an exercise in trust

Who: Ian and Sam
When: midday
Where: on the phone / Ian's place

Ian didn't really sleep. After Shoshannah had left, he'd tried, but really all that happened was him flitting in and out of consciousness. Morning came with a ringing phone, Dolores downstairs wanting to know where the hell he was because it was well past ten. He gave her some story about not feeling well and that he was taking the day to rest. She'd made a tsking noise about not taking care of himself and hung up. Anyone else would have offered to bring him whatever he needed, but he supposed Dolores was just relieved to have him out of her hair.

Once he'd hung up, he went back to fighting consciousness for another couple hours until the sun beaming into his room saw to it that sleep was lost and Ian slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. If he'd thought he was in pain the night before, he'd been wrong. His entire midsection was on fire, his breath only coming in shallow gasps to keep from really aching everything. The doctors had told him his ribs were intact, but he'd be surprised if they weren't bruised. His head was still spinning as sat up, and his entire face felt swollen and tight. He could only imagine what sort of mess he looked like. Not caring enough to get up and look, he reached for the phone, wincing as he did and dialed a specific number. It was too late to call her apartment which would have been ideal, but her desk would have to do.

Sam and Jakob had gotten through their tasks easily enough. The whole mess with the Jane Doe was something that would have to be followed up either that evening or the next, considering the kind of place the girl probably worked at and things with the warehouses hadn't given them much, but Sam was updating their files and making some lists. The phone rang a couple times before Sam finally picked it up, wondering what was about to get dumped on her desk. "Homicide, Detective Tyler speaking."

"Samantha," Ian croaked at first, pausing to pull the phone away for a moment and clear his throat before starting again. "Samantha, it's Ian." God, it hurt his face to talk. He was going to find out who did this to him and have them killed. Or permanently maimed. "Have a bit of an issue on my hands. I got mugged." He needed her to find out who is was. She was detached enough from the family to investigate the incident and once he found out who questioned his loyalty and he'd remind them that he'd never given them a reason to question anything about him.

Ian and mugged didn't seem like words that belonged in the same sentence. Ian had been mugged? "When did it happen?" she asked. "Did you go to the hospital?" Not that she had gone to the hospital. A doctor had come to her apartment to check her out, but Ian's mugging more than likely wouldn't have such complications.

Ian shifted to tuck the phone between his chin and shoulder and winced in agony. "Last night," he said, though it was strained with pain. "Yes, but I convinced Hagel to send me home. The last thing we need is this in the papers." We as in the family, their family.

Sam rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and winced herself as it sent a spike of pain through her head. "You're not dead, Ian, so this isn't exactly under my call," she pointed out because she figured that was probably the reason he was calling. "Unless you want me to show up and nurse you back to health. Did Hagel give you painkillers?"

"You're actually offering to come nurse me back to health?" Ian asked with a chuckled that shifted into a groan as pain radiated through his middle. Lifting the edge of his shirt he got a slightly glimpse of the blossoming black and blue there. "Some, but I got beat like a low level thug. They aren't doing much. I think it was internal. Or so I was led to believe. The mugger didn't really take anything." Hopefully she'd put two and two together there.

"I'll steal a nurse's uniform and everything," she said dryly. Then the words 'mugger didn't take anything' filtered through and Sam's eyes widened a little bit. I think I’m gonna kick ten kinds of shit out of Sullivan, is all, her uncle had said. "Where are you at?"

Ian had no love for his cousin, but the idea of her showing up in a nurse's costume mixed with his current state was almost enjoyable. "My apartment. At the Drake." If he wasn't in so much pain he might actually enjoy the fact that he'd said something to make her come running.

Sam wasn't actually running over there, but considering that she was pretty much positive that she was well aware of what happened, maybe she should be the one to file the report. "I'll be there in a few." Thank god, at least Dutch didn't kill him. She hung up without waiting for his answer, not wanting to give him any kind of power rush at the fact that he might now think she was at his beck and call. Finishing up the reports, Sam scribbled a note for Jakob, citing 'family emergency. I'll be in tomorrow, etc', she grabbed her flask of medication and headed out, making a stop at her apartment to grab some more of her medication. Ian may have gotten some pain killers, but Sam had a fairly good pharmacy of numbing ambrosia.

Halfway to the Drake, she wondered, exactly, why she was doing this. It wasn't that she particularly liked Ian. He had been a pain in her ass for as long as she could remember. Was it guilt? How could it be guilt if she knew what Dutch was going to do and pretty much gave her blessing? How many times had she wished she could deck the bastard? Maybe it was guilt then. And that possibility had a scowl on her face as she headed through the back entrance of the Drake, waving her badge at a protesting worker before grabbing the service elevator up to Ian's floor. Guilt. It was a sucky feeling. As her mother would say, Sam was certain this was one of those things that would count as a check in the 'going to hell' column. Stepping out, she headed down the hallway to Ian's door and knocked. She would've grabbed the key from the front desk, but Ian clearly wanted this kept quiet so it was his own damn fault he was going to have to get out of bed to answer the door.

For as much agony as he was in, Ian was determined to meet her at the door. Thankfully she'd made the stop before had because it took him almost as long to get up from his bed then wobbled towards the door. By the time she knocked he was already there, pulling it open with a grunt and leaning hard on one arm that was resting on the door frame. His face was a roadmap of swollen damage and coloring bruises. Both eyes were black and his lip was cut. There was another cut on his cheek, stitched up neatly, with a purple mass around it, and another cut at his hair line. Standing wasn't exactly easy, neither was breathing but he made a valid attempt at both. He was still dressed in the undershirt and pants, though both were wrinkled from his night of attempted sleep. "Samantha," he greeted as if she was there for a social call.

"Ian," she replied in the same way. She was still wearing her sunglasses, so her wince as she took in the damage wasn't very noticeable. "You should not be standing up. Come on, back in bed." Juding by the way he was standing, and the labored sound to his breathing, she was sure that his ribs were shot. Moving with a purpose, she gently guided him away from the door, which she shut with her foot and looped his arm around her shoulders so he could lean on her. One of her arms came around his waist and she frowned as she didn't feel any bandaging under his shirt. "Did you get yourself wrapped?" she asked and lifted her sunglasses. Her own damage was all but gone, save for some scabbing around one of her eyes.

Even if he'd been able to protest he wouldn't have. Ian let her move around, guiding him so his arm was over her shoulders and he was leaning on her. "Nothing to wrap," he told her reaching down with his free hand to lift his shirt up. The bruising was there, purple and everywhere across his torso, but not quite the right kind of bruising for rib damage. "Just fucking hurts," he told her. He wondered briefly if something had changed, if he'd finally chipped away at her armor a little. She was here after all.

She took a look as she shuffled with him back to his room. "Still should be wrapped up," she pointed out. "Which means I was right in packing up the bandages." She flashed him a satisfied smirk. She didn't get into the whole 'clutching at her pearls' when he lifted his shirt, and Sam wouldn't put it past Ian to expect her to. He may play himself as the 'aw shucks' sort, but he was a good looking guy, and she knew him well enough not to put anything past him. "Who helped you out last night? Don't tell me you crawled up here all on your own." If he did, he deserved a gold star because in the state he was in, making it back to his apartment would've taken hours. And with him leaning on her, they made it to his bedroom without much difficulty and she carefully turned him around so he could sit down. "How's you're head?" she asked, keeping her voice low as she examined the stitches on his face. She knew his head must be pounding if he had this much damage and Sam had enough migraines in her life (like today) to know that loud noises weren't appreciated.

"Shannah Hagel," he told her as they walked, making sure to include the girl's last name. It was important after all. "She's staying here and we're friends. It was more her idea than mine." But it had been good. He'd made her uncomfortable, being half naked and putting that slight bit of effort towards showing he wanted her. Lucky chance. Or unlucky, depending on how he looked at it. When Sam sat him down he winced again. "It hurts," he told her. "But I'll live."

"Hagel girl staying here?" She wasn't close, personal friends with the Hagel girls, and the name 'Shannah' didn't ring any bells, although it did sound familiar. From what she understood, those girls were pretty sheltered. "Friends though, huh?" She gave him a teasing little smirk and took off her jacket and tossed it over to a chair and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse. "She cute?" Sam opened up her back and started pulling out a few bottles. Some with pills, one of them her 'stronger' concoction. "And can you get your shirt off on your own or do you want me to help?"

"I believe she ran away from home," he told his cousin,as he watched her undress a little. Normally he wouldn't bother to make it obvious he was noticing, but at the moment he needed any distraction he could find from the pain. "She's lovely, but friends. She spends her time with some artist from the other side of the tracks," he pointed out seeming less than amused by the situation. "You've no reason to get jealous yet." She wasn't the only one that could tease. He lifted the edge of his shirt, going slow but eventually getting it off and exposing the last of the bruising and the silver cross around his neck.

Sam tried really hard not to roll her eyes again and poured some of the medication into his half glass of water and handed it to him. "Prepare to feel good," she said, again with that dry and vaguely amused tone. "Why should I be jealous? I was just asking if you thought she was cute and if you liked her."

Ian took the glass, tilting it back and taking most of it one gulp, trying not to wince at the taste. He had no idea what the woman put in there, which showed a level of trust he normally wouldn't give her. The easy answer to her question was no, because he didn't like people like she was suggesting. "I just didn't want you to worry," he joked after swallowing. "Like I said, she's lovely but not available." For now at least. There had to be a way to get rid of that riffraff who hung out with the likes of Sam's uncle. The man who probably beat him sideways.

Taking the glass back from him, Sam had to admit she was surprised he drank it without questioning her. That was a first and probably due to the amount of pain he was in. "Do you want me to be jealous?" she asked with a chuckle and grabbed the tape and roll of bandages so she could start wrapping his torso. Even if it wasn't exactly rib damage, his breathing and slowness would benefit from being braced. "I could pretend if it'd make you feel better." She carefully taped down the end on a patch of unbruised skin and started winding. "Oh, Ian, won't you ever like me? Why do you have to go for some Jewish girl with a big nose?" she asked in a high, girly voice as she started wrapping him up.

Ian wasn't sure if he wanted her to be jealous. It was a game he'd never played with the women, taking their harmless physicality to a different level on purpose. Mostly he just tried to keep her happy. "You're a horrid tease you realize that right?" he asked her turning so he could see her face and catching her wrist as she brought it across his stomach for a moment. Alright so maybe he was playing along. At least it was different than giving in to her whims without losing his dignity around her.

"How am I tease?" she asked, her eyes going to the hand he had on her wrist. Okay, that was different. He was usually placating her by now. She didn't understand how she could be acting like a tease. Teasing him, yes, by ribbing him over the Hagel girl. He didn't think she was interested in him, did he?

"Because you pretend so well," he told her letting go her of her hand. He didn't seem terribly torn up about it, but stating it more like fact. Ian flashed her a small smirk, nothing more. It was a different game, but it would be interesting to see how she handled it. Whatever she'd given him must have been working.

Sam resumed wrapping up his torso with a thoughtful look on her face. "Pretend what?" she asked curiously, tugging a little on the bandage to tighten it up. He was numbing up, it was clear from the slight glassy sheen to his eyes so she didn't worry about it hurting him too much. "I give you a hard time because it's fun. And right now it's more fun because you aren't rolling over and taking it." That was always a downer if she ever tried to rib Ian. He got all scuffy-toed and easy mark. At least here he was pushing back a little bit.

"At pretending it would take less than your mother's dying wish for you to even actively consider me as a suitor," he informed her, a little tease slipping into his voice. He was pleased she considered him the type to pick on, that he was harmless. That worked out well for him.

"Well, being one of the most boring people that I know, it would be kind of mean for me to treat you like that," she said. Ian was pretty damn boring, except for the rare times when there seemed to be a lot more going on than mister mild mannered hotel manager. "Maybe I feel a little sorry for you, all friendless and by yourself up here. Need to keep you on your toes. Hope Miss Hagel's doing some of that for you." Okay, that sounded kind of mean but Sam figured she could get away with it since she'd shown up with pain killers to give him.

Ian gave her a look that said her accusation wasn't entirely fair, even though he knew it was. Boring was what he was going for, it helped him blend in. "I'm not friendless love, you know that," he told her though he didn't have many friends, but he didn't like people so that didn't bother him. "And she's doing what little she can, though I suppose you might have come to the root of why she'd rather spend her time with an uneducated starving artist." Ian gave her a sheepish smile. "So tell me, how I do I fix how boring I am?"

"Grow a backbone," she suggested immedietly as she came to the end of the bandage and taped it down. "You don't have to be a fighter, but you let people walk all over you and yeah, so you might have to do that with your job. I know Maya Walker can be demanding when she does her parties, but you don't have to let that carry into all aspects of your life. People are less likely to cross you if they know that you'll bite back if they poke you too hard. You don't have to yell at people or something, but assert yourself. You run the Drake, Ian. You're in a prominent position here. You get to decide, at the end of the day, if Maya Walker's parties or the Mayor's fundraisers turn out just right. And there's no where else for them to hold them at. So they treat you with respect and they get the best. You know what I'm saying?" She wriggled a finger underneath the bandaged to see how tight it was, careful not to do so against the bruises. Satisfied, Sam stood and tilted his head back a little bit so she could take a look at his stitches. They were good and neat, nothing looked infected, but she still grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream and a q-tip to apply some on there. Just in case.

Ian could have laughed. She had no idea, thinking he was just some schmuck that let people walk all over him and double cross him when in reality it had always been the other way. "My job is to give people what they want Samantha. Is that a bad thing to try and carry over into the rest of my life?" he asked, though he'd understood her. It just meant his persona was intact.

"Not necessarily," Sam said and started spreading the cream on. She didn't warn about it stinging because she didn't particularly feel like it. "But in the family business you decided to get into?" Because there was no use hiding it. It was the Drake. Her family had casino work here, not to mention she was sure there were meetings that went on here all the time. "If, let's say, this mugging or attack or whatever it was turned into homicide? The only inconvenience that would be seen would be that someone would have to be found to take over for you. You are replaceable, no matter what you might think. No matter how much you think the Drake might need you to run smooth." Ian was the one who ran the hotel so that assumption was easy for Sam to make. "But someone better can always be found. Because you're an easy mark, Ian. And hey, for all I know, you're laughing at everyone behind the way you present yourself and the way you act. There are people who are like that. I've collared quite a few, but never think that just rolling over and being a good errand boy means your place is secure. It just means no one is going to care when you're gone."

Ian winced at the stinging sensation from whatever she rubbed something against his cut. She was right in some ways, but wrong in others. No one else could manage the hotel, not after he'd been there. He'd seen to it that nothing made sense to anyone outside his head. Blending in had been his goal for a long time, using his placement to get the information he needed, the trust he deserved. "You won't care?" he asked, not because it fit with the conversation at all but because she'd put it out there. "For now, I've hit a ceiling. The only way to move up from where I'm at is for someone to die or to marry better." Neither option had presented itself yet.

"I might care a little bit," she offered seriously as she dabbed at the stitches. She wasn't sure how she'd exactly feel or react if Ian had died or left. How would she feel? "My life might get a little boring for awhile, I guess. No Ian to mess around with at events so where would I get my fun. As for the ceiling, where would you move up to?" Ian ran the Drake. That's what he did, so what more could there be for him to move up into? As far as Sam knew, the guy didn't have parents who were big wigs, which is maybe why he'd landed the Drake gig.

"Much to everyone's dismay Lucas DiGiovanni will still be around to entertain you," he pointed out because it was true. "I don't know, something less expendable I suppose." Somewhere more in charge. He'd set himself in place to take over the whole damn family if he could. Or see it brought down, whichever worked out best in the end.

That got a laugh out of Sam and she looked away with a shake of her head and started picking up pill bottles. "I think he's quite content to play paper boy. I really hope he isn't at the gallery opening tomorrow. I always have to avoid him and it's annoying." Lucas made her uncomfortable. She wasn't ever sure if they were talking so he could get into her pants or if he wanted information for the paper.

"Damn, that's tomorrow isn't it?" Getting his brain rattled about had thrown off his timing. "I obviously won't be there. I'm guessing the fuck that roughed me up won't be there, but I can't very well show up looking like this."

"Well, I could slather you with make up but I don't think you'd like that very much," Sam offered and silently, she very, very much doubted Dutch would be at the opening. Sam was only going because her mother had tickets that she gave to her and it was such short notice, that she couldn't get rid of them. "And if it's difficult for you to stand up, that wouldn't be good either."

"That's what I was thinking," he said. He hated missing things like that though. There was always something to be gleaned from that sort of situation. "You'll look into it won't you? Who tried this? He said he was sending me a message. Big guy, gruff voice." Mechanics hands. Ian needed a reason for his car to break down. Soon.

Patting his shoulder gently, Sam took a seat on the bed next to him as she counted out pills for him. "Do you want to file a report?" she asked. She knew who did it. She didn't know why, but she promised she'd look the other way. "Do you want charges brought onto this person or do you just want to know who did it?"

"Filing a report's a waste. I just need to know who. He said to watch who I cross. When have I ever crossed anyone?" he asked her. Despite his pain and whatever she'd given him for it he lied his way through it smoothly.

Nodding, Sam started putting pills into an empty bottle that she brought over, recounting as she did so. "Okay, so tell me what happened. What were you doing? Where did it happen? What did the person look like?"

"Leaving the Drake, same I do every day. He came up behind me in an alley with a gun and told me to get into the alley. Typical mugger stuff. I sort of went along until I got pushed into a wall and punched int the side. Turns out he didn't want my money, just wanted to humiliate me to deliver a message." Ian left off how he'd smarted back to his attacker, that went against the guy with no backbone she thought he was. "Big guy, strong. Gruff voice. He was in a mask though, gloves, dark clothes." It was Dutch, he thought but didn't say.

Did Dutch honestly think that just wearing a mask was going to hide him? "Did anything about them seem familiar to you?" she asked, capping the bottle and setting them on the nightstand. "And you mentioned that they said you crossed them. Why would they think that? No matter how outlandish you think the situation might have been."

"Voice seemed familiar but it was hard to place with my brains getting scrambled. Scuffed up boots? Work boots." None of the normal thugs wore work boots. Dutch was going to pay for this one. "I have no idea. I'm the boring one remember Samantha." That part had irked him. He'd wracked his brain for how he'd crossed Dutch but nothing obvious was coming to light. There was the argument at the Round, but that had been ages ago. Certainly not enough to justify having his face smashed in.

"How far from the Drake were you attacked? Where were you headed?" Dutch was an absolute idiot. Absolute and she was going to have to drop in on him soon because this? This was not good.

"A few buildings over from the Drake," he told her actually frowning a little as he tried to remember. He'd been out cold when the cop found him and called the ambulance. "Out of sight from the hotel, but not far. I was headed to a late dinner." At least the attack could justify him changing his schedule up a little. He hated being that predictable.

"Where do you have dinner at? Did you have any trouble there with someone before?" She couldn't see Ian hitting on someone's girlfriend or sister or mother or daughter. It was... Ian.

"Same place I always do, Gregory's. It's just a short walk down the street," he explained sounding tired about it. "Samantha, it's me, seriously, where would I find trouble." Besides in that miserable fucking bar. If Dutch was ready to push him inches to death for a drink in a seedy, dirty bar then the man deserved whatever was coming to him.

That's what I'm trying to figure out. Ian had crossed a line with Dutch. Sam had allowed it, but if Ian was saying he had no idea whatsoever what he did, then that put her in a sticky situation. "It's not much to go on," she told him honestly. "But I'll see if other muggings have happened in the area with a similar M.O." That's really all she could do anyway if she didn't know who had done it. "You're being honest with me, right? Because I can't do my job if you're not honest with me." Another truth.

"Samantha, look at me. Why in hell would I lie to you?" His face was honest, bruised and battered. It was one of the best lies he'd ever told her.

She looked at him for a long while. She could be honest with him and say that sometimes? She just didn't trust him. She didn't always believe him when he acted mild-mannered and harmless. You couldn't. Not in this city. "I don't know, Ian. Would you?" she asked calmly.

That was different; not an answer he usually got. Ian echoed her motion, watching her for a long while and then he reached out to brush her hair back a little off her face. It was different for them, but he was trying to prove something he'd not proved before. "I wouldn't."

Sam flinched when his hand came up to touch her and she drew away immediately, not wanting that kind of contact whatsoever. She even stood up, shoving pill bottles in her bag but she set the flask on the nightstand next to his water glass. "Two capfulls per full glass of water," she instructed. "And one pain killer when you wake up and one for when you go to bed should work." Alright, she really needed to get out of here because all of a sudden? She was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

Ian watched her step back, but didn't follow. He knew better than to push it too far. The girl had been through plenty. Instead he nodded, running a hand over his disheveled hair. "Yes ma'am."

Still feeling enclosed, Sam grabbed her jacket and pulled it on and slung her bag over her shoulder. Regarding him for a moment, she took in the bruising and the swelling and the hunched sort of curve to his shoulders that spoke of his aching torso. She took in his room, the lack of personal things, the cleanliness. "I don't trust you, Ian," she finally said, referring back to where the conversation had been going before he tried pushing her hair away. "I'll let myself out. Get some sleep."

Wincing Ian stood up, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. He'd been walked out on twice by two different women and it was getting old. "I wish you did Samantha," he told her, one hand on his side. "Thanks though. I appreciate it."

"Sit down, Ian," she said tightly, because his standing up was making him look like a glutton for punishment. "Or you'll fall over." She didn't return his thank you, or his comment about wishing she'd trust him. Without looking at him again, she headed out of his room and with a quick glance at the rest of the apartment, she let herself out, shutting the door harder than necessary behind her. She was really not in the mood to deal with any more of this. Dutch had a lot of questions to answer the next time she saw him.