DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, BABY KIERAN AND WHATEVER ELSE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE

A/N: AS PER A SUGGESTION FROM MY PAL LAURZZ, I AM ISSUING A WARNING BEFORE THIS CHAP. IF YOU CARE FOR YOUR MONITORS, DO NOT EAT OR DRINK DURING SOME PARTS OF THIS CHAPTER. AS LAUGHTER MAY CAUSE INVOLUNTARY SPEWING OF MOUTH CONTENTS.

A/N 2: A VERY SPECIAL HELLO AND WELCOME TO TWO NEW FACES! SHOPAHOLIC20 AND BUTTERCUPPIE

A/N: 3 THERE WAS MORE TO THE TITLE BUT YOU CAN'T GET SYMBOLS IN HERE. SO I THINK YOU GUYS KNOW WHAT THE REST IS SUPPOSE TO MEAN.

Deck the motherf#! halls

"Twelve-pack of Bud
Eleven Wrastling tickets
Ten o' Copenhagen
Nine years probation
Eight table dancers
Seven packs of Redman
Six cans of Spam
Five flannel shirts
Four big mud tires
Three shotgun shells
Two hunting dogs...
And some parts to a Mustang GT

Man, this ain't normal Christmas presents!
No, they're redneck gifts!
Redneck gifts?
Yea, you know, like if you buy your wife earrings that double as fishing lures.
Or, if you can burp the entire chorus of "Jingle Bells"
Perhaps if you think "The Nutcracker" is something you did off a high-dive.
Or, if you've ever misspelled something in Christmas lights.
Or, if you leave cold beer and pickled eggs for Santa Claus.

What's wrong with that?
I didn't say anything wrong with it...It's hard to beat…"
-Redneck 12 Days of Christmas, Jeff Foxworthy

With a current work force of over forty thousand strong, it was impossible for the New York City Police Department to hold one Christmas party for every single employee. Short of Shea Stadium or the abomination that was the new Yankee Stadium, there was no facility in the entire state let alone the city that could hold all those people and their respective families. There was no limit on guests that you could bring and everything, including wrapped gifts for anyone under eighteen, was donated by sponsors or paid for by the department. It took the entire month of December and most of November to fit a party in for everyone. Some precincts balked and had their own celebrations, but most still attended the department hosted family events. The commissioners office and a host of volunteers spent hours upon hours arranging schedules of what department or what precinct attended what and where. It was quite the ordeal and by the time the final party rolled around, those in charge were no doubt drunk on rum and eggnog, thanking Christ the holiday only came once a year.

The twelfth precinct had been partnered up that year with the 133 in Staten Island, the Crime Lab and the Medical Examiners Office. It was the last celebration of the season and Flack was thanking the powers that be for at least putting his precinct with people he knew. Last year, although Sam had been too pregnant to attend and all of their thoughts at been on their upcoming wedding, the twelve had been hooked up with ESU and Narco. Flack had been glad that he'd been able to bail on that one. He wasn't one for dispensing the Christmas cheer. He was more bah-humbug most days than deck the halls. And being separated from the lab had meant he'd have to suffer the fate of attending two parties.

Sam was the deck the halls type as he had learned the year before. She was all for hundreds upon hundreds of lights plastered all over the house and stringing popcorn to put on the tree and spending hours and hours wrapping gifts and adorning them with bows and ribbons and individually signed gift tags. Why bother? Flack had asked her the year before, when she handed him what seemed like the umpteenth gift addressed to him and signed by her. There's no one else living here. I know it's from you. She'd looked at him like he'd mortally insulted her. And this year, watching her sign from mommy and daddy or from Santa on tags meant for presents to a baby who couldn't even read it had nearly drove him mad. But he'd bit his tongue and let her carry on. It made her happy and when she was happy, so was he.

It wasn't just the signing of names on cards for an illiterate baby that annoyed the hell out of him. It was the number of gifts that now took up residence in the walk in closet, under the bed and in the small storage closet down the hall. An outrageous amount of money had been spent on a kid that would get greater joy out of playing with the discarded wrapping paper or the empty boxes. He was all for spoiling his son. Within reason. A word that his wife did not count as part of her vocabulary. But what really burned his ass was the hiding of presents when the kid didn't even know what Christmas was or who in the hell Santa was. He did not see the point. Sam was like a little kid that looked out the window all night on Christmas Eve hoping to catch a glimpse of the jolly old man and his eight tiny reindeer.

It's just tradition Don, she'd said when he'd griped to her about how ridiculous it seemed to be going to such great lengths for an eleven month old. I want his first Christmas to be memorable. Maybe not for him but for us. It only happens once and I want to do whatever I can to make it the best Christmas ever for all of us.

He'd softened a little at those words. At the childlike exuberance with which she spoke and the way her eyes sparkled and danced in awe when he'd taken her and Kieran to see the lights in Rockefeller and the displays at F.A.O Schwartz. She'd seen it the year before and many times over growing up in the city. Yet each time they'd gone together, she'd lit up brighter than the lights themselves and she'd seemed so happy and innocent and pure that his heart had damn near melted.

Now, as he stood in the closet and tried to pull a shirt off a hanger only to find said attempt thwarted by mounds of presents that threatened to topple over, he was damn near ready to throttle her.

"You in here?" Sam's voice came from the doorway of their room. Her parents had managed to vacate it long enough to let her and Flack use the shower and get dressed.

"In here," he called. "Trying to avoid causing an avalanche."

She popped her head into the closet. "What'cha doin'?" she asked curiously. Eyeballing him in his loose fitting dark grey jeans and a wife beater.

"Getting dressed. Or at least attempting to. Do all these presents really have to be in here, Samantha? I can't even move in here. Can't you just put them under the tree already? There's only four more days left."

"If I put them under the tree it ruins things," she said.

"What things?" he asked, finally managing to grab a hold of the button down, long sleeved shirt he'd wanted. Midnight blue with dark and light grey and light blue stripes.

"The whole Santa puts the presents under the tree thing," she replied.

"He doesn't even know who Santa is, babe. He doesn't know what day you put presents under the tree."

"But I know," Sam argued.

Flack gave up. Arguing with her didn't solve anything. And if following these traditions she clung so tightly to her made her happy, than who was he to shit all over her for it?

"Does this look okay?" she asked, motioning down at her apparel as she squeezed her way into the closet.

He glanced over at her as he slipped into his shirt. She was dressed conservatively in a black and grey tweed pencil skirt that just skimmed the knees and a simple black long sleeve square neck top. Black leotards and brand new knee high black boots with a small heel completed her ensemble. Light makeup graced her features and her hair was lose and tumbling down her back. Small sections pulled back on each side of her face and secured in the back by a hair clip.

"You look nice," he told her, doing up the buttons on his shirt.

She frowned. "I'll change."

"Why?" he asked, tucking his shirt into the waist of his pants. "I just told you that you look nice."

"You didn't exactly sound too thrilled about it," she complained.

"What to you want me to say? You look hot? It's not like you're in a skirt that barely covers your ass or a top that barely covers your girls. I think that's the most clothing I've seen you wear at one time. Even when you were pregnant."

"It's a family Christmas party," she reminded him, and began flipping through the hangers of clothes on her side of the closet. "I can't go in there dressed like a hooker."

"Doesn't mean you have to go in dressing like you're on your way to teach Sunday school either. Look, I said you look nice. Isn't that enough?"

"Something more…flattering would have been nice," she muttered, searching for, and failing to, find something better to wear. "Something like you look beautiful or you look hot or even you make me want to screw you right here, right now. Not a simple, boring, you look nice. You're so romantic, Don."

"You PMSing or something?" he asked. "You're awfully crabby this afternoon."

"Am I not just entitled to be a raging bitch sometimes?" she inquired. "There's nothing here to wear! Other than stuff I wear to work all the time and a few dresses that are either too formal or too inappropriate to wear to a family party! Or maternity clothes! What the hell! I seriously need to go and buy myself some new clothes. I've got the outfit I have on now and the one I put to go out with the girls tomorrow night."

"You mean the naughty Catholic school girl skirt?" he asked with a grin. "You should wear that today. Give all the guys heart attacks. And you've got three quarters of this closet taken up with your stuff. There's got to be clothes you like. I always think you look nice."

"I mean, seriously, Don," she said, for the most part ignoring him as she shoved hangers out of the way and looked at outfits with sheer disgust on her face. "Look at this shit! There's not one thing in here that's half decent!"

"Than go and buy yourself some stuff you like," he told her. "Or what until after Christmas. Never know what Santa might bring you."

"I wish he'd buy me a two week vacation somewhere warm and exotic and far away from my crazy family. She's been here less than twenty four hours, Don! Less than a whole day and she's driving me fucking mental. You know what she told me while you were in the shower? She told me that for Christmas she was going to buy me a mop and broom and all kinds of cleaning supplies because I so obviously am in desperate need of them."

"Don't let her get to you, Sam. Just because she has nothing better to do with her life other than clean twenty-four hours a day doesn't mean you have to be just like her. She's retired and does fuck all else all day long. You work and have a baby to take care of. And it's not like this place is dirty. It's clean. It's just goddamn cluttered. And what do you expect with a kid that has more crap than both of us put together? Just ignore her. It's Christmas. You're always going on to me about being happy because it's Christmas."

"It's hard to be happy when the incarnation of the anti-Christ is trying to take over my life!" she snapped, vigorously shoving hangers from side to side, the loud screeching noise of metal on metal near ear splitting in the confined space.

"How'd we go from talking about your mom to talking about Kieran?" Flack joked, attempting to lighten her mood.

"I can't find anything else to wear. So why don't you just take my parents and Kieran to the party and I'll stay home."

"If you think I'm going to spend an entire day alone with your mom and dad and Kieran, you're out of your mind."

"Than just take Kieran and I'll stay home with my parents. I don't care. Whatever works. But I'm not going dressed like this and I can't find anything else so make up your mind what you want to do!"

"You know what?" he spoke softly and patiently as he turned around and stepped behind her and reached over her to lay his hands on hers, stopping the clatter of clothing and hangers. "Just calm down. Okay? You look beautiful in what you're wearing and there's no need to change. Alright? You're just freaking out a little over this shit with your mom. So just take a deep breath and take it easy."

"This is exactly why I am glad we live so far from her," Sam said, blinking back tears of frustration and stress. "And why half the time I screen the calls coming into here. So I don't have to listen to her shit."

He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands over hers and up her arms to her shoulders. "Just take it easy, baby. She's like a bully on the playground. The more tears you shed and the more you show how badly it hurts, the more they torment you."

"Yeah?" she gave a small laugh and leaned back against him. "Were you the bully or the kid that got picked on all the time?"

"It went both ways all through school. I dished it out and I got it handed right back," he said, rubbing her shoulders softly. "You just need to learn to either let it roll off your shoulders or stand up for yourself. Either ignore it or stop letting her walk all over you. I mean, you can handle dangerous perps but you can't handle your own mother?"

"You didn't have to grow up with her," Sam told him. "She still thinks I'm a little girl she can boss around and control."

"And you have to let her know you're not or just suck it up and take it."

Sam snorted.

"Sorry," he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "That came out harsh. I didn't mean for it to sound like that. But I can't fight your battles for you, Samantha. I'm your husband but you're a grown woman and a mother and there's things I can't fix for you. That only you can deal with."

"So much for the whole protect and honour thing," she said with a dry laugh and pulled away from him. "I need to go and check on Kieran. Make sure he's not tearing the place apart. And don't be too pissed when you see what he's wearing."

"Why? I liked that outfit you bought for him last week."

"My mom didn't. And she bought him an outfit she liked and decided it was more suitable for a Christmas event. So I better go and…"

"Kieran's fine," Flack told her, reaching out and shutting the closet door before she could step out of it. Holding it closed to prevent her from going anywhere. "If there's a problem, your mom or dad will come looking for you."

"So what are we going to do? Hide out in our closet until it's time to leave?"

"Why do you think I've been in here for so long? I've been avoiding the in laws as much as possible."

"That's nice," she said with a laugh. "Leave me alone to deal with them and entertain them. I'll remember that on Christmas Day when we're at your parents' house."

"You would never be so cruel as to leave me alone with my mom and dad for too long."

"Don't tempt me, Don. Now can we go? Before I get all claustrophobic? It's hot in here."

"For the record," he said, taking his hand off of the door and than squeezing between the door and her, blocking her exit. "There's not a time I'm not thinking how beautiful or hot you are or how badly I want to fuck you. And it doesn't matter what you're wearing. You could be wearing a garbage bag and I'd still think those things."

"This is like a bad middle school party," she told him. "Locking yourself in a closet with a guy and playing seven minutes in heaven or whatever the hell it was called."

"I wouldn't know. I was a pure and innocent Catholic boy."

"Right," she laughed. "You were probably the one out to corrupt sweet little things like me."

"Maybe…but seven minutes? Only? Don't insult me."

"I thought you once said you could get us both off in less than five if you put your mind to it," she teased.

"I did. But it took longer than I thought. Wanna put that to the test? See how far we can get in five minutes?"

"We are not having sex in our closet while my parents are out in the living room watching our son. That's just plain dirty."

"So was the bar bathroom and the back seat of my SUV and a couple of other places I don't need to bring up. You never argued any of those times. What's the deal with it now?"

"Because it's just not right," she reasoned. "My parents and our son are just right out in the living room and…"

He grabbed her by the tops of her arms and pushed her away from the door and towards the back of the closet, pinning her up against the small slice of available wall. His lips crushing against hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. She resisted at first, her lips and teeth refusing access to his tongue as she fought vainly to keep the upper hand and the cooler head. It wasn't a good idea to be in there engrossed in a sophomoric make out session with her parents watching Kieran in the next room.

He abandoned the grip on her arms in favour yanking up the bottom of her shirt and slipping his hands under the fabric and than running them along the bare skin of her sides. Climbing upwards until his hands cupped her breasts along the under wire of her bra. Her resolved vanished when his thumbs teased her nipples through the soft lace. She kissed him back with all the anger and frustration still simmering in her body. Catching him off guard with her aggression and allowing her to turn the tables and push him across the closet and back against the door.

The kiss broke. They stared at each other, both grinning devilishly and panting. She took the initiative to get the ball rolling by reaching for his belt buckle.

"Doesn't work that way," he informed her, grabbing her by the hips and pushing her back to where they had been moments before at the rear of the closet.

He wasn't too fond of losing control over a situation. Even when it came to love making or anything associated with it. Last night he'd come way too close to being the submissive one. And it wasn't going to happen again. His wife had a strong, assertive personality when the need or want arose. And it was up to him to put a quick end to it. Her fingers raked through his hair and her nails dug into his scalp as his lips descended on her neck and one hand pulled up the bottom of her skirt and slipped up the smooth fabric of her leggings.

"You have way too many clothes on," he said against her neck, as his fingers hooked in the waist band of the leggings and attempted, feebly, to slip down the tight material.

"Well I wasn't exactly planning on getting into a make out session in the closet with you," Sam responded.

"Gotta always be prepared, Sam," he teased. "Can you take these damn things off for a minute or two?"

"You'll have to make do. It would take me too long to take the boots off and than the leggings."

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "You don't believe in making things easy for me."

He abandoned trying to get his hand down the front of the leggings and instead pressed his palm flat against her mound and began rubbing her aggressively through the material. His lips once the side of her neck once more. She sighed as he caressed her and closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his hair once more.

The closet door suddenly clicked open. Startling both of them and bringing a shrieking halt to the raw, intense intimacy. Flack glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother in law standing in the doorway, a mixture of horror and disgust on her face and Kieran on her hip. He bit his lip to hold back the laughter that threatened to erupt and felt Sam's arms curl around his bicep as she buried her head in his arm. The shaking of her body giving away the fact that she wasn't as good as holding back the giggles as he was.

"Something you want, Lynne?" Flack asked calmly. "'Cause last time I checked this wasn't your closet."

"Kieran needs his ear drops," she answered and held the baby out.

"Dah-dee!" Kieran cried excitedly and stretched out his arms.

Flack stepped away from his wife and took his son from his embarrassed, and furious, mother in law. Who simply gave them one last disgusted glare before shutting the door as she left. He looked over at Sam. Tears spilling down her cheeks, lower lip wobbling, body shaking.

"She's traumatized for life," Flack declared.

Samantha couldn't hold in it any longer. She cracked and burst into a hysterical fit of laughter and collapsed onto the floor on her ass.

Kieran was looking down at her as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry at her outburst. "Mom-mee?" he inquired in a hesitant voice.

"And speaking of traumatized.." Flack said, holding Kieran out at arm's length and taking in the baby's ensemble.

He couldn't believe his eyes. His kid had gone from Baby Gap and Baby Old Navy to Baby Nerd in a matter of an hour. Instead of the overalls and rugby style shirt and Baby Lugz his mother had purchased for him, Kieran was decked out in a pair of crisp black dress pants, white dress shirt, a red, blue and green argyle sweater vest and a black velour jacket. Shiny black patent leather shoes on his feet. And argyle socks that matched the sweater vest.

"Oh hell no," he said, vigorously shaking his head. "This is not my son."

Sam was too busy hiccuping on the floor of the closet to offer up a comment.

"Do you like looking like a geek?" Flack asked his son.

Kieran answered with a noisy raspberry.

"Exactly what I thought," Flack muttered, and carried his son out of the closet.

"Look's like a mini Bill Gates," Sam called after him.

"That would be if you had kids with Danny Messer, my dear," Flack responded before disappearing from the room.

Sam took a deep breath and willed the hiccups away. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she brushed the tears off her cheeks with the sleeves of her top and leaned back against the wall of the closet.

So much for a normal, sane Christmas, she thought.

The Jacob K. Javitz Convention Centre was located on 11th avenue between 34th and 35th street on the lower west side of Manhattan. Flack had been to the massive, space age structure once before when he and Danny had attended a sports memorabilia show just months before Sam had come on to the scene.

It should have only been a twenty minute drive at the most. But the roads were slick from layers of black ice below hard, packed snow that the plows had been struggling to keep off the streets. And the snow just continued to fall. The wind had finally died down, but the white stuff came down at a steady pace.

As Flack drove, listening to the weather reports on the radio and Kieran babbling away in his car seat, Sam found herself in the back. The car seat wedged in between her and her mother who hadn't uttered a damn peep since Flack had walked out of Kieran's bedroom shortly before they were scheduled to leave with the baby in the outfit that Sam had originally picked out for him. Sam was thankful for the reprieve from her mother's off handed, harmful comments, and hoped that maybe, just maybe, Flack's equally as offhanded and sometimes mean personality had gotten her to smarten the hell up.

Kieran let out a ear piercing shriek of pure delight as a snow plow pulled up alongside them, its blue lights flashing on the roof. The kid had a fascination with anything with four wheels. Fire trucks and police cars being his favorite because of the loud sirens and flashing lights. But he was also fond of dump trucks, transit buses, and apparently, snow plows. He kicked his legs frantically and bounced happily against the restraints holding him in and pointed a mitt out the window before going into a long winded conversation that no one outside of himself could understand. In a voice that was far louder than it needed to be.

"Talks a lot, doesn't he," Sarge commented to his son in law.

"Like his mother," Flack said. "Never shuts up."

"You'd miss my voice if you never heard it again," Sam declared, leaning forward in her seat and painfully flicking his ear lobe. She fanned herself with her hand and unbuttoned the top of her heavy wool, light pink pea coat and pulled off her hat. "Turn the heat down, Donnie," she requested. "It's sweltering in here."

"You going through menopause or something?" he asked teasingly and reached for the buttons on the dashboard. "Every night for a month now you've been kicking off the blankets and complaining about the heat when everyone else is freezing because you need a window open."

"Be quiet or I'll give you a wet willy," she said in response.

"A wet what?" Sarge asked.

"A wet willy," Sam clarified. "You've never heard of it?"

Sarge shook his head.

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

"I would never do something so immature and childish," she said innocently. Than pulled off her mitts and waited for the first red light they encountered. And when her husband was least expecting it, licked her index finger, leaned forward, and stuck said finger in the hole of his right ear.

He jumped. "You f…." he bit off the rest of the word before it could escape his mouth. "You witch!" he bellowed instead. "I swear to God woman, when we get out of this car, I am dumping you ass first in the deepest, yellow coloured snow bank I can find."

She stuck her tongue out at him and settled back in her seat, giggling. That musical giggle filled the car and made both Flack and Sarge smile and than start chuckling themselves. Lynne sat staring at her daughter with the utmost contempt and disapproval in her eyes. As if she was thinking, this can't possibly be something I gave birth to. And it was not lost on Samantha, who seized the opportunity to egg her mother on even further. The Lorezepam tablets she had taken before they left to ward off anxiety had kicked in and she felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

"Mom!" she exclaimed. "You're sitting in the baby seat!"

Lynne frowned. "The what?"

"The baby seat! It's good luck if you sit there. We call it the baby seat because Kieran was conceived in that exact spot!"

Sarge coughed noisily in the front seat and put a fist to his mouth to hold back the laughter.

Lynne's eyes widened and she lifted her ass slightly to check out the cleaniness and state of the upholstery beneath her.

"Don't worry, mom," Sam said. "Don's very clean. He doesn't make a mess."

"Jesus, Sam!" Flack shot her an annoyed, 'shut your damn mouth' look over his shoulder.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, than put her index finger and middle finger up to her eyes and than pointed at him and than out the windshield. A la Robert DeNiro in Meet the Parents. "Trying to get us killed? Eyes on the road!"

He sighed and turned his attention back to the traffic in front of him. "Was she like this growing up?" he asked his father in law. "I mean I know you never got her until she was sixteen. But was she always like this once you took her on?"

"Worse," Sarge told him.

"Christ. Are you serious?"

The older man nodded.

"You poor man. Is that why you're snow white?"

"Absolutely," Sarge declared. "But I wouldn't give back all these white hairs for anything in the world. It was a wild ride but well worth it."

Flack glanced through the rear view window at his wife, who was now holding an apple juice drinking box she'd stowed in Kieran's back pack to their son's lips. Patiently attempting to teach the baby how to sip from a straw. A gentle, reassuraning tone in her voice as she encouraged him and didn't care that he dribbled most of the juice down his chin and onto his winter jacket. Instead she simply praised him for being a good boy and trying so hard, and tenderly wiped his chin with her fingers.

His wife was his entire world. And no matter what craziness and unpredictable insanity she brought into his life, it was nowhere near the love and serenity he experienced being with her.

It was a hell of ride. One he woudn't think twice about taking all over again.

The enormous banquet hall on the second floor of the convention centre was a winter wonderland. Several giant, brightly lit and decorated trees were arranged around the room. Each table for guests was set with red and green plaid tablecloths and Christmas themed dishes. Large arrangements of fresh poinsettias sat in the middle of each table along with a complimentary box of Godiva chocolates for each guest. Massive glittering snowflakes dangled from the ceiling and elaborate wreaths adorned the walls.

At the front of the room Santa Claus entertained kids of all ages on his lap. Alongside of him were tables where families could pick a gift according to the age of their little one. On the one side wall were craft tables. Parents or caregivers could assist a child in making ornaments of gingerbread men. A DJ was set up at the back of the room and was spinning both Christmas music and both classic pop and what was huge on the radio in 2009. The music in tough competition to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the sea of guests and children that chased each other and shrieked and carried on at the top of their lungs.

"Aren't you just in heaven," Sam commented to her husband, as he had to sidestep yet another group of hyperactive children that zoomed past them as they checked their coats.

"Goddamn brats," he muttered, as he sat Kieran on the coat check desk and pulled off the baby's hat and mitts and unzipped his coat. Stuffing the hat and mitts in one of his own jacket pockets.

"And you want more than one?" Sam laughed as she handed their jackets to the clerk and received three claim tickets.

"Our kids will never be like that," Flack declared, setting Kieran down on his feet on the ground. The baby plopped down onto his ass, got into a crawling position and proceeded to push himself back up onto his feet.

"Good boy, Kieran!" Sam praised.

"Why does he do that?" Flack asked. "You put him on his feet and he sits down only to get back up again. Why?"

"He likes to do it himself I guess," Sam replied, slinging the Bob the Builder back pack over her shoulder. "It's his way or the highway. He gets that from you."

"He only gets the best stuff from me, Sam," he teased. "How many times to we have to go through this?"

"Maybe until you're not so full of s-h-i-t," she responded, holding her hand out to her son who was pondering his next move.

His favourite thing in the world was to stand and attempt to get around on his own. Only his walking abilities still left a lot of be desired and his coordination, both from immaturity and the fluid in his ears, was somewhat 'off'.

He looked at her hand, furrowed his tiny brow in concentration and took three toddling steps towards her before missing his mother's hand all together and tumbling face first into her legs. He stayed on his feet and didn't pat an eyelash at his near accident. Instead he turned himself around, used her thighs for balance as he made his way to her side, and reached for her hand.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked her son, curling her fingers around her tiny hand and finding herself pulled in the opposite direction of where they should have been heading. "You're going the wrong way, Kieran," she told him, and gently re-directed him.

"Nice to see whose the boss in your family," Danny commented as he pushed his way through the crowd, Addison on his hip.

The baby's fine auburn hair and rosy cheeks were on full display in a winter white wool jacket with zebra patterned cuffs and collar and matching bucket style hat. Lacy white leotards and black patent leather dress shoes on her legs and feet. Her tiny arms clutching her Uncle Danny's jacket.

"You run off with Speedle's family?" Flack asked, as Carmen, looking frazzled, managed to squeeze through the sea of partygoers to join her friends.

"Tim had to work," Carmen told him, as she shed her jacket and got Addison out of her own coat and hat and checked their items. "Danny was gracious enough to be my date."

"I'm a sucker for beautiful women," Danny said, pressing a kiss to Addie's temple. "And Erica couldn't make it so…"

Neither Sam or Flack said anything at that piece of information. It seemed that the incidences of seeing Danny and Erica together were fewer and far between now. Which was odd, considering Erica had taken a home pregnancy test just a week before and it had come out positive. So apparently, they were spending enough time together to get certain things down.

"So it's just me and the little princess here," Danny said, running a hand over Addie's hair.

The little girl was ignoring him now. Because Uncle Donnie was there and Uncle Donnie was her favourite, even at that young age. She gave a heart warming giggling and a huge smile that lit up her green eyes and reached for Flack.

"Traitor," Danny sighed, and passed the baby over. "Come here, Osama," he said to Kieran, dropping to a knee and holding out his arms. "Come and see your Uncle Danny."

Kieran looked sceptical at first. Eyeing Danny with a both his eyebrows arched and his chin tucked to his chest and his blue eyes serious.

"Check him out," Danny laughed. "Got his dad's facial expressions already. What do you do, Flack? Sit him down and teach him these things?"

"Like I've told my wife time and time again, he gets all his best qualities from me," the detective replied, as he carried Addie and their small group headed into the ballroom. Danny following at a snail's pace behind them, holding Kieran's hand and his back aching as he lowered himself far down enough so the baby could walk on his own.

"Please!" Carmen laughed. "He gets all his temper tantrums and whiny-ness from you. Where's the in-laws? You guys kill them already?"

"I've considered it a few times," Flack said. "But no…they're already off finding a table with Adam and Gus. She's the monster in law's pride and joy, you know. Gus can do no wrong. Because she's a doctor and managed to graduate from grade eight. Isn't that what she said when she met Gus for the first time, Sam?"

"She said Gus could string a proper sentence together," Sam said. "And she doesn't consider beer and Chinese food fine cuisine. Or some shit like that."

"She hates me," Flack said to Carmen. "The monster in law. She despises me. She wishes I was dead. She liked me at first, until someone with a great education and a non-cop job came along and stole her heart."

"Sounds like you guys are going to have a very Merry Christmas," Carmen snorted, as they headed in the direction of the table that Gus and Adam and the in-laws at secured. Next to Hawkes and Angell and Mac and Stella.

"I plan on spiking all of Sam's drinks from now until her parents go home with crushed up lorezepam tablets," Flack said. "Enough to knock out a horse. Because the last thing I want is my wife in tears constantly when she's suppose to be enjoying her time off."

"And doping her up is going to help?" Carmen asked.

"Also makes it easier for me to take advantage of her," Flack chided. "You know, get a leg up on this baby making thing. Get as much time in as possible."

"Are you kidding?" Carmen laughed. "It's your guys' favourite rainy day activity."

Flack smirked. "It ain't gotta be raining, Devine, trust me. Rain, sleet, snow, bright sunshine. I am always ready, willing and able. We just don't have any results from all of our hard work yet."

"It'll come, Don," she assured him. "Maybe you guys have been trying too hard. You're two uptight about it. Christ, baby making should be fun. Not stressful. The sooner you guys stop thinking about the end result, the sooner she'll be nice and relaxed. That happens and she'll be pregnant in no time."

"Think so?" he asked.

"Look how quickly Kieran came along. You guys weren't planning on him and it happened, " Carmen said, casting a glance over her shoulder to where Danny was proudly showing off Kieran to a gaggle of curious women. "I think Messer is pawning your son off as his to get girls."

"Get real, Carmen. How is it even remotely possible that someone that looks like Messer can father a kid that looks like that?"

"That's cause he looks like his mother and has my eyes and my brains," Danny shot back, overhearing the comment.

"You wouldn't surive fifteen minutes with Sam, Danny," Flack told him. "She'd have you on your knees begging for mercy."

"That's the best part," Danny said.

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"Don't get so down about the baby thing," Carmen told him. "When it's your guys time to have another one, it will happen. Just have a little faith, Don."

He managed a smile. Sometimes, faith in himself was what was seriously lacking.

He was the only dad at thetable. Not that that was a horrible thing. He didn't mind the fact that in the mothers' eyes he was somewhat of a saint for having both the patience, and guts to be the only guy brave enough to sit down at a craft table surrounded by kids. He was somewhat flattered by the compliments on how well he handled his son. At how he seemed a real natural and was probably the type to get up in the middle of the night for diaper changes and feedings while their husbands either bitched about how tired they were and just kept snoring.

And it wasn't the fact that he now, after eating lunch, found his ass shoved in a child's sized chair with a squirmy soon to be eleven month old on his knees as they attempted the decorate three gingerbread men. He didn't balk at the icing and edible sparkles that were smeared up to his elbows or on his pants or the fact that he was doing more of the work than Kieran was. Kieran was more interested in trying to eat everything. He'd even tried to eat the clay at the table beside him. Where they'd made a 'present' for mommy. Kieran's tiny hand print emboldened in a bed of grey clay and accompanied by the date it was made on and a poem that read:

MY HAND

Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls
But everyday I'm growing up
And soon I'll be so tall
That all those little hand prints
Will be difficult to recall
So here's a current hand print
That you can put away
Then you'll know how my hand looked
This year, on this day.

Flack had found himself unusually choked up when he read those simple words. Because the truth of the matter was, Kieran was growing up. He wasn't that seven and a half pound infant that relied on them for everything. He was learning to talk and walk and was already craving a bit of independence. And Flack missed those baby days when things seemed so much easier. Because he knew, somewhere not far down the road, was his son's first day of school and his first lost tooth and his first girlfriend and his first broken heart. And he was just not mentally ready to deal with stuff like that. In all honesty, he didn't want his baby growing up.

What was irritating Flack now however, was the fact that Max had dumped Daria off on him with nothing more than a 'Here, stay with your uncle Blue' while she chased off after Rick Santucci. Max had developed a crush on the younger, handsome uniform officer. Rick, a sign language interpreter, was a hell of a nice guy that did not need that kind of drama in his life.

And Flack did not need being stuck with a demanding four year that could not take no for an answer. She pestered him for his full attention and assistance despite the fact that he'd told her, time and time again, that he needed to concentrate on Kieran. Kieran was his son and his responsibility. Not her. And when Daria all but pushed Kieran off of his lap with a 'Dumb baby!' it had taken all of Flack's willpower to not put the kid over his lap and smack her ass.

Kieran took care of the situation. He grabbed a hold of Daria's left hand and sank his teeth into the top of it with enough power behind him to make her scream in agony and leave a rather impressive set of teeth impressions in her skin. Kieran seemed rather pleased with his handiwork and went back to his gingerbread cookie as utter chaos reigned at the table. Flack was torn between scolding him and congratulating him.

Sarge came and saved the day. Bribing Daria with the promise of ice cream and than scooping her up and carrying her to her mother and dropping the still crying child in Max's arms with a 'My son in law has his hands full, watch your own damn kid'.

Flack gave Kieran a stern lecture on how it wasn't nice to hurt other kids. That he wouldn't like it if someone bit him and was mean to him. Than when no one was paying attention, he'd cuddled Kieran close to his chest and kissed his son's head and whispered in his ear what a good little boy he was for sticking up for himself. For not taking anybodies shit.

And than, with the insanity over, they went back to making gingerbread men. Flack wasn't known for his artistic talents. Although he'd done a damn good job painting the baby's room light blue, and adding, free hand at that, fluffy white clouds to the walls and a sun and moon on the ceiling. He'd put up glow in the dark stars for the sheer hell of it. But cookie making? That was Sam's area of somewhat expertise. She'd become a little homemaker lately and it was both a startling, and a welcome thing. But when she'd turned those golden eyes on him and asked him if he wouldn't mind doing things with Kieran so she could hang out with her friends for a change, he just couldn't argue.

He was just assisting his son with affixing Smarties for buttons on the blue icing coat the 'daddy' gingerbread man was wearing when he became aware of a female figure standing above them. He smelt expensive perfume and saw the sky high black pumps and the skinny jeans. But he didn't tear his attention away from the task at hand, or the attempts to keep candy out of his son's mouth.

The woman before him knelt down in front of them. Reached out with a hand boasting perfectly manicured nails and touched Kieran's hair softly.

Flack finally looked up to see who this woman was touching his kid. His stomach constricted. His heart pounded. Oh God, why me? He thought.

"I see you're a spitting image of your handsome daddy," the young woman drawled in a perfectly perfected sex kitten style voice.

Flack blinked. It had been more than a year since he'd seen her last. And out of the blue she showed up at a department Christmas party?

What in the hell have I done in my life to deserve this moment of sheer hell, he wondered.

"Hello, Don," she said with a soft smile.

He swallowed noisily.

"Devon," he managed.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!! Even a thank you to the lurkers! I know there's lots of you. Please review! The more the merrier! Makes my day!

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