Rating : T
Spoliers : None
Genre: Angst
Disclaimer: Jack and Samantha don't belong to me! I just own the three first seasons DVDs!! So, except those DVDs, everything belongs to Hank! Anyway, I'm not making any money writing this ... Sadly lol!
Pairing: J/S of course!
A/N : I'm French and this my first English fic so I don't really know if it's good or not and that why I'm begging you to post reviews after reading this story (I'm kind of obsessed with reviews!) . I assume that I could have made several mistakes (grammar mistakes I mean) writing this fic so if you notice something, just let me know!
Bang Bang
What do you believe in? This is, again, a simple question with no simple answer. I believe in trust, truth, justice and being a good man or not… I believe in all those little things that make life what it really is.
This is disgusting. Being so hypocrite and so sincere at the same time, just because someone asked you to say the right thing at the right moment. You want to scream: It does not work like that! People shouldn't end up that way. She shouldn't have ended up that way. And this expression, 'line of duty', it shouldn't even exist. Her bullet, his bullet, your gun shot, her scream, something wasn't right. You knew it, from the beginning.
So why did this happen?
Her last words: Let it go… What does that mean? You've been wondering about that for a year now. And why are you here? To make a good impression, to make people believe that what happened to her was scandalous but inevitable? Scandalous, yes it was – Inevitable, it wasn't. You're sure of that. If only she had worn this damn bullet-proof, if only… Lisa told you to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the 'ifs', stop wondering if you could have made it any different. She told you that what happened was meant to be. However, you know it wasn't, you saw it in her eyes… She just didn't deserve to die.
So why did this happen?
Her last smile will always be there, here, in your mind, and you will always see it every time you close your eyes. Seeing what she could have lived if she wasn't just – like the damn priest said at her funerals – 'gone'. To you, she's not gone. She's with you in every breath you take, every move you make, every vow you break and every smile you fake, just as her favourite song said. That's why you keep listening to the damn song. Something still isn't right.
So why did this happen?
Now, now you wish it was your photo plastered on that stupid wall. And you dream about her saying that stupid speech instead of you. It's selfish but you would like her to feel the pain you feel, to hear the stupid things you wrote, those stupid words that don't sound right, even to your ears. You were the only one that didn't cry at her funerals. You never cried in fact. Just because – like Lisa said – you don't want her to be dead. No, of course you don't want her to be dead, but who really does. You're sure that even the idiot who fired didn't want to kill her.
So why did this happen?
You finally understood that you'll never know. You'll never know why this happened and you see everyday, every time you walk trough the FBI building that you should let it go. Let it go like she said when you grabbed her hand one last time, telling her that she had to keep living. You exactly remember that day: the smell of powder in your nose, that sound: 'Bang Bang', the first gunshot in her body, the second one in his. You can't also forget about the little line of blood that exited from her mouth; just telling that it, certainly, was the end. The end of her life, meaning the end of yours at the same time.
Your report, even one year later, is still on your desk, in your office. And you can't just remove it, because removing it would mean that you're forgetting what happened, and forgetting what happened mean that you're forgetting her. She didn't die the way she should have; it's as simple as that. As simple as the fact that you should throw that paper away and say what you really want to say, not what the bureaucrats want you to say.
Say you love her, say you need her. Tell her the things she didn't have the time to hear from you while she was still alive. Tell everyone that no matter what they think, you're still in love with her. It's not just sad and scandalous like Olzyck said it was. It was horrible, unbelievable and unforgettable. It wasn't fair! And that's why you just can't get it out of your head, days and nights, time after time. Her words, your words; her touch, your touch. Her answer to your simple question 'yeah I'm fine…' You want to scream again:
'No, you're not Sam, you're not fine at all!'