Title: Weirdly ever after
Author’s Notes: Find disclaimers more interesting than the story? Me too, which is why I wrote such a mammoth one back in Chapter I, pt. i. Sam spends some time in lock up. Sadly, it's a lot less sexy than it sounds.
Chapter II: Oblah di Oblah DOH!
Pt. iv of v in this chapter (Sadly PG despite the promising women in prison setting)
Sam strode through the corridors of the police station with as much dignity as she could muster, given her outfit. A scruffy, glazed looking guy eyed her as she walked by a bank of chairs. His low catcall broke off as Sam planted a high heel in the middle of his foot.
“Sorry! Didn’t see you there,” She muttered with a sweet smile.
Barnes led her to a standard interrogation room: Small, low ceilings, a wobbly formica table bolted to the floor between four uncomfortable molded plastic chairs. The cinderblock walls were painted an incongruously cheery yellow and the obvious one-way mirror was framed in bright blue. Diaz, who had broken off from their group as they came into the station, now joined them. He handed a folder to Barnes who quickly examined the topmost page inside, then snapped it shut.
Sam sat up straight, hands folded on the table in front of her, gazing directly at the one-way mirror. “This is completely pointless, you realize,” she said almost casually, not bothering to look their way. “Even if I had anything to tell you, I can’t say a word without the Air Force’s say so.”
“Miss Carter,” Barnes said, deliberately punching the salutation, “Do you know what’s in this file?”
Sam shrugged, looking bored.
“It’s forensic reports. Fingerprints, DNA . . . all that. And all of it places you and Colonel O’Neil at the crime scenes. So I don’t care what kind of alibi you’ve got, or what kind of pull you think the Air Force has here, I’m thinking you’ll talk.”
Carefully suppressing any outward reaction, Sam remained silent. Inwardly, her mind whirred, trying to figure out how evidence could place them at crime scenes they knew nothing about. She tuned out Barnes and Diaz as they took turns trying to provoke her into speaking.
MiniMe! She thought, wincing at her instinctive use of the nickname. That explains Jack’s. . .
Suddenly the door to the interrogation room burst open. Barnes and Diaz shoved their chairs back from the table and jerked around to face the Desk Sergeant who rushed ahead of a crowd of people intent on getting into the room.
“Detectives, I’m sorry!” He panted, “I told them they weren’t allowed, no matter who they were.”
Sam smiled with relief as Major Kovacek’s head appeared over the Sergeant’s shoulder. He stepped around into the room.
“Detective Barnes, Detective Diaz. I’m Major Kovacek. Major Carter and are assigned to the same command and I’ve come to apologize for what amounts to one colossal misunderstanding here,” He pumped each of their hands in turn in hearty, man-to-man fashion.
Sam rose, meriting a warning look from the two detectives. Kovacek glanced at her and nodded. He turned back to the Detectives pulling a folder out from under his arm and offering it to Diaz. He ushered the two suits into the hallway, remarking that the Desk Sergeant could surely keep an eye on Carter while they sorted the mess out.
Sam sat back down at the table, straining to make out any of the story that Kovacek was offering so that she could back him up convincingly. The Desk Sergeant scowled at her resentfully. Five silent minutes stretched out to ten.
Sam was about to demand that the Desk Sergeant determine what the hold up was when the door opened again. Barnes and Diaz looked none too pleased, but Sam could tell that Kovacek had won the day.
A female SF Sam didn’t know stepped into the room behind Kovacek. “Ma’am, if you’ll come with me, I have some clothes for you,” she held up a duffel bag.
“Whoa, hang on,” Barnes held up a hand, “Levitt, go through that bag, please.”
Sam rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest. Kovacek cut her off, “I assure you, Detective, there’s nothing but a change of clothes in there. Airman Bradley will accompany Major Carter while she changes and then we’ll all be out of your hair.”
Barnes matched Kovacek’s feigned friendly tones, “Oh, I’m sure you don’t mind us just having a look, Major?”
Kovacek smiled insincerely, “Of course not, Detective. Sergeant, feel free.”
The Desk Sergeant dove into the bag with malicious glee, taking childish pleasure in tossing the clean underwear and sports bra out on to the table. He made a great show of shaking out each piece of clothing and carefully pushing his hand into every possible crevice of her boots. Having come up with nothing, he began cramming the garments haphazardly back into the bag.
Sam’s hands twitched toward the bag as he shoved her pants in on top. “Hold up!” Diaz barked. He fished a small white square out of the side pocket. “What’s this?” He unfolded a piece of paper and scanned it before passing it to Barnes.
“Sam,” He read aloud, “Clothes as requested. Will you and Jack be working on my promised payment soon? Need to know details: Any injuries? Car trouble? Ral-tora kree, DJ.”
Sam could feel herself blushing as she studiously avoided Kovacek’s eye. She occupied herself by plotting Daniel’s gruesome death while Kovacek smoothed things over and reassured the detectives that the note was not a dastardly plot in some strange code.
Barnes finally relented, “Ladies room down the hall,” he grunted. Sam picked up the duffle bag and the SF followed her, parking herself at attention outside the handicapped stall. Sam turned the lock on the door and sagged against it, pathetically grateful for her first private moment of the morning.
As she dressed, her mind struggled to map out the next logical steps to take to get them all out of this mess, but she kept returning to the thought of Jack with a mixture of pleasure and worry. Slipping on her field jacket, she bent to fold his clothes into the duffle bag, doing a double-take as she spied a familiar yellow figure on the t-shirt she’d been wearing.
Homer, she thought with a mixture of fondness and irritation, Just great.
Continue on to Chapter II, part v