Memories of Brooklyn Chapter 115: One Shot Part 2, a csi: new york fanfic

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS- FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.

THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT HAS NOMINATED ME AND MY STORIES IN THE AWARDS! I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU!

THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER

One Shot: Part Two Calm Before the Storm

"A hundred days have made me older
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face
A thousand lies have made me colder
And I don't think I can look at this the same
But all the miles that separate
Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face

The miles just keep rollin'
As the people leave their way to say hello
I've heard this life is overrated
But I hope that it gets better as we go, oh yeah yeah

I'm here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
And I dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby
But you're still with me in my dreams
And tonight girl it's only you and me

Everything I know and anywhere I go
It gets hard but it won't take away my love
And when the last one falls, when it's all said and done
It gets hard but it won't take away my love, whoa

Climbing wearily out from behind the wheel of his SUV, Flack softly closed the door behind him and then paused at side of the vehicle as he drew cool, crisp early morning air into his lungs.

It had been a hell of a long eighteen hours. He'd already powered down his computer and had just pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up and was rolling down the sleeves of his dress shirt when a triple homicide in Far Rockaway had come in. With no available detectives to take the case and Gerrard none to gently reminding him that he was going away on a two week vacation in four days, Flack had reluctantly agreed to stay a little bit longer. A little bit. His hope had been to work an eight hour shift and then pass all his notes off to whatever detective would relieve him. Only no other detective ever came and he was stuck saddling the load himself. With Sam working earlies, he was always the parent to get up at six thirty in the morning to make and pack lunches -the boys adamantly refused, especially Daniel, to eat anything that was put in their lunchboxes the night before, claiming it made things too soggy- and then get the kids up, fed and then ready for their day.

He could tell when he'd called the house shortly before midnight that Sam was not impressed. Not in the slightest. She simply just didn't have time to get herself up and ready and adequately take care of the kids. Mac, and now Stella, had always been good at keeping her on the early shift so that she was -barring some kind of disaster- waiting at the curb in front of St. Michael's Elementary when the final bell of the day sounded. And now Flack, all because he felt it was time for them to take the honeymoon they'd never had, was just going and essentially screwing everything up.

"I don't know what you want me to do, babe…" he'd said, slightly amused by her hormonal ranting and raving on the other end of the phone. "I mean, there's no one that can come and take my place. I've got to see this case through. At least until five am. That's when Scagnetti's been called in for."

"I've got to be up at seven thirty!" Sam had argued back. Sounding as if she was ready to dissolve into tears. The pregnancy was just shy of its third month and already she was an emotional wreck and the all day sickness was causing her sheer hell. It was getting harder and harder to hide the news from their family, friends and co-workers. She could only drink so much stale ginger-ale or warm milk and eat so many crackers without drawing attention to herself. But they'd agreed to wait out the first trimester.

If Flack didn't kill her or himself by then.

"Sammie…I can't do anything about it. Why don't you call in sick or something? Just tell them one of the kids has come down with something and…"

"Oh that's just goddamn rich! Everyone in the lab will know that you were at work! That I'm just bullshitting. Why can't Scagnetti come in now?"

"I don't know…he just can't, alright?"

"Well aren't you the goddamn boss around there?" she'd snapped. "You are the Lieutenant are you not? Get back on the goddamn phone and tell him he has to come in!"

"Sammie…" he'd fought to keep his temper in check. "This is a direct order from the Chief of Detectives. He assigned me to this case and I can't do a damn thing about it. Scagnetti will be here at five and then I'll be on my way home. That's just the way it is. I promise you that the second he walks in the door, I'll be out of here and on my way home. But right now…"

He'd been unable to get any further words out of his mouth. A dull click sounded in his ear, followed by the dial tone. His wife had hung up on him and was most likely calling him every foul name in the book back home in Queens and setting up the couch for him to sleep on.

Better than putting up with the she-bitch, he thought now, as he ran a hand over his tired, unshaven face and started up the driveway. The neighbour was engrossed in peaceful slumber as the sun became to rise, glowing brilliant yellow on the horizon. As the breeze tousled the tree tops and fluttered the corners of the morning paper that lay near the bottom step of the front porch, he noticed, for the very first time in nearly seven years of living in that exact neighbourhood, on that exact street and in that exact house, the sound of morning doves cooing in the trees.

They'd always been there of course. Sam had commented many times about how beautiful the sound was, but how depressed it made her feel. Yet he'd never actually paid attention to the birds himself. As far as he was concerned, anything that made that kind of noise so early in the morning was nothing more than a goddamn nuisance.

But he realized, as he bent down to scoop up the paper, that Sam was right. That woeful cooing was beautiful. And extremely depressing.

You need to get your ass inside and to bed, Flack thought, as he tucked the paper under his arm and climbed the front steps. Something's obviously wrong with you if you're actually standing around listening to birds and letting their racket get to you. You need to just get inside, make those damn lunches and get your kids up and at 'em. Leaves you six hours to get some sleep before they, and their bitchy mother, are walking through the front door.

Come on Flack, he smirked as he pulled open the screen and holding it with his hip, shoved his keys in the lock of the heavy wooden front door. She may be an insufferable bitch at the worst of times, but you damn well know you couldn't live without her. She's your best friend. The one that has your back no matter what stupid shit you pull or what kind of crap comes out of your mouth. She's your everything. The love of your life. You'd never survive without her. So go upstairs and kiss her awake and tell her you love her and do all the cuddling she wants. Humour her. You're the one that made her so hormonal and crabby in the first place.

But it sure is fun getting her that way, he thought with a chuckle and let himself into the house.

It was dark and peaceful inside. With a forty five minutes left to spare until he needed to get his ass into gear, he planned on heading upstairs, getting out of his wrinkled suit and sweaty shirt and taking a long, hot shower. His back and shoulders were aching and he wanted nothing more then to stand under the pounding water and let it ease the tension and strip the pain away. Afterwards he'd toss on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and head back downstairs to get the show on the road. And once those kids and the wife were out the door….

Well that time would be damn golden.

Locking the door behind him, Flack toed off his shoes and set them on the rack inside of the hall closet. Yawning noisily and stretching until his back cracked, he journeyed out of the foyer and through the living room, the early morning sun trickling through the sheer curtains covering the windows and sending shards of light dancing across the hardwood. Loose floorboards creaked under his feet as he climbed the stairs and as his hand came in contact with a rickety spot on the banister, he made a mental note to take some time out of his day to fix it before one of the kids put too much pressure on it and snapped it in half, resulting in someone getting seriously hurt as they tumbled down the stairs.

And the last person he wanted it to happen to was his pregnant wife. With each pregnancy she went through, the riskier and riskier carrying successfully to term had become. The pressure of carrying twins inside of her tiny body and what the doctor had described as a narrow, small uterus, had caused her incompetent cervix to give her twice as much problems as when she'd been pregnant with Kieran. So much problems in fact, that for both her safety and that of the boys, she'd been strict bed rest and had gone for twice weekly appointments from the time her six month hit. With Mikayla, she'd spent the last month and a half in the hospital when both the cervix and pre-eclampsia reared their ugly heads.

News of a fourth and what would be their final child, had rocked them considerably. At the time she'd found out just a short two weeks ago, Flack was less than a month away from going into the hospital to gave a vasectomy. His first appointment for the procedure having been cancelled due to a bastard of a flu he'd come down with, and the several others being postponed on his part when work commitments had meant his private life had to take a back seat to the professional one. He'd been meaning to go and get the damn thing over and done with. Despite numerous attempts to get pregnant following Mikayla's birth and no luck whatsoever, they had finally said enough was enough and Flack had offered to be the one to go and things 'taken care of'. It was the least he could, he said, considering the hell her body had been through in an effort to give him their three kids. So when she'd taken that pregnancy test and that positive result had glared up at them, they'd been completely shocked. She'd chalked up her missed periods and slight nausea to work stress and had never expected that they'd be having another baby considering the disappointments they'd experienced in two years.

But she was pregnant. There was no denying it. An ultrasound three days ago had confirmed that she was indeed having a baby and that she was just shy of three months. Flack had joked, as he'd sat by the end of the exam table, stroking her hair and her forehead softly with the fingers of his right hand while firmly grasping her left with his, that it was a damn good thing there was only one heart beat . 'Cause if there were two or more, the tech would be calling a code blue for someone to come and resuscitate They'd both been nervous. They'd been worried that at her age and with her problems that the baby would be more susceptible to certain genetic and chromosomal defects. With each pregnancy, the corresponding triple screen test had shown a high percentage of having a child with 'problems'. Every baby had been born perfectly healthy and 'normal'.

So far.

They had decided, if the ultrasound didn't pick up on any markers of defects and if the blood work still came back a problem, they were going to take their chances and not pursue further tests. They would take whatever cards they were dealt, and love their child no matter was, or wasn't wrong with them. Thankfully, while they were still waiting on the results from her blood work, the head radiologist hadn't seen anything wrong with the images he'd spent an hour studying. The OB they'd seen afterwards had examined Sam, suggested pre-natal vitamins and folic acid -but now, after three other kids, it sounded like a well rehearsed script on the doctor's part- and they were sent on their way.

The pregnancy was remaining a well guarded secret for now. Once she'd successfully carried into her second trimester, then and only then would they spread the word among their family and friends. Once they'd returned home from their vacation to Ireland, then and only then would they let everyone in on their news. It was hard for Flack. Nerve wracking, in fact. Every time she stepped out the front door or he saw her at a crime scene or wandering the halls of the lab, it had taken all his will power to not run to Stella and tell her about the baby. To ask that Sam be put on straight lab work until she was ready to go on maternity leave. The morbid thoughts of something happening to her, or the baby while on the job, nagged at him constantly.

As far as he was concerned, the moment she was out of harms way couldn't come soon enough.

He bypassed the master bedroom in favour of wandering down the hall to Mikayla's room. He stood by the side of the crib, smiling tenderly down at his baby girl as lay spread-eagled in her bed, her curly dark hair a stark contrast against the snow white sheet below her. Long, dark lashes fell on rosy cheeks and her lips were puckered and twitching, as if suckling on a bottle. While he loved all of his children with an intensity he'd never imagined possible, his baby girl held an enormous chunk of his heart. She was the -so far- the only girl in a house in which testosterone ran rampant. Mikayla, with her wardrobe of dresses and her leotards with frills on her bottom and the little diamond studs that sparkled on her earlobes and her countless supply of adorable baubles and barrettes Sam constantly put in her hair, and her mother were the ones responsible for keeping the softness and sensitivity in his life.

And he adored his girls to the ends of the earth.

"Sweet dreams of sweet things, baby girl," he whispered in the stillness of the room, and picking up Mikayla's discarded purple chenille blanket from the far corner of the crib, tugged it around her tiny, sleeping form. Pressing the tips of his fore and middle finger to his lips, he laid them against his daughter's forehead before turning away from the crib and leaving the room.

He checked on the boys next. Despite Kieran's protests that he was a big kid now -nine going on nineteen, Sam always complained with a roll of her eyes- Flack still crept into his firstborn's room and paused at the side of the bed to run a hand over his son's hair and to press a kiss to the top of his head. Then he extracted the comforter from where it was tangled around Kieran's feet and draped it loosely over the little boy's body. Leaving from the ankles down completely bare. Kieran hated feeling closed in. And always slept with the least amount of blankets possible, with his feet sticking out. Claiming he couldn't stand his toes being hot. That sweaty toes made it too hard to sleep.

The twins, in light of their constant bickering and the often violent, bloody fights they got into with each other, had fallen asleep on the top of the bunk beds that were in their shared room. Each had their own blanket and their own pillow, and were stretched out beside each other, Mackenzie's feet in Daniel's face and vice versa. He extracted a comic book from underneath Mackenzie before one wrong move sent it toppling down to the floor, and then moved down along the bunk to pull the corner of Daniel's blanket out of his mouth. He always sucked and chewed on the same corner of the ratty old blue receiving blanket. There was a tag on that exact spot with a little red heart on it, and Daniel insisted that that was where 'blankie's soul was'. Flack rolled his eyes every time he heard his son say it and complained that the kid was way too girlie. And Sam always scolded him and said that Daniel was a sensitive, loving little soul.

"When he's asleep maybe," Flack grumbled in return, and received a slap to the shoulder or the death glare for his efforts.

Reaching out, he attempted to remove the corner of the blanket from Daniel's mouth. It was like performing intricate surgery with the prospect of the patient waking up half way through. And Flack held his breath as he gently tried to pull the blanket from the firm grip of his son's jaws.

Daniel groaned loudly and his eyes briefly flickered. Flack waited, his eyebrows arched in anticipation, just waiting for his son's dark, intense brown eyes to snap open and for the little boy to launch into a tirade about his father's attempts to steal blankie. Daniel continued to sleep, but he slapped Flack's hand away and rolled over onto his side, presenting his dad with his back and taking blankie, still in his mouth, with him.

Sighing, Flack combed his fingers through Daniel's curly brown hair and left the room.

Accepting defeat.

Letting loose another ribbing shaking yawn, Flack yanked his white Lieutenant's shirt out from the waist of his navy department issued dress pants as he journeyed down the hall towards the closed door of the master bedroom. At first, when he'd climbed the ranks to Lieutenant, he'd been happy to give up wearing a suit and tie every day. He'd done it for nearly fifteen years and a uniform was a welcome thing. For a while, anyway. When he was scheduled for nights, he bent the rules and went back to wearing a suit and a tie again. During days, when Gerrard and other members of the brass were wandering around and would rain shit down on him if they saw him out of uniform, he slipped into that white shirt that bore the lieutenant's strips on both upper arms and attached the various 'bars' that he'd earned in his years of service and climbed into those boring navy slacks and the department issued boots polished to perfection and headed out the door.

And now he was opening another door and stepping into the quiet, peaceful confines of the master bedroom. The roller shade had been pulled down the night before leaving less then an inch from the bottom of the blind to the top of the window ledge, allowing a sliver of sunlight to trickle into the room. Closing the door behind him, he stood at the side of the bed and looked down at his wife as she slept peacefully. On her right hand side facing the door, an angelic smile on her face and her arms wrapped tightly around her pillow. And his pillow tucked tightly between her legs.

He smirked and shook his head at the sight before him, but left her the way she was as he walked around to the foot of the bed and began to undress. His badge went on the dresser and after removing the clip from his weapon and setting the safety, he placed the separate pieces in two different lock boxes he kept the top drawer of his dresser. The key went into Sam's jewellery box, buried under a string of old pearls she'd only worn once after he'd complained made her look old.

The dress shirt and plain navy blue tie came off first and were tossed onto the chair that sat in the corner of the room while his socks were thrown into the laundry basket in the walk in closet. He had just gotten his belt unbuckled and had popped open the button on his pants when he heard a soft sigh and the rustle of sheets behind him.

"Hey…" Sam greeted sleepily, as she removed the pillow from between her legs and tossing it aside, sat up in bed and ran a hand through her messy, shoulder length hair.

"Are you actually talking to me?" he asked, only half joking.

"Did I not just speak?" she retorted.

Flack smirked. "Sammie…you being a smart ass this early in the morning? Not a good idea."

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully, then smiled at him as he journeyed to the side of the bed and kissed her softly.

"Good morning," he said, and running a hand over her hair, dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"Morning," she returned, and reached out to unzip his pants. "Long night, huh?"

He nodded and letting his pants fall to his ankles, kicked them on and in the general direction of the chair. They fell short of their target, tumbling to the floor in a puddle of dark fabric. "Very long night," he told her, and pulled his white gold chain out from under the neck of his wife beater. "You sleep okay?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "I never sleep great when you work nights. It's been like that for the last ten years. Why would it change now? You know how much I hate an empty bed."

"Well hopefully," he said, as he removed his watch and dropped it on the night table. "Once we get those new detectives on board in a couple of months, my night shift days and doing favours for the brass will be long behind me."

Sam held up both hands, her fingers crossed. "Donnie…" she began, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry…about snapping at you last night. I know it wasn't your fault that no one could come in and relieve you. And I didn't mean to jump on you and get all bitchy like that. I've just been…out of sorts lately."

"Hormonal, you mean?" he asked with a grin. "I've come to expect nothing less then raging she-bitch when you're pregnant babe. I'm used to it by now."

"Well I wouldn't have a reason to be a hormonal, she-bitch if you just kept it in your pants, would I?" she asked sweetly.

"Maybe…" Flack grinned. "But then keeping it in my pants would be just as much torture for you as it would be for myself."

"You always have to have the last word," she said with a dramatic pout. "Did you check on the baby?" she asked.

"All four of them," he replied.

"Don't let the boys hear you call them that. Especially Mackie and Kieran. They're liable to slit your throat in your sleep for insinuating they're anything less than men. Everyone was okay?"

Flack nodded. "Out like a light. All of them. I'm going to go and take a shower and get started on their lunches and stuff so I can…"

"Actually.." Sam scooted across the bed on her ass and then pushing herself up onto her knees, reached for the bottom of his wife beater and tugged him towards her. "I've pulled some strings that guarantees us at least an hour together. Alone. In bed."

"Yeah?" he asked with a grin, watching as she toyed with the hem of the undershirt. "What kind of strings?"

"I called Gussie. I told her about our little disagreement last night and explained our little predicament, and she offered to come over and get the kids ready, fed and to school."

"She offered? Just like that?"

"Mm-hm," Sam nodded, and lifting the bottom of his wife beater, pressed a warm, moist kiss to his stomach. "I guess she felt bad for us and seeing as her and Adam are trying to have a baby of their own, I guess she feels the more experience doing mommy things the better."

"Is it wrong that the thought of your brother actually procreating with someone totally disgusts me?" Flack asked, then shivered as her tongue trailed across his stomach.

"Personally, I think they'll have beautiful babies," Sam said. "But right now…I don't even want to think about that…"

"What do you want to think about?" he asked, swallowing noisily as her finger hooked into the elastic waist band of his boxers.

"Absolutely nothing," she replied, and giving a devilishly grin, moved on her knees backwards across the bed. Crooking her finger, she beckoned for him to join her. "What I want is for you to come here and make me not regret my decision to get up disgustingly early just for you."

Grinning broadly, Flack peeled off his wife beater and yanked off his boxers. Tossing them aside, he got down on all fours and crawled across the bed towards his wife.

"You won't ever regret a lot of things with me baby," he promised, then grabbing a hold of her hips, yanked her towards him and seized her lips in a passionate, hungry kiss.

"Shit! Donnie!"

Flack's eyes snapped open at the sound of his wife's shrieking, and frantic that something was wrong with her or the kids or even the baby, he bolted into a sitting position. "Sammie…what…?" his vision was blurry and his brain was swimming with exhaustion as he looked over to where his wife was racing around the bedroom, in just a white lace bra and panties, frantically searching for clothes.

"It's five minutes to eight!" she cried, as she tossed open the doors of her armoire and rummaged through the t-shirts folded neatly on the shelves.

"Five minutes to eight?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair. He could hear the boys chatting and arguing incessantly and Mikayla's musical giggle outside of the window, accompanied by Gus' Louisiana drawl as she attempted to get them all loaded into her SUV.

"Yes, Don…" she sighed exasperatedly as she yanked a blood red t-shirt over her head. "Seven fifty five."

"You sure?" he inquired, reaching for his watch and peering down at it. Needing confirmation.

"I know how to tell time, babe," she huffed, and yanking open one of the armoire's drawers, snagged a pair of simple black slacks.

"I never said you didn't," he yawned, and ran his hands down his face. "Alarm didn't go off?" he asked, casting a glance to the object in question that sat on the nightstand.

"I don't know," she sighed, as she pulled on her pants and zipped and buttoned them. "If it did, one of us turned it off and we don't remember. If we didn't, then the damn thing obviously isn't working."

"Maybe you just didn't set it properly," Flack suggested.

"I know how to set a stupid fucking alarm clock, Donald!" she exclaimed, and picking up a pillow that had tumbled to the floor in the midst of their almost frantic, desperate coupling early, tossed it at him.

"I am just saying…" he held up one hand in surrender and intercepted the pillow with the other. Setting it down beside him, he leaned across the bed and snatched the alarm clock off of the night stand. "Sammie…" he couldn't resist a chuckle. "You set the goddamn thing for seven thirty PM."

"What?" she frowned. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "It clearly says seven thirty PM. Not AM."

"Let me see that!" she demanded, and bounded towards the bed. Attempting to snag the alarm clock from his hand, only to let out a shriek as he curled an arm around her waist and tossed her unceremoniously in the middle of the bed.

"Good morning sunshine!" Flack laughed, dropping the clock in favour or covering her body with his, his hands planted on the mattress above her head, both arms bearing his weight.

"Donald…I do not have time for this…" she said, turning her face to the side as he tried to kiss her.

"There's always time to kiss your husband good morning," he declared, and covered her mouth his in a slow, lazy kiss. She resisted, but only briefly. Within seconds she was tunnelling her fingers through his hair and eagerly kissing him back. When they were both breathless, he pulled back and look at her, blue eyes sparkling.

"Good morning, baby…" she said, and ran a hand down his face. "Thanks for making me late for work."

"You're late for work 'cause you feel back asleep in the midst your post-orgasmic ecstasy," he informed her. "I only took up fifteen minutes of your time. All you had to do was lie there for another fifteen minutes and get up."

"If you hadn't have given me such an amazing, intense orgasm I never would have fallen back asleep," she reasoned.

"I think we should just both accept blame for this," he said. "And I think you should call Stella and tell her you're not coming in today."

"Oh that will go over well," Sam snorted, as she played with the chain dangling from his neck. "I'm suppose to start in an hour."

"Well guess what, Tinks?" he pecked her lips. "You're not going to make it. So just give her a call and tell her you're not coming in. Tell her that you were up with one of the kids all night and they have to stay home from school and you haven't had any sleep and won't be able to effectively and safely fulfill your duties."

"I am not playing hooky because you want me to stay in bed all day with you. I'm not skipping out on a shift because you just want to get laid as many times as possible."

"Hey…that is a perfectly reasonable excuse for calling in sick. Just call her and tell her that your husband is a dirty minded bastard and that he's got you handcuffed to the bed and is hell bent on doing all kinds of sick, perverted things to you."

"You and your handcuff fantasies," Sam rolled her eyes.

"Call in sick baby," Flack implored, pressing feathery kisses along every inch of her smooth face. "It's been a long time since we've had a day off together. Without the kids around."

"We're going on vacation in four days, Donnie," she reminded him. "Without the kids. What more do you want?"

"I want as many days off with you as possible. I want forever. With you. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you ten years ago."

"Was that during the wild sex in a public washroom or when we conceived our son in the backseat of your SUV in a dark alley in Chinatown?" she asked curiously.

"I'm being serious here. Mind you…." he grinned devilishly. "Both those times are still fresh in my memory. Right up there with that mint chocolate chip ice cream fiasco in the my old apartment and that time in the shower when you let me go all big, bad police man on you."

She blushed furiously.

"Call in sick, Sammie…" he repeated, as his lips descended on the side of her neck. "Take a personal day. Tell them you're sick. Tell them one of the kids are sick. Hell, tell them all of them are sick. Just stay home. With me. Let's just shut ourselves up in this room all day."

"Don…" she sighed.

"Come on…I know you want to…do it for me, babe. For us. Call in."

"Donald…" she buried her face in his hair once again and pulled his head back. "I can't," she insisted, and kissed his chastely.

"Fine…" he grumbled and flopped onto his back alongside of her. "Let me suffer."

"I think you'll make it," she told him, and pressing a kiss to his cheek, proceeded to climb off of the bed.

He lay in the middle of the bed, his hands behind his head and his eyes closed, listening as she padded around their bedroom as she finished getting ready for work. Finding socks, putting in a pair of earrings, removing her badge from the top drawer of the night table and clipping it to her pants before heading into the bathroom to apply a touch of makeup.

She emerged several minutes later. He heard the swish of her clothes as she approached the bed. "I've got to go," she said reluctantly, and leaned over him to kiss him.

"I know…" he said with a heavy sigh, and kissed her back in earnest, his fingers of one hand tangling in her hair. "Call me. Maybe I'll come in to town and take you to lunch."

"I love you, Donnie…" she whispered, her lips against his forehead.

"I love you, too," he told her, a smile on his face. As she pulled away from him, he felt her silken tresses slip from between his fingers.

"See you soon baby," she said, as she paused in the doorway of their bedroom.

He nodded and gave her a wave.

And just like that she was gone.

"I never even watched her leave," Flack said, his voice a near whisper as he sat beside Jessica Angell on the top step of his parents' front porch nearly three months after his wife had been brutally gunned down.

The sun was beginning to set. Painting the sky in vivid shades of orange, purple and pink. While Mikayla slept inside the house in her portable playpen under the watchful eye of her grandmother, the boys laughed heartily as grandpa showed them how to play horseshoes. The barbecue feast had gone down well. It lifted a massive weight off of Flack's shoulders to see his children smile and hear them giggle. To witness them bond with their grandfather. A man who'd been absent in not only their lives, but their own father's as well. A proud, stubborn man hell bent on making amends. Flack had been more than content to do little more than sit on the porch and drink beer and watch his children indulge in simple pleasures. To see them running around and having fun with no cares in the world after everything they'd been through.

It had been a long, trying day. He'd been unable to keep his composure at his wife's grave site. He had been determined to be the rock, to simply stand there and hold back his tears and battle his own demons as his children laid their cards and that cupcake against their mother's headstone and said a few words to her. But his dissolve had crumbled the moment that Kieran attempted to speak and all words were cut off by a choked sob. And before he could grab a hold of his son, the nine year old was on his knees bawling for his mother and telling her hated her and that he loved her all in one breath.

It had been nothing short of sheer hell. Seeing his kids like that. And he'd been unable to hold back his own tears as he sat down on the grass that covered his wife's grave and gathering his children in his arms, held them in his lap and rocked them until they all, himself included, began to feel better.

The four beers he'd consumed within an hour of being at his folks had helped numb the pain. The fifth and the sixth had nearly demolished it. The seventh and eight had him baring his soul to his ex girlfriend who'd shown up unexpectedly -to him at least- halfway through dinner. She had called earlier, after she'd attempted several times to contact him following the message he'd left on her cell phone. She had held on to, even after all these years, his parents' numbers and had called them in hopes of finding out where he was. Patricia had invited her over immediately. Telling Jess that her son desperately needed help. He needed someone. And maybe that someone was her.

Flack wasn't sure what got him talking about Sammie. He had been avoiding talking about her in great detail since she'd died. Not smart, he knew. Because keeping in all of the regrets and all of his sorrow was threatening to destroy him. He remembered every single detail of that day. Every word that had been spoken, every kiss and caress that had been shared. He'd never talked to anyone about it.

Until now.

Maybe it was the way Jess had just simply sat down beside him, two beers in her hands and handed him one. Maybe it was the way she didn't force him to talk. Or ,aybe it was the way she smelled. She and Sammie had always used the same shampoo. A vanilla and honey concoction they'd purchased at The Body Shop while out on one of their many shopping excursions. That smell reminded him of Sammie. And if he closed his eyes and drew in deep breaths, it was as she was sitting right next to him again.

But she wasn't. He was reminded every time he opened his eyes that his wife was gone.

After several minutes of long silence, Jess had bumped him with her elbow and told him that she was there for him. No matter what. And that if he wanted to talk, then she was all ears.

The second he'd opened his mouth he'd been unable to close it again.

Jess had listened intently to his recollections of his last morning with his wife. She didn't comment or interrupt. She sat quietly and fought back tears of her own and offered up the occasional sniffle or a slight chuckle or a nod or a shake of her head.

"She walked out the door and I never watched her go," Flack continued, regret weighing heavily on his face and in his voice. "She left the house and that was it. She was gone. She walked out of my life and never walked back in."

"She didn't leave you because she wanted to, Don," Jess whispered, as she rubbed his back soothingly. "She left because she had to. And there was nothing you could have done to stop what happened to her."

"I just…I miss her so much, Jessie…" he struggled with his tears once again. "So much…and I would give anything to have her back again. To just turn the clock back and force her to stay home. To just make her call Stella. Or call Stella myself. To just…"

"It happened," Jess told him gently. "You can't go back and change it. I know it's killing you inside, Don. To not have Sammie here. I know it's hard and I know how badly you want her back. And how badly I want to give her back to you. But I can't do that. I just can't."

"I know…" he cleared his throat noisily and sniffled.

"Is there anything else you want to say? Do you want to go any further along with this? Because I'm here for the long haul."

"I want to talk about her," Flack said. "I need to talk about her."

"Well here I am. So talk. Tell me everything that happened after she left the house. You need to get it out and I'm here to give you the opportunity. Tell me, Don. Just talk to me."

"I can't…" he choked up and laid a hand over his eyes. "I need some time. A few minutes to…I just need a few minutes."

"Okay…" Jess said with a soft smile, and curling her arm around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder.

She'd wait.

For as long as she had to.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And who may be just lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you for all of your support in the year since this story was born!!

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