A/N: This is a little different since technically the whole chapter should be from Madison's perspective, but what can I say? Norman wanted to play, too. I am powerless to stop him. I'm actually very happy with this chapter. Madison was incredibly cooperative; usually I have a hard time getting inside her head.
Also, I'm a bit worried it may seem like Sam has a crush on Madison. I didn't intend it that way because that would just be...well, creepy. I don't know. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up.
)O(
"Where are you going?" Jayden questioned, finishing off his second cup of coffee that morning. Madison was walking briskly about the apartment, gathering up her purse and pulling on her coat at the same time. It was blatantly obvious, at least from his stationary position on the couch anyway, that she was in a rush.
"Work," she said in that subconsciously self-important way people do. "There are...a few things I have to look into. It shouldn't take long. Honestly, I'd rather not go at all; every journalist I know is either jealous of me for stumbling onto the story of the year, or desperate to interview me for their interpretation of it." Then she stopped, sighed and shook her head, as if trying to steer her throughts away from a dark path. "Are you going to be all right while I'm gone?"
"I'll be fine." And this time, he did not have to lie to her.
Madison nodded, apparently satisfied with that. But then she walked over to the desk, grabbed an old business card, and jotted something down on the back of it.
"I know you won't call an ambulance if something goes wrong," she started, "But at least call me, okay? This is my cellphone number." She indicated the first set of digits written on the card. "If that doesn't work for some reason, this is the number to my office. Just ask for me and they'll put you through."
It was one of those times that Jayden wondered why she did all this for him, why she cared enough in the first place, and why she trusted a drug addict. It couldn't be as simple as the fact that he was one of the good guys. Was he, even?
Madison was gone before he could ask any of these questions. It was probably better that way. He heard the rumbling engine of her motorcycle quickly fade into the distance, and then he was alone.
)O(
"Hey, Sam," Madison said nonchalantly, holding the cellphone to her ear. She sat on her motorcycle in the parking lot of The American Tribune.
"Madison? Jesus, I thought the paparazzi had forced you into hiding! What have you been doing? Are you coming back to work soon?"
"That's why I'm calling." she began, slowly. "I'm outside, right now. I just...I don't want a mob of reporters to greet me, you know?"
Sam was quiet for a moment. "Got it. I'll see what I can do. But you know how they can be; maybe you should have thought about that before you ran off to play the heroine." More like the guardian angel. He meant it as a joke, of course, but it still hurt somehow.
I just don't know when to stop, do I?
Madison thanked him, hung up the phone, and mentally prepared for the journey ahead. Dreading the idea of being stuck in an elevator with someone who would no doubt want to play twenty questions once they realized she was indeed the Madison Paige, she opted to take the stairs.
Her office was on the third floor. It was a large room shared by dozens of reporters all eagerly competing for a spot on the front page. Most of them had countless informants throughout the city, but Madison preferred to do the digging herself. All she needed was Sam. In all the years she'd known him, he had never once let her down, and this time was no different.
People eyed her expectantly, making a poor attempt at hiding the questions burning on the tips of their tongues. They were questions she had been asked before and refused to answer, for Ethan's sake. He wanted to forget the whole thing, just like Jayden did. And in all honesty, she wished she could, too. But Madison had long since come to grips with the fact that you had to confront these kinds of things, instead of just letting them fester in the back of your mind and give you nightmares.
The media would find something to appease the public though. It always did.
Madison made her way to her desk and sat down, turning on the computer. Maybe if she was thorough this time, no longer having to fear being caught by a certain profiler, she could find what she was looking for. Jayden was hiding something. But what is it? There's no way it's that bad, right? He would have told me if...
Why would he trust her just because she'd saved his life? She saved Ethan's life, too, and he didn't finally open up until she had done it three times over. Maybe men were just secretive. Was Sam keeping things from her as well?
Don't be an idiot. He has never let you down, remember? You're exhausted, girl, and you aren't thinking clearly.
The search wasn't yielding many results, as it were. The FBI had gone to great lengths to keep its secrets. She could not find anything on the ARI program or the addictive substance known as triptocaine. There was only one option left. Well, besides confronting the ex-agent directly and threatening to throw him out on the street if he didn't tell her what she wanted to know. And if it was not for her goddamn guardian angel complex, she might do just that.
Sam was sitting at his own desk, concentrating on some document in front of him. He looked like he needed a distraction.
"Hello again." she said, announcing her presence. The man's blue eyes lit up behind his glasses when he saw who it was. He stood up and walked toward her, smiling that remarkably white smile of his.
"God, it is good to have you back. You have no idea how dull this place is without you."
"I can't stay." Madison said regretfully. "I have...something I have to take care of. Yes, I know I'm a bitch for disappearing for days and then coming back all famous only to run off again. But it gets even better. I need a favor."
The smile vanished. Sam ran a hand through his graying hair; he often said she was the reason for his gray hairs. Madison believed it.
"Shit, Mad, what could possibly be so important? Do you have another serial killer you have to go track down? Is that it?"
"Don't do this, Sam. Please...not now." The pleading note in her voice surprised them both.
For the first time in many years, an awkward silence stretched like an invisible barrier between them.
He sighed heavily and sat down again, grabbing a pen and a sheet of paper. Madison would owe him for this very soon. And yet on some level, she was aware that she took Sam for granted.
"All right," he said. "Tell me what you need, then go home; you look like you're about to fall asleep standing up."
So she told him everything she knew thus far, which unfortunately wasn't much.