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
What goes around….
"We'll do it all
Everything On our own
We don't need
Anything or anyone
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world
I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel
Those three words, are said too much
They're not enough
If I lay hereI
f I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
-Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
A/N: I am dealing with some unpleasant things at home right now in the form of family. So my updates may be a little slower. I hope everyone can understand and hang in there! Thanks for your support, BEG75
Speed felt like a new man. Or at least the start of one.
He'd stood under the steaming, pounding water of the shower for what seemed like hours on end. His palms flat on the tiles of the back splash, his eyes closed and his mind plagued by his thoughts and thousands of regrets. It may have washed his body clean, but it did little to cleanse his tortured soul. He'd done whatever was remotely possible to try and shake some sense into her. Without resorting to physically shaking if into her, of course. His brain replayed the final moments and words over and over again. He'd plotted ways to just get her to take him back. To make her see that they could weather whatever storm together.
And as he towelled off and than shaved his weary face with a disposable razor he'd found under the bathroom sink, he had come to the conclusion that he had been doing it all wrong. He'd been a coward. He'd been hoping that things could be patched up the easy way with little or no effort. He was relatively a novice when it came to serious, long term commitments. Every other woman he'd been with, when they wanted out, he simply agreed and all but helped pack their bags and escorted them to the door. It hadn't broken his heart to watch them walk out of his life.
He'd realized, as he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink, that he'd never lost anything that mattered to him. Until now. And she was too precious to him to let her simply brush him off and push him away. She'd done nothing wrong. She'd acted with the best of intentions. Hoping to protect herself and him. She hadn't betrayed him or lied to him. And she deserved far more than flowers and messages left on her voice mail. She deserved a face to face. So she could look into his eyes and realize he was sincere. That it would kill him to loose her.
He'd put on a change of clothes Sam had dropped outside of the steamy bathroom for him. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt that were freshly laundered. He'd left them behind after his last stay at the apartment. Then he'd gone out to where Samantha Ross rested on the couch. Her legs stretched out and her aching, swollen ankles propped on a pillow on the coffee table as she read a wrinkled copy of People magazine and occasionally glanced up at the television to catch the headlines on CNN.
He wanted to hang around until Carmen got him. Sam was all for it. She was glad he was taking the initiative to fix things. To show that he was the bigger man. Speed had asked if there was anything he could do around the apartment. Take the load off of her a bit.
Which was how he ended up in Carmen's bedroom, sitting in the middle of the floor, parts to a baby stroller scattered around him and his brow furrowed in both concentration and annoyance as he studied the instructions in his hands. When Sam had asked him to do it, so that Flack would have less on his plate with all the studying and other chores he had to do, Speed had gladly accepted the task.
He was quickly starting to regret it.
"How goes the battle?" Sam asked as she appeared in the doorway. One hand on the small of her back, the other on her stomach.
She was just over seven months yet looked close to nine much to her disgust. Speed noticed how tired and pale she looked. And hoped that the next two months would just hurry the hell up for her sake.
"It goes," he answered her question. "Thought I told you to just keep yourself parked on the couch."
"You did," she said with a loud yawn. "But I get bored quick and I wanted to see how you were making out."
"It's a slow process," he told her. "You know, you'd think that with all my education, putting a baby stroller together would be a piece of cake."
"Don opened the box and that was it for him. He said that there's instructions in almost every language. Except for English."
"The diagrams aren't much better," Speed said with a sigh.
"You don't have to do it, Tim. Don will get to it eventually."
"Hey, perseverance is my middle name. I'd said I'd do it. Once I figure out what goes where, it will be smooth sailing."
"Okay…" Sam said. "You need anything, just give me a shout. I'm just going to do a few light chores…"
"No chores. You need to just go and sit down and take it easy. Flack's right. You are a stubborn little thing."
She grinned. "I'm sure 'thing' was not the word my loving soon to be husband used. And I said light chores. Just some dusting and stuff. Nothing major. Just something to get me at least a tiny bit active."
"Alright," Speed said. "But if I come out there and you're lifting anything or climbing on chairs…"
"You'll kick my ass," she finished, turning to head back down the hall. "I know…I know."
"Getting closer now, Sam!" he called after her. "You need to take it easy being this close. You don't want anything happening. We're just worried about you and the baby."
"I know," came her response. "And thank you…I appreciate it. Both your concern and you putting that stupid thing together."
"No problem!" he assured her.
Speed sighed and looked down at the various parts at his disposal.
This is exactly why it's so much easier to have a pet, he thought.
She had a desire to clean. No, more a compulsion than a desire. She had just been sitting there on the couch, totally relaxed and dozing off for a nap, when her brain suddenly decided to switch itself back on and her eyes snapped open and she began looking around the apartment and making a list of things that she needed to do. Desperately. She wanted the place absolutely sparkling and spotless for when the baby arrived. She wanted closets cleaned out and useless crap tossed in the garbage. She wanted everything pulled out of the fridge and the inside scrubbed from top to bottom. She needed the kitchen cupboards emptied, cleaned out, and than re-organized so everything was neat and tidy. Bathrooms had to be scoured and new sheets and pillowcases but on the bed.
It was a totally ridiculous way to think and feel and she knew it. Since she'd been on modified hours, she'd been able to keep up on the house work. Taking chores a little at a time so she didn't get winded and exhausted. There wasn't a dusty area in the entire house and she'd swept and moped the floors just two days. The smell of Pine-Sol still lingered in the air. She'd also organized the linen closet. Arranging the towels according to size and colour and frequency of use.
A week ago, she'd taken a pail of soapy water and cleaned down the entire crib. Mattress and all. All because she felt, after it had been put together, it had been sitting out in the open to long and getting too dirty. And three nights before, Carmen had woken at one in the morning to Sam with a flashlight in her hand as she hung up baby clothes in the closet and set things in the dresser drawers. All because she wanted to, and needed to be, a hundred percent prepared.
The nesting phase. She'd read all about it in the latest chapter of What to Expect When You're Expecting. Described as an 'uncontrollable urge to clean one's house brought on by a desire to prepare a nest for the new baby, to tie up loose ends of old projects and to organize your world'. That all females in the animal kingdom were even equipped with the same need. A primal instinct. Sam wasn't too concerned with descriptions or definitions. What concerned her was that the behaviour felt almost manic to her. She couldn't stop herself no matter how hard she tried to talk herself out of it. She felt irrational and out of control despite both Flack, and the doctor, telling her that she was completely normal for feeling the ways she did.
And she was a little frightened that this nesting deal was sometimes a sign of the onset of labour. Something she was just not prepared for. Despite her daily curses about how uncomfortable she was and how she just couldn't wait for the whole ordeal was over with, the truth of the matter was that she was dreading the moment it was time for Kieran to be born. She was terrified of the pain. And of something going horribly wrong.
For now she attempted those kinds of thoughts at bay by concentrating on keeping herself occupied. She started by stripping down the bed and putting on all fresh sheets and pillowcases despite the fact she'd gone through the same ritual just the day before. She got into the shower with a bucket of water and bleach and scrubbed the grout with an old toothbrush. It was a big undertaking. Something she wouldn't get done in just one day. So she made a plan to tackle a side of the shower each day.
Her last spot on that afternoon's to do list was the kitchen. She dumped her old bucket and re-filled it with warm water and disinfecting Lysol. Grabbing the dish cloth, she sat that and the bucket on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, she went into the hall closet where Flack stored the tool box and removed the screwdriver with the interchangeable tips, than journeyed back into the kitchen and carefully lowered herself into a kneeling position. Using the screwdriver to carefully and painstakingly remove the metal knobs on the front of the first cupboard before dropping the object into the water.
Halfway through the removal of all of the handles, she heard faint voices coming from the apartment building hallway, followed by the sound of people stomping snow off of their boots and than jingle keys in the front door. She had wanted to have her chores down before Carmen and Flack arrived home. They had parenting classes that evening and she didn't feel like sticking around while Tim had it out with her best friend.
"What the hell are you doing?" Flack asked calmly as he appeared in the doorway and found his pregnant soon to be wife on her knees using a screwdriver to remove the cupboard door handles.
"Hi!" she cheerfully greeted. "You're home early. I thought you were just going to pick me up after your shift and we were going straight on to the classes."
"I managed to finish things up. Sam, what are you doing?"
"Cleaning," she replied simply.
"You're taking the handles off the cupboards," he stated.
"To disinfect them."
His eyebrows arched. "Okay…why?"
"Because everything needs to be cleaned and disinfected thoroughly before the baby comes. You don't want him coming home from the pristine hospital to a place infected with millions of germs, do you?"
"No…but the knobs from the kitchen cupboards? Are you kidding me? When's he going to come in contact with them?"
She sighed exasperatedly. "He's not going to directly. But we're going to touch them and than prepare him a bottle or change his diaper. So the germs will pass from us to him and than he'll be sick and back in the hospital before we know it. Trust me, Donnie…" she pointed the screwdriver at him. "…this is for the baby."
"This is getting a little ridiculous now, Samantha," he informed her.
"What's going on?" Carmen asked, squeezing between Flack and the door frame to get into the kitchen. She frowned at the sight before her. "Sam…what are you doing in the middle of the floor."
"Apparently she's cleaning," Flack told the CSI. "It's an absolute necessary to disinfect every square inch of the kitchen."
"I even scrubbed the grout in the shower with water and bleach. Using a toothbrush. We'll have to stop somewhere on our way home and get you a new one, by the way."
Christ, he thought, giving a small, dry laugh and shaking his head slowly. "Something is seriously wrong with you, woman."
"It's perfectly normal," she declared. "I have to have this place spotless and perfect before the baby comes and…"
He crossed the kitchen and snatched the screwdriver out of her hand. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand.
She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted dramatically.
"Don't make me pick you up," he warned. "There's no need for you to be doing stuff like this. What's wrong with you? Not only is it just plain weird, but you might be breathing in something toxic."
"I checked the baby book," she said, reaching into the bucket of water and cleanser to scrub the objects inside. "It's perfectly safe for me and the baby. I'm not using anything dangerous."
"Well I'd feel better if you just knocked it the hell off," Flack told her. "You're starting to creep me out a bit with the OCD thing you have going on."
"Fine," she huffed, wiping her hands on the thighs of her tattered sweat pants and than curling her fingers around his and allowing him to help her up onto her feet. "But I'm going to have to finish the rest of the cupboards and clean all the handles and put them back on."
"Later," Flack said. "Like never."
"Don't worry, Sam," Carmen picked up the small pail and sat it in the sink. "I'll finish it off for you if it's that important to you."
Of course, Carmen had no intention on actually doing what she'd suggested. There was no way in hell she was taking apart cupboards and sterilizing and disinfecting decades old handles. Her only plan was to put the knobs back on that Sam had already removed and cleaned and than telling her best friend that she'd done the job. It was easier to just lie to her to make her happy than it was to argue with her and tell her she was nuts. Although that's what she exactly was. Pure nuts.
"You will?" Sam's eyes brightened with joy.
Carmen nodded. "You just leave all the cleaning to Flack and I and we'll have this place sparkling by the time the baby arrives. Okay? You just concentrate on taking care of yourself and Kieran."
"Hey, Sam!" Speed called out as he entered the kitchen from the opposite entrance. "I put both the stroller and the bassinette together. Is there anything else that…"
His voice trailed off as he saw Carmen standing across the room from him. Soulful dark eyes met sad green ones. His heart caught in his throat and his stomach constricted. He had been mentally preparing himself for the moment he saw her. For the confrontation that he knew would ensue. But seeing her there, looking tired and worn, the only thing he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and never let go.
Both Sam and Flack looked at Speed, than back at Carmen. Tension hung thick in the air.
"Sam, I was thinking that we should go out and grab some dinner before the parenting class," Flack said, laying a hand on the small of his pregnant fiancee's back and gently steering her towards the door. "So why don't we go and get changed and than take off?"
"I think that's a good idea," she answered. "Chinese food?" she looked up at him in anticipation.
"Whatever you want," he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before escorting her from the kitchen and closing the shutter style doors that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Giving Carmen and Speed some hint of privacy.
"Maybe McDonalds," Sam was saying as she headed through the living room and down the hall towards the bedroom.
"Maybe not," came Flack's response. "Normal food, babe. You need to eat more normal food. Or that kid is going to come out with shockingly high cholesterol."
"But I wanted to dip French fries in the chocolate sundae sauce again," she argued.
"You're disturbing, you know that?" Flack asked. The bedroom door clicking closed behind him.
Carmen couldn't help but laugh. It amazed her that Samantha had so many different sides to her personality. She could go from butch cop to giggly school girl in a matter of seconds. From girl next door in flannel pyjamas and her hair in pigtails to raging sex kitten in thigh high hooker boots and a mini, capable of seducing her man in a public bathroom.
"She's something else," Speed commented with a slight chuckle, shaking his head.
"She's a whole ball of crazy," Carmen said jokingly. "But I'm sure she's said that about me a few times lately."
Speed just nodded. They stood, each at an end of the kitchen, watching and waiting for the other to make a move or at the very least, say something.
"So I was thinking…" he began.
"How have you….?" Carmen said at the same time.
They both laughed.
"You first," Speed told her.
"I was just going to ask you how you've been. You haven't been at work in a while."
He shrugged. "I've been…coping. Barely most days. You?"
She sighed. "Pretty much the same. I got all your messages. And the beautiful flowers. I just wasn't ready to pick up the phone and call you. I wasn't ready to face all of that yet."
"Are you ready to face it now?" he asked curiously.
She nodded, her eyes downcast as her hands nervously fidgeted with one of the buttons on her cream coloured blouse. "I really miss you, Tim," her voice was nearly a whisper. "I miss you and I never should have said the things I did or acted the way I did. And I regret them and I just want things to go back to normal. I only did all of that because I was scared."
"I understand," he said. The dark, tight hold on his heart lifting ever so slightly.
"I never should have treated you the way that I did. I'm just not use to someone wanting to protect me and solve my problems and I just lashed out because I was afraid of what Mathew was capable of and of how strong the feelings are between me and you and I couldn't…"
He crossed the kitchen and grabbed her by the tops of her arms and silenced her with a crushing kiss. When he met no resistance, he trailed his hands down her arms, his fingertips softly skimming over the tops of her hands and her fingers before settling his hands on her hips and yanking her into him.
Carmen moaned into his mouth and curled her arms around his neck. Losing herself in the taste of his lips and the feel of his body pressed up against hers and the warmth and security he provided her with.
He broke away from her and pressed kisses along her jaw line and up to her ear. "Trust in me, Carmen," he whispered. "Trust in us."
She tightened her grip on him and closed her eyes.
"No matter what happens with this whole Mathew thing, I'll be here, Red. Thick and thin, remember? We can get through anything."
She didn't have the heart to tell him about the parole board dealing them a major blow by not allowing Sam's report to be submitted. Mac had broke the news to her. And when she had sat back and thought about it, it was amazing that Mac had shown such blatant disregard for the 'system'. That he'd taken such a big gamble by not disclosing the various personal relationships intertwining the key players in preventing Mathew's release. On the other hand, she understood how badly Mac wanted to 'get him', and that he truly thought he was doing the right thing. Mac Taylor didn't do things to purposefully hurt those closest to him. He held everyone's safety and happiness in high regard. Which made him even more highly respected and invaluable to all of his employees.
"You trust me, don't you, Carmen?" Speed asked, his lips against her ear, his one hand now stroking her hair.
She nodded. "I trust you, Tim," she responded.
"Than just hold onto me and never let go," he told her.
She clung to him with all of the strength in her body.
"I never will," she vowed. "I'll never let you go."
Flack felt guilty. Immensely guilty. It had been nearly six hours since Mac had dropped the bomb on him that Samantha's report had been eighty-sixed from Mathew's parole hearing. And he'd yet to break the news to the person, aside from Carmen, that it would matter most to.
The person who wrote it. Who was now studying the lifelike doll in the middle of the table in front of them with dread in her eyes. An hour ago, they'd been having a quiet, somewhat romantic dinner at a table for two at her favourite Thai restaurant. Complete with soft music and candles on the table and loving glances shared across the table and light, easy conversation.
Now they were learning how to change, bathe and clothe a newborn. Something that was relatively alien to them both. Although Flack had a niece and nephew, he'd never actually been around them long enough as babies to care about learning how to change a dirty ass or put fresh clothes on them or drop them in the tub. So far, he had handled the whole bathing thing. It had come easy to him. Sam commented that it was his long arms. He was able to easily place a baby along one forearm and soap them down and rinse them off with his free hand. She'd tried it and dropped the damn doll twice.
"Do you get this?" Sam asked, holding a loft an impossibly tiny Pampers diaper. "I don't get this. Doesn't it come with instructions? Explain this to me. Do you get this?"
"It's a diaper," Flack responded. "I don't think the package comes with detailed step by step instructions."
"I know what it is," she said, turning the diaper over in her hands. "But do you get it? 'Cause I don't."
"This isn't rocket science, Sam," Flack said, and took the diaper from her. "Look…it's really not that hard."
He spread the diaper out on the table and took the swaddled doll and unwrapped it and than placed the 'baby' on the disposable diaper. She watched, in sheer amazement, as he brought the front of the nappy between the doll's legs and than stretched out the sticky tabs at the back and brought them to the front and securely fastened them.
"See," Flack held the 'baby' up by the back of the neck. "Piece of cake."
"Boy," Sam said, nodding appreciatively. "Did I luck out or what? Guess I picked the right bachelor to get knocked up by. Although, I do hope you won't be picking Kieran up by the scruff of his neck like that."
"Only when he's really mouthy and disobedient. Like he cries all night and I can't get my beauty sleep," Flack said jokingly. "Here," he grabbed the doll around the torso and tossed it at her football style. "Put some clothes on this kid."
Sam's attempt at intercepting the pass was miserable to say the least, and the 'baby' fell to the floor with a loud clatter. All eyes in the room were suddenly on them. People staring in absolutely horror as Sam stood there, blushing furiously, the doll, minus one arm, sitting at her feet. No one seemed more shocked and disgusted than the leader of the small group of couples. Julia Traynor was pushing sixty and had been teaching parenting classes for close to forty years. Sam guessed, after spending so much time 'teaching' her and Flack, Julia was ready to retire. And that she would probably, after witnessing their antics, go home after class and get really, really, really drunk.
"Ooops," Sam said and gave a small, embarrassed giggle.
"Way to go," Flack journeyed around the table and scooped up the baby. And found the missing arm under the table and snapped it back in place. "Nice job, babe. They'll be calling Child Protective Services on us before Kieran's even born."
"I didn't mean to," Sam told the class. "My reflexes aren't that great and when he chucked it at me…"
A collective gasp went up among the expecting woman. Most of the husbands snickered.
Julia closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. "Jesus Mary and Joseph," she breathed.
"It's okay, people," Flack spoke to the class in that authoritative way he had on the job. "I can assure all of you that we won't toss our real baby around the house or drop him on the floor and snap his arms or legs or head off. Well, I know I won't. I can't say the same for her."
"Donnie!" Sam shot him a scolding look and yanked the doll out of his hands. Setting it back down on the table and grabbing the one piece sleeper that rested nearby.
"Nothing more to see, folks," Flack said dismissively. "Show's over."
Julia had gathered herself well enough to continue her tour of the tables to make sure that all of the couples were doing things right. Both Sam and Flack noticed that she avoided their work station like the plague.
"We'll never be allowed back here," Sam declared, stuffing the 'baby's' arms into the sleeper.
Flack shrugged. "It's the second last class. Who cares? Next week is the car seat clinic. I'm pretty sure we can teach ourselves how to put a car seat base in the car properly and how to buckle the baby in using one of the many stuffed animals people have given us. And we won't be coming back if we have another kid. Will we? I mean, what's the point of coming back if we're masters after the first one?"
"Something tells me we'll need two or three tries to master anything," Sam said with an exasperatedly sigh as she couldn't quite seem to figure out the closures on the nightie.
"You, maybe," Flack said, grabbing the doll by the ankle and pulling it towards him and spinning it around the face him. "Me? I am a complete natural."
Sam snorted. Truth of the matter was, he did seem to quickly pick up everything that they had been taught since the start of the classes. He seemed to have no problem with the daily care of a child or the breathing techniques shown to them in the Lamaze portion of the course. And he was right on top of knowing different pain relieving techniques because of her inability to have an epidural and he'd been a willing and active participant in the 'dry run' of labour in the birthing tub. He still didn't agree a hundred percent with his child being born underwater, but if Sam felt comfortable with it, than he did too.
"You're pretty good at this," she commented, sinking down into the chair behind her. She stretched out her legs and laid a hand on her stomach.
She watched as her soon to be husband expertly dressed the lifelike doll. Amazed at how such a big man with such powerful, large hands could make something so small and intricate look so damn easy. She was in awe at those hands. Besieged by thoughts of what those hands could do.
She felt herself blush once again and she fanned herself with her hand and looked away. Now was not the time to be having a wet daydream.
"There," Flack said, finishing with the last snap and than holding the doll along his forearm. "What'cha think? Am I a damn pro or what?"
"I have to admit I am in sheer awe of your abilities," Sam told him.
"You should be. It's my abilities that got us here. And you were not complaining at the time."
"Do you always have to be such a perv?" she asked.
"You actually have to ask me that?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Hold your kid," Flack said, dropping the doll in her lap as he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "You know we're going to do just fine, right? With this parenting stuff?"
"You will," Sam responded, holding the baby to her chest, one hand under it's bum, the other on the back of her head as she commenced rocking back and forth in her seat. "I feel so goddamn stupid rocking a doll," she complained.
"Just humour ice lady over there and it will all be over soon," he said, laying a hand on the back of her neck. And although it wasn't a real infant she was cuddling so lovingly and protectively, he couldn't help but think how beautiful the sight of her being a mother was.
"So I've got some news," he said, picking a time of utter relaxation on Sam's part to drop the bomb on her.
"About?" she asked.
"Mathew's parole hearing."
"Good news or bad?"
"Well…let's just say it's not fantastic."
"Is he dead? Please tell me someone shivved him in the showers and it's one less piece of shit on earth."
"That would be excellent news. This is shitty, what the fuck kind of news."
She sighed.
"The parole board voted that your report is inadmissible."
There, he said it. And now he waited for an explosion of profanity or a freak out.
Instead, she remained calm, cool, and collected. Barely batting an eyelash. "When did you find this out?" she asked.
"This afternoon. That's why Mac called me and asked me to come to see him. To tell me about it."
She nodded slowly. "Let me take a wild stab at their reasoning's. The defence went to them with the argument that I was too closely connected to not only Carmen, but to cases involving domestic abuse because of my prior history with Zack."
Flack didn't respond.
"And they probably played the conflict of interest card. Carmen and I are colleagues. Best friends. We live together. You were the arresting officer that night and you and I are engaged and expecting a baby."
"You're good," Flack declared and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You don't seem too surprised."
"Disappointed," she said. "But not surprised. It was a brilliant move on the defence's part if you ask me. Mac didn't tell them that we were all involved in some way?"
Flack shook his head.
"Now that's what surprises me," Sam said. "That he didn't 'fess up right away. Mac knows the ins and outs of the law. He knows the system like the back of his hand. And for him not to see this coming.."
"He took a chance," Flack told her. "He says he took a huge gamble and lost. That that's how bad he wanted to keep Stobbard locked up. That he'd take his chances."
"One thing you can about Mac. He's damn tenacious. And gutsy. Did you freak on him?"
"A little," Flack admitted. "I was pissed that he talked me into letting you go into a maximum security prison and put up with all that shit. And for what? To have all your hard work tossed out?"
"Shit happens," she reasoned. "On a daily basis unfortunately. So what now? Will you still be allowed to testify?"
Flack sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, Samantha. I honest to God don't know."
"He'll be out on the street if you don't," she said.
He nodded. Mathew Stobbard on the street was something he didn't want to see.
The frightening thing was that he didn't think there was anything he could do to stop it from becoming reality.
"It'll all work out, Donnie," Sam assured him, laying a hand over his and smiling softly at him.
He managed a smile of his own and leaned sideways to press a tender kiss to her lips.
He prayed to God she was right.
Flack's eyes snapped open as the shrill ringing of his cell phone cut through the peaceful silence that enveloped the apartment. He orientated himself. Waking up out of a dead sleep was something that was neither comfortable or welcome. Especially when you weren't on call. Samantha slept soundly alongside of him. Her back tucked into his side, a pillow between her legs to assist in alleviating some of the uncomfortableness she was experience now that she was farther along in the pregnancy.
She stirred slightly at the intrusion of noise. Mumbling incoherently and nestling her face into her pillow. Than commencing a full out conversation in her sleep. It was nothing new. In fact, it was near nightly that she woke him up talking away about nonsense crap. Most nights he ignored her and rolled over and went back to sleep. Others it was so loud and so insistent that he had to wake her up to get her to stop.
He checked the illuminated numbers on the clock radio on the nightstand. 2:23. Christ.
They'd had arrived home shortly after ten to find that Carmen had taken off with Speed. She'd left a hastily written note explaining her whereabouts in case they got worried and how she and Speed had kissed and made up. Thankfully, she'd also taken the time and effort to put the knobs back on the front of the kitchen cupboards and added a quick PS to her letter, that she disinfected every square inch of the room.
Flack knew she was full of shit. But he didn't have the heart to say that out loud when Sam got that satisfied, happier than a pig in shit smile on her face and announced that she was happy someone was taking things seriously around there.
They were in bed before the news even hit the airways. They made love -leisurely and tenderly. It was getting uncomfortable and near painful for her, and the minute it became unbearable, was the minute everything was put on hiatus until that baby had arrived and Sam felt recuperated enough to have any interest in sex whatsoever. Flack wasn't going to force her to do anything just to get his rocks off. Worse came to worse, he'd do it himself. Any guy who said they didn't was a damn liar. It was her he felt sorry for. The doctor had announced in the last visit that it was best, because Sam had shown how unpredictable this pregnancy was, after the seventh month to avoid orgasm all together because the contractions of the uterus could bring on early labour. He'd seen the look of sheer doom that had passed over Sam's face. And knew that she would never, ever be able to survive being cut off.
They'd fallen asleep sated and exhausted. Flack had been having the best sleep he'd had in a hell of a long time.
And now the phone….
Groaning his displeasure, Flack rolled over onto his side and slapped his hand down on the cell phone resting on the nightstand and scooped up the offending object. He didn't even bother to check the caller ID. Whoever it was disrupting his peace and harmony was going to get ripped into until they bled from the sheer force of his words. He yawned noisily and pressed talk.
"Flack," he answered.
"Don!" Mac's voice, shouting to be heard over the boisterous noise and yelling in the background.
"What's going on, Mac? Why…?"
"I need you to come up to Sing-Sing right away. There's been an incident with Stobbard."
Flack would have sworn he heard a mixture of shock, surprise, and immense pleasure in the older man's voice. That, or as a result of being woken up so rudely and suddenly, he was just imaging he'd heard all of that.
"Is he dead?" Flack asked.
"No. But…"
"I'm not even on call, Mac. Why are you calling me to work your scene? And why didn't dispatch call me if they're short on staff and need me to fill in somewhere?"
"I don't need you to work. Angell is in complete control. I just need you to come up here."
"Mac, for Christ sakes. It's three in the morning. And Carmen isn't here and I'm not to keen on leaving Sam alone. She's only seven and a bit months, but she's at this point where the doctor said things could happen when we least expect it."
"I wouldn't be calling you Don if I didn't think you'd want to see this for yourself."
"Mac, seriously. You're not making any sense. You woke me up out of a dead sleep and…"
"Mathew Stobbard killed someone," Mac broke in.
"He what?" Flack asked, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"It happened about three hours ago. He was taken to the showers by two guards. There was one other prisoner in the shower room at the time being watched over by his own guards at the time. The guards were waiting outside in the locker room area and they heard a commotion. Came rushing in to find a bloody mess and Stobbard over top of this inmate with his hands around his throat. And that's after he slammed the man's head into the wall and against the floor a dozen or so times."
"So the guy was most likely dead or almost when he started strangling him," Flack concluded. "Whose the lucky recipient? If you say Dean Truby I'm most likely to throw a party right here and now."
"Sorry," Mac said apologetically. "But you really need to come here and see this for yourself."
Flack sighed. "It's going to take me a while," he said.
"Take your time. We just got called here ourselves."
"For something that happened three hours ago?" Flack asked with a frown.
"I guess the prison wanted to get all their ducks in a row before we showed up," Mac replied. "Probably trying to hide anything that will place blame on the guards. Heads will roll for letting something like this happen and they know it."
"Guys should get a medal. It's one scum bag dead and another staying where he belongs."
"It's the way the system works, Flack. Unfortunately society doesn't hand out awards for contributing to ending to someone's life even if they are the dregs of society. But you really need to get here to see this. I'll hold off on calling the ME until you get here."
"Alright," Flack said. "Be there as soon as I can."
"That's fine," Mac told him and hung up.
Flack sighed and pressed end on his cell phone and tossed it with a clatter onto the nightstand. He lay in the dark, his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. Taking just a few minutes to gather his senses before just springing out of bed and getting to it. Truth of the matter was, after the mess Mac had made of things earlier in the day, all Flack had really wanted to do was tell the guy to shove it up his ass and than hang up.
Flack's hand drifted down the network of scars on the left side of his chest and lower on his abdomen. There were days the scars still seemed to itch as if they were healing. The doctor called it phantom sensations. Said it was all in his head. And it could possibly be that way for the rest of his life.
It was a bitch owing your life to someone. You pay and pay and pay. Mac Taylor never asked for any glory or gratitude for what he did that day in that bombed out office building. But Flack could not shake the feeling that he needed to do something or say something to show Mac how grateful he was that the older man have saved his life. And seeing as Flack wasn't one for a lot of words, especially to another guy, showing Mac was an easier option.
Even if it did mean dragging his ass out of bed at three in the morning and finding his way to a maximum security prison to deal with more death.
Sam mumbled noisily in her sleep. The last few nights she'd been having dreams that had her alternating between laughing hysterically and than sobbing uncontrollably. Both actions had been enough to startle him out of slumber and he'd shaken her awake and assured her that it was just a dream. That she was safe and nothing was going to happen to her. And she'd clung to him and cried. Something she rarely did in front of him. And before he could ask what she had been dreaming about, she had drifted off to sleep.
Tonight she was talking. And as he lay there and listened to her, it became apparent that she was either having a really bizarre dream or she was planning a grocery list.
"Ketchup," she muttered. "Bread…milk…kitty litter."
He couldn't help but snicker a little. "Samantha," he rolled over onto his side and ran a hand over her hair and kissed her shoulder. "You're talking in your sleep."
She repeated the items. Than giggled after saying kitty litter.
"We don't have a cat," he told her.
"Yes…yes…we do…it's under the bed…"
He smirked and propped himself up on his elbow and pushed her hair away from her face. She was still fast asleep.
"The cat's under the bed," she continued. "Adam, too."
"Adam's under the bed?"
She nodded. "He's under the bed. We have to hide under the bed. He's mad again. Daddy's mad."
"Shhh…" he kissed her cheek. "It's okay…you're just having a dream."
She sighed heavily. Rubbed her face against the pillow. "Okay," she said with a slight whimper. "I'll be good…I promise I'll be good…"
"Samantha…" Flack spoke loudly this time and shook her awake. "Samantha…wake up."
Her eyes snapped open and she rolled onto her back. Looking at him with utter confusion and a little fright in her eyes.
"You were dreaming," he told her. "About your father?"
She shook her head. "I don't know," she responded.
He knew she was lying. She was good at hiding things like that from him. Good at putting on this front that she was happy and everything was right in her world. All he had to do was look at her and see the darkness that lingered in her eyes to realize that she was far from truly happy.
"What time is it?" she asked, diverting the subject.
"Just before three. I have to go out for a little bit. Mac needs me. You'll be okay alone?"
She nodded.
"I shouldn't be very long. Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. Okay?"
"Okay," she said, and he kissed her softly. "What does Mac want?" she asked, as he slipped out of bed.
"There's just a scene he needs some extra help at," Flack replied, snagging the jeans he'd worn to the parenting class and slipping into them. He snapped close the button and pulled up the zipper. "Nothing major."
"I thought you weren't on call," she said with a loud yawn.
"I'm not. I guess this is kinda a favour to him."
"Oh," she said, settling back down on her side.
He grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser and yanked it on over his head. Slipped into a sweatshirt and a pair of socks before taking his badge and gun holster from the top drawer and clipping down to the waist of his jeans.
"I'll call you if I'm going to be longer than I thought," he told her, going to her side of the bed and leaning down to kiss her and her stomach.
"Be careful," she said, laying a hand on the side of his face and kissing him long and soft in return.
"Get some sleep," he instructed, running a gentle hand over the side of her face before pecking her forehead and heading for the door.
She was already out before he could get out into the hall.
The body was lying naked, face down in a pool of blood and water in the middle of the shower room. More blood was along the tiles just below one of the shower nozzles. Bright red streaks that travelled down the white ceramics.
The flow of water had been turned off and the room was steamy and smelled as foul as the high school locker room Flack still had memories of from his much younger, athletic years.
Hawkes was photographing the body when Flack stepped into the room. The two men exchanged nods in greeted as Danny, armed with his own camera, clicked off a roll of film on the surrounding scene.
"Thought you were off tonight," Danny said when he saw his best friend.
"I was," Flack replied. "Mac called. Said there was something I needed to see. What's going on? This is Stobbard's doing?"
Hawkes nodded. "Guards caught him red handed. Had to tazer him to stop him from defiling the body."
"Defiling?" Flack frowned. "In what way?"
Hawkes pushed some of the DB's brown hair away from the side of his head to reveal a missing left ear.
"What the hell…" Flack said. "Where's the missing piece?"
"He ripped it off with his teeth," Hawkes responded. "And was trying to eat it when the guards managed to get a hold on the situation."
"Never thought he'd graduate to cannibilism," Flack said with a grimace. "Something must have made him snap."
"He says the victim made a sexual advance on him," Mac said, as he joined the other men.
"Can't stand anything up his poop shoot, huh?" Danny chuckled. "You think he'd be well versed in those things after being locked up for so long."
"I'm not fond of the idea either but that doesn't mean I'm going to kill someone over it," Flack said. "So, Mac? I'm here. You wanted to show me something. What is it? All I see is a run of the mill DB with a missing ear."
"It's not missing," Hawkes spoke up. "Danny has three quarters of it on ice in his kit."
"I wanted to show you the vic," Mac told the detective.
"I see him," Flack said. "What's so different about him and other vics? I know him personally or something?"
Mac gave a small smirk that unnerved Flack. The crime lab boss than crouched down over the body, and snapping on a pair of latex gloves he proceeded to roll the corpse over onto his back.
Hawkes stepped back, a wide, almost ecstatic grin on his usually serious face.
Flack looked down. And found himself staring down at the gaping mouth and wide, horrified and unblinking eyes of a very familiar face.
Shane Casey.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. Even the lurkers! Just please drop a line if you like this folks! Thanks!
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