• This workspace has been inactive for over 11 months, and is scheduled to be reclaimed. Make an edit or click here to mark it as active.
  • If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • Finally, you can manage your Google Docs, uploads, and email attachments (plus Dropbox and Slack files) in one convenient place. Claim a free account, and in less than 2 minutes, Dokkio (from the makers of PBworks) can automatically organize your content for you.



Page history last edited by PBworks 15 years ago

Disclaimer: Scott Summers is the property of Xmen creaters while Don Flack belongs to the makers of CSI:New York. No money has or will be made from this fic.

A/N: A weird disjointed kind of style that’s new for me. Part of the drabble challenge in answer to neviditelny’s challenge.




A red flash, sound of an explosion. Flack rounded the corner. Tyres squealed as a car sped away. A man left doubled over, hands braced on the ground; dressed all in black.


“NYPD, don’t move.” Gun trained.


Hands to the sides “Not moving.” Jaw clenching.


Cautious approach followed by the snap of handcuffs being fastened. Eyes were squeezed shut, never opening.


“UP! Look at me.” Tugging an arm.


Clenched jaw, “I can’t.”


“Yeah, that’s a new one.” Impatience.


Scott turned in the direction of the voice. “I.Can’t!”


A stir of something inside, beautiful.


Wind; Lightning; Confusion! Don left alone, wondering.

Comments (0)

You don't have permission to comment on this page.