This is set right after Sam was kidnapped by Jack in Venom. So when you read this remember that Sam's been through hell. In the space of less than 48 hours, she's been kidnapped and temporarily blinded by Jack, framed by him for murder, Bailey's been shot by his own daughter, and, within the plot of this story anyway, her boyfriend left town. Oh, and I doubt she's been to sleep, except during that time she had been bitten by the poisonous spider until the drug Jack gave her got rid of those effects, so I wouldn't exactly call that rest. Did I miss any of her problems? :) Anyway, she's not quite feeling herself.
As always, all characters belong to CS, S/MP, NBC and the incredible cast and crew of Profiler. I'm just borrowing, I promise not to hurt them or make any money off of them, but praise and compliments are welcome.g
Refuge
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1997
*Ring*
*Ring*
John Grant tossed and turned in the bed, fighting to stay asleep.
*Ring*
He groaned and groped for the phone, not bothering to open his eyes.
"What?"
Silence. Then, hesitantly, "John?"
His eyes opened. "Sam?" He blinked a couple of times. From the static on the line he thought she might be on her cell phone.
"Yeah." She paused briefly. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"No." He checked the clock by his bed. "It's 3:30 in the morning, where are you?"
Empty static crackled across the line for a moment. "I'm... uh, I'm at your door."
"What?" He sat straight up in bed. "Stay there, I'll be right out, okay?"
"Okay."
John hung up the phone and extricated himself from the tangled sheets. He was half way out of the bedroom before he realized Sam probably wouldn't appreciate him answering the door in his present state of undress. He went back to the side of the bed and grabbed the sweatpants he had dropped there earlier.
He hurried to the front door, stopping only long enough to turn on a light in the living room. Of course he knew something had to be wrong, but that didn't prepare John for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. Sam's whole appearance, while vaguely familiar, was decidedly un-Sam-like.
"Hi." She stood there, staring at his chest, looking lost and making no move to come into the apartment.
"What happened?" John asked, his voice full of concern.
"I... um, I just... I've been driving around, and... well... I didn't want to go home, and I couldn't keep driving, and..." She finally looked him in the eyes. "I didn't know where else to go."
"Come in," he invited, but when she didn't move he had to usher her into his apartment. As he led her to the couch in the living room it dawned on him where he had seen the look on her face before. On Chloe, the night after Jack breached security and they all sought refuge at the VCTF offices. One by one the team had made their way to Bailey's office when they should have been sleeping. They had been talking through the situation when Chloe walked in, dazed and half-asleep, wearing an expression so lost and confused that it nearly broke his heart. Sam had snatched her up and soothed her fears, but the expression had haunted John for days.
He suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. Sam had made it to the couch, and from the way she sat there, clutching the edge of her rain coat absently and staring into space, John was pretty sure he could stand there for half an hour and she wouldn't notice anything was wrong.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and took it back into the living room. He unscrewed the cap as he sat down next to her, then handed her the bottle.
"Thanks," she responded automatically. She held the bottle and continued to stare into space.
"You know, you're supposed to drink that." She didn't react. "Sam? Hello?" John waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Sam."
"What?" She looked at him, which he supposed at this point was progress.
"What happened? Bailey didn't--he's not---"
"No." She shook her head, then turned a little to face him. "He's still alive, thank God. They say the next 48 hours are the most critical." Her attention wandered again and she looked away, the vacant look returning.
"And Chloe's okay?" She didn't answer. "Sam?"
She jerked her head to look at him again. "What?"
"Chloe? She's okay?"
"She's fine. She's at the firehouse with Angel." She looked around briefly, then her stare settled on the coffee table.
"Sam?" No response. "Sam!" John cupped her chin with his hand and pulled her face around to look at him. "What's wrong?" he repeated slowly.
She took a deep breath. He could see her collecting herself. "I'm sorry, I'm a little out of it." She looked at the bottle of water in her hand as if seeing it for the first time, then took a drink."
"That's understandable. It was a busy day."
Her mouth curved in a wry smile. "That's putting it mildly," she said before she took another drink.
He waited for her to swallow before asking, "So what happened?"
Sam took another drink. "Well, I couldn't sleep, so I was sitting on the couch at home, thinking. Not the smartest thing to do, considering everything that's happened, but I couldn't stop. Finally I just couldn't stand it anymore. I had to get out of there. So I went for a drive."
"How long were you driving around?"
She shrugged. "A couple of hours, at least. I drove until I was exhausted and almost out of gas, and then I realized I was two blocks from here. So here I am."
He studied her closely. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
She shrugged. "I was thinking... maybe you were right that night in the bar. Maybe I should quit."
"What?"
"I should quit. What I do doesn't matter. I cut off one monster's head and another one sprouts up to take its place." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Or even worse, the doctors sew the head back on and send the monster right about out on the streets with a slap on the wrist. Why bother? It's not worth it."
He'd kicked himself at least a dozen times for that conversation already, but now the guilt returned. "I said what I said in the bar that night because I was hurt, and because I was bitter. What you do matters. You're not Wonder Woman, Sam. No one expects you to rid the world of evil, but you can try and keep one little piece of it under control."
"Why? It doesn't do any good." She shrugged off her coat like a boxer losing his robe before a match. "Have you ever thought about why I have a job?"
"Because you're good?"
"No. Because there are patterns. So many people have done so many bad things so many times that we have decades--no, centuries of behavior to study. We can pinpoint someone's age, description, life history, IQ, personality, you name it by the way he took another person's life, and we keep that information on file so when the next person does it we can go out and write up a nice, neat profile on him too. We can get inside their heads and we can figure them out. The only thing we can't do is figure out how to stop it *before* someone gets killed."
"But once that happens you can keep them from killing again."
"Great. 'Sorry about your husband, Mrs. Smith, but hey, look on the bright side, thanks to the fact that he used a knife instead of a gun and the angle of the wound with any luck we can keep someone else's husband from dying.' Thanks, I feel much better now."
John stared at her. He'd never seen her like this before and it threw him for a loop. "Look, Sam, maybe you should get some sleep. A lot's happened over the past couple of days."
"And a good night's sleep will make it all go away? Forget it. Not all nightmares are over at dawn."
"No, but your perspective would be a little clearer if you got some rest. You're exhausted."
"You're right about that. I am exhausted. Mentally, physically and spiritually. Do you have any idea what this job can do to you?"
"I'm a policeman, Sam, I know what the job can do to you." It was obvious she wasn't going to get any sleep until she vented, so he settled into a more comfortable position on the couch.
Sam shook her head. "No. That's bad enough, seeing the results of these crimes day after day." She got up and began to pace in front of the coffee table. "Now imagine that each time you see one of these crime, you have to close your eyes and put yourself into the victim's place. Figure out what was going through her mind when this was happening, what she felt, how she reacted right up until her last breath. And then you have to turn right around and put yourself inside of the guy who did it. Think like him, feel what he feels." She sank back onto the couch. "It's like dying a thousand deaths a year. Do you know what that does to you?"
He was silent for a moment. "I would think it could drive you crazy."
Sam nodded. "It's not that bad most of the time, not when you truly believe you're making a difference. But who am I kidding? I'm not making a difference."
"I don't think Candy Bruckner would agree with you. Or Uncle Joe. How about Walker Young, Marissa, Senator Hunt--the list is pretty long, and that's just in the year or so that I've known you."
"Maybe not. But the ones I haven't been able to save would agree. The ones who have died because of Jack would agree."
"Jack is not your fault."
"No, Jack is not my fault. Who Jack goes after is my fault. Every time I get close to people, I put them at risk, and I put anyone they come in contact with at risk. It's like throwing rocks into a pool and watching the ripples expand, only the ripples can be deadly, at least to other people. Never to me. I figure it's best for everybody if I just put up my rocks and go away."
"That's it? You just give up?"
Sam made a helpless gesture with her hands. "What else is there to do? It's hopeless. Now matter how hard I try, Jack will win in the end." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What's the use? I should just give up now before anyone else gets hurt."
"Don't say that."
"Why?" She put her now empty water bottle down. "It doesn't matter what I do, he wins. He controls my past, he controls my future, he controls my *life*. We can't catch him, so he just nibbles away at us like a termite until the foundation weakens and we fall apart."
"That's not true." He was starting to feel like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, but there was nothing else he could do.
"It isn't? Look around, John. Where's Angel? On her way to North Carolina. Where's Coop? On his way out of the country." She was so absorbed she didn't notice the shocked look on his face at that news. "Bailey's in the hospital, fighting for his life. You--you just left." Tears started to fall down her cheeks. "The only one who hasn't left yet is Chloe, but only because she's not old enough, I'm sure."
"I didn't leave because of Jack. Neither did anyone else."
"Oh, Jack's not the reason any of you gave. You're all much to nice to do that. But ultimately, he's the cause." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I should just turn myself over to him. At least then you would all be spared further pain."
"We would? I suppose the rest of us wouldn't feel the least bit of pain or guilt that you basically committed suicide for us? I suppose Chloe won't be hurt about growing up without a mother as well as a father?" He paused a moment to calm down. Anger wasn't going to accomplish anything. "Look, Sam, I never told you this before, but you inspired me. I thought I was a good cop, that I was dedicated, and then I met you. You were ten times stronger and better than I was. You made me work to give more of myself to fighting crime than I ever thought I had in me."
"Must be a real disappointment to find out I'm really a wimp."
"You're not a wimp. You're tired, and you've ben through too much in too little time." He watched as she yawned. "You think maybe you can get some sleep now?"
Sam nodded. "I think so."
"Okay. You're in no shape to drive. Want me to drive you home?"
She shook her head, some of the scared look returning to her face. "I'm not quite ready to go back there yet. Maybe you can just take me to the nearest hotel..."
"At this hour? No way. You can stay here if you want."
"You don't mind?" John shook his head and Sam let out a deep breath. "Thanks. I didn't want to ask, but..."
"You're feeling better and you were afraid that if you changed locations that feeling would disappear?"
Sam's eyes widened. "You know, with a little training, you could make a good profiler."
"No thanks. I'll leave that to the truly gifted people." He stood up, pulling her up with him. "You can sleep in my room. I'll sleep on the couch."
Sam followed him into the bedroom. "Normally I'd be a good guest and argue, but I'm so tired I'll just say thanks."
John turned on the bedroom light and pointed to the next room. "Bathroom's in there. There are towels in the closet. Do you need anything else?"
"No. I should let Angel know where I am."
"I'll leave a message on your voice mail so she'll get it when she wakes up." He didn't offer to call her directly, he didn't particularly want to talk to her right now, and calling to tell her Sam was spending the night at his apartment, that would be a little to weird. "You," he added as he unplugged the phone, "are to sleep as long as you want." He pulled the drapes shut to block out as much light as possible."
"But I have to talk to the Atlanta PD this morning."
"You are talking to them," he said with a smile. "I'll take care of it. And I promise to wake you if Bailey's condition changes, or if Chloe needs you, or if any other catastrophe happens that you might need to know about." He had grabbed a pillow and a blanket from his closet and was now guiding Sam toward the bed. "But unless I wake you, I don't want to see your face until you're completely rested. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," she replied with a small smile.
"Good." He turned to go.
"John?"
He stopped and turned around. "Yes?"
Sam walked over to him and gave him a long hug. "Thank you," she said, the words muffled by his chest.
He smoothed her hair and gave her a light kiss on top of her head. "Don't mention it."
She let go and went to the bed as he walked out, shutting the door behind him.