DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

A/N: OKAY, THE MUSE DECIDED TO BE A BIT EVIL NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAP. I AM WARNING YOU KNOW. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE NO FLAMING PITCHFORKS FROM THE DIE HARD SAMFLACKIE FANS. ENJOY! BEG75

In the still of the night

"Just a plain and simple chapel
Where all good people go to pray
I prayed the Lord that I'll grow stronger
As I live from day to day

You'll search and you'll search but you'll never find
No way on earth to gain peace of mind

Take your troubles to the chapel
Get down on your knees and pray
Then your burdens will be lighter
And you'll surely find the way."
-Crying in the Chapel, Elvis Presley

Flack paced the width of the hallway outside of his wife's hospital room. One hand covering his weary, tortured eyes and the other resting on his hip. Fighting tears of rage and frustration and utter heartbreak as he listened to Samantha screaming as she fought off the nurses attempting to make her swallow another helping of sedatives.

"You don't understand!" she shrieked, her voice frantic. "I don't want to take those! I don't want to take anymore! I just want to go home! I want to go home and find my baby! Why are you making me stay here?! I need to get out of here!"

"You have to stay here so the doctors can keep an eye on you," one of the nurses attempted to explain in a soft, calm voice. "You have a concussion and a history of pregnancy complications when you're stressed. For the good of you and for the good of the babies that you're carrying, it's in your best interest to take the medication, Mrs Flack."

"I don't want them!" Sam fought back. "I don't want to be a fucking zombie! I need to go and find my baby! Why won't you let me go and find my baby!? He's out there somewhere and he's scared and alone and he's cold and he needs me! He needs his mommy to come and get him! I take those pills and I can't go to him! Why don't you understand!?"

"There's a lot of highly skilled, competent people looking for your son," the second nurse, with a thick Scottish accent told her patient. "You need to stay here and look after yourself and your babies. This medicine will help you relax so you don't cause any damage to yourself, or them."

"But he's my baby!" Sam screamed. "Kieran's my baby! And you're keeping me from him! I'm his mommy! He needs his mommy! Please don't make me stay here!"

"You need to take the pills, Mrs Flack," the first nurse insisted sternly.

"No! I don't want them! I won't take them! YOU CAN' T MAKE ME TAKE THEM!"

There was a loud crash as something went flying across the room. Something Sam had either kicked or tossed. Within seconds of the clatter, Samantha was sobbing hysterically and begging and pleading in an obscenity laced tirade for the nurses to leave her alone. To not make her take anything. Because she needed to find her baby and doping herself up wasn't going to get her any closer to him. It was just keeping her further and further away from her son and why couldn't they understand that? Were they in on it? Did they have something to do with it? Was that why they were so hell bent on keeping her there? So that she'd never find him?

Grief and rage had made her inconsolable. And irrational.

The door to the room clicked open. Flack halted his pacing and removed his hand from his eyes and put it on his hips as the frazzled, agitated nurses, their uniforms and their hair messed and their cheeks flushed and chests heaving from exertion, stepped out, shutting the door behind them just as Samantha told them to fuck off. Fuck off and never come back with their poison.

"She can't be carrying on like this," the Scottish one told Flack. "She's uncontrollable and there's very sick people here."

"Her son, our son, was kidnapped!" he fought back. "She has a right to be upset! Do you realize what we see in our jobs every day! The children we come across that are brutally murdered and mutilated? That's what we deal with and that's what's on her mind right now and if you can't understand that, if you don't have the compassion and the empathy to put yourself in her shoes, than you shouldn't be doing this goddamn job!"

"But we are doing this job and when we are faced with patients that are out of control and violent…" the other nurse began.

"Violent?" Flack cut her off with a snort. "She's not violent! She's terrified that her son is lying dead in a gutter or a dumpster somewhere! All she wants to do is find him and you're making her feel like you're preventing her from doing that! Don't talk to her like she's an imbecile and maybe you'd get farther with her? Have you ever thought of that? Maybe being a little sympathetic about what she's going through? Do either of you have kids? Because if you do, but yourselves in her shoes and tell me how calm you'd be if your kid was missing."

"I understand that both you and your wife are distraught," the Scottish nurse said. "You have every right to be. But we have a job to do and that job is to protect your wife and those babies she's carrying. Because if she gets like this, this worked out and this stressed, she will lose those babies and that's something neither of you want, I'm sure."

Flack sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "So what do we do? How do we get her to calm down? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you fighting with her like that is only freaking her out even more and putting those babies, my babies, in danger."

"She needs sedatives," the first nurse told him. "And she won't take them manually. So we will have to resort to other measures."

"Other measures?" he asked. "And what the hell other measures are those?"

"We'll either have to put in an IV line and deliver the drugs through there," the Scottish woman informed him. "Or we have her transferred to the psychiatric ward and have her put in restraints and…"

"Are you kidding me!?" he laughed and shook his head. "That's a joke, right? You're going to tie down a three months pregnant woman and forcibly inject sedatives into her? Are all the people that work here out of their minds or just you two? Because that is just insane. My wife is not crazy! She doesn't need to be locked up in a rubber room and put in a straight jacket and be force fed pills or have drugs shot into her against her will! Someone kidnapped her son! Our son! She's scared and grieving and angry and you stand here and accuse her of being nuts?!"

"No one ever said that," the first nurse said, her voice calm.

"No. But that's what your insinuating right? That she's some kind of fucking wackadoo."

"Mr Flack," the Scottish nurse spoke to him as if she was a school teacher and he was one of her pupils talking out of turn in class. "Please watch your language."

"Watch my language? I won't watch my fucking language. My wife's medical care is my decision. I made all the choices when it comes to what she needs? Understand me."

The first nurse sighed heavily. "What do you suggest than?"

He took a deep breath and dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head slowly. He exhaled and looked up at the door to his wife's room. Contemplating his choices. Weighing the pros and cons of every available decision. He glanced at the small paper cup in the Scottish nurse's hand that held three small white tablets.

"Give me those goddamn things," he snapped, and tore them out of her hand. "Do me and my wife a favour," he said as he headed for the door. "Stay the hell away from both of us. You either tell her doctor I want new nurses looking after her, or I'll sign the papers to discharge her myself and move her to another hospital where the employees actually give a shit about their patients."

"Mr Flack, we didn't…" the first nurse began.

He ignored her. He opened the door, slipped into the room and slammed the door in their faces.

She was lying on her left hand side, facing the window, tightly curved into a foetal position. Her entire body shaking as she sobbed noisily. Flack's heart shattered at the sight of his wife so helpless and broken. A mere shadow of the vibrant, feisty thing that just the day before had gone toe to toe in an interrogation with a cold, calculate and unremorseful murder. Who just that very morning had been sprawled in the middle of their bed, the comforter pulled over top of her and their son as they giggled and played and basked in their relaxing morning together. Who had sat at the kitchen table and meddled in Danny's love life and tied maraschino cherry stems with her tongue much to amusement of her self described best boy friend.

This wasn't his wife. She wasn't the woman that he had fallen in love with and married and had a baby with. Who he was having more babies with. This wasn't Samantha.

And he wanted Samantha back. He would do anything and everything in his power to get her back. To see that smile again and hear her giggle and put up with all the smart ass comments and teasing she tossed at him. There was only one thing in the world that would bring her back. One person. And no one knew where he was or who he was with. No one knew if he was cold or lonely or scared or hungry. Or all mixed into one. They didn't know if he was sleeping peacefully or crying for his mommy and daddy.

They knew nothing. The amber alert was over seven hours old and still nothing. His parents had taken up residence at the apartment once the investigation there had been declared complete and the crime scene tape had been taken down. They had been sitting by the phone, which was already secured with a device to track and record any call that came into the place, for nearly five hours now and no demands for ransom or threats had been made.

It was as if Kieran had slipped off the face of the earth. That he had simply vanished.

Flack wanted nothing more to find his son and bring him home. To scour the streets of the city, one end to the other, and track him down and bring him home to his mommy and daddy and his unborn siblings and all of his toys and Slippers the Cat. To everyone that was hoping and praying for his safe return. Because getting their little boy back was the one and only thing that he knew would fix his wife. That would bring that smile and giggle back.

He paused at the side of her bed and stared down at the small cup of meds in his hands. He couldn't bring Kieran to her. It was impossible. But maybe those tiny white tablets would bring her some sort of peace. At least for a little while.

"Please go away," Samantha begged, as she sensed someone in the room behind her.

"It's me, baby," Flack told her. "It's okay now. The nurses are gone."

"Make them stay away," she pleaded. "I don't want them anywhere near me. Please don't let them come back."

"I won't," he assured her, and walked around the end of the bed to stand at the side closest to her.

She looked up at him and saw the cup of medication in his hands. "No, Donnie!" she cried, shaking her head vehemently. "Don't make me take those! Please don't make me take those."

"Samantha, you need to…"

"Don't do this to me," she begged, her face streaked with tears. "Please don't. You promised you'd take care of me. You'd promise you'd protect me. Please don't make me take those pills. I don't like the way they make me feel. Like a zombie. I don't want to feel that way."

"You need to take them. They'll make you feel better."

She continued to shake her head. Growing more and more agitated with each passing second. "You promised!" she cried. "You promised me you'd take care of me! And you're just like them! You're just like them, Donnie!"

He sighed. Deciding to take another approach with her instead. "Fine," he said, and calmly sat the cup of meds down on the bedside table. "You going to calm down? Relax? For you and those babies?"

She nodded. "I promise," she said. Sounding like a child who'd been admonished for doing something bad and who was vowing to never do it again. "I promise I'll be good. Just don't make me take them."

"Than why don't you move over and I'll lie down beside you. Hold you until you fall asleep. Sound good?"

She gave a small smiled and shifted sideways, making room for him.

The mattress and bed frame creaked under Flack's weight as he climbed onto the bed. There wasn't a hell of a lot of room in the thing, but somehow they managed to get at least a bit comfortable. He wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her tightly against him. His lips buried in her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder and placed her hand on his stomach.

She began to cry again. A soft weeping that shook her body.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered. "Everything's going to be okay."

"I want him back. I want my baby back. I just want Kieran back."

"I know," Flack said, rubbing her shoulder softly with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. "And we'll get him back. I promise you with everything I am and everything I have that we'll get him back. If it's the last thing I do in this life, I swear I will bring him back to you, Samantha."

"I can't live without him," she whimpered. "I can't…he's my everything…he's my baby….I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want anyone to take him from us."

"No one is saying you did," Flack told her. "No one even thought that."

"Mac did!" she cried. "Mac all but blamed me!"

"Mac's job is to ask questions like that," Flack reminded her. "He wasn't blaming you for anything."

"You blame me," she said. "I know you do."

"No, Sammie. I don't blame you. Not one bit. It was an accident. You didn't mean for someone to come into our house and take him. It was a simple accident."

"You hate me!"

'What? No. I could never hate you, babe. I love you. So much," he kissed the top of her head. "You know that."

"You said you'd never forgive me! If anything ever happened to him you'd…"

"I was angry about that article. I didn't mean a thing I said. This wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault and I'd never take Kieran from you. You're his mother. He loves you. You saw him this morning. The way he just lit up while you were playing with him. You're his mom and you can do no wrong as far as he's concerned. And I don't blame you and he isn't going to blame you either."

She sniffled loudly.

"I want you to get some sleep, okay? There's a lot of people that love Kieran working their asses off to find him and bring him back to us. And you know what? They're going to do it. He's going to be home soon and it will be like nothing ever happened. You'll be able to scoop him up and kiss him and blow those raspberries on his tummy that he likes so much."

She smiled through her tears.

"I promise you that Kieran will come home. Safe and sound. You trust me, don't you?"

Sam nodded.

"And you know that I'd do anything to protect you. That I'll take care of you no matter right? Right?"

Another nod.

Flack stopped stroking her hair and reached sideways to grab to cup of water and the meds from the table. "I want you to take these, Samantha. You need to take these. I wouldn't make you do something if I thought it as going to hurt you. You need to trust me, okay? Trust me and take the meds, baby."

She was silent. Contemplative. Finally she reached out and took the cup from his hand and tipped the contents into her mouth before taking the water and rinsing the pills down with a long sip. She swallowed, than proceeded to open her mouth wide and move her tongue around so he could see that she wasn't hiding the tablets.

"Smart ass," he said. "Was that really necessary?"

"Just in case you thought I was faking it," she told him. "We will get him back, right Donnie?" her eyes, and her voice were desperate for reassurance. "Please tell me we'll get Kieran back. He's our son and if anything happens to him I don't know if…"

He silenced her with a soft kiss. "I promise you, Samantha. We will get him back."

"Thank you," she whispered, and settled her face in his neck.

Flack sat the empty cup from the meds and the water on the table and than stretched his arm behind him to grab a hold of the chain attached to the fluorescent light at the back of the bed. Switching it off, he wrapped both of his arms around his wife's body and settled himself back against the pillows.

"We'll get him back," he vowed. "I'll find him myself if I have to. I'll find him and bring him back to you, Samantha."

Even if it kills me to do it, he thought. Closing his eyes to block the flood of tears.

Flack found himself standing in the basement of the New York City crime lab. The dungeon, as Samantha and Danny so fondly referred to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. It was brightly lit and various bodies, covered from head to toe in stark white sheets, took up residence on several of the cold metal slabs. Even more deceased victims lie in the coolers that took up the far wall. Each held in their own storage locker of sorts. Nothing more than a drawer that the ME could pull out if he was showing the body to next of kin or the investigating detective.

He and Hammerback were alone. Sid stood, at the head of one of the occupied examination tables. In his standard dark blue scrubs and the glasses that pulled apart in the middle dangling around his neck. His hair was slightly dishevelled. His eyes were rimmed red from emotion and his hands trembled as he stared down at the metal clipboard that he grasped so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn't have to say it. It was written all over his face. This was one of the most difficult things the ME had ever had to do in his entire career.

"Multiples bruises and contusions to the body," Sid said, his voice wavering as he read off of the report in front of him. "A fractured left arm, shattered collarbone. Broken right orbital bone. Collapsed oesophagus and shattered jaw. Numerous fractures to the skull. A beaten so severe it caused tremendous swelling and bleeding on the brain and led to a massive stroke. Signs of…" Sid's voice broke. "Signs of sodomy."

Flack felt sick. His knees felt weak. Threatening to buckle any moment.

"I hate to do this, Detective Flack," Sid said. "But I need to…it's just standard policy…I know that it's him…but I need to…for the records…" he cleared his throat. "I need to ask you to identify the body."

Flack simply nodded.

Sid reached down and tugged the white sheet over the face of the tiny, innocent, broken and battered soul that lay there on his autopsy table. "Is this your son?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Flack couldn't speak. There were no words to adequately capture the horror of the moment. He reached out, his fingertips gently grazing over his toddler son's forehead, combing through Kieran's thick dark hair.

"Is this your son?" Sid repeated.

The detective nodded. Too stunned to speak. In utter terror and shock that the moment had come to this. That the life he had helped created was cold and far beyond any help he could render. "It's my son," he managed, trailing a finger down the baby's deeply bruised left cheek. And he bent, a picture of grief, and pressed a kiss to Kieran's forehead.

Flack's life was over.

Someone had taken everything that mattered to him and destroyed it. His heart and his soul had been crushed and could never, and would never, be mended.

Everything was gone.

With a startled, choked cry, Flack's eyes snapped open and he bolted up right in bed. His chest heaved as his lungs attempted to draw in air. His heart pounded and his blood raged through his sweat soaked body. He glanced frantically around the room. Relieved, to some extent, that instead of standing in the morgue, staring down at the battered and lifeless body of his first born, he was still in that cramped hospital bed, moonlight streaming through the windows. He was relieved that it was a dream. But the thought that their ordeal continued, that their son was still out there somewhere…

He squeezed his eyes shut and will the ache in his chest to go away. It was the start of a panic attack. He knew the signs and the symptoms all to well. The way his entire body trembled and felt short of breath. The rapid heart palpitations. The profuse sweating and the sensation of being unbearably cold. And the fight or fight response that overtook him. The intense desire to get away. To flee and hide from the feelings of going crazy.

Because that's exactly what the attacks, to him, felt like. That he was legitimately going insane. That he was losing complete and utter control of himself.

It wasn't the first time he'd had them and it wouldn't be the last. The first time had been shortly after the announcement of Lessing's upcoming release had been given and Flack had woken up in the middle of the night having difficulty breathing and the tightness in his chest and the hot and cold flashes and had been convinced he was having a heart attack. Sam had bundled herself and the baby up and the entire family had headed for the ER, where Flack was put on an EKG machine to monitor his heart rate. In the end, there'd been no threat of a coronary event. And he'd been diagnosed with suffering a panic attack.

It had happened twice since than. And Sam was forever having anxiety attacks that she managed and controlled with medication. But this was, by far, the worst one that Flack had ever been through.

He had to get away. He couldn't stay there, in that room, any longer. He felt as if he was suffocating. Choking. And he tossed the blanket of himself and his wife's sleeping form and climbed out of bed. The sedatives had done their trick. Within minutes of taking them, Samantha was out like a light and hadn't made a move or a sound, since. She was in a deep, peaceful slumber. Curled up tightly on her left hand side, a faint smile curving her lips.

I gotta get out of here, Flack thought, pacing at the foot of the bed, his fingers tunnelled in his hair. I can't stay here…I can't be here…I need to get out of here before I go completely mental.

He managed to get his breathing under control. The pain in his chest had started to wane. He forced one foot in front of the other and went to the side of the bed and leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to his wife's soft lips.

"I love you," he whispered, running a hand over her hair and along her face. "I love you but I need to go for a while…"

She gave a small, content sigh and nuzzled her face against her pillow.

He kissed her one more time. And than was gone.

It had been a long time since Don Flack Jr had believed in anything. Spiritually wise.

He had lost his faith -or at least put it on the back burner- during the years on the job. Temporarily losing his religion and wandering off the proverbial path was nothing more than a by product of the countless lifeless, often mutilated and grotesque bodies that he had had the unfortunate of standing over on many night such as this.

In the dead of winter when the wind burned your lungs and stole your breath and you swore you were going to freeze if you stayed out there any longer. In the ferocious heat of summer when a simple shirt and tie felt as if you were wearing a suit of armour or a heavy fur coat because the sun beat down on you so powerfully and the sweltering temperatures made you feel sick. In the heavy downpours of spring when rain drops hung on your eye lashes and dipped off the end of your nose and soaked you from head to toe. In the cool, crisp air of autumn when the leaves crackled under your feet and the fresh air invigorated your soul until the overwhelming stench of death permeated your senses.

His faith had hit the high road after what seemed like an endless parade of despondent, shattered families that he'd had the misfortune of breaking the news too. Of the husbands and wives and mothers and fathers who had broken down and clung to him as they sobbed, their bodies retching with grief. Of the children who'd been left behind with a widowed parent or in some cases, with no one to love and care for them and nothing but stays in foster homes and the system in their future. Of innocent boys and girls that while their parent cried in the other room after Flack had dealt the most horrible blow of all, had tugged on the bottom of his coat and looked up at him with tear filled eyes and wobbling bottom lips and asked why, if he was a police man, could he not bring back their mommy or daddy? Why didn't he protect them and keep them safe? Wasn't that what police men did?

God had forsaken those people. The innocent victims and those that loved them and were left behind.

And in turn, Flack had simply forsaken God.

Carmen had asked him once how that was possible. How could he not believe in something when he had met Sam so unexpectedly and things had developed so easily and quickly for him. How he could find a love like that and take on a wife and welcome a child into the world, and not believe that some greater power had a hand in all of that.

"God had nothing to do with it," he'd said. "He had nothing to do with how Sam and I felt about each other. We just felt it and it felt good and we went with it. He didn't make me fall in love with her or encourage me to marry her. Things just happened between us. It had to do with us. And we made Kieran. Together. Because of that love. God was nowhere around in all of that."

And it wasn't that he didn't believe. He simply had lost his way.

But the path -somewhat broken and beaten- was leading him slowly back. Because he needed something to hold onto. Something tangible that he could rely on and turn to during these dark, trying hours. That would n't forsake him and lead him wrong.

Which was why, and how, he had found himself sitting in the front pew of the small chapel in the hospital's second floor. It was a dimly lit, small room with little more than several pews and a basin of holy water and a large wooden crucifix hanging on the front wall. A table of candles in small red glass vases sat off to the right. Several were lit. The flames flickering and casting shadows on the walls.

His mind drifted back that day, over a year ago, when he'd held his newborn son in his arms for the first time. How tears of pride and relief had surged down his cheeks and he'd softly touched every inch of his son's face and ran his fingers through Kieran's hair and pressed a kiss to that wrinkled forehead and vowed to never let anything happen to him. To love and protect him forever.

To carry him for the rest of his life.

And he'd failed him. He'd let his first born, the light of his life and his entire heart and soul, down. Miserable. He'd let someone come into their home and take him. And the thought that someone was inflicting pain and torture on his son was to much to bear. He was a failure and nothing but.

I failed him.

And that was when the tears came. When he lost complete and utter control of his emotions, and sank to his knees and cried like he never had before a day in his life. Gut wrenching, heart breaking and soul shattering sobs that he couldn't reign in even if he wanted to.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder. He felt someone standing to his left. Breathed in the faint scent of a floral based perfume. The touch and that smell somewhat comforting in the state he was in.

"It's okay, Don," the voice was gentle and soothing. "It's okay."

He shook his head vigorously. "No…it's not…it's not okay…"

"Everything is going to work out. I promise you. We'll find him."

"Alive or dead, Jess?" he removed his hands from his face and looked over and up at the attractive brunette standing beside him. "Alive or dead?"

"You know the answer to that, Don."

"No. No I don't. If I did I wouldn't be asking you. Do you have anything? Have you heard anything? Any leads? Any tips off the amber alert? Calls to the station after that interview I did for the evening news?"

She shook her head solemnly. "There's been no sighting. No nothing. No calls to your house for a ransom. Nothing."

"Not surprised. Why call for a ransom? He's just a cop's kid. Everyone knows a cop can't afford a ransom. Are you sure nothing's been called in? I can't believe that with all these people in this city no one has seen him. Or at least thought they saw him. And if a perp of mine did this, you just know they'd call to brag about it. You sure there's nothing?"

"I'm sorry, Don," Angell said simply.

"That's all people say to me," he sniffled noisily. "That they're sorry. I don't want to hear I'm sorry. I want you people to find my son."

"And we will," she assured him.

She undid the sash on her navy blue wool pea coat, followed by the buttons, than crossed the small chapel and went to the bowl of holy water on a small stand in front of the crucifix. She dipped the tips of the fingers of her right hand into the water and made the sign of the cross. She returned to where Flack remained on his knees, his eyes closed and his hands clasped tightly together. Pulling off her jacket, she draped it over the back of the pew and got down onto her knees alongside of him.

They remained quiet for several minutes. Both lost in deep, silent prayer.

"You believe in God," Flack said at long last. "Obviously."

"Born into a strong Roman Catholic family," Angell said. "Baptised, confirmed. The whole nine. Church on Saturday evenings and once on Sunday morning. Bible camp. All girl's school. You're Catholic, too, aren't you?"

"Lapsed," he admitted. "Very, very lapsed."

"But you believe in God? Don't you?"

"I believe in…" Flack thought about it. "I believe in something, I guess."

"Well you're here," Angell said. "That's a huge start in finding that something again. Getting in touch with it."

"I just…" he sighed and turned his eyes towards the cross mounted on the wall. "I just don't get that if there's a God, that supposedly loves us so much, why he does the shit he does. Why he lets terrible, horrible things happen to good people."

"He doesn't let them happen. He just doesn't stop them when they do," Angell reasoned.

"I guess so…" Flack sighed. "It's late, isn't it."

"Late, early. Whichever way you want to say it. It's quarter to six in the morning."

"I should go back to Sammie. In case she wakes up and…"

"I just checked on her," Angell told him. "I wanted to stop by on my way home and see how the two of you are holding up."

"We're…not holding up very well," Flack admitted.

"I know it's tough," Angell said, and laid a hand on his back and rubbed softly. "I know this is killing the two of you, Don. But you need to be strong. For Kieran. He needs his parents, especially his father, to be strong for him. Because if you can't be strong, than who does he have to believe in?"

"It's so hard, Jess," he sighed. "So hard…"

"I know. But he needs you, Don. Of all the people in the world, it's you he needs the most. And you know that. Daddy's the strong one. The one that makes everything better. The one that he goes to when mommy says no because he knows he can get whatever he wants from you."

Flack gave a small laugh at that. "They've got Sam all doped up," he told her. "When she's not on the meds, she's…it's just better she's on them."

"I'm sure," Angell said.

"So there's nothing? Nothing you can tell me?" His voice was pleading. Searching for anything. No matter how big or how small.

"All I can tell you is that the lab confirmed, by the condition of the door lock, that someone had picked it to gain access to the airport. So Sam was right. She did lock the door."

"You were doubting what she said?" Flack frowned.

"A little," Angell admitted. "Were you?"

He sighed. "I thought maybe she had thought she locked it. I mean, that happens to all of us. We think we do something and find out later we didn't. It would have been an honest mistake on her part."

"Well it was locked," Angell confirmed. "So it went down just like she said."

Flack nodded slowly. "He's dead, isn't he Jess. Kieran. He's dead."

Tears threatened in his eyes once again.

"What would make you say that?" she asked, laying a hand on the back of his head and stroking his hair.

"We do the job. We know the statistics. Forty seven percent die within the first hour. Seventy eight within the first twenty four."

"Those are just stats, Don. That's all they are. Kieran's on the other side of the scale. In the twenty two percent we find and return to their families."

"But he's just a baby," Flack said. "He couldn't survive if someone…you know…did things to him…"

"He's part Flack and part Ross," Angell reminded him. "Kid can survive anything with that combination. Please don't talk like this, Don. He's your son. Maybe whoever took him has plans on selling him on the black market. Or keeping him for themselves."

"And that makes it any better?" he asked.

"If he's dead, that's permanent," Angell replied. "The other ways? At least he's still alive and there's a chance of getting him back. When he's dead he's gone. He's never coming back. That happens? That happens and he's gone. He's just gone."

Angell's voice cracked at the permanence of those words. She couldn't stop the tears that escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Don," she whispered. Her voice haunted. "I am so sorry. You and Sam didn't deserve this. I know the two of you. The way you love each other. The way you two love your son. And for all people for this to happen to…you two did not deserve this."

"It's okay, Jess," he said and laid a hand on the back of her head and pulled her closer to him.

She could feel his lips in her hair. Feel his warmth against her. Hear the beating of his heart in his chest. And despite the horrible circumstances playing out around them, and despite that this was her dear friend's husband and she herself was with an amazing, fantastic, loving man, she couldn't deny that something still lingered inside of her. How could it not? Her 'relationship' with Flack had been brief, but it had been powerful and unforgettable. And despite the many times that she'd told herself she was over him, it was quite clear she wasn't.

"Did you ever tell, Sam?" Angell asked, forcing herself to pull away from him.

"About?" Flack responded.

"The real deal with me and you. Did you ever tell her?"

Flack sighed. And answered her in the way she was least expecting. He nodded.

Angell blinked. "You did?"

"I told her just after we got married. I told her that there'd been more to me and you than I'd let on. She was a little pissed that I never told her from the get go, but she accepted it. I'm her husband. She knows I love her and I'm not going anywhere."

"But she still formed this friendship with me. This tight, amazing sister like thing. She did that knowing there was a me and you. I just don't…"

"She knows it was the past," Flack said. "Before I ever met her. And she knows that I'd never do anything with you. With anyone for that matter. She trusts me. And she trusts you."

Angell smiled and nodded and wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "What do you say we get out of her and grab a coffee?"

He grinned.

"Actual coffee grabbing this time," she laughed, and reached out to gently clear tears from his face with her fingertips.

"I think that's a good idea," he said. "Than I should head back upstairs. I want to be with Sam in case…you know, in case we hear anything."

"I'll stay for a bit," Angell told him, as she slipped from the pew and stood up.

"You don't have to," Flack said, and slid out of the pew as well.

"Well I want to," she informed him. "So there. Are you okay, now?"

"For the most part," he said.

She laid her hand on his back as they headed for the door. "Wait…" she said, and halted. "I want to do something. Just hang on a second."

"Jess, what…"

He watched as she headed across the room and went over to the table that held the candles. Pulling a lighter from her pocket, Angell picked up one of the small red vases and lit the candle inside.

"This is for Kieran," she told Flack. "And it's going to stay here, burning, until we find him. And when we do, and I'm the one that personally hands your son to you, than I'm going to come back and blow this candle out. Because this little flame? This is what's going to light his way home."

Flack was speechless. Emotion once again threatened to overcome him.

Angell sniffled noisily and joined him at the door. She laid her hands on his sides and looked up at him. "I promise you, Don. He will come home."

"Thank you," he said, his voice raspy.

"What are friends for?" she asked, rubbing his sides. "Come on, let's go and…"

He pressed a brief, feathery kiss to her lips, bringing an abrupt halt to her sentence and all thought in her head.

She jerked away from him as if she'd been scalded.

Flack blinked. As if just realizing what he'd done. "Jess…I'm sorry…I never…"

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him towards her and down into a long, deep, smouldering kiss. Finding resistance at first, than revelling in the feel of his hand on the side of her face as he returned the kiss.

They broke apart. Tears in her eyes. Guilt and immense sadness in his.

"This is where this ends," Angell told him. "Whatever we had or could have had…this moment…this is where all that ends."

Flack nodded, than silently turned and opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Angell sighed and briefly closed her eyes. As wrong as it had been, as guilty as she felt for doing it, regret was the farthest thing from her mind.

Letting him go was turning out to be a lot of a lot harder than she thought.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even the lurkers! And I know there's lots! Please, please, please send me some love folks! I'd appreciate it! Much love to all of you!

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