This name is the cross that I bear

"I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does."
-How soon is now, The Smiths

Thanks to Mauveine for once again finding an amazing song!

He pulled up in front of that modest, well maintained grey brick home in Queens and killed the ignition. Sat behind the wheel and looked out the window and at the house he'd grown up in. It hadn't changed much in the twelve years since he'd moved out. In fact, it hadn't really changed at all since he was a child. Except for maybe the new windows and roof and the fresh coat of paint that had been added over the years. His mother still worked her ass of to keep the place respectable inside and out. His father did little more than cut the grass and take out the trash. If that. Usually some neighbourhood kid came over and helped out for a few extra bucks. No matter how hard his mother tried to keep the place looking nice day in and day out, year after year, the fact remained there was nothing she could to to make up for the disaster of a life she'd been living for thirty years. A clean house was one thing. A messy conscience and a tattered heart was another.

It was always his mother that kept things together. Not just the house. With her loveless, painful excuse of a marriage and the two sons she still remained devoted to despite the fact they may have been living across the globe they spent so little time or effort to see one another. She'd always been completely devoted to her two boys. From the time they were babies in diapers to teenagers getting their drivers licenses and graduating from high school, mom was a constant presence. She was the mother and the father nearly ninety eight percent of the time. She took them on school trips and out on the weekends when they were too young to be hanging out with friends. She got them to soccer and football matches, baseball at the park and basketball at the Y. Seven a.m. hockey practices in the dead of winter. It was always her. She stretched herself as much as humanely possible, trying desperately to make up for the lack of a father in their lives.

A piss poor father at that. He was only around long enough to come home from a day out drinking and beat the crap out of his wife and kids. He had a penchant for taking off for days at a time, not even telling his family where he was going. Those were the best days of Flack Jr's childhood. When his old man was gone. He was relaxed and at ease and could concentrate at school. And the three of them -himself, his mother and younger brother Chris- laughed easier and had fun together and sleep better at night. Flack would pray everytime that his father took off that he would never come back. That they'd never hear from him again. But the old man always came straggling home in a worse mood than when he left and the beats would start all over again. It was amazing they even had a place to live in all those years to call their own. Considering the old man had a habit of spending all his pay on booze and his other woman and the kids he'd fathered with her and his gambling before he put food on the table or paid the bills.

And then there were the times the bookies came around looking for their money his dad had blown gambling. Big burly guys that didn't care if it was just a woman and two kids home and terrorizing them and instilling the fear of God into them. And the lack of concern or compassion his old man had shown after each middle of the night visit, while he was off at work or with his mistress or drowning himself in booze somewhere, was what had bothered Flack the most. His father simply hadn't cared. He acted like something like that was the most natural thing in the world and that his wife and his kids were overreacting. Only thing his old man cared about was the job. How many arrests he could get under his belt or heads he could bust and how quickly he could climb the ranks no matter whose toes he stepped on.

The man was a legend. No doubt about it. He had a lot of brilliant and hardcore, dangerous busts under his belt. He'd shattered records on his number of arrests and how quickly he made lieutenant. But while he was the department's golden boy, all his buddies looked the other way and kept silent on what Donald Flack Sr was like once that badge and gun came off. They ignored the bruises and fat lips and black eyes they say on his wife and kids and the rumors of his drinking and gambling issues and the complaints his mother had filed over years about the abuse. The department protected their own and there was no way they were going to let anything tarnish the reputation of Flack Sr. So it all got swept under the carpet and the family continued to live in their own personal hell.

It had been expected of Flack to follow in his father's footsteps. It was drilled into him every day from the time he was old enough to remember. He wasn't named Jr for nothing. Anything less than a career in the NYPD would not be accepted. Hell, he probably would have been disowned had he not become a cop. It was his destiny as far as every one was concerned. Once he got that name planted on him his fate was sealed. And no matter what he did or how much he protested and tried so hard to escape it, that name hounded him every day of his life for the last thirty years. He lived under a dark cloud of expectation. He was expected to either surpass his father or fail miserably while trying. Nothing in between allowed. And that cloud was getting increasingly harder and harder to deal with. Because no matter how big the best or how clean the arrest or the fact that he made detective in record time, nothing was ever good enough. Not for brass, not for his colleagues. Not for his old man. Not even for himself.

It was getting damn tiring just trying to keep up and managing to hold his head above the water. Outside appearances sake, Flack was outgoing and confident, sometimes bordering on cocky and arrogant. Inside he was wounded and sullen and just plain tired. A little boy struggling to make his father proud and failing miserably at it. He knew it shouldn't bother him at his age. That he should be able to just shrug it off and let it fall off his shoulders no problem. Truth of it was, it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Tears stung his eyes. He felt ashamed and weak for letting himself get like that. He never got like that. Especially over his father. But the argument with Clint the night before and hearing the things that he had said about Sam and about their unborn child had frayed his last nerve. Maybe coming to terms with the realization he was going to be a father, that there was a whole new life that would be totally dependant on him, was starting to sink in and his emotions were beginning to feel the after effect. Or maybe because he was scared shitless of being a father because he didn't have one to model himself after. And he was worried that he would be an absolute failure and he'd let Sam and their baby down in the end. That he would be just like his old man. And he couldn't live with himself if that ever happened.

His cell phone, resting on the passenger's seat rang noisily, startling him out of the daze he'd put himself in and he reached for it with one hand and rubbed at his blurry, burning eyes with the other.

He pressed talk without checking the call display, cleared his throat noisily. "Yeah...this is Flack." he answered.

"Hey." that cheerful, childlike voice greeted. "I just thought I'd call and see where you are 'cause I woke up and you'd all ready left."

"I just got here. Like five minutes ago."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sam asked. "Say goodbye?"

"I just figured you'd know where I was. You knew I was coming here. And you said you weren't feeling good this afternoon so I thought I'd just let you sleep. How are you feeling now?"

"I still have a killer headache but I called the pharmacy down the street and they said to go ahead to take a tylenol. That one or two was okay every now and then."

"Even with all your medication?" Flack didn't know if he liked that idea.

"That's what they said. You can phone them and ask yourself if you want."

"I believe you. I trust you. Just...just be careful. That's all I ask."

"It's just a Tylenol."

"I know. But you never know what's okay to take and what's gonna cause massive problems."

"True." she agreed. "If it would make you feel better, I won't take it. I'll just suffer."

"Don't to that." he said.

"What? Do what?"

"Make me sound like the bad guy."

"That's not what I was doing." she protested "I just know that you worry about me and that if it makes you feel better I won't take anything."

He sighed. "Look, I don't want you suffering or anything. If it's that bad, take the Tylenol."

"I'll be fine."

"Samantha..."

"Maybe if I take a bath or lie in the dark with a face cloth on my head it'll feel better." she suggested.

"Samantha..."

"Or have some of that crappy tea Carmen bought me. It's gross, but..."

"Samantha!" he snapped. Then quieted his voice. "Take the Tylenol. If the pharmacist said it's okay, then take it. Okay? Take it."

"Okay..." she warily. "I just wanted to call and say hi and make sure you're okay. I know how stressed you were over going there and I just wanted to check on you. I'm sorry if I caught you at a bad time."

"What? No. You didn't..."

"I might not be here when you get home."

"What? Where are you going to be?"

"I was thinking about going to stay at my brother's over night."

"Why? Because I snapped at you 'cause I'm freaked out a bit? I didn't mean anything by it." Damn pregnancy hormones, he thought. Always seemed no matter what he said, she found a way to be hurt by it.

"Just you might not be in the mood to have company around and..."

"You are not company. You are going to be my wife. You're having my kid. And I didn't mean to snap at you. I don't want you going to Adam's. I want you there with me. I want you to be there when I get back. Just..." he sighed heavily. "Please. Don't go. Please."

"Well could you do me a favor?"'

"Anything."

"Can you bring me home some oreo cookies and some chocolate milk?" she asked hopefully.

"I can do that. Make sure you eat something. I made you some pasta with sauce. Its in the fridge."

"Well aren't you just domesticated." she giggled.

He smiled. "I love you." he said.

"I love you, too. You're going to be fine, Donnie. I'm sorry I'm not there."

"It was my idea, remember? You don't need the stress. And believe me, this is going to be stressful."

"I'm sorry." she said again.

"Don't be. No reason to be. I should go. Before my mom starts freaking out that I'm not coming. I shouldn't be too late."

"Okay...if you need to, just call me. Okay?"

"Okay" he agreed. "I'll see you soon."

"Yep. Bye."

"Bye." he said and hung up. Sighing heavily and looked back at the house.

It was now or never.

Donald Flack Sr was the same height as his son but at least thirty to forty pounds lighter. In his hay day with the NYPD he'd been built like a tank and had been a force to be reckoned with. The years hadn't been kind to him. He'd lost all that muscle and power and his once vibrant blue eyes were dull and lifeless. Hard living and bad choices would do that to you. The only thing that hadn't changed was that he was still as miserable and condescending as ever. Maybe even worse. Which is why, when Flack let himself into his parents place through the unlocked screen door and found his father sitting on the bottom step of the stairs in the front hall, reading the paper and nursing a scotch on the rocks, he wasn't surprised that the first words from the old man were not cheerful ones.

"How come you're alone?" Sr. asked, barely glancing up from his paper. "What? She dump you all ready? Can't say I'm surprised. You never could keep a relationship."

Flack decided his best course of action was to ignore that. "Good to see you, too, dad." he said. "Where's mom?"

"How come your alone?"

"She's not feeling well."

"Problems still from that attack she suffered when you screwed up that crime scene on the upper west side?"

The old man had spies far and wide in the NYPD. He found out things before Flack ever got the chance to tell him. Not that he made it a regular thing to talk to his father. About anything. The last time he'd seen his dad was the last time he'd been at the house. Close to ten months ago when he'd stopped by to see his niece and nephew on Boxing Day. The last time they'd spoken was months ago when Flack made the papers for chasing the spies in a yellow cab. Needless to say, his father was not impressed.

"She's all recuperated from that." Flack said. "Where's mom?"

"Kitchen." Sr folded the paper and sipped his drink. "She'll be upset you didn't bring the girl."

"She'll understand.Thought Chris was suppose to be here."

His younger brother Chris was three years his junior and also worked for the city in sanitation. He was married to his high school sweetheart, Allison, and had two kids, Nick, 6 and Lucie, 4.

"Couldn't make it. Nick's got the measles. Wanna drink?"

"I'm fine. Thanks though."

He wanted one badly, but he'd promised Sam he'd cut down. She had commented on the number of open bottles of booze in the cupboard and the empties waiting to be taken back to the beer store and it made him realize he was on the borderline of a nasty drinking problem. It had gotten less and less when Sam had come along. The loneliness and despair had abated and it gave him less excuse to want to drink. But the job...the job made him want to tie one on every night sometimes.

Sr was eyeing his son from head to toe, the glass of scotch just touching his lips. "You're gettin' damn big, Donnie." he commented, sipping his drink. "What ya now? Two hundred?"

"Two fifteen. Pushing two twenty."

"What ya doin' to get so big? Steroids?"

He snorted. "Yep. You figured it out dad. I'm doing drugs."

Sr frowned at the sarcasm that dripped from his son's lips.

"I'm eating right and working out." Flack told him. "Playin' basketball and hockey. I'm in better shape now than when I graduated from the academy."

"Still playin' hockey, huh? Now there's something you coulda been damn good at. All that talent and skill you had. Scouts from the big universities looking at you, offering ya scholarships. And you go and piss your life away by joining the department."

"Thought being a cop was the better choice for me." Flack told him. In reality, the real reason was that he didn't have the grades or the incentive to go through four or five more years of schooling.

Sr snorted and downed the rest of his scotch. "Ya coulda been something, Donnie. Made a real name for yourself. You were damn good. Phenomenal even. The size and the skill." he shook his head. "Coulda been in the NHL raking in millions a year instead of what, a lousy eighty five a grand a year?"

"A hundren and ten, plus over time and then taxes taken off." Flack informed him.

"Not bad." Sr said with a nod. "For a guy with just a grade twelve. Guess you ain't looking a gift horse in the mouth, huh?"

"It pays the bills." Flack said simply.

"What's that girl of yours make in the crime lab?"

"Somewhere around seventy five thousand. She's been a second grade for a while so she's probably closer to eighty, eighty two. Plus overtime."

"You mean you don't know? You've never asked?"

"No. 'Cause I don't care. Doesn't matter to me what she makes. What she does with her money is her business."

Sr chuckled lightly. "You are a goddamn fool, son. If I was you, I'd be setting down some ground rules with the girl. Or she'll be keeping all hers and sucking you dry. Trust me."

"Well you're not me, dad. And I'm not you."

"No." Sr said. "You're not."

Thank God, Flack thought, though the way his father was looking at him with that look of sheer disappointment in his eyes told him his father and him were on different sides of the coin with who had let who down in the span of thirty years.

There was a period of uncomfortable silence between father and son. If there wasn't work to be talked about, then they didn't speak at all. All Sr cared about even now was the job, and Flack could just tell the old man was itching to get on him about something. Thankfully, his mother can swooping down the hall in time to save the day.

Patricia Flack was tall and slender. She'd come from a large Italian family and never stopped going to church every Sunday. At fifty-five she still had her girlish figure and her shoulder length shimmering dark hair. Her face wasn't marred by wrinkles or lines and she resembled a woman years younger. Which surprised Flack considering the hell she'd been put through over the last thirty years. Thirty five if you counted the high school sweetheart years. He wondered why in the hell she'd put up with that crap for so long. An attractive woman like his mom could find a nice guy who would treat her well. Not the pitiful excuse for a man she called her husband.

"Hi, sweetie!" she greeted her oldest (and favorite) son with a tight hug and a kiss on both cheeks. "It's been too long."

"It has." Flack agreed. He wouldn't have minded seeing his mother more, but she rarely managed to make it out of the house without the old man tagging along. And the old man was the reason Flack didn't visit as often as he probably should have. And his mother knew it, too.

"How have you been?" she asked, holding her son out at arm's length. "You look good. Well rested. You've been taking good care of yourself?"

"For the most part." Flack replied.

"You didn't bring your new girlfriend? I was so looking forward to meeting her."

"She probably got tired of him and dumped him." Sr commented.

Both Flack and his mother ignored him.

"She hasn't been feeling very well lately." Flack said. "She needed to stay in and get some rest. Which leads me to the reason why we were coming here in the first place. Other than so you could meet her."

"Well come into the kitchen and we'll eat and you can tell us all about it. I made lasagna. I'll have to pack some up for you to take home. Your girlfriend like lasagna? What's her name again, sweetie? Susan, Stephanie..."

"Samantha." he said.

"Samantha. I've always liked that name. So cute. Reminds me of that show Bewitched. You can take some food home for her. She likes Italian food."

"At this point in time, mom, she'd eat just about anything." Flack said.

Patricia arched an eyebrow. "Something tells me you've got a really big secret inside of you, Donnie."

"Tell you what, mom. Feed me and I'll tell you."

She smiled and linked her arm through his. "Sounds like a plan." she said.

His mother had always been an amazing cook. From the time he was a kid, he could remember the magic she could whip up in the kitchen. And it hadn't changed. Her lasagna was pure heaven and as usual, she'd made enough to feed a small army. All through dinner he was bombarded with questions about work and how Mac was running things over at the lab, hiring all these women. Sr was old school. He didn't think a woman had a place in the NYPD unless it was fetching coffee or typing up reports and answering phones. He cringed at the thought of a woman out in the field and steadfastly believe there was no woman on earth that could do the job the same way a man could. Flack begged to differ. Sam, Carmen and Stella were more than capable of holding their own and often did the job better than most men.

Now, as they sat at the table with the dishes cleared away, sipping white wine and relaxing and the old man had given up his tirade against Mac's hiring practices and the weaker sex bringing shame to the force, Flack decided it was now or never to bring up why he was there in the first place.

"I have something to tell you guys." he said.

"You're gay." Sr piped up. "That's what it is right? You're coming here to tell us there is no girlfriend. You're actually gay. You and that Messer kid are fags aren't ya."

"Donald!" Patricia gasped.

"What?" Flack couldn't believe his ears. "No. We're not. He's my friend and a colleague. That's it. Jesus, dad. Are you kidding me?"

"Just a wild guess. I was wondering seeing as your thirty and you've never had a real steady relationship let alone come close to gettin' married or havin' kids."

"Well that's what I have to tell you guys." Flack sipped his wine. Liquid courage. "You see, I'm kinda...well..."

"Spit it out, boy." Sr snapped.

"Leave him alone, Donald. Can't you see he's nervous!" Patricia turned to her son and smiled gently and reached out and laid her hand over his. "Go ahead, sweetie. I'm all ears. At least tell me this is good news."

"It is. At least we think it is."

"We?"

"Samantha and I."

"Are you trying to say that..."

"Samantha's pregnant." he spit out.

Silence around the table. Hours seemed to tick by before there was any reaction from either of his parents. It was less than a minute but felt like a lifetime.

"Come again." Sr said.

"Are you serious?" Patricia asked, tears welling in her eyes and a hand over her heart. "You're not joking around with me are you, Donnie?"

"No, mom. I'm not. Samantha's pregnant. Three and a half months actually. We just found out in the middle of the week."

"Oh, sweetie." she gushed and jumped up from her chair and rushed over to embrace him. "That's wonderful news. I'm so happy for the two of you. You must be so excited."

"I am. We are."

"When is she due?"

"Late February, early March."

"That's wonderful. I am so happy for you, Donnie." she kissed both his cheeks and held his face in her hands. "My first born is going to be a father. Congratulations. This is amazing news. How as she been feeling?"

"Awful, actually. She's been really sick. We were actually at the hospital last night. She had some cramping and some bleeding so I took her to get checked."

"But everything is okay?" Patricia returned to her seat.

"She's fine. The baby's fine. They're both fine."

"Thank God. Its always scary when things like that happen. I guess it's too early for them to tell what it is."

"They said at her twenty week scan we could find out. We're debating whether we want to."

"This is so exciting. You're going to have to bring this girl over here if she's having my grandchild."

"I will. When she's feeling a bit better I will. I promise. Or you would always just show up at the lab or ask her to go out to lunch with you or something. She'd like that."

"I'll have to do that. I really am happy for you, sweetie. Are you happy? With this news? With her? When you talk about her your face just lights up. You seem happy."

"I am." Flack said with a broad smile. "For once I actually am."

"So you're telling me that you went and knocked up some broad you barely know?" Sr asked, his eyes blazing. "What? Following in Gavin Moran's footsteps are ya? Didn't he do the same thing? Get some random girl pregnant?"

"Dad, what Gavin did is his business." Flack said, feeling his temper building. "And this is different. Samantha and I are in a committed relationship. We're moving in together. Actually, we're getting married."

"Jesus H Christ." Sr muttered.

Patricia nearly dropped her wine glass. "A grand baby and a daughter in law all at once?"

Flack nodded. "We're getting married Christmas Eve. Just a small thing. A JP is going to do it for us."

"Whatever you want, sweetie." Patricia said, dabbing at her tears with a napkin. "Whatever way you want to do it I will support you You know that."

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Sr asked, vehemence and scorn in his voice. "You're tossing away your life! You're career! Knocking up some girl you just meet! Marrying her 'cause you did knock her up!"

"That's not why we're getting married. We're getting married because we love each other and we want to be together."

"Right at the prime of your career! Just when you're starting to make a name for yourself! You go and do this!"

"Dad," Flack fought to control himself. "I'll still have my career."

"Only gonna bring you down, son. A wife and a kid. Don't do what I did. Marry some broad cause you knocked her up. That's what went down with me and your mother. She ended up getting pregnant with you and that was the end of my life as I knew it."

"Why don't you just tell me how you really feel dad. Tell me. Here I am. Sitting right in front of you. Tell me how I've been a constant disappointment and an embarrassment. Tell me. Get it all out on the table."

"Donnie..." Patricia laid a hand on his arm to calm him.

"It's okay, mom. If he's a man, he'd tell me."

"Don't do it, son." Sr said. "Don't ruin your career. If she's only three months, she can still get rid of it."

"What the fuck did you just say!" Flack snapped. He was out of his chair and would have killed his own father if his mother hadn't gotten in the way. "You did not just say we should get rid of it!"

"Abortion is a cheaper alternative than paying out your ass for the rest of your life." Sr reasoned, on his feet as well.

"There is no way in hell that we are getting rid of this baby! You got that dad! My career! You're worried about my career! Bullshit! You're worried that me getting her pregnant before we're married will embarrass you within the department! Well you know what! Fuck the department! And fuck you!"

"Get outta my house!" Sr bellowed. "Come in here and disrespect me!"

"Disrespect you! You've disrespected mom and me and Chris for thirty fucking years! You're disrespecting me right now! Me and my wife and my kid! You think that makes you a man! Makes you the miserable fucking bastard you are!"

"Get the fuck out of my house you ungrateful little fucker!" Sr yelled. "Everything I've done for you! I gave you my name! Made you who you are!"

"No, dad. I made myself who I am. And you may not think that that's much, but I can sleep well at night knowing I'm at least a half decent human being. You...I don't even know what you are."

"Donnie, please. Calm down." Patricia begged.

"Get out of my house." Sr fumed.

"Fine. You want me gone, dad? That's fine. Don't think you're ever gonna come anywhere near your grand kid."

"I won't want to with you as the father. Now get out and never come back. I wish that that day almost two years ago..."

"What dad? You wish I died? Say it. Its what you wanted. You wanted me to die that day, didn't you. Well, guess what. I didn't."

"Your dead to me now." Sr said.

Flack just nodded. Turned to his mother. There were tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, mom." he said gently and brushed her tears away and hugged her. "I'm really sorry. If you want to see your grand kid, you're gonna have to do it without him."

"Just call me. Please, Donnie. So I know how she's doing and when she has the baby. Promise me you'll do that."

"I will. I really am sorry mom."

She touched his face softly. "I love you." she said.

"I love you, too, mom. You need anything, just call me okay?"

She nodded. "Take care of her and the baby." she called to him as he left the room.

"I will." he paused in the doorway. "Goodbye, dad. Hope this was worth it."

"Just get out of my house." Sr said. "And out of my life."

Nothing more needed to be said.

When he got home an hour later, a bag containing oreo cookies and a litre of chocolate milk in his hand, all the lights were off save for the small florescent light in the kitchen above the sink. He could hear music playing down the hall in the bedroom, and after putting the the cookies and the milk away, he turned off his cell phone and tossed it on top of the fridge and locked every thing and headed down the hall.

Sam was already in bed, lying on her side, reading What to Expect When You're Expecting by the light of the bedside lamp while listening to the radio.

"Hey," she said, flipping her book closed when she saw him in the doorway. "You're home early. I wasn't expecting you until later."

"I needed to come home." Flack said, and went to the bed and bent down to kiss her softly.

"I don't like the way you said that. How'd it do?"

"Don't ask." he said with a sigh and went around to the opposite side of the bed and climbed in beside her, clothes and all. Cuddling close to her, her back against his chest, her ass in his pelvis. He kissed the back of her head.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No. I don't." he replied and put his arm around her.

She took his hand and guided it to her stomach. "Baby wants to say hi to daddy." she said playfully.

He smiled. And felt hot tears trickle down his face.

She felt the tears on her shoulder. "Don, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just...just let me have my little breakdown and I'll be fine."

"Okay." she said skeptically and held his hand tightly on her stomach as he cried into her hair.

She wasn't sure how long they lay there for, not saying a word, but eventually he stopped crying and wiped his eyes with the back of his other hand and moved as close to her as possible.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"I am now. Just let me hold you and the baby. Show me the part we're at now. What does it say?"

She reluctantly flipped the book back open. "Well, by the third month it says that the baby weighs one ounces, can swallow, squint, swim, move its tongue, suck its thumb and it begins to urinate. It has salivary glands and taste buds and the depending on sex, develops primitive sperm or eggs."

"What about the fourth month?" he asked. "We're almost there."

She flipped the pages. "By the fourth month, hair has begun to grow on the head, the baby is eight to ten inches long and weighs half a pound or more."

"Kid's gonna have tons of dark hair when he's born. A whole head full."

"And blue eyes." Sam said with a smile and closing the book, sat it on the night stand. She turned out the light and rolled onto her other side, so they were face to face, their noses touching, arms around each other.

"Tell me you love me." he whispered.

"I love you." she said and kissed him softly.

"Tell me I'm a good man and I'll be a good husband and a good father."

She snuggled even closer to him. "You're an amazing man and you'll be a great husband and a fantastic father." she told him.

He smiled and kissed her softly.

"And I'll never loose faith in you." she added.

"Promise me you'll never leave me, Samantha."

"I promise." she said.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her close.

And prayed to God she could keep that promise.

Thanks to all of you reading and reviewing. Good news! My lap top arrived today!! Now all I have to do is get it up and running!!

Today I am plugging:

Aphina: Devine Intervention and Finding Kate (over in Miami land)

laplandgurl: Magnet for Trouble

Madison Bellows: Positive

A/N: I know the amount of money Flack and Sam make seem outrageous, but it is true! Check the NYPD website for pay rates and you'll see it. Big thanks to Mauveine for doing the research for me!