TITLE : Repercussions
AUTHOR : Karen Gomes (pyrie@hotmail.com)
CATEGORY : Even though it might look otherwise, it's SBR all the way.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Probably
DISCLAIMER : All of the known characters/premises/plots belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY : An old flame returns in Bailey's life, forcing Sam to confront her feelings for him. But, these feelings could have dire consequences.
NOTES : Well, after a long hiatus, I'm back baby! Hope you're enjoying it! I crave reviews - it's what keeps me from eating humans.
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.8 ) ---------------
Bailey pushed the key into the keyhole and the door gently swung open, leaving behind a faint creaking in its wake. He drew his gun from the holster, and pushed the door further with the barrel. "Liz." He said slowly, but he knew she wouldn't be there. «Has my plan worked?» He thought cautiously to himself, as he surveyed the damage in his living room: chairs finding refuge on the ground, drawers upside down, couch slashed with foam protruding from every angle. He let out a sigh and proceeded to his bedroom. «What was that person looking for?» He questioned himself. Opening the door carefully, he flipped on the light switch.
"Wasn't looking for me." Came a faint whisper.
Bailey's eyes darted towards the voice. "Liz." He approached her huddled body, placed between the wall and his bedside table. "What happened?" He gently cupped her face, a dark bruise forming near her left temple.
"It wasn't me, Bailey." She choked out. "I wasn't right."
Bailey dropped his head to his chest. He helped her up and put his jacket over her shoulders. "Then who?" He asked rhetorically. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Sam!" He raced out of the house, telling Liz to call the police.
***
VCTF, Atlanta
Bailey rushed passed the security guard, who merely looked up from his crossword puzzle and returned his attention to the difficult enigma that lay in black and white. He was used to Bailey rushing in and out, that it had almost become a regular routine.
Bailey stepped into his office; it had been more than an hour since he had last seen her beautiful sleeping form, more than an hour since he had held her in his arms, more than an hour since he had felt her. "Sam, Sam, please don't leave me." He whispered to himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sam?" He turned around.
"Sorry Bailey." George said, holding up a note with a handkerchief. The hacker watched his boss carefully, and put out his arms for support. Bailey almost fell into George's embrace.
"I've lost her . . . " He choked.
"We'll find her, boss." George said, gently patting Bailey on the back.
Bailey stepped back, and went to his desk, looking the note over. "How does it feel to have it all taken away?" Bailey read aloud. His eyes rested on George. "Is Janet okay?" He asked, somewhat out of context.
George nodded. "Spoke to her recently, just as a check-up, you know? She's having a blast in the Fiji Islands." He shrugged.
"I should have known it wouldn't work." Bailey shook his head, off of George's confused look. He checked his watch, people would only be expected in three hours. "Georgie, call everyone A.S.A.P. There's something I have to confess."
George nodded and left Bailey's office. "Sam." Bailey sighed her name, and glanced at the couch, where she had been lying not an hour ago. He could still picture her vividly, feel her . . . taste her. Heaven never tasted sweeter; but it was over. Done. Finished. He had lost. He didn't know how long he sat in his office, basking in self-pity, but John interrupted his thoughts.
"We're all here, boss." He said, and retreated to the Command Center.
Bailey stepped into the Command Center in somewhat of a daze. Mechanically, he sat down and began twirling a pen with his fingers. Letting out an audible sigh, he surveyed the people in the room. Finally, Liz showed up, taking a seat in Sam's place. "Liz is really undercover." Bailey finally spoke. "In a vain attempt to flush out a corrupt agent."
Eyes grew wide as a hushed silence fell heavily in the room. "Who?" John asked quietly. It was always different when it was 'one of their own'.
"Behar." Bailey muttered through clenched teeth.
"Art?" Grace asked, incredulous.
"The very same. Everyone at the bureau suspected him, but we never had enough evidence to prosecute." Bailey said, and then pointed at Liz. "The bureau felt the need to flush him out, before anymore damage was done. Since they knew of my relationship with Behar, they figured they'd use me as . . . " Bailey shrugged. " . . . leverage, I guess." He lazily dismissed his theory by a wave of the hand. "The point is, Behar is the one killing the agents whom have been linked to me, in one way or another."
Liz chimed in. "I guess he figures he could deter the investigations by pinning Bailey in the middle of it all. That's where I came in. We noticed a pattern - how they all seem to relate to Bailey some way. We decided to pretend to be involved again, as much as we could, 24/7. All this to lure Art Behar into capturing me, and from then we could arrest him. Unfortunately, I wasn't convincing enough." Bailey raised his eyebrow as Liz playfully smacked his arm. "I'm an FBI Agent not an actor, damnit!"
"He still feels betrayed that I 'lured' Ellen away from him." Bailey shrugged. "So, he retaliates by making my life a living hell."
The team remained silent. "He has Sam?" George asked, though it seemed more of a statement.
Bailey nodded and pointed to the screen. "Here's the note that was left in my office, where Sam was last seen." Bailey closed his eyes briefly, re- igniting Sam's face in his mind.
"The writing matches Behar - seems like he didn't make an effort to cover up the tracks." George said, looking up from his laptop.
"It's the end of the line, for him." Bailey said.
"He doesn't care if he's caught, he has the one thing that Bailey cares most about, so however the outcome, he feels as if he's won." Liz said, her eyes darting towards Bailey, who just stared at her with shock. "Come on, your feelings are evident to everyone around you, and I have to give a plausible profile since you're obviously incapable of accepting any ill fate towards Sam."
The team looked at eachother slightly amused. It took guts for someone to finally stand up to Bailey. «Definitely takes a woman.» Grace mused, a small smile on her face.
"Look, your judgement is clouded at the moment, Malone." Liz continued. "Let me be your profiler until we get Sam back." She gave his forearm a squeeze. "We *will* get her back."
Bailey chewed on his lower lip. "George, call Ellen and ask her of any known hideaways that her husband could have: cabins, caves, condos, houses, anything!" Bailey turned to John. "John and Liz, I want you both to search Art's apartment, office, anything. Get a warrant, if you have to. Gracie, I need you to see if you can lift any prints, paper matches off the note - I want to get this son of a bitch!"
After much hustling, the team dispatched to their respective tasks, while Bailey sat alone in the Command Center. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head, sobbing silently. «God . . . don't let me be too late.» He pleaded.
--TBC--
AUTHOR : Karen Gomes (pyrie@hotmail.com)
CATEGORY : Even though it might look otherwise, it's SBR all the way.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Probably
DISCLAIMER : All of the known characters/premises/plots belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY : An old flame returns in Bailey's life, forcing Sam to confront her feelings for him. But, these feelings could have dire consequences.
NOTES : Well, after a long hiatus, I'm back baby! Hope you're enjoying it! I crave reviews - it's what keeps me from eating humans.
Cheers! Gomes.
--------------- Repercussions (pt.8 ) ---------------
Bailey pushed the key into the keyhole and the door gently swung open, leaving behind a faint creaking in its wake. He drew his gun from the holster, and pushed the door further with the barrel. "Liz." He said slowly, but he knew she wouldn't be there. «Has my plan worked?» He thought cautiously to himself, as he surveyed the damage in his living room: chairs finding refuge on the ground, drawers upside down, couch slashed with foam protruding from every angle. He let out a sigh and proceeded to his bedroom. «What was that person looking for?» He questioned himself. Opening the door carefully, he flipped on the light switch.
"Wasn't looking for me." Came a faint whisper.
Bailey's eyes darted towards the voice. "Liz." He approached her huddled body, placed between the wall and his bedside table. "What happened?" He gently cupped her face, a dark bruise forming near her left temple.
"It wasn't me, Bailey." She choked out. "I wasn't right."
Bailey dropped his head to his chest. He helped her up and put his jacket over her shoulders. "Then who?" He asked rhetorically. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Sam!" He raced out of the house, telling Liz to call the police.
***
VCTF, Atlanta
Bailey rushed passed the security guard, who merely looked up from his crossword puzzle and returned his attention to the difficult enigma that lay in black and white. He was used to Bailey rushing in and out, that it had almost become a regular routine.
Bailey stepped into his office; it had been more than an hour since he had last seen her beautiful sleeping form, more than an hour since he had held her in his arms, more than an hour since he had felt her. "Sam, Sam, please don't leave me." He whispered to himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sam?" He turned around.
"Sorry Bailey." George said, holding up a note with a handkerchief. The hacker watched his boss carefully, and put out his arms for support. Bailey almost fell into George's embrace.
"I've lost her . . . " He choked.
"We'll find her, boss." George said, gently patting Bailey on the back.
Bailey stepped back, and went to his desk, looking the note over. "How does it feel to have it all taken away?" Bailey read aloud. His eyes rested on George. "Is Janet okay?" He asked, somewhat out of context.
George nodded. "Spoke to her recently, just as a check-up, you know? She's having a blast in the Fiji Islands." He shrugged.
"I should have known it wouldn't work." Bailey shook his head, off of George's confused look. He checked his watch, people would only be expected in three hours. "Georgie, call everyone A.S.A.P. There's something I have to confess."
George nodded and left Bailey's office. "Sam." Bailey sighed her name, and glanced at the couch, where she had been lying not an hour ago. He could still picture her vividly, feel her . . . taste her. Heaven never tasted sweeter; but it was over. Done. Finished. He had lost. He didn't know how long he sat in his office, basking in self-pity, but John interrupted his thoughts.
"We're all here, boss." He said, and retreated to the Command Center.
Bailey stepped into the Command Center in somewhat of a daze. Mechanically, he sat down and began twirling a pen with his fingers. Letting out an audible sigh, he surveyed the people in the room. Finally, Liz showed up, taking a seat in Sam's place. "Liz is really undercover." Bailey finally spoke. "In a vain attempt to flush out a corrupt agent."
Eyes grew wide as a hushed silence fell heavily in the room. "Who?" John asked quietly. It was always different when it was 'one of their own'.
"Behar." Bailey muttered through clenched teeth.
"Art?" Grace asked, incredulous.
"The very same. Everyone at the bureau suspected him, but we never had enough evidence to prosecute." Bailey said, and then pointed at Liz. "The bureau felt the need to flush him out, before anymore damage was done. Since they knew of my relationship with Behar, they figured they'd use me as . . . " Bailey shrugged. " . . . leverage, I guess." He lazily dismissed his theory by a wave of the hand. "The point is, Behar is the one killing the agents whom have been linked to me, in one way or another."
Liz chimed in. "I guess he figures he could deter the investigations by pinning Bailey in the middle of it all. That's where I came in. We noticed a pattern - how they all seem to relate to Bailey some way. We decided to pretend to be involved again, as much as we could, 24/7. All this to lure Art Behar into capturing me, and from then we could arrest him. Unfortunately, I wasn't convincing enough." Bailey raised his eyebrow as Liz playfully smacked his arm. "I'm an FBI Agent not an actor, damnit!"
"He still feels betrayed that I 'lured' Ellen away from him." Bailey shrugged. "So, he retaliates by making my life a living hell."
The team remained silent. "He has Sam?" George asked, though it seemed more of a statement.
Bailey nodded and pointed to the screen. "Here's the note that was left in my office, where Sam was last seen." Bailey closed his eyes briefly, re- igniting Sam's face in his mind.
"The writing matches Behar - seems like he didn't make an effort to cover up the tracks." George said, looking up from his laptop.
"It's the end of the line, for him." Bailey said.
"He doesn't care if he's caught, he has the one thing that Bailey cares most about, so however the outcome, he feels as if he's won." Liz said, her eyes darting towards Bailey, who just stared at her with shock. "Come on, your feelings are evident to everyone around you, and I have to give a plausible profile since you're obviously incapable of accepting any ill fate towards Sam."
The team looked at eachother slightly amused. It took guts for someone to finally stand up to Bailey. «Definitely takes a woman.» Grace mused, a small smile on her face.
"Look, your judgement is clouded at the moment, Malone." Liz continued. "Let me be your profiler until we get Sam back." She gave his forearm a squeeze. "We *will* get her back."
Bailey chewed on his lower lip. "George, call Ellen and ask her of any known hideaways that her husband could have: cabins, caves, condos, houses, anything!" Bailey turned to John. "John and Liz, I want you both to search Art's apartment, office, anything. Get a warrant, if you have to. Gracie, I need you to see if you can lift any prints, paper matches off the note - I want to get this son of a bitch!"
After much hustling, the team dispatched to their respective tasks, while Bailey sat alone in the Command Center. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head, sobbing silently. «God . . . don't let me be too late.» He pleaded.
--TBC--