DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.

A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!

Two calls, two outcomes

"I've got something to say but now I got nowhere to turn
It feels like I've been buried underneath all the weight of the world
I try to hold this, under control
They can't help me
'Cause no one knows
Now I'm going through changes, changes
God I feel so frustrated lately
When I get suffocated save me
Now I'm going through changes, changes
I'm blind and shaking
Bound and breaking
I hope I make it through all these changes."
-Changes, Three Doors Down

Samantha Flack felt like shit.

There were no other words that could adequately describe the poor health that had been hanging over her head like a proverbial black cloud for nearly three weeks. Lingering migraines and unshakable body aches. A constantly queasy stomach and various other flu like symptoms. She blamed it on one of two things. Either one, or more, of the kids were carrying some damn virus that insisted on plaguing her, or her menopause was kicking into high gear and causing her insurmountable suffering. Dizzy spells, hot and cold flashes. The list went on and on and no amount of medication seemed to help. The symptoms abated for short periods of time, then always came back with a vengeance.

And as life neared the end of the third week of April, three days shy of her forty-ninth birthday, the agony had become unbearable. She had barely been able to make it through a briefing with her team. The ATF had passed down word that, based on a credible source, a local Colombian business man was running a human trafficking and weapons smuggling ring out of his fine goods warehouse in the lower west side of Manhattan. Reports were that a shipment of 'goods' was scheduled to reach the Port Authority in two weeks time. Upon arrival, ATF and Department of Homeland security, along with members of the NYPD, would be waiting, search warrants in hand.

Due to their number of successfully solved cases and immigration issues, Samantha's small team had been hand picked by the ATF agent in charge of the raid. There was a lot to get done. Two weeks seemed like a lot of time for some, but when it came to DHS, two weeks passed like a blink of an eye. There were scenarios to run through, game plans to be worked out in conjuncture with ATF and NYPD. Some of the agents were young and had never been on a raid before and needed to be re-tested on their firearm proficiency skills. It was a lot of planning and running back and forth to meetings with various agencies. On top of the other work that was stacked sky high on all of their desks. Employee evaluations were due in a week's time. And Sam had yet to crack a single folder open. There was a dozen people to write up reviews on, and not enough time it seemed to get to them.

It had taken all of her will power to get through the meeting. The head ache was tremendous and the nausea unbearable. Once the two hours was up, she'd locked herself in her office and collapsed behind her desk and popped a handful of Gravol tablets in hopes they'd soothe her stomach and keep down what little food she'd been able to handle.

The pills had failed to do either. She'd gone down to cafeteria and bought some Melba toast, a cup of peppermint tea and a bottle of ginger-ale. The latter she'd sat on the window ledge in her office after twisting off the top of the bottle. Flattening it out before drinking it. It had always served to settle her stomach before. As did the Melba toast and tea she sat down at her desk with. Sipping the steaming beverage and munching on the plain, try 'toast' as she attempted, despite the pain in her head, to get some actual work done.

The month since the passing of Don Flack Sr had flown by. The interment had taken place a week after his death with little fanfare. Only his wife, sons and his two oldest grandchildren had been there. The NYPD brass had made a stink about him not having a department burial. They were adamant that despite what the will had stipulated, a man of his legend and stature deserved to be remembered publicly. Flack had simply showed the commissioner the will and pointed out his father's, and the lawyer's signatures, and told the older man to just accept it. The family wasn't going to go against his father's wishes and that was that. Flack missed Mac Taylor as the police commissioner. Mac didn't walk around thinking his shit didn't stink and treat anyone below him like a piece of shit just there to wait on him hand and foot. Joe Cantiolono was Brooklyn born and raised and had spend his entire forty year career with the NYPD before taking a hike to Chicago and serving as their commissioner before Mac had personally handpicked him and recruited him as his successor.

As far as Flack was concerned, it was the worst mistake Mac Taylor had ever made. Cantiolono was an asshole through and through. He rarely came up with a decent worthwhile idea, yet was quick to take credit for a policy or reform that took place in the department, shitting on the actual person whose hard work and idea it had been. He hated working for the prick. And dreaded the seemingly endless parade of meetings the commissioner insisted on. Flack was more action and less talk. And he couldn't stand sitting on his ass in his own office attending to paper work, never mind being stuck in a long winded, intolerable meeting.

Personal wise, family life had been relatively calm and non-eventful save for Kieran's hockey team winning the state wide high school championships and the head ache that his break up with Addie had caused. He had done the right thing by going over to her house an evening shortly after his conversation with his mother. He'd sat down with her and told her that he was breaking up and then explained, calmly and with great sensitivity, why he was doing it. Addie had taken it bad. Like most young women, and some men, who were convinced they were madly in love only to be dumped in the end. She wasn't the first person to ever to face a break up, and she wouldn't be the last. But she'd be devastated and heartbroken and gone running to mommy and daddy. Speed had taken it upon himself to then call up Kieran and ream the kid out or being such a little bastard. And had accused him of having a missing sensitivity chip, just like his father. To which Kieran, who was offended anytime someone bad mouthed his dad, told his 'uncle' to go fuck himself and hung up on him.

Hell had broken loose over that. Within half an hour, Speed was at their doorstep looking to pummel Kieran Flack's ass. An argument between Sam and Speed had soon ensued on the front porch. A lot of yelling, name calling and profanity. In the end, Speed had left vowing to never talk to the entire family again and Sam had told him if was no skin off her ass and to just fuck off. To which Speed had commented that it was obvious where Kieran got his attitude, and foul mouth from.

Carmen had been mortified by her husband's behaviour and had called later that night to apologize. Sam had accepted it, but things hadn't been the same between them since. Sam imagined Carmen was facing a lot of grief from her husband, and maybe even Addie, for being friends still with the family who raised such a prick of a son.

But Sam couldn't be bothered to concern herself with trivial nonsense. The fact of the matter was, she was just too sick to care. And just as she was indulging in some self pity and contemplating calling the family physician and finding out just what in the hell was wrong with her -stress was on the top of her list of self diagnosis'- the phone on her desk rang, startling her out of her fog of suffering.

She took a sip of tea and swallowed before scooping up the receiver of the phone that sat on her desk. "Agent Flack," she said in way of greeting, expecting one of her children.

"Yes, good afternoon, Mrs Flack…" a warm and friendly deep voice, bearing a slight middle eastern accent greeted her. "This is Doctor Sanjay calling. I hope this is a good time for us to speak."

She imagined that the older, distinguished man was calling to discuss the results of some blood work she'd had taken in his office two weeks ago. The fertility specialist was renowned not just in New York State, but all over North American. It had been Hawkes, with his seemingly endless list of friends, who'd put her in touch with the Doctor Sanjay.

Sam and Flack, in their quest to have a baby despite her increasing issues with impending menopause, had seen him for the first of many scheduled appointments. The two hours spent talking about the options that were available to them if there were viable eggs to be recovered and if there wasn't. They'd both been put through blood work and urinalysis to declare them healthy and the doctor had discusses their medical histories and then outlined what steps would be taken on the road to conception of what would be their seventh, and definitely last, child.

The second appointment, to have an ultrasound to check out the condition of her uterus, had been scheduled for the following week. All they'd been waiting on was the result of the blood work. Which they'd both been hoping and praying, was all clear.

"Nice to hear from you, Doctor," she said. "You've caught me at the right time. I was wondering when you'd be calling."

"I just received both your's and your husband's blood work back from the lab. I wanted to call you and discuss some things. Your husband's tests came back clear. He's exceptionally healthy. But your testing…"

She felt her heart sank. Both at those words and at the tone of the doctor's voice. He sounded so…concerned. And maybe even a bit confused. Which could only mean bad news awaited her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I'm not sick or anything am I? My white cell count is normal and all that right?"

"Everything appears normal there. It's just that…" he sighed. "I don't know how to tell you this. I actually can't quite believe it myself to be honest."

"You can't help us can you," she said. "The menopause is too far gone. There's nothing you can do for us. We waited too long."

"It's not that," he assured her. "It's just that…well the levels show that you are pre-menopausal. For certain heading towards the beginning of the change of life. But…"

She sighed and placed a hand to her forehead. The aching in her brain escalating at the sound of the doctor's voice. "Can you help us or not?" she asked impatiently.

"I'm afraid I can't," he replied. "But it's not because you're beyond help. It's just that…Mrs Flack, when was your last normal menstrual cycle?"

She thought about it. Going through the dates in her mind. "End of December she replied. "I started on December 20th and ended on the twenty-eighth."

"Anything after that?"

"Nothing. Maybe some slight cramping near that time of the month. But not even the slightest bit of spotting."

"I see…" the doctor said. She could hear the scratch of a pen on the other end as he took notes. "So it's been four months, " he stated. "Nothing since then."

"Nothing," she confirmed. "My husband and I chalked it up to menopause. Especially after we started having those intimacy issues that we discussed when we were there."

"I see…" he said once more. "Well I have some quite startling news for you."

Christ, she thought. Here it comes. I'm dying or something.

"As I said, you're pre-menopausal," the doctor told her. "But according to both your blood work and urinalysis, you're also pregnant."

She nearly drooped the phone. Shock rushed through her at the man's words. "Come again?" she squeaked.

"Pregnant," he repeated, speaking up, as if he thought maybe the connection had gone bad. "And if what you say is accurate, you're approximately, give or take a couple of weeks for conception time, three and a half months. Almost four."

"Excuse me?" Sam couldn't quite wrap her mind around the news. "That can't be wright. I've had my tubes tied."

"Ten out of one hundred women get pregnant after their tubes are tied," Doctor Sanjay informed her. "Did your OB not explain that to you?"

"She did. But it was seven years ago! My husband and I have been having regular unprotected sex for seven years! And nothing happened until now?"

"Well…sometimes it takes years for scar tissue to form. And when it does, it can form a sort of tube all on it's own. Or loosen the tie in your natural tube, enable an egg to pass through."

Sam closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "And you are absolutely sure about this? I mean, we were coming to you to have my tubes untied! So you could help us get pregnant!"

"I understand that, Mrs Flack. But it seems as if you and your husband already did the hard work all on your own."

Sam laughed at that. "It didn't seem like work at the time, trust me."

The doctor chuckled. "And my testing is a hundred percent accurate, I assure you. But if you'd like to either come in again, or purchase a home test for your own peace of mind…"

"No. I trust you and your results. It's just that…" she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't…I can't quite believe this."

"I understand it must be a shock," the doctor told her. "To come here expecting my help in conceiving, only to find out you'd done it on your own. Quite surprising."

"You can say that again," she sighed.

"Are you not happy of the outcome or…"

"No…I mean yes…yes I am happy. Ecstatically happy. We wanted a baby so bad. I just didn't expect it to happen this way. I thought for sure that we'd have to go through all sorts of tests and maybe in-vitro. I never thought we'd do it this way."

"God works in mysterious ways," Doctor Sanjay declared. "I offer my congratulations to you and your husband."

"Thank you…he's going to be…surprised. Very surprised."

"I will fax my results to your OB. Her name is on file, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"I will tell her to contact you and you can begin making plans for appointments with her. Ultrasounds, blood work and such. I would imagine, based on your age and the problems you've had with pre-eclampsia and incompetent cervix that you'd be treated as high risk. And because you already have a child with an abnormality…"

"We'll have to have every test imaginable," Sam concluded. "We know."

"It's an exciting yet scary time," the doctor said. "Congratulations. I wish you both all the best."

"Thank you," Sam told him. "And thank you for calling me."

"It was my pleasure. Take care of yourself. And your new baby."

And with that the doctor disconnected the call. Leaving Samantha sitting at her desk, the receiver still pressed to ear, staring off into the distance and allowing the news to sink in.

Truth was, she didn't know whether to laugh of cry. Her brain was having a hell of a time digesting everything that the doctor had told her. Pregnant? Three and a half months if not more? Being able to conceive after tubal ligation? Scar tissue making their own tube? Christ. It was a lot of info for one brain to sort out. A lot of things that would not to be considered. Important decisions that would need to be made. She'd need more blood work, a definite exam by the OB, thorough ultrasounds and an amniocentesis. Having Declan meant that having another child just like him, at her age, was a one in four chance. And she just didn't know if…

She pushed all negative thoughts out of her mind. At the end of it all, once she was able to fully accept what she'd been told, only one thing mattered most.

There was a baby growing inside of her.

She picked the phone up once, a neatly manicured finger nail pausing over the numbers as she contemplated her next step. Calling her husband was first on her list of priorities. But he was in a closed door meeting with the Chief of Police and the Commissioner and wouldn't have his cell phone turned on. There was no telling how long the meeting would last for. She dialled his cell number and left a message as it went directly to voice mail. Trying to keep her voice as calm and collected as possible as she asked him to please call her when he got the message. That it was important, but not an emergency. Finishing with that she hoped everything had gone well.

And that she loved him.

For good measure, she left an identical message on his work extension before hanging up.

Next on her list, was verifying what Doctor Sanjay had said about the possibility of pregnancy after having her tubes tied. While she believed such a well respected and valued professional, a part of her still needed to see it to believe it. And sure enough, there was countless stories of women who'd become pregnant, some even a decade after having their tubes tied.

If it's going to happen, it's going to happen to me, Sam sighed, her hand absentmindedly reaching down to rub her stomach. Her mind was going into overload at all the things that would need to be done. Appointments and tests. A nursery would have to be made. Things would have to be bought. After Liam they'd gotten rid of all of their baby things.

So much to do. And based on the doctor's surmising of her conception date, not a hell of a lot of time do to them in.

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea slowly. The shock of the announcement now being replaced by elation. The thought that there was a baby already inside of her, thriving and growing, brought tears to her eyes and a broad smile to her face. Despite the fact that she had already gone through four pregnancies and bore six children, any conception and birth was a miracle. She loved being pregnant. Not so much the symptoms and the months of illness and worry, but the feeling of a child inside of her. Of having someone she was solely responsible for. Someone relying on her to get them into the world safely and to love them and nurture them all the days of their life. Whether it was her first -although nothing actually ever replaced the excitement and fear of your first pregnancy- or her sixth, all of her children were precious in her eyes.

Including you, she thought, as she laid her hand over her stomach and rubbed it softly. It just now occurring to her that she had been looking somewhat bloated within the last month. She'd chalked it up to menopause and the fact that she wasn't as young as she used to be, and not so concerned with her figure anymore. She had the man of her dreams, he wasn't going anywhere. Whether she was a size two or a twenty two. And as she got older, she cared less about what she looked like body wise, and learned to enjoy her food more. She was a size twelve now and proud of it. Not necessarily fat, but just above average.

She was dying to tell someone. To just pick up the phone and start dialling. But she wanted that someone to be her husband. He deserved to be the first to know. He'd missed out on the news that they were expecting triplets, and had been one of the last know -because of Sam's notorious impatience- about Liam. It was killing her that she couldn't just pick up the phone and talk to him right away. And she was considering calling the commissioner's office and telling the secretary to pull Inspector Flack from the meeting by telling him there was a family emergency, but at the same time she feared her husband's wrath when he realized that everything was fine.

The phone on her desk rang suddenly, startling her out of the daze she'd fallen into. Reaching out, she snatched the receiver up quickly, expecting it to be her husband and planning on breaking the news as soon as he responded to her initial greeting.

"Agent Flack…" she said into the phone, excitement bubbling out of her.

"Mrs Flack…" a nasally female voice greeted her. Sam knew that voice anywhere. And knew that if that voice was talking to her, whatever the reason for calling wasn't good. "This is Dorothy Watts. The receptionist at Archbishop Malloy."

Christ, what has he done now? Sam thought, letting out an audible sigh. And she wondered if Dorothy was actually as dense as she came across. The woman was as equally annoying on the phone as she was in person. That voice just drove Samantha insane. As did the impossibly long fingernails and the peroxide blond hair and make up the fifty something year old woman plastered all over her face.

"I'm calling about your son, Kieran," Dorothy continued, not giving Sam a chance to reply.

"What's happened?" Sam asked.

"Kieran was involved in an incident," the receptionist told her. "Involving another student."

"And am I allowed to know what this incident is?" Samantha asked. "Or am I suppose to guess?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

"Hello?" Sam asked, fighting back a laugh. "Are you there?"

"I'm here. As I was saying Mrs Flack…"

"Agent Flack," Sam corrected. "I'm at work. So if you don't mind…"

The receptionist sighed heavily. Obviously perturbed. "Your son was involved in an incident this afternoon. With another student."

"And I will ask again. What kind of incident?"

"A fight, Mrs…Agent Flack. I am afraid that your son's sent this other student to the emergency room of St Xavier's with numerous injuries. The last news was that this student had a fractured jaw, broken nose, possibly shattered orbital bone, broken ribs and a …"

"And what about my son?" Sam interrupted her. "I'm sure he didn't escape a fight like that unscathed."

"…and a concussion," Dorothy finished, ignoring her.

"Sorry to hear about that. But how is MY son?"

"He's currently sitting in front of me. Waiting for you to get here so he and you, can speak to the principal."

"Okay…maybe you didn't hear me the first two times. How is my son? Physically?"

Another sigh. "Split lip, bloody nose, black eye…"

"Well sounds like he wasn't the only one fighting," Sam said. "The way you were talking, you made it seem as if his actions were unprovoked. If he looks like that, obviously this boy fought back. It wasn't a one man show."

"I never said that…"

"And just what were my son and this other student fighting about?" Sam inquired.

"Your son is saying that he's not talking until one, or both of his parents get here," Dorothy told her. "That he isn't, and I quote, 'Going in there without a witness'."

"His father's influence," Sam said, struggling not to laugh. "My husband has always taught his kids to never get into a situation without having someone to back you up."

"Well apparently he's taught him more then that," the receptionist said snidely.

"Yes…that's right. He also taught him how to beat the shit out of people for sport," Sam snorted, as she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and yanked out her Kate Spade purse. Black with pink and white trim along the edges of the strap. "I'm on my way," she said into the phone, hanging it up as she got to her feet.

Stupid ass bitch, Sam thought, as she quickly sent an email to her supervisor explaining she had an emergency with one of her kids, before saving her work and logging off of the system. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she snatched her light pink suede jacket from the back of her office door and hurried out.

Super mom. Off to save one of her young.

With another one unknowingly tagging along for the ride.

It took a half an hour to get to Archbishop Malloy High School. The drive went surprisingly smooth and quick, even with the construction and paving that was tying up a lane going in either direction on the Queensboro Bridge and the road work that plagued Flushing every time the spring weather hit. Once the temperatures climbed into the mid to high teens during the day, you could count on two things in any borough in New York City. The smell coming off of the East River was nearly enough to make you light headed, and the department of works was out making everyone lives hell by messing up the flow of traffic. Not like traffic in any of the boroughs needed help with being screwed to the gills.

The late April weather was beautiful, and welcome, from the cold grips of winter and the chilly March that the city had experienced. The small LCD screen on the dashboard of the Volvo SUV displayed the external temperature at seventy-four as she parked in the visitor's and students lot located at the back of the school.

The sun was high and bright in a vibrant blue sky and a gentle breeze rustled the tree tops and tousled Sam's short hair as she climbed out of the vehicle. Shutting the door behind her, she set the alarm via the remote on her key chain, and stuffed her keys into her purse, zipping it up as she headed for the rear entrance of the looming grey brick and stone building. Her holster and badge on full display on her right hip and the waist of her grey dress pants as she breezed through a small group of students loitering and sharing cigarettes next to the entrance. Waving the smoke out of her face and ignoring comments about the narcs coming to bust somebody. She'd seen it all and been called it all. And Narc was the most tame.

Her kitten heels clicked on the cream tiled flooring as she took the familiar path from the back of the school and through the wide hallways towards the prinicipal's office located near the front entrance. It was a sad thing to say that she knew the place like the back of her hand. But with a special needs son that was picked on on a near daily basis and his older brother that would defend him to the death, Sam had made many a trip to the office to bail someone out of trouble.

She had just rounded the corner and was on the home stretch when a familiar face, stepping out of a classroom in his navy blue cargo style pants and his white polo shirt and his prized Adidas running shoes - "Just like dad," he'd declared in the athletic store, proudly swinging his legs back and forth and beaming down at the black and red and white shoes on his feet- spotted her. His short, black wavy hair was tousled and his cheeks were rosy. A massive smile spread from ear to ear and his blue eyes sparkled as he hurried over to her.

"H- h-hi, m-mom," Declan greeted, throwing both arms around her, sending the attendance list fluttering to the floor.

"Hi, buddy," she said brightly, embracing her son and accepting a kiss to each cheek. "Are you having a good day?"

"Y-y-yeah…you?"

"I'd be better if I didn't have to come here," she said.

"K got into a f-f-fight," Declan informed her.

"I know. That's why I'm here. I have to go and get him at the principal's office."

"Mr T-T-Thompson," her son told her, rolling his eyes. "He's an a-a-ass wipe."

"Delcan!" Sam scolded him. "That's not nice!"

He gave that shrug and cheeky grin. So much like his father. "It's t-t-true," he reasoned.

"It's still not nice," she said, and bent down to pick up the attendance sheet. "Where were you going with this?" she asked.

Declan pointed in the general direction of the office.

"You're running errands for the teachers now, huh? You're lucky. They must think you're something special. That they can trust you."

"D-d-dad says I'm the g-g-go to guy," her son said.

"Well dad's right," Sam told him, handing him the list. "I'm going that way, too."

"I w-w-will walk you," Declan announced, and linked his arm with hers as he led the way down the hall. "Is d-d-dad here too?" he asked.

"Dad's in an important meeting," Sam replied, smiling at the look of sheer pride on Declan's face as they strolled the halls together. As if he was with the most beautiful, popular girl in school. "He's with the mayor and the commissioner."

"The ja-ja-jackass," Declan said.

"You really need to stop listening to much to your father," Sam sighed.

"Dad knows all," her son informed her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, D," a tall, well built student in a letter man's jacket greeted the other boy cheerfully. Sam guessed, by his stature and mature, handsome looks, that this boy standing at his locker was a senior. And that despite being a jock, had a decent heart inside of him.

"Hey, J-Joseph," Declan chirped back.

"Whose the pretty girl?" the other boy asked. "Your girlfriend?"

Declan blushed and hung his head slightly.

"She's really cute, D," Joseph told him, winking at Sam. "You gonna bring her to prom?"

"No," Declan said sheepishly. "Not my g--g-girlfriend."

"Wife?" the other boy tried.

Declan laughed at that. "It's my m-m-mom!" he exclaimed.

"Well you've got a really, really cute mom," Joseph told him. "And you should still bring her to prom."

"Those days are long behind me," Sam laughed.

"Hi Declan's mom," the young man said, offering his hand. "I'm Joseph Douglas. I'm in the Circle of Friends here."

Sam shook the hand offered to her. The Circle of Friends was a group of students that offered their time to help out the special needs kids in the school. Assisting them with school work, eating lunch with them, helping them find their classes. Some of the kids in the group even went as far as socializing outside of class with the special needs kids. They were definitely a blessing.

"Senior?" Sam asked curiously.

The young man nodded. "I just transferred here from St Patrick's in Ridgewood. Better athletic program here. I'm on the football team with your son Kieran."

"The hell raiser," she sighed. "He's why I'm here."

Joseph nodded slowly. "The fight. Saw the whole thing. Personally I'm glad Kieran knocked the guy around. The SOB deserved it. He needs a witness or anything, I'm more than glad to help him out."

"Nice to know someone is on his side," she said. "God knows he needs it. I should really get to the office."

"Well tell Kieran I've got his back," Joseph told her as he shut his locker. "And it was nice to meet you Mrs Flack. D talks about his mom and dad all the time."

"All good I hope," Sam said, smiling at her still blushing son.

"Naturally. Remember D, if you want, me and you can hit the movies on the weekend. That new Vin Diesel movie is playing. We can check it out."

"C-c-can I go mom?" Declan asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not," she replied.

"I'll grab your address and what not tomorrow," Joseph told him. "I got spare now so I'm out of here. Nice meeting you, Declan's mom."

"You too," Sam said with a warm smile.

"Catch ya later, D," the older boy clasped Declan warmly on the shoulder before heading off down the hall towards the back of the school.

"He's very nice," Sam said to her son as they continued on their way once again.

"Th-th-that's Alannah's boyfriend," Declan informed.

"It better not be for her sake," Sam declared. "Your father would throw a fit."

"H-h-have a st-st-stroke," Delcan said.

She laughed and nodded in agreement. Her heart sinking as they neared the glass enclosed office and she caught sight of her oldest child, sitting in a bank of chairs facing the hallway, his white polo shirt torn in several places and streaked with blood. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he slumped in his seat, an ice pack held to his split lip with his left hand. The black eye noticeable from a mile away. His knuckles bloodied.

"K!" Declan cried as they stepped into the office. "M-m-mom's here!"

"I think I can see that you moron," his older brother grumbled.

Declan flipped his brother the middle finger. Causing the stern receptionist at her desk a mere five feet away to gasp loudly and clasp her chest.

Kieran laughed at loud. More from the receptionist's reaction and the way his mother's eyes widened then the fact his brother just flipped him off.

"B-b-bye mom!" Declan kissed her cheek noisily and hugged her tightly. Oblivious to what was going on around him and the stir he'd caused. "Bye K!" he called, and bounced out of the office.

Sam watched him disappear down the hall. Then sighed heavily. "What?" she asked, when she noticed the disapproving stare of the receptionist. "They're their father's kids, okay? Mind your own and go back to filing your nails."

Kieran coughed noisily to keep back another laugh. He shifted in his seat as his mother took a seat beside him. He moved slowly and with great difficulty.

"Jesus Christ, K," Sam breathed, reaching out to touch his face gently. "What in the hell…"

"I'm fine!" he exclaimed, jerking away from her.

"You're not fine. You're bleeding…let me look at your face and…"

"Mom! I'm fine!" he insisted. "Just don't…don't be like that with me! Not here! Okay?"

She nodded in understanding. He was after all, a fifteen year old boy. Tough and macho. He didn't want his mommy fawning all over him.

At least not in public.

"Where's dad?" he asked, wincing as he moved in his seat once again, holding an arm across his ribs.

"Your dad's in a closed door meeting," she replied. "With Uncle Tony and the Commissioner."

"The jack ass," Kieran said.

"I really wish your father would watch his mouth around you kids," Sam sighed. "Did you want him here? Would you rather him here than me?"

"Are you insane?" Kieran asked. "At least I know you won't be putting another beat on me on the way to the car."

"Don't talk about your father like that," Sam scolded him. "You make him sound like he's this terrible person that knocks you around every chance he gets. Your dad has never, ever laid a hand on you a day in your life."

"He spanked my ass when I was six," Kieran reminded her.

"You told him to fuck off when he told you to eat your vegetables. Do you blame him?"

Kieran shrugged and pulled the ice away from his lip, wincing in pain.

"You're a damn mess," Samantha said.

"You should see the other guy," Kieran told her. "I messed him right up."

"And you're proud of that?" she asked. "You're proud that you got angry enough to hurt someone like that?"

"I didn't say I was proud of it," her son replied. "But he deserved it."

"He deserved to be put in the ER?" she inquired.

Kieran nodded.

"And what did he do to deserve something like that? You want to fill me in?"

"He said some things," the fifteen year old told her.

"About? Your brother?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Your sisters?"

"No…"

Sam's eyes narrowed as realization sank in. "Your father?" she asked.

"He said some things about dad," Kieran told her, tears welling in his eyes. "Bad things, mom. And I couldn't let him get away with it. He's been saying shit for weeks now. Every time I walk by him he's getting on my ass."

"About your dad?"

He nodded. "I ignored. Just went about my business. And then the things he was saying got worse so I told a couple of the teachers. And they didn't do anything about it. They told me to suck it up, to get thicker skin. To be a man about it."

Sam shook her head.

"I just couldn't take it anymore, mom," he sniffled noisily. "It just got to me finally and I snapped. I just snapped and I couldn't stop it. I just went after him. I don't even remember doing half of what they say I did to him."

She laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly.

"That's my dad," he whispered, the tears finally escaping. "He's my dad and I can't let someone say that shit about him."

"What did he say, Kieran?" she asked quietly.

"He said that dad was a rat. A shit ass cop. Because he'd turned on one of his guys a long time ago. That he helped Papa Mac take down a dirty cop that stole some drugs and killed some guy. He said that dad never had this guy's back and that he should have! And that dad didn't deserve to to be with the NYPD. That he should have died in that explosion 'cause then he'd never been a rat."

"You know none of that is true, right?" Sam ran a hand over her son's hair. Quickly growing back from his brush cut. Her heart breaking at the words that tumbled from his lips. "You know that your dad is an amazing cop. He wouldn't have gotten as far as he has if he wasn't. Your dad has given blood, sweat and tears to this city, Kieran. More blood than anything, unfortunately."

Kieran wiped at his eyes. "He said that I was pathetic piece of shit just like my dad. That the pervert who kidnapped me never should have given me back. That he should have killed me and tossed me off the Brooklyn Bridge. Because I was a waste of human life because of who my dad is."

She sighed heavily. Anyone with access to a computer could go onto the 'net and type in the last name Flack and find dozens of photographs and articles. Detailing Kieran's ordeal as a toddler, and his father's near death experience and his high profile busts.

"Kieran…" she said, kneading the back of his neck. "Your father is an amazing man. He's given so much to this city. And to me and you and your brothers and sisters. He's an incredible person who tries so hard to make a good life for all of us. And you should be proud of him."

"I am!" he cried. "I've never not been proud of dad!"

"And you should never be ashamed of him or what your last name is."

"I'm not mommy…I swear to you, I'm not."

"Your father did what he had to do all those years ago. It wasn't an easy decision for him to make. He didn't want to turn on one of his own. But the man was a murderer, Kieran. And your dad never would have been able to live with himself if he'd let that go by the wayside. But he struggled with that decision and he was put through hell afterwards. And not once when he told me about it did I look down at him or question what he did. Because he did the right thing and you know that."

Her son nodded.

"And he fought damn hard to get you back to us," Sam fought off tears of her own. "We almost lost you! And he nearly lost his life bringing you back to me! And any sonofabitch who says things like that to you, should have the balls to say it to my face. Because I swear to you Kieran, I will put that little fucker into an early grave for talking like that about my husband!"

"Mrs Flack?" the reception called out.

"What?!" Sam snapped. "What the hell do you want! I am talking to my son! Do you mind? Do you honestly fucking mind?!"

"Mom!" Kieran whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"The principal will see you now," the other woman told her.

"Well he can goddamn well wait," Sam said. "Now excuse me and leave us alone for a few minutes."

The receptionist didn't respond. She simply nodded and returned to her desk.

"Tell me who this kid is Kieran," Sam demanded. "What's his name?"

"Mom, I…"

"Kieran…"

"I don't want to…"

"His name, Kieran! Now!"

Her son blinked at the tone of her voice. "His name's David," he said quickly. "David Truby."

Sam's heart nearly stopped in her chest. She felt a chill travel throughout her entire body.

"Dean Truby was his uncle," her son told her.

"Mrs Flack…" the reception called once more. "Please…if you don't mind…"

Sam jumped to her feet. "Let's go Kieran," she said, motioning for her son to stand up.

"Mom…I…"

"Let's go," she insisted. "We're going to get to the bottom of this shit."

Kieran sighed heavily, biting back the pain as he got to his feet and followed his mom towards the principal's office.

It was time to face the music.

And accept the consequences.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Makes my day!

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