The Magpie's Death

I'm Sorry (2)

Ellie didn't budge from Sam's shoulder as he carried her up the stairs, down the hall, and into their bedroom. She stayed still even when he threw the duffle onto the chair and sat on the bed. After rubbing her back for a while, she finally lifted her head. Her big eyes sparkled.

"Dada?" she asked and his heart skipped a beat.

Her voice was bright and sweet. As far as he could remember, he'd never heard such a lovely sound, and he felt a strange, contented warmth in his chest hearing it.

"Yeah. From now on, we're family." He kissed the top of her head and hugged her a little tighter, that warm feeling spreading. "Starting today, Ellie River, you're my real daughter."

She nodded as if she understood and agreed. Like always, there was no change in her expression, but he began to believe Squirrel wasn't completely crazy when they said it was in the eyes. Something shined in that grey-blue. Something trusting and eager that made him think she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to take care of her. He set her down on the bed, walking over to his bag.

"Would you like to read something?" he asked, pulling out a stack of children's books.

Her head bobbed again with the same hidden eagerness, so he brought a few to her. Handing them over, she took a couple, then looked at him as if she wasn't sure what to do next.

"Okay, I'll pick."

He crawled onto the bed with her and she immediately curled up against his chest. Grabbing a story at random, he began to read. She stared with curious eyes, pointing at the pictures as he spoke. Halfway through the second book, she was out, fast asleep with her head on his lap. After watching her another few minutes, he drifted off.

* * *

A soft tapping sound woke him and he cursed under his breath. Every muscle from the waist up was sore and his shoulder was beginning to throb. He slipped out from under Ellie and shuffled to the door, rubbing at the back of his neck as he opened it.

"Trying to avoid this conversation by sleeping?" Jack smirked and leaned up against the wall, arms playfully crossed over his chest.

Sam groaned, remembering his promise to drink. He shook his head. "What time is it?"

"Around nine." Dark green eyes examined him and Jack's head tilted. He guessed he didn't look great from the way Jack's brow fell. "Will you be able to stay awake?"

"I'm fine." Lightly touching his shoulder, it felt warm under his fingertips. "Shit. I'll need your help for a minute first."

He found a roll of bandages in his bag and handed them over to Jack, directing him to the bathroom.

"What are these for?"

Without answering, he closed the door behind them and pulled a bottle of alcohol from a cabinet next to the sink. The bathroom was small and there wasn't much space for the two of them. Taking the bandages back and setting them on the toilet, Sam reached out and grasped Jack's hand, shifting him closer.

"I need you to help me take this shirt off."

There was the slightest hesitation in his request. He'd decided to tell what he could, because there was no other way to explain this, but he still felt his stomach twist at the thought of Jack knowing.

Lifting the bottom edge of the t-shirt, he raised it up as far as his arms would go, until his shoulders and biceps tightened and the skin around his wound pressed together. With a frustrated grunt, he dropped his head forward. Jack took over, gently pulling the shirt over his head, then down his arms.

A gasp escaped when he saw what was hidden underneath. "What the hell..." Jack's eyes darted from the soaked bandage to the bruises on his arms and chest. "What happened to you?"

"Can we do this first?"

Jack nodded and sat him down on the toilet, then grabbed a towel and the alcohol. After slowly unraveling the dirty wrapping, he cleaned the long gash. An occasional grimace showed on Sam's face, but otherwise he didn't move or make a sound. Covering it again, Jack pulled tight to apply pressure, then sat on the edge of the tub with a sigh.

"When did this happen?" he asked, more concerned than surprised now.

Sam tried to stretch some of his sore muscles, keeping his gaze on the floor. He wasn't ready to talk about this. He definitely needed the alcohol. Maybe if Jack panicked or hated him, the buzz would at least dull the blow.

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Jack backhanded a knee to get his attention and their eyes met when he looked up. "You drove all the way here like this? Are you crazy? You know phones exist, right? Why didn't you just call?"

"I didn't want to wait."

The words were so blunt, Jack couldn't say anything in return. They stared at each other for a long moment until Jack finally looked away and stood.

"You should rest. We can talk some other time."

Before he could leave, Sam grabbed his wrist, his gaze returning to the floor. "I don't want to wait."

He had to drink. He had to say everything and get it over with. He had to do it now before he realized this was a terrible and dangerous idea.

"Fine. I don't really wanna wait either."

Without looking back, Jack shook out of the grip, opening the door and heading down to the kitchen. Sam followed closely behind.

There was already a full bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses sitting on the island. Jack went and sat on a stool, gesturing for Sam to join him.

"Someone drank all the vodka," he noted with a smirk, catching him eye the liquor of choice.

With a small nod, Sam sat, and Jack poured him a shot. "I'm not talking until you have at least a buzz. I want honesty." He held his own full glass up and tilted his head. "Cheers."