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

SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG GUYS! THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER! ENJOY!

Reaching out, holding on

"I came by today to see you
I just had to let you know
If I knew the last time that I held you was the last time
I'd have held you, and never let go

Oh, it's kept me awake nights, wondering
I lie in the dark, just asking why
I've always been told
You won't be called home
Until it's your time

I guess heaven was needing a hero
Somebody just like you
Brave enough to stand up
For what you believe
And follow it through
When I try to make it make sense in my mind
The only conclusion I come to
Is heaven was needing a hero
Like you

I remember the last time I saw you
Oh, you held your head up proud
I laughed inside
When I saw how you were standing out in the crowd
You're such a part of who I am
Now that part will just be void
No matter how much I need you now
Heaven needed you more ."
-Heaven Was Needing a Hero, Jo Dee Messina

Two and a half months following his wife's tragic and well publicized death, Lieutenant Don Flack had fallen back into somewhat of a predictable schedule. The Chief of Police had given him a more lenient schedule. Straight nine to five, Monday to Friday, and every second weekend. The hours were less, and Flack was grateful for that. He'd been spending all of his free time -it was somewhat bittersweet to even have free time, considering when he had someone to spend it with, he never got any at all it seemed- with his kids. Taking them places, getting involved in their organized sports, helping out with homework. He attended meet the teacher conferences and school plays. Took his children to the movies and to Far Rockaway beach and Coney Island on the weekends he had off. He kept their schedules, as well as his own, as full as he possibly could.

Over compensating for their loss maybe. He knew how much they missed their mother. He heard the boys cry themselves to sleep at night. Woke up almost every morning with them snuggled in beside him in bed. He noticed how Mikayla looked around the house for her mother, asking for mama in that little, angelic voice of hers. He dealt with his boys' temper tantrums and their violent outbursts. He held them tightly and rocked them back and forth as they ranted and raved to the world about how much they loved and missed their mom and wanted her back. He kissed away tears and mended skinned knees and put money under their pillows for each tooth they lost. He prepared lunches and packed them for school. He made meals and cleaned the house and tended to chores. He bathed the baby and read bedtime stories and sat at his children's bedsides and stroked their hair and watched them as they fell asleep.

And he cried.

A lot.

The wounds were not healing. They seemed as raw and painful as the day he'd walked out of the hospital a widower. He tried to dwell on the happier times. The wonderful memories that he and Sam had shared throughout their marriage. The love and the laughter that they had experienced together. He rarely thought of the hard, difficult things that they had survived together. Because when he had sat and thought about it, he realized that his life had been amazing. He'd met an incredible, vivacious and beautiful woman whom he'd love more then he'd ever thought it was possible to love another human being. Who had given him a family. Four adorable kids that his entire world revolved around.

Sure, when things had been bad, they had been really, really, really bad. It had nearly destroyed him to find out that she had cheated on him, and that the twin boys she'd given birth to were in fact, not his. But the love he had for her had seen them through. It had taken a long time to forgive, but it had happened. He had taken back his wife and accepted those boys as his own and had never looked back.

His life, he had realized, had been pretty damn incredible with Samantha Ross in it. The grief was unbearable some days. He still couldn't look at her picture without tearing up. Yet he couldn't bring himself to put photos of her away. Especially the one that sat on his desk. It broke his heart when he dressed for work every morning and saw her belongings hanging in the closet. Yet he didn't have the courage to throw anything out.

He missed her, and loved her, with every fibre of his being.

Scrawling his signature on yet another DD-5 report, Flack sighed heavily and dropped the completed forms onto a small stack of paperwork he'd already completed. A monstrous stack of unfinished business still awaited him. Arrest reports to pour through and sign off on, case files that needed to be double checked for accuracy and employee evaluations that needed to be completed. A schedule to finish up and requests for time off to go through. The work never seemed to end. There was always someone parading into his office with another stack of papers or a problem to discuss. He'd been back at work for a month and a half, and it seemed as if he was still catching up from things that had fallen by the wayside while he was off.

Flack didn't want to be there. His heart and his soul just wasn't in it anymore. The passion he'd once felt for his job and the people he worked with had long dissipated. He'd lost faith in the system and in the law the moment his wife had walked into a crime scene and never walked back out. He no longer enjoyed going to work or serving the city. He used the job solely as a distraction. Being on the clock meant his mind was focused on something else other then the tremendous loss he and his children had suffered. Yet there were always things that brought Samantha to the front of his mind. Shared friends that stopped by to offer their condolences and ask about the kids. The flowers and cards of sympathy that still trickled into his office on a near daily basis. The whisperings he heard in the hallways. People wondering how he was coping. Speculating on when, and if, someone was going to be caught for his wife's murder.

He'd long ago given up all hope and faith in regards to the crime lab and the FBI. Now that the death of Samantha Flack had seized to be front page news, neither the lab or the Feds were busting their asses to find out who was responsible for her shooting. No one had come right out and said it to his face, but Flack knew that the case had long been shoved to the bottom of the pile. Other things had happened that the department felt were more of a priority. And he also knew that it was only a matter of time, that someone came to him and announced that Samantha's death was a cold case.

Which was exactly why he was hell bent on taking care of the matter himself. He was personally going to hunt down the sonofabitch responsible if it was the last thing he did. And what he'd actually do once he got his hands on her killer was still up in the air. His brain told him to do the right thing and turn them in. His heart told him to take care of the situation himself and put a bullet between the guy's eyes.

After slowly and methodically torturing him.

Scary thing was, Flack felt he was more then capable of carrying something like that out. His heart had been ripped out of his chest. He and his kids were suffering day in and day out. Someone had to pay and someone had to be put through the same amount of torment and pain.

Leaning back in his chair, he pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. He was tired. Exhausted in fact. Another near sleepless night of dealing with nightmares and bed wetting on both Daniel and Mackenzie's parts. It had been a modern miracle that he, and the kids, had been able to get out of bed that morning.

Slipping his glasses back down onto his face, Flack reached for the stainless steel travel mug of now lukewarm coffee and grimaced as he took a sip. It was his sixth cup that day and it had barely gotten past the lunch hour. He was starving and needed a cigarette desperately. Yet taking a break meant that he'd have to sit down. Without paper work in front of him. And that meant he'd have time to think. To dwell on the past.

And that was just too damn painful.

So instead of taking a half an hour to get some food into his system or heading out to get some fresh air, he pushed his chair away from his desk and stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and enjoyed the late July sunshine cascading into his office. Inside, the air conditioning was up as far as it could go. Outside, the temperatures soared into the low hundreds as New York City was immersed in it's hottest summer to date.

While he worked and his parents babysat Mikayla, the boys were in summer camp. The Y had agreed to take all three and keep them in the same group regardless of the difference in age between Kieran and the twins. Neither Daniel of Mackenzie wanted to be separated from their big brother, and Flack worried, at such an emotional, difficult time, that being away from each other would just damage his kids more. The camp leaders had agreed with him and the Flack boys were allowed to spend their eight hour day together. It was strictly a day camp, but at the end of each month, the children and their parents were invited to a weekend sleep over. The boys, and Flack for that matter, were looking forward to it.

A knock came to his closed office door, snapping him out of the comfortable lull he'd fallen into. Cracking an eye open just as the door opened slightly and a uniform poked his head into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt you, LT," the young officer said apologetically. "But you've got a visitor wantin' to see you."

"Who is it?" Flack asked.

"Guy says he's your brother in law. About five eleven, maybe 180, wavy brown hair and blue eyes? Some facial hair?"

Flack nodded in recognition. "Send him in," he said. "Anyone else comes looking for me, I'm in a closed door meeting, okay?"

"No problem, LT," the officer told him and closed the door as he departed.

It had been two and a half months since Don Flack and Adam Ross had spoken to each other. The last time that they'd been in each other's company save for the church funeral and graveside service, was the day Flack called Adam to the hospital to let his brother in law know about the difficult decision he'd made regarding Sam's care.

Three days before, a neurologist and Sam's primary physician had come to him saying things were looking up. That while there were signs of slight brain damage, the injuries to the heart and the surgery that had been done to repair it, seemed to be healing better than they expected. She showed slight responses to verbal stimuli and her cardiac rhythms were strong. The physicians were adamant that with a long rehabilitation and time spend in a nursing facility, she'd go home to her husband and her kids. That while she would need assistance in the daily care of herself and would need help learning basic skills, she would live. They were convinced, with a couple of extra weeks spent in a medically induced coma, that once the tubes were removed, she'd breathe on her own.

Flack had been ecstatic at the news. He had vowed that whatever she needed, whether he took care of her himself or hired someone to do it for him, that she'd come home. That one day she'd be close to the old Sam again. Even if that did take an excruciatingly long time. He didn't care if he had to feed her with a spoon and clean up her piss and shit. If he had to help her learn to read and write or walk again. None of that mattered. As long as she was alive and there with him and their kids, everything else would fall into place. He called everyone he knew to tell them the great news. He sobbed out of sheer relief that his wife was going to make it. He went home and told his kids that mommy was going to be okay. She was still very sick and would need to stay in the hospital for a long time, but one day she'd be back home, tucking them into bed and reading them bed time stories and kissing them and telling them she loved them.

It had never happened. The night before she was scheduled to be removed from the machines, she'd suffered a massive stroke that had rendered her brain dead. Flack had taken Hawkes with him to meet with the doctors. He had wanted someone with him that he not only trusted and respected, but who could explain to him, in laymen's terms, just what the prognosis was. The neurologist had simply looked at him and shook his head. And with that, Don Flack knew that he'd lost what mattered most to him. The one person that had loved him unconditionally. Who'd adored him and treasured him and transformed him.

He'd been given twenty four hours to make the hardest decision of his life. In reality, it had taken only a few minutes. Sam had long ago requested that he didn't let her live like that if something happened to her. That if she had no quality of life, no chance of recovery, that he let her go peacefully. He'd kept his plans to himself for an entire day, letting visitors come and go before finally pulling Adam aside and telling him what was going to happen.

Adam had lost it. There were no other words to describe his reaction. He had wanted his sister kept alive. He didn't care how it was done. Just as long as it was. He was convinced that the doctors were wrong. That she was going to wake up one day. That even if it took years, she was going to be as good as new again. He'd accused Flack of being cold hearted. Of simply just giving up and not giving her a chance.

Of being a murderer. No better then any of the monsters he'd dedicated his life to capturing.

Flack had held firm. He understood Adam's anger and frustration and heartbreak. He let the harsh words roll off of him like water. But nothing was going to change his mind. It was what Samantha wanted and he wasn't going to deny her that.

Adam vowed to never forgive him for killing his sister.

Those were the last words, along with threats of seeking out a lawyer, that Adam had ever spoken to his brother in law as he stormed out of the hospital.

Two and half months later, as Flack tidied his desk and set aside work, Adam Ross was being shown into his office.

Flack was taken back by the sight of his brother in law. The lab geek turned brilliant CSI was nearly a former shadow of himself. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight and his wrinkled clothes hung off of what was once a stocky frame. While his beard was neatly trimmed, his hair was wild and out of control. And his once lively, sparkling aquamarine eyes were dull and haunted. Sorrow and loss had taken a firm hold of Adam.

And it broke Flack's heart.

The door clicked closed and the two men were left alone. Flack still parked behind his desk and Adam fidgeting with the frayed hem of his t-shirt as he rocked back and forth on his heels. It was an awkward and uncomfortable moment. Neither knew what to say, or how to begin.

"Don…" the younger man finally managed.

Flack gave a small smile. "Adam…" he said in return.

"You…uh…you mind if I sit down?"

Flack gestured towards one of the empty chairs in front of his desk.

Adam gave a small nod of thanks and took a seat. He looked nervous and felt out of place despite the fact the man behind the desk was practically a brother to him. Flack had been his sister's husband. Her one true love in life. He was the father of Adam's nieces and nephews. Yet it felt as if he was sitting across from a complete stranger.

"How have you been?" Flack asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"Okay," Adam lied as he gave a small shrug. "I mean, I've been better. But I could be worse too."

"You're not back at work yet?" the lieutenant asked.

Adam shook his head. "I'm on psych leave still," he replied. "The doctor doesn't know when I'll be able to come back. You know, 'cause of the depression and all."

Flack nodded in understanding.

"I know I look like shit," the CSI said abruptly. "That I need a haircut and I've lost a lot of weight. I just haven't care about stuff like that in the last two and a half months," he sighed heavily, then added. "I've stopped caring about a lot of things, actually."

"You and Gus doing okay?" Flack asked. "How come she's not on top of you with this? She should be getting you some help, buddy. Getting you on the proper meds and what not."

"Gus left a month ago," Adam told his brother in law. "She couldn't deal with me anymore. She wanted to help and I wouldn't let her and it just got to be too much. She said I was letting my grief for my sister destroy me. And that Sam wouldn't want that."

"She wouldn't," Flack said. He noticed how Adam's eyes continuously strayed down to his left hand. And exactly what it was that Adam was looking for. "But not letting it destroy is easier said then done. Trust me. Where's she staying?"

"Got her own place. I can't really afford the house all on my own, so depending what happens at the end of it all, most likely I'll just cough it all up to her. Move back into Manhattan. Find myself a little apartment. Like my single, lab tech days."

"Is that what you want?" Flack asked. "You want to be on your own?"

Adam shrugged. "I don't know what I want anymore," he admitted. "All I know is that this has to get better right? All the pain inside? All the hatred and anger I have. It's going to go away eventually. Isn't it?"

His brother in law sighed heavily. "Honestly? I don't know. 'Cause I'm still waiting for all of that to go away myself."

The younger man nodded, his eyes flicking downwards once again.

"What are you doing?" Flack asked, unable to take the observations any longer.

"What?" Adam looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "What do you mean?"

"Since you sat down, you've been looking at my left hand," his brother in law said, annoyance and slight disgust creeping into his voice. "What are you looking for, Adam? Are you checking to see if my wedding ring is still there? Are you checking to see if I just took it off and moved on with my life?"

"No…I never…"

Flack laid his left hand, palm down on his desk. "There," he said, nodding down at the thick band gracing his finger. "Happy? Does it make you feel better seeing it with your own two eyes? Did you think I'd take it off just like that? Forget all about her?"

"Don…I never…"

"I think about your sister every second of every day," Flack angrily informed him. "There isn't a moment that I don't think about her, Adam. There isn't a moment that I don't miss her, that I don't want her back. So don't come in here thinking the complete opposite."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Adam assured him. "I just…I just wanted to see if it was still there. I wanted to make sure that you were…"

"That I was still loyal to your sister?" Flack finished. "That I was still grieving over her? Part of me died that day, Adam! And I'll never get that part of me back. When your sister died, a huge piece of me did too. But you know what? I go on because I have to. I go on because my kids need me. They lost their mother. I'm all they have left. And if I don't go on, who do they rely on? I love your sister. I will always love your sister. And this ring? It's staying on my hand until the day I die. Understand me?"

Adam nodded. "Don…I really didn't mean to…"

"You come in here after two and a half months accusing me of forgetting about her? Of not loving her or missing her? Is that why you're here? To make me feel even worse? As if losing my wife isn't bad enough, you have to come here, to my office, and tell me I don't care about her?"

"I never…"

"Why are you here, Adam?" Flack asked. "Why are you here? Why'd you come here? Make me feel like shit? Well trust me, I can't sink any goddamn lower then I already am. So if you're here to shit all over me, there's the fucking door."

"I came here to tell you that I'm sorry!" Adam cried, tears forming in his eyes. "I came here because I realized that you did the right thing! You made the best decision for Sammie. All you ever cared about was taking care of her! And the things I said to you that day were mean and uncalled for and I should have gotten up the balls way before now and come and apologized to you."

Flack stared at the younger man. Unable to respond.

"I talked to Hawkes," Adam continued. "He came to see me and he told me about that meeting with Sammie's doctors. He explained to me that she never, ever would have woken up. That the machines would have been the only things keeping her alive. That she'd never be a human being again. That the second that respirator was turned off, she would have died no matter what. And my sister never, ever would have wanted to live like that."

Flack swallowed noisily and looked away from his brother in law as he fought with his own emotions.

"You did the right thing, Don," Adam said. "The decision you made was the right one. And you did it out of love for her. And it must have killed you to have to do it."

"You have no idea what that felt like," Flack told him. "You have no idea what I went through, Adam. What I'm going through now."

"You loved her. You love her now. And you always took good care of her and good care of your kids. She loved her more then life itself. You were her everything. And she trusted you to make a decision. To take her life in your hands. And you did what you did for her. And I needed to come here today and tell you that. Because I miss you and my nieces and nephews. You guys are all I have left."

Flack cleared his throat noisily and took a swig of the old coffee.

"When Sammie died…" Adam took a deep breath to compose himself. "When she died, so did I. She was my sister. She was my best friend and my confidant. She was my protector. And when she got shot, I felt like I let her down in some way. Because we always watched out for each other. Always. And she walked into that warehouse that day and I let her down."

"You weren't even there," Flack reminded his brother in law.

"But if I had have been I would have been able to protect her!" Adam cried. "And no one was there to protect her! She was alone! She was alone and frightened and no one was there for her!"

"Stella was there," Flack said. "Sam wasn't alone."

"She was alone when it happened!" the younger man jumped to his feet and began pacing the office in agitation. " Stella let her go in there alone! She took a fucking phone call and let Sammie go in there alone! And look what happened, Don! Look what happened!"

"Adam," he spoke firmly and calmly. "I know it's easy to blame people, but…"

"I blame people because they deserve it!" Adam sobbed. "This never would have happened if Stella had have done her fucking job! If Stella had have been half the boss that Mac was, my sister would still be alive!"

"This was no one's fault," Flack said, his voice a near whisper.

"It was!" Adam screamed, picking the chair up and slamming it down into the floor. "It is someone's fault! My sister is dead because that fucking bitch didn't do her goddamn job!"

Flack shook his head adamantly. "I know it makes you feel better to blame Stella, Adam. I blamed her too. But blaming her isn't going to bring Sammie back. Nothing is going to bring her back. And you need to get a grip on this okay? I know it hurts. I know you're pissed off and it seems like a fucking nightmare, buddy. I feel that way too! But being this way isn't going to change what happened."

"Someone needs to pay!" tears of rage and immense grief spilled down Adam's face. "Someone did this to my sister and they need to pay, Don!"

"And they will, Adam," Flack assured him. Pushing his chair away from his desk and standing up, he approached his brother in law cautiously. "Trust me, they will! I'm going to find out who did this and they're going to pay for what they did. But you need to get a goddamn grip. Do you think your sister would want you to be this way?"

"My sister would do the same thing for me! She'd act the same way! She'd find whoever did this to me and kill them! She'd nail them to a fucking wall and you know it!"

"I do know it," Flack said, laying his hands on Adam's shoulders. The younger man's body trembling with insurmountable anger and sorrow. "But something like that? Catching guys like this? It doesn't happen overnight."

"It's been almost three months!" Adam argued. "Almost three months and nothing! No leads, no person of interest! Nothing! I thought that the FBI getting involved would be a good thing! But it's like whoever did this just vanished off the face of the earth! Why hasn't anyone found this guy?"

"Sometimes it takes longer then we think, or expect it to," Flack reasoned.

"And that's okay with you?" Adam asked. "That's okay with you that the guy who murdered your wife is out there somewhere?! That he's allowed to just walk around and get on with his life?"

"Of course it's not. But…"

"How can there be a but!" the younger man cried. "How can you think that it's okay that whoever did this is able to just go on with their lives, do every day things like a normal human being when your wife is dead! They're out there getting on with their life and my sister is never coming back! How can you think that's okay?!"

"I don't think it's okay, Adam. It's not okay and it's not fair. At all. But there's nothing I can do about it. I wish I could find the sonofabitch right now and put a bullet between his eyes. Your sister was my wife! My everything! And the thought that her killer is out there somewhere makes me sick to my stomach! But what do you want me to do? Tell me what it is you want me to do!"

"I want in on your plan to hunt down the Wilder gang," Adam blurted out.

Flack blinked. And releasing his grip on the younger man, took a step back. "How did you know about that?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes narrowed.

"Danny told me," Adam sniffled. "We went out a couple of nights ago and he was drunk and he told me that you guys were cooking up a plan to hunt down the Wilder gang. That you knew that they were responsible for Sam's death and that you were going to make them pay. I want in on that."

Flack shook his head. "You're talking crazy shit," he said.

"Danny wouldn't lie about that. He wouldn't make something like that up. Don't try and tell me that you don't have anything up your sleeve, Don."

"It's not that I don't," the Lieutenant said. "But when this goes down, when and if we start getting a hold of names of people, you're the last person I'd get involved in this."

"Why not?" Adam asked, a pleading quality to his voice. "I've already proved myself as a CSI. I know how to handle myself. I've been on tons of raids and mixed up in all kinds of dangerous situations and interrogations. I know how to take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that Adam. I know what kind of person you are and I trust you with my life. But there's no way I can let you in on this."

Disappointment clouded his eyes. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"It's not that. I know you can. It's just that…"

"Samantha was my sister!" Adam cried.

"Which is exactly why I can't let you in on it," Flack regretfully told the younger man. "She was your sister. And she loved you, Adam. And she wouldn't want you getting caught up in something like this. Whether it's avenging her death or not. There's no way she'd want you getting yourself killed because of her. And if I was to let that happen? If I was to bring you in and something happened to her? She'd never forgive me."

"Well she's not here to hold it against you, is she," Adam snorted.

"There's no way that you're getting involved," Flack informed him. "I can't let you do that."

"And what if I find them myself and take care of it on my own?" the CSI challenged.

"Don't go doing anything stupid, Adam. Let Danny and Scagnetti and I take care of this. Forget that you ever heard about it. Walk out of here none the wiser, okay? Let the three of us handle this."

Adam gave a rueful laugh. "Like the lab handled it?" he asked. "Like the Feds handled it?"

Flack sighed and leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "You never heard about this, understand me?"

The younger man shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you'd actually stop me from helping find whoever did this to my sister."

"It's for your sister that I'm telling you to walk out of here and forget you ever heard a goddamn thing about it," Flack said.

Adam held his hands up in surrender and slowly back up towards the door. "Would it make a difference if I found some names?" he asked. "If I was to bring you some names, some legitimate leads, would you let me in then?"

"Don't get involved Adam," Flack warned. "Don't step into something that's way over your head."

"If I was to come here in a few days and give you a list of names and places? Would you not accept that and my offer to help out?"

Flack shook his head.

"Well then I guess it's all up to me to get it all done then," Adam said.

"Don't do it Adam. Your sister wouldn't want you to be involved in shit like this."

"And she wouldn't want her death to be in vain, either," the younger man concluded, before turning and opening the office door and stepping out into the busy precinct.

Sighing heavily, Flack pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed at his weary eyes.

And prayed to God that Adam wouldn't end up the next Ross in a body bag.

The harsh July sun beat down on the smooth granite stone that marked her final resting place. The mounds of dirt that had once sat graveside had long been shovelled back into earth. Fresh sod had been laid down; the vibrant green blades of grass sparkling in the sun and being softly tousled by the breeze that cut through the stifling humidity.

While birds chirped in the surrounding trees and the fountain bubbled noisily and cars passed noisily on the street several hundred yards behind him, Don Flack was oblivious to everything outside of the pounding of his heart and the task that lay ahead of him. A bouquet of fresh flowers - a stunning, massive mix of lilies, roses and carnations in orange, yellow and white- clutched in one hand and an assortment of letters from his children in the other, as he stood before his wife's grave. The sleeves of his white uniform shirt rolled to his elbows as sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his back. Sunglasses covering his eyes in an attempt to protect them from the suns rays, and to hide the threatening tears.

He hadn't visited the cemetery since his wife's interment. He used the excuse of too much to do, not enough time for his reasoning of staying away when in fact, going there was just too damn painful. It broke his heart to see her name etched on the smooth stone. To know that she was never, ever coming back. That this was where she had to stay, and no matter how hard he prayed and begged and pleaded, she couldn't leave with him when he turned his back and headed home.

He was weak. Losing what had mattered most to him had broken him. He only hoped that with time, he'd get some of his strength, and his sanity, back. That one day it wouldn't hurt so bad. That he'd smile when he recalled a fond memory or when he saw her picture. That he wouldn't feel so damn guilty about finding another woman attractive while walking down the street. That he wouldn't feel as if he was betraying her by smiling or tossing a compliment at a pretty woman. He knew, deep down, that he'd never move on. That he'd never remarry. Because there was no one that could ever take her place in his heart or in his life. The love he felt for her could never be duplicated. And it was unfair to any woman to have to compete with a ghost.

He stood for what seemed like an eternity. Staring down at that name and those dates inscribed on the headstone. Tears burned his eyes and emotion choked him. There were so many things to say, yet no words seemed adequate enough. Eventually, he cleared his throat noisily and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his dress shirt and ran his tongue over his parched lips.

"Hey, baby," he said finally, fighting to control the tremble in his voice. "I know I haven't come around before now and you're probably pissed off about that. But I just haven't been able to…" he sighed. "I haven't been able to get up the balls to do it. I've been scared to come here to see you. I hope you can understand that. I hope you can forgive me if you've been getting a little lonely. You know that I think about you right? All the time. There's never a time that you're not on my mind. You know that, right Sammie?"

The wind rustled in the trees. The bird continued to chirp. Life went on outside of that cemetery.

"I brought you these," Flack said, as he bent down and placed the flowers at the bottom of the headstone. "I know you're always going on about how I'm not romantic enough. So I figured I was due for doing something nice for you. And the kids wrote you some letters," he held them up for her to 'see'. "I even helped Mikayla colour some pictures and print her name on the bottom. Daniel made me put everything in separate envelopes and seal them. I wasn't allowed to read them. That was totally forbidden. The boys said it was just between you and them. So I'll just leave these here and you can look at them when you're ready, okay?"

Sniffling noisily, he leaned over and arranged the envelopes neatly in the grass.

"So things are going pretty good, I guess," he said, straightening up and letting out a huge sigh. "Things are going okay. The boys are in summer camp. At the Y in downtown Flushing. They wanted to go to football camp but by the time I got around to signing them up, there was no spots left. I told them I'd make it up to them by enrolling them in hockey school this winter. Don't know how Daniel's going to manage considering how small he is. Something tells me he's going to kick some major ass. It's always the tiny ones you gotta watch out for. And with you as his mother, he's bound to be a tough little shit. Kieran and Mackenzie had some trouble at school for a bit, but they turned it around at the end of the year. They were just having a hard time coping with losing you. I mean, they still are. We're dealing with the whole temper tantrum, wetting the bed stuff. But I took them to one of them child shrinks and he said that it's just par for the course. That they're just hurting really bad and don't know how to deal with their emotions any way else. So I'm hoping that things settle down for them soon."

Flack cleared his throat and reached under his sunglasses to clear the tears away.

"We went to Coney Island not too long ago. Went on all the rides that you and the boys used to love so much. Ate hotdogs and candy apples and all kinds of other crap until our stomachs hurt. Brought home more of those prize tacky stuffed animals then I know what to do with. We had a great time. First time in a long time I actually laughed. The kids just have that way about them, you know? The way they scrap it out and the things that come out of their mouths. They make it a little easier on me to deal with things. Although getting them to eat vegetables and take baths is still an ordeal. Woke up the other day to Daniel jumping on the bed. Kid had this huge chunk of hair missing down the middle of his head. He thought it was a cool idea to get out my clippers and shave his head. Guess all the hair clogged the thing and he gave up halfway through. Needless to say, I had to take him to the hairdresser's and fix up that little disaster."

He gave a small laugh and shook his head.

"You know," he continued. "Some times I actually forget that I'm dealing with all of this on my own. I forget just for a second that you're not coming back and then it hits me and I…" his voice caught in his throat. "I miss you so much. I'm trying so hard. I'm trying to do this and I don't know if I can, babe. I don't know if I'm strong enough. 'Cause it hurts so bad. And I know you're probably wanting to kick my ass for doubting myself, and I know it probably bugs you to see me cry, but I just want you back. Sammie. I just want this whole nightmare to be over. I just want you to come walking through the front door. Like none of this ever happened. I even had this crazy assed dream a while back. I walked into the kitchen and there you were. Maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe you really were there. Telling me that everything was going to be okay. That's what I want to believe anyway. 'Cause it felt so real. I could feel you. Smell you. It was like you were right there, you know?"

Taking a deep breath, Flack let it out slowly.

"I miss you and I love you," he whispered. "I need your help, Sammie. I need you to get me through this. I need you to point me in the right direction. Not just with the kids but with this whole Wilder thing. You're the only one who knows who this guy was and you can't tell us so we can find him. So I need you to at least find a way to lead me towards the right path. I don't know how, I just know that I need you. You're the only one that can help me. Please help, me Samantha. Please."

The sound of car tires crunching on the gravel road behind him captured Flack's attention. Tearing his eyes away from his wife's grave, he frowned at the sight of the department issued unmarked squad car. Easily making out the identity of the large, strong man behind the wheel.

"Look babe," he said, turning back to his wife and laying a hand on top of the granite stone. "I gotta go. I promise I'll be back soon. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I just couldn't…I just couldn't be here, you know? But if you ever need anything, you know where to find me, okay? I love you," placing his fingertips to his lips, he traced over each letter of her name. "I love you so much and I miss you. Every day."

Sighing heavily, he laid his hand on top of the stone once more and gathered his composure before turning and heading towards the idling car. Tossing open the front passenger door, he climbed into the air conditioned vehicle and shut the door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked his friend.

"I needed to talk to you," Scagnetti replied. "And I didn't want to do it with a lot of people around."

"How'd you know I was even here?" Flack inquired.

"Put a trace on your cell phone when you wouldn't answer," the big detective told him.

"I had it on silent," Flack said. "I didn't want to be disturbed. I had…" he glanced out the window at his wife's grave site. "…some things I needed to say."

Scagnetti nodded in sombre understanding.

"What's up, Tony?" Flack asked.

"I got some names. And addresses," he replied, reaching into the pocket on the breast of his dress shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Associates and relatives of the Wilder gang."

Flack's eyes widened as he took the piece of paper and opened it. "You just came up with these today?" he asked.

"Been in the works for a while now. I went with some outside help. CI's that owed me big time. They were my eyes and ears. Got me everything you see there."

"This is awesome, Tony," Flack praised. "Guess the next step is to get a plan in gear. Figure out who to hit first, what questions to ask."

"What asses to kick," Scagnetti snorted. "Those bastards are going to pay, Flack. Pay huge."

"They deserve to," the lieutenant declared. "This is great. Thanks. I was starting to wonder if we'd ever come up with anything."

"There's more," Scagnetti told his old friend, as Flack reached for the handle on the door.

"How much more?" Flack asked.

"A delivery came for you just as I was heading out," the big man replied, and leaning forward, snatched a manila envelope from it's resting place on the dashboard. "Someone dropped this off with the duty captain."

"What is it?" Flack asked, accepting the package.

Scagnetti shrugged.

The younger man tore into the envelope and peered inside. Frowning at the sight of what appeared to be several coloured photographs. Dumping them into his lap, the sight of the first one nearly knocked the wind out of him. It was a crime scene photo. Taken in the warehouse where his wife had been violently gunned down. His eyes widened and his heart pounded in his chest as he picked the pictures up and flipped through them. Tears filling in eyes and nausea threatening as he was taken back by the sight of not only the crime scene, but of his wife's dead and lifeless body on the ME's table, and very detailed and gruesome autopsy photos.

"Flack, you okay?" Scagnetti asked, noticing the trembling of his friend's hands. "What is it?"

The younger man held up one of the autopsy photos.

"Jesus Christ…" the big man whispered, his face going white. "What the hell…How? How would someone get a hold of stuff like that?"

Flack shook his head and closed his eyes.

"What are you thinking, Don?" Scagnetti asked. "Tell me what you're thinking."

He struggled to compose himself, then opened his eyes.

"I think someone on the inside is involved," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "That someone I know and trusted killed my wife."

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I know it's been a while, but I really hope you guys will review this! Lots of love to all of you!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

Laplandgurl

muchmadness

ImaSupernaturalCSI

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