DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, BABY K AND THE SOON TO BE TRIPPIES.

THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU!

LINCOLN SCOTT IS BASED ON ACTOR VIGGO MORTENSEN. ME LOVES HIM. BUT I AM THINKING MORE VIGGO AS ARAGORN IN THE LOTR MOVIES. AND I GAVE HIM GOLDEN EYES FOR THE SAKE OF VFB.

The truth shall set you free

"Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I'm not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting
I'm through with doubt
There's nothing left for me to figure out
I've paid a price
And I'll keep paying
I'm not ready to make nice
I'm not ready to back down
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could'
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said
Can't you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it."
-Not Ready to Make Nice, The Dixie Chicks

She stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the grey brick four storey walk up building before her. Old newspapers and fliers were scattered along the ground and up the small flight of stairs that led to the front entrance. Trash cans and recycling bins were over turned, spewing contents out onto the sidewalk and onto the road, pop cans and shattered beer bottles and rotting pieces of food collecting in the gutters and clinging to the storm drains. The building itself had seen better days. There was a small hole in the front door, obviously made from a bullet fired from the street, the glass splintering and spider webbing around it and across the entire pane. Several of the building's open windows were missing screens, and with the strong breeze assaulting the city, curtains and blinds were fluttering in the wind and slapping against the bricks.

Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Certainly not her first choice for a leisurely day trip. Despite her better judgement, she had opted to go alone and deal with the ghosts and demons of her past by herself. There was no sense getting her husband or her brother involved in something that she could handle on her own. They'd only want to follow her around like bodyguards. Protect her as if she was some piece of china that would shatter if someone so much as bumped into her. She wasn't an invalid and she wasn't some helpless little girl that needed protection. It wasn't her first time in the neighbourhood and it wouldn't be the last. She'd hung out with kids, most with gang affiliations and their name in high regards on the street, who'd lived in that same building seventeen years ago. Even back then there was garbage on the steps and broken windows and the sounds of arguing and glass and other items shattering as tenants fought in their apartments. Crack heads that slept in the stairwells and begged money off of residents and resorted to muggings if need be. Prostitutes that did their duty in the whatever dark crevice and corner they could find.

No, getting Flack and Adam involved would have only caused her a world of grief. Her husband would have had a conniption had she even brought up the idea of going to Crown Heights on her own. He was regular there, answering more homicide calls in that neighbourhood than any other in all the boroughs. He would have just flat out forbidden here to go and that would have been the end of that. No amount of arguing or pleading would have changed his mind. And she certainly wasn't about to tell him that she was running off to meet the man that was possibly her birth father. Especially when there was no proof that this man from her mother's past was anything more than that. Keeping that information to herself was the best thing to do at this point in time. Until she had something concrete to back the suspicion up, she was keeping her mouth shut.

Especially to her brother. After everything they had been through together over the years, both the psychological and the physical abuse and torment, the one thing that had always held them together and kept them ground was the bond that they shared as brother and sister. And if she was to go ahead and tell him that she suspected they didn't have the same blood flowing through them and another man may be her father…that would destroy Adam. And if, in the end, it proved that Lincoln Scott had no bearing on their lives whatsoever, that the suspicion was proved groundless, she feared that her relationship with her brother would never be fully repaired.

That was not a risk she was willing to take. Which was why, despite the logical side of her brain telling her she was insane to be in that neighbourhood alone, Samantha found herself slowly mounting the steps of that unkempt, nearly condemned walk up apartment by herself.

She stepped inside the small vestibule. It reeked of urine and human feces and she coughed noisily to kept back the bile that rose in her throat. The lock on the door leading into the lobby was busted, allowing anyone off the street to wander in and gain access to the apartments.

Finding Lincoln Scott had been relatively easy. No dipping into the NYPD data base of CODIS. She'd simply opened up a phone book at a pay phone at work her first day back at work following the Arizona trip and looked up the name. There were three L Scott's in Crown Heights and she'd placed a call to each. Pretending to be an alumni of her mother's graduating class who was hunting down old classmates in hopes of them attending a reunion. Only one of the those Lincoln Scott's had called her back saying her remembered a Lynne Ross.

Sam had her man in less than two hours. But it had taken her over a month to get up both the time, and the courage, to do anything about it.

But she was there now. Her heart pounding in her chest and her stomach feeling sick as she paused, her hand in a fist, before knocking on the door to apartment 202. From inside she could hear classical music playing and the shuffling of feet. The thought that that may be her real father, just mere metres away from her was both exhilarating and frightening as hell.

There's no turning back now, she thought. You've come too far to not go through with this. You've risked a lot just by coming here. You have no choice but to do this.

To find out the truth.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly before steeling herself and knocking on the heavy wooden door. It took several tries, each one louder than the one before, before the music was finally turned down and she heard footsteps growing closer and closer to the door. There was a soft scraping noise as the cover for the peep hole was drawn back. Followed by the sound of a chain being pulled across and a dead bolt snapping open.

The door swung open. Bringing her face to face with who could be her true biological father for the first time. Lincoln Scott was no taller than six feet and no heavier than 180 pounds. He had dark hair that tumbled to his shoulders and a couple days worth of stubble on his face. And golden eyes. Eyes that he shared with the young woman standing on his door step. He wore a simple black t-shirt and pair of faded and tattered blue jeans, both items of clothing bearing various coloured streaks of paint. The scent of both pain and paint thinner hanging thick in the air.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice deep and smooth.

"Are you Lincoln Scott?" Sam inquired nervously.

He looked her up and down. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"No…maybe…I don't know…my name is Samantha Flack…I'm with the NYPD. I'm a crime scene investigator and…"

"Is this about the shooting that took place downstairs three nights ago? I already told some colleagues of yours everything I knew."

"This isn't about any crime. I'm not here on business. I'm here to…my maiden name was Ross. Lynne Ross is my mother."

He blinked in recognition of the name.

"Someone told me that you and her knew each other in high school," Sam continued. "They gave me your name and…"

"Is something wrong with your mother? Has something happened to her?"

"No. It's just…" she took a deep breath and struggled with emotion. "Someone told me that they thought you could be my father. And I needed to come here and see you with my own two eyes and talk to you and…" she sighed heavily. "And now I feel really stupid for ever coming here. I'm sorry, I never should have come here."

She turned and walked away. Anxious to just get the hell out of there. To just go home and try and convince herself that that day had never happened.

"Your mother told me about you," Scott called from behind her, standing in the hallway outside of his apartment. "When she was pregnant with you. She told me that there was a chance you could be mine."

Sam stopped and turned. "You knew about me?" she asked, approaching him slowly and cautiously.

"Your mother called me when you were born. To tell me your name, how much you weighed. What hospital she was in. In case I wanted to go and see you."

"Did you?" Sam asked. "Go to the hospital and see you?"

"I stood at the nursery window and looked at you. I saw the name written on a card attached to one of the bassinets. That's how I knew which baby was you. You were tiny. No bigger than a minute. Head full of dark hair and a hell of a set of lungs. The nurses were trying their damndest to look after you and you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead."

She gave a small smile. "You just saw me that one time?"

"There were a few more times. Your mother and I…" he raked his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "This isn't really the place to be talking about this. Out in the hallway like this. Why don't you come inside and sit down. You've come here to see me so obviously doing this was important to you. Did you have far to come?"

"Midtown Manhattan," she said. "I live in lower Manhattan but I was visiting a friend who just had a baby and I…"

"Why don't you come inside," he suggested, laying a gentle hand on her elbow. "I can make you something to drink? Tea? Do you like tea?"

"De-caf," she said. "I have to drink de-caf."

"How far along are you?" he asked curiously, leading her into the apartment.

"Almost six months. I know. I look like I'm ready to pop. There's three in there though, so…"

"Three?" Scott's eyes widened.

She nodded, rubbing her stomach softly. "Surreal, huh?"

"No more surreal than someone who could be your daughter showing up on your door step thirty-four years later," he reasoned.

"You can say that again," she said.

Lindsay checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour alone. She and Kieran had arrived back home at quarter to four. Helium and mylar balloons in the shapes of various zoo animals attached to the handles of the stroller as the toddler inside slept soundly. Exhausted from his busy, productive day.

Samantha had said she would be home no later than four o'clock from spending the afternoon visiting Stella. And while Lindsay didn't mind sticking around later -she didn't really have anything better to do with Danny working and spending time with her nephew was her favourite past time and hardly seemed like a job- she grew more and more worried with each passing minute. And when she hadn't heard from her best friend and Sam hadn't come walking in the door by four thirty, Lindsay decided it was time to start being proactive instead of sitting around stewing and tying herself into knots out of worry. She grabbed the cordless phone and called Sam's cell phone. Frowning when the first three calls rang several times before going to voice mail, and the fourth going straight to the answering service. Most likely because the phone had been turned off after the first string of unanswered calls. She got the number for the hospital and had herself patched through to Stella's room. The older woman telling her, worry in her own voice at the prospect of their friend not yet returning home, that Sam had left shortly after two thirty. That she had said she had some errands to run.

Lindsay didn't like the sounds of that. A pregnant woman out running errands in New York City by herself? Sam was completely mental if she thought that that was okay. Maybe it was because Flack was out of town and she knew she could get away with more. One of those, when the cat's away the mouse will play scenarios.

Whatever the hell it was or whatever was going through her best friends head, Lindsay Monroe was not impressed. She left a nasty message on Sam's voice mail and than went in search of the address book she knew the other woman jotted down all the names and numbers of anyone in the city she knew. Someone had to have at least heard from her. Someone had to know whether or not she was okay.

She searched the master bedroom first. Rummaging through the drawers on the night stands and on the dressers. Coming up completely empty handed. She scoured through the piles of magazines on the coffee table in the living room and looked through the books that inhabited the entertainment unit. Still nothing. She went into the kitchen and looked through cupboards and drawers. Growing more frustrated and impatient each time her search proved fruitless.

She checked the table last. Thumbing through case folders that had been tossed there. Leafing through opened and unopened mail and flyers. Moving things out of the way until she finally spotted it. A Hello Kitty address book.

Only Sam, she thought with a grin and scooped it up. She flipped it open, prepared to start at A and just call whatever name she came across, when a piece of folded paper fluttered to the floor. She sighed and bent down to pick it up. Curious, she opened it and studied the black writing before her.

Lincoln Scott. 2312 Jackson Apt 202 Crown Heights. April 26/10. YOU MUST DO THIS!

"What in the hell, Samantha…" Lindsay said aloud, and tossing the address book on the table, hurried for the cordless phone sitting on top of the fridge. She pressed talk and dialled the familiar number. "Danny…" she said before he got the chance to get the words Detective Messer out of his mouth. "I need you to do me a really big favour."

"Depends what kind of favour you need," he teased. "A 'can you pick something up for me at the store kind of favour?' or a 'Can you take an hour dinner break and come home and ravish me right now' kind of favour?"

Lindsay managed a small smile. "I wish it was something so simple as picking up milk on the way home or stopping by to get your rocks off," she sighed.

"Hey! Not just my rocks, babe. Your's too. It would be all about you."

"Unfortunately, this is something a little more serious."

A pregnant pause. "What's going on?" Danny's voice sounded concerned.

"It's Samantha," Lindsay told him. "I need you to…"

"What about to her? She sick? Having pain or something? Is something wrong with the babies? I tell ya, Flack goes out of town one day and all hell breaks loose. He's going to seriously rip my head off and shit down my throat if something happens to either Sam or them babies."

"She's fine. The babies are fine. Or at least I'm hoping they are…"

"Montana…what's going on?"

"Sam told me she was going to be home from visiting Stella at four. It's five to five now Danny. She hasn't called to touch base with me and let me know where she is and her cell phone is turned off. I called Stella at the hospital and she said Sam left more than two and a half hours ago."

"Well maybe she's running some errands," Danny reasoned. "Her cell could have died on her. She probably forgot to charge it. Brooklyn would forget her head if it wasn't attached."

"I went through her address book, to get some numbers to call other people she knew to see if she had stopped by one of their places. And this piece of paper fell out of it. There's a name and an address and today's date and the words 'you must do this written on it'."

"What's the address?" Danny asked. Sounding completely unimpressed.

"It's an apartment building in Crown Heights."

"Crown Heights?!" Danny nearly shouted. "What the fuck is she doing in Crown Heights?!"

"I don't know. Sam would never do anything to put her or those babies in jeopardy. I just hope nothing's happened to her or them for being stupid enough to go somewhere like that."

"Give me that goddamn address," Danny said angrily. "I'll go and drag her out of there if I have to."

Lindsay rattled off the name and the address. "What do you think she's doing there?"

"I have a couple of ideas and none of them are good. And if I go there and find out she's been messing around behind Flack's back with this guy…"

"I hardly doubt that's what it is, Danny," Lindsay said. "She loves Flack. She loves her life with him. She's pregnant with his children."

"Maybe they're not his children," he reasoned. "Maybe she's wondering who they belong to. Flack or this Lincoln Scott character."

Lindsay frowned. "Now that's overreacting."

"Yeah…well anything is possible, right? Shit like this happens all the time."

"Not with two people that love each other as much as they do," Lindsay argued. "Just find her, Danny. Getting pissed at her isn't going to solve anything."

"It would scare her a bit. Put the fear of God into her. Make her fuss up to Flack about whatever it is she's up to."

"I'm sure it's nothing as scandalous as you're imagining. Sam would never, ever cheat on Flack. And she wouldn't go somewhere like Crown Heights if she didn't have a damn good reason. She'd never do anything to put those babies at risk and you know it. There's got to be some kind of explanation."

"She better goddamn have a really, really good one," Danny declared. "I'll go and get her. Bring her home. But I'm telling you right now, she's messing around on Flack and I'll…"

"That's not what it is," Lindsay insisted. "She loves him too much."

"We don't know what goes on behind closed doors, Montana."

"She would never do something like that," Lindsay remained firm. "She's got a reason to be there. You going ape shit on her? Won't solve a damn thing."

"She'll be lucky that's all I do," Danny said. "I'm on my way there now."

"Thank you, baby. I love you."

"Love ya," he said and hung up.

I'm going to kick your ass, Samantha Flack, Lindsay thought as she hung up the phone and began pacing the small kitchen.

Samantha took in her surroundings. The living room was small and sparsely furnished. A ragged looking cream coloured wing back chair sat diagonally from a futon style couch with a burgundy cover over the mattress. Along one wall was floor to ceiling book shelf . Filled with a wide variety of hard and soft cover novels. Everything from Stephen King to Nitzche to poetry by Yates and Robert Frost. A eclectic mix to say the least. Revealing someone with an open mind and a wide variety of tastes and interest in different cultures. There was no television in the room. Only an small stereo that had obviously seen better days. What captured her eye, and her fascination, was the numerous wooden art easels displaying various sized water colour paintings. There were some portraits and still life, but most were landscapes of various places in New York City. Exceptional work that belonged hanging on a gallery wall as opposed to a cramped apartment in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.

Sitting on the cluttered coffee table were stacks of coloured photographs. Of the same scenes that had been so expertly painted. On the floor by the window, a paint splattered drop cloth covered the hard wood. Brushes and paints of various colours and a bucket of water sat below an unfinished piece. The Brooklyn Bridge, standing below and to the side of it, while looking into Manhattan at twilight.

"Your work is beautiful," Sam praised, admiring the finished paintings a little closure. "Have you always been an artist?"

"It's a passion of mine," Scott told her from where he prepared tea in the galley kitchen. "I've been picking up a brush since I was in my early teens. But I'm more of a starving artist. I've never been able to quite get my foot in the door of the New York City art scene."

"Any scene in New York City is a bitch to get into unfortunately," Sam sighed. "What do you do job wise?"

"I'm a freelance photographer. Wedding photos, engagement pictures. You name it, I take it. I also take photos around the city for my own personal use. For my painting. My full time job is with the department of transportation. I've been there for nearly thirty three years. Started with the maintenance crew fresh out of high school. I take care of mechanical issues with the tracks or the trains themselves. Fix things that need to be fixed. Things like that."

"There has to be some way of getting your name and your work out there," Sam said, ignoring her cell phone as it rang, for the third time in less than fifteen minutes, inside of her purse. "Because these are just too amazing not to be seen and appreciated by people. Do you ever sell them?"

"Painting is mostly for my own enjoyment. But I have given some away, sold a couple here and there…"

"Well they're exquisite. This one here, of Tavern on the Green at night? It has special meaning to me."

"How so?"

"My husband took me to Tavern on the Green and for a carriage ride. When he proposed the second time."

Scott carried two mugs of tea into the living room. "A second time?" he asked curiously, setting the drinks down on the coffee table. "Did you break up after the first time?"

"No. Just his first proposal wasn't entirely how he had imagined it would go. So he decided to give it another try. It was very romantic and sweet. Which for him, is very rare. So it was extra special to me. I'll never forget that night as long as I live."

"Have you been married long?" he asked, motioning for her to sit down on the futon, than laying a hand on her elbow, the other on the small of her back and assisting her in sitting down.

"Not very long," Sam replied Reaching into her purse, she turned her cell phone off. "A year just this past Christmas Eve."

"And these are your first children?"

Sam shook her head and picked up her mug. "Second, third and fourth. We have a son. Kieran. He's fifteen months old. The light of our lives."

"Kieran…Kieran Flack…that name sounds very familiar…"

"We were in the paper quite a bit a couple of months ago. Our son was kidnapped from our apartment. By our neighbour across the hall who took him because…"

"Someone had an axe to grind with your husband. I read the story that was printed after your son had been returned. I'm very sorry you had to go through all of that. It must have been an utter nightmare."

"It wasn't pleasant," she sighed. "But we're starting to cope and deal with things."

"And you and your husband both work for the NYPD?"

She nodded and sipped her tea. "I work through the crime lab and he's a homicide detective. A sergeant, actually. He's in Connecticut today. Dealing with some weasel congressman he a case against about four years back."

"Works a lot of hours?"

"Too many sometimes. But he loves his job and is damn good at it. I like to think this city is a little bit of a better place because of him. God knows he's given enough to this place. Blood, sweat and tears. More blood than anything, mind you. But that's a whole other story all in itself."

"He's been injured in the line of duty?"

"He almost died. Before he met me. He was caught in a bomb explosion. A bomb set by the same creep that got our neighbour to take our son. Surreal, huh? And people think this stuff only happens on television or in story books."

"Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction," Scott reasoned.

"Very true," she agreed. "And thank you for the tea. You didn't have to be so nice to some strange pregnant woman showing up on your doorstep claiming that she could be your daughter."

"You hardly feel like a stranger," he said with a smile. "Like I said, I saw you shortly after you were born. And your mother kept me updated on your progress once you were out of the hospital."

Sam's eyes widened. "She did?"

He nodded. "I knew there was a strong possibility that you were my daughter. But there was no proof and neither of us had the money that it took to find out for sure. And your mother's boyfriend was in the picture complicating things somewhat. It wasn't a cut and dry situation."

"Life never is," Sam sighed. "You were a friend of my mother's or…"

"Your mother was my first love. She was young and beautiful and somewhat of a wild child. She was sixteen and I was seventeen. I was the shy, quiet, introverted type. She seemed more into the jocks and the bad boys. So you can imagine my surprise when she asked me out."

"She asked you?" Sam asked in surprise.

He nodded. "We were quite the odd couple. People made fun of us because of how different we were. But it didn't matter to us. We were in love and that's all that mattered. Until she decided that the lifestyle I could give her wasn't the one she wanted at that time. She met your father and broke up with me. And than she came up pregnant."

"How far into the relationship with him?"

"A couple of weeks. But she'd been seeing him while she was with me so you can see why there was a question as to paternity."

"Mom's made a lot of mistakes unfortunately," Sam sighed.

"We all have. My greatest one was never pushing to find out whether you were mine or not."

"If you had have known, would you have wanted me?" she asked in a small voice.

"I wasn't in any position in my younger years to take care of a child," he replied honestly. "After high school, I fell into the wrong crowd myself. Drugs, alcohol. I've done time, went to AA. The list is endless. A life with me…that wouldn't have been the best thing for you. You were better off with your mother and your father."

Sam snorted. "My father used to beat me and my brother to a pulp and lock us in the basement when we were bad. With no food or water for days. He put my brother's leg in a tub of scalding water because Adam was bad. He fed us rancid meat and stale bread and wouldn't get us medical attention when we needed it. He drank and he did drugs and he used to come into my room and…" she cleared her throat noisily. "He wasn't a nice man. So please don't tell me that I was better off with him."

Scott sighed heavily and stared into the murky depths of his mug. "I'm sorry that you had to experience that as a child. But believe me, I wouldn't have been your answer to a wonderful childhood or a happily ever after."

"Didn't you ever wonder how I was doing?" Sam asked. "Didn't you ever wonder if I was okay?"

"Your mother kept in contact with me. She always let on that everything was fine. I know that when you were six you had your tonsils removed. When you were ten you got the lead in the school Christmas pageant as the Virgin Mary. I know that you played soccer and volleyball during grade seven and eight and into your early high school years. I know that your first boyfriend's name was Chester Lake."

Sam's eyes were wide and brimming with tears. "You know all of that yet you never thought of coming around to check on me? To make sure that I was alright? And what about when I got older? Why didn't you come around when I was old enough to comprehend things and tell me you thought I was your daughter?"

"Your mother asked me not to come around or speak directly to you. She said she didn't want to confuse you and complicate your life anymore than it already was. That you were happy and healthy and had a brother that you adored and would never dream of ever leaving him."

"Well she was right about one part," Sam huffed. "I never would have left my brother in that goddamn hell hole all by himself."

"If I had have know what you were really going through…"

"Well you didn't. I can't fault you for that. But other people did and they never did a damn thing about it. But I can't imagine knowing that you may have a daughter and listening to a nut job like my mother dictate how things are going to go."

"Despite everything, your mother loved you. I'm sure she loves still. And your life, in the long run, obviously didn't turn out too bad."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, a thirty four year old mother and wife with intimacy and trust issues. No, I didn't turn out so bad. Other than being completely goddamn mental."

"Just know that I did care about you. That I did wonder about you and that I thought about you all the time and prayed for you. And hoped that one day you'd find out about me."

"Well here I am," she gave a small laugh. "Surprise! The daughter you're not sure is yours or not."

"It's a very complicated situation," he agreed.

"That's a nice way of putting it. Complicated. I was thinking of a few words. None of them pleasant or polite either."

"I admit, it's not an easy thing to find out after thirty-three years. Thirty four I should say. It was your birthday two days ago."

She smiled. "You actually remember that?"

"I remember a lot of things," Scott told her and stood up. He went to the book shelf and pulled out a hard cover copy of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Opening it the front cover, he took out a medium sized manila envelope and returned to the futon. "I've keep this in this book," he held up the heavy novel before setting it on the coffee table. "My favourite book, for a long time."

"That's my favourite series of books, too," she said. "And I loved the movies. Especially Return of the King. I make my husband watch it with me all the time. He laughs because he says the only reason I watch them is because I'm crushing on Viggo Mortensen. The guy who played Aragorn? I'll neither deny or admit it of course. Has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like him?"

"A few people," Scott told her. "I've been told he was popular among the ladies."

"What's this?" Sam asked, as he held out the manila envelope to her.

"Something I think you should look at. So you know that my concern for you was genuine."

She sat her mug on the coffee table and took the envelope and opened it. Eyes widening as she pulled out items. Starting with a wrinkled and yellowing birth announcment from the local newspaper. Her birth announcement from thirty four years ago. The envelope was a treasure trove of memories. A tiny pink and white beaded bracelet that had graced her ankle after her birth. Stacks of photographs. Starting with one of a tiny, dark haired toddler sitting on her mother's lap attempting to blow out the single candle on her first birthday cake. The rest were school pictures. Kindergarten right on up to what Sam knew was her grade eleven photograph. When she was into her goth stage. Raven black hair and heavy black eye liner and blood red lipstick.

It was surreal. Knowing that the man sitting beside her had had these items for years but had never gone any further in his quest for the girl that appeared in all the pictures.

"I lost track of you once you moved to Arizona," Scott told her.

"Had I know you ever existed I never would have went there," she said, her voice a near whisper. "Had I know I had someone in the city I never would have left. And than Zack never would have happened and things would have been so different. I would have been happy and found my own true love sooner and not gone through what I had."

"There's no guarantee of that," he told her. "At all. You could have stayed and never met your husband before two years ago. There's no saying that you would have met any sooner. Had you stayed, your path would have been completely different. You may not have made the choices you did with schooling. You may have chosen another career and you would have never met him. And you would had never had your son or the babies you're carrying right now."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't. But what I do know is that I'm sure you'd much rather have met him and be with him the way things are, than to never have met him at all. That's why it's a good thing sometimes that we can't go back and change the hands of time."

"All this time you knew about me but I didn't know about you," she said with a sigh and tucked the photos and other items back into the envelope.

"You know about me now."

"Thanks to my step dad," she told him. "Because he felt I had a right to know."

"You did have that right. But it wasn't up to me to tell you. Your mother should have…"

"My mother should have done a lot of things," Sam said. "Her whole life has been nothing but a lot of mistakes and missed chances."

"We all have regrets, Samantha. Life is made up out of mistakes and missed chances."

"Was I a mistake?" she asked in a small voice. "Is that how you saw me? Because that's how my mother sees me."

"Your mother would never see you that way."

She gave a small laugh. "Boy, you have no idea what she became over the years. She's a mean, spiteful, bitter old woman. And that's being nice."

"To me you weren't a mistake. The mistake was in not taking the chance on having a relationship with you."

"I need to know," Sam said, using her fingertips to brush away tears that slipped down her cheeks. "I need to know if you really are my father. Maybe you could give me something for a DNA test and I can…"

"Does it really matter now?" he asked. "It's been thirty four years. Does it really matter?"

"To me it does," she replied. "I need some kind of peace of mind. Some closure. Maybe once I know this I can close the book on other things too."

"It's something that I'd need to think about," Scott told her.

"What's there to think about?" she asked with a dry laugh. "You already suspect I'm yours? Don't you want to know?"

"I want you to think about what finding something like that out would do to you. To your relationship with your brother."

"Adam's a big boy. He'd accept it and deal with it. We're still brother and sister regardless of whether we have the same father or not."

"How do you know he'd see it that way?"

"Because he's my baby brother and I love him no matter what. I took care of him and protected him when my mother and father were too shit faced and stoned to do it. I know Adam. And he'd get over something like this and deal with it."

"I think it's something that you really need to think about," Scott told her and stood up. He picked up their empty tea mugs and headed for the kitchen.

Sam sighed heavily and looked out the window at the grey and dreary skies. The weather had started out warm and beautiful and had drastically morphed into something completely different.

Just like her entire day.

He waited at the curb. Leaning against the front passenger door of the department issues Avalanche. A take out cup clutched tightly in his hands and his eyes riveted on the front doors of the dumpy walk up apartment building. He'd been there for over an hour. Biding his time by nursing a now lukewarm black coffee and thinking of all the things he was going to say when he ripped into her.

And he was going to do it. Rip into her. Because putting herself and those babies in harms way was inexcusable.

As was cheating on his best friend.

He said nothing when she finally emerged from the building. Her head down and her dark hair falling over her face. Hands stuffed in her pockets as she slowly made her way down the stairs.

He made his move as one of her feet hit the ground. He sat the coffee cup on the roof of the Avalanche and stepped up onto sidewalk. Catching her by the top of her left arm as she headed in the direction of the subway station, and turning her around to face him.

"Going somewhere, Brooklyn?" he asked. "Like say maybe home to your husband and your kid?"

She blinked. Clearly shocked and taken back by his presence. "Danny? What are you doing here?"

"Thought you'd get away with your little excursion, huh? That no one would find out about you being here? Back to your old stomping grounds. I gotta admit, hiding that name and address in an address book you stuffed under mounds of other shit? Pretty damn smart. Bet you didn't think anyone would ever look for it."

"What are you talking about? I…"

"And using Stella and her new baby as a ruse? Letting us all think you were visiting all day and instead you're out here? In Crown Heights? Running around?"

"What? Running around? Are you kidding me?"

"Lindsay found the address book, Brooklyn. She was worried when you didn't come home when you said you would. And she got even more worried, near frantic, when she tried calling you and you never answered. She thought something had happened to you and those babies. She came across his name. His address. The little note you wrote beside it."

"You have no goddamn idea what you're talking about, Danny," she huffed and attempted to yank her arm away.

"I know that while Lindsay, my future wife and you're best friend is at home watching your kid, you're our gallivanting around Brooklyn. That while your husband, my best friend, is out in Connecticut, working triple OT to take care of you and his son and his unborn children, you're out screwing around behind his back."

"What!" Sam snapped. "You think I'm fucking around on my husband?!"

"No other reason for you to be running around on your own. You'd only be doing that if you had something to hide."

"Look at me, Danny! Look at how pregnant I am! I'm not out cheating on Don! How the hell could you even think that?"

"Lincoln Scott. That's his name. So who is he, Brooklyn? Someone you met on the job? Someone you may have met while out and about? Boyfriend? Lover?"

"Give me a break," she snorted and finally managed to free herself. "Screw you, Danny! You have no right coming here! You have no right following me and accusing me of something like that?"

"Tell me who he is to you," Danny insisted. "Is he a boyfriend, Samantha? Someone you've been seeing on the side? Someone maybe you're planning on leaving Flack for? He's my best friend and if you're fucking around behind his back…"

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you! That you'd ever think that about me! I love Don! He's my husband! The father of my children!"

"Is he? Is he the father of those babies? Or is it this Lincoln Scott character? Is he the real baby daddy?"

Her first reaction to the accusation was a shocking one. A loud, hard, stinging slap across Danny Messer's face.

"Fuck you, Danny!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Fuck you! Don't you ever talk to me like that ever again! I'd never, ever cheat on my husband! None of this is any of your goddamn business."

He touched the red welt left on his cheek. "Why are you hear, Brooklyn?" he asked calmly.

"None of your business!" she repeated. "You had no right coming here and accusing me of things! Now get the hell away from me and leave me alone."

Danny watched as she stomped off down the sidewalk. Sighing heavily, he used the remote lock on his key chain to secure the doors on the Avalanche and went after her. "Brooklyn…" he grabbed her by the hand.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, yanking her hand away.

"What are you doing here? Whose this Lincoln Scott guy?"

"It doesn't matter to you, Danny!"

"It does matter," he insisted. "It matters a lot. Because you're my friend and Flack's my best friend and you' running around a place like Crown Heights is putting yourself, and those babies at risk. And I'd never forgive myself, and he'd never forgive me, if anything happened to any of you or all of you."

"Please just go away," she pleaded. "Please."

"I want to believe you, Brooklyn. I do. I want to believe that you wouldn't do anything to hurt Flack."

"I wouldn't," she said. "I love him. More than you could ever know. So just back off."

Danny caught her hand once again. "Who is this guy to you, Sam? Who is he to you that is so important you'd put yourself and your babies in danger?"

She ignored him and pulled her hand away once more.

Danny stopped walking and decided to use the last ace up his sleeve. He pulled out his cell phone and held it to his ear. Pretending to make a call. "Fine, Brooklyn. You want to play hard ball? Let's call Flack right now and see how he feels about you being out here. Alone. Pregnant with his kids. Let's see if he knows this Lincoln Scott."

She halted immediately and turned to face him. Sheer panic registering on her face.

"You want to tell him or do you want me to do it?" Danny asked. "Your choice."

Sam hurried back to her friend and ripped his cell phone from his grasp. "This has nothing to do with you!" she cried. "Or with Don!"

"He's your husband! You're his wife! Those are his babies you're carrying! It has everything to do with him!" Danny argued.

She shook her head. Tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You know it does, Brooklyn," Danny's voice was quiet and gentle. "You know that everything you do has something to do with Flack. He loves you. You're the love of his life. His everything. And if something is going on with you and this Scott guy."

"Nothing is going on," she cried. "I wouldn't do that to Don!"

"Than what is it?" Danny laid a hand on the side of her face. "What's going on? Why'd you come here? Alone? Why didn't you want anyone to know about this?"

"You don't understand," she whispered.

"No. I don't. But maybe if you tell me.."

"Lincoln Scott…he's someone from my mother's past…"

"And?" Danny pressed.

"And he thinks, and I think…we think that he's my father."

Danny's eyes widened in shock.

"I think he's my father," she choked out, than proceeded to rest her head against her friend's chest and break down into heart wrenching sobs.

Unable to form any words or rational thought, Danny Messer did what he thought was best.

Standing there, in the middle of that garbage strewn, dirty sidewalk in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, a light, misty rain falling onto them, he wrapped his arms around his best friend's wife and held onto her as tightly as he possibly could.

Under the watchful and concerned eyes of an unseen and unknown and extremely suspicious observer across the street.

A little bit of a cliffie there? Who do you guys think it is? Let me know in your reviews!

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