TITLE: Aleatory
AUTHORS: Blaze and Devanie
RATING/SPOILERS: PG-13, and none.
SUMMARY: Aleatory: depending on luck or chance; dependent on uncertain contingencies; done at random, unpredictable.
DISCLAIMER: Not ours. Not that we'd mind. :)
AUTHORS' NOTE: This is the product of our love for this show and of no small amount of boredom. It's a WIP and we hope to update at least every weekend. We thought it would be interesting to shift the dynamics around a bit both professionally and personally, so this story was born. Hope you enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was nine-thirty on a Friday night, and Samantha Spade was at work.
Nine-thirty on a Friday and she was looking at an unsolved case from two years ago, looking through boxes and boxes of files and bits of evidence. The case hadn't been particularly unusual, hadn't stuck with her for any particular reason, and yet, here she was, nine-thirty on a Friday, looking through the files. Alone. The office wasn't dark, there were a few bulbs burning at the expense of the taxpayers. But the difference between the exterior of the building and the interior was striking, and she felt as if the outside was nothing more than a black hole, ready to take her and crush her under it's sheer size and gravity.
She felt safer inside, in the office with her work.
As the thought passed by, she laughed, the noise splitting the bubble of silence that had enveloped her. This is ridiculous, Sam, she told herself. Absolutely ridiculous. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night, and you're looking at files.
I should join Workaholics Anonymous. Either that or ask Jack to install cots in the cubicles. Or maybe I should look in to figuring out why I never want to go home. Yes, I think that might be the way to--
Samantha's phone trilled, interrupting her train of thought. "Yeah?"
"Sam?" Jack. He sounded like he'd been crying.
"Jack? Are you okay?"
"I need you to come to the house." His voice was rougher than usual, a slight undercurrent of panic contaminating the words. This was not going to be a social visit.
"Is Marie there?"
"Um..." He exhaled slowly into the receiver. "Yes."
"Jack, what's going on?"
"Hanna's missing. And, uh, I need you."
Hanna, Hanna, Hanna... Oh. Oh, shit. "God, Jack. Hanna?" She'd only met the girl once, about two years ago. Cute kid, Jack's eyes and, she'd guessed, his wife's curly hair. Bubbly, happy, full of questions as any four-year-old is, full of "This is my rabbit and this is my stuffed frog and his name is Jumpy because Daddy told me that frogs jump like this..."
"Hanna. Can you just..." His voice broke. "Can you come to the house?"
Files forgotten, Samantha slid her coat over her arms, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she grabbed her keys and headed for the elevators. "I'm coming."
The welcome mat literally said "welcome"; it was burgundy, flowered, and not very Jack at all. It was also very dirty, and Samantha wondered if that was the result of the throng of law enforcement that had already swarmed the house. At least three uniformed officers surrounded the petite brunette sitting on the couch. A detective spoke softly and she pressed her face into her palms. Samantha had been part of this scene many times before and it was always hard. The man pacing across the room from his wife made it harder.
"Jack."
His eyes were red-rimmed but focused as he made his away across the room, not bothering to shorten his stride even as he ran into yet another officer that had walked in behind her. She briefly wondered if it was socially appropriate to give him a hug, but settled for a commiserating arm squeeze instead. "What happened?"
"Marie called me about 20 minutes before I called you. She let Hanna go down the driveway to get the mail. Apparently," Jack tensed his jaw before continuing "Marie looked away for a moment and by the time she looked out the window she could see a blue sedan speeding away. No make, no tag number."
Samantha winced. Observational skills were something Jack didn't lack. It was a staple of their profession. Fear outweighed frustration in his voice, but she wondered how long that would last. "Any calls or ransom demands?"
"No. I need you to call the rest of the team and get set up to intercept any calls that come through here." He handed her a folder. "Photographs and a description. The uniforms are taking care of the press releases now, but this is going to be your show soon."
So that was it. There wasn't going to be any cliche 'I need to be part of this investigation' power struggle. He was excusing himself early. He knew the rules, but she wondered if the responsibility for leading the case of his own child's kidnapping was simply too much pressure.
She also wondered if it was too much for her.
Looking back up from the file, she noticed for the first time how very pale he was. "You should go lie down, Jack."
"I'm fine."
He was the antithesis of fine, but she knew before she asked that he wouldn't rest. "I need to talk to Marie. Do you want to be there?"
Shaking his head, he looked from his sobbing wife to the kitchen behind him. "I'll be by the phone."
She stared at his back for a moment, trying to decide whether he blamed Marie for being there and letting this happen or blamed himself for not being there to stop it. Either way Hanna was missing. If she wasn't found, Samantha realized the ultimate blame could fall on her shoulders. Swallowing back a brief feeling of nausea, she approached the chair across from the couch. She smiled cautiously as Marie composed herself, wiping away tears with kleenex grasped in shaky fingers.
As a wave of fresh compassion came over her, Samantha knew that Marie was unaware of the irony of the situation.
The woman most responsible for disruption of her family was now charged with the task of rebuilding it.
AUTHORS: Blaze and Devanie
RATING/SPOILERS: PG-13, and none.
SUMMARY: Aleatory: depending on luck or chance; dependent on uncertain contingencies; done at random, unpredictable.
DISCLAIMER: Not ours. Not that we'd mind. :)
AUTHORS' NOTE: This is the product of our love for this show and of no small amount of boredom. It's a WIP and we hope to update at least every weekend. We thought it would be interesting to shift the dynamics around a bit both professionally and personally, so this story was born. Hope you enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was nine-thirty on a Friday night, and Samantha Spade was at work.
Nine-thirty on a Friday and she was looking at an unsolved case from two years ago, looking through boxes and boxes of files and bits of evidence. The case hadn't been particularly unusual, hadn't stuck with her for any particular reason, and yet, here she was, nine-thirty on a Friday, looking through the files. Alone. The office wasn't dark, there were a few bulbs burning at the expense of the taxpayers. But the difference between the exterior of the building and the interior was striking, and she felt as if the outside was nothing more than a black hole, ready to take her and crush her under it's sheer size and gravity.
She felt safer inside, in the office with her work.
As the thought passed by, she laughed, the noise splitting the bubble of silence that had enveloped her. This is ridiculous, Sam, she told herself. Absolutely ridiculous. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night, and you're looking at files.
I should join Workaholics Anonymous. Either that or ask Jack to install cots in the cubicles. Or maybe I should look in to figuring out why I never want to go home. Yes, I think that might be the way to--
Samantha's phone trilled, interrupting her train of thought. "Yeah?"
"Sam?" Jack. He sounded like he'd been crying.
"Jack? Are you okay?"
"I need you to come to the house." His voice was rougher than usual, a slight undercurrent of panic contaminating the words. This was not going to be a social visit.
"Is Marie there?"
"Um..." He exhaled slowly into the receiver. "Yes."
"Jack, what's going on?"
"Hanna's missing. And, uh, I need you."
Hanna, Hanna, Hanna... Oh. Oh, shit. "God, Jack. Hanna?" She'd only met the girl once, about two years ago. Cute kid, Jack's eyes and, she'd guessed, his wife's curly hair. Bubbly, happy, full of questions as any four-year-old is, full of "This is my rabbit and this is my stuffed frog and his name is Jumpy because Daddy told me that frogs jump like this..."
"Hanna. Can you just..." His voice broke. "Can you come to the house?"
Files forgotten, Samantha slid her coat over her arms, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she grabbed her keys and headed for the elevators. "I'm coming."
The welcome mat literally said "welcome"; it was burgundy, flowered, and not very Jack at all. It was also very dirty, and Samantha wondered if that was the result of the throng of law enforcement that had already swarmed the house. At least three uniformed officers surrounded the petite brunette sitting on the couch. A detective spoke softly and she pressed her face into her palms. Samantha had been part of this scene many times before and it was always hard. The man pacing across the room from his wife made it harder.
"Jack."
His eyes were red-rimmed but focused as he made his away across the room, not bothering to shorten his stride even as he ran into yet another officer that had walked in behind her. She briefly wondered if it was socially appropriate to give him a hug, but settled for a commiserating arm squeeze instead. "What happened?"
"Marie called me about 20 minutes before I called you. She let Hanna go down the driveway to get the mail. Apparently," Jack tensed his jaw before continuing "Marie looked away for a moment and by the time she looked out the window she could see a blue sedan speeding away. No make, no tag number."
Samantha winced. Observational skills were something Jack didn't lack. It was a staple of their profession. Fear outweighed frustration in his voice, but she wondered how long that would last. "Any calls or ransom demands?"
"No. I need you to call the rest of the team and get set up to intercept any calls that come through here." He handed her a folder. "Photographs and a description. The uniforms are taking care of the press releases now, but this is going to be your show soon."
So that was it. There wasn't going to be any cliche 'I need to be part of this investigation' power struggle. He was excusing himself early. He knew the rules, but she wondered if the responsibility for leading the case of his own child's kidnapping was simply too much pressure.
She also wondered if it was too much for her.
Looking back up from the file, she noticed for the first time how very pale he was. "You should go lie down, Jack."
"I'm fine."
He was the antithesis of fine, but she knew before she asked that he wouldn't rest. "I need to talk to Marie. Do you want to be there?"
Shaking his head, he looked from his sobbing wife to the kitchen behind him. "I'll be by the phone."
She stared at his back for a moment, trying to decide whether he blamed Marie for being there and letting this happen or blamed himself for not being there to stop it. Either way Hanna was missing. If she wasn't found, Samantha realized the ultimate blame could fall on her shoulders. Swallowing back a brief feeling of nausea, she approached the chair across from the couch. She smiled cautiously as Marie composed herself, wiping away tears with kleenex grasped in shaky fingers.
As a wave of fresh compassion came over her, Samantha knew that Marie was unaware of the irony of the situation.
The woman most responsible for disruption of her family was now charged with the task of rebuilding it.