[July 27th] [Perry Mason] To Prove Yourself

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: To Prove Yourself
Day/Theme: July 27th - People like me, with knives
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Deputy D.A. Chamberlin, Deputy D.A. Sampson, important mentions of Hamilton Burger
Rating: T/PG-13

Continued from my other Perry piece this month, but can be read as a stand-alone. I had the urge to write this and wondered if the prompt would fit. It did, a bit too eerily well. This is mostly an experiment, testing Sampson's and Chamberlin's voices and personalities and their possible interaction.

I spelled Chamberlin's name wrong before. I prefer the other spelling, but I'll spell it correctly instead.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Deputy District Attorney Victor Chamberlin was filled with a variety of emotions as he knelt beside the wounded body of his younger colleague Gregory Sampson. The knife had gone in deep; there was very little protruding aside from the handle.

He set his teeth. It was one thing to view photographs of victims he had never met. It was quite another to see such a sight in person, and where it concerned someone he knew and cared about.

“. . . I’m sorry I can’t take out the knife,” he said at last.

Sampson weakly shook his head. “It’s . . . it’s alright. I know you can’t. You might . . . cause more damage pulling it . . .” He gripped the grass, the green blades appearing in between his fingers.

Chamberlin wrapped a cloth around the wound, desperate to stave the flow of blood. “What happened here?” he demanded. Mr. Burger had had no time to really explain before running off after the knife-thrower. And Chamberlin knew he should not be prompting Sampson to talk, but something inside was giving under the strain. He had to know.

“He . . . he was aiming at Mr. Burger. I shielded him. . . .” Sampson slumped down, closing his eyes.

Chamberlin’s eyes narrowed. “. . . I should have expected that.”

Sampson’s eyes flickered open again, in confusion. “What?”

“Any of us would do the same, of course,” Chamberlin hurried to add. “It was a noble and brave act. But, Sampson . . .” His hands trembled. “Is that why you did it?”

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

Chamberlin’s voice tightened at his next words. “You could have tackled him to the ground. Instead you took the knife. Sampson, for Heaven’s sake! Were you trying to prove yourself again?”

“. . . I was trying to save him, Mr. Chamberlin.”

“I know that. But what I’m saying is that there were more ways that you could have done it. Was saving him your only reason?”

Sampson flinched, but whether it was from the pain or the words was not clear. Chamberlin loosened his grip as much as he dared, breathing an apology.

“You weren’t here.”

Chamberlin stiffened at the flat reply. It was true; he had not been here. He did not know exactly what had transpired. Maybe Sampson had done the only thing he could, under the circumstances. Maybe there had not been time to tackle Mr. Burger to the ground.

“No, I wasn’t. You’re right. But . . . Sampson, you could have died! . . . You could still die.”

Saying the words only made them more real. Chamberlin had known as soon as he had knelt down that the wound was likely fatal. Maybe that was why he had not been able to hold his tongue.

“A career cut short.” Sampson’s words were dry and said with a self-depreciating smirk. “No matter; there would be someone to take my place.”

“Don’t be so self-sacrificing! Such a martyr!” Chamberlin looked up and down the street, his panic only increasing. How long would it take that ambulance to get here?

“I’m not, really,” Sampson mumbled. “I don’t want to die. I wasn’t trying to die.” He paused. “But . . . maybe you’re right, to some extent. Maybe I wanted to . . . to be wounded and live. Maybe I . . . I wanted to be a hero in his eyes.”

Chamberlin gripped the other man’s shoulder. “Sampson, don’t you understand? You’re valued here.”

“No more than anyone else.”

“Mr. Burger cares about each one of us. He’d be devastated if anything happened to you. Especially if it happened because someone was out for his blood and you willingly put yourself in the way!”

“I won’t die . . . willingly.” Sampson shuddered under Chamberlin’s grasp.

Chamberlin bowed his head. “No . . . of course not.”

He watched, sadly, as Mr. Burger returned and spoke with Sampson for a few scant minutes. Sampson was fading fast; Chamberlin’s fears had not been unfounded. The chance that this wound would take his life was increasing.

When he slipped into unconsciousness, Mr. Burger stood, agonized, as he searched for the ambulance. It was coming, finally. The siren was wailing in the distance. And Mr. Burger could hardly stand to sit there and see the young man stabbed with that vicious knife—a knife meant for him.

Chamberlin gazed down at the pale face and closed eyes. Sampson really looked already dead, though he wasn’t. Chamberlin reached and took Sampson’s wrist as he sought the pulse rate.

“I wish . . .” he whispered. “I wish I could have made you understand that you didn’t need to prove yourself. That Mr. Burger knows you’re capable and values you as an individual, not just as another assistant district attorney.

“That he won’t be the only one devastated if you die.”

He let the limp wrist slide out of his grasp and back to the grass. “You stupid man. You stupid, foolish friend.”
****
Sampson did not die. Holding true to his customary stubbornness and determination, he lived. Despite the internal damage and the loss of blood, despite flatlining twice on the operating table, despite lingering in a coma from which the doctors believed he would never emerge, he lived.

Hamilton checked in at the hospital whenever he could. So did Chamberlin. And other assistants and various employees of the district attorney’s office. Even Perry Mason had stopped in, concerned over Sampson’s fate. Maybe it was more because he feared what Sampson’s death might do to Hamilton, but Chamberlin found himself believing that Perry was worried about Sampson because of Sampson, as well.

Chamberlin spent some of his spare time in the hospital chapel, praying for Sampson’s life. He had been with the district attorney’s office a good deal longer than Sampson. When Sampson had come along, impulsive and idealistic and ready to fight windmills if need be, Chamberlin had sort of taken him under his wing.

Sampson was a good prosecutor and could be better, as both Chamberlin and Hamilton saw very well. But Chamberlin’s feelings went far deeper than that. While a scant few of the assistants carried on unhealthy rivalries with each other, Chamberlin and Sampson, by contrast, were close. Any rivalry they shared was under the banner of friendship and improving themselves and each other.

Chamberlin had lost friends over the years, to death as well as to other separators. He did not want to lose another.

Particularly one who had so much life left.

It took several days, but at last Sampson began to rally. Hamilton was with him when he first began to struggle for consciousness and surfaced for one or two minutes at a time.

Chamberlin was with him when he finally, fully made it back.

Sampson gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes bleary and his normally arrogant voice raspy and soft. “I’m alive?”

Chamberlin let out a breath he had not known he was holding. “I don’t know how or why, but you’re alive. Thank God.”

Sampson turned, looking to him. “. . . Mr. Burger was with me before, I think. I don’t remember much of what was said. Except . . .” He paused, sorting through the words. “I know he thanked me for protecting him. He asked me not to do it like that again, if I could help it.”

“And you won’t, will you?” Chamberlin asked.

“If I can help it. Victor . . .” Sampson grabbed the veteran prosecutor’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”

Chamberlin’s eyes registered his surprise. “For what?”

“For worrying Mr. Burger. And you. And everyone else.” Sampson drew a shuddering breath. “If it could have been avoided, I would have. I wasn’t trying to get myself hurt.”

Chamberlin looked down as the guilt swept over him. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry I acted like you were.”

“There wasn’t time to think, only to act. I knew I had to protect him. And actually . . . I did try to tackle him to the ground. I was hit before I could move that much.”

Chamberlin nodded. “Mr. Burger told me.” He sighed, sadly. “Sometimes you’re unpredictable. I know you want Mr. Burger’s approval so badly.”

“Yes, I do. But I want it in the courtroom. I don’t want to sacrifice my life to get it. I . . . tried to tell you before. I didn’t have the strength.”

“I really knew it anyway. Those things I said. . . . They mostly came out because your death looked so imminent. I was afraid, but I should have controlled myself better. Gregory, I . . . I didn’t want you to die. Especially if it could have been avoided.”

“I really knew that.” A bit of a smile played on Sampson’s lips. “I’m not going to die. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can arrange it.”

Chamberlin could believe it, too. Sampson was a very impatient person. He would no doubt be up and around before long, making demands of the doctors and wanting to go home.

“If you want that ‘as soon as possible’, you’re going to have to get some proper rest,” Chamberlin observed. “Being in a coma isn’t it.”

Sampson rolled his eyes. “I’ll sleep, properly. But how are my cases coming along? The ones I was working on right before this?”

“They’re fine,” Chamberlin assured him. “Larry Germaine took one of them. I took the other. Larry got his defendant bound over for trial. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble doing the same.”

“Good.” Sampson relaxed.

Chamberlin was a bit amused in spite of himself. Sampson was so dedicated to his work. Now that he had that update, he very likely would feel peaceful enough to sleep.

And now that Chamberlin was confident that Sampson would be alright, he could feel peaceful as well. He had not slept much himself since this had happened. He was looking forward to changing that.