(Author's Note: This was originally written October 2003. It is being reposted to on account of my website no longer existing.)
El Cuarto de Tula. Jack/Sam (S2). Pre-series.
Summary: More fun with the fuzzy affair backstory.
---
"I don't think it's unheard of."
Jack turns his head down the bar at her. His eyebrows arch playfully. "You don't, do you?"
Her ring finger traces the rim of her martini glass. She can't remember what possessed her to order something as flirty as an apple martini. "Girls can't be a party animals forever, you know."
He glances at her with the eyebrows again, and then the corners of his mouth perk up. He laughs into his drink. "And to think I wondered about the martini."
Samantha's mouth is open in surprise, but she's laughing, too. There's a porch out back, where a Cuban band is playing slow, rhythmic salsa music. She can't help the way she tosses her head in time with the music, but then, things like that make more sense here in California than in New York City.
"She ran from her broken family," Jack is saying. "She ran from responsibility, she ran from chaos. All this girl knew how to do was run."
She hates the solemn face she knows she's wearing. With pep in her eyes, she replies, "And that's what we're there for." In the corner of her eye, Jack is nodding. Samantha sighs. "I think this is the end." He looks at her– she doesn't miss that. "For Janet Shipman, I mean."
In distance, a woman laughs. "Yeah." He finishes his drink in one gulp. "Let's get out of here."
She's barely through her first martini, but she lets him lead her out of the Palm Springs bar anyway.
---
Their flight isn't until tomorrow morning. Danny and Vivian are holding down the fort in New York. He asked if she wanted to grab a drink, and it's inevitable that he would kiss her, pinning her between his body and the passenger side of the rental car.
She is feeling tipsy, for reasons beyond her knowledge. She thinks, maybe it's not the alcohol, and her mind runs wild. This is her boss that, like a proper gentleman, is leading her to the car; her married boss, that's reaching from behind her to open the door.
Her hand reaches the door first, but his is quickly behind it, covering hers. "Let me get that," he says. She whispers an okay, but the hands don't move. She doesn't know what's worse– the oppressive heat or the tension between them.
She manages to turn around to face him without moving her hand, but after that, it's all one blur of motion, with his lips ending up on hers and their fingers laced together. Her manicured nails scrap his wedding ring, and he kisses her harder, pushing his tongue into her mouth. This– this has been brewing for some time now. The weight of his body is pushing her into the car.
Eventually, she must come up for air. He takes a step away from her, ashamed, except his hand is still attached to hers.
"Jack." She doesn't mean for it to sound so apologetic.
She sighs and it tugs on their joined hands. Maybe she lets him misinterpret that, pulls him back to her and kisses him again. This is exactly what shouldn't be happening. His other hand creeps behind her neck and into her hair. Hers is resting on his chest. This is a compromising position.
He pauses, face inches from hers. "Shit."
"Jack–"
His eyes take the rest of the words from her. His mouth twitches. "Stop making me do that."
Samantha blinks. He steps back again, dropping her hand. "What?"
He waves her off with the hint of a sardonic smile. "Get in the car."
---
She's surprised that it takes an hour for her to knock on his door. He opens the door and his tie is long gone. "Sam." As if he was actually surprised.
"I hate when people call me that," she says, which is not the reason she's here.
He smirks and gestures for her to come in. They have no pretenses.
"We have to talk."
Jack shuts the door. "About?"
"That– that just happened."
He thinks for a moment. "You knocked, I answered."
"Jack–"
How did he get so close to her? "Sam." That's intentional. "I don't think talking is exactly our strong suit here."
There's a question that's hanging there between them.
And, of course, this was just as predictable, because why else would she have come here? She kisses him and he puts his hands on her waist; she moans and he traps her body between him and the bed– there's not a clear recollection of how they've come to reside there, but his hand is on her thigh. Both of them are still wearing their clothes, all of their clothes, far too many items of clothing.
There's a line about regulations, somewhere between his hand on her breast and her nails in his back.
---
"I swear, Viv, she looks tan."
Samantha throws a look at Danny as she pours her coffee. "We weren't basking in the mid-day sun, Danny, so give it a rest."
"Right," is his retreating remark as he heads back to his cubicle.
Vivian leans against the counter, arms folded across her chest. She looks vaguely suspicious. "Everything go all right?"
"With Jack?" She doesn't know why she just said that. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." (Samantha tries not to remember that eight hours ago, she was still tangled in a sheet with him, counting cracks in the ceiling.)
Vivian hesitates; Samantha notices. "Viv–"
"Okay!" She throws her hands up in defeat. "Okay."
It was only once anyway, she tells herself. Jack calls the staff to a meeting and his gaze lingers with hers, just like they swore it wouldn't.
Just once.