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

I JUST WANT TO SEND OUT SOME THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE HELPED ME COPE DURING THIS TIME OF IMMENSE PERSONAL LOSS. ESPECIALLY RACHEL, MICHELLE, CASS AND ERICA WHO HAVE KEPT ME SANE!

Oh, snap!

"I could be mean
I could be angry
You know I could be just like you

I could be fake
I could be stupid
You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me
You were only in my way
You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you."
-Just Like You, Three Days Grace

Samantha's breath caught in her chest and her body tensed slightly as she heard the screen door at the front of the house softly click open and then squeak as it swung closed. It had been half an hour since she'd presented her husband with the heartfelt, emotionally driven words neatly and lovingly typed on that single sheet of crisp computer printer paper. Thoughts that had been swirling through her mind and taking it residence in her heart for the past thirteen year and she'd always been afraid -irrationally, of course- of letting loose.

While she'd always struggled to fully accept the cards that they'd been dealt in their lives, her husband had simply led the news of their son's diagnosis roll off of his broad shoulders. He'd cried once. A break down in the neonatal nursery after his father had come to visit and had presented him with a copy of the poem Welcome to Holland and a handwritten version of the Creed of Babies with Down Syndrome, something that their long time parish priest had found on the internet after Patricia had told him about her grandson. Father O'Reilly had blessed the piece of paper before handing it over to Flack Senior, and had also asked the congregation to pray for the baby as he waited for his open heart surgery.

Flack Senior had always accepted Declan, no questions asked. He'd shown up at the hospital to visit his 'triple blessings' as he'd called his two granddaughters and solo grandson a week after they'd made their official appearance. He'd wanted to give the new parents time to adjust, he'd said, although Patricia would later admit years later that he'd also spent all of his free time doing every possible stitch of research he could regarding Declan's disability.

"I'm not going in there blind," he'd told his wife when she'd questioned what he was doing when she caught him on the computer at three in the morning. "I wanna know exactly what's going on and what to expect. Declan deserves a grandpa that cares enough to know all of this stuff. And Donnie…well Donnie deserves a father that loves him and his boy enough to not walk in there completely ignorant to what he's dealing with."

Senior had shown up, not with just those pieces of paper lovingly tucked into a manila folder, but a stack full of different coloured envelopes from various members of the parish and from his old cop buddies that he still hung out with at the Irish pub in downtown Flushing every Friday night. Pitchers of Guinness and games of darts and a lot of drunken, good natured teasing a staple in his life, once in a week, for nearly forty years. Every one of those cards had bore no mention of Declan's disability and not one had expressed sympathy for what had happened to Flack Junior. Something he'd been grateful for. Since the diagnosis had come down, people -including his closest friends- had either stayed away because of a lack of knowing exactly what to say, or had shaken their heads and clapped him on the back and told him how sorry they were.

Flack didn't want to hear how sorry people were. He didn't want them expressing their condolences as if the baby had died. The truth of the matter what, he felt like complete and utter shit about what had happened. Hearing his child had a developmental disability and that he was severely ill and needed a heart operation had knocked the wind right out of his sails. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut and were now holding his head under water and threatening to let him up. As is his lungs couldn't draw breath and he was terrified of drowning in the feelings of immense sorrow, anger and disappointment. It had been a blow to his ego. He had created a child that was far from perfect. And he couldn't quite grasp how the hell that could ever happen.

Worst of all, he was terrified. Not only about the surgery that loomed in his infant son's near future, but for the years ahead of Declan as well. His mind couldn't help but jump ahead in time and he'd obsessed over how long it would take his son to learn things. If he would ever learn them. If he'd ever go to school and have friends. How badly he'd be picked on and what he'd looked like as he got older. At that moment he was just a baby. And even with the doctors always pointing out each and every characteristic, to Flack his son looked no different from any other baby he'd ever seen. But he knew, as Declan aged and those features became even more pronounced, that people would look at the kid and know. That it would be obvious and Flack honestly didn't know if he could bear the whispers and the scrutiny.

What he had needed at that time instead of the sympathetic looks and the apologies and the monotonous 'I'm sure you'll do fine' or the 'You're a strong person, you can handle this' or the one that burned his ass the most, 'God only gives special children to special people', he wanted someone to walk into the nursery where he spent nearly every waking moment of his departmental sick leave, shake his hand or clap him on the back and congratulate him. Tell him that his new babies -all three of them- were beautiful and had great futures ahead of them.

And his father had been the first person to grant him and the triplets that respect. He'd simply appeared at the side of the easy chair that Flack had been parked in for hours in front of the three incubators, all done up in a hospital gown and surgical boots on his feet -the garb anyone that came to visit the triplets, mommy and daddy included had to dress in before they were even allowed anywhere near the babies- and laid his hand on his son's shoulder and given him a swift nod before walking over to the incubators to check on his grandkids.

He'd gone to the girls first. Commenting on how tiny they were and beautiful they were with their thick, black hair, their wrinkled pink skin and the nose that grandpa announced, he was grateful they'd gotten from their mother. Kieran's birth had mellowed him. The arrival of his first born grandchild -and a boy at that- had opened his eyes to the multitude of mistakes that he'd made throughout his life. When that baby had been placed in his arms at the hospital, Senior had, much to the shock of everyone in the room, dissolved into tears. It was right there and then that he'd began to atone for the errors he'd made in regards to his wife and his children. Kieran Flack, just hours old, had unknowingly built a bridge between a long feuding father and son. And when his tiny fingers had curled around his grandpa's finger, an impenetrable bond had been formed between the two.

After that, Senior had changed remarkably. He'd quit the booze entirely and had put his energy into being a role model in his grandson's life. And with each member that had been added to the Flack family, he grew in love, tolerance and patience.

Flack hadn't been worried about his old man's reaction to a disabled grandkid. He'd been downright terrified. He knew his old man's inability to accept anything that was different. The way, during all his years on the job, he'd looked down on anyone that he viewed as remotely strange. He'd heard the off handed, disrespectful and plain nasty comments his dad made about people living off of the system, of single teenage mothers and of sufferers of mental illness. And shockingly enough, from time to time, he'd heard his father refer to minorities by obviously racists slurs. Flack had, somehow by the grace of God, escaped that kind of intolerance and hatred when he grew older. He could honestly say that he he'd never uttered an ethnic slur or put the beat down on a homeless drunk simply because he slurred his words. He'd never locked up someone just because they couldn't speak English and couldn't understand what he was saying when questioning them on the street. And he'd never, ever, even as a kid, made fun of anyone with special needs. He was like his mother in that respect. She'd taught him that all human beings were 'God's children' and deserved to be treated like respect.

His dad hadn't seen it the same way. And while Flack Junior befriended the kids with special needs, and later as an adult often volunteered with them at the YMCA, Senior had mocked his son for his 'unique choice in friends'.

So when Declan's diagnosis had come down, it had been a double kick in the ass to Flack. Not only had he'd never expected to have his own disabled child, he was frightened at what his father would say when he found out. That his dad would look at him and treat him as less of a man because he'd produced someone 'not worthy to carry the Flack name'. That Senior would start dishing out the blame to who exactly 'caused' Declan to be the way he was. And even worse, he was worried his old man would call his new grandson a handful of disgusting names and simply cut not only Declan, but all of his grandkids, out of his life.

So it had been a nervous moment for Flack as he'd watched his father sidle up to the incubator were Declan slept peacefully, his eyes protected from the bili lights, pads from the nearby EKG machine attached to his tiny chest and an IV in the bottom of one tiny foot and a NG tube down one nostrils. The girls had been in the same predicament, but they'd shown signs of life. They moved their arms and their legs and gave startled cries or curled all five fingers around someone's one when their palms were stroked. But Declan…Declan had looked sick. As ill as he had probably been feeling at the time.

"Declan, huh?" Senior had asked, as he peered into the incubator. "Good, strong Irish name for my grandson. Means full of goodness. And I tell ya, looking at him? He's damn full of more than just that. Kid's gonna be a handful, Donnie. Just like his older brother. Just like you. Gonna give you more grey hair than you already have. Break a lot of hearts, too."

"He's got Down Syndrome dad," Flack had blurted out. Those five words nearly bringing him to his knees as the admittance of his son's disability hit home. And hit home hard.

"I know…" Senior's face softened as he gave a nod. "But you know…what does that really matter, Donnie? Doesn't make a lick of difference to me if he's got one extra chromosome or ten extra. He's still my grandson. Just 'cause he's a bit different doesn't mean I'm gonna love him any less. If anything, it means I'm gonna love him more. 'Cause he'll need that little big extra care from his grandpa."

Flack had been shocked into silence by his father's words. And then, as he watched his old man looking down at that fragile infant with tears sparkling in his eyes, had promptly broken down. It would prove to be his own and only emotional meltdown. Standing there in the middle of the NICU, a thirty three year old man who dealt with the scum of society on a daily basis and who barely flinched in the face of fear, bawling like a baby with his face buried in his father's shoulder and his old man holding onto him and stroking his hair in comfort. Senior hadn't judged him or ridiculed him for his behaviour. He'd simply, and quietly, consoled his heartbroken son. Standing there until there were no more tears to cry and Flack finally managed to pull himself together.

"He's still your boy Donnie," Senior had said, as he patted him softly on the cheek. "He's still your son. No matter what's the matter with him. He's got your blood running through his veins. And you're gonna be okay. You're gonna do a fine job. And I ain't gonna stand here and tell you that it's gonna be easy. That it's gonna be a walk in the park. There's gonna be some tough times and you're gonna hear things about your boy and you're gonna wanna bust peoples heads for saying that shit. But at the end of the day, he's still a human being. And he's a beautiful baby and he's gonna make you smile more than he's gonna make you cry. I know it hurts like hell. I know it feels like it's never gonna get better. But you know what? You're gonna love him just as much as you love the rest of your kids."

Flack had nodded and sniffled noisily as he wiped his eyes on his forearm. Embarrassed by his outward display of emotion.

"Don't you ever be sorry for being a human being," his father had scolded him. "For loving your boy. Don't you ever be sorry for bringing him into this world. Yeah, he's got Down Syndrome. But you know what? He's here. He's here and you can't take it out of him. And right now you're scared shitless about raising him. But you're gonna do right by him. And you're gonna do it one day at a time."

And that was exactly what Flack had done. After that night, he'd accepted the cards he'd been dealt and he simply went about raising his son- all of his kids for that matter- one day at a time. He learned as much as he could about Declan's disability and he and Sam had made sure that their son got everything he needed. Occupational therapy, physiotherapy, speech therapy. Infant therapists had come into their house from the time Declan was two months old until he was three and he was handed off to another team of professionals that would follow him until he was eighteen. The baby sign they'd learned with Kieran had served them remarkably well when it came time to teach Declan how to communicate. They took him to twice monthly appointments with the cardiologist and made sure he received the meds he needed for his thyroid problem. He saw a developmental pediatrician that tracked his progress and made sure they received every ounce of support they needed within the community.

Most of all, they'd made sure from early on that their son did things 'normal' kids did. He took swimming lessons, played soccer, t-ball and basketball. He went to the same school as his siblings and was integrated into regular classes with not only able bodied children, but kids with the same disability as him. And those with much, much worse. They disciplined him the same way his brothers and sisters were. Declan didn't receive any special treatment in that respect. He was forced to make his bed and clean his room and do chores just like everyone else.

All in all, Declan was a 'normal' kid around there. And with his immense stubbornness and his penchant for practical jokes and a sarcastic wit, he was every inch his father's son.

As she heard her husband's heavy footsteps as they journeyed down the hallway towards the kitchen, Sam quickly went back to the task in front of her. Slicing up half a watermelon and removing it from its rind before cutting it into chunks and dropping it into a Tupperware container. A basket of strawberries and blueberries setting nearby, awaiting her attention as well. Tension causing her shoulders and neck to ache as she watched Flack enter the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. The papers she'd given to him folded in one hand, his now empty bottle of beer in the other. She heard him sniffle noisily, then clear his throat as he dropped the papers on the kitchen table and placed the bottle in a case of empties near the sliding door. Casting a glance at him, she was surprised to see his eyes rimmed with red. A clear sign of emotion.

"I'm just cutting up some fruit," she said, as he moved around the kitchen behind her. "The baby's hungry and the kids always like…"

All words escaped her as his strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her tightly against him as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you baby," he said, his voice a near whisper as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I know it's not easy for you and that it bothers you still…but you've come so far and done so much for my son. And I'm proud of you and I respect you and love you for that. More than I could ever possibly tell you."

She smiled, and resting her head back against his chest, laid the knife down on the counter and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," he said, as she turned her face up at him and he placed a tender kiss to his lips. "For what you said in that thing you wrote. I needed to hear all of that."

"You shouldn't have had to wait thirteen years to hear it," she sighed sadly.

"Better late than never, right?" he grinned, and kissed her once again. "We've come a long way, you know. With Declan."

She nodded. "It still bothers me though," she admitted. "A lot. And that makes me feel…it makes me feel horrible. Because he's my son and I love him and I can't imagine my life, our lives, without him. And when I think how I still haven't accepted it…"

"Baby, sometimes people never do. It's not him that you're not accepting. It's his disability. And you know? That's okay. It's a damn bitter pill to swallow. Doesn't mean we love him any less. Or treat him any different. And it also doesn't mean that we ever have to be okay with the Downs itself."

She gave a solemn nod.

"Thirteen years later and I still feel like shit some days," he confessed. "Some times, when I sit back and watch him with Kieran…that's when I get down about it. 'Cause K's like the typical fifteen year old guy. Total jock. He'll play any and every sport and be damn good at it. And he's got girls all over him. And then Declan…well Declan struggles with everything and he thinks it's okay if he asks out the most popular girl in school and then doesn't get it why he gets shot down. And that's when it bothers me. When I see him trying to be his brother and then I have to tell him after he's gotten his feelings hurt and his heart crushed why he can't be like K. That's when I find it tough."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"But you know what?" Emotion played in Flack's voice. "He's my son. My boy. And I'd do anything for him. I'd lie down and die for that kid. All of my kids. And I think to myself about how I'd rather him have the guts to try everything and anything then be ashamed or embarrassed to do it."

She gave a smile.

"He's our baby," Flack pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. "We made him together. We love him together. All of them for that matter. Even…" his hand slid down to rub her stomach softly. "…this one here. Mortal shock and all."

"It was just a little surprising," she said with a grin.

"A little?" he chuckled. "Try massively surprising. Then times it by a hundred. No…a thousand."

"Okay now…" she laughed, patting the hand that stroked her tummy. "Don't be going and giving your son or daughter some kind of Oopsie Baby complex while still in the womb, alright?"

"A what complex?" he asked.

"An Oopsie Baby complex," she replied. "You know…like an Ooops, how'd that happen?"

"Oh…you mean a 'Shit, how in the hell?' or 'Holy fuck what have we done?' complex."

"Now you are just being a smart ass," Sam declared, as she wriggled out of his embrace and went back to her food preparation.

"The day wouldn't be complete without me popping off some sarcastic comment now, would it? You've been dealing with it for sixteen years now. You think you'd be used to it."

"It's growing on me," she grumbled, then laughed as he reached out to playfully tousle her hair.

"Yeah?" Flack asked, eyes sparkling playfully. "Same way that hair cut is growing on me. Why you got it cut like a boy is beyond me."

"It's a Pixie cut," Sam defended herself.

"It's shorter than mine," he teased and snagging a chunk of watermelon from the container popped it into his mouth. "So K and I are going to that Rangers game tomorrow," he reminded her.

"That should be fun. He seems really excited about it. Hasn't stopped talking about it since you came home with those tickets. It's been a while since you guys got to do something together. Just the two of you."

"Too long," Flack said. "I'm just kind of worried about it."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"I just…I'm nervous about what he might to talk about," Flack told her.

"He talks to you about everything," she pointed out. "You're the one he goes to about things he know will give me a heart attack. Problems at school, problems with girls. Sex. You're the one he goes to."

"Because he knows you'll have a stroke if he talks about how he's having sex with you. You're his mommy. He knows his mommy doesn't want to hear shit like that. And honestly? I never talked about stuff like that with my mom either. She was the last person I went to."

"And your dad was pretty much ruled out so who'd you…"

"Gerrard," Flack told her. "I already told you about how tight he was with my dad. He was always around the house. From the time I was a baby. When my dad was too drunk or too busy with work to give a rat's ass about me, Gerrard was the one that stepped up. Made sure I had a father figure in my life. Someone to keep me on the straight and narrow. Keep me off drugs and off the bottle and out of detox or jail. People always think I became a cop to make my dad happy. Honestly babe, between you and me? I did it for Gerrard. To make him proud. Show him that he did a good thing by sticking by me. That he didn't waste his time. That I did good by him."

"And you did," Sam said. "You did do good by him, Donnie. And I'm sure he was proud of you. Even if he was so busy shitting on you all the time."

"Now that I'm older…" Flack sighed. "I don't know…I guess I see it differently now. I realize he rode my ass like that 'cause he knew I had potential and he didn't want me to fuck up. He wanted me to go far in the department. And if he saw me leaving the path he made sure to yank me back onto it. Guess it was his way of doing it. Tough love. Who knows. I just thought he was being a major prick when I was younger."

"Trust me, babe. You are not the only one that thought that way about him," Sam told him.

"Yeah…but no one knew him like I did. No one. He never once gave up on me. For a long time, all I remembered about him was the crappy things. The way he'd tear me a new asshole or pull me up on the carpet in front of all the guys. The way he and Sinclair made me feel like a worthless piece of shit that day in the courthouse when I was testifying in Mac's defence at that departmental hearing…"

Sam nodded in recollection of the story her husband had long ago relayed to her.

"I was so pissed at him for so long after that," Flack said, as he leaned back against the counter beside her. "And for the longest time, no matter what good things happened, it was that one moment that replayed over and over in my mind. Trust me babe, if there was ever a moment I could have kicked the shit out of those two, it was that one."

"I have had many of those moments with bosses of mine," Sam gave a laugh. "Mac included. But you know what? I loved working at the lab. With him. For him. And when he left…I don't know…when he left working there was never the same. Mind you, he made a damn good commissioner."

"You're only saying that 'cause you've always had a crush on him," Flack chided. "You've always had a thing for Mac. Especially Marine Mac."

She just smiled and popped a piece of watermelon into his mouth.

"And you were his favourite and we all know it," Flack continued. "It's why he rode your ass so much. Wanted you to push yourself. Challenge yourself."

"Maybe…but I don't know if he necessarily rode my ass. 'Cause Marine Mac?" her eyes sparkled devilishly. "I think I'd remember if Marine Mac rode my ass."

Flack frowned. "And you call me the perverted one," he said.

"Well what can I say?" she asked, and leaning sideways, pressed a kiss to his arm. "I have spent the last sixteen years learning from the master."

"And you have been a most excellent pupil," he told her, and bent down to peck her lips. "Grasshopper," he added, and laughed as she slugged his arm.

"I can't believe you stayed up so late watching that the other night," she shook her head in disbelief. "You and your Kung-Fu fetish."

"Just be thankful it wasn't a Star Wars or Doctor Who marathon," he said.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Now that I could not have tolerated. I mean who knew that my brave, big, strong, tough NYPD boy is actually a sci-fi geek deep down."

"No one," Flack told her. "And that is a secret you have to take to your grave."

"Yes sir," she saluted him playfully.

"Just like yours is how you actually like you brave, big, strong, tough NYPD to ride your ass."

Her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.

"You are such a study in contradiction," Flack laughed. "You're so tiny and so quiet and so sweet. The quintessential soccer mom in her Banana Republic clothes, driving her Volvo SUV. And then you take off your clothes and there's all these tattoos and shit. And then I get you behind closed doors and you…"

Sam cleared her throat noisily to capture his attention. Then nodded in the direction of the kitchen entrance. Where Alannah stood in the doorway in a pair of bubble gum pink sweat pants, matching hoodie and white t-shirt. Her arms crossed over her chest and a sheepish, almost frightened expression on her pretty face.

"Finally decided to rejoin the human race, huh?" Flack asked.

"There's leftovers from lunch in the fridge," Sam told their daughter. "If you're hungry there's lots to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Alannah said. "I just wanted to…" she took a deep, quivering breath and let it out slowly. "I just wanted to talk to daddy."

Flack looked over at his wife, eyebrows raised.

"Can we talk?" the thirteen year old asked. "I really want to talk to you. Do you think we can talk? Not fight. I don't want to fight. I just want to talk to you, daddy."

He sighed heavily, then nodded as he pushed himself away from the counter. "We can talk," he told her. "I'm just going to go and take a shower and put some fresh clothes on, okay?"

"Okay…" Alannah said, the chewed at her bottom lip nervously as he approached the doorway. A habit she'd picked up from her mother. One each and every kid had also seemingly inherited.

"Why don't you have something to eat," Flack suggested. "You didn't eat lunch. And don't give me and your mom this crap that you're not hungry. Go and grab something, okay?"

She nodded.

"We'll talk," he promised, then taking her face in her hands, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Then gave a smile as he ran a hand over her long black hair. "I'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

Alannah gave another nod, then watched as her father stepped out of the room and headed down the hall. She waited until he disappeared into the living room before journeying farther into the kitchen, watching her mother warily as she chopped fruit at the island. Gripping the knife so tight her knuckles were white. Her mouth set in a firm, tense line.

"Mom…" she began nervously. "I…I just…"

"I don't want to hear any more excuses or bullshit from you," Sam informed her. "The way you acted this morning? When I tried to talk to you? That was not cool, understand me? And if you ever tell me to F off again…"

"I was just upset," Alannah said. "I just wanted to be left alone and you wouldn't listen to me when I told you that. You still kept trying to talk to me and I didn't want to talk to anyone. And you never stop. You just keep going and going and going. Even daddy says so."

"Well you know what? I'm your mother. And if I want to keep going and going and going, I will. You're thirteen years old and you won't talk like that to me. I won't tolerate that crap from you. From anyone in this house. I am your mother and you'll respect me."

"But what about you respecting me?" her daughter asked.

"You're thirteen young lady! I brought you into this world and I've I ever feel like it, I'll damn well take you out of it. You're my daughter and I love you. But I'm not putting up with that. I'm not letting you talk like that to me. You're not being the way you are around here. You're not going to throw these temper tantrums when you don't get something you want or you don't like to follow rules. You're not going to be all Mary Sunshine around here one minute and wicked witch of the west the next."

"You mean like you?" Alannah challenged. "You're not the easier person to get along with, mom! You never listen to anything I have to say! Anything anyone has to say! And you freak out over stupid crap! All the time!"

"Finding out you're giving some moron boyfriend of yours head is not stupid crap!" Sam fumed.

"Yet Kieran gets away with it! He gets away with a lot of stuff! You don't even know what him and Alessa are up to when they're down in the basement together! And you and dad think it's okay that he's having sex!"

"You know what?" Sam tossed the knife aside angrily. "I do not think that it's okay that he's having sex. I don't want him to be having sex. But you know what? He is! And your dad is taking care of that and he's making sure that Kieran doesn't knock someone up by the time he's sixteen. But you're thirteen, Alannah. Thirteen! And that's not right! You and whatever it is you're doing with this boyfriend of yours. Or whatever the hell he is."

"He is my boyfriend!" Alannah informed her. "And I can do whatever I want with him."

"Not in my house you won't," her mother snapped.

"Fine," the thirteen year old huffed. "Then we just won't do it here. We'll do it somewhere else."

"You're thirteen!" Sam shouted. "Thirteen year olds don't have sex!"

"You were having sex at fourteen!" Alannah retorted. "You had a baby at fifteen!"

"Which is exactly why I don't want you doing it! Do you think I'm proud of that? Do you think it makes me feel good about myself to know I got pregnant so young? Or that I was having sex at that age? Do you think I feel great about that? Well I don't! And if I could go back and time and change things, trust me, my life would be totally different. I love Sara and she's my daughter and your sister, but I would definitely make different choices in my life."

"Well we can't all be perfect like you," Alannah huffed.

"No one ever said that I was!" Sam shouted. "And I know I'm not! But I don't want you to be like me! I don't want you having the teenage life that I had! Not after your dad and I worked so goddamn hard to make sure your childhood wasn't like any of ours."

"Well that wasn't too hard," Alannah muttered. "I wasn't grandpa's fuck toy. Like you were with your dad."

Frowning, and with tears of hurt and rage burning her eyes, Sam stormed across the kitchen and before she could stop herself or Alannah could react, slapped the thirteen year old across the face. The sound reverberating through the room, and leaving both Alannah's cheek and Sam's hand stinging.

Alannah recoiled in horror and clamped her hand over the side of her face.

"Don't you ever, ever talk like that to me again!" Sam hissed. "Do you understand me?"

The teenager tearfully nodded.

"If you ever…" Sam winced as a sharp pain in her lower abdomen caused her to place a hand on her stomach and gasped.

"Mom?" Alannah reached out. "Are you…"

"Don't you ever talk like that to me again!" Sam snapped, then turning abruptly on her heel, snatched her car keys off of the top of the microwave. "I'm going out," she announced, and stomped through the kitchen.

"Where are you going? What do I tell dad?"

"The truth!" Sam yelled from the doorway. "That you and I…that I can't be here if you are!" she finished, and with tears flowing freely, hurried out of the room.

I know it's been a while for this one folks! But the muse led me here and I wanted to get something out for all of you! As usual, a huge thanks goes out to everyone that is reading and reviewing. And even just lurking!!!!