DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHAFLACK AND BABY KIERAN AND ANYONE ELSE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE IN THIS CHAPTER.

Four sleeps (aka The more the merrier)

"Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies
Well, I'm all grown up now
And still need help somehow
I'm not a child
But my heart still can dream."
-Grown up Christmas List, Amy Grant

She was no Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart.

While her skills for meal making had expanded beyond frozen entrees, minute rice, pasta and hot dogs, she hadn't had the time, or much of an opportunity to delve into the baking aspect of culinary magic. A week ago, she had mentioned to her husband in passing, as he delved into homemade baklava Stella had created and brought over during a social visit, that she wouldn't mind learning how to bake something. Anything.

He'd taken her a little too seriously apparently. Because three mornings later, a recipe book for Christmas desserts had magically appeared beside her pillow. Along with a white apron and oven mitts adorned with embroidered candy canes.

"Are you trying to drop a hint?" she'd asked, dropping said early Christmas presents in her husband's lap as he sat at the kitchen table. Sipping his morning coffee and keeping an eye on his son that was in his high chair having babbling, nonsense conversations with his sippy cup and pieces of Eggo waffle.

Flack had looked at her with that perfected sheepish, boyish grin that dimpled his cheeks and gently, and innocently, reminded her of the comment she had made over the baklava. And how his mother used to bake all the time at Christmas. It was one of the things that made holiday hell with his old man bearable.

"So get your mother to bake you shit and bring it over," Sam had snapped. Not liking the insinuation that his mother was a better all around homemaker than she was.

No woman liked to be compared to their mother in laws or made to feel as if they didn't quite add up to mommy dearest. What her husband failed to remember, and what Sam had made a point to remind him about, was that his mother was more than happy to stay home and do nothing but clean and cook and bake and slave to an ungrateful and abusive husband and two lazy as shit sons.

"Well Stella manages to do all of that stuff and work," Flack had said casually.

"Than you should have hooked up with Stella when you were still single!" Sam had snapped back. "She also doesn't have a mini Osama Bin Laden running around the house causing sheer and utter hell!"

"He's not that bad," Flack told her.

"How would you know? You're not around him long enough to get a feel for what he's really like."

What had started out innocent and playful had turned into a blow out right in the middle of the kitchen over his demanding work schedule and the zero time he spent as a husband or a father and Sam's ability to accept his career just happened to have to come first sometimes. It was the same complete and utter bullshit they always fought over. The main instigator of their conflicts being that they were both stubborn as all hell and never wanted to be the one to back down or sacrifice.

They had a lot of growing up to do still. Both recognized and acknowledged that and both had promised to make a conscious effort to curb their often possessive, jealous and insecure personalities.

She had softened on her opinions on being a homemaker. Not that she had any plans on quitting her job and staying home full time. Hell would have to freeze over and pigs fly before that ever happened. But she had agreed to take some of her holiday pay at Christmas time. It was first come first serve for vacation time within the lab, and putting forth a request a mere ten minutes before Carmen had secured Sam from December 20-January 2 off. It had felt so damn good to be able to stay up the night before getting the house tidied up and some baking done and some presents wrapped before her parents arrival, and know that she didn't have to worry about a middle of the night call out or a pre-dawn wake up call.

She had returned to the kitchen once Kieran was tucked away in bed and sleeping soundly. Thank God for eight pm bedtimes. Her parents' flight was set to arrive at La Guardia at nine. Her mother had pitched a near fit early that day when she'd called to announce they were on their way to Skyview Airport in Phoenix and to please have either herself, or Don, there to pick them up at the insanity that was La Guardia. Sam had politely informed her mother that there was a change of plans. Don had to work a longer shift and wouldn't get in the house until close to midnight. And she didn't feel comfortable with waking a sleeping baby and putting him in a car seat and driving to the Flushing with the amount of snow on the ground and the slippery conditions of the roads. That last part had actually been Flack's main reason for telling his wife that under no certain conditions was she going to take herself and the baby out to the airport. And that he'd shell out the money for an air taxi to pick them up and drop them off.

Thankfully, a call coming through on the second line had given Sam the luxury of cutting her mother off mid rant. It was Reed Garrett. Lessing's release had been put off twice because of adverse reactions to his meds that had caused him to become violent with other patients and staff. Another release date was tentatively scheduled for mid January, so she and Reed, after cancelling his interview two times, had decided to chat sometime after Christmas. He'd called to set up a time and date for the twenty-ninth. Sam had stayed on the line with him longer than was necessary. Asking him questions about questions about his job and his family and his plans for Christmas. All to avoid returning to her mother who was still on hold.

The sneaky plan had worked. By the time Reed insisted - for the fourth time- that he really had to hang up, Sam's mother had given up and disconnected the call.

It was almost the best Christmas present her mother could ever give her. The ultimate would have been a phone call saying that her parents had changed their mind and weren't coming to New York City. But that would have been a modern day miracle short of another episode of immaculate conception. Although there were times Sam considered visits and calls from her mother the coming of the Anti-Christ.

For now, she put her feelings of dread and anxiety that would no doubt descend on the house over her parents stay, on hold and concentrated on the task in front of her. Her plans for that night were coconut peanut butter balls. The easiest of the recipes she'd attacked so far. Last night had been maraschino cherry bars and dream squares. She'd made enough for an army and both the fridge and freezer were stocked full of Tupperware containers holding the treats. She also planned on making some Christmas drop cookies and short bread. Although she was sure that once her mother got there, she'd tell her daughter that she wasn't making things properly and promptly take over. And that her mother also had up her sleeve, insults about her inability to keep a pristine house and cook a decent meal. Same shit, different day.

Thoughts of her mother and her criticisms were enough to give Sam anxiety pains. Her mother had become an old, naggy and bitchy old woman in the best couple of years. She'd once been sweet and loving and demure. Sarge had transformed her into a stand up wife and mother after the disaster that was Sam and Adam's birth father. But even Sarge had been calling to complain as of late that Lynne had transformed into herself into a raging bitch just shy of Leona Helmsley.

Sam reached for the glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter and took a long sip before forcing all negativity from her thoughts. Christmas only came once a year. And it was her son's first holiday and she wasn't going to let someone like her mother put a damper on the magic and wonder.

No matter how hard the old woman tried.

It was quarter after eleven when the telephone rang. Three short, shrill tones that indicated someone was ringing up from the downstairs lobby. Sam had finished her baking for the night and had sealed an outrageous amount of peanut butter balls in plastic containers that she'd place in the freezer, fridge, and in the cupboard. She hadn't had time to change out of her simple black leggings and one of Don's old t-shirts that had holes along the hem and under the arms.

And as she fought off panic after buzzing her parents into the building, she rushed into the master bedroom and threw on a clean shirt and brushed her teeth and removed her hair from its messy bun and combed it out before putting it back up in a neater looking high pony tail. Her mother was big on personal appearance. The type that dressed to the nines when grocery shopping or entertaining over tea and coffee. And the last thing she needed to have, especially after three glasses of wine that would no doubt cause her to be loose lipped, was her mother getting on her case.

Her parents were already at the door and knocking when she hurried through the living room and into the small foyer. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she undid the dead bolt and the chain and pulled open the door to face her agony.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged. Her parents were tired from the flight and the trip from Flushing into lower Manhattan that was made twice as long because of all the heavy snow on the ground and the light trickle that continued to fall. Sarge was his usual boisterous, happy self, but her mother looked pissed and irritated as Sam hung up their coats in the front hall and than took the wet boots and turned them upside down and placed them on a rack that sat over the heating vent next to the front door.

"Well isn't that very…rustic," Lynne said, with a frown on her face.

"Better than having someone track their wet shoes all over my floor," Sam told her. "Last thing I want to be doing is cleaning hardwood. It's all through the place save for the linoleum in the kitchen."

"Damn cold out there," Sarge commented, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

"You are way too used to eighty five degree Christmases," Sam teased, smiling as her step-father drew her into another warm, strong hug. "I missed you, daddy," she said, as he kissed her cheek.

"Missed you too, ladybug," he said. "You look good. Doesn't she look good, Lynne? After having a baby not too long ago?"

Her mother eyed her from head to toe, a clearly unimpressed look on her face. "You couldn't have at least attempted to dress up a bit?"

Sam bit back an off handed remark about her mother over doing it with the designer clothes and four inch heels on her black leather boots. Instead, she smiled and shrugged. "I was doing stuff," she said.

"Stuff?" Lynne asked.

"For Christmas," Sam explained, taking a hold of her mother's carry on and motioning for her parents to follow her into the living room.

The Christmas tree lights sparkled and danced, as did the multicoloured ones outside that lined the top railing off the balcony. Her recent splurge had been a mahogany wood electric fireplace that sat on the smallest wall diagonally from the couch. Flack had complained about it. How tacky the thought of a fake fireplace seemed. But she'd said to think about the ambiance. The romance. And besides, she was getting it for their apartment whether he liked it or not.

"Nice place," Sarge nodded appreciatively as he sat the large suitcases on the ground.

"We like it," Sam said, a proud smile on her face, her hands on her slender hips. "It's not as big as we'd like it to be or need it to be now that Kieran is all over the place, but we're going to stay here until we buy a house or add to our family. Whichever comes first."

"Don't you think it's a little soon?" Lynne asked. "Another baby when the first one isn't even out of diapers yet?"

"Kieran is almost a year, mom," Sam reminded her. "And it takes nine months to have another one. He'll most likely be potty trained by than. Or close to it."

Her mother snorted. "I had a boy, remember? Boys are notoriously slow at learning things. Your brother didn't walk until fifteen months or get out of diapers until he was close to three."

"Well that's Adam," Sam said. "And now he's smarter than anyone I know so he more than made up for his short comings as a toddler. And Kieran's smart, mom. He's almost walking completely on his own and he's learning to climb. He's already off a bottle and managed to give up a soother all on his own. And most mornings he wakes up with a dry diaper. He's really, really smart."

"Like his mother," Sarge declared proudly.

"Well thank God for small miracles," Lynne said. "It's one category we wouldn't want the boy to take after his father in."

"And what's that suppose to mean?" Sam asked, sounding a little more harsh than she had planned to.

Lynne smiled. "Well let's face it, sweetheart. He's not exactly an Ivy league graduate. He's not even a community college graduate."

"And?" Sam inquired. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Sarge spoke up. "Don's a fine young man. Hard working, dependable, strong…"

"He's just not that bright," Lynne finished.

"Don't talk about my husband like that," Sam snapped. "You've been here for all of ten minutes and you're already insulting him? If that's the way you're going to be mother, than turn back around and get the hell out of my house."

"No one is insulting anyone," Sarge said, shooting his wife a cold glare as he attempted to diffuse the situation.

"And I'll have you know, mom, that he did graduate," Sam informed her, still feeling defensive. "From the school of hard knocks. Real life. He may not be book smart like Adam and I, but he's street smart and in his job, that's the difference between life and death. So just back off of him. Okay?"

"There's no reason to get upset, ladybug," Sarge said, reaching out to rub his daughter's back.

"Yes, there is dad. Don's a good person and he tries really hard to balance his job and our marriage and Kieran and she doesn't have the right to criticize him and make fun of him like that. My real father was no damn prize so she's the last person who should be talking shit."

Sam took a deep breath to get her temper in check.

"Would you guys like coffee or tea? I've got some desserts and stuff I've made that maybe you'd like to try."

"Sounds wonderful," Sarge said, as his wife took a tour of the living room. "Where should I put the bags?"

"Master bedroom is fine. You and mom can have mine and Don's bed and we'll sleep on the couch. It's a pull out."

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked. "This is your house and your mom and I hate to put the two of you out of your own bed."

"I insist," Sam replied.

She hadn't told Flack that he'd be sleeping on the uncomfortable, rickety pull out for over a week. She'd already thought about and brought all of their bath supplies and personal items into the smaller bedroom and hung some clothes for him in Kieran's closet. And she could imagine the reaction she was going to get upon breaking the news.

"I know how bad mom's back is and we have that memory foam stuff so it should be good for her," Sam stifled a yawn. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

Her mother, spying something out of the ordinary on the inside of her daughter's left wrist, grabbed a hold of Sam's hand and turned her arm around to get a look at what turned out to be four small black numbers tattooed on her pale skin.

"8571?" Lynne read out loud. "What's the suppose to mean?"

"That's Don's badge number," Sam explained. "I got it a few months ago."

"Why?" Lynne asked.

"Because I wanted to. Just a little something of him to take with me wherever I go."

"You always were a little different," her mother sighed.

"I prefer eccentric, mom. Wild, if you will. And you should see the tattoos Don got. I'll let him show you tomorrow. The one is something else."

"How many did he get?" Sarge asked.

"Just two," Sam replied. "But the one will blow you away. It's awesome."

Her mother snorted. "Where's Kieran?" she asked. Looking around the living room once more as if expecting to see her first born grandchild up at that time of night.

"He's asleep," Sam replied.

"Would have been nice to have him greet us," Lynne huffed.

"It's nearly midnight!" Sam exclaimed. "He's eleven months old. He's in bed by eight, eight thirty at the most. And you're here for almost two weeks. Why do you need to see him as soon as you get here?"

"We haven't seen him in a long time," her mother reasoned. "Since the two of you came down for Fourth of July."

"And you can see him when he's wide awake and ready to cause hell at seven in the morning," Sam said.

"Well I'd like to see him now."

Sam sighed. Knowing it wasn't worth getting into an argument over and even if it was, she'd never win. So after her parents dropped their luggage off in the master bedroom, Sam quietly opened the door to Kieran's moonlit room and tiptoed to the crib, her parents following silently behind. Kieran, in a pair of polar fleece Pikachu pyjamas, was on his stomach, arms out , his hands balled up in fists, his face turned towards them. Long, dark eyelashes fell on his chubby pale cheeks. His mouth was open slightly and his lips a soft pink. The only sound in the room his soft, even breathing.

"He's getting big," Sarge whispered, as he reached into the crib and ran a gentle hand over his grandson's silky, nearly black hair. "A lot bigger since the Fourth of July."

"He just keeps getting bigger," Sam said, grabbing the Cars blanket that her son had kicked off sometime during his sleep and lightly draping it over him. "Mostly taller, though. He's going to be big and tall and strong like his daddy."

"He's beautiful," Lynne breathed, in a tone that Sam had never before associated with her mother. She reached into the crib as well and traced a finger tip along her grandson's eyebrows and down his tiny, freckle splattered nose.

Kieran stirred. He gave a tiny cry followed by a long, content sigh. His hands opened and relaxed and he rolled over onto his side, facing the wall.

Sam had to fix the blanket yet again. "We should go," she whispered to her parents. "He wakes up and he's up for at least a couple of hours. And Don will freak if Kieran is up when he gets in and he's dog tired."

"He's so precious, Samantha," Lynne gushed as they headed for the door. "And he looks just like his father. I'm so proud of you. For what you've created."

She smiled. "He's my life, mom. Both him and Don are my whole life."

Lynne embraced her daughter warmly. "You did a wonderful job, sweetie."

Sam felt tears well in her eyes as she hugged her mother in return. "That means a lot to hear you say that mom," she said.

More than you could ever know, she thought.

It was nearly quarter to one in the morning when Flack finally dragged himself through the front door. He was tired and irritable and his back was aching. He'd aggravated old injuries chasing and tackling a perp a couple of months ago. The guy was stronger than he looked and put up a hell of a fight which resulted in Flack fucking up the sacroiliac joint in the small of his back. Some days he could barely get out of bed or pull on his own socks and clothes the pain was so intense. Unlike the stubborn bastard he'd been over not taking the Percs for the residual pain from the bombing, he'd quickly taken his doctor up on the offer of a 'script for Oxy-contin. Every time he popped one of them little pills in his mouth and swallowed it down, he thought of hillbilly heroin and Carter England. His favourite all time junkie.

Tonight the only thing he was thinking of was standing in the shower with hot water pulsating on the sore area just above his ass that spread all the way to each hip and unfortunately, to more tender areas in the front.

Pain shot through him as he attempted to bend over and undo his shoes. He drew in a sharp, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut and willed the burning sensation away. When it finally began to pass, he let the breath out slowly and stood up. Opting instead to just toe his shoes off and kick them towards the heating vent. He hung his jacket in the hall closet and locked the dead bolt and set the chain on the door. He walked slowly and gingerly into the kitchen, depositing his keys on the microwave.

"Hi!" Sam chirped from the kitchen table, startling him. He'd been expecting her to be in bed, not wide awake, a glass of red wine in front of her and a small Tupperware container of some kind of sweet.

"Hey," he said in return.

"How was work?" she asked cheerfully.

"Long and tiring. But what else is new?" he unclipped his badge and holster from his pants and sat both on the kitchen counter. "What are you doing?"

"Drinking," she said, stating the obvious as she held up her wine glass. "And eating peanut butter balls. All these calories are going to go straight to my hips and my ass."

"More cushion for the pushin'," he teased and leaned over her chair as she turned her face up for a kiss. He kissed her softly and languidly. When he went to pull away, she grabbed his chin with one hand and popped a peanut butter ball in his mouth with the other.

"Good?" she asked, letting his chin go and licking her fingers clean.

"Very good," he replied around a mouthful of chilled peanut butter.

He chewed and swallowed the delicious treat and than kissed her again. Laughing and having to clap a hand on the back of her chair to stop himself from tumbling into her lap when she grabbed him by the tie and yanked him closer to her. Her tongue pushing greedily into his mouth.

"Very, very good," he mumbled against her lips, tasting peanut butter and red wine. "So we gonna make out right here in the kitchen?" he asked when she finally released him. "'Cause your parents are right out in the living room on the pull out."

"No…" she shook her head vigorously. "They're not in there."

"What? They decided to stay in a hotel?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh-uh," she said, guzzling her wine.

"They decided to stay home?" he sounded even more hopeful.

She finished the glass of with a large gulp. "They are sleeping in our bedroom."

"In our bed?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"Because my mother has a bad back and needs to use the memory foam."

"So do I," he argued. "I feel like I'm ninety. So she not only gets my bed she gets my foam, too? Where are we suppose to sleep?"

"The pull out," Sam answered. "Obviously."

"Did you at least remember to change the sheets before letting them sleep in there?"

She grinned devilishly and popped another peanut butter ball in her mouth.

"That's goddamn gross, Samantha. You're letting your parents sleep in our bed where we expended our bodily fluids this morning?"

She giggled. "You're so poetic, Donald. Just say it. In our bed where we fucked this morning. Don't be shy."

He grinned. "You've had too many glasses of wine," he said, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it over one of the empty chairs.

"Just a bit," she agreed, as he went to the fridge and took out a jug of white milk, another of chocolate and mixed the two in a large plastic tumbler he snagged from the cupboard above the sink.

He put the containers back in the fridge and grabbed two maraschino cherry squares from their package and than closed the fridge and sat down across from her.

"So?" he asked, biting into the square. "What kind of foul mood was your mother in when she arrived?"

Sam snorted and placed her feet in his lap.

"That good, huh? I'll move on to something else than. What was Kieran's day like?"

"Okay….he ate two full Eggos with butter and syrup this morning, a cup of juice and an entire banana. He's got your appetite, apparently."

"Like father, like son," Flack declared, and leaned forward to grab the bottle of wine, filling her glass to the brim.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, taking a sip. "So you can take advantage of me later? Score some bathroom action for a second time in a week?"

"I was thinking right here in the kitchen. Just bend you over the table and have my way with you. Seeing as you gave our bed away."

"What was I suppose to do? Let my arthritic mother sleep on the pullout?"

"No. You were suppose to send their asses to a hotel and offer to pay for it. Never mind offering. You should have just came right out and said Don and I don't want you here so we'll pay for you to stay somewhere. Because Don and I are trying to have a baby and I, meaning you, find it impossible to stay even remotely quiet during sex."

"I am capable of shutting my mouth," Sam informed him.

He arched an eyebrow. "Really? You haven't done it since the day I met you."

"Bite me," she said, wine glass to her lips, digging her foot into his crotch.

"You would so love that," he declared, finished the squares and helped himself to some of the peanut butter balls. "Watch your foot there. You want a baby don't you? Don't do damage to the boys."

"The boys?" she laughed, nearly spitting her wine across the table. "You have a nickname for your package?"

"I have a nickname for yours too," he told her and winked playfully at her.

"I don't think I want to know what it is," Sam said.

"No," he chuckled. "You don't. Besides, that's just between me and the boys. What else did you and Kieran do today other than eat?"

"We sat on the kitchen floor and finger painted. Built block towers and watched some Baby Einstein. You know, all the exciting shit that takes place in the average day in the life of a baby. And we took the longest, sweetest nap I have had in a long time."

"I had a nap, too, Not as fulfilling as yours, mind you. But I caught an hour in on a cot in the one of the holding cells."

"Eww!" Sam exclaimed and grimaced. "I can just imagine what's on those cots. And you have the nerve to come home carrying God knows what. You need to hit the showers before you come any closer to me my dear."

"How can I come any closer to you? Your parents are in our bed. And that pull out makes way too much goddamn noise to have sex on it."

"That's what the floor is for, Donnie," Sam told him, removing his foot from his lap before pushing her chair away from the table and polishing off her wine. She stopped up, swaying a little.

He grinned at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide, sparkling eyes. "You good?" he asked.

"I'm good," she replied, giving him a thumbs up and than belching loudly.

He snickered. "Nice to know my wife is such a demure, polite, feminine thing."

"Please," she giggled as she stumbled slightly as she rounded the table and plopped herself in his lap. She wrapped her arm around his neck and nuzzled and kissed his cheek. "You didn't marry me for my cuteness."

"I didn't?"

She shook her head. "You know why you married me?"

"Why? Humour me."

"You married me because…" she licked the outline of his ear, felt him shiver against her. "…I'm a damn good lay and I give really good head."

"Yep," he agreed. "That's exactly it."

"I knew it," she said and giggled once again.

"You are so drunk, Sam," Flack sighed, rubbing her back softly.

"Just a teeny, tiny bit," she assured her and stood up.

He watched her as she weaved her way to the door.

She laughed hysterically when she banged hard into the door frame. "Excuse me," she said, patting the wood comfortingly.

Jesus Christ, Flack thought with a smirk. "Where you going, Samantha?" he called after her.

"I am going to take a shower. Are you coming?"

He was on his feet in a shot. Downing the rest of his milk in one swallow before hurrying after her, ignoring the throbbing in his back.

A man had to do what a man had to do.

An hour and a half later, Flack lay in the middle of the pullout in a pair of navy and white plaid pyjama pants his wife had made him buy at Eddie Bauer after announcing three weeks ago her parents were coming to visit. Despite ninety percent of his street clothes -other than work attire- coming from the store, he was not a pyjama type guy. But Sam was pretty certain her mother wouldn't feel too comfortable about her son in law walking around in boxers. Too bad, Flack had said. It's my place. He'd suggested a wife beater and a pair of pants, but Sam had vetoed the idea. For some reason known only to her, seeing him in a wife beater made her want to lock themselves in the bedroom and attack him.

So pyjama bottoms it was. With a t-shirt when the old folks were around. Right now however, he was shirtless and on his stomach, his arms under his chin as his wife sat on the back of his thighs, her thumbs pressing into the tender area on either side of his tailbone. Their hair still damp from a marathon shower. Exhausted and happy but not completely sated.

"How am I ever going to survive that department Christmas party tomorrow…or today…whatever day it is now. A party with all those people and your parents? Insane asylum time. Call and book me a room. Or just shoot me and put me out of my misery with my back."

"You really should go and see a chiropractor," Sam told him, digging her thumbs into his flesh and rubbing in hard, firm circles.

"I don't need a chiropractor," he said. "I need a…FUCK!" he spread his arms out over his head and had to bury his face in the mattress to muffle the scream as she hit an extra sensitive spot.

"You need a fuck?" Sam giggled. "Baby, I am the woman for you."

"That hurt, Samantha! Shit!" tears burned his eyes. He banged his forehead in aggravation and agony against the mattress.

"Well I'm sorry, baby. But we go through this same routine every night. You ask me to do this and than you wimp out on me half way through."

"I am not wimping out. It just hurts…really, really, really bad."

"Sorry," she said, and bent down to press a kiss to his back before sitting back up again. "Did you go in and get your pills?"

"I can't," he grunted as she continued applying pressure to his aching back. "Your parents are in there."

"They're sleeping. Want me to go and get them?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I do."

She climbed off of him and off the pull out and headed down the hallway to their bedroom. Pausing at the door to listen for signs of life before entering. When she didn't hear anything, she twisted the handle and pushed the door open and slipped inside and hurried for the bathroom. Closing the door behind her before switching on the lights. She slid open the medicine cabinet and snagged the prescription bottle of oxy-contin before turning the lights back out and stepping into the bedroom.

Her eyes fell on the sight of her parents in the middle of the bed. Sarge was naked from the waist up and her mother was snuggled up to him in a flimsy satin nightie. Both had content smiles on their face. She bit back a laugh and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her before racing back to the living room and reclaiming her place on the back of her husband's legs. She buried her face in his shoulder and burst out into hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" Flack asked. "Seeing me laid up like a cripple?"

"No. You…you won't believe what I just saw."

"You weren't playing that stupid Bloody Mary game in the bathroom mirror were you? Every time you get drunk you do it and get so spooked you can't sleep for a week."

"No…it wasn't that…it's..oh my God…" she laughed so hard she made a snorting noise. Which only caused her to roar even louder and Flack to laugh out loud. "My parents….they're….I can't…I think my parents were having sex in our bed!"

"Fuck!" Flack exclaimed in disgust. "You saw it?"

"No…my mom…my dad….Sarge has no shirt on and my mom…she's in this little negligee thing and….I can't take it…"

"We are getting a new mattress once they leave," Flack declared. "'Cause I don't want to be doing you in the same bed your parents were doing the nasty in."

"Oh my God," she gasped and sat up, wiping tears off her cheeks. "There's a sight you don't want to see on a regular basis."

"Just because you had to tell me I'm going to be traumatized for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry," she said, and commenced rubbing the small of his back again. "That was just plain disturbing. Seeing my mom like that," she shivered at the thought.

"What's worse you think?" Flack asked. "Us seeing them doing the nasty or them seeing us?"

"Definitely us seeing them. I mean, we're young. We're expected to have sex. But my parents…God…I don't even want to think about it You ever think about your parents?"

"Having sex? Hell no. As far as I'm concerned, they had sex twice. Once with me and once with Chris."

"You are so delusional. They are probably like rabbits if you're dad is anything like you."

Flack grimaced. "Sam…please…no discussions like that about my parents. You know what I was thinking about when you were gone?"

"What's that?"

"That first night we were together. I mean, really together. In the shower at my old apartment. Remember that?"

She smiled. "How could I forget? The night you went all mean and aggressive and cop on me."

"You asked me too," he reminded her.

"I did," she agreed.

He sighed. "That was a fucking amazing night."

"And none of the other nights since have been amazing?" she asked curiously, running her hands up his back to his shoulders, leaning over him, pressing kisses along his back.

"Of course. Every time with you is amazing. It's just that night…I don't know…it was our first night and it was like we couldn't get enough of it…it was just different, that's all."

"We still act like we can't get enough of it," she laughed, her hands trailing down his arms.

Over the massive black and grey tattoo that stretched from just below his right shoulder to an inch above the elbow. A protection cross. The traditional Celtic knot work elaborately and intricately designed. Kieran's initials: KSDF in the middle, along with the date of his birth and his weight and height. The piece had taken two visits and nearly twelve hours to complete and cost an outrageous amount of money. On the inside of his left forearm, were four numbers: 9118. Her badge number. Done in black ink, each number was just under an inch in length.

"You're a nympho," Flack declared.

"Maybe," she said, trailing her fingers over the outline of the cross. "But that tattoo makes you look all big and bad and mean. Can I help it that I find it totally sexy and it turns me on?"

"Yeah..but you're really easy to please most days," Flack said. His eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of her hands softly trailing over his skin and her hair tickling his back as she moved down his body once again. He jumped slightly and than shuddered at the sensation of her tongue drifting across the small of his back.

"And you say I'm easy to please," she said as she moistened the small of his back with her tongue and than blew on the area.

He shivered, Unable to control himself.

She smiled, pleased with herself and the reaction she was getting. She ran her hands up his back to his shoulders, then bent down, her hair swaying against his skin as she trailed the tip of her tongue all the way from the small of his back to the base of his neck.

"Okay," Flack attempted to sit up. "Time to get off of me now, Sam."

"Why?" she asked, pushing him down by the shoulders and proceeding to kiss and lick and lightly suck at the sensitive back of his neck.

"Because….you can't be doing stuff like that to me."

"Why?"

"Because…you're driving me crazy here."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Not normally."

Her lips and tongue travelled to the muscle between his neck and shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You gotta stop, Samantha."

"You don't want me to stop," she stated.

"No..I don't…but…"

"No buts," she told him, suckling at the side of his neck.

"Shit, Sam. Come on. This isn't good. Not with my back the way it is and your parents in the next room."

"Donnie?" her lips were by his ear.

"What?"

"I'm really, really, really horny."

Fuck, he thought. "When aren't you?" he asked. "And we just spent over an hour in the shower."

"That was just foreplay," she told him.

"You still got off. Three times to get exact. What was in that wine?"

"I slipped some E into my own drink," she joked. "I'm serious. I am. And I know you are too."

"I am. I am practically dying here."

"So what's the problem?" she asked, kissing his neck and shoulder.

"The problem is I can barely move with my back all screwed up and your parents are in the next room."

"So?"

"So we both know, from experience, how bad this pull out squeaks and rattles. And that you are incapable of keeping quiet during sex. Especially when you come."

"You just have that effect on me," she said. "And who cares if they can hear? They know we have sex."

"I know…but the thought of, you know, making love to my wife and having one of her parents walk out…that's freaking me out just a bit."

"We'll hear them come out of the bedroom."

"Shit, Sam. By that time I won't be able to stop. And I don't feel like giving your parents a free show. Especially your dad."

"Maybe you can give him pointers," she giggled, turning her attention to the back of his neck again.

"And my back…."

"So you just lie here and let me do the work. You've always liked that before. Letting me take charge once in a while."

"I love it. I do. And there's nothing more I want to do than let you just fuck my brains out…"

"Than roll over and let me."

"Samantha…this isn't going to happen. We can't just…" he shut up at the feeling of her tongue in his ear. As soon as that happened, it was game over for him.

"Donnie?" she said into his ear.

"What?" he asked.

"Just shut up and roll over."

"Yes, m'am," he said, carefully flipping over onto his back as she lifted herself off of him momentarily,

"Don't worry," her grin was devilish as she slid down his body, her hands hooking in the waist of his pyjama pants. "I promise I will be very, very, very good to you."

"Your parents, Sam…." he argued feebly as she effortlessly peeled the pants off of him and tossed them by his head. "Your parents…"

"Forget about them," she said, and slid out of her own satin bottoms. Leaving her button down top on, she climbed astride him once more, taking his aching, hard cock in her hands and guiding him into her. She sighed and bit her lip at the pleasure coursing through her as she took him in as deep as she could, her hands running up his chest. Her nails digging in his shoulders.

He groaned at the sensation of her body closing around his erection like a tight, wet fist. He reached up and unbuttoned her top, giving him access to fondle her breasts and fondle her nipples as she rode him at a slow, easy pace.

It took less than thirty seconds for him to forget that anything, or anyone else, existed outside of them.

Flack woke up dull grey light filtering through the living room windows. Down the hall he could hear Kieran babbling cheerfully in the nursery. He raised his right arm and glanced at his watch. Five minutes to nine. Much later than the baby's usual rise and shine time, but not something alarming or unwelcome. Although he knew that he should probably get up and start the kid's breakfast before Kieran started bellowing and pitching a fit, he instead closed his eyes once more and rolled over onto his side -grateful the pain in his back seemed to have died down to where it was remotely bearable- and wrapped an arm around Samantha's sleeping form. She was on her stomach beside him, hair hiding her face, her back rising and falling with each deep, steady breath she took. He peeked under the blanket to make sure they had managed to get their respective clothes back on when all the activities were said and done, and that the buttons on her shirt were done up. Just in case his in laws decided to make an appearance.

He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead before drawing her tight into him, Mornings like these were rare. Where you could just lie comfortably for a few moments in peace and quiet. Sam stirred and rolled over onto her side and wrapped an arm around him and snuggled in close.

That bliss didn't last long as he heard the door to one of the bedrooms click open and his mother in law mumbling about goddamn lazy people and how it wasn't up to her to take care of someone elses kid when the parents were both capable enough to do it. He wanted to yell down to her to fuck off and that there were no dire panic to get to Kieran right away. The baby had developed a morning routine that involved waking and than playing with the toys in his crib and talking away for a good half an hour. When he was hungry, Kieran let you damn well know it and quick.

"Ignore her," Sam mumbled against his shoulder and tightened her hold on him.

"It's almost nine in the morning," he told her.

"And your point?" she asked, yawning noisily.

"The point is Kieran slept in late and he's awake and your mother has gone in there to get him and she has no clue about the kid's breakfast routines or anything. So our luck, she's going to come out here and start ranting and bitching at us to get off our asses."

"Tell her to fuck off," Sam said.

"Oh I'm sure I will at least once this visit. Seriously though, babe. He's probably starving."

"Yeah?" she yawned once more and drew away from him and planted a long, soft kiss on his lips. "Than I guess you better get on that," she said, and turned over onto her other side and drew the covers up and over her head.

He sighed. "And what do I wear? All my clothes are in our room or Kieran's."

"There's a t-shirt for you on the back of the door of the small bathroom," she told him, voice muffled under the blankets.

"Why can't you get him?" Flack complained, tossing the covers back and slowly slipping out of bed in case his back decided to rebel. The last thing he wanted was to be in a crumpled heap on his own living room floor, writhing in pain. "Shit!" he hissed. "The floor is freezing. Come on, Sam. Can't you get him?"

"He's your son too," she retorted.

"Well could you at least find a way out of bed and into the kitchen and make me a coffee?"

"I'll think about it," she responded, waving him away dismissively.

"You are such a witch," he said, yanking back the covers to unearth her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Go away!" she cried, capturing the covers and burying herself under them once more.

Down the hall, Kieran let out an ear piercing, ferociously angry scream and than began bawling at the top of his lungs. So hard and so powerful that he gagged and coughed and sputtered.

"I think she's killing him," Sam commented, popping her head out from under the covers.

Muttering profanities under his breath, Flack headed from the living room and down the hall to the nursery. He didn't bother going for a shirt to put on. If his mother in law found it offensive that he was walking around his own place without a shirt on, than that was her goddamn problem.

His mother in law was bent over the crib, the side railing down, trying her best to comfort and control Kieran as he screamed and carried on and fought off an attempted diaper change. He was crying for mommy and daddy over and over again between his sobs and his gasps for air. His face bright red and hot tears streaming down his face.

"It's because he doesn't recognize you," Flack informed her, stepping up to the crib and taking over. "He doesn't see you enough."

Kieran stopped wailing at the sound of the familiar voice. He opened his eyes and sputtered dah-dee several times in between drawing air into his heaving lungs.

"Good morning to you too, Donald," Lynne said in return, as her son in law stepped past her to snag a handful of Kleenexes from a box on top of Kieran's dresser.

He cringed when she called him by his full name. She'd been told, politely, on numerous occasions not to call him that. And she still insisted on doing it. He didn't react Instead he concentrated on wiping tears and snot off of his son's face and continuing on with the diaper change now that Kieran had settled down.

"You know," she said, handing him a fresh diaper. "It's not my fault he doesn't remember me. It's because we all live so far apart. I'd get to see him more and spend time with him and help my daughter off if we were closer. Arizona is a lot cheaper place to live and there's lovely, reasonable homes nearby us. And the Phoenix PD is always looking to hire good people."

He smirked. This conversation had come up more than once since Kieran's birth. "I already told you, Lynne, Sam and I don't want to leave New York City. We're happy here. We've both got good careers we're advancing in and all of our friends are here. And so are my mom and dad and my brother and his family."

"But Samantha's family is in Phoenix," she pointed out.

"Adam's here in New York, too," Flack reminded her, securing Kieran's diaper and putting his pyjamas back on. "And Sam wouldn't leave Adam for love or money. Both you and Clint are retired, why don't you guys move here?"

That shut her up right quick. He knew how his mother in law felt about the city despite the fact she was born and raised there. It was too dirty and busy and above all, dangerous. Not to mention outrageously expensive.

"Come here, big guy," Flack said, to Kieran, scooping his son out of the crib and showering the baby's tear streaked face with kisses before settling him on his right hip.

"It's not good when they go to just mommy and daddy," Lynne said a matter of factly.

"It's a stage," Flack told her. "And he's usually fine with everyone else. So maybe he's just a good judge of character."

Lynne's eyes widened. Flack couldn't believe what had just slipped out of his mouth. He had promised Sam that he'd be as friendly and polite as possible. Just like he was when her mother called there to talk. But sometimes the woman just grated on his nerves and he couldn't take it. This was one of those times. And now, as he stood there, rubbing his son's back and bouncing him lightly on his hip, he could feel his mother in law's eyes studying both the massive tattoo on his arm and the scars on the left side of his body. Even after all this time, he was still self-conscious about it.

"Ask if you want to," Flack said.

Lynne blinked, her eyes breaking contact with the scars. "Pardon?"

"The scars. I know you want to ask about them. Go ahead. Ask."

"Are they from the bombing?"

He nodded. "Sam's told you all about it I'm sure."

"Bits and pieces," his mother in law confirmed. "It's a miracle that you even survived."

"Either that or it was just pure luck of the Irish," he said light heartedly.

She cracked a smile. "I was actually more focused on the art work on your arm there," she said, making air quotes around the words art work.

"I got it just after Kieran was born," he told her, "Took over twelve hours and two sessions to get it done. I won't lie and say it didn't hurt. Each kid we have, if we have more, I'm going to add their initials and what not to it."

"You have another one?"

He held out his left arm to show her the numbers. "Sam's badge number. She went and had mine done on her wrist so I figured, make it something between us and get hers."

"I've never quite seen the fascination people have with doing that to their bodies," Lynne said. "When she came home from visiting her brother here when he was in college and she had that ladybug on her foot….I damn near killed her. And than she goes out and gets that huge, God awful thing on her back."

Flack shrugged. "I don't know…it's really well done. Cost her a fortune and she said it took the guy forever to do it. It's beautiful. Not to mention it makes her incredibly sexy."

A knock came to the bedroom door.

"Everything okay in there?" Sam's voice asked from out in the hall.

"Mom-meee?" Kieran looked around the room for her. Pouting when he didn't find her.

"It's all good," Flack replied to his wife's question.

"Okay…well there's fresh coffee for everyone and I made Kieran some toast and oatmeal. So whenever you guys are ready."

"Thanks, babe," Flack said, than heard her soft footsteps travelling back down the hall. "You know," Flack said to his mother in law as he shifted Kieran onto his other hip. "Your daughter tries really, really hard. She works full time and takes care of Kieran and keeps this place and our marriage in order. She's not perfect but she tries damn hard to be. And it would mean a lot to me if you showed her once in a while that she's doing a good job. Complimented her on things instead of dragging her down."

Lynne didn't respond.

"She's my wife," Flack continued. "And I know you're her mother and she really wanted you guys here for Christmas. But to be honest, I dont give a rats ass if you're here or not. You want to see her and Kieran, that's fine, but if you're main goal being here is to make her feel like shit, you might as well leave. Because I won't tolerate you treating my wife like that. I'm telling you right now, first time you try it or get her into a state and I come home and she's in tears or she calls me at work all upset, I will personally pack your shit and ship you back to Phoenix. Understand me?"

She nodded. Too stunned by his honesty to say anything.

"Good," Flack said cheerfully and headed for the door.

"She is my daughter," she reminded him.

"Than show her some respect. She deserves that after the hell you let her go through as a kid."

Lynne sighed heavily and glared at him.

"Isn't this going to be the best damn Christmas ever?" he asked sarcastically, than slipped out of the room, chuckling all the way down the hall.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I know there's lots of you who are reading this and I would just like to know whether you guys like this or not!! Please leave a review!! Even a quick one is better than nothing! Much appreciated!

Thanks to:

Hope4sall
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ImaSupernaturalCSI
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