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!

Branching out

"Your life has been so hard
It's dried up angels that can't keep guard
And I'm trying to reach your hand
But I'm on fire
I never planned to fade... away
Stay with me
Just stop pretending when they say that you're nothing
Are you sad?
Are you holding yourself?
Are you locked in your room?
You shouldn't be…
Are you sad?
Are you holding yourself?
Are you locked in your room?
You shouldn't be…
I'm drowning inside your head
Help me to answer
Help me understand
Why it's been so long since we talked like friends
Please, forgive me I'm just a man
Whose made mistakes
Just stop pretending when they say you're nothing."
-Are you Sad?, Our Lady Peace

A US Marshall Manhunter was stationed outside of a holding cell on the sixteenth floor of New York City's Department of Homeland Security's headquarters. The holding cells, as cold and uncomfortable as the name led one to believe, were the complete opposite of those that were found in police precincts all over the country. Instead of metal tables and chairs and concrete, windowless walls, the small holding areas at DHS were furnished with simple tan coloured fabric armchairs and a matching sofa, a cheap, wooden coffee table, and a neatly made roll out cot that a prisoner could sleep on if they so desired. Sometimes the wait for an interrogator was a long one. It wasn't uncommon to be held for hours upon hours on a particularly busy day.

Samantha recognized the Marshall parked in the narrow hallway. Tucker Carlson -TJ as he was affectionately referred to as by friends and colleagues - was a mountain of a man. A phenomenally attractive African American in his early thirties, he'd been part of the elite team of fugitive chasers known as Manhunters, for several years now. A former all-star defensive tackle at Texas A&M University, he was six foot six and weighed well over two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. His size, along with his deep, rumbling voice and his intense dark eyes, gave him a threatening and intimidating look.

Yet Sam knew, from working alongside of him, that aside from being able to snap a grown man in half. TC was a gentle giant. With a warm disposition, infectious laugh and a huge heart. On top of that, he was a strong Christian and a devoted family man.

Today however, he was all business. Standing at attention with his hands behind his back, he wore a US Marshall ball cap, Kevlar vest, navy blue t-shirt that was tight across the chest and around his bulging biceps, and heavy combat boots and navy blue cargo style pants. An automatic rifle was slung over on shoulder and a Glock was in a holster attached to his right thigh. A communications device was tucked into his right ear.

"Agent Flack," he greeted with a nod and a wide smile that made his eyes sparkle and showcased his perfectly straight, brilliant white teeth. "Long time, no see."

"Too long," she said, returning the smile. "I thought you and your partner were still working down at JFK doing some immigration and DEA style business."

"Department hired a bunch of newbies," TC told her. "Once they were all trained and ready to go, we got shipped back into the unit. Why? You disappointed to see me? You didn't miss me? You didn't start pining away for me?"

"Maybe just a little," she laughed, holding her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "Glad to be back?"

"Absolutely. I miss being able to kick a little ass every now and then. How's things been on the DHS end of things?" he asked.

"Busy," she replied, switching a heavy leather bound ledger and legal pad from under one arm to the other. "But busy is what pays the bills, right?"

"And keeps us out of trouble," TC added. "How's the husband and kids?"

"They're great. My husband is a bit of a workaholic, but I've only been dealing with that for sixteen years now. And the kids are keeping us on our toes with school and extra curricular activities. And with their incessant arguing and fighting. They're driving us mental in that respect. I was just at Kieran's school. He was suspended for two weeks."

"That can't be good," the Marshall commented.

"He got into a fight," Sam sighed. "A nasty one. Put a kid in the ER with all kinds of injuries. Not pleasant to say the least. And got caught with alcohol in his locker. He says it belongs to his best friend. That he asked Kieran to hold onto it for him."

"You believe him?" TC asked.

"I don't have cause not to believe him. Kieran's never gotten himself into this kind of trouble before. I mean, there's been fights, but never a fight of this calibre. And he's never had any issues with underage drinking. He's been a great kid. His grades haven't always been the greatest, but…" she sighed and shrugged her slender shoulders. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately."

"He's fifteen," TC told her. "He's experimenting with all sorts of shit. On top of that, he's got all these raging hormones inside of him. Those don't help things, trust me. He's probably just going through some kind of stage. Once he gets a handle on his aggression and his anger, watch, he'll be a totally different kid."

"I hope so," she said. "His dad tries hard to get through to him. Really hard. But my husband's ideas of getting through to a kid are way different then mine. And the more he freaks out and the more he yells, the worse things become. Their relationship is fragile at best."

"Maybe they need a little one on one time," the Marshall suggested. "Time for just dad and him. Talk man to man."

""I'm just worried they'll come out of something like that hating each other. That's the last thing I want."

"Maybe someone from the outside needs to sit down with him. An uncle, grandfather, mentor."

"Maybe," Sam said with a nod. "His grandfather, well honorary grandfather, means a lot to Kieran. He's a former Marine and ran the Crime Lab here for a long time before becoming a commissioner. Kieran has the utmost respect and love for him. He was even quoting his grandpa while he was being suspended. Can you believe that?"

"In this day and age, I can believe anything," TC told her.

"How are things with you?" she asked. "How's Cherrie and the kids?"

"Good. Cherrie's moved to part time now with the accounting firm she's junior partner at it. Dustin and Sasha are both loving school. He's gotten into basketball and her love is gymnastics."

"Sounds like my girls. Only ten years older than your kids. So? What's going on? Why am I here?"

TJ jerked his head in the direction of the room behind him. "Picked this dude up about an hour and a half ago. On a federal warrant. Three months ago, an immigration judge sent him some papers to appear in court. Guy claims he never got them 'cause only a month before that, he'd moved to a different place and left no forwarding address with anyone."

"How long as he been in the country illegally?" Sam asked.

"Thirteen years."

Her eyes widened.

"No joke. I don't make this stuff up. And in those thirteen years he's racked up all kinds of charges. Drug and weapons possession, assault and battery. So on and so forth."

"And he's been in the system for thirteen years and no one picked up on this until three months ago?"

"Hey, you're the DHS agent. I was hoping you could explain that to me."

"I know there's always been a massive back log in immigration court," she said. "It got even worse after nine eleven apparently with the founding of DHS and the huge crack down on illegals. But thirteen years? That's seriously fucking ridiculous."

"The how's and why's are your issues. We just pick the jokers up."

"Was he picked up without incident?"

"We nailed him just as he was getting home from work. Guy was thrown for a complete six. He had no clue we were ever coming for him or why we ever were. Like I said, he tells us he never got the summons."

"Well him not filing for a change of address is his problem, not ours," Sam concluded, placing the heel of her foot on the wall behind her and balancing her ledge on her knee as she unzipped it. Taking out a pen, she placed it between her teeth and yanked the cap off.

"He's been bawling from the moment we slapped the cuffs on him. Going on and on about how his two kids are legal US citizens and how one has special needs and he's the only parent this kid has. He's freaking out 'cause he's got no family and what not and we had to have a CPS agent pick these kids up at school. Guess the mom skipped town a couple of years back."

"What kind of special needs are we talking about?" Sam asked, jotting all the information down on her yellow legal pad.

"Kid's autistic," TC told her. "Low functioning according to what the CPS agent told us. Think that's going to make a difference in whether this guy is deported or not? 'Cause as it stands, he's scheduled to see a judge tomorrow morning. And something tells me, the judge ain't going to waste time shipping buddy's ass back to Guyana."

"I could, if I'm sent the proper medical documentation from the child's physician and therapists, ask the judge for leniency in this case. It doesn't mean that the judge is going to side with me, mind you."

"I honestly feel bad for the guy," the Marshall admitted. "He seems pretty damn sincere about not getting that summons. No one that's guilty of trying to fuck the system is going to feel that bad."

"Unless they're feeling that bad because they got caught," Sam reasoned. "Always upsets people to get caught."

TC grinned. "You can tell your married to a dude that spent years in homicide," he said. "He's rubbed off on you."

"Sixteen years with someone will do that to you," she smiled. "So what's the hold up?"

"Palmer's in there trying to calm buddy down a little."

"Isn't that a little unusual considering he's never been known as the empathetic one?" Sam asked.

"Guy took a liking to him. Said Palmer reminded him of that Paul Walker dude that was in The Fast and the Furious. Called them twins. Can you believe that?"

"I can," she said. "I've noticed the startling resemblance."

The door to the holding room clicked upon and a second Marshall stepped out into the hall. Jesse Palmer was two years shy of thirty and a relative newcomer to the Manhunter unit. He'd been a DEA agent before being personally recruited by the US Marshalls. He was just over six feet tall and had a strong, athletic build. Broad shoulders and chest and muscular arms. A smooth, boyish face and the second most beautiful pair of blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life. He wore his blond hair in a brush cut and was glad in the same 'uniform' as his partner.

He was an exceptionally attractive and appealing man. A young man more specifically. And while he and Sam had gone out to dinner once -as strictly friends and colleagues- and he'd attempted, on several occasions, to get a little too personal with her, she had no interest in him.

"Guy still blubbering away in there?" TC asked his partner.

"Bitching and moaning," Jesse sighed. "Wants to see his kids."

"Well that's wishful thinking on his part," Sam said.

The young man looked at her, sized her up from head to toe, then smiled brightly. "Nice to see you again, Agent Flack," he said.

"Nice to see you again, too," she told him. "I'm glad to see you both survived the hell of JFK."

"Barely," TC snorted.

"So when can I get in and talk to this guy?" Sam asked. "I don't want this day to be any longer then absolutely necessary."

"I've got his files in the conference room," Jesse replied. "You want to have a look at them while TC gets our guy and brings him over?"

"Sounds like a plan," she said, tensing up slightly as the much younger man laid a soft, warm hand on the small of her back.

As a living, breathing red blooded woman, there was nothing wrong with finding another man aside from your husband attractive. Or being flattered when another man found you attractive and desirable. She was confident in her marriage. Her husband trusted her. They were always open and honest with each other. It didn't bother him that she checked out other men, and she didn't mind when he did the same with other women. It was a look, don't touch policy they firmly stuck too. Both were extremely happy where they were, and had no plans on screwing up their marriage or family.

"Give us a few minutes to go over some things?" Jesse asked his partner.

TC gave a thumbs up sign before the pair disappeared into a small conference room across the hall.

"Guy we picked up is a total mess," the young US Marshall said, as he motioned towards where case files and photographs were laid out across the conference table. "He was completely and totally thrown for a loop when we showed up. Busted him just as he was pulling into his driveway from work. Says he never got the summons 'cause he moved."

"Well that's what forwarding address forms are for," Sam sighed, setting her ledger and legal pad on the table, before sliding her glasses off of the top of her head and slipping them onto her face.

"When he didn't show up for court, judge issued a warrant right away."

"Second he didn't appear he became a federal fugitive," Sam said, as she picked up the first case folder. "Xavier Motumbo," she read, as her eyes surveyed the mug shot stapled to the top corner of the folder. "Forty-six, originally from Guyana. Came to the United States in April of 2011 and never applied for citizenship. By the looks of things, he's owned his own small businesses and was paid under the table."

"So he can count on some charges of income tax evasion too," Jesse concluded. "He's got quite the rap sheet. Sure beats the hell out of me how he stayed under immigration's radar for so long."

"Bureaucratic bullshit," she sighed. "Too many chiefs and not enough Indians. This guy has a record longer than my arm."

"You would have thought the NYPD would have flagged this guy and rattled immigration's chains a little," Jesse said, moving closer to her as she skimmed through the files. Her arm brushing against his chest every time she moved in the slightest.

"The NYPD doesn't always concern themselves with the obvious," Sam said, clearing her throat noisily and sidestepping an inch away from the much younger man. "And, after my years with them, I know first hand that they aren't a hundred percent willing when it comes to dealing with federal issues."

"Yeah…they're always a pain in the ass to come across," Jesse agreed. "You'd like city workers would know better not to fuck with the Feds."

"And you would think that the Feds would learn not to take the city workers so lightly," she countered. "The NYPD has some incredible cops that would put most Agents to shame. That I can assure you of."

"And I assume one of these incredible cops just happens to be your husband," he remarked snidely.

Sam just smiled and continued flipping through the various reports. A silence fell between them and she was grateful for that. And with the small distance she'd manage to put between them. She was uncomfortable being in such close proximity with the young man who'd made no secret of the attraction he'd harboured for her for over a year now. He'd been honest and open with her about it. She'd been able to brush it off as a simple school boy crush. Young guy interested in an older woman. Until that night she'd agreed to go out to dinner with him and several colleagues and had gotten more than she had bargained for at the end of the evening when he walked her to the subway station.

This kiss had been nice. And she had responded to it eagerly and willingly. Until the reality of what she was doing, or what she was in danger of doing, had hit hard. Jesse Palmer was young and insanely attractive and it did wonders for her often struggling ego that he wanted her. But there was only one man in the world that she wanted. For the rest of her life. And he was at home in Queens, looking after their six children and trusting her not to get herself into foolish situations. So she'd put the brakes on that kiss -and anything else that Jesse may have had planned- and gently apologized and told him that while she was flattered, she just wasn't into him in that way.

That was two months ago. After she and Jesse had gone their separate ways, she hadn't seen him or heard from him again. So it had been somewhat surprising, and a little uncomfortable, when she'd seen TC in the hallway and realized that wherever he was, his partner wouldn't be far behind.

Jesse cleared his throat noisily, disrupting the silence. Then reached out and combed his fingers through the back of her short hair. "I like this," he said. "Looks nice."

"Do you mind?" Samantha asked, reaching up to push his hand away. "Seriously. Do you mind?"

"You never called me," he told her.

"Why would I call you?" she inquired. "What part of 'I'm married and my husband will kill you' don't you understand?"

"I figured that after our date…"

"Our date?" We didn't have a date. We had dinner and drinks with a group of people."

"I paid for yours," he reminded her.

Sam laughed. "Well how about I get my check book and reimburse you for my part?" she asked.

"And I thought because we connected…"

"We did not connect," she told him. "You kissed me and…"

"You kissed me back."

"We've been through this. I told you that it was a moment of stupidity on my part. I made a mistake. Plain and simple. I never should have allowed you to kiss me and I never should have kissed you back. If I could go back and change things, I would."

"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy. If you didn't, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did."

"Look," Sam snapped and dropped the files onto the table noisily. "It was a kiss. A kiss that meant nothing to me. So don't try and romanticize it. I'm married. Happily married. I love my husband."

"If you love him, why'd you kiss another guy?"

"You know what? You're an aggravating, insufferable bastard. Let me make something clear to you. My husband is my life. He and our children are my entire existence. There is no man in this entire world that could ever, ever take his place. And if there was, that man would not be you. You're young enough to be my son. So do me a favour and cut out this Mrs Robinson fantasy."

"I'm just asking for a chance," Jesse told her. "I'm a really nice guy, Samantha. Let me prove that to you."

"There's no question about whether you're a nice guy or not. You're a very attractive and nice young man. That's what you are. A young man. So go and find a young woman that's worthy of you. Preferably one that isn't engaged or married."

"I already told you that I like older women."

"Then go and find an older woman that isn't engaged or married. Just back the hell off of me," she told him.

Jesse laid one of his strong hands on her forearm.

Sam stared down at it, a frown on her face.

"You can't tell me that you don't ever wonder what it would be like to be with another man," he said in a low voice. "After all that time with the same person, you cannot tell me that you don't ever think about it."

"I've never had a reason to think about another man. Mine does his job just fine. And if you don't take your hand off of me, I'm going to drop you right here and right now."

He released his forearm and held his hands up in surrender. "I wonder how he'd react if I was to call him up and tell him about what went down that night."

Sam smirked. "Don't threaten me," she said. "He already knows. I told him when I got home that night. I told him exactly what happened. And you know what? He was pissed and I bore about ten minutes of his ranting and raving and then things we're all good again. We kissed and made up. Among other things. Which would probably be why I'm pregnant right now. My marriage is strong enough to survive you. So just back off."

"Why do you mean you're pregnant?" he asked.

"Pregnant. Knocked up. In a delicate condition. With child. How much plainer do I have to be?"

"I thought that you and I had something, Samantha. I thought that…"

"You thought what? That you'd kiss me and I'd fall madly and desperately in love with you? Leave my husband and my kids? Boy, you are more delusional than I thought. Nothing happened between us and nothing was ever going to happen. I have a job to do here. And the sooner I can do it, the sooner I can get home. To my family. So let's cut the chit chat and get down to work, okay?"

"I can't believe you can just act so indifferent like that," he fumed, as she yanked a chair away from the table and sat down.

"Well believe it," Sam said and flipped her ledger open. "Now are we going to get this show on the road or not?"

"So that's it, huh? Strictly business?"

She smiled politely. Then motioned towards the door as a loud knock announced the arrival of TC and their fugitive.

"Strictly business," she told him. "And that's all it's ever going to be."

Jesse paused at the door before opening it and glanced at her over his shoulder. "We'll see about that," he said.

"DADDY!" Liam bellowed from the small bathroom down the hall from the kitchen. "I NEED YOU!"

Flack sighed heavily and finished brushing barbecue sauce of a mountain of boneless chicken breasts set to make their way onto the barbecue any moment. If his kids would give him the chance to actually set foot out the door. Since they'd all gotten home from their various activities, it had been non stop yelling and fighting and a million in one questions and demands.

Reghan and Alannah had done nothing but argue about everything from clothing to boys to why one was so much better than the other at gymnastics. Kieran had moped from the time he set foot in the house. He was overly emotional from the fight and the worry and fear of the repercussions of what he'd done. It had gotten so annoying to see his oldest son in a constant stream of tears, that Flack had ordered him to his room. Which in turn had started a massive argument between father and son. Kieran accusing his dad of being cold hearted and his dad accusing him of being a goddamn wimp. So heated and volatile that it had the other kids cowering in their bedrooms and the two youngest in hysterics. Finally, at the point of wanting to strangle his first born with his bare hands, Flack had sent the kid packing to his room. With a warning to not to come out until he was capable of acting like an adult instead of a snivelling child.

Not the best choice of words or the best course of action. Flack knew that he'd said and done all of the wrong things. But being angry and spewing venom was a hell of a lot better than getting into a physical confrontation with his son. And Kieran, with his smart mouth and horrible temper, had had his father one step away from laying a beating of a life time on him.

And feeling that way scared the hell out of Flack. He didn't want to hit his kid. One spanking in the less fifteen years was enough. But Kieran had had him in such a state that he'd been legitimately afraid that he'd hurt his own son.

Once the ordeal with Kieran had calmed down, the other kids had gone back to normal. And normal to them was causing all kinds of hell for each other. All Flack wanted to do was get supper made and the kids fed. Because once they were fed, they could be shipped outside for a couple of hours or sent to their rooms to finish their homework or downstairs to just hang out. Then they'd be out of his hair and their mother could be home and he could find five minutes for himself.

He had no idea how his wife ever did it. Work, keep a house running, put up with all of those kids. And if that afternoon alone with his offspring had taught him anything, it had taught him that his wife was a goddamn Godsend.

And that he was through taking advantage of her and down playing everything she did.

"DADDEEEEE!" Liam shrieked once more. "I NEED YOU!!"

"What do you want?" he called to his youngest. "I'm a bit busy here, buddy."

"I need your help wiping my bum!" came the answer.

Flack grimaced at the sheer thought of wiping the kid's ass. Liam was nearly seven and more than old enough to know how to take care of himself in that respect. And while there was absolutely no problems in that area at school, there were still times at home that the kid needed assistance. It was one of the great mysteries in life.

"Mikayla," he said to his youngest daughter as she sat at the kitchen table doing homework. "Go and see what your brother wants."

The little girl looked at her father as if he'd gone completely insane.

"Give me a break here," he implored. "You want to eat some time tonight? Go and see what he wants."

"He just said that…"

"I know what he said. I also know that I'm not wiping his butt for him. So do me a favour and go and give him a hand."

"But daddy!" she shrieked in horror. "That's gross!"

"I'm am trying to cook you guys supper here. Just go and…"

"DADDY!" Liam called again. "HURRY UP! I DON'T WANT TO SIT HERE ALL NIGHT!"

"Wipe your own butt!" Mikayla yelled back. "Daddy's busy!"

"I can't wipe it!" her brother cried. "I don't want it to get on my hands! It will get through the toilet paper and get all over me!"

Flack closed his eyes briefly. Anyone who even considered having kids was completely and utter insanely. "Mikayla Patricia Dawn…" he turned pleading eyes to the eleven year old. "Cut me some slack, okay?"

"Fine…" she huffed and tossed her pencil down onto her binder. "Mommy always manages to do all of this!" she informed her father, as she jumped off her chair and headed off to assist her brother.

Goddamn kids, Flack thought, questioning his sanity and his decision to actually want another baby as he carried the plate of food through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door. He was seriously considering, as he lifted the lid to the already warm and ready barbecue and placed the chicken on the grill, of telling his wife that he'd changed his mind. He didn't want another baby. That he honestly didn't think he had the patience to deal with another one. Especially a newborn. He was forty five years old. Well past his prime -as far as he was concerned- for taking care of a newborn. He knew that convincing her that he was right was going to take a lot of arguing. That he'd have to have just the right things to say to make her realize that he was right. That they didn't need another baby. That they were much better off not having a seventh kid around. And he knew, if he chose his words and his arguments carefully, that in the end she'd agree with him.

The phone in the kitchen was ringing as he stepped back into the house. Snatching the cordless off of the top of the microwave, Flack moved to the fridge and yanked it open. His eyes surveying the contents as he pressed the talk button on the phone. Wishing that there was even just one beer in there. Or something, anything, to take the edge off a little.

"Yeah…" he said into the phone in way of greeting. "This is Flack."

The years and years on the job had left him with many a bad habit to break. And one of them was answering the home line in such a fashion.

"Don't you ever turn off that cop side?" Mac asked with a chuckle.

"You know how it is," Flack replied, snagging a can of Pepsi from the fridge and shutting the door. He popped the can open and took a long sip. "Old habits die hard."

"I know the feeling," the older man sighed. "I'm still getting up at five in the morning, expecting to be heading into work at the crack of dawn. How goes the good fight, Don?"

"It goes," Flack said. "And not too smoothly to be honest."

"Tiana came home from school and told me about the fight," Mac told him. "Is Kieran okay?"

"I took him to a walk in clinic and had him checked out. No concussion. But he has a cracked rib they figure to go along with his busted up nose, split lip and black eye. He's a goddamn pretty picture, that's for sure. Unfortunately, he did a real number on the asshole that was picking on him."

"That's what Tiana said," Mac sighed. "Something about the kid being in the hospital?"

"Guy's all messed up," Flack said. "He's going to be there for a few days. Kieran handed this kid his ass. Big time."

"I also heard something about this kid picking on Kieran?"

"Been going on for months now apparently," Flack told the older man. "Guess K told some teachers and they did fuck all about it. I just don't get how it got as far as it did. How does someone bully Kieran? You know the size of my kid, Mac."

"It wasn't so much physical bullying as it was psychological," Mac reasoned. "Any one can be a victim of that, regardless of size."

"I guess," Flack sighed and moved over to the stove, opening the door to check on the progress of the baked potatoes and the frozen, deep fried breaded vegetables. "Honestly, Mac? I don't know what to do with him right now. I had to send him to his room 'cause he was getting on my nerves so goddamn bad. He's this emotional wreck and I'm not saying he doesn't have a right to be. But I just can't deal with him when he's like that."

"You try talking to him?"

"Our talking just turns into fighting," Flack responded. "And Kieran…Kieran gets hostile and vicious with his mouth. And he's got that temper. Starts throwing things around, punching holes in the walls."

"In other words, he's just like you," Mac said.

Flack sighed. "He's just like me," he reluctantly admitted. "Or what I used to be like before I did my stints in anger management."

"Maybe that's what he needs."

"We're going to send him to see a psychologist," Flack said. "Well Sam doesn't know about it yet. But I called Hawkes and told him what went down and Hawkes knows some people and said he'd be able to get Kieran in to see someone. Find out why he's been acting up so bad lately."

"He's a teenager," Mac reminded him. "This is a confusing, difficult time in his life. You remember what it was like to be his age."

"Vividly," Flack said. "But I don't remember ever beating another kid to the point I put him in the ER. Do you think that maybe…" he paused as Mikayla and Liam came hurrying into the kitchen.

"Daddy?" Liam stepped to his father's side. "I'm hungry."

"Hang on for a second, Mac," Flack said into the phone, then covered the receiver with his hand as he address his youngest. "Dinner won't be for another half hour, forty five minutes," he told Liam.

"But I'm hungry now," the little boy whined. "Can I have a snack?"

"You have a snack and you'll ruin your appetite. Uncle Danny said that he gave you something to eat at his place."

"Just some nachos and cheese," Liam said. "I'm hungry!"

"Mikayla," Flack addressed his daughter as she slipped back into her chair. "Get your brother a drink and a snack and take him outside for a bit."

"But I'm doing my home work!" she protested. "Mommy always tells me to do my homework when I get home!"

"Well mommy's not here and I'm telling you to get your brother a snack and a drink," Flack ordered.

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Just do as I ask, okay?"

"Isn't wiping his butt enough?" Mikayla grumbled as she climbed off her chair.

"Excuse me?" Flack asked, glaring at her. "You didn't just mouth off to me. Tell me you didn't just mouth off to me."

She gave her father an apologetic look.

"That's what I thought. Don't make me send you to your room too, Mikayla. Quit testing my goddamn patience."

She rolled her eyes and held up her hands in surrender and set to the task of gathering a snack and a drink for her brother.

"Daddy, when is mommy coming home?" Liam asked.

"I don't know. She's working until seven," Flack replied.

"How long until seven?" his son asked.

"A couple of hours."

"Why so long?" Liam inquired.

"Did you not just hear me? She's working late. Go outside with your sister and get out of my hair for a bit, okay?"

"Will mommy be later then that?" his son asked.

"I don't know, Liam!" Flack snapped. "Would you just get out of here!"

The soon to be seven year old stared up at his father, tears pooling in his golden brown eyes.

"Come on, Liam," Mikayla tucked a drinking box and two apples and two slices of cheese under one arm as she draped the other across her brother's slender shoulders. "Let's go outside. Daddy's in a bad mood."

The two children headed for the sliding screen door. Mikayla let go off her brother long enough to open the door and close it behind them as they stepped out onto the deck.

"You're mean, daddy!" Liam yelled at his father from behind the screen door.

"Well you're pissing me off!" Flack bellowed back. Ashamed of himself for even saying such a thing. "Are you there, Mac?" he asked into the room, wishing once more for a very stiff drink.

"Are you okay, Don?" the older man asked in response.

"No," Flack replied quickly. "I'm not. I'm ready to kill my kids. Between the stupid fucking meeting I had today with that stupid ass wipe of a commissioner and then Kieran's issues and the agony I've been enduring for the last hour or so, I'm ready to fucking snap, Mac."

"Take it easy," Mac spoke calmly. "Nothing is worth getting this upset over. Your kids don't deserve to be treated like that just because you've had a bad day."

Flack sighed heavily. "I know…I just…it all piles up inside of me and then I just snap. It's been one thing after another today. The kids have done nothing but drive me insane since they all got home. And Kieran…I don't know what to do with him, Mac. I'm lost here. I'm lost big time. He needs help and I don't think I can give it to him."

"Yes, you can…"

"I can't," Flack said. "I just can't. I don't know what to do or how to do it. I'm either going to kill him, or one day he's going to end up in jail. I don't want either. I just need…I need help, Mac. I need help and I don't know where to go to get it. For him or for me."

"Would you like me to try and talk with him?" Mac offered. "Spend some one on one time with him? It may be that he'll listen better to an outside party. He already knows how much he's pissed off mom and dad. Maybe if he feels that he's got an ally in all of this, he might be more open to talking about what's going on in his life."

"He respects you, Mac. You're a grandfather to him. He loves you and worships the ground you walk on."

"Kieran's always held a special place in my life," the older man said. "You know that."

"He thinks a lot of you, Mac. Hell, he even quoted the Marine Corps motto as he was being suspended."

Mac sighed heavily. "I definitely didn't teach him that so he could use it in a circumstance like that."

"Well I guess he thought it was the right opportunity to use it," Flack sighed. "Kieran got caught with some booze in his locker. A friend of his asked him to hold onto it. After the fight, they searched K's locker and found it. Wouldn't rat out the friend to the principal."

"Well, that's admirable," Mac said. "If not very misguided. Do you know who it belonged to?"

"K came clean to me and Sam. I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with it. Trying to figure out whether I should go to this kid's parents or not. According to K, this kid has a bit of an issue with booze."

"Enough to get him into some serious trouble?" asked Mac.

"It's certainly heading that way."

"My advice? Tell the parents. Because if something ever happened to this kid because of his drinking, you'd never forgive yourself."

Flack nodded in agreement. "And this kid? That K beat up? Is Dean Truby's nephew."

Mac sighed heavily.

"I guess the nephew's been mouthing off for a long time. About me. Kieran didn't tell me exactly what he said, but it must have been pretty brutal to warrant a beating like that. That happened nearly eighteen years ago, Mac. And it still comes back to haunt me sometimes."

"And I'll tell you the same thing I told you way back then. You did the right thing."

"I know that. It's just…I don't know. It's not fair that my family has had to suffer because of it. First Sam after what Truby tried with her and now Kieran? That's not right, Mac."

"No, it's not," he agreed. "But the important thing is that Truby never managed to do anything to your wife. And with the right counselling and help, Kieran will get over what happened today and be a better person at the end of it all."

"I hope to God you're right, Mac. 'Cause this kid is pushing his luck with me lately."

"Tell you what," Mac said. "I'll come over tomorrow and spend some time with Kieran. Just the two of us. I'll take him out for lunch, just hang out with him. Have a talk with him man to man. Try to see if I can get to what's bugging him."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to Don. That kid, and his parents, mean the world to me."

Flack smiled. "Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it."

"Whatever you need, I'm here for you guys. I told you that years ago. Chances are, Kieran's just going through some stage. But it's better to try to nip some of these issues in the bud before they become bigger problems."

"Think you can get to him?"

"I think I can," Mac said. "It's whether or not he lets me get to him. Tomorrow around eleven thirty sounds okay?"

"Sam will be here. She's off tomorrow. I'll let her know you're coming. Listen, I better go. I got six kids to feed and a wife that's working late."

"Sounds like fun," Mac chuckled. "We'll talk soon, Don."

"Definitely. And thanks, Mac. For doing this."

"Anytime," he said, and disconnected the call.

Flack sighed heavily and pressed end on the cordless phone.

Mac Taylor was on a mission. And it made Don Flack feel a whole lot better about his lot in life.

It was quarter after eight when Samantha finally arrived home. The interrogation had gone on longer then she had anticipated. A less then cooperative fugitive and red tape bullshit with both immigration lawyers and CAS had made things needlessly complicated. And spending that kind of time, in a small room with Jesse Palmer had frayed her nerves almost to the point of oblivion.

The house was relatively quiet when she stepped through the front door. She could hear the television on in the family room in the basement and music playing in a couple of the bedrooms. For once there was no yelling and no fighting. The house was peaceful and it was a welcome relief from the stress and craziness of the day.

And there was still one more piece of business to take care of.

She toed off her shoes and hung up her jacket and headed, briefcase in hand, through the living room and down the narrow hallway into the kitchen, where she found her husband, with his glasses on and wearing a pair of tattered, faded jeans and a ratty old t-shirt, unloading the dishwasher. He looked tired and irritable. A scowl on his handsome face.

"Hey you," she greeted, setting her briefcase on the table before standing behind him and circle his waist with her arms.

"You're late," Flack said simply.

"And I called you and told you I was running behind," she reminded him.

"You called and said that you'd be home by eight o'clock," he told her, removing her arms from around him before stepping away to put dishes in the cupboard above the sink.

"It's only quarter after," she said. "I didn't think I needed to call you for an extra fifteen minutes."

"Well it would have been nice to know where you were instead of me worrying," he snapped.

She held up her hands in surrender. "Okay…you're pissed. I get it. You've had a shitty night with the kids. They got on your nerves."

He snorted and shook his head. "You have no goddamn clue," he said.

"I have no clue? You're kidding, right? Who does the most of the parenting around here? Who spend the majority of the time with these kids? Me. So don't you stand there and tell me I have no clue. I think I know a little bit more then you do."

"Don't start with me, Samantha," Flack sighed. "I'm not in the mood for your shit."

"And I'm not in the mood to hear your bitching and moaning the second I come in the door!" she argued. "I had a long day too! You weren't the only one that had to work today, you know? I was in the office and I went to the school to deal with your son and I…"

"Oh, so he's just my son when he fucks up," Flack fumed.

"Well the goddamn apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it," she snapped. "You spend one evening with these kids and you're falling apart! I've spent years taken care of them! Years!"

"So now you're the only fucking parent in this house!" he yelled, turning around to face her. "You single-handily raised those kids all on your own?!"

"I never said that…"

"I'm not some dead beat father that's been out of the picture for years! I've been here too! And maybe I wasn't always the best parent or the best husband, but don't act like you've done everything around here on your own, Samantha! I pay the fucking bills, I keep a roof over your head and food on the fucking table! So don't act like some goddamn martyr, alright?"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she asked. "I step in the door and I have to listen to this?"

"I'm stressed, okay? I'm majorly stressed."

"Join the goddamn club, Don! You're not the only person who works you know!"

"Then quit! Just quit! You don't need to work! You can stay home and take care of the house and take care of the kids!"

"Just what you always wanted!" Sam fought back. "A nice little housewife to wait on you hand and foot."

"You know what? I want you to stay home with our kids! I want you to be around more for them! Especially for Kieran!"

"Oh so now Kieran fucking up is my fault? I'm a horrible mother because he screwed up?"

"I never said that. I never even thought that. But would it really be so bad to stay home, Samantha? Would it kill you to be a stay at home mom and wife? Is it really the end of the world?"

She shook her head.

"I just think that these kids need you more then they need me," he reasoned. "They need their mom. And you can call me a sexist and a male chauvinistic pig all you want. But they need you. And I need you. I need you to help me here because I feel like I'm caught up in a losing battle. We need to be a team and lately it feels like we're anything but with these kids."

She sighed heavily.

"My kids need their mother. And I need you. I need you as my wife to help me out here."

She nodded slowly, looking down at the kitchen floor.

"I can't do this alone, baby. I just can't. And I'm worried that we're not going to just lose Kieran because of this, but that all our kids will fall through the cracks. And I know you don't want that. I don't want that. And I think one of us being here would help out."

Sam didn't respond.

"Say something," Flack implored. "Tell me what you're thinking about how this. How you're feeling. Say something. Anything. Just.."

She looked up and across the kitchen at him. Tears sparkling in her eyes.

"I'm pregnant," she said simply.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of my fans for your never ending support! Even all the lurkers! But please R and R folks!

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