Disclaimer: I own neither Danny nor Samantha, or the show. Or anything for
that matter.
I took a tiny spoiler and embellished to my heart's content. This goes out to my beloved Maple St. Rock on guys!
Summary: Samantha and Danny discuss the past few months. Spoilers: FO2 and the season premiere. Rating: PG
Way back when, in college and high school, I used to wear sandals from March to October. The sandals molded themselves to my feet, skillfully constructed cork that braced my every movement. I always dreaded the first week of having to put on real shoes. I hated the restriction, the unfamiliarity of it all. It always took longer for me to break in dress shoes than it did for my sandals.
I looked over at the woman sitting next to me, wishing I had sandals on. I hadn't thought about it in a while, how much I used to wear sandals, but the last remaining days of summer heat and the monotony of sitting in a car for hours on end let random thoughts trickle in. Of course, sitting here with the woman on my right felt like trying to break in shoes that I'd worn only a few months ago.
She wasn't entirely different, her spirit was still there, that fire that burned in her eyes when we knew we were close to finding our missing person. However, if I had been gone for a while, I wouldn't be able to recognize her. In the last four months, things had changed drastically for her. About two months ago, she'd been on a stakeout with Martin and they'd apprehended the suspects, two thugs from no where, when all of a sudden, one turns on her and fires. Well, she killed that sucker. She took out the other guy too, once he turned with his gun raised.
No hesitation. None whatsoever.
Martin was a little bothered by it. It was the first time he'd ever seen her do something like that. If I remember correctly, she'd only shot and killed one other suspect before. But that was a long time ago, and this is now.
Now, she sits beside me, drinking stale coffee and trying to remember what time her dry cleaning is supposed to be ready. She is silent, pensive and avoids my weak attempts at conversation. We've been sitting in this spot for three hours. Whereas I have had the chance to get out once or twice, she has willingly confined herself to the car.
That's another thing that is different about her. Before, I thought she was totally devoted to the cases. Now, she eats, sleeps and breathes cases. No exaggeration on my part at all. Even when I get to work early, she is already on her second cup of coffee. When second shift moves in and has gotten underway, when everyone else is at home or out clubbing, she is at work, meticulously putting the pieces back together.
We haven't had a real conversation in months. Even before it all happened, we used to spar each other verbally every chance we got, but now, she doesn't even crack a smile when I make a joke. I want the old Sam back. The one who would go out with us after work and wasn't afraid to have fun. Now she was trying to compensate for her lack of confidence by making it up in other areas like work and fitness.
The scandal that swept over the office has done its damage. No residual effects though. Most of us already suspected something after a while. It became undeniable after the OPR investigation and after she got shot, well, no one was surprised by Jack's actions.
To be honest though, I would have gone in for her if I'd been in Jack's shoes. Even if I weren't, she is someone worth sacrificing your life. She has been a great friend to me all these years and I would never want to lose her.
"We're going to lose this guy if don't start paying attention," she says in an playful voice. It was the first time she'd said something in almost 45 minutes.
"If you'd stop checking yourself out in the mirror maybe I wouldn't have to pay attention."
"Danny, I've been staring at the man sitting in the restaurant behind us. He's been sitting there for the last hour."
"Well, uh, Sam, most people like to eat, sitting down. Call me crazy but I bet that's what he's doing right now," I said mockingly. She threw me a look then shook her head.
"Thanks for that insight into daily life. No, look, he's been sitting there for an hour straight, only had one drink and nothing to read."
"He could be waiting for someone."
"Hasn't checked his watch once," she shot back quickly, already anticipating my line of thought.
"Well, if you are so apprehensive about him, why don't you go check it out?" I said in a daring manner.
"I'll give him five minutes and see if he decides to take off, if not, I'll pay him a visit," she returned with decisiveness.
"Fine by me, Sam. You call the shots today, boss."
"Oh so I'm the boss now? Not the token blond sitting in the car beside you who is so astounded by your wit she can hardly contain herself?" she said quickly. She closed her eyes hard and turned the other way. I could tell she regretted the remark. It ranked up there on the top ten list of playful jabs gone wrong. I didn't mind though. This was better than silence. I could work with sarcasm and anger, but silence was like putting on those dreaded dress shoes, you had to keep at it until it gave way.
She turned back to me, biting her lip in annoyance with herself.
"Sorry Danny, I uh-"
"Didn't mean that. I know. Look who you're talking to here. Do you think a few words matter?"
"No. I know you don't mind, I just have trouble harnessing all this, this - stuff that I have overflow."
"Yeah how's that therapy coming along?"
"How do you think?"
I could envision her sitting in the chair now, her silence stubborn and unrelenting. She was not there by choice and had no intention on changing her mind. Jack was the one who recommended her, which made going to therapy that much worse. It hadn't been long after the incident with Martin. Jack thought she had post traumatic stress disorder. Which wasn't that off of a diagnosis, but he neglected to speak with her about it. She just got a letter in her box summoning her to the resident psychotherapist later that afternoon.
It had been a dull day, we'd had no leads on this dead-end case and the two suspects getting killed by one agent hadn't helped matters. After she read the letter she didn't get up instantly and storm into his office, ranting and raving. No, she just sat back in her chair and stared, just stared out into space at nothing in particular. She didn't seem bothered or frustrated, just a little hurt. I think it was a blow to her confidence that someone would find fault with her work or her in general.
Normally, any person severely injured on duty or one who followed the same course of action that Samantha had, post shooting, would have gone to the therapist anyway. But Sam felt that nothing was wrong with her and she didn't want someone to tell her there was. I guess she was in denial, because her behavior was truly different, like she hadn't been able to pick up all the pieces. Part of her was left behind in that bookstore, a part that she wasn't willing to admit.
She remained calm throughout the meeting during the middle of the morning and nodded when Jack asked her to come to his office. I guess the fact that she wasn't displaying her anger was what was so alarming. When she got so angry she couldn't get past releasing a few words and emotions, I knew an explosion was bound to follow.
Which is exactly what happened.
Realistically, who wouldn't have? She was still recovering from the shooting, two guys tried to repeat the act but they weren't quick enough. Samantha had used her right to fire a weapon and taken the lives of two guilty men. And they were certainly guilty. They'd kidnapped three different children over five years, doing malicious things to them. No loss on this planet by their not being here.
Lately, she never expressed her anger, she just sucked it up like a vacuum and moved on like nothing ever happened. People just don't do that. It can't be natural. At least I wasn't on the receiving end. Personally, I was afraid for Jack.
Samantha placed her folder on her desk and followed Jack into his office, carefully shutting the door behind her. All the blinds were closed except one, and when I maneuvered properly in my chair I could see what was going on. I could have, but I didn't. It was none of my business what was to pass between them. At least it wasn't until ten minutes later when I could hear her voice clearly over the office chatter.
I sat forward on my elbows and saw Jack leaning against his desk while Sam sat in the chair next to it. Her face had this look - it's so hard to place, but it held so many emotions that I doubt it could ever be recreated. She was emphasizing every sentence with her hands, a clear sign of frustration. I leaned back in my chair again, aware that my awkward movements were drawing attention to myself.
She stood up quickly and began walking around his office, her frustration evident. All of a sudden, the wooden slats slapped together as they were drawn up in a fashion that drew attention from all who were near. Jack sat back and watched in silence as she went to every window, her anger overwhelming her self restraint. She glanced at me as she pulled up the blind that gave me the clearest view. I swallowed hard. She hesitated slightly and turned around, her long hair whipping in the opposite direction. Sam looked at Jack and said something about not being ashamed of anything. A few quick strides later, and with the door open, she calmly said, "And I don't need help. I'm fine."
Her breath heaving in her chest, she stood there facing Jack for what seemed like a minute. They exchanged no more words, and she quietly removed herself from his doorway.
Two hours later, she was sitting in the therapist's office, her crossed leg bouncing up and down in impatience. She was required to be there, but she didn't have to say one word. And she didn't.
Her therapist, Dr. Connor, didn't force her to do one thing. He was used to the silent treatment from the agents. It didn't bother him though. He'd have her weeping over two pounds of Kleenex by the end of the month. Not even the assassins can survive without shedding a tear or two.
I adjusted in my seat and looked in my rear view mirror. Nothing exciting going on in that direction, nor to my left or right. All I could do was look ahead. Sam's guy ended up moving before his time was up so she didn't move in on him. The man only had a minute left anyway before SA Samantha Spade grilled his sorry self.
"What kind of questions does he ask you?"
"What?" She asked, slightly confused.
"The shrink what does he ask?"
"I don't know. Stuff."
"Wow, he is the curious type isn't he?"
"No, I have been going to him for what, two months now? We have exchanged no more than ten minutes worth of conversation."
"And he hasn't gotten anything out of you?"
"He assumes that I don't know how this whole thing works. That I will give in because I have the obligatory person to listen to my problems. I don't have any problems. I'm not in denial. I am just trying to sort this mess out and move on with my life, and Jack assumes - whatever, and I get screwed because of it. It's not like I'm going to go postal one day and start offing innocents." She stopped abruptly and looked over at me with a critical eye.
"You think I'm different don't you?"
"Truth?"
"Definitely."
"You've been through a helluva lot this year, what with the accident and Jack and the whole thing with Martin and the shootings. I don't see how you couldn't be different."
Her eyes were trained on my fingers which rested on the steering wheel. She kept them there as she spoke again.
"Am I different bad or am I just different?"
"Borderline bad. You seem like a walking mass of emotion. You could be viewed as a potentially destructive individual. You're always at work, you don't laugh anymore, you never go out with me and Martin or any guy for that matter, and you still haven't made fun of my tie yet. So yes, I'd say you were different, bad different."
The car was enveloped with silence. I didn't know if I meant everything I said, but it all sounded right. Of course, I wasn't the one taking the criticism.
She took a deep breath and sighed. I couldn't tell if she was getting teary eyed or if it was from the breath she took. Her gaze averted, she bent her head down and smoothed out the papers she held in her lap.
"I do get angry, Danny, just not in front of people anymore. I don't want them to assume it's from the accident. I don't want it to be used as a scapegoat for any of my behavior. I work, because," she paused, unwilling to admit the words. "Because it's all I have. I don't want to go out anymore. I am tired of dating and looking for Mr. Wrong. And what has there been to laugh at recently?"
I had no response to give her. To be honest, there wasn't anything. There never was. We laughed anyway. It was what we did. Well, we at least laughed at our snide remarks and crude jokes.
"I don't think anyone would use your getting angry against you. I think we are more afraid of you lack of emotion than otherwise. Martin flipped out because you showed no remorse after shooting those guys, Jack was obviously concerned."
"No, he just didn't want another OPR investigation."
"What is with you? Do you want out of the unit? Is it that hard for you to be around him, Sam?"
I bit my tongue. I never should have said that. We shouldn't even be speaking about this.
She looked at me with one of those "deer caught in headlights" looks. It was particularly good with those dark eyes of hers. Her temples went in and out with each clench of her jaw. I knew she wanted to say something, but she had to pick her words carefully.
"What is it that you think happened, Danny?"
Wait. How did this get turned on me?
"What? What do you mean?"
"Well, what do you think happened between me and Jack?"
I didn't hesitate. She knew I did not judge her for what happened, but she knew I would have something to say about it.
"I think you broke up a family. I think you broke regulations and protocol. I think you made a mistake. I think you made him happy."
She looked up at me with the last bit. I meant it. He was happy for a while, until his world started to crumble.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Have an affair. What compelled you to do it?"
She didn't respond immediately. Her face was a blanket, nothing revealing what went on inside her head.
"Do you want it straight up, or the enhanced version?"
"We got time, give it some flair."
She smiled at me and began to unconsciously turn the ring on her right hand.
"This stays in this car," she said before beginning.
"Without a doubt."
"It all had to do with timing Danny. Nothing more. Stuff happened. We happened. The end."
"That's all I get? Seriously, Sam I want to know. You owe it to me as a team member, to know why you slept with our boss."
"I do?"
"No, but I still want to know."
She took another deep breath and sighed. I knew she'd never told anyone about that whole, situation. This was a big step for her.
"Okay, here we go - with flair." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.
"We were like two lost people who randomly met on a rooftop; we danced around for a while and shared some good times, no, wonderful times. Then the music stopped with a bang and all we could do was jump from that rooftop. We jumped without parachutes and fell hard, both unable to catch the other. It was expecting the inevitable. Still, we picked each other up, dusted ourselves off and went our separate ways."
"How separate are they?"
She closed her eyes hard and swallowed.
"Completely."
"Good. I liked that story better, especially the jumping without a parachute part - very poetic."
"Yeah, I thought you'd like that."
"You feel better?"
"No, not really. Who's to say you won't ever get questioned again. You'd be stuck with this hanging over your head."
"Don't worry about me, I have worse problems than this," I said. Her problems were bad, but mine were comparative.
We sat in silence for a bit, milling over our own thoughts. Sam squinted into her side mirror and tapped me on the arm.
"Danny, check out brown shirt, four o'clock. Doesn't he look like our suspect?"
"No, our guy isn't that old. Don't forget he has a finger missing on his left hand as well."
Our silence returned, more comfortable than before. We were anxious to get out of there, but her mood was a little lighter than it'd previously been.
I always wondered what it would be like to get shot. I've experienced those situations to where it almost happens, to that millisecond of time that whoever fires his weapon first, wins. Never like Sam though. I've never had a guy right on me. I'd probably freeze up or something.
"What did it feel like?"
She had no idea what I was talking about. It was a rather arbitrary question.
"What? Getting shot?"
"Yeah, did time slow down? Was it like an immense shooting pain up and down your leg or what?"
People had asked her in the past and she always gave them the same bland answer, but I knew she wouldn't do that to me. She would tell me what really happened..
Her fingers grazed the top of the area where she was shot. Even now she still winces. I wonder if she'd let me see it some time, but that would sound forward of me. One day we'll get bored enough to start comparing scars. Probably on one of those all-day stake outs in some hole-in-the-wall apartment.
"You know how it feels when you trip on something and you spend forever trying to not fall all the way? How you catch yourself, but not fully gain balance? Like you are in the act of trying to stop yourself but cant?"
"Yeah, I did it just this morning, except I ran into an old lady instead."
"When I saw them struggling, it felt like I was falling and I couldn't stop it. I knew if I didn't get to them the gun would go off. I knew I needed to get out of the way, but I couldn't do it fast enough. Two more seconds and I could have disarmed him. Instead I was two steps short and two seconds late."
"Kind of like jumping without a parachute?"
"Funny."
"I'm serious. I still can't imagine being in that kind of situation. Geez, I would be messed up. More than you at least."
"Are you saying that I'm 'Messed up' Danny?"
"No I am just saying that under the circumstances, it's understandable that you'd react the way you have."
I need to learn when to shut up. She didn't respond for a minute. She got that far off look again, like she was somewhere else - a safer place that didn't involve politics or therapists.
"It did happen in slow motion," she said quietly. Her sudden comment confused me for a moment. "I knew I wanted the gun, and then I heard the shot, and time seemed to freeze. Not like in the movies though, it was more chaotic than that. I couldn't see the bullet, but the mere fact that it was coming at me - I could feel my heart beat speeding up and my muscles tense. I was prepared for it. And then it went through me, and it felt like I was being ripped into, inch by inch. It didn't really hurt at first, but after I fell, the pain came and it surged through my body, all at once, then in waves. After ten minutes, I got dizzy and those sunspots started to come, I couldn't really focus on much, but I knew I didn't want him to go off and shoot anyone else. I am glad it was me rather than anyone else, because I'd have to live with that, knowing it was my fault. I'd rather it be my own fault that I got shot."
"But it wasn't your fault. It just happened. It was a series of uncontrollable events that created a volatile situation over which you had no control. Accept that, and you'll be fine."
"Right. Easier said than done."
"You know what I mean."
"I know what you mean, but it still isn't that easy. I don't sleep. Not at all. When I close my eyes, everything gets real quiet, like when I was lying in the bookstore. I feel like I am waiting, but this time, no one shows up. No knight in shinning armor, no swat team, I am just trapped in silent, uncomfortable state and there is no way out. It's times like that, when everything I've worked so hard for starts to regress and I fall back to ground zero."
Ground zero. Odd that she chose that phrase. I understand where she is coming from, however, I can't fully appreciate her situation. Is it that traumatic to get shot, or was it the entire situation? Constant fear and regret, never knowing what is real or not, and the whole trust issue. Such a state of mind could never be comfortable.
"If you had it to do over, would you have shot those guys?"
Without a second to think she responded, "In a heartbeat. There are these moments, even when everything else is cloudy, that what you are looking for is right in front of you. I didn't want to wait for that shot to go off and not know where the bullet was headed. If I hadn't fired, I would have been shot. Martin thinks that they didn't pose as big of a threat, but he wasn't holding one of them either. It was either me or them. I made a choice and I stand by it."
"But afterward, you were so calm, so complacent," I said objectively.
"Everyone reacts differently. When's the last time you shot someone, Danny? It's not like I do it everyday and we can use that as an example. I just took the lives of two people who breathe, and sleep, and make decisions like the rest of us. I had to justify my actions with myself. Forgive me if I don't fall to the floor and start weeping."
She was irritated. The shooting had been a sore topic for her, and she didn't enjoy being second guessed. I was merely trying to state the fact that her behavior was questionable after she shot them.
"I didn't mean it like that, Sam. It's just that Jack didn't want you to go out to begin with, and your first week out - you rack up two bodies. Not only did it make you look bad, but it also made his judgment look questionable. Don't keep going around thinking the world is out to get you. Sometimes we are just looking out in your best interest."
I said my peace. I felt better. Someone needed to say it, and she certainly wasn't willing to listen to Jack.
We sat in silence until the pizza boy from the delivery place across the street returned. Our target was this sketchy looking building about a quarter of a block away that had a Chinese place beneath it. Sam checked her watch then said she needed to get out and stretch her legs.
I sat there for two minutes trying to focus on the matter at hand. It was quite difficult, especially when I had someone like Samantha sitting next to me. She definitely made life more exciting.
"Oh my goodness. That's him!" Her words startled me out of my thoughts.
She was right. A thirtysomething suit walked down the street. He was obviously out of place, but still comfortable in his surroundings. He was supposed to be making a drop during this afternoon, and we were ready for it.
"Okay you know what to do," I said as I got out of the drivers side. She was going to go from behind and I was going to approach him. The basic drill. I love how inconspicuous we look. No, I'm not an FBI agent getting out of a government fleet car with my snazzy sunglasses on.
I gave Sam one last glance and waited until she was in position before I approached the suspect. He was leaning against the building, taking a long drag from his cigarette with his four-digit hand. I pulled my badge out from my jacket and flipped it open as I introduced myself.
"Yeah, so what?" He had a distinctive northern accent. Definitely from Canada.
"I was wondering if you could tell me what's in the suitcase, sir."
He glanced down at the leather bound case and back up at me.
"Clothes. Pair of shoes."
"Could I look inside please?"
"Nah, piss off." He flicked his cigarette at me. Great way to treat a federal agent.
"Mr. Salis, I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me please." I bent down to pick up the suitcase.
He pushed me away quickly and grabbed the case, then turned in the opposite direction and took off running. Sam waited until he got near then stuck her hand out in a 'C' shape, and directed it right at his throat. He was instantly grounded. Even though Sam had disabled him, he was putting up a nasty fight.
Somewhere in the midst of the ruffle, he pulled a gun. The butt of this gun made contact with the side of Samantha's head and she was slightly stunned. I pulled mine immediately and we stood in a face off. Sam was on all fours, trying to regain her balance. I saw him look at me, then look at her. I knew what he was going to do, he cocked his gun and snarled with this guttural tone.
He turned towards Sam and I fired. His gun went off as well and ricochet off the hubcap of a nearby car. My bullet found his chest, in his right pectoral muscle. He fell to the pavement and Sam pulled his gun from his grasp. She looked at me with a mixture of appreciation and surprise.
She was right. Sometimes, you just know.
Maybe she didn't need to see a therapist. Maybe it just took time.
We called an ambulance and Frank Salis was taken away with a severe gun wound to the chest. Samantha and I would both have a fun filled afternoon in Jack's office. I've grown to love accounting for my actions as of late. And if I had to make the decision again, I'd fire.
Sometimes, you just know.
FIN
I admit, it is a bit rusty, and the shooting was more of a foil for their discussion than anything. Hopefully it wasn't too bland.
I took a tiny spoiler and embellished to my heart's content. This goes out to my beloved Maple St. Rock on guys!
Summary: Samantha and Danny discuss the past few months. Spoilers: FO2 and the season premiere. Rating: PG
Way back when, in college and high school, I used to wear sandals from March to October. The sandals molded themselves to my feet, skillfully constructed cork that braced my every movement. I always dreaded the first week of having to put on real shoes. I hated the restriction, the unfamiliarity of it all. It always took longer for me to break in dress shoes than it did for my sandals.
I looked over at the woman sitting next to me, wishing I had sandals on. I hadn't thought about it in a while, how much I used to wear sandals, but the last remaining days of summer heat and the monotony of sitting in a car for hours on end let random thoughts trickle in. Of course, sitting here with the woman on my right felt like trying to break in shoes that I'd worn only a few months ago.
She wasn't entirely different, her spirit was still there, that fire that burned in her eyes when we knew we were close to finding our missing person. However, if I had been gone for a while, I wouldn't be able to recognize her. In the last four months, things had changed drastically for her. About two months ago, she'd been on a stakeout with Martin and they'd apprehended the suspects, two thugs from no where, when all of a sudden, one turns on her and fires. Well, she killed that sucker. She took out the other guy too, once he turned with his gun raised.
No hesitation. None whatsoever.
Martin was a little bothered by it. It was the first time he'd ever seen her do something like that. If I remember correctly, she'd only shot and killed one other suspect before. But that was a long time ago, and this is now.
Now, she sits beside me, drinking stale coffee and trying to remember what time her dry cleaning is supposed to be ready. She is silent, pensive and avoids my weak attempts at conversation. We've been sitting in this spot for three hours. Whereas I have had the chance to get out once or twice, she has willingly confined herself to the car.
That's another thing that is different about her. Before, I thought she was totally devoted to the cases. Now, she eats, sleeps and breathes cases. No exaggeration on my part at all. Even when I get to work early, she is already on her second cup of coffee. When second shift moves in and has gotten underway, when everyone else is at home or out clubbing, she is at work, meticulously putting the pieces back together.
We haven't had a real conversation in months. Even before it all happened, we used to spar each other verbally every chance we got, but now, she doesn't even crack a smile when I make a joke. I want the old Sam back. The one who would go out with us after work and wasn't afraid to have fun. Now she was trying to compensate for her lack of confidence by making it up in other areas like work and fitness.
The scandal that swept over the office has done its damage. No residual effects though. Most of us already suspected something after a while. It became undeniable after the OPR investigation and after she got shot, well, no one was surprised by Jack's actions.
To be honest though, I would have gone in for her if I'd been in Jack's shoes. Even if I weren't, she is someone worth sacrificing your life. She has been a great friend to me all these years and I would never want to lose her.
"We're going to lose this guy if don't start paying attention," she says in an playful voice. It was the first time she'd said something in almost 45 minutes.
"If you'd stop checking yourself out in the mirror maybe I wouldn't have to pay attention."
"Danny, I've been staring at the man sitting in the restaurant behind us. He's been sitting there for the last hour."
"Well, uh, Sam, most people like to eat, sitting down. Call me crazy but I bet that's what he's doing right now," I said mockingly. She threw me a look then shook her head.
"Thanks for that insight into daily life. No, look, he's been sitting there for an hour straight, only had one drink and nothing to read."
"He could be waiting for someone."
"Hasn't checked his watch once," she shot back quickly, already anticipating my line of thought.
"Well, if you are so apprehensive about him, why don't you go check it out?" I said in a daring manner.
"I'll give him five minutes and see if he decides to take off, if not, I'll pay him a visit," she returned with decisiveness.
"Fine by me, Sam. You call the shots today, boss."
"Oh so I'm the boss now? Not the token blond sitting in the car beside you who is so astounded by your wit she can hardly contain herself?" she said quickly. She closed her eyes hard and turned the other way. I could tell she regretted the remark. It ranked up there on the top ten list of playful jabs gone wrong. I didn't mind though. This was better than silence. I could work with sarcasm and anger, but silence was like putting on those dreaded dress shoes, you had to keep at it until it gave way.
She turned back to me, biting her lip in annoyance with herself.
"Sorry Danny, I uh-"
"Didn't mean that. I know. Look who you're talking to here. Do you think a few words matter?"
"No. I know you don't mind, I just have trouble harnessing all this, this - stuff that I have overflow."
"Yeah how's that therapy coming along?"
"How do you think?"
I could envision her sitting in the chair now, her silence stubborn and unrelenting. She was not there by choice and had no intention on changing her mind. Jack was the one who recommended her, which made going to therapy that much worse. It hadn't been long after the incident with Martin. Jack thought she had post traumatic stress disorder. Which wasn't that off of a diagnosis, but he neglected to speak with her about it. She just got a letter in her box summoning her to the resident psychotherapist later that afternoon.
It had been a dull day, we'd had no leads on this dead-end case and the two suspects getting killed by one agent hadn't helped matters. After she read the letter she didn't get up instantly and storm into his office, ranting and raving. No, she just sat back in her chair and stared, just stared out into space at nothing in particular. She didn't seem bothered or frustrated, just a little hurt. I think it was a blow to her confidence that someone would find fault with her work or her in general.
Normally, any person severely injured on duty or one who followed the same course of action that Samantha had, post shooting, would have gone to the therapist anyway. But Sam felt that nothing was wrong with her and she didn't want someone to tell her there was. I guess she was in denial, because her behavior was truly different, like she hadn't been able to pick up all the pieces. Part of her was left behind in that bookstore, a part that she wasn't willing to admit.
She remained calm throughout the meeting during the middle of the morning and nodded when Jack asked her to come to his office. I guess the fact that she wasn't displaying her anger was what was so alarming. When she got so angry she couldn't get past releasing a few words and emotions, I knew an explosion was bound to follow.
Which is exactly what happened.
Realistically, who wouldn't have? She was still recovering from the shooting, two guys tried to repeat the act but they weren't quick enough. Samantha had used her right to fire a weapon and taken the lives of two guilty men. And they were certainly guilty. They'd kidnapped three different children over five years, doing malicious things to them. No loss on this planet by their not being here.
Lately, she never expressed her anger, she just sucked it up like a vacuum and moved on like nothing ever happened. People just don't do that. It can't be natural. At least I wasn't on the receiving end. Personally, I was afraid for Jack.
Samantha placed her folder on her desk and followed Jack into his office, carefully shutting the door behind her. All the blinds were closed except one, and when I maneuvered properly in my chair I could see what was going on. I could have, but I didn't. It was none of my business what was to pass between them. At least it wasn't until ten minutes later when I could hear her voice clearly over the office chatter.
I sat forward on my elbows and saw Jack leaning against his desk while Sam sat in the chair next to it. Her face had this look - it's so hard to place, but it held so many emotions that I doubt it could ever be recreated. She was emphasizing every sentence with her hands, a clear sign of frustration. I leaned back in my chair again, aware that my awkward movements were drawing attention to myself.
She stood up quickly and began walking around his office, her frustration evident. All of a sudden, the wooden slats slapped together as they were drawn up in a fashion that drew attention from all who were near. Jack sat back and watched in silence as she went to every window, her anger overwhelming her self restraint. She glanced at me as she pulled up the blind that gave me the clearest view. I swallowed hard. She hesitated slightly and turned around, her long hair whipping in the opposite direction. Sam looked at Jack and said something about not being ashamed of anything. A few quick strides later, and with the door open, she calmly said, "And I don't need help. I'm fine."
Her breath heaving in her chest, she stood there facing Jack for what seemed like a minute. They exchanged no more words, and she quietly removed herself from his doorway.
Two hours later, she was sitting in the therapist's office, her crossed leg bouncing up and down in impatience. She was required to be there, but she didn't have to say one word. And she didn't.
Her therapist, Dr. Connor, didn't force her to do one thing. He was used to the silent treatment from the agents. It didn't bother him though. He'd have her weeping over two pounds of Kleenex by the end of the month. Not even the assassins can survive without shedding a tear or two.
I adjusted in my seat and looked in my rear view mirror. Nothing exciting going on in that direction, nor to my left or right. All I could do was look ahead. Sam's guy ended up moving before his time was up so she didn't move in on him. The man only had a minute left anyway before SA Samantha Spade grilled his sorry self.
"What kind of questions does he ask you?"
"What?" She asked, slightly confused.
"The shrink what does he ask?"
"I don't know. Stuff."
"Wow, he is the curious type isn't he?"
"No, I have been going to him for what, two months now? We have exchanged no more than ten minutes worth of conversation."
"And he hasn't gotten anything out of you?"
"He assumes that I don't know how this whole thing works. That I will give in because I have the obligatory person to listen to my problems. I don't have any problems. I'm not in denial. I am just trying to sort this mess out and move on with my life, and Jack assumes - whatever, and I get screwed because of it. It's not like I'm going to go postal one day and start offing innocents." She stopped abruptly and looked over at me with a critical eye.
"You think I'm different don't you?"
"Truth?"
"Definitely."
"You've been through a helluva lot this year, what with the accident and Jack and the whole thing with Martin and the shootings. I don't see how you couldn't be different."
Her eyes were trained on my fingers which rested on the steering wheel. She kept them there as she spoke again.
"Am I different bad or am I just different?"
"Borderline bad. You seem like a walking mass of emotion. You could be viewed as a potentially destructive individual. You're always at work, you don't laugh anymore, you never go out with me and Martin or any guy for that matter, and you still haven't made fun of my tie yet. So yes, I'd say you were different, bad different."
The car was enveloped with silence. I didn't know if I meant everything I said, but it all sounded right. Of course, I wasn't the one taking the criticism.
She took a deep breath and sighed. I couldn't tell if she was getting teary eyed or if it was from the breath she took. Her gaze averted, she bent her head down and smoothed out the papers she held in her lap.
"I do get angry, Danny, just not in front of people anymore. I don't want them to assume it's from the accident. I don't want it to be used as a scapegoat for any of my behavior. I work, because," she paused, unwilling to admit the words. "Because it's all I have. I don't want to go out anymore. I am tired of dating and looking for Mr. Wrong. And what has there been to laugh at recently?"
I had no response to give her. To be honest, there wasn't anything. There never was. We laughed anyway. It was what we did. Well, we at least laughed at our snide remarks and crude jokes.
"I don't think anyone would use your getting angry against you. I think we are more afraid of you lack of emotion than otherwise. Martin flipped out because you showed no remorse after shooting those guys, Jack was obviously concerned."
"No, he just didn't want another OPR investigation."
"What is with you? Do you want out of the unit? Is it that hard for you to be around him, Sam?"
I bit my tongue. I never should have said that. We shouldn't even be speaking about this.
She looked at me with one of those "deer caught in headlights" looks. It was particularly good with those dark eyes of hers. Her temples went in and out with each clench of her jaw. I knew she wanted to say something, but she had to pick her words carefully.
"What is it that you think happened, Danny?"
Wait. How did this get turned on me?
"What? What do you mean?"
"Well, what do you think happened between me and Jack?"
I didn't hesitate. She knew I did not judge her for what happened, but she knew I would have something to say about it.
"I think you broke up a family. I think you broke regulations and protocol. I think you made a mistake. I think you made him happy."
She looked up at me with the last bit. I meant it. He was happy for a while, until his world started to crumble.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Have an affair. What compelled you to do it?"
She didn't respond immediately. Her face was a blanket, nothing revealing what went on inside her head.
"Do you want it straight up, or the enhanced version?"
"We got time, give it some flair."
She smiled at me and began to unconsciously turn the ring on her right hand.
"This stays in this car," she said before beginning.
"Without a doubt."
"It all had to do with timing Danny. Nothing more. Stuff happened. We happened. The end."
"That's all I get? Seriously, Sam I want to know. You owe it to me as a team member, to know why you slept with our boss."
"I do?"
"No, but I still want to know."
She took another deep breath and sighed. I knew she'd never told anyone about that whole, situation. This was a big step for her.
"Okay, here we go - with flair." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.
"We were like two lost people who randomly met on a rooftop; we danced around for a while and shared some good times, no, wonderful times. Then the music stopped with a bang and all we could do was jump from that rooftop. We jumped without parachutes and fell hard, both unable to catch the other. It was expecting the inevitable. Still, we picked each other up, dusted ourselves off and went our separate ways."
"How separate are they?"
She closed her eyes hard and swallowed.
"Completely."
"Good. I liked that story better, especially the jumping without a parachute part - very poetic."
"Yeah, I thought you'd like that."
"You feel better?"
"No, not really. Who's to say you won't ever get questioned again. You'd be stuck with this hanging over your head."
"Don't worry about me, I have worse problems than this," I said. Her problems were bad, but mine were comparative.
We sat in silence for a bit, milling over our own thoughts. Sam squinted into her side mirror and tapped me on the arm.
"Danny, check out brown shirt, four o'clock. Doesn't he look like our suspect?"
"No, our guy isn't that old. Don't forget he has a finger missing on his left hand as well."
Our silence returned, more comfortable than before. We were anxious to get out of there, but her mood was a little lighter than it'd previously been.
I always wondered what it would be like to get shot. I've experienced those situations to where it almost happens, to that millisecond of time that whoever fires his weapon first, wins. Never like Sam though. I've never had a guy right on me. I'd probably freeze up or something.
"What did it feel like?"
She had no idea what I was talking about. It was a rather arbitrary question.
"What? Getting shot?"
"Yeah, did time slow down? Was it like an immense shooting pain up and down your leg or what?"
People had asked her in the past and she always gave them the same bland answer, but I knew she wouldn't do that to me. She would tell me what really happened..
Her fingers grazed the top of the area where she was shot. Even now she still winces. I wonder if she'd let me see it some time, but that would sound forward of me. One day we'll get bored enough to start comparing scars. Probably on one of those all-day stake outs in some hole-in-the-wall apartment.
"You know how it feels when you trip on something and you spend forever trying to not fall all the way? How you catch yourself, but not fully gain balance? Like you are in the act of trying to stop yourself but cant?"
"Yeah, I did it just this morning, except I ran into an old lady instead."
"When I saw them struggling, it felt like I was falling and I couldn't stop it. I knew if I didn't get to them the gun would go off. I knew I needed to get out of the way, but I couldn't do it fast enough. Two more seconds and I could have disarmed him. Instead I was two steps short and two seconds late."
"Kind of like jumping without a parachute?"
"Funny."
"I'm serious. I still can't imagine being in that kind of situation. Geez, I would be messed up. More than you at least."
"Are you saying that I'm 'Messed up' Danny?"
"No I am just saying that under the circumstances, it's understandable that you'd react the way you have."
I need to learn when to shut up. She didn't respond for a minute. She got that far off look again, like she was somewhere else - a safer place that didn't involve politics or therapists.
"It did happen in slow motion," she said quietly. Her sudden comment confused me for a moment. "I knew I wanted the gun, and then I heard the shot, and time seemed to freeze. Not like in the movies though, it was more chaotic than that. I couldn't see the bullet, but the mere fact that it was coming at me - I could feel my heart beat speeding up and my muscles tense. I was prepared for it. And then it went through me, and it felt like I was being ripped into, inch by inch. It didn't really hurt at first, but after I fell, the pain came and it surged through my body, all at once, then in waves. After ten minutes, I got dizzy and those sunspots started to come, I couldn't really focus on much, but I knew I didn't want him to go off and shoot anyone else. I am glad it was me rather than anyone else, because I'd have to live with that, knowing it was my fault. I'd rather it be my own fault that I got shot."
"But it wasn't your fault. It just happened. It was a series of uncontrollable events that created a volatile situation over which you had no control. Accept that, and you'll be fine."
"Right. Easier said than done."
"You know what I mean."
"I know what you mean, but it still isn't that easy. I don't sleep. Not at all. When I close my eyes, everything gets real quiet, like when I was lying in the bookstore. I feel like I am waiting, but this time, no one shows up. No knight in shinning armor, no swat team, I am just trapped in silent, uncomfortable state and there is no way out. It's times like that, when everything I've worked so hard for starts to regress and I fall back to ground zero."
Ground zero. Odd that she chose that phrase. I understand where she is coming from, however, I can't fully appreciate her situation. Is it that traumatic to get shot, or was it the entire situation? Constant fear and regret, never knowing what is real or not, and the whole trust issue. Such a state of mind could never be comfortable.
"If you had it to do over, would you have shot those guys?"
Without a second to think she responded, "In a heartbeat. There are these moments, even when everything else is cloudy, that what you are looking for is right in front of you. I didn't want to wait for that shot to go off and not know where the bullet was headed. If I hadn't fired, I would have been shot. Martin thinks that they didn't pose as big of a threat, but he wasn't holding one of them either. It was either me or them. I made a choice and I stand by it."
"But afterward, you were so calm, so complacent," I said objectively.
"Everyone reacts differently. When's the last time you shot someone, Danny? It's not like I do it everyday and we can use that as an example. I just took the lives of two people who breathe, and sleep, and make decisions like the rest of us. I had to justify my actions with myself. Forgive me if I don't fall to the floor and start weeping."
She was irritated. The shooting had been a sore topic for her, and she didn't enjoy being second guessed. I was merely trying to state the fact that her behavior was questionable after she shot them.
"I didn't mean it like that, Sam. It's just that Jack didn't want you to go out to begin with, and your first week out - you rack up two bodies. Not only did it make you look bad, but it also made his judgment look questionable. Don't keep going around thinking the world is out to get you. Sometimes we are just looking out in your best interest."
I said my peace. I felt better. Someone needed to say it, and she certainly wasn't willing to listen to Jack.
We sat in silence until the pizza boy from the delivery place across the street returned. Our target was this sketchy looking building about a quarter of a block away that had a Chinese place beneath it. Sam checked her watch then said she needed to get out and stretch her legs.
I sat there for two minutes trying to focus on the matter at hand. It was quite difficult, especially when I had someone like Samantha sitting next to me. She definitely made life more exciting.
"Oh my goodness. That's him!" Her words startled me out of my thoughts.
She was right. A thirtysomething suit walked down the street. He was obviously out of place, but still comfortable in his surroundings. He was supposed to be making a drop during this afternoon, and we were ready for it.
"Okay you know what to do," I said as I got out of the drivers side. She was going to go from behind and I was going to approach him. The basic drill. I love how inconspicuous we look. No, I'm not an FBI agent getting out of a government fleet car with my snazzy sunglasses on.
I gave Sam one last glance and waited until she was in position before I approached the suspect. He was leaning against the building, taking a long drag from his cigarette with his four-digit hand. I pulled my badge out from my jacket and flipped it open as I introduced myself.
"Yeah, so what?" He had a distinctive northern accent. Definitely from Canada.
"I was wondering if you could tell me what's in the suitcase, sir."
He glanced down at the leather bound case and back up at me.
"Clothes. Pair of shoes."
"Could I look inside please?"
"Nah, piss off." He flicked his cigarette at me. Great way to treat a federal agent.
"Mr. Salis, I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me please." I bent down to pick up the suitcase.
He pushed me away quickly and grabbed the case, then turned in the opposite direction and took off running. Sam waited until he got near then stuck her hand out in a 'C' shape, and directed it right at his throat. He was instantly grounded. Even though Sam had disabled him, he was putting up a nasty fight.
Somewhere in the midst of the ruffle, he pulled a gun. The butt of this gun made contact with the side of Samantha's head and she was slightly stunned. I pulled mine immediately and we stood in a face off. Sam was on all fours, trying to regain her balance. I saw him look at me, then look at her. I knew what he was going to do, he cocked his gun and snarled with this guttural tone.
He turned towards Sam and I fired. His gun went off as well and ricochet off the hubcap of a nearby car. My bullet found his chest, in his right pectoral muscle. He fell to the pavement and Sam pulled his gun from his grasp. She looked at me with a mixture of appreciation and surprise.
She was right. Sometimes, you just know.
Maybe she didn't need to see a therapist. Maybe it just took time.
We called an ambulance and Frank Salis was taken away with a severe gun wound to the chest. Samantha and I would both have a fun filled afternoon in Jack's office. I've grown to love accounting for my actions as of late. And if I had to make the decision again, I'd fire.
Sometimes, you just know.
FIN
I admit, it is a bit rusty, and the shooting was more of a foil for their discussion than anything. Hopefully it wasn't too bland.