DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. ALL CHARACTERS FROM THE SHOW ARE OWNED BY CBS. THAT INCLUDES DANNY MESSER AND LINDSAY MONROE OR WHATEVER SHE'S CALLED THESE DAYS. CBS OWNS THEM. SO UNTIL CBS TELLS ME THAT I ( AND ALL THE OTHER AUTHORS ON THIS SITE) CAN'T WRITE THEM ANYMORE, I WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO. I ALSO DON'T OWN THE CHAPTER TITLE. THAT BELONGS, ORIGINALLY, TO GARTH BROOKS.

I DO OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS AND BABY DAWSON.

I WAS GOING TO DO A HUGE RANT ABOUT HATE AND IGNORANCE AND THE CRAP THAT IS GOING DOWN ON THIS SITE, BUT I DECIDED INSTEAD TO BE THE BIGGER PERSON AND TAKE THE HIGH ROAD. I JUST SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE TIME OR THE TOLERANCE FOR IT AND INSTEAD, WISH TO CONCENTRATE ON THE POSITIVE. ON ALL OF MY FANTASTIC READERS, SUPPORTERS AND FRIENDS. WHO CONTINUE TO ENJOY THIS STORY AND WHO HAVE GIVEN ME SUCH A CONFIDENCE BOOST. SO TO ALL OF MY INCREDIBLE FOLLOWERS AND FRIENDS, I LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU SINCERELY FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.


If tomorrow never comes

"If I were to die today my life would be more then okay
For the time that I spent with you
It's like a dream come true
If this was a last goodbye
No more tears to dry
I would say it one more time
It's been more then fine
How could've known
How could've shown

Say what you will before it's too late
Say what you will
Say what you will before it's too late
Say what you will

If you were to walk away
Know you couldn't stay
Think of all the times we've had
All the good and bad."
-Say What You Will, Damhnait Doyle


"I haven't told anyone else," Sam said, as she absentmindedly drummed her fingernails against a tall, frosty glass of pink lemonade.

They'd stayed in bed for an hour following her confession. Wrapped in each others arms while bathed in the warm, ethereal rays of sunlight that streamed through the window. No further words had been spoken. Whether it be about the state of her health or the fear and uncertainty of what now lay ahead of her and their family, or about the news that Flack had himself had been handed before storming out of Sullivan's office. The mortal shock that his wife had delivered had erased all disappointment, anger and frustration that he had had before stepping through the front door of his apartment. His transfer simply did not matter anymore in the grand scheme of things. A move to vice/drugs had at that moment held a minuscule amount of importance as his life was concerned. And as the force of her news hit, the anger and the frustration he'd harboured for Whitmore, Sinclair and even Sullivan had shifted solely onto the doctor who'd so massively screwed things up.

For that hour he'd once again taken on the role of monster slayer and protector. For a few minutes, he'd said the right things and had given the appropriate words of comfort, support and confidence before they'd lapsed into silence. He'd held her tightly in his arms and had stroked her hair and her back. He'd held her teary face delicately in his hands and pressed feathery kisses to the top of her head. To the bridge of her nose. To each eye and cheek in hopes of clearing the salty tears away. To her trembling chin and lips. To her furrowed brow. In that sixty minutes, they'd been brought closer together than they'd ever thought was possible. Words hadn't been needed. Everything he felt and thought, every emotion and every fear flowed out of his body through his lips and his gentle finger tips.

And when the moment had passed, when she'd been empowered by his strength and the safety and security his mere presence provided her with, she'd untangled herself from his arms and had sat up and had given him that brilliant, glowing smile that had been absent from his life for so long. It was heart warming and genuine and…angelic. Sitting there, with the sunlight cascading through the window and casting a glow on her pale cheeks and that pure, innocent smile on her face, she had seemed almost other worldly. As if a part of her had found a sense of peace and serenity wit the cards that she'd been dealt. That she had come to accept all that now lay ahead of her. Whatever the outcome.

An acceptance that Flack simply was not prepared to embrace. Because acceptance meant surrender. It mean conceded defeat to whatever was beyond his control. And he was not about to lose control. Over himself, over the illness that plagued his wife. Over their future or that of their children. He would not and could not lie down and just let her slip away.

For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.

To death do us part.

And nothing in the world could cause him to break the vows he'd made. He'd betrayed her once. He wasn't going to do it again.

It had been Sam's idea to go out for dinner. Their original plan -long before pent up aggression and emotional and physical need had taken precedence- had been to order in some Thai or Chinese, light some candles and down a bottle -or two- of wine and simply sit back and watch where the night took them. While their thoughts never strayed far from their children, it was somewhat therapeutic to be alone. To do couple things. As if they were just newly starting out and getting to know each other all over again. He'd initially hedged at the idea of an evening out at first. After the bomb she'd dropped on him, the last thing he'd felt like doing was venturing out into public and seeing people happy and hearing them laugh and watching them enjoy life when his own was in such upheaval. But one look into those sparkling eyes had convinced him that while though challenged, his life as he knew it was far from over.

They'd taken a shower, and after towelling themselves off and getting dressed - he in a pair of khakis and a short sleeved navy blue, white and yellow striped shirt, unbuttoned and un-tucked over a simple white t-shirt and she in an orange sorbet coloured soft cotton sundress with a halter back that skimmed the tops of her knees that she'd left at his apartment during her most recent overnight stay with the kids- they'd left the apartment hand in hand. After a leisurely stroll along the edge of the lower east side of Central Park, they'd found an empty table for two on the busy outdoor patio of an Italian restaurant they'd always loved to frequent when they were just a couple eight years ago.

"I honestly don't know what to tell people," Sam continued, her eyes hidden behind a pair of large framed sunglasses. Menu open yet ignored in front of her. "We don't exactly know what's wrong with me and I'm worried that if I do tell them about the spot…I just don't want to be anyone's pity party, Donnie. I don't want them to talk about me behind my back as soon as I leave the room. Or when I'm walking down the hall. 'Oh there goes that whiny, cry baby Samantha Flack. Bringing her problems down on everyone else. Guilting us into making people feel sorry for her'. Who needs that shit?"

"No one is going to say that," Flack told her, his eye observing his wife from behind his own shades. He noticed how she frequently massaged her right temple with the tips of her index and middle finger and how her left hand shook each time she raised her glass to her lips. And he wondered how much of each behaviour could be blamed on her frayed nerves and fright, and how much was directly caused by what was going on inside of her head. "People that really love you and care about you don't think things like that, Sammie. They'll worry about you and ask questions. But only because they care. You really think anyone that's close to you will say shit like that?"

"You mean other than my mother?" she asked.

"Your mother's just a waste of valuable breathing space," Flack replied, and taking a sip of his pint of Guinness, sat it down on the beer coaster on the table. "Who cares what she says? Although I'm sure she's pissed that you and I are working things out. Considering how she so badly wanted to throw a 'Ding Dong the Asshole's Dead' party when we split up."

"I'm past caring about what my mother thinks or says," Sam sighed. "About anything."

"The people that matter most aren't going to say things about you," Flack assured her. "Danny and Lindsay, Mac and Kelli, Mari, Scagnetti, your brother. Not one of them are going to get mouthy. Anyone beaks off and Monroe will have their ass. Trust me on that one. She's like this protective, ferocious pit bull when it comes to you. She's slightly terrifying, you know."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm just glad that we worked things out," she said.

"All friends and even family have shitty times," Flack reasoned. "You know how many times I've wanted to lay Messer out in the past fifteen years that I've known him? If I was to write down instances, details, dates, times…I'd fill up ten log books. Yet we're still boys. And who gives a crap about people that don't like you? That's their prerogative. Life would be way too boring if we were all universally loved."

"Maybe. But a life without hate would certainly be easier," she said.

Flack shrugged. "Sure…but come on Sammie? When have I ever backed down from a challenge? Or from someone causing me grief? You and the kids grief for that matter? Notice they don't get very far when your bodyguard steps up to the plate, huh?"

"Yeah…no one wants to mess with the big, bad homicide detective," she grinned, and raising her drink to her lips, frowned and turned red from embarrassment when her trembling hand caused her glass to smack hard against her teeth hard enough to send lemonade splashing over the edge. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't…"

"Don't worry about it," Flack said, and leaning across the table, wrapped one hand around the glass and placed the other under her chin. Enabling her to take a drink before taking the glass away and setting it on the table for her. "Don't ever apologize for stuff like that," he told her, and removing the silverware from on top of the cloth napkin at his place, used the corner of the soft red fabric to gently wipe the sticky beverage off of her chin. She was embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed crimson and tears threatening in her eyes. "Baby…" he hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face up towards him. "Don't ever feel like you have to say sorry, okay? Especially to me. It's no big deal, alright?"

She gave a shaky smile and nodded.

Setting the napkin down, Flack glanced around at the nearby tables, and spying an unwrapped straw left by a customer on the table behind him, twisted his body around and scooped it up. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, as he turned back around in his chair, and peeling the paper off of the straw, popped it into her drink before crunching the wrapper into a tight ball and dropping it in the table.

"What is happening to me?" she whispered. "What is going to happen to me?"

"Nothing," he assured, and laid a large, strong hand over her tiny, shaking one. "It's going to be okay, Sammie. Whatever this thing is…it's going to be okay. We'll get whatever you need to fight it, alright? You're not going to go through this alone. I promise you. I'm not going anywhere."

"What do we tell the girls?" she asked. "I mean the biopsy is no big deal, but if they need to and can remove it…" she sighed. "Donnie the thing is like three centimetres. They already told me they can't take it out the easy way. They'd actually have to go through the skull. That's major surgery and…"

"And if that's what they need to do, then we cross that bridge when we get to it," he gently interrupted. "Right now, we concentrate on this whole biopsy thing. We do that first and worry about everything else later. Have they scheduled it or…"

"Three weeks from Friday," she told him. "Nine in the morning at Cedars Sinai. I'll have to be in for a couple of days. Maybe more. It depends what the results say and if they feel they need to remove it right away. If they can get a neurosurgeon in on the weekend, they'll do it than."

"I'll put in for some personal time," Flack said. "I'll take a few weeks off. I've got left over vacation time and I can use that for compassionate reasons. I mean, if that's what you want me to do. If you want me to come home and look after you and the kids. I know Adam is there and I'm sure your folks would…"

"Don, you're my husband. You're the only person that really matters. I love Adam but…I love you. You're my forever. You're the only person I want with me while I go through this."

"And I'll be there, Sammie. Every step of the way. You don't have to worry about that, okay?"

She nodded. "But the girls. What…?"

"We tell them that you've got something in your head that the doctors need to take care of," he said. "We tell them the only way the doctors can get to it to make you feel better is to have you stay in the hospital for a bit so you can have an operation and get well enough to come home."

"But they'll have to shave my hair off," she fretted. "That might traumatize Kellan and Kallison. What will that do to them? To see me like that?"

"Sammie, our daughters will understand, okay? If that's what has to be done, then it gets done. Plain and simple. The girls…you're still their mommy whether you have hair or not."

"But how will they be able to look at me? How will you be able to look at me? How…" she self consciously touched the back of her head as she spoke.

"It's just hair," he told her. "Just hair. It doesn't bother me and it won't bother them. You know what will do? We'll buy you all sorts of bandanas and scarves to wear over your head. Every colour, every pattern imaginable. It's only hair, baby. It will grow back."

"And what if it is something worse," she said. "What if the biopsy shows that it's something horrifically bad and they do remove it successfully but I need further treatment. Hard core, aggressive treatment. I'd probably have to be in the hospital a lot longer. What will the kids do if I'm gone that long? That won't be good for them and I…"

"Sammie, the kids will be fine. I'll be there. Your brother will be there. Your parents…" his jaw clenched at the mere thought of her mother having such an active role in their lives. The woman was a mean, spiteful and ignorant bitch. And he knew that Sam being sick wouldn't change the vicious and condescending ways in which her mother treated her. In fact, he was pretty sure that Lynne would capitalize on her daughter's vulnerabilities and become ten times worse.

"My parents don't have to have anything to do with this," Sam told him. "At least not my mother. There must be something we can do to keep her away from the hospital while I'm in there. Some kind of court order or something from hospital security that says she can't be there or…"

"I'll take care of your mother," he vowed. "Don't you worry about her. Don't worry about anything or anyone else other than yourself. And as far as it being something worse and you needing some kind of aggressive treatment…we're just getting way ahead of ourselves thinking like that. We're just getting ourselves all worked up and we don't even know exactly what's wrong with you. So let's just take things one step at a time. The biopsy first, everything else after that."

"But what will happen to me if…" she chewed her bottom lip nervously. "I mean I know what will happen to me. But the girls and Dawson. You. What will happen to all of you if…"

"Let's not talk about that okay?" he stroked the top of her wrist with soft fingertips. "I don't even want to think about that. Al that I want to worry about right now is finding out what's going on. That's all I want to think about, babe. Ad it's all I want you to think about, alright?"

She nodded and used the straw to stir the ice in her drink noisily. "You'd be okay. You know that, right? If something was to happen to me…"

"Samantha, come on…" he huffed, and yanking his hand away from hers as if he'd been scalded, leaned back in his chair. "Don't talk like that. I don't want to …"

"You're a strong person, Donnie. You're the strongest and most tenacious person I've ever known. And you'll be okay. And you'll take amazing care of our kids and you'll go on with your life and you'll.."

"Don't talk like that!" he snapped. Then noticing the curious diners that turned in their seats at his outburst, Flack leaned forward in his seat once more and lowered his voice. "Listen to me, Sammie," he sighed and removing his sunglasses, dropped them onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Nothing is going to happen to you. This…this is not you. This isn't you talking. I've spent eight years of my life with you. And if it was possible, I'd spent the next eighty with you. But I'm not going to sit here and listen to this complete stranger basically giving up on her life. On our life. On our family. Because that is not the person I fell in love with and married and had kids with."

"I'm just thinking about you and the girls and Dawson," she explained. "About how you'll take care of them and do fine on your own and…"

"We're in this together," he told her. "Together," he stressed the word. "I screwed up once before. I thought and acted like a single guy with no responsibilities. This time…this time it's me and you. To the bitter end. Regardless of how things turn out."

"I just want to prepare you for.."

"I'll prepare myself for whatever comes when it comes," Flack said. "I'll deal with it then, and only then. But right now? Right now I just want to get to the bottom of what's going on. And at this very second? On this night? I just want us to be together. I just want us to spend time together and have fun together. That's all. Can we do that? Even if it's just for this one night?"

She gave a smile and a small nod. Then laid her tiny hand over his and entwined their fingers together as she turned her attention to the menu open in front of her.

Flack picked up his beer and took a sip. "Remember the last time we came here?" he asked, as he returned the glass to its coaster and surveyed his own menu.

"Father's Day six years ago," she quickly replied. "I was still pregnant with the girls. Hugely pregnant in fact. People thought I was nine months and ready to pop and really I was only six."

"You were beautiful," he said, smiling softly at her. "I remember you had on this yellow eyelet sundress that just showed off your belly and every time people asked how far along you were your face just lit up and you rubbed your stomach and just went on and on about us having twins. Identical twins."

"I remember you couldn't get that goofy, 'Hey look what I did!' grin off of your face," she laughed. "You just always looked so pleased with yourself whenever someone asked us about the babies. Like you were just so proud."

"Of course I was proud," Flack told her. "You blame me? Look what I managed to create. That's a huge deal."

"Well I wish more guys were as in awe with it as you were," Sam said. "Most just plant the seed and that's that. But you…you were just so different. And I remember how I would always think about how lucky I was. That I'd managed to find a guy that wanted to be so hands on right from the get go. And I remember I was pretty shocked about that fact too."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"It just seemed…I don't know…out of character for you? I just didn't expect you to be like that, I guess. But I remember being so glad that you were. That you worried as much as you did and wanted to be part of everything. I mean, I guess there were times I found it a little overbearing. That whole overprotective way you get about you sometime. But for the most part…for the most part it's one of the things that I love most about you. You've always made me feel safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me. And I've always…needed that, I guess. Craved it."

He nodded slowly as he allowed her words to sink in.

"I'm working on my whole, 'never let things go unsaid' philosophy I've adopted since we started going to the therapist," she explained. "I'm trying, Donnie. I really am. But there's so many things inside of me that I've never said to you. That I should have said to you. And I just…"

"Hey…" he squeezed her hand lightly. "We've got the rest of our lives to say the things we need to say," he told her. "'Cause trust me, there's a lot of things I've got bottled up too. Things I'm just not ready to get out in the open yet."

"Aren't you worried that we might never get the chance?" Sam asked. "That something might happen and those things…those things will never get said. And it will be too late to tell each other? Don't you worry about that?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But then I think about all the years I know are still left ahead of us and I realize that I don't need to be in a rush to get everything out there. We've got a long way to go, Sammie. We've got three kids to raise together. We've got first dates and proms and first jobs and drivers' licences ahead of us. High school graduations. College graduations. Weddings and grandkids. All of that amazing stuff that our kids are going to go through. That we're going to get to see. Together."

"I know…" she sighed heavily and drummed her fingers against her glass again. "I just…"

"You know what else I remember about that night?" Flack asked, anxious to change the subject. Eager to stay away from morbid. "I remember that first father's day gift you gave me. Girls weren't even born yet and I remember you giving me this small box wrapped in shiny silver paper with this blue bow with silver stars on it."

She smiled at the memory.

"And I remember how I nearly cried in front of the whole damn place when I opened it and I found that pewter picture frame with the words, We love our daddy, written on it. And that 4-D ultrasound picture inside."

"You always have been a sap when it comes to your kids," she mused.

"Not just my kids," he corrected her. "When it comes to you. You've always been my weakness, Sammie. You've always been the only person in the entire world able to bring me to my knees. And no. There's no perverted connotation anywhere in the sentence. I just…all I know is that up until you, no woman had ever defeated me. Emotionally. And you…this tiny little, innocent looking Brooklyn girl just walked right in and single handily broke me."

"Who knew the big bad, six foot two, two hundred pound homicide detective was such a push over?" she teased, her thumb softly stroking the top of his hand.

"I must have been ripe for the picking or something," he laughed. "'Cause I did not stand a chance against you."

"When will you ever just admit that you were ready to fall hopelessly and madly in love with someone?" she asked. "That you were just ready for that one and only forever type of woman to walk into your life and transform it completely?"

"You came into my life at a time when I needed someone the most," he admitted. "When I didn't even realize I needed someone to begin with. I thought my life was going pretty good. I thought I was happy with it and who I was with and I…I realized pretty quick that I was fooling myself a lot. That I'd convinced myself I was in love with my forever person because it was easier to do that then to start all over again with someone else."

"It's always easier to convince yourself that you're in love than accept that you're alone," Sam mused. "Adam taught me that," she revealed. "All those times I'd cry to him over the phone about what Zack was like. And Peanut…he'd asked me why I stayed. Why I constantly went back. And when I told it was because I loved Zack, that was what he told me. That I'd convinced myself I was in love because I was terrified of being alone. Because I couldn't accept being lonely. And when I think about what would have happened if I'd stayed in Arizona…"

"But you didn't," Flack told her. "You didn't stay. You came here and you walked into my life. Into all of our lives. You changed all of us, Sammie. Whether you want to believe that or not. No one that you come across is ever the same again. Trust me. Although…"

She glanced up from the menu and looked across the table at him. A smile playing on her lips as she waited for the sarcastic comment that she knew he was dying to spew forth. A sarcasm that she'd so often bitched and moaned about in the past, but had desperately missed when their marriage had gone south and he'd moved out of the house.

"I'm still trying to figure out if you leave people worse than what they were or better than what they were before you came around," he said, his head cocked to one side, a smile spreading across his face.

She burst out laughing. A welcome relief from the dread and nervousness that had been eating away at her. And when he gave that smile- that smile that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his baby blues sparkle- she was quickly reminded what had made her fall so quickly and effortlessly for him. It was the way he was in private. The Donald Flack Junior that existed away from the job. That shone so brightly and captured her head the moment that badge and gun were put away. An easy going, compassionate, gentle soul that let very few people into his world. That allowed just a select handful to see him with his guard down. And she was so very lucky, and grateful, that she'd gotten the chance to be one of those lucky people.

"I really missed that laugh," he told her, his smile and his voice softening. "I've missed a lot of things."

"So have I," she said. "And I'm just glad…I'm just glad that we're here. Right now. That we've come this far with each other."

"So am I," he agreed. "And I can honestly say that my life? That it changed for the better the second you stepped in it. Even with all the hard times we've gone through. Maybe all of that stuff happened for a reason. Maybe we had to go through that because we had a bigger task ahead of us. And all of the bullshit and the suffering…well maybe it showed us how strong we are and taught us that we can get through anything together."

"And maybe it's made us realize that we took each other for granted," Sam added. "That all along we never realized what we had right in front of us. Until it was almost too late."

"Maybe," he said, then grinned as he leaned across the table. "And maybe it's made you realize that you're wildly and passionately in love with me still."

She smiled, then giggled against his lips as he kissed her. "That was never in question," she told him, as he settled back in his chair. "Has it made you realize that you're still hopelessly in love with me?" she asked curiously. "That you simply can't live without me?"

He nodded slowly. "I knew that from day one," he admitted.


The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and a gentle breeze tousled the tree tops as Sam and Flack found themselves wandering leisurely hand in hand down the steps of Central Park's theme Bethesda Terrace. The two tiered terrace had always been one of Sam's favourite parts to visit during a stroll through the park. She loved the mixture of architectural styles; Romanesque, gothic and classical. And she never tired of studying or running her fingertips over the intricate carvings in the sandstone walls. Scenes of nature that reflected the birds and seasonal plants that were found along stairways and on the terrace's main posts. From the upper terrace, one could gaze out at the world renowned Bethesda Fountain. It was by far the definitive crown jewel of Central Park and was one of the most famous, and universally loved fountains in the world.

Up until the night he'd proposed to his future wife a second time -after the original proposal fell through three months after he'd made it and she'd moved out of their apartment following a massive misunderstanding and nasty fight- that fountain had been of no interest to Flack. Sure, it was pretty and all of that. He could see why people were drawn to it and why it was so popular. But he was a guy and guys just didn't get worked up over stuff like that. To him, the Terrace and fountain itself had always brought to mind the case of the murdered groom. Brett Dohn had been found stone cold dead in a dressing tent without a stitch of evidence to be scene. The poor bastard had been sliced open by what would later turn out to be an expensive wedding gift, and stuffed with packing peanuts and his torso bound with bubble wrap by a drunk and moronic best man who hadn't wanted to lose a bet and had to make sure his best friend showed up to the wedding. To that day, although the caterer had been the guilty party, tired of being nothing more than Brett's bitch, Flack had honestly never met someone as stupid as George Foodim.

"Fifteen shots of tequila…I heard ya…"

Flack still laughed at the memory of saying those words. And at the sheer idiocy of George's explanation to why he'd done what he'd done. He was pretty sure that a bigger idiot existed out there somewhere. He just hadn't met them yet.

The fountain had taken on a bigger significance when Flack had -in what he considered one of his finer moments of grovelling- chosen the spot to win his girl back. It had been a night very much like the one they were experiencing now. A brilliant, glowing sunset, a refreshing, gentle breeze, and the sounds of chatter and laughter coming from other civilians and the sound of the fountain bubbling mixed in with the strains of a guitar as a lone musician perched on a stone bench at the bottom of the terrace entertained people with his version of classical masterpieces.

It had worked. He'd done enough begging and enough apologizing to last himself a lifetime that night. And in the end he'd come out a better man. And a much richer one. Emotionally, at least. Losing her had taught him that there no such thing as a sure thing. That love was something complicated and confusing. And that sometimes it just wasn't enough. There had to be trust and respect as well.

"My feet are sore," Sam complained once they reached the fountain, and taking a seat along the edge, unbuckled her strappy white sandals and slipped them off. She wriggled her toes before setting her shoes down on the ledge and standing up. "Do you remember how we used to come here all the time?" she asked, as she proceeded to climb up onto the edge of the fountain. Making her a mere few inches taller than him.

"Yeah…" he scooped up her shoes with one hand and wrapped an arm around her waist in order to keep her study. "And how you always did the same thing. Took your shoes off and walked along the edge."

"It's my shtick," she said, then giggled.

"Okay Laughing Larry," he chided. "I heard he died."

"Really?" she placed one hand on the back of his neck for more stability and used the other to push her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. "When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. There was a small article about him in the Times. Stuck between an article for plasma tv's and BMW's."

"If you had have said rubber chickens and plastic dog doo I would have laughed my ass off and fallen into this fountain," she said. "At least I don't have to worry about you running out tomorrow to go and buy yourself a whoopee cushion or fake vomit."

"Sammie…x-ray specs to see through girls clothes in middle school. Remember? The only thing I got to see was nun coming at me with a yard stick?"

"Right…you know, that really shouldn't have surprised me to hear. I mean, considering what a massive perv you were. Hearing that you tried to see through girls' clothes definitely wasn't a mortal shock."

"No…but hearing you admit you bought Sea Monkeys was," he laughed.

"No. The mortal shock was the fact that for our first Christmas together you gave me a fish bowl and two packages of the damn things," she snorted. "How romantic was that?"

"Hey! That was a gag gift. I personally thought it was hilarious watching your face go about fifty different shades of red when you unwrapped it. But not as hilarious as the profanity that escaped those pretty little lips of yours."

"You are just sooo lucky that it was a gag gift," she said. "You're lucky it wasn't the only thing under the tree or I would have beat your ass. I would have beat you so bad our children and their children would have been born dizzy."

"I more than made up for it with the earrings from Tiffanys if I do say so myself."

"You did," she said, and paused walking long enough to drop a kiss on the top of his head.

"You know what the really funny part is?" he asked as she continued her path along the edge of the fountain. "That you still have that fish bowl and it's sitting on our kitchen table with seashells in it."

"From Turks and Caicos," she reminded him. "The minister that did our ceremony gave them to us, remember? Blessed them and everything. Said they symbolized us as a couple and our future. And I never believed it because there's five shells. And there was only me and you and the girls. And then Dawson came along and…"

"Made up the fifth one," Flack finished for her.

Sam nodded. "Regardless of how he was made Donnie, I love him. He's my son and I…when he came into our lives he filled a part of me that had been empty since the girls were born. After we found out we couldn't have any more kids…part of me died that day."

"I know," he said.

"And part of me blamed myself and belittled myself for not being able to give you more children. Like it made me less of a woman and less of a wife. And I know you never thought that or said it. But it was how I felt. And Dawson…Dawson gave me a chance to be a mommy again. And I know that people wonder how I was able to just accept him so easily and love him as much as I do."

"Guess it's just one of those things people can never understand unless they go through it themselves," Flack reasoned.

"Maybe," she said. "But I accepted him because he's part of you. He's something I could never give you. And he's innocent and pure and he never…he never asked to be brought into this crazy assed, god awful shitty mess of a world. What was I going to do? Toss him into the system? I'd never do that to anyone. Not even my own worst enemy. And certainly not a baby."

"You've been thinking a lot about this stuff haven't you," he stated.

Sam nodded. "I've been thinking about what I'm going to say to all those hateful, spiteful people out there if I ever get the chance to say them. Yet at the same time, I don't understand why I should feel the need to say anything. To defend myself and the choices I've made in life."

"You shouldn't feel that way," he told her. "People don't like you? That's their problem. Tell them to fuck off and get on with it. Life's too short to worry about petty, immature, self righteous pricks who get off on making people miserable because their lives are so pathetic."

"Isn't it amazing?" she asked. "All the things that go through your mind when you're face with your own mortality? I mean, you went through that I'm sure after the bombing."

He nodded. "A lot of soul searching," he admitted. "A lot of wanting to make amends for things I've done. Of wanting to become a better person. And a lot of realization about just how fragile life is. How it can all be taken away so quickly and unexpectedly."

"But you made it," she pointed out. "You survived. Because of how strong you are."

"Trust me babe, there's tons of times, especially in rehab, that I wanted to die. That I just wanted to curl up and call it a day."

"But you didn't."

He shook his head. "You know what got me through? What made me want to keep going? The thought that there was something big out there for me. Something huge just waiting to happen in my life. And when I met you…when I met you I realized that maybe you were it. Maybe you were the reason I survived that day. 'Cause if I hadn't…if I hadn't there'd be no me and you. There'd be no Kellan and Kallison. Or Dawson. So maybe, as corny as it sounds, maybe getting to this point in my life is why I survived."

She smiled. "You know…this is the most we've ever talked about the bombing since we've met. Everything I know about it? Almost all of it I've heard from other people. Danny and Lindsay and Stella. This is really the first time you've opened up to me about it."

"Yeah?" he grinned at her. "First time for everything, I guess."

"I guess," she smiled, and halting her steps, turned to face him. "Thank you," she said suddenly.

"For what?" he asked, as he turned to face her.

"Just thank you," she replied, and curling her arms around his neck, leaned her slender body against his and pressed a kiss to his lips. "The last eight years have been, save for a glitch here and there…"

"A glitch?" he laughed as he dropped her shoes on the ground and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"It's a nice way of putting it," she said. "But these last eight years have been…amazing. You came into my life at a point where I thought I wasn't capable of loving someone. Or being loved by someone. And you…and you just showed me that not all men are created equal."

He smiled. "You know what you showed me? Or at least made me realize?"

She shook her head.

"You made me want to be a better man.," he told her.

Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she leaned down once more and captured his lips with hers in a long, slow kiss that left them both breathless.

"I guess this wouldn't be the best time to tell you about my transfer," he said, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"No…it wouldn't be," she commented. "But I guess it's the perfect time to tell you I already knew."


A huge thanks to all of those reading and reviewing! And even to those just lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!

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