DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS AND KIERAN FLACK

A/N: BLUEHAVEN 4220, MAX'S CREATOR, HAS ASKED ME TO WRITE MAX OUT OF MOB. I AGREED AND UNDERSTAND HER WISHES AND I WILL INCLUDE A SMALL PART OF MAX IN A FUTURE CHAPTER, BUT THIS IS IT FOR HER AND DARIA ON A LARGE SCALE. WHILE I AGREED TO WRITE THE CHARACTER OUT, I HAVE DONE IT ON MY TERMS AS THE AUTHOR OF THIS STORY.

A New Day Has Come

"It was like falling deep in love
I heard the angels cry above
I felt a blessing straight from God
The day that you gave me a son
I called 'bout everyone I knew
Just think, I'll be a father 'cause of you
There's no greater love than what you gave
A brand new baby on the way
Oh such tears of joy, I've never known
I can't remember
It's like a song, I've never heard
I've never sung, but know the words."
-The Day You Gave Me A Son, Babyface

Flack checked his watch. The operation was taking longer than expected. A half an hour had passed from the time he'd changed back into his own clothes and took a seat in the crowded OR waiting room. The night before the doctor had told him that the procedure should only take a few minutes barring that everything went okay. And the longer the waiting stretched on, the more and more nervous and frightened he became. With each minute that ticked by, a small piece of his nerves disappeared with the time.

Something had to have gone wrong. It was the only reason that an operation that should only take a minuscule amount of time surpassed the thirty minute mark. He couldn't concentrate on a magazine and had no interest in the soap opera that was playing on the television in the far corner of the room. He didn't want to surf the web on his phone and he sure as hell didn't feel like delving into mindless chit chat with the strangers around him. Some people became talkative when they were nervous. Most of those seemed to be in that one room at the same time as Flack, who preferred to just be quiet and shake his legs uncontrollably and bite his nails.

The nail biting thing had just started recently. He'd never done it a day in his life, but living with someone who bit their own nails to the quick, nerves or no nerves, had been his downfall. Last week he'd caught himself chewing on his thumb nail while simply watching TV. Now he was addicted and couldn't break the habit no matter how hard he tried.

He was dying for a smoke. And a stiff drink. He would resist the latter, but it was taking all his will power not to run across the street and buy a pack of cigarettes and have a handful finished before he stepped back into the hospital. And he would have gone ahead and took off for the store had he not be certain that the minute he stepped out the door, someone would be looking for him to either tell him the operation was over and a success, or that things had royally fucked up.

He prayed it wasn't the latter. Because if it was bad news, there was no way he'd be able to stop himself from heading into a liquor store for a twenty sixer of rye and guzzling it down. Hell, he'd probably buy two or three and spend a week in a booze fuelled stupor. He was weak. Samantha and the baby were his two main weaknesses. They'd be the death of him, he was pretty sure of that. Especially when the kid was sixteen and dating girls and wanting a driver's license and a new car.

Thinking of the future made Flack smile to himself. All the things that he wanted to do with his son. Teach him how to skate and play hockey and how to ride a bike. See him off on his first day of school and than follow the school bus just to make sure his baby got there okay. Give him the talk about girls and the facts of life. See him graduate from high school and university. Watch him get married and have his own family. It seemed silly to think about things way in the future. But those dreams and wants were the only things keeping him sane at the moment.

He looked down at his watch again. Forty minutes had passed. He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

"Need your beauty sleep, huh?" A familiar voice said from in front of him.

Flack cracked open an eye in time to see Danny Messer, two cups of coffee in hand, dropping into the chair alongside of him.

"Here," Danny said, holding out one of the cups. "Wish I could tell ya that there was some Bailey's in there, but no such luck."

"Thanks," Flack sat up and took the beverage from his best friend. He took a sip. It was rich and steaming hot and tasted damn good. Better than that sludge he'd had earlier when meeting with Gerrard and Sinclair.

"You guys get into the OR late or something?" Danny asked. "I went up to Sam's room with a bag of stuff with you guys and the nurse told me you were still down here."

"We got in there on time. It's just taking longer than the few minutes the doctor said it would."

"Things never run smoothly when it comes to anything medical," Danny reasoned, sensing his best friend's nervousness and fright. Flack needed someone to be optimistic and it was up to Danny to be that someone. He knew Flack would do the same for him if the situations were reversed. "No one's come by and said anything?"

Flack shook his head.

"I'm sure everything's fine. Maybe there was a glitch with the equipment or something and it's taking longer to get down than they originally thought. Could be a number of things."

"I know. That's what scares me."

Danny had never heard his friend admit he was scared in all the years they'd known each other and hung out and worked together. Even after the bombing and he'd been released from the hospital and the pain and agony from the rehab seemed enough to nearly break him some days. Flack had never come right out and said he was afraid. He'd always been the strong, dependable one. But than, he'd also never had anyone but himself to worry about either.

"I'm sure it's all good," Danny said, and reached out to rub the detective's shoulder comfortingly.

Flack appreciated the simple words and that one touch and show of support more than he could ever tell Danny. And he probably would never tell him. Unless Danny was the one to bring that moment up somewhere down the road. Because Flack just didn't do that. Talk about his feelings and his worries. He was just too damn proud and tough for that. Stubborn. His father had long ago told him that real men didn't show their feelings or talk about them. And they certainly didn't cry.

He wondered what his old man would say if he knew about the breakdown his older son had had sitting on that cold wooden bench in the OR change room.

"Got everything you wanted," Danny told him. "Brought Sam some stuff too. Pyjamas, a pillow. That blanket from the back of the couch she's also curled up in when I come over. Toothbrush and personal crap like that. I know how anal she is about her teeth looking good."

Flack grinned. "Obsessive is more like it. But she says her mom and Sarge paid too much money to make them look like that to be letting her teeth fall out of her head."

"Gotta say though, going through Brooklyn's drawer with her pyjamas in it was kind of weird," Danny said.

"Why's that?"

"You could have warned me she had her pyjamas in with her underwear. There's something not right about shifting through your best friend's wife's panties and bras. Mind you, she does have some ones in there I wouldn't mind seeing on Erica. Those black lacy thong things with the little pink bows."

"What were you doing, Messer? Checking out each pair?"

"Stuff like that is hard to miss," Danny reasoned. "You're lucky man, Flack. Getting to see her in stuff like that."

"Please. When I get to her after work, she's in flannel bottoms and one of my shirts. She's long changed out of her sexy stuff. And I'm telling you right now Messer, if the next time we're in the change room at work I see you wearing my wife's underwear, you're a dead man."

"Better find a way to put back the frilly little pink pair I lifted," Danny said with a straight face, taking a swig of his coffee.

Flack laughed. "You are one sick, twisted bastard, Messer."

"Better to wear 'em than smell 'em or sleep with 'em or something," Danny reasoned. "And I bet ya lots of guys wear women's undergarments. You remember Bull Durham don't you? Susan Sarandon told Tim Robbins to wear his panties so he'd keep focused on his game."

"That was a movie," Flack reminded his friend.

"Hell, shit like that goes on in in real life too. Like that case you had with Stella and Hawkes. The tranny found dead in the toilet in the ladies restroom. I saw the pictures. He made a hell of a good looking woman."

Flack frowned and turned sideways in his chair to study his friend. "Are you hinting at something here Messer? Like maybe you get off on wearing women's clothes? You trying to find a way to tell me you got some secret life you've been keeping from me all this time?"

"Nothing wrong with the feel and look of lace or satin, Flack."

"You just did not say that."

"Get in touch with your feminine side," Danny suggested.

"My feminine side is still masculine enough to knock you out. You're lucky I know you're just joking or you'd be wearing that coffee. Sure, lace or satin feel great. When your girl is wearing it and rubbing up against you or you're peeling it off of her. You're a sick bastard, Danny."

"Just trying to get your mind off of things, Flack. And it worked. Didn't it?"

The detective thought about it and grinned. "Always a method to your madness, isn't there."

"The brain is always working. Even when it looks like it's on permanent hiatus. I got that little paper you asked me to get. I didn't read it or anything. But I gotta admit I'm a little curious."

"It's just something I've been meaning to show Sam. I thought it might cheer her up a bit. And there's another favour I need."

"You're full of 'em today," Danny said, as his friend stood up and pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

"This is the ATM card for mine and Sam's joint account," Flack told him, holding out the small plastic card. "I need you to go to Tiffany's and pick something up and pay for it for me. It's under my last name. It's just the wedding bands we picked out and needed sized. And grab me some cash. Machine in the lobby here is down. And don't faint when you see the balance."

"What? You that far into the red?" Danny asked, taking the bank card.

"Opposite," Flack replied, sitting back down. "We had a huge deposit just go in."

Danny arched an eyebrow. "How huge is huge? Couple g's?"

"More like two hundred plus," Flack told him quietly.

Danny's eyes widened. "You fucking serious? What the hell? You guys win the lottery or something? How'd you two come up with that kinda green?"

"It's Sam's. She was given some money. How and why isn't the issue right now. When all is said and done and she's out of there and feeling better, we'll tell you all about it."

He gave Danny the four digit pin number. Danny was the only person in the world that Flack would ever trust with that kind of information. His best friend was not the type to clean him out. Flack unfortunately couldn't say the same thing about his own family.

"This got anything to do with Zack's sister showing up here unexpectedly a while ago?" Danny asked.

Flack didn't have a chance to answer. A figure clad in green hospital scrubs and a surgical mask dangling around her neck and cap still on her head appeared in the doorway to the waiting area and scanned the room. He recognized her as the nurse who'd shown him to the operating room earlier.

She spotted him sitting there and smiled warmly. It did little to quell the nervousness taking his stomach hostage.

"Mr Flack?" she asked. "We're finished now. You can come with me to the recovery room."

"I'll go and run that errand for ya and come up to Sam's room when I get back," Danny told him. "You think she'll be okay with me being there?"

"She'll probably be pretty out of it, Dan-o," Flack said, standing up. "But yeah, she'd be okay with it. She knows you're here to support us. Not to be a pain in the ass. Thought you had to work tonight?"

"Called Mac," Danny told him, standing up as well. "Told him I wouldn't be in for a couple days. So that I'm around if you need me. He was all right with it. But I'll be working overtime and doubles and triples for a bit to make up for it."

Flack was touched by his friend's unselfish decision. And even more touched when Danny wrapped his arms around her and embraced him tightly and kissed his cheek.

"It's all good, Flack," he said. "Sam and the baby and all that. Congratulations. You're having yourself a son."

The detective held back tears but embraced his best friend in return. "Thanks," he said when he let Danny go.

"You'd do it for me," Danny said confidently. "Figured you can't be the only one doin' all the supporting around here. Now go, see your wife. Take care of her. That's your job."

"Only one that matters anyway," Flack said, and left the room.

"Things didn't go exactly the way we planned," the nurse told him, her voice quiet as she laid a hand on Flack's forearm and gently guided him out of the middle of the hallway.

Flack didn't like the sound of that. The knot in his stomach grew even bigger. "But it turned out okay, right?" he asked, desperation in his voice.

"The surgery itself went very well. And there was only some slight bleeding from the procedure. Nothing for us to be concerned about. We did an ultrasound afterwards and the baby is fine."

"But…" Flack pressed.

"Your wife's blood pressure dropped several times and she had an erratic heart rhythm. We called a cardiologist in and he preformed an echo-cardiogram."

He felt sick to his stomach. His hands trembled and his knees felt weak. "And?"

"Were you aware that your wife has a heart murmur?" the nurse asked.

Flack frowned. "A heart murmur? She's never mentioned to me about having a heart murmur. And I've never heard her GP or Doctor Lightheart say anything about it either."

"We checked her medical history and there's nothing in her files that suggest a pre-existing cardiac problem," the nurse told him. "Has she ever complained of feeling light headed or having heart palpitations?"

"I know sometimes when she bends over and gets back up quickly her heart flutters a little. And because of the vertigo she can't get up from lying down to fast or she gets really dizzy. But we just chalked all of that up to her sugar being a bit high or the build up of the fluid in her ears. You know, just stuff that came with her pregnancy. So is this a serious problem?"

"It's just your standard, run of the mill heart murmur," she re-assured him. "There was nothing on the test that showed anything abnormal. And it's quite common for women to develop a heart murmur during pregnancy. And Doctor Lightheart conferred with the anaesthesiologist who believes that a slight reaction to the gas may have caused the murmur to act up during the operation. We were also later coming to get you because she was quite difficult to wake up in recovery. Has she ever had a problem with anaesthetic before?"

"Not that I know of. She's never had an operation and what not since we've been together. I can ask her brother if she has, but I would have thought she'd tell me something like that before the operation was done."

"One would think that would be something she'd share," the nurse agreed.

"But she's okay, right? She's coming around and all that?"

"She's awake but she'll be groggy for a while until the anaesthetic fully wears off. And she'll be kept on IV pain medication for a couple of days."

"Do you know how long she'll be here?"

"You'd have to speak to her doctor. She'll be up to talk to the two of your first thing tomorrow. Everything went very well save for a couple little glitches, Mr Flack. She's stable and the baby is doing well."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "When you said thing didn't go as plan, I get a little worried there for a second. Really worried, actually. I've been expecting the worst so that I'd be ecstatic when good news came back. It's just the way I am. Weird, huh?"

"I've heard stranger," she teased him and rubbed his back. "You can rest easy now. The hardest part is over and now all that's left in front of you both is the healing. And a few months from now, that little baby will grace you with his presence and all of this will seem like a drop in the bucket compared to dirty diapers and sleepless nights."

He smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Let's get you down there to see your wife and the two of you sent back upstairs as soon as possible," the nurse said, a hand on his elbow as she gently steered him down the hall.

Samantha's eyes were closed. Her chest rising and falling with each steady breath she took. Oxygen tubes still placed in her nostrils, IV and pain medication lines leading from the inside of right forearm to the bags of clear liquid dangling from a hook beside her bed. The catheter had been replaced and an EKG machine monitored her vitals.

The nurse led the way to the side of the bed and leaned over the railing. She laid a hand her patient's thigh and shook lightly.

"Samantha?" she spoke loudly in an attempt to break through the anaesthetic induced fog. "Samantha…it's time to wake up, sweetie…I need you to wake up…"

Sam mumbled incoherently and shook her head.

"Time to wake up. You need to open your eyes now. I know it's hard, but it's the best for you. And you've got a visitor. A handsome, charming policeman has come to see you."

She moaned lightly and rolled her head to the side to face them. Her eyes flickered open slowly. Squinting in the bright lights of the recovery room. She was disoriented and confused. And frightened by her surroundings. And the machines and tubes she was hooked up to. She attempted to sit up, mumbling about having to get out of there, and the nurse gently grasped her by the shoulders and settled her back into the bed.

"You need to stay here, baby," Flack told her, reaching out to smooth her hair away from her face. "You're in the hospital. You just had an operation. Remember?"

She shook her head and reached for his hand. She was seeing triple and her movements and coordination off.

"I'm right here," he told her, grasping her hand and slipping down onto a stool the nurse brought for him.

"Donnie?" she asked groggily.

"Yeah…I'm here, baby. Everything's okay now. You did really good. The doctor said that the operation went well and you and Kieran are doing fine." At the mention of his son's name, he laid his other hand on her stomach.

"Baby?"

"The baby's fine," he assured her. "They did an ultrasound afterwards and he's fine. Now you just need to rest and heal and we can get out of here and go home and wait for him to arrive. Okay?"

She nodded. Her eyes drifted closed and than snapped open again. "Where am I?" she asked.

"You're in the hospital. You had an operation. You're just a little doped up right now. Just lie back and take it easy, okay? Pretty soon, once they make sure you're vitals are all right and you're not having problems from the gas, we'll be able to head back upstairs to your room."

"Thirsty," she said.

"You're thirsty?"

She nodded.

Flack waved the nurse over and put in the request for a drink. Within a minute he was holding a Styrofoam cup of ice water, the straw pressed to his soon to be wife's lips as she sipped slowly. No sooner did she swallow, she announced she was going to be sick and turned onto her side. Promptly vomiting into a small plastic container Flack had been quick enough to grab from the bedside table and hold under her mouth.

She started to cry. Both from discomfort from the operation and the embarrassment of throwing up. Flack didn't see the big deal. She'd been so sick from the pregnancy from day one that her puking was completely expected and acceptable.

"It's okay," his voice was soft and comforting as he stroked her back. "Just take it easy, Sam. It's just the anaesthetic screwing things up. You'll feel better soon."

The nurse came and took the dirty container from him and handed him two wet face cloths. One to place on the back of her neck, the other to clean her face. He smiled in appreciation and patiently and lovingly attended to his ill fiancée.

"In about half an hour we'll be sending her back upstairs," the nurse told Flack. "Her vitals are stable and that will give her some time to get over the nausea."

"This is normal, right?" he asked, gently holding the face cloth to Sam's neck. "Throwing up like this after an operation?"

"A lot of people feel ill from the gas," she assured him. "It will pass soon. Keep giving her small sips of water. That way we avoid dehydration."

Flack sighed. He'd never had a clue that so many things could do wrong when a woman was pregnant. He'd never given much thought to anything other than the morning sickness and weight gain and the eventual birth. Seeing Sam suffer and experience one bad thing after another had really opened his eyes. What Gerrard had said earlier was entirely true. Carrying a baby and delivering it were acts of pure unselfishness.

And as he sat there, watching over Samantha and doing his best to provide care and comfort, he had never loved her more. Or had felt so much pride and respect.

It was never a positive sign when you were called into Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair's office at One Police Plaza. It was rare that anyone saw him or spoke to him even on the phone, so when her duty captain approached her desk less than an hour again and announced the Big Man wanted to see her, four sharp, and be there, Max knew she was in for a hell of an end to her already crappy afternoon.

The news that Samantha Ross had been rushed to the hospital and was undergoing an operation to save her unborn child that very afternoon had hit Max unexpectedly hard. She couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for the stress that Flack's future wife had been facing lately. Somewhat. Because it wasn't entirely her fault that she was causing issues in his relationship. If it was that unstable to begin with, they had no business even attempting to be together and it was best they cut their losses now than find out they weren't meant to be three kids and a mortgage later. Samantha was loose cannon. She was unpredictable and most of all, unhinged. And if she couldn't accept Flack being close to another child other than her own, than she had some serious growing up to do.

It wasn't that she hated Sam Ross. She was sure that if they had met under different circumstances, they would have been able to form a friendship. But she was so hooked on having Carmen as her best friend and so jealous of anything Flack did when he was away from her, that Sam couldn't even function or think straight. If she was away from Flack and their apparently unhealthy relationship, Max had no doubt that Sam was a very likeable, fun person. Some people just weren't meant to be together, and despite the declarations of love and a baby on the way, she was pretty sure that Sam and Flack wouldn't last a year once those rings were on their fingers.

But right now, sitting across from the Chief of Detective as he sat behind his desk while Gerrard perched himself on the nearby window ledge, Max had bigger things on her mind. And by the stern, angry looks on the two men's faces, those things weren't good.

"There's a very, very serious issue that has been brought to my attention," Sinclair finally said, tapping his finger on a file in front of her. "This is a complaint, filed against you, by one of your colleagues."

Max blinked. That was unexpected. "Was it Samantha Ross?" she asked.

"No," Gerrard answered. "But you're in the right vicinity."

"I don't understand," she said. "I haven't done anything to warrant a complaint being filed against me."

"Sexual harassment is something the NYPD has zero tolerance for, detective," Sinclair told her. "I deal with many a complaint and I end it before it gets any further than this office. But I have to tell you, that it's usually the female officers filing, not the men."

"Sir, I honestly don't…"

"The night that Detective Flack requested you be removed from a stakeout" Sinclair said. "Does that ring any bells, Detective Maxwell?"

"We know exactly what happened that night," Gerrard spoke up. "Flack told us this afternoon. He requested a new partner. And when a request like that is made, Chief Sinclair and I have to get to the bottom of why. Flack was very reluctant to tell us what happened. And we understand why he made an excuse that night. He needed to protect himself and his personal life. And he was doing you a favour by sparing the embarrassment that would have come if news of said incident got out among the other detectives."

"I don't understand why Flack would do this," Max said, shaking her head. She was stunned. And worried.

"He had every right to tell us," Sinclair told her. "Like I said, sexual harassment is a big deal within the department. It creates a negative work environment. And it's a legal liability. You realize Detective Flack has every right to sue the department if we don't nip this in the bud? He wouldn't, but he could. And that's a problem for me, Detective. I can't risk him suing the NYPD. And I can't risk him being nervous and on edge because he's working in a negative work environment."

"So this is all about Flack than?" Max snapped. "No one else's feelings get considered?"

"Let me make something very clear to you, detective," Sinclair's voice rose. "I don't care about your feelings at this point in time. You made a sexual advance on a colleague. On the clock, nonetheless. Not only is that unacceptable, it's a blatant show of disrespect to Flack, his pregnant wife and this department. He's uncomfortable and distracted working with you. And I can't afford to have a detective of his calibre distracted on his watch. Don Flack is one of the few shining stars of the NYPD. His career is flourishing and he's an asset to not only the department, but to the city. And I can not, and will not, tolerate someone like you, tarnishing someone like him."

"So what happens now? I'm suspended a few days? Without pay? That's fine because…"

"You're being demoted," Sinclair interrupted her. "You're being stripped of your detective status and will be back in a uniform on Monday. For the time being, you'll be on desk duty out of the five-three in the Bronx. When you show that you're capable of being out on patrol by means of a department physical, you'll be placed in a cruiser. You'll also have to wait a year from this date before even thinking about being placed on the promotion grid to become detective again."

Tears welled in her eyes, but Max remained strong. She wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing her break down. "Is that really necessary?"

Sinclair gave a small laugh. "You're just lucky you still have a job," he said. "And that Inspector Gerrard talked me out of firing you and making sure you spent the rest of your life writing parking tickets. Now get out of my office."

Max rose to her feet on shaky legs. "Sir, if I may just say one thing in my defense…"

Sinclair sighed and didn't look up from the folder now open in front of him, a pen poised over paper. "Make it quick," he said. "I've already wasted valuable time having to deal with this."

"It was a simple mistake," Max told him. "I was caught up in moment and…"

Sinclair looked up. Unimpressed. "You don't get caught up in these moments while you're on the City's clock. And you should refrain yourself from getting into these moments, as you call them, in the first place. Any other detective would have gone around and made you the laughing stock of the precinct. You never would have been able to work there again out of sheer embarrassment. Yet Flack, being the bigger person, kept it to himself. You should be thanking him for not ruining you completely."

"And Flack is just the perfect human being?" Max snorted. "He's never done anything wrong in his entire career?"

"He's never sexually harassed a co-worker," Sinclair told him. "He's never even had a complaint filed against him by a fellow officer. Detective Flack has had his share of problems. Both professionally and personally. But he's climbing the NYPD ladder and does not need someone like you holding him back."

"So really what you're saying is that you're using me and what happened between Flack and I as a way to accelerate the NYPD's golden boy's climb to the top. So that nothing negative puts a damper on all the plans you and his legend of a father have for him."

"Don Flack Jr and Sr are both better servants of this city and its citizens than you could ever hope to be," Sinclair told her. "Flack, Jr, will in no doubt one day run this department. And you'll be working for him. Still toiling away in a cruiser or behind a desk. It's the difference between a promising career, and one that stalled before it even got off the ground. I don't think you're understanding the severity of what you did. And I have neither the time, nor the patience to go through it again with you."

Sinclair turned his attention to the papers in front of him. It was a dismissal. One he'd given many a time. And it was tame compared to past ways he'd kicked others out of his office.

Max simply nodded and headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the knob to look back at the Chief of Detectives. "I'm sorry, sir, that you've made this a bigger deal than what it is."

"And I'm sorry as well," Sinclair said. "That you couldn't put past relationships or lack there of behind you for the sake of your career. But that's something maybe you can explain to your daughter when she's old enough to ask how you made such a mess out of your professional life. Now your seriously testing my patience. Please leave. Before I get angry. And I don't think you want that."

"It's just a shame that the Flacks seem to run the department already," Max commented wryly.

"And it's shame you couldn't see the importance of your career over a chance at getting laid. So you lost on two accounts. He turned you down and you lost a job. You're batting two for two. Go. You better hope and pray I don't see you back in my office ever again."

"I'll be seeing a department lawyer," Max told the Chief, shaking in silent fury.

"By all means," Sinclair responded. "I have my own already on speed dial. Don't make threats. You've got the wrong person for that. You're playing with the big boys here. And we have big rules."

She knew she was done. There was no other argument up her sleeve that would change Sinclair's decision. So she did the only thing that was left to salvage her pride.

She walked out of that office with her head held high.

Flack slept. He wasn't sure how long for. But when he woke up a gentle nudging on his arm, the sun was just beginning to set outside the window. Somewhere between getting Sam upstairs to her room and settled in with her own pillow and blanket and making sure she was comfortable before sitting down himself, and now opening his eyes to the shimmering orange of the departing sun's rays, he had put his head down on the edge of the bed and still holding his future wife's hand, had fallen asleep.

He raised his head slightly and glanced, through sleep filled eyes, at Sam as she slept soundly. The colour was starting to return to her cheeks and there was a slight smile on her lips. She was comfortable and pain free. For the time being at least.

He yawned and looked over his shoulder and up at the source of the nudging and shaking on his arm.

And came face to face with Sarge and Sam's mom. He was a little shocked to say the least, and briefly wondered if he was still sleeping and in the midst of some bizarre dream they were guest starring in. He knew that Adam had called his parents, but there'd be no mention of them coming to New York City.

"Hello, Don," Lynne greeted him with that soft voice and a warm smile.

It took him a moment to shake the cobwebs from his brain. He pushed the chair away from the bed and stood up. Before he could even get a word out of his mouth, his soon to be mother in law was embracing him warmly.

"Don," Sarge said simply, offering a hand.

"Clint," he responded, shaking the older man's hand. "I didn't know that you guys were coming down. Adam never mentioned it."

"It was a last minute decision," Lynne told him, observing her daughter. "We figured that we needed to be here. We wanted to be there. I hope that's okay. We didn't want to seem as if we were stepping on your toes."

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" Flack asked. "You're her parents. I just was surprised. I thought I was dreaming for a minute."

"Hell of a nightmare," Sarge chuckled lightly.

Flack managed a smile.

"How is she?" Lynne asked, moving to the side of the bed. She tenderly brushed hair from her daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her pale, smooth forehead.

"Let her sleep, Edith," Sarge scolded his wife lightly.

Flack looked at his future father in law, eyebrow raised, questioning the name.

"Edith is her real name," the older man explained. "She despises it and she's been using her middle name forever. I'm the only one she lets call her Edith."

"The things we don't do for love," she said with a smile and stroked her daughter's face.

"She needs her rest. Quit pawing her and just sit down and let her sleep," Sarge told his wife. "She's just been through an operation and it won't do her any good if you're waking her up."

Lynne settled down into the chair Flack had vacated. "How did everything go?" she asked.

"The operation itself went nice and smooth," Flack told her. "They sewed up the cervix and than did an ultrasound to make sure that the baby was okay. His heart beat was strong and there was a lot of movement so everything is good on that front."

"His?" Sarge asked.

Flack ignored the question for now. "Sam ever have a heart murmur when she was younger?" he asked, directing the inquiry to her mother. 'Cause apparently when she was under she had an abnormal heart ryhtym and they did an echo and found out she has one now."

Lynne nodded in recollection. "She had one when she was a baby. Doctor's attributed it to her being premature and it went away after a couple of years. But everything went fine?"

"She was a little sick afterwards from the gas," Flack replied. "Kept vomiting for about an hour so they kept her in recovery a little longer to make sure she was okay. She's been sleeping since we got back. They have her on some pretty heavy duty pain meds so she might be out for a while."

"I need to go and have myself a coffe," Sarge said with a sigh. "We were able to catch an American Airlines flight here. But it was packed and now I have a monstrous head ache. Not to mention we didn't sleep very well after we got that call from Adam."

Join the club, Flack thought wearily and rubbed at his eyes.

"Looks like you could use some coffee too," Sarge commented. "The stronger the better."

Flack nodded in agreement.

"Why don't you and I go grab a cup?" the older man suggested. "Her mom's here now so she isn't alone if she wakes up. You can't stay couped up in this room twenty four hours a day. And my daughter will understand if you step out for a little while."

Flack hated to leave her bedside. But he knew that Sarge wasn't right. That it wasn't healthy to lock himself up in that room. That he still needed sleep and something to eat and the occasional fill of fresh air and sunlight. And a shower. He desperately needed one of those. That was his next plan. To use the shower in the bathroom that came with a private room.

"Gives us a chance to talk anyway," Sarge said, as Flack grabbed his wallet from the top drawer on the bedside table.

Flack frowned. "About?"

"My daughter and my grandchild. Don't worry, son. I am not here to bust your balls about anything."

Somehow Flack doubted that, but he slipped his wallet into the back pocket of his pants and picked up the ultrasound picture sitting on the table.

They went and grabbed two coffees and a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria. Flack didn't realize how hungry he actually was until they were in amongst all the other dinners and the smells that were coming from the back kitchen. So they sat, talking about little more than the weather in their respective cities and the events going on around the troubled, sad world they lived in.

Afterwards they went outside for some air. Flack found himself sitting on the exact same bench where he'd earlier had his conversation with Sam about Ray Seeley and the Wilder Gang. And her referring to Mac as sexy. That still boggled his mind. And brought a grin to his face.

"Adam was telling me what a great job you've been doing," Sarge said. "Taking care of my daughter."

Flack didn't know how to respond. He had been expecting a blow out about the fight that had sent Sam scrambling to Adam's in the first place. He had all but been certain that Adam would share that information with the man that so badly wanted to chop his future son in law's balls off. Instead of facing the wrath of the former military man, Flack now found himself with nothing to say.

"I underestimated you," Sarge continued. "I was sceptical of your true feelings for Samantha. As far as I'm concerned, things still happened at too quick of a pace and the two of you barely know each other and I wish that the two of you had have slowed down a bit, smelled the roses some more before delving into marriage and a baby."

"And you're entitled to feel that way," Flack said, sipping his coffee.

"It's not a personal thing, son. It's really not. It's more my desire to protect my daughter. She's been through sheer hell in the past and I was worried about her getting involved with someone, especially a cop, so quickly."

"I understand that, but.."

"I do like you, Don Flack. You're a stand up guy and you work hard and do a dangerous, dangerous job. And you love my daughter. I can see it in your eyes. And the way Adam has been talking about how well you've been looking after her, I know that she's found someone that will protect her and take care of her no matter what. And I know she loves you. Any time she'll tell off her step-daddy must mean it's something serious."

Flack laughed lightly.

"I just hope the two of you know what you've gotten yourselves into. Getting married and having a family are two things that should not be taken lately. I hope five years from now I'm not supporting my daughter through a divorce and moving her and my grandkid into my house."

"Never gonna happen," flack said. "This is the real deal. Sam and I are the real deal. This is a long term, permanent thing. It's what we both want. Your daughter is who I want. For the rest of my life. And that's never going to change."

Sarge nodded, considering the younger man's words. Finally he grinned broadly. "Well good luck to you, son," he chuckled. "She ain't the easiest lady to live with. But than hell, none of them are."

"She can be quite, what's the word…" Flack thought for a minute. "Complicated…difficult.."

"You're being nice about it to spare her feelings and mine," Sarge laughed. "Be honest, son. I had her during those late teenage years. I already know she's a first class bitch."

Flack chuckled. "That's one way of putting it," he said.

Sarge pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his coat pocket. He shook out a smoke and held the open pack out to his future son in law.

Flack hesitated. It could be a test of how strong his will was. He already knew Sam had mentioned to her folks that he'd quit smoking for his health and the sake of their child.

"Don't think about it and just take it," Sarge said. "I've quit about five times in the past few months alone. I'm not going to tell my daughter if that's what you're worried about. You have my back, I'll have yours. I told my wife I'm only having a few smokes a day. It's more four times that."

"You're secret is safe with me," Flack assured him, and helped himself to a smoke.

"It's amazing what we do for love, isn't it?" Sarge asked, lighting the younger man's cigarette.

"First time I've ever really devoted myself to someone," Flack admitted. "Until Sam, I wasn't known for being in long term, monogamous relationships. When I met her, everything changed. I changed. For the better I like to think. I was never with a woman that I'd ever give up drinking and smoking for and spending less time working so I can be with her."

Sarge smiled. "It's those eyes, isn't it."

"With a few other things tossed in for good measure."

"You said upstairs his heartbeat when you were talking about the baby. Is this something you know for a fact? That it's a boy or a girl?"

Flack nodded. "The tech confirmed during the 4D ultrasound this morning that it's a boy. No doubt about it."

He picked up the picture that he'd set down beside him on the bench and held it out to the older man. "We got this picture. It's pretty neat. You can see all the dark hair he has and make out most of his facial features."

Sarge took the picture and studied it. Clearly making out on eye and a tiny ear and nose. And for the first time in a long time, his iron will began to crumble and emotion clogged his throat and tears threatened as he realized he was staring down at a picture of his first grandchild. A grandson at that. He'd been silently asking for a grandson. Someone he could take fishing and camping and to football games. Teach him how work with his hands and make an honest living and how to treat a woman right. Although the latter he was sure the child's father could pass along just by watching the way his father loved and respected his mother.

"His name's Kieran," Flack said, pointing the name written on the bottom of the picture. "Kieran Shaun Donald Flack."

"Strong name," Sarge said with a nod. "Does Kieran have some special meaning?"

"Sam found it in an Irish baby names book. She wanted an Irish name because we're both pretty proud to have Irish blood in us. Kieran means small and black or dark haired."

"Fitting."

"Sam thought so. Although I did have to talk her out of the whole Donald Flack the Third thing. That would have been just plain torture if you ask me."

Sarge gave a small laugh. He traced a fingertip over his unborn grandson's features.

"I'm going to be a grandpa," he said, his voice cracking.

Flack didn't say anything. He simply reached out and laid a hand on the older man's shoulder.

No more words were spoken. Instead, the two men sat silently side by side, lost in their own thoughts as the sun set on the horizon.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!! You are all very much appreciated!