A series of JS moments I'm not quite sure what to do with. In truth they're closer to being drabbles than one-shots, so I'll post them here separately. They're unbetaed and undated, some post-ep and some AU, but... enjoy anyway : )

# 1 - Interstate 10

Rating: K+
Spoilers: none
Genre: angst
Timeline & Setting: oh, erm… somewhere in the middle of the desert. Pre-affair.

Interstate 10, engine rumbling monotonously, and if ever solitude had a smell it would be close to this acrid stench of hot asphalt, burning nostrils and the notion of time.

"Need anything?"

The station's rusty, like it belong fifty years in the past and it smells of gas and motor oil and perspiration, but it's either that or drive another seventy miles on an empty tank. This road has a taste of awkwardness, of uncertainty coupled with possibility, stuffy air, furtive glances.

"A map?"

An indignant reply. "We're not lost."

Lost. There's lost and lost, depending on whether you can actually find your way in the middle of nowhere. His sleeves are rolled up at the elbows, skin damp, the top three buttons of his shirt undone and rather than opening one more, she thinks, he might as well take the shirt off.

Not that she'd mind.

They're back on the road and obviously it was silly to ask for a map, because you can't take the wrong exit when there are none. Instead it's just dry sand, burning sun and the allegedly cool air that comes out of the vents feels hotter than the one outside. So she shifts around− shoes off, shoes on, window closed, half-closed, arm extended in the hope of finding a non-existing breeze. His hands move on the wheel, palms sweaty against the black cushion grip while she takes a sip of water, welcoming the sensation of liquid sliding down her throat.

"Pass me the bottle?" he asks, eyes still on the road, still fixed straight ahead in concentration although he could let cruise-control take them to wherever they're headed, provided of course that this road does lead somewhere.

She watches as he drinks after her, grimacing when he realizes the water stopped being cool somewhere between here and the rest of the civilized world. He takes off his sunglasses for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and when he spares another surreptitious glance in her direction, she can swear there's a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What?" she challenges. The air's too hot, clearly the air-conditioning hasn't been tested here, but somehow that's not enough to explain why she asks the question.

"Nothing," he says quickly and from behind the sunglasses, she sees his eyes dart back to the road, almost like he's been caught staring at something he shouldn't have, and, she reflects, that might be exactly the case.

She casts around for a subject but he looks lost in thought, and she certainly wouldn't want her thoughts wafting in the air between them, adding to the tension and growing uneasiness, so she just forces her mind to relax and looks outside once more. She might've slept, perhaps, if it hadn't been so hot, but even jet lag and a wearing case don't stand a chance here. Sky− sky so blue and pure you could stare at it for hours and with such a sight even the airless interior of the car shouldn't feel so suffocating, except it isn't only the car, it's the driver seated next to her and the clandestine glances he steals at her every now and then.

Hours and minutes stopped being important when they hit the road what feels like an eternity ago, and the sun slowly begins to lower on the horizon. It's still hot, still suffocating, she's still wondering if they're going to arrive someplace, and the road is still as straight as it was when they left the rusty gas station behind, but now blue slowly fades into shards of yellow and cyan and the horizon turns pink, making her wonder how late it is. She could take a peek at the electronic clock on the dashboard, but she refuses to, because somehow this instant is beautiful and precious and she wants to keep it like one keeps a picture or a letter or a keepsake in a box.

"You want me to take over?"

He seems to take this as a sign that it's time for him to remove his sunglasses, and he slides them off, eyes squinting slightly as they adjust to the bright light. Air less damp, shirt less plastered to moist skin, but it's still hotter than it ever was in New York and that's what makes it exciting and unnerving, and far more dangerous than it was before.

After a moment's silence he acquiesces and slows the car down, slower and slower until the wheels stop turning and he shifts into park, carefully making sure the door-handle won't scorch his skin before he opens the door on his side.

Legs stiff, the scent of asphalt hasn't disappeared, mixed with the smell of rubber as the engine cools down momentarily and she's almost surprised not to see smoke coming from the tires. Both windows are lowered, the black paint sparkles in the sunlight and she watches as he gets out, leaning an elbow on top of the door as he looks in the distance. She starts walking around the front of the car, figuring he'll go around the back, except they've both made the mistake of putting too much thought into this and they suddenly find themselves face to face.

"I, er−"

She steps aside, to his left, and takes a tentative step until he unexpectedly grabs her arm, making her turn around and look at him.

Lips dry, she wishes it wasn't so goddamn hot, he's standing way too close or maybe she's the one who forgot there was always supposed to be some distance between them, not that it matters now that he looks at her like that. She's tempted to ask what again in that teasing tone except words, elusive as they are, would convey either too much or not enough, carrying with them an ambiguity that would weigh on his shoulders and might as well crush hers.

"You forgot something," he smirks, raising a hand.

The keys are dangling from his fingers and she bites down on her lower lip, gaze travelling from his face to the car and back to his face again, and his other hand hasn't moved from her arm. She hesitates for a moment too long, and he averts his eyes an instant too late and she's no longer able to tell what's more dangerous, the place or the proximity, what she saw in his gaze or what he might have read in hers.

"Sam."

He's taken to calling her like that not so long ago, only now it feels like she's known him since her first breath, and his whisper fills the small space that separates them, reminding them that he's come alive the day she did.

"Jack. Don't."

She can't see his eyes now, lost somewhere between the heat and the sand and the falling darkness, and the acute awareness of the grip he's maintained on her arm, but she feels his longing, shares it, wants him to make the decision she can't make for both of them.

The keys are in her hands, he lets go of her and time stands still as they remain frozen, until she knows for sure they'll melt like ice if neither of them reacts.

The seat creaks when she sits back inside, the tires screech as the engine comes alive, pinions grate and somehow they're back on the road, back on their way to nowhere except this time she can't pretend anymore that they won't find a city, in an hour or a lifetime. Her mind is on future cases, cases with people to interrogate in the middle of the desert, cars with air conditioning that doesn't work, vents breathing air so hot it burns your lungs with every breath.

She'll take a road trip with Jack whenever, even if it brings them on a road that smells of asphalt and burnt rubber and that leads nowhere and everywhere, or somewhere in between.

/ End of Interstate 10