Here's a short peice for us Jammers out there. Its more angsty/drama than it is Jam tho :)
I wrote it because it always strikes me when people in law enforcement or whatever say 'Im sorry for your loss'.They it so often it kinda loses its meaning lol I think I'd probably be offended if someone ever had to say it to me lol :p
Anyhoo, here it is :)
Dsclmr: The only WAT thingsI own are DVDs, an unending love for Jack and Sam and the concept of this fic. And Carrie is mine too lol
A/N: Reader discretion is advised as some scenes may be unsuitable for some. You cant say I didnt want you...
Samantha slowly swung the door open to the FBI Missing Person's headquarters. She wasn't interested in her actions, it was like she was in a trance.
It was nearing the sixth month mark from that fateful session with Lisa. She had so very nearly told her everything about her childhood that it scared her. She'd never told anyone before. Never trusted anyone enough to tell of the trauma's growing up in Wisconsin with a family like hers. She'd only ever told one person: Carrie Lyndon. And look what happened to her.
Lisa realized that it was going to take a lot for Samantha to fully let go, and realized that she probably wasn't going to do it to her, with the relationship that she had with Jack, so she told her of a group meeting that could help.
At first Samantha had scoffed at the idea of telling a group of complete strangers her secrets, when she still couldn't admit them to herself. But she went along…and met Carrie.
She was new to the group as well; they were both on their first sessions when they met. Neither had the courage to actually go through with the meeting, so decided that they'd ditch it together and go to a bar.
They had made friends quite fast, and it wasn't long before they told each other their own personal stories. Both had had quite similar secrets: both Carrie and Samantha had married young and had at least one pregnancy that ended in heartache. It simply solidified their relationship.
They talked everyday, and people around the office had noticed Samantha's new lighter attitude. She was always smiling, and eager to go home! She wasn't offering her services for overtime anymore, because she and Carrie would have been going out, or even just staying in.
It was the same story on the Friday of last week. Samantha said goodbye to her colleagues, wished them a good weekend and headed home for a quick change before heading over to Carrie's uptown apartment. They were going to meet there, then experience the nightlife that New York had to offer.
She walked the stairs to Carrie's 4th floor apartment and knocked. As she rapped on the wooden door, it swung open slightly. Her heart stopped for a second: something was wrong. Carrie never left the door unlocked – she still lived in fear that her abusive ex-husband would find her, so why was today so different? Maybe she left it ajar for Sam to let herself in…?
She nudged it open a bit more, calling out her name. "Carrie? You here?"
Her hand instinctively went to her hip, grasping for her gun, but only found the material to her top instead.
She stepped into the living room of the small apartment. Everything was in order. The chairs were neatly under the table; the TV Guide lay on top next to an empty wine glass. Samantha slowly rounded the corner, listening intently for any sounds that Carrie was in the building. Nothing.
She nudged the bedroom door: her bed was made and a stuffed teddy lay in between the pillows. Everything was normal, which was possibly the scariest thing. If something had happened, things would be in disarray, not so…Carrie. Where was she?
She stepped to the bathroom door, her head swinging about as she did, checking all directions for anything suspicious.
She slowly reached for the handle, twisting it ever-so-slightly. If someone was in there that wasn't Carrie, she needed to take them by surprise, but if was in fact Carrie, she didn't want to scare her.
The door edged open. A scent of copper hit Samantha full on. She knew that smell.
She flung the door open.
Carrie was sat in the empty bath, he head resting on the side, her eyes open. Her legs were out in front of her, bent at the knees, while her arms hung loosely at her sides.
The white of the tub was assaulted by the sea of red leading to the plug. Leading from Carrie's wrists.
Samantha threw herself on the floor by her friend's body. She touched at her neck, searching in hope for a pulse. Nothing. Just cold, grayish flesh under her clammy pink hand.
Tears burned at her eyes as she reached in her bag for her cell. A piece of paper had fluttered the ground next to Samantha's knees: 'I'm Sorry'
Soon enough it was Carrie's funeral.
And soon enough it was over. Samantha had gone home after the wake, but couldn't handle the solitude when the questions began to run through her mind again. Why did Carrie kill herself? Why hadn't she talked to Samantha? If Carrie couldn't handle her past, how could Samantha!
Sam got on the tube and headed for first place she could think of – the office. The first day off she'd had for months; maybe even years…it wasn't exactly the day she envisioned a sick-day to be.
She slowly strolled through the maze of desks and tables, running her finger over the furniture as she went. The bullpit was dark, with only the street lights from down below illuminating the impressive room. Another shaft of light was adding to the dimness: Jack's office.
Sure enough he was at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, whilst his glasses lay in the other. She watched him take a few deep breaths as she made her way over.
Jack gave a start, "Samantha, what are you doing here? I thought you had the day off"
"I do, well, I did" she said as she took a seat across from him
"So what're you doing here" he checked the clock on the far wall "at 3am! Its 3am?"
"Its 3am." She nodded, cracking a small smile as he shook his head at the time, "I..I couldn't handle the quiet at home…"
"So you came to work?"
"Yeah…I should've gone to a bar…"
Jack chuckled as he sat back in his chair, loosening his tie even more. "How was it? The funeral I mean"
Samantha sighed, looking to her lap "It went fine. I met her mom. She thanked me for being friends with her…and for finding her" she felt the familiar burning at her eyes as new tears began to spring at the memory of Carrie looking back at her from the bathtub.
"I'm sorry for your loss"
Her head snapped up, looking him in the eyes as her mouth fell open slightly. Her jaw tightened before she got up and stalked out, leaving a shocked Jack watching her walk away.
After a beat, he goes after her. "Samantha? Samantha!" she kept walking before he grabbed her arm and spun her around to meet him. "Samantha, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong? You just said "I'm sorry for your loss"! We say that to strangers everyday. People we've never met before; haven't worked with for nearly 6 years; haven't laughed with, made love with…" Her voice quietened slightly from the boom it had become. "Is that all we are now? Just people who say "I'm sorry for your loss"?"
Jack was taken aback from her emotional response. He'd never seen her like that before. She could get involved with cases, but never so emotional. He was annoyed at himself for being the cause of such a reaction, and pulled her into himself as tears began to flow down her cheeks.
"We were the same you know? Me and Carrie" Samantha started, wrapping her hands around her cup of coffee. She looked straight ahead into the bull-pit from the bench in the hall. "We both… we both had the same childhood. We helped each other. Talked about stuff. I thought we were good. I thought she was good"
"I went over to her place 'cos we were going out" her eyes never faltered from the sight in front of her, "her door opened as I knocked, so…so I went in, thinking something was wrong. I was calling her name, but heard nothing. That when I found her. She was in the bathtub. She'd slit her wrists" She looked into her coffee, willing herself not to cry again, "she must have wanted me to find her 'cos she left her door open"
"Sweetheart, you can't blame yourself. Just because she couldn't handle her past, doesn't mean you can't. From what you've told me about her…sure you may have had the same history and were good friends, but she doesn't sound as strong as you are." He said, turning towards her, pushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "You amaze me everyday with how you handle everything you've been through and everything we see.
"She doesn't have the kind of relationships you have with your friends, like Danny, Viv, Martin… She doesn't have-"
She took him unawares. He smiled gently before pulling her sideways into him. His arm brushed at her arm as her head rested on his chest.