Lean on Me
Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint, I just love these characters too much.
I was trying to write the second chapter of Cool Thoughts (thanks for everybody who read and reviewed), but I was struggling with some parts. It was infuriating, so I decided to take a break and write this. I was in a somewhat melancholy mood, so this isn't exactly my usual happy, fluffy piece.
Takes place post Eagle Two.
Standing meekly in the middle of her living room, Sam looked around to take in the surrounding. His eyes moved over the tall stack of DIY magazines on the coffee table to the lonely pot of a plant he didn't recognize on the mantelpiece. When he saw a bottle of thinner and neatly folded paint speckled tarps, he vaguely recalled Jules telling him about her on-going home renovation during one of their patrols. The house did smell faintly of paint and woodchips.
He also noticed that there were no framed photographs, no photos of her four brothers, her parents, or even the team. It was quite a contrast to Wordy's home, where almost every inch of the available surface of his wall was covered with pictures of Shelley and their three girls. Maybe she took them down because of the home renovation, not wanting to accidentally knock them down. Maybe.
After a quick sweep of her living room, his eyes landed on the woman leaning against the stairs. Her hair was loose around her shoulders now, free from the pins, slightly wavy from the twist it had been confined in all day. He couldn't quite read her expression, but that was nothing new.
"I'm going to take a shower," Jules said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the house. She started up the stairs and as if knowing that Sam wasn't sure if it was an invitation or a statement, stopped and turned around. She gnawed at her lip. "Come along?"
Sam nodded, but she had already continued up the stairs. Suddenly he wasn't sure if this was a good idea. He didn't know what's going to happen in the next ten, fifteen minutes, but regardless, she had had an eventful day. He didn't want her to regret whatever happened this evening tomorrow, when her mind wasn't so bleary anymore and could put everything into perspective. When she realized that mistakes happened, and there's nothing she could do but take solace in the fact that no life was lost and nobody blamed her. That it was time to move on.
Would tonight be just like that? One night of passion birthed from a highly emotional day? He didn't want to move on, didn't want to go back to the way it was. He had been waiting for this day, for her to let him in, since the day she trained her gun on him.
He followed her to her room and to the small bathroom inside. She pulled up her hair into a messy bun, and started to unbutton her shirt. Even from behind he could tell that her movement was jerky. She looked somewhat smaller than usual and it was unsettling.
He's not sure what to do. He was good with the opposite gender, just not emotionally. His personal life was nothing but a series of short-lived, no string attached relationships. As soon as women gave him troubles, he'd usually end things. That pretty much stopped the moment he landed in Toronto. I wonder why… he mused, knowing exactly why.
He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tense momentarily, and turn her around to face him. Sad brown eyes met his blue. He caressed her cheekbones and the corner of her lips curl up into a barely there smile. She closed her eyes. He'd like to think that he's feeding off his strength.
His thumbs swept across her cheeks one more time before he leaned down to brush his lips across her eyelid. She exhaled softly, her warm breath fanning his face. He snuggled her nose with his, their lips mere millimeters apart. His rational mind told him that he wouldn't have been there at the first place if she didn't want him there, but he still searched her face for any hesitancy. He found none.
He closed the gap between them for the second time that evening, his lips pressing against hers first gently, then with more pressure. She allowed herself to be drawn deeper into his kiss, her lips moving in sync with his. His tongue delved inside her parted mouth, probing, exploring, twining their tongues together in a sensuous embrace. He wished he could take away her pain with just a kiss.
His mouth reluctantly left hers, trailing moist, open-mouthed kisses on the side of her face until he reached her collarbone. He buried his face on the side of her neck for a short moment, marveling at her presence so close to him. "So, you said something about a shower?"
Sam felt rather than saw her smile. He pulled away. That was then when he realized her shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, revealing the sleek maroon bra she wore underneath. His chest tightened at the beautiful sight in front of him, and his pants grew uncomfortably tight. As much as he wanted to rip her clothes off and take her then and there, he didn't. Breathe in, breathe out. This was about her, about being there for her. His needs and wants must take a backseat. Breathe in, breathe out.
She shrugged off her black shirt off her shoulders and it was no time until her pants joined the puddle of clothes on the floor. When she spoke, there was an underlying teasing tone in her voice. "Unless you want to get your clothes all wet, it's probably a good idea to take them off."
"Oh. Right." He grinned bashfully and began to undress.
She stepped back and moved to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. Sam felt all moisture left his mouth when her hand reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. When she shimmied out of her panties, he hoped that the shower would be a cold one, although he knew the chance was very slim. She must have noticed his physical reaction to her state of undress, but she didn't say anything, possibly didn't want to embarrass him.
Jules was beautiful. He had had glimpses of her in her towel before, but this was something different altogether. His eyes followed the exquisite lines of her body. She looked simultaneously feminine and strong. He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked. He was so entranced by what he saw and the spell was only broken when his eyes landed on her face, full of anguish. His heart sank.
Her lower lip had found its way between her teeth and she was trembling slightly. It was probably because of the contrast of the steaming water and the cooler bathroom temperature, but he knew it wasn't the case. Her carefully contained feelings were bubbling and boiling below the surface, threatening to leak out and burst through.
Why won't you lean on me?
"Come on." He whispered. With one hand on her lower back, he ushered her to step into the shower and followed behind. The stinging hot water hit his back like a thousand needles.
He looked at the bottles of shampoo and body wash lining the wall, trying to figure out what's what. "Okay, so we've got lavender and… Rain? I'm not sure what that means. What does it mean? Does it smell like rain, or-"
He stopped talking at the first touch of her finger on his back. He didn't turn around either, rooted in his spot. She lightly stroked the spot underneath her fingertip, and moved to another spot, and another, and another.
Sam clenched his jaw. She didn't say anything as she gingerly touched his scars, the scars he had gotten from another time of his life, the reminder of the life he sometimes wished was a dream. He waited for the questions that never came; wanted to say something, anything that was never forthcoming. His military life wasn't an off-limit topic by itself, but it was no secret that something horrible happened during his last tour. That made any military related questions off-limit, because somehow his thoughts would be pulled into that same dark abyss all over again.
Greg and Ed knew about Matt and the friendly fire incident. Well, he assumed Ed had told the Boss. Sam was grateful that his comm link was off when he had that talk with Ed (when Ed confronted him about Afghanistan, pushing him roughly against the side of the truck and looking at him not unlike his father had once upon a time when he told him he was leaving the military). The last thing he wanted was to have his new teammates looking at him with pity. I'm sorry that your best friend died. I'm sorry that you killed your best friend. I'm glad I don't have to carry the guilt for the rest of my life.
Jules knew though. She never asked, but he told her. The burrito in his mouth suddenly tasted like lead as he tried to put the bitter memory into words.
He felt her press a light kiss on his back and he shuddered despite the hot water cascading over them both like a waterfall. She reached around him and squirted generous dollops of her 'Rain' body wash to her palm. "We don't want the team to rag on you for smelling like lavender tomorrow. This has a pretty neutral scent."
She started to wash the wide expanse of his back, her slick palms sliding over his skin in slow circular motions. He enjoyed the feel of her hands smoothing suds over his shoulders and down his back. It was calming. It felt good. Before things could progress from soothing to arousing, he stopped her.
"Come on, I'll do your back now," he said, reaching for her shower puff and lathered it with her lavender scented body wash. He grinned. "We gotta throw them off our scent."
Jules rolled her eyes at the pun, for a split second looking like the Jules who had teased him about his new bike this morning. It made his heart flutter in his chest. He turned her around and ran his hand over her arm. Her skin was as smooth as hot silk.
Just as she had bathed him, he rubbed her back in slow, broad strokes, using one hand to gently knead her tight shoulder and ease away the knots of tension there. He put aside her puff and rubbed the suds with his hands, lingering on her shoulder blades. In a different scenario, he would have already gotten his hands to work and tease. After all, she was someone who had stolen his heart since practically the very first day he'd laid eyes on her. For now though, he just wanted to take care of her.
Sam pulled her closer to him, letting the water wash away the last trace of soap from her body. Her body was shaking, and he slipped his arms around her waist, a calloused thumb rubbing her hip in small circles. Her trembles turned to a full-body quake and he realized she was crying. The heel of her hand pressed against her eye, maybe to stop the tears and also to cover her face from him because she's the tough-as-nails Jules Callaghan. Her sobs seemed to resonate in the small bathroom.
He didn't know if seeing his scars had made her realize that he was right - everybody did made mistakes, some had bigger cost than others. Maybe she felt much safer to cry under the spray of water, or perhaps the lid just couldn't hold anymore. He didn't know. But he was relieved. She needed this release.
"Just let it out, Jules," he murmured, his lips pressing against the side of her neck. Each sob seemed to tear at his soul anew. "It's alright."
She gripped the arm around her waist and leaned back against his chest, a silent acceptance of his offer. He was glad.
"It's gonna be okay, sweetheart, it's gonna be okay."
I know Sam doesn't really have any scars, at least from what I've seen on Perfect Storm. I'd like to think that he does. Thanks for reading. Reviews make this author's day xx