(Thanks to demonchilde!)

THE FICTION OF INDIFFERENCE

Bailey looked up from the papers on his desk when he heard a knock on the door. Sam was smiling at him all across the room, framed by her light blue trench and dark brown pant suit. "Hey, boss. I'm back," she greeted him brightly.

"So nice that you could tear yourself away from your bed," he drawled, reminded of what she'd confessed about her sleeping habits during her vacation.

"It was brutal, but I kept my head down and powered through," she countered cheerfully. "So, will you bring me up to speed, or are you too busy?"

"I've arranged a small pow-wow with George for us in a half an hour."

"Okay, I'm gonna go kick my heels up until then. Just kidding." She wandered off, waving at and greeting her coworkers on the short way to her office. He watched her progress until she'd passed his windows. He was glad she was back, and above all, he was happy that they'd returned to their normal, easy way of being when in one another's company. Yesterday morning had been proof of that.

Now that she was back, they'd have to make a decision about Wykoff soon. He'd accepted that the psychic wasn't faking his gift; the insights the man had had into his past couldn't have been dug up anywhere.

Bailey was nowhere nearer to knowing what Wykoff had meant with his cryptic ending words. "You don't know. Not yet." Had he been so distracted by the revelatory intuitions of the psychic that he'd missed something? Something that might explain the meaning of the words? He'd run the session over in his head dozens of times, but he was none the wiser for them.

Anyway, he and Sam would need to confer about the psychic soon, and start to think of ways of keeping the man safe and sound. Would Wykoff move somewhere, now that he was no longer catatonic? Would the Institute keep him there? Bailey doubted that the duties of a nursing home would fall into the purview of the establishment.

He took a look at his watch. He'd been, for a lack of a better word, daydreaming for ten minutes now. He really needed to pull it together. He couldn't afford to let a second preoccupation take over for the first one, now that he'd given up that ghost.

Sam pushed open the door to her office and flicked on the lights. Everything was how she'd left it two weeks ago. She'd been slightly worried that John and Marcus might get another bright idea and tease her again, but that worry had now proved unnecessary. She shook off her trench coat, flung it haphazardly on the sofa opposite her desk and sat down on her chair, getting acclimated to her surroundings. She tuned the radio to a classical station and spent a few minutes just staring at her co-workers walking this way and that beyond the window.

She spied Grace walking up to John and talking to him for a moment, then handing over a file. Grace glanced at Bailey's office, then looked back at John. Sam grew anxious that maybe Grace didn't intend to leave her friend's non-existent love life alone that easily. The well-meaning medical examiner could go to Bailey even though she'd made, if not a promise, then at least an indication to the contrary. Sam would have to keep a close eye on Grace this week.

And it seemed like she'd have a chance to take her friend's temperature, so to speak, as Grace spied her sitting in her office and headed directly to her office.

"Hey Sam, so nice to have you back," Grace greeted her amicably.

"Nice to be back," she smiled in return. "What were you talking to John about?"`

"He'd asked me a few things on gun powder residue, and I got back to him."

"Ah."

Grace took a few steps to the door. "I gotta run. Jerzy wanted my opinion on a fingerprint thing. How about lunch?"

"I'd love to, if our schedules jive."

"Okay, talk to you later."

"Yeah." Grace was out of the door in an instant and walked past Sam's window. Sam relaxed a bit, now more convinced that her love life wasn't at the fore front of her friend's thoughts. She reached for the upmost file on a stack sitting on her desk and got to work.

"Hey! How was it? Your first day back?" Angel asked cheerfully from Sam, who'd put in a full day and had even managed to attend the women's exercise class again. She was just arriving home.

"It was fine," Sam replied and plopped her gym bag on the dining table. "No case seems to be on the verge of breaking, so that's a bit frustrating. How was your day? Were you able to flesh out your scary story ideas?"

Angel clicked her tongue. "I had a few good moments, but on the whole, the big inspiration eluded me."

"Maybe you could talk to your Hoffen House kids about it, see if that helps," Sam suggested, referring to the group of at-risk kids Angel had been teaching for more than a year.

"That's a good idea. Thanks. I was thinking of rummaging through Chloe's stacks of books."

"If you do and I'm not around, if you come across The Chronicles of Narnia, handle them with care. They belonged to Tom, and I finally managed to get Helen's permission to have Chlo read them."

"Don't worry, I will. Have you called Chloe yet?"

"No, not yet. I promised to call every night at eight. Are they any muffins left, the ones that Frances baked? I'm starving."

"I think there's one left. It's in the fridge. What about your gym clothes?" Angel chuckled when Sam made a beeline to the kitchen.

Sam waved off Angel's concerns. "They can wait five minutes." Sam zeroed in on the lone muffin and didn't even bother to close the fridge door before taking her first bite.

"You know we have apples and bananas," Angel pointed out.

"Far too sensible," Sam scrunched her nose, closed the fridge door and stood in her spot, munching on her greasy treat.

"Didn't you have time to eat at the task force?"

"I did, but that was four hours ago. I didn't want to eat anything before the class."

Angel nodded her head a couple of times. "Ah. So. How was everyone at work?"

"What do you mean?" Sam shot her friend a piercing look.

"I know you, Sam. Don't tell me you didn't keep tabs on Grace, afraid that she'd blurt out something to Bailey, after all."

"I might have," Sam muttered before getting defensive: "So what if I did? Didn't I have a good reason?"

Angel adopted a nonchalant tone. "I'm not denying that you didn't. I was just curious."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go put the laundry on. Do you have anything you want washed?"

So Sam was playing the evasive game. Angel decided to let it pass. "Nah, I'm good." While Sam was at her task, Angel amused herself with reminiscing Sam's reaction to Grace's unnervingly uncanny question. The pathologist had really hit the nail on the head.

Angel was disappointed that she'd missed Bailey's presence at the house yesterday. She would have welcomed the opportunity to observe the pair. To gauge for herself how they might truly feel. Right now, she was just running with what she could pull out of Sam, which wasn't a whole lot to go on.

On Tuesday night, Bailey was leafing through the poetry book by cummings that Sam had given to him on Sunday. He was looking for the poem the few stanzas of which had floated to him a couple of weeks ago. He was reading the collection in order, coming across now and again poems that Sam had marked with a bent corner. He didn't mind Sam's high-handedness; she'd chosen riveting poems. And it was fun knowing which poems had touched her.

His concentration was shaken when he heard Frances' voice."Dad? Here's an email from Ari that I printed. She jotted down a list of what she'd like to do here. Read it and tell me what you think."

Bailey took the printout that his daughter was offering him and started to skim it. He made it two paragraphs down before he found himself puzzled by some things in the email.

"Sweetheart, can you come here for a sec?" He pointed out a few groupings of capital letters and of characters that he couldn't make out. "What do these mean?"

Frances leaned over her dad's shoulder and looked at the sections he was indicating. "Oh, they're email speak, if you will. 'VBG' means 'very big grin', 'LOL' means 'laughing out loud' and that one is a smiley face."

"A smiley face?" Bailey repeated.

"Yeah, you know. A smiling face in writing. Here, look." She grabbed the paper and turned it on its side so her dad could see the icon more clearly. "See?"

Bailey inspected the icon. "Okay, I guess. Why not just write them out in letters?"

"Well, they save time. Who can be bothered to write 'rolling on the floor laughing' when 'ROTFL' takes care of it?"

"Who indeed?" Bailey shook his head and got back to reading the suggestions of his younger daughter. Arianna wanted to go to Six Flags, see the prestigious Buckhead neighbourhood and visit the Olympic park as well as the town of Helen. They could and should make a day trip out of the visit to Helen, start early and spend the day in the Bavarian town, then return in the evening. Depending on which day they'd venture out, they could invite Sam and Chloe along. That would be nice.

Just as Frances was teaching her dad about the intricacies of the exciting realm of the world wide web, Sam was dialling Melinda's number, to set up an appointment as well as to check if there were any free lectures or seminars coming up at Emory.

"Melinda Gillespie."

"Hi Melinda, it's Sam."

"Hello, Sam. It's always so good to hear from you. How have you been?"

"I've been well. Really busy with work, but I did have a two weeks' vacation, so I can't complain. What about you?"

"I'm just enjoying a breather from course work, and putting the final touches to a research paper."

"Really? You'll have to tell me more. That's actually one of the reasons why I called. Would you have time for a session some time soon?"

"For you, anything. But I'll have to get back to you on the time. I left my calendar in my office today."

"Thanks, call me anytime. There was one other thing I wanted to ask. Does Emory still host those free lectures that are open to anyone during the summer?"

"Oh, you mean those joint psychology and sociology seminars? Those were funded by a professorship that expired two years ago. Sorry. Why did you ask?"

"Bailey's daughter is thinking of studying psychology. I told her about the seminars."

"Is she thinking of coming to Emory?"

"No, she's applied to Macon state college, but I thought the seminar could be a fun way for her to wade into the field for a day or two. See if it seems like something she'd enjoy studying in the long run. Ah well, I'll have to tell her the bad news."

"As I said, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You know, if this wraps it up, I'm going to beg for your forgiveness and get back to my research paper. I'm in the middle of a very profilic hour or so."

"By all means, go write! I'll talk to you later."

"Of course. Bye, Sam."

Aftter Sam's response, her old mentor and friend hung up. Melinda had made a very respectable career in academia, publishing several well-reviewed studies over the years. Melinda had tried to encourage Sam to follow in her footsteps, but the protege had resolutely declined, having found a way to fulfill herself as an agent.

Now that a session with Melinda was fast approaching, Sam knew she had to contemplate the topic her friend had brought up in their last encounter. Her similarities with Wykoff, both personal and professional.

She considered the facet that floated to her first: his worsening condition, and his lapse into catatonia when she herself had nearly been at the end of her rope. Like she'd confessed to Melinda, she'd pulled through her brush with burnout bit by bit, with Bailey's unrelenting, quiet support.

Now, though, Wykoff wouldn't likely get a second chance. Didn't appear to even want one. That twisted at her heart, but she estimated that the man's mind was as good as made. Even making treatment a condition of him being allowed to chip in wouldn't get Wykoff to change his mind.

In a way, she knew that to be the case. Wykoff wanted to help them. For their good as much as his own. She knew from experience that by helping others, you also helped yourself. That was one of the reasons she'd become an active agent again. To help herself to heal.

They were like minds; determined to aid others, even if that came at a great cost. Their work had forced great losses and sacrifices upon them. Yet, they kept at it. Kept trying to alleviate, prevent someone else's suffering.

Sam's mood darkened when her thoughts turned to their tormentors, Jack and Hollister. She wondered how a human being to turn out so utterly twisted and soulless. Wykoff had the additional burden of having to come to terms with the fact that he'd been betrayed by his sole remaining friend. Someone he had trusted and had come to rely on. Someone he and Diane had included in their lives. In a way, her lot was easier, if there ever could be such a concept.

Being able to confirm to Elliot that Hollister was rotting away in prison had brought her some manner of serenity. Elliot probably wanted the same sensation before he passed away. Some reassurance that he'd see her off happier, at peace.

She wondered, not for the first time, what Elliot had divined about Bailey. And when would he tell her?

Bailey slid in through the double doors of the courtroom 8B and took a seat in the back row. He surveyed the people sitting in the rows ahead, trying to see where Bohanon was seated with his public defender. He'd called in a favor from the district attorney's office to be kept in the loop when Bohanon's court date would be. He already knew that a plea bargain had been reached outside of court, so there wouldn't be any surprises to look out for. He'd felt compelled to be here, to achieve a kind of closure with the fate of his former gun. Close a part of that chapter of his life. Hopefully, in a few months, he and Frannie would put the unfortunate part of their relationship to rest.

There was no specific time for the arraignment, and so he'd rationalised that he would spend his lunch break at the court house. Still, after he'd waited for 40 minutes, he started getting anxious. He would need to start heading back soon. He looked at Bohanon who was sitting at the left end of the second row. Bohanon chewed on his nails and kept his head down.

Bailey didn't notice Sam sidling up to sit beside him until she'd invaded the personal space complete strangers had the decency to abide by. He turned his head to see her concerned, reproachful and expectant gaze.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" A hint of amusement seeped through in Sam's whisper. Her face blossomed into a full grin when she realized he was speechless.

Right then, Bohanon's case was called, and they focused on the proceedings. Sam's hand found his, and they listened to the proceedings in silence. She squeezed his hand when the judge approved the plea bargain. Bohanon was taken into custody by the bailiff.

Bailey and Sam exited the court room in silence.

Once outside, Sam asked: "So, feel better?"

He took a beat to consider his reply. "I think so. How did you know?"

She flashed him a grin. "You're not the only one with connections."

He arched his eyebrows, amused. Then, he sobered up. "Thanks for coming."

She cocked her head. "Sure."

"Hey. You got a sec?" Bailey peered in through the open door of Sam's office. The workday was winding down to its final hours.

"Sure. What's up?" she asked, seeing Bailey close the door.

"I wanted to discuss Wykoff." As he walked over to the sofa, she put down the case file and waited, hoping, anticipating, that he'd reveal what the psychic had divined about him.

"Shoot," she encouraged him.

"I'm inclined to let him help in the investigation. But only if we provide for him and his safety," he voiced his conditions. He was apparently thinking of having the Bureau foot the bill for Elliot's upkeep.

She flashed a pleased grin. "Way ahead of you, Bail. I've already set aside a hefty sum for his everyday needs and protection. But..." she trailed off, as she hoped that he'd guess her next suggestion.

Bailey caught on quick. "But we need to keep him absolutely safe, and you want to go through Casper."

She loved how well he knew her. ""Exactly. Do you think this is something he'd be able to arrange?"

"I'm sure he knows someone who'd be suited for our needs."

"It might be a tall order," she fretted.

"Casper'll come through," he reassured her, and she nodded.

The official plan was now in place, and they lapsed into a brief silence. She was expecting him to share Wykoff's insights with her. For his part, he realized her wish, and considered telling her right then and there, but couldn't make himself do it. He still hadn't come to terms with the fact himself, and the setting and timing seemed wrong, somehow. He shot her an apologetic look.

Sam realized with a jolt that her wish was in vain. He wasn't about to tell her. She forced down her urge to wheedle the information out of him. For some reason, it shook her to know that there was something he wasn't willing to share with her. She checked herself, ashamed. Why should he share every facet of his life with her? She couldn't pinpoint the reason readily, and so she brushed it aside.

Bailey looked on as Sam fought back her need to know and made her peace with his reticence. Right then, he knew that his telling her wasn't a matter of it; it was a matter of when. It dawned on him that it had always been a matter of when. Long before Wykoff had ever had knowledge of it.

He changed the subject. "How's Chloe?"

"She's good. She's enjoying her stay." Sam gave a small smile.

"No crying fits this time?"

"Surprisingly, none. Don't know if that's supposed to make me feel better or worse," she made a self-deprecating face.

Bailey knew where she was coming from. "I know how that goes. Give her my love when you talk to her."

"I will."

He glanced at his watch, then stood up. "I've gotta get back to work. Talk to you before you go home?"

"Nope, sorry. I've used up my talking quota for the day," she quipped.

He'd been advancing on the door, but now he turned aound. "And if I bring you coffee and chocolate?"

She picked up her mug. "You just used the magic words. Permission granted."

He shook his head fondly. "You drive a hard bargain."

"But I'm worth it," she smiled mischieviously.

"Uh huh." He responded to her smile before exiting her office.

Frances was standing at the oven, peering into the heat to see how her carrot cake was coming along. Another five minutes would do the trick. She hummed to the music, and a few dance steps took her to the sink where there were dishes waiting to be rinsed and placed into the dishwasher. She smiled when she heard the click of the garage door. Her dad was home.

"Hey! How was your day?" she greeted her dad.

Bailey took in the scene in front of him before answering. He was in for a delectable dessert. "Ah, it was fine. How about yours?"

"Just studying. I went for a walk in the park during my skip hour," she shrugged. "That's when I decided to bake this baby." Her mirth died when she caught glimpse of his expression.

"What is it? That's your serious face," she prodded.

"I went to Bohanon's hearing today. The judge approved the deal. He'll serve a minimum of two years," he informed his daughter, peering at her closely to see how she took the news.

She looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She gave a small nod. "Whew. Good." She looked out the window, reminiscing for a small moment her weeks with the young man and how her story might have had a similar ending, had it not been for her dad and his love for her. She was very lucky – something she would never take for granted again.

He stepped closer to her. "You okay?"

Her head whipped to the side to look at him. "Of course. Thanks for letting me know."

Sam approached the stables situated at the side of Helen and Charles' main estate. Their farm was massive, with plenty of woods and fields where they could practice their horses. She'd arrived ten minutes ago and had ambled up to the main house to ring the doorbell, to no avail. She guessed that her daughter and her former in-laws would be seeing to the horses, and so she'd headed to the stables.

As she walked along the main corridor, she heard Chloe's laughter emanating from the office at the back of the premises. Finally reaching the office, she knocked and opened the door to find Chloe sitting on Charles' lap at the desk, studying pedigrees of the horses the Waters' family had been breeding for three generations.

The little girl looked up when the door opened, and her face lit up. "Mommy! " She sprang off her grandpa's lap and flew to her mom.

"Hey, baby girl, how are you?" Sam scooped the girl up and blew kisses into her hair. "Hi," she greeted Charles.

"Hello, Sam. Nice to see you again." Charles stood up from behind the desk.

"You, too. Did my little rascal behave herself this week?"

"She's been a joy, as always."

Sam set Chloe down, and the girl started dragging her mom by the hand, wishing to exit the office. "Mom, come see Bourbon again. He's gotten so big!"

"Okay, hold onto your horses, missy. Where's Helen? I thought she'd be here, too."

"She went to lie down an hour ago. Chloe, why don't you go get your grandma, and then we'll all go see Bourbon together. He's in one of the pens,"Charles added by way of explanation.

"Okay!" Chloe turned around and made a swift exit.

"No running, sweetie!" Charles yelled after her, and they could hear the girl ceasing to run. Sam shared a good-natured smile with Charles.

"Thank you for letting her stay here," he said, sounding very grateful. Sam didn't have to guess why.

"Sure. Have you taken her to the grave?" Sam asked a little unsurely, out of politeness. She knew that Tom's parents hadn't been to the grave since the burial, but some things had to asked out of manners and consideration.

Charles just shook his head, and Sam nodded hers.

"Have you talked about him?"

"A little. Not a lot." Charles' voice began to choke up, and Sam abandoned the topic. She didn't want to upset him more than he already was.

"Let's go outside. I'm dying to meet Bourbon," she offered him a hint of an upbeat smile.

The flowers in the grave yard were in full bloom; the grass was lush and verdant. The pebbled pathways through the rows of graves were freshly kept, and the tomb stones shone with muted light.

Thomas Jeffrey Waters

2.12.1959 – 6.30.1993

Sam and Chloe were standing in front of the grave, gazing at it in silence. Sam looked at her somber daughter. Chloe seemed to keep her gaze fixed on the flowers they'd brought to the grave. She kicked at the grass and fidgeted a little.

Sam drew Chloe to her side and began a story that had come to her.

"Did I ever tell you that ever since your daddy and I found out we would have a baby, he was convinced that we'd have a girl? Nothing on this earth could make him think for even a second that you might be a boy. He always referred to you as a she, and whenever we were in stores, he always made a beeline to the section for babygirls. Once, before you were born, he came home with a huge stuffed toy horse. When I asked him what it was for, he said that he'd just wanted to buy it and that you could perhaps sleep on it when you got older."

Chloe's brow furrowed. "Did I sleep on it?"

"Once or twice when you were two, as I recall, before your daddy admitted to his judgment of error."

Chloe giggled a little, then looked at the tomb stone again.

Sam's heart broke a little, for the hundredth time, when she thought of all the things Tom would miss out on.

"He loved you more than anything, Chlo. Always know that."

Next day, Bailey checked his watch for the fifth time in the past hour. The time was drawing near. The painful memory hung heavy for him. He couldn't wait any longer. He didn't want to wait. He dialled George's extension.

"Command center, Fraley."

"It's Bailey. Hold any and all calls for me during the next hour. I'm not here," he stressed to the resident computer whiz, hoping that the man would get the hint.

"Sure," was all George replied. He knew that neither the boss nor the profiler were to be disturbed.

"Thanks." Bailey hung up, sprang up from his chair and headed to Sam's office, keeping his eyes straight ahead so as to not attract anyone's attention. He rapped gently on the door, then pushed it open and looked inside Sam's office. She was sitting on the sofa, her feet gathered underneath her. A mug full of coffee sat on the desk, neglected and cold. The office was dimly lit; she'd drawn the blinds, and the only light in the room shone from the desk lamp.

She shot an apprehensive look at him, but her eyes melted when she realised that he was the intruder. He closed the door, deciding to lock it; Sam didn't look like she'd want more company. Then, he ambled to the sofa and sat down next to her. She gave him a sorrowful smile and kept silent.

Sam stared straight ahead, not really seeing anything. But that wasn't because of the darkness. She wrung her hands, drew the sleeves over her hands, then pushed the sleeves up, fidgeted. Anything to keep her body even remotely busy; no such luck with her thoughts. At the moment, she was back in Quantico, blissfully unaware of how her life would shatter apart in six minutes. Five years ago.

Bailey kept his distance for as long as he could, waiting for her. He could feel her emotions ramp up, agitation start to consume her. He lasted two minutes before he had to act. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulder, keeping the touch light. Signaling his willingness to share her pain, to comfort her.

His hand hadn't been on her shoulder for five seconds before she accepted his offer. She turned to him and leant against his side, resting her head agaist his chest and wrapping her right hand around him. He kept his arm around her, and together they settled into a comfortable position. They listened to the muffled sounds and voices of the work being done in the task force premises.

They stayed like that for 37 minutes; the same amount of time that had passed from the gruesome act and the alerting phone call to the moment when he'd gently coaxed her away from Tom's dead body.

At the end, Bailey broke their embrace to reach for Sam's phone on the sofa table. He offered the item to her, who dialled her home number. He listened to her end of the conversation with Chloe. His friend talked to her daughter for a few minutes.

When Sam had hung up, Bailey remarked: "You could have stayed at home, if you wanted to."

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "Thanks, but what would I have done at home? Just counted the minutes? Better to even try to keep busy. Not that I've been successful," she chuckled, sounding self-reproachful. Her efforts had dwindled throughout the day; as the time drew ever nearer, her concentration lagged ever more.

"Well, if you want to leave early, you can." He squeezed her shoulder and stood up. "I'd better get back to work." His tone of voice was asking if she was okay.

She sighed and nodded, gave him a tiny smile. He turned around to exit her office. He'd taken a few steps when she called out to him. "Hey, Malone." He wheeled around at her words, looking at her with a silent question. He was wearing black dress trousers, a white dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up and a navy tie. His silver bracelet glimmered in the faint light. A wave of affection shot through her and spilled into her tenor. "Thank you."

"Sure," he responded softly, echoing his own reply from months ago, when he'd thanked her for her help and understanding with his self-recriminations and tumultous feelings in the aftermath of the shooting. He strode to the door, unlocked it and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

His scent lingered in the air around the sofa. She leant back, breathed deep and closed her eyes, sending him another thank-you, this time without words.

Sam was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The day had been brutal. Too many memories, too many regrets. Spending every possible minute with Chloe had been the only thing that had gotten her through the day. Maybe next year she'd follow Bailey's advice and just stay home.

She'd talk all this through with Melinda during her next session. During the quiet that preceded her falling asleep, she'd been sorting further her feelings and thoughts concerning Wykoff. In a way, she'd been checking back with herself, trying to verify her previous conclusions. In that regard, she was now satisfied that she knew herself.

But, she was feeling restless. The sensation had followed her for a while now, and she'd believed it to be because today, Tom's death, loomed ever closer. She checked the digital alarm clock on her bedside table. It was already past midnight.

Bailey's presence during that time had been a godsend. She'd been feeling lonely until he knocked on her door. Leaving early to spend the remaining afternoon with Chloe had been a good decision. The day had been better than she'd anticipated it to be.

Why, then, was she still uneasy? Why was she feeling like this?

Like... she were suspended in air.

Missing something terribly.

Hoping, desperately waiting for it to come along.

The scary thing was, she had no idea what she was waiting for.