(Thanks to demonchilde for her beta skills!)

THIS IS NOT WHAT I DO

Early Friday morning, Sam was biting her nails, taking nervous sips of coffee and kept glancing at the time. She was wondering if it was a decent enough an hour to make a call. Chloe was in the shower, and Denzel was playing with a tennis ball. Angel took stock of her friend, who was standing at the kitchen counter, uneaten bagels in front of her.

"You doing okay?" Sam jumped a little at Angel's enquiry.

"Just a little on edge," she confessed.

"Did you have nightmares?" Angel moved in closer to peer at her friend.

Sam shook her head. "Not ones I can remember. Thank goodness for small mercies."

"Good. If you need someone to talk to..." Angel squeezed her friend's shoulder. Sam nodded but didn't say anything.

"I'm gonna go jump in the shower. Try to eat something." Angel left her with that gentle suggestion. Sam looked at her bagels with disinterest. Her coffee had turned tepid. She poured it down the drain, and strode into her bedroom. She'd waited long enough.

She punched the numbers, and waited for the call to be picked up. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Malone."

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey. I was just about to call you."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. How are you doing?" He lowered his voice a little.

"Ah, well. I'll live," she quipped, then paused at her gaffe. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Bail."

"It's fine. We've had a nice breakfast, Frannie and I," he informed her, saving her the trouble of asking how they were getting on this morning. "I'm heading to the task force in fifteen minutes."

She wished she was at their place. To see how they both were really coping. "I'll see you there. My love to Frances."

"I'll tell her. Bye, Sam."

"Bye." She waited a moment before hanging up. On the off chance that there was something Bailey still wanted to say to her. But, she was greeted with a dead line.

That was okay. She'd see him in an hour's time.

"Bailey!"

Bailey turned on his heels to see Sam stepping out of the elevator and heading straight to him. Her expression seemed to relax and her eyes to soften as she walked closer.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hey," she murmured softly and closed in on him, ending up less than two feet away from him. She just stood there and watched him silently, like she was searching for something.

Finally, she spoke. "How did you sleep?"

He considered feeding her a white lie, but he had the feeling that she needed to hear the truth. "I've slept better."

Her eyes flashed with worry. He closed the gap between them and hugged her in the middle of task force. Her head burrowed into the nook of his neck. He wondered at that, before realizing that she was probably feeling more unsettled than he'd guessed.

He murmured "I'll live", earning a muffled laugh from her. They broke off their embrace.

"See you in there?" he motioned toward the command center.

"Just give me a few minutes."

"Of course."

He smothered a chuckle when he noticed that once more, she'd chosen to pass John and Marcus' desk. She was incorrigible. No wonder he loved her.

He pushed that thought away with a sigh. Now wasn't the time to let that fact wreak havoc with his day.

He knocked on her door before peeking into her office. "Hey."

He thought he glimpsed a look of tension on her features, even though she greeted him softly. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine." She offered him a fleeting, warm smile. "How about you?"

"I think we covered that this morning," he teased her.

"Yeah, but I can't just take your word for it."

He held up his hand. "Scout's honor."

She tilted her head. "And again, I find myself doubting that you were ever a boy scout."

"I'll just have to whip out the diplomas and photos, then," he drawled.

She looked delighted at his quip. "Afraid so." They smiled at one another, and he sat down on the arm chair in front of her desk.

Then, his expression sobered up. "So, about Jack. You think he will be in touch?"

She took a deep breath. "He could." She took a beat before adding: "But he can't reflect on my abduction with just pleasure. I challenged him and he couldn't perform. By now, he's played that scenario in his head a thousand times, with a very different outcome."

Bailey tugged at his tie, trying to find a release for the distress Sam's last sentence evoked in him. Just the thought of... No, he would never let that happen. He'd find some way to protect her. "Maybe that's why he lured Lesher and tried to mould her into his version of you. To make sure he doesn't fail again."

"Maybe," she sighed. "I guess we'll just have to wait."

He gave her a commiserating look before standing up. He was about to head out when he remembered Frannie's request from last night.

"Before I forget, you haven't bought anything for Frances, have you?"

"No, not yet."

"She asked me to tell you that she'd really like a graduation photo, taken by you."

Sam was pleased at Frances' confidence in her skills. "Tell her I'd be honored."

As Sam stepped out of the elevator, she stopped in her tracks when she noticed John and Marcus strapping on flak vests. She'd missed something while she'd been on a lunch run across the street. She made a beeline to Bailey's office, only to see him in combat gear, too.

"What's going on?" she asked without so much as greeting him. She had a bad feeling about this.

Bailey turned out, surprised by her silent approach. "The local field office is helping the pd in a drug sting, but they're short on people today. They asked for us to chip in."

"I see." She couldn't help but sound a little worried. Hell, she was worried. A drug sting on the very day that he'd been shot and she'd been kidnapped? A whole manner of things could go wrong, especially given the way Bailey had been distracted in the past couple of weeks leading up to today.

"Do you have to go?"

He looked at her quizzically. "We can't turn down their request for help."

"I meant you."

That got his attention. "What do you mean?" He didn't know if he should feel annoyed or amused.

"You sure you're up for this? Today, of all days?" she pointed out.

She glimpsed his expression darken a bit before he averted his gaze and looked down to check his flak vest was securely fastened.

"I'm fine, Sam," he said under his breath.

She had to make sure he was up to it, that his head was in the game. So, she pressed on. "Are you? You mean to tell me that you being distracted lately hasn't had anything to do with what happened to you a year ago?"

Well, she was half right, he mused. He had been distracted, but the 'anniversary' was a small part. No, his mind had largely been preoccupied by the other thing. By his realization and the confusing fallout he'd been riding in ever since. "Sam, I am fine. I've had a lot on my mind, but believe me, the shooting hasn't consumed my thoughts. I'll be fine."

His gentle insistence pacified her concerns, and she nodded somberly.

It occurred to him that her behaviour, her edge, might be influenced by memories of her own traumatic experience a year ago. He stepped closer to her, to gauge her reaction. "How about you? Are you fine?"

Somehow she just knew he was referring to her kidnapping. "I am, Bail. Just worried about you," she bit her lip.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Don't be." He held her gaze until he could see he'd reassured her. He ran his hands down her arms, squeezing her hands gently before letting go.

They would talk it all out later.

She turned on her heels to walk out, but stopped at the door. She said in a quiet voice: "Just be careful, okay?" She looked at him pleadingly.

He nodded his head. "Always."

Sam stood by the sidelines, watching her coworkers get ready to go. The local field office boss had come in to give them their marching orders, and take-off would be in five minutes.

Sam watched from the distance as Bailey conversed with George and Marcus. She couldn't hear what they were discussing, but she kept her gaze fixed on her friend, with such worry and intensity that John noticed it and walked over to her. He remembered how devastated Sam had been at the hospital a year ago. He, too, had been taking a trip down memory lane all through the day.

He turned to stand beside her, making it seem like his accosting her was as casual as could be. "Everything okay?" he asked under his breath.

She startled a bit, a sign of her preoccupation. She took her time, probably putting two and two together in her head. "Yeah," was all she uttered on the matter before directing her gaze at their boss again. She considered Bailey for a while, then turned to John.

"Watch his back, won't you? I mean, I don't mean to imply you wouldn't, I know you'd do it without me asking you to, but..." He cut off her babbling with a held-up hand.

"Of course I will," he stated, matter-of-factly, and rubbed her back briefly in a reassuring manner before walking away to where their boss and coworkers were conferring.

After a few minutes, Bailey, John, Marcus and a half dozen other agents had vacated the task force premises. Just before the elevator doors slid shut, Bailey had sought out Sam from a distance and had given her a silent promise to return unharmed. A second later, he was out of her sight.

She'd once said to John that she didn't do this part – catching the killers, being the first through a broken door. Now, she hated being left behind. She couldn't make sure that everything would go smoothly. She wouldn't be able to ensure Bail's safety.

She felt sick to her stomach. She had to retreat to the peace of her office, to try to calm herself down.

Once in the safety of a closed door, she paced the floor, wondering why she should be having such a strong reaction to the sting and the threat it imposed. Bailey was more than capable of helping out; heck, he'd been in charge of operations countless times. But somehow, this time was different. Her fears, feelings, were more on point.

She paced her office for fifteen minutes before finally giving up. She wouldn't be able to do anything before she knew for herself that he was okay. She decided to go ask George for the specifics on the sting and then drive there on her own. She wouldn't take part, but she'd be on the outskirts of the action, poised to help out, should the operation go haywire.

A few short detours later, Sam arrived at the scene of the sting. Two blocks had been curtailed off to the general public; there were police cars, ambulances and even a firemen's car at the ready; what was more, the place was swarming with cops and agents. The sting must have gone down already. She'd missed the action.

She swept the landscape with her eyes, looking for familiar forms, her coworkers. She flashed her FBI badge to the officer standing guard at the police tape, and crouched low to walk under it. Then, she surveyed the view again, assessing from whom she could go enquire about the whereabouts of her team.

She spotted an older female cop off to the side, filling out some kind of form on a portable frame. Sam accosted her, introduced herself by saying she was from the task force, and asked where her friends were.

The officer's voice was annoyed. "The special feds? They're still inside. A paramedic is working on one of them, and the others refused to leave."

Sam's heart dropped to her gut. "A paramedic? Who's hurt?" Her panic floated into her voice, but it made no impression on the lethargic officer, who didn't even lift her eyes off the paper.

"Didn't catch his name yet." Sam could have strangled the woman, but that would have taken up too much time.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

"They're inside there, off to the right side, the last I saw of them," the officer waved her hand in the general direction of the building that seemed to be full of warehouses. Sam ran off, her eyes flitting across the faces of people walking towards her, hoping to encounter familiar faces. The one familiar face.

She didn't care when she pushed against someone at the door; she barely managed to mumble the barest apology before plowing on. She recognised an agent from the Atlanta office, sprinted to him to ask for further directions. Having received them, she just turned on her heels, not even bothering with a thankyou. She had more pressing matters on her mind.

She turned a few corners and scurried down a long hall before coming across a storage room on her left, where the fellow agent had informed her the task force members were. She bolted through the door, making a silent tally of the faces she saw. Marcus. Washington. Kilvers. Hamilton. John. They were all staring at her in amazement, which escaped her notice, her mind focussed on only one thing.

She froze she she looked to her right, and saw his familiar back and a paramedic facing him, tending to something on his head.

A strangled noise escaped her lips before she hurried to him. "Bailey?" She was by his side before he'd had time to turn around to make sure he hadn't been imagining things, that he'd really heard her voice.

She fired her questions instantly. "Are you okay? What happened?" Her eyes were roaming his body, trying to detect where he might be hurt.

He noticed her panicked look and held out his hand, drawing her closer by her elbow. "It's alright. I'm not injured too bad. I just got a bump on my head." She grabbed his jaw and turned his head so she could see his right temple. It had an angry gash that had bled down his face and neck. She could still spot some blood in the skin above his Bureau sweater neckline. The dark colour of his clothes hid the tinge of blood.

"A bump? I don't understand. What happened?"

She realised that her behaviour must be raising some eyebrows among her coworkers, but she seemed incapable of reining in her reactions. She was on edge. So, the fact that Bailey was standing on his own two feet and talking to her coherently wasn't enough confirmation to her.

"I caught the wrong end of a falling crate, Sam. I'm fine, apart from the bruise to my ego," he joked, relying on humour to distract his friend. She looked to the paramedic, as if to confirm his story.

"He'll be fine, ma'am. A few layers of Dermabond is all it'll take," the paramedic said in a pacifying voice. Sam looked at the man hard, nearly assessing whether or not she could trust his expertise. She took a look at Bailey's gash and concluded that there wasn't any danger of serious injury.

She let out a breath she hadn't know she'd been holding and muttered: "Okay. Sorry. Carry on." She took a few steps back to give the paramedic space to work. Bailey looked at her, confused, before he had to submit to the care of the man and avert his gaze.

The storage room was bustling all of a sudden. The female officer from the outside had entered and was checking everyone's details for her report. Sam slunk outside undetected and walked all the way to her car in a daze. She fumbled the door open and plonked onto the driver's seat, barely having the wits about her to close the door.

Her head was swimming. She took a couple of shaky breaths and started to feel some rational thought return to her brain. She felt exhausted all of a sudden. She closed her eyes and turned the radio on, to drown out the noise of her surroundings. She had a hard time keeping track of time.

She was still sitting in her parked car when she spotted her coworkers walk out of the warehouse. Bailey came out last. She released her death grip on the steering wheel, relieved to see him again.

Overjoyed that she hadn't lost him. She wasn't ready to lose him. Not now. Not ever.

Sam's blood ran cold.

She now knew what she'd been missing. What she'd desperately been waiting for.

Bailey.

Oh God, she was falling for Bailey.

She stared at him as he followed the others, walked away from her, unaware of her startling realization.

She shook her head, tried to make herself see reason. This wasn't what she did. She didn't just go around, falling for her best friend.

And yet...

There had been this... this something rising in her veins.

She'd been feeling so good and light.

She'd been feeling like she was actually living her life.

He was the reason.

And now, she had to return to the task force and face him there, talk to him, without a moment to steady her ground. See him eye her with worry, amusement, mischief, incredulity, whatever.

She would have to push her feelings to the background until she had a handle on them.

She felt weary already.

Somehow, she made it back to the VCTF unharmed. The drive was fuzzy in her memory, and she later thanked her lucky stars that nothing had happened. She arrived before her coworkers, and she withdrew to her office to regroup. She closed the blinds, turned the radio on and curled up on her sofa. She would calm herself down, and then... Then, she would go about the rest of her day like it was just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill day.

Bailey and his team returned to the task force thirty minutes behind Sam. A bit later on, they would go a few storeys up and confer about the sting with the local field office agents. Now, they had time to strap down, and he would have a moment or two to catch up with anything concerning his task force.

His eyes flickered in the direction of Sam's office, and he frowned when he noticed the closed blinds. That wasn't like Sam. He took off his flak vest and dialled George on the intercom.

"Command center, Fraley."

"Hey Georgie, we're back."

"Good to have you."

"Anything happen while we were away?"

"Nope, it was as quiet as a graveyard."

"Sam back yet?"

"Yeah, I think I saw her head into her office."

"Okay, thanks." He shut the connection and stared at the intercom for a while. His hand flew to his banged-up temple. He thought about Sam's reaction to his wound. She'd been wound up, even panicked. That wasn't like her. And now, her blinds were closed altogether. That didn't sit right with him. He decided to go check up on her before he changed into his suit for the remainder of the day.

He opened the door gently, skipping the knocking, instead just calling out her name. He saw her shoot up to sit on the sofa. She looked tense.

She cleared her voice. "Bail... Hi, Bailey." He advanced toward her, and she fumbled for something to say. Other than "Hey how are you well I just realised that I'm falling for you any thoughts or comments?"

"You're back," she managed to remark instead. She had to look away when she caught his concerned gaze. She was afraid that she might let something slip. Something damaging to their friendship. Just as he sat down on the sofa, she shot up and walked over to her desk. "Glad to see you in one piece," she stopped her flippant sentence with a grimace and a hasty glance at him. "I take it you got your guy, you normally do get your guy, don't get me wrong, it's just that when there's sometimes local police officers involved..."

Her rambling on worried him, and he followed in her footsteps and held her in place by placing his hands on her shoulders, so she couldn't run away again.

"Sam. Is something wrong?" At her startled expression, he elaborated. "The way you behaved at the sting earlier..." His voice tapered off at her loud intake of air. "Sam, what's going on?" He was nearing the end of his patience. He had to know what was bothering her.

"Nothing," she muttered avoiding his gaze. Wishing that this moment would pass. Dreading that the way she behaved now would somehow affect their relationship irrevocably. She had to get a grip.

She drew a deep breath, then looked at him briefly. "I'm a bit frazzled. I'll be fine." Would she be? How could she be? She banished those thoughts for later. She had to get through this in the here and now.

She could see the worry in his eyes when he asked: "Is it what happened a year ago? Do you want to talk about it?"

She tried to take a deep breath, but the sudden weight on her chest impeded the action. "It is and it isn't. Sorry, it's just there's a lot going on at the moment," she explained weakly.

"I know the feeling," Bailey murmured. He dropped his hands to his side, and Sam instantly missed their comforting weight. He looked away, and his eyes took on that thousand-yard stare she had once discussed with Frances. Unconscious of his own action, his left hand flew to his ribcage, where Sam guessed the scar to be. Suddenly, it dawned on her. How could she not have seen it sooner?

"Does it still bother you?" Her question snapped him of his reverie, but he didn't catch her meaning. She clarified: "The scar. Isn't it why you stopped wearing vests?" She gazed at him, concerned.

He stared at her, stunned by her insight. He hadn't imagined anyone had noticed the change in his sartorial choices. She kept looking at him, waiting for a response. "It doesn't bother me. Not anymore. But yeah," he conceded to her second question. "In the beginning, the vests felt like they made my dress shirt chafe against the skin. A constant reminder. So, I stopped wearing them. After a while, well... I guess you could say I got to liking the freedom," he quirked one corner of his lips. In spite of her inner turmoil, she snickered at his admission.

He looked at her with searching eyes, relieved to see what some of her tension had lifted.

"Speaking of, I'd better go change."

"Yeah." She gave him a fleeting smile before focusing her gaze on her desk. Her eyes flew of their own accord to his back just as he stepped out of her office. She stared at the empty space for a moment, seeing nothing.

Well, that had gone... She couldn't even come up with a description for her inner turmoil.

She opened the blinds, sat down behind her desk and forced herself to get back to work. Nothing like catching killers to keep your mind occupied.

That evening, Sam, Angel and Chloe were watching a movie together, but Sam's thoughts kept flying back to the harrowing events a year ago. For a terrifying moment, she'd believed that she was Robin Poole's next victim as she collapsed to the floor, but when she came to, her relief had lasted mere moments before she'd realized that she was in another nightmare altogether. She'd been in Jack's clutches.

Then, the cavalry had arrived, but the first man through the door hadn't been Bailey, like it had been when she'd been held hostage by Doctor Zahn. She'd been waiting for him to emerge and restore some semblance of sanity, a feeling of security and order in her life. Only to find out that while she may have dodged a bullet by Jack's twisted benevolence, a bullet had still found a target that morning that hit close to home for her.

Coop had been right when he'd pointed out that she wasn't leaning on him. She hadn't been. Her ordeal and Bailey's unknown fate had shaken her to the core, and she'd chosen to withdraw, to wait out the situation. She had had to keep it together, she'd had to be the strong one when Bailey couldn't be. She could fall apart later, but first, she had to be sure that he'd make it.

Losing him had been unthinkable even then.

And now...

She managed to keep herself from fidgeting by curling her toes. No need to disturb Angel and Chloe's viewing experience. Still, the action did little to lessen her agitation.

When the hell had she started falling for him?

In the dark room? In Chicago? At his house? At the gala? A year ago? Before that?

Too many questions, and those weren't even the ones that mattered. No, what really mattered was: what would she do now? Could she somehow stop this? Did she want to stop this?

She snapped to when Chloe and Angel burst out laughing at something. She plastered a smile onto her face and took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. The weight was still there, sitting heavy on her chest.

She would see him again tomorrow. She was thrilled and terrified in equal measure.

Sam and Chloe hastened their pace a little when they caught glimpse of Rico's. They were running late, because parking the car had been a nightmare, and they'd ended up several blocks away from their intended destination. They breezed through the doors and walked up to the maitre'd.

"Hi, we belong to a party of four under the name Malone," Sam announced, starting to take off her coat and gesturing to Chloe that she follow her example.

The maitre'd inspected his book and then nodded courteously. "This way, if you please." He led them through the restaurant to a table that sat at the edge of the dance floor. Frances noticed their arrival first, and touched her dad on the arm to alert him. He turned to look at them, and Sam felt butterflies in her stomach when she caught his warm and admiring gaze. She was satisfied that she'd chosen the right dress: an understated navy dress with a shoulder line that highlighted her collarbones. He looked to be wearing navy, too – although the dim lighting of the restaurant made it hard to tell from a distance.

She shot him a fleeting, close-mouthed smile before diverting her focus to Chloe, who was walking in front of her and behind the maitre'd. Bailey and Frances stood up to greet the late-comers. Frances hugged Sam warmly, while Bailey scooped up Chloe and blew a kiss into her hair.

"Sorry we're late. Parking space was hard to come by," Sam explained their tardiness.

"Don't worry about it," Frances waved off Sam's apology before she greeted Chloe, whom Bailey had set on the ground.

Sam hesitated a moment, unsure as to how greet her friend. He noticed her hesitation, which in turn threw him for a beat. Then, he closed the gap and brushed a kiss to the side of her mouth, as she just stood there, too overwhelmed by his closeness to act in a rational manner. He lingered for a moment longer than he'd intended, and he stepped back abruptly. She couldn't hide her confusion for a beat, but then, she recovered, ran her hands through her hair and managed to give him a full smile. "Hey," she murmured.

"Hey," he shot back, holding out a chair for her. The girls had already sut down.

The maitre'd reminded them of his presence: "Shall I bring the champange now?"

"Yes, please." The maitre'd was off in an instant after Bailey's affirmative reply.

"Champagne? My my," Sam teased out loud.

"Hey, it isn't everyday that I graduate," Frances remarked with a smile.

"Can I have some, too?" Chloe asked.

"Chloe, for you, I ordered a non-alcoholic Bellini. It's Sprite mixed with peach nectar," Bailey cut in to spare Sam the trouble of shooting down her daughter's request.

"That sounds delicious," Sam sighed, leading Chloe to happily accept her drink.

"Can we give the gifts now?" Chloe pleaded.

Frances perked up at that. "Gifts?"

Sam pacified the young woman's apprehensions. "It's just a small one. I figured that you deserved a little something to mark the occasion." Chloe picked up a medium-sized paper bag and offered it to Frances. Sam chanced a brief look at Bailey, and turned her gaze instantly. He was gazing at her with a new grin. One that she named "I love that you respect and appreciate my daughter".

Frances thanked them both profusely, and with a delighted little blush, she peered into the bag. She produced a bouquet of beautiful flowers that she failed to recognise.

"They're lovely! What are they?"

"They're peonies. Peach blossom in Flying Snow, to be exact," Sam informed them.

Frances gave her a grateful grin before looking into the bag once more. She spied an object that she took out. "A girl scout teddy bear?" she asked, looking at Chloe, whom she guessed to be responsible.

"Yeah. Didn't you use to be a girl scout? That's what my mom said," Chloe said, a little unsure.

"Indeed I was a girl scout! I wonder how your mom knew?" Frances mused playfully.

"It came up some months ago," Sam nudged her head towards Bailey as a way of explaining.

"Oh. Well, thank you both. So many presents, what's a girl to do with herself?" she joked sincerely.

"Didn't your Daddy buy you anything?" Chloe surveyed the table, trying to detect other gifts.

"He got me these," Frances answered, pointing at her earrings and necklace.

"Wow, they're very pretty! And they match the flowers we got you," Chloe added.

The maitre'd arrived at the table with three glasses of champagne and Chloe's Bellini. He placed them assuredly and swiftly on the table and made his exit.

They grabbed their flutes, and the three females looked to Bailey, expecting a toast of some kind.

He was looking warmly at his daughter. "To my precious daughter. I'm so happy, grateful and proud that we're sitting here tonight, toasting your accomplishment. To Frances Marjorie Malone!"

Frances brushed at her eyes, trying to keep her tears at bay. She took a calming sip of her drink and almost coughed, not having expected so many bubbles. She managed to croak "Thank you" to her amused dinner company.

As they were waiting for their main course, Frances got curious about Sam's chosen career.

"How did you end up working in the FBI, Sam? I mean, you already had a profession you'd trained for," Frances pointed out.

A smile pulled at the corners of Sam's mouth as she thought of the answer. She glanced at Bailey, who was looking at her, interested in her reply. She'd never told him, and he'd never asked. She kept her eyes on him as she voiced her reasons. "It was your dad, actually," she said softly. His eyes widened at the declaration. She offered him a smile when she saw his confusion. "You've never asked, Bail," she murmured before turning to Frances to elaborate.

"I was finishing up my studies at Emory. My friend Ava dragged me along to a Bureau recruiting drive, and your dad was there to talk about the behavioural studies unit. It's funny, Ava got nothing out of the day, but I walked away with a direction for my life. I talked it over with Tom, Angel and her mom, and sent in my application two weeks later. The rest is history." She glanced at him again, curious to see how her revelation had impacted him. He looked stunned and puzzled, a little proud, maybe worried, too.

Her story left Bailey at a loss for words. He'd never even had an inkling that he might have inspired Sam to join the FBI. He didn't know how to feel about it. He would have to digest that one for a while.

Whilst waiting for the desserts, Bailey took Frances, Chloe and Sam all for a spin on the dancefloor. First he danced with Frannie while Sam tried to teach Chloe some rudimentary steps, which he then tested out with the little girl. Sam looked on as he scooped up the little girl and began spinning. After he stopped, Chloe touched Bailey's temple, obviously concerned about the injury from yesterday. His answer dispelled the worry from her face.

Frances and Sam were sharing a laugh at their table when he walked Chloe there after their dance. He offered Sam his hand, and when she looked a bit startled and didn't clasp his hand immediately, his high spirits drove him to joke: "Don't worry, this isn't the bossa nova."

Her eyes widened in a mixture of shock, surprise and amusement. Bailey defused the moment by giving up a nonchalant explanation of his words: "An inside joke." He then turned his gaze to her again, and gave her a silent question. She clasped his hand and let him lead her to the floor.

They started dancing, and eventually their joint mirth gave way to quiet reflection. They both had a lot on their minds.

"I know what you're wondering about, Bail," she remarked quietly, just loud enough so he could hear.

He was surprised by her opening comment. "What's that?"

"You're wondering that since you inspired me to join the Bureau, if that makes you somehow responsible for everything's that happened." She withdrew from their embrace to see his expression as she finished her sentence. Yeah, she caught surprise and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. She stopped dancing to drive home her point, still in his arms. "You're not responsible, Bailey. You're not. I need you to realize and accept that." Because I need , otherwise, I wouldn't have met you. She managed to not say those sentences out loud.

She took a beat, then decided to lighten the mood. "That is, unless you're calling the shots instead of fate," she quirked her lips.

That earned her a half-hearted smile, but she could see that she'd gotten through to him. "Rest assured, I'm not," he drawled, and they resumed their dance.

Whilst they'd been talking, the song had changed, and with unspoken agreement, they decided to continue dancing, both unwilling to part so soon.

A minute or so later, the music started to seem curiously familiar to her. She listened to the song, and soon stalled in her movements when she realized that they'd danced to the same song on the evening of her gala. Figures. She wondered if fate was trying to spell something out for her.

He noticed her preoccupation. "Something wrong?" He searched her face.

She avoided his eyes and just mumbled: "Nothing, just... this song." She drew close to him again.

He'd been too busy enjoying Sam's closeness and then reprimanding himself for it to pay attention to the music. He listened to it now, and searched his memory. Then, he, too, recognized the tune. "Oh," he whispered in his surprise.

She squeezed him a little tighter to let him know she'd heard him before relaxing her hold. They danced out the song in silence, both lost in thought. They joined the girls at the table, relinquishing their hold on one another only when they sat down.

She just couldn't help the way she felt around him. The way he made her feel. Light as air, and so, so content.

It took her a moment to realize to that their desserts had arrived. She'd been surprised that Bailey had ordered chocolate cake, too. She knew he didn't have much of a sweet tooth. She was both vindicated and puzzled when she noticed that he wasn't eating his cake – instead, he just sipped his coffee and watched the three of them go to town with their desserts.

Sam made short work of her chocolate fix of the day, and was feeling sorry for not having ordered another piece. That was one exceptionally delicious batch of chocolate goodness. She drank the last of her coffee with a sigh. When she set down her cup, she noticed that a slice of chocolate cake had materialized in front of her. Her head snapped to look at Bailey, who was observing her with a look of mirth and mischief.

"I really ordered it for you," he said with a playful grin.

For some unfathomable reason, she felt a blush coming on at his innocuous remark. She spied a few ice cubes in her glass and poured them into her mouth. She'd once read that sucking on ice cubes would help diminish a blush. She snuck a glance at him, and she found him smiling another one of his grins – his 'you delight me', to be exact – so she averted her gaze instantly. No sense in worsening her predicament.

Even so, there wasn't enough ice cubes in the restaurant to cover up her inevitable flush. She covered as best she could, not bothering to tuck her locks behind her ears as she proceeded to eat her second helping of chocolate cake. That afforded her some time to muse her feelings.

She was definitely... infatuated with him.

That was a nice way of putting it.

A nice, safe way of putting it.