P A S S A G E
Sequel to Privilege
(temporary title)

A/N: Time to speed up the story a little.

C h a p t e r F i v e
Choice

. - . - . - .

Kelly sat at the kitchen table with half a blue crayon clutched in her fist and the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swayed to the strokes of her hand, and in front of her, Grover's outline steadily gained color.

Opposite the four-year-old, Sam absentmindedly traced Elmo's nose with a bright orange crayon, her attention divided between Kelly and work.

Some good leads on Gregory Henley; none on Richard Hirsch. The man had dropped off the face of the earth. As long as he stays there, she thought.

The next thing she thought stirred up the nightmares again, and she automatically shut them out, fiddling with the orange crayon. To her surprise, they fell away more easily than normal. Her gaze fastened on Kelly, and she smiled. There was absolutely no way Sam was having kids any time in the near future, but she had found in the past hour that for some reason, she felt much safer here with Kelly then she would have at her own apartment. The one constantly watched finally gets to do the watching. But she knew that wasn't all of it.

Sam glanced at the clock, and decided it was past Kelly's bedtime. Ten minutes later had the girl climbing into bed, one hand gripping a small, pale non-animal, one of those stuffed critters that isn't really a bear. Kelly watched Samantha with an earnest expression, her four-year-old version of deep thought. Seeing it, Sam hesitated, hand poised to switch the bedside lamp off.

"You okay?"

"Yes." The little girl looked up. Sam noticed that the non-animal's stiff arms had been sewn on in such a way that the creature seemed to be reaching outward, eternally imploring some unseen specter.

"Okay. Sleep tight."

Kelly blinked. Samantha switched off the light and stood up in the darkness. Carefully, she picked her way back to the door, and had just put her hand on the knob when the blackness behind her said, "Dina likes you a lot. She told me so."

Noting the absence of a certain "m" word, Sam turned back. She could just make out the small girl's shape by the light drifting in through the curtain-less bedroom window. "I like her, too."

"Why?"

Samantha was startled, but remained still. "What makes you ask that?"

The answer was hesitant. "I stayed with Mrs. Curtis before. She was sad when I left with Dina. She said Dina was not a good example. She said it."

Samantha exhaled softly.

"And the man in the suit said bad things about her. I heard him. He doesn't like Dina either."

Her eyes now mostly adjusted to the darkness, Sam sat back down on the side of the bed and wondered about the best way to handle all this. "Kelly, Dina made some bad choices. Everyone makes bad choices." Her gaze again went to the non-animal's silent entreaty. "What separates good people from bad people is that good people are sorry for the bad choices they make, and want to change them." And now her eyes returned to the girl. "Kelly, Dina is sorry for the bad choices she made. She changed, because she loves you, and she doesn't want anything bad to happen to you. She loves you no matter what the other people say." Samantha could see a flicker of a smile on Kelly's face. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Sam got up, but Kelly again spoke.

"Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"I like Dina."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad."

"…Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"…I like you, too."

. - . - . - .

Danny studied the girl before him. She was much changed from when he had last seen her; her blonde hair hung limp to her waist in neglect, there were blue-ish circles under bluer eyes, and her nose was pink. Her hands lay lifelessly at her sides, wrapped almost to the elbows in white bandages, and she looked past him, and said nothing.

"Well, Carolynn, that was very stupid."

The girl barely blinked.

"I don't know how you think that will solve anything – " He sat down in the plastic chair by the bed, gesturing to her covered wrists. She only stared at the wall.

"So the nurse tells me you've taken a vow of silence, huh? A sort of screw-the-world attitude." He paused. No response. "Alright then. I'll just have to talk to myself."

So saying, he leaned back in the chair to get more comfortable, folded his hands on his knee, and looked out the window.

"There's this case that I'm working on. This old guy, Greg Henley…"

. - . - . - .

Business was slow at the diner tonight. Two old men sat at the bar, and one young couple flirted in a booth in the corner. The only other customer was a very blonde young man, sitting alone in front of a window with his back to the room. It was to his table that Dina had been assigned, and now she walked over to him, pulling out her notepad and hoping that his meal would be quick; she wanted to finish up and go home.

"Ready to order?"

He looked up, studied her, and she found that though there was nothing inappropriate in his gaze, she didn't like him. Perhaps he's a bad tipper, she thought tiredly.

He ordered a coffee, black, and whatever the special was, and she trudged back to the bar. Just then the door of the diner opened and let in a stream of laughing teenagers in coats and boots, who promptly made their way to the center of the dining area; two of the tables they filled were hers.

Dina leaned back against the bar, giving the kids time to settle and look at their menus and waiting for the other man's order. She glanced at her watch, sighed, and pulled out her cell phone. She was going to be home later than she'd expected. She found the cell number Samantha Spade had given her – she wouldn't dial the home phone, she didn't want to wake Kelly – and pressed the green button.

"Spade."

"Agent Spade, this is Dina." And by the window, the lone man stiffened, unnoticed.

. - . - . - .

The girl on the phone finished her conversation and hung up, then went about her business. Who was she? He knew Samantha had gone into the building across the street, but not what she was doing there.He considered the girl as she moved to another table. Young, pretty. Tired, but trying not to show it. What did this waitress have to do with his Samantha? A relative? But he knew of no relatives, and anyway, he could see little resemblance between the girl and Samantha Spade. A friend, then? Or just an acquaintance?

She turned to approach his table, and he looked away.

"Can I help you with anything else?"

Slowly he met her eyes. "Perhaps, Miss. Perhaps."

. - . - . - .

A/N: oops, 4am. Well, reviews always welcome.