Chapter 13

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Sam lay on her hotel bed staring up at the ceiling; her mind spinning the memory from earlier over and over in her head. She didn't know why exactly but it made her feel infinitely sad. She had always known that she never really gave Martin a chance but somehow, in light of the time that had passed, it made her sick to realize that every time he would try and get close she would push him back and ironically sex, one of the most intimate acts two people could share, was her best defense. If she wanted to she could argue that he didn't protest that hard, he was just as willing a participant but she knew she would be fooling herself. Near the end, before he broke it off, he had come up with more and more excuses on why he didn't want to anymore. He would say he was too tired but looking back she now knew he was just tired of only knowing that side of her. But the truth was she couldn't let any man know any more about her.

That was until Jack found out her secret. He was the only one other than her sister Emily who knew what she had done. And maybe that is why she thought he was the one meant for her after all. He knew her deepest darkest secret and he even protected her from it by covering it up for her. But now she knew that sharing secrets doesn't guarantee anything. It helped being able to talk about what happened with Joe Hayes and Emily so many years ago but she still felt bogged down by the weight of it. Even Jack's assurance that it was over did little to soothe the guilt, the fear of being found out eventually. That someday someone would buy that land and build on it and trace his murder back to her. If anything eventually she found herself resenting him for making her hide it. She still had to carry it with her, being careful not to let anyone know what she had done. To make matters worse, it meant that her sister had to continue carrying their secret, too. Now, neither one could unburden themselves without dragging Jack down into the mess.

She knew he only did what he thought was best. That he was helping her. If she had confessed and in the best case scenario the courts had decided that it was justifiable, that she as a fourteen year old girl thought she was just protecting her sister she would still have been tossed out of the bureau. Guilty or not guilty would not matter in the eyes of the FBI. She would have lost her job, the one thing in her entire life she was certain about. No, in spite of how it all played out, she was happy and grateful that she was still an agent.

Her career was the only part of her life she never questioned. The problem was everything else.

She rolled off the bed, suddenly wanting something cold to drink. She walked over to the honor bar and scanned the items for something to drink. When she opened the fridge, she felt warm air escape. Shit. It was broken. She slammed the mini-fridge door shut and grabbed the ice bucket before heading out. She walked down the hall towards the elevator since that was where most places housed the vending machines and ice makers. As she neared she spotted a sign that read: VENDING MACHINES LOCATED ON THE 25th FLOOR.

Martin's floor.

She bit her lip, wondering what the odds were that she would run into him. Deciding to risk it, she stepped over to the elevator and pressed the call button. Less than two minutes later she walked out of the elevator and wandered over to where the vending machines were housed at the end of the hallway. She placed her ice bucket beneath the dispenser and hit the button. The machine rumbled and seconds later chunks of ice came clamoring down.

"Don't bogart the ice," a voice said behind her. She smiled and turned around to find Martin leaning on the doorjamb watching her amusedly. He had already changed out of his work clothes and was wearing his maroon trainers and his favorite ratty old Washington Redskins t-shirt. "Are they out of ice on your floor?"

She smiled at him as she reached for her ice bucket. "We don't even merit our own ice machine. I had to trek all the way up here to get some." She picked up her plastic container and stepped out of his way.

"I see," he replied, moving towards the ice machine. He hit the button for ice when she heard his cell phone ring. He reached into his pants pockets and answered, "Fitzgerald."

She lingered, pretending that she was interested in his phone call in case it pertained to the case but she was more curious to know if it was Rachel. She leaned against the hallway wall, watching him as she reached in and plucked up an ice cube. She placed the cube on her tongue, the coldness feeling good against her tongue. She looked up to see that Martin was watching her. She smiled at him as he glanced away nervously, still talking on the phone.

"So you're faxing them over now? Great. Thanks for calling and telling me," he said quickly. "Yeah, I'll look into it. Goodnight." He clicked off his phone and as he grabbed his ice bucket he said, "That was Szbornak, he said that the warrant on the bank records went through. He is going to go through Kramer's business accounts if we can go through the personal ones."

"Okay," she said as they started down the hallway, walking side by side.

"This is me," he announced, stopping by a door. He pulled out his key card and slid it into the lock, the little light shining bright green. He pushed the door open and hovering in the doorway said, "So I'll see you tomorrow."

She hesitated, not wanting to go back to her room quite yet. "You know, I'm not tired. Could you use some help on those phone records? If we both work on it we'll get done a lot faster."

"Um, yeah," he stepped back and motioned for her to enter. "Come on in."

She stepped into his room. In typical Martin fashion he had already made himself at home. The desk was cluttered with files, his laptop and notepads but his room was relatively tidy. His suitcase propped up in his closet, suits hung and clothes placed in the dresser.

"I'm having a soda, what can I get you?" he said as he took her ice bucket and walked over to the mini bar and placed both of them on top of the table. He reached down and opened up the fridge, grabbing a can of soda.

"I'll have the same," she replied. She heard the fax machine whirring to life on top of the desk so she walked over to pick up the sheets of phone records. That was the benefit of staying at a hotel that accommodates business travelers, lots of office handy office equipment in the rooms.

As she picked up the first few sheets of faxed pages she heard Martin assembling their drinks. The sound carbonated fizz crackling as the cans were popped open and being poured into cups of ice.

"How many pages are we looking at?" he asked as he turned and placed the glasses on the table.

She thumbed the pages, reading the number on the upper right hand. "According to the fax, we have twenty eight out of forty."

Martin walked over and took the pages from her. "I'll take the checking account if you do the savings."

"Deal," she replied as she waited for the last dozen pages to come through. Once the fax machine beeped to announce that the transmission was complete, she grabbed the pages and took the seat next to Martin. They sat in silence as they flipped through pages, highlighting items of interest.

"Here's something," he announced, leaning over and pointing something out to her. "In the last month he made six wire transfers to an account in the Caymans in the last month totaling one hundred thousand dollars."

She glanced at the dates and skipped through her pages to see if there was any activity during that time in his savings as well. She found the page and said, "During that same time frame he made an additional four transfers totaling," she mentally added up the sum in her head, "two hundred seventy six thousand."

"That's a lot of change, even for a VP," he commented. He flipped open his laptop and started typing. "I'll email my tech back in DC to see if she can match up the transfers with a name."

She returned to reading through the records while he finished typing. When he was done he excused himself. She nodded as he disappeared into the bathroom. She flipped to the next page in her stack when she heard his computer beep, announcing an instant message. She glanced at the closed door before casually leaning over to read his computer screen. The handle of the person sending the message was 'RiverRunner' and in that instant she just knew it was an IM from Rachel. She glanced at the door again to make sure that Martin was still in the bathroom before reading the message: 'Hey you. How was UR day?'

She was tempted to reply, to try and learn more about this woman in Martin's life. She hated that all she had so far was Chao's little synopsis, a photo of the dog and now just two little lines of text.

The message box dinged again. She quickly checked to make sure that Martin was still in the bathroom before reading the message: 'U awake?' After another few seconds another message popped up. 'LOL. 2 guesses: UR ignoring me or U fell asleep in front of the computer again ;-P' Sam was saddened by how well Rachel seemed to know Martin. In a few simple lines of text there was an undeniable intimacy there. Another message popped up and Sam read, 'OK, goodnite babe. I miss U, I luv U & be careful that the M key doesn't get stuck to UR cheek again.' Then just as abruptly as she appeared, Rachel logged off.

"Learn anything good?" Martin asked, suddenly appearing as if from out of nowhere. He happily sank down into his seat but when he saw what Sam had been reading he visibly paled.

"I'm sorry," she stammered out, feeling mortified at being caught. "I just…" she knew there was no excuse she could offer up so she just left it there.

"It's okay," he said, not looking at her as he read the messages. He put his index finger on the scroll pad and closed the message box. He stared that the monitor and whispered, "Um, her name is Rachel Chandler. We've been together about…"

"Six months," she finished. He gave her a curious look and she explained, "Chao told me."

"A-ha," he said coolly. "I forgot what a chatterbox Chao's is. So how did she come into conversation?"

"He was just making idle chit chat about how you were adjusting to life in Washington," she replied, trying to conceal her hurt that he seemed angry by her knowing. "He doesn't know anything about our history."

He reached over and closed his laptop. "If it's all the same to you I'd prefer it remain that way. There's no point in him knowing about my baggage from New York."

Sam worked her jaw and clenched her fist. "Baggage?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he replied. "I just don't want my team involved in that part of my life."

She shook her head slowly as an incredulous smile crept on her face. "Funny, I wanted to keep us private but you wanted everyone to know but now you want me to keep my mouth shut."

She waited for him to reply. For him to say something as equally annoyed and angry as she was feeling. But instead, he took a deep breath and said, "You know, maybe it's time for us to have that talk you wanted to have."

She steadied her nerves and replied, "Yeah, I think you're right." She dropped her pen on the table and leaned back, folding her arms and pulling them tight to her. "I guess my first question is why didn't you tell me that you knew about me and Jack? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

He exhaled audibly and looked at her. "First question and straight out of the gate."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I figure we have to start somewhere."

He nodded and began, his voice as soft as a whisper, "In your first year of NA they tell you 'no major changes in your life." He posture slackened as he focused his gaze on the shiny wooden surface of the table. She couldn't help but remember that he was sitting in a posture mimicking the one when he first found out about her affair with Jack; like he was cautiously driving his car out onto an icy lake, hoping it wouldn't fall through. "But when I found out about you and Jack…" he paused, licking his lips and focusing on the rim of his glass of soda. "It was painful…I almost couldn't believe that after so much time that you could still have that affect on me but there it was, like a knife straight to the heart." He worked his tongue into his cheek. "And being an addict I wanted some OxyContin so badly right then and there, anything to make me feel nothing but numb."

He looked up and met her eyes but she couldn't bring herself to speak. It was quiet for a long time; the only sound in the room was the whirring noise from the fan in his laptop. She held her breath, her throat sore and achy at the enormous weight of the guilt she felt. She wished she knew she could say to him right now but the truth of the matter was there were no words.

He stood up and for a split second she was worried that he was going to leave when he walked over to the mini-bar, grabbing a miniature bottle of rum and cracking it open. He sat back down and as he poured half the bottle into his soda. He smiled at her and said, "Don't tell Danny. He'd tell me I was cross-addicting." She gave him a quizzical look and he explained, "That means I am substituting alcohol for painkillers." He held up the rum and gave her a questioning look. She slid her own soda glass over and he emptied the rest of the bottle into it. "I just don't think I can have this conversation without a little liquid courage."

She picked up her glass and took a long drink. She lowered the glass, her eyes focusing on the dark liquid as she softly asked, "Is that why you transferred to Washington?"

He leaned back into his chair and continued, "That night, I went straight to a meeting. I told them about it and I don't know, I thought they could give me some good advice on how to get over it so I could still work with you and Jack without losing my mind. But my group leader, Delinda, told me that if you visit a barbershop everyday, sooner or later you're going to get a haircut."

Sam furrowed her brows. "I don't get it."

"Me either." He laughed and shook his head. "She was terrible at metaphors." Sam smiled, liking it that the tension was easing up. "She just meant that the only way I could move on was to leave. That by seeing you everyday I wasn't going to be able to move on." He lifted his glass and stared at it, his expression growing solemn again. "I couldn't be like you, Sam. I couldn't stay and pretend that seeing the person I cared about with someone else didn't tear me up inside."

He brought the drink to his lips but even over the rim of the glass the look he gave her was penetrating. She wanted to argue that he was wrong but in her heart she knew he was right. How could she have ever really gotten over Jack when there he was everyday, his gestures or words pulling and pushing at her. She would go home and analyze them over and over, wondering if there was some message encoded it in and how she could decipher it. Masochistic behavior was how Lisa phrased it when she was in therapy. She said that Sam suffered from a father complex but whenever Lisa wanted to talk about Jack she would deflect or ignore the subject, pretending not to understand.

Martin took another drink and said, "So when I got home I put out a few calls to some friends in the bureau and just waited for the transfer to go through."

She took another drink and said, "I'm sorry for…everything. I never meant to hurt you, you know that right?"

He gave her a non-committal nod of the head as he chewed his lower lip. He glanced out the window for a beat before looking back at her, his eyes hard. "As long as we're coming clean I need to ask you something but I don't know how to put it."

"Just ask," she replied even though there was a big part of her that was nervous to hear what he had to say.

He took a deep breath and began, "That night when you invited me to share a cab I knew that you were stilling dealing with Jack leaving and then almost getting shot so I should have seen the signs coming in but…," he trailed off, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "But I liked you so much that I couldn't not say yes." He paused again and her stomach tightened into a big knot, fearing what he was about to say next. "But what I always wondered is why did you ask me."

She swallowed. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his glass, the ice having fused together to make one giant cube that hit the side of the glass in one big clink. He inhaled and said, "Why me? That night I was prepared to just go home alone but then you purposely followed me out. You must have already known what you were thinking of doing. And you knew that I liked you – I was pretty obvious about it. So, why me? Was it just that I was around and you knew I would say yes?"

She felt frozen to her seat unsure how to proceed. This was the moment of truth, the one chance she had to either make things right with Martin or make it so he never trusted her again.