DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, ALL THE FLACK KIDS AND CUJO AND MAXIMUS AND ANYTHING OR ANYONE ELSE NOT AFFILIATED WITH THE SHOW

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR SLIGHT ADULT SITUATIONS (SUGGESTED SMUT) AND ADULT CONVERSATIONS

Working out the kinks

"Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
You tell me where to go
and Though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it
you want love?
We'll make it
Swimming in a deep sea of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while
Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland
Damn baby You frustrate me
I know you're mine all mine all mine
But you look so good it hurts sometimes."
-Your Body is a Wonderland, John Mayer

At quarter after ten in the evening, Flack found himself sitting on the top step of the back deck. Smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye on Maximus as he romped around the yard and did his nightly business.

Strings of soft white lights lined the top railing of the deck and were wrapped around the trunk of the large oak tree that sat just to the left of the gated and securely locked pool area. More lights glittered in the bushes that lined the fence separating their home from the neighbour to the right.

He'd balked at the idea of having Christmas lights strung up three hundred and sixty five days a year. Too red-neck he'd told Sam when she told him how much she loved the idea. She'd given him that look that meant whether he liked it or not, he was buying those lights and putting them up.

He'd grumbled and cursed under his breath the entire two hours it had taken to do the task, but all his misgivings and complaints had disappeared when, as soon as the sun went down, those lights had gone on and Sam's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. She'd looked so sweet and innocent and adorable standing there in awe, the twinkling lights making her golden eyes sparkle and a wide, smile of joy on her face.

Just seeing her like that, after the hardships and disappointments and heartbreak they had done through in their lives made him feel like a million bucks. That something so simple had made him, in her eyes, the greatest man on the earth.

He still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of permanent Christmas lights two years later. But his wife loved them and that's all that mattered. She always went on about how romantic it was. That it added coziness and ambiance when they had people over there in the evening during the summer. Which seemed to be almost a nightly occurrence since they moved into a bigger place. The guy who'd once called a quiet night in eating pizza and drinking beer while watching a game, had since become the soccer and hockey dad who barbecued and mingled while his wife entertained guests.

It was surreal how much could change in the span on nearly two decades.

The temperature had dipped considerably in the last couple of hours. Sitting there in a pair of cargo style shorts and an old academy sweatshirt that had seen better days and bare feet, Flack found himself shivering but too damn lazy to go in and put longer pants on. He relished the nights like this. Where there was nothing but silence coming from inside of the house and he could just sit out there, either on his own or with his wife, and just turn his brain off for a while. Forget about the trials and tribulations of the day and just think about petty, insignificant shit for a while.

Which seemed to be difficult to do that night. He was still simmering inside after Kieran's confession earlier. No longer pissed off at his son, he turned all his anger and bitterness towards Daria for ever putting a thirteen year old boy in that kind of situation. A sixteen year old knew better than that. And what normal sixteen year old girl wanted anything to do with a kid that young in the first place? Most at that age wanted the older guy with the cool car and the bad attitude. Not a kid who wasn't old enough to shave yet and whose voice hadn't fully matured.

It disgusted him. There was no other word to describe what he felt to think of what had gone down. It had left a foul, bitter taste in his mouth that no matter how hard he tried, he just could not get rid of.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the screen door scraping open. Smiling at his wife as she stepped out onto the deck in her bare feet. Wearing a pair of baggy plaid pyjama bottoms and a tank top covered by an old windbreaker of his with NYPD across the back in big white letters and managing a plastic tumbler full of an unknown, most likely alcoholic, beverage and a massive china mug he hoped was holding steaming coffee. There were sheets of computer paper tucked under her arm that threatened to flutter to the ground as she used her fingertips to slid the screen door closed. Nearly chopping poor Cujo in half as he unexpectedly came bursting out of the house, across the deck and down the stairs.

"Stupid fucking mutt," she cursed.

"Told you he was more trouble than what he was worth," Flack said, holding out his hands to take the tumbler and the mug from her so she could sit down beside him without spilling anything. The smell of fresh, strong coffee permeating his senses.

"You said the same thing about Slippers and you bawled like a baby when she died," Sam reminded him, dropping the papers on the deck, her knees cracking as she sunk down onto the step alongside of him.

"Jesus, Samantha," he grimaced at the sound. "You're in worse shape than I am."

"I'm also almost three years older than you and gave birth to six kids. What the hell do you expect? My body to look and sound like it did sixteen years ago?"

"Always said when you hit fifty I was trading you in for two twenty five year olds," Flack teased.

"Please," Sam snorted. "You'd die of a heart attack the second you saw them naked."

He sniffed the plastic tumbler. "Christ, woman. It's suppose to be like a shot or two of rye and mostly ginger ale. Not three quarters rye and splash of pop."

"I had to deal with Liam the Demon for two hours," she said, taking her drink from him and gulping down some of the potent beverage. "I deserve this."

"What was up with him in the bathtub?" Flack asked. "I thought for a while I was going to have to call Father O'Shea to come over and perform an exorcism."

"I think that kid needs one. He was just right raging tonight about everything. I don't know if he was just over stimulated or overtired, but he fought me every step of the way. Even Kieran had to pin him down so I could put his ear drops in and had to hold him still so I could get his jammies on. I thought we were past bed time rebellion when he wasn't a toddler anymore. I'm telling you, Don, you are giving him a bath from now on. Because if he bites me one more time..."

"He bites me or head butts me or pulls my hair and he's getting slapped on the ass so hard his kids will be born dizzy," Flack declared. Although he'd yet to lay a hand on any of his kids and hoped he'd never have to.

"Well he's sleeping now," Sam said with a sigh. "Although I was half tempted to drug him with one of those Ambien things I've been taking."

Flack frowned.

"Joking, honey," she said, rubbing the back of his neck before sliding her hand along his shoulder and than down his back before wrapping her arm around his waist. "You really didn't expect our kids to be normal, did you? I mean, how could they be? They have your DNA."

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're funny," he said. "It's the Ross in them that made them all psycho."

She pinched him just below his ribs. Hard enough to make him jump. "So everything is okay now?" she asked, sipping her drink. "With you and your son?"

Flack nodded. "We're good," he said. "Did he say anything to you before he went to bed?"

"Other than his usual goodnights? No. Nothing. He just took the trash and the recycling to the curb and let me check his homework. He's having problems in science."

"What kind of problems?"

"He just can't grasp it. He says it makes no sense to him. I'm wondering if he needs to get dropped down to just a general science program instead of advanced. I mean, we had to do it for his math at the beginning of the year."

"Ask me, he's not concentrating enough," Flack said. "He's too worried about other things. Like having a girlfriend."

"Has it ever occurred to you, Donald, that maybe your son is just better at some subjects than the other? He does amazing in English and he's a powerhouse in French. I couldn't talk French like that at fifteen. He picked it up very quickly. Maybe math and science just aren't his cup of tea."

"He's going to need his math and his science when he goes to university," Flack told her.

She sighed. "Let's not get into this conversation tonight. Okay? You know I'm not going to push him into anything."

"I'm not saying to push him. I'm saying to give him a gentle nudge in that direction."

"He's only in grade ten," Sam reminded her husband. "He has a long way to go before he even decides what he wants to do. Just give him some time before you start pushing him in one direction or the other."

Flack held his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he said.

Sam took a sip of her drink. "And the girls want to have a slumber party this weekend. Saturday night."

"How many of them?" Flack asked.

"Reghan and Alannah, Tiana and Chelsea, Chloe and Addie and Sophia. And a newbie our girls managed to pick up along the way at school."

"Whose the new girl?"

"Alessa Bainbridge," Sam told him. "Apparently she just transferred over from a school on the upper east side because the drama and music program at Archbishop Molloy is second to none in all of the boroughs. And for some reason, she just latched onto our girls."

"Bainbridge, huh? Why does that name make her sound like some stuck up, spoiled rich kid?"

"I don't know about stuck up and spoiled, but you hit the nail on the head with the rich. Her father apparently brings in seven figures a year. After taxes. He's the CEO of Bainbridge and Evans. The brokerage firm on Wall Street. And get this, Alannah was telling me that he has a man servant that brings her lunch personally made by the family's chef and that he has her picked up from school by a chauffeur driving a brand new Bentley."

Flack snorted and shook his head. "And she just happens to latch onto the daughters of two cops? That should go over huge with daddy."

"And her mother was a debutante and never worked a day in her life," Sam added.

"Just the type to become your new BFF or whatever the hell it's called."

Sam laughed. "Right…now there's just someone I have so much in common with. I'm sure we can get together and clip coupons and plan our next shopping trips to Wal-Mart and Target. And while we're at it, we can go and get ten dollar haircuts and eat at McDonalds."

"Hey," Flack said with a chuckle and reached out to run a hand over her hair. "You look hot with ten dollar hair cuts."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly. "So I am preparing you now. There will be a gaggle of girls here Saturday night. I'm putting them in the basement so all their giggling and yacking won't keep the rest of us up. But you are expected to be Chef Flack on Sunday morning. Reghan has already polled her friends and everyone is requesting banana pancakes."

Flack sighed. "It's hard being so damn popular with all the ladies," he joked.

"Alannah just about died when Addie told her how cute her dad was."

"Addie said I'm cute?"

Sam nodded.

"Girl's got good taste. The dad's too old so she hooks up the son. Smart. And she's coming to this sleep over?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm putting another lock on Kieran's door. On the outside of it. And only I am going to have the key. Because I just do no trust those two not to sneak around and at least attempt to do the nasty in my house."

"Is that what your thing with Kieran was about today? Him and Addie?"

"No. But some of the things he did tell me, has made me realize that it is more serious between them than I realized and I need to stop things before they get out of control. Trust me, Sam, it's for their own good."

"I didn't say anything. You do what you have to do, Don. If you feel there's a threat of them getting themselves into trouble, I leave it in your hands," she sipped her drink and stretched out her legs and inhaled the crisp air. "There was a message from Speed on the phone. He said that he'd heard from Mercy and none of those refugees have malaria. It was just a lot of sea sickness and poor conditions. Nothing communicable."

"Good news. He say anything else?"

"Other than I need to cough up the passport already? No. He didn't."

Flack sighed. "I already told Messer earlier that you weren't on that part of the case anymore. He's hard of understanding sometimes."

"And," Sam reached behind her to pick up the papers she'd brought out with her. "I called Neil today and he said whenever I needed some time off, to just tell him and make sure I gave a weeks notice as heads up."

Neil Monteith was her boss. He'd been transferred in from the Washington, DC office three months ago after her old supervisor had suffered a mental breakdown. The stress of working for the government on top of a nasty split with his wife had sent him over the edge and a replacement had been brought in while he bidded his time in the hospital. Neil was a nice enough guy to work for, but Sam had been having issues taking orders from someone ten years younger.

"So," she said. "I was thinking about a place that we can go for a few days that isn't too far from home and that I know you'll love."

"Yeah? Where's that? Atlantic City?"

"No..Toronto."

He frowned. "Toronto?"

"Yeah…Toronto, Canada."

"I know where it is. But why would we want to go there?"

"Because there's lots of cool stuff to see," she reasoned, referring to the papers now resting in her lap. "There's the Royal Ontario Museum, the Art Gallery, a place called Old Fort York which apparently has the largest collection of original War of 1812 buildings…"

"So? We have great stuff like that here right in New York City. Our own museums and what not. Why would I want to go into Canada and visit theirs?"

"…there's the Rogers Centre where the Toronto Blue Jays play and the Air Canada Centre where the Maple Leafs play…."

"And they are both shitty teams and aren't worthy of being in major league baseball or the national hockey league," Flack interjected.

"…and the CN Tower," she continued. "Which at 1,815 plus feet is still the tallest free standing structure in the Americas. And attracts more than two million international tourists yearly."

"And why do we have to add to that total?" Flack asked.

"Hang on, Donald, I am getting to the best part that I picked out just for you."

"Better be good," he said. "'Cause Atlantic City is looking damn good right about now."

"It is also home to, drum roll please….the Hockey Hall of Fame."

Flack stared at her. "Get outta town."

"Like you didn't know that the Hockey Hall of Fame was in Toronto."

"I knew it. I just didn't…I don't know…think you'd want to go there."

"I do like hockey you know," Sam reminded him. "I'm just not a massive die hard like you. I just thought it would be a cool place to go. We can go up the tower and take a tour of the Air Canada Centre. Maybe see a hockey game if the Leafs are still playing. We could even arrange a trip around the time the Rangers are in town there. And we could go to the Hall of Fame."

A broad smile crossed his face. "God I love you," he declared, and leaned sideways to kiss her softly.

"You knew there was some reason you married me, huh?" she teased, gathering up the papers and shuffling them together. "And now, unfortunately, we have some serious stuff to talk about."

Flack sighed.

Sam took a long sip of her drink.

"Fuck, it must be bad," Flack said. "For you to be guzzling it down like that."

"I had to go and pick Declan up at school today," Sam told him. "At one thirty in the afternoon."

"Why?" Flack asked.

"Apparently, someone called him a retard and he pitched a fit and when the EA tried to calm him down, he punched her and bit her."

"Whose the asshole that called him a retard?"

"Remember Jeremy Kramer? Who was friends with Declan all through daycare and elementary school? Declan used to go to all of his birthday parties until he stopped being invited two years ago? Well, I guess Declan is just the retarded kid now. Because he said it and Declan stood up for himself. "

"Good. I hope he fucking knocked the kid on his ass."

"He would have but the EA got into it and she got it instead. And you want to know what he called her?"

"What?"

"A stupid, lazy fat cow."

Flack laughed. He just couldn't help it. Because he knew Declan could have only picked that up from one person. His father. Who, after asking Declan where his homework was and finding out there was none because the EA didn't show up for the third day in a row, had called the woman a stupid, lazy, fat cow. Over two weeks ago. It was a damn miracle the kid could even remember what was said fourteen days ago when he couldn't remember to flush the toilet and wash his hands afterwards.

But when a similar reaction didn't come from his wife, who usually found such off handed, cutting remarks funny when they unexpectedly came from Declan, Flack knew that she was taking the situation far more serious than he was. And one look at her made his realize that to her, it was a massive issue. Tears threatened in her eyes. Her lower lip wobbling as she fought to maintain her composure.

These moments didn't come very often anymore. As Declan grew up, Sam found it easier to accept that her son was never going to be like other kids. That everything would be a struggle and raising him would require a tremendous amount of patience but there'd be a lot of fun, good times too. He was an energetic, friendly, bubbly kid that didn't give a rats ass about appearances or the fact that he was different.

After thirteen years of dealing with their son's disability, including an entire year it had taken Flack to actually come to terms with the cards that they had been dealt, Flack knew that his wife only got into these moods if she'd either been drinking a little too much, or something had happened during the day to open up all those still festering wounds. Whether it be Declan getting picked on at school or out in the community or a bad score at a developmental assessment or a lack of progress in his speech. Or when she had too much time to sit down and think about Declan's future.

Flack tried not to look that far ahead. They had made it through the last thirteen years and he knew they'd make it through the next thirteen too. If he sat and contemplated what life had in store for his son, Flack found himself overwhelmed with worry about what was going to happen to Declan once he was out of high school and had to find a job or something else to do in the community. He wondered if his kid would ever be able to move out of the house and somewhat take care of himself. It was one of the things he wanted the most for his son. And he didn't care if the kid was forty when he moved out. As long as he could.

But going through scenarios and concerns drove him nuts. And he knew it was a miracle he didn't have an ulcer yet. Between the job and six kids and all the special needs crap, his stomach should have been rotted along time ago.

Flack reached out and ran a hand over his wife's hair and down to the back of her neck. "It's okay," he told her. "I'll talk to him tomorrow and tell him not to be doing stuff like that and to apologize to the stupid, lazy, fat cow."

"We were told that there was always a possibility he'd have behavioural problems," Sam said. "Shit, Liam has the worst out of all the kids and there's nothing wrong with him. But Declan's been fine all these years other than getting frustrated over not being able to communicate properly. And than he starts at this fucking school and it all goes down hill. And Kieran spends more time in the principal's office because of fighting trying to stick up for him than he does in class some days. And we can't put that on Kieran and have him getting kicked out of school."

"So we take Declan out of there and send him somewhere else," Flack said. "Plain and simple. We'll call around and see what school offers the best environment and mixed special ed and integrated program. It's no huge deal."

"It's everything, Donnie," she cried. "All the little stuff adding up to make huge stuff."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Everything. The girls are always fighting and no one helps out around here. I had sixteen loads of laundry today. Sixteen! Where does it all come from! I try to keep on top of things but with all the kids and their activities and my own job I just can't do it."

"So quit and stay home."

"I can't quit. We need the money I bring in. You know that."

"So I'll hire someone to come in and help you out."

"I don't want a stranger in my house and around my kids," Sam argued.

"Okay…than I'll tell the kids to get off their asses and start picking up some slack around here. Kieran and Reghan and Alannah are old enough to be cleaning their own rooms and doing their own laundry. There is no reason a fifteen year old and thirteen year old can't clean their own shit and make their beds. I had to do it. You had to do it."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But both our fathers would also beat us if we didn't."

"That's always an option," Flack said.

She frowned.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into him. He pressed a kiss to her temple and nuzzled her cheek with his nose. "Just kidding…so what's really bugging you? A whole lot of everything or just what's going on with Declan?"

"He's my son and I love him unconditionally. You know that."

"I do."

"But sometimes I can't….his speech. I can barely understand him sometimes and we've spent all that co-pay money on a crazy amount of speech therapy and I don't see a damn bit of difference."

"If you ask me, Declan doesn't talk funny or strange. He just has your Brooklyn accent," Flack teased.

She managed a smile.

"I know you're really frustrated right now, Sammie. All the bullshit that goes on around here and at work and now Declan having issues at school. It's a lot on your plate. But once we get him settled somewhere and he's doing better, you'll feel a hell of a lot better."

"I just want someone to tell me why," she said.

"Why what, baby?"

"Why us? Why did this happen to us? Why did we have a disabled child? What did we ever do wrong that God felt he needed to punish us?"

Flack understood that she didn't mean the words she spoke to sound malicious or cruel. That sometimes she just needed to rant and rave and speak the truth. And that he needed to be supportive one.

"We didn't do anything wrong," he said, wrapping his arm around her securely and pulled her tight into his side. "You know that, Samantha. And having Declan isn't punishment. He's a challenge. But he's a great kid and he loves us and we love him. He's our son. Regardless. Remember when we thought there was a problem with Kieran? We agreed that we'd have him no matter what. And Declan having Down Syndrome was a fucking shock and it kicked us in the ass, but even if we had have known it while you were pregnant, it wouldn't have made me want him or love him any less."

"But you're a strong person, Donnie. You handle things better. You've always been the strong one."

"Sam, you're tougher than you realize. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I just want someone to tell me why," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks as she lay her head on his chest. "I want someone to sit me down and say, Mrs Flack, this is why this happened to you and your husband."

"No one can tell us that, Sam. All we know is that right at conception, boom. Someone kicked in an extra chromosome. There's no way of telling who it was. And does who really matter? Why do we need to know? So we can assign blame? It wasn't either of our fault. You're just tired and frustrated and pissed off. And you know what? That's okay, baby."

She sniffled noisily.

"You want to rant and rave at everyone and everything? That's your right. You want to cry? Go ahead and spill all the tears you want. That's your right too. No one is going to fault you for that."

She nodded.

"Well if they do, tell them to fuck off," Flack said.

"I love Stella and Carmen, I really do. But when I try to talk to them they tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. That's it not that bad and it's not that hard. But how would they know? They have their perfect children that excel in everything."

"And you know what? One day their perfect little girls are going to come home at sixteen knocked up or high on drugs and they won't be so great anymore. And if Stella and Carmen think that way, than fuck them. They have no clue. Seeing him every once in a while doesn't mean they know everything about him and his problems. Next time they get on you, tell them I said to come and talk to me. Okay?"

"Okay," she managed through her tears. "But they don't know what it felt like. To sit there and have some doctor tell you that your baby isn't going to be like everyone else. That the baby you were planning for and expecting is gone. To realize all the hopes and dreams and everything you had planned is gone just like that. They don't know what that felt like."

"No, they don't. But you know what? I do. I was there too, Sam. And I know what it felt like to hear them say Down Syndrome and not hear anything else after that. To feel like the whole ground just opened you up and swallowed you whole. I was there with you. And I'm always going to be here. So if anyone understands what its like to feel like shit about yourself, it's me."

"I feel so bad," she said, brushing away hot tears with the sleeve of the jacket.

"For what?"

"Feeling this way. Like I'm some crappy, horrible mother for thinking and feeling like this."

"You're human, Samantha. It's okay to feel like this."

"And the association wants me to do home visits to new mothers," she told him. "To give them hope and comfort and all of that crap. And I can't do it, Donnie. I can't. I'm not ready for that even after thirteen years. Because it hurts like hell when I talk about it and I can't put myself through that."

"Then that's what you tell them. Don't do it. 'Cause honestly, Sam, I don't think you're ready for that either."

"But I should be. It's thirteen years ago."

"There's a time limit on these things? You deal with the way you want and for as long as you want. And if you want to sit here all night and bawl your eyes out, than that's fine with me."

"Is it?" she asked in a tiny voice.

He nodded, and she picked up his arm that was around her shoulders and scooted into his lap and wrapped both of her arms around his neck tightly. And resting her head in the space between his neck and his shoulder, broke down sobbing.

He said nothing. He knew that no words could make the pain she felt go away. And that she wasn't looking for him to say a word. She needed to just get it all out and he gave her that. He put his arms around her slender body and held her as tight as he could and let her cry it out. Until she'd soaked his neck and shirt and there were no tears left to spend. And eventually her body stopped trembling and her crying ceased and she sat up.

"Better?" he asked, softly stroking her hair.

She nodded and wiped her eyes, and runny nose on the shoulder of his sweatshirt.

"Aww, Sam," he groaned in disgust. "Did you really have to? You know I have issues with snot."

"Sorry," she sniffled. "But I didn't have a Kleenex."

"You could have wiped your own snot on your own clothes," he told her.

"This is your jacket. Either way I was drying my nose on something of yours."

He stroked her hair softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You okay now?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm much better," she assured him.

He smiled and laid his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her softly. "Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested. "You look exhausted and after the day I had, I…"

She buried her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and kissed him. Her tongue pushing between his lips and teeth urgently, seeking out and finding his.

Sixteen years later and all it took was for her to take the initiative to start things off for him to feel that tell tale tingling and and warmth that quickly spread through him. Her fingers buried in his hair and her fresh, feminine scent lingering in the air. Her warm form pressed tightly against his. Her kiss hungry and demanding. His entire body stiffening as her lips and teeth and tongue found their way to his neck and ear. His hands sliding up the back of her tank top. Fingertips trailing up her spine before drifting down again and around to her smooth stomach. Feeling her shudder against him as his hands slipped up the front of her top and his thumbs brushed over her already erect nipples.

That was a bit of a shock. To find her already fired up and raring to go. With her personal issues as of late, it usually took a hell of a lot of time and effort on his part to get her worked up. She moaned against his neck as his hands cupped her full breasts and fondled them eagerly.

"I think we should go inside now," he said, voice hoarse, dangerously close to just throwing her down right there on the deck or on the grass and having his way with her in the middle of their backyard.

"Mm-hm," came her response, as she sucked lightly on his neck, her hand slipping down his chest and stomach and finding its way between them. Her palm drifting over his erection.

"Like, right now," he insisted, biting back a moan as she squeezed his cock through his shorts.

She gave a small yelp as he pinched one of her nipples quite hard. "Two nights in a row, huh?" she asked, adjusting her position so that she sat squarely on his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. Seductively grinding her groin against his. "Think you're capable?"

"Let me take you inside and I'll show you just what I am capable of."

She kissed him again, holding his face in her hands as she pressed herself into him. Her lips were rough and passionate on his as she squirmed in sheer delight of he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He shoved her tank top up and bent his head to lick and suckle at her breasts.

She sighed, holding his head to her. "I swear I could come just by you doing that," she said.

Flack looked up at her. "You serious?"

She nodded and grabbed his hand and moved it between them, pressing it against the crotch of her pyjama bottoms, the fabric already moist.

"Been a while since that's happened," Flack commented, completely shocked and turned on by the fact she was so worked up.

"Maybe things are going back to normal," Sam said, moving against his hand, seeking stimulation. "Or maybe it's the alcohol."

"I was hoping you were going to say I just have that effect on you."

"That too," she assured him and groaned as his lips found her breasts again and his fingers rubbed her through her pants.

Slowly at first, than more firmly and quickly, her hips moving to match the motion of his fingers, until she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders. Than rapidly becoming completely undone and burying her head in his shoulder as she cried out, assaulted by a long, powerful and utterly satisfying orgasm. When it was over, her body was limp and trembling against his. He removed his hand and gently pulled down and straightened her top and held her tightly until her breathing returned to normal.

Sam pulled back and smiled and kissed him lovingly. "I think maybe we should go in now," she suggested. "So I can get to work returning the favour."

He grinned. "I think you read my mind," he said.

She kissed her way up the length of his body. Her tongue and lips blazing a trail along his collarbone as her fingers combed through the thick hair on his broad chest. Her kisses making their way to his chin. She raised her head and smiled, her golden eyes twinkling at the sight of her husband completely and utterly spent and satisfied.

His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving. His body drenched in sweat. She straddled him and leaned over him, hands on the pillow above his head as she kissed the tip of his nose.

"Are you alive?" she asked,

"Barely," Flack replied, opening his eyes. "You've got a little bit of stuff right here," he pointed to the left corner of his own lips.

"Hmm…I guess I'm not as good at cleaning my own mess as I used to be," Sam said, wiping her lips with a finger tip. She grinned at him and licked her finger. "Still tastes good though," she announced.

"You're killing me, woman. And you haven't done that in a long, long time."

"I figured you were due. Did you miss it?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I did," he said, running his hands along her slender thighs and onto her hips before sliding them back and down to cup her ass. "A lot, actually."

"Maybe I need to practice. I think my technique is a little rusty."

"What?" he asked incredulously and chuckled. "There's nothing at all wrong with your technique, babe. You just need to do it on a more regular basis to get back up to the pro level again."

She giggled. "Pro level? There's a pro level in the fine art of giving blow jobs?"

"When you were younger, you were right at the top of your game. Now…just a couple points below."

She smirked. "Asshole," she said, and kissed him long and soft.

He brought a hand up to the back of her head and groaned in disappointment. "I miss the long hair," he complained. "It was sexy and it felt amazing when I ran my hands through it. Never mind the way it felt when it would brush against me while you were on top and doing your business. Which is also something you haven't done in a while."

"One step at a time, Don," she said and nuzzled his neck before climbing off of him.

Shivering, she grabbed the duvet from the foot of the bed and lay down alongside of him before draping the heavy blanket over their naked bodies. She cuddled up to him on her side, her hand resting on his stomach and her leg over his thighs. Her head nestled into his neck.

His fingertips drifted along her arm, over her shoulder and down her back. Than up her back once more and repeating the same lazy path over and over again. Her own fingers travelling across the scar that travelled from the from the right side of his navel, horizontally across his stomach to his side, and all the way around to his back. A nasty reminder of the operation to have two bullets removed from him and to have his pancreas and small intestine stitched up where the bullets had tore through them.

Another thicker scar on the left side where he had had to have part of his liver removed. The third bullet was still inside of him. Lodged near his spine. Dangerously close to the third vertebrae. The surgeon had told Sam, after showing her the X-Rays while her husband lay intubated and in a medically induced coma in ICU, that to remove the projectile would cause paralysis from the waist down. Leaving it in was less a risk, although in the distant future, there was a chance the bullet could shift. And if it went in the wrong direction, could caused paralysis as well. She'd made the choice, after a long, emotional talk with her mother in law, to leave the bullet where it was. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that her husband could not live like that. He'd told her as much one night, as they discussed living wills shortly after Kieran was born, that if anything ever happened to him and he couldn't walk or was a vegetable, to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

She'd scolded him. Saying that many people lived wonderfully and fully functioning lives in a wheelchair, and he'd looked at her with serious blue eyes and said, "Not me." And when she'd mentioned that if he was ever in a permanently comatose state that she didn't think she could pull the plug and give up on him, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"It would be time to let me go, Samantha," he'd said. "Because that wouldn't be fair to me, or you. I wouldn't want to live like that and I wouldn't want you to see me like that. You'd have to let me go."

She shivered even now thinking about it. Because there'd be no way she'd ever be able to let him go.

Flack tightened his hold on her. Mistaking her shivering for being cold. "I need to tell you something," he said suddenly.

She lifted her head to look at him. "Okay…sounds serious…"

"It's probably something I should have told you a long time ago. Something I've been keeping inside of me for a really long time."

She grinned and kissed his chest. "You're really gay?" she teased.

"What?" he chuckled and kissed her forehead. "No. Trust me, I am far from gay."

"Is this a marriage threatening thing?" she asked in all seriousness.

"No. It was something that happened way before I ever met you. When I was fifteen, actually."

"Alright…what is it?"

He sighed heavily. "When I was fifteen, I got someone pregnant."

Her eyes widened a little and she nodded slowly.

"It was the first girl I ever had sex with. She was sixteen. Daughter of one of my dad's cop buddies."

"Did she have the baby?" Sam asked.

"No. She had an abortion. And she never told her old man it was me that got her pregnant and I never told mine. My old man would have killed me with his bare hands."

She picked up the white gold chain around her husband's neck and fiddled with it. "And why did you feel the need to tell me about something that happened thirty years ago?"

"Because you're my wife and I felt it was something you should know about. Why? You don't think it was something that I should have told you?"

She shrugged. "You were fifteen, Don. A lot of fifteen year olds make mistakes."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" she asked. "Like I said, it was thirty years ago. We both had lives before we met. We've both slept with other people. It's no secret. You didn't hold my fuck ups as a teenager against me when I told you about them. So I'm not going to crucify you for being a dumb ass when you were young."

He smiled lovingly at her and kissed her tenderly. "You never cease to amaze me," he said.

"You were expecting me to go all raging lunatic?"

"Just a bit."

"I've grown up, Donnie. I don't let things like that bother me anymore. I mean, we've been married for fifteen years. Together for sixteen. I've kinda figured out by now that you're not going anywhere and I can relax a little."

"I'm not going anywhere," he vowed. "Ever."

"Good," she said and snuggled back into him. "Because I won't let you. You're mine. I've grown quite fond of you actually."

"Yeah? Well I've got this massive crush on you, Mrs Flack."

"A crush, huh?"

"Yeah…you had me from hello."

She giggled and drew back to look at him. "That's so tacky," she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I could have just told you that you complete me."

"That's even worse!" she declared, laughing in earnest as he rolled her over onto her back and caught her by the wrists and pinned her arms to the bed above her head. "I like this," she said. "You're going all cop on me."

"Want me to get the cuffs out? Go all out?"

She grinned broadly and her eyes twinkled.

"You are such a dirty girl," he told her, kissing her deeply before climbing off the bed and grabbing his hand cuffs from the top drawer of his dresser. "Now this we haven't done in ages," he said, opening both sides of the handcuffs before climbing back onto the bed and leaning down to assault her lips and tongue with his own.

She suddenly moved swiftly underneath him. Flipping him over onto his back. And in one quick motion, had the handcuffs in her own possession, slapping one on his wrist and looping them around one of the rungs on the headboard before firmly securing his other hand.

He looked at his wrists attached tightly and securely to the bed. Then grinned up at her.

"Pretty good for a Fed, huh?" she asked, straddling him once more. "Never underestimate me, Inspector."

"I'm impressed," he said. "So? What now? You've got me here? In a complete submissive position? What do you plan on doing with me?"

"Oh I don't know," she leaned over to press a kiss to his chest, using the tip of her tongue to toy with his nipple. "A little bit of this," she licked a slow, agonizing path down to his navel. "A little bit of that," she said, and moved even lower.

"A little bit of that would be nice," he croaked, as she trailed the tip of her tongue along his already rock hard cock.

"Or," she moved quickly back up the bed, climbing on him once again. "Maybe even some of this," she teased him by spreading her legs wide on either side of him and rubbing his tip, already leaking pre-cum, against her moist opening.

"Some of that would be even better," he panted.

"But you know what I really, really want to do right now?" she asked, kissing him slowly, grinding against him yet never allowing him inside.

"No. I don't," he nearly exploded at the sensation of her moving against him. "Why don't you show me?"

"You'd like that?" she asked, pecking his chin, his cheek, his lips, pulling away with a devilish grin as he attempted to kiss her. "You'd like me to show you want I want most of all?"

He nodded, biting his lip, barely able to contain himself.

"Okay," she said, brushing her erect nipples against his chest. "Are you sure you can handle it, Don?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright," she said. "But I'm warning you. You'll go out of your mind."

"Good. That's good. Real good. Show me already."

She sat upright, running her hands over his chest as she licked her bottom lip seductively. "You sure?" she asked. "I don't want it to be too much for you."

"Just fucking hurry up and do it already."

"Fine," she said, than leaned down, kissed him chastely and jumped off him.

"What the fuck?" he nearly screamed at her, watching as she scampered across the bed and climbed off. "Where are you going"

"To get something to eat," she said, climbing back into her pyjamas.

"What?" he asked in utter disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You said to show you what I wanted most of all," she said. "And I will do just that. I'll be back in time minutes with a slice of Key Lime Pie and a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. All for me."

She gave him a huge grin and a finger wave as she headed for the door.

"I can't fucking believe you!" he bellowed, fighting against his restraints. "You little bitch."

She slipped out of the room.

"How can you do this to me?" he called out to her.

He heard her laughing all the way down the stairs.

A/N 1: I wanted a funny ending to this chapter. I hope that you guys enjoyed it!! Alessa is a creation of hope4sall. She is Stella and Flack's daughter in her fab Fiesta series. She was gracious enough to lend her to me and let me tweak her background and family life for the purpose of this story.

A/N 2: Archbishop Malloy is an actual Catholic High School in Queens. It is located in Briarwood, a residential neighborhood in the center of Queens County, New York.

Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing!! I appreciate each and every one of you for making this story a huge success!! A thank you even to the lurkers!!

Thanks to my reviewers (in no particular order)

Hope4sall
Brrtmclv
Axellia
Laplandgurl
marialisa
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Bluehaven4220
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EddiesGirl
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ImaSupernaturalCSI
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