DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.
THANKS TO EVERYONE READING AND REVIEWING AND ADDING ME TO ALERTS! MUCH LOVE AND APPRECIATION TO ALL OF YOU! BEG 75
FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE ASKED, SAM IS BASED, PHYSICAL APPEARANCE WISE, ON RACHEL BILSON
ALSO, THERE'S A POLL UP ON MY PROFILE PAGE. PLEASE VOTE! I AM LETTING YOU GUYS DECIDE WHAT KIND OF SHINDIG (THAT WAS FOR YOU LAURZZ. SHINDIG ;) THAT SAMMIE AND FLACK HAVE THIS TIME AROUND
Everybody hates Mondays
"Well you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted
I fell right through the cracks
Now I'm trying to get back
Before the cool done run out
I'll be giving it my best
And nothing's gonna to stop me but divine intervention
I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some
But I won't hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait, I'm yours
Well open up your mind and see like me
Open up your plans and damn you're free
Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
Listen to the music of the moment, maybe sing with me
All - ah peaceful melody
And it's our God-forsaken right to be loved love loved love loved."
-I'm Yours, Jason Mraz
The buzzing of the clock radio on the nightstand was an unwelcome intrusion to a deep and peaceful sleep.
Quarter after five in the morning came too early. Way too early as far as Flack was concerned. Falling asleep when it was pitch black outside and than waking up to the same conditions played horrible, cruel tricks on your internal clock. The dull and dreary skies, the whipping, biting winds and the relentless downpour of snow that had besieged the city since early Sunday morning didn't help matters either. Neither did going to bed after midnight because for almost a month you had put off re-reading nearly year old notes for a case you were testifying in the next day. The label of being a horrible procrastinator had once again proven true and he'd attempted to, hopefully satisfactorily, cram everything as soon as the clock hit eight pm the night before.
With a loud groan, he rolled over onto his right hand side and with his eyes still closed, fumbled in the dark for the snooze button mounted on the top of the radio. He was aching for more sleep. Even another ten, fifteen minutes was better than nothing. Although he'd kill for another half hour. He was tired. Beyond tired, in fact. Which seemed strange considering all he done for the whole weekend was hang out on the couch. After the initial trip out to the drug store and to grab food, neither he or Sam had left the apartment. They ate nothing but junk food or take out. They watched whatever movies were playing on television. No matter how cheesy or stupid they were. They played poker. Strip poker, in fact.
It had become apparent, after he'd found himself in just his boxers and his girlfriend still fully clothed, that the little Brooklyn girl, despite her insistence's that she had never played poker before and didn't even understand it on television, was completely full of shit. She had admitted that winning card games was how she paid for meals and books when money was tight in college. He'd than teased her about how it was always the sweet, tiny, innocent ones you had to watch out for. Lindsay was the pool shark, Sam was the card shark.
She'd stuck her tongue out at him. The mere glimpse of that piercing was enough to turn him on. That simple act on her part had than resulted in a tickling match right there on the couch that had her shrieking and tears streaming down her cheeks as she announced she was going to pee her pants. He'd taken mercy on her, and the tickling had led nicely into a rather hot and heavy make out session. She'd gotten frightened and balked when he'd attempted to take things further and he'd put a quick halt on the intimacy. And had taken a cold shower. A long cold shower. He was trying to be as patient and understanding as possible. In fact, he'd had no idea he could be that patient and understanding. But it was getting harder and harder to do the right thing.
Flack had no idea how in the hell he was managing to share a bed with her and keep his sanity. Despite the fact that he was, as Sam so eloquently put it "getting his rocks off on a routine basis", he desperately craved that last step. That last remaining act of intimacy between them. The trust and the affection and the love that came with something so intense and powerful and personal. The thing that would cement their bond and their love more than oral sex or other forms of satisfying each other ever could.
To make matters worse, Sam was the cuddly type. Not that that was a complaint. He'd never shared a bed with a woman long enough to grow accustomed to having them beside him each and every night. But it was a damn struggle attempting to keep his hands off of her when she insisted on sleeping snuggled into him or at least touching him one way or the other. Whether it be her leg over his or her arm over his chest or stomach. Never mind how amazing it felt when her body came in contact with his or her hair brushed against his skin. And her smell. Intoxicating and alluring.
He wondered how in the hell he'd ever manage to survive without sleeping next to her for so long. Even with Angell, there'd been nights when he'd craved solitude. Where he just needed to be away from her. Which was why he'd avoided even entertaining the notion of living with her when she brought it up. Having his own place meant having somewhere to escape to. But with Sam, he wanted her around. All the time. And hated the loneliness that took over him when she wasn't around. Especially at night and early in the morning.
You're a pathetic, sappy bastard, Flack thought with a sigh and flopped over onto his other side. Beside him, the tiny figure buried under the mound of blankets and heavy duvet stirred slightly. Murmuring and sighing heavily as she slept on her stomach, her foot just grazing his leg and her face nestled into the pillow that they shared despite the fact she had a perfectly good one of her own.
His plan was, after he managed to drag himself out of bed and in for a shower and a shave, to set he alarm for eight o'clock so she could get all the sleep she could get before her ten am start at work. He'd leave the extra key on the kitchen counter and a note telling her to keep it permanently with the ones for her car and her own apartment. There was no sense, considering how they were going back and forth between each others places, to keep handing the thing to her each time she stayed over and he had to go in before her. And the simple act of her accepting that key, was almost as if she was accepting that his place was hers as well. And that brought them one step closer to putting an end to the separate apartments arrangement.
Sam sighed once more. He was pretty sure that she'd break out talking any second. She had a horrible habit of talking profusely in her sleep. About everything and anything. In a loud, clear voice. There were even times when she sat up, still fast asleep, and began yapping away. Last night, he'd carried on a fairly decent conversation with her about peanut butter, pickles and kitty litter. A weekend ago, he'd caught her sleepwalking and had to prevent her from journeying into the closet which she believed to be the bathroom.
There never seemed to be a dull moment, awake or not, with Samantha Ross. And he wouldn't want it any other way.
"Donnie?" she asked, in a tiny, quiet voice.
"Yeah?" he reached out and pushed her hair away from her face.
"What time is it?"
"Early," he told her. "Really, really early."
"How early is early?" she asked.
"Quarter after five."
She groaned. "That's too goddamn early," she declared. "Why are you up at such an ungodly hour?"
"I'm in court all day today, remember? I need to be there at eight to meet with the DA."
"Oh.." she said. "Oh yeah…"
"Go back to sleep, Sammie," he said and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.
She reached out and laid a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him in close as she covered his lips with hers in a lingering, slow kiss. Her tongue easily pushing its way into his mouth, the tip grazing across the tip of his several times before urgently plunging the whole thing into his mouth. She was an amazing kisser. So much feeling and emotion put into each kiss they shared. Sometimes maybe even too much. Such was the case that morning, as he lost himself quite willingly in her, his hand travelling over her body. Down her arm and back up again and than over her back and down to her ass. Grabbing it and squeezing it and fondling it before yanking her lower body against his. Enjoying the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair, her nails scraping tantalisingly against his scalp.
"Baby…" he breathed into her hair as her lips broke away from his and trailed across his jaw to his ear and than down onto his neck. His fingers digging into her flesh at the feel of her teeth gently nipping at the hallow of his throat.
"Hmmm?" she licked a path from his throat, up underneath his chin and to his lips. Tracing the outline with the tip of her tongue.
"We need to stop," he told her. "This…we can't be doing this…"
"We're not doing anything," she said and kissed him deeply. Pressing her breasts into his chest, her hand on the back of his head as she held him in position.
He broke away from her, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah…we are. And we need to stop."
"That's a first for you," she said. "Putting a halt on things."
"If I don't, I'm going to be really, really late. And I can't afford to be late. Not to mention, we're going to get into things and this time, I'm not going to be able to stop. So…" he reached behind his head and taking her by the wrist, removed her fingers from his hair and sat her hand down on the pillow. "It's best we just don't get all worked up."
"Who says I was going to tell you to stop?" she asked.
"All the more reason we can't get into things. Not enough time to do exactly what I want to do to you. First time isn't going to be this desperate, fast kind of fuck, Sam. And honestly, you deserve better than something like that anyway."
She smiled and kissed him. "Ever the romantic. If people only knew the real Donald Flack Jr. The sappy, corny hopeless romantic."
"I'm glad people don't know that part of me," he said, rolling away from her and sitting up. "I've got a reputation to uphold. So let's keep that knowledge to yourself."
"And what reputation would that be?" she asked, rolling over onto her side and moving closer to him. She pressed kisses along the small of his back and curled her arm around him from behind. "The mean, aggressive, smart mouth detective?"
"That's the exact one," he agreed, shivering at the feeling of her warm, moist mouth on his skin and the way her fingertips softly grazed across his stomach. Lingering on the thick, jagged scar.
At the beginning of their relationship, when things had began heating up between them and she'd attempted to remove his wife beater after making quick work of his dress shirt, he'd been hesitant about having her see the scars. It was a mess and certainly not pretty, and when he'd halted her hands, she'd looked confused and hurt. He'd explained to her that he didn't feel totally comfortable taking his shirt off in front of anyone. That it usually took him a while until he reached a certain level of trust and ease to be okay with letting whoever he was with see the scars left over from the bombing. She'd listened patiently and intently when he had told her about his injuries and the surgeries he'd had and the months and months of painful, tedious recovery.
She'd given a soft, beautiful smile that had taken his breath away. The intense, patient look in her eyes and on her face had told him that he could trust her. That she wasn't going to stare or recoil at the sight of a scar. And he'd peeled off that white beater, albeit somewhat self-consciously and nervously, and had held his breath as she laid her hands on his sides and than bent her head to place soft, tender kisses along the scar.
"It's okay, Donnie," she'd said, her voice a near whisper as she looked up at him. "Scars don't make you less of a man. And I have lots of them. Just mine you can't see."
That had been the end of his confidence issues. Seeing the tenderness in her eyes and feeling it in her touch, he knew that he could trust her. That she wasn't going to hurt him.
"What if I told them about how you're really like?" she asked. "That you're this sweet, caring and patient teddy bear."
"If you did that, I'd have to kill you," he said.
She laughed and pressed a kiss to his back and rolled away from him. "I hate when you have to go on before me." she complained.
"Makes two of us," he said, yawning noisily as he climbed out of bed. "I'd kill to be staying in bed with you."
"That would be nice," she sighed. Yawning noisily, she fluffed up her pillows before collapsing onto her stomach once again. "You'll wake me up before you leave?"
Flack nodded and leaned over the bed to tuck her in and kiss her softly. "Get some rest, babe. You're the one that needs the beauty sleepy anyway."
"Ha, ha," she snorted. "Very goddamn funny. Go and get your shower and leave the stand up comedy to someone with talent. Stick to your day job, baby. You know how much the gun and handcuffs turns me on."
"You're just a dirty girl, Samantha," he chuckled and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from his dresser before heading for the ensuite bathroom.
"You like it when I'm like that," she said. "All dirty and perverted one minute and than girl next door, cutesy and adorable."
"I do," he agreed. "And to play it up, I'm going to get you one of them hot little naughty school girl outfits."
"Why am I not surprised that would turn you on," she huffed. "You're a strange man, Don Flack."
"I can be," he admitted. "But I'm your man."
She smiled and sighed happily. "Yes," she agreed. "You are."
He had showered and now stood at the sink, in just his boxers and a wife beater, carefully taking a Gillette Mach Three razor to his shaving cream covered face. Sam often announced she was going to buy him an electric razor so that he didn't have such a long, tedious chore to do first thing in the morning. Shaving before he went to bed did Flack little good. By the time six in the morning rolled around he already had a very pronounced stubble and refused to go to work looking like that.
No matter how much his girl declared she liked the dark, smouldering bad boy look.
The bathroom door clicked open and he glanced through the mirror as Sam journeyed into the steamy bathroom, looking incredibly sexy and drop dead beautiful in what appeared to be her usual bed time attire as of late. One of his dress shirts with the cuffs rolled up several times and the bottom hanging way below her knees. A pair of his athletic socks that were impossibly large on her. And her waist length hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Loose tendrils skimming the sides of her face. She carried two mugs in her hands. The scent of fresh coffee permeated his senses and filled the room. Despite her always insisting that she was staying in bed when he got up earlier than she did, it had become somewhat of a routine that she'd make him a coffee and herself a tea and than sit in the bathroom while he shaved. It was usually the only time on a work day that they got a decent conversation in that didn't involved whatever cases they were embroiled in.
"Thanks, baby," he said, as she pressed a kiss to his back and than sat the mug of coffee on the back of the sink.
"You're lucky I'm so damn cheery when I first get up," she said, yawning as she put down the toilet lid and took a set.
"Why wouldn't you be? You get the best sleep out of both of us. You know, I'm going to have to get out my sleeping bag and camp out on the bedroom floor. How can you be that tiny and take up so much room in bed and steal all the covers?"
"A sleeping bag?" she sipped her tea. "Isn't that a little extreme?"
"Do you freeze your ass off at night?" he asked.
She smiled innocently.
"I didn't think so, Freckles."
"So is this the crazy caterer case you're testifying in today?" she asked. "The dead groom in the dressing tent and the wedding guests beating the shit out of each other?"
"You're forgetting about the part where the best man found him dead and stuffed the wound with packing peanuts and sealed it with bubble wrap and dressed him for the wedding and got him to the park so the best man wouldn't lose out on a hundred grand 'cause of some stupid bet."
"Why do you get all the cool calls and I get stuck helping my brother put together puzzles?" she asked with a grimace. "Seriously. Eighty grand for a degree and I get to park my ass in the lab all day and night and work on jigsaw puzzles?"
"First, I get paid to do the grunt work while you do the science shit. So I see more of the freaky stuff. Second, just think of all that quality time you spent with your baby brother. How much the two of you bonded."
Sam snorted.
"But yeah, that's the case. The caterer who went nuts 'cause the groom was treating like his bitch just like he did back in college. Snapped 'cause he missed his kid's party do go over the menu for like the hundredth damn time."
"That whole wedding sounded fucked to me," Sam declared. "I ever get married, it's like me and my husband and a few guests on some beach somewhere exotic."
"Man, you are so not used to being in a relationship are you," Flack commented. "At least not in one that's serious."
"Why?" she asked, perplexed.
"Because when you talk about stuff like that, you always say I."
"I wasn't going to say when we get married," she informed him.
"Why not?"
"Because talking like that freaks guys out," she reasoned. "Talking permanently too soon into a relationship scares them away."
Flack frowned. "You read way too much National Enquirer," he told her.
"That was Cosmo, actually," she grinned.
"Well whatever the hell it was," he said, as he paused shaving and took a sip of his coffee. "You need to not believe everything you read. 'Cause not all guys are like that."
"Oh I forgot," she said. "You're like one in a million."
"Don't be such a smart ass," Flack scolded her.
"Me?" she asked, gasping dramatically. "Never. I have to say though, I like having the guy that's one in a million."
He smiled, and setting his razor on the sink ledge, walked over to her and took her face in both hands and captured her lips with his in a long, firm kiss. Than proceeded to, after the need for air became a necessity, hold her firmly by the back of the head as he rubbed his cheeks against her face until she was squealing in protest and covered in shaving cream.
"Jerk!" she giggled, shoving him away. "That wasn't nice!"
"It wasn't nice saying I was just like every other guy," he informed him, and snagging a towel from the back of the door, used it to gently wipe her face clean.
"I made it up by saying I liked having the one in a million," she said, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as he softly patted her face with the towel. "This is like being at the spa," she sighed. "Think you could rub my feet while you're at it?"
"I'll rub something else," he murmured.
"You are so deprived," Sam laughed, pushing him away once more. "Which leads me into talking about someone that's depraved."
"Do I really want to hear this?" Flack asked, returning to the task at hand.
"Probably not," she admitted. "But seeing as you and I have adopted this whole open book, honesty is the best policy thing I figured it's in my best interest, if I want to remain your girlfriend, to tell you."
"Is it really that bad, Sammie?"
"I need to ask Mac when I get in if I can get a new number issued to my work cell," she said.
"Why?"
"Because Zack somehow managed to get a hold of it and when I turned my phone on half an hour ago there was forty one new messages. Forty one! Mind you, three quarters of them were hang ups so I can't prove that it was him."
"That guy's a fucking tool," Flack declared. "What did he say on the messages?"
"He actually started out all sweet and gentlemanly. The whole I miss you and want you back and I'm a changed man and all that other bullshit. Than he get a little pissy and whiny and launched into his I'll kill myself if you don't take me back crap. And than he finished off with his," Sam lowered her voice and puffed out her chest and spoke in a imitation of her ex's voice. "I'm a big, tough guy and I run the show. So don't make me come down there and beat some goddamn sense into you, you stupid little bitch."
"He fucking said that?" Flack asked, trying to maintain the calmness in his voice despite the fact he was gripping the razor so hard his knuckles turned white. "Those exact words?"
Sam nodded. "He's such a prick. Like who the hell does he think he is?"
"I don't know. But give me his address and I'm on the next plane to Phoenix and I'm going to hand him his ass."
"He just think he's some bad ass," she said, finishing her tea. "He's just pissed off I smartened up and took off and now that my ex bestie dumped his ass, he thinks he can just bully his way back into my life. He's a loser. Just ignore him."
"Hard to ignore the asshole when he's calling you forty times and telling you he's going to beat some goddamn sense into you."
"He won't actually do it," Sam assured him. "Do you really think he's going to waste his time and come all the way to New York City to smack me around? I think not. He's too lazy to walk down the driveway to get the paper never mind find his way here. He's harmless."
"Did you used to say that when he was beating the shit out of you and you were making excuses every time someone noticed the bruises?" Flack asked.
Sam frowned. "That was a little harsh," she complained.
"How long have you been doing the job, Sammie? What's it been? Ten years?"
"Almost eleven," she said. "But…"
"And in eleven years, especially those you spent as a uniform, how many battered women did you see that said the same thing about their partners? And how many of them ended up dead by these same assholes they defended?"
"I think you're making too much of a big deal over Zack, Donnie," she said.
"And I think you're making too little of a deal over him," Flack told her. "The guy's a fucking wackadoo and you sit there and tell me he's harmless? Give me his goddamn phone number and I'll call him right now and tell him…"
"No," she snapped. "I'm not giving you his number and you're not calling him. You're not going to go all overprotective, overbearing boyfriend on me."
"Any guy would get on the phone and threaten to break every bone in his body for calling you all the time and threatening you. What? You think you owe him something? You feel bad for dumping him right before the wedding? For taking money that was rightfully, and legally, yours? You think you've done him wrong and feel you need to make some kind of ammends?"
"I don't know," she said quietly, running the tips of her toes along the cold bathroom tiles. "I guess I think I could have handled things a little better. A little more mature."
Flack snorted and dropped the razor into the sink with a clatter. "Give me a fucking break," he said and turned the taps on to rinse the shaving cream off of his face. "You can't honestly tell me you think you did something wrong," he said, eyes closed, fumbling blindly for the towel resting on the counter top.
Sam got up and grabbed the towel and placed it in his hand. "I just think that I could have handled things better. I bailed on a wedding that cost nearly thirty grand. I emptied another ten out of bank account and took off."
"Is that what bothers you?" Flack laughed dryly. "The money? I already told you that I'd write a goddamn check and…"
"I never asked you to do something like that."
"No. You didn't. I offered. And if it's what I have to do to get him off your back, than I'll do it. And if I have to go there and beat the living shit out of him, I'll do that too. Because I love you and I'm not going to tolerate him calling you and threatening you like that."
"I'm a big girl, Donnie," she said gently. "I think I can take care of myself."
He just smirked and shook his head. "You know what I think, Sammie? I think you need to cut the battered spouse syndrome bullshit and realize that leaving Zack, no matter how you did it, was the smartest thing you've ever done. He's the bad person. Not you. So pull up your big girl pants and deal with it. Because the sooner you do, the sooner you can go on with your life. We can go on with our lives. Together."
"Oh that's just what I need, Don," she snorted, heading for the door. "You going all cop on me. You really need to work on the whole when to be a cop and when to be a boyfriend thing. 'Cause it's all screwed up most days."
"And what you need to is to grow up and stop running away every time something bad happens or you hear something you don't like," he told her, calmly rinsing the sink out and cleaning up after himself.
"You know what!" she snapped, pausing in the doorway and turning to face him. "You know what you need to do?"
"What's that, Sammie?" he asked, not even looking back at her. Knowing the best thing to do in order to avoid getting into a huge blow out, was to make light of the situation, and of her. The less of a big deal he made out of her outbursts, the more inclined she was to let shit go.
"You need to…you need to leave me alone!" she shouted. "I'm going back to bed!"
"I'll set the alarm for you," he called after her as she stomped into the bedroom.
"Whatever," she huffed.
"I left the spare key on the microwave and some money for you to take a cab if you want," he told her.
"Good for you!" she yelled back. "Take your key and your money and shove it."
He heard the mattress squeak as she flopped down onto it, followed by the rustling of sheets as she buried herself under them. And her muttering of profanities.
Flack smirked and finished cleaning up the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and headed back into the bedroom, trying his best to ignore the tossing and turning and mumbling going on behind him as he got dressed for work. It was killing him to not say a word to her as he buttoned up his light grey dress shirt and tended to his black, burgundy and grey stripped tie. By the time he was fully dressed and clipping his badge and holster to his pants, the mutterings and movement had stopped, and she'd unearthed herself from the covers and was pretending to sleep. The flickering of her eyelids giving her away.
He said nothing as he grabbed his watch from the night stand and slipped it on. And was halfway out the bedroom door when she called him back into the room.
"You weren't going to wake me up and say goodbye?" she asked, as she sat up in the rumbled bed.
"I didn't think you wanted me to piss you off anymore," he replied and walked over to the bed.
"Doesn't mean you can kiss me and hug me," she pouted. "What if something happened to you and I never got to see you before you walked out the door?"
"Don't be so fatalistic, Sammie," he said, and leaning over the bed, kissed her softly. "I'll call you when I get out of court, okay? I shouldn't be too long. Maybe we can have dinner. I'll have to work late to catch up on whatever work I miss today. So I probably won't be home until late."
"Did you want me to go to my place or come back here?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter to me. Just let me know where you are so I can show up at the right place."
"God forbid either of us had to spend a night sleeping alone," she said.
He kissed her again. "Get some sleep," he pressed her lips to her temple. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she said. "And you smell damn yummy."
"Have to please my throng of female admirers," he told her. "Good luck with Jess."
She groaned and threw herself backwards on the bed. "You just had to remind me of that. Am I in charge of telling everyone else too?"
"Tell whoever you want," he said and headed for the door. "And do me a favour?"
She nodded.
"Put that ring where it belongs," he said. "On the proper hand and the proper finger."
She smiled brightly and pulled the ring off of her right hand and slipped it onto the left. She held it up and wriggled her fingers. "You're such a sap," she giggled.
"Let's keep that between you and me," he teased, than closed the bedroom door softly behind him as he left.
She sighed happily and stared up at ceiling.
God I love you, she thought. More than you could ever possibly know.
"I brought the goods!" Lindsay announced, as she burst into the lunchroom at exactly nine thirty, holding aloft a take out bag from McDonald's.
Every morning, if an early morning call out didn't get in the way, she and Sam met at the exact same time to have breakfast together. Each day, someone treated. This Monday had been Lindsay's turn and she'd made a pit stop at the McDonald's around the corner and had loaded up on hash browns, Breakfast Burritos and pancakes with packages upon packages of syrup.
"I made the peppermint hot chocolate," Sam said, carrying two mugs of the steaming beverage over to an empty table.
"You have me so addicted," Lindsay declared, dropping the bag down on the table top and opening it to take up napkins and plastic cutlery before delving out the food. "So how was the rest of your weekend?" she asked, slipping into the chair across from her best friend. "I started to get worried when I only heard from you once on Sunday."
"We had a nice quiet, relaxing day," Sam told her. "I would have called you, but Donnie's getting a little possessive of me on our days off. He doesn't like to share."
"Danny's the same," Lindsay assured her. "And it is so damn cute when you call Flack Donnie."
"He hated it at first," Sam smiled. "All but begged me not to call him that. But I just love hearing him beg."
Lindsay laughed. "You're dirty, girl," she said. "And he's going to be begging soon if you don't go easy on the poor guy. Unless that's what you were really doing yesterday. Finally letting him go where barely any men have gone before."
"Sorry," Sam said. "He sadly remains a Sam-virgin."
"You're evil," Lindsay told her, digging into her pancakes. "Let the man get fucked already."
Sam nearly spit her hot chocolate across the table. "Lindsay!" she exclaimed.
The country girl shrugged. "Sorry. Just making an observation. Before that guy goes insane, just handcuff him to the bed and fuck him sensless."
"What has gotten into you? What did you and Danny do all weekend? Punish and torture each other?"
"Let's just say that Danny will have cuff marks on his wrists for a while. I was not at all gentle."
"Behind his back or to the head board?" Sam asked curiously.
Lindsay smiled innocently. "Both," she admitted.
The two girls burst into giggles.
"So have you guys talked about Valentines Day?" Lindsay asked.
Sam nodded and chewed on her burrito, swallowing before answering. "I told him I didn't want to do anything. That I didn't even want him to buy me anything."
"You're insane," Lindsay informed her. "It's your guys' first Valentines Day. He wants to spoil you, I saw all the power to him."
"He's already spoiled me enough," Sam told her. "This ring wasn't exactly cheap. I guess I wouldn't mind going out to dinner. I've always wanted to go to the Russian Tea Room. And flowers. I'd love it if he'd buy me flowers and deliver them to my desk. There's something so wonderfully romantic and sweet about that."
Lindsay made mental notes. "I'm just hoping that Danny remembers it's Valentine's Day," she sighed. "He's not always the most thoughtful, romantic guy."
"What guy is?" Sam asked. "And don't worry. I stuck a sticky note on his computer screen when I got in reminding him that it was Valentines Day soon and he better shower you with diamonds and everything else that your little heart desires."
Lindsay smiled. "Are you going to get Flack anything?"
"Actually," Sam sipped her drink. "I'm going to give myself something that's intended for him."
Her best friend arched an eyebrow.
"Up to a day of shopping soon?" Sam asked. "Like say to Victoria's Secret?"
Lindsay grinned. "That's the gift that keeps on giving. What are you thinking of?"
"I don't know. Something skimpy. Black lace. Pink even. Some little two piece thing with barely there underwear that he can't take his eyes or his hands, off of."
"Trust me, Sammie. It's what's under the undies he wants to get his hands on."
"That's the plan," the petite brunette said. "I am determined that I am going to go through with it. No more chickening out. I am going to just grab him and throw him down and say right here, right now, buddy. Because honestly, if I didn't have my monthly visitor, I would have done nothing all weekend but get laid. That is how badly I want him. And I am done being scared and feeling victimized by Zack. Because this is a guy that loves me and wants me the way I am."
Lindsay smiled.
"And goddammit, he's just so fucking hot," Sam declared. "I swear he's is something next to Godlike beauty. And naked?" she sighed happily and shook her head.
"So what you're saying is that Detective Flack is packing one mighty heavy duty concealed weapon," Lindsay concluded.
"Oh absolutely," Sam said.
The two friends laughed heartily at that.
Sam's cell phone, resting on the table, rang noisily. The petite brunette swallowed her bite of ketchup smothered hash brown and scooped her cell up and checked out the call display.
"What's wrong?" Lindsay asked, when she noticed the sigh Sam emitted and the frown that crossed her best friend's face. "Who is it?"
"Who else?" Sam muttered and sat the phone down on the table.
"When is he going to get the picture?" Lindsay grumbled. "Seriously. Tell him to grow up and get a fucking life. It's been a year. He's the one that treated you like shit. He's gone a whole year leaving you alone. Why is he trying to weasel his way back into your life now?"
"Isn't that always the way, Linds?" Sam asked. "Right when you're at your happiest, someone has to come along and fuck it up."
"Flack and Danny would gladly wipe their asses with him," she said.
The phone rang a second time. This time Lindsay scooped it up before her best friend had the chance to. With a quick check of the caller ID, she pressed talk and put the phone to her ear.
"Detective Monroe," she said in way of greeting. "No, she's not here," she told the unwelcome caller. "No, I don't know where she is and no I can't give her a message. In fact, let me give you one. Fuck off, Zack. Fuck off and stop phoning her. Stop leaving her messages and harassing. Let her go on with her life. She's met a really nice guy who doesn't shit all over her and beat her up and treat her like a dog and who doesn't sleep around with anything that shows interest. A guy, who would happily break every bone in your body, rip your head off, shove it up your ass and than shit down your throat. But before he does all of that, he'll torture you nice and slow like pieces of shit like you deserve. Am I making myself clear? Fuck off."
Sam's eyes were wide as Lindsay pressed end and sat the phone calmly down on the table and went back to her breakfast.
"I think he might leave you alone for a bit," Lindsay said.
"I can't believe you did that," Sam breathed in disbelief.
Lindsay shrugged. "What are friends for?" she asked.
Sam broke into a bright smile. Don Flack aside, the best thing that had ever happened to her was sitting right in front of her.
She would always thank God for the day he brought Lindsay Monroe into her life.
Thanks to all of those who are R and Ring! And to anyone and everyone that is reading this, adding it to alerts, favs, etc. I appreciate all of you!
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