The Cruellest Month
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
—T.S. Eliot "The Waste Land"
Summary: Several days in April. From all perspectives. "Transitions" are happening, "second sight" is needed, and "bogey man" is everyone's inner turmoil.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't do this to them! I am only borrowing the guys for a while to be returned unharmed, dry-cleaned, and, hopefully, happier!
Author's Note. I owe tons of gratitude to all people who reviewed: Anmodo, wItHouT a tRacE fReAk, NightMage, Mariel3, jtsideout389, jjbird, SpyMaster. Thank you for your kindness and inspiration.
wItHouT a tRacE fReAk: Two men with names beginning with "M" are Martin and Malone. It wasn't explained in "Second Sight," but when Rebecca told Sam she was having issues with "a man whose name begins with the letter 'M'," I thought, "which one?" So I incorporated it.
JackofSpade: You are welcome. Would it destroy the impact of the lesson if I confessed that I know nothing whatsoever about Tarot Cards and/or psychics? Internet is a wondrous place for research. LOL.
anmodo: I am so sorry, but I gratefully accept the position of your "drug dealer." LOL.
xxxxxx
Jack's mood this morning could have best been described as foul. Not the dull depression that accosted him with alarming regularity in the past months. Not the headachy weight of exhaustion he couldn't seem to shake no matter what the remedies. Not the mild irritation of so many mornings, when the sight and sound of people around him going about their seemingly busy and happy lives made him feel deflated and lost. No, this morning's mood was set on "pitch black," when dullness of depression would have been a welcome guest, a headache would have meant he was still capable of feeling something, and irritation with random people would have spelled normality.
Nothing was normal in his life. He wanted to spend the weekend in Chicago with his daughters, but Maria took them to her sister's instead. "They want to go with me, they've been looking forward to seeing their cousins. You can have them next weekend, Jack. I don't see what the big problem is!"
Like hell she didn't. She wasn't married to Jack for 13 years for nothing. She knew darn well how difficult - sometimes impossible - it was for him to arrange those weekends away, how many things had to come together for him to hop a plane and be there Saturday noon to snatch a day-and-a-half with his girls. To cram into that pitifully short time all the conversations, all the listening, all the longing he stored up for half a month. She had to have known what it would take for Jack to go and unpick all the careful arrangements for this weekend, and then try and put together all the elements for the next one. She absolutely knew that he didn't work 9 to 5, 5 days a week.
The maddening thing was that he didn't even believe it represented any kind of a payback on Maria's part: this casual destruction of his plans. No more than his girls' desire to go visiting with their cousins instead of spending time with dad meant they were punishing him. The depressing thought was that he has become irrelevant. To all of them. They have gotten used - in a frighteningly short time - to him not being there. Truth be told, it wasn't as if he was around a lot when they all lived under the same roof, in the same city. Now, little by little, it became a habit: phone conversations instead of visits, an easily postponed weekend instead of anxious waiting, a casual e-mail here and there instead of a serious letter. And now this. They were doing fine. They were moving on without him, and he wasn't surviving well at all.
Hanna has long ago become a mystery, almost a stranger. Her writings scared him. Their depth and maturity made him feel as if he missed an entire growth of a person. And when did she become such an acute observer? She was on speaking terms with him again, after avoiding his calls for months and only grudgingly going on all those fun Chicago outings Jack worked so hard to contrive. But now she was over it. Or maybe she just accepted the situation and gradually stopped caring. All in all, he preferred her silences and pointed glares to the cheery indifference.
Kate was still enthusiastic, bubbling a mile a minute on the phone, telling him all the minute happenings in their lives. She still gripped his hand tight when he came over, still went on tippy-toes trying to look him in the eyes, still smiled that megawatt smile of hers. He cherished this, like a treasure that he knew will be taken from him some day. And judging by Kate's easy acquiescence to the new weekend arrangements, this day was closer than he thought.
If the contentious conversation with Maria last night wasn't enough to kill his mood, Jack was still unable to sleep. The pills Dr. Harris gave him weren't exactly working. That is, they would knock him out right on schedule, but then, in the middle of the night, they'd quit, leaving him wide awake and more tired than ever. When he did sleep, he had dreams. Not always of a nightmarish kind, but they often seemed to visit the worst possible recesses of his mind. He saw his mother, cheerful and lively, the way she never really were in life. He saw his father, energetic and vaguely ominous, and sometimes Jack's heart would fill with love for the old man, and other times, it would cry out for revenge. Revenge for what, exactly? Other unwelcome dreams brought past cases, long forgotten and seemingly resolved. Or worse: unresolved ones, the kind that marked him like scars for the rest of his life, reminding him of pain and failure.
Then he would awake and lie there on his narrow couch for hours, trying to decide whether to take another pill and bring on more nightmares, or stay like this, fighting his restless brain that conjured up images and thoughts worse than any nightmare he could possibly have.
The usually calming influence of his office didn't do the job today. The new case that landed on his desk had a lot to do with it: a 13-year-old girl, missing form a small town - the kind where nothing bad is ever supposed to happen. For Jack, it was a nasty flashback to an earlier case, where two girls went missing in just such a town, and one of them didn't survive. It always hit harder when children were involved. It was doubly so for him today, coming on the heels of his contemplation of a lost weekend with his own little girls.
Not improving Jack's mood was the sight of Martin and Sam locked in what looked like a deep and absorbing conversation. Something was brewing with those two, Jack could tell, but his powers of discernment where Sam was concerned were gone, and he could only watch in bewilderment and irritation. They didn't look happy, he could tell this much, and a small part of him - the part that simply didn't accept the finality of losing Sam - was glad. The bigger, saner part was both ashamed and annoyed. Annoyed at himself for still hanging on to a ghost. Annoyed with the two of them for not keeping it - whatever it was - out of the office. Annoyed at his own annoyance.
"This is Daisy Thorpe," he placed the photo of the missing girl on the table between his two agents, effectively ending their private conversation.
"I'll call you from the car and give you the details," Jack addressed Martin with that clipped voice that indicated his stormy mood. "Sam, I need you to come with me. We're going to head upstate."
She followed him out of the room, slower than usual, with a parting glance at Martin, and this final exchange irritated Jack even more. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but I want you to keep it out of the office." He didn't look back to see the hurt and bewilderment in her eyes.
xxxxxx
The silence in the car was palpable. Jack drove with determination and focus, not saying a word - perhaps ashamed of his earlier outburst, or perhaps still angry.
Sam, on the other hand, was definitely fuming at Jack. "Keep it out of the office?" She just lost her relationship trying too damn hard to do that very thing - keep it out of the office - thank you very much! And where did he get off lecturing her on office romance policies! Coming from Jack it was almost funny. Almost. If only she felt like laughing.
She was angry at Martin, as well. Sam felt like she finally made an effort, and having that effort thrown back in her face was more than she could stand at the moment. Sure, she may have dragged her heels, but shouldn't a considerate boyfriend allow her the luxury of time? What was it he said? "I'm not interested in waiting around while you figure out your problems." And there she was foolish enough to think that they shared their problems. As a couple!
She was doubly angry at Rebecca and her "get off the fence" wisdom. What did this woman really know or understand? She had some dubious visions, flipped some cards, made a few cryptic pronouncements, and Samantha - the rational, skeptical, reasonable Samantha - have fallen for this! "You've already made your choice," Rebecca said. Damn right, but why didn't the cards predict that her choices would be rendered irrelevant, because everyone else in her life has apparently made theirs?
Martin has made a decision to dump her. He has apparently had enough. Sam sensed that, once the anger would dissipate, she could probably see that she did put him through the ringer, and that he probably had the grounds for his decision.
She could also see that the time will come when she would be able to look at Jack and not blame him for all the emotional turmoil she has gone through in the past several years. Meanwhile, she was fighting mad, and not in the small degree at herself.
When did it all start, really? When did the relationship with Martin - the one that she ventured into of her own accord and the one she had such hopes of - became so conflicted and difficult? It didn't start out like that. It grew out of genuine respect, friendship, and some basic human attraction. She found herself caring. And what could have been more logical than to embrace Martin at the very time that Jack was leaving for Chicago? It was the end of the chapter, of an era for both of them. And the beginning of new possibilities.
Sam sighed as she realized that the very next week, when she found herself listening with surprise to Jack's voice on the phone explaining that he wasn't moving to Chicago after all, and instead getting a divorce and staying with the Unit, was the moment when that new possibility became somehow irrevocably tainted by the this turn of events.
If she were a stronger person, she would have stopped seeing Martin then and there. But she liked seeing him, she liked the safety and the warmth of his presence, and she liked deluding herself that this time really was different, that she wouldn't sabotage this for a change. But deluding yourself is dangerous, and she didn't need Tarot cards to tell her that.
Sam concentrated on the view outside for a while. It was nice: the Spring was here, more evident on the upstate greenery than in New York City stone, freshly attired trees reaching up to the sun, celebrating renewal. She stole a glance at Jack, her anger somewhat cooler.
Was it really anyone's fault but her own, the way things have turned out? What was it that she'd expected, from either of them? The moment Jack announced his departure for Chicago, she'd let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. For more than two years she was waiting for something from this man, without even acknowledging it to herself. Waiting for him to settle whatever unfinished business he had with his wife. Waiting for him to realize that he didn't really want to be married to that woman anymore. Waiting for some sign that they still had a chance.
She cried about the finality of it - the finality that she didn't accept even after he ended their affair, finality that seemed lessen when he separated from his wife soon after, finality that didn't convince her even when he reunited with Maria again.
She accepted it, however, when he quit the Unit to go to Chicago. That was as final as it got. And with those tears, a feeling of relief came in. She was truly free now: free to pursue other feelings, free to try and be happy, free from futile hopes and impossible dreams. With that came Martin - clear-eyed, open, devoted, and infinitely available. And they had a very good week before it all crumbled.
Maybe it was the fact that Jack ended it with her. Maybe they had feelings that had never gotten to be played out. Or, at least, maybe Sam did. Perhaps that was why she couldn't just let go.
What was she hoping for when Jack announced his return? That with his divorce the aborted relationship of three years prior will simply reestablish itself? That he would tell her he always loved her and now they can be together? And when it didn't happen she felt disappointed and angry? How naive, and how uncharacteristic of her! She wasn't that woman: that pathetic type hopelessly in love with her boss, having no life, no hopes, and no interests, just hanging around him like a kicked puppy begging for a caress! God, what a cliche! She was never that! She would never be that. She was strong, fiercely independent, and she could have a life that didn't include Jack Malone and be, if not ecstatically happy, then at least content.
Was that it? Was that why things didn't work out with Martin? Because she was so hell-bent on proving something - to herself, at least - that the real relationship got swallowed in the attempt? Was she trying too hard or not enough? Or was it because, while trying to prove she didn't need Jack, she kept him constantly in the equation, like an invisible third party setting camp between her and Martin? And, God forbid, was it always going to be like that for her? Was she doomed?
Sam laughed unexpectedly, startling Jack. He turned to her, question in his eyes that he didn't ask. She shook her head: "nothing." She was laughing, though, at the disproportionate drama of it, at the Tarot Card-induced fatalism, and the absurdity of her, Samantha Spade, being now dumped by two men she worked with. It was all really funny, if one chose to look at it that way. And she chose to look at it that way. She may not have had a say in the termination of either of those relationships, but she would be damned if she spend anther three years contemplating and dissecting them to meaningless shreds.
They had a little girl to find. Personal dramas could wait, and, hopefully, go away.
xxxxxxx
"I am not keeping you away from work, am I?" Allie looked up anxiously, "'cause I don't want you to get in trouble and then you might not want to see me again."
"Relax, I have the morning off. I am due at the office at noon." Danny smiled reassuringly.
They were seated on the wooden steps of the South Pier, the entire magnificence of the Brooklyn Bridge as their vista. Allie wanted to go sit by the railing, take her shoes off, and dangle her feet, but Danny, in his protective mode, convinced her that shoe-less in chilly New York April was not a good look for her.
"So, what's the new case?" Earlier she made a funny short report about the "home front" - as she has taken to calling it - providing all the voices and doing such a spot-on imitation of her mother that Danny had to bite his lip in order to refrain from laughing too freely. He wasn't going to censure her, however. Humor was the way to deal for Allie, and Danny admired her for it.
They talked about Vivian, Allie genuinely saddened and concerned. She bought a little "Get Well Soon" card at the corner drug store, and was now decorating it with a drawing of an exotic bird. Danny leaned back on the steps, observing Allie's deft ball pen in motion.
"You know I'd rather not discuss ongoing cases. When it's over, and if it ends well, I'll tell you."
"Are you afraid I can't handle it? Seriously, I am tougher than I look."
"That's not hard: you look like a Swizzle stick. Are you eating right? Or regularly?"
Allie shrugged: "Look who's talking! You never eat, either. You won't even have ice-cream when I am having one. And who doesn't like ice-cream?"
Danny smiled a lazy smile.
"Fine, we won't discuss food, but you have to promise me you won't be skipping meals."
"Like I could! 'Antie Em' is practically force-feeding me!" Danny chuckled again: "Antie Em" was the nickname Allie and her sister Blake had secretly given to their new, extremely efficient, bossy, but kind housekeeper, who happened to resemble the "Wizard of Oz" character in appearance and in demeanor.
"OK, you won't talk about your cases, and I don't want to talk about food. Let's talk about something I'm actually interested in: your new girl. Is she your lover?"
Danny made a sound that was part snort and part surprised breath intake.
"Allie, seriously, 'lover'? Who uses this word anymore? It's positively quaint!"
"It's descriptive," she shrugged, unconcerned.
"So is 'girlfriend'."
"No, 'girlfriend isn't descriptive at all. And I see what you're doing: you are engaging me in a semantics debate and avoiding answering my question!"
"Semantics debates are good for your development, and I am not avoiding anything. I merely say that the term 'girlfriend' is a perfectly acceptable modern definition of a particular status, and you are fighting me just to be stubborn."
"Not at all. I think 'girlfriend' is a confusing term. I'll give you an example: Tim Bayley and I have been going out for more than two months now. I went to his Spring formal, and his is going to the Equestrian Club do with me next Saturday. I am officially his girlfriend and he is my boyfriend. But I am not his lover."
"I should fervently hope not," Danny drew his brows together in mock warning. "And your argument, while perfectly valid for a pair of 14-year-olds, doesn't carry the same weight for adults. When an adult introduces someone as his 'girlfriend,' the fact that they are lovers is inherently assumed in the definition."
"I don't see why it should. Lots of adults don't do it before marriage. Religious people, you know, or simply cautious. They can date, be in love, go places together, even share living quarters, but they aren't lovers in the simplest sense of the word. Now, if an adult introduces someone as his 'wife,' then yes, that would be legitimately included in the definition. But I still say 'girlfriend' is a much broader term. Oh, and by the way, Tim is 16, not 14." Allie announced it with pride.
"OK, I want to meet this Tim. I think I need to have this conversation with him, not with you. To reiterate and clarify the very important limitations of the word 'girlfriend.' And to show him my badge and my gun, just to impress the point!"
Allie laughed. "No need. He's aware I know some FBI agents and he is already suitably scared. I don't think he'll try anything, but, just in case, I am telling him all about this conversation."
They sat together in companionable silence for a while. Danny came to appreciate those silences. If you could be comfortably quiet with someone, this person was a friend, a kindred spirit. If you needed to fill the air with small talk, then, no matter how long the acquaintance, it would never be more than that.
Allie finished her bird, which now occupied almost all the white space inside the card. She wrote well wishes on the wings, making the lines follow the edges of the bird's feathers. It looked detailed, intricate, and exotic. The girl lifted her head and looked up at Danny.
"You never answered the question, though. I was right, you did avoid it!" But her smile was friendly, not challenging. "Is she your lover?"
Danny smiled back. "She is my everything."