DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS. GUS BROUSSARD BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS MADISON BELLOWS! CONGRATS ON WINNING THE ADAM/OC STUFF MADDY!

A SPECIAL WARM WELCOME TO VANESSA J!!!

One shot Part Five: An Angel Named Bronwyn

"If you get there before I do
Don't give up on me
I'll meet you when my chores are through
I don't know how long I'll be
But I'm not gonna let you down
Darling wait and see
And between now and then
Till I see you again
I'll be loving you
Love me
Between now and then till I see you again
I'll be loving you Love me."
-Love, Me, Collin Raye

Flack woke with a start at the sound of movement from alongside of his wife's bed. He shot up into a sitting position and his eyes snapped open, immediately focusing through the haze of sleep on the young, strawberry blond nurse - Bronwyn Caldwell, a recent nursing school grad- clad in mint green scrubs that was busying herself with changing Sam's IV and catheter bags. The rustling of her clothing, the soft squeak of her shoes along the tiles and the hiss of the respirator keeping Sam alive nearly deafening in the heavy silence of the room.

There had been a brief glimmer of hope surge through his weary mind right before he'd opened his eyes that maybe the sound was actually a sign that his wife was coming to. That she was awake and moving around in the bed, making any noise possible to capture his attention. And for that one millisecond , excitement had surged through him and his heart threatened to leap clear out of his chest as his brain considered the possibility, that against the odds, she'd come back to him.

Irrational thoughts, of course. It had only been two days since her shooting. Although with little to no sleep and a steady diet of coffee and miniscule bites of food he forced himself to consume, it had seemed as if two decades had already passed. Sam's body was nowhere near ready to sustain itself, and the doctors were pumping her full of meds, keeping her in a deep, medically induced coma in the hopes it would encourage her injuries and the repairs done to fix them to heal faster. And he knew, logically, that there was no way that she would come of the coma on her own.

Constant observation of her vitals had shown no signs of further cardiac events following surgery. She had successfully crossed the crucial forty eight hour mark, and the second that the second hand had clicked over leading into the forty ninth hour, Flack had breathed a massive sigh of relief and thanked God for small miracles. An MRI scan just hours before had, unfortunately, given the doctors a sign that there had been some loss of brain function, although due to the meds, they couldn't give Flack any idea of how big or small the impairment would be. There was a possibility that there was little more than a loss in short or long term memory. Or that her speech had been affected in some way. Or even her eyesight and hearing.

Or that, on a much grander scale, she'd have to re-learn some, of even all, of her gross and fine motor skills. The worst fear was that she'd been permanently reduced to a child like state. There was simply no telling what had occurred until she was ready to be brought gradually out of the coma. And they weren't optimistic that they'd be doing that any time soon.

But with each hour that passed -hell, with each minute- without her condition deteriorating, Flack felt himself becoming more and more positive about her long term prognosis. Sammie was strong. She was tiny in stature and slight in weight, but she was huge in guts. There was no doubt -during his moments of emotional high that was- that the woman he'd fallen so quickly and deeply in love with ten years ago was going to make it. Two days ago he'd all but been planning her funeral.

And now…now there was some hope. And instead of making choices regarding funeral homes and hours of visitations and what he'd bury her in and what flowers and music he'd have at the church, he was beginning to think more long term. About taking time off of work when she was moved to a rehab facility so he could spend every waking moment helping her through her recovery. About making changes around the house to make things more accessible for her when she did finally come home. He'd decided he'd turn the office on the first floor into either a bedroom just for her, or a place for both of them to sleep. He considered taking a pension pay out and staying home full time to care for her. Or even taking out a second mortgage on the house and hiring a professional to do it.

It wasn't all doom and gloom now. The doctors had tossed him a shred of hope. And Flack was desperately clinging to it.

"I'm sorry Detective Flack. I didn't mean to wake you," the nurse gave a gentle smile and spoke in a whisper despite the fact Samantha would in no way, shape or form be disturbed if she used her normal tone of voice. And there were no other patients to be concerned about. Samantha was in a private room at the very back of the intensive care unit. With a uniform officer parked outside of her door morning, noon and night and strict security in place at the front desk allowing only registered visitors on a list provided by Flack himself, near her room.

"It's okay…" he assured the young woman, and straightening up in the easy chair -a surprisingly comfortable blue vinyl contraption- he stretched until his back and shoulders cracked noisily.

He'd yet to make use of the fold out cot that hospital staff had brought him but still remained tucked into the corner. Danny had slept on it the first night, refusing to leave Flack or Sam's side and acting as supplier of the coffee and family spokesman for the hordes of media that still remained camped out in front of the hospital and often lingered around the front entrance of the ICU. For the last two days, Flack had taken up residence in the easy chair, catching limited and restless sleep with either his feet propped on the Sam's bed, or pulling the seat alongside of her and drifting off with his head resting on her thigh and both of his hands holding hers tightly. He'd barely left her side in the last forty eight hours. Danny had brought him some clothes and he was making use of the shower and toilet and sink that came with the private room. The nurses brought him magazines and books to read and fresh pillows and blankets every night and always made sure that he had hospital meals delivered. Three squares a day. Not the most edible or tasty food in the world, but it wasn't as if he felt much like eating. Edie, a fiery red head who'd come to New York City via Scotland three decades ago and had been the head nurse on the word for the past ten years, always brought him leftovers of meals she and her family had eaten themselves. And some of her baked goods. She had taken him, and Sam under her wing, and she was a protective Momma Bear.

Gus and Adam had 'moved' themselves into the house to take care of the kids. Adam, after a heartbreaking meltdown at the side of his sister's bed just an hour after she'd gotten out of surgery, was now holding himself together remarkably well. He was the one who' offered his and Gus' helped, and who'd explained to the boys exactly what had happened to their mother. Comforting them when they cried and soothing their fears by assuring them that mommy was strong and that only the best doctors were looking after her. He'd made the decision to keep them out school. He was worried that with Sam's shooter still out there and the knowledge of her survival widespread, that it would make the boys targets. And that they'd hear rumours in the hallways and perhaps even face teasing by kids without any compassion and absolutely no brains.

Flack knew however, that the younger man's stoic, brave front was just that. An attempt to keep himself sane during such a horrific, nightmarish moment in his life. That inside, Adam was sick with worry and no doubt thinking the worst twenty four hours a day.

And crying a hell of a lot of tears into his pillow when everyone else in the house was asleep.

Despite the incredible bond he and Sam shared, Adam had opted to stay away from the hospital. He had, in his usual nervous, rambling fashion, apologized profusely to Flack when he explained exactly why. He couldn't bear just sitting at Sammie's bedside and waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was unnerved seeing her in such a condition, and scared shitless that she would take a turn for the worse while he was in the room with her. That, he said, he just couldn't handle. If something like that was going to be happen, he didn't want to be standing there freaking out and feeling completely helpless and useless.

Flack completely understood. He didn't expect Adam, or anyone else for that matter, to be there twenty four seven. And quite frankly -and maybe even a tad selfishly- he preferred the solitude and the moments alone with his wife. He hated people coming into the room and then standing by the bed in completely silence, not knowing what to say or how to act. He hated seeing the pity in their eyes. Hearing it in their voices. And most of all, he hated the awkward comments that tumbled out of their mouths. About how good she looked 'considering' and how peaceful she seemed. How it appeared as if nothing had ever happened to her and she was just sleeping. Comments like that made him want to smack the shit of someone and grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. All the while yelling at them that something did happen to her. Something goddamn serious and he was sick and fucking tired of them downplaying it like she was just there to get her tonsils or her appendix removed. He hated them lessening the enormity of what had happened and the way it disrespected the valiant struggle Sam was going through and the agony he and his family were enduring.

"How are we doing this morning pretty girl?" Bronwyn asked her patient, compassion in her voice and jade green eyes as she gently picked up Sam's left hand and clipped a sensor to her middle finger. It would measure pulse and heart beat, oxygen levels and temperature. And Flack knew, because of the respirator and the EKG machine that Sam was already hooked up to, that the only stat that mattered at this point in time was the last one. A fever was sure sign of an infection, and it was one of the things the doctors worried about the most. "I heard that your beautiful babies came to visit you in the afternoon," she continued, turning to press a button on the monitor alongside of her. "How did that go?" she asked, direction the question at Flack.

"Better than I thought it would," he admitted, and placing his elbows on his knees, ran his hands over his tired, scruffy face. "I don't think they really get how serious it is. I think my brother in law has pretty much convinced them that their mommy is going to be okay. That the doctors have fixed her up and now are keeping her asleep until her body tells them it's time to wake her up. I mean, I think they get that it's going to be a long time. But I don't think it's occurred to them that she might die."

"That's because she isn't going to," Bronwyn declared confidently. "We're taking good care of you, aren't we Sam?" she gave a small and reached out to brush hair off of her patient's forehead. "We're going to get you through all this scary stuff. We're going to make sure that you're good and strong and then we're going to bring you back to your adorable kids and your handsome police man."

Flack felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth.

"We just have to be patient about it," the young nurse continued. "We can't rush these things. The longer God has you in his care, the healthier you'll be. So you just lie back and sleep and let us do our thing. One day, you're going to open those pretty eyes of yours and you're going to smile and you're going to let us know that you're okay. But don't rush it. Just take things nice and slow. Patience is a virtue."

"Then you're talking to the wrong person," Flack chuckled. "'Cause my wife has absolutely zero patience."

"Well she must have some," the nurse said, as the machine beside her beeped noisily. "I mean she got married and had four kids. To do that a woman needs an infinite amount of patience."

"I take it you don't have kids," Flack commented.

"Nope. And no husband either. And I'm perfectly happy without either."

"It's not for everyone," he said. "Marriage and kids…definitely not for everyone."

"I think I'm just too selfish to give all of myself to someone," she admitted, as she nodded her approval at the numbers on the screen and removed the sensor from Sam's finger. "No temperature sweets," she said, as she straightened her patient's blanket and tucked it tightly around her. "That's a good thing. You're having a pretty stellar two days if you ask me."

Flack nodded in agreement. His knees cracked as he stood up, and approaching the bed, placed his hands lightly on his wife's shin. "So things look okay?" he asked hopefully.

"Considering the trauma that was done during the shooting and the extensive surgery she underwent, she's doing phenomenally well," Bronwyn assured him. "There's a long road ahead, but there's a light at the end of it. There's been no real issues since the operation and her vitals are strong. As for the MRI…"

Flack sighed heavily at the mention of those three simple letters and tightened his grip on his wife's legs, his eyes riveted on her face.

"I know that it wasn't what you were hoping to hear," the young nurse said, and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "But things could always be worse. There could be no brain activity at all and all of this…all of this would be for nothing. She's a fighter. I can tell. And you just have to keep reminding yourself of that. And telling yourself that considering what's happened to her, those MRI results are actually good news considering what could have gone down."

He nodded in agreement.

"Just stay strong," she encouraged, and squeezed his arm comfortingly. "For not just Samantha, but for yourself, Detective Flack."

"Don," he told her. "My name's Don. You can call me that. I mean, if you want to."

She smiled.

"I just figured seein' as you call my wife by her first name and I call you by yours…"

"Things are going to start looking up Don," she told him. "You just need to give her some time. You need to sit back and give her some time to recover. To find her way out of the darkness. I don't know how long that will take. Days, weeks, months. Years even? But you need to stay strong and remain positive. She deserves nothing less from you."

"I know…" he said, swallowing noisily in an effort to rid himself of the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on her again," Bronwyn told her. "If you need anything, just call for me. I'll be here in a heartbeat."

"Thank you," he said, and managed a small smile. "For everything. For being so good to Sammie."

"My father was in the FDNY," Bronwyn told him. "Served for over thirty years. He was a strong, burly man. Tough as nails all my life. He came down with lung cancer after September Eleventh. The doctor said it was caused by all the toxins in the air at Ground Zero. My dad worked tirelessly on the recovery efforts. He suffered for nine months. I watched him go from this strong, tough man to nothing more than a withered shell of himself. He spent his last days at a hospice in Albany. And the nurses…" she sighed heavily. "The nurses were incredible with him. And with us. And I made the decision right there and then to go into the profession. And to always treat my patients with that kind of compassion and respect."

Flack gave a small nod and a tight lipped smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "About your father."

"He was a good man," she said sadly. Then immediately steeled herself and brightened up once again. "He lived a good life. Fought hard. And your Sammie…your Sammie is fighting hard too. And you should be proud of her for getting this far."

"I am…" he told her, an adoring smile on his lips and a loving glint in his eyes as he gazed upon his wife.

"I'll be back soon," Bronwyn promised, and with a final pat on his shoulder, turned on her heel and left the room, pulling her fully stocked cart and old supplies behind her.

As the door closed with a soft click, announcing the young nurse's departure, Flack sighed heavily and stepped around the foot of the bed. A hand gently trailing over his wife's body. Skimming over the top of her foot and down along her left. Across her left hand as it lay motionless and limp on the bed. His eyes never leaving her pale face as his fingertips glided over her satiny skin. Along her slender fingers and over her wrist, travelling the length of her arm until he both reached her shoulder and stood alongside the head of the hospital bed.

He smiled down at her, then grazed his knuckles along her cheek.

"Mornin' baby," he greeted tenderly, then smoothing her hair away from her face, leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. His right hand rested lightly on the top of her head as the fingers of his left curled around one of her hands, careful to mind the numerous tubes that invaded her delicate skin. "Hope you slept okay…" he spoke in a quiet, soft voice. "Hope you had lots of sweet dreams. No bad ones I hope."

Flack paused and drew back and looked down at her. Waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of her eyes. A twitch in her fingers or toes. A change in her heart rate. And while he knew that medically, she was currently too far gone to respond to him, the protective, loving husband side of him wanted some kind of sign.

"Doctors say that you're doing pretty good," he continued, combing his fingers through her hair. "That you're healing nicely. Slowly but surely. And you don't have a temperature or anything so we know that things are going okay after the operation. That they fixed and patched you up and now it's just a matter of waiting. It's all up to you, okay? It's all up to you, Sammie. I know how strong you are. And I know right now you're fighting to find your way back to us. Back to me and the kids. But don't rush it, okay? Don't rush it 'cause you think it's what we want. We want you back but we want you back healthy. We'll wait for you, Sammie. No matter how long that takes. So you just take things at your own pace and we'll be here waiting for you. There's no rush."

He fell silent again. Eyes searching his wife's face as the hiss of the respirator and the beeping of the EKG machine once again became the only sounds in the room. "Sammie…" he pressed a kiss to her temple and settled his lips near her ear. "I don't know if you can hear me. The doctor says that you can but I just…I don't know. I hope you can. I hope you're hearing everything that I'm saying to you. I hope that you heard the boys when they were here yesterday. We miss you. And it's so hard…" his voice threatened to break. "I miss you, baby. And I love you so much and I just want you to come back to me. That's all I want. I need you to come back to me."

Entangling his fingers in her hair, Flack closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the side of his wife's face. Her skin, despite being deathly pale, was warm and smooth and he found solace in the soft powdery scent that clung to her. The nurses had given her a sponge bath the night before and smoothed moisturizing cream over every inch of her skin and the smell calmed and soothed him during his low, dark moments.

For several long, silent moments he stood alongside of the bed, his fingers tunnelled in her hair and his hand gripping hers tightly. Allowing tears to seep through his tightly closed eyes and trickle onto her cheek.

"I love you Sammie…" he whispered and pressed his lips to her temple. "I love you and I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere. I promise you. I'll be right here."

He kissed her forehead once more, and gathering his emotions, removed his fingers from her hair and released her hand and stepped back from the bed.

"How about we get some sunshine in here?" he asked, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his NYPD t-shirt as he journeyed around the bed and walked over to the window.

Drawing the blinds back, he blinked as bright early morning sunlight streamed into the room. Four stories below, various hospital staff lingered in a central courtyard. Taking smoke breaks, sipping coffee, laughing and chatting about their mornings and about weekend plans. Going about their every day lives as if there wasn't so much death and sadness and illness hovering around them. And seeing that…seeing them acting so nonchalant about the issues in life and smiling when there was so much heartache existing around them, Flack felt bitter and disgusted. That he and countless others of family members inside of that hospital were sitting by the bedsides of gravely ill loved ones. Preparing to say their last goodbyes and praying against all odds that their loved one was going to make a recovery. And all that mattered to those beyond the walls were that their lattes were made incorrectly or that they couldn't get the flavour of muffin they'd wanted at café in the main lobby. As if such things made a lick of difference in the grand scheme of things. And he angrily wished for something to happen to one of them. Not something life or death, but something that would affect them personally or someone close to them. To teach them just how petty and ridiculous their issues were compared to 'real life'.

Sighing heavily, he turned away from the window and raked his fingers through his hair. "Gonna be a nice day out today Sammie," he said, as he approached the bed once again. "If you were feeling up to it we'd be able to take you for a nice long walk. Get you some fresh air. Adam's taking the boys to the zoo today. Apparently there's some new exhibit with the tigers. And you know how Mackenzie just goes crazy over the tigers," Flack gave a chuckle. "Adam doesn't know what he's in for. He's never taken all three boys at once. Can you imagine? He'll be insane in the first ten minutes trying to keep up with them. And Mikayla…well Gussie is going to take her to Macy's and get some pictures taken of her. In that little white and purple flowered sundress and the little white hat you bought her for summer. We haven't had pictures of Mikki taken in a long time. I figure I can get one, put it in a nice frame and bring it her. Put it by your bed. Would you like that?"

No answer came of course. Not that Flack actually expected one. But he had found, despite his initial resistance at first, that talking to his wife actually kept him sane. It kept his brain functioning properly and the dreadful thoughts away if he talked about the kids and the weather and things he'd seen on the news the night before or had read in the newspaper.

"How about we get you cleaned up a bit?" he asked, as he opened the top drawer on the bedside table and removed a fresh, dry face cloth, Sam's hair brush from home and two tortoise shell barrettes he'd asked Danny -who'd looked at him as if he'd gone insane- to procure from the inside of Sam's trinket box in the en-suite bathroom back at the house. "We'll freshen you up," he told his wife, as he placed the brush the hair clips on the bed. "It'll make you feel a bit better, okay? I'll be right back."

The face cloth in hand, he walked across the room and into the small bathroom. Flicking the light on, he went to the sink, and turning on the hot water, thoroughly wet the cloth before twisting it tightly in his hands, riding it off excess water. Snagging a towel from the metal shelving above the toilet, he journeyed back into the room and went to the bed once again.

Settling a gentle hand on the top of Sam's head, Flack gently wiped her face with the warm, damp face cloth. Taking his time as he slowly glided it across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. He tenderly travelled over her eyes and down onto her face. First one side and then the other. Sliding over her cheeks and softly over her ears. Careful not to disturb the breathing tube inserted in her mouth as he used a corner of the cloth to wash her chin and clear away the glistening saliva that had trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

Giving a satisfied nod, he tossed the face cloth onto the bedside table and used the towel to pat dry her face.

"Feel a bit better?" he asked, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose. "How about we do something about your hair?" he suggested, as he pushed her dark locks away from her forehead and the sides of her face. "I know how much it drives you insane when your hair's hanging all over the place. Let's do something about that, okay?"

Dropping the towel on the table as well, Flack picked up the brush in one hand and a section of his wife's hair with the other. Gliding the brush through silken tresses over and over again until they shimmered in the sunlight that streamed into the room. Methodically repeating the process for several minutes. Gently lifting his wife's head away from the pillow in order to work out the knots in the back of her hair. Then settling her back against snow white pillow case once more, set the brush down and picked up the barrettes. Opening first one, and then the other with his teeth, he pushed the hair away from the sides of Sam's face and secured them with the small clips.

"All done," he announced, then kissed both of her cheeks. "All done and all beautiful again. Not that you aren't always beautiful, baby. You've always been the most amazing woman in the world to me. You know that right, Sammie? That despite everything there's never been a time that I didn't find you incredible. That I didn't love you. Even though we've had some hard times I never…there was never a time I didn't love you, baby. And there'll never be a time that I stop loving you."

A loud knock came to the door, interrupting the tender moment between husband and wife. Flack returned the brush to the top drawer of the bedside table and was busying himself with tucking the blankets securely around his wife's body when the door squeaked open.

"You decent?" Scagnetti's deep voice asked.

"We're good," Flack replied, clearing his throat noisily.

"I come bearing gifts," his one time partner and one of his most dearest and trusted friends said, as the big man slipped into the room, a carry tray of take out coffee in one hand and a paper bag bearing the McDonald's logo in the other.

The smell of various breakfast items quickly filling the room. Flack's stomach rumbled noisily as the scent of greasy food permeated his senses. He couldn't deny that he was hungry. Starving, in fact. But his anxiety was so great and his nerves so shot that the second he put food into his stomach, nausea quickly set in.

"Thought you were working today," Flack said, watching as Scagnetti crossed the room and set the McDonald's bag and carry tray on the window ledge.

"I am," the detective responded. "I was suppose to be there half an hour ago. Gerrard's got me acting as Lou while you're off. I left him a message, told him I'd be late."

Flack simply nodded, then accepted a warm, tight hug from his friend.

"How you holding up, Junior?" Scagnetti asked, a frown on his face as he held the younger man out at arms length.

Flack shrugged. "I'm okay I guess."

"You guess? By that I take it you're doing pretty damn shitty. Let me guess. You're not sleepin' properly, not eatin' properly. You barely leave her side and you haven't breathed in fresh air or been out in the sunlight in two days."

The younger man nodded. "That's pretty much it," he admitted.

"You not taking care of yourself is not doing your kids or Sammie any damn good," Scagnetti told him. "You're going to burn yourself out, Don. You're going to wind up completely exhausted which in turn is going to make you sicker than a dog. And what good will you be to your wife than? What good are you going to be if you're bedridden too?"

"Guess I never thought about it that way," Flack said quietly.

"That's 'cause you're thinking with this…" Scagnetti poked Flack in the chest with his middle finger. "And not with this…" he tapped the younger man lightly on the temple. "And right now? As much as I know it's killing you to see your wife like this, Sammie needs you to think with your heart and your head. Understand me?"

Flack nodded.

Scagnetti tapped his friend on both cheeks softly and moved towards the bed. "How you doin' today, Pip Squeak?" he asked Sam, as he stepped up to her side and leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead. "Hope your hubby isn't driving you too insane with his incessant bitching and moaning. And the way he goes on and on about them goddamn Rangers."

Flack smirked and made his way over the easy chair. Dragging it over to the window ledge, he sat down and leaning forward, opened up the bag of McDonald's food, near salivated at the smell that wafted over him. He kept his back to the bed, giving Scagnetti some time with Sam. Listening as the big man spoke in a gentle, comforting voice that until the his friend had visited the night following her surgery, Flack had never even known Scagnetti had possessed.

He helped himself to a hash brown and two breakfast burritos and sat all three items on the window ledge, hearing his friend sniffling noisily over the sound of paper crinkling as Flack unwrapped his breakfast.

"So things are looking up?" Scagnetti asked as he joined his colleague. Wiping his eyes on the backs of his hands as he took a seat on the window ledge.

"Slowly but surely," Flack replied, and grabbing a handful of napkins from the bag, held them out to the detective.

"Thanks…" Scagnetti said, and accepted the tissues. "Slowly but surely is better than nothing," he reasoned, and dabbed at his eyes.

Flack couldn't argue with that.

"I wanted to let you know that the department is setting up a trust fund for Sammie," Scagnetti told him, as he balled up the napkins and tossed them aside before pulling his coffee out of the carry tray and snapping open the tab on the lid. "It was the commissioner's idea. Each station house and the lab has a box you can drop donations into it. They'll keep it running for a while and you'll be able to do whatever you want with the money. Benefits don't cover everything and seeing as you were saying she'd be moved to a re-hab place once she was released, whatever is donated could help off set the cost of that."

Flack nodded, touched by the sentiment. "Make sure you tell everyone I said thanks," he said. "I really appreciate that."

"If there's anything you need Flack, and I mean anything. A shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, financial help even, don't hesitate to ask, okay? There's a lot of people that love you and Sammie and the kids. They'll do anything to help."

"I know," the younger man said, and took a swallow of coffee in hopes of washing down the lump in his throat.

"So I hear Messer is heading to Atlanta for a few days," Scagnetti said, changing the subject and sparing his friend any more discomfort.

"Erica's got some huge conference or something for her job," Flack told him. "And she's got some friends or whatever down there that they're going to stay with. Turn it into a little vacation. Danny didn't want to go, considering everything's that's been going on. Guess he was worried I'd be piss and hurt that he went away while Sammie was like this. Told him she's going to be like this for a long time and that I'd feel better if he did go. I didn't want him disappointing Erica and the kids. Trips been planned for a month now. And just 'cause…" he sighed heavily. "…and just 'cause this happened, he shouldn't back out. There's nothing he can do anyway. All he'd be doing is sitting around just like I am. And there's no use to both of us holding a vigil, you know?"

Scagnetti nodded. "There's really no use for you to be doing it either, Don," he said. "The doctors have everything under control. Sammie's in good hands. Nothing is going to happen to here while you're gone that wouldn't happen while you're here. Just 'cause you walk out the door doesn't mean something terrible is going to happen."

"I can't leave my wife," Flack said. "I'm not leaving her. Not while she's going through this."

"So what are you going to do? Stay here, in this room, in that exact chair for a week? A month? Six months? A year?"

Flack didn't respond.

"I know you want to be here, Don. I know how much you love Sammie. You've been with her for a decade now. You've got four kids together. And I know you want to be with her every step of the way. That you don't want to leave your side. But those kids…those boys and Mikayla need their daddy. They need to see you for at least an hour every day. They've got their mother cooped up in here, they don't need their dad going AWOL on him."

"Gus and Adam are staying at the house," Flack said. "They're looking after the kids."

"Gus isn't their mother and Adam isn't their father," Scagnetti retorted. "Their mommy can't be with them, but the least you can do is see them and have some fun with them. They're scared, Flack. They're scared shitless over what happened to Sammie. They're worried that she's going to die. And they're worried that they're going to lose you too. They need to be with you. And you need to be with them."

"I can't just leave her here," Flack argued. "I can't just leave her here alone."

"She's not alone. There's tons of nurses and doctors around."

"I'm her husband, Tony. She needs me here."

"Don…" Scagnetti took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "She doesn't even know you're here. She doesn't know you've done nothing but pace this room and park your ass in that chair. But you know what she'd be doing if she did know? If she knew that you'd be shutting yourself away from your kids like this? She'd be royally kicking your ass and you damn well know it."

Flack sighed and picked at the hash brown in his hand.

"What is going out for an hour going to do?" his friend asked. "What is going home to see your kids and hugging them and comforting them and telling them you love them going to do? Nothing will happen to Sammie."

"I just…"

"You just what? You'd feel better not leaving her alone?"

Flack nodded.

"Then you know what? You call someone. You call me or you call Adam or Gus. You call one of us and you tell us you need to get out of here for a bit and one of us will drop everything and be right over. You know that, Flack. You know that I'd do anything for you. I'll come over around lunch time and I'll sit with Sammie while you go home and see your kids. And don't even think about saying no either. You're going to do it. If I have to kick your ass on out the door. Understand me?"

The younger man gave another nod.

"I'll take care of you, Don. And Sam," Scagnetti assured him. "You've got nothing to worry about, okay?"

"Okay," Flack agreed, his voice choked with emotion.

"I'm not letting you do this to yourself. To Sammie and those kids," his friend said. "I'm not going to sit here and let you fall apart. Look at you. When's the last time you took a goddamn shower and shaved? When's the last time you got a decent meal and at least a few hours sleep? Not since right before Sammie got shot. So don't even try and bullshit me, Junior."

"I guess I just don't care about that kind of stuff right now," Flack admitted.

"You don't care about what kind of stuff?" Scagnetti snapped. "You don't care about yourself? Well that's a fine how do you fucking do, isn't it? How the hell are you suppose to take care of your wife when you can't even goddamn well take care of yourself?"

Flack didn't answer.

"This shit ends today," the older man ordered. "You hear me? There's no way in hell I'm standing around and watching you fall apart. And there's no way in hell that I'm letting those kids…the kids you made with Sammie…fall by the wayside and deal with their pain and their worries without you. They need their dad. They need to hear you tell them that things are going to be okay. That they're going to be okay. That they're safe and no bad guys are going to get them. They need their daddy's hugs. And you're totally disrespecting them, and Sam, by shutting them out."

"I never meant to…"

"I know you never meant to," Scagnetti interjected. "I know you're dealing with some heavy duty shit, Don. I don't envy you one bit. But you're closing out your family. And they just don't need you. You need them just as goddamn much."

Flack sniffled noisily and looked out the window.

"I know it fucking hurts like a bitch, Don. And I know that part of you wishes you were out there catching the sorry SOB that did this. But you need to get your shit together. For yourself. And for your wife and your kids? Understand me? Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal," the younger man replied, and sipped at his coffee.

"Alright…now eat your goddamn breakfast and then get in that fucking bathroom and clean yourself up. Take a shower, shave. Make yourself feel human again."

A smirk played on Flack's mouth. "Yes, dad," he quipped.

"I bloody well wish I was your father. 'Cause you obviously never got your behind whipped enough when you were younger. You're lucky I don't put your fat ass over my knee and smack the shit out of you right now."

Flack couldn't hold back a chuckle. "You'd probably enjoy that too much," he teased.

"Let's not get into a discussion about whose the kinkier out of us, okay?" Scagnetti laughed. "'Cause we both know you'd lose, Junior."

The younger detective rolled his eyes.

A comfortable, companionable silence fell on the room. Each man lost in their own thoughts as they sipped coffee and munched on their breakfast.

"Thanks Tony," Flack spoke after several minutes, his voice barely a whisper, tears pooling in his eyes.

Scagnetti gave a small smile and leaning forward, reached out to tousle his friend's hair.

"Don't mention it," he said.

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