Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Carol
Spoilers: Post-ep to War Crimes
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Sam finds Carol at the end of a bad day.
Author's Note: Nothing to do with the Dark Horses series, this is something that came to me when watching War Crimes late at night.

The bullpen was almost deserted, as was normal for this hour of a Sunday night. Those who were unlucky enough to be called in today, either in advance or when Toby had gone on the warpath, were mostly gone home, and those who hadn't gone home had probably headed to the mess to get something to eat.

No one could see her where she sat now, her desk being slightly hidden from sight from the door open to one corridor, with the other door shut tightly. That had been her main reason for putting the desk where it was when she moved in here, so that she could sit unobserved, without the danger of someone passing and seeing her if she so wished.

And tonight, she so wished.

She was so lost in her thoughts that at first, she didn't hear him behind her, and she jumped when he said her name. "Carol?"

She looked up at him, automatically smiling at him. "Hey Sam. You looking for CJ?"

He glanced towards the office, with its open door and empty desk, then back down at her. "She around?" he asked, and she didn't miss the fact that he hadn't answered her question.

"I think she went to the Mess to get something to eat," Carol replied, although to be honest, she wasn't really sure. Nonetheless, it was her job to know where CJ was, and if she had to fudge on the facts a little, well, she'd done it before. Besides, even if she was caught out, this was Sam. He'd never call her on it.

"Ah." He nodded, checking his watch as he did so. "A sound plan." He came around beside her, leaning back on her desk, bracing himself on both hands, his posture loudly stating that he wasn't planning on moving any time soon.

"What was your day about?" she asked, wanting to talk about somebody's day, anybody's day but hers.

"I had that meeting with Terry Beckwith this morning, and I think I managed to convince him that what we want his Congressman to do is a good thing. Then I spent the day searching for reasons why we can't support the Legal Tender Modernisation Act."

She frowned slightly. "What's that?"

"Eliminating the penny."

"Ah."

"Indeed. Did you know that the penny is the most ubiquitous man-made object in the country that does not interact with any mechanism or machine?"

She didn't know whether to laugh or be amazed that he did know that, and she rather suspected that the look she ended up giving him was somewhere between the two. "I did not know that," she found herself saying. "I'm surprised you did."

"I've been reading," he shrugged, although she thought there might have been a hint of embarrassment lurking behind his eyes. "It's really quite interesting." A frown appeared between his eyebrows. "Although Josh seems to think that I'm turning into one of the funnel people…and I'm not so sure he's wrong…" There was nothing she could say to that, even if she had known what he was talking about, so she just nodded, and seeing that, he changed the subject. "What about you?"

"The usual." She fashioned a grin, but she knew that it wouldn't hold up to scrutiny, and hoped he wouldn't look that hard.

Of course, this was Sam so it was a vain hope. She knew she was in trouble when he tilted his head to the right and looked down at her curiously. "Did you go down to the Mess to get something already?"

It wasn't the question she'd been expecting, and her head flew up in surprise. "I wasn't hungry..." she tried to explain, flustered by the question, but he was still giving her that look, with now the added variation of his eyes being narrowed in suspicion.

"Have you eaten at all today?"

She shook her head, looking up to the ceiling, hoping that he'd respond to her body language that she really didn't want to talk about it. "I haven't been hungry..." she began. "It's been like that all day..."

That answer brought back memories of the day's events, and she winced involuntarily. She saw him register it, saw him frown further and lean down to look closer at her, to better see her face in the dim light. "Have you been crying?" His voice was full of suspicion.

"Sam..."

"Carol, has someone-" His voice was a hiss, but it was a loud, sharp hiss, and he looked up quickly to see if there was anyone passing who might have heard him. "Did someone say something to you?" he demanded, squatting down beside her so that his face was on a level with hers. His voice changed too; it was quieter, lower, low enough so that no-one else could hear him, even if that someone had been standing right outside the door. She closed her eyes, because his concern was disrupting her hard won equilibrium, and the feel of his hand on her arm, the touch warm through the material of her blouse nearly did her in completely. "Carol..." Her name was gentler still, a whisper from his lips, and she opened her eyes to see an expression of worry on his face.

"This is what I've been doing all day," she told him, reaching past him for a folder on her desk. Flipping it open, she moved past the wire printouts before holding up a glossy 8 by 10 photograph. It was obviously a school photograph, one of the ones that parents love to show off well past the point where the child has reached adulthood. Carol knew that her own mother still had all her school portraits neatly preserved in an album, along with those of all her siblings. She was known to bring them out like clockwork, every holiday, much to the chagrin of her children.

This was the kind of photograph that made you understand why mothers the world over did that. The girl in question was eight years old, with a long mop of curly blonde hair that had been tamed into bunches, tied with blue ribbons. The ribbons were the same colour as the mischievous eyes that lit up her face, and when she smiled, a cheeky, lopsided smile, one incisor was markedly bigger than the other.

Sam took the photograph from her hand, understanding dawning on his face. He would be familiar with this photo of course, it having been splashed all over the news all day. Underneath that photo there was another, this time a more candid one, one that might have been taken by a relative, and had been. The same child, blonde hair far more unruly, but with the same cheeky smile, was squinting at the camera, her arms around the neck of a large Collie dog, her cheek resting on top of its head.

"Melissa Markey," she heard him say quietly.

"She was eight years old. Tomorrow would have been her birthday. Her dog's name is Lassie." A slight smile came to her lips at the predictability of the name. "Her favourite school subjects were math and art. She started ice-skating nearly four years ago when Tara Lipinski won the Olympics, and her ambition was to skate in the Olympics in 2010. And against all hope, she thought that Timothy Goebel could win in Salt Lake in February."

Sam put both photos back in the file and closed it carefully. "You gave the note to CJ," he said, and she nodded, because she knew he'd seen the tape of the briefing.

"That's when I lost my appetite," she told him.

"Carol..." He'd straightened up, going back to leaning against her desk. "I know it's horrible, but..."

"Look at this." She reached over to the opposite end of her desk, away from him, lifting up a framed photograph, handing it to him. In it, her arms were around a little girl, whose resemblance to her was uncanny. As she expected, Sam's eyebrows rose to near his hairline.

"Is she yours?" he asked, and the incredulity on his face, in her voice made her giggle, because he knew full well the answer to the question. "I'm just asking," he continued. "Because if you're keeping her, you know, chained up in a cupboard when I'm over there, I'm pretty sure we have laws against that."

She was trying to muffle her giggles at the end of his speech, and settled for swatting his leg. "She's my niece," she explained, taking the photo back from him and holding it in her hands. "My god-daughter actually."

"Ah." His reaction of exaggerated realisation made her smile, but also served to underline for her just how many things that he didn't know about her.

"Her name is Lucy," she continued quietly, one finger tracing the child's face." And she's eight years old." When she looked up at him, suspicion was giving way to realisation and she nodded once in confirmation. "Tomorrow is her birthday too."

Her words hung between them. "Well," Sam said finally. "That's a coincidence."

"I called the house," she found herself saying. "This afternoon. They were getting ready for her party. All her friends are coming over to the house, and they're having pizza and ice cream, and Leslie McCormack is bringing over the Britney Spears CD and she's going to teach them all some dance. I sent her this thing my sister told me she wanted; this Harry Potter computer thing... it's a diary and address book and there's a trivia quiz on it... I had to go to half a dozen different places before I found one. But she loved it; she told me on the phone that I was the coolest aunt ever..." Her voice broke on a sob and she choked it back, the task made more difficult by the feeling of Sam's hand, heavy and comforting, on her shoulder. "And all I could think about was Melissa Markey... and how she must have been planning for her party, and all the things she would have wanted to do...wondering what kind of presents were waiting..." This time the sob came mid-sentence and she couldn't stop it, covering her face with her hands.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed her shoulder before moving his hand around to the base of her neck, finding the muscles there, fingers massaging gently. She heard his soft "Huh," at what he found there, and sensed him standing up, moving around so that he was standing behind her. Both of his hands went to her shoulders, kneading them, and she took a deep breath, dropping her hands from her face, sitting up slightly to grant him better access.

He didn't stop his ministrations, not until he heard her sigh. When his fingers stilled, she leaned back in her chair, head tilting all the way back so that it rested on his chest, just below his breastbone. From that angle, she could just about see his face, but it was easier when he leaned forward. Their eyes met, and her lips curved into a slow smile, which he returned. "Thank you," she whispered.

He shrugged, squeezing her shoulders once quickly. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get some food."

She shook her head. "Sam, I really-"

"You need to eat," he told her firmly, and his tone brooked no argument. "We'll go down the street," he added, his tone softer, more persuasive. "It'll do you good to get out for a while."

She took a deep breath, knowing well when she was beaten. "OK," she murmured, and his face lit up in a smile. He stood back, pulling out her chair, waiting patiently while she rearranged the files on her desk. She threw her coat over her arm, waiting until she got outside before she put it on. When she turned to him again, his arms were folded over his chest, a grin on his face, and he looked at his watch with a theatrical sigh.

She mock-glared at him before smiling back, and he took another step backwards before blinking, and bending down with a soft exclamation of discovery.

"What?" Carol asked, frowning.

When he turned back to her, his face was a picture of pleased amusement and he was holding something up in his left hand. "A penny," he said, and it gleamed in the low light.

She laughed, more at the look on his face than anything else. "Well, you know what they say," she told him lightly. "See a penny..."

"Yeah." They were standing in the doorway by this stage, and he leaned back against the frame, staring at the penny thoughtfully.

"Sam?" She mimicked his posture, looking at him, not sure of what was going through his mind. "Sam?"

It took the second time before he looked at her, eyes gleaming like the penny he held. "Hold out your hand," he said.

She still wasn't sure where he was going with this, but she did as she was told, presenting her palm to him. His right hand reached out to support hers, while his left dropped the penny into her hand, then he curled her fingers up, holding her fist in both his hands. "There," was all he said.

She stared across at him, confused and not bothering to hide it. "But…what about see a penny, pick it up…"

"All day long, you'll have good luck," he nodded. "But you should never keep copper."

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Really?"

He shrugged, not letting go of her hand. "Well…it may be true," he acknowledged. "Or it could just be something that my mother used to say." She chuckled, having heard many of Sam's mother's sayings over the last few months, and he shrugged again. "Maybe I just believe in passing some luck on."

She could feel the metal of the penny pressing against the inside of her palm, and his hands, soft and warm and comforting. He was smiling at her again now, that gentle smile that she was coming to rely on, and a rush of tenderness, and something besides, began to unfurl lazily in her stomach. "Thank you," she whispered past a sudden lump in her throat. There was a flash of something in his eyes, and he tried to pull her towards him. She looked around her quickly, standing her ground. "Sam…" Her voice was caught between amazement and warning. "Someone might see…"

"Let them," he shrugged, and this time, when he pulled her towards him, she went willingly into his embrace, letting her head fall onto his shoulder for a second before standing up straight again. Feeling brave, but with a quick glance around first to assure herself that no one was looking, she reached up and kissed his cheek quickly. He grinned at her, dropping one hand, but kept the other joined in hers, and motioned with his head towards the corridor. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go eat."

Hand in hand, lucky penny between them, they walked out into the night.