DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS

A/N: I AM BACK!

Unexpected

"Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then
Spin me around 'til I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved
If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
How I'd love, love, love
To dance with my father again."
-Dance With My Father Again, Luther Vandross

The last place Flack had wanted to be at ten thirty at night was on the Queensboro Bridge heading into Manhattan. Where he wanted to be was at home. Most specifically curled up on the couch in the family room with his wife. Eating junk food while they watched television and the kids were fast asleep. It was their usual Friday night activity for the past seven years nearly. Once Liam came along and having six kids made it nearly impossible to have any sort of social life, they had begun finding cheaper ways to have fun. When it was possible to relax long enough to have fun. It was difficult to take it easy with a family that big. Once the kids were in bed, that was usually the time they used to get things done. Dishes, laundry, paying bills, making meals that could last a couple of days and be stored in the freezer. Anything that made raising that many kids a little easier. Often he wondered what the hell they had ever been thinking to want a family that big. With each baby they had, or three in the case of the triplets, they had sworn up and down that that was it. No more babies. And each time, a few months later, discussions would begin about whether they really wanted to stop or not and in the end, they would decide that one more baby wouldn't hurt or break the bank. Mikayla had been their last one. Or so they had planned it that way. Only a course of unforeseen and somewhat bizarre events had led to Liam and added to their often out of control brood. It had been Sam who'd gone ahead with the decision to have her tubes tied once he was born. It was a reversible procedure but neither of them had ever considered having it reversed.

Until now apparently.

He would have much rather have been cuddled up on that family room couch, talking such an insane idea out with his wife. Instead he found himself behind the wheel of his SUV, driving Alessa Bainbridge home because her simple after school visit with the girls had turned into a rather long one. Sam had suggested that Alessa just stay over. She was going to be attending the slumber party the next evening anyway, so it made more sense to just call her parents and let them know she was staying until Sunday afternoon and that it was perfectly okay with Alannah and Reghan's parents. She could even borrow some of the girls' clothing and Sam kept extra unused toothbrushes in the linen closet for visitors that forgot their own. Only no one bothered to answer the phone at Alessa's and no machine picked up for her to even leave a message. And she was too afraid of her parents reaction if she didn't show up at home without telling them where she was, that Sam had offered to drive her into the city.

Flack had nixed that idea. He didn't want his wife driving at that time of the night regardless of what borough she was going to. Which was how he now found himself, yawning noisily and attempting to keep himself awake with the extra large black Starbucks that sat in the cup holder in between the driver's and passenger's seat while Alessa, sipping the Chai Tea Latte he'd purchased for her, stared out her window at the sparkling lights of Manhattan as they travelled the expanse of the bridge.

"So do your parents make it a habit of not answering the phone?" Flack asked casually. "Especially when you're out so late. You would think that they would want to know you're okay."

"They know I'm fine," she responded. "They know that Reghan and Alannah's mom and dad are both cops. Well, that their dad is. And that their mom works for the government. That she was a cop."

"And that's okay with your parents?" he asked.

"They don't care what my friends' parents do," Alessa replied.

"I don't mean that. What I mean is that they don't care you're out so late? Alannah and Reghan have to be in by ten on weekends. Kieran no later than midnight. Your folks don't mind you being out so late?"

"I don't have a curfew," the young girl informed him.

Flack arched an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. "You're like thirteen," he said, trying to not sound preachy or condescending.

"I just turned fourteen two weeks ago," Alessa told him.

"So fourteen…and you don't have a curfew?"

"My parents don't believe in them. They believe that too many rules and regulations hamper a child's quest for independence and personal security. And that a strict, controlling parent only damages their child's psyche."

Flack nearly spit his mouthful of coffee out at the sound of kid talking about damaging her psyche. "Well my kids must be really, majorly and totally screwed up than," he said, coughing noisily. "Because there's rules in my house and I expect them to follow them. And if they don't, than it's their asses on the line. I don't fool around with my kids. I'm the boss and I call the shots until they're eighteen and ready to move out and take care of themselves."

"Aren't you worried about them becoming too dependent on you and your wife?" Alessa asked.

"First off, I don't feel like discussing my parenting skills with someone you're age. And second, there's nothing wrong with rules. The world is made up of them. I don't want any of my kids running the streets and doing drugs and winding up in juvenile detention or actual prison when they're older. I want them to be decent, law abiding citizens instead of little jackasses causing all kinds of hell and getting into all kinds of problems. Maybe your parents have the green to bail you out of a tight spot, but I'm afraid I can't afford to extend the same courtesy to my kids. Not just financially, but professionally as well."

"Yeah…but you're a cop, Mr Flack. And maybe it's hard for you to separate being a cop and being a dad."

"What's hard for me to separate is the logic as to why I am discussing this with you and why it's any of your business."

Alessa shrugged. "I was just making conversation. You have a really nice family, Mr Flack. All your kids are really, really nice and your wife is so sweet. She's so different than my mom. My mom is all about her designer clothes and her spa days and her social circles. Your wife is so relaxed and free spirited and fun. She doesn't always talk down to her kids and make them feel worthless."

"Your mom does that to you?" Flack asked, sipping coffee.

"A little," Alessa admitted with a sigh. "They're all about my brother."

"Older or younger?" he inquired.

"Older. Kevin. He's dead. He died before I was born."

Flack's eyes widened and he cast a quick glance over at the young girl sitting next to him.

"He was in the army. An army Ranger. He was deployed to Iraq for Operaion Enduring Freedom and was two months away from coming home. It was his second tour and he was looking forward to being home because he was suppose to be getting married. Only the helicopter he was in got shot down. Everyone on board died."

"I'm sorry," Flack said sincerely. "So your parents had him really young or…"

"I'm adopted," she explained. "My parents are in their late sixties. My real parents were relatives of close friends of theirs that fell onto hard times and couldn't take me. And no one in that family wanted me so my mom and dad signed the papers and took me on as their own. But it's still all about my brother. They go on and on about him and how he was their pride and joy and sucked it up and became a man's man by joining the army when he got have had a free and easy ride from daddy. They still keep his old room as a shrine. It's sick. They haven't touched it in over fifteen years and they put a lock on it so no one can get in. It's totally screwed up."

"People deal with grief in different ways," Flack reasoned. "Guess they never dealt with theirs."

"Guess not," Alessa said with a snort. "Guess they saw me as some kind of stand in or something…"

"I'm sure your parents love you very much," Flack told her. "Sometimes, us parents, we don't show our kids or tell them as much as we should. I've one of the most guilty parties for that. But I love all my kids no matter what. Just like I am sure your parents feel the same way about you."

"Maybe," she said quietly and stared out the window once more.

It was five minutes to midnight when Sam heard the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs that led into the finished basement/family room. She was stretched out on the forest green plush sectional couch, her back tucked in the corner and her legs stretched out along the sofa. Freshly showered and in a pair of black satin pyjama pants with hot pink stripes and a curve flattering black t-shirt emblazoned with the words Hello Kitty across her chest in pink glitter and a picture of the cartoon character in white sparkles just below it. The remote control and a half finished Dean Koontz book beside her and a box of key lime meringue pie in her lap as she dug into the dessert with a fork while she watched CNN.

"Hey handsome," she greeted her husband as he came into view at the bottom of the stairs. "Alessa got home okay?"

"She got home just fine," Flack told her, disappearing into the utility room to snag a bottle of water from the fridge inside. And noticed that his wife had both washers going for laundry. Two washers and two dryers with eight people in the house was a damn necessity.

"Than I had to bring her all the way back here," he said, as he journeyed out into the family room, snapping the cap off the water and taking a sip. "She had forgotten her key at school. The doorman let her into the building, but no one answered her apartment door or all the calls she made from her cell phone. I walked her right to the door and I swear Sammie, she knocked for damn near ten minutes and called over a dozen times. Finally I said fuck it, and brought her back here. I couldn't just leave her there. I told her you'd take her back sometimes tomorrow afternoon to get her some fresh clothes of her own and what not for her party."

"Oh I will, will I?" Sam asked, turning her face up for a kiss before sliding sideways so Flack could sit in the corner and stretch his legs out and she could park herself beside him and put her feet under his legs to keep them warm. Those seating arrangements had become somewhat routine.

"Figured you wouldn't mind," he responded, and rubbed her shin softly.

"I don't," Sam said. "And the girls would probably love to come for the drive. And Declan. You know how much he loves his road trips."

"I'll keep him busy. I was going to take him and Kieran and Liam over to my parents to help grandma do some things around the house."

"Please be home for supper. Because Danny and Lindsay are dropping off Aiden and Danny Jr for the night."

Flack frowned. "Why?"

"Danny wants to take Lindsay on a date."

"All night?"

"It's a mommy and daddy type date. If you catch my drift."

"So they wanna do the nasty all night, huh? Lucky them. When do I get my mommy and daddy date with you?" Flack asked. "I want a mommy and daddy date with my wife. When's that gonna happen?"

"When you find a sitter for six kids," she replied. "And we're going away for a few days in May so that's an extended mommy and daddy date. You know," she pointed down at the pie with her fork. "This pie Linds made is awesome."

"I know. I had two pieces at supper."

"And what did the doctor tell you about your cholesterol?"

"That it's shockingly high. So what?"

"So what? I will remember that when you have hardening of the arteries and need a triple bypass."

"Be quiet, woman," Flack said, and kissed her cheek noisily. "I thought the two pies she brought over tonight were finished at supper?"

"They were. This is the third one that she made just for me that I so expertly hid from everyone. Especially your oldest son who can eat like no one I have ever seen."

"Gets it from his mother," Flack commented. "Can I have some of your pie?"

"Ummm….no."

"Why not?"

"Because," she dug the fork into the dessert and popped a piece into her mouth. "I don't feel like sharing."

"Will you go upstairs and make me something to eat? I'm starving."

"Let me think about it," Sam said, helping herself to more pie. "Ummm….no."

"You're such a witch," Flack sighed heavily. "For the record, I wasn't referring to the key lime pie. I was referring to your pie," he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"You're such a perv," she complained, and scooped up a chunk of the pie and shoved it into his mouth and than kissed him sweetly.

"What are you doing down here?" Flack asked, as his wife used her fingertips to clean excess meringue and key lime filling off of his lips. "Hiding out from Liam the Demon and his endless requests for drinks of water?"

"That…and I am doing laundry. But what else is new?"

"There was only one load in the laundry room this afternoon. I'm the one who put it there. So why are both machines going?"

"Because you had six pairs of jeans in there, ten towels and my underwear," she informed him.

"And your point?"

"My point is that that is way too much stuff for one washer unless you want to break it and buy me another one. And I didn't want my underwear in with your jeans and towels. You know, Donnie, this is exactly why you're forbidden from doing laundry."

"Are you telling me you turned on the second washer just for your underwear?"

Sam nodded and licked meringue off the end of the fork.

"Tell you what," he said. "You pay the water and hydro bills when they come in next month. What is wrong with you?"

"Oh stop whining," Sam told him. "It's not like we're poor."

"And you know, Liam is right. It is hard to take a leak in a pink bathroom."

"Well, you could always paint it like you've been promising me you would for two years. I mean, you even bought the paint and it's been sitting in the shed collecting dust since."

"I'll get around to it," Flack assured her, sticking his finger in the meringue and licking it off.

"Sure you will. Just like it took you two months to get around to changing the light bulb in our bathroom."

"There were four other perfectly fine lights. You weren't in the dark or anything."

"That is not the point, my dear," Sam helped herself to some of his water. "The point is that it took you two months to do it."

"You're more than capable of changing a light bulb, Samantha. You get one from the utility room, grab a step ladder and away you go. You had to do all this shit for yourself when I wasn't around for seven months."

"Are you insane?" she laughed. "I never lifted a finger. I had my boyfriend do it all."

Flack frowned.

"Did you bring the empty garbage cans to the back of the house?" she asked.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch.

"You would think you're overworked," Sam mused. "What happened to you? You turned forty five and you fell apart. You hit that age and all your brains vanished. Or are they

hidden somewhere in your middle age spread?" she pulled one foot out from underneath him and tickled his stomach with her toes.

"Get outta here," Flack laughed at her good natured teasing. "I weigh the same as I did when I was thirty."

Sam snorted.

"I do. Well, give or take a few pounds."

"Or fifteen…or twenty…" she chided.

"Fuck you woman," he fought back. Than looked sideways at her, grinning as he rubbed her foot. "I love you," he said.

"Sure…sure. You love to hate me is what you do."

"Some days," he joked, than jumped as she dug her heel hard into his thigh. "Oww! Okay…okay…just joking, babe."

The buzzers for the washers sounded.

"Could you throw the stuff in the dryers?" Sam asked sweetly.

Flack groaned loudly.

"Christ, it's not like I am asking you to part the red sea, Donald."

"Might as well be," he grumbled and climbed off the couch and headed across the family room, past the small third bathroom and into the utility area. "You owe me!" he called.

"For putting things in the dryer?" she asked. "You're delusional."

"You owe me big time," he continued. "Like say…I don't know…you come in here and I'll bend you over the dryer and show you what I want in return."

"Sorry. You wish. My sex in strange places day is over. Now It's strictly the bedroom and that's it."

"Yeah…right…hey, Sammie…where's those things?"

"Things?" she asked. "What things?"

"You know, the things. For the dryer."

"Don, you are going to have to be more specific my love."

"The things!" he informed her. "You know…that make the clothes less staticy and smell good."

"They're called fabric softener sheets and they are in a box on the shelf on the wall to the left of the freezer."

"Box on the shelf…on the wall…left of the freezer," he muttered. "All right, gotcha. Two or three in the dryer?"

"One each, Donnie…Jesus, how did you survive without me for so long? And how would you manage without me on a permanent basis?"

"Quit happily and peacefully, actually," he replied, than shut the dryer doors and started the machines.

Sam heard the freezer door click open and her husband rummaging around.

"Damn I love you!" he called out as he closed the freezer.

"Why now?"

He emerged from the utility room unwrapping a popsicle. A three flavoured affair. Strawberry, key lime and mandarin orange.

"I bought three huge boxes just for you and the boys," Sam said, as he rejoined her on the couch.

"You are the best wife in the whole damn world," Flack declared. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to her temple before starting to work on the popsicle.

"You couldn't live without me," she said with a sigh and snuggled into him, placing the pie box on his stomach so she could keep on eating.

"Kids are in bed?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Declan and Liam fell asleep in that stupid pup tent that Kieran thought was a good idea to put up in Liam's room. You should see them. They have comic books and flashlights and a Kieran's I-pod and speakers in there and their sleeping bags and Declan made me bring them marsh mellows and cookies and glasses of milk. And you know what they did?" she giggled as she thought about it. "They took their rulers from school and put your camping flashlight, that big lantern type one, on the floor and stuck the marsh mellows on the rulers and pretended to roast them."

Flack grinned at the image.

"And than Kieran tiptoed in there while they were too busy talking to notice wearing that stupid Jason hockey mask he wore last Halloween and went to the side of the tent and started scratching at it and than let out this huge growl like a bear and Liam and Declan screamed blue murder. And they come running down the stairs freaking out that a bear is after them and Kieran chasing them with the pretend machete that went with his Jason mask."

"I told you, Sammie," Flack said, crunching the popsicle between his teeth. "I told you he'd be a serial killer when he was older. Starts torturing small animals or putting cats in microwaves than we really need to be worried. Or if he steals my gun to shoot poor defenceless squirrels like someone who will remain nameless."

Sam frowned, and grabbing a hold of his hand, yanked it close to her and took a huge bite out of his popsicle.

"Do you mind?" he asked, snatching his hand back. "You have your pie and you need my popsicle too?"

"I like sucking on hard, sweet stuff," she reasoned.

Flack grinned and shook his head and turned his attention back to the popsicle and the television.

"Aren't you so glad you married me, honey?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Every day, babe," he replied, rubbing her arm softly and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Really?" she asked, helping herself to more pie.

"Really," he assured her. "You know I love you and would walk to the ends of the earth for you."

"God…I am so full," she said with a groan and dropped the fork into the box before shutting the lid and sat up. "So you'd really walk to the ends of the earth for me?" she asked, setting the box on the coffee table before leaning into him, laying a hand on his stomach and nuzzling his ear with her nose.

"I would," Flack responded.

"Seriously? All the way to the end of the earth?" she kissed the spot below his ear.

"Absolutely," he vowed.

"So I guess that means you wouldn't mind going up to the kitchen and making me a cup of tea?"

He chuckled. "You are so damn sneaky," he declared. "Here I was thinking you were going to ask me to throw you down right here and make an honest woman out of you and you turn around and ask me something like that."

She giggled and kissed him. "Please?" she asked, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair.

"What am I going to get out of it?" Flack asked in response.

"My undying and unwavering love and gratitude?" she suggested.

"Sorry…that ain't gonna cut it."

"Wild, crazy, passionate sex right here on the couch?" she tried again.

"That's a little better," he said, his eyes not leaving the tv screen as he sucked on the popsicle. "You said you liked sucking on hard stuff, right?"

"Jesus, Donnie…blow jobs are not the be all and end all of civilization."

"I am telling you, Sammie. If women, yourself included, gave more blow jobs, the world would not have the problems it does. Men would be much happier and more relaxed. There'd be less crime, fewer unrest between the middle eastern countries, no wars…"

"I will make my own damn tea," she decided, and went to stand up, only to have her husband yank her back down. Sealing her lips in a long, toe curling, body tingling kiss as she landed on top of him.

"I will make your fucking tea, woman," he told her, and gently pushed her off of him and down onto the couch before getting to his feet. "You are so bloody demanding," he huffed as he headed for the stairs.

"I love you, sweet pea," she called to him.

"Whatever," he responded. "Smoochie-poo."

"Don't call me that!" she laughed and tossed a throw cushion in his direction.

"Don't call me sweet pea," he shot back.

"You realize in four and a half years you and I will have been married two decades?" Sam asked.

"Shit…don't remind me," Flack sighed as he trudged up the stairs.

"You'd leave me if you really wanted to," she informed him.

"That's just it, Sammie. I don't want to. Ever."

He returned with a large mug of steaming earl grey tea and a plastic tumbler of white milk and chocolate milk mixed together ten minutes later. He cast a glance at the television as he stepped past it. His wife was watching Bringing Home Baby on TLC. The damn show was still in circulation fifteen years later. Currently, a newborn just released from the hospital was damn near turning red from screaming so loud while its mother was in tears and frustrated and cursing and swearing at the husband who'd somehow mistakenly thought a baby's first day home was a good time to go out for a drink with the boys.

His wife was sending him a message. Flack wasn't stupid. Her watching a show like that, when she was forty seven and well past her baby making prime -and that was self admitted only six months ago when Speed and Carmen briefly considering trying for another baby- was her way of following up her decision earlier that she had changed her mind and was ready, and willing, to try their luck.

"You didn't want tea?" Sam asked, as she accepted the mug and her husband returned to his seat beside her.

"No…not now, not ever. You've been with me for nearly twenty years and you still don't get it that I'm not a tea guy?"

"People change, Don," she said. "I was thinking tonight was your night."

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," he reasoned. "Jesus…can that brat possibly cry anymore? You seriously want to go through that our age? The bawling on ours, and the baby's part. Not getting proper sleep, having to feed every three to four hours, changing shitty diapers, colic…need I go on?"

"I don't get proper sleep now with the six we have," Sam pointed out.

"That's my point. We have six. Half a dozen kids, Sammie. Why do we need another one?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I just do."

"That's not an appropriate answer for anyone over seven," Flack told her. "You decide, when you're forty seven, almost forty eight, and I'm forty five, that you want another baby. So give me a reason to go along with it. Because right now, it just seems to me that you're fucking nuts for wanting one."

"I don't have a reason, Donnie. I just want one."

"How about I buy you another puppy?" he suggested. "Would that make you change your mind?"

She shook her head. "I just…I don't know. I just feel like we're not done yet. That we should have one more."

"Okay…so let's talk this out, than. You want another baby…"

"…and you don't."

"I never said that. I want you to see where I am coming from here, Sammie," he took her hand and held it tightly. "Hear me out for a second?"

"Of course,"

"When we found out about Declan, the geneticist told us that our chances, at the ages we were than, thirty-one and thirty four, that our chances of having a child with Down Syndrome were one in six hundred and fifty. And that the older we got, and seeing as we already have one Trisomy 21 kid, that our chances were pretty good that we'd have another one."

"I already checked the book," she said quietly. "Our chances at my age are one in five. And that's without having a child already with it. So in our case it would be more like one in three."

"Do you really want that Sammie?" Flack asked. "In all honesty? Do you really want to take that chance?"

"But we have Declan and we love him just the same as the others," she said.

"That's not what this is about. This is about us having a baby and taking the chance that that baby will have Down Syndrome too. 'Cause honestly, Samantha, I don't think I can do it again. And I love Declan and would do anything for that kid and you know that…"

She nodded.

"But I don't think I could raise another special needs child. And maybe I'm being selfish thinking that way. But I am also being honest with you when I say that I think that would destroy us and I don't want that happening to us or our family."

"So I'd have an abortion," she said. "I'd have an amnio and if it showed Down Syndrome I'd have an abortion."

He shook his head. "You could never do that. And neither could I. I couldn't let you do that."

"So we could give it up for adoption," she suggested.

"Samantha, you know you'd never be able to carry a baby inside of you for nine months and than simply give it up."

She sighed. "I just want to try," she told him. "It's all I want."

"Okay…so let's take this another direction. You're going through menopause."

"It hasn't hit fully yet. I am still getting somewhat of a period."

"And you've had your tubes tied," he added.

"It's reversible. You know that. And look," she leaned forward and reached under a magazine on the coffee table and pulled out a handful of papers. "I've done some research. On late pregnancies and stuff like that."

"When did you do all of this?"

"A few days ago," she admitted.

Flack didn't respond as he took the papers from her.

"There's a lot of outstanding fertility specialists in New York City, Donnie," she said. "I've printed some of the more well known names. Ones that are known all over the country."

"And how do we pay for that, Sammie? Stuff like that isn't cheap."

"Well I was looking through some of your NYPD files and I didn't see anything about coverage for fertility stuff so I called the union and…"

"You called my union?"

She nodded. "And they told me they covered sixty percent of the cost of visits and seventy percent for any meds or procedures I'd need, And DHS would cover the rest."

"You've been a busy, girl," Flack commented, flipping through the papers.

"I just want us to try, Donnie," she said. "That's all I want."

"I need to think about this, Sammie. I need to sit down and really, really think about this. Read through all of this stuff. Okay? I can't make a decision before I have all the facts. You know that."

"I do," she said and kissed him softly.

"I just," he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I just don't want to make a mistake."

"None of our kids were mistakes," she told him.

"I never said they were, babe. Liam was a surprise but he wasn't a mistake or unwanted. But we're both crowding fifty and I don't want us jumping into having another baby and ten years from now, wondering what the fuck we were ever thinking. 'Cause we already have six. Declan is like having seven. And it's a lot of hard work for you. Let's face it, Sammie, you've done more of the parenting than me."

"Donnie, you underestimate yourself all the time. You're a great father. You know you are. I mean, you could use a little practice in dealing with Kieran…."

"He's fifteen, Sammie. I don't know how to deal with him."

"…but the way you handled Liam over that hamster thing was great," she finished.

"I can do the little kids. I can't do the teenagers. Most specifically the teenage boys."

"You need to just go a little easier on Kieran, Donnie. You're so hard on him. He wants nothing more than to make you proud. And to be just like you. And when you make him feel like an idiot over this whole academy thing…."

"I am not making him feel like an idiot. I just want more for him."

"But he doesn't see it that," Sam argued. "And honestly, neither do I. Because you are so harsh with him. He's not a perp in interrogation. He's your son. Your first born. I remember when he was a newborn and you couldn't get enough of him. And when he was little he was your best buddy in the whole wide world and you did everything with him and hugged him and kissed him and told him you loved him all the time."

"But he's not little anymore, Sammie. He's fifteen. You can't do that with fifteen year old boys."

"Says who?" she asked. "Because your mother didn't do it with you?"

Flack sighed.

"There is nothing wrong with telling your son you love him. I've seen you do it. And I've seen the way Kieran just lights up when you do. He idolizes and adores you and he just wants you to notice him and be proud of him."

"I am proud of him," Flack told her.

"Only when he's doing what you want him to do," Sam said. "Only when he's pulling in good grades and doing well in hockey."

"Because he's got talent, Sammie! He's got talent and he's got your brains and I don't want him tossing all that away by becoming a cop!"

"So what if he goes to university and gets into forensics?" Sam suggested.

"That won't fly with Kieran. He doesn't want to go to university. You heard him. He wants to be a cop. He wants to go into the academy out of high school. Just like I did."

"It was fine for you," Sam pointed out.

"But not for him!" Flack argued. "He's got more than I ever had. He's got a mother and a father that support him no matter what he does. He's got his mother's brains. And the thought of him chucking that out the window to be a cop makes me sick."

"But if that's what he wants to do, Donnie…"

"He's fifteen, Samantha. He doesn't know what he wants to do."

"Exactly. He's fifteen. He could change his mind ten times by the time he even thinks about applying for college. So in the meantime, can you please not drag him down and make him feel like shit?"

"I'm not…"

Sam arched her eyebrows and stared at her husband.

"I promise I'll be nicer to him. But I'm telling you right now, Sammie, that kid is smart with his mouth and he needs to knock it off. And this hearing thing…."

"He agreed to let me make him an appointment at audiology," she told him.

"He needs a hearing aid, he gets it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Inspector," she said with a grin.

"I ain't fooling, Sam. He can't hear properly, he gets a hearing aid. If it's fluid in his ears, he gets tubes. Plain and simple."

"I heard you, Donnie. My hearing is just fine."

"Just making sure you understand. And that you know I'm the big boss around here."

She laughed and sat her empty mug on the coffee table. "You wish."

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her. "Thought you like it when I got all bossy."

"I do," she said and curled her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

He returned the kiss. Hard and aggressive, his hands sliding down to her sides as he pushed her onto her back on the couch.

She sighed contently, circling his waist with her legs as he lips travelled down to her neck and his hands pushed up her t-shirt. His finger tips drifting along her soft, silky skin, feelings the goosebumps that pricked all over her, hearing the hitch in her breathing. He allowed his fingers to travel further, coming into contact with the undersides of her breasts as his tongue and lips burned a trail over her neck and collarbone.

She arched against him and moaned slightly as his fingers slipped up further to play with her swollen, aching nipples.

His cell phone, resting on the coffee table, rang noisily.

"Oh God, don't answer it," she groaned.

"I have to," he told her reluctantly. "You know the rules. Could be something important from the big brass."

"Let them call you back in fifteen minutes," she said, raised her head to kiss him passionately.

"Sammie…as horny as I am and as horny as you apparently are…"

"Don't say it, Donnie….please don't say it."

"I have to answer the call," he said, kissed her chastely than entangled himself from her embrace and reached for his phone. He checked the call display and frowned. "It's my mom," he said. "She never calls this late."

Sam pulled down her t-shirt as her husband moved away from her and sat down and flipped open his phone.

"What's wrong, mom?" he asked in way of greeting. "Are you okay? Why are you calling so late?"

Sam sat up as well, watching and listening.

"When did that happen?" Flack asked into the phone, putting a hand to his forehead and covering his eyes. "Where are you now?….I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?…I love you, too…bye…."

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, already fearing the worst as her husband snapped his phone closed. "Is your mom alright? Where is she?"

Flack didn't respond at first. He sat with his hand over his eyes and his shoulders slumped forward for a couple of minutes before clearing his throat noisily and sitting up. When he removed his hand, Sam saw tears sparkling in his eyes.

"Donnie… what's going on?" she asked, alarmed by the look on his face.

"My mom's at the nursing home," he replied. "They called her a couple of hours ago."

"Donnie…what…?"

He sighed heavily and looked at her with sad, tortured blue eyes. "It's my dad," he told her. "He died half an hour ago."

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I have been away for a couple days but I missed all of you and are looking forward to hearing all of you and I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

Brrtmclv

Aphina

muchmadness

laurzz

Marialisa

Bluehaven4220

ImaSupernaturalCSI

wolfeylady

Shopaholic20

GregRox

Forest Angel