DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, KIERAN FLACK AND THE OTHER FIVE FLACK CHILDREN. CARMEN DEVINE BELONGS TO APHINA. THANKS TO HER FOR GRACIOUSLY LENDING HER OUT AND TRUSTING ME WITH HER.

My how the years go by

"A Baby's born, Momma cries she sees a glance of his daddy there in his eyes
take him home and watch him sleep, stand and wonder who he's gonna be
then its Tonka trucks and baseball gloves, then his first kiss and his first love
oh the innocence, just don't last
our dreams in our future go by so fast
,Mountains move, rivers run, shadows fall with the setting sun,
thunder rolls and lighting strikes
the darkness covers and swallows up the light… and time flies."
-Time Flies, Johnny Reid

A/N 1: FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T READ MY PROFILE, I HAVE A TWO YEAR OLD SON WITH DOWN SYNDROME. HE'S A WONDERFUL, AMAZING CHILD. SO I DECIDED TO TRY A LITTLE SOMETHING DIFFERENT WITH THIS STORY.

A/N 2: DUE TO THE POPULARITY OF THE FUTURE CHAPS IN MOB, I AM INCLUDING THEM IN THIS STORY AS WELL. THIS FUTURE CHAP TAKES PLACE FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER KIERAN'S BIRTH.

It was unusually and unbearably hot for the end of March. The scorching sun beat down on New York City. Massive white clouds filled the electric blue sky and a slight breeze drifted off of the water and provided some relief for the record breaking spring heat wave that had descended on the city during the past two days.

Danny Messer was covered in sweat. He could feel it trickling down his back and his legs. It beaded on his forehead and trickled off his nose as he leaned over the partially decomposed body on the ground at his feet. The salty perspiration burned his eyes and got into his mouth. It felt like well over a hundred in the hull of that cargo ship. There was little to no ventilation and the fact he was in coveralls only made the heat worse. He longed for a smoke break. And about a gallon of ice water.

The Anastasia Nicola was a twenty-two thousand pound freighter hauling iron ore out of the Ukraine and bound for the steel mills in Detroit. Acting from a tip from anonymous sources, the United States Coast Guard had intercepted it as it approached New York City and seized the vessel and boarded it promptly to inspect for what their sources had said was a large supply of both drugs and weapons. No weapons had been discovered, but there were, from their rough estimate, at least two hundred kilos of what appeared to be cocaine, and over a hundred illegal immigrants packed inside the cargo holds. Ten immigrants were dead. Obvious trauma to the bodies had been enough to make the coast guard realize the deaths weren't voyage related and the crime lab had been called in along with the narco and homicide detectives.

And the Department of Homeland Security. DHS, as all Americans had come to know it as, was an executive department of the U.S. Federal Government and had been established after the nine eleven attacks. Their main duties were to prevent terrorist attacks, reduce the country's vulnerability to terrorism, and assist in the recovery after an attack. Many different government agencies made up DHS. The coast guard, FEMA, Secret Service and the Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration as well as the United States Customs Service. The last two had been contacted by the coast guard and alerted to the situation on hand.

Their official headquarters was located in Washington D.C. but the agency had many smaller offices all over the states, including one that handled both immigration and customs that operated out of the same building as the crime lab. It took up the fifteenth floor and employed over five hundred people. They were the bane of the NYPD. Being Feds, they had supreme authority over the NYPD and weren't afraid to exercise it. Much to the dismay of the crime lab now attempting to work as quickly as possible to collect evidence DHS wouldn't poach from them.

Not all DHS agents were royal pains in the ass. There was one in particular that the crime lab was quite fond off. An old colleague who five years ago had decided enough was enough with the NYPD and set forth on a different professional path. One none of them ever begrudged her for and admired her for attempting.

Danny couldn't stand the mask over his mouth and nose anymore and he peeled it off and sat it on top of his head. He just couldn't breathe with the damn thing on, and the smell of partial decomp was more bearable at the moment than the feeling of suffocating.

He snapped off several more pictures and than straightened his back. Stretching and twisting it from side to side until it cracked noisily. They'd been in that ship for nearly half an hour and there were still hours of work ahead of them. Danny, as second in command to Tim Speedle, who'd been running the lab since taking over for Stella two years ago, had his pick of the litter when it came to who he wanted on his crime scene.

Most were newbies. Some of the old faces long gone. Stella had packed it in and decided to concentrate on being a housewife and enjoying her home and her family. Mac had been appointed commissioner nearly six years ago now. He'd been the mayor's top choice, and as overall boss of the NYPD, Mac was excelling. Most served only five years once appointed, but Mac had hung on for another year before deciding to retire. His retirement party was scheduled for that night. A dinner for the new and old members of the team and their families at Ruby Tuesdays in Times Square.

Speed ran the crime lab like a well oiled machine. He was strict and well organized and had higher numbers of cases solved than both Mac and Stella put together. It was like he'd been born to do the job and everyone liked working for him despite his tendency to be a no nonsense hard ass. Hawkes was long gone. He left shortly after Mac and got a job as a forensics professor at Columbia. He'd gone on to marry Angell. They'd been hitched going on fourteen years now and had two kids to show for it. Angell was a captain. One of the few females to every be promoted to the position in NYPD history. Adam had married Gus. They had no kids, but Gus had opened a private practice out of their Long Island home and Adam had become a CSI.

Times they are a changing, Danny thought, and brushed sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

"What'cha got over there, Devine?" he inquired, casting a glance towards the auburn haired CSI twenty feet away. She was hunkered down beside one of the bodies in her own overalls and mask, painstakingly collecting trace evidence.

"Some skin under this guys' fingernails." she said. Carmen was one of the main stays. She had no desire to leaving the lab. She enjoyed her job and excelled at it. She was a level one now and was happy with her career and with the way she was balancing it with her personal life. A husband and two kids and a house in the suburbs.

"We're going to have to line all the living guys up and get DNA samples." Danny said. "And some from the DB's here."

"Already on it." a voice said from the far corner.

Patrick O'Dell was a newbie. Fresh out of the academy and a Columbia grad. One of Hawkes' former students, to be exact. Hawkes had given the tall, muscular blond haired kid an outstanding reference and Speed had hired him without a second thought. He was big and strong. His arms looked like they could snap telephone poles. And he wasn't scared to mix it up with a perp and was an intimidating force in interrogation.

Danny and the others really liked him. They'd trust him to have their back in a heart beat. Brandon Powell rounded out the crew Danny had brought along with him. Powell was dark skinned and quiet but a force to be reckoned with. He'd been an integral part of the team for six years now. He didn't talk much and remained somewhat of a mystery to the others. He rarely socialized outside of work with the team and never mentioned his personal life. That was okay by them. He could be trusted to watch your back and that's all that mattered.

Their other new CSI was Traci Scott. She had been hired three years ago. She was the daughter of an old colleague of Mac's in Chicago. She was short and somewhat overweight with shocking red hair and freckles from head to toe. A high pitched, nails on the chalk board kind of voice. But she could kick ass with the best of them. She was with Adam in Soho investigating a bodega robbery.

"What's the word over there, Deli?" Danny asked, using his favourite nickname for the kid.

"Took some samples from the other vics." he replied. "And elimination prints. And pulled some trace that may be cocaine from one of their pockets. I'm gonna run it through the narco test kit."

"Music to my ears when you people know what you're doing." Danny said. "I wanna get this scene processed within the next hour. I got Powell outside with homicide taking prints from the captain and rest of the crew."

The walkie talkie resting inside of Danny's open kit crackled to life and Powell's deep voice emanated through it.

"Those morons from DHS are on their way down."

Danny and Carmen looked at each other and smirked.

"Think it's our favourite agent?" Carmen asked, swabbing the inside of the dead man's cheek.

"Guess we'll know in a few minutes." he replied.

It was the sound of heels clicking on steel that they heard first. Than it was that thick Brooklyn accent barking out orders to the small team of agents that had accompanied their supervisor to the scene.

"Chris, I want you to go to the wheel house and get the captain's logs…Amber, head to the captain's and first mate's cabins and search them thoroughly…Alberto, you do the same with the rest of the crew…Jeff, I want you to find the cargo record books. I'll be up as soon as I'm done mixing things up with the crime scene investigators. Gwen, you hang tight with me for a bit."

DHS agents nodded and obeyed and scattered into separate directions. The sound of those heels grew closer and closer and when they stopped, Danny glanced over and saw that familiar face in the doorway. She was all business in a trim black pencil skirt and a simple soft pink blouse under a navy blue windbreaker that bore the letters DHS in white on the back. United States government ID dangling around her neck and a badge and gun on the waist of her skirt. A skirt and nylons of all things. She never dressed like that a day in her life when she worked at the crime lab. Danny figured maybe the government was a little stricter with dress codes.

Golden eyes surveyed the scene. Than lit up as a smile spread across that ageless face as she spotted her friends.

"No rest for the weary." she commented.

"Agent Flack," Danny greeted. "What? You out slumming with the crime lab today?"

"As much as I'd like to say this is a social call, this is a major customs and immigration situation."

Samantha had left the NYPD shortly after her last child, a boy named Liam, had arrived. She'd been two months pregnant when she'd been shot processing what was said to be a secure scene. Thankfully, an earlier report of gunfire at that scene had prompted all responding officers to wear vests, and hers had caught the bullet that would have no doubt pierced her heart and ended her life. She wasn't physically harmed, but the emotional and mental injuries had been long term. She had been plagued by nightmares and panic attacks and under a therapist's strict watch.

She'd stayed off on sick leave for two months before returning to work and being placed on lab duty. Six weeks after Liam had been born, she returned to the field. Her first crime scene had been her last when she suffered an anxiety attack brought on by a sharp, sudden noise. She'd panicked and fled the scene, leaving evidence unattended. She realized than she couldn't do the job anymore and it was best for her, and the integrity of the lab, to walk away.

A supervisor from DHS had been courting her for a position for two years prior. And when he'd found out she'd quit her job and was looking for a new field to pursue, he called her up with the offer of a job in the United States Custom Service. She took night classes to learn the ins and outs of customs and immigration and passed the final exam with flying colours.

Customs was her speciality. She sometimes dabbled in immigration and every so often, assisted in emergency preparedness. Eight months ago, she'd been promoted to lead hand and was given her own team of eager, young agents to supervise and work alongside of. She was missed in the lab. But being friends outside of work and having their families so close and their offices in the same building helped keep up the tight relationships.

"The inspector ain't gonna be too happy when he gets here and finds you poking around his crime scene." Danny commented, going back to snapping overalls.

"You already called him? You bastard, Messer. Thought for sure you'd give me a bit of leeway."

"Speed called him in as soon as we heard you guys were on the way. Guess he wants the big guns making sure you don't walk off with anything important to our case."

"Your case?" she smirked as she stepped over puddles of blood and dead bodies. Pulling a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket, she snapped them onto her hands. "This is obviously a scenario for DHS."

"Obviously." Danny agreed. "But you can't be touching our scene and you know that."

"Who said I was touching your scene." Sam said, and crouching down, used a gloved finger tip to open the dead man's pocket. A passport came tumbling out.

"Samantha…." Danny shook his head.

"This I believe belongs to me." she said, plucking up the small booklet.

"But that came from my DB." Danny argued.

"Well," Sam snatched a plastic evidence bag from Danny's kit and dropped the passport inside and sealed it up tight. "Now it's property of the United States Government."

"You're a witch." Danny informed her. A huge grin on his face. "God I miss not working with ya."

Sam smiled. "So what you guys got? Fill me in."

"Ship was seized just inside U.S waters and escorted here." Danny began. "Coast Guard was acting on an anonymous tip that the good ship was hauling something a little extra. Mainly drugs and weapons. They did a search and found roughly two hundred kilos of what appears to be cocaine."

"Appears to be?" Sam asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Drugs are being escorted to the lab by DEA. Samples will be taking there. Coast Guard never found weapons, but they did find over a hundred illegal immigrants being held in the cargo area. Ten of which were deceased."

"Human trafficking?" Sam asked, a pen and notebook in hand.

"Looks like. But could be just people looking to get out and thought this was the only way. Who knows? Homicide and narco detectives are talking to the ship's captain and crew as we speak."

"Well we'll be taking over that." Sam said. "Where did the ship originate from?"

"Ukraine. Haulin' iron ore. Bound for Detroit."

"How many in the crew?"

"Fifteen. No one is talking."

"What else is knew. Any I.D. on the vics?"

"Still checking that out." Danny told her.

Sam crouched down alongside the body between her and Danny. "Obvious blunt force trauma to the head," she observed.

Danny grinned. "Easy, Brooklyn. You walked out on us a long time ago, remember?"

Sam smiled and stood up.

"Nice hair, by the way." Danny complimented, checking out her new extremely short pixie like 'do. Spiky at the top and smooth on the sides. "Suits ya."

"My husband disagrees with you. He thinks I look like a boy."

"Sam, there is no way in hell you could ever look like a boy. You guys still comin' to Mac's thing tonight?"

She nodded. "It'll be hell on earth getting six kids ready and out the door, but we'll manage. And God forbid Kieran goes more than a twelve hours without seeing his girlfriend. He'll make sure we get there."

Carmen grinned. "Addie does nothing but talk about him. Must be the dark hair and the blue eyes that just does her in."

"I know the feeling." Sam said. "It's what hooked me."

It was hard to believe, that despite the nightmare of a pregnancy Sam had endured with Kieran, that she and Flack would go on to have five more kids. The pregnancy after Kieran had resulted in triplets. Two girls and a boy. Reghan, Alannah and Declan. After their birth at thirty four weeks, they spent two months in the NICU. All had been less than three pounds at birth but had been strong and healthy.

During Declan's first few days of life, a paediatrician had noticed a few things, appearance wise, that didn't seem quite right about the fragile infant. A blood test was ordered a karyotype done to study the baby's chromosomes. Three days later, his parents had received a clear cut diagnosis. Trisomy 21. Down Syndrome. Everyone had been shocked. But no one as much as Sam and Flack.

Nothing had been spotted in maternal blood work or ultrasounds that suggested there was a problem. It had been a harsh blow and a long, long road to acceptance. Declan was doing very well. He'd had surgery at four months to correct a heart defect and had no health problems save for low thyroid that was treated with daily medication. He was considered high functioning and at thirteen, was developed, in most areas, at an eight year old level. His speech and always been a struggle. Mostly with intelligibility. Sam and Flack had learned baby sign to help their son communicate better and they'd come to be able to understand him when most others couldn't.

Declan was a blessing to all of their lives. He was bright and energetic and lovable and had touched everyone. And Danny had found that he, and the others, were learning more from Declan than the child was learning from them. He'd taught them that human life was precious and all people, regardless of abilities or lack there of, deserved to be loved and treated with dignity and respect.

Mikayla arrived three years after the triplets. And than along came Liam, the baby. After that, both Sam and Flack had said enough was enough and she had had her tubes tied. It was a massive family. Most never imagined Flack with one kid, let alone six. But there was a lot of love in the Flack house.

"How's D doing?" Danny asked, grabbing a bottle of water he'd packed in his kit and cracking it open. He took a large gulp. It wasn't as cold as he would have liked it, but it was better than nothing. "Flack was telling me yesterday morning that D had some test at the cardiologist."

"Just a yearly check up." Sam replied, snapping her note book closed and slipping it into the pocket of her coat. "He wants to play floor hockey with a special needs program being run at the Y. We needed to have him looked at and get him a clean bill of health. He's doing great. Some things remain a daily struggle, but…" she shrugged. "We manage."

Danny nodded in understanding. "Well you and Flack do a hell of a job. I said that from day one after you guys first found out. I honestly don't think I could have done it."

"I know I couldn't have." Carmen spoke up. "And that's why you and Flack got him. God only gives these kids to special people and He only gives you what you can handle."

"It's been my motto for thirteen years." Sam sighed. "My saving grace. Other than you guys of course. And if we hadn't have had a strong marriage at that point….I don't know. I hate to think what would have happened to us. I better take off. I'm going to head out and have a word with the captain."

"He doesn't speak any English." Danny told her. "A department interpreter is with him and Santucci."

"Thanks for the brief, guys. Let me know if you find anything else."

"You'll be the last person we call." Danny assured her.

She grinned over her shoulder, than disappeared out the door.

It was shortly before ten a.m. when Flack pulled into terminal seven of the New York and New Jersey Port Authority. He parked his unmarked squad car alongside the looming cargo ship and just behind the DHS vehicles. He grumbled and muttered curse words at the sight of the navy blue GMC Denalis with the government logo on the front doors. Fucking feds, he thought, killing the ignition and unbuckling his seat belt. They were bastards to work with and almost impossible to work alongside of. They had precedence over the department and weren't afraid to take over. He was just glad the two departments' paths didn't cross that often. Especially when he happened to be married to a fucking Fed.

He climbed out of the car and pocketed his keys and journeyed over to the two uniforms guarding the entrance to the ship. One of them was a veteran. Sergeant Mike Nelligan. The other a fresh face rookie he'd never seen before.

"Inspector Flack." Nelligan greeted him.

Flack nodded in response. "You guys see the DHS people?" he asked. "Specifically the one that's in charge?"

Please tell me it's not her, he prayed. Their paths rarely crossed at work since she left the crime lab. And when DHS was called into a crime scene and he showed up to supervise everything, they always butted heads. But he had found that not working together on a routine basis had been a God send. Their marriage was closer and stronger. There was less conflict at home and he liked being able to walk into her office for a social call and not feel obligated to discuss cases.

"Up in the wheel house confiscating the captain's logs." the rookie told him. "And a whole bunch of other crap. It's a she. A hot little brunette…really short hair."

Jesus Christ, Flack thought in dismay. He had half a mind to tell the rookie to shove that last comment up his ass. Instead, he headed off to board the Anastasia Nicola.

And towards what he knew wouldn't be the most pleasant encounter between husband and wife.

Sam was busy instructing two of her team members to pack log books and records and various other files into large blue plastic tote boxes. She had just turned to pose a question to the NYPD interpreter, who was beside the burly, dishevelled captain who was restrained in cuffs and being guarded by a uniform. Rick Santucci, who'd become both a detective and Max's husband thirteen years ago, glanced over at the doorway as Flack entered and offered up a nod. The two DHS agents visibly blanched when they saw the familiar face that stepped into the room. Seeing that irritated look in his eyes.

Flack knew all of his wife's team members on a first name basis. And vice versa. They'd been at his house many a time when Sam held strategic planning sessions and even for casual dinners and barbecues and swimming in the summer time. He attended her office Christmas parties and was on friendly terms with all of her colleagues socially. But at work, Flack was strictly business. With both them and his wife.

"What you guys got in there?" he asked, glancing in the boxes. There were mounds of papers and files and computer hard drives and lap tops. "I want all of that put back. This is an NYPD crime scene."

"Your crime scene is in the cargo area of this ship." Sam informed him, quickly coming to the aid of her agents. A leather bound business ledger in one hand, evidence baggy in the other. "Homeland Security has seized this vessel and the NYPD has been served notice to keep to said crime scene. Anything outside of it belongs to DHS."

"You people can't just come in here and take over," Flack told her.

"We're the United States Federal Government." Sam reminded him, dropping the ledger into one of the boxes. "So yes, we can."

She nodded to the two agents, giving them the go ahead to leave.

"What about that bag in your hand?" Flack asked. "Which, just by looking at it, looks oddly enough like crime scene evidence."

"It's a passport." she informed him. "And therefore, custody of U.S. Customs. So it's my evidence."

"And that white powdery substance on it looks a lot like coke, which makes it my evidence. So hand it over."

"Now that it's in my custody, it is property of the United States government." Sam remained firm. "If you and the NYPD want it, than you'll have to subpoena me for it."

Flack smirked.

Santucci, uncomfortable witnessing the show down between husband and wife, cleared his throat noisily.

"Gentlemen," Sam bid farewell, casting glances at the detective and the interpreter and the uniforms before turning back to Flack. "Always a pleasure, Inspector." she said, stepping past her husband and brushing against him in the process.

He watched her go. Than looked at Santucci who just shrugged.

The uni guarding the ship's captain also watched the tiny brunette as she strode confidently past the window.

"That is one raging bitch." the young man commented.

"That, kid, is my wife." Flack said.

He didn't give the shell shocked officer a chance to respond before heading from the wheel house and following the path his wife had just taken.

Three hours later, Flack stepped off the elevator at 3553 Broadway and onto the twenty second floor. It was a remarkable difference from the hustle and the bustle of the crime lab. The halls here were devoid of activity and the only sounds were that of his shoes on the highly polished tiles and the distant ringing of telephones. Everything was white. The flooring, the walls, the high ceilings. The only splash of colouring was the blue lettering on a simple sign that read DHS and had an arrow pointing to the left.

That was the direction that he went in. Towards the massive glass sliding doors with DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION scrawled across them. He showed his badge to the armed guard that was posted by the entrance and had to secure his weapon before he was allowed to go any further. Flack was used to the drill. It had become second nature to him and no longer irritated the crap out of him like it had the first couple of dozen times.

He headed for the receptionist. A bubbly, talkative young woman named Beth. Tall and shapely with rod straight black hair and stormy grey eyes, she was born and raised in the Bronx and possessed an accent that could rival Sam's Brooklyn one any day. Beth had joined the department a little over a year ago and had become a regular face around the Flack household, along with her boyfriend Trevor, a detective working out of the 112 in Staten Island.

"Good afternoon, Inspector." Beth greeted cheerfully. "How's life keeping ya?"

"Not bad. You? How's it going with Trevor?"

She snorted. "Can you believe the shmuck? Guess what he bought me for our year anniversary. Just take a wild guess."

"I don't know. Clothes? Perfume? Jewellery?"

"I wish. Seasons tickets to the Mets. Can you honestly believe that? I hate baseball! I have just enough mind to dump his sorry ass."

"You do that and I just might hook up with him." Flack teased. "I wish my wife would buy me Mets season tickets. Half the time she barely lets me watch them on television. Lucky she doesn't mess with my Rangers. 'Cause that's grounds for a divorce."

"Men." Beth huffed.

"Speaking of the love of my life…is she in?"

"Down in her office. I'll let her know you're here."

Flack printed and signed his name to the visitors log and journeyed down the carpeted hallway to his left. She had a spacious corner office with a hell of a view of the city that was even more remarkable when the sun was going down or the surrounding buildings were lit up for the night.

Sam was at her desk. Hanging up the phone as he sauntered in. She offered a smile and picked up a bottle of vitamin water resting beside her and took a sip.

"You here with that subpoena?" she asked.

"That's behind me." Flack replied, holding up the beverage carry tray and the large paper bag in his hands.

"A peace offering, huh?" she asked with a grin.

"I brought you some lunch. Us, some lunch, actually."

Flack walked over to the glass coffee table in the middle of the room and sat the drinks and the bag down on it before shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it on one of the light beige couches that sat on either side of the table. He unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

Sam got up from her chair and slipped out from behind her desk. Joining him as he set to work unpacking their meal. "Thai food." she said with an impressed, appreciative nod. "And from the Lemongrass Grill nonetheless."

"It's one of your favourites." he reasoned.

"So we're friends again?" she asked.

"There was never a time we weren't." Flack responded, bending down to give her a soft kiss. Short and sweet. "Friends, lovers…I've always wanted to bend you over your desk and…"

"You're a dirty man, Don." she told him, taking a seat on one of the couches.

He took a seat beside her and opened the food containers. They sat far enough apart to keep the professionalism between them, but close enough that part of their bodies still managed to make, and maintain contact. Neither of them mentioned the case. Instead, seizing the opportunity to spend their lunch break just spending some quality time together. To talk about normal, every day things. To just be in the close proximity of each other and not discuss work.

"So you'll be able to get home in time to meet the kids?" she asked, digging into her favourite papaya and mango salad.

"I'm leaving the office at three thirty." he replied. "I should be home no later than quarter after four. So the little bastards won't be alone for too long." he popped a forkful of spicy fried pork and white rice into his mouth. "You gonna be really late? 'Cause we got that thing for Mac to go to."

"I should be home no later than five. By the time I brief the agent and the team relieving us at three thirty, I should be walking out the door by quarter after four, four thirty. You'll survive? Being alone with all six?"

It wasn't often he was home alone with all of his kids. But he'd always been a natural as a father and hadn't had any massive difficulties keeping control of the brood when he did find himself watching all of them. And with Kieran being fifteen, he was old enough and somewhat responsible enough to keep an eye on things. And he was aggressive and assertive when need be. Like his father from head to toe.

"I think I'll manage." Flack told he. "We're lucky, you know. Kieran's a huge help usually and Alannah and Reghan can be responsible when they feel like it."

"When," Sam stressed with a laugh. "That's the perfect word. And you're right. Kieran is for the most part, an asset."

"Kid needs to get a job." Flack said.

"He's fifteen years old. Just turned fifteen. Why does he need a job?"

"Because he's eating us out of house and home and his clothes and sports stuff is damn expensive. Not to mention every time he takes Addie out we have to give him money for it. And he doesn't just take her to the movies and fast food. He's taking her to expensive places to eat and to the mega-plex that costs nearly twenty bucks a person just go get in. And never mind all the times he buys her flowers and gifts. That's all coming out of our pocket. Not his."

"And where's he going to get a job to support his lifestyle? All he can get is something minimum wage and he couldn't afford to buy his own clothes or have a social life."

"Than he wears less expensive clothes and doesn't have a social life. He's fifteen. Why does he have a girlfriend anyway? He needs to be concentrating on school and hockey. Not making out with girls. I'm telling ya, the next time I walk into the basement and find him and Addie nearly naked, I am calling her father to come and get her and Kieran's being locked in his room for a month."

"They weren't doing anything. They had all their clothes on. You're over reacting."

"Sam, he had his hand down her pants. You weren't the one that walked in on them. Imagine what the hell would have gone on if they'd been home alone."

"Don, if they aren't doing it in the house, they'll be out somewhere in public trying to do it. And the last thing I think you want is a call that your son was picked out for public indecency in Central Park."

"Last thing I want is my son having sex." Flack said.

Sam sighed and arched an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked. "What's that sigh and that look for?"

"Nothing. I just think it's time you had a discussion with your son about condoms."

"Why? He's fifteen. He shouldn't be doing anything that requires a condom at fifteen."

"Kids are doing things that require them at an even younger age." Sam informed him. "And if you walked in on something like that, you can bet there's more going on behind our backs. And if it hasn't happened yet, it will soon. Don't you think it's a good idea to talk to him before that happens?"

"He's fifteen!" Flack argued. "That should be the last thing on his mind. I don't care if kids are having sex at eleven, twelve. I've heard the stories about these pre-teen engaging in oral and what not in school bathrooms. But that's other peoples' kids. Not ours."

Sam calmly bit into a piece of mango. "How old were you when you first had sex?" she asked.

"You know the answer to that."

"Humour me. How old, Don?"

"I don't know. Fourteen, almost fifteen."

She grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth. "Talk to your son." she said.

"Fine…fine…" he grumbled. "I'll talk to him. But when I'm ready to."

"That's all I ask." she said.

"And I still think he needs a damn job. I was a caddy at the golf course in Long Island and my old man would either drive me there or I had to take the subway. And I had my first real job at fifteen."

"You flipped burgers at McDonalds." Sam reminded him.

"Still a job. You worked at Dunkin Donuts when you were fifteen, sixteen. We both had to chip in around the house money wise at that age and buy our own clothes and pay for our own fun. He's no different."

"Something else you can bring up during your talk. And I thought you were hell bent on him to keep up his schooling and his hockey. How's he going to do that if he's working too?"

"He'll manage. Guess he'll just have to stop making out with his girl all the time."

Sam smirked. "Like father, like son." she said and swallowed some water.

"I'm forty-five years old. There's a huge difference in what's appropriate for him and what's appropriate for me." Flack reasoned.

Sam held her hands up in surrender, "And when you get home, please don't forget to give Declan his thyroid meds and let him help you take the dogs for their walk."

"Samantha…how long have I been giving him his meds? Since he was six months old. I know what I am doing. I have it all under control."

She smiled. And thought about those dark, desolate days following Declan's diagnosis when she feel into a deep, impenetrable depression. Regardless of vowing that you'd accept your baby despite whatever problems may occur, the reality that something had happened, something that was life altering and permanent, had hit them both like a ton of bricks. Because they had never expected it to happen. That was something that happened to other families. Complete strangers. And when it was brought home, it was devastating. But although he'd been struggling and hurting himself, he had taken time off of work to take care of two month old triplets and a toddler son and a wife who couldn't, and wouldn't, get out of bed. Thankfully they had family and friends to lend a hand.

He'd never judged her or called her crazy. Instead he'd called in Gus who made a phone call to a colleague of hers. An excellent psychiatrist, who, after rounds of therapy and countless prescriptions for anti-depressants, she'd finally shaken the mood and accepted her son. That didn't mean there weren't hard days. Even thirteen years later she'd lie in bed some nights and think 'Holy shit, he has Down Syndrome' and burst into tears. And her husband would hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

It was situations that revolved around the child that made it hard to cope some days. Both parents struggled with it but Flack was better at both hiding how he felt for the sake of his family, and turning things into something more positive. But it wasn't easy to hear and see Declan come home from school bawling because some asshole kid had picked on him. It crushed them when he stopped being invited to birthday parties for classmates because kids who once been his friends now didn't want 'that retarded kid' around them. Those closest to their family remained Declan's truest friends.

But no one was a true and loyal as his older brother. When Declan first started at the same high school, Kieran would constantly wind up in the principal's office and his parents called in to deal with the fact that their oldest child had seriously busted up a senior student that had picked on his brother. Siblings picked on and tormented each other all the time. But pity on the outsider who did it.

"You made sure that you have Saturday off to coach Kieran's hockey game?" Sam asked, sipping vitamin water. "It's their first play off game and you've missed about five coaching duties over the regular season."

Flack nodded. "Scagnetti said to go ahead and take it off. Or should I be calling him Chief Scagnetti."

After nearly three and a half decades toiling for the NYPD and slowly climbing the ranks, their good friend had been named Chief of Detectives three years ago. Five days later, Flack had been passed the exam and been promoted to inspector.

"I never thought I'd see the day that he was chief of detectives." Sam said, shaking her head. "Or that you were an inspector or Mac was commissioner or Tim Speedle was running the crime lab."

"Lots of changes in the past several years." Flack said. "I mean, if someone had have told me back when that you would end up a Fed, I would have said they were crazy. And that I'd still be married to you after you became one? Insane."

"Let it go, Don." she laughed. "Just let it go and live with it."

"Can't believe you busting my balls at that scene today." he shook his head in both amusement and disbelief.

"I was merely asserting my authority over you."

Flack laughed. "Asserting your authority? How about you assert your authority over me later tonight when all the kids are in bed. Because that I would die for."

"We'll see." Sam said. "Maybe if you're a really good boy for the rest of the day."

"I was a really good boy at six in the morning," he said with a smirk. He ran a hand over her recently shorn hair and down to the small of her back.

When she'd walked in the house yesterday with the new style, he'd nearly had a heart attack. Where'd his wife go? He was not impressed. Even the kids had looked at her like she was insane. Until Declan put his arms around her, and announced, in his 'mouth full of cotton' way of speaking and his slight stutter, "You look pwetty anyway, mommy."

"I know," Sam sighed. "You hate my hair."

"It's growing on me. It's just different. Way different. Why so short?"

"I'm forty-seven years old, Don. It was time for a change. Now if only I could do something to my body to make that look different."

"Nothing wrong with your body." he told her. "I think you're hot."

"My hips are wider. My boobs are bigger and don't understand the meaning of the word gravity sometimes. And I never got rid of the stretch marks from having babies."

"You've had six kids," he pointed out. "Three of them at once. And if you ask me, you look amazing. You know damn well you don't look forty-seven. You barely look out of your mid thirties. Me, on the other hand….I look older than you."

She reached out and combed her fingers through his short hair. "Why? Because you're completely grey now? I think it's sexy. Very Richard Gere in Pretty Woman."

"Yeah?" he grinned. "How sexy do you find it? Will you show me later?"

"Like I said. If you're a really good boy…"

He leaned sideways and kissed her. A long, gentle kiss. Nothing scandalous or inappropriate. Just something simple and loving.

"Agent Flack…" a voice said from behind them in the doorway. "I just had a few…"

There was a slight commotion as a woman gasped in surprise and files and papers fluttered to the floor. Bringing an abrupt end to the kiss.

They looked over. A young, red faced Asian woman barely out of college that Flack recognized that day from the wheel house stood in the doorway. Her hand to her chest and her eyes wide in shock at what she'd witness.

"Oh my God…." she stammered. "I am so sorry….I had no idea that…"

"It's okay," Sam assured her. "I was just on my lunch break."

"If I had have known…oh my God…this is embarrassing. I just assumed that when you said you were married and I saw pictures of all your kids that you were happily married and.."

Sam smirked, realizing that her new agent had come to the assumption that because she'd never seen her supervisor's husband and had met Flack as strictly an NYPD inspector hours before, that her boss was having an affair.

"Gwen," she said in a gentle voice as she stood up and face the door. "Come in for a second."

"I don't want to interrupt. I've interrupted enough and…"

"Please, just come in." Sam said, and smiled.

The flustered young woman hurriedly gathered her papers up and cautiously and nervously approached.

"Don, this is my new employee, Gwen Nicado." Sam introduced. "She started this morning."

Flack offered his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Uh….likewise, sir. I saw you, on the ship. Should I call you sir or inspector or…."

"Just call me Flack." he said. "At least away from business."

She blinked at the shared last name between the handsome middle aged man and her boss.

"Gwen, this is NYPD Inspector Don Flack," Sam said. "My husband."

Gwen blushed furiously. "I am so, so sorry," she clamped a hand over her mouth. "I just assumed when I saw the two of you that…and I'd seen you this morning but I've never seen the husband and…I am so embarrassed."

"It's an easy mistake to make." Sam assured her. "You had something to ask me?"

"I just had a few questions about policies and procedures regarding what happened this morning. But if you're on you're lunch break…."

"It's okay," Flack said, gathering up the trash from the coffee table and tossing it into the waste basket by Sam's desk. "I gotta head out anyway. I have a meeting with the Chief of Detectives and the soon to be ex- Commissioner at two thirty. Than shit loads of paper work to finish up before I can leave the office."

"Tell Scagnetti and Mac I said hello." Sam said.

"I will," he laid a hand on the small of her back and gave her a small kiss in farewell. "It was nice meeting you, Gwen. Good luck. My wife can be a real dragon lady."

"Nice meeting you as well," the young woman said, smiling as he headed for the door. "Any advice on how to deal with her?" she inquired jokingly.

Flack paused in the doorway and thought about it. Than smiled broadly. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "Lots of tranquillizers. For her and you."

"You're very funny, my dear." Sam laughed.

"It's worked for me for the last fifteen years," he joked, winking at her before stepping out the door and disappearing down the hall.

"So you had some questions to ask me?" Sam asked her employee. Snapping the young woman out of the daze she'd gotten herself into. Interrupting her from staring at the now empty doorway.

"Actually, I only have one now," Gwen replied, looking at her boss.

Sam arched an eyebrow at the enthusiasm in the younger woman's voice and eyes. "What's that?"

"Does your husband have a younger brother?"

It was a few minutes past four thirty when Flack pulled the Escalade into the double driveway of the five bedroom, brick and aluminum siding back-split house in Flushing, Queens. When Liam was born, they realized the time had come that they'd outgrown their old home a mere fifteen minutes from where they now resided. When Sarge had died, he'd left both of his children huge chunks of an estate no one had ever expected to be as massive as it was. Combined with both of their salaries -Sam with DHS and Flack as a captain at that time- and the money they made off the sale of their old house, they had been able to purchase something larger in a more affluent community.

Alannah and Reghan still had to share a room much to their dismay. They were complete opposites and fought constantly. Alannah was the tomboy. She played every sport she could get her hands on (and that her parents allowed) and preferred to dress in athletic attire and wear runners and baseball caps as opposed to her sister's penchant for anything pink, purple or frilly. She snubbed her nose at the thought of skirts or makeup. Reghan on the other hand, couldn't wait to get her hands onto some blush and lipstick, although her father had caught her once coming into the house with it still on. She had 'borrowed' some of her mother's and taken it to school and applied it there. Only she wasn't expecting her father to be home early from work. From that day on, no makeup until sixteen. At the earliest.

Both girls were tall and willowy and had rod straight dark hair that fell at the small of their backs and big blue eyes. All the kids looked like their father save for the freckles on all their noses. Liam was the runt of the litter, as Flack fondly referred to him as. He was petite like his mother and had her hair and her eyes and her smile. Mikayla had inherited her Uncle Adam's unruly, thick curls. Declan, despite the physical characteristics that accompanied the Down Syndrome, still looked and acted like his father.

And than there was Kieran. All six feet and two hundred pounds of him. The kid was fifteen and built like a brick shit house. Broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs and big feet. Last time Flack had taken the kid for shoes, Kieran had been a size fourteen. The sales clerk had said that if those feet got any bigger they'd be visiting a speciality store or getting the kid's shoes made.

Right now, the main source of contention with Kieran was his hair. Both mother and father had been on his ass to get a hair cut for the past six months. It was thick and wavy and hung to his shoulders. It reminded Flack of the way that country star Keith Urban, who been popular fifteen years ago, had worn his hair. It also reminded Flack of how he wore his hair long before he ever met Sam.

The front yard was littered with mountain bikes and rollerblades and whatever else crap the kids had managed to drag out in the past hour they'd been home.

Kieran, hearing the sound of a car in the driveway, appeared at the screen door, still possessing all his hair. A can of coke in one hand and the cordless phone in the other. A backwards ball cap on his head and wearing a hideous pair of blue and white surfing shorts and a ratty old t-shirt.

"Dad's home!" he yelled over his shoulder, his deep voice booming over the screaming and carrying on going on behind him. "Hey! Shut up and be good! Dad's home and he's gonna come in and go all cop on ya and kick all your asses!"

Flack had long ago realized that if ass was the worst word Kieran said in the house, they were lucky. Besides, he heard the mouth the kid had on him on the ice. And it wasn't pretty.

Kieran had to jump out of the way to avoid both Liam and the two dogs that now came hurtling out the door and down the front steps. Maximus was a massive German Sheppard just heading into his senior years. A retired police dog, he was loving and affectionate with the kids. Cujo was the newest member of the family. A tiny white haired Chihuahua that Sam just could not resist. Slippers the cat had succumbed to old age several months before. She'd been a damn good pet and Flack had cried when he found her, curled up, stone dead at the foot of their bed.

"Daddy!" Liam cried, tossing himself at his father's legs as the dogs barked and jumped excitedly.

Flack sat his briefcase down on the walk and effortlessly scooped his youngest into his arms.

"Hi, daddy!" Liam, still in his navy blue pants and white polo shirt that served as his school uniform, chirped and pressed a noisy kiss to his father's cheek.

"Hey, buddy. You being good for your brother?"

"No." Kieran responded, setting the can of pop on the porch before journeying bare foot down the steps to reign in the dogs.

"Whose on the phone?" Flack asked, nodding to the cordless in his oldest son's hand.

"Uncle Tim."

"Bull. Maybe the call's coming from his house. It's more like Addie. Didn't you just say goodbye to her when you walked her home from school an hour ago?"

"She called to ask what time we were going to be there at. We just got to talking."

"You start your homework?"

"I haven't had time, dad. I've been watching the damn wild natives and doing up the dishes like mommy asked me to do when I got home."

"Well how about you tell Addie you'll see her tonight and go in and start on your homework. You've got some heavy duty projects due soon don't you? Essays and crap like that?"

"I'm almost done my rough draft for my biology essay but I need Uncle Shel to look it over. And I've got a pretty good idea where I'm going with French and my English papers."

"What about math?"

Kieran shrugged. "Math is in the shitter just like it was when you asked me about it yesterday."

"Hang up the phone and go inside and do your homework." Flack ordered. "Before I hang that phone up and take you in there and wash your mouth out. Than the next time you and Addie are playing tonsil hockey, she'll wonder why you taste like Palmolive dish detergent."

Kieran frowned. "I gotta go," he grumbled into the phone. "The inspector is home and on the war path."

"Kieran," Flack's tone was serious as was his face. "Now."

The fifteen year old hung up promptly and handed the cordless to his father.

"And take the dogs and put them out back until Declan and I get out to walk them. Can you handle that?"

"Thought you wanted me to start my homework?" Kieran asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Kieran." Flack raised both eyebrows and glared at his son.

He knew better than to get too smart with father. Admitting defeat, he scooped up Cujo and tucked him under his arm and grabbed Maximus by the collar and tugged him towards the house.

Flack sighed and turned his attention to his youngest. "How was school?" he asked, crouching to pick up his brief case before heading up the stairs.

"Okay. It was fun." Liam replied.

"What did you do?" he asked, yanking the screen door open and stepping inside the foyer.

"Same crap, different day." Liam replied.

Flack bit his lip to keep from laughing and shook his head. "What did you do?" he repeated.

"You know, we read some and worked on math and wrote some stories and had a spelling test. I got seven out of ten."

"That's good." Flack said, toeing off his shoes. "You'll have to tell your mom when she gets home. Where's your sisters and your brother?"

Liam shrugged.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Mikayla is in the front room playin' with Declan and Reghan and Alannah are upstairs fighting."

"About?"

Liam shrugged.

Flack sat his son on the ground and sat his briefcase by the door and dropped his keys and the cordless on the hall table.

"Can I have a snack and a drink, daddy?" Liam asked hopefully.

"Sure. A drinking box and one of those fruit roll up things. No pop and no chocolate. Okay?"

"Okay." Liam agreed with a defeated sigh and ran off.

Flack unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. He wasn't two feet into the living room when he heard the commotion upstairs. The slamming of doors and the stomping of feet down the hardwood floor and the very angry voices of two thirteen year old girls.

"What the hell is going on up there!" he shouted up the stairs.

"Reghan's thieving again, dad!" Alannah called back.

"I am not a thief!" Reghan responded.

There was a loud thump. Followed by a crash.

"Look what you did! You broke mom's vase!" Reghan screeched at her sister.

"You broke it, you liar!"

"I'm not a liar, you bitch!"

Flack took the stairs two at a time and found his daughters embroiled in an all out hair pulling, nail scratching, biting fight in the middle of the upstairs hallway.

"What in the hell is wrong with you two?" he bellowed, grabbing Reghan by the back of her shirt and lifting her off of her prone sister. "Are you two insane? What is so wrong that you two are up here killing each other?"

"She took my sweater!" Alannah pointed an accusing finger at her minutes older sister.

"All this is over a sweater?" Flack shook his head. "Bites and scratches and chunks of hair ripped out over a sweater!?"

"She went into my closet and…"

"You know what?" Flack interrupted his daughter gruffly. "I don't wanna hear it! Alannah get in your room and…"

"But dad, she…"

"I don't wanna hear it! Get in there and clean yourself up! Reghan, go chill out in mom and mine's room and wash your face and clean yourself up!"

"But, dad…." Alannah wailed.

"Go! Now! And don't come out until your mom gets home. Either of you."

"Hope your happy." Alannah huffed at her sister and turned on her heel and stomped off to her room.

"It's all your fault you crazy…."

"Enough!" Flack roared. "Just both of ya get the hell into separate rooms and stay there!"

Fuming, both girls took off down the hall and slammed the doors behind them. Leaving their furious father standing in the middle of the hallway.

Wondering just how in the hell he'd found himself in a house like that.

And knowing he wouldn't give up his kids or the craziness that came with them for anything in the world.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I love hearing from all of you so don't be shy and drop me a line!