DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU GUYS KNOW THE DRILL.
A/N: SPECIAL THANKS TO LAURZZ AND HOPE4SALL AND TO MRS CHOI WHO OWNS THE BAKERY ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME AND WHOM I BASED MRS. KIM, WHO APPEARS AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER, ON. I WROTE THE WAY SHE TALKS, AS I HEAR IT COMING OUT OF HER MOUTH.
THIS IS LONGER THAN USUAL FOLKS. BUT AS MY PAL LAURZZ TOLD ME, WHO CARES? IT'S SamFlackie lol
Birthday Blow-out
"So what made you think you could take a life
And just push it, push it around
I guess to build yourself up so high
You had to take her and break her down
She laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and crushed her plans
She never even knew she had a choice
And that's what happens when the only voice she hears
is telling her she can't
You stupid boy."
-Stupid Boy, Keith Urban
The Sunshine Deli was located on the corner of Jefferson and Chambers. Three blocks from Flack's apartment and had been his usual early morning haunt for the past year and change that he and Sam had lived in the neighbourhood. He had discovered it one morning shortly after they moved in while he was out jogging in an attempt to work off some adrenaline left behind after a triple shift. The deli was owned by Mr and Mrs Kim -no first names, they didn't do first names and introduced themselves as the Kim's. Nothing more and nothing less- a tiny and talkative South Korean couple who had immigrated to the states nearly four decades ago and had purchased their little deli and moved into the apartment above only months later. The place was bright and cheery and opened at five am sharp and closed every night at eight o'clock on the nose. The Kim's were bubbly and had infectious grins and laughs. They referred to their regular customers by Mister and Missus and were often spotted hanging around the row of seven booths along the side windows that faced Chambers, engaged in lively conversations with customers.
And when they weren't doing that they were cleaning like fiends in between serving customers. To Flack, cleanliness was next to Godliness in his book and determined whether or not he visited an establishment more than once. Germs and filth were major, major pet peeves for him and he still shuddered when he thought about the deplorable conditions he and Stella had faced in that warehouse when he and Stella had finally tracked down the man responsible for the murder of Fiona Chisolm.
All other names and faces escaped him. The only thing that remained burned into his memory were the rats and people sneezing on products they had ever intentions on serving customers and touching things without washing their hands. Made his stomach nearly retch even now. At least in his own home, he knew that he and his wife washed their hands after taking a shit or changing a dirty diaper. As for the majority of the public, well who the hell really knew what they were up to. Every time they ordered fast food, he said a well intentioned prayer to God before he dug into anything and asked to please be spared E-coli or salmonella or whatever else someone or something had passed along.
So far so good. And as he pushed his way through the front door of the already busy deli at quarter after seven in the morning, the chime sounding above his head, he was greeted by the beautiful sight of Mr. Kim serving food with plastic gloves on and hairnet over his head and a fresh apron on. And his wife with the broom and dust pan in her hand as she cleaned up any mess, big or small, that were left behind from herself, her husband or the customers.
"Mr Flack," Mrs Kim greeted cheerfully when she saw him. "How are you? Long time no see since yesterday! How is wife and baby? They doing good?"
"Everyone's good," he responded with a smile as he stepped up to the counter. "Little guy's one year old today."
"One year old! Already! He's getting to be a young man! And so big! I saw them couple days ago and he grow like a weed! He look just like you, too. Daddy's pretty blue eyes, yeah?"
"He's a good looking kid, alright," Flack agreed.
"You so high on yourself! Your wife better watch out! I may steal you for myself! Tall and dark and handsome with big muscles. And a police officer. I love police officers!"
Flack grinned as the older woman laughed hysterically before finishing off her sweeping at the end of the counter and returning the dust pan and broom to a small closet off the side of the kitchen before washing her hands -thoroughly-and joining him at the counter.
"What can I get for you, Mr. Flack? The usual? Green tea with slice of lemon and an extra large black dark roast coffee? Two chocolate croissants?"
"You know me so well," Flack said. "But I need the tea de-caf. I've forgotten about that every day for nearly two weeks now."
"De-caf tea? That just plain gross. Why wife want de-caf tea?"
"She has to drink it. I'm forcing her too. No more caffeine no matter how much she begs and pleads. We're having a baby."
"Again!" Mrs. Kim clapped her hands together and shrieked. "That awesome news, Mr. Flack! So exciting! How far? You know?"
"We don't know yet. We still need to find that out. But yeah, it's exciting. Very exciting."
"Congratulations on new baby! Just for that, your order free today."
"Mrs. Kim, I can't.."
"Oh yes you can! I insist! I own the place after all. I even give baby number one a croissant for his birthday! With a candle in it!"
"Honestly, I can't…"
"No more!" she put her hand up, palm facing him to show she wouldn't hear anything more from him as she scurried around to assemble his order.
There was an order pad resting on the top of the cash register. And once her back was turned he pulled out the twenty bucks he shoved in the pocket of the sweats he'd yanked on after climbing out of bed that morning. Leaning over the counter, he quickly and discreetly slipped the money between the pages of the pad and put it back to its exact position.
"You want boy or girl?" Mrs Kim inquired curiously from the other end of the counter where she was tossing croissants into a paper bag. With gloves on.
"Doesn't matter," Flack replied. "As long as the baby is healthy."
"Ahh, that bullshit," she declared. "Everyone want healthy baby. But you want healthy boy or girl baby?"
"It honestly doesn't matter," he said.
"Please! Don't lie to me. Tell me the truth. One or other. I won't tell your wife just in case you and her disagree about it."
"I guess a girl would be okay," he admitted.
Mrs. Kim gasped. "No! You don't want a girl! I have three! Girls are bad! Very bad! Too much come with girls! You too nice of a guy to have to have girls!"
"My wife wants nothing but boys. Three or four she says. Why she'd want all boys is beyond me considering how evil the boy we have now is."
"He not evil! He a cute little boy! Dark hair and blue eyes and sweet little smile. You a lucky man, Mr. Flack. You have nice little family."
"They're alright," Flack said with a grin as the older woman journeyed back to the register. "But a girl would be nice. A daddy's girl. Every guy wants a daddy's girl."
"Only crazy guys!" Mrs Kim declared, as she sat the paper bag down in front of him and quickly prepared the tea and coffee and shoved the cups into a carry tray. She frowned suddenly. As if sensing something just wasn't right and began methodically scouring each inch of the counter directly in front of her and than finally the order pad. The twenty dollars fluttered to the ground as she thumbed through the pages.
"Mr Flack!" she gasped as she bent down to pick up the money. "See? I caught you! I figured you out! You can't pull wool over my eyes! No money! Kapish?"
He chuckled heartily at the word Kapish tossed in at the end of a sentence filled with stilted English. He held his hands up in self defence as Mrs. Kim, all four foot nothing and a mere ninety pounds, reached across the counter and stuffed the bill into his coat pocket.
"You a bad man!" she declared. "You lucky you so cute!"
"Could you at least give me change for a five so I can get a Times in the box out front?" he asked.
"You can have mine," she told him, and reached under the counter. She pulled out a rolled up copy of that day's paper and sat it alongside his order. "I'm all done with it. Your wife in the newspaper! Front page!"
"I know. She gave an interview to a friend of hers."
"Good article. I cry. Many times. She a nice girl for you, you know. Love you a lot. You need to hold on tight."
"I know. She puts up with me so that's saying a lot."
"And good picture too! She look so pretty! And little guy look so cute!"
"What picture?" he asked.
"The picture! On front page! Of wife and son!"
He frowned and picked up the paper and unrolled it. Sam hadn't mentioned anything about a picture. And she certainly wouldn't have been stupid enough to let Reed Garrett take a picture of her and their son and post it on the front page as large as life. Not with someone as unpredictable as Lessing out in two days, walking free and easy on the streets. Or would she? Because one look at the front page of the Times verified his theory that the higher the education, the less common sense someone had. There, in front of him, was a colour photograph of his wife and first born child.
"What the fuck…" he breathed. His heart pounding in his chest, seeing red immediately. His hands trembled in anger and tightened on the newspaper, threatening to tear it. How in the hell could she do something like that? Something so idiotic? That not only put her at risk, but their son. He was going to kill her. He was sure of it. He was going to go home and strangle her with his bare hands.
He didn't mean it of course. He wasn't capable of hurting her physically. But he was damn well pissed off enough to at least put the fear of God into her.
"You okay, Mister Flack?" the tiny Korean woman in front of him asked, concern in her eyes.
He shook his head. "I have to go," he said simply and turned on his heel, leaving every thing but the newspaper on the counter as he stormed out of the deli.
Samantha was in the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table munching on peanut butter and toast while she watched Kieran making a mess of his breakfast in his high chair. He had already devoured a bowl of plain oatmeal with sliced banana in it, and was now on a Gerber Graduates apple and cinnamon cereal bar that he was content on squishing and rubbing over his face and in his hair. He would definitely need a bath before grandma came to pick him up. Sam was just glad she was on afternoons and had the time to toss him in the tub and scrub him down before having to get ready herself.
Kieran had had his milk the moment he had woken up shortly before seven and had made a valiant effort of opening the card and presents that she'd laid out the night before. It wasn't much. A couple of In the Night Garden story books and some tub crayons he could use on the tiles whenever he was in bath. He was happier with the crumpled up wrapping paper than he was with the actual gifts and she'd sat him on the floor and let him play with it as she sang Happy Birthday to him. Than she'd scooped him up and showered him with hugs and kisses and raspberries before depositing him in his high chair for his first meal of the day.
"Mommy!" Kieran called out to her. "Mommy! See?"
She glanced up. Only to be greeted by the sight of him with his mouth wide open and full of food.
He giggled hysterically at the horrified look he got in response.
"That's not nice, Kieran," she scolded him. "Don't do that. You've been hanging around your Uncle Peanut and your Uncle Danny too much. Mouth closed, baby. And don't play with your food."
"It fun!" he informed her and turned and smeared his hand all over the wall alongside of his high chair. Spreading chewed up cereal bar all over beige paint.
"Kieran!" she cried and jumped up. "No! That's bad! Don't do that!"
"It fun!" he repeated, and attempted to do some more finger painting on the wall until his mother seized his wrist in her hand.
"I said no!" she said firmly. "That's bad! Don't be a bad boy!"
"Mommy bad!" he informed her. "BAD MOMMY!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"That's enough!" she snapped. "Be a good boy for a change! Why are you being so bad? People are still trying to sleep half way across the world and you're carrying on!"
"BAD MOMMY!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs. A shriek that only grew louder and more piercing when she snagged the wipes and attempted to clean off his face and hands.
"Kieran! Enough!" she pleaded. "Stop yelling!"
The front door slammed open and than shut once again. She jumped at the sudden, thundering sound and was about to ask if her husband had forgotten to take along some money, when she saw him hurry into the kitchen, trailing wet snow all over the floor from his damp running shoes, absolute fury in his eyes. He was breathing fire to say the least. And for the first time in their marriage, she was literally terrified of him.
"What the fuck were you thinking!" he bellowed, his voice nearly shaking the walls.
Kieran jumped in his high chair and immediately quieted. Tears welled in his eyes and his lower lip trembled. As did his tiny body. Thank God he was wearing diapers, because Sam was sure that the sound, and sight, of his father that made had made him wet himself.
"Donnie, what…?"
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Get our son killed!? You have some kind of sick and twisted death wish or something?!"
"I don't know what…"
He held the paper up for her to see the picture on the front page. The copy of that day's paper shaking in his hands. "What the hell is wrong with you! You let him take your picture! Kieran's picture! You told me it was just an interview!"
"Well photos usually run with articles and…"
"You let him take a picture of you and our son! Our son, Samantha! Everyone in this city is going to see this picture! Including all the perps I've pissed off during my career! Perps that would just love to get their revenge on me for doing them wrong! Crazy, dangerous pieces of shit that won't give a rats ass that you're a woman or that he's a baby and do horrific things to both of you to get back at me!"
"I didn't think that…"
"No! You didn't think! You never do! You're always thinking with your fucking ass is what the problem is! You told me it was just an interview and I took you at face value! I trusted you not to do anything to put you, or my son at risk!"
"I didn't think I did anything wrong! He asked me if he could take a picture and I didn't think anything of it. I just thought that if my name is in there, first and last, than a picture wouldn't hurt."
"Wouldn't hurt!? Wouldn't fucking hurt! Are you a fucking idiot! You're supposed to be this super smart woman and you do something so incredibly goddamn stupid! Do not stand there and look at me all innocent and give me some lame ass bullshit that you thought doing this was okay!"
She swallowed noisily. "I just thought that.."
"Do me a favour! Don't think! 'Cause obviously you're not capable of forming mature, reasonable thoughts! Because if you thought this was okay, that putting yourself out there and my son out there…"
"He's my son, too and I…" she cast her eyes downward out of nervousness and fright.
"You're right. He's your son, too. And what kind of mother…would you fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!"
She turned her tear filled eyes up at him.
"What? Now you're going to cry and put on a goddamn sob-fest so that I feel sorry for you!? Spare me that fucking shit! 'Cause you're the last person I feel sorry for! You know who I feel sorry for? Kieran! Because he has a mother with half a goddamn brain who didn't think twice about throwing him out there for every fucking rapist, sadist, child molester and baby killer to get a good look at him!"
"Your overreacting," she said meekly.
"I'm overreacting! Are you kidding me? I'm overreacting for not wanting some sick bastard to get a hold of my kid! For not wanting someone to get a hold of him and do all kinds of perverted, demented shit to him and dump him in an alley way dead somewhere! He's my son! And nothing I do or say is overreacting when it comes to him! Do you understand me! Are you listening to me? Is anything getting through to your fucking brain, Samantha!"
"What do you want me to say?" she asked. "My name was in there so why not my…"
"Why not your face? Because up until now Samantha Flack could have been anyone in this city. In a city of millions and millions of people. And because of your stupidity, you went and put a face to your name and now everyone I've ever pissed off knows you and our son. Do you not get what I'm saying to you?!"
"Of course I do. But…"
"But? There's a but? Where's there room for a fucking but!? You know what, you wanted to put your face out there, throw yourself to wolves, that's fine. I don't give a shit. You're a grown woman. But you turned my son into a sacrificial fucking lamb!"
"I'm sorry, Donnie. I.."
"You're sorry. You're sorry? What goes does that do now? The damage is done, right? The paper's out. Who knows who has seen it already. Every Tom, Dick and fucking Harry. What I can't get is how for someone that claims to love me so much.."
"Claims!" she fought back. "Claims! Don't ever say that I claim to love you!"
"If you love me and you love our son, why do something like this?" he shook the paper in her face. "Give me one goddamn good reason why you did this!"
"Get that out of my goddamn face!" she snapped and tore it out of his hand and tossed it across the room.
"I told you not to do that interview! I told you not to…"
"Told me? You told me? You don't tell me what to do. You don't tell me what to think or what to say or how to run my life!" she yelled back. "You're my husband! You're not my keeper! I am not some goddamn possession of yours!"
"You know what, Sam. In a way you are. You married me. You took my last name and that makes you mine. As pig headed and male chauvinistic as that sounds! And if you don't like it, there's the fucking door!"
"You're being an asshole. You know that? You're being a complete and utter asshole and you're not talking to me like this…"
He caught her by the upper arm as she attempted to move to a frightened Kieran in order to comfort him.
"Don't you fucking turn away from me like that," he warned her. "We're not done here. You and I? We are not done!"
"Yes! We are done!" she snapped, hiding the wince as his fingers bit into her skin. "We are done with this conversation and if you don't let me go, I'm either going to be laying you out right here or I'm going to be calling the cops. So take your goddamn pick, Don!"
"What are you going to do? Punch me out? I'll have you on your ass before you even get the chance so don't even think about it!"
"Fine! You want to play the role of the big bad wolf! Fine! Than when I go to work tonight and I let Mac see, or maybe even Gerrard see, the bruises that are going to be on my arm, than what are you going to do? How is that going to look for you? When they see what you are capable of doing? When they see that deep down, you have it in you to be just like your father!?
He let her go. He let her go and walked away because he was afraid of the blind rage that came over him at the last words that had escaped her lips. He walked across the kitchen and leaned against the cupboards with his palms on the counter top and his eyes closed as he took deep breaths and talked himself out of doing anything he'd regret. Because he loved her and didn't want to do anything to lose her. But that didn't mean he liked her very much at that moment.
"It's okay, Kieran," she spoke in a soft, soothing tone as she unbuckled him from his high chair and picked him up and cuddled him close. "Mommy's here…it's okay…daddy's just mad…he didn't mean to scare you."
"Daddeee!" he sobbed, wriggling in his mother's arms as he reached in his father's direction. Hot, fat tears spilling down his innocent, fair cheeks. "Daddeee!"
Flack sighed and opened his eyes. He snagged a glass from the drain board and fetched himself a glass of water from the tap and went to the cupboard that held all of their prescriptions. Shoving bottles aside until he got to the oxycontin with his name on it and scooping it up. Twisting off the lid he dumped three of the pills into the palm of his hand and swallowed them with water as his son continued to scream for him and his wife fought vainly to calm him down.
He slammed the glass down on the counter top and gathered himself before walking calmly over to his tearful wife and taking their son from her.
"I'm sorry, Donnie," she said. "I…"
He shook his head, his eyes telling her to just be quiet. "I'm warning you now, Samantha," he said, as he took his son from her. "Anything happens to him, and I mean anything, and I'm out of here. The smallest scratch or bruise or one messed up hair on his head. Anything comes of your stupidity, I will never, ever forgive you. Understand me?"
"Don, please, just…"
"I will take my son and walk out of here and get a damn good lawyer and I will make sure that you never, ever see him again. Am I making sense to you now?"
She bit her lip and fought back tears and nodded.
"I know I'm just some lowly detective with a grade twelve," he said. "But here's some advice. Don't ever fucking underestimate me," he warned her, and calmly carried their son from the room.
Mac paced the length of his office with a folded copy of that morning's Times in his hand. He was furious. Beyond furious, actually. When Stella had snagged their paper from in front of their door that morning and offered up a loud, shocked gasp, followed by a "Mac, you're not going to believe this," he knew that whatever was about to greet him was not going to be good.
He was livid the moment that his eyes settled on the picture. Furious for Samantha for ever thinking that putting herself and her child out there was a good idea. She was a cop. She knew what it was like to live with the thoughts that someone you 'wronged' just may possibly come after you to make things right away. Revenge was sweet for some people. And they wouldn't think twice about doing something to harm an innocent child in an effort to get back at Flack or her. She should have known better and she'd shown disgustingly bad judgement.
And he was furious at Reed Garrett for even thinking that it was a good idea to run a personal photograph with the article. Even if it meant that no photo meant no front page, that should have been a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. Reed wasn't a child. He fully understood that police work was dangerous work and that there were a lot of evil, demented people out there out to hurt others. It was appalling that he would put a woman and child out there for every citizen in the city to see. Names were one thing, but pictures?
There was no excuse for it. On either Samantha, nor Reed's part. The only innocent party was Kieran Flack. Just a year old that day and already thrust out into the spotlight.
Flack had been livid from the moment he'd met Mac at a scene that morning. And rightfully so. Over coffee later he'd opened up to the older man about the nasty, heated fight that he and his wife had gotten into. About the mean things he had said. About how he had gotten somewhat physical and had to walk away to compose himself before he inflicted worse damage on her. He saw the embarrassment and shame in Flack's eyes when he admitted that he had grabbed her. Harder than he ever meant to or should have. Heard the hurt in the younger man's voice when he was talking about his fears surrounding the picture and how maybe, just maybe, this time he'd screwed his marriage up beyond repair.
It wasn't Mac's job to play marriage counsellor. It was up to Sam and Flack to figure out, and work out, their own problems. But he wasn't just going to let the issue of the photograph go unanswered. In his own good conscience he just could not sit back and act like nothing was wrong. And the young man with the tousled hair and crooked smile that was now knocking on his office door was about to pay the price.
"You left a message on my voice mail," Reed said as he popped his head into the room. "You wanted to talk to me, Mac?"
"Come in, Reed," he instructed. "And close the door."
"What's this about?" the young man asked, as he stepped into the office and shut the door. "Is that a copy of the Times?" he asked excitedly, nodding to the paper folded in Mac's hands.
The former Marine nodded.
"Wasn't that an awesome article, Mac!" Reed gushed. "I've been getting praises all morning and into the afternoon about it! Definitely my best work yet. I'm just hoping that it leads to more chances to land something on the front page."
Mac snorted. "Is that all that matters to you, Reed?" he asked calmly. "The headlines? The glory? A by-line on the front of the Times? Is that the only thing that's important to you?"
"It's my career, Mac. My profession. It's not the only thing but it's the number one thing. I thought that you'd like the article. It's about one of your employees and one of your colleagues. People you care deeply about. You've told me that about them more than once. I would have thought you'd love the piece."
"It's not the piece itself that I have a problem with, Reed." he said. "The writing itself is fantastic and the story is heart wrenching and compelling…"
"But," Reed said. "I sense a but here."
"But just tell me one thing."
"Sure. What's that?"
"Just what in the hell were you thinking putting Samantha Flack's picture on the front page of the newspaper. And a picture of her with her year old son none the less?"
"I asked her if it was okay and she said go ahead and…"
"And you just went ahead and did it," Mac concluded. "Without even thinking of the possible hornet's nest that this picture could stir up."
Reed frowned. "I'm not sure I'm following you, Mac."
"You put a photograph of a mother and her innocent, one year old baby on the front page of the paper."
"Okay…and…"
"A mother who happens to be the wife of an NYPD homicide detective. An innocent child, whose father has made a lot of enemies because of his job and now has to worry about watching not only his back out on the street, but the backs of his wife and his baby. And you don't see a problem with that?"
"It's just a picture, Mac. I…"
"This picture!" Mac snapped and held the paper up. "This picture may as well be a target around Samantha Flack's neck. Around the neck of her son! At any time did you not stop and think about the problems that this picture would cause?"
"I didn't think it would cause any problems," Reed admitted. "I still don't."
"Let me makes this very clear to you," Mac said. "You've taken the safety, of this woman and her child, into your hands and fed her to the lions. Every perp, every scum bag and nut job that Detective Flack ever put away in his career could see this picture and all hell could break lose. He has to worry now about his wife and his son because you didn't have enough sense to know that running a photo was a horrible, horrible idea."
"I'm a journalist," Reed said. "Journalists take risks and…"
"You do not take risks with people that I care about!" Mac roared. "Do you understand me! That baby! Kieran Flack! He's like a grandson to me! I was there, at the hospital congratulating his father the night he was born. His father, whose live I saved that day in the bombing. Who is a colleague and a friend and hell of a cop! Whose now terrified that something bad is going to happen to his wife and child! All because you didn't have the sense to know this," holding up the paper once more, he tossed it in the direction of his desk. "… was not a good idea!"
"That's the business, Mac. Without a photo, that story never would have bee front page news," Reed argued.
"So that is all you care about!" Mac fumed. "The fame and the glory! To hell with the innocent lives and the marriage you break up in the process! The little kid that you practically single-handedly passed over to child molesters and murderers and God knows who else! None of that matters to you!? All that matters to you is getting your name on the front page."
"It's good exposure for me," Reed reasoned. "Without that picture…"
"Without that picture your story would have been just as good," Mac finished for him. "But instead, you put the safety of Detective Flack's family in your hands. Dean Lessing is getting out in two days. How do you know he's not going to read this and when he's out seek revenge?"
"He's crazy, Mac. He doesn't…"
"You did a stupid thing, Reed. A stupid, stupid thing. I can't be on your side this time. I can't. You did something that deep down you knew wasn't right. Something that you knew you never should have done. And if anything happens to either Samantha Flack or her son…"
"You're getting a little carried away, Mac. Dean Lessing isn't going to hurt them. He's harmless."
"No one is harmless, Reed. No one. You screwed up big time. And if something happens to them, I am telling you right now, that will sit on your conscience for the rest of your life and you will regret the day you wrote that article. It was wrong. Plain and simple. It was wrong and you showed some extremely bad judgement. And I hope that your happy with all the problems that this has caused."
"Problems? What problems?"
"A marriage hangs in the balance here, Reed! Detective Flack wasn't too happy when he opened the paper this morning and saw that picture."
"So? And that's my problem? I guess she should have either told him about it or he should just suck it up and deal with it."
Mac's eyes narrow. "Get out of my office," he demanded.
"I am just saying…"
"I know what you're saying, Reed! And I'm saying to get the hell out of my office! That man nearly died! He nearly died and all you can do is stand here and criticize him for wanting to protect his wife and his son!? They are his priority! Their safety is number one to him! And you showed blatant disregard for that safety and for him by running that photo!"
"Mac," Reed said calmly. "This is a business and I…"
"Peoples lives are not business," the older man spat vehemently. "The lives of three people I care deeply about are not business. These people are family to me, Reed. That little boy…that little boy didn't deserve to be brought into this. He's a year old. Today. And you know what he got for his first birthday? His mother and his father arguing over top of him because of something you did! His mother and father are hanging on by a thread! And all you can is that this is a business!"
"I won't apologize, Mac. If you're waiting for an apology, you'll be waiting a long time."
"And if you're waiting for my acceptance for the choices you made, you'll die an old man before it happens. Now get out of my office."
"Come on…you're telling me they mean more to you than I do! Than your dead wife's son?"
"If your mother was here she'd be telling you the same damn thing!" Mac roared. "Now get the hell out of my office!"
Reed held his hands up in self defence and headed for the exit. "You know, Mac," he said, as he opened the glass door. "One day you'll wake up and realize you can't protect everybody."
"And one day you'll realize that I can damn well try," he responded.
Speed looked up from the container of organic strawberry yogurt he was stirring as Danny, bagged lunch in hand, stomped into the break room grumbling noisily. Hawkes, beside him at the table, had his nose immersed in a stack of case reports, and briefly glanced up and than looked back down at them.
"Cheer up," the ME turned CSI said. "It's not that bad."
"Not that bad!?" Danny laughed. "You weren't the one that spent the last three hours working with Flack. Who is in a hell of a mood today. Who the hell pissed on his Corn Flakes I'd like to know. What's up with him? He's nasty as all hell. Down in interrogation, he nearly put a guy's head through the table all because the perp called him sunshine. He not get any last night?"
"Apparently you haven't seen the Times," Speed said and went back to his lunch.
"I know that Reed's article was coming out today," Danny said, as he pulled some loose change from the pocket of his jeans and slipped it into the vending machine. He selected Coke and hit the button. There was a loud thump when the can hit the bottom of the machine. "Why? Did it suck or something?" he asked, as he grabbed his drink and joined his colleagues.
"Or something," Speed replied.
"The article itself was fantastic," Hawkes said. "Heartbreaking and intense and extremely well written."
"But?" Danny asked as he sat down and popped open his beverage. "What's the but in all of this?"
"You haven't seen the Times today?" Speed asked.
"Don't get it delivered and I was late catching the train to work so I never stopped to be one or even look in the box," Danny replied. "Why? What's going on?"
"Flack never mentioned it to you?" inquired Speed.
"I just said I don't know what the hell is going on. I just know that he's a mean, nasty bastard today and I want to stay as far away from him as possible. You two going tell me or just sit there and look cute?"
"I'll stick with the latter option," Hawkes declared.
Danny looked at Speed pointedly.
The other man sighed heavily and laid his yogurt and spoon down and tipped his chair back as far as he could without falling over and reached for the discarded newspaper resting on the table behind them. He sat his chair upright and dropped the paper on the table. Front page facing up for Danny to see.
The CSI pulled the paper towards him and looked down at it. His eyes widening at the sight before him. "What in the hell…" he said.
"Our sentiments exactly," Speed told him.
"What the hell was Brooklyn thinking?" Danny asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "She's on the job. She knows first hand the kinds of enemies cops make. She knows the dangers of someone coming after you. Yet she goes and does something like this? What was she thinking?"
"She wasn't," Speed said. "Obviously. That picture caused all kinds of hell this morning for Flack apparently. Guess they got into some massive blow out before he came stomping into work. And rightfully so. He should be pissed. Ask me she's fucking stupid."
"Ask me we should all mind our own business," Hawkes said without looking up from his reports.
"Why do you always have to be so passive and diplomatic?" Speed asked him.
"I am not passive, nor diplomatic," the other man said in his calm, smooth voice. "I just don't think it's anything for us to be discussing behind their backs. Samantha and Flack's problems are just that. Their problems. They're not for us to be talking about so lightly. Or gossiping about."
"You're such a girl," Danny complained.
"Call me what you will," Hawkes said. "But I know where my loyalties lie. And where they do, is none of your guys' business."
"We know where your loyalties lie too, Doc," Danny said. "'Cause we all know what a massive crush you have on Flack' wife."
"First off, I do not have a crush on her," Hawkes defended himself. "Second, she's more than just Flack's wife. She has a name. And referring to her as Flack's wife is demeaning and disrespectful. She's not his personal property. She's his in name only."
"In name," Danny said. "In name. Which means she belongs to him."
"She took his name when she married him," Hawkes told his colleague. "She didn't sign over ownership of herself to him. She's still a human being who can make her own choices and her own decisions without seeking, or needing, his approval."
"You've got such a crush on her," Danny said, shaking his head and sipping his pop.
"Fine. And if I do, that's also my business. Look but don't touch. Plain and simple."
"My point is that Sam should have had the respect for him and the decency not to let Reed take a picture of her and Kieran," Speed said. "Herself, maybe. But their child? Kieran is Flack's son. His flesh and blood. His first born child and the apple of his eye. He would do anything for that kid and we all know that. And she put the life of his kid in danger but letting Reed take that photo."
"I disagree," Hawkes said shaking his head.
"Of course you would because you have a crush on her," Danny told him. "It was wrong. Plain and simple. How do you agree with that? If Angell and you had kids and she did that would you just sit back and not react? 'Cause if you tell me you would, you're just as big of a cupcake as Adam."
"I would be angry, yes," Hawkes said. "But I would also listen to her reasons for doing it and not go off on her like Flack did apparently. He got physical with her."
"Get outta here," Danny snorted. "Flack? He'd never hit Brooklyn. Not in a million years. He'd jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge if he ever hit her. Hell, I'd kill him and he knows it. He would not, and did not hit her. And unless you have the proof in front of me…"
"I didn't say he hit her," Hawkes said. "I said he got physical. Grabbed her. By the arm. Left bruises. And that's by his own admission."
Danny's eyes narrowed. "He told you this?"
"He told us," Speed admitted. "In confidence."
"Which is why we shouldn't be talking about this," Hawkes ascertained. "Their marital discord is none of our business. It's up to them to fix it and get past it."
"I refuse to believe that he hurt his wife," Danny argued. "Not Flack. No way. I've known him to punch other people or walls when he's pissed off with her, but I have never, ever known him to come close to hurting her in any way. He loves her. To death."
"And sometimes it's the people we love the most that we hurt the worst," Hawkes pointed out.
"He wouldn't, and couldn't, hurt his wife," Danny remained firm. "So I don't know why he told you he did, because I know him and I know he wouldn't do it. So unless he walks in here and tells me he did it to my face, it never happened as far as I'm concerned."
"I still think we should all just shut up about it," Hawkes said. "No good is going to come out of it. And trust me, bringing it up to him is only going to make things worse and piss him off even more."
"He's my best friend," Danny reminded the other man. "He'll want to talk about it with me."
"Think so?" Hawkes asked.
"I know so."
"You're that positive?"
"A hundred percent," Danny declared.
"Well good," Hawkes told him. "Because here comes your chance. He's on his way in."
Danny and Speed looked towards the door as Flack, a cup of coffee in his hands and his cell phone pressed to his ear and a scowl on his weary looking face entered the break room and journeyed towards them. Hawkes did little more than nod at the detective in greeting and go back to his folders as Flack took a seat at beside Danny and snapped his phone closed and tossed it onto the table with a clatter.
"Bad day?" Speed asked.
Flack snorted and sipped his coffee. Than noticed the newspaper sitting in front of his best friend and gave a small, I don't fucking believe this type chuckle and shook his head.
"Talk to the wife?" Danny asked, and received a kick to the shin under the table from Hawkes.
"I've been trying to call her all morning and just now," Flack said. "She's not answering at the apartment or her cell. She's suppose to be here at three but I'm starting to wonder if she's going to show."
"Things get nasty this morning?" Danny inquired.
"A little," Flack admitted. "Why? You guys need more fodder for your gossip?"
"Just curious," his best friend responded. "Just a little worried about some things I've heard is all."
"Yeah?" the detective asked, sipping his coffee. "Well I didn't beat the shit out of her regardless of what people around here might be saying. I grabbed her arm. That's it. I didn't smack her around or anything. So if that's what you heard, or if that's what you guys are spreading around here, knock the shit off, okay?"
"No one is spreading nothing," Danny assured him. "But for the record, I don't think she should have done it and I don't blame you for being pissed. Personally, I'd be kicking her ass all over the city for putting my kid at risk like that. I mean, you've said it yourself many times. She's crazy. Unstable. And if you're looking for a legal leg to stand on to take Kieran…"
Flack held his hand up to halt his friend mid sentence. "What?" he asked.
"She's nuts for doing that. Putting your kid's safety at risk," Danny continued. "And if you were thinking about taking off and taking the kid, you could use that as grounds to…"
"Are you out of your fucking mind!" Flack roared and in sheer anger, tossed the cup of coffee across the room. Sending it colliding with the window and splattered the hot liquid all over the glass and floor and leaving Danny and Speed and the lab techs staring at him in absolute horror.
"Take it easy, Don…" Danny said.
"Take it easy!" he bellowed as he got to his feet. "Take it easy! You call my wife crazy! You tell me to leave her and take my kid and say she's an unfit mother? Don't you even dare bad mouth my wife, Messer. She may have some issues and she may have screwed up and I'm really pissed at her for it, but she's a goddamn good mother and an amazing wife. And if I want your fucking opinion, I'll ask for it! And seeing as I didn't ask for it and I don't want it, shut your goddamn trap!"
Danny and Speed watched as the furious detective stormed from the room, grabbing the open door and slamming it shut with enough force to nearly shatter the glass.
"Well that went well," Speed said with a sigh.
Hawkes gave a smug smile as he continued flipping through his reports. "I told you so," he said.
Samantha sighed heavily and pushed her glasses up onto her forehead and closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She'd been hunkered down over the table in lay out for over two hours. Attempting to find evidence, even the tiniest shred, off of a severely decomposed body found by squatters in a long ago boarded up factory in China Town. The clothing reeked of must and rotten Bok Choy and sour soya sauce. And most of all death. It was taken all of her will power to not pull over a garbage can to throw up profusely into. Her stomach had been queasy all day. A mixture of bad nerves and fright and pregnancy. Her brain swimming in thoughts and the echoing of the words and threats that her husband had tossed her way during their argument that morning.
Argument did not accurately describe what had went down. It was far more than an argument and she knew it. An argument didn't include the nasty, hateful things that had come out of his mouth. Or the blinding fear that he had stirred up inside of her. Or the way he had physically grabbed her. Hard enough to still hurt and leave behind the start of some nasty bruises.
That was not a simple misunderstanding That was a knock down, drag 'em out fight that had quickly and startlingly spiralled out of control. There had never been a time that she had been afraid of her husband. Sure, his yelling and throwing things around had frightened her on more than one occasion. But she'd always been able to calm him down or let him wander off and cool down on his own. This time had been different. This time she'd seen the chance in his eyes, in his face that he may actually hit her. And she hadn't been scared of something like that since Zack.
Tears burned in her eyes that she had managed to compare the two. Because Don Flack was nothing like Zack Tanner and she knew it. Zack had been sick and twisted and cold and vindictive and got off on hurting people. Don was, for the most part, compassionate and loving and gentle behind closed doors. He didn't talk down to her or make her feel worthless. He made her feel special and adored. And loved.
She had made a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. She knew that she never should have let Reed take that picture. She should have just said no and been firm about it. Her life, and most of all, her child's life, should have meant more to her.
But for some reason she hadn't seen that. And now stood the risk of losing everything that mattered most to her.
She sniffled noisily and pushed her glasses back down onto her nose and went back to work. The search for anything remotely useable had been in vain so far. But she wasn't going to give up.
On anything.
A knock came to the glass wall behind her and she cast a glance over her shoulder. To where her husband, in jeans and a heavy black, white and blue Columbia River ski jacket, and hiking boots and a ball cap stood watching her. A carry tray of hot drinks in one hand, a small plastic bag in the other.
Her heart caught in her throat and her stomach fluttered. Such a contrasting mix of emotions of sadness, anxiety and undeniable attraction that came over her all at once. Because she loved him. That was never in question. Nor was the fact that he was phenomenally attractive and her stomach twisted and turned whenever she saw him. What was in question was what in the hell they were doing together sometimes.
She motioned for him to come inside of the lab. She was alone save for the music playing on the radio across the room.
"Hey," she said in greeting as he paused in the doorway.
"Hey," Flack responded.
"You can come in, you know. I'm not going to bite you."
"I was thinking more of staying outside because I'm off duty."
"And your point? I always go in the labs when I'm off duty and visiting with Kieran."
"Well that's you," he said.
"I'm kind of in the middle of something here, Donnie," she told him.
"Can't you lock the lab up and take five minutes?" he asked. "I just want to talk, Sammie. I didn't come here to fight with you. I just want to talk."
She sighed and snapped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the trash. Crossing the room, she dimmed the lights slightly and made sure her key card was in the pocket of her lab coat before setting the alarm via the touch pad mounted on the wall by the door, hitting the button that ARMED and closing the door behind her as she stepped out into the hallway.
"Where's Kieran?" she asked. "It's quarter to ten."
"My mom took him back to Queens for the night after I told her what happened when I got home."
"And what? She told her baby boy to come here and make amends?"
He sighed. "I am not here to be a bad guy, Sammie. I'm not. I just want to talk. That's it. I want to talk to my wife. Is there something wrong with that?"
"Of course not. I'm just surprised to see you here."
"I wanted to make sure you got home okay," he told her. "I didn't want you coming home alone."
"I drove today. It's kinda stupid having two cars here."
"I didn't drive. I walked here."
"In the cold?" her eyes widened. "That's like an hour walk, Donnie."
He shrugged. "I needed to clear my head. Think about things. And I didn't want you coming home alone like I said. I mean, you were going to come home, right?"
"You actually have to ask me that?" she asked, saddened by the thought he felt the need to.
"Apparently," Flack replied.
"Of course I was going to come home. I never thought about not coming home to my boys."
He managed a small smile. "Are we going to stand here in the hallway all night or…?"
"We can sit in my office," she said, leading the way down the hall. "Danny's long gone home so we don't have to worry about him sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong."
They journeyed down the desolate hall to the office she shared with her partner. She paused at the locked door and punched yet another code into another key pad. There was a small beep followed by a loud click and she laid a hand on the door and pushed it open. She flicked on the lights and they retreated to the small seating area by the window. Two small black faux leather couches with a glass coffee table separating them. Flack sat the bag and carry tray down on the table and unzipped his coat and tossed it on one of the couches as Sam took a seat at the other. She stared at him, her heart sinking, as he sat on the opposite couch.
"So that's what it's come down to?" she asked. "Are we going to be like this at home, too? Live together yet separately at the same time?"
"I'm pissed, Samantha," he said in a way of reply. He took one of the take out cups out of the tray and sat it in front of her. "They didn't have green so I got you de-caf Earl Grey. And I brought your vitamins and folic acid shit," he nodded at the bag. "Because you'd forgotten them at home and you're supposed to take them faithfully."
"I went to CVS on my break and put some extra bottles to keep in my locker," she told him.
He gave a small laugh. "You always have to do that?"
"What?" she asked, picking up her tea and breaking open the tab on the lid.
"I try and do something nice for you and you shit all over it. Why couldn't you just say 'thanks Don'? Why did you have to even tell me you bought them? Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut so I could feel like a decent human being for at least thinking about you and our baby?"
"Do you even want there to be a baby?" she asked honestly.
"Don't turn this around on me, Sam. Don't find a way to turn me into the evil bastard. You fucked up and you know it. And when you fuck up you always try your dammdest to turn me into the bad guy. Don't do it. For once, don't do it."
She sighed and sipped the tea.
"Are you going to answer my question or are we just going to sit here all night staring at each other?" Flack asked.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to tell me why you do what you do. I do something nice so I feel like less of a prick and you just shoot me down and make me feel worthless. You get a kick out of that? Pushing me down and watching me crawl my way back up? You get some kind of perverse pleasure out of treating me like shit 'cause you know for the most part you can get away with it?"
"I don't…" she attempted to argue.
"You do and don't deny it. Don't sit here and tell me that I don't let you get away with a hell of a lot. Lying to me about your ties to Pelham Bay and that Evan Lucerno moron, lying to me from the very moment I met you about who Zack really was. Remember that? You asked me for help because you were worried he was coming down here? Just after we met? You asked me for my help and I gave it to. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. And you couldn't even tell me the truth at first. Some guy you knew," Flack snorted and shook his head. "And you probably never would have told me had I not called your ex-boss in Arizona and asked who this prick Zack was."
"Of course I would have," she said quietly.
"When? After he came here and tried to abduct you in broad daylight? Or would you have waited longer and maybe told me once we got married?"
"I was going to tell you. Just like I was going to tell you about Evan."
"But you didn't. Not right away. You held onto it until it was ready to jump up and bite you in the ass. You told me when you got scared I was going to find out on my own. Just like you did with Chester Lake. Only I already knew and I sat back and waited to see just how honest you really are in this marriage."
"So I'm a lying bitch. Is that what you're trying to say? Get it all out, Don. Say what you really feel. Lay it all out on the table and we can see if this marriage is worth working for."
"I want you to stop hiding shit from me and lying to me all the time," he told her. "And if you have to sit there and tell me that we have to see if our marriage is worth fighting for than obviously it isn't to you."
"Fine," she snapped. "You want honesty? You want us to be open and up front and have a nice little therapy session right here?"
"Good as place as any, I figure."
"Okay. Than it's my turn. I hate you sometimes. I hate you for being mean and arrogant and conceited. I hate you for the way you talked to me today and the little shots you always seem to get in at me about something. The little names you call me and the way you look down on me."
"I don't.."
"Let me finish!" she pleaded. "The way you treat me sometimes that I should be walking behind you instead of along side of you. That I'm nothing more than some piece of property. That I'm just your wife and the mother of your kid and your fuck buddy."
He just nodded, listening intently, taking in her words and the seriousness in her eyes.
"And I hate you for cheating on me with Devon," she admitted. "I know that we were just at the beginning of our relationship and you were upfront and honest about it and I appreciated that. But I've never forgotten it and I don't know if I ever will. And I don't know if I can ever forgive you for it. And I'm angry at your for it!" tears slipped down her cheeks. "I'm angry and that's why I do the things I do and say the things I say because of all that anger inside of me. And I'm tired of being angry all the time, Don. I don't want to be angry anymore. I want us to be happy and in love and raising our family together. That's all I want."
"That's all I want, too, Sammie…you know that. But there's all these strikes against us and I don't know how much more I can take."
"So that's it? You just want to call it a day on our marriage and go our separate ways?" she looked at him in disbelief, her eyes dark and distressed.
"No. That's not what I want. At all, baby. That's far from what I want."
"And this thing with Reed…I fucked up. I admit that. I never should have let him take that picture. I should have known better. But I wasn't thinking and I was emotional over the whole thing and I just went along with whatever. But I certainly didn't do anything to intentionally put my son in danger. Our son! Because you know how much I love Kieran, Donnie. He's my baby and you can't tell me that I don't love him and that I'm a shitty mother. Because I'm not. I stayed home longer with him when you asked me too! I temporarily gave up my friends and my career to take care of him. And I don't regret doing it at all. But to hear you tell me that you'll take him from me and destroy me…" she shook her head and leaned back against the couch and put a hand over her eyes as she lost her composure.
Flack sniffed back his own threatening tears and got up from the couch and went over to her desk and picked up the box of Kleenex that rested by the phone and carried them over to her. Gently nudging her arm with the box so she'd realize they were there before sitting down beside her. His elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as he used the thumb and index finger on his right hand to play with the wedding band to absentmindedly turn his wedding band around and around over again.
"I'm sorry, okay?" she sobbed. "I'm sorry that I did what I did. That I was stupid and I put myself and Kieran at danger. I didn't mean to. And than you threaten me and tell me you'll take him and I'll never see him again."
"I'd never take him from you, Samantha," Flack assured her, laying a hand on the back of her head. "Ever. I was pissed off. I said things and I did things I'm not proud of. And I never meant to hurt you."
"I'm scared of you," she admitted. "I'm scared of you and I don't want to be. Because I love you and loving someone should not be a scary thing. And I'm terrified of you now and that's a horrible feeling."
It was a horrible thing to hear. Your wife telling you that she was afraid of you. Because that was the last thing in the world he wanted to hear. He wanted their marriage to be based on respect and trust and love. Not have her too terrified to move. His stomach felt sick at her honest words. And the tears he'd fought so hard to hold back rolled down his face.
"It's okay, Sammie," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Just tell me what I need to do to fix this. To make this right. Because that's the last thing I want, baby. Do you want me to leave for a while? Go and stay at my parents and see what we can do to turn this around?"
"No," she cried. "That's the last thing I want. I don't want you leaving. Leaving Kieran and me and now a new baby."
"Than tell me what I need to do to make this better. Because I don't like this idea of you being afraid of me. Tell me or show me what I can do to make it better for you. For us."
"I just…I don't know…I just don't know…" she admitted. "You being here. Showing up here to talk and letting me being honest and vice versa with no shouting or mean stuff…that's a start. A big start."
"Okay. There must be something else."
She nodded. And turning to her husband, wrapped both of her arms around his torso and buried her head in his chest.
"I promise you everything is going to be okay," Flack told her, embracing her tightly and kissing the top of her head.
"I need to get back to work. So I can get out of here and we're not stuck here all night," she sniffled, relaxing in his warmth.
"So we're here all night. So what? I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Let Danny find us here, curled up on the couch, fast asleep when he comes in."
She laughed. "He'd just love that. He'd probably take photos and post them in the labs."
"Wouldn't put it past him," Flack said. "But you're right. I really don't want to be here all night either. I'd rather be at home. Cuddling on our own couch. Or in bed. Wherever we end up. Kitchen floor like the other morning with icing all over us."
She giggled at the recent memory. "You were a master with the vanilla icing," she said.
"I'm like your brother. Jack of all trades. Master of none."
She sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and kissed him softly. "I have at least two hours of work ahead of me," she told him. "So if you want to go home than.."
He kissed her.
"I'll wait," he told her. "Forever if I have too."
"Be careful what you wish for. It could happen."
"Nah. I think I used up my wishing star the day I met you. 'Cause that was worth a million wishes right there."
She smiled. "You're so corny, Donald Flack Jr," she declared.
"But you love me," he said.
She nodded and gave him one last kiss. Longer and more intense.
"Forever," she vowed.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all you lurkers! Show some love people!
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