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

A/N: I HAVE A SMALL MOMENT IN THIS CHAP BETWEEN FLACK AND KIERAN THAT WAS INSPIRED BY THOMAS' CRAYON EATING INCIDENT IN DI. I JUST WANTED TO GIVE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE AND SAY THANKS TO APHINA WAS LETTING ME BORROW THE PREMISE.

A/N 2: THIS CHAPTER GOES BACK TO KIERAN AS A BABY. JUST THOUGHT I'D GIVE HEADS UP SO THERE'S NO CONFUSION

Revelations

"I remember a year ago
I was standing in the crowd
waiting for my chance to break through,
my chance to live again.
Now it seems I've found some friends
who finally understand
what it takes to make this dream come true,
we'll be here till the end.
Oh, wish I could thank you
all for what you have done
and all of the things that you have shared with me.
Oh, wish I could take you all to where I must go
wish I could take you all, I'll take you in my arms."
-In Fate's Hands, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

Flack hadn't had the dream in a long time. The one where he re-lived the final moments of that fateful day of the explosion. The last moments that his mind had allowed him to remember. He and Mac were clearing the building out. They were running from floor to floor as the fire alarms blared. The loud, ear splitting noise bouncing off of the high ceiling and cements floors and walls of the narrow stairwell. They had successfully cleared everyone out and were looking for last minute stragglers while Flack yelled into his cell phone, informing dispatch of the bomb in the building.

They'd stepped out onto an empty floor. Flack couldn't recall how much ground that he and Mac had covered, or what floor they had actually been on, but after checking locked doors and poking their heads inside of empty rooms, Mac had made the executive decision to get the hell out of there. Flack hadn't argued. He wanted nothing more to get out of that building and to a remotely safe location. There was no way in hell he wanted to be stuck in there when, and if, that damn thing decided to explode.

A door opened behind them as they hurried for the exit. A young man wearing head phones had stepped out into the hall and asked what was going on. Or some variation of the sort. He hadn't heard the fire alarms or the two cops ordering people out of the building. And Flack had turned and started back down the hall, screaming at the kid to get the hell out of there.

The world had exploded. He remembered nothing about the day after that. His only memory of the incident afterwards was waking up in the hospital hooked up to tubes and monitors and being startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. Despite the heavy duty medication being pumped into him at record pace, he'd attempted to bolt upright in bed until an intense, crippling and nauseating pain winded him and brought tears to his eyes and forced him back in bed. And than his mother, eyes red and moist from crying, was at his side smoothing his hair away from his face and gripping his hand and telling him that he made it. He hadn't crossed over to that other side. But he'd come close. Damn close.

He'd been shocked when he'd found out what had happened. How Mac had saved his life by tying a dirty shoe lace around a severed artery in his stomach. Danny had told him that part. Mac wasn't the type of guy to talk about stuff like that. He didn't expect be thanked or applauded for what he did. He'd simply say that was his job and any member of the team would have done the same thing . Flack highly doubted that. Mac was always cool and calm and composed under pressure. Others may have panicked and not being able to summon up the courage to stick their hands in Flack's gaping wound in order to save just one life.

It hurt for a long time. His chest and stomach ached on a near constant basis for almost two years. He refused to take pain medication because he thought it meant he was weak. Flack was not weak. It was not in his nature. Taking the meds meant that the bombing had succeeded in destroying his life. And he couldn't let that happen. So he suffered. He lived through months in the hospital and long, arduous hours in physic and rehab. Strengthening exercises that had him near tears and puking his cuts up at the end of a session. He got through a month of desk duty when he ached to be out in the field. Pain and nightmares became constant bedfellows.

Than one day, he'd met the person that would change the course of his life and the darkness and suffering began to lift. He accepted help when it was offered and let himself be loved and cared for. And while the pain lessened, it still nagged at him. But, by the grace of God, sleeping beside that warm, welcoming body and revelling in the peace and serenity and comfort she brought him, had put an end to those nightmares.

Until now. Since the news of Dean Lessing's release had come across his desk, Flack had been plagued with the dreams and the pain nearly every day and night. It was common for him to wake up with his chest aching and his heart pounding as if it would burst right out of his chest. Drenched in sweat and panting and bolting up right. The sheets twisted in his limbs.

This morning was no different. He found himself in a sitting position. Dizzy and perspiring. His hands shaking uncontrollably. He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes and attempted to take slow, deep and steady breaths to calm himself. He was in a safe place. In the security of his own home. His own bed. With that sleeping figure mere inches away. Naked and on her stomach, face turned towards the door and her arms spread wide. Sunlight streaming through the window. The bright rays making the red highlights in her hair sparkle.

When his heart rate returned to normal and the pain subsided, Flack untangled himself from the sheets and climbed out of bed and went to the bedroom window. Throwing it open, he pressed his face to the screen and sucked in as much of the brisk late November air that his lungs could take.

Lessing's release was three weeks away. It was haunting Flack. He couldn't get his head around the fact that the man who'd nearly ended his life was going to be a free man. Lessing had murdered and planted bombs with no remorse if he took other lives in the process. All in a sick, twisted attention seeking ploy. To get the government to realize that the country wasn't ready to face another terrorist attack and that they had to be prepared.

He was a certified nut job. That was one thing that Flack was sure of. What he wasn't sure of what Lessing was capable of. Was he capable of developing a sick obsession towards Flack because he had somehow managed to survive the blast? Was he capable of wreaking havoc on the happy life that Flack had managed to grab hold of? Could he, and would he, bring pain and suffering to his wife and that precious, innocent baby that slept soundly and securely in the next room.

Behind him, Flack heard Samantha stirring in bed. The slight rustling of the sheets and her soft mumbling. He had to tell her soon. Talk was starting to run rampant at work. And the press was beginning to contact him at the precinct. It wouldn't be long until they were calling the apartment and showing up on the door step.

And the dreams. He could only use the excuse of stress and an overactive imagination -a by product of the job- for so long. His wife was not a stupid woman.

Samantha rolled over onto her side and stretched out her arm, blindly reaching for that familiar, warm body beside her. Her hand fell on wrinkled, empty sheets instead. Sheets that were drenched in sweat. That alarmed her and her eyes snapped open. Settling on him standing at the window, his back and shoulders tense as he breathed fresh air.

She'd been witness to the nightmares her husband was suffering from and could do nothing about it. Flack was a man's man. He shrugged off comfort and refused to talk about things. The only thing she could do was sit by and hoped whatever was bothering him would pass.

"Donnie?" she asked, her voice quiet as she sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her chest. "Are you okay? It's freezing in here."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I just…I had another one of those dreams…I needed some air."

"What time is it?"

He cast a glance in the direction of the nightstand. "Quarter to eight. The baby will be getting up soon."

"Well come back to bed until that happens," she said. "You don't have to be at work until eleven. You have a little time to just lie around with me. Cuddle me and make me feel special and safe and all of that."

Flack smiled at that and closed the window. He climbed back into bed, pulling both the heavy duvet and the sheet over top of them as he lay on his side and drew her slender body into his arms. Their chests pressed together. His chin resting on the top of her head as she snuggled her face into the hallow of his throat.

His fingertips trailed down her spine. Feeling the goose bumps that appeared on her soft flesh and the way she pressed herself against him even more, her breasts flattened against his chest. Since Speed and Carmen's wedding three weeks ago, they had been trying faithfully to conceive. Three weeks was just a drop in the bucket, but considering how quickly and easily she had gotten pregnant with Kieran, anything was possible. They both hoped that it would happen as soon as possible. The longer it dragged on, the less satisfying twice a day lovemaking became when there was tremendous pressure on hitting the bulls eye. And twice a day with a baby in the house was a damn modern miracle. Not that either of them were complaining. Late night and early morning sessions were their best friends, regardless of how tired they were.

They'd also both begun eating foods that were said to boost both egg and sperm production. Lots of oats and brown rice and complex carbs. Tons of calcium and eggs and anything with flax seed oil. They both took multivitamins and indulged in both garlic and honey. Flack's favourite part was the oysters. It had taken some time to get used to the taste and texture, but on top of the benefits, nutrition wise, he loved what it did do his wife. They were a massive aphrodisiac for her and he was the lucky recipient of what came with those moods.

But the spinach. And leafy vegetables. Flack just couldn't take them.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his head.

"I am now," he replied, kissing the top of her head. It felt so good to lie there with her. Loose himself in her touch and her smell. Close his mind off to anything but the two of them. To have that moment of relaxation and normalcy before the start of what would in no doubt be another long, emotionally draining day.

"You can tell me about it, you know," she said, her voice quiet and understanding.

"I know," he responded, tracing his fingertips along the tattoo that stretched across the small of her back.

"Than why don't you?" she asked gently. "I'm your wife, Don. You're suppose to be able to tell me anything."

"Samantha, I know I can tell you anything. That you're always here for me when I need you. It's not that I don't want to tell you. I do. It's just that.." he sighed heavily. "I'm not prepared to tell you yet."

She pulled away from him and looked into his intense blue eyes. "Is it that bad?" she asked.

"It's not life or death if that's what you mean."

"Is it marriage shattering?" She looked terrified by the thought.

"No," he told her. "God no. Don't ever think that, baby. It's just something from my past that I'm struggling to deal with. And when I get a better handle on it, I will tell you. I promise."

"Soon?" she asked.

"Soon," he confirmed and kissed her.

She sighed into his mouth as his tongue gently pushed through her lips and gently sought out, and caressed hers. She circled his neck with her arms and lost herself in his kiss and the feel of his body against hers as he pushed her over onto her back. Burying her fingers in his hair as his lips left hers and descended on her neck. Her body tingling as his hand drifted up her thigh and slipped in between her legs. Moaning loudly and arching against him as his fingers slipped inside of her.

Suddenly he stopped both the ministrations between her legs and the kissing and suckling of her neck. He raised his head, eyes burrowing in the wall by their heads.

"Don…what…?"

"Kieran's awake," he told her. "I just heard him babbling away."

"I don't hear anything. He probably just rolled over and startled himself."

Flack listened. When he didn't hear anything from the room next door, he happily continued on with what he was doing. Had her primed and ready and his boxers off when another noise came. This time much louder. A happy, musical giggle followed by an ear splitting shriek of contentment and a very pronounced "Daddy".

Sam grinned. "He's calling you."

"You have to feed him."

She laughed. "Nice try, Detective Sargent. I pumped when I got home from work last night and there's fresh bottles in the fridge. And he's specifically asking for you and it won't kill you to get up a bit early and make him some breakfast and spend some time with him."

Flack sighed heavily. "I got in a two in the morning."

"You never had a problem feeding an infant after a triple. What makes it different now?"

He smirked. "You're a witch," he said, and kissing her, eased his body off of hers and slipped from the bed.

"I'll get up with you guys on one condition," she told him, as he stepped into his boxers.

"What's that?" Flack asked, heading for the door.

"Make me a tea? And some toast and peanut butter? Or some of those Eggo pancakes with lots of butter and syrup?"

"Anything else your majesty?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Yeah…but your son is up so that's out of the question."

"Nympho," he teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

"Don't show that to me unless you're planning on using it."

"I was planning on it," she said.

"Goddamn kids," Flack grumbled and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

"It's the evil, demon sperm," she called out.

He grinned and heard her collapse back onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

Flack smelled it before he opened the door. A horribly nasty diaper. The stench drifting out from underneath the door. He'd always been sensitive to smells. He was the first to cover his mouth and nose if there was a particularly foul odour at a crime scene and quick to get Sam to handle any diapers that Kieran filled with his nastiness. Human shit he just could not deal with. He thought after the first few diaper changes when the baby came home that he'd be fine. But no. After nearly ten months, he was still physically retching with each crappy diaper he changed.

Kieran was giggling and babbling away. Flack could hear the squeaking of springs and the rattling of the wooden bars as his son bounced energetically in his crib. His nonsense ramblings interspersed with Momma and Da-dee and what sounded like cuppie. Kieran was like his mother. Pleasant and bubbly from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to the time he closed them at night. With random whiny, bitchy moments scattered in between.

"I'm coming, Kieran," Flack said as he opened the door to the nursery. "Just hold your…"

The smell nearly knocked him on his ass. It was as if a whole herd of Asian elephants had been in there and taken a dump at once. But it was the sight that horrified him and sickened him the most. Sometime in the time Kieran had been put down for the night and now, the child had managed to wriggled out of his jammie bottoms. And he'd figured out how to peel the tabs off his diaper and remove it completely. After taking what appeared to be the biggest shit of his young life.

It was everywhere. Smeared on the wall behind the crib. All over the sheet and the bars and railings. And all over Kieran. From head to toe. It was in his hair, spread along both legs and from first glance, up his nose and in his mouth and ears. The diaper itself had been discarded on the floor at the side of the crib.

"Da-deee!" Kieran shrieked joyfully, stretching his little arms out to be picked up. His hands were caked in feces.

Flack gagged and clamped a hand over his mouth to hold in the vomit that threatened to come up. He tore out of the room and burst into the master bedroom and on through to the en-suite bathroom. Past his startled wife who brushed her teeth and over to the toilet where he proceeded to violently expel his stomach contents.

Sam, in a state of utter confusion and shock, dropped her toothbrush into the sink and hurried over to her husband. "What happened?" she asked, rubbing his back. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "Your son…" was all he could manage, before the thought of what he had seen and smelled made his stomach rebel once again.

Sam would have been terrified that something terrible had happened to the baby if she hadn't been able to hear him. She knew her husband was notorious for his weak stomach when it came to foul odours and sights, which seemed off considering her profession. But the child was obviously alive and well the way he was calling out for someone to come and get him.

"What about him?" she asked. "Jesus, Donnie…what's wrong with you?"

"Just…get the baby….you'll see when you get there."

Frowning, she went back to the sink and finished with her teeth and sat the brush in the holder and turned off the cold water before heading out and down the small expanse of hallway to the baby's room.

Flack could hear her large gasp of shock, followed by "Oh my God Kieran! What did you do?!"

"Momma," came the exuberant response. Capped off by a loud shriek and what sounded like the word Poo.

"You pooed all right," Sam giggled and within mere seconds was rushing into the bathroom with the baby in her arms. "Move, Don," she said. "I need to get to the tub."

Flack moved to the side of the toilet, resting his forehead on the cold porcelain. His stomach had settled down, but the smell now permeating off of his child as Sam quickly and effortlessly stripped the baby bare was threatening to make him ill once again. He saw her struggling to put the plug in and adjust the temperature of the water with one free hand while juggling an energetic Kieran on her hip. He stood on shaky legs and went to the bed, not daring to look at the mess his son was in as he prepared the bathwater for her. Dropping in a capful of the lavender scented baby bath suds that sat on the ledge.

"Now that's what I call a mess," Sam said, without even so much of a grimace on her face.

"Fucking nasty is what it is," Flack declared, daring to glance at her and his son out of the corner of his eye.

God, she even had it on her now. Her son's feces on her neck and in her hair and on her face from Kieran pawing at her. It was smeared on her t-shirt. And she didn't seem to be the least bit fazed by it. He swallowed noisily and took a deep breath in hopes of quelling the nausea.

"Wimp," Sam said, noticing the distress he was in. She slipped Kieran into the safety ring firmly attached by suction cups to the floor of the tub and grabbed a couple of face cloths from the shelf above the toilet and a handful of bath toys and tossed them all in.

"I just can't….that…I can't do that…Why? Why would he do something like that?"

"Because to him it's fun," Sam reasoned, and hunkered down by the tub to begin the cleaning process.

"Well to me it was sheer hell," Flack said, and finally gathering himself, stopped up and flushed the toilet and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth and brush his teeth.

"When he's clean you'll have to come and get him so I can quickly shower," she told him. "And you'll have to give him breakfast while I clean his room. The crib will have to be stripped down and everything scrubbed with some bleach and water. Do you mind going in there and opening the window so the smell dissipates?"

Flack blanched. "Do I really have to go in there?" he sounded horrified at the thought.

"Fine," she huffed. "Watch him than."

She stomped off and back into the baby's room. Where she stripped off the crib sheet, tossed the discarded diaper in the Genie in the corner and tossed open the window. The sheet she decided to just bid adieu to and balled it up and tossed it into the garbage in the kitchen before heading back to the bathroom.

Kieran was playing and splashing away. Spraying water every where and laughing and shrieking. His father on his knees by the tub, up to his elbows in bubbles and grimacing as he scrubbed feces from his son's hair and body.

"Breathe, Don," Sam said, trying to hide her amusement at his reaction to his first child's dilemma.

"If I breathe through my nose, I'll be sick all over again," he told her. "That…that was not normal…there's something wrong with this kid.."

"He's a baby," Sam said, grabbing a towel from behind the door and dropping to her knees alongside of her husband. "And he's a boy. And boy's do gross things."

"I doubt I ever did anything like that."

"Well that's just something I'll have to ask your mother. Here," Sam held out the towel. "I'll handle him from here. I'll call you when he's sparkling and smelling nice again."

"Thanks," he said, grateful for the rescue. He took the towel and dried his hands.

Before he could get to his feet, Kieran kicked and splashed energetically, sending brown stained water flying everywhere. Including in his father's eyes and mouth. Flack felt his stomach retch again and he sprung to his feet and bolted out of the bathroom before he could get sick again.

Kieran looked at his mother. Confusion in his bright blue eyes. Dark hair matted to his forehead. At his young age, he just didn't comprehend the havoc that he had caused. But he was obviously a little bewildered by his father's odd behaviour.

Sam used her forearm to brush sweat and water off her forehead and grinned down at her son.

"Dad-dee," Kieran chirped, looking at the door.

"Trust me, bug guy," she said, grabbing a wash cloth and going to work on his tiny body. "You're braver and stronger than he is."

"I heard that," Flack said from the bedroom.

"Say daddy, when you're old and decrepit, I'll be cleaning your shit."

"Please shoot me before that happens," Flack pleaded.

"Don't worry, honey," Sam called to him. "When you have no teeth and hair and can only eat pureed foods and need to wear diapers, I'll still love you."

"Right…you'll be planning ways to off me in my sleep."

Sam laughed. Which in turn had Kieran screech happily and kick up more waves in the bathtub.

"He doesn't even realize the hell he causes," Flack said, standing in the doorway and watching the two most important people in his life.

"He's your son, Don. You're both natural born shit disturbers. Only he got into the shit. Literally."

"I don't know how you do it," Flack admitted. "Not just handle something like that. Everything. Keep everything going. Him, me, your job."

"I'm just damn good at multitasking," she answered playfully, winking at him over her shoulder.

"I underestimate you, you know. All the time. Than you go and do something that makes me realize how lucky I am that you're the mother of my son."

She smiled brightly. "I love you, too," she said.

Sam was out the door at quarter to three. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the sunshine was deceiving. There'd been frost on the ground that morning and it was chilly enough to warrant winter jackets and hats and mitts. The trees that still bore leaves were on fire in stunning displays of gold and orange and red. New York City was hyped up for the annual Macy's parade. Flack planned on taking Kieran while Sam prepared dinner. They had decided on a quiet thing. Just their small family. Nothing too crazy or noisy or exciting. Especially with Flack going on call as of eight in the evening.

Carmen and Speed were taking Addie and heading up to his aunt and uncle's in Syracuse. Both Mac and Stella were working and Hawkes was spending the day with Angell and her family. Adam and Gus had made plans to drive down to Maine and spend a romantic weekend in a cozy bed and breakfast. Danny and Erica, although fighting for what seemed like the millionth time in their short relationship, had patched things long enough to put on somewhat happy faces in front of his folks.

It had taken Sam two hours to clean the mess Kieran had made in his room. Thankfully, Flack had called work and let them know that due to somewhat of a disaster at his place, he was going to be late. Giving her the chance to scrub everything down and clean herself up and get dressed. Once he had headed to work, Sam had popped Kieran in his playpen to keep him out of harms way while she ate her own breakfast. And during his nap, had managed to dust the house and get three loads of laundry done.

With last minute errands to run, she changed out of what she called her house cleaning clothes and put on a pair of well worn jeans, hiking boots and a body hugging black turtleneck underneath a black, pink and white Columbia winter jacket. A pink and black knit hat on her head that tied under the chin and mitts that flipped up so that your fingers were bare when you needed to tend to something.

Kieran was bundled up warmly and securely in his blue winter coat boasting the Rangers team name on the back of it, black wool hat and mitts and a polar fleece NHL team logo blanket tucked around him as he sat in his Bugaboo stroller. Flack's doing with all the hockey paraphernalia his son owned. He couldn't walk by a sports store without buying something that had to do with the Rangers or the Mets.

She stepped off the elevator and headed for the door. A young man stood in the vestibule, searching for a name on the list of tenants on the board by the intercom. He wore a thick winter jacket with the hood pulled low, making it nearly impossible to see his face. Sam thought it was a little odd that he seemed to be hiding like that. She'd found herself increasingly paranoid since she'd given birth to Kieran, and scolded herself. It was cold out. He had just come in from outside and was probably still cold.

She struggled getting out the door leading into the small vestibule, and out of the corner of her eye, saw the young man hurry over.

"Let me get that for you," he said, grabbing the door and holding it open for her.

"Thanks," Sam said, and as she passed by him, noticed it wasn't a stranger assisting her.

It was Reed Garrett. The son Mac's first wife Claire had given up for adoption when she was very young. Sam didn't know the particulars of Reed's relationship with Mac and she didn't ask her boss or even Stella about it. Flack had told her how Reed had come around a couple years ago looking for his birth mother and had mistakenly thought Stella was her. And that Mac had had to break the news that his mother had died on nine eleven. Other than that, Flack didn't know much himself. Other than Mac had taken Reed under his wing so to speak and they'd gotten close. Reed had even stayed over night a few times after having dinner with Mac and Stella.

Sam had met the young man several times at the lab. He was an eager, vivacious journalism grad who'd recently gotten a job at the New York Post. They were on a first name basis. Although Reed still insisted on calling her Mrs Flack or Detective Flack.

"Hey, Reed," she greeted, as he also helped her with the second door and they both stepped out onto the street. "How are you? And what are you doing here?"

"I'm great. Working hard at the Post and still getting in some on-line stuff. This is your son, huh?"

Reed knelt down in front of the stroller. The baby's blue eyes standing out even more against the black of his hat. His cheeks rosy.

"Hey, big guy," he said. "First time I've seen him in person. I've only seen the picture on Mac's desk and the ones in his and Stella's apartment."

Kieran smiled at the friendly face before him and giggled loudly when Reed tickled the underside of his chin.

"Looks like his dad," Reed commented and stood up. "He's adorable. What's his name again?"

"Kieran," Sam replied, fixing her son's blanket.

"Nice name. Unusual. How are you doing, Mrs Flack?"

She frowned. "Reed…"

"Samantha," he corrected himself.

"I'm good. Very good, actually. Struggling to balance motherhood and crime fighting most days, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. I found out your address through the phone book. It didn't give the apartment number though so I was just looking it up."

"We don't have our last name on the board," Sam told him. "Just in case someone with a grudge against my husband decides to show up to cause problems. It's a safety thing. Harrassing phone calls are one thing, but personal visits are another."

"Wouldn't want trouble on your doorstep," Reed reasoned.

"Exactly," Sam agreed, and pulling a tissue from her pocket, bent to wipe Kieran's persistently runny nose. It never seemed to stop whether he was sick or not. "I was just going to run some errands and than head into mid-town to visit my husband," she told the young man. "Walk with me and tell me what you're here for?"

"Sure," Reed said, and walked alongside of her as she pushed the stroller. "Well, I wanted to talk you," he told her.

"If it's about a case, Reed, I can't help you. I can't give out any information without talking to Mac first."

"It's not about a case," he assured her. "Well, it is, but not one you're working on. It's a past case, actually. From a few years ago now."

"I wasn't working in New York than," Sam reminded him.

"It's more of a personal interest story."

"About me?" she asked.

"Your family, actually."

Sam frowned. "You're losing me, Reed. What could be so interesting about my family that you'd want to do a human interest piece on it?"

"Everyone is going to dwell heavily on the case itself," he told her. "And the poor functioning of our justice system. I find your personal story much more intriguing and something that should be focused on instead of shining all the light on the perpetrator."

"Reed, what are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"Dean Lessing being released from the psychiatric hospital," he replied.

Sam looked at the young man standing alongside of her. "What does that have to do with me?" she asked. "I don't even know a Dean Lessing. That's the second time I've heard that name now and I have no clue who that is."

Reed stopped walking. Watching her with a puzzled look on his face.

Sam glanced over her shoulder. "I have to get going…if you're going to tell me what's going on, you better keep up."

He jogged to catch up to her. "What do you mean you don't know a Dean Lessing?" he asked.

"I mean I don't know him. But this is twice now that I've heard his name. First Don had a file at home with that name on it, and now you bring it up. I don't know anyone by that name."

"You can't be serious," Reed said in disbelief.

"I am telling you, I don't know this Lessing. So tell me. Enlighten me."

"Dean Lessing is the man that nearly killed your husband. He planted the bomb in the building that your husband and Mac were caught in."

Sam stopped walking and stared long and hard at him.

"Don't tell me you don't know about the bombing either," Reed said.

"Of course I know about the bombing. I just…I never knew the bomber's name. Don's never mentioned it. He barely talks about it to be honest."

Reed shook his head. Realization sinking in. He'd opened a huge can of worms and couldn't get the lid back on now. "Oh jeez," he said, pacing back and forth, beside himself. "I'm sorry…I didn't know…I just assumed that you would know…shit…I mean, shoot…I honestly didn't mean to just drop this on you."

"What do you know, Reed?" Sam asked. "About this Lessing."

"It really isn't my place to tell you. I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

"Never mind apologizing. Just tell me what's going on."

"You know what? I think it's best you talk to your husband. Hear it from him."

"Reed.."

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a business card. "I'd still be interested in talking to you. Like a victim's impact statement kind of thing. After you talk to your husband, would you call me? I'd really love to do a story on you and your family and how you're all coping."

Sam nodded and took the card.

"I really am sorry, Mrs Flack. To just drop this on you. I should go."

Sam nodded once more. She couldn't seem to find any words. She was shocked that Reed had dropped such a bomb on her, and hurt and angry that her husband hadn't told her before someone else did.

"Reed!" she called to him as he hurried off down the sidewalk.

He turned to face her.

Sam motioned for him to come back.

"How long has this news been out?" she asked, as the young man rejoined her. "About his release?"

"Mrs Flack…"

"How long?"

"Almost two months."

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head. She slipped the card into her pocket as Reed bent down to smile at Kieran and pinch the baby's cheeks.

"Sorry," Reed said sincerely, and than headed off once again.

"I don't know if he'll agree to this," Sam said. "To me talking to you."

"I think you should talk to him first," Reed suggested.

"Oh believe me, I will," Sam said, and took off in the opposite direction.

Flack wasn't at his desk when she arrived. There were open case files scattered across it and the computer was turned on and the phone was ringing off the hook. Since he became Sargent, he had been given a larger work area that was tucked away in a more private corner of the bullpen, but close enough to his guys to keep an eye on them.

"Hey, Sam," Angell greeted as she headed over to her friend. "Flack's in with Gerrard. Everything okay? You look pissed."

"Do you know how long he's going to be?" she asked, taking off her hat and shaking out her hair. She shoved the hat and the mitts into her pocket. "Busy day?" she asked.

"One of the busiest in a while. How'd you score two days off in a row?"

"Mac wanted me to spend Thanksgiving with Kieran seeing as it's his first."

Angell smiled. "He's a real softie when it comes to kids. Kieran's like a nephew to him. A grandson even."

Sam laughed. "Don't let Mac hear you say that. It'll make him feel really old. But yeah..he adores Kieran. Everyone does. But that's only because they don't have to live with him."

She removed the blanket and folded it and placed it under the stroller and pulled off his mitts and hat and unzipped his jacket. She smoothed down his nearly black hair as he sat in his buggy, taking in all the sights and noises with wide, curious eyes. Digging into the backpack dangling from the handles on the stroller, Sam found a small container of Teddy Grahms and scattered half a dozen on the stroller's snack tray.

Kieran picked one up between his thumb and forefinger and stared at it intently. Eyes narrowing and his forehead wrinkling.

"Jesus!" Angell exclaimed. "He looks just like his father when he does that! He's got the Flack stare down perfect already."

Sam laughed. "That's their 'don't bullshit me' look. They're masters are it. And Kieran will spend the next ten minutes thoroughly investigating the cookies before eating them."

"Likes food like his dad, too," Angell said. "I know you hate being told over and over again, but he looks exactly like Flack."

"Oh I know," Sam sighed. "From the tips of his hair to those big, ugly feet. He is his father's son through and through."

"Brooklyn," Danny greeted, as he came around the corner from the elevators. "Can't get enough of this place? You have to hang around on your day off?"

"I came to see your pretty face, Messer," she teased.

"Flattered," he said. "And speaking of pretty faces," he bent down in front of the stroller. "How's my boy?" he asked the baby.

Kieran smiled and squealed at the familiar face and held his arms up in an invitation to pick him up.

"Come here and see your Uncle Danny," he said, unbuckling the straps confining his nephew and scooping the tiny body up and showering Kieran's soft cheeks with kisses. "How's Jr doing today?" he asked his nephew, bouncing him in his arms.

"We had a little incident earlier," Sam said.

"We heard," Danny told her. "How he dropped the poop bomb on his father. And how Flack majorly wussed out and tossed his cookies and everything."

"Well at least he admitted it," Sam laughed. "But in his defense, it was a horrid mess and he hasn't been feeling very well lately and the smell just did him in. I mean, it took me two hours to get everything cleaned up and back in order."

"Why hasn't he been feeling well?" Angell asked.

"He's been having these weird dreams lately," Sam replied. "I guess it's been almost a couple of months. You know, since he found out that Dean Lessing was being released but didn't see a reason to tell me about it."

Danny and Angell didn't respond. Although they looked slightly startled by what she said.

"You two aren't going to deny it, are you?" Sam asked. "I know for a fact that both of you would know all about it. Especially you, Danny."

"Flack didn't want us telling you," Angell reluctantly admitted.

"He had logical reasons," Danny added.

"And what could be a reason for not telling your wife that the man who nearly killed you is getting out?" Sam wondered.

Danny sighed and passed Kieran over to Angell. Having to rescue his glasses from the tiny fist that had grabbed a hold of them. "Why don't you and I have a little chat," he said to Sam, not giving her a chance to respond before laying a hand on her elbow and leading her across the precinct to the desk he used when finishing up paper work or conducting interviews.

He motioned for his best friend's wife to have a seat before plopping down in the chair behind the desk.

"So what could possibly be his reason?" she asked.

"Maybe the same reason why you didn't tell him at first that Zack was your ex boyfriend," Danny responded.

"There's a big difference in the two, Danny. Don and I weren't even together yet. We're married now and he still kept something like that from me. There's no excuse for that."

"Trust me, Sam. His reasons are good ones," Danny assured her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to continue.

"It's not my place to tell you all of that," Danny said.

"I already found out by accident. A bizarre accident as a matter of fact. I want some kind of answer. And my husband isn't here to give me one. And unless you want me raising holy hell in here with him when he gets back, I suggest you fill me in on what was going through his head. You're his best friend, Danny. I know he's told you more than you're letting on."

He sighed heavily and removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "For the record, we all told him that he should tell you. So I'm not the enemy here."

"You've known for almost two months?"

Danny nodded.

"And you kept it from me?"

"Flack asked me too. He needed time to figure out what he was going to say and what not. I told him to get his head out of his ass. That it was better to find out from him than a stranger. But he's my best friend, Samantha. I'm loyal to him. And I wasn't going to stab him in the back by running to you and squealing."

"What did he say when you told him he should tell me?"

"He said he needed some time," Danny replied. "And that he was worried."

"About?"

"He was worried that Lessing was capable of being the kind of whack job that gets obsessed over his crimes. That he'd find a way to get in contact with him because he survived and that he'd go all John Hinkley and do some crazy shit to you and Kieran. And you guys are the most important things in the world to him. He couldn't live with himself if that ever happened."

Sam just nodded. Considering what her friend was saying.

"He came this close to death, Samantha. This close," Danny held his fingers less than an inch apart. "And he wasn't ready to be that open about it. Not smart, I know. But he was worried about how emotional you would get when he told you. I mean, are you really ready to hear that Mac stuck his hands in his wound and used a shoelace to hold together a severed artery? Is that something that you want to hear?"

She shook her head.

"He had debris stuck in his chest. Part of the detonator even. He didn't think you were ready to hear that."

She sighed but didn't respond. She looked down at the rings on her finger and twirled the engagement ring around, lost in thought.

"He loves you, Samantha," Danny continued. "Adores you. And his son. He just was looking out for the two of you. And maybe it wasn't the smartest way to go about things. But his intentions were honourable. Do I think he should have told you? Absolutely. But do I understand why he didn't? A hundred percent."

"It's why he's been having the dreams," she said, voice quiet. "Because Dean Lessing getting out has brought it all back to the surface."

"You know," Danny said, as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "I wish you had have come into his life a lot sooner. Even before the bombing. Because that would have given him more a purpose to go on. He wouldn't have thought about giving up as much if he had you. And you would have been able to get him to open up about it. Instead of keeping it all inside like he has."

"He's a stubborn, proud man, Danny," Sam reminded him. "I don't even think I could have gotten anything out of him. I'm still trying and I've been with him almost two years now."

"Give him some time, Sam. He's learning. He just needs some time."

She smiled and cast a glance across the precinct at where her husband was now tossing their son in the air and catching the giggling baby in his big, strong, capable hands.

"I have all the time in the world," she said.

Flack was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, while Kieran sat on top of it. The open container of treats nearby as father and son engaged in an epic stare down. Blue eyes locked on blue eyes. Kieran testing the waters by dangling a cookie over the edge of the desk, his tiny fist loosening with each passing second. Seeing just how far he could push his father before he got a reaction out of him. Several of the tiny graham cookies already lay shattered on the floor below.

"Don't even think about it," Flack warned.

Kieran stuck his hand out even further. His eyes never leaving his father's as one finger, than a second, popped out of the fist.

"Eat them," Flack said. "Not play with them."

Kieran shook his head. "Da-dee," he said, and opened all of his fingers.

"Kieran, I'm dead serious. Don't you dare…"

The baby turned his hand towards the floor. And just as the cookie began to slip, he closed his hand once again, brought it to his mouth and popped the snack into his mouth. Chewing noisily, a huge grin on his face.

"Smart ass," Flack mumbled.

"How goes it with negotiations?" Sam asked. She had been standing a few feet away, watching the moment between father and son. "You two look like you were in the midst of a pretty intense battle there for a while."

"I think I've lost my touch at talking to the terrorists," Flack said. "I've had," he cast a glance down at the floor. "Several fatalities."

"You've been slacking off," Sam teased, slipping into the chair beside his desk.

"Apparently," he said, and keeping a hand on Kieran, leaned over to kiss her softly. Short and sweet. "I'm surprised you guys came by. After all the excitement this morning."

"I had some errands to run for tomorrow and I thought maybe you'd like to see us."

He smiled. "It was a nice surprise after a pretty crappy shift so far."

"Not going so good?"

He shrugged. "Same crap, different day," he said. "Nothing solved, detectives constantly calling in sick, even more that can't seem to fill out a report properly. Shit like that."

Sam nodded slowly and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "Donnie…I know about Dean Lessing."

He didn't respond. He simply kept a close eye on his son popping cookies into his mouth.

"I know exactly what happened that day and I know he's getting out soon."

"Who told you?" Flack asked quietly.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you should have told me."

He sighed.

"I'm not mad at you," she told him. "I was. I was damn furious when I first found out. But when I found out your reasons for not telling me, I realized that coming over here and causing a big thing with you would only make things worse. And I don't want to make things worse. Especially for you."

He looked at her. Emotion in his blue eyes. "I did it to protect you," he said.

"I know. And I appreciate that. I know it wasn't easy for you keeping it from me. I just wish you had have opened up when those nightmares started. So I could have understood better."

"I've never been good at the opening up thing," he admitted. Almost sadly.

"But you know that if the time comes where you want to, that I'll listen, right? You know you can tell me anything and I won't think any less of you or judge you. You know all of that right?"

Flack nodded. "I never thought it would be this hard."

"What's that?"

"Marriage. Dealing with the shit that crops up in a marriage. I'm just so used to dealing with stuff on my own. I sometimes forget it's not just me anymore. And that's not fair to you. Or Kieran."

"You try your best, Donnie. No one faults you for that. Hell, I'm not exactly the perfect wife, either. I think we're both maturing and learning as we go along. And that we can help each other every step of the way."

He smiled slightly and reached out and took her hand. "I need your help, Samantha. With lots of things. I want to be a better man. For you and our son. And sometimes I'm worried that that will never happen."

"I only want you to be you," she said, entwining her fingers with his and holding on tightly.

The smile on his face broadened and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"What if that's all I can give you?" he asked.

"Than that's fine with me," she replied.

They sat quietly for what seemed like an eternity. The hustle and bustle of life continuing around them. All that mattered at that moment was them. And that innocent, beautiful little boy that they had managed to create together. Out of respect and love.

All seemed perfect in their lives. At least for a moment.

And they would take all the moments they could get.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!