Okay, so I wanted closure. We know from the past that John doesn't like to kill the bad guy, and we know Sam knows it. I just thought I'd give him an outlet to deal with it.
As always, Profiler and all it's characters belong to CS, GG, S/MP, NBC and the wonderful cast and crew of the show. I'm only borrowing them because NBC didn't give me the scene I wanted, and I promise to return them unharmed and not to make any money off of them. Special thanks to the fastest beta readers in the world! Feedback to betha@gwis2.circ.gwu.edu would be greatly appreciated.
Ambivalence (A post "Die Beautiful" missing scene)
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1998
"Dead."
My one-word assessment of Harroway's condition keeps running through my mind, long after the dream wakes me. Like always, the Harroway bust runs through my mind in a continuous loop while I try to sleep, my subconscious trying to justify what my training has made automatic.
It's okay to kill someone. It's my job to protect the innocent. If that means taking out the bad guy, then that's what I have to do. There was no other choice.
*You could have aimed for the legs.*
There wasn't time. I had to be sure on the first shot, or Gina Brazianno would have died.
*How do you know?*
I curse my own brain as I get out of bed and head for the kitchen. Maybe the scotch I keep for just such an occasion will put it to sleep so my body can rest as well. I don't even bother with a glass, I just take the bottle back to my room and sit back on the bed.
It takes a little time for the alcohol to start numbing my brain. More time to debate the pros and cons of killing. My mind argues with my heart for a while, and then the alcohol mercifully takes affect and I lay down and try to sleep. I know the dreams won't stop, but they won't wake me, and with any luck I won't remember them in the morning.
That theory is tested and found wanting much sooner than I'd like. Morning comes in no time, and I wake with a nasty headache that's only compounded by the bright sunlight pouring in my window. I drag myself over to the window and close the curtains, which helps a little, then manage to find my way to the shower. It doesn't help much, but I at least look semi-normal by the time I walk into work.
There's a note on my desk. Three words: "My office. Sam." Great. I might as well get it over with.
She's already at her desk when I knock on the door, but she drops what she's doing when she sees me. "Come on in."
I try to look awake and alert as I cross the room and sit down in the chair opposite her desk. "What's up?"
"Nothing. Just wondering how you're doing."
"I'm fine."
She tilts her head and studies me for a moment. "Are you sure about that?"
"You're a good profiler, Sam, but you're not a complete mindreader. I'm fine."
"Right. No after effects of last night's scene?"
I hesitate. "Nothing I can't deal with."
"Sometimes it helps to talk about it."
I hate it when she's right. I don't want to talk about it. But I know she's right. And I know she won't leave me alone until I talk. She'll nag me about it subtly until I break. "I'm used to it, y'know. But at the same time I never really get used to dealing with it." Oh that made a lot of sense, Grant.
"You did what you had to do. But then you know that already, don't you?"
I nod. "It doesn't make it any easier, though. I still play the whole thing through in my mind over and over in my sleep. I still hear the shot from my gun and feel the kick of it travel up my arm as I wake up. I still see him fall. And I still wake up thinking there had to be another way."
"I doubt Gina Brazianno would agree with you."
"Maybe. Probably." I stare at my hands to avoid looking at her. "It doesn't matter. I'll deal with it."
"I know. But if you need to talk, you know where to find me."
I nod my head as I stand up. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I make a quick exit; it makes me nervous when she reads me like that. Very few people can tell anything about me I don't want them to see, but Sam has made a habit of seeing the things I deliberately try to hide. And as much as I hate it sometimes, it's also comforting. She can make me feel better when I would never dream of asking for help.
Maybe insight isn't such a bad thing after all.