DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE TWINS, KELLAN AND KALLISON
A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! HOPE THIS CHAP DOESN'T DISAPPOINT! HAVE NO FEAR, THE QUESTION IS ANSWERED. IS HE OR ISN'T HE DEAD? ON WITH THE SHOW….
Aftermath
"When the visions around you,
Bring tears to your eyes
And all that surround you,
Are secrets and lies
I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope
Keeping your faith when it's gone
The one you should call,
Who's standing here all alone...
And I will take
You in my arms
And hold you right where you belong
Till the day my life is through
This I promise you
This I promise you
I've loved you forever,
In lifetimes before
And I promise you never...
Will you hurt anymore
I give you my word
I give you my heart (give you my heart)
This is a battle we've won
And with this vow,
Forever has now begun…"
-This I Promise You, N'Sync
Her entire body felt numb as she sat in the middle of her front foyer. A stern faced Brigham Sinclair towering over her. His deep brown eyes filled with sorrow. Betraying his true feelings for what had occurred. How he was coping with the sudden and tragic death of one of the genuine bright lights in the NYPD. It had been a tragic mistake. Nothing short of a horrific accident. There should have been better surveillance done on the perp's apartment. ESU should have done a proper threat assessment before giving the green light for anyone to go in there and attempt arrest. The officers allowed into the building should have been heavily armed and highly experienced ESU members. Not uniforms and crime lab employees and two detectives. All wearing nothing more then a simple bullet proof vest.
Under normal circumstances, that vest would have been enough to save Don Flack Jr's life. But had ESU done their homework, they would have realized that the circumstances were far from normal. They would have learned that the perp in question had an extensive history with weapons and had been arrested once for carrying a gun with ammo that could pierce through the Kevlar vests the NYPD supplied their personnel with. One minute, Flack had been standing outside of that apartment building in Astoria, strapping on his vest and joking with his colleagues about wanting to get the dirty work over and done with ASAP so he could get home to his wife, and the next he was bleeding out in the middle of the perp's filthy living room floor. Gasping for breath while he choked on his own blood and struggled to stay alive.
Had things been handle properly by the department, Flack would still be alive. And Sinclair would not have been standing there delivering the worst possible news anyone could ever receive.
Sam felt as if she couldn't breath. As if she was drowning and couldn't find her way to the surface. As if she was standing on the sidelines watching and listening to everything unfold around her. So lost in a mixture of anger and grief that she was only vaguely aware of the tears that spilled down her face and the way her entire body shook from heavy sobs that she couldn't seem to hear over the thundering of her own heart.
Her life was over. Everything had been torn away in an instant. The one person that she trusted and love more then she ever thought it was possible to love someone, who'd come into her life when she needed someone the most, and who had given so much and asked for so little in return, was gone. Her nightmare had finally come true. That fear that all cops' wives carried inside of them and spent time dwelling on during long and cold lonely nights.
He had walked out the door and would never be walking back in.
A husband had been lost. A father torn away. And as she sobbed his name and fought of Danny Messer's hands as he tried to embrace her and comfort her, she wondered how she would ever tell her girls that their daddy was never coming back. That the last time they'd seen him -fighting with him over not wanting to go to bed at Danny's house - was the last time permanently. Kallison had told him he was being mean, that she hated him. But he'd kissed her goodnight anyway and tucked her securely into the bed beside her sister and told her he'd loved her and would see her when Aunt Linds brought her home the next day.
And now she would never see him again. That would be her last memory of her father. Both girls would be destroyed. Beyond belief. And Sam had no clue how to break the news to them. Or how she was going to manage raising them on her own.
"Sam…" Danny's voice was calm and soothing despite the tears that poured down his face. "I need you to know…"
She shook her head vigorously. "You're wrong…" she screamed. "You're both wrong!"
"I need you to know that he went quickly. He'd want you to know that. He didn't suffer for long, okay? And you and the girls were on his mind the entire time. He kept saying your name, asking for you. And I told him that I'd come here and talk to you. That I'd take care of you and the twins."
"No!" she yelled and shoved Danny away. "He's not dead! He's fine! He's not dead!"
"Listen to me, Samantha…" Danny seized her by the shoulders and shook her. "You have to listen to me!"
She shook her head and attempted to fight him off.
"Sam!…Sammie…Samantha!" he bellowed, shaking her vigorously. "Listen to me! You need to wake up! WAKE UP!!!"
Her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright into a sitting position. Her breath coming in choked sobs as her legs struggled against the mess of twisted sheets holding her captive. Her chest ached and tears spilled down her face and had soaked her pillow. As she struggled to compose and orientate herself, strong hands gripped her shoulders firmly, attempting to shake some sense into her. Her eyes and brain finally merged and her surroundings and her understanding of what she had experienced became clearer to her.
She was still in her bedroom. The first sliver of early morning winter sunlight poking through the blinds. And the man she'd been told was dead was holding onto her shoulders and looking at her with concern etched all over his face and in his beautiful blue eyes. He was very much alive. She could feel the grip he had on her. Smell his familiar scent. And the sheer relief that he was there, that news of his death had been nothing but a horrible dream, had her breaking down into sobs.
"What happened, baby?" he asked in a quiet, worried voice, releasing his grip on her shoulders and taking her face in his hands. Clearing tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
"I…" she could barely get the words out. "I…had a dream…a terrible dream…"
"It's okay now," he assured her. "You're okay."
She shook her head and reached out for him. Circling his neck with her arms, she sobbed into his shoulders as she clung to him with every ounce of strength in her petite body.
"It's alright, baby," he whispered into her ear, as he wrapped both arms around her trembling body. "It was just a dream…that's all it was. Just a dream."
"It felt so real," she cried. "It felt like it was really happening."
"Well it wasn't," he told her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "You were dreaming it. Whatever it was, it wasn't real. And I'm here and you're safe now. It was just a dream, Sammie."
"Danny was here," she said. "And Sinclair. They were both here. They rang the doorbell and I went downstairs and answered the door and they stood in the foyer."
"No one is here but me and you," he told her. "No one came to the door, babe."
"But it felt so real!" she argued. "They stood right in the foyer and they told me…" her voice caught in her throat. "…and they told me that you were dead…that you went through the door on a raid and the perp had bullets that could go through Kevlar and that you were shot twice…they said that you were dead!"
The force and the certainty in which she said those last six words hit Flack hard enough to make him wince. While he knew that it was a fear of hers -hell, a fear of anyone, male or female that was married to, or involved with a cop- she had never once, in the eight years they had been together, ever experienced a dream like that. One that had her thrashing around in bed and fighting off any attempts to calm her. One that had her sobbing uncontrollably and screaming his name.
"But I'm not dead," he said, pulling away from her so she could see into his eyes. "Look at me, Sammie…"
She whimpered and sniffled and did as she was told.
"I'm not dead," he told her. "I'm right here. Right here, babe. Come on, feel my face. Touch my face, Sammie. I'm right here."
She raised her hands to his face and touched every feature softly. Needing that affirmation that he was there. That he was very much alive and well and right there in front of her.
"You're okay now," Flack said and kissed her softly. "Everything's fine. You're okay now."
She wiped her eyes on her arm and laid her head against his shoulder. "It felt so real," she whispered.
"It wasn't real," he assured her, gathering her into his arms once again and drawing her tight against him. "Just a dream."
She relaxed in his embrace. Comforted by his strong arms and his warmth and the sound of his heart beating in his chest.
For several minutes they sat there, in complete silence, enveloped in each other's embrace. Until her body shivered against him. There was a chill in the room and neither of them had clothes on.
"Are you okay now?" Flack asked, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
"I think so…" she replied meekly.
"I'm going to go and get you one of them lorezapam pills," he told her, releasing her from his embrace. "It will calm you down. Why don't you put your jammies back on before you catch pneumonia."
She nodded, wiping the remains of her tears away with the back of her hand as he slid out of bed, pausing to bend down and scoop her pyjamas up from their resting place on the floor.
"It felt so real," she whispered, as she reached for the clothing he held out to her.
"Well it wasn't," he responded. "If it was, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"
She shook her head.
"You're okay," he said and reached out to run a gentle hand over her face. Leaning over the bed, he kissed her, long and soft, before backing away and heading for the bathroom. Snagging his own clothes and climbing into them along the way.
Sam pulled on the flannel bottoms and slipped into the top. Her fingers trembling so bad she could barely manage to get the buttons secured. She had had dreams like that before. Where Danny -it was always Danny delivering the bad news - had come to the door to tell her that her husband was dead. But she usually woke up just as Danny got the words out. And no dream had ever seem so vivid. She had been able to smell the two men in that foyer with them. She had felt Danny's hands on her arms and his warm breath on her face. She could still hear his words. The anguish that existed in his voice. She could still see the torment in his eyes. The unbearable grief of having lost his best friend. Someone he loved like a brother.
It had felt so real. She'd never, ever been that frightened before. And she knew, as she sat there in the middle of their bed, that it was time to make amends for things that she had done in the past. For not always appreciating and validating all the wonderful things that her husband had done in the course of their relationship. She'd taken for granted the things that he had done and the sacrifices he had made. She had chose to fight over small, insignificant things when forgiving would have been a much easier option. She had said mean, hurtful things to him in a course of a fight that she could never, ever take back. She hadn't always told him she loved him. For everything he was and everything he had. That he was her one and only love then, and he was her one and only love now.
"You're going to need some more of them anxiety pills, babe," Flack said, as he rejoined her in the bedroom, four tiny, white pills in the palm of his left hand. "These are the last of them. If you want to, you can call it in to the pharmacy and I'll pick them up on my break."
"I hate taking so many different meds," she grumbled.
"Yeah? Well it's not like you take these that much. That bottle lasted over three months. If you ask me, you're doing alright."
He climbed into bed beside her and held out his hand as he leaned back against the headboard.
"Thank you, baby," she said and plucked the pills out of his palm and placed them, one by one, under her tongue. She clamped her mouth shut and leaned her head against his shoulder, waiting for the tablets to dissolve.
"You're okay?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders and pulling her tight against him.
She nodded and snuggled in as close as she could get. Both arms wrapped around his torso.
He stroked her hair softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay, you know. To have dreams like that. It's normal."
She shook her head.
"Anyone that is with a cop has dreams like that," he told her. "And if they tell you they don't, they're full of shit. Look at what we deal with on a daily basis, Sammie? The type of people we come in contact with. The scum of the earth. We know what we're up against and we still do it. So it's perfectly normal for you to have dreams like that. You more so then someone that is married to a cop but not on the job themselves. Because you know what's going on out there. What I'm coming face to face with."
"I feel like some days I'm going to go insane," she admitted, swallowing the powdery remains of the pills. "I worry so much and I get scared that if you knew how much I was worrying…"
"Don't even finish that sentence, babe. I'm not going anywhere. You think I don't worry about you? That I don't freak myself out when you're out there in the field? I've had some pretty wicked dreams too, you know."
"You have?" she asked, sniffling noisily.
He nodded and combed his fingers through her hair. "Couple months ago, when you were back on nights after being off sick all that time, I had this horrible nightmare about Mac coming to the house and telling me, in front of the girls, that you had been killed. That someone had shot you. In the head. While executing a warrant. And it felt so real, babe…" he closed his eyes as long buried tears threatened to escape. "It felt so real. As if Mac was actually there. And the girls were crying and Kellan came over and was tugging on my arm to get my attention and that's when I woke up. I was a total and complete mess. Covered in sweat, sobbing, all the blankets tangled at my feet. It was Kellan that woke me up. She was actually at the side of the bed trying to wake me up to get her a drink of water. I swear to God, Sammie, after I got her settled again, I laid down in this bed and bawled for about an hour. Then I got myself together and called you. Just to hear your voice and make sure you were okay."
"It was three in the morning," she recalled. "And you said you were having a hard time sleeping and wanted to know how my first day back was coming along. That night?"
He nodded and cleared his throat noisily. It was amazing how the sheer thought of losing her was enough to nearly cripple him.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"What are you scared of, baby?" he asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head and rubbing her shoulder.
"Losing you like that. I know that one day, I will lose you. That's just life. But I want that to be when we're really, really, really old and it's just your time to go. Nice and peacefully. Warm in your sleep. I don't want to lose you to something like that."
"You won't," he promised. "I'm careful on the job, you know that. I used to go out there and practically throw caution to the wind. I haven't been like that since we got married and the girls came along. I've got too much to loose. A wife and kids. I don't want to leave you guys like that."
"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes on his t-shirt.
"For what?"
"Freaking you out like this. With my nightmare."
"Isn't that what I'm hear for? Fight the monsters under the bed? Slay the demons in the closet? Am I not here to protect you?"
She nodded. "I like having you protect me," she told him. "Even if I bitch about it all the time."
"Well bitching is your speciality," he joked, chuckling as she pinched his side. He tightened his hold on her and pulled her as close to him as possible.
She draped a leg over his thighs and rested her head on his chest. He buried his face in her hair, losing himself in her scent, relaxing and enjoying their intimacy, and the tender way in which she ran her fingers along his forearm.
"What time is it?" she asked, after several minutes had passed.
Flack reached for his watch lying on the nightstand and picked it up. "It's quarter to eight," he told her, sitting the watch down and closing his eyes as he laid his cheek on the top of her head.
She yawned noisily. "Long time before we actually have to up and at 'em," she commented.
"I figured I'd drag my lazy ass out of bed in a while, make us some breakfast," Flack told her. "What time is Linds bringing the girls home?"
"She said after lunch. So probably around one-ish. Your mom is bringing Wiener back around eleven. And you have to leave at…"
"One-ish," he said with a grin. "So we've got lots of time to just hang out, have some breakfast, have life affirming sex a couple of times…"
She sat up and smirked at him. "A couple of times? What do you think I am, your wife or something? I told you this years ago, Donnie, when we first met at the lab. I am not some sweet, young thing that was put on earth to serve you."
"Alright," he said, giving that dimpled grin he was famous for. "Then how about I serve you?"
"I think can live with that," she declared, and laughed as she found herself dumped onto her back.
"You know," he said, as he set to work slowly unbuttoning her pyjama top. "I think everyone thinks we have way too much sex."
"Whose everyone?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Just everyone. I guess they don't think it's normal for two people to actually have sex and enjoy it as much as we do."
"Well then they have extremely boring lives, and must have the worlds most boring sex," she concluded.
"They must," he agreed, finishing with the last button on her top and laying it open, revealing her pale, silky skin. "That and they're really goddamn jealous."
"Insanely," she said, and sighed when he licked her navel and the area around it and blew softly on the moistened skin.
"Perfectly normal if you ask me," Flack told her, hooking his fingers in the waist of her bottoms and pulled them down slowly, sliding his body down the bed. "I mean, were husband and wife. We love having sex. We love making each other feel good. What's so wrong about that?"
Nothing," she responded, biting her lip and inhaling deeply as his hands and his tongue drifting slowly up her leg. Starting at the top of her foot and coming to a halt on the inside of her thigh. "Anyone who thinks there is something wrong with it has serious problems."
"Jealousy, babe," he said, and gently turning her leg to the side, leaned over to press his lips to the back of her knee. Grinning as she whimpered and wriggled, attempting to free herself from his grip. It was all in vain. He just tightened the hold he had on her and proceeded to drive her absolutely wild with his lips and his tongue and teeth at what he'd found out long ago was an extremely sensitive area of her body.
"I guess that's it…" she agreed, her breath coming out in pants.
"I know that's it," he told her confidently, pressing kisses along the inside of her thigh and around to the front of her leg. His warm lips moving slowly and tantalizingly up her body. Along her slender thighs and across and then up her abdomen. The tip of his tongue grazing the skin between her breasts before moving higher. Eventually capturing her mouth in a steamy kiss.
"Don't tease me," she whispered, holding his face in her hands.
"But that's the best part," he argued. "Getting you all worked up. Makes things better in the end, doesn't it? Makes the orgasm more intense?"
She moved her hands to the back of his neck and up to his head, fisting them in his hair as she kissed him passionately. Her tongue wasting no time pushing through his teeth and into his mouth, seeking out, and easily finding his.
"I need to feel alive," she told him, as she broke away from his lips and placed kisses along his jaw. "I need to feel you alive and inside of me."
He shoved his fingers into her hair and turned her face towards him. Kissing her passionately as her hands reached between them to grab the bottom of his t-shirt and yank it up his back.
Her nails raked along his skin, their breathing heavy and the desire and desperation evident in their eyes as he broke out of the kiss long enough to pull of his shirt and rid himself of his boxers.
"Come here, baby," he said, his voice husky as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her towards him. "I'm here…" he told her, kissing a path along her collarbone as he settled himself between her legs, bearing his weight on his arms. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You know that right?"
She nodded, her hands gripping his forearms as he kissed her deeply. Moaning into his mouth as he filled her up with one strong, hard thrust.
"I'm here, baby…" he whispered, his forehead against hers as he moved inside of her warm, welcoming body. "I'll always be here."
There were no words to say. None that could convey the emotions and feelings that surged through her. And as he made love to her slowly and lovingly, she closed her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks.
She knew that things had to change. She had to change. Because she couldn't afford to lose him.
Because a life without him was one she couldn't bear to face.
It was quarter after eleven when Flack found himself answering the knock to his front door. After spending nearly an hour and a half in bed doing nothing but engrossing themselves in each other, he'd put some clothes on and headed downstairs and made them pancakes for breakfast. They'd sat, amongst the rumbled sheets on their bed and watched television and talked about everything under the sun. From the memories that had been made over the past year of their lives, to their hopes and dreams and expectations of a new life in New Jersey. Flack was confident in his decision. It was a move that needed to be made. A damn near necessity if he wanted to keep his sanity. He was looking forward to the change. A new city, a new neighbourhood, a new house. New scenery and new colleagues. He'd miss his guys, especially Scagnetti, and he'd miss the members of the crime lab that had become family to him over the years.
But those friendships were tight and wouldn't disintegrate just because he was moving to a different city. They had long ago surpassed simple working relationships. He'd still be able to talk to Danny on a regular basis. Their kids would still be able to hang out. They wouldn't be at the same school anymore, but there'd still be weekend sleepovers and talks on the phone and birthdays and holidays spent together.
And any real friend would understand that he had to do what he felt was best for his family.
Those were the thoughts that were consuming his mind as he journeyed from the kitchen at the back of the house, down the narrow hallway that led into the cluttered living room and to the front door. Picking up toys and clothes as he went, tossing them on couches and chairs and tables. Anything to get the crap off of the floor. It was time that the girls learned to clean up after themselves. So far, not even threats of having their favourite toys and clothing taking away was enough to get them to tidy up. Flack was teetering on the edge of threatening to take things away completely. Even going as far as putting the stuff in garbage bags and hiding them. And not giving them back no matter how horrific the temper tantrums the girls threw were.
He unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain across and pulled open the heavy door. Finding his mother shivering on the front porch with Wiener, in his red and white Christmas sweater, cradled lovingly in his arms.
"Why'd you bring him back?" Flack asked as he opened the screen door. "When I said to keep him I meant for good."
"You're life would be meaningless without him," Patricia told her son as she stomped the snow off of her boots before stepping into the house.
"He's a dog, mom," Flack reminded her. "An animal. He's not a human being."
"Give your daddy a kiss," Patricia ordered the dog and held the Daschund up to her oldest son's face. Laughing as Wiener proceeded to unleash a series of wet and sloppy kisses on his master's clean shaven face.
"For Christ sakes!" Flack exclaimed. "I just got out of the shower and shaved. Now I'm covered in goddamn doggie slobber."
"Oh don't be such a baby," his mom said, toeing off her boots and setting the dog on the ground. "Where's the girls?" she asked.
"At Danny and Lindsay's," Flack replied, kissing his mother's cheeks in greeting. "They wanted to have a sleep over with M&M. Linds is bringing them home after lunch."
"How are the Messers doing?" she asked, as she shut and re-locked the door and followed her older child through the living room and back into the kitchen.
"Good. Still wildly and crazily in love with one another. All the kids are doing great. Amanda and DJ love school and the baby, Makenna is getting really big. You'll have to stop by and visit them. I'm sure they'd love to see you."
"That would be nice," Patricia said, as she shrugged out of her coat and draped it over one of the kitchen chairs. "Where's Samantha?"
"She's sleeping," Flack told her, snagging the kettle off the stove and moving to the sink to fill it. "We had a late night last night," he said, placing the kettle on the burner and flicking it on. "Didn't get in until past midnight."
"She didn't drink, did she?"
"Mom, she's on all those meds. She knows not to drink. She's not stupid."
"I would never even suggest such a thing," Patricia told him, taking a seat at the table and watching him as he removed dry dishes from the drain board and put them in their appropriate cupboards and drawers.
She was somewhat taken aback by how domesticated he'd become. It had been a shock when he'd announced, in a telephone call that November evening seven years ago, that he was engaged. And that they were getting married as soon as possible. It wasn't that she had lost all hope, after a string of disastrous, brief relationships, that her son would ever get married and start a family. She knew that there was somewhere out there for him. He was tall, dark and handsome and had a lot of love inside of him. It was who he had chosen to marry that had taken her by surprise.
It wasn't that she hadn't liked Samantha Ross when she had met her during the Christmas of 2008. She was a pretty girl with a stellar education who was devoted to Patricia's son right from the get go. She was bubbly and down to earth and seemed to fit right in with the Flack's. She could hold her own with the boisterous behaviour and sarcastic dry wit. She was able to snap off comebacks and put downs with the best of them. She laughed easily and charmed them all. Including the usually cold and hard ass Flack Sr.
But the girl had problems. There was no other way to put it. Mentally she had issues that Patricia wasn't sure her son could deal with. A troubled, abusive childhood, a mother that lived to put her down and make her life as uncomfortable as possible. An ex-fiance that just didn't know how to let go. It was a lengthy list, and Patricia wasn't sure that love was enough to see the young couple past all the hard times.
She'd bit her lip when they'd moved in together. They seemed happy and in love and her son was finally in a steady relationship. He smiled and laughed more. Everyone saw the transformation and everyone was appreciative for bringing out that side of him. A side that had been closely guarded since the bombing. They had had their share of hard times. Both had fiery Irish tempers that often resulted in vicious arguments. Not to mention two nasty break-ups. It was a volatile and passionate love/hate relationship. Yet they always found their way back to one another. They went to counselling, learned to talk things out instead of jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
But marriage. That through Pat for a loop. And when her son had called to say he was going to be a husband, that was when she had put her foot down. She had let loose on him and spoke her mind. Told him the way it was and the way she felt. That she didn't think that Samantha Ross was the right one for him. That the two of them just didn't have what it took to have a successful relationship. That there were other women, like Devon Maxford and Jessica Angell, that would fit far better into the wife role.
They never spoke for more than a year after that. He had none to politely told her where to shove her opinion and hung up on her.
The next time she'd heard from him was with the news that she was going to be a grandmother. That Samantha was five months pregnant. That an ultrasound showed that it was twins and the doctors thought both babies looked like girls.
It was Kellan and Kallison that brought them all together as a family. And it was through being there for the rest of the pregnancy and the years afterwards, that Patricia finally realized that she was wrong. That Samantha Ross was perfect for her son. She loved him and respected him and took care of him. Better then anyone else possibly could.
"Is everything okay, Donnie?" Patricia asked now, as she watched him putting dishes and cups away.
"Why wouldn't it be?" he answered with a question of his own.
"You seem a little…distant."
"I just have a lot on my mind, mom. Nothing major. Things are good here. Between me and Sam. It's nothing like that."
Patricia frowned. "Don't jump to conclusions," she scolded him. "I wasn't even thinking that."
He smirked and moved to the stove, mug and tea bag in hand as the kettle reached its boiling point. "That's exactly what you were thinking," he said, and filled the mug with water before tossing in the bag.
"I don't know why you always think that I am…"
"It's okay, mom," he said. "I'm used to it. You've been doing it since the day I brought Sam home to meet all of you. You don't like her that much. I get it."
Patricia didn't respond.
"I look at this way, you don't have to live with her, right? I love her and I chose to have her as my wife. And if I had to have been able to chose a family, meaning you and dad and Mel and Chris? Trust me, you wouldn't be sitting in my house right now and we wouldn't be having this conversation. In fact, I wouldn't even exist. So just lay off of my wife, okay?"
Patricia held her hands up in surrender. "Did you at least hear from your in laws for Christmas?"
"Nope," Flack went to the fridge and opened it and grabbed the milk from the top shelf. "Not even a card or a telephone call to the girls. And they're in Florida with Adam and his family and Adam managed to call. So there's no damn excuse why they couldn't have."
"And you're okay with that?"
"No. But what can I do? Buy her mother a personality transplant as a late Christmas gift? She's a raging bitch. That's never going to change. There's two things that are certain. Adam will always be her favourite and she'll always shit on Sam."
"And how does Sam feel?"
Flack shrugged. "Says she's okay with it. She's come to expect it. Says it doesn't matter anymore. They couldn't come to our wedding despite the fact I offered to pay for them. They couldn't afford it the bitch said. Yet a month later they were coming to New York City just 'cause Adam got engaged. They couldn't come to the girls' fifth birthday party but they made sure they got her for Octavia's birthday three goddamn weeks later."
"It's no wonder Samantha is the way she is," Patricia concluded.
Flack rolled his eyes. "You couldn't resist, could you," he said.
"Just making an observation."
"Well don't," he told her, using a spoon to scoop the tea bag from the mug. Dropping it into the sink, he stirred some milk into the boiling hot beverage and carried it to the table.
"Aren't you going to throw that out?" she asked, accepting the drink from him.
"What?"
"The tea bag. Aren't you going to throw that out?"
"Eventually," he said. "What's the rush? It's not going to grow legs and walk out of here on its own."
"It will stain the sink," she complained, a grimace on her face.
"Yeah? Well that's what bleach is for. To get the stains out of shit, right? It's a goddamn tea bag mom, take it easy."
"You're getting bitchy in your old age," Patricia commented.
"My wife tells me that every day," Flack mused as he tidied the kitchen table up. Removing colouring books and markers and stickers and arranging them in a neat pile in his hands before carrying them over to the microwave stand. Opening the bottom drawer, he stuffed the girls' belongings inside.
"What are you doing?" his mother asked, watching as her son proceeded to, despite the fact he was already somewhat dressed for work in a pair of navy blue suit pants and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a striped tie in various shades of blue, begin cleaning up the kitchen.
"I'm cleaning up my house at bit," he replied. "In case you haven't noticed, it's kinda a mess in here."
"Don't you have a wife?" she asked.
"I do. But I know how to clean, mom."
"I'm just saying that you work a lot of hours and she's off for the holidays. You think she'd be concentrating on getting the place cleaned up. Making sure everything was neat and tidy and that dishes were done and laundry was caught up on and the girls were taken care of."
"She's sleeping. I told you that already."
"It's after eleven in the morning. Why is she…"
"Because she's tired," Flack snapped. "Alright? She's tired and needs sleep. Fuck, mom. What does it matter to you?"
"I'm just saying…"
"Well don't say it!" he barked. "Just don't say it! Mind your own business. Are we hurting you living like this? Does it bother it? Do you live here? No. And this…the way you are? This is why you don't have a key to get in here. So you can't just come in here and start tearing our place apart making it the way you want. You know who you remind me of? Remember that show Everybody Loves Raymond? His mother? That's you, mom. That is you. Shit on the daughter in law each chance you get."
"What is wrong with you today, Donnie?" she asked. "Why are you in such a mood?"
"Because I'm tired, alright?!" he tossed the dish cloth into the sink. "I'm tired of my goddamn life!"
"So you're saying you're tired of having a wife and children?"
"No. What I'm saying is that I'm tired of my life outside of my marriage and my kids. I'm tired of my job. I'm tired of slaving away for an ungrateful city for shit pay. I'm tired or murderers and child molesters and junkies. I'm tired of dealing with the scum of the earth. And I never used to think like this or feel like this and I make myself sick for being this way."
"Maybe you need a holiday." Patricia suggested.
"What I need is for people to lay off of me and stop second guessing every goddamn decision I'm making with my life," he told her.
"No one is…"
"Yes, they are. Especially you," Flack said, as he moved to the girl's tiny wooden Dora the Explorer table and chairs that was tucked into the far corner of the kitchen.
While they always at dinner together as a family at the big table, the twins in their booster seats enabling them to even reach their food, the Dora table was where the girls at their breakfast and lunch and worked on craft projects and things for school. And like the big table had been -covered in art supplies even though they'd been told a million times to use the Dora one for that sort of thing- this table was a damn disaster area as well.
"You've always have an issue with someone I'm doing," he said to his mother, as he gathered up glitter glue sticks and left-handed scissors -both Sam and Flack were lefties, so it had been no surprise when their girls had shown a preference for using their left hands as well- even more markers and stickers and drawing paper.
"Donald, I never…"
"When Sam and I moved in together it was an issue, when we got engaged it was a massive one," he continued, cutting his mother of mid-sentence. "You didn't want me getting married. Said you didn't think it was the right time for me. Or some bullshit like that."
"I just didn't think that you and Samantha were in the right place to be getting married," Patricia defended herself. "And well, you both proved me wrong. For the most part."
He gave a small laugh at that. "For the most part? You just had to throw that in, huh? You couldn't have just left that last part out?"
"I'm entitled to my opinion," she informed him.
"You know what, mom? You're right. You are. And so am I. And my opinion is that you're full of shit and that if you don't have anything nice to say about my wife, then you can take your ass on out of my house and never come back."
She blinked at the anger in her son's voice.
"And don't think she doesn't know how you really feel," Flack said, carrying his daughters' things over to the microwave stand and placing them in their proper drawer. "She's not stupid. She can spot an ass kisser from a mile away."
"I think that she's a lovely young lady whose made your life a lot happier and a lot fuller then you, or anyone in your family, ever thought it could be," Patricia told her oldest son. "And I think that you're madly in love with her but at your wits end sometimes. Because you're trying to do so much and it's taking a toll on you. All the hours you put in with the department, and then have to come home and cook and clean and take care of the girls."
"Mom, let me make something very clear to you. Sam does a hell of a lot around her. She's the one doing the cleaning and making the meals and taking care of the kids. You know what I do? I pay the bills and help tidy up and do repairs and whatever else little thing comes up. She's the one that's running the show in the house. And she keeps this family, and our marriage, together. So don't sit there and tell me that she doesn't."
"I'm only trying to…"
"Piss me off," he finished for her. "Because for some reason you just love doing it. You love seeing me get upset. You're the same way with dad. You always have been. And I'm telling you the same thing he's been telling you for years. Shut the hell up."
"I am your mother!" Patricia reminded him. "You can't talk to me like that!"
"And you can't come into my home and insult my wife. The mother of my children. So either shut your goddamn gate or just leave!"
"I will not shut up when I am concerned about you! I see how stressed out you are!"
"You know what? I am stressed. I'm pissed off with the way things turned out. I'm pissed off that I hate my job when I used to love going to work every day. It makes me sick that I can barely drag myself out of bed to face another day there and when I do get there, I spend the whole day wishing I was somewhere else."
"We all go through rough spots," Patricia reasoned.
"You don't think I'm not pissed off with the way certain aspects of my life have turned off? You don't think I'm not angry that my wife is sick? That I'm not frustrated when her illness flares up and I have to do everything around here? You don't think that pisses me off?"
"Of course it upsets you, Donnie. And if it's too much for you to handle, you walk away."
"No, mom! I don't walk away! I don't want to walk away! Because I love my wife and I love my kids. They're the only things that keep me goddamn sane! Everything I do is for them. Every choice I make, every decision. It's what gets me through each day."
"And moving to New Jersey is a choice you're making for them?" she asked.
"Moving to New Jersey is for my family," Flack replied. "And for me. Because I need to get the hell out of here. What is so hard to understand about that? Why are you people having such a hard time grasping that concept?"
"Because it seems so out of character for you. You love New York City. It's your home! And you always swore up and down that you'd never, ever leave."
"People change, mom! Different paths come up and people choose which one to take! And this is the one I'm choosing, now just back off of me!"
"I don't think you're being rational at all," she sighed.
"Yeah? Well ask me if I give a shit what you think," he said.
"I think you're being immature and selfish and…"
"Ummm…excuse me?" Sam's voice piped up from the kitchen doorway. Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail and she wore her heavy bubble gum pink terrycloth robe over her pyjamas and matching slippers on her feet. She carried the cordless phone from the bedroom. "Donnie? The duty captain from the precinct is on the phone. He wants to talk to you."
"The ringer on the phone in the living room isn't on?" he asked, as he crossed the kitchen and took the cordless from her.
"Guess not," she replied.
"Thanks, babe," he said, kissing her softly before heading out into the living room to take his call.
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame. "So," she said to her mother in law. "The Christmas spirit couldn't extend into the New Year, huh? You had to come here and cause issues for him?"
"Now that's a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black," Patricia snorted and pushing her chair away from the table, stood up. "You've been causing him nothing but for eight years."
"Sticks and stones," Sam said and shrugged. "I find it hard to take criticism from someone that stayed with a man that beat her and her kids senseless on a daily basis. Someone touched my kids, and that would be it. I'd be packing my shit and taking off."
"Well we all can't be Little Miss Independent like you, can we," Patricia said dryly and carried her mug to the sink.
"Personally, I wonder who was the worst out of the two of you. 'Cause if you were anything back then like you are now, no wonder the poor man drank so much."
"And it's no wonder my son isn't a raging alcoholic with sclerosis of the liver with all the problems you cause him," her mother in law snapped back. "Putting all this crap in his head that New York City isn't his home. That he needs to move to New Jersey."
"That was his decision," Sam said, pushing away from the door frame and going over to the table. She scooped up a mandarin orange from the small plate of the fruit that sat in the middle of the table. "Donnie made the choice all on his own. I was more then happy to commute back and forth."
Patricia snorted. "And do you never clean up around here? Dishes in the drain board, some in the sink. A full dishwasher? Junk from one end to the other?"
"The maid was off for the holidays," Sam joked, ignoring the tirade as she peeled the orange in her hands. "I figure let the mess really pile up until she's got a disaster to work with and made her earn her money."
"I don't know what you do all day," Patricia sighed.
"Oh a little bit of this, a little bit of that," Sam said, popping a segment of fruit into her mouth. "I lie around in my pyjamas, watch television, max out the credit cards on QVC. Invite my boyfriend over for a mid afternoon romp while my husband is at work. That kind of thing."
"Why wouldn't that surprise me," her mother in law crumbled.
Sam smiled. "Sorry. The whole cheating on my husband thing stopped at you. It didn't extend to the daughter in law."
Patricia glared at her. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed.
"It's okay. I'm not judging you because you slept around with your husband's colleagues. That's your business. I can understand that you were that unhappy in an abusive relationship and needed to feel some kind of love. I get that. I just often wonder if Mrs Gerrard knew what Mr Gerrard was up to all those nights when he said he was working late and wasn't."
Patricia stared long and hard at the younger woman standing so calmly and indifferently at the table.
"So you condone cheating?" she asked.
"Of course I don't condone it," Sam replied. "I just don't get involved in other peoples' lives and I expect them not to get involved in mine."
"He's my son!" her mother in law snapped.
"That last part I said was not a personal shot at you," Sam told her. "Don't be so sensitive."
"He's my son and those two little girls are my granddaughters and I…"
"And he's my husband and those are my children and how we live our lives is none of your business," Sam informed her. "So do me a favour and take your son's advice and shut the hell up."
Patricia fumed and stomped away from the sink and towards the table. "You're impossible!" she huffed, snagging her coat off the back of the chair it rested on.
"I'm a handful," Sam admitted. "Thanks for bringing the dog back."
"He's better company then most of the humans in this place," Patricia snapped.
Sam laid a hand over her heart. "You wound me," she said, sarcasm dripping out of every pore.
Her mother in law simply glared at her and stormed from the kitchen.
"What was that all about?" Flack asked, as he returned to the kitchen, setting the cordless phone on the table.
"We had a minor disagreement," Sam replied, casting a glance towards the front of the house as the front door slammed. "What are you doing?" she asked, turning her attention back to her husband who was busying himself removing his tie and un-tucking his shirt. "Did you get fired or something?"
"Duty captain said my services weren't needed today," Flack replied. "Said to take the day off."
"Seriously?"
He nodded and leaned down to kiss her softly. "That doesn't happen often, huh?"
"It never happens," she said. "Are you sure there's not more do it then that?"
"I'm sure. You wanna call him back and ask?"
"No…I trust you. It's just…odd."
"A little. But stranger things have happened. I figured we could take the girls out somewhere. Spend the whole day just hanging out? Maybe we can go into Manhattan? Do some skating in Central Park? Have ldinner somewhere. Just have some family time?"
She smiled brightly. "I like that idea," she said.
"Me too," he told her, and kissed her long and soft. "You're okay now?" he asked. "After that whole dream thing?"
She nodded. "I have to admit. I nearly had a panic attack when the phone rang."
"You'll be alright," he said and pecked her forehead. "So? What do you want to do? We got at least an hour before the girls get home."
"Oh I don't know…" Sam said with a sigh and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I could really use a shower. And someone to scrub my back for me."
"I think I can do that," he told her, reaching for the ties on her robe and undoing them. "You know what I was thinking?"
"What's that?" she asked.
"I was thinking doing that whole Bull Durham sex thing on the kitchen table. For old times sake."
She grinned up at him, her fingers falling on his belt buckle.
"I think that's the best damn idea you've ever had," she declared.
Okay, I have to admit. I fought long and hard with the muse. She wanted Flack dead and she almost got her way. But I prevailed!
Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! There was such an amazing response to the last chapter and I hope that can continue! So please, please, please R and R! Thanks!
Special thanks to:
Laurzz
muchmadness
Hope4sall
Laplandgurl
Bluehaven4220
daytime drama
Twinkeyrocks
IluvPeterPetrelli
MonoxideLullaby
Daisy-Buchanan
Samantha 778
Afrozenheart412
Soccer-bitch
Forest Angel
Delko'sGirl 88
wolfeylady
Hardylover7477
Kassandra J
