Intuition - Part Three
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1999
Sam hurried down the street, hoping that the exercise would help her calm down. She'd known John didn't like Paul any more than he'd ever liked Coop--no big surprise, considering that he probably hated ATF agents and lawyers more than anyone other than actual criminals--but he'd never been openly hostile to her about either of them until recently. Of course, she'd never let him get to her this much until recently. She wasn't particularly interested in analyzing his actions or her own.
If they were going to continue working together, something had to give. She'd have to have a talk with him. In the morning. When she'd calmed down. And could talk to him without having violent thoughts.
The hand that grabbed her came out of nowhere. One moment she was rushing down the sidewalk, the next moment she was struggling against the crook of an immovable elbow digging into her neck. "You'll never learn, will you? I keep teaching you the lesson, but you keep coming back and doing it again and again." She tried to speak, tried to talk to him as if she was the person he was obviously substituting her for, but she could only just manage to squeeze a little air down her throat. There was no way she could force sound out. *Which is exactly what he wants.*
She forced herself to stop fighting and go limp. He wasn't expecting that. "Darla?" Sam didn't move, and the arm around her neck loosened slightly. It was all she could do not to gulp in air and reach up to protect her sore neck. "Don't give up this easily."
Footsteps echoed around the corner, and the arm tightened like a vice grip as he pulled Sam into a doorway and down a couple of steps. She could just make out the legs and feet of the person walking by, but she recognized John's shoes before the world started to get fuzzy. She tried to call out, but there was no way to make the slightest noise, so she went limp again.
"You're just fooling. As soon as I let you go you'll start in on me again. You'll never learn." The grip on her neck loosened again, and she saw light glint off metal a second before she felt the cold blade at her throat. She closed her eyes, willing her bruised vocal chords to make a sound, but even with air it was far too painful. At least she was no longer in danger of losing consciousness. Unless he killed her. "If you won't learn, I'll find a way to stop you."
"Freeze!" Sam's eyes flew open to see John at the top of the steps, his gun aimed straight at a point over her left shoulder. "Put the knife down."
The fury in John's voice would have stopped most people, but her captor didn't seem to be in the same reality as the rest of the world. "No, you put down the gun."
"You've gotta get through me to get out of there, pal. Who's got the better end of the deal here?"
"But she'll be dead."
"And so will you." Neither man budged for countless seconds. Sam could see the tension radiating from John's body, and it crossed her mind that there was a muscle in his jaw that would be twitching uncontrollably right about now. *Great, I'm about to be killed and I'm thinking about jaw muscles.*
Finally, John broke the silence "Look, she just embarrassed me in the middle of a crowded bar. You really think I'm all that concerned about what you do to her?"
"Then why'd you come after her?"
John shifted slightly. "She took my car keys with her."
The man behind her chuckled, and Sam felt the grip on her neck loosen a little more. If she could just get him to give her another inch or so she could probably do something about her situation. "Isn't that just like a woman? They unman you in public and then they steal your car."
"They're probably in her purse. Why don't you just toss me the purse and I'll be on my way?"
After several seconds, the man's arm relaxed a little more as he started to reach for the purse. "Sure, why--" Whatever he was about to say was silenced as Sam pitched forward, driving her elbow forcefully into his stomach. When he doubled over, she slammed her elbow into his back, knocking the knife out of his hand and him to the ground. His head hit the cement with a loud crack, and he immediately stopped moving.
Before Sam could even straighten up from her last hit, John had his left arm around her, keeping the other one extended and his gun trained on the unconscious attacker. Sam alternately coughed and pulled as much air into her burning lungs as she could, not caring that the deep breaths felt more like rocks than air as they passed through her throat.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled at her. "You run off ahead of schedule then you walk so fast I can barely catch up with you and you let the guy pull you off to where I can't see you when I walk right by! Are you *trying* to get yourself killed?" He took his eyes off the killer to search her face. "Are you?"
She shook her head, confused at his attack and still unable to manage words with her damaged throat. A weak, whispered, "Sorry," was all she could manage.
At the sound of her voice, or lack thereof, the expression on John's face changed. "Oh, God, Sam I'm so sorry. It's just that you...." He trailed off, pulling her into an even tighter embrace. As their backup finally arrived and took over the prisoner, John helped Sam out of the doorway and half-dragged her to a fairly isolated spot a few yards away. He radioed to the team that he needed a paramedic for Sam, then finally seemed to realize that she was pushing against him. He loosened his hold immediately. "Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly, then hugged him and let go before shaking her head. "Couldn't...breathe," she managed to rasp out, waving her hand in the small space between two of them.
"Great, I keep the guy from slitting your throat and then I try to suffocate you." He pulled her into another embrace, gentler this time, and she accepted the comfort gratefully. After what just happened she could use some support--mentally as well as physically.
Just when she was beginning to get warm again, he backed off a little. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, watching her face carefully.
She nodded as a paramedic hurried up to them. John told the paramedic what the problem was, then went with Sam as she sat on a nearby staircase to let herself be checked over. He answered a few questions when Bailey arrived, but didn't seem inclined to leave Sam's side until the man was finished examining Sam.
"She's okay," he told John when he was done. Sam pulled on the paramedic's jacket and gave him a pointed look. The man turned to John. "What?"
John grinned. "She can't speak, but she can hear just fine. I think she'd rather you told her what's wrong with her instead of me. She's stubborn that way." He sidestepped quickly and just managed to evade Sam's hand as she tried to smack him for the comment.
"Sorry, Agent Waters. You need to give your voice a complete rest over the next few days. No talking."
"Yeah, right," John said with a laugh. This time he didn't step away quickly enough. "Watch it! That hurt."
Sam gave him a satisfied smile, then turned her attention back to the paramedic, who was looking very amused. "I'm serious about the talking," he said. "No matter how much you think you need to say something, if you want to have that voice for the rest of your life, you'll lay off."
She frowned, and this time he interpreted the look on his own. "Invest in some notebooks and a couple of good pens." She rolled her eyes, but then nodded. "I'm going to give you a shot for the pain, since I doubt you'll feel like swallowing much tonight. And you need to see a doctor in about two days to check on the throat, and I mean it when I say no talking."
She gave him a dramatic sigh, then nodded again. "I'll be back with the shot in a minute," he said before heading back to his truck.
After he'd gone, John sat down on the step next to Sam. "So I could say anything I want to you right now without any return fire?"
She glared at him for a moment, then balled her hand into a fist and bounced it lightly off his shoulder. "Oh, so if you can't give me a tongue-lashing you'll settle for a beating?"
She smiled briefly, but it faded as she turned her eyes back to the now empty doorway surrounded by agents. John put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close again. "Don't think about it. Just be glad you're okay and leave it at that for tonight."
After a moment, she relaxed and let her head drop onto his shoulder as everything really began to hit her. The combination of fear and pain forced tears to her eyes, tears she couldn't stop. When she moved to wipe them away, he noticed.
"Hey," he said softly, "I thought I told you not to think about it." For some reason, his tone caused the tears to fall faster. He pulled her closer as she turned her head to bury it against his shoulder, both arms going behind his back.
They stayed like that for a minute until she managed to stop the crying. "Sorry," she tried to whisper as she pulled away.
"No talking," he whispered back, "remember?" She smiled and nodded as she wiped the last of the tears off her face.
"Dr. Waters?"
John groaned as he recognized the voice. "What are you doing here, Hale?"
"I was just about to ask the two of you the same thing. Is there--did you find..." Trevor trailed off, looking expectantly at Sam, who turned to John.
"We caught the guy," John answered curtly.
"Before or after he...um...."
"He was...caught in the act."
"Oh." Trevor looked almost afraid to ask the next question. "Did he do any damage?"
John frowned at him. "You ask too many questions."
"I think I have a little more than just a passing interest in this case. Besides, I was asking Dr. Waters."
"She can't really answer right now."
"Of course, not, not with you jumping in first every time."
"She lost her voice."
For the first time, Trevor took a close look at Sam, then at the paramedics and the rest of the scene. "Was she the one...?"
"Now you're getting it."
"I'm sorry...I didn't realize...."
"Well now that you do, you can just be on your way." Sam glared at John. "I mean, this is a crime scene, would you please step back?"
"The crime scene is over there," Trevor pointed out.
Before John could say anything else, the paramedic came back. "I managed to find you some powdered pain relievers," he said as he handed Sam some small packages. "They'll be a lot easier to swallow for the next few days."
Sam mouthed a thank you as the man prepped a needle. John stood and backed off from the steps a few paces while the paramedic gave Sam the shot. "It's a shame," Trevor said, reminding John that he was still there.
Determined not to get angry when he had to focus on Sam, John turned to the bartender. "What?" he asked as calmly as he could.
"That she had to go through all that to get you to stop being an ass."
John took a deep breath. "There are a lot of law enforcement officers around here right now. I suggest you go thank every one of them for being here, because if they weren't I'd...."
Trevor shrugged, ignoring the threat. "All I'm saying is that every time I see the two of you you're baiting her, and it's just too bad that it takes something like this to bring you to your senses."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The two of you, on the steps, your arms around her. Ring a bell now?"
"She'd been through hell. I was just offering my support."
Trevor snorted, then took a closer look at John's face. "You're serious, aren't you?" John nodded once, his eyes crackling with anger. "You're either insane, or you're further in denial than Claire thinks I am."
"Do *not* compare me to you."
"Suit yourself, pal. I don't know you that well, but I happen to be an expert on love, and the two of you can run away from it all you want, but it's just going to follow you."
"What?"
Trevor grinned. "You'll figure it out," he said as he walked back over to Sam. "Sorry for what happened, Dr. Waters, but I'm glad you caught the guy." Sam smiled and nodded her thanks. Trevor leaned closer. "If you're smart," he whispered, you'll catch that one before he destroys himself running away from you." She gave him a startled glance as he pulled back, then she turned to John, calming down when she saw he was too far away to hear.
"Take care of yourself," Trevor said as he turned to go. "Later, Sherlock," he called to John.
"Come on." John held out his hand to Sam. After a second, she put her hand in his and let him pull her off the step. "I'm taking you back to the hotel." She let him guide her to the car Bailey had arrived in and put her in the passenger seat, then watched while he stopped to speak to Bailey for a second before returning to the car.
When he was about to turn the key, she tugged on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," she whispered, then winced.
"You're welcome," he responded with a soft smile as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "And stop talking," he added as he started the car.
***
"Are you sure you don't need anything else?" John asked for the fifth time. Sam shook her head, no longer even trying to hide her amusement. "Okay, here's some tea. Drink it. Doctor's orders."
She picked up the pen and small notepad provided by the hotel and wrote, "I'm the doctor."
"Not tonight."
She nodded as she wrote, "Sleep," then pointed at the door.
"Not until you promise to drink your tea."
She let out a dramatic sigh, then took a drink from the mug before giving him a pointed look, then pushing him toward the door. He turned the knob. "You know where to find me if you need anything."
She nodded rapidly, helping him out of the room. When he was on the other side of the door, he looked at her for a long moment. "I'm glad you're okay."
She smiled, mouthed a silent thank you, then shut the door. Once he was gone, she laid down on the bed. It took her less than two minutes to realize she was still too keyed up to sleep. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stop replaying the events of the evening over and over in her mind. After trying several different things to distract herself, she finally decided to work on her case report. If she had to think about it, she might as well be productive.
She took a legal pad out of her briefcase and sat down at the table with her pen. Her mind drifted back to the moments right after she'd knocked the killer out. John had nearly suffocated her in his relief. He had barely left her side since then until she'd kicked him out of her room. It was quite a change from his usual behavior toward her these days. A drastic change. One that led her to wonder exactly what had caused him to be such a jerk recently if he obviously still cared about her.
Trevor Hale's words came back to her. "Catch him before he destroys himself running away from you." Could that be the reason behind John's recent behavior? He'd always used either humor or anger as a defense against things he didn't want to think about, much less talk about, and they were usually the things most likely to hurt him. Could his sudden animosity toward her be his attempt to avoid his feelings?
Without making a conscious decision, she picked up the legal pad and went down the hall to knock on John's door. As soon as she knocked she realized she had no idea what she was going to say, but before she could change her mind, he opened the door. "What's wrong?" She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong? Then what are you--is your throat worse? Should I call the doctor?"
She forced herself not to smile as she wrote, "I'm fine."
"Then shouldn't you be in bed?"
He waited while she scribbled, "Can I come in?"
"Of course, sorry." He pulled the door back further and she entered the room. She was a little too wired to take a seat, so she leaned on the dresser. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked again.
"Fine. Why do you care?"
He blinked at the legal pad, then at Sam. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you," he responded after a moment.
"So why the cold shoulder?"
"What?" He stared at the words for a second. "When did I give you the cold shoulder?"
She could tell from his tone that he wasn't being honest. She crossed her arms and gave him a level look, her eyes never leaving his face until he started to squirm. "Okay, so maybe I've been a little distant lately...."
Sam made a disbelieving sound and rolled her eyes. "Distant?" She underlined the word. "Grand Canyon!"
He moved over to the table to pick up his drink. "Do we really need to talk about this now? You should be in bed."
"No," she tried to say, then immediately regretted it. Her hand flew to her throat, only slightly faster than John reached her side.
"Are you okay?" She nodded, taking the bottle of water he handed her. "See, this is why we shouldn't be doing this now. You definitely shouldn't be talking."
She lifted the notepad again. "Why?"
"Because the doctor said so." She shook her head, then pointed to her earlier question. "It wasn't the cold shoulder," he argued, which earned him another pointed look. "I was just a little...miffed."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Seen miffed," she wrote. "You were more."
"You know, you're a lot more eloquent when you're not writing in sentence fragments." She frowned, her disappointment plain to see. "Sorry. Old habits are hard to break."
She pointed at the question again. "I don't know," he answered. "One day you just started to...drive me crazy."
"Short trip," she scribbled, then immediately started to cross it out, but he'd already seen it.
"And I'm not the only one who's been 'distant,' as you put it. You give as good as you get, lady."
"Responding to you."
"Oh, so we're going to play 'you started it' now?"
She tapped her foot impatiently before trying a different question. "Why do you dislike Paul?"
"Who?" She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, right, Paul. I don't necessarily dislike Paul...I just don't *like* him." She pointed at the 'Why.' "I don't know. I never liked lawyers, you know that."
"Prosecutor," she wrote. "Good guys."
"Yeah, right." His tone dripped sarcasm. "They like to make you think that."
Sam shook her head. "Mad at me for dating him or him for dating me?"
"What?"
She silently cursed her lack of a voice. "Were you mad at me for dating Paul," she wrote carefully, "or were you mad at Paul for dating me?"
"I'm not mad. Period. At anyone."
"Not now--before."
"I'm not mad, I wasn't mad. There is no mad going on here." She shook her head, indicating she didn't believe him. "What do I have to do to get you to believe that I'm not mad?"
"Tell me why you were a jerk."
John blinked. "A jerk?" She nodded. "I was a jerk?"
"Rude, then."
For a moment he looked like he might argue again, then he shrugged and turned away. "I told you, I don't know," he answered quietly. "I have no idea."
She tapped him on the shoulder until he turned around. "My theory?" she wrote.
"I'm not sure I want another theory from you about me."
A half-smile crossed her face. "Too bad." He didn't look away from the page, so she continued. "You don't like Paul because you like me."
"I like you so I don't like him? That makes no sense."
"Not like then. Better word?"
He turned suddenly, crossing to the window. "I don't know what you mean."
She huffed, indicating she knew he understood her just fine, but joined him at the window and clarified. "Feelings?"
"Sorry, I only do seventies songs on Saturdays."
She smacked him on the arm before writing, "Stop it."
"Stop what? I tried to put a stop to this earlier, but you insisted."
Sam closed her eyes for a second and prayed for patience. She had quite a few things to say to him, but if she had to write them all down they'd be here all night. He had to help her out a little. "The truth," she wrote.
"When I was ten, I had a pet fish that I accidentally killed because I forgot to feed it. Your turn--or would you prefer a dare?"
"We can play this until you're hoarse, or you can admit it."
"Admit what? I don't know what you're talking about."
She didn't believe him for a second, but she didn't have any hard proof either. There could conceivably be a slight chance she had read him wrong, or seen what she wanted to see, but she didn't believe it. Even in vehement denial there was a scared look in his eyes. He didn't want her to know. And the more she pushed him to tell the truth, the more he'd dig his heels in and deny it.
She shrugged. "Fine," she wrote. "My mistake." She turned and left the room quickly before he could react. Once she was back in her own room she pulled a clean sheet of paper off the legal pad and wrote a short letter. When it was finished, she read it through once more, knowing this was her last chance to change her mind. She could tear it up, go to sleep, and things would go on as before. If she gave this to John, nothing would be the same.
Her hand lifted to her throat as she relived the scene a few hours ago when she'd almost been killed. Could have been killed. Probably would have been killed, if it hadn't been for John. She'd been fighting for so long against feeling anything for anyone, choosing instead to date safe men, men she could lose without the kind of soul-tearing pain she'd felt when she'd lost Tom. Living half a life, thinking one day, maybe, when Jack was gone she would let herself be free to live a full one. Unless, of course, she never got that chance.
One corner of her mouth lifted as she made her way down the hall again and slid the folded paper under his door. There are only so many times you can face down death before you realize you have to go after the things that matter.
***
Less than five minutes later there was a loud, insistent knock at her door. She checked the peep hole, then pulled the door open. "What do you mean 'marry Paul'?" John demanded, holding her letter in the air.
She shrugged, leaving the door open and returning to the table to pick up her notepad. He shut the door behind him as he followed her in time to read the word she'd written. "Problem?"
"You barely know the guy." She shrugged again. "Are you nuts?" She didn't answer. "You can actually say something in this letter about being attracted to me and then say you're going to marry him?"
She took the letter from his hand and scanned the lines until she found the ones she wanted and pointed them out to him. "Like I said, attracted to me." She pointed again, hitting the words with her pen. "Okay, fine, so it says attraction between us, but that implies you're attracted to me."
"And you me," she wrote. "Admit it?"
"Fine, so I find you attractive. So what? That means you have to go marry Paul? It's not like I made a pass at you or something."
She couldn't believe it. He thought she wanted to get married because she was afraid he would make a pass? "Idiot."
He frowned at the notepad. "Who, you or me."
"Yes," she wrote. "Fighting like kids on a playground."
He blinked several times. "If I live to be a hundred I will never understand you. *What*?"
"Us. Always fighting to hide--" she paused, nibbling on her pen while she tried to think of the right way to phrase it, "how we feel."
"Looks to me like you have no problem with it. Especially in the part where you mention marrying Paul!"
"Reasons why I shouldn't marry him?"
"How about the part where you're attracted to me."
"Two-way street."
"Whatever. You can't marry someone when you feel something for someone else."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Forget it," she wrote. "Bad idea."
"I'll say. What ever possessed you to think about marrying him?"
"Not that. The letter."
"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a good thing. Gave me a chance to talk some sense into you."
"John, go to bed."
"Not until you promise you won't do anything rash." Sam shook her head. "Is that your promise?"
She shook her head again. "Not promising anything."
"Then I'm not leaving."
"Why?"
"Because you can't marry him."
Sam underlined the "Why?"
"Because."
Her lips thinned as she studied him. After a moment she shook her head. "Not good enough."
"You're not in any shape to make decisions right now. You're on pain killers, you were almost...you were...you went through a lot tonight."
"I was almost killed," she wrote quickly.
He read the lines, then turned away, raking his hand through his hair as he looked out the window. "I know that, I was there, remember?"
She blocked his view so he had to look at her. "Life is short." Her writing was very deliberate. "I'm tired of waiting for the right time."
This time she could clearly see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "Don't do this. Not tonight."
"Why?"
"Because."
"WHY?"
"Because I can't fight you. Not after everything that happened tonight."
"So don't."
He took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll just go."
Before he could even turn around, she grabbed his arm. When he didn't make another move to leave, she let go. "Stop fighting."
"I...I can't." She nodded. "No, I can't."
"Why?"
"You know, if you go back and count how many times you've written that word tonight, you're going to be up until time to leave."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Hiding." He stared at her, no longer able to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about, but still unable to do anything about it. "Fine." She stood so he could see each word as she was writing, almost afraid he'd leave if he had time to think while she wrote. "I'll go first. When I met you--"
"Don't do this."
"WHY?"
"Because when you wake up in the morning and the pain killers and adrenaline have worn off, you'll be kicking yourself."
She shook her head. "Been kicking myself all night over NOT doing this sooner."
"Sam--"
She put her hand over his mouth and shook her head again. After a moment, she lowered her hand, returning to the notepad when he stayed silent. "When I met you I felt the attraction," she wrote slowly, choosing her words with care, "and I didn't want it." She raised her hand to stop him as his mouth opened. "I was scared. For a long time. I knew it frustrated you. But I couldn't do anything about it."
He read her words several times before asking, "And what changed all of a sudden?"
Sam shrugged. "When I realized I could have died tonight and never done anything about this--you would never have known. I wouldn't have had the chance to tell you. Or to do this." Her hands, still holding the pen and paper, dropped to her sides as she leaned up and kissed him softly.
For a moment he just looked stunned. "You shouldn't have done that," he said finally.
"Why?"
"Because you can't take it back."
"Don't want to."
He leaned down and kissed her, a hesitant kiss at first, then a more assured one. "I still think you're going to regret this in the morning." She shook her head. "Suit yourself. I'm not arguing anymore." Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise.
John ducked his head, glancing down at the floor. "When somebody offers you the one thing you really want, there are only so many ways to politely refuse before you grab it," he said quietly.
She tugged on his chin until his eyes met hers. "Best idea you've had tonight," she wrote before she kissed him again.
"And now, before I get any other ideas, I think I should go."
Sam frowned, but she knew he was right. To say it had been a long day was putting it mildly. And the two of them alone in a room with a bed and a couch was extreme temptation. But to test the tentative emotional bonds they'd formed tonight by further actions wouldn't be smart. She hadn't gone through hell just to mess it up now.
She walked with him to the door. Before he opened it, he gave her a lingering kiss. "Okay," he said as he reached for the knob, "I have to ask. Would you really have married Paul?"
She laughed silently, then wrote, "Never said I was marrying him."
"It was in the letter."
She took the letter he still held in his hand and pointed to a line. "I know, I read it. It says 'If I'm wrong about your feelings then I guess I can marry Paul.'"
"Can," she wrote. "Not will."
He closed his eyes briefly. "You knew what that would do to me, didn't you?" She nodded. "You're supposed to use your powers for good, Sam."
"Didn't I?"
John thought about it for a moment. "Yeah," he answered at last, "I guess you did." He leaned down for one more kiss before pulling the door open. "Night, Sam." She smiled as the door closed behind him, then headed straight for bed, confident she could sleep now.
***
Trevor was flipping through TV channels, trying to find something to distract his brain, when there was a light knock at the door. He muted the television before answering the knock. When he saw Claire on the other side of the door, his eyes widened. "Isn't it a little late for house calls?"
She smiled. "A good doctor never sleeps."
"In that case, come in." He closed the door behind her as she entered the apartment. "Something wrong?"
"I saw on TV that they caught the killer."
"I wouldn't classify that as something 'wrong'."
"No." Claire stood in the middle of the room. "I didn't know if you'd heard, and I thought you'd want to know."
Trevor gave her a dubious look. "You came all the way out here at two in the morning to tell me that? Even the gods know about telephones, Claire."
"I didn't want to wake Champ."
"Champ is in that play, remember? He's not even home yet."
"Okay, I wanted to check up on you."
A twisted smile appeared on his face. "Should I be flattered or offended?"
"Trevor--"
"Because it's nice that you care and all, so I'm flattered, but I have to tell you, the fact that you think that having that maniac behind bars instead of loose on the streets is something I'd have a problem with is a little offensive."
She stared at him. "Are you finished?"
"I'm not sure." He scratched his forehead and scrunched up his eyes as if he was trying really hard. "I think I'm done for the moment. But I reserve the right to take the floor again at any time."
"Trevor, the board is going to want to know--"
"The board. There you go again. 'The board wants me to keep an eye on you, the board is going to want answers, the board wants me to sleep with you--'"
"I never said that!"
He grinned. "Okay, I made the last one up. But the point remains. You're always using the board as an excuse. Come on, admit it, you like me a little."
Claire shook her head. "I should have used the phone."
"Come on, Sparky, it's not that hard to admit."
"You're obnoxious, unpredictable, uncontrollable and sometimes you can be a real pain in the ass."
His grin grew even wider. "And?"
"And I might have gotten a little used to having you around, yes."
"I knew it!" He pumped his fist in the air and did a little dance. "Learned that one from Monday Night Football," he said when he finished.
"Did I mention incorrigible?" He just continued to grin at her. "When you're done gloating, you might want to consider that the board could easily yank you off the streets and put you back into the institution."
"I'm aware of that."
Claire sighed. "Then cooperate with me a little, will you? I need you to talk to me about what happened."
The grin finally faded. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Denial isn't going to make it go away."
"Funny," he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face briefly, "I said something very much like that to someone earlier."
"Then maybe you should take a little of your own advice."
"You never recommend anyone take my advice." Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, okay, fine. I don't know what else I can tell you other than what I've already said." He sat down and stared at the floor. "Yes, it was horrible. Yes it was beyond anything I thought one human being could do to another. Yes, I have nightmares about it. But what am I supposed to do, stop living because someone died?"
He stood and began pacing. "I do what I guess anyone else would do in this situation. I try not to think about it twenty-four hours a day, I look around and realize the world didn't stop turning--hell, time didn't even stand still for an instant." He stopped in front of her to look her in the eye. "And then I try to just get on with life without analyzing someone else's sick, merciless act from here to Olympus and back."
For a long moment she just looked at him. Then she patted him on the shoulder. "You don't need me here," she said with a smile.
"Oh, I don't know about that. I may not need a shrink, but the job of love slave is still open. I bet the costume would even fit you."
Claire couldn't help herself. She laughed at him. "Goodnight, Trevor," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.
"Are you sure you don't want to just try the costume on?"
"Goodnight," she said again as she walked out.
***
John finished buttoning his sleeve as he hurried over to answer the knock at the door. He stopped working the second button into the hole when he saw Sam on the other side. "Morning," he said cautiously.
She smiled and held up her legal pad. "Breakfast?"
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he tried again to get his sleeve buttoned. "Need someone to order for you?"
She glared at him for a second before writing, "That mean you'll do my bidding?"
"You'd have to have a voice bid me to do anything." She ignored the jibe and pointed at 'breakfast' again. "Sure." He frowned down at the button on his sleeve, which refused to go into the buttonhole. Sam put her legal pad and pen down on the dresser just inside the door and pulled his arm toward her, buttoning the sleeve in a matter of seconds. Then she picked up the pad and pointed at the word again.
"Lead the way," he said as he grabbed his jacket and followed her down the hall.
Once they'd been seated and placed their order, there was nothing else to distract them. "So..." John said, looking around the room. "Did you sleep well?"
Sam smiled. "Sore throat, stress, emotion. Yes."
John laughed. "I guess that makes as much sense as anything else on this trip."
"Problem?" she wrote.
"No...it's just been an...odd couple of days. For one thing, you were almost...."
She picked up her pen, "But I wasn't."
"True." His eyes showed just how grateful he was that she'd survived. "Well, we met the God of Love, you have to admit that was weird."
"You believe him?" Sam wrote with a grin.
"Not for a minute," John replied with an answering grin of his own. "But he might have a *little* insight once in a while."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "He said something last night," John admitted reluctantly, "implying that I was in denial or hiding my feelings or something."
Her grin grew even wider. "And?"
"And..." he studied his fork in silence for a moment, "he might have had something there."
Sam scribbled something, then shoved her legal pad in his direction. "Tell him what?" John asked.
She took the pad back and wrote, "He was right."
John snorted. "Sure, right after I turn my next five collars lose." Sam frowned at him. "What?" Her frown turned into a near scowl. "That's not fair," he complained.
She tilted her head sideways, her eyebrows arched. "You want me to go tell the nut--sorry, the mentally challenged Trevor Hale, the guy who thinks he's Cupid, that he was right, I was wrong, and I'm sorry I ever doubted him."
"Only right."
"That's bad enough."
"Not fair?"
His mouth curved into a crooked smile. "It's not fair because you know I'll do it if you ask."
She smiled back at him before writing, "Sorry for hounding him when he's innocent then?"
John sighed. "Do I have to?"
She nodded. "After breakfast?"
"Fine," he answered with a sigh. "But only if you come with me."
"Afraid you'll chicken out?"
"No." He grinned mischievously. "It's just an excuse to get you alone before we have to get on the plane with everyone else."
Sam laughed. "You're bad."
"I'm serious. Have you thought about what it's going to be like, hiding this from everyone?"
She nodded, her smile fading. "Can't hide forever."
"I know. But we can keep it quiet as long as possible. Because once it's out...."
She nodded again. "It'll work."
"I know. We're the two most stubborn people on the planet--how could it not?"
***
Trevor was less than surprised to see Claire walk into the bar before they were even open for lunch. "I'm sorry, miss, but the Psychologists Anonymous meeting was canceled for today."
"Very funny," she said as she sat down and propped her head up with her hand. "Can I *please* have some coffee?"
"We're not open yet." At the tired, impatient look on Claire's face, Trevor relented and poured her a cup of coffee. "Late night?"
Claire nodded before gulping at the coffee. "Ouch!"
"Coffee is hot, Claire. Don't you keep up on the McDonalds' law suits?"
"I wasn't thinking. After I got home from visiting you, I wasn't even in bed before I got a call from a patient...and things just went downhill from there."
"So you came here to see me to cheer you up? How flattering."
Claire sniffed. "Actually, I was hoping you'd changed into a cuter God. Maybe Hercules."
"Ha! You've been watching too much Action Pack TV. The real Hercules had more muscles than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his Mr. World days, and his face looked like he'd been run over by a truck. No, a really big truck. Actually, more like a fleet of really big, really heavy trucks."
Before Claire could respond, the door opened again, and Sam and John walked in. "I have to remember to start locking that until we open," Trevor muttered.
"Be nice," Claire said under her breath before turning to face the other two. "Good morning, Agent Grant, Dr. Waters. I heard you solved the case. Congratulations."
Sam nodded as John said, "Thanks."
"I guess you guys will be heading back home to watch for more aliens?" Trevor asked.
John's jaw tightened, but after a slight touch on the arm from Sam, he visibly forced himself to relax. "Mr. Hale, I wanted to..." he glanced at Sam, who nodded her encouragement, "apologize," he ground out finally.
"For existing? Or have you done something else to offend me?" Claire turned a disappointed face toward Trevor. "Okay, okay. For what did you want to say how very sorry you were?"
"I realize that I...hounded you a little during the investigation because I thought you might be the killer. We all appreciate your help and cooperation during the case, and...I'm...sorry if I caused you any inconvenience."
"Gee, that's not exactly the most heartfelt apology I've ever heard." Trevor's comment earned him another glance from Claire. "But at least it's an apology, I guess. Forget about it. What I want to know is why that guy was doing what he was doing."
"His ex-girlfriend was getting married," John explained. "They had a history of big fights, she'd even brought him up on charges for abuse but then dropped them. From the timing it looks like he might have seen her engagement in the paper or heard about it, and he snapped. Started seeing her in women in bars and was trying to stop her or something. Ridding the world of something that was taking up air for the rest of us."
Trevor gave him a disbelieving look. "You come up with that all on your own?"
"No," he said, smiling down at Sam. "She did."
Claire turned to Sam. "I heard you ended up in the direct line of fire, so to speak. I hope you're okay."
"She's sort of out of a voice for a couple of days," John explained as Sam started writing on the pad she was carrying. Sam finished her message, tore the paper off and handed it to Claire.
Claire read the message. "Thank you. And I'm glad."
Sam smiled and nodded, then reached across the bar to shake Trevor's hand. They said their good-byes, and Sam and John turned to leave.
As they watched the pair walk out of the bar, Trevor smiled. "I told you those two would get together."
"You noticed it too?"
"Hard not to. If he'd been standing any closer to her, he'd probably get reprimanded by his boss. They must have brushed up against each other a dozen times while they were here. And when they looked at each other...."
Claire turned to face him. "With jobs like that, though...what do you think their chances are of making it work?"
"I'd give them a better than average shot. They've seen a lot, enough to appreciate what they have between them." He glanced down at her in surprise. "Why bother asking my opinion? Could it be you finally believe after all this time?"
"Hardly. But you do seem to have a bit of intuition where some couples are concerned. Never hurts to ask."
Trevor heaved a dramatic sigh. "Mark my words," he said as he went back to wiping off the bar, "one of these days you will realize I'm telling the truth."
"Dream on."
"So what did the doctor say in her little note?"
Claire smiled as she tucked the piece of paper firmly in her pocket. "Nothing you need to know about."
"Let me guess, the two of you got chummy and she was admitting that I was right about her and her agent boy-toy and she thought you should take a closer look at me and admit that you couldn't do any better than the God of Love."
"See, now that's the kind of talk that just reinforces the opinion that you are light years from sane."
"Your mouth says it's not so, but your eyes say different. I know you. I can read you like a book."
Claire shook her head. "The day you understand me, Trevor, is the day I check myself into a clinic."
"I hear Dr. Frechette can make you new in no time. Some kind of miracle drug he has or something."
"Trevor?"
"Claire?"
"Shut up."