A/N: Yeah, so my muse wanted to do this story, just to kind of kick it around. This is a present chapter and I'll be going back and forth between present time and past to give you guys a taste. This isn't anything like I've ever done before, so please have patience with me! Short chapter to kind of give you guys a taste...
Disclaimer: If you see them on the show, I don't own them, obviously. I do, however, own Eva Santana and Kylie Morris.
Summary: Playing with fire tends to get you burned. Too bad Don Flack didn't get the memo.
Don't look at me like I want you to
Then we'll brush hands like we accidentally always do
We'll stay too late, we'll laugh too hard, hug too long
And it ain't too far from waking up right where we've always been
Joanna Smith — We Can't Be Friends
Don sat in the bar at Reilly's, sipping a Heineken every now and again. There were various women giving him 'the look' and one blonde to his left was doing her damnedest to get his attention. She had her ruby-red lips puckered around her straw, her blue eyes heavily lined with black eyeliner staring up at him from long eyelashes, heavily laden with mascara. On any other night, he would have murmured sweet nothings into the blonde's ear and suggested they take the soon-to-be-noise back to his place.
But he didn't want to take a woman back to his place. Or, rather, just any woman. Usually, he was right back on the rebound after a breakup, but he didn't want to go there just yet. He needed to know he was truly over her before he did that. That familiar laugh filled the air and he looked over his shoulder to see her.
Eva Santana, daughter of Alejandro Santana, the Captain of the FDNY and was KIA in 9/11. The pretty Hispanic woman turned heads when she walked into a room. Up until the other day, her smile lit up her face because of him. She was beautiful, to say the least. She wore a pair of black shorts, a black tank top, and a white blazer paired with a pair of sky-high stiletto heels that gave her a 'fuck-me' vibe.
Her dark brown eyes met his blues and her full pink lips turned up in a smile. Eva flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and turned her attention back to her companion, a pretty blonde with green-hazel eyes. Don recognized her as Kylie Morris, her best friend and gave a little wave. Kylie had been the one to cover up Eva's trysts with Don from both of their co-workers. Their dating the other would show badly on their respective careers.
"I wouldn't even think about tapping either of those women," Mickey commented with a white dish-rag in a pint glass. He was a stout man with wire-frame glasses and balding red hair. "They're both firefighters."
"Yeah, I know. I've worked with 'em a few times," Don responded, finishing off the last of his beer. Mickey snorted.
"But you haven't seen the boys in blue that those two hellcats turned away. I think the brunette sent one of them crying for his mother," he said.
That sounded like Eva. She was a feisty, sassy, sexy woman who kept Don on his toes. Was being the operative word.
"Sounds like my kinda woman," he remarked. The same woman who'd helped pull him out of the building after the bombing and had seen him at his bona-fide worst. He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of Eva's lips brushing the scar on his abdomen and asking him if it hurt. Then he'd touch the burn on her arm from her abusive ex, Elliot. The bastard had attempted to brand her as his. "Get me another beer, would you, Mick?"
"You've always wanted what you couldn't have, Flack," Mickey said with a shake of his head.
Please, stop looking at me, please, stop looking at me, Eva chanted in her head. She snuck a glance up at the bar and forced herself to look away again. Don was staring at her again and he was trouble with a badge and blue eyes for them both. He had a way of getting right to her soul and she couldn't afford that. In her line of work, the FDNY didn't get along with the NYPD. Being a firefighter was a family tradition. The Santana family had firefighters going back three generations.
"He's gonna get you in deep shit with Henderson," Kylie whispered. She glanced up at the bar and away again. "But damn, he doesn't like being turned away, does he?"
Eva nodded, her gaze locking in on a blonde practically throwing herself on her Donnie.
He's not your Donnie anymore, Eva, she reminded herself. You put your job before him.
"Come on, let's get out of here," Kylie suggested. Eva glanced over her shoulder and tossed back a shot one of the cops had bought for her, not knowing she was a firefighter. All she and her best friend looked like were a couple of women with a raging cop fetish. Sort of like Miss Blue-Eyed Blondie, she added sourly. "Fresh air will do you good."
She slid out of her tall chair and tottered a bit on the tall, skinny stilettos she wore.
"Good idea. Let's go grab some Friday's or something. I'm fucking starving," she declared. She hooked her arm in Kylie's and rested her head on the taller blonde's shoulder. "Am I that forgettable?" she asked in a small voice.
Kylie turned around and rolled her eyes. "Flack's just living up to his rep. If it walks with a wiggle, he'd bang it," she replied. "You shouldn't have gotten involved."
It wasn't an outright 'told you so', but it hung in the air. Eva could hear it, but she tried to ignore it.
"Some things just can't be helped, Ky," she sighed. The first thing she'd been attracted to when she first met Don was that dry wit which rivaled her own. It just sucked that there was bad blood between their families.
"I know, honey," Kylie assured her, gripping her bicep.