Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!
Chapter Twenty
Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan.
10.38pm
As the elevator doors slid open onto the dimly lit, deserted corridor, Samantha took a breath. The only noise in the building emanated from behind her as the empty carrier made its way back down the shaft in preparation for the morning rush. She stopped pensively. Although the greater part of her waking hours revolved around the place where she now stood, tonight she felt as if her bearings were suddenly off-centre. Taking a moment to acknowledge the familiar surroundings, an ironic smile graced her lips as she realised her loss to explain what she was doing here, now, was both literal and metaphorical.
The haze that seemed to have shrouded her since she'd closed the door of Martin's apartment had been a strange comfort. Although she realised that the finality of the event and the inevitable aftermath would soon hit her, for the moment she was just grateful that the numbness had lingered long enough for her to wind up here. The one place where her rational mind told her she really shouldn't be. If she had any sense, she reasoned, she would have gone straight back to her apartment – to wait out her emotions in the privacy of her own home. Yet here she was - again. She briefly allowed herself to recognise the humour in her own predictability. Martin had said as much to her, hadn't he?
"I think we both know this isn't where you want to be right now."
Where else would she really have headed tonight?
Letting her senses lead her, her eyes settled involuntarily on the soothing light visible from through the glass wall in front of her. She was aware that, as always, her impulses would deliver her to the source of the glow. She could only hope that she arrived before either her turmoil surfaced or her rationality caught up. The raw emotions, fighting their way inevitably back to the surface, were churning in her empty stomach. Curiously looking down at her hands, she noted that they were still shaking slightly. If her mind was so far successful in staving off the impact of the feelings which had earlier broken free, her body was clearly not co-operating. For a moment she felt almost light-headed. Although she sensed that the root of that feeling was not the meteoric impact of her colliding emotions, but the over-whelming relief which the confrontation had brought. For the first time in months, she realised, her ever-present inner conflict had been silenced. If only for tonight, at least, she knew exactly where she was going – it seemed to be the only place she really knew.
The adrenaline of the earlier encounter had propelled her forward. Logically she assessed that her current state could probably be classed as a mild form of emotional exhaustion. The journey from Martin's building was an indistinct blur. Even if her destination had been inevitable, only the illuminated time on her watch informed her that she had in fact come straight here. This was where she'd intended to be. Yet as she stood, motionless, in the empty hallway, she idly wondered whether this momentum had indeed driven her forward or if it had, in honesty, somehow pushed her back. The circumstances may have shifted, but the reason for her continued return was constant. She wasn't the only one who was predictable.
Pushing further contemplation aside she took a breath, forward was the only way to go.
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His chair manoeuvred so its back pressed awkwardly against the desk's worn edge, Jack stared blankly ahead. His suffocating tie had been discarded the moment the calming silence of an emptying public building had settled in and it now trailed limply over the arm of the couch beside his jacket. On his work surface were strewn the bureaucratic remnants of Adam Walker. Dozens of scrawled pages documented a man whose life was currently being sustained only by an assortment of whirring machinery in an ICU almost two hundred miles away. There was so much paper that he could barely make out the wood beneath it, yet something seemed to be preventing him from clearing it. He couldn't explain it, or maybe he just didn't want to try, but he couldn't quite bring himself to file it away. Not yet.
He'd started the process after he'd bid Sam a muted farewell, although how long ago that had been, he had little idea. Where as normally, even now, she'd sweep into his office in her own inimitable fashion, this time she'd merely hovered at the threshold, as if unsure of her footing. He was acutely aware that since leaving the Walker's house that afternoon, he'd found himself making a concerted effort to reinstate some distance between them. The drive back to New York had been undertaken in near silence, underlined by his immediate retreat to his office on their arrival. Once or twice her brow had furrowed as she'd appraised him, but she had chosen to remain quiet. Yet the concern conveyed in her silence was as invasive as any verbal interrogation, and his response as telling. He wasn't sure if his behaviour was for her sake, or his own. However he had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't going to do either of them any good.
This doubt had been confirmed as he'd found himself, several hours later, pacing around his office. He knew she was out there, resolutely at her desk, and part of him had desperately hoped that she was there because she was waiting for him. Once or twice he had been unable to resist the urge to rise from his chair and risk a glance between the shuttered blinds. He had watched her momentarily, urgently debating whether he could just go out and talk to her. Yet with an odd heaviness, he had silently quelled this notion before he let it get out of hand. He smiled wryly. After his conversation with her the previous evening, he really should have learned his lesson. Whether driven by nostalgia, or something less pure, he'd definitely said more than he'd intended to. More accurately, he was lucky she was even still talking to him. Yet his memory had recalled with startling ease, the feeling of her unexpected proximity on the Walker's couch mere hours ago. Forcing himself away from the glass, he'd sighed. She'd moved on, and the sooner he started believing it, the better it would be – for everyone.
Paperwork abandoned, he had at some point settled back into his chair. He wasn't certain how long he'd been in this position, but his aching neck and shoulders suggested that a significant portion of time had passed. Images of the Walkers flashed through his mind like a distorted slide-show. As the projection played out, the pictures would mutate and morph until the family album was his own. The thoughts that had been spinning in his head for the last thirty-six hours were beginning to rampage and he resignedly gave them free reign. There was really no point trying to control them. He idly considered spinning his seat back around and once again succumbing to the pretence of work. Yet he chose to stay there. At least that way he could see neither the clock, nor the empty bullpen behind him.
If his back was turned, he might be able to fool himself into believing that she was still there, poring over the reports which they both knew could have waited until the following morning. Maybe she was even watching him, with the habitual ease that he knew so well. Even with the distance between them, he could read the flicker of concern that would dance across her eyes for a brief unguarded moment. The questioning look sent his way that told him that she knew he wasn't really okay, and that she was just… there. Words just seemed so extraneous at such moments. His eyes would meet hers and he'd nod imperceptibly – a well practised gesture that their co-workers either failed to notice, or were kind enough to ignore. A slow smile would tug at her lips and her head would tilt just slightly. It told him everything he needed to know. It was a comforting illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.
Or so he'd thought.
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"Hey."
Slowly turning in his chair, Jack blinked at the dual reflection in the glass. He knew he was exhausted, and stressed, but seeing apparitions was never good news. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Watching his expression change, a soft but genuine smile crossed her face. The confused reaction her appearance had prompted made Sam oddly relaxed. On her way back through the bullpen she'd absently practised the calm neutral smile she would display as she casually cited a vague excuse for her late return. Although the thought of disclosing the scene that had just transpired was over-whelming, she also guessed that it really wasn't something that Jack needed to hear, at least not tonight. Her need to see Jack had never really been just about her and today was no exception. He was in no position to deny that something about this case had affected him on a level he would never have anticipated. And whether he was ready to talk about it or not, the question of her being there beside him was immaterial. As she quietly took in the slumped posture of the figure in front of her, she knew she was right.
"Hey, yourself."
As he gradually convinced himself that this was more than the trick of an over-worked mind, Jack let his expression slide into one of self-abased amusement. As their eyes connected, the wave of relief which had washed over him, he realised, had little to do with concern over his state of mind. Looking past her through the open doorway, he could faintly see her coat discarded on the back of her chair. Her scent was already drifting in the direction of his desk. She was really here.
His gratitude was quickly tempered as for the first time he took in the appearance of the woman in front of him. Despite her smile, her face was pale as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. The faint red rims around her eyes suggested the exhaustion was more than physical. Their eyes never parting, Jack nodded in the direction of the couch. Sam smiled softly before leaving the safety of the doorway. Crossing the room she dropped down onto it. Her fingers automatically reached for the suit jacket lying next to her and she pulled it subconsciously into her lap. Jack watched quietly.
"Sam, are you…?"
The concern in his voice was daunting and for a moment she didn't trust herself to speak. Re-gathering her emotions she inwardly composed herself, although she sensed she had failed to prevent the truth from surfacing momentarily in her eyes. Knowing that an audible lie would be unfair to both of them, she settled for a silent non-committal nod. Breaking their gaze for the first time, she glanced down at the laden desk.
"I guess I should be asking you the same thing." She indicated the documents between them.
"Touché." He raised an eyebrow in her direction.
There was a comfortable silence. Jack absently rubbed the side of his face, his attention returning to the papers in front of him. Attempting to shuffle them into coherency, he was acutely aware of Sam's undisguised scrutiny. When he looked back up, her expression, he noticed, was torn between amusement and concern. Her unwavering stare informed him that his every move was being read and processed. Uncomfortable, but strangely comforted by the sensation, he sighed and set the file back down. After another moment, she spoke.
"Are you ready to talk about it now?"
Her tone was gentle, yet somehow left little room for argument. As his shoulders slumped further, he averted his eyes. Shifting impulsively from the couch, Sam quietly closed the distance between them, walking around the desk and perching herself on the edge facing him. Still focused on the pensive figure next to her, she shifted the papers beside her, suddenly registering what he'd been reading.
"Jack?" Her brow furrowed questioningly.
Jack glanced up at the papers she was holding – a copy of Adam Walker's current medical notes. He sighed resignedly. "I asked the hospital to fax them to me."
Sam kept her voice level. "Any particular reason?"
He shrugged. "Let's just put it down to curiosity."
"And did you find what you were looking for?" Her expression was understanding but solemn.
Running a hand through his hair, he smiled. "Who says I was looking for something?"
The corner of her mouth began to turn up but her tone remained serious. "Jack."
"It's funny really…" Jack paused, moving until he was staring out through the open blinds across the office and into the night. "Adam was right all along."
Confused, but sensing there was more to come, Sam waited quietly. Again fighting the urge to reach out physically, she settled for manoeuvring herself so her hand rested next to his. Jack turned back to her, observing her silent support, but looked down before continuing.
"It was probably genetic, after all."
Sam frowned, allowing her bewilderment to show. "There's no evidence that David Walker has inherited any form of mental illness from either of his parents. You heard what Laura Walker said."
"It was an aneurysm." Jack's voice was heavy as he watched Sam absorb the weight of his proclamation. At her questioning glance, he nodded. "The doctors think it could be hereditary."
Sam sighed as she processed the new information. "The headaches, his behaviour at the motel…"
"Early warnings," Jack nodded grimly. "He was so busy worrying about his kid being bi-polar, he didn't even think about what other screwed up genes he might have been passing on."
"He couldn't have known, Jack." She studied him closely. His eyes were down and he refused to meet her gaze. "There's more than genetics."
He chuckled humourlessly. "Yes, I'm fully aware of how many different ways there are to screw up your kids."
Feeling her tense beside him, he looked up remorsefully, surprised by the harshness of his own comment. "I'm sorry."
She nodded tentatively.
The acceptance in her face was too much, and Jack felt something inside him break free. "You know a week ago, the Walkers were like this perfect family, and now look at them." The thoughts tumbled unprompted from his mouth. "All Adam wanted to do was protect his family, and this is where they've ended up."
The walls of his self-imposed isolation crumbling beneath her quiet understanding, Jack felt both excruciatingly exposed and deliriously liberated.
"I wonder if Adam appreciated the irony? Even if he was wrong, David Walker's going to spend the rest of his life wondering if he's gonna turn out crazy – assuming, that is, that he doesn't wind up blaming himself for the whole thing and losing his mind that way." A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Either way, he got his father's legacy."
Out of words, he shrugged helplessly, seeking out Sam's eyes.
Their gazes locked and she let the silence run on. The only noise in the uninhabited office was in the soothing hum of the electricity around them. An odd sensation grasped hold of her and for a moment she failed to comprehend it. But as she felt Jack's unwavering watchfulness, her buried memories took hold like a physical presence, identifying the emotion with a startling clarity. She felt connected. A feeling of warmth spread over her as she belatedly realised his fingers were brushing against her own.
Studiously maintaining the contact she softened her voice further. "I take it Adam's prognosis isn't good."
Jack shook his head in response. "It wouldn't seem so."
Instinctively, she felt her fingers tighten around his. He immediately mirrored the gesture, neither acknowledging the movement.
"You're not him, Jack."
The veiled intimacy of the comment took them both off guard. Almost shyly, she began to withdraw her hand, but to her surprise he held on fast.
"Yeah, he fought for what he believed in."
Ignoring the painful implications, Sam's tone was gentle. "Kate and Hanna still have their father," she reminded him.
His gaze lifted earnestly from their joined hands. "That's not the only thing I was talking about."
Achingly aware of the raw emotion that had flickered in her eyes at his words, Jack felt the familiar tug of guilt. If he'd had the inclination to study all the pieces of evidence surrounding Sam's presence beside him tonight, he could have drawn only one conclusion. Yet like so many other things between the two of them, it seemed better left unsaid.
When he spoke, the softness in his voice caused her chest to briefly constrict. Her hand was still in his. "You never told me what you're doing back here."
The implication of the question was clear enough to both of them.
Quietly swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Sam held his gaze.
"It would seem that this is where I want to be."
Again he watched her, this time making no pretence of the open affection. Her eyes were still a little too bright but she returned his smile easily. A wave of tenderness engulfed him as their fingers casually interlaced. For an instant he felt that the memories of such an action would overwhelm him, but as she studied him back, he was struck by the dizzying realisation that their fragmented recollections could do little to touch this one moment.
"Are you ready to get out of here?"
The depth of emotion in his expression belied his playful tone.
Biting softly on her lower lip, Sam lowered her gaze. Finding herself tightening the grip on his hand, she shook her head imperceptibly. Inhaling contentedly, he squeezed back, again finding her eyes; neither willing to leave the safety provided by this silent cocoon just yet.
Without relinquishing his hold, Jack rose quietly from his chair, turning to perch himself next to her on the desk. She glanced at him for a moment before shifting closer. As their shoulders touched, he felt her physically relax against him. Savouring the feeling, Sam let the warmth wash over her. Her eyes involuntarily closing, she gently rested her head on his shoulder.
Glancing over at her, Jack felt the last remains of tension seep from his body as he adjusted to the soft mass grazing against him. Without thinking he lifted his free hand, soothingly brushing aside a strand of hair from her face. Feeling her stir, he smiled slightly as he turned his attention back to the desk. With renewed purpose he calmly began to gather the scattered sheets of Adam Walker's file, quietly relishing the comfort he found in the unconditional presence of the figure resting silently beside him.
THE END
A/N: Wow, I'm finally done. Thanks again to everyone who's read, reviewed and, with any luck, actually enjoyed along the way – particularly all of you over at YTDAW, who have just been fantastic. I'm not convinced I'll be attempting another WIP anytime soon, but it's definitely been an interesting experience. :)
Oh, and of course thanks to Newlands, for the beta work and the gentle prodding both with the writing and all the other stuff. Bet you're glad, I'm finally finished, right? ;)
Cheers, C.O. :)
