DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS/FLACK OR WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL HER. AND THE FLACK TWINS. SO DON'T SUE ME. AND PLEASE DON'T SUE ME SIDNEY CROSBY OR THE PITTSBURGH PENGUINS. I ADORE YOU AND YOUR SKILLS, YOU'RE HOT AND HAVE THE BEST BOOTY I'VE EVER SEEN ON A GUY AND IT'S NOT ME BASHING YOU. IT'S THE CHARACTER OF FLACK. ALRIGHT? DON'T SUE. YOU HAVE WAY MORE MONEY THAN I DO. NOW THAT WE'RE ON THAT TOPIC, THINK I COULD BORROW A FEW BUCKS? LIKE A HUNDRED THOUSAND OR SO….
OKAY, SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOLKS. THE MUSE TOOK OFF TO CABO WHEN SHE GOT TIRED OR ALL THE HATE AND DOWNRIGHT BLATANT BULLYING GOING ON AROUND THIS SITE. WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE? SERIOUSLY. PROZAC AND STRAIGHT JACKETS FOR THEM ALL! AND SOME LESSONS ON HOW TO SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY.
NEVER JUDGE A MAN UNTIL YOU WALK A MILE IN THEIR SHOES. I DO THIS TO KEEP MYSELF SANE AND HAVE FUN. AND I HAVE MET SOME AMAZING FRIENDS WHO KNOW WHAT RL HAS BEEN HANDING ME AS OF LATE. AND IF SOME OF THE HATERS WOULD LIKE TO SWITCH SPOTS WITH ME FOR A WHILE, THEY'RE MORE THAN WELCOME TO.
Do things really come in threes?
"Please come now I think I'm falling
I'm holding on to all I think is safe
It seems I found the road to nowhere
And I'm trying to escape
I yelled back when I heard thunder
But I'm down to one last breath
And with it let me say
Let me say
Hold me now
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain't so far down
I'm looking down now that it's over
Reflecting on all of my mistakes
I thought I found the road to somewhere
Somewhere in His grace
I cried out heaven save me
But I'm down to one last breath
And with it let me say
Let me say."
-One Last Breath, Creed
Flack was in a foul mood as he stepped off the elevator and onto the fourth floor of his apartment building in lower Manhattan. The twenty minute subway ride had felt like twenty hours with all the rage and disappointment that coursed through his body. He was furious with the department's decision to move him into a field that he had virtually little to no experience in. Save for the raid years ago on the Wilder Gang - a raid he'd been allowed to head because it was his CI that had tipped the department off in the first place- he'd taken part in three raids his entire career. He was homicide. He dealt with the messy, grotesque crime scenes and delivering the bad news to family members. He worked damn hard at putting the pieces of the puzzle together and delivering justice to the scum that inflicted pain and torture on innocent parties. He didn't go storming through doors clad in Kevlar from head to toe and armed to the teeth in search of weapons and drugs. And he most definitely did not do undercover.
It was the latter that worried him the most. The prospect of the department putting him on an undercover assignment away from his wife and his kids. Assignments that were gruelling and last months upon months at a time. He'd seen damn good cops go crazy being undercover. Guys that couldn't handle being away from home and not being able to talk to their wives and their kids to at least let them know that he was okay and to give some sort of empty reassurances that everything was going to be okay. That he was going to be home soon. He'd seen other guys develop dependencies to alcohol and drugs. Cops that had falling into the lifestyle they were pretending to possess and had ended up addicted to heroin or coke or crack. All to get their man.
Undercover had ruined their lives. And while he knew that he was emotionally strong enough to follow into habits that would destroy him, Flack knew that that the mere stress of being sent undercover would fracture the already delicate state of his marriage. There was a lot to consider before making his next move. He knew that nothing would change Sinclair's decision to transfer him out of homicide, but he also knew that didn't necessarily mean that Sinclair wouldn't consider a different department. In the morning, Flack was going to show up at the Chief's office and plead his case. Lay all of his cards out on the table and state his case about not going to drugs/vice. What would happen after that, he had no idea. But he had to decide what road he'd taken if Sinclair refused to send him somewhere else. Would he just throw his hands up in surrender and just accept the cards he'd been dealt? Or would he simply hand in his resignation and find a job somewhere else.
All scenarios to think about. Ones that his throbbing head just didn't even want to bother itself with at that point in time. All he wanted to do now, as he headed down the hallway towards his apartment, keys jingling as they dangled from his right hand, was take a few minutes to himself and relax. To take a shower and change and crack open that bottle of white wine clutched in his left hand. To think about whether or not he should just call his wife and tell her that he had to cancel their plans for the night. With the mood he was in, it wouldn't turn out to be the quiet and romantic evening they'd originally planned and had been looking forward to. Talk would turn to shop and he'd rant and rave about what had gone down that day, and the entire night would be ruined. And that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to be taking out his professional problems on his already overburdened wife.
Yet at the same time he knew that just coming clean and being open and honest about everything would be his best course of action. Sam would be pissed if she went into work the next day and heard about his transfer through the office grapevine. She'd be furious that he hadn't had enough respect for her and their family to go to her and tell her what was going on. And that would just in turn but unbelievable strain on their relationship. A relationship they were finally getting back on track.
I'll take a shower and have a drink before I decide anything, Flack thought, as he stepped in front of his apartment door and his fingers selected the proper key. Slipping it into the lock and then pausing before turning it, a frown on his face as he heard the sounds of life coming from his place. The radio in the kitchen tuned into the local Top 40 station. A knife softly banging against a wooden chopping board. The shuffling of feet and the clinking of dishes.
Either I've got a really courteous robber that's making me dinner before cleaning my place out, or someone arrived early and decided to let themselves in, he mused, as he snapped open the lock on the door and removing and palming his keys, pushed his way into his apartment. He locked the dead bolt behind him and toed off his shoes. Leaving them by the side of the door before slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it off of the door knob. He loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons on his shirt, along the those on his cuffs, and journeyed through the small foyer and into the small eat in kitchen. A grin curling his lips at the sight of his wife busying herself at the counter by the sink. Picking strawberries out of a container beside her before dropping them into a bowl of cold water and then drying them off on a paper towel before chopping them into quarters and placing them in a dish. She'd taken a shower after she'd arrived. Her hair was still damp and small plastic barrettes held the longer right side of her tresses away from her face. But what really captured his attention, was what she was wearing. Or what she wasn't wearing. Her bare legs were shapely and tanned and her hips and ass curvaceous in a pair of black lace boy shorts. On top she wore a black t-shirt that was gathered at the waist and held together with a hair tie. And the back boasted in big white letters, the last name CROSBY and the number 87.
Flack distinctly remembered teasing her about that t-shirt when she'd bought it eight years ago after the underdog Pittsburgh Penguins had won the cup over the favoured Detroit Red Wings. He'd been mortified when Sam had come home with that plastic Starter bag in hand and had proceeded to, a massive smile on his face, proudly show him what she'd purchased. As a die hard Rangers fan, he simply could not wrap his head around the fact that his girlfriend would ever buy something like that. And when he expressed his extreme disgust in what she'd done, she'd shrugged her slender shoulders and had slipped her new t-shirt over her head.
"I only bought it 'cause he's totally hot," Sam had reasoned. "'Cause I'd give a million bucks to corrupt that little momma's boy. Just call me Mrs Robinson."
He'd been horrified by her apparent lack of taste in hockey players and men in general. And for the past eight years he'd been dealing with her parading around in that shirt. The one piece of clothing she refused to part with no matter how faded and tattered it was becoming.
"I should be kicking your ass on out of here for wearing that," he said, as he dropped his keys on the microwave and sat the bottle of wine on the counter next to the small appliance.
"I would have thought having my ass on display would have made up for the shirt itself," she retorted, smiling at him over her shoulder.
"It almost makes up for you being such a traitor," he teased, and rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows, walked to the sink. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. Inhaling the welcoming scent of her vanilla honey shampoo and the faint scent of the bar soap he kept in the shower stall. "What'cha doing here?" he asked, placing a kiss to the back of her neck before curling his arms around her waist.
"I'm making us dessert," she replied, and picking up a strawberry, took a bite out of it before holding it over her shoulder towards his mouth. "Fresh strawberries on sponge cake with powdered sugar and whipped cream," she said, gesturing towards the ingredients in question with the knife in her hand.
"Sounds amazing," he praised, and captured the strawberry and her fingers in his mouth.
Sam looked back at him once again, her eyes sparkling in both amusement and barely veiled desire as he sucked the berry from between her fingers and licked and suckled at her fingertips. Her heart rate sped up and her stomach fluttered. It was erotic in a simple, unassuming way. His blue eyes locked on her golden brown ones the entire time. She swallowed noisily, slightly unnerved by his intense gaze and her crumbling will power. She'd been struggling. Lord knows she'd been struggling. There were moments where she could barely stand being in a room alone with him. Where she just wanted to say to hell with the therapists' ideas and suggestions and just give in to the overwhelming, all consuming passion that he still managed to provoke in her. She needed, and wanted, that intimacy with him. To have that closeness and to feel that he still wanted her and still found her attractive. Not the act of love making itself, but those blissful, quiet moments afterwards. Wrapped in his arms and listening to his heart beat deep within his chest. Her eyes closed and her entire body tingling as he stroked her hair or glided his fingertips across her shoulders. Those private, tender moments that she wouldn't trade in for anything in the world. Where they were connected both physically and emotionally and it seemed as if nothing could ever tear them apart.
"Tastes pretty good too," he said, his voice low and tinged with his own mutual desire. His large hard curled around her dainty wrist and his tongue explored every inch of her thumb and forefinger.
"I think you need to…" her words came out as pathetic squeaks and she cleared her throat and fanned herself with her free hand. Hoping both actions would work in tandem to combat her blazing hormones. "I think you need to pour me a glass of that wine," she finally managed, pointing towards the bottle with the knife.
He laughed, and releasing her hand, pressed a kiss to her temple before settling his lips next to her ear. "No more dessert before supper?" he asked, as both hands came to rest on her hips. His fingertips brushing back and forth against the skin just below the hem of her panties before his hands slid slowly down her thighs.
"I don't want to ruin your appetite," she replied, biting her bottom lip in a vain attempt to compose herself.
"Actually, if anything I'm looking to increase my appetite," he said, as his hands slid over the front of her thighs, across to the sides and then around to the backs. "Think you could help me with that?" he asked, as his tongue traced the outer edge of her ear.
"I think that…" God, she wanted nothing more than to just give it to what she was feeling. To just re-discover him. And herself. Yet at the same time she was afraid that indulging and taking that step would only hinder their healing. That it would somehow stall, or completely halt, their progress. "I think that you need to just go stand on one side of the kitchen and I'll stand on the other."
"Quit playing so hard to get," he whispered. "It's been a hell of day. A brutal day. And I come home and find you here…like this? Wearing just underwear and a t-shirt and you expect me to not want to do anything to you?"
"I just don't think we're ready for that," she argued meekly. "I don't think it's the right time for us to be doing something like this."
"You know what I think?" he asked, and reached around the front of her to yank the hair tie off of the front of the shirt, the black fabric tumbling down over her hips and ass and nearly reaching her knees. "I think you need to get that poor excuse for a shirt off of you. Can't have a Crosby lover in my place. Sorry."
"It's just a shirt," Sam argued. "It's just…"
"If it's just a shirt, then obviously you don 't have a problem with getting rid of it," Flack said, his hands insistently pulling up the bottom of the tee.
"You just don't take no for answer, do you?" she asked exasperatedly.
"I didn't hear a no," he replied. "I heard a couple of half assed reasons for why you're not just giving in to what we both know you're feeling. To what we're both feeling. But I didn't exactly hear you say the word no."
She sighed heavily, and dropping the knife onto the cutting board with a loud clatter, turned around to face him. "Maybe because when it comes to you I just don't know how to say that," she quietly admitted. "And maybe in some way…maybe that's caused some of what's wrong between us."
"There's nothing wrong between us," he said, his fingers toying with the edge of her t-shirt. "We've been doing good, Sammie. Really good. And I just…call it weak or call it pathetic, but I can't stop myself from wanting you. There's never been a time I haven't wanted you. And after the day that I've had…after the day that I had and then walking in and finding you like this…"
"It's not weak or pathetic to need someone Don," she informed him. "It's not weak or pathetic to want someone."
He nodded as he considered her words, then removing one hand from the bottom of her shirt, laid it on the side of her face. "I want you, Sammie…I need you…" he said, his eyes searching hers, his thumb trailing lightly over her lips.
She smiled and placing her hand over his, turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss to it. "I need you too," she whispered. "And I've always wanted you."
He leaned in to kiss her, their lips briefly touching before she abruptly jerked her face away. "Sammie…" he sighed heavily, and closing his eyes, rested his forehead against hers. "What more do you want from me, babe? I'm trying here. Really, really trying. And the day I've had…you've always been the one to see me through things like this. Don't shut me out now. Don't turn away from me and shut yourself off like this."
"I'm not shutting you out," her hands rested on the side of his face as she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm not…I'm just…there's some things that we need to talk about, Donnie."
"Things? What kind of things? Like things with the kids? Things with us? What…?"
"Things with me," she told him. "And I need you to…I just need you. In every possible way. But I just…"
"You're not making any sense," he said, and pressed feathery kisses along her jaw line. "This is the most cryptic conversation we've ever had."
She turned his face towards her. "I need to know that this effort that you're making, when it comes to us…I need to know that this is the real deal. That this time no matter what happens between us, you're in this, our marriage, for the long haul."
"I'm in this for forever," he told her. "You know that. I wouldn't have done all of this, put myself and you and our kids through sheer hell if I didn't want this to work out. If I didn't want us to be together. I would have just given up a long time ago and cut my losses. So what…?"
She silenced him with a kiss. Apparently pleased, and accepting of his answer. Her hands slid along his cheeks and travelled to the back of his neck where they locked together tightly as her tongue pushed aggressively and hurriedly into his mouth. One of his hands tangled in her hair as the other settled on her hip. His heavy body pushing her back against the counter as her fingers now combed through his hair and her nails scraped against the back of her neck.
He broke out of the kiss when the need for air became overwhelming, and as mouth found the side of her neck and his hands slid down her hip and under her shirt to caress her silken skin, he felt her shudder against him and both of her hands sneak between them to yank his shirt from the waist of his dress pants.
"Let's get this ridiculous goddamn shirt off of you," he said, his hands grabbing the bottom of the item in question and yanking it up and over her head. Letting it fall to the kitchen floor in a puddle of black fabric. "And…" his fingertips grazed against her smooth stomach, one dipping below the waist of her boy shorts. "..I think we should get rid of these things too."
She simply smiled, then closed her eyes and sighed as his large, strong hands peeled the shorts off of her tenderly, his palms gliding down the backs of her thighs as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of her. Shivering at the sensation of his warm, moist lips against her stomach and his fingers travelling down the backs of her legs and down to her ankles. Every sense, every emotion was on high alert. Her body was tense and throbbing and her mind swimming. Her legs moved on their own accord as she lifted one foot, then the other, enabling him to peel her panties off the rest of the way. His breath was warm on her bare skin and his touch scalded her as his hands began their ascent up her legs once again. His lips blazing a torrid path along one thigh. She tunnelled her fingers in his hair and leaned back against the counter, afraid her trembling limbs would give way underneath her.
Flack's hand hands settled on her ass. He pressed a kiss to her fluttering stomach and looked up at her. "Still want to talk first?" he asked curiously.
Her eyes flickered open and she shook her head.
"I want you to make me feel alive again," she whispered.
The bedroom was bathed in sunlight and silent save for their harsh breathing and the pounding of their hearts. Flack lay staring up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. His naked body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his chest heaving from excursion. Somehow they'd manage to stumble out of the kitchen and through the living room and down the narrow hallway, both of their greedy, anxious hands working at divesting himself of his clothes. They'd pushed their way into his bedroom, lips and tongues locked in a frenzied battled, breaking apart only when they'd tumbled backwards onto the unmade bed.
He wasn't ashamed to admit that it had been over in a matter of minutes. The months of self imposed abstinence conspiring against then and making for a less than memorable moment of reconnecting. It had been desperate and fast, yet wholly fulfilling. Leaving them both gasping for breath and their joined bodies convulsing and their hearts threatening to burst out of their chests. It was the start of something new. As quick and intense as it had been, there'd been a bond formed between them. Something solid and impenetrable. Rediscovery that had led to something far more profound and long lasting.
He listened to the breathing beside him. Watched out of the corner of his eye as her back rose and fall with each gulp of air her lungs took as she lay on her stomach. Perspiration glistening on her skin and thoroughly soaking her hair. Rolling over onto his side, he propped himself up on his elbow, and reaching out, ran a gentle hand along her back. His fingertips slowly and deliberately traced the massive tattoo on her lower back. Covering every square inch of colourful and intricately designed art that graced her body.
"Baby?" his voice was quiet and concerned as he ran his knuckles up her spine. "You okay?"
She nodded, and turning her face towards him, smiled gently.
"I wasn't too…rough?"
"You were," she confirmed. "But it's okay. I wanted you to be. And I know you wanted to be."
He couldn't deny that. "I shouldn't have been like that," he sighed. "I didn't want our first time in months to be like that. I shouldn't have treated you like that."
"It doesn't matter how we do it Donnie," she said. "Because it's always between two people that love and respect each other. It's not like we're complete strangers meeting for the first time or something."
He gave another sigh.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Rolling over onto her side to face him, she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. "You look…I don't know…you just don't look like yourself."
"It was just a really shitty day," he told her. "Exceptionally shitty, in fact."
"A tough case?"
"Just a few little things all bunched together to make one huge crappy ass thing," he said.
"And let me guess…you're not in the mood to talk about it right now."
Flack grinned. "You know me so well."
"Better than you know yourself most of the time," she mused.
He nodded in agreement and combing his fingers through her hair, kissed her softly. "Does that make you upset?" he asked. "That I don't want to talk about it?"
"Is it that you don't want to talk about it ever or that you just don't want to talk about it now?" she countered.
"I just don't want to talk about it right now," he replied. "I just…I want us to just not worry about anything that has to do with work right now. Think we could do that? Just lie here and not talk shop?"
She smiled and nodded.
"You never told me why you came over so early," he said. "I mean, other than you using the spare key I gave you to get in and make us dessert."
"I just wanted to be here when you got home from work," Sam told him. "Adam had the day off today and my parents stopped by so I…"
"So you needed to escape from them," Flack concluded.
"In part. But I wanted to be here when you got off. I just wanted to come here and pretend like we're a normal couple starting out all over again. Like we're just some couple starting the whole dating thing. Forget all about separations and therapy and Kellan's issues. Just come here and think about us. Concentrate on us for a change."
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"So Adam told me to take off. To just escape for a while," Sam continued. "And…well…here I am."
"Here you are," Flack said, and buried his face in the hair at the top of her head. "I'm glad you're here baby," he whispered.
"So am I," she told him and pressed her lips against his Adam's apple. Giving a long, content sigh, she snuggled in tightly. Nestling her head under his chin and wrapping an arm around her torso and draping a leg over his thigh.
"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, after several minutes of companionable silence. "Is it something serious or…"
"It's something serious," she confirmed.
"Okay…something to do with me and you or…?"
"Something to do with me," she told him.
"Something to do with you and work? Or…"
"Something to do with me and my personal life," she said. "Or should I say, my well being."
Flack frowned. He didn't like the sounds of that. "Are we going to keep playing this little game?" he asked, stroking her hair softly. "Twenty questions? Are we going to keep going until I figure out what's wrong with you?"
"I had to go in to see Doctor Baker today," she told him.
"The neurologist? Why?"
"Apparently he'd put a rush on my MRI results," she said.
"Okay…" he swallowed noisily as his heart hammered in his chest. "So what did he say?"
"The initial spot? The one on the brain stem?"
Flack nodded.
"He said that it hasn't gotten any bigger and that it looks like it may have shrunk a little bit."
"That's good news babe," he enthused, rubbing her shoulder. "Amazing news. So that means it's probably not something majorlly serious, right?"
"Right. But…"
Flack sighed heavily. "Why's there always got a be a but when we're involved?"
"He found something else," Sam's voice was eerily calm, a stark contrast to her trembling body. "Another spot…a mass….on the pituitary gland."
He felt his entire body tense and his heart and lungs constrict as the full weight of her words hit home.
"He says that's why I've been the way I am. The headaches, the double vision, how I'm gradually losing my eyesight." Sam continued. "Because the pituitary gland controls so much and is charge of so many hormones in the body that…"
"How in the hell did he not see something like that?" Flack asked, struggling to keep calm. "How in the hell….?"
"He doesn't know. He said that it's most likely been there for a while. For at least six months to a year."
He laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of that. "Six months to a year? Are you fucking kidding me? That long and he never noticed a damn thing in all the MRIs you've had?"
"He says that they were probably so intent on the spot on the brain stem that they didn't look at any other part."
"Well that's just fucking great," Flack snorted and rolled over onto his back. "A half ass brain specialist doing a half ass job of looking after you. Nice. Isn't it his goddamn job to notice everything?"
"Donnie…" she sighed and reached out to rub his chest softly. "Don't…"
"Don't what?" he asked angrily. "Don't get upset? Don't be pissed that your doctor is a fucking tool? Don't worry about you?"
"I never said…"
"So what now?" Flack inquired. "What do they do now? What do we do?"
"A biopsy is the first thing," she explained. "To see if it's malignant or benign. Benign means that it's not life threatening and can be taken care of easily and malignant means that…"
"I know what those words mean!" he snapped. "I know what it means when something is malignant! That it's cancerous and it'll spread and it will most likely kill you. I know that!"
"There's treatments, Don. There's chemotherapy and radiation. Things to battle it. And there's surgery to remove it if it's not too large and taking it out won't cause some kind of permanent damage."
"Jesus Christ…" he muttered, and ran his hands down his face. "This is fucking nuts. How in the hell can you be so calm about this?"
"Because someone needs to be," she said. "I mean you're already freaking out and…"
"I'm freaking out because you're my wife!" he bellowed. "I'm freaking out 'cause my wife and the love of my life is telling me that she's got a goddamn tumour in her head! And you expect me to not freak out about this?"
"I know it's a shock, Don. And maybe that's why I'm so calm. Because I'm so shocked. But I…" she fought back tears. "But I'm always really, really scared and the one time that I needed to feel safe and secure and to make you make everything better…"
"I can't make this better, Sammie. I can't kiss this away. I can't wrap my arms around you and make it disappear."
"No…you can't. Be you can let me be scared and you can wrap your arms around me and tell me everything's going to be okay. Even if you don't honestly believe it."
He sighed heavily. Then closed his eyes briefly in an effort to compose himself.
"I need you, Donnie," she said. "More than I've ever needed you in all the years that we've been together. I need to feel that…I need to feel that no matter how bad this might get, you'll always have my back. That this time if I do get sick…that this time you won't bail on me. That I can count on you."
His eyes snapped open and focused on her. On her terrified face and her trembling body. On that scared little girl trapped in a the body of a woman trying so hard to be strong and brave.
"I need you," her whisper was tortured. And broken.
"I got you baby," he said, and reaching out, wrapped both of his arms around her slender body and drew her into his tight, protective embrace. "I got you…I'm not going anywhere…we'll do this…we'll get through this…together…"
She sniffled noisily and curled her arms around his torso and buried her face in his chest. Finally giving in to the tears that now trickled down his bare skin.
"We'll get past this," he promised, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Hoping that his hallow words didn't betray the sheer terror that threatened to shatter his heart.
I want to extend my huge, heartfelt thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. And even those that are just lurking. I truly appreciate all of the support and kind words at a time when bullying and hate seem to be consuming the entire CSI:NY board. It's a huge boost to know that so many people love this story and will continue to support me regardless of what a select few have to say.
Special thanks to:
Hope4sall
afrozenheart412
Soccer-bitch
CSINYMinute
CrazyMoo97
x3sunnydaay
HighQueenReicheru
Hardylover7477
Forest Angel
Wolves 2D
xSamilciousx
wolfeylady
