Disclaimer: I do not belong the characters or anything else you recognize in this fic. Passions belongs to NBC, JER and a couple of other people, I'm sure. I am not making any money off of this. I write fanfic purely for pleasure, although I'm not opposed to receiving feedback :)
Posted: Wednesday, July 9, 2003
Summary: A spell gone awry leaves both Grace and Ivy acting strangely. Sam/Grace and Sam/Ivy.
Note: This is my first Passions fanfic (although since I started it and since I finished it, I wrote several other, shorter and complete Passions fics). I hope you enjoyed it. It takes place after Grace and John did the DNA test to determine whether or not he was her son, but since it doesn't deal with any of the stuff after Theresa declares herself Mrs. Julian Crane, let's just say it branches off there. I have, however, messed with the timeline a bit and had Grace's conversation about Kay's feelings for Miguel happen already.
Also note that I have Support Services. That means that if you want to receive notice of when my stories and/or chapters, add me to your Author Alerts. Even if you don't have Support Services, you will receive an e-mail when I update.
Corpus et Animus
Part 6/6
It was the first day of spring. Not calendar spring, an arbitrary system the weather never followed, but rather true spring. Birds flew around, twittering and warbling, looking for both food and twigs for their nests. Crocuses and snowdrops were pushing their way through the thawed ground, the bravest of the bunch showing their petals. The sun shone done, encouraging the sleeping trees to grow their first buds.
Ivy watched it all from a window of the bleak Crane mansion.
The door opened behind her following a tentative knock, but Ivy didn't turn around to see who was eager enough to see her to come in without waiting for an invitation. She didn't even turn around when the visitor spoke, revealing himself to be Sam. "We've finished the investigation and have decided not to press charged."
"That's nice. I've decided not to press charges against Grace, either," Ivy said, feigning indifference.
"Damnit, Ivy, you know that was an accident."
"She was strangling me, Sam. It was attempted murder. I'd still have the bruises, except I seem to have left them behind when I switched bodies. Perhaps you can check your wife's neck when you go home tonight. I hope they hurt," she added viciously.
"It wasn't Grace's fault." Same old Sam, always trying to defend his perfect Grace. "Eve says that she was suffering from withdrawal - you were - your body was suffering from withdrawal from the painkillers you've been on - and that, along with the shock of finding herself in your body, made Grace lash out irrationally."
"Convenient diagnosis. If the situation was reversed, I wonder what the good Dr. Russell would have said? She wouldn't have blamed it on shock and withdrawal and said I was just being irrational. Doubtlessly she would have found a way to place all the blame on me as usual."
"Well, it's not exactly unfounded, is it? You have hatched more than one scheme to separate me and Grace."
"But have I ever tried to kill her?" Sam didn't answer. "How about this time? Police charges aside - and I'm still not sure what you had planned to charge me with - do you still blame me for what happened?"
"Grace does."
"I didn't ask about Grace, I asked about you."
There was a long, drawn out pause before Sam finally admitted, "No."
At last Ivy turned from the window to look at him. "Thank you," she whispered; and she meant it.
"We still don't know how - I mean we don't know what happened. Do you - do you have any idea?"
Ivy studied him for a minute before deciding he was honestly curious and it wasn't a thinly veiled attempt at accusing her again. Besides, he looked almost boyish when he was stuttering bashfully.
She waited another minute, gathering her wits, before she started. She hadn't told anyone else her story yet. Nobody else had asked (accusations were another thing all together and Ivy didn't deem them important enough to count). "The day before I had been feeling . . . strange. Distant. Distracted. Three times I missed Rebecca making a jab at me.
"That night I went to bed early and my dreams . . . my dreams were strange. You know that feeling when you're feverish and trying to sleep? You're awake, but you think you're asleep. You're dreaming, but you feel awake. It was almost like that. I was neither here nor there, and I remember feeling like I was being pulled . . .
"When I woke up, you were lying next to me. I really and truly thought it was a dream at first. Even when I began to suspect it wasn't, I had no idea what was really going on. It was hours before I admitted that I was in Grace's body, that it was real and it wasn't a dream. No one else was home. I didn't know what to do. I was scared."
"You could have told someone," Sam said.
"That's what Grace did and look where it got her: drugged and believed crazy. No, I had to play along."
"You didn't have to pretend to be Grace. I may have been fooled for a couple of days, but do you really think I never would have noticed that you weren't my wife?"
Ivy debated whether to tell him the real reason behind the pretense, then deciding she had nothing to lose, plunged ahead. "The point wasn't to trick you into thinking I was Grace, it was to remind you what we had together. To make you fall back in love with me."
"It didn't work. Everything we did - everything, Ivy - " He put such emphasis on the word that Ivy knew he was referring to their night together, "I only did because I thought you were Grace."
"It worked," Ivy insisted.
"I still love Grace. I have always loved Grace," Sam said, mercilessly.
"Then why did you call my name?"
Silence descended after Ivy's cry, broken only by the birds hopping around outside, their nails scraping against the eaves. Sam regained control over the muscles in his jaw first, working it open and shut before he finally was able to co-ordinate the movement with his vocal cords. "I don't know what you're talking about - I didn't - I wouldn't - I love Grace." Back to that key phrase again.
"But you knew it was me. You might not have admitted it, but deep down you know. You knew it was me."
"I didn't know it was you," Sam denied desperately. "I couldn't."
"After we made love, you told me you loved me. Me. Ivy. You said, 'I love you, Ivy.' There's no mistaking that, Sam."
"I was half asleep. I didn't know what I was saying," Sam argued.
"On the contrary, Sam," Ivy said, "I think you knew better then than when you were ever awake. Grace and I aren't anything alike, except that we both love you. You know me better than anyone else in the world. Your subconscious was only saying what your conscious mind was too afraid to say."
"I love Grace." Instead of the usual passionate declaration, it came out more as a whimpered question.
"You're afraid. You're afraid to leave Grace and your normal life. You're afraid to come back to me, come back to a love so strong it's survived twenty-five years and two marriages. You're afraid to admit that no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you love Grace, deep inside you yearn for your first love. Me." Though her voice started strong, by the last word it was scarcely louder than a whisper.
Trying to regain control over his emotions, gathering all the strength he had, Sam looked Ivy squarely in the eyes. He just hoped he would come off sounding sincere enough that Ivy would believe him. "You're wrong."
Sam walked out of the room without another look backwards. He strode out of Ivy's life again, a powerful, if useless, gesture. They both knew he would be dragged back into the Cranes' lives within a matter of weeks. But it was the symbolism that was important. He walked out of the room and left Ivy alone n the forbidding, impersonal Crane mansion. He left Ivy alone.
Alone.
Again.
As always.
The End
Yes, this is the end, the end. There will be no more. No sequel, nothing. (It took me almost sixteen months to write these short six parts, do you really think I have it in me to write anymore?) No, it didn't turn out Sam/Ivy. Well, not exactly. As Ivy said, Sam's too afraid. Hey, if anyone else wants to write a sequel, wants to write them a happy ending, go ahead. I'd be glad to read it. They deserve a happy ending; I just don't seem to be able to give it to them, unfortunately.
