Title: The View from the Window
Author: Horatio
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Spoilers: Fallout
Summary: In a crumbling landscape, there are no easy paths.
Disclaimer: Characters from Without a Trace are the property of Hank Steinberg, CBS, and Jerry Bruckheimer. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this.
***
The View from the Window
***
A slight exhalation, the rustle of sheets, and the woman in the bed turned over, flinging her arm onto the empty space beside her. The man sitting in the chair roused himself from a semi-doze and watched her. The woman's hair was dark and thick, with only a few strands of gray showing. There were little crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was turned down in a frown.
Jack Malone tried to summon up a feeling, any kind of feeling. But his tears had dried thirty minutes ago, leaving only a vacant sensation within him.
His wife's eyes slowly opened, closed, then opened again. A yawn split her mouth, and she shifted on the pillow. And saw him.
Maria Malone started up with a gasp before recognition dawned. "Jesus, Jack! You scared me."
"Sorry," he said, leaning forward and stretching out a calming hand. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Maria ignored the hand. Chest heaving, adrenaline still pouring through her veins, she looked him over, from his disheveled hair to his sunken eyes, to his soiled shirt. He looked more haggard than she could ever remember seeing him. "What are you doing here?" she said. "And what happened to you?"
"I had a case go bad. I needed--" He hesitated. "I needed to see the girls." He paused. "Needed to know you were all okay."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
She looked at his shirt. "Is that blood?"
Jack looked down, and his hand moved mechanically to the dark spot on his white shirt, touching it gently. Why hadn't he noticed it before? "Someone was injured. But I'm fine, and everyone came out of it alive. It was just. . . unsettling."
Maria drew a leg up under her. As she looked at her husband, a ripple of realization washed over her face. "You were involved in that hostage situation, weren't you?" she said.
He nodded. "I suppose it was on the news."
"They said an FBI agent was shot. A woman."
"That's right," he said flatly.
She studied his face. "It was her, wasn't it?"
Her. They didn't speak Samantha Spade's name in this house. Only "her" and "she." He inclined his head in answer.
Maria's eyes dropped to his shirt again and she said in a low voice, "Is that her blood?"
Her blood. There had been so much. Soaking her jeans. All over the floor. On her hands. His mouth went suddenly dry. "Yes," he said.
Maria spoke carefully, as though reading a script. "Is she going to be all right?"
Jack remembered Martin's words. The younger agent had called from the hospital when he had ascertained Sam's condition. Jack had listened to Martin's report as his cab wound toward Maria's house, the words falling on his ears disjointedly: "shock. . .severe blood loss. . .critical condition. . .intensive care." Jack had found it difficult to breathe in the suddenly airless back seat. The cab driver had cast an alarmed glance back at his gasping passenger.
Jack answered his wife. "She's going to be all right. It was touch and go, but she'll be fine."
Maria looked away from him, out the window. A young woman had escaped death, and she couldn't be glad. How hard she had become. She turned back to him. "Why are you really here, Jack?"
His eyes shifted around the room, as they had when he arrived an hour ago. The picture of him and the girls, the photo taped to the wall, the window with the view of the gaping hole. "I don't know. I just thought--" His hand crawled through his sweat-soaked hair. "Hell, I don't know what I thought. I guess I thought we should talk."
A sigh. Swinging her legs onto the floor Maria said, "Talk. Six months of talking with a counselor and we're no closer to fixing our marriage than we were before."
She stood and pulled on her robe. Jack kept his head down, his hands clasped between his knees. He looked at her feet as she pushed them into slippers.
"We're going to have to do more than talk," Maria said.
"I know."
"The girls will be up soon," she said. "Do you want to see them?"
"No." Jack pushed himself up from the chair. "It would be too disruptive. Especially the way I look."
Maria nodded, gratefully, he thought.
In the kitchen, she took two lunch boxes down from a shelf and put an apple in each. She turned to face him. "What do you want to talk about, Jack? About your mid-life crisis? About your working all the time and never being home? About *her*?"
He recoiled at the bitterness lacing her last word. "That's over," he said. "I told you." He wondered if his words sounded as insincere to her as they did to him. He was assailed by the memory of Samantha as he laid her on the bench. Her wide, scared eyes piercing him, loving him. Her bloody hand caressing his cheek. The way all his best intentions in that moment turned upside down and crashed over him in a heap.
What the hell was he doing here? It had all seemed so clear to him when the cold metal of the gun was making an indentation on his forehead. Now he felt the fog of confusion descend again. He heard Barry in his mind, and remembered. 'You can't even figure out how to love your wife.' That's what you're doing here, asshole, he told himself.
Maria had taken a bag of coffee from the refrigerator, put some coffee in the coffee maker, and pushed the button. She turned around and leaned against the counter. "I don't know if I have it in me anymore, Jack," she said. "It's been so peaceful with you gone. No more wondering when you were going to be home. No more wondering if you were actually working late. Or something else."
The coffeepot began its soft burbling. Jack looked away, guilt dulling his handsome features. His eyes fell on a child's drawing stuck to the refrigerator. 'The mother of your children,' Barry's voice taunted.
"Don't you think we should try for the girls' sake?" he said.
"The girls are fine." Maria rummaged in the cupboard, found two containers of juice and put them in the lunch boxes. "And your near-death experience, or whatever it was you had last night, doesn't change the fact that I can't trust you anymore."
They stood looking at each other, the table between them.
"Maybe we can work on the trust issue," Jack offered feebly. Then he felt angry, thinking, I'm talking like a fucking shrink.
Maria rubbed her temples. "You wounded me, Jack. You wounded us. I don't know if this will ever heal."
Further words failed him. The hum of the refrigerator was loud in the silence that stretched out uncomfortably.
His wife glanced up at the clock. "I need to get the girls up."
"Right." He stood there, hesitating. If I step around the table, he thought, I could touch her. Give her a kiss.
"I'll call you," he said. He let himself out of the house.
***
Jack looked down at his desk, but was blind to the files and papers scattered across it. Another image overlay his vision, and he blinked in an attempt to banish Samantha's pallid face.
After a shower and a change of clothes, he had left his apartment and descended to the subway. On the platform he had hesitated. Should he take the train to the hospital? Or the one to his office? He had watched five trains pass before making up his mind. Hurtling through the tunnels, he had gripped the strap till his hand ached while a sour sensation boiled in his stomach.
He saw Vivian approach his door, and he dropped heavily into his chair.
"I didn't expect you in this early," Vivian said, stepping inside his office.
Jack looked at his watch. "It's not that early."
"After what you went through last night, it is. Did you get any sleep at all?"
"A little," he lied.
Vivian's look said she didn't believe him. Jack shuffled papers around, picked up a pen, put it down. Vivian approached his desk, her head cocked to the side, scrutinizing him. His complexion was pasty, his eyes were sunk in dark hollows. She had seen him exhausted before, but she'd never seen him so bleak.
"Jack," she said, "why don't you go home. I'll hold down the fort."
"No, Van Doren will want my report asap."
She folded her arms. "Van Doren can wait."
Jack snorted. "Like hell." He looked over at the bullpen. "Are the boys in yet?"
"Danny called, should be here soon. Martin said he was going to stop at the hospital on the way in."
Jack became pensive. "Have you seen Samantha?" he said.
"Yeah, I stopped by earlier."
"How was she?"
"She was pretty out of it," Vivian said. "They've got her on a lot of meds. But she could talk a little."
Jack let out a long breath and swiveled his chair away from her, turning his gaze out the window.
"She asked about you," Vivian said, "if you were okay. She was a little agitated and confused. Had convinced herself that Barry shot you, too."
"Oh, Christ." He touched his hand to his forehead.
"Don't worry, I set her mind at rest." Vivian watched her boss. "She's going to be fine, Jack," she said firmly. She waited a moment, but he seemed far away. Finally she turned toward the door. "If you need me for anything, you know where to find me." She was outside the office when Jack's voice arrested her.
"I've screwed up my life," he blurted out.
Vivian halted. Turning back, she saw that he was still looking out the window. She stepped back into the room, closing the door softly behind her. "Jack-"
He swung back to face her. A film on his eyes caught the light and reflected it. "Barry loved his wife," he said. "Loved her more than anything. And he lost her. And I. . . I'm so lucky, and I squander what I have." His voice was hard and angry. "Screw it up."
Vivian sighed. She pulled up the chair next to Jack's desk and sat. "Jack, Barry's the one who screwed up his life, not you."
"You don't know, Viv," he said, shaking his head. "You don't know."
She smiled sadly as though to say, You have no idea what I know. "You've had a hellish night," she said. "You can't think clearly."
He looked down at his desk and didn't respond.
Vivian went on, "I tried calling you at your place, to see if you were okay. When you didn't answer I got worried."
He glanced up at her. "I went to see the girls." He paused. "And Maria."
Vivian nodded. "That's good."
"Is it?" he shot back.
"Yes, Jack, it is."
"Maria wasn't particularly happy to see me," he said.
"You two have had a rough time."
Jack rocked back in his chair. He cast a glance at the window behind him. "We used to be able to see the towers from our bedroom window," he said with a slight catch in his voice.
Vivian sighed, nodded. "All rubble now."
Jack said, "I don't know what to do. I don't know shit."
Vivian opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She considered a moment, then said softly, "This is about you and Samantha, isn't it?"
His eyes snapped to hers. Jesus Christ. Did everyone know? "It's not what you think," he said in a defensive tone.
Vivian's expression said that she wasn't born yesterday. He sighed in resignation. "Well," he said, "I suppose it is what you think." Was, he reminded himself. Past tense. He picked up a pen and tapped it on the blotter. He raised his eyes to his colleague. "I'm sorry, Vivian."
"You don't need to apologize to me, Jack. I don't think less of you if that's what you're worried about."
"You should."
She smiled, shrugged. "Life is complicated. Messy. Doesn't always work out the way we plan. And I don't think. . ." She hesitated as though trying to find the right words.
He waited. "You don't think what?"
"I don't think you'd go into something like that lightly."
Jack looked at her for a moment, then down at his desk blotter. "No," he said. "It's more than it looks on its tawdry surface."
She gave a slight smile. "I know."
"Do you?"
"I'm used to reading the evidence."
He made a wry face.
"And I heard what went down last night," Vivian went on. "About you trading your life for Samantha's." Jack twisted the pen around in his fingers, avoiding her eyes. Vivian said softly, "That was a fine thing you did, Jack."
"I broke protocol. Van Doren will probably have my ass."
"You saved Sam's life. And everyone else's. Van Doren recognizes that."
He waved his hand. "I'd have done that for anybody."
"Yeah, right."
The truth of it hung in the air between them. He might be able to fool an Internal Review panel, but he couldn't fool Vivian. Or himself. If it had been Martin in there, he would have called in the SWAT team.
For Samantha he risked his career, his life. Everything.
The silence stretched out. Jack cleared his throat. "I've been trying to work things out at home," he said. "But it's hard."
"I'm sure it is," said Vivian.
"Samantha and I ended it awhile ago. But last night--" He took a deep breath. "I just don't know anymore, Viv. Everything's fucked up."
Vivian folded her hands on the desk and thought. "I can't help you with the choices you have to make, Jack," she said at last. "But I can make a suggestion."
"What's that?"
"Go see Samantha."
He met her pointed look, then dropped his eyes. "I don't think I should do that right now."
Vivian sighed in exasperation. "I think it's exactly what you need to do right now."
A twitching muscle in Jack's jaw was the only evidence of the battle raging inside. He wanted nothing more in all the world -- nothing! -- than to see Samantha. Yet seeing her could topple the flimsy scaffolding supporting him right now.
Vivian said, "You need to see that she's all right. And she needs to see that you are."
He blew out a breath. Oh, hell. Everything was crumbling anyway.
He threw the pen on his desk and launched himself from his chair. In two long strides he was out of the office without a word. Vivian smiled at his retreating back.
***
Jack stood in the doorway of ICU room number 3. Samantha's head was turned to the side, her eyes closed. Her breast inside the blue hospital gown rose slowly up and down. One hand lay across her stomach, a heart monitoring device clamped to one of the fingers. Her other arm held an IV tube affixed to it.
Jack inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing his heart to stop its sudden arrhythmia. She was sleeping, maybe he shouldn't. . . He turned to look at the ICU nurse, who had pointed him to Samantha's room after critically examining his identification. The woman's attention was now focused on a computer screen. He turned back. Samantha's brown eyes were gazing at him.
"Hey," Jack said softly and moved to the side of the bed.
A smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "Hey," she returned. Her skin was pale, but not with the sickening pallor of the previous night. Her straw-colored hair was fanned out across the pillow. Once, in the afterglow of lovemaking, Jack had called her his golden lass. She'd muttered, "Oh, brother," then buried her face in his shoulder, and he'd been nonplussed to discover that she was weeping.
"Nice flowers," Samantha said.
"They were having a special downstairs," he said. "Half price for pretty FBI agents." The warmth of her smile made his stomach knot.
He placed the vase of chrysanthemums on the tray table next to two other bouquets. "You're quite the popular girl."
"The lengths I'll go to to get attention." She pronounced "attention" "uhteshun," but despite the drugs, her eyes studied Jack alertly.
Jack said, "You look better than the last time I saw you."
"Yeah," she said, "I was having a really bad hair day."
Jack swallowed around something hard. That she could still crack wise deeply affected him. Vivian was right. He needed to be here. He gestured to where her leg lay under the covers. "Hurt much?"
"Only when I laugh." She caught his concerned expression and added, "It missed the bone. A through-and-through, like I thought."
"Thank God," he said, and let his fingers touch her hand. His touch seemed to run a jolt of current through Samantha. She caught her breath, suddenly threatened by tears as she had been when he came to her in the bookstore. "I'm sorry, Jack," she began in a broken voice.
"Hey, none of that."
"I should've--"
"You did everything right," he interrupted her. "You can't control every hothead that blunders across your way. Richard the Idiot would have been a problem for anyone."
She bit her lip, fighting to restore her composure. "I heard what happened after you got me out of there," she said. "You got the others out. You found Sydney. You got Barry out safely."
He shrugged. "Barry more or less talked himself out of there."
Samantha said, "Martin told me the two of you were in there half the night."
"Yeah. Barry and I had a long talk."
"What about?" she asked casually. Too casually.
Jack smoothed his tie, tugged on his belt. "Oh, you know, life, love, loss. The usual conversational topics of a deranged gunman."
Samantha scrutinized his face. "You don't want to tell me."
"I don't want you to think about last night. I want you to concentrate on getting better." He brushed his hand lightly over her hair. He should stop touching her, he really should.
"Did he get to you, Jack?" Samantha asked. He was silent, and she went on, "I can understand that. He got to me a little, too."
Jack nodded. "For all his craziness, Barry could be very perceptive." Samantha's eyes were still questioning him, so he added, "We talked about families. Kids."
Samantha was quiet. Then softly, "And wives?"
He didn't answer right away. "Yeah," he said.
Samantha looked over his right shoulder into the middle distance.
"Sam, I--" Jack began.
"S'all right, Jack," she said. "You don't have to explain. I. . .I can imagine what went through your mind. It would naturally. . . Barry loved his wife so much. Natural that you'd think about--"
Her babbling unnerved him. "Sam, don't let's talk about this now."
"Well, didn't you?" she pressed him. "Think about your wife?"
Jack made an impatient gesture. "Yes, yes I did. But don't ask me what I think, because I can't think straight anymore!"
His outburst silenced her.
"I also thought a lot about you," Jack said softly. "Barry and I talked about you, too."
"Me?"
"I told you Barry was observant," he said.
Many floors below them a siren wailed. Samantha stared at him. "He knew about us?"
"He figured it out," Jack said.
"Oh, shit." She turned her head on the pillow. They were silent for a while. "I suppose others saw us, too," she said. "Outside."
"Yeah, I suppose they did."
"Who?" she said.
"Sam, don't. . ."
"Who?"
Jack sighed. "Van Doren. Martin. The entire SWAT team."
"Jesus," she said. Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. "Front row seats. Jesus."
"It's not that big a deal, Sam."
"They could fire you, Jack."
"They're not going to fire me," Jack said. "Van Doren needs my sorry ass too much."
Samantha closed her eyes. "God, I was stupid," she said. "Got myself shot. Made you risk your life. Put you in a compromising position." A large tear rolled slowly down the side of her face and landed on the pillow. Her voice broke. "I'm so sorry, Jack."
"Hey, hey, hey." And as though unwilling any longer to fight the sheer gravitational force of her, Jack dropped to the bed, his hip against her body, his hands in her hair, his voice caressing. "Don't do this, Sam. You got shot trying to save lives. You were smart and brave."
She put her hand over her eyes. "Don't make excuses for me. I'm a royal fuck-up, Jack."
Gently he pulled her hand away from her eyes. "Sam, look at me."
Samantha looked at him. Jack wiped a tear away with his thumb. "This is the drugs talking," he said. "You are NOT a fuck-up. All that matters right now is that you're alive. Not Van Doren, not what anyone thinks. You being alive is ALL that matters. Do you understand me?" His voice grew harsh, almost desperate.
She swallowed, nodded.
Jack pressed his lips to her forehead. "I almost lost you, sweetheart," he whispered.
Samantha uttered a little half-gasp and hooked her arm around his back, pulling him closer. Her face was hot against his neck. Small tremors shook her body, the only indication she was crying.
Jack held her tightly, his cheek resting on her head. The monitors hummed and beeped softly. He heard Barry's voice again in his mind. 'Are you feeling something now?' Yes, Jack thought, I'm feeling something now, God help me.
Presently he heard footsteps. "You're upsetting my patient," a voice behind him said.
Jack sat up quickly. The intensive care nurse he had seen earlier, a black woman in her late 30s, was regarding him with a stern look.
"I'm sorry. . ." Jack glanced at the nametag on her lavender-flowered smock. "Gloria."
Samantha's arm tightened around his back. "He saved my life," she said. "And if you make him leave, I'll shoot you."
Gloria raised an eyebrow. Jack turned slowly to look at Samantha. Her red-rimmed eyes were fierce with possessiveness. His heart clenched in his chest. "I promise I'll let her rest," he said to the nurse. "Just another minute."
"Mmm hm," the woman said dubiously. "One more minute. And I don't care if you do have a gun."
When Gloria left, Samantha sank back on the pillow wearily. Jack took her hand with the pulse monitor clipped to it and squeezed it. "She's right," he said. "You need to rest."
"Yeah." She ran the hand he wasn't holding up and down the lapel of his suit jacket. "You know, Jack, they don't understand. Van Doren and the rest. They don't understand."
"Understand what?"
"That it's over. Between us."
He coiled his fingers in her hair. His throat felt tight. "I'm not sure I even understand anymore," he said.
Samantha gave him a long look. "Me neither," she said, sighing deeply. Her eyelids drooped.
Jack said, "Don't think about it, Sam. Just rest."
Her hand slid from his jacket onto his lap. Her other hand gripped his as her eyes drifted shut. "Be here?" she said.
"As long as Gloria will let me."
She smiled. Her eyes closed. "Wouldn't have shot her," she murmured.
"I know that, sweetheart," he said, but she was already asleep.
As he watched Samantha sleep, Jack thought about the task before him. It was simple. All he had to do was figure out how to love his wife and stop loving Sam.
Simple.
His throat ached. He clasped Samantha's hand tightly between both of his.
When Gloria returned to adjust the IV drip, she shook her head sadly. She didn't ask Jack to leave.
End