DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN THE BBC PROGRAM 'IN THE NIGHT GARDEN', CHESTER LAKE OR ANYONE ASSOCIATED WITH LAW AND ORDER:SVU. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK
A/N: THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER. I WANTED TO BREAK UP THE DOOM AND GLOOM SURROUNDING FLACK'S DAD AND WELL…THIS CHAP INCLUDES SAM AT HER OFTEN ZANY BEST. ENJOY!
Can the past ever be the present?
"Picking up the pieces of a love that I once knew
What will tomorrow bring?
Grey skies all around me
I don't know where to turn
Can you help me with this pain?
A shooting star, A ray of light
A breeze that calms me in the night
I got your message yesterday
I feel you here, I wish that you could
Stay with me, two hearts forever
You were the spark that lit the flame
Oh if you
Stay with me, this love's forever
And in my heart you will remain'
til we meet again."
-Unity (Stay with Me) Kelly Rowland
Flack woke up to an empty bed.
That didn't happen often. Usually he was the one getting call outs in the wee hours of the morning and leaving behind his peacefully sleeping wife and baby. It was rare that Sam worked nights or was paged to a scene. It had happened only twice in the past six months she'd been back to work. Once when Hawkes had taken a couple of days off to spend some quality time with Angell down in Vermont at some hidden away bread and breakfast she'd found on the internet, and most recently, with the whole sordid Natalie Cormier and her band of natural born killers case. Mac had been damn good about keeping her off of nights and weekends. He tried his best to work around Kieran's day care schedule and the days his grandparents were caring for him. Flack was grateful for that. He wanted his wife and baby together as much as possible.
Babies now. The thought of her being pregnant again never failed to bring a broad grin to his face. Since they had found out, there'd been times he'd spaced out at work and he'd be at his desk, staring off at nothing in particular, and he'd think about the new baby an break out in a massive, shit eating grin. First couple of times Scagnetti had witnessed it, he'd asked his partner what in the hell was up with him. What drugs he was smoking. Now if happened so often that the other detective ignored and told anyone who asked what was going on with Flack, why did he have that stupid look on his face, that his partner was simply having a space case moment.
There was no telling what had woke him up that morning. He'd simply rolled over onto his side and reached out for that warm, inviting body beside him only to find nothing but cold, empty sheets. Finding that surprising and a tad alarming, his eyes had snapped opened and he'd groggily sat up and glanced around the moonlit bedroom, trying to orientate himself while wondering just where in the hell his wife had gotten to. It wasn't like her to just up and leave. And she wasn't the type, until her later months of pregnancy, to make nightly trips to the bathroom. He briefly thought maybe she was sleep walking. It wouldn't have been the first time and he knew it wouldn't be the last. That bizarre behaviour was one of the reasons he put extra bolts and chains on the front door. To prevent her from wandering out of the apartment in her pyjamas and finding her way down the elevator and into the lobby or God forbid, outside.
He yawned noisily and wiped sleep from his eyes and looked over at the bedside clock. It was scarcely quarter after four in the morning.
And that was when he smelled it. A delicious aroma he easily identified as chocolate, drifting into their bedroom and permeating his senses.
Jesus Christ, what now, woman, he thought, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit the ice cold floor and he drew in a hissing breath. Hardwood sure looked nice, but damn, it was murder in the wintertime. He was just happy that he and procured his own bed from his in laws, who had decided to stay overnight at Adam's considering he was the one taking them to the airport the next day because Sam had to work. The goodbyes had been short and sweet, on Sam's part anyway. Flack didn't mind Sarge. His father in law was welcome to visit anytime he wanted. But the monster in law? Forget about it.
He walked on his toes to the dresser to prevent putting his feet through more agony and snagged a pair of socks from the top drawer. He just couldn't bare the cold on his damn feet and didn't care how stupid it looked to be walking around in a t-shirt and boxers and a pair of athletic socks. If his wife didn't insist on doing odd things at all hours, he'd still be warm and snug in his bed and maybe working his way to getting himself some twice in one night. But no, he had to look like a moron because his curiosity was once again getting the better of him. He knew it was impossible to fall back asleep while his mind was besieged by thoughts about what the hell the love of his life was up to in the kitchen at four in the morning.
The answer was quite apparent as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching her. Bare foot and in a pair of flannelet cartoon character pyjamas. White with patterns of some yellow creature he assumed was Tweety Bird all over them, her hair in braided pig tails and her I-Pod tucked in one of the pocket and the ear phones blasting music into her cranium as she shimmied and swayed back and forth to the tune she was listening to. The hand mixer and an empty box of Duncan Hines chocolate cake mix and a large mixing bowl on the counter behind her. The oven on and sending off something that smelled akin to heaven. And he couldn't hear the music, but he recognized the song by the words she was singing quietly to herself. A song called Do It All Again by Chad Hatcher that she couldn't get enough of.
"Do what we need so we can get by. Drink a little smoke a little, feel alright, and at the end of the day and we don't know why, but we do it all again. I know I'll do it all again. Some times I feel that I could never deal with the hand that I've been dealt, I know I ain't by myself so maybe we should just go with the flow and just see how it goes, don't react if things get tense, go and smoke one with your friends."
She's a little odd, he thought. She's eccentric and crazy. But she's my wife. And I love her.
Sam caught sight of her husband watching her with a bemused, perplexed expression on his face and she smiled brightly and removed the ear phones.
"Hi, baby," she chirped happily. As if it was the middle of the afternoon and she was coming off the best twelve hour sleep of her life. Or her fifteenth cup of coffee.
"Uh…hi…what are you doing?"
"Baking cupcakes," she responded, as if it was the most logical thing to be doing at such an absurd time of the day.
"Okay…why?"
"Because I forgot that Kieran has to take the snack to day care today," she said, taking the I-pod from her pocket and turning it off before wrapping the ear phones around it and sitting the device on top of the microwave.
"He's twelve months old. Why does he need to take a snack for other twelve month olds?" Flack asked.
"He's not the only baby in the place, Donnie. There's kids from six months to five years there. And the place is separated into pods. Twenty-four kids to each pod."
"I know all of that. But why do babies or toddlers need cupcakes for a snack?"
"They don't," she said. "But it's what I wanted to make."
He shook his head in disbelief.
"Each mom has to bring a snack once a week," she continued, snagging a wooden spoon from a canister of utensils on the counter by the sink and using it to stir the mix. "It's my day and I've known for a week and I forgot. And I woke up an hour ago in a blind panic remembering and well…" she stick her finger into the bowl and than proceeded to lick off the hunk of mix. "..here I am."
"Yeah…here you are. You are aware it's just after four in the morning, right?"
She nodded and picked up a glass of milk resting nearby and took a huge sip.
"Unless we suddenly live in a different time zone all together and it's like four hours later than it really is and the sun isn't out for some reason and I forgot to set the clocks to the proper time."
"I know what time it is, smart ass. But I needed to get two dozen cupcakes baked and decorated by the time we all have to be on the road."
"Samantha…it's four in the morning, babe. It's dark out still. And you're here in baking! For a bunch of one year olds."
She shrugged. "And your point?" she asked.
"My point? My point is that it's four in the morning and you're making damn baked goods."
"You're a man, Donnie. Men don't get these things."
"Maybe not. But you know what I do get? I get you're seriously mental and I should be thinking about committing you."
"I don't know…I like to think I'm relatively normal."
He laughed. "Normal? Normal is not getting up in the wee hours of the morning to play Betty Crocker. Normal is not listening to, and dancing and singing along to, a song about a bunch of friends smoking dope together. And normal is not a thirty-three year old woman walking around the house in pig tails and Tweety Bird pyjamas."
"It's Woodstock," she corrected him. "You know…the little bird that was friends with Snoopy and sat on Snoop's dog house?"
Flack stared at her. His hands on his hips. Dumbfounded at her behaviour. Torn between wanting to grab her and toss her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed, and laughing his ass off. He chose the later. The start of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and it soon turned into a huge grin.
"You've got problems," he informed her.
"Do I?" she asked innocently, dipping her finger in the bowl of batter once again before walking over to where he was standing and holding her hand up towards him. Standing on her tiptoes, she traced her fingertip, chocolate mix and all, over his bottom lip, smiling triumphantly when he took her finger into his mouth and licked off the ingredients. "You love me, Donnie," she said and went to check on the contents in the over. "Why don't you just admit it?"
"Never," he said and wiped the excess chocolate from his lips before going to the fridge and opening it.
"It's futile, you know. Resisting me."
"Yes," he sighed. "I know."
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Something to eat," he replied.
"It's four in the morning," she said.
"You can bake at this time but I can't eat? What's up with that? We seriously need to go and get some groceries. Kieran's eating us out of house and home."
"Somehow, my love, I don't think Kieran is to blame."
"Okay…so you and that monster child you're carrying."
She frowned and tossed an oven mitt at him. "It's you that doesn't stop eating!" she exclaimed.
"I'm a growing boy," Flack said and grabbed the Tupperware container that held left over Sheppard's Pie his wife had prepared that evening for dinner.
He shut the fridge and popped the lid of the container as he carried it to the microwave for re-heating. Shutting the door, he set the timer for two minutes and pressed start.
"You going to make me something to take for lunch?" he asked curiously as he leaned up against the counter across from the store.
Her eyes widened over the rim of her milk glass. "Uh…let me think…no…"
"You know, most wives do nice things for their husbands. Do their laundry, pick their shit up at the dry cleaners, pack them a lunch."
"Yeah? Well than you go and find a nice wife to do those things for you."
"But I like the wife I have," he said. "She just needs her hard drive re-programmed a little."
"Pardon me?" she laughed. "My hard drive re-programmed? Is that your plan? Put some little chip inside of me and turn me into a damn Stepford wife?"
"No…I just was going to make you a little nicer to me."
"And you say I have problems," Sam said. "When have I not been nice to you? I bore a child for you. I'm bearing another one as we speak. I cook for you, I clean for you, I do do your laundry and pick up your dry cleaning. I give you sex! All the time! And we're not talking just run of the mill, missionary style on and off sex either! So don't give me this shit that I am not nice to you."
"Kidding, honey. Kidding. Man, that baby is already messing with your hormones and making you bitchy as hell."
She frowned, grabbed the wooden spoon and smacked him hard on the ass with it.
"Shit!" Flack nearly shrieked, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed at his injured cheek. "What the hell, woman! I'm all for a little pain! Some biting and nail gouging and what not in bed. But was that necessary?"
"Yes," she said and tossed the spoon into the sink with a clatter. "It was."
"Get over here and kiss it better," he demanded.
"I am not kissing your ass!"
"Come here for a second, Samantha," he said, slowly walking towards her. "Just for a second."
"No way," she told him as she backed away. "I know what you're going to do to me."
"What am I going to do?"
"You'll get me and pin me down and tickle me until I pee my pants."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's what you do!" she exclaimed, backing up through the kitchen and out into the small foyer and towards the door of the apartment. "You've done it before! Lots of times! You weigh a hundred pounds more than me nearly and you pin me down and get me right in the side under my ribs and tickle me until I piss myself!"
"Sammie, I promise you I will not tickle you until you wet yourself. Just come here for a second."
She shook her head vigorously.
"Babe, I swear to you I will not inflict torture on you of any kind. Quit acting like a baby and come here."
"Uh-huh," she remained firm. "I don't trust you."
"You don't trust me? Since when? Was that not trust you had in me the other night when we gave that whole erotic asphyxiation thing a go? You trusted me enough than. Look at the size of your neck compared to the size of my hand. I could have snapped your neck. But I didn't and you didn't worry about it, did you?"
"Of course not. Because you love me and I know you wouldn't hurt me."
"Exactly. And I'm not going to do anything bad to you now. I won't tickle you until you pee. I promise."
She shook her head.
"Jesus Christ, woman," he said with a sigh, advancing on her.
She shrieked as he quickly closed the gap between them and than found herself pinned to the front door. Held there with his body weight. "Don't Donnie!" she wailed when she felt his hand drifting up the front of her pyjama top. "Don't! You promised!"
"Calm down. I am not…"
"I will knee you in the balls. Seriously. I will."
"No you won't. You want more kids don't you?"
"I have Kieran. And a baby on the way. I don't need anymore than that! So in essence, I don't need that part of you anymore!"
"Keep your knees to yourself. I prefer my family jewels where they are, okay?"
"Than keep your hands to yourself! Donnie!" she squealed when she felt his fingertips on the spot just below her ribs. "Don't! Please! Don't!"
"Samantha…" he said in a warning tone when he felt, and saw, her knee go up.
"I said don't!"
"I wasn't going to do it," he told her, slipped his hand around to the small of her back and yanked her against him as he covered her lips with his in a searing kiss.
"You're mean!" she cried, after the kiss ending and she shoved him away from her and went back into the kitchen.
"But you love me," Flack said, an amused grin on his face as he followed behind her. "You love me madly and desperately and passionately and would die without me."
She snorted and checked on the cupcakes.
"You would," he concluded and removed his food from the microwave. "I'm sorry, babe. I shouldn't have got you worked up like that."
"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed and returned to her glass of milk.
"I couldn't help it though. You're just so damn adorable when you're all Brooklyn bad ass."
She went to the drain board by the sink and grabbed a fork and handed it to him.
"What?" he asked. "I can't eat with my fingers?" he stuck a finger into the mashed potatoes and licked it off.
"You are so gross," she declared, and got the ketchup from the fridge and proceeded to squirt his usual disgusting amount of the condiment onto his meal. "And just so you know, that there was your lunch."
"How can this be my lunch?" he asked, mixing the Sheppard's Pie with his fork. "This is a snack for a boy my size."
She rolled her eyes.
"Hey, you wanted someone puny that ate less, you should have hooked up with Messer or Hawkes or even Mac."
"Mac could kill you with one finger," Sam reminded him. "Go all Marine Mac on your ass."
"Next time I want to turn you on quickly I'll ask him to do just that. I know you have a huge crush on him. How it makes you go all warm and tingly when he goes all Marine, soldier boy with people."
"Actually, there's only one person that makes me go all warm and tingly."
"That's so sweet babe, thank you."
"Not you. Danny. When he does his BOOM thing. That just makes me wet when he does that."
Flack nearly choked on his food. "You are never working with Messer again," he declared.
"He'll be so disappointed," Sam sighed. "You know, considering we've been carrying on this rather delicious affair for over a year."
"Don't tease me, Sammie. I don't want you walking out on me and than getting a call from the Maury Povich show about two years down the road saying they want me and Mess to take DNA tests for that baby you're having. Can you imagine? Don Flack Jr…"
"You are not the father!" they exclaimed at the same time.
Flack smirked. Sam dissolved into giggles.
"We are some strange fucking people," Flack sighed.
"Maybe," Sam said, standing in front of him and laying her hands on his sides. "But we love each other and we're happy."
"That we are," he agreed, and scooping up some Sheppard's Pie, deposited into her mouth.
"I was thinking," she said. "About your birthday party…"
He groaned audibly.
"We have to have a party for you. It's Kieran's first birthday tomorrow and the two of you are only twelve days apart and I was thinking that seeing as we are having his party next weekend because the entire team is off…"
"Than just have a party for him. I don't want a party."
"You have to have one."
"Why?"
"Because I love you and want you to have one."
He sighed.
"It will mostly be for Kieran, mind you. Cake and ice cream and balloons and party hats and…"
"Hang on a second. Party hats? When did I agree to that?"
"You said to go ahead and get whatever I wanted for his party. So I did. And one of the things I got was party hats. They're so cute, Donnie. They're multicoloured and have those In the Night Garden characters on them! And so do the plates and the napkins."
"What? Whoa…slow down. Plates and napkins? An In the Night Garden themed party? Are you kidding me?"
"It's what Kieran likes."
"What?" he laughed. "He's a year old. He doesn't know what the hell he likes."
"Well he watches it all the time and he's got that singing and dancing Iggle-Piggle and all the Tombliboos so I just figured he'd like that kind of party."
"He doesn't even know it's his birthday, Sammie! He's only a year old."
"But I know," she reasoned. "And I wanted his first birthday to be special."
Flack sighed. "Fine. We'll have an In the Night Garden themed party. But I draw the line at wearing a goddamn party hat with a Wiggle-Jiggle on it."
"Iggle-Piggle," she corrected. "He's the blue guy that carries the red blanket and travels in the boat at the beginning and end and.."
"I know who he is. But I am not wearing a damn hat."
"Everybody is," she argued.
"Who is everybody?" Flack asked.
"Everybody that's coming. Your parents, Adam and Gus, Mac and Stella, Carmen and Tim and Addie. Danny and Erica and Hawkes and Angell. And Sid and his wife. Scagnetti. Everybody."
"And you told these people that they have to wear party hats? In the Night Garden party hats?"
She nodded. "No one argued with me. And you shouldn't either. You're his father."
Flack sighed heavily. "Party hats, napkins, paper plates with these freaky little creatures on it," he shook his head.
"And a pinata," she added.
"What?" he nearly bellowed.
Sam stood on her tiptoes and clapped a hand over his mouth. "You'll wake the baby!"
"A pinata, Samantha!" he said in a harsh whisper after she removed her hand. "Come on! Give me a goddamn break!"
"It's awesome!" she giggled. "It's the Pinky-Ponk! You know, that crazy thing that flies through the air and goes PONK PONK PONK and looks almost like a boob?"
"Jesus Christ," Flack breathed and closed his eyes. "A pinata for a one year old?"
"Well us grown ups will have to whack it around of course."
"Now you want me to wear a party hat and beat the shit out of a pinata?"
She nodded excitedly. "Wanna hear the best part?"
"I'm almost scared to," he said.
"Danny's going to bring his old night stick from his uni days and we're going to use that to bash him!"
Flack's eyes widened and he simply shook his head.
"I've got a surprise for you, too!" she exclaimed.
"Please tell me there's a stripper coming to my part of the party," he said,
"Perv. If you want though, I can buy some sexy little number at La Perla or Victoria Secret and do a little private show once every one leaves and the baby is in bed."
He grinned. "I'd like that very much. I'll even shove some money down your panties."
"Do I get to keep the money afterwards?" she asked hopefully.
"Don't you always? We have a joint account. What's yours is yours and what's mine is yours."
She grinned. "You have learned so well in the last year. Do you want to hear your surprise?"
"I guess…"
"I am baking you a cake," she announced proudly.
"A cake? What kind of cake?"
"A birthday cake."
"I know that, babe. But what kind?"
"A Hello Kitty one!" she cried happily.
Flack spit food clear across the kitchen.
"Don't you just love it! It's going to be so cute!"
"No! No it's not!" he exclaimed. "A thirty-one year old man with a Hello Kitty cake? That is not cute!"
"I think it is," she said.
"Sammie, you need to give the Hello Kitty a break, okay?"
"I can't," she sighed. "It's my shtick."
He laughed. "Your shtick?" he asked in a faux Brooklyn accent, mocking hers. And he held onto it while he continued to speak. "Hello Kitty is your shtick?"
She nodded.
"Is that how you want to be remembered?" he asked, speaking in his normal voice. "As Flack's crazy wife with a bizarre obsession with Hello Kitty?"
"Will you write that on my head stone?" she inquired. "Flack's nutty Hello Kitty Loving Wife. Will you write that?"
"Sure…better yet…I will bury you in your favourite Hello Kitty jammies with your little Hello Kitty barrettes in your hair and in a pink coffin with a Hello Kitty done in white sequins on the top."
"I love you," she gushed, as he grabbed the dish cloth and some paper towels to clean up the mess he made.
"Yeah? Well you are damn lucky I love you back or you'd be cooling your heels in Bellview right about now."
"So you'll wear a hat?" she asked hopefully.
"I will wear a hat," he replied, as he stood and dumped the garbage into the bin under the sink and than went to her and kissed her forehead. "I will wear a hat and whack the shit out of a fucking pinata."
"Thank you," she said.
"On one condition."
She frowned. "Uh-oh…"
"Me and you afterwards, when everyone is gone, me and you are going in that bedroom and locking ourselves in there and you're going to let me do every sick and perverted thing I like for my birthday. Understand me?"
"You ask a lot," Sam said.
"You want me to wear the hat and whack the pinata?"
She nodded.
"Than guess what," he kissed her. "You'll be whacking something yourself. A lot."
"You are one dirty minded perv," she complained. Than sighed when he captured her mouth in a long, toe curling kiss.
"How long to those cupcakes?" Flack asked, his forehead resting against hers, his fingers already working on the buttons of her pyjama top.
She glanced at the timer on the stove. "Twenty minutes," she replied.
"Perfect," he said. Finishing with the buttons, he pushed her shirt open and blazed kisses along her collar bone.
Than left her momentarily to pick up the container of vanilla icing that sat near the mixing bowl. He peeled off the lid and the protective seal underneath and tossed them both aside. He scooped some of the icing out and returned to his wife and held his finger out to her.
"How about I show you just what kind of dirty minded perv I am," he suggested.
She grinned and grabbed his hand and proceeded to lick the icing off the sides and bottom of his finger before taking it into her mouth and sucking on it seductively.
It turned Flack on completely. Not that that was a hard thing to do.
"How about you do just that," she said.
Homicide was a major change of venue from what he was used to.
Rape victims, assaults, kidnappings and forcible confinements, child porn, just to name a few. Special Victims was a mixed bag of goods that he had once prided himself at being damn good at. Sure, there were DB's to work with every now and then, but homicide was strictly death and nothing but folks.
He considered himself compassionate and empathetic. Maybe sometimes to a fault. There were times maybe he got a little too personally attached to people and events. Times that he was nasty or vindictive when things didn't go his way or he had felt the unbearable urge to defend a victim from questions and criticism. He wasn't able to ask the hard questions. That was the reason his CO had given him before announcing he was being moved not far up the street to the twelve precinct to work homicide. He wasn't able to separate himself and his personal feelings and beliefs from the job. And that prevented him from doing said job professionally and to the best of his ability.
That was a crock of shit and Chester Lake knew it. He was being booted because he had had the balls to stand up to some of the absurd bullshit that went on it that place between the employees. They were alright people to work with a damn good and effective team. When they managed to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to be one. But the bickering and the backstabbing were outrageous. The pigheaded ignorance that was sometimes Elliot Stabler and the way Olivia was always so quick to defend his sometimes ridiculous decisions and actions and refused to hear any other opinions other that hers and Stabler's. She got downright defensive and nothing short of whiny and bitchy when you didn't agree with her and had the guts to stand up for yourself. And the way those two looked at each other sometimes. Shit, it was all Lake could do to keep himself from screaming "RENT A FUCKING ROOM AND JUST BANG EACH OTHER ALREADY!" or going and coughing up some of his own money for a room and coming back and slamming the key down on Stabler's desk along with a handful of condoms and telling him to put them to good use.
Fantasies of course. He would never have actually done that. Or would he have? Maybe one day he would have just snapped and done it. Who knows? It was all water under the bridge now and he would never know, as he pushed his way through the front doors of the twelfth precinct, what he might have done when push came to shove. The move had been made and while he would miss certain people, he was damn grateful to be out of there. See some new scenery, hear some new sounds. Meet new people.
Start a new life.
He went to the duty captain's desk first. Waited in line patiently and quietly behind all the normal folk with questions, more often useless than not, for his turn. He was in no hurry. He was more than twenty minutes early for the start of his shift and he wasn't expecting any fan fare or warm welcome. He was new there. And that's the way Lake liked it.
"Can I help you, kid?" the duty captain asked as Lake stepped forward.
He reached under his black thermal style shirt and pulled his badge off of the waist of his jeans. "Detective Chester Lake," he said. "First day here. I'm signing in and looking for Detective Don Flack."
The duty captain glanced down at the large journal in front of him and grabbed a pen. Using the tip to scroll down the list of names until he found the one he wanted. "Lake, you say?"
"That's what I said."
The older man put a check mark beside Lake's name and wrote down the time that the younger man had arrived at. "End of your shift you come back here and sign out," he instructed.
"I know the drill," Lake assured her, and put his badge back. "Detective Flack?"
"Go through the bullpen towards the elevators. Desk to left, right next to the window. I don't think he's there right now. He's clocked in, but I think he took his kid up to the day care on the third floor."
"Thanks," Lake said and stepped through the large double doors and into the already noisy, boisterous bullpen.
Being a new face attracted some attention, but not much. Other detectives and civilian employees briefly glanced his way but no one stopped to ask questions or introduce themselves. This was New York City. No one took the time to be warm and friendly. To make friends. It was business and nothing but and that was okay by Chester Lake too. Friends would be nice, but not a necessity. That was his mentality. He was just there to work. Take home a pay cheque.
He found the desk easily. It was empty but there was a half empty sippy cup of what looked to be apple juice sitting on it, a Sesame Street colouring book and chunky crayons amidst the mess of files and paper work, and a suit jacket slung on the back of the chair. Lake grinned at the sight of the family/fatherly things tossed in with the hard and cold facts of their job.
He took a seat in the chair next to the desk and waited. Taking in the sights around him. Picking up bits and pieces of conversations going around him. Getting a feel for the people and the place and what was in store for him. His eyes soon fell on the two framed photographs that sat on the Detective Sargeant's desk. One of a little boy with rosy cheeks and an infectious grin and a head full of nearly black hair. The other of whom he assumed was his new supervisor and a young woman with her brown hair done up and wearing a navy blue dress. Bridesmaid's dress, maybe? That didn't matter. What mattered was that that woman looked strikingly similar to someone he had known, and loved, many years before. Who had simply walked out of his life and never looked back.
He leaned forward and picked up the picture. Same smile, same golden eyes, same freckles on her nose. But in his mind, he knew that there was no possible way that this woman and the one he had known were one in the same. When she had left for Phoenix with her family, she had vowed she would never come back.
"Chester Lake?" a deep voice suddenly appeared at the side of his chair. Queens accent. Or was it Yonkers? Sometimes it was hard to tell.
He looked up. The man before him was tall and big. Easily standing six foot two and going at least two hundred and ten pounds, if not more. Short dark hair tinged with grey. Cornflower blue eyes. Dark grey suit pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a red, black and white stripped tie.
Lake stood up and sat the picture back down on the desk.
"Detective Don Flack," the other man said and offered his hand.
"No Sargeant?" Lake asked as he shook the man's hand.
Flack waved it off. "No one calls me that except for the big brass or my colleagues and friends when they're goofing off. And my wife when she's pissed at me for something. How long you been waiting?"
Lake shrugged. "A few minutes."
"You're pretty early," Flack said, motioning to the chair by the side of his desk, waiting for the other detective to take a seat before sliding into his own chair.
"Didn't know what the traffic was going to be like with all of that snow out there," Lake responded. "The drive from Brooklyn was better and easier than I thought it would be."
"That's good. I think the city forgot to send plows to my neighbourhood and I only live in lower Manhattan. Sorry about the mess," Flack shook his head and gathered up the crayons and shoved them in their box.
"It's no problem. How old's your boy?"
"A year tomorrow. Kieran. He's a terrorist," Flack responded, as he tossed the crayons and colouring book in the bottom drawer of his desk. Picking up the sippy cup, he looked at it and sighed and shook his head and at it off to the side. He'd definitely have to running that upstairs soon. "His godfather calls him Osama."
Lake chuckled.
"Don't laugh," Flack said with a grin. "It's true. He's something else that's for sure. Gets it from his mother."
"That's your wife? In the picture?"
Flack nodded. He was going to sit on what Sam had told him Christmas Eve. About her history with Lake. And he was going to wait to see what this guy had to say for himself.
"She's very pretty," Lake said.
"Thanks. Been married just over a year now."
"You know? She looks exactly like this girl I knew way back when. When I was a teenager and living in Crown Heights. Samantha Ross."
"Yeah? You want to hear something funny?"
Lake nodded.
"That's Samantha Ross. From Crown Heights."
Lake's eyes widened. "Last time I saw her she was sixteen and moving with her family to Phoenix. Her mom had just gotten married to some ex-Air Force guy who flew for American Airlines and he was shipping them off back to his hometown. Getting them away from the evils of the city."
"Well, certain circumstances saw her finding her way back to the city," Flack said.
"How long has she been back?"
"March '08."
"It's a massive city. How did the two of you ever manage to meet?"
"She works here. Not here, as in this precinct, but upstairs in the crime lab. She's a crime scene investigator. That's how I met her. Through the job. Saw her sitting outside the front doors there on that bench just before her first day on the job and…well, you know what they say. The rest is history."
"She's with the NYPD?"
Flack nodded. "She was with the Phoenix PD but like I said she left and she's here now."
"Never imagined she'd become a cop. Teacher or a lawyer or something like that. But never a cop."
"Wonders never cease to exist," Flack said. "She's got herself a Masters in forensics and a BA in profiling. Not bad for a girl from the projects in Crown Heights."
"I always knew she'd make something of herself. I just never thought it would be police work. I always thought she'd do something with kids. Considering the way she grew up and all."
"I guess she was able to put that all behind her," Flack said. "But she's still helping people in a way. If it wasn't for them crime lab people, we wouldn't solve cases. Her brother Adam works here, too. Up in the lab."
"No shit?"
"No shit. He's the jack of all trades, master of none. But the guy can do wonders in the computer and AV Lab. I've seen him work his magic."
"Kinda weird," Lake said, slowly shaking his head. "You don't see someone for nearly seventeen years and than all of a sudden they're right there in front of you. She was sixteen when she left. I never heard from her again. I certainly didn't come here thinking she'd be working here, though. That's a little…"
"Freaky?" Flack offered.
"For lack of a better word."
Scagnetti slapped Flack on the shoulder with a case folder as he passed behind Flack's chair on the way to his own desk. "We got an interrogation in ten, Flack," the older man said as he dropped into his chair. "Bonasera and Taylor just hauled in a possible perp for that Central Park stabbing yesterday."
"How come we didn't catch the call to pick him up?" Flack asked.
"You were upstairs taking your kid to day care and I was in with Gerrard going over some bullshit for court next week. Whose your buddy?"
"Detective Chester Lake," Flack said. "He's our new guy."
"The one from SVU?" Scagnetti inquired.
"One and only," Lake replied.
"I'm Tony Scagnetti," the older, much bigger man leaned sideways in his desk and offered a hand. "The good sargeant here is my partner. Lucky me, huh? Get to stare at his ugly mug all damn day?"
"Lake's going to be working with me and you for a bit," Flack told his partner. "Shadowing, Gerrard calls it. Than he's going to get his own partner. Probably Angell."
Scagnetti whistled. "Lucky you, kid. She's got a much nicer mug and ass to look at than Flack does."
"That's sexual harassment, Scagnetti," Flack pointed out.
"Come on. You're just jealous I don't like your ass better. You got an alright ass, Flack. But I prefer female asses much better."
"I'll consider myself lucky, than," Flack said before turning back to the new guy. "You prefer Chester or Lake?" Flack asked the new guy. "Or both?"
"Whatever," he replied. "Doesn't matter to me."
"We're last name people around here," Scagnetti said. "We don't do first names. Flack tell you the one important rule when it comes to him?"
Lake shook his head.
"Shall I?" Scagnetti asked his partner.
"By all means," Flack responded.
"It's Flack," Scagnetti told Lake. "It's not Don or Donnie or Donald. And it's especially not Junior. Call him one of those four, especially the last one, and he's knocking your block off or putting you through a wall. In case you haven't noticed, my boy is one big sonofabitch. So it's Flack. That's what we call him. We've never called him anything but. Wait, I lie. Sometimes asshole or bastard or prick suits him and his lovable and cuddly personality just fine."
"You're starting to sound like my wife, Scagnetti," Flack chuckled.
"That poor innocent, angelic soul has to live with you," his partner said. "I feel damn sorry for her and my invitation to hook up with a real man is still open."
"Well lucky for her," Flack said, attempting to put his desk back to some resemblance of order. "She doesn't find anything wrong with me. She's perfectly happy and staying right where she is."
"Well for a girl with a master's she's damn stupid than," Scagnetti snorted.
Lake couldn't help but chuckle at the good natured teasing between the two men. These guys were alright. He was looking forward to working for, and with, them.
"Like I said," Scagnetti spoke to Lake once again. "He's just Flack. And you know, he's got this sarcastic, mean and harsh and brash way about him, but he's a pussycat. He really is."
Flack snorted.
"His wife keeps him in line. Wears the pants in the family," Scagnetti added. "Wanna hear about the time he tossed his cookies 'cause his kid got his diaper off and smeared shit from sun up to sun down and everywhere in between?"
"I don't think he wants to hear about that," Flack said.
"Or the time he nearly barfed his guts out at a scene? I told him to leave the room and pull up his big boy pants and get on with it. So trust me, he comes across as all conceited and mean and shit, but he's a hell of a good guy. He's the one you want watching your ass going through a door and having your back at all costs."
"I'm touched, Scagnetti," Flack laid a hand over his heart. "I had no idea you had such a boy crush on me."
"Screw you, Flack. You couldn't handle this."
"Bigger and better, Scagnetti. Bigger and better."
"You wish."
Flack's cell phone, resting on the top of his desk, rang noisily and he scooped it up. "Shit…" he sighed when he saw the familiar number. He flipped open his phone and put it to his ear. "What did he do now?"
"Kid's a biter," Scagnetti explained to Lake. "Flack and his wife must get called at least three times a week to go up and deal with him."
"I'll be back," Flack told the two men, as he snapped his phone closed and jumped to his feet. He snatched the sippy cup from the top of his desk.
"You're a bad, bad, bad father," Scagnetti informed him. "Forgetting the kid's damn juice."
"Amount of money we pay to have him in that day care, you would think they could afford to have extra sippy cups lying around. And diapers. Last week, I picked him up and I guess he already had gone through the six Sam had packed, and those stupid bitches had let him sit in a crappy diaper for nearly two hours."
"This shit is exactly why I don't have kids," Scagnetti declared. "Ten minutes, Flack!" he called, as the younger man hurried through the bullpen.
Flack gave a way over his shoulder to acknowledge he'd heard his partner. "Show Lake his desk!" he shouted before he got onto the elevator.
Scagnetti gave a mock salute and turned to the new detective. "So?" he asked. "What do you think? You going to like working in homicide with us, or what?"
Lake smiled. "I think I'll like it just fine," he said.
Danny stood in the doorway of their shared office, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk on his face as the fiesty Brooklyn girl sat behind her desk and gave someone complete and utter hell over the phone. When she was upset and in the middle of a rant, her accent became thick and pronounced and nearly reduced Danny to uncontrollable fits of laughter.
"Look, maybe you didn't hear me the first five times," Samantha snapped into the phone. "Or maybe you're just hard of understanding or your brain doesn't get the English language. But I am not asking you to bring your daughter down for questioning, I am telling you to bring her down. ASAP. And in case you don't get what that is, it means as soon as possible!"
Danny smirked.
"We have been nothing but professional and friendly with you and your family," Sam continued. "You've done nothing but yank our chains and screw us around over this. So let me make this all very clear for you. Your daughter's DNA, specifically her blood and saliva, was found at a murder scene this morning. My partner, Detective Messer, who you spoke to only a couple of hours ago, was able to match your daughter's DNA because she was already in the system for assault. I don't get what is so difficult about all of this."
"Because they're fucking stupid," Danny whispered as he entered the office.
Sam grinned at him. "I am going to spell this out for you one more time," she said into the phone. "I am telling you to bring your daughter down for questioning. Because if you don't, I will call some very capable and competent homicide detectives and they'll be on your doorstep quicker than you can say the Pledge of Allegiance."
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America…" Danny began as he slipped into the chair behind his desk.
Sam swung her chair around so her back was to Danny. Because if she looked at him or listened to him any longer, her resolve would crumble. Danny just had that way of making your laugh no matter what.
"I am sure you would rather cooperate with the NYPD in favour of having my detectives hauling your daughter out in handcuffs," she continued into the phone. "That's fine. Call a lawyer. But I promise you any attorney will tell you the same thing. That your daughter's innocence is much more intact if you cooperate and not give our department a hard time."
"You fucking tell 'em, Brooklyn," Danny said, flipping open a case file. "Let 'em know who the fucking boss is."
"Two hours," Sam demanded. "I will give you two hours to have her down here or I am sending two of my biggest, burliest bad ass detectives there and I promise you they will not be as nice and sweet and sugary as I am."
Danny snickered behind her.
"Thank you so very much for your cooperation," Sam's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You have a very nice day now."
"And kiss my ass while you're at it," Danny added.
Sam swung her chair back around and slammed the receiver of the phone back down on the cradle with a flourish of curse words. "Fucking morons!" she cried and put her face in her hands and let out a scream.
Danny watched her with amusement.
She finished her meltdown and removed her face from her hands and smoothed down her hair.
"Feel better now?" he asked.
"Much," she replied and smiled brightly. "How are you?"
"Better than you apparently. So I was just talking to your brother and he told me you were in here grilling these jackasses so I had to come and get some entertainment."
"My brother?" Sam frowned. "Adam isn't working today. He's taking my parents to the airport."
"I meant your other brother. Flack."
"That sonofabitch!" Sam exclaimed. "He told you about that?!"
Danny nodded and laughed. "You are sick girl, Brooklyn. Dreaming that you're married and carrying on an incestuous affair with your own brother."
"That's not what the dream was about! I can't believe he told you! The dream was that he had a sister Samantha who looked remarkably like me. An older version of me, actually. And not as hot. But I wasn't the sister. She was!"
"Sure…sure, Sammie. You could go on Jerry Springer with this story. I am having a wild affair with my brother."
"I will be on there right alongside of you and your living with and having a kid with one girl and having nasty, dirty MSN sex with the love of your life whose back in Montana."
"Hey! It's not MSN sex, alright. It's phone and email sex."
"Whatever. Same damn thing. You know what I am going to buy you for your birthday, Daniel?"
Samantha was possibly the only person who could get away with calling him that.
"What's that?" he asked.
"A plane ticket to Montana. Yep, that's what I am going to get you. So you can get your ass there and hunt her down and either settle down and live happily ever after there or bring her back here."
"Thought you hated Lindsay."
"I didn't hate her," Sam said. "We were just two totally different people that couldn't seem to gel. And who never gave each other a chance. We were both stupid ass bitches for that. But immaturity aside, if she's the one you want, what the hell is the problem?"
"I'm living with someone. Expecting a baby with them. And she's your cousin."
"Who gives a shit? When has she ever been loyal or close to me? Christ, Danny, Don and I both know you're as miserable as all shit. And we don't want you to be miserable. Lots of guys don't stay with the mother of their children. There's nothing wrong with paying child support and getting visitation."
"I know," Danny sighed. "Trust me, I have weighed every option out there. But none of those options matter now."
Sam frowned. "Why not?"
"Lindsay's met someone. She told me last night."
"What?"
Danny nodded. "Guess she got tired or waiting for me and decided it was time to move on. She doesn't want me contacting her anymore. It's too painful for her."
"Danny, I'm sorry…"
"Guy's a big shot down there in Montana, too. The governor."
Sam's eyes widened.
"My reaction exactly. I mean, how can I compete with that? The governor, for Christ sakes?"
"How'd she meet him?"
"I don't know. I didn't think to ask. Doesn't matter. She met him. End of story. Boom."
"You're going to give up just like that?"
He nodded.
"You're a goddamn pussy, Danny!" Sam scolded him.
"What? What do you want me to do? Go there and drag her back kicking and screaming?"
"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "Exactly."
He shook his head sadly. "It's over, Brooklyn. Face it. It's over. That part of my life," he sighed. "It's over."
"Whatever," Sam huffed and jumped out of her chair. "Be a whiny, stubborn ass."
"And don't you go off buying me no plane ticket!" he warned her, watching as she yanked open the top drawer of her desk and pulled out her wallet.
"I wasn't. I was going to go and get some lunch. You want to come with?"
"Nah…not hungry. I think I will just sit here and feel sorry for myself a bit."
"Only you can change that, Danny," she said, and standing behind his chair, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "Remember, if you love someone, set them free. If they come back to you, they're yours. If they don't, they never were."
Danny sighed heavily and watched as his best friend's wife headed from the room, her pony tail bouncing and swinging as she went.
He leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes.
Only time would tell if what she said was true.
Now I don't know if folks in the U.S. have In the Night Garden, but it's big here and over in the UK where it originated. So I took the liberty of using it in this story.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! A thank you to even the lurkers and I know there's lots of you! Cheer me up, folks! Drop me a line if you like my shtick, as Sam would say. Cheers, BEG75
Special thanks to:
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