DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS (SOON TO BE FLACK. TWO DAYS THEIR TIME FOLKS!) AND BABY KIERAN
Anticipation versus preparation
"I'll fix these broken things
Repair your broken wings
And make sure everything's alright
My pressure on your hips
Sinking my fingertips
Into every inch of you
Cause I know that's what you want me to do."
-This Love, Maroon 5
It had been two weeks.
Two weeks since Flack had received that dead of the night call and drove nearly forty five minutes to Sing-Sing only to find Shane Casey lying face down in a slick pool of water and his own blood. Two weeks since Mathew Stobbard had bludgeoned the younger, much smaller man to death simply by smashing Casey's face and forehead off of the ceramic tiling in the inmates shower room. Multiple times, in face. So multiple that Sid had said, upon the peeling back the dead man's face, the front of the skull looked like a road map of fractures. And that both orbital bones and the nose had been smashed into oblivion. Two weeks since Stobbard had gone from seeking parole to defiling and attempting to cannibalize his newest victim. All because Shane Casey had made a sexual advance on him.
Flack still couldn't get over the degree of rage Stobbard had showcased in what he'd done to Shane Casey. Sure, Casey the t-shirt killer was no damn saint. Decapitating a frat girl and hanging her by her ankles from a ceiling fan and driving railroad spikes through another vic's eyes was as disturbed and twisted as they came. Add in the fact that he was doing it all as a form of revenge for the deceased brother Shane believed had been wrongly persecuted and you had one hell of a certified wack job. He had believed in his brother. So strongly and passionately that he'd killed for him. And for what? To find out the bro was as guilty as all shit and you went to all that trouble and became psychopathic serial killer for no reason.
It was almost poetic justice in a way. Casey had been of the crime lab's greatest and most elusive villains. Flack had found him a whiny little bitch truth be told. Sitting in the back of the squad car going on about his brother being innocent and 'those people getting what they deserved'. He hadn't felt a damn thing for Shane Casey save for disgust and contempt. He most certainly hadn't felt sorry for him or his equally as guilty brother. And it had made Flack sick to listen to Danny Messer almost sympathize with the kid. Talking about knowing what it was like to go to bat for your brother.
Only thing Flack had wanted to do was take that proverbial bat and kick the shit out of Shane Casey with it.
Now he'd gotten what had been coming for a while. He was dead and most likely in hell. It certainly wasn't a lonely place and Flack was sure Casey had lots of company and he was probably right up there at the head table with Lucifer and Saddam and Jeffrey Dahmer and some of the other cretins that had unfortunately walked God's green earth for way too many years. Shane Casey had, in the end, paid the price for his crimes. And, unbeknownst to him, his death was assisting in keeping someone as nearly twisted and perverse as him in jail for a long, long, long time.
What goes around, comes around, Flack now thought, as he stood in the middle of the empty spare bedroom in a ratty, paint spattered pair of sweats and sweaty t-shirt and a backwards Mets cap on his head. A plastic tray full of white paint and a brush resting on the edge at his feet and a paint soaked sponge in his hand. Taking a break to admire his handy work. Carmen had moved out shortly after the Stobbard/Casey incident and was now playing house over at Speed's. Giving Flack free reign on what was slowly becoming a nursery.
Three days ago, he'd spent his entire Sunday off - the first Sunday in God knows how long- painting the entire room sky blue. The next day, he'd come home on an extended lunch break and put up the crown moulding. This current evening, he had finished painting the closet doors and window and door frames white. Now, in what he had considered a stroke of genius on his part, he had procured a kitchen sponge to assist in painting fluffy white clouds on the blue walls.
And it looked damn good. Modestly speaking.
A horrific noise equivalent to the sound of a cat having it's tail stepped on erupted from behind him. Jarring Flack out of his fond memories of Shane Casey and mentally patting himself on the back for what he considered something akin to painting the Mona Lisa or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. A noise so shrill and bone chilling Flack felt the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end.
"Promiscuous girl, wherever you are, I'm all alone, and it's you that I want. Promiscuous boy, you already know, that I'm all yours, what you waiting for?"
Jesus Christ, Flack thought, and slowly turned to face the culprit. Perched on the top of a ladder behind him, his soon to be brother in law was singing along at the top of his lungs to the Nelly Furtado song playing on the radio perched on the nearby window ledge.
Two more days. Two more days and Flack would find himself legally attached to the Ross family. And that was a damn frightening thought.
"Adam!" he shouted over the music. "ADAM!!"
The lab tech glanced away from his task of applying glow in the dark stars and planets on the ceiling and down at the homicide detective.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Can you not sing?" Flack asked. "It's grating on my last nerve, buddy."
"Sorry," Adam responded sheepishly. "I just got caught up in all of this. Like, here I am, helping decorate a room for a nephew that wasn't even a twinkle in his mother's eye at this time last year. In two days I'm going to have a brother in law. Someone that I've been working somewhat alongside of for a couple years now and never imagined would ever meet my sister let alone marry her. It's just all so…I don't know…insane. My head is spinning just thinking about it."
"That's probably the paint fumes doing that," Sam said as she appeared in the doorway to the nursery. Two cups of coffee in her hands. Flack thought how adorable she looked in her maternity overalls and a turtleneck.
"You are a saviour!" Adam declared as he spotted the coffee and scampered down the ladder.
"I figured my slaves deserved at least something to drink," Sam said and crossed the room to set the mugs on the window ledge. Waddled was more like it. She'd developed a waddle in the last month, and it was getting more and more pronounced.
"Out!" Flack instructed her, pointing towards the door.
"I'm not allowed to hang out for a bit?" she asked, curling an arm around his waist.
"Hang out from the doorway or the hall," he told her. "Not in the room. I told you this a hundred times at least. I don't want you in the room with all of this paint. So do yourself and the baby a favour and get out."
"I am sure it's not that toxic where Kieran will develop a second head or three sets of limbs," she said.
"I don't care. I just feel better knowing that neither of you are in here with all these fumes."
"Well open the window," she said.
"Sam…humour me…get out."
"You are so damn bossy," she complained with an exaggerated sigh, rubbing his stomach softly and turning her face up with for a kiss.
"Out," he insisted, kissing her softly.
"Fine… fine…" she huffed and retreated to the doorway.
Flack stared at her.
She backed up a few steps into the hallway and gave a cherubic smile. "Good?" she asked.
He gave her a thumbs up sign and went to grab his coffee. "So?" he asked her. "What do you think? Does it measure up to your specifications?"
"How can I tell if I am standing out in the hallway?" she responded.
"Don't get cute," he said. "You were just in here."
"I think it looks be-u-tiful," she gushed and blew him a kiss. "Sinclair called," she said, rubbing her stomach in slow, smooth circles. "He wants you to come in and see him tomorrow before you start your shift."
"For what?" Flack asked.
Sam shrugged. "He didn't say. He just asked me to give you a message. Could it be about the results of your sargeant's exam?"
"Could be. But it's only been a week since I wrote it. I think the grading takes longer than that. He sound pissed off?"
"I don't know…he sounded like….Sinclair."
Flack frowned. "That helps…"
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. Now if you gentleman will excuse me, there's a pickle and peanut butter sandwich calling my name from the kitchen."
Flack grimaced.
Adam made a gagging noise.
"Do you hear it?" she asked. Than lowered her voice to a near whisper. "Samantha…Samantha…you know you love me and want to eat me…."
"I was just thinking about eating something myself," Flack said, and winked at her.
"Perv!" she exclaimed and turned on her heel and headed off down the hall. "You'll be lucky if you get anywhere near me until way after this baby is born. You have done enough dirty things to me to last a lifetime."
"Not nearly enough or dirty enough," he called after her.
"I am not listening!"
He smirked and sipped his coffee.
"Are you honestly sure you know what you're doing?" Adam asked, as he sat cross legged on the plastic covered floor and savoured his coffee. "Marrying her?"
"Am I sure about it? A hundred percent sure?" Flack sighed. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. I'm scared shitless about getting married. About spending the rest of my life with someone. Day in and day out. But I love your sister. That I'm a hundred percent sure about. And if I've learned anything about the last nine months that I've been with her, it's the Sam and I can get through anything as long as we count on each other."
Adam smiled. "You know," he said, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread on the frayed left ankle of his jeans. "I never thanked you."
"For what?" Flack asked, downing the last of his coffee and setting the empty cup on the window ledge.
"Couple of things really," the lab tech replied. "First, for getting me and Danny out of the warehouse that day. For storming the place when you did and putting your own ass on the line."
"I just did what I had to, Adam. I wasn't going to leave you guys in there and let God knows what happen to either of ya. And what happened was bad enough and I hate to think about would have happened had we not gone in when we did."
"We probably wouldn't have made it out of there," Adam concluded. "Well, maybe in body bags."
"If anything, you were a pretty big hero that day."
Adam looked up at his soon to be brother in law, a puzzled look on his face. "Me?"
Flack nodded and went back to his task. Dipping the sponge in the white paint and setting to work on creating another cloud. "Danny told me after how you grabbed that acid out of your kit while he distracted the perps."
Adam snorted. "I was scared," he admitted, sounding ashamed. "Terrified. I didn't even want to do it at first but Danny talked me into it. And for him to take that beating just because…I wasn't brave at all."
"You were," Flack insisted. "And we all get scared, Adam. Hell, since the bombing, I nearly jump out of my skin if I even hear a door slamming. And since I met your sister, I'm afraid every time I'm waiting to kick down a door or I'm chasing a perp. Being scared doesn't make you weak. Makes you human."
Adam didn't respond.
"And I saw first hand how strong you are. Two times, actually. First, in that warehouse that day when you came running out to tell us that who were thought were perps were actually cops. And second, the night you made sure that you got your sister to the hospital and she received the care she needed."
"I wasn't going to let anything happen to my sister," Adam said. "Or my nephew."
"Sam and Kieran are both alive and doing well because of how strong you were. You didn't panic and kept a level head. So if anyone should be thanking someone, it should be me thanking you. Because I have her and my son thanks to you."
The lab tech's face brightened. A huge smile spreading from ear to ear. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to Sammie. The way she is with you…I've never seen her like that before. How she smiles and laughs so much. She's happy. With Zack, she became this completely different person. She wasn't my sister anymore. Her personality took this huge three sixty and I barely recognized her anymore. And than she came here and met you and it took a while but she was the same person again. I got my sister back."
"She's healing, Adam," Flack told him. "Even now. It's a slow process, but she's getting there. Day by day."
He nodded and finished his own coffee and got to his feet. "All I know is it's nice having her back to the way she was before Zack. And if it takes a long time for her to be a hundred percent back to her old self, than oh well. At least she has you and the baby to help her along the way. I don't have to worry about you packing up and abandoning her."
"No, you don't," Flack assured him. "Now can we talk about something else? 'Cause you talking like this about my future wife and my son…it's getting me a little emotional here and I don't do emotional very well."
"Fair enough," Adam said, setting his mug on the window ledge before scampering up the ladder once again.
"So when are you and Broussard tying the knot?" Flack asked, dipping his sponge into the paint tray.
"Not entirely sure yet," Adam replied, pasting a star onto the ceiling. "We're still trying to decide what we want. Like do we want a big thing with a hundred plus guests in a fancy church and a kick ass reception afterwards? Or do we want to go with something more quaint and private?"
"Do your parents a favour," Flack said. "Have a medium to a large thing. So they can say at least one of their kids did it right. 'Cause when Sam and I told them when they came down while she was in the hospital that we were doing a civil thing with a judge and six guests and they weren't among them, I swear to God it shattered their hearts into a million pieces."
"I will take that into consideration and mention it to Gussie," Adam told the other man. "And I think my parents are just thankful Sammie met someone decent and didn't just jump into things with any guy off the street. They like you."
Flack snorted. "I got their baby girl pregnant out of wedlock. I am far from their favourite person."
"I don't know about that. Sarge is always going on about what a great guy you are for her."
Flack laughed. "Paging Rod Serling. 'Cause hearing you say that makes me feel like I'm watching an episode of The Twilight Zone."
"I never realized you were such a brain when it comes to pop culture," Adam grinned.
"I have many hidden talents, Ross."
"And home decorating happens to be one?" Adam teased.
"This is strictly something I am doing to make your sister happy. Because when your sister is happy, I'm happy."
"I am quickly learning that about women. That if you want a shred of sanity you will do just about anything for them."
Flack smirked. "That's one of the first rules of surviving in a relationship."
"What are some of the others?"
"Always let them think they're right and when they ask if they look fat in something, say no. Even if it's a lie."
Adam laughed. "I'll remember all of that."
"It's your only chance of survival, Ross. Trust me."
Flack dropped the sponge into the paint tray and pulled off his ball cap and wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm.
"There was something I've been meaning to ask you about," Adam said, affixing the last star above his head.
"What's that?" Flack asked.
"It's kinda personal, so if you think I'm stepping over the line in anyway, just tell me."
"Okay…it doesn't have anything to do with mine and your sister's sex life does it?"
Adam grimaced. "Hell no," he said.
"Than ask away."
"Does she talk about our dad to you? Our real dad, I mean."
Flack sighed and reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a folded and heavily wrinkled piece of paper. The page he had torn out of Sam's Martha Stewart magazine weeks ago when he'd decided to go ahead with plan for the nursery. He unfolded the picture to compare the image with what he'd created.
"She's talked about him a few times," he said in response to Adam's question. "I know that he was a monster and he was a drunk and he beat on you guys every chance he got and lock you two in the basement, sometimes for a couple days. She told me all of that once. Shortly after we got together. But she hasn't said much since."
"She used to get the beats worse because it pissed our dad off when she stuck up for me. Which was all the time. Has she ever said anything else to you? About other stuff that may have been going on?"
Flack frowned. "What kind of other stuff?"
Adam wasn't entirely sure if he was in the right mentioning his suspicions. Because they were just that. Suspicions. He had no proof that his father had been doing anything inappropriate to his sister. Other than he knew their dad was making nightly trips into Sam's bedroom for what seemed like years. And that Sam would sneak out of her room when their father passed out and climb into bed with her younger brother. She never talked about it and he never asked. And mentioning it to Flack felt as if he was betraying his sister.
Yet at the same time, the man he was talking to just wasn't some guy passing in and out of Sam's life. This was the father of her unborn child. In two days Don Flack would be her husband. And he deserved to know that something so horrific and disgusting had happened to her.
"Adam?" Flack snapped the younger man out of his daze. "What do you mean by other stuff?"
It could go either way. And Adam hoped the decision he was about to make was the right one.
"I was just trying to say that other things went on too and I wasn't sure if she mentioned them or not," Adam said, trying his best to back pedal without it being too obvious he was hiding something. His future brother in law was damn good at knowing when people were hiding things.
"You still haven't told me what these other things are," Flack told him. He knew in his heart of hearts that Sam had bee through more than what she had told him. But he wasn't going to react on gut instinct. So he waited, and hoped, that Adam would give him the information he needed.
"Sam just got the worst of it," the lab tech explained. "She was always sticking up for me and it made things worse. It was physical and mental and her being a girl…she just got the brunt of everything."
Flack nodded slowly. It didn't take an Einstein to figure out what Adam was getting at. Mixed in with certain sexual behaviours Sam had exhibited in the past and now the nightmares she was experiencing, it was safe to say more than physical and mental abuse had gone on. But that was up to Sam to tell him about. He knew that Adam was lying. But understood his reservations at the same time.
"It's horrible what you guys had to go through," Flack said, as he sank down to one knee to snap the lid back onto the paint can. "Amazing both of you ended up normal. Well, somewhat normal."
Adam laughed at that. "Sam's the odd one," he said.
Flack laughed as well. "Yeah…she's a little….eccentric…never been with a girl with tattoos and what not."
"Ever?"
Flack shook his head. "Never been with a brunette either."
"Get outta here," Adam made his way down the ladder.
"Seriously. Your sister is the first brunette I've ever been with. Been with blonds and red-heads but never with someone dark haired. I don't know why. I think maybe I've always been a bit intimidated by the brunettes I've known. They were always very assertive and aggressive and take no shit. I didn't want the hassle of trying to hook up with them. I wanted something easy. Not something I'd have to work my ass off for."
"And than you met Sam…"
He nodded and smiled. "Than I met Sam. And I would have shed blood, sweat and tears to get with her. Hell, I think I have. And it was worth every second and I'd do it all over again."
"Baby, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said about me," Sam said from the doorway. Holding a container of chocolate pudding in one hand, and several Cheezies in the other. The bag tucked under her arm.
Flack jumped. Startled by her sudden presence. "Woman, you have a bad habit of sneaking up on people."
She shrugged and dipped a cheese coated snack into the pudding before popping it into her mouth.
Flack's stomach retched. "Why, Sam?" he asked, grimacing. "Why?"
"It's good," she replied. "Really, really good, actually. How's it coming? I made you guys something to eat."
"You cook?" Adam's eyes widened in shock.
"Yes, I cook," she huffed.
"Is it edible?" he asked.
"Screw you, peanut!" she cried with an exaggerated pout. "Of course it's edible. Don's not dead and he's been eating my cooking for a while. Look at him! Does he look like he's wasting away?"
"It's because I sneak extra meals while I'm out and than pretend I'm hungry when I get home," Flack teased.
"Fuck you both!" she huffed and turned on her heel. "Well if you two ever feel like nachos and re-fried beans and homemade fries supreme, it will be waiting."
Adam and Flack looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
"She being serious?" Adam asked.
"Guess there's only one way to find out," Flack replied, and draping an arm around his soon to be brother in law's shoulders, led the way from the room.
Flack had given Adam a ride home shortly before midnight. Far later than either of them had expected to be hanging out, but after the delicious meal Sam had prepared for them, the three had sat at the table and shared stories of Christmases past and funny things that had happened in their respective years in law enforcement and in Adam's case, a criminologist under Mac Taylor's tutelage. Than the two men had retreated to the couch and played Halo on X-Box 360 until nearly four hours had passed and Sam was yawning beside Flack on the couch and rubbing her weary eyes.
Now Flack was sitting up in bed, reading the latest chapter in his copy of The Expectant Father by the light of the lamp on the nightstand and running through his converstion with Adam in the now completed nursery. Sam was in the bathroom. He could hear the water running and the sound of her brushing her teeth.
"My gums are bleeding again," she complained as she turned off the water.
"Doctor said that was common," he reminded her.
"Who knew pregnancy caused so many different complications," she said with a sigh, flicking off the bathroom light and joining him in the bedroom.
"You're probably never going to want to do it again," he commented, glancing over at her. She looked devastatingly beautiful and sexy in a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms one of his wife beaters. The bottom of the top pushed up to just below her chest as she smeared lotion on her stomach.
"I never said that," she said with a smile. "I just don't want to go through it again anytime soon."
He sniffed the air. "What is that stuff?" he asked.
"Cocoa butter," Sam replied, holding aloft the small bottom in one hand. "Stella bought it for me. It was in that massive gift basket she brought over the other day. It helps reduce the appearance of stretch marks. And in case you haven't noticed, I have tons."
"I haven't noticed," he said. It was a lie. He had but in no way did they bother him. But if a little white lie made her feel better about herself, it was worth it. "And you're beautiful no matter what."
She beamed at the compliment and rubbed the remaining cream in her palm into her hands before setting the bottle on the nightstand and pulling the wife beater down over her stomach. "I'm huge, Donnie," she said, as she pulled back the covers and climbed in beside him.
"You're a bit big," he agreed.
"A bit?" she laughed. "I'm a double wide trailer."
"No," he corrected. "You're pregnant. With my baby. And I happen to find you one fucking sexy pregnant chick."
She leaned sideways and kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder.
He laid a hand on her stomach. "He's being good tonight?"
"He was carrying on like crazy while I was brushing my teeth. So I don't know if he's just taking a quick breather or if he's actually settled down for the night. I am hoping it's the latter so I can actually get some decent sleep. And I forgot to show you!"
She lifted the wife beater and pointed to her belly button. "I have an outtie!" she cried and giggled. "I was getting changed and I noticed it poking out! It happened sometime today I guess."
He laughed and bent down to press a soft kiss to her tummy. "Put your shirt back down before you turn me on," he said.
"You are so easy to please," she said and fixed the shirt. "You and Adam seemed to have fun tonight."
Flack nodded. "He's a good guy."
"Thank you, Donnie. For giving him a chance. I know you guys don't exactly have much in common. Other than playing video games."
"That's where you're wrong, Sammie," Flack said, marking his page in his book and setting it on the nightstand. We have one major, huge thing in common."
She frowned. "What's that?"
"We both love you and want nothing but the best for you."
She smiled brightly and kissed him softly. "Corny but lovely," she said, and rubbed the end of her nose against the end of his.
"Quit it with your Eskimo kisses," he said, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his side.
She snuggled into him, her hand on his stomach. "Are you nervous?" she asked.
"About Friday?"
She nodded.
"Honestly? Not really."
"At all?"
He shook his head and kissed the top of her head. His hand came up to stroke her hair. "That surprises you?"
"A little," she admitted.
"I'm ready, Samantha. I told you that in the licence office. I am ready and nothing can stop me from marrying you. I will be there Friday night. Rain, sleet, snow, hurricane, tornado…whatever. We're gonna be husband and wife in less than forty eight hours and nothing is going to get in the way of that."
"Good," she said, rubbing his stomach. "Because if you had have stood me up I would have hunted you down and killed you. Actually, first I would have tortured you mercilessly and than killed you."
He laughed. "You could be the one to bail."
"Not going to happen," she said and yawned noisily. "You're going to stay overnight at Speed's tomorrow?"
He nodded. "I don't get this big deal about us not seeing each other the night before the wedding."
"Well I figured we haven't done anything traditional or normal our whole relationship," she said. "So we might as well toss in a little something."
"I guess it couldn't hurt," he chuckled.
"I tried my ring on tonight," she told him. "To make sure it still fits."
"And did it?"
"With a little room to spare. Thank God. And I have to admit. I really liked the way it looked. A wedding band on my finger."
He smiled and squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her head.
They sat for some time. The only sound in the room their breathing. Their minds caught up in their own private thoughts.
"I'm hungry," Sam suddenly announced, breaking the silence.
"Jesus, woman," Flack grumbled. "What is it with you and all your meals today?"
"I can't help it! He makes me hungry all the time. Will you be a sweetheart and make me a snack?"
"Depends what you consider a snack," he said.
"Hmmm," she closed her eyes and scrunched up her nose as she considered her options. "I was thinking you could make me some grilled cheese with mustard and one of those little microwavable bowls of Kraft Dinner."
"Sam, that's not a snack, that's a meal," he complained, but was climbing out of bed as he did.
"I know…but I'm really, really, really hungry….and there's some of those re-fried beans left. Could you possibly, maybe, throw them in with the Kraft Dinner and mix them all around?"
"You are one sick human being," Flack said and headed for the door.
"Hey," she caught him by the hand as he passed by the bed. "You're a darling and I love you."
He grinned and leaned down to kiss the top of her head and than pulled up the bottom of her shirt to press his lips to her bare stomach. "Pain in the ass," he spoke to her stomach.
She grimaced as a sharp kick caught her just below the ribs. "See what you've done? You've gone and made him mad."
"Him? I should be the mad one. Last night you made me go to Wendy's at two in the morning to get you a Frosty and a Taco Salad and a spicy chicken sandwich. You know what that means?"
She smiled sweetly. "You're whipped?"
He frowned. "Means I'm insane," he corrected, and patting her stomach gently, lowered her top before heading to the door.
"And whipped," she called, laughing as she shot her a dirty look before disappearing out into the dark hallway.
It was honestly the best snack she'd had in a long time. And after washing it all done with a plastic tumbler full of milk and than brushing her teeth again, he took the dirty dishes to the kitchen and rinsed them and popped them into the washer.
Flack returned to bed and watched some highlights on ESPN while Sam sat beside him did her nightly music therapy as she called it and practiced some breathing techniques and exercising her Kegel muscles.
"Don't know why you need to do those," he had commented a couple weeks before. "My dick can testify your Kegel muscles are working just fine."
She'd frowned and smacked his shoulder and accused him of being a dirty minded perv and told him to stop having his mind in the gutter all the time.
He just couldn't help it. He was a red blooded male and she was an astonishingly sexy red blooded female. And she was all his.
Now, he couldn't keep the smirk off his face as she panted and wheezed beside him.
"Don't laugh," she said. "These exercises will help make pushing the baby out easier."
"I am laughing with you, Sammie. Not at you."
"Yeah…right…" she sputtered and than collapsed back against her pillow. "Enough…if I'm not ready to push the kid out by now, I will never be ready. I just hope he's not twenty plus pounds."
"Might be with everything you've been eating," Flack commented.
She frowned and reached out and yanked at some hair on his thigh.
"OW!" he rubbed his leg and pushed her hand away from him. "Watch it or I'll 'cuff ya and take ya downtown and charge you with domestic abuse."
"'Cuffs, huh? I think you're handcuffs play too big of a roll in our sex life as it is."
"Oh come on," he said, flicking the television off and tossing the remote on the nightstand. "When's the last time you let me play cops and robbers with you?"
Sam yawned. "A long time ago."
"Exactly. And if you ask me," he leaned over her, a hand on her pillow alongside of her head as he bent his head to kiss and nuzzle at the side of her neck. "We are just about due."
"Please," she laughed and put a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently. "You know what the doctor said. No intercourse. It's too painful and orgasm at this stage, with my history of contracting, might spur on early delivery. You were right there at the appointment."
"I know," he gave a frustrated sigh and flopped over onto his back. "I know."
"Sorry," she said sheepishly.
"It's okay…I mean it's not…especially when we're getting married in less than forty-eight hours and we can't even, you know, consummate it afterwards. In a suite at the Pierre Hotel at that. How Mac and Stella pulled that off I'll never know."
"There's other ways to seal the deal as you so eloquently put it. Even if you are the only one that gets off."
"Yeah? What other ways?"
She grinned and pressed a kiss to his ear. "Use your imagination," she said, and let her hand slip down his chest and over his stomach. Stopping just shy of the top of his boxers and laying her head on his shoulder.
"I use my imagination and you'll be sealing the deal in about five minutes," he informed her.
She laughed and snuggled in close.
They lay in silence. Relaxing and unwinding after the long day. Taking a few minutes alone before sleep overtook them.
"You know, Sammie," Flack said at long last. "If you want to talk to me about anything that happened to you when you were a kid, you can."
"I've already told you everything," she responded.
"I know…but I mean if you want to tell me anything else."
"There's nothing us to tell you," she said. "I told you everything without going into huge detail."
"Okay…I'm just saying that you can tell me stuff. You know that, right?"
"Of course," she said, and sat up and kissed him. Long and soft. "I'm tired, Donnie…I think we should try and catch some sleep before Kieran decides to play soccer with my insides."
"Good idea," he agreed, and kissed her chastely, waiting for her to move away and get herself comfortable on her side with her pillow between her legs before switching off the bedside table lamp.
He lay down beside her. On his back, staring up at the ceiling. Reaching out he laid his hand on her back and rubbed softly.
"Donnie?" she whispered in the dark.
"Hmmm?"
"I'm scared."
"Of what baby?"
"I don't want to have any more dreams."
"Sammie, if there's something you need to tell me…"
"I just want you to hold me," she said. "Until I fall asleep."
"You got it," he told her and rolled over onto his side. Draping his arm over her side, she snuggled back into him. "I've got you, Sam," he buried his face in her hair. "I've got you and no one can hurt you anymore."
"Just hold me," she said and hugged his arm to her.
He kissed the back of her head and tightened his grip on her.
Vowing to never let her go.
Neither Sinclair nor Gerrard were overly impressed with the young man that sat before the Chief of Detective's desk at eight thirty the following morning. He looked nervous and concerned by the silence that greeted him the moment he'd stepped through the door. A curt "Shut the door, Detective." and a simple nod towards the chair had indicated that his superior officers were in no mood for small talk. That this was some serious shit about to go down. Sinclair was behind his desk, Gerrard leaned against a filing cabinet, clutching a file folder.
"I'm glad to see you got my message," Sinclair said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Why wouldn't I have gotten it?" Flack asked. "I don't think my wife would have held something like that back from me."
"Speaking of your wife," Gerrard said. "I was telling Chief Sinclair that you're getting married tomorrow evening."
Flack nodded.
"Congratulations," Sinclair told the younger man. "It's a big step. I wasn't expecting it to happen this soon."
"Is that why I'm here?" Flack asked. "To discuss my wedding tomorrow? You couldn't send us a gift basket or a card and congratulate us that way?"
The beginnings of a smirk caused the left corner of Gerrard's lip to twitch.
Sinclair sighed and picked up a file folder resting on his desk. "This, Detective Flack, is a copy of the sargeant's exam you took last week. I happen to be good friends with the administrator and I asked him to have someone grade your paper as soon as possible. So that Stan and I could revel in your success."
Flack didn't respond.
"The good news is that you passed," Sinclair continued. "The bad news, and I mean utterly, disgustingly bad is that you barely passed."
Gerrard pushed himself away from the filing cabinet and opened the folder he was holding and pulled out stapled sheets of paper and held them out to Flack.
The detective took them. It was a photocopy of his exam. With a large 67 scrawled at the top and circled in red pen. Flack's eyes widened. He felt sick to his stomach. And embarrassed.
"Not a pretty site is it," Sinclair said.
Flack shook his head.
"I am in the right frame of mind to consider that a failure and make you take the exam again," the Chief said coolly. "That is completely unacceptable for someone who has been on the force as long as you have. Someone with your arrest record and the number of high profile busts under your belt. I recommended you for this promotion and put faith in you to make the detective bureau proud. Make yourself proud. And this…" he held up his copy of the exam. "This is what you give me, Flack? This is your best?"
"I don't know what you want me to say, sir," Flack responded.
"Some kind of explanation would be nice," Sinclair told him. "You passed by two percent. The passing grade in the NYPD is sixty-five percent. Did you even study? Or did you close your eyes and hope for the best? Or maybe you played eenie, meanie, minie, moe and picked your answers that way."
"I studied," Flack told him, folding the papers so he didn't have to look at them any longer. "Probably not as much as I should have or could have. I've never been a scholar. I've never pretended to be one. And I've had a lot of stress on my plate lately. Between my case load and having a baby and getting married…"
"Stop right there," Sinclair held up a hand to halt the words coming from the younger man's mouth. "First of all, if you can't handle the stress of your case load now, how in the hell do you expect to handle it as a sargeant when you are directly in charge of detectives underneath you? You'll have your own cases and men coming to you for guidance and assistance. And if you can't handle the way things are as a second grade detective how…."
"I can handle it," Flack interrupted his superior officer. "I wouldn't have put in for a promotion if I couldn't. I was just trying to say that I've been dealing with some major things and…"
"Personal things," Sinclair concluded. "Major personal things. Now I am not a big proponent on office relationships. But Mac Taylor doesn't seem to have a problem with it considering he's involved with one of his own employees. As far as I'm concerned, when things like that take place, one of the parties should be transferred to another precinct so there's no change of conflict when things go south. Stan was even telling me that he specifically warned you about getting involved with someone you work with."
"With all due respect sir, I…"
"Don't say anything, Detective!" Sinclair snapped. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt when I found out you were involved with someone you work with. Both Stan and I wanted to transfer you and we agreed to give you a chance because you've always been able to handle yourself maturely and professionally. And you've been doing an admirable job until now. And now you sit here and tell me that you crapped out of an important exam because of personal stress?"
Flack sighed heavily.
"When you're at work, you leave all personal issues at home. Do you understand me?"
Flack nodded.
"Do you understand me?" Sinclair repeated forcefully.
"Yes, sir," he replied quietly.
"Stan saved your ass with this, Detective. I was going to suggest to the commissioner that you don't receive your promotion until you take another exam and show you're worthy of moving up the ladder. Inspector Gerrard talked me out of that because you happen to be his favourite. He obviously has more faith in you than I do. And I trust Inspector Gerrard and his decisions. And if he feels you deserve this promotion, than I will step back and allow it to go through."
"He deserves this, Chief," Gerrard said. "Don's never disappointed me. He's a hard worker. Disciplined. The best I've had in a long time. And there's no doubt in my mind that he's cut out for great things within the department. He slipped up. I doubt it was intentional and I doubt it will happen again. Will it, Don."
It was a statement and a warning. Not a question.
"It won't," Flack assured them both. His cell phone, tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, vibrated against him.
"It better not," Sinclair said. "Or you'll be finding yourself back in a uniform. Permanently. Am I making myself clear?"
Flack nodded.
"As you know, as per department policy, any individual who is promoted is expected to serve x number of hours in a uniform and out on the streets," Sinclair said. "However, based on the fact that the detective bureau is massively understaffed at the moment and the fact that your wife is due to give birth within the next month, month and a half, the commissioner has agreed to forgo putting you back in a uniform. I think that was gracious of him. Don't you?"
"Of course," Flack responded. Frowning slightly when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. The third time in the last minute.
Sinclair sighed heavily. "If you so as much jay walk or spit on the sidewalk, Detective Flack, you are back on the street. Understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'll be sent notice to complete a department physical sometime within the next month," Gerrard told the younger man. "And sometime in the early New Year there will be a ceremony where you'll be presented with your stripes. It's dress uniform and attendance is mandatory. You'll be getting an invitation in the mail."
"That's fine," Flack said for lack of a better response. His phone went off again. A bigger frown crossed his face.
"Problem, detective?" Sinclair asked.
"Someone keeps calling me," he said, and despite the fact checking a call in the middle of a meeting with the Chief of Detectives wouldn't go over well, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.
D. MESSER, it read. A text message accompanying the call stated: URGENT 911.
Gerrard took the opportunity to glance down at the phone in the younger man's hands. "You better answer that, Don," he said, concern evident in his voice. "Go outside in the hall and talk the call."
Flack got to his feet and hurried out of the office, closing the door with a soft click behind him. HE pressed talk on the cell and put it to his ear. "Messer, what the hell…?"
"Sam's having the baby!" Danny practically shouted into the phone.
"Excuse me?" Flack asked. "What do you mean she's having the baby? I just left her at the lab less than an hour ago and she was fine."
"She came into the trace lab. Bringing me and Speed some results from DNA. And we were just standing there talking and all of a sudden she went completely white and nearly fainted and Speed had to grab her to keep her on her feet and she told him she was having contractions and the baby was coming. Her exact words."
Jesus Fucking Christ, Flack thought, and began pacing the width of the hallway, a hand to his forehead. This can't be happening. This isn't happening. She's not having this baby now. The day before our wedding. We're suppose to be getting married tomorrow. Not having the baby.
"Has her water broken or anything?" he asked.
"No. Nothing like that. Hawkes is with me. We're taking her to Women's and Children's."
"How close together are these contractions?" Flack asked.
"Fuck! I don't know! Hang on."
Flack sighed heavily and listened as Danny asked about the contractions.
"Hawkes says they're not regular but he's not taking any chances," Danny said into the phone.
"I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can," Flack told his best friend.
"You better be. 'Cause I've changed my mind about the whole being in the delivery room thing. It's just too fucking stressful and scary!"
And with that, Danny hung up.
Flack pressed end on the phone and went back to Sinclair's office. "Are we done here?" he asked, poking his head into the room.
"No we're not done," Sinclair responded.
"Well that's too bad," Flack said. "Because I am."
He shut the door once again.
"Don't make me regret this," Sinclair said to the Inspector. "That kid so as much makes one small fuck up and it's on your head."
Gerrard nodded in understanding and headed for the door.
"I'm warning you, Stan. He so as much sneezes in the wrong place and I'll have his ass on the street so fast his head will spin."
"I think he has bigger fish to fry at the moment, Chief," the older man said, and slammed the door closed behind him.
A/N: I am unsure of the passing marks for promotions within the NYPD. So I went with what our police service has here. Which is 65 percent.
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