DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS AND BABY DAWSON.
OKAY, SO THE MUSE WAS ITCHING FOR A SAM AND FLACK FIGHT AND RESISTANCE WAS FUTILE. SO A LITTLE BIT OF WARNING FOR SOME HARSH LANGUAGE, BRUTAL HONESTY AND A LESS THAN PERFECT FLACK. PERSONALLY, MY FAVOURITE FLACK IS A FLACK WITH FAULTS, REGARDLESS OF WHAT STELLA SAYS. BUT THAT'S JUST ME…
Like a house of cards…
"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here."
-Hurt, Johnny Cash (originally done by Nine Inch Nails)
Samantha yawned noisily as she climbed the stairs, her bare feet quietly slapping against cold hard wood and her hands gathering the edges of her lilac coloured polar fleece hoodie, pulling it tighter around her body in hopes of warding off the chill inside the home.
It was close to midnight, and as moonlight streamed through the living room window, casting shards of silver across the floor, she found herself finally making her way to bed after what had possibly been the longest two days of her entire life.
The memorial service the night before had been incredibly difficult to get through, for all of those in attendance. She had been unable to successfully deliver Danny's simply, yet heart tugging eulogy, and it had been a teary eyed Adam who'd stood up and came to stand alongside of her in a show of support. Laying one gentle hand on the small of her back, he took the paper from her trembling hands with the other and continued reading in a steady, confident voice.
Other speeches had been made as well. Peyton, in her delicate British accent, had talked of the years she'd spent going through medical school with Hawkes and their time together in the Medical Examiner's Office. Bringing forth chuckles as she recalled their 'competition'. She had been called to a crime scene where an unlucky bachelor, the night before his wedding night, had been impaled on a condom machine. Sheldon had held the 'record' of being able to remove the body the quickest and most successfully from a billboard with all of the organs in tact. And she could still recall the look of pride, and relief, when she'd announced down in autopsy that she'd been unable to beat him.
An uncharacteristically emotional Mac had spoke after his ex girlfriend. Sharing fond memories of the years he'd known Hawkes, beginning with the man's time in the ME's office, and causing those in attendance to smile and laugh at humorous anecdotes from past cases - "Other than it not being attached to a person, there's nothing wrong with this finger," Hawkes had apparently declared, while holding up a severed digit that had been found in a dead man's freezer. About how startled he'd been one morning when he'd gone down to autopsy and the young ME was nowhere to be found. Until one of the morgue drawers suddenly opened and there was Hawkes, flat on his back, complaining that one of the interns had left the door opened all night and it could have caused things to freeze up and blow a compressor.
Mac had talked about his genuine surprise when Hawkes' request to take the CSI exam had shown up on his desk. There'd been pride in the former Marine's voice and eyes when he recalled how not only had Hawkes passed the gruelling test with flying colours, but how he'd effortlessly took to his new career. How it had seemed as if Hawkes was either born to do the work, or had been blessed with an extraordinary 'gift' for it. He left out all mention of strife and discord, and segued nicely into his thoughts, and observations on the man himself. Praising Hawkes' immense intelligence and integrity. His gentle and approachable manner, his quiet confidence and unyielding strength and stoicism in the face of evil and hatred. His compassion and patience. His ability to 'make you want to be a better person'. And above all, it was the man beyond the job that Mac had admired the most. The trustworthy confidant, the loyal friend, and the attentive and adoring husband and father.
And as if Mac's words hadn't been enough to bring tears to the eyes of many, his outward display of emotion afterwards had broken many. Upon finishing his speech, he'd simply folded the paper in his hands, walked over to the coffin and placed a gentle hand over Hawkes' as they lay folded on his chest,.
"Goodbye, Sheldon," he'd said, just loud enough for those in the first couple of rows to hear, then had leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the deceased man's forehead.
Things had gone 'downhill' from there. Before the tears could be dried and the sniffling could subside, Jasmine and Elijah had taken to the floor to talk about their dad. To share all of the fun, light hearted times they'd had together. Family outings, birthday parties and Christmas mornings, including the one that had just passed, when Hawkes had surprised his family with the news that he had decided to, in six weeks time, take a teaching position at Columbia. They spoke about school plays he'd helped out -mom had made the costumes, but dad had helped recite lines and acted out scenes-, the camping trip that they'd all taken with the Messers and the Flacks two summers before. Laughing at how dad had never let Aunt Sam live down the morning she'd woken up and had been scared to death when she'd found piles of neatly stacked stones in front of each tent and intricately woven twig figures dangling from the trees. Everyone knew that Aunt Sam scared easily when it came to horror movies and that she believed almost anything. It had been Uncle Don's idea to create his own Blair Witch Project, and their dad had gone along with the hilarious, if not slightly cruel and tasteless, prank.
But it had been Jasmine who'd provoked the most tears. Standing there in front of everyone in her simple black dress and the pearls her mother had worn on her wedding day, brave and strong and beautiful. A grieving little girl stuck in a confidant young woman's body. Talking about how much she had loved and respected her father -despite words to the contrary she'd regretfully said during moments of spoiled, selfish immaturity- and how he'd transformed hers, and her mother's life. How he'd brightened their existence with his mere presence and filled their home with love and tenderness. He had been strict, but understanding. Patient, yet not lax. He had come into her life nearly eight years ago and had become her father. He had accepted her and loved her as his own. Not because he'd had to, but because he had wanted to.
Afterwards, the department chaplain and the priest from Mari and Hawkes' parish, had recited psalms and prayers. And the night had been finished off with a slide show that Adam had lovingly created. Photos of Hawkes at work and at play. With his co-workers during both relaxing, fun times and during moments of intensity, and others of him with his wife and children. All set to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah. And while it remained one of Sam's favourite songs, there was no way she'd ever be able to listen to it again without suffering a major meltdown as a result.
She and Flack had skipped out on the 'after party', choosing instead to go and rescue their three children from hell on earth and to spend the rest of the night in the quiet privacy of their own home. Sam had wisely stayed in the car. Or, to be more accurate, her husband had wisely ordered her to stay in the car upon arrival at his parents' place. He knew how testy and mama bear protective she was with her kids and how much she hated his mother under normal circumstances. And with her nerves and emotions in complete tatters, he knew it was in everyone's best interest if she just stayed her distance from her mother in law. Sam's mouth was a loose canon, and the last thing Flack had wanted was to make the situation even worse than it was. And she'd been relieved when the wicked witch had stayed inside the house in favour of her husband helping their son to the car with two sleeping girls bundled in blankets over their pyjamas and Dawson wide awake and raring to go in his car seat.
The entire family had ended up sleeping in mommy and daddy's room that night. Dawson in his portable play pen, and Kellan and Kallison sandwiched between their parents in the 'grown up bed' as they called it. The heavy duvet pulled to their chins as they murmured in their sleep and angelic smiles curved their lips. All while mom and dad lay on their sides, smiling at each other their daughters' heads, their fingers entwined and their joined hands resting on the small space between their pillows.
The day that had just drawn to an end had been long and trying. The parade through the streets of mid-town Manhattan as the coffin, draped with an American Flag and resting on the back of horse drawn gun carriage was followed behind by the grieving widow. Her hair whipping about her face and her tears being scattered by the bitterly cold wind as she was supported on either side of her by Detectives Mac Taylor and Don Flack Junior. Both in their dress blues as she firmly kept a trembling hand curled around their biceps. She was heartbroken but brave. Determined to follow her husband's last journey every step of the way despite the snow and the wind and the freezing temperatures.
A traditional Catholic ceremony had been followed by a private interment. Hawkes' coffin had been moved to it's final resting place, a crept big enough for two in the main mausoleum of Gate of Heaven cemetery on the upper east side. Where he would lie in wait until his wife, hopefully many years from now, was ready to join him once again.
Sam was just glad that it was all over. That now that the very pubic outpouring of love and support was finished, the private act of grieving could begin. For all of those involved.
She paused at the closed door of the master bedroom, listening for sounds of life inside and being rewarded with the canned television laughter of some poorly written and even more poorly acted sitcom. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the door and then curled the fingers of her other hand around the door knob.
"I'm coming in," she announced.
"Hang on…" Flack's voice drifted out into the hallway. "Give my mistress some time to climb out the window and wiggle her ass down the drain pipe."
Sam rolled her eyes and turning the handle, let herself into the bedroom. Where her husband was sitting up in bed in a pair of sweat pants and a tattered and weathered Mets t-shirt. His hair still damp from his shower as he leaned back against the headboard, watching television, a bottle of milk in his right hand as Dawson lay quietly along his left arm, sucking contently and busily on his formula, his blue eyes wide and riveted on his father.
"Really think it's necessary that you knock on your own bedroom door?" Flack asked, as his wife journeyed into the en-suite bathroom. Listening to her feet padding across the tiles, a slight rattling as she removed her toothbrush from its holder, followed by the water being turned on.
"I didn't know what you were up to in here," she replied, as she appeared in the doorway, scrubbing vigorously at her teeth.
"What do you honestly think I'd be doing in our bedroom?" he asked.
"I don't know…flogging the bishop, maybe?"
He smirked and shook his head.
"Oh come on…don't go all innocent, Donnie. Every guy does it. Including you. And any guy who says they don't do it? Well they're liars. On top of being narcissistic perverts."
"Hey…I am not narcissistic," he argued.
"Okay…so you're just a pervert," she concluded, and cheerfully bounced back into the bathroom.
"Sometimes a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do," Flack reasoned.
"Please!" she laughed. "Since when do you need to do that? Don't I indulge you enough? Don't I cater to your every sexual whim and dirty fantasy?"
"Actually…." he grinned.
"Forget I said that last part. Because there are some things that you fantasize about that I…well let's just say those are going to remain very dirty, unfilled dreams on your part. But seriously, do you really have a reason to be spanking the monkey?"
"Do you mind?" Flack laughed. "Why are you talking like that? Coming up with all these weird terms for it?"
"Oh I'm sorry," she said as she turned the water off. "I wasn't aware that sophomoric terms for jerking off upset you."
He smirked at his wife as she exited the bathroom, flicking the light off as she stepped out into the bedroom. "You have been spending way too much time hanging out with your brother and Scagnetti," he informed her.
"Not quite enough," Sam said, as she removed her glasses and set them on the nightstand. "I can't quite belch the entire national anthem and I can't quite master picking my nose and scratching my crotch at the same time."
"You are seriously disturbed," Flack said, as she shed her hoodie and tossed it in the general direction of the chair in the far corner. Watching in amusement as it hit the arm rest, and tumbled to the floor and onto an unsuspecting Wiener as he lay curled up and dozing at the side of the chair in the doggie bed he'd been given for Christmas. The daschund bolted awake with a startled yelp, then jumped to his feet and began barking and snarling at the sweater as it lay in a heap alongside of him.
Sam gasped in horror and slapping a hand over her mouth, hurried over to check on the uninjured animal.
"Wiener!" she cried, as she pried her sweater from his jaws and scooped him up into her arms. "Mommy's sorry!" she showered his face with kisses and nuzzled the top of his head and his ears with her nose. "I didn't mean that! I am sorry! Mommy is so, so, so sorry!"
"Sammie…he's a dog," Flack reminded her.
"He's still one of my babies!" she exclaimed, and cuddled the animal close to her chest. "Mommy didn't mean to do that," she said to Wiener as she stroked his ears. "That was very, very mean of her. But she didn't mean it. She'd never do anything nasty to you. You know that, right? That she'd never hurt you? I am so sorry pup-pup."
Flack shook his head in disbelief. "You are totally mental," he announced. "That's it. First thing in the morning, I am checking you into the nut house."
"Are you kidding?" Sam laughed. "I will have you know that I'm the only sane one around here. Ignore daddy, Wiener," she pressed a kiss to the top of the dog's head. "He's just a big old mean poo head."
"And you wonder where the girls get their colourful vocabulary from," Flack said. "And I will have you know that I am not a big old mean poo head. I am just treat the animals like animals and the humans like humans. And you…well you just baffle my mind."
"Oh I keep you young and spry, Don. Here pup-pup," Sam placed Wiener on the bed. "You cuddle up to mommy and daddy tonight."
"And here daddy was thinking he'd get to cuddle up to mommy tonight," Flack muttered.
"What?" Sam asked, a grin on her face as she tightened the draw string on her lavender, pink and deep purple flannel pyjama bottoms and then straightened the long sleeved pink top. "You're suddenly above having sex with the dog in the room?"
"Dog and son in the room," Flack corrected. "For all we know they could be spies conducting some covert mission collecting information on us."
"Oh…I'm sorry…" she chided. "When did my name suddenly become Devon?"
Her husband frowned.
"You keep doing that and your forehead is going to get permanent wrinkles in it," Sam informed him. Then gave a dramatic pout and reached out to tousle his hair. "Donnie…me wuvs you," she said.
"You are never going to let me live Devon down are you," he stated, as she pulled back the heavy duvet and climbed into bed beside him.
"Of course not. You showed a remarkable lack of taste and self respect when you hooked up with her. You honestly don't expect me to not ride your ass about if for the rest of your life, do you?"
"You know, Sammie…a long time ago there was this saying about women being seen and not heard. How about we pretend that…"
"It was children should be seen and not heard," she corrected. "And how about you not finish what you were about to say."
A smirk tugged at the corners of Flack's mouth. "Did I happen to say I wuvs you too?" he asked, then kissed her chastely before pecking her forehead.
Sam curled her right arm around his left bicep and lightly scraped the nails of her left hand along his smooth skin. "Hmmm…." she looked up at him, her golden brown eyes sparkling mischievously. "No wife beater tonight?" she asked, as she tugged at the sleeve of his t-shirt before slipping her hand up his arm.
"You're obsessed," Flack declared.
"Can I help it that I married a man with beautiful, strong, sexy arms?" she asked, then taking the sleeve of his shirt between her teeth, gave a low growl and shook her head back and forth like a puppy playing with a chew toy.
"You are so weird," Flack said.
"Not weird, one of a kind," she argued. "Eccentric if you will."
"Mm-hm," Flack responded, then winced as she nipped at his arm.
"I am just playing with you baby," she said, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before resting her head against it. "Dawson…" she sing-songed, as she combed her fingers through her son's hair. "Mommy's little snuggle tot."
"Snuggle tot," Flack laughed. "Where do you come up with these things?"
"They just pop into my head…he's eating good?"
"This is a six ounce bottle," Flack told her. "And he's already eaten…" plucking the bottle from his son's mouth, he held it up to the light, squinting as he checked the level of formula. "…five ounces."
Dawson gave a shriek of displeasure.
"Okay…okay…keep your pampers on," Flack said to the baby, and then offered him the bottle again. "I am just telling your mommy what's what here."
"Typical man," Sam sighed. "Throws a bitch fit when his food gets taken away."
"And who do you know that's like that?" her husband inquired.
"Oh I wonder," she laughed, then trailed her fingers along his forearm, over his wrist and across the top of his hand. Stopping at his wedding ring, she ran the pad of her finger over the smooth white gold.
"Scagnetti still here?" Flack asked.
Sam yawned and nodded. "Adam and him are still downstairs playing Wii. And just so you know, in case in the morning they say otherwise, I beat them fair and square in hockey. If they say I didn't, they're lying."
"How much did you beat them by?"
"I kicked both of their asses," she announced proudly.
"That's my girl," Flack turned his face towards her, his lips brushing against her forehead. "You've learned from the master."
"This whole relationship has been one huge learning experience that's for sure," she said and snuggled her head into his arm.
A companionable silence fell between them. Sam closed her eyes, relaxing in her husband's familiar scent and the mere presence of his body so close to hers, her fingers still exploring his wedding band and the top of his hand.
"So…" she said at long last.
"So…" Flack chuckled. "Is that how we start conversations now? Are we that boring?"
"We are," she laughed. "I don't know whatever happened to us."
"Marriage…kids…a mortgage…a dog…just plain old domestic shit."
"Well if I was going to fall into domestic hell, I am glad it was with you," she teased. "What I was going to ask you was if Danny told you about IAB when you talked to him earlier."
"All he said was that IAB paid him a visit but they're decided not to pursue action against him considering his current medical state."
"In other words, they know the department fucked up but they're too chicken shit to admit it," Sam concluded.
"Exactly…you all done there, little man?" he plucked the empty bottle from Dawson's mouth and set it on the nightstand. "What were you and Mac talking about earlier today?" he asked his wife, as he picked his son up and settled him against his chest. One hand on the back of Dawson's head, the other rubbing his back in slow, smooth circles.
"He just wanted to let me know that Whitmore and Sinclair approved my re-hire. Not like they had much of a choice considering Danny's out of action for God knows how long and Hawkes is…"
"Out of action permanently," Flack concluded softly.
Sam nodded. "He was a little disappointed I couldn't come back full time," she said.
"Well that's tough shit for Mac. No way you can handle full time and taking care of three kids."
"Kellan and Kallison are in school half days," she reminded him. "And Lindsay has offered to take them from noon to five."
"And that only works if Mac can guarantee you straight eight to four," Flack said. "And even if he can do that, what about Dawson? Linds can't take him while you work, babe. She's already got her own baby to look after."
"I know that…which is why Mac says he can pull some strings with the lab day care and get Dawson a spot there."
"Nice to know you're discussing our son's care with Mac and not me," he grumbled.
"He was just being helpful," Sam reasoned. "He's really, really short staffed and he…"
"And he what? All of a sudden is ready to bend over and kiss your ass? Less than a month ago he was kicking you to the curb and tossin' ya out like yesterday's trash and now all of a sudden he's pulling strings for you? What the hell is that?"
"Like I said, he's short staffed and…"
"And that's Mac's fucking problem. Not yours," Flack snapped.
"Okay…you know what?" Sam huffed as she untangled her arm from his and sat up straight. "You need to keep your damn voice down. You're going to scare Dawson and the girls are sleeping. There's no need for you to get all fucking shitty with me, Don. You asked me what Mac and I talked about and I told you. Don't act like I'm carrying on some illicit affair or something."
"Yeah…'cause you'd never do that," he scoffed. "Only I do shit like that, right?"
"What? Where the hell did that comment come from? Did I say anything about you having an affair? Did I even insinuate about something like that? It fucking happened and we dealt with it and now all of a sudden you want to get into a big old thing about it? What the hell is your issue?"
"My issue is that you're talking about personal shit with your boss," Flack told her.
"No…you're issue is that Scagnetti won't let you forget how badly you fucked up," Sam said. "Because while he thinks it's all fine and dandy that I took you back and we're a happy family for the most part…"
"For the most part?" he stared at her long and hard. "What the fuck is that suppose to mean?"
"…he still feels that you got your cake and you ate it too," Sam finished. "And that pisses him off and he can't turn down the opportunity to remind you how bad you messed up."
"You think I need to be reminded?" Flack asked. "You think I don't dwell on it every goddamn day? You don't think I feel like a complete prick? That I haven't felt worse since Jordan died? Since I forced my wife to take in the kid I made with my now dead mistress?"
"You never forced me to do anything," Sam replied. "I took on the role of his mother willingly. You know what your problem is?"
"No…" he snorted and successfully burping Dawson, swung his legs over the side of mattress and climbed out of bed. "…but I bet you're going to tell me," he said snidely, as he carried the baby over to the playpen.
"You know what? Forget it," Sam huffed. "Just forget it. Because for some reason you're being a massive prick all of a sudden and I am not getting into it with you tonight. Or any night for that matter."
"Oh come on Sammie," Flack gave a dry laugh as he leaned over the playpen to swaddle his son tightly. "You not speak your mind? You not cause massive shit? You won't be able to sleep if you don't get the last word in and we both fucking know it."
"Oh fuck you Don," she spat, and beating her fist angrily against her pillow, flopped over onto her side and yanked the covers up to her chin. "Shut up and leave me alone."
"Don't you fucking tell me to shut up," he snarled, and ripped the comforter off of her. "You want to start a fight? Then goddamn finish it! Don't roll over and tell me to leave you alone when all you're going to do is bloody well lie there and sulk all fucking night!"
"And you're going to wake the kids up!" she hissed as she bolted into a sitting position. "Keep your goddamn voice down for Christsakes! I wasn't starting a fight with you! I was telling you about the conversation I had with Mac and you made some smart ass comment about affairs and it all went downhill from there. Do not make me out to be the bad person here!"
"And don't act like you're always the innocent one either. You just told me that you decided to go back to work full time. You discussed things about the kids, our kids, with your boss but you didn't think to talk to me about them? Or are you the only spouse and the only parent in this house?"
"You are overreacting," Sam retorted. "I did not decide anything! Mac told me that he'd like me back full time and I discussed my concerns with him and he was merely suggesting ways to problem solve with me. Fuck, Don. What is your issue?"
"Weren't you going to tell me that before you threw your little hissy fit there?" he asked. "Weren't you going to tell me what my problem is?"
"You've got more than one," she informed him.
He laughed and shook his head. "This coming from you. From the queen of misery."
"Your problem is that you've got all this residual guilt and you can't just let shit go!" Sam snapped. "I don't know how many times we have to argue about Jordan! I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I don't want to talk about it anymore! That I just want to put it behind us! I forgave you when everyone else told me to dump your ass! I took you back when all of my family and friends were telling me to just stay away! And you know why I did that? Do you want me to be completely honest with you?"
"Be my guest," Flack said, his hands on his hips as he glared down at her.
"I am not going to sit here and bullshit you and tell you that the only reason I did it was because I love you. Because I do love and I'll always love you and you know that. But I also didn't want to let you go because I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of having to start a whole new life for myself. A single mother with two girls. Who the hell is going to want to be with someone with two kids?"
"Oh this is just rich, Sammie. Telling me now that you only took me back 'cause you were afraid of being alone. Are you fucking serious?"
"Is that what I said? That is not what I said. Did you not hear me tell you that I love you? Did you not hear any of that, Don?"
"Oh I heard that. And then I heard 'I also took you back 'cause no one else would want me'."
Sam shook her head and regarded him sadly. "That is not what I said. I said I was afraid and I was…"
"And that you were worried no either guy would want you. And seeing as you knew that I wanted you back so bad, that I wanted to make us work and I wanted to keep my family together, you settled for me."
"No…no that is not what I said. I never settled for you. I chose to be with you. Do you honestly think I would still be here if I didn't want you? If I didn't love you? If I just settled? Do you really think I haven't had the chance to be with someone else?"
"Who?" he scoffed. "Terrence Davis?"
"Okay…now you're just being ridiculous…"
"Who else Sam? Who else did you get a chance with? Scagnetti? That stupid ass prick Blaire that works at the lab? Who? Tell me who?"
"No one! All I was trying to say is that if I wanted to be with someone else, I am sure I could have found someone! What the hell is…"
"Zack?" Flack asked. "Were you going to toss him in there, too? Seeing as we all know how you always seemed to go crawling back to that worthless piece of shit."
"I don't want anyone else!" she yelled. "I haven't had any chances to be with anyone else! It's you! It's always been you! Why are you doing this? Why are you starting in on me? Why do things start out so good and go so bad? We were laughing and joking around and then all of a sudden…all of a sudden you just snap and become someone else. And I hate that someone else!"
"Well there's the fucking door, Sam! You hate me that much…"
"I don't hate you!" she cried. "I never said I hated you, Donnie! I said I hated the person you become when we're fighting! Why are you being like this? How does this happen? How do you change like this? I don't understand what makes you like this!"
"This is me," he reasoned. "This is how I've always been. And maybe you're just starting to realize that."
"This is insane! You're being so irrational right now! Tell me what is going on in that head of yours, Don! How we can go from laughing and joking ten minutes ago to this? How we can go from that happy family in the park a few days ago to fighting like this? How we can go from loving and supportive over the last two days to wanting to kill each other! How does this happen?"
"Because it's what we do, Sam," he said quietly. "We fight. We hate each other. It's just who we are."
"I don't hate you!" she argued. "You're my husband and I love you! Are you saying that you hate me?"
He sighed heavily, and closing his eyes briefly, pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"Well I guess your silence just says it all," she said sadly. "Why are we here then, Don? Why are we even in this marriage if that's how you feel?"
"I never said that I hated you, Sammie."
"You didn't say anything. And that's even worse."
"I love you. You know that. But let's face it…sometimes we don't like each other very much."
"No…you know what the problem is? The problem is that we don't like ourselves very much sometimes," she concluded. "And you never answered me. Why are we here? Why are we even in this marriage when it seems like there's a horrific moment to erase every good one? Why are we working so hard for something that most of the times it seems as if you don't want to save?"
"I don't know…" he admitted. "I just don't know. I'm here because I love you. Because fifty percent of the times things are genuinely great between us."
"And the other fifty percent?" she asked.
"Other fifty percent…I guess we're just really good at pretending."
She snorted and shook her head. "You are fucking unreal," she muttered. "You ask me to be honest but you can't grant me the same thing."
"I just told you that I'm here 'cause I love you, Sammie! What more do you want from me?"
"Love can't be the only thing," she said. "It just can't…"
"What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I stick around 'cause of the kids? Is that what you want to hear?"
She stared at him.
"Is that what you want? You said you wanted honesty from me. There's your honesty. I love you but half the time I can't stand you. Just like you love me half of the time and the other half you're tolerating me. You think I like living like this, Sammie? You think I like how one minute things are great and we're happy and we're so much in love and then the next we're like this? You think I like it this way?"
She shook her head.
"And I know you don't like us being this way either," Flack added.
"You're right," she admitted. "I don't. I don't like feeling as if I'm walking on egg shells around you. As if the smallest thing I say or do wrong will lead to exactly what is happening right now. I hate feeling that way. And I hate that you make me feel that way. It's like you're just waiting for the tiniest screw up so you can jump all over it. Because it gives you some sense of power and control to 'fix' me. Well guess what, you can't fix everyone and everything, Don."
"I know that…" he sighed. "And I don't mean to be that way."
"And I know that," Sam said. "It's just who you are. You're not doing it to be mean. You just don't know any better. But what I know is that I've lived like this for nearly eight years. For eight years I've been on edge with you. Because I know what you can get like. And that… that scares me."
"I scare you?" he asked, troubled by the mere thought.
"The way you jump to conclusions and freak out scares me," she admitted.
"I'd never hurt you, Samantha. You know that I'd never, ever raise a hand to you. Ever. I'd rather kill myself than do that. So please don't tell me that you think I'd hit you. Or the girls or Dawson when he grows up."
She looked away from him as opposed to answering.
"You think I'd do that?" Flack asked. "You think that….you know what, look at me. Look at me, Samantha."
She sighed and turned her tear filled golden eyes up to his horrified blue ones. "I know that you wouldn't mean to do it," she said, her voice a mere whisper.
He recoiled as if he'd been physically struck. Her honest words hitting hard and deep.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry that I feel that way. I'm sorry that it hurts you to hear that."
"I'm sorry too," he managed through his own threat of tears and the emotion that threatened to choke him. Raking a hand through his hair, he tapped his foot anxiously on the hardwood as he contemplated his next move and struggled with the hurt and anger coursing through him.
"Donnie…I…"
"I need to get out of here for a bit," he cut her off and turned abruptly on his heel. "I need to just…I need to just get the hell out of here for a while."
She nodded in understanding. "How long is a while?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her pyjama top.
"I don't know," he replied, as he went to the dresser and yanked out a pair of jeans. "Overnight? A couple of days?"
She sniffled noisily.
"Why? You want me gone longer?" he inquired. "Like maybe for good?"
"No…" she shook her head. "I don't want you gone at all," she said. "But I get that you need to get away right now. That everything that's been said is too much to take in and that you need to just be away from it all. I get that."
"It's just better like this," Flack told her, as he pulled on his jeans and did up the zipper and button. "For all of us. 'Cause if I stick around…if I stick around things are going to get said that we're both going to live to regret. And I don't want that…I don't want…" he sighed. "I don't want this to be the end, you know?"
She nodded. "I don't want this to be the end either, Don."
He finished dressing. Pulling on a pair of socks and a Mets sweater he grabbed out of the closet. Listening as his wife sniffled noisily in the middle of the bed. Their bed. In their house. With their son sleeping just mere feet away. With their daughters, their baby girls, dreaming of sweet things down the hall. Three innocent, beautiful beings that were completely obvious to what was happening between their parents.
"Where are you going to go?" she asked, as he put together an overnight bag.
"I don't know," Flack admitted. "Maybe my parents? I just don't know, Sammie."
"You'll let me know, right? You'll let me know where you are? So I won't worry about you?"
He nodded. "I've got my cell so if you need anything…"
"I'll be fine," she assured him. Hoping she sounded more confidant to his ears than her own.
"I'm sure you will," he said, then zipped the bag closed and picked it up.
"Please come back," she whispered as he approached the door.
"I will," he promised, then doubled back to stand at the side of the bed.
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I'm sorry that things have come to this. I don't know how this has happened or if it's just all the stress and grief from the past week or what it is. But I'm sorry and…"
He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Never be sorry," he told her. Then running his hands softly over her hair, turned her face up towards him and kissed her chastely. "We'll be okay Sammie," he promised, struggling to hold back his tears. "We just…we just need a little break…"
"You can't take a break from real life," she cried. "I'm your wife and we have a family together and we…"
He kissed her once more. Soft and lingering. "And you'll still be my wife and we'll still have a family tomorrow," he assured her.
She managed a small smile and clambering up onto her knees, curled her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.
"I just need to go for a bit," Flack told her, wrapping both arms around her. "A lot has gone down and a lot's been said and I think we just need to be alone and sort things out. That's all. And you're right. It probably is 'cause of all the grief and everything else that's gone down. But the way we're feeling…we just need this to happen, Sammie. Doesn't mean I love you any less. You know that right?"
She nodded.
"We'll fix this," he assured her, stroking her hair softly. "Whatever it takes, we will fix this."
"I know…" she sniffled and drew away from him. "I love you…I love you and I'll do whatever it takes to keep our family together."
"That makes two of us," he said and kissed her a final time. "I'll call you. When I get wherever I'm going. And I'll be home tomorrow some time. Okay?"
"Okay," she reluctantly agreed, and moving away from him, sat back down on the bed. Reaching out, she snagged his hand as he walked away from the bed. Pressing a kiss to his palm, she clasped his hand to her chest for what seemed like an agonizing eternity. Then finally let him go. Watching helplessly through her tears as he crossed the room and picking up his bag, opened the bedroom door.
Flack paused in the door way and turned to face her. "You and me, Tinks," he said, then gave her a small smile and wink and stepped out into the dark hallway.
The door closed softly behind him.
And just like that he was gone.
I wasn't going to post this considering the last chapter wasn't one of my better ones, but the muse was on fire and I got it done so I thought, why not? We all have down time. LOL. A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing, and even just lurking. I appreciate all the love and support!!!! Good luck to all of those going through exams and end of the year school stuff!!
Special thanks to:
Hope4sall
Afrozenheart412
HighQueenReicheru
Heart2handgun
Soccer-bitch
xSamiliciousx
wolfeylady
