DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST
A/N: SO IT BEGINS. A LITTLE SOMETHING ME AND MY GALS LAURZZ, BRTTMCLV AND MUCHMADNESS AND I HAVE COINED LESSING-MADNESS
…it usually is
"All men with stars upon the chest
Save yourselves, your family,
don't worry 'bout the rest
Small child receives light through the crack
The human mile, they're never coming back
Hold out your hand and ask for some
Now and again she sits beneath the tree
The sign above reads
Hard Work will Set you Free
Hold out your hand and ask for some
Too late for another direction
Always what we've got in store
Hurry back we've all been waiting
We can't take much anymore
Where are the days where brothers are brothers
A childless mother
Leave it except for one."
-Hold Out Your Hand, Nickelback
It was the sensations raining down on her face that woke Samantha up Wednesday morning. Whisper soft, feathery strokes across her forehead and her cheeks and down her nose. It tickled yet was soothing all at the same time. As if a butterfly's wings were fluttering them against her skin. She cracked her eyes open and was nearly blinded by the strong rays of sunlight that filtered into the bedroom. Sometime during the night, she'd rolled over onto her left hand side, facing the window, as opposed to lying either on her stomach or on her right hand side.
She blinked at the harsh intrusion of light and felt something warm and soft brushing against her left cheek. She turned over onto her opposite side and found herself staring into the vibrant, beautiful blue eyes of her one year old son. Who, in his baby blue two piece polar fleece Happy Feet jammies and his own feet surprisingly bare despite the cold hardwood floors, had been kneeling behind her and using his fingertips to trace patterns on her skin. The same technique she'd been using to soothe him to sleep since he was a tiny infant.
"Good morning, baby boy," she greeted groggily.
"Shhh, mommy," he responded and reached out to stroke her forehead. "Sweep."
"Let's both go back to sleep," Sam said, and wrapping her arms around her son's little body and rolling over onto her back so he ended up lying on her chest.
"No, mommy…" he argued, as she rolled onto her "No sweep."
"Yes," she insisted. "Sleep time. Let's sleep in and stay in bed all day. We won't get out of our jammies until the afternoon. Sound good?"
"No sweep," Kieran insisted, attempting to push himself off of her, and instead finding himself being flipped over onto his back on the mattress.
"But I want to sleep!" Sam cried and pouted dramatically. "Don't make mommy cry. You don't want mommy to cry, do you?"
He shook his head.
"Than let's go back to sleep," she said, and yanked the comforter over their heads.
"No, mommy!" he cried. "No sweep!"
"Well if you're not going to sleep, baby boy, than I am just going to…" she held her hand up and scrunched her fingers up into a claw, a clear indication that she was going to tickle him. A sign that he had come to associate with their favourite early morning game that they'd been practicing since he was old enough to enjoy it.
His blue eyes widened. He squealed in anticipation as he saw his mother wiggling her fingers as her hand neared his body.
"…tickle you!" Sam finished her sentence, and 'attacked' her son's stomach until he was shrieking and flailing and rolling around in pure and utter happiness.
And that was how Flack found them when he wandered into the bedroom to announce that breakfast was ready. A lump of two giggling bodies under the thick, heavy duvet. Smiling to himself at the wonderful simplicity of it all. His wife and first born child cuddling and laughing together. Kieran's babyish giggle and Sam's musical, heart warming one filling the room.
"Well no one's here," he said, loud enough for them both to hear. "So I guess I get to eat all the pancakes myself. No breakfast for anyone but me."
"Shhh, Kieran," Sam whispered, as the two shapes shifted under the duvet. "Don't let daddy know we're here!"
"'Tay, mommy," he whispered back and giggled noisily. "No daddy."
"I'm going to leave than," Flack announced. "Seeing as mommy and Kieran have mysteriously vanished into thin air. Oh well. I guess I'm just going to have to eat all those banana pancakes and Frosted Cheerios myself."
"No!" Kieran cried and sat up, still covered by the comforter. "Me, daddy!" he squealed. "Daddeee! Me!"
"I hope mommy and Kieran get back soon," Flack continued as he headed for the door, walking backwards to keep an eye on his son's reaction. "Because I know how much mommy and baby K love pancakes. And if mommy and baby K are gone too long, daddy sure will miss them and get really, really sad."
"Dad-deee!" Kieran shrieked and yanked the duvet off of his head "Me! Daddy me!"
Flack feigned utter shock and surprise. Much to the delight of his toddler son. "You scared me, K!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were there! Were you hiding on me?"
Kieran nodded enthusiastically and than reached out and tore the blankets off of his mother. "Mommeeee!" he shrieked at his father, pointing at her.
"How could you!" Sam cried with a giggle. "You gave me away to the big bad police man!"
"You guys hiding on me?" Flack asked, as he crossed the room and joined them on the bed, lying on his stomach alongside of his wife. He laid a hand on the small of her back and softly kissed her good morning.
"Me!" Kieran cried and threw himself face down in between his parents. Flopping over onto his back, he reached up for his dad and puckered his lips.
Flack leaned over his son and allowed the one year old to plant a noisy, messy kiss on his lips. "You woke mommy up, huh? Just like I told you to."
"Mommy," Kieran said, and combed his tiny fingers through Sam's hair.
"I knew that you two had to be in on it," Sam grumbled, and reaching out, tousled her husband's hair affectionately. "Mommy's two boys."
Flack grinned and propped himself on his elbow and leaned over their son to kiss her softly.
"No daddy!" Kieran cried. "My mommy! Mine!"
"She's mine too, you know," he informed his son. "Mommy's daddy's sweetheart."
"No," the one year old shook his head vigorously "Mine! My mommy!"
"Hey, if it wasn't for me you wouldn't even be here squirt," Flack teased his little boy and covered him up once more with comforter.
So began a rousing game of Where's Kieran? Something that had started when the baby was eight months old and discovered what a great thing it was to hide himself, his toys, or even his parents heads, under a blanket or a towel. He'd cover himself up, wait until his parents asked, "Has anyone seen Kieran? I wonder where Kieran is?" and than he'd toss the blanket off and erupt into a peel of laughter. Than he'd toss the blanket over his mother or father and the game would be continued. Where's mommy? Where's daddy? And Kieran would rip the cover off of them and laugh and laugh until tears streamed down his face and he was hiccupping from the sheer hilarity of it all.
When the novelty of the game had worn itself thin, the Flack family lay together on the rumbled Queen sized bed. Enjoying the silence of the morning and the warm sunlight that cascaded through the window and bathed them in warmth. Flack glanced over at his wife who had her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face and a hand resting on her noticeable baby bump. It was small and unnoticeable when she had her work clothes on, but lying there stretched out, it was clearly straining against the plaid pyjama bottoms she wore. He smiled at the sight and reached out and laid a hand on the top of her head and stroked her hair.
She opened her eyes and turned her face towards him. Her smiled brightened and she brought her hand up to capture his and entwined her fingers with him. Revelling in the peaceful, relaxing serenity that had enveloped them.
Kieran hiccupped noisily. Breaking the silence. Once, twice, three times. Than let out a giggle.
"You're silly," Sam told him, and tousled his hair.
"We should get up," Flack said with a sigh. "Danny will be here soon."
Sam frowned. "What time is it?" she asked.
"Just after nine."
"What do you mean he'll be here soon? His flight isn't until three thirty."
"Yeah, but you know how you need to get to the airport at least a couple hours early. And I told him that you'd make him something to eat before he headed on his way. That he should be here around eleven."
"You what?" Sam nearly shrieked and bolted up into a sitting position. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
"That's why I plopped Kieran on the bed. To wake you up while I made breakfast."
"Jesus, Donnie!" she quickly scurried off the bed. "I need to get Kieran fed, I need to take a shower and clean myself up. I can't be walking around the house in my pyjamas when Danny gets here!"
"Why not?" Flack asked, picking up his son under the arms and hoisting the kid high into the air.
Kieran laughed and tossed his arms and legs out and his head back. His 'flying' game.
"Because it's Danny! Your best friend! I don't want to be walking around in my jammies in front of him!"
"What's the difference between you walking around in your pyjamas in front of Danny and you showing your goods to Hawkes?"
"Because I didn't have a choice with Hawkes! He's a doctor. It was either let him have a sneaky peeky or deliver your son yourself on our living room floor!"
"Good point," Flack said. "But it's only Danny, babe. And it's not like you're walking around in Victoria's Secret or La Perla. You're in damn plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt. What's there to see?"
"My boobs!" she exclaimed, and snatched a pillow and swatted him in the face with it. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly small up top! And I'm not wearing a bra and something about not wearing a bra around Danny just grosses me out."
"Okay, okay. Just relax. And yes, I have noticed you're extremely well endowed. Even more so since Kieran. And I look at your girls every chance I get and thank God for being so gracious and kind for sending them my way."
"Pig!" she scolded and snatched her housecoat from the back of the door and yanked it on while stomping out of the room.
"I love you, too, honey!" Flack called after her. "Little piece of advice," he said to his son, as he tossed the one year old in the air one last time and caught him effortlessly in his arms. "Stay far away from the Brooklyn girls."
"What do I say to her, Brooklyn?"
Sam glanced over at Danny Messer as he sat at her kitchen table, staring into his steaming mug of coffee. In the living room she could hear her husband talking in several different animated voices, as he sat on the floor in front of the television with Kieran on his lap, the two of them entertaining themselves with Baby V-Tech video game system Mac and Stella had bought Kieran for his birthday.
"Lindsay you mean?" Sam asked, as she went back to the scrambled eggs and bacon she was cooking up.
"This will be the first time I've come face to face with her in nearly two years. Talking to someone on line is one thing. Actually seeing them?" he shook his head. "That's an entirely different story."
"I guess you just tell her what's in your heart," Sam said. "Tell her how you feel. About her and about how you screwed things up so badly the first time around."
"Thanks, Brooklyn. Make me the bad guy."
"I'm just saying. As far as Lindsay is concerned, you started the whole damn mess when you closed yourself off after your little friend Ruben. And I'm not telling you that you didn't have a right to grieve, but you didn't have the right to treats Linds like that. She didn't deserve that. All she wanted to do was love you and support you and you shit all over her. Had I know this when I first arrived here, I never would have been on your side."
Danny snorted. "Nice, Sam. Nice."
"I shoot from the hip, Danny. You know that. But you know what? It's not my place to judge. Because I've screwed up a lot in my life too on the love front and no one ever held it over my head. I got you this far. Now it's up to you to get your ass on that plane, to Lindsay's front door and back into her life. And if you dare even come back to New York City alone, Don and I will kick your ass."
"Just because I go there and spill my guts and hand her my heart doesn't mean she's just going to throw her arms around me and take me back. Or give up the life she has to come back here. You know, her and the governor."
"Oh fuck the governor," Sam said, sipping a mug of tea. "I've gone on the web and read up on him. He sounds like a pompous ass. And looks like Kenny Rogers. No word of a lie."
"Young Kenny Rogers or what Kenny Rogers looks like now?" Danny asked curiously.
"I'd say Kenny Rogers circa 1985."
Danny grimaced. "What's she doing with grandpa anyway?"
Sam shrugged.
"Oh come on Brooklyn. I know that you two have been talking practically non stop since you tracked her down. You can't tell me that you didn't ask her what the hell she was thinking hooking up with someone like that."
"I asked her if she loved him. That's what I asked."
"And?" Danny asked. "Does she?"
"She said she thought highly of him."
The CSI snorted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Means that you still stand a chance on scoring the girl," Sam said, as she dumped a heaping amount of eggs and several slices of crispy bacon onto a plate. She switched off the stove and carried the meal and her cup of tea to the table.
"You seem pretty optimistic about the whole thing," Danny commented.
"I am an optimistic kind of girl, Messer. The glass is always half full with me. You know that."
"Thanks," he said in appreciation as she sat the breakfast down in front of him. "You really think she's just going to listen to what I have to say and than throw her arms around me and give up her life to come back here and start a new one with me?"
"I can't speak for Lindsay," Sam said, as she took a seat across from her friend. "But if it was me, and Don was spilling his heart and soul out to me and asked me to run away with him, I wouldn't have a second thought about it. I'd go in a heartbeat."
"You can say that though because you and Flack are happily married and madly in love. He's never screwed you around like I did Montana. He's never had to show up on your doorstep and beg for forgiveness."
"No, he hasn't," she said and sipped her tea. "But hypothetically speaking, if he ever did something so bad that he came to me begging to take him back, it wouldn't take much convincing on his part. Mind you, don't ever tell him that because he's liable to try every fuck up in the book just because he knows he can."
"Naw," Danny shook his head. "He loves you too much to hurt you or Kieran. He doesn't want to lose you guys. And now a new baby on the way? Excuse me. New babies. Still can't believe your guys luck."
"It's taking some adjusting," Sam sighed. "But we're getting there with it. We've decided to join this on line support group of sorts for people that are going through, or have been through, carrying multiples. You know there's women on there that have had four, five, even six babies? At once?"
"Insanity," Danny declared. "Pure insanity. And whatever the Flack is going in there talking like Yogi Bear is pretty damn nuts too."
"He's playing that Baby V tech thing with Kieran. They do this all the time. Kieran sits in his lap and Donnie plays the actual game and talks away in all these crazy voices. Bet you didn't know that was my husband's secret talent, huh? Cartoon voices? You should hear his Scrappy Doo. It's awesome. And his Cartman from South Park? Sounds exactly like the Cartman on the show. It's hilarious. I nearly pee my pants when he really gets going."
"The things you do not learn about someone," Danny said. "I've known him for nearly ten years now and I never knew he even had a secret talent."
"Oh he has a couple," Sam said with a giggle. "Only the rest are X-rated and I don't feel like sharing them with you."
"Yeah…keep them dirty things to yourself, Brooklyn. Unless you want to tell me your hidden talent."
She grinned. "You really want to know? It's not incredibly dirty or anything. Well, I guess it can be construed that way."
"By all means, share," Danny said.
"I don't know if your heart can take it, Messer."
"Try me."
"Okay," she sipped her tea and swallowed it. "I can tie the stem of a maraschino cherry in a knot. With my tongue."
Danny's eyes widened at that little piece of information. He sat unblinking and unmoving for a couple of minutes before he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and jumped up and hurried across the kitchen and tossed the fridge door open.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"Checking to see if you and Flack got any of them cherries kicking around in your fridge."
"Very back, left hand side," Sam told him.
Danny rummaged through the fully stocked fridge until he located the jar in question. "I want you to prove this to me," he said, as he carried the cherries to the table and screwed off the lid before holding the jar out to her.
"My pleasure," she said with a playful wink and plucked out a maraschino cherry. She removed the cherry from the tiny green stem, sat the small piece of fruit on Danny's plate, than popped the stem into her mouth.
He could see her cheeks moving as her tongue went to work inside of her closed mouth. And after a couple of minutes, she gave another wink and stuck her tongue out to reveal the now knotted stem.
"There is something so unbelievably hot and sexy about that," Danny declared.
"Jesus Christ," Flack complained, as he carried Kieran on his hip into his kitchen and saw what his wife and best friend were up to. "She's doing that damn maraschino cherry trick for you, Mess?"
Sam nodded and turned her head to show her husband the finished product resting on her protruding tongue.
"You are on lucky bastard, Flack," Danny declared.
"That's it," the detective sighed. "Go and turn Messer on."
Sam plucked the stem off of her tongue and dropped it onto Danny's plate and than grabbed the cherry and popped it into her mouth. "Maybe I should teach your Lindsay that little trick," she told Danny.
"Please do," he begged. "But she's not my Lindsay," he reminded her as he returned to his seat. "She's someone else's Lindsay now. Someone else's Montana."
Sam shook her head. "That's something the two of you created and no on can take away. She'll always be your Montana in name. It's up to you to make sure that she's your Montana in person."
Danny sighed. "And how do I do that?"
"By offering nothing but your heart and soul," Sam said. "And praying she takes them."
Flack and Danny had left for the airport shortly before twelve. Relatively early considering Danny's flight wasn't scheduled to take off until three thirty, but with traffic the way it was due to all the snow on the ground, they had decided to leave sooner than later and avoid the chance of him missing the plane altogether. Sam guessed it was more than they wanted to have a boys only talk. Danny needed to get out some last minute fears regarding Lindsay and his best friend was the one who offered the best advice.
Leaving Sam alone with a rambunctious, precocious toddler that wouldn't sit still for one second and wanted to know every move she made and be right in the thick of things. He helped her sort laundry. Not that he knew the whole concept behind it, but he could follow simple commands, so she'd toss all the laundry on the floor and tell him which things to pick up and where to put them and he'd do his best to appease her. He seemed to get a kick out of helping her. Especially when she'd surprise him by throwing a shirt or a towel in the air and letting it fall on his head. Which in turn, led them into their Where's Kieran came all over again.
She made him spaghetti with chopped up wieners for lunch. She let him make a hideous mess out of feeding himself while she watched in both amusement and a little bit of disgust, as pasta and sauce and bits of wieners ended up on the floor and the walls and in his hair and all over his clothes and face. A cup of apple juice with the lid not done up tight enough had only added to the disaster he'd made of himself and his high chair.
It was into a warm bath after that. She let Kieran splash around for a good half an hour before finally getting down on her knees alongside of the tub and scrubbing him clean and washing his hair. He was exhausted and more than ready for his early afternoon nap after what was considered a busy morning in the life of a thirteen month old. So she put him in fresh clothes and grabbed him a bottle -she just didn't have the heart to force him to take a cup when he could barely keep his eyes open- and set him down in his playpen with his drink and his blankie and went to tend to her chores.
By the time Sam cleaned the bathtub and the kitchen, the bottle was drained and discarded in the corner of the playpen and Kieran was fast asleep on his left hand side, facing the wall with his beloved blankie clasped tightly in one tiny fist and resting against his face.
She seized the opportunity to get the laundry started. It had been something Sam had done a thousand times. Leave her son fast asleep while she ran something down to the garbage chute or went down to the lobby to check the mail or even upstairs to the laundry room on the top floor to toss a couple loads into the wash. So she gathered up the smart card for the machines and the bottle of liquid Tide from under the sink and dropped both, along with her keys, onto the top of the heavy basket of clothes.
She hurried as fast as she could. Locking the door behind her and than heading for the elevator and pressing the up button. The new neighbour across the hall, was just stepping off the lift as she went to climb on. He smiled sweetly at her, offered a pleasant hello and than held the door for her.
"Do you mind keeping an ear out for my son?" she asked before the door could close. "He's fast asleep and I need to get this wash upstairs and I.."
"No problem," the young man assured her. "Take your time. I'll leave my door propped open."
"Thanks," Sam said appreciatively and gave another friendly smile before pressing the button. She trusted the guy. He barely set foot out of his door and never threw any wild parties or caused a ruckus. In all intents and purposes, he was the ideal neighbour. Despite her husband's insane paranoia, she was pretty sure that Jack Doyle was nothing more than a shy, unassuming, clean cut boy next door. So what if he seemed a little too friendly with the questions he asked? Maybe he was just anxious to meet new people and was a little too eager to make a good impression. And so what if he barely left his house and never had friends over? Maybe he had social issues and was afraid of the outdoors. There was a number of reasons to explain why he was the way he was.
"Not everyone that shows an interest in children are pedophiles," she had told her husband only two weeks before when he'd complained that the new guy had asked him way too many questions about Kieran when they'd run into each other in the elevator. "He probably just like kids. Has that every occurred to you, Donnie?"
"I bet he likes kids," Flack had responded. "Like really, really, really likes them."
She'd snorted and rolled her eyes and informed her husband he had some serious trust issues that he needed to deal with.
Once upstairs, she hurriedly dumped detergent into the two washers she selected and slipped the card into the slot at the top of the machine. She waited until the water had reached the middle of the tubs in each and than tossed the clothes in.
The whole task had taken less than fifteen minutes and Kieran was still fast asleep and safe and secure in the apartment when she returned.
Sam used the half an hour wash cycle to pay bills on line and return emails. It was quarter to one when she once again slipped out of her apartment, locked the door behind her and hurried upstairs.
It took no more than ten minutes. From the time she had locked the door to the time she got back off the elevator on her floor. A thousand different thoughts were swirling through her brain as she headed down the hall to the apartment. She was contemplating calling Lindsay to tell her that Danny was on his way and to ask him to call when he got there so she'd know he'd arrived safe and sound. She was thinking about Patricia coming to watch Kieran so she and Flack could start their block of night shifts. She was even considering either emailing her parents or calling them with the news of three new grand babies on the way. Feeling immensely guilty that everyone they knew were aware of the triplets except for their grandparents.
Any and all thought completely abandoned Samantha as she reached her apartment door and found it cracked open. No more than two inches. But quite obvious that someone had been inside. It had been locked. She distinctly remembered locking the door because she'd dropped her keys afterwards and bitched and moaned as she bent down to pick them up.
That door had been locked.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach felt sick, as she pushed her way inside and hurried into the living room.
The sight of the empty playpen made her head swim and her knees weak. Her stomach retched and bile burned her throat.
She glanced down. At the small droplets of bright red blood that stained the hardwood floor.
And that was when her world went completely black.
Traffic coming back from JFK was a bastard. Despite the bright sunshine, it was colder than a sonofabitch outside. The sub zero temperatures had resulted in the formation of sheets of ice under the inches of snow that blanketed the streets and expressways. While most motorists took things at a snail's pace, there was the occasional jackass who still drove as if they were in the Indy 500. As a results, numerous accidents had cropped up all over the city and snarled traffic terribly on the Queensboro Bridge.
Which was where Flack now found himself in the midst of one hell of a traffic jam. He had taken the squad as opposed to his own personal vehicle in case he was called into work sooner than his four pm scheduled start. It wasn't unusual to get called in early. Hell, it was almost a give in that you would be. Especially with the weather and the hideous traffic driving people absolutely insane. It wasn't uncommon for people to snap in a fit of frustration and rage and take such emotions out on the poor unsuspecting driver beside them. Which, in turn, made it a very long shift for the members of the NYPD.
Upon their arrival at JFK, Danny had been told that his flight had been delayed due to the slow process of de-icing the planes, and that passengers most likely wouldn't be boarding until closer to four thirty as opposed to the original take off time of three thirty. The disruption of Danny's scheduled plans only served to unnerve and frazzle him even more. He ranted and raved to Flack about how it was a sign. A sign that he wasn't meant to go to Montana after all. That things were happening the way they were to keep him in New York because going to Bozeman meant he was going to be met with certain doom and his would be shattered into a million pieces.
They'd gone to the airport bar and Flack ordered a couple of drinks in an attempt to calm his best friend down. He stuck to coffee for himself and they sat, talking about the great loves of their lives and the mistakes they'd made and regrets they had and the things that they could do to fix them if they could simply go back in time and change the coarse of fate.
Truth of the matter was, Flack wouldn't change a hell of a lot in his life. At least not in past two years that Samantha Ross had come into, and completely transformed him and his entire existence. They had had their fair share of problems. The bad times that threatened to destroy them. The often ridiculous fights that were blown way out of proportion. That carried on for days and had them living in silence because neither wanted to swallow their pride and admit they were wrong.
But they loved each other. Plain and simple. And what threatened to tear them apart had only managed to bring them closer together. Strengthen their bond. And he hoped things would always remain that way. That their love was strong enough to get them through anything.
He'd left Danny, up beat and anxious to see his Montana, reading a magazine in the departure area and headed for him. Anxious to get in some time with his kid and maybe a couple of hours of sleep before heading in to start his scheduled four in a row night shifts.
It was quarter to four when Flack finally managed to find his way off the bridge and hung a left onto FDR Parkway. He was heading for home when the police ban radio crackled to life and the dispatcher's commanding voice filled the entire squad car.
"All units…all units please respond…EMS on route to 1398 Jefferson Apartment 703...be advised, officer in medical distress…1398 Jefferson Apartment 703, officer in medical distress…"
His entire body was immediately filled with an overwhelming sense of horror. He was pretty sure that his heart had actually stopped beating at some point. That his lungs had seized up and unable to draw air. All he could hear was the incessant chatter on the PBR and his own address echoing in his ears. He felt as if he couldn't move. That all forms of rational thought or simple reactions had completely abandoned him.
Flack wasn't sure how much time actually passed. Or how he'd even managed to keep the car on the road in the state of limbo he was embroiled in. When the initial shock and distress passed, he snagged his cell phone from where it sat on the passenger's seat and flipped it open and dialled his home phone number.
"Come on, come on," he urged her to pick up. "Answer the goddamn phone, Sam."
She had to answer. She just had to. Because there was no way in hell that what he had just heard could be right. He had just seen her less than three and a half hours ago. Had kissed her and their son goodbye at the door and told them he loved them and that he'd be back soon. Nothing could have happened in such a short period of time.
Of course he knew that thought was irrational. It only took a few minutes, hell, in some cases even a few seconds, for things to go wrong.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he shouted into the phone, as the call went to it's sixth ring. "Pick up the fucking phone!"
Two more rings and the call would go to voice mail. Sam never let it ring that much when she was home. She always managed to catch the call before that point. She always answered it. Especially when she saw his number.
But maybe this time she isn't able to answer it, Flack thought. Maybe this time something had happened to her. Her and the babies. Or even to Kieran. Maybe something horrible had happened to my entire family.
Maybe they're all…
Flack forced that thought out of his mind. He snapped his phone closed and tossed it back onto the seat beside him. His hands shook. His heart hammered in his chest. Panic was threatening to consume him.
He needed to get a grip. Get control of himself. He wouldn't be any good to his family if he was in that kind of state. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and released it slowly and forced himself to get a handle on the emotions and thoughts that were rapidly spiralling out of control.
Calm, Flack, calm, he told himself. You need to be calm and cool and collected for your family.
If you even have a family to go home to.
At that horrific, heart wrenching thought, Flack laid his foot on the gas and leaned forward to hit the button on the dash that turned on the lights and sirens.
He couldn't afford to waste any more time.
There was a uniform guarding the apartment. Yellow crime scene tape stretched from one side of the door to the other. An open lab kit with the name T. SPEEDLE written in black magic marker on a piece of masking tape attached to the top sat in the hallway. At the sight of the police tape, Flack felt light headed and was nearly overcome with nausea. His chest tightened and his entire body seemed to move in slow motion as he approached his own apartment.
"Sir," the uni stretched out his arm, using it to block Flack's way. "This is a crime scene. You can't go in there."
"Like hell he can't," Scagnetti growled as he appeared behind the baby faced rookie. "He lives here. He's also a member of the department."
Flack removed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and showed the uniform his badge and identification to back up his partner's claim.
The uniform blushed slightly and offered up a sheepish apology. Scagnetti shot the kid an icy glare and than lifted the tape for Flack to duck under.
"What the hell is going on, Tony?" Flack asked. It was the first time he'd ever used his friend's first name. And doing so, addressed how concerned, and frightened, he really was. "I was coming back from the airport and heard the call for EMS."
"Your neighbour across the hall said he was coming out of his place to take some trash down the hall to the chute and saw your door wide open. Didn't hear any noise coming from inside and that spooked him enough to have the sense to check on things."
"And?" he pressed, as they headed through the apartment.
"Found Samantha passed out on the living room floor. I guess she smacked her head pretty hard after she fainted. EMS took her to Trinity to get some stitches and keep an eye out for a concussion. Doctor Hawkes told them she was pregnant and called ahead to make sure there was an ultrasound ready and waiting to make sure things are okay."
"You sure she fainted?" Flack asked. "Or did someone do something to her?"
"She told the EMS guys she fainted," Scagnetti replied. "Said she blacked out. She wasn't complaining of cramps or anything like that. So that's a good sign, right?"
Flack nodded.
They journeyed into the living room. Where Carmen was busy taking photos of the playpen and the area surrounding it. Hawkes was on his knees, using a swab from his kit to take a sample from a small drop, no bigger than a fifty scent piece on the floor.
Flack's eyes widened at the sight. "That blood?" he asked, although the answer was quite obvious.
"Two separate areas," Hawkes said, looking up at his friend with sympathy in his eyes. "The larger one is where Samantha split open the back of her head. This much smaller one here…it's a gravitational drop and some testing will tell me who it came from hopefully."
"What the hell is going on here?" Flack tried to remain calm. "I hear this call for EMS over the radio, I get here and find my place is a crime scene. What….?"
"You need to get to Trinity," Scagnetti told him. "See your wife. She's with Lake and Taylor. They're taking her statement."
"Her statement?" Flack's head swam from all the information. "What the fuck…."
He stopped mid sentence. Realizing that something was massively wrong. He took in the sight of the empty playpen, than glanced down at that small blood drop.
"Where's Kieran?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Where's my son?"
Hawkes looked away solemnly. Carmen cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her best friend's husband. Tears sparkled in her eyes. She tore her eyes away from Flack and sniffled noisily.
"You need to get to Trinity," Scagnetti said, and laid his hand on his partner's shoulder.
Flack angrily shoved that hand away. "Where the hell is my son?" he asked once again.
"Flack," Scagnetti spoke in a calm, yet firm voice. "Your wife needs you right now. You need to…"
"Where the fuck is my son!" he bellowed.
Scagnetti sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Don…"
"What? What do you mean you're sorry? What happened? Tell me what happened to my wife and my kid, Tony."
"He's gone, Flack. He's missing. Someone must have gotten into here somehow when Sammie stepped out. We're looking for him, but…he's gone. We don't know where he is or who has him."
The world seemed to stop. Flack heard nothing outside of the roar of blood in his brain and the thundering of his heart. Panic and horror once again threatened to take over.
"Missing?" he managed weakly.
Scagnetti's mouth was set in a grim line as he once again placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. The simple touch was warm and soothing. And supportive. "We'll find him, Flack," he promised. "You know we will. But right now…you need to be with your wife."
He nodded and swallowed noisily and ran a hand over his face as he somehow managed to hold back the tears. He glanced around at the living room once more, his eyes settling on the playpen for some time before he slowly nodded and turned on his heel and headed from the room.
Leaving his three colleagues to stare at his slumped shoulders and his departing back.
Scagnetti sighed and shook his head and rubbed at the back of that baby. "Get back to fucking work," he barked at the two CSIs, when he found them doing nothing more but staring off into space contemplatively.
Carmen blinked at the harshness in the detective's tone.
"You heard me!" he snapped. "This is all up to you guys! 'Cause if you people don't find that baby…" he shook his head. Finding himself too choked up to finish the sentence.
Danny had just stepped up to the boarding gate and handed in his ticket when his cell phone, clipped to the pocket of his well worn jeans, rang noisily.
"You'll have to turn that off before you board, sir," the airline hostess informed him coolly as she checked his ticket.
"I realize that, miss," he responded, just as coolly. He snagged his phone off of his pants and checked the caller ID. He had left a message on Lindsay's cell phone to let her know he was on his way, and was expecting to see her name appear on the caller ID.
MAC TAYLOR URGENT.
Danny frowned. He plucked his ticket out of the hostess' hands as she held it out in front of his face and stepped to the side, out of the way of other passenger's, to take the phone call.
He flipped open his cell and pressed talk. "Messer," he answered.
"Danny…we have an emergency."
He inwardly groaned.
"I know you were on your way to Montana," Mac said, sounding way more frazzled than the CSI had ever remembered hearing his boss in the years they had worked together. "But I need you. It's all hands on deck."
Oh hell no, Danny thought. "Come on, Mac," he complained. "You can't do without me? I just get the balls up to go after her and you do this to me?"
"This is serious, Danny. We have a missing child."
"And you've got tons of people who can handle something like that, Mac. What makes this missing kid so important you need us all on the case?"
"It's Kieran," Mac said simply.
Danny Messer swore his heart stopped. "Kieran?" he asked. "As in Kieran Flack? My godson?"
"I need you here, Danny. Flack needs you. Sam needs you. Kieran needs you."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and briefly closed his eyes. "I'm on my way," he said, and hang up. "Change of plans," he told the startled hostess as he went rushing past her.
He would make arrangements with the airline to get his bags back that were already loaded into the cargo area. And he'd pay Hawkes back for the wasted trip. Or Sam. Whoever paid for the damn thing in the long run.
He dialled Lindsay's number. Praying she'd answer. When she didn't, he left a long winded message, telling her he wasn't going to be able to make it and explaining why. And begging her to call him back.
He knew where he was needed. Where he wanted to be.
With his 'family'.
Samantha had been mildly sedated upon her arrival at the emergency department . She'd been hysterical since she'd been brought in, restrained to the gurney, by EMS. She ranted and raved and screamed about having to find her baby. That nothing else mattered. She wasn't important. She had to find her baby before it was too late.
Now, following an ultrasound to confirm that the babies inside of her were alive and well, and having twelve stitches put in the back of her head to sew the gash closed, she sat tearful and trembling from head to toe, semi reclined, in a bed in a private room on the women's health ward. She'd be kept overnight for observation. Her concussion was graded medium, but the main concern was the history of high blood pressure and stress in her previous pregnancy and the problems both had caused. The doctors weren't taking any chances.
Mac sat in the bedside chair. His elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together while Chester Lake perched himself at the foot of the bed and took notes in his log book. Flack stood at the head of the bed, tightly holding his wife's cold, shaking hand.
"I know this is hard, Samantha," Mac said. "And we know you're scared and worried about Kieran. But we need a statement. The sooner you give us one, the sooner we can actively start looking for the baby."
"Just tell us what you remember," Lake told her in his gentle voice.
"I've already told you everything," she said.
"We just want to make sure we have everything we need," Mac told her. "You said that Kieran fell asleep…"
"I gave him a bath and a bottle of milk," she recounted. "He fell asleep and I put him in his playpen. Than I took the laundry upstairs."
"Is that something you commonly practice?" Mac inquired. "Leaving him alone for extended periods of time?"
Flack glared at the older man. "Come on, Mac. Don't make it sound like she's an unfit mother. That she's neglectful."
"We need to ask questions," the crime lab boss reminded him. "You know that, Flack. And that includes hard questions."
"Sometimes the only time you can get anything done is when they are sleeping," Sam said. "Trust me, you'll find that out soon enough. When Stella's running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Trying to cook and clean and take care of a baby all on her own while you're out working."
Mac blinked.
That's my girl, Flack thought. Tell Mac Taylor where it's fucking at.
"Did you lock the door?" Lake asked.
She nodded. "I wouldn't leave him and not lock it."
"So you came downstairs and everything was fine," Mac pressed her to continue.
"He was still asleep. I did a few small chores and went back upstairs to put the laundry in the dryer. And when I came back down, the door was open and Kieran…" she choked back a sob. "Kieran wasn't there. He was gone."
"It's okay, baby," Flack spoke to her in a soft, soothing tone, stroking her hair and tightening his hold on her hand. "Nice and calm. Just stay nice and calm."
Lake got up from the end of the bed and went to the side table. He picked up the box of Kleenexes and cup of ice water that rested there. He gently sat the tissues on Sam's stomach and held out the cup.
Sam gave a meek thank you and took the drink from her old friend. Lake and Flack's eyes met across the bed and Flack gave the other man a nod of appreciation.
"Are you sure you locked the door when you went back upstairs?" Mac asked.
Sam nodded.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he pressed.
"Mac!" Flack snapped. "She just fucking said…"
"I locked the door," Sam insisted. "I specifically remember doing it because I dropped my keys afterward and I bent down to pick them up and when I went to stand up, I hit the top of my head off the door knob."
Lake wrote it down. "And when you went inside the apartment, you went into the living room to check on your son…"
"And the playpen was empty!" she cried. "He was gone! Even his blanket was gone. And then I saw the blood on the floor and that's when I passed out."
"During your trips to the laundry room, did you see anything or hear anything suspicious?" Mac inquired.
Sam shook her head. She dropped her chin to her chest as hot, fat tears spilled down her face. "I'm sorry, Donnie," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't want someone to take our son."
Flack softly stroked her hair and wiped away her tears with gentle fingertips and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay, Sammie," he assured her. "We'll find him. You know we will. No one's going to hurt him."
He hoped and prayed he sounded more convincing than he felt.
"We're going to need a description of Kieran and what he was wearing at the time," Mac said. "And a current picture. The commissioner's already gone ahead and ordered an amber alert to be issued as soon as possible. We'll also have Kieran's picture on the television and all over tomorrow's papers."
"I don't want to talk to the press," Sam told him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Maybe Donnie can do it. I don't want to talk to them right now. I just…I can't do it right now."
"That's fine," Mac assured her with a soft smile. "Lake will take Kieran's info. Is that okay?"
She nodded.
Mac stood up. "Flack? Can I have a word with you?"
"Sure," the detective responded.
Sam grabbed his hand as he went to leave. "I'm sorry, Donnie…I didn't mean for this to happen."
"I know, baby. This wasn't your fault," he kissed her softly. "Everything's going to be okay. Just try and stay calm. For you and for Kieran and for the babies. Okay?"
She nodded.
He ran a gentle hand over her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead before following Mac out into the hallway.
"How are you holding up?" Mac asked, as he closed the door behind them.
Flack shook his head and leaned against the wall. Bending over, he put his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes tightly and tried to draw breaths into his lungs.
Mac laid his hand on the younger man's back. A small, comforting gesture. "I called your parents," he told the detective. "They're on their way here."
Flack nodded and opened his eyes and stood up. "He's my boy, Mac," he said, his voice a mere whisper. His eyes filled with tears. "Someone took him…someone took my boy…my son…my heart."
"We'll find him, Don. I promise you we will find him."
"Yeah…but is he going to be alive or dead when you do that? Because if anything happens to him and he ends up…" Flack shook his head. Too choked up to continue.
"We'll do whatever we can to make sure he's found safe and sound."
"It was Lessing," Flack concluded. "That's who did this. Because of that fucking article Reed did."
"You don't know that. That's just jumping to conclusions. You've made a lot of enemies during your career, Don. It could have been any number of them. We'll go through your cases and see if any perps you've arrested have been released on parole in the past six months. Anyone of them could have…"
"Anyone of them didn't blow up a fucking building and nearly kill me, Mac!" Flack snapped. "I survived his sick and twisted bullshit. That's why he took Kieran. I know it. And in your heart, you do too."
"I don't get paid to surmise anything," Mac said. "And you're too good of a cop too go into anything blind. You always want the facts and nothing but and we need to find just that if we want to find Kieran."
"I may be a good cop, Mac. A damn cop one at that. But I'm an even better father and that's my son and I know Lessing did this!"
Mac sighed. "I need a picture, Don."
Flack nodded and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he gently removed the small family picture taken shortly before Christmas. He stared down at it. Tracing his thumb over his son's smiling face. And then the tears began to flow.
"What am I going to do?" he asked. "What am I going to do if we don't get him back? He's my everything. How am I going to go on without him if…"
"You're not going to think that way. You hear me?" Mac spoke firmly. Authoritatively. He swallowed the lump of emotion in his own throat.
"Just find him, Mac," Flack pleaded. "You're the best at what you do…I trust you…please just find my son."
"I will. You have my word," he vowed and took the picture. "I don't need to tell you that you're not allowed anywhere near this case."
"I know where I stand," the homicide detective said and sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.
Both men knew that it would be impossible for Flack to stay away.
"I know how bad it sounds and looks," Flack said. "That Sammie left him like that. But she's an amazing mother, Mac. I trust her with my son's life. With all my children's lives. Hell, with my life. She would never do anything to put any of us in harms way."
"I know she's been taking anxiety meds and anti-depressants," Mac said, pocketing the picture. "Has she gone off of her meds now she's pregnant? Maybe a sudden halt could have caused a manic episode and she.."
Flack immediately went on the defensive. "She's got clinical depression, Mac. She's not bi-polar or anything like that. And she's still on her meds. The doctor said they wouldn't hurt the baby. She would never, ever do anything to hurt our son. And for you to even think that.."
"I'm just covering all the angles, Don."
"Samantha's got her problems. With depression and anxiety. But she faithfully takes all her meds and the department psychologist said two months ago she was mentally and emotionally stable. My wife would never, ever do anything to Keiran. She hates to even raise her voice to him. I'm the one that's in charge of all the disciplinary shit. And you stand here, accusing her of doing something to our son?"
"Flack, I just…"
"Need to ask all the hard questions. Cover all the angles. I know. I get it. But get this, Mac. You're damn lucky I respect you as much as you do, or I'd be putting you right through this fucking wall."
"I know you're stressed and upset," Mac said. "I know that you're…"
"Keep your mouth off of my wife," Flack warned. "If I find out you're looking at her for this.." he shook his head and stepped away from his colleague and laid his hand on the door handle. "I am telling you right now, Mac. You even so much as ruffle a hair on her head, I will make sure your days as head of the crime lab are numbered. The name Flack still pulls a lot of weight with the big brass. And it may be the one and only time I toss my last name around. Understand me?"
Mac nodded, his lips pursed tightly together.
"So do me a favour, go to your lab and do what you gotta do," Flack said. "Do what you gotta do and find my son."
With that he opened the door and slipped back into his wife's room. Leaving Mac Taylor dumbfounded and speechless.
For once.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of your tremendously! And thanks to the lurkers too! Please give me a shout if you like my shtick! Means a lot to me!
Special thanks to:
hope4sall
muchmadness
brrtmclv
ImaSupernaturalCSI
Forest Angel
GregRox
Shopaholic20
wolfeylady
bluehaven4220
soccerbitch