DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. AND I AM AWARE, AS ALL OF YOU ARE, THAT SAM ISN'T ON THE SHOW. OBVIOUSLY, I OWN HER.
A/N: THIS IS AN OC FIC, AS I AM SURE YOU ALL KNOW BY NOW ;) BUT I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT IF YOU'RE NOT AN OC FAN, THERE'S REALLY NO SENSE WASTING YOUR TIME READING MY STORIES. SO WHILE I THANK ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR CONSTANT SUPPORT, I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE THAT ANYONE JUST LOOKING TO TOSS ABUSE AT ME AND ESPECIALLY MY READERS TO JUST KINDLY FIND THEIR WAY OFF OF MY STORIES. SURELY THERE'S SOMETHING BETTER AND MORE PRODUCTIVE YOU CAN BE DOING WITH YOUR TIME OTHER THEN INSULTING PEOPLE. THERE'S THOUSANDS OF OTHER STORIES I AM SURE YOU'LL LOVE AND THAT DON'T INCLUDE SAM. SHE IS IN NO WAY TAKING OVER THE FANDOM. ALL THE GREAT STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE PROOF TO THAT. THERE'S ENOUGH HATE IN THE WORLD, FOLKS. THERE'S NO REASON FOR IT TO EXIST IN A FICTIONAL WORLD, TOO. THANKS!
SO THIS CHAPTER AND THIS STORY IN GENERAL, ARE DEDICATED TO MY PHENOMENAL READERS. WHO HAVE ALWAYS SUPPORTED ME AND NEVER SHIED AWAY FROM EXPRESSING THAT SUPPORT, OR THEIR LOVE FOR THE CHARACTERS AND THE STORIES. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL OF YOU.
THANKS TO IMASUPERNATURALCSI. THE MAJORITY OF THE DANNY AND FLACK CONVO AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER WAS INSPIRED BY THE INCREDIBLE PM SHE SENT ME YESTERDAY! CHEERS TO YOU, HUN!
One baby, two 'brothers'
"Well I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind
I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time
But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah
I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
After all I knew it had to be something to do with you
I really don't mind what happens now and then
As long as you'll be my friend at the end
And if I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might
Kryptonite
You call me strong, you call me weak
But still your secrets I will keep
You took for granted all the times
I never let you down
You stumbled in and bumped your head
If not for me then you'd be dead
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground."
-Kryptonite, Three Doors Down
Mac had taken the liberty to order that a uniformed officer be stationed around the clock outside of Hunter Gates' private room on the fourth floor of Angel of Mercy Hospital. The paediatric ward was enveloped in a peaceful veil of tranquility. The lights in the hallways and at the nurses station had been dimmed for the night. Just enough to give patients proper conditions to sleep in, but not enough to compromise the work the nurses still had to tend to. Rooms were shrouded in near darkness. The only source of light the faint glow cast by medical equipment parked at bedsides and illuminating innocent, angelic faces. The only sounds trickling down the corridors were the nurses speaking in hushed, respectful volumes at the front desk, the click of a computer keyboard, and the soft beeping of monitors inside various rooms.
"This place makes me nervous," Sam whispered to her husband, as they headed hand in hand, posing a united front, towards the young officer sitting in a chair outside of Hunter's room.
The uniform was a fresh face. Neither Flack or Sam had seen the kid before. His long, lean legs were stretched out in front of him as he sipped a take out cup of coffee with one hand, and read a wrinkled, ancient Time magazine with the other. He had broad shoulders and a thick, well muscled neck. His vibrant green eyes a stark contrast to the café au lait colour of his skn. He obviously hadn't been out of the academy or out on the streets very long. There wasn't a thread out of place on his crisp uniform or a scuff on his highly polished black boots.
"Why's it make you nervous?" Flack asked. Although he had to admit, he was pretty damn nervous himself. He had promised himself he'd be the calm, cool and collected one. That he'd keep his emotions in check and handle whatever was thrown at him with ease. It was a well known fact that Sam was the emotional and overly sensitive one. That he was the rock of that relationship. And now was not the time to let her down.
"Because we've been in and out of the hospital with Kellan so much that I just…it creeps me out. Brings back way too many memories. Unwelcome memories."
Flack nodded in agreement. There'd been way too many sleepless nights spent on a roll out cot by his daughter's hospital bed for his liking. And he hoped that there wouldn't be any medical worries, at least on the twins' behalf, any time in the near future. Sam on the other hand…well she was another story all in herself.
"Well let's just hope that we can get out of here as soon as possible," he said, giving his wife a reassuring smile as she looked up at him. "That we can just sign whatever we need to sign and take the baby home and get on with our lives. Sound good?"
She gave a nervous smile. "And what about Jordan?" she asked.
"What about her?"
"You already said that Mac was going to send someone over her to take your prints and a formal statement." Sam fretted. "I can't honestly believe that they would think you'd ever do something like that."
"No one thinks I did anything, babe. They know me. They know what kind of person I am. What I'm all about. So they know that I'm not capable of killing someone. They just need to cover all the bases, exhaust all their leads. Make sure that all their I's are dotted and all their T's are crossed. It's all about covering asses. Theirs and mine. You know all of this. You've done the job for how many years?"
"I know…" she sighed. "I just…it's hard to grasp when it's hitting so close to home. When it's personal the cop side of my brain completely switches off and I just concentrate on the concerned wife and mother side of me. Whereas with you.."
"All cop, all the time," he mused.
"I'm just a little freaked out that this has even happened," she admitted. "And the thought of people looking at you suspiciously because you've coughed up your prints and…"
"Only thing that my prints and a statement are going to do is show to the brass that Mac's running a tight ship," Flack told her. "That he's all business with this case. He's not showing any favourites by letting me off with no questions asked."
"But who do you think could have done it, Donnie? I mean you…" Sam chose her words carefully. "…spent time with her. Did she ever talk about having any enemies? People that might have an axe to grind against her? A score to settle?"
Grinning down at her, Flack released her hand and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders. Pulling her tight into his side, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You going all detective on me now?" he teased. "You going to analyze the evidence? Put me through an interrogation? Use Japanese water torture on me? Or are you going to bring out the cattle prod and the rack?"
She frowned. "How can you even be cracking jokes at a time like this?" she asked.
"I figure now is as good a time as any," he replied. "If we can't find some humour in the midst of all this headache and stress, we're liable to go goddamn insane."
"Too late for that," she muttered, slipping her arm underneath the back of his winter jacket and curling it around his waist.
"Can I help you?" the uniform officer asked, his eyes riveted on his magazine as the couple stopped in front of him.
"We're here to see Hunter Gates," Sam replied.
"No visitors allowed," the young man told her. "It's why I'm here. Keep everyone out. Especially the press. Word got out about the murder and the baby being left behind…those vultures have been hovering around ever since."
"Do we look like reporters?" Flack inquired. "Do you see press passes or cameras hanging around our necks?"
"I just know what I was told," the young man sighed. "No letting anyone inside. Anyone."
Sam frowned, and reaching into the back pocket of her husband's jeans, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. "How's this for a all access pass?" she asked, as she knocked the magazine out of the officer's grasp with one hand and shoved the badge and identification in his face.
The uniform looked at the items in front of him, his eyes widening at the sight of the badge and at the information printed on the department ID. The chair scraping noisily against the worn tiles as he quickly jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he stammered and stuttered, easily intimidated by not only Flack's physical appearance, but the cold blue eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. "I had no idea that…"
"If you had have pulled your face out of your magazine long enough to take a peek at that there," Flack nodded down at the clipboard sitting underneath the young man's chair. "You would have checked on that list you got going there and saw our names instead of sitting here with your thumb up your ass and that useless twit expression on your face, wasting our time."
The young officer appeared terrified. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes trembled.
Sam coughed noisily to break the tension and snapped the wallet closed and slipped it back into Flack's back pocket. "Is it okay for us to go?" she asked in polite, friendly voice.
The uniform nodded. "Kid's been screaming non stop for an hour," he commented, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "I don't know what's going on but I wish they'd just…"
"I'd keep your mouth shut if I were you," Sam suggested, and turned towards the door.
"You're lucky I'm not that much of an asshole," Flack said. "Even more lucky that I don't call your CO and make sure he has you writing parking tickets for the rest of your life."
The officer swallowed noisily. "Lieutenant, I.."
Flack held up a hand to silence him and dismissed him with a long, hard glare.
"Meanie," Sam whispered to her husband, as he joined her at the door.
"Think I made him piss himself?" Flack asked with an amused grin.
"A couple of more minutes and I'm pretty sure you would have. Are you ready for this, Donnie? This is…it's a huge step. We're going to be bringing a baby home with us tonight. Are you prepared for that?"
"Not really," he admitted. "Are you?"
Sam shook her head.
He placed a kiss to the back of her head, and wrapping an arm around her neck, pulled her back against his chest and pressed his lips to her ear. "Together," he whispered. "We're in this together."
She managed a small smile and reached for the handle on the door.
Now or never, she thought.
Flack felt rooted to the spot he now stood in. Barely a foot in the door, he'd caught one sight of the baby crying and failing in the confines of a cold, metal hospital grade crib and felt as if he couldn't move. His breath caught in his lungs and his heart pounded in his chest as he came face to face with the monumental fuck up that he'd made months before. He suddenly hated himself all over again. Ashamed by what he had done. What he'd put his family through and what he knew they still had yet to face. Yet he couldn't deny the emotion that tugged at him at the sight of that tiny baby, a mess of thick, black hair covering his head and his face bright red and his tiny hands balled into tight fists as he screamed loud enough to wake the dead. It took Flack back to many nights five years ago, standing at the side of a crib in a cramped apartment in lower Manhattan, talking softly and calmly to one, or sometimes even both, of his daughters as they cried relentlessly.
He vividly remembered picking them up and cuddling them tightly and either walking the floors with them until they calmed down, or peeling them out of their sleeper and then taking off his own shirt before sitting down in the glider chair by the window. Where he'd sit for an hour, a baby against his chest. Bare skin pressed against bare skin. Kangaroo care, the doctor had called it. Flack had scoffed at the idea of 'bonding' in such a fashion with his newborn daughters. Only to have to bite his tongue when he realized how well the technique worked at soothing both girls. Five years later, he realized that those late night hours he'd spent with his baby girls had been ultimately precious. And irreplaceable.
Yet those fatherly instincts and skills had temporarily abandoned him. And Flack felt completely and utterly useless as he felt his wife's hand slip from his grasp and watched as she made her way to the crib across the room. Where a weary, frazzled Child Protection Services agent smiled warmly and held out a welcoming hand.
"You must be Mr and Mrs Flack," she said. "I'm Margaret Pierce. I'm in charge of Hunter's care and well being."
"I'm Samantha," the petite brunette shook the hand offered to her. "And this is my husband, Don. He's…" It hurt to actually say it out loud. At least to a complete stranger. And she took a deep breath and steeled herself before continuing. "He's Hunter's father."
Margaret simply nodded and gave a polite smile as she shook Flack's hand. It wasn't her place to judge, or wonder about the problems and strife that existed in peoples' personal lives. She had learned, in her years on the job, that regardless of how happy and in love a couple looked, or no matter how much money someone had or what outside appearances were, issues always existed behind closed doors. No one's life was perfect and problem free. Many good men -and women- made questionable decisions and bad mistakes. People didn't live in a fantasy world where things were roses and sunshine and smooth sailing. No relationship was picture perfect.
You simply couldn't have happily ever after without bumps in the road and tears and heartache.
That was life.
"Detective Taylor told me that you'd be stopping by some time this evening," she said.
"We would have been here sooner," Sam told her, as she unzipped her jacket. Shrugging out of it, she tossed it into one of two nearby chairs. "But the weather is terrible and we had to come all the way from Ridgewood, Queens. Where about ninety percent of the streets haven't been cleared properly."
"We haven't seen this bad a storm in ages," Margaret said. "It's a wonder you could even get here."
"Well, we're a determined bunch," Sam told her with a grin, pulling her over sized NYPD sweatshirt down over her hips before taking the bold move of reaching for the release latch on the side of the crib and lowering the railing. "Is he okay?" she asked. "He wasn't hurt or anything?"
"He wasn't injured," Margaret assured her. "The doctor's given him a clean bill of health. But the crying…it's been non stop. He won't sleep, won't settle down for anyone that holds him. He won't even take a soother or a bottle."
"When was the last time he had something to eat?" Sam asked, and reaching into the crib, gently and soothingly stroked the baby's back and hair.
"Six hours ago."
Her eyebrows shot up. "That's not good. Not good at all, is it little one?" she ran a hand over his silky black hair and trailed a fingertip down his nose. "You need to eat, sweet pea," she said, smiling down at that innocent life before her. "You need to eat so you can grow up big and strong like your daddy. You're such a handsome boy. All your hair and your beautiful blue eyes. You even have the same ears and chin and lips as your sisters. Same dimple, too," she lightly touched each part she named. "You look just like them."
Flack cleared his throat noisily and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He felt…suffocated. As if the walls were quickly threatening to close in on him. Seeing his wife bonding and accepting Jordan's son was surreal. And overwhelming.
Sam suddenly gave a laugh. The musical sound filling the room and breaking the tension. "He's definitely hungry," she said to the CPS agent. "He's got my baby finger in his mouth and he won't give it back."
"Could it be a colicky cry?" Margaret asked as she approached the crib. "I never was blessed to have my own children so I wouldn't know one cry from the other."
"I doubt it is," Sam replied, and finally managing to remove her finger from the baby's mouth, scooped him up into her arms. "We have twin daughters at home," she said, as she settled Hunter against his chest. Holding him with one hand on the back of his head and the other under his behind, she pressed kisses to the side of his head and attempted to console him. "Both of our girls were colicky. Big time. And all the time. And that's a cry you never forget. I think he's just tired and hungry and missing his mommy. Even someone your wee size knows your mommy right?" she nuzzle his ear and breathed in his powdery, intoxicating scent. "The officers who brought him here must have brought along a baby bag," she commented. "Maybe there's something in there that has his mom's scent to it."
"They did," Margaret confirmed. "But the only things inside were some diapers, a change of clothes and a burp towel. The nurses have been supplying the formula. The bottle on the bedside table is still fresh, in fact."
"Well we'll just have to see if we can get some food into you, sweet pea," Sam spoke lovingly to the baby. "You smell so good and so yummy. I could just eat you up. Cuddle you and kiss you and call you mine."
Flack looked over at the smiling CPS agent. "My wife has a thing with babies," he said.
"I love babies," Sam gushed. "The way they smell and the little noises they make and their tiny feet and hands and ears. He's got your ears, baby. He looks just like you. Just like Kellan and Kallison did at this age."
"Those are your daughters?' Margaret asked, as she fetched the baby bag from underneath the crib and zipped it open.
"Twins," Sam replied. "Identical twins. They're five going on fifteen."
Flack nodded in agreement from where he lingered by the door. Feeling like a complete outcast as he watched, with the utmost love and pride, as his wife so effortlessly and patiently, bonded with his son. He was content to just stand and observe. In no way ready to take that next step himself.
"How about this?" Margaret asked, as she held aloft a slightly soiled burp towel.
Sam leaned over and sniffed it. Pleased to find there was a feminine, floral scent lingering on the fabric. "I think that might do it," she replied, and then moved over to the rocker in the corner. "Just put it over my shoulder and across my chest, if you don't mind," she said to the other woman, then reached for the bottle on the table next to her. "We'll see if it helps at all."
Margaret nodded in agreement and proceeded to drape the towel across one of Sam's shoulders and down her chest.
"It's going to be okay, Hunter," Sam whispered to the baby, running her thumb across his ear and then switching his position in her arms so his cheek was pressed against the towel. She closed her own eyes, began to rock back and forth and held her breath in nervous anticipation. Within moments the piercing, heart breaking crying slowly calmed to a whimper.
Flack breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"Good boy," Sam opened her eyes and smiled down at the infant. "That's all you needed, huh? To feel close to mommy? Your sisters used to be like that when they were babies. They used to wake up in the middle of the night and your daddy would be at work and they'd never settle down for me. So you know what I would do? Take one of his shirts out of the laundry and put it on. So that I smelled like him. And it worked every single time. Now do you think we could try a bottle, love?"
In response, the baby rubbed his face against her breast.
Sam giggled. "Well I'm afraid I can't do THAT for you," she said. "Those days are long, long gone I'm afraid. So how about we try this?" she ran the nipple of the bottle along his lips, encouraging him to take it into his mouth. "It's good stuff. Not what you're used to, but perfect for growing boys like you."
After a few attempts, Hunter finally opened his mouth and accepted the bottle. A tiny fist opening, and then closing tightly on Sam's sweatshirt, just over her left breast.
"You are definitely your father's son if that's where you want to keep your hand," she quipped.
Flack couldn't help but laugh at that. Her wry comment cutting through his frayed nerves and the tension inhabiting his body.
"Detective Taylor said that you were bringing copies of the statement of live birth and DNA results," Margaret said quietly, as she approached him. "We need to see them and compare them to records we were given by Ms Gates' attorney."
Flack nodded in understanding, and unzipping his coat, reached inside and pulled an envelope from the inside pocket. "Is he going to have to stay overnight?" he asked, as he held out the papers.
"I just need to have these verified and make some phone calls to make sure things are all in order. Legally we need to have all of our ducks in row. It should only be a couple of hours. After that, if we're given the all clear, you and your wife will be able to take him home with you."
"I should call Adam," Flack told Sam. "Let him know we're probably going to be pretty late."
She nodded and looked over at where he stood. She knew he wasn't ready. That everything was happening so fast and so soon that his head was spinning and his stomach tied up in agonizing knots. And that was okay. He'd take it one step at a time. Deep down inside, that hard ass homicide detective was human just like everyone else. He experienced fear and uncertainty and moments of profound sadness. He ached and bled just like everyone else. He just had a knack of hiding his trials and tribulations and his emotions very, very well. Few people experienced seeing the 'real' Don Flack Jr. And most say right through his smart ass, tough guy façade.
She smiled. A warm, loving smile that let him know that it was going to be okay. That she was there and Hunter was there. They weren't going anywhere. Ever. And that one smile was enough to nearly crumble those walls he'd long ago learned how to erect so quickly and effortlessly.
"Take your time," she said, and then turned her attention back to the baby. "We're enjoying getting to know each other."
He gave a small smile and managed to tear himself away from his place by the door. Crossing the room, he paused by the side of her chair and ran a hand softly down her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He stole a glance down at his son and felt…fear. It was fear. Not of the child himself, but of what he represented. A long, difficult road in the past.
But it's not his fault, Flack, he reminded himself. He didn't ask for this. He's innocent.
He reached out and ran a hand over the baby's hair. His baby's hair.
Sam noticed the way her husband's hand trembled but said nothing. He was dealing. And dealing admirably well given the circumstances. That simple touch was a giant leap for him.
"I'll be back," he told her, and kissed her temple before backing away and heading for the door.
"We'll be here," she assured him.
Flack paused in the doorway and stole on last glance at his wife and his son.
Their son.
That thought brought a genuine smile to his face and tears to his eyes. Choking back the lump of emotion that swelled in his throat, he turned away and stepped out into the hallway.
Someone had brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the parents lounge located at the back of the ward. Something that Flack would be eternally grateful for. When he had walked in, he'd been greeted by the curious eyes of exhausted, weary and worried parents that lingered in the spacious, welcoming room. With it's pale green carpeting and it's cream walls and brightly patterned wall paper, the lounge was a retreat for those dealing with their child's hospitalization. A massive aquarium, inhabited by a wide range of tropical fish, bubbled noisily across the room that was decorated with several hunter green couches and chairs and light wood tables. There was a plasma television mounted on the wall near the door and a full service kitchen.
From his experiences in Women and Children's for both his wife's and his daughters stays, Flack had learned to appreciate having a safe haven. A place where he could be away from medical equipment and countless and relentless tests and doctors speaking a language he didn't understand. He had also learned, from being in the company of other parents, that things could always be worse then what you were experiencing. When he'd been at the lowest of lows when Kellan was constantly ill, he'd been brought back down to the brass tactics of life by meeting mothers and fathers of children with horrific, incurable diseases and severe disabilities. He'd met people who children weren't expected to ever get out of the hospital. Not alive, anyway. He had made friends and attended funerals for kids taken long before their time. And he'd gotten cards and updates from dads who were keeping him in the loop on their son's or daughter's progress. Silently rejoicing when he received word that one of the kids' he'd come to know had been released from the hospital and on their road to recovery.
Most of all, he learned that life was short. To never take it, or the people in your life, for granted. Anything could happen in the blink of an eye.
And it could always be so much worse. His children were healthy -for the most part- and alive. They still drew air into their lungs and woke up in the morning with their blue eyes bright and ready to meet another day head on. They still greeted him every time he walked through the door with their cries of "Daddy!". And their hugs and kisses and the time he spent with them were precious. Moments he relished because he knew that it could all be taken away. And that they grew up so fast.
He'd poured himself a mug of coffee and left the lounge. He wasn't in the mood to engage in conversations. What he needed was to sit somewhere, quiet and alone, and get his head in order. So he retreated down the hall to a bench across from the elevators, where he could both think, and use his cell phone to call home.
"Who dis?" Kellan answered on the fourth ring.
Flack frowned. More at the time of night and the fact that she was still awake as opposed to her rude greeting.
"What are you doing up still?" he inquired.
"Hi, daddy!" she chirped. Completely ignoring his question. "Where are you? Are you at work? Are you catching bad guys? Where's mommy?"
"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked. "When mommy and I left, you were with Kallison and Amanda."
"I woke up," Kellan informed him. "I was thirsty and needed a drink. So Uncle Peanut gave me one. And then I couldn't get back to sleep 'cause Holly and I were hungry. So Uncle Peanut let us have a cookie."
"And you're not back in bed because…?"
"'Cause Uncle Peanut said that you and mommy had to go out and do something 'portant. I got worried. I can't sleep when I'm worried, daddy."
"There's nothing to worry about, pumpkin," he assured her. "Nothing at all. I'm fine. Mommy's fine. We're just going to be a little later then we first thought. So I need you to go back to bed and get some sleep. Okay?"
"Okay…where are you, daddy? Where's mommy?"
"We're taking care of some business," he told her.
"'Portant business?" Kellan asked curiously.
"Very important business," Flack replied. "And when you and Kallison wake up tomorrow, mommy and I are going to have a big surprise for you two."
"A sa-pize?" she giggled. "I love sa-pizes."
"Well if you want this surprise you have to go back to bed and stay there, alright? I need you to be a good girl for Uncle Peanut. Can you do that?"
"I think so," Kellan said. "What kind of sa-pize is it, daddy?"
"It won't be a surprise if I tell you. Now let me talk to your Uncle and you go back to bed."
"Okay…I love you, daddy. Bunches."
He smiled and sipped his coffee. "I love you, too, Kellan. Bunches and bunches."
"Bye!" she cried.
There was a soft rustling as the phone was passed from one hand to the other. Followed by Adam's calm, quiet voice suggesting that Kellan and Holly get back to bed. Before he called Santa to come and take back all of their presents.
"Stone cold threats," Flack chuckled into the phone. "Smooth, Ross. I'm proud."
"Whatever works," Adam said with a sigh. "How are…things?"
"Things are going okay," Flack told him. "We're going to be a few hours I think. There's things to sign and the CPS lady needs to verify that the papers I brought are legit."
"And the baby?" Adam asked. Sounding as if it pained him to even consider it, let alone say it.
"He's fine. He wasn't hurt or anything. He's just…a little out of sorts not being with his mom I guess."
"And Sam?"
"She's doing good. Better then me, actually. Look Adam, I know this is really weird. And I know how pissed off you were with me when I did what I did, and you've got every right to hate me 'cause of what's gone down. But I really need someone here. Someone that will be there for me. 'Cause this is intense and surreal and I…" Flack took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I don't know if I can do this."
There was silence on the other end.
"Adam…"
"You can do this, Don," the younger man assured him. "You're a strong person. You can do this. And you will. Just like I'm going to be able to deal with all of this shit with Paisley. And you know when I'm going to be okay? 'Cause I have you to help me through it. Just like I'm going to be there for you through this. Yeah…you pissed me off when you hurt my sister. There were times I even thought of how nice it would be to kill you over it. But the fact is, she loves you. And you love her and you have a family and the two of you worked through all of that. And what I see now…well that makes it all seem a little better."
"Just a little," Flack sighed.
"A little is a start right? Better then nothing."
Flack couldn't argue with that. He looked up at the sound of the chime signalling the arrival of the elevators. The doors slid open and he gave a small smile in greeting as Danny and Lindsay, accompanied by Detective Bernstein, stepped out.
"I've got to go," he said into the phone. "I'll call you if we're going to be really late."
"I'll be here," Adam said, and disconnected the call.
Flack pressed end and snapped his phone closed. Then stood up as the trio approached him.
"Back working already?" he teased Lindsay, as she propped herself up on her tip toes and embraced him.
"I just tagged along," she said, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks. "I figured while you guys were doing the cop thing, I could keep Sam company. She's down with the baby?"
Flack nodded. "Room 414. Just tell that moron uni out front you're a friend of mine if he gives you a hard time. Sorry about the whole having to come back from Lake Placid thing."
Lindsay waved it off. "Family is far more important," she said, and giving Danny a small kiss in farewell, started off down the hall.
"I take it you guys aren't here for a social call," Flack quipped, taking in the crime scene processing kit in Danny's hand and the notebook already open in Berstein's. The latter was a phenomenal detective. Thorough, precise. And took no shit from anyone.
"I need to take an official statement," Bernstein said, reluctance tingeing his voice. "Danny needs to process you. Take some prints, measure your hands. That type of thing. Up to you which we do first."
"Let's get the processing over and done with," Flack decided.
"I'll go and talk to the nurses and the CPS agent," Bernstein said, and promptly left the two men alone.
"I really hate the fact that I have to be the one to do this," Danny told his best friend, as Flack led the way to the darkened quiet room across the hall.
"Last thing I wanted to do was fuck up your plans with your wife," Flack assured him, and flicked on the lights.
"I don't mean that," Danny told him, closing the door. "I mean that I hate to be the one that has to come here and treat you like a common criminal. We all know that you had nothing to do with this, Flack. This is just utter fucking bullshit."
"You gotta do what you gotta do." Flack said, and sat down at the only table in the room.
"Doesn't mean it's not crap," Danny concluded, and setting his kit on the table, snapped it open. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on.
No words were exchanged between the best friends as the CSI busied himself with taking Flack's fingerprints cheek and swabbing the back of his wedding ring to check for Jordan Gates' DNA. Sealing the cotton swab inside of a plastic test tube, Danny stowed it and the prints inside of his kit before pulling out computer generated photograph Hawkes had made of the perp's hands based on the measurements of the bruises on Jordan's neck.
"Just put your hands on there," he instructed. "Palms down."
Flack simply nodded and laid his hands down on the photo.
Danny pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and used it to trace around Flack's hands. Then capping the pen, nodded to say that he was finished and then folded the paper and slipped it into his kit.
"You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking tonight," he said, as he closed his kit and sat down beside his best friend. "About what went down between you and Jordan…"
Flack sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.
"Let me just finish," Danny implored. "I'm not hear to judge you, Don. Or say anything nasty. We both did enough of that months ago. I've just been thinking. Or comparing I should say. Comparing what you did with her to what I did with Rikki. And I know you're going to argue and say they're two completely different things. And that we did what we did for two completely different reasons. But let's face it, Flack. We both fucked up. Doesn't matter why or how. We just did. There isn't anyone that was in the right with what they did. And I just want you to know that when I compare us…it's not 'cause I think we're alike or what we did is the same. It's more because it makes me realize that it's wrong no matter how we try to justify it. What we both did was wrong and we're complete fuck ups for it."
Flack sipped his coffee but didn't respond.
"People can say what they want. Not everyone cheats. But what is it? Forty percent of the population? If not more? That does cheat? Things happen. People screw up and make messes of their lives. This isn't some goddamn fairy tale where everything is perfect and life is wonderful and there's nothing bad that ever happens. Fuck, can you imagine how boring life would be if every relationship was awesome? If no one ever faced crisis' or screwed up? How dull would that be?"
"Would be a lot easier on your sanity," Flack mused.
"Maybe," Danny said and shrugged. "But that's like saying it would be a lot easier on the sanity if we never took chances. If we never got involved with anyone. Love is hard work, Flack. You know that. Love can bring you to your goddamn knees sometimes. And it's moments like that…I don't know. I guess I feel that it's the less then stellar and perfect moments that build character. That teach people what real love is all about. That if you can get through all that crap and still be in love, then all the bullshit and heart ache is worth it."
A smile tugged at the corner of Flack's lips. "Have you been drinking, Messer?" he asked.
Danny snorted and waved the question off. "What doesn't kill us will make us stronger," he said. "I truly believe that. Think about everything we've learned about Lindsay and Sam in the years we've been with them. We're still learning. Every day. And you can't learn anything about someone without having to deal with shit. 'Cause when you're dealing with shit, you're finding out just how strong you, and they are."
"You have been drinking," Flack told him.
"Whatever…" Danny scoffed. "I'm just putting in my two cents and then some. Think about it though, Flack. All the years we've been with those girls? There's definitely been more great times then shitty times. And the shitty times…well it makes for great drama, doesn't it? We could be in our own television show. As the World Turns According to Messer and Flack. Or some shit like that."
The detective laughed at that.
"We'd kick ass in ratings and reviews," Danny grinned. "Two incredibly handsome leading men. Who could resist watching something like that? Gotta love the angst. The whole soap opera shit that goes on in life. You know why?"
"Enlighten me," Flack said. "Go ahead. You've been doing it non stop for ten minutes now."
"Think about the shows on television these days. You're more likely to see the crap ass relationships then the perfect ones right? It's like life. And you know why they show that shit? 'Cause if you've ever noticed, wherever there's incredible angst and shit, there's an even better makeup scene at the end of the hour."
Flack laughed and shook his head. "You're insane, Messer. Legitimately, certifiably insane."
"Maybe just a bit," Danny concluded. "But this is our lives, Flack. This is what we chose and who we chose. And like television or books, if people don't like it then they can turn the damn channel or just pick something else to read."
"You know, Dan-o…" Flack said as he nodded slowly. "There are times you're talking serious and there's nothing but crap coming out of your mouth. And then there's time that it seems as if you're talking nothing but nonsense shit and in reality, you're cutting right to the core. And this is one of those times."
"Bet it makes you glad that we're friends, huh?" Danny asked, giving Flack a playful punch to the arm before picking up the detective's coffee and helping himself to half of it.
"Makes me glad that you're my brother," Flack replied, sincerity oozing out of his blue eyes.
Danny smiled and reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his best friend's shoulder.
"Your brother is here, Don," he promised. "For as long as you need him to be."
A huge thank you goes out to all of you who are reading and enjoying this and my other stories. I am truly grateful for all of the wonderful readers and fans that I have. You are all a great blessing and I appreciate all your support and kind words.
Hugs and kisses to all. Even the lurkers!
Please R and R folks!
Special thanks to:
Laurzz
Hope4sall
afrozenheart412
HighQueenReicheru (prays and hugs to you, doll)
GregRox
Rebandmel
Soccer-bitch
Delko's Girl88
xsamiliciousx
Wolfeylady
Forest Angel
