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

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR LATER SMUT AND IS DEDICATED TO ALL OF THOSE WHO ASKED FOR IT. TOO SENSITIVE OR EASILY OFFENDED? JUST SKIP IT.

A/N: THE CRAZY MUSE WANTS ME TO STICK WITH PAST CHAPS RIGHT NOW. UNTIL CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEARS FOR SAM AND FLACK ARE COMPLETED. SO JUST BEAR WITH ME FOLKS!

SPECIAL THANKS TO APHINA

Tying up loose ends

"I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry 'bout all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all of your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.
This time I think I'm to blame
It's harder to get through the days
We get older and blame turns to shame
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die."
-Sorry, Buckcherry

Paper work was the bane of Flack's existence.

And the stacks of folders that awaited him the moment he stepped out of interrogating Paul Browning were downright infuriating and intimidating. He was still coming to grips with the sudden and grotesque end to the case. What had started out as an apparent car jacking gone wrong had taken so many twists and turns that it seemed almost surreal. It was mind boggling to think about what had happened in between the snowy night at the side of a blood soaked SUV and the frigid, grey morning standing over the lifeless bodies of three young people who could not face the consequences of their actions.

A search Dylan and Nathan Browning's apartment had turned up over four dozen weapons. Half of which were illegal to own or purchase in the state of New York. A good majority were also stolen. The serial numbers long filed off. After two hours of cataloguing and photographing, Samantha had turned over the end of the case to the ATF agents who'd come to take the firearms into their possession. They'd hauled six large plastic storage containers out when all was said and done. Mac and his team had confiscated two home computers and one lap top. And a small plastic baggie that held the five grand that had Natalie Cormier had withdrawn from David Arruda's bank account.

Natalie had left a note. A manifesto of sorts to explain why she and her new boyfriend and his brother had done what they had. Flack had a copy of it in the case folder that he was now working diligently on. She had written that David had been having an affair with a woman at his work and had gotten said other woman pregnant. The affair had been going on for nearly half a year and she had confronted him about it many a time, only to have him accuse her of being paranoid and not trusting him and not loving him. She'd taken up with the bartender mostly because of his accessibility to weapons. By this time she'd decided to 'teach David a lesson'. It had been her sole idea to kill David and she had preyed on the new boyfriend's weakness for meth and coke and knew if she offered what he considered enough green to support his habit, he'd agree to just about anything.

And he had. He'd gone along with the plan to kill David Arruda for what Natalie considered a damaging and unrecoverable blow to her health, happiness and mental well being. Flack considered that the biggest crock of shit he had ever heard. A lot of guys cheated on their women and unfortunately knocked other girls up, but the girlfriends didn't go all raging psycho. They simply dumped the guy's sorry ass and got on with their lives. Or at the most toss the dude's belongings out the window and tear apart or burn some of his clothes or most prized possessions. They didn't pay off two small time junkies to put as many bullets into the ex as possible.

Lukas Tait was collateral damage. He'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would have been miles away at his job as a security guard at the New Rochelle Mall, but David had invited him out to celebrate David's twenty-first birthday three days before and Lukas had managed to switch shifts in favor of a night out of clubbing. Natalie had gone to the washroom at the club and called up Dylan and explained the change in plans. Dylan had offered up his brother to 'off' Lukas. Instead of just having a change of heart or letting an obvious absent guilty conscience convince her that murder was not the answer, Natalie had gone along with it.

She'd known, the moment that Sam had preformed the sexual assault kit that she and her collective group of wackjobs (Flack's assessment, not a self proclamation on Natalie's part) were royally screwed. She'd seen enough crime shows to know that the CSI was going to find the evidence that she wasn't raped and that she had had recent sexual relations with both David and Dylan. Out of a sheer moment of panic, she had forgotten her right to refuse the exam. The first nail in her coffin. She also knew, by the tone of questioning, that she was near the top of the suspect list. Cops were a lot smarter than either she or Dylan had given them prior credit for. They would know that the beating was staged and they would find her prints on the bank card and see her involvement in the crimes on the security tapes she had foolishly overlooked. What had seemed like a brilliant, foul proof crime at first, had quickly tanked.

She had simply used David's money because her old man, a high profile chartered account who was a big wig in the financial district, had cut off her line of credit and her access to a massive trust fund when he found out she was using drugs and dancing in a cage at what he considered a less than reputable establishment.

There was no apology at the end of the letter. The tone of the words held absolutely no remorse. Nor did it give a reason for why Natalie and her 'boys' had decided to kill themselves. The only motive anyone had to go on was that the three just could not hack it in prison. That they thought death was a better solution than a life sentence spent rotting away in a jail cell.

Flack wondered if there was a nut hospital in hell. Because if there was, the men in the white coats had met Natalie the second she arrived and buckled her into that straight jacket nice and tight.

Paul Browning was the only one going to jail out of the whole sordid group. He had confessed in a brief interrogation that Nathan had come to him only two hours before Flack had called to discuss what had happened. Browning's youngest son was tweaked on meth and scared shitless that the cops were breathing down his neck. He'd brought the murder weapons to his father in hopes that his old man could find some way to help them 'fix' what had happened. Daddy had foolishly sided with his druggie kids instead of simply calling the cops and turning the murdering little bastards in. Instead, he sent Nathan on his way with the stern warning to forget what had gone down, and to trust him to take care of the guns.

He'd been in the process of cleaning and dismantling them when Flack had called asking to talk. Browning's plan had been to clean them and strip them down and rebuild them with parts from other guns so that nothing would match up if the cops did manage to ever find them. He had planned to sell the newly built weapons in his shop. And he had thought, again foolishly, that hiding them amongst his collection in the dining room was a good idea. He wouldn't have known that less than an hour before, the type of weapon had been determined by a ballistics specialist, and that he CSI who had been present at the time, was now in his house and able to identify the guns.

He seemed neither surprised or grief stricken over what happened to his sons. But it wasn't Flack's place to tell people how to act of feel. It was his place to read them their rights and lay the charges out at their feet. Aiding and abetting was first and foremost. Accessory to murder was another. The DA would sort it all out in the end. For now, daddy dearest was cooling his heels in a holding cell at the back of the precinct while he waiting to be transported to Rikers for pre-arraignment holding.

It was up to Flack to attempt to make sense out of the insanity of the entire situation. He was unsure if that would ever happen. It was one of the most fucked up and sordid tales he had ever heard. Sid had determined that the three had indeed taking their own lives with massive doses of cyanide and that they had also had lethal amounts of meth and cocaine in their systems. Flack found it hard to feel sorry for them. The initial shock of discovering three bodies in the state they'd been in had long worn off. Now it was good riddance you pieces of shit. Sure, David Arruda shouldn't have fucked another woman and gotten her pregnant. But shit like that happened every day. He should have just been a man about it and dumped Natalie in favour of the other.

Who Flack felt most sorry for was that unborn baby who'd never asked to be dragged into such a damn mess. The kid would grow up without his father and Flack couldn't help but draw parallels between himself and David. That happened a lot since Kieran had been born. He always felt worse for the vics that left little ones or expectant wives or girlfriends behind. Because it made him think about what it would be like if someone ever had to go to his house and deliver the worst possible news to his wife. The thought of Kieran not remembering him was enough to destroy him.

Which was why he now scolded himself for being so damn sentimental and told himself to get his ass in gear. It was quarter to five. Almost quitting time. He'd been fearing that with the amount of crap piled on his desk, Gerrard would stretch his shift even further. Instead the old man had listening to the way Flack hacked and coughed and sneezed at his desk and took one look at Flack's pale face and red eyes and told the younger man to clock out at five and no later. That the rest of the work could be finished at home or the next day.

Damn Scagnetti for taking holidays at the busiest time of the year, Flack thought, as he wrote feverishly on the report he was hunkered over. So lost in thoughts of home and what hell may or may not await him when he got there, that he was barely aware that someone had stepped up to his desk. He smelled the dampness from wet snow on the figure's clothes and the slight hint of men's aftershave.

A hand reached out and scooped up one of the two pewter picture frames that rested on Flack's desk. The photo in question was of Kieran, taken two weeks ago, at the photo studio in Macy's. Well enough from his bout with the croup and taking a break from the crankiness brought on by his ear infection, Kieran was dressed in a simple red hooded sweater and black dress pants and sat in front of a colourful, brightly lit Christmas tree, a fake fireplace adorned with stockings just to his left. The kid was flashing that huge, dimple denting smile that crinkled his blue eyes and wrinkled that little freckle splattered nose.

"Naw…this kid can't be yours…" a voice that Flack hadn't heard in years said. "Too damn cute to be yours."

Flack looked up, a smile crossing his face as he took in the familiar face above him. "Gets all of his best qualities from me, Gav," he declared, as he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up and went around to where the older man was grinning as he studied the picture in his hands.

"No way something that came from you looks like this," Moran teased, setting the frame back down on the desk.

"Well technically, he came from my wife. I just kicked in half of his DNA."

"Wise ass," Moran snickered. "Good to see some things never change. Still got a chip on your shoulder a mile wide and a smart mouth."

"How ya doing, Gav?" Flack asked, as he offered a hand.

Moran snorted and frowned. "Don't give me that shit," he said, and drew the younger, bigger and stronger man in a tight hug.

And with that simple, warm, fatherly embrace, both men knew that what happened in the past was just that. The past. Nothing needed to be said and no apologies needed to be offered up.

"How ya been, Donnie?" Moran asked, holding Flack at arms length. "Other than a busy boy judging by that picture there and what Andrea told me a couple weeks back."

"I've been pretty good. Fighting off some kind of virus or some shit like that at the moment, but other than that, I've been good. Really good, actually. Working a lot. Earned my sargeant's stripes last year."

Moran nodded appreciatively. "Nice job. Quite the feat for someone as young as you. And on top of all the working you somehow managed to squeeze in a kid and getting married?"

"Wonders never cease to exist," Flack joked, and motioned for Moran to take a seat in the chair alongside of his desk before returning to his own seat.

"You can imagine my surprise when Andrea came home from Christmas shopping and told me she'd met your wife and kid. Never figured you for a family man, Donnie," Moran sat, unzipping his heavy winter coat before sitting down.

"Honestly, neither did I. But I guess I just never met that one that you kept telling me over and over again would come along eventually."

"And did I steer you wrong? No. 'Cause she magically appeared, didn't she. I told you to always trust a wise old man. And all those times you bragged about being a bachelor for life, how you'd never be able to survive being with the same person day in and day out. What was it you used to say? 'Cause you got bored after a few weeks? Now look at you. Got wedding ring on your finger and pictures on your desk. You look well, Donnie. And happy. You happy?"

He nodded. "Ninety percent of the time," he said. "We have our problems. Sometimes we'd like to kill each other and we have to work our asses off to hold it all together. But we love each other and respect each other. And we have our little guy there," Flack gestured to the photo of his son. "He keeps us going during the tough, dark times. He's the light of my life, Gavin. They both are."

Moran smiled. "Can't remember the baby's name off hand," he said. "Kevin….Kenneth."

"Kieran," Flack told him. "It's an Irish name. Means small and black or dark."

"How old's he now?"

"He's turning one on January fourth. Pretty damn smart two. He can walk holding on to just one of your hands and he's brave enough to try a couple steps on his own. Learning all kinds of words right and left. Just little ones but at least they're there. Smart as hell. Get's that from his mom."

"You get this shit eating kind of grin on your face whenever you talk about him," Moran commented.

Flack smiled. "He's my boy, Gav. My first born. Can't describe how I feel about him or his mother. I just never felt…I don't know…I never felt complete until I met her and we started a family and what not. Am I making any sense?"

"You sound like a damn Danielle Steele novel," Moran teased. "How long you been married for now?"

"Our first anniversary is coming up on Christmas Eve."

Moran's eyes widened a little and he nodded slowly. "And your little guy is just turning a year next month?"

"We got married when she was seven and a half months pregnant," Flack explained. "Just a small, quiet thing done by a judge. Six guests. Nothing major. We didn't want anything huge. Especially not with her being so far along."

"And you asked her to marry you before or after you found out she was expecting?" Moran asked curiously.

Flack smirked. It wasn't the first time someone suspected that the reason behind their fast engagement and hasty marriage was Sam's pregnancy. His own father had immediately assumed that his first born son was marrying a short time girlfriend because he hadn't been smart enough to use a condom and had gotten her pregnant. But each time the insinuation was tossed his way, Flack saw red. Because he was damn tired of having to defend himself and Samantha and the way they felt for each other.

Sure, it was fast. A little too fast for most peoples liking. But it was their business and no one had the right to judge them. He'd do it all over again in a heart beat, and knew, although it was rare for Sam to be that out there with her feelings and thoughts, that she would too.

"I had plans on asking her before she told me about the baby," Flack answered Moran's question. "It wasn't a shotgun wedding. So hands off my wife, Gavin. Don't imply it's something else…"

Moran held his hands up in self defence. "Wasn't trying to imply anything, Donnie. Just sounds like things happened really quick. How long were you two involved before she ended up in trouble?"

Flack laughed. "In trouble? Come on, Gav. That's a term from way back in the old days. She was never in trouble. I'd rather you say knocked up over that."

"Knocked up, pregnant. Whatever. How long?"

"About four months into our relationship we found out about the baby. She was farther along than we thought she was, so she'd conceived Kieran about a month and a half in."

"So it wasn't like something that you two were planning or anything like that," Moran stated.

"No. We didn't plan on her getting pregnant. We weren't trying for a baby. It just happened. He was unplanned. Not unwanted."

"Don't get so damn defensive, Donnie," Moran said. "I ain't second guessing how you feel about your wife or your kid. I'm just saying that things happened really fast by the sounds of it and I can see why people can misconstrue things and assume it was something a little more scandalous."

"And if it was? If I did marry her out of some feeling of obligation? Does that really matter?"

"Of course not," Moran told him. "But if that's the case, it won't last two years and you know that. So I'm just hoping you're on the up and up about your feelings and what not."

"I love my wife," Flack said, looking Moran dead in the eye. "I love her and I always will and I always have. Nothing scandalous or questionable about it."

"And I believe you," Moran told him. "But you've got to admit that it's all pretty hard for people to digest. What would you think if someone was telling you the exact story you're telling me?"

"I wouldn't think anything. And I'd mind my own business."

"Fair enough," Moran said. "You got a picture of your girl? Andrea was telling me she looks just like some actress on tv. Rachel something or other. From The DC or The OC. I don't know. Some shit like that anyway. She watches all these teeny bopper crappy things that come on in re-runs late at night."

"Rachel Bilson," Flack told his old friend. "And Sam hears that all the time. Second picture there is of me and her. Taking at a friend's wedding last month."

"Samantha?" Moran asked as he reached for the frame.

Flack nodded.

Moran studied the picture in his hands. A smiling, happy couple with their arms around each other and looking very much in love. He grinned at the sight and nodded approvingly. "She's a beautiful girl, Donnie," he said and put the picture back. "Have to admit, she's not the usual eye candy I am used to you toting around."

"She's got style and substance, Gav," Flack told him. "And I always had a weakness for brunettes."

"No you had a weakness for anything that walked with a wiggle," Moran laughed. "She a working woman or she a stay at home wife and mother?"

"You kidding? She'd kill you if you even suggest that. She works for the department. It's how I met her in the first place. She's a CSI."

"That must be awkward," Moran commented. "Working with your spouse."

"It has it's share of trials and tribulations," Flack said with a sigh. "But we manage…so? What brings you here? Just popping by for a visit all the way from Brooklyn?"

"I was in the neighbourhood. Running some errands in mid-town for the wife. Thought I'd stop in and offer up an invitation. Andrea wanted me to call you up, but I said I'd rather do it face to face."

"What kind of invitation?" Flack asked.

"See if you and your family wanted to come over for Boxing Day dinner. Unless you already have plans or whatever."

"No plans," Flack told him. "We're both off. Sam's parents are in town from Arizona and we're all going to my folks for Christmas dinner. But they're heading off with her brother and his fiancee for Boxing Day. We were just planning on staying home."

"Change of plans," Moran said. "You and your wife and your pride and joy there will be spending the day at my humble abode, eating Andrea's famous pumpkin pie and cherry cheesecake. The girls will be there with their kids so you're little guy will have some other kids to play with."

Flack gave a little grimace. "I don't know, Gav. Kieran…he's a little bit of a…what's the best word? A terrorist."

"Aren't they all at that age?"

"No. I mean he's evil. Born evil."

Moran frowned. "Come on. He's a baby. How bad could he be?"

"You know what he did a couple weeks back? First thing in the morning? I went in to get him for breakfast and he'd taken a huge dump and than got his diaper off and got crap from one end of the place to the other. All over his bed, all over himself. It was gross. I thought I was going to puke. Had to get my wife to deal with it."

"Wimp," Moran chided.

"He throws everything. Food, toys. Doesn't matter. He tosses things in the litter box and uses said thing as a sand box. Last week, he ate cat food. The soft kind. All 'cause I forgot to put the bowl on the counter after the mangy little bastard finished eating. The cat, I mean."

Moran laughed. "I got that much, Donnie. And this is all normal baby stuff. Wait until he's a teenager breaking curfew and making out with girls in the back of your car when he borrows it and telling you to fuck off. That's when all the evil stuff starts."

"Well let's hope by that time, the wife agrees to military school," Flack only half joked. He checked his watch. "Quitting time for me, Gav," he said, shuffling papers into their respective folders. There'd be lots of homework for him that night. He dropped the folders into a case box that rested on the floor by his desk. "You wanna come over for supper? Meet the wife and kid?"

"I'd love to. But I still have a few things to do," the older man said as he slowly rose to his feet. "I'll walk ya out though."

Flack stood as well, leaning over his desk to switch off his computer. "You're more than welcome, Gav. The wife won't mind. She's been going on about meeting you since we ran into Andrea at Target."

Moran just nodded and waited for Flack to slip into both his suit jacket and winter coat and snag his keys from the top drawer of the desk and gather up the box. Together the two men walked through the busy precinct and out the front door into the dismal afternoon light and the heavily falling snow.

"How much did you actually tell her Donnie?" Moran asked.

"I told her what happened. I told her you were my training officer and we were pretty tight and you got yourself into some trouble."

"You tell her what kind?"

"I told her everything, Gavin. About having another life on the side and taking that evidence to protect a son no one else knew you had. And I told her what Hector had done and what he hadn't done and that I was the one who had to investigate and all that other bullshit. And how you had to take early retirement to avoid charges and what not."

Moran nodded slowly. "And what did she say?" he asked. "She ain't gonna be walking into my house thinking all this bad stuff and judging me is she?"

"Sam's not like that," Flack defended his wife. "She just listened and said how tough it must have been for the both of us to make the choices we had. She's a mother, Gavin. She knows that love a parent has for their children. That they'd do just about anything to protect their kids. And she knows more than anyone that people make mistakes and bad choices."

Moran followed the younger man to the side of the building and into a crowded side parking lot. "Don't park underground?" he asked.

"Most of the times it's more trouble than what it's worth," Flack replied, using the remote on his key chain to unlock the doors and turn off the alarm of a black GMC Yukon SUV several yards away. "Especially since the department took away free employee parking and charges a monthly fee now. And with two cars in the family…gets a little pricey."

"A lot of things in the department have changed in the last few years," Moran said with a sigh. "Nice ride…impressive."

"Had it a couple years now," Flack said, tucking the box under one arm as he opened the back driver's side door with his free hand. "Comes in handy now that there's more groceries to bring home and baby shit to cart around."

Moran smirked at the sight of the Evenflo front facing car seat in the back. "Now that is a sight I never thought I'd see. You with a car seat in your possession."

Flack grinned. "Damn thing may as well be bolted down it's in there so tight. Besides, wife's got one in her own car. So we don't have to keep taking it in and out."

"Talks of wives and car seats and babies," Moran shook his head in disbelief. "Did I miss the apocalypse?"

"A lot can happen in a few years," Flack reasoned and shut the back door. He leaned against the driver's door and pulled a pack of smokes and a lighter from his coat pocket. He opened the pack and offered it to Moran who snagged a cigarette, nodding in appreciation.

"Still haven't quit huh," Moran commented, as Flack lit both their smokes.

"You kidding?" Flack chuckled and inhaled deeply. "I've quit about six times since my boy's been here. And twice when the wife was pregnant. I've got no will power, Gavin. Mind you, I haven't touched booze in over a year."

"No shit. What happened? Just decide you didn't want to drink the horrors of the job away?"

"Pretty much. I was using the bottle as a crutch. Every time there was a hard case or trouble at home, first thing I'd do was reach for the JD. Get shit faced. I didn't like what it was doing to me. How I was treating people under the influence. Thought of turning into my old man scared the shit out of me. So, I recognized I had the start of a bigger problem, realized my family meant more to me than getting drunk, and that was it. Went to some AA meetings, got a sponsor."

"I'm glad to hear that, Donnie. I was always worried about you in that respect. You've always been a pretty heavy drinker. Best to realize there's an issue before things get out of control."

Flack smirked. "You sound like my wife," he teased.

"Must be a genius of a woman than," Gavin said. "If she's thinking with the Mensa members like myself."

"And you call me the smart ass."

The two men stood there, leaning against the side of the SUV, the snow steadily falling and the wind picking up. The sky was nearly pitch black for only twenty after five in the afternoon. The temperatures were biting and nearly unbearable.

"Sorry it took me so long to get around to see ya, Donnie," Moran said after several minutes of quite contemplation. "There were lots of times I wanted to stop by or call you, especially after that bombing. I guess I was just afraid you wouldn't want to see me after letting you down so badly."

"You never let me down, Gavin. You made tough decision. Simple as that. And I would have gotten a hold of you if I wasn't afraid of the same thing."

"You kidding? I'd never feel let down by you. Shit, I'm mine proud of you than my own kids sometimes. You've come a long way, kid. From a lowly beat cop to a Sargent. Hell of a thing considering you're so young. But I'm proud of you and it looks good on you. Hope your old man thinks so, too."

"Things are better between us," Flack said. "But it's an on going work in progress."

"And now married with a kid," Moran shook his head. "I think that's the biggest, most courageous thing you've done yet. And I hope the two of you are happy and you get many years together. Don't fall into the traps I did, Donnie. A wife and someone on the side. Lots of cops get sucked into that. You're too good for that. Don't let that happen."

"Never gonna happen," Flack vowed. "That's one thing you don't have to worry about. I waited too long to find her to fuck it up."

"Good," Moran said and finishing his cigarette, tossed it in the snow. "'Cause I ever find out you messed around, I'll beat your ass all over this city."

"No sooner than she will," Flack laughed, and disposed of his own smoke. "I gotta head out, Gav. She'll pitch a fit if I don't come home in enough time to spend time with the kid. Sure you don't want to come over? She's not the best cook in the world, but it's edible and I'm not exactly starving to death."

"I'm good," Moran said. "But thanks. And you're a hell of a lot bigger since the last time I saw you. You were just a skinny, scrawny runt than. What she feeding ya to get that big?"

"It's all the sympathy weight I put on while she was pregnant. Haven't lost any of it yet. But she loves me just the way I am. Love handles and all."

Moran smiled. "Oh to be young and in love," he said. He reached out and drew Flack into another hug. "It's was good to talk to ya, Donnie. We're in the book. Call me and we'll talk more about Boxing Day."

"We'll talk soon," Flack assured him, returning to the embrace. "Thanks for coming by. It was good seeing you, Gavin."

"Guess we both shoulda just swallowed our stupid foolish pride and called each other huh? Ah well, too late to worry about that now. I'm just glad you're okay after that bombing and that things worked out so good for you."

"Thanks. Tell Andrea we'll see her soon and thanks for the invite."

"Will do. Truth is, I think she fell in love with your son and just wants to have him around."

"You guys can take him for a while," Flack said, as he popped open the driver's door. "A week, maybe two?"

"You wish, Donnie," Moran laughed, as he headed, hands in his pockets through the snow covered parking lot.

"Hey, Gavin!" Flack called to his old friend.

Moran turned to look at the younger man.

"I never wanted things to end the way they did. I hope you realize that. And that there's no hard feelings there."

Moran smiled. "There never was kid," he said, and turned and journeyed through the blustering, heavy snow.

Flack climbed behind the wheel and shut the door and started the ignition.

Things usually came in threes. The discovery of the bodies and Moran's unexpected visit had been one and two.

He wondered what number three had in store for him.

Sam had gone home once her part in the case was handed over to the two ATF agents that took over custody of the weapons in the apartment. She'd found a note from her mother in law tapped to the fridge that Patricia had taken Kieran to Queens for the rest of the afternoon and overnight and would be bringing him back sometime the following afternoon. Citing the fact that Flack was sick and both of he and Sam would need some rest after the shifts they had just come off of.

Normally, Sam would have been pissed that her mother in law had just up and left with the baby without at least consulting one of the parents before hand. But she was so tired and weary from the day and still fuming at Flack's treatment of her at the scene and Mac's decision to yank her off of the raid, that she realized, in her state of both exhaustion and anger, that the best place for Kieran was out of the house. The last thing the innocent, unsuspecting child needed was to be placed in between any tension and hostility that would be present between his parents. It was something mommy and daddy needed to hash out without any witnesses or innocent bystanders.

She took advantage of the quiet, empty apartment and took a long steaming bath, accompanied by a good book and a glass of wine. After drying off she slipped into a sweats and a simple t-shirt and curled up on the couch under the comforter from the bed and took a refreshing, well deserved nap.

She was in the kitchen, lights and radio on, catching the weather reports and standing in front of open cupboards contemplating what do make for dinner when she heard the key in the front door. Anger that had put on the back burner now appeared at the surface and began simmering again as the front door apartment clicked open and she heard clothes rustling as her husband slip into the apartment. She listened as he kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket in the front closet. Hoping he'd decide to go straight on for a shower and give her a chance to reign in her temper.

No such luck. Just as she stood on her tip toes and pulled a jar of spaghetti sauce from the cupboard over the microwave she saw him out of the corner of her eye, carrying a case box as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Where's Kieran?" Flack asked, as he sat the box down on the floor by the table. It was ten to six. "He having a late nap?"

By that time of the day, his son was usually strapped in his high chair and causing all kinds of ruckus and noise as he flung food around the room and smeared it all over his face and in his hair. So to find the high chair empty and the apartment so quiet was a startling change.

"Your mom took him home with her," Sam answered. Not looking at him as she pulled two pots from the sink and sat them on the counter.

"You said that was okay?" he inquired, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over one of the kitchen chairs. "In this weather?"

"They were already gone when I got home," Sam informed him. "And before you even say it or even think it, I'm not some negligent parent who doesn't know their own child's whereabouts."

"I wasn't thinking that and I wasn't going to say it," Flack told her. "What the hell is up your ass?"

"Oh I don't know," she said, filling the larger pot with water and setting it on the stove. "I guess I'm just in a foul mood because my boss thinks I'm not capable of doing my job."

"Mac never said that," Flack told her. "What he said was that he was thinking about Kieran's well being and that's why he yanked you off the raid. It's not because he doesn't think you can't do the job."

"You're right," she agreed. "It's because you think I can't do the job."

"Are we going to get into this again?" Flack rolled his eyes and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. "I think this was behind us once we left the scene and the case was closed."

"Everything is always just so easy for you," Sam snorted. "You just sweep everything under the carpet and forget about it. And expect me too because you say enough is enough and that's the end of it."

"I don't want to fight, Samantha," Flack said. "I didn't come home to have it out with you."

"Than maybe you shouldn't have bothered coming home than," she retorted.

"What? And have to put with you calling me ten times in half an hour wondering where I am? Listen to you go on and on about how I never spend time with you or the baby? Sit back and take your crap while you accuse me of having an affair?"

"That was one time," she argued. "One time! And you were the one that came home with another woman's phone number in your suit jacket pocket. So don't act all fucking innocent, Don."

"She was a witness at a scene. She wrote her number down and slipped it in my pocket. I had no intentions of calling her outside of the job. I told you that than and you still made a big goddamn deal over it."

"You walked in three hours after your shift supposedly ended!" Sam told him. "What was I suppose to think? Here I was at home, taking care of your three week old son and you're off doing God knows what and getting caught in the end with some broad's number in your jacket."

"I was out with Danny. He vouched for me. And why the hell are we fighting about something that happened nearly a year ago? Why do you have to be like that? Hold shit over my head forever and a day?"

"Fine," she said. "Let's see how you feel the next time I go out to a bar and come home with some strange guy's phone number."

Flack snorted. "There's a difference between me and you, Sam. See, I wouldn't actually use the number."

"And what the fuck is that suppose to mean?" she asked, feeling the anger threatening to overwhelm her.

"Nothing," he replied, sipping the water.

"What the hell are you insinuating? That I'd cheat on you?"

Flack didn't respond.

"Fuck you, Don," she spat. "Don't ever say I would do that to you because you know damn well I wouldn't! You're just being a mean, obnoxious prick like you usually are when things aren't going your way."

"So I'm a mean, obnoxious prick and you're a crazy bitch with a hair trigger temper. We're a good match."

"Look! You may be my husband but I don't need to take this shit from you or any man! And if you ever pull rank on me at a crime scene again…"

"So that is what this is all about?" he laughed and shook his head. "All because Mac pulled you off of a raid that you had no reason to be part of?"

"That was my case and my raid! Those kids would have been my collar and you dressed me down in front of my colleagues and my friends just so you could get your goddamn name on a DD-5 report. Pad your stats. The NYPD's Golden Boy gets another notch on his belt."

"Is that what you think!?" he shouted at her, incredulous that she would even assume that was the reason for his actions. "You think I acted the way I did to get a collar?"

She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest. Not responding.

"You're nuts, Samantha. I acted like I did because I knew what kind of perps we were dealing with. What kind of arsenal they had up there! I did what I did to protect you!"

"I don't need to be protected by you, Don! How many times have we gone through this same damn thing since we got together! I'm a cop, too! That's my job! And after more than a year together you would think that you'd have come to grips with that by now."

"So I'm just suppose to think it's okay that you knowingly put yourself in harms way? Just say, fine, do what you want, Sam? Get yourself killed. I don't care. Is that what I'm suppose to be like?"

"No! Of course not. But you're not suppose to be an overprotective, possessive, pig headed jerk either!"

"I wasn't fucking trying to pad my stats or get another arrest under my belt. I was trying to make sure you got home to your son at the end of the day!" he yelled back.

"My son! He's not just my son! He's our son! You helped make him! Remember?!"

"Yeah! I do remember the five minutes of sheer hell it took!"

"Believe me, Don, that's way more of an insult to yourself than it is to me," Sam laughed dryly and went to step past him to get something from the fridge.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her back in front of him and held her against the cupboards in front of him.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!" he snapped.

"I wasn't! I was trying to get something from the goddamn fridge! And if you don't let my wrist go, you're going to be on the ground in a heap crying for your mommy."

"For your information the only reason I acted the way I did today was for you and Kieran. You're his mother, Samantha. His primary caregiver. You're the one that does the most for him and I was just thinking about what it would do to him if something happened to you!"

"But not about what it would to do you!" she snorted and yanked her hand away from him. "Because let's face it," she went back to where she was preparing food at the counter and uncapped the jar of sauce. "You'd do perfectly well without me and go on with your life like I never even existed."

"Don't be fucking stupid!" he yelled at her. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it! But this isn't about me or you! It's about Kieran and how he needs his mother more than he needs his father!"

"That's a load of shit!" Sam informed him, her hands tightening in anger around the glass jar.

"And you know what, now that we're on the topic of our son and his care, I might as well lay how I really feel out on the table."

"By all means," she mumbled sarcastically.

"I want you to quit and stay home to take care of the baby. I want you to be a homemaker and a mother."

"No," she laughed ruefully. "You want me to be a fucking maid and a prisoner in my own home."

"I want you to do the things that a wife usually does. Cook, clean the fucking place up, do laundry. Take care of the kid! You're the one that is constantly bitching about how messy this place is. Than stay the hell home and vacuum and dust and put shit away instead of yapping about not having the time to do it!"

"So it's all me?" she asked. "It's up to me cook and clean and pick up after you? You're a chauvinistic bastard. That may have been the 'in' thing when you're parents were our age, but guess what? Women work out of the home this day and age. So get your head out of your ass and crawl out from whatever rock you've been hiding under and grow up!"

"Hey, I am all for women working out of the house! But when you put your job ahead of your kid I have a problem with it!"

"You sonofabitch!" she bellowed and slammed the jar onto the counter with such force it shattered. "Shit!" she hissed when she felt a shard of glass dig deep into the palm of her hand. The space between her thumb and forefinger.

She yanked the tea towel off of the handle of the stove and wrapped it around her bleeding, stinging hand.

"I always put Kieran and you first, Don! Always I stayed off work longer after he was born so I'd have more time with him and we would have somewhat of a normal marriage! So you'd have someone that did the housework and have home cooked meals ready for you when you got home and clean up after your lazy ass! So don't you stand here and accuse me of putting my job before my son or our marriage! This is a two way street! And you haven't put half of what I have into him or us!"

"That's right, Sam. You're just the perfect wife and mother. You're a regular Stepford Wife. A real fucking martyr."

"Oh go fuck yourself, Don Flack," she snorted and hurried from the kitchen to tend to her injured hand. "Just stay the fuck away from me!" she screamed over her shoulder as he followed her.

"Let me look at your hand," Flack said, trying his best to cool himself down.

"Just screw off!" she retorted, shoving open their bedroom door and nearly knocking out Slippers as she attempted to slip by and out of the room to head for some food.

Sam stalked into the en-suite bathroom and used her good hand to turn on the hot water. Hissing in pain, tears running down her cheeks as she shoved her bleeding palm under the tap.

"How bad is it?" Flack asked from the doorway.

"Don, I said screw off!" she responded.

He sighed and disappeared from the door. Returning a couple of minutes later with the first aid kit that they kept in the hall linen closet. He sat it on the closed toilet seat and snapped it open. He snagged a roll of gauze, a cotton pad and some antiseptic and surgical tape.

"Let me see it Sam," he said in a gentle tone as he approached the sink once more and laid the supplies on the ledge.

"No…" she shook her head vigorously, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You've done enough. Please just leave me alone."

He ignored her and shut the water off and grabbed a hold of her tiny hand, turning it palm up so he could look at the wound.

"It's a clean cut," Flack said. "Not bad enough to need stitches but still nasty. Good thing is there's no glass in it."

"It stings," she whined. "Really bad."

He stepped to the door and grabbed a towel hanging off the hook.

"Not that towel!" she wailed as he proceeded to dry her hand. "That's brand new!"

"So I'll buy another one," Flack told her, tossing the towel aside when her hand was dry.

She winced as he cleaned the wound with the antiseptic. He placed the cotton pad over it and than wrapped it tightly with some of the guaze, which he tightly held in place with pieces of the tape.

"Are you going to quit your job and become a doctor or nurse?" Sam asked lightly, sniffling.

He grinned. "I think I'll stick to police work. I'm an insensitive, mean prick, remember?"

"That's not what I said," she argued. "I said you were an overprotective, possessive, pig headed bastard."

"My mistake," he said with a sigh. "There," he admired his handiwork. "All better. Almost as good as new."

"It's a pretty good patch job," she agreed.

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her injured palm. "I'm sorry, Sam…for everything I said and the way I acted today."

"So am I. I don't mean the things I say, Donnie. They just come out when I'm angry."

"We both say dumb ass shit when we're upset," he told her.

"I just…I can't be a stay at home wife and mother. Just like you can't be a stay at home husband and father."

Flack sighed. "I just worry about you."

"You have to trust me enough to know I would never intentionally put myself in harms way. It's my job, Donnie. And I love doing it."

"Fair enough," he said, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

She shivered at the soft contact. Despite the fact that ten minutes ago she had wanted to kill him for being such a chauvinistic, mean spirited SOB, at that moment, looking into those incredible blue eyes and feeling his warm, moist lips on her skin, she was filled with love and tenderness for this man that she had vowed to love forever. And there, sitting just on top of the surface, was want and need and desire.

He smiled as he felt her tremble. He laid his free hand on the side of her face and kissed her. Long and soft and promising. When he attempted to pull away, her good hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and held him firmly in place as she deepened the kiss, her tongue pushing through his lips and teeth and seeking out his.

Flack slid his hand to the back of her neck and up into her hair, burying and twisting his fingers in the long, dark tresses as he kissed her aggressively in return. His lips and tongue were hungry and greedy as he roughly backed her into the door and pinned her there with his full weight. His other hand reaching between her and the door to grab her ass.

Her hand dropped from his shirt and slid down his chest and stomach and over his belt buckle. It drifted slowly and tantalizingly over his rapidly hardening cock and he moaned into her mouth when her hand tightly squeezed him through the fabric of his pants.

He broke out of the kiss and the hand entwined in her hair tipped her head to the side and his lips found her smooth, slender neck. She quickly and effortlessly undid his belt and popped open the button on his pants and than yanked down the zipper. Feeling him shudder against her when her hand reached in and stroked his impressive length through his boxer shorts.

He decided to return the favor. Slipping his hand down the front of her sweats and vigorously rubbing her already moist vulva before his finger delved between the lips to stroke her clit.

She gasped loudly, tightened her grip on him.

"Jesus, baby," he groaned, pressing himself into her hand. "I think we should go in the bedroom."

She shook her head. "Here…right here…I'm too impatient and too goddamn horny to wait."

"You're demanding," he said, and kissed her passionately. His hand inside her pants slid around to her ass. Both hands now squeezing and fondling her bottom as he pulled her away from the door and turned her around, propelling her the narrow width of the bathroom until the small of her back hit the edge of the sink.

"Ow!" she cried, pulling away from the kiss and smacking his shoulder. "That's going to leave a bruise!"

"You're going to have a lot more bruises than that when I'm finished with you," he informed her, yanking her sweats off of her slender hips and letting them fall to her ankles.

She kicked her pants off as he shed his own trousers and boxers. "So where?" she asked, looking around the bathroom. "Floor? Toilet seat? Get in the shower and…."

He didn't answer. Instead he grabbed her by the hips, fingers digging roughly into her sensitive flesh as he effortlessly picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink.

"Now this is a first," she commented.

"You talk too much," Flack informed her, and yanked the bottom half of her body towards him. "I'd much rather hear you moaning like a grade A porn star and screaming my name."

"You think so goddamn highly of yourself," Sam snorted. "You're the type of guy that…"

He shut her up by sealing her lips in a demanding kiss. His hands gripped her hips tightly and almost painfully as he pushed into her warm, welcoming body with one solid, deep thrust.

She moaned against his mouth, bit down on his bottom lip. Her hands were on the back of his neck and her nails dug painfully into his flesh. It was a mixture of pain and unbelievable pleasure that only spurred him on further. All the adrenaline and anger of the last seventeen hours flooding out of them both as he pounded into her. Sweat dripped down his back and beaded on his forehead at the force of his movements. She was whimpering and panting against him, her hands slipping down to his shoulders, clinging to him.

He wasn't going to last long. His main fear, as it always was, was that he would reach completion before her. So he slowed his thrusts. Making them slow and deep as he pulled back to look into her eyes and than reached between them to rub her clit it smooth circles.

She cried out, her eyes closing once again as she tilted her head back against the mirror behind her. He bent down and his teeth grazed against the hallow of her throat. That sent her over the edge and she screamed his name as a powerful orgasm ripped through her body. She convulsed around him. The tightening and clenching of her inner muscles bringing on his own climax. Her name a harsh, ragged groan that escaped his lips as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Sam held him tightly as his body shuddered against hers. Feeling his heart pounding against her and the sweat from his forehead against her cheek. She ran her hands along his shoulders and his back, giving him the time to gather and compose himself.

Flack pulled away from her. Using his forearm to wipe perspiration from his forehead. "I am telling you right now, Sam," he said, panting. "If that didn't make a baby, I don't know what will."

She giggled and held his face in her hands as she kissed him. "Something is wrong with us, you know."

"How you mean?"

"Ever since we first got together, we have these major, nasty blow outs and than we have sex after. That can't be normal."

"Who cares if it's normal?" he asked. "It's fucking awesome sex. And if I told you once, I will tell you again. Make up sex is the best."

"I am certainly not complaining," she said. "But now I need to go and lie down and put my legs in the air."

He frowned. "Say what?" he asked, as she pushed him away from her and his now limp cock slipped out of her.

"Doctor said lying on your back with your legs in the air aides conception," Sam informed him, jumping down from the sink ledge and squeezing her legs together tightly as she headed into the bedroom. "Helps the sperm get to where it's going."

"Your doctor is mental," Flack said, as he cleaned himself, and the bathroom up. "And so are you."

"At this point in time, I will take whatever assistance I can get," Sam said.

He finished tidying up and shed the rest of his clothes. Carrying everything into the bedroom, he tossed them in a heap in the chair by the window and grabbed a pair of clean boxers to slip into it. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his wife on her back in the middle of their bed, a pillow propping her hips slightly, legs up, toes pointed to the ceiling.

"Laugh all you want," she said. "It just might work."

"I'll keep my finger crossed," Flack told her, drawing back the blankets and sliding into bed.

"Tell me when five minutes is up," she said.

He checked his watch. "Okay…starting now?"

Sam nodded. "After this I should go and clean that mess in the kitchen up."

"You can do that later. Let's have a nap."

"There's that broken jar and all that sauce and some of my blood all over the kitchen counter and floor," she reminded him.

"Later," he said and yawned. "The baby's not here so we can do whatever the hell we want until he comes back."

She looked over at him and grinned. "Anything?"

He moved closer to her and kissed her softly. "Anything," he said.

"Something tells me I'll be holding my legs up in the air more than once tonight."

He laughed. "Whatever you think works, babe."

She was silent for a while. "Do you think we work, Donnie?" she asked.

He rolled onto his side and reached out to smooth her hair away from her face and stroke her forehead. "I know we work," he replied.

"Sometimes it seems like you hate me."

"Christ, Samantha," he kissed her cheek softly. "Never, baby. Never. Just 'cause we fight doesn't mean I don't love you. Do you hate me?"

"Of course not."

"We're just a lot alike," he told her. "Too much sometimes. I'm the gasoline and you're the match. Isn't that what your mom says?"

She nodded.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you. Always. Regardless of what we say when we're angry."

She turned her head sideways and rested her forehead against his. "I love you, too," she said. "Time?"

He looked at his watch. "Time," he concurred.

"That's harder than it looks," she declared, lowering her legs and yanking her pillow out from under her.

She got out of bed long enough to shed her t-shirt and grab a pair of pyjama bottoms and an old academy sweatshirt of his. Than she lifted the blankets and climbed back in and cuddled up close. Lying on her side, face buried in his neck as his arms embraced her tightly.

"Think we beat five minutes?" he asked. "Was that longer or shorter? You know, considering you tossed that wise ass comment out earlier."

She laughed against him. "It was your comment…and I think you lasted a bit longer than five."

"You know, you can be a real raging bitch when you want to be," he told her.

"But you love me and wouldn't give me up for anything in the world."

He smiled and held her close.

"You're right," he said.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even the lurkers! Don't forget to review please! Makes my day!

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