WARNING! This story may be considered by some to need an NC-17 or "adult" label, due to one scene containing sex. If that offends you, don't read any further.
This story takes place between the episodes "Second Best" and "Old Acquaintances" from the second season.
As usual, all characters belong to Cynthia Saunders, Sanders/Moses Productions, NBC, and the wonderful cast and crew of Profiler. I'm only borrowing them for a bit, and I promise to hand them back unharmed and not make any money off them while they're here.
Unorthodox Methods
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1998
"I knew I shouldna said to bring 'em in. Shoulda kept my big mouth shut. But no, I had t'go and say it."
"Uh-huh." The bartender continued to clean up behind the bar. The young man babbling away on the stool was the only customer left, and showed no signs of leaving, although it was closing time.
"Prob'ly all my fault anyway. Lost counta how many times I wished him dead." He drained the last of his glass. "One more."
"Sorry, fella, it's closing time." The bartender paid close attention to his customer for the first time. "Are you gonna be okay to get a cab home?"
"Home." He shook his head. "Don't wanna go home. Don't wanna think. I just wanna 'nother drink," he paused as he squinted at the name tag on the bartender's shirt, "Mark." He held out his glass.
"It's Mike. And I can't serve you anything else, it's after two. Let me call you a cab, okay? Where do you live?"
"Apartment. Nice place."
Mike groaned inwardly. Now he'd have to play twenty questions just to get the guy out of the bar. "Do you remember where this nice apartment is?"
The man frowned for a moment, then smiled. "Peach... uh... Peach something."
"Great. That fits over half the streets in Atlanta. Peachtree? Peach Lane? Peach Road?"
"Peach Schnapps."
"I don't think that's it." Mike pulled out the phone book. "What's your name?"
"Grant."
"That your first name or last?"
He thought about it. "Last," he decided finally.
"Okay, Mr. Grant. What's your first name?"
Another pause for thought, followed by a giggle. "Ulysses."
"Right. Here to take Atlanta? Got it." Mike thumbed through the phone book to the name Grant, but there were too many on Peach roads to even start calling around, especially at two in the morning. "Where's your driver's license, Mr. Grant?"
"Didn't drive."
"Do you have any ID?"
John felt around in his pockets. "Nope. Nothing but cash."
Mike let out a heartfelt sigh. "You didn't drive, you don't have ID, how did you get here?"
"Walked."
"From where?"
"VTC... no, wait, V-C-T-F."
"I don't suppose you have any idea what those letters stand for?"
"Sure I do." He blinked a couple of times. "But if I told you, I'd have to kill you."
"Look, pal, what's the VCTF? A company? Club?"
"FBI."
"You're a cop?"
John shook his head. "Used to be a cop. Now I'm a G-man. G-man Grant. That's me. G-man--" Whatever he was about to say was cut off as his head slumped to the bar.
"Great." Mike checked for a pulse, then looked him over. He didn't appear to be in any danger of alcohol poisoning. "Let's see what you have on you." He came around to the other side of the bar and began searching John's jacket. He didn't find any ID, but he did find a business card in the inside pocket. The card had the name John Grant and there was a number for the VCTF, so he went back behind the bar and dialed.
***
Sam was curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow and staring out into space. Angel had taken Chloe to visit her parents the day after Coop's funeral, saying Sam needed a few days to herself. At first Sam had been eager not to have to speak to anyone, but she'd had plenty of time to think with no one around and no work to do, and she was beginning to wonder if that was such a good idea.
The phone rang. Sam looked at the clock, then hesitated slightly before answering. "Hello?"
"Dr. Waters, this is Mary at the VCTF. There's a man on the main line who says Agent Grant is there and is incapacitated, but he says he doesn't need emergency attention, so I thought since I couldn't find Agent Malone, and you and Agent Grant are friends..."
"It's okay, Mary, put the call through." She waited for the transfer sounds. "Dr. Waters."
"Are you a friend of John Grant?"
"Yes. What's the problem?"
"Well, I didn't want to get him in trouble by calling out the FBI because he's drunk, so I figured maybe one of his friends could help."
"Who is this?"
"I'm a bartender at Al's. It's a few blocks from your offices. Mr. Grant has been here for quite some time this evening, and as a result he's passed out on my bar. I was wondering if you could maybe tell me where to send him in a cab?"
"You're going to put him in a cab while he's passed out?"
"Well, I was kinda hoping he would wake up."
Sam sighed. "Give me your address, I'll be there in five minutes." At least it would be something to do.
***
When Mike let her into the bar, Sam was dismayed to see that John was still unconscious. She walked over to him and tugged on his ear. "John? Time to wake up." He mumbled something and moved slightly, which she thought was encouraging. "Come on, can you walk?"
"Maybe if we both help him he can make it to the car?"
"It's worth a try." They dragged him off the stool, Sam offering verbal encouragement the whole time, and managed to half-walk, half-drag him to Sam's Explorer. When he was buckled into the car, Sam turned and thanked the bartender, then climbed into the driver's seat.
As the bartender walked off, Sam sat there, trying to decide what to do. She could take John to his place, but it wasn't a good idea for someone in his condition to be alone. She could take him to her place, and keep an eye on him. "It's not like I'm going to get any sleep anyway," she grumbled as she started the vehicle. "Someone to talk to will be a welcome change, even if he doesn't talk back."
***
John was a little more cooperative at the firehouse, and Sam was able to get him up to the loft without much trouble. Once there, she dumped him on the couch, where he immediately lost all signs of consciousness again. She stared at him for a moment, shook her head, then took off his shoes and threw a blanket over him. She turned the lights off and took a seat in the chair next to the couch, staring off into the darkness.
A few hours later Sam was still sitting in the chair, not moving, not sleeping, just staring, when John woke up. She said nothing as she heard him get up, bump into the coffee table and sit back down. At his muffled curses, she spoke. "You don't have to be quiet. No one's sleeping."
"Sam?" He sounded confused. "What're you doing here?"
"I live here."
"Oh." She could almost hear his brain working. "Then what'm I doing here?"
"I thought it was the best place to take you after the bartender called me to pick you up."
"He called you?"
"Well, he called the VCTF, who put him through to me after his rather cryptic explanation."
"Oh." She could hear him moving around, but she couldn't see him in the dim light. "Thanks for picking me up, but I'll call a cab to come get me outta your way."
"It's 5:30, John, you might as well sleep on the couch and go home when you're sober."
"I don't wanna keep you up."
Sam issued a short, bitter laugh. "Don't worry." He bumped into something, and then the lamp behind the couch lit up. He studied her with blurry eyes, then his expression changed to one of concern.
"You don't look so good."
"Look who's talking. You look like you passed out on a bar stool and slept in your clothes."
"I did." He looked around. "Where's everybody else?"
She noticed he still didn't mention Angel by name. Angel had said they'd broken up, and that she was relieved, but apparently he was still uncomfortable about the whole thing. "Angel took Chloe up to visit her parents for a few days so I could have some time to myself."
"And I'm making you not alone. I should really get a cab--"
"No, don't. It's okay. I was driving myself crazy here alone; it's nice to have another human being in the place right now. Even a drunk one," she added with a small smile.
John grimaced. "Normally, I'd argue with you about the drunk part, but right now I think you may be right. Still, there's something to be said for alcohol."
"What's that?"
"Loosens the inna... inhibitions. I don't have any problem asking you what's wrong. Besides the obvious, that is."
"Besides Coop's death? The usual. Jack, life, or the lack thereof, crime, war and world hunger. That about covers it."
"Sarcastic Sam. There's something I never thought I'd see."
"Stick around, it just gets worse."
John moved closer to the chair and looked at her closely. "When's the last time you slept?"
She shrugged. "What day is it?"
"You're serious, aren't you? Have you slept at all since the funeral?" Sam just shrugged again. "Oh, Sam. Why didn't you talk to somebody?"
"Why didn't you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"You don't normally go out and get plastered. You must have had a reason."
"Oh." He sat back on the couch again and looked down at his hands. "I was feeling a little guilty."
"About?"
He let out a long sigh. "About Coop's death. I suggested we bring him in on the case, and it ended up getting him killed."
"You're right."
John blinked again. "I am?"
"Yeah. Alcohol really does loosen your inhibitions. You'd have never confessed to that sober."
"Oh. I guess not." They sat in silence for a few moments. "You miss him a lot, don't you?"
"Well, I didn't see him that much, and we weren't dating anymore. I guess I miss the idea of him being out there somewhere. The idea that I had a relationship with a start and an end that Jack didn't control. My mistake."
"It's not your fault, Sam."
"I am so sick of hearing that all the time!" She stood and began pacing in front of the table. "It's not your fault, Jack's not your fault, those thirty-one deaths aren't your fault. I'm not stupid, I *know* they're not my fault!"
"Then what's the problem?"
"Knowing that doesn't keep me from feeling guilty. I can't control my feelings any more than I can control Jack."
"Sam." She ignored him and continued to pace. "Sam." No response. He stood, and as she turned at the end of the table, he grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Listen to me." She looked at him defiantly for a moment, then sighed and sat down on the couch.
He sat down next to her, just far enough away that they weren't touching. "When my mom died, I felt guilty. I thought that if it hadn't been for me, she would've stayed with my old man. She left 'cause she wanted me safe. I felt like I hadn't done a good enough job protecting her."
"John, you were her son, you weren't supposed to protect her."
"I know, but it didn't stop me from feeling guilty about her death. It never does. I've never seen anyone lose someone without saying 'I should have done this, if only I'd done that.' Everyone has regrets when someone dies, and everyone has guilt."
"So what's your point?"
"What do you hope to accomplish by not sleeping?"
"It's not that I hope to accomplish something, I just can't sleep."
"Why?"
"I don't want to think or dream. If I'm awake, I don't dream and I'm so tired that I'm long past thinking. So my body refuses to sleep."
"You have to think."
"Why?" She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the couch. "Not thinking is so much easier."
"But you have to deal with what happened."
"Why?"
That brought him up short. "You're the shrink, you should know."
"Well I don't want to think, I don't want to deal, and I don't want to shrink." John couldn't help laughing a little at the last part of her statement, causing her to look at him with one eye. "You think this is funny?"
"No," he responded, sobering immediately, "I don't."
Sam closed her eyes again. "Besides, even if I wanted to deal with this, who would I talk to?"
"You can talk to me." She turned here head and opened her eyes to give him a skeptical look. "No, really. I'm a good listener. And you've already started talking to me about it, you might as well finish."
"I know, but considering the circumstances..."
"What circumstances?"
Sam studied him closely. He definitely wasn't sober, but he was functioning. "I guess it couldn't hurt. Right now I'd try anything if it would let me sleep."
He held out his arms. "Two shoulders, no waiting."
She stared for a long moment, then sighed. "I feel guilty."
"We covered that."
"Not really. I feel guilty because I don't think I loved Coop as much as I should have. I mean, I loved him, but not enough to risk his life by getting involved with him."
"You don't have to be in love with someone for keeps just to have a relationship with them."
"Maybe normal people don't, but I do. When I get involved with someone, it should be for keeps, because anything else isn't worth the risk."
"You can't know when you start a relationship that it's for keeps, though."
"I think part of me knew all along that I wouldn't have a future with Coop. And it made him safe, because if something happened to him I wouldn't feel the same loss that I did with Tom. And that wasn't fair to him."
"But you broke it off. It was bad luck that Jack thought he was coming back for something more than a case, but it wasn't your fault."
"Stop saying that! I know it wasn't my fault!" A few tears started to roll down Sam's cheeks. "It doesn't matter who's to blame! The result is the same! Coop's *dead*, and it doesn't hurt any less than Tom because even if it wasn't my fault it happened because of *me*!"
"Sam..." John wasn't sure what to say, so he reached out and pulled her into his arms as she started to cry in earnest. He began rocking her softly as she clung to one of his arms. Not knowing what else to do, he continued to rock and make what he hoped were soothing noises while he stroked her hair.
After what seemed like forever, Sam sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeves. "God, I must look like a mess." She hugged herself and looked around uncertainly.
"I wouldn't know, I'm drunk, remember?" He was feeling a little more sober, but he thought she'd be happier if she thought he might not remember this clearly.
She managed a small smile as she glanced at him. "Thanks."
"No problem." John tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and caressed her cheek, holding it to study her face. "Feel like you could sleep?"
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet." She looked into his eyes for a second, then pulled away from his hand, hugging herself tighter. "It's funny how changeable people are, you know?"
"I thought people were creatures of habit."
"They are, but even habit is often dictated by outside forces that we have no control over. I mean, if it's cold, you put on a jacket. You look outside and see a gray sky, you take your umbrella with you. You leave your house or car and you lock the door." Sam tucked her feet beneath her. "None of these things are some inherent knowledge you're born with. You learn them. You adapt to whatever your surroundings call for. Emotions are the same way. A child has parents who continually lock him in a closet, after a while he starts to feel that's normal. If the parents berate him his emotions adapt not to react, using whatever methods necessary. He can sleep, he can lose himself in a fantasy world, he can cause himself physical pain to have something else to focus on, as long as he's not there in that reality."
"Sam... you're not a child, and Jack has no right to lock you away."
The comparison gave her a slight pause. "I thought you were drunk."
John shrugged. "Sometimes you see better with your eyes closed." He reached out and put a finger under her chin, lifting it until she was looking him in the eyes. "You're not a child. You need to think. You need to deal with this so you can move on."
"I don't want to think." Her tone was calm. "Thinking leads to remembering, and right now all I want is to forget. To..." Whatever she was about to say trailed off, as she leaned in and kissed him.
He returned the kiss hungrily for a moment, then pulled away. "Sam, I don't think--"
She covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't think." Her mouth replaced her hand as she kissed him again, then pulled him down until he was practically lying on top of her.
John went along with her for about a minute before he pulled away to protest again. "This isn't a good idea..." He was trying his damnedest to be noble, but the combination of the alcohol, lack of sleep, and months of wanting exactly what he was being given were weakening his resolve at a rapid rate.
"Do you have a better one?" she asked as she pulled him to her again. Somewhere in the back of his mind the warning bells continued to sound, but they grew more and more distant as Sam started to unbutton his shirt.
By the time his shirt and undershirt were on the floor, she had his full cooperation as he fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She solved that problem by yanking the shirt over her head and discarding it.
There was no more verbal communication as they both became intent on one goal. Both pairs of pants disappeared somehow, John's boxers going with his trousers. He carefully removed Sam's panties and bra, then lavished attention on her breasts for several moments before she pulled him back up to press her lips to his.
They were both beyond any kind of rational thought when he entered her. It only took a few thrusts before they both found the release they needed, and as John collapsed on top of her, unable to move, his last conscious thought was that he only wished it could have lasted longer.
***
Sometime later, John woke to bright sunlight pounding into his head. He tried to open his eyes, only to immediately shut them again. It was only then that he realized he wasn't alone; someone was sleeping soundly beside him. A quick peek at the outside world that gave him a glimpse of tousled blonde hair was all he needed to remember everything that had happened.
He groaned inwardly, trying hard not to wake Sam. Even confused and hung over, he knew that this was not a good situation. But what should he do to keep it from getting worse? Stay and face the consequences when Sam woke up, or leave and deal with it later, after she'd had time to deal with it on her own?
He wasn't sure how she'd react, but he didn't think that the combination of her reaction and his hangover would lead to the most productive conversation, so he decided leaving would be best. He could leave her a note. Or maybe he shouldn't do that. What exactly was the protocol for sleeping with your co-worker two days after her boyfriend's funeral? Maybe there was a book somewhere on the subject.
He climbed out from under the blanket she must have pulled onto them, got up from the couch carefully, and dressed without making a sound. Sam never stirred. When he was fully dressed, he once again contemplated staying till she woke up, but cowardice got the best of him and he tiptoed down the hall to Sam's room to call a cab.
She still hadn't moved when he returned to the living room. Good. He hoped she would sleep for a long time, after not being able to sleep for days. He was glad she had finally managed to rest, though the result of her methods might well cost him his job or worse. He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a quick note, which he left on the coffee table beside her. After one long look at her sleeping figure, he went downstairs to wait for the cab.
***
It was late afternoon before Sam woke up, dazed and confused. It was only after she realized she was naked and on the couch that she remembered what had happened. "Oh my God..."
The phone was ringing, and she turned over onto her stomach and attempted to block out the noise by putting a large throw pillow over her head. It didn't work; she could still hear Angel's voice on the machine.
"Hey, Sam, Chloe and I decided we missed home, so we're coming back in the morning. Call me if it's a problem. Bye."
"Oh, God..." *Maybe I should go to church. I should definitely go to church.* Angel was one thing she hadn't considered. Who was she kidding? She hadn't considered anything when she'd started seducing John. She hadn't even made a conscious decision. All she knew was that one second she was crying in his arms, and the next she felt like he was the only thing that mattered. Like if she slept with him, everything would be okay somehow.
At least she'd been able to sleep. Now if only she could find some way not to have to wake up and have this to deal with, she'd be much happier.
She sat up on the couch, wrapping the blanket around her. She started to stand up, but saw the note on the table with her name on it. After a moment's hesitation, she picked it up, holding it as if it would bite her. Her hand shook slightly as she opened it.
Sam-
I wasn't sure when you'd wake up, or if you'd want me here when you
did, so I went home. Call me if you feel up to it.
John
She balled the note up in her hand and sat back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. On the one hand, she was glad he wasn't here. She didn't think she was ready to deal with him. On the other hand, she was offended that he left. *Way to be decisive, Sam.*
Shaking her head, she rose from the couch and gathered her clothes. Maybe a hot shower would help. At the very least, it would wash away his smell, and then she could think more clearly. She hoped.
***
John stared at his phone for the thousandth time since he'd returned from the firehouse. "Ring, dammit!" It didn't comply. "Well then tell me if I should call her." The phone remained silent.
*Uncooperative piece of plastic.* It was past dinner time, Sam had to have woken up by now. He was starting to wish he hadn't left in such a hurry. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he hadn't considered what it would be like to spend hours sitting around the apartment waiting for the phone to ring, and not knowing if it would.
*What's she thinking? She's probably damning me to hell.* He wouldn't blame her if she was. She may have been the one to initiate what happened, but he could have mustered up a little more resistance. *Yeah, and a thief could restrain himself left unattended in Fort Knox.* If he was honest with himself, he had taken something he'd wanted for a long time, and in the process could well have blown any chance he had at ever having any kind of real relationship with Sam--friendship or otherwise.
He stared at the phone again. "Ring!!" Machinery never listened. With a sigh, he picked up the phone and called the Chinese place around the corner. He wasn't taking a chance on missing a call by going out for dinner. *If it weren't for call waiting I might starve.*
This was really getting out of hand. At least if she called and said "I hate you!" he'd know where he stood. Not knowing, that was the hardest part. Not knowing... and waiting.
***
Sam picked up the phone, then put it back down. She'd done the same thing at least ten times every hour, but she didn't know who to call. Should she call John? They needed to talk, but she was afraid of what they might say. It would help to talk to a friend, but because John was involved, there really wasn't anyone to talk to. Angel was definitely out. She didn't even want to consider what Angel would think about the whole thing. She couldn't talk to Bailey either, not about this. And Grace had known John too long, and George, well, they were friends, but she couldn't talk to him about this either.
That summed up all her friends. A sadly small list, thanks to Jack. *One more favor I owe the bastard when I catch up with him.* She'd have to figure this one out on her own. She stared at the phone for a long moment, picked it up, then put it back on the base. Not yet. She had to know what to say. It would be easier if she knew what he was thinking, but her abilities seemed to have deserted her on that count.
*Maybe I should join a convent.* The thought made her smile. A convent was a bit much, but going to church couldn't hurt. She wasn't very big on confession, but church was a nice, quiet place to meditate, and if some big answer came to her while she was there, then it would be an added bonus. A welcome, highly appreciated bonus.
Without thinking any further, she grabbed her keys and purse and left for the church.
***
*Ring.*
*Ring.*
*Ring*
"Hi, this is Sam, Chloe and Angel. We can't get to the phone, but--" John slammed the phone down. Either she wasn't home, or she just wasn't answering. Not that it mattered, it still meant he couldn't reach her. He wouldn't stoop to calling her cell phone. If she wasn't answering her home phone, she obviously didn't want to be disturbed. He respected that. He hated that, but he respected it all the same.
He'd give her an hour before he tried the firehouse again.
***
*Ring*
*Ring*
*Ring*
"Hi, this is Sam, Chloe and Angel. We can't get to the phone, but leave a--"
Sam threw her purse down and grabbed the phone. "Hello?" No answer. She hung up and dialed *69.
"This services is temporarily unavailable. We apologize for the inconvenience."
Sam hung up the phone, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at it. She wondered if the caller had been John, then decided it couldn't have been. His note said for her to call him. She'd managed to find some peace at the church in the last hour, but still no answers. And until she knew what to say, she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him. She wasn't sure of much at all, except that she was still tired from her long stretch of time without sleep, and that whatever else had resulted from this morning's... activities, at least she could sleep again. With that thought in mind, she headed for the bathroom to have a long shower before crawling into bed.
***
*Ring*
*Ring*
*Ring*
"Hi, this is Sam, Chloe and--" *slam*
"I hate that message." The phone still hadn't learned how to talk back. He sat back down on the couch. He didn't dare call again. With any luck, Sam was catching up on her sleep and hadn't even heard the phone. He'd rather deal with her when they were both rested and awake anyway. Which meant he should probably get some sleep. Maybe she'd call tomorrow and they could talk. He hoped so. He didn't know if he could wait till Monday without going crazy.
With a deep sigh, he got up and went to take a shower before going to bed, telling himself tomorrow had to go better than today. It couldn't get much worse.
***
Sam slept until lunch time the next day, then spent another hour in bed with a romance novel. Not her usual reading, but Angel had a few of them lying around and she hadn't wanted anything to remind her of real life. She skipped the sex parts of the book to attempt total avoidance, but their presence kept thoughts of John right at the top of her subconscious. After she finished the book and got dressed, her eyes kept straying to the phone. She knew she should call him, but she still didn't feel up to dealing with anything.
Angel and Chloe got home just in time for an early dinner. Angel ordered pizza while Sam helped Chloe unpack. They took longer unpacking than was really necessary, but Sam had missed her daughter, and it was a good way to avoid having to act normal around Angel. She couldn't tell her friend what happened. She couldn't. If it had been any other guy, it would be easy to tell her, but not John. Sam managed to time it so they finished Chloe's unpacking just as the pizza arrived.
***
John finished the last of his left over Chinese food and set the empty box aside. He flipped through the channels again, but still couldn't find anything to watch. Finally he gave up and reached for the phone behind him. He'd held out all day, but he didn't want to wait until work tomorrow if he could avoid it.
***
*Ring*
*Ring*
*Ring*
"Hello?" Angel waited a few seconds, but there was only silence on the line, followed by a click. "Hello?" No answer. She hung up.
"Who was that?" Sam asked as she returned from the kitchen.
Angel shrugged. "There was no one there." She punched a few buttons on the phone, listened briefly, then hung up. "Return call isn't working."
"Yeah, it wasn't working yesterday either."
"You don't think it was..."
"Jack? I doubt it. He'd want me to know if it was him." Sam thought she had a good idea who had called, but she didn't mention it. "I guess if it's important they'll call back."
***
John slammed the phone down on the table. He hadn't expected Angel to answer, and when she had he hadn't known what to say. So he'd hung up rather than try to explain why he was calling Sam at home when she wasn't officially back to work until the next day. If Angel was back, he doubted Sam would call. Which meant another day of waiting to face her. After another night of thinking. Maybe a run would make it easier to sleep. A long run. With a sigh, he went to his bedroom to change into workout clothes.
***
Sam finished cleaning off the table and coerced Chloe into the bathtub before telling Angel she had to go make some calls in her room. Once she shut her bedroom door behind her, she spent several minutes cleaning up the room, still avoiding the phone call. She eventually settled in on the bed, picked up the phone and dialed his number, only to get no answer. She waited through his answering machine message before she hung up, unable to think of anything to say. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
***
John came in from his run to find the message light blinking on his answering machine. He hit the playback button, but it was only a hang up. It might have been Sam, but he wasn't risking a call to the firehouse to find out. It would just have to wait.
***
The next morning, John stumbled sleepily into the office a few minutes after nine. As soon as he dropped his coat at his desk, he headed for the Command Center. He hoped to catch Sam in a semi-public area, but George was the only one there.
"Whoa, you and Sam go to the same party?"
"What?" The question came out sharper than it should have.
"You look about as worn out as she does."
"Oh. She's here?"
"Yeah, she came through here a few minutes ago. I think she's in her office." George studied John closely. "Everything okay?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm fine." Without another word, he headed for Sam's office, but when he looked in the open door, she was on the phone. He knocked lightly and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting. She held up her hand when she saw him, a silent command to wait.
"Right. Can you hold for a moment?" She pushed the hold button and glanced at John. "Hi."
"Hi." He looked around uncomfortably for a moment before his eyes settled on her face. "We need to talk."
"Yeah." Sam played with the wedding ring on her hand, avoiding John's eyes. "I have to finish this call and do a few other catch up things this morning. Can it wait till lunch?"
John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Sam..."
"Please? I don't want to discuss this in some hurried conversation stuck between the murder in Rhode Island and the rape in Chicago." She finally looked him in the eye. "Your friendship is too important to me not to give this my undivided attention."
*Then where were you all weekend?* He sighed. "Fine. Twelve?" She nodded. "Okay.
As he walked off, Sam hung up the phone. She had picked it up when she saw him coming to her office. She figured the only way she could get him to wait was to be in the middle of something, and she hadn't even been sure that would work. She hadn't lied when she'd said she wanted to give him her undivided attention. She didn't want any distractions or interruptions until they were finished talking.
With a heartfelt sigh, she opened the first file on her desk. If she was going to lunch, she'd better get some work done this morning.
***
She was ready and standing near her office door when John showed up at noon. "Cafe American okay for lunch?" she asked as he walked in. His only response was an "After you," followed by a sweep of his arm.
They maintained their strained silence until after they had selected a table at the restaurant. Despite having the menu memorized, both of them spent several minutes studying it before the waitress came and they were forced to give her their orders and surrender the menus. They sat there for a moment, then both spoke at the same time.
"Sam--"
"John--"
They broke off with uncomfortable laughs. "You go first," John offered.
She played with her fork. "About the other night..." She risked a quick glance at him and saw that she had his undivided attention. *Well, that's what you wanted, isn't it?* At least, she thought she had wanted that, but under the intensity of his direct blue gaze, she wondered if that was such a good idea.
"Well, I didn't think you asked me here to discuss the Braves, Sam."
"Huh? Oh, sorry, I was thinking." *And not nearly fast enough.* "I'm not in the habit of having to deal with situations like this."
He placed his hand lightly on hers. "I know that." Something in his voice made her finally look him in the eye. "Let me see if I can help. I feel like a total bastard for what happened, and if you want me to... if you'd rather I transferred out of the VCTF, I understand."
Sam blinked. "Why should you feel guilty about this?"
"You were vulnerable and I feel like I..." *took advantage of you* "...let you down. I should have left."
"Like you were in any condition to leave. Besides, as I remember it, I was the one who took advantage of you. After all, I was the sober one."
"Maybe, but--"
"There are no 'buts'. We both needed something the other night, some kind of... relief. It wasn't a good week, to put it mildly." *Understatement of the year, Sam.* "You're a good friend, John. I'd hate to lose that because we turned to each other one night when neither of us was thinking straight." She looked back down at her fork. "I have very few friends, thanks to Jack. I'd hate to lose a good one through my own actions."
John had toyed with giving her a clue as to how he really felt, but at the mention of Jack and the reminder of how much she had lost because of him, he concealed his feelings in time for Sam to look up at him again.
"Please tell me we can get past this?"
He barely hesitated. "Sure," he responded, his features softening. "There's just one small problem. In all our... haste, we didn't use anything..."
She looked confused for a moment, then it hit her. "Oh! Well... I think I have part of that covered. Don't worry. Unless there's something I should know..."
"No, nothing to worry about then."
Several uncomfortable moments followed. "So... we can forget this happened?"
He wasn't willing to go that far. "We can put it behind us." He could wait. Jack had to get caught or die sometime.
"Good." Sam resolved to put the whole thing out of her mind. No matter how many times it tried to pop back in there.
***
A week later, Sam was in Bailey's office, giving him an update on a case. When she finished, he handed her file back to her. "Take this to John and run it by him. It's local, maybe something will ring a few bells."
Sam looked down at the file. "I'll see that he gets it," she responded as she turned to leave.
"Sam." She turned back around. "I want you to give him the same verbal report you gave me. Is that a problem?"
"No. Why would it by?"
His eyes narrowed. "I don't know. Communication isn't the first word that comes to mind when I think of you two these days. Is there something I should know about?"
"No." Sam hugged the file close to her stomach. "There's nothing wrong. I guess I just haven't been myself lately."
"Maybe, but if I didn't know better I'd swear you're avoiding John."
"Don't be ridiculous." She turned away again. "I'll go give this to him right now."
John was at his desk writing up a report. It was a good thing he'd learned to write them in his sleep, since his mind was nowhere near a crime. *Unless shaking Sam Waters senseless counts as assault.* He'd felt like doing that about half the time over the past week. The rest of the time he'd wanted to run his head into a concrete wall. Neither action would get him anywhere, but it made him feel good to think about them once in a while. She'd been so good at avoiding him that week, he could hardly believe it when he looked up and saw her standing next to his desk.
She laid a file down in front of him and focused on a point over his left shoulder. "This is the profile on the Hardinger/Jackson cases. Bailey wanted me to run it by you, see if it triggered anything in your memory."
"Thanks. I'll take a look at it."
Sam took a deep breath. "He wanted me to give you the same verbal report I gave him."
She sounded like a student reciting in class. "Is there anything you can tell me that isn't in the file?" She shook her head. "Then I'll read it, and you can tell Bailey you did your duty, and you don't have to spend another second talking to me when you'd obviously prefer to avoid me."
She flashed him an almost hurt look, but he thought he saw guilt as well. Then it was gone, replaced by a polite blank mask. "Fine." She turned on her heel and went back up the steps to her office.
John looked at the file, resisting the urge to rip it in half. He took a couple of calming breaths, then opened the file and started attempting to absorb the information.
His concentration was so shot, he had to read through the file twice to get anything out of it, but there was something slightly familiar about the perp's MO. When he was able to figure it out, he picked up the file and headed to Sam's office.
She looked up from the computer when he knocked on the open door. ADid you find anything in the file?"
*Not even a chance for small talk.* AI remember a couple of cases in Atlanta about five years ago with some similarities," he responded as he crossed the room to hand her the file.
She took the file quickly and leaned back in her chair, pushing it a few more feet away from him. "Such as?"
He related what he remembered about the cases. "The murders stopped all of the sudden, and we never caught the guy."
Sam chewed on the end of her pen, his presence momentarily forgotten. "Maybe he was arrested for something else and just recently got out."
John nodded. "I thought about that. I'm gonna have George check into how many people were arrested and released in the right time frames."
Sam nodded, still chewing on her pen and thinking. John started to leave, then changed his mind and took a couple of steps toward her. She stiffened as she realized he was coming closer, causing him to stop in his tracks.
"Look, Sam, I thought we were at least still friends."
"We are." He saw her eyes widen before she looked down at the file on her desk.
"Then why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you."
"You are avoiding me." He reached down and closed the file. "And I want to know why."
"I'm not. I'm just really busy. I'm still catching up from when I was gone." She pulled the file out from under his hand and reopened it.
"Bull. You won't talk to me, you won't look at me, you won't even come near me if you can help it."
"You," she said with a quick, pointed look, "have way too much ego. And you also have some information you need to get from George."
He stared down at her for a long moment before letting out a low growl and stalking out of the office.
***
A few hours later the whole team was gathered at the table in the Command Center. Sam was the last one to arrive, and the only seats left were near John. After a slight hesitation, she sat down next to him. "What's up?"
John leaned toward her, but spoke to the whole group. "George went through the records of arrests and releases and came up with five guys in the Atlanta area who could be the killer."
Bailey asked George to go through the list of suspects. After George finished with the facts, Sam eliminated two of them based on their previous crimes.
Sam hesitated on the third one who was convicted of attempting to murder a woman. "What color was the victim's hair?"
George checked his screen. "Blonde."
Sam shook her head. "All our victims have been brunettes, I don't think this is our guy."
"Maybe something happened during the time in jail to turn him off blondes." John's comment earned him a glare from Sam and odd looks from a couple of the team members.
"The victims before were brunette as well, unless the Atlanta PD has some trouble I don't know about with recording details."
"I'm sure the Atlanta PD did a thorough investigation and dealt with all the facts involved."
Bailey spoke up loudly. "If we're done discussing the local police, can we get back to the last two suspects?"
Sam looked at the screen and cleared her throat. "What were the other two in jail for?"
"Greg Dawson was convicted of armed robbery. David Ross was stopped for a traffic violation and ran from the cops when they made him get out of the car. They found cocaine in the car and he was convicted for possession.
Sam stared at the pictures on the screen a moment longer. "It's Ross. He was unlucky enough to get caught for a minor offense, and it held him up for five years. Now that he's out, he's picking up where he left off."
"Let's hear it for stubborn determination," John quipped.
Sam gave him a brief, narrow-eyed look before standing up. "I'll be in my office," she said as she hurried out the door.
Bailey fixed John with a hard glare before addressing everyone. "Let's go have a talk with Mr. Ross."
***
Six hours later they had managed to pull a confession out of David Ross. John left the holding cell and wandered upstairs to the Command Center. George was at the table with his laptop. John sat down next to him.
"Was Sam right?"
"Is she ever wrong?"
George spared him a quick sideways glance. "You seem to think so. At least that's the impression I got this morning." He finished typing and turned to face his friend. "What gives?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." John protested. George just looked at him. "Fine. She's been so calm lately. Too calm. I think she's denying Coop... Coop's death even affected her. I was trying to shake her up a little."
"I would think Sam knows how to deal with grief by now."
"Maybe. I'm just not sure she's doing it." He rubbed his neck in a tired gesture. "Maybe I'm the problem. She doesn't seem to be able to be around me lately. Maybe I should transfer somewhere else," he grumbled.
George studied him, but as he was about to say something, Bailey spoke from behind them. "John, can I see you in my office?"
John tensed, wondering how much he had overheard. He saw George shoot him a sympathetic glance as he rose and followed Bailey.
"Sit down," Bailey ordered as he took a seat behind the desk, "and tell me what the hell is going on."
John sat down and eyed his boss warily. "What do you mean?"
"Sam's avoiding you, you're stomping around here like a pissed off bear, and now apparently the two of you can't be in the same room without making each other mad."
He shifted uncomfortably. "There's nothing going on."
"Bull." They faced off silently for a moment, neither one wanting to give in. "Fine," Bailey surrendered. "You don't want to tell me, that's fine. But fix it."
"You're assuming I could fix it--if something was broken, that is."
"I'm not assuming anything. I plan to tell Sam the same thing." Bailey's face softened. "But she's had a rough couple of weeks, and whatever's going on, I imagine you're a little more equipped to deal with it than she is."
John looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling guilty. "If she'll deal with it at all," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stood up. "Look, Bailey, I'll talk to her--again. But I can't make herÿ I can't make her do anything." He had walked to the door, and had his hand on the knob. "Anything else?"
"No." John opened the door, then Bailey spoke again. "John, this may be one of the best law enforcement teams in the country. And it means a lot to me, but not as much as the people in it. I don't want to lose anyone." After a second, John nodded, then walked out.
***
John went back to his desk, but after a few half-hearted attempts to look at case files he gave up and decided to get it over with. He stood up with a sigh and headed for Sam's office.
The blinds in her office were closed, but when he looked in the door, he saw her at her desk. When he knocked lightly, she looked up. An apprehensive look crossed her face when she saw who was at the door. "What's up?"
"Can I come in?" Once he wouldn't have bothered to ask, but the way things were going lately, he thought it was necessary.
"I'm really busy."
"It'll only take a minute."
She hesitated briefly. "Okay."
John walked in, shutting the door behind him. He noticed that her eyes widened slightly when the door shut, but it didn't keep him from ignoring the chair and perching himself on the corner of her desk instead. "We need to talk."
"About what?" She cleared her throat, trying to get the sudden hoarseness in her voice to go away.
"Samÿ" What did he say now that he finally had her attention? Sorry your boyfriend died and you feel like you messed up, but snap out of it? *Yeah, that'd be smooth, Grant.* "We can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" She refused to look at him. She'd rather look at her hands, her desk, the walls--anything but him.
"You avoid me, I get aggravated, you get mad--it's pointless."
"I told you, I'm not--"
"--avoiding me, I know, you said that. And you were lying. If you're not lying to me, then you're lying to yourself, because whether you're doing it on purpose or not, you are avoiding me. We can't work like that--our jobs require things like talking to each other." She refused to look up, or even speak. "Hello? Anybody home?" When she still didn't respond, he stood up. "Screw it," he muttered as he started toward the door.
"Maybe I am avoiding you," she admitted, her voice so soft that for a moment John wasn't sure she'd said anything.
He turned around and went back to the desk. "Maybe?"
"Okay, I supposeÿ yes, I have been avoiding you."
"Why?" He sat back down on the desk. "I thought we were okay after we talked."
"We were. At least we should have been. I should have been."
"Then what happened?"
"I don't know." She got up and moved toward the couch. He stayed where he was, allowing her some space. "When Tom died, I wasn't sure I could survive it. It was the most horrible thing I'd ever been through. But when Jack killed Coop, I knew I could survive it, and it was even worse, because no matter how much it hurt, I knew that it wouldn't kill me, it would just hurt for a long time." She sat down on the couch and hugged a pillow to her. "Do you know what it's like to see that much pain stretching out in front of you?"
"I remember. After I lost my mother, I became very good at making sure no one got that close so I wouldn't have to go through it again."
She was so startled she actually looked at him. "Is that supposed to be a hint?"
"It's the truth. I did it for a long time. Nathan was the first really good friend I've had since then."
She smiled. "What, you've never fallen for a woman who broke your heart?"
"I haven't had my heart broken yet."
"So how do you manage that?"
"Luck, karma, fate, who knows? But you can't protect yourself from heartache by cutting off the rest of the world."
"I thought we were talking about you."
He gave her a level look as he got up and crossed the room. "You walk around here like a robot. People are afraid to mention Coop to you, and you would ignore them if they did. You act like nothing happened, and whenever someone tries to be your friend, you find an excuse to be somewhere else." He sat down next to her on the couch. "Do we need to be talking about me, or you?"
"I can't stop. I can't deal with it. I tried, and look what happened."
"What? What happened that was so terrible?"
"We ended up sleeping together!"
He raised an eyebrow. "I know I was a little drunk, but I don't remember it being terrible."
"Oh, you think this is funny? You're amused?"
"I'm amused, I'm worried, I'm upsetÿ I'm a lot of things. But what are you?"
"What?"
"I'm feeling all those things. What are you feeling?"
She was avoiding his eyes again. "Nothing."
"That's what you're letting yourself feel."
"It's all I can do!"
"Why? Because you think Jack is all your fault? Because you don't want to feel guilty?" He gave her a long look that she refused to return. "Well I'm the one who brought Coop's name up for the case, maybe it's my fault. Or, hey, Bailey made the decision to bring him in, maybe it's his fault. Oh, wait a minute, we didn't pull the trigger, did we? I'm sorry who did that?" He could see she was crying, but she still didn't respond. "Help me out, Sam. Who was it?" For a moment he wondered if he'd gone too far, and he held his breath, willing her to answer.
"Jack."
It was a whisper, one he barely heard, but it was what he'd been looking for. "That's right. You didn't create Jack, Sam. But he's trying his best to create you. And you're letting him do it, which really sucks."
"Go away."
John ignored her. "He kills somebody and places all the blame and all the guilt on you." He let out a harsh laugh. "You gotta hand it to the guy, he knows a good thing when he sees it."
"Stop!" She was crying now, taking deep breaths to yell at him between sobs. "I can't... it hurts, dammit!"
He pulled her into a protective embrace. "I know it hurts. But it'll heal. There is no good without bad. You know that." He held her for a long time as she cried. When she had calmed down a little, he spoke again. "For a long time after my mother died, I didn't let anyone in. I lost years that I could have been happy, in love, cared about, I even lost a lot of potential friends because I was afraid of losing someone, but the irony was that I lost more in the long run by not caring. Don't let him do that to you."
After a while her tears subsided and she sat up sniffling. "This is the second time I've cried all over you," she said with a small, almost embarrassed smile.
"I'll have to buy more absorbent shirts."
She smiled again for a moment, then the smile faded. "I can't promise anything, you know."
"I know. All you can do is try. But I have faith in you." He pushed her hair back out of her face, his hand lingering at the base of her neck for a moment. "George and I are going to the Grill for dinner, wanna join us?" After a slight hesitation, Sam nodded. "Good." He stood up. "We'll stop by here before we leave," he added as he headed for the door.
"John." He stopped and turned to see her moving toward him. "Thanks." She gave him a quick hug.
"Anytime."
***
The next morning, John stopped by Sam's office as soon as he arrived at work. He knocked lightly on her door. "Hey."
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"Okay."
He moved a little closer to the desk as he studied her. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
"A little." She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I tried a more traditional remedy for sleeplessness--Nytol." John smiled as she continued. "Thanks for inviting me to dinner last night."
"Thanks for saying yes," he answered. After a moment's silence, he sighed. "Guess I'd better get to work." He turned to go.
"John." He turned back expectantly. "I called Melinda this morning."
"Your friend the psych teacher?"
Sam nodded. "She's going to help me..." her hands fluttered as she searched for the right words, "deal with all of this."
"I'm glad."
"Thanks for the advice. Even if your methods can be a little... heavy-handed."
"Don't mention it." He smiled as he turned and walked out. She was going to be just fine.