to hanging up had reminded her that he had promised her he would not be putting in any overtime tonight and that he was planning on keeping that promise.

It was that comment that was responsible for the faint smile which held her lips captive as she knocked on Flack's door, waiting for the answer that didn't come and she tried again, a little louder, nothing but more silence meeting her.

"Flack?" she followed her third knock. "Come on, Flack, I just want to know how you are."

As her voice subdued, the hallway fell quiet, moments passing until she finally heard some shuffling inside. The unmistakable sound of the lock of the door being turned touched her ear and seconds later the door itself was swung open.

"I'm fine," Flack stated, his outward appearance proof enough that he wasn't. His hair was ruffled and he hadn't shaved in what Stella was sure were two days.

"Obviously," she mumbled, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "Would you mind if I come in for a minute?"

Her question was answered with a shrug and letting go of the door, Flack turned around to walk back into the apartment, Stella following him after another instant of hesitation. She quietly shut the door then hurried down the short hallway to the living room, a shocking yet expected sight greeting her.

Half emptied containers of Chinese take-out were sitting on the table next to a line-up of beer bottles and she assumed that both were leftovers from the two previous nights. A pile of fabric that looked like a blanket and cushions suggested he had spent those nights on the couch, his disheveled clothing only supporting that theory. In fact, she was almost sure that he was still wearing the same outfit he had when she had last seen him, that a thought she didn't necessarily want to pursue any further.

"Want one?" Flack's voice captured her attention.

She turned her head to find him having extended his arm towards her, offering her a glass filled with a liquid she suspected to be whiskey. For a second she kept staring at that then her eyes moved to his, finding them to be blood shot and glassy, a sure sign that this was not his first drink of the day.

Remembering that he had asked her a question, she shook her head in response to which he simply shrugged before drowning the contents of the jar himself.

"How many of those have you had?" Stella inquired as she took off her coat. She didn't plan on staying long but the cold temperatures outside made it almost insufferable to keep a jacket on for more than a minute on the inside.

He lowered the empty glass yet held on to it, giving the impression that he needed it to steady himself, studying her, another shrug following.

"My first," he replied, turning to reach for the bottle.

She raised her brows, considering to express her doubts verbally, however, she figured that it would do no good and for all she knew it could indeed be his first of that kind. Therefore she silently placed her coat on the sideboard next to her, watching him stride over to the sofa and drop into the same spot he seemed to have previously occupied, observing his swirling of the liquid before taking a sip.

"So," he said, his gaze wandering over her once more, "anything else I can do for you?"

She was sure that it had been meant to sound as unwelcoming as it had but she chose to ignore that.

"I'm worried about you, Flack," she explained softly, ignoring the snort that rang through the room in response.

"You sure?" he asked, merely glancing at her since he had already lifted his glass back to his mouth, emptying it with one long sip.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she questioned, puzzlement audible in her words.

For the third time he opted to reply with a shrug, staring into his empty glass that he ever so slightly twisted in his hand, the soft clinking of the melting ice cubes the only sound filling the room.

"Flack?" Stella's voice was calm but his neglect had started to bother her and she sighed inwardly. "Don," she tried again, once more getting no reply.

"Can you hand me the bottle?" he then asked.

She glared at him, moments of silence passing until she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"No," she decided, unwilling to contribute to his unreasonable consumption.

Meeting her eyes, he stared at her, a strange discomfort rushing through her but it was gone as quickly as it had come and she watched him push himself off the sofa, returning to the cabinet where he kept the liquor. Throwing her a look, he provokingly reached for the bottle and turning his back towards her, he poured himself another drink that he tipped back with one shot before setting the glass down. His fingers, however, didn't leave it, quite the contrary, they tightened around it nevertheless he didn't move and as he stared out of the window, she regarded him in consideration.

"If you don't want to talk to me…" she began slowly, his abrupt spinning around stopping her though.

"You suddenly care about what I want?" he snapped, causing her forehead to be pulled into a confused frown. "Got a bad conscience or something?" he asked, his words not making a lot of sense to her since she had offered help before.

They all had but he had decided to keep to himself, retreating to somewhere where he couldn't be reached by anyone.

"Any reason why I should?" she inquired, refraining from speaking her thoughts out loud.

"Oh, I don't know," he barked, turning around and reaching for the bottle, his hand clasping but not lifting it.

Raising her brows, Stella once more found herself with only his back to look at, a tension filled silence settling between them as she anticipated his next move, contemplating whether or not to comment. She took a hesitant step towards him, her gaze leaving his body yet it didn't go back to him like she had planned, instead everything inside of her appeared to momentarily freeze over.

"What's with the gun?" she demanded, her eyes focusing on the black object which had been previously hidden from her view by the mess on the table.

He didn't reply, his lack of reaction causing her to shift her attention back to him, concern and confusion racing through her mind, building up to an unwanted anxiety. She would never have considered that there was anything which could corner him; could push him so there seemed to be only one option left to get away from the pain unbearable pain. But grief was one of if not the most powerful emotion and the hurt and devastation it caused had broken a lot of others before him, that consideration, however, simply deepened her worries.

"Don," she said quietly, lifting her arm, her fingertips grazing his wrist.

"It's just there, okay?" he barked that same moment, spinning around.

Stunned she took a step backwards, his eyes glaring at her before he whirled back around, refilling his glass and taking a mouthful of the liquid.

"It shouldn't be," Stella stated, having overcome her surprise.

"Seems fine with me," Flack retorted, bringing his body to face hers in a swift motion, his eyes piercing into hers but she didn't flinch, silently withstanding his stare.

"I'm sure it does," she replied sarcastically. "Perfectly."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion," he hissed, leaning close, the smell of alcohol that came from his breath causing her stomach to churn.

"No," she agreed, not sure where she was going with that. "No, you didn't."

It was all that she said, uncertainty filling the eyes which held on to his until he broke the contact, emptying his glass before he made another 180 degree turn. He set the glass down and she waited for him to reach for the bottle yet he didn't, he simply went back to staring out of the window.

"Flack," she almost whispered, no reaction coming from him. "This is not the answer," she pointed out a little louder, still speaking softly though.

His muscles tensed, otherwise, however, he again didn't move and she studied him thoughtfully.

"You cannot go on like this," she went on caringly. "No one expects you to get through this yourself and you don't have to – you know that." She paused, once more receiving no response, therefore deciding to continue. "No one will blame you if you don't feel comfortable talking to any of us," she assured him. "All you have to do is talk to someone."

Her voice pleaded with him and this time her words were met with the turn of his head, his eyes briefly making contact with her before he drew his gaze away. He spent another moment staring out of the window, then left the cabinet, walking over to the sofa and dropping into the same spot from earlier.

"It'll help you move on," she added, feeling like she had to say something, at the same time wondering if he was even listening.

His eyes flashed up for merely an instant, his gaze dropping again, surveying the mess in front of him, halting once they came to the black object. He let his look linger, seconds ticking by that were filled with nothing but anxiety, Stella's heartbeat quickening, her hands clasping into nervous fists. She wasn't sure if she should say something, what to say exactly if she opted to do so, the hammering inside her chest increasing further when Flack moved, reaching for the gun. Holding it, he just stared almost mesmerized, very obviously feeling its weight, his eyes finally being lifted to meet hers.

"Did you ever think about how little it takes?" his voice rang through the room as if none of her previous words had been spoken and he lowered his gaze back to the weapon. "Such a small piece of metal, Stella," he went on quietly. "That's all it takes to alter life forever."

She didn't know what to reply and an uncommon sensation of feeling lost arising inside of her, she took a step towards him.

"So small…" he mumbled, his tone heavy, "so much power…"

For a second she expected him to burst into tears yet instead he stood, the sudden change of pace startling her and instinctively backing off, she watched him walk over to the kitchen. With the weapon remaining in his hand, he opened the refrigerator door, pulling out a bottle of beer that he skillfully uncapped with the gun prior to placing it on the counter before he sank against the wall.

"Flack, I," she began tentatively, unsure of what to make of his actions. "I know it's painful…"

"You know a damn, Stella!" he snapped, his eyes full of a furious spark.

"I know that you've had way too much to drink," she countered, the words out of her mouth without her being fully aware of them.

"I don't need a babysitter," he snorted, taking a long, goading sip from his beer.

"I can see that," she retorted mockingly.

Irony was something she wouldn't normally use in a conversation with someone filled up with as much liquor as he apparently was, yet it was Flack and no matter how drunk, no matter how close he was to a gun, she would always give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You got a problem?" he barked, throwing her a challenging glare.

"I don't," she snapped, her eyes locking with his.

"Fine," he stated, "I don't either."

"Your alcohol consumption is proof of the contrary," she shot back.

"I'm not one of your damn cases, Stella!" he spat, his eyes narrowing almost menacingly. "And neither am I a suspect, so, I don't need to give you any proof at all!"

"You know what," she hissed, her temper taking over, "you're right! I'll just wait until you're one of my cases, that'll make talking a lot easier for us!"

Arguing with him had certainly not been her intention when she had come; however, he wasn't exactly making it easy and her patience was beginning to strain.

"If you change your mind before that, you know where and how to find me," she added in as level a voice as she could muster, spinning around and swiping her coat off the sideboard.

"Unless you're somewhere screwing people." His voice bolted through her ears like a bullet and she stopped dead, closing her eyes for a second before turning back to face him.

"Excuse me?" she asked as composed as possible.

"That's the term, I would use," Flack nodded, taking a mouthful from his beer, his gaze fixed on her. "You know, this is so pathetic – you and Adam."

Struggling to keep her control, a million questions started to rush through her head and she was tempted to ask how he had found out. Moreover did she want to know who else had knowledge of it, more specifically if Mac had since she hadn't told him so far and still hadn't made up her mind if she would. However, she certainly didn't want him to learn about it from anyone but her which was part of why she hadn't spoken to anyone about it and she had thought that Adam hadn't either.

Apparently though, she had been wrong and thinking about it now, it was no surprise to her that he had let it slip, surely while being in a state similar to the one Flack was in right now. They had held enough sports nights for that to have happened and she could only hope that it had been one during which Mac had been on duty.

Yet as much as she liked to ask about it, it was something she had to worry about later, knowing that she couldn't afford to let down that shield of composure at the moment.

"I don't see how this is any of your business," she replied coldly, regret crossing her mind for the millionth time.

It was unlike her to look back, she was of the opinion that there was no point in dwelling on things which had happened in the past and she was a strong believer in facing the future, bright and positive. The situation with Adam was no different and it wasn't exactly the act itself which bothered her. What did was that she hadn't been the tiniest bit more mature – but even if she couldn't have been that, she would have loved to at least understand her ulterior motive; the one which had led to said immaturity.

It wasn't that it was a total mystery to her; what she didn't comprehend was why Mac's withdrawal, his obsession with finding who was responsible, had caused her to react the way she had. Of course, his neglect to include her in his thoughts and theories, his life, had left her with a longing yet Adam hadn't been able to provide her with anything other than one of the most unimportant factors of what she was lacking and certainly not with the care she had been yearning for.

"I never asked for you to snoop around in my life either," Flack threw at her and she was about to shoot a proper reply at him but bit it back at the last moment. "I bet you just wanted to find out if I really was sick anyway," he added scornfully.

"Believe me, I wasn't dumb enough to believe that you were physically sick for one second," she snapped, the control she had managed to maintain vanishing.

"Aren't you smart," he grunted, irony dripping from his words.

"Because it takes a real genius to have figured that out," she replied, very well aware that it was not the wisest choice of response but she was fed up with his attitude.

His eyes bore into hers and she suddenly found herself wishing that he would have chosen to drown himself in work like Mac had years ago. He hadn't been any easier to deal with, probably the contrary, yet his mind had not been clouded by an excessive amount of alcohol, therefore had been functioning as rationally as could have been expected.

Drawing his gaze away from hers with a snort, Flack took another long sip from his beer and she watched him for a moment then took a step forward, ready to make her exit.

"Where're you going?" Flack asked before she had a chance to say something herself.

"I'm leaving," she stated the obvious, finding his eyes again. "You're welcome to give me a call when you feel like talking."

"Yeah…" he simply said, the word stretched, an odd sensation creeping up inside of her again. His alcohol overshadowed look brought back the discomfort she had felt earlier and a little hesitant, she began to toy with the coat in her hands.

"And then you'll show up again when I don't, pretending to be worried," he sneered, finishing his beer with one last gulp. "But for now you got somewhere better to be."

"Can you blame me?" she inquired briskly, wondering why she allowed herself to be drawn into another of those pointless discussions and not wanting an answer in the first place.

"Look, my offer stands," she told him firmly, "call me or don't, I don't care…"

"I know that you don't," he cut in. "But you're not leaving this time."

"This time?" she repeated, genuinely confused.

"This time!" he confirmed, obviously not bothering to give any further explanations.

"What are you talking about?" she asked impatiently.

"What am I talking about?" he mocked, letting out a hollow laugh. "I'm talking about the last time you just left me," he erupted, slamming his fist onto the counter, making her jerk. "The last time I needed you and all you did was go and have fun and forget about me! About her! About everything! – But not this time, Stella! This time you'll stay with me and you'll pay me the attention I want!"

Stunned, she stared at him, unable to find words to respond, the back of her mind slowly beginning to comprehend that "the last time" was apparently referring to the Christmas dinner two nights ago. The one, she had tried to convince him to go to and that she not only had wanted but had needed to attend; had needed to have the distraction of, needed to have the friends; Mac, the comfort of his presence and touch.

"I told you to give me a call when you felt like talking to someone," she reminded him. "And I tried to call you – you were the one not answering."

"Why should I have?" he snapped. "You went; you left me. Left me after – after that! You didn't care Stella!"

"I did care," she hissed. "But what difference would it have made to stay and drown myself in misery?"

"I wouldn't have been alone!" he barked, taking a step towards her.

"You chose to be alone," she pointed out annoyed.
"You chose to leave me alone," he countered, sounding like a spoiled brat and she glared at him, aware that it was no use to pursue that any further.

"You're drunk, Flack," she only stated. "Sleep it off. Mac and I'll have you covered with your CO."

"Oh, yeah, you're running off again," his sarcastic voice sounded through the room the moment she turned. She ignored it and was ready to leave when a hand clasped around her arm, spinning her around with such a surprising force that she had to reach for the sideboard to steady herself.

"I told you, you're not going anywhere!" he growled as she yanked her arm out of his grasp but he was quick to grab it again. "Not until you've made up for it!"

"Made up for what?" she questioned, pulling her arm back out of his hand, her glare daring him to reach for her again which he didn't.

"Everything," he yelled, the blue of his eyes clouding with the grey of a raging storm and for the second time her stomach flipped at the sickening smell of alcohol. "That you let her down! That you let me down! That you of all people…"

"Cut it, Flack," Stella interrupted, wanting to push past him, yet he stepped in front of her, blocking her path and for an instant all she could do was look at him in alarm.

"I asked you to stay," he hissed.

"You didn't ask," she countered. "Now let me go!" she demanded, nevertheless Flack didn't move, suddenly seeming so much taller, his pathetic outward appearance even worse; his clothes appearing more ragged, his breath reeking stronger, his face less shaved, the signs of grief all the more visible.

It was a sight that was frightening; until now she had never realized how menacingly his height and built could actually be, a seizure of panic taking a hold of her as memories she preferred to keep buried in the depth of her mind rushed to the surface.

"Come on, Flack, this isn't funny," she tried to reason as controlled as possible, cursing the trace of distress that was nonetheless audible in her words.

"No," he agreed, raising his voice. "No, it's not!" he yelled, diminishing the distance between them even further, his eyes filled with a fury that she had never seen with him before.

Continuing to struggle with the remembrance of events that she didn't want to think about in connection with one of her closest friends another flash of fear shot through her but she forced herself to ignore it, keeping what she hoped was a determined gaze fixed on his.

"Nothing's funny about it!" While the statement was firm, he seemed to have calmed again, she, however, remained silent.

His outburst had rattled her too much and rendered her unsure of whether it was safe to say something or not, let alone move, yet she refused to show signs of intimidation, withstanding his scrutinizing, almost thoughtful, look.

"Sit down," he concluded, making only so much room that she could have squeezed past him in the direction of the couch.

"What for?" The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them and she suffered the consequences immediately.

"Because I said so!" he roared, closing in on her again and she intuitively wanted to take a step backwards, the wall and sideboard though preventing her from doing so.

"Flack. Don – please," she attempted once more to reason with him.

Her inner fears were quick to take advantage of the weakened state the situation had put her in, nevertheless she battled with her instincts, rejecting to see the need to fight him. It was after all Don Flack and while Frankie had been her boyfriend, she hadn't known him for years. She hadn't worked with him in a job that demanded indisputable trust and hadn't had the certainty that he'd "have her back" on countless occasions. He simply hadn't been one of the two persons she trusted with her life; those honors were reserved for Mac and Flack and she just couldn't allow the threat to be real. That would shatter so much more of what had already been shattered due to the events of the past months nonetheless she found herself wondering if she stood a chance anyway. While he might have been intoxicated, he remained a trained police officer, taller and a lot heavier than her.

"This is getting nowhere." She had regained enough of her control to state it resolutely.

"That's because you're not sitting down!" he snapped, coming even closer, their bodies now touching and she had to suppress the sickening feeling his breath caused.

"I don't want to sit down!" she yelled back, gathering the strength she needed to push away from him.

"But I want you to!" he argued, clutching her arm with an almost painful force. "And you owe me that!"

He shoved her into the general direction of the sofa and she stumbled forward, dropping her coat as she struggled to regain her balance. Only barely was she able to steady herself before hitting the coffee table in front of her, emotions surging through her body that she was unwilling to give in to. She still clung to the hope that Flack would come to his senses and not put her through that sort of a nightmare again and so reclaiming control, she slowly turned around.

He hadn't moved, his eyes piercing into her body yet she fought the menace that glare was supposed to portray, the distance between them allowing her to succeed.

"What now?" she asked, staying put next to the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You tell me, smart girl," he spat, obviously content with his half-victory.

She didn't reply but simply glared at him, his eyes returning her icy stare, moments passing until he left his spot, striding back to the kitchen.

"This is ridiculous," she mumbled, drawing her gaze away from him.

"Is it?"

Surprised that he had heard her, her head shot back up, discovering that he had turned to take a step towards her and she studied him wordlessly. While the hardness and hostility of his gaze still caused a discomfort inside of her she was tempted to make another attempt at leaving, her chances of actually doing so rather slim though. His temper was more than likely to flare up again and it remained more than easy for him to block her path, the gun now within a menacing reach. She didn't think he would essentially use it, however, he was merely able to keep his balance on that thin line between right and wrong that he was on; a line that it took so little to fall off into the wrong direction and she didn't want to provoke any action that would prompt that.

"Fine," she decided, not bothering to hide any of the annoyance from her voice, "it's not. – Then talk, or tell me whatever else I'm here for."

"You in a hurry or something?" he inquired and for an instant she felt like letting out an exaggerated groan.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she simply stated though, her eyes moving to the clock behind him. There were two minutes left until she was scheduled to meet Mac and the irony that her delay gave him a valid excuse to actually put in some overtime, grinned into her face.
"Got a date?" Flack continued to question, her eyes wandering back to him. "Yeah," he answered himself before she had even a chance to object, his gaze skimming over her. "Pretty," he concluded, the skirt and matching top that she had chosen to wear casual but slightly fancier than anything she'd dress in for work. "Too bad you can't make it," he finished, their eyes locking.

"You seem devastated about that," she remarked.

His gaze hardened yet the expected outburst didn't follow, instead he walked over to the refrigerator, retrieving another beer that he once again popped open with the handle of his gun. Just like earlier his eyes drifted over it in inspection and she watched in silence, searching for something she could say that would not send him over the edge. His incalculability made it impossible though and she opted to keep quiet, her anxiety returning a moment later since the gun continued to be his point of focus, his thumb moving over the black metal. The urge to plead with him to just let go of it arose inside of her and while she still held on to the belief that he would not use the gun on her, the obvious disturbed state of mind he was in sufficed to feed those restless doubts in the far back of her mind.

There was so much damage he could do, he himself had pointed out the power of one bullet not too long ago and even if it wasn't her he would aim it at, one other option remained that she wanted just as little to happen.

"Didn't I tell you to sit down?" his voice echoed through the room.

Her gaze snapped up, finding him to stand sideways, one hand around the bottle, the other covering the gun that he had put back on the counter as if to steady him.

"I can just as well endure your ramblings while standing," she retorted, to her relief only getting an indifferent shrug in response.

"Fine," he said, finally letting go of the weapon and lifting the bottle towards his mouth. "But you're not leaving."