DISCLAIMER: YOU ALL KNOW THE DRILL. I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT FOR SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK

New Years Eve, baby! Part 2

"Every time I close my eyes I thank the lord that I've got you
And you've got me too
And every time I think of it I pinch myself cuz I don't believe it's true
That someone like you loves me too
Girl I think that you're truly somethin', yes you are
And you're, you're every bit of a dream come true, yes you are
With you baby, it never rains
And it's no wonder
The sun always shines when I'm near you
It's just a blessing that I have found somebody like you."
-Every time I Close My Eyes, Babyface

"I hope you know you ruined everything," Sam commented.

They lay on their sides on their cramped living room couch. Limbs tangled, their bodies drenched and glistening with sweat and their hearts pounding. Their chests pressed tightly together and her head tucked under his chin.

"What?" he asked, chuckling slightly. He stroked her back, buried his face in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating, alluring scent. "Ten minutes ago you were calling me God and now you're saying I ruined everything? What's that about?"

"For your information, I was not calling you God so don't flatter yourself," she said with a giggle, and felt him shudder against her when trailed her fingertips along his spine. "And I meant that I gotten myself all dressed up for you and now I don't even feel like putting clothes back on."

"So don't," he said. "You want to walk around naked all night? That's fine with me. Just don't go expecting to get anything accomplished other than re-christening every possible inch of this place."

"Not even you have that kind of stamina," she declared, laughing as he jumped at the feel of her finger drifting down the small of her back to the cleft of his ass.

"Get your damn finger away from there," he said. "You know how I feel about you putting anything anywhere near there."

"I bet you don't resist when it's Danny," she joked.

"You're such a bitch," he laughed, and flipped her over onto her back and caught her by the wrists and pinned them to the couch above her head.

"Nice move," she praised, as he loomed above her. "You know, the least you and Danny could do is let me watch or join in."

"You're disturbed. That would really turn you on wouldn't it. Watching me with another guy."

"I will neither admit it or deny it."

He grinned. "You're dirtier and kinkier than I ever realized. And as much as I love you and trust me, I have no problem playing along with your little kinks and letting you be a dirty little thing, that is one thing I will never, ever do."

She pouted dramatically. And brought her head up to lick a path from his Adam's apple, up his neck and along the underside of his chin and to his mouth. The salty taste of his sweat on her tongue and lips as she kissed him leisurely. Her body arching against him as she felt the tip of his tongue graze the roof of her mouth. Something he had long ago discovered drove her absolutely insane. His hands released their grip on her wrists and one trailed softly along her side while the other went south to caress the inside of her thigh.

He broke the kiss and looked down into those golden eyes filled once more with passion and need. "I'm starving," he announced.

She frowned and used a knee in the stomach to push him off of her and almost onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said with a laugh. "I know my reputation for being able to go hours upon hours on end is something you've come to expect, but I never had anything to eat all day and I desperately need to put some gas in the tank if you want any further performances."

"Don't worry about it," she said dryly. "It's nothing I can't do myself. Same end result anyway."

"Please. Nothing you can do to yourself can even come close to what I can do for you," he told her, as he slipped into his boxers.

"I so do not want to get dressed up all over again," she sighed, sitting up and raking her hand through her hair as she surveyed the mess of clothes on the living room floor.

"Like I said, don't. In fact, I have something that I think you'll look even sexier in than that dress."

"Please God do not tell me you bought me some whorey looking French maid outfit. Because honestly, Donald, as much as I love and adore you, I'd probably have to file for divorce if you started wanting me to play dress up."

"Sam, as much as I'd kill to see you in some hot little black PVC number cut down to your navel and hooker boots and fishnet stockings, that's not what I had in mind. Here," he picked up his discarded dress shirt and tossed it to her. "You know how sexy I think you are when you wear my clothes."

She grinned and stood up and slipped into the white dress shirt. It had his warm, familiar and astonishingly sexy scent and hung well past her knees. She was aware of him watching her intently as she did up the buttons and rolled the sleeves to her elbows. To her husband, nothing was more attractive and seductive than a woman in a man's shirt. Specifically after making love.

"Do me a favour?" he asked, wanting nothing more than to just throw her down on the couch and start things all over again.

She looked up at him.

"Go and put your hair up?"

"What is it with you and my hair being up?" she asked with a smile.

He shrugged. "I just find it extra hot is all. Seeing you in my clothes, all sweaty still from having crazy, wild sex, with your hair up…does something for me."

"You are so very easy to please," she declared, laying her hands on his sides. "Can you check on supper? Warm things up if they need to be? The meat should be done by now. Think you can handle some homemaking responsibilities while I clean myself up?"

"I think I should be okay," he said and kissed her softly. "I love you, you know," he called, as she headed for the living room and down the hallway for the bathroom.

"I know," she responded. "I've got a pretty big crush on you, too."

"A crush, huh? I hate to see what you do to a guy's shoulders and back when your madly and passionately in love with him," he teased.

"Oh…well than I'm just brutal and vicious."

"You think you could bring me some clothes?" he asked. "Like a pair of jeans or some sweats? And a t-shirt?"

"Nope, sorry. I'm making you walk around all night in just your boxers and maybe your undershirt. Definitely the undershirt. Because you know that for some reason seeing you in that just turns me on."

"I'll agree to the undershirt," he said, snatching up the wife beater and tugging it on. "But some pants would be nice."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, and he heard the bedroom door click open. "Slippers is on your pillow again!" she called.

"Leave her. I've co-existed this long with the mangy little bitch…oh, wait…I'm sorry…I thought you said your mother. I didn't realize you were talking about the cat."

"Be nice, Donald," she scolded, but was laughing at the same time. "And if you dare even turn Sports Center on while I'm out of the room, I will beat your ass."

He looked down at the remote that he had just picked up off the coffee table. He tossed it back down again with a smirk on his face. "How do you do that?" he asked.

"Eyes in the back of my head, my dear," she replied. "And hidden surveillance cameras in every corner of every room. Next time you see your mistress, tell her I thought that red lace number with the thong she had on last time you two got busy was a little too skanky."

"I will tell her," he assured her and headed into the kitchen.

He pulled the prime rib from the oven and dumped the mashed potatoes and corn and carrots into plastic bowls that could be heated in the microwave. It wasn't often that they had a good old fashioned 'Sunday meal' as his mother called it. The majority of the time they were heating frozen entrees or pizzas in the oven or microwave or whipping up something as simple as Hamburger or Tuna Helper or God forbid, the one thing in the world that made him want to barf the most, Kraft Dinner.

It reminded him of being a kid and being forced to eat the crap nearly every second day with chopped up wieners mixed in with baked beans. The thought of it years later just made him cringe and gag. If Sam made it for herself and Kieran, Flack made sure he wasn't even in their vicinity when they were eating it. And he wouldn't come into the kitchen to eat the entirely different meal his wife had prepared just for him until she had cleaned up an trace of Kraft Dinner from the dirty plates.

Take out was big in their house as well. Delivery or pick up, whichever worked best on the given night. Sam just didn't have the time to cook elaborate meals what with working full time and taking care of the baby. And while he respected her tenacity to hold down her career and raise a family, and he accepted her decision to work, there was a huge part of him that wanted nothing more than for her to stay home and look after their son and be a full time housewife.

And that's what he was thinking about as he was preparing his wife and himself plates of food. That he could get used to coming home to delicious meals and the house as clean as remotely possible with an energetic toddler and the laundry completed and folded and put away as opposed to the hampers constantly overflowing and clean things being left in baskets for days on end. Nothing like digging your socks out from the bottom of a massive pile of clean clothes in the darkness of the bedroom after getting a three a.m. call out.

"Everything's okay?" Sam asked, as she journeyed into the kitchen with her hair gathered into a high ponytail and carrying a pair of navy blue sweatpants. Joining him at the counter, she stuck her finger into the mashed potatoes on one of the plates and licked them off ever so slowly. "Mmm…" she said with a nod. "Good stuff."

"Jesus Christ you're sexy," he told her, and leaned sideways to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under her ear.

"You're prejudiced," she teased, and handed him the sweats and gathered up the silverware she'd tossed on the counter earlier. "We're going to eat in the living room, okay? Put the tree lights on and some candles and the stereo. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he conceded, slipping into the pants. "I mean, it's nice and romantic. And that's what New Years Eve is all about, right?"

She smiled brightly. "You are learning so well," she said. "I've even got sparkling cider in the fridge and I bought us a special dessert."

"Special, huh? What's so special about it?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out later," she told him playfully and headed out of the kitchen, her hips swaying slightly.

I am one lucky sonofabitch, he thought with a broad grin.

"I told Adam about the baby today," she announced, as she returned to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator to collect the bottle of cider.

"What did he say?" Flack asked curiously as he got two plastic cups down from the cupboard and sat them on the counter.

His wife frowned when she turned around and saw them.

"What?" he asked.

"We're not toddlers, Donnie. I think we're more than capable of drinking out of glasses."

"Force of habit," he said with a grin and replaced the plastic cups with two wine glasses from the cupboard above the stove. "I'm so used to having to use plastic stuff because of Kieran's bad habit of throwing anything he might get his hands on."

"Aren't we just pathetic?" she sighed. "We're actually accustomed to plastic plates and cutlery and child size plastic cups."

"Well maybe you're accustomed because you're the size of most average ten year olds," he teased.

"Asshole," she said, and grabbed him by the draw string on his sweats and yanked him towards her. "You're going to have to make that comment up to me, you know."

"God, I sure as hell hope so," he said and kissed her aggressively, backing her up against the fridge once more. "And for your information, we aren't pathetic. We're parents."

"Okay…so we're pathetic parents that have no lives outside of our kid," she said, slipping her hands up the front of his wife beater and over his well muscled chest.

"Be good, Samantha," he told her and backed away from her and removed her hands from his body.

"You never want me to be good," she argued. "You're always telling me how I need to initiate things more. To be more aggressive in letting you know what I want and how I want it and where I want it."

"Well if you're going to start listening to me, can you please do it after I eat?" he asked, as he tore the foil off of the top of the cider bottle and popped off the cork.

"Men and their stomachs," she huffed.

"You never told me what your brother said," Flack said, handing her the wine glasses to carry while he picked up their plates and headed into the living room. She had already flicked on both the lights on the tree and the ones that lined the balcony railing. There were several lightly scented pillar candles burning on the table at the back of the couch and a few more on each end table and on the wall unit that held the television and stereo. She had turned on a mixed CD that her brother had made for her. Soft, calm, romantic tunes that she loved.

"You mean what did he say after he called us crazy?" she asked with a laugh as she placed the glasses on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. "He said that he's happy for us and that he's glad we're doing all the procreating because him and Gus feel no need, or desire to follow in our footsteps."

"They're loss," Flack concluded, as he placed their meals down and sat down beside her. He frowned, lifted his ass slightly and reached under himself. Coming up moments later with one of Kieran's Mega Blocks. He smirked and tossed it in the general direction of the toy box near the balcony door.

"So that's what was digging into the small of my back earlier," Sam said with a giggle. "If I hadn't have been so into our activities, I would have told you to stop so I could figure out what it was."

"That would have been the mood killer of all mood killers," he told her. "And he's not the only one who called us crazy. Scagnetti all but wants to commit both of us for even thinking about having another kid."

"You told Scagnetti?" her tone was accusing.

He hung his head in silent confession.

"We weren't telling anyone else besides Adam," she said. "We agreed on that. We agreed that we were going to wait until we found out how far along I was or when the first trimester was over. That is what we agreed on, Donnie."

"I know…but…."

"He better not go around the precinct and tell everyone. I didn't want our friends, and especially my boss, finding out that way."

"He promised me he wouldn't say anything. And it kind of just slipped out."

"How? How does something like that just slip out?"

He shrugged. "We were talking about Kieran's first birthday and his party next weekend and I somehow let it slip that we were giving him the best present ever and Scagnetti asked what it was and I said that we're getting him a baby brother or sister in about seven, eight months."

"You dink," Sam said and sipped her cider.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out. But I'm ecstatically happy about it and I guess I just couldn't hold it in any longer. I made him swear on his mother's grave that he wouldn't tell anyone."

Sam's eyes widened. "His mother died? When?"

"Yesterday."

"What? Are you serious?"

Flack nodded. Than broke into a huge grin. "No…I'm not."

"You've got a sick, twisted sense of humour," she scolded.

"All you need to know is that he promised not to tell anyone," Flack told her. "And that I don't know how much longer I can hold out."

"Well let's put it this way. You either hold out or I do. As in, no sex. For a very, very, very long time."

"You just know how to put the fear of God into me," he said, and kissed her cheek. "This is really, really good babe," he said, pointing his fork at his plate. "I could get used to have more meals like this when I get home from a long day at work."

She gave him a wary look out of the corner of her eye as she chewed on some of her salad. "Are you trying to hint at something?" she asked.

"Did it sound like I was?" he responded.

"A little," she admitted. "So…out with it. Say what you want to say."

"You're a good cook when you want to be," he said.

"Thank you. But that is not what you want to say and we both know it."

He nodded and ate quietly for a minute. Picking his words carefully as he chewed prime rib and than took a sip of the cider. "I love you, Samantha…"

"Donnie…I love you, too…but please just say it."

He sighed heavily. "I want you to quit and stay at home full time with Kieran."

She couldn't say that she was surprised. It was far from the first time he'd said those words in the past year and it was far from being the last time he'd utter them. His request didn't irk her as much as it once had. Before, when he was all but demanding her to give up her career in favour of being a stay at home mother and a housewife, she saw red immediately and launched an all out attack. There was no way in hell she was going to coop herself up in the house and do nothing but cook and clean and chase after a child. She just wasn't that type of person. She loved her job and the people she worked with were her family. And the thought of giving that up permanently terrified her. Because once she lost that, she lost her last shred of independence and control.

"This is getting very familiar," she said in response.

"I know that you love your job. And I know that you're damn good at it. I get to see how awesome you are every day working with you. There's always something you're doing or saying that amazes me and makes me say 'wow' and feel all proud to say you're my wife. But than there's the part of me that wants you here, taking care of my son. Our son. And looking after the house and doing normal things a wife does."

"Normal things?" she laughed. "You mean you want me to be your damn maid."

"No. I just…I want a normal marriage, okay? And maybe this makes me old fashioned when I say it or makes me sound like a chauvinistic pig, but I want to come home to a hot meal and the house clean and the kid happy and taken care of and the laundry done and put away and all that other shit that is so fucking neglected around here."

"You know how to do laundry," she pointed out. "And you are more than capable of cooking a meal and cleaning the house and looking after your son. Parenting isn't a one way street. It takes the two of us."

"I know that. But my hours are insane and I'm climbing the ladder and…'

"Oh, I get it. Your career is more important than mine. Because you're the NYPD's golden boy and I'm just a science geek with the crime lab."

"I never said that. But I want to be the bread winner. The one bringing home the bacon so to speak."

She laughed even harder. "Are you listening to yourself? Are you? What decade are you living in? We are not your parents. When it was the mothers who stayed home and played cook and maid and nanny. Both husbands and wives work now."

"I know that, Sammie. But I want my wife to stay at home with my kid. Taking care of my house. And we're expecting another baby. We're going to have two kids and I'd rather you home with them than out working. That's what I want."

"I know it is. And do you want to know my opinion on the whole thing?"

"Of course."

"It's more of an answer to your request. No fucking way. That's not me. Thank you very much," she dropped her fork and knife on her plate with a clatter and stood up.

"Don't be like that, Sammie," he nearly pleaded, grabbing a hold of her left arm. "I didn't bring this up to piss you off or cause a fight. It's New Years Eve, baby. We're alone for the entire night. We haven't been alone without someone interrupting us in a while. I didn't want to argue with you about this."

"I'm not that type of woman, Donnie," she said. "I can't be happy stuck in the house. I'm not a domestic goddess. I've never been like that and you knew that when you married me. And it was okay with you than."

"Kieran wasn't born yet when we got married, Sam. And now he's a year old and spends more time at day care and with my parents than he does with either of us. And he needs to be with his mother more."

"He needs his father, too," she argued.

"Not as much as he needs you," Flack told her. "I don't like him being around day care teachers and his grandparents more than he is his own mother. And you can't tell me that you like being away from him that much."

She sighed. That was something she couldn't deny. How much she longed for more time with her son but worried more about their finances than the quality moments Kieran and her were missing out on. She sat back down beside her husband.

"It's not that I don't want to be around him more," she told Flack. "I do. It's just…"

"Money," he concluded. "That's what it always is. What is always comes down too."

"It's a big thing, Donnie. This city is crazy expensive to live in. And cost of living is not cheap."

"So why don't we move to a different borough? Where we could have mortgage payments on a little house with a yard for our kids to play in instead of sky high rent on an apartment that's way too crowded?"

"Even than we couldn't afford it on just your salary," she told him.

"Okay…so than maybe you don't quit outright. Maybe you just cut down to part time hours."

She shook her head. "Mac will never go for that."

"He's going to have to bend somewhere when he finds out you're pregnant again, Sammie. He's going to have you back in the lab. Maybe not right away, but it's going to happen. And maybe he'll be willing to give you straight eight to fours and no weekends."

"You're pushing it, Donnie."

"All I know is that something needs to change. We need some kind of normalcy. And we're not getting that with the hours we're both working. Most importantly, Kieran isn't getting that and the new baby won't get that either."

She sighed heavily. "I need time to think about this," she said. "I can't just decide something like that."

"That's fine," he assured her, reaching out to rub the back of her neck. "And I didn't mean to cause a big old thing between us."

She smiled. "I know. But it's a touchy subject. It always has been."

"Yeah…I know," he said and kissed her cheek. Than went back to the remainder of his meal. "You are a really good cook when you want to be," he informed his wife.

"How come you never eat my Kraft Dinner than?" she asked.

He gagged noisily.

"Just kidding," she laughed, and curled her arm around his waist. "Remember earlier when I said I had a crush on you?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I lied," she admitted. "I don't have a crush on you."

"No?"

She shook her head. "I love you. Wholly and completely. Madly and passionately and desperately."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "It's nice to hear that every once in a while," he admitted.

"I don't say it enough," she sighed.

"It's okay," he assured her. "Neither do I."

They finished their dinner in companionable silence. Instead of clearing the dishes right away, they relaxed on the couch, his arm wrapped tightly and somewhat possessively around her, his eyes closed as she snuggled into him, her head on his chest and her hand on his stomach and her legs tugged underneath her.

"So you know," she said. "I managed to pick up that shadow box thing for that Yankees jersey Danny bought Kieran for Christmas."

"How in the world Messer managed to score A-Rod's autograph I will never know," Flack said. "And he knows I'm a Mets fan."

"He also knows, like the majority of us normal human beings do, that the Mets suck."

"You're being really evil and mean tonight," he teased. "He still won't tell me how he got that autograph."

"It's Danny's secret," Sam reasoned.

They had been shocked, when upon opening one of the many gifts Danny had brought to their home on the t twenty seventh when he and Erica had come for dinner, had discovered Danny had bought his godson a toddler sized Yankee's jersey emblazoned with Alex Rodriquez' number and autograph. Something like that was way too priceless to ever let the child wear, so Sam planned on displaying it in a shadow box in the baby's room.

"Do me a favour, babe?" Flack suddenly asked.

"Please tell me it's not some kinky request."

"Not yet," he grinned. "Can you get off of me for a second? I want to do something."

She sat up, allowing him to climb off the couch. He went over to the wall unit and opened the glass door to where the stereo sat. Reaching for the empty CD case resting on top of the stereo, he turned it over to read the list of songs Adam had printed on the back.

"Number thirteen," Sam requested, her eyes closed, her head leaning back against the couch.

He scanned down to number thirteen and smiled. "That's the one I was looking for," he said, as he entered the number of the song into the stereo.

"It's my favourite," she reasoned.

"Yeah…the hundred times you played it last Sunday told me as much."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Flack turned the volume up and grabbed the remote control for the stereo and went back to the couch. Instead of sitting down, he reached for her hand and tugged slightly.

She cracked an eye open. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"It's what we're going to do," he replied. "Dance."

"In our living room?"

"You got something against dancing with your husband in your own living room? In our bare feet nonetheless?"

"No. But it's just…it's just not you."

"Well tonight it is," he said, and gently pulled her to her feet and led her to the middle of the living room floor. He hit the play button on the remote and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" she asked playfully, as she smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his torso as the beginning strains of Joshua Radin's I'd Rather Be With You began to play.

"I am capable of being a nice guy once in awhile," he told her, curling his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. "Just don't expect me to bend down to let you put your head on my shoulder. Because you're like half my size and that will just kill my back."

"Here," she said, and climbed onto the top of his feet. "Not that that helps a whole hell of a lot. Why do you have to be so big?"

"Why do you have to be so small?" he countered.

"Deal with it," she said, resting her head against his chest. "You going to sing to me to0?" she asked, as they moved to the music.

"Hell no," he replied quickly.

She pouted dramatically. Than smiled against him when despite his refusal, he leaned down so his lips were next to her ear and began singing quietly to her.

"Now here's the sun, come to dry the rain, warm my shoulders and relieve my pain. You're the one thing that I'm missing here. With you beside me I no longer fear. I need to be bold, need to jump in the cold water, need to grow older with a girl like you. Finally see you are naturally, the one to make it so easy, when you show me the truth. Yeah, I'd rather be with you, say you want the same thing too."

"You learned the words just for me?" she asked, when the music ended yet neither of them moved to break the embrace.

"Unintentionally, really. I mean, something is bound to stick in your head when your wife plays the damn thing constantly," he replied. He smiled at her and pecked her forehead. "Okay…so I lie. I went on the internet and looked up the words."

"It was a very sweet thing for you to do. And you really should let out that romantic side a bit more," she told him.

"We'll see," he smiled, and kissed her. Soft and leisurely. His hands gently slipping down to cup her ass, than moving lower and sliding up underneath the shirt. Deepening the kiss as his fingertips traced along the waistband of the lace boy shorts she had put on under the shirt.

She broke the kiss and backed away slightly and reached behind her and than underneath the top to remove his hands. "Time for dessert," she announced.

"I was just about to get my dessert," he said, and tried to pull her back into him.

"That comes after my special treat," she told him. "Now put a couple of pillows and the blanket on the floor. By the Christmas tree."

"Why?" he asked, watching as she headed for the kitchen.

"Because it's what I want," she replied and disappeared into the other room. "It's New Years Eve," she reminded him, as he spread the blanket from the back of the couch out in front of the Christmas tree and threw down a couple of the cushions. "And I want romance, and you, my dear husband, are going to give me romance if it kills you."

"Why does the sound of that scare me?" he asked, taking a seat on the floor.

"There's nothing scary about this," Sam assured him, journeying back into the living room and appearing beside him with a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons.

He grinned at the sight of the treat in her hand.

"I swear, every time I look at mint chocolate chip ice cream I blush and giggle like mad," she declared, joining him on the floor. "The check out girl must have wondered what the hell was wrong with me."

"It's a hell of a nice memory to have," Flack reasoned. "And who knew there were so many different uses for ice cream."

"Oh don't play innocent with me," she said, handing him a spoon and than pulling off the lid of the ice cream carton. "I'm probably not the only woman you've ever done that little game with."

"Actually," he said, as he dug his spoon into the frozen treat. "You are."

"What? You weren't kinky until you met me or something? Or do I just bring out that side in you?"

"I wasn't as kinky until I met you," he answered. "And yeah, you do bring out that side in me. You know, the side that makes me want to do all kinds of dirty, perverted shit."

"Like what?" she asked, scooping out some of the ice cream and popping it into her mouth.

"I'm not answering that," he replied.

"Why? Are you shy? Embarrassed? I'm your wife. The last person you should be either around. And trust me, you are the last person anyone would ever accuse of being shy. Besides, when have you ever had an issue talking dirty? You do it all the time in bed."

"Because it turns you on," he reminded her.

"But you can't talk like that if we're not in the middle of things?"

"What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged and helped herself to more ice cream. "I don't know. You said I bring out this side of you that makes you want to do things. What kind of things?"

"I don't know, Sam. Lots of things. Things that we've tried already that I've never, ever done with another woman. Things most women freak out about if you even go anywhere near the certain part that's involved with this specific thing."

"It's called anal sex, Donnie."

"Did you have to say it?" he asked. "Seriously…did you have to?"

"There's something wrong with saying it? You're more than capable of doing it so why can't you say it?"

"Because…I don't know. I just can't. Saying it makes me feel weird."

"You're strange," she declared. "And saying it doesn't make you feel weird. It makes you blush like this fourteen year old virgin whose having a girl see him naked for the first time."

"It does not," he said.

"It does," she giggled. "You're blushing right now. Why are you blushing? The words anal sex bother you? Or is the word anal or the word sex?"

"Stop," he said. "Quit talking about it."

She laughed even harder and laid her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "You're being silly," she said. "And blushing? Seriously. You don't blush. You're not Adam."

"I am not blushing," he insisted.

"You are," she said, and kissed his cheek once more. "Who knew my big, tough, burly and abrasive husband was in fact, deep down, a sensitive prude."

"What? I am not sensitive. Or a prude."

"You cried when Kieran was born. That makes you sensitive."

"I was ecstatically happy and relieved. Of course I cried. And for the record, there is nothing wrong with a man showing emotion sometimes. You're the one whose always going on about how you find it sexy when a guy can show he's sensitive."

"It is," she agreed. "But that doesn't account for you being a prude."

"Would you stop already?" he laughed. "Quit picking on me all the time."

"Well can I help it if you're such an easy target?" she asked. "And I am not picking on you. I am having fun with you. And if you don't toughen up soon, I'm going to divorce you. Because you know I love manly men."

"I'll show you a manly man in five seconds if you don't stop aggravating me," he warned.

"Oh what are you going to do?" she asked. Dipping her finger into the ice cream, she dabbed a bit onto his cheek and leaned over to lick it off. "Are you going to beat me up?" she asked, putting more ice cream on the side of his neck and using the tip of her tongue to scoop it up. "Tackle me?" she added more ice cream to the spot under his ear. "Throw me down on the floor?" she put some of the frozen treat on his earlobe and licked it off, than softly bit down on the lobe. "Take out your cuffs and play good cop, bad cop with me?"

He just smiled and continued to eat his ice cream.

"You're playing hard to get tonight," she said, and setting her spoon down on the coffee table, snatched the carton and the spoon away from him and proceeded to do the honours of tackling him onto his back and than climbing on top of him and straddling his chest.

"Now this is exactly what I mean when I ask you to be more aggressive and assertive in bed," Flack told her, his hands slipping underneath the shirt to caress her thighs.

"Well isn't this just your lucky night than," she said, and leaned over him to capture his lips in a hungry, passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

"I don't know," he said, removing his hands from under the shirt in favour of beginning to unbutton it. "Is it my lucky night?"

She grinned devilishly and licked her top lip in eager anticipation before sliding down his body until she was sitting astride his thighs. Her eyes never left his as she trailed a finger tip along the sensitive skin below the waist band of his pants. Hearing his breath hitch and feeling him arch slightly. Seeing the desire and want in his blue eyes.

"Why don't we find that out," she said, and set to work giving him the best New Years Eve he ever had.

Two hours had passed before they fell asleep, utterly spent and exhausted in the middle of the living room floor. Summoning up just enough extra energy to climb under the blanket as opposed to lying on top of it before drifting off into a comfortable, deep slumber wrapped tightly in each other's embrace.

Flack woke up to the insisted buzzing of the alarm on his cell phone. He'd grabbed the phone earlier to check all the unheard messages that had piled up during the day. Expecting that both he and Sam would no doubt be asleep by midnight, he had set the alarm for five minutes to twelve and sat the phone on the coffee table.

Sam was cuddled tightly into him, her face buried in his neck and her arm and leg wrapped around him. She stirred slightly when he moved away from her. She mumbled incoherently and gave a deep sigh and rolled over onto her other side. It was the same routine whenever he got called out to scene in the middle of the night. She'd muttered and make all kinds of soft noises when she felt him leave the warmth and comfort of their bed and than roll over and continue right on sleeping. It had become second habit for her to sleep through the calls now.

He sat up and leaned over to snag the phone off of the coffee table. Flipping it open, he turned off the alarm and put the phone back and grabbed the remote for the television instead. Moving back to his wife, he flicked on the t.v and took a minute to check the hockey scores on ESPN before turning the channel to the Dick Clark New Years Eve Special. Times Square was an absolute zoo and Flack wondered what in the hell was wrong with people that they'd voluntarily want to get caught up in the sea of humanity. In all his years living in New York, he'd never once been to Times Square on New Years Eve, save for when he was just a uniform and stationed there to help keep the peace.

He lay back down beside his wife. Propping himself on his elbow to keep an eye on the time at the corner of the screen, he draped his other arm around her and pulled her tight into him. She gave another loud sigh and followed by an even louder yawn.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily, as she tucked her ass into his stomach.

"Almost midnight," he replied, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"How many more minutes?"

He squinted as he peered at the time at the corner of the screen. "One and a bit."

"We're lame," she declared. "Falling asleep before midnight. I mean, we're not that old where we should feel the need to be in bed before twelve."

"We work long hours," he reasoned. "And we have a toddler that never sits still."

"It's kind of sad, you know," she said.

"What is?"

"That Kieran's not a baby anymore. I kind of miss it."

"So do I," Flack admitted. "But now there's going to be a new baby."

"I know. I'm scared that I might love the new baby more."

"That's ridiculous, Samantha," he told her, and kissed her cheek. "Kieran's our first born. Why would you start loving him any less?"

"I didn't say I would. I just said I was worried about it. And that I won't have enough time for him once I have the new baby."

"You'll be okay," he assured her. "Everything will work out. I'll just have to take some extra time off this time around. Instead of two weeks take a whole month or something. I have enough vacation time piled up. Don't worry about all of that right now. Let's just worry about doctor's appointments and making sure you and the baby are healthy," his hand rested softly on her stomach. "Okay?"

She nodded. "I find New Years Eve sad, too."

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "All the things that happened in the year are put behind us. And a lot of things happened last year. I don't want to forget them."

"You won't," he said. "And lots of things will happen this year. We'll make a lot of new memories in the next three hundred and sixty five days."

She nodded and brushed tears off her cheeks. "How much time?" she asked.

"Twenty seconds."

She wrapped her arm around his, hugging it to her as they lay in silence watching the final moments of 2009 count down on the television screen. No fan fare or excitement. Just two people content and in love sharing the night, and that moment with each other. And when the time ran out and bedlam erupted in Times Square, Sam let go of her husband's arm and rolled over onto her side to face him and kissed him softly.

"Happy New Year," she whispered against his lips.

"Happy New Year," he returned, and deepened the kiss and rolled her body underneath his.

"Now this is how you celebrate the New Year," she said with a giggle, than sighed as his lips found the hallow of her throat.

The phone rang. The landline.

"I thought you weren't on call," Sam said with a frown.

"I'm not," Flack told her. "I'm off until the second."

"I hope nothing is wrong with Kieran," she fretted, as her husband rolled off of her and got to his feet and headed for the cordless phone on the table behind the couch.

"It's your brother," Flack said as he checked the caller ID. "Calling from his cell phone."

"Maybe he got off early and found someone to hang out with tonight," Sam said. "I hope he's not dumb enough to get involved with all that Times Square insanity."

Flack pressed talk on the cordless phone and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he answered. "Yeah…we were up…Happy New Year to you, too."

"Happy New Year, Peanut!" Sam called out.

Flack relayed the message. "He says Happy New Year," he told his wife. "So what's up?" he asked into the phone. "What?…when did this happen?…are you serious?"

"What?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?"

"Yeah I would say that's quite the shock," Flack said with a laugh. "Well congratulations. I'll tell her. Alright. Bye."

"What's going on?" Sam asked, as her husband hung up the phone, turned off the ringer and joined her back on the floor.

"Nothing," he replied, and gathered the blanket up and pulled it around them before forcing her to lie back down beside him. Facing each other. He captured her lips once again, anxious to continue where they had left off.

Sam pushed him away from her. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"What was what all about?" he responded, and grabbed her by the hip and yanked her towards him, his lips feasting on her neck and shoulder.

"You know…as good as that feels and I really don't want you to stop…"

"Than I won't stop," he said with a chuckle.

"…you won't be getting nothing until you tell me what my brother said to you."

"He didn't say anything. He said Happy New Year. That's it."

Sam frowned.

"Babe, it was nothing," Flack assured her.

"I heard you say something was shocking and than tell him congratulations. Congratulations about what?"

"It honestly was nothing," he told her, kissing her chastely. "He was just telling me that he and Gus are in AC. He managed to get off early and met her down there."

"And?"

"And what?" Flack asked, pressing kisses along her shoulder and than up her neck to her ear.

"Don't play stupid games with me!" she snapped, and shoved him away.

"Honestly, babe, it was nothing. Now come here and quit playing hard to get," he pulled her to him once again and began kissing her neck and ears in earnest.

"Donnie…"

"It's nothing. I wouldn't lie to you. Unless you consider your brother getting married a huge thing."

"What?!" she shrieked and jumped away from her husband. "He got married? When?"

"About an hour ago. He wanted to wait until it was 2010 to surprise us."

"Adam? Adam and Gus? Married?"

Flack nodded.

"But how? Seriously. How?"

"They've had their license for a few days," he told her.

"You knew they were getting married?"

"Not tonight. I knew they were getting married soon. They were just going to have me and you meet them at a JP within the next couple of weeks and BOOM. I guess they couldn't wait."

"Adam?" she was dumbfounded. "Married?"

Flack nodded.

"Whoa…"

"Happy New Year, huh? Now get over here and assume the position."

She picked up a cushion and swatted him with it. "Pervert!"

"You love it," he declared, grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. "I love you," he said, gazing into those golden eyes.

"I love you, too," she said, and raised her head to kiss him.

"Is it time now to show you how much?" he asked.

She grinned.

"No better time in the world," she replied.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even all you lurkers! PLEASE R and R folks!

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