DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST

A/N: SO THIS IS THE LAST OF THE RAPID FIRE POSTINGS AS MY FAMILY THAT DOESN'T GET OR ACCEPT THE WHOLE WRITING THING COMES BACK THIS AFTERNOON. IT IS A SAD, SAD DAY IN VFB LAND. SO THINGS WILL BE BACK TO NORMAL AFTER THIS FOLKS. HOPE YOU ALL HANG IN THERE!

ALSO, I JUST RECEIVED A REVIEW FOR THIS CHAPTER, THAT I WROTE DANNY COUNTING TO THREE IN SPANISH. AND THAT IT'S WRONG. JUST TO AVOID CONFUSION, AS MOST OF YOU PROBABLY ALREADY KNOW, OUR BOY DAN-O IS ITALIAN. AND WELL, YEAH. THAT'S WHAT HE'S COUNTING TO THREE IN. ITALIAN. THANKS GUYS! LUV Y'ALL! CIAO BELLAS! BEG 75

If it seems to good to be true…

"Someday baby,
You and I are gonna be the ones
Good luck's gonna shine
Someday baby
you and I are gonna be the ones
So hold on
We're headed for a better life
Oh now
there's a place for you and me
Where we can dream as big as the sky
I know it's hard to see it now
But baby someday we're gonna fly
This road we're on, you know it might be long
But my faith is strong
It's all that really matters."
-Better Life, Keith Urban

Bryce Cabot was in the box.

The forty-five year old crane operator from Long Island was still in his dusty steeled toed work boots and his yellow hard hat and red and black chequered hunting style jacket and his thermal lined industrial overalls. He had been pulled off the job when Samantha Flack and Chester Lake had come calling with a warrant to search his locker for what they believed to be the weapon that sliced the throat of the woman they had dubbed the Central Park Virgin.

Her real name had been Grace Mitchell. Lake had found a match in the missing persons data base. She had been a twenty one year old recent NYU graduate. Despite being the proud owner of a degree in chemistry, she'd been unable to find work in her field of choice and had taken a job as a clerk for Lancaster construction. The same construction company that the married, father of three Bryce Cabot had been a long standing employee with.

It had been Grace's mother that had filed the missing persons report with the NYPD when her daughter, a born again Christian, had failed to come home from work Friday evening. It was three hours past the scheduled end of Grace's shift and the mother was worried because her daughter was never late. She was prompt and reliable and even at her age always called if she was stopping over somewhere after work or was running behind. So that her parents didn't worry themselves sick. It had been her mother, to whom Lake had had to deliver the painful and devastating news of her daughter's brutal and untimely demise, who had given them Cabot's name. She had said that her daughter had complained numerous times to her, and to her supervisors at the construction company, that Cabot was harassing her. Sending her suggestive e-mails and making unwanted passes at her in the hallways when their paths crossed.

A hold up in t processing had meant that Grace's picture and initial report hadn't been entered into the NYPD system until Tuesday morning. Lake had all but been ready to call the whole thing an unsolved and box it up as a cold case when something had told him to check missing persons one more time. The picture and identity of the Central Park virgin had been the first one to appear on the screen. He'd than made a call to Grace's mother to deliver the bad news, and to ask if there was something, anything, that may lead to whoever may have murdered her only child. She than, through her cries of Dear Jesus, not my baby and her gut wrenching sobbing, had come out with Bryce Cabot's name.

Lake and Samantha had first paid a visit to Cabot's modest bungalow in Long Island. They'd talked to his wife, who had her husband hadn't been home in nearly five days and she suspected he'd run off with his mistress. Some girl named Grace at the office. Some young pretty thing that apparently he'd been unable to resist and who he'd promised the world to. Before Samantha had gone on her trip to Cincinnati, she had successfully identified the weapon that had sliced Grace Mitchell's throat as a Linder Crown Stag Old Western Bowie knife. Relatively uncommon, it was considered a collector's item with its old world craftsmanship and its seven inch long steel blade.

It was Lake who had brought up hunting with Cabot's wife. Taking the gamble that just by chance, her husband was either hunter, or just a knife collector. She'd been so pissed at his illicit affair, that she'd coughed up all the information they'd needed and had personally taken them into the basement to have a peek at Bryce's hunting equipment. One look at an empty knife case stashed in the back of a gun cabinet had prompted Lake to call for a warrant right there and than.

Cabot hadn't seem to surprised to see the cops waiting for him after his bosses had ordered him onto the ground. He hadn't argued when Lake had flashed the warrant for the knife in his face and had simply showed the two detectives to his locker and opened it without so as much as a bat of an eyelash. Lake hadn't taken to kindly to that smug, ignorant smirk the other man had had on his face as he'd watched Samantha, standing on her tip toes, rummaging through the clutter on the top shelf. Coming up with the knife in question wrapped in a soiled rag. It had been wiped clean. From tip to base. Lake had seen that smirk that had come over Cabot's face when the pretty little CSI had ran a swab up and down the length of the blade and had squirted solution on it from a tiny spray bottle and had come up with absolutely nothing. But that smirk had faded when, not to be out done by some perp who thought he was good enough to get away with murder, Sam had taken the knife apart and had grabbed a fresh swab and repeated the procedure on the inside of the handle.

Positive for blood. Human blood at that. Cabot had had an excuse. Like most murderers or just liars in general. He'd gone hunting just two months before and had sliced his finger while skinning a deer. It was his blood. Neither Lake nor Sam had bought that explanation. Instead, they'd taken Cabot into custody based on probable case in Grace's disappearance.

He'd been booked and ran through the system and now sat, calm, cool and collected, his hands behind his head and his dirty work boots up on the interrogation, immersed in a stare down with an unimpressed Lake while Sam, the knife in her possession, was running the appropriate DNA tests to prove, without a doubt, that that blood belonged to Grace Mitchell.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Cabot asked, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his knuckles noisily.

"Detective Flack is upstairs in the crime lab," Lake replied calmly. "Finding what she needs to prove you killed Grace Mitchell."

Cabot smirked and snorted and shook his head. "I didn't kill anyone. And I certainly didn't kill Gracie. I loved that girl. I already told you that, Tonto."

"I would have so gotten up and reached across the table and bitch slapped him for that," Flack commented, as he and Mac stood in the observation room, watching through the one way glass and listening through the speaker system.

Flack was there, as an acting supervisor, to keep an eye on Lake. Observe his interrogation techniques. Take over if he found the new guy sinking instead of swimming. Sit down with him afterwards and tell him what went wrong and why and how to fix it. But so far, Lake seemed to be handling his own quite nicely.

"Well let's be thankful you're not in there," Mac responded with a smirk. He heard a loud yawn erupt from the younger man to his left and glanced over. Flack stood with his one hand on the wall next to the glass, his chin to his chest as he rubbed at his weary eyes with his other hand.

"Sorry," the homicide detective said with a sheepish smile. "Been a lot going on at home lately."

"You just got back last night from Cincinnati," Mac said, turning away from the window as Lake and Cabot once again delved into a long silence. "I would have thought you'd come back from a few days off well rested and ready to go."

"I'm always ready to go. But well rested?" Flack snorted. "No such thing with a one year old in the house. A one year old that's cutting molars at that. K's not a happy camper. He's up half the night moaning and groaning from the pain. Rocking. Christ, Mac, does that kid rock. We can hear the railings on the crib and the springs squeaking. Self stimulation the doctor calls it. Soothes him. We've tried the orajel, we've tried the Tylenol and the Advil. Nothing works. So he does his rocking thing. And he's moaning while he's doing it. Drives me insane. And he still gets up at seven am," he shook his head and yawned again. "I need another vacation already."

"Or ear plugs," Mac suggested. "Samantha's been feeling okay?"

"Surprisingly, she's been doing great this time around. Some nausea here and there but nothing like when she was pregnant with K."

"That's good," Mac said with a nod. "You know, I was somewhat surprised when she came into my office this morning and told me she was pregnant. I wasn't expecting the two of you to be adding to your family so soon."

"Neither were we," Flack admitted. "We were actively trying and all that. We just didn't think it would happen so soon. Ever notice the women around here all get pregnant at once? Last time it was Sam and Carmen. This time it was Stella first and now Sam."

"Must be something in the water," Mac said with a light chuckle. "And you've obviously been drinking the water more than anyone because both times, your wife has been one of the guilty parties."

"That's it, Mac," Flack chuckled. "Blame me. It's all my fault. You getting excited? Stella doesn't have that much longer to go. Pretty soon you're going to be Mac Daddy."

The older man gave a warm, genuine smile and nodded. "We're getting down to the wire. Three more months. So we're three quarters of the way there. Stella wishes there was only three days to go mind you. She says she's getting quite tired of being pregnant, and I quote 'looking like a fat cow, peeing five times a night and being just plain uncomfortable in general'. And than she told me, that I better be damn well grateful that she's willing to put herself through such torment to give me an offspring."

Flack smirked. "Wait until she's telling you in the middle of labour that it's all your fault that her insides are being ripped apart and she's never letting you anywhere near her again. That's always a pleasant conversation right there. So any idea on what you guys are having? Boy? Girl? I know you were going for that sonogram couple weeks back but you guys never said a word about it."

"They couldn't give us anything solid," Mac said. "But they said, by the looks of things, that the baby's a girl."

Flack nodded in approval. "That's nice. A little girl. A daddy's girl. You'll have a lot of fun with that one, Mac. Especially if she's anything like her mother. So it's just one than? Just one baby? No surprises? No double of anything or anything like that?"

"By the grace of God no. One is enough. Why? You know something I don't, Flack?"

"No. I was just asking. Just making conversation. 'Cause I figured , if you were having more than one, than what I'm about to tell you might not shock you as much as I've been thinking it will."

Mac frowned. "What's that suppose to mean? Is that some kind of riddle, Flack? Your tired brain is muddling things?"

"No…it's just…" he sighed and gave a small laugh and shook his head. "We haven't told anyone yet. Sam and I. You'll be the first. Save for Adam because he was at the appointment and was sworn to secrecy afterwards."

Mac arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"At Sam's ultrasound. They found something…what's the best word…interesting."

"Alright."

"We found out we're having triplets, Mac."

For once, all words and rational thought escaped Mac Taylor. The hard ass former Marine was completely and utterly tongue tied as he stood there in the observation room, observing the younger man standing alongside of him, who was nodding his head slowly, a small smile on his face, indicating that what he had just said was the absolute truth. That Mac hadn't imagined he'd heard Don Flack announce he was going to be the father to not one, but three babies. It wasn't something that you heard every day. And if Mac was that shocked, he couldn't imagine what Flack and Samantha had had go through their minds at the news.

"I'm not shitting you, Mac," Flack said. "It's true. Triplets. Can you believe that? How surreal is that? Definitely not what I was expecting to hear."

"You're absolutely sure?" the older man asked.

Flack nodded. "Three of everything. Sam saw it with her own two eyes. So did Adam. She even showed me pictures of three separate, distinct heartbeats. No denying it."

"That's a little…" Mac was at a loss for words.

"Fucked up?" Flack offered.

The crime lab boss shook his head and laughed. A warm, hearty laugh that Flack rarely heard come from his colleague and good friend. "You two don't believe in doing anything halfway, huh? Not only will I be losing both Stella and Samantha on maternity leave, now you're telling me this? I swear you two just love screwing up my schedule. Because now I've got to make accommodations for not only another pregnant woman in the lab, but for one that's pregnant with triplets. What am I suppose to do with news like this?"

Flack shrugged.

Mac laughed and shook his head a little while longer and than clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "I guess there's only one thing for me to say and that's congratulations, Don," he offered his free hand.

"Thanks," Flack said and shook Mac's hand. "It's taking some getting used to. The whole idea that we're not having just one. That instead of having a family of four in about six months, we're going to have a family of six."

"It could always be worse, Flack," Mac chuckled. "It could always be sextuplets and you'd be having a family of eight."

"Kinda like that show on tv Sam watches. Mind you they had twins and than six. Jon and Kate Plus Eight or something like that. She's addicted to that show. Always telling me she wants a family just like that. She's nuts, Mac. Plain nuts. I watch that show and that guy? He's not a happy man. He's ready to just go postal on someone. And the way his wife bitches?" Flack shook his head. "Now my wife can bitch with the best of them. But that? I could not deal with that woman. I'd be out that door so quick and leaving her and the eight brats behind. Eight kids, Mac! I mean, come on. That's not right. That's just plain wrong, actually."

"Which is why, and take my advice to heart, never rely on fertility drugs unless you want a whole litter."

Flack couldn't help but burst out laughing at Mac's honest, if not somewhat asshole-ish comment. The man was nothing if not brutally honest. To a fault sometimes. Mac had a way of offending you and hurting your feelings without even realizing it. Just by the cutting tone he used on you or the way he stared you down in front of an entire lab of your colleagues. He had been guilty of having Sam in tears a number of times by just a look or an offhanded jab that he never intended to be cruel. That was just the way Mac was. You didn't like it, tough. You sucked it up and dealt with it. The man was cold. Not denying that. But there were times, every once in a while, especially since he'd married Stella and found out about the baby, that Mac showed a more human side.

"So I guess you know Danny's going to Montana tomorrow," Mac said.

Flack nodded. "I'm taking him to the airport at eleven in the morning. And yes, before you ask, I do know my wife is responsible. I'm not overly happy about it, but…" he shrugged. "What can you do?"

"Not much," Mac sighed. "Yesterday Stella came home and announced she'd dropped three grand on a round, brass canopy crib."

"That's not right," Flack said. "I'd shit."

"I fought with her about it for a while. But in the end, watching her cry and accuse me of being insensitive wasn't worth it. The crib arrives in two days."

"Why do we do it, Mac?" Flack asked. "Put up with what we do? Why?"

"Because we love them," the older man replied. "And our lives would be miserable without them. And because we know we couldn't afford the alimony and the child support payments."

Flack laughed. "Ain't that the truth. Imagine what it would cost me with four kids? I shudder just thinking about it. I'm telling you, that woman isn't going anywhere and neither am I. Not for a long, long time. I was telling her yesterday that…"

He stopped mid sentence when the door to the interrogation room opened and his wife slipped into the room. Stone faced and carrying a case folder.

He and Mac held their collective breath and watched and waited.

"Hey, look," Cabot commented, as the petite brunette stepped into the room. "It's the smart cop. About time I got some eye candy to enjoy."

"Boy, if that's your best pick up line, I can see why so many women have turned you down," Sam said snidely as she dropped the folder on the desk and slipped into the chair alongside of the desk. "I guess Grace Mitchell preferred men with more style and substance. And say, a personality that didn't rival a gutter rat."

Cabot smirked. "You're from Brooklyn, huh? All you Brooklyn girls are feisty and got big mouths. Why don't you duck under this table here and show me just how big."

"Sorry," Sam said. "But when I need a magnifying glass to find it, it's not worth my effort or my time."

Lake coughed noisily and attempted, in vain, to hide his amused grin.

Cabot's smirk faded and he locked eyes with the CSI. Counting on her to be scared and intimidated by his cold, unfeeling grey orbs and his impressively large and strong physical size. But she simply laced her fingers together and placed her hands on the table top and looked right back at him. Her gaze never wavered, her breathing never changed to show she was either frightened or agitated and she never cracked a smile or a grimace. And after a few minutes of silence between the two of them, it was Cabot that became uneasy and looked away.

"She uses that technique on me all the time," Flack said to Mac. "Gets me into these stare downs when she wants me to do something I don't want to do. Five foot nothing and she freaks me out each and every time. She's got me wrapped around her little finger. How in the hell that happened, I will never know."

"I've got some good news for you, Bryce," Samantha announced, as she flipped open the case file in front of her.

"Told you I never killed anyone," he snorted. "I'm going to sue both of your asses. Gonna find a high profile attorney and he's going to have both of your badges, and your pensions and take everything you own and squeeze ya both dry and leave you out on the street in cardboard boxes and eating out of garbage cans. Seeing as we're done here," he pushed his chair away from the table with a deafening screech and stood up and towered over the two detectives. "I'll be seeing you two waiting in line for welfare pretty soon."

"Sit down," Sam told him, nodding at the empty chair.

"If you got nothing on me than…"

"I said sit down," she repeated, more firmly.

"Listen, bitch, just because you can get away with talking like that to other guys doesn't mean…"

"She said sit down!" Lake bellowed, jumping to his feet and slamming his palms down on the table. Such a detour from his usual calm and composed and soft spoken self that it startled everyone involved. Even Flack and Mac watching and listening in the other room.

Cabot blinked. The smirk disappeared. And without a word, he slinked back into his chair.

"It's really not polite to interrupt," Sam said. "I mean, my son is a year old and he's already learning that in day care so I don't know where you were raised or who taught you, but obviously, it never stuck. So here's the good news I have for you. I happen to be one of the detectives around here that are more tolerant to liars. If you had have gotten one of the guys I work with in here, they would have long ago chewed you up and spit you out. So it's definitely your lucky day that I was scheduled to work today."

He eyed her from head to toe. "Certainly is my lucky day," he said with an approving nod. "I like what I see."

"You'll be seeing either my foot up your ass or my fist in your teeth if you don't knock this bullshit off," Sam informed them, than gave a sugary sweet smile. "I prefer gentlemen. So if you'd like to get on my good side, I'd start now. Because you're sinking fast."

"And I prefer gentle ladies," Cabot sneered. "And seeing as I don't see any at this table.."

Sam laid her hand over her heart and gasped dramatically. "You wound me. That cuts deep. Considering it seemed as if we were becoming such lovely friends and all. So enough of the mindless chit chat. Let me hand you the bad news now. The bad news, Bryce, is that you're going on an extended vacation. To a little place we know called Sing-Sing. I'm sure you've heard of it. Actually, I know you do. Because a peek into your record told me that you spent some time there for assault with a weapon, forcible confinement, and grand larceny. That's quite the mixed bag goods."

"I can multitask," he said and shrugged. "So what?"

"Well now, you can add murder to the list of things you excel at," Sam told him. "Because that blood I found on the inside of the handle of your knife? That blood was an exact match to Grace Mitchell. And before you sprout off something about the inaccuracy of science and the unfairness of the NYPD, let me assure you that I am damn good at my job and there's no room for error with these results."

"Why'd you do it?" Lake asked. "We know that your wife thought you and Grace were having an affair."

"We were," Cabot told the detective.

"No you weren't," Sam said. "We talked to your bosses. And Grace's mother. And Grace's pastor. We know that you were harassing her at work and through phone calls to her house. We also know that you weren't involved in an intimate relationship with her, because a detailed exam by our pathologist told us that Grace was a virgin."

Cabot shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You really need to start watching crime shows," Lake told the perp. "For the most part they're poorly scripted and have less than stellar acting, but at least you'd get a feel for how we find things out. The tests we do and what not. That way you'd be able to come up with a better lie the next time you kill someone."

"You might as well just tell us what happened," Sam said. "Because we have you dead to rights and the sooner you start talking, the better it's going to look for your defence."

"I believe I have the right to remain silent," Cabot smirked. "And that I'm entitled to an attorney. And no, I don't need a court appointed one."

"Good for you," Lake said. "I'm happy for you. Because the system is pretty over run and you'd most likely be sitting in holding for a few days waiting for a public defender to get here."

"So what happened?" Sam asked. "She turn you down one too many times? Hurt your male pride?"

"My pride is intact and alive and well," Cabot informed her. "And I can have lots of women. I didn't need Grace."

"But you wanted her," Sam said. "You made that quite obvious in your illicit and suggestive messages. The times you touched her inappropriately at work. I don't know what world you're living in, but when a woman says no repeatedly, than files not one, but two complaints against you with your boss, that usually means she's not interested. What happened? You thought she was just playing hard to get?"

"I'm not saying anything more to you," Cabot told her, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"That's okay," Sam chirped. "Because I've had too much chocolate already today and I'm in one hell of a chatty mood. Let me spell this out for you. I know all about the harassment. I also know that that's Grace's blood on your knife and that for over six months now you've kept another apartment here in the city, three blocks from Central Park. And that right now, I have investigators going through that apartment and searching your vehicle for more evidence as to what happened Thursday night. And you could make this all a whole lot easier on yourself, if you just tell us what went down."

Cabot sighed. He was backed into a corner. There was no way out. "Grace agreed to have dinner with me. I told her that I wanted to apologize to her for what I'd done and for making her life hell. I knew she'd forgive me, because she was a huge bible thumper and they're all for forgiveness of sins and all that bullshit."

"Only you never intended on apologizing," Lake concluded. "It was just a ruse to get her there. To put the moves on her so to speak."

"We found traces of GHB in Grace's system," Sam said. "The date rape drug. I'm guessing you slipped some into a drink or some food to lighten her up a bit. Make her an easier target."

"Only Grace didn't go down without a fight, did she," Lake stated. "There wasn't enough drugs in her system to render her unconscious and she managed to get out of your apartment and out onto the street and into the park."

"And you took off after her," Sam said. "Because you just couldn't let her go to the cops. Because with your record, you'd be locked up for good and die an old man behind bars. You went after her, with your knife, and you sliced her throat. Plain and simple."

"What happened to her clothes?" Lake asked. "What did you do with them?"

Cabot looked perplexed. "Her clothes? What…"

"Her clothes were missing," Sam said. "What did you do with them?"

"Nothing. When I left her there, she had all her clothes on."

"Just like that, huh?" Lake asked, shaking his head slowly. "It was that easy to do it? Slice a woman from ear to ear? Leave her lying there, dead, in a pool of her own blood? Someone's daughter?"

Cabot didn't answer.

"You're a real piece of work," Sam snorted. "It's just a damn good thing that you're going away for a long time and we're all spared from the likes of you. It never crossed your mind that maybe she just wasn't that into you? That maybe instead of having numerous affairs and indiscretions maybe you should have just been faithful to your wife? A woman that stood by you no matter what. Through all the other women and the problems with alcohol and drugs and your stints in prison. She did all of that for you and you couldn't show some gratitude and stop screwing around on her."

"You don't understand," Cabot shook his head. "Marriage…you don't understand…what it gets like after so long. Boring and familiar. Who wants boring and familiar for the rest of their life?"

"I don't know about boring," Sam said as she closed the folder and stood up. "I don't find it boring. Having that one person that you're so in tune. That knows you inside and out. That you can count on to be there when everyone else turns their back on you. Someone that you know will love you no matter what. Despite all your shit and craziness. If that's the way it's going to be for me for the next forty, fifty years, I'll take boring and familiar any day."

"We'll have a uniform officer show you back to a holding cell," Lake told their perp as he stood up and followed Samantha to the door. "You'll be able to call your attorney once you're settled."

"Just tell me one thing, detective," Cabot requested.

Lake turned to look at him.

"Not you," Cabot snapped. "The girl."

Sam stood at the door, one hand on the knob, the other holding the case file.

"You're a red blooded female," Cabot said. "Give me your honest opinion. Why would Gracie turn me down? What's wrong with that she wasn't interested? Am I that bad of a guy?"

Sam snorted and turned away and opened the door. "Hopeless," she declared as she left the room. "Utterly fucking hopeless."

Danny glanced up from computer screen in front of him as Flack came strolling through the door of the trace lab, his hands shoved in his pocket, and a permanent goofy grin on his face. Danny was happy for his friend. Disgustingly happy, in fact. After a string of dead end relationships and a history of avoiding commitment at all costs, Flack was finally settled in his life. Married over a year, beautiful, healthy and happy baby, another one on the way. All the pieces were coming together quite well for him. He'd found everything he'd ever wanted and needed, and never really realized he was looking for, in that tiny Brooklyn girl sitting outside of the crime lab that day nearly two years ago.

Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime ago. Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday. But all Danny had to do was take a look at that damn grin on his best friend's face and smile himself. And be totally jealous.

The talk Friday afternoon with his best friend had done a number on Danny. Made him see things in a different light. Made him realize that despite all the shitty things he'd ever done in his life, the people he'd hurt and pushed away, that he deserved to be happy. To have someone in his life that loved him and treated him well. That he didn't have to stay with someone out of fear. Because as much as he loved Erica and she was the mother of his unborn child, he wasn't in love with her. And she deserved so much more than that.

And so did Danny. He was nervous and anxious about his trip to Montana. He was going there to bear his heart and soul. And hopefully he wouldn't be coming back to New York City alone.

"Crime stopper," he now greeted his best friend. "I hear your girl laid the smack down on Bryce Cabot."

"Don't know if I'd call it laying a smack down, but she handled her own," Flack said, with a tone in his voice and sparkle in his eye that let Danny know he was damn proud of the woman he loved.

"Got him to crack, huh? Good for her. She's a tiny thing but man, she can have those perps quaking in their boots, huh? What was the thing with the missing clothes?"

"Guess some homeless person robbed the body of the clothes," Flack said. "Or at least that's our best guess."

"So what's up?" Danny asked"You got nothing better to do than come up here and hang around all the time?"

"Just wanted to talk to you," Flack said. "Give you the heads up."

"About?" Danny asked, nodding at Hawkes as he stepped into the room and joined the two men at the work station they stood at.

"Sam. The pregnancy. That type of thing."

"Congratulations about that, Flack," Hawkes said and offered his hand. "Another baby. Exciting. Just got a call from Jess. All giggly and squealing. I guess Sam had just called her with the news. Said there was more to it but I got a page to autopsy and she didn't get a chance to finish."

"Yeah…there's more to it," Flack agreed. "A lot more."

Danny turned away from the computer and gave his best friend his utmost attention. "Every thing alright? With Sam and the baby? I know she was going for that ultrasound but I never heard anything about it from her. Things are good?"

"Things are fine. A little crazy, but fine. We're just going around to the different people, telling them our extra bit of news."

"Yeah?" Danny asked. "What's that?"

"Nothing major," Flack replied. "Just that we're having triplets."

Both Hawkes and Danny stared at their colleague. Unspeaking and unmoving.

"Get outta here," Danny waved it off after a couple of minutes. "That's not funny. Why would you even joke about something like that. Just to see our reactions? Well you've seen them. I nearly shit myself here. Are you happy?Quit goofing around."

"I'm not," Flack said seriously. "It's true. Ultrasound showed we're having triplets."

"That's just…that's just…" Danny attempted to find something nice to say. But his brain and his mouth just couldn't seem to get it together. "Triplets? As in three? Uno? Due? Tre?"

"Three," Flack confirmed. "No mistake, no seeing things. There was three. Of everything. Three umlical cords, three heads, three sets of limbs. Three heartbeats. This is no joke."

"That is just…" Danny shook his head and whistled softly. "Whoa…that is just whoa…I don't know whether to send you a condolence card or congratulate you."

"The latter would be nice," Flack chuckled. "But the scenarios that have been going on in my head? A condolence card may be just the thing."

"Do you know how hard it is to conceive triplets?" Hawkes asked. "It's a one in ten thousand chance. And that's just in families that already have multiples in the blood line. Unless you or Sam have a family history of multiple pregnancies, your chances were more into the one in twenty thousand. That's staggering when you think about it. Conceiving three babies naturally. Without the aide of fertility drugs of any kind."

"People have triplets all the time, Doc," Danny said.

"How many sets of triplets have you seen up close and personal?" Hawkes asked. "It's not as common as you'd think. Just the whole science that goes into conception is incredible. Did the doctor say if they were trizygotic or dizygotic?"

"Who and what?" Danny asked.

"Trizygotic is the most common," Hawkes explained. "Meaning that each child forms from a separate zygote, or egg/sperm combination. They are commonly described as "fraternal" multiples, and share the same genetic similarities as any siblings. Whereas, dizygotic occurs when two eggs are fertilized by sperm, and one of the fertilized eggs splits into two. Essentially, two of the triplets are monozygotic -- or identical -- twins, sharing the same general DNA characteristics, while the third multiple has a unique genetic heritage."

"Far as I know, from what they could tell through checking the placentas and what not on the ultrasound, it was the latter one," Flack said. "The dizy-whatever."

"Do you not see the amazing thing about all of this?" Hawkes asked excitedly. "It's absolutely incredible. The whole science behind it all and the fact that this even occurred, to someone that we know? It's unreal."

"So what you're saying is that Flack has some seriously superhuman sperm," Danny quipped. "That he nailed that nailed that one egg so hard he actually split it into two?"

"Something like that," Hawkes laughed. "But there's a little more involved than simply fertilizing two eggs and one breaking apart. It's an entire process where…"

"Congratulations is fine, Doc," Flack said. "I don't need an in depth explanation into why my sperm did what it did or why Sam's eggs did what they did. Congratulations is fine with me. It happened."

"Boom," Danny said. "If it's gonna happen to anyone, it's gonna be Flack."

"It's incredible news," Hawkes said to the detective and offered his hand. "Congratulations. You two will definitely have your work cut out for you."

"It's a shock," Flack admitted, shaking the other man's hand. "Gonna take a while to get totally comfortable with the idea. And there's lots apparently that can go wrong with multiple births and things that one or more of the babies are susceptible because they are multiples. We just wanna worry about stuff like that a little further down the road. Get used to the idea that there's more than one in there."

"Lots of time to do research and prepare yourself," Hawkes said. "Take your time. No rush. Revel in the news and the miracle you've been given."

"I'll be sending you a gift basket loaded down with anti-stress meds and relaxants when those kids come out," Danny chuckled. "Guess I just can't picture you being able to preserve your sanity when you've got three screaming newborns to feed and a toddler to chase around, all at the same time. Seriously, Flack. You couldn't just knock her up with one? You had to go all out with three?"

"It just happened, Mess. I didn't round up the troops before hand and make up a game plan. I made love to my wife and it happened. Plain and simple."

"You need to play the lottery," Danny said. "With those odds? In in twenty thousand? One in ten thousand, even? You need to seriously hit the tables down in AC or drop a few bucks in the state lotto. 'Cause let's face it, with those many kids? You're going to need all the cash you can get."

"You're funny, Messer. Freak me out even more than I already am. Thanks a lot."

"You know I'm just goofing around," Danny said. "Gonna be a lot of hard work for you guys, though. A lot to deal with."

Flack nodded solemnly.

"You guys will do great though," Danny assured his best friend, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look at the amazing job you guys are doing with K. All that love in that house? Those babies are damn lucky they're being born to you and Brooklyn."

The detective smiled. "Thanks, Mess…means a lot hearing that. We've been a little freaked out. About the thought of having so many kids and how we're going to afford them all. Where we're going to put them all. It's a little scary, you know?"

Both Danny and Hawkes nodded.

"Where are you going to put them all?" Danny asked. "Never mind that. Where's Brooklyn going to put them all in her tiny body?"

"That's one of the mysteries of this entire thing," Flack laughed. "Listen, I gotta go. I've got an appointment down at the bank to apply for a mortgage."

"A mortgage?" Danny chuckled as his best friend headed for the door. "What's next? White picket fence? A mini van?"

"Bite your goddamn tongue!" Flack shouted over his shoulder, than disappeared down the hall.

Danny laughed and shook his head and glanced over at Hawkes. "Can you believe that?" he asked. "Triplets?"

"It's surprising," Hawkes agreed. "And medically and scientifically amazing."

Danny snorted and went back to work. "Trizygotic and dizygotic," he snorted. "You're such a nerd."

It was well after nine at night when Samantha finally stepped into her apartment. It was the first time in a long time that her husband had actually beat her home. Usually he was the one that came in dragging his feet long after she had, bitching and moaning and grumbling about the day he had had, warming up a plate of food she prepared for him and left in the microwave. They'd sit around the table, share stories about their respective days and he'd have a coffee or two or finish up some paper work while she cleaned the dishes or tidied the kitchen. Normal, every day domestic stuff that may have seemed boring to outsiders, but was welcome and familiar and part of their routine together. A routine they were happy and comfortable with and had no desire to change.

Paper work from the Bryce Cabot case had taken longer than she had expected. She'd called home at six to deliver the bad news. Flack had just gotten in from picking Kieran up at his folks and was in the midst of making himself and the baby something to eat. He didn't sound to thrilled at the thought of her working late and leaving him alone with all the kid stuff and household stuff to do. Sam wondered if maybe it was really the thought of her working with Chester Lake that was bothering her husband. He'd promised her that he'd let go of some of the jealously and possessiveness. He knew she wasn't going anywhere. That she was happy with her life and would always come home to him at the end of the day. But Sam knew that it was just part of her husband's personality. He'd always been that way and it was going to take a damn miracle to cure him of it completely.

But he was trying. It was hard for him but he was trying. And Sam respected and loved him for that.

She unlocked the door and slipped into the apartment. The faint smell of pasta sauce lingered in the air. The kitchen light was on and in the living room the television was going and turned down to a respectable volume. She heard no talking or any signs of movement. Kieran would have been put to bed at least an hour and a half ago and she was pretty sure, by the sounds of her husband's voice, that he wasn't going to be far behind. She locked the door behind her and toed off her boots and sat them on the rubber mat by the door. Hanging her coat in the closet, she headed into the kitchen and dropped her keys alongside of Flack's on the top of the microwave. The door to the appliance was open slightly. She peered inside and smiled at the neatly prepared plate of a piece of breaded pork schnitzel, white rice and corn covered in plastic and waiting to be re-heated.

I love you, she thought, and peeling the plastic off the plate, closed the microwave door and set the cook time for four minutes. She yawned noisily and went to the table and picked up the stack of opened mail resting on top of small stack of case folders. Bills, bills and more bills. She sighed and put them back.

She headed into the living room to flick the television off and than stopped in her tracks at the heart warming scene that greeted her.

Her husband, stretched out across the couch on his back, fast asleep and snoring lightly. One leg and one arm dangling over the edge of the sofa, while his other arm was wrapped securely, and protectively around the peaceful around their son. Kieran was out like a light as well, face down on his father's chest, his head turned to the side and his lips moving as if he was sucking on a bottle. The blanket father had passed down to son, resting over the baby's back.

Sam smiled at the sight. Remembering the days when Kieran was an infant and she'd come out in the morning and find him and his father in the exact same pose. It was a sight that never got boring. A big, strong, tough man with a baby fast asleep on his chest.

She reached for the remote control on the coffee table and flicked the television off. She didn't have the heart to wake them, but she also knew it was neither comfortable in the long run for her husband's already bad back, or safe for Kieran. His dad was a notorious tosser and turner, and the last thing Sam wanted was the one year old being dumped onto the floor.

"Donnie…" she spoke quietly as she laid her hand on her husband's shoulder and shook him awake. "Donnie…"

Flack murmured incoherently and reached up to push his wife's hand off of his shoulder.

"Donnie!" she shook more vigorously and spoke louder. "Wake up! Donnie!"

"What?" he mumbled and cracked open his eyes. "What…what's going on?"

"I see you found yourself a new sleeping buddy," she grinned, nodding down at their son.

Flack smiled sleepily. "He was having a hard time falling asleep," he explained. "Probably from his teeth and a bit of an ear ache. I put some drops in his ears and I gave him some Tylenol but it only made a bit of a dent. So I brought him out here and figured maybe putting him on my chest like old times would help."

"Looks like it worked like a charm," Sam said. "You've even got the Flackie blankie going on."

"If I didn't love you as much as I do, I'd kick your ass for calling it, and me that."

She smiled and leaned down to kiss her husband softly.

"What time is it?" Flack asked.

"Just before nine thirty. I'm going to take him and put him to bed.."

"I'll do it babe, he's heavy."

"I can do it," she insisted, and peeling the blanket off of her son's sleeping form, lifted him gently into her arms. "Besides, I want some cuddle time with him. I haven't seen him all day. It nearly killed me."

Flack smiled and groaned loudly as he sat up and handed her the blanket.

"I think you need to go to bed too," Sam commented with a giggle, as she carried their son from the room.

"Are you kidding me?" he called after her. "And miss my cuddle time? Not in a million years."

"I'll be out to cuddle you in a few minutes," she assured him.

"I'll be waiting," he told her.

He had her dinner and a glass of milk waiting on the coffee table when she finally emerged from the bedroom close to twenty minutes later.

"He went down okay?" Flack asked, as his wife plopped down on the couch beside him.

"He woke up when I tried to put him in his crib," she sighed. "I just sat and rocked him in the glider for a bit. Sang him that Elvis song I used to use on him when he was a tiny thing. You know. That Wooden Heart song. I sang to him and stroked his nose and he fell back asleep in no time. Now he's got his arm wrapped around the Flackie blankie for dear life."

"You and that damn Flackie blankie. I never should have let you know I had a security blanket."

"I think I would have figured it out, Donnie. Our first night together I woke up and you had it over your feet. What did you do? Have incredible sex with me and wait until I fell asleep and grabbed it?"

He grinned. "That is exactly what I did. I hid it under my pillow until you fell asleep."

"The sex wasn't good enough to render you unconscious?" she teased.

"It was amazing sex. Best sex I ever had in my life. But come on…it's my blankie, Sam. I'd get rid of you before I'd get rid of my blankie."

"That's not nice!" she laughed and elbowed him in the gut. "After all the nice things I do for you, you tell me that you'd dump me for a blanket?"

"I wouldn't dump you for the blanket. I said I'd get rid of you before I got rid of the blanket."

"Same damn thing!" she leaned sideways and kissed the side of his neck and his cheek. "You're such an asshole sometimes," she declared. Than pressed her lips to his ear and flicked her tongue against it.

"Okay…that's enough…" Flack said and moved away from her.

"When do you ever turn down my advances?"

"I'm not turning them down. I'm putting them on hold. Now eat. You've got three little ones to feed woman. Get started."

She stuck her tongue out at him and dug into her food. "Thank you," she said. "For having something ready for me."

He shrugged it off. "You do it for me all the time. Just returning the gesture."

"Well it was awfully sweet," she concluded. "And it tastes delicious."

"I am a regular Jamie Oliver or whatever the hell that guy's name is you like to watch."

"The Naked Chef," she said. "Too bad he's not really naked on the show."

Flack stared at her, snorted and shook his head.

"Don't be jealous baby," Sam laughed, popping some rice into her mouth. "I love you best. I'll never get tired of seeing you naked. Just so you know, everyone now knows about the trippies. Carmen and Stella and Angell did the obligatory squealing and jumping around and Tim…well Tim thinks we're nuts and wishes us all the best and hopes we enjoy our stay in hell."

Flack smirked. "Wait until Devine ends up knocked up again. I am going to ride his ass like no tomorrow."

Sam giggled.

"What?"

"That just sounded so crude," she said.

"What is with you? Everything someone says or does becomes one big perverted comment to you."

"I can't help it," she said. "I'm perpetually horny like you told me at the Moran's that day. And it's up to you, my dear, to keep me happy and satisfied. At all costs," she glanced at the television. "What are we watching?" she asked. "Some movie about hockey?"

"It's that Miracle movie Disney made a few years ago. About the 1980 men's Olympic hockey team that won the gold medal."

"Is it good?" she asked.

Flack shrugged. "It's a Disney movie. As good as it gets, I guess. Besides, there's nothing with explosions and excessive violence on so I had to settle for this."

"Hmm…" she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the television. "Whose that?" she asked, pointing her fork at the screen.

"You don't know Kurt Russell? He's like one of the best actors out there."

"I know him. I mean the other guy. The young guy he's talking to. He's really cute. Who is he?"

"I don't know. I don't follow actors' names like you do. All I know is that he's the goalie and his name's Jim something or other. Craig I think."

"He's adorable," Sam declared. "He looks like a younger version of you."

"Get outta here. You're crazy."

"He does!" she insisted. "I'm serious. That's what Kieran's going to look like at that age."

"You're nuts," Flack declared and picked up a can of Coke sitting on the coffee table and taking a swig. "By the way," he said, reaching out to rub her back. "You were awesome today. With Cabot. You handled it really well. I'm proud of you."

She smiled at him.

He winked and leaned across the couch and kissed her softly. "And I got some good news," he told her.

"About the mortgage?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded.

"Were we approved?"

"Within seconds," he confirmed.

She gave a little shriek and tossed her arm around him and hugged him to her. "That's awesome! What did they say? How much is it for?"

"It's for a hundred and fifty g's and it's a fixed rate of 5.54 percent for ten years."

"That's good, right? I don't know much about it."

"It's pretty damn good considering our salaries aren't that great. I think it helped that my parents put that fifty g's in our savings for us and we've got all that money left from Zack. Best thing that fucker ever did was get himself killed and be dumb enough to never change his will when you guys split."

"I'm so excited!" she shrieked, bouncing up and down happily on the couch. "We're going to have our own house, Donnie! Something we can call our own! Something with a backyard our kids can play in!"

"It won't be much, Sammie. We're not going to be able to afford a brownstone or something majorlly fancy."

"I don't care if it's a three bedroom run down shack we have to fix up," she said. "It's our home. Ours. Not something we rent and can't do up the way we want. Ours. That's the most important thing."

He smiled and laid a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her cheek. "You're going to have me doing all kinds of shit aren't you? Fixing things, building things. I'm going to be your own personal Bob Villa."

"Never mind Bob Villa!" she cried. "You're going to be my own personal Ty Pennington! That guy is hot!"

Flack smirked and shook his head. "You're something else, you know that?"

"I'm even going to buy you some steel toed boots and a hard hat and tool belt. And that's for just in the bedroom."

He laughed heartily at that. "And you say I have some strange kinks. Now you want me to play carpenter with you? What happened to our cops and robbers thing we liked so much?"

"Well that is still my favourite game ever," she declared. "This is amazing news, baby. All of this great things happening to us all at once. The triplets and now news that we can get our own house. Everything seems so perfect right now. It's almost too hard to believe. Like nothing can go wrong and all of this is too good to be true."

Flack sighed .

That was exactly what he was worried about.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. The reviews mean a lot to me and keep me going on days, such as today, when I seriously consider scrapping every thing and not doing these stories anymore. So thanks for all of your support and kind words! It's very much appreciated! I appreciate all you lurkers too!

Special thanks to:

Laurzz

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