Infinity

TITLE: Infinity (9A/?)

AUTHOR: Master F&M

FANDOM: Law and Order: SVU

RATING: Everything from PG to R—just like life.

SUMMARY: A Fin fic— to give him a life that the show refuses to give him

DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU and all its characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC, and whomever

                          else puts the show out for our enjoyment. I just get to play with them.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sam is a character of my own creation. She does not exist on the show.

FEEDBACK: Please give some. For entertainment purposes only.

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CHAPTER 9A

            Fin shifted the weight of the bottles he was carrying from his right arm to his left as he
approached Sam’s door. He wasn’t sure if she drank this particular brand of beer, or even if she
drank beer at all, but his grandmother had always told him to never show up at someone’s door
empty-handed, and the lesson had stuck.

            He rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer. After leaving Munch at the station, he
had stopped off at home for a quick shower and a bio eao eat. Sam’s invitation hadn’t included
dinner, so he wanted to be sure he had something in his stomach before he began drinking. Fin
couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk, and he wanted it to stay that way.

            Sam answered the door and greeted Fin with a smile. “Hello, Detective. Come on in.”
She closed the door behind them and led Fin into the den. “I was beginning to think you changed
your mind. The first quarter’s almost over. You want a beer?” She pointed to the ice chest
she’d set up next to the coffee table covered with snacks. It was filled with several brands of beer
as well as soft drinks and water.

            “I wasn’t sure what you drank, so I got a couple of different things.”

            “Thanks. Miller’s fine. Let me add these to the collection.” Fin put the bottles he
brought in the chest, then offered one to Sam.

            “That’s okay,” she declined his offer. “I think I’m going to stick with water. My
stomach’s been feeling a little funny tonight.”

            “Oh? You wanna just call it a night?”

            “No, no. It’s fine. I’d just be sitting here watching the game anyway.”

            “You sure?”

            “Positive. Have a seat. The Knicks were up by six when I answered the door.”

            Fin relaxed in the recliner while Sam stretched out on the sofa. They watched the rest of

the half, discussing Allan Houston’s point average, Hardaway’s free throw percentage, and the
Knicks’ chances of making the playoffs. They both agreed that it was slim to none.

            “They’ve gotten to be such a sorry team,” Fin noted during a commercial break. “They
haven’t done much since Ewing retired.”

            “They hadn’t done much since before Ewing retired.”

            Fin chuckled. “That’s true. I always wonder why great players like Patrick don’t retire
early instead of fading out the way they do.” He shook his head. “I guess it’s too hard to give up
the money, with it making their lives so easy and all.”

&#           “You really think those guys stay because of the money? Maybe they just aren’t ready to
give up the game yet. Besides, a lot of players have serious issues. Having money doesn’t solve
their problems.”

            “But it sure makes them a helluva lot less important.”

<

            Sam sat thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Speaking from personal experience, Detective,
I’ll have to disagree.”

            “Right. What could you possibly have to complain about?”

            Sam sat up, slightly stung by his attitude. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Nothing. Forget it.”

            “No. I want to know.” She watched him as he looked around the room. “You think that
because I can afford this apartment, then everything in my life should be peachy? Is that it?”

            “I didn’t say that.”

            “Then what are you saying?”

            Fin sighed, then looked her squarely in the eyes. “You don’t have reason to do any real
complaining.” He watched her as she worked her jaw muscle, setting then unsetting it. He could
tell she was upset now, but it was too late to do anything about it.

            “So . . . what? ‘Poor little rich girl’? Is that what you k ofk of me?” Sam posed the
question with a candidness of her own.

            “I just thin. . . . ”

          㼠160;“You know what?” she interrupted. “You’re right. Forget it. It doesn’t really matter

what you think of me. Let’s just watch the game.” She grabbed her water, wishing now tha
wa
was a beer, and to lon long drink. She immediately regretted it, though, when her stomach began
cramping up in protest.

            Fin watched her without saying anything. He was sorry he’d started the whole thing. He
hadn’t meant to piss her off, and he certainly didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but was guessing
from the way she was wrapping her arms around herself that he had. He concentrated on
choosing his next words carefully. He didn’t think she was indulgent or self-centered, and it was
important to him that she know it.

            He leaned forward in the recliner and set his bottle on the table.

            ̶m, lm, look. All I was trying to say is that having money makes problems easier to deal
with. I know a lot of people who could’ve handled their lives better if they’d had a little more
cash in their wallet. Where I’m from, people struggled just to put food on the table. Considering
that, it makes sense to me that if you can afford to eat well and have a good roof over your head,
then you have the big problems covered and should be grateful for it. Everything else shouldn’t
matter as much. That’s all I meant. I didn’t mean to make it sound like anything else.”

            He paused to take a breath, then added, “I happen to think you’re a pretty nice girl, and
I’m sorry if I upset you.” He looked over at Sam for a response.

            “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time,” she grimaced.

            “Yeah, well, I don’t like to hear myself talk. We cool?”

            “YR”

         &#  “You sure?”

            “Ah-huh.”

            “Then why are you turning green?”

            “Mmm . . . I don’t . . . excuse me.”

            Fin watched Sam clutch her stomach tightly, then bolt from the room. He remembered
what she’d said earlier about it feeling funny, and was somewhat relieved that he wasn’t totally
responsible for her discomfort. He turned his attention back to the game, but when Sam didn’t
return after a couple of minutes, he decided to make sure she was okay.

            He walked out the the hall and heard a retching noise. He followed the sound midway
down the hall to the bathroom door that was partially open, and knocked lightly on it.

            “You all right in there?”

            “Mmmmm.” Her response was followed by the sound of more retching.

 

             Fin pushed the door open completely and looked down at the figure slumped on the floor.
Sam was hunched over the toilet caught in the middle of a heave. Her hair had fallen forward and
was in danger of ending up in the bowl as she held firmly to its rim. Her body pitched forward
with each heave, and a few seconds passed before she could attempt to catch her breath.

            Fin grabbed a washcloth off the counter and soaked it in cold water. Kneeling down, he
smoothed her hair back from her face and wiped it with the cool cloth. She accepted it gratefully
and held it against her flushed cheeks. Fin then returned to the sink and brought back a cup of
water.

            “Here you go,” he offered, holding the cup for her. “Just take a sip.”

            “Thanks.” Sam took a drink and swished the water around her mouth before spitting it
into the toilet. “I know that was disgusting, but at this moment I really don’t care.”

            “That makes two of us. You need a doctor?”

            “No . . . I don’t think so . . . I don’t know.” She put the lid down on the seat and laid her
arms and head across it misly. ly.

            Feeling sorry for her, Fin moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I should
run you to the ER.”

            Sam opened her eyes, but kept her head down. “I’ll be okay,” she mumbled. “Just some
leftover Chinese.”

            “What?”>
<>

            “Leftover Chinese food. I guess three days in the frig was one day too many.”

            “That stuff will kill you even when it’s fresh.”

            “You don’t eat Chinese?”

            “I eat it all the time.”

            Sam smiled appreciatively at the joke.

            “Come on,” Fin coaxed, helping her to her feet. “I’ll make you some tea.” He held onto
her arm and guided her to the kitchen. On the way, they past by the TV in time to hear that the
Knicks had lost by fifteen.

            “I guess that’s about right for tonight,” Sam said sitting at the table. “Sorry you missed
most of it.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Fin answered as he got the kettle on the stove. “It didn’t look like
it was much of a game anyway. You got any ginger?”

            “I think so. In there.” She indicated a cabinet to his right. “Why?”

            “My grandmother used to put it in tea to help settle the stomach.”

          0;� Sam nodded, then sat quietly. When Fin was done, he joined her at the table, and she
sipped at the cup he handed her.

            “Not bad.”

            “It works, too. My grandmother swore by it.”

            “I noticed that she’s the only person in your family you seem to talk about.” Fin shrugged
in response.

            “Are you close?”

            “We were. She passed away a few years ago.”

            “I’m sorry.”

 

            “Don’t be. She wasn’t. She had a good, long life, and she always said she’d rather go
when there was a little life still in her than to stick around until she was a burden on everybody.”

            “Sounds like she was a wise woman.”

            “She was. The smartest and sweetest I ever met. She didn’t go to college or anything,
but she had a lot of common sense. And she’d help you out any way she could if she thought you
were doing enough to help yourself.” Fin smiled at the memory of her. “She took care of me a
lot when I was a kid.”

            “Your parents weren’t around?”

            “They were busy.”

            “I see.” Sam fully understood the concept of ‘the busy parent.’ “I bet you were a handful
back then.”

            “Who me? Nah. I was an absolute angel.” He flashed her a huge grin that told her he
was anything but.

            “Ah-huh. I’m sure you gave her a devil of a time, too.”

            “Not with Nanna. She might have been all of five feet tall, but nobody messed with her.
She was the gentlest person on the planet, but she knew how to work your backside if you
stepped out of line.”

            Sam laughed. “And did you get spanked a lot, Detective?” she teased.

            Fin laughed as he relived some of the memories. “I gotta admit there were times when I
found it a little hard to sit down. But she was fair, though. And funny. She’d punish me one
minute, then crack me up the next with one of her corny jokes.”

            “You must really miss her.”

            Fin grew quiet as sadness crept across his face. “Yeah, I do.”