DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK. WELL…THIS SAM FLACK, ANYWAY.

I WANT TO SEND OUT A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU THAT NOMINATED ME IN SO MANY CATEGORIES! I CAN NOT EXPRESS MY GRATITUDE ENOUGH! MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU! I AM TRULY HUMBLED.

A/N 1: CONTRARY TO SOME MESSAGES I'VE BEEN RECEIVED, I FEEL I MUST REITERATE THAT THE CENTRAL MOB 'STORY LINE' REGARDING SAM'S SHOOTING, HER TIME IN THE HOSPITAL, DEATH AND FLACK'S REACTION (S) WERE INITIALLY COVERED IN CHAPTERS POSTED OVER A YEAR AGO.

A/N 2: I WANT TO THANK, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART THREE PEOPLE:

CASS: FOR ALL HER CHATS AND ALLOWING ME TO BOUNCE IDEAS OFF OF HER AND PASSING ME SOME ADVICE AND IDEAS

HEIDI: FOR BEING A ROCK AND NEVER COMPLAINING AS I (PROBABLY) BORED HER WITH SNEAK PEEKS OF MY STORIES. AND FOR HELPING ME OUT!

MADISON BELLOWS: FOR ALL OF HER AMAZING REVIEWS. AND FOR HAVING SO MUCH FAITH IN MY FUTURE CHAPTERS AND FOR CHALLENGING ME TO PUT MY ALL INTO THEM. WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS HOW MUCH THAT HAS MEANT TO ME.

SPECIAL WARM WELCOME TO HEART2HANDGUN

THIS CHAPTER CONTINUES WITH FLACK'S STORY….

One shot, Part 3: Someone to lean on

"So close no matter how far
couldn't be much more from the heart
forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters
never opened myself this way
life is ours, we live it our way
all these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
every day for us something new
open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do
never cared for what they know
but I know
so close no matter how far
couldn't be much more from the heart
forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters."
-Nothing Else Matters, Metallica

The shrill ringing of the cordless phone on the nightstand tore Flack from his deep, peaceful slumber. As brilliant sun squeezed between the bottom of the roller shade and the top of the window ledge and sent shards of light streaming across the hardwood floor, his arm shot out to his side and his fingers fumbled blindly for the offending object that so bravely dared to disturb him. The veil of exhaustion hung heavily over his body and senses and muted his reflexes and slowed his coordination, and as the phone reached its fifth ring, it slipped from his feeble grasp and tumbled to the floor. It hit hard; sending the receiver in one direction and the battery pack skittering under the bed.

"For fucksakes," he muttered, and running his hands over his weary face and through his messy hair, Flack propped himself up onto his elbows, his blurry eyes taking in the expanse of the silent, empty room.

He could hear the phone all the way downstairs in the kitchen continue to ring. The sixth, then the seventh, the eighth cut off as the answering machine perched on the table on Sam's side of bed came to life.

"Hi!" his wife's cheerful voice sounded throughout the room. In the background there were the distinct sounds of the boys arguing -over who got to eat the last piece of Mommy's birthday cake of all things - and Mikayla's babbling and her occasional shrieks of 'Daddeee! Daddeee uppie!'. "You're reached the Flack residence," Sam's voice continued. "I'm sorry that Don and I can't came to the phone right now. We're currently immersed in domestic hell. But if you care to leave a message after the beep, one of us will get back to you as soon as we can. And hopefully with our sanity intact."

Flack smirked as he listened to the greeting, taped less then a three weeks ago, the weekend of Sam's fortieth birthday, and he laughed out loud when his own voice piped up just before the beep. "Do you really have to record something like that Sammie? What will…"

The words had been cut off by the beep, which now echoed throughout the bedroom. He waited for the caller to leave a message, and was somewhat relieved when all that came was the loud click of the call being disconnected.

Must not have been important, he thought, and yawning noisily, snagged his pillow from behind him, and beating it with his fist to fluff it to his desired specifications, lay back down on his left side. There was no way in hell he was about to get out of bed just to retrieve the cordless and put it back together. There were four other working phones in the house after al.

If it's a life or death thing, they'll call back, he mused, and reaching out to pull his wife's pillow across the bed, tucked it into his chest and buried his face in the cool, smooth pillow case. Her smell -the vanilla honey shampoo mixed with a tinge of sweat- lingered on the fabric and worked quickly and effortlessly to relax him. He closed his eyes, knowing that sleep wouldn't evade him for long.

The phone rang again. The sound was softer, less obtrusive. Flack's eyes flickered upon as realization set in that it wasn't the landline someone was trying to get a hold of him on this time. It was his department issued cell phone. Which he had left turned on when he'd gotten home, but had sat on the table by the front door.

Totally unusual for him. He always brought the phone upstairs and into the bedroom with him. He would charge it up in the bathroom or if there were enough bars left, he'd leave it on the night table next to his head.

Always.

Groaning loudly in protest, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and tossed the comforter off of him. Rubbing his tired, burning eyes with the backs of his hands, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress and climbed out of bed. Swearing loudly and muttering curses and threats of severe bodily harm to whoever had the fucking nerve to either call him for advice with a case, or one of the members of the brass asking him to come in and cover for someone or clean up a fuck up one of his people made.

His cell had ceased ringing the moment he hit the top landing of the stairs, but promptly started up again as he hit the second step. He hurried down the stairs, floor boards creaking noisily under his feet, profanity slipping out his mouth as he nearly turned an ankle when he stepped on one of Mackenzie's Transformers that had been left half way down the steps. Kicking away discarded kids clothing and various toys that blocked a safe path and making a mental note to get on Sam's ass about keeping the place a little tidier, and to yell at the kids to pick up their shit or risk having it all tossed in the trash.

"This better fucking be good!" he bellowed, his annoyed voice bouncing off the walls of the desolate living room, as he took the last two steps in one stride and hurried for his phone. Snatching it up angrily, he checked the call display, frowning at the sight of Danny's name and cell number. Snapping the phone open, he pressed talk and put it to his ear. "What you…?"

"Don…it's Messer…" Danny sounded out of breath. His voice urgent and dire. "…there's been an incident…with Sammie…"

His first reaction, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, was to check the time. He strode quickly out of the living room and down the hall to the kitchen, where he cast a quick glance at the microwave. It was shortly before ten. Taking into consideration travelling time and the traffic on the Queensboro Bridge and in downtown Manhattan at the time of the morning when Samantha had left the house, she had been on the clock just shy of an hour.

"What kind of incident?" he barked into the phone, concern setting in as he realized that Danny had called her Sammie. He rarely, very rarely in fact, called her that. It was always Sam. Or his favourite moniker of Brooklyn, and hearing Danny use a more tender, affectionate term, one that Flack had used constantly over the last decade, immediately told him that Danny wasn't messing around.

"She was at a crime scene," Danny told him, the words rushing out of his mouth. "At this abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn…with Stella…and something…something bad happened, Don…really, really bad…"

Bile rose in his throat, his stomach churned. He immediately thought of the baby. Considering the possibility that she had had a miscarriage while processing the scene. That due both to the fact the pregnancy was a closely guarded secret and that her internal issues may have caused her to hemorrhage, that Stella may have panicked. That maybe it wasn't as horrific as Danny's tone of voice was making it seem. As sad as losing a baby was -they'd miscarried when Kieran was just eight months old- it was something that they would get over. It wouldn't destroy them. And they could always try again if they wanted to. Silence shrouded the kitchen as his thoughts continued to run rampant. His brain trying to come up with logical, non threatening situations that his wife could have gotten herself embroiled in.

"Don?" Danny's voice broke into his thoughts.

"How bad?" Flack asked, almost unable to get the words out.

"She was shot, Don…she went into the warehouse to start processin' the scene and I guess someone was hidin' out in there. She was shot…in the chest…"

Blind panic hit him square in the chest and nearly knocked the wind clear out of him. Flack's stomach retched, his knees buckled at the force of the news coming face and furious out of Danny Messer's mouth. He laid a hand on the counter alongside of him in a desperate effort to keep himself on his feet. The room spun around him, the ground threatened to open up and swallow him whole as his wobbling legs propelled him towards the kitchen table. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't form a single rational thought . He felt as if his body was acting on its own will as his free hand reached out to yank a chair away from the table.

"What…" he choked out, as he collapsed into the chair.

"You need to get here, Flack…you need to get here as soon as you can…you need to get to Angel of Mercy…she's alive but you need to get here right now…are you hearing me, Flack? Are you hearing a damn thing I'm saying?"

"I…how…what…?"

"Listen to me!" Danny shouted. "You need to haul ass! Sammie's alive and you need to get here! She needs you! She needs her husband and you need to get here like yesterday! Understand me? They don't know if she's going to make it and you need to get here NOW!"

His best friend's harsh, urgent voice sliced through Flack's daze and snapped him back into the moment. Fighting a ferocious headache and horrific nausea, he pushed himself out of the chair with enough force that the piece of furniture hurdled across the floor and slammed into the wall. Clattering noisily as it tumbled onto its side on the kitchen floor.

"I'm on my way," he said, forcing himself to stay calm as he rushed out of the kitchen and retraced his path down the hallway and through the living room.

He had to stay focused. Sam needed him. His Sammie needed him with her. And it wasn't going to do her, or himself, any good to go rushing into Angel of Mercy a complete basket case. He'd always been the rock. The one that held shit together when it seemed like it was completely falling apart. He kept her afloat when her fears and her emotions threatened to consume her. He'd always been the one to take care of her. No questions asked. And he had no intention on letting her down when she desperately needed him the most.

"Hurry, Flack…" Danny implored, sounding as if he was near tears. "You gotta…you just gotta hurry…they won't let me in to see her…she's in the ER right now and they won't let me…"

"Be there as soon as I can," he assured his best friend, and then abruptly disconnected the call as he took the stairs two at a time.

As the SUV screeched to a halt in one of four spaces clearly marked by a bright yellow paint that read EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY just mere yards from the ER entrance of Angel Of Mercy, Flack could see Danny pacing frantically on the small patch of sidewalk alongside of the sliding doors that led into the hospital. His best friend's face was ashen and his hands visibly trembled as he held his phone to his ear with one and held a cigarette to his lips with the other. Danny had long ago given up smoking. The moment that Erica had announced that she was pregnant, he'd gone all ferociously protective and insanely paranoid and ditched every bad habit he had. Including his penchant for carrying on his long distance affair with Lindsay Monroe through emails and text messages.

"Messer!" Flack bellowed, as he climbed out of the SUV and slammed the door behind him. His keys clutched tightly in one hand, his badge in the other. He'd already pulled out of the driveway at home when the thought had struck him to bring his shield along. You never knew when you'd need it while off duty, and he'd left the vehicle idling at the end of the drive as he'd ran back into the house to grab it.

Danny looked up. His mouth set in a grim line as he offered a solemn wave to his best friend before turning his attention back to finishing up his phone call.

"Sir!" a security guard rushed from his command post -a small shack no bigger than a telephone booth that had been situated at the entrance to the short stay lot- the underarms of his too small shirt stained with perspiration, the buttons threatening to pop due to his massive girth. He was out of breath from the short journey he'd had to make from his stool in his shack to where Flack was attempting to cross the expanse of cement that separated him from the ER entrance.

Flack ignored him. He was in no mood to deal with some sonofabitch that thought he was doing the city a service by sitting on his fat ass and reading GQ all day long. Pretending to 'keep the peace' and fooling himself into thinking he'd ever be able to restrain an out of control patient or tame a family member wild from grief.

"Sir!" the guard yelled and grabbed a hold of Flack's left forearm. "You can't park there!"

"Get the fuck outta here," the detective growled, and yanked his arm from the other man's sweaty grip. Suddenly assailed by a memory from years ago. When Adam had called him to tell him that Sam was having problems with the baby and that he'd had to have her brought to Women's and Children's. Flack remembered their fight over Emma Maxwell, and how Sam had fled the apartment and he'd been worried sick when he hadn't been able to contact her. At least she hadn't done anything stupid and had found her way to her brother's. And Carmen had…

Carmen…fuck…Flack thought. Carmen was in the Caribbean. On her second honeymoon. He and Sam had been the ones to drive Carmen and Rick to the airport. To see them off. And now he had to call his wife's best friend, while on what was suppose to be a dream vacation, and tell her about what had gone down.

"That space is for emergency vehicles only!" the guard informed him, and stepped directly into his path. "You have to remove your vehicle ASAP."

"And you have to remove yourself from my fucking face before you find my fist buried in yours!" Flack snapped, and attempted to step through the guard as opposed to around him. His broad chest coming into solid contact with the other man's shoulder and throwing the guard slightly off balance.

"You want me to call the cops, pal!" the other man bellowed, getting into Flack's path once more. Undeterred and clearly not frightened by the size difference between them. "Don't make me call the cops and have your ass tossed in jail!"

"My wife is in there!" Flack yelled. "My wife's in there fucking dying asshole! Now get out of my face before…"

"A lot of peoples wives and husbands and family members are in there dying, buddy. You're not any different. You don't see them parking in the emergency vehicles spot, do you? You don't see them breaking the rules! Now get back in your car or…"

"Or what!" the detective roared, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead as he bumped the guard's chest with his own. "Or what? What the fuck are you gonna do?! Call the cops! Have my fucking car towed! Be my guest and get out of my way before I hand you your ass!"

"That's it!" the other man reached for the walkie talkie on his belt. "I'm calling the cops, I'm…"

"He is the goddamn cops!" Danny suddenly appeared at Flack's side, and yanking the forgotten badge from his best friend's iron grasp, shoved it in the guard's face. "His wife is in there! She was brought in on that rig!…" he pointed towards an ambulance parked in front of the emergency entrance, the back doors of the bus open as a paramedic busied himself inside.

"The cop that got shot in Brooklyn…" the guard's face blanched.

"..and he needs to get inside!" Danny finished. "So get out of his face and I'll be out here to move his vehicle the second we know what's going on, a'right? Come on, Flack…" he grabbed a hold of the scruff of the taller man's t-shirt and forcibly pulled him towards the emergency room.

"I'm sorry about that!" the guard called after them. "If I'd have known I wouldn't…I just…good luck…I hope everything works out for the best."

"What the hell is going on, Danny?" Flack asked, ignoring the security guard. "What happened to Sammie?"

"She was shot while processing a scene," the CSI replied. "Exactly what I told you on the phone."

"But how? How did that happen? Wasn't the scene secured?"

"Uniforms said that they checked the inside of the warehouse and that it was safe to go inside," Danny tried to remain as calm as possible. Even though he felt himself dangerously close to falling apart. "Stella told Sam to go in and start and she…"

"Alone?" Flack's eyes widened. "She sent her in to process alone?"

"It was a quick decision on Stella's part. Sam was late getting to the scene and they were both concerned about how quickly the quality of the evidence was degrading and Stella made the decision to…"

"Send Sammie into an unsecured scene. Alone. Which has been against lab policy for a fucking decade!" Flack finished angrily.

"Like I said, the uniforms said they checked it out and they said it was okay."

"Well obviously it wasn't fucking okay, Danny! It obviously wasn't secure or we wouldn't be here! We wouldn't be having this conversation and my wife wouldn't…"

All words escaped Flack as they neared the back of the ambulance, his blue eyes widening in sheer horror at the nightmare that greeted him inside. A young paramedic, one forearm over his mouth as he fought nausea, as his other hand busied itself with stripping the stretcher inside of it blood soaked sheets. Scattered around his feet was used and discarded medical paraphernalia. Empty wrappers from gauze and bandages. Coverings from syringes and heart sensor pads that had been ripped off and tossed to the ground in haste. Balled up towels and sheets, almost black from being used to sop up blood or at least staunch the flow of it. And the floor…the EMS worker's boots made a horrific squishing sound as he practically waded through a pool of ruby red.

"Fucking mess," the young man was muttering, as he angrily kicked towels and paper packaging out of his way. Oblivious to Flack and Danny passing by. "Look at this fucking mess!" the paramedic, obviously distraught at what he'd witnessed, ranted. "How can they do this? How can someone fucking do this to another human being?!"

"Jesus Christ…" Flack breathed, his eyes wide in sheer horror. At the sight of nothing more than a slaughterhouse in front of him. He felt Danny's insistent tug on the back of his t-shirt, the indication to just walk away and keep things moving, and he angrily reached up and shoved his best friend's hand off of him as his weak, trembling legs sent him stumbling towards the ambulance.

"Flack!" Danny immediately attempted to grab a hold of his best friend once again, only to feel the fabric of his t-shirt slip from between his fingers. Watching, his heart breaking at the sight of the normally stoic and hard ass detective nearly collapsing against the tail gate of the ambulance, stopping himself by slamming his palms down on the bloody floor.

"What the fuck…" Flack fought hard to control the threat of tears, the flow of vomit that threatened to escape. He shook his head in disbelief. Stunned at the sight of Armageddon before him. Sickened at the thought that this had ever happened. And nearly brought to his knees as he wondered just how in the hell anyone had survived that. And not just anyone. His wife.

The paramedic gave a small start, surprised by Flack's presence before him. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"My wife…" Flack choked out, the blood warm and silky as it seeped between his fingers. "She…my wife…" he couldn't continue. The rage and the grief so profound it rendered him speechless. He was aware of two things and two things only. The smell and the feel of his wife's blood.

"Don…" Danny's arm curled around him, firmly laying across his collarbone. "Don't do this to yourself…" he whispered, his lips against his best friend's ear. "You don't need to see this…you need to get inside…Sammie needs you…don't do this…"

Flack shook his head, his top teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he attempted to keep himself from breaking down. He felt Danny's arm tighten around him and then his body being yanked backwards and away from the ambulance.

"You need to hold it together," Danny told him, as he released his hold around Flack's neck in favour of grabbing him by the sleeve of his t-shirt, propelling him towards the emergency room. "Sammie's in one of the triage rooms. They'll let you see her, a'right?"

Flack nodded, his entire body and mind completely numb as they stepped through the sliding doors and into the crowded, boisterous emergency room. Danny led the way to the main triage desk, announcing loudly and to anyone within hearing distance, that Detective Flack's husband had arrived. A solemn faced nurse nodded and gave the two men a trembling smile before buzzing them through the door that would grant them access to the treatment areas.

"This way," Danny pushed Flack through the door, then laid a hand on the big detective's back and gently guided him in the direction of Sam's room.

Through the haze of tears, Flack could make out the familiar faces of detectives and uniforms are they huddled in tight, united groups near the end of the hall. Men that he had worked with for years and now commanded. He saw their mouths move as they spoke to him and each other, yet no words registered. He saw the sympathy in their eyes, felt the reassuring pats on the back and his hair being ruffled as one of the older timers reached out to tousle it.

Danny abruptly stopped in front of the last room on the left and turned to face his best friend. He took in the sight of Flack's ashen face and his tortured, frightened blue eyes. He grimaced at the sight of the blood that covered the detective's large, strong hands and dripped down onto the Flack's jeans and shoes and spattered on the floor. A trail of bright red droplets traced their direct path from the ambulance outside to where they now stood.

"You better clean yourself up a bit," Danny said, and moved to snag a towel from a nearby supply cart. When he turned around, Flack was already wiping the blood onto front of his t-shirt. "Don…" he sighed. "You better…"

"I need to see my wife," Flack whispered.

"You need to go and find a washroom and wash your hands and I'll ask a nurse if you can get some scrubs or something…"

"Danny…"

"You can't go in there looking like that and…"

"I want to see my wife!" Flack bellowed. All murmurs and whispers ceased and all eyes focused intently on him. "I.." he took a deep, shaky breath and released it slowly. "I want to see her, Danny," he said quietly.

The CSI nodded, and accepting defeat, turned and laid a hand on the door. "She's unconscious, Flack…" he said, preparing his friend for what he'd see once he stepped through the door. "She's unconscious and intubated. She coded twice in the bus on the way here and while the docs were attending to her. She's…she's in bad shape, Don. Her clothing and personal effects have been bagged. You can have her jewellery, but her clothes need to be sent back to the lab and checked for trace. Her badge, ID and her gun…whoever did this took them…"

Flack didn't respond.

"I just want you to know that after she comes out of surgery, someone from the lab is going to have to come and photograph her and process her for any evidence. It was a straight up shooting. Guy who did this didn't touch her in any other way, shape or form, okay? So you don't have to consent to a sexual assault kit or anything. But we will need to process her."

"That's fine," Flack managed, his voice a mere whisper.

"You have no idea how hard this is for me to be telling you all of this," Danny said, and closing his eyes briefly, laid his forehead against the door. Gathering himself, he cleared his throat noisily and opening his eyes, looked over his shoulder at his best friend. "I am so sorry, Don."

Flack nodded in appreciation of Danny's sympathetic, gentle words. "I just want to see her. I just need to see my wife."

The other man nodded and turned back towards the door. Pausing before pushing it open. "I'll be with you every step of the way, Don," he vowed, and then led the way into the room.

Danny gave a small nod of greeting to the young nurse that hovered at the side of Samantha's hospital bed, carefully monitoring her patient's vitals. The only sounds in the room the beep of the EKG machine and the hiss of the respirator working diligently to keep Sam alive until there was a vacant operation room, where they would then assess, and hopefully repair, the damage that had been done. The soles of Flack's Adidas runners squeaked as he dragged his feet across the tiles as he slowly approached the bed.

As Danny, struggling with tears lingered in the far corner, the nurse -a tiny, chubby thing with chin length blond hair and a pretty face- walked around the side of the bed to where Flack stood at Sam's feet, his grim blue eyes riveted on his wife's still, seemingly lifeless body. Stunned at the sight of the breathing tube that had been inserted into her mouth and the amount of wires that invaded someone so tiny.

"Detective Flack…" the young woman's voice was soft, melodic as she laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm Cass. I've been looking after your wife since she was brought in. And I'll be accompanying her to the OR when it's time."

He simply nodded, his hand softly rubbing his wife's foot through the blankets pulled so tightly around her.

"Once the surgeon is ready, I'll have another nurse come to escort you and Detective Messer to a private family room near the operating suites. He'll briefly speak to you about the procedure and possible risks and have you sign some forms."

"How long?" Flack asked, his voice barely audible as his eyes never left his wife. "Until they take her up?"

"About fifteen minutes," Cass replied. "You can have some time with her if you'd like."

He nodded and sniffled noisily. "I'd like that," he said, managing a small smile.

"If you need anything, the call button is beside the bed," she told him, and rubbed his arm comfortingly before turning on her heel and gathering a clipboard from the counter across the bed, quickly headed for the door. "I'll bring you a set of scrubs for you can change out of those clothes," she added, her hand closing around the door handle.

"Thank you," Danny called to her.

She simply smiled and slipped from the room.

"Don…" Danny cleared his throat noisily. "If you want me to…"

"You can stay," Flack said quickly. "I'd like it if you stayed."

The CSI nodded and placing his foot against the wall behind him, crossed his arms over his chest and diverted his attention away from Flack and Sam and concentrated on the continuation of life outside of the window. Watching the breeze tousle the leaves on the trees across the street, observing the laughing, smiling pedestrians on the sidewalk. Silently cursing them for not knowing what was developing in that small hospital room. Oblivious to the grief his best friend was enduring as he stood at the bedside of his critically injured wife.

Flack drew a deep, slow breath into his lungs and briefly closed his eyes. He wasn't sure what to say. What to do. How to act. His mind was screaming at him to keep it together. To remain stoic and resolved. While his heart, as it was being shattered into a million pieces, was telling him it was okay to break down. To express his fears. To go to his wife and grasp her hand and lay his forehead against hers. To stroke her hair and tell her he loved her. To let the tears slip from his eyes and drip onto her pale skin.

Exhaling, he opened his eyes and gave Sam's foot a gentle squeeze before walking around the right side of the be, his hand softly travelling the length of her leg. A chair blocked his path and he placed his foot on the seat and pushed it out of his way. Sending it skittering across the floor and the evidence bag that held Sam's clothes tumbling off of it and onto the floor.

"Sammie…" his voice was quiet and soft as his fingertips drifted onto her hand. "I'm here, baby…" he assured her, and taking her tiny, fragile hand in his large strong one, stood at the head of the bed.

His free hand rested on her pillow and he combed his fingers through her hair. The cop side of him told him not to touch her. That she hadn't been processed yet and that the investigating CSIs would face certain shit for allowing him to 'contaminate' her. But the tormented husband side told him to fuck the whole lot of them.

"Sammie…" his voice trembled as he fought back the tears. "I want you to know that I'm here, okay? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be with you every step of the way, baby. Start to finish. No matter how long that takes. Hours, days, weeks, months. Doesn't matter. I'm here now and I'm going to be here when you open your eyes. I promise you that I'll be the first person you see when you wake up. First person you can flash that pretty smile to. And I…" his voice broke and he sighed heavily. "Everything's going to be okay," he promised. "I swear to you that everything is going to be okay. You've got the best nurses and doctors looking after you and you're going to be okay."

Danny sniffled noisily and removing his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"I don't want you to be scared, alright?" Flack's eyes remained riveted on her face as he trailed his knuckles lightly across her forehead. "Don't be scared…there's no reason to be scared…and don't worry about me and the kids, okay? We'll be fine. We'll be strong and we'll…" he bit his lip, and laying his forehead against hers, finally allowed the tears to come. "Please don't leave me, Sammie…" a sob broke through his calm demeanour. "Please don't leave me…I can't…I can't do this without you…I can't live without you, baby. I just can't. I'm not as strong as you think I am. And I just can't…you can't do this to me…you can't leave me…not like this…not like this…it wasn't suppose to end this way…we were suppose to go through the rest of our lives together…grow old and grey together…raise our kids together…it wasn't supposed to end like this, Sammie."

Danny used the sleeve of his wrinkled white dress shirt to wipe the tears that spilled down his cheeks. He was taken back by his best friend's display of raw emotion, and unsure of what to do. If he should quietly leave the room or go to Flack and offer some kind of comfort. Flack had never been like this. So open with his feelings.

But then again, he'd never seen his wife of a decade, the mother of his four children and the love of his life on death's door either.

"Don't do this to me…" Flack pleaded, as he pressed kisses to his wife's forehead and cheeks. "Don't leave me like this, Samantha. It was always supposed to be me. I was supposed to go first. Not you, remember? We always said it would be me first because you're stronger than I am and you'd be able to go on without me. You'd be able to take care of the kids properly. You'd hurt for a long, long time but you'd be okay. But me…" he shook his head and pulled back to look at her. "I'm not like you, baby. I can't take care of the kids by myself. I can't function properly…I just can't do this…do life…without you."

Danny stood, his head resting back against the wall and his eyes tightly closed, as he listened to Flack's heavy breathing and the rustle of clothing and sheets as he moved along the bed, his big hands softly smoothing down Sam's blankets and gently fixing her hair.

"I love you, Sammie…" Flack picked her hand up once more and pressed a kiss to each finger. "I love you so much. I've loved you for so long. I'll always love you. And thank you…" his voice threatened to crack once again. "Thank you for giving me the best ten years of my life. For giving me my kids. For sticking by me no matter what. And thank you…thank you for loving me as much as you do."

He broke down completely at last. Laying his head on her chest and sobbing loudly. Unabashedly. His entire body shaking with the force of the grief and fear that poured out of him.

Danny pushed himself away from the wall. Unable to take anymore. Unable to stand there and watch and listen as his normally stoic and tough friend come completely undone. But instead of heading for the door and stepping out into the hallway where he'd be free from the heartbreaking words and the sound of Flack's sobs, he instead walked over the bed and standing beside his best friend, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Don…" he said, hoping his words didn't seem as lame and weak to Flack as they did to his own ears. "Sammie's going to be okay. The doctors are going to take good care of her. Fix her up. She's going to be as good as new and in a month or two or whatever, she's going to get the hell out of here. She's going to go home and she's going to go back to nagging and riding your ass and calling you a tool all the time. She's going to be okay. And she needs you to be strong, a'right? Not just for her, but for your kids. And for yourself."

"What am I going to do, Danny?" he stood up and turned his tortured eyes to his best friend. "What am I going to do without her? I've got four kids. What do I tell them? What do I say?"

"Well first, you let someone else worry about that. I'll make some calls and get someone to go and pick up your kids. Bring them here. And you're going to tell them that their mom got hurt at work and that she's going to be sick for a while but she's going to be okay. That she's brave and strong and she loves all of you. That's what you're going to do. Brooklyn's going to be fine. Tiny but damn tough, right?"

Flack nodded.

"She's going to be okay," Danny promised, and lightly tapped Flack's cheek. "I swear to you she's going to be okay."

"I hope so," Flack whispered, then leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to his wife's forehead.

A knock came to the door before it clicked open softly.

"Detective Flack?" Cass' soft voice filled the room as she poked her head inside. "It's time. We're going to take her up now."

He nodded, and wiping his eyes on the shoulders of his t-shirt, pecked Sam's forehead one last time before running his hand over her hair and down her face. "I'll see you soon, baby," he told her. "In a little while, okay?" he lifted her hand to his lips a final time.

"Time to go, Don," Danny whispered, patting him on the shoulder. "Time to let her go for a little bit. Let the professionals take care of things, okay?"

"Okay…" he reluctantly agreed, and allowed Danny to lead him away from the bed.

Cass held out her hands. In one was a neatly folded set of scrubs, in the other was a small plastic baggy containing Sam's jewellery. Watch, earrings, engagement ring, eternity and wedding bands.

"Thank you," he said, and took the bag. Then the scrubs.

"Someone will take you to the quiet room," she told him. Then placed a hand on his arm as he paused in the doorway and looked back at his wife. "She's in good hands," she promised.

Flack gave a small smile, but couldn't help but silently disagree as he left the room.

She was in God's hands.

Whew….so I got that far. Hope it was okay! It was extremely difficult to write. I know I killed her off a year ago at the start of the story, but I didn't think it would be this hard to write the details. There's more to come. As Flack's story regarding what happened isn't even close to being done. Hope you all stick around!

As usual, thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please R and R folks!!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

CSINYMinute

Madison Bellows

HighQueenReicheru

Heart2handgun

Xsamiliciousx

Forest Angel

Soccer-bitch