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kathierif_ficTitle: Hooking Up
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, blah.
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: Sheldon Hawkes/Don Flack
Summary: "Dr. Hawkes? There's someone here to see you."
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 1058 words
A/Ns: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bingo prompt Other: Sports. This is sort of an outtake of Bridge Over Frozen Water
“Dr. Hawkes? There’s someone here to see you.”
The young woman, one of the regulars at the New York City morgue, stood by the doors of the autopsy theatre and waited for him to acknowledge her until he nodded.
“I’ll be right there,” he promised and knotted the thread on the Y-incision on the body in front of him.
The woman nodded as well and disappeared behind the double doors. Sheldon looked down, at the body he was working on – the man looked almost peaceful, if not for the gaping hole where the back of his skull had been – and pushed the gurney back into the row of refrigerated units.
Taking off his gloves, he balled them up and tossed them into the trashcan before he turned toward the doors. At the last second, he remembered to check if he was splattered with blood or other body fluids. If a parent was here to identify their child’s body, he didn’t want to look like a butcher.
He entered the waiting area, fully expecting to see a cop, or a CSI, with a distraught mother or wife or a devastated father or husband, but the room was empty besides a tall man with dark hair. He was turned away from Sheldon and was looking at the picture on the wall in front of him.
Husband, or boyfriend, Sheldon thought. This was one of the worse part of his job, and he was glad that the people who came here usually came with a cop who could take care of them, which allowed Sheldon to flee the scene quickly.
But this guy was alone.
Sheldon coughed politely, and the man turned around and grinned when he recognized him.
These blue eyes.
These eyes Sheldon had never forgotten.
“Mr. Flack,” he said, trying to hide his surprise and the wish to smile, himself. If Flack was here to identify a body, Sheldon needed to remain calm and professional.
“Hey, Doc.” Flack gave him a once-over. “Did I interrupt anything?” he then wanted to know, nodding toward the scrubs.
Sheldon shook his head. “No, not really,” he promised. “I was just done.”
Flack tilted his head to the side. “So…would you have the time to go for coffee with me?” he asked.
Sheldon stared at him for a long moment, confused by those words.
“Coffee?” he asked, mentally trying to shift gears. “You’re not here to identify a body?”
“Nope,” Flack replied almost cheerfully. “I wanted to ask you out. You know.” He glanced down, at his shoes, and shrugged slightly. “If you want.”
“You’re here because of me,” Sheldon tried to clarify. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe he was dreaming. He probably was sprawled across the cot in his office and sleeping. After all the overtime he’d pulled in that week alone, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Any second now, someone would come in and wake him up.
“Yep.” Flack nodded. “Just for you.”
Sheldon shook his head. “How did you find me, in the first place?” he wanted to know.
Flack laughed. “I’m not just a dumb hockey, player, you know?” he teased good-naturedly. “My old man was a cop – I guess a few things stuck.” He smirked. “It’s in my genes.”
“Huh.” Sheldon brushed his hands down his scrubs. “I better get some other clothes, then. And my coat.” He managed a soft smile. “I’ll be right back with you.”
Flack smiled back at him. His teeth, Sheldon noticed absent-mindedly, were surprisingly even and perfect for a hockey player, and on his cheek, there still was a faint scar, from where Sheldon had stitched him up, all those years ago.
He grinned and, after hesitating just a split second, he reached out and squeezed Flack’s arm before disappearing to the locker room. He quickly let Sid know that he was leaving, and eight minutes later, he and Flack were on their way out of the building and to a small coffee shop Sheldon knew.
Their conversation moved smoothly from one topic to the next, the coffee was delicious, and before Sheldon knew it, almost three hours had gone by.
“I should get going,” he finally said reluctantly.
Don bit his lip. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice soft. “Thanks for…” He gesticulated at the empty cups in front of them.
Sheldon bowed his head. He was feeling a little insecure right now, not sure how to proceed past this point. “I had a lot of fun,” he finally said.
“Me too.” Don tilted his head to the side, a gesture that was very familiar by now. “I’d like to do it again, if that’s okay with you. Maybe dinner.”
Before they separated, they had agreed on having dinner together, at one of the many restaurants they had talked about.
~*+*~
It became a fixture in their lives. Once a week, when Sheldon didn’t have to work and Don didn’t have a game, they would meet for dinner or lunch. Their conversations covered a wide array of topics, and Sheldon found that behind the façade of a dumb hockey player he liked to project, Don Flack was a smart man with a sharp intellect and varied interests.
And he found himself slowly but certainly falling in love with the other man.
He didn’t say anything to Don. Don was a professional athlete; someone who had never given the slightest hint that he wanted more than a friendship – Sheldon didn’t even know if he was attracted to men on general or him in particular. Besides, nobody at work knew for certain that Sheldon, himself, was bisexual, and he wanted to keep it that way.
The day after Sheldon watched Don getting checked viciously into the boards and leave the game with what looked like concussion-like symptoms, Sheldon broke their pattern and called Don, to invite him for the first time to his apartment for a homemade dinner.
Don didn’t leave until late next morning.
He was late for practice, and coach threatened to bench him, but by the time Don was cleared by his doctors to play again, the Rangers were in a three game slump and the threat was all but forgotten.
His return didn’t stop them from losing a fourth straight game, but Sheldon was in the stands, watching, and Don felt better than he had in weeks.
~end.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, blah.
Rating: FRT-13
Pairing: Sheldon Hawkes/Don Flack
Summary: "Dr. Hawkes? There's someone here to see you."
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 1058 words
A/Ns: written for
au_bingo prompt Other: Sports. This is sort of an outtake of Bridge Over Frozen Water“Dr. Hawkes? There’s someone here to see you.”
The young woman, one of the regulars at the New York City morgue, stood by the doors of the autopsy theatre and waited for him to acknowledge her until he nodded.
“I’ll be right there,” he promised and knotted the thread on the Y-incision on the body in front of him.
The woman nodded as well and disappeared behind the double doors. Sheldon looked down, at the body he was working on – the man looked almost peaceful, if not for the gaping hole where the back of his skull had been – and pushed the gurney back into the row of refrigerated units.
Taking off his gloves, he balled them up and tossed them into the trashcan before he turned toward the doors. At the last second, he remembered to check if he was splattered with blood or other body fluids. If a parent was here to identify their child’s body, he didn’t want to look like a butcher.
He entered the waiting area, fully expecting to see a cop, or a CSI, with a distraught mother or wife or a devastated father or husband, but the room was empty besides a tall man with dark hair. He was turned away from Sheldon and was looking at the picture on the wall in front of him.
Husband, or boyfriend, Sheldon thought. This was one of the worse part of his job, and he was glad that the people who came here usually came with a cop who could take care of them, which allowed Sheldon to flee the scene quickly.
But this guy was alone.
Sheldon coughed politely, and the man turned around and grinned when he recognized him.
These blue eyes.
These eyes Sheldon had never forgotten.
“Mr. Flack,” he said, trying to hide his surprise and the wish to smile, himself. If Flack was here to identify a body, Sheldon needed to remain calm and professional.
“Hey, Doc.” Flack gave him a once-over. “Did I interrupt anything?” he then wanted to know, nodding toward the scrubs.
Sheldon shook his head. “No, not really,” he promised. “I was just done.”
Flack tilted his head to the side. “So…would you have the time to go for coffee with me?” he asked.
Sheldon stared at him for a long moment, confused by those words.
“Coffee?” he asked, mentally trying to shift gears. “You’re not here to identify a body?”
“Nope,” Flack replied almost cheerfully. “I wanted to ask you out. You know.” He glanced down, at his shoes, and shrugged slightly. “If you want.”
“You’re here because of me,” Sheldon tried to clarify. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe he was dreaming. He probably was sprawled across the cot in his office and sleeping. After all the overtime he’d pulled in that week alone, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Any second now, someone would come in and wake him up.
“Yep.” Flack nodded. “Just for you.”
Sheldon shook his head. “How did you find me, in the first place?” he wanted to know.
Flack laughed. “I’m not just a dumb hockey, player, you know?” he teased good-naturedly. “My old man was a cop – I guess a few things stuck.” He smirked. “It’s in my genes.”
“Huh.” Sheldon brushed his hands down his scrubs. “I better get some other clothes, then. And my coat.” He managed a soft smile. “I’ll be right back with you.”
Flack smiled back at him. His teeth, Sheldon noticed absent-mindedly, were surprisingly even and perfect for a hockey player, and on his cheek, there still was a faint scar, from where Sheldon had stitched him up, all those years ago.
He grinned and, after hesitating just a split second, he reached out and squeezed Flack’s arm before disappearing to the locker room. He quickly let Sid know that he was leaving, and eight minutes later, he and Flack were on their way out of the building and to a small coffee shop Sheldon knew.
Their conversation moved smoothly from one topic to the next, the coffee was delicious, and before Sheldon knew it, almost three hours had gone by.
“I should get going,” he finally said reluctantly.
Don bit his lip. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice soft. “Thanks for…” He gesticulated at the empty cups in front of them.
Sheldon bowed his head. He was feeling a little insecure right now, not sure how to proceed past this point. “I had a lot of fun,” he finally said.
“Me too.” Don tilted his head to the side, a gesture that was very familiar by now. “I’d like to do it again, if that’s okay with you. Maybe dinner.”
Before they separated, they had agreed on having dinner together, at one of the many restaurants they had talked about.
~*+*~
It became a fixture in their lives. Once a week, when Sheldon didn’t have to work and Don didn’t have a game, they would meet for dinner or lunch. Their conversations covered a wide array of topics, and Sheldon found that behind the façade of a dumb hockey player he liked to project, Don Flack was a smart man with a sharp intellect and varied interests.
And he found himself slowly but certainly falling in love with the other man.
He didn’t say anything to Don. Don was a professional athlete; someone who had never given the slightest hint that he wanted more than a friendship – Sheldon didn’t even know if he was attracted to men on general or him in particular. Besides, nobody at work knew for certain that Sheldon, himself, was bisexual, and he wanted to keep it that way.
The day after Sheldon watched Don getting checked viciously into the boards and leave the game with what looked like concussion-like symptoms, Sheldon broke their pattern and called Don, to invite him for the first time to his apartment for a homemade dinner.
Don didn’t leave until late next morning.
He was late for practice, and coach threatened to bench him, but by the time Don was cleared by his doctors to play again, the Rangers were in a three game slump and the threat was all but forgotten.
His return didn’t stop them from losing a fourth straight game, but Sheldon was in the stands, watching, and Don felt better than he had in weeks.
~end.