A/N : Ok, here it is. Thanks for sticking up with the story and putting up with the wait. I'll also seize this opportunity to thank Mariel for all her help ; Diane, for reminding me I had to post… and Helen, I hope we'll continue exchanging mails !
To everyone reading this-- you've truly been the best readers and reviewers; you've encouraged me to keep writing and who knows… I might even come up with another story ! In the meantime, enjoy.
Chapter 25 – Life goes on
In a few months, a few years, perhaps even when she's very old and has forgotten many other things, she'll look back and remember tonight. She'll remember the last moment, the last few seconds it took Irina Connelly to end her existence.
When you work this job and live its victories and failures, you come to expect such ends. Years of experience make you look over those events as something usual and expected and you file them all away in boxes, along with the other cases long gone or lost or forgotten.
But not this case; not tonight. There's something worth remembering, something to be said about Irina Connelly's tragic end. Tonight, this moment, the darkness and lights and the complete silence are vivid images that will later stand out from the ordinary, monotonous mediocrity of most cases.
There is not much for her to say, not much to do, except stare in shock as Jack holds their serial killer's lifeless body in his arms. It's a sad, unexpected scene, and it looks and feels completely surreal. A serial killer has been stopped, yes, but in Samantha's mind it will never qualify wholly as a success. She'll remember this mostly, the contradictory emotions running through her; she'll remember the silence and then the sounds− someone speaking into a radio, then two, three, ten agents surrounding her, questioning her, shaking her.
Danny, first. He takes her arm. His voice is quiet, then strong and loud, breaking through her stupor. It's painful and almost aggressive, and his confusion and concern suddenly flood her mind.
He makes her sit down on a nearby bench and a jacket too large for her is wrapped around her shoulders. Danny's mouth moves, asking if she's okay, if she needs anything, if she can tell him what happened, but the sentences don't quite make sense and she stares at him with a blank face.
"Samantha— SAM!"
That finally manages to get through to her and she finds her voice. It's faint, and sounds more like a croak than anything else. "Danny, Jack…?"
She's thankful she doesn't have to repeat the question, as he seems to understand, glancing over his shoulder with a frown, his eyes trying to see what's happening. "I think he shot Irina."
She gathers what's left of her energy to shake her head. "That's not possible, Danny," she whispers, holding up Jack's gun for him to see. She stares at it for a moment, turns it in her hands. The weapon is cold against her palm and weighs less than her own, which can mean only one thing.
It isn't loaded.
o o § o o
"OPR going to look into this shooting?"
Recognizing Martin's voice, Samantha holds back before entering the bullpen. He's talking to Vivian. The rest of the office is empty, their team the only one left.
"No, I don't think OPR is going to waste time on it." Vivian answers. "Irina shot herself. Willy was found alive. There were no screw-ups or cover-ups here. "
Right, Samantha thinks to herself. My two hands wouldn't be enough to count the number of cover-ups.
"How's Jack?"
There's a short silence, followed by what Samantha can only guess is a shrug. "He'll get through this, you know him. It might take some time, but he'll be fine." Her voice becomes softer. "Go home, Martin. This can all wait until the morning."
"You sure?" Martin wonders politely. His voice, however, is a dead giveaway. He's tired, just the way they all are, and wishes nothing more than to rest.
Samantha quietly retreats back into the shadows as both he and Vivian gather their belongings and leave, entering the elevator together.
Once she finds herself alone in the bullpen, she takes her usual seat at her desk and finally allows her thoughts to drift.
So, this lady, she was really gonna kill me?
Her eyes snap open as Willy's young, confused voice rings in her ears. He'd been found gagged and dizzy from the drugs a couple of hours earlier, cold and scared but physically unharmed. On some level, Samantha knows, Willy understands exactly what's happened; he understands that he's been lucky; more so than the others.
She doubts, however, he'll ever comprehend entirely what it is he survived. Somehow, she believes it's better if he never finds out.
Sighing, Samantha turns her attention to her desk. It's appallingly cluttered; files, notes, lists and various papers are spread over the surface in completely disorganized piles. Determined to sort out the mess, and not quite ready to go home just yet, she throws away an empty donut box, disposes of a pen that stopped working at least two days earlier, and starts tidying up the rest.
o o § o o
As her heels click on the tiles, Samantha hears the sound echo in the empty corridors, preceding her as she exits the bullpen with the clear intent to reach the elevator and go home. With luck, the traffic will be light and she'll make it in time to get a couple of hours of sleep, a fresh change of clothes, and her unhealthy dose of caffeine before she has to come back and affront the massive amount of paperwork they'll have to get done before the case is officially closed.
Half an hour earlier, she didn't feel like leaving; now, tiredness has finally kicked in and her aching limbs remind her that her body needs rest.
As the door of Jack's office looms into view, however, she halts. She certainly is in no shape to address this now, but waiting won't make it easier. And, more importantly, they've postponed this long enough.
Lightly tapping her knuckles against the glass panel, she sees surprise, then apprehension flash across his face as he looks up at her. Just as quickly she looks away, resolutely fixing her eyes on the floor as he sits upright, pushing aside a folder he's been blankly staring at for the past half hour.
They haven't spoken since the team came back, haven't faced each other since Central Park and she almost expected his shirt to still be covered with Irina's blood. But this one is white and clean and for once, he sits behind his desk with no tie or jacket over it.
"Hey," she whispers.
He doesn't quite look at her. "Hey."
She begins quietly, "I heard they wanted to take you to Mercy to get you checked out."
"I didn't need that."
She nods, silence falling between them. Moving closer to his desk, she hands him his gun back and, trying hard to keep the accusation out of her voice, tells him, "It's empty."
He takes the weapon slowly. "Thank you."
"Jack, can I just say…" but she stops, feeling her insides crumble as their eyes accidentally meet. Her emotions rise, but she keeps her voice calm. "You willingly risked your life tonight. You… you brought along an unloaded gun and gave it to me. And she was armed."
"I know."
"Damn it, Jack." Her anger flares up. All the emotion she's kept bottled in suddenly comes to the surface, breaking free. "When are you going to understand that people care about you?"
She sees the pain in his swiftly changing to confusion at her quiet admission. "What is this about?" he whispers.
She's angry, but she also owes him an explanation for her strange behavior. Her shoulders suddenly slumping, she gathers what's left of her energy to quietly admit, "I… I tried to convince myself that I'd moved on. In the past months, I just let… I let my feelings for you sort of… fade. I wanted to move on. But then we had these cases that came in and we had to work together again, and do our job and do it together." She lifts her eyes to him. "And I fell in love with you all over again."
He swallows. "Samantha…"
"But I−" Her lips quiver slightly. "I can't live like that, Jack. I can't live with someone that gambles with his life the way you did tonight. The way you did yesterday." Her voice becomes quiet. "The way you did with Barry."
His eyes snap back to hers and he rises to his feet behind his desk. He's more tired than either of them has realized just yet, but his legs hold him as he says sadly, "What I did with Barry kept you alive."
It's her turn to swallow. "It could have made you dead." Her eyes search his. "If you really mean what you said to me… If you really mean that, Jack, we'll find a way to fix this. But you have to promise me you'll never risk you life like that again. Ever."
She waits. When only silence answers her, and stretches on, she gives a small, defeated nod, feeling tears gathering in her eyes. They stand face to face in a numb silence for what seems like hours until she looks away.
"I'll give you some time to think." She walks to the door and stays there for another few seconds, in the darkness of the doorway, her fingers against the frame. Before she leaves, a last whisper escapes her lips, just loud enough for him to hear. "But not forever."
o o § o o
Despite her resolve to sleep through this and recuperate, early morning finds Samantha awake and staring intently at her alarm clock. It won't ring until seven, which gives her another fifteen minutes in bed, but she's no longer asleep. Instead, she keeps mentally kicking herself. What she said to Jack the previous night was not what he needed to hear. She meant everything, but her timing had been off. He needed her comfort, her help to deal with Irina's death and… and she had somehow ignored that fact and blamed him.
She thinks back to a few years earlier and what happened back then. It was work first, between her desk and his, the quiet corridors at night and the coffee machine in the break room. It was a car, his car, a hotel room, her room. Rendezvous always accompanied by deep, raw emotions, a need to forget; feelings awoken by a whisper, a touch, a kiss.
She remembers the day it changed, the night he came after a case had been successfully solved. That evening, he wasn't looking for reassurance; he didn't have the excuse that usually involved a gun, blood and a dead body. That night, they couldn't hide what we were doing behind the obvious reasons that had always seemed, somehow, sufficient to justify their actions− pain and anguish and a desperation soothed only by the solace found in each other.
Do I want to start all over again?
Deep inside, she knows the answer.
o o § o o
When she arrives at the office, several messages are waiting for her. The first one is from Holly and Mike, wishing her good luck for the future— they've left a message on each of the team members' phone, a delicate attention Vivian is the first to comment on.
The second one is from Eric, saying he hopes she's doing all right and that he'd be happy to go get a drink with her someday, in a totally disinterested way. It sounds like he wants to remain just friends, which suits her just fine; she would have hated to completely fall out of touch.
The last message she listens to twice before she digs into paperwork. It's from Willy. She'd handed him her card the previous night in case he needed anything, and it seems he needed to thank the team. He'd probably been brought up to speed on the horrible things his abductor has done in the past week. So much for ignorance.
Danny, Vivian and Martin are all at their desks, looking a lot more refreshed than the previous night, and a fresh donut box stands on the bullpen table. Samantha gladly accepts the one offered to her; she wasn't hungry earlier, but her stomach had begun to grumble loudly when she'd arrived.
The mood is quite light, the case over, and Danny, Vivian and Martin are happy to share some banter while they have to finish their reports.
"Do I leave out the fact that I bought a burger before we raided Irina's warehouse?" Danny jokes, his pen making circles in the air.
Do I leave out the fact that I slept with my boss?
Jesus. She has to stop thinking about Jack. It was bad enough this morning, when they barely said hello as he arrived in the bullpen and announced to the team that they had until lunch to finish their reports. Thankfully, he had retreated to his office quickly, saying he had calls to make, and no one else had gone missing.
Flipping over a page, she realizes she's done with this part of her report. Finding her box of paperclips, she picks a blue-colored one and nearly drops the box. Oh, for Christ's sake. Jack's paperclips. Does everything she owns relate to him?
o o § o o
She's deep in thought when he enters the break room. A fresh mug of coffee and a half-eaten snack bar sit ignored on the table in front of her while she checks and re-checks her report.
He watches her for a moment, then he grabs a chair. "You don't have to say anything, but at least hear me out." Seeing her quietly agreeing, he takes a deep breath. "I've spent the past six hours thinking about what you told me. I've spent the past six hours thinking that you were wrong," he smiles sadly. "And the past ten minutes realizing that you were right." He looks at her in the eyes. "I know you think I was irresponsible."
She shakes her head feebly. "Jack−"
"I know you didn't want me to risk my life the way I did," he goes on, "And I know why. The thing is, I was never able to tell you what I felt for you. Not when we were together, not in the bookstore when I thought I would never see you alive again. Not until last night."
Leaning back, he spreads his hands. "I know you misinterpreted what I told Van Doren. I didn't tell her everything was over between us because I believed it; I did it because… there are some things I want to remain between you and me. Some things I don't want Van Doren to know. Some things I don't want anyone to know because I'm so afraid we'd have to stop."
Mixed emotions wash over her face. Quietly she explains, "You went back to your wife and you're here now and I− I don't know anymore, Jack."
His reply is soft. "I do."
The dreadful events of the night, the need to hold on to him, to his hands and his eyes and his voice makes her forget about the place, and she moves her hand to his across the small table.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I should have been there for you last night, instead of just blaming you."
He doesn't retrieve his hand. "You had every right to."
Automatically, her hand moves to his ring, her thumb staying there. He seems at a loss for words− she has this effect on him, just like he has the power to reduce her to silence whenever he wants to.
He tangles his fingers with hers. "Maria and I talked this morning."
Unable to completely decipher the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, she decides that she likes it nonetheless.
"Security's been lifted off her and the girls, obviously. But not being together this week… it made us both realize some things. In the end, we both agree we'll fight less if we don't have to fight for our marriage anymore." He takes another deep breath, the decision having obviously been difficult. "It'll be hard on the girls, so we'll have to figure how to tell them. But we're not going to pretend we can make it work anymore."
It takes Samantha a moment to find her voice. To say she's stunned is an understatement. "Where will you be staying?"
"That's one of the things we'll have to decide. I can't stay at the hotel forever."
Her heart beating fast in her chest, Samantha hesitates, then plunges. "Do you want to come over tonight?" she offers quietly.
He holds her gaze, their hands now comfortably holding each other. "Yes. I'd like that."
o o § o o
"A hot chocolate, another box of donuts, the Sports Channel, and at least three uninterrupted hours of gawking at the TV and doing absolutely nothing that involves thinking." Danny grins at Martin, throwing him his football. They've been doing this for the past ten minutes, talking about what they were going to do in the afternoon, and it would have driven both Samantha and Vivian crazy if it hadn't been for the contagious cheerfulness of the boys.
"Picking up Reggie at school," Vivian explains, happy to share their enthusiasm. "We'll walk to the park, get some ice cream, and wait together for Marcus to come home."
"Some family time, that's nice," Martin comments. Then, throwing the ball back to Danny, "Running, stopping for a coffee, and calling a couple buddies uptown to grab a beer."
"You better watch out," Danny comments off-handedly. "We all know what happens to handsome runners who stop for drinks."
There's a moment's silence, then both Martin and Vivian laugh. This is it. Finally. That's how you know a case is completely filed away; when you can finally let go and joke about it. None of them will forget Ryan Carthy, the Marine gone missing as he went for a jog to Central Park. But it's time to let him go. One less nightmare. One less daymare.
"What about you, Samantha?" Martin wonders, turning off his computer.
She replies neutrally, "I'm not sure yet."
"What, no crazy dancing, clubbing and dating?" He catches Danny's football one last time before he puts it away in a drawer, keeping it for the next time.
Samantha smiles, but doesn't answer.
If only you knew.