DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS (SOON TO BE FLACK) AND BABY KIERAN

Getting a Grip

"I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore
Before you take a swing
I wonder what are we fighting for
When I say out loud
I want to get out of this
I wonder is there anything
I'm going to miss
I wonder how it's going to be
When you don't know me
How's it going to be
When you're sure I'm not there
How's it going to be
When there's no one there to talk to
Between you and me
Cause I don't care
How's it going to be, How's it going to be."
-How's it going to be, Third Eye Blind

Mathew Stobbard was over six feet tall and powerful looking. Broad shoulders and a thick neck and arms that bulged around the short sleeves of his prison coveralls. Despite being closely escorted by three armed guards and being restrained the same way Dean Truby had been, he still carried himself with a profound air of cockiness and indifference. Samantha was struck by his incredible resemblance to actor Daniel Craig. A brief, startling thought of how she could see why Carmen had married the man so long ago crossed Sam's mind. And she scolded herself for being so damn immature at an important time. She was still relatively shaken from the encounter with Truby, and her thoughts were all over the place. She knew she had to get it together and quick.

Just be a quick observation of body language and demeanour, Sam hastily scrawled notes on the yellow legal pad in front of her. She'd seen Mathew's type before. Cool, calm, collected. They would try and be charming and smooth, doling out a line of crap about being rehabilitated and how remorseful they were for what they had done. Some repeat offender giving them lessons on what to say and how to act in order to be granted parole.

She'd been handed that shit many times over. And she wrote as much on the paper and slid it sideways for Flack to read.

He's not sorry for a damn thing.

As he was led into the small conference room that adjoined the warden's office, he briefly glanced down at the two detectives already seated at the round wooden table. The female -short and modern brown hair and golden eyes and visibly pregnant- looked frightened and out of place. The guy- tall and big with cold, steely blue eyes- was all confidence and kiss my ass attitude. And despite the years that had passed and the physical changes that had taken place, Mathew knew exactly who he was.

Two of the guards led him to the table. Keeping their hands on his biceps as the third officer selected a key from a massive ring of the items that dangled from his utility belt. He unlocked one of the prisoner's wrists, attaching the handcuff to the arm of the chair bolted to the floor before the other guards none to gently, with their hands now on Mathew's shoulders, shoved him down into the seat.

The jail guards moved to the back of the room. Leaning against the wall with their arms crossed over their chests. Keeping a close eye on the prisoner that was now engaged in an intense stare down with the two cops.

"Mathew Stobbard?" Flack asked.

"As if you don't already know that," the prisoner snorted.

"This is Detective Ross from the Crime Lab," Flack continued, gesturing to Sam. "And I'm Detective…"

"I know who you are. You're the cop that nearly broke my back taking me down the night I was kicking the crap out of my wife."

Flack nodded in recognition of that night years ago. "Where I come from, we call incidents like that attempted murder."

Mathew smirked and turned his cold eyes towards Samantha. "So what are you doing in an evil, soul crushing place like this sweet thing?"

She offered up a bright smile despite the fact her legs were shaking uncontrollably under the table. Flack shifted in his chair beside her, so that his knee rested against hers. A small, discreet attempt at calming and comforting her.

"I'm here to talk to you, Mathew," she said, in a confident, even tone. "About what happened eight years ago."

"Seven and a half," he corrected her with a smug smile.

"You're being considered for parole," Sam continued, opening up Mathew's inmate file that rested on the table in front of her. The warden had given it to her prior to entering the room. "In fact, you're hearing is two weeks away. And it's up to me to keep you in here, and up to you to convince me otherwise. So, go ahead. Convince me."

"What is it you want to know?"

"Tell me you how much you've changed in the years you've been in," Sam told him. "Tell me what makes you a different man from what you were when you tried to kill your ex-wife."

"My wife," Mathew informed her.

"Hmmm…" Sam flipped through the papers in front of her. "My mistake. I would have sworn I read somewhere in here that you and Carmen Devine were divorced shortly after the incident. It looked like a legal document filed in the courts to me."

Flack couldn't help but hide a smirk at the sight of the agitated look that crossed Mathew's face. Or at the sweet, innocent and somewhat naïve girl next door persona Samantha was putting on. She had many, many different sides to her. Flack had come to know, and somewhat love, each and every one of them. And she knew just what attitude she wanted to pull out of the proverbial hat to get what she wanted, and needed, out of someone.

"We were divorced," Mathew confirmed. "Three months after I did what I did, she got a lawyer and she filed."

"Did you contest it?" Sam asked.

"Why bother? She wanted nothing to do with me. I had nothing to give her being locked up in here. How you suppose to take care of your own behind four walls and steel bars? You think working in the mess hall or in the laundry earns you enough of a pay cheque to send home to help pay for bills?"

"What?" Flack asked. "Cigarette smuggling and pimping yourself out and making license plates don't pay at least minimum wage?"

Sam coughed to disguise to the laugh that threatened to erupt from her.

Mathew chuckled dryly and stared daggers across the table at the detective. "This is between me and the girl. So you just sit there and be her bodyguard and me and her will chat. Alright?"

Flack held his hands up in mock surrender and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and a smirk on his face, eyes permanently fixed on the piece of garbage in front of him.

"You married?" Mathew asked Sam.

"Why?" she countered. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Just asking. Merely curious. If you are, what would you think about your man being locked up in here for nearly a decade? You gonna stick around while he's in there? You gonna be waiting with arms wide open when he comes walking out those gates? Hell no, you would do the same damn thing she did to me. Find some other poor, desperate bastard to fuck."

"Hey," Flack said. "Watch your mouth."

"Not that you're not real cute and all that," Mathew told Sam. "But after seven years in Sing-Sing, he's.." Mathew smiled and nodded in Flack's direction. "..more my type."

"Sorry, Mat," Flack said. "I'm into brunettes and the intelligent, nerdy Science geek type."

"You're loss, big man," the prisoner said with a shrug. "So back to you darling," he said to Sam. "You married?"

"Tell me how you feel about your ex-wife now, Mathew," Sam ignored the question.

"Why don't you tell me what you want to hear? I know you're just aching for me to go on some tirade about what a dirty, filthy bitch she is for abandoning my ass when I got locked up. Say how bad I wished I'd finished the job off. Rid the world of her nasty self. You're just jonesin' to hear something like that, aren't you."

"I want to hear the truth from you," Sam told him. "Starting with how you feel about Carmen."

"I'm not going to fall for some bullshit so you can trick me into saying crap that will keep me in here longer."

"Look, Mathew," Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I have sat across the table from many cons. Okay? And I know when someone is shitting me. So regardless of what comes out of your mouth, I'm going to know you're lying. So if you are going to sit here and tell me how you're still madly and desperately in love with and feel bad for what you did to her and want a second chance, I'll be able to tell like that," she snapped her fingers together. "If you're fucking with me. And I don't take kindly to being fucked with by the likes of you. So you're best chance of getting out of here my friend is to look me in the eye and make sure you are telling me the honest to God truth. Understand me?"

Flack cleared his throat noisily. Trying his best to fight off the proud grin that was trying to sneak across his face. What he wouldn't have given to just wrap her in his arms and kiss her and say, 'That's my girl'.

"What you want to know, darlin'?" Mathew asked. "Since you're running the show and pretty boy here is just sitting around, looking good."

"Your ex-wife is the reason you're in here," Sam said. "She's the sole reason you ended up sitting in here for almost eight years. That's a tough road to hoe, Mathew. If it wasn't for her managing to get away that night, you probably would have been long gone out of the city with your Tanglewood buddies protecting your every move. I mean, you boys are pretty damn crafty. I bet you Sonny Sassone would have orchestrated a hell of a show. He would have made sure the NYPD never found you. We all know how resourceful and smart he is."

"How you know Sonny?" Mathew asked.

"A long time ago, I was somewhat affiliated with the Pelham Bay guys. I ran into Sonny a few times. And from what I can remember, he was a hell of a leader. Ran a tight ship. No body fucked with his crew. So when Carmen survived that night and Sonny and his boys couldn't help you get away, that really must have pissed you off. And Sonny."

Mathew sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "You know what? It did piss me off. 'Cause that punk ass rat bastard deserved what he got for all the frontin' he was doing. Fake tat. A forgazi. Tanglewood doesn't put up with shit like that. He had it coming and it was justice served if you asked me."

"This is the incident that led to the beating you put on your ex wife?" Sam asked, referring to the papers in front of her.

"Some bitch kid thinking he was all big and bad," Mathew told her. "The real Tanglewood taught him a lesson."

"Says here that the reason you and Carmen got into it was because she refused to help you destroy the clothes you were wearing at the time the Tanglewood boys attacked this kid."

"That's right," Mathew told her. "She's my wife. Wives do shit for their husbands. They don't threaten to turn them into the cops. They stand by their men a hundred percent. No matter what."

"Marriage vows don't mention having to destroy evidence or cover up a crime," Sam commented dryly.

"She was going to turn me in!" Mathew argued. "She was going to call the cops! On her own husband! I wasn't going to put with that shit! I did what I had to do! I stopped her. And I wanted to stop her from good until that fuck head Messer showed up."

"Danny Messer?" Sam asked.

"Yeah…Louie Messer's kid brother. Works for you people now. Go figure he'd turn out to be a fucking pig."

"How'd you feel when Carmen told you she wasn't going to help you?" Sam asked.

"How you think I felt? I was fucking pissed. My own wife! Betraying me! Turning her back on her husband. The man she supposedly loved! What is that shit? Huh?" Mathew's voice rose in anger. "You think that's right to just fuck someone over like that?"

"So you decided to teach her a lesson?" inquired Sam.

"I needed to show her who the fucking boss was!" he spat. "All women need to be shown that once in a while! They need to be kept in line and treated like the bitches they are. Chain them up and beat them like dogs. 'Cause that's what they are! She deserved what she got!"

"But you wanted to do more, didn't you," Sam stated. Calmly egging him on.

"I wanted that fucking bitch dead!" Mathew raged, leaping up from his seat. Yanking at the handcuffs securely attaching him to the chair.

Flack was on his feet as well, one hand instinctively going for his gun, the other reached down to grab a hold of Sam's arm in an attempt to get her the hell out of the there. The guards descending on Mathew, fighting to get him back down into the chair.

She shook off Flack's hand and stood up and leaned forward to challenge Mathew, her palms flat on the table top. ""And you want her dead now, too, don't you Mathew!" she yelled back. "You are just waiting to get out of here and finish off the job. Am I right?"

"You're damn right! And you go back and tell her I said that! You tell her to be looking over her fucking shoulder! 'Cause I get out of here, and I'll be paying her a nice visit."

Sam smiled victoriously and flipped her folder closed and gathered up her things. "You won't be getting out of here, Mathew. You just sealed your own fate."

He blinked. Realizing he'd been tricked. "You fucking bitch!" he raged, struggling to get away from the guards who'd unhooked him from the chair, re-shackled him, and were now dragging him to the door. "I hope I get to see you one day when I get out! You're the next dirty little whore on my list!"

"Get in line!" Sam yelled back, as the guards finally managed to get Mathew out of the room. He screamed and ranted and raved, his obscenity laced tirade continuing as he was escorted back to the main wing of the prison.

The door clicked closed. Leaving Sam and Flack alone in now silent room.

"That was a fucking three ring circus," Flack commented.

"That was tame," Sam told him. "I've seen a lot worse."

"Ever been in a lot worse?" he asked,

"No. And I don't know if I ever want to be. It's why I didn't focus on profiling to begin with. I don't like the way I feel coming out of these things."

"And how's that?" Flack inquired, a hand on the small of her back as he led her to the door.

"Vindictive. Sneaky. Deceitful."

"Just your job, Sammie. It's not who you are outside of the job."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But that's such a thin line. The job and real life. And sometimes…sometimes I'm afraid I'm crossing it. Sometimes I don't like who I am. Does that make sense?"

"Sure," he said with a nod, as they stepped out into the hallway where the original group of guards and the warden waited to escort them out. "I've felt it a couple of times in my career. But you know what? You're nowhere near the line. You're still firmly on the good side."

"And if I ever do step over it?"

He grinned, laid a hand on the back of her neck and couldn't resist drawing her into him to press a kiss to the side of her head.

"I'll bring you back from the dark side," he vowed with a chuckle.

Mac stood in the doorway to the small, cozy office, watching as she sat behind the desk, her elbow on the desk top and the side of her head resting in her upturned palm as she wrote feverishly on the report in front of her.

It had been two hours since Sam and Flack had returned from Sing-Sing. Mac had been out of his office when they got back. On a homicide call in Harlem. A rival group of kids fighting it out for time on a basketball court had resulted in a sixteen year old kid pulling a knife and fatally stabbing a fourteen year old. The criminals were getting younger and younger and even more ruthless and calculated these days it seemed. Parents couldn't send their children to school or to the park anymore without worrying about whether their kids would come back in the door at the end of the day.

Cases like that disturbed Mac. Because he couldn't help but question what was wrong with the state of the world when children were carrying weapons and inflicting damage, and in extreme cases, death on each other. He questioned the availability of the parents. There was obviously lack of care and attention when you failed to recognize your flesh and blood was on the verge of self destruction and had the ability to inflict torment on someone else.

He wondered where Mathew Stobbard had gone wrong. What had gone wrong in his young life to make him seek out the likes of Sonny Sassone as a teenager? He'd taken a glimpse into Mathew's background and nothing suggested he lived in a home where there was any form of abuse present. A phone call to his mother had told Mac that up until the age of fifteen, Mathew had been an all around, all star athlete and hung around with a decent crowd. He'd never gotten remarkable grades, but his jovial personality and his good looks had made him popular with everyone around him.

And than one day his mother said that all changed. He began hanging out with an entirely different crowd. A small group of young men that called themselves new school mafia. He started smoking and got onto the bottle. He had several citations for under age drinking and public intoxication. An assault charge that was later dropped when the victim refused to testify. He quit school and spent his time hanging with his 'crew' as he called them. He became mean and controlling and violent. And petty crimes quickly escalated into more vicious, callous ones.

The DA had dropped the ball allowing Stobbard to cop to a lesser plea. It didn't take an Einstein to realize that Stobbard had been out to kill his young wife that night. It was a great miscarriage of justice when someone as brutal as that was able to get away with nothing more than merely a slap on the wrist.

Mac was bound and determined that he was going to see to it that Stobbard stayed right where he was until the end of his sentence.

He knocked on the open door,

She lifted her head and glanced towards the door. Golden eyes widening as she quickly at up in her chair and began frantically organizing the papers and folders in front of her.

"Hey, Mac," she said, embarrassed. "I was just working on this Mathew stuff. I guess I kind of just let my mind wander off a little too much and I got distracted from the job at hand. I'm sorry, I…"

"It's okay," he assured her. Holding up two take out beverage cups as golden eyes looked over at him. A small smile curving her lips. "May I come in?" he asked.

"It's your lab, Mac," she reminded him.

"But it's your office," he said. "Your personal space."

"Of course you can come in," she told him, tidying up her desk. "I warn you though, I'm not in the greatest mood right now. I'm not a social butterfly at the moment."

"Not feeling well?" he asked, as he set a cup of steaming decaf tea, lots of milk, down in front of her before taking a seat in the chair in front of her desk.

"This is the longest nine months of my life, Mac," she replied with a sigh. "I didn't think it would drag on like this. Or give me this many problems. I just get past the scare and the operation and now I have heartburn that won't go away and some serious insomnia. I swear, I have so many Tums at home I may as well have stock in the company. I'm just tired and uncomfortable and I still have forever to go it seems."

Mac just smiled. Claire had never gone through a pregnancy -at least not while she was married to him- and he had never, in all his career, had to deal with an expecting employee. It was all new to him. A learning experience to say the least.

"But you're not here to listening to me bitch and moan," Sam said, sipping her tea. "So I will spare you and leave it for poor Don when we get home."

"Have you ever thought of leaving work early?" Mac asked curiously. "Taking advantage of the department's sick leave policy?"

She stared at her boss had if he'd grown a second head.

Mac chuckled and held a hand up in defence. "I know. That's a sticky, dangerous subject to approach with you. I know that you don't want to go off of work until it's absolutely necessary. But to be honest, Flack's worried about you. He thinks you're working too much. You're not sleeping properly or eating right and you're still pulling in forty, sometimes close to fifty, hours a week. He approached me and said he feels that's too many."

She snorted and leaned back in her chair, a hand resting on her baby bump. "Leave it to Don to go into over protective, possessive jerk mode."

"Actually, I have to admit that I agree with him," Mac told her.

"Boy," Sam said. "I bet you never thought you'd see the day where you would ever admit to agreeing with Don Flack about something."

Mac smiled lightly. "He has a valid point, Samantha. You've already had complications with the pregnancy. He doesn't want anything happening to you or the baby. None of us do. And I know that you love to work and feel like part of the team. A piece of the bigger picture. But there comes a time when you have to put the job second and the well being of yourself, and your child, at the top of your priority list."

"My child and I are fine, Mac. And I'd really appreciate it if everyone just backed off and minded their own business."

His eyebrows arched at the harsh tone to her voice.

Sam blushed slightly when she realized what had come out of her mouth. And how it had come out. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm majorly hormonal today. The baby is just sucking all of my brains out and making me say stupid shit…I mean crap…sorry Mac…"

"It's okay," he said with a light laugh. "This is all new to me too, Samantha. I've never had a pregnant employee. So, let's talk about this another way. You tell me what I can do to make things easier on you."

"You've already done enough," she said. "You accommodated me. Made a position just for me and set me up in an office and you give me stuff to keep me busy and off my feet for most of the day. There's nothing more you can do. And you know I appreciate everything you've done for me, Mac. For us."

He nodded. "I was thinking of alternating your hours. Strictly part time. No more than twenty five a week."

"Well seeing as I know there's no sense in arguing with you, I'll just say that's fine and suck it up and pretend I'm happy with it."

"It's for the best," he told her. "For you and the baby. There will be less stress. Less stress means less of a chance of things going wrong."

"That's fine," Samantha said, although her tone made it clear it was anything but fine. She leaned forward in her chair and pulled the pad of paper closer to her. "I made some notes on my meeting with Mathew. I was just working on getting an assessment and report typed it. I should have it done in a few hours."

"You can finish it tomorrow," Mac told her. "Why don't you take the rest of the day?"

"No," she said. He'd hit a nerve with his suggestion. On top of cutting her down to part time and listening to Flack's incessant, aggravating bitching about how worried he was about her and the baby, now he was telling her to cut out of work early despite all of the tasks she still had to do. That was the final straw. "I don't want to go home early, Mac," she said. "I want to stay here and get this done. I did you a favour by going there today. No one seemed to particularly worried about sending a pregnant woman into Sing-Sing."

"That's not true," Mac told her calmly. "Flack was dead set against you going at first."

"Why am I not surprised? He's practically dead set against me going to the bathroom and wiping my ass on my own."

"He was worried. He expressed his concerns and he listened to why I needed you there and than I accommodated his fears by getting in touch with the warden and assuring you were in a safe area of the prison. He has a right to be worried about you. You're his wife nearly and that is his child."

"Well he worries too much," Sam declared. "It's suffocating me! He needs to just relax and take it easy and give me the chance to handle myself."

"Handle yourself?" Mac asked incredulously. "You're six and a half months pregnant with his child! In a maximum security prison and you want him to give you a chance to handle yourself! Against cold blooded murderers and rapists and child molesters? People that would love to prey on someone in your condition! And you want him to relax and take it easy?"

"I don't need him suffocating me! I would have been fine."

"Fine? In your condition? Even if you weren't pregnant. Fine against someone like Mathew Stobbard? Against someone like Dean Truby?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "He told you about that?"

"Flack didn't tell me anything. I haven't seen him since the two of you left. The warden called me and told me my people had had a run in with an inmate. Imagine my shock when I found out who it was."

"Dean Truby wouldn't have even bothered with me had Don not been there," Sam argued. "I wouldn't have known Truby if I tripped over him. And he had no idea who I even was. If Don hadn't have come with me…"

"Someone else would have gone with you in his place," Mac told her. "Either myself or Danny. You weren't going there alone. You were a woman in a prison. Do the math."

"He directed those comments at me because he knew I was with Don. And I'm not just talking in a business way. And he brought up stuff to Don that didn't even affect me. The drugs from the raid and that whole log book bullshit…"

"The stolen drugs and the murder of Kym Tanaka and Flack handing over that memo book are all on Truby's head. Flack did the right thing. Don't put the blame on him. Especially about something that happened long before you were ever part of his life. What happened regarding Flack's handling of the Dean Truby incident and any other case prior to him meeting you is none of your business."

"You're right, Mac, it's not," Sam fumed, tossing her pen onto her desk. "It's not my business what he did or what went on in this department before I arrived here. But it's my business when a shit head like Dean Truby makes personal comments about my husband and my unborn child. And I wasn't blaming him for anything. In fact, when he told me months ago what had happened with Truby, I told him I was behind any decision he made a hundred percent. And I am. Because I'm probably the only person in here that wouldn't fuck him over at a price."

"We're a team here, Samantha," Mac argued back, trying to keep some shred of composure as he stood up and made his way to the door. "No one is going to fuck anyone over. And I resent that you would even suggest that any one on my team would do something like that."

"I never meant to…"

"Take the rest of the day!" he bellowed, stepping out into the hall and slamming the door behind him.

It was quarter after five when Flack found himself making his way through Sullivan's. He'd stopped becoming a regular face there when he'd made the conscious decision to give up booze. It hadn't been an easy decision and there had been many a time since he'd made that choice, and now, when he'd wanted to fall back on nothing but a bottle of Jack Daniels or some pints of Guinness. He'd almost cracked a few times. Especially when Sam was sick in the hospital and the worry of the operation and the health of both her and their son loomed on the horizon. But he had made a promise to her and his child and especially himself that he was going to clean himself up before his love affair with the bottle became an addiction.

Now if only he had enough will power left to give up smoking. Because a pack and a half a day habit was nothing to brag about. Sam nagged him incessantly about it. How it made his clothes and his breath smell. He found himself brushing his teeth damn near a dozen times a day and carrying around gum or Listerine Pocket Packs so she wouldn't bitch and moan that kissing him was like licking an ashtray. His only saving grace from her wrath was the fact he didn't smoke around her. He did it out on the balcony or outside when she was nowhere in sight. He went for too many cigarette breaks at work and had been called up about it by the duty captain more than once.

But shit, he needed a vice, a crutch to keep him afloat some days.

And this was one of those days. The unexpected and nasty run in with Truby and Mathew Stobbard's ignorance had done a number on him. And those bottles of liqour on the glass shelves behind the bar were all but calling his name. He did his best to block them out and continued walking towards that lone figure at the very end of the bar, nursing a scotch on the rocks.

"Hey, Flack!" Frankie, the long time bartender called out to the young detective as he passed by. "Long time no see!"

"Frankie," he greeted, swerving off his intended path to step up the bar. "Been a while. How's things? How's business?"

"Booming as usual. Want a pint of the good stuff? JD on the rocks?" Frankie all but had the bottle of whiskey and a glass of ice in his hands.

"Nah," Flack said with a shake of his head. "Just a black coffee is fine for me."

Frankie arched an eyebrow but said nothing as he snagged a mug from under the bar and went to a coffee machine at the end of the counter. "You on the wagon?" he asked when he returned, setting the steaming beverage on the bar.

"Trying my best," Flack replied.

"How's the girl doing?" the bartender asked, helping himself to a handful of beer nuts in plastic bowl sitting on the bar. "Last time I saw Messer he was telling me that she's getting closer and feeling it."

"She's nearly seven months," Flack replied, sipping his coffee. "Not too much longer now. Mind you, she wishes she could go right now."

"And you?" Frankie asked.

"I'm starting to wish that kid was born yesterday," Flack chuckled. "The wife's uncomfortable and isn't sleeping properly and has got constant heartburn. She's miserable. And her being miserable, makes me miserable."

"You know what they say about having that constant heartburn?" Frankie asked.

Flack shook his head. "What's that?"

"Kid's gonna have tons of hair. When my Julie was pregnant, all three times, she suffered sun up and sun down for the entire nine months with horrid indigestion. And guess what?"

"What?" Flack asked.

"Every damn one of them kids was born with a head full of thick, curly red hair," Frankie popped a handful of nuts into his mouth. "No word of a lie."

"Guess they all made up for their dad's lack of hair," Flack chided.

"You're a goddamn wise ass," the bartender complained. His green eyes twinkling in amusement. "Get the hell out of here before I jump the bar and lay a beating on your pretty face."

"Like to see ya try," Flack teased the older man as he picked up his mug and journeyed towards the end of the bar. "Your best days are long behind you."

"Screw you, Flack!" Frankie called after him. Than added: "I'll keep a pot on for ya!"

"Thanks!" the detective returned. He took a sip of the steaming brew and than sat the mug on the bar and clapped a hand on the shoulder of Mr Single Malt on the Rocks.

"Cryin' in your booze, huh?" he asked.

"Fuck you, Flack," Speed said miserably. "I didn't ask you here to listen to your smart mouth."

"Fair enough," he said as he loosened his tie before dropping onto the stool. "So why did you ask me here? To a bar? At…." he checked his watch. "…twenty two minutes after five. In the afternoon."

"You always said when I needed a friend, I could count on you," Speed said.

"And you can. And I'm here. So what's up? Why are you in here three sheets to the wind instead of out there fighting to get your woman back?"

"I've been trying," the CSI lamented. "I've been calling her cell and the apartment all afternoon. She's screening the calls big time."

"Well, how about going over there and doing things face to face? 'Cause Sam went home early and when I called to check up on her, Carmen was an hour ago. So I know that your girl is sitting at home right now, drowning her sorrows in a cheap ass bottle of red wine despite an already nasty hangover. So instead of calling, get some balls and go over there."

Speed shook his head and knocked back some of his drink. "Not that easy, Flack," he said.

"Tell me what is so goddamn hard about it. You love her, she loves you. That seems pretty fucking simple to me. You go over there, you tell her what a selfish bitch she's being and that regardless of what she says and thinks, you are man enough to take care of herself and you."

"Would you take that advice if it was Sam?" Speed asked.

"I wouldn't have let it get this far if it was Sam. I wouldn't have let her leave that apartment. I would have kept her there by force if I had to. Until she saw where I was coming from and realized I wasn't a pushover. I sure as hell wouldn't have let her just walk out on me. I did it once after that huge fight, and you know what? I was scared right shitless she wasn't going to come back. I swore than and there that I wasn't letting her go without a fight. Even if it killed me to hang on to her."

"You sound like an obsessive stalker," Speed snorted.

"Call me what you will. But she's my entire world and I'd walk through hell for her."

Speed drained his glass and motioned down the bar for another drink. "Well, you're an evil bastard Flack, and seeing as you're from Hell, something like that would be easy for you."

The detective smirked and shook his head. "Insult me all you want, Speedle. Doesn't make you any more of a 're still a fucking pussy in my books for letting her bail on you like that."

"You know what…" Speed jumped up from the stool and wobbled and nearly fell on his ass. He took a drunken lunch at the bigger man. "You're suppose to be my friend!"

Flack was on his feet and kicking his own stool away before Speed could even take half a step towards him. He reached out and firmly grabbed Speed by the front of his shirt. "Sit your drunk ass down!" he bellowed, and forcibly shoved the smaller man back onto the stool.

Speed frowned and attempted to yank Flack's hands away from him.

Flack tightened his grip and lowered himself to eye level and tugged Speed towards him. "You ever come at me again, Speedle, and I will hand you your ass twice over. Understand me?"

"Get the hell off of me," Speed struggled to push the bigger, stronger man away.

"Than you sit the hell there like a good little boy and listen to what the hell I am saying to you!" Flack warned, loosening his hold on his friend. Not fully releasing him in case Speed, in his drunken state, attempted to take a swing at him. And if that happened, he was laying the guy out.

"Stop meddling in my life and worry about your own," Speed responded, shoving Flack's hands off of his shirt and unsteadily rising to his feet once more. "You and Sam got enough problems to do all of us. So go and fix your shit before you try and fix mine."

"You asked me to come here," Flack reminded him. "You left three messages on my cell asking me to meet you. You really think I want to be here dealing with this shit? I'd rather be at home with my pregnant wife with pizza and wings, on the couch watching the Rangers. But instead I'm here putting up with your crap!"

"Than go," Speed slurred, motioning towards the door. "You go home to your perfect little existence. You're perfect wife and you're perfect baby. Go! Get the fuck out of here! But don't come fucking crying to me when she's out fucking some other guy."

Flack snorted and shook his head and laid a hand over Speed's face and pushed him back down onto the stool. "If you weren't drunk, Speedle, I'd be hauling your ass out onto the street and knocking out those pretty teeth of yours."

Speed had no response. Other than to yell down the bar for his drink.

Flack sighed and took out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the bar to cover his coffee and his friend's booze. "Go home," he told Speed. "Sleep this off and get your ass to work tomorrow."

"Yes, sir, super cop," the CSI responded, snapping off his sharp salute. "Running away from me, huh, Flack? Can't take the truth about your girl? What were you? Second? Third? On her list of available bachelors in the department?"

"Watch your mouth, Speedle," the detective warned. "Don't be walking it into trouble you can't handle."

"Came this close," Speed said, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "To fucking her and taking her right away from you."

"I'm warning ya right now, shut your mouth."

"Can't handle the truth about your wife. Can't handle that you probably weren't the only guy she's been banging since she's been here."

That was all Flack needed to hear. A solid left to the face brought Tim Speedle down on his ass at Flack's feet.

"Next time.." Flack said, tossing Speed a napkin from the bar to clean his bloody nose. "…stick to something non alcoholic."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the bar. And Tim Speedle in a crumpled, lonely heap on the floor.

Sam was sitting on the couch, a dozen paint swatches laid out on the coffee table as she attempted to decide which shade of blue she wanted to do the baby's room in. She had originally settled on something neutral. She'd never been the type to fall for the whole blue for a boy and pink for a girl way of thinking. But she'd been browzing through a Martha Stewart magazine three days before and had spotted the nursery of her dreams. White crown moulding with light blue walls boasting big, fluffy looking white clouds painted right on them.

She'd gone running - as best as she could run in her condition- into the bathroom where Flack was showering, magazine in hand and jubliation on her face. And she'd yanked back the curtain , startling him and sending shampoo suds cascading into his eyes, and announced she'd found what she wanted. She'd shoved the magaizine under his nose despite the profanity escaping his lips and the fact he was frantically trying to rinse shampoo from his now burning eyes.

When he had taken a look- albeit a blurry one- he'd said "Sure, sure, whatever you want, babe," he gently shoved her away and yanked the curtain back across so he could continue with his shower. She was pretty sure that he had just agreed with the decision because he wanted her out of his hair and was pissed at the way she'd just surprised him like that, and she'd spent the rest of the night in a dejected, forlorn state on the couch with a package of Oreos.

The next day, while she was on the phone with the mayor's office attempting to organize a meeting for Mac, Flack had breezed into her office unannounced despite the door being closed, went behind her chair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and a handful of pain samples from Home Depot on her desk.

God I love that man, she thought as she replayed the moment in her mind. Planning the nursery was about the only thing that took her mind off of the incredibly shitty day she had had. She had wandered down to Mac's office before clocking out and the two had had a heart to heart. About how overwhelmed she felt with work and personal issues. About how tired and sick she was and how she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she just couldn't keep up at the pace she was moving at. She accepted Mac's offer of twenty to twenty five hours a week and when he'd escorted her to the elevator, she'd nearly broken down when she said she was sorry for being such a disappointment to him. That he had hired her and things had happened that had prevented her from doing her best for him. And he'd put an arm around her and tucked her into his side and assured her that they had a long boss/employee relationship ahead of them and she had all the time in the world to prove herself. That things just happened. There was no rhyme or reason. That we took whatever came our way and dealt with it.

Sam heard the key in the door and she laid a hand on the arm of the couch and slowly got to her feet. She looked closer to eight months than seven, and she was absolutely miserable because of it. Cursing the man letting himself into their apartment as she headed to the door, a hand on the small of her back.

"Hey," Flack greeted, as he found her waiting for him. His arms and hands full of a pizza box and two plastic grocery bags.

"Hey to you delivery boy," she teased, holding the door open for him and taking one of the bags and his keys. "Mmmm…" she said as the delicious aroma wafted through the apartment. "Smells amazing. What's the occasion?"

"Just because," he replied, as he headed into the kitchen and she shut and locked the door. "How was the rest of your day?"

"Okay," Sam said, joining him in the kitchen and dropping his keys on the microwave and setting the bag on the counter. "I took a nap when I got home and did some paper work."

"You feeling a bit better?" he asked, setting the pizza box and the second bag on the stove. "About the whole going part time thing?"

She had called him when she'd gotten home. In tears over the decision. And he'd done his best to be sympathetic and understanding. She hadn't told him about her fight with Mac. And she doubted Mac would make mention of it.

She shrugged. "It will grow on me," she replied. She moved closer to him. "What happened to your hand?" she asked, taking in the obviously bruised knuckles.

"Speedle ran into my fist," Flack told her.

She arched an eyebrow.

"It's a long story," he said, and laying his hands on her sides, drew her into him for a long, soft kiss. "One I don't feel like relaying at the moment."

"That's fair," she said, smiling against his lips as he kissed her a second time. "The rest of your day was good?" she asked.

"Not bad. Same old." He laid moved one of his hands to her stomach. "How's the baby been?"

"Fine. He took a nice long nap when I did. Than as soon as I got up, boom, he was right back at it."

"Boom?" Flack grinned, rubbing her stomach in smooth, slow circles. "What? You the female Danny Messer now?"

"He's rubbing off on me," she said with a giggle. "Ow!" she cried, when their baby laid a fierce kick to her navel. "I think your son is hungry."

"Takes after his dad," Flack smiled proudly.

"Absolutely," she agreed. "Donnie…about that thing with Dean Truby today…."

He sighed and pulled away from her and began unpacking the bags.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry you had to go through that. The whole log book thing. And that I'm proud of you for the way you handled it and for the way you handled today."

He smiled and looked at her. God, she looked so innocent and beautiful standing there in a pair of denim overalls and a t-shirt and one of his dress shirts hanging open. She had a glow to her that he couldn't describe. And he loved her so much it hurt.

"Just wanted you to know all of that," she told him.

"I love you," he said.

She smiled brightly. "I love you, too."

He turned back to the unpacking. "Where's Carmen?"

"In her room. Avoiding Speed's calls," Sam replied, moving alongside of him. "What did you get for dessert?" she asked curiously.

He opened the bag in front of him and pulled out a tub of ice cream. "Mint chocolate chip," he said, waggling both eyebrows.

She blushed from head to toe and giggled at the private, erotic memory they shared. "You are a dirty boy," she declared.

"Maybe," he said, pulling off the protective plastic seal and than yanking off the lid. "But it was fun."

"Yes," she agreed. "It was."

He stuck his finger into the ice cream and licked it off. Than repeated the motion, only this time, reaching out to smear the sweet dessert down the length of her nose.

"Donnie!" she squealed, attempting to reach up to wipe it off, only to have him take her face in his hands and clean the ice cream off with his tongue. She protested and squirmed and giggled at the absurdity of the moment, only to have him cover her lips with his in a long, deep, toe curling kind of kiss.

"You two make me sick," Carmen grumbled from the doorway to the kitchen.

"Evening, sunshine," Flack greeted.

She smirked and came into the kitchen. Peering into the container. "Mmmm…mint chocolate chip. My favourite."

Sam giggled yet again. Flack smirked.

"What's so funny?" Carmen inquired.

"Nothing," Flack replied, and pulling open the top drawer next to the stove, grabbed some spoons and than picked up the tub of ice cream and headed from the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Carmen asked.

"Bedroom," he replied. "Be in there in five minutes Sam."

Carmen frowned and looked at her best friend who was turning a dozen shades of red. "What's that all about? And do I really want to know?"

"It's nothing," Sam assured her, picking up the pizza and wings box and journeying out into the living room, where Flack already had the Rangers on and was sitting on the couch. She sat the pizza box on the coffee table and ran a hand over his hair and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head before he helped her take a seat beside him.

Carmen joined them minutes later. Bringing out napkins and plates and bottles of water. She sat everything on the table as well and plopped down on the couch as well. So that Flack was between her and Sam.

"Now this is the life," Flack declared, helping himself to a slice of the extra cheese, extra pepperoni pizza.

"What is?" Carmen asked.

"This. Great pizza, some wings, the Rangers. Two beautiful woman to keep me company. Every guy's fantasy of the perfect night in."

Both Carmen and Sam smiled.

Sam leaned sideways and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Carmen laid her head on his shoulder.

Enjoying the warmth and security her friend provided her with.

Enjoying the calm before the storm.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!! Please, please, please review if you like this! It's what keeps MOB alive and the chapters coming!

Thanks to my reviewers last chapter:

Brrtmclv
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