DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.

A/N: I COULDN'T RESIST USING LAST NIGHT'S EPI. JUST A LITTLE MENTION. BUT I HAD TO TWEAK THE TIME LINE JUST A BIT TO FIT IT IN HERE. NOT THAT YOU GUYS MIND RIGHT? CONSIDERING TPTB SCREW THINGS UP ON A REGULAR BASIS….

A/N 2: USE OF ITALICS DENOTES AN INSTANT MESSAGE


IM's and DB's

"As a man I ain't never been much for sunny days
I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange
But when the color goes out of my eyes, it's usually the change
But damn Sam
I love a woman that rains
Clear as a bell, and sound as an old engineer
Clear as a bell, and sound as an old engineer
With talented breezes that blow off your hat with a sneer
As a man I've never been much for talking to
I'm as open as the door in her house that leads to her room
And when the color goes out of my eyes, she's usually too
But damn Sam
I love a woman that's blue
As a man I ain't never been much for sunny days
I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange
But when the color goes out of my eyes, it's usually the change
But damn Sam
I love a woman that rains."
-Damn Sam, Ryan Adams


It was quarter to nine in the morning when Samantha finally reached the office she shared with Danny Messer. Too many stops to socialize had prevented her from getting there any sooner. She'd wanted to get caught up on stacks of work that had gone neglected for too long. But she couldn't resist engaging in some water cooler gossip with the younger lab techs that made talking about each other a part of their job description. Sam found the gossip amusing, for the most part. As long as it didn't involve herself of those closest to her, she was able to get a kick out of it. But she did draw the line when things became mean spirited or just outright ridiculous.

Stopping at the locked door of the office, she could see through the glass walls see that the spacious room was still in complete darkness. The computers were still off, the blinds still drawn. There was no sign of life considering Danny usually was at least a half an hour early for every shift. He was consistently the first to arrive, and the last to leave it seemed. So beating him to the lab was a rare occurrence.

Punching the security code into computerized box mounted on the door, she waited for the dull click and the green light to flash before pushing her way into the quiet office. She reached to her left, hitting the switch for the lights.

"My eyes!" a pained voice cried from the opposite side of the room. "My fucking eyes! The lights! Turn off the lights!"

"You're a goddamn wimp, Danny," Sam declared, smirking at the sight of his legs hanging over the small sofa that faced the picture window.

"You don't understand!" he wailed, laying his forearm over his eyes. "I am dying here! Suffering! Huge! I have a tsunami raging in my head!"

"That's what you get for not being able to handle your liquor," she teased, standing at the side of the sofa and shaking her head at the sight of her friend and colleague. His unshaven face and his wrinkled clothes. And the stench of booze that seemed to radiate from every pore.

"I had no idea your brother could drink like that," Danny said. "Who knew that lab geek Adam Ross was some big party animal? I thought all there was to him was Star Was and Second Life and all kinds of nerdy shit. I knew as soon as he ordered that bottle of tequila and one shot glass that I was in trouble."

Sam grinned and sipped her latte. "Adam's a study in contradiction," she told her friend.

"You can say that again. We went ten rounds with Jose Cuervo and I am paying for it. Trust me."

"Ten rounds?" Sam leaned over the couch and inhaled deeply. "Smells more like two dozen to me."

"I lost count somewhere around fifteen," he admitted. Lifting his forearm away from his face, Danny cracked open an eye and looked over at Sam as she took a seat in the arm chair to the left of the couch. "How goes things with you?"

"They go," Sam sighed, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table in front of her. "I just got possibly the most unnerving news of my entire life from Adam."

"Case related?"

"Family related. And anytime it involves my family, trust me, it's a nightmare."

"You and Adam don't talk much about them," Danny said. "All I know is that your birth dad was a bastard. And that your mom got re-married shortly after he died to some pilot or something."

"His name's Clint. Adam and I called him Sarge 'cause he was in the air force. And he ran the house like a boot camp even after he left the service and took a job with American Airlines. He's a great guy, don't get me wrong. He accepted Adam and I and loves us like we're his own, but you can only handle being around him for so long."

"No teenager or adult likes to live in a place that's like an army barracks," Danny concluded. "No wonder you both left home the first chance you got. What about your mom? What's she like?"

Sam snorted. "That's a topic of conversation I avoid like the plague."

"That bad?" Danny asked.

She nodded.

"She like mommy dearest or something?"

"Or something," Sam said. "So where's Lindsay?" she asked, anxious to change the subject. "I thought she was working today."

"She's running a bit behind," Danny replied, grimacing as he sat up, a hand clutching his queasy stomach. "Had a doctor's appointment. Trying to get to the bottom of that damn stomach virus she's been carrying around for a month now."

"A stomach virus," Sam said, nodding slowly. "Sure…"

Danny frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam replied innocently. "I just think it's kind of strange that she's had this virus…" she air quoted around the word. "…and no one else around here has been sick. And you'd think if anyone was going to catch it, it would be you. Considering you guys live together and share bodily fluids and what not. I get the sniffles and Don's sick four hours later."

"Maybe you two just have more sex than the average person and are passing germs around at breakneck speed," Danny reasoned.

"All I'm saying is that no one else has gotten this mysterious illness," Sam told him.

"Guess it's not contagious," Danny said with a shrug.

"You are so goddamn slow," Sam laughed. "Has it ever occurred to you that there is no illness and it's something else? You know, something that lasts about nine months and comes with eighteen years of side effects?"

Danny frowned and tossed one of the throw cushions at her. "Bite your goddamn tongue, Brooklyn! Don't be talking that shit around me!"

"I'm just saying…"

"I know what you're saying and you need to stop while you're ahead," Danny told her, rising slowly to his feet. "My head!" he cried. "The entire world is spinning! I'm seeing triple!"

"How the hell do you expect to work like that?" Sam asked, offering him her latte. "Mac's going to shit when he sees the kind of shape you're in."

"I'm going to tell him I'm too ill to be out in the field and that I think it's best, for both me and the sake of the lab, to be inside all day."

"Oh that's it," Sam scoffed. "Pussy out on me. Make me take all the calls."

"I won't be much use to you in this condition," he said. "And thanks but no thanks on the drink. I can't take all your girlie beverages. I'm going to head down and grab a coffee. You want anything? Something to eat?"

"I'm good. Thanks though. You should run across the street to Barnes and Noble."

"Why?" he asked, sticking his feet into a pair of boots sitting at the side of the couch. "You looking for something over there? A little light reading?"

"I was thinking about you, actually," Sam said, casually sipping her latte. "I was thinking that maybe you could buy a book on Egypt."

Danny arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"You know," she sighed. "Considering you're living in DE-NIAL and all."

"You're a goddamn comedienne," he grumbled.

"Or you can always pick up a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting," she suggested.

"Fuck you, Sam Ross!" Danny snarled. "No one more comments from the peanut gallery, okay? You just keep your diagnosis and theories to yourself, a'right?"

She held up her hands in mock surrender as he headed for the door. "Actually!" she called to Danny. "I could go for a bagel with cream cheese or a croissant or muffin or something."

"You woman, are seriously demanding," he teased. "I'll be back in a few. Think of anything else, just call my cell."

"Will do," Sam responded.

Danny grabbed the nearby trash bin and opening the door, used the garbage can to prop it open. "Remind me to call building maintenance and get that damn door stopper fixed. It's only been broken for what? A month now?"

"You can't get out your tools and do a little handiwork?" Sam asked. "You can't get a hard hat and a tool belt and go all Ty Pennington for me?"

"Sorry Brooklyn. I'm too busy catering to all of Montana's dirty little fantasies to fulfill yours, too. Get Flack to do it."

"I keep him too busy with my cop fetish," she laughed. "Couple nights ago, we got out his cuffs and…"

"Don't wanna hear it!" Danny exclaimed, placing his hands over his ears. "Do not want to be discussing yours and Flack's kinky sex life!"

"Wimp," Sam grinned.

"Be back in a few," Danny told her, and had one foot out in the hall when a delivery man with a massive arrangement of long stemmed champagne roses in various colours in a finely etched crystal vase appeared in front of him.

"Samantha Ross?" the man asked.

"Obviously it's not me," Danny replied. "She's in there," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and then stepped aside to let the delivery man into the office. Deciding to hang tight in the doorway to see just who was sending his friend flowers the day before Valentine's Day.

"Happy pre-Valentine's Day!" the delivery man exclaimed and set the flowers down on the coffee table in front of a startled Samantha Ross. "Someone obviously thinks a whole lot about you."

"Wow…" she said, in awe at the roses in front of her. She rose to her feet and reached into one of her pockets to pull out a crumbled five dollar bill. "Who are they from?" she asked.

"Pretty girl like you must have a husband," the man replied, accepting the tip with a gracious nod and a smile. "Or at the very least, a boyfriend."

"It's the latter," Danny piped up. "So quit fishing for clues on her marital status and shit can all ideas on ever coming back here to ask her out."

"Ignore him," Sam said. "He hasn't had his coffee this morning."

"So you don't have a boyfriend?" the delivery guy asked.

She gave a polite smile. "Thank you for dropping them off," she said dismissively.

"Take a hike," Danny said, as the young man slipped past him on the way out the door. "Jack ass."

"Be nice, Messer," Sam sighed. "Either that or get a personality transplant."

"Sorry. I'm getting too old to be anything but an asshole. So? Who are they from? Flack decided to show us all up and get you flowers a day early?"

"Don knows what kind of flowers I like," Sam said, leaning over to inhale the intoxicating scent of the roses. "He knows that's it's pink or orange roses or the white ones with the red trim around the top of the petals. These are beautiful, but they're all red and white. Not Don's style at all."

"You've got that guy so goddamn whipped," Danny grumbled. "Don't keep me in suspense here. Who are they from?"

She plucked the small envelope from the arrangement. Opening it up, she pulled out the tiny card.

Just letting you know that it's all done. Hope that makes for a good Valentine's Day. Pop by and see me some time. Work or home. TD.

"Well?" Danny asked impatiently. "Who are they from?"

"Just a friend," she replied, a broad grin crossing her face as she tucked the card into the pocket of her dress pants. "He just wanted to cheer me up, I guess."

"What kind of friend?" Danny inquired.

"A friend," she answered. "Just a friend."

"Does this friend know you have a boyfriend?"

"Give it a rest, Danny. The overprotective and possessive man crush you have on Don is starting to poke through again."

Danny frowned. "I'm just saying that…"

"He's just a friend," Sam insisted, and went and sat back down with her latte.

Danny nodded slowly. "Asshole better hope so," he said, then disappeared out into the hall.


So much to do and so little time.

That was the story of Don Flack Jr's life.

Half an hour into his shift and he was already preparing himself for the long haul. The case files on his desk were a horrific reminder that there were days, and nights for that matter, that he just hadn't been on his game lately. That he'd slacked off and put things on the back burner in order to concentrate on his personal life. He'd been so caught up on having someone to share his life with, someone that he loved to the ends of the earth, that every other aspect of him was starting to suffer.

Gone was the guy who'd pull a triple just so he could get all the paper work and proper forms finished for his cases. Now he could barely wait to get out the door once his shift was up. He would rather take the work home with him then have to stay behind in the precinct. Only once he actually got home, he was so caught up in playing the attentive, loving boyfriend that the case file simply got tossed aside and was quickly forgotten about. Days off -if they were fortunate enough to get mutual time off - were spent going out. Going to the movies and out to lunch or dinner. Taking walks through Central Park or through the malls. Sometimes they just hung out and watched television and stayed in their bedclothes, cuddled up on the couch all day.

Which was why he had a mountain of work to tend to. Active cases that he needed to work his ass off to try and solve, lukewarm ones that he had to attempt to resuscitate, and employee evaluations on his guys that needed to be completed, and handed in to the Deputy Inspector, in less then three days. Mixed in with without calls he caught during his next scheduled twelve hours, and the writing was on the wall. As clear as day.

It was time to get his head out of his ass and the show on the road.

Sighing heavily, he slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it along the back of his chair before sitting down. He leaned forward and powered up his computer, waiting several seconds before typing in his secure password and logging into the NYPD system. Since 9-11, the department had been through millions of dollars of security upgrades and changes. Every year it seemed the computer systems were undergoing some massive renovations to make them less susceptible to hackers. The only thing it really did, was succeed in pissing people off and forcing them to relearn an entirely new operating system.

Picking up a stainless steel travel mug that rested on his desk, Flack took a huge swig of the steaming black coffee inside and mentally prepared himself for the day that lay ahead of him.

He'd just grabbed the folder on the top of the monstrous pile and laid it on his desk and flipped it open, when his computer beeped noisily. Indicating that someone was sending him an instant message via the department's internal service.

Laying his hand over the mouse, he moved the cursor to the flashing orange icon located on his desk bar and clicked on it.

Det. S. Ross says: I was just thinking. I think I'll take you up on the offer of that Irish coffee now.

Flack grinned, his mind taken back to that night a little more then a year ago, when in between Devon and Angell, he'd made a very lame attempt at propositioning Samantha Ross. He could still see the way she rolled her eyes and hear the small laugh she gave. He still remembered how after he'd gotten out of talking to Rikki Sandoval, he'd called both Sam's cell phone and home line and received no answer at either. So he'd sent her a text message, asking her to meet him at a small, out of the way restaurant on the lower west side. He'd sat for nearly an hour hoping she'd show up.

His ego had taken a huge hit that night. He'd asked out a lot of women in his dating career. Not many had developed into anything more then a couple of outings of dinner and drinks. He wasn't the male slut that people so often pegged him as. For a thirty one year old guy, the number of conquests notched on his bedpost were startlingly low. But whether it was a girl he simply took out to a nice restaurant once or twice or someone he invested a lot of time in, he'd never been turned down, or stood up.

Until that night. When a tiny Brooklyn girl taught him without words, that he wasn't God's gift to women. He'd left that restaurant shortly after midnight, pissed off at her goddamn nerve, and utterly deflated. And when she didn't return any of the messages he left on his way home, that only infuriated him even more. He'd been half tempted to show up at Adam's place, her residence at that moment, and bang on the door until she answered and demand an explanation. The cooler side of him had prevailed. Being heavy handed with her would have just made things worse. She'd made it quite obvious that she wasn't interested, and as hard as that was to accept, he'd swallowed his pride and sulked throughout his sleepless night and vowed to be a complete asshole to her at work from there on out.

That had been easier said then done. Those golden brown eyes and those sultry lips and that musical giggle were impossible to resist. And even when, after he'd confronted her about not showing up the night before, she'd declared, "I'm nobody's booty call, Detective Flack" he'd been unable to simply walk away from her. Instead, he'd taken his bruised and battered ego and thrown himself into a relationship with Angell. Angell was an easy conquest. She wanted him and hide that fact from no one. He was tired of being alone and convinced himself that being with her, was better then not having anyone. So he'd tried to concentrate on what he had with her in an abysmal attempt to distract himself from what he didn't have with someone else. He'd come to the conclusion that it was easier to fool yourself into thinking you were in love with someone, then it was to accept you were alone.

And ashamed as he was to admit it, he had, in an evil genius sort of way, used Angell and her feelings for him. Because being with Angell meant that outside of work, he would remain in close contact with Samantha because of the friendship the two women shared. It was a shitty thing to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Angell had been so caught up on being in love with him and planning their forever, that she'd been oblivious to the fact that he just wasn't that into their relationship.

In the end, he had proved the old adage true. Good things did come to those who wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait.

As he now sat at his desk, his hard work and suffering long behind him and the woman who was quickly becoming the love of his life waiting for his response, he thought for a moment before typing: Sorry, babe. That offer is no longer on the table.

Flack hit enter and turned to his case file as he waited for a reply.

You're mean, she sent back. Accompanied by a pouting 'Smiley'.

Eyes on the screen, his fingers flying over the keyboard, he composed his response.

I just figure why should I buy you an Irish coffee when I am already getting the end result for free?

A grin on his face, Flack hit enter.

Because you love me and like to buy me things, came her retort. And because with a couple of Irish coffees in me, I become the inhibited Sam. And you love the inhibited Sam.

That Flack could not deny. But then he loved every aspect of her. Whether it was the bitchy and moody, whiny little girl, or the sultry sex kitten or the cuddly and attentive and loving one. There wasn't a side that he didn't like. Some he could go without witnessing for a while but others he'd die without.

Which is why I gave you all that money for the party later, he typed. Because when you get home you'll be a totally uninhibited Sammie and well…do I really need to elaborate?

He sent the message and waited, longer this time, for something to be sent back.

Have I ever told you that you're a huge perv? Not that that's a complaint or anything, but…I was just wondering…what if the department saves all the IM's sent through here and we're being spied on?

Flack smirked. What does it matter if they are? None of their goddamn business what goes on between me and you. And it's not like we're talking THAT bad.

I just worry that the wrong person will get a hold of it and get the wrong idea about us.

He frowned. What wrong idea? Does it bother you if the brass knows that we're boyfriend and girlfriend?

It's not that it bothers me…it just…worries me. I don't want you get in trouble. That's all.

Flack took a swig of coffee before responding. Why would I get in trouble for having a social life?

Some bosses frown upon workplace relationships, she reasoned. And they could want to transfer one of us.

He sighed and shook his head. First off, Mac is your boss. I don't work for the crime lab. I work in conjuncture with the crime lab. I have my own bosses. So you and I working together isn't that huge of a thing. If anyone was going to get in shit for working together, it would be DL. 'Cause they're both employed by Mac. Second, ask me if I give a shit what TPTB think. They can't stop me from having a girlfriend that works thirty some floors above me.

Flack hit enter and leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen repeatedly on the desk top, eyes riveted on the computer screen as he waited for her come back. It took longer then he expected. At first he was tempted to 'write' back and ask if she was still around, until the words finally appeared on the screen.

At the risk of getting fired, I will remind you that the NYPD is a Nazi Regime sometimes and that they've fired people for a lot less.

He sighed heavily and fought the urge to bang his head off his desk. Tossing his pen onto his papers in frustration, he leaned forward and quickly typed: So what you're saying is that it does bother you that TPTB know we're together.

I never said that, Donnie. I just said that if they want to fire us for breaking some sort of protocol…

Jesus fucking Christ, woman, he thought, and instead of sending a message back, snatched his cell phone up from it's resting spot to the left of him on his desk and dialled her number.

"We are not breaking some damn protocol because we're seeing each other," he barked, before Sam even managed to get the words Detective Ross out of her mouth.

Silence. Then her very perturbed, and hurt voice, hissed back at him. "And here I was thinking it was a little more then that. Seeing each other? Are you kidding me? Seeing each other is like saying I'm having a great time with you but tomorrow I could be having a great time with someone else. Like it's good, but when something else better comes along, see ya."

"Samantha, that is not what I meant. Do me and you really need a title? Is there a specific and appropriate term that classifies us? Does it really matter if I say seeing each other, dating, co-habituating, fornicating? 'Cause if there's a term you prefer, just let me know and I'll…"

"How about the term fuck you?" she asked in an overly polite voice. "Does that term make sense to you?"

And with that, there was a dull click as she disconnected the call.

Flack sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes before staring down at the cell phone clutched tightly in his hand. Pressing end, he tossed the phone aside and went back to the computer keyboard.

Look, I'm terrible at grovelling over the computer, he typed. Almost as terrible as I am at being a boyfriend. I didn't mean that the way you took it. I just don't see why we need a 'term'. We know what we are, so what does it matter what we call ourselves? To me, all you are is the woman that I love more then anything in this world. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I really don't care who reads this or who thinks what. You and me, Sammie. That's all that matters, babe.

His finger hovered over the enter key, praying she was actually at her desk to read his message and reply back. That his heartfelt words weren't about to fall on deaf ears. Sighing, he hit the button and waited. A huge wave of relief washing over him when her response appeared a minute later.

Maybe you're not as bad as you think at grovelling. I think you're doing a great job. And you are not a horrible boyfriend. I'm still slightly pissed, but that doesn't mean I don't love you, Donnie. It just means I think you're a huge turd sometimes.

He smirked and composed his reply. A turd, huh? This morning you called me a tool. Yesterday I was a twit. What other T words do you got in that pretty little head of yours?

That is between me and my next emotional melt down, she replied. But can I be completely honest about something?

Uh-oh, he thought, almost afraid of what she was about to say.

Of course, he sent back in reply.

I just want to say, that I've always been there for you. Always. Even long before you and I ever got together. When you were going through that IAB nightmare after Todd Flemming decided to just up and kick the bucket on you, I was the one person that had your back no matter what. When Angell was all obnoxious and Queen bitch worrying about herself and her feelings, I was the one that was trying to convince everyone else, aside from Mac and Stella, that you weren't capable of doing what IAB was accusing you of. So I'm sorry if this comes across as terribly bitchy, but I think I deserve more status then 'the girl you're seeing'.

I deserve that, Flack thought. I admit, he typed back. I am not the world's most sensitive boyfriend. I say the wrong things at the wrong times. I don't always know what to say when you get upset or you need my opinion on something. Sometimes I run off the mouth and don't know what I'm saying or think about how it's affecting you. But I don't say things to purposefully hurt you, babe. I don't mean things the way they sound. I'd never do anything to hurt you and you know that. I just need more practice in being more gentle, that's all.

Picking up his coffee, Flack sipped slowly at the brew while he waited the couple of minutes it took to get an answer.

Well you know what they say. Practice makes perfect. And I don't mind you being less then gentle while you are practicing.

Flack nearly spit a mouthful of coffee all over his computer screen. He certainly hadn't been expecting THAT kind of answer. He coughed and gagged and sputtered and took a moment to compose himself, aware of the curious looks he was getting from his guys that were milling around. All wondering what in the hell he was up to.

Let them wonder, he thought, and hurriedly messaged his girlfriend back.

That was not at all professional, Miss Ross.

Smirking, he picked his pen up and chewed thoughtfully at the end of it.

Maybe that's because I enjoy being unprofessional with you.

Time and place, he sent back.

A minute passed by before her reply appeared on the screen.Something about a janitor's closet on the tenth floor came to mind, but I will bite my tongue. I gtg. Danny says it's time for me to start actually earning my salary.

I have about a months worth of files calling my name, Flack typed in response. So Danny, for once, is right. I'll pop upstairs when and if I get a chance. Okay?

Okay, she returned. Just so you know, I do love you.

Flack smiled broadly and without hesitation, responded: I love you, too.

He paused before hitting the send button, and then typed something else to go along with it.

And I don't care who knows it.


"A brazen daylight shooting in one of Manhattan's busiest subway terminals has left thousands of commuters stranded and waiting for the transportation authority to send shuttle buses their way. While tempers flare and patience runs short, the NYPD is hard at work piecing together this bizarre incident that has left two people dead, two dangerous and violent suspects on the loose, and a mountain of unanswered and seemingly impossible questions in it's wake. What will…"

Danny Messer smirked and killed the ignition on the department issues Avalanche, cutting the reporter's grating voice off mid sentence as all power was cut off from the vehicle.

"You ever notice how the press just strikes fear in the heart of man?" he asked Samantha, as they both undid their seat belts. "Dangerous and violent suspects. How do they know it's not a mugging or something gone bad and it was a freak accident?"

"I thought there was only one victim," Sam commented, pulling her log book from her coat pocket and flipping it open to the appropriate page. "When we got the call, dispatch said that there was only one DB."

"Maybe someone snapped 'cause of the hold up down below. Went postal on somebody," Danny suggested.

Sam shrugged and tossing open her door, slid out of the SUV. She stripped off her winter jacket and tossed it into her empty seat before snagging a Kevlar vest from the back seat. Although the K9 unit currently were scouring the tunnels for any sign of the two assailants that got away, it was better to be safe then sorry. There was a million and one hidden, dark places for someone to hide. It only took walking by the wrong one to end your life.

"So did Lindsay say anything to you about her appointment when you, her and Adam had lunch?" Danny asked curiously, as he tossed his own winter jacket in the back in favour of his own vest.

"She just said that the doctor told her to tell us that she's not contagious," Sam replied, affixing her badge to the neck of her Kevlar. "I am telling you, you should have made that trip over to Barnes and Noble…"

"What did I tell you about not wanting to hear any comments from the peanut gallery?" Danny asked, slamming the driver's side door closed before opening the back one and pulling out both his and Sam's kits.

"I don't see what the huge issue is," Sam commented, as Danny locked and set the alarm on the Avalanche before joining her on the snowy sidewalk. "I mean, you guys are in a committed relationship. You're getting married in five and a half months. Would a baby be that horrible of a thing?"

"It's not that a baby is horrible," Danny informed her, as they fell in step side by side. "It's just that it's not the smartest thing to happen at this moment."

"Why?" Sam asked. "Both of you said you were ready to have kids right away. So it happened a little sooner then planned."

"I don't think you understand where I'm coming from here, B. This wedding is costing us tons of money. All those Benjamins I've shelled out for deposits? I can't get those back. If Montana is pregnant, it throws a huge monkey wrench into the entire thing. You really think she wants to walk down the aisle as big as a house?"

Sam shrugged.

"And her dress cost a fortune. And if she's pregnant, she's got to get a whole new dress. One that expands with her so to speak. Get where I'm coming from here?"

"Totally," Sam said, as they headed down the slippery steps leading to their underground crime scene. She kept on hand firmly on the banister, the other securely clenching Danny's bicep. "But say she is…"

"Brooklyn…" Danny sighed exasperatedly.

"Just say she is," Sam repeated. "You guys knew you were getting married in the summer and you knew how much agony and tears were put into the planning and how broke the two of you are already, right?"

Danny nodded.

"Well explain this to me, then. How did you know all of that and not use a goddamn condom?"

"These things happen," Danny protested. "I mean, it's not always the first thing on your mind, you know. You get caught up in the heat of the moment, your hormones are kicking ass over your rational thoughts. You cease thinking about anything else other then the ultimate prize. You know how it is."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on. Like you and Flack use a condom every single time?" Danny snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"We don't," Sam admitted. "But we also have a back up plan. So there's no way we're having a little mess up. We're protected to the max. And apparently, you're not."

"Well I guess my brains were on short supply that night," Danny said.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him as their feet touched the dusty floor of the subway station and daylight ceased to exist. "Just that night?" she asked.

"You're a goddamn smart ass," he complained, nodding his thanks to the young uniform officer that held up the crime scene tape, allowing them to pass underneath.

A second uniform, bearing a name tag that read Melendez, smiled pleasantly at Samantha as she and Danny passed by. But she would have been blind to not notice the smirk that crossed the young man's face as he surveyed her partner from head to toe.

"A shooting down here, huh?" Melendez called out to a colleague standing near the tracks. In a voice loud enough for an entire city block to hear. "At least this time it's not a CSI shooting another cop."

Sam winced at the harsh, intentional words. She hadn't been at work for two weeks when the gossip mill had went into over drive and she was being assaulted by every piece of juicy information lab techs could conjure up. And one of those tid bits had been about how Danny Messer had chased a suspect from an apartment, into a subway station, where he became embroiled in a shoot out. Mistakenly gunning down an undercover cop in the process.

That was the exact story that she had heard. Word for word. Sam didn't believe it for a second, knowing that firing your weapon erratically and killing another cop, intentional or not, was a definite dismissal, if not jail time. Yet she hadn't want to stir up old memories for Danny, or bring it up to Lindsay. So she'd gone to Don Flack for the straight goods. One shift with the assertive and aggressive homicide detective had taught her that he didn't mince words or talk shit.

Two of the many things that made him so unbelievably sexy.

He'd told her the honest to God facts. Touching lightly on Danny's IAB ordeal and his dissension with Mac and jumping straight to the end of the story. It hadn't been Danny's bullet that had killed Minhas.

And now, years after the incident, she saw the pained expression that came over her friend's face. Danny didn't respond to the comment nor lash out.

He was a damn good person. An amazing cop who deserved more respect. A friend that she loved dearly and would defend to the death.

"Hey!" she snapped at Melendez. "How about you shut your goddamn gate and stop staring at my ass before I pop a cap in yours."

The officer blinked at the outburst from the tiny woman. "Sorry, miss, I was just…"

"You were just being a smart mouth prick," she finished. "And it's Detective. I suggest Melendez, that you keep your comments to yourself or see your ass off my crime scene. Understand me?"

"Yes, miss…I mean, detective."

"Ass wipe," Sam muttered as she as she stepped past the smirking uniform.

"Making friends?" Flack asked as he journeyed over to her while Danny conversed with Stella and Hawkes as they were hunkered down by the first victim. A young Caucasian man with tousled blond hair and a pair of jeans, hiking boots and jeans and Yankees jacket lying on the side in a spreading pool of blood.

"Always," she replied.

"I was a bit worried for a second it was PMS," he teased. Then gave one of his famous grins as he eyed her from head to toe.

"What?" Sam asked.

"You look hot in a vest," he informed her.

"I was just going to say the same thing about you," she said.

They smiled at each other.

"You two wanna be alone?" Danny asked. "Quit making you know what eyes at my partner, Flack."

"So how come when we got the initial call from dispatch we were told there was only one body?" Sam asked, as she and Flack headed over to their colleagues.

"Because we hadn't found the second one yet," he replied. "One of the dogs found the deceased in the tunnel while searching for suspects."

"Hit by a train?" she inquired.

"I haven't gone down myself yet. But according the K9, he's in one piece. So that's a negative."

"Think he's one of the suspects?" Sam asked. "Or just some poor ass in the wrong place at the wrong time? Could be living under the tracks or something."

"Like I said, I haven't seen the body. So I guess both of us have some detective work cut out for us."

"You're a sarcastic bastard," she said with a smile.

"I know how much it turns you on," he grinned. "So this is vic number one," he said, nodding down at the deceased at their feet. "This is our initial crime scene. Aaron Clarke. Twenty-one, originally from Hoboken, New Jersey. Moved up to the big bad city seven months ago to study at NYU. An ancient civilizations student according to his very distraught girlfriend."

"Where is she?" Stella asked.

"EMS had to take her over to St Vincent's. She passed out from the shock, cracked her head on the cement and knocked herself out. According to witnesses, the young couple were simply minding their own business, waiting for the train, when three people started a big old thing on the platform here."

"A big old thing?" Sam asked, eyebrow arched.

"Guess a guy was getting smart mouthed with his girlfriend and his buddy wasn't having anything of it. The two of them start arguing, accusations of infidelity start flying and the next thing you know, a fight breaks out. Aaron here decided to try and play peacemaker."

"And ended up dead for his trouble," Danny surmised. "So much for being a good Samaritan, huh? What's the news on the shooter and the other two?"

"Shooter and the second guy hopped onto the tracks and took off down the tunnel," Flack responded. "Girl took up off the stairs."

"Descriptions?" Stella inquired.

"Witnesses told me that both guys were roughly between five foot ten and six foot one. Both medium build. One had dark shaggy hair to his shoulder and grey eyes, the other was blond and sported a brush cut and slight facial hair. Both wearing b-boy type clothes. Baggy jeans, backwards ball caps, that kind of shit. Approximately twenty-five to thirty years old. No distinguishing marks or tattoos. At least none that were noticeable."

"And the girl?" Danny asked.

"Between twenty-five and thirty-five. Slender build, long dark hair."

Danny eyed Sam from head to toe as Flack spoke.

"Yes?" Sam asked. "What is wrong with you men today?"

"The description," Danny replied. "Where we you an hour ago?"

"Oh that's right. I forgot. I skipped out early on my lunch break and ran over here to kill a perfect stranger. Who called nine one one?"

"Station security," Flack answered. "Minute they heard the shot and saw people diving for cover and Aaron here lying on the ground."

"Where's the other DB?" Danny asked.

Flack stepped up to the train tracks, motioning for Danny and Sam to follow him. He nodded down the dark tunnel. "Down there. About two hundred yards."

"Lovely," Danny sighed and hopped down onto the tracks, the gravel crunching under his feet. "You scared of the dark, Brooklyn?" he asked, as he extended a hand to the tiny brunette, helping her down.

"Nope," she replied. "So don't worry. I can hold both yours and Don's hands when you guys start wimping out on me."

"Your smart mouth is starting to rub off on her," Danny commented to Flack, as the detective joined them, pausing to set both kits on the ground to open them and removed a flashlight from each.

"When did I become the servant?" Flack asked, as Danny snapped both kits closed, picked them up and held one out to his best friend.

"The second you started dipping your pen in the company ink," Danny informed him, flicking on his flash light. "It is as creepy as all shit down here," he commented, as they began their descent down the damp and eerie tunnel. "Last time I had to jump down into the bowels of the earth, Mac was in a tux and Montana was all dolled. They'd been at some mayor's gig and the opera. We thought this kid took a nose dive after surfing on top of the train. Turned out the conductor had bashed his head in and tossed him out."

"Nice," Sam commented. "Makes me think twice about taking the subway. Last week, I had some old guy tell me he was a breast inspector and that he wanted to, and I quote, check to make sure mine were in working order."

"I would have fucking messed him up," Flack declared. "I notice you never tell me these things until well after they happen."

"What were you going to do? Run out to defend my honour? Hunt down every wackadoo riding the A train?"

"Wackadoo," Danny chuckled. "You two spend way too much time together. I was just thinking that…RAT!"

Sam jumped a mile. Not at the rodent that went scurrying across her feet, but at Danny's piercing shriek and the way he jumped behind her. Using her as a human shield in case the damn thing decided to take a leap and go straight for his throat.

"You jackass, Messer!" Flack bellowed. "What is wrong with you?"

"Did you see the size of that thing?" Danny asked, his eyes wide in fright.

Sam closed her eyes, her hand over her racing heart.

"You okay, Brooklyn?" Danny asked. "You alright? Didn't pee yourself, did you?"

She opened her eyes and glared at him and landed a punch to his shoulder. "You moron! You scared the shit out of me! It was a rat! Like you haven't seen a rat before?! What's your malfunction? That was practically a baby one! A sewer rat, but a tiny one!"

"Hey! Just 'cause you're from Crown Heights were the rats are the size of a small terrier, doesn't mean we're all used to it," Danny informed her. "I'm sorry. Want me to cuddle you until you feel better?"

Sam shoved him away. "Remind me to never tell you stories about the hairless rat Adam and I used to have when we were kids."

"Did you hear that?" Danny asked Flack. "A hairless rat? Do you really want to be pro-creating with someone that kept a hairless rat as a pet? Or someone with the last name Ross? You need your head read, Flack."

"Only people around here that are pro-creating shall remain nameless, Daniel," Sam shot back. "Like have we missed the vic or what? How far do we have to…" her words were cut off as her toe caught on something on the ground and she went toppling forward. Right over the dead body.

Danny couldn't hold the laughter in. It burst out of him and echoed down the dark cavern.

Flack bit his lip to keep his own laughter inside as he assisted his embarrassed, and slightly pissed off girlfriend to her feet.

"Walk much?" Danny asked her, elbowing her playfully.

"Shut up," she grumbled.

Flack cast his flashlight down at the deceased. "Looks like our shooter. Matches the description I got."

"We're going to need some better light down here if we want to process anything," Danny commented. "Can't work in these types of conditions."

"Witnesses only heard the one shot?" Sam asked.

Flack nodded. "Why?"

"Because there's a quite obvious bullet hole in his forehead and even in this light I can tell the back of his head is missing," she replied, pulling a pair of latex gloves from her pants pockets and snapping them on. as she crouched down next to the body. "Looks like a medium calibre," she commented. "Up close and personal. I think that's a muzzle stamp on his forehead."

"Someone took the time to stop and execute him in the tunnel?" Flack asked, a frown on his face. "That doesn't make sense."

"Murder usually never does," Danny said, slipping on his own gloves and bending down to scoop something out of the gravel. "Got an Ipod here. Doubt it's his, " he held the item up for Flack to see. "Metallic pink. One of them Ipod nano-chromatic things. It was you, Brooklyn. It's the same one you have."

"Only thing that proves is the girl has good taste," she said. Lifting the victim's head slightly, she reached under with a grimace on her face and fumbled through the rocks. A victorious grin taking over her lips as she found exactly what she had been searching for.

"He was shot in this position," she announced.

"How do you know that?" Flack asked.

"Because I'm a goddamn genius," she replied, and held a loft a bullet fragment. The silver glistening in the bright ray of the flashlight.

"Well I'll tell you one thing," Danny said, bagging the Ipod. "Whatever the hell went on down here, there isn't going to be any easy answers."

"Story of our lives, Messer," Flack sighed.

"Gonna be one long, weird ass day," Danny concluded.


Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please R and R folks!

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