DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS. MARI BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS HOPE4SALL.
Over my dead body
"So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here."
-Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd
Blackburn and Sons funeral home was situated in a massive red brick Victorian home on the upper east side that through the years, had undergone extensive renovations and refurbishments to restore the building to its original grandeur. Outside it boasted leaded and stained glass windows and well manicured lawns and prize winning gardens that for the winter, were covered in inches of snow. Inside, there were three main parlours. With their soaring cove ceilings, white crown moulding atop deep burgundy walls, elaborate floral arrangements that decorated every available space, and rich brocade drapes that matched the couches and chairs, they were capable of hosting over a hundred guests each. There were four similarly decorated smaller rooms for more private showings on the east side of the building, and upstairs, at the top of the winding staircase and adjacent to the staff break room and offices, was a lounge area equipped with a fully functional kitchen that served for hosting family and friends following funerals.
At the back of the home were two chapels. One small and quaint that was used for when family members sought solace away from the crowds and the stresses of viewings and arrangements, and the other that was spacious and was reserved for large groups and where non denominational services and rites of remembrance were held. It was the latter that had been booked and prepared for Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. His body -clad in a charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt and black and grey stripped tie and laying on top of a bed of white satin lining the inside of an open, cherry wood casket- had been moved into the chapel shortly before guests had began arriving. Soft, instrumental music and the respectful chattering of those who had gathered and funeral home staff trickled out of the open double doors that led into the chapel, as did the fragrant scent of the over two dozen floral arrangements that were placed around the room.
"Oh wonderful," Scagnetti mumbled to Sam, as he and Flack escorted her into the chapel.
Sam glanced up at her friend, frowning at the look of disgust that had crept up onto his face before looking towards what had captured his attention. Groaning loudly at the sight of Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair, Inspector Whitmore and the Commissioner Gerald Moore huddled in a tight group on the far side of the back of the room.
"The three stooges," Scagnetti snorted. "Thought this was suppose to be a private thing? Friends and family only."
"It was," Sam whispered back, as she unbuttoned her black and pink tweed winter coat. "But don't you remember, Tony? The NYPD is just one big happy family," sarcasm dripped off her tongue and she rolled her eyes.
"One big ass dysfunctional family is more like it," Flack said, stepping behind his wife in order to help her out of her jacket. Like Scagnetti, he'd left his overcoat in the SUV, and his suit jacket was damp in several places from the snow that had managed to cling to the fabric on the short walk from the parking lot across the street.
"Which means they're all Flacks," she chided, as she turned to straighten and tighten his tie.
"Funny…" he grinned down at her, then pecked her lips chastely as she smoothed down the lapels on his suit jacket.
"Well I'm just damn glad I'm not part of NYPD royalty like you two are," Scagnetti said. "You're more than welcome to be the Prince Charles and Lady Di of this nasty ass monarchy."
"Hey, I merely married into the mess," Sam defended herself. "Don't fault me for falling in love with the Crown Prince of Darkness."
"You two are real comedians tonight, you know that?" Flack asked, as he moved to sign the guest book resting on a oak podium by the chapel doors.
"Donnie!" Sam hissed. "Get back here! Don't you leave me with these people! They're on their way over here!"
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned over the podium and began slowly, and methodically signing their names to the registry.
"Evil bastard…" Sam muttered, then plastered a fake smile on her face as she turned to greet the Chief of Detectives and Inspector Whitmore. "Chief Sinclair," she offered a small hand to the man standing before her. "Nice to see you again."
"Mrs Flack," Sinclair shook her hand warmly. "Always a pleasure…Detective Scagnetti."
"Chief," the big man said, and forgoing shaking his boss' hand in favour of shoving both of his in his pockets. "Inspector," he gave Whitmore a stiff nod. "Surprised to see you both here. And the Commish. I figured we'd just see you all at the big show tomorrow. Considering this was supposed to be just for family and friends."
"This is the New York City Police Department, Detective," Sinclair reminded him.
Scagnetti's eyebrows shot up and a smirked slowly spread across his face. "And that's supposed to mean…?"
"The NYPD is a family," the Chief told him. "We firmly stand beyond our own. And when something happens to one of us, it happens to us all. This department isn't a one man show."
Sam cleared her throat and coughed noisily.
"Could have fooled me," Scagnetti responded. "You know, considering you were so quick to shit all over the good doctor."
Sinclair's eyes narrowed as Whitmore visibly flinched before her jaw and body became tense.
"I don't think this is the time to be talking about something like that," Sam said, as she reached around Scagnetti's body to rub his back. "This is supposed to be about Hawkes and Mari and the kids. Not about department politics. And all's well that ends well, right? So there's no need to get all worked up over that now."
"It's very interesting that you would bring that up Detective," Sinclair addressed Scagnetti, then nodded a greeting in Flack's direction as the detective rejoined the group. "I find it ironic that you're talking about that at a time like this when we've already managed to nail down the culprit who leaked the information about the department to the press."
Sam's body stiffened and her stomach twisted into knots. She felt her husband's hand settle on the small of her back, a small source of strength and comfort.
"You're all very, very lucky that Detective Messer admitted to talking to Reed Garrett about what was going on within the department regarding Doctor Hawkes and his funeral," Sinclair told them.
Three pairs of eyebrows shot up.
"Danny did what?" Sam asked.
"When we approached him about the incident in which Doctor Hawkes was killed and he was seriously injured, we also asked him if he knew who'd gone to the press," Sinclair replied. "And he readily admitted that it was him and he acted alone."
"But he…"
"I'm sure that Detective Messer acted in good faith," Flack said, cutting his wife off before she could say anything that would point the finger at herself. "That he felt justified in his actions."
"It is of no concern to the public how the NYPD conducts business," Sinclair informed the younger man. "These rules and stipulations have been in place for decades. Since the beginning of the department, and the public had no business trampling over long standing tradition."
"With all due respect sir," Flack said. "But in this case I think the rules were made to be broken. Hawkes…Doctor Hawkes died doing the same job as a sworn officer of the department. He was killed doing the department's bidding. If anything calls for public outcry it was the fact that he was being treated like some commoner when he died protecting this city."
"Well this is just something that you and I will have to agree to disagree on Detective, " Sinclair gave a small smirk. "And such decisions are what makes me the Chief and what makes you nothing more than a lowly Lieutenant."
Flack smirked, then spoke before Sam had the chance to. He was fully aware of her fierce loyalty to him and knew full well how capable she was of opening her mouth and making a shit storm ten times worse than how it had started out. "Well Chief, I guess that when I'm running the show, there'll be a lot of changes around the department, won't there."
"I honestly don't think that now is the time to be playing whose cajones are bigger," Sam spoke up. "This is a memorial service. For a dear friend of ours and for you to come over here and start spewing threats and insults…"
"I just wanted you all to know how very lucky you are," Sinclair interjected. "Because if Detective Messer hadn't come clean about this, there would have been an IAB investigation. The department doesn't need a rat."
"You mean another one to go with the fifty that already exist?" Scagnetti snorted. "Like there isn't worse things being said then the brass are an ignorant bunch of fuck heads for not giving Hawkes what he deserved? Give me a break. You guys screwed up. Plain and simple. You screwed up and your embarrassed and us lowly employees are paying the price. This is all just the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard."
"Heads would have rolled, Detective," Sinclair told him angrily. "And a lot of people would have had their dirty laundry aired. And if you ask me…" he looked directly at Flack. "A few of you have had enough dirty laundry aired lately to do the whole department. We wouldn't want any more skeletons to come tumbling out of that closet, would we?"
"Oh you mean like dirty emails you sent years ago to someone here that should remain nameless?" Sam piped up. "Someone who still has all of them saved on a flash drive that's hidden far away from prying eyes?"
Whitmore gave a shocked gasp while Scagnetti laughed outright and Flack coughed noisily and looked away, attempting to hide a grin as Sinclair fixed his cold eyes on his wife.
"I'm done here," the Chief said and turned abruptly on his heel.
"Well that went well," Flack commented, as he watched Sinclair and Whitmore stalk off.
"You serious about that?" Scagnetti asked Sam. "You still have those emails?"
"No," she laughed. "But he doesn't know that. Did you see the way he nearly shit himself? That should get him to back off for a while. And can you honestly believe his nerve? Coming here tonight to solely caused shit? What is wrong with people?"
"They're all sorts of screwed up these days," Flack reasoned, as he took her hand and led her down the center aisle of the chapel. "He's just an obnoxious prick who gets off on making peoples' lives miserable. I'm seriously starting to re-think my decision to yank my resignation. Maybe it would be a good thing to get the hell out of here and go to New Jersey."
"You change your mind again and I'll seriously kick your ass," Scagnetti told him. "You are not leaving me here, by myself, to deal with these people. You go to Hackensack, I go to Hackensack. 'Nuff said."
"God," Sam laughed. "The two of you there? That place would either sink faster than the Titanic or you'd terrify everyone."
"Flack's the scary one," Scagnetti said. "Always has been. I'm the good cop, he's the bad cop. Never going to change, Missus. He's the big, bad mean one and I'm the innocent, angelic teddy bear."
Flack snorted.
"Well I am…" his partner shrugged.
Flack hated every moment, every passing second that he spent in that chapel shaking hands and engaging in small talk. He just couldn't handle the whole atmosphere that surrounded funerals or memorial services or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He hated being the shoulder to cry on, the tough one that simply stood there when people threw their arms around him and sobbed into his chest. He had offering up pitiful words of solace that sounded empty and hallow to even his own ears. Nothing he said, or did, could numb the pain that Mari and the kids were feeling. No matter how long he stood there stroking her hair and whispering to her that he was sorry and that everything was going to be okay, the truth of the matter was, his words, albeit sympathetic and sincere words, did shit to comfort Hawkes' grieving family.
No matter how many times he hugged Jasmine and told her how much her father had loved her and adored her and no matter how many times he'd patted Elijah on the head and told him that whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, he could always call him, his reassurances and promised held little weight. At least to him. He couldn't simply just be at Mari's beck and call whenever she needed him, even if he did tell her that he'd be there in a heartbeat. He couldn't just be the go to, surrogate daddy when Jasmine had issues had school or problems with her mother. When Elijah needed help with his homework or was having girl problems or wanted to talk to another guy about guy things. He couldn't just drop whatever he was going to take the kid to his soccer games and to sporting events and on camping trips. And Flack knew, before he even made the promises to do all of that and more, that he'd never follow through on half of what he said.
Not that he didn't want to. Because he genuinely did want to help out. He didn't mind doing things with the kids and he didn't mind checking up on Mari from time to time. But the truth of the matter was that that wasn't his family. They weren't his wife and his kids. He had Sammie and the girls and now Dawson to devote all of his time to. They needed him at home, with them, taking care of things. They needed to be, and deserved to be, his top priorities. And no one would ever take the top stop away from his wife and his kids. He'd fucked up enough in his past, and he didn't need anything to completely shatter what he'd tried so hard to rebuild.
Above all, being the proverbial rock and the guy to go to when you're having an emotional breakdown was getting a little old. He'd long ago accepted the role of the hard assed yet surprisingly sympathetic one. The one that Mac turned to when he needed someone to handle things 'gently'. Flack was the one that everyone sent to -when they weren't counting on him to be the first one through the door on a raid- deliver the bad news to family members. He had two distinct sides to his work persona. He could be as scary as hell when sitting across the interrogation from hardened criminals, or he could be quiet and empathetic and handing out tissues when a mother or father sat alongside of him in a quiet room and cried and shared fond memories of their son or daughter. Being human had always been his weakness.
And he'd told Mac as much when Clay Dobson had killed again upon his release from jail. Flack had been torn up over the fact that it was his log book that had sent Detective Truby to jail. His notes that had, in essence, allowed Dobson to file for an appeal, get out of jail and prey upon innocent victims again. While Flack had acknowledged that it was right thing to do locking Truby up and he'd given his log book freely and accepted his role in both one of his detective's demises and Dobson's release, the fact of the matter was, he still resented Mac for forcing him to make that decision. And years later, he found that there were still times that he possessed a lingering bitterness towards the older man. A discord that he simply just could not shake.
Flack knew he could have learned a lot from Hawkes, had he'd been more willing to put their startling differences aside and just give the guy a chance. If he hadn't have been so pig headed in his assumption that Hawkes looked down at him because of his lowly high school diploma compared to Hawkes' enormous intellect, he would have learned how to be a better person. To simply forgive instead of fighting so much. Despite being locked up for a crime he didn't commit thanks to Shane Casey, and for being pressured to erase files on the Ann Steele flash drive by some old college buddy of his -Flack didn't know the entire story, and hadn't cared to then and certainly didn't care to know now that the man wasn't around to defend himself- Hawkes had never seemed to hold no ill will. Towards anyone that had ever done him wrong. He was always low key and down to earth and always possessed that calm voice and that gentle, reassuring smile.
Definitely could have learned something from him, Flack thought, as he turned away from paying his silent respects at the open coffin. He was determined, especially in front of a room of people, to keep up his stoic and solid persona. No matter how badly he wanted to succumb to his own feelings of grief and loss, he simply couldn't do it. People were counting on him to hold it together. Sam was a mess and needed him to keep her on her feet. To prevent her from completely losing it. And if he was to give in to his emotions at that point in time….
Well it just wouldn't be a good thing, he concluded. And as he made his way towards where his wife sat in the front row with Kelli and Mari -each woman flanked the grieving widow and held one of her hands tightly and spoke in soft, soothing voices and occasionally wiped Mari's tears away with wrinkled and tattered Kleenexes- he felt a small, delicate hand fall on his forearm.
"It's been a long time Detective Flack," a soft voice greeted him, and he felt a smile cross his face as he turned to face the woman next to him.
"Peyton," he said in return.
"It's nice to see you again," she told him, and standing on her tip toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his clean shaven cheek.
"Good to see you too," he said, and gave her a quick hug in return. "I didn't know you were in town."
"Sid called me to tell me about what had happened to Sheldon," Peyton told him, and reaching up to clear lipstick off of his cheek with a fingertip. "We went to medical school together and worked many years alongside of each other in the ME's office. We tried to keep in touch as much as possible when I decided to stay in England. But.."
"Life gets in the way sometimes," Flack concluded.
"It does have a bad habit of doing just that," she agreed, and then gave a smile. "And your life has certainly been busy from what Mac has been telling me."
"It's been an odyssey to say the least," Flack agreed with a chuckle.
"A husband and father now. Mac showed me a picture of your wife and your little girls. They're very pretty."
"Beautiful," Flack said. "Exceptionally. They're the loves of my life. All three of them. What keeps me getting out of bed every morning and finding my way to the job. Wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't for them, that's for sure. And you? Life's treating you well?"
"Very much so. I got married three years ago. My husband, Robert and I just moved to Wales. Cardiff, actually. He just took the position as the dean there."
"Impressive," Flack said with a nod.
"Life certainly has changed a lot for the both of us," Peyton observed. "Even if I do distinctly remember that time years ago down in autopsy when you made fun of the way I said pre-natal vitamins."
Flack grinned. "It wasn't that I was making fun of you," he defended himself. "I just found it cute the way you said, is all."
Peyton arched her eyebrows and stared at him pointedly.
"Okay…" he conceded. "I was making fun of you. But it was just a little bit," he quickly added, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
"You're lucky you're as handsome and charming as you are," Peyton laughed.
He gave a sheepish smile and shrugged. "My wife says that all the time. When she's getting ready to threaten me with an ass kicking. About how she'd beat me but won't 'cause she finds me so damn good looking and irresistible."
"And so damn conceited," Sam added, as she joined him and Peyton and snaked an arm around his waist.
"It's the pretty blue eyes," Peyton reasoned. "He thinks they give him free will to say and do whatever he wants."
"I seriously think you two may have been separated at birth with your wise ass, comedic talents," Flack commented. "Peyton, this is my wife, Samantha. Sammie, this is Doctor Peyton Driscoll. She used to be our ME."
"Nice to meet you," Sam said and offered a hand. And silently reminded herself to see beyond the rumours she'd heard when she first started. About the British bitch that had broken Mac's heart.
"A pleasure," Peyton told her, and shook the other woman's hand. "Mac was telling me all about you yesterday."
"Uh-oh," Sam laughed. "That can't be good."
"He was just saying that you graduated from Dartmouth and that you're originally from New York City but came back here via Phoenix."
Sam nodded in confirmation.
"And before you ask," Flack spoke up. "As hard as it is for even me to believe and I've been married to her for seven years, yes. She really is related to Adam Ross. Shocking isn't? That someone that looks like her could share DNA with someone like him? Still baffles my mind."
"Adam's my little brother," Sam told Peyton, as she gave her husband a playful elbow to the side. "Well, he's not so little anymore. At least not physically. And speaking of my little brother…" she glimpsed down at her watch. "This is going to start soon and he's running behind. So if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to go and give him a call. It was nice to meet you, Peyton."
"You as well," she said, and shook Sam's hand once more. "Perhaps we could meet up before I head back to Wales. Grab a coffee or a tea."
Sam smiled. "I'd like that," she said, and then accepted a kiss on the cheek from her husband. "You two can exchange digits. Although I'm sure the gossip will start as soon as some of these people see you slipping him your number. Some of them…" she shook her head. "No words. It's like high school all over again."
"And you're the leader of the cool kids," Flack teased.
"And you're the captain of the football team who tries to get in my…good graces…by pretending you need tutoring," Sam teased, then gave him a wink before heading off down the aisle.
Flack turned back to Peyton, a grin on his face. "She's from Brooklyn," he said, as if that explained it all.
Sighing heavily, Sam slipped into an empty chair in the row behind Mari and the kids and settled her purse on the seat next to her. Adam, she had found out while attempting to call him, was actually closure to the funeral home than she expected. No sooner had she dialled the number and stood tapping her foot impatiently on the marble floor of the building's foyer, someone had tugged playfully on the back of her hair. Adam had, it turned out, had just arrived and had gone upstairs to grab a quick coffee before heading to the service. He was extremely nervous. Adam had never been good at dealing with anything that required him to be in a huge social circle, and mixed in with the grief and loss that he was feeling, his nerves were nearly shot. Adam didn't do loss very well. Or change. He was a firm believer in strict routine and couldn't handle anything upsetting his apple cart.
All part of his OCD, Sam had learned long ago. His reluctance to accept change and to break out of the mould. His compulsive hand wringing when he got exceptionally frazzled and the way he rambled. Most people assumed it was just Adam. That the incessant chatting, usually about nonsense, just came along with him. But Sam could remember the years before the OCD had ever reared it's ugly head -brought on by their father and his abuse, she was sure of it- and her brother was confident and popular and thought nothing of getting up in front of a group of people and speaking. He had made friends easily and had been into sports. Then his eighth birthday had hit and Adam changed. He had woken up that morning and he was an entirely different person. He started obsessively washing his hands and brushing his teeth until his gums bleed. He pulled apart his entire room and rearranged everything he owned according to size and colour. He couldn't speak a proper sentence when he was upset without spewing a bunch of nonsense. He began pulling out his hair and his eyelashes and biting himself.
He'd gotten help over the years. A lot of money had been spent on therapy, and while Adam was still, for the most part, an introvert and still had his fair share of issues, he was an incredibly intelligent, loveable and fully functioning human being. But there had been times when Sam had worried about him. Scared to death that he was never going to be her brother again. That he'd slip away and she'd never get him back.
She honestly didn't know how she'd ever function without Adam in her life. Despite being a wife and a mother, her brother was her best friend. Her biggest confidant and her largest fan. And a life without him was a life Sam didn't want to consider. And as she sat watching him -admiring his neatly trimmed beard and tamed hair and his crisp white dress shirt, well tailored black suit and a solid mauve satin tie Sam knew full well had come out of her husband's closet- she had never been so proud of him as she was now. With the way he sat with Mari, clasping both of her hands in his, his eyes, full of compassion and understanding, riveted on her face as she spoke.
Peanut has come a hell of a long way, she concluded, and reaching into her purse, pulled out the folded piece of lined paper she'd shoved inside before leaving the house. Opening it, she frowned as she was confronted by Danny's horrific chicken scratch hand writing and once again shoved her hand into her bag, this time in search of her glasses. Abandoning her fruitless search when she felt something tap against her temple.
Glancing up, she smiled at her husband as he stood alongside of her, her glasses in his hand.
"And you say I'm the forgetful one," Flack quipped.
"This is exactly why I married you," Sam said as she took the glasses from him. "Because you take such good care of me."
He smiled, and leaning down, dropped a kiss on the top of her head before sitting down beside her.
"I hope this gets started soon," he whispered to her, as he draped his arm around her shoulders. "Sooner this is over the better."
Sam nodded in agreement and slipped her glasses onto her face. "I can't believe Daniel actually talked me into doing this," she said. "And that you refused when he asked you first."
"I'm not good at that sort of thing, babe. Talking in front of people."
"Don…you've stood in front of reporters and held press conferences after raids and huge busts," she reminded him. "How come you can do that but you can't get up in front of this crowd and read Danny's little eulogy?"
"Because all of that was work," he told her. "And this…this is personal. And I just…I just can't do it, babe. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," she said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's how you feel. Why would you be sorry for feeling that way?"
He shrugged.
"No one is expecting you to not show any emotion," Sam told him.
Flack sighed.
"God…is that what you think? You think people are expecting you to be this brick wall? That they're going to think less of you for crying?"
He frowned and stared at her. "I am not going to cry," he told her.
"Why not? You're above it or something?"
"Sam…I don't do stuff like that…I don't do…" he sighed heavily. "I don't do weak, okay?"
"Crying does not make you weak. Crying makes you human. You cried when the girls were born."
"That was different. I'd just become a dad. That's worth crying over."
"You cried when I moved out of the house and took Kellan and Kallison with me."
"I'd just lost my entire family because I was a complete fuck up. Of course I cried. All of that stuff…all of that was worth crying over."
"And you don't think Hawkes is worth crying over?"
Flack didn't respond.
"He was our friend," Sam reminded him. "And I know that you're dying inside, Donnie. I know what you're really like when you take off all that protective armour you insist on drowning yourself in. I know the real you. And the real you is compassionate and sweet and in possession of this stunning amount of empathy. The real you is not weak. You've never been weak."
"Whatever Sammie…just…can we please just drop this? I'll get my tears and my grief out some other time. Okay? When we're home alone and it's just the two of us and I don't feel like I'm on display. Just not here, okay?"
"Okay…" she surrendered. Albeit reluctantly. "Did you notice that Zack and Kendall are here?" she asked casually, as she turned her attention back to the piece of paper in her hands.
"I noticed. I'm surprised they came all the way from DC for someone they barely knew. I know Kendall worked Hawkes but did she really know him that much?"
Sam shrugged. "Apparently, she felt it was the right thing to do and she felt the need to pay her respects. Zack's working for DHS now."
"No shit…"
"He wants to get into the Secret Service," Sam said.
"Yeah? Well if whatever president is in power when he works for them gets assassinated, at least we know for sure it was an inside job."
She smirked. "He's still a little…off…isn't he."
"Off does not accurately describe that guy. He just looks like a psycho. Like he could go all Michael Myers on someone. Did he talk to you?"
Sam shook her head. "He avoids me like the plague."
"Good…" Flack declared, then pressing a kiss to her temple, pulled her tight into his side.
"Are you sure you won't read this?" she asked, nodding down at Danny's speech.
"Sammie…"
"I just don't think I can do it. I hate getting up in front of groups of people. I'm going to lose it in front of everyone. I don't want to cry in front of all these people."
Flack chuckled and rubbed her shoulder softly. "Now there's the pot calling the kettle black. Five minutes ago you were giving me shit about not showing my emotions. And now you're worried about doing it?"
"I just don't want to…" her words trailed off as a frown took over her lips. Pulling away from him slightly, she looked down at his suit jacket. "Is it me or did your pocket just vibrate?" she asked.
"Maybe it's just happy to see you," Flack teased.
"Inappropriate!" Sam scolded, but couldn't help but grin.
"It was my phone," he sighed, and reaching into his inside pocket, pulled out of the offending object. "It's my mom. Which one of our kids burnt the house down do you think?"
"Or which one's head has spun around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist," Sam said, and gave an evil laugh.
"In that case, it's definitely Kallison," Flack told her as he got to his feet. "She's the evil one."
"You're seriously underestimating Kellan. I know that's she so wee and helpless sometimes, but never underestimate the tiny ones. Did you not learn anything when you married me?"
"Oh I learned a lot," he assured her, and kissed the top of her head. "But not as much as you did."
"I learned that you have a smart mouth and a penchant for talking about inappropriate things at inappropriate times," she said.
"You love me though," he told her, as he headed down the aisle.
Well like that was ever in question, Sam thought. And turned back to the paper in her hands.
Stepping into the empty front foyer of the funeral room, Flack flipped open his cell phone and dialled his parents' number. Pressing the phone to his ear with one hand, he shoved the other into the left pocket of his dress pants and paced the narrow width of the vestibule. The soles of his black dress shoes clicking on the marble tiles as he waited for someone, anyone, to answer his call.
"Daddy?!" Kellan sobbed into the phone.
Christ, he thought. Not now. "What's wrong, baby sweets?" he asked, fighting to stay patient and calm despite the irritation that threatened to consume him.
"You have to come and get us daddy!" his daughter cried. "You have to! You have to come and rescue us! Me and Kallison and Dawson and Holly! All of us daddy! You have to come! You have to come now!"
"Kellan, what…?"
"I hate it here!" she wailed. "I hate it daddy! I hate grandma!"
"Kellan…listen to me. Calm down. You know how mommy and I feel about you talking like that. You can't go around saying you hate people. Especially your grandmother. Now you need to…"
"But I do hate it here, daddy!" she insisted. Breaking her father's heart with every sob and every sniffle and every gasp for breath. "I want to go home! I want you to come and get us! Please come and get us, daddy!"
"I can't come and get you," Flack told her. "I am in the middle of something very important and I can't…"
"Uncle Shelly will understand! He'll understand! If he's in heaven like you said than he knows how mean grandma is! He won't be made that you come to get us, daddy."
"Kellan, you need to calm down. I can't come and get you guys right now."
"Please!" she sobbed. "Please daddy! Please come and rescue us!"
Sighing heavily, Flack removed his hand from his pocket and placing it on the door, pushed his way out into the bitterly cold night. "Why don't you tell me what happened," he suggested.
"Grandma's…mean…" Kellan managed between gulps of air. "She…said…that you…and Dawson…are…going…to…hell."
Flack frowned. "She what?" he asked.
"'Cause you…had…a…girlfriend…and…had…a…baby," Kellan continued, the phone rattling as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her pyjamas. "That's…why…you're…going…to hell."
Flack inwardly let loose a litany of profanity directed solely at his mother. Sam was totally right. His mother was an evil bitch. And the thought that she would torment her own grandchildren - especially someone like Kellan who was extremely sensitive and believed anything - with her nonsensical bullshit made him both see red and feel sick to his stomach.
"Daddy…" Kellan whimpered. "Did you dis'peer?"
"I'm here baby sweets," he answered. "Look, I know what grandma said was really, really mean…"
"You're not going to hell are you?" she asked. "And Dawson?"
"Dawson and I aren't going anywhere."
"Pwomise? Pwomise you'll go to heaven with me and Kallison and mommy?"
"I promise. There's nothing you need to worry about, okay?"
"Okay…" she sniffled. "Will you please come and rescue us, daddy?"
"I can't come get anyone right now. I need to be here. It's very important that I stay here. Would it be okay if mommy and I came and picked you up later and took you home?"
"I guess…" Kellan said in a tiny voice. "Is that a long way away, daddy? When you and mommy come and get us?"
"No. It's just a couple of hours. You know how fast that is?"
"No."
"It's like if you blink…that's how fast," Flack told her.
Silence emanated from the other end of the phone.
"I just blinked three times daddy," Kellan suddenly announced. "And you're not here yet."
"I will be there soon, I promise. Right now, I gotta go. Okay?"
"Okay…I love you lots, daddy."
Flack smiled. "I love you too. Can you give grandma a message for me?"
Kellan sighed. "I s'pose."
"Tell her I said that really mean people go to hell too so that means I'll see her there."
Kellan giggled. "I'll tell her for sure. Bye, daddy! Come soon, 'kay?"
"I'll see you in a little bit," he promised, then disconnected the call.
Sighing heavily, Flack snapped his phone closed and palming it, reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket once again and pulled out a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shook a smoke out from it's container and placing it between his lips, lit it and took a long drag. Then moved away from the front doors of the funeral home as he heard them open behind him. He cast a sideways glance at the figure that stepped beside him and greeted him with a curt nod. The hair on the back of his neck bristling and his body tensing as he realized it was Zack Tanner.
"Kid trouble?" Zack asked, gesturing towards Flack's phone.
The detective nodded. "Double trouble at that," he replied. "Two girls."
"Yeah…Adam was telling Kendall that you and Sammie ended up having twins."
"Identical," Flack confirmed. "Kellan and Kallison. They're five now. Five going on fifteen some days."
The other man laughed. "I hear that. Our girl, Madison, Maddy as we call her, she's just turning four. But I swear she's worse than a teenager," he gave a small laugh, then jerked his head in the direction of the funeral home. "Shame about the doc, huh?"
"Damn shame," Flack said. "He was a really good guy."
Zack gave a small nod. "So things are good here in the Big Apple?"
Flack shrugged. "I can't complain. How about in DC?"
"Same shit, different day," Zack leaned against the brick wall behind him and took a long drag of his smoke. "There goes my New Years resolution," he snorted.
Flack smirked. "Don't feel too bad. I broke mine before I even managed to make it."
Zack gave a tense smile. "Sammie looks good," he commented casually.
"Yeah…she does…" Flack responded. "And I think the best thing for you to do would be for you to stay on your side of the room and Sammie stay on hers. Don't be coming over and talking to her. You talk to her, I beat your ass. Understand me?"
Zack grinned. "Still got that over protective thing, going on huh?"
Flack just shook his head and butting his smoke against the bricks, tossed it over the railing off the front porch and into the snow below. "I gotta get in there," he said.
"I'm a changed man, you know," Zack told him. "Once Kendall and I got the hell out of New York City, I never laid a hand on her again."
"Good for you," Flack said, and reached for the handle on the door.
"Got me to thinking that maybe it was who I was with before that made me the way I was," Zack continued.
Flack felt his entire body tense up once more. His hand gripped the handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "You're treading on some thin ice here," he said. "So why don't you just stop while you're ahead?"
"I'm glad things turned out the way they did for you and Sammie. I really am. Having twin girls after everything that happened the first time around with me and her. Her losing the baby and all. She had a miscarriage with you too, right?"
"How about we just not talk about Sammie?" Flack suggested.
"Just wanted to say that I'm glad things finally worked out for her. And that you've managed to keep your sanity for this long."
Flack snorted and turned back to the door.
"And I never thanked you," Zack told him. "It's been almost seven years now and I've never thanked you. For saving my life that day. If you hadn't have yanked me out of the way like you did..."
"I would have done it for anyone," Flack said. "So don't feel too flattered. I wouldn't let any of my guys take a hit if I had a chance to stop it. And that day, you were working with me. Plain and simple."
Zack nodded. "You didn't have to do it. And I bet deep down, part of you didn't want to."
Flack didn't respond.
"And I bet a part of you, even now, wishes you hadn't."
"Actually…" Flack looked over his shoulder at the other man, their eyes locking. "You're right…sometimes I do wish I hadn't. 'Cause honestly, for the hell you put Sammie through? You leaving this world would have been justice well served. And it would have given her a whole peace of mind she's never had with you walking the earth."
A smirk tugged at Zack's lips. "Good to see you again, New York," he said, and turned away dismissively.
Flack just sighed, and shaking his head, opened the door and stepped inside.
It was time to get the show on the road.
Time to mourn a death.
And celebrate life.
A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! Words can not express how much I appreicate all of you! Even the lurkers! I am continually humbled be the outpouring of support for this story!
Please R and R folks
Special thanks to:
Hope4sall
CSINYMinute
Laurzz
Afrozenheart412
madhatterette
Heart2handgun
xSamiliciousx
HighQueenReicheru
Forest Angel
Delko's Girl 88
Soccer-bitch
