Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

Chapter Nineteen

9.45pm

"Hey."

As the apartment door swung open, Sam's casual greeting hung in the air between them. Her neutral smile remained fixed on her face as she took in Martin's equally unreadable expression. Realising she had nothing else to add, she forced herself to catch his eye. Breaking the contact, he nodded at her imperceptibly before silently stepping back to let her inside. Allowing herself to glance at him briefly as she did so, she took his cue moving wordlessly past him.

Beginning to read the situation, Sam steeled herself. Her fears about coming here tonight quickly being confirmed, she had a growing feeling that this time feigning innocence would no longer be enough. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only thing she knew how to do. When she finally broke the silence, even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangely detached.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Reports, you know?"

"I know." There was a distinct lack emotion in his tone.

"Rough day, huh?"

Her pacifying gesture was ignored.

Shifting her weight uncomfortably, Sam eyed the couch. It had been a long day for all involved. She'd barely slept, her feet were beginning to ache and this conversation was already draining the last remnants of energy that had got her this far. Her body was screaming at her to just go and sit down, but her mind was calculating what the hidden implications of this action might be. With a hesitant glance, she cautiously slid further into the room, choosing instead to lower herself onto the single seat closest to her whilst placing her bag on the floor beside her.

Martin watched her without comment. She was still wearing her coat, he noticed.

"It must've been tough," she offered sympathetically, not seeking out his eyes, "finding Adam like that."

Martin shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

Ignoring his dismissal, she continued slowly. "Laura Walker was pretty devastated. We were at the house when Danny called." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It was definitely intense."

"I'm sure Jack handled it." His tenor was congenial but a dangerous undertone was evident.

Struggling to keep her own voice even, she nodded. "He did."

Against her better judgement, she felt strangely compelled to prolong the conversation. As if the pretence of normalcy would somehow be enough to fool them both back into complacency.

"It was a lucky break finding that witness at the motel. I don't think his wife would've been able to cope if we'd had to tell her he'd just left."

His response was measured. "Well some people just have to manage, don't they?"

Mystified by the detachment in her own voice, Sam was struggling to comprehend exactly why it was that she was still talking. The disquieting sensation spreading slowly from her stomach to her chest told her that this was fast becoming the one situation she had been working so tirelessly to avoid. Yet for a reason she was still attempting to grasp, she could feel an icy calm settling over her.

Registering little reaction, she shrugged. "At least she has something to hold onto."

Martin's eyes met hers. "Hmmm. That must be nice." There was a long pause. He was still watching her. "So," he let out on a long breath, "you sure had a lot of reports to finish." He indicated the clock. "The boss must've really twisted your arm, huh?"

Sam felt her spine stiffen. She knew that Martin was deliberately pushing her. They'd been here before. And he always seemed to know exactly what buttons to press. It was just another game they couldn't help but play. Just as she'd convince herself she finally had her balance, he'd push forward a little. There would be a deceptively innocent suggestion or just a look in his eyes – the look caught in that precarious limbo between hurt and resentment. Her ever-present guilt would be just enough to keep her from running, but it also guaranteed the retreat she would find herself making. She knew, from past experience, that all she had to do was take that small step back and the status quo would be restored. Sometimes this step took the form of a gesture, a word, a hint that one day she would be capable of giving him what he seemed to want from her. Other times it was a practised evasiveness which forced him to make his own retreat. But this time, as they both seemed to be acutely aware, their centre had shifted. He was backing her into a corner. And it looked as though the only way out was for her to finally make her choice.

"I had some things to take care of," she finally managed.

"I'm sure you did."

After this last comment, Martin stood mutely. The tension in the air between them was palpable. The only sounds in the room came from the minimal traffic on the street below.

Breaking the silence, Sam sat up straighter. Her expression was casual, but her nails, digging painfully into the underside of the chairs mottled fabric, belied her measured calm. Forcing herself to take an imperceptible breath, she allowed her fingertips to trace the soothing pattern of the upholstery.

"I wasn't sure what time you'd be back." She looked up at him. His accusatory tone was becoming harder to ignore and she struggled to remain impassive. "I didn't want to get here before you."

"You could've let yourself in." Martin lifted his own head to meet her gaze. For a split second, Sam's questioning expression betrayed her. But he noticed her blank mask slipping quickly back into place. A beat passed. "Sorry, I forgot I'm not meant to talk about that."

The undisguised harshness in his voice caused Sam to turn away, unprepared for such a direct blow so early on. As she attempted to buy herself some time, her attention fell on the items adorning the kitchen counter and a realisation set in. "You've been drinking," she noted softly.

Martin heard a hint of reproach in the words. Or was it more disappointment? He smiled humourlessly, indicating the second glass. "Don't worry. I left you some."

She looked back at him. "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why not? After all, it's how all this started, isn't it?" His hand gestured dismissively between the two of them.

Painfully meeting his eyes, Sam was aware of her defences beginning to crumble. His voice dripped with a scathing bitterness but the genuine hurt that flashed across his face as he had spoken made her heart constrict. How the hell had she let things get this far? How had she done this? To all of them? She cared for Martin. She really did. She'd tried. She really had. But she couldn't do this. Not like this. She stared, motionless. Martin mirrored her action. The two of them trapped in their own private stalemate. The sound of her pulse in her ears, Sam felt the unnerving sensation that the apartment walls were inexplicably closing in on her. Her fingernails once again found the battered cushion. She couldn't let herself fall apart now. She wouldn't. She had to get out of here.

"I don't know why I came here," she muttered breathlessly, averting her eyes. Pushing herself out of the seat she made toward the door, but Martin was standing in front of it, staring her down almost aggressively. She still refused to look. As she brushed past him his voice filled the room.

"Well, seeing as you obviously didn't come for your usual reason, maybe you should leave. Because I'm not sure I know how to help you with anything else."

Turning in disbelief, Sam regarded the stranger before her. His back was still turned. The sense of barely-concealed numbness had been her shield for so long that she scarcely recognised these feelings that seemed to be fighting their way to the surface all at once. When her voice broke, she was unsure whether it was more out of frustration, anger or just regret.

"God, Martin. If there's something you want to say, won't you just damn well come out and say it?"

Martin whirled around to face her. His shirt was hanging haphazardly out of the top his pants and his face was flushed from the combination of alcohol and barely contained emotion. He knew he was running purely on adrenaline but as he gave into the welcomed sense of release rushing through him, he also knew he didn't much care. His eyes were glued on Sam as he realised for probably the first time since this whole thing began, he had her fullest attention.

Making a conscious decision to give himself over completely to this new found freedom he felt his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Don't you have something you need to say to me?"

Feeling the steady stream of carefully suppressed emotions searing themselves indelibly into her conscience, Sam flinched. Her head snapped up to meet Martin's.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Sam." He taunted her. "Reports?" He snorted incredulously. "Please."

"What?" Samantha watched him, her voice reflecting her expression, caught between shock and disbelief. "You think there's something going on between Jack and I?"

Another humourless smile played on Martin's lips. "It wouldn't exactly be the first time."

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she once again turned toward the door. "I am not having this conversation."

Martin sighed theatrically. "That's right. Run away," he almost sang. "Why should this time be any different, right? There's no relationship in the world that you can't just get up and walk out on." He laughed bitterly. "Oh, wait a minute. We both know that's not quite true."

"Oh, grow up, Martin." She didn't bother to turn around. "Call me when you sober up."

"Is that what you used to say to Jack?"

Her fingers clenched around the strap over her shoulder as she slowly turned to face him. Her expression was frozen.

"Oh, please." Her voice was low but her eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not go acting all pure and innocent with me now. You knew what the deal was when you got into this. I never hid anything from you."

Martin studied her with a forced casualness. His body swayed slightly and he set a hand down on the counter to steady himself.

"Yeah, but it was a little bit late by then, wasn't it? I was just the last to know, huh?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Hey, maybe we should just go ahead and have another OPR investigation. Isn't that how your relationships usually end?" The laughter was replaced by a smirk. "But then this was hardly a relationship, was it?"

"Well that's funny. 'Cause I didn't exactly hear you complaining in the bedroom."

The reply escaped before she could prevent it and she stopped, as if assessing the damage. But Martin had barely flinched.

"Well, I had to be getting something out of this, right?"

Sam's face contorted but her tone was surprisingly civil. "Go to hell, Martin."

Still meeting her eyes, he raised his free hand in mock apology. "Hey, what's the problem? I thought you liked guys who treated you like crap?"

"I… I…"

"No." His utterance was firm but rang of despair. "No. We are going to talk about this."

Although clearly trying to compose herself, Sam was visibly struggling to contain her emotions. Martin watched her, attempting to quell the sympathy for her that he could already feel returning. He had to do this. He needed some answers. He deserved some answers. The anger drained from his tone leaving only the sadness haunting his words.

"Just explain it to me, Sam. Please?" He could no longer hide the despair which was etched on his face. "Just tell me what I have to do to measure up." His eyes beseeched her. "'Cause I just don't get it."

Sam waited, trapped. Her carefully constructed walls were being torn down before her eyes, and it seemed she was left with no choice but to stand and watch.

His sorrow combining with his frustration, Martin's voice grew louder but lost none of its anguish. "Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I can't see the way you react when he's around? Do you think I don't notice the two of you staring at each other when you think nobody else is looking?" He shrugged helplessly. "Tell me what I have to do to make you look at me like that?"

Sam attempted a response, but no words came. Her silence was deafening to herself and it only seemed to antagonise Martin further. Noting the vein beginning to pulse in his neck, she braced herself for the onslaught she sensed was coming.

"What?" His voice hovered unsteadily in an uneasy mix of anger and desolation. "Maybe you'd have preferred it if I'd left you all alone in your bed after our times together." He paused. "Ooh. How about if I announced in front of our colleagues that I was leaving you for a new life, huh?" Bitterness seemed to have replaced his despondency. He emitted a slight chuckle. "But then somehow I don't think you'd be shedding tears for me if I walked into the office tomorrow and announced I was up and moving to a different city." Still he garnered no reply. The volume of his voice increased further. "Just tell me what I have to do, Sam. Because, if that's what you want, then I can do all of those things. After all, it doesn't exactly sound like a big commitment on my part."

The room was still.

"Oh, oh, I know! Why don't I just toss a chair through the window just for the hell of it?" Pushing himself away from the counter, he took a step forward. "How about that, huh?" Their faces were only inches apart but neither of them moved. "Maybe that'll make me into the kind of guy that you obviously want so badly."

Sam stared at him defiantly and Martin felt the last remnants of control slip from his grasp. He barely recognised the words falling from his mouth as his own but he seemed to have no inclination to hold them back. His voice was cold and eerily calculated.

"Oh, that's right I forgot. Nobody touches your precious Jack Malone. You'll have to forgive my manners. I've not actually done this before."

Sam's face visibly blanched but, as Martin continued, her expression gave nothing away.

"What? Nothing to say?" He paused challengingly. "You're not going to try and convince me that it has nothing to do with some screwed up daddy complex. Or maybe you just find the whole authority thing a turn on. Come on, I'm dying to know what his secret is. Surely he's not still your 'white knight', is he? Your hero?" His tone was almost jeering. "Oh, I've got it. Maybe, just maybe, it's 'cause you know, he's the only person you could be with, who's more screwed up than you are."

As the tirade came to an end, the sound of uneven breathing filled the room. Although both were unsure just whose breath they could hear.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam's voice was suddenly small.

Somewhere in the rational part of his mind, Martin realised that at some point in the last few moments a line had been irrevocably crossed. Through the haze, he registered Sam's shoulders trembling through her heavy coat and the haunted look in her eyes. Yet still he couldn't bring himself to stop. His own rage was suddenly replaced with the pain that he'd been trying so hard to fight. As the emotion stole back into his voice, he sounded almost melancholy. He was dimly aware that his expression probably matched hers.

He sighed deeply. "I guess I'm just sick of being your second choice." There was a beat. "But then you never really bothered to hide it, did you?"

Despite her rising anger, Sam began to feel tears trailing down her cheeks. Frustrated that she was allowing her emotions to show like this, she frantically brushed them away with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered painfully.

Martin watched her every move, a fresh glimmer of resentment appearing in his eyes. A new spurt of rage flared up. "Oh, so it's okay for you to cry when it's all about Jack? But any other time and you're just being weak?"

"Martin." It was almost a plea.

"No." He stopped firmly. "I want to know what makes him so god damn special."

She stared at him mutely, willing the tears into submission.

"Okay, well you're not going to answer that one. I should probably have learned that by now. So, let's see. What else is there?"

He paused, for the sheer purpose of dramatic effect. Sam waited apprehensively. There was no backing out now.

"Oh, yeah. Here's a good one. Why me?" His eyes never left hers. "Was I just convenient? A sure thing? Just some poor innocent little rich boy who you figured would go along without asking any of those awkward questions?" His gaze was challenging. "'Cause I have to hand it to you. It looks like you had me pegged." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "But then it's not like I really did anything to stop you, did I? I did exactly what you expected me to. I toed the line. I kept my mouth shut." She remained silent. "So, what am I? Tell me. Just some sort of practise run? Biding your time until you can finally live out your little fantasy for real?"

Recovering her speech, Sam took a breath. "You think this was all just some experiment in domestication for me?" Her words dripped with genuine incredulity.

He laughed harshly. "That's right. I forgot. You're Samantha Spade. You don't commit. You don't want what 'all the other girls' want. You know, I tried. I tried to be that person who could just be with you. I really hoped I could do it, and that it would be enough, for both of us. But I guess I was wrong, huh? I just don't know what you want, Sam. I'm not even sure that you do. But it seems obvious enough to everyone else."

Her initial shock dispelled, her rage was no longer contained. The words hissed out.

"Okay, Martin. You want to know what I want so badly? You really want to know?"

"Sure. Enlighten me." He spat feverishly.

The comment was low and acerbic but Sam's pitch rose in an increasingly wild response. Her tears had faded but her eyes now shone with fury and the freedom that came with it.

"What I want is for my private life to not be under scrutiny every fucking minute. What I want is to stop screwing up everyone else's lives only for me to still not get what I want." Her voice jumped another notch, shaking with the effort. "You just don't get it, do you? What I want is the cliché. I want someone who I can be happy just being with. I want someone who really wants to be with me. I want someone who can make me feel safe. I want someone who'll need me back." For the first time, her words over-flowed and she was powerless to stop them. "I want all the things that you are offering me."

Martin looked up in surprise as Sam's voice suddenly dropped. There was a brief pause as she seemed to comprehend exactly what it was she was saying. Her tone became heavy with the dawning realisation.

"I just don't want them from you."

Martin remained almost motionless. Though through the shock that her words had created, Sam thought she saw him flinch slightly. She knew she'd hurt him but she seemed to be on a roll. As her voice rose again to full pitch, a hint of irony crept into her tone.

"I want what everyone seems to know I can't have. I want Jack."

As Samantha's mouth snapped shut, there was a stunned silence from both parties. Her heart feeling as if it could beat right through her chest, she was struck by the sudden sensation that she might just throw up. Although the exact details of what she'd just screamed were kind of hazy, she was well-aware that she'd somehow just admitted to Martin what she'd spent all her energy avoiding admitting even to herself. She glanced apprehensively at the man opposite her.

Locked in his own private battle, Martin was yet to move, or to look at her. He guessed the expression on his face was one of shock. But he realised quickly that the emotion could probably be attributed not so much to what she'd said, but the fact that she had actually said it out loud. His adrenaline finally spent, it took all his energy to remain standing. Knowing he had to say something, he purposefully avoided her gaze, instead staring absently around the room. When he eventually spoke, he nodded curtly. His words were muted but civil.

"Well, at least we finally got that cleared up."

He knew she was still watching him. As his heartbeat returned to normal, he felt a hot flush of shame as his eyes came to rest on Samantha. Yet he couldn't bring himself to speak further.

Studying him warily, Sam felt rather than saw the fight run out of him. Her nerve ends were trembling and her senses were hyper-aware. Yet as she sensed the change in him, she felt her own body relax with his. Allowing themselves a moment to share in the shock of what had just transpired, the silence was almost courteous. As she brought her breathing under control, Sam wiped away the final traces of emotion from her cheek, hesitantly catching his eye.

"Well, I guess I kind of deserved some of that?"

Hanging his head, Martin appeared to shrink physically. "No, you didn't." His response was barely audible. "Well, not all of it." He attempted a smile, but his other emotions played out all too clearly on his face.

As she took in the utterly defeated man before her, she felt the bristle of fresh tears in the corner of her eyes.

"This isn't what I wanted to happen tonight? I never wanted it to be like this. You do know that, right?"

He nodded calmly but Sam could see that his hands were shaking. He stuffed them into his pockets and opened his mouth to speak, but the lump in his throat warned him against it. Instead he took another breath.

Watching him struggle, Sam felt another wave of grief at the tangible proof of the consequences of her actions.

"We're going to have to talk about this some more. We can't… I can't… I can't just leave it like this."

Martin nodded, still not trusting himself to speak.

"I really did care about… I do care about you." She sighed. "I… It was never meant to turn out like this." Her voice caught in her throat. "I know this isn't an excuse… but I guess I never thought I could hurt you this much." There was no response. "I'm… I'm so sorry. I should just… I should go." She paused, watching him. His shoulders were slumped and he just looked lost. She opened her mouth to offer some sort of consolation. But not knowing what would be appropriate in this situation, if indeed anything would, she held the meaningless words back. She silently cursed the tears which by now she was certain were visible. She didn't deserve the luxury of being comforted. "Unless you er, want me to stay…," she tried.

Martin watched as her gaze moved unconsciously to the door. Seeking out her eyes for a final time, he sighed as he nodded resignedly in its direction. Collecting himself tiredly, his voice was heavy with sadness, but he spoke gently.

"I think we both know this isn't where you want to be right now."

Sam looked at him, overcome for a moment by the unwarranted wave of compassion that he was offering her. Taking a shaky breath, a wistful smile graced her lips as they shared the unspoken acknowledgement of all the relief and regret passing between them. Knowing that the implications of her unanticipated confession would soon kick in, with a profound sense of finality, she quietly retrieved the key from her pocket leaving it wordlessly on the counter. Allowing them both a last remorseful glance, she softly closed the door behind her.

TBC

A/N: Oh, the melodrama. I just couldn't resist writing a fight scene once the idea crept into my head… sorry. :hides:

Thanks as always to Newlands for the input – and for providing some lines which I liked so much better than my own versions. But if anything didn't work here, it's all my fault. :)