Secret Santa Gift for velvetwhip
Title: Flight Risks
Author: M. Elizabeth Ravensblood
Rating: PG-13 for references to Jack's crimes
Pairing: Implied Jack/Grace
Description: While flying back and forth between crime scene, Grace finds herself reflecting on Jack's place in her life and the lives of her co-workers and discovers some disturbing new feelings cropping up.
Author's Notes: Set Old Acquaintance and Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick in an alternate universe in which Grace has never gotten pregnant. There is a minor mention of George/Rich as a couple since the script for The House That Jack Built mentioned it, though it was cut from the actual episode.
This is for velvetwhip for the profiler_fans Secret Santa Exchange. I hope you enjoy!
Grace suppressed the urge to order a stiff drink as the stewardess asked her what she'd like to drink and dutifully ordered an orange juice instead. Less than a week before Christmas and rather than attending George and Rich's Christmas party or flying off to Fiji to forget her woes, she was stuck flying to Wake Forest, North Carolina. Sam's friend, Colleen had been murdered and of course Bailey had volunteered her services to redo the autopsy in case anything had been missed and put the already overtaxed resources of the VCTF at the blonde's disposal.
Another year, Grace would have volunteered her services. This year was another story. Last month, ironically on Thanksgiving, she and Morgan had separated and for the first time in eight years, she was spending Christmas alone. No one at the VCTF knew yet, she wasn't ready to tell them. How could she answer their questions about what happened and what she was going to do when she didn't have the answers yet herself?
On some level, she could blame Jack. Ever since his little stunt when he trussed Morgan up to be electrocuted or drowned in his twisted no win situation to get Sam's attention, their relationship had suffered. But if she was honest with herself, Jack's little stunt had merely halted the meaningless routine they'd been going through the motions of for the past couple of years. The relationship hadn't been bad, it simply had lost steam and they both had been afraid to leave it. When Morgan said he couldn't do it anymore after they'd eaten their annual Chinese takeout Thanksgiving in silence, Grace had almost felt relieved. The relief was what had upset her the most, she didn't want to feel that way and she didn't know how to explain it to a close confidante like George, let alone the rest of the team.
Tonight was George's party and she hated to miss it. He was under tremendous pressure with the upcoming sting against Burton Sheerer, the final tie to George's hacking past and something far outside of his comfort zone. The party had been Rich's idea to help take his mind off of it and Grace had helped him plan it. Eventually the sting would take place and George could breathe a sigh of relief, but for now the best anyone could do was to give him some support and distraction. Now, Grace couldn't even do that since she'd been summoned to Wake Forest.
It wasn't deliberate on Sam's part; she'd been kept in the dark. Grace and George hadn't told the rest of the team about the party, it was meant to divert him from thinking about work and a room full of co-workers would hardly do that. Bailey had glossed over George's woes to Sam and kept key details from her in light of Coop's recent and unpleasant demise. Having performed his autopsy, Grace was keenly aware of how awful his final moments had been and she felt badly for her friend. But she also felt badly for George and occasionally she resented how completely skewed the VCTF's agenda was to Sam, even if it wasn't her idea.
Grace neither knew nor cared whether Bailey's emotions for Sam were romantic or fatherly and she didn't really care, but she was frustrated by how he let them control him. Before Sam had come along, he'd been a brilliant profiler in his own right and brought a number of dangerous killers to justice. Now he seemed to spend his time wringing his hands over Sam's well being and needs, even at the expense of the rest of the team. It wasn't deliberate or maliciously intended, however, it was incredibly frustrating.
Still, there was little she could do to change things and rather than resent her blonde coworker, the best thing was to give the case her attention, Grace thought as the pilot announced they would be landing shortly.
****
Less than 24 hours after flying to Wake Forest, Grace was flying on a chopper back to Atlanta to a fresh crime scene that Bailey said had all the markings of Jack's handiwork. She knew it was unlikely they would get through the holidays without some sort of present from their favorite serial killer and a wry smile had tugged at the corner of her lips when she received the call. Sam was scheduled to arrive on a flight an hour or so after Grace would already be on the scene. Time was of the essence when it came to forensics.
Although she'd have to go through the formalities of the autopsy to be certain, Grace would probably know within moments of looking at the body if it was the work of their favorite serial killer. Between examining Jack's latest creations and the hours spent pouring over the autopsies of his previous victims she hadn't personally examined, she was intimately familiar with his signature. No matter what method he used to dispatch his victims, there was something distinctive about his modus operandi that was hard to put into words.
Precisely executed kills seemed at odds with the frenetic genius he displayed in his tormenting Sam and the rest of the VCTF. Each body was virtually devoid of any forensic evidence and yet they bore testament to his intense and twisted passion for her. As gruesome as each crime scene was, there was an undeniable genius that seemed to whisper around them. Jack distinguished himself from other killers and demanded attention from them with his all too memorable murder scenes.
Had he come along earlier in her career, Grace might have been haunted by the surreal spectacle of Jack's artistry and dreaded what she was about to see. However, after years of working as a medical examiner, there was almost something refreshing about the twisted virtuoso, Grace mused as the chopper began to descend over Atlanta.
****
Grace gritted her teeth as a baby across the aisle began to wail loudly. Although the mother was trying to quiet the baby, she wasn't succeeding, having already tried walking the plane's narrow aisle several times before returning to her seat and repeatedly offering a bottle to her child. Her teeth on edge, Grace allowed herself to order a small bottle of vodka to add to her orange juice. One drink wouldn't hurt and by the time her flight landed and she met up with whatever officer drew the short straw in the Wake Forest P.D. that was sent to pick her up, she'd be able to perform the autopsy on the second unlucky friend of Sam's that hadn't survived their homecoming reunion.
She loved her work. Despite the dark nature of it, she liked knowing that her work helped bring killers to justice and closure to families. However there were times she wasn't sure she loved where she was working. At least not lately, Grace thought as she mixed her drink. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the noisy infant that was three feet away. Time to drown her sorrows, which was pretty ironic in her opinion. Not so much because she was about perform an investigation into Sam's friend's questionable drowning, but because drowning was exactly what Sam, the team and even Jack himself were doing since they'd all crossed paths.
Sam's relationship with Jack had been forged while she was investigating the drowning death of Donald Franklin and she'd uncovered his existence. Whether Jack had been obsessed with her before and waited for her to discover him or whether he'd become enamored with her when she found out about his existence, no one knew nor were they likely to find out. But either way, the moment Sam discovered the connection between Franklin and the other victims, Sam Waters started to drown as she immersed herself into Jack's world and the grief he brought to her.
The VCTF was struggling not to go under with the pressure the Jack of All Trades case put on them and the constant emotional upheaval that having Sam in their lives brought on them. Her protection cost not only a huge chunk of their budget, but was costing Bailey a huge personal toll. If he hadn't been so worried about keeping Sam and the rest of the team safe, would he have been able to see the warning signs about Frannie before she shot him?
And then there was Jack who seemed to thrive on drowning himself in his passion for his beloved Samantha. Given the way he stalked her and the trail of bodies it was pretty apparent that he lived, worshiped and breathed for her. What was it like to be so obsessed with someone that every moment of your existence was consumed with thoughts of them? And therein lie another irony, each of Jack's actions that were intended to ensnare Sam, drew the rest of the VCTF in with her - not the way he was trying to beguile her, but consuming their existences nonetheless.
The cycle was unending. Each new torment Jack inflicted on Sam in his efforts to seduce her into his world, drew her further under, the team along with her, and inspired Jack to new levels of obsession and inspired him to take things even further. Drowning was supposedly a peaceful way to die, but it didn't feel like it, Grace thought and decided to allow herself a second drink.
***
Grace listened to the radio as she drove through the streets of Atlanta. Every station was filled with news about Jack of All Trades being wounded and on the run. The team was at a nursing home where a morphine robbery and the presence of blood suggested Jack may have been there. Chances were he was long gone and she'd get a call to check out the forensics very shortly. Every time the team closed in on him, Jack seemed to elude capture. And perhaps it was for the best.
What would the team do if they didn't have Jack? He gave them a constancy in their lives. Each time John and Bailey went out into the field, they never knew for certain they would return alive. George had survived the sting operation against Burton Sheerer, but that didn't mean his past might not rear it's head again and he had a frailty about him that worried her. Hating Jack gave them a sense of purpose, it gave them an inner fire that helped them to survive each day.
Sam had suffered horrible losses at Jack's hands, but could she ever live a normal life when he was gone? While she often would talk about life after Jack was gone, she suspected her coworker was no longer capable. There was a lifeless quality to her eyes that never wavered, except when Jack gave her another of his gifts. Would Sam be able to go on if she ceased to be Jack's Samantha and was just plain Sam once more?
For that matter, where would she be? Grace wondered. Whenever she performed an autopsy on one of his victims, she felt a sense of peace. There was a precision to his work that was undeniable, yet inexplicable. His work was like a piece of baroque music. Each wound a note of mathematical precision that seemed almost at war with the passion behind it and yet somehow the layers of passion and precision created perfection. Just as Bach's compositions seemed to many genius and madness, so too did Jack's intricately concocted killings.
Grace broke off from her thoughts as she saw a hearse pulled over on the side of the road with it's blinkers on. It would be at least an hour or more before she was called to the nursing home, the least she could do would be to see if they needed help. Being stuck in a vehicle with a dead body was a miserable prospect. At the very least she could find out what funeral home they were from and call their employer to send another hearse.
She barely stopped her car and turned off the radio, when a dark figure pulled her car door open and slid into the passenger seat. Startled she turned to look at her uninvited passenger and was shocked. Jack. She'd never seen his face, but the blood stained pants and weary look gave his identity away even before she saw the knife that came up suddenly, then drew back. He seemed stunned as he realized just whose vehicle he'd climbed into.
"Oh hell," he sighed and slumped slightly in his seat.
Although he'd nearly killed Morgan, he'd never tried to harm her or even the rest of the team. At least not in a permanent way. Granted he'd terrified Nathan by trapping him under a car, but if he'd wanted him dead, he would have been. There was the time that Jack had handed John over to his impersonator Kostos but even that had seemed more like a warning for his attentions to Sam than a serious attempt to kill him. He had to have known the VCTF would rescue him. No. If Jack had wanted him dead, he would have done it himself and quickly - like he had with Coop. Coop had temporarily been assigned to the team, but he'd never truly been one of them and dating Sam, what had he expected.
"You don't want to hurt me," Grace said. It was more of an observation than a plea for her life.
"Not really," he replied. Then raised the knife and told her grimly, "But that doesn't mean that I can't and won't. Now start driving, I'll tell you where to go."
Sweat seemed to rain down his face and he trembled with fever as Grace started to drive. While most of her patients were dead, it was clear to even most untrained observer that Jack was on the verge of collapse. One well placed hit to his leg, he'd drop the knife and she'd be able to escape to safety. He wasn't wearing any makeup to disguise his appearance, she'd be able to describe him to a sketch artist and they'd be able to identify him and capture him. It would be an end to Jack. But was that what she really wanted? Grace wondered as she studied his face uncertain of what to do.
"You look nothing like your picture," she said after several moments of silence.
Jack laughed, then grimaced in pain and gritted his teeth. "The sketch from the late Coop or the portrait I sent my Samantha."
If she hadn't been in a life or death situation, she might have laughed at how quickly his voice shifted from venom towards his rival to a possessive almost caressing tone when referring to Sam. The almost velvety quality sent a shiver down her spine. He hadn't moved to kill her and she hadn't had to defend herself yet. Her sense were in overdrive and she was unsure of what do say or do.
Treading water in uncertain territory, she babbled, "Either. But then that's probably a good thing. You probably wouldn't get many dates if you did."
"I don't date."
"No, you seem rather," she paused. Finally she finished, "Committed."
"Or should be committed," he said wryly.
Not wanting to comment, she asked, "So where were you heading?"
"The plan was to ditch the hearse, steal another car, kill the driver and head for the Mathis airport."
"Sounds like a plan, well except for the killing part. I'd really prefer you skipped that part."
Jack frowned slightly. "I don't see how it can be avoided."
"Well, as much as I admire your handiwork, I'd appreciate it if you didn't practice it on me."
"You admire my handiwork," he repeated incredulously.
His comment made her blush slightly. "You've got a distinctive style that sets your work apart from most of what comes across my table."
"Thanks," he replied uncertainly. One hand still holding the knife, he reached into his pocket with the other and he brought out a pack of cigarettes. He fumbled slightly doing his task single handedly, then finally got a cigarette out and placed it between his lips. Then he floundered momentarily with a lighter until he had his cigarette lit.
Automatically, she said, "Those things will kill you." Jack gave her a slight scowl. "You know that already of course and that's probably not a big concern for you though. So are we heading to Mathis?"
"No. We're going to park near the docks so I can-"
"Kill me? Now why would you want to do that?"
Exhaling, he sighed, "You're not going to insult me by trying to convince me that we're friends."
"No."
"Or that you want to help me."
"Well, that-" she trailed off.
Did she want to help him? It was utterly wrong to even consider. While Jack might not relish the idea of killing her, he clearly had no problem doing what he felt in his mind had to be done. On the other hand how could she help him? He'd hurt so many people and what could she really even do to help him? A lump of emotion seemed to well up in her throat. What the hell was wrong with her? Here she was on the brink of having to fight for her life and she felt like crying, not because she was scared he'd kill her, she knew she could escape, but because she couldn't face the thought of him being captured and killed. All the emotion she should have felt when Morgan left was threatening to erupt from her at the prospect of harming the FBI's most wanted.
"Turn left," Jack instructed when they paused at a traffic light, interrupting her reverie.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Grace wasn't sure which of them was more stunned at her refusal, but she didn't have time to consider it as a plan formed in her mind. "That's not the way to Mathis airport."
"I can't let you-"
"Can't let me live, blah blah. I know. I also know that one tap to that leg and you'll drop that knife. There's a way out of this for both of us, you just have to trust me. Now, get in my purse," she instructed and gestured to it before driving straight ahead when the light turned green.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking you to the airport. Inside my purse in the center compartment there's a prescription pill bottle of amoxicillin it's a broad-"
"Broad spectrum antibiotic," Jack interrupted. "Why?"
"You'll need to have a doctor pull that bullet out when you get to wherever you're going to. But it will help keep you alive until you get there. They're left over from a throat infection I had a couple weeks ago. Take two of them and when you're on the plane, be sure to drink. No alcohol, but lots of fluids. You are taking a plane, aren't you?"
"That was the general idea," he replied and fished out the pill bottle. Turning it over in his hand, studying it distrustfully.
Grace assured him, "I'm not trying to poison you. If you want, pass one over and I'll take it."
Narrowing his eyes, he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"
"Honestly, I don't know," she told him truthfully. "I don't want to die, but I'm not so sure I want you do either. There's no other way I can help you. My patients are almost always dead and I'll be called into the VCTF when they have their requisite, holy-hell-lookie-what-Jack-did-this-time meeting. I'm aiding and abetting your escape, so it's not like I can tell them what you look like."
"You could claim duress," he pointed out and flourished the knife.
Nodding, she agreed. "True. However, your lawyer would have one heck of a field day in court with the notion that a woman whose husband left her helped the man who tried to kill him."
Jack watched he silently and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. There was no way to explain why she was doing this because she wasn't sure herself. All Grace knew was that it felt like the right thing to do.
"When you get to the airport, pull in beside the building. It's a small private airport, there's a small gate in the fence that I have a key for that lets me walk onto the runway. My pilot will be waiting with the plane," Jack said after several minutes of deafening silence and took two pills from the bottle as she'd instructed earlier.
Quietly, Grace continued to drive until they reached the tiny airport and she drove near the fence at the edge of the parking lot where Jack pointed. Only two cars were in the parking lot. Jack would be able to slip in unnoticed and board his plane.
When the car stopped, Jack lowered the knife and said, "Thank you."
Unthinkingly, she reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. "Good luck."
Before her words even stopped hanging in the air, Jack disappeared into the darkness and behind the fence. Less than 10 minutes later she saw a plane depart for an unknown destination and knew he was on the small plane. She'd helped him escape and wished him luck. Not only wished him luck, but genuinely meant it. Some day she would consider all the ramifications of tonight. For now, she just wanted to go home and have a drink before she was summoned to the VCTF...
Author: M. Elizabeth Ravensblood
Rating: PG-13 for references to Jack's crimes
Pairing: Implied Jack/Grace
Description: While flying back and forth between crime scene, Grace finds herself reflecting on Jack's place in her life and the lives of her co-workers and discovers some disturbing new feelings cropping up.
Author's Notes: Set Old Acquaintance and Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick in an alternate universe in which Grace has never gotten pregnant. There is a minor mention of George/Rich as a couple since the script for The House That Jack Built mentioned it, though it was cut from the actual episode.
This is for velvetwhip for the profiler_fans Secret Santa Exchange. I hope you enjoy!
Grace suppressed the urge to order a stiff drink as the stewardess asked her what she'd like to drink and dutifully ordered an orange juice instead. Less than a week before Christmas and rather than attending George and Rich's Christmas party or flying off to Fiji to forget her woes, she was stuck flying to Wake Forest, North Carolina. Sam's friend, Colleen had been murdered and of course Bailey had volunteered her services to redo the autopsy in case anything had been missed and put the already overtaxed resources of the VCTF at the blonde's disposal.
Another year, Grace would have volunteered her services. This year was another story. Last month, ironically on Thanksgiving, she and Morgan had separated and for the first time in eight years, she was spending Christmas alone. No one at the VCTF knew yet, she wasn't ready to tell them. How could she answer their questions about what happened and what she was going to do when she didn't have the answers yet herself?
On some level, she could blame Jack. Ever since his little stunt when he trussed Morgan up to be electrocuted or drowned in his twisted no win situation to get Sam's attention, their relationship had suffered. But if she was honest with herself, Jack's little stunt had merely halted the meaningless routine they'd been going through the motions of for the past couple of years. The relationship hadn't been bad, it simply had lost steam and they both had been afraid to leave it. When Morgan said he couldn't do it anymore after they'd eaten their annual Chinese takeout Thanksgiving in silence, Grace had almost felt relieved. The relief was what had upset her the most, she didn't want to feel that way and she didn't know how to explain it to a close confidante like George, let alone the rest of the team.
Tonight was George's party and she hated to miss it. He was under tremendous pressure with the upcoming sting against Burton Sheerer, the final tie to George's hacking past and something far outside of his comfort zone. The party had been Rich's idea to help take his mind off of it and Grace had helped him plan it. Eventually the sting would take place and George could breathe a sigh of relief, but for now the best anyone could do was to give him some support and distraction. Now, Grace couldn't even do that since she'd been summoned to Wake Forest.
It wasn't deliberate on Sam's part; she'd been kept in the dark. Grace and George hadn't told the rest of the team about the party, it was meant to divert him from thinking about work and a room full of co-workers would hardly do that. Bailey had glossed over George's woes to Sam and kept key details from her in light of Coop's recent and unpleasant demise. Having performed his autopsy, Grace was keenly aware of how awful his final moments had been and she felt badly for her friend. But she also felt badly for George and occasionally she resented how completely skewed the VCTF's agenda was to Sam, even if it wasn't her idea.
Grace neither knew nor cared whether Bailey's emotions for Sam were romantic or fatherly and she didn't really care, but she was frustrated by how he let them control him. Before Sam had come along, he'd been a brilliant profiler in his own right and brought a number of dangerous killers to justice. Now he seemed to spend his time wringing his hands over Sam's well being and needs, even at the expense of the rest of the team. It wasn't deliberate or maliciously intended, however, it was incredibly frustrating.
Still, there was little she could do to change things and rather than resent her blonde coworker, the best thing was to give the case her attention, Grace thought as the pilot announced they would be landing shortly.
****
Less than 24 hours after flying to Wake Forest, Grace was flying on a chopper back to Atlanta to a fresh crime scene that Bailey said had all the markings of Jack's handiwork. She knew it was unlikely they would get through the holidays without some sort of present from their favorite serial killer and a wry smile had tugged at the corner of her lips when she received the call. Sam was scheduled to arrive on a flight an hour or so after Grace would already be on the scene. Time was of the essence when it came to forensics.
Although she'd have to go through the formalities of the autopsy to be certain, Grace would probably know within moments of looking at the body if it was the work of their favorite serial killer. Between examining Jack's latest creations and the hours spent pouring over the autopsies of his previous victims she hadn't personally examined, she was intimately familiar with his signature. No matter what method he used to dispatch his victims, there was something distinctive about his modus operandi that was hard to put into words.
Precisely executed kills seemed at odds with the frenetic genius he displayed in his tormenting Sam and the rest of the VCTF. Each body was virtually devoid of any forensic evidence and yet they bore testament to his intense and twisted passion for her. As gruesome as each crime scene was, there was an undeniable genius that seemed to whisper around them. Jack distinguished himself from other killers and demanded attention from them with his all too memorable murder scenes.
Had he come along earlier in her career, Grace might have been haunted by the surreal spectacle of Jack's artistry and dreaded what she was about to see. However, after years of working as a medical examiner, there was almost something refreshing about the twisted virtuoso, Grace mused as the chopper began to descend over Atlanta.
****
Grace gritted her teeth as a baby across the aisle began to wail loudly. Although the mother was trying to quiet the baby, she wasn't succeeding, having already tried walking the plane's narrow aisle several times before returning to her seat and repeatedly offering a bottle to her child. Her teeth on edge, Grace allowed herself to order a small bottle of vodka to add to her orange juice. One drink wouldn't hurt and by the time her flight landed and she met up with whatever officer drew the short straw in the Wake Forest P.D. that was sent to pick her up, she'd be able to perform the autopsy on the second unlucky friend of Sam's that hadn't survived their homecoming reunion.
She loved her work. Despite the dark nature of it, she liked knowing that her work helped bring killers to justice and closure to families. However there were times she wasn't sure she loved where she was working. At least not lately, Grace thought as she mixed her drink. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the noisy infant that was three feet away. Time to drown her sorrows, which was pretty ironic in her opinion. Not so much because she was about perform an investigation into Sam's friend's questionable drowning, but because drowning was exactly what Sam, the team and even Jack himself were doing since they'd all crossed paths.
Sam's relationship with Jack had been forged while she was investigating the drowning death of Donald Franklin and she'd uncovered his existence. Whether Jack had been obsessed with her before and waited for her to discover him or whether he'd become enamored with her when she found out about his existence, no one knew nor were they likely to find out. But either way, the moment Sam discovered the connection between Franklin and the other victims, Sam Waters started to drown as she immersed herself into Jack's world and the grief he brought to her.
The VCTF was struggling not to go under with the pressure the Jack of All Trades case put on them and the constant emotional upheaval that having Sam in their lives brought on them. Her protection cost not only a huge chunk of their budget, but was costing Bailey a huge personal toll. If he hadn't been so worried about keeping Sam and the rest of the team safe, would he have been able to see the warning signs about Frannie before she shot him?
And then there was Jack who seemed to thrive on drowning himself in his passion for his beloved Samantha. Given the way he stalked her and the trail of bodies it was pretty apparent that he lived, worshiped and breathed for her. What was it like to be so obsessed with someone that every moment of your existence was consumed with thoughts of them? And therein lie another irony, each of Jack's actions that were intended to ensnare Sam, drew the rest of the VCTF in with her - not the way he was trying to beguile her, but consuming their existences nonetheless.
The cycle was unending. Each new torment Jack inflicted on Sam in his efforts to seduce her into his world, drew her further under, the team along with her, and inspired Jack to new levels of obsession and inspired him to take things even further. Drowning was supposedly a peaceful way to die, but it didn't feel like it, Grace thought and decided to allow herself a second drink.
***
Grace listened to the radio as she drove through the streets of Atlanta. Every station was filled with news about Jack of All Trades being wounded and on the run. The team was at a nursing home where a morphine robbery and the presence of blood suggested Jack may have been there. Chances were he was long gone and she'd get a call to check out the forensics very shortly. Every time the team closed in on him, Jack seemed to elude capture. And perhaps it was for the best.
What would the team do if they didn't have Jack? He gave them a constancy in their lives. Each time John and Bailey went out into the field, they never knew for certain they would return alive. George had survived the sting operation against Burton Sheerer, but that didn't mean his past might not rear it's head again and he had a frailty about him that worried her. Hating Jack gave them a sense of purpose, it gave them an inner fire that helped them to survive each day.
Sam had suffered horrible losses at Jack's hands, but could she ever live a normal life when he was gone? While she often would talk about life after Jack was gone, she suspected her coworker was no longer capable. There was a lifeless quality to her eyes that never wavered, except when Jack gave her another of his gifts. Would Sam be able to go on if she ceased to be Jack's Samantha and was just plain Sam once more?
For that matter, where would she be? Grace wondered. Whenever she performed an autopsy on one of his victims, she felt a sense of peace. There was a precision to his work that was undeniable, yet inexplicable. His work was like a piece of baroque music. Each wound a note of mathematical precision that seemed almost at war with the passion behind it and yet somehow the layers of passion and precision created perfection. Just as Bach's compositions seemed to many genius and madness, so too did Jack's intricately concocted killings.
Grace broke off from her thoughts as she saw a hearse pulled over on the side of the road with it's blinkers on. It would be at least an hour or more before she was called to the nursing home, the least she could do would be to see if they needed help. Being stuck in a vehicle with a dead body was a miserable prospect. At the very least she could find out what funeral home they were from and call their employer to send another hearse.
She barely stopped her car and turned off the radio, when a dark figure pulled her car door open and slid into the passenger seat. Startled she turned to look at her uninvited passenger and was shocked. Jack. She'd never seen his face, but the blood stained pants and weary look gave his identity away even before she saw the knife that came up suddenly, then drew back. He seemed stunned as he realized just whose vehicle he'd climbed into.
"Oh hell," he sighed and slumped slightly in his seat.
Although he'd nearly killed Morgan, he'd never tried to harm her or even the rest of the team. At least not in a permanent way. Granted he'd terrified Nathan by trapping him under a car, but if he'd wanted him dead, he would have been. There was the time that Jack had handed John over to his impersonator Kostos but even that had seemed more like a warning for his attentions to Sam than a serious attempt to kill him. He had to have known the VCTF would rescue him. No. If Jack had wanted him dead, he would have done it himself and quickly - like he had with Coop. Coop had temporarily been assigned to the team, but he'd never truly been one of them and dating Sam, what had he expected.
"You don't want to hurt me," Grace said. It was more of an observation than a plea for her life.
"Not really," he replied. Then raised the knife and told her grimly, "But that doesn't mean that I can't and won't. Now start driving, I'll tell you where to go."
Sweat seemed to rain down his face and he trembled with fever as Grace started to drive. While most of her patients were dead, it was clear to even most untrained observer that Jack was on the verge of collapse. One well placed hit to his leg, he'd drop the knife and she'd be able to escape to safety. He wasn't wearing any makeup to disguise his appearance, she'd be able to describe him to a sketch artist and they'd be able to identify him and capture him. It would be an end to Jack. But was that what she really wanted? Grace wondered as she studied his face uncertain of what to do.
"You look nothing like your picture," she said after several moments of silence.
Jack laughed, then grimaced in pain and gritted his teeth. "The sketch from the late Coop or the portrait I sent my Samantha."
If she hadn't been in a life or death situation, she might have laughed at how quickly his voice shifted from venom towards his rival to a possessive almost caressing tone when referring to Sam. The almost velvety quality sent a shiver down her spine. He hadn't moved to kill her and she hadn't had to defend herself yet. Her sense were in overdrive and she was unsure of what do say or do.
Treading water in uncertain territory, she babbled, "Either. But then that's probably a good thing. You probably wouldn't get many dates if you did."
"I don't date."
"No, you seem rather," she paused. Finally she finished, "Committed."
"Or should be committed," he said wryly.
Not wanting to comment, she asked, "So where were you heading?"
"The plan was to ditch the hearse, steal another car, kill the driver and head for the Mathis airport."
"Sounds like a plan, well except for the killing part. I'd really prefer you skipped that part."
Jack frowned slightly. "I don't see how it can be avoided."
"Well, as much as I admire your handiwork, I'd appreciate it if you didn't practice it on me."
"You admire my handiwork," he repeated incredulously.
His comment made her blush slightly. "You've got a distinctive style that sets your work apart from most of what comes across my table."
"Thanks," he replied uncertainly. One hand still holding the knife, he reached into his pocket with the other and he brought out a pack of cigarettes. He fumbled slightly doing his task single handedly, then finally got a cigarette out and placed it between his lips. Then he floundered momentarily with a lighter until he had his cigarette lit.
Automatically, she said, "Those things will kill you." Jack gave her a slight scowl. "You know that already of course and that's probably not a big concern for you though. So are we heading to Mathis?"
"No. We're going to park near the docks so I can-"
"Kill me? Now why would you want to do that?"
Exhaling, he sighed, "You're not going to insult me by trying to convince me that we're friends."
"No."
"Or that you want to help me."
"Well, that-" she trailed off.
Did she want to help him? It was utterly wrong to even consider. While Jack might not relish the idea of killing her, he clearly had no problem doing what he felt in his mind had to be done. On the other hand how could she help him? He'd hurt so many people and what could she really even do to help him? A lump of emotion seemed to well up in her throat. What the hell was wrong with her? Here she was on the brink of having to fight for her life and she felt like crying, not because she was scared he'd kill her, she knew she could escape, but because she couldn't face the thought of him being captured and killed. All the emotion she should have felt when Morgan left was threatening to erupt from her at the prospect of harming the FBI's most wanted.
"Turn left," Jack instructed when they paused at a traffic light, interrupting her reverie.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Grace wasn't sure which of them was more stunned at her refusal, but she didn't have time to consider it as a plan formed in her mind. "That's not the way to Mathis airport."
"I can't let you-"
"Can't let me live, blah blah. I know. I also know that one tap to that leg and you'll drop that knife. There's a way out of this for both of us, you just have to trust me. Now, get in my purse," she instructed and gestured to it before driving straight ahead when the light turned green.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking you to the airport. Inside my purse in the center compartment there's a prescription pill bottle of amoxicillin it's a broad-"
"Broad spectrum antibiotic," Jack interrupted. "Why?"
"You'll need to have a doctor pull that bullet out when you get to wherever you're going to. But it will help keep you alive until you get there. They're left over from a throat infection I had a couple weeks ago. Take two of them and when you're on the plane, be sure to drink. No alcohol, but lots of fluids. You are taking a plane, aren't you?"
"That was the general idea," he replied and fished out the pill bottle. Turning it over in his hand, studying it distrustfully.
Grace assured him, "I'm not trying to poison you. If you want, pass one over and I'll take it."
Narrowing his eyes, he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"
"Honestly, I don't know," she told him truthfully. "I don't want to die, but I'm not so sure I want you do either. There's no other way I can help you. My patients are almost always dead and I'll be called into the VCTF when they have their requisite, holy-hell-lookie-what-Jack-did-this-time meeting. I'm aiding and abetting your escape, so it's not like I can tell them what you look like."
"You could claim duress," he pointed out and flourished the knife.
Nodding, she agreed. "True. However, your lawyer would have one heck of a field day in court with the notion that a woman whose husband left her helped the man who tried to kill him."
Jack watched he silently and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. There was no way to explain why she was doing this because she wasn't sure herself. All Grace knew was that it felt like the right thing to do.
"When you get to the airport, pull in beside the building. It's a small private airport, there's a small gate in the fence that I have a key for that lets me walk onto the runway. My pilot will be waiting with the plane," Jack said after several minutes of deafening silence and took two pills from the bottle as she'd instructed earlier.
Quietly, Grace continued to drive until they reached the tiny airport and she drove near the fence at the edge of the parking lot where Jack pointed. Only two cars were in the parking lot. Jack would be able to slip in unnoticed and board his plane.
When the car stopped, Jack lowered the knife and said, "Thank you."
Unthinkingly, she reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. "Good luck."
Before her words even stopped hanging in the air, Jack disappeared into the darkness and behind the fence. Less than 10 minutes later she saw a plane depart for an unknown destination and knew he was on the small plane. She'd helped him escape and wished him luck. Not only wished him luck, but genuinely meant it. Some day she would consider all the ramifications of tonight. For now, she just wanted to go home and have a drink before she was summoned to the VCTF...