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

A/N: A HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT NOMINATED ME IN THE AWARDS! I AM TRULY HUMBLED BY THE LOVE YOU GUYS SHOWED ME! MY READERS TRULY ARE MY INSPIRATION AND WHAT KEEPS ME GOING!

HUGE THANKS TO MY DEAR FRIEND RACHEL FOR FINDING ME THE PERFECT SONG! HUGS AND KISSES TO YA!

One shot, Part 4: The Waiting Game

"When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
and ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

High up above or down below
when you're too in love to let it go
If you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I

Tears stream down your face
I promise you
I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you."
-Fix You, Coldplay

As Flack pushed his way through the public washroom on the fourth floor of Angel of Mercy hospital, the door hit the wall next to it which enough force to crack tiles and splinter wood. Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled for the nearest stall. The enormity of what had happened had hit hard the moment he and Danny had stepped off of the elevator and a grim faced nursed had showed them to a quiet room that was essentially no more than a glorified closet. The space, no bigger than a standard jail cell, was suffocating. Sterile white brick walls, no windows, a stained and beaten tan corduroy couch, two rickety metal chairs with cracked yellow vinyl upholstery and a chipped and cracked coffee table that held nothing more than a half empty box of Kleenexes.

"The surgeon will be along in a few moments to talk to you about your wife," the nurse had said. "If there's any existing DNR, you'll need to…"

Those three initials had hit Flack like a ton of bricks. Flooding him with a recent memory of lying in bed with his wife only three short weeks ago and talking about what he wanted if he ever wound up being gravely injured in the line of duty. If he wound up so messed up that he'd never be a normal functioning human being again. If he was rendered a vegetable or if the doctors were forced to make a split second decision between keeping him alive or letting him go. His personal decision was the latter. He didn't want to live like that. He didn't want to be left lying in a hospital bed, oblivious to everything that was going on around him. If he couldn't respond, if he didn't know that his wife and his kids were there with him and he couldn't feel them squeezing his hand or hear them talking, then he didn't see the point of being left alive. If he had no quality of life and the doctors couldn't guarantee he'd even be a quarter of the man he once was, then his desire was to be put out his misery. If he coded, that was it. He wanted no measures taking to prolong his life. He wanted to go peacefully.

Most of all, he wanted to spare his wife and his kids the agony of seeing him like that. Of having his body right in front of them, but his mind and soul so far out of reach.

Sam had looked at him as if he'd gone insane. As if what he'd said was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard in her entire life. She'd argued that she would want him anyway he came to her. Even if it meant that she had to change his diapers and feed him with a spoon and wipe drool of his face. If she had to quit her job to take care of him full time or if she had to hire someone to do it for her. She was not letting him go that easily. She simply wasn't going to let him slip away. She was going to fight for him and do whatever she had to do to get him home to her and their kids. He'd argued that she was insane. That she couldn't possible handle that kind of stress. That kind of burden.

She'd glared at him the moment those words had slipped from his mouth.

"You're my husband," she'd hissed. "My forever. And you would never, ever be a burden. Understand me?"

In the end they'd agreed to disagree. Or at least go to bed without talking about it further. She wasn't emotionally equipped to hear him talk about death with such calmness and finality. He'd long ago accepted death. He didn't welcome it and certainly didn't wish it upon himself, but he wasn't scared of it in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, when it was his time to go, it was his time to go. Sam however, liked to romanticize everything. Despite dealing in death and sick and twisted shit day in and day out, when it came to her personal life she still had her rose coloured glasses firmly perched upon her nose. She didn't want to hear about him dying. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to consider what life would be like without him. As far as she was concerned, forever meant just that. And when it was his time to leave the world, then she was going right along with him. Old and grey and warm in their bed.

Whether or not she actually believed that and subscribed to it, Flack wasn't entirely sure. Although part of him wondered if thoughts of a peaceful passing made her sleep better at night. If she was able to get through each day a little bit easier if she held on firm to the belief that they'd spend fifty, sixty years together. If her fear of losing him and having to raise their family on their own was so crippling, that she found solace in fantastical ideas.

For the most part, he humoured her. When she became nervous or agitated when he talked about the dark and depressing, he quickly changed the subject and waited weeks before broaching it again. Flack believed in having all of his ducks in a row. In their line of work there was no such thing as too prepared. He made sure he had an up to date will, a decent chunk of change in a savings account he'd set up in Sam's name in case something ever happened to him and she needed money to get by for a while. People that agreed to step up and help take care of his family in his absence. He had a living will that included a strict DNR.

Sam had nothing save for a small savings account and a will that hadn't been updated since Kieran was just months old. And as he was faced with the strong possibility that his wife wasn't going to survive, the realization set in that he had no idea what she would want. What decision she would want him to make if she did live but had no quality of life whatsoever.

It was that stark reality that had his stomach lurching and his weak, trembling legs sending him bolting from the room. The scrubs and the small bag of jewellery slipping from his hands as he left a startled Danny in his wake.

Flack barrelled towards the nearest stall and slammed the door open. The bathroom was blessedly empty as he wasted no time dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Dry retching several times before finally expelling his stomach contents violently. For long, torturous minutes he stayed in that position, tears streaming down his face as he vomited into the toilet. The nightmarish vision of his wife so helpless and fragile, teetering on death's door hammering home with a vengeance.

When his stomach was empty and nothing but the acrid taste of bile of his mouth and the distinct burn in his throat remained, Flack pushed himself away from the toilet and collapsed into a sitting position, his back resting against the side of the stall. He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the cold, metal wall behind him. Sweat glistened on his brow and dripped down his neck and back. His heart thundered deep in his chest. His brain swam with a mixture of thoughts and emotions. He was pissed off at Stella for allowing Samantha to process alone. He was angry at his wife for being so goddamn stubborn and following proper protocol. He was mad that she'd been so careless and so stupid and now her life hung in the balance for her mistake. He was angry and hurting.

But most of all he was frightened and concerned. Worried about her fragile state as she was being prepped for massive surgery. Worried about what he was going to tell his kids. How he would ever possibility explain it to them if their mother didn't make it. How he was going to be able to take care of four kids all on his own. How he'd balance child rearing with the job.

How the hell he'd ever survive without her.

That was the possibility that frightened him the most. That Sam wouldn't pull through. That he'd walk out of the hospital an hour from now, or a day from now, or a week or a month, a widow. That he would never get the chance to feel her soft, warm lips on his own once again. That he'd never hear her voice or her infectious giggle. That he'd never see her smile or be the brunt of her good natured teasing. And the thought that that morning may have been the very last they ever spent together….

He closed his eyes and banged the back of his head off the stall repeatedly. Attempting to force the negative thoughts and the horrendous images from his mind. His wife's tiny body swallowed up by countless tubes and apparatuses. The pity in his co-workers eyes as he passed them in the hallway. That blood in the ambulance…

Jesus Christ the blood, he thought, and bit down hard on his bottom lip in an attempt to quell the nausea that threatened once again. In all of his years on the job, of all the grotesque things that he had seen - decapitations, disembowelment's, dismemberment's, bodies charred beyond recognition- nothing had ever affected him the way seeing his wife's blood pooled on the floor of that ambulance and soaking through those towels and blankets, had. It was personal. It wasn't some stranger that had been brought in on that rig. It wasn't an unknown face or name that he'd been called in to investigate. It wasn't a case he was working on, diligently piecing the puzzle together. This was his loved one. His wife of nine years, the woman he'd shared his life and his bed with for ten years now. The mother of his four kids.

He drew deep breaths into his shuddering lungs, and opening his eyes, used his t-shirt to clear the saliva and vomit off of his lips. It was then that he became fully aware of the blood that streaked his clothing. The streaks along the front of the shirt where he'd wiped his hands. The droplets on the legs of his jeans and his shoes. Holding his hands out in front of him, he was mesmerized at the sight of the blood that was crusted along the edges of his nails, that had embedded itself in the crevices of his palms and knuckles and had turned his skin a pinkish red and completely covered his wedding band.

The blood… he thought. Sammie's blood…it's everywhere…it's all over that ambulance and all over me and I…

Letting out a choked sob, he stretched his legs out and began frantically rubbing his hands along his thighs. Anxious and desperate to get his wife's blood off of him. The sooner it was the off, the sooner things wouldn't seem so dire. The sooner he could pretend that everything was going to be fine and that she wasn't as bad off as he originally thought.

"Things are going to be okay…" he whispered to himself, as he continued to wipe his hands off on the legs of his jeans. "Sammie's going to be okay…they're going to open her up and fix her and everything's going to be okay…you'll see…she's going to make it…you know she is…you know…"

His words were cut off abruptly as he heard the door to the bathroom squeak open. From under the stall door he could see Danny's boots as he entered the room. The soles clicking lightly along the tiles as the CSI got closer and closer to where he was hiding out.

"Flack?" Danny knocked on the door. "You alright?"

"Yeah…" he answered, his voice shaky. "I'm okay…I just needed to….I just needed to get out of there, you know?"

"I know…" Danny gave a soft sigh. "The surgeon is on his way down. He's going to want to talk to you. Have you sign some papers. So you need to…"

"Get my ass in gear," Flack finished dryly, sniffling noisily as he clambered to his feet.

"Here…" Danny said, as he crouched down and stuck his hands underneath the stall door. The scrub set in one a bottle of water in the other. "I figured you were probably needing a drink. Sorry it's not a stiff one."

Flack didn't respond. Accepting the items offered to him, he dropped the scrubs on the floor and twisting the cap off of the plastic bottle, took a large swig of the ice cold liquid inside. Swishing it around inside of his mouth, he leaned over the toilet and spat the water out. Repeating the process several times until the acrid taste in his mouth was muted. Through the crack in the door and the space underneath, he could see Danny pacing back and forth relentlessly.

"I'm sorry, Flack…" the CSI mumbled. "I never should have made a smart ass comment like that. About a stiff drink. What the hell was I thinking?"

"Don't worry about it," Flack told him, as he reached out to flush the toilet. "No big deal."

"Now is not the time for me to be makin' lame ass jokes," Danny continued, as Flack began undressing in the stall. "Last thing you need right now is me being a smart ass."

"I said don't worry about it," Flack told him, growing more and more agitated by the minute as Danny continued to pace and mutter a bunch of nonsense. Toeing off his runners, he removed his wallet and keys from the back pocket of his jeans and set them on the top of toilet paper holder.

"I can't believe this is happening," Danny's steps increased in speed, his voice wavered with emotion. "This just can't be happening. Why did this have to happen?"

Why don't you just shut the fuck up? Flack thought, as he peeled off his t-shirt and let it drop to the floor before undoing his belt. He hated himself for being that way with Danny. Who'd been his best friend for over two decades. Who'd been his best man at his wedding and who was Kieran's godfather. And who Flack had named one of his twin sons after. Someone who'd always dropped everything, no matter what time of day or what was going on in his own life, to be there for him and Sam and the kids.

Yeah…but think of all the shit you've done for him, a small voice inside of Flack's head piped up, as he pulled to scrub top over his head and shoved his arms into the sleeves. All the times you put your ass and your badge on the line to help Danny out when he did something stupid. All the times you cancelled dates with your wife or were hours late coming home or you missed something important for the kids because you were helping Danny out. Times you put him before your family.

"This is a fucking nightmare," Danny declared. "Worst fucking nightmare of my life."

Something inside of Flack snapped as his best friend said those words, and he hurriedly tugged on the scrub pants. "Your worst fucking nightmare?" he bellowed, and unlocking the stall door, slammed it open. Startling Danny in the process. "You're nightmare, Danny? Sammie is my wife! The mother of my kids! I've been with her for a decade! Ten years! And all you can do is bitch about this being your worst nightmare? You don't know what the fuck this feels like! My entire life is being ripped away from me!"

"Flack…" Danny held his hands up in self defence. "I never…"

"You never fucking think before you open your mouth!" Flack raged. "Why do you do this, Danny? Why do you always turn something around so it's about you? No matter how big or how small! You always do t! This isn't about you!"

"You're right, Don…you're right…I'm sorry…I never meant to disrespect you or down play what you're going through…I just…I get freaked out and nervous and I just react…badly…I'm sorry…"

"Just…" Flack took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Just you don't know what this feels like, okay? Sure, you're friends with Sammie and you love her in your own way…but she's my wife, Danny. My entire world. So please just…just don't make this about you. For once I need someone to keep me on my feet. I need someone to keep me afloat. And I don't ask for much from anyone."

Danny blinked. His best friend's words penetrating deep. "You better hurry up," he said. "They won't think twice about starting without talkin' to ya first."

Flack nodded and went back to finish dressing. He shoved his feet into his runners and stuffed his wallet and keys into the back pocket of his scrubs and then gathered up his soiled clothing and stepped out of the stall.

"Once Sammie's in surgery I'll start calling people if you want," Danny offered, watching as Flack stopped in the middle of the bathroom and stared down at the clothing in his hands. Silently contemplating what to do with them. "I'll get a hold of Gus…track down Adam at Rikers…find out where Angell is. I know Hawkes has a full day of lectures and Mac's in a meeting with the mayor and the Chief. But I can leave a message for them. If they hadn't already got wind of it by now."

Flack gave a small nod indicating that he'd heard what Danny had said, then crossed the bathroom and tossed his jeans and his t-shirt into the trash. "I left my cell in the truck," he said, and reaching into the back pocket of the scrubs, pulled out his keys and held them out to Danny. "It's sitting on the dashboard I think. Sam's mom's number is in there…so is where Carmen and Rick are staying but I…don't call them, okay? I don't want to fuck up their vacation. I'll see how Sammie does before I do anything about Carmen."

"I'll take care of things," Danny promised, and took the keys and pocketed them. "What about the kids?" he asked, as Flack moved to the sink and turned the water on.

"Mikayla's in day care and the boys are in school." Flack replied, as he soaped up his hands and scrubbed them vigorously under the water. Watching, transfixed, as his wife's blood and hit water splattered against the sides of the white porcelain sink and swirled rapidly down the drain.

"You want me to go there and pull them out or…"

"I don't want them knowing what's going on," Flack shook his head adamantly as he spoke. "I just want them to go on with their day completely oblivious, okay? No sense getting them all worked up and bringing them here to see her. We don't know what's going to happen and we…I don't want them seeing their mother like that."

"Understandable," Danny said, and yanking a handful of paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, offered them to his best friend. "But she's going to be here for a long while Flack. Recovering. And they're going to want to see their mom. They're going to ask questions and…"

"And I'll handle it on my on, alright?" Flack turned off the water and snatched the towels from Danny. "I'll sit them down later and tell them. Just right now…right now I don't know if she going to make it out of that operating room alive."

"Of course she is," Danny waved off the mere thought of her dying. "Doc's gonna fix her up. Good as new. She's going to be fine. I know it. You know it."

"No, Danny…" Flack's voice trembled and tears threatened again. "I don't know that."

The CSI gave a tense smile and laid a hand on the bigger man's shoulder. "We better get you going," he said.

Flack sniffled noisily and wiped his eyes on his forearms. Then allowed himself to be steered towards the door by the solid, firm and supportive grip that Danny had on his shoulder.

The wait was agonizing.

With each painfully slow sweep of the minute hand and each seemingly deafening tick of the clock mounted above the door of the private waiting area, Flack felt as if his life, and sanity, were slipping further and further out of reach.

It had been two hours since the Doctor Frank Stafford - a well respected and admired cardiothoracic surgeon that had over thirty years of experience behind him- had come into the room and thoroughly discussed the extent of Sam's injuries and what he would be doing in an attempt to fix them. Accompanying him had been the physician who'd been responsible for the initial treatment given in the ER, and a meek and mild medical student who didn't look old enough to drink let alone be tending to the sink, but who'd nearly burst into tears when Flack demanded that no one inexperienced go anywhere near his wife.

"I've got four kids that need their mother!" Flack had growled at the ER doctor when he'd attempted to assure him that all of the students were adequately trained. "And I don't need them living their lives without their mother 'cause of some fucking idiot student that can't chew gum and walk at the same time."

Harsh.

Flack had known it the second the words had slipped out of his mouth, yet he hadn't cared then and he certainly didn't care now as nerves gnawed at his stomach and anxiety kept his heart in its iron fist. As he sat in the middle of a tattered and worn burgundy, green and navy plaid couch that had, in its time, seen a countless amount of worried and frantic family members, he replayed the doctors' grim words in his mind over and over again. His elbows resting on his knees and his hands tightly gripping his hair as his eyes bore into the scuffed beige linoleum at his feet, Flack could hear the grave, yet slightly optimistic voices ringing in his ears.

His chest ached and tears burned his eyes as he thought of the two times that his wife had coded in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and the paramedic tending to her -the same paramedic who'd been attempting to clean his rig and who'd only been on the job for a month- had worked diligently to bring her back. The ER doctor had told him that she'd also coded once during treatment in the triage area, and they'd managed to somehow keep her alive. Once she had been stabilized and intubated, an emergency echo-cardiogram had been ordered and it was then that they'd seen the tear in the aorta. As far as they could tell, it was slight, but causing enough internal blood loss and irregular cardiac rhythms and needed to be tended to as soon as possible. They were worried that the delay in getting her to an OR -both due to wanting to wait for Doctor Stafford and because Danny had insisted that they hold off until Flack could get there, just in case it was the last time he ever saw his wife alive- had caused undue stress on the heart and had worsened the extent of the injury.

Doctor Stafford was confident he could fix whatever mess he found when they opened her chest. Those had been his exact words. He'd done many an open heart surgery and had repaired a hell of a lot worse. Again, his exact words. Their main concern, aside from the state of her heart, was what the lack of oxygen during her 'dead times' as they called it, had done to her brain. The plan was, after her condition stabilized after the operation -could be a day, a week, a month, they weren't exactly sure- they'd order an MRI to properly measure the level of function. A neurologist would study the results and be the one dispatched to give Flack the news. One way or the other. They stressed that there would be some loss of function. Whether it was severe, moderate or mild, only time would tell.

Flack didn't care. He didn't care if he had to quit his job and take care of her himself. He didn't care if he had to change her diapers and feed her with a spoon. He didn't care if he had to be the one to bathe her and dress her and brush her teeth and comb her hair. If he had to teach her to walk and talk again, teach her to read and write. If that's what it came down to, he would do it. Willingly. The only thing that mattered was that she was alive. That she would one day leave that hospital and he'd take her home. And he'd accept her and love her whatever state she was in.

"And then there's the matter of the pregnancy," the ER doctor had piped up after a lull in the conversation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flack had seen the startled expression that had crossed Danny's face as the CSI sat beside him on the couch. Flack had been taken back himself. Wondering how the hell they'd even known about the baby when Samantha hadn't been the position to tell them about it.

"When we contacted her family physician about known allergies she informed us about the baby," the doctor had quickly explained. "Naturally, with the trauma done to her body, it's safe to say that the fetus didn't survive. But we'll order an ultrasound for a later date. If there's no sign of movement or a heart beat, we'll have to order a D and C to…"

"I know what a D and C does," Flack had interrupted.

"Had she been further along, into the fifth or six month, with the medical tools we have we would have been able to deliver the baby and care for it in the neo-natal intensive care unit. But seeing as she wasn't even fully into her second trimester…"

"Do you think I'm a moron or something?" Flack had snapped. "Do you think I honestly don't know stuff like that? I'm not the smartest guy on the planet, but even I know all of this shit. So just go and…just go and take care of my wife and stop wasting all your time talking to me. Just go and look after her."

The surgeon had nodded and then shoved an impossibly thick stack of papers in Flack's face. All the I's had to be dotted and all the T's had to be crossed. The hospital needed to cover their ass in case the operation went completely down the toilet and she ended up dying right there on the table. They needed to make sure that if she didn't rebound after they'd done everything remotely possible for her, Flack wasn't going to turn around and claim they hadn't done enough and sue their asses.

And most of all, they needed to make sure that all insurance and forms of payment were in order. Because they weren't going to even touch her until they knew they'd get paid for all of their hard work. He'd provided them with the information they wanted. The health insurance they privately paid for on top of the benefits she received through the NYPD. As a member of the crime lab, she wasn't entitled to the same form of coverage as he was, nor was he allowed to claim her on her plan because she was employed by the department. It was a nightmare of red tape and utter bullshit as far as Flack was concerned, but he kept those thoughts to himself as he signed his life away.

Literally.

With each signature he scrawled, he was in essence handing Sam to them. Putting his utmost faith and trust in these men who made a living a playing God.

And that thought terrified him.

The surgery, they'd said, barring no complications, would take an hour. Flack had spent that sixty minutes alternating between pacing the tiny room and putting his hands on the wall and dropping his head to his chest and closing his eyes in an attempt to kept himself calm. Outwardly, he was holding it together. The trembling in his hands had finally subsided and the lump in his throat and the tears and his eyes had, for now, abated. But inside he was a wreck. Unable to sit still. Unable to quell the nausea that continuously threatened. Unable to stop himself from thinking the worst.

Danny hadn't said a word about the surprise pregnancy after the doctors had left. And Flack was grateful for that. He wasn't in the mood to be dolling out explanations or making excuses. And, as evil as it made him sound, he honestly didn't care. While he'd been ecstatic about the prospect of becoming a father for the fifth and final time and had been excited about attending ultrasound and doctors appointments with her and creating a nursery and picking a name, the truth was that the moment Danny had delivered the news about the shooting, all thoughts of the baby had ceased to exist. Flack's one and only concern was his wife. And if it had have come down to picking between Sammie's life and well being and that of their unborn child…well there was no question about it. He'd pick her in heart beat.

If and when she was well enough, maybe another baby would be in the cards. Right now, it wasn't meant to be and he accepted that.

What he couldn't accept was losing her. He couldn't bear the thought of facing a life without her. And even though she was merely a hundred yards down the hall with medical personnel hovering around her and tending faithfully to her, she seemed so far away.

So close yet so damn far.

There'd been no word. No doctor, no nurse had come down to tell him what the hell was going on. No explanation save for the horrific thoughts coursing through his brain to why it was taking so long. His mind screamed at him that something had gone wrong. That they'd run into some kind of problem and were either trying to fix it or hadn't been able to and she had died.

They'd come and tell you that though, he rationalized, and giving his hair a firm tug, ran his hands over his weary face. Taking a deep, quivering breath, he released it slowly and cast a glance at the clock one more time.

Two hours and fifteen minutes, he thought, nervously patting his knees before standing up and commencing the frantic pacing from earlier. The soles of his shoes squeaked softly on the tiles, mixing in with ticking of the clock. His eyes focused on nothing as he moved around the small, claustorphobic room, his hands firmly on his hips. Danny had quickly gone stir crazy and had left in a pursuit of hot coffee, and to make the phone calls he'd discussed with Flack earlier. Leaving him alone with his thoughts. None of which were good.

The door clicked open and he wheeled around in anticipation, mentally preparing himself for both the arrival of the surgeon, and for the worst case scenario. Then feeling deflated as Danny slipped into the room, a carry tray of coffees in one hand and Flack's cell phone in the other.

"Nothing, huh?" Danny asked.

"You're a master of obvious, Messer," Flack responded. Feeling like a complete shit for it the moment the words escaped from his mouth.

The CSI ignored the comment as he crossed the room in three strides and dropped the carry tray and phone on the coffee table.

"This can only be bad news, right?" Flack asked, as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "It was only suppose to take an hour. We'll be pushing two and a half soon. That can't be good, right? Means something went wrong?"

"Means there was some kind of set back," Danny replied, and plopping down on the couch, leaned forward and yanked his coffee out of the holder. "Doesn't mean it was a bad one. Could have been something to do with the doctors, something to do with their equipment. Anything. Doesn't mean that something happened to Sammie."

Flack nodded. Although he knew that Danny was just attempting to make him feel better. That the other man knew just as well as he did that something had gone down in that operating suite. Something that had nothing to do with the medical professionals performing the operation or the tools they were using. But had everything to do with their patient.

"Come and sit down and have a coffee," Danny said. The tone of his voice and the grave look on his face made it seem more like a demand.

Flack reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall and joined his best friend on the tattered couch.

"Black, two sugars," Danny said, pulling the second cup from the tray and holding it out to the detective.

"I haven't taken two sugars in a long time, Dan-o," Flack reminded him as he took the drink. "Ever since the doctor got one me about my diet three months ago and my wife proceeded to nag me about it every day."

"Well she's not here," Danny said. "And what she doesn't know won't kill her."

The words hung in the air. Danny bit his lip and closed his eyes. Horrified with himself for saying something so goddamn insensitive at the most difficult time of his best friend's life.

"Jesus Flack…" he shook his head and looked at the detective who was staring down at the coffee cup clutched between his hands. "I did not mean that. My mouth…it runs away with itself sometimes…I didn't mean to say something like that…I mean, I did but I…I didn't mean it to be disrespectful to you or Sammie considering everything that's going on. I never…"

"Sam and I were waiting until she got into the second trimester to tell anyone," Flack blurted out, as he tore off the plastic tab on the lid of the coffee. "About the baby."

Danny nodded slowly. He didn't know what to say. And the words that did pop into his head seemed highly inadequate.

"After that miscarriage between Kieran and the twins and then the one before Mikayla, we were always really paranoid," the other man continued. "We didn't want to get ourselves and our friends and family all worked up and then have to let us and them down if something bad happened. So Sammie…Sammie wanted to wait. She said she felt better waiting until she got past the twelfth week. 'Cause less can go wrong after that, right?"

Danny gave another nod.

"We weren't trying to hide anything from anyone," Flack said, and took a sip of coffee. "We were just…I guess we were just protecting ourselves, you know? And trying to get used to the idea of being parents again. We weren't exactly planning on it. Considering I was supposed to be going in and getting neutered as she likes to call it."

Danny smirked at that. "It's what you get for letting her watch too much Price Is Right. Isn't that what they always used to say at the end of the show? Remind people to get their pets spayed or neutered?"

Flack gave a grin and a nod. "She used to say it and I'd bitch at her that I wasn't some lap dog. And she'd get that little smile of hers. You know, the one that makes her look like this little kid up to completely no good? That Dennis the Menace smile? She'd give me that smile and she'd tousle my hair or squeeze my arm and say, 'But you are my pet, Donnie. Think about how much you like to have your belly rubbed and get scratched behind your ears. And think about how much time I've spent training you.'"

Danny couldn't help but laugh.

"I'd get so pissed at her for talking like that. Give her shit. Truth was…truth was I always liked the way she teased me. She was never mean about it, you know? She was always laughing when she did it, always smiling. So that I'd know she was just yanking my chain. And she was so good at it. With getting on my ass and fraying my nerves."

Danny sipped his coffee. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the way Flack's hands trembled as he gripped the coffee cup tightly. And when he glanced over he saw the tears that threatened in his best friend's blue eyes and the agony that was evident on his face.

"She just…she just makes it hard to be mad at her for very long," Flack said, and took a swig of his coffee in hopes of washing down the lump of emotion laying in his throat.

Danny laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "She's going to be okay, Don. You just gotta…you just gotta relax and think positive, okay?"

"It's hard," Flack said, his voice a near whisper. "It's so hard."

"I know…I know that it's killing you inside and that there's a million and one thoughts running through your brain and not one of them are good. And I don't blame ya one bit for thinking those things. But you getting yourself worked up? That's not what Sammie needs. She needs you to be focused and strong. You being there for her is what's going to help her get the hell out of here sooner."

"I don't care how long it takes," Flack declared. Setting his coffee down on the table in front of him, he placed his elbows on his knees and began nervously wringing his hands together. "I don't care if she's in here for a month. Six months. A year. As long as she comes home to me and the kids."

"And she will," Danny assured her. "But you heard what the doc said, Flack. When she's strong enough to be released, she's going to have to go to a live in rehab place. She won't be able to just walk out of here and go home with you. There's going to be some kind of brain problems…we don't know how severe but you've got to expect that."

"I do expect that. I'm preparing myself for that," Flack said, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand fiddling with absentmindedly with his wedding ring. Twirling it around, pulling it up to his knuckle and sliding it back down into his place. Over and over again. "And I don't care what's wrong with her. I don't care what I have to do to get her what she needs. I meant what I said to them. I'll quit my job and stay home to take care of her. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, Danny."

"And that's admirable, Don. It really is. But you…think about what it will be like for you, for the kids, if there's severe brain damage. If she can't do anything for herself and you have to…"

"Then I do everything for her," Flack interjected. "I take care of her like she's a little baby. I clean her, I feed her, I…"

"And you think that she'd want that?" Danny asked. "You think that she'd want you to quit your job and want you to do that?"

"It's not about what she wants. It's what I want. And she…"

"You're wrong, Don. It is what about what Sam wants. This is her life we're talking about. Her well being. And she loves you and she wouldn't want you to do that to yourself. To give up being a cop to become a full time home care nurse. She wouldn't want you to take on that kind of burden."

"My wife is not a burden," Flack's eyes narrowed, there was vehemence in his voice. "Whatever she needs, I'll do it. And it's not your place to talk me out of that."

"No one is trying to talk you out of anything. I'm just trying to make you see the other side to this coin. I know how much you love her and adore her and worship her. And I know that you'd walk to the ends of the earth and back for her. I know you'd give her the moon and then some if you could…"

"I'd lie down and die for her, Danny. I would have taken that bullet for her."

"I know that. Believe me, I know that. But this has happened and this is Sam. Not you. And you need to…" Danny sighed heavily and shook his head. "You need to sit back and think about what Samantha would want. About whether she'd want you to take on the responsibility of taking care of her like that. If she'd want you to see her like that. If she'd want the kids to see her like that."

Flack nodded slowly as the weight and importance of Danny's words struck home.

"You're no less of a man, and it doesn't mean you love her any less if you feel you can't handle something like that. If you feel like she's better off somewhere where people who are qualified to provide that kind of care can look after her. Just 'cause you find a nice place for her doesn't mean…"

"I am not putting my wife in some kind of goddamn nursing home," Flack snarled. "She goes to that rehab joint and she comes home. Plain and simple."

"Okay…so then you hire someone that can look after her. It doesn't mean you don't love her 'cause you can't saddle the responsibility yourself. 'Cause it's going to be a long and hard road. I saw what it did to my mom when she took Louie in after the beating. With his brain injury…you know what he was like Flack. He had the mentality of a ten year old. If that. And he had those violent outbursts and my mom…it broke her, Don. You know that."

He nodded.

"And I don't want that happening to you. That's all I'm saying. And I want you to know that if you feel you can't handle it…well I won't think any less of you. And neither will Sam. You just have a think on all of that, okay?" Danny rubbed his best friend's shoulder comfortingly. "You got a long time before you have to make any decision like that. I just want ya to know that I'm here and I'll be here and you can come to me with anything. A'right?"

Flack gave another nod and cleared his throat noisily. His fingers continued to play with his wedding band as his eyes remained riveted on the floor. Silence fell between the door men. Once again the ticking of the clock seemed deafening to their ears.

"I'm sorry," Flack said at long last.

Danny sipped his coffee. "For what, buddy?"

"Losing it like I did in the room earlier. Acting like I did. I shouldn't have…"

"Don't even finish that sentence, Don. What the hell are you sorry for? Breaking down over your gravely injured wife? The woman you've been with for over a decade? Whose given you four kids. For crying and for being scared? For being human?"

Flack sighed heavily.

"What went on in there…the things that I saw and what I heard…that was between you and Sam. And it stayed in that room. I'm not going to…just it stays between you guys, okay?"

"Thank you," Flack said, his voice hoarse.

"Don't even apologize for loving her as much as you do," Danny said, as he struggled with his own emotions. "Never apologize for being afraid."

"I am afraid," Flack admitted. "I'm terrified, Danny. I'm scared of losing her. Of what my life will be like without her. And I can't…"

He was interrupted by the door clicking open and Doctor Stafford poking his head into the room. Still in his scrubs, a surgical cap still firmly planted on his head and the mask will dangling around his neck. He gave a tense smile before stepping into the room to deliver his news. Taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table and facing the two men.

"The surgery didn't exactly go the way we had planned it," he began, choosing his words carefully. "There were some minor complications that slowed things down."

"What kind of complications?" Danny asked.

"The aorta suffered massive trauma that we weren't able to notice on the echo-cardiogram. And when we went in we found that it was almost completely severed…."

Flack felt his entire body tense up. "And?" he asked.

"Our first attempt at reattaching it was futile," the doctor replied. "Trying actually caused it to completely detach and caused severe blood loss and cardiac arrest…"

Flack shook his head and burying his face in his hands, tunnelled his fingers into his hair.

Danny laid a hand on his best friend's back. "So is she alive or…"

"We were able to successfully restore the function of the heart and reattach the aorta," the surgeon told the two men. "The heart is beating, but not well enough to shoulder the burden on it's own."

"Okay…" Danny let out a shaky breath. "So…"

"We're going to, for the time being until the heart shows it's strong enough to sustain her body, leave her on life support. If that's what her family wants."

"What will happen if I take her off of it?" Flack asked, his eyes on the floor, hands fisting his hair. "And don't bullshit me with facts and statistics. I want you, in your honest opinion and with all of your experience, to tell me what will happen to her."

The doctor sighed heavily. "In case like this that I've seen before…death would be near instantaneous."

Flack shook his head and let out a choked sob.

"I know it's a hard decision to make," Doctor Stafford told him. "And it's one that I wouldn't want to have to make myself. But we need to know if you want us to keep her on life support."

"Chances of recovery?" Danny asked.

"Well the next forty-eight hours are critical, obviously. But physically? When and if the heart is well enough to support her, she should have a complete recovery within a few months."

"But mentally?" Flack inquired.

"That's something that an MRI and a neurologist would have to tell you," the surgeon told him. "I'm sorry that I can't give you a better idea on that, Detective Flack."

"What's the odds of her heart being well enough?" Danny asked. "What kind of percentage are we looking at?"

"If she doesn't suffer another cardiac event within the next forty eight hours? I'd put it between a fifty to sixty percent chance."

"Good odds," the CSI mumbled.

"It's a lot of news at once to digest," the doctor said. "But we need to know where you stand, Detective Flack, on the life support issue."

Flack sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Weighing the odds, contemplating the options and what both meant in the long term to not only his wife, but himself and their family as well. He gave a nod as he made his decision and looked up at the doctor.

"I want her left on the machines," he said.

"I'll pass the word along to the staff in the intensive care unit," Doctor Stafford told Flack, and got to his feet. "We're sending her there now. In a few minutes I'll have a nurse come and escort you there."

"Thank you," Danny said and standing, offered his hand to the surgeon. "For everything," he added.

The doctor gave a nod and small smile and shook the other man's hand. "I did what I could. The rest now…well the rest is up to her."

"She's a tough girl," Danny said. "Small but mighty. She's going to be just fine."

"I'm sure she will," the doctor told him. "God speed to both of you."

"Thank you," Danny gave an appreciative nod and watched as the doctor quickly strode from the room. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair and turned to face Flack who sat motionless and silent, his hair fisted in his hands. "You going to be okay, Don?" he asked.

He nodded. "I just…I just need to know that I made the right decision. That I didn't do it just 'cause I'm a selfish bastard. 'Cause I can't let her go and live without her…I need to know that I did what was best for her and just not what was best for myself."

Danny didn't respond. He had his own personal feelings and beliefs, but wasn't about to push them on his best friend. Had he been in the same predicmant and it had been Erica going through the same ordeal…well he knew he would have made the opposite decision to what Flack had. But it was just that. Flack's decision. And it wasn't up to Danny to question it, or judge him for it.

He walked over to the couch and laid a gentle hand on the back of his best friend's neck. Not speaking or moving away when Flack circled his waist with his arms and buried his face in Danny's stomach and broke down.

"It's gonna be okay, Don…" he whispered. "You'll see…Sammie's going to be okay…"

Danny only hoped two things. That his words were neither falling on deaf ears, or completely groundless.

A massive thanks to all of those that are reading and reviewing! And all of those just lurking! This story has been a labour of love and has continued to rock me emotionally. And I appreciate all of your support and amazing words, especially for the more difficult, painful future chapters.

Please R and R folks!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

CSINYMinute

High Queen Reicheru

Madison Bellows

ImaSupernaturalCSI

Anncorcam

xSamiliciousx

Heart2handgun

wolfeylady

Delko's Girl 88

Forest Angel

Soccer-bitch