DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. OR ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH LAW AND ORDER: SVU. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK (REGARDLESS OF WHAT CBS MAY TELL YOU) AND BABY KIERAN.
Special thanks to my good pal, laurzz for letting me borrow one of her famous catch phrases
'Twas the night before Christmas
"Don't pretend you're sorry
I know you're not
You know you got the power to make me weak inside
Girl you leave me breathless
But it's ok
Cause you are my survival
Now hear me say...
I can't imagine life without your love
And even forever don't seem like long enough
'Cause every time I breathe I take you in
And my heart beats again
Baby I can't help it
You keep me drowning in your love
Every time I try to rise above
I'm swept away by love
Baby I can't help it
You keep me drowning in your love."
-Drowning, Backstreet Boys
The shift was never going to end.
Flack was sure of it. He and Scagnetti had been called in at quarter to five in the morning to work a double homicide in Far Rockaway. A teenager hopped up on drugs had gone and sliced and diced and carved his parents like a Christmas dinner turkey. All because the mother had caught him attempting to sneak into the house at four in the morning and ratted him out to his old man. Kid had bided his time until his parents had gone back to bed following a reaming out that neighbours said nearly woke the whole block, than snatched up a butcher knife and a meat clever from the kitchen and headed into his parents bedroom. Where he just went to town. Flack had honestly never seen so much blood and gore in one room in all the years he'd been doing the job.
As hard core and seasoned as he considered himself, it had taken all he had to hold back the bile as he stood at the foot of the bed and took in the nasty mess. As if the father's entrails spreading out over the white bedding wasn't enough, the sight of the mother's head hanging on by a mere thread had nearly sent Flack scrambling for the bathroom. Scagnetti, who had ten years on the force up on Flack, as well as being one level higher at Lieutenant, had noticed his partner's slightly green complexion and offered up a chuckle and suggested maybe Flack was getting a little soft and that he needed to leave the room and "pull up his big boy panties" before returning to the task at hand.
It had been a relatively open and shut case. A quick canvas of the neighbourhood by K9 turned up a trail of bloody clothes along a small stretch of sidewalk just two blocks away and the guilty party passed out, face down and as naked as the day he was born, in a snow bank. He was currently handcuffed to a bed at Trinity General recuperating from a slight OD of an unknown controlled substance. The identity of which was still yet to be determined by toxicology tests.
Since than it had been a string of calls. Ranging from mundane to mind boggling. Muggings gone seriously bad, a couple of dead seniors found out front of their residences - Sid had determined that both had suffered massive coronary events, most likely from shovelling the heavy snow- and two car jackings gone awry when the vehicle owners, determined to protect not only their cars but the slew of presents stowed in the trunks, had served out their own brand of justice to the perps. One had thrown a scalding coffee in the guilty party's face and than shoved him out of the moving vehicle and out onto the FDR where he was than hit, and killed, by another vehicle. Another had gone animalistic and taken the steering wheel lock and bashed the perp's brains in.
What had surprised Flack, apart from the violent nature of both acts, was that both of the vehicle owners had been women. In the course of his career, he had seen many a crime committed by members of the female persuasion. But he'd never come across women that were so unremorseful. Who truly believed that protecting their car and their possessions were far more important than their own lives.
Christmas drovepeople nuts. Flack was convinced of that. All the hustle and bustle and trampling each other for the best deals tossed in with the snow that never seemed as if it was going to stop was driving people insane. And mix Christmas in witha city that was already filled with unimaginable wackjobs and you were just asking for trouble.
He stole a glance at the clock above the front entrance. Quarter to seven. Fifteen more minutes and he was suppose to be free and easy. But the paperwork taking up three quarters of his desk was testament to the fact that his two days off were going to be anything but relaxing and joyful.
The bullpen was busy. Other detectives and uniforms were scurrying about and talking noisily. Phones were ringing off the hooks. Computer printers and fax machines were humming. A drunk in one of the holding cells was singing Away in a Manager in a loud, yet surprisingly talented and appealing falsetto. He'd been entertaining everyone in the place for the last hour. He'd been taking requests for the last twenty minutes. One of the detectives had coughed up his empty coffee mug and had sat it on the floor in front of the cell and visitors and cops, including Flack, had dropped enough bills and change in it to ensure the guy had warm meals for the next few days. If he didn't spend it on booze that was.
"Hey, Joey!" Scangetti, immersed in his own paper work at the desk pushed up against Flack's, called out to the whino. "I wanna hear Christmas Don't be Late by The Chipmunks!"
"Jesus Christ," Flack chuckled. "I've heard enough of that song in the past week alone to last me a lifetime."
"I'll dedicate it to my partner here," Scagnetti announced. "He's got a kid at home that's addicted to the shit!"
Flack sighed and put his face in his hands and shook his head as the wino began to belt out the Christmas song at the top of his lungs. In a nearly perfect impersonation of Alvin the Chipmunk. When he hit an impossible high note that caused everyone in the place to both wince and nod in appreciation, Flack dropped his hands from his face and glanced across the desk at his partner who was laughing so hard his face was turning red.
"I don't know about you," Scagnetti said between breaths. "But that last note made my balls ache."
"You still have those Scagnetti?" a familiar female voice asked as it approached the two desks. "I thought your new girlfriend kept those in her purse along with her whip and leg shackles?"
"Anyone ever tell you that you Brooklyn girls are a pain in the ass?" the big man asked, a broad smile on his face.
Samantha nodded in Flack's direction. "He does…at least three times a day."
"Double on weekends when she's asking me to clean the toilet or do the laundry," Flack said, smiling and winking at his wife.
"Which is when he conveniently announces he has a migraine or has come down with some mysterious ailment that only gets worse if he gets near any kind of cleaning product," Sam said.
She held up a carry tray of take out coffee. In her other hand was a large Bloomingdale's bag. "I come bearing early Christmas gifts, gentlemen," she said, sitting the bag in the empty chair alongside of Flack's desk and the two coffees on top of the desk.
"You're a fucking blessing straight from God," Scagnetti declared, and leaned across his desk to snag one of the drinks. "And to answer your question, my wife carries my balls in her purse on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."
"You and Tammi are back together?" Sam asked, shedding her hat and mitts and shoving both into the pocket of her black ankle length wool jacket.
"It's a Christmas tradition," Scagnetti told her, sipping black coffee. "We always get back together a week before the man in the red suit slides his fat ass down the chimney and than break up again just as baby New Year is soiling his first diaper."
"That is some sad state of affairs," Flack concluded. "Where's the girlfriend when all this is going on?"
"Which one? One, two or three?"
"You are so goddamn full of yourself, Tony," Sam said, unbuttoning her coat and slipping out of it. "I have told you this a million times and I will tell you yet again. Any man who brags that much is because they aren't getting any."
"If I was married to you, Brooklyn girl, I wouldn't be looking anywhere else," he declared, eyeing her up and down in her simple yet elegant red wrap dress, black stockings and knee high black leather boots. Hair loose and flowing, a hint of makeup on her face. "Seriously, come home with me and we be making beautiful babies together."
"Easy, Scagnetti," Flack warned, not looking up from his paper work. "I am right here."
"Poor Tony," Sam pouted dramatically and stood at the side of the big detective's chair and wrapped her arm around his thick neck and pecked his cheek. "If I was about fifteen years older, maybe you'd stand a chance."
"You know what they say about us older guys," Scagnetti said with a grin. "More experience."
"No…what I believe they say for men your age is 'time to hit the pharmacy for some Viagra'."
Flack snickered.
"You wound me," Scagnetti said, laying a hand over his heart. "So what are you doing here?" he asked his partner's wife. "Thought you'd be at home with the rug rat."
"Who?" Sam asked, picking the bag up and sitting down in the chair and setting the bag at her feet. "Sorry, I don't know what rug rat you're talking about. I leave the house for some me time and anything I left behind becomes foreign."
"Which is exactly why I don't have kids," Scagnetti told her. "No me time."
"You don't have kids because God saw fit to spare the world from anyone that looks remotely like you," Flack said.
"You're both smart asses tonight," Scagnetti laughed. "Seriously though, what are you doing out and about on Christmas Eve?" he asked Sam.
"My loving and adoring husband is taking me out for our anniversary," she replied. "Three hundred and sixty five days of wedded bliss is behind us."
"Well here's hoping for another three hundred and sixty five," Scagnetti toasted them both with his coffee cup. "Honestly, I can't believe you've put up with this clown for that long."
"It's a tedious, trying existence but I somehow manage. I also came buy because I was in the mood to play Mrs Claus tonight."
"Complete with a little red outfit with white fur trim?" Scagnetti asked hopefully as he rummaged through the shopping bag.
"Sorry," she said. "That outfit is for my husband's eyes only."
"I so hope you're not joking," Flack sighed as he rolled his chair to the desk behind him, swivelled around and snatched a piece of paper coming from the fax machine on top of the desk.
"For you," Sam said to her husband's partner, presenting him with a scarlet red envelope and a white cardboard box adorned with a glistening gold ribbon. "Don was suppose to take it with him this morning but he could barely get his own fly done up he was so tired let alone remember something like that."
"You're a sweetheart," Scagnetti said and tore into the enveloped and removed the Christmas card inside. "You actually sign this yourself Flack?" he asked his partner.
"What kind of question is that? Of course not. My wife does all of that. Do I look like the Christmas card kind of guy?"
"Thought maybe you were getting in touch with that new softer side you seemed to have taken on."
"Fuck you, Scagnetti," Flack shot back as he rolled his chair back to his desk.
"Your hubby here nearly lost his breakfast, lunch and dinner at a crime scene today," the older man told Sam, as he peeled off the scotch tape holding the sides of the box in place.
"Was that the double up in Far Rockaway?" she asked, pulling a bottle of vitamin water from the bag and snapping the lid off. "Kid went OJ on his parents?"
Scagnetti nodded. "Told him to go take a breather and pull up his big boy panties. Why do you drink that hideous, God forsaken crap?" he asked, wincing as she took a long sip of the pale purple water.
"It's my crack," she replied. "It was Oreo cookies until I got pregnant and ate too many and now the mere thought of Oreos makes me want to spew. And, if you believe The National Enquirer…"
"Which she does," Flack snuck in.
"…Nicole Kidman apparently credits conceiving her child to bathing in, and drinking, vitamin water."
"All that proves is that celebrities have major fucking issues," Scagnetti told her. "What? You guys hitting a proverbial brick wall with the whole baby thing? It's probably all the caffeine Flack drinks. 'Causing him to shoot blanks."
"That's Mountain Dew," Flack told his partner. "Mountain Dew fucks up sperm production. Which is why I haven't touched the crap in over two months."
Scagnetti opened the cardboard box and peered inside. "My favourite Christmas gift of all," he said, nodding in appreciation. "Sweets."
"I made them," Sam announced proudly.
"Betty Crocker now, are we?" Scagnetti asked, helping himself to a dream square.
Sam snorted. "Betty Crocker my ass. I'm Martha Fucking Stewart."
"Well whatever, or whoever you are, you sure know how to bake," the older man told her. "Damn good…this now solves the mystery to why Flack has gotten so fat."
"I am not fat," the detective defended himself. "I am big boned."
"Sorry," Scagnetti said. "Pleasantly plump if you will. You'd think all the booty you're getting would keep you in better shape."
"You know, Lieutenant," Flack said with a sigh. "I would hate for my gun to go off in a very freak, unfortunate work place accident."
"You kidding me?" Scagnetti roared with laughter. "I've seen you on the range. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Or water if you fell out of a fucking boat."
"Well at least I can run a block and not be complaining I'm having a heart attack," Flack said. "So the last person who should be talking about someone's weight is you."
"Calm down, Donnie. Don't be so sensitive. I'm just fooling with ya. Don't get your big boy panties in a twist. You got that report yet from the hospital for our mad butcher?"
"Hot of the presses," Flack passed the sheet of paper across the desks. "Looks like our boy has a thing for crazy glue and meth."
"Goddamn junkies," Scagnetti mumbled as he read over the report. "I'm gonna get this signed off by the duty captain and than we can take our asses on out of here. I will leave you two young lovebirds alone. Please, just no major PDAs or anything."
"That's what the janitor's closets are for," Flack told his friend, as the older man pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. "And the CSI garage at three in the morning."
"Too be young and incessantly horny," Scagnetti said with a heavy sigh and headed off.
Flack looked at his wife and smiled. "Hi," he said simply.
She returned the smile. "Hi. Long day?"
He nodded and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he said.
"Not exactly how you wanted to be spending it, huh?"
"I would have much rather stayed home all day and spent time with you and Kieran, but what can you do? Gotta make a living somehow. We're just lucky we were able to get a babysitter. Kieran was okay with Reed when you left?"
"Happier than a pig in shit. Reed was just settling down to give Kieran his supper when I left and apparently, he's planning on giving Kieran a bath."
"Good luck with that. You tell him about Kieran's propensity for using people's various body parts as chew toys?"
"I did. And we really need to do something about that kid's biting problem."
"Get him a muzzle maybe?"
Sam frowned and kicked her husband's shin lightly. "I was thinking of taking him to see a child psychologist."
"What?" Flack laughed. "Why? Because he bites? Kids bite. It's just something they do. And you bite and you don't see me sending you to a psychologist."
"Kieran and I bite for two totally different reasons. I bite when I'm sexually aroused or in the middle of climax. He bites because he's a masochist and thinks it's funny."
"He bites because he's eleven months old and doesn't know he's hurting people and finds the reaction he gets from us hilarious when he sinks his teeth into us. You bite because you're a dirty little girl."
"And you enjoy it," she said and stuck her tongue out. "So there."
"You planning on using that thing later?" he asked with a grin. "Give me a little anniversary present?"
"Maybe," she replied, than grimaced and stroked her stomach.
"You okay?" Flack asked in concern.
"I've been feeling like shit all day. I've been going from hot to cold and I've been dizzy and nauseous since I got up. My dad had to feed Kieran breakfast because I spent half an hour on my knees in front of the toilet. I better not have picked up the flu somewhere."
"You mean like that strange flu you picked up in '08 that never went away for nearly nine months?" he teased. "That kind of flu?"
She grinned. "As much as I'd like to be telling you on our first anniversary that I'm pregnant, I ran out and picked up a test this morning and it came back negative."
"You disappointed?" he asked. Although the look on her face already answered that question.
"A little," she admitted. "It's our second negative result since the beginning of December. And there's still no sign of my period for this month and it's over two weeks late."
"Doctor said that could happen with those anti-depressants and anxiety meds you're taking," he reminded her gently.
"I know…but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow."
He smiled and leaned forward in his chair and reached out to take her hand in his. "Let's look at this way…just means we get to try more."
She managed a laugh. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. Aren't you a little disappointed?"
"A bit," he said. "But no one said just because Kieran happened so easily and quickly that it would be that way the second time around. I can't say I'm surprised that it hasn't happened right away. But we've only been trying since Carmen and Speedle's wedding. Now if it stretches into months and nothing comes up, than I'll be really worried."
"I will so not be impressed if that happens," she sighed. "And so you know, we have the apartment to ourselves again. My parents are going to stay over at Gus' because my dad felt as if Kieran's first Christmas morning should be spent with just the three of us."
"God bless that man," Flack said with a grin.
"I don't really see how he justifies that reasoning, but to be honest, I think it's because he knows that you and my mother hate each other and it's just not a pleasant environment after a while. And I also think he has the infinite desire to keep my mother and me away from each other before someone gets seriously hurt."
"Sam, it is impossible for any place your mother is at to be a positive environment. They still coming to my parents?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Unfortunately."
"Your mother and my mother in the same room should be interesting. Your mom starts in on you and look out. My mom will defend you to the death."
"That's because she loves me," Sam concluded. "And because I saved her favourite son from a life of solitude and misery."
"Don't forget it's because you gave her a grandchild with the son she and my old man thought was gay."
"I just hope and pray that my mother behaves herself in front of your family," Sam sighed. "Especially after our rather unpleasant altercation today."
"Again? When aren't the two of you having an unpleasant altercation? What was it about this time? Letting Kieran actually breathe in the house?"
"We had an argument over the toaster."
Flack arched an eyebrow. "The toaster?"
"More specifically, the fact that I put frozen Eggos and French toast sticks in the toaster."
He frowned. "Isn't that where they're suppose to go?"
"Apparently not. Apparently they're suppose to go in a toaster oven. Because when you put them in a regular toaster, everything melts and drips down into the bottom and can just screw all the mechanisms up. Did you know that?"
"Musta slipped past me in Toaster Etiquette 101," Flack remarked dryly as he sipped his coffee.
"Well she's convinced it's the case and come tomorrow afternoon, we will find ourselves the proud owners of a brand new toaster oven. Merry Christmas. And you thought you weren't getting anything this year."
"You're family is completely and utterly fucking hopeless," Flack declared.
"Aren't you so glad you married into it?" Sam exclaimed. "Isn't it just the wonderful, fairytale life you've always wanted for yourself? You didn't just get a wife a year ago, you inherited a whole three ring circus."
"I tell ya, Sammie," Flack said as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "If you weren't so hot I never would have gotten mixed up with you. You had have just been average and it would have been a few nights of crazy, wild sex and that's it."
"That's it. Admit you have very low standards, Don. You'll sleep with anything that shows remote interest."
"I certainly will not. I'm a happily married man. Before you, sure…anything looked appealing. But a guy will take it where he can get it."
"You're a goddamn pig. Scagnetti is right. How in the hell haveI managed to put up with you this long?"
"Because I'm an amazing lay," he answered, laughing and jerking his leg away from the kick aimed at his shin. "And mostly because you love me."
"Well you make it damn hard sometimes," she pouted, twisting her head away when he went to kiss her.
"Come on, don't be like that. It's our anniversary. And it's Christmas Eve. Be nice to me for a change."
"For a change? What's that suppose to mean? I'm horrible to you all the time?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it. Don't be such a difficult bitch. Why you always have to make me work so hard?"
"I thought you enjoyed a challenge?"
"Sure…I do…when I'm getting a reward in the end for working my ass off."
"Only reward you'll be getting is me letting you sleep in the same bed as me."
"Don't be like that," he said, and capturing both of her wrists in his hands, pinned them to the arms of the chair.
"You're going all cop on me in the middle of the precinct?" she teased, her eyes twinkling playfully. "I'm not exactly into public sex."
"Like I said, that's what the janitor's closet is for," he told her and kissed her softly. Short and sweet. "You look really pretty by the way," he said as he let her go and went back to finishing off his paperwork.
"I figured I couldn't exactly go out to dinner in sweats and a t-shirt. That you might like to see me looking like a girl."
"It's appreciated," he said, and eyed her from head to toe. "Those the same boots as last night?"
"They are."
He grinned broadly. "How long did Reed say he could stick around to? We should go and rent a hotel."
"I wasn't aware New York City had rooms they'd rent by the minute."
He smirked and signed his name off on the last of the forms in front of him. "You're vicious, Sam. You're lucky I know you're joking. Half the time you're bitching and moaning it's too much for you."
"You're right. You are just the greatest thing on this earth. You are just way too much man for one woman to handle."
"Don't you forget that either. So is everything ready for tomorrow morning? There's nothing I need to put together when I get home or anything like that?"
"I need to stuff stockings still and I will put the presents under the tree once you're sleeping. I can't let you see what I bought you."
"I'm thirty years old, Samantha. I think I can contain myself until tomorrow morning. You on the other hand…you're like a little kid. Which is why I've kept everything locked up where you can't find it."
"Damn you. You know how much I like to snoop. And I'm going to need you to write a letter to Kieran from Santa."
"Why?"
"Because Kieran's leaving Santa milk and cookies and I need Santa to write a thank you letter."
"Write it yourself."
"I need a guy's handwriting," she reasoned.
He sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. "You are taking this Christmas thing way too seriously."
"I just want Kieran to have the things neither of us got as kids," she said. "I don't think that's too much to ask."
He smiled. "You're right, it's not. I'm just in a downright, foul, Ebenezer Scrooge type mood because of the day I had. I'm sorry."
"That bad of a day?"
"Just a lot of crazy shit. And paperwork. I got a new detective starting day after New Years so I've been trying to get all his shit in order."
"New detective? Who is it?"
Flack leaned forward and thumbed through the stack of folders. He snatched one out and held it out to her.
"Some guy your age transferring out of SVU," he said.
Sam tookit and flipped it open to read the first page of employee documentation. She recognized the name. It belonged to someone she hadn't seen in years. That she'd spent four years living just doors from in the projects in east Brooklyn. They'd gone to the same elementary and high school and he'd been the first boy she'd ever kissed. Really kissed. And the only one until Evan two years later that she'd gone beyond second base with.
They'd lost track of each other when the Ross family had moved to Phoenix. She'd assumed he'd hung around New York City. Maybe gone into construction and iron work like his family and his ancestors. She had thought many a time about looking him up when she came back to the city. But her life had gone in a different direction and she'd never gotten around to it.
She thought maybe it was sheer coincidence. Nothing more than a shared name. Until she flipped over to the second page and saw the official NYPD photo.
"Chester Lake," she said, looking down at the picture of a handsome, clean cut Native American in his uniform.
"You know him?" Flack asked.
Sam nodded. "His family moved in a few doors down from us when I was eleven. We went to the same primary and high school together. Used to hang out a lot and stuff."
"And stuff?" Flack didn't know if he liked the sound of that.
"He was a really good friend of mine. And his younger brother Michael used to play with Adam all the time. We all used to hang out together. Mostly as his house because my dad wasn't too fond of him because he was Native. Mohawk nation. Very, very proud of his heritage. I always assumed he went into iron work like his ancestors. He used to talk about it all the time when we were young."
"Well apparently he became a cop," Flack said, taking the folder from her and flipping it closed. "Guess he ran into some issues over at Special Victims and brass figured homicide was the place to put him."
"Hmm," Sam nodded slowly. "That should be interesting."
"What's that suppose to mean?"
"It just means that it should be interesting to see him again after all of this time. I haven't seen him since I was sixteen years old. And to be working with him…small world."
"You can say that again," Flack muttered and tossed the folder onto the top of the pile. "So you were friends with this guy or what?"
"Oh don't start," Sam said and stood up. She stood behind his chair and rubbed his shoulders. "I'm going to the washroom to freshen myself up before we leave," she said, and kissed the top of his head.
"Just friends or what?" he asked once again, watching her over his shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.
"He was a really, really nice guy," she replied, than pushed her way through the doubles and disappeared from view.
Flack snorted and glanced at the new detective's employee file on his desk.
"Just what kind of nice?" he mumbled.
It wasn't quite fine dining or the something romantic and subdued he had wanted for their first anniversary, but leaving making reservations for Christmas Eve until the last minute had proved to be a massive mistake. Tavern on the Green had been booked solid for that night since early October and under no circumstances, NYPD or no NYPD, could they possible fit somebody in. Flack had tried an entire list of fifteen other highly recommended establishments and not one could accept a reservation for December 24th.
Which was why they found themselves at a small table near the kitchen at Olive Garden. Sam had insisted that the place was fine by her. She loved the food and the only thing that mattered was that they were able to get out of the house, alone, in the first place. She didn't care how they celebrated their anniversary. It could have been on stools at a dive bar eating stale peanuts and drinking even staler beer. To her, just being with him and able to say that they had made it, relatively unscathed through their first year as husband and wife, was enough.
Flack was disappointed however. Mostly in himself for not taking the importance of the whole reservation thing more seriously. The restaurant was packed and noisy. There were screaming children and patronizing parents all around them. Had he wanted an atmosphere like that he would have ordered in Italian and ate it by the lights of the Christmas tree for a little romantic feel while listening to his own kid whine and throw temper tantrums.
He wondered, as he watched his wife across the table as she sipped at a glass of ice water, why things just couldn't come easier for them. Why things seemed to be a constant struggle. Why there always seemed to be issues that cropped up to cause them massive grief. Starting at the beginning of their relationship with the insanity that was Zack all the way up until now with the whole Lessing bullshit. There was always something. And now this little revelation that she had known this new detective set to start under his watch in less than two weeks.
He'd seen that little glitter that had come into her eye as she talked about her old 'friend.' Or had he? Sometimes the jealously and possessiveness made him notice things that weren't even there. That were just figments of his imagination. There was probably nothing to her and this guy from her past.
And if there was, why did the thought bother him so much? It was nearly seventeen years ago. That was the distant past and what was going on now was the present and the future. She was his wife. The mother of his child. And he trusted her enough to know that she'd never wander too far from home.
What did it matter if some guy, even if it was an ex, was suddenly back in the picture? There was no reason to be worried or feel threatened. He was her husband and the one she came home to at the end of the day. The one she was planning on having more children with, spend the rest of her life with. It shouldn't have any bearing on their lives or bother him.
Yet it did.
"You're staring at me," Samantha said, breaking him out of the daze he'd found himself trapped in.
"I'm not allowed?" he asked, reaching for his own glass of water.
"It's not that you're not allowed," she replied, setting her glass down and picking up her fork to dig into the enormous serving of shrimp and lobster alfredo in front of her. "It just makes me nervous. Because I always wonder what you're thinking about when you're doing it."
"Lots of things," he said. "I was thinking about how beautiful you are. How much I love you and the son you gave me. About what we were doing at this exact same time a year ago."
"What time is it?" she asked.
He checked his watch. "Twenty to eight."
"I was getting ready and bawling over the letter you had written and stuffed in the card you asked Stella to give me."
He smiled in recollection. "That was one of my finer moments," he said. "My one huge romantic gesture to last me into the next year."
"You've had a few moments since than," Sam told him. "But nothing as amazing as that. It's my personal favourite. I still have that letter. And the card. I put them away for safe keeping. For when I actually get around to putting things into a memory box or a photo album."
"You know what I still have? Tucked away some place safe? All the receipts and what not from those few days we spent doing tourist stuff after you got hurt in that house on the upper west side."
"You kept them?"
"All of them. Put them in an envelope and shoved them where I knew they wouldn't get lost."
"Why did you keep them? You're not exactly the sentimental type, Donnie."
"I never thought about why I kept them. I just did it. Maybe because I've lived here all my life and never did that kind of stuff with anyone. No woman I was ever with was into that type of thing. They were just into me spending as much money on them as possible. You…you're definitely in a league all your own."
"You know that kind of thing doesn't matter to me," she said, popping a piece of shrimp into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savouring the texture and flavour before speaking again. "I mean, I would have been happy sitting at home tonight with pizza and wings, curled up on the couch in a blanket."
"That's a little too cheap and minimalist," he said, digging into his lasagna. "Even for me."
"But it's where we're happiest," she reasoned. "At home. Alone. No one bothering us. What were you doing? A year ago at this exact time?"
"I was on a window ledge on the thirty-fifth floor of the lab contemplating jumping while Messer tried to convince me otherwise," he teased.
She frowned. "I'm serious."
"So am I," he said with a laugh. "Seriously…I was in the bathroom of the precinct getting dressed and trying to keep myself from either fainting or puking. Or both."
"You were scared?"
Flack nodded.
"So was I. Terrified. I don't know what I was more scared of. The thought of being someone's wife or the thought of you not showing up."
"I know I was petrified you were going to stand me up and I was going to go home and find a completely empty apartment and a Dear John Letter. And the thought of being with someone for the rest of my life…that was a little daunting too."
"But it was worth it, wasn't it? To you? I mean, you don't regret it do you?"
"There's nothing I regret when it comes to you, Samantha. Well, wait, that's a lie. I do regret the things I've said out of anger that have hurt you're feelings. And I do regret proposing in the bathroom."
She giggled. "It was something we will never forget. And you more than made it up for it with your re-do."
"Do you regret anything? When it comes to us?"
She contemplated his question. "I regret that the whole Zack thing ever happened because you didn't deserve to get brought into that. And of course I regret the things I've said out of anger and spite that have hurt you. But as far as having a baby and getting married so quickly…I'd do it all over again. Minus all the pregnancy issues of course."
"There were a lot of issues," he agreed. "But look what we got in the end. He's an amazing, beautiful, happy kid. I wouldn't give him back for anything in the world."
She smiled. "You're a great father, Donnie. You know that, right?"
"I'm not around enough to be a great father, Samantha."
"Kieran begs to differ. So do I. Have you seen the way he just lights up when you walk in the room? You're his entire world. No one is as important to him as his daddy. He loves you. And you've always been there for him. And me. No one forced you to do three am feedings even though you just got in from working a triple. You just did them. And you never bitched or moaned about it."
"What was there to bitch and moan about? Kid had to eat right? Least I could do is give him a bottle when you were too exhausted to breastfeed. It's what any father would do."
"No. It's what loving, attentive fathers do. And you'd be surprised how little of them there are."
"Guys don't know what their missing," Flack declared. "You can't get those early days back. Those days when you're just laying down all the ground work for social development and what not."
She grinned. "Have you been watching Doctor Phil?" she asked.
"Actually, I got that little tidbit off of those snippets of information that come with those Huggies coupons you get in the mail every month. Gotta read something while I'm having my morning coffee."
"Well wherever you picked it up from, you and Kieran have a special bond because of the time you spent with him from the get go. And the two of you will always have that."
"Even when he's fifteen and telling me to screw off and smoking pot?"
"Our son will never be like that," she declared.
He laughed. "Wanna bet on that?"
"I'll bet you fifty that when he's fifteen, Kieran will be volunteering for meals on wheels and bringing in straight As."
"Yeah? I'll see you your fifty and raise it to a Benjamin and say that our son, by that age, has been issued at least two citations, spent half a dozen nights in juvylock-up and that he has either piercing or tattoos. Or both."
"You've got him a regular bad ass," she laughed.
"I'm just thinking that having two cops as parents would be disaster. That he'll go the opposite direction and cause all kinds of shit."
She shuddered at the thought. But accepted the bet.
They ate in companionable silence. It wasn't until the waitress had cleared away their plates and served coffee and tea and Sam was browsing through the dessert menu that either of them spoke.
"You know what I was just thinking about?" Flack asked.
She glanced up from the menu. "Please tell me it's not more evil things our son is going to get involved in."
"I was just thinking that this time last year, so many people doubted us. Said that our marriage wouldn't last six months. If we're lucky. And here we are. A year later. We still love each other. For the most part we're still happy. We actually made it, Samantha."
She smiled and reached across the table and laid her hand on his. He entwined his fingers in hers and they stared across the table at one another. With nothing but love and adoration.
"There was never a doubt in my mind," she said.
They took a stroll through Central Park before heading back to the precinct where they had kept the car in favour of walking to the restaurant. The air was crisp and the black velvet sky was clear. A light, delicate snow fell while thousands of stars twinkled over here. Multi-coloured lights shone in the trees lining the snow covered path. In the distance, Christmas carols played over the sound system set up at the pound which had been converted into outdoor skating rink. Couples and families strolled the paths as well. Mostly tourists taking in the sights and the sounds of Central Park, at night, in the winter.
They walked all the way to the pond and grabbed two hot chocolates before turning back the way they had come. It was nice to just have that time alone together. To think about and talk about anything and everything that didn't involve the job. From the weather to New Year's Eve plans to Kieran's first birthday party. Little stuff that may have seemed insignificant to an outsider, but meant the world to them.
And just as they were about to leave the park, with the Winter Wonderland surrounding them, he suddenly stopped walking and reached into the inside pocket of his winter jacket. It just seemed like the right time. Standing there with the snowflakes in their hair and on their eyelashes and the Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes.
"I was going to wait until we got home," he told her, as he pulled a small blue velvet box from his pocket.
"I thought we agreed we weren't going to buy each other anything because it was so close to Christmas," Sam said. "And than you have flowers delivered to me today and leave me a card and now this?"
"Yeah…well I changed my mind," he reasoned, and held the box out to her. "It's not much. Just something I saw that I thought you'd like."
"Every time you say something isn't that much, it always turns out to be something major," she told him, as she peeled off her mitts and handed them to him while she took the box.
"I'm just full of surprises," he said with a chuckle.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and opened the lid. Inside, resting on a thin, white gold chain, was an oval shaped white gold locket. A diamond was set in the middle and two smaller garnet stones graced the bottom curve of the pendant.
"Donnie, it's beautiful," she gushed.
"The middle represents you, of course," he said. "Than me and Kieran at the bottom there. It's a mother's locket. Lady who sold it to me said that each time we have a kid, we can bring it into the store and have their stones added on."
"I love it," Sam told him, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's perfect."
"And on the back," he reached out and flipped the locket over. "Three dates. Date we met, date we got married and the date Kieran was born."
She brushed a tear off of her cheek with the back of her hand. "I swear I will never call you insensitive and unromantic ever again."
"Yeah…you will," he laughed. "But it's nice to hear you tell me I'm not such a bad guy once in a while."
"You're not a bad guy," she said. "Far from it. And I'm sorry that we fight a lot and I take you for granted and I'm not the best wife in the world. I try, I really do. I mean, I want to perfect…"
"Hey," he took her face in his hands. "I don't want you to be perfect. I fell in love with you the way you are I don't need anything else. Well, there's a couple things I wouldn't mind more than you're giving them out lately, but that's something I'd rather be showing you than talking about."
She grinned.
He kissed her. Soft and sweet. Their lips lingering for a long time as the snow trickled down around them. He placed kisses on her chin, her cheeks, her forehead. The tip of her nose. Than drew her into him and held her tightly. Loving the familiar things about her. The way her arms felt warm and snug when they curled around his waist. The way her body moulded so easy into his. The way she smelled. Things he noticed about her every day but didn't always take the time to appreciate.
"Happy anniversary," he said, his lips buried in her hair.
"Happy anniversary," she returned, and squeezed him tightly.
"We should go," he told her, pulling away and pressing a feathery kiss to her forehead. "Before Reed thinks we skipped town."
She closed the necklace box and tucked it into one of the pockets of his coat. "Now I feel so guilty," she complained, as he took her hand and led the way out of the park.
"Why's that?"
"We had agreed to forgo anniversary gifts," she said. "All I got you was a card that you didn't even notice was sitting on the kitchen table this morning."
"Babe, I was called out at four thirty am. I nearly fell back asleep while taking a leak. I'm lucky I didn't get into an accident on my way to the scene for falling asleep at the wheel. Trust me, it wasn't intentional."
"I know. But I never got you anything."
He shrugged. "I don't need anything, Sam. I've got everything I need right here."
"Donald Flack Jr," she giggled. "You can be so goddamn corny."
He laughed and pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
She slipped her own arm around him, her hand resting on the small of her back.
"You know what I was thinking?"
Sam glanced up at him. "What's that?"
"Every year that we're married we should come back here on Christmas Eve, even if it's with all our kids and…"
"All our kids? And just how many are you planning on us having?"
"I don't know…half a dozen seems about right."
She laughed and pushed him away from her playfully. Bending down, she scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at him. "You wish! Half a dozen! Are you insane?"
"Big old Catholic family," Flack reasoned.
"You're nuts. And we're not exactly the most strict Catholics with our track record," she reminded him, walking backwards in front of him.
"So…that just means we have to start doing things right. Having six, seven kids is a start."
"Well I'll tell you what. You have your six or seven kids. Just find a second wife to pop out a couple of them so it's not such a burden on me."
"You crazy? One wife is enough for me. I can barely handle the one I have."
"I knew from the get go I'd be too much for you," she teased, stepping back to his side and taking his hand once again. "So you were saying something about coming back here and…"
"Every Christmas Eve we should come back here. With our kids if we want to make it a family thing. Make Central Park and the lights and maybe even some skating our first ever Christmas tradition."
"I like that idea," she concluded.
"You don't want a big family?" he asked. "And by big I mean less than a dozen but more than four."
"How would we ever afford to feed and clothe that many kids?" she inquired.
"That's not what I asked. I asked if you if you didn't want a big family."
"I want as many kids as God is willing to bless us with," she responded.
"That's a damn good answer," he said.
"And as many as our poor bodies can possible be produce," she added.
He laughed. "In that case, you better be prepared to be barefoot and pregnant for the rest of your child bearing days."
"You know," she said, letting go of his hand and hugging his arm to her. "I hope when we're eighty years old, we can still be like this. Holding hands when we're walking. Telling each other we love one another."
"I hope so too," Flack told her. "And it's up to us to make sure that happens."
She smiled and laid her head against his arm as they continued their walk in comfortable silence.
Life never seemed so perfect.
They had arrived home at ten thirty. The house was dimly lit and they had found Reed Garrett stretched out on the couch with Kieran fast asleep and snuggled into his chest. The television playing the black and white version of A Christmas Carol. Volume off and closed captioning on.
"I didn't have the heart to wake him," Reed had explained, as Flack gently and expertly peeled his son from the young man's chest and carried him down the hall and deposited him into his crib.
But not before Reed had been a good enough sport to pose for a picture because Sam had dubbed the scene just too damn cute for words.
Impressively enough, Reed had lived up to his word and had managed to not only get Kieran bathed, but the baby's hair washed, ear drops but in and a fresh diaper and jammies on without even receiving so much of a scratch or misplaced hair. No bad for a journalist moonlighting as Super Nanny Flack had joked while driving the kid home. It didn't make sense, after the effort Reed had gone to to make sure that Kieran was so well taken care of, to make the young man take a cab or a subway home. Especially in the snow and freezing cold. He'd also coughed up a Benjamin out of sheer appreciation for taking on a baby sitting gig on Christmas Eve. Not the most glamorous way for a twenty four year old single guy to be spending his evening.
Sam was already in her sweats and t-shirt when Flack got back from the twenty minute drive home. She was putting the last minute touches on presents and stuffing the stockings and had already set out a plate of cookies and various other sweets along with a pen and a card that read Merry Christmas to A Special Boy From Santa on the front of it.
The milk and goodies were good. But Flack was stumped on the card.
"What the hell am I suppose to write?" he asked his wife, taking the card out to where she was arranging presents under the tree.
"I don't know. Put the date on the top corner and than write him a letter. About how he's been a good boy all year and that you hope he likes all his toys."
"You mean all the toys that went on daddy's Master Card?" he asked as he plopped down on the couch.
"Please just play along," Sam pleaded.
"Okay…okay…" he sighed and using his best, legible writing, set to work. "How's this sound?" he asked after a few minutes. "Dear Kieran, your mommy and daddy told me that you were a really good boy all year. You ate all your peas and carrots and went to bed without too much of a hassle and save for shitting the crib, you haven't caused too many problems…"
"Donnie…"
"Okay. I will leave the shitting the crib part out. You ate all your peas and carrots and went to bed without too much of a hassle and your mommy and daddy are very proud of you for learning new things so quickly and easily. So, I decided you deserved everything that you're little heart desires. And that your dad could afford on a city salary.."
"Donald Flack…"
"Alright…alright…take it easy…okay…the finished product reads, Dear Kieran, your mommy and daddy told me that you were a really good boy all year. You've been eating all your vegetables and going to bed without too much of a hassle and your mommy and daddy are very proud of you for learning new things so quickly. You're getting bigger and stronger every day and they loveyou very much. So, I decided you deserve everything that your little heart desires. I hope you enjoy all your new toys. Remember, I am always watching you and I know when you're naughty and when you're nice. Same goes for your mother."
Sam reached into one of the stockings, pulled an item out and tossed it at her husband.
Flack caught it effortlessly in one hand and looked at it. "Socks…thanks, babe. just what I wanted…like being twelve years old all over again and the decent presents stopped rolling in. Okay, I left out that last part and finished it off with, I will see you next year. Be a good boy for mommy and daddy, love Santa. Sound good?"
"Perfect," Sam enthused.
"The things you don't make me do, woman," he sighed, and shoved the card into the envelope, sealed it and wrote Kieran's name on the front. "What will we do when he's old enough to know what you do for a living and asks you do to a DNA test on the envelope to see if it's really Santa's saliva? You ready to deal with the massive, crushing disappointment when it comes back to me?"
"I will manage somehow," she said. "Do me a favour and go and put it beside the plate with the cookie crumbs on it and the dirty milk glass and take a picture with your phone?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Please?" she asked. "Or I won't put my little Mrs Claus outfit on."
He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. "You shitting me? You weren't joking about that earlier?"
"I would not lie, my love."
"In that case," he said and jumped off the couch and hurried into the kitchen.
When he came back, she was sitting on the couch waiting for him, holding out a simple white envelope.
"What's this?" he asked, taking a seat beside her and taking the item from her.
"It was one of your Christmas presents," she replied. "But seeing as you gave me an anniversary present, you might as well consider this your anniversary present."
"What is it?" he asked, turning the envelope over in his hands.
"Open it and find out," she said.
He ripped open the thin paper and reached in to pull out the contents. Two Rangers tickets. For the January 10th game against the rival New York Islanders. "Babe," he said, his eyes widening as he read the information on them. "These are LOGE level seats."
"I know," she said. "Next to box seats they're the best ones you can get."
"These things go at least two twenty five a seat," he told her.
"Two seventy-five, actually," she said. "But that's besides the point. You said you wanted tickets to a Rangers game and well, there's two tickets, one for you and one for Danny."
"I meant I wanted tickets in the cheap seats. Not in the prime seats. Christ, Sam," he shook his head in disbelief. "This is…incredible. I don't know what else to say."
She picked up his right arm and checked his watch. "How about Merry Christmas? It's five minutes after midnight."
"Merry Christmas," he said, leaning sideways and kissing her softly. "And thank you. Best Christmas present ever."
"Actually, Don, I think I can one up Rangers tickets."
"Trust me, Sam, nothing can beat these kinds of seats."
"Don, seriously, I have something better."
He looked at her when she took his hand in both of hers. Saw the way her eyes sparkled and a smile played at the corner of her lips.
"I need you to close your eyes and hold out your hand," she said.
"Sam..what are you…?"
"Trust me," she implored.
He sighed and closed his eyes. Felt her let go of his hand and heard the rustle of clothes as she stood up.
"Hold your hand out," she instructed.
He did as he was told. Than felt cold plastic being pressed into the palm of his hand and heard her sit down once again.
"Open your eyes," she said in a shaky voice. "And look down."
He obeyed. In his hand was a small plastic baggie. In which was a home pregnancy test. A Clear Blue digital get up that clearly read in black letters YOU'RE PREGNANT. His heart pounded at the sight. Tears threatened as he looked at her.
"But you told me…"
He didn't get to finish. She leaned into him and kissed him softly.
"Merry Christmas," she said.
AN: Detective Chester Lake is a character that appeared on Law and Order: SVU (guest star season 8, starring role season 9) and was played by the phenomenal Adam Beach. The character left the show under darker circumstances, but I havedecided to use some creative licence and tweak his departure from SVU. And to blend him into VFB. He will also be appearing in MOB, but on a one time deal only.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Even all the lurkers! I love to hear from you guys so please, drop me a line if you like this!
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