A/N: UPDATED UPDATED UPDATED (does happy dance). This chapter is told from Angela's point of view, and it deals with the family, and their last names.
Don't own them, never will, original characters are mine, song belongs to Dierks Bentley, haven't we been through this before?
Reviews always welcome
Daddy always told me far back as I recall,
Son, your part of somethin', you represent us all,
So keep it how you got it , as solid as it came,
It's my last name
Passed down from generations too far back to trace,
I can see all my relations when I look into my face,
May never make it famous but I'll never bring it shame,
It's my last name
The Flack family name is very well respected in the NYPD. Don's father, Don Sr. is considered a legend within said department. However, Don Jr. always insisted that he not be treated any differently than someone who did not have a relative on the force. He was loyal, great with children, loved his job, came from a good family, he was Don Flack.
And he was asking me to marry him.
I didn't know what to say. What could I say? Yes didn't seem like it was enough, and babbling made it seem like I was indifferent.
"Can I take your silence as a yes?" he signed.
I nodded my head. He gently placed a finger under my chin and pushed. My mouth closed as a result. Before I could turn Don suddenly brought out a ring box.
Had he been planning this?
He opened the box and there, set in the silk, was a My Solitaire Platinum setting band with a princess cut accent.
It was so beautiful I felt tears welling in my eyes. As he slipped the ring on to my finger I placed a hand on his cheek, looked him in the eyes, and met his lips with a kiss.
He pulled away and smiled at me.
I didn't waste any time. I pulled him to me and ended up in his arms the next morning.
When I awoke Don wasn't there beside me. I quickly sat up and looked around.
Nothing.
I got up and wrapped myself in the housecoat hanging on the back of the door. When I reached the kitchen I saw Don and Charlotte standing at the stove, a bowl set between them.
Suddenly she was jumping up and down.
"Bluenana pancakes!" I read her lips.
What in the world is a bluenana pancake?
I come up behind Don and hug him close.
"Good morning," I greet them, my lisp not as prominent this morning.
"Mommy!" Charlotte came bounding toward me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and smiled. "Daddy's making bluenana pancakes!"
I shook my head and bent down so she could see me. "Sweetie, you have to tell me what a bluenana pancake is."
"Um…" she stumbled. "You mix blueberries and bananas up in pancake mix and cook em in the pan and then you eat em!"
I nodded my head. The pancakes sounded absolutely delicious. I think she'd said something about them before, but if she did I don't remember.
"Okay," I signed. "Is Daddy being all nice and letting you help?"
She nodded yes.
My mother was right. With her big blue eyes and dark hair, Charlotte looked exactly like Don. If you sat them side by side, you wouldn't be able to tell that she was my daughter. She was picking up on sign language too. When she spoke to me she used her hands more than just speaking.
"I flipped the pancakes!" she signed, a mischievous look in her eyes.
"That's great honey," I signed back as Don shut off the stove and turned to me.
"I know something else we could flip…" he signed.
"Don!" I reprimanded. "Not in front of Charlotte…" I chuckled. "She can see what you're saying."
"What are you talking about? Can I talk too?" she came over to us and signed with us.
"I was just telling Mommy how much I love her," I read Don's lips. He kissed me just after to make a point.
"Eeww, Mommy and Daddy are making kissie face!" I saw her balk.
I giggled.
"Mommy, I love you too!" she came between Don and me and hugged me tightly. "I love you even more than bluenana pancakes!"
"Well it's nice to know I'm loved more than a breakfast food." I laughed to Don.
We sat down to breakfast together and ate quietly, Charlotte babbling on about what she thought we should do that day.
"Mommy?" she signed to me as Don cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink.
"Yes baby?" I answered.
She looked like she was really working hard on the question. Usually she just kept going; she was a very smart and inquisitive child. Angela actually had the memory of her daughter asking her Uncle Hawkes a few days before why he was brown and didn't look like her mommy or daddy. And Hawkes, knowing that at three and a half years old she meant no harm, sat down with her and told her that he was brown because his family had come from a different continent, Africa, and in Africa most people have darker skin than people in North America because the sun is much hotter and there isn't as much protection from trees and buildings.
"And because there aren't as many trees and buildings," Hawkes had continued, "people in Africa have darker skin to protect themselves from the sun. They don't get sunburned as easily."
Charlotte nodded. "Uncle Hawkes, did I hurt your feelings?"
"No honey," he answered. "Children ask me that all the time. Actually, Edward asked me just a few days before you did."
"I didn't know that."
"Now you do," Hawkes kissed his niece's cheek, "and aren't you glad you know now?"
"Uh huh."
"Okay," he set her back on her feet and got up from the table at which they were sitting. "You run along, and go find your Aunt Lindsay. She brought Paul to play with you today."
The little girl had gone off skipping down the hall.
Now, as they sat at the breakfast table, Angela awaited Charlotte's inquiry.
"Where does your last name come from?"
"My last name or Daddy's last name?"
"Your last name," she insisted. "And Daddy's."
"Well, my last name, before I married your daddy was Baker," I signed, speaking at the same time so she understood me. "And Baker comes from an Old English word meaning 'to dry by heat', like you see in the cookie section at the grocery store. The cooks putting big loaves of bread and sheets of cookies into the big ovens, or when you and I make cookies together at home."
"Oh…" she nodded. "What about Daddy's last name? I wanna know because my last name is like Daddy's."
"I know this one…" Don sat down with us, drying his hands on a dishtowel. Setting the towel down, I saw his hands moving so he could communicate with me as well as our daughter. "Our last name, Flack, is Dutch, and it means 'low ground'."
"So… that means that our family is low to the ground?" Charlotte asked. "Is all our family short?"
I saw him laugh. "No sweetie. I don't think low ground means anything anymore. It's just something people made up to make it sound neat."
"Oh okay," Charlotte got down off the chair and left the kitchen, running upstairs and shutting her door. Probably playing with her dolls again, practicing puppet shows that she would later show us when we were at work.
"Angela," Don turned to me when she was out of earshot. "I know I don't have much, and I can't offer you much of anything…"
"Oh Don, that's not true," I protested, kissing his cheek. "You gave me the world once, and now you're offering it to me again," I looked him in the eyes. "If all you could give Charlotte and I were plastic spoons and a chicken coup I'd be happy, as long as I was with you."
"I can only offer you my life, my love, and my last name."
I smiled, leaning in to kiss him again.
"That's all we need." I told him.