DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH THE SOPRANOS. THERE'S A VERY, VERY SLIGHT CROSSOVER OCCURRING STARTING IN THIS CHAPTER. THE CHAPTER TITLE IS BORROWED FROM THE BILLY CRYSTAL MOVIE OF THE SAME NAME.
WARNING: THE FIRST SECTION MAY BE A LITTLE…DARK FOR SOME READERS. IF YOU ARE EXTRA SENSITIVE, SKIP AHEAD TO THE SECOND SECTION.
THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER.
Analyze this
"Sing out sing out, the silence only eats us from the inside up
I meant no harm but I only get to say these words too late
Wake up wake up, sleeping only leads to more and more nightmares
Snap out of it you said it in a way that showed you really up in my wildest dreams the dark red blood streams
Stretching out like vast cracked ice
The veins of you the veins of me like great forest trees
Pushing through and on and in
Gliding like a satellite in the broken night
And when I wake you're there I'm saved
Your love is life piled tight and high set against the sky
That seems to balance on it's own
Send your lifeboats out for me
Send your lifeboat out."
-Lifeboats, Snow Patrol
"He used to come into my bedroom. If my brother was in there, he'd stand in the doorway and clear his throat and crook his finger and motion for me to follow him. If I was alone…if I was alone he'd stand there and watch me. Sometimes I'd be lying in bed looking through a book. Sometimes I'd be playing with my dolls. Other times I'd be sitting in the middle of the floor brushing my hair. He loved to watch me brush my hair. But he loved to brush it himself even more. And he'd give me this smile…I knew what that smile meant. Then he'd walk in and my mom…I remember that sometimes my mom would be there, watching as he walked over to me. And then she'd close the door. I remember being so scared. And he'd sit on the edge of my bed or crouch down beside me…I can still smell the alcohol on his breath. I can still feel the calluses on his hands as he pushed my hair away from my face. The stubble on his face as he kissed my neck. And he'd tell me…he'd tell me I was a good girl. A pretty girl. And that if I wanted to be a good sister to Adam…if I wanted to stop Adam from getting hit so much, that I'd keep being a good girl. And that's all I wanted. To be a good girl. To protect my brother. I just wanted to be a good sister to him. To save him I handed myself over."
All of those words -spoken in a haunted voice interrupted by sniffles and choked sobs- tumbled around inside of Flack's head as he stood hunched over the cold porcelain sink in the public washroom down the hall from the psychiatrist's office. He couldn't turn them off no matter how much he pleaded with them to just go away. He could hear the terror in her voice. See it in her eyes as he'd sat beside her, tightly gripping one of her tiny hands in both of his own. Her entire body had been trembling. Her skin had gone completely ashen and she'd fought so bravely to keep back the flood of tears that threatened. She had held up remarkably well. When the doctor had brought up her father, she'd slightly tensed and bit her bottom lip nervously. She had been expecting the issue to come up, but she had been in no way ready to talk about. But with gentle prodding on the psychiatrist's part and Flack's calm reassurances, she'd finally opened up after several minutes of silence.
The doctor had said nothing. She'd never batted an eyelash or uttered a sigh. Unlike most therapists and shrinks that Flack had come in contact, she didn't take notes. Instead she tape recorded the sessions and then in the privacy of her office or at home, converted everything to paper and tucked it into her patient's charts. There was an incredible amount of compassion in her soulful dark eyes as she regarded Sam, staying silent as she allowed the younger woman to simply remember things. Instances, smells, tastes, textures. The doctor would offer a nod or shake her head when even she was momentarily taken back by something Sam recalled, but no distinct emotion had ever crossed her face.
Flack hadn't fared so well. The moment Sam had admitted that she had made the choice to give herself to her father in exchange of her brother's well being, his stomach had completely rebelled. By that time, his imagination was running away on him. He'd been involved in several busts in his career that involved some kind of sexual crime against a child. Rape, sodomy, kids coerced into working as sex slaves, children forced -sometimes even by their own parents- to take part in pornography. It had always made him nauseous to hear the gut wrenching, heart tugging stories. He was still haunted some days by some of the images he'd seen on confiscated video tapes and photographs. He'd gone home after witnessing counselling sessions of parents whose kids had been victimized and gotten fall down drunk. He'd sat, stone faced through interrogations with pedophiles and then calmly walked out and went into the locker room and put his fist through a wall. But the next day he'd been able to go on. He'd been able to, somewhere down the road, forget the majority of the names and the faces. His compassion for what the victims had been through had never waned. But in the end, they were still strangers to him.
This time it wasn't a stranger. This time he simply couldn't just walk away. It was personal and cut him deep. And when those last words she'd spoken had nearly knocked the wind out of him -when he heard the guilt and the self blame in her voice - he had had to escape. The rage had quickly built to a nearly uncontrollable state. The bile had crept up into his throat fast and furious and he'd dropped Sam's hand as if he'd been scalded and jumped off the couch and hurried out of the room. No apologies, no explanations. He had simply had to get away.
His first stop -after rushing past the startled receptionist, out of the office and down the hall to the public restroom- had been the first stall he stumbled upon. Where he'd shoved his way through the door and crouched down in front of the toilet and proceeded to expel his stomach contents. More than once. Then, on shaky legs and his throat burning, he'd made his way to the bank of sinks and turned on the cold water. He'd splashed his face and wet the back of his neck. He'd cupped his hands underneath the water and then drank it up in gulps. Desperate to rid himself of the acrid taste in his mouth and the fire in his throat.
His hands planted firmly on the ledge of the sink, he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. To gather his composure. To get his shit together. He inhaled slowly, allowing his lungs to fill with air and holding his breath until he couldn't anymore and then exhaling loudly. Repeating the action several times before the tremors in his legs and arms finally subsided, he finally opened his eyes and raised his head and smirked at his reflection.
You weak bastard, he scolded himself. Running in here like a goddamn girl. Bailing on her the moment things got a little rocky. You promised you'd be there for her. No matter what came out of her mouth. You promised that it wouldn't change how you felt about her. And what did you do? You hauled ass on out of there like some pathetic little bitch. You abandoned her. Exactly what she was afraid of.
The truth was, he had left because he was afraid of his own emotions. Afraid to either rant and rave or completely break down in front of her. He was supposed to be there for her. He was supposed to do the comforting. Not the other way around. And had he not left…had he not escaped when he did, her idealistic thoughts of him as some knight in shining armour capable of battling and defeating all of her demons would be destroyed. And after the abuse and the disappointment she'd already suffered throughout her life, he didn't want to let her down.
But you did you stupid shit. You did let her down. She's probably sitting in there freaking out 'cause you took off. She's probably terrified you're never going to come back.
Part of him didn't want to. He didn't want to hear the sick, twisted details of what her father had done to her. His imagination was more then capable of putting the pieces together. And every time he thought of her as a little girl, tears streaming down her face and her entire body in sheer agony as she was violated over and over again…
Nausea threatened again. Cupping his hands under the cold water once more, Flack slurped up the ice cold liquid, anxious to stem the flood of bile threatening to erupt.
Get your shit together, he ordered himself. Get your head out of your ass. For Sam. She needs you. She needs you in there. And it's going to hurt like a sonofabitch to hear what she went through. You're going to want to dig her father up and bring him back to life just so you can torture him and then kill him all over again. You're going to want to put a fist through something. You're going to want to barf your guts out all over again. But you're going to go back in there and sit through it because she needs you. Don't be a fucker and just get it together and go back in there. Show her that she can count on you. Show her that all of her faith and trust in you isn't misplaced. Show her that you love her regardless of her past. That what happened to her didn't define her.
Show her that sometimes, even the strong are weak.
He turned off the cold water tap and yanked a handful of paper towels from the holder mounted over the sink. Drying his face and hands and the back of his neck, he took a deep breath and released it slowly.
Don't just do it for her, but for yourself too. Show her that you can be the man she needs you to be.
The man you want to be.
Sighing heavily, he balled up the paper towels in his hands, tossing them in the trash as he strode confidently towards the door.
There was no way in hell he was letting her down.
"You have to understand that you didn't do anything wrong," Doctor Jennifer Melfi's soft voice filled her cavernous office as Flack quietly slipped back into the room. The psychiatrist, whom he guessed was in her late forties and of Italian-American descent and had graduated on the Dean's Honour List from Tufts University, briefly allowed her eyes to flicker towards the door. She gave a small nod in acknowledgement, then turned her full attention back to her patient.
In her many years in her selected profession, she had treated a wide variety of emotional disorders in a even wider variety of people. Her clientele ranging from affluent bankers and CEO's with anxiety and depressive issues to socialites with eating disorders and drug addictions. She'd sat across from a couple of professional athletes who were battling secret lives of enjoying dressing in women's clothing and fighting to keep their practices out of the public eye. And she'd once treated a Mafia boss whose attempts are forming a personal relationship with her had eventually led her to cut all ties with him completely.
She had then moved her practice onto the lower west side of Manhattan and began opening her doors to anyone that was referred to her. Blue collar and white collar alike. Those with very little money and relying on insurance of employee benefit packages to pay for their expensive therapy and those who eagerly shelled out the fees, considering the hourly rate nothing more than pocket change.
"What your father did to you, regardless of him trying to convince you otherwise, was not your fault," the psychiatrist continued. "You were just a child. You were terrified of him and you thought you were protecting your brother by offering yourself in exchange for his safety. You didn't ask for it and you certainly didn't want it to happen."
"He said that I must have liked it," Sam whispered, her eyes downcast, riveted on the Kleenex she nervously twisted in her hands. "That I must have enjoyed it because I didn't stop him."
"You didn't enjoy it and you most certainly didn't have the power to stop him. You were violated by somewhat that you trusted. A parent. And your mother knew what was going on and it was her duty to protect you," the older man said. "You were abandoned when you needed someone the most. You were taught that your feelings and your physical and emotional well being were second to your father's wants. You did nothing wrong and you most certainly didn't like it while he was molesting you."
Not the right spot of the conversation for me to walk back in on, Flack thought, feeling nauseous once more as he returned to his spot on the couch next to his girlfriend. She glanced over at him. He saw the fear in her eyes. He knew she was worried about why he had walked out and what he may have been feeling towards her or thinking about her.
But what he saw most, what burned so strongly in her eyes was shame. She was ashamed of herself. She truly believed that she was the one that was in the wrong and not her father.
He gave a reassuring smile and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders. He witnessed the relief that washed over her. He felt the tension leave her body as his fingers softly grazed the bare skin of her upper arm.
"It's okay," he whispered and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "Sorry I took off like that," he addressed the doctor. "I just…I was afraid of what I'd hear next. I mean, I'm okay with what she went through. I can accept that it happened to her and I can help her deal with it. But I can't…" he sighed. "I just can't hear the details, you know? I don't want to hear play by play. I just don't. I'm sorry."
"Never apologize for being honest or for having feelings," Doctor Melfi told him. "It's completely acceptable that you had the reaction that you did.
"I just…" Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've seen and heard a lot, you know? I've been on the job for twelve years now. I deal with the scum of the earth. Gang bangers that smoke guys 'cause they're wearing the wrong colours, anti-Semitics that kill people all 'cause they're a different colour, drug dealers that sell their shit to kids on playgrounds and create addicts of babies in the womb. Guys that have beaten their wives to death, slaughtered their entire families. Rapists that maim and torture their victims. A guy that used to cut girls eyelids off so it forced them to watch him as they die. Crack whore prostitutes who give birth on the streets and leave their babies in dumpsters. You name it, I've seen it. I see blood and gore and death on a daily basis. Lots of death. I've had to sit across from husbands and wives and mothers and fathers and tell them that their loved one is dead. But this…child molesters…" he shook his head. "I can't handle that. Not child molesters. It makes me physically sick that someone can do something like that. Get off on…" he shook his head. "I just can't handle it…and to sit here and hear the person I love blame herself for what some sick, twisted motherfucker did to her?"
Melfi didn't even blink at the use of profanity. Nor react to the raw emotion in Flack's voice. "It's horrifically tragic because children are innocent and all trusting," she reasoned. "Which is also why it's not uncommon that adults who were victims of childhood sexual abuse are often sympathetic to the offending parents. A child is taught to obey and respect their parents. And by trying to stop the abuse, the child then feels they're bad for doing so. And when there's threats and intimidation involved, and in this particular case, a desire to protect a sibling, it's understandable why Samantha feels the way that she does. As a little girl she never expected someone who was supposed to love her and protect her would do something like that. And that disbelief, that her father violated her repeatedly while her mother stood by, still exists all these years later."
"I just don't understand how she can think that she enjoyed it," he said. "Or that she wanted it."
"She was being told that enjoying it meant that she was a good girl," the doctor explained. "That by not stopping him meant that she wanted it."
"That's fucking bullshit," Flack declared.
"I just wanted to protect my brother," Sam whispered.
"No one here is blaming you," Melfi assured her. "What's important is that you recognize how what your father did do you directly effects your life now. That you're here acknowledging that you need help."
Flack nodded in agreement, and reaching across his body, took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers and placed their joined hands on his thigh.
"It's also harder for you to grasp because this isn't part of your job," the psychiatrist addressed him directly. "This isn't a stranger that this is happening to. This is someone in your personal life. Someone that you love and that you readily admitted at the beginning of the session that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So naturally it's hard for you to hear about what Samantha endured as a child."
"I ran away," Flack said, shaking his head in disgust. "I ran away the second I heard something I didn't like. And that's not fair to Sammie. You don't run away from someone you love just 'cause things get rocky. I wimped out. And that's not me. I don't wimp out. She knows that."
"And she also know you're human and all humans have moments of weakness," the doctor reasoned. "I'd like to switch gears for a moment. Let's talk about how you feel Don. About how you feel about what happened to Samantha."
Here it comes, Flack thought, fighting to keep a smirk from spreading across his face. It's my turn to be analyzed. I'm just here as an innocent bystander and now I have to tolerate the psychological bullshit.
"We're not here for me," he said.
"No, you're not," Melfi agreed. "We're here for Samantha. To help her deal with her past and her problems. And part of helping her deal is being honest about our feelings. Maybe she would like to hear what you're thinking. About her father, about her. Maybe she needs to hear something from you."
"I don't know why that would matter," he said. "I'm just here because she asked me to be here. I'm not here to…"
"I need to know," Sam said in a small voice as she turned her teary eyes towards him. "I need to know how you feel about what happened. How you feel about me. Because I'm scared that your…"
"That I'm what?" he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. "That I'm disgusted by you? That I find you dirty and repulsive? That you make me sick to my stomach just by looking at you? That I can't stand being anywhere near you?"
"Is that how you feel?" the doctor asked.
"No that's not how I fucking feel," Flack snapped. "None of that is how I feel. Ever since I found out about what her father did to her I've done nothing but be honest about how I feel. It's all the goddamn time. Seven days a week, every waking moment that we spend together I'm trying to get it through her head that what her father did to her hasn't changed how I feel about her. And I'm sick of constantly having to reassure her about it. I'm sick of her thinking that I'm some kind of shallow, moronic bastard that doesn't realize that what happened to her doesn't define her. That I'm this idiotic prick that thinks less of her 'cause her father was a twisted, filthy piece of shit."
"And you feel that she doesn't believe you when you reassure her," Melfi stated.
"She doesn't believe me," he said. "And that's what pisses me off. That's what annoys the shit out of me. Because I don't know how many goddamn times I have to say it before she starts believing me. Before she starts trusting me. I love her. Nothing is going to change that. And there's no reason for her not to trust me."
"Maybe she has a hard time completely trusting you because every male that's ever crossed her path, whose told her that he's loved he,r has abandoned her and shattered that trust," the doctor suggested.
"Yeah? Well I'm not like the other men that she's had in her life. I'm not some child molester. I'm not a guy that gets his kicks out of beating her senseless and making her eat food off the floor. I'm not like her father and I'm not like her ex. I'm me. I may not be the most sensitive or romantic person on the face of the earth. I may sometimes be an arrogant, smug bastard that shoots from the hip. But I'm a good person."
Melfi nodded slowly as she considered his words. "So the anger that you have is directed at her father."
"She was just a little kid!" Flack spat. "She was a baby practically! She was his daughter and he did all kinds of sick shit to her! And he got away with it! What he did to her was disgusting and repugnant and when I think about it I want to puke. And if I could, trust me, I would dig that sonofabitch up, bring him back to life and then torture him. I'd make him pay for what he did and then I'd kill him and bury him all over again."
"Harsh words for someone you've never met," the doctor commented.
"I may have never met him, but I've sat across an interrogation table from people just like him. And trust me, if I could have reached across that table and killed those bastards, I would have."
"Have you ever seen a psychiatrist for an anger disorder, Don?" Melfi asked.
He stared at her. Long and hard. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"You have a lot of anger built up inside of you. A direct cause of your years spent on the job. Have you ever gotten yourself into trouble? Used threats and intimidation against someone in your watch? Gotten a little too aggressive with a perpetrator?"
"Wait a second here. You ask me to tell you how I feel about what Sam's father did to her. You ask me to be open and honest so she knows how I feel and what I'm thinking and then you turn around and accuse me of having an anger problem?"
"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was simply asking you if you've ever seen someone about anger related issues."
"Which means you think I've got some kind of problem," he concluded. "Come on, Doc. I can sense bullshit a mile away. And all of this? This is bullshit. The way you just sit there, nodding or shaking your head. The way your tone never changes. The way you never show any emotion. It's bullshit. Why am I the one being psycho-analyzed? I'm not the one whose father molested them for five years."
"What was your relationship like with your father?" she asked.
"What does my relationship with my old man have to do with this?" he responded. "So what if my old man knocked me around when I was a kid. So what if he drank too much and had bookies on his ass all the time. My father and I…we are not the issue here. You're suppose to be helping Sam. So fucking help her and get off of my ass."
"I'm only trying to establish what kind of childhood you had. What could have attributed to you having all of this pent up aggression and anger," the doctor said calmly.
"My childhood isn't any of your goddamn business. I'm here for my girlfriend. I'm here 'cause she needs help. Because I promised her I wouldn't let her go through this alone. I'm not here to stretch out on the couch and bitch and moan about my father. Or my lack of a father growing up. I'm here for one reason and one reason only. To help Sammie. And me ranting and raving about my life? That isn't helping her."
"Don…please…" Sam pleaded quietly, squeezing his hand.
"Perhaps if the two of you sat down and compared your childhoods and your experiences with your respective fathers, you'd realize that the two of you are a lot alike. You both suffered abuse. Both physical and emotional," Melfi said.
"This is some crazy ass bullshit," Flack laughed dryly and shook his head. "This is just too much."
"Next session I'd like to talk about the relationships the two of you have with your mothers," the doctor told them.
"No…you'll be talking to Sam about the relationship with her mother," Flack corrected. "I'm not getting involved in this, alright? This therapy is for her. Not me."
"You don't think that you could use some kind of therapy?" Melfi asked. "There's obviously some underlying issues behind your anger and your aggression."
"I'm angry and aggressive because of my job," Flack informed her. "Because I deal with sick and twisted bullshit on a daily basis. I see evil day in and day out. I am constantly looking at death. I am constantly asking myself how in the hell human beings can do such horrific shit to each other. And then I come home and I have to deal with the fact that my girlfriend was molested by her father. By the same type of wackjobs I deal with every day! Yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry that I can't do anything to help her. That I can't go back in time and change everything. And I'm angry that you have the nerve to sit here and actually act as if you care about either of us."
"I do care," the doctor told him.
"No…you get paid to act like you care," he corrected her. "And I'm sorry if you feel I'm hostile and menacing."
"I don't find you either," she said. "In fact I find you the opposite. I find that somewhere underneath this tough guy personna is a wounded little boy that hides his emotions and his true feelings behind a false bravado. Because you're afraid of people knowing the real you. Of shattering this personna of someone whose rough and rugged because you feel being sensitive and talking about how you feel means that you're not a man's man."
Sam's eyebrows shot up at the doctor's brutally honest words.
Flack stared at the older woman and gave a laugh. "That has got to be biggest bunch of shit I have ever heard," he declared.
"I have dealt with bigger, better and badder," Melfi informed him. "And I am saying the same thing to you now that I once said to all of them. The sarcasm? The assertiveness? They're coping mechanisms. Strategic tools to hide your weaknesses. Your emotions. Because you're afraid people will think less of you. That you won't live up to some stereotype of what makes a man a real man."
Flack's eyes narrowed. "I think we're done here," he said.
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes remaining locked on his for several long, tedious seconds. "You're right," she said at last, then peered down at her watch. "We are done here. Now I understand that a physician has written you prescriptions for anti-depressants?" she asked Sam.
"And anti-anxiety meds," the younger woman replied.
"How are you sleeping?" Melfi asked.
"I'm a restless sleeper," Sam admitted. "And it's been worse in the last week or so. I don't have a hard time falling asleep…it's just…I can't relax once I am and I toss and turn and talk all night. I wake up more exhausted then when I went to bed."
Flack nodded in confirmation.
"I'll prescribe you something to help you sleep," the psychiatrist said and getting to her feet, journeyed across the spacious yet sparsely furnished room. Stepping behind her desk, she opened the top drawer and took out a prescription pad and then snatched a pen from it's ceramic holder on top of the desk. "I'll also schedule you in two weeks from now. We can discuss at that time how often you feel you need to come and see me. My secretary will call you to confirm your appointment time. In the meantime," she turned, and prescription in hand, journeyed back to where the young couple were now getting to their feet. "If anything comes up…if you feel that you have to get a hold of me ASAP or you feel you're dangerously close to a manic state, do not hesitate to call me. I'll be more then happy to accommodate you."
"Thank you," Sam said, and taking the prescription slip, folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her denim capris before reaching behind her to scoop her purse off of the couch.
"In the next couple of weeks I'd like the two of you to sit down and compare your childhoods and the relationships between you and your parents," Melfi said as she escorted them to her office door. "And to also think about how what happened at the hands of your father affects the relationships in your life. Specifically your intimate relationships."
Oh that should be good, Flack thought, a smug smirk on his face as he yanked open the office door and motioned for Sam to go ahead of him. Let's compare me to her psycho pathetic, child molesting father. Now that's just a huge ego boost.
"It was a pleasure to meet you and I'll see you again soon," the doctor said, as she extended a hand to Sam. "There's some books that you can get at Barnes and Noble. About how to learn to control your moods and battle your anxiety. Unfortunately it could take weeks before you begin to see any effects from the medication, so if you ever feel you need to…"
"She'll be fine," Flack assured the psychiatrist, as he laid a hand on the back of Sam's neck and gently turned her around and led her away from the office.
"Don't do that!" Sam whispered harshly and reached up to push his hand off of her. "You know I hate when you do that! Why do you do that? Act like you own me or something?"
"I'm not acting like I own you. I just want to…"
"Protect me," she finished with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah…I know…maybe you should be in there talking about your massive Knight in Shining Armour Complex."
"Hey…you asked me to come today," he reminded her, as he moved his hand to the small of her back and used his free hand to pull open the door leading from the reception area out into the main hallway. "You wanted me to be here. So don't be going all bitchy on me 'cause some quack doctor touched a nerve."
"She's not a quak," Sam argued, her arms crossed over her chest as they headed for the elevators. "She happens to be an excellent doctor."
"What makes her excellent? 'Cause she's published a couple of books? 'Cause she's written articles for medical journals? 'Cause she's some distant friend of Hawkes' and we all know how he's akin to Godlike status as far as you're concerned."
"You're such an ass," she huffed and reached out to violently jam a finger at the down button for an elevator. "I asked you to come with me because I thought it would be good for you. Good for us."
"Good for me? You thought hearing sordid details about you and your father would be good for me?"
"I thought it would make your understand things better!" she informed him.
"What do I need to understand? I understand he was a sick and twisted piece of shit. What more could there possibly be to understand?"
"I thought it would explain to you why I am the way I am."
"Sammie…this isn't rocket science, alright? I think I can understand why you're a basket case sometimes. I'd be a basket case too if someone did that shit to me. But I don't need to sit in front of a psychiatrist and hold your hand and listen to play by play on what happened to you. You asked me to come and I came with you."
"Well remind me to give you a medal for that later," she snorted. "For feeling like I'm some sort of obligation."
"You're not an obligation. You're taking every thing I say completely out of context. You asked me to come here and I came. Not because I felt obligated. But because I wanted to help you. I want to help you. So don't go turning things around so I look like the bad guy."
"Fine…" she sighed. "Fine…I just think you could have been a little more pleasant with the woman."
"It was your appointment and she was in there trying to analyze me. We weren't there for me. We were there for you. And if she starts this voo-doo hoo-doo pyscho babble bullhit on me at the next appointment, I'm out of there and you're going on your own from now on. She wants to talk about our relationship? About intimate things? Are you kidding me? She's not a goddamn sex therapist."
"Why?" Sam asked. "Do we need a sex therapist?"
"I don't know…do you think we need one?" he countered. "I mean…things are great. Sex wise. Even if sometimes I think you could loosen up a bit and be more…."
"Be more what? Be more slutty? Be more of a dirty little skank?" she rolled her eyes.
"I was going to say more confident. That you should be more relaxed and comfortable with me and just try things once in a while."
"Why does everything always revolve around sex?" Sam asked, as a soft chime announced the arrival of the elevator. "Is that all you think about? Is that all that matters to you?"
"No…but it's a pretty important part of a relationship, don't you think? I mean, we live together. We sleep in the same bed. It's not like we can do that and not ever have sex."
"Well one could always try," she mumbled and stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened.
"I'm just trying to say that I think this doctor is messed up," Flack said as he entered the elevator behind her and pressed the button for the lobby. "Something is not right with her."
"Don…please…we're both a bit on edge. Just don't…how about we just don't talk for a little while, okay?"
"Did you see how she just sat there?" he asked. "She barely even blinked. She didn't show any emotion. The tone of her voice never changed. She was like a damn robot for Christsakes."
Sam sighed heavily and closing her eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Don…please…just…"
"You know who she reminds me of?" he asked, completely ignoring her. "Mac. She's the female Mac Taylor. To a tee. They'd get along great. It's like they were separated at birth. Neither of them are quite human. Think they'd get along? Think we should set them up?"
Sam looked up at him and found him grinning down at her.
"Think we should?" he asked with a chuckle. "Think the two of them would wanna hook up? Let their hair down together? Have some wild and crazy kinky sex? Who knows? Could be true love waiting to happen."
"I think you're goddamn disturbed and you need to be on medication," Sam declared, then broke out into a smile.
"Come on…" he laughed in earnest now and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulled her tight into his side. "You love my twisted sense of humour. You're life would be boring without me. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if I wasn't around."
"I don't know about that," she said with a sigh.
A comfortable silence descended on them. The floors ticked by as the elevator made its slow descent. Sam eventually gave a sniffle and reached up to brush the tears away that suddenly slipped down her cheeks.
"Don't cry, baby," Flack said, as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "It's going to be okay. I know it was hard talking about stuff like that. But it's going to be okay now. Part of getting over it is dealing with it. No matter how bad it hurts."
"I know…I just…talking about all of that to a complete stranger? That's just not me. And then having you take off like that. I was worried you weren't coming back. That you just figured it was too much for you to deal with. And you know what? I wasn't mad at you. I didn't blame you for feeling like that. And for needing to get away. It's a lot for someone to have to deal with."
"Yeah…and you've been dealing with it for how many years? Fourteen since it stopped? If you ask me, you've dealt pretty damn good with it considering. You got your shit together for the most part. Got yourself an education, a good career. You've been able to develop relationships with people. Maybe not the most healthy of relationships sometimes, but…"
"I just…I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? Can we just get out of here and not talk about for the rest of the day? Can we go and get some lunch and then just wander through Central Park or something?" she wiped her eyes, and stepping in front of him, wrapped both arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. "I don't care what we do. I just don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Then we won't talk about it," he said and kissed her temple. "Let's go to a movie. We'll sit way at the back…in the darkest corner…what was that you said a while back about never making out with a guy in a theatre?"
"We've already done the making out during a movie thing," she reminded him. "Remember? Paying close to thirty bucks to see that crappy Jason Statham movie and only seeing the first twenty minutes?"
"In my defence, the skirt you were wearing was pretty short. I just had to check, you know, as a concenred boyfriend and all that you were wearing underwear. Unfortunately, you were."
She laughed. "I do tend to wear undies in public. Sorry. I'm not always considering what's easy access for you. And honestly? While making out with you is usually on the top of the list of my priorities? After that appointment…"
"I know," he said and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked her back. "Last thing on my mind, too. And no. Before you take that the wrong way, I'm not saying I'm turned off by you or anything. I'm just saying that I think we need some time to…I don't know…get over things."
She nodded in agreement. Then giggled as his stomach rumbled noisily. "The alien is talking to me again."
"I'm starving. It's been three hours since we ate. I'm a growing boy. I need sustenance before I waste away to nothing."
"Oh…I don't think these love handles are going anywhere," she teased, and playfully pinched his sides.
"What is it with you and Monroe and the love handles? She's always on Danny's ass about his. You're always picking on me about mine."
"'Cause they're sexy," she reasoned, looking up at him. "In this weird kind of way."
"You know what's weird? The fact that you find love handles sexy," he teased, and covered her mouth with his in a long, tender kiss.
"Just your love handles," she said, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She rested her cheek against his chest. Breathing in his familiar scent. Listening to his heartbeat. Feeling the fabric of his forest green Henley shirt against her cheek.
"Everything's going to be okay," he promised. "No matter what gets said or what we hear…it's all going to be okay. We're going to be okay. Just trust me."
She smiled and closed her eyes and clung tightly to him. Relaxed and happy in the fact that she'd found the one person, the one man, that she was willing to put that kind of trust in again.
Sam pulled two pairs of sunglasses out of her purse as they stepped out into the ferociously bright sunlight. Hanging her boyfriend his pair that she'd stowed in her back upon arriving at the towering office building, she slipped her own -a Paris Hilton-esque pair with large light pink frames- onto her face.
"So where to?" Flack asked, putthing his own shades on. "Other then to the drug store to get your even more drugs."
"I'm starving," Sam replied. "Like literally starving. Wasn't that one of those side effects from the crazy pills Sheldon prescribed me? Increased appetite?"
"No…I think that's a side effect from you getting way too much sex," he teased, taking her hand in his own. "I wear you out. Make you work for your meals. I can't make it too easy on you."
"Well unlike you, I can't eat constantly and not gain weight," she said. "Not that you're on the skinny side or anything. Well, maybe you do have chicken legs. But you're definitely not skinny."
"Are you calling me fat?" Flack asked, grinning down at her.
"No…I'm calling you a big boy. You're…what's that my grandmother used to say about guys like you…built like a brick shit house. You're not light, Don. Sorry."
"I'm six foot two and two hundred pounds of nothing but pure unbridled lust for you, Sammie."
"How the two of you pull that off without seriously damaging her is beyond me," a familiar voice commented, as a hand fell on Sam's shoulder. "But then again, we all know full well you're not that much of a missionary fan, Flack."
"Don't give away all my dirty secrets , Jess," he grinned, as Sam dropped his hand and his current girlfriend and ex embraced warmly in the middle of the sidewalk. Totally surreal, he thought, then nodded a greeting as Mark Powell stepped up beside him.
"Why do women do that squealing and giggling thing when they meet up?" Powell asked.
"It just comes with the territory," Flack concluded. "What are you two doing here?"
"You honestly didn't think I wouldn't show up, did you?" Jess asked, linking her arm with Sam's as the two girls stood before them. "I knew you were going with her for the actual appointment. Didn't mean I couldn't be here for the aftermath. How'd it go?"
"It went," Flack told her.
"That good, huh?" Jess ran a hand over Sam's hair. "That was to be expected, right? This type of stuff always comes with some nastiness. Are you okay?" she asked her friend.
Sam nodded. "It was just…hard. Very hard."
"Well you're dealing with it and that's the important thing, Tinks. Mark and I were thinking that we could take you two out to lunch. We 've got something to discuss with you guys. A propsition to make, if you will."
"I'm not taking part in any kinky shit, Jessie," Flack informed her.
"Well that's a first for you," she shot back. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Don. This is a legit, serious proposition. About our wedding."
Sam's eyebrows raised. "Whose wedding?" she asked.
"Mine and Mark's," her friend answered, and held out her left hand.
"Shit!" Sam squealed and pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head to get a look at the sparkling oval shaped diamond gracing Jess' finger. "When did this happen?"
"Just this morning," the other woman answered, laughing as she found herself pulled into a tight hug. "I actually asked him. Can you believe that?"
Flack grinned at the man next to him. "Are you kidding me? She popped the question?"
Powell nodded, a proud smile on his face as he regarded his new fiancee.
"We just picked the ring out before coming here," Jess explained. "It's why we're a bit late."
"And you guys are just getting married right away?" Flack asked.
"In three days actually," she replied. "In Las Vegas."
"Vegas?" Flack chuckled. "As in the Little White Wedding Chapel and an Elvis impersonator preforming the ceremony?"
Sam rolled her eyes.
"Just a civil ceremony in the classy chapel," Jess explained. "Me and Mark…"
"And a couple of show girls as witnesses," Flack teased, receiving an elbow in the stomach from his girlfriend.
"Exactly," his ex said. "We were hoping that the two of you would come with us. You're both on vacation right? It's only for five days. I'm sure you guys can swing five days in Vegas."
Flack looked down at Sam, his eyebrows arched, looking for a decision.
"I'm game if you are," she said.
"Five days?" he asked Jess.
"We can discuss it over lunch," she said. "We can stop in at a travel agency and get some brochures. Pick a hotel to stay in. It'll be a blast. You two deserve to get away for a few days. To put all the troubles here behind you and just relax and have some fun. Come on….what do you say?"
Flack grinned and gave a small nod.
"I say Viva Las Vegas, baby."
Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I figured that it was due time for Sam and Flack to have some fun! And I am just itching for write some fluff. We all deserve some fluff. And some smut, if my girl Cass gets her way in upcoming chapters. LOL. We'll just have to wait and see…
So thanks to all of you who are supporting me and this story. I appreciate each and every one of you. Even the lurkers! Please R and R folks!
Special thanks to:
Hope4sall
muchmadness
afrozenheart412
HighQueenReicheru
hardylover7477
wolfeylady
xsamiliciousx
Forest Angel
Soccer-bitch
