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

THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!

Boy troubles

"His early mornin' attitude
You have to drag him out of bed
Only Frosted Flakes will do
He gets that from me
Yeah, he gets that from me
He melts my heart
Tells me he loves me every day
And cracks a joke at the perfect time
Makes me laugh when I want to cry
That boy is everything to me
He gets that from you
He gets that from you"
-He Gets that From Me, Reba McEntire

Keith Thompson was nothing more of an arrogant, pompous ass.

Samantha had had that impression of the principal from the first day she'd ever met him at a meet the faculty night at the start of the school season. He had spent thirteen years as the head of a private school on the upper east side of Manhattan, before the pressures of dealing with the elite became too much for him and he'd applied for a position with the Queens Roman Catholic District School Board. He'd spent a year as a vice principal at an all girl's school in Ridgewood before receiving the top job at Archbishop Malloy. He'd been the only one at meet the faculty night that didn't wander the auditorium shaking hands and introducing himself to the parents. Instead he expected the families to approach him. And those that had made their way over, were treated to long winded speeches about how he was going to turn the school around. How he was single-handily going to whip the blue collar kids into shape and turn them into fine examples of the future.

All while wearing his Armani suits and Italian silk ties, naturally. Flack had spent less then five minutes with the new principal and as he walked away, had raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife and declared that that had to be the stupidest man he'd ever met in his entire life.

Sam wasn't too sure if Keith Thompson was stupid. The various diplomas and awards encased in frames mounted on the wood paneled walls of his spacious and immaculately clean office showcased that he was both highly educated, and respected by his peers. But the man had absolutely no people skills. Highlighted by the fact that as they were shown in to his office, he didn't move his ass out of his chair behind his desk or even bother to look up in greeting. He simply continued to scrawl notes on a yellow legal pad in front of him as he gestured for mother and son to take a seat in the leather bound chairs before him.

"Good afternoon to you too," Samantha greeted in an overly cheerful voice as she dropped into one of the chairs and crossed her legs elegantly.

"Mrs Flack…do you have any clue why we called you here this afternoon?" Thompson asked.

"Well let me see," she replied. "Could it have to do with the fact that my son looks like he went ten rounds with Mike Tyson? Or am I here on a totally unrelated matter?"

The principal halted in his writing and remained motionless for several seconds before sighing heavily and laying his pen down. He finally made eye contact with the petite brunette in front of him. Then proceeded to eye her up and down. His eyes falling on the holstered weapon on her right hip. "You are aware we have a zero tolerance policy against weapons in our school, aren't you?" he asked.

"And you are aware that I'm a Federal law enforcement agent, aren't you?" she countered, and unclasping her badge from the waist of her pants, dropping it onto the man's desk. "I would imagine that if a member of the NYPD was to come into the school armed, you'd have no problem with that? Especially if it was a male member of the NYPD."

"I resent the insinuation that I have a preference in dealing with members of the male persuasion," Thompson told her.

"That wasn't an insinuation," Sam said with a smile.

"I'm very sorry that I had to call you out of your office," the principal sighed. "I attempted to call your husband at both his work number and cell number, but…"

"My husband is in a closed door meeting with the mayor and the police commissioner," she said. "I guess he feels that I am more then capable of dealing with situations regarding our children. And now that I'm here, I'd like to discuss this particular situation with Kieran. Was he offered any medical attention save for a dirty rag for his split lip and an ice pack for his busted nose?"

"I'm fine, mom," her son told her. "I…"

She held her hand up to silence him. "My son was injured too," she informed Thompson. "Yet here he is, an hour after the fight, sitting in your office instead of being examined by a doctor. But I guess bleeding like a stuck pig doesn't warrant any concern, does it."

"Your son sent another student to the hospital, Mrs Flack. We tend to take that very seriously."

"And I tend to take bullying very seriously. Are you aware, Mr Thompson, that my son complained to members of your faculty on several occasions that the student in question was harassing him ?"

"I am aware that there were some concerns raised by your son."

"And those concerns were ignored. Pushed under the carpet. He was being tormented and bullied and he went to teachers and complained and he was told to stop acting like a baby and suck it up. You talk about a zero tolerance policy for weapons. In the state of New York, a zero tolerance policy on bullying was established shortly after the massacre at Columbine in Colorado. Or does the Queens Catholic School Board play by their own sets of rules?"

"Mrs Flack, I understand that you're upset. But think of the parents that now have a son in the emergency room."

"And think of the parents, like me, who teach our children to go to teachers and principals like yourself when they're having a problem. And then our children come to us and tell us that they weren't taken seriously. What about the parents who lost children from bullying? Or the parents whose children couldn't take the torment anymore and walked into schools just like this and shot up their classmates? What about all of those parents?"

Thompson blinked.

"I am sorry that my son was involved in such an incident. That he felt that the only way to handle things was through violence. He certainly wasn't taught that at home. And I'm sorry that this other boy suffered the injuries he did. And Kieran will be punished as my husband and I see fit. However, what is going to be done about this other boy? Who said such mean and hurtful things to my son? Things that were so disgusting and insensitive that Kieran felt the need to react the way he did?"

Thompson didn't respond.

"Nothing," Sam concluded. "Just like I thought. Well I guess that the school board trustee would be very interested to hear that this bullying was brought up numerous times and nothing was done about it. And this isn't the first time, is it?"

"Unfortunately, your son has been involved in a number of incidents since I've been at this school," Thompson told her.

"It is unfortunate. Because Kieran was never like this before. And if he's not defending his father, he's defending his brother when people call him a retard and a mongoloid. My husband and I were assured, by both you, and our trustee that our son Declan would be included in this school. That he'd be with the general population of students and given the opportunity to learn."

"And we've tried to accommodate him…"

"He sits in the corner of a classroom stringing beads and picking his ass," Sam fumed. "And he's been tormented and picked on and Kieran's defended him time and time again."

"With all due respect to you and your husband, Mrs Flack, the two of you should have considered what having a mentally retarded sibling would do psychologically to Kieran."

"My brother's not a fucking retard!" Kieran bellowed. "Don't call him that! You have no goddamn right to call him that!"

Sam laid a hand on her son's arm to calm him down. "Mr Thompson, I'd tread very lightly on this dangerous road your heading down. I happen to be on first name basis with the Chief of Police and the Commissioner. Both of whom have family members serving at the top of the school board. So unless you don't want your job, I suggest you keep your opinions on my sons to yourself."

"Your son," Thompson nodded in Kieran's direction. "Is in hot water, Mrs Flack."

"And he will be dealt with at home," she said. "Now tell me what his punishment within school life is so I can take him out of here and start looking for a different school to put him and all of his siblings into."

"Kieran's being suspended for two weeks," Thompson informed her. "On top of the fight, when his locker was searched we found…"

"Why was his locker searched? Did he give consent?" Sam asked. "Kieran?" she looked at her oldest son. "Did you give them permission to go into your locker?"

He shook his head.

"So you went into his locker without his permission and without justifiable cause," Sam snorted and shook her head. "This is all just so rich."

"We had justifiable caused under the zero tolerance policy," Thompson informed her.

"You had a reason to believe my son brought a weapon to school?" she asked.

"Well he does have two parents at home that are both in possession of firearms," the principal reasoned.

Sam laughed out loud. "And what do you think? That my husband and I just leave our weapons lying around the house fully loaded? Do you honestly think we're both utter morons? Don't insult my goddamn intelligence with such bullshit."

"Another student came to us with the concern that Kieran may have had something illegal in his locker," Thompson told her.

"And did he?" Sam asked. "Did you find a weapon? A knife? A gun? Anything?"

He sighed. "No," he admitted. "We did however, find these…"

Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, Thompson removed a large stainless steel Thermos, a small bottle of Jack Daniels and a package of cigarettes.

Sam glanced at her son. The fifteen year old was squirming uncomfortably in his side. "Kieran," she said. "What in the hell?"

"Those aren't mine," he informed his mother.

"They were found in your locker," she gently reminded him. "What do you mean they're not yours?"

He sighed heavily.

"Kieran…make this easier on yourself and admit that these things are yours," his mother urged.

"The cigarettes are mine," he admitted. "But that thermos and that booze do not belong to me."

"Who do they belong to?" Sam asked.

"A friend," he replied.

"You have a lot of friends, Mr Flack," Thompson said, annoyance in his voice. "Just which one of those friends are you referring to."

Kieran looked at the older man across from him. His blue eyes intense and unwavering as they held the principal's gaze. "Semper Fi," he said simply.

Thompson frowned.

Samantha couldn't help but smile. Despite the anger that bubbled inside of her for her son's actions, his stead fast loyalty was something to admire.

"And just what is that suppose to mean?" Thompson asked.

"It's Latin," Kieran replied matter of fact. "It's short for Semper Fidelis. It means Always Faithful. It's the motto of the Marine Corps."

Thompson smirked. "And now you think you're a Marine?"

"My grandfather was a Marine. A highly decorated one. After that he became a police officer and eventually ran the crime lab here. Then he became Commissioner and retired last month. He taught me that saying. And that if a man had no honour, he had nothing. I'm not ratting out my friends."

"Did he teach you that lying is a great virtue?" Thompson asked.

"I'm not lying," Kieran insisted. "The thermos and the booze are not mine. I copped to the smokes. But that other stuff doesn't belong to me. A friend asked me to hold onto them for them. And I said okay. That's all I'm telling you."

"You're being very foolish young man," the principal informed him.

Kieran shrugged. "I'm not a rat," he said.

"Two weeks suspension," Thompson told him angrily. "And that includes not participating in any extra curricular activities."

"That's fucking bullshit!" Kieran exclaimed.

Sam gripped his forearm tightly in an effort to keep him calm. "And the other student?" she asked.

"Well I happen to think his injuries and his time in the hospital is punishment enough." Thompson spat.

"So he walks away Scott free?" Sam nearly laughed in the man's face. "Did I happen to mention I'm very good friends with the editor of the Times? Reed Garrett. I'm sure he'd love to run a story based on all of this. Would you be willing to go record with all of this, Mr Thompson?"

"Don't hand me any empty threats, Mrs Flack."

"Oh I assure you, they are not empty threats. Did you think that because I'm a woman that you could bulldoze me? That I would just throw up my hands in surrender and lie down and die? You are screwing with the wrong woman."

"I'm sorry that you feel the need to be so hostile," he said.

Sam snorted and shook her head and stood up. "My husband and I will be talking to the trustee and looking for another school for all of our children," she informed him, and motioned for Kieran to stand up.

"And I'll be seeing Kieran in two weeks," Thompson told her.

Sam laughed. "It will be a cold day in hell when my son comes back here," she said, tossing open the door, allowing Kieran to pass through before stepping out of the office behind him and slamming the door shut. "We're going to your locker," she informed her son. "We're going to your locker and you're cleaning it out? Understand me?"

"What about my gym locker?" he asked.

"You'll clean that one out too," she replied. "All your stuff is out of here, understand me?"

Kieran nodded. "How much trouble am I in mom?" he asked.

"A shit load," she answered. "After we're done here, I'm driving to midtown Manhattan and we're going to One Police Plaza and you're going to go into the bathroom and clean yourself up and then you're going to sit and wait in your father's office for him. And then you're going to tell him exactly what happened today. Word for goddamn word."

The fifteen year old visibly blanched.

"You want to act all big and bad, Kieran? You think that attacking a kid to that extent is okay?"

"But mom, he said all that stuff!" her son argued.

"And you could have stopped with a simple punch in the face! But you didn't! You kicked the living shit out of the kid and put him in the ER! That is not okay, Kieran! And if you want to act all big and bad and adult, then you're going to face the consequences of what you did. And part of facing that is talking to your father."

"You can't do it?" Kieran asked.

Sam stopped and stared at her oldest child. "No. I can't. You did this and you're going to deal with it. You're fifteen years old. You're not a baby anymore, Kieran."

"But talking to dad?" he asked. "I can't talk to dad!"

"You can. And you will. I know you're terrified of him. But what do you honestly think he's going to do to you? He's not going to haul off and beat you, Kieran! He's going to be pissed. Very pissed. But if you take it upon yourself to be honest with him and go to him, trust me, your punishment will be less painful then what it would be if you didn't have the balls to talk to him!"

"Mom, I'm sorry about what I did! But he deserved it and I…"

She threw her hands up in frustration and headed down the hallway. "You don't get it Kieran. You just don't get it. You are old enough now to be held accountable for your actions and your decisions. You're a young man. Not a little boy."

"I know that…" he said, falling in step beside her. "I know you're pissed, mom."

"Oh I am far beyond pissed young man, trust me. And now underage drinking and smoking? What the Christ is wrong with you child?"

"The booze wasn't mine, mom! I swear to you it wasn't mine! It's a friend's! I wouldn't lie about that!"

She shook her head.

"I swear to you, mom! It's not mine! What do you want me to do? Take a breathalyzer test? Piss in a cup? I'll do whatever I have to just to prove to you that I'm not drinking!"

"Don't test my patience anymore, Kieran! Don't say anything else! You'll be damn lucky that this kid's parents don't press charges!"

"I just snapped," he argued. "I just snapped and I…"

"No more excuses!" she cut him off mid sentence. "You did the crime, you do the time! Plain and simple. And part of doing the time is facing your father! Understand me?"

Kieran sighed heavily.

"Do you understand me?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yes, mom," he mumbled.

She shook her head in disgust and disappointment and said nothing more.

It was quarter to three when Flack finally emerged -massively irritated by his meeting and suffering from the worst tension head ache he'd ever experienced in his life- from the NYPD's Commissioner's office. The past five hours of his life had been nothing but endless numbers printed on spread sheets flashed on an overhead projector and a countless stream of pie charts and statistics and bitching and moaning on the Commissioner's part about department finances and the less then stellar showing in the amount of cases solved by the detective division and the inconsistencies in the crime lab's spending. As Deputy Inspector, the crime lab was under Flack's watch, as it had been under Gerrard's back in the day. And when the invoices and receipts Tim Speedle submitted to the financial department, didn't match the departments numbers, the shit hit the proverbial fan.

And landed right on Flack's head. Shit rolled up hill in the NYPD. There was nothing new about that. And for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd been promoted to the Inspector position, Flack was desperately missing his days as a Captain. Hell, even the days as nothing more than a lowly detective. As a captain he'd been in charge of his precinct and his guys and that was that. He didn't have to worry about monetary issues or attend meetings with the brass. He did the schedule and went over DD-5 reports and kept on peoples' asses to be productive and efficient. It had been a lot of responsibility but he'd enjoyed it. Mostly because he'd made sure he was out in the field as much as possible. One of the few Captains to do so.

But as Inspector, it was meeting after meeting and bullshit after bullshit. Dealing with the Commissioner was the stuff ulcers and mental breakdowns were made of. The man was insufferable at the best of times. And Flack reminded himself -and not for the first time either that day- that if it wasn't for the money and the fact he had a wife and a huge family to support, he would have claimed stress related illness and applied for an early pension.

He took the elevator down to the main floor and bought himself the largest, strongest coffee possible in the small café near the front entrance, then went outside and had a couple of smokes to calm his frayed nerves. It was a beautiful late April day. And the warm sunshine and gentle breeze was enough to tear his mind off of the job for the time being and think about other things. The upcoming trip in May to check out Notre Dame. Technically, it was way too soon to be actually be considering Kieran's post secondary education, but his parents, proud of his accomplishments in both school and hockey, had agreed that they'd take a trip to check things out. They'd even agreed to bring Aiden Messer along so Kieran would have someone to hang with.

Then there was Liam's birthday party the first weekend of May. Turning seven was a huge deal to him and his parents had given him the chance to pick from a list of ideas, what he wanted to do for his special day. Naturally, he'd picked Chuck E Cheese. The one place his parents were actually praying he'd decide against. They'd been hoping he'd pick something tamer. The Children's Museum or the Children's Zoo in Central Park. Coney Island even. Or a party at home with his family and aunts and uncles and whatever little friends he wanted to invited.

But no. Chuck E Cheese it was. And no amount of coaxing or begging was going to change his mind.

But first and foremost was his mother's birthday. In two days, Samantha Flack was turning forty-nine years old. Her husband found it totally and utterly surreal to think about how far they'd come in the past sixteen years. From complete strangers meeting outside of the crime lab to husband and wife to the proud parents of their first baby in one year alone. And in the fifteen that had followed, they'd welcomed six more kids, struggled to fully accept a disability and fought damn hard to keep their family together. There'd been extreme highs and even lower lows. There'd been a hell of a lot of tears but even more laughter. Painful, heart wrenching memories but many more damn good ones. They'd fought and clawed their way to the top of mountains and then slid back down into seemingly bottomless pits.

But at the end of it all, they'd come out of it relatively unscathed with their marriage and their love stronger then ever. They'd learn to respect each other. To not take each other for granted. To show affection. To forgive instead of fighting.

They'd grown up. Plain and simple. And it had been one hell of a ride.

The kids insisted on throwing their own party for their mother. With gifts and cards they'd either made or their father paid for. With balloons and streamers put up all over the house, and a huge Happy Birthday Mommy sign on the front lawn that they'd all chipped in and made and was currently being stored at Danny and Lindsay's house. There'd be Chinese take out and a birthday cake and ice cream. Just a family thing. Flack and the kids and Danny and Lindsay and their family. The Messers, after all, were their family. Not by blood, but by love and respect and admiration.

Flack himself had his own plans for his wife's birthday. Ones that only he knew about and had no desire to share with anyone else. Just something between the two of them. Something he thought they'd both deserved. A get away from their often crazy and overwhelming lives.

Finishing his smoke, he butted it out on the brick wall behind him and then tossed it into the large ashtray that rested on the top of a nearby garbage can before heading back inside. He'd checked the messages left on his cell phone on the way downstairs. Several had been left during the course of the afternoon. Including one from his wife and another from the secretary at Kieran's school. The woman's nasally voice drove Flack mental. As did the cryptic, ridiculous messages the woman left. It wasn't an emergency but it was important. Kieran was fine, but not great. We'd rather you handle this but we'll call your wife. The message just totally boggled his mind and had him thanking God that he'd been unavailable to handle whatever bullshit the woman was rambling about.

He took the elevator up to the twentieth floor, cell phone pressed to his ear as he attempted to return his wife's call. She had assured him that there was nothing wrong, that she just needed to him as soon as possible. And while her voice had seemed calm and composed, there'd been something there. A slight hint of nervousness of aggravation. And that was never good.

Both her office extension and her cell phone went to voice mail. Not that that was alarming. It usually meant she was in a meeting or an interrogation. But the her tone mixed with the bizarre call from Kieran's school had Flack wondering what in the hell was going on.

"Any calls for me, Debbie?" he asked the receptionist, as he stepped up to her desk and signed himself in for the rest of the afternoon.

"Nothing that came through me, Inspector," she replied, and turning sideways in her seat, picked up a stack of folders and held them out to him. "These were couriered over to you from the Crime Lab."

"Lovely," Flack sighed and accepted the files.

"And you've got some visitors," Debbie told him.

"Who?"

"Your wife and your son," the receptionist told him.

Flack's eyes narrowed. "Which son?" he asked.

"Kieran."

He sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes. "Can't be good if they're here together. Where are they?"

"I unlocked your office and let them sit in there. I hope that's okay…"

"I don't think they're going to steal anything or hack into my computer," he said. "It's no problem. Any clue what it's about?"

Debbie gave a polite smile. "Yes…but I think it's something you need to find out for yourself."

Flack gave a small laugh. "You can tell you're a mother. You're so damn diplomatic."

"Hold all your calls?" Debbie asked as he headed down the hall.

"That's probably the smartest thing. Wish me luck. Something tells me I'm going to need it."

"I hope you and your sanity emerge from that office intact," she teased.

He paused in the door to his office and gave a smirk. "You from Brooklyn, Debbie?"

"East side of Brooklyn. Why?"

"'Cause you're a smart ass like my wife," he told her, and disappeared into his office.

Samantha and Kieran sat in the leather chairs in front of Flack's cluttered desk. He had a place for everything and no matter how bogged down it got in the course of a day or a week, he always knew where everything was and remembered exactly where he put things. Organized clutter at it's finest. But if you touched or moved something, it was wise to put it back exactly where, and how, you found it. Or he'd be completely lost and spend the next hour searching for whatever it was.

"What's going on?" Flack asked, as he closed the office door behind him.

Both Samantha and Kieran glanced over their shoulders.

Flack's eyes widened at the sight of his son's face. A nasty split lip and an even nastier looking black eye. Or what was the start of one. Dried blood was spattered on both his torn polo shirt and his navy blue cargo pants.

"Hope you got the licence plate of that truck," Flack said, motioning to his son's face with the files before dropping them on his desk. "What's the other guy look like?" he asked, shedding his suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair before pulling it out and taking a seat.

"Other guy's in the emergency room," Sam told her husband. "Kieran decided it was a good idea to go Chuck Lidell on someone."

"Randy Couture," Kieran corrected.

Flack's eyes narrowed as he stared at his son.

"I'm just saying…" Kieran said in a meek voice.

"Something tells me now isn't the time for you to have a shitty attitude," Flack told his son. "I guess now I know what the weird ass phone call I got from your school was all about. What's going on, K?"

"I got into a fight," Kieran told his father. "With this kid at school."

"Whose the kid?" Flack asked.

"A senior," the fifteen year old replied. "That likes to talk a lot of shit."

"This senior that talks a lot of shit have a name?" his dad asked.

Sam cleared her throat noisily.

Kieran sighed. He knew there was no escaping it. "His name's David Truby," he told his father. "I guess he's Dean Truby's nephew."

Flack nodded slowly and leaned forward in his seat and rested his clasped hands on top of his desk.

"And I know that you always taught me not to fight, dad. That I should only hit someone if it's in self defence. But he's been on my ass for months now and I just couldn't take it anymore. All he does is talk all kinds of crap whenever he sees me and I just couldn't take it anymore."

"How come you've never mentioned it before?" Flack inquired.

"I told some of the teachers at school," Kieran told him. "And they didn't do anything about it. They told me to get thicker skin about things. To suck it up. Ask mommy. She knows it's true. Mr Thompson admitted to her that he knew I'd complained about it."

Flack looked at his wife, who nodded in confirmation of her son's story.

"And nothing was ever done about him, dad!" Kieran continued. "And when he got on me today I just couldn't take it. I snapped. And I'm not proud of that or proud of hurting him like I did. But it just got to me and I couldn't stand it!"

"What was it about? Your brother?"

Kieran shook his head.

"He say something about your sisters? Your mom even? Seeing as she had that run in with this kid's uncle and all that."

Kieran shook his head once again and wiped away the tears trickling down his cheeks. "It wasn't about Declan or Reghan and Alannah and it wasn't about mom. It was about you. And I wasn't going to take that kind of shit. I wasn't going to let someone say crap like that about you. You're my dad and I…" he paused, overcome with emotion. "You're my dad and no one is going to talk about you like that."

Sam leaned forward and snatched a handful of tissues from the box of Kleenexes sitting on her husband's desk and held them up to her son.

"Thank you, mom," he said, sniffling noisily as he took the tissue from her. Suddenly a little boy caught in a man's body. "Do I have to tell you what he said, dad?" he asked. "I don't want to tell you what he said."

"You don't have to tell me, Kieran," Flack replied. It was obvious, by both the physical and mental state that his oldest child was in, that whatever had been said by the other boy involved in the fight had been brutal. And he didn't want to make his son feel even worse. "This kid's in the ER?" he asked, looking at his wife.

Sam nodded. "Shattered jaw, broken orbital, knocked out teeth, cracked ribs, a concussion. Need I go on?"

Flack shook his head. "Anything else I need to know?" he asked his son.

Kieran nodded. "I've been suspended for two weeks," he replied. "That means I can't play football either. No extra curricular activities."

"That's a small price to pay, don't you think?" his dad asked. "You could have easily been expelled completely. And if this kid's parents want to, they could have you charged with assault. And honestly, if you did that kind of damage, I'd be really surprised if they didn't."

Kieran's eyes widened. "I'm going to go to jail?"

"You'd be charged and booked and released to me and your mother," Flack told him. "When, and if, it goes to court you'd be charged as minor. That's if the parents don't push to have you charged as an adult."

The fifteen year old swallowed noisily. "What would happen to me then?" he asked.

"Then you'd go to trial, as an adult," his father told him. "And you'd serve adult time for assault causing bodily harm. If the kid has long term effects from what you did, the charges would be upgraded and there'd most likely be a civil suit filed against you for both physical and emotional pain and suffering."

"What would happen to me?"

"You'd go to jail, Kieran," his father told him, deadly serious. "You'd do adult time in an adult jail. And you'd have a permanent record. You know what that would do to you? In regards to your future? College? The academy if that's what you chose to do?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Let me tell you what would happen," Flack said. "The academy would take one look at your record and toss you out like yesterday's trash. They wouldn't even consider you. They wouldn't give a rats ass what your last name is or who your grandfather or father are. All they would see is your record. Is that what you want?"

Kieran shook his head once again.

"This shit has to stop," his father told him. "All this fighting and the problems at school? It ends today? Understand me?"

"But dad, I…"

"Understand me?" Flack repeated, more forcibly.

"Yes, sir," his son answered.

"You're going to be damn lucky if these people don't come looking for your head on a silver platter," Flack told him.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you or mom," Kieran said.

"You think that's what I'm pissed about, Kieran?" Flack fought to control his temper. "You think I'm pissed that some shit may come of this 'cause I'm Deputy Inspector? Let me tell you something and make something very, very clear to you, young man. I don't give a rat's ass what people say about me. What I'm pissed about is you doing something that could fuck up your entire future! Am I making any sense to you, Kieran?"

The teenager nodded.

"There's more," Samantha said reluctantly.

"How much more?" Flack asked, doing his best not to snap at her.

"Tell your father what happened, Kieran," she encouraged her son, rubbing his shoulder for moral support. "It's okay. Just tell him."

"I got caught with something in my locker," the boy said in a near whisper.

Flack's eyes widened. "Tell me it wasn't a gun," he said.

Kieran shook his head. "Someone asked me to keep something in my locker for them," he explained. "A friend of mine. And I said okay."

"I swear to God Kieran if it was drugs…"

"It wasn't drugs, dad. It was this little bottle of JD and a half empty thermos of it mixed with Coke."

Flack nodded slowly and leaned back in his seat, watching his son with his hands clasped behind his head. "Are you drinking, Kieran? And don't bullshit me."

"Today you mean?" Kieran asked.

"Today, yesterday, any goddamn day," his father replied. "Are you drinking?"

"Not on a regular basis," the fifteen year old said.

"So how often of a basis do you drink on?" his dad asked. "Once a week? Once a month? What?"

"I don't know," Kieran said with a shrug. "Maybe a couple of times a week."

Sam's eyes widened at her son's admission and as she opened her mouth to speak, Flack held up his hand and gave her a look informing her to just keep quiet. It was between him and his son.

"You know that's way too much, right?" he asked Kieran. "You should be drinking at all at your age. And trust me, I know teenagers sneak shit behind their parents' backs. I did it when I was your age, too. But we don't even have alcohol in our house because of my issues. And anything we have had, has been your mother's and it's never gone missing. So where the hell are you getting booze to drink?"

Kieran shrugged. "Places," he answered.

"Don't treat me like a moron," Flack said. "Where are you getting the chance to drink?"

"Friends houses," Kieran told him. "When I go there after school to study and stuff. They're parents aren't around and we drink then."

"And whose thermos and JD was it in your locker?" his dad asked.

"I don't want to…"

"I am not playing fucking games with you, Kieran. I want to know whose it was. Right now."

"You promise you won't say anything to his parents? That it just stays between us?" Kieran asked.

Flack nodded.

"It was Aiden's," Kieran admitted. "He's been bringing it to school every day for nearly a month now. And he was running late for class and he asked me to keep it in my locker and I said okay."

Flack sighed heavily and looked at his wife. She raised her eyes and gave a slight shrug.

"I've been smoking, too," Kieran admitted. "For about a year now."

"Tell me something I don't know," Flack snapped. "I've known since the day you started. I was hoping it was just a stage and you'd smarten up. Actually prove to me that you have brains in that head of yours. Wishful thinking, huh?"

"I'm sorry, dad," Kieran said meekly. "I never…"

"Go out and wait in the reception area with Debbie," his father ordered. "I want to talk to your mother."

Kieran looked back and forth between his parents.

"I want to talk to your mother," Flack repeated. "Am I not speaking English here? Go and wait in the reception area. When I'm done talking to your mother, you'll sit in here with me until it's time to go home so she can go back to work."

"But I wanted to…"

"Kieran!" his father bellowed. "Out now!"

The fifteen year old jumped and recoiled as if he'd been physically struck, then quickly jumped to his feet and hurried out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Sam sighed heavily. "What the hell are we going to do with him?" she asked her husband.

I don't know," Flack admitted. "I honestly don't know. One part of me wants to hug him and the other part wants to strangle him with my bare hands. Think I scared him with the whole being charged and going to jail thing?"

"Hopefully. You don't think that will happen, do you?"

"I doubt it. An older kid got pummelled by a fifteen year old. And once you bring in the school's lack of action on the bullying and whatever this kid said, it would make his parents look like idiots for pursuing anything. But Kieran's mind doesn't think like that, so putting the fear of God into him might be a good thing."

"I hope so," she said and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I told the principal we were yanking the kids out of that school and going to the trustee about all of this."

"Which is exactly what we'll do. We'll keep the other three in there until we decide where they'll go. I don't want to yank them and having them sit around doing nothing while we look for a proper place."

"I just…I can't help but wonder where I went wrong with him," Sam said, near tears. "Did I baby him too much growing up? Spoil him? Not let him toughen up? Did I shelter him too much?"

"You didn't go wrong, Sam. If anyone fucked the kid up it was me when I took off."

"You didn't take off. We separated. You didn't abandon us."

"I still wasn't around as often as I should have been."

"Donnie, you had to work. I didn't expect you to be around every day. And you were there when he needed you. And so was your dad. And there was Danny and Adam and Mac, too. He was never without a male role model. So don't start blaming yourself for Kieran's problems."

He grinned. "Now if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," he said.

She smirked. "That kid is going to be the death of me," she sighed. "Do you have much more work to do?"

"An hour. Hour and a half tops."

"I'm on until seven. And with K not at the school, I left a message on Reghan's cell phone. She and Alannah have gymanstics after school and Mikayla is going to a friend's house. So that leaves Declan and Liam to worry about. I called Danny and he said that he'd pick them up and take them to his place and for you to pick them up on your way home."

"Is this all written down somewhere?" Flack asked. "Like where everyone is? 'Cause I'll never remember all of that."

Sam sighed and leaned forward in her seat and flipped the page in her husband's open schedule book. She pointed to the day's date. Where it was clearly marked R and A: gymnastics. M: Brittany's house.

"Do you sneak into my office and do stuff like that?" he asked.

"Try keeping the damn day planner on the right date," she suggested. "Or better yet, actually use the bloody thing."

"That would be too easy," Flack told her.

"You are such a man," she sighed and rubbed her stomach and grimaced.

Flack frowned. "You okay? You still hanging on to that goddamn stomach virus? You definitely need to see a doctor."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Donnie, I…" her words were cut off by the shrill ringing of her cell phone.

"I'll wait while you hold on to that thought," he teased, as she pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket.

"It's work," she said as she stared down at the message coming through on the call display. "They need me back at the office to do an interrogation."

"I do not miss those days," Flack said. "Okay…I lie. Maybe I do. Maybe I miss getting smart ass with people."

"I miss being in the interrogation when you get like that," Sam told him with a smile. Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she stood up. "I've got to go. I hope to be home before the kids all go to bed."

"Liam will never forgive you if you miss tuck in time," Flack told her, pushing his chair away from his desk and standing up as well. "What is it you were going to say before the phone rang?" he asked, as he walked her to the door.

"It was just something I needed to talk to you about. It can wait though. It has to wait actually. It's not something we can discuss in thirty seconds."

"Bad or good?" he asked, opening the door.

"Good. Very good in fact."

"You got a raise? Or a promotion?"

"You'll just have to be patient," she said, and laid her hands on his sides. "Be gentle with him, okay?"

Flack nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Danny say anything? About Liam asking him to take him to the Blessing of the Bikes next Saturday?"

Sam shook her head. "I don't think Liam asked him yet," she said. "Liam told me he was going to do it today. That he was going to call Uncle Danny tonight and ask. He was mighty pissed when he found out we were both working that day."

"I'm just wondering how Danny's going to react," Flack sighed.

"'Cause of Ruben," Sam said.

Flack nodded.

"Danny doesn't have to do it," she said. "Someone else can take him. Adam or Mac. Why does it have to be Danny?"

"Liam says that Uncle Danny is his best buddy," Flack reasoned. "And we both know that Danny isn't capable of saying no to Liam."

"Little Flack," Sam said with a smile. "I just hope it doesn't…I don't know…mess with Danny's mind."

"Messer's a big boy," Flack reminded her. "He'll be fine."

"It's just when you bring back memories like that…it's never easy."

Flack nodded in agreement. He kissed her once more. "You better go. Run along and be DHS agent extraordinaire. Promise you won't torture whoever it is too much."

"I promise I'll only bring out my cattle prod if absolutely necessary," Sam laughed and rubbed his sides affectionately.

He pecked her forehead. "I'll have some dinner waiting for you. If you're going to be too late…"

"I will call you and let you know. Yes, daddy."

He smiled and took her face in his hands. "Be good," he said, briefly touching her lips with his.

"Always," she vowed, and giving him a wink, drew away from him. "Go easy on K. Can you do that for me, Donnie?" she asked, as she stepped out of the office.

"I can do a lot of things for you," he replied cockily, watching as her hips swayed as she walked down the hall.

"I bet you can Inspector," she said with a giggle, winking over her shoulder at him.

He grinned broadly. However it was soon replaced with a glare as his wife disappeared around the corner and was replaced by their son. Kieran's chin was tucked into his chest, his hung head low in both shame and embarrassment. And hurt. Hurt from the things the boy at school had said, and the words and warning his father had issued forth.

Kieran stopped in front of his dad. The two stood in the doorway of the office. Flack fuming, his son moping.

Father laid his large, strong hands on his son's broad shoulders.

Kieran looked up. "I'm sorry, dad," he whispered.

Flack nodded and ran a hand over his son's hair. "Come inside now," he said in a quiet, gentle voice.

The teenager gave a brave smile and did as he was told.

Sighing heavily, Flack followed.

And that point in time, he honestly didn't know what else to do.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of my readers -even all your lurkers!- tremendously! Please, please R and R folks!!

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