FALLING OUT
Bailey stared at Sam, in her light blue pyjamas, bare feet and her hair up in a loose pony tail. Had she just said what he thought he'd heard?
She drew a deep breath, her heart in her throat. At his lack of response, she asked in a surprisingly steady voice: "Bailey? Did you hear me?" Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them tightly together. He opened his mouth a few times, but he said nothing. Why wasn't he saying anything?
Out of the many things Bailey might have expected to hear from Sam at this time of night, in this setting, her words weren't even in the same galaxy that he and she were occupying.
Realising that she was waiting for a response from him, he struggled to form a coherent sentence. The first thing that came out of his mouth was: "Uh, could you repeat that?"
She walked up to him, stopping at three feet. "I said I came back because I'm in love with you."
He swallowed when he heard the last five words and looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face, still at a loss for words. He focused his stare on the tendril of hair that had escaped the pony tail, now framing her face.
Sam tried to stay calm even though fear and worry were creeping up her spine at his lack of reaction. Summoning her courage, she prodded: "How do you feel about my words?" That was the gentlest way of putting him on the spot she could think of at the moment.
He looked away, then at the house. "Let's talk inside." She agreed silently, following him back inside. She knew that she'd sprung her feelings on him at the unlikeliest moment, so she tried to reason that he would need some time before he could respond, before she wanted him to respond. Nonetheless, there was something disconcerting in his demeanour. It seemed like her confession of love was on the same level as a confession to alien origins might have been.
And that was what really worried her. Hadn't he been expecting her confession? At all?
Bailey wondered at his own non-responsiveness at Sam's declaration. Was it the timing that shocked him? Or the fact that she'd declared it in the first place? Maybe this was all a dream, brought on by her sudden return. No, it couldn't be. He hadn't been this numb in dreams featuring this exact scenario.
He turned on a few lamps in the living room and sat down on the sofa. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch, separated from him by a two-foot distance. Nervous, she rubbed her hands on her pyjamas and waited for him to say something.
He turned to face her. "Sam, I don't know how I feel about what you said. But, I guess the closest feeling would be surprise."
The pit of worry in her gut solidified. She sat up straighter, trying to prevent fidgeting. "Why are you surprised?"
He sighed, then a sad smile appeared on his face. "Based on the last time we saw each other..."
Sam's heart beat faster and she interrupted him. "The last time we saw one another was in my office. You mean to tell me that my feelings, the way I feel about you, was somehow unclear on that day?"
He looked at his hands. "I don't know. I thought you tried to communicate something to me, but as time passed..."
Her left arm stretched out involuntarily, coming to rest near him right shoulder, but not touching. "Bail, I never meant to leave you with the wrong impression. I love you, I loved you then and I had probably loved you for a long time leading up to that moment." She turned silent, waiting for her words to sink in. He gazed at her, evermore passive.
"I broke my heart and I knew I'd be breaking your heart by leaving. Somehow, a confession of love would have seemed absurd then. I just... couldn't say the words, 'I'm leaving you but I love you'. I'm sorry about that."
Barely able to utter the words, she asked: "How do you feel about me?"
The moment upon him, he told her the truth of his heart: "I love you, too." A look of bliss overtook her face, and she couldn't help repeating herself: "Honey, I love you, too."
They looked at each other for a moment, the confessions gradually sinking in and becoming reality in their minds. But whereas Sam's burden had lightened with her declaration, Bailey still felt the shackles that had him tied up in knots.
She watched as a familiar shadow crossed over his face. Worry started nagging her again. "What is it?"
Bailey closed his eyes. How could he explain to her the thing tormenting him when he barely knew it himself? "The truth is, I do love you. But, the truth is rarely pure and never simple."
"What do you mean?"
"That in my time of being in love with you, I've also been broken-hearted. I don't know how else to explain it."
At his words, she looked down, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."
"It wasn't just your leaving. My heart broke the first time when I had to acknowledge the fact that I might not see you again." He sighed and closed his eyes, clearly living through the pain of that moment. "And then, you came back to me, but left so soon. I was quite lost as a result." He paused for a while. "In the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you something. I had a... brief flirtation with someone."
"I see," Sam managed to croak out. She had to collect her thoughts. He'd been in love with her but had still engaged with someone else. Did she have the right to ask him anything? After all, she'd left him with a broken heart, which she'd known at the time. Did she have the right to expect his fidelity during her undetermined absence? Well, he'd shared it, so he wanted it out in the open. That, in turn, suggested that she could ask him a few things plaguing her.
"You used past tense. Is it over?"
"God, yes," he replied passionately.
"Was it... serious?" The pause in her question was a loaded one.
"No!" He was quick to respond.
"Do you want to be with her?" She had to know.
"Absolutely not," he sounded resolute.
Sam was more relieved than she would care to admit. "Okay. Good. Would I know her?"
He hesitated for a beat, trying to come up with a way of identifying the floozy. "No. She was the congress woman who pulled the task force's funding."
She was thrown for a loop. "Her? Wow... I have to know, how did this come about?"
"I guess I was lost and she pursued me." He looked dejected.
She had to put him on the spot, get to the root of the problem. "What I don't understand is, if you were feeling lost, why you didn't come to me."
"I just couldn't. You were putting your life back together, taking care of Chloe. You didn't need to carry my burden."
There it was. "Honey, you didn't need to carry your burden alone. God knows you shared my burden for seven years."
He shrugged, defeated by her reasoning. He didn't have a proper answer for her. "I guess I thought I'd better go at it alone."
There was that wall again. Sam chose to tease their way out of their impasse. "I see you still think you're the cause and solution to everything. I wonder how I will disabuse you of that notion," she remarked. Bailey smiled at her, remembering her accusation from years ago.
"How do you feel now?"
He knew he would end up disappointing her, but he opted for the truth. "I honestly don't know."
She couldn't keep a hint of hope from floating into her words: "Maybe you just need to grow comfortable with the knowledge that I love you. Find your bearings, so to speak."
"Maybe. I'm sorry, I know I must have disappointed you."
"No, you haven't. I'm actually quite elated with the fact that you do love me. You just need some time to figure out everything else."
She glanced at the clock. They'd been up for thirty minutes. The waking world would beckon them in a matter of hours. "Let's go back to sleep," she sighed.
After a subdued morning, the agents arrived to the task force together. He attended to checking for updates on Rachel's case, while she stationed herself in the command center, working with George.
Later, having had an overview of the cases the task force had been handling, Sam was going over new forensic evidence or witness statements attributed to each case. She would confer with Bailey on which cases would be suitable for which profilers stationed in other cities.
A few hours had passed when Sam knocked on Bailey's door. "Hey. Do you mind if I work in your office? I can't concentrate out there in the command center," she explained.
"You don't want to work in Rachel's office?"
"Uh, not really. It isn't my space any more. I'd feel like I was imposing."
Bailey accepted her reasoning. "Sure. You're welcome here."
Sam smiled. "Great. I'll be by in a few minutes." He watched as she turned around and strode across the task force to the command center. Time would tell if her presence in his office would prove to be a distraction. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted it to be the case.
His concentration was scattered as it was, his mind reliving the events of the previous night on a seemingly endless loop. He still didn't know how he felt about it.
Sam's arrival disrupted his reverie. She carried a hefty pile of case files in her lap. She put them down on the table and flopped down on the couch. Opening the file on top of the pile, she asked him: "What are you working on?"
He swept his hands over his face, to dispel his thoughts of the blonde. "Going through transfer requests and recommendations for the staff."
"Ah. Well, I think everyone will find a job in the Bureau," she offered feebly. She wasn't about to ask him about his own plans after the task force closed its doors. One ambush in 24 hours was enough. Still, she would bring it up sooner or later, both for her own mental health and also to satisfy her curiosity. She was curious if he'd had time to think about the next step. Although, she was willing to bet he hadn't really spared a thought for him since the word came down.
He was looking outside his office, his expression glum. She reminded him of the here and now: "I've gone through the open cases. Maybe after lunch we could go through some of them? You could be my sounding board for the profilers I had thought of for a few cases."
He nodded and returned his gaze to the documents on his desk. Sam also set to work.
They kept their heads down and powered through. By sheer force of will, Bailey was able to concentrate on work. Of course, that meant that he was oblivious to the world at large and wouldn't let his eyes stray from his desk. Sam was having a harder time of it. She was out of practice when it came to profiling, the couch didn't exactly lend itself to comfortable working, and time and again her thoughts would stray to the night before, before she stopped that particular train of thought.
Bailey hadn't even realised Sam had been away when she placed a salad container in front of him. "What's this?"
"Lunch. I figured you wouldn't take the time to go buy it yourself," she explained as she handed him cutlery. He inspected the container, then looked at her with an inquisitive look. "You brought me a salad?"
"It's a pasta salad. You're Italian, don't tell me you don't eat pasta salads," she uttered in a flat tone.
"I'm half Italian," he grumbled.
"You may want to reconsider your tone before I decide to not bring you coffee, mister," she teased him from the couch. He shot her an exasperated look before diving in.
Taking in his surrender, she remarked gleefully: "You did good. Tomorrow, I intend to lure you away from you desk while we eat."
"Really? I'm surprised you aren't feeding me as we speak," he shot back gruffly.
She asked in an innocent tone: "Oh, would that do it for you?" He nearly choked on his food as Sam watched on, thrilled at his reaction. Once he'd been able to swallow the mouthful, she saved him the trouble of responding: "Baby steps, Malone. Baby steps."
Both armed with a steaming cup of coffee, she was sitting on the couch and he on the arm chair, ready to review what cases would be forwarded to which profiler.
Sam picked up four case files and handed them over to him. "About this case where the killer holds the victims for ever longer periods of time... I think we should give it Agent Foster."
"Eric Foster?" he clarified, considering her proposal.
She nodded. "Yeah. The rushed way the victims are killed, it's almost an afterthought in the whole proceedings. It's more about the time he spends with the victims, like in a kidnapping. I think this would be right up Foster's alley."
He needed no more selling. "Okay, I'll track him down. What else?"
She picked up two case files. "These empty parking lot killings should go to Henry Wilkington."
"He retired a few months back."
"Really? I didn't know that." Henry had been in her graduating class at Quantico. "What is he doing now?"
"I heard organic gardening."
"Organic gardening? Huh." She was tempted to ask Bailey of his plans, since the moment to bring it up naturally had presented itself, again, but she thought better of it. Clearing her throat, she moved swiftly on: "Let's see, do we know anyone else who'd be an expert in rage killings?"
Sam ambled into their shared office at the close of the day and started tidying up her things. "Will I see you later at your place?"
Bailey was puzzled. "Later?"
She clarified her question. "It's Wednesday. Isn't this your gym day?"
She still remembered even that minuscule a detail. He hadn't actually planned on going tonight, but now that he considered it, a furious workout might be just the thing. "Uh, yeah." Luckily he had some spare gym clothes with him at the office at all times.
"Okay, so I'll see you later. I'll catch up with Grace at her home and then take a cab back home. Er, your place." He nodded, appearing not to have noticed her slip of tongue. She picked up her bag, remarking: "I'll fix us something to eat tonight. It might run kinda late."
"I don't mind."
"Great. Enjoy your gym visit, Rattle snake. Bye!" she shot at him with a smile from the door.
"Grace, can I just ask what happened with Morgan? You two had been together for such a long time." Sam and her friend were sitting in the small but comfortable living room. Jason was sitting on the floor, playing with the purple dinosaur toy Sam had bought for him.
Grace sighed, looking for a way to explain the turn of events. "He was the love of my life, but he wasn't the man I'd raise my child with. I don't know what happened. We just... drifted apart."
"I'm so sorry about all of it," she uttered and squeezed her friend's hand compassionately.
"Thanks. It seems like all of us have had a terrible year. Me and Morgan, George and his addiction, what happened with John's girlfriend... You and Bailey... What with your kidnapping and then retiring. He's been a mess ever since."
Grace wondered if she'd dare to pursue that last topic of discussion. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? "What exactly is the deal with you and Bailey?"
Sam had never been one to discuss her personal affairs in great detail, even with close friends. In fact, the only people with whom she wouldn't and couldn't withhold anything were Angel and Bailey. Thrown by her own acute feelings on the sensitive and messy subject, Sam tried to hedge her way out. "What do you mean?"
Sam was awarded with a pointed look that spelled out 'are you kidding me?'. "Come on, you know what I mean. You two have been treading on egg shells ever since you got back. It doesn't take a profiler to know something's up. So, what is it?"
Sam took a sip of her wine, fishing for time, trying to figure out how much to share. She had Bailey's feelings to take into consideration, too. Grace recognised her stalling and played her trump card: she picked up Jason into her lap. "Come on, tell Jason. You know you want to. Who could say no to this face?"
Sam laughed and reproached her friend: "You don't play fair. But fine. I can't speak for him, but I'll tell you something. There isn't much to tell, really," she reasoned at Grace's sour expression. Sam shrugged her shoulders: "I told him I love him last night." Grace gasped and Jason looked at his mother, curious at her reaction. Grace put her son back on the floor and prodded: "And what did he say back?"
"That he loves me, too." Grace let out a squeak and leant over to hug her friend. "This is wonderful news!"
Sam laughed at her friend's reaction. "So I take it we have your blessing." They broke off the hug.
"God, yes! Why were you two acting like you aren't ecstatic?"
Sam sighed. "Because we aren't sure what we're feeling. I have to face up to the fact that I was gone for nearly a year, and I broke his heart by leaving, although never intending to do so."
Grace considered Sam's words. "But he knows why you had to leave."
"He doesn't blame me, far from it. He's just more careful in guarding his heart."
"You mean gun-shy? He'll get over it," she exclaimed with a dismissive hand gesture.
Sam tried to comfort herself with her friend's steadfast assuredness."I hope so. We didn't even kiss. Was that too much information?"
"No kiss? You poor things! Also, there's the rub. I say, you just plant one on him. That'll knock that gun-shyness right out of him," Grace said with utter confidence and a knowing wink.
"Would that I could," Sam sighed. She knew that a kiss, however enticing a concept to her, wouldn't take down his defences and she didn't want to push him.
Bailey was working up a sweat, trying to release his tension through physical means. He'd chosen the heavy bag at the gym and was now into twenty minutes of his punching drill. Taking out his frustrations and confused feelings. Trying to beat out his numbness.
The trainer stepped away, signalling that it was time for a break. Bailey took a breather, drinking some water. The break usually provided him with time to assess the ferocity of his workout, how to exert himself more. Today, the breaks only served to act as moments when his thoughts would, unbidden, center on Sam.
What would he do about his beautiful friend, one who'd confessed to being in love with him? She'd taken the news of his brief interest in another woman surprisingly well. The whole thing had been a mistake from beginning to end. Thankfully it was all over. Another brunette, another doomed relationship. Although to be fair, his second chance with Janet had come to an abrupt end, too. Because of Sam.
He both dreaded and looked forward to going home. She would be waiting for him. He started the drill again.
Bailey walked in through his front door to be greeted with a peculiar sight: Sam was kneeling on the floor, in front of the book case, with piles of books on the floor. The stereos were blaring a decidedly up-beat song, and she was dancing to the music, as much as she could from her kneeling position. He took the sight in, somewhat amused. The song ended as he closed the door, and Sam became aware of his arrival.
She glanced behind her and beamed at him. "Hey! You're home!" She giggled, explaining needlessly: "I'm sorting your books a bit. They weren't alphabetized, you know."
"I know. I'd arranged them in the order in which I bought them."
She looked appropriately bashful. "Oh. Did you wanna keep them in that order?"
"It's fine. Why are you doing that to begin with?"
She made a grand sweep of the place by her hand. "It just caught my eye and I decided to do something about it," she snickered. Catching onto her good mood, Bailey stepped closer and peered at her.
"Sam? Did you happen to drink something at Grace's?" She was still organising the books, but spared him a glance from her job at hand.
"I may have had two or three glasses of wine," she dismissed his enquiry.
"And did you eat anything before that?"
"Stop worrying about me! I'm fine. I will tell you something." She took a dramatic pause. "I'm seriously considering getting a pet. Like, a cat," she said gravely whilst looking at him, as if she were confiding some big secret.
Bailey fought the urge to laugh. "Uh huh." He looked at the kitchen, where there was no sign of cooking going on. She guessed his thoughts: "I cheated a little. I bought take-out. I'll cook for you tomorrow."
"You don't need to do that. I'll get the laundry going, and then I'll serve the food."
Sam shot up to her feet. "No, I can do that. You go attend to your washing," she shooed him in the general direction of the bathroom. He did as she requested, and while he was throwing his clothes into the washer, he wondered how the evening might progress with a tipsy Sam. He'd only seen her drunk a handful of times; at her graduation from Quantico, her wedding to Tom and the evening she'd been awarded that Women in Law Enforcement prize. Reminiscing those nights, he evaluated her behaviour. Based on his recollections, he guessed that she'd be more bubbly and affectionate. He wondered if she'd call him honey again. Not that he would particularly rue the occurrence.
Five minutes later, he re-emerged to the kitchen to find a steaming plate of Thai food waiting for him. Noticing his presence, she asked: "What would you like to drink?"
"Water's fine." She nodded and poured both of them a glass of water, after gulping down one glass by the tab. She quirked her lips and reasoned, "I don't want a hangover. Tomorrow's only my third day back on the job. What would my boss think?" He shot her a long-suffering look and she chuckled. They sat down around the kitchen island to eat.
"How was your workout?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.
"Good," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Did you and Grace catch up?"
She cast her eyes on her plate, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, we had a nice time. Jason is so big now! He was adorable." She wondered whether or not she should confess that she'd told the pathologist of their joint declarations from the night before. She didn't think her friend would let anything slip at work; Grace was very discreet that way. But, the matter concerned Bailey, and he had a right to know.
"Bailey? Grace asked me point blank about you. About us. I told her the truth."
He took some time to digest this. It was out there, now known by three people omitting himself. Three occasions of his inner feelings being revealed. For nearly a year, he'd thought he'd gone through the most painful moment of self-awareness when Rachel had pointed out his feelings. But that had been nothing compared to the turmoil of last night. He'd felt elated and crushed, right at the same time. Hearing that someone else was privy to his feelings did upset him a bit, but he knew Grace wouldn't treat it as a juicy piece of office gossip.
"Are you mad?" she asked hesitantly.
He shook his head. "No. At least I now know how to pry secrets out of you. I need to get you drunk."
She crunched her nose, looking a little displeased. "This isn't fair. I have yet to find out your weak spot." She mused for a while. "It's not kryptonite, is it?"
Bailey laughed, replying: "No, as I once told John, I'm not Superman."
Her curiosity couldn't be contained. "When did this occasion arise?" She was thinking the story would be from the past eleven months.
"On the day Doctor Zahn held you hostage in Washington," he answered without missing a beat.
"Oh." She continued eating, reminiscing the day in question. It felt like a lifetime ago. Coop had still been alive, Jack had still been stalking her. And it was only three years since it had happened. Shrugging off her thoughts, she picked up the game again.
"So, we've ruled out kryptonite. Oh, does it have something to do with the tides? Will I have to wait for the morning to find out?"
Puzzled by the random questions she was shooting his way, he replied off-hand, not realising the loaded nature of his words until it was too late. "You don't need to go searching for it. It's you." He chanced a glance at her, to see her look a bit stunned and pleased. She flashed him an alluring smile. "Good to know." He hastily returned his attention back to his food.
The rest of their dining proceeded without incident. Sam announced that she'd finish the reorganising of the books on the floor, while Bailey insisted that he be allowed to do the dishes.
Sam was putting the last book into the bottom shelf when Bailey walked to the corner next to the kitchen island, opened the small cabinet and produced a bottle of Scotch. He poured both of them one finger. She took a look at the glasses and tutted: "Are you trying to pry some secrets out of me?" He held up his left hand, declaring solemnly: "No hidden agenda, I swear." She stood up and grabbed her glass. "Are we toasting something?" He shot a look behind her. "Knowing the alphabet?" She giggled. "I'll drink to that, thank you very much."
They passed their evening catching up again, this time wading into more personal waters but still steering clear of the most pressing matter: their relationship.
Sam took a deep breath and glanced at Bailey, who was on the phone. She had immersed herself in the case concerning Rachel, trying to find compelling evidence for the FBI's internal investigation and the assistant US attorney to not press charges against the lead profiler. The case was based on circumstantial evidence, so she was puzzled as to why the charges hadn't been withdrawn already. She would need to discuss it with the man currently on the phone.
His distraction gave her an opportunity to observe him freely. He had opened up in the last day, but she still had no idea what was going through his mind when it came to her. Would he be able to let go of his misgivings and pursue a relationship? When would that happen? Time was of little matter to her; she would let things progress at his pace. The thought giving her pause was whether or not he'd take the final step. Something was holding him back.
Sighing, she got up and headed for the cafeteria. It was lunch time, and she was determined to lure him away from his desk to eat. Five minutes later, she returned to his office to see that her work was already done: he was sitting on one of the arm chairs, reviewing the case files of Rachel's stalker. Deciding that it would be best to let this victory go unmentioned, she put her tray on the table and plopped down on the couch unceremoniously. When he made no gesture to start eating, she pointed the food out to him. "I brought you some fried chicken and salad. Dig in."
He waved his hands impatiently. "Yeah yeah, in a minute."
True to his word, he started munching on the food shortly thereafter. He didn't want her crowing in the face of her victory, so he steered the conversation to the charges against the profiler who'd filled Sam's shoes. "What do you make of it all?"
She looked irritated. "It's a pretty clear-cut case. I can't see why the FBI internal affairs hasn't cleared her already. When is the investigating agent due here?"
"He already visited once, on Monday. A by-the-book pain in the ass if there ever was one."
"But any forensic psychologist would determine in a day that the murders aren't Rachel's doing." She took a beat to ponder something. "You think this is something else? Like political or, I don't know, somebody having a beef with you or Rachel?"
He looked decidedly cagey about her questions. "I have considered it," he offered in a non-committal response. He avoided her gaze and she cottoned onto his plan immediately.
"And how is Casper these days?" she asked straight up with a sideways glance at him. He had to smile at how well she could read him. "Oh, you know. Being secretive."
"Has he gotten back to you already?"
"I'm meeting him tomorrow, at noon." He could see a plan forming in her head.
"Can I come with you?" Her question surprised him. She shrugged her shoulders, explaining: "What? I like him, and I never got the chance to thank him for his help."
He didn't think the elusive back channel man would mind; after all, Casper had approached her for her help when Bailey himself had been incapacitated. "Fine, you can come."
He saw her quickly suppressing a smile and guessed her intentions. "You're thinking of ways to incorporate lunch into the meeting with Casper, aren't you?"
Sam called Chloe while Bailey, once again, attended to the dishes. When Sam joined him in the living room, she found him engrossed in a case file, with many others strewn about the coffee table. She sashayed her way to stand in front Bailey while blocking the rest of the files and snagged the offending item from his hands. "Malone, it's past nine in the evening. You're off the clock." She closed the file and threw it on the others. "It's time to relax a bit." He arched his eye brows and was about to retort to her words, when her expression silenced him. She looked both curious and mischievous.
"Do you still have your bike? Can we go on a ride?"
He shook his head. "It's missing a few parts. We can't." She looked positively deflated when she heard the news, but rallied her spirits quickly. "Can we work on it together? Does it need a tune-up or whatever?"
He chuckled. "Why are you so eager about this?"
She rattled off her reasons: "Well, you should get your mind off work for a while, and I figured, what better than some menial task? Knowing you, it's either the gym or the bike, and since the gym isn't an option right now, the bike it is," she grinned.
He heaved a heavy sigh for the sake of appearances. "Fine, we'll go and see it." Her face lit up and she scooped up the files, then walked briskly to the guest bedroom and emerged ten seconds later. "You'll get those back tomorrow morning. Shall we?"
Bailey led the way to the garage. The bike was under a tarp in the corner. He wheeled it closer to the center of the garage.
"Well? Let's see you at work! What can I do?" she asked while inspecting some items in the toolbox placed on a narrow table off to the side of the garage. "You can hand me the tools. And supervise," he rushed to add when he saw her disappointed expression.
Bailey started fussing with the bike whilst laying down, and Sam sat on the ground, enjoying the sight of him working at something he loved. He started relaxing within minutes.
After a while, she thought it only polite to ask him a few questions about his prized possession. "Does it have a name? Your bike?"
He chuckled. "No, no name."
"But it does have a gender, right? In the depths of your thoughts, it has a gender."
"I plead the fifth," he mumbled and she snickered. To take her mind off the matter, he asked her to hand him the red pliers. They then lapsed into a comfortable silence again.
Next, he opened the conversation. "I haven't worked on my bike with someone since Frannie moved out."
A small smile flitted across her face when she pictured the dad-daughter team working on the Harley together. "How is she? Are her studies going well?"
"They are. She's more sure than ever that she wants to have English lit and psychology as her major and minor." She was happy that the troubled daughter had turned into a confident young woman. "When was the last time you saw her?"
"She came by for a few days on her spring break. Hand me the cleaning cloth. Thanks."
She took in his actions. "That was it? All done?"
He looked at her, apologetic. "I can't do much more to it without the parts."
"Oh. Can I sit on it?" she asked on a whim.
Amusement flickered on his face. "Do you want to?"
"Yeah, I do," she uttered, eyeing the bike with excitement. Bailey backed out of her way and she stepped closer, inspecting the Harley.
"Wait. It isn't going to fall on me, is it?" She shot him a worried look.
"No. We'll leave the main stand standing and I'll be on the other side, ready to catch you."
His words allayed her concerns, and so she gripped the handlegrips, kicked her leg over with the practised ease of a horseback rider and settled on to the bike. She focused on balancing the bike off the stand. "I had no idea it'd be this heavy." She smiled and started inspecting the bike closer, tracing the features with one hand.
She was so engrossed in her actions that she was oblivious to the change in Bailey's expression. She was so stunning, a woman of such beauty, grace and compassion. And she claimed to love him. He couldn't conceive such a thing, not yet, anyway.
He got a rude awakening when the bike tipped, Sam having lost her balance. He caught her in time, and once they'd steadied the unruly motorcycle, she looked at him with a sheepish expression before laughter won over.
Sam and Bailey were sitting on the steps of an ornate temple, waiting for the government agent to show. They'd already finished their take-out lunches, and they were content to enjoy the sunny day in silence. She was looking off to the side when he alerted her to Casper's arrival. They got up and walked towards the agent, Bailey fishing for something in his coat's inner pocket.
The two parties having reached one another, Sam watched on with amusement as the two men exchanged cigars before saying hello.
"Siglo limited."
"Ashton."
Bailey took in Casper's words. "Not contraband this time?"
"Luckily so, seeing as you brought a witness," he acknowledged her presence with a smile. "Doctor Waters, it's a pleasure to meet you again."
She took his outstretched hand, imploring him: "Please, call me Sam."
"If you insist, Sam," he acquiesced.
"I never had the chance to thank you for your help, so I wanted to come along and do so now."
"There is no need. Bailey and I are in the business of extending favours to one another, whenever the occasion arises. As I understand, one has arisen." They fell into a leisurely walk around the grounds.
"Yes. Do you have any intel whether or not someone might be pushing for the charges against Rachel Burke?"
Casper took a beat to think over the rumblings of the past week. "Not that I have heard. Why do you ask?"
"The charges lack any solid ground. They should have been thrown out already," Sam pointed out.
"My guess is that it's just the wheels of justice turning slowly in this case," Casper uttered. Neither FBI agent looked comforted by his opinion.
Concluding that the business side of the proceedings had ended, Casper changed the topic to a more personal tack. "I hear you're out of a job. I'm sorry about that. Any plans?" Casper witnessed the sharp turn of the head by the blonde, suggesting that she, too, was interested in Bailey's reply.
Bailey took a deep breath. "I don't know yet. I'll be at the task force until the last day, and then, we'll see."
Casper could feel the woman's disheartenment and opted to defuse the loaded situation amicably: "Whatever it is, I hope to see more of your beautiful friend." She took a second to acknowledge his compliment, but then her face took on a distracted look again. Casper took an educated guess as to the cause of tension between the pair.
Sam was packing up for the weekend, sorting out her files on Bailey's desk. He was in the command center, discussing cases with John and George. She grabbed her things and headed there to say her goodbyes for the two days. On her way, she ducked her head in Grace's lab, wishing the pathologist a good time with her son.
The men were finishing up as she arrived, and so she conveyed her goodbyes to John and George before falling into step with Bailey.
"Any plans for the weekend?"
Sam smiled: "Oh, tomorrow, we'll go riding, and on Sunday, we're going to a fair."
"That sounds nice. Give Chloe my love."
They'd reached his office, and they exchanged somewhat awkward goodbyes.
The thought that he would miss Sam hit him as soon as she turned away from him. He paused for a second, feeling the loss already. Then he heard Sam say "Hey, Malone." His eyes found her near the elevator. Mindful of the agents milling about, she mouthed "I love you" to him. He didn't say it back to her, but she could see his feelings on his face.
Sam pushed the elevator button, looking forward to her weekend with Chloe and happy to know that Bailey seemed to be coming around, having let his defences down so much over the course of three days. If she had known what lay in store upon her return the following Monday, she wouldn't have left at all.
TBC...
(Ack! I can't believe it's been a month since I put up the first chapter. I have been working on this chapter ever since, but I am a slow writer. In addition, as happened with "Play Dead", this story started out as a trilogy but will now include five chapters. So three more chapters coming up! Hopefully soon. I will finish the story, so no worries on that account...)