Author's Note: Yes, I know. About damn time. :) -- Due to the computer problems I mentioned earlier, I've had to re-write this chapter three different times. I hate re-writing. It's never as good as the original, and, in my opinion, each re-write just made this chapter less satisfying for me personally as far as writing goes. Am I happy with it now? Not even close. But I finally decided it was time to just give up, post it, and be able to move on to different chapters which will almost certainly go more smoothly. Also, my long absence from Profiler-writing has left me sadly beta-reader-less, so if you're interested please give me an e-mail at erana4568@aol.com. Thanks. Hope this chapter isn't as disappointing to you as it's been to me. :)
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Chapter Six
If asked what he hated most in the world, Bailey Malone would have immediately answered, 'being second-guessed'. Now, staring up at Agent Blevins, section chief of the VCTF, he was forced to consider changing that to being accused of something that he had actually done. It left so little room for righteous indignation.
"For the last time, sir, I have no idea how Grant managed to escape. I'd imagine his being a highly trained agent might have something to do with it."
Blevins, who'd been pacing around Bailey's office for what felt like the last week, instead of just the last two hours, didn't look amused. "You get a tip telling you that a murder of a *federal agent* is going to occur, you have your people surround the building, and not only do you fail to catch the murderer, you can't even stop the murder! I'd like to know how that's possible, Malone, I really would."
Bailey sighed heavily. "Is it too much to hope that what I *just said* will actually only be the second to last time I have to say it?"
"Don't get smart with me," Blevins snapped irritably. "Do you have any idea the kind of publicity nightmare this is going to be when it gets out? I hope for the sake of your own job and reputation you manage to come up with a slightly better explanation than 'I have no idea' really damn fast!" With that, the senior agent stormed out of the office, slamming the door loudly behind him. Bailey wondered idly how much longer his door would stand up to that kind of treatment.
Before Bailey managed to even push his desk back, the door opened once again and George's head appeared inside his room. "We got a problem."
"What?" Bailey snapped, deciding that the thing he hated most in the world was actually the word 'problem'.
George walked further into the room and laid a report down on Bailey's desk. "If they didn't know Sam and John were together before, they sure do now. Some kids found Sam's car parked in the woods and called the local cops."
"Damn it!" Bailey exclaimed, rising from his chair. "Why the hell couldn't they've just stolen her car like normal kids?" Giving a heavy sigh, Bailey picked up the report and scanned it, then looked outside his office windows cautiously before asking, "Have you heard anything from them since last time?"
George shook his head grimly. "Not a word."
Bailey sat back down and closed his eyes. "When you do, George, I wanna know about it. You got that?"
"Loud and clear," George confirmed, and backed out of the office as quickly as he'd entered it.
* * * * *
John leaned back against the front of the car, resisting the urge to take a twelfth look at his watch as he watched Sam. She'd been on the payphone with her daughter for the last twelve minutes, and each one had dragged by. Apparently she didn't quite grasp that being out in the open, even if only at a road stop, might just be a bad idea. After all, what mattered more? Being arrested, or hearing all about the latest in Chloe's vast array of watercolor impressions?
For Sam, the answer was obviously watercolor impressions.
He cleared his throat loudly, but Sam showed no signs of hearing him, instead asking Chloe if she felt blue was really the right color for clouds, as well as sky. If today's weather was anything to go by, John would've gone with gray.
A light drizzle had started less than three minutes into Sam's riveting conversation, and had been steadily increasing ever since. Now it hit its stride, pouring from the sky forcefully. John pushed patience aside and walked as quickly as his still-healing leg would allow over to the payphone. He tapped Sam on the shoulder and gestured to the car before turning back around, her apologetic tone the only part of her finally ending conversation he was able to make out over the sound of the rain.
Moments later she joined him in the car, pushing rain-soaked hair out of her eyes and shivering. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, not sounding in the least bit apologetic as she started the car.
John ignored her irritation and instead took in their surroundings once again, making certain that the occupants of the only other nearby car hadn't paid them any attention. It was hard to see through the rain, but it didn't seem as though the two people had even glanced over at them; both appeared to be sleeping. "We shouldn't spend too long in one place," he finally said, reaching over to turn up the heat.
Sam slapped his hand away from the knob. "I like it where it is," she snapped, as she pulled away from the payphones and towards the exit. "And if I could have used the phone at the hotel, I would have," she added, and turned on the windshield wipers.
* * * * *
John had never known silence could be deafening until another twenty minutes, and a brief pit stop to exchange driving responsibilities, had passed.
Last night, for the briefest of moments, he'd felt a change between he and Sam, a realization that things weren't what they'd been back in the VCTF, and maybe that was a good thing. They'd been close then, certainly friends, but he'd never sat next to her on a bed, soothing her from a nightmare. She'd never spoken her own secrets to him, never let him forget that she was strong and not in need of protection. At least, not his protection. But last night, she'd been vulnerable, and she hadn't tried to hide or shield it, hadn't turned away from him or pushed away his concerns. Sam had confided in him. She'd trusted him.
But he hadn't been able to reciprocate.
When she'd offered to tell him the truth, whatever reason kept her from contacting him these past two years, he'd only wanted to silence her. Because if she told him, then he'd have to respond. He'd have to let her know, beyond insinuation, how he'd felt, how she'd hurt him. And with the reason left unspoken, he could fool himself into believing it was a good one. That somehow, if he knew, he would not only understand but forgive.
John couldn't give that up.
Sam suddenly sat up in her seat, blue eyes widening in fright. "John," she said, sharply.
John glanced away from the road to look at her. "What?" he asked, voice clipped, wanting to keep the distance between them.
She shook her head fiercely, and he knew instantly whatever was causing her fear, it had nothing to do with them personally. "The rearview mirror," she said, deliberately leaning back in her seat and forcing a calm expression to overtake the worry.
John returned his gaze to the road, and as casually as possible glanced up.
Right into the eyes of Detective Grayson.
Memory flooded back, filling his minds eye, and it was all he could do to keep control of the car. The detective had called in the FBI because of a pair of identical murders in his city four years ago. He, Sam and Bailey had flown in, and had spent a solid month trying to track down the killers. Sleepless nights of the four of them at the station, sharing pizzas and staring at crime scene photos rose in his mind. Alex Grayson showing them the scenes personally, taking them out for dinners on him, the football game they'd taken in on their last night in town before Bailey had finally thrown in the towel and admitted they were at an impasse.
The phone call a month later, inviting them back to celebrate the capture of the murderer. An invitation the three FBI agents had gladly accepted.
John took a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the rearview mirror. "Shit."
Sam's deep breath seemed louder to him than the roar of the dozen engines surrounding them, and he fought against the urge to shush her. "I don't think he's recognized us," she whispered, apparently feeling the same sense of paranoia that somehow the man in the car behind them would hear.
"Yet," John replied shortly. The media might not know John's face yet, but he had no doubt his picture had been circulated through every precinct between here and Atlanta. And while he and Alex had gotten along extremely well four years ago, he knew they were nowhere near close enough for the younger man to even hesitate in arresting him.
"We should get off this road," Sam said, stating the obvious and looking out the window for the exit signs.
John shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Too risky. As long as we're ahead of him, he can't see our faces. The second we pull off, though..."
"What about when he exits?" Sam asked reasonably. "If we leave, there's just a chance he might look over, but when *he* leaves, he's going to see us."
John eyed the traffic, fighting down panic as he searched desperately for an opening that would allow him to put some distance between the two cars. Spotting a break in the HOV lane, he signaled and pulled in, picking up speed to merge.
Sam buried her face in her hands. "John! What did you just do?"
The second the words left her mouth, the police siren sounded over the traffic.
~End Chapter Six~
End Note: Sorry for the cliffhanger ending, but from now on I plan to update 'Memory Remains' every Sunday, so if I manage to actually be *scheduled* for once, you should find another chapter up next week.
Beta-volunteers'd make me very happy, just to remind you. :)
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Chapter Six
If asked what he hated most in the world, Bailey Malone would have immediately answered, 'being second-guessed'. Now, staring up at Agent Blevins, section chief of the VCTF, he was forced to consider changing that to being accused of something that he had actually done. It left so little room for righteous indignation.
"For the last time, sir, I have no idea how Grant managed to escape. I'd imagine his being a highly trained agent might have something to do with it."
Blevins, who'd been pacing around Bailey's office for what felt like the last week, instead of just the last two hours, didn't look amused. "You get a tip telling you that a murder of a *federal agent* is going to occur, you have your people surround the building, and not only do you fail to catch the murderer, you can't even stop the murder! I'd like to know how that's possible, Malone, I really would."
Bailey sighed heavily. "Is it too much to hope that what I *just said* will actually only be the second to last time I have to say it?"
"Don't get smart with me," Blevins snapped irritably. "Do you have any idea the kind of publicity nightmare this is going to be when it gets out? I hope for the sake of your own job and reputation you manage to come up with a slightly better explanation than 'I have no idea' really damn fast!" With that, the senior agent stormed out of the office, slamming the door loudly behind him. Bailey wondered idly how much longer his door would stand up to that kind of treatment.
Before Bailey managed to even push his desk back, the door opened once again and George's head appeared inside his room. "We got a problem."
"What?" Bailey snapped, deciding that the thing he hated most in the world was actually the word 'problem'.
George walked further into the room and laid a report down on Bailey's desk. "If they didn't know Sam and John were together before, they sure do now. Some kids found Sam's car parked in the woods and called the local cops."
"Damn it!" Bailey exclaimed, rising from his chair. "Why the hell couldn't they've just stolen her car like normal kids?" Giving a heavy sigh, Bailey picked up the report and scanned it, then looked outside his office windows cautiously before asking, "Have you heard anything from them since last time?"
George shook his head grimly. "Not a word."
Bailey sat back down and closed his eyes. "When you do, George, I wanna know about it. You got that?"
"Loud and clear," George confirmed, and backed out of the office as quickly as he'd entered it.
* * * * *
John leaned back against the front of the car, resisting the urge to take a twelfth look at his watch as he watched Sam. She'd been on the payphone with her daughter for the last twelve minutes, and each one had dragged by. Apparently she didn't quite grasp that being out in the open, even if only at a road stop, might just be a bad idea. After all, what mattered more? Being arrested, or hearing all about the latest in Chloe's vast array of watercolor impressions?
For Sam, the answer was obviously watercolor impressions.
He cleared his throat loudly, but Sam showed no signs of hearing him, instead asking Chloe if she felt blue was really the right color for clouds, as well as sky. If today's weather was anything to go by, John would've gone with gray.
A light drizzle had started less than three minutes into Sam's riveting conversation, and had been steadily increasing ever since. Now it hit its stride, pouring from the sky forcefully. John pushed patience aside and walked as quickly as his still-healing leg would allow over to the payphone. He tapped Sam on the shoulder and gestured to the car before turning back around, her apologetic tone the only part of her finally ending conversation he was able to make out over the sound of the rain.
Moments later she joined him in the car, pushing rain-soaked hair out of her eyes and shivering. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, not sounding in the least bit apologetic as she started the car.
John ignored her irritation and instead took in their surroundings once again, making certain that the occupants of the only other nearby car hadn't paid them any attention. It was hard to see through the rain, but it didn't seem as though the two people had even glanced over at them; both appeared to be sleeping. "We shouldn't spend too long in one place," he finally said, reaching over to turn up the heat.
Sam slapped his hand away from the knob. "I like it where it is," she snapped, as she pulled away from the payphones and towards the exit. "And if I could have used the phone at the hotel, I would have," she added, and turned on the windshield wipers.
* * * * *
John had never known silence could be deafening until another twenty minutes, and a brief pit stop to exchange driving responsibilities, had passed.
Last night, for the briefest of moments, he'd felt a change between he and Sam, a realization that things weren't what they'd been back in the VCTF, and maybe that was a good thing. They'd been close then, certainly friends, but he'd never sat next to her on a bed, soothing her from a nightmare. She'd never spoken her own secrets to him, never let him forget that she was strong and not in need of protection. At least, not his protection. But last night, she'd been vulnerable, and she hadn't tried to hide or shield it, hadn't turned away from him or pushed away his concerns. Sam had confided in him. She'd trusted him.
But he hadn't been able to reciprocate.
When she'd offered to tell him the truth, whatever reason kept her from contacting him these past two years, he'd only wanted to silence her. Because if she told him, then he'd have to respond. He'd have to let her know, beyond insinuation, how he'd felt, how she'd hurt him. And with the reason left unspoken, he could fool himself into believing it was a good one. That somehow, if he knew, he would not only understand but forgive.
John couldn't give that up.
Sam suddenly sat up in her seat, blue eyes widening in fright. "John," she said, sharply.
John glanced away from the road to look at her. "What?" he asked, voice clipped, wanting to keep the distance between them.
She shook her head fiercely, and he knew instantly whatever was causing her fear, it had nothing to do with them personally. "The rearview mirror," she said, deliberately leaning back in her seat and forcing a calm expression to overtake the worry.
John returned his gaze to the road, and as casually as possible glanced up.
Right into the eyes of Detective Grayson.
Memory flooded back, filling his minds eye, and it was all he could do to keep control of the car. The detective had called in the FBI because of a pair of identical murders in his city four years ago. He, Sam and Bailey had flown in, and had spent a solid month trying to track down the killers. Sleepless nights of the four of them at the station, sharing pizzas and staring at crime scene photos rose in his mind. Alex Grayson showing them the scenes personally, taking them out for dinners on him, the football game they'd taken in on their last night in town before Bailey had finally thrown in the towel and admitted they were at an impasse.
The phone call a month later, inviting them back to celebrate the capture of the murderer. An invitation the three FBI agents had gladly accepted.
John took a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from the rearview mirror. "Shit."
Sam's deep breath seemed louder to him than the roar of the dozen engines surrounding them, and he fought against the urge to shush her. "I don't think he's recognized us," she whispered, apparently feeling the same sense of paranoia that somehow the man in the car behind them would hear.
"Yet," John replied shortly. The media might not know John's face yet, but he had no doubt his picture had been circulated through every precinct between here and Atlanta. And while he and Alex had gotten along extremely well four years ago, he knew they were nowhere near close enough for the younger man to even hesitate in arresting him.
"We should get off this road," Sam said, stating the obvious and looking out the window for the exit signs.
John shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Too risky. As long as we're ahead of him, he can't see our faces. The second we pull off, though..."
"What about when he exits?" Sam asked reasonably. "If we leave, there's just a chance he might look over, but when *he* leaves, he's going to see us."
John eyed the traffic, fighting down panic as he searched desperately for an opening that would allow him to put some distance between the two cars. Spotting a break in the HOV lane, he signaled and pulled in, picking up speed to merge.
Sam buried her face in her hands. "John! What did you just do?"
The second the words left her mouth, the police siren sounded over the traffic.
~End Chapter Six~
End Note: Sorry for the cliffhanger ending, but from now on I plan to update 'Memory Remains' every Sunday, so if I manage to actually be *scheduled* for once, you should find another chapter up next week.
Beta-volunteers'd make me very happy, just to remind you. :)