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

THANKS TO MUCHMADNESS AND LAURZZ FOR ALERTING ME TO SOME POACHING. ONCE AGAIN, I MUST REITERATE THAT ALL OCS, STORY LINES ETC BELONG TO ME. AND THAT INCLUDES THE FLACK SHOOTING STORY LINE IE: FLACK IN A DRUG INDUCED COMA, INTUBATED BECAUSE HE COULDN'T BREATHE ON HIS OWN ETC THAT I BEGAN IN EARLIER CHAPTERS IN THIS STORY EIGHT MONTHS AGO!!!!. IF YOU'D LIKE TO BORROW SOMETHING, PLEASE ASK!

SO, OBVIOUSLY MY COMPUTER HASN'T EXPLODED. YET. SO CONFICKER HASN'T CAUSED TECHNOLOGICAL ARMAGEDDON FOR ME. YET. WISH ME LUCK! HOPE YOU'RE ALL SURVIVING THE WORM!

No refunds, no exchanges

"I remember trying not to stare
The night that I first met you,
You had me mesmerized,
And three weeks later,
In the front porch light,
Taking 45 minutes to kiss goodnight.
I hadn't told you then,
That I thought I loved you then

And now you're my whole life,
And now you're my whole world,
And I just can't believe the way I feel about you girl,
Like a river needs the sea, stronger than it's ever been,
We've come so far since that day,
And I thought I loved you then

I can just see you, with a baby on the way
I can just see you, when your hair is turning gray
What I can't see is how
I'm ever gonna love you more
But I've said that before

And now you're my whole life
Now you're my whole world
I just can't believe the way I feel about you girl,
We'll look back someday at this moment
And I'll look at you and say
And I thought I loved you then."
-Then, Brad Paisley

Powering down her computer for the evening, Samantha sighed heavily and removed the flash drive from the docking station on her desk. Dropping it into the open, waiting briefcase sitting on the floor by her feet, she then pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and leaned back in her chair. The moment she had opened her eyes that morning, things had gone increasingly downhill.

It had started wonderfully. A tender, loving moment between husband and wife. A moment that had actually been initiated on her husband's behalf by waking her up forty five minutes before the kids' normal rising times. She had been in the midst of a blissful sleep when she'd been stirred by feathery kisses being pressed against every inch of her face, neck and shoulders as a surprisingly gentle -and phenomenally skilled- had slowly and tantalizingly exploring her body. Intimacy problems long behind them, she'd responded quickly and eagerly.

Until her stomach rebelled against her. Just as her pyjamas had been peeled off of her quivering, aching body, a horrific wave of nausea found her shoving her startled and less than amused husband away from her as she sprung out of bed and rushed into the en-suite bathroom. Where she spent the next hour kneeling on a towel with her arms practically embracing the base of the toilet as she expelled not only anything she'd eaten in the past twenty four hours, but what had felt like her very insides.

When she'd finally managed to pull herself together and shower and get ready for work, she had gone down into the kitchen where husband -who used most Fridays to work from home- had breakfast already prepared for their brood, and all the kids washed up, teeth brushed and school uniforms on. Save for Kieran, who, at his sulky, brooding best at his normal chair at the table, was being ragged on by his sisters for getting suspended, and praised by Declan, who was awe struck by both the amount of damage done to his brother's face, and that he'd actually beaten a kid into oblivion.

Liam was terrified. Both by the fact that Kieran looked like he'd been hit by a Mac truck, and that, thanks to Declan, he believed his oldest brother had actually KILLED someone. And he refused to come out from his safe place: the cupboards underneath the kitchen island. No amount of begging and pleading or even yelling on his father's behalf was enough to budge the soon to be seven year old. Flack had relegated himself to simply preparing a bowl of Frosted Flakes, two pieces of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and then opening the doors and giving Liam his breakfast where he sat cowering.

Silence -which was something that had ceased to exist in the Flack house fifteen years ago at the arrival of the first bundle of joy- had fallen on the kitchen the moment Sam stepped into it. All eyes were on her. Confusion and curiosity on behalf of the kids, who weren't used to seeing their mother appear as if death had come knocking on her door early that morning. She felt like shit and she knew she looked it. Her stomach was in a seriously pissed off mood and showed no signs of behaving itself anytime soon. And while the Flack siblings had all exchanged worried glances, none of them had had the guts to comment on her appearance, or ask what was wrong. The miserable look on her ashen face had told them that now was not the time to be getting on her about what was ailing her. And it also told them to cut their shit off until they got out the door. To spare their mother an unnecessary grief.

It was the first time Sam had ever seen her kids that well behaved. Six in one room usually meant a lot of noise. Someone was always the brunt of the jokes and the teasing as the other five ganged up on them. The boys were always grossing their sisters out by burping or chewing with their mouths open or, god forbid, farting at the table. Mikayla hated when someone touched her food, and Declan got a kick out of terrorizing her by reaching across the table with his fork and mixing up everything that sat on her plate. There was never a dull or a quiet moment around that house. There was always screaming and doors slamming. Knock 'em down, drag 'em out fights taking place in every room. Mean names being tossed out and tears being shed. Mommy and Daddy always having to take turns playing referee and consoler.

For once it had been nice to not hear a thing from any of the kids save for the sounds of spoons clinking against cereal bowls or slurps while taking sips of juice. And when her husband had, without even uttering a word, offered her two pieces of dry toast he'd made for her and a glass of milk he'd warmed in the microwave, she'd both given him a kiss of gratitude, and chewed him out quietly for 'doing this' to her.

Flack had given that dimply grin, and laying a hand on the back of her neck, pulled her tight to him and placed his lips against her ear.

"The demon sperm strikes again," he had whispered, then pressed a kiss and chuckled heartily before going back to his own breakfast. A massive plate of eggs sunny side up and exceptionally greasy bacon. She'd taken one look at him dipping his toast into the yolk, and the side of the runny, gooey yellow liquid leaking out onto his plate had sent her scrambling, a hand over her mouth, for the small bathroom near the basement stairs.

A package of Gravol and a box of crackers she'd picked up at the bodega across the street from the DHS Manhattan headquarters had seen her -albeit poorly- through the long, exhausting day. It had taken all of her will power to get through interrogations of federal fugitives, staff briefings and a small video led training session she had to nearly hand lead a new agent through. She had planned on going into her boss' office at the end of the day and handing in her resignation both verbally and in writing, but her chronic all day sickness and a wicked headache had prompted her to throw her hands in the air and head down the hall to drop the bomb shortly after lunch.

Her notice had been a bitter pill for Neil, the young 'fresh out of college' boss who'd only been in charge for several months, to swallow. He had done little more than listen to her rambling explanation on why it was time for her to go. How she felt, being forty eight with a seventh baby on the way, that it was time that she put her family first and concentrated on being a wife and a mother. Her husband deserved that. He'd been after her for years to more attentive and interested on the home front, and he was making twice as much money as she was and climbing the NYPD ranks at a shocking speed. Her kids deserved having her around more. Kieran was obviously troubled and needed all the guidance he could get, and Declan needed more time spent on his various therapies. The two boys needed the most help, and she couldn't adequately give it to them while working and taking care of their siblings.

Neil had sat silent and emotionless for the entire ten minutes she'd talked. When she was finally finished, he had given a long, slow nod and leaning forward in his chair, clasped his hands tightly on top of his desk.

"Maybe you should have thought about the stress having a family would put on your career and not had so many children," he'd said.

Sam had literally laughed out loud. His comment had seemed so absurd that it had been impossible to accept that he'd been even remotely serious.

But he had been. The way he had remained stone faced had told her that he meant every single word that had come out of his mouth.

So she'd done the first thing that had popped into mind. She had stood up, tossed all her DHS identification and key cards on top of his desk and told him to shove her two weeks notice. She was leaving at the end of her shift.

It had slightly hurt when he hadn't chased her down or even attempted to convince her to stay. Sam had always thought she was a valuable member of the department, especially considering the amount of work that was constantly dumped on her and the requests from the Washington office to handle high profile interrogations. She had been entrusted to handle training of new recruits and had been given her own team after a relatively short period of time on the job. She'd even been sent to conferences around the country to fulfill public speaking engagements. So to realize that you were actually just as expendable as those below you was a harsh wake up call.

Her team members had taken it hard. The young women had shed tears and offered up profanity, while the men just shook their heads at the insensitivity that had been shown to her after all the blood, sweat and tears she'd put into the job, then had threatened to meet up with their boss after work and teach him a lesson. Instead of promoting an ass kicking or an assassination on Neil, Sam had suggested they all take off for a couple of hours. Grab something to eat and have a couple of drinks. On her DHS expense account before the boss got on the phone and cancelled her privileges.

She'd had a wonderful afternoon with her 'people'. She'd sipped virgin cocktails while the small group had shared tales of cases they'd worked on, run ins they'd had with the NYPD -"Especially a certain Inspector," one of the guys had said and gave Sam a playful wink while she and the rest of the table laughed- and talked about their hopes and their dreams for their individual futures. She had announced the news of her pregnancy. The guys had given their stiff, one armed hugs and simple congratulations while the girls had shrieked with excitement and burst out of their chairs to throw their arms around her. Then they'd ordered her the biggest slice of Turtles cheesecake possible and had the manager find a lone birthday candle to stick in the top of it. The only thing he'd had one hand was a sparkler. Usually reserved for Fourth of July birthdays, but he was willing to part with it for a helping of 'Congrats You're Having a Baby, Sorry You're Leaving Your Crap Ass Job' cheesecake.

She'd returned to the office feeling more angry than hurt and had gone straight to the photocopy room down the hall from her office, dumped a whole box of copier paper on the floor and carried the box down to her humble abode to use to pack all of her things in.

It now sat on the coffee table in the middle of the room. It held little more than colourful drawings the kids had made over the years and she'd never been able to part with, and framed photographs. One of each of the kids' current school pictures, one of all six, wearing identical outfits of white t-shirts and jeans as they sat in a tight group, on a patch of grass in Central Park. It had been a gorgeous, remarkably warm fall day and the kids, all with bright smiles on their faces -and Kieran with that hideous head of shoulder length hair and half of his face hidden by his bangs- were surrounded by leaves in shades of glorious reds and fiery oranges and golden yellows. The photo, taken at a rare moment of tranquility between the kids, had turned out beautifully and she'd never forget her husband's initial reaction when the photographer had brought the prints out to the house for them to look at.

Flack had studied the half dozen different shots laid out on the coffee table in front of him, a small, proud smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling. And then he'd looked at her as she sat beside him and said:

"We have a lot of goddamn kids."

Which just makes us certifiably insane for having another one, Sam concluded, as she replayed his words in her mind.

And then, out of nowhere, she was hit with an emotional tide of memories of how close she had come to not having that seventh baby. Or Liam and Mikayla. How close she had come to having the love of her life ripped so cruelly away from her. All because a recently released perp, hell bent on seeking revenge against Mac Taylor for putting him behind bars and causing him years of torture and torment at the hands of other inmates, had decided to walk into what was suppose to be a secure crime scene and open fire.

St. Ignatius High School in the Bronx had been the sight of a blood bath. A student fed up with being picked on, had calmly walked in, two semi automatic hand guns strapped to his body and a rifle tucked inside a flowing black trench coat, chained all the exits closed and carried out a Columbine style massacre. Before turning the gun on himself in the middle of a blood soaked, brain mattered covered cafeteria. She could still smell the blood and see the bullet ridden bodies that lay in hallways, gymnasium change rooms, the lunch area and the library. Twenty-two students, including the gunman, had died that day.

Her husband had nearly been victim. Of another vicious, cold blood monster who had no value for human life and who'd hadn't even shown remorse at the trial over a year later when she gave a victim impact statement on behalf of herself and her four young children. He hadn't batted an eyelash or showed an emotion when emergency room doctors, surgeons and physiotherapists had gone into great detail regarding her husband's wounds, the months in a drug induced coma hooked up to a ventilator, and the half a year he'd spent open being released from the hospital, in a short term care rehab facility.

She could remember the very second that her life as she knew it nearly came to an end. When, while quietly and efficiently processing the library one floor above the cafeteria with Speed, Stella and Hawkes, they'd heard the sound of multiple gunshots, followed by sheer pandemonium -Carmen's screaming, tables and chairs being over turned and an officer returning fire- breaking loose. And she had known, the moment the walkie talkie clipped to the waist band of Speed's jeans had crackled to live and Mac's voice came through alerting everyone and anyone to the fact that there was an officer down and they needed immediate EMS response, that it was her husband. She'd been overcome with sudden and overwhelming feelings of dread, which had only been elevated when Mac called over the radio asking for Hawkes to come downstairs. ASAP.

Everything else that happened that afternoon was a blur. She could scarcely remember an ashen faced, blood soaked Danny coming upstairs and telling her he'd take her to the hospital. She could recall certain parts of his explanation to what had happened and how he'd fought in vain and used CPR to bring his best friend back to life. How the perp had been wounded when shot by one of the uniform officers and had been taken to the hospital. She remembered sitting, her entire body trembling and tears streaming down her face as a surgeon explained the extent of the damage that had been done. A bullet still lodged near the spinal cord. How dangerous it would be to attempt removal because a simple mistake could lead to complete paralysis. She heard the words 'possible brain damage due to lack of oxygen when vital signs were absent', 'long term care required', 'grave condition'. She'd been so distraught that nothing registered probably and she'd signed any paper that was shoved her way and then shown to the Intensive Care Unit where her husband lay so close to death, hooked up to machines, a tube down his throat keeping him alive.

It had been a long, long road. A priest had come and administered last rights three times in the course of a month alone. She had, through mind numbing grief, began to prepare for a funeral. While her brain had told her that this was the end and she needed to accept it, her heart wouldn't let her give up. She couldn't turn her back on him. On them. And she spent countless hours at his bedside, holding his hand and stroking his face and combing her fingers through his hair. Talking to him. Begging and pleading with him to just give him some sort of sign that he was going to be okay. Sam hadn't cared if she had to quit her job to take care of him herself. As long as he was going to make it.

Her sign came two months after the shooting. Two days following doctors orders to slowing reduced the amount of meds to bring him out of the coma, she'd been in her nearly permanent place by the side of her husband's bed, both her tiny hands clasping one of his hands, her forehead resting on the mattress. In the midst of a troubled, restless, nightmare plagued sleep when she'd felt something ever so lightly brush against the top of her head. At first she'd thought she was dreaming and ignored it. Until the touch became more firm, more insistent and she finally opened her eyes and lifted her head. And found herself staring into those beautiful blue eyes she'd fallen so quickly and easily in love with. Unable to talk because of the tube down his throat, Flack had look terrified. Frightened by the unknown. He had no clue where he was or how he'd gotten there or what had happened to him. And it would be another three weeks before memories of the shooting would being to surface.

The following eight months had been trying. It still broke her heart to think of the difficult decision she'd made to have him admitted to a rehab facility. She knew that with four kids under the age of four at home, there was no way she was able to fully devote herself to her husband's care and his extreme needs. And she could remember the many moments during visits to the home and at the therapy sessions she'd helped him through that he'd thrown things at her and screamed profanities and told her that he hated her for putting him there. How he'd never, ever forgive her for dumping him there and treating him like a worthless piece of shit. No matter how much she argued or how many explanations she gave him, he simply could not accept that he needed to be there.

She recalled the times he'd told her that he'd wished he'd died that day. When the exercises became too painful and intense -a thousand times worse than anything he'd experienced after the bombing he readily admitted- he would rant and rave about how he wished the perp had have killed him. He was far better off being dead than suffering the way he was.

But the times she remembered the most were those moments she'd crawl beside him in his bed and hold him as he cried from sheer pain and exhaustion. How he'd cling to her and beg and plead with her to take him home. How he'd tell her how much he missed her and loved her and his babies and just wanted to go home. Where he belonged.

Almost a year to the day of his shooting, Flack had been able to do just that. His strength hadn't fully returned and there were times he needed the aide of a walker to go for a walk around the block. Or times he didn't make it out of bed in time in the middle of the night to get to the washroom and he'd be disgusted with himself and embarrassed when his wife would have to help clean him up and change the sheets. Sam hadn't even blinked an eye. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Long ago she'd relegated herself to the fact that if she had to, she'd change his diapers or a catheter of colostomy back. That she'd wipe food and drool off of his face and feed him with a spoon if she had to. Not out of a feeling of necessity or obligation. But because she loved him and would lie down and die for him if the situation ever arose.

Why the hell are you even thinking about this? Sam asked herself, frantically brushing tears off of her face and opening her eyes. You must be hormonal or something. You haven't thought about those things in years? Why now? Why torture yourself?

Sighing heavily, she removed her hand from her face and reached for the bottle of water that sat on her now empty desk. Uncapping it, she took a long, refreshing swig. Finishing off the bottle and tossing it into the recycling bin that lay at the side of her work station.

She felt a slight fluttering sensation in her stomach and she instinctively laid her hand over the place her unborn child resided.

Your daddy was spared, she thought, rubbing her tummy in slow, smooth circles. He was spared because he was destined for great things. Because without him, you and Liam and Mikayla wouldn't be here. And you're so blessed. Because you have such an amazing daddy who will stop at nothing to protect you and take care of you.

Of us, she corrected herself with a smile.

And as she leaned back in her chair and took one last look around her office, she realized that she was giving her career up for him. For the man that had accepted her and all the problems that came with her. Who'd made her realize what true love was really like. Who'd taught her that not all men were evil, sadistic bastards. And who'd given her six beautiful, amazing gifts and the incredible opportunity of being a mother.

And it was because of everything he'd done for his family over the years, the physical and emotional sacrifices he'd made, that she knew her decision to leave was the right one. That he deserved that much from her.

That she owed him that much.

It was almost six thirty in the evening when Samantha finally found herself stepping out of the front doors of the DHS headquarters in Manhattan, her purse slung over one shoulder and box of personal items tucked under her other arm and balancing precariously on her hip. Cursing the renovations being done to the underground parking lot that had forced her to park across the street in a ridiculously expensive city lot. Instead of just taking an elevator into the basement and walking less then a hundred yards to the prime spot she'd scored on her first day at the job, she had to either risk certain death by jaywalking through the insanity of Manhattan traffic, or trudge a block and a half either way to available stop lights and then do a complete circle to get to the lot that was directly across from her office building.

What used to be my office building, she thought. And immediately found that instead of feeling sad for leaving her career and many good people behind, or angry at the way her boss had handled news of her departure, she felt liberated. She liked the idea of not having to drive to and from Queens every day. Of not having to bear the horrific traffic or leave the house two hours before her shift to avoid any major delays or headaches. All of her kids were in school. She would have the whole morning and afternoon to herself to attend to things around the house, something that had sorely been lacking most days with both her and Flack working full time. And deep down, despite years of solidly upholding her independent streak, she was actually looking forward to her husband being in charge of taking care of the entire family for a change. She was actually enjoying the thought of him being in complete and utter control of everything.

Not that she'd ever tell him that he was in complete and utter control. Or that she enjoyed it when he was.

Setting the box of personal mementos on the sidewalk, she removed her sunglasses from the top of her head and slipped them onto her face. She inhaled deeply; letting the cool breeze tumbled through the air to invigorate her senses. She was prepared. A hundred percent. Prepared to begin the next stage of her life. One that in all honestly she knew she should have began years before. But her fierce stubborn streak and her refusal to allow any man, even her husband, tell her what to do, had prevented her from willingly giving up her career in favour of being a cook, maid and full time caregiver. She realized now how damn selfish her actions, or lack there of, had been. She had chosen to work instead of staying home with her kids simply because she wanted to spite her husband. That thought shamed her.

And made her wonder if Kieran was the way he was because she hadn't been around more. Because she couldn't swallow her pride and admit for once that she was wrong.

It's all going to change, she thought, as she bent down and scooped the box up once again. From here on out, things are going to be different.

I'm going to be different.

She turned left to head in the direction of the crosswalk at the corner of Lexington and East 56th. There was a Starbucks on the corner and she was dying for a Chai Latte to sip on the way home. And she was dying to get home. To break the news to the kids that not only had she quit her job and would be around for them starting immediately, but that they had a new sibling on the way.

"Moving out?" a familiar -and not so welcome- voice asked.

She glanced in the direction of the greeting, frowning at the sight of Jesse Palmer leaning casually against the bricks of the law firm next to the DHS headquarters. He was dressed 'down' in just a pair of baggy jeans and a plain grey t-shirt. His face sporting a days worth of stubble and his hair freshly buzzed.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly, confidently continuing her journey down the sidewalk.

"I wanted to talk to you," Jesse replied, quickly falling in step alongside of her.

"There is nothing to talk about," Sam told him. "I've got nothing to say to you and I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me. What part of leave me alone don't you understand?"

"I understand that you don't want anything to do with me. I get that. You're happy with the boring, predictable life you have. You're okay with not being anything more than someone's wife and mother to all kinds of kids. Slaving away and devoting yourself to a husband and children that don't even appreciate you."

Sam snorted and shook her head. "I'm not listening to this," she said. "Just leave me alone, okay? Go find some nice girl that will be interested in you just as much as your are in her. Why do you have to keep on me like this?"

"Why do you keep running away from me?" he countered. "What are you scared of?"

"Other then being afraid that I might kill you?" she asked. "I just want you to leave me alone. I don't know how to make myself any clearer than that."

Jesse stepped in front of her, planting himself firmly in her path and bringing her to a quick halt. "We shared something, Samantha," he said. "I felt something that night I kissed you. And don't try and tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," she told him. "I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You kissed me back," he argued. "So you must have…"

"It was a moment!" she snapped. "A weak moment. Nothing more than that. It was just a kiss. Nothing materialized from it and nothing ever will. Just leave me alone and get on with your life."

"Something could materialize," Jesse said. "If you'd just let it."

"I don't want anything to materialize," Sam informed him angrily. "I don't feel anything for you. I felt nothing then. I was lonely and a bit tipsy. My husband and I were dealing with some issues and I reached out to the first person that showed interest in me. I was flattered that it was a younger man. You made me realize that I was still attractive and that men were still into me. It was an ego boost. Nothing more. I'm a married woman. I love my husband. He's my entire world. And you need to accept that and back off. Understand me?"

"There's no way that he can treat you the way I can," the young man confidently declared. "That he can appreciate you the way I do."

"Jesse, I'm only going to tell you this one more time. I am not into you. I love my husband. I love my kids. And there's no way in hell I'm leaving my family for you. For anyone for that matter. So do me a favour and just leave me alone and get on with your life."

"So that's it?" he asked, hands planted firmly on his hips, a scowl on his face as he regarded her. "One kiss and that's it? You're just brushing it off? Pushing me away like it was no big deal?"

"It was no big deal!" Sam exclaimed. "At least not to me! Now either get the hell out of my way or…"

"I called your place a few times last night," Jesse informed her. "I thought maybe it was time your husband and I had a little chat. About who is better suited for you."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You are so fucking delusional," she said. "Do you know how immature that is? Calling my husband to threaten him that you're going to walk in and take over his family? Do you realize how ridiculous you are?"

"I wasn't going to threaten to take over his family. I don't want his family. I just want you."

"You seriously need your head read," Sam told him. "Why don't you man up and show up at my house and say that to his face? Don't be a pussy and call him on the phone. Just show up on my doorstep and spew all this bullshit. You know what will happen to you then? You'll get your ass handed to you twice over. And you'll deserve it."

Jesse shook his head "I'm not scared of him. You think I'm scared of some dumb ass flat foot? You think that…"

"I think that you need to get the fuck out of my face!" she snapped. "I think you should be scared of him. Because he's not some dumb ass flat foot. He's an amazing cop and an even more amazing man and he's ferociously protective of those that matter the most to him. Especially his children and his wife. So if you value your pretty face, you'd turn around and walk away and not look back. Understand me?"

His eyes were locked on hers. Her voice was devoid of emotion and her voice was firm. Her words were meant to be harsh. Final. This was a woman used to laying done the law, both personally and professionally, and meeting little to no resistance. Years in the NYPD and then with DHS had given her a confidence second to none. An arrogance and strength far larger then the tiny body those traits existed in. A bitchiness and wrath so expertly hidden by that youthful face and that soft voice.

Finally he gave in. Holding his hands up in surrender, Jesse backed away from her slowly.

"Don't try to contact me," Samantha told him. "I don't work for DHS anymore. I'm doing what I should have done years ago and I'm being the wife and the mother that my husband and my kids want me to be. That they need me to be. And if you even think about calling my house again or showing up on my doorstep…"

"This is the last you'll hear from me or see me," he assured her. "Have a nice life, Samantha. I hope you're happy with the decisions you've made. 'Cause I'm not going to be waiting around when you realize you made mistake."

"I haven't made any mistakes. I love my life. And that life does not include you."

He nodded, and stuffing his hands in his pockets, turned on his heel and walked away. "You know, Sam…" he suddenly turned, speaking to her as he took slow steps backwards. "You better keep a better leash on your kid. The oldest one. He's got a smart mouth and someone's going to knock his teeth right out of his head one day because of it."

"Is this a threat?" she asked. "Did you just threaten my son?"

"Not a threat," he assured her. "It's more of a warning."

"You go anywhere near my son, and it won't be my husband you'll need to be afraid of," she promised.

Jesse gave a smirk and turned his back on her and continued down the sidewalk.

"Asshole," she muttered, and not taking the risk of running into him again, decided to turn around and go in the opposite direction. That intersection was further away, but the extra minutes spent walking were worth not having an unpleasant altercation on the street.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned on her heel. And nearly found herself colliding face first into another pedestrian. And no ordinary pedestrian. A tall, broad shoulder and powerful looking man in a pair of beige Dockers and casual brown leather shoes and a black golf shirt that was tight across the chest and around his biceps. So what if he was completely grey and he still wore the glasses that had been forced upon him at the hands of Dean Lessing? That man, with his familiar smell and his beautiful blue eyes and that boyish grin, was her man. And she'd never, ever want anyone else.

"Whose that tool?" Flack asked, nodding over top of his wife's head. Then without a word or without having to be asked, took the cardboard box she was attempting to balance on her hip and tucked it under one arm.

"That's Jesse," she replied.

While she'd been open and honest about the 'moment' she and the young man had shared and she'd also admitted about the startling age difference between herself and the Marshal, Flack had never known what the man looked like. And had never cared enough to ask for a description. All that matter to him was that she had told him what she'd done. And that she was genuinely remorseful. It was a kiss. Nothing more. She had backed away. She had come home to him.

"He wanted to talk," she added.

"About what? Him wanting to be Dustin Hoffman to your Ann Bancroft? Wanting to remake The Graduate? He still has that whole Mrs Robinson fetish going on, huh?" Flack teased.

"He's a little persistent," she sighed. "I told him, in no uncertain terms, to take a hike. I think he got the picture."

"Think so? You're harsh, baby. First you shatter his innocence, then you humiliate him in public?"

Sam frowned, then laughed at the grin that covered her husband's face. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I thought I'd come and surprise you," he said, and leaning over, kissed her softly. "You were pretty upset when you called earlier and told me what that Bill Gates wannabe said to you and how you'd just upped and quit, so I thought I'd swing by. Take you out on a date."

"A date, huh?" her eyes sparkled up at him.

He nodded. "It's only been what? At least a decade since we've been out on a date? Like a real date. Just the two of us."

"Try more like fifteen years," she laughed.

"Come on. It has not been that long and you know it. The triplets were just over a year old the last time we went out. Remember? My mom and dad stayed with all the kids and we went to Cape Cod with Mac and Stella."

"Okay…so twelve years ago. Almost thirteen. And speaking of kids…"

"I gave them supper and then chained them up in the basement," Flack told her. "They'll be okay for a few hours."

She frowned.

He blanched. Immediately recognizing the mistake he'd made with the tasteless joke and why he'd gotten the death glare instead of a laugh. It had taken a lot of poking and prodding on his behalf early in their relationship to get the full truth out of her about the sheer hell her birth father -or who she thought most of her life was her birth father- had put her and Adam through. And being locked in the basement for a couple of days had been the tamest punishment he'd ever doled out.

"I should not have just said that," he said, biting his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, baby. I never should have…"

She waved it off. While the pain still lingered under the surface when it came to the years of physical and sexual abuse she had suffered, she had long ago learned to not let simple things, such as her husband's comment about their children, upset her. She had met, in the end, the man who had been responsible for giving her life. And while now living in a different state, Lincoln Scott still remained a fixture in her life, as well as those of his grandchildren.

"So what did you really do with your hellions?" she asked, curling her arm around his waist as they turned and headed down the sidewalk.

"I ordered them some pizza and wings and told Kieran he was in charge for awhile," Flack replied, wrapping his free arm around her slender shoulders.

"You think that was smart?" she asked. "Considering he's grounded for putting a kid in the hospital?"

"We had a talk," Flack told her. "A good one after he came back from his outing with Mac. He's remorseful for what he did and he's accepting the consequences. I wanted him to realize that there's still part of me that trusts him, and a part of me that he can trust. I don't want to fuck things up with him anymore than they already are. He's a good kid, Sammie. He's just…" he sighed. "I don't know. A little screwed up right now. Nothing that can't be stopped though. He's going to be okay."

She smiled up at him. "You know, there are these times you're so sensitive and amazingly tender that I wonder if you're actually my husband."

Flack smirked and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Smart ass," he said. "And so you know, I'm taking him out Sunday night. Rangers are back in town. Playing Buffalo. I ordered some good tickets on line. I figure I'll take him out to dinner before the game. Spend some time with him."

"I think that's a great idea," she said. "Thank you…for putting forth some kind of effort, Donnie."

"He's my son, Sammie. My first born. I wouldn't just turn my back on him. You know that."

"I know…I just…get worried about you two sometimes. So? What kind of date are we talking about here?"

"I don't know. I figure I'll take you out to dinner, maybe go for a walk through the park afterwards. It's suppose to be a nice night. You used to love doing that when we were brat free. We don't have to rush. K's got everything under control and that Joseph kid that hangs out with Declan is stopping by later with some assignment's of K's that he never got back before he was suspended."

"You mean Alannah's boyfriend?" Sam grinned.

"Whose Alannah's boyfriend?" her husband asked, a frown on his face.

"Declan told me yesterday that Joseph and Alannah are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Get outta here," Flack smirked as they stopped at a red light and he pressed the button for the cross walk.

"It's what he said," Sam said.

"Declan can't remember what he did ten minutes ago. Nor can he tell me the truth when I ask him twenty times if he brushed his teeth before bed or flushed the toilet after he took a leak. There's no way he knows if Lanni and this kid are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"He's not stupid, Donnie. He knows what it means when people are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"I know that. I'm just saying that he's probably full of shit. He also knows how to lie to get his brothers and sisters in trouble, Sam. He's a regular kid in that sense. He knows how to play his parents, too. He's sneaky and crafty just like the rest of them."

"That's because they all take after you," she teased. "And he seemed pretty believable about this."

"Lanni and Joseph are not boyfriend and girlfriend," Flack remained firm. "No way. First off, she knows I'll kill her if she has a boyfriend at her age. Second, Lanni's not into guys."

"That's mean!" she scolded.

"What?! It's true. She's not. I'm not saying she's into girls. Relax. I'm just saying that out of her and Reghan, Lanni's the one we least have to worry about. She's all about the sports. She doesn't have the interest or the time to be involved with boys."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Is it nice living in Egypt, Don?" she asked.

He frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he inquired.

"You seem to be quite comfortable in DE-NIAL," she told him.

"Very funny, wiseass. She doesn't have a boyfriend, okay? That guy is not her boyfriend."

"And if he is?" Sam challenged.

Flack thought about it as the light changed and they crossed the road. "Then I'll have to lock her in her room for a few years and castrate the guy."

Sam laughed. "You were not meant to have girls," she declared.

"Sure I was. Just not teenage girls. So what do you think, babe? Dinner sounds good?"

"I don't know…" she sighed and rubbed her stomach. "Your spawn has been punishing me all day."

"Which reminds me," he said, and removing his arm from around her shoulders, reached behind his body and pulled a small, white CVS bag from where he'd stored it in his back pocket. "Surprise number two," he said, holding the bag out to her.

"Little too late for birth control," she joked and accepted the bag from him. Opening it, she reached inside and pulled out a small vial of pills.

"You were pretty sick this morning and I know how bad the whole pregnancy thing gets, so I called your OB," Flack told her. "Got her to write a prescription for those Diclectin things. So you won't have to suffer."

She beamed up at him. "See?" she said, shaking the bottle of pills noisily. "You really do love me."

Returning the smile, he stopped walking and leaned down to cover her lips with his in a long, soft kiss.

"Only on days that end in Y," he told her.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I know it's been a while for this story. But now that my TWF muse has abandoned me, the VFB muse as returned! I hope all of you will return with it! I look forward to hearing from all of you!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

Laplandgurl

EmSyd

ImaSupernaturalCSI

wolfeylady

Soccer-bitch

New-York-babeee

GregRox

Forest Angel

Delko's Girl88