DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN

Proceed with Caution

"And I need, someone to believe in
Yes someone to fill this space, with grace
To look into my eyes and touch my face
To make me feel alive today
Someone to make me strong
Someone to make me belong
Someone to make it all right
Someone to make me feel alive, yeah
And stretching out like rubber bands
To kiss the cheeks and shake the hands
And pull horns and wonderlands.
With strong arms and no legs to stand
And getting by on hand me downs
With your tips, your drinks, your buying rounds
Back to my old stomping grounds
Like children in the lost and found.
-Rain Delays, Crash Parallel

A week and a half before he had strolled the halls of the court house under entirely different circumstances. He had gone in there that night a nervous wreck and had come out a married man with no cares or worries in the world. And while the permanent shit eating grin remained on his face, real life had come crashing down right quick forty eight hours later when he'd been called out at two in the morning to face his first crime scene as a newlywed. A body that had been spotted floating face down in the partially frozen East River. What had appeared at first as a jumper had taken a sharp right to murder when Sid detected lethally high levels of toxins in the male vic's system and multiple defence wounds and broken bones.

The water had washed away any trace evidence and the vic had had no identification on him. His photo in the paper and on the evening news every night for a week had yielded no calls from the public and investigators still had no clues as to his identity or to who had killed him and why. It was a rude welcome back for Flack, who up until that phone call had worried about nothing more than catering to his new wife's every little whim, celebrating their small, quiet, belated Christmas, and making plans for the imminent arrival of their son.

It was January 4, 2009. Kieran's birth was tentatively scheduled for the second of February. Although the doctor had warned that most first timers were notoriously late and it could be as late as the fourteenth before the baby decided to make his entrance into the world. Flack was nervous. More nervous than he had been walking out of the precinct Christmas Eve and driving with Danny Messer to his own wedding. He was paranoid that Samantha, who was now off work for the remainder of the pregnancy, would go into labour either the second he walked out the door, or found himself an hour away at a crime scene or stuck in court testifying. He had purchases, and now carried a pager for those exact reasons. If he was ever on his phone conducting work business and she went into labour, all she had to do was page him 911 and he knew that it was show time.

Thankfully, that hadn't happened yet. Although he found himself, a few times on a daily basis in fact, using his cell phone to call the pager clipped to his belt to make sure that it was working. Danny had called him a paranoid moron for being that way. If she went into labour, someone would be damn sure to find out and tell him right quick. Flack didn't care what he looked like or what he came across as. He was damn well determined not to miss a single moment of his kid's birth.

Now if only he could get his ass out of the courthouse in time to make it to some of Sam's last appointment with the OB/GYN and the maternity registration. He was already running the risk of missing most, or all of her final ultrasound. That was scheduled for quarter to ten and it was already eight-thirty and the word had gone out quick at eight that the public defender handling Travis Cooper's case was running late. The blustery conditions and near constant snow and ice pellets that had been assaulting the city since midnight made travelling treacherous at best. Flack was suppose to get on the stand to testify at the preliminary hearing for the D.A. at quarter to nine. And that didn't look like it was going to happen.

He abandoned his seat on a wooden bench across the hall from the court room the case had been assigned to and paced the halls. Alternating between checking his watch and casting glances out the window at the God awful shitty weather. He sighed heavily and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his charcoal grey suit jacket and dialled the familiar number.

"Hello?" she mumbled groggily.

"Rise and shine Thumbelina," he teased.

"You just think you're so damn cute, don't you honey," came her sleepy response.

Flack had never, ever had a woman call him a pet name before. With Sam is was usually sweetie or baby. She very rarely called him honey. He had complained on numerous occasions how silly it sounded to call a grown man that. And how old it made him feel. But since those rings had gone on their fingers, he realized whatever she wanted to call him was fine by him. As long as it wasn't something profanity laced said out of anger and annoyance.

"I don't think it," he said with a slight chuckle. "I know it."

"You wish," she scoffed and yawned noisily. "You have this very, very bad habit of waking me up at ungodly hours."

"Ungodly hours? It's like eight thirty in the morning."

"Hey, what's normal for you is ungodly for me," she said. "I am on my sick leave, slash maternity leave. If I want to stay in bed until noon hour, I will."

"Well you're going to have to leave that for tomorrow because you have your ultrasound and all those other appointments today."

She sighed heavily. "I knew I forgot something."

"I left some money on the microwave for you to take a cab to Women's and Children's. And I mean it, Samantha. Take a cab. Not the bus and not the subway. A taxi. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir, Detective Sargent," she answered with a giggle. "And to be honest, I don't think I could manage to get myself to the subway station or the bus stop in this weather. It's nasty outside."

"All the more reason why you need to get up now and get ready. You have to drink all that water before your ultrasound and with the roads the way they are, you're best to leave at least half an hour earlier than normal. How's the baby been this morning?"

"Well, you did just wake me up," she reminded him. "But the moment I sat up he started in on one of his wild rampages. I swear to God he's throwing some crazy parties in there. And I do wish he'd stop using my bladder as a soccer ball. Did you hear me go to the washroom five times last night?"

"I knew you got out of bed twice. I was probably too out of it for the other three."

"I am telling you, one time I am not going to make it to the bathroom and you're going to have a puddle on the bedroom floor to clean up."

"In that case, I'll buy you some of them adult diapers on my way to the hospital," he teased. "I was also calling to let you know that I handed in your victim impact statement to the D.A. and he said it was everything he wanted and more. Not as good as being able to testify in person, but better than nothing. I showed him that doctor's note just in case he actually was doubting you were eight plus months pregnant and could pop any day."

She gave a small laugh. "You have such a lovely, poetic way of phrasing things," she chided. "Have you seen Travis Cooper yet?"

"I think he's still in holding," Flack told her. "They won't bring him up until his public defender is here and the guy's running nearly an hour late. I probably won't get on the stand before ten o'clock."

"Which means you won't make it for any of the ultrasound," she concluded.

"Definitely not. But I'm gonna bust my ass to meet you at the doctor's office. Even if I have to go all out with lights and sirens."

"Now that's love," she said with a giggle.

"Hey, I don't want to miss a damn thing," he told her. "And besides, I need to keep an eye on the doctor during the physical exam. OB's are just pervs with licences to practice medicine if you ask me."

"Don, my doctor is a woman," Sam reminded him.

"Maybe she's into girls," he said.

"You perv. Not getting any is just messing your brain right up. Will you call me when you're on your way to the hospital? Just so I know where you're going to meet me?"

"I will call you," he assured her. "You need anything, you call Stella or Carmen and they'll find a way to help you out. And Danny's always good in a pinch so you could give him a shout, too."

"I think I'll be okay," she said. "Good luck. I'm sure you'll do great."

"I'll see you soon. I love you guys."

"We love you too," she said and hung up.

Flack pressed end and set his phone to vibrate before dropping it into his jacket pocket. Unable to control a broad grin from spreading from ear to ear. He found himself smiling a lot more in the past week and a half. He laughed easier and loved a lot harder. And it was a damn good feeling to have someone to go home to after a long, tiring day that loved you just the same.

He cast a glance out the window at the dreary grey sky and the wind that threatened to snap off tree branches and heard the flecks of ice that pattered against the glass. It was depressing as all hell. Sighing heavily, he shook his head in utter disgust at the weather.

"Looks like you're wishing you were anywhere else but here," a familiar voice said in way of greeting. "Say maybe Cabo San Lucas or the Dominican."

"I was thinking more warm and snug in my bed but a tropical paradise sounds mighty nice right about now," Flack said with a smile. "You're here early, Mac."

"I thought the drive in from the lab would take a lot longer than it did," the head of the crime lab sat. He held take out cups of coffee in each hand and held one out to the younger man. "Figured you could use a warmer upper."

"Pick me upper is more like it," the homicide detective quipped and accepted the piping hot coffee. "Thanks…I needed something to keep me awake."

"Not sleeping good?" Mac asked, as the two men retreated to a bank of chairs several feet away.

"Sam's getting really uncomfortable so she tosses and turns all night," Flack replied, sipping his coffee as he sat down. "And she's always kicking the covers off and complaining she's too hot or bundling up saying she's freezing to death. And the trips to the bathroom," he shook his head. "I swear to God, Mac. She must get up half a dozen times in the span of one night. And the baby…now he's a holy terror. If she has her stomach against me, I can actually feel him rolling around and kicking her. Can't be over soon enough if you ask me."

"What is it now? A month?"

Flack nodded. "She goes today for her last ultrasound and to see the doctor. Last time they checked, Kieran was coming ass first. If he's still like that they're either going to try and turn him or just schedule a c-section."

"What's Sam hoping for?"

"She's hoping to get through it in one piece," the detective laughed. "She's all wound up about this delivering in the tub thing. Freaks me right out. I keep working myself up about how he's going to drown."

Mac chuckled. "Babies spend nine months inside nothing but water, Don. He's not going to drown in a birthing tub surrounded by doctors and nurses."

"That's what Sam says. But you know me, Mac. I'm a little anal and paranoid about anyone that carries the initials MD at the end of their name."

Mac just smiled and nodded. It may have been a week and a half since the wedding, but every time he caught a glimpse of the thick wedding band on Flack's finger Mac found it simply surreal. More because two years ago, that young man had come so close to death and had clawed and fought his way back. Mac himself had watched Flack grow both professionally and personally. From a third grade detective to a detective Sargent. From an often arrogant, off handed boy to a mature, self-assured man. A husband and pretty soon a father. And while Don Flack Jr wasn't his son, Mac Taylor was damn proud of that kid nonetheless.

"So married life is treating you okay?" Mac asked, taking a swig of coffee.

"So far so good," Flack replied. "A little stressful wondering if my boy's gonna make an unexpected appearance but other than that, I have no complaints. Hope I can still say that when I'm eighty and we've been married fifty years."

"Well I hope I'm still around to toast the two of you on your fiftieth anniversary," Mac said. "You know, when Claire and I first got married, we just revelled in that whole honeymoon stage. I couldn't keep the grin off of my face. You know what one I mean. You've been walking around with it for nearly two weeks now. It was just this phenomenal feeling. And we had lived together before we got married just like you and Sam did. But the second that that ring went on her finger, it was like she became this entirely different person. She wasn't just my girlfriend or my fiancee any longer. She was my wife."

Flack smiled. "I completely get where you're coming from. Every morning since we got married, I've been waking up before her and just lying there and staring at her. Like I'm seeing her for the first time every time I open my eyes. It's hard to explain. You just know you feel it."

Mac nodded in agreement. "I still think about her from time to time."

Flack glanced over at the older man. Hearing the hint of sadness and regret and loss in Mac's voice. "Claire?"

He sighed. "Every now and than certain little things crop up that make me think about her. Every time I get a visit from Reed I sit there and think about how much he reminds me of her. Looks, personality. The whole ball of wax. I was out doing some Christmas shopping before the holidays and there was this woman a few people ahead of me with the same colour of hair and the same cape style jacket Claire wore in the winter and for a brief second, I was half tempted to chase after her to see if it was Claire. And her birthday was January second."

"Yesterday," Flack said. "I didn't know that."

"It was all I could do to get through the day," Mac admitted. "It's been like that every year on her birthday since nine eleven."

"Mac," Flack sighed and chose his words carefully. "I need to ask something. About Claire. And you. And you have every right to tell me to mind my own business if I'm treading on thin ice."

"I think we've known each other long enough and have enough respect for each other to be able to ask, and answer, difficult questions. So go right ahead."

"It'll be the eighth anniversary of nine eleven this year," the detective began. "And trust me, it still haunts me to this day the things I saw working down at Ground Zero doing recovery work. Personal affects, pieces of bodies. And the smell. I swear to God if I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I can still smell it. A big pile of death. And that's something I never want to smell again as long as I live."

Mac sipped his coffee and didn't interrupt.

"You took your wedding ring off a few years ago now. But I know it still kills you inside that you lost Claire. And trust me, Mac, I get where you're coming from. Because if something was to happen to Sam and I had to face my life without her…" he shook his head and stared down at the wedding band on his finger. "I just couldn't deal with that. And I understand it must just tear you up inside to think about what happened to your wife."

"But…I can feel a but coming on, Don."

"It's not really a but. I was just wondering if it would have been easier for you to cope with it and accept it if they'd actually found something of Claire. Do you ever find yourself holding onto this faint hope that she's out there somewhere?"

"For a while I did," Mac admitted. "For the first couple of years I held onto this faint shred of hope that maybe she was in a hospital somewhere. That maybe she was so burnt and disfigured that no one could tell who she was. Or maybe she had a severe head injury and simply couldn't remember who she was. But I think I always knew, in my heart, that that was just a fantasy. That she wasn't going to come home. Ever. And eventually, when I was able to admit that out loud, I was able to move on."

"Have you, Mac?" Flack asked. "Moved on? Totally and completely?"

"I don't think it will ever be completely," he admitted sadly.

"But you love Stella. And I know she loves you. And if you ask me, you guys wasted way too much time denying how you felt about each other. So how do you draw the line between how you felt about Claire and how you feel about Stella. And is there a clear line? Is there a difference?"

Mac thought about it long and hard before answering. "There's a difference," he said. "Claire was the first love of my life. She was my wife and my future. But unfortunately, we never got the chance to get too far into that future. And Stella…Stella is my second chance at life and love and happiness."

"I get that," Flack said with a slow nod. "But honestly, Mac, I don't think I'd ever get over it if something bad happened to Sam. And I don't think I could ever love anyone else."

"You'd love them in a different way, Don."

The detective shook his head. "I couldn't be with anyone else. I know that. And I wouldn't want anyone else. The thought of being with someone else…" his voice drifted off.

"Well let's hope you never have to face a day where something bad does happen," Mac told the younger man. "Let's hope that the two of you grow old and grey and have many, many years together. And why are you thinking so fatalistically? You've been married all of ten days."

"Just something that crosses my mind every once in a while," Flack responded, getting to his feet and tossing his empty coffee cup in a nearby garbage.

"You should be thinking about positive things," Mac told him. "About enjoying your lives together and having this baby and many more afterwards. There's many years left before either of you have to consider what life would be like without the other."

"I know," the detective said with a sigh. "Just sometimes I get in this mood where I think like that is all. I was writing a new will out the other day. I wanted to make sure that all the bases were covered and that I had dotted all my I's and crossed all my T's now that Sam's legally my wife and the baby will be here soon. And Sam just went nuts on me. Said I was spooking her and didn't want me to be thinking about bad shit like that. I mean, I just want her and the boy to be okay if something happened to me tomorrow, Mac."

"They would be, Don. And you know that. There's a lot of people that love her and love that baby and we'd make sure that they were both well taken care of. That's not something you need to be worrying about. Only thing that should be on your mind right now, is taking care of the present with your new wife and your son. And keeping a clear head for this trial. Any news?"

"Public defender is running late because of the weather. I handed in Sam's victim impact statement and the DA said there's no issues with me testifying as both the responding officer to the crime scene, and as a personal relation to her. I did hear that Cooper's going to be looking for a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Mac asked.

Flack shrugged. "As far as I can tell, he's looking for a plea bargain. Maybe drop everything down to manslaughter so he gets just life instead of an execution date. And between you and me, he's trying to get the attempted murder of a cop charge tossed."

"That's a bunch of crap," Mac growled. "How does the defence think they'll get away with that?"

"Apparently he's going to testify that a, he didn't know she was a cop, and b, he didn't have any intention on killing her. That he just wanted to rough her up a bit, scare her."

"He tried to strangle her," Mac argued. "He would have raped her and killed her had she not shot him. And I will tell you this right now, Flack, that is one charge I will not let them drop. He knew damn well she was cop and he had every intention on killing her. He stabbed her with a near lethal dose of narcotics."

"Trust me, Mac. No one is more pissed off about it than me. That's my wife. And I swear, if that wackjob so as much utters a foul word about her, I am jumping over that railing and laying a beating on him that he will never forget."

The older man sighed heavily and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"All fun and games, huh, Mac?" Flack laughed. "Isn't it just one of those days that you just love your job and the bullshit that goes with it?"

"And here I was coming here early hoping to catch up to you with some good news," he sighed.

"I could use some good news. I love good news. You can never have too much of it."

"Stella and I set a date for the wedding," Mac told him.

"Yeah? That's awesome. When's it going to be?"

"April 18th. It's just going to be something small and intimate. No more than twenty people and preformed by the department chaplain. Nothing fancy or over the top. Just unassuming and quaint like you and Samantha had."

"Six guests," Flack grinned. "Can't get much more quaint than that. That's great news, Mac. I was starting to wonder when you two were going to take the plunge. I was wondering if maybe you were getting cold feet."

"Not in a million years," he declared. "I'd marry her today if I could. And I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing me a favour."

"I'll try," Flack said.

"I'd like you to be my best man, Don."

The younger man blinked. Certainly not what he had been expecting to hear.

"We've worked together for quite a while now," Mac continued. "And I've always respected you and trusted you. Not just as a cop but as human being. And seeing how much you've grown up since you met Samantha and everything you've taken on. A marriage, a baby. There's never been a time I've been more proud of you."

Flack found himself uncharacteristically choked up by the honesty in Mac Taylor's voice.

"And I'd be honoured if you'd stand beside me on my wedding day," Mac told him.

Flack nodded as he searched for the perfect words to say. Unable to speak due to the lump of emotion in his throat.

"I know it's a lot to ask considering we haven't always seen eye to eye…"

"I'd be honoured, Mac," the detective said, cutting him off.

Mac smiled and nodded and reached out and patted the younger man on the back. "Best part is, you don't have to wear a tux."

Flack chuckled. "My wife would beg to differ. She likes me in a tux. Says I remind her of James Bond."

"What is it with women and their weaknesses for spies?" Mac asked. "Stella is like that, too."

"I don't know about spies. But my wife's weakness is cops. Sometimes I seriously wonder if that's the only reason why she married me. 'Cause she has a thing for the badge and the gun and the cuffs."

"Something tells me there's more to her decision to become your wife than that," Mac said.

The door to the courtroom clicked open and the District Attorney Victor Davis stepped out into the hallway.

"Detective Flack," he called. "We're ready to start."

"Show time," Flack said as he got to his feet. "Wish me luck."

"Way your life has been going? A beautiful wife and a baby on the way?" Mac laughed. "Seems like you have all the luck you need. Like having a horse shoe up your ass."

The detective chuckled heartily. "That is something you never would have said before Stella," he said.

"A good woman affects us in strange ways, Flack."

"And we wouldn't want it any other way," the younger man declared, and disappeared into the court room.

It was ten minutes to eleven when Flack found himself hurrying into the fourth floor Obstetrics and Gynaecology Clinic at Women's and Children's Hospital. The main area itself was massive and a hub of activity. A large central reception desk housed five medical clerks for each of the physicians that had their practices running out of the clinic. The place was noisy and crowded. Not uncommon for a Monday. The beginning of the week and Thursdays were the only full days that the doctors were in their offices. The remaining three days were spent doing shifts on the actual OB/GYN and labour and delivery wards.

He spotted Samantha sitting in a bank of chairs along the far right wall. Under a large, colourful poster by the Kodak company that featured a dozen babies, all of different shapes and sizes and races, in bright, cheery outfits and propped against a stark white background. The words LIFE'S LITTLE MIRACLES was printed from one corner of the poster to the other.

He thought of how beautiful she looked sitting there. With her hair pushed behind her ear and stylish dark framed glasses on her face and absolutely no makeup on her pale, smooth skin. Wearing a pair of maternity jeans and a long sleeve black top embellished with red and yellow embroidery around the neck line and cuffs of the sleeves. The top was tied together at the middle of her back and accented her pregnancy. Not that it needed to be accentuated. It was obvious from a mile away.

"So you come here often?" he asked, winking playfully at her as he shed his winter coat and dropped it on top of hers in the chair to her left.

"Why am I not surprised you'd be the type to troll for women in the OB/GYN department," she teased, looking up from her magazine as he slipped into the chair to her left.

"There's just something so insanely sexy about a pregnant woman," he declared, leaning sideways to press a kiss to the side of her head. "One in particular."

"Is she here today?" Sam asked.

"Didn't see her. So I figured I'd settle for hanging out with you."

"Oh you are just so funny," she said sarcastically.

He kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "So? How'd the ultrasound go? He still coming ass first or what?"

"Thankfully, your son has decided to take the easier route and has turned himself around the right way. So we are no longer looking at scheduling a C-section."

"You disappointed? You sound a little disappointed."

"I was growing partial to the thought of being knocked out completely," she admitted, closing her magazine and tucking it into her satchel style purse resting at her feet. She pulled out a manila envelope and held it out to him. "That's our last ultrasound pictures. They turned out really good. Especially the profile ones."

Flack took the envelope from her and opened it. Inside were four sepia coloured still pictures. At the bottom left corner of each one was the date and time. At the top right corner were the words BABY FLACK. Those simple words and seeing his last name there like that, attributed to something incredible and beautiful that they had managed to create together, caused excitement and anticipation to rush through his body and tears spring to his eyes.

"Are you getting all soft on me?" Sam teased, curled her arms around his bicep and hugging his arm to her. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You know how much I like it when you're all assertive and aggressive. Don't be doing a three sixty on me here."

He gave a small smile and shuffled through the pictures. "Guess that explains your heart burn, huh?"

"What's that?"

"Look at all the hair the kid has. And how dark it is. Full head of hair already."

"Isn't that an old wives tale?" Sam asked, peering at the pictures.

"I've heard a couple people say that their wives had massive indigestion and the baby came out with lots of hair. Now it's true in your case, too."

"He's got your ears," Sam said, pointing to the area on the profile picture. "And your chin and by the looks of it your lips."

"Got your nose though. Thank God. I was hoping against hope that was one thing he wouldn't get from me. All the Flack kids have inherited my father's nose. I am so glad we escaped that dreaded curse."

"Flack nose or no Flack nose, he looks just like you," Sam commented.

"Hard to tell who he looks like in ultrasound pictures."

"Please," she laughed. "You're just saying that to spare my feelings. How did it go this morning?"

"It went," he responded, trailing a thumb over his son's features and giving a soft smile before carefully tucking the pictures back into the envelope.

"Did the public defender ever show up?"

Flack nodded and removed his arm from around her and bent over to slip the photos into her purse. "More than an hour late."

"And?" she asked.

"And I finally managed to get on the stand at quarter to ten."

"And you managed to testify and get here for the appointment?"

"It was just a pre-lim, Sammie. I just had to tell the facts and nothing but. Mac was just being called in when I left."

"And you saw Travis Cooper?"

Flack nodded.

"You're being very evasive about the whole thing," she remarked.

"I'm not being evasive. I'm just not talking about it."

"That bad?"

"You know how these things go, Sam. Crazy, hopped up junkie kills half a dozen people, tries to kill a cop and than walks into court all cleaned up and talking about how remorseful he is and how finding God during his short stay in Rikers awaiting trial has completely rehabilitated him."

"Well just because he says it doesn't make it true," she said with a snort. "But your part went okay?"

"For the most part."

She frowned. "What are you not telling me?"

He sighed. "Travis Cooper is going for a plea bargain. And it looks like the D.A is going to accept it."

"What kind of plea bargain?" she inquired.

"Guilty to six counts of manslaughter."

"That's a complete load of utter bullshit," Sam declared.

"Never fails to amaze me how the bad guys usually win," Flack lamented, shaking his head. "Guy should be finding his ass on death row. But unfortunately, I'm not a lawyer. Because if I was the DA, I'd be telling the defence to go fuck themselves and shove it up their ass."

"Which is why you're not a lawyer," Sam reasoned, rubbing his arm. "Because you have a heart and you get all riled up and that doesn't do any good in the courtroom. And what about my charge?"

Flack sighed. "He's going to plead not guilty to attempted murder of a cop. He's arguing that you didn't identify yourself as NYPD. Did you? Identify yourself as a cop?"

"He asked me if I was a cop and I said yes. That I was just there investigating the scene."

"Well because of his not guilty plea, you're going to have to testify and tell the court that."

She snorted. "What a bunch of crap."

"But we're not going to worry about that right now," Flack said quickly, stroking her thigh softly. "We're not even going to talk about work. We're going to talk about our baby and whatever else pops into our heads. Did you see any sports high lights this morning?"

"No…why?"

"The Rangers game was fucking awesome. You were out like a light by the third period and missed all the exciting stuff. It was tie three three and Jagr took the puck end to end and deeked out the Flyers defence. Boom. Top shelf for the go ahead goal. And it was this sweet ass backhander too."

"Did they win?"

"Hell yeah. Ended up getting two more goals in the last minute of play. They're going all the way this year, baby. I can feel it. I am telling you right now, my boys get to the cup final and I'm getting tickets and getting Kieran a little Rangers jersey and me and my son are going to watch the Rangers kick ass."

"He'll be what?" she asked, smiling at the thought. And at her husband's exuberance. "Five months old when the Final gets here?"

"And you're point? I've been giving him play by play since the beginning of the season. He's going to come out of there bleeding Rangers blue and red and knowing all the rules and the starting line up."

"How'd my Devils do?"

"Who cares about New Jersey? This is the Rangers, babe."

"Yeah? Well the cabbie I had this morning was a native of Jersey and was telling me that they're five points up on your beloved Rangers."

"That's a minute point. That's only because your boy Brodeur is on a tear. Five shut outs in a row. Team would be nothing without him. Rangers are solid from top to bottom."

"Whatever you say," she said, and leaned forward to snag the bottle of vitamin water from her purse.

"I am so hoping they go up against each other in the playoffs. Me and you can have some serious bets going on?"

"What kinds of bets?" she asked, holding out the plastic bottle for him to open.

"Dirty ones," he grinned. "Those are the best kinds of all."

He snapped the lid off the blackberry grape flavoured water and took a swig before handing it back to her. Grimacing at the taste. "So I had a really interesting talk with Mac before I went in to testify," he told her.

"Work related?"

Flack shook his head. "Personal. Mac and Stella set a date for the wedding."

"I know. She called me on the way here. She says there's something important she wants to ask me but wants to do it in person. We're meeting for lunch on Friday to talk about it."

"I think I know what it might be about. Mac asked me to be his best man."

Sam's eyes widened. "Wow…now there's something I never would have expected."

"Me either. We seem to be more at each other's throats lately than we are getting along."

"What did you say?"

"I told him I'd be honoured. After I picked myself up off the ground. That was something I'd expect from Messer if he and Erica ever decided to tie the knot. But Mac? That's just a little weird."

"Well he must think pretty highly of you to ask something like that. It's not something people take lightly. In that case, I am going to try and talk Stella into going formal so I get to see you in a tux."

Flack grinned. "I told Mac you were probably going to get onto the whole tux thing. Because of your whole spy fetish you have going on."

"My cop fetish so outweighs the spy one," she said, and pressed a kiss to the spot below his ear. "You know, you're a good man, Don Flack."

He smiled and slipped his arm out of hers and laid his hand on the back of her head and pulled her into him for a soft, tender kiss.

"I try my best," he said.

January 30th. That was the day that Sam was scheduled to have her stitches removed. February 10th was tentatively confirmed as Kieran's birth date. If she didn't go into labour by than, she was to come in to the hospital at eight in the morning on the tenth and be induced. It seemed so final now. Dates had been set and the end was in sight. But it was still a nervous, tedious road to hoe.

They had spent an hour at the maternity registration appointment. Signing consent forms and talking about the methods of pain control that would be employed because of her inability to receive an epidural. They were shown around the labour and delivery ward. An insightful and informative tour of the birthing room. The tub that was being used was double the size of a normal bathtub and had Jacuzzi style jets designed to hit the pressure points of the body to help control the amount of pain. Flack still wasn't sold on the idea of his son being born in the water. But he kept his thoughts and worries to himself when he saw how excited and into it his wife was. She wanted to do it and she was adamant about it and he wasn't going to hold her back or stand in his way.

The last stop on the tour had been the private room where she and the baby would stay, most likely for a couple days baring no complications. It was twice the size of their bedroom at home and had soft yellow walls and white wainscoting and crown moulding. A plush burgundy reclining chair sat by one side of the bed and three standard hospital chairs were lined up against the wall by the window. Along with the standard hospital bed, there was a small burgundy love seat parked in front of a light oak wall unit that held a twenty-seven inch television. Flack had joked, after seeing that and the private bathroom, that for a hospital room, it was better than most peoples' bedrooms and most hotels he'd stayed in.

They'd grabbed a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria before he had taken Samantha home and than returned to work. The shift had passed by quickly with a multitude of calls that seemed to all happen at once and paper work that needed to be completed and other detectives' work that needed to be signed off on and handed in to the C.O. before Flack could even think about clocking out for the night.

It was quarter to eight by the time he finally arrived home. Physically and emotionally exhausted. Sam had prepared a simple yet rather delicious meal of pasta and chicken and salad. After dinner they had cuddled up under a blanket on the couch to watch a movie and had both passed out half way through and hadn't stirred again until well after midnight. They had dragged themselves to the bedroom and climbed into pyjamas and that was it. Asleep soon after their heads hit their pillows.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone woke Flack from a deep, peaceful slumber. His eyes snapped open and his rolled over onto his side to reach for the phone before it had a chance to wake Samantha up. For the first time in at least three months, she seemed to be in the midst of a comfortable sleep. On her right side, facing him, with her knees bent and a pillow tucked between them. Her long, dark eyelashes falling on her smooth, pale cheeks and her lips curved in a gentle smile.

His hand slapped down on his cell phone and he flipped it open and held it to his ear. "Flack," he answered simply, feeling and hearing Sam stir beside him. He glanced over at her and laid his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly, hoping to God she wasn't going to wake up.

"Yeah…Flack…it's Rick Santucci," came the voice on the other end.

"What you doing calling me personally?" he asked. "All calls go through dispatch first. I'm not even on call. And how'd you even get my number in the first place?"

"I know. But I was the first officer on scene and Danny Messer asked me to call you. Gave me your number."

"He asked you to call me? Why? What kind of scene is he involved in?"

"It's an accident."

"Hang on a second, Rick…I'm homicide, remember? I don't handle accident scenes unless there's probable grounds to suspect homicide. So put Messer on the phone so I can tear him a new asshole."

"I can't put him on the phone. That's what I'm trying to tell you. There's been an accident."

Flack immediately sat up. "At a crime scene?" he asked.

"On the way to a crime scene. With Danny Messer and Carmen Devine."

"What kind of accident?" Flack asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and slipping out of bed. The phone held to his ear with his shoulder as he began a search for clothes.

"Car accident. They were on their way to a scene. Lights and sirens running. A car coming through an intersection attempted to stop but slid on the ice and t-boned them. On the passenger's side."

"Who was driving?" he asked, snagging a pair of jeans from his dresser and slipping into them.

"Danny was."

"How's Carmen?" Flack grabbed an NYPD sweatshirt from the closet and yanked it on.

"Both Danny and Carmen have been taken to Trinity. Danny's got what sounds like bruised ribs and a broken nose and a pretty nasty gash above his left eye. From air bag deployment is my best guest."

"Donnie?" Sam's voice. Tired and groggy behind him. Followed by the soft rustle of sheets as she sat up.

"What about Carmen?" Flack asked into the phone.

"Carmen?" Sam asked. "Donnie…what's wrong? What's going on?"

He ignored her. "Santucci?" he asked into the phone.

"All I know is that both Danny and Carmen will conscious and coherent when the EMS got them out of the vehicle. They're got pretty banged up and Carmen was complaining about abdominal pain, but that's all I really know.

"Driver of the other car?" Flack inquired, as he snatched a pair of socks from the top drawer of the dresser and sat down on the end of the bed to pull them on.

"Dead on the scene," Santucci reluctantly informed him.

"Fuck…" Flack sighed heavily. "You absolutely sure Danny had the sirens and the lights going?"

"I'm sure. Both were running when fire and blue and whites responded. Messer wanted me to call you and let you know what had happened and where they are."

"How long ago did this happen?" Flack asked.

"Accident was an hour ago. Took fire forty five minutes to get them out of the truck."

"An hour ago and you're just calling me now? Why didn't someone call me as soon as they got on the scene and found out who was involved?"

"Danny was worried about disturbing you and your wife," Santucci said.

"Yeah? Well Messer has a tendency to think with his ass sometimes," Flack grumbled. "Thanks for calling me."

"No problem," the officer said and promptly hung up.

Flack pressed end on his phone and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans and snatched his keys and wallet from the top of the dresser.

The bedside lamp flicked on. Revealing Sam sitting up in bed, her hair messy, rubbing at her eyes.

"What's going on?" she asked. "You've been called in?"

"There's been an accident," he told her. Going to the nightstand, he opened the top drawer and took out his badge and clipped it to the waist of his jeans. Just in case he needed some back up to get into see Carmen and Danny in the ER.

"What kind?" she asked, eyes widening in concern.

"Car accident. Danny and Carmen were on their way to a scene and got taken out by a driver ignoring the sirens. They're okay and being taken care of in Trinity's ER, but the driver is DOA."

"I'm coming with you," Sam announced, shoving the blankets off of her and carefully swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"No," he told her firmly. "You're not."

"But Danny and Carmen…"

"Are fine," he interrupted. "Their injuries aren't serious and they're okay. But you won't be going and getting yourself all stressed out and hyped up. I'm just going to check on them and than I'll be right home. I should be there, and back, in less than a couple hours."

"They're my friends, Donnie," she argued.

"I know. But as your friends, they'll understand that the best thing for you and the baby is to stay right where you are. In bed. Sleeping. And if you can't sleep, at least resting. Okay?"

She nodded reluctantly and slipped back under the covers.

"I will call you and let you know how things are," he promised, tucking the comforter around her. Laying a hand on her stomach, he kissed her softly. "Try not to get worked up and worry too much, okay?"

"Okay," she sighed.

"It's for the best and you know it," he told her, running a hand softly along the side of her face.

She nodded and kissed his palm before he left the room.

Sighing heavily, she lay down on her right side and nestled her head into the pillow.

Concern ate at her. But sleep eluded her.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Thanks to even the lurkers! I know there's lots of you!

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