Part 5

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/29363892.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman x Black!Reader
Character: Flip Zimmerman
Additional Tags: Light Angst, Slurs, Racism, if you're sensitive to racist expressions
please don't read, flip doesn't say them don't worry
Language: English
Series: Part 5 of Flip Chronicles
Stats: Published: 2021-02-11 Words: 1,243 Chapters: 1/1
 Part 5
by aloneandsleepless

Summary

**This is part 5 of the Flip Chronicles, a glimpse of a life with our beloved detective written
in little blurbs**

Notes

A/N: This was originally posted in Portuguese on November 28th, as a request from my dear
friend @depositodamaria. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Translating a fic is really
tiresome. It takes a huge amount of my scarce free time. So I truly appreciate every comment,
like and reblog. Thank you for taking your time to read it. And thank you all for your
support. ❤

“Hello! Here I am asking for Flip stuff again.

having a nightmare and waking up at night needing our love and support 🥺
I would love to see you writing about our tough detective in a moment of vulnerability, like
after all, must be
hard to face all those terrible situations and be under so much pressure all the time, maybe
some cases get under his skin, as much as he doesn’t talk about them…whatever, I think he
keeps a lot of stuff to himself and at some point it has to come out, and he is happy to have us
by his side ❤

****If you're sensitive to racial slurs, please don't read****

See the end of the work for more notes

A warm breeze goes through his body. He struggles to open his eyes, his head hurting terribly
as he does so, trying to see something in the dark of night. Orange flashes of light take shape
in front of him, mixed with what it looks like blurred white hoods.

Flip tries to move his body to get rid of the growing heat, but he realizes his feet are tied up
by a rope around some object he isn’t quite sure what it is. His heart starts racing, his throat
dries up and sweat drips down his face in a mix of anxiety and fear. He looks around, in an
attempt to recognize the place, or some familiar face, but nothing seems to help. He tries to
move his arms, but they are spread out to his sides and also tied up to a long piece of wood.
And then, he knows.

A cross. Around him, the scene reveals itself. The orange flashes of the torches, being carried
by hooded men in white robes, which have the coward intention of hiding their faces and
revering old vile figures. Flip is a few palms above the ground, his feet positioned at the base
of the cross, and the ropes around his arms are so tight that his wrists get wounded everytime
he fights against them.

"This can’t be real, this can’t be happening”, he thinks, with teary eyes and a racing mind,
trying to find a way out of this situation he finds himself in.

“You really thought you could mess with the organization, your stinking kike? ”, one of the
hooded men shout towards him. The man comes closer to Flip, his red hateful eyes perfectly
visible under the hood, reflecting the flames of the torch he has in his hand. “The supremacy
of the Klan will not be threatened by a fucking Jew, nigger lover, acting like a cop. You are
pathetic, Flip”, the faceless man insults, making sure to emphasize the officer’s real name.

“Let me out of here, you freaks!”, Flip screams, his body shaking with hatred, fighting
against the ropes harshly. “I swear I’ll get each one of you, motherfuckers. You won’t get
away with this,” he exclaims, with his teeth clenched and his face red with fury, staring at the
man in front of him.

The man grins maliciously, “You see, that’s the thing, Flip. We already did”, he responds in a
calm voice. “Aren’t you nigger friendly? So now you’re going to die just like one of them”,
he says as he gets down and lights up the cross right under Flip’s feet. “God bless White
America,” he exclaims, taking a few steps back, joining the rest of the group that was
watching everything in amusement.

An intense heat rises through Flip’s body, causing him to feel an unbearable pain. Flip
struggles against the damp wood, his wrists bleeding with each desperate movement he
makes. Tears run down his face, while his throat hurts with every cry of pain and despair. He
tilts his head up and begs for help, clinging to an empty hope while the flames get higher and
higher.

Flip… Flip… He hears a sweet low voice, calling him amongst the chaos, like an angel in his
rescue. He feels a hand touching his chest, a gentle but firm tap, calming his heart. Then he
opens his eyes abruptly. Your face is the first thing he sees. The face of the angel that saved
him.
“Flip, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare”, you tell him, while you caress his face and take
some hair strands out of his sweaty face, in a loving and attentive gesture. “I’m here”.

Flip is still disoriented, breathing heavily, as he stares at you in wonder, and takes you in a
tight hug. “I was there. The cross. The Klan. I was there. I was burning,” he babbles, in
disconnected words. “It was me they were burning”. You hug him back, running your hands
through his wide back, while your own eyes fill with tears when you notice how shaken he is.

“It was just a nightmare, love. It’s not real. You dismantled a Klan unit, you stopped a
terrorist attack. What you did was extraordinary,” you comfort him, recalling the nights you
were sleepless, knowing your husband was undercover at the organization’s meetings, getting
involved in all sorts of terrible things in the name of a greater cause.

“One of them. It was only one of them. Who knows how many more are out there, spreading
hatred and terror, hurting people just because they exist,” Flip laments, turning around to get
his pack of cigarettes at the bedside table. With a long sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed,
and lights one up. You lie there, noting his sweaty T-shirt and his restless legs shaking as he
exhales the smoke through his mouth.

“I was weak and complicit. I could have done so much more. I could’ve stood up and faced
these fuckers from the very beginning”, he ponders, “Even inside the Police Department”.

“You’ve done enough. I watched closely all your hard work and your efforts to learn every
detail, following every step of the Klan. Ron’s crusade became your crusade as well”.

“I spent my whole life thinking I was just another white man, without any Jewish influence
around me. I tolerated racist speeches, I never really stood up against abusive behavior and
violence against black people or any minorities. It was only when I had a gun pointed at my
face by one of those Klan freaks that I realized how much identity matters. My identity
matters,” Flip concludes in a shaky voice, holding back a sob, while blowing the smoke
through his nose with a deep sigh.

“You’re aware now, and that’s what matters. You’re aware of your own identity, aware of the
suffering and struggle of the Black people. And you are trying to make a difference within
the police department and outside of it. I admire you for that. As my mom used to say:
acknowledge, refuse and change, always,” you whisper, as you wrap your arms around Flip’s
neck, and give him a soft kiss, drying the tear that ran down his cheek.

“I don’t know what I would do without you. All the time I was with them, in that shitty place,
it was your face I imagined”, Flip confesses, looking at you. “You were my strength”.

Your face lights up in a large smile, and you lean forward to kiss him once again, on the lips
this time, conveying all your love and understanding in this rare moment of vulnerability of
your tough detective.

“Thanks for staying, even when everything was bad,” Flip says, roaming his eyes through
your face, as if he were recording every bit of it inside his mind.
“Do you know how hard it is to find a tall, handsome man who looks good in plaid flannel
shirts?”, you tease him, trying to light up the mood in this turbulent night. “Now come back
to bed and warm me up because I’m cold”.

“Yes, ma'am,” Flip laughs as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray and lies beside you,
wrapping his arms around you. Slowly he begins to relax, but the nightmare remains vivid in
his mind, like a sad reminder of what’s still out there and must be fought for a lifetime.
End Notes

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@aloneandsleepless or @justflipz

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