NATALIE

Fandom: Flashpoint
Pairing: Sam/Jules
Category: Romance
Rating: T
ONE-SHOT

Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to, I don't own Flashpoint, and all characters remain property of the show's wonderful scriptwriters. All original characters and plots are mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Synopsis: If I ever had the hope that I stood a chance, it was clear today that I didn't. Spoilers for 4x01 "Personal Effects"

Author's Note: My little conspiracy theory on Natalie. It's just a feeling I got while watching the scene, and it may or not be right. My JAM shipper heart is hoping against hope that it's not true, but the author in me just needs to get this out. Because you know, authors thrive on drama, and this is potentially a huge one. JAM fans, please don't brick me.

EDIT: Thank you for reading and leaving reviews! My personal take is that I don't think Sam would dare lie to a woman who's as good a shot as him (and has four brothers at that!). This fic is just me playing devil's advocate and stirring up some sh!t in JAM world. I'm glad you all enjoyed it!

Walking in on them was a slap in the face.

The kind where the blow stings and lingers on long after it's done. The kind where it's not just the physical assault which hurts, but also the emotional and mental torment that it leaves behind.

Walking in on them, making out, his lips on hers, his hands running up and down her thighs and her hands running through his head, pulling him nearer… that cut as deeply as a knife.

For a moment, I was just stunned into silence. I couldn't manage a word out beyond "Wow".

"Wow", not as in "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening before my eyes" but rather "Wow, he's actually doing this. Here."

I shouldn't have been surprised.

Really, I shouldn't. Since we started seeing each other a few months ago, I had already known Sam was not looking for a long-lasting commitment. He made that very clear from the get-go.

He'd shared, one night over a bottle of beer as I lay on his chest after a particularly intense session of sex, that he had just gotten out of a relationship and wasn't looking for another. He wasn't sure yet what he wanted, from himself or from me; he just knew that he didn't want to be alone.

I was more than happy to oblige him. No major-strings-attached sex? It was just what I needed. We had an easy friendship, and we fell into a routine. I was available whenever he had a rough day at work, and he was there when I needed to vent.

The days turned into weeks, and then it blurred into months, and suddenly our temporary arrangement didn't seem quite so temporary after all. I was spending most nights at his place, courtesy of my annoying roommate, and then one night Sam made a request that turned the tables.

He made it very clear that while we were seeing – and sleeping with – each other, he would not be involved with anyone else, and he expected the same of me. I was, of course, happy to agree.

From that moment on, we became somewhat exclusive.

And it didn't do me any good. I found myself feeling something more for him. I shouldn't have, but I did. I knew that our agreed exclusivity only extended to the bed we shared, and had nothing to do with our emotional connection. I was still free to leave whenever I wanted, no questions asked. As was he.

But I never thought – had never in my life imagined – that he would choose to walk out on us in such a manner. By making me walk in on him making out with someone else – someone new – on the same countertop where we had engaged in some naughty activities in the past.

I never thought that Sam was the kind of man to go back on his word.

Apparently though, the biggest surprise was yet to come. Because the clincher wasn't just walking in on them.

It wasn't about Sam – his face flushed and his lips swollen – refusing to meet my gaze as they sprang apart, or the mysterious lady scrambling to straighten her dress. It didn't take a genius to figure out what would have happened if I hadn't burst in at that inopportune moment.

It wasn't even his rushing off after her that made my blood run cold.

It was what he called her.

Jules.

A few weeks ago, he came home from a particularly intense workday and told me about a colleague being held hostage by a paranoid schizophrenic. I heard the terror in his voice and his relief was palpable when he told me that his colleague was unhurt.

That night, as we made love, the name he called out as he was finding release wasn't mine.

It was Jules.

I never told him that, and never said anything about it. Everything suddenly made sense to me that night. Why he was always withdrawn, why he never seemed to open up emotionally to me, and why – although he spoke about work a lot – he never talked about his colleagues.

But more telling – why he wasn't ready for another relationship.

My world had crashed that night, but I put it behind me, seeing as he never did anything after that to make me wonder. Everything was fine and dandy between us; at least that's what I thought.

Until today.

If I ever had the hope that I stood a chance, it was clear today that I didn't. When Sam rushed out of the apartment, I knew exactly where I stood.

I would always be a transitory figure in his life, there to fill in the gaps as he waited – and waited patiently – for that one woman to come along. I was never meant to be permanent – that was Jules. And now that she was back, there was no place left for me in Sam's life.

I never thought my heart would shatter into so many pieces over a man who was only supposed to be an ephemeral presence in my life.

But it did.