Ever since the end of Every Five Minutes, I've been a little disappointed. We never got to see Sam deal with Jill's capture, or her own reaction during the apprehension. I wanted to see her talk to John about it--yes, I'm a Believer, but all that aside the two of them are good friends and he pesters her when something is bothering her the same way she pesters him. That thought led to this story.
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.
Aftershocks
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1998
I still can't believe it. After all this time, all the chasing and running, getting kidnapped, and coming so close only to lose him again, we've finally managed to land a big hole in Jack's armor.
We got Jill.
The people still left at headquarters are tired, but happy. Surely it can't be much longer before we catch Jack himself. We're supposed to be the best of the best; we can't fail forever.
I say goodnight to a couple of people as I see Peyton headed my way. Just as he walks up beside me, I see Bailey approaching the door to his office, so I stop and tell him to forget about the damage to my car. It's my own grudging way of thanking Peyton for saving me from Sharon Lesher. Bailey, being Bailey, promises to get it paid for anyway. I leave before Peyton can make any smart remarks and tick me off while I'm still feeling slightly gracious toward him.
On my way to my desk, I notice the lights are still on in Sam's office. I pause at the top of the stairs, not sure if I should interfere, but I can't help myself. The memory of her face-off with Lesher is too fresh in my mind to ignore.
*"You know, you killed a very good friend of mine."*
Sam really had me worried for a minute. I thought she might actually put a bullet in Lesher. Not that her disappearance from the face of the earth would have been any loss to humanity, but she was our only solid link to Jack. And catching Jack is the most important thing.
*"How does it feel?"*
She looked like she was in some kind of trance, and at that point I was almost certain she was going to pull the trigger. She had to know that everyone in that basement would have backed her on self-defense all the way to the grave. But then she seemed to suddenly snap out of it. She put the safety back on on her gun and just left. Which is what she needed to do, no matter how much we all wanted Sharon Lesher dead.
I don't know why I'm even hesitating when my decision was made the second I saw her lights were on. I head down the hall to her office. She's sitting at her desk, studying some papers so intently that it takes her a few seconds to look up when I knock. "I thought you were gone."
"No, I'm still here." She waves her hand over the papers on her desk. "Too much to catch up on, not enough time."
I have to smile; leave it to Sam to worry about other people after a night like this. "I don't think there's anything in there that can't wait until tomorrow."
"Maybe." She flashes a quick, fake smile of her own then goes back to her files.
Not the answer I was looking for. I ignore the unspoken invitation to mind my own business and instead take a seat in front of her desk. "So, how are you doing?"
"I'm fine," she answers, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Was there something that you wanted?"
"Yes. To make sure you were okay after what happened tonight."
Her irritation is now evident on her face as she looks up at me. "I said I was fine."
"I know what you said. I heard you just fine."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I don't believe you."
She sighs. "Fine. Don't believe me. But that's the only answer you're going to get."
"Come on, Sam." I rest my elbows on my knees, leaning down so she has to meet my eyes. "This is me. We're too close for you to pull this stuff. Talk to me."
For a moment she just glares at me. Then she sits back with a sigh and closes her eyes. "I could have killed her."
"I know. But you didn't."
"But I could have." She opens her eyes, but only to stare at the ceiling. "I wanted to, God did I want to. The hell that that woman has put me through...." She doesn't have to elaborate; she knows I know the list of crimes by heart. "I know it's probably healthy to wish she was dead. But it was more than that. I was actually looking forward to it. I wanted to prolong it. I wanted to see the fear in her eyes before I pulled the trigger."
"But you stopped."
"Barely. It was almost like I was watching myself--cheering myself on or something. I was sick of being a victim. I wanted to do the victimizing for a change."
"No one could call Sharon Lesher a victim."
Sam shakes her head. "She is. She's a victim of Jack as much as I am. She just went along with him when I wouldn't."
I hate it when she does that. I like to see things in black and white as much as possible, but with Sam, there's never a black or a white. Everything is always some shade of gray. "Victim or not, she still went along willingly."
"It's easier that way. He turned her into a killer, and tonight he almost turned me into one as well. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger." She takes a deep breath. "I still don't know why I stopped."
"Because you knew it would have been wrong."
She shrugs. "Not the way I was thinking right then, it wouldn't have. It seemed like the right thing, the only thing. In that moment, I was no different from Jack."
"Yes, you were. You stopped. Even though no one would have blamed you for killing her, you didn't do it. That makes you and Jack as different as night and day."
"Maybe."
She doesn't sound convinced. But I know better than to push too far. "I was thinking about stopping for a drink before I head home, wanna join me?"
"No, thanks. I have too much to catch up on before I go home. I neglected a lot of work while I was focusing on the rape case in Florida."
"Come on, Sam, it'll do you good to get out of here."
"Really, I can't. I need to concentrate on this for a while."
Now I understand. She's using work as her escape. I've used that technique quite a few times myself. It's hard to think about your own problems when you're knee deep in hideous crimes. "Okay," I relent as I stand up. "But do me a favor. Somewhere in the middle of all that 'neglected' work, remember not to neglect yourself. Go home and get some sleep."
I'm rewarded with the first real smile I've seen on her face since we caught Jill. It's a welcome sign, even if it's fleeting. "I will. Good night."
"Night." It's far from over. But I know she'll be okay tonight, and that will do. For now.