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

In death there is life

"Tonight I cried the tears of a child
Who knows what fear runs deep and wild inside
But the river's in flood tonight
I lay down and the light streamed across my face
I felt the beauty of some deeper grace
And I tried
To find my way to the other side
I feel your skin as smooth as silk
Drunk like a baby on his mama's milk
Take me down under the wishing tree
Lay your healing hands on me
Been a long time riding this deserted train
There's no messiahs out here, baby
But I found the holy grail all right
'Cause I'm lying in your arms tonight."
-Healing Hands, Marc Cohn

1:17 am.

Samantha sighed heavily and flopped over onto her back, carefully minding the two dogs that were stretched out across the end of the queen sized bed and the tiny figure sleeping so contently beside her. She couldn't sleep. Hadn't been able to sleep since retiring to bed shortly before midnight. When things had begun to show no signs of ending anytime soon at the crime scene, Flack had returned to the SUV and told her to go home. That he had hours of work ahead of him. Both at the scene and most likely at the ME's office as well as his own. And while she had avoided all news reports, keeping both the radio and the television turned off and not even bothering to flick on the computer to even check her email, her mind was plagued with the events of the evening. What had started out as a well deserved date night with her husband had turned into a nightmare. Three dead cops, a tense standoff with the shooter who had, from a phone call Flack had placed to her shortly after nine, had been taken down -literally- by the SWAT team.

Barbara Marshall, forty eight, born and bred in Far Rockaway, had been apparently suffering from paranoid schizophrenia for years, and she had told negotiators- after she'd allowed the bodies of the dead cops to be removed from her front lawn and after she'd climbed out onto the roof with a handgun in her possession- that she and her husband had fought after he found out she'd hadn't been taking her medication as prescribed. The argument had been so intense that he'd gotten physical with her while attempting to defend himself from her violent onslaught. And when the neighbour had shown up on the front lawn and yelled that they'd called the cops, she had simply snapped. Terrified that they'd take her husband away or commit her, she'd decided to protect herself, and the man she loved.

The three officers hadn't seen it coming. No one had expected her to be armed and she'd easily taken out all three from her perch in a second story window. When her husband, who neighbours had said they had heard yelling, "What did you do?! What the fuck did you do you crazy bitch!", had attempted to disarm her, she'd turned the weapon on him as well.

That was when the stand off began. The wound to her stomach had turned out to be minor. It wasn't a gunshot has everyone had initially assumed. It was a stab wound. An attempt at suicide. Although a rather pitiful one considering she had admitted to the negotiator she was terrified to die. In the end, a member of the SWAT team had successfully made it through the house and up onto the roof through a window at the back of the building. And had, without her ever suspecting a thing while the sympathetic and understand negotiator had managed to keep her distract her, managed to take her by surprise and disarm her. Only Barbara hadn't gone down without a fight.

She had however, after a brief tousle with the much stronger SWAT officer, taken a rather nasty tumble off of the roof and landed flat on her back on the blood soaked walk at the front of her house. Where just hours before three slain NYPD officers had laid. Initial doctors reports suggested the shattered vertebrae in her back would leave her a quadriplegic.

What goes around comes around, Sam had thought at the news. She had no pity for the woman. She felt bad that Barbara had lived the life she had with the mental illness she'd been plagued with, but help had been out there and she'd simply turned it down. She'd stopped taking her meds. She'd stopped going to see a psychiatrist. She'd pushed away everyone that loved her and refused their well meaning offers of help. Three good men had died that day. Three wives had had their husbands cruelly snatched away from them. Eight children would never see their daddies again.

As far as Sam was concerned, Barbara Marshall had gotten off easy.

God, I am such a vicious bitch, she thought, and rolled over onto her right hand side. Liam, who'd refused to sleep in his own, lay curled up beside her, his face towards her, his tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath that he took. She reached out and lightly combed her fingers through his thick, wavy chestnut hair.

He looks so much like Adam, she thought, remembering those moments, years ago when she was just a little girl, as her brother lay snuggled up beside her. Woken up from yet another nightmare of a beating their father had laid on them and terrified of the tree branches that were scraping noisily against his bedroom window. She would lie awake, stroking Adam's hair and telling him about Winkin' and Blinkin' and Nod and the Owl and the Pussy Cat. Sometimes she even made stories up. Where she always named the main character Adam. A shy, meek little boy that realized one day he was strong and brave when it came down to him saving the beautiful princess -naturally his sister- from a mean ogre holding her captive. She'd make up the tales and he'd listen with wide eyed interest, and slowly, ever so slowly, she'd watch him yawn and see his eyes growing heavy. He'd fall asleep with a peaceful, content smile on his lips and his arms wrapped securely around one of hers. It was the only time she'd ever seen him happy. When he was asleep and all thoughts and horrors had been abandoned.

And then her father, reeking of alcohol would come and push open her door and look in on them. And he'd clear his throat and crook a finger and beckon her to come to him. Into Adam's room. Into the basement. Anywhere that he could be alone with her to…

Don't you dare think about! Sam scolded herself, and squeezed her eyes shut. You haven't thought about that for years. You dealt with it. You've put that behind you. You fought long and hard to deal with it. To accept it. To accept yourself. It doesn't do any good dwelling on the past when you've come so far in forgetting about it.

She would never forget. She knew that. It was something that would linger in the back of her mind forever. Five long years of her life that would haunt her in the darkest of situations. Kieran's kidnapping and molestation at the hands of Jack Doyle fourteen years ago. Her husband's shooting. Her step father's death. And now the senseless killings of three brave men who'd served the city so proud. The man who had claimed to be her birth father had no bearing on any of those things, but every time something happened that made her question the sanity of mankind, she never failed to think of all the monsters that had at one time invaded her life.

She ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of Liam's nose and along each nostril. He had her nose and her freckles. Her chin and her lips. Her ears. He was a sensitive, trusting little soul that loved everyone. Almost to a fault. Despite it having drilled into him from an early age to never trust strangers, Liam was the kind of kid that talked to everyone. That thought nothing of taking a piece of candy offered to him by someone on the street. Who truly believed someone when they said they needed his help finding their lost dog or carrying some groceries to their car. He'd been reprimanded, and harshly by his father at that, for leaving the playground with someone that said that his parents had sent him to collect him and bring him home.

He hadn't been the first kid that had been targeted at the school, but he would prove to be the last.

Thankfully, his father had been coming to pick him up at the exact same time Liam was leaving, hand in hand, with who would turn out to be a part time custodian at the school and a registered sex offender. The jackass hadn't expected that his target that day was the son of a cop. Or that said cop was heading straight for them. And he certainly hadn't know what had hit him until EMS was picking him up off the sidewalk after Flack had knocked him out with one punch and had to be physically peeled off the guy before he could do worse damage. When Don Flack Junior said he'd kill for his kids, he goddamn well meant it.

Maybe we're cursed, Sam thought, as her fingertip traced her son's delicate features. Maybe bad things are supposed to happen to us for some reason. First Kieran, then having a disabled child, then the shooting, then almost Liam. Maybe we're just meant to be dealt all of the tough shit 'cause God knows we can handle it.

Or maybe he just loves torturing us.

Liam gave a soft giggle in his sleep and reached up to scratch his nose.

Sam smiled and ran her fingers through his hair once more and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Life can't be that bad when you've been blessed with six beautiful angels, she mused. Then, with her hand resting on the top of her son's head, she turned over onto her back once again and laid her free hand on her stomach. There was a definite baby bump there. There was no denying it, and soon there would be no hiding it. The mystery of the conception date was beginning to get the best of her. It was driving her absolutely insane not being able to pin down the exact time. And judging by the size of her stomach in comparison to what she'd been like with her last two pregnancies, she was convinced she was pretty damn close to five months.

Four months to get everything done, she thought, and suppressed a groan. There was so much to do and so little time. So many appointments to go to and so many people to tell and so many…

Why in the hell are you even thinking about this right now? How can you be thinking about yourself with what's gone done tonight? Are you really that selfish? Do you honestly think the whole world revolves around you? That all that matters is having a baby? With bringing a child into this screwed up world?

Three people died tonight. Your dear friend's brother was one of them. How can you think of yourself when Jess is so devastated over her brother?

Jess.

Sam had been fighting, and valiantly so far, to keep the images of her friend's grief stricken face out of her mind as she was delivered the news of her brother's death. She tried to keep the sounds of Jess' sorrowful, pitiful sobs as she collapsed to her knees in the middle of the sidewalk, out of her mind. She'd been ready to leave, buckled into the driver's seat of the family SUV when she'd seen, by sheer chance through the rear view mirror, her friend rushing down the sidewalk towards the crime scene. Jess had been frantic. Her hair flying madly and her entire body trembling and her face ashen. Sam had managed, after a mad dash out of the SUV, to intercept the other woman before she could get to the cordoned off area.

"Jamie!" she'd screamed, as Sam had fought hard, both arms around Jess' body, to drag her back towards the car. "Jamie's over there! I know he's there Sam! I know he's there!"

"You can't go over there," Sam had told her, her heart breaking at her friend's grief. "You can't go over there. It's not safe. Let me get Don and you can talk to him. He's in charge of the scene. You come with me and I'll get someone to get him. Okay? Please…just come with me and calm down."

She had managed, with great effort, to pull her friend back to the SUV. And had kept one supportive arm wrapped around Jess' quaking body while she'd placed a phone call to her husband's cell. Within seconds he was heading towards them, his mouth set in a grim line, his blue eyes dark and sullen. And he'd explained, while holding both of Jess' hands in one of his own, what had exactly happened.

And how her brother was dead.

It was the first time -save for moments on the job when he'd had to tell complete strangers of a loved one's demise- that Sam had ever seen her husband give that kind of news. And she'd been taken back by the compassion and the tenderness in his voice. She had seen that softer side of him many times when dealing with their own personal issues. When she'd lost their second baby just shy of the third month. When Kieran had had to undergo an operation to repair a rupture in his bowel that had been caused by Jack Doyle's assault but had gone unnoticed until three months later. When the doctor had sat on the edge of her hospital bed and told them both that their newborn son not only had Down Syndrome, but a heart defect that would need surgical intervention. And when he'd taken the phone call from her mother and then had sat her down afterwards and told her that her step father had passed away.

All personal moments where he'd showcased that enormous heart and incredibly empathy that he kept hidden so well inside.

But with Jess, he'd revealed that side to the entire world. And was neither embarrassed or ashamed about it. And, after she'd collapsed to the ground in a fit of grief, he'd down beside her and wrapped his arms around her slender body and held her tight against him. One hand stroking her hair as he rocked her back and forth. As Sam had seen him do many a time with their children needed the kind of comforting that they could only find in their father's strong, secure arms.

She had sought solace in those arms many a time in the past sixteen years. There'd been countless moments when she'd buried her head in his chest and inhaled his familiar, yet intoxicating scent. Where she'd relaxed at the sensation of him caressing her hair and listening to his deep voice as he whispered reassurances in her ear. But in those sixteen years, she'd also found so much more in not just those arms, but him as well. In him she'd discovered, and he'd quickly become, her best friend. Her protector. Her confidant. Her lover. All those amazing things all rolled into one.

Yet she had stood there in the middle of the street, feeling like an outsider, watching as Jess desperately clung to him. The front of his shirt fisted in one hand while the well manicured nails of her other hand had dug painfully into the back of his neck. And when the sobs that wracked her body finally subsided, Flack had stood slowly, an arm around Jess' slender waist as he assisted her to her feet. Then he'd taken her face in his hands and cleared lingering tears away with gentle thumbs.

It had been an almost intimate moment. Although their relationship had ended more then seventeen years ago, Sam had always wondered if there were still residual feelings on both Jess', and Flack's part. It was fleeting moments Sam had witnessed but never questioned. Looks that were exchanged, simple touches that seemed so innocent. And standing there witnessing her husband comforting another woman, friend or not, had left Sam feeling…uncomfortable. Like the third wheel. And she'd been left with tears threatening as her husband escorted his ex to view the crime scene without even so much as a goodbye or a glance back at his own wife.

A couple of hours later, after she'd returned home and successfully dealt with her traumatized and frantic children -ALONE- she'd called Hawkes only to find out that Jess hadn't returned home yet. Nor had she called personally to give him the news about her brother. He'd found out by watching CNN. When Sam had tried calling her friend, all she got was the voice mail. Suspicion nagging at her, she'd placed a call to her husband. Who by then was at One Police Plaza trying to quell the media storm with Scagnetti. Flack had been extremely agitated and upon seeing his home number on his call display, had answered with a gruff:

"I don't have time for this."

Sam had bit her tongue. Reminding herself that he was incredibly on edge and dealing with some pretty heavy shit. Snapping back at him would only make things worse and cause a massive blow out between them. Instead, she'd remained calm and gently ask if, by chance, Jess was with him.

"Yeah…she's here…I've got her in talking with a department counsellor in an interrogation room," Flack had answered. "Why?"

She'd explained how Jess hadn't bothered to call home yet. And that both she, and Hawkes, were worried.

"Well she's fine," Flack had barked. "Just fucking peachy. I guess you were the last thing on her mind considering her brother got his brains blown out earlier."

"Don…I just…"

"You just what? Called 'cause you're concerned? Bullshit, Sam. You're calling to check up on me. To see that I'm not shacked up in some hotel with my ex girlfriend. I have zero fucking tolerance for your immature, possessive, clingy wife bullshit."

And then he'd hung up.

At first she'd been stunned. Standing there, completely shocked by his outburst, staring at the cordless phone in her hand. Then she'd been hurt. And then she'd spiralled into a rage that had seen her throwiginthe phone across the room and calling him ever name in the book. Kieran, in his protective way, had heard her ranting and raving in the kitchen and had quickly shown up on the scene to find the phone in pieces and his mother in a state at the table.

"I'll fucking kill him," Kieran had declared, when she'd told him, through her blubbering, what his father had said to her.

She had, without even realizing she was doing it, completely opened up to her oldest son about the events of the last couple of days as they sat across from each other at the kitchen table. She rambled on about the stress of him getting in trouble at the school and the possible lawsuit the parents of his victim were considering filing. She talked about seeing his Aunt Jess in what she considered an affectionate moment with his father. She told him about how the shooting of the three police officers had brought back all the painful memories of his dad's shooting. And then, before she could stop herself, rattled on about her now ex boss being such a total prick she'd quit her job. All because he couldn't accept her two weeks notice gracefully and had something so mean to say about the baby she was expecting.

Kieran's eyes had gone wide at the mention of the pregnancy. It was probably the last thing, at fifteen, he was expecting his mother to ever tell him. Especially considering since the time he was old enough to ask questions and understand the answers he was given, he'd been told that she had had her tubes tied and there wouldn't be anymore babies joining the family.

"Please don't say a word to your brothers and sisters, Kieran," she'd pleaded. "Please…your dad and I wanted to tell all of you together…please don't say anything…"

"I won't," he'd promised once he'd managed to find his voice. And he'd sat quietly, watching as she sniffled and wiped at her eyes for several long minutes, before he finally stood up and journeyed around the table and stood in front of her chair. "It's okay…" he'd assured her. "Don't cry…." taking her face in both of his hands and cradling it gently, he'd leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. "This just gives me another reason to protect you mommy," he'd whispered.

She'd retreated to bed shortly afterwards, leaving her oldest son in the basement playing the Nintendo Wii that she'd confiscated from him just three days before. She had felt emotionally drained and had barely been able to get herself undressed and into pyjamas. But had found, as soon as her head hit the pillow, that she couldn't fall asleep if her life depended on it. Liam had come knocking shortly after she'd climbed under the covers. Teary and sniffling and begging her to let him come and sleep with her. She hadn't had the heard to say no, and soon he was cuddled in beside her, quickly and effortlessly falling asleep as she softly stroked the bridge of his nose. A trick that had worked like a charm since he was just a wee baby.

Insomnia is such bullshit, she thought now, as the time slowly ticked on. It was nearing one thirty and still sleep remained out of reach. Her brain was consumed by the shootings and the thoughts of the grieving spouses and devastated children that had been left behind.

And of more selfish things. She just couldn't, no matter how hard she tried, get the image of her husband and Jessica Angell-Hawkes out of her mind. She couldn't shake the thought of them in such an intimate moment. Especially considering their history.

You're being goddamn paranoid, she angrily told herself. You're just on edge and in shock over the whole thing. And when you're this tense, your mind tortures you. So just bloody well close your eyes and try and relax.

After several minutes, she realized the battle was futile. Sleep would continue to evade her. At least until the body that was meant to be alongside of her was there. His arms wrapped tightly around her, her head on his chest as she listened to his heart beat. Confirming to her that he'd once again made it home safe and sound.

Liam gave another giggle. Louder this time. And rolled over onto his back. "Mommy…" he breathed. "The kitty is tickling me."

Sam's eyes snapped open and she glanced over at her son. His arms spread out beside him, a gentle, content smile curving his lips and his eyes closed.

"Liam…" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair. "Shhhh…no talking."

"But the kitty is tickling me…" he said in a tiny voice. "Mommy….it tickles…the tail keeps hitting me in the face…"

She sighed heavily and settled her head into her pillow.

He giggled even louder. "The kitty is funny, mommy!"

"Here," she said, and laid her hand on his chest. Then took it away again. "Mommy took the kitty away. You can sleep now. Okay?"

"Okay…" he sighed and flopped back over onto his stomach. And promptly began snoring.

Good Lord, she thought and rolled over onto her side, her back towards her son as she put a pillow over her head.

She lay there, eyes open and riveted on the bedroom door.

Waiting.

It was quarter to two in the morning when Flack found himself journeying up the driveway of his home in Flushing, Queens. After dealing with the media and taking part in several small news conferences, he'd taking a trip down the street to the ME's office to observe all three autopsies on the fallen officers. Then he'd headed up to the crime lab to check on the progress of the final paper work before eventually returning to his own office at One Police Plaza and singed off on reports filed by the detectives who had worked on the scene. Jess, who hadn't wanted to head home and instead, following her talk with the grief counsellor had asked Flack if she could simply hang out in the peace and quiet of his office, had been fast asleep on the small leather couch when he'd returned. He'd left her there while he completed his tasks, then woke her up and personally put her in a cab and set her safely on the road home.

By that time it was after one. He was too damn tired to take the subway and had decided to instead recruit a uniform officer to drive him all the way to Flushing in his patrol car. Where he found the house in darkness save for the front porch light that his wife always left burning when he was working late.

He paused at the bottom of the front steps and turned and offered a wave to the young officer parked at the curb. The rookie -Clarkson…Carlson…Carter…Flack couldn't even remember he was so tired - had done nothing but talk his ear off the entire way home. He'd heard the kid ramble on about everything from how he'd excelled in high school football and hockey, how'd he'd demolished most of the times during training exercises in the academy, and how he was in complete awe of the Inspector and the Flack family history within the department. Flack would have thought, by the way he kept his head tipped back against his seat and his eyes closed, that the officer would have gotten the picture that he honestly didn't care about anything else other then getting home.

But the kid hadn't wanted to shut up, nor had Flack had the heart to tell him to zip it.

He waited until the patrol car pulled away from the curb before climbing the stairs and fishing his keys out of the pocket of his khakis. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more then to make his way upstairs and climb into bed. So tired in fact, that he would have done it fully clothed had there not been blood stains on the front of his legs from where he'd crouched down alongside of Jamie Angell's body. He'd caught proper shit from the ME's office for touching the deceased, then had had to tolerate Speed's yammering on about how he'd nearly compromised the scene by kneeling in the blood. He'd promptly snapped back at his former friend, reminding Speedle that he was the Deputy Inspector. Meaning he was in charge of the crime lab and that Speed and all his minions worked for him. And if he wanted to stay in charge, that he better learn to keep his mouth shut.

Asshole, Flack thought, as he unlocked the front door and pushed his way inside. There was a small night light plugged into one of the outlets in the foyer, giving him just enough light to successfully lock the door and set the alarm that had been left for him to turn on upon his arrival. Toeing off his shoes -also stained with blood and most likely a write off- he placed them in the hall closet and shrugged off his jacket and hung it open. Yawning noisily, he turned and flicked off the porch light and prepared to call it a night. Heading out of the foyer and into the living room and towards the stairs. Startling when he saw movement on the bottom landing.

"You scared the shit out of me Kieran," he whispered, surprised to see his oldest sitting on the bottom step, clad in a pair of plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt. His feet bare and the Nintendo DS in his hands casting an eerie glow on his face. "What are you still doing up?"

"I was waiting for you," the fifteen year old replied.

"Look…I know I said that you and I were going to have a talk when I got home, but now is not the time," Flack told him. "It's been a hell of a long night and my head is pounding and I just want to get to bed. We'll do it tomorrow, okay?"

"No," Kieran answered angrily. "We're going to talk now."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "It's almost two in the morning. Get up and go to bed."

The teenager shook his head and shut off the game in his hands. "We're going to talk now, dad," he insisted. "I waited for you all night and we're going to talk. Whether you want to or not."

His father snorted and shook his head. "Get to bed, K. I'm not in the mood for any of your bullshit tonight."

"And I'm not in the mood for you to be bossing everyone around," Kieran shot back. "Especially mom. You were really, really mean to her earlier. And she didn't deserve that."

Flack smirked and pushed his way past his son. "If you think I'm going to stand here and talk about my problems with your mother with you, you've got another thing coming."

Kieran bravely reached out and grabbed his father by the upper arm. "You didn't have any right to be like that with mom. She's going through a lot too, you know. She's dealing with a lot of shit and you didn't have a right to talk to her like that, dad. Mom was so worried about you. She hasn't been able to stop crying or even get proper sleep. All 'cause you had to act like a complete ass and treat her like crap."

"And you have no right getting in my face about personal business that goes down between me and your mother. Personal means just that. I'm not talking about this with a fifteen year old. Now you let go of my arm and get your ass upstairs before I physically drag you myself."

"Why do you have to be so mean to her?" Kieran asked. "What has she ever done to deserve that? Mom just called you to find out where Aunt Jessie was and you freaked out on her. That wasn't fair, dad. It wasn't fair and it hurt her feelings. You were wrong and you know that."

Flack yanked his arm out of his son's grasp. "Kieran, I am telling you right now. Get your ass upstairs right now before I…"

"Before you what? What are you going to do, dad? Hit me? I love you but I can't let you treat mommy that way. She's my mom. And I won't let you talk to my mom like that. Can't you just admit you're wrong for once? You really, really hurt her feelings, dad. And she's majorly stressed out and that's the last thing she needs. What with the new baby and all."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "She told you about that?"

"It just came out. She was freaking out and crying after you were so mean to her on the phone and I was trying to make her feel better and it just slipped out. She didn't want to tell me and she asked me not to tell any of the other kids."

"And did you?"

"Mom asked me not to and I promised I wouldn't. I'm not going to break a promise to mom. She doesn't need all this stress dumped on her. I don't want anything happening to her. Or my new brother or sister. And I know you don't want that either."

Flack shook his head slowly, then laid a hand on his son's shoulder before stepping up onto the landing of the stairs. "It's really late Kieran," he said. "Let's call it a night, okay? We can do that talk we were supposed to have tonight tomorrow sometime. Alright?"

The fifteen year old nodded. "Just…can you just say sorry to her, dad?" he asked hopefully. "'Cause mommy didn't deserve the things you said to her. She deserves better then that."

"You're right," Flack agreed, then headed up the stairs. "She does."

Sam was still lying on her side, facing the door with her eyes closed when she finally heard him enter the bedroom. Relief surged through her entire body, quickly and easily overriding any anger and annoyance she had previously been struggling with. She heard the two soft yet distinct clicks as the door opened and then shut again. She was aware of the rustling of clothes as he tugged his shirt out of the waist of his pants and began unbuttoning it, then his footsteps as he crossed the hardwood floor and approached the dresser across from the foot of the bed. There was the sound of keys rattling as they were placed in a small, china dish she'd long placed on the dresser to be used for holding house and car keys and often cell phones and her husband's wallet. There was a slight jingling noise as spare change was dropped in the dish as well, then the sound of a belt being undone and a button popped open and a zipper being pulled down.

A minute later, she heard the footfalls on the floor once again and felt her husband's presence at the side of the bed. His familiar scent drifted over her and she heard his knees cracking as he crouched down alongside of the bed, followed by the soft touch of his hand as he ran it over her hair and down her cheek. His lips were warm and gentle as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was such tenderness in that simple gesture that she felt emotion tugging at her heart.

Her eyes flickered open. And in the moonlight that trickled into the room, they smiled softly at one another.

"You're really late," she whispered.

Flack nodded. "I had a lot I had to do. Statements to give the media, autopsies to watch, paper work I needed to sign off on."

"I'm just glad that you're home," she said.

"So am I," he told her, and covered her lips with his own in a tender, loving kiss. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his forehead against hers. "I never meant to freak out on you like that. I was just on edge 'cause of everything that went down. I was stressed and flipping out and I never meant to…"

She laid two fingers over his lips to silence him. "Just come to bed," she said. "I just want you to come to bed. It's been a long day and a horrible night and I…I need you to come to bed."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her fingertips before standing up and walking around to the opposite side of the bed. "I think we've got a little issue here," he told her. He'd never been an advocate of co-sleeping. Under any circumstances. As far as he was concerned, the kids belonged in their own rooms in their own beds. Mom and dad's room was their sanctuary. The room place they retreat to in order to get away from it all. And he didn't like the idea of that escape being infringed on in any way.

Sam rolled over onto her back. "He was scared to sleep alone," she explained. "I didn't have the heart to say no to him. I know it's not your thing, but he was terrified Donnie, and I…"

"It's fine," he assured her, and lifting the covers, gently moved Liam closer to Sam before slipping into bed himself and pulling the covers up around the three of them.

"He was talking in his sleep again," Sam said, as her husband settled his head into his pillow. "And giggling. He was going on and on about the kitty's tail tickling his face."

"What kitty?" Flack asked.

Sam shrugged and grinned at him. "I guess instead of imaginary friends in the Flack house we have imaginary pets."

"I guess," he said with a chuckle, and ran his hands down his weary face.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, concern in her voice and in her eyes.

Flack nodded. "Just tired," he replied. "A bit sore. My back and my shoulders are aching."

"Maybe tomorrow we can find some time alone and I can take care of that for you," she suggested. "You always did say I have magic fingers."

A slow grin spread across his face. "You most certainly do," he said, then looked over at her and winked. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "I was a little pissed off at you," she admitted.

"A little?" he arched his eyebrows and stared pointedly at her.

"Okay…so maybe more than a little. But I'm more relieved now. I'm just glad you're home. I was worried about you and when you never called after you hung up…"

"I should have called you back," he said with a heavy sigh. "I was just…pissed. Not at you. Just with the whole situation. And I was taking that stress out on you. And that wasn't fair. At all."

"Let me guess," she grinned. "Kieran waited up for you to give you a talking too."

"How'd you know?" Flack asked.

"Because he'd told me he was going to do it. Well, first he told me he was going to and I quote, kick your f'ing ass. I managed to get him to agree to a stern lecture."

Flack smirked. "He gives better lectures then I do. Imagine what he's going to be like when he's a father."

"God…let's not even think about that, okay? He's fifteen. He's still my baby. I don't want to think about stuff like that."

"He is fifteen," Flack agreed. "But he's definitely not a baby anymore."

"Just so you know…" Sam reached out and lightly combed her fingers through his hair. "Alannah's going to come to you tomorrow with some very disturbing news. I thought I'd prepare you for it."

He sighed heavily. "What kind of disturbing news?"

"Kieran walked in on her and that Joseph guy doing things…in her bedroom…"

Flack's eyes narrowed. "What kind of things?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He stared long and hard at her.

"Let's put it this way…it involves half nakedness on the guy's part and the girl being on her knees."

Flack's eyes widened. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and shook his head before looking up at the ceiling. "She's thirteen…she's still a baby…"

"I know…and I know it's incredibly disturbing and sickening, Donnie. When Kieran told me…when he told me I'm not ashamed to admit that I flipped out on her. That I came this close to beating the living shit out of her or strangling her with my bare hands. But I figured I'd do the next best thing. I told her that she was going to get the chance to come clean to you about what happened. Before I did it for her."

"And what did she say?"

"She begged and sobbed and pleaded with me to not make her do it. She apologised and said it would never happen again and told me that you didn't need to know. I guess she's worried you're going to flip out on her. Or kill the guy."

"She'll be lucky if I don't torture that little bastard and then kill him. What happened to him? Kieran kick him out?"

"Yeah…after he punched him that is. And I guess he physically removed him from our house."

Flack smirked. "Probably the one time I'll tolerate him knocking the shit out of someone."

"Promise me you'll stay calm when you're talking to her, Donnie. That you won't freak out on her. She's doing the brave thing by coming to you about it. And I told her you'd respect her more if she did that. But I also told her that she'd be punished. And that I was leaving the decision on how she'd be punished to you."

"That's fine," he said, then sighed. "What the hell is wrong with our kids, Sammie? Where did we go so wrong that they're like this? Kieran with his issues. Violence, booze, sex. And now Alannah? Now Reghan I could see. But Alannah?"

"I know. Totally the one out of the two I never would have expected."

"We need to get these kids back on track," Flack told her. "I don't know how we'll do it. I just know we have to."

Sam nodded in agreement and ran her hand over the side of his scruffy, unshaven face.

He smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her palm before reaching up to entwine his fingers with hers. Then rested their joined hands in the space between their pillows. He closed his eyes and silence descended on the bedroom. And he'd just began to drift off when Sam spoke once again.

"I do have a little bit of good news in the midst of all this madness," she said.

Flack opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I felt the baby kick earlier," she told him, her eyes sparkling in excitement. "I would say I think, but after four other pregnancies I know the difference between fetal movement and gas."

"That means you're farther along then we thought," he concluded.

She nodded.

He rolled over onto his side facing her. "How long ago did you feel it?" he asked, reaching over Liam's sleeping form and laying a gentle hand on his wife's stomach.

"About an hour ago," she replied, and taking his hand, moved it just under her navel and to the left. "Right there," she said. "That's where I felt. I think he's sleeping now but…"

"He?" Flack asked.

"Or she," she corrected. "Or both."

He frowned. "Don't even joke about something like that. We already have triplets. We don't need a set of twins, too."

"Imagine if we…" her words were cut off and her face light up at the faint, yet very distinct movement inside of her. "Did you feel that?" she asked excitedly.

He nodded, and immediately felt tears sting his eyes and a lump of emotion form in his throat. Maybe it was the intensity of what had gone down that evening. The deaths of three of his 'brothers' and the madness that occurred at the crime scene. Maybe it was the constant pressure of the media and the scrutiny he knew the department would be under for their handling of the shootings. Or maybe it was nothing more then simply feeling the miracle that existed inside of his wife. A miracle he had had a hand in making. Whatever it was, his emotions were raw and he was unable to stop the tears that escaped his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

Sam smiled lovingly at him and laid her hand over his. "It's okay," she whispered. "We're okay…you're okay."

He nodded and sniffled noisily and closed his eyes. Relaxing in the feel of her fingers drifting through his hair and her warm, sweet breath on his face. He felt…alive. He'd managed to once again make it through another day. And when daylight arrived, he'd pull himself out of bed and get on with his life. He'd do it all over again.

For his wife and his kids.

For that baby that was thriving inside of her.

For himself.

Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you for making this story, and my others, as successful as they are! And thanks to all the lurkers too for giving this story, and me, a chance!

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