Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, nor do I own Buttercup.
Spoilers: Season one
Rating: PG
Summary: Sacrifice, second chances, waiting. Coming home never seemed so
good.
A/N: I really wasn't going to post this, there is already an abundance of fantastic work on this episode. Still, I finished it and have since decided to post it. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. If not, thanks for reading ;)
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The hallway seemed brighter, the floors a little cleaner. The rugs seemed like they'd been washed. Even though there wasn't any sunlight to be seen, it didn't seem like there was a cloud in the sky. It's amazing what second chances do for people, for those who take everyday acts for granted. Being able to climb the stairs at a gait rather than a tedious, cautious step, or turning quickly to avoid oblivious walkers - each and every movement was special.
Her leg ached, each step she took felt like she stabbed herself every time her leg applied pressure to the seemingly glass covered ground. At one time she was happy when she could do five laps around the seventh floor at the hospital with her crutches. Now, walking down the street, trying to avoid little children jumping rope and mothers pushing strollers became the most difficult task. It wasn't even that far, but her energy only lasted long enough to get her to the corner to buy some groceries for dinner.
Yes, it was for dinner. She got back all right; Danny and Martin helped her bring the endless supply of cards and flowers back, as well as her small amount of luggage. When she got home, the only thing she could think of was tortellini. Not just any tortellini; it was her grandmother's recipe. She even got a card from her grandmother, it had balloons and a get well bear on it. Of course inside the card there was a long note censuring her granddaughter, asking her why she chose such a dangerous profession. A question to which Sam had no answer.
In appreciation for their kindness, Sam offered to cook the boys dinner, but both had previous engagements and regretfully declined. It was okay, she was used to cooking for herself. The only problem was that the recipe was for four. She could take it. No problem. She needed to gain back the weight she'd lost anyway.
Two weeks she'd spent in that hospital. Two weeks and a day to be exact. She'd had two roommates during those weeks, very different people, but interesting nonetheless. One was a fourteen-year-old boy named Paul. He dislocated and broke his ankle during a soccer game. Being slide tackled from the side was risky business. The other was a sixty-five-year-old woman who'd broken her hip and was recovering from surgery. She was a walking library, a very insightful woman. The woman, Irene, was still there when Sam left - she had diabetes and wasn't recovering as well as was hoped.
Sam made her way to her door, leaning her cane against the wall as she struggled to retrieve her keys from her bag. This was the second trip out, she'd forgotten spinach and had to go back. Her cane looked more promising than the crutches. Blasted cane, it helped her move around to be sure, but it got in the way. The cast was worse. Getting clean was no small feat. She wanted to have a party every time she managed to smell half way decent.
Sam sat the spinach beside the other groceries on the counter in her small, but exquisitely decorated apartment. She wasn't supposed to be walking around at all, but sitting for a few hours in silence had already made her stir-crazy. Still, she would do her best to follow the doctor's orders and stay off her feet. The sooner she could get back to work, the better. Maybe.
Work. What would she do when she finally went back? She wouldn't walk into his office, expecting a welcome back smile. No, those were reserved for agents with whom he didn't sleep with. He would avert his gaze and mumble a gruff 'hello'.
In the two weeks she'd been in that hospital the man who'd traded his life for hers did not stop by once. Didn't send a card, flower, a small scrap of paper - nothing. Two weeks was a long time being strapped in to a bed. It gave her a chance to think though. Reevaluate her life.
She pulled the items out of the bag, setting them on the counter carefully, checking her list to make sure everything that needed to be bought had been purchased. A dizzy spell hit her out of no where. The pain medication she was on had wonderful side effects like low blood pressure, nausea and drowsiness. As she hoped to get over the dizziness, taking a nap would be the next on her list of 'to do' things. Getting shot in the femur by a Glock was a fantastic experience.
Scanning her cabinet, she found an essential ingredient to her grandmother's recipe and sat it on the counter. She hoped that she had enough flour. She neglected to check her container before she left. What are neighbors for except for a scoop of sugar or flour in a dire emergency?
She looked over the counter one more time and sighed. Forget the cane where are the crutches? Of course they are leaning against the wall next to the bathroom. The bathroom that is inside her bedroom which is on the other side of the apartment. Cane it was then. She needed to rest and her couch was calling her name. At this rate she'd be having tortellini for breakfast.
She sat down first then slowly pulled her leg on the couch, resting it carefully on top of some pillows. Leaning back on a large pillow Danny had retrieved from her bedroom, fatigue took over as she let her eyes close briefly. Briefly turned into an hour-and-a-half, but as she awoke, it took her a second to realize exactly why she was waking up.
It sounded like a knock that was in her dream, but it kept persisting, slowly pulling her away from the demons in her sleep. She was too groggy to even think of saying, "I'll be right there," instead, she made an attempt to get up. Didn't work at all. She pulled her cane up from the ground and used it for balance. Nope, didn't work either. Rolling off the couch was looking good right now. Rolling, rolling, rolling right into her cherry coffee table. Oh the mark left by the cast only added character.
"Coming!" She managed to get out as another round of knocking began. She braced her arms on the couch and coffee table, slowly working her way up. Once she was standing, she had to get her cane. Goodness! Why on earth would someone bother her right now? It was probably Vivian, she said she would stop by that night to check up on her.
She ambled over to the door, her clunky leg, padded foot and all. It only took her three minutes, incredible considering it took her ten minutes to get from one end of her apartment to the other earlier that day.
"Whew," she gasped as she leaned her head against the door, gripping the doorknob. She unlocked the three locks that protected her from the outside world and slowly opened the door.
Instead of offering a hello, smirk, frown, grunt, a sign of acknowledgment that she saw the man standing before her, she turned away. She left the door open almost a foot, then walked in the opposite direction, towards a large chair that was conveniently situated for a time like this. The couch would come later. She could only manage getting to the chair right now.
Jack watched as Samantha hobbled around, each step an obvious struggle for her. He pushed the door open carefully, checking to make sure she didn't want him to leave. But her eyes bore on him in a disturbingly critical way, like she was studying him as a specimen in a research project. He closed the door and didn't take another step, but leaned against it and stuffed his sweat soaked hands in his pockets.
"Hey," he said quietly, unsure of what he should say.
She adjusted once more in the chair as she pulled the ottoman closer, hiding the smirk that was pushing it's way through her otherwise controlled features.
"Hey yourself," she said archly as she leaned forward and stuck a pillow under her leg.
Jack brushed a hand over his face, following it up with a frustrated sigh. Silence ensued for a few moments, each looking in every direction but at each other.
It was so much easier to have conversations with a person when they weren't there, imagination making up the responses that couldn't be offered by the other conversant. Sam had played this scene in her head dozens of times, what she would say, how she would act, etc. Unfortunately, all she could remember was to sit there, finding a sudden interest in the pattern of her fleece pajama bottoms.
"How's work?" she asked hesitantly.
"Good, good. We saved two this week, just got off a killer case earlier today. I have to go testify on Monday against that guy who kid napped his niece."
"Right, Jake Morris, the contractor. Make sure he gets sent away for a while okay?" she said stiffly.
"Don't worry," he said in an equally stuffy tone. He rolled over anything else he could say, "Yeah everyone's doing good, they brought Peters up from the night shift to make up for your absence. Although, I must say, he isn't nearly as good as you though. So yeah, everything's great," said Jack.
Sam gave him a once sided smile of acknowledgment and returned her gaze to her dysfunctional leg. She looked up at him once again and a sharp pang of anger pushed all attempts of a peaceful conversation out of the way. Hey she had a second chance at life, why waste time being kind. Go straight for the jugular.
"How's your family?" Samantha asked, continuing her gaze.
He knew Vivian had told her that he'd moved back in with his wife and kids. She knew he wouldn't be able to do it, at least not while Sam was in the hospital, so she told her. Of course he didn't see the look on Sam's face when she'd learned the news, or heard the sorrowful cries when she tried to fall asleep that night.
He coughed, clearing a frog that wasn't there.
"They're good. Katie and I made breakfast today and Hannah had a basketball game yesterday," he said quietly.
"Did she score?"
"Yes, but you know how they are, munchkins with oversized shirts and shorts, swarming around the ball," he smiled reflectively.
"And Marie?"
Dagger in the heart. Repeatedly. That look again. The same kind she fixed on those she interrogated. It was very disconcerting.
"Sam, I-" he began, not wanting to discuss his wife.
"Two weeks Jack. I was in there for two weeks. The least you can do is tell me how your wife is," she said with anger painting her words.
"She's great. She won a big case today, relieved a lot of stress," he pushed the words out of his mouth as though they were being squeezed out him.
"No. How is she Jack? Has she forgiven you yet?"
He remained silent. Forgiveness was hard to come by these days, but he was feeling it, slowly but surely.
"Not really, but she's getting there."
"Good. Really, I'm happy for you," she said sincerely. He was puzzled by her behavior. It was very erratic.
"Why are you here?
"I uh, I wanted to see how you were," he said after a minute of awkward silence.
"Did you really want to know, or did the guilt drive you here?"
"Don't act like this Samantha. I wanted to apologize," he stopped before finishing his sentence. She looked down, breaking her eye contact with him.
"You know, for the first two or three days, I didn't know what was going on, where I was. All I knew was pain. Immense pain. It didn't help that I was allergic to the morphine and I kept vomiting what little they could pump into me. But a little later, coherent thoughts began to trickle in and my toes stopped being such great listeners. Nurses told me of all the people who stopped by, gave me cards and flowers from well-wishers. About the forth day, after Viv and the boys came, after three more visitors, I got to think," she paused briefly, looking at her cane for a different type of support.
"Sam, I-"
"No, please. Let me finish. I had hours in that bed. Sleep couldn't find me, itching never ceased, pain gnawed at my leg. But it wasn't the same kind of pain I felt elsewhere. With each day that passed, I began to realize that even though you traded yourself for me, your life for mine, you couldn't do more than that. Maybe it was because you weren't mine to begin with, who knows. I began to hate you with this, this extreme animosity. Vivian told me that you'd moved back in, that you'd changed since being in that bookstore with Barry. I imagine he told you about his wife, about his kids and how much he loved them. You tried to sympathize by mentioning your own situation, and he probably got angry at your inability to fix your marriage. I know I'm right Jack, I've played it over in my head hundreds of times, trying to understand why you couldn't even stop by to say 'get well.' Despite what you may think, Barry did just as much for me as he did for you," she paused for a second to gather her thoughts, the energy she'd exerted that day falling short to fuel her much longer.
"Remember the first time we slept together, we promised we'd never get attached, never ever let it get in the way of our job, never let it be more than sex? More or less to not feel like we were doing anything wrong, that we weren't breaking any rules, vows or hearts. When did it stop being about the sex and about us? The last few times we were together, we lay there and talked until the sun came up. We both broke our promise Jack, we did the complete opposite. It got in the way of our job and it most certainly was more than sex," she paused again, trying to release all the resentment in one blow.
"Still, I can't justify my feelings for you anymore. Maybe before all of this, but now, as much as I hated you being with your family instead of with me, it was the right thing to do."
She stopped as Jack pushed off from the door, shaking his head.
"Maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe it wasn't. Barry enjoyed his life and his family. I didn't. I don't even know if I do now," he leaned against the counter, his eyes on the hardwood floor.
"Do you know why I never came, why I never visited you? I was afraid. Utterly terrified to see you lying there, hooked up to endless amounts of machinery. No one likes to be reminded of their own mortality Sam. I didn't know what to do. I was stuck and I thought that the best thing to do would be to return to my family. Barry made it very clear that my mistakes and my situation were my own doing. Everything seemed so clear to him. All Barry saw was a man who couldn't love his wife so he decided to sleep with his young coworker to make his troubles disappear."
"Isn't that what you were doing Jack? Were his accusations really that unfounded? It all seems fairly accurate to me. Of course it was my fault to begin with, I kissed you."
"Yeah, well I didn't have to kiss you back."
"Would you really have been able to resist though? I came along at the right time to ease your pain and all you wanted was redemption from having to put up with all that crap. It really is a perfect formula."
"Nothing's perfect."
"Not even love?"
"Even love has limits, Sam."
"Barry's didn't."
"Yeah, it did. It was his inability to cope with everything else that took away from what he felt. His loss magnified his feelings, but it had its flaws. One of them went through your leg."
She didn't respond immediately, just leaned her head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling. As the silence grew, other thoughts began to manifest themselves.
"When I was lying there in the bookstore," she was much more solemn now, her voice shaky even, "everything was so hazy and there was so much blood. So much blood. But the mess that my life had become started to sort itself out. I started thinking about what I would say to people if I had a second chance, about what I would actually do with my life, you know get married and start a family. I didn't want to die in that bookstore because Richard thought he could save the world. I didn't want to die in that bookstore because Barry couldn't get over his loss, I didn't want to die because Libby got his wife's old job. I realized how selfish I had been with my friendships and my relationships, my family and with you. I didn't want to die knowing that I caused so much pain because I came above everything else."
A tear escaped and she let it fall, not caring at this point what state he saw her in.
Jack walked over to her but made no motion so calm her; he just stood, looking uncomfortable and helpless. He turned around and sat on the floor, leaning against the ottoman for support.
"When we got Richard out," recollected Jack, "he said that if we didn't do something, you were going to die in there. When you hear something like that about someone you care about and you know you can make a difference, all you can think of is going in and saving that person. If Danny had been in there or Viv, I would have done the same thing. It wasn't a question of selfishness for you to wish yourself out of there, it was the fact that you felt so much was unresolved."
Sam sat there thinking of what he said, knowing that he was trying to justify his actions by creating the effect of equity amongst the team, but she knew different.
"If Vivian had been shot, would you have sent in the S.W.A.T. team Jack?" her voice gradually getting louder. "If she'd been shot, would you have gone to the hospital to make sure she pulled out of surgery okay? If she'd been shot, would you be at her house right now, trying to figure out what to do with your life?"
"That's not fair Sam and you know it," Jack said in an equally agitated tone.
"All's fair in love and war," she shot back, sorry she'd used a trite cliché.
"Cut the crap Sam. You're pissed off because I didn't drop by, mumble a couple of words of assurance and profess my undying love for you," he was standing now, walking back and forth. "Well, in the real world it doesn't work like that. Emotions were running high, we needed to find Sydney and going in with S.W.A.T. wouldn't have helped us at all. I went in there because I was the best person to reason with him, to find Sydney; I went in there because you needed to get out," he paused once again, trying to gain control of his behavior. He started again, much more at a controlled level.
"I was in there with him for hours. He made me realize a lot of things. One being that I was a foolish man, another being that I was a coward who couldn't face the reality of the situation. Of course, he found it completely idiotic why I couldn't remember how to love my wife. He loved his so much that he couldn't empathize with me. I left that store because he gave me a second chance, Samantha. I had to at least see if I could make it work."
Sam took it all in, Jack's voice echoing in her mind. Her senses were somewhat dulled from the medication, but she could feel the perspiration forming on her brow and on the back of her neck. Her thoughts were anything but controlled; all she could feel was doubt and insecurity.
"Jack, you weren't given a second chance, you were allowed to finish up the first one. I was given a second chance to live life, to redeem myself. I was supposed to bleed out and die. You weren't supposed to risk everything for me. But you did. And you never came back. Do you know what that says?"
A beat.
"That it was all a mistake, that you making the ultimate sacrifice, trading your life for mine was a rash decision. It means that you didn't really mean to walk in there, that if you could, you would go back and change your decision. Maybe then your life would have been a lot simpler."
"No," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his shoes. "Without you in it, I don't know what I would do. But it wouldn't have been any easier," he paused again, looking up at her this time, keeping his eyes on hers. "And I did not make a mistake going in there. You were about to go into shock when I got in there. Who knows what would've happened if I'd gone in sooner - or later. I didn't visit because I didn't know what I would say to you or if I would be able to control myself. I didn't want to sit there with you wanting to stay by your side then have to leave to return to my family, only seeing you when I looked at them."
He suddenly shut up, his own confession willing him to silence.
Sam absorbed what he said trying to reconcile with herself to his words. The problem was that she was sitting there, trying to say that it was okay for him to go back to his family, that it was the right thing to do, when all she wanted was curl up beside him on the couch and fall asleep. The problem was that he was here, trying to say that no matter what the right thing was - staying with his family and trying to make it all work out - he wanted to stay there and let her curl up in his arms on the couch.
"Jack, maybe you shouldn't be here. I'm going to do it right this time and not get involved with married men. I think that you're still recovering from this whole ordeal and that in a couple of weeks you will regret all of this, much like the relationship we never had. You have a family, you've picked up the pieces and started putting it back together, why stop when you know where you need to go," she said evenly. The words she spoke were breaking her heart, but even if he did not realize it, she was making just as much a sacrifice as he did. She was trading her heart for his family, the right thing to do.
"I am where I needed to go. I can pretend a good many things, but I can't pretend love. My wife knows that. I was there, I tried, I will try. But who knows for how long. Should I go for another month, year, lifetime?" he paced back and forth once again, Sam following his troubled walk around her apartment.
"I tried, I did. I really did try," he said more to himself than to Sam. "I tried before Sydney was kidnapped, I started trying weeks before I called it off with you. But after Barry, after that whole night, I really devoted myself to repairing my marriage."
He stopped finally and walked back to the counter once again, leaning against it for support as he let his eyes drift towards Samantha's. He refused to accept her trade, her sacrifice. He didn't want her to forget her heart so he could be happy with his family.
"The funny thing was, all I could think about was you. I'd be helping Hannah get ready for practice, or showing Katie a song on the piano and at the back of my mind was you, lying there, half alive. I even slept with my wife for the first time in almost a year and the whole time I wondered if you were asleep or if you were lying there, twirling your hair in your fingers the way you do when you can't sleep. It didn't dawn on me until right after I left today that I spent two weeks, almost 266 waking hours, thinking about us, about you, about what I should have done and what I should do," he said carefully.
"Jack, you can't-" she wanted to tell him what she felt about him, how much he meant to her, but he needed to go.
"There's a difference between choosing to lose someone and having her taken from you," he paused, swallowing back pain and fear. "I wasn't ready to lose you," his voice cracked and he averted his gaze from hers.
She wanted to say so many things, although none of them would be intelligible. She couldn't start a new life built on a crumbled foundation. How long would it last any way? A couple of months, a year? What happens if she gets transferred? What if he did get a divorce? Even if it got far enough, he wouldn't, no he couldn't marry his mistress, his subordinate. But that was a dream anyway. She was his fixation, his excuse for not being able to make his marriage work.
What were 266 hours to her when she couldn't spend them with him?
Jack stuffed his hands back into his pockets, her silence not inviting nor rejecting any reprisal. He knew she was tired. He'd probably said too much, more than what she was prepared for. Not being able to actually formulate the smallest most meaningful sentence in the English language, he offered the next best thing.
"To answer your previous question, I came here because when I closed my eyes and kissed my wife this afternoon," his eyes bore into hers with the utmost intensity, his torment still evident, "I pretended it was you. She knew the difference. It was Marie who told me to come here and see you," he pushed off from the counter once again and pulled a small object out of his pocket, placing it on the arm of the chair beside her hand. "Maybe she was hoping it would be good bye," He turned around and walked towards the door, somehow hoping that he would have a reason not to open it.
Sam, whose head had been turned away, looked towards the arm of the chair and examined the object he placed beside her hand. She gasped quietly, cupping her hands around the small toy. To anyone else it was the average toy one might find in a kid's meal bag. To her, it was so much more. It was a Power puff girl - Buttercup to be exact. The one who was strong willed and bull headed at times, somewhat like herself. This toy was from a kid's meal she'd gotten one night after they were on their first overnight out-of- town trip together. Although Sam had been on several trips before, none had been with Jack. Of course Danny was there as well, but this trip had been different. She and Jack reached a different level of acquaintance that night. It went from supervisor to colleague, a much more approachable and comfortable term.
That night, they became friends.
He laughed at her choosing a kid's meal, she laughed at his milkshake and fries. She played with her toy, he threw salt packets at the plastic figurine. She went to sleep down the hall, he pocketed the action hero and fell asleep.
It all started because of Danny. He's the one who didn't want pizza.
Jack kept it all this time, maybe to remember her, maybe to remember what it was that sparked his interest the first place. Either way, the gesture touched her in the most sincere way imaginable.
She wanted him to try with his family, she really did. She wanted him to be able to love his wife and be there for his kids. But she also wanted him to stay with her and love her and be there for her. Maybe, just for one night, he could be completely hers. Maybe that was her second chance. A second time to say goodbye.
His hand twisted the knob, his eyes blinking away tears. He didn't want this to be goodbye, at least not tonight. She would be back to work in a month, he would see her everyday. No, it would never be goodbye, just good night.
Her stomach grumbled as she looked up at him, hand on door, trying to figure out how to operate the simple machine. In his hesitation she saw her answer. This evening, he would be hers.
"Jack," he sighed as he let out the breath he'd been holding before he had dropped Buttercup beside her. "Do you want to make me some tortellini? The way I see it, you have to make up for lost time."
He gave her a smile and removed his hand from the knob. Tonight, this evening, she traded her heart for his family. Tonight, this evening, he rejected it. Tonight, this evening, she would be his.
C'est finit!
A/N I know the end was mighty cheesy, but I couldn't resist. I will write an angsty one some other time. Feeling overly sentimental for the time being.
A/N: I really wasn't going to post this, there is already an abundance of fantastic work on this episode. Still, I finished it and have since decided to post it. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. If not, thanks for reading ;)
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The hallway seemed brighter, the floors a little cleaner. The rugs seemed like they'd been washed. Even though there wasn't any sunlight to be seen, it didn't seem like there was a cloud in the sky. It's amazing what second chances do for people, for those who take everyday acts for granted. Being able to climb the stairs at a gait rather than a tedious, cautious step, or turning quickly to avoid oblivious walkers - each and every movement was special.
Her leg ached, each step she took felt like she stabbed herself every time her leg applied pressure to the seemingly glass covered ground. At one time she was happy when she could do five laps around the seventh floor at the hospital with her crutches. Now, walking down the street, trying to avoid little children jumping rope and mothers pushing strollers became the most difficult task. It wasn't even that far, but her energy only lasted long enough to get her to the corner to buy some groceries for dinner.
Yes, it was for dinner. She got back all right; Danny and Martin helped her bring the endless supply of cards and flowers back, as well as her small amount of luggage. When she got home, the only thing she could think of was tortellini. Not just any tortellini; it was her grandmother's recipe. She even got a card from her grandmother, it had balloons and a get well bear on it. Of course inside the card there was a long note censuring her granddaughter, asking her why she chose such a dangerous profession. A question to which Sam had no answer.
In appreciation for their kindness, Sam offered to cook the boys dinner, but both had previous engagements and regretfully declined. It was okay, she was used to cooking for herself. The only problem was that the recipe was for four. She could take it. No problem. She needed to gain back the weight she'd lost anyway.
Two weeks she'd spent in that hospital. Two weeks and a day to be exact. She'd had two roommates during those weeks, very different people, but interesting nonetheless. One was a fourteen-year-old boy named Paul. He dislocated and broke his ankle during a soccer game. Being slide tackled from the side was risky business. The other was a sixty-five-year-old woman who'd broken her hip and was recovering from surgery. She was a walking library, a very insightful woman. The woman, Irene, was still there when Sam left - she had diabetes and wasn't recovering as well as was hoped.
Sam made her way to her door, leaning her cane against the wall as she struggled to retrieve her keys from her bag. This was the second trip out, she'd forgotten spinach and had to go back. Her cane looked more promising than the crutches. Blasted cane, it helped her move around to be sure, but it got in the way. The cast was worse. Getting clean was no small feat. She wanted to have a party every time she managed to smell half way decent.
Sam sat the spinach beside the other groceries on the counter in her small, but exquisitely decorated apartment. She wasn't supposed to be walking around at all, but sitting for a few hours in silence had already made her stir-crazy. Still, she would do her best to follow the doctor's orders and stay off her feet. The sooner she could get back to work, the better. Maybe.
Work. What would she do when she finally went back? She wouldn't walk into his office, expecting a welcome back smile. No, those were reserved for agents with whom he didn't sleep with. He would avert his gaze and mumble a gruff 'hello'.
In the two weeks she'd been in that hospital the man who'd traded his life for hers did not stop by once. Didn't send a card, flower, a small scrap of paper - nothing. Two weeks was a long time being strapped in to a bed. It gave her a chance to think though. Reevaluate her life.
She pulled the items out of the bag, setting them on the counter carefully, checking her list to make sure everything that needed to be bought had been purchased. A dizzy spell hit her out of no where. The pain medication she was on had wonderful side effects like low blood pressure, nausea and drowsiness. As she hoped to get over the dizziness, taking a nap would be the next on her list of 'to do' things. Getting shot in the femur by a Glock was a fantastic experience.
Scanning her cabinet, she found an essential ingredient to her grandmother's recipe and sat it on the counter. She hoped that she had enough flour. She neglected to check her container before she left. What are neighbors for except for a scoop of sugar or flour in a dire emergency?
She looked over the counter one more time and sighed. Forget the cane where are the crutches? Of course they are leaning against the wall next to the bathroom. The bathroom that is inside her bedroom which is on the other side of the apartment. Cane it was then. She needed to rest and her couch was calling her name. At this rate she'd be having tortellini for breakfast.
She sat down first then slowly pulled her leg on the couch, resting it carefully on top of some pillows. Leaning back on a large pillow Danny had retrieved from her bedroom, fatigue took over as she let her eyes close briefly. Briefly turned into an hour-and-a-half, but as she awoke, it took her a second to realize exactly why she was waking up.
It sounded like a knock that was in her dream, but it kept persisting, slowly pulling her away from the demons in her sleep. She was too groggy to even think of saying, "I'll be right there," instead, she made an attempt to get up. Didn't work at all. She pulled her cane up from the ground and used it for balance. Nope, didn't work either. Rolling off the couch was looking good right now. Rolling, rolling, rolling right into her cherry coffee table. Oh the mark left by the cast only added character.
"Coming!" She managed to get out as another round of knocking began. She braced her arms on the couch and coffee table, slowly working her way up. Once she was standing, she had to get her cane. Goodness! Why on earth would someone bother her right now? It was probably Vivian, she said she would stop by that night to check up on her.
She ambled over to the door, her clunky leg, padded foot and all. It only took her three minutes, incredible considering it took her ten minutes to get from one end of her apartment to the other earlier that day.
"Whew," she gasped as she leaned her head against the door, gripping the doorknob. She unlocked the three locks that protected her from the outside world and slowly opened the door.
Instead of offering a hello, smirk, frown, grunt, a sign of acknowledgment that she saw the man standing before her, she turned away. She left the door open almost a foot, then walked in the opposite direction, towards a large chair that was conveniently situated for a time like this. The couch would come later. She could only manage getting to the chair right now.
Jack watched as Samantha hobbled around, each step an obvious struggle for her. He pushed the door open carefully, checking to make sure she didn't want him to leave. But her eyes bore on him in a disturbingly critical way, like she was studying him as a specimen in a research project. He closed the door and didn't take another step, but leaned against it and stuffed his sweat soaked hands in his pockets.
"Hey," he said quietly, unsure of what he should say.
She adjusted once more in the chair as she pulled the ottoman closer, hiding the smirk that was pushing it's way through her otherwise controlled features.
"Hey yourself," she said archly as she leaned forward and stuck a pillow under her leg.
Jack brushed a hand over his face, following it up with a frustrated sigh. Silence ensued for a few moments, each looking in every direction but at each other.
It was so much easier to have conversations with a person when they weren't there, imagination making up the responses that couldn't be offered by the other conversant. Sam had played this scene in her head dozens of times, what she would say, how she would act, etc. Unfortunately, all she could remember was to sit there, finding a sudden interest in the pattern of her fleece pajama bottoms.
"How's work?" she asked hesitantly.
"Good, good. We saved two this week, just got off a killer case earlier today. I have to go testify on Monday against that guy who kid napped his niece."
"Right, Jake Morris, the contractor. Make sure he gets sent away for a while okay?" she said stiffly.
"Don't worry," he said in an equally stuffy tone. He rolled over anything else he could say, "Yeah everyone's doing good, they brought Peters up from the night shift to make up for your absence. Although, I must say, he isn't nearly as good as you though. So yeah, everything's great," said Jack.
Sam gave him a once sided smile of acknowledgment and returned her gaze to her dysfunctional leg. She looked up at him once again and a sharp pang of anger pushed all attempts of a peaceful conversation out of the way. Hey she had a second chance at life, why waste time being kind. Go straight for the jugular.
"How's your family?" Samantha asked, continuing her gaze.
He knew Vivian had told her that he'd moved back in with his wife and kids. She knew he wouldn't be able to do it, at least not while Sam was in the hospital, so she told her. Of course he didn't see the look on Sam's face when she'd learned the news, or heard the sorrowful cries when she tried to fall asleep that night.
He coughed, clearing a frog that wasn't there.
"They're good. Katie and I made breakfast today and Hannah had a basketball game yesterday," he said quietly.
"Did she score?"
"Yes, but you know how they are, munchkins with oversized shirts and shorts, swarming around the ball," he smiled reflectively.
"And Marie?"
Dagger in the heart. Repeatedly. That look again. The same kind she fixed on those she interrogated. It was very disconcerting.
"Sam, I-" he began, not wanting to discuss his wife.
"Two weeks Jack. I was in there for two weeks. The least you can do is tell me how your wife is," she said with anger painting her words.
"She's great. She won a big case today, relieved a lot of stress," he pushed the words out of his mouth as though they were being squeezed out him.
"No. How is she Jack? Has she forgiven you yet?"
He remained silent. Forgiveness was hard to come by these days, but he was feeling it, slowly but surely.
"Not really, but she's getting there."
"Good. Really, I'm happy for you," she said sincerely. He was puzzled by her behavior. It was very erratic.
"Why are you here?
"I uh, I wanted to see how you were," he said after a minute of awkward silence.
"Did you really want to know, or did the guilt drive you here?"
"Don't act like this Samantha. I wanted to apologize," he stopped before finishing his sentence. She looked down, breaking her eye contact with him.
"You know, for the first two or three days, I didn't know what was going on, where I was. All I knew was pain. Immense pain. It didn't help that I was allergic to the morphine and I kept vomiting what little they could pump into me. But a little later, coherent thoughts began to trickle in and my toes stopped being such great listeners. Nurses told me of all the people who stopped by, gave me cards and flowers from well-wishers. About the forth day, after Viv and the boys came, after three more visitors, I got to think," she paused briefly, looking at her cane for a different type of support.
"Sam, I-"
"No, please. Let me finish. I had hours in that bed. Sleep couldn't find me, itching never ceased, pain gnawed at my leg. But it wasn't the same kind of pain I felt elsewhere. With each day that passed, I began to realize that even though you traded yourself for me, your life for mine, you couldn't do more than that. Maybe it was because you weren't mine to begin with, who knows. I began to hate you with this, this extreme animosity. Vivian told me that you'd moved back in, that you'd changed since being in that bookstore with Barry. I imagine he told you about his wife, about his kids and how much he loved them. You tried to sympathize by mentioning your own situation, and he probably got angry at your inability to fix your marriage. I know I'm right Jack, I've played it over in my head hundreds of times, trying to understand why you couldn't even stop by to say 'get well.' Despite what you may think, Barry did just as much for me as he did for you," she paused for a second to gather her thoughts, the energy she'd exerted that day falling short to fuel her much longer.
"Remember the first time we slept together, we promised we'd never get attached, never ever let it get in the way of our job, never let it be more than sex? More or less to not feel like we were doing anything wrong, that we weren't breaking any rules, vows or hearts. When did it stop being about the sex and about us? The last few times we were together, we lay there and talked until the sun came up. We both broke our promise Jack, we did the complete opposite. It got in the way of our job and it most certainly was more than sex," she paused again, trying to release all the resentment in one blow.
"Still, I can't justify my feelings for you anymore. Maybe before all of this, but now, as much as I hated you being with your family instead of with me, it was the right thing to do."
She stopped as Jack pushed off from the door, shaking his head.
"Maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe it wasn't. Barry enjoyed his life and his family. I didn't. I don't even know if I do now," he leaned against the counter, his eyes on the hardwood floor.
"Do you know why I never came, why I never visited you? I was afraid. Utterly terrified to see you lying there, hooked up to endless amounts of machinery. No one likes to be reminded of their own mortality Sam. I didn't know what to do. I was stuck and I thought that the best thing to do would be to return to my family. Barry made it very clear that my mistakes and my situation were my own doing. Everything seemed so clear to him. All Barry saw was a man who couldn't love his wife so he decided to sleep with his young coworker to make his troubles disappear."
"Isn't that what you were doing Jack? Were his accusations really that unfounded? It all seems fairly accurate to me. Of course it was my fault to begin with, I kissed you."
"Yeah, well I didn't have to kiss you back."
"Would you really have been able to resist though? I came along at the right time to ease your pain and all you wanted was redemption from having to put up with all that crap. It really is a perfect formula."
"Nothing's perfect."
"Not even love?"
"Even love has limits, Sam."
"Barry's didn't."
"Yeah, it did. It was his inability to cope with everything else that took away from what he felt. His loss magnified his feelings, but it had its flaws. One of them went through your leg."
She didn't respond immediately, just leaned her head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling. As the silence grew, other thoughts began to manifest themselves.
"When I was lying there in the bookstore," she was much more solemn now, her voice shaky even, "everything was so hazy and there was so much blood. So much blood. But the mess that my life had become started to sort itself out. I started thinking about what I would say to people if I had a second chance, about what I would actually do with my life, you know get married and start a family. I didn't want to die in that bookstore because Richard thought he could save the world. I didn't want to die in that bookstore because Barry couldn't get over his loss, I didn't want to die because Libby got his wife's old job. I realized how selfish I had been with my friendships and my relationships, my family and with you. I didn't want to die knowing that I caused so much pain because I came above everything else."
A tear escaped and she let it fall, not caring at this point what state he saw her in.
Jack walked over to her but made no motion so calm her; he just stood, looking uncomfortable and helpless. He turned around and sat on the floor, leaning against the ottoman for support.
"When we got Richard out," recollected Jack, "he said that if we didn't do something, you were going to die in there. When you hear something like that about someone you care about and you know you can make a difference, all you can think of is going in and saving that person. If Danny had been in there or Viv, I would have done the same thing. It wasn't a question of selfishness for you to wish yourself out of there, it was the fact that you felt so much was unresolved."
Sam sat there thinking of what he said, knowing that he was trying to justify his actions by creating the effect of equity amongst the team, but she knew different.
"If Vivian had been shot, would you have sent in the S.W.A.T. team Jack?" her voice gradually getting louder. "If she'd been shot, would you have gone to the hospital to make sure she pulled out of surgery okay? If she'd been shot, would you be at her house right now, trying to figure out what to do with your life?"
"That's not fair Sam and you know it," Jack said in an equally agitated tone.
"All's fair in love and war," she shot back, sorry she'd used a trite cliché.
"Cut the crap Sam. You're pissed off because I didn't drop by, mumble a couple of words of assurance and profess my undying love for you," he was standing now, walking back and forth. "Well, in the real world it doesn't work like that. Emotions were running high, we needed to find Sydney and going in with S.W.A.T. wouldn't have helped us at all. I went in there because I was the best person to reason with him, to find Sydney; I went in there because you needed to get out," he paused once again, trying to gain control of his behavior. He started again, much more at a controlled level.
"I was in there with him for hours. He made me realize a lot of things. One being that I was a foolish man, another being that I was a coward who couldn't face the reality of the situation. Of course, he found it completely idiotic why I couldn't remember how to love my wife. He loved his so much that he couldn't empathize with me. I left that store because he gave me a second chance, Samantha. I had to at least see if I could make it work."
Sam took it all in, Jack's voice echoing in her mind. Her senses were somewhat dulled from the medication, but she could feel the perspiration forming on her brow and on the back of her neck. Her thoughts were anything but controlled; all she could feel was doubt and insecurity.
"Jack, you weren't given a second chance, you were allowed to finish up the first one. I was given a second chance to live life, to redeem myself. I was supposed to bleed out and die. You weren't supposed to risk everything for me. But you did. And you never came back. Do you know what that says?"
A beat.
"That it was all a mistake, that you making the ultimate sacrifice, trading your life for mine was a rash decision. It means that you didn't really mean to walk in there, that if you could, you would go back and change your decision. Maybe then your life would have been a lot simpler."
"No," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his shoes. "Without you in it, I don't know what I would do. But it wouldn't have been any easier," he paused again, looking up at her this time, keeping his eyes on hers. "And I did not make a mistake going in there. You were about to go into shock when I got in there. Who knows what would've happened if I'd gone in sooner - or later. I didn't visit because I didn't know what I would say to you or if I would be able to control myself. I didn't want to sit there with you wanting to stay by your side then have to leave to return to my family, only seeing you when I looked at them."
He suddenly shut up, his own confession willing him to silence.
Sam absorbed what he said trying to reconcile with herself to his words. The problem was that she was sitting there, trying to say that it was okay for him to go back to his family, that it was the right thing to do, when all she wanted was curl up beside him on the couch and fall asleep. The problem was that he was here, trying to say that no matter what the right thing was - staying with his family and trying to make it all work out - he wanted to stay there and let her curl up in his arms on the couch.
"Jack, maybe you shouldn't be here. I'm going to do it right this time and not get involved with married men. I think that you're still recovering from this whole ordeal and that in a couple of weeks you will regret all of this, much like the relationship we never had. You have a family, you've picked up the pieces and started putting it back together, why stop when you know where you need to go," she said evenly. The words she spoke were breaking her heart, but even if he did not realize it, she was making just as much a sacrifice as he did. She was trading her heart for his family, the right thing to do.
"I am where I needed to go. I can pretend a good many things, but I can't pretend love. My wife knows that. I was there, I tried, I will try. But who knows for how long. Should I go for another month, year, lifetime?" he paced back and forth once again, Sam following his troubled walk around her apartment.
"I tried, I did. I really did try," he said more to himself than to Sam. "I tried before Sydney was kidnapped, I started trying weeks before I called it off with you. But after Barry, after that whole night, I really devoted myself to repairing my marriage."
He stopped finally and walked back to the counter once again, leaning against it for support as he let his eyes drift towards Samantha's. He refused to accept her trade, her sacrifice. He didn't want her to forget her heart so he could be happy with his family.
"The funny thing was, all I could think about was you. I'd be helping Hannah get ready for practice, or showing Katie a song on the piano and at the back of my mind was you, lying there, half alive. I even slept with my wife for the first time in almost a year and the whole time I wondered if you were asleep or if you were lying there, twirling your hair in your fingers the way you do when you can't sleep. It didn't dawn on me until right after I left today that I spent two weeks, almost 266 waking hours, thinking about us, about you, about what I should have done and what I should do," he said carefully.
"Jack, you can't-" she wanted to tell him what she felt about him, how much he meant to her, but he needed to go.
"There's a difference between choosing to lose someone and having her taken from you," he paused, swallowing back pain and fear. "I wasn't ready to lose you," his voice cracked and he averted his gaze from hers.
She wanted to say so many things, although none of them would be intelligible. She couldn't start a new life built on a crumbled foundation. How long would it last any way? A couple of months, a year? What happens if she gets transferred? What if he did get a divorce? Even if it got far enough, he wouldn't, no he couldn't marry his mistress, his subordinate. But that was a dream anyway. She was his fixation, his excuse for not being able to make his marriage work.
What were 266 hours to her when she couldn't spend them with him?
Jack stuffed his hands back into his pockets, her silence not inviting nor rejecting any reprisal. He knew she was tired. He'd probably said too much, more than what she was prepared for. Not being able to actually formulate the smallest most meaningful sentence in the English language, he offered the next best thing.
"To answer your previous question, I came here because when I closed my eyes and kissed my wife this afternoon," his eyes bore into hers with the utmost intensity, his torment still evident, "I pretended it was you. She knew the difference. It was Marie who told me to come here and see you," he pushed off from the counter once again and pulled a small object out of his pocket, placing it on the arm of the chair beside her hand. "Maybe she was hoping it would be good bye," He turned around and walked towards the door, somehow hoping that he would have a reason not to open it.
Sam, whose head had been turned away, looked towards the arm of the chair and examined the object he placed beside her hand. She gasped quietly, cupping her hands around the small toy. To anyone else it was the average toy one might find in a kid's meal bag. To her, it was so much more. It was a Power puff girl - Buttercup to be exact. The one who was strong willed and bull headed at times, somewhat like herself. This toy was from a kid's meal she'd gotten one night after they were on their first overnight out-of- town trip together. Although Sam had been on several trips before, none had been with Jack. Of course Danny was there as well, but this trip had been different. She and Jack reached a different level of acquaintance that night. It went from supervisor to colleague, a much more approachable and comfortable term.
That night, they became friends.
He laughed at her choosing a kid's meal, she laughed at his milkshake and fries. She played with her toy, he threw salt packets at the plastic figurine. She went to sleep down the hall, he pocketed the action hero and fell asleep.
It all started because of Danny. He's the one who didn't want pizza.
Jack kept it all this time, maybe to remember her, maybe to remember what it was that sparked his interest the first place. Either way, the gesture touched her in the most sincere way imaginable.
She wanted him to try with his family, she really did. She wanted him to be able to love his wife and be there for his kids. But she also wanted him to stay with her and love her and be there for her. Maybe, just for one night, he could be completely hers. Maybe that was her second chance. A second time to say goodbye.
His hand twisted the knob, his eyes blinking away tears. He didn't want this to be goodbye, at least not tonight. She would be back to work in a month, he would see her everyday. No, it would never be goodbye, just good night.
Her stomach grumbled as she looked up at him, hand on door, trying to figure out how to operate the simple machine. In his hesitation she saw her answer. This evening, he would be hers.
"Jack," he sighed as he let out the breath he'd been holding before he had dropped Buttercup beside her. "Do you want to make me some tortellini? The way I see it, you have to make up for lost time."
He gave her a smile and removed his hand from the knob. Tonight, this evening, she traded her heart for his family. Tonight, this evening, he rejected it. Tonight, this evening, she would be his.
C'est finit!
A/N I know the end was mighty cheesy, but I couldn't resist. I will write an angsty one some other time. Feeling overly sentimental for the time being.