DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS. LET'S JUST CALL THEM THE VON FLACKS, SHALL WE? LOL

A/N: CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS GO OUT TO MY GOOD, GOOD PAL LAURZZ. YOU KNOW WHICH ONES, GIRL!

It makes you realize…

"Front porch light would be turned on
And I was always gone too long
Curfew was at 10pm
And I'd sneak in trying not to wake him when I got
Home
Daddy always said "Son, you're half a bubble off' a plumb Head-strong and stubborn", and maybe I was
Yeah, I couldn't wait to leave
Last place I in the world I wanted to be was
Home

Now I'm flying down that old dirt road
But it seems these wheels are spinning slow
I'd never left that way if I'd have only known
He's gone, so here I am
Home

I sat in my car and cried
Wished to God he was still alive
Inside, mama wiped my tears She said,
He would have been so happy that you're here at
Home

Then I thought about my life
And about my kids and about my wife
And about how time just flies no matter what you do
And every soccer game I have missed
And every time I fight when I could forgive
And how I can't let it come to this
When I get home

Now I'm flying down that old dirt road
But it seems these wheels are spinning slow
And it's taken me a while but now I finally know
Everything that matters most is at
Home."
-Home, Paul Brandt

Kieran woke from a sound, peaceful sleep by someone shaking his shoulder and the sound of a soft, angelic voice over top of him. He was disoriented and half asleep as he groaned loudly and shoved the hand off of him and rolled over onto his stomach with a curt "Go the hell away!". He wasn't in the mood for one of his sisters bothering him. He hated when they came into his room first thing in the morning, on orders from either of his father or his mother, to wake him up at any cost. Alannah had tossed a cup of ice cold water in his face once when, after shaking him and calling his name for a solid ten minutes, she'd lost her patience and resorted to drastic measures. He'd nearly beat her black and blue for that. He knew his father had no tolerance for guys that beat on women, but Kieran was pretty sure that annoying, bitchy little sisters were more than fine to knock around on certain circumstances.

"Kieran…" the voice, and the shaking, this time on his back, continued. "Kieran…"

"Fuck off, Alannah," he grumbled into his pillow.

"Kieran!" the voice was louder this time. The shaking more insistent. "Kieran!"

"I said fuck off!" he bellowed, grabbing his extra pillow and covering his head with it.

"Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" the voice snapped back. "Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his full name. There was only one person in the free world that called him all three names and his last name at the same time. And as he flopped over onto his back, that one person was standing at the side of the bed with her hands on her slender hips.

"Uh…hey…mom…" he greeted with a sheepish grin.

"I need you awake," Sam told him. "Are you awake?"

"I think so….what time is it?"

"It's just after one in the morning. I need you to stay awake and keep an eye on the house and your brothers and sisters until your uncle Danny gets here."

"One in the morning?" Kieran sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Glad that he was a boxers and t-shirt kind of guy and his mother didn't walk in on him sleeping completely naked. "Uncle Danny?…what?…what's going on?…Are you okay, mommy? Is dad okay?…what's wrong?"

"Your dad and I have to go out," Sam told her son. "I don't know when we'll be back, but Uncle Danny is on his way as soon as possible and Aunt Linds will be over first thing in the morning to help get all the kids ready and out there door in time for your hockey game."

"What's going on, mom? Why do you and dad have to go out at this time of the night? And why don't you know when you guys will be back?"

"Your dad and I need to go to the nursing home and be with your grandmother," she explained. "We're going to take her home and make sure she gets some rest before helping her plan things."

"Plan things?" Kieran shook the cobwebs from his head. "What things? What's going on? Did something happen to grandpa?"

Sam sighed. Her son was fifteen. He knew what death was. He had been old enough to ask questions and have some concept of things when Sarge died. And he'd nearly lost his father at a very young age and only three short years ago, had gone to the department burial for Chester Lake, whom Kieran had considered an uncle. So holding the news back out of hopes of protecting him from the harsh realities of life was not the answer.

"Your grandpa died, Kieran," she told him. "I'm sorry. Your grandmother called a little while ago to tell your dad."

His blue eyes widened as the realization of what his mother had just said sunk in. "I'm going to come with you guys," he declared, and jumped out of bed and hurried over to his dresser.

"Kieran…" Sam watched as her son rummaged through drawers and snagged an old NYPD sweatshirts of his father's and than rushed over to his closet.

"I have to see grandpa, mom," he was saying as he found a pair of jeans and tugged them on. "I never got to see him the last few times that dad went over there and I wanted to tell him all about how good I was doing at hockey and the good grades I've been pulling down lately. I mean, I know he wouldn't understand most of what I was saying, but I wanted to tell him anyway."

"Kieran, son, listen to me…"

"And I want to see grandma," he continued. "Make sure she's okay. She must be really sad and what not. And dad…how's dad doing?"

"Your dad's in shock," Sam told him. "He wasn't expecting that kind of call after just seeing your grandpa this afternoon. He was sure that your grandfather had at least a couple of more months left."

"But he's okay, right? Dad's okay?"

"He's going to be fine," Sam assured him. "He's outside waiting in the car for me. I have to get going."

"Like I said, I'm coming with you," Kieran told her.

"K…listen to me. I need you to stay here with your brothers and sisters," Sam said, stepping in front of him on his way to the door. "I need you to be the man of the house until your Uncle Danny gets here. And I need you to help him and Aunt Linds with your siblings. Especially Declan. You know what he's like if it's not you or daddy doing stuff for him. And you need to be at your hockey game and…"

"Hockey? Mom! I can't play hockey after grandpa just died!" Kieran argued.

"Please, Kieran. I need you. I am asking you as your mother to help me out here. I don't ask for much from you unless I really, really need it and you know that. I trust you to keep things under control around here. And you will go to your game and you're going to kick some ass for your grandfather. You hear me?"

He sighed and shook his head and looked away from her.

"Kieran…" she laid her hand on his cheek and turned his face so he would look at her. "Son, please. I need you."

"Fine," he conceded. "But I want to be there for grandpa. And for grandma. And for dad."

"And your father knows that, sweetie. But he needs you to take care of things, too. Okay?"

"Okay…"

"Thank you," Sam said. "Do you want to walk me to the car? You can say something to your dad?"

Kieran nodded and followed his mother to the bedroom door. "What do I say to him, mommy? About grandpa?" he asked.

"Just say what's in your heart," she replied.

Flack sat in the passenger seat of his wife's gun metal grey Volvo SUV. The engine running, headlights on. It was unusual for him to not be the one driving places whenever they went out together alone of with the kids. It almost felt as if he was relinquishing power and control to her. Two things he didn't feel comfortable coughing up. He was old fashioned in the sense that he was the provider and the protector. He took care of things when it came to his family. It had always been that way it seemed. Somewhere along the line, while the jealousy and the possessiveness had long ago subsided -it still lingered somewhere just below the surface, but it was rare those two feelings reared their ugly heads- Sam had come to rely on him to be the solid, reliable and dependable one. The one who controlled the finances and paid the bills and made sure repairs were done around the house and that there was always food on the table. And the disciplining. She tended to be more lax with the kids. Overcompensating for her own crappy upbringing. So determined to make her children's lives so much better that they had begun to walk all over her and were attempting to get away with murder. Flack ruled with a somewhat of an iron fist. It was his way or the highway. And if they didn't like it and didn't want to tow the line, as soon as they hit eighteen, they were more than welcome to leave. Just don't expect any help from mommy and daddy.

Harsh, maybe. But he was damn well determined that his kids were going respect their parents- especially their mother who had sacrificed a hell of a lot for them and who had taken care of them single-handily during the separation- and that they were going to be decent, law abiding citizens, dependant one no one but themselves. He yelled at them. A lot. His temper had always been a major issue and despite numerous stints at anger management, he still found himself tempted to put a fist, or someone, through a wall or throw something because he was so irate or letting out a litany of profanity while raging on about everything and anything. He'd never hit his kids. Ever. He walked away when the temptation to spank an unruly, uncontrollable Liam pitching a fit in the middle of a grocery store aisle came over him. He left a room and closed his eyes and counted to ten when the frustration of dealing with Declan and all his issues sometimes became to much to bear. And he walked out on his wife when he just couldn't take the way she pushed his buttons sometimes. Because Sam never knew when to stop. She got on you about something and no matter how many times you begged her to stop or warned her to knock it off, she just keep right on needling. And it was better to take off and get his shit together in favour of knocking her around.

He loved her. He'd always loved her and would always love her. Despite the way she pissed him off and drove him absolutely mental. Because not having her around was too much to bear. That seven months away from her had nearly killed him he'd missed her so bad. The touch of her hands, the feel of her body against his, the smell of her hair. The way she whispered his name against his lips or looked deep into his eyes in those moments of quiet but intense passion that enveloped them in the middle of the night or the wee morning hours. Hell, he'd even missed the way she hogged all the covers and talked incessantly in her sleep and left her shit lying around every room and the way she'd let a small mess go for days, until it was a big, huge mess and he was subtly dropping hints about it maybe being time to clean it up. She continued to leave it until he actually demanded she clean it or he did it himself. She was wild and crazy and eccentric one moment and passive and quiet and subdued the next. There wasn't an in between with Sam. And he didn't want there to be. Because she was his wife and he loved her and wouldn't change a damn thing about her.

He had always been there for her. The strong one. Her pillar of support. She had always turned to him when faced with a crisis. And he happily accepted that role. When Sarge died and she was so overcome with grief at his funeral that she had to be taken from the room and given a sedative, it had been him that talked her down from her near manic state. Who had held her on the front lawn of that funeral home and rocked her back and forth like a parent soothing a child and kissed her and told her it was going to be okay. When she had trouble accepting Declan and was raging and angry and bitter about the cards they'd been dealt, Flack had been the one to help her while everyone else called her crazy. He had made the calls and gotten her meds and a shrink and had turned to the one person he never thought he'd rely on for anything. Devon didn't judge her or mock her or ridicule her and condemn her for not wanting to see her less than perfect baby. She'd simply sat on the edge of Sam's hospital bed. In silence at first. Holding the other woman's hands tightly. Devon got it. Her step-daughter was special needs and she got it. She got it because the only child Devon had ever bore with her husband had been diagnosed with rare, fatal birth defect and never made it past her first birthday. Devon didn't push her to talk about it. But by her silent and unwavering support, she had gotten Sam to open up to her. And it had been Devon who, three hours later, had brought Sam down to the NICU, pushing her in a wheelchair and surprising her exhausted, frustrated and despondent husband as he sat with his triplets in their incubators and contemplated the open heart surgery their son would need.

Everyone else had bailed on them. Everyone else save for Devon and Angell.

And his father.

Who'd come to the hospital to see the new additions to the family. Grinning and carrying with him armfuls of gifts. As proud as any grandfather. It had been his father who'd listened quietly as he expressed his fears and his anger and his sheer disbelief and shock and grief over having a child that was 'damaged goods'. His old man simply listened intently, and when, in the end his son had tears streaming down his cheeks as he raged at God for fucking him over so badly, drew his first born into his arms and stroked his hair and his back and told him if was going to be alright.

That God only gave people what they could handle. And that frail baby with his bad heart and a lifetime of struggles and victories ahead of him was a Flack. Plain and simple. He bore the last name Flack and was his father's son regardless of some damn extra chromosome. That was Sr's grandson and nothing changed that and nothing made him love that baby any less than the others. He treated Declan like a normal human being. While everyone else was offering up apologies for lack of anything better to say, his old man simply accepted that baby and that was that.

And now he was gone. The man that had tormented him growing up yet had held so much love and tenderness for his grandchildren was gone. And there was so much Flack still had left to say to him. Words that he had held inside for so long that he'd never had the courage to speak. That he would never get to speak. Apologies that he needed to give and ask for. Questions to ask. Explanations he still sought after all those years.

None of it mattered anymore. He would never get the answers he so desperately craved. He would never be able to tell his dad he was sorry for all the times he'd fucked up and disappointed him.

And that would eat at Flack forever.

Tears burned his eyes and squeezed them tightly shut. He will himself to get a grip. He was a man for Christ sakes. Not some blubbering, wimpy kid.

He heard the screen door squeak open and he opened his eyes just as his wife, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his side of the dresser and simple flip flops on her feet, came down the front steps accompanied by their oldest son.

Kieran wasn't a child anymore. It was hard to accept. He was a young man. A tall, strapping kid that was far past puberty now and had sex and probably drank underage. Hell, he was probably smoking up from time to time and skipping classes far too often and hanging out and goofing off too much. But he was a good kid that loved and respected his mother and had been the one, even as a little boy, who'd sat outside the bathroom door while his mother cried behind it. He listened to her sob. His mother, the first woman he ever loved, despondent over the break up of her marriage and facing the possibilities of being a single mother and maybe even a divorce. It had been Kieran, in his flannel pyjamas and sitting cross legged in front of that bathroom, attempting to soothe his mother and tucking Kleenexes under the bottom of the door.

"It's okay, mommy," he had whispered to her as he passed those tissues to her. "Daddy's not here but I'll take care of you. And all of the other kids. We'll be okay. Just us. I'll make sure of it."

Sam had told the story during one of their therapy sessions. She had cried during the recollection. Because a little boy should never had had to deal with something like that. And it was Flack's fault. She blamed him because he had walked away and not fought hard enough while his son had been left behind to face such a burden.

Flack wondered now, as he watched mother and son embraced by the driver's side of the SUV and Kieran kiss his mom's cheek softly, if his son hated him for putting him through that. For leaving him behind. He had gone. Just like Sam had asked him to do. She had originally suggested that she take the kids and leave, but he hadn't seen sense in uprooting them all from their home and all of their possessions and their friends. So he had gone. Because it was easier that way. And he hadn't wanted to. He had begged her for another chance. More than once that fateful night. And in the end, he'd walked away from them all because it was easier than fighting for them. He would have never taken his kids from their mother. He had no cause or grounds too. She was a great mother and treated them well. She wasn't abusive in any way, shape or form. And losing her kids would destroy her. And he had no desire to do that.

Kieran being his mother's confidant and shoulder to cry on all those years ago had solidified the bond he had with her. And had, in a way, turned father and son against each other. Because Flack knew he couldn't compete and didn't feel he should have to battle for his son's affections. So he and Kieran merely existed in the same house and things became more and more strained between them. They argued and never saw eye to eye. But there was never a time Flack didn't love his son.

The driver's side door clicked open and he glanced over as his wife climbed behind the wheel. Kieran crossed the front of the vehicle and made his way to the passenger's side.

"Talk to your son, Don," Sam said, as she clipped on her seat belt. "If you never do anything for him ever again, make the last thing this moment. Please."

Kieran rapped his knuckles on his father's window.

Flack hit the power button on the arm rest of the door to roll down the window.

"I'm sorry, dad," Kieran said, resting his forearms on the window ledge. "About grandpa. Don't worry about things around here. I've got everything under control, okay?"

Flack nodded.

Kieran bit his bottom lip. He didn't know what he was expecting from his father. His old man was hardly the poster boy for showing emotion. But something would have been nice. Relegating himself to that was as good as it got between them, he sighed and backed away from the door. "Give grandma a hug and a kiss for me," he said, and began to head away.

"Please, Donnie.." Sam practically begged. "Don't let him walk away. Please. Don't turn into your father."

Flack sighed heavily and unclipped his seat belt and opened the door and climbed out of the SUV. "Kieran," he called to his son. "Wait a second."

The fifteen year old paused with one foot on the bottom step and turned to face his father. "We're just different, dad," he said. "It's time we both faced it. We're just different and you and I will never get along and you'll never love me. We need to just accept that."

"No, Kieran. You're wrong. I do love you. I've loved you since you were still inside of your mother. There's never been a time I didn't love you."

Kieran shook his head.

"I've been a prick, K. I know that. I've treated the other kids better than you. I don't know why I did it. But I know that I'm sorry for that. And I know that you're my world. My first born. And I will always love you."

"Why, dad?" he asked, near tears. "Why did you get like this with me? What happened to us? What did I do wrong? What did I do that was so bad that you started hating me?"

"I've never hated you, K. Ever."

"But it's how you've made me feel!" he cried. "Like I'm not good enough. Like I'm not even fit to walk on the same sidewalk as you. What did I do? What did I do to you dad that you turned on me?"

"Kieran…"

"Is it because I was there for mommy? Because I wanted to come and live with you and you knew that! I begged you to take me back to grandma and grandpa's with you! I loved you and wanted to be with you! With my dad! And every time I asked you you told me soon, Kieran. Soon me and you will be together. That's what you told me! And it never happened!"

"Kieran, listen to me…."

"No! Listen to me! I know you and mommy haven't always had the best marriage. That you love each other regardless! But you promised me you'd come and take me with you and you never did!"

Flack sighed. He had no response or reasoning.

"Mommy was all I had! She was a mom and a dad and I was the one that was there for her! She needed me! You were shitting all over her and I stuck around because she needed me and she's my mom!"

"Kieran…"

"She's my mom!" he sobbed. "You abandoned her, dad! You walked out on her and all of us kids! I know she told you to go but you could have stuck around and fought for us! For her! For my mom!"

"What do you want me to say, Kieran! Tell me!" Flack implored. "What is if you want to hear from me?"

"I want you to tell me you're sorry! For what you did! For what you did to me! For what you did to mommy!"

"I'm sorry, K. I've always been sorry for that. I love you, you know that. And I love your mother. And I know this hurts to hear it, but she's not perfect either Kieran!"

"But she's my mom! And you won't talk about her like that in front of me!"

Flack held up his hands in self defence. "I wasn't going to say anything bad about her. I love her. She was my wife before she was your mother and I don't have to defend my feelings for her to you, Kieran!"

"Defend them to her, dad!" his son begged. "Tell her how you feel about her. Because I don't want to go through that all again."

"What do you want me to do, son? Scream it from the roof tops how much I love your mother? I tell her how I feel about her every day. How much she means to me and how much I appreciate her. And I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you."

"Was I that bad, daddy?" his son asked, sounding like a lost little boy. "Was I that bad that you gave up on me?"

"No…Kieran…no…" Flack replied, and drew his son into his arms and held him tightly. A hand on the back of Kieran's neck, the other on his back. "Christ, K..I never gave up on you. Ever."

"You hate me," he sobbed, and clung desperately to his father.

"No…never. I love you, son. So much. And I'm sorry I ever made you think or feel different."

"I'm sorry, dad. I've I did something wrong to turn you against me."

"Kieran…listen to me…" Flack drew away from his son and held the boy's face in his hands. "I never turned against you or hated you or gave up on you. You are my son. My first born. My baby. And I love you to the end of this earth and to the next no matter what. And I am sorry things are the way they are between us. I really am. But I promise you, you and I are not going to turn out like me and my father. Ever. We're going to make this better. Make us better. I swear to you we will. Okay?"

Kieran nodded and sniffled noisily.

Flack pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "Now go inside and wait until your Uncle Danny gets here and you can go back to bed, okay?"

He nodded again and wiped his eyes on the shoulders of his shirt. "Tell grandma…"

"I'll tell her," Flack assured him and let his son go. "Now go back inside, K."

"Alright.." he said and offered a wave to his mother. "'Bye mom!" he called. "Don't worry, I have it all under control!"

She blew him a kiss and gave him a finger wave.

Kieran turned and headed up the stairs and disappeared into the house.

Flack sighed and headed back to the car. He climbed in, shut his door and did up his seat belt once more.

Sam said nothing as she put the SUV in reverse and back out of the driveway. She put the vehicle into drive and was several houses down before she spoke.

"I'm proud of you, Donnie," she said. "Thank you for doing that. He needed that."

"So did I," Flack told her. "So did I."

Sam stayed out in the hallway while her husband went inside of his father's room to bid one last farewell to him and to comfort his mother. Sam didn't do well with dead bodies. Which was strange, considering she'd once worked around death on a daily basis and never felt squeamish at the sight or smell of full decomp or someone burnt to a crisp or missing a head and a couple of limbs.

But since both Sarge and Sid had passed away, she was unable to go into a room that held the body of someone she loved. She shook and felt nauseous and became light headed and in the case of watching Sid take his last breath, had almost collapsed and had to be kept on her feet by her husband. Sid had been like a second father to her. A grandfather of sorts to her kids. Especially to Kieran, and watching him suffer and waste away had been difficult and trying. And had permanently cemented a fear, and abnormally difficulty, of seeing loved ones at rest.

She could hear her husband speaking in soft, comforting tones and her mother in law's sobbing. It wasn't easy to listen to and she didn't feel proud of herself that she couldn't get over her fears for a moment to at least go inside and see her father in law one last time or try to be some source of comfort during such a hard time. But those who loved her the most understood and didn't pressure her or force into the situation. And she was grateful for that.

Flack's cell phone, clutched tightly in her hand, rang noisily, causing her to jump from the unexpected, obtrusive noise. The halls were empty and silent. The other patients fast asleep and the nurses doing paper work at the front desk or on breaks. And the sound of the phone sounded ten times louder in the peaceful environment.

"Shit…" she cursed and flipped the phone open to answer it. Embarrassed that the noise had perhaps disturbed others. "Hello?" she asked into the phone.

"Sam?" the familiar , gentle voice asked.

"Hey, Linds," she said in response.

"Sorry for calling at a time like this," her close friend apologized. "I just wanted to see how everyone was doing. I wasn't expecting you to answer Flack's phone."

"I left mine at the house and he's in the room with his mom," Sam explained.

"I wanted to let you guys know that Danny and I are at the house now."

"Both of you?"

"I woke the kids up and packed them some changes of clothes. Chloe's in with Mikayla and Aiden and Kieran are together. I put Danny Jr in yours and Flack's bed with me and Danny if that's okay."

"That's fine," she said. "And don't worry. The sheets are clean. Don's got this bizarre obsession with changing the sheets every day. You didn't have to pack all the kids up at this time of the night, Linds."

"We wanted to," Lindsay assured her. "How's Flack?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "You know what he's like, Linds. He closes himself off. Even to me and we've been married fifteen years. He'll talk about it when he's ready. Sometimes you have to wait forever and a day, but he does eventually do it. He's a stubborn bastard that man."

"He is," Lindsay agreed. "But you love him and wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."

"I wouldn't. He's my everything. And the only thing I've been thinking about since we got that call is…forget it. I won't even tell you because you'll think I'm some sick and twisted person."

"I already think that," the other woman teased with a slight laugh. "So? What have you been thinking? Tell me. It's what friends do. Tell each other things that other people may find weird and obscure."

"This is going to make me sound so selfish for thinking about this given what's going on. But I can't help it. I have such a screwed up brain."

"Sam…you're sounding like Adam a little too much. What is it?"

"All I can keep thinking about is what it would feel like if I got that kind of call and it was me sitting at my husband's bedside watching him die. Because the staff here called Don's mom just before midnight and said that his dad was struggling to breathe and he didn't have a DNR so if he did go, well that was it. So she got over here and by the grace of God was able to spend the last five minutes of his life with him. And all I keep thinking to myself is how in the hell would I be able to do that if it was Donnie?"

"I think we all think about our husbands at some point in time," Lindsay said. "It doesn't make you sick or twisted. It makes you human."

"I just…I mean, we're not getting any younger. He's forty-five now. He's no spring chicken and I think about how the hell I would cope if he had a heart attack or got cancer and he either upped and died on me suddenly or I watched him wither away to nothing. And shit, Linds.." she brushed away tears that trickled down her cheeks. "I don't think I could deal with that."

"Jesus, Sammie, don't think about stuff like that. Don't dwell on it. You'll drive yourself nuts, girl."

"I can't help it. Because I almost lost him once and I'll be damned if he's going anywhere just yet. I'll let him go when I'm done with him and than God can have him. But I am not nowhere near done with my husband so the Lord better keep his hands to himself for a while."

"Than just hold onto him extra tight and look up at the sky and stick your tongue out and say, Nah-nah, he's mine, all mine."

Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"Flack's not going anywhere," Lindsay assured her. "And neither are you. Trust me, I know the two of you very well and I know both of you won't let the other one go without a hell of a fight. So try and not to think that way. Put your arms around him and squeeze him as tight as you can and tell him you love him and than take each and every day as it comes."

"When did you become such a motivational speaker?" Sam asked, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"Around the same time you and I got our heads out of our asses and realized what a bunch of freaking bitches we were to each other the first time and that we were way better off as friends than enemies."

"If the two of you had even one brain between ya you'd be lethal," Danny said in the background.

"Tell him that I can kill him with just my baby finger," Sam told her friend.

Lindsay passed along the message.

Danny chuckled. "Don't doubt it one bit, Brooklyn!" he called out. "Now can you two finish your gabbing so I can have my wife back? The two of you don't talk enough on the phone during the day you have to do it at one thirty in the morning?"

"It's ten to two," Lindsay informed.

"One thirty, ten to two. Who cares? It's damn late is all I know," Danny said. "You two spend enough time together gossiping and yakking, Montana. Give it a rest at this time of night."

"What a damn grump," Lindsay mumbled. "I should go, Sam. It's late and he needs his beauty sleep."

"Montana…" Danny said in a warning tone.

"I'm coming…I'm coming. Keep your pants on."

"Especially in my bed," Sam said with a shudder.

"Do you want us to tell the kids anything?" Lindsay asked her.

"I've told Kieran. I think Don wants to tell the others himself."

"Fair enough. I called Carmen to tell her and Speed. She says she will call you first thing in the morning. And don't worry about hurrying home. Danny and I have everything under control. Okay?"

"Thank you, Linds. Don and I really appreciate this."

"I know. Danny knows too. We love you guys, you know that. Give Flack a hug and a kiss and a big I'm sorry from both of us."

"I will," Sam said. "Thanks again. Good night."

"'Night, night," Lindsay said softly, and hung up.

Sam pressed end on the cell phone and snapped it shut. She went to wipe her face on the front of her t-shirt when a hand suddenly appeared in front of her face, clasping a handful of tissues. She looked up, and into the warm, compassionate green eyes of a tiny red headed nurse approximately the same size as her. In a stark white scrub set that set off her fiery tresses and the freckles she sported on her face, and most likely from head to toe.

"Thank you," Sam said and accepted the Kleenex.

"It's hard to lose someone we love," the nurse, bearing a name tag on her left chest that read Teresa, said softly.

Sam nodded.

"Mr Flack was your father?"

"Father in law," Sam told her. "My husband is inside with his mother."

"Is he the oldest or youngest son?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. "How'd…"

"I was Mr Flack's personal nurse the last six weeks on the night shift. I saw pictures, on his dresser. One is off him with a young man in a graduation gown and the other is of him with another young man that looks just like him in a police dress uniform."

Sam nodded. "That's my husband. Don Jr. He's the oldest. That picture was taken when he was promoted to captain. He's the one with the six kids. There's a picture in there of all the kids together taken at Coney Island a couple of years ago."

"You have a lovely family," Teresa told her.

"A big family," Sam laughed. "My father in law always wanted us to keep having more kids. Even after the triplets were born. He loves big families. The more the merrier he thinks," her face fell. "Thought," she corrected herself.

"It's just fresh," Teresa told her. "No need to speak in past tense before you're ready. I've called the funeral home listed in your father in law's files. I need someone to sign over the body to them."

"My husband will do it," Sam said. "He's in charge of all of that stuff. He's the executor and power of attorney and all of that. So it's best we wait for him to be done in the room and let him take care of it."

"There's no rush," the nurse assured her. "Whenever everyone is ready."

The door to the room across from them clicked open softly and Flack, accompanying his mother with a steady, supportive arm around her waist as she cried noisily into his side, slowly walked out. He used his free hand to close the door behind him. Sam didn't know what to say. Emotion caught in her throat at the sound of Patricia's grief and the tears that threatened in her husband's eyes. Always the strong one. The pillar of strength for everyone. And it wasn't fair to him to be that way all the time. He needed the time to shed his tears and grieve for his father. Holding the sorrow back would only damage him. And enough damage had been done to him mentally and emotionally over the years.

"It's okay, mommy," he spoke to his mother in a gentle tone that very few people ever got to witness. "It's time to let him go. It's time to leave."

"He was such a bastard all his life to you!" Patricia sobbed against her oldest son. "He was such a bastard yet he still loved you, Donnie."

"I know, mom. It's okay. That's a long time ago. No need to talk about it now."

"I'm sorry…that he wasn't there for you…and I know you two made up and…"

"Mom…shhh…it's okay…Sam and I will take you home and stay with you and help you plan things, okay? You don't need to talk about stuff like that."

"He was such a bastard," she continued. "To you and your brother and to me! He was such a bastard and I love him so much."

"I know, mommy. I know. But it's time to go. Sam and I will take you home."

"Donnie," Sam said softly. "You need to go with the nurse and sign some papers. Someone needs to…you know…sign over the body to the funeral home and I just figured you'd like to do it."

He simply nodded. "Mom," he said. "Can you go with, Sammie? She'll take you to the car and I'll be right out, okay?"

"Come on, mom," Sam reached for her mother in law's arm. "Donnie just needs to take care of some paper work. It's a nice night and you could use some air. He won't be long."

Patricia didn't respond. Not verbally at least. She simply held out her arms and wrapped them around her daughter in law's slender frame and sobbed into Sam's shoulder.

"She's okay," Sam assured her husband, seeing the pained expression on his face as he passed his mother over to her. Their fingers touched briefly and Sam grabbed a hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly and gave him a soft smile. "You're okay?" she asked.

"I will be," he replied.

She brought his hand to her face, holding his palm to her cheek before kissing it. "We'll be outside," she said, and letting go of his hand, led her mother in law down the hall.

Flack sighed heavily and watched them go. The woman who had given him life and brought him into the world. And the woman he loved more than life and he hoped to leave the world with.

Flack glanced up as his wife entered the room as was in the middle of as he straightening and tidying the sheets on the rarely used twin bed in his old room back home. His parents had long ago painted the former light blue walls, covering it with a creamy beige. Long gone was the small desk in the corner and the book shelves that had once housed sports trophies and books and hockey and baseball cards. The walls were relatively bare save for an empty dresser and night stand. The battered carpet had been ripped up and the hardwood still shone and was relatively unblemished. Navy blue venetian blinds had been replaced with a simple roller shade. The only thing that still remained from his growing up years, despite his first pee-wee hockey jersey still hanging in a garment bag in the closet, was that damn twin bed.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, eyeing her from head to toe. Her previous clothing having been replaced by a rather hideous cotton night dress. Black with massive orange and blue butterflies decorating it. It was gross. Just plain gross.

"It's a nightgown," Sam replied simply.

"Why?" he asked. "Seriously…why?"

"I wasn't going to sleep in my clothes. We didn't bring anything with us. So your mom leant me something of hers."

"Sleep naked," he said, tossing pillows towards the head of the bed.

"I never sleep naked," she reminded him. "I haven't sleep naked more than three times in sixteen years. You know I had stuff rubbing against my ass and my legs and what not."

He smirked. "If I wasn't so tired, I'd have a litany of perverted comments for that. My mom's asleep?"

Sam nodded and yawned. "It was nice of Hawkes to answer his phone so late and run a script for some tranqs to the pharmacy and bring them all the way here. I gave her a couple and tucked her in and when I went and checked on her about five minutes ago, she was already out like a light."

"Nurse Flack," he mused. "You're good at that whole tucking in routine. And bringing people meds and chicken noodle soup and OJ despite them telling you to piss off and leave them alone."

"Just because you're a whiny, stubborn bastard when you're sick," she teased. "You've been out of the house for what? Almost thirty years and your parents still have the same little bed you spent your nights in?"

"Among other things," he said with a grin.

"Please…I do not want to hear anything about you jerking off in this bed or you fooling around with all your little teenage girlfriends."

"Wasn't allowed to have girls in my room. Fooling around was what the couch in the basement was reserved for."

Sam held up a hand. "Spare me. Please spare me. Here," she reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a prescription bottle and tossed it at him.

Flack caught it easily. "What's this?" he asked, looking down at the bottle in his hand.

"A present," she replied. "Just for you."

He frowned at the sight of his name on the label.

"I got Hawkes to write you a script too," she said, yanking down the covers on the bed.

"Why?" he asked, as she slipped into bed. "What do I need tranqs for?"

"They aren't tranqs," she told him. "They're sleeping pills."

"Whatever. I don't need sleeping pills. I'm fine. I'm coping and I'm fine and doping myself up isn't going to do me any good. I know you mean well, babe. I really do. But sometimes…" he sighed heavily and tucked the bottle into the pocket of his jeans. "Sometimes you need to just mind your own business and not treat me like a child."

"You know what I think?" she asked calmly. "I think you saying and thinking that you aren't my business is the most childish thing I have ever heard."

He smirked.

"Now come to bed, Donnie. You're making me extremely nervous watching you pace. You don't want to take a pill, that's fine. Okay? I was just being a concerned wife. But you being like this…so…I don't know…so you? It's okay but you need to know that things will hit you soon and…"

"And when they do, I will deal with it. Alright?"

"That's fine," she said. "But you don't have to deal with it alone. That's all I'm saying. I'm your wife and I'm here."

"You need to be here for my mom," he told her, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He slipped out of them and tossed them aside. Than did the same with his shirt. Leaving him in just his boxers as he approached the bed.

"I'm here for you," she corrected him sternly. "Okay? You're my husband. Not just some guy off the street. You lost your dad and I'm here to see you through it. Is that so difficult for you to understand?"

He shook his head. "Shove over," he said. "Make some room."

"Where am I going to go? On my ass on the floor? This bed is only so big."

"Get out for a second and I'll get in and you can lie on top of me if you have to."

"You would so love that," she said and climbed out of bed.

"You obviously would or you wouldn't have said it like that," Flack laughed and slid into bed, lying on his back. "And what? Have we suddenly started sleeping with the lights on after sixteen years sharing the same bed?"

"Quiet!" she snapped and went to the door to not only shut it, but to flick off the light.

She returned to the bed, lying on her side with a leg and an arm draped over her husband's body and her nose tucked into the side of his neck as he wrapped an arm around her. They lay in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Sam's eyes closed, Flack's wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

"Donnie?" she asked in the darkness of the room, softly trailing her fingertips over the faded scars that marred his stomach and chest.

"Hmm?"

"This is going to sound like a weird question."

"How weird is weird?"

"Nothing that you haven't hear before or haven't had an answer to."

"Okay…ask away."

"This is the bed you slept in when you were gone for those seven months?" she asked. "I mean, I know this is your old room and what not but there's on other bedroom and pullouts in both the basement and the living room, so you could have slept anywhere."

"This is the same bed," he confirmed. "Why?"

"I don't know…I just felt the need to ask it."

"Honestly, Sam," he said with a sigh and rubbed her arm and side and kissed the top of her head. "I didn't do much sleeping those seven months."

He felt her smile against his neck.

"You missed me hogging the covers and talking in my sleep, huh? And my occasional night time jaunts around the house?"

"You mean like the time you got out of bed, circled the room three times and than went to the closet and opened it? And when I asked you what you were doing you said going pee and I had to jump out of bed and stop you from using the thing as a bathroom? Or the time I woke up and couldn't find you and you were curled up in a ball at the top of the stairs at our old house? Because you'd gone to the bathroom and said you were too tired to come all the way back to the bedroom?"

She giggled. "Yeah. You missed all my crazy little things?"

He nodded. "And all your snoring."

"I don't snore," she argued.

"Yes, babe," he pressed his lips against her forehead. "You do."

"It can't be as bad as you," she said. "You snore loud enough to wake the dead. You better watch it or I might smother you with your pillow one night."

"Hon, you've slept in my bed for nearly two decades. And you're just going to kill me for my snoring now?"

She shrugged. "You never know. I might hit fifty and go on a murderous rampage."

He chuckled. "You and your squirrel killing shotgun."

"Would you leave that alone?" she laughed, propping herself on her elbow to look down at him. "Will you ever let me live that down?"

Flack smiled and shook his head, rubbing her back softly.

"Meanie," she said, and leaned down to kiss him tenderly.

He returned the kiss, his hand on the back of her head, holding her to him.

"I'm sorry, Donnie," she whispered as she pulled back to look down at him. She stroked his face and combed her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. About your dad. I know things weren't always great with the two of you and I am so proud of you for handling things the way you did after Kieran was born. And for how you're handling things now. And I love you. So much. And I don't want to ever lose you."

In the moonlight sneaking in from under the blind, he saw her near tears. Emotion choked at him. At her words and at the sadness in her eyes. And he drew her into his strong and capable arms, and all but pulling her on top of him, held onto her.

For dear life.

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