DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OBVIOUSLY. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK.

THANKS TO AFROZENHEART412 FOR PASSING ALONG THE AWESOME SONG AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER



Where the heart belongs

"Hello world
Hope you're listening
Forgive me if I`m young
For speaking out of turn
There`s someone I`ve been missing
I think that they could be
The better half of me
They`re in their own place trying to make it right
But I`m tired of justifying
So I say you`ll..

Come home
Come home
'Cause I`ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I`ve ever known
So come home."
-Come Home, OneRepublic


In the silence of the cavernous basement of the New York City Crime Lab, Mac Taylor stood before the glass wall that separated him from the offices of the Chief Medical Examiner. His stomach a hallow, aching pit and his nerves and emotions a shattered mess. While outwardly he displayed his usual stern, collected and unshakable demeanour, inside he was falling apart. Anger, grief and years of memories surged through him as he quietly watched the actions of the young coroner he'd had to call in to perform the autopsy. After Sid had balked and Mac had had to force the man to go home when his grief became to severe, Mac in turn had called in the one and only ME who didn't have personal ties to members of his team.

Karen Billings was only here years out of her formal training, but she had once been the star of the show at the Detroit Medical Examiner's Office. When Sid had needed more help in the overburdened New York City morgue and personal circumstances had found Karen seeking new employment, Sid had gone to the Motor City himself to recruit her. Mac had never once questioned the man's decision. While she was young, Karen was professional, thorough and precise.

Which was why she was perfect for the job that had been entrusted to her. She knew Hawkes and the other members of the team only in passing. She had no personal or emotional ties to any of them, and Mac trusted her explicitly. And as she stood alongside of Sheldon Hawkes' body as he lay on a cold, metal slab, naked and covered to the chin by a crisp, white sheets, she paused in the notes she was jotting down on the clipboard in her hands, raised her head and glanced over to where Mac stood, his hands planted firmly on his hips. Their eyes met and locked and she gave a small, sympathetic smile before going back to her work.

Sighing heavily, Mac ran a hand over his weary face, the up and over his head. Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest as his fingers firmly worked at releasing some of the tremendous tension that knotted the muscles in the back of his neck. It was the first time he'd ever lost a member of his team. During active duty, that was. While Aiden's death had rocked him and tore off a small piece of his heart, nailing DJ Pratt had lessened the severity of his grief. As had the stark realization that in a way, Aiden had voluntarily put herself in harms way but launching her own private investigation against Pratt. She hadn't deserved what had happened to her. Eleven years later it still pained Mac to think about her death. He even still kept a framed photograph of them together on his desk.

Until that night, Mac had never lost someone on his watch during his entire policing career. He had always prided himself on having a highly skilled, well respected and valuable team. They were second to none and he'd always admired their resilience and determination. Save for the damage that had been done to Danny and Adam at the hands of the Wilder Gang years earlier, injuries -even very minor ones- had been a rare occurrence. His people were careful. Even Danny, who'd once been the quintessential 'fly by the seat of his pants' kind of guy who never thought twice about rushing into a building after a heavily armed perp or offering himself up in a dangerous situation, had completely mellowed since becoming a husband and a father.

But Hawkes…

Mac couldn't accept the fact that out of all people, it was Sheldon lying there, awaiting the young coroner to being his autopsy. Exceptionally intelligent, tremendously gifted and beautifully compassionate Sheldon Hawkes. And Mac couldn't help but think of how many lives the man had touched. How many murderers, even as an ME, that he had helped capture. The families he'd brought solace and closure to. And how many lives would be affected by Hawkes' senseless and tragic death.

With his eyes still closed and his grief threatening to overwhelm him, Mac heard the soft ding down the corridor. The chime announcing the elevator's arrival to the basement. There were footsteps approaching him, shuffling noises along the tiles that grew closer and closer. And moments later he became aware of a presence beside him. Soft breathing and the smell of nicotine mixed with soap and water. It was a scent that had become all too familiar to Mac in the past fourteen years. Something personal that he attributed to just one man. He didn't need to see the face of hear the voice. And for several minutes they stood side by side in silence. Mac's eyes closed and his fingers still working on the back of his neck. The man beside him nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"What are you doing here, Flack?" Mac asked curiously. He knew that The morgue had never been the other man's favourite place. Despite years of seeing blood, gore and death on a constant basis, the detective avoided the basement and the sights and smells that accompanied it like the plaque.

"I was at the hospital," Flack replied. "Headed over there as soon as Maka called me and told me what happened. I wanted to catch up with Mari, offer my condolences and all of that, but Kelli was already with her and the kids and there was a department chaplain there and I…I guess I didn't want to interrupt them. I only would have felt out of place anyway so it was better I didn't."

"Did you see Danny?" Mac asked, ceasing the self administered massage. Pinching the bridge of his noise between his thumb and forefinger, he sighed heavily and raised his head and opened his eyes.

Flack nodded. His hands were shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his blue eyes riveted on the young ME taking notes in the next room. "He was out like a light but I talked to Monroe for a bit. Says he's got a collapsed lung and a nasty concussion. Thank God he's okay. She asked if Sam and I would watch Amanda for a few extra days. To not tell her about what happened. To just let her think her parents are out of town until Linds is ready to tell M&M herself."

"Probably the best way to do it," Mac agreed.

"I don't even know what to tell my own kids," Flack admitted. "Hawkes was like an uncle to them. They called him Uncle Shelly for Christsakes. They were suppose to go and spend the weekend with him and Mari and the kids while Sam and I went to New Jersey. And now they've got this Hunter thing being tossed at them. How are they going to handle hearing Hawkes' is dead on top of that?"

"Give it a few days," the older man suggested. "Wait until the shock and wonderment of having a mysteriously appearing baby brother dumped on them wears off a little. That alone is a huge deal for a five year old. You don't need to overwhelm them with anything else."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Maka told me you were here. That you'd escorted the body personally."

Mac sighed. "It seemed like the proper thing to do," he said. "I had to order Sid home. There was no way he was able to emotionally handle doing Sheldon's autopsy."

"Kinda like when he couldn't do the one on Pino's wife," Flack mused. He nodded in the direction of the woman in the next room. "She just getting started in there?" he asked.

"She's washed the body and sent his personal belongings up to the lab to be processed."

"What about the perp?" the detective asked.

"He's in custody and awaiting arraignment in a cell at Rikers," Mac replied. "He confessed to Jordan's murder. He's going away for the rest of his natural born life."

"He say why he offed her?"

"Jordan's ex husband had nothing to do with it surprisingly enough. The link that Danny and Hawkes found was nothing more than a coincidence. The two men weren't friends and only shared a cell for three weeks. It was enough time for them to learn particulars about each other. Why they were in there, what their family members names were. Jordan's ex, who'd found out that she was having a baby through a visiting sister, had told Grecko that she had been having an affair with a married cop and that she'd gotten pregnant. The ex told me that Grecko started talking about getting the baby away from her. Making a profit off of it."

"The douche bag admit to that?" Flack asked.

"Grecko had partners on the outside. A ring of people that were befriending single, vulnerable expectant mothers. Conning their ways into these women's lives by pretending he was a counsellor from a Pro-Choice clinic who would privately arrange for them to give up their babies upon birth. All it took was ten thousand dollars and the baby was off of their hands the second it was released from the hospital."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"Jordan fell for it hook, line and sinker," Mac sighed. "Only problem was, once she'd gotten some treatment for pre-partum and post-partum depression and she actually got to bond with her son, she reneged on the deal. She called Grecko over to her place. Demanded that he give her all the money back and get out of her life before she called the police. They argued, things got out of hand."

"If he wanted Hunter why didn't he just scoop him up when he had the chance?" Flack wondered aloud.

"He said that when the baby started crying it spooked him. He was worried that the longer the kid cried, it would alert the neighbours. So he took off. It was pure coincidence that he bore a resemblance to you."

"He's lucky he never got a hold of my kid, Mac," the detective's voice was cold and full of vehemence. "He had have touched him at all…" he shook his head, his words trailing off. "And what about Hawkes?" he asked. "How'd this Grecko guy managed to get the drop on the cops?"

"He had an old fashioned police scanner," Mac replied. "He knew that time was running out and we'd catch up to him so he thought he'd be prepared. Bernstein said that they barely got in the door and Grecko opened fire. Danny took the first round to the vest. Hawkes grabbed him, yanked him out of the way. Danny fell, cracked the back of his head off the floor. The second shot hit the door frame, ricocheted and struck Hawkes in the left side of the throat."

Flack sighed heavily.

"He died in the ER," Mac said.

"This is just fucking insane," the detective declared, and raking his fingers through his hair, commenced pacing in width of the hallway. Unable to watch as Karen peeled the blanket off of the body and picking up a scalpel, began the standard Y incision. "Of all people Hawkes. I thought for sure that it this time ever came, you'd be standing there watching them cut me open. Or that I'd be getting the bad news about one of my guys or even Danny. Last person I expected it to be was Hawkes."

"I think we're all feeling and thinking the same things," Mac said. "It's going to be…difficult. I'm going to make sure that Mari and the kids are well taken care of. Her mother is going to go and stay with them as long as she needs to. And we'll start up a trust fund in Hawkes' memory to make sure those kids never have to go without."

"Anything Sammie and I can do, just let us know," Flack implored.

"Have you told her?" Mac asked.

The younger man nodded and returned to his spot at the window. Leaning against it, his back towards the autopsy taking place. "She's taking it pretty bad. Her and Hawkes were always pretty close. And her and Mari are like two peas in a pod. Adam's with her so I think she's going to be okay. If it isn't one thing, it's another, you know?"

"Definitely a lot going on in your lives," Mac said. "Taking Hunter into your home, a move to New Jersey, a new career…"

Flack shook his head. "We're not going," he told the older man. "We made a collective decision. We're not going to New Jersey. Our family needs to come first. There's too much going on right now to make a huge jump like that. I'm going to call the realtor and get the house taken off the market. We'll move into an apartment in the city if we have to if things get tight money wise. I figure I'll call Sinclair, do some grovelling to get my job back."

"I doubt grovelling will be necessary," Mac said. "He's just going to be ecstatic to have you back. And honestly? I'm glad that you're not leaving."

Flack managed a small smile. "So what's going to happen?" he asked. "With Hawkes' funeral and all of that? I know it's a little soon but…"

"Any funeral arrangements are up to the family," Mac replied. "Because Hawkes' wasn't a sworn member of the NYPD, he won't receive a departmental funeral."

The detective shook his head. "That's fucking bullshit," he declared. "Guy does the department's bidding, dies in the line of duty and they can't even give him the funeral he deserves? He's just like the rest of us Mac. He did the same line of work. He wore the badge, carried the gun. He died serving and protecting. He should be treated just like any cop would."

"I know. But it's all politics, Don. And we both know politics has been running this department for years."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Still think it's fucking bullshit though. So what will happen with Grecko? Charges wise? You kill a cop and its automatically murder one. But with Hawkes not being an actual cop…" he made air quotes around the words 'actual cop'.

"It will be up to the DA to decide what charges to lay," Mac said. "But because there will be definite public outcry if Hawkes' death doesn't get the same punishment…"

"He'll push the issue and make sure the charges stick," Flack concluded. "So that the shit doesn't hit the fan."

Mac nodded.

A long, heavy silence descended on the two men. Flack's eyes remained riveted on the scuffed tile floors as Mac's watched every second of the autopsy taking place before him. Eventually, Flack gave a drawn out, forlorn sigh and checked his watch.

"I feel like a shit for having to say this Mac. But it's six thirty and the girls will be up in an hour and with the new baby there, Sammie's going to…"

"Go home and be with your family, Don," the older man said. "There's nothing that you can do for anyone by being here. Go home to your wife and your kids. Throw your arms around them and hold onto them as tight as you can. Tell them you love them."

"I'm going to," Flack assured him. "And I ain't ever going to let them go. I just…I feel bad for leaving at a time like this. For leaving Hawkes when…"

"He's dead, Don. There's nothing you can do for him. Or for Mari. The best thing for you to do, is go home and be with your loved ones. It's where you want to be. And it's where you need to be."

The younger man nodded, then lay a strong, supportive hand on Mac's shoulder. "Anything you or anyone else needs, just let me know, okay?"

Mac nodded. "Thanks for coming down, Don."

"No problem. I guess I just needed to see it for myself, you know? I guess I needed to make sure if just wasn't some mistake. That it had really happened."

"It has," Mac sighed. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately," Flack echoed. "I'll catch ya later, Mac."

The older man gave a grim smile and watched as the detective headed down the hall towards the elevators.

"It was kind of déjà vu, huh?" Flack suddenly asked, as he reached out to press the 'up' button.

Mac arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"Last time we had a moment like that, a heart to heart, was years ago. When Danny and Stella were questioning that Johnny O'Dell kid. Remember? I was worried about you not sleeping and you told me about Peyton. That's a long time ago."

"A lot has happened since then," Mac said, a smile of recollection spreading across his face.

"We got ourselves a weird relationship, Mac," Flack observed. "We open up to each other at the strangest times it seems. You told me about the 333 caller, then about Peyton. Then I made my way to Chicago to collect you and you told me about all that crazy shit when you were a teenager. Is it me or do I just seem to have a habit of being there at the oddest times in your life?"

"You do seem to be the get to guy for personal baggage," Mac said light heartedly. "Maybe one day, I can repay you for all of that."

"Oh trust me, Mac," Flack gave a small chuckle, the elevator chiming as it arrived. "My baggage would give you one massive hernia. Or put you in an early grave."

"My door's always open, Don."

The younger man nodded his appreciation, then gave a wave in farewell before stepping onto the elevator.

Mac sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the young woman attentively working on the body of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes.

And now there's one less person to walk through that door, he thought sadly.


"The city remains mourning as day breaks and new details emerge concerning the shooting death of a member of the New York Police Department. Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, a forensic investigator with the city's crime lab, was killed while serving an arrest warrant with other officers. Department officials say that proper protocol was followed, and that Doctor Hawkes' death was simply a horrific, unfortunate accident. It is the NYPD's first death in the line of duty o since three patrol officers were shot by crazed gunman Tyson Greene six years ago. Once head of the medical examiner's office, Doctor Hawkes leaves behind a wife, a teenage daughter and a young son. Funeral arrangements are pending. But this tragedy brings to light the dangerous job facing the men and women of the NYPD, and critics are wondering if this may bring about a sweeping epidemic of the 'blue flu', as officers begin question whether they are receiving their net worth."

"Fucking bullshit…" Sam spat and snatched the remote for the television from where it lay beside her on the sectional couch in the family room.

She flicked off the tv, and leaning her head back against the sofa, closed her weary eyes. As the clock on the top of the entertainment unit ticked noisily, the house was in complete silence. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep when Flack had left for the hospital. He had spent nearly an hour holding her tightly and stroking her hair as he rocked her back in forth in hopes of counselling her, then, without a word, had followed her to the bathroom when she had announced she was going to be sick. He'd sat silently on the ledge of the tub, concern in his eyes, holding back his own grief as he rubbed her back and held a wet wash cloth to the back of her neck.

Afterwards, he'd waited until she swallowed down half a dozen glasses of water, washed her face and brushed her teeth and then escorted her back to bed. No words were spoken as he tucked the covers securely around her and made sure a box of kleenexes were parked within reach. Then, he stood at the side of the bed gazing down at her, tears in his eyes as he caressed her hair and her cheek for several minutes. His heart breaking as she sobbed into her pillow, her entire body quaking from her powerful, all consuming grief. And when she finally quieted, he'd pressed a tender kiss to her temple and told her he'd loved her. That he'd never told her that enough. That he promised to tell her, and show her more.

It was the way with death. Losing someone made you realize what, and who, you had in your life. It made you realize that there were changes that needed to be made. That you needed to put them first and stop taking their presence for granted. And it was shame that such gentle souls had to be taken so suddenly and violently to make you realize how much you cherished the people around you.

An hour after Flack had left, Sam had gathered a sleeping Hunter up and strapped him into his carry seat, covered him with his fleece blanket and took him downstairs with her. She'd made herself a tea and a bowl of cereal and tried to control the roller coaster of emotions surging through her. All she could think about was Mari and the kids. What they were going through and what they would be going through during the coming days and the rest of their lives. She couldn't begin to image the force of sorrow that her friend was feeling at that time, and it had taken all of Sam's will power to not get on the telephone and express her condolences. Now was not the time to be making chit chat. There'd be hours and days to do that sort of thing. The last thing Mari would feel like doing would be talking on the phone. Especially to someone who couldn't reign in her emotions for more then five minutes at a time.

And selfishly, she couldn't stop thanking God for not allowing it to happen to her. It made Sam feel horrible for even letting such a thought creep into her mind. But as the spouse of a cop who'd given buckets of blood, sweat and tears to the city he'd vowed long ago to protect to the best of his ability, even as far as resolving to make the ultimate sacrifice if need be, she felt she had the right to be thankful that it wasn't her husband. That she didn't have to receive the worst possible news or face the rest of her life alone. That she didn't have to wake her girls up in the middle of the night to tell them that daddy was never coming home. That she didn't have to plan a funeral and essentially, abandon the life she had once known and attempt to make a new one for her and her family.

You are vicious, selfish bitch, she scolded herself now, as she stretched her legs out in front of her. Her back tucked into the corner of the sectional and a wool blanket spread out over her and tucked under her chin. She was ashamed that she was grateful that her husband still drew air into his lungs. That he was going to be walking back in the door in a matter of hours.

And she knew, as tears threatened to consume her once more, that her entire life could be so cruelly ripped away without warning.

She had thought that coming downstairs and turning on the television would take her mind off of things. Even if it was just for a fleeting moment. A foolish thought, considering news regarding deaths of police officers or firemen always drew huge audiences. Every station was talking about Hawkes. Even CNN was keeping their viewers on top of the breaking news regarding the incident. So far, details were coming in at a slow trickle. But speculation, as was the norm in journalism, was running fast and furious.

Blue flu, she thought, a smirk covering her face. What kind of crappy nonsense is that? My good friend dies and all people can talk about is if his shooting is going to cause cops to want more money and walk off the job? That's shit. Pure and utter shit. Sheldon deserves more than that.

So much more.


"Mind if a tall, not so dark but exceptionally handsome and charming man joins you?"

Sam's eyes opened and focused on the familiar yet extremely tired and worn face standing before her. She grinned and looked around the room. "Sure," she responded. "When he gets here, let me know."

Adam gave a dramatic gasp and laid a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Sammie," he said, and plopped down on the shorter section of the couch. Manoeuvring his body until he lay flat on his stomach, his arms crossed in front of him and his chin resting on the tops of his hands.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He had been awakened during the wee hours of the morning by the phone ringing in and could hear, through the paper thin walls that separated the spare room from the master suite, his brother in law speaking to the caller. Phone calls at that time of the night were never good news. Especially when they were made to the land line. Work related calls always went into Flack's cell phone which he kept turned on throughout the night, sitting on the night table. So when the house phone rang at ungodly hours, the news was never good.

He had lied in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as he picked up bits and pieces of the conversation that had ensued between Flack and Sam after the call had been disconnected. Adam hadn't been able to make out the words, but he had heard his sister's crying and later on, her subsequent throwing up in the en-suite bathroom. Adam had stayed there in the spare room, nervously speculating about what had happened and fearing the worse about one of his co-workers. And when he'd heard the master bedroom door open and then close and Flack's heavy footsteps on the stairs, Adam had jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room after his brother in law.

He'd been shocked when he'd heard the words, "Hawkes is dead" coming out of Flack's mouth. It was if someone had physically slapped him or kicked him in the stomach. He stared at the other man before him for what seemed like an eternity, before the force of the announcement had hit him ten fold and he'd stumbled backwards, having to place a hand on the wall to keep himself on his feet. Despite the shooting deaths of three uniform officers six years before and the death of Aiden Burn, a former CSI more than a decade before, Adam had never suffered a significant lost. Aiden and the officers had been complete strangers to him, and while he'd been sad about their deaths, he'd been able to continue on with his job and not lose sleep over it.

Hawkes on the other hand was a completely different story. They'd been so close for so long. Not just in the confines of the job, but outside of it as well. Adam had been truly blessed to consider Hawkes one of his nearest and dearest friends. And the respect and brotherly love had gone both ways. Hawkes had never made him feel stupid and less of a person back in the day because he was a lowly lab tech. While he'd been the brunt of many jokes and teasing by both Danny and Flack, Hawkes had always accepted him and his often quirky, eccentric ways and had always valued and appreciated both his opinion and his work. When Adam had decided to make the jump from lab tech to CSI, it had been Hawkes that he'd gone to with advice. Who'd given him pointers on the exam and who'd helped him study on many an occasion. He was also quick to support Adam in his 'new guy' status when he finally did strap that badge and gun on. Hawkes, from his own experiences coming over from the ME's office, knew full well what it was like to be a 'probie'. To be constantly challenged by others and to be constantly second guessing yourself and your abilities.

On the personal side, each had served as both an usher, and as Master of Ceremonies for each other's weddings. Jasmine had acted as a babysitter for Adam's children on more than one occasion. And while Hawkes and him had very little in common -save for being the two smartest people in the world, never mind at the New York City crime lab, as Adam often quipped- they had managed to find a peaceful, common ground during Sunday dinners and weekends away with each other and their wives and kids.

He would miss Hawkes. He'd miss those soulful dark eyes and that warm, smooth voice. That encyclopedia for a brain that the man possessed, and his quiet resolve and tenacity when it came time to catch the bad guy. He'd miss the strong, supportive hand on the shoulder and the votes of confidence Hawkes tossed his way in Adam's early CSI days when the newest member of the team often hedged on speaking up during team meetings.

Most of all, he'd miss seeing that smile and the ever present body behind the desk in the office they shared together. The way Hawkes, without saying a word, always let you know that he was there for you through thick and thin.

Tears burned Adam's eyes and a lump of emotion threatened to cut off all oxygen. And as he sniffled noisily, he felt a delicate hand fall on the top of his head and fingers softly comb through his unruly tresses.

He raised his head. Sorrow filled aquamarine eyes locked on tortured golden brown.

"Don told you?" she asked, her lower lip trembling. "I heard the two of you talking on the stairs before he left. He told you? About Hawkes?"

Adam nodded and swallowed noisily.

She sighed and shook her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe it…I just…for years I've been almost preparing myself, you know? Donnie's always out in the field and always in harms way. He comes in contact more with the perps then we all do. And since the day we started dating I've been mentally preparing myself for that phone call. Morbid, I know. But I figured if I was at least half way ready for that phone call or knock on the door it wouldn't destroy me so much when it happened. And now…" her eyes flickered open and she wiped tears away with the sleeve of her housecoat. "Now it's the last person I ever expected."

"Isn't that usually the way?" Adam mused. "It always seems to be the person that you least expect. I mean, between Hawkes and Danny, who would you think would be the one to go?"

"Danny's definitely used up the last of his nine lives," Sam said. "I called the hospital and talked to Lindsay. He's got a collapsed lung and a fractured skull to go along with his massive concussion. He's definitely going to be out of commission for a while."

"At least he's still alive," Adam surmised.

She nodded in agreement. "I haven't been able to sleep since Donnie left. I know he's not on duty, but I just feel…I don't know…I feel scared."

Her brother gave a soft, reassuring smile. "He's going to be okay. You're just on edge with what's gone down. It's been a hell of a twenty four hours if you ask me. First you find out that Jordan's been murdered and that you're going to have to take Hunter in…"

"It's not that I had to, Peanut. It's that I wanted to. If I hadn't have wanted to, Don wouldn't have forced the issue. But I couldn't let him fall into the system. He didn't do anything wrong. Just because Don and Jordan did what they did, it didn't mean Hunter needed to be punished because they were the two stupidest people on the face of the earth. And he definitely didn't deserve what happened to his mother."

"Most women wouldn't have been so forgiven as you, Sammie. To not only accept what your husband did but to take his love child into your house? Most women would have kicked his ass to the curb and told him to go be with his girlfriend."

"What do you think I did?" she asked defensively. "Did I not take my kids and get the hell out of here? Did I not go and talk to a divorce lawyer and have the papers drawn up? It wasn't as if I just threw my hands in the air and let him do whatever the hell he wanted."

"I never said that. I know only meant that…"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said, dismissing the subject. "Why does any of that matter? Hunter's here and we're going to give him a great home. And I hope that you can accept him. As your nephew."

"Why wouldn't I?" Adam asked, sounding hurt. "I'm not going to hold what Don did against the poor kid. He's a baby. He didn't ask for any of this to happen. And look at him…" he glanced over at the sleeping infant in the car seat next to the couch. "He's damn cute. Who couldn't love a face like that?"

Sam smiled as she looked down at the baby. "He's been really, really good. His temperament is just amazing for an infant. After we got him over that spell in the hospital, he's been as good as gold. Even when he wakes up for his meals he barely makes a peep. He's just…an angel."

"Sure beats the two hellions you popped out," Adam teased.

Frowning, she roughly yanked a handful of his hair.

"Owww!" he cried, and reached up to pry her fingers loose. "You're vicious. Must you be so abusive so early in the morning? You would have thought you would have gotten over the whole beating up on your little brother thing years ago. You know, the second you hit ten and stopped growing!"

"Keep it up Adam Gregory Ross and I'll tear out every stitch of hair you have and then beat your ass up and down this house," she warned, tightening her grip on his hair.

"Okay! Okay! Uncle! Uncle! I surrender!" he howled. Then dissolved into laughter when she finally relented her assault and released the firm, painful hold on his hair.

"Wimp," Sam snorted, then burst into giggles of her own.


Eventually their jovial noises died down, leaving the room wrapped in a heavy blanket of silence. Adam rolled over onto his back and rested his head on his sister's thigh and placed a forearm over his eyes. Sam reached under her blanket for a mug of lukewarm tea that she'd stored safely between her legs and took a sip, grimacing at the taste before issuing a long, sad sigh.

"I feel so guilty," Sam said.

Adam raised his forearm and looked up at her.

"I mean…how can we be sitting here like this? Joking around and laughing when Sheldon's…" her voice caught as her emotion finally caught up to her and she could no longer hold the grief inside of her.

Adam sighed heavily and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Scouting closer to his sister, he wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and drew her tightly into him. "It's okay, Sammie…" he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know it hurts like a bitch….but it's okay…"

"We shouldn't be laughing like that!" she cried and wrapped her arms around his torso. Ignoring the cup of tea that slipped from between her legs and tumbled to the floor, the light brown liquid quickly spreading across the carpet. "It's not right! We shouldn't be laughing when he's never going to get the chance to again! It's not fair that we get to joke around and have fun and he gets to lie there in the morgue! Or that Mari doesn't have a husband or Jas and Elijah don't get to have a father! It's not fair, Peanut!"

"It's not," he agreed, rubbing her arm softly with one hand as the other stroked her hair. "But you know what else isn't fair? What isn't fair to Hawkes?"

She shook her head.

"It's not fair to him if we just toss our hands in the air and give up on life. If we never laugh or smile or have fun again. He wouldn't want that, Sammie. He wouldn't want us to stop living our lives because his got cut so short. That would be last thing he'd want. We can't stop living because of this. And laughing and fooling around isn't forgetting about him or pushing our grief away. It doesn't mean we don't care. It's just…masking the pain for a little while."

"I just…" she wipe frantically at her eyes. "I just feel bad 'cause all I keep thinking about was how I'm so glad it isn't me. That it wasn't Donnie. How horrible of a person am I for thinking that? How terrible is that for me to think when my friend has just lost her husband! How can I be like that! How can I be so cruel and cold and…and so much like mom?!"

Adam couldn't help but laugh at that. "You are nowhere like the wicked witch and you know that. These are normal thoughts, Sammie. You're just counting your blessings is all. Your husband is a cop. He faces danger every single time he walks out that door. You're just grateful that it wasn't him. There's nothing wrong with feeling like that."

"Maybe…" she sniffled. "But I just don't know what to do. I don't know what to do for Mari. I don't know what to say to her. I want to call her but I just don't know what to say."

"Well, give it a few hours and then call her up and tell her exactly how you feel. Be honest. Just tell her you don't know what to say. No one is going to fault you for that."

"I know…" she said, and wiped her eyes and nose on the front of his shirt.

"Oh that's it…" Adam grumbled. "Wipe your boogers on me."

She gave a small laugh and sat up. "That's me getting you back for the time you blew your nose in my hair when we were kids."

"I was six!" Adam defended himself.

"You used my hair as a Kleenex!" Sam cried, and snatching some tissues from the box resting on the coffee table, dabbed her nose.

"I didn't have anything else," he said with a shrug. "I can't help it if your hair was down to your ass and so soft and silky and perfect for doing the trick."

"You were just a total pain in my ass back then," Sam informed him.

"And now?" Adam asked.

She managed a smile and reached out and tousled his hair. "Now you're even a bigger pain in my ass," she replied.

Frowning, he tossed both arms around her and enveloping her in a huge, tight bear hug, pulled her into his lap. "You're lucky I'm the pacifist out of the two of us," he said. "Or I'd be laying the mother of all beatings on you right now."

"Please…" Sam laughed and pinched his stomach. "You're pudgy belly would prevent you from getting a good swing in."

"My pudgy belly…" he snorted. "Better then your thunder thighs," he declared, and playfully pinched her left leg.

Sam giggled and curled both arms around his neck and placed her head on his shoulder.

Closing their eyes, brother and sister lapsed into a long, comfortable silence. Their minds assaulted with memories of their deceased friend. It was the first real, significant loss either of them had ever suffered. And the grief was raw and painful. Eating away at them and testing their weakened resolve.

In the quiet, peacefulness of the room, they were able to easily hear footsteps as they journeyed across the grass and up the front steps. Snow and salt crunching with each foot fall. After a moment, they heard the screen door squeak open and the rattle of keys in the lock of the heavy wooden front door.

Sam pulled away from her brother and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Will you…?"

"Keep an eye on the munchkin?" Adam asked, as she climbed off of his lap. "Would I ever say no to watching my nephew?"

She gave a soft smile and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Peanut," she said, laying a hand on the side of his scruffy face. "For everything."

"What are brothers for?" he asked. "Go upstairs and see your husband. Toss your arms around him and tell him how much you love him. It's what you want to do, right? What you need to do?"

She nodded.

"Go," Adam ordered, nodding in the direction of the stairs. "If any time ever called for that type of thing, it's this one."


Flack toed off his snow covered boots and set them on the rubber mat by the side of the door. Unzipping his winter coat, he shrugged out of it and hung it in the hall closet. His plan was to tiptoe upstairs, climb back into bed fully clothed, and cuddle up to his wife. Spent those quiet, early morning hours with her until the insanity of their lives started off full throttle. He locked the front door and turned to head into the living room, slightly startled at the sight of his wife, in her house coat and pyjamas, her eyes red and swollen, standing in the doorway wringing a Kleenex in her hands.

"Did you see Danny?" she asked, in a tiny voice. "I called Lindsay and she told me about his injuries and how she needs us to keep Amanda a bit longer and to not say anything. But did you see him? Is he okay?"

He nodded. "He's going to be fine. He's really banged up and doped up on pain meds, but he'll be out of there in a week. Not sure when he'll end up back to work though."

"What about Mari?" she inquired. "Did you talk to her? Did you…"

Flack shook his head. "Kelli was with her and Jas and Elijah. One of the department chaplains was there too. I didn't think it was the right time to try and talk to her. I stopped by the lab. Talked to Mac. That young ME was just getting ready to do the autopsy. Sid couldn't take it."

"What did Mac say? How did it happen?"

"He said that the perp was waiting for them. Heard they were on their way through an old fashioned scanner. He fired on them the second they kicked in the door. Danny took the first shot to the vest and Hawkes yanked him out of the way. Danny ended up getting hurt when he smacked the back of his head off the floor. Hawkes…" Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. Struggling to comprehend what had happened. "The bullet missed him, ricocheted and then hit him in the throat."

Sam's eyes widened in horror.

"He died in the ER. They didn't even get him up to the OR."

"Just like that?" she asked, sounding, and looking, as if she was near years yet again.

"Just like that," Flack replied.

She shook her head, then gave a small choked sob and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Come here, baby," he said, and reaching out, drew her tiny body into his strong arms. One hand holding her head to his chest, the other stroking her back. "It's okay…" he whispered, his lips buried in her hair. "I know it hurts, Sammie…but it's going to be okay, I promise."

"All I could think about was that I was so glad it wasn't you," she cried. "That's all I could think about! What kind of person am I for thinking something like that? What kind of friend am I for thinking that Donnie?"

"It's just something that crosses your mind, babe. It doesn't mean you're a bad person. It just means…I guess it just means you're human. Is it wrong that I thought the same thing? That I was glad it isn't me? That I'm glad it's not my autopsy Mac's watching? That I'm glad it's not my wife and kids going through that? Is that wrong?"

She shook his head and clung desperately to the front of his shirt. "I just want you to…I need you to hold me," she sniffled. "I need you to hold me like you're never going to let me go."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and did as he was told.

Thankful that God had granted him just one more day.

And hoping and praying that there was many more to come.


Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the support and all the friends that I have made! A huge thank you to anyone that is reading and enjoying. It's been a blast writing these stories for all of you, and while confidence is lacking at the moment, I hope to continue doing this for all of you! And for myself!

Please R and R folks!

Special thanks to:

Hope4sall

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