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

A/N: POSTINGS MIGHT BE SLOWER FOLKS. LAST NIGHT I SPENT EIGHT HOURS IN ER WITH MY SON. WHO HAS A NASTY CASE OF STREP THROAT AND CROUP. SO WHILE I CONCENTRATE ON HIM, OTHER THINGS MAY HAVE TO TAKE A BACK SEAT.


The hot seat

"Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
Oh, I reach for you
Well I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh, I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth savin' me."
-Savin' Me, Nickelback


Gillian Whitmore was waiting by Flack's desk when he arrived back at the precinct. A half an hour ride that had been completed in near silence. Which, when Samantha Ross was in your presence, was something that never happened. A quiet Sam Ross was a sign of impending doom. A prelude to Armageddon. When she didn't have anything to say -whether something of dire importance or something completely and utterly random- you knew that hell had definitely frozen over. She'd been elusive in answering his questions about what Danny had wanted with her. He'd commented that it had seemed like an intense conversation based on the seriousness of her face, but the most he'd been able to get out of her was that Danny had managed to get an I.D. on their mystery woman, and that Pino had determined both COD and that their track victim hadn't gone down without a fight.

There was more to it then that. Way more and Flack knew it. Under normal circumstances, she would be offering up the news involving their case with a childlike exuberance. In that excited, breathless way she got when they were one step closure to nailing the bad guy. However, as they drove back to the crime lab in the horrendous winter weather, she was uncharacteristically tight lipped. And no matter how hard he had tried to pry information from her, it had remained a fruitless cause. Whatever she had locked up inside of her was staying that way.

He could tell, as he walked her through the front doors of the precinct and to the elevators that would take her up to the lab, that something was definitely troubling her. She was sullen and quiet and did her best to not make eye contact with him. And when the elevator had arrived and he told her that he'd see her later, to give him a call if anything else with the case came up, she'd simply stepped into the elevator without a word and turned towards him and offered up a small smile before laying her finger on the button for the thirty-fifth floor. The door cutting off all contact between them as it closed.

He had walked to his desk, shrugging out of his winter jacket as he went, silently wondering what in the hell was going on with both the case, and with his girlfriend, when he'd been greeted by the site of the Deputy Inspector parked on her ass behind his desk. And as if the sight of her not so pleasant face wasn't enough to put a serious damper on Flack's day, a foul, dark mood quickly and easily fell on him when he caught sight of the man standing behind her. Lieutenant John Malley, who'd been at the helm of the Todd Flemming fiasco, was hanging over her shoulder as they two of them read information off of Flack's computer.

The first thing that popped into Flack's mind was the instant messages that Samantha and him had exchanged earlier that day. He hadn't considered anything they'd said too each other outrageous or scandalous. And he knew that there were far worse messages being sent from employee to employee on a daily basis. Even by some of the brass. But he had been on Whitmore's shit list since the whole Flemming thing. And routinely felt as if IAB was breathing down his neck, waiting for some kind of monumental fuck up.

Instant messages, tame ones at least, weren't enough to warrant a visit from the department watch dogs. But as he got closer to his desk, Flack realized that carrying on personal business with a confidential informant, was enough to catch shit over. In fact, it was something that warranted having your shield pulled. He wondered how IAB would get a hold of information like that. Had someone seen the flowers and card that Terrence Davis had sent to Samantha? Had someone spotted them coming out of Davis' apartment building on their day off? Had the perps who'd assaulted Zack been caught and spilled the beans on how their boss contracted them out for two NYPD cops?

Don't get ahead of yourself, Flack, he scolded himself as he confidently approached his desk. Terrence Davis is a man of his word. He wouldn't sell you, or Sam out like that. Because he knows that all it takes is you spreading the word on the street that he's a confidential informant to make him a marked man.

"Something I can help you with, Inspector?" he asked, draping his winter jacket over the empty chair that sat at the side of his desk.

"Detective Flack," Inspector Whitmore gave a polite smile. "We were just talking about you."

"Spying on me seems more like it," he said, nodding at his computer. "Something in there I can help you find?"

"We were merely curious," she told him.

"Well go and be curious on someone else's computer. 'Cause I'm pretty sure you letting yourself into my personal files and what not is against department policy. I don't think the union would be too happy to hear that I came back from talking to a person of interest in a case to find you with your nose in my business."

"There's no need to feel cause to be hostile," Whitmore told him, as she pushed herself away from the desk and stood up. "In fact, if you'd have a seat," she gestured to the chair. "We'd like to have a word with you, Detective."

"About what?" Flack asked, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought the whole Todd Flemming thing was over months ago."

"This doesn't concern that case," Whitmore told him. "You remember Lieutenant Malley, don't you?"

"How could I forget," Flack replied, ignoring the hand that the IAB representative offered to him. "So?" he asked. "Am I going to get a straight answer here? What's this about?"

"We're here to discuss your case," Malley told him. "The one you're currently working on."

"What about it?" Flack inquired. "Nothing much special about it. Guy kills someone on the platform of the eighty-seventh street platform, jumps onto the tracks with his accomplice and somehow winds up dead himself. Accomplice is still in the wind. I was just coming back to chase down some possible leads."

"Well hand off those leads to another detective," Malley said. "Because you're off the case."

Flack stared long and hard at the other man. "Why?" he asked simply.

"Because we've been called to attention about your personal involvement in the case. With a colleague that's been in charge of processing important evidence, and with family members having a connection to both your John Doe and one of the murder weapons in question."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Flack fought off the urge to laugh. "What the hell is this? Some witch hunt? You couldn't nail me for Todd Flemming so you're just itching to get me for something else? You've got nothing on me. I've done nothing wrong. There's no reason for you to take me off this case."

"You're personally involved with a member of the crime lab. And two members of your family have suddenly become persons of interest in the case," Whitmore spoke up. "That seems like two perfectly acceptable reasons to me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Flack asked. "Two members of my family? What…"

"Your father and your sister," Malley replied, short on patience. "Now we can either talk about this right here in the middle of a busy squad room where all your colleagues can here, or we go somewhere private to conduct our business."

"I'm not going anywhere to talk to you unless I have a union lawyer with me," Flack declared. "No way in hell am I going anywhere alone so you can fabricate some story or some confession. No way."

"You're not under suspicion of wrong doing," Whitmore assured him. "A union lawyer is not necessary."

"Maybe not. But I'm not sitting down with IAB alone," Flack argued. "So I either sit here and wait for a union lawyer, or I have a witness in there with me. Plain and simple. You want to talk? We talk on my terms."

Malley held up his hands in surrender. "If you want a witness, Detective, by all means. Pick one of your men. But not before you give your memo book and all notes and files regarding this case to Inspector Whitmore."

"This is fucking bullshit," Flack said with an exasperated sigh, and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out his log book and tossed it onto the top of his desk. Bending down, he yanked open the bottom drawer, he pulled out the corresponding case files and dropped them before the inspector.

"We're doing this for your own protection," Malley assured him.

Flack snorted. "Sure you are…"

"Is there anyone you'd like to serve as your witness?" Whitmore asked. "Will just anyone do?"

"I want Tony Scagnetti in there with me. He's my partner. He has my back no matter what."

Malley looked at the Inspector, as if seeking permission to allow the two men in the same room.

Whitmore nodded. "I'll go and track down Detective Scagnetti," she told Flack. "You go and make yourself comfortable with Lieutenant Malley. You'll be in there a while."

Fucking wonderful, Flack thought with a heavy sigh, and reluctantly followed the IAB representative towards the back of the precinct and towards the interrogation rooms. Aware that all eyes were on him. Curious, concerned. And some even accusing. Malicious smirks and smug smiles on the faces of those who'd long considered him a fuck up. The same people who'd called him a rat when he'd coughed up his log book to Mac Taylor and essentially put Dean Truby behind bars. The same assholes who had talked about him after the Todd Flemming incident and who had said they wouldn't put it past him if he did lash out and kill the kid.

"Got a fucking problem?" Flack asked as he passed by one of the detective's in question. Jerry Martin. An old timer whose well known drinking problem had seen him stay at second grade for almost his entire career. Who'd worked alongside of Flack Sr and considered the man a God and his son nothing more then a speck of shit on the bottom of mankind's proverbial shoe.

"Looks like you got one," the older man retorted, as he leaned back in his chair, bringing the front legs up off of the floor.

Flack smirked. Halting his steps and letting the IAB Lieutenant get ahead several paces before following behind. Without a word and without looking down at the other detective as he passed by, Flack stuck his foot under the chair, hooked it around one of the back legs, and yanked the chair out from underneath the older man.

There was a loud clatter as the chair collided with the wall and an even louder expletive as the other man fell hard on his ass. Near pandemonium erupted in the squad room. Detectives and uniforms alike all rushing over to see what the hell was going on. Some offering aide to their fallen comrade, others laughing at his embarrassment.

"You fucking bastard Flack!" Martin roared, as he stumbled to his feet and rushed at the much younger, stronger man.

"You wanna take this outside, Jerry?" Flack asked, grabbing a hold of the other man by the front of his suit jacket. "You got something to say to me? Be a fucking man and say it to my face!"

"I'll fucking knock you out is what I'll do!" Martin fumed, knocking Flack's hands off him in. "Little punk! Walking around here like you're God's gift to the department. Someone needs to kick the shit out you, teach you about respect."

"Try losing forty pounds so you can get your foot anywhere near my ass," Flack sneered and shoved the older man away.

"You little sonofabitch!" the detective bellowed and went after Flack once more. Only to be held back by two uniforms. "You're nothing like you're old man! You know that! You're nothing but a fucking disgrace to the badge! Ratting out one of your own people! Fucking the squad room skank before moving on to some lowly, pathetic lab rat!"

Flack wasn't the type to care what people thought about him, or said about him. He gave a shit less whether other cops felt he was a failure to his name. A lousy predecessor to the legend his father had been undeservedly turned into. But when things turned personal and involved either his mother or the woman quickly becoming the love of his life, then he quickly and effortlessly saw red.

However he didn't get two steps towards a sneering Jerry Martin before Scagnetti's strong hands grabbed him by the back of the jacket and he found himself propelled by the big man down the narrow hallway leading to the interrogation rooms. Where Malley was standing by an open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in displeasure as he shook his head.

"Get in there before you fuck yourself up huge," Scagnetti ordered his partner before shoving him into the room. He waited for the IAB moron to step in behind Flack before turning back towards the squad room, where cops were still curiously watching them. "Get the fuck back to work!" he yelled before disappearing into interrogation and slamming the door angrily behind him.


Sam was dreading coming face to face with Mac. Being ordered back to the lab always meant you were facing certain doom upon your return. A banishment to trace all day was Mac's favourite form of punishment. Followed close behind by a dressing down loud enough to be heard by anyone walking past his office at that exact time. Being summoned by Mac was like being sent to the principal's office. You couldn't remember exactly what you had done to get in shit, you just knew that whatever it was, you were about to pay for it.

Thankfully, her lashing was slightly delayed by the sight of the familiar face sitting in the bank of chairs next to the reception and sign in desk. She paused to scrawl her signature on the sign in sheet and collect a stack of messages from the secretary, watching the tall, strong and intimidating man just mere feet away. His legs shaking impatiently as he absentmindedly flipped through a tattered and dog-eared copy of Time magazine. His short, salt and pepper hair was damp from being out in the snow, as was the shoulders of his khaki green winter jacket and the toes and soles of his black boots. His large hands were slightly wrinkled and his blue eyes were intense and focused.

She'd been terrified meeting Don Flack Sr for the first time. She had been aware of his legend within the department from nearly her first day at the lab. But she also knew of the agony and torment he'd inflicted, both with his mouth and his fists, on his wife and children. Stories from her own boyfriend's mouth -mostly when he was drinking. Alcohol always turned him into an emotional, sensitive and talkative mess- that had widened her eyes and made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. Because she both sympathized, and understood what Flack Jr had been through in his younger years. Her own father had been a first class bastard. Nothing short of a monster. She had been able to empathize completely. And their shared experiences had brought them even closer together.

But it hadn't done much to calm her nerves about meeting her boyfriend's father on Christmas Eve. She had worked in NYC for a year and then some, and had never laid eyes on Flack Sr. She'd only heard the stories from his son and the tall tales older detectives told in the twelfth precinct. Even after they'd began dating. Flack had shrugged off her suggestions at meeting his family. Making excuses that they were either really busy, or he just wasn't ready to subject his new girlfriend to that kind of nightmare. She hadn't pushed the subject, but had talked to Patricia Flack on more than one occasion when she'd called her son's apartment and Sam had happened to be there alone. And it had been Sam that had accepted the invitation to Christmas Eve dinner. Much to the dismay of her horrified boyfriend when he'd arrived home and she'd dropped that particular bomb on him.

The entire drive to the Flack family home in Flushing, Queens had consisted of her lamenting over how stomach sick she felt over the prospect of meeting her boyfriend's father. Mothers and siblings she could easily handle. But fathers, especially one as frightening as Flack Sr sounded, were her worst nightmare.

"This could have all been easily avoided," Flack had said, a permanent scowl on his face as he drove to his parents' home. "I told you we should have just pretended my crazy family didn't exist."

Despite her uneasiness during the initial introductions -and the fact that Melanie was already drunk and looking to cause trouble with anyone who'd pay attention to her- the Christmas Eve visit had gone exceptionally well. She'd been welcomed into the fold, something that had surprised both her and Flack. He hadn't brought many girlfriends to meet his family, but those he had had been given the third degree or even the cold shoulder. Especially from his old man. Samantha however, had slipped into effortlessly into their lives. And upon hearing about her education, Sr had turned to his son and gave an approving nod and said, "Finally you bring home one with brains."

She'd seen the family several times since. Surprisingly enough she got along better with Flack Sr then she did Patricia. It always felt as if the other woman was looking down on her, judging her. Deeming the Brooklyn born girl not good enough for her son. Whereas with Sr, what you saw was what you go. He didn't put on any airs. He either liked you or he didn't. And judging by his insistences that she call him by his first name, he obviously liked her.

"That gentleman is here to see you," the receptionist told Sam, nodding in Flack Sr's direction.

"Thanks," Sam said, and walked over to the bank of chairs. Knowing that while it probably wasn't in either her, of Flack's best interest, to be discussing the case with his namesake, she was most likely the only one willing to give him the straight goods. "Mr Flack?" she asked quietly. Professionally.

Snapping the magazine closed, he looked up at her, his eyebrows arched.

"Don," she corrected herself. Thought still finding it hard to refer to her boyfriend's father by his first name.

"I've been waiting for you," he said, tossing the magazine aside as he stood up.

"I was on the other side of town talking to a person of interest in a case I'm working on," she told him, almost apologetically.

"With my son?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"What is going on? I get a phone call earlier from your brother telling me that a gun I reported stolen months ago was used in a murder earlier today. I tell him everything there is to know, and then I get a call from Mac Taylor asking me to go over the entire thing again. I collect guns. I'm not a big time collector but I've got a nice selection. Our house got broken into. How many times do I have to tell people that? When I was with the department, we didn't harass people over something so damn simple."

"We don't know for sure that it is your gun," she told him. "We don't have the actual murder weapon. We just know that it was that specific gun that was used and the two other registered owners could place their guns. And yours is still out there somewhere."

God, the explanation sounded lame, even to her own ears.

"And then I get here, looking to talk to you or my son and Taylor tells me no can do. That both of you have been yanked off the case and it's best if I don't have any contact with either of you."

It was the first that Sam had heard about being removed from the investigation, and it set her back a moment before finally responding.

"There's not much I know right now," she said. "All I know is that the weapon used matches the one you had stolen, and your daughter's DNA was found on our victim."

"Melanie?" he asked incredulously.

San sighed and nodded. "We think that she may have been involved with some kind of theft and pick pocketing scheme with our victim and another man. We're still in the process of trying to identify them both."

"Is she talking? She bloody well better be talking," he fumed.

"All I know is that some uniforms were going to pick her up," Sam said. "I would imagine she's already downstairs in interrogation with either Detective Taylor or Detective Danny Messer."

"That goddamn girl has been nothing but trouble since the day she hit sixteen. Booze, drugs, boys. You name it and she was doing it. My wife and I tried everything. Everything! We would have begged, borrowed and stolen to help her out! Get her clean! And all that she's caused us his heart ache. One thing after another. And her brother…Donnie's bent over backwards for her! And this is how she repays him? Getting involved with shit like this? Embarrassing him within the department?"

"I know that Donnie's offered to help her out on numerous occasions," Sam said. "That he offered to help her get a new apartment, find her a job. Get her into rehab even. She just…it's hard to help someone that won't help themselves."

"I've had it with that girl," Flack Sr declared. "Absolutely had it. I'm telling you right now, she's going to cough this guy up if it's the last thing I do. If I have to beat it out of her. Helping friends of hers break into my home and steal my things? All but implicating me for a murder? It's bullshit. She's going to goddamn well face the music this time."

"We don't exactly know the extent of her involvement," Sam said.

"Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining," he grumbled. "It's damn obvious what her involvement is. And what's going on with my son? You just saw him. What do you know?"

"I just know that IAB wants to talk to him," she told him.

"For what reason?"

"I guess they're trying to rule out the possibility that he may have known that his sister was involved."

"That's fucking bullshit!' he fumed. "My son wouldn't lie to protect that lying, thieving little…" pausing, he shook his head. "Donnie would not cover up a crime to protect anyone. And he certainly wouldn't put his entire career on the line to do it for her."

"I know that," Sam sighed. "But IAB has been out to nail his ass to a wall since the Todd Flemming insanity. And if they think they have something up on him…"

"And where do you come in? Why are you in trouble for this?"

"I processed the ballistics evidence. Donnie was in the lab while I was doing it. He was there when I identified the gun as the same kind that was stolen from your home. He never mentioned it to me that you had ever owned a weapon like the one and question…"

"He probably didn't even know. He knows I collect and that's it. We've never sat down to discuss those things. And even if I had had told him what I owned, he probably didn't remember or he didn't put two and two together. I doubt he was keeping anything back from you."

"I doubt that either. But the simple fact that he was in the lab while I was processing that gun that in the end was tied to you…well it looks as if both of us were trying to hide something. Like he was lying to protect his family and I was lying to protect him."

"Neither of you would do something like that."

"I know that and Donnie knows that and you know that, but they don't. And it's the brass and IAB that we have to worry about. And I'm pretty sure I'm next on their shit list."

"You know, the department was never run like this when I was here. Back then we worked as a team. A tight knit, hard working group. These days it's every man for himself. And that's a bunch of crap. Everyone is out to see everyone else around them fail. And that's not right."

"No," Sam shook her head. "It's not."

"How much trouble do you think Donnie's in?" Flack Sr asked.

Sam shrugged. "Depends on what questions they ask and if they feel he has the right answers."

"Bunch of goddamn bullshit," he sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. "And ever since that bitch Whitmore took over…"

"Things have gone slightly down hill," Sam admitted. "There's a lot of problems in the department right now. She has a Big Brother mentality. The numbers we call on our phones are monitored, as are our work email and IM messages. There's cameras everywhere. Too 1984 if you ask me. Even George Orwell would have something to say about this."

"It's just not right," he sighed. "Not right at all. Every new Commissioner we get, things go down the shitter even more."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I wish there was more I could tell you," she said. "I've probably stepped into a huge pile of shit by talking to you. I'm sure my boss will have something to say about it."

"Fuck him," he snarled. "You can talk to who you want. It's a free world. It's not like you're passing me top secret case information. We're having a talk about our common interest. My son. You're the one person out of this Godforsaken mess of a place that has Donnie's best interests at heart. You wouldn't turn your back on him."

"I like to think he wouldn't turn his on me either," she said.

"Are you insane girl? You must be insane. He'd rather die a slow and painful death then utter a bad word about you. He'd do anything for you, no questions asked. He's got your back no matter what. Hell, my boy is wildly and crazily in love with you. If you don't realize that by now, you've got some serious issues."

She gave a small smile. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for your son," she assured him. "He's just…he's my everything. And I don't believe for a second that he'd keep information back from me. Just like I didn't believe for a second that he killed that kid in interrogation. I just wish that none of this was happening."

"Well you can think one person for all of this bullshit. Melanie. And believe you me, when I get a hold of her, she's going to rule the day she ever got mixed up with the people she has. I should go down there. Throw my name around and get in to see her."

"If you think that will help." Sam said.

"Damn right it will help. I'll put the damn fear of God into her. I hope things go okay for her. If you need anything, let me know. I've got some people high up in the union that would gladly do me a favour or two."

"Well I'm hoping it doesn't come to that," she sighed. "But thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"I should let you get back to work," Flack Sr told her, and embracing her warmly, softly kissed both of her cheeks. "If you need anything…"

"I'll let you know," she promised.

He smiled, patted her face gently and then headed off.

Sam sighed heavily and watched him journey down the hallway to the elevators.

I hope you know what you're doing, she thought. Because when it comes to myself, I have no damn clue.


"For the last fucking time," Flack fought to control his temper, his hands tightening around, and threatening to crumble, the take out cup of coffee in his grasp. "I didn't know that my sister or my father were brought into this investigation until you told me fifteen minutes ago."

"I find that really hard to believe," Malley told the detective, as he paced behind Flack and Scagnetti's chairs. "That the CSI you were working with knew but you didn't."

"She didn't say anything to me!" Flack insisted. "Why do you find that so damn hard to believe?"

"She received the call from a Detective Danny Messer. She was told that both your sister's name, and your father's, had been linked to your investigation. Do you not normally share case related information with the people on your team?"

"Of course. But she never told me."

"And why do you think that is?" Malley asked. "Why do you think that she kept that from you?"

"How the hell should I know? I just know that she never mentioned it. We got into the car and we came back here. All she told me was that her boss wanted her back at the lab ASAP."

"And you didn't ask why?"

"I asked and she told me that something came up he needed her for. That's what she said. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe she was told not to tell me. I don't know. Maybe she didn't feel it was her place to tell me. That it was something for my supervisor to do. Why don't you ask her yourself instead of busting my ass over something she chose not to do?"

"Well let me tell you what I think," Malley said, as he returned to his seat and sat down across from the two detectives. "I think that you're lying. I think that you either knew from the get go that your sister and your father were involved in this…."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"…or that the CSI in question did one of two things. Either told you to give you the heads up so you'd be prepared when you came in here, or she didn't tell you to protect you. So you wouldn't get all hot under the collar about it."

Flack shook his head. "She didn't tell me, okay? She didn't say a goddamn word about it. I didn't know until you told me. What is so hard to understand about this? She never fucking told me."

"Let's exam why I think you're lying," Malley said with a smug smile. "Shall we?"

Flack rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair and gestured for the other man to go ahead.

"I'm going to start from the top, Detective Flack. Where were you at approximately two thirty this afternoon?"

"I was upstairs in the crime lab. In ballistics. Checking on the progress of the investigation with the CSI in charge of processing ballistics evidence."

"And this is the same CSI you were with when you talked to your person of interest?" Malley asked, jotting the information down on a yellow legal pad.

Flack nodded.

The IAB investigator glanced up at him.

"Yes," Flack confirmed verbally. "It's the same person."

"And what's the person in question's name?"

"Detective Samantha Ross. Middle name, too? How about date and place of birth? Or are you satisfied with what I told you?"

"And what were you and Detective Ross discussing while in the ballistics lab together?" Malley inquired.

"Did you not just hear me? I said I went there to talk to her about the progress being made on our case."

"And that's all you were talking about?"

"We may have talked about the Giants not making the playoffs. Maybe we talked about how shitty the Rangers are doing this season. Maybe I complimented her on her work. But for the most part, we talked about the case."

Malley arched an eyebrow. "For the most part? And what about the smaller parts?"

"Look, we talked about work, okay? That's it."

The investigator nodded. "What was Detective Ross doing as the two of you talked?"

"She was processing bullets she'd test fired from various weapons, hoping she'd get a match to a bullet she'd recovered at our crime scene."

"And did she get a match?"

"Yes. And she had already identified the gun used in the killing of an innocent man on the subway platform," Flack told him.

"And did she tell you what that weapon was?"

"She showed it to me and told me that it was an .45 automatic Colt pistol," Flack confirmed.

"Which is the same type of gun your father reported stolen from his collection two months ago," Malley stated.

"And?" the detective asked. "I was just suppose to put two and two together right there and then and say hey, I think that was my dad's gun? Look, I know very little about guns, okay? I don't study them like she does. She's the expert. I don't even know all the names of the guns my dad has in his collection. And I've never sat down with him and talked about them with him. And I never talked about the break in with him, either. I knew my parents got robbed and that some of his guns turned up at a pawn shop. That's the extent of my knowledge."

"So you had no clue when Detective Ross showed you that weapon that your father had owned the exact same one?" Malley inquired.

"No clue at all. And if I did, I would have said something. I wouldn't have kept back important information regarding our case."

"How about Detective Ross?" the investigator asked. "Would you say she's the type to hold something back to avoid hurting someone?"

"I guess that's something you'd have to ask her," Flack replied, casually sipping his coffee.

"Detective, could you clarify to me exactly what kind of relationship you have with Samantha Ross?"

Flack attempted to hide his surprise at the question, and the discomfort he felt answering it. Because while he was damn proud of the woman he had in his life, and love her more then mere words could possibly ever say, he knew that not only was his integrity and professionalism riding on his response, so was hers. And while he'd been booted off the case, there was no reason for Sam to follow suit. He had to do whatever it took to assure her reputation remained unsullied, and her work completely admissible. The case depended on it.

"Samantha Ross and I are colleagues," he replied. "And friends."

"Outside of work?" Malley asked.

"We hang out. The whole team hangs out from time to time."

"Do you ever hang out with her on your own? Just the two of you?"

Flack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What are you trying to ask me?" he inquired.

"Do you ever spend time alone, outside of work, with Samantha Ross?"

"No," Flack replied quickly.

"Have you ever spent time time alone, outside of work, with her?"

"No," the homicide detective responded confidently.

"Ever? At any time."

"Look," Flack huffed. "I just told you…"

"I know what you just told me, Detective. What I'm waiting for is the moment you discover that I don't have moron written across my forehead. I'm giving you a chance to recant your answer before one lie turns into a bigger one, and then an even bigger one and so on and so on."

Flack didn't respond. Instead he took a sip of his coffee and stared the IAB investigator dead in the eye.

"Fine then," Malley said and reached for a file folder sitting to his left. "Let me show you a little something here. A little something that tells me you're lying. Let me show that to you, followed by a huge something."

He flipped open the folder and pulled out a piece of computer paper and laid it on the table, facing Flack.

"This is a letter, to your Inspector, from Detective Jessica Angell. It's a letter requesting a transfer and giving very detailed reasons on why she wanted out of here. She states in this letter that you and her broke up because of a sexual relationship you were having with Samantha Ross while you and her were still together."

"We never…."

"And these," Malley continued, cutting Flack off as he slid a set of photographs from the folder as well. "Are photos that were sent to your Inspector, by a Private Investigator named Anthony Martino. Is any of this starting to make sense to you, Detective Flack?"

Flack shook his head in disbelief.

Malley took it as denial. "Martino sent these to your superior officer, claiming that you hauled him in here on a bogus jay walking charge and then proceeded to threaten him. That you warned him if he ever followed or spied on you and your girlfriend ever again, that you'd have his ass. And that's an exact quote. Do you see where there's a problem here, detective? You tell me she's just a friend when I have proof that there's a whole lot more to it then that. These here are the tame pictures. Want me to get into the more hard core ones? See if they knock some sense into you?"

"No," Flack snapped, then fought to get himself under control. "Okay, so she's my girlfriend. So what? What does that have to do with anything? When we're at work, it's strictly professional. We concentrate on our cases and that's it."

"That's not what a Kendall Novak told us," Malley told him.

Flack snorted and shook his head in disgust. "You people work fast," he said.

"You know Kendall Novak, don't you? She's a lab tech."

"It's called a criminologist," Flack corrected smugly. "And yeah…I know her."

"She was telling us that she walked in on something very interesting today. You and Detective Ross looking mighty cozy in the ballistics lab."

"I don't know what she saw, or what she thought she saw," Flack told the other man. "But nothing happened. We were discussing our case. That's it. And the fact that you sit there, taking the word of a woman whose fucked nearly every guy up there and has done it in and around the lab, over me, makes me sick. I've had one incident with you people. One! Did you ever think of checking how many times she's been hauled up on the carpet with Mac Taylor about things? Everyone knows she's a pathological liar. And you believe her over me?"

"Detective Flack," Malley breathed a patient sigh. "You've lied nearly half a dozen times to me since we sat down. You're hardly one to talk."

"Fine," Flack conceded defeat. "Samantha Ross and I are in a relationship. We're boyfriend and girlfriend. We have intimate relations. We're planning on moving in together. There's the whole story. And yeah, I threatened Anthony Martino. Because I don't really appreciate the fact that there's photos out there, of me and my girlfriend engaging in oral sex. Would you like something like that?"

"We're not talking about me," Malley responded. "We're talking about…"

"Me and Samantha Ross," Flack concluded. "So we're involved. Who cares? What does that have to do with anything? I can have a relationship with whomever I want."

"Not when it affects your job," the other man said. "You work for the New York City Police Department. Your loyalty lies with us. And if you can't focus on the job because of some girl…"

"I do my job just goddamn fine," Flack snapped. "Samantha has nothing to do with this."

"She processed the ballistics evidence," Malley shot back. "You were in the room with her at the time! The two of you were discussing the case! She told you the make and the model of the gun used!"

"So?" Flack asked.

"So it just so happens to be an exact match to the make and model owned by your father. One that was stolen months ago. And you didn't think about mentioning that to her?"

"I told you!" Flack yelled, slamming his hands down on the table. "I didn't know! I didn't know it was the same gun! I don't talk about shit like that with my father!"

"Did Samantha Ross ever tell you at any point in time that your father and your sister were both brought up as persons of interest in this case?" Malley asked.

"No! She took a phone call and then told me when she got into the car that Detective Taylor needed her back at the lab, ASAP."

"And she never once mentioned your sister and your father?"

"No!" Flack bellowed. "I brought her back here and that was it! Nothing was said!"

"The problem we have here, Detective Flack, is that I think you're lying to protect her. Because you know that her work and her ethics are now in question."

Flack shook his head. "I am telling you the truth. She never told me."

"How do I know that you didn't tell her about the gun?" Malley asked. "How do I know that you didn't tell her and together the two of you came up with a plan to keep that information from everyone else involved. To obstruct the investigation."

"Because we wouldn't do that," Flack spat.

"And how do I know that she didn't tell you about your father and your sister to prepare you for coming in here?"

Flack shook his head.

"Or better yet, how do I know she didn't keep the info to herself to protect you from getting upset?"

"Because Sammie…" Flack caught himself and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Because Detective Ross wouldn't do that. I am telling you the truth. I didn't know that that gun matched anything of my father's. She didn't tell me about my old man or my sister. That is the truth."

Malley sighed and shuffled papers and photographs together and stuffed them back into the folder. "We'll be talking to Detective Ross," he said. "Because of your involvement with her, all her work regarding this case is being called into question and very well may be tossed out by a judge. So for your sake, Detective Flack, you better hope that she coberates everything you just told me."

"I'm not lying," Flack insisted. "She'll prove that to you."

"Well we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Malley gave a smug smile. "In the meantime, you're off this case. Personally I'd like to see you behind your desk again with no gun and no shield. But seeing as you didn't exactly beat someone to death or push them off a chair hard enough to kill them…"

Flack wasn't going to dignify that with a response. He pushed his chair away from the table noisily and stood up and made for the door.

"And let me just say one more thing," Malley called to him, as Flack and Scagnetti made for the door.

"By all means," Flack said with a polite smile, as his partner opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"By the end of today, one of you won't be working here anymore," the Investigator told him. "So have a nice long think about that, detective."

"Go fuck yourself," Flack said and stepped out of the room. "Have a nice long think about that." He slammed the door behind him with enough force to nearly shatter the glass.

Malley smirked to himself and took a sip of his own coffee.

One down, one more to go.


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

Special thanks to:

Laurzz

Hope4sall

Laplandgurl

muchmadness

Afrozenheart412

Delko's Girl 88

HighQueenReicheru

Forest Angel

Wolfeylady

Soccer-bitch