(I own nothing. As of April 29, I have beaten this chapter into submssion, and thusly, it is complete! I hope you enjoy.)
WRONG DIRECTION
Left to his own devices, over the weekend Bailey did as long years of romantic disappointments had taught him to do: fell into the spiral of self-doubt.
Friday night passed by pleasantly enough – he arrived home late and therefore had little time to fret over his relationship with Sam. He did have a moment of clarity as he wandered into the guest bedroom to change the sheets. Sam's perfume lingered there, and he felt a sudden urge to call her on the spot. He sat down on the bed and gazed out of the window, preoccupied with his realisation. He had gotten used to Sam's company, and the realisation that he'd enjoyed her taking care of him jolted him greatly, even though said caring had manifested itself by the relatively minute tasks of her making sure he had something to eat at work or forcing him to relax in the evenings.
Passing some time at the task force on Saturday, even a workaholic as bad as himself had to concede that there was little he could accomplish on his own. No new information nor cases were trickling in, and he had no one to bounce ideas off of. Four hours of dead-end working later, he had to admit that his efforts to speed things along were futile.
He then faced the daunting task of having some downtime at home. Not quite knowing what to do, he popped by the bike shop where he'd ordered the missing parts for his Harley. If he could work on that, he'd feel less aimless and alone, though he didn't care to voice the latter description even to himself. Unfortunately he was out of luck, as he was informed that the necessary parts wouldn't arrive until the end of the next week.
Stepping out of the bike shop, he wondered what the heck people did on a Saturday off from work. He had little choice but to go home and find some household chore to occupy his time.
He decided on cleaning out his garage. During it, he had time to mull over the events of the week. He knew that a relationship with Sam might be in the offing; she had, after all, come back partly for him, and had made her wishes clear. All he would have to do was say yes.
So why hadn't he?
Part of the reason was that he feared the loss of their friendship in case the romantic involvement would hit the rocks. They had been friends since her training at Quantico, and somewhere along the line, as they got to know each other, they'd become best friends, a bond even years apart hadn't eradicated.
Another reason was his less than stellar romantic record. He'd once said to Sam that his run since Janet hadn't been great, and since that confession, things hadn't exactly improved. Three failed attempts with brunettes, each ending for a different reason, and a misguided effort to make a go of it with Janet again that had finished the way it had started – suddenly.
Janet still harboured resentment toward him over the way things had ended between them, despite his overtures to make amends. He and Janet hadn't been the only ones affected by the news of the new failure. Frances had taken the news about the break-up better than Arianna had. In truth, Frances had been, in the first place, more reserved about her parents' rekindled flame than her little sister. Nevertheless, their girls had been affected.
So, given the past, could he trust that things would be any different with Sam?
Why would he want to invite his best friend to join the train wreck that was his romantic life? He needed to protect her from such a fate. For all his good characteristics, his downfall was inevitably the feeling of inadequacy when it came to matters of the heart.
Things did not improve on Sunday, when Janet called him for a matter relating to Arianna. The phone call was tangible proof of his failures, and strengthened his resolve to not let things progress with Sam. For her own good.
And that was the mindset with which he greeted a returning Sam on Monday, much to her later bewilderment.
Sam breezed through the open elevator doors, humming to herself and eager to see Bailey again. She looked around the task force and noticed that most agents were holed up in the command center. She left her jacket and brief case in Bailey's office and headed to join the others. Bailey appeared to be giving a briefing or something else to his employees.
He was addressing the crowd, standing in front of the large main frame computer screen. She walked in and waited for him to notice her. He spotted her right away, glancing at her and allowing the briefest of smiles flit across his face. She beamed at him more openly, but he turned his gaze away quickly. The command center was packed, so she stayed beside the upper level table and tried to catch onto the topic of the meeting.
As it turned out, the topic was staff transfers. Who would be transferred, when and where. The agents who'd gotten the green light were happy in a subdued manner, and the ones who hadn't received word about their future jobs were decidedly morose. The meeting didn't serve to rally the spirits of its attendees or its leader.
The meeting adjourned, Bailey was accosted by many agents, several of them hoping to somehow impact their situation one way or another. He started assigning times when the agents could see him in his office, and he started to walk toward the office, in an effort to thin out the crowd following him. Agents were chattering to him from every side when he passed Sam, who'd remained by the table to greet him. He was able to disengage from the hopeful agents long enough to say to her: "Sam, can you spend today with John and George on Rachel's case? I've already put them on it." She nodded her approval and he continued on his way, surrounded by his employees. She watched as he walked away, his slight resignation and exasperation evident to someone as in-tune with his emotions as she was. It was going to be an exhausting day.
Sam sat by John's desk, on the lookout for a break in the tide of agents rushing to Bailey's office. She needed to get her brief case from there, and she wanted to talk to the man for a few minutes, say hi and try to brighten his day.
John noticed the blonde's distracted demeanour. They'd been discussing Rachel's case, John offering insight into the different crime scenes the task force had overseen relating to the case. Sam had also discreetly taken the chance to gather some information on Rachel's personality. She hadn't had the time to work side-by-side with the red-haired profiler, nor had she gotten to know Rachel aside from a few rudimentary details. Satisfied with the answers, Sam pondered the case whilst keeping an eye on the events in Bailey's office.
Finally, Agent Washington, who'd been conversing with Bailey, stood up from the arm chair. Sam shot out of her chair and advanced toward the office in a brisk walk. She smiled to Washington as they met one another at the doorway. Sam rapped gently on the door, announcing her entrance. "Hey. I just came to get my brief case. How's it going?"
He looked and sounded emotionally drained. "As well as can be expected, I guess."
She shot him a worried look. "How many more of these do you have planned?"
"Three," he sighed.
"Ouch," she commiserated with him. "Do you want me to bring you lunch? In an hour?"
He shook his head. "No thanks. I don't think I'll be hungry."
She looked nonplussed. "You have to eat something."
"I'll be fine. No one ever died from missing a lunch," he dismissed her objections. She didn't look convinced, but before she could counter his point, the next agent arrived at the door. "I'll catch you later," she said before excusing herself.
Bailey watched her go, feeling a little torn. He wondered when he would have the opportunity to tell Sam what he'd decided. Should he tell her as soon as possible? Or wait until she brought it up? What was the proper decorum in breaking your best friend's heart?
The agent had seated herself on the chair opposite his desk and looked at Bailey eagerly. He steeled himself for another go-around.
Sam was making for Bailey's office when she spied the man in the canteen, standing in line for the cash register. She adjusted her course and waited for him at the doorway, allowing her displeasure to show clear as day as she glimpsed what he'd bought for himself: only a coffee. "Is your plan to starve yourself to death?"
He pacified her: "I looked at the sandwiches and the salads. I just wasn't up to eating anything."
"You're not sick, are you?"
"No, I'm fine." He truly didn't have any appetite, the loss of which he attributed both to the day he'd had so far and the impending conversation with Sam he would have sooner or later.
Glancing behind her at the command center, she asked: "You got a few minutes? We wanted to tell you a few things about Rachel's case." He nodded and they started for the center, where John and George were waiting.
"How about I make you dinner tonight?" She neglected to ask if she could stay at his place another week, and for his part, Bailey didn't even notice the omission, however determined he was to put an end to any romantic progress between them.
"You don't have to."
"I want to," she insisted. "I promised to fix you dinner last week."
"If you're sure," he relented.
"Great! I'll stop by the grocery store on my way home." They finished their plans just as they reached the double doors of the command center.
Sam was cooking up a storm in the kitchen. She was preparing a risotto with goat's cheese and grapes, spicy chicken cutlets and a quick dessert in the form of sabayon. She flooded the risotto once more, then mixed the liquid into the rice evenly. She took a sip from her white wine, wandering over to the window to watch Bailey. He was decompressing in the back yard. His day had been agonizing, and she knew he needed some time to compose himself.
The man in question ambled around the lawn, smoking his cigar and trying to clear his mind of the stress of the day. He wasn't having much in the way of success. He wondered if his regrets over the fate of the task force were becoming entwined with the dread he felt about the situation with Sam. When should he spring it on her? Could he just walk in and announce "Is dinner ready yet? Oh, and by the way, I've decided to forgo any relationship with you. Do you want me to set the table?"
He puffed the last drags of his cigar and then stood in the middle of the yard, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds around him and praying for strength and wisdom. And that she would forgive him.
Finally, he heard the creak of the outer patio door. He turned around and saw Sam beckoning him inside. He started to trudge towards her. When he was closer, he noticed the concern in her eyes, and forced himself to perk up in demeanour. He already felt enough of a jerk; no need to add causing her worry to the list.
Once inside, the delicious smells of the dinner wafted to him, and he realised that he was starving. He hadn't eaten anything save for a measly sandwich for breakfast, an apple for lunch, which he'd chased down with countless cups of coffee. "Dinner smells amazing," he complimented.
"I bet anything smells delicious when you're hungry as a wolf," she remarked as they approached the table. Bailey, ever the gentleman, helped her to her seat and was rewarded with an appreciative smile. "You do know how to treat a lady, Malone."
"Just one of my many charms," he uttered with a grin.
"I'll say," she conceded with a flirtatious smile. She poured both of them some wine and they started eating. Bailey was ravenous, so they spent the first five minutes in silence, focused on enjoying the delectable cuisine. Once he started to feel that his most pressing hunger that been sated, they fell into a conversation.
"Feeling a little better?" she queried.
He nodded. "Much better. Thanks." He took a good look at her. She had changed into more comfortable clothes before she'd started the cooking. She was wearing faded jeans, a white tank top and a loose black cardigan. She looked beautiful. She caught his appreciative glance and blushed faintly. He looked sheepish at having been caught out, so she let it go and pressed on to the events of the day.
"I'm going to meet Rachel on Wednesday. Get her side of the events leading up to the arrest, see if she's thought of something new about the stalker." He nodded, digesting the news of the arrangement. "You wanna talk about your day? I can see that it took its toll on you," she prompted him.
He took a sip of his wine, mulling over what to tell her. He decided to be honest with her. She of all people would understand his feelings on the matter.
"It was hard. These past weeks have been hard. First fighting to keep the funding, then finding out that we lost it anyway." He paused for a while, then voiced his inner thoughts. "I'm so angry about it, really. And it's not just that it feels like they ignored all the work the task force has done, how much it accomplished and could have still accomplished. It's that everyone is now out of a job, and I couldn't prevent it from happening."
His last words surprised her. "You hold yourself responsible?"
"Aren't I?" He looked at her pointedly.
She hastened to dispute his wrong notions. "No, honey, you're not. You did all you could, and no one thinks otherwise. All your employees look up to you. You're a great boss." She paused to evaluate if anything she was saying was getting through to him. To her relief, he appeared to be accepting her praise. "It's just that... You can't fight city hall. Besides, you've never had much patience for politics."
She was right. He'd always detested the political side of being the leader of the task force. It was an imposition that had been thrust upon him since the founding of the force. He believed that nothing should get in the way of allowing justice to prevail.
A funny memory from their days of working together came to her. "You know I'm right about that one. Remember the time you unloaded some choice words on the assistant regional chief in Nebraska over his intrusion into the case?"
"As I recall, you were just as pissed off as I was. I could see it. You just hid it better. In essence, I was venting for the both of us!" he defended his actions with a chuckle. "Come on, admit it, it made you feel better, too."
She smiled a wry smile. She had to concede his point. Over the past eight years, she'd learned to withdraw into herself at times, to internalise some emotions. Both of them reacted to some unjust event with the same outrage, and his willingness to express his feelings had helped her, too. It had provided her with an outlet. Now, she was working on externalising her feelings herself.
She'd finished the main course before he had, and she ventured a glance at the clock. Chloe would be home from her soccer practice. She excused herself from his company: "Excuse me, I need to call Chloe before she starts her homework for the evening."
"Give her my love. I'll finish eating and brew some coffee for the dessert." She got up and headed to her room, leaving him to his business. She'd given him a chance to vent his feelings about the task force, and while one would think that it would ease his burden, his dread about the other important matter soon started looming, more daunting than ever.
Sighing, he started clearing the table. He would have to bite the bullet sooner or later. He began steeling himself to tell her as soon as they'd eaten. He tried to think of ways of introducing the topic into the conversation. He'd envisioned and rejected a few alternatives when Sam came back to the table. They talked about their weekends, with him keeping the discussion focussed on Sam and Chloe. He only gave her superficial details of his time alone, trying to evade his decision. As the topics of conversation ran out, he felt that the moment had come. He should tell her right then and there.
But when he looked at her, his steely resolve fizzled. She looked so earnest, so affectionate and trusting. He just couldn't bring up the matter, couldn't bring himself to shatter her heart so soon.
Just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of despicable actions.
So he started telling her of his trip down to the bike repair shop.
The next morning, Sam strode in through the doors to Grace's lab, greeting her friend. "Hey Grace, did Bailey tell you that he wanted us to go through the cases connected to Rachel's stalker?"
Grace was sitting off to the side of the room. She pointed to the case files in front of her. "Would that escape the notice of our fearless leader? I'm reviewing them right now." She shot a speculative look at Sam. "Speaking of... Before we get started, I think it's high time for you to tell me some dish! How have things progressed?"
Sam looked somewhat baffled. "With the case?"
"No, between you and Bailey," Grace corrected quickly.
Understanding dawned for Sam. "Oh..."
"Yeah..." Grace responded, not missing a beat.
"Well..." Sam hedged, unsure as to what to tell her friend. She did feel that things had progressed, but it was more subtle moods than concrete actions.
"So I take it you haven't knocked the gun-shyness out of him yet?" Grace looked a tad disappointed.
Sam had to smile a bit. Grace appeared to be living vicariously through her and Bailey. "Like I already said, I don't want to pressure him. I just feel like we should take our time. What with the running down of the task force and everything."
"Uh huh..." Grace didn't sound particularly convinced.
"And as much as I hate to admit this, I sorta want to be the girl," Sam added, blushing.
"A girl in the twenty-first century, I should hope," Grace pointed out.
Sam shot her a peeved look, then relented. "Fine. I'll ask him tonight. Happy now?" Grace clapped her hands. "Let's get started." The pathologist turned obediently to the case files. A tiny smile flitted across Sam's face. While she'd discussed her feelings for Bailey with Angel a few times and the artist had reacted to the news well, if with surprise, Grace's unabashed cheering was truly a nice reaction.
Bailey and Sam were sitting in the living room, sipping their late-night coffees. Mindful of the promise she'd made Grace, Sam had been distracted most of the night, trying to summon the nerve to discuss her relationship with Bailey. She was fidgeting a little, and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the talk that had the potential to dictate their future happiness.
"So, you've now had a week to think things over, since my initial confession. How are you feeling? What do you want to do... about us?"
He'd known the question was coming. He'd noticed Sam's subtle agitation, and had deduced that she wanted some answers. He saw no way out of this, and his heart broke for her. "Sam... I don't think we should start a relationship. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier."
His apology hardly registered in her mind, for his words preceding it caused first a skipped heartbeat and then a deafening surge of heartbeats. Sam felt suddenly cold. She had to put some thought into forming coherent words, let alone sentences. "You don't want to be with me?"
"I do, but it wouldn't work out in the end anyway," he pacified her doubts.
His concession overjoyed her all too briefly. She was confused by his words. "Why wouldn't it work out?"
"Trust me, it just wouldn't," he muttered matter-of-factly.
She stared at him, at a loss for words because of his resolute tone. She was being told, in not so many words, that the case was closed and she should come to her senses. "Sorry, you're with stupid now. I'm gonna need more of an explanation on this."
"Sam..."
"No, this is too important," she snapped. He sank into the sofa cushions, looking forlorn. He had to admit her insistence wasn't out of line. He knew he'd shattered her hopes in one fell swoop.
As the moments passed and he offered no explanation, she started prodding him: "What, you don't think we're compatible? Or that we'd get sick of one another? Or that we wouldn't be happy?"
"Look, it's difficult to explain." Her agitated look signalled to him that he should try to make the effort.
"I feel like everything I had to give, gave out a long time ago. Consider my track record. My marriage ended seven years ago, and it's been even longer that I've been able to stay in a functional relationship. You're my best friend and I won't allow you to join that wreckage. I don't want to hurt you."
She took a moment to consider what he'd shared. "Well, like it or not, you're hurting when you don't allow me to have a say in this matter. As for your not having anything to give any more, you're selling yourself short. Why are you determined to let failed relationships destroy a future one?"
He released a bitter chuckle. "My chequered past is a clear indication of things to come."
"I don't believe that and neither should you. I have a pretty clear idea of what I'd be getting myself into. You're my best friend, I've known you for more than fifteen years. I know you and I love you for it. Tell me, how is that something I could just walk away from?"
"You're gonna have to," he insisted gruffly.
"But why?"
"I already told you," he snapped with frustration in his voice as he stood up and made to walk to the kitchen.
She jumped up to stand in front of him. "You really didn't. I at least expect to get a proper reason. I'm sorry, but I won't let you sabotage our burgeoning relationship by not starting it at all," she finished with a searing look.
He didn't back down at all. "I've made my decision, Sam. I'm sorry it wasn't to your liking, but there it is," he sighed.
They stared at each other. She was brimming with incredulity and hurt, he was riding the wave of defensiveness and resolve. Looking at his resolute face, she realised that he wouldn't budge on his stance. Suddenly, she had to get away from his soul-crushing adamance. She turned around and strode into the back yard, advancing on the lawn until the bush fence stopped her progress. She gazed at it, really seeing nothing. She guessed she was still processing the events of the last five minutes.
She thought over what he'd shared with her. He'd chosen to renege on the offered relationship because of his past shortcomings, or so he claimed. Did he really believe that himself? If he did, she feared she'd have a hell of fight on her hands in trying to convince him otherwise.
Examining her hopes ever since her abrupt confession a week ago, she realised that in all the scenarios she'd entertained, she'd never believed that he would forgo the relationship altogether. The worst she'd foreseen was that Bailey would take his time in deciding what to do, leaving the relationship on the back burner for weeks, maybe a few months.
Never had she really believed that he would deny them a chance to be happy together. Maybe she'd just been fooling herself.
A stray tear streaked down her cheek, and she brushed it away. She glanced back at the house. The light in Bailey's room was on.
He watched her stride away from him, trying to contain her hurt. He gazed after her, and followed her dejected form as she reached the fence, then stopped. She stood there for a long time. His heart ached for her. He was amazed he hadn't cracked under the pain of causing her grief and hadn't just agreed to anything she asked of him.
Tearing his eyes away from her, he walked to the corner and poured himself a stiff drink. He downed it in one go. The amber liquid burned like hell, but did nothing to soothe the recriminations. He walked over to the patio door, wondering if he should go to her. The urge to comfort her was very compelling, but he stamped it down. There wasn't anything he could do for her, short of recanting his words.
He went to his room, flicked on the light and plopped down on the bed, stared at the ceiling. It was done and it was done for the best. He just wished it didn't hurt like hell.
Grace, John and George could tell that something distressing was afoot between their boss and the former team profiler. Gone was the relaxed feeling between the two, and a torrent of angst was coursing in its stead. Grace was on the lookout for a chance to have a private heart-to-heart with her friend, but Sam spent most of the early day in the command center, and then the rest of the day with Rachel. Grace worried for the blonde, but knew that Sam would talk to her if she needed to. For the time being, she was content to wait for a request for a friendly ear. She also kept mum as to the cause of the unease. She couldn't know for sure, but she made an educated guess and landed not so far from the truth.
Sam was finding it difficult to focus on the case. She and Bailey hadn't spoken a word to one another for the rest of the evening after she'd stomped off, and they'd exchanged only the utmost necessary courtesies that morning. She was still reeling from his decision, attempting to get her head around it. She wondered what she would do now. Respect his wishes and give up on them? Or just flatly deny and overrule his decision, force to him to reconsider?
Bailey was having a bad day at it, too. His worry for Sam threatened to overshadow any other pressing matter he needed to tend to. He wondered if he had the heart to withstand seeing her suffer this badly. He might end up giving in, no matter how ill-advised that would be in his opinion.
Sam took a look at the red-haired profiler. Rachel seemed happy to be home as she awaited for the word on the internal investigation. Sam had been rattled when she'd stepped into the apartment. The haunted look that had passed on Rachel's face when she surveyed the shadows of the hall had unnerved Sam. She knew that her own features had portrayed that same inner anguish to a keen observer for years. To someone like Bailey.
Sighing, she gathered her thoughts again. Sam gently guided the conversation, speaking of her own insights and checking with Rachel details she hadn't been able to ascertain from anyone else. At the end of three hours, Sam felt compelled to approach the topic of Rachel's coping under the intrusion of a madman into her life.
"I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds... But from one stalking victim to another... How are you doing? Really?" She watched as the younger profiler composed herself, trying to find words to express her inner agitation.
"Uh... I guess I feel like I'm being suffocated, little by little, each day. It's a scary feeling."
Sam thought back to her own years of torment. "I know. You just have to believe that you'll come out on the other side."
Rachel looked at her, regarding her with interest. "Did you always believe that yourself?"
She considered the question. "There were moments when I doubted that. But I lucked out. I had people who were willing to lighten my burden when it got unbearable. Helping me to hold on."
"People like Bailey, you mean?" The redhead fixed her an assessing stare.
Normally, a small smile would have graced Sam's features when she thought of the man and how he'd helped her through. Today, the memories only served to cause a pang in her heart and to form a wistful look on her face. "Yes, people like Bailey. He knows what I went through, he saw how it changed me. I hope you have someone like that in your life."
Rachel smiled ruefully. "I don't know yet. Can I borrow Bailey?" she chuckled.
Sam smiled. "Why are you asking me? You need to ask him."
The younger woman looked quizzical. "Oh. I just assumed..."
"You assumed what?" she queried.
"That you two were together already." Sam drew a breath, clearly thrown. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be meddling. Whatever is between you two is none of my concern." Sam offered a feeble smile, then remained silent. Rachel watched the blonde and thought of the long months she'd witnessed Bailey longing for the woman.
"To hell with it, I'm already involved. You do know that he loves you, right?" Rachel's question threw Sam for a loop. She wondered when the new profiler had learned that.
"Yes, and I love him back. Look, things between Bailey and me are muddled for many reasons. I'd rather not get into it," Sam finished with a resolute voice and began to gather her notes. As beholden as she was to the current team profiler for helping to save her life, she wasn't about to open up to anyone about her personal relationship with Bailey.
Rachel threw up her arms in a conciliatory gesture. "As long as you know, my work here is done."
Sam nodded at the redhead. She promised to keep the younger woman appraised of any developments in the case. The women parted amicably.
Sam came away from her conversation with Rachel with a renewed sense of purpose. The meeting had confronted her with demons of the past, but she'd also remembered how far both she and Bailey had come, how hard they'd had to fight in order to be the ones standing when the final bell rang.
She wasn't about to let Bailey turn tail and run. Not without a fight.
She arrived at his place earlier than he did. She puttered around for a while, all the while re-evaluating her ideas about Rachel's case. She hoped they'd hear soon that the charges would be dropped. That would be one less thing to trouble the current team profiler, and would lighten the atmosphere around the task force.
She considered calling Bailey to find out when he'd come home, but decided to against it. She had to get through to him that evening, and she wanted to concentrate on pondering Bailey's reasons to not pursue anything between them.
Bailey arrived home to find Sam sitting on the arm chair in silence with a far-off look on her face. She trained her eyes on him and she noticed at once how harrowed he looked. Her features softened. "Hey."
"Hey," he replied, sounding decidedly tired. He closed the door behind him, took off his coat and threw it on the back of the sofa. He sat down and took a deep breath.
"How was your day?"
He regarded her with a sober look, then replied truthfully. "Not so great. How about you?"
"I guess the word would be muddled. I talked to Rachel for three hours," she added, steering the conversation into safer waters for the time being.
"Was she able to help you?"
She nodded. "I think I have a firmer grasp on her situation. I didn't really get to know her last year, so seeing her apartment and spending some time with her helped me with the profile."
"Good."
"Bailey... At the end of our meeting, she inferred, or rather, stated bluntly that she knows you love me. Care to tell me how?" While she hadn't wanted to dive into the particulars of the when and how with Rachel herself, that didn't mean her curiosity wouldn't demand to be sated.
He looked taken aback. "How did that come up?"
She shrugged. "I mentioned how you were there for me all through my ordeal, and she wanted to know if she could borrow you. One thing led to another. How about an answer to my question?"
"She... pointed out to me that I was in love with you while you were in captivity," he uttered, looking at his hands.
She hadn't expected that. "I see."
Fearing that the beginning conversation would center on the topic of 'them', he quickly decided to try and dodge the bullet. "If you don't mind, I was thinking of going to the gym," he said without much preamble, standing up and beginning to head to his room.
"Wait. Just let me say something, okay?" Her pleading tone stopped him in his tracks, and at her quiet stare, he walked back to the couch and sat down.
"My afternoon crystallized one thing for me. Those hours with Rachel got me thinking about Newquay again, his influence on us both. It's a miracle we survived and lived to tell the tale. It's a damn miracle you didn't die and he didn't kill me." Sam paused to give weight to the final words she needed to voice. "You're crazy if you think I'm just going to walk away from us, after everything we went through together."
He sighed loudly, rubbing his face in frustration. "Sam, I'm not saying we can't be friends. I just don't want to enter into a romantic relationship with you."
She looked incredulous. "How could that not hurt us both in the long run? Being so close to something we both want, and yet, being forced to contend with the next best thing?" she challenged.
"Do you really want to wait until I prove you wrong? You'd rather be in a relationship that's almost guaranteed to crash and burn?" he shot back.
She considered his words. "Oh, so because your past involvements didn't pan out, our relationship wouldn't either? I think you're dead wrong about that one in my books. I happen to think we'd be amazing together. I wish you could see it, too. I wish you could bring yourself to believe in us."
"Let me guess – I could change it all around if I would just say yes."
She shot him an irritated look. "Yes, but don't get so glib with me. I'd prefer to keep this a serious conversation."
He seated himself on the edge of the sofa. "I don't want to have this conversation. Sam, I don't have anything new to add. I don't know what else to say. We'd just be going around and around on the same old circuit."
"You haven't told me what happened over the weekend that convinced you that you need to protect me from you." At his quizzical look, she continued: "Come on, something definitely happened. You've withdrawn into your shell again."
"I just had some time to take a look back at my track record," he said in a flat voice.
She realised that he was being cagey for a good reason. "And nothing else? You just reminisced? You didn't whip out old mementoes? Didn't call anyone?" Her last guess hit home too close for comfort, and his worry showed on his face, revealing to Sam that she was on the right track.
"Bailey, come on. Tell me the truth," she pleaded.
He heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. Janet called me. It wasn't exactly a friendly call. But by that time, I'd already made my decision."
Sam's expression darkened when he mentioned his ex-wife's name. She'd been wary of the woman's return into Bailey's life. She'd gleaned from reading between the lines that after their divorce, the woman had maligned him to his daughters – something Sam herself could never condone or forget. Speaking ill of him as well as cheating on him was behaviour so foreign to Sam herself that she couldn't stop herself from disliking Janet.
She'd kept quiet on the subject, however. Apart from the talk they'd had in the jewellery store. That was the one time she'd let her irritation bubble to the surface. She'd been so thrown by the motive of the visit that her feelings had gotten the better of her.
And now, Janet had reinforced his memories of romantic failures. It occurred to Sam that she didn't really know how things had ended between Bailey and Janet a year ago. She guessed acrimoniously. Maybe that was at the heart of why he'd been so affected by the phone call?
"May I ask how things are between you and Janet?"
Her question surprised him. He'd noticed her react to his mention of Janet. He hesitated, then hedged: "Why do you want to know?"
"Because her call seems to have affected you more than I would normally anticipate."
"Fine. We didn't part amicably a year ago. I was totally focussed on finding you and she drew her own conclusions."
"And that was the end for you two?"
She watched as he nodded. No wonder the ex-wife still had an axe to grind. Her rekindled romance with her former husband had gone sour because he was in love with his co-worker. "I guess you've been trying to make amends ever since."
"At this point, I'd say that making amends is out of the realm of possibility. There's nothing to be done," he sighed.
"Look, I can understand that you're afraid that we'd end up the same way, on the outs and barely speaking to one another. You've just had some concrete reminders of that possible outcome," she finished, acknowledging his fears.
"But I believe we'd be different. I just wish you could see it, too." To her disappointment, he appeared unconvinced.
Sam blew out a breath, stared at him. They were still heading in the wrong direction. Bailey had withdrawn into his shell once more; truth be told, he'd probably been closed off since Monday. His own fears were still dictating his actions, and she realised that there was little more that she could do on his behalf. The rest was up to him.
For his part, Bailey couldn't bring himself to consider her words fully. He kept taciturn, his thoughts skirting over the surface of their discussion. He never allowed them to dwell on a particular point. He watched as Sam, looking defeated and forlorn, stood up and trudged to the guest room.
Neither Sam nor Bailey slept well that night.
Sam tossed and turned all night, too agitated by her own dread to lay peacefully, let alone fall into a calm slumber. His decision wouldn't allow her a moment's rest. She wondered what she could do now. She'd tried reasoning with him, challenging his reasons, alleviating his doubts. Nothing had worked. She got up tired and bleary-eyed, took the coldest shower she could withstand to wake herself up and got dressed, lost in thought.
She walked to the kitchen to find Bailey there, staring at two plates which had sandwiches on them. He'd prepared breakfast for them, but now faced with the situation of actually having to eat said food, he found that he'd misplaced his appetite. He pushed his plate further away on the kitchen island, then took in Sam's presence. Gesturing to the sandwiches, he uttered: "Eat them if you want to." She seated herself at the kitchen island and started to nibble on the food. He poured coffee for both of them, but didn't have time to sit down, as the land line phone started ringing. They shared a surprised look at the hour of the call, then he went to answer it.
"Malone."
"Hi Daddy, it's Frannie."
"Hi sweetie, is everything alright? Why are you calling me at this hour?"
"Well, I wanted to catch you before you went off to work, and I didn't call last night because I guessed you might be at the gym. This isn't a bad time, is it?"
"No, no. What's on your mind?"
"I should let you know that I've reserved plane tickets to Atlanta for the weekend after this one. I'll be flying in on next Friday and I'll fly back on the following Monday."
"Why are you coming over here?"
"Well, I want to see you, and somebody has to come over and make sure you're managing on your own."
"The last time I checked, I was the parent and you the kid, not the other way around."
"Just humor me this once, okay? You're not busy that weekend, are you?"
"No, it'll just be me and... It'll just be me." In the nick of time, he stopped himself from saying "me and Sam". He decided to store that near slip of the tongue in the "never think about it" file.
Frannie had caught his momentary lapse, but gracefully chose to ignore it for the time being. She'd have a much better chance of ferreting the truth out of him face to face. "Great! It's one of those late flights. I'll call you later with the details. I guess you need to be heading to work."
"I think you're right. Frannie... Thank you. I couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend. Talk to you soon."
As Sam listened to his side of the call, she made a valiant effort to eat her sandwiches, but her appetite, too, was lacking. She gleaned that the caller was Frannie and that she'd be coming to visit him soon. Sam watched as Bailey came to retrieve the coffee cup he'd placed on the island.
"When's Frances coming over?" she asked.
"Next weekend," he answered, took a sip of his coffee and grimaced a little at how much it had already cooled.
"You'll have a great time together. Working together on your bike, I bet," she added with a smile on her face.
He walked to the sink, poured his cool coffee down the drain and refreshed his cup. "Maybe. You don't think she's too old for that?"
She shook her head. "No. Cynthia, Angel's mom, kept us baking with her right up until her death. I plan on doing stuff with Chloe all through her teen years and into her twenties, if she'll let me."
He noticed the half eaten sandwich. "No appetite?" She shook her head, then remarked: "We do make quite a pair," noting his lack of appetite, too. They were both too sensitive and aware of their current predicament to miss the unspoken implication of her words. She couldn't resist the urge to drive home her point. "We could be a better one."
He shot her a slightly exasperated look. "Have you not listened to my reasons for declining?"
"I've heard them. It's just that... You're condemning the future to death so it can match the past."
"Sam..."
Even his reproachful tone wouldn't deter her from making her point. "No, Bail. Isn't that what you're effectively doing?" She looked at her wrist watch. If they didn't leave right away, they'd be late for a conference call with the assistant director of the Bureau. "Never mind. We should get going."
John ambled into Bailey's office to find his boss on the phone. Bailey held up his finger, signalling that the younger man shouldn't leave. John sat down on the arm chair, gazing at Sam and George who were working together inside the command center. He'd had enough of the unease between Bailey and Sam, and he wanted to see if he could help.
Bailey wrapped up his call quickly, looking relieved. "That was Peter Koslowsky, US attorney. According to him, the charges against Rachel will be dropped tomorrow."
John's high-wire presence deflated visibly. "That's great. She'll be so relieved."
Bailey looked pleased himself. "Yeah. Did you want something?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. So, what's the deal with you and Sam?" John asked breezily. Bailey's head shot up, surprised at the question. John was quick to voice the rationale for his enquiry. "Sorry. I figure this is one of my last chances to butt in, so I'm taking it."
Bailey's eye brows shot up high. "What do you mean, what's the deal with us?"
John shot his boss a nonplussed look. "Come on. It doesn't take a scientist to know you two love each other. So what's going on?"
Bailey gazed at his friend, wondering how much to share. "Yes, we love each other. But, love does not always equal a relationship."
John looked puzzled. "Are you telling me that you aren't going to have a relationship? That you'll just love each other from afar? Why on earth would you do that?"
"I love Sam too much to allow her to join my long list of failures."
"That's your reason?" Bailey nodded his head, staying silent.
John thought over what he'd just heard, and as he did so, he found himself becoming quite angry. His friend seemed to have no awareness of the fact that fate was fickle and your life could fall apart any given moment. "Okay, then tell me the answer to this question: would you still think like that if she were killed tomorrow in a robbery?" he challenged Bailey.
He watched Bailey's face depict a rush of real torment. "That despair right there, that's your answer. Take it from a guy who knows." The moment of remembrance hung heavy for a moment before John forced himself to snap out of it. He stood up, and before walking out of the office, he uttered: "Or you could just continue to fritter away the chance for both of you to be happy."
Sam followed Bailey to his office, close on his heels. He'd just held a staff meeting in the command center. The topic of the meeting was the dismissal of charges against Rachel. The agents had applauded and whooped at the news. The good vibe, however, was marred by the second piece of news Bailey had had to deliver: next week's Friday would be the task force's last day. By then, all the cases should be appointed to new agents and all the staff transfers should be finalised. The mood darkened until John had playfully shouted: "Party will start at seven here in this building, and the after party will be at Bailey's!" Bailey had conceded to a party in the task force premises, but he vehemently denied any plans to host the after party. After that he'd disbanded the meeting.
He was already sitting at his desk when Sam knocked on the door and entered. "Hey, you got a minute?" He nodded.
"I was thinking that I could just as well work from home from now on. I mean, we've assigned the open cases to individual profilers, and now that Rachel's situation has abated a little, I could chip in from home. What do you think?" She was loath to ask him, for it meant that the distance between them would now become a concrete one, but she also felt she couldn't, in good conscience, spend more time away from Chloe, nor did she really want to.
He had to concede that her suggestion made sense. There wasn't much she could accomplish any more, not until Rachel's stalker resurfaced again. "I think you're right."
"So... I won't come to Atlanta next week, then." He nodded mutely. She gazed at him, waiting for some kind of response, a sign that he'd come to miss her in her absence. Unbeknownst to her, he was wrestling with his own inner thoughts.
He was still aching from a mere moment of imagining the loss of Sam; an emotion that hadn't left him in peace since it had descended upon him. In short, he'd had a change of heart. Maybe he shouldn't have dismissed a relationship so readily.
"Sam, about us..." his voice wavered a bit. He straightened his vest, a sign of his inner turmoil.
"Don't you think it'd just be a crazy idea?" She looked at him. 'It' being them, was his meaning. Still, she had an inkling that his determination was softening.
"No, Bail, I don't. Do you wonder what we could be if you'd only let me in?" she replied in a soft voice.
He didn't respond, and she jumped in to alleviate his doubts. "Look, all I'm asking for is for you to push your doubts aside and just... let me in. Everything else will sort itself out. I promise."
He looked her in the eyes, wanting to make himself clear on the matter. "I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. But... Can I think about this some more?"
She was relieved, and beamed at him. "As long as you come to me with your doubts if you have any. Don't hold it all inside. You can always talk to me."
He, too, had visibly relaxed. "Deal. I'll try to not let the past cloud my judgement."
They took a moment to bask in the happy moment. Then, Sam's curiosity won out. "Not to rock the boat, but may I ask what made you change your mind?"
Bailey's thoughts flew to his earlier encounter with John. "John is a very insightful guy these days," he offered in a way of explanation.
Sam wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "John?" He nodded, and she turned to look at the man in question, who was sitting at his desk. She gazed at him for a moment, then looked back at Bailey. A funny expression crossed her face, and Bailey watched on as she excused herself hastily from his presence and strode out of his office.
His eyes followed her as she approached John and called out to him. He swerved around in his chair to greet her, but before he could do anything she'd already bestowed him a small peck and a fierce hug. Before long Sam withdrew from him, graced him with an affectionate look, said something short and then headed back to Bailey's office, leaving John looking utterly dumbfounded.
Despite his friendship with the man, Bailey had slightly tensed when he witnessed Sam's gesture of affection upon John, especially the kissing part, however brief it had been. Sam breezed back into his office.
"What was that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.
"I felt an overwhelming compulsion to thank John," she answered, wondering a bit at the look on his face.
He cleared his voice. "And that required you to hug him and..."
Sam caught on to the root cause of his sour expression. "Kiss him?"
"Yes."
She felt delighted in a funny way. "Oh honey, I'd kiss you blind right now but there are people around and it's unprofessional. Leave, people!" She shouted out the last sentence in a very loud voice, sparking curious glances from the agents milling around the task force. Bailey let out a guffaw. She gazed at the space outside his office, appearing to wait to see if people would comply. Seeing the non-existent reaction, she looked positively displeased.
"Damn. I guess we'll have to take a rain check, huh?" she remarked with a sultry look. She let her eyes linger his lips for a while before pulling herself together. An idea formed in her head.
"Now that that's over with, I'd like to ask you something. What are your plans for the weekend?"
TBC...