A/N: I don't own CSI:NY, CBS, or any other known entity. The song title comes from the song by The Fray, which I also don't own. This piece was constructed as a challenge for the FCG, which states:

1. Must include the phrase: “That's not like you.”
2. Must be any one of the following: Angst, Romance, Humor, Songfic, or Horror.
3. Must involve the presence (or lack of presence) of an animal.
4. Must be a minimum rating of K and a max rating of M.
5. Each Segment must be exactly 1,000 words.

I hope you guys enjoy this story, and please review. :)

Look After You

Her hand brushed slowly along the warm, flushed skin of his forehead. His eyes were lightly closed, his breathing even, but his mind and body were far from resting. She sighed, sitting on the arm of the chair, her leg next to his head.

She rested her hand on his shoulder, leaning back against the back of the sofa. As he heaved a sleepy, agitated sigh, she rubbed his shoulder tenderly, causing him to settle down again. At least, for now anyway.

He had done the same thing for the past few nights- come home, eat, and fall asleep watching sitcoms. And every night she would come over, find the dishes in the sink, the TV on, and him sleeping.

At least, it looked like he was sleeping. But there was nothing restful about his slumber.

His six foot, two inch frame was far too tall for the five foot long couch he was laying on, forcing him to contort into some weird shapes while sleeping. More often than not, his face was uncomfortably mashed into something, whether it was a pillow or the back of the couch. He almost always fell asleep in whatever clothes he had been wearing that day, but at least he remembered to take off his tie.

She watched as he flipped over, turning to face the back of the couch. She moved her hand to the top of his head, stroking his thick, dark hair. His face remained in the same uncomfortable expression it had every night, and nothing she did ever made him more peaceful.

What she wouldn’t give to take a trip inside his mind. For the past few days, he was asleep before she arrived, and he didn’t usually wake up until the morning. By then, she was already gone. She didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

Before the days of him sleeping on his couch all night, there were weeks of insomnia. She had been there for those nights, too, but he had never noticed her. She doubted he noticed anything through the haze of booze and TV that had become his life of late.

Lately, though, work had kept him busier than usual, hunting down arguably the most deranged killer any of them had ever seen, which was why he crashed almost as soon as he got home. The team was chasing a serial rapist and murderer, one who chose his victims at random and didn’t have any preference for them. Man or woman, young or old, rich or poor, Caucasian, African-American, Latino, Asian. None of that mattered to the killer, which made finding him that much harder.

The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had been invited to help them in the investigation, but even they were spinning their wheels on this one. With no apparent connection between the victims other than being killed by the same guy, the running profile on the killer was one of a power-obsessed, controlling, malignant psychopath. His fantasy was impossible to pin down, mostly because it seemed to change with each victim he claimed. If it wasn’t for the fact that all of the victims had semen from the same man inside of them, the FBI and the team would have thought there was more than one killer.

She shook her head. There was enough hell at work right now. They didn’t need to focus on it at home, too. But it was hard not to, as this psycho was terrorizing the only city they had ever called home.

She watched as he flipped over again, causing him to sigh heavily. She continued to stroke his hair, trying to soothe him into a restful sleep. She knew, though, that it wouldn’t work.

It never did.

As he brought his knees up to his chest, she watched helplessly, frowning in the stillness of the apartment. She knew that the worst of the night was just beginning. Any time he curled into a ball, she knew where his dreams were heading.

That day.

Again, she shook her head, not wanting to think about that. But it wouldn’t help. That was all he was thinking about, and she knew it. It had hurt him far worse than it hurt her. But seeing him hurting killed her, because she knew there was nothing in the world that she could do to make him feel better.

They were accidental lovers. They had started out at partners over at the precinct, which meant they had to trust each other every day to make sure that both of them came home. Surprisingly to both of them, that trust was something that had come rather easily. When they first met, they clicked. Both of them were from large families with fathers who were police officers. They each had a wayward sibling that they felt responsible for. And they both had lived in New York their entire lives.

Their natural comfort with one another made transitioning from coworkers to best friends to lovers easy. They had enough in common that they were close, but there was enough mystery to keep them guessing about each other. Being together felt right. He loved women who challenged him mentally and physically, and she loved strong, heroic men. They were soul mates, and nothing felt more right to her.

She continued to stroke his hair, trying to settle him down and get him to rest comfortably. It didn’t work, and she found her heart hurting even more for him. Even though he was exhausted, she could see that his nightmares were keeping him from sleeping restfully.

But tonight was different. Tonight, his body was shaking and growing soaked with sweat. She frowned. She knew she should try to wake him up, but she couldn’t do that. She knew she should let him sleep. The sitting back, though, was killing her. She leaned forward, kissing him on the top of the head tenderly. It wouldn’t wake him up, but maybe it would give him some comfort.

*~*~*~*

“Jess!”

Flack snapped awake, his body still shaking and drenched in sweat. He looked around at the empty apartment and sighed. He knew she wasn’t there anymore. She hadn’t been for weeks. He hauled himself up out of the uncomfortable position he had woken up in, heading for the bathroom.

He stepped back into his empty living room, looking around. Her things still inhabited their old haunts, along with the bed for the dog that they had never gotten the chance to adopt. And now, he found he didn’t have the heart to move them, let alone get rid of them.

But looking at them now only served to darken his already black mood. The objects were mocking him, reminding him of what he lost just a few short weeks ago. The day in the diner. The day he tried to forget, but knew that he never would.

His heart still dropped into his stomach every time he thought about it, and try as he might to stop reliving it, he couldn’t. Because even if he wasn’t thinking about it during the day, it haunted his already tortured dreams at night, like the one that had woke him up.

He still didn’t understand how he beat the paramedics there that day, and knew he probably never would. When he had gotten to the scene, he had found her on the floor, barely holding on. He was with her all the way to the hospital, begging her to stay with him, to not leave him. He hadn’t been allowed to follow her into the operating room. Instead, he had been forced to stay behind and play the waiting game.

The waiting damn near killed him.

He prayed harder than he ever had in his entire life, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Jessica, his beloved Angell, died on the operating table.

He looked around the stillness of his apartment, sighing heavily. In the moments he allowed himself to think about things, he felt that she was still here, that she hadn’t left. But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew better.

He had seen her body. Held her lifeless hand in his. He only backed away from it to allow Sid to do his job. He had talked to her father. Went to her funeral. He had sat with her family at the insistence of her father.

None of that had given him the closure he needed, nor the finality he desired.

He had gotten far more closure from killing her murderer than from any of the other services. Especially since the typical team toast to their fallen comrade had been interrupted by a hail of gunfire. That night had ended with Adam, Danny, Sid, and Stella being taken to the hospital. Both Adam and Danny were still there, recovering, as they had both been critically injured and had spent nearly a week teetering between life and death.

The episode triggered Lindsay to reevaluate her position as a CSI, and convinced her that, for their daughter, she needed to take a step back. Everyone supported her decision to leave the field and take to working strictly in the lab. Mac was working on hiring her replacement, whether that meant moving Adam into the field or bringing in someone new.

Of course, Adam needed a bit of rehab before he could come back. But Flack knew that if Mac really wanted Adam to have the field position, he would wait for Adam to get better.

But no one could ever replace Angell.

She was his accidental lover that had become his rock. Many days, she was the only reason he still bothered to wake up in the morning. She was his light on the days where the sin and depravity of the City threatened to drag him down into the dark depths. She was his anchor into reality.

And now his rock, his light, and his anchor were gone.

He shook his head, sighing as his cell phone rang. “Detective Flack,” he answered instinctively without looking at the caller ID.

“You’re pretty awake,” Mac commented on the other end of the line.

“What’s up, Mac?”

“I was surprised to not see you at the scene. That’s not like you, missing a call out.”

“Maybe another detective was called. Anyway, what’s the deal?”

“It’s the same guy.”

Flack sighed, throwing his head back. “I’ll be in soon. I’m just gonna grab a quick shower first.”

“No problem. Meet me at my office, I’ll catch you up.”

“Alright.”

They hung up without another word, and Flack sighed miserably. If anyone would understand, it was Mac, but Flack didn’t feel much like talking. Mostly, he wanted to stay home and sleep until the pain went away, but his mind wouldn’t allow for that. It wanted him to live in the moment, to get used to her not being there, and to remember everything he didn’t have now that she was gone. The rest of him didn’t think he could handle that.

He stripped off his sweat-soaked suit, throwing it into the laundry pile. He climbed into the shower, letting the hot water infuse into his depressed muscles. There was no rest to be had for the broken hearted, no matter how much Flack wished he could. Maybe it was time he took a vacation, far away from New York. Leave his pain behind and get away.

It would never work.

Flack had learned the hard way that running wasn’t going to solve anything. He just hoped that in time, he might be able to function as a person once again without the shroud coming over him. Until then, there was only one thing to do.

Continue to work.

He climbed out of the shower, getting dressed in a new suit. He grabbed his keys before taking one last look around the place. He couldn’t help feeling her energy still there. To him, she had yet to leave. She was still looking after him.

The End