Disclaimer: Nothing's mine… The first few lines are borrowed from episode 3x16.
Summary: I let her walk away, her shadow imprinted in my mind, her words echoing like a useless cry, a vain promise, a final good-bye. I love her too much to destroy her. JS.
Rating: K+
Spoilers: Episode 3x16 "Manhunt"
Everyone: thanks for the feedback I got on my other one-shots, Danger and Equation. This one is my idea of what Jack must have been feeling after he found out about Sam and Martin... Mariel, thank you so much for being such a terrific beta-reader!
Destroyed
"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." − Norman Cousins −
"Martin?"
"Yeah?"
I've dreaded the moment we have to face each other ever since this morning. A second goes by, enough for me to realise that I will probably never get another chance to say the things that have to be said.
"I know. About you and, uh−"
He tries to reveal nothing of his emotions, and I have to admit that he's good at it. Just not good enough. I catch the subtle change in his stance and the almost imperceptible note of recognition, hatred and jealousy that invades his gaze for a short instant.
Then he speaks with an acceptance mixed with quiet triumph, one that makes me wish I had learned to live with my uncertainties and never brought up this subject.
"Okay."
This time I won't pretend that my face remains impassive, because that would be a lie. It feels like I've just been stabbed with the sharpest knife on earth, and I have to make a conscious effort not to grimace.
Come on, Jack, says the voice in my head. Behave like the perfect gentleman here. "Good luck with it."
A nod. "Good night."
"Good night."
I suddenly drop the pen I've been holding for what seems like hours. No longer safe in the palm of my trembling hand, it rolls off my desk, ending up on the floor. I make no move to pick it up, no move to recap it. It lays immobile at my feet, lifeless, tip drying, too damaged when it fell to be unscathed.
You never know what can destroy you. It can be a crash, the betrayal of a friend, the loss of a parent, the disappearance of a child.
Sometimes it's just a word.
One single word, one that would have been insignificant in any other conversation but which in this particular instant reverberates in your ears and destroys your very soul.
Okay.
There's nothing worse than the end of hope. And that end came with that one word tonight, that one word spoken late in my office that told me all I had never truly wanted to know. So it's true. Now I'm sure, I'm certain, and the last thread of hope I was clinging to has just been severed with a mutter, a simple glance, and a short nod.
I don't know how I manage to get up from my chair, or what gives me the strength to walk out of my office. I don't look aside when I make my way to the elevator, gazing unseeingly in front of me, at the dark offices and silent corridor, at these walls I know so well but which right now seem completely unfamiliar to me.
I hear her steps when she comes out of the office to my right, and recognize them easily. But even as she follows my strides, I don't turn around to face her. I can't even glance at her. Not because I don't care about what she has to say, not because I don't know she's following me. And not because I want to pretend she isn't.
Just because she's no longer mine.
"Hey," she says softly behind me.
Her tone is too calm, too normal; she shouldn't be so unaware of what's going on inside of me, she should know that my heart has just shattered into a million fragments.
"Jack−" she tries again when I don't react and keep walking.
Maybe she thinks I haven't heard the first time− and maybe I wish I hadn't.
I can't answer, the words will never come out of my mouth, so I stop all of a sudden and she watches in silence as I wheel around. I don't know what she sees on my face, what my eyes tell her in that instant, all the pain and sorrow and devastation that have become a part of my world, but it's enough for her expression to change, for her smile to vanish as if swept away by a gust of wind, for her gaze to lose its professional aspect and fill with fright, worry and warmth, a warmth that will never again keep the cold out of my life.
I try to hide it from her, and struggle to maintain a stony expression even as my façade is breaking. But I can't shut her out, not Sam, and she understands that there is more than exhaustion on my features, more than just old scars and wounds that have been reopened tonight. With just this silent glance, there are a thousand other things, terrifying nightmares, demons unleashed, fires burning, waves of desperation assaulting my heart.
I'm sure she doesn't want to think about why I'm in such a state, but she can't ignore it, not when it's so plainly inscribed in my gaze and she has the code to decipher the writing, not when our mute exchange lasts with a disquieting intensity and in that instant, she realizes that I know.
She's too stunned to move, too shocked to react, too scared by what she sees to do anything but break the connection that threatens to devastate us both. She looks away and she's gone again, vanished, held hostage in a place where I can't go and save her, not any more. I turn around wordlessly and resume my walk alone, every step I take increasing the distance between us and deepening the hole in my heart, filling it with an unbearable solitude.
It's freezing outside, but it's not the reason I'm so cold. Tonight I lost something infinitely more precious than just warmth or light; I've lost that particular person that kept me sane, kept me going, kept me alive. I'm only distantly aware of the dark buildings and passers-by talking in low voices; of the deafening roaming of engines and the howling wind that makes the leaves fall. For me, it all melds into the same background, into the humming sound of a big city I no longer recognize, no longer understand, no longer breathe in. Now I know that half a millionth of a second is enough to change your life, enough for that one word to be spoken. And I know what it feels like to be completely alone, to walk among the crowd and remain a stranger, not part of the world, not part of any world.
There's a bench nearby, a small bench in the middle of that tiny area of grass. It doesn't belong there; it should be in an orchard among apples and pears, bathed in sunlight, in the middle of a place that is synonymous with peace and rhymes with sweetness; not lost amidst giant skyscrapers and forced to hear the wailing of lost souls. And yet I'm glad it's unoccupied and I sit, waiting, weeping, half-alive and half-dead, no longer standing, not yet resting.
She must have followed me as I walked here, or else miraculously found me in this sinister corner of a giant avenue, and must have found enough courage not to run away, because she's here now, I can feel her presence behind me and hear her steps again as she comes toward the bench. She's like a tangible dream, an image of beauty in the dark night, not entirely real but not completely illusory, just out of reach even as she sits beside me. She's here, and yet she no longer is, she's slipping away in the wind and it's unbearable. I've lost too many things before, I don't want to lose her too, not again, not ever.
The minutes go by insignificantly. No superfluous words are spoken, nothing unnecessary. Nothing at all, in fact, just this silence and emptiness as we both keep quiet, watching the night, drifting away, foreigners who were once foolish enough to believe that there was a place for us in this world.
She shivers when the breeze makes her strands of hair flutter and I shiver with her; she holds her breath and I hold mine. Our eyes finally meet and her gaze seeks out my hollow soul, trying to ease the aching, keep me alive, light the fire that has burn out in my heart, but it's too late.
Too late, Sam.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
I believe her.
She wants to know, I can see it in her eyes. Wants to know just in how bad a shape I am, wants to know what I feel most, if it's hurt or resentment. Wants to know if I hate her, if I consider she betrayed me. But it's not about payback, not about vengeance, not because I once made the mistake of choosing my family over her, not because I'm angry with her for not telling me. I'll never hate her, I'll never be able to blame her for anything, not when she did what I could not and tried to move on.
Her eyes are still searching mine, looking for something that she will not find. Heartbroken isn't nearly good enough.
Destroyed, shattered, gone. There are no words for what I'm feeling right now; it's agonizing and I can't do anything to prevent it, to put back together the crumbled pillars of my existence. Something in me died tonight with that one word from Martin. I'm dead. Better be dead than suffer this horrible pain that the entire world is inflicting me.
Her eyes again, wondering and craving.
She shouldn't be looking at me like this, she shouldn't be here with me. She's made her choice, she should be longing for his presence, his proximity.
The memories come back to me in a rush, all these moments we tried to end it, all these moments we never could. The way she leaned against my chest on a sunny day and asked me if it was over, the lingering touch of her hand on my cheek after she'd been shot, the sad smile she gave me when she came to my office after I announced the team I was moving to Chicago… these are all proofs that it hadn't been over yet.
Not until I found out. Not until now.
Tonight something is ending and nothing will ever be the same again; everything I have come to love and treasure will be gone when I wake up tomorrow. I get a glimpse of what the world is like without her and there is no light and no colours, only two paths that deviate.
Strange, how the most important parts of your life are the ones that you never thought would happen this way, in a place you passed everyday but never really noticed, on a night that should have been ordinary but that will remained engraved in your memory forever. I suppose history is made on benches, in a time when you aren't supposed to be here but neither is she, when seconds are irrelevant, words mean nothing and I can tell, by the way she remains silent and quietly wants to reach out for my hand, that she knows I'm crying.
Her fingers hesitate at the last moment, hovering above my skin, knowing that this touch is impossible, that it is yet another forbidden contact. Yet she finally crosses the short distance and her fingers brush mine softly, filling the gap between us. I never want her to let go, I want to believe that all my life I've been looking for something and finally found it, I want to live with the hope that she'll always be here with me. Even an illusion would be so much better than nothing at all.
I'm not trying to disguise my pain. She would know anyway, regardless of words or actions, she would know that I'm dying. And I know she'd be willing to die with me, die with our eyes locked together, die with her hand touching mine. Our hearts are so broken that even the combined pieces wouldn't be enough to make one whole again. She squeezes my fingers between hers, communicating her desperation to me mutely, and I know that she's crying too, even if I can't see her tears because mine blur my vision.
I catch her eyes through our tears and see the ache and quiet agony in them.
Her lips part and she speaks, her voice low and tinged with a desperation so profound I know I'll be the only one to ever witness it. "I love you."
Her hand slides away from mine and I feel the cold air invading my personal space again, so chilly and devoid of life that I shiver at the sudden loss and want to scream as loneliness invades me. She rises and I'm alone again, thoroughly abandoned, on my own in the dark, never-ending night; and for me there will be no dawn to take the shadows away, just this heart-wrenching pain in her eyes as she takes one last glance in my direction.
And despite myself I know I'm not going to run after her. She sees the supplication in my eyes, and she sends me a plea in return, one that begs me to rescue her, to try and get her back.
But I can't do that, I'm no longer capable of it.
I could reach out for her, wrap my arms around her and let her sob on my shoulder. We both know she wouldn't run away, not if I comforted her, not if I kissed her.
But I let her go. Just her sight would be enough to melt part of the ice that covers me, but it would consume her too, and I don't want to see her turn cold because of me, I don't want her to suffer from my pain. I couldn't bear to hurt her any more than I already did. I let her walk away, her shadow imprinted in my mind, her words echoing like a useless cry, a vain promise, a final good-bye.
I love her too much to destroy her.
Before she turns away for the last time her gaze stops on my silhouette, as if all she wants is to capture that image of me in her mind and never let it go, and I do the same on my side, wishing to see her forever, in front of these dark buildings, in front of me, in my very soul. In that instant we see right through the other and she knows, knows the chilliness that is slowly invading me, tiny flakes of snow and frost that make me feel colder than ice.
There's so much cold and emptiness, so much life slipping away between my fingers. So many things that I should have told her and never did, so many things that I should forget and never will.
I could have escaped this life with her, lived with her, shared everything with her. I could have chosen her.
Should have.
She's gone now, but I don't want to leave this bench. I want to spend the rest of my life on a bench that will keep a part of her with me. And I want a shot of whisky, I want to drown my sorrow into whatever will burn my throat, shut away the regrets and keep the ache at bay. So what if it destroys what's left of me? I don't care, Sam. I don't care, because it will never reverse the course of time, it will never lessen the grief, make the memories happen or soothe the pain.
It will never make you mine again.
I should have stayed with you, Sam, should have taken your hand, should have transformed your fears into faith and your uncertainties into hope, should have tasted your lips one more time. I should have ended my life with you at my side, should have decided that death would at least keep us together, should have died with you on one of those benches, or in that bookstore, or anywhere else you would have chosen.
Too many should haves; too few moments spent together, too little time.
I should have spoken the words I always held back, Sam, instead of letting you walk away. I would have more now than the ghost of your presence and the remembrance of what your touch feels like, more than the shadow of your smile and the memories that fade away like the last rays of sunlight when night falls and darkness encompasses all.
I know I should have said it.
I love you too.