CSI:NY How Does Your Garden Grow

Porcelain

Chapter 1: Porcelain

Gus' arrival back in New York garnered little fanfare, unless you counted the constant cacophony of blaring horns and other noises in the city that never sleeps as fanfare. Gus was almost taken aback. Not that New Orleans wasn't loud, but the noise there had an undercurrent of exuberance not anger. She was also feeling a bit trepidatious and overwhelmed, so much so that she sunk into a state of quiet contemplation.

Flack was willing to let her sink somewhat inside herself, mostly because he was so relieved that he had gotten her back to New York, he wasn't about to push. This may also have been because their Captain received a call from Colston suggesting Gus might benefit from a clearance evaluation before she returned to active homicide duty. What worried him was that she didn't fight it.

"You're fine with this, no bitching about how the shrinks can't shrink you, that you know the game better than they do, you're just going to go?" he asked her, incredulous.

Gus took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "can't hurt, might help. You went. And I have to admit, it is has been a hell of a last couple weeks," she paused, "months..."

"Years," Flack supplemented, pulling her to him on the couch in his apartment, wondering for not the first time since they got back why they were hanging out in his moderate concrete box instead of her far more comfortable abode.

Gus settled in next to him, trying to not feel overwhelmed and out-of-place, trying to remember she had put her ghosts to rest, trying to feel like she was at home. Deep down, she knew she was home, that New Orleans was now a place to visit. This didn't stop her feeling of unease, however, nor did it stop the memories from flooding over her.

Every time she looked around her co-op, despite everything being straight and clean, Gus couldn't help but view her place as it had looked three years before. How it seemed so empty and broken then, with Flack's belongings moved out; the bookcases emptied of his books like a mouth missing teeth, the living room cavernous without his furniture, her bedroom barren without his bed or love.

His place was only a modicum better, considering the only time they shared there up until this point had been fueled by alcohol and a combination of lust and anger.

Flack had hung a meaningless, store-bought picture over the hole he had punched in the wall on one of Gus' last nights there before her exchange trip. He knew that Bobby could easily fix it for him, but part of him wanted the reminder of that night. The night he claimed he was stronger than her, but if he was honest with himself, he was broken almost beyond repair, would have shattered if it hadn't been for her.

Maybe she was wearing her emotions on her sleeve, but more likely because he knew every nuance after five years of partnership, Flack sensed her unease and wrapped her closer to him. "Stop thinking, sunshine. I thought we decided second, or third, chances meant skipping over the bullshit."

Gus pursed her lips, hating that he knew her so well. "I don't know what you are talking about, Don," she said, trying to feign a bright expression and heading to look out the window at the bustling city below.

He shook his head, not wanting to push her too far too fast, but also wanting to make up for lost time.

"Don't pull that with me, Gus. You've been too damn quiet since we got back. I've seen the way you keep looking around and I'm not sure you need to be taking any more trips down memory lane."

She turned to look back at him, about to make some wisecrack to lighten the mood and keep the focus off of her.

Flack held a hand up at her opened mouth, "don't play coy, sunshine, you can't with me. You and I both know full well you are standing there running through the past three or so years in your head and putting yourself through the wringer. Which is weird because I thought we decided to leave all that crap behind in the swamp."