Author's Note: This week's episode, 08x15, broke my heart, and this came to me shortly after I finished watching. If you haven't seen the episode, read this with caution, as there are major episode spoilers.
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Hank slowly walked up to the front door, a small brown paper bag under his arm. He was uncertain what he would even say once he laid eyes on her, but he was unable to sit by and let her go through this alone.
He had to attempt to help her, because unfortunately, he knew.
He knew how she felt. He'd known the pain, the ache; he'd felt the overwhelming desire to rip his own heart out of his chest to try to make the awful burning sensation cease.
His eyes closed as images of her standing over her son's body flooded his mind. He'd tried holding her back, tried preventing her from seeing her child that way, but she'd pushed him away. He hoped that now, if she came to the door at all, that she wouldn't push him away again, not this time.
Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, he lifted his fist to knock on the door. Moments later, his heart broke when the door opened to reveal her tear-streaked face.
"Hank," she whispered.
"Hi Sam."
The deputy superintendent wiped her face, trying to compose herself a little. "What can I do for you?"
Hank's eyes took her in. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, her face free of makeup, but even in her grief, in the midst of what was undoubtedly the worst time of her life, she still looked beautiful to him. "Nothing, I...I'm just here to...I don't know, help?"
Samantha shook her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. "Unless you can bring my son back, there's no help you can give me."
Hank took a couple of steps toward her. "Then maybe I can just be here. You don't need to be alone."
Samantha sighed, looking away from him as a few errant tears made their way down her face. "But I want to be alone."
As she started to shut the door, Hank put up his hand, blocking the door from closing. He ignored the fury in her eyes and said, "Sam, I know what you feel right now. I know exactly the pain you're in, every bit of it. I also know you really shouldn't be alone. Please, let me come in."
Samantha closed her eyes, and Hank could tell she was contemplating his request. He willed her to say yes, to allow him in. She needed someone, and he couldn't let her go through this alone.
In the aftermath of Justin's death, he'd thrown himself into finding his killer and seeking his own revenge. For a time, he'd alienated the most important people in his life, and later, it had cost him his dearest friend. He also spent several nights, mostly in the first few weeks, drowning himself in a bottle with his loaded handgun on the table in front of him. While he didn't think he needed to worry about Samantha taking drastic measures to ease her pain, he remembered the loneliness he felt, and he knew she didn't have anyone helping her cope either.
Finally, she slowly opened the door, walking toward the living room, leaving him standing by the open door. He closed and locked it behind him before following to the couch where it was clear she'd been spending most of her time since she received the news, enveloped in a pile of blankets and tissues.
"Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward the couch and other seating options in the room.
"I will. But first, where's the kitchen?"
Samantha looked at him, confused for a moment, before pointing in the direction of the kitchen. Hank made his way to the cabinets, searching for glasses.
Returning to the living room with two glasses in tow, he sat down on the couch beside her and reached into the paper bag, which contained his favorite whiskey. While uncertain of her alcohol preferences, he assumed in her grief, she'd settle for anything to give her momentary relief. After pouring a small amount in each glass, he placed one in her hand.
Samantha raised an eyebrow at him, but he clinked her glass with his and said, "Drink."
After a moment of hesitation, Samantha threw back the liquid, and Hank watched her shudder as she felt the burn all the way to her stomach. "Not a whiskey drinker," she said. "But I guess I don't really care right now."
"It won't fix anything, but it might help for a moment."
When she returned her glass to the coffee table, Hank poured another shot for each of them.
"Another?" Samantha questioned.
"Last one," Hank said. "For now, anyway."
Samantha nodded, and Hank felt her eyes on him as she accepted the drink from him.
They settled comfortably on the couch, sitting in silence for a few minutes.
"I assume Darrell's father knows now?" Hank asked.
"He does. He'll be here tomorrow."
"Good," he said.
"How do you do it, Hank?" she said, a new river of tears suddenly flooding down her face. "How do you...how do you breathe again?"
While he'd held back before, allowed her to push him away, Hank couldn't keep from slipping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. Samantha's arms circled his waist, clutching his shirt as she sobbed into his chest. His other arm pulled her even tighter, holding her close against him, his lips pressing against the top of her head as he closed his eyes.
"He didn't deserve this," she cried.
Hank rested his cheek against her head as he squeezed her a little tighter. "I know, Sam."
"He was a good kid," Samantha tearfully insisted. "He had a big future ahead of him."
"He did," Hank softly said. "He would've done a lot with his life."
Samantha's head rose from his chest, and her red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes further shattered his heart.
"He would have," Samantha said, as Hank wiped away one of her tears. "So why did it end like this? He wasn't raised like this!"
Hank couldn't stop his thumb from stroking her cheek. "Sam, sometimes we do everything we can to raise our children right and keep them protected, but when they reach a certain age, we have to let them be their own person, make their own decisions and mistakes. Sometimes they work it out, and sometimes they don't. All we can do is love them through it."
Samantha removed herself from his embrace, rising from the couch as she began pacing in front of him. "So what do I do now? How do I...live without my child?"
"Sam."
She clutched her chest, gasping for breath as the overwhelming pain hit her again. Hank recognized her panic attack, and he rushed to her, covering her hand with his while raising her other hand to cover his heart.
"Breathe with me, Sam. Feel your heartbeat, and then feel my heartbeat, and breathe with me."
When her breathing finally returned to normal, Samantha once again collapsed against him. Hank held her close, rocking back and forth in an effort to soothe her.
When her tears began to subside, her head rose from his chest. Hank cradled her face in his hands, his lips pressing against her forehead. Samantha grasped his wrists as his thumbs brushed away her tears.
"When does the pain go away?" she tearfully asked, her eyes begging him to fix this pain.
Hank shook his head. "Sam, it never goes away. But I can promise you, with time, you just...learn to live with it."
"No. I want it to stop."
"I know."
"Make it stop," she pleaded.
Hank pulled her close again and began to speak softly in her ear. "I wish I could, Sam. I really do."
"I can't do this," she sobbed. "I can't live with it, with this pain. I can't."
"You can, and you will," he promised, hoping she'd believe his words. His heart ached for her, and he deeply wished he could take this pain away from her. "It's going to hurt like hell, for a really long time. But you'll get through it, and you won't have to do it alone. I'm right here, Sam. You can lean on me."
Samantha looked up at him again. "Thank you Hank. You're a good man."
Hank shrugged. "I just…I understand. So I'm here for you, Sam, for whatever you need. I mean it."
She nodded, gratefully accepting his offer, comforted not only by his gesture, but his presence in her home.
Hank tucked a section of hair behind her ear, his eyes drifting between her eyes and her mouth. "Now," Hank said. "Do you want to move to your bed or stay in the couch?"
Samantha grasped the hand that was now resting against her cheek as she said, "I think I'll go to bed."
Hank squeezed her hand before releasing it as he began moving toward the door, intending to show himself out.
"Wait," Samantha quickly said, stopping him in his tracks. When Hank turned around and their eyes met once more, she softly asked, "Will you stay?"
"Sam," Hank started.
"Please Hank," she said. "You said whatever I need, and you were right. I can't be alone, not tonight."
Hank nodded. "Ok. I can stay. Let's get you to bed, and I'll camp out here in the living room."
"No," Samantha said, grasping his hand, giving it a gentle tug as she took a few steps toward the stairs. Hank nodded, answering her unspoken question.
Hand in hand, they walked side by side together to Samantha's room.
As they prepared for bed, Hank discarded his button-down shirt, leaving him in just his t-shirt, as Samantha pulled out a pair of men's sweatpants for him. He stepped into the bathroom to change, and when he returned, Samantha was lying in bed with the covers pulled back on the empty side of the bed. Hank climbed in next to her, and as he extended his arm, she moved against him, curling into his side as she laid her head on his chest, and her legs intertwined with his.
Hank could feel her shaky breaths with the rise and fall of her chest, as she fought the newest wave of tears approaching. "You're safe right here," he said softly. "You can cry this out if you need to."
Almost immediately, he felt Samantha give herself permission to cry, and her tears began to soak his shirt. Cradling her against him, his hands gently stroked up and down her back, attempting to soothe her sobs. He was pleased that after a few minutes, her breathing finally evened out, and he could tell she'd fallen asleep. He kissed the top of her head, closing his own eyes, joining her in slumber.
Hank couldn't fix what happened, and he couldn't take away her pain, just as no one could take the pain of losing Justin away from him. There would be an ache in his soul for the rest of his life, and he was devastated that Samantha would share the same ache. While they'd butted heads when she first walked into his life, they'd eventually become allies, and he valued their friendship.
At times he thought he felt a spark of something between them, but this was far from the appropriate time to be thinking about changing their status to anything more than what they were currently; coworkers, friends, and now grieving parents. She was too raw, too broken, too focused on her loss. For now, he would be a friend, a confidant, and a support.
Morning would come, and he'd help her try to navigate her grief as best he could. The next few days would consist of appointments and arrangements, and it would be difficult for Samantha to have any peace and quiet. For Hank, he'd return to his quest to bring her son's killer to justice, a case he was more invested in than he had been in quite some time.
But when the criminal was caught, the funeral was over, and life around them began returning to normal, that's when she would need him most. Watching life return to normal for everyone else while her life remained forever changed would be incredibly difficult. He vowed he would remain by Samantha's side, a pillar of strength if she needed it, a safe place to cry if she wanted it, and a friend who understood it all.
Hank knew that's when she'd need him the most because, as he told her earlier in the day, "When the music stops, that's when the pain hits."