DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN

WARNING: RATED M FOR ADULT SITUATIONS NEAR THE END. JUST TWO HEALTHY, NORMAL PEOPLE FOLKS.

Christmas Eve Eve

"I'm the kinda brotha
Movin doin it my way
Gettin my way for years
In my career
And every lover
In and out my life
I hid love and left the tears
Without a care
Until I met this girl who turned the tables around
She caught me by surprise
I never thought I'd be the one breaking down
I can't figure it out why I'm so
Caught up
Got me feelin' it
Caught up
I don't know what it is
But it seems she got me twisted
I'm so
Caught Up
Got me feelin' it
Caught up
I'm losin' control
This girl's got a hold on me."

-Caught up, Usher

"Stella, I need you."

She had never expected to hear those words tumbling from his mouth. A tall, dark and handsome man years younger than herself. Someone that was lusted after by many women. The confident way in which he carried himself and the way his blue eyes sparkled and danced when he smiled or were dark and intense when anger and frustration set in. He could have any woman he wanted but was satisfied with just one. Yet her he was, breezing into her office. All business.

After all, they were both married. Happily. He had a beautiful, vibrant little boy and she was expecting her first child. Anything between them was inexcusable. They were colleagues and friends. Nothing more and nothing less. There would never be anything romantic between them and that was something that was mutually understood and accepted.

So why was now in front of her professing his need for her? It was alarming and startling and she glanced up from her paper work in confusion and apprehension to find him at the side of her desk, his mouth set in a grim line, a plastic bag from J and S Antiques on East 87th clutched in one hand, a roll of sparkling silver and gold wrapping paper and a package of bows in the other.

"Okay…." she said, and sat back in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto the top of her head. "Because..?"

"Because I suck," he answered.

"What are you talking about, Flack?"

"Presents," he told her, setting the bag down on top of her desk. "Or should I say wrapping them. I can't do it. I just can't. And I need this wrapped before I go home. I know there's still tomorrow, but I'm afraid I won't get the chance to run this over to get it gift wrapped somewhere."

"What are you and Sam buying this kid now?" Stella inquired, as she pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. She opened the bag and peered into it. Than looked up at Flack, a puzzled look on her face.

"A doll?" she asked.

"It's not just a doll," Flack informed her. "It's a Cabbage Patch Kid. I went to every possible store that carries these things in Manhattan. I even went to places in Queens and Long Island City and than called toy stores in the other bureaus. Sold out. Apparently, these things have made a resurgence. Not as big as they were in the mid eighties when the release of these things near mass hysteria, but big enough that it was damn near impossible to find one."

"And where did you find it? You're carrying it around in a bag from an antique store? Why?"

"Because the antique store was my last resort. Lady at the Toys R Us in Times Square said I might be able to get one, circa 1985, there. And as luck would have it, there was one there. A girl with dark hair and dark eyes. Only instead of it costing me forty bucks for a new one, I ended up paying…."

Stella pulled the box out of the bag and her eyes widened at the sight of the cost printed on the price tag. "A hundred and ten dollars?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"This is from the eighties, Stel. In it's original box. It's the only one I could find. I didn't have a choice but spend that kind of money."

"A hundred and ten dollars on a doll that Kieran's going to rip apart in ten seconds flat? And why are you buying him a doll? I thought you have that whole, my son must be male thing going on?"

"It's not for Kieran," Flack looked offended. "Are you insane? I'd never buy him a doll. It's for Sam."

"Sam wants a Cabbage Patch Kid?" Stella asked. "Why?"

"It's a long story. I'll just say that she always wanted a one as a kid and never got one. And she had a shitty childhood, Stel. And I just want to give her a little piece of a decent childhood. If that makes any sense."

Stella smiled. "You're a man after my own heart, Don Flack."

He gave that boyish grin that dimpled his cheeks. "I am so going to nail it with that gift," he said.

"You're just hoping this gift helps you nail something else," Stella commented dryly.

Flack laughed. "I can not believe that just came out of your mouth. Are you going all perv on us now that you're pregnant? Baby doing that to you?"

"How do you know I haven't always been like this?" she asked, giving a sly smile.

"Well if you are normally like this, Mac Taylor is a damn lucky man," Flack declared. "So you can work some magic for me, Stel?"

"What time are you off?"

"'Suppose to be four thirty."

"I'll have it done in about an hour. Two at the most."

"Nice," he said with an appreciative nod, and stepping around the desk, laid a hand on the small of her back and pecked her cheek. "You're the best, Stel. You're saving my ass big time here. I suck at the whole wrapping presents thing."

"It's a girl thing for the most part," she said. "Unless you're Mac. He's incredible at it."

"Is there anything that Mac doesn't know or isn't good at?" Flack asked.

Stella considered it. "He sucks at housekeeping. The man is a massive slob. And he can't cook anything outside of cheeseburgers. But you didn't hear that from me."

"You're secret is safe with me," he chuckled. "I appreciate this, Stel."

"Don't ever say I never do anything for you," she said jokingly as he headed for the door.

"I am telling ya, Stella. If I wasn't married, me and you would so be hooking up."

"You are way too young for me, Don," she informed him.

He winked playfully and disappeared from her office.

"Flirt," she muttered and stood with her hands on her hips, looking down at the doll staring up at her with wide brown eyes. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid," she said.

They sat across the kitchen table from one another. Kieran had just gone down for a nap and Sam's parents had retreated to the living room to watch television and give the two some much needed privacy. A mug of fresh coffee sat in front of Reed, the steam spiralling upwards as he tapped his pen on the notepad flipped open in front of him. The interview had been scheduled for after Christmas, but he had called late in the morning and asked if maybe he could drop by. Mac had mentioned she was on holidays and Reed desperately wanted to get a leg up on the story.

"I really don't know what you want me to say, Reed," Sam said, running the palms of her hands along the sides of her mug of tea. "I wasn't even with Don when he was in the bombing."

"But you're with him now. And the man responsible for that bombing is getting out in the new year. The man that nearly killed your husband. Think about it Sam. If he had have succeeded that day, none of this would be here. You're life wouldn't be what it is now. You never would have met Detective Flack and you wouldn't be married or have your son."

Sam sighed. "I never thought about it that way."

"That's why I'm the journalist," Reed said lightly. "They pay us to think that way."

She smiled. "Did you always want to be a journalist?" she asked curiously.

"Writing was always a passion of mine," he replied, reaching across the table to snag a sugar cookie from the plate of goodies they were sharing. "When I was a little kid…I guess I was about seven or eight, I started writing stories. About anything and everything. I would just sit on my bed and write and write about whatever popped into my head. I had lists upon lists of characters and scenarios and all these elaborate story lines. I just lost myself in writing. I think at one time, I had two drawers of my dresser taken up with all these note books with stories in them."

"So why not publish a book?" Sam inquired. "Why journalism?"

Reed shrugged. "I got into high school and there wasn't much to study creative writing wise. So I went with the next best thing and joined the school paper. And now…well, here I am."

"Do you ever write creatively now? Or is it just solely for work?"

"I've lost my creative bug somewhat," Reed said. "I guess when the realistic stuff took the spotlight, everything else got shoved to the back burner. I think about it from time to time. About writing a book. Or short stories to have published in magazines. But who has the time when you have to bring in a paycheque to pay the bills?"

She gave a small laugh and sipped her tea. "I know that feeling all too well."

"Did you always want to be a cop?" Reed asked, reaching out to press record on the small tape recorder sitting on the table top.

"Not always. I had other dreams and aspirations. I mean, there was always a small part of me that wanted to be a police officer. But when I was a kid I think I changed career choices at least every second day. Kids are like that. I had the fantasy type things in mind. When I was four, I wanted to be a princess. I wanted to live in some exotic kingdom and have a knight in shining armour come and save me from the fire breathing dragon. And I thought about being a vet and a doctor and a nurse and about a hundred other things by the time I hit ten."

"Typical kid," Reed said with a smile. "So why a cop?"

"I wanted to help people. Kids mostly. That really needed it. Like me and my brother."

The young man arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"My younger brother Adam and I were abused," Sam explained. "Pretty badly. And I always used to tell him that when I was older I was going to become a cop so that kids like us never got hurt again and guys like our dad ended up in jail where they belonged."

"That must have been rough," Reed commented, as he jotted stuff down on his notepad.

She shrugged. "It's a long time ago. We survived. And we're both better people for it. You're not going to use all of that, are you? Stuff about my dad?"

"I was just going to use some of it to give you a little background in the article," Reed explained, than paused in his writing. "You don't want me using stuff like that?"

"It's not that….I just…I don't know…I don't see why you need to have stuff like that in a story about my husband and the bombing."

"This is a human interest piece" he explained gently. "It's more about your husband and how your family is coping with the after affects and with Lessing's pending release. And for people to feel for you, I need to put in some background. Make you seem more human. If you see what I am getting at."

She sighed and nodded. "I just…I'm not entirely comfortable talking about my dad."

"It's okay," Reed assured her, and reached across the table to lay his free hand over one of hers. A comforting gesture. "That's all I need to know. You don't have to say anything else."

She glanced down at the hand covering her own. Reed's touch was soft and warm. And while she was sure he meant nothing by it other than a well meaning gesture, she suddenly felt totally uncomfortable. She calmly slipped her hand out from under his as to not hurt his feelings with a sudden jerking movement and picked her mug up and took a long sip of tea.

She'd never been a touchy-feely type of person. And it wasn't that she hated the idea of anyone touching her. She just wasn't entirely comfortable with any man, save her husband and brother and step-father, touching her. Even if she did trust them explicitly. And she trusted Reed Garrett enough to allow him into her home, to be around her child and to ask her questions about her family.

"You're originally from New York City?" Reed asked, returning to his notes.

Sam nodded. "Brooklyn."

"But you were out of the city between 1991 and 2008?"

"When I was sixteen my mom married my step-dad and we all moved to Arizona. I lived there until I went to university and than after I completed my masters, I moved back to Phoenix and joined the PD there."

"What brought you back to New York?"

There was no way she was getting into the horror that was Zack. It was behind her now. The healing was an ongoing process, one that would be hampered if she even let herself think or speak of her ex.

"My brother was here," she answered Reed's question. "I wanted a change of scenery and he was here in New York and he put in a word for me with Mac. That's how I ended up with the crime lab."

Reed nodded and jotted everything down. "How did you meet your husband?" he asked.

"I met him outside of the crime lab. I was there to meet with Mac and be introduced to the team. He had hired me over the phone and he arranged this meet and greet of sorts."

"What was your first impression of your husband when you met him?"

"Well, I'm a red blooded female so when I first saw this tall, dark and handsome guy in a suit and tie and the most beautiful blue eyes I'd ever seen, I was impressed. I thought he was incredibly attractive. And he was a gentleman. Holding open doors for me and what not. And the more I got to know him, I found out he was dependable and strong and loyal. And that underneath a relatively gruff exterior, he had a huge heart."

"In your words, what's your husband like as a cop?" Reed asked.

"He's tenacious. Trustworthy. You can count on him to have your back in an interrogation room or going through the door on a raid or out on the street chasing down a perp. He's tough as nails when he needs to be. He's street smart. And despite his sarcasm and his occasional arrogance, he really cares about each and every victim. He has a lot of compassion and empathy. Not many people get to see that side of him."

"And as a husband and a father?'

"He's just Don. I can't explain it or describe it. He's funny and you can always count on him to make you laugh even if you've had a really tough, trying day. He's stubborn as all hell. He hates being told what to do. He's stuck a little in the old school mentality that the husband brings home the bacon and it's up to the wife to do the housework and care for the kids. He can be possessive and jealous and hot tempered one minute and than sweet and loving and tender the next. And you know what? I love everything about him and I wouldn't change him for anything in the world."

Reed smiled.

"And he's an amazing father. He loves his son and he spends every spare moment he has with Kieran. And there's not a lot of spare moments in this job. And Don makes the most of them. That's what I love the most about him. He makes sure that me and the baby are first. He lets me know in small, unspoken ways that we're the most important things in his life."

"What's it like?" Reed asked. "Being married to a police officer?"

"It's…" she thought about her answer and sighed. "..challenging…frightening. There's always that fear that when they walk out the door before a shift that they won't be walking back in. That you'll get that one phone call you dread the most. It's stressful and rewarding all at the same time. Because while you're watching him put his life on the line day in and day out, you're also sharing in his triumphs. And behind it all, when the badge and gun come off, you're just trying to be a normal couple raising a family together."

"You ever find that the job causes friction in your marriage?"

"Sure," she admitted, grabbing a cookie and dipping it into her tea before taking a bite out of it. "There's times I feel neglected because my husband seems to put his job first. But I've never felt unloved or unwanted. When I married Don, I accepted that sometimes I'd take a back seat. And our situation is unique with us both being cops. Our main conflict if you want to call it that is us working together. Because he worries constantly."

"How did you first find out about the bombing?" Reed inquired.

"My brother, Adam told me. Than I caught more bits and pieces from work colleagues. And than when I saw the scars for the first time, Don filled in most of the blanks."

"How did you feel? When you heard about it?"

"I was shocked," Sam replied, sipping her now lukewarm tea. "Horrified by what had gone down. And in awe of him."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "In awe?"

"That he'd managed to survive," she explained. "He had a severed artery in his stomach and pieces of the bomb embedded in his chest. He spent months in the hospital and went through aggressive re-hab and physio before he could go back to work."

"How do you feel about Lessing being released?"

"I'm disgusted. That someone could be so malicious and calculated and twisted. He'd convinced himself it was a necessary mission," she rolled her eyes and made air quotes around the last two words. "He wanted to prove that our country wasn't ready for another terrorist attack. He was sending a message. A message! And I don't care how crazy or unbalanced this man is. That's no excuse for what he did. He maimed people. He killed people! And my husband…"

Her voice cracked with emotion, her hands trembled.

"My husband nearly died," she continued with difficulty. "He nearly died and you're right, Reed. I wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't have survived. And most of all, my son wouldn't be here. Don's my husband. He's my baby's father. And when I think about not having him and how I take his presence for granted and I don't appreciate him like I do, I just…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. She put a shaky hand to her forehead as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Reed leaned sideways to grab a handful of Kleenexes from a box resting on the table and held them out to her.

"Thank you," she sniffled and took the tissues and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I've never talked about how I feel about the bombing. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Reed assured her.

"Are we done now?" Sam asked hopefully. "Do you have what you need? Because I don't think I can talk about this anymore."

Reed nodded, finding himself choked up at her outward display of emotion. He closed his notebook and capped his pen and switched off the tape recorder.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" Sam asked, pushing her chair away from the table and standing up.

"Of course," Reed replied.

"I just…I need a few minutes…"

"I understand," he told her, and watched as she hurried out of the kitchen. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair and down the remains of his now cold coffee and listened to the conversation now taking place in the living room.

"Samantha?" Sarge asked, concern evident in his voice. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

"I'm fine, dad. I'm just going out onto the balcony to get some air."

"Whose that boy in there?" Lynne asked, voice dripping with disdain.

"He's not a boy, mom. He's a young man. And I told you. He's Reed Garrett. Mac Taylor's step-son. He works for the Times and is doing a human interest story on Don and I because the man who planted the bomb that Don was caught up in is being released."

"Does Donald know you have male friends?" Lynne asked. "And that you spend time alone with them?"

"For God sakes, mother! We were talking at the kitchen table. Not fucking on it!"

"Samantha…"

"And yes, my husband knows I have male friends. And that I spend time alone with them. It's okay with him. Besides, he likes to watch."

Lynne gasped in shock. Sarge chuckled heartily.

Reed put his face in his hands to stifle the laughter that erupted from his mouth.

"Your daughter has serious problems," Lynne informed her husband.

"Oh shut up, honey," he responded.

It was quarter after six when Flack finally arrived home. The sky was already pitch black and a steady snow was falling. He'd left the present Stella had so expertly wrapped in the back of the SUV. His wife was notorious for snooping for presents. Valentines Day, birthday, Christmas…it didn't matter. If there was something in the apartment for her, she would go to hell and back to find it.

The smell of lasagna greeted him as he stepped through the front door. Along with the sound of the television playing Thomas the Tank Engine and Kiearn's contagious giggling mixed in with Reed Garrett's hearty laugh. Sam had called earlier to say that Reed was coming over a few days early for the interview. In a way, Flack had known it was her way of asking permission to do it. She knew that he was against it. That his fears of Dean Lessing harassing his family were genuine ones. She had called to get her husband's blessing. She wouldn't go ahead with it if he adamantly refused. And it had been on the tip of his tongue to do just that. But he held back and simply told her to do what she thought was right. That she was a big girl and he trusted her enough to make the right decision for her family.

Obviously, going ahead with talking to Reed was in her mind, the right decision.

But why was the kid still in his house hours later?

Flack shed his shoes and hung both his winter coat and suit jacket in the hall closet and journeyed into the kitchen

"Hi," Sam chirped from where she stood at the counter, tearing apart lettuce for a salad and tossing it into a large plastic bowl. Her hair pulled into a tight, high ponytail and wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a massive sweatshirt pulled from his side of the closet.

"Hey," he kissed her cheek softly and loosened his tie. "Smell's good."

"Wish I could say it's homemade. But I am not your mother so I am afraid you must settle for frozen. How was work?"

He shrugged and opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vitamin water. "It was work," he replied, snapping off the lid and taking a huge refreshing gulp. "Where's your parents?" he asked, leaning back against the counter beside her.

"They are gone for the night with Gus and Adam. Dinner at Tavern on the Green."

"Of all nights they pick the one that you're going out and getting drunk on," Flack said with a sigh, shaking his head.

"Maybe they will stay overnight at Gussie's," she said, finishing with the lettuce and popping the bowl in the fridge before journeying to the sink to wash her hands. "Then when I get home I'll be wasted and you can enjoy totally uninhibited Sam."

He laughed and sipped the blackberry and pomegranate flavoured water. "And you call me the dirty one. Ask me, it's all you think about."

"Trust me, there's a method to my madness," she dried her hands on the thighs of her pants and stepping in front of him, laid her hands on his sides. "According to that little test thing I bought last week, I am ovulating like crazy today."

He grinned and ran a hand over her hair. From the top of her head to the small of her back and than settling on her ass. "Yeah? In that case, let's go and lock ourselves in the bedroom and Reed can babysit for half an hour. Either that or we kick him out, send Kieran to bed and we just get down and dirty right here over the counter."

"Unfrortunatetely, as fun as that sounds, you're going to have to be patient and wait until I get home tonight," she said, as she toyed with one of the button's on his shirt. "Supper's nearly ready."

He leaned down to kiss her softly, making her giggle when he nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose and lips.

"Stay away from me," she said jokingly, as she pulled away from him to prevent things from heating up any further.

"So how'd that thing go with Reed?" he asked, as she began gathering silverware from the drawer by the fridge and plates and cups from the cupboard next to his head.

"It went good," she replied.

"What kind of questions did he ask?"

"Lots of different stuff."

"Like?" Flack pressed.

"Like stuff you're going to have to read my answers to when the paper prints the article."

"And when's that going to be?"

"I don't know," she answered, closing the cupboard. "Whenever his editor decides it's the right time to run it, I guess."

Flack nodded slowly as he considered her answer.

"Look, if you didn't want me to do it you should have just said so," Sam told him. "You should have just come right and out and told me no. Plain and simple. Instead you skirted around the issue and talked in riddles. All so you could come back in the end and turn it on me if things go bad and say 'well I let you make the decision and obviously that was the wrong thing to do'."

"I would never do that or say that," he informed her, staring down at the plastic bottle in his hands, picking absentmindedly at the label.

"Right," she said with a snort. "That's always what you do. You sit back and let me decide something and when it tanks you hold it over my head for the next six months."

"I don't do that," he argued.

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow.

He glanced up to find her staring at him. "What?" he asked. "When have I ever done that? Tell me when."

"Lots of times," she said, and went to the oven to check on the lasagna.

"Yeah? Name one?"

She didn't answer.

"Exactly," he said and swallowed back the rest of the water. "You can't name one because there isn't one."

"Please….you're probably the most self-righteous, holier than thou person I know."

He smirked and tossed the empty bottle into a bag designated for recycling under the sink. "Other than yourself, you mean," he responded to her insult.

"Don't start, Don. Seriously. Why do you have to come home and start?"

"I'm not starting anything. I came home and I was having a civl conversation with my wife about her day. You're the one that gives me these vague, nonsense crap answers to things."

"They weren't vague answers. I was just telling you that the interview went well and if you want to know what it was about you will have to read the article. That's all I said."

"No thanks," he said. "I don't usually like to read bullshit."

She glared at him. "You're so fucking mature. If you didn't want me doing the interview you should have just come out and said that."

"And what? Have you rant and rave about how old school I am? How I don't have a right to tell you what to do just because I'm your husband? Listen to you go on and on about how you're a grown woman and I treat you like a little kid and all this other bullshit? No thanks. I let you make the decision and you made it."

"And you hate it."

"No. I disagree with it. There's a difference. I don't see why you have to talk about something that happened long before you and I even knew each other. So why are you so concerned about something that has no bearing on your life?"

"No bearing on my life? Are you fucking kidding me? It does have bearing on my life. Because the man who nearly killed my husband is being released. And the last time I checked, that's exactly what you were. My husband. Although sometimes you seem to conveniently forget it. Half the time I swear you think you're still single."

He laughed. "And what have I done that would make you think that? I work and come home. That's it. I don't go anywhere, I don't see anyone other than you and Kieran outside of work, all my spare time is spent doing stuff with, and for, the two of you."

"You're just so fucking hard done by," Sam said.

"I wasn't complaining! Did that sound like I was complaining. I was making a point. Everything I do is for you and Kieran and you know what, that's okay. I accepted that's the way things are sometimes when you get married. I wasn't expecting to still be able to do the same things I did when I was single. So don't stand here and tell me that I act like that."

"Keep your voice down. Reed's out in the living room with Kieran and…."

"Why is he even here? Why did he stick around after the interview?"

"Because I asked him if he wanted to stay for supper. And he was nice enough to watch Kieran while I made something."

Flack smirked. "And I bet he did that out of the goodness of his heart, didn't he."

"What? Now you're going to accuse me of having an affair with Reed Garrett? Grow up, Don. He's my friend. I can have friends you know. Or is that not allowed? You just want me locked in the house all day with Kieran, with no adults to talk to or associate with. Especially men. God forbid a male crosses my path. Because you know me. I can't control myself and I'll be cheating on you left, right and center."

"I never said that."

"You don't have to say it. It's all in that tone you get."

"What tone?"

"The one you get when you doubt what someone is saying. That condescending, arrogant tone you get."

"All I was trying to ask is why Reed Garrett is hanging around my house playing with my kid. That's it."

"Because he's my friend and I like having him around. Okay? Deal with it."

"He's your friend?" Flack laughed. "You're almost thirty-four and he's your friend? How old is he? Twenty?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It does. You're my wife and you're at least thirteen years older than him and you're hanging out with him? Paging Mrs Robinson."

"Yeah, that's it, Don. He's my much younger lover and I asked him to stick around so that the two of you could get to know each other better. And Stella is how much older than you and you've been carrying around this little school boy crush on her?"

He sighed heavily and looked away from her and shook his head.

"Exactly. So don't stand here accusing me of something when you have your own little secrets and crosses to bear. You think I'm stupid and I don't notice these things? That people don't tell me things. Please. I know all about your little crush and the way you used to flock to her side like a knight in shining armour when she neded something. So spare me you're double standard bullshit."

"Okay…so I had a crush on Stella. So I found her attractive. Big deal. I don't have her hanging around in my house when my wife isn't around."

"By all means, don't let me stop you. You want her, go ahead."

"Don't be fucking stupid. You're my wife. I'm married to you. I have a kid with you. You're the only woman I want to be with. Just because you have all these jealousy issues with any female that comes within a fifteen foot radius of me…"

"I'm the jealous one?" she laughed. "Every guy I know you've insinuated at one point in time that I was having an affair with them. Danny, Hawkes, shit, even Mac. And now Reed Garrett? Get a grip, Donnie. I wouldn't be married to you and sharing a bed with you and have a kid with you and be planning to have more if I didn't love you. I'm not cheating you. Not than, not now and never. Plain and simple. So you need to get over this self-conscious crap and just trust me more."

"I do trust you," Flack said quietly. "It's other guys I don't trust."

"I know how to say no, Don," she informed him. "I'm not out to cheat on my husband. With anyone. And the sooner you realize that I'm not going anywhere, the sooner a lot of our marital issues will get put to bed once and for all. How is someone as confident and arrogant like you are at work so damn insecure and self conscious at home? I don't get that. How is that even possible?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe it's your way of coping with your weaknesses. You let people think you're all big and bad and high on yourself when deep down you've got low self esteem."

He snorted and shook his head "Don't fucking psycho-analyse me, Samantha. My self-esteem and my confidence are just fine, alright? I just don't like the idea of all these guys being around my wife when I'm not around to do anything about it."

"About what? What are they doing? Nothing! They are my friends! That's it! Not every guy in the world is out to get in my pants. You are seriously overestimating me, Donnie. I'm far from being the most sought after, beautiful woman in the world."

"Well to me you are," he said. "Okay? And I don't like the idea of losing you or having to share you. Okay? There. That's my fear. My main weakness is you. I admitted it. Are you happy? Does it make the wannabe psychologist in you feel better to hear that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Because at least now it somewhat explains why you are the way you are when it comes to me. But you need to back off, Don. We go so long where you're doing so well and than all of a sudden you start that possessive, jealous crap all over again. I can't deal with you when you get like this. Please, just back off of me and get it through your head that I am not going to fool around behind your back. I love you. Only you. And you need to get a grip on the way you act sometimes."

"So we both have issues we need to work on. Is that what we're agreeing on here? Because I didn't want to come home and fight with you, Samantha."

"We're not fighting. We're discussing."

"We don't discuss things," he argued, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows. "We fight. All the time. Something small and stupid sets it off and we snap and freak out and yell at each other."

"Are we yelling? No. We're relatively calm."

"The point is we always fight. About everything. I'm tired of fighting. It needs to stop."

"Maybe we're just the type of couple," she reasoned lightheartedly. "We get off on fighting."

"It needs to stop," he repeated in all seriousness. "It has to stop."

"Okay," she said, and moved from the stove to lean against the counter beside him. "And how do we do that? Because I don't want to fight with you all of the time, Donnie. And we go so long and everything is so good and than we hit this stumbling block and things go wrong. How do we fix that?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Sam," he admitted. "I just don't know. But I want to fix it. Because it's not normal. It's unhealthy and selfish on both our parts. And we say mean shit that two people who love each other should never, ever even think about let alone say."

"So what do we do to change that?" she asked. "Because you're right. It is unhealthy and we do act selfish sometimes. This isn't just a problem one of us brought on. And I don't mean the things I say. You know that."

"We need some time," he told her. "Alone. Me and you. Just the two of us. There's always someone around. My mother is always here because she watches Kieran, now you're parents are here. And when they're not here it's Carmen and Tim or Erica and Danny. And they're our friends and all of that…but I just want them to leave us alone sometimes. We're never alone it seems. Unless we're working a case together and that's not the kind of alone I mean. And I'm not talking about sex here, either."

"I know," she said, and laid her head on his arm.

"I just want some time for us to be alone and relaxed. So we can talk about things other than work and the baby. So we can get to know each other again because since Kieran's come along…I don't know. It seems as if sometimes we've changed so much we don't recognize each other anymore."

"We changed, Donnie. We had to. We became parents. We're not the same as when we were before we had him."

"I don't want us to be the same. I want us to be a couple. Because since he came it seems like there's me and than there's you and him."

She thought about the words that were coming out of her husband's mouth. Heard the seriousness and honesty in them. And saw the same in his eyes. "So you're saying that our main issues are caused by a soon to be one year old," she stated.

"No," he snapped. Than closed his eyes briefly and ran his hands over his face. "What I'm saying is that things are different. We're different. You're different. Not in a bad way. Because you're an amazing mother and every time I see you with him I fall in love with you all over again. It's just that….Christ…this is going to sound so stupid and make me seem like a real asshole."

"No it won't," she assured him, reaching up to rub his shoulder softly.

"Before Kieran you were all about us. Now you're all about him," Flack told her. "And I guess I'm…I'm jealous of my own son. There. I said it. I'm a major fucking prick but it's the truth. Because you and Kieran have this bond and I see it and it makes me feel left out. It's always made me feel that way."

"I'm his mother, Don," she said gently. "I carried him inside of me. Of course there's a bond. Just like there's a bond between you and him that I can't measure up to."

"But where's our bond, Samantha? We need to have one, too. We deserve to have one. And we used to. Only I don't know where it went. And I don't mean a bond sexually. We have that. I mean…fuck, I don't even know what I mean anymore."

She didn't respond. At least not with words. But she stepped in front of him and curled her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. Relaxing in the warmth of his body and his familiar smell.

"I just want you back," he said, one hand resting on the small of her back while the other stroked her hair. "I just want that bond back that we had. I don't think that's too much to ask. Do you?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't think it would be this way," he told her. "I thought we'd be constantly happy and life would be perfect once we got married and the baby came. I finally had a family and I thought all my problems were solved. But now there's just new problems and sometimes I don't think I'm doing very well dealing with them. Maybe I wasn't mean to be a husband or a father. Maybe I'm too selfish. Maybe I'm just really, really, really screwed up."

"You're not," she said, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "And you're a good husband and a great father. We're not perfect. We don't pretend to be. And we can work on things. You know that. As long as you want to work on them."

"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You're my everything, Don. I know sometimes I don't say it enough or show you enough, but you are. And there's nothing I won't do to fix things. You know that, right?"

He nodded and kissed her softly, his hand tangling in her hair.

Reed Garrett clearing his throat from the doorway interrupted the tender, intimate moment.

"Sorry," he said, clearly embarrassed. "I wouldn't have bothered you guys, but Kieran made a pretty big mess in his diaper."

"I'll be right out to clean him up," Sam told the young man.

"Oh it's okay. I know how to change a diaper. I just don't know where you keep stuff to do it. You know, wipes and a diaper and all of that."

"There's wipes and some extra diapers on the middle shelf in the linen closet," Sam told him. "You don't have to Reed, I'll…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "I got it. No biggie."

"Maybe we should hire him as a babysitter," Flack commented when Reed disappeared from the doorway. "By the sounds of things when I walked in, Kieran really likes him."

"Kieran likes anyone who turns him upside down and tosses him in the air," Sam said, than, tugging playfully on her husband's tie, added: "I wonder who got him started on that."

"I plead the fifth," Flack said with a grin.

"You can't," she told him. "You're the officer of the law. The fifth amendment doesn't apply to you."

His grin broadened when her hand sneaked between him and the cupboards and tugged on the handcuffs attached to one of the back loops on his pants. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I see how your eyes light up every time you touch my cuffs."

"I'm innocent," she declared, and held up both hands.

He kissed her. His lips soft and gentle and undemanding on hers. Wrapping both arms around her slender body, he drew her in close. "I miss you," he whispered into her hair.

"I miss you, too," she said, and held onto his as tight as she could.

It was nearly nine thirty at night when Samantha finally emerged from the master bedroom. She's spent over an hour taking a bath and primping herself and getting dressed for her long anticipated night out with the girls. Flack had been all for it. He'd even encouraged it. She didn't bitch and moan when he went out to play hockey on Saturday mornings or hung out with Danny, Speed, Hawkes and Adam after a shift every now and than. She did a lot around the house. She cooked and cleaned and took care of Kieran and struggled to hold on to a marriage and a career. If she wanted to go out and unwind, all the power to her.

It was the thought of her going to a strip club that didn't sit too well with Flack. He was the first to admit that while he wasn't a regular customer, there were nights that he and Messer ended up there. He wasn't dropping money on lap dances or stuffing bills down some stranger's g-string. And he most certainly didn't violate the look but don't touch policy that he and his wife had long ago set down. He wanted a lap dance or someone to dance around on a table so he could get his rocks off, he'd go home and have his wife do it for him. She had a body that could rival any of those dancers and he didn't have to worry about her doing favours for other men.

But the idea of her checking out other guys and shoving money down their underwear turned Flack's stomach. Mostly because while he went to those places stone sober, she attended them stone drunk.Sure, he appreciated the fact that she was honest right from the get go. Most women would just lie. Sam came right out and admitted where she was going and what she was planning on doing. But it didn't make him feel any better.

And when she came out of the bedroom while he sat on the living room floor playing video games on the Xbox and he saw what she was wearing, he became even more unnerved.

A red, blue and black tartan mini skirt that was cut dangerously short and accompanied by black fishnet stockings and knee high black leather boots and a black halter neck top that barely reached her midsection. Her hair pulled back in a tight, braided bun and smoky, sultry makeup gracing her face.

Sonofabitch, he thought. And wondered how much coaxing it would take to get her to stay home.

"Hey, look," he said and turned his attention back to the video game. "It's the happy hooker."

She frowned at that comment and stalked over to where he was sitting, but the toe of her right boot against his chest and pushed him onto his back. Holding him in that position with her foot.

"Kinky," Flack said. "Going all dominatrix on me now? Got a whip and dog leash to go with that get up?"

"You wish. I'm going for more naughty Catholic school girl."

"Yeah? Well you're pulling it off," he said. "Although I'm not sure about the fishnets. Take those and your underwear off and that's more my speed."

She smirked and removed her foot from his chest.

"There's no way in hell you are going out wearing that," Flack told her as he sat up.

"Excuse me?"

"No husband would let their wife go out dressed like that."

"Two days ago when I brought this skirt home you said how cute it was," she reminded him.

"Yeah…but that was before I realized it barely covered your ass."

"Thought you liked staring at my ass," she commented, as she lowered herself to her knees before climbing astride his lap, a leg on either side of him.

"I do," he said. "Very much so. It's an amazing ass. I love looking at it and doing things to it and…"

She silenced him with a kiss. A long, steamy toe curling kiss that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Among other things.

"Christ," he groaned, as the kiss ended and her fingers combed through his hair and her lips found the side of his neck and his ear. "Don't do these things to me. Not when you're walking out the door in twenty minutes."

"What a pity," she said, and trailed the tip of her tongue along the outer edge of his ear before delving inside. Feeling his entire body stiffen against her.

"Seriously, Sam..You keep doing that and…"

"And what?" she asked, rubbing her lower body against his rapidly expanding cock.

"And you won't be getting out of this house. 'Cause I will throw you down right here, right now and you won't be going anywhere."

"Hmmm, I guess it's a good thing than."

"What?" he asked, shivering as her fingernails dragged along his scalp and her tongue and lips and teeth grazed the side of his neck. "What's a good thing?"

"That I already called Carmen and let her know I wasn't coming and told her to pass the word on."

"Seriously?" he asked. "Don't be going and getting my hopes up."

"I am serious," she replied, and pulled back to look at him. "Dead serious," she added, and reached behind her neck to yank open the ties holding her shirt together. Letting the smooth black fabric fall to her waist and exposing the simple black satin strapless bra she wore underneath.

"I thought we weren't going to do this anymore," he said, as his hands slipped up her slender sides and came to rest under the bottom edge of her bra.

"Doing what?" she asked.

"The sex thing. That we weren't going to solve everything but having sex."

"We're not," she said, and reached down to yank his t-shirt up. "We're not solving anything. We're going to have some fun. Plain and simple. We aren't allowed to have fun?"

"Of course we are," Flack said, allowing her to pull his shirt up and over his head. "But.."

"How can there be a but, Donnie?" she asked, tossing his shirt aside. "This isn't about us trying to solve anything. This is about us needing each other and wanting each other. And about me needing my husband and wanting my husband to make love to me. Right here and right now. And I don't see anything wrong with that."

He smiled and kissed her. Hard and rough and demanding. His tongue pushing eagerly into her mouth as his hands slipped around to her back to unhook the bra. He tossed it aside and than blazed hot kisses across her face to her cheek and down her slender neck. Across her smooth collar bone and than lower, one hand coming around to firmly cup one of her breasts in his hand as his tongue teased the nipple before drawing it into his mouth and suckling greedily at it.

She moaned and closed her eyes and shoved her fingers in his hair. Than found herself dumped onto her back in the middle of the living room floor.

"Oww," she said with a giggle and rubbed the back of her head where it had smacked the hard wood floor.

"Sorry…but you said right here, right now and I'm just obliging. Do me a favour?" he reached over to switch off the tv and than leaned sideways to grab the cushions from the couch and the wool blanket that rested over the top of the piece of furniture.

"Sure," she said, dispersing herself of her top.

"Take off the boots and the fishnet things. But leave the skirt on. Actually, put the boots back on. So them and the skirt. I want you wearing them."

"You're in a damn kinky mood tonight," she commented, as she stretched out her legs to unzip the boots and yank them off. One foot at a time before reaching under the skirt to peel off the stockings and her bikini style underwear.

"You blame me? Coming out her looking like a dirty little school girl? What? You knew you weren't going out but came out here 'cause you know that's one of my things? For you to dress like that just once?"

She smiled devilishy. "I figured you'd like it," she said, ber tongue flicking out to lick her lower lip in anticipation as he stood and shed his own clothes.

"Stand up, go over to the back of the couch and lean over it. Stomach down."

She seemed sceptical at first, than she scrambled to her feet and did exactly as he said.

"Are you absolutely sure your parents aren't coming home tonight?" he asked. "'Cause I don't want them walking in here and seeing us."

"My dad called. Said they were staying over night."

"Good. Because trust me, it's going to be a good thing they can't see you or hear you."

"Why? Are you planning on punishing me or something?" she asked, watching over her shoulder as he approached her.

"Depends," he replied, standing behind her and running a hand underneath her skirt to fondle her ass gently. His other hand slipping between her body and the couch. "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

She shuddered as she felt his lips and tongue drift up her spine and than across her shoulders. Almost crying out when his teeth gently nipped at her soft flesh. Moaning as one of his fingers brushed lightly against the puckered hole while the others on his other hand drifted between her legs.

He grinned when he found her already sopping wet. "You're such a good girl, Samantha," he said, and his lips found the sensitive back of her neck.

She whimpered at the ministrations going on between her legs. Didn't argue when his free hand urged her legs apart and she felt the tip of his erection against her opening. She cried out for real in a mixture of pleasure and pain when his teeth bit down more roughly on her shoulder as he slipped into her. Her eyes closed, her head dropped forward, her hands gripped the back of the couch as he moved inside of, slow and steady at first before finding a stronger, more demanding rhythm.

She could tell by his urgency that he wasn't going to last long. And that was okay. They had all night. And she planned on making damn good use of it. Before she knew it, the finger that was rubbing vigorously and determinedly against her sensitive clitoris was brigning her to a powerful, mind numbing orgasm. She buried her face in the top of the couch, bit down on the fabric to stifle the scream that erupted from her.

His orgasm was mere seconds behind. The clenching of her inner muscles sending him blindly over the edge. His eyes closed as he bit down hard on his lip to keep back the out of control noises that threatened to overcome him. He spurted over and over again deep inside of her. Bathing her womb with his hot semen. His legs shook and threatened to give away on him. He had to place both hands on the back of the couch to keep himself on his feet.

He rested his head on her back as they stood there for an indeterminable amount of time. Panting. Their bodies quaking.

When he composed himself, he raised his head and placed kisses along her back and shoulders once again before leaning over her to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

"There," he said, a triumphant grin on his face. "I know how to take care of you. So don't go leaving me for a younger guy like Reed. 'Cause he won't know what the hell he's doing."

She laughed and elbowed him playfully.

He backed away, pulling out of her slowly. "It was definitely the little skirt," he said, fixing said item so it covered her ass once more.

"You are one dirty boy, Don Flack," she said, her legs wobbling slightly as she pushed away from the couch.

"Where are you going?" he asked, watching as she gathered up the rest of her clothing.

"To the bedroom," she replied, and headed down the hall. "Are you coming?"

"I'm not tired," he told her.

"Who said anything about sleeping?" she inquired.

He smirked. And was quick to follow.

So, tonight is the season premiere. I just want to let any new readers know that the Sam Flack in my stories was created long before the Sam Flack that will be appearing on the show. And I want to thank my readers who have supported me since the news of TPTB sheer stupidity regarding Flack's sister broke. Thanks, guys. Much love.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Although I would love to hear from more of you! Please let me know if you enjoy this! Thanks!

Special thanks to my reviewers:

Brrtmclv
Aphina
Hope4sall
Laurzz
Marialisa
Bluehaven4220
ImaSupernaturalCSI
Laplandgurl
Wolfeylady
muchmadness
Shopaholic20
Truluv
Greg Rox