DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU KNOW THE REST BY NOW!

OKAY, BEFORE I COMPLETELY LOSE MYSELF IN MY EXICTEMENT, I MUST DO TWO THINGS.

1. THANK EVERYONE WHO VOTED FOR ME IN THE AWARDS

2. CONGRATULATE ALL THE WINNERS AND RUNNERS UP.

NOW HERE WE GO….EXCUSE ME FOR THIS MOMENT OF NARCISSISM WOULD YOU?

FIVE FIRST PLACES!

BEST ANGST (MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN)

BEST ROMANCE (VIEWS FROM BROOKLYN)

BEST DANNY/OC STORY (TOGETHER WE'LL FALL)

BEST DANNY/OC PAIRING (DANNY AND SAM ROSS-FLACK)

BEST DANNY/OC AUTHOR

AND FIVE RUNNERS UP!

BEST FLACK/OC AUTHOR (CONGRATS AXELLIA!)

BEST OC (SHARED WITH LAURZZ' AMANDA!)

BEST FLACK/OC PAIRING (SHARED WITH MUSTLOVECAT'S FLACK/NOELLE)

BEST ONE SHOT (HI, MY NAME IS)

BEST MINI EPIC (MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN)

WOW GUYS…JUST WOW. WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE ALL OF YOU! I COULD NEVER THANK YOU ALL ENOUGH.

NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!


Hello, again

"Have you come here for forgiveness
Have you come to raise the dead
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head
Did I ask too much
More than a lot
You gave me nothing
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
Well we
Hurt each other
Then we do it again

You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law
You ask me to enter
But then you make me craw
lAnd I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt."
One, U2


Flack woke to a warm, tiny hand resting delicately on his chest and a knee pressed into a place that made him exceptionally nervous. One false move by the peacefully slumbering five year old and he'd quickly and easily be resorted to tears, not to mention singing soprano for the rest of her natural born life.

Cracking open his eyes, he glanced down at Kellan as she lay on her left hand side, sandwiched between her mother and father, her left cheek resting on his shoulder. Her mouth was open and saliva glistened at the corner of her mouth and had left a patch of wet on his t-shirt and her breath and body were warm and soft against him. A tender smile crossed his face as he observed his sleeping, precious daughter. Taking in the way her impossibly long and thick dark eyelashes fell on her pale, smooth skin and the sprinkling of freckles that dusted the bridge and the tip of her pixie nose. The way her coal black hair framed her delicate face and shimmered in the winter sun that trickled into the bedroom. Her beloved Holly tucked firmly and protectively under her head, using the doll as a pillow.

Reaching out with his left hand, Flack ran it over Kellan's hair and then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. There were two moments in his life that he could honestly say had transformed his life for the better. That had made him realize that life existed far beyond the day to day grind of the job and bringing home a pay check. That had shown him exactly how capable he was of loving another human being. A love that was all consuming and overwhelming and nearly brought him to his knees some days. The moment he'd said 'I do' and slipped that ring on Sam's finger and heard the minister proclaim, over the rushing of the ocean, they were husband and wife and told him to kiss the bride had been the first time.

The second had been when he'd been escorted to the neo-natal ICU at Women's and Children's and been 'introduced' to his brand new baby girls. Tiny little things with a shocking amount of black hair and little red bows tucked into their tresses. He'd never, in his entire life seen anything that small. He could still remember standing in front of the side by side incubators and marvelled at their wrinkled hands and feet and their impossibly tiny ears and noses. He was in complete awe of these beautiful, amazing creatures that he had a hand in creating, and he was overwhelmed by the sheer miracle of life. By how, after being told that the chances of them ever successfully carrying to term after a miscarriage in the September of the year they'd gotten engaged, he and Sam had somehow managed the miracle of life together. That who had started out as just tadpoles in mommy's tummy, were now right there before his eyes.

He was finally a daddy. Throughout the entire pregnancy, while he'd been excited about prospect and had attempted to make it to every doctor's appointment and ultrasound and had been the type of guy to constantly rub the belly and talk to it, he'd never actually felt like a father. Or even a soon to be father. He had found that the days and the weeks and months went by painfully slow and that his babies were never going to get there. He bragged to everyone that asked him how the pregnancy was coming along. He kept a framed ultrasound picture on his desk and showed out to anyone that was in the remote vicinity. Everyone from other detectives to uniforms to the night janitors. Even Sinclair and Whitmore weren't safe from his proud papa shtick, as Scagnetti had nicknamed it. He couldn't go past a children's store without either peering through the window, or actually going in and buying something for his yet to be born baby girls. Everything from lace head bands to leotards with frills on the ass. Onesies that advertised rock bands and sports teams and two tiny Rangers jerseys. And enough pink, purple and white dresses to last his daughters a life time.

"I think you're starting to go a little over board," Sam had declared one night, as she surveyed the packed closet in the newly decorated nursery, one hand on her aching lower back and the other softly rubbing her seven months pregnant stomach. The quintessential mommy to be in a pair of overalls and a kerchief over her hair.

The second bedroom in their cramped apartment had always been exceptionally cluttered, and was nearly unbearable with two cribs, a changing table and a rocking chair. Not to mention the mountains of stuffed animals people were always giving them.

He had been standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders and his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I'm vexed, Donnie…" she'd declared, as she shook her head slowly, clearly taken back by the amount of clothes their children had. "I'm terribly vexed…you worry me….you're scaring me with all of this shopping…you're not going all Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on me, are you?"

"Gotta spoil my baby girls, Sammie…it's my God given right as the guy solely responsible for getting them inside of you in the first place."

She'd rolled her eyes at that and had attempted to wriggle away from him, only to have Flack wrap both arms around her and settle both large, strong hands on her tummy.

"Okay…" he'd conceded, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Maybe I'm just a little obsessed with things."

"A little?" she'd laughed, then gave a soft smile as his nose nuzzled the side of her neck.

Flack hadn't cared what it looked like to his family, friends, colleagues and perfect strangers. He didn't give a rat's ass if his incessant bragging or the ultrasound picture at his desk or the outrageous amount of cash he spent on his unborn twins made him look like a pussy. Like less of a man. Conceiving after the miscarriage -the second in Sam's life- after doctor's had prepared them for the fact it may never happen, had been a major accomplishment for them. As had getting successfully past the crucial first trimester. And no one knew what it was like to be on pins and needles in fear of something going wrong for the next six months. Of living with the worry that carrying to term would never come to fruition. With all of that stress, Flack had felt he deserved the right to get worked up and excited about becoming a dad.

But nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming, all consuming rush of love that and the feeling of utmost completion that had come over him when he'd laid eyes on his daughters for the first time. And when the nurse had gotten him a chair and he'd sat down and she'd placed those two tiny bundles, both swaddled in pink, in each of his arms…well Kallison and Kellan had instantly taken hostage of the part of his heart that Sam hadn't manage to capture yet.

His entire being, his entire soul belonged to his girls.


Stifling a yawn behind his forearm, Flack raised his head from his pillow and cast a glance over at his wife. Fast asleep on her left side, her face turned towards him and a soft smile curving her lips. A protective, yet gentle arm draped over Kellan's tiny body.

By the time he'd returned from his short trip to the bathroom with their daughter just hours before, Sam had already passed out, face down, in the middle of the bed. She hadn't even stirred when he'd physically picked her up to move her in order to make room for himself and Kellan. Done in by a mixture of her tattered emotions and way too much alcohol.

Carefully manoeuvring his right arm that was almost completely numb from his daughter sleeping on it, Flack laid his hand on the top of his wife's head and softly stroked her forehead with his thumb.

The smile on her lips broadened and her eyes slowly flickered open. Golden brown tenderly gazing into brilliant blue.

"Hey…" Sam said simply, her voice just above a whisper.

"Hey…" he returned the smile with one of his own. "You managed to get through the night without running to the john once to be sick. I'm impressed."

"I think I was too tired to throw up," she responded. "But my head…God it feels like there's a raging tsunami inside of it."

"You know, I should be kicking your ass for drinking that much while on your meds," Flack informed her.

"But you won't, right?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I'll let it slide this time," he replied. "But next time…I mean I know you've barely touched alcohol in five years and I know you can hold your liquor surprisingly well for someone so damn small…but next time…well how about there's not a next a time? I'm not trying to be controlling or bossy, but I worry about you, Sammie. With all those meds you're taking…"

"There won't be a next time," she assured him. "I promise."

"Good," he said, as she smiled and captured his hand in hers and brought it down to her cheek and rubbed her face against his palm before nestling into it. She relished those affectionate, tender touches and the feel of his rough skin against the silkiness of hers. They both smiled; their eyes locked on each other as they basked in the peaceful silence embracing their home.

"What time is it?" she asked after several minutes. Giving a loud yawn, she stretched languorously, her bare feet -eggplant purple toe nails and all- poking out from underneath the duvet.

Flack cast a glance over his shoulder, checking the time on the bedside clock radio. "Eight thirteen," he replied, turning back to face her.

Sam groaned. "We're going to be bombarded by demanding, noisy, whiny brats soon. And that's just the adults we've got camping out here. Did Dawson get up at all during the night? He's way too young to be sleeping all the way through yet. Did you go down and check on him to see if he's alright? Did you…"

"Take it easy, mommy. The baby is fine. He woke up around five. I was all ready to head out to look after him and Adam knocked on the door and told me not to worry about it. That he had everything under control."

"Peanut is such a godsend," she declared. "Still shocks me that he had his own kids and he's such a natural with babies. But hey…I've seen and heard stranger. We should try and talk him into giving up his job with the lab to be our full time, live in nanny."

"No…what we should do is move back into the city into an apartment and then that way we can afford for you to stay home full time," Flack said.

"Let's not get into that again, okay? You and your desire to have a stay at home, Stepford wife always leads into a huge fight. Can't we just lie here and enjoy our morning? Can't we just hang out for a bit? This house is going to explode with activity and noise soon. I hope you're prepared to cook some of Detective Flack's famous banana pancakes for everyone. In case you've forgotten, we're running a drop in center all of a sudden."

"Hey…I only make my famous banana pancakes for three people," he informed her. "The three most important people in my life. That's my thing with my girls. Everyone else? We've got enough cereal and tons of bread for toast. They can fend for themselves. I'm no one's Gordon Ramsay."

"Remember the first time you ever made me your pancakes?" she asked.

Flack nodded. "Mornin' after the first time you crashed at my place. You were pretty hung over then, too."

"Maybe because a tall, dark and extremely handsome man who shall remain nameless was plying me with home made Caesars and snake bite shooters all night," she said with a grin.

"Sammie, don't make it sound like all I did was feed you alcohol all night. There was pizza and wings included in your meal plan."

"There was," she agreed. "But admit it, Don. You were getting me tanked 'cause you were hoping I'd let you go where only one other man had ever gone before."

Flack just smiled.

"Well weren't you just so surprised when I shot you down even after you'd gotten me tanked."

"You didn't completely shoot me down," he argued. "You did let me…you know…pay a little visit down under."

She blushed slightly. "My first foray into the wild adventures of Donald Flack Junior and his stunning, mind blowing oral skills. I can't believe you tried to take advantage of me."

"I can't believe no guy had ever…"

"Well doesn't that make you just feel so special," she chided, then laughed when he nodded and grinned proudly. "I have to admit though, after I chickened out and put the brakes on other things, you were a perfect gentleman. You didn't even try anything else even thought we were sleeping in the same bed."

"Trust me babe, it was a damn struggle. I had to call upon every once of will power I had. But you'd said no and I respected that. You know I even remember what you had on that night?"

"You're frighteningly obsessed with me, you know that?" she teased.

"I'm frighteningly in love with you," he corrected. "I was even then."

"Okay then. Amaze me with you impressive memory and your phenomenal observation skills," she said.

"You had on this white Henley shirt with forest green arms and Miller Genuine Draft written across it. And it was tight and didn't even cover your belly button and you were driving me crazy with that piercing of yours. Pair of low riding, ass hugging jeans that when you bent over, gave me a peek of the neon pink thong you had on and your tattoo. Your hair was braided and you had on a backwards Devils cap. And black and pink Air Walk running shoes."

A huge grin spread slowly across her face. "Damn…you're good," she declared. "Did you ever actually pay attention to the Rangers game?"

"Honestly? No," he admitted. "But I was really good at pretending that I was interested in it."

"I still remember how you'd put your arm around me and keep pretending that your hand slipped every time your fingers brushed against my boob," she laughed. "You were like this nervous, horny high school kid that was scared to put the moves on me."

"Hey…I was worried you would shoot me down," Flack defended himself. "I didn't want to try something and then have you slap me in the face and call me a perv and tell me you just wanted to be friends."

"Don…five months before that I was giving you head in your car when you drove me home after work. I think that should have told you right there and then that I wanted to be more than just friends."

"So I'm a dumb ass. I dragged my heels. Wasted a lot of time. It all worked out in the end, right? I pulled my head out of my butt eventually. Look where we are now. Married almost seven years, two kids…"

She arched her eyebrows and stared at him pointedly.

"Three kids…" he corrected him. "Two of them biologically ours. But we've come a long way, baby. Pretty damn good for a guy that blushed when you commented about how good he smelled that night."

"God!" she laughed. "Do you remember everything about that night?"

"Pretty much. I remember you calling me God a few times, too. Did wonders for my ego."

"Like your ego needed any further boosting," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Know what my one regret about that night is?" he asked.

"What? That you didn't get yourself some?"

"Well…yeah…and that I couldn't find any of that Damiana chocolate. Considering what it did to you the first time, if I had have filled you with that stuff…"

She giggled and shook her head. "I would have not fallen for that trick twice. No matter how hot and charming and persuasive and convincing you may be."

"Hmmm…now that you mention it…I am rather charming, persuasive and convincing. And less face it babe, you lucked out when you landed a guy has hot as me."

She snorted. "Only thing it got me was my dark haired, blue eyed babies that I wanted so badly," she said, giving him a playful wink and then pressing a kiss to the top of Kellan's head before softly combing her fingers through her daughter's silky tresses.

Flack smiled and ran his hand through his wife's hair. "We did good, baby," he said.

She gave a smile of her own and a nod. Her proud, loving eyes on Kellan. "We did very, very, very good," she agreed.

Propping himself up onto his elbow, Flack leaned over his daughter's sleeping body and pressing a soft kiss to his wife's lips, trailed the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers.

"God you can be just the most adorable thing some times," Sam declared, and laying a hand on the side of his scruffy, unshaven face, pecked his lips gently. "You really do have your moments, Donald."

"It's why you keep coming back for more. Why you keep me around."

"You really want to know what makes me keep you around?" she asked curiously.

He grinned devilishly.

"Other than your incredible ass and the even more incredible sex," she told him. "It's the way you just love to cater to my every whim. How you're always at my beck and call. How you just live to wait on me hand and foot."

"If you ever tell people exactly how whipped I actually am…"

"Please!" she laughed. "They already know! They just don't want to humiliate you by bringing it up. But seriously…you do like doing things for me, right Donnie?"

"To an extent…" he responded warily.

"Well…seeing as you like doing things for me…do you think you could do a little something for me now?"

"Kellan's in the bed with us, Sammie. I can't just…"

"Not that you pervert! How can you think of that first thing in the morning?"

"How can I not. First thing in the morning is when my…well, you know…when my service weapon is locked and loaded the second I open my eyes."

"God…you are the biggest man whore ever," she teased. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I. You've been with me for nearly eight years. You know how serious I am."

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes…" he said. "Yes I like doing things for you. Why?"

"Because I was thinking that seeing as you like doing things, that maybe you'd be the most amazing, phenomenal husband in the world and get out of bed and go downstairs and make me a cup of tea and bring me a bagel with strawberry cream cheese."

His eyes widened.

"It's not like I'm asking you to part the Red Sea, Don. I'm not asking you to perform a miracle of some kind. I just want a cup of tea and something to eat. And seeing as you're up…"

"You're up, too," he pointed out.

"I know…but you love me and adore me and you don't know how to say no to me…"

Flack gave a heavy sigh, and carefully slipping his arm out from underneath Kellan, sat up and ran his hands over his face and through his messy hair. "You're goddamn lucky I love you so much, Samantha Marie," he said, and leaning over the sleeping five year old, kissed his wife chastely.

"I know full well how lucky I am Donald Joseph," she retorted. "And you'll be lucky yourself later if you get downstairs and make me a tea and a bagel. With cream cheese."

"So then you'll owe me twice," he informed her.

She shrugged and smiled. "I won't mind repaying those debts, trust me."

Grinning, he pushed the heavy duvet off of him and climbed out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the ice cold hardwood. "I don't want to ever here you say I never do nice things for you," he said as he headed for the door.

"And can you bring me a banana too?" she asked. "Please and thank you," she added, blowing him a kiss as he opened the door.

"You'll be the death of me woman," he declared, and stepped out of the room.

"Well at least you'll die happy," she reasoned. Then with a smile, lay back down and nestled her head into her pillow.

Beside her, Kellan murmured in her sleep and rolled over onto her side. "Mommy?" she breathed, her blue eyes flickering open.

"What, baby girl?" Sam asked, and wrapping her arm around Kellan's petite frame, pulled her daughter tightly into her side.

"What does whipped mean?" the five year old inquired sleepily.

"Well…" she began, as she stroked her daughter's hair. "It means that daddy likes to do whatever mommy says."

"He likes to do it? Or he has to 'cause you're bossy?"

Sam grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of Kellan's head. "You're going make a fine wife one day," she declared. "'Cause you're learning from the master."


The fall out had been swift and brutal.

Less than half an hour after the New York Times had ran a colour picture of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, Reed Garrett's letter to the editor and a gut wrenching, tear jerking story on Hawkes and his family all underneath a massive, bold headline that accused the NYPD of denying a hero what he so richly deserved, outrage had rained down on the department. Disgusted and horrified members of both the general public began flooding department switch boards and the commissioner's office with furious complaints. Soon after, their calls of protest were followed by calls by local and state officials demanding an inquiry into the allegations against the NYPD and their 'abuse' of their people.

Fifteen minutes later, Mac was bombarded by a sea of photographers as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto the thirty-fifth floor at the lab. All of them wanting both his personal story on his life -both career and personal wise- with Hawkes, and his honest opinion of the mess regarding the brass denying the man a proper funeral. By that time, Mac was three things: exhausted, grieving, and massively pissed off that Hawkes was getting the shaft.

For lack of a better word, he'd snapped. He'd looked directly into the cameras and spoke from his heart. He had ranted against the department for ignoring Hawkes' family during their time of need. There'd not been one message of sympathy sent to Mari and the kids from the brass or the mayor's office. Not one flower of offer of support had shown up on their doorstep. The only thing they'd received was the cold shoulder and proverbial fuck you. And he stressed that for a police department that bragged about being a huge family, the only time they actually practiced what they preached was at recruitment time. Danny Messer was in the hospital. Doctor Sheldon Hawkes was dead. And the brass and those running the city didn't seem to give two shits.

A half an hour hadn't passed since he'd made his comments and Mac had received two things. An irate call from the commissioner threatening to have his badge for insubordination for his 'ludicrous' statements, and a second call from the mayor himself. Assuring him that his job was safe, and that Hawkes would receive a no holds barred funeral.

Mac hadn't cared about the former. At that point in time, his job was the last thing he was worried about. It was earning respect for not just Hawkes, but for every member of his team. The unsung heroes behind every solved case. Who worked themselves until they were exhausted. Who had shed blood, sweat, and many tears in the pursuit of justice. They were family. They rallied around each other, and Mac held tightly onto the reins and guided them the best he could. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for them. Even if it meant forfeiting his badge to ensure they got what they so richly deserved.

The department hated embarrassment. And Mac, along with the Times, Reed and whoever Reed's inside source was, had collectively humiliated the department. The commissioner was determined to find out exactly who'd fed Reed the information regarding the treatment of Hawkes and his family. Mac had wished him the best of luck. Reed had journalistic integrity and would risk the threat of jail in order to protect his 'people'. Mac himself, didn't care what member of his team or which of their family had so sneakily orchestrated the plot against the department. Maybe it was a collective group. One that would deny any allegation and stand up for each other if need to. Maybe it was just one person, acting alone out of disgust, feeling ashamed for the badge. It didn't matter to him. He was proud of the whole lot of them.

Now, with a raging head ache caused by the stress of dealing with the brass, the grief he'd been hiding from everyone, and the exhaustion that played sheer havoc on his body, Mac sought solace in his office. He closed the door and locked his holster and weapon in his safe. He left his computer on hibernate and turned off the ringer on his cell phone and arranged to have all calls to his office go to straight to voice mail. Needing some time -even if it was just a few minutes- to sit back and collect his thoughts. To quietly reminisce about the years he'd worked with Hawkes. To remember the good and the bad. The collars and the ones that got away. The personal moments they'd experienced together. Each other's weddings, the birth of Hawkes' son. The adoptions of Mac's kids.

Dropping into the chair behind his desk, Mac stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Shutting out the outside world. Tuning out the sounds of employees that rushed past his office. Ignoring their chattering and shouting and nervous laughter. Everyone was too on edge, to stunned about Hawkes' death to smile and laugh with sincerity. And he wondered just how long it would be until things went back to normal around the lab.

And if they ever would.

He felt the tension seep from his weary body as he lost himself in memories of Hawkes. In his worry for the man's family. In his thoughts of how Danny was doing cooped up in the hospital. He made mental notes to himself to head on over to check on the younger man, and to make sure that Lindsay and the kids were holding up okay. He reminded himself to stop by and see how Mari and Jasmine and Elijah were doing. Especially now that she'd most likely been given the news. He planned on calling Reed, who had spent the night at Flack's overflowing house with Natalie and the kids.

The only thing that Mac didn't think about was himself. Or his own family. Kelli and the kids had long ago accepted that they were second. It was the nature of the beast. Something that can being with the enigma of Mac Taylor. And before they'd taken the step towards marriage, Mac himself had given Kelli the option to walk away with no hard feelings on his part. It took a strong woman to be married to a cop. To accept that it was the badge first and family life second. To deal with the incessant worrying and stress that came each time their loved one stepped out the door. Even Samantha and Lindsay, who did the job themselves had trouble at times dealing with their husbands being in harms way day in and day out. They were independent, feisty women who loved their men with a passion and intensity that stunned even the most hardened of hearts. And if it was hard for them, Mac couldn't fathom putting Kelli through such torment.

She'd looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and told him, a scowl on her face as she used sign, that for a smart man, he was a damn stupid human being for ever asking him something like that.

He was so lost in his thoughts, so absorbed with thoughts of all that he and his team had lost and all that had remarkably been saved, that he didn't hear the soft tap at his door, or the slight squeak that it made as it swung open, nor did his ears pick up on soft footfalls as they approached his desk.


"He does close his eyes for a moment and rest," a soft feminine voice said. The daintiness of the British accent falling on his ears. And causing his heart, despite itself, to beat a little faster as warm, wonderful memories flooded through him.

His eyes fluttered open. His breath caught in his chest as the woman that stood before him. Dressed conservatively in a crisp white blouse, black pencil skirt and knee high black leather boots. A thick, slate grey woollen pea coat draped over her arm. And a soft, angelic smile on her lips.

"Hello Mac," the vision greeted him. "It's been a long time."

"Peyton," he managed through his surprise. He couldn't recall a time he'd been that startled to see someone from his past. His not so distant past, at that. And he was slightly unnerved by the feelings and unresolved heart ache that rushed through him.

"You honestly didn't think that I wouldn't come, did you?" she asked, as Mac quickly got up from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. There they stood. Lost lovers with fond memories and immense personal baggage creating a wedge between them. Both unsure of what step they took next. Did they simply keep their distance? Or embrace for old time's sake?

Mac chose the former. For now.

"How did you…?"

"Sid called me," Peyton explained. "He and I have kept in contact for the last nine years. Phone calls and emails and such. And seeing as I went through medical school with Sheldon, he felt it was only right that I should know about his passing. I flew out as soon as I could. It was shocking, to say the least."

"For all of us," Mac told her. "It's hit us hard. The entire team has been hit hard by this. And they're…we're dealing with it. One day at a time."

Peyton nodded. "And how are you doing, Mac?" she asked, concern in her voice and eyes. "How are you dealing with it? I know that you loved Sheldon very much. That you had a great respect for him. You're always so concerned about others. Whose concerned about you?"

"I don't have time to be concerned about myself," he replied. "The well being of my team and their families are first and foremost. You know that. I've always been like that."

"I'd expect nothing less from you," Peyton said with a smile. "But this affects you as well, Mac. Sheldon was part of this team. His family is your family. And I know how bad you must be hurting. And that you're a master at hiding that from people."

"I've done a lot of hurting, Peyton," he told her. Sounding more harsh then he'd intended. "And not all of it has been physical."

She sighed sadly and dropped her coat onto the arm of the sofa across from his desk. "May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the couch.

Mac motioned for her to go ahead.

Peyton gracefully lowered herself onto the couch as Mac leaned back against his desk, hands planted firmly on top of it.

"I truly am sorry Mac," she said, as she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed self consciously at her elbows. "The way that things ended between us…I know that sending you a letter was not the best way to handle things…"

"A Dear John letter you mean?" Mac asked, struggling to keep the irritation from seeping into his voice.

"I should have handled things so much better than what I did," she admitted. "I wanted to come back and do it face to face but I was so afraid that…I was so afraid that the sound of your voice and the sight of your eyes would only keep me here in New York City. And I was unhappy here, Mac. You were the only light in my life and I…in the end I would have made you unhappy as well. And that wasn't fair to you."

"What wasn't fair to me was you not having the guts to come back here and face me," he told her. "I would have much rather you had the courage and the decency to do things face to face. I would have heard you out, Peyton. I would have listened to what you said. And because I loved you so much I would have let you walk away. No hard feelings."

"I know whatever apology I offer up is woefully inadequate, Mac. I know I should have handled things better. And I know I must have hurt you deeply. But at the time…at the time I thought it was the best for both of us. And now…now I know all that that letter did was leave so many unanswered questions. I never should have done that to you. Especially after I was the one who pursued you. Who pressured you into a relationship and into forgetting about your wife."

"Claire has nothing to do with this," Mac snapped. "She died sixteen years ago, Peyton. That's a long time ago. I'm remarried now. I have two boys."

"I know…" she smiled warmly. "Sid told me. He told me all about your wife lovely wife Kelli and your two sons. And about how excruciatingly happy and in love you are. And you have no idea how wonderful that makes me feel Mac. To know that you've moved on and you're created this fantastic life for yourself. You're a good man and you deserve all the happiness in the world."

"Kelli and the boys are my life," he told the woman before him. "She's my everything. My rock."

"I'm sure she is. But truly Mac, we both know that this is your life. Serving and protecting. Running the crime lab. That's your life. And she must be a stronger woman than I am. Because I couldn't compete with all of that."

"And what about you?" he asked, anxious to divert the subject. "Last I heard from Sid you and your husband were living in Bristol."

"We're actually in Wales now. Cardiff," Peyton told him. "James took the position of Dean at Cardiff University several months ago. I accepted a teaching role in the pathology department. It's a much better fit for me then the ME's office there."

"And you never had any children?" he asked.

"God was never gracious enough to grant us that particular blessing," she replied sadly. "I so wanted to be a mother, but…" she sighed heavily. "That path was simply not mine to take."

Mac nodded in understanding.

"I was startled when Sid told me about the rest of the team," Peyton said, brightening up considerably. "About all of the marriages and all of the children between the lot of them."

"They've been a fertile bunch," Mac said with a chuckle, and twisting around, grabbed the framed photograph off of his desk and carried it over to the couch. Sitting down beside his ex girlfriend, he kept a respectable distance as he pointed out and named, the children that belonged to the members of his team.

"And who is this?" Peyton pointed at a smiling Samantha Flack.

"That's Adam Ross' older sister," Mac told her. "You remember Adam? Slightly awkward yet insanely intelligent lab tech?"

She nodded.

"I hired her shortly after I returned to New York. She's a Dartmouth grad. Came to us via Phoenix. She's my ballistic expert."

"Impressive," Peyton said with a nod. "She's also very pretty."

"She's also Flack's wife," Mac revealed. "They've been married just shy of seven years. And these two…" he pointed to the twins. "Are their identical twin daughters. Kellan and Kallison."

"They're absolutely beautiful," Peyton gushed. "They make a lovely family."

"They've had their ups and downs," Mac sighed. "But they're better for it."

"Life is full of trials and tribulations." Peyton reasoned. "It's how we handle and conquer them that is the most important. And Sheldon's death…" she laid a hand on Mac's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "It's going to be a long, hard road. But in the end…in the end you'll all conquer this, too."

Mac nodded, and swallowed noisily. Desperate to rid himself of the lump of emotion that had lodged in his throat.

Peyton gave a tender smile and pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek. "Give yourself time, Mac," she said. "Give yourself time to be a human being for once. Stop being everyone's rock and saviour all of the time and just open your heart and let yourself feel. You have earned that right."

He sniffled and gave another nod. "Would you like to go and grab a cup of coffee?" he asked. "Catch up on old times?"

"I would," she replied. "Very much so. In fact…" she said, as he stood up and returned the picture to his desk. "You know what I'm fancying at the moment?"

Mac shook his head.

"For some reason I'm wanting a Hostess cupcake," she told him. "Particularly one from the vending machine."

Mac gave a broad grin of recollection. "Well lucky for you," he said, as he offered his hand. "I know the perfect vending machine on the fifth floor."

"You read my mind," Peyton gave a light laugh, as she accepted her hand and he helped her to her feet. "It really is good to see you again, Mac," she said sincerely, her hands on his shoulders.

"It's good to see you too Peyton," he responded. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the door.

"We shall," she said, and looped her arm through his.

And together they exited his office. Not as old lovers.

But as old friends.


A huge thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! Words cannot express how much I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers!

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