Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright intended. All recognizable characters originated with CSI: NY

A/N: As always, thank you to my wonderful reviewers, and everyone who is reading this story.

Chapter 11

The Boy Grins

"Sam?" a woman's voice called him as he and Sheldon passed the office Danny and Lindsay shared. He turned, tugging on Sheldon's hand to stop him. Although work was slow on this particular Sunday, and Sheldon wasn't on the clock, he was on call, so they'd slipped into the building to take advantage of the peace and quiet.

"Yes, Lindsay?" Sam smiled, the picture of innocence.

"I don't know how you did it. But fix it. Now." Lindsay's eyes snapped dangerously as she thrust her phone at Sam.

"What's it doing?" He adopted a look of concerned puzzlement.

"You know perfectly well what it's doing, Samuel. Now fix it."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You were playing with it. When Sheldon went to get the chess set, I handed it to you to hold for a minute while I unlocked the door. Now it's speaking in Russian or something and I can't understand a ff—I can't make heads nor tails of it."

Grudgingly, Sam took the phone and flipped it open. "I think I can fix it," he said reluctantly, pressing a few buttons.

"You'd better be able to fix it." She crossed her arms, tapping her foot. A few seconds later, Sam handed her the phone with a flourish and walked away. She looked at it for a moment, then shrugged. Sheldon hurried to catch up to the little boy.

"Whoa, where's the fire?"

"I need to go fast, Shel."

"Why?"

"Because I made it talk in French instead of Russian!" Sam burst into laughter as he started running, almost fast enough to ignore the shout from behind him.

"SAMUEL ALEJANDRO MARTINEZ, YOU GET BACK HERE THIS MINUTE!"

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"No. No, you can't speak to him. Stop phoning my house!" Elena slammed the phone down. José put his arms around her, holding her close as she cried against his shoulder. Clumsily, he brushed his hand through her long hair.

"Elena, Elena," he soothed, whispering in her ear, "it's okay, Elena. Everything will be okay. Nothing will hurt him."

"How do you know? How?" she demanded, pulling back for an instant. He pressed his lips against her forehead, carefully guiding her back into his arms.

"Sam is not stupid. He will know what to do. Nothing will go wrong. Everything will be okay."

He stared into the darkness of his son's room upstairs, hoping he was right, holding his sobbing wife as tenderly as he knew how. And for the first time in over a year, José Martinez prayed. He prayed with the desperate plea of a man who saved his prayers because he didn't believe they were answered. He prayed that God or Jesus or whoever was up there would keep his son from harm.

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"Sam-o, buddy, you look tired," Flack said, lifting the boy into his arms to get a better look at him.

"I'm okay," Sam said, squirming to be let down. Flack looked surprised, but put the boy down without protest.

"You brought your playing clothes?" Sheldon asked quietly. Sam had noticed that Sheldon did everything quietly. That was one reason they got along so well. He nodded in answer to the question, holding up a gym bag.

"Okay, babe, we'll come and get all you boys when supper is finished," that was Lindsay, kissing Danny before walking away.

Sam grinned excitedly. Today was all about the boys. He savoured the words. "The Boys." It made him feel important, being counted as one of the Boys. And it wasn't just one or two of the team, either. It was everyone. Mac, Danny, Donnie, Sheldon, Adam and even Reed, and him, of course. The Girls (he generously allotted them the capital, as well) were going to be making a million course meal, from what he understood. He also understood the inflection, and reasoned that he was either having lots of pasta or someone would order pizza when they were all starving. He was itching to get started.

He also wasn't sure whether to laugh at the sight of Adam wearing shorts. He didn't, because he knew it wouldn't be very nice. But he wanted to.

"So, Flack, you ready?" Danny was jumping around, miming slam-dunks and quick crossovers.

"I think the better question, Danno, is: are you ready to get ground into dog meat?" Sam slipped his hand into Mac's, watching his friend watch Peyton walk away. Mac, Sam knew, was one of those men who simply couldn't kiss anyone in public. Not his wife, not his girlfriend, probably not his daughter, if he had one. Lucky Peyton was okay with that, really.

Sam smiled to himself, seeing Mac's broken heart slowly mending. He turned back and waved at the Girls leaving. Lindsay, Stella, Peyton and Natalie, the last looking a little nervous, were discussing their plans for the evening, but Nat caught his wave and smiled back.

"So, Mac, you think we can take 'em?" Sam said, smiling confidently.

"Oh, I don't know, Sam. There're a lot of them, and Don's kind of tall."

Sam considered this.

"Maybe you're right. Oh well. It would have been fun. But I want to see what dog meat looks like."

"Just take a look at Danno's face, Sammy boy."

Danny glared at Don, who grinned and easily ducked the casual swipe thrown at him.

Sam stopped listening, soaking up the atmosphere instead.

He was with The Boys.

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Mac smiled at Peyton, who was sitting on the couch in Danny and Lindsay's apartment with an exhausted but very full little boy on her lap. At least this time he was clean, although his shirt had a few spots of tomato sauce on it. Sam was fast asleep, and the adults around him whispered, hoping not to wake him.

"We should probably get him home," Peyton said, rubbing her hand gently over Sam's back.

"It's late," Mac agreed, "later than we usually have him. And he played hard today."

Lindsay smiled, taking in the fresh road rash on his cheek. "Who tripped him?"

"He tripped over a water bottle," Don said. He was lying on the floor with his head in Stella's lap. "He was running full-tilt and stepped on it. Went flying. Got right up and kept going, didn't even notice."

"It'll hurt tomorrow when he sees it in the mirror," Danny agreed. He scooped a few glasses off the coffee table, starting to clear up. Lindsay quickly rose to help him, and the two of them disappeared into the tiny kitchen.

Adam rolled a beer bottle between his hands, unsure of what to say. He was still nervous, even though he'd rather officially become one of Sam's protectors. Reed and Natalie were also sitting on the floor, but were not touching.

"C'mon you two," Mac said, rising and grabbing his coat, "I have to take you home, too. Nat--"

"I'm staying at Reed's tonight, thanks Mac. No huge commute for you tonight." Mac smiled briefly, then leaned down to carefully pry Sam out of Peyton's arms. Sam struggled for a moment, and then was still, falling back to sleep immediately.

Peyton quickly checked her watch. "Oh my goodness, it's after 10! No wonder he was tired."

There was a muttered goodnight as they left the apartment, the door shutting quietly behind them.

Don groaned and sat up. "I'll go help in the kitchen so we can get out of here?" He half-asked Stella.

"Okay, sweetheart. Sounds good." She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes.

Adam sprang to his feet. "I'd… I'd better get going, too. I'm on early shift tomorrow, can't afford to be late and all that. Good… goodnight, Stella." He raised his voice. "'Night Don, Danny… Lindsay." Quickly, he saw himself out.

Don and Stella left a few minutes later.

"Can we not do dishes?" Lindsay asked, leaning back against the counter.

"We could probably get away with it," Danny answered, turning away from her to stack dirty plates in the sink.

"How about we do that, then?" Lindsay slipped her arms around Danny, sliding her hands across his flat stomach.

"How come? You're the one who always wants them done right away."

"I know," she leaned her forehead against his back. "But I'm tired."

"Well, let's get you to bed then."

They moved through the apartment; turning off lights, checking the lock, hanging up the phone, finding keys for the morning, then tottered wearily down the hall to their bedroom.

Within minutes they were both asleep.

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"Nat?" Reed whispered to her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her head lifted off his chest.

"What?"

"You don't have to do this, you know." His hands ran over her bare arms gently.

"Do what?"

"You know. Play with Sam, spend time with the team, with Mac. You don't have to."

"Don't I?" She smiled against his fingertips.

"No, of course not.

"Well, neither do you," she pointed out.

"Yes, I do."

"Then so do I." She cut off his argument with a chaste kiss, then settled her head against his chest again.

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"What do you mean, you don't know where she is?" Mac said angrily into the phone. He waited a moment, then sighed sharply. "She's left the state? She can't do that!"

"Well, she has," the bored voice came back to him. "I think you're making a huge deal about this, Mac. She's not here. That's a good thing, it means she's not after Sam."

"Well, what about surrounding areas? Is she in New Jersey? Connecticut? Massachusetts? Pennsylvania? Hell, she could be in Canada, for all we know!"

"We don't know. Not everyone has gotten back to us. This was a pretty major favour to call in, you know. It's not like this was easy." The voice was bitingly dry now.

Mac sighed out a breath, then continued more calmly. "I'm sorry. I just—I need to know where she is. I need to keep my boy safe."

The voice finally humanized a little. "All right, Taylor. We'll find her. We'll do our very best."

"Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate it." Carefully, Mac hung up the phone before spinning around and driving his fist at the wall. A mere inch from the wall itself, he stopped. That kind of drastic action wasn't going to help him here. He had a better plan in mind. He made a few calls, then left the building, leaving a note with Stella that he'd be back.

"Why is she calling?" Mac spoke into the phone, glaring through the glass.

"How the hell should I know?" Surprisingly, Stewart didn't look awful in the orange jumpsuit he was wearing.

"How should you know?" Mac's voice dripped with scorn. "Oh, I don't know, Stewart, because you see her every other week?"

"Nope."

"No what?"

"Haven't seen her for…" Stewart's eyes rolled towards his hairline, "must've been four months now."

"Four months? Why not."

"Dunno. She just left. Didn't say anything about it. Just that she wouldn't be visiting for a while." Stewart stretched, running his hand through his hair, looking unimpressed. "Why the hell do you care, anyway, Taylor." It was a statement, not a question.

"Because she's violating the restraining order."

"Liar." Stewart looked amused now.

"Why would I lie to you?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Mac frowned. Now he remembered why he hated this man.

"I've been spending time with Sam."

"How is he? Growing up, I guess." Stewart couldn't quite hide the interest in his eyes.

"Yeah. Almost six inches taller now." Mac said flatly.

"Still eating chocolate?"

Mac glared at him. "Yes. Do you have anything that's going to help me or are you just going to be a smartass?"

"Whoa, Detective." Stewart raised his hand. "I don't have anything that's going to help you."

"Fine," Mac snapped, getting up. He slammed the phone down. Stewart tapped urgently on the bullet-proof glass between them. Mac picked up the phone again.

"Wait. I might have something. But I want something for it."

"Like what?"

"I want to see Sam."

"Forget it." Mac started to hang up the phone again. Stewart banged on the window again, ignoring the alarmed look of the guards, who started toward him. Mac waved them off, putting the phone to his ear.

"I don't want to talk to him or anything. I promise. I just want to see him. Damnit, he's my son."

Mac deliberated. "If Sam wants to see you, I'll bring him in. Tell me."

Stewart thought about it for a moment, then sighed, nodding. "Carolyn had a plan for our honeymoon."

"How is that supposed to help, Stewart?"

"We were going to go to her family's house in Jamaica." Stewart hung up the phone and turned away.