No Fairy Tale, This
By: Mariel

Chapter 1: Where They Are...

Jack grimaced. Samantha sat across from him at one of the lunchroom tables, staring at a cup of cold coffee held tightly between her hands. She looked fine, and the rational part of his brain told him she was all right. Still, he couldn't get rid of the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he'd had since hearing gunshots echo loudly in the old warehouse they'd been investigating.

Voice desperate, he'd called her name into the darkness.

"Samantha!"

It had taken her only a heartbeat to answer, but during that heartbeat he had died a hundred deaths.

They weren't supposed to walk into these situations, he told himself. They looked for the lost, not the criminal... but when the former was also the latter, and events occurred quickly, things happened.

Things like what had happened tonight.

Samantha could have been killed, and the baby-

He stopped his thoughts abruptly and forced himself to calm down. She hadn't almost been killed. The man she'd shot hadn't even fired his weapon. But he could have, and that had been enough to send unwanted tremors of fear down his spine.

The fact that she had fired and the man she'd shot hadn't was something that would also need to be talked about, and an investigation would be started immediately. He knew all too well the psychological impact these sorts of investigations had on any agent - they seemed designed to make the person on the right side of the law feel in the wrong - and right now, Samantha didn't need the added pressure. He cursed silently, knowing that if Samantha had waited for backup before going in, or at least waited until the man had fired first, the resulting aftermath wouldn't have been half so painful as he now knew it was going to be.

Sighing, he looked at his watch. The guy from Internal Affairs probably wouldn't arrive for another twenty minutes. Thinking about the time jogged his memory, and he frowned. Maria was taking the girls to California for a week. He'd promised to phone them one more time before they left Chicago.

Pushing his chair back, he rose and looked down at Samantha. "I gotta make a phone call," he said abruptly.

Something flickered in Samantha's eyes, but she only nodded and said, "Okay."

Aware of Samantha's subtle withdrawal at his words, Jack cursed himself inwardly for the feelings it created in him. There was no need for him to explain his actions, he told himself firmly. Or maybe the problem was he didn't know how to explain himself. Not without making himself sound guilty. He knew there was no reason for him to feel that emotion, knew there was nothing to stop him from saying, 'I need to call my girls,' and yet...explanations now made him uncomfortable. There'd been a time he hadn't needed to explain himself or defend his actions. There'd been a time he'd known she trusted him, believed in him, accepted what he said as truth. That was all changed now. Expecting she wouldn't believe anything he told her anyway, he opted for silence.

Anne's the lie that caused this his conscience told him. He paused, then admitted inwardly that his silence about his relationship with his best friend's widow had been worse than a lie.

It had taken him a long time to realise it, though.

Too long.

He looked at Samantha and tried to keep his regret from showing. So much had passed between them that he wasn't certain how to get back to any sort of comfortable footing with her, and each passing day made it seem even more impossible. Now, there wasn't time for personal issues even if they'd wanted to deal with them. Tonight's shooting put her in serious trouble with their bosses and would require their complete concentration for days to come. Shit was going to hit the proverbial fan over this, and he was worried about the outcome, worried her career might not weather this inquiry. Realising he was staring, he turned his head away, not knowing how to let her know she had his support, no matter what.

Sighing, he looked towards the door. Not knowing what to do or say anymore when it came to Samantha bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Their affair was long over and his head understood that; but somewhere between their affair's end and now, they'd forgotten how to be at ease with one another, how to talk to one another, how to work with one another.

He hadn't, however, forgotten how to love her.

A shot fired into the darkness had brought that home to him, in horrible and frightening detail. Loving her was like blinking, or breathing, or having a heartbeat, and like any other involuntary response, it was a critical, fundamental part of him he had no control over.

He did, however, have control over allowing his feelings to show, and he'd resolved never to let her know. She was burdened with enough right now. The last thing she needed was for him to complicate her life still more.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Looking tired and uncertain, she nodded. He turned to move away, but halted when she said in a small voice, "This might have been my last chance, Jack."

He turned and looked at her. As always, he was struck by a strong desire to hold her, to take her with him back to the time when they were honest with one another, relied on one another. But he couldn't, and so he concentrated on alleviating her fear. Although he'd already considered what she'd just voiced, he couldn't let her think negatively.

"Bullshit," he scoffed bluntly. "You had good reason to fire."

"But they might not see it that way. After all the other times..." Her voice drifted off.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "You're a good agent. You used your best judgment. And it looks as though he's going to pull through. That's in your favour."

Her face took on the expression she'd had when he'd first found her standing over the prone figure of Steve Hutkins. "I wish I could feel better about that," she said cryptically.

"Yeah, well..." Jack said, his voice drifting off. They hadn't spoken yet of what, exactly, had happened before he'd arrived at the scene after the shooting. He thought maybe he could guess, but knew her reasons for not telling him involved preventing him from becoming an accessory. The thought made his stomach sink.

Sighing, she abruptly changed her tone and urged him, "Go make your phone call; I'm okay."

She wondered if he were calling Anne; if perhaps they were communicating again. Time had passed, and Jack had never told anyone what had actually happened between the two of them to cause their split. After the mind-blowing news that Anne was pregnant, he had fallen silent. The team had discovered only by accident that Anne had left and the pregnancy was no more. No one had dared venture discussing any of it with him.

Jack looked at her uncertainly, not sure at all that she was as 'okay' as she claimed. Her quietly announced pregnancy, the adjustments he knew she was going to have to make as the pregnancy proceeded... He blinked, realising once again he'd drifted off into thought while staring at her. Inhaling deeply, he nodded and turned towards the door.

Fifteen minutes later, his phone call finished, he returned to find Samantha talking to someone with an FBI badge. Quickly taking note of the man's age, he set aside the idea that he was from Internal Affairs, arrived early. The young man's smooth, unlined face and freshly-washed appearance gave him an air of innocence, of being too young and inexperienced to have ever had the responsibility of investigating something more serious than the improper use of a bath toy.

Sensing the older man's arrival, the fair-haired agent glanced up and then stood. "Special Agent Malone, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said, holding his hand out respectfully.

Surprised by the cordial greeting, Jack took the younger man's hand.

Looking directly into the agent's cool blue eyes he asked, "And you are?"

"Agent Simon Goddard, Internal Affairs," the man replied. "I'm here to deal with the red flag thrown up by Agent Spade's latest shooting."

Jack's eyebrows rose, then lowered as he tried to cover his surprise. He wasn't pleased with himself for dismissing the agent so easily, and found himself even more unhappy with the way the other agent had worded his comment.

Latest shooting?

Aloud, he asked, "Red flag?"

Goddard nodded. "Yes, sir. It's not just this shooting that will be under review. The Department is finding Agent Spade's pattern of behaviour worrisome. Simply put, she's fired that weapon of hers too often. She's well over the acceptable average for Missing Persons. We need to know why."

Samantha made as though to speak, then forced herself to relax and hold her peace.

Goddard noticed, however. Looking at her directly, he said, "Look, I'm sorry, but whether you like hearing it or not, you're trigger-happy. You fire your sidearm more frequently than anyone else in your department. Hell, you pull the trigger more often than anyone in Missing Persons on the entire eastern seaboard! That makes people question your motivation. You weren't hired as a gunslinger, Agent Spade. Your attitude of 'shoot first and ask questions later' could get the Department into serious trouble. You're a concern. I'm here to make sure you don't become a liability."

Sending a warning glance Jack's way that told him very plainly to keep his mouth shut about everything, Samantha said, "I was justified in shooting; he'd have gotten away. I identified myself. I gave the standard warning. When he didn't respond and began to move away, I fired my gun. Not to kill; to stop him. I succeeded. Case closed." She'd be damned if she'd throw in the 'I'm pregnant; feel sorry for me' card.

Goddard shook his head. Showing more confidence than one would expect for someone his age, he said, "No, it's not 'case closed'. Did you really need to fire? Are you saying you didn't trust your backup? And what really made you pull the trigger? Fear? Bravery? A sense of power? Do you see yourself as some sort of vigilante, Agent Spade, freeing the world of one less bad guy? Whichever one is the case, it's my job to find it and act accordingly."

"I notice that 'Doing my job and doing it well' isn't on that list of possibilities," she observed hotly.

"I've read the preliminary reports," he said comfortably. "I've got a pretty good idea of what went down, and why."

Samantha shook her head. "You have no idea. You can't. You weren't there. And do you even know who he is? Do you know what he did?"

"I know who he is and I know what he's been accused of doing. He hasn't been convicted of anything, and attitudes like yours are of concern to the Department. It's not your place to decide who's guilty and who's innocent, Agent Spade. Nor is it your responsibility to mete out justice. Your responsibility - your only responsibility - is to find the missing. There's nothing in your job description that says 'shoot at will'."

Having heard more than enough, Jack intervened. His voice low and holding more than a hint of warning, he said, "Agent Goddard! That's enough. Investigate all you like, but be careful about making unfounded accusations or subtle threats."

Goddard stepped back, but didn't apologise. "You have her firearm?"

Jack shook his head and waited for the satisfaction of seeing Goddard open his mouth in protest before offering, "I followed protocol. Ballistics has it."

Samantha had handed the weapon over to him numbly, her eyes trained on Sparks, who now lay on his back, his eyes closed. Jack had moved him, turning him over to check for his pulse as soon as he'd arrived.

From the strength of the pulse and the location of the entry wound, Jack had guessed there was a chance Steven Hutkins would live.

Jack, however, had felt a shiver go through him when Samantha turned dark eyes to meet his. Hidden in their ebony depths he had seen that, more than anything else, Samantha Spade wished Steven Hutkins dead.

End
Chapter 1